The situation was becoming desperate. How was I to act? At least I should now ascertain who had been the old man’s companion in the deck-cabin on the previous night, for they would no doubt go ashore together. Old Mr. Keppel was standing near me, speaking again to the captain, giving him certain orders, when Gerald, spruce as usual in blue serge, came up and, leaning at my side, said: “Ulrica says you know Leghorn quite well. You must be our guide. We’re all going ashore after dinner. What is there to amuse one in the evening?” “The gay season hasn’t commenced yet,” I responded. “But there is opera at the Goldoni always. One pays only a dollar for a box to seat six.” “Impossible,” he laughed incredulously. “I shouldn’t care to sit out music at that price.” “Ah, there I must differ,” I replied. “It is as good as any you’ll find in Italy. Remember, here is the home of opera. Why, the Livornesi love music so intensely that it is no unusual occurrence for a poor family to make shift with a piece of bread and an onion for dinner in order to pay the fifty centesimi ingresso to the opera. Mascagni is Livornese, and Puccini, who composed ‘La Boheme,’ was also born close here. No. In ‘cara Livorno,’ as the Tuscan loves to call it, one can hear the best opera for ten cents.” “Different to our prices in America.” “And our music, unfortunately, is not so good,” I said. “Shall we go to this delightfully inexpensive opera to-night? It would certainly be an experience.” “I fear I shall not,” I answered. “I am not feeling very well.” “I’m extremely sorry,” he said with quick apprehension. “Is there anything I can get you?” “No, nothing, thank you,” I answered. “A little faintness, that’s all.” We had already anchored just inside the breakwater, and a boat had been lowered. Four of the crew were in it, ready to take their owner ashore. “Good-by--good-by, all!” I heard old Benjamin Keppel saying in his hearty manner, and, turning, met him face to face. “Good-by, Miss Rosselli!” he shouted to me, laughing as he raised his cap. “I shall be back with you at Naples.” I gripped the rail and acknowledged the salute of the man who was leaving the vessel he had doomed to destruction. All the guests were on deck, and many were the good wishes sent after him as he sprang into the boat and the men pulled off towards the port. Then a few moments later the bell rang for dinner and all descended to the saloon, eager to get the meal over and go ashore. On the way down Ulrica took me aside, saying: “Gerald has told me you are ill, my dear. I’ve noticed how pale and unlike yourself you’ve been all day. What’s the matter?--tell me.” “I--I can’t. At least not now,” I managed to stammer, and at once escaped her. I wanted to be alone to think. Keppel had gone ashore alone. His companion of the previous night, the man to whom the conception of that diabolical plot was due, was still on board. But who was he?