“Well,” said Smith slowly, “I guess you’re right. I guess we’re in for it!” “Yes,” muttered Rice. “I guess we are.” We were startled by a jangling discordant laugh, and then we saw the Count rise from his shadowed corner. “Stop that!” barked Rice. “Be a man! Have some consideration for this lady!” “I can’t help it,” cried the Count. “It is such delicious humor. That I should come on this yacht and--and----” Once more he gave way to hysterical laughter. “Yes,” chimed in Smith, “it’s a great joke on me, too. I came on board to get the man that killed Mrs. Breese. It won’t do me much good now if I get him.” He seated himself in a chair and pulled his hat down over his eyes. “I only hope it comes fast. It’s the waiting I mind.” “Maybe they’ll see our signals,” the wireless operator, who had been sitting unnoticed, suddenly burst forth. “They’d signal back, wouldn’t they?” demanded Smith. “And there is no answer!” boomed the Russian. “Our eyes will close before we see the answer. We can do nothing, I tell you. We are in the hands of the Almighty.” He took from his pocket a thick black book. “When I went to see the Captain he could give me nothing but this--his Bible. It is not my Bible, but I shall pray for you all, miserable sinners. I shall pray for you all.” “Then pray to yourself!” cried Breese. “This isn’t a revival meeting. Do you want to start a panic?” “The burden of Tyre!” boomed the Russian. “Howl, ye ships of Tarshish; for it is laid waste, so that there is no house, no entering it: from the land of Chittim it is revealed to them.” Now Smith turned on the Russian. “Shut up!” he growled. “Get over there and pray if you want to--nobody else does.” “Confess your sins,” the Russian intoned. “Now, let’s be sensible,” said Smith. “We’re in a bad way, and we all know it. It’s not going to help matters if we lose our heads. Everybody keep quiet and wait.” “I don’t want to die,” wailed the actor. “No, I guess you don’t,” said Smith drily, as the Russian droned on. “Too bad about the little girl waiting for you. I guess there’ll be no trip to Paris.” The actor groaned. “You were a bad actor and a bad egg, but I guess you’re going to get all that’s coming to any of us. And after you went to all that trouble--forging that check!” “I didn’t forge any check!” protested the actor. Smith shrugged his shoulders. “What difference can it possibly make now?” he demanded. “I don’t care if you did or not. I can’t do anything about it. This case is out of my hands.” “But you’ve got to believe me,” cried the actor. “Yes, you can believe that, anyway.” I started, as the younger Breese rose from his chair. “I--I forged that check, Mr. Smith.” “You?” His father cried aghast: “What’s come over you, son?” “Oh, I’m not sorry about it,” young Breese said bitterly. “But as long as things are the way they are, I might as well tell you the truth. I forged that check because I wanted to stop Mother from marrying him. I thought that would stop her.”