When Dan Webster awoke, next morning, his first thought was that something was wrong, and it was a moment before he realised what it was. The screw had stopped. Instead of quivering with the steady, pulse-like vibration to which, during the past week, he had grown accustomed, the ship lay dead and motionless. He got on deck as quickly as he could, and found that they were anchored in the shelter of Sandy Hook, with a boat from quarantine alongside. Already the deck was thronged with excited passengers; many of the women, in their eagerness to go ashore, had put on their hats and veils and even their gloves. But word got about that there was some sickness in the steerage, and that it would probably be some hours before they could proceed.

Dan took a long look at the familiar land; then he hurried below to breakfast. He had planned his campaign before he went to sleep the previous night, and he was eager to begin it. Breakfast, therefore, did not take him long, and he was soon searching the decks for the man who, possibly, was a son of the Kaiser, but, much more probably, merely a young German who made the most of a chance resemblance.

Dan possessed the aplomb which only years of work on a great paper can give a man; he had wormed interviews from many reluctant and exalted personages; he had asked questions which the other man was certain to resent, often quite justly; he had drilled himself to believe that, when he was on the trail, all mankind was fair game, and that any device which would drag the truth from them was justified—the truth, the truth, that was the end and the justification of newspaper methods! Nevertheless, his heart beat a little faster when, at last, he perceived the object of his search leaning against the rail at the rear of the upper promenade and gazing out to sea.

"I've got buck-fever," he told himself. "It's because I'm out of training." And then he wondered if the Prince was thinking of Germany, and of the lady-love from whom he had been torn.

Nobody else, apparently, had any thought for Germany or for the open sea. Every one had crowded to the side-rails to stare at the land or at the smudge of smoke which marked Long Island, and the stern of the ship was deserted. Telling himself that he would never have a better chance, and that he must finish with the affair before the ship-reporters came aboard, Dan braced himself, approached the solitary and somewhat pathetic figure, removed his cap and bowed respectfully. The Prince, abruptly wakened from his day-dreams, looked up with a start, and met Dan's smiling eyes with an astonished stare.

"I see Your Highness does not remember me," said Dan, good-humouredly. "That is not remarkable, but I was conceited enough to think it just possible that you might."

"No," said the Prince, finding his tongue, "I fear I do not...." He stopped abruptly. "For whom do you take me?" he demanded.

"Surely I am not mistaken!" and Dan looked at him more closely. "No—it is really Your Highness! I cannot be deceived!"

The Prince met his gaze and shook his head, and tried to laugh. But he was not a good liar—his father had long since recognised his unfitness for any diplomatic mission.

"I see it is useless for me to dissemble," he said, in a low tone. "But I am here strictly incognito, and I beg that you will not betray me. Where have we met?"

Dan's heart leaped with exultation. And then a little feeling of shame seized him. It was too bad to have to betray the fellow—but duty demanded it! Perhaps, however, it could be done in a way that would not be offensive. He opened his lips to explain, when a stocky figure suddenly thrust itself between them, and Dan found himself gazing into a pair of irate eyes.

"What is this?" demanded the newcomer, though his voice, too, was carefully lowered. "Who are you, sir?"

Dan felt his good resolutions ooze away at the other's brutal manner.

"I am a reporter," he said.

"What is your business?"

"Gathering news."

"Your business here, I mean?"

"I was just interviewing the Prince," explained Dan, blandly. "The Record would be very glad to have his opinion of the Moroccan situation, of the Italian war, of the triple entente, or of anything else he cares to talk about. Perhaps he could find a theme in the destruction of La LibertÉ."

He spoke at random, and was surprised to see how fixedly the other man regarded him, with eyes in which apprehension seemed to have taken the place of anger.

"One moment," said Pachmann, for it was he, and he turned and spoke a few rapid words of German to the Prince, who reddened and nodded sullenly. Dan judged from the sound of the Admiral's subsequent remarks that he was swearing; but he preserved a pleasant countenance, the more easily since, happening to glance up, he saw Chevrial leaning over the rail of the boat-deck just above them and regarding the scene with an amused smile. At last, having relieved his feelings, the Admiral fell silent and pulled absently at the place where his moustache had been.

"When does your paper appear?" Pachmann asked, at last.

"To-morrow morning."

"You would not wish to use the interview before that time?"

"No."

Pachmann breathed a sigh of relief, and his face cleared.

"Then we are prepared to make a bargain with you," he said. "It is most important that the Prince's incognito be strictly preserved until to-night. If you will give me your word of honour to say nothing of this to any one until eight o'clock this evening, I, in return, give you my word of honour that the Prince, at that hour, will grant you an interview which I am sure you will find of interest. Do you agree?"

Dan reflected rapidly that he had nothing to lose by such an agreement; that eight o'clock would release him from his promise in ample time to write his story; and the interview might really be important.

"Yes," he said; "I agree; but on one condition."

"What is that?" demanded Pachmann, impatiently.

"That the interview be exclusive."

"Exclusive?" echoed Pachmann. "I do not understand."

"I mean by that that no one else is to get the interview but me," Dan explained.

A sardonic smile flitted across Pachmann's lips.

"I agree to the condition," he said. "And you on your part agree to say no word to any one; you are not to mention the appointment which I will make with you."

"I understand," said Dan. "But, interview or no interview, I am to be released from the promise at eight o'clock."

"Yes. Very well, then. I accept your word of honour, and I give you mine. At seven o'clock to-night, you will call at the German consulate and ask for Admiral Pachmann. I shall be in waiting to conduct you to the Prince."

"I thank you," said Dan, and walked away, treading on air. Then another consideration occurred to him. All this was going to interfere with his evening with Kasia. He must see her and explain that he would be late. But an official stopped him at the gangway and explained that, under quarantine regulations, each class must keep to its own quarters until the boat had docked.

The delay was less than had been feared, for the illness in the steerage turned out to be well-defined typhoid; so, at the end of two hours, the big ship began to move slowly up the harbour, with the passengers hanging over the rails, for the first glimpse of the great city. There was the green shore of Long Island; and then the hills of Staten Island; and then, there to the left, loomed the Statue of Liberty, her torch held high. Dan took off his cap, his eyes moist; and then, as he glanced at the faces of his neighbours, he saw that they were all gazing raptly at the majestic figure, just as he had been. Most of them, no doubt, had seen it many times before; some of them, perhaps, had committed the sacrilege of climbing up into the head and scribbling their names there; they had glanced at her carelessly enough outward-bound for Europe; but now she had for all of them new meaning,—she typified the spirit of their Fatherland, she welcomed them home.

And finally the wonderful skyline of New York towered far ahead, the web-like structure of the Brooklyn bridge spanning the river to the right; little clouds of steam crowning with white the summits of the towering buildings, and a million windows flashing back the sunlight. There is nothing else in the whole world like it, and the thousand passengers on the upper decks coming home, and the thousand men and women crowded on the lower deck, seeking fortune in a strange land—all alike gazed and marvelled and were glad.

Then, with a battalion of tugs pushing and pulling and straining and panting, the ship swung in toward her dock, and soon she was near enough for those on board to see the faces of the waiting crowd, and there were cries of greeting and wavings of handkerchiefs, and the shedding of happy tears—for it is good to get home! And at last the great hawsers were flung out and made fast, and the voyage was ended.

At this moment, as at all others, the first-cabin passengers had the precedence, and filed slowly down one gangplank, their landing-tickets in their hands, while at another the stewards proceeded to yank off the hand-baggage. Dan, leaning over the rail, watched the long line of passengers surging slowly forward, and finally he saw Kasia and her father. He would see them on the pier, of course, for it would take them some time to get their baggage through, and he could explain to Kasia about the other engagement. He followed them with his eyes—and then, with a gasp of astonishment, he perceived just behind them, also moving slowly down the gangplank, the Prince and the man who had called himself Admiral Pachmann.

But those men could have nothing to do with Kasia! It was just an accident that they happened to be behind her. And then he grasped the rail and strained forward, scarcely able to believe his eyes. For Pachmann had spoken to Vard, who nodded and walked hurriedly on with him, while Kasia, with a mocking smile, tucked her hand within the Prince's arm and fell into step beside him. Along the pier they hastened to the entrance gates, passed through, and were lost in the crowd outside.

Dan stood staring after them for yet a moment; then, with the careful step of a man who knows himself to be intoxicated, he climbed painfully to the boat-deck, dropped upon a bench there, and took his head in his hands.

There, half an hour later, a steward found him.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said. "Are you ill?"

Dan looked up dazedly.

"No," he said. "Why?"

"The passengers are all off, sir. If you have any luggage, you'd better be having it examined, sir."

"Thank you," said Dan, and got to his feet, descended to the lower deck, surrendered his landing ticket, and went unsteadily down the gangplank.

The pier was littered with baggage and crowded with distracted men and women watching the inspectors diving remorselessly among their tenderest possessions. Each was absorbed in his own affairs, and none of them noticed Dan's slow progress toward the little office of the chief-inspector. After a short wait, an inspector was told off to look through his baggage, and, with Dan's declaration in his hand, led the way to the letter "W," where his two suit-cases were soon found. Dan unlocked them, and stood aside while the inspector knelt and examined their contents. He was through in ten minutes.

"Nothing here," he said, and rose. Then his eyes ran Dan up and down. "I see you have a small parcel in your coat-pocket. May I see it?"

Without a word, Dan handed him the parcel. The inspector turned it over and examined the seals.

"What's in it?" he asked.

"A little electrical device," Dan answered.

"Well, I'll have to open it—it might be diamonds, for all I know."

"Go ahead," said Dan, and the inspector broke the seals, unwrapped the paper, and disclosed a small pasteboard box. He lifted the lid, glanced inside, and then looked at Dan.

"What is this? A joke?" he demanded.

"I don't understand," Dan stammered.

"You said it was an electrical device.""That's what it is."

"Either you're crazy or I am," said the man; "and I don't think it's me," and he thrust the box under Dan's nose.

And Dan's eyes nearly leaped from his head, for the box contained a cake of soap, cut neatly to fit it, into which had been pressed a number of nickel coins.