"It is."
"Very well, sir. I shall do my best."
"We can't afford to have him losing his head over a pretty—er—a nobody, perhaps an adventuress,—at this stage of the game. I much prefer the impossible Miss Blithers, Dank, to this captivating unknown. At least we know who and what she is, and what she represents. But we owe it to our country and to Dawsbergen to see that he doesn't do anything—er—foolish. We have five days left of this voyage, Dank. They may be fatal days for him, if you do not come to the rescue."
"They may be fatal days for me," said Dank, looking out over the ocean.
CHAPTER XII — THE LIEUTENANT REPORTS
Five days later as the Jupiter was discharging passengers at Plymouth, Count Quinnox and Lieutenant Dank stood well forward on the promenade deck watching the operations. The younger man was moody and distrait, an unusual condition for him but one that had been noticeably recurrent during the past two or three days. He pulled at his smart little moustache and looked out upon the world through singularly lack-lustre eyes. Something had gone wrong with him, and it was something that he felt in duty bound to lay before his superior, the grim old Minister of War and hereditary chief of the Castle Guard. Occasionally his sombre gaze shifted to a spot farther down the deck, where a young man and woman leaned upon the rail and surveyed the scene of activity below.
"What is on your mind, Dank?" asked the Count abruptly. "Out with it."
Dank started. "It's true, then? I do look as much of a fool as I feel, eh?" There was bitterness in his usually cheery voice.