He had no opportunity to gather up the fragments and link them together in a chain that might reveal the entire truth--some invisible power flashed a little thought into his brain--it may have been the attitude assumed by the sailor as though awaiting his attack, for there was that about it suggesting the trained athlete and not an ordinary Jack Tar, clumsy with his fists. At any rate what did Jerome do as he came close up but bend his head forward and fix his steadfast gaze upon the other's face. Roderic had deemed his disguise secure, and so it was under all ordinary pressure. It had resisted curious glances from the crew of the blockade runner, and even Love's eyes had failed to penetrate beneath the surface. There is no sight one half so keen as that of burning Hate, which seems capable of piercing all obstacles set in the way. So it came home to Jerome with the rapidity of the lightning's flash, with whom he had to deal. No wonder the man's attitude seemed familiar--no wonder he dared defy attack--no wonder the lovely Porto Rican belle called him her _friend_! And the sudden knowledge galled Jerome. Under it he waxed wroth. Baffled in his endeavor to secure Miss Fairfax and her millions because forsooth she chose to fall in love with this traveling agent, he was now to be beaten in his other little game of occupying Georgia's heart because Roderic had centered his affection there. Ye gods, it was enough to anger the coolest and most diplomatic of men, and Jerome could not be blamed for letting passion run away with his better judgment. "So, it's _you_?" he grunted, sneeringly. Roderic knew his identity was no longer a secret, and that he might as well throw off the mask he had assumed. All he desired now was to so conduct himself in _her_ presence that she might find no occasion for reproach. "Yes, it's no other, Wellington. How is your health these days?" he said, carelessly, hoping the other might cool down and thus avoid friction, for if given his own way Roderic would have wished to leave the steamer peaceably, though ready to do his share in any action that might be unwisely precipitated by a hot headed antagonist. "Better than yours will be presently," was the stinging reply from Jerome, who accompanied his words with a grin as though in anticipation he could already see the object of his dislike receiving punishment at the hands of stern old Captain Shackelford, whose greatest _bete noire_ was a traitor or a spy. "What may that remark mean?" asked Roderic. "That you shall be denounced as a spy--that you have crept aboard this vessel under false colors to learn her cargo and destination in order that she could be seized by your accursed cruisers on the blockade--that you have spent these days to advantage in prying out these secrets and should therefore suffer the usual fate of any common low spy."