The moment for sentiment had passed, and the girl was herself again, cold, clear-headed, self-reliant. Caruth realized the fact and bowed to it.
“I came to consult you about that,” he explained. “We are about around the islands now, and must decide on our course. Where shall we go?”
“There is but one place. St. Petersburg.”
“St. Petersburg?”
“Yes. We can be there by daylight to-morrow, and by breakfast you can reach your ambassador.”
“What for?”
“What for?” echoed the girl amazedly. “What for? Your yacht, a private American yacht, engaged in a lawful occupation, has been attacked and fired on in Russian waters. Three of her passengers, one of them a distinguished scientist, have disappeared. You must complain; appeal to your ambassador; demand the identification and punishment of the offenders. Things like that cannot be done with impunity, even by Russia, unless they succeed so fully that they blot out their own traces. This time some one has blundered, and they will strive desperately to retrieve themselves. If you attempted to seek another port, you would find yourself denounced as a criminal who had fired on inoffensive fishing-boats. No! No! The boldest course is the best. Take the bull by the horns. Run to St. Petersburg, and have the ambassador present the case to the Czar in person. Once your complaint is filed, you are at least safe from murder.”
Caruth nodded. The advice was good. “I’ll tell the captain,” he acceded. “Now promise me you will try to get some sleep.”
Marie laughed cheerlessly. “Oh, yes, I’ll try,” she promised; “but I feel as if I should never sleep again.”
When Caruth reached the deck, the night was far gone, and streaks of light were already glimmering in the east. Not being in the mood for sleep, he stayed and watched the dawn come up.