Mercedes did not depart from her usual custom on that particular morning.
Soon after the appearance of dawn in the east, and sometime before the sun was up, she appeared on the deck, and as soon as she did so, the captain, acting upon Nick’s request, approached her and said a few words to her in a low tone.
Almost immediately thereafter she crossed the deck to the spot where Nick was standing leaning against the rail, and in a position he had selected so that they would be sufficiently apart from other passengers who might appear on the deck. He did not care to be overheard in what he had to say.
“The captain told me that you wished to speak with me,” she said in a low tone. “He said that you had something of importance to communicate to me. Please tell me who you are, sir, for I do not know you.”
“Don’t you recognize my voice?” asked Nick, smiling, and speaking in his natural tones.
Mercedes started back with a little cry of pleased surprise, and then again looked at him doubtfully.
“Sure,” she said, “you are not—no, you cannot be—Mr. Carter.”
“Nick Carter; no other; and wholly at your service,” he replied.
“Why have you come here in this disguise? Has anything happened to my brother?”
“Oh, no. I think not. At least, nothing of which I am informed. I have come to meet you hidden behind a disguise because I had good reasons for desiring that you should be the only person aboard this ship—aside from the captain, of course—who would know me.”