t. "As you heard,
I am going in the opposite direction. My little torpedo craft requires
my attention."

"Sorry I'm not to have the pleasure of your company," said the elder man
courteously. "Surely your leave isn't up yet?"

"No," Reggie replied. "I have another ten days to run, but I have to see
about one or two little matters of shipping stores and ammunition. I
hope to be back to-night or to-morrow morning."

On the platform the two separated, Reggie getting into the train which
would take him to the western naval seaport, and Nugent crossing the
line by the footbridge to the east-bound train.

"I trust that that nautical noodle will have forgotten all about our
meeting by to-morrow," Nugent communed with himself as he chose a corner
seat in an unoccupied compartment. "It would not be advisable for
Mallory, with his wonderful faculty for piecing trifles together, to
know that I had paid a flying visit to the port where Chermside's
alleged yacht is fitting out."

He leaned back in his cushioned corner and further reflected that even
if Mr. Mallory was informed by young Beauchamp that he had been to
Weymouth no irremediable harm could come of it. It was even possible
that the incident might be converted into an advantage. He had good
reason not to despise Mr. Mallory's capabilities, but that astute old
gentleman could not thwart his scheme without a fuller knowledge of it,
and that could only be gained from Leslie Chermside, who in his present
circumstance as Violet Maynard's accepted lover would probably prefer
death to confession.

"My immediate policy must be to preserve the renegade's life at all
hazards, while threatening it by means of the fair Louise," Nugent
smiled contemptuously. "Though what Bhagwan Singh will do to him when he
is delivered at Sindkhote is another matter," the arch plotter added
under his breath as he unfolded his newspaper and resigned himself to
the tedium of the journey.

He reached Weymouth at noon, and at once made his way into the old town,
where he turned to the left down the one-sided street of shipping
offices and public houses that faces the harbour. The brick and mortar
side of the street had no interest for him. His gaze was always for the
long row of vessels moored to the quay wall. He walked on, past the
wharf where the red-funnelled Great Western boats lay, and came to a
halt opposite a large 2,000 ton steam yacht. A handsomely appointed
craft she was, with something