never understood why you came to my rescue on that occasion, you didn't
owe me any civility, you know, and you had to--well--we'll say draw on
your imagination when you claimed you saw what I threw overboard that
night."

"Sure, I lied like a trooper," he admitted placidly. "Glad to do it. You
didn't break any bones when you strafed me, and anyhow, I felt sorry for
you. It always goes against me to see a fellow being played!"

Thanks to my determined coolness, the conversation lapsed. I buried
myself in the Paris "Herald," but found I could not read. Simmering with
wrath, I lived again the ill-starred voyage his words recalled to
me, breathed the close smothering air of the cabin that had held me
prisoner, tasted the knowledge that I was watched like any thief. An
armed sailor had stood outside my door by day and by night; and a dozen
times I had longed to fling open that frail partition, seize the man by
the collar, and hurl him far away.

Glancing out at the landscape, I saw that Turin lay back of us and that
our track was winding through dark chestnut forests toward the heights.
Confound Van Blarcom's reminiscences and the thoughts they had set
stirring! In ambush behind my paper I gloomily relived the past.

Our ship, following sealed instructions, had changed her course at
Gibraltar, conveying us by way of the Spanish coast to Genoa instead of
Naples. From my port-hole I had gazed glumly on blue skies and bright,
blue waters, purple hills, and white-walled cities, and fishing boats
with patched, gaudy sails and dark-complexioned crews. Then Genoa rose
from the sea, tier after tier of pink and green and orange houses and
shimmering groves of olive trees; and I was summoned to the salon, to