“At any rate, Sir Eustace, he thinks so⁠—and he should be in a position to know.”

“By the way, where is the chap?” I asked. “I’ve not set eyes on him since we came on board.”

“He gives out that he’s ill, and stays in his cabin, Sir Eustace.” Pagett’s voice dropped again. “But that’s camouflage , I’m sure. So that he can watch better.”

“Watch?”

“Over your safety, Sir Eustace. In case an attack should be made upon you.”

“You’re such a cheerful fellow, Pagett,” I said. “I trust that your imagination runs away with you. If I were you I should go to the dance as a death’s head or an executioner. It will suit your mournful style of beauty.”