His tone was sufficiently urgent to rouse Liane out of the lassitude into which reaction from terror had let her slip.  She passed a hand over still dazed eyes, looked uncertainly about, then with perceptible exertion of will power collected herself, stood away from the partition and picked up the carafe.

Lanyard adopted the sensible suggestion of Phinuit, dropping on a knee to rest his hand above the heart of Popinot.  To his complete satisfaction, if not at all to his surprise, no least flutter of life was to be detected in that barrel-like chest.

A moment longer he lingered, looking the corpse over with inquisitive eyes.  No sign that he could see suggested that Popinot had suffered hardship during his two weeks of close sequestration; he seemed to have fared well as to food and drink, and his clothing, if nothing to boast of in respect of cut or cloth, and though wrinkled and stretched with constant wear, was tolerably clean—­unstained by bilge, grease, or coal smuts, as it must have been had the man been hiding in the hold or bunkers, those traditional refuges of your simon-pure stowaway.

No:  Monsieur Popinot had been well taken care of—­and Lanyard could name an officer of prestige ponderable enough to secure his quarters, wherein presumably Popinot had lain perdu, against search when the yacht has been “turned inside out,” according to its commander.

So this was the source of Mr. Mussey’s exact understanding of the business!

As to the question of how the Apache had been smuggled aboard, and when, Lanyard never learned the truth.  Circumstances were to prevent his interrogating Mr. Mussey, and he could only assume that—­since Popinot could hardly have been in the motor car wrecked on the road from Paris—­he must have left that pursuit to trusted confreres, and, anticipating their possible failure, have hurried on to Cherbourg by another route to make precautionary arrangements with Mr. Mussey.

Ah, well! no fault could be found with the fellow for lack of determination and tenacity.  On the point of rising, Lanyard reconsidered and, bending over the body, ran clever hands rapidly through the clothing, turning out every pocket and heaping the miscellany of rubbish thus brought to light upon the floor—­with a single exception; Popinot had possessed a pistol, an excellent automatic.  Why he hadn’t used it to protect himself, Heaven only knew.  Presumably he had been too thoroughly engrossed in the exercise of his favourite sport to think of the weapon up to the time when Phinuit had opened fire on him; and then, thrown into panic, he had been able to entertain one thought only, that of escape.

Lanyard entertained for a moment a vivid imaginary picture of the scene in the saloon when Phinuit had surprised the Apache in the act of strangling Monk; a picture that Phinuit subsequently confirmed substantially in every detail....