A little group of laughing young women came scurrying up the ladder from the promenade, and the Admiral and his companion sat stonily silent until they had passed. Then the Admiral spoke again, still in a whisper, but his voice was under control.
"The most astounding thing has happened," he said. "I cannot understand it. The operator in there has just received a message from Cherbourg, asking if there is not on board, in stateroom 514, a man named Ignace Vard, accompanied by his daughter. It is signed by Lépine, chief of the French secret service."
The younger man drew a quick, sibilant breath, and his face, too, turned pale beneath the tan.
"But how could he know?" he gasped. "How could he suspect?"
"Lépine is the very devil!" growled the other. "Perhaps it was that wireless installation, as you suggested."
"But that could not betray the man's name—the boat—even his stateroom!"
"No; I cannot understand it," and Pachmann mopped his face again. Then he thrust his handkerchief back into his pocket and sprang to his feet. "However it occurred, we must stop it," he said. "Come."
"Stop it—but how?"
"There is only one way. Come!"
The Admiral hurried down the ladder, his companion at his heels. From the upper promenade he descended to the deck below, and then, without hesitating, climbed another ladder and stepped over a low gate which gave entrance to the first-class promenade. The gate, it is true, bore a sign stating that second-class passengers must not pass it; but Pachmann did not even glance at it. He seemed to know the ship, for he pressed on, disregarding the curious glances cast at himself and his companion, mounted again to the boat-deck, and did not pause until he had reached its extreme forward end, just under the bridge. There he stopped at a door just abaft the ladder leading to the bridge and knocked sharply.