Sallie sat down quickly in a cushioned chair, and lay back, trembling like a captured bird.

Slyne was not beyond feeling somewhat ashamed of himself, but found easy solace in the reflection that all he had said was for her good as well as his own. He could see that his last brutal argument had struck home. For Sallie could no longer doubt, now, in the lurid light of her recent experiences, that Captain Dove looked upon her as a mere chattel, to be turned into cash as soon as occasion should offer.

In a little she looked up at him again out of pleading, desperate eyes. Some most unusual impulse of pity stirred him. She was only a young girl yet, and her helplessness spoke its own appeal, even to him. He made up his mind again, quite apart from any question of policy, to deal with her as generously as might be practicable.

"Will Captain Dove let me go now if I promise to marry you, Jasper?" she asked. And he nodded solemnly.

"And not unless I do?" she insisted. "You know I didn't—before, although you say I did."

"I swear to God, Sallie," he declared, "that I can't raise the money the Old Man wants any other way. And—I won't say another word about what's past and done with.

"If you'll really promise to marry me," he said eagerly, "I'll prove to you that all I have told you is true before you need even leave Captain Dove; I won't ask you to go a step farther with me until you're perfectly satisfied; I'll take you safely to your own home as soon as you are satisfied that you can trust me. And I won't ask you to keep your promise till—"

An irrepressible light of longing had leaped up behind the despair in her eyes.

"You say that all I must do in the meantime is to sign some papers," she interrupted. "You say you won't ask me to marry you right away. Will you wait—a year?"

"A year! I couldn't, Sallie!" he cried, and her pale lips drooped piteously again.

"How long, then?" she asked in a whisper. "Six months?"

He had made up his mind to be generous, and he felt that he had not failed in his intention as he answered, "Three months, and not a day longer, Sallie."

She sat still and silent for a while, considering that, and then, "All right, Jasper," she agreed. "Take me safe home, and I'll marry you three months from the day we get there—if we're both alive when the time comes."

He turned away from her for a moment. He had won all he wanted in the meantime, and he could scarcely contain himself. When he presently held out a hand to her, she took it, to bind that bargain.

"And you won't have any cause to regret it, Sallie," he assured her, his voice somewhat hoarse in spite of his effort to speak quite naturally.

"So now, as soon as you're ready, we'll all go ashore together, and—"

"I'll be ready in twenty minutes," she told him, clasping her hands at her heart, her eyes very eager. "And, Jasper—you must let me take Ambrizette with me."

"You're free now to do as you like," he answered, and left her. He felt as if he were treading on air on his way back to the mid-ship saloon.

Captain Dove, in the same nÉgligÉ costume, was busy at breakfast when Slyne walked in upon him again, but looked up from his plate for long enough to mumble a malicious question.

"Yes, I've fixed it all up with her," Slyne answered with assumed nonchalance. "You can always trust me to know how to handle a woman, Dove."

Captain Dove shot a derisive glance in his direction. "Is she willing to marry you after all, then?" he demanded, feigning a surprise by no means complimentary.

"Not just at once, of course," returned his companion, and left the old man to infer whatever he pleased.

In response to a shouted order of Captain Dove's a slatternly cook-steward brought Slyne a steaming platter of beans with a bit of bacon-rind on top, and an enamelled mug containing a brew which might, by courtesy, have been called coffee. There was a tray of broken ship's biscuits, a tin containing some peculiarly rank substitute for butter, upon the table, with the other equally uninviting concomitants of a meagre meal.

"Tchk-tchk!" commented Slyne, and sat down to satisfy his hunger as best he might; while Captain Dove, having overheard that criticism, eyed him inimically, and proceeded to puff a peculiarly rank cigar in his face.

"You might as well be getting dressed now," said Slyne indifferently. "By the time I'm through here, Sallie will be ready to go ashore."

Captain Dove looked very fiercely at him, but without effect.

"Sallie won't stir a step from the ship," the old man affirmed, "till you've handed over the cash."

Slyne looked up, in mild surprise.

"But, dear me! Dove," he remarked, "you don't expect that the London lawyer's going to take my word for a girl he's never even seen? Until he's satisfied on that point, he won't endorse my note to you. So we've got to take her along with us. I'm doing my best to give you a square deal; and all I ask in return is a square deal from you."

"You'd better not try any crooked games with me," growled Captain Dove, and sat for a time sunk in obviously aggravating reflections.

"If we get on his soft side," suggested Slyne insidiously, "there's no saying how much more we might both make."

Captain Dove rose and retired into his sleeping-cabin without further words; while Slyne, picking out with a two-pronged fork the cleanest of the beans on his plate, smiled sneeringly to himself.

"What's the latest long-shore fashion, Slyne?" the old man asked after an interval. Slyne knew by his tone that he had dismissed dull care from his mind and was prepared to be quarrelsome again.

"It wouldn't suit a figure like yours," he answered coolly, and was gratified to hear another hoarse growl. For, strange though it may seem, Captain Dove was not without vanity. "All you really need to worry about is how to keep sober. And I want it to be understood from the start—"

"Not so much of it now!" snarled Captain Dove from his cabin. "You attend to your own business—and I'll attend to mine. I know how to behave myself—among gentlemen. And, don't you forget, either, that I'm going ashore to play my own hand. I've a card or two up my sleeve, Mister Slyne, that will maybe euchre your game for you—if you try to bluff too high."

Slyne swore hotly, under his breath. He would have given a great deal to know exactly what the old man meant by that mysterious threat, and only knew that it would be useless to ask him. There was nothing for it but to put up with his capricious humours, as patiently as might be—although Slyne shivered in anticipation of the strain that might entail—till he could be dispensed with or got rid of altogether.

Nor, as it presently appeared, were his fears at all ill-founded. For Captain Dove emerged from his cabin got up for shore-going in a guise at sight of which Slyne could by no means suppress an involuntary groan.

"I'm all ready now," Captain Dove announced. "Will you pay for a cab if I call one?"

"My car's waiting," Slyne returned, and, as the old man whistled amazedly over that further and unexpected proof that his former accomplice's fortunes had changed for the better, "You look like a fool in that outfit," said Slyne. "The right rig-out for motoring is a tweed suit and a soft cap."

Captain Dove was very visibly annoyed. He had been at particular pains to array himself properly. "You want to be the only swell in the party, of course!" he grunted. "You're jealous, that's what's the matter with you." And he fell to polishing his furry, old-fashioned top-hat with a tail of the scanty, ill-fitting frock-coat he had donned along with a noisome waistcoat in honour of the occasion.

Slyne shrugged his shoulders, despairingly, and, having made an end of his unappetising meal, prepared for the road. Then he lighted a cigar very much at his leisure, while Captain Dove regarded him grimly, and led the way on deck without further words.

Sallie was ready and waiting at the companion-hatch on the poop, as pretty as a picture in the sables Captain Dove had given her a year before—after a very lucrative season of poaching on the Siberian coast. As soon as she caught sight of them she came forward, followed by Ambrizette, whose appearance, in cloak and turban, was even a worse offence to Slyne's fastidious taste than Captain Dove's had been.

"What a calamitous circus!" he muttered between set teeth. "I must get rid of those two somehow—and soon. But till then—

"My car's at the back of those coal-wagons there," he told Captain Dove with great dignity, and Captain Dove turned to the engine-room hatch.

"Below there!" he called down. "Is that Mr. Brasse? I'm off now, Brasse. You'll carry out all my instructions, eh? And—don't quarrel with Da Costa, d'ye hear?"

"Ay, ay, sir," answered a dreary voice from the depths below, and Captain Dove faced about again to find Sallie, flushed and anxious, waiting with Ambrizette at the gangway.

"Come on," he ordered irascibly, and Sallie followed him down the plank. Ambrizette shuffled fearfully after her, and Slyne came last, his chin in the air, triumphant.

He led the way to his car, and was gratified to observe its salutary effect on Captain Dove's somewhat contemptuous demeanour. The little policeman in charge of it pending its opulent owner's return, came forward, touching his kÉpi, which further impressed Captain Dove, uncomfortably. Slyne handed Sallie into the tonneau, and Ambrizette after her, tossed the policeman a further tip which secured his everlasting esteem, took his own seat at the wheel, and was hastily followed by Captain Dove.

"Where are we bound for?" asked Captain Dove, holding his top-hat on with both hands, as Slyne took the road toward Sampierdarena at a round pace.

"Don't talk to the man at the wheel," answered Slyne, and laughed. "We've a hundred miles or so ahead of us. Better chuck that old tile of yours away and tie a handkerchief round your head; you'll find that less uncomfortable."

The old man, at a loss for any more effective retort, pulled his antiquated beaver down almost to his ears, folded his long arms across the chest of his flapping frock-coat, and sat silent, scowling at the baggy umbrella between his knees. Nor did he open his mouth again during the swift journey.

But when they at length reached their destination and Slyne stopped the car quietly before the imposing pile that forms the HÔtel de Paris, Captain Dove's jaw dropped and his mouth opened mechanically.

A resplendent porter came hurrying forward and bowed most humbly to the magnificent Slyne.

"Take this lady and her maid straight up to the suite next mine," ordered Slyne as Sallie alighted, while Captain Dove listened, all ears. "And ask Mr. Jobling to join me in my sitting-room. He's still here, I suppose?"

He gave vent to a heartfelt sigh of relief as the man, already preceding his charges indoors, paused to answer in the affirmative.

"I needn't book a room for you," he told Captain Dove, with calculated indifference. "But Sallie must have somewhere to leave Ambrizette.

"Hey! you. Call my chauffeur to take the car round to the garage."

Captain Dove followed him toward the bureau, attracting not a few glances of mingled surprise and amusement from the elaborate idlers in its neighbourhood. Slyne was furious.

"I can't have him tagging about after me in that ghastly get-up!" he told himself on the way to the elevator; and cuffed the elevator-boy's ears at the sound of a mirthful sneeze with which that unfortunate youth had become afflicted. "Though how the deuce I'm to help myself I don't know."

In the corridor at which they got out he caught sight of Mr. Jobling approaching, and hurried Captain Dove into the sitting-room of his suite.

"Give me five minutes to change my clothes," he requested of the old man. "And don't get straying about, or you'll lose yourself."

Mr. Jobling met him on the threshold as he shut the door. That gentleman had marvellously recovered from his over-night's nervous break-down. A sound sleep, a visit from the barber, a bath and a liberal breakfast had all helped to alter him outwardly and inwardly for the better. He was once more the respectably prosperous, self-confident solicitor.

"I believe you've been out all night," he observed in a jocular tone of reproof, a waggish forefinger uplifted.

"I've covered a couple of hundred miles in the car while you've been asleep," answered Slyne, turning into his dressing-room. "I've brought the girl back with me—and the old man, her guardian. We're going to have trouble with him unless we're very careful. So listen, and I'll tell you how things stand."

Mr. Jobling composed his features into their most professional aspect, but that gave place by degrees to a variety of other expressions, while Slyne, busy changing his clothes, related all he himself knew as to Sallie's past history.

"And now the old man thinks he is entitled to put a price on her," Slyne concluded. "She's promised to marry me, but he won't let her go till I hand him a hundred thousand dollars."

Mr. Jobling lay back limply in his chair. In all his career he had never, he asserted, heard a more scandalous suggestion.

"Never mind about that," Slyne cut him short. "The money's no object to me. But you can understand what a difficult fellow he is to deal with. And what I'm going to do, merely as a precaution against his playing us false in the end, is to give him my note of hand for the amount he demands, endorsed by you, and payable the day I marry his adopted daughter."

Mr. Jobling sank still lower in his seat.

"In return for that," Slyne went on, "he must sign a clear deliverance from any further claim on any of us, subject, of course, to due payment of the note.

"Then, I want a document drawn up to confirm my engagement to the girl and granting me the fullest possible power of attorney on her behalf both before and after our marriage. She's so simple and inexperienced that I must do everything for her.

"And, lastly, you'd better make out a brief private agreement between yourself and me—just as a matter of form, you know—to the effect that you are willing to act in my interests throughout, in return for a commission of ten per cent. on the accumulated revenues of the Jura estates at the date of my marriage."

Mr. Jobling looked at him for a time as a man suddenly bereft of his spine might.

"There's no time to spare," Slyne mentioned. "I want all that sort of thing settled right off the reel—before lunch.

"If the old man makes any kick about anything, you must back me up in all I say. Although if he tries to raise his price by a few thousand dollars, we needn't stick at that. The great thing is to get him to sign the deliverance in return for our note. The girl has already agreed—"

"And what if I refuse?" croaked his companion with the courage of desperation. It was evident that Mr. Jobling saw through his daring scheme. "What if I insist on my fair share? What if I—"

Slyne silenced him with a contemptuous gesture.

"Whatever you do will make no difference to anyone in the wide world but yourself," said Slyne. "If you do what you're told you'll get a great deal more than you deserve out of it. If you don't—D'ye think I'd have taken you into the team if I didn't know how to drive you!" he asked, his eyes beginning to blaze. "Why, my good fellow, if you refuse, if you don't travel up to your collar, if you so much as shy at anything you see or hear—I won't even hurt you; I'll just hand you over to the police.

"So make up your mind now, quick!"

"You've nothing against me," quavered the lawyer.

"No, I've nothing—not very much, at least, yet," Slyne agreed, knotting his tie neatly before the glass. "But—that may be because you haven't embezzled any of my money—yet." He had most opportunely recalled what the detective Dubois had told him about his new friend.

Mr. Jobling's face was almost green. He got up with an evident effort.

"I was only joking," he declared with a most ghastly grin. "I'll be quite satisfied with ten per cent. of the accumulated income—in fact, we'll call it a couple of hundred thousand pounds, if you like."

"All right," Slyne agreed imperturbably. "Make it that amount if you'd rather. How long will it take you to get the papers drawn out? It's nearly one o'clock. And—you won't be safe till they're signed."

"An hour," said Mr. Jobling. "I'm a quick writer."

"All right," Slyne repeated. "We'll lunch at two—after they're all signed. So—off you go, and get busy."

The stout solicitor hurried away, cowed and obedient again, and Slyne, very smart in an almost new flannel suit, rejoined Captain Dove.

"I'm too fashionable, that's what's the matter with me!" declared Captain Dove with sudden conviction at sight of him, and gazed very bitterly at his own image in an inconvenient mirror.

"Never mind about that," Slyne advised soothingly. "It's not as if you were staying here, you know. You'll be back on board your ship by supper-time. And now, I must tell you how we've got to handle this lawyer-fellow when he fetches in the raft of papers he'll want us all to sign."

Captain Dove listened gloomily while he went on to explain, at considerable length, and in his most convincing manner, that they must match their combined wits against the lawyer's for their own profit.

"It's not that I don't trust him," said Slyne, "but—I'll feel more secure after everything's settled in writing and signed. He can't go back on us then."

"He'd better not!" Captain Dove commented. "I'll wring his neck for him if he tries—"

"And, as for Sallie," Slyne cut him short, "I've made things quite—"

"Sallie will do whatever I tell her," growled Captain Dove. "And don't you attempt to interfere between me and her—till you've paid me my money, Slyne. Where is she? Fetch her in here."

Slyne had no farther to go to do that than to the next room, where he found Sallie at the window, gazing pensively out at the sea. But he delayed there for some time to make it still more clear to her that her only hope of helping herself lay in abetting him blindly.

When he at length returned to his own sitting-room with her, he found Captain Dove staring fixedly at another arrival there, an overwhelmingly up-to-date if rather imbecile-looking young man, whose general gorgeousness, combined with a very vacant, fish-like eye much magnified by a monocle, had evidently reduced the would-be fashionable seaman to a stricken silence.

Slyne, who had at first shot a most malevolent glance at the intruder, was stepping forward to greet him just as Mr. Jobling put in an appearance with a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"How d'ye do, Lord Ingoldsby?" said Slyne quite suavely to the young man with the eye-glass. He had caught sight of Mr. Jobling in the doorway, and turned to Sallie, his quick mind bent on a masterstroke.

"May I introduce to you the Marquis of Ingoldsby," he remarked to her in the monotone of convention; and, as she bowed slightly in response to that very modern young gentleman's ingratiating wriggle and grin, Slyne, one eye on Captain Dove's astonished countenance, completed the formality.

"This is Lady Josceline Justice," said he to his smirking lordship, and breathed delicately into a somewhat extensive ear the further information, "the late Earl of Jura's daughter, you know—and my fiancÉe."