"I'm glad it's so simple," he said. "I had begun to imagine all sorts of things. Last night, when we were talking here, it happened that my roommate, a fellow named Chevrial, was sitting on that bench yonder, and overheard a little of our talk. He was quite solemn with me this afternoon about it."
"In what way?" asked Kasia, quickly.
"He said there are always spies on board these big boats, and that you oughtn't to go around talking about blowing up battleships—not at this time, anyway, since it is only three or four days since a French ship was blown up."
He could hear the startled breath she drew, and the hand she laid on his sleeve was trembling.
"Did he say that?" she gasped. "But he doesn't suspect—"
"That your father blew up La Liberté?" laughed Dan. "Of course not. He said that was absurd. But, just the same, he thought it unwise to talk about it."
"He is right," Kasia agreed. "What else did he say?"
"He seemed to think your being moved to first-class was part of a plot of some kind, and thought you ought to be warned not to make any acquaintances or confide in any one. But of course that was just his imagination. If the Captain himself moved you why that settles it. He wouldn't be concerned in any plot. The whole thing, anyway, sounds like a bit of ten-twenty-thirty. I told Chevrial so."
"Who is this Chevrial?" asked Miss Vard.
"I don't know. He told me he was a dealer in wine. He seems to have travelled a lot, and he is certainly a well-educated fellow, and one of the best talkers I ever met. A Frenchman all through, from the way he got worked up over Alsace-Lorraine. He said it was as bad as Poland. But I suspect he was letting his Gallic imagination run away with him when he got on the subject of spies."