nce.
What of him?"

"He would refuse. He wouldn't budge. He's a nuisance," said Barraclough
moodily. "He's our stumbling-block."

"Quite so; and if we all caved in but Mr. Morland, what must his fate
be? And we should look on, shouldn't we? And then go home in a tramp
steamer, a happy family party with a nice little secret of our own.
Ten, twelve, well, say, sixteen of us. I can see Holgate trusting to
that, and comfortably lolling back in Yokohama deck-chairs; and I can
also see Sir John Barraclough reporting the total loss of the yacht
_Sea Queen_, captain and owner and so-and-so going down with her.
I can read it all in the papers here, and now; it will be excellent
food for the ha'pennies!"

The frown deepened on his face as I proceeded, but, contrary to my
expectation, he did not display any temper at my mocking speech. He
shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll admit the difficulties. It looks like impossibility, but so's the
alternative. I'm in despair."

"There's only one thing will solve the problem," I said. He looked up.
"Action."

"You mean----"

"Holgate won't wait till his coal's out. He's free for an attack now."

"In God's name, let him!" said Barraclough viciously.

CHAPTER XV

THE FIGHT IN THE MUSIC-ROOM

The _Sea Queen_ was making way on her northerly course athwart the long
rollers of the Pacific. The wind blew briskly from the west, and the
sea ran high, so that the yacht lay over with a strong list as she
battled through the rough water. My watch began at twelve o'clock that
night, and I took the precaution to lie down for a rest about eight. I
fell asleep to the sound of the sea against my porthole window, but
awoke in good time. It was full dark, and, save for the screw and the
eternal long wash without, there was silence. Somehow the very
persistence of these sounds seemed profounder silence. I groped my way
into the passage, with the screw kicking under my feet, and passed
Barraclough's cabin. Still there was no sound or sign of life, but I
perceived the glimmer of a light beyond, and seeing that it issued from
Pye's cabin I turned the handle of the door. It was locked.

"Who is that?" demanded a tremulous voice.

"It's I. Let me in," I called back.

The door was opened slowly and little Pye stood before me. In the
illumination of the incandescent wire he stood out ghastly white.

"It's you, doctor," he said weakly.

The smell of spirits pervaded the cabin. I looked across