The lieutenant was studying my face.

“Mr. Bayne,” he said slowly, “do you care to tell me the nature of the package you threw across the rail the first night out?”

I heard a gasp from the group behind me, a squeal of joy from McGuntrie, a quick, low-drawn breath that surely came from the girl.  Preternaturally cool, I thought rapidly.

“What’s that you say?  Package?” I repeated, trying to gain time.

“Yes, package!” said the Englishman, sharply.  “And we’ll dispense with pretense, please.  These are war-times, and from common prudence the Allies keep an eye on all passengers who choose to sail instead of staying at home as we prefer they should.  Captain Cecchi here reports to me that one of his stewards saw you drop a small weighted object overboard.  He has asked me to interrogate you, instead of doing it himself, so that you may have the chance to defend yourself in English, which he doesn’t speak.”

“E vero.  It ees the truth,” confirmed the captain of the Re d’Italia—­the one remark, by the way, that he ever addressed to me.

“Well?” It was the Englishman’s cold voice.  “We are waiting, Mr. Bayne!  What was this object you were so anxious to dispose of?  A message from some confederate, too compromising to keep?”

Heretofore I had carefully avoided looking at Miss Falconer, but at this point, turning my head a trifle, I gave her a casual glance.  Her eyes had blackened as they had done that night on the deck; her face had paled, and her breath was coming fast.  But as I looked, her gaze fell, and her lashes wavered; and I knew that whatever came she did not mean to speak.

CHAPTER VII

THE TIGHTENING WEB

I did not, of course, want her to.  I was no “Injun giver,” and having once pledged my word to help her, I was prepared to keep it till all was blue or any other final shade.  Still, it was not to be denied that my position looked incriminating.  She might be as honest as the daylight,—­I believed she was; I had to or else abandon her,—­but she had managed to plunge me into a confounded mess.

Naturally I was exasperated at the net results of my piece of gallantry.  I didn’t care to be suspected; I wasn’t anxious to have to lie.  All the same, a plausible explanation, offered without delay, appeared essential.  I should have wanted as much myself had I been guarding Gibraltar port.

“Well, Mr. Bayne?”

“Well!” I retorted coolly.  “I was just wondering if I should answer. 
This is an infernal outrage, you know.  You don’t really think I’m a spy. 
What you are doing is to give me a third degree on general principles. 
If you’ll excuse my saying so I think you ought to have more sense!”

“Oh, of course we ought to take you on trust,” he agreed sardonically.  “But we can’t I’m afraid.  The fact is, we have had an experience or two to shake our faith.  The last time this steamer stopped here we caught a pair of spies who didn’t look the part any more than you do; and since then we have rather stopped taking appearances as guarantees.”