Marston knocked softly on a stateroom door and his daughter came forth. She gasped when she saw this ragged visitor, and in her stare there was real horror. “I haven't been able to sift this thing to the bottom. By facing you two, as I'm doing, I may be able to get the truth of the case,” said Marston, with the air of a magistrate dealing with malefactors. “Now, Alma, I'll allow you a minute or two to use your tongue on this fine specimen before my men use their bars.” “I heard what my father offered you. You must take it.” “I have other men to consider--honest men, who have worked hard with me.” He trembled in their presence. Her appearance put sane thoughts out of his head and choked the words in his throat. He saw himself in a mirror and wondered if this were not a dream--if it had not been a dream that she had ever loved him. He wanted to put out to her his mutilated hands which he was hiding behind him. He yearned to explain to her the man's side of the case. He wanted her to understand what he owed to the men who had risked their lives to serve him, to make her realize the bond which exists between men who have toiled and starved together. “You have yourself to consider, first of all. Much depends. In your silly notions about a lot of paupers you are throwing my father's kindness in his face!” He stammered, unable to frame coherent reply. “Be sensible. You have no right to put a heap of scrap-iron and a lot of low creatures ahead of your personal interests.” There was malice in Marston's eyes. He saw an opportunity to make Mayo's position even more false in the opinion of the girl. “I'll be entirely frank, Mayo. In spite of our personal differences, I want your services--I need them. I have found out that you're a young man of determination and plenty of ability. I'll put you ahead fast if you'll come over with me. But you must come clean. No strings on you with that other crowd.” “I can't sell 'em out. I won't do it,” protested Mayo. He did not exactly understand all the reasons for his obstinacy. But his instinct told him that Julius Marston was not descending in this manner except for powerful reasons, and that he was attempting to buy a traitor for his uses. “How do you dare to turn against my father?” “I--I don't know! Something seems to be the matter with me.” He wrenched at his throat with his hand. “And after what I did--my wicked foolishness--those papers--” “Go on! I propose to get to the bottom of this thing,” declared Marston. The young man drove his hand into his pocket, pulled out the sealed packet, and forced it into the girl's hands. Marston promptly seized it. “You have not opened it?” “No, sir.” “I did not open it, either,” cried the girl. “I sealed it, just as it was tied up.” Marston ripped off the strings and the wax. Outside a loud voice was hailing the yacht. “Compliments of Captain Wass to Captain Mayo, and will he please say when he is coming back aboard his schooner?”