Katharine sank back upon the sofa. She was utterly bewildered by the events of the last few minutes. The search of her belongings was now being conducted with ruthless persistence. Her head was buried in her hands. She did not even glance at the contents of her trunk, which were now overflowing the room. Suddenly she was conscious of another pause in the proceedings, a half-spoken exclamation from the detective. She looked up. From within the folds of an evening gown he had withdrawn a small, official-looking dispatch box of black tin, tied with red tape, and with great seals hanging from either end. "What is this?" he asked. Katharine stared at it with wide-open eyes. "I have never seen it before," she declared. There was another painful, significant silence. Crawshay bent forward and examined the seals through his glass. "This," he announced presently, "is the official seal of a neutral Embassy. You see how the packet is addressed?" "I see," the detective admitted, "but, considering the way in which we have found it, you are not suggesting, I hope, that we should not open it?" "Opened it certainly must be," Crawshay admitted, "but not by us in this manner. When you have finished your search, I should be glad if you will bring both packets with you to the captain's room." Brightman silently resumed his labours. Nothing further, however, was found. The two men stood up together. "Miss Beverley," Brightman began gravely,-- Crawshay laid his hand upon the man's arm. "Wait for a moment," he begged. "I wish to have a few words with you outside. We shall be back before long, Miss Beverley." The two men disappeared. Katharine, with a sinking of the heart, heard the key turn on the outside of her stateroom. She watched the lock slip into its place with an indescribable sense of humiliation. She had been guilty--of what? She lost count of time, but it was certain that only a few minutes could have passed before a strange thing happened. The sight of that lock, which seemed somehow to shut her off from the world of reasonable, honest men and women, had fascinated her. She was sitting watching it, her chin resting upon her hands, something of the horror still in her eyes, when without sound, or any visible explanation, she saw it glide back to its place. The door was opened and closed. Jocelyn Thew was standing in her stateroom. "You?" she exclaimed. "I am not disappointed in you, I am sure," he said softly. "You will keep still. You will not say a word. I have risked the whole success of a great enterprise to come and say these few words to you. I am ashamed and sorry for what you are suffering, but I want to tell you this. Nothing serious will happen--nothing serious can happen to you. Everything is not as it seems. Will you believe that? Look at me. Will you believe that?"