pardon. You were saying the stewards and the purser—what did they do?"
"Oh, they asked us to refer it to the captain at ten o'clock this morning," Preston answered mechanically, still watching her. "But I am afraid Mr. Dunneston's lost interest. The purser has lent him sleeve buttons and promised him studs, too, if he can't recover his own before night. But—what is it, Miss Varris?"
The girl smiled bravely.
"Oh, I was wondering," she said, "if—if it might not help—Mr. Dunneston's interest in this if he knew that—the French chamois bag in which I was carrying my money and some stones and things which mother bought me in London and I was taking home and wearing about my neck, was cut away last night, I believe, and—and, Mr. Preston, doesn't chloroform, or some other anæsthetic give a funny queerness and headache in the morning?"
"You mean," Preston started up, his hands
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