“The Lola.”

“What!” he gasped, suddenly turning pale.  “The Lola?  Are you quite sure it was the Lola—­L-O-L-A?”

“Absolutely certain,” I replied.  “But why do you ask?  Do you happen to know anything about the craft?”

“Me!” he stammered, and I could see that he had involuntarily betrayed the truth, yet for some reason he wished to conceal his knowledge from me.  “Me!  How should I know anything about such a craft?  They were thieves on board evidently—­perhaps pirates, as you say.”

“But the name Lola is familiar to you, Jack!  I’m sure it is, by your manner.”

He paused a moment, and I could see what a strenuous effort he was making to avoid betraying knowledge.

“It’s—­well—­” he said hesitatingly, with a rather sickly smile.  “It’s a girl’s name—­a girl I once knew.  The name brings back to me certain memories.”

“Pleasant ones—­I hope.”

“No.  Bitter ones—­very bitter ones,” he said in a hard tone, striding across the deck and back again, and I saw in his eyes a strange look, half of anger, half of deep regret.

Was he telling the truth, I wondered?  Some tragic romance or other concerning a woman had, I knew, overshadowed his life in the years before we had become acquainted.  But the real facts he had never revealed to me.  He had never before referred to the bitterness of the past, although I knew full well that his heart was in secret filled by some overwhelming sorrow.

Outwardly he was as merry as the other fellows who officered that huge floating fortress; on board he was a typical smart marine, and on shore he danced and played tennis and flirted just as vigorously as did the others.  But a heavy heart beat beneath his uniform.

When he returned to where I stood I saw that his face had changed:  it had become drawn and haggard.  He bore the appearance of a man who had been struck a blow that had staggered him, crushing out all life and hope.

“What’s the matter, Jack?” I asked.  “Come!  Tell me—­what ails you?”

“Nothing, my dear old chap,” he answered hoarsely.  “Really nothing—­only a touch of the blues just for a moment,” he added, trying hard to smile.  “It’ll pass.”

“What I’ve just told you about that yacht has upset you.  You can’t deny it”

He started.  His mouth was, I saw, hard set.  He knew something concerning that mysterious craft, but would not tell me.

The sound of a bugle came from the further end of the ship, and immediately men were scampering along the deck beneath as some order or other was being obeyed with that precision that characterizes the “handy man.”

“Why are you silent?” I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon my friend the officer.  “I have told you what I know, and I want to discover the motive of the visit of those men, and the reason they opened Hutcheson’s safe.”

“How can I tell you?” he asked in a strained, unnatural voice.