ill be that
she has voluntarily accompanied Chermside on his flight," these
instructions run. "On the whole it will serve our purpose as well as
another, but it is imperative that the direction of this flight be
unknown. I have Mr. Maynard's confidence, and I shall do my best to
foster the idea that Chermside, whom he will of course regard as a free
agent, will be likely to make for America, blinding pursuit by taking
an eastern course up channel, and then a northerly one round the
Scottish coast into the Atlantic. In reality you will run down channel
to the westward, and in doing so you must therefore avoid undue speed or
anything that may draw attention to your vessel as the one in which the
'elopement' has been carried out."

Nettle Jimpson, knowing nothing about the reason, was nevertheless
annoyed at the slow speed, because it would delay the "one chance" at
Plymouth to which she had pinned her faith. But realizing that the delay
was beyond her control, she devoted herself to the matter in hand.

Casting an upward glance at the bridge, where the quartermaster at the
wheel and several other figures were dimly visible against the starlit
sky, she skulked along in the shadows of the deck superstructure till
she came to the companion stairs leading down to the main deck. It was
but a short distance from the door of the saloon and she met no one,
though both from the stern and the forecastle gruff whisperings told her
that it was a wakeful ship. Stealing down the stairs, she reached the
main deck unmolested, and looked about her. Evidently it was here that
the officers and the engineers were berthed. Open cabin doors yielded
glimpses of oilskin coats and tarpaulin hats, while a well-scrubbed
table in the centre of the open space was spread with the remains of a
meal that had been partaken of by half a dozen people.

But of the prisoner, or of any closed door behind which he could be
confined, there was no sign. She continued to explore, and at the
forward end of the deck found an open hatchway with a flight of almost
perpendicular wooden steps running down into the pitch darkness of the
lower deck. Undaunted by the steepness of the ladder and the absence of
light, she descended into the abyss, where the smell of paint and
cordage told her that she was near the ship's storeroom. Realizing at
once that down here her eyes were useless for the quest, she raised her
voice and called----

"Where are you, Mr. Chermside?"