up to him and presented the card: "Did you send this, sir, to Signorina Certosa?"
"I did, sir," the Colonel answered.
"And you sent her the money that was in dispute—for the young lady's benefit?"
"I did, sir."
Reifenstein tore up the card and extended his hand, "I shall make any apology you demand. You must be my friend."
"I never wanted to be anything else"; the Colonel wrung his hand warmly, and the two men leaned against a corner of the passage, laughing at the untangling of their troubles. Zack came slipping along and pulled the Colonel's sleeve and warned him, "Look out, Cunnel! Dey's comin'."
And they were coming, Signorina still dragging Doris by the wrist. Behind her followed the chattering and excited Italians, jubilant with delight. In their rear the Colonel saw, or imagined, hundreds and hundreds of curious eyes, watching to see what the Signorina was going to do. Every human being on the vessel seemed surging toward them. The Colonel gave one look, just one.
"I can't stand the gaff," he whispered to Reifenstein, then melting behind the corner, turned and fled.
"Where is he?" demanded the breathless Sig-
