ed him and shepherd him aboard the
Calais boat.

Captain Loreuil got out and went on ahead.

"Come along, Butler!" Juve cried suddenly. He shook the slumbering
traitor sharply.

Butler-Vinson leaped to his feet with frightened eyes and gaping
mouth.

"What is it?" he stuttered. "What do you want with me?"

Juve's smile was a masterpiece of hypocrisy.

"Why, old fellow, you must wake up! We must go aboard our boat!"

The corporal heard men shouting:

"Steamer _Victoria_ for Ostend! Steamer _Empress_ for Calais!"

"We must hurry!" cried Juve, pushing the bemused Butler-Vinson out of
the compartment.

There was a sea fog growing denser every minute. Without their
powerful electric lights it would have been impossible to recognise
the boats or the gangways leading to them.

Juve had Butler by the arm: a necessary precaution, for the wretched
man could scarcely keep on his feet. Juve propelled him towards a
gangway: a minute later both were on the boat.

Vinson caught sight of the inscription _Empress_ on the lifebuoys. A
flash of reason illumined Butler-Vinson's drink-soddened mind. He
hesitated, drew back with a frightened look.

"Didn't I hear just now that this boat goes to Calais?"

A passing sailor heard this question. He was about to enlighten
Butler-Vinson, but Juve pushed him aside--this imbecile was going to
spoil everything!

"No, old fellow, you are quite mistaken! It is the _Victoria_ that
goes to Calais: we go to Ostend with the _Empress_."

Butler-Vinson accepted this statement as true.

An ear-piercing whistle sounded; the cables were drawn up: a vibratory
motion told the passengers they were off.

The mast-head light was extinguished: the mail-boat silently made its
way out to sea.

There was a dense fog in the Channel. The fog-horn sounded its
lugubrious note.

The sea was rough: a strong wind from the south-west had been blowing
all the afternoon. The boat began to pitch and toss: the passengers
were drenched.

Though nothing of a sailor in the nautical sense, Juve took his
duckings with equanimity: a bit of a pitch and toss would keep Vinson
occupied.

The fog was Juve's friend: it lent an air of vagueness, of confusion,
to Butler-Vinson's surroundings. The vagaries of the steamer would
further distract what thoughts he was capable of. Still, they were on
an English boat, and should the corporal grasp what was happening and
refuse to disembark, Juve would be in a fix. Butler