ange of cabins
and silently ascended the steps to the deck above. Here also it was
dark, but a faint light shone from the window of the captain's cabin.
Stealthily Hilliard tiptoed to the porthole. The glass was hooked back,
but a curtain hung across the opening. Fortunately, it was not drawn
quite tight to one side, and he found that by leaning up against the
bridge ladder he could see into the interior. A glance showed him that
the room was empty.

As he paused irresolutely, wondering what he should do next, he heard
a door open. There was a step on the deck below, and the door slammed
sharply. Someone was coming to the ladder at the top of which he stood.

Like a shadow Hilliard slipped aft, and, as he heard the unknown
ascending the steps, he looked round for cover. The starboard boat and
a narrow strip of deck were lighted up, but the port boat was in shadow.
He could distinguish it merely as a dark blot on the sky. Recognizing
that he must be hidden should the port deck light be turned on, he
reached the boat, felt his way round the stern, and, crouching down,
crept as far underneath it as he could. There he remained motionless.

The newcomer began slowly to pace the deck, and the aroma of a good
cigar floated in the still air. Up and down he walked with leisurely,
unhurried footsteps. He kept to the dark side of the ship, and Hilliard,
though he caught glimpses of the red point of the cigar each time the
other reached the stern, could not tell who he was.

Presently other footsteps announced the approach of a second individual,
and in a moment Hilliard heard the captain's voice.

"Where are you, Bulla?"

"Here," came in the engineer's voice from the first-comer. The captain
approached and the two men fell to pacing up and down, talking in low
tones. Hilliard could catch the words when the speakers were near the
stern, but lost them when they went forward to the break of the poop.

"Confound that man Coburn," he heard Captain Beamish mutter. "What on
earth is keeping him all this time?"

"The young visitors, doubtless," rumbled Bulla with a fat chuckle, "our
friends of the evening."

"Yes, confound them, too," growled Beamish, who seemed to be in an
unenviable frame of mind. "Damned nuisance their coming round. I should
like to know what they are after."

"Nothing particular, I should fancy. Probably out doing some kind of a
holiday."

They passed round the deckhouse and Hilliard could not hear the re