"Oh! perhaps nine months—perhaps more if I get other orders," was Bowden’s breezy reply. "This old tub ain’t very fast, you know. She isn’t one of your slap-up liners. We never have passengers. I don’t like ’em. Only Mr. Morton asked me to take you out for the benefit of your health, and I consented." "Mr. Morton! Who’s he?" "A friend of yours, isn’t he?" "I don’t know anyone of that name," declared Gerald astounded. Captain Bowden looked straight into the young man’s face for a few moments in silence, and then, nodding his head, said: "Ah! Of course!" "Why of course?" asked Gerald in annoyance at the captain’s tone. The other only shrugged his shoulders, and continued puffing at his big briar pipe. Gerald was utterly mystified. Since that moment when he had lost consciousness in the presence of the two ladies he had assisted until the present, all his recollections were blurred and indistinct. Bowden had accused him of drinking heavily the night before. Yet he felt certain that he had never previously set eyes upon the black-bearded man before him. His unknown enemies had spared his life, but they had sent him out upon a nine months’ voyage, evidently to get rid of him for some reasons known to themselves. Was Bernard Boyne at the bottom of it all? He wondered. Yet Boyne could not know anything of his efforts to unravel the mystery of his life. How could he possibly know? "Look here, Captain Bowden," he said firmly at last. "Let us be frank with each other." "I’m always frank, young man—too frank for some people!" was the bluff seafarer’s reply. "Well, be frank with me. Tell me—do you know any man named Boyne—Bernard Boyne?" "Never heard the name before," snapped the other. "What about him?" And he crossed his legs encased in his heavy sea-boots. "Well, I thought perhaps you might know him," Durrant said. Then, catching sight of the coat he was wearing, he was surprised to see that it was unfamiliar—a heavy blue-serge suit, such as he had never before possessed. The mystery increased as each moment passed. "No. I don’t know any man named Boyne. Who and what is he?" "He’s an insurance agent at Hammersmith." "That’s somewhere in London, ain’t it?" "Yes. I’m a Londoner." "Oh, are you? Yes, I thought so." "Why did you think so?" asked Durrant. "Because I know you come from Liverpool." "You’re trying to be funny!" "Oh, no, I’m not! It’s you who always tries to be funny, young fellow. You sat with me here, in my cabin, last night, and yet to-day you deny having done so." Gerald rose from his chair, intending to firmly withstand the black-bearded fellow’s ridiculous allegations, but at that instant he felt that same half-intoxication creeping over him, and he subsided. "Captain Bowden, I’m sorry to tell you that I honestly think you are lying to me," he said a moment later.