The doctor paused and put his head in the stateroom—a large one on the upper promenade deck and easily accessible.
“I want to thank you,” Gregory said earnestly, “for speaking to Miss Endacott.”
“Everything all right again?” the other asked, smiling.
“Quite, thanks to you,” was the well-satisfied reply. “I hope to God I don’t give myself away again! Come in and have a look at my evil genius.”
The doctor came a little farther into the room and examined the Image through his eyeglasses.
“Jove, it’s amazing,” he exclaimed; “amazingly powerful!”
“Diabolically!” Gregory muttered.
The doctor was clearly fascinated by the Image. His fingers passed over it with the soft touch of a connoisseur. He stood back and viewed it from another angle.
“Ballaston,” he said, “there isn’t a sculptor in the West to-day who could produce a piece of work like that. It’s stupendous!”
“I think I shall tell my steward to send it down below into safe keeping, somewhere,” Gregory suggested, turning away and lighting a cigarette. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea?”