As I passed the windows of the row of cabins on the starboard deck, I gathered that dinner was still in progress in Mrs. Breese’s sitting-room. I could hear her voice, and that of her son. And occasionally Rice’s hearty voice boomed forth. I moved on. Just as I reached the last window, I was attracted by a movement within the dark cabin. Sometimes, the faint stirring of the shadow of a leaf will rivet your attention. It was so in this case. I could not for the life of me tell you what made me stop at that moment and peer within the cabin. And then I descried a vague figure, and as I strained to see I could recognize Guy Thomas. He was bent over a suitcase and rummaging through its contents with feverish haste. “Now what in the world,” I thought to myself, “is Guy Thomas doing in that boy’s cabin?” To all outward appearances, the actor seemed to be engaged in some amateur burgling. But this I dismissed rightly as absurd. I moved cautiously and attempted to get a better view. But Thomas had risen. Hastily he shut the suitcase, stopped to listen intently and then darted out of the room. I heard his footsteps in the corridor. He was headed for the deck. Instinctively I moved into the shadow of the bridge, and I saw Thomas advance in my direction. Then he stopped, directly in the glow of light that came from the corridor. From his pocket he took a bulky object. I could not see it at first, and I was afraid to move closer. Then, as he held it in the light, I started. It was a pearl-handled revolver that he clutched in his hand, and with expert fingers I saw him click the cartridges from the barrel. These he hurled into the sea, and it seemed to me he heaved a sigh of relief. Then he put the revolver in his pocket, looked about once more to make sure he had not been discovered, and moved into the corridor again. CHAPTER IV ENTER THE RUSSIAN The _Mary Rose_ steamed past Morro Castle into Havana harbor. Just before we landed, Mrs. Breese took me aside and mournfully complained that Mr. Rice and Henry had both decided that the press-agent must go. “What can I do?” she moaned. “Henry will do the most desperate things if I cross him.” I assured her that my resignation was sincere and that she needn’t trouble herself on my account. And, of course, she swore me to secrecy on all events transpiring on the yacht. After the necessary customs and immigration formalities had been observed, we were permitted to go ashore. I was the first of the passengers off, and I felt a curious relief in being on my own again. I clambered into a decrepit taxi and was whirled to my hotel. Mrs. Breese, her children and Rice were going to the winter palace her former husband had built several years ago in the Vedado. I presumed Guy Thomas would be shipped to some hotel, and then, like myself, cast off into the cold world.