hang it, man, it's dull enough on this beastly boat. If there's
any row on, I'm in it."

"Do you think you guess how big a row you may be on?" I asked him.

"Oh, well, it's infernally dull," he grumbled, which, when you come to
think of it, was a surprising point of view.

The Adams inquiry ended in what must necessarily be called an open
verdict. The evidence of the boatswain and Pentecost, one of the hands,
assured that. Both testified to the fact that they were awakened in the
still hours by a splash, and one thought it was accompanied by a cry,
but was not sure. At any rate, the boatswain was sufficiently aroused
to make search, and to discover that Adams was missing, and
subsequently that the port-hole was open. He had then, as he declared,
reported the matter at once to the officer of the watch, who was
Holgate. Holgate came to the captain's cabin, as has been related.
There was no discrepancy to be noted in the stories of the two men, nor
was there any inherent improbability in their tale. So, as I have said,
though no verdict was given, the verdict might be considered as open,
and we had got no further. The captain, however, took one precaution,
for the key of the ammunition chest was put in Barraclough's charge.
What others did I know not, but I slept with a loaded revolver under my
pillow.

We were now within a week of Buenos Ayres, and had come into summer
weather. When we passed the twentieth parallel the heat was
overpowering. We took to ducks, and the ladies, as we could observe, to
the lightest of cotton dresses. For all, however, that we saw of them
they might have been dwelling in another sphere, as, indeed, they were.
The steward alone had the privilege of communion with them, and he,
being a distant fellow, had nothing to say, though, I believe, Lane
cross-questioned him rigorously.

I have said that we saw nothing of our passengers, but I, at least, was
to see them more nearly very soon, and that in the most unexpected
manner. One evening I had retired to my cabin and was stretched in my
bunk, reading one of the gilded books from the yacht's library, when I
was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called idly, and the door promptly opened, and to my
amazement Miss Morland stood before me. She wore a plain evening dress
of chiffon, very pretty to the eye, and over her head and shoulders a
mantle of silk lace. She had naturally, as I had observed on my
previous encounters, a sparkle