far out. But, now you mention it, how do we know that the message came from the Scotland Yard authorities at all? Suppose a gang of criminals know that one of their number is being followed by one of the best men from Scotland Yard; what is to hinder them from wiring to the detective, in the name of his superiors, to stop him at Dover, and so enable their own man to get away with whatever he has got about him? The one envelope was inside the other; and I only know the words of the message to myself as through-guard."

"It might be as you suggest; only, in that case, your reply would not have been arranged for?"

"Not as a blind?"

"By Jove," said the captain, after shouting an order to the engine-room, "I should like to know what the business really is. For all we can tell they may be tracking American dynamiters! So long as they don't blow my boat up, I don't care."

"How's the sea outside?"

"Bad!"

Everything on board was now tight and water-proof. The captain nodded to the guard, uttered another direction, and ascended to a more elevated post. The joints of the shining machinery slid round, and the Astarte gave two or three preliminary throbs.

"Off at last," muttered to a companion one of the few passengers who had remained on deck, "we're twenty. minutes behind time."

He was enveloped in a mackintosh which fell almost to his feet. The collar, turned up, rose over his ears, and the cloth-cap he wore, furnished with lappets and a broad peak, completely hid the upper portion of his features. His companion was a much shorter gentleman,

and underneath the broad brim, pulled downwards, of a soft felt-hat, it was impossible to distinguish his head. Perched on the summit of a roomy upright ulster, the soft felt-hat looked as though it crowned a tailor's effigy, of the kind which, with tickets suspended from their necks, grin at us from the plate-glass establishments of the cheap clothier. A casual observer would not have supposed these two persons to be acquaintances. In spite, however, of their attitude towards each other-the attitude of strangers-they presently exchanged observations in extremely low tones.

"Are you sure he's on board?" asked the taller of the two anxiously. "I was too much occupied with my man to be able to look after him. Are you quite sure?"

"Certain," murmured the other. "I watched him go downstairs into the cabin, and take a berth.”

"Well, you had better go down, too, Bat, and keep an eye on him. Change some money with the steward at the same time. We shall want some French money on the way."

"Go down!-not me! The 'tec' may have slipped you, and gone down himself. I don't want him to know me by sight as well as I know him-what do you think! Suppose I just went into the lion's den at once, without making any more fuss about it? Not me! It's-awful, up here--but you don't catch Bartholomew walking into the arms of Morpheus-no, sir! It would be like stepping into the Old Bailey dock right off. Not me, Mr. Wilkins!”

He

"I tell you I've not lost sight of the detective. is in one of the private cabins-the last on this side. I'll watch him till we get to Calais. You had better go down, and see what our man is doing-whether he is

drinking. Some one else may be after it.

We ought to get half an hour at Calais. Come to my table in the station-restaurant.—Why, what are you afraid of? There's nothing against you."

"No, but there soon may be." The speaker reeled against the bulwarks, as the Astarte, rounding the harbour entrance, encountered the first of her foaming assailants, and lurched with the shock. He grasped a rope to save himself from falling. "Come, you had better go downstairs, Bat," repeated his companion, who, though apparently the better sailor, held on perforce to the same rope for a moment.

The Astarte made straight for the white ridge of a black mass opposed to her. There was a loud crash, and over the deck flew an invisible shower of salt, icecold spray. The Astarte left the dim, white ridge behind her, and the black mass rolled sullenly away; and then she sank, dreadfully down-down-into a yawning furrow, where for an instant she stood quite still, as if to collect her energies for another such antagonist.

"Perhaps you're right, Sir John," said Mr. Bartholomew faintly; "I could do with a drop of brandy from the steward."

The two figures parted, the sack-like ulster steering an erratic but precipitate course in the direction of the cabin staircase.

As

Sir John continued hardily at his post. The breaking surf and howling wind appeared to disturb him less than the occasional approach of a surprised seaman. the Astarte drove upon her way, the marine birds riding exultantly on the waves would fly up in front of her and dart across the deck, or swoop along the vessel from

stem to stern, cleaving the gale with their muscular, forked wings.

On the lugubrious, indeed pathetic, scene below, it would be both undesirable and invidious to enlarge. When the limp felt-hat and draggling ulster had climbed to the foot of the brass-edged stairs, and forced an entrance into the cabin, there was no mirth at the piteous mien of the youth upon whose insufficient frame those articles hung. The steward and his assistant were too busy to attend to him at once. The necessary fluid, however, procured and gulped down, and consciousness having been partially recovered, Mr. Bartholomew addressed himself to a review of the company around him. A callous, jesting personage, presumably a commercial traveller, sat at the table in the centre, with some cold boiled beef before him, and a bottle of stout, and with a London evening newspaper propped up against a loaf of bread. The Astarte plunged and recoiled, shivered and righted herself, and at times it might have seemed to the dispirited voyagers that the Phoenician goddess of the moon would brusquely dive with them into the very bowels of the earth.

Mr. Bartholomew, scrutinising one after another the recumbent forms, allowed his eye to rest for a moment on the inflamed visage of Mr. Remington. That gentleman was ensconced in an easy-chair, at the raised extremity of the cabin. He, too, had been examining the company from his point of observation, and his gaze met the cautious glance directed towards him by the new arrival. Both countenances immediately assumed a bland expression of unconcern, and each proceeded with the apparently interrupted survey of his neighbours.

"Anything in the paper, sir, about the diamond rob

bery in the West End they were talking about at Dover?" asked the steward, as he rested from his labours. "There was quite a to-do down at the station. A ticket inspector told me that the police took the thief directly the mail touched the town platform."

"Not a word about it," replied the commercial traveller, carving the cold boiled beef; "the whole thing must have been kept precious quiet. Sometimes that is the best way; and if they have really put their hands on the right man the Scotland Yard people have done the trick, this time, about as neatly as you could wish to see."

"Smart work," said the other. "I heard there was twenty thousand pounds' worth of valuables. Do you suppose he had the diamonds about him, sir?”

"I suppose so. I suppose that was one of the reasons why he was making for the Continent. However, they'll find that out when they search him at the lock-up. It seems he had no luggage in the van-nothing but a portmanteau which he kept with him in the carriage. They ought to have concluded the search by this time." He looked at his watch. "I wonder whether they were family jewels-necklaces, bracelets, and so forth-or whether they were loose stones! That makes a deuce of a difference, you know; people always exaggerate the value of their own family jewels; but there's this about brilliants set in precious metal of some design or other -you can trace them if you don't let too much time slip by." "So you can, sir; whereas loose stones--"

"Whereas, how can you identify loose stones? You may have one or two of exceptional size, and those you may be able to swear to, though I shouldn't like to risk it myself, even then, not being a diamond-cutter or polisher, or an expert. But take a few loose brilliants