“It is a favourite name in our family, monsieur.”

Lanyard wagged his head in solemn admiration.

Phinuit had come to his side, and was offering his hand in turn.

“It’s all gospel, Mr. Lanyard,” he declared, with a cheerful informality which Lanyard found more engaging than Monk’s sometimes laboured mannerisms.  “He’s sure-enough Captain Whitaker Monk, skipper of the good ship Sybarite, Mister Whitaker Monk, owner.  And my name is really Phinuit, and I’m honest-to-goodness secretary to Mr. Monk.  You see, the owner got a hurry call from New York, last week, and sailed from Southampton, leaving us to bring his pretty ship safely home.”

“That makes it all so clear!”

“Well, anyway, I’m glad to meet you to your bare face.  I’ve heard a lot about you, and—­if it matters to you—­thought a lot more.”

“If it comes to that, Mr. Phinuit, I have devoted some thought to you.”

“Oh, daresay.  And now—­if mademoiselle is agreeable—­suppose we adjourn to the skipper’s quarters, where we can improve one another’s acquaintance without some snooping steward getting an unwelcome earful.  We need to know many things you alone can tell us—­and I’ll wager you could do with a drink.  What?”

“But I assure you, monsieur, I find your reception sufficiently refreshing.”

“Well,” said Phinuit, momentarily but very slightly discountenanced—­“you’ve been uncommon’ damn’ useful, you know...  I mean, according to mademoiselle.”

“Useful?” Lanyard enquired politely.

“He calls it that,” Liane Delorme exclaimed, “when I tell him you have saved my life!” She swept indignantly through the door by which Monk and Phinuit had come to greet them.  Two ceremonious bows induced Lanyard to follow her.  Monk and Phinuit brought up the rear.  “Yes,” the woman pursued—­“twice he has saved it!”

“In the same place?” Phinuit enquired innocently, shutting the door.

“But no!  Once in my home in Paris, this morning, and again to-night on the road to Cherbourg.  The last time he saved his life, too, and Jules’s.”

“It was nothing,” said the modest hero.

“It was nothing!” Liane echoed tragically.  “You save my life twice, and he calls it ‘useful,’ and you call it ‘nothing!’ My God!  I tell you, I find this English a funny language!”

“But if you will tell us about it...”  Monk suggested, placing a chair for her at one end of a small table on which was spread an appetising cold supper.

Lanyard remarked that there were places laid for four.  He had been expected, then.  Or had the fourth place been meant for Jules?  One inclined to credit the first theory.  It seemed highly probable that Liane should have telegraphed her intentions before leaving Paris.  Indeed, there was every evidence that she had.  Neither Monk nor Phinuit had betrayed the least surprise on seeing Lanyard; and Phinuit had not even troubled to recognise the fiction which Liane had uttered in accounting for him.  It was very much as if he had said:  That long-lost brother stuff is all very well for the authorities, for entry in the ship’s papers if necessary; but it’s wasted between ourselves, we understand one another; so let’s get down to brass tacks...  An encouraging symptom; though one had already used the better word, refreshing....