“You forget that your wife has a room in the deckhouse.”

This was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not in the deckhouse.  Mr. Travers, completely convinced by the statement, made no sound.  But neither did he lie down again.  D’Alcacer gave himself up to meditation.  The night seemed extremely oppressive.  At Lingard’s shout for Jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears ominously, he raised his eyes and saw Mrs. Travers outside the door of the Cage.  He started forward but she was already within.  He saw she was moved.  She seemed out of breath and as if unable to speak at first.

“Hadn’t we better shut the door?” suggested d’Alcacer.

“Captain Lingard’s coming in,” she whispered to him.  “He has made up his mind.”

“That’s an excellent thing,” commented d’Alcacer, quietly.  “I conclude from this that we shall hear something.”

“You shall hear it all from me,” breathed out Mrs. Travers.

“Ah!” exclaimed d’Alcacer very low.

By that time Lingard had entered, too, and the decks of the Emma were all astir with moving figures.  Jorgenson’s voice was also heard giving directions.  For nearly a minute the four persons within the Cage remained motionless.  A shadowy Malay in the gangway said suddenly:  “Sudah, Tuan,” and Lingard murmured, “Ready, Mrs. Travers.”

She seized d’Alcacer’s arm and led him to the side of the Cage furthest from the corner in which Mr. Travers’ bed was placed, while Lingard busied himself in pricking up the wick of the Cage lantern as if it had suddenly occurred to him that this, whatever happened, should not be a deed of darkness.  Mr. Travers did nothing but turn his head to look over his shoulder.

“One moment,” said d’Alcacer, in a low tone and smiling at Mrs. Travers’ agitation.  “Before you tell me anything let me ask you:  ’Have you made up your mind?’” He saw with much surprise a widening of her eyes.  Was it indignation?  A pause as of suspicion fell between those two people.  Then d’Alcacer said apologetically:  “Perhaps I ought not to have asked that question,” and Lingard caught Mrs. Travers’ words, “Oh, I am not afraid to answer that question.”

Then their voices sank.  Lingard hung the lamp up again and stood idle in the revived light; but almost immediately he heard d’Alcacer calling him discreetly.

“Captain Lingard!”

He moved toward them at once.  At the same instant Mr. Travers’ head pivoted away from the group to its frontal position.

D’Alcacer, very serious, spoke in a familiar undertone.

“Mrs. Travers tells me that we must be delivered up to those Moors on shore.”

“Yes, there is nothing else for it,” said Lingard.

“I confess I am a bit startled,” said d’Alcacer; but except for a slightly hurried utterance nobody could have guessed at anything resembling emotion.

“I have a right to my good name,” said Lingard, also very calm, while Mrs. Travers near him, with half-veiled eyes, listened impassive like a presiding genius.