me than from a stranger."
Though courteously uttered, his words contained a distinct command. The doctor looked at him with the hostility born of discomfiture, but he raised no protest. Somehow Saltash was invincible at that moment.
"Certainly you can see her if you wish," he said stiffly. "In fact, she has been asking for you."
"Ah!" said Saltash, and turned with ceremony to the captain. "Have I your permission to go, sir?"
"Of course—of course!" the captain said. "I shall hope to see you again later, Lord Saltash."
"Thank you," said Saltash, and relaxed into his sudden grin. "I should have thought you would be glad to get rid of me before my bad luck spreads any further."
The Corfe Castle, herself slightly damaged, was putting back to Southampton to land the victims of the disaster, and to obtain some necessary repairs. The weather was thickening, and progress was slow, but they expected to arrive before mid-day. Saltash, carelessly sauntering in the doctor's wake, found himself the object of considerable interest on the part of those passengers who were already up in the murk of the early morning. He was stopped by several to receive congratulations upon his escape, but he refused to be detained for long. He had business below, he said, and the doctor was waiting. And so at last he came to a cabin at the end of a long passage, at the door of which a kind-faced stewardess met them and exchanged a few words with his guide.
"Can I go in?" said Saltash, growing impatient.
The woman looked at him with wonder and compassion in her eyes. "The poor little thing is very upset," she said. "She lies and trembles, and has hardly spoken at all except to ask for you."
"Well, let me in!" said Saltash, suddenly imperious. "I've got something to tell her."
He had his way, for there was something about him that compelled just then. He entered the cabin as a king might enter the apartment of a slave, and he shut the door with decision upon those without.
Then for a second—just for a second—he hesitated. "Toby!" he said.
A meagre form sprang upright in the bunk at the sound of his voice. Two bare, skinny arms reached out to him. Then with a single stride Saltash was beside the bunk and was holding tightly to him a small, whimpering creature that hid its face very deeply against his breast and clutched at him piteously whenever he sought to raise it.
Saltash bent his dark head over the fair one and spoke very gently, yet
with authority. "It's all right, child. I know. I've known all along!
Don't fret yourself! There's no need. I've got you under my protection.
You're safe."
"You—know!" whispered the muffled voice—Toby's voice, but strangely devoid of Toby's confidence. "What must you—think?"
"I!" Saltash laughed a little. "I never think. I give everyone—always—the benefit of the doubt; which is considerably more than anyone ever gives me."
"And—you saved my life!" gasped Toby "Why did you? Why did you?"
"I wanted it," said Saltash promptly. "Now listen a moment! We've done with this show. It's played out. We'll ring up on another. You've got to change your name again. I'm telling everyone you're Larpent's daughter."
That brought the fair head upwards very swiftly. The blue eyes with their short black lashes looked straight up to his. "But—but—Captain Larpent—"
"Oh, never mind Larpent! I'll square him." Saltash's look flashed over the pale, tear-stained face. His hold, though close, no longer compelled. "Leave it all to me! Don't you fret! I'll square Larpent. I'll square everybody. You lie low till they put us ashore! After that—do you think you can—trust me?"
He spoke with comically twisted eyebrows and a smile half-kindly and half-quizzical. And the forlorn little creature in his arms turned with a swooping, passionate movement, caught one of his hands and pressed it to quivering lips.
"I'll live—or die—for your sake!" the trembling voice told him. "I'm just—yours."
Saltash stopped abruptly and laid his face for a moment against the shorn, golden head. Just for that moment a hint of emotion showed in his strange eyes, but it was gone instantly.
He raised himself again with a grimace of self-ridicule. "Well, look here! Don't forget to play the game! Larpent—your daddy—is knocked out, remember. He is unconscious for the present, but the doctor chap seems to think he'll be all right. A nasty suspicious person that doctor, so watch out! And let me see! What is Toby short for? I'd better know."
"Antoinette," whispered the lips that still caressed his hand.
"Antoinette!" Saltash's hand closed softly upon the pointed chin, softly lifted it. "I think Mignonette would suit you better," he said, in his quick, caressing way. "It's time I chose a name for you, ma chère. I shall call you that."
"Or just Nonette of Nowhere," breathed the red lips, piteously smiling.
"That would suit me—best of all."
"No—no!" said Saltash, and gently relinquished his hold. "Don't forget that you are a favourite of the gods! That counts for something, my Toby. They don't take up with everybody."
"They haven't done much for me so far," said Toby, suddenly rebellious.
"Hush!" said Saltash, with semi-comic warning. "You are too young to say that."
"I am—older than you think, sir," said Toby, colouring painfully and turning from his look.
"No, you're not!" Swiftly, with a certain arrogance, Saltash made answer. "I know—how old you are, child. It is written in your eyes. They have always told me—all I need to know." Then, very tenderly, as Toby's hands covered them from his look: "Mais, Mignonette, they have never told me anything that you could wish me not to know."
He slipped his arm again about the slender shoulders and pressed them closely for a moment. Then he stood up and turned to go.
He was smiling as he passed out—the smile of the gambler who knows that he holds a winning card.
PART II
CHAPTER I
JAKE BOLTON
It was a week after the sinking of The Night Moth that Saltash, very immaculately dressed, with field-glasses slung over his shoulder, made his first appearance since the disaster at a meeting on the Graydown Race-course, a few miles from his ancient castle of Burchester. He was looking very well pleased with himself and certainly none the worse for the adventure as he sauntered among his friends, of whom a good many were present. His ugly face and wiry figure were well-known
