The room bore all the earmarks of "a rich man's plaything." It was tastefully and luxuriously furnished. The upholstery was of dark green brocade, thin Persian prayer-rugs were on the hardwood floor, and electric bulbs in clusters were set in silver sconces, which swung with a long, slow motion as the yacht rocked to the deepening respiration of the sea. At one side a small square table held the remains of a comfortable refection, and by it, on a stand, sat a phonograph with which the two men had been gloomily diverting themselves. But though the _repertoire_ of the instrument was extended, it had brought little satisfaction to-night. The last irksome fortnight of inactivity had made each selection trite and familiar. Moreover, the captain's spirits were not of the best. The abrupt change of ownership, followed hard by the death of the yacht's former master, was a _bouleversement_ that had confused his automatic temperament, and the sight of the double-locked cabin-door in the saloon was a daily depressant. He had never seen the yacht's new owner, though she had written him that he might expect her at any time, and the enigma of a future under a woman's orders troubled his sturdy and unimaginative mind. "Wish to the Lord she'd come, if she's ever coming!" he muttered, as the phonograph ran down with a wheeze. "This is two days I've kept the dinghy lying at the _hatoba_." The mate nodded. It was not the first time the remark had been made. "I wonder why she ordered his cabin door kept locked?" he said. "Papers," returned the captain sapiently. "Wants to seal 'em up for the executor. New owner must be rich, I guess. I'd like to know what she paid for the outfit. First time I ever signed under a new skipper sight unseen!" "Miss Barbara Fairfax," mused the mate. "Nice name. Curious only one piece of mail should come for her--and second class, too." He picked up a thin package from the table, folded in dark paper. This had been made sodden by the rain; now it parted and a flat, black disk of hard rubber slipped from it and rolled across the floor. "Blamed if it isn't a phonograph record," he said, as he picked it up. "It's out of the wrapper now--let's try it." He set it in place and rewound the spring, and the saloon filled with a chorus of chirps and tinklings from quivering catgut smitten by ivory plectrums. "_Samisen!_" said the captain. "I've heard 'em in the tea-houses. Give me a fiddle for mine, any day." The yacht's cabin-boy entered. "The dinghy's coming, sir," he said. "Lady and gentleman aboard of her." The captain got up hastily, put out a hand and stopped the machine. "Take away those dishes, and be quick about it," he ordered. "Mr. Rogers, pipe up the men."