arply and opened again. But at the moment Holgate
shifted his position the eyes were again dull and vacant.

I drew in my underlip, and stood up, looking at the mutineer.

"A heavy crack," said I.

"Well, I suppose he came down rather nastily," said Holgate,
unperturbed. "I'm sorry. I bear Legrand no grudge. He was a good
navigating officer."

"It looks like brain lesion," I said. "But I should like to examine
more carefully."

"Welcome, doctor, welcome," said he cheerfully, "always welcome, so
long as I command this ship. Fly a flag and I'll see there's no
reigning princes about. I'm the only prince here, you may take my word
for that."

I thanked him coolly, and giving the prisoners some directions for the
care of Legrand, climbed to the deck. As I left the lower deck with the
suave compliments of Holgate in my ears, I had two things in my mind to
ponder. In the first place, there was the mystery behind the chief
mutineer. What ailed him that he had made no attack on our weak
garrison? And had the deviation of the yacht's cruise been an adequate
reason for leaving the strong-room untouched? Again, when he had
offered terms, had he not known that we could not accept them, and why
had he conducted himself with such easy insolence as to prevent us from
accepting them had we been disposed to do so? This problem frankly
baffled me. But the other thought was more consolatory. I was convinced
that Legrand was not much injured, and I guessed that he was
"shamming." That he had winked at me to convey his real case seemed
obvious. My heart rose at the thought, for it had been downcast, heaven
knows. But it was something to feel that we had allies forward, in the
heart of the enemy, even if they were at present under hatches. I had
faith somehow in Legrand, a silent, forcible man, and I entered the
staterooms with cheerfulness.

Oddly enough, the note with which I was received bore some relation to
that cheerfulness, for I was admitted to the tune of tremulous
laughter. It was Ellison who let me in, but the laughter did not
proceed from him. Half-way down the corridor was Sir John in animated
conversation with Mademoiselle. At least, the animation was on her
part, for he was decorously stolid, and favoured me with a nod.

"Managed it, then, Phillimore. Good for you," he said with amiable
patronage. "I though it was all up when I heard that shot. But
Mademoiselle put her money on you."

"Ah, was I not right?" she aske