ABOARD THE "MUANG-FANG"
deck, he took to his cabin, and camped down on the little couch by the door, which he hooked back, invitingly open. Above his head was the switch for the light, and ready to hand lay his revolver. Chao Phya slept, tethered, in the lower berth.
"A little trap," thought Owen drowsily. "A trap for Christian friends, and Chao Phya as bait."
To his disgust it caught nothing. Only one night more, and they would be in port. An unprofitable voyage: the stubborn puzzle of their situation enraged him; and except for inquiries and condolence, he had had no speech of Laura.
The last night wore away, till something woke him from uneasy sleep. The creaking roll had ceased; the ship throbbed steadily on even keel; and beside his couch daybreak glimmered vaguely in the doorway. But it was
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