a rubber
band from knob to bolt, so that the wind from the open port in the
passage should not blow it shut. Then, drawing his curtain, he sat
down to wait.

He had a book, one of those slobbering American novels which serve up
falsehood thickly buttered with righteousness and are consumed by the
morally sterilised.

And, as he smoked he read; and, as he read he listened. One eye always
remained on duty; one ear was alert; he meant to see who was the owner
of the white shoes if it took the remainder of the voyage to find
out.

The book aided him as a commonplace accompaniment aids a
soloist--alternately boring and exasperating him.

It was an "uplift" book, where the heroine receives whacks with
patient smiles. Fate boots her from pillar to post and she blesses
Fate and is much obliged. That most deadly reproach to degenerate
human nature--the accidental fact of sex--had been so skilfully
extirpated from those pages that, like chaste amoebae, the characters
merely multiplied by immaculate subdivision; and millions of lineal
descendants of the American Dodo were made gleeful for $1.50 net.

It was hard work waiting, harder work reading, but between the two and
a cigarette now and then Neeland managed to do his sentry go until
dinner time approached and the corridors resounded with the trample of
the hungry.

The stewardess reappeared a little later and returned to him his
handkerchief and the following information:

Mr. Hawks, it appeared, travelled with a trained nurse, whose
stateroom was on another deck. That nurse was not in her stateroom,
but a similar handkerchief was, scented with similar perfume.

"You're a wonder," said Neeland, placing some more sovereigns in her
palm and closing her fingers over them. "What is the nurse's name?"

"Miss White."

"Very suitable name. Has she ever before visited Herr--I mean
_Mr._--Hawks in his stateroom?"

"Her stewardess says she has been indisposed since we left New York."

"Hasn't been out of her cabin?"

"No."

"I see. Did you inquire what she looked like?"

"Her stewardess couldn't be certain. The stateroom was kept dark and
the tray containing her meals was left at the bedside. Miss White
smokes."

"Yes," said Neeland reflectively, "she smokes Red Light cigarettes, I
believe. Thank you, very much. More sovereigns if you are discreet.
And say to my steward that I'll dine in my stateroom. Soup, fish,
meat, any old thing you can think of. Do you underst