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He ceased. Cynthia’s eyes were growing wider and wider.

“Nat Verney on board this ship?” she gasped.

He nodded.

“Yes. You wanted him to get away, didn’t you? But I don’t think he will, this time. He will probably be arrested directly we reach New York. But, meantime, I must watch out.”

“Oh!” breathed Cynthia. “Then”–with sudden hope dawning in her eyes–“it really was your doing, that trick at the card-table last night?”

West uttered his brief, hard laugh.

“What do you take me for?”

She heaved a great sigh of relief.

“And it wasn’t Archie, after all? I’m thankful you told me. I thought–I thought–But it doesn’t matter, does it? Tell me, do tell me, Mr. West,” drawing very close to him, “which–which is Mr. Nat Verney?”

West seemed to hesitate.

“Oh, do tell me!” she begged. “I know I’m only a woman, but I always keep my word. And it’s only two days more to New York.”

He looked closely into her eyes and yielded.

“I’m trusting you with my reputation,” he said. “It’s the stout, red-faced man called Rudd.”

“Mr. Rudd?” She started back. “You don’t say? That man?” There followed a short pause while she digested the information. Then, as on the previous morning, she suddenly extended her hand. “Well, I hate that man, anyway. And I believe you’re really clever. If you like, Mr. West, I’ll help you to watch out.”

“Thanks!” said West. He took the little hand into a tight grip, still looking straight into her eyes. There was a light in his own that shone like a blue flame. “Thanks!” he said again, as he released it. “You’re very good, Miss Mortimer. But you mustn’t be seen with me, you know. You’ve got to remember that I’m a swindler.”

The girl laughed aloud. It pleased her to feel that this taciturn man had taken her into his confidence at last. “I shall remember,” she said lightly.

And she went away, not only comforted, but gay of heart.

* * * * *

During the remainder of the voyage, West was treated with extreme coolness by every one. It did not seem to abash him in the least. He came and went in the crowd with the utmost sang-froid, always preoccupied, always self-contained. Cynthia observed him from a distance with admiration. The man had taken her fancy. She was keenly interested in his methods, as well as in his decidedly unusual personality. She observed Rudd also, and noted the obvious suspicion with which he regarded West. On the night before their arrival she saw the latter alone for a moment, and whispered to him that Mr. Rudd seemed uneasy. At which information West merely laughed sardonically. He was holding a small parcel, to which, after a moment, he drew her attention.

“I was going to ask you to accept this,” he said. “It is nothing very important, but I should like you to have it. Don’t open it before to-morrow.”

“What is it?” asked Cynthia, in surprise.

He frowned in his abrupt way.

“It doesn’t matter; something connected with my profession. I shouldn’t give it you, if I didn’t know you were to be trusted.”

“But–but”–she hesitated a little–“ought I to take it?”

He raised his shoulders.

“I shall give it to the captain for you, if you don’t. But I would rather give it to you direct.”

In face of this, Cynthia yielded, feeling as if he compelled her.

“But mayn’t I open it?”

“No.” West’s eyes held hers for a second. “Not till to-morrow. And, in case we don’t meet again, I’ll say good-bye.”

“But we shall meet in New York?” she urged, with a sudden sense of loss. “Or perhaps in Boston? My father would really like to meet you.”

“Much obliged,” said West, with his grim smile. “But I’m not much of a society man. And I don’t think I shall find myself in Boston at present.”