"The captain is about to open the dispatch box found in your trunk, Miss Beverley," Crawshay explained, "in the presence of Mr. Andelsen here, who represents the country whose seals are attached. I have already expressed my opinion that this box has been surreptitiously placed amongst your belongings, and although, of course, our chief object was to gain possession of it, I regret very much the position in which you are placed." "You are very kind, Mr. Crawshay," she rejoined, without much feeling. "It is certainly a fact that I never saw the box before it was dragged out of my trunk yesterday." The captain broke the seals, untied the tape, and with a chisel and hammer knocked the top off the box. They all, with the exception of Katharine, gathered around him breathlessly as he shook out the contents on to the table. They were all sharers in the same shock of surprise as the neatly folded packets of ordinary writing paper were one by one disclosed. Crawshay seized one and dragged it to the light. The captain kept on picking them up and throwing them down again. Brightman mechanically followed his example. "The whole thing's a bluff!" Crawshay exclaimed. "These sheets of paper are all blank! There isn't any trace even of invisible ink." The consul rose to his feet with a heavy frown. "This is a very obvious practical joke," he said angrily. "It seems a pity that I should have been compelled to miss my train to town." "A practical joke!" the captain repeated. "If it is I'm damned if I understand the point of it!" "Give me the envelope which held the notes," Crawshay demanded. The captain unlocked his safe and produced it. Crawshay glanced through some of the documents hastily. "These are all bogus, too!" he exclaimed. "There are no such streets as this in New York--no such names. The whole thing's a sell!" "But what the--what in thunder does it all mean?" the captain demanded, pulling himself up as he glanced towards Katharine. Brightman, who had scarcely spoken a word, leaned across the table. "Probably," he said drily, "it means that some one a little cleverer than us has got away with the real stuff whilst we played around with this rubbish." "But how?" Crawshay expostulated. "Not a soul has left this ship who hasn't been searched to the skin. The luggage in the hold is going out trunk by trunk, after every cubic foot has been ransacked. We have had a guard at every gangway since we were docked." There was a knock at the door. The ship's doctor entered. He glanced at the little company and hesitated. "I beg your pardon, Captain," he said, "could I have a word with you?" The captain moved towards the threshold. "Ship's business, Doctor?" "It's just a queer idea of mine about these papers," the doctor confessed. "It's perhaps scarcely worth mentioning--" "You'd better come in and tell us about it," the captain insisted. "That's what we're all talking about at the present moment."