“Then, when you’ve chosen your mate,” said Patricia, “you’d better go and live on the other side of the world—I should think that would help enormously, if she never saw you.” He leered. “You’re a spitfire,” he said, “but I’ll tame you!” “You’re a liar,” said the girl. “You’ll do what the Tiger tells you. I’d like to meet him, by the way. Will you take me to him, please?” Bittle laughed, and drew himself up. “I am the Tiger.” The girl looked him over contemptuously. “I’ll believe that—when tigers look like rats.” “You’ll see,” he answered, and looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I must leave you now. The cargo’s nearly all aboard, and we’ll be sailing right away. I hope you didn’t hit Maggs too hard.” “Not hard enough, I’m afraid,” she said calmly. “I’m afraid he’ll live.” He shrugged. “The second mate can navigate, though he hasn’t a ticket, and Maggs will revive later. _Au revoir_—Patricia.” In a moment she was alone, and she heard the key turn in the lock and his footsteps receding towards the companion. She had no means of telling the time, for she had left her watch in the Pill Box. She spent a little while searching for a weapon, but she did not expect that he would have overlooked anything like that, and was not surprised when she failed to find one. Then she turned her attention to the porthole, but the opening was far too small for her to squeeze through, slight as she was. And that was all about it—she was fairly trapped. She sat down and coldly reviewed the situation. There had been no uproar of any sort, and so it seemed that Orace was safe. By that time he would be searching for her, and if she were lucky she might be able to communicate with him. She held herself motionless, to eliminate any sound inside the cabin, and strained her ears for any stealthy creeping past the door. She dared not run the risk of calling out, for it would be fatal to let the enemy suspect that she was not alone. And, while she listened intently, she went on thinking. If Orace found her, what could he do? He couldn’t release her, though perhaps he would be able to pass her a gun with which she could deal with Bittle on his return. But the onus of the adventure would rest almost entirely with Orace and Algy, and, regarded even in the most optimistic light, the odds against him were terribly heavy. She found herself daydreaming of wild far-fetched possibilities of victory, and pulled herself together with a kind of mental violence, for she knew that that was a forerunner of despair—when practical schemes for winning out seemed so hopeless that one was forced, in a final effort to stave off panic, to imagine help falling from the skies. And, after a sternly practical inspection of the facts as they stood, the girl was compelled to admit that the chance of beating the Tiger now was pitifully small. . . .