orders, and just observed them."
"Orders from whom?"
"From my owners."
"Your owners! What possible interest could your owners have in shipping me aboard while I was unconscious? Who are they?"
"Hanways, of Newcastle."
"And what ship is this?"
"The _Petrel_, of Newcastle."
"Bound for where?"
"No," he replied. "I've strict orders to keep you confined in the cabin, to treat you as well as your behaviour will allow, and to tell you nothing."
"Well, captain, you're a sensible man, and surely you'll listen to reason."
"What reason? I've got my orders. That's enough for me."
"But I tell you that by this action you are aiding in the concealment of a terrible crime--the dastardly murder of a lady in London," I burst forth.
"Of course. That's the yarn they said you'd spin. Well, you can stow that for the present. I'll come down and hear it over a pipe, when I want a bit of relaxation. For the time being, just you sniff the ozone, and fancy yourself in a drawin'-room."
Then, without more ado, the burly fellow made his exit, slammed the heavy door and bolted it, leaving me still a prisoner within that tiny cabin.
CHAPTER SIX.
CAPTAIN BANFIELD EXPLAINS.
The hours passed but slowly. The man who had first answered my summons brought me some food but to all my arguments he remained obdurate.
"The cap'n says you're to stay 'ere," he responded, "and if I let you out he'd put me in irons. Old Banfield ain't a skipper to be trifled with, I can tell yer."
So I remained there, filled with gloomy thoughts, and wondering where I was being taken, and what possible interest Messrs. Hanway, the owners of the _Petrel_, could have in my forcible abduction.
I sat there, helpless and puzzled, until it grew quite dark, then my head feeling heavy, and my limbs exhausted on account of the drug that had been so ingeniously administered to me, I threw myself down, and the motion of the vessel soon lulled me to sleep.
The long green waves were sweeping past in the sunlight when I again opened my eyes, and from the porthole I could see a large steamer with a pair of red and black funnels in the distance, leaving a long trail of smoke behind her. Soon, however, she was beyond the range of my vision, and I could do nothing except sit there and review the whole situation.
The beautiful face of my murdered wife arose ever before me. It seemed to cry to me for vengeance. I was her husband, and I alone knew the truth.
Yet it was evident that I was still in the hands of enemies, and, imprisoned there, I could do nothing.
The day passed, and fortunately I found myself feeling better. The effect of the noxious drug was 

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