His cigarette was finished and he got up. The yacht was speeding like a winged thing on her way. There was never any fuss of departure when Larpent was in command. He stood for a few seconds in indecision, contemplating going up on to the bridge for a word with his captain and a glance round. But some fantastic scruple deterred him. He had made his farewell. He did not wish to see Valrosa again. He turned instead and went to his cabin.
All the appointments of the yacht were of the most luxurious order. She possessed every imaginable contrivance for the comfort of those who voyaged in her. Her state-cabins were a miracle of elegance and ease.
Saltash never took a valet when he went for a voyage. The steward attended to his clothes, and he waited on himself. He liked as much space as he could get both on deck and below.
He pushed open the door of his cabin and felt for the switch of the electric light. But he did not press it when he found it. Something made him change his mind. The faint light of stars upon rippling water came to him through the open porthole, and he shut himself in and stepped forward to the couch beneath it to look forth.
But as he moved, another influence caught him, and he stopped short.
"Is anyone here?" he said.
Through the wash of the water he thought he heard a light movement, and he felt a presence as of some small animal in the space before him.
Swiftly he stepped back and in a moment his hand was on the switch. The light flashed on, and in a moment he stood staring—at a fair-haired, white-faced lad in a brown livery with brass buttons who stood staring back at him with wide, scared eyes.