The Scarlet Band

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Some people seek Truth over all else. But in dealing with human beings, facts may matter less than beliefs--though not always in the way they think.

A stormy November on the North Atlantic. Even a great liner like the Victoria Augusta rolled and pitched in the swells sweeping down from the direction of Iceland. The motion of her deck was not dissimilar to that of a restive horse, though the most restive horse rested at last, while the Victoria Augusta seemed likely to go on jouncing on the sea forever.

Most of the big ship's passengers stayed in their cabins. Nor was that sure proof against seasickness; the sharp stink of vomit filled the passageways, and was liable to nauseate even passengers who might have withstood the motion alone.

A pair of men, though, paced the promenade deck as if it were July on the Mediterranean. Passing sailors sent them curious looks. "'Ere, now," one of the men in blue said, touching a deferential forefinger to his cap. "Shouldn't you toffs go below? It'll be easier to take, like, if you do."

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