In an ecstasy of eagerness Violet dropped some of her stately dignity and clasped her hands. "Meet him?" she cried. "Of course I will, but it will not be to say good-bye. If I have any influence over him, and I know that I have, it will be used to induce him to abandon this disgraceful flight and to face the accusation out. You have, indeed, been a good friend, Mr. Nugent, in coming to me. When and where can I see Mr. Chermside?" "Not till quite late to-night," was the reply. "It will not be safe for the steamer to approach the coast and send a boat ashore till it is thoroughly dark. Should you have any difficulty in leaving the house here, say, at eleven o'clock?" "Not in the least; I am my own mistress. I often go for a stroll in the park before going to bed when it is fine." "Then if you will prolong your stroll to-night as far as the Ottermouth road, I will be waiting with my car about a hundred yards from the lodge," came Nugent's glib instructions. "I can easily run you to the place where the ship's boat is to come to pick up Chermside inside ten minutes. You may rely on me absolutely. I shall not fail you at the hour mentioned. And now, as there is much to arrange, I will leave you." "I shall not keep you waiting," said Violet, shaking his extended hand warmly. "Punctually at eleven on the Ottermouth road." But if she could have seen her kind helper's face as he turned his back on her to quit the rose-garden, she would have felt misgivings as to the honesty of his aid. Every line of it betokened an end gained by questionable means. "Directly we're outside the lodge gates, drive to The Hut at top speed," he bade the chauffeur as soon as he reached the motor car. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly seven o'clock. "In a little over four hours I shall have earned Bhagwan Singh's reward," he murmured to himself, as they slid down the avenue. CHAPTER XIX THE SLEEPING SNAKE Captain Brant, of the turbine steam yacht _Cobra_, walked the spotless deck of his vessel; and he walked slowly, for he was reading a letter which the postman had just brought on board. While he read his hideous features were twisted into the ape-like contortion that did duty with him for a grin. When he had mastered the contents of the missive, he thrust it into the pocket of his brass-buttoned reefer, and shouted for "Mr. Cheeseman." An answering bawl was heard somewhere forward, and there came running aft the bullet-headed mate who a few days before had at first refused Travers Nugent admission to the ship. "Know anything about ladies' underclothes?" asked the wicked-looking skipper, with a horrible leer. "Can't say I do, sir; but if it's in the way of duty I can jolly soon find out," was the brisk reply.