Mysterious Mr. Sabin by E. Phillips Oppenheim

The voyage of the _Calipha_ came to its usual termination about ten o'clock on the following morning, when she passed Boston lights and steamed slowly down the smooth waters of the harbour. The seven passengers were all upon deck in wonderfully transformed guise. Already the steamer chairs were being tied up and piled away; the stewards, officiously anxious to render some last service, were hovering around. Mrs. Watson, in a plain tailor gown and quiet felt hat, was sitting heavily veiled apart and alone. There were no signs of either Mr. Watson or Mr. Sabin. The captain was on the bridge talking to the pilot. Scarcely a hundred yards away lay the _Kaiser Wilhelm_, white and stately, with her brass work shining like gold in the sunlight, and her decks as white as snow.

The _Calipha_ was almost at a standstill, awaiting the doctor's brig, which was coming up to her on the port side. Every one was leaning over the railing watching her. Mr. Watson and Mr. Sabin, who had just come up the gangway together, turned away towards the deserted side of the boat, engaged apparently in serious conversation. Suddenly every one on deck started. A revolver shot, followed by two heavy splashes in the water, rang out clear and crisp above the clanking of chains and slighter noises. There was a moment's startled silence -- every one looked at one another -- then a rush for the starboard side of the steamer. Above the little torrent of minor exclamations, the captain's voice sang out like thunder.