The day wore on very much as most days do on an Atlantic voyage in early summer. The little handful of passengers, who seemed for the moment to have cast all anxieties to the winds, played shuffleboard and quoits, lunched with vigorous appetites, drank tea out on deck, and indulged in strenuous before-dinner promenades. The sun shone all day, the sea remained wonderfully calm. Not a trace of any other steamer was visible from morning until early nightfall, and Jocelyn Thew walked restlessly about with a grim look upon his face. At dinner time the captain hinted at fog, and looked doubtfully out of the open porthole at the oily-looking waste of waters. "Another night on the bridge for me, I think," he remarked. Jocelyn Thew leaned forward in his place. "By-the-by, Captain," he asked, "now that the shipping is so reduced, do you alter speed for fog?" The captain filled his glass from the jug of lemonade which, was always before him. "Do we alter our speed, eh?" he repeated. "You must remember," he went on, "that we have Miss Beverley on board. We couldn't afford to give Miss Beverley a fright." Jocelyn accepted the evasion with a slight bow. Katharine, who had come in to dine a little late and seemed graver than usual, smiled at the captain. "Am I the most precious thing on this steamer?" she asked. "Gallantry," the captain replied, "compels me to say yes!" "Only gallantry? Have we such a wonderful cargo, then?" "There are times," was the cautious reply, "when not even the captain knows exactly what he is carrying." "You remind me," Jocelyn Thew observed, "of a voyage I once made from Port Elizabeth to New York, with half-a-dozen I.D.B's on board, and as many detectives, watching them day and night." The captain nodded. "What happened?" he enquired. "Oh, the detectives arrested the lot of them, I think, got hold of them on the last day." The captain rose from his place. "Queer thing," he remarked, "but the law generally does come out on top." Jocelyn followed his example a few minutes later, and Katharine purposely joined him on the way out. She led her companion to the corner where her steamer chair had been placed, and motioned him to sit by her side. They were on the weather side of the ship, with a slight breeze in their faces and a canopy over their heads which deadened sound. She leaned a little forward. "Smoke, please." she begged. "I mean it--see." She lit a cigarette and he followed suit. "Not a cigar?" He shook his head. "I keep them for my hard thinking times." "Then you were thinking very hard this morning?" "I was," he admitted. "And gazing very earnestly out of those field-glasses of yours." "Quite true." "Mr. Thew," she said abruptly, "it is my impression, although for some reason or other I am scarcely allowed to go near him, that Mr. Phillips is dying." "One knew, of course, that there was that risk," Jocelyn Thew reminded her.