"That's true enough. Every programme is subject to immediate change. But,
Lord, what a lot of programmes go through per schedule! Still, you are
right. It all depends upon chance. We say a thing is cut and dried, but we
can't prove it. But so far as I can see into the future, nothing is going
to happen, nobody is going to walk the plank. Piracy on a basis of 2.75
per cent.--the kick gone out of it! But if you can bring about the
reconciliation of the Cleighs the old boy will not be so keen for chasing
me all over the map when this job is done."

"Will you tell me what those beads are?"

"To be sure I will--all in due time. What does Cleigh call them?"

"Love beads!" scornfully.

"On my solemn word, that's exactly what they are."

"Very well. But remember, you promise to tell me when the time comes."

"That and other surprising things."

"I'll be going."

"Come up as often as you like."

Cunningham accompanied her to the bridge ladder and remained until she was
speeding along the deck; then he returned to his chart. But the chart was
no longer able to hold his attention. So he levelled his gaze upon the
swinging horizon and kept it there for a time. Odd fancy, picturing the
girl on the bridge in a hurricane, her hair streaming out behind her, her
fine body leaning on the wind. A shadow in the doorway broke in upon this
musing. Cleigh.