Rattleton was ashamed of the language he had used after the departure of Bloodgood, and he did not attempt to excuse himself further.  He lay back in his berth, looking sicker than ever.

“I’d give ten dollars for the privilege of helping Mr. Bloodgood out with my foot!” hissed Jack Diamond.  “Never saw anybody so fresh!”

“Oh, I’ve seen lots of people just like him,” grunted Browning, getting out a pipe and lighting it.

“Don’t smoke, Bruce!” groaned Rattleton, as the steamer gave an unusually heavy roll.  “I’m sick enough now.  That will make me worse.”

“Oh, we’ll open the port.”

“Open the port!” laughed Frank.  “And we just told Bloodgood we did not drink.”

“Port-hole, not port wine,” said the big fellow, with a yawn.  “We’ll let in some fresh air.”

“We can’t let in anything fresher than just went out,” declared the Virginian, as he flung open the round window that served to admit light and air.

“There’s something mighty queer about that fellow,” said Frank.  “Did you notice the diamonds he was wearing, fellows?”

“Yes,” said Bruce, beginning to puff away at his new briarwood.  “Regular eye-hitters they were.”

“Who knows they were genuine?” asked Jack.

“Nobody here,” admitted Frank.  “It is impossible to distinguish some fake stones from real diamonds, unless you examine them closely.  But, somehow, I have a fancy that those were genuine diamonds.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t know just why I think so, but I do.  Something tells me that for all of his swagger Bloodgood is a fellow who would scorn to wear paste diamonds.”

“What do you make out of the fellow, anyway?” asked Bruce.

“I’m not able to size him up yet,” admitted Frank.  “I’m not certain whether he came of a good family or a bad one, but I’m inclined to fancy it was the former.”

“I’d like to know why you think so?” from Jack.  “He did not show very good breeding.”

“But there is a certain something about his face that makes me believe he comes from a high-grade family.  I think he has become lowered by associating with bad companions.”

“Well, I don’t care who or what he is,” declared Jack; “if he gets fresh around me again, I’ll crack him one for luck.  I can’t stand him for a cent!”

“Better turn him over to me,” murmured Bruce, dozily.  “I’ll sit on him.”

“And he’ll think he’s under an elephant,” laughed Merry.  “Bruce cooked M. Montfort, and I reckon he’d have less trouble to cook Mr. Bloodgood.”

At this moment there was a hesitating, uncertain knock on the door.

“Another visitor, I wonder?” muttered Frank.

CHAPTER V.

The superstitious man.

A little man hesitated outside the door when it was opened.  He had a sad, uncertain, mournful drab face, puckered into a peculiar expression about the mouth.  He was dressed in black, but his clothes were not a very good fit or in the latest style.  He fingered his hat nervously.  His voice was faltering when he spoke.