Slyne's nostrils curled as he observed the dirty and dishevelled aspect of the Olive Branch, lying idle in Genoa harbour alongside the coal-chutes where the day's work had not yet begun. He had grown extremely fastidious again within the very short space of time which had passed since he had last seen her.

There was no one visible about her littered decks except the watchman on duty, whose sole salute to him as he stepped carefully up the insecure gangplank was a sullen scowl.

But that might have been deemed quite a hearty welcome in contrast with his reception by Captain Dove.

Captain Dove was, in point of fact, furious when he opened his little, red-rimmed eyes and became aware of his former friend's intrusion upon his privacy. Sitting up in his frowsy bunk, with the blankets huddled about him, looking ludicrously like an incensed gorilla, he raged and swore at his gratuitous visitor until his voice gave out.

Slyne, forgetful, in his new enthusiasm, of the terms on which they had parted, was at first somewhat taken aback by that outburst; but only at first. And his sanguine anticipations enabled him to endure it unmoved. It also gave him time to collect his ideas. He could see that his errand was not going to prove quite so easy as he had expected, and that he must play his new cards with discrimination. As soon as the evil old man in the bunk had exhausted himself in invective, Slyne spoke, smooth and cuttingly.

"I came back to do you a good turn. But—if that's how you're going to take it, you foul-mouthed old rapparee! I'll save my breath and be off again. What th' deuce d'ye mean by shouting at me as if I were a drunken deck-hand! Speak to me above a whisper now—and you'll see what'll happen to you. That's the police-boat pulling past."

The opportune plash of oars had suggested to him that plausible threat. Captain Dove, listening intently, crouched back against the bulkhead, his blinking, hot, suspicious eyes on Slyne's. The boat passed on. But he had found time to observe that Slyne was in evening dress, with an expensive fur coat to keep the cold out. And Slyne's cool contempt for his ill-temper would seem to have impressed him no less than Slyne's air of solid prosperity.

He himself, it appeared, had had care and adversity for his companions ever since parting with his former friend. His chief aim in calling at Genoa had been cheap coal and cheaper repairs, and he thought that he was less likely to be recognised there than elsewhere in the Mediterranean. But coal, he had found, had risen to a ruinous price in consequence of a recent strike among the miners in England; and for even the most trifling repairs he would have to wait at least a week, because the dock-yard people were already working over-time to make way for a man-of-war. Credit of any sort was not to be had. His portage-bill bade fair to swamp his insufficient cash resources—even although three of his now scanty crew had already deserted. And who could foretell what might happen to him if they should get wagging their tongues too freely in some wine-shop ashore! While, as if for climax, the Customs' authorities had been displaying a most suspicious interest in him and his ship. Under such circumstances, even a saint might have been pardoned, as he pointed out, for showing a temper something short of seraphic.

"And you've been doing me good turns—by your way of it—for some time past," he continued, in a stifled, vehement whisper lest his voice should still reach the receding boat. "Though—" He waved a claw-like hand about him, words again failing him to describe adequately his sufferings in consequence, as who should say, "See the result for yourself."

Slyne sat down on the sofa opposite him, not even condescending to glance, in response to that invitation, round the squalid, poverty-stricken little cabin. "Never mind about some time past," he advised, more pacifically. "You'll never get rich quick yesterday. To-day's when I'm going to make my pile. And I meant to let you in—"

"To another hole," Captain Dove concluded sceptically. "I only wish you'd show me some sure way out of the one I'm in."

Slyne looked his annoyance at that further interruption, and made as if to rise, but did no more than draw his gold cigarette-case from its pocket. He knew that Captain Dove was merely trying to aggravate him, and it would not have been politic to stray from the matter in hand. He lighted a cigarette at his leisure and waited for what should come next. He had changed his mind as to taking the old man fully into his confidence. He thought he could see his way to get all he wanted for a very great deal less than that might have cost him.

"Want a drink?" Captain Dove demanded, no doubt with the idea that a dose of spirit might serve to stir up his visitor's temper, and looked surprised at Slyne's curt head-shake, still more surprised over his response.

"I can't afford to drink at all hours of the day and night now," said Slyne austerely. "That sort of thing was all very well at sea, but—The business I have in hand isn't of the sort that can be carried out on raw brandy. And you'll have to taper off too, if you want to come in."

"Strike—me—sky-blue!" exclaimed the old man, and Slyne held up a reproving hand.

"I can do with a good deal less of your bad language into the bargain," he mentioned coldly, "if you don't mind. In short, I want you to understand from the start that you've got to behave as if you were a reasonable human being and not a dangerous lunatic, or—I'll leave you to rot, in the hole you've got yourself into."

Captain Dove, scarcely able to credit the evidence of his own ears but, none the less, apparently, thinking hard, darted a very ugly glance at him, and noticed the diamonds in his shirt-front. Under the strongest temptation to call in a couple of deck-hands and have him thrown off the ship, Captain Dove obviously paused to consider whether those could be of any intrinsic value. He was, of course, satisfied that he knew exactly how much—or, rather, how little money Slyne had had in his pockets when he went ashore. And, if Slyne had already, within four and twenty hours, been able to turn that over at a profit sufficient to provide himself with a fur coat and diamonds, it might perhaps pay Captain Dove to hear what he had to propose. Slyne, reading all the old man's thoughts, could see that he had decided to temporise.

"But, I can do with a damn sight less of your back-chat!" rumbled Captain Dove, not to be put down without protest. "If you've come back on board to offer me a founder's share in any new gold-brick factory, fire straight ahead—and be short about it. It'll save time, too, if you'll take it from me again that I'd rather have your room than your company."

And at that, Slyne made his next considered move.

"All right," he said in a tone of the most utter contempt. "That's enough. I'm off.

"I came back to do you a good turn—although few men, in my position, would ever have looked near you again," he paused in the doorway to remark acridly. "But I can see now what's the matter with you—and I only wish I had noticed it in time to save myself all it has cost me. It's senile decay you're suffering from. You're far too old to be of any more use—even to yourself. You're in your dotage, and you'll soon be in an asylum—for pauper lunatics!"

He had evidently lost his own temper at last. And Captain Dove was visibly pleased with that result of his tactics; as a rule he was better able to cope with Slyne on a basis of mutual abuse, heated on both sides; Slyne cool and collected had him at a disadvantage.

"Now you're talking!" he retorted approvingly. "Say what's in your mind, straightforwardly, and we'll soon come to an understanding. Sit down again, you strutting peacock! and tell me what it is you want."

Slyne did not sit down again, however; to do so would scarcely have been dignified. He stayed in the doorway, silent, a thin stream of cigarette-smoke slowly filtering from his nostrils. His cold, calculating eyes were once more on Captain Dove's. And it was Captain Dove's would-be mocking glance that at length gave way.

"You offered to give me Sallie, if I paid you a hundred thousand dollars," said Slyne, judicially.

"To see you safely married to her," Captain Dove corrected him.

Slyne nodded, in grave assent.

"Well, I'm going to hold you to your offer," said he. "The money's ready and waiting for you—just as soon as we can settle a few trifling formalities. I have Sallie's promise to marry me—"

"The devil you have!" said Captain Dove, not slow to seize opportunity either. "I thought I heard her say—"

Slyne's face darkened again. "And, if you'll come ashore with me now," he went on, controlling his temper, "I'll prove to you that your money is perfectly safe."

Captain Dove lay back in his bunk and laughed, most discordantly. He laughed till his red-rimmed eyes were adrip, while Slyne sat looking at him. He was still laughing when Slyne rose and, flicking the cigarette-end from between two nicotine-stained fingers, began to button his coat. He stopped laughing then, by calculated degrees.

"Sit down—sit down!" said he wheezily. "What's your hurry? You haven't told me yet what those few 'trifling formalities' are. And how am I to know whether—"

But Slyne was already beyond the doorway, fumbling with a last button.

"If you believe I've come here to talk simply for the sake of talking," said he with sombre magnificence, "I needn't waste any more breath on you. Good-bye."

Captain Dove jumped out of his bunk. He was clearly impressed, in spite of himself, by the other's indomitable assurance.

"Come back, you fool!" he called angrily. "Come back. I want to know—

"I'll go ashore with you," he shouted, raising his voice, since Slyne was already on his way to the gangway. But Slyne did not seem to hear.

"I'll take your offer—for Sallie," cried Captain Dove, in a slightly lower tone.

Slyne hesitated in his stride, stopped, and turned back into the alleyway which led to the saloon.

"What was that you said?" he demanded of Captain Dove.

"Come on inside," requested Captain Dove, more curtly.

"I don't believe I will," Slyne declared, inwardly elated over the winning of that somewhat risky move. "You don't deserve another chance. And, if I do give you another, you needn't suppose—"

"Come on inside," begged Captain Dove, shivering, in no case to listen to any lecture. "Come on, and we'll talk sense. Don't waste any more good time."

Slyne followed him in again, congratulating himself on his firmness. He felt that he had gained the whip-hand of the old man, and he meant to keep it. He curtly refused again Captain Dove's more hospitable offer of some refreshment, and, while his aggrieved host was clumsily getting into some warmer clothing, talked to him from the saloon through the open doorway of his cramped sleeping-quarters. It was easier to arrange matters so than under Captain Dove's direct observation.

"You'll pay me cash, of course," Captain Dove stipulated, as though he had been bargaining about a charter-party.

"I'll pay you cash," Slyne agreed, "the day Sallie marries me. And meantime I'll give you my note of hand at thirty days for the money." He listened intently, but Captain Dove, struggling fretfully with refractory buttons, maintained an ominous silence.

"I'll have it backed by a London lawyer, to keep you safe," said Slyne. "And listen! I'm not asking you to risk anything, or even to take my note at its face value. I want you to come ashore with me and find out for yourself from my lawyer that you can depend on the money. If you don't feel satisfied about that after you've seen him, you needn't go any farther, we'll call the bargain off; you can get back on board your ship at once and no harm done.

"And, even as regards Sallie, I'm going out of my way to keep you right. I'd give a great deal to get married at once, but—I'm willing to wait till the day I can hand you your hundred thousand in cash. Everything's fair, square, and above-board now. I'm not asking you to risk anything.

"And where in the wide world can you expect to do better for yourself!" he argued. "If you go East you'll get no more for the girl—and look at the expense! You'll be sorry all the rest of your life, too, for I know you'd far sooner see her decently settled than sell her to any dog-faced son-of-a-gun of a mandarin!

"You can say what you like," he concluded, although Captain Dove had said never a word. "Clean money's pleasanter to spend than dirty, any day. If I had been born wealthy, I'd never have needed to touch a marked card. And now's your chance, too, to pull out of a rotten rut that'll sooner or later land you among the chain-gang."

Captain Dove came forth from his cabin, indifferently clad, and eyed Slyne with a sarcastic interest which somewhat disconcerted that homilist.

"You don't look just like a Band o' Hope!" said the old man, "but—"

Slyne rose again, and bit his lip, in simulated impatience. "Oh, all right," said he. "If you're not interested—"

Captain Dove scowled at him. "I'm interested," he said grudgingly. "I'll see this lawyer-fellow of yours whenever you like to bring him aboard, and—if the money's there, you can count me in."

"He isn't the sort of lawyer you've been accustomed to, Dove," said Slyne. "You've got to go to him."

Captain Dove did his best to out-stare him, but failed.

"And what's more," said Slyne, playing a trump card with great outward indifference, "you can make him pay you for your time instead of you paying him. I told you I came back here to do you a good turn. There's more than a hundred thousand dollars of easy money for you in this deal—if you go the right way about it.

"But—don't take my word for anything."

Captain Dove had palpable difficulty in suppressing the obvious repartee to that last bit of advice. But cupidity and cunning kept him quiet for a space.

"All right. I'll go with you," he agreed very gruffly at last. And Slyne heaved a silent sigh of relief; he had feared more than once that the contest of wills would after all go against him.

"You're wise," he commented carelessly. "It will pay you.

"You'd better see Sallie now, don't you think, and tell her—"

"I'm not going to interfere between you and her—till I get my money from you," declared the old man with a crafty grin. "You must tackle her yourself. She'll be up by now, but breakfast won't be ready for half an hour. If I were you I'd take that coat off and let her have a sight of those diamonds of yours."

Slyne did not wait to hear any more. He was already on his way aft, a somewhat incongruous figure on the decks of the Olive Branch. When he reached the companion-hatch on the poop he was smiling sardonically.

"I do believe it was my 'diamonds' that finally fetched that old ruffian," said he to himself. "If they have the same effect on Sallie, I won't grudge the few francs I paid for them!"

He tiptoed down the short stairway, and, having tapped very quietly at the door of the after-saloon, entered without more ado. He judged that he might have difficulty in gaining admission if he delayed to ask leave.

The saloon was empty. But from an adjoining cabin came the sound of splashing, and from its neighbour the shuffle of heavy feet, a faint suggestion of deft hands busy among crisp muslin and sibilant silk.

Slyne hesitated; he wanted to be very tactful and yet was unwilling to give up the advantage he had thus gained. He closed the door carefully behind him. It creaked a little.

From the room whence had come the rustle of feminine garments an uncanny-looking figure appeared, and darted an angry, apprehensive glance about the saloon. The sound of splashing had ceased.

"'Morning, Ambrizette," said Slyne briskly and standing his ground. "Is your mistress up yet? Tell her I have Captain Dove's leave to pay her a call."

The dumb black dwarf's scowl grew darker, but her hand fell away from her breast and she halted as Sallie's voice sounded from within.

"Is that you, Jasper!" it ejaculated. "What do you want? I thought—"

"I've come back—with good news for you, Sallie—wonderful news!" said Slyne. "And I'm in no end of a hurry to be off again. Call Ambrizette in and get dressed, as quick as you can. Captain Dove's waiting breakfast for me and I mustn't delay him. How long will you be?"

"What sort of news is it?" asked Sallie, no less dubious than her maid had been; and called her maid in, notwithstanding her well-founded doubts as to the nature of any news he could bring. For Slyne had held out to her the same lure that the serpent offered to Eve, and her womanly curiosity would not allow her to order him at once from her domain.

Slyne smiled slightly as he sat down in a basket-chair, to look about him while she was still busy within. The little after-saloon which had been her home for so long was finely furnished; more so, perhaps, than was apparent to Slyne, whose taste in that respect inclined to the florid. But he could not help noticing how dainty and neat and feminine was its entire effect, with its cushioned cosy corners, snow-white curtains and draperies. Its purely fragrant atmosphere stirred even Slyne's conscience a little.

He lay back in his seat, and, gazing about him, recalled to mind all he had been able to learn as to Sallie's strange past. It all fitted in so perfectly with the fabric of his wonderful new plans that he could find no possible flaw in them. And when Sallie herself at length came out to him from her cabin, he was optimistically disposed to be very generous in his dealings with her.

Fresh from her bath and doubly bewitching in her clinging, intimate draperies, she met Slyne's glad, eager glance with grave, doubtful eyes, and ignored entirely the hand he held out to her as he sprang from his chair. But he affected not to notice her attitude of distrust, and, greeting her gaily, saved his face by laying his outstretched hand on another chair, which he set a little nearer his own.

"Won't you sit down?" he suggested with debonair courtesy.

But she shook her head; she was evidently afraid to receive him on any such friendly footing. She did not even care to ask him what he was doing in evening dress at breakfast-time and on board the Olive Branch. But in her troubled eyes he could read that unspoken inquiry.

"I've been travelling all night to get back to you, Sallie," he told her, in a low, eager tone, "and I hadn't time to change—I was in such a hurry to tell you the news. I've come to take you away from the Olive Branch,—and Captain Dove. I've come to set you free."

She stared at him as though she had not heard aright, her lips parted, her eyebrows arched, a faint, puzzled, questioning frown on her forehead.

"I've come to set you free," he said again.

"At what price?" she asked suddenly, with disconcerting directness, and his would-be straightforward glance wavered.

"Don't put it that way!" he urged. "I ask no more than the fulfilment of the promise you made me. And—listen, Sallie. I've found out who you really are and where your home is. I'll take you there if only you—

"I'm not asking you to marry me right away, either, remember. All you must do in the meantime is to sign without question some papers that will be required. Then I'll make everything quite safe for you and take you to your own home."

The quick doubt in her eyes had given place to an expression of helpless amazement and growing dismay. But he did not wait to hear anything she might have to say.

"It's like this, you see," he went on hurriedly. "Captain Dove's absolutely at the end of his wits for money, and now—I can pay him his price for you if you'll keep your promise to me by and by. Otherwise I can't; no matter how willing I might be, I can't, I swear to you.

"He feels, too, that you owe it to him to make up in one way or another for some part at least of what he and I have lost through your—your interfering so much lately in his affairs. And, if you don't back me up now, he'll have to take the Olive Branch East as best he can. He'll take you too, and—you'll never come back.

"You don't understand. I'm not really trying to force you to marry me, but to save you from a fate far worse than the worst you could imagine. You don't understand that it's really freedom I'm offering you, and that your only option is slavery.

"You'd rather have a white man—even me!—for your husband, wouldn't you? than a yellow one—or brown—or maybe black!"