“Are you a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, Mrs. Renfrew,” she inquired, “that you can read the future? I assure you that I have had no advance information on the matter. Mr. Loving hasn’t even asked me yet. But, of course, if you know----” “Good gracious! Isn’t it true? Why, I got a paper from New York to-day that spoke of it as all settled. The paper is in my state-room now. If you’d like to see it, we’ll go down. Philip, find out all you can about Mr. Howard, and tell us just as soon as you can.” Mr. Renfrew nodded. “I’ll go and ask the captain,” he promised, as the two ladies turned away. The captain, however, proved not to be communicative. Not only was he too busy with the preparations for departure, but he was nettled because the presence of the convict on board had become known. Convicts are not welcome passengers on ships, like the Queen, whose chief office is to carry presumably timid pleasure passengers, and their presence is always carefully concealed. “I know nothing at all about it, Mr. Renfrew,” he asserted, gruffly. “You had better ask the purser.” The purser was no more pleased at the inquiry than his chief had been, but he hid his vexation better. “Yes,” he admitted, with apparent readiness, “Mr. Howard is on board. He was caught here last week. He was up at a village called Lagonitas----” “That’s where his wife lived--the one he murdered.” “Is it? I didn’t know. Well, they caught him. He surrendered quietly--didn’t try to fight or run. He hadn’t anywhere to run to, you know.” “And where is he confined?” “Amidships--in one of the second-class cabins. We have plenty vacant this trip. Officer Jackson is with him, where he can keep close watch. You tell your ladies not to be uneasy. He can’t possibly get out. Jackson has got a hundred weight of iron, more or less, on him.” “Jackson, is it? I thought I recognized him. One of those bulldog fellows that never lets go. I’m interested in Howard because it was I who conducted the prosecution at his trial.” “Gee! Is that so? It must have been exciting. He confessed, didn’t he?” “Confessed? Not he! Took the stand as brazen as you please, and swore he had never seen the woman before he went to her room that day in response to a letter and found her dead. It was nothing less than barefaced impudence, you know. The proof against him was simply overwhelming.” “He denied having married her, then?” “He denied everything. Swore it was a case of mistaken identity. I demolished that quickly enough. Dozens of people had seen him up at Lagonitas with the girl. We even sent for the minister who performed the marriage ceremony, but he never arrived--lost at sea on the way to New York. But there was plenty of proof, anyway. The jury found him guilty without leaving their seats.” II