first time. The single word Semiramis is inscribed thereon in gold letters. But no port is designated.
"The Semiramis," murmurs the commander of the America. "I never heard of the craft before, but her name will be on every man's lips before long, I'll wager." Then to the chief engineer: "Yes, put on the forced draught."
Jack Ashley wipes the marine glasses with which the thoughtfulness of the second officer has provided him, and turns them again toward the afterdeck of the yacht.
"Well, may I be keelhauled, or some other equally condign nautical punishment," he mutters, after a long look. "If that isn't Louise Hathaway, seated in a steamer chair, then do my optics play me strange pranks. But what is she doing on the deck of that yacht? She appears to be alone; at least there is no other lady passenger on deck. Ah, there is Mr. Felton. So Barker was too late. Felton and Miss Hathaway must be the guests of the gay yachtsman who is making ducks and drakes of the America on her trial trip.
"Thunder and Mars!" cries the newspaper man, nearly dropping the glasses to the deck. "Phillip Van Zandt! He is apparently the owner of the yacht. Good heavens! What irony of fate brings together those two participants in the Raymond tragedy. For Van Zandt is Ernest Stanley, I will swear it.
"Well, as the novelists say, the plot thickens. How did Van Zandt ingratiate himself into the good graces of Cyrus Felton? It must have been recently, for Miss Hathaway spoke as if they had no friends in the city. Hang it all! I don't just fancy the situation. How assiduously he is waiting upon her now! Heigho, Jack! I think I would as soon have reported this trial trip from the deck of the Semiramis." At which thought Ashley impatiently pitches over the rail the remains of one of Capt. Meade's favorite brand of cigars.
The black plumes of smoke that pour from the chimneys of the America are becoming denser and larger. The forced draught is now fully in operation, and in the
