After some further discussion Webster went upon deck. “I suppose I shall only be able to approach our conspirators as an open enemy now,” said Kenyon to the girl. She looked at him inquiringly. “If Forrester has the packet, he has learned what you learned, that I am not the sort of person I seemed to be. Though,” and he looked puzzled, “Farbush must have known its contents all along, now that I think of it.” “There is nothing in the packet that would cause them to suspect you of being an honest man,” she assured him. “That is, not unless,” and her voice sank a little as she realized what she was saying, “they are inclined to believe it of you.” His heart bounded madly and his blood went tingling through his veins. But he only said: “Thank you. That is kind of you.” Webster put his head into the cabin. “I say, Kenyon,” called he, “the captain would like to speak with you for a moment. It looks important.” “Pardon me,” said the adventurer to the girl. He went upon deck. The owner of the craft, a round-bodied, good-natured looking man, was at the wheel. “Excuse me, Mr. Kenyon,” spoke he, “but your friend here tells me that it is the steam yacht _Wizard_ that you want to meet.” “That’s her name.” Kenyon saw that the man had something to impart, and added: “Well?” “It just happens, sir, that I lay alongside of the power-boat _Piedmont_ this evening. And just before I got your message to have my boat ready, a party comes on board of her; and from what I heard the engineer say before they started out, they, too, were going to meet a steam yacht. And it just happens that it, also, is the _Wizard_.” Kenyon leaned back against the cabin and lit a cigarette; Webster shrugged his shoulders. The group of hard-faced men upon the top of the cabin listened intently, nodded to each other, and muttered their opinions of the cruise upon which they had volunteered. A clear voice spoke from the little companionway which caused them all to start and turn. It was Dallas who stood there, her long coat and the curling ends of her dark hair blowing in the wind. “What sort of people were they who engaged this other boat?” she asked. “A queer looking lot, miss,” and Kenyon smiled as he saw the speaker shoot a quick glance at the group forward. “About ten all told, I should think. One of them appeared to be pretty far gone; they had to carry him aboard. It was a Chinaman.” She looked at Kenyon and he saw her face go whiter than ever. “Hong Yo,” she whispered. “Oh, if we only knew what that means.” “It means, I should think, that Forrester has summoned his friends,” said Webster. “From what Kenyon has told me, Forrester and Hong Yo seem to be particularly intimate.”