Dennison was thereupon carried to Cabin Two, and deposited upon the

stationary bed. He began to laugh. There was a sardonic note in this

laughter, like that which greets you when you recount some incredible

tale. His old cabin!

The men shook their heads, as if confronted by something so unusual that

it wasn't worth while to speculate upon it. The old man's son! They went

out, locking the door. By this time Dennison's laughter had reached the

level of shouting, but only he knew how near it was to tears--wrathful,

murderous, miserable tears! He fought his bonds terrifically for a moment,

then relaxed.

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For seven years he had been hugging the hope that when he and his father

met blood would tell, and that their differences would vanish in a strong

handclasp; and here he lay, trussed hand and foot, in his old cabin, not a

crack in that granite lump his father called a heart!

A childish thought! Some day to take that twenty thousand with accrued

interest, ride up to the door, step inside, dump the silver on that old

red Samarkand, and depart--forever.

Where was she? This side of the passage or the other?

"Miss Norman?" he called.

"Yes?" came almost instantly from the cabin aft.

"This is Captain Dennison. I'm tied up and lying on the bed. Can you hear

me distinctly?"

"Yes. Your father has made a prisoner of you? Of all the inhuman acts! You

came in search of me?"

"Naturally. Have you those infernal beads?"

"No."

Dennison twisted about until he had his shoulders against the brass rail

of the bed head.

"What happened?"

"It was a trick. It was not to talk about you--he wanted the beads, and

that made me furious."

"Were you hurt in the struggle?"

"There wasn't any. I really don't know what possessed me. Perhaps I was a

bit hypnotized. Perhaps I was curious. Perhaps I wanted--some excitement.

On my word, I don't know just what happened. Anyhow, here I am--in a

dinner gown, bound for Hong-Kong, so he says. He offered me ten thousand

for the beads, and my freedom, if I would promise not to report his

high-handedness; and I haven't uttered a sound."

"Heaven on earth, why didn't you accept his offer?"

A moment of silence.

"In the first place, I haven't the beads. In the second place, I want to

make him all the trouble I possibly can. Now that he has me, he doesn't

know what to do with me. Hoist by his own petard. Do you want the truth?

Well, I'm not worried in the least. I feel as if I'd been invited to some

splendiferous picnic."




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