The spray came flashing back like drops of crystal sunlight from the bows of the Grey Lady as she rose and dipped, ploughing her way southwards in the teeth of a stiff breeze. The rolling blue of the Mediterranean was crested with multitudinous little white caps. Sometimes the wind lifted the foam bodily from the breaking waves and dashed it like a shower of April rain across the white decks. Susan, holding fast to the rail, tossed her head back to let the wind sweep through her hair.

“It’s wonderful. Grant,” she exclaimed. “This is the best day we’ve ever had on the Grey Lady. The wind’s getting up, too, isn’t it?”

“It’s freshening a little, I think,” Grant admitted. “Thank heavens, you’re all good sailors.”

“Upon me, when sailing,” Cornelius Blunn declared, “the sea has a pernicious and devastating effect. It gives me appetite, it gives me thirst, it fills me with the joy of life. Yet no sooner do I set my foot upon an ocean steamer than I am incapacitated. It is amazing!”

“I’m glad you mentioned that—the little matter of thirst,” Grant observed, smiling. “It is a long time between afternoon tea and cocktails. We must introduce Baron Funderstrom to my famous Scotch whisky. Let’s go into the smoke room. They’ve got the fiddles on the table.”

Baron Funderstrom, a tall, gloomy man, grey-haired, grey-bearded, grey-visaged, of neutral outlook and tired manners, accepted the invitation without enthusiasm or demur. He drank two whiskeys and sodas quite patiently.

“It is good whisky,” he pronounced.

“It is wonderful,” Blunn agreed. “It reminds me of what I used to drink in my younger days.”

“It is not SO potent as our own,” Baron Funderstrom remarked. “One could drink a great deal of this without discomfort.”

His eyes were upon the decanter. Grant refilled their glasses,

“Wonderful!” Blunn repeated. “Mr. Slattery, you are the best host in the world. Never shall I forget our first picnic on board this yacht. It is amazing that you should invite us again so soon. Tell me—you will not think I am presuming, I am sure—but our invitation, as I received it, was a little vague. Do we dine on board to-night, or are we to be landed?”

“You dine on board most certainly,” Grant announced. “If this wind continues, we may not be able to land you until quite late in the evening. However, I think that I can promise that my larder and my cellar will be equal to any demands we can put upon them.”

“So far as one can judge,” the Scandinavian observed, “they are capable of anything. It is a great thing to own a yacht like this. It’s the acme of luxury. Speaking of returning, though, Mr. Slattery, you will not forget that we have to leave for Nice at nine o’clock to-morrow morning.”

“That’s all right,” Grant assured him. “The wind always goes down with the twilight.”

“When shall we change our course?” Cornelius Blunn enquired, looking out of the porthole.

“Presently. It’s pleasanter to make a straight run out.”

Prince von Diss swaggered into the smoke room. He seemed smaller than ever in his nautical blue serge, and he was perhaps not quite such a good sailor as the others. He was certainly looking a little pinched.

“Mr. Slattery,” he said, in a loud and important tone, “I have been talking to your navigator. Isn’t it almost time we altered our course? We have been out of sight of land for an hour and more.”

“I expect Captain Martin knows what he’s about,” Grant observed coolly. “Come and try this whisky. Prince, or would you prefer a brandy and soda?”

“I never drink spirits,” was the prompt reply. “Wine, if you have any.”

“I have some Clicquot—a very excellent year.”

“I will drink some Clicquot,” Prince von Diss decided.

They all sat down again while the steward produced an ice pail. There was a disposition on Blunn’s part to forget that they had been drinking whisky and soda. Grant managed to slip away. He reached the deck and sat down by Gertrude’s side.

“Really,” she observed, with her eyes fixed upon the horizon, “we might almost be taking that sea voyage.”

He smiled.

“A marvellously favourable wind!”

“Are they all right?” she asked, dropping her voice a little.

“Perfectly contented, so far! They’ve begun on champagne now after whisky and soda. I’m hoping that they may feel like a nap before dinner.”

“Champagne!” she murmured. “That’s Otto, I’m sure. He never drinks anything else. I don’t think, though,” she went on, “that you’ll ever get him to drink enough to make him sleepy. When do you think the trouble will come?”

“Not until after dinner,” Grant assured her. “I shall set the course a little differently before then. As soon as it is necessary to get steam up, I shall be sent for down to the engine room.”

“Really, life might have been very amusing,” she sighed, “if only—”

“It will be amusing enough presently,” he interrupted. “I can see that your husband is already in rather an uncertain mood,—ready to make trouble at the slightest provocation.”

“Our friend the Baron, I should think, will remain perfectly philosophical, especially if he has already touched the fifty thousand pounds,” Gertrude declared. “He’s the most colourless person I have ever met.”

Cornelius Blunn came out of the smoking room and walked towards them. His expression was inclined to be thoughtful. He stood for a moment watching their course. Then he looked at the sun.

“You’ll have a long beat back,” he remarked to Grant.

“I shall steam back,” the latter told him. “We’re sailing now—for one thing, because it’s so much pleasanter, and the women enjoy it so.”

“I’m not a nautical man,” Blunn confessed, “but I presume it would be impossible to get back under canvas.”

“With this wind it would take us at least twenty-four hours,” Grant acknowledged. “I don’t think we should make it then. Nowadays every yacht of any size has auxiliary power of a sort.”

“We would wish to avoid even the appearance of interfering with your arrangements,” Blunn said, &ldqu............