“I really cannot accept it,” he said, his lower lip trembling perceptibly.

“Tut, tut! It’s all settled and done with. Your room is No. 4390. You will find your bag there, and also a box from my habitation. Come along – I’ll be your valet. Luncheon will be on shortly, and I want your company.”

Stranleigh turned away, and Hazel followed him.

Cabin 4390 could not be compared with the luxurious suite that Stranleigh was to occupy, yet, despite the purser’s hesitation to overpraise it, the cabin was of a size and promise of comfort that would have been found in few liners a decade ago. Ponderby was on hand, and saved his master the fag of valeting, and when finally the Hon. John emerged, he was quite his old jaunty self again – a well-dressed man who would not have done discredit even to the Camperdown Club.

“I have secured a place for you,” said Stranleigh, “next to myself at the doctor’s table. I flatter myself on having made this transfer with more tact than I usually display, for I am somewhat stupid in the main, trusting others to carry out my ideas rather than endeavouring to shine as a diplomatist myself. The purser – the only official aware of the change – thinks you made a bet to go over steerage, and will probably forget all about the matter. The question is, under what name shall I introduce you to the doctor?”

“What would you advise?” asked Hazel. “The name on my steerage ticket is William Jones.”

“Oh, that’s no good as a nom de guerre– too palpably a name chosen by an unimaginative man. I should sail under your own colours if I were you.”

“Good! Then John Hazel I am, and so will remain. As a guarantee of good faith, I promise you not to touch a card all the way across.”

“A good resolution; see that you keep it.” And thus they enjoyed an appetising lunch together, and were regaled with one of the doctor’s best salads.

They got away from Cherbourg before the dinner hour, and after that meal Stranleigh and Hazel walked together on the main deck, until the latter, admitting he was rather fagged after the exciting events of the day, went off to his cabin, and Stranleigh was left alone to smoke a final cigar. He leaned on the rail and gazed meditatively at the smooth sea.

It was an ideal evening, and Stranleigh felt at peace with all the world. There exists a popular belief that the rich are overburdened with care. This may be true while they are in the money-making struggle, but it is not a usual fault when the cash is in the bank or safely invested. Stranleigh occasionally lost money, but an immense amount had been bequeathed him, and he made many millions more than he had parted with, although he claimed this was merely because of a series of flukes, maintaining that, whenever he set to work that part of him known as his brains, he invariably came a cropper.

“You are Mr. Trevelyan, are you not?” said a very musical feminine voice at his elbow. Stranleigh turned in surprise, and seeing there a most charming young woman, he flung his partially consumed cigar into the sea.

“Yes,” he replied, “my name is Trevelyan. How did you know?”

That rare smile came to his lips – a smile, people said, which made you feel instinctively you could trust him; and many ladies who were quite willing to bestow their trust, called it fascinating.

“I am afraid,” said the girl, whose beautiful face was very serious, and whose large dark eyes seemed troubled – “I am afraid that I enacted the part of unintentional eavesdropper. I had some business with the purser – business that I rather shrank from executing. You came to his window just before I did, for I was hesitating.”

“I am sorry,” said Stranleigh, “if I obtruded myself between you and that official. Being rather limited in intelligence, my mind can attend to only one thing at a time, and I must confess I did not see you.”

“I know you did not,” retorted the girl. “There was no obtrusion. You were first comer, and therefore should have been first served, as was the case.”

“I would willingly have given up my place and whatever rights I possessed in the matter, had I known a lady was waiting.”

“I am sure of it. However, your conversation with the purser gave me a welcome respite, and, thinking over the crisis, I determined to consult you before I spoke to him; thus I have taken the unusual step of bringing myself to your notice.”

“In what way can I assist you, madam?” asked Stranleigh, a return of his usual caution showing itself in the instant stiffening of manner and coldness of words.

“I learned you were exchanging, on behalf of a friend, a third-class ticket for a place in the cabin. I judged from this that you are a good-hearted man, and my attention was attracted when you introduced yourself to the purser as Trevelyan, because Trevelyan is my own name.”

“Really?” ejaculated his lordship. “Have you relatives near Wychwood? You are English, are you not?”

“I am English, and a distant connection with the family of Trevelyan, near Wychwood, none of whom, however, I have yet met, unless you happen to belong to that branch.”

“I do,” said Stranleigh. “And now tell me, if you please, what is your difficulty?”

“I wish to ask you if the steerage ticket you gave the purser was taken in part payment for the cabin ticket, or did you forfeit it altogether?”

“That I can’t tell you,” said Stranleigh, with a laugh. “I am not accustomed to the transaction of business, and this little arrangement had to be made quickly.”

Although his lordship spoke lightly and pleasantly the girl appeared to have some difficulty in proceeding with her story. The large eyes were quite evidently filling with tears, and of all things in the world Stranleigh loathed an emotional scene. The girl was obviously deeply depressed, whatever the cause.

“Well,” he said jauntily and indeed encouragingly, “we were talking of first and third-class tickets. What have you to say about them?”

“I speak of the steerage ticket only. If you haven’t forfeited it, you have the right to demand its return.”

“I suppose so. Still, it is of no particular use to me.”

“No, but it would be vital to me. Coming down in the train from London, my purse was stolen, or perhaps I lost it when giving up my railway ticket. So I am now without either money or transportation voucher.”

“Was it for cabin passage?”

“Yes.”

“In that case you will have no difficulty; your name will be on the purser’s list. Do you know the number of your state-room?”

“No, I do not, and, so far as my name goes, I can expect no help from that quarter, because the name I travel under is not Miss Trevelyan.”

“Good gracious,” cried Stranleigh, “there are three of us! This ship should be called Incognita. Was your money also in that purse?”

“Yes, all my gold and bank-notes, and I am left with merely some silver and coppers.”

“Then the third-class ticket would not be of the slightest use to you. As I had to point out to another person on a similar occasion, you would not be allowed to land, so we will let that third-class ticket drop into oblivion. If you are even distantly related to the Trevelyan family, I could not think of allowing you to travel steerage. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

“Well, then, it is better that you should make all arrangements with the purser yourself. As I told you, I am not particularly good at business affairs. You give to him the name under which you purchased your ticket. You bought it in London, I suppose?”

“Yes,” she murmured again.

“Mention to him the name you used then. He will look up his list, and allot you the state-room you paid for. It is probable he may have the power to do this without exacting any excess fare; but if such is not the case, settle with him for your passage, and take his receipt. The money will doubtless be refunded at New York. Here is a fifty-pound note, and you can carry out the transaction much better than I. But stop a moment. Do you remember how much you paid for the room?”

“Twenty-five pounds.”

“That will leave you only the remaining twenty-five for New York, which is an expensive place, so we must make the loan a hundred pounds. Leave me your address, and if you do not hear from your people before that loan is expended, you may have whatever more you need. You will, of course, repay me at your convenience. I will give you the name of my New York agents.”

The eyes had by this time brimmed over, and the girl could not speak. Stranleigh took from his pocket-book several Bank of England notes. Selecting two for fifty pounds each, he handed them to her.

“Good-night!” he said hurriedly.

“Good-night!” she whispered.

After dinner on the day the liner left Queenstown, Lord Stranleigh sat in a comfortable chair in the daintily furnished drawing-room of his suite. A shaded electric light stood on the table at his elbow, and he was absorbed in a book he had bought before leaving London. Stranleigh was at peace with all the world, and his reading soothed a mind which he never allowed to become perturbed if he could help it. He now thanked his stars that he was sure of a week undisturbed by callers and free from written requests. Just at this moment he was amazed to see the door open, and a man enter without knock or other announcement. His first thought was to wonder what had become of Ponderby – how had the stranger eluded him? It was a ruddy-faced, burly individual who came in, and, as he turned round to shut the door softly, Stranleigh saw that his thick neck showed rolls of flesh beneath the hair. His lordship placed the open book face downwards on the table, but otherwise made no motion.

“Lord Stranleigh, I presume?” said the stranger.

Stranleigh made no reply, but continued gazing at the intruder.

“I wish to have a few words with you, and considered it better to come to your rooms than to accost you on deck. What I have to say is serious, and outside we might have got into an altercation, which you would regret.”

“You need have no fear of any altercation with me,” said Stranleigh.

“Well, at least you desire to avoid publicity, otherwise you would not be travelling under an assumed name.”

“I am not travelling under an assumed name.”

The stout man waved his hand in deprecation of unnecessary talk.

“I will come to the point at once,” he said, seating himself without any invitation.

“I shall be obliged if you do so.”

The new-comer’s eyes narrowed, and a threatening expression overspread his rather vicious face.

“I want to know, Lord Stranleigh, and I have a right to ask, why you gave a hundred pounds to my wife.”

“To your wife?” echoed Stranleigh in amazement.

“Yes. I have made a memorandum of the numbers, and here they are – two fifty-pound notes. Bank of England. Do you deny having given them to her?”

“I gave two fifty-pound notes to a young lady, whose name, I understood, was Trevelyan – a name which I also bear. She informed me, and somehow I believed her, that her purse containing steamship ticket and money, had been lost or stolen.”

A wry smile twisted the lips of the alleged husband.

“Oh, that’s the story is it? Would you be surprised if the young lady in question denied that in toto?”

“I should not be astonished at anything,” replied his lordship, “if you are in possession of the actual bank-notes I gave to her.”

“She describes your having taken these flimsies from a number of others you carry in your pocket. Would you mind reading me the number of others you carry in your pocket. Would you mind reading me the number of the next note in your collection?”

“Would you mind reading me the numbers on the notes you hold?” asked Stranleigh, in cool, even tones, making no sign of producing his own assets.

“Not at all,” replied the other; whereupon he read them. The notes were evidently two of a series, and the numbers differed only by a single unit. Stranleigh nonchalantly took out his pocket-book, and the intruder’s eyes glistened as he observed its bulk. Stranleigh glanced at the number on the top bank-note, and replaced his pocket-book, leaning back in his easy chair.

“You are quite right,” he said. “Those are the notes I gave to Miss Trevelyan.”

“I asked why.”

“I told you why.”

“That cock-and-bull story won’t go down,” said the other. “Even the richest men do not fling money about in such reckless fashion. They do it only for a favour given or a favour expected.”

“I dare say you are right. But come to the point, as you said you would.”

“Is that necessary?”

“I don’t know that it is. You want money – as large an amount as can be squeezed from a man supposedly wealthy. You use your good-looking wife as a decoy – ”

“You are casting aspersion on a lady quite unknown to you!” cried his visitor, with well-assumed indignation.

“Pardon me, you seem to be casting aspersion on her whom you say is your wife. I don’t know how these notes got into your hands, but I’d be willing to stake double the amount that the lady is quite innocent in the matter. She certainly is so far as I am concerned. If the lady is your wife, what is her name? She told me she was travelling under a different title from that written on the lost ticket.”

“I am not ashamed of my name, if you are of yours. My name is Branksome Poole.”

“Ah, then she is Mrs. Branksome Poole?”

“Naturally.”

Stranleigh reached out and drew towards him a passenger list. Running his eye down the column of cabin passengers, he saw there the names: “Mr. and Mrs. Branksome Poole.”

“Well, Mr. Poole, we come to what is the final question – how much?”