“All right, then,” I responded.  “I’ll stretch a point since it is war-time.  I give you my word that I threw overboard a small bronze paper-weight that was cluttering up my traps.  There was nothing surreptitious about it; the whole steamer might have seen me.  Do you care to take the responsibility of having me shot for that?”

“And I want to say, sir, that the gentleman is giving it to you straight.”  An unexpected voice addressed the lieutenant at my back.  “I was standing at the door behind him that night, though he didn’t know it, and I can take my oath that what he says is gospel truth.”

My unlooked-for champion was Mr. John Van Blarcom.  I stared at him, at a loss to know why, on the heels of our row on deck and my rejection of his friendly warning, he should perjure himself for me in so obliging a fashion.  He had, I was aware, been too far off that night to know whether I had thrown away a paper-weight or a sand-bag.  Moreover, the object had been swathed beyond recognition in the extra that was primarily responsible for all this fuss.  “He is sorry for me,” I decided.  “He thinks the girl has made a fool of me.”  Instead of experiencing gratitude, I felt more galled and wrathful than before.

“Is that so?  How close were you?” the lieutenant asked alertly.  “About ten feet?  You are quite sure?  Well—­it’s all right, I suppose, then,” he admitted in a very grudging tone.

“No, it isn’t,” I declared tartly.  I was by no means satisfied with so half-hearted a vindication; nor did I care to owe my immunity to a patronizing lie on Mr. Van Blarcom’s part.  “You have accused me of spying.  Do you think I’ll let it go at that?  I insist that you have my baggage brought up here and that you search it and search me.”

The face of the Englishman really relaxed for once.

“That’s a good idea.  And it’s what any honest man would want, Mr. Bayne,” he approved.  “Since you demand it—­certainly, we’ll do it,” and he glanced at the captain, who promptly ordered two stewards to fetch my traps from below.

Things move rapidly on shipboard.  My traveling impedimenta appeared in the salon almost before I could have uttered the potent name of Jack Robinson, had I cared to try.  With cold aloofness I offered my keys, and the head steward knelt to officiate, while the crowd gaped and the second English officer abandoned his corner and his papers, standing forth to watch with the lieutenant and the captain, thus forming an intent and highly interested committee of three.

The investigation began, very thorough, slightly harrowing.  I had not realized the embarrassing detail of such a search.  An extended store of collars suitable for different occasions; neat and glossy piles of shirts, both dress and plain; black silk hose mountain high, and neckties as numerous as the sea sands.  Noting the rapt attention that McGuntrie in particular gave to these disclosures, I felt that to deserve so inhuman a punishment my crime must have been black indeed.  Shoes on their trees; articles of silk underwear; brushes, combs, gloves, cards, boxes of cigarettes, an extra flask; some light literature.  And so on and so on, ad nauseam, till I grew dully apathetic, and roused only to praise Allah when we left the boxes for the trunk.