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He made a sudden grab for the servant, who stood with mouth open,

uncertain as to whether or not he was dealing with a lunatic.

Before he could move, Code's hard, strong hands closed upon his

arms in a grip that brought a bellow of pain. In deadly fear of

his life, he babbled protests, apologies, and pleadings in an

incoherent medley that would have satisfied the most toughened

skeptic. Code released him, laughing.

"Well, I guess you're real, all right," he said. "Now if you're

in earnest about all this, draw that bath quick. Then I'll

believe you."

Half an hour later Code, bathed, shaved, and feeling like a

different man, was luxuriating in fresh linen and a comfortable

suit.

"Look here, Martin," he said to the valet, "of course I know that

this is no more the gunboat Albatross than I am. The Canadian

government isn't in the habit of treating prisoners in exactly

this manner. What boat is this?"