When the job was finished, Johnny Kent would have passed anywhere as the grimiest, most unrecognizable stoker that ever handled slice-bar or shovel. Peering into the small mirror, he chuckled: “I feel like cussin’ myself from force of habit. Well, I’ll just sit here and wait for you to give me the word.” “Aye, aye, Johnny. I will start things moving right away. This is _au revoir_. Good-luck and God bless ye!” “’Til we meet again, Cap’n Mike. Don’t fret about me.” Leaving the stout-hearted old adventurer to pore over a dog-eared copy of the _American Poultry Journal_ by way of passing the time, Captain O’Shea returned to the library and called together a dozen of the men passengers whom he knew to be dependable. He had already explained what they were to do, and without attracting the notice of the sentries posted at the outside doorways, they heaped in a corner of the library all the combustible material they could lay their hands on, mostly newspapers and magazines. Several contributed empty cigar boxes, another a crate in which fruit had been brought aboard, and Jenkins P. Chase appeared with a large bottle of alcohol used for massage. The stuff was placed close to the wooden bookshelves, which, with their contents, were likely to blaze and smoulder and make a great deal of smoke. While the men were thus engaged Captain O’Shea chanced to notice the school-teacher, Miss Jenness, who halted while passing the library door. She moved nearer, listened intently to the talk, and then turned away to walk rapidly in the direction of the starboard exit to the deck. Suspecting her purpose, O’Shea followed and overtook her. Between her and Vonderholtz some sort of an understanding existed, some relation more intimate than she was willing to reveal. O’Shea was alert to prevent her from spoiling his plans. She might not intend to play the part of a spy, but her behavior had been mysterious and she was not to be trusted. O’Shea called her name sharply, and the girl paused. He moved to her side and said in low tones: “Are you going on deck, Miss Jenness? I advise ye not to just now.” “Why? I--I--yes. I am going on deck.” She was manifestly startled, unable to hold herself in hand. “You will give me your word of honor that ye propose to hold no communication with Vonderholtz and to send him no message?” She hesitated, at a loss for words, and O’Shea felt certain that he had guessed her motive aright. His decision was instant and ruthless. Standing close to her, he said: “You will be good enough to go to your state-room for the rest of this night, Miss Jenness, and ye will go at once, moving no nearer the sentries or the deck, and making no outcry. ’Tis a most impolite speech to make to a handsome girl like yourself, but I have no time for courtesy.”