On the morrow we should dock. The identity of Zara remained a mystery. The result of O’Shea’s radio message was unknown to me. And O’Shea had become a sphinx. A group having for its nucleus the faithful trio had got up an extempore dance on deck. A victrola belonging to Slattery provided the music. Mrs. Porter presided over the instrument, and Slattery and Nanette did most of the dancing. A few others joined for a time and then retired, presumably to cope with the important job of packing. I discovered myself to be the victim of a rising excitement. Something was afoot. I determined to find O’Shea. It was a longish quest, but I found him at last, He was pacing up and down the deserted boat-deck. As I came up the ladder he stopped and stared at me, then: “Hullo, Decies,” he said. “Forgive my odd behaviour. But it’s a race against time, and time looks like winning.” “What do you mean?” I asked blankly. “Have you had no reply?” “That’s it,” said he, “and I can’t afford to make a mistake. They expect fog, though. It may save the situation.” I was not at all clear on this point, but O’Shea immediately resumed his promenade and I perforce fell into step beside him. “Zimmermann is in his cabin,” I said. “Good,” O’Shea murmured. “Where is Nanette?” The question surprised me. Very rarely indeed did O’Shea speak of Nanette. “I left her with Mrs. Porter and Slattery,” I replied. He nodded, but made no comment. Presently: “If this dangerously clever devil slips through my fingers,” he declared, “Whitehall will disown me!” And suddenly, as he spoke, an explanation of his recent behaviour presented itself. To the world he remained the aloof O’Shea; something of a poseur; a man unmoved by the trivial accidents of life. With me he felt that he could be real. He had treated the matter lightly enough, hitherto. But now, England all but in sight, and the enigma of Zara unsolved, he showed himself a desperately worried man. “If I get him,” he began abruptly, after long and taciturn promenading, “do you know to whom the credit will belong?” “No,” I returned, puzzled. “To Nanette,” said O’Shea. This silenced me effectually. For what Nanette had to do with the matter was about as clear as pea soup. I left him, toward one o’clock, promising to return. I had abandoned the idea of sleeping; and I wanted to change. No message for O’Shea had come up to the time of my departure from the boat-deck. The wireless operator on duty was unable to conceal his intense excitement. Just before I came down, leaning over the half-door of his room: “Fog in the Channel, sir!” he announced gleefully. “Good!” said O’Shea. “Go and change, Decies.”