"Happened?" the young man managed to say. "Nothing."
"Then why has the yacht's course been changed? I can tell by the stars from my cabin window that we are not headed at all in the same direction we were going—"
He tried to speak unconcernedly: "Just changed for a short time on account of some reefs and the currents! Go to sleep," he commanded, "and leave the problems of navigation to others."
"Sleep? Mon Dieu! If I only could—"
Mr. Heatherbloom dared talk no more, so rang off. The prince might have been capable of such bruskness. Sonia Turgeinov had not seemed to suspect anything wrong; she had merely been inquisitive, and had taken it for granted the nobleman was at the other end of the wire. Mr. Heatherbloom strode restlessly to and fro. Seconds went by—minutes. He counted the tickings of the clock—suddenly wheeled sharply.
* * * * *
The young girl stood in the doorway—he had heard and now saw her. She came forward quickly, though uncertainly; in the dim light she looked like a shadow. He drew in his breath.
"Miss—" he began, then stopped.
Her gaze rested on him, almost indistinguishable on the other side of the salon.
"What does it mean? Who are you?" She spoke intrepidly enough but he saw her slender form sway.