But I went by and opened the door that gave upon the saloon stairs. Instantly the flood of music rolled into the room in a tide, and, glancing back, I saw the Princess stir. She came towards me.
"A voice is a beautiful machine," she said uncertainly as the notes died away.
I could not answer; but she may have read an answer in my eyes. She passed me just as the singer broke into something new, and entered the music gallery. A shaft of light struck out her figure boldly. I walked round to the second door at the head of the stairs. Right away in the corner was Mademoiselle, and by her Sir John Barraclough lounged on the sofa, stroking his moustache uneasily. But my eyes lingered on the two not at all, for they were drawn forthwith to another sight which filled me with astonishment. The barriers had been removed from several of the windows, the windows themselves were open, and I could discern the figures of men gathered without on the deck.
With an exclamation I ran forward, interrupting the mellifluous course of Schubert's Serenade, and Barraclough started to his feet.
"What is it?" he asked abruptly.
Mademoiselle turned on her stool and regarded me with curiosity, and behind the Princess was approaching slowly.
"The windows, man!" said I.
Mademoiselle burst into laughter. "It was so dark," she said prettily, "I could not see plainly. I must always have light when I play. And I made Sir John open them."
Barraclough fidgeted, but turned a cold face on me.
"What's all the fuss about?" he asked surlily.