He entered the state-room softly. Gerald raised himself on his elbow.
“Yes, my lord,” Philip answered, sitting down on the edge of the berth, and trying not to let his voice or manner hint of the trouble of his mind. “How is your head? Do you want any thing?”
“My head is ever so much better,” said Gerald, sinking back luxuriously. “I should like some ice-water, if you’ll get it, please, before long. I’d better not try to get up to-night, except to undress. Don’t you think you’d like to get to bed soon yourself?”
“Yes,” replied Philip, absently, “very soon.”
He was asking himself whether he would not better go at once to Captain Widgins, who had seemed so friendly to him, and confide to him his peculiar story and suspicions. But then had he not best know more of the riddle before he did? The only way to do that was to turn the state-room into a hiding-place and a castle for Gerald; and as to himself, to walk out boldly and bring events to an issue. He had courage enough for that.
“I’ll get you the ice-water at once,” he exclaimed, starting up, “and I’ll see what sort of a night it is by this time. Then I wont have to leave you alone again.”
“All right,” returned Gerald, yawning. “I’m half in a doze now; I dare say I’ll be asleep before you get back, but I’d rather not go to bed quite yet. It can’t have cleared much. That fog-whistle is going as hard as it can.”
Philip locked the state-room door as he stepped out――a precaution Gerald was too drowsy to mark. He re-entered the main saloon and walked with deliberate slowness about it, while he waited for the ice-water. There seemed to be no signs of the enemy. It was a rather vacant quarter where he found himself at last. A tall figure quickly drew near and stopped before him. Philip raised his eyes. As he expected, it was the foe.
“Good-evening, Mr. Touchtone,” the man began in his smoothest voice, offering to shake hands, and directing his black eyes full into Philip’s steady ones.
Philip drew himself up, and, paying no heed whatever to the hand, responded stiffly, “Good-evening.” He made as if he would have passed on, but then the other stepped directly in his way.
“Pray, don’t be in a hurry,” he said, in a lower tone, with a different note coming into it, that did not surprise Philip. “I think, considering the extraordinary way that you gave me the slip yesterday, and since I have taken passage on this steamer expressly to have the pleasure of a talk with you, I deserve a little of your valuable time, eh?”