“Dan DeMille, you are quite foolish,” cried his wife.  “Who ever conceived such a ridiculous idea?”

“Captain Perry has his instructions,” continued DeMille, turning to the captain.  “Are we not acting along the lines marked out by Brewster himself?”

“I will sail for Boston if you say the word,” said the thoughtful captain.  “But he is sure to countermand such an order.”

“He won’t be able to, captain,” cried “Subway” Smith, who had for some time been eager to join in the conversation.  “This is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool mutiny and we expect to carry out the original plan, which was to put Mr. Brewster in irons, until we are safe from all opposition.”

“He is my friend, Mr. Smith, and at least it is my duty to protect him from any indignity,” said the captain, stiffly.

“You make for Boston, my dear captain, and we’ll do the rest,” said DeMille.  “Mr. Brewster can’t countermand your orders unless he sees you in person.  We’ll see to it that he has no chance to talk to you until we are in sight of Boston Harbor.”

The captain looked doubtful and shook his head as he walked away.  At heart he was with the mutineers and his mind was made up to assist them as long as it was possible to do so without violating his obligations to Brewster.  He felt guilty, however, in surreptitiously giving the order to clear for Boston at daybreak.  The chief officers were let into the secret, but the sailors were kept in darkness regarding the destination of the “Flitter.”

Montgomery Brewster’s guests were immensely pleased with the scheme, although they were dubious about the outcome.  Mrs. Dan regretted her hasty comment on the plan and entered into the plot with eagerness.  In accordance with plans decided upon by the mutineers, Monty’s stateroom door was guarded through the night by two of the men.  The next morning as he emerged from his room, he was met by “Subway” Smith and Dan DeMille.

“Good morning,” was his greeting.  “How’s the weather to-day?”

“Bully,” answered DeMille.  “By the way, you are going to have breakfast in your room, old man.”

Brewster unsuspectingly led the way into his stateroom, the two following.

“What’s the mystery?” he demanded.

“We’ve been deputized to do some very nasty work,” said “Subway,” as he turned the key in the door.  “We are here to tell you what port we have chosen.”

“It’s awfully good of you to tell me.”

“Yes, isn’t it?  But we have studied up on the chivalrous treatment of prisoners.  We have decided on Boston.”

“Is there a Boston on this side of the water?” asked Monty in mild surprise.

“No; there is only one Boston in the universe, so far as we know.  It is a large body of intellect surrounded by the rest of the world.”

“What the devil are you talking about?  You don’t mean Boston, Massachusetts?” cried Monty, leaping to his feet.