“Oh, I see him,” cried Barker, “there he is, just going up the bridge.  By Jove! what a height he looks.”

“Yes,” put in the Duke, “he is rather oversparred for a nor’-easter, eh?  Rather be your size, Barker, for reefing tawpsels;” and the Englishman laughed.

“Well,” said Barker, “when I first knew him he used to wear a balustrade round his neck to keep from being dizzy.  I wouldn’t care to have to do that.  I think I will go and have a look too.”  And leaving his companions to laugh at his joke, Mr. Barker glided easily from the rail, and began his journey to the bridge, which he accomplished without any apparent difficulty.  When he had climbed the little ladder he waved his hand to the Duke and his sister, who screamed something complimentary in reply; and then he spoke to Claudius who was standing by the skipper, his legs far apart, and both his hands on the railing.

“Is that you, Barker?” asked Claudius; “you are well disguised this morning.”

“Claudius,” said the other, “what on earth is the row?” The captain was on the other side of the Doctor, and could not hear in the wind.

“What row?” asked Claudius.  Barker knew enough of his friend by this time to be aware that roundabout methods of extracting information were less likely to be successful than a point-blank question.

“Don’t pretend ignorance,” said he.  “You look like a ghost, you are so pale, and when you put your head through the curtains a quarter of an hour ago, I thought you were one.  And you have not been near the Countess this morning, though you have never been away from her before since we weighed anchor.  Now, something has happened, and if I can do anything, tell me, and I will do it, right away.”  It is a good old plan, that one of trying to satisfy one’s curiosity under pretence of offering assistance.  But Claudius did not trouble himself about such things; he wanted no help from any one, and never had; and if he meant to tell, nothing would prevent him, and if he did not mean to tell, no power would make him.

“Since you have found it out, Barker, something has happened, as you say; and thanks for your offer of help, but I cannot tell you anything more about it.”

“I think you are unwise.”

“Perhaps.”

“I might help you a great deal, for I have some natural tact.”

“Yes.”

“Besides, you know I am as secret as the grave.”

“Quite so.”

“I introduced you to the Countess, too.”

“I know it.”

“And I should be very sorry indeed to think that my action should have had any evil consequences.”

“I am sure you would.”

“Then, my dear fellow, you must really take me a little more into your confidence, and let me help you,” said Barker, in the tone of an injured man.

“Perhaps I ought,” said Claudius.

“Then why will you not tell me what has happened now?”