Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/98

 cock's comb. And the Secret Agent's face, Wilsnach noticed, was without its usual touch of colour.

"You've had a great sleep," began the dolorous-eyed Wilsnach, glancing down at his watch.

"I needed it," was Kestner's reply. "And that bull-headed ship's doctor made me take a bromide."

"How are you feeling?" Wilsnach was plainly evading some sterner issue which he found it hard to approach.

"Much better—but like the day after a big game!"

"That's good!" temporised the other.

"But where are we?" Kestner suddenly asked.

"Eleven hours out from Palermo."

Kestner settled back more comfortably on his pillow.

"And when do we get to Gib?"

"We don't stop at Gibraltar westward-bound," was Wilsnach's listless answer.

"You're sure?"

"Positive!"

Kestner emitted a sigh of relief.

"That makes it all the easier for us. That means our troubles are pretty well over."

Wilsnach moved uneasily about the cabin. Then he turned and met the mildly inquiring glance of his chief.

"Our troubles are not over," he solemnly amended.

Kestner sat up with a jerk that made him wince. Then, as though already apprehending the ill-news which had not yet been enunciated, he made an effort to pull himself together.