“You don’t say!” gasped Killigrew, who had never heard of this phase before.

“It’s my belief that Mason got his inspiration from watching me.  I am devilish sorry.”

“Then you believe that he is up to his old tricks again?”

“Yes,”—­reluctantly.  “The man who took my wife’s ruby, took your daughter’s sapphires.  It needed a clever mind to conceive such a coup.  Three other carriages were entered, with more or less success.  In a dense fog; a needle in a haystack.  And they’ll never find him.”

“It’s up to you to put the detectives on the right track.”

“I suppose I’ll have to do it.”

“If he returns to America he’ll be caught.  I’ll give Haggerty the tip.”

“I have my doubts of Mason committing any such folly.  He picked up a small fortune that night.  Strange mix-up.”

“Here, try one of these,” urged Killigrew, as the butt of Crawford’s cigar went overboard.

“Thanks.”

Thomas moved away from the ventilator.  Mix-up, indeed!  He stole down to the promenade deck, where the stewardess informed him that Miss Killigrew had just ordered her chocolate.  He flew to the kitchens.  It was a narrow escape.  To have been found wanting the first night out!

“Come in,” said a voice in answer to his knock.

[Illustration:  “Come in,” said a voice.]

He set the tray down on the stool, his heart insurgent and his fingers all thumbs.  He might live to be a steward eighty years old, but he never would get over the awe, the embarrassment of these invasions by night.  Each time he saw a woman in her peignoir or kimono he felt as though he had committed a sacrilege.  True, he understood their attitude; he was merely a serving machine and for the time wiped off the roster of mankind.

A long blue coat of silk brocade enveloped Kitty from her throat to her sandals; sleeves which fell over her hands; buttoned by loops over corded knots.  An experienced traveler could have told him that it was the peculiar garment which any self-respecting Chinaman would wear who was in mourning for his grandfather.  Kitty wore it because of its beauty alone.

“Thank you,” she said, as Thomas went out backward, court style.  Kitty smiled across at her maid who was arranging the combs and brushes preparatory to taking down her mistress’ hair.  “He looked as if he were afraid of something, Celeste.”

Celeste smiled enigmatically.  “Ma’m’selle shoult haff been born in Pariss.”

This was translatable, or not, as you pleased.  Kitty sipped the chocolate and found it excellent.  At length she dismissed the maid, switched off the lights, and then remembered that there was no water in the carafe.  She rang.

Thomas replied so promptly that he could not have been farther off than the companionway.  “You rang, miss?”

“Yes, Webb.  Please fill this carafe.”