"The Cadogan collar, you know--some silly pearl necklace worth a king's ransom. She bought it in Paris--Miss Landis did; at least, so the report runs; and she doesn't deny it, as a matter of fact. Naturally that worries me; it's a rather tempting proposition to leave lying round a stateroom; and I asked her just now to let me take care of it for her--put it in my safe, you know. It'd be a devilish nasty thing for the ship, to have it stolen." The purser paused for effect. "Would you believe it? She wouldn't listen to me! Told me she was quite capable of taking care of her own property! Now if you know her well enough to say the right word ... it'd be a weight off my mind, I can tell you!" "Yes, I can imagine so," said Staff thoughtfully. "But--what makes you think there's any possibility--" "Well, one never knows what sort of people the ship carries--as a rule, that is. But in this instance I've got good reason to believe there's at least one man aboard who wouldn't mind lifting that collar; and he's keen enough to do it prettily, too, if what they tell of him is true." "Now you're getting interesting. Who is this man?" "Oh, quite the swell mobsman--Raffles and Arsene Lupin and all that sort of thing rolled into one. His name's Ismay--Arbuthnot Ismay. Clever--wonderful, they say; the police have never been able to fasten anything on him, though he's been known to boast of his jobs in advance." "You told Miss Landis this?" "Certainly--and she laughed." This seemed quite credible of the lady. Staff considered the situation seriously for a moment or two. "I'll do what I can," he said at length; "though I'm not hopeful of making her see it from your point of view. Still, I will speak to her." "That's good of you, I'm sure. You couldn't do more." "You're positive about this Ismay?" Staff pursued. "You couldn't be mistaken?" "Not I," asserted the purser confidently. "He crossed with us last year--the time Mrs. Burden Hamman's jewels disappeared. Ismay, of course, was suspected, but managed to prove every kind of an alibi." "Queer you should let him book a second time," commented Staff. "Rather; but he's changed his name, and I don't imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight." "What name does he travel under now?" The purser smiled softly to himself. "I fancy you won't be pleased to learn it," said he. "He's down on the passenger-list as Iff--W. H. Iff." V ISMAY? When Staff went below a little later, he was somewhat surprised to find his stateroom alight,--surprised, because he had rather expected that Mr. Iff would elect to sleep off his potations in darkness. To the contrary, the little man was very much awake, propped up in his berth with a book for company, and showed no effects whatever of overindulgence, unless that were betrayed by a slightly enhanced brightness of the cool blue eyes which he brought to bear upon his roommate.