your confidence.  The instant, however, you went ashore, Chater, Woodroffe—­whom you called Hornby—­and Mackintosh, the captain—­who, by the way, was an old ticket-of-leave man—­went ashore, and, of course, broke into the Consulate.  Then, as soon as they returned, Elma came to my cabin, awoke me, and said that the Baron was taking her ashore, and that they were to travel overland back to London.  She was ready dressed to go, therefore I kissed her, and promising to meet her soon, we parted.  That was the last I saw of her.  What happened to her afterwards only she alone can tell us.”

“But she is not the Baron’s niece?” I said.

“No.  There is some mystery,” declared Muriel.  “She holds some secret which he fears she may divulge.  But of what nature, I am in ignorance.”

“Then you say that your father has never taken any active part in the robberies?” I remarked.

“No.  He commenced by lending money, and amassed a considerable fortune.  Then avarice seized him, as it does so many men, and coming into contact with Archer and his friends, he saw that the idea of the yacht was a safe and profitable one.  Therefore he purchased the vessel, and ran it at the disposition of the thieves, and subsequently under compulsion in the secret service of Russia, as I have already described to you.  The profits were colossal.  In one year my father’s share was eighty thousand pounds.”

“And where is your father now?” I asked.

“Ah!” she exclaimed sadly, her face pale and haggard.

“I have heard that the vessel was scuttled somewhere in the Baltic.”

“That is true.  Oberg’s purpose having been served, he demanded half the property on board, or he would give notice to the Russian naval authorities that the pirate yacht was afloat.  He attempted to blackmail my father, as he had already done so many times, but his scheme was frustrated.  My father, because of his inhuman treatment of poor Elma, defied him, when it appears that Oberg, who was in Helsingfors, telegraphed to the admiral of the Russian fleet in the Baltic.  The crew from the Iris were at once landed at Riga, and only Mackintosh and my father put to sea again.  Ah! my father was desperate, for he knew the merciless character of that man whose victim he had been for so long.  They watched a Russian cruiser bearing down upon them, when, just as it drew near, they got off in a boat and blew up the yacht, which sank in three minutes with its ill-obtained wealth on board.”

“And your father?”

She was silent, and I saw tears standing in her eyes.

“There was a tragedy,” Jack explained in a low, hoarse voice.  “He and the captain did not, unfortunately, get sufficiently far from the yacht when they blew her up, and they went down with her.”

And I looked in silence at Muriel, who stood with her head bent and her white face covered with her hands.

Almost at the same moment there was a low tap at the door, and the servant-maid announced: