Fred Starratt went back and wrapped himself in his blanket.  Toward daylight Storch arose and filled a pot with coffee.  But neither spoke a word.

CHAPTER XXIII

As Storch cleared away the primitive evidences of the morning meal and stood before the sink letting a thin trickle of cold water wash clean the cups he said: 

“If we get the ten-o’clock boat to Oakland we will be in plenty of time.”

Starratt rolled a cigarette.  “Ah, then you are going, too!”

“Naturally,” Storch replied, as he turned off the water.

Fred began to dress himself carefully.  Storch loaned him an indifferent razor.  The shaving process was slow but in the end it was accomplished.  Fred was amazed at the freshness of his appearance.  Only once before in his life had he deliberately sat up all night without either the desire or determination to sleep, and that was on that night which now seemed so remote when he had felt the first budding of Helen’s scorn.  He recalled that he had been just as alert and clear-minded on the following morning as he was now.  And just as uncertain as to what the future held in store.

Storch also made a careful toilet—­for him.  He rummaged for a clean flannel shirt, combed his reddish beard, dusted off his clumsy boots.  But they were ready much too soon, like a couple of children promptly dressed for an excursion, impatiently awaiting the hour of departure.  Of the two, Storch evinced the more nervousness.  He poked into nooks and corners of the room upon all sorts of pretended orderliness.  Fred sat and eyed him calmly—­smoking cigarette after cigarette.  Finally, Storch lifted the kodak case from its hiding place and set it on the center table.  Cautiously he pried loose the false top and peered into its depths.  There followed a tense moment during which he bent in a close inspection over its fascinating depths.  Presently Fred caught a distinct ticking sound, and he knew that Storch had set in motion the clock upon which depended the bomb’s explosion at the appointed hour.  But withal he remained curiously unmoved.

The cry of a belated newsboy floated through the open front door.  Storch went out and bought a paper, flinging a section of it at Fred. A thickly headlined account of the launching at the Hilmer yards occupied chief place on the first page of the local news section.  There was a picture of the hull that had been put through on schedule time in spite of strikes and lockouts, and another one of Hilmer, and a second photograph of a woman.  Fred looked twice before he realized that the face of his wife was staring up at him from the printed sheet.  Helen Starratt was to be the ship’s sponsor and there was a pretty and touching story in this connection.  It had always been Mrs. Hilmer’s ambition to christen a seagoing giant, and she had been chosen to act as godmother to a huge oil-tanker only a year before, but a serious accident