There remained no sign of land in sight; only the seemingly limitless expanse of blue water, not so much as a trail of smoke breaking the encircling rim of the sky.
Except for the occasional tread of feet on the deck above, and the faint call of a voice giving orders, the yacht seemed deserted, moving unguided across the waste of waters.

No sound of movement or speech reached West's ears from the cabin, and he settled down into moody forgetfulness, still staring dully out through the open port.

What was to be, would be, but there was nothing for him to do but wait for those who held him prisoner, to act.

He was still seated there, listless, incapable even of further thought, when the door was suddenly unlocked.

He had barely time to arise to his feet, when the man with the red moustache stepped within, facing him, as he pushed tightly shut the door behind.