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over. “Do you think they have gone overboard?”
    â€œNo, you may have been fortunate enough to brain an unlucky steward in the deck below.”
    A small boy who had arrived unobserved a few paces to our rear blew a deafening blast on a bugle.
    â€œLunch,” declared Mrs. Blair ecstatically. “I’ve had nothing to eat since breakfast, except two cups of beef tea. Lunch, Miss Beddingfeld?”
    â€œWell,” I said waveringly. “Yes, I do feel rather hungry.”
    â€œSplendid. You’re sitting at the purser’s table, I know. Tackle him about the cabin.”
    I found my way down to the saloon, began to eat gingerly, and finished by consuming an enormous meal. My friend of yesterday congratulated me on my recovery. Everyone was changing cabins today, he told me, and he promised that my things should be moved to an outside one without delay.
    There were only four at our table. Myself, a couple of elderly ladies, and a missionary who talked a lot about “our poor black brothers.”
    I looked round at the other tables. Mrs. Blair was sitting at the Captain’s table. Colonel Race next to her. On the other side of the Captain was a distinguished-looking, grey-haired man. A good many people I had already noticed on deck, but there was one man who had not previously appeared. Had he done so, he could hardly have escaped my notice. He was tall and dark, and had such a peculiarly sinister type of countenance that I was quite startled. I asked the purser, with some curiosity, who he was.
    â€œThat man? Oh, that’s Sir Eustace Pedler’s secretary. Been very seasick, poor chap, and not appeared before. Sir Eustace has got two secretaries with him, and the sea’s been too much for both of them. The other fellow hasn’t turned up yet. This man’s name is Pagett.”
    So Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, was on board. Probably only a coincidence, and yet—
    â€œThat’s Sir Eustace,” my informant continued, “sitting next to the Captain. Pompous old ass.”
    The more I studied the secretary’s face, the less I liked it. Its even pallor, the secretive, heavy-lidded eyes, the curiously flattened head—it all gave a feeling of distaste, of apprehension.
    Leaving the saloon at the same time as he did, I was close behind him as he went up on deck. He was speaking to Sir Eustace, and I overheard a fragment or two.
    â€œI’ll see about the cabin at once then, shall I? It’s impossible to work in yours, with all your trunks.”
    â€œMy dear fellow,” Sir Eustace replied. “My cabin is intended ( a ) for me to sleep in, and ( b ) to attempt to dress in. I never had any intentions of allowing you to sprawl about the place making an infernal clicking with that typewriter of yours.”
    â€œThat’s just what I say, Sir Eustace, we must have somewhere to work—”
    Here I parted company from them, and went below to see if my removal was in progress. I found my steward busy at the task.
    â€œVery nice cabin, miss. On D deck. No. 13.”
    â€œOh, no!” I cried. “ Not 13.”
    13 is the one thing I am superstitious about. It was a nice cabin too. I inspected it, wavered, but a foolish superstition prevailed. I appealed almost tearfully to the steward.
    â€œIsn’t there any other cabin I can have?”
    The steward reflected.
    â€œWell, there’s 17, just along the starboard side. That was empty this morning, but I rather fancy it’s been allotted to someone. Still, as the gentleman’s things aren’t in yet, and as gentlemen aren’t anything like so superstitious as ladies, I daresay he wouldn’t mind changing.”
    I hailed the proposition gratefully, and the steward departed to obtain permission from the purser. He returned grinning.
    â€œThat’s all right, miss. We can go along.”
    He led the way to 17. It was not quite as large as No. 13,