I read the letter through a second time, and then sat down on my bed to think it out. One thing was self-evident. I knew now how Nikola became aware that I was going to sail in the mail boat on Friday; Baxter had seen my name in the passenger list, and informed him.
I undressed and went to bed, but not to sleep. I had a problem to work out, and a more than usually difficult one it was. Here was the young Marquis of Beckenham, I told myself, only son of his father, induced to travel by my representations. There was a conspiracy afoot in which, I could not help feeling certain, the young man was involved. And yet I had no right to be certain about it after all, for my theories at best were only suppositions. Now the question was, ought I to warn the Duke or not? If I did I might be frightening him without cause, and might stop his son's journey; and if I did not, and things went wrong—well, in that case, I might be the innocent means of bringing a great and lasting sorrow upon his house. Hour after hour I turned this question over and over in my mind, uncertain how to act. The clocks chimed their monotonous round, the noises died down and rose again in the streets, and daylight found me just come to a decision. I would not tell him; but at the same time I would make doubly sure that I sailed aboard that ship myself, and that throughout the voyage I would be by the young man's side to guard him from all ill.
Breakfast time came and I rose from my bed wearied with thought. Even a bath failed to restore my spirits. I went downstairs and, crossing the hall again, examined the rack. Another letter awaited me. I passed into the dining-room and, seating myself at my table, ordered breakfast. Having done so, I turned to my correspond-
