“Oh yes.” Then he volunteered: “He was a peculiar chap, you know.” “In what way?” demanded Smith. “Well, in a general way,” the young officer replied vaguely. “Of course, I didn’t know much about him. He’s only been with us a week, and you don’t generally get to know much about a chap in a week. He kept to himself more or less, if you know what I mean. He wasn’t very talkative.” “Was he working upon any inventions that you know of?” asked the Russian. “I think he was,” said the officer. “Most radio men do. But I don’t know definitely that he was.” “Perhaps you could tell us if he ever talked of any friends in Havana.” “No, but he must have had some friends. He signed on here.” “One more question,” said the Russian. “To your knowledge, did Trenholm know any of the passengers on this yacht?” The officer shook his head. “I hardly think so. We’ve had no passengers since he signed on--until tonight.” In the corridor, the Russian said: “Behold! The man we want not only takes your revolver and shoots Trenholm, but after the murder comes down here and removes the dead man’s effects.” “I got that,” said Smith. “Now!” said the Russian. “Think back. We have six suspects--Mr. Breese, his son, his daughter, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Rice and the Count. Put yourself in the murderer’s place. Having committed his crime, he will be very anxious to steal down below and get at Trenholm’s effects. Follow the course of action----” “The Countess goes into hysterics,” began Smith. “And the Count takes her out,” I added. “At my suggestion,” corrected the Russian, “and he returns almost immediately. Behold! I deliberately order everyone else to remain. I cleverly foresaw that the murderer would have further work to do, and would be anxious to leave the room. Now, who made a move to go? Thomas? No. Rice? No.” “That leaves Breese,” said Smith. “That leaves Breese,” repeated the Russian. “He, and he alone, insisted upon leaving the room. Why?” No one answered him. I realized that the engines had stopped once more. Through the windows I could make out the shadowy outlines of the port and, far-off, twinkling lights. “We’re coming in,” I cried in relief. “It is a symbol, my friends,” the Russian said, rubbing his hands. “Our experiment has not been such a failure. We have reached the end of our journey. At last we know our man. Tomorrow we shall have him!” CHAPTER XXI THE RAID My telephone rang persistently. I had just waked out of a sleep of exhaustion and reached for it with sleep-numbed fingers. “Perutkin speaking!” the voice boomed. “Meet me in the lobby of the Biltmore in twenty minutes!” The words were a command. My wishes were not consulted. But I agreed readily enough. Most people did when Perutkin commanded. So I dressed hastily and gulped my weak coffee. A cab deposited me at the Biltmore a few moments before the appointed time. I saw no sign of the Russian and made myself comfortable with a week-old New York newspaper and a cigar.