“I see it there,” Zimmermann whispered, stuffing about an ounce of expensive mixture into his incinerator. “But you are not here.” Thanking me profusely in a thick undertone, he presently took his departure. I listened to his receding footsteps, then I stooped, pulled out my trunk, and examined the lock. It was fast. Nor could I find a scrap of evidence to show that anything else in the cabin had been tampered with. What was I to believe? Could Dr. Zimmermann really be the formidable agent, Adolf Zara? If it were so, he had cool courage enough to justify the faith of his employers. In any event, I determined that O’Shea must be informed without delay of this suspicious occurrence. Sleep was not for me. CHAPTER XX. FOG IN THE CHANNEL Toward dusk on the following day--our last evening afloat--things began to move to that strange revelation which solved the Zara mystery. O’Shea had been missing quite often. Several times I saw him coming out of the radio cabin, and he had had two long interviews with the commander, at the second of which the purser had attended. Then, having got into dinner kit, I was making for the smoke-room when I met him. “Hello!” I called. “Any news?” He took me aside, and: “No reply yet,” he answered. “Perhaps the authorities in Munich don’t realize the urgency of your message.” “Perhaps not,” he said absently. “Let’s explore a cocktail.” In the smoke-room we found Slattery and my Scottish piper; so we formed a quartette. Slattery’s attitude toward O’Shea was not friendly. I excused much of it, feeling the real cause to be, not professional jealousy, but Nanette. However, O’Shea was senior and Slattery never allowed himself to be openly rude. I was seated with my back to the door, when suddenly I saw a change of expression on three faces. I turned. Nanette was peeping in at us. She looked adorable in a dainty lace frock and I saw Slattery glance aside at O’Shea in a way that was twin brother to murderous. For it was to O’Shea that Nanette was appealing. “Would it be perfectly horrible of me to come in?” she asked. “It would be perfectly delightful, Nanette,” said I. She came in, to the marked perturbation of the smoke-room. She sat between O’Shea and myself. The three musketeers, who had been talking loudly in a neighbouring corner, grew suddenly silent. “If you see Mrs. P.,” said Nanette, taking a sip from my glass, “please hide me until I get under the table.” Dinner that night was something of an ordeal for me. Dr. Zimmermann talked continuously about fossils, took two servings of every course, and generally seemed to be in high good humour. I think my own share in the conversation was not marked by any unusual brilliancy. O’Shea’s mood rather defeated me. He was by habit a lonely man, with a way of sinking into himself. To-night, this phase of his temperament, which had expressed itself in his evasive talk, for some reason I found irritating.