V.

Starbuck had bade his erstwhile guest make himself at home and Ray had wandered about the deck, gazing idly at the grim waters from which he had so lately escaped.

Koli, apparently full of awe and admiration, was never very far away, and constantly proffered his services, rushing forward with a match whenever Ray indicated that he was about to smoke, and inquiring solicitously if Missa Folsom would like a drink.

During the lunch period, Ray, being without appetite, elected to recline in the lounge where he presently found himself dozing off. He finally took to wandering restlessly here and there, and at last found himself in a sort of combination library and study where rows of books peered from behind glass doors and a desk in one corner was strewn with a confused mass of papers.

Ray glanced at a few of the book titles, saw nothing that interested him, and was about to pass out when his attention was drawn to a paper lying atop the litter on the desk. A plan of some sort, it seemed, and the young man paused to examine it.

The plan, he saw, had been torn from the magazine known as Gorgeous Homes, and showed signs of having been folded in order that it might be placed in a pocket or wallet. All of which, in itself, signified nothing.

It was when Ray came to read the caption underneath that his attention was gripped. And he gave vent to a puzzled exclamation as he read:

First and Second Floor Arrangement in the Magnificent Town House of Wilbur Gaylord, Noted Banker of Philadelphia.

That caption recalled a plenty. For, during the days preceding the flight of the Silver Bird, the front pages of the newspapers had been splitting it between the projected ocean flight and the sensational disappearance of Eve Gaylord, twenty-year-old daughter of the famous banker! And the police of America were turning things upside down in their mad scramble for the glory which would attend the recovery of the girl.

At the time, Ray had paid scant attention to the story; he had too much on his mind. But this sheet of paper brought it sharply back.

What on earth, he wondered, had caused Miles Starbuck, or one of his guests, to rip from between the covers of Gorgeous Homes a plan of the layout at the Gaylord establishment?

Ray puzzled over the matter for several minutes. It was strange, he thought. On the other hand, people were constantly clipping things from periodicals for many reasons. Nevertheless, the coincidence was enough to give anybody a momentary start.

Ray laid the cutting down and thoughtfully made his way into the lounge, where he was joined in a few minutes by Miles Starbuck.

“Sure you won’t have some lunch sent here?” the latter inquired.

Ray shook his head. “No. I’m not a bit hungry.”

He was persuaded, however, to join Starbuck in a glass of port, and over this they tarried. Starbuck chatted on, most entertainingly, and Ray was content to listen, wondering at intervals about that floor plan.

Starbuck suddenly glanced sharply about, then pushed a button. Koli responded, and Ray thought Starbuck unnecessarily curt when he said—almost snapped: “Where have you been?”

“I,” returned Koli, a little nervously, Ray thought, “I make to press Missa Folsom clo’.”

“Oh,” said Starbuck. “I see. And how much longer will you be at it?”

“Mebbe half hour; mebbe hour, Missa Starbuck.”

“Very well. Come back here when you are done.”

Koli indicated that he would, and returned to his work. Ray and Starbuck talked soberly of Marjorie Benham.

It had been impossible to recover the plane, Starbuck explained. The thing was battered to pieces from its contact with the sea, and probably the heavier parts had sunk at once. Ray agreed that this was likely.

Starbuck, it struck Ray all at once, was developing a nervousness that seemed not to fit in with his make-up. He fidgeted about, lighted cigarettes only to discard them, and glanced at his watch oftener than it would seem necessary for a man with nothing to do for many hours to come.

He answered somewhat shortly when Ray inquired how the repairs on the radio were progressing.

“Can’t fix it,” he declared. “Have to get some material ashore. Probably put in at Liverpool.”

“If it would suit you any better,” Ray offered, “I don’t mind waiting until you reach Liverpool. It does not make much difference, that I can see.”

“No, no. We’ll set you ashore at Cobh,” Starbuck said. “And, if you will excuse me, I’ll go below for a bit. Some matters to look after. You will be quite comfortable here, I dare say.”

It seemed to Ray that Starbuck stressed the word “here,” but he nodded. The other observed: “Koli will be back shortly; he will get you anything you require.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ray said. And Starbuck vanished.

Koli did not appear, however, and Ray found himself growing drowsy again. An hour’s sleep would refresh him, he decided, and forthwith set out to find his stateroom. He knew its location, he thought.

One deck below, along the corridor that led from the foot of the companionway, the second door on the right—or was it the left? Oh, well. He would find it. And a sleep would go mighty well.

The door he sought, he decided, was on the right—the third one down. Yes, that was it. There he paused, hand reaching for the knob.

But before he could touch it, the door was opened from within, and the form of Miles Starbuck appeared in the aperture.

Evidently he had stopped to speak to some one, because he was turned so that his face was away from Ray as the man let himself out. And, looking over Starbuck’s shoulder, Folsom saw that which almost stunned him!

Sitting in a wicker chair, head thrown back, gray eyes scornful and contemptuous, was a young woman. Ray recognized her instantly from the scores of photographs he had seen, especially during the week just past. The girl was—there could be no question—Eve Gaylord!

And while Ray’s brain hummed with his discovery, while he still gasped in astonishment, Starbuck turned and faced him!

In that instant, Ray saw that Starbuck understood what had happened. The man knew that Ray had seen the girl, and that he knew her identity.

Into the blue eyes of the yachtsman a sudden swift flame leaped. And Ray made no effort to avert the issue that had so dramatically arisen.

Starbuck closed the door, turned a key and said: “Well?”

Ray faced the other.

“Well?” he replied.