"Yes, it seemed so." Crandall offered the younger man his cigarette case, and, lighting a smoke himself, straddled the hearth, his eyes keenly observant of Woodhouse's face. "Rather odd, Americans. But jolly nice." The captain laughed in reminiscence of the unspoiled Shermans. "I thought so--I married one," Crandall retorted. The ear of Woodhouse's mind could hear more plainly now the grinding of the cogs; the immutable power of fate lay there. "Oh--er--so you did. Very kind she has been to me. I got very little of this sort of thing at Wady Halfa." "By the way, Woodhouse"--Crandall blew a contemplative puff toward the ceiling--"strange Mrs. Sherman should have thought she saw you at Berlin." "Odd mistake, to be sure," Woodhouse admitted, struggling to put ease into his voice. "The lady seems to have a penchant, as her husband says, for finding familiar faces." "Major Bishop!" Jaimihr Khan announced at the double doors. The major in person followed immediately. His greeting to Woodhouse was constrained. "Woodhouse will wait for you to go down the Rock with him," Crandall explained to the newcomer. "Captain, excuse us for a minute, while we go into my room and run over a little matter of fleet supplies. Must check up with the fleet before it sails in the morning." Woodhouse bowed his acquiescence and saw the door to the general's room close behind the twain. He was not long alone. Noiselessly the double doors opened and Jaimihr Khan entered. Woodhouse sprang to meet him where he stood poised for flight just inside the doors. "The woman's prattle of Berlin----" the Indian whispered. "Yes, the general's suspicions are all aroused again." "Listen! I saw the note he sent to Bishop. The major is to be set to watch you to-night--all night. A false step and you will be under arrest." Jaimihr's thin face was twisted in wrath. "One man's life will not stand in our way now." "No," Woodhouse affirmed. "Success is veree near. When Bishop goes with you down the Rock----" "Yes, yes! What?" "The pistol screams, but the knife is dumb. Quick, Cap-tain!" With a swift movement of his hand the Indian passed a thin-bladed dirk to the white man. The latter secreted the sheathed weapon in a pocket of his dinner jacket. He nodded understanding. "One man's life--nothing!" Jaimihr breathed. "It shall be done," Woodhouse whispered. Jaimihr faded through the double doors like a spirit in a medium's cabinet. He had seen what the captain was slower to notice. The door from Jane Gerson's room was opening. The girl stepped swiftly into the room, and was by Woodhouse's side almost before he had seen her. "I could not--go away--without--without----" "Miss Gerson--Jane!" He was beside her instantly. His hand sought and found one of hers and held it a willing prisoner. She was trembling, and her eyes were deep pools, riffled by conflicting currents. Her words came breathlessly: