They must have talked for an hour, discussing the situation frankly from every angle, yet arriving at no definite conclusion.

The sky in the east was red with dawn when both men fell fast asleep in their chairs, still waiting.
It was nine o'clock, and still no word.

The two had eaten a hasty breakfast in a restaurant across the street, discussing the situation again thoroughly, but to no more satisfactory result.

It seemed impossible to reconcile certain facts.

If the silver knife, with its call for help, had indeed been dropped by Natalie Coolidge, and she was being held a prisoner in the hands of villains on board the _Seminole_, why had she acted toward West as she did in that house on Wray Street?
To all appearances there she had been hand in glove with the conspirators, willing even to connive at the Captain's murder if necessary to the success of their crime.