“I am Inspector French of Scotland Yard,” he announced, while Price and the first officer stood round expectantly. “You are Miss Susan Dangle. Where are the other members of this expedition?” The girl wrung her hands, and he noticed how terribly pale and drawn was her face and what horror shone in her eyes. “Oh!” she cried, with a gesture as if to shut out the sight of some hideous dream. “Oh, it’s been awful! I can’t speak of it. They’re dead! My brother James, Charles Sime, Mr. Merkel, most of the crew, dead—all dead! Mr. Blessington wounded—probably dying! They got fighting over the gold!” She began suddenly to laugh, a terrible high cackling laugh, that made her hearers shiver, and attracted the attention even of Joan and Cheyne. French stepped quickly forward and seized her arm. “There now, Miss Dangle,” he said kindly but firmly. “Stop that and pull yourself together. Your terrible experiences are over now and you’re in the hands of friends. But you mustn’t give way like this. Make an effort, and you’ll be better directly.” He led her to a hatchway and made her sit down, while he continued soothing her as one would a fractious child. But so great was the agitation of both girls that it was quite a considerable time before the tragic tale of the _L’Escaut’s_ expedition became fully unfolded. And when at last it was told it proved still but one more illustration of the old truth that the qualities of greed and envy and selfishness have that seed of decay within themselves which leads their unhappy victims to overreach themselves, and instead of gaining what they seek, to lose their all. Shorn of incoherent phrases and irrelevant details the story was this.