grateful, regretful telegram from Liverpool. 

 Even the amateur sleuth doesn't let a ship carry him away to sea without making sure that his quarry is on board. Roger Odell's name was not on the passenger list, but neither was mine; we were late comers. Nevertheless, I knew he was certain to have a good cabin, and I inquired casually of a steward on the promenade deck whether he had "Seen Mr. Odell yet?"  He fell into my trap and answered that he had not, but his "mate" would be looking after the gentleman who was in the bridal suite. 

 I pricked up my ears, remembering that, according to Carr Price, there was a girl in the case. Something unexpected had happened to upset Odell's plans in England. Could he be running off with anybody's wife or daughter? 

 "I didn't know that Mr. Odell was on his honeymoon," I ventured as a feeler. 

 The steward looked nonplussed, then grinned.  "Oh, you're thinking of the bridal suite, sir!" he patronised my ignorance.  "There's nothing in that. Probably the gentleman wired for the best there was. He's alone, sir. Do you wish to send word to him? I can fetch my mate——" 

 I broke in with thanks, saying that I would see Mr. Odell later. No doubt I would do so; but how I should recognise him was the question. Meanwhile, I limped about the deck, hoping to come across a chair labelled "Odell," and vainly searching I met a deck-steward. He took pity on my lameness, and offered to get me a chair at once.  "Where would you like to sit, sir?" 

 I wanted to say, "Put me next to Mr. Roger Odell," but that was too crude a means towards the end. I looked around, hesitating and hoping—in a way I have which sometimes works well—for an inspiration, and my wandering eyes arrived at a girl. Then they ceased to wander. She was extraordinarily pretty, and therefore more important than twenty Roger Odells. She was just settling into her deck-chair. To the right was another chair, with a rug and a pillow on it. To the left was an unfilled space. 

 "There's room over there," I said.  "It seems a well-sheltered place." 

 "It is, sir," replied the steward. Without allowing an eye to twinkle, he solemnly plumped down my chair at the left of the girl, not too near, yet not too far distant. She glanced up, as if faintly annoyed at being given a neighbour, but seeing my crutches, melted and gave me a brief yet angelic look of sympathy. If she had been 

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