The fishing boat ran quickly out of range, and Junard watched her for a few minutes. Then he headed his boat back to the ship.
The rail was crowded as he came alongside, the purser watching him, and half the passengers were on deck to see what was taking place.
"What was it? What's the matter?" asked a score at once.
"Man overboard—that's all," said Jameson.
"H'ist her up," said Junard, and he clambered up the swinging ladder thrown over to him, taking the life belt and the package under his arm.
Mr. Dunn was on deck, and Junard gave him his orders.
"Full speed ahead—on her course, north to west," he said, and went into his room. The door closed behind him. Then he switched off the lights, for it was now broad daylight, and then he opened the package. The papers were all there and intact, the water not reaching them at all. The safe was opened, and they were placed within. Then Junard stripped and turned in for a few hours of dreamless, quiet sleep.
He had saved the papers of his company, documents that were valued at more than a million dollars—and not a soul aboard knew what had really happened. Even Jameson was never quite sure.
The purser asked no questions about cholera, the ship headed along upon her course toward New York, and the warm day took its routine without further incident. Junard appeared very happy, and told many interesting stories at the dinner table that day. He answered no questions concerning the affair of the night.
He brought in his papers, delivered them in person, and a great political change took place without any one but a few select souls ever knowing how near the verge of revolution a prominent South American republic had been. Junard was offered a medal for risking his life trying to save that of a man overboard—but he refused it. The shots from the fishing boat were explained as signals for help. That was all.