She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she gasped out: "Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on the _Angorania_, in the name of Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard." A moment later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms. I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where the _Angorania_ was lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment's delay. The "last bells" were ringing for the steamer's departure as I rushed on to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some supposed friend on the crowded decks. I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea flashed into my mind: "He has left the explosive on board!" How I failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman's return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard. But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. The _Angorania_, heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the loss of hundreds of precious lives. Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol. And now for the _Angorania_. I rushed to the "competent military authority," and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift decision and prompt action. "She won't go far, Mr Sant," he said cheerily, as he picked up the telephone. A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read the message: "To Q.Q." (the _Angorania's_ code letters). "Heave to immediately and await instructions.--Port Commandant." A few minutes later a clerk brought in the _Angorania's_ acknowledgment. A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the wake of the _Angorania_. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the unexpected stoppage.