"A ship," she said absently, revolving the novel idea in her mind. "You must go to bed," said he gravely. "And you must stay down in there until I tell you it is all clear. Do you understand?" "Yes, I understand." "I'll show you," he said, and he carefully piloted her down the companion. She leaned forward daintily to peer as he lit her lamp. "It's the best I could do," he whispered. "Beautiful. Tck!" she saw her clothes in the drawer he opened and patted his arm. She regarded him curiously, as though seeing him in a fresh light. "You are very good to me." "Easy to be that," he muttered, holding her and breathing heavily. "Good-night!" He closed the door and strode away to the companion, and he was about to mount when a thought struck him. She must keep her door locked, in case somebody came down. He walked back. And as he put out his hand to open the door again to tell her this, he heard the key grind in the lock. He paused, and then went away up, and very thoughtful, turned in. CHAPTER XIII From his conspicuous post on the forecastle Mr. Spokesly watched the elderly lieutenant--his old friend whom he had met at Floka's--descend the ladder into his launch. The ship was already moving, the anchor was awash, and the elderly lieutenant wavered somewhat as he put out his hands to grasp the rail running along the cabin of his launch. It was evening, and he was, Mr. Spokesly could see, adequately full. Indeed, he had been reinforced by more than one whiskey and soda before he had arrived with the captain's sailing orders. And Captain Rannie, who was watching him as though hoping he might by some fortunate turn of fate slip into the water and vanish for ever, had placed a bottle of whiskey and a syphon at his elbow in the cabin and permitted him to help himself. The old fellow had been very full of a triumph he had achieved over the authorities. He had been transferred to the Transport Office, where it was evident they needed an experienced ship's officer to keep a general eye upon things. All very well, these naval people, in their way--here he filled his glass again--but what did they know about _our_ work? Nothing! The soda shot into the glass, cascading all over the table. He drank. Incredible, absolutely incredible what queer things these people thought up. Told him to run round and round the White Tower for the duration of the war! Him! An experienced officer! Nice thing that, now! He drank again and refilled his glass. But he had been transferred.... Captain Rannie sat out this sort of thing for over half an hour and then went up on the bridge and pulled the whistle lanyard. The _Kalkis_ uttered a yelp, followed by a gargling cry ending in a portentous hiccough. Mr. Spokesly remarked: "They are signalling to heave up, sir."