he paper and--"

"Throw it overboard!"

"Rubbish! They would work it all out again."

"What then?" I whispered.

"Steal the paper and--wouldn't it do to put in an extra _x_ or _y_, or
stick a couple of additional figures into any suitable vacancy? Don't
you think they'd go on with the scheme and--"

"And?"

"And make a mess of it!"

"Miss Metford," I said, rising from my chair, "I mean Metford, I know
you like to be addressed as a man--or used to like it."

"Yes, I used to," she assented coldly.

"I am going to take you in my arms and kiss you."

"I'm hanged if you are!" she exclaimed, so sharply that I was suddenly
abashed. My intended familiarity and its expression appeared grotesque,
although a few minutes before she was so friendly. But I could not waste
precious time in studying a girl's caprices, so I asked at once:

"How can I get this paper?"

"I said _steal_ it, if you recollect." Her voice was now hard, almost
harsh. "You can get it in Brande's cabin, if you are neither afraid nor
jealous."

"I am not much afraid, and I will try it. What do you mean by jealous?"

"I mean, would you, to save Natalie Brande--for they will certainly
succeed in blowing themselves up, if nobody else--consent to her
marrying another man, say that young lunatic Halley, who is always
dangling after her when you are not?"

"Yes," I answered, after some thought. For Halley's attentions to
Natalie had been so marked, the plainly inconsequent mention of him in
this matter did not strike me. "If that is necessary to save her, of
course I would consent to it. Why do you ask? In my place you would do
the same."

"No. I'd see the ship and all its precious passengers at the bottom of
the sea first."

"Ah! but you are not a man."

"Right! and what's more, I'm glad of it." Then looking down at the
rational part of her costume, she added sharply, "I sha'n't wear these
things again."

CHAPTER XIV.

ROCKINGHAM TO THE SHARKS.

At one o'clock in the morning I arose, dressed hurriedly, drew on a pair
of felt slippers, and put a revolver in my pocket. It was then time to
put Edith Metford's proposal to the proof, and she would be waiting for
me on deck to hear whether I had succeeded in it. We had parted a couple
of hours before on somewhat chilling terms. I had agreed to follow her
suggestion, but I could not trouble my tired brain by guesses at the
cause of her moods.

It was very dark. There was only enough lig