in theft. There sprang into his brain the notion that Melun was simply searching through his belongings with the idea of blackmail.

It almost made Westerham laugh to think that any man should attempt to blackmail him. He had nothing to disguise, nothing to hide.

Indeed, as he sat easily on the edge of his bunk looking at the dark, disconcerted face before him, Westerham had half a mind to throw his weapon aside and to tell Melun to go his way in peace. Then there came to him a certain recollection, and the blood crept into his face so that it seemed to burn, and his sinister eyes gleamed beneath his brows, bright and green and dangerous.

His control over himself was, however, perfect, and still in the soft, smooth voice, which long absence in the West had not robbed of its initial and birth-given refinement, he asked:

[Pg 9]

[Pg 9]

“What did you find?”

Captain Melun did not even blink his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Yet,” rejoined Westerham, almost meditatively, “you must have been here at least five minutes before I arrived.”

“I tell you,” said Melun, almost earnestly, “that I found nothing.”

“That is to say,” said Westerham, “nothing which you could turn to your own good account.”

Melun smiled a sour yet demure little smile.

“Precisely,” he said evenly.

“Permit me,” said the baronet, just as quietly, “to inform you that you are a liar. If you will be good enough to turn over the bundle of socks which you will find in the right-hand corner of the kit-bag as it faces you now, I think you will be able to hand me something that is of interest to us both.”

“I was not aware that I could,” replied Captain Melun with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Westerham picked up again the 

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