A muted echo of the engine-room telegraph was audible then, and the
engines took up again their tireless chant. Lanyard cocked a sly eye at
the tell-tale; it designated their course as west-by-north a quarter
west. He was cheered to think that his labours at the binnacle were
bearing fruit, and grateful that Monk was so busy being an invalid
waited upon and pitied by a beautiful volunteer nurse that he was
willing to trust the navigation to Mr. Swain and had no time to observe
by the tell-tale whether or not the course he had prescribed was being
followed.

Liane's exquisite and tender arm supported the suffering head of
Captain Monk as he absorbed the nourishment served by Phinuit. The
eyebrows made an affectingly faint try at a gesture of gratitude. The
eyes closed, once more Monk's head reposed upon the pillow. He sighed
like a weary child.

From the saloon came sounds of shuffling feet and mumbling voices as
seamen carried away all that was mortal of Monsieur Popinot.

Between roars of the fog signal, six bells vibrated on the air. Phinuit
cocked his head intelligently to one side, ransacked his memory, and
looked brightly to Lanyard.

"Ar-har!" he murmured--"the fatal hour!"

Lanyard gave him a gracious smile.

In attenuated accents Captain Monk, without opening his eyes or
stirring under the caresses of that lovely hand, enquired:

"What say, Phin?"

"I was just reminding Monsieur Lanyard the fatal hour has struck, old
thing."

The eyebrows knitted in painful effort to understand. When one has
narrowly escaped death by strangulation one may be pardoned some slight
mental haziness. Besides, it makes to retain sympathy, not to be too
confoundedly clear-headed.

"Fatal hour?"

"The dear man promised to turn in his answer to our unselfish little
proposition at six bells to-night and not later."

"Really?" The voice was interested, and so were the eyebrows; but Monk
was at pains not to move. "And has he?"

"Not yet, old egg."

Monk opened expectant eyes and fixed them upon Lanyard's face, the
eyebrows acquiring a slant of amiable enquiry.

"There is much to be said," Lanyard temporised. "That is, if you feel
strong enough..."

"Oh, quite," Monk assured him in tones barely audible.

"Must it be a blow to the poor dear?" Phinuit enquired.

"I hope not, very truly."

(The tell-tale now betrayed a course northwest-by-north. Had the
binnacle compass, then, gone out of its head altogether, on fi