Mr. Watson recognised the fact that his companion was in earnest. He stood quite still and watched his revolver describe a semi-circle in the darkness and a fall with a little splash in the water. Then he followed Mr. Sabin into his cabin. CHAPTER XLVIII THE DOOMSCHEN "I suppose," Mr. Sabin began, closing the door of the cabin behind him, "that I may take it--this episode--as an indication of your refusal to accept the proposals I made to you?" Mr. Watson did not immediately reply. He had seated himself on the corner of a lounge and was leaning forward, his head resting moodily upon his hands. His sallow face was paler even than usual, and his expression was sullen. He looked, as he undoubtedly was, in an evil humour with himself and all things. "It was not a matter of choice with me," he muttered. "Look out of your window there and you will see that even here upon the ocean I am under surveillance." Mr. Sabin's eyes followed the man's forefinger. Far away across the ocean he could see a dim green light almost upon the horizon. It was the German man-of-war. "That is quite true," Mr. Sabin said. "I admit that there are difficulties, but it seems to me that you have overlooked the crux of the whole matter. I have offered you enough to live on for the rest of your days, without ever returning to Europe. You know very well that you can step off this ship arm-in-arm with me when we reach Boston, even though your man-of-war be alongside the dock. They could not touch you--you could leave your--pardon me--not too honourable occupation once and for ever. America is not the country in which one would choose to live, but it has its resources--it can give you big game and charming women. I have lived there and I know. It is not Europe, but it is the next best thing. Come, you had better accept my terms!" The man had listened without moving a muscle of his face. There was something almost pitiable in its white, sullen despair. Then his lips parted. "Would to God I could!" he moaned. "Would to God I had the power to listen to you!" Mr. Sabin flicked the ash off his cigarette and looked thoughtful. He stroked his grey imperial and kept his eyes on his companion. "The extradition laws," the other interrupted savagely. Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders. "By all means," he murmured. "Personally I have no interest in them; but if you would talk like a reasonable man and tell me where your difficulty lies I might be able to help you." The man who had called himself Watson raised his head slowly. His expression remained altogether hopeless. He had the appearance of a man given wholly over to despair. "Have you ever heard of the Doomschen?" he asked slowly. Mr. Sabin shuddered. He became suddenly very grave. "You are not one of them?" he exclaimed. The man bowed his head. "I am one of those devils," he admitted. Mr. Sabin rose to his feet and walked up and down the little room.