In the midst of his investigations the door was unlocked, and, with a preliminary knock, a little, alert-looking man attired in a neat and well-fitting uniform entered. "Good afternoon, Mr. Tregarthen," he exclaimed. "I trust you are feeling better? My name is White, at your service, and I am the senior surgeon on board." "Thanks, sir, I am feeling nearly fit. But might I ask what ship is this, and why I am kept under lock and key?" The doctor shook his head deprecatingly. "I regret I can give you no information on that point. You must, I am afraid, wait till you have seen the captain." "But my friend--is he safe?" "He is safe." "And----" "No more questions, if you please, Mr. Tregarthen," interrupted the surgeon, firmly, and in a manner that betokened the uselessness of further inquiries. "Meanwhile, before the captain sends for you, some light refreshment will doubtless be beneficial. I am pleased to see that you are little the worse for your misfortunes." So saying the medico withdrew, and a steward silently entered the cabin, bearing a tray on which an appetising meal was tastefully spread. This man was even more unsociable than the doctor, and with as few words as possible he left the cabin, the door being again locked. Left once more to his own reflections Tregarthen acknowledged that the mystery was almost as dark as before. He had made two discoveries. Firstly, Jack Stockton was safe on board, though possibly a prisoner like himself. Secondly, the ship was more than likely manned by a British-speaking crew, but whether British or American Gerald was unable to say. At length the sun sank beneath the horizon--a red ball of flaming fire in an indigo sky. Gerald glanced at his watch. It was a half-hunter, and the well-fitting case had not admitted any water during his immersion The hands pointed to a quarter to seven. Here was another mystery. He knew full well that at home the sun set at 7.15 p.m. The ship's course was, as far as he could judge, south-west. How, then, could the apparent discrepancy be accounted for? Perhaps his watch was wrong. Anxiously Tregarthen waited, listening intently for the ship's bell. Punctually at seven--the second hour of the second dogwatch--came the dim sound of the bell--_ting, ting--ting!_ Two sharp blows followed at a longer interval by another. His watch was right, then, and since the course was not easterly he could only conclude that by a hitherto unattainable speed the mysterious vessel had already gained a latitude corresponding to that of the Bay Of Biscay. Ere the short twilight deepened into night the cabin was brightly illuminated by the warm glow of a pair of electric lights, one at the middle of each bulkhead.