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"The ship! The ship! Commander! Commander! The ship! The ship!"
And, looking out of my little window I saw him, with six or seven other
members of our company, half naked, just as they had leapt out of their
bunks, running like savages to the edge of the sea, where the "Scotia,"
with all flags flying (God bless and preserve her!), was steaming slowly
up through a grinding pack of broken ice.
What a day that was! What shouting! What hand-shaking! For O'Sullivan it
was Donnybrook Fair with the tail of his coat left out, and for Treacle
it was Whitechapel Road with "What cheer, old cock?" and an unquenchable
desire to stand treat all round.
But what I chiefly remember is that the moment I awoke, and before the
idea that we were saved and about to go home had been fully grasped by
my hazy brain, the thought flashed to my mind:
"Now you'll hear of _her!_"
M.C.
[END OF MARTIN CONRAD'S MEMORANDUM]


NINETY-FIFTH CHAPTER

The door of No. 10 was opened by a rather uncomely woman of perhaps
thirty years of age, with a weak face and watery eyes.


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