"And aren't you afraid?"
"Of what?" proudly.
"It will not be a comedy. It is in the blood of these Napoleons that nothing shall stand in the path of their desires, neither men's lives nor woman's honor."
"I am not afraid. There is the sun at last What a picture! And the shame of it! I am hungry!"
At half after six the yacht let go her anchor a few hundred yards from the quay. Every one was astir by now; but at the breakfast table there was one vacant chair—Breitmann's. M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald exchanged significant glances. In fact, the Frenchman drank his coffee hurriedly and excused himself. Breitmann was not on deck; neither was he in his state-room. The door was open. M. Ferraud, without any unnecessary qualms of conscience, went in. One glance at the trunk was sufficient. The lock hung down, disclosing the secret hollow. For once the little man's suavity forsook him, and he swore like a sailor, but softly. He rushed again to the deck and sought Captain Flanagan, who was enjoying a pipe forward.
"Captain, where is Mr. Breitmann?"
"Breitmann? Oh, he went ashore in one of the fruit-boats. Missed th' motor."
"Did he take any luggage?"
"Baggage?" corrected Captain Flanagan. "Nothin' but his hat, sir.
Anythin' wrong?"
"Oh, no! We missed him at breakfast." M. Ferraud turned about, painfully conscious that he had been careless.