I must—­I will know.  No one pays the slightest attention, and I again go forward.

As I approach the forecastle I find myself face to face with a man who is leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me.  He seems to be waiting for me to speak to him.

I recognize him instantly.  He is the person who accompanied the Count d’Artigas during the latter’s visit to Healthful House.  There can be no mistake—­it is he right enough.

It was, then, that rich foreigner who abducted Thomas Roch, and I am on board the Ebba his schooner-yacht which is so well known on the American coast!

The man before me will enlighten me about what I want to know.  I remember that he and the Count spoke English together.

I take him to be the captain of the schooner.

“Captain,” I say, “you are the person I saw at Healthful House.  You remember me, of course?”

He looks me up and down but does not condescend to reply.

“I am Warder Gaydon, the attendant of Thomas Roch,” I continue, “and I want to know why you have carried me off and placed me on board this schooner?”

The captain interrupts me with a sign.  It is not made to me, however, but to some sailors standing near.

They catch me by the arms, and taking no notice of the angry movement that I cannot restrain, bundle me down the hatchway.  The hatchway stair in reality, I remark, is a perpendicular iron ladder, at the bottom of which, to right and left, are some cabins, and forward, the men’s quarters.

Are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of the hold?

No.  They turn to the left and push me into a cabin.  It is lighted by a port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes in gusts from the briny.  The furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, a chest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table.

The latter is spread for dinner, and I sit down.  Then the cook’s mate comes in with two or three dishes.  He is a colored lad, and as he is about to withdraw, I try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes no reply.  Perhaps he doesn’t understand me.

The door is closed, and I fall to and eat with an excellent appetite, with the intention of putting off all further questioning till some future occasion when I shall stand a chance of getting answered.

It is true I am a prisoner, but this time I am comfortable enough, and I hope I shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder of the voyage, and not be lowered into that black hole again.

I now give myself up to my thoughts, the first of which is that it was the Count d’Artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who is responsible for the kidnapping of Thomas Roch, and that consequently the French inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere on board the schooner.

But who is this Count d’Artigas?  Where does he hail from?  If he has seized Thomas Roch, is it not because he is determined to secure the secret of the fulgurator at no matter what cost?  Very likely, and I must therefore be careful not to betray my identity, for if they knew the truth, I should never be afforded a chance to get away.