Their first business when they reached the deck was to glance in the direction whence they had last seen the cruiser. Then she had been a living and very present reality to them; now she was only a tiny speck upon the horizon, and in a quarter of an hour, or even less, she would have vanished altogether. They made their way aft to the taffrail, and stood there leaning on the rail, looking at her. Both felt that it was a crisis in their lives, that had to be tided over, and knew that, if ever they desired to be happy together, they must fight the next ten minutes on their merits. For this reason, perhaps, they began by being unusually silent. It was Katherine who spoke first.

“Dearest,” she commenced very slowly, “I want you to listen to me and not to speak until I have finished. I have something to say to you, and I don’t quite know how to say it. I don’t want you to think that I am capricious, or that I think only of myself. In this I am thinking of you, and of your happiness only.”

“I can quite believe that,” Browne replied, trying to force down the lump that was rising in his throat. “But I must hear you out before I can say more. What is it you have to say to me?”

“I want you”— here she paused as if she were fighting for breath —“I want you to give up any idea of marrying me, and to put me ashore at the first port at which you call. Will you do this?”

Nearly a minute elapsed before Browne answered. When he did his voice was curiously husky.

“Katherine,” he said, “this is just like you. It is like your noble nature to try and make my path smoother, when your own is so difficult that you can scarcely climb it. But you don’t, surely, suppose that I should do what you ask — that I should give you up and allow you to go out of my life altogether, just because you have been tricked as I have been?”

She glanced up at him with a face as white as the foam upon which they looked. What she would have replied I cannot say; but at that moment MacAndrew, accompanied by Jimmy Foote, appeared on deck. The latter approached them and asked Browne if he could spare him a few minutes. Not being averse to any proposal, that would tend to mitigate the severity of the ordeal he was then passing through, Browne consented.

“What is it you want with me?” he asked, as savagely as if he were being deliberately wronged. “For Heaven’s sake, Jimmy, be easy with me! You can have no idea what the strain of the last few minutes has been.”

“I know everything, my son,” rejoined Jimmy quietly. “Do you think I haven’t been watching you of late? That is exactly what I am here for. Poor old boy, you’ve been on the rack a shade too long lately; but I think I can put that right if you’ll only let me. I’ve great news for you.”

“I don’t know what sort of news you can have that will be acceptable to me,” replied Browne lugubriously. “I’m carrying about as much just now as I can possibly manage. What is it?”

“Do you think you’re altogether fit to hear it?” he asked. “And what about Miss Petrovitch? Can you leave her for a few moments?”

“I will speak to her,” Browne answered, and accordingly went back to Katherine. A moment later he rejoined Foote.

“Now then, what is it?” he cried almost fiercely. “What fresh treachery am I to discover?”

“Come to the smoking-room,” Jimmy began. “I can’t tell you here on deck, with all the world trying to overhear what I have to say.”

When they reached the cabin in question Browne discovered MacAndrew there, sitting on one of the marble tables and smoking a cigarette.

“I don’t know what you think about it, Mr. Browne,” remarked the latter; “but it strikes me now, that we have come very well out of that little encounter with our Muscovite friend over yonder. The idea they’ve got in their heads is that the runaway and myself are not on board; and if I know anything of their tactics, they will patrol the coast for the next week or ten days in the expectation of your coming back to pick us up.”

“I wish them joy of their stay,” Browne replied. “By the time they’re tired of it we shall be safely out of reach. But what is it you have to say to me, Jimmy? You didn’t bring me here to talk about the cruiser, I suppose?”

“I did not,” said Jimmy, with a great show of importance. “I brought you to talk about something far more interesting. Look here, old man, I don’t, of course, know what your feelings may be; but I’ve got a sort of a notion that — well, to put it in plain words — that you’re none too pleased with your prospective father-in-law. He doesn’t quite come up to your idea of the man whom you had been told suffered martyrdom for his country’s good — eh?”

“I have never said that I disapproved of him,” Browne retorted. “I don’t know why you should have got this notion into your head.”

“You’re very loyal, I must say, old man,” continued Jimmy; “but that cat won’t fight — not for an instant. Any one could see that. No, no; I know as well as if you had told me, that you’re as miserable as a man can well be, and so is Miss Petrovitch. I don’t wonder at it. I expect I should be as bad if I were likely to be blessed with such a papa. I should be inclined to wish him back again in the wilds of Saghalien.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, get on with what you’ve got to say!” cried Browne. “Why do you keep me on the rack like this?”

Jimmy, however, was not to be hurried. He had never had such a hand to play before, and he was determined to make the most of it.

“It was MacAndrew there who made the discovery,” he replied. “I only came in at the end, like the Greek Chorus, to explain things. The fact of the matter is, Browne, when our friend here and the little red-haired gentleman were shut up together in the tunnel, the former elicited the information (how he managed it I am not prepared to say) that the name of the exconvict is not Polowski or Petrovitch, but Kleinkopf; that he is not a Nihilist, as we have been led to believe, but a diamond-thief of the first water.”

He paused to hear what Browne would say, and, if the truth must be confessed, he was mortified to find that the other betrayed no sort of surprise.

“I know all that,” answered his friend. “Have you discovered nothing else?”

“A heap more,” continued Jimmy; “but perhaps you know that, too. Are you aware that the convict is the famous Red Rat, who once defied the united police of Europe? Well, he is! He is also — and, mark you, this is the greatest point of all — he is no less a person than Madame Bernstein’s husband!”

“Madame Bernstein’s husband?” cried Browne, in stupefied surprise. “What on earth do you mean by that? I warn you not to joke with me. I’m not in the humour for it.”

“I’m not joking,” Jimmy returned, with all gravity. “I’m telling you this in deadly earnest. The Red Rat is Madame Bernstein’s husband. He was sentenced to transportation for life in St. Petersburg, was sent to Siberia, and later on was drafted to Saghalien.”

“Is this true, MacAndrew?” inquired Browne. “You should know.”

“It is quite true,” said MacAndrew. “For my part, I always thought he was the man you were trying to rescue. If you will look at it you will find that he tallies exactly with Madame’s description of the man we wanted.”

“Oh heavens! how we have been deceived!” groaned Browne. Then, as another thought struck him, he added, “But if this is so, then Miss Petrovitch’s father is still in captivity.”

“No,” said MacAndrew; “he has escaped.”

“What do you mean? When did he............