“I believe it does,” I exclaimed, “and I’m going to take the first boat for London. Here’s just the chance to run him down. He’ll be sure to stay in one place now. His work will be in the British Channel.” “We’ll come too,” cried Dorothy, her eyes lighting at the prospect of the chase. “We’ll bring along the wave-measuring machine, and run him down at close quarters, won’t we, Tom?” Tom nodded vigorously. “I’m with you. This man has simply obsessed me. I can’t do any decent work till I’ve found him.” CHAPTER VIII A fierce and sudden gust, which swelled to greater fury the flood of a howling gale, slammed the smoking-room door in my face, at the very moment that a quivering, throbbing heave from the great screw shook the mighty liner from stem to stern. Beaten back from the wall, as the ship rolled heavily, I pitched headlong, and went sliding and tumbling across the deck, clutching wildly at its edge for the netting of the rail. There, huddled against the side, I gasped until breath came, and then painfully traversed the wet and slippery deck on hands and knees. With a sudden effort I caught at the big brass handle, turned it and sprang within, accompanied by a drenching spray. No contrast could have been greater than the sudden change from the wild drift of bitter wind and rain without to the bright warmth and quiet comfort of the smoking-room within. The habitués who commonly filled the alcoves and the centre were mainly absent, chained to their berths, for the gale which had lasted a full two days had swept from the room all but two quartettes of bridge players, a placid Britisher in full dress in the centre, who was solacing himself with his invariable evening’s occupation of Scotch and soda, and Tom, alone, in a corner alcove, his back against the wall, his feet sprawling along the cushions, and his pipe firmly clenched between his teeth. As I pushed my way by the square centre table of the alcove and sank down on the opposite cushions, he looked up, a thoughtful frown wrinkling his forehead. “I’ve been thinking about our next move,” he began, only to break off abruptly. “What on earth is the matter with you? You look as if you had been shipwrecked.” “This is merely the result,” I answered, “of a perilous trip outside the smoking-room door for the purpose of taking a weather observation. As a matter of fact, you’re responsible for it; I was driven to the act by your loquacity. We came up here at half past seven and you have spoken exactly three times since, each time to give an order. I really had to do something desperate to attract your attention.” “You did it,” said Tom decisively. “Hurt in any way?” “Oh, no,” I answered. “Slight bruises, really nothing of any consequence at all.”