They reached the cabin and entered together to find that White Henshaw lay on the couch in the corner. His physical strength was apparently exhausted, and one long, lean arm dangled to the floor. At sight of the dreaded wireless operator with the message in his hand, his yellow face turned from yellow to pale ivory. He rose and supported himself with one hand against the wall, scowling as if he dared them to notice his weakness. "Good news!" called Sloan cheerily, and extended the paper. The captain snatched the paper, his eyes were positively wolfish while he devoured the message. "Sloan--good lad," he stammered. "Stay by your instrument every minute, my boy. Before night we'll have word that she's past all danger." Sloan touched his cap and withdrew. "Good news!" said McTee amiably. "I'm mighty glad to hear it, captain." The old man fell back into a chair, holding the precious piece of paper with its written lie in both trembling hands. "Good news," he croaked. "Aye, McTee. You were right, lad! Those damned doctors don't know their business. They're making the case out bad so they'll get more credit for the cure. See how they're fooling with me-- and me with my heart on fire in the middle of the sea!" His eyes wandered strangely in the midst of his exultation. "That would be a strange death, eh, McTee--to burn in the middle of the sea with a ship full of gold?" The Scotchman shuddered. "Forget that, man. You're not going to burn at sea. You're going to reach port with all your gold and you're going to stand beside Beatrice and say--" Henshaw broke in: "And say, 'Beatrice, I've come to make you happy. We'll leave this country where the fogs are so thick and the sun never shines, and we'll go south, far south, where there's summer all the year.' That's what I'll say!" "Right," nodded McTee. "If her lungs are weak, that's the place to take her." Henshaw jerked erect in his chair. "Weak lungs? Who said she had weak lungs? McTee, you're a fool! A little cold on the chest, that's all that's the matter with the girl! The doctors have made the sickness-- they and their rotten medicines! And now they're making sport out of White Henshaw. I'll skin them alive, I will!" McTee lighted a cigar and nodded judiciously as he puffed it. "Very good idea, Henshaw. If you want me to, I'll go along and help you out." "You're a brick, McTee. Maybe I'll need you. Getting old; not what I used to be." "I see you're not," said McTee boldly. Henshaw scowled: "What do you mean?" "That affair of Harrigan. He's still going scot-free, you know." "Right! McTee, I'm getting feeble-minded, but I'll make up for lost time." He caught up pen and paper, while McTee drew a long breath of relief. A moment later he was astonished to note that the captain had not written a single letter.