"I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm not at all sure. He's in mufti, certainly--to insult the good old word! But I understand he still refuses to confess he's beaten, and is only on long leave." "Oh, he's in mufti! But you'll point him out, if he comes on deck, won't you, boy? After all this talk, I pine to see what he's like. If he passes by----" "Thank Heaven, he has passed by. He's gone inside, and we're rid of him for the moment." "Tony, you don't mean--you can't!" "What?" "Samson?" "Why, yes. Didn't you realise that? Now perhaps you'll understand why we don't want this particular Samson pulling down the pillars of our temples." "He may have heard what we said! He was walking back and forth part of the time as we talked." "Who cares if he did hear? It would do him good--be a douche to cool his conceit." At that instant the back of Severance's head was coldly douched. Something popped: something spurted. A jet of water sprayed over him, fizzing with such force that it blew his gold-laced Guards' cap over his eyes. Marise and her mother were petrified. They could only gasp. CHAPTER III A CABIN WINDOW After the first dazed instant, the girl had a wild inclination to laugh. She suppressed it with the explosive struggle of suppressing a sneeze. Poor, dear Tony! It would be cruel to make fun of him, more cruel than if the top of his head had been blown off! For him--especially at this moment of his high boasting--it was tragic to be made ridiculous. But it was funny--frightfully funny--to see his expression of stunned rage at the accident, as he dried his face and hair with a faintly fragrant, monogramed handkerchief, and wiped something fizzing out of his eyes. Of course it--whatever it was--must have been an accident. Yet it was odd, or perhaps merely fortunate, that all the liquid had spurted over Severance, not a drop spattering the girl's blue toque. That thought darted through the mind of Marise, and prompted a quick turn of the head. At the open stateroom window behind the deck chairs stood someone whose face she could not see. In fact, the presence of this person was indicated only by a ginger-beer bottle still pointing, pistol-like, at Lord Severance's back. The bottle was almost empty, its contents having been discharged in one rush, and a mere inoffensive froth now dribbled over the window-sill. This vision told at a glance what had occurred. The glass ball inside the mouth of the bottle had been pushed with too great violence. But why, why, had the experiment been made at the window? Was it the act of a stupid steward, or---- An answer to the question flashed into the girl's brain, and again it was all she could do to control a shriek of laughter. (She had an inconvenient sense of humour, inherited from Louis Sorel, and earnestly discouraged by her mother.) What if--but no! The creature wouldn't dare. Or would he? "Sorry!" said a voice. "Accident, I assure you. Hope the lady wasn't touched."