“Haven’t heard so. You may be sure there’s one waitin’ for him somewhere. _I_ know. There’s no dodgin’ luck, good or bad. I thought it was goin’ to be that friend of yours, but she’s off the register, poor lass. There! I didn’t mean that. I’m an idiot, for sure. You see, I don’t talk much as a rule, Miss Maxwell, or I should know better than to chin-wag like a blazin’—huh, like a babblin’ fool.” Elsie turned her face aside when he mentioned Isobel. It seemed to her sensitive soul an almost unfair thing that she should be gossiping about trivialities when the girl who had commenced this unlucky voyage in such high spirits was lying beneath that grim sea behind the smiling headland. Yet she knew that Boyle meant no harm by his chatter. He was weak from his wound, and perhaps a trifle light-headed as the result of being brought from the stuffy saloon to the airy and sunlit chart-room. So she crushed a sorrow that was unavailing, and strove to put the sailor at his ease again. “I do not find any harm in your remark,” she said resolutely. “Were it possible, I should have been very pleased to see Miss Baring married to a man of strong character like Captain Courtenay. By the way, who is keeping watch on deck?” “The doctor was here with me until a few minutes ago. Then the skipper telephoned him. I guess there is some one on the lookout, but you might just cast an eye shorewards. I’m not supposed to move yet.” He wriggled uneasily in his chair, for the spirit was willing; but Elsie made him lie quiet; she rearranged his pillow, and stepped on to the bridge. By walking from port to starboard, and traversing the short length of the spar deck, she could command a view of the bay and of most parts of the ship. She heard the dog scuttling down the companion; on reaching the after-rail, she saw the captain engaged in earnest, low-toned conversation with Tollemache and Walker. They were standing on the main deck near the engine-room door, and examining something which resembled a lump of coal; she saw the engineer take three similar lumps from a pocket. Christobal appeared, carrying a bucket of water, into which the lumps were placed by Walker, who handled them very gingerly. After a slight delay, he began to crumble one in his fingers, still keeping it in the water, until finally he drew forth what Elsie recognized at once as a stick of dynamite. Though it was blackened by contact with the coal, she was certain of its real nature. She had visited a great many mines, and the officials always scared the ladies of the party by telling them what would happen if the explosives’ shed were to blow up. She had even seen dynamite placed in the sun to dry, as it is very susceptible to moisture, and she wondered, naturally enough, why such a dangerous agent should be hidden in, or disguised as, a piece of coal. She thought that the men should be made aware of her presence, so she leaned over and said: “May I ask what you four are plotting?”