“They’d blieve ut of yer,” said the boy viciously, “ye’re nothin but a woilbeast! Gettin us all inter trouble!” He sniffled. “Ye’re a curse on th’ ship, that’s wort you are, an I blieve she’ll founder. I blieve she’ll stroike in th’ noight and go to Ell. _You_’ll be drahwnded, anyow!” he viciously added as he restrained his tears in prospect of the wrath to come. But the thought of safety which the mention of Parham had brought revived George, and he bore no ill-will. “Look here,” he said, “I’ll swab it out with my bread and they’ll think I cleaned it up, but it’s on condition that you chuck the bread overboard,” he added. The boy accepted the pact and was comforted. It was a cheap act of kindness, but he hoped it might stand him in good stead a few hours later. * * * * * The June night fell gradually upon the sea, the slight swell dropped to something almost imperceptible. Through his miserable porthole George could see great sheets of moonlight playing upon the easy surface, and there was no noise but the regular thud of the engine. He fell into a profound sleep. CHAPTER XI As George Mulross Demaine drifted down river in his cell that Tuesday afternoon the 2nd of June, Dolly sat blankly in Downing Street with the waters of despair at his lips. Evil breeds evil. As he considered the gloomy prospect, new aspects of it rose before him. Not only was he privately between these two fires, the sudden madness of the outgoing Warden, the disappearance of his successor, but the retirement of Charles Repton had been publicly announced and Dimmy’s nomination had appeared alongside with it in the morning papers. The double news was all over England. Yet another torturing thought suggested itself. How and when should he fill the vacancy? What was he to do? Repton was impossible. His disaster was not in the papers, thank God, and could not be, under the decent rules which govern our press. But it was already the chief tittle-tattle of every house that counted in London. There could be no interregnum with Repton still nominally filling the place. He might wait as long as he dared, give it to a third man, and then have Demaine turn up smiling and hungry: and if that happened the Prime Minister would earn what he dreaded most on earth, the enmity of those who had been his friends; perhaps a breach with Mary Smith herself. He was not fit to do more than survey the misfortune of the moment: he was still in his perplexity, when he heard the bell ringing in the next room, and was told that he himself was personally and urgently wanted upon the telephone. He put up his hand but the secretary would take no denial; it was something absolutely personal. Who was it from? It was from Lady Repton.