He glanced around the smoke-room warningly. I took the cue and looked about me. Dr. Zimmermann sat in a corner, fast asleep. Wainwright, the other suspect, formed one of a bridge party. “Two dispatch-cases have been forced open,” O’Shea went on, “by someone who entered my cabin to-night!” CHAPTER XIX. DR. ZIMMERMANN CALLS “You have my authority to take any steps you may think fit, Major O’Shea,” said the Captain. “I have received the usual instructions and of course I shall do nothing without consulting you.” We came down to the nearly deserted promenade deck. Three young men were doing a midnight route march there--and Nanette, coiled up, squirrel-like, in a furry cloak, occupied one of two chairs. The other accommodated Slattery. “Mrs. P.,” leaving her charge in selected company, had presumably retired. Slattery was obviously elated. The chairs were set very near to the foot of the ladder communicating with the bridge and the commander’s quarters. Slattery didn’t know that Nanette had seen O’Shea go up and that she was patiently waiting to see him come down. We crossed to the rail, and leaned there, watching the clear water and the strange phosphorescent shapes glittering in its depths. And presently a slim bare arm was slipped under mine. I turned, startled--to find Nanette beside me. “Please may I stay for five minutes?” she said. “Or do you want to go to the smoke-room?” She stayed, and for longer than five minutes. Slattery had disappeared; and the threesome had terminated around a table decorated with tall glasses. We began to pace up and down, Nanette clinging to my arm. Presently, as we turned, very timidly she slipped her other arm under O’Shea’s. “Is it true,” she asked, “that there was nearly a mutiny at a reinforcement camp where you were toward the end of the war? And that a company sergeant-major called Meakin was courtmartialled?” O’Shea looked down at her in his gravely gentle way. “It is not true, Nanette,” he answered. “Where did you hear the story?” “I didn’t believe it,” she answered indignantly, “but someone told me.” O’Shea caught my side glance and smiled--the happy, revealing smile that had grown so rare. But after Nanette had retired, over a final pipe in O’Shea’s room: “Queer thing,” he murmured. “That that story should have leaked out.” “What story?” said I. “The trouble with a group of N.C.O’s at that camp, which rumour would seem to have expanded to a mutiny.” He stared at me coldly. “It was the long arm of hidden Moscow,” he added. “We had agents of theirs in our ranks. Did you ever hear of it?” “Vaguely, now that you remind me.” “The ringleaders managed to slip away. But it’s odd Nanette should have got hold of the thing. Well!” He lay back on the sofa berth and regarded me with raised brows. “There is nothing more to be done to-night.” “Are you satisfied about Zimmermann and Wainwright?”