The Captain nodded.

“I am coming down to dinner to-night,” he announced, “and shall hope to find you in your places.  What the mischief are you hanging about for, Brown?” he asked, turning to the steward, who was standing by with a carpet-sweeper in his hand.

“Room wants cleaning out badly, sir.”

The Captain glanced distastefully at the carpet-sweeper.

“Do it when I am at dinner, then,” he ordered, “and take that damned thing away.”

The steward obeyed promptly.  Quest and Harris followed him down the deck.

“Queer-looking fellow, that,” the latter remarked.  “Doesn’t seem quite at his ease, does he?”

“Seemed a trifle over-anxious, I thought, when he was showing us round the ship,” Quest agreed.

“M-m,” Harris murmured softly, “as the gentleman who wrote the volume of detective stories I am reading puts it, we’d better keep our eye on Brown."...

The Captain, who was down to dinner unusually early, rose to welcome Quest’s little party and himself arranged the seats.

“You, Miss Lenora,” he said, “will please sit on my left, and you, Miss Laura, on my right.  Mr. Quest, will you sit on the other side of Miss Laura, and Mr. Harris two places down on my left.  There is an old lady who expects to be at the table, but the steward tells me she hasn’t been in yet.”

They settled down into the places arranged for them.  Harris was looking a little glum.  Lenora and Quest exchanged a meaning glance.

“I’m not sure that I appreciate this arrangement,” Harris whispered to his neighbour.

“You may be candid,” Lenora replied, “but you aren’t very polite, are you?”

Harris almost blushed as he realized his slip.

“I am sorry,” he said, “but to tell you the truth,” he added, glancing towards Quest, “I fancied that you were feeling about the same.”

“We women are poor dissemblers,” Lenora murmured.  “Do look how angry this old woman seems.”

An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by the steward to a seat by Quest’s side.  She acknowledged the Captain’s greeting acidly.

“Good evening, Captain,” she said.  “I understood from the second steward that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me.  I am Mrs. Foston Rowe.”

The Captain received the announcement calmly.

“Very pleased to have you at the table, madam,” he replied.  “As to the seating, I leave that entirely to the steward.  I never interfere myself.”

Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora glanced away to hide a smile.  Mrs. Foston Rowe studied the menu disapprovingly.

“Hors d’oeuvres,” she declared, “I never touch.  No one knows how long they’ve been opened.  Bouillon—­I will have some bouillon, steward.”

“In one moment, madam.”

The Professor just then came ambling along towards the table.