Kathryn and Muriel, seen safely to the room that Schuyler was to occupy, Blake returned and made his way out upon the deck. He stood for a moment by the steward, watching him. Then very quietly inquired: "Where did it happen, Steward?" The steward, wringing out the mop into the dark water of his bucket, looked up. There were beads of sweat upon his bronzed, wrinkled brow. Yet the day was not warm. "Wot, sir?" he queried. "Where did it happen?" "Wot happen sir?" "Young Parmalee's suicide." Blake spoke quietly, calmly. The steward's eyes shifted. "Suicide, sir?" he said. "Don't know nothink about it, gov'ner." Blake pointed to the spot upon the deck. "What's that, then?" he demanded. The steward moved, uneasily. "A spot I just be'n a-cleanin' of, gov'ner." Blake pointed to the bucket. "And that?" he persisted. "Water, sir." "And--?" The steward slowly drew the back of his hand across dry lips. And then, in a swift rush of strangled words: "Blood, gov'ner. Blood.... Only a boy he was, sir, and she looked down on him, laying there with his brains spattered on the deck and she laughed, sir.... God, sir! She laughed...." He struggled to his feet and pulled his forelock. He said in altered tones: "Beg pardon, sir. But a man can't be a blime machine all the time, sir." There came a call from the state-room. "Get that bucket away from here. Quick!" And Blake turned to meet the wife and child of his friend, as they came from the state-room. "Oh, I do hope Jack won't be late," Kathryn remarked, scanning the decks. Blake standing between her and the steward, returned with forced lightness: "Oh, he has plenty of time. Half an hour at least. Why, once I lost fifty thousand in the market, broke my steering gear running over a fat policeman, was arrested, taken to court and bailed out and all within twenty minutes. Jack's got time to squander." There was sadness in the violet eyes. "It will be very lonely when he's gone--very lonely," she mused, slowly. "Well, it will be as lonely for him as it will for you," Blake returned; "which is a doubtful consolation, but one that most women don't have." Muriel had wandered to the rail. "Oh, I see him!" she cried, suddenly. "There he is! Daddy! Daddy, dear! ... He's right there on the gangway--right behind that fat lady-- the one with the red nose. I'm going to meet him." Sturdy little legs started to follow the summons of impulsive little brain. But her mother detained her. "No, dearie," she objected. "You'll get lost He'll be here in a moment, now." "Not unless he can get by that lady," protested the child. "He's--he's--" "Pocketed is the word you want, Muriel," assisted Blake. He was looking in the direction which the child had indicated. Suddenly, he exclaimed: "I see him now. He doesn't see us, though. Possibly he doesn't know where his stateroom is. These boats are very confusing. I'll go fetch him." Blake disappeared in the throngs upon the deck. Muriel turned to her mother.