About the time when the door of the stone grotto in the grounds of The Hut swung to on Enid Mallory, Mr. Travers Nugent's motor car was rushing up the avenue at the Manor House two miles away. At the main entrance of the mansion Nugent got down and rang the bell, and while waiting turned and spoke to his chauffeur.
"I shall want you to be busy this evening, Dixon," he said. "When we get home see that your tanks are full, and have the car ready for any emergency. I may want you at any moment."
The smart young fellow touched his cap, and the butler flinging open the door put an end to further possible instructions. Nugent, who was aware that the great manufacturer had gone to London that morning to attend a board meeting, blandly inquired if Mr. Maynard was in. On receiving the expected reply that the master would not be back till next day, he affected to consider deeply, caressing his long moustache.
"That is annoying," he said at last. "I wished to see him very particularly. Are the ladies at home?"
"Miss Dymmock is in the drawing-room, sir; but Miss Maynard is either in the park or in the gardens—probably in the rosery, which is her favourite place," said the butler.
"Ah!" murmured Nugent, and again he seemed to be plunged into perplexity by Mr. Maynard's absence. "I had better see Miss Dymmock, perhaps. No, on second thoughts I won't trouble her. I will leave a message with Miss Maynard, if you will be good enough to show me where I shall be likely to find her."
So did this past-master in the art of chicane take elaborate pains to have it understood at the Manor that Violet was the last person whom he had originally set out to see. The butler called a footman to pilot the visitor to the embowered pleasaunce where four days earlier Leslie Chermside's declaration of love had been wrung from his headstrong tongue. With an unread book at her side, Violet was sitting on the same seat where her brief wooing had begun and ended. Nugent's eyes gleamed with momentary satisfaction as he noted the sadness in the beautiful face, the listless droop in the attitude of the graceful figure. But by the time he reached her and bent over the proffered hand his manner was that of the courtly gentleman, tinged with a trace of grave concern which yielded to a semblance of uncontrolled agitation as soon as the footman had retired. His pose and facial expression was that of the bearer of ill tidings to the life. Violet, strung to a pitch of nervous tension by her lover's strange demeanour in the orangery the preceding night, read in Nugent's countenance the exact emotion he intended to show.
"This is not a duty call, Mr. Nugent?" she said, as she motioned him to a seat at her side. Nugent preferred to stand, looking down at her. He wanted to mark the effect of every word he had to say.
"No," he replied, deftly throwing off his "society" manner, and, with the consummate skill of the genuine artist, speaking almost harshly. "I wish it was, Miss Maynard. I am here on very serious business—so serious that if I did not know you were a brave woman I should not dare to approach you about it. As it is I am sorely tempted to run away and leave matters as they are."
"I beg you will not do that," said Violet gravely. "It would be more cruel than if you had not come to me at all. I presume that it is about the suspicion that has been cast on Mr. Chermside?"
Nugent smiled inwardly as he noticed the change in her tone since last night. No longer did she heap contempt upon the inference as to Chermside's meeting with Levison. She was serious, and almost pathetically meek. Like Mr. Mallory he had watched the lovers on their return from the orangery to the drawing-room, and he had at the time gloated over the coolness that had evidently arisen between them. That ineffable idiot Chermside had, he congratulated himself, said or done something to shake her confidence—just as he, Nugent, had expected and intended.
But aloud he said, "Yes, it is about Chermside. Greatly against my will, I have consented to be his ambassador—to bring you a message from him, Miss Maynard. It will be kindest to break the worst to you without beating about the bush. Chermside isleaving England to-night. He is going to sail for South America in the yacht which has been kept in readiness for him at Weymouth."
"Sailing to-night? Without coming to say good-bye—without a word of explanation?" And the sweet eyes brimmed with unshed tears at the conduct of the man who had so recently held her in his arms at that very spot.
"It is so hard to wound you," Nugent protested, and the faultlessly simulated note of self-pity with which he tinged his speech carried conviction. "He dared not come to you, Miss Maynard. Somehow the police have got wind of the appointment he had with the dead man, and he is in danger of arrest. He is in hiding, and it is touch and go whether he will get on board safely after dark. I am a selfish man, and I would give a good deal if Leslie Chermside's letters of introduction had been to any one but myself. All this has placed me in a most unpleasant position."
"But I do not understand," Violet protested. "Mr. Chermside has not committed this murder. Why does he not laugh at the charge, and stay and meet it? He must be able to prove his innocence."
Travers Nugent's shrug was eloquent—so eloquent that Violet fired up instantly, rising and confronting him. "You cannot mean that you deem him guilty?" she demanded, with ominous restraint.
"My dear lady, no—a thousand times no," came the quick repudiation. "But you must pardon my expressing the candid opinion that he is a fool, a chivalrous, misguided fool, perhaps, who is risking his future from some silly motive that would bebrushed aside in a second if he would only enlighten his friends about it. I have pleaded with him to adopt that course but it was of no avail. Nothing would satisfy him but to fly the country, he avowed, till the murder of Levison had been cleared up—I presume by the detection of the real criminal."
"And in the meanwhile he is going to wander about the world in exile, resting under a stigma which he does not deserve, till the end of his days?"
"I do not think he looks at it quite in that light," said Nugent, choosing his words carefully. "He is trusting that this cloud will blow over. Candidly, in my judgment, he is afraid that if he is brought to trial some episode in his life will come out—as likely as not some harmless piece of youthful folly—which he wishes to conceal."
Violet made a hopeless gesture, avoiding the falsely sympathetic eyes of this man, whom she intuitively disliked, but whose behaviour, she was bound to admit, was perfectly correct. Her unseeing gaze made a dumb appeal for comfort to the rich blooms of the rose-garden, to the blue sky overhead, to the aged yew hedge that girt the place where she had plighted her troth, but there seemed to be no comfort, no help anywhere. Nugent's statement tallied with the impression she had formed the previous night in the orangery exactly. Leslie had some reason, of which he was ashamed, for dreading the fierce light of a legal inquiry being thrown on his relations with the murdered Jew. It was to his credit, anyhow, and she hugged the remembrance because she loved him, that he had all along harped on some secret in his past career.
"Tell me," she said wearily, "what his message was. That can hardly have been all of it—that he was running away?"
"No," replied Nugent, with the air of bracing himself for a distasteful task, "there was something more. And before I pass it on to you, let me assure you, Miss Maynard, that I tender no advice as to how you should treat Chermside's proposition. I merely impart it to you as his mouthpiece, and leave you to be guided by your own inclination and good sense. But this I beg of you to believe—that if you decide to consent to his request, my willing services are at your disposal. He wants to bid you farewell, and he has commissioned me to arrange a meeting for to-night, before he sails."
In an ecstasy of eagerness Violet dropped some of her stately dignity and clasped her hands. "Meet him?" she cried. "Of course I will, but it will not be to say good-bye. If I have any influence over him, and I know that I have, it will be used to induce him to abandon this disgraceful flight and to face the accusation out. You have, indeed, been a good friend, Mr. Nugent, in coming to me. When and where can I see Mr. Chermside?"
"Not till quite late to-night," was the reply. "It will not be safe for the steamer to approach the coast and send a boat ashore till it is thoroughly dark. Should you have any difficulty in leaving the house here, say, at eleven o'clock?"
"Not in the least; I am my own mistress. I often go for a stroll in the park before going to bed when it is fine."
"Then if you will prolong your stroll to-night asfar as the Ottermouth road, I will be waiting with my car about a hundred yards from the lodge," came Nugent's glib instructions. "I can easily run you to the place where the ship's boat is to come to pick up Chermside inside ten minutes. You may rely on me absolutely. I shall not fail you at the hour mentioned. And now, as there is much to arrange, I will leave you."
"I shall not keep you waiting," said Violet, shaking his extended hand warmly. "Punctually at eleven on the Ottermouth road."
But if she could have seen her kind helper's face as he turned his back on her to quit the rose-garden, she would have felt misgivings as to the honesty of his aid. Every line of it betokened an end gained by questionable means.
"Directly we're outside the lodge gates, drive to The Hut at top speed," he bade the chauffeur as soon as he reached the motor car. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly seven o'clock.
"In a little over four hours I shall have earned Bhagwan Singh's reward," he murmured to himself, as they slid down the avenue.
Captain Brant, of the turbine steam yachtCobra, walked the spotless deck of his vessel; and he walked slowly, for he was reading a letter which the postman had just brought on board. While he read his hideous features were twisted into the ape-like contortion that did duty with him for a grin. When he had mastered the contents of the missive, he thrust it into the pocket of his brass-buttoned reefer, and shouted for "Mr. Cheeseman."
An answering bawl was heard somewhere forward, and there came running aft the bullet-headed mate who a few days before had at first refused Travers Nugent admission to the ship.
"Know anything about ladies' underclothes?" asked the wicked-looking skipper, with a horrible leer.
"Can't say I do, sir; but if it's in the way of duty I can jolly soon find out," was the brisk reply.
"Yes, it's in the way of duty; and, by the same token, the need for the duds is a sign that we are soon to clear out of this beastly port," said the captain, scratching his chin. "I've heard from theboss—the chap that was here the other day—and it seems that when we start we're to pick up a lady passenger, who will be in too great a hurry to bring her trunks aboard. So we're to buy some things for her, here in Weymouth. I'll give you a ten-pound note, and you can go ashore straight away and buy what's necessary for a three weeks' voyage."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied the mate. "What about the size?"
"I forgot that," cackled Brant, and he referred to the letter. "My eyes! but she must be a strapping fine girl—five feet ten high, and well proportioned as to other dimensions. That means that she ain't too broad in the beam, but just broad enough, I reckon. And there's another thing, Bully, my boy."
"Sir to you."
"It was thought that the lady's own maid would go the voyage with her, but it seems there's a doubt about it. Orders are to engage a woman to act as stewardess and general attendant to the passenger, it being owner's wish to show her every consideration in reason. While you're ashore after the nighties and things, you're to look out a female to suit the situation. Age and character immaterial. Any old geezer with a bad record will do, so long as she's got a good muscle on her."
"Right-o!" responded the truculent-looking mate. "Seems like a kidnapping job, but that's no business o' mine."
"And you wouldn't be chief officer on this ship for long if you were fool enough to make it so," Brant piped in his squeaky treble. "Now get ashore with you, and be back inside two hours withthe drapery and the woman. I can see by the letter I've had that we may get sailing orders any minute."
Cheeseman made a pretence of touching his cap, and vanished shoreward over the gangway. TheCobrawas still tied up to the quay at Weymouth, her highly-paid crew of scoundrels chafing against the delay which deferred their promised reward, but by this time thoroughly cowed by the vessel's weird commander. There was not a man on her who dared leave the ship without permission or definite orders. The grog-shops in full view of "the sleeping snake," as they had dubbed the steamer, had no longer temptation for men who knew that if they yielded to it, retribution would be swift and sure. It was wiser, they argued amongst themselves, to observe discipline and reap a harvest of shekels when theCobra'smission, whatever it might be, had been fulfilled. It was also the easier to keep them on board, since most of them had been selected because, for one reason or another, they were wanted by the police.
Having despatched his subordinate on his curious mission, Captain Brant made a tour of his ship, inspecting every portion of her with as close an attention to detail as if she had been a man-of-war. The luxurious and beautifully-upholstered saloon on the upper deck received a large share of his critical scrutiny; while, in strange contrast, his next visit was to a cabin on the lower deck, down in the bowels of the vessel, which was hardly furnished at all, and was certainly not luxurious. A bare bench, with some sacking on it, suggested that it was meantfor a bed, and that was about all. Screwed into the bulk-head over the bench was a massive iron ring, and there lay on the floor a longish chain and a complete set of leg-irons fitted with cruel anklets. The only means of light was a small porthole protected by bars. The place seemed to have been prepared as a lazaretto—a kind of maritime prison.
Brant smiled grimly at the forbidding-looking chamber, then went back to the upper deck to await Cheeseman's return. Punctually at the stipulated time the bullet-headed mate appeared at the gangway.
"Well, where are the things? Where is the stewardess?" the captain scowled at him, perceiving that he was empty-handed and unaccompanied.
"The clothes will be delivered within half an hour; they had to make some alterations," Cheeseman hastened to assure him. "As to engaging a stewardess it's a dead failure. I saw one or two, but they won't join without fuller particulars of where we're bound for and how long we're to be away. I couldn't tell 'em, could I, seeing as I don't know myself."
The captain fired off half-a-dozen foul-mouthed expletives, and only checked them when a telegraph boy skipped across the gang-plank and handed him an orange-coloured envelope. Tearing it open, he glanced at the contents and bade the youth begone. The form contained the single word "Advance." Brant tore it into little pieces, and threw them overboard.
"Sailing orders," he said laconically. "Make things hum, Cheeseman. We must be off as soon as we get a full head of steam on her."
In ten seconds the vessel was in a state of orderly confusion. The crew appeared as by magic from the forecastle and went to their stations; the engine-room staff mustered round the shining monsters that were their especial care; the lazy fumes of blue vapour hovering over the funnel from the banked fires changed to great coils of black smoke as the stokers got to work on the furnaces. Brant took his place on the bridge, and watched his gang of ruffians with sinister satisfaction. The period of suspense was over, and they would give him no more trouble now that the lust of gold was on them, and they were in a fair way to verify Nugent's promises of a princely wage.
It was not long before the mate ran up the bridge stairs and reported a full head of steam and all ready to cast off. As he did so a cab rattled over the cobblestones of the quay road, and drew up opposite theCobra.
"And here's the lady passenger's outfit, just in time not to be left behind," he added, catching sight of the cab as a young woman jumped nimbly out of the vehicle, and, after paying the driver, came towards the ship. Her progress was somewhat impeded by the weight of two large cardboard boxes which she was carrying.
Captain Brant cocked his bloodshot eye at the draper's assistant who had been entrusted with the delivery of the urgent order, and an inspiration came to him. The girl was not prepossessing, having strongly-marked, determined features; but she had a powerful, almost masculine frame, for all its size, not devoid of a certain panther-like grace. Brant uttered one of his nasty cackles, and turned to Cheeseman.
"We'll kill two birds with one stone, Bully," he said. "There's the fair passenger's blooming trousseau, and there, by gosh, is the blooming stewardess. Take the girl down into the saloon, and keep your jaw-tackle busy with her while I get a move on the ship. Say you must check the goods, or any flam of the sort. She'll do as well as another, soon as she knows there's dollars in it. If you're clever we'll be out to sea before she tumbles to it that she's left her native shores."
The mate grinned comprehension, and running down to the deck met the girl at the gangway. The moment they had disappeared into the saloon Brant gave orders to cast off, and as soon as the ropes that had moored the vessel to the quay had been hauled on board he rang the engine-room bell. TheCobra'smighty screw began to churn the still waters of the harbour, and slowly she sidled out into the fairway on the first stage of a voyage that was to lead her—whither? Twenty minutes later she had passed the green slopes of the Nothe and was heading at half-speed towards the open sea under the frowning heights of Portland.
At the end of that time Brant, from his perch on the bridge, saw the saloon door open and the young lady from the draper's shop come out on deck, followed by Bully Cheeseman. For an instant the girl stared round in evident bewilderment, then turned uponthe man who had beguiled her into false security while the ship was being got under weigh.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded in a ringing voice that reached the bridge—the voice of a woman too angry to use many words.
"Skipper's orders," replied Cheeseman curtly. He had exhausted his limited stock of spurious politeness in distracting her attention, and now that the end was gained was not inclined to exert himself further.
Before he could guard himself his cheeks were tingling under two resounding smacks, his cap was knocked into the scruppers and his lank hair was in the clutch of lithe fingers. But the man who had earned the nickname of "Bully" was no respecter of sex, and, recovering himself, he seized the girl by the throat and shook her viciously. In his rage he might have gone to any lengths if Captain Brant had not run down the bridge stairs and flung him aside.
"Get to your duty," commanded the little atomy in his quavering treble. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for handling a lady so. A little more velvet glove, and not quite so much iron hand till it's wanted, on this ship, if you please, my son."
Catching the wicked wink at the tail of his chief's eye, the mate sheered off in seeming self-abasement, and left the involuntary "stewardess" face to face with Brant. Somehow the courage which had stood her in good stead with the sturdy "Bully" failed her when confronted by this five-foot skeleton who looked as if he had been buried and dug upagain. Her firm mouth quivered a little, and there was a suspicion of moisture in the sullen, wrathful eyes.
"Now that you've had your lark perhaps you'll turn your beastly ship round again and put me ashore," she strove to speak bravely. "I shall be fined as it is, for not being back on time."
Brant wheezed and cackled. "You've done with fines, my dear," he said, running an approving glance over the imposing female figure in the shabby black dress. "I'm going to be a father to you and make your fortune. Fact is there's a lady passenger coming aboard presently who'll want different company from us rough sailor-men, and I was bound to find it for her. The moment you stepped out of that cab I spotted you for the job, and there's not a bit of use in making a fuss. It'll be a gold mine for you before you've done with it. You'll never need to stand behind a counter again and be cheeked by rude old women—no, not in your natural."
The tall draper's assistant measured the captain with a calculating eye, and saw that in him that was not to be reckoned in inches. She was already mastering her indignation at the outrage. "You don't mean to put me ashore?" she said firmly.
"I'm d——d if I do," was Brant's energetic rejoinder.
She appeared to reflect. "If there's really money in it I don't so much mind," she said at length. "But if you want a quiet time you'll have to meet me on one thing. You must run into Plymouth on your way down Channel and give me a chance tolet my young man know where I am. He's in the Navy—a petty officer on the destroyerSnipe."
Captain Brant rubbed his chin as if weighing the feasibility of the proposition. "Well," he said, "it won't be at all convenient, but I'll stretch a point to oblige you. You don't want to see the gentleman?"
"No, so long as I can send word to him, or get a letter posted, it will be all right."
"Then I'll do that much for the sake of a quiet life."
"You'll have to, or there'll be trouble," replied the matter-of-fact young amazon, little guessing that the villainous skipper had not the slightest intention of fulfilling his promise. A naval port, bristling with warships, was the very last place theCobrawould be likely to visit after her contemplated doings at Ottermouth that night.
However, having for the time pacified his stewardess, he became civil enough and allotted her a comfortable cabin near the saloon and next to a large, luxuriously furnished state-room which he pointed out as destined for the lady passenger whom they were to call for on their way down the coast.
"By the way," he wheezed with one of his monkey-like grins as he prepared to return to the bridge, "I haven't had the honour of an introduction. It might save awkwardness if you'd kindly put a name to yourself, miss."
"Jimpson," was the reply, "Miss Nettle Jimpson, and you'll find I'm a stinging-nettle, if you don't treat me fair."
Brant bowed with a mock solemnity, the hollowness of which he scarcely troubled to conceal. "Simon Brant has tamed vixens worse than you, my lass," he muttered behind his yellow teeth as he swung himself back to his perch.
And all that lovely summer afternoon theCobra'spowerful turbine engines drove the graceful vessel through the calm waters of the sunlit sea nearer to its prey. At sundown speed was reduced in order to conform with the instructions not to arrive off Ottermouth till after dark. But when the last rose tint had faded from the western sky Brant gave orders to steam slowly round the point at the river's mouth and heave to about three miles from the shore.
"Now the fun begins," he said to Cheeseman, who was with him on the bridge. "Keep your eyes skinned for a blue light followed by a green due north of us. When we see it you'll take the electric launch and drive her to the point where the light is shown. There you'll find a passenger waiting for you. Make the launch travel like hell, for you'll have another trip later. Rat Mullins and Snobby Wilson will go with you. They're about the toughest of the crowd, but I don't figure on trouble for you. The chap that's bossing things ashore will have seen to that."
So "the sleeping snake" lay on the gently heaving swell amid the gloom of the moonless night, and waited.
Leslie Chermside stood at the window of the library at The Hut eating his heart out in black despair. Travers Nugent had finally convinced him that the police held a warrant for his arrest and that his only road to safety—not, perhaps, though that was doubtful, from conviction of the murder of Levison, but from exposure of his connivance at Violet Maynard's abduction—lay in flight. He had consented to go on board theCobraafter dark, and escape to South America or anywhere else. Personally he did not care where he went. Wherever it was it would be out of the life of her who had grown to be to him the very sun of his existence.
Furthermore, Nugent had prevailed on him to come over to The Hut that morning and lie low there till it should be time to start. He had been hoping against hope that he would be able to have one last interview with Violet, but Nugent had been so strongly against it that he had yielded.
"What's the use, my dear fellow?" his plausible mentor had said. "You couldn't take a proper farewell of her if you saw her. If you are to succeed in sparing her the horror of learning of your originaloffence, neither Miss Maynard nor any one else must know that you are on the wing. That little devil, Louise Aubin, would be sure to get wind of it and inform the police. As it is, I am on tenterhooks lest she should discover what is up. Write Miss Maynard a letter if you like, or, better still, I will explain to her verbally to-morrow—after you have got clear off."
"What should you tell her?" Leslie asked dully.
"I should do my best to whitewash your memory by throwing ridicule on the allegation that causes your flight," was the prompt answer. "In fact, I should go somewhere near the truth, and assert that it is not the murder charge that you are running away from, but from the revelation of some escapade which it would incidentally bring out. If you like, I will tell her that you will write when you have reached your destination."
Leslie had jumped at the proposition, as it seemed to make his desertion less abrupt and heartless. Also it deferred for a little while the final severance, though he had no hope but that Violet would despise him utterly, hate the very sound of his name, for what she would deem his cowardice, even if she did not believe him guilty of the graver crime of murder.
"Thank you, I shall be obliged if you will take that course," he had said, though he hated to be placed under an obligation to the man whose cunning greed had brought him to this pass.
"Not at all," Nugent had answered glibly, as if divining his thoughts. "I regard it as a kind ofatonement to smooth matters as best I can, for I have come to see the heinousness of our joint offence, Chermside. I have been filled with remorse for some time that I did not repent of it as soon as you did, and I can sympathize the more readily with you, who have, I think, a keener pang than that of remorse to bear."
The little touch of right feeling from such an unexpected quarter had broken down Leslie's last guard, and he had placed himself unreservedly in Nugent's hands. Quite early in the day he had left his lodgings, and had sought temporary refuge at The Hut, entering the grounds with due precautions by the secluded garden door from the moor, there to remain till nightfall, when his host would see to it that he was smuggled on board theCobra. Nugent had stayed in and about the house till late in the afternoon, when he had started out in his motor car, informing Chermside, however, that he would not be long away, and enjoining upon him the advisability of not on any account leaving the library.
In the meanwhile Sinnett, the noiseless butler, who alone of the indoor servants was aware of his presence in the house, was to be depended on to preserve the secret; while outside watch and ward would be kept by a trustworthy man who had come down from London to help in the emergency—an old hanger-on, as Nugent described him, by the name of Bill Tuke. Several times during the day Leslie had noticed from the window this individual prowling about the grounds and coming in and out of the door on to the moor. It was not for himto know that Tuke, with whose raffish appearance he was not favourably impressed, had been dubbed by Enid "The Bootlace Man."
And now, at something after seven o'clock, he saw this unprepossessing ally approach the window at which he stood brooding. The coarse features wore a look of cunning satisfaction as he came and drummed on the pane, requesting admission. Mastering his repulsion, Leslie undid the catch and opened to him, reflecting that as he was supposed to be benefiting by the man's services, it would be unfair to show antipathy.
"Is the boss, Mr. Nugent, back?" Tuke asked, as he stepped over the threshold of the French window into the comfortable apartment.
Leslie was beginning to reply in the negative, when the whirr of a car was heard on the other side of the house, where the approach from the road led to the front door.
"I expect that will be him," he said, as the sound ceased; and a minute later Nugent entered the room, brushing the dust from his coat. He was fresh from his interview with Violet Maynard in the rose-garden at the Manor House. He started at sight of his unsavoury henchman.
"Anything wrong?" he demanded of him.
"I ain't seen any cops, if that's what you mean," replied Tuke with a slight wink that called a quick scowl to his employer's face. "But I've got a prisoner in the stone grotto in the shrubbery. The moor her into the garden through the door from. Watched, and nabbed her clean as a whistle as she was hiding from me——"
Nugent stopped the flow of self-complacence with a repressive gesture, and strode to the open window.
"Ah, that spying ferret, Louise Aubin," he said hastily. "Well, come with me and let her out, Tuke. You acted for the best, no doubt, but we cannot shut young women up in stone grottos against their will in the twentieth century. We must chance her having seen Mr. Chermside, and try and induce her to keep quiet about it if she has. You'll have to apologize, and I shall have to square her—if I can."
Tuke, pretending to be abashed, followed into the nearer shrubbery, where, as soon as they were hidden from the window, Nugent stopped short. "You idiot!" he hissed, with suppressed fury. "Why did you blurt that out before Chermside? You ought to have said that you wanted to speak to me in private. It wasn't the Frenchwoman, I know, because she was at the Manor House twenty minutes ago. Who is it that you caught lurking about—that Mallory girl?"
"It's her right enough."
"Hasn't she screamed or made any attempt to attract attention?"
"Not a blessed sound have I heard, and she's been there the best part of twenty minutes now."
"That's curious," said Nugent, puckering his brows in a thoughtful frown. "She's just the sort to yell for release till her voice gave out. She must have been frightened by your ugly mug, I suppose, and doesn't want to fetch you back again. Well, anyhow, she must stay there now till we've donewith theCobra, and then we must make what excuses we can. Of course you know as well as I do that there's no danger of interference from the police, for the simple reason that Aubin hasn't laid her information. I have been merely holding them over our friend in the library as a bogey to induce him to go quietly on board the steamer."
"I tumbled to that much," replied Tuke, with a cunning smile.
"Well, don't relax your vigilance on that account," was Nugent's injunction. "There may be other prowlers—this girl's father, for instance, or the onion-seller, Pierre Legros. Either of them might upset our arrangements. And, above all, be within call when I want you."
Tuke growled assent, and Nugent returned to the library. "I am sorry to have left you alone so long to-day, but there has been much to do," he said pleasantly, adding, as he noted the restless irritation in Leslie's face, "Your suspense will soon be over. It is growing dark already, and by the time we have had some dinner it will be time for you to start for the chine. There are no signs of anything to prevent your safe departure."
"That girl, Louise Aubin—you let her out of the grotto, I hope?" said Leslie. "I should be sorry if she was ill-treated on my behalf."
"Chivalrous as ever!" Nugent could not resist the sneer. "Oh, yes; she's half-way to the Manor House by now, reduced to a proper sense of her misdemeanour. A little palm-grease works wonders with a Frenchwoman."
Presently the silent Sinnett served dinner, andduring the meal Nugent unobtrusively continued to work the repentant vein he had developed earlier in the day. He waxed eloquent on his own difficult position as a man of birth and expensive tastes, thrown by force of adverse circumstances into a social groove that was really beyond his means.
"I had not, perhaps, your excuse of abject misery, Chermside," he remarked pathetically, "but the Maharajah's bribe was an enormous temptation, and I yielded to his importunities the more readily as I had incurred obligations to him. I shall look back upon our association with shame to the end of my days."
The proper feeling shown by his former accomplice called forth Leslie's sympathy. "I hope that Bhagwan Singh has no hold on you?" he said. "He is a vengeful beast, and from my knowledge of him he is not likely to overlook your aiding my escape in his yacht after throwing him over. He has the long arm of boundless wealth."
"I am aware of that," Nugent replied gravely. "If he strikes at me, I must pay the penalty. I must regard it as a just retribution."
At ten o'clock Nugent went to the window, opened it, and called softly into the darkness of the summer night for Tuke.
"Have you got the flares?" he asked, when the mottled countenance of his retainer appeared in the stream of lamplight. "That is well. Show the blue first, remember, and then green. Now, Chermside—least said, soonest mended. I am not going with you myself, but this man will see youthrough. The captain of theCobrahas orders as to your destination. Good-bye, and may your next venture end in happier fashion."
He held out his hand, and, conquered by his seeming mood, Leslie returned the grasp. A moment later he was following his guide across the lawn, and so out of the door on to the moor. The night air was heavy with the scent of the dew-laden heather, across which they had to grope their way, and the croak of a fern owl alone broke the stillness as they skirted the golf links and came to the head of the chine at the foot of which they were to flash the signals that would summon theCobra'slaunch.
They were about to descend the steps cut in the cliff, when from the house they had just left, a quarter of a mile away, the "teuf-teuf" of a motor car was heard. Leslie found himself idly wondering what could have taken Nugent from home again so late. Possibly he was going down to the club for an hour or two, to drown the memory of his villainy in the congenial company of gentlemen who would have spurned him from their midst could they have known the manner of man he was.
"Now, sir; mind where you're going," came Tuke's hoarse whisper. "There's only a handrail in places, and a nasty drop if you fall."
The warning recalled Leslie to himself, and he gave his attention to the steep descent. In a little while they stood on the pebbly beach below, where the incoming tide was making gentle music on the smooth stones. No glimmer came across the dark sea to tell them whether theCobralay out yonder in the inky pall, but that meant nothing. Nugent,they knew, had given the captain orders to veil all lights before he arrived opposite the town.
Tuke produced two cardboard cylinders from under his coat, and, striking a match, applied it to the conical head of one of them. There was a spluttering fizzle, and the flare burst out into a brilliant blue flame that shone steadily seaward, but was hidden from the coastguard station and the parade by a jutting angle of the cliff wall. For two minutes it glowed, and when it flickered out he repeated the illumination with the green flare, carefully picking up the empty cases when his pyrotechnic display was over.
"There!" he whispered huskily. "Now all there is to do is to squat down and wait. The boss said the launch is a quick 'un to travel. If the steamer's no more than three miles out she ought to do it in twenty minutes—with the tide in her favour."
The forecast proved accurate. In a very little over the time mentioned the click-clack of an electric motor was heard approaching the shore from the gloom, and Leslie, catching up the small handbag which was all the luggage he had dared remove from his lodgings, went down to the edge of the waves.
Miss Sarah Dymmock threw down the piece of old-fashioned embroidery on which she had been engaged since dinner, yawning aggressively.
"I'm a sleepy old woman, and I shall go to bed," she remarked with a snap. "Young people nowadays are bad company, though I suppose I ought to make allowances for you, Vi, as a what-d'you-call-it."
"That's a vague term, auntie," said Violet Maynard with a wan smile. In the absence of Montague Maynard in London the two ladies had been spending the evening alone, and the girl's nerves were all on edge at the prospect of the coming interview with her lover. The spacious drawing-room at the Manor House had seemed like a prison, and dear Aunt Sarah's fluent talk like the chatter of a persistent parrot. Violet was annoyed with herself for her irritation, but she was nearly beside herself with an intense craving to stand face to face with Leslie and appeal to his manhood not to fly from the charge against him. The dragging hours had seemed interminable, since TraversNugent's disclosure of Leslie's intended escape by sea.
"By a what-d'you-call-it I mean a prospective victim on the altar of Hymen," explained the old lady, rising and gathering up her work. "If I had ever been in love, which God in his mercy has spared me, I should have been pirouetting all over the place instead of sitting mum-chance and twiddling my thumbs. By the way, why hasn't your young man been out here to-day. Is he cooling off already?"
"I can hardly expect him to dance attendance on me always, can I, auntie?" replied Violet, making a brave effort to appear playful. She was wondering how she should explain on the morrow that her lover had been skulking somewhere all day preparatory to decamping altogether, if she failed to prevent him from adopting that disgraceful course.
Aunt Sarah sniffed as she took her bedroom candle. "I wasn't thinking of his dancing attendance on you, but on me," she rejoined, working herself into an entirely spurious passion. "I wanted him to sign the documents for the transfer of the securities I am making over to him, but I suppose that he has had other fish to fry. You'll have to teach him manners, child, when you're married—or at any rate attention to his own interests."
The little wizened old woman pecked at the pale cheek which her great-niece offered her, and stumped out of the room. Violet breathed a sigh of relief, for it had been becoming a problem whether her aunt would retire in time to allow her to get away unquestioned. It was quite on the cards that theenergetic old spinster might have offered to accompany her if she had said that she was going for a stroll in the gardens before going to bed.
As it was, she was free to make her preparations without interference, and going out into the hall she provided herself with a motoring cap and a heavy golf cloak. Returning to the drawing-room, she was about to leave by one of the French windows when it occurred to her that as her "stroll in the garden" was to-night an excuse for a more extended expedition, it might be as well to take precautions against her being locked out. She rang the bell and ordered the butler not to lock the window, but to merely leave it on latch. She explained that she was going to enjoy the beauty of the night in the open air, and might not have returned when he went his rounds to see that all was secure.
"And don't trouble to sit up for me, Watson," she added. "I have a headache, and may be out some little while."
"Shall I leave the lamps lighted, miss?" asked the butler.
"In the drawing-room and in the hall," was the reply. "I will make myself responsible for putting them out when I come in."
The man bowed and retired, concealing with the tact of the well-trained servant the surprise with which the cap and cloak inspired him. He was aware that his young mistress was in the habit of walking in the grounds at a late hour, but he had never previously received such an order about not sitting up, nor had he known her to take precautions by putting on additional wraps.
"I've got my plate chest to think about," the faithful servitor muttered as he made his way back to his pantry. "Miss Violet is always considerate, but I'm blessed if I'm going to turn in while that window's only on latch. It appears to me she isn't in a hurry to come in to-night."
Having got rid of Watson, Violet lost no time in starting to carry out the project on which she was so feverishly bent. Along the noble avenue, lit now by only a few pale stars in an opaque sky, she flitted like a nymph of the night, only checking her footsteps as she passed the lodge, lest she should awake the sleeping inmates. Out on the high road she commenced running, and so neared the clump of trees where she was to find the car. Nugent's carefully modulated voice hailed her from the darkness.
"That you, Miss Maynard? Right! Pray do not distress yourself by undue haste. We have ample time before us. There, let me help you in and make you comfortable. Dixon, take the hoods off the lamps and get in behind. Miss Maynard will sit with me."
Nugent, who was at the wheel, extended his hand, and when Violet had settled herself at his side and the chauffeur had unveiled the great acetylene lamps, he sent the car spinning for Ottermouth at half-speed. But he avoided the road that would take him through the main street of the little town, and struck into a series of country lanes that brought them by a detour to The Hut, without having to pass more than a solitary farmhouse.
"We are in luck so far," he said when they hadswept up the drive and he had assisted Violet to alight. "We didn't meet a soul all the way. Dixon, have the car ready here. I shall want to take Miss Maynard back to the Manor House presently. Now," he added, beckoning Violet to follow him, "we will go round this way, please."
The girl, all her mind set on her purpose, obeyed like one in a dream. She wanted to meet Leslie and bring him to reason. It mattered nothing to her how she reached her goal so long as her task was swiftly accomplished, and she knew that the shortest way to the sea was through the grounds of The Hut. So without demur she followed Nugent round the house to the lawns and gardens at the back.
"It would be best to be perfectly silent," her guide whispered as they struck across the greensward. "My servants may not all have gone to bed yet, or some one else might be about."
"I—I thought I heard something there," replied Violet, laying a hand on his arm and glancing apprehensively at the spectral outline of the grotto, the walls of which gleamed white amid the gloom of the shrubbery.
"Only the breeze in the foliage," Nugent murmured hastily, and, taking the girl's hand almost roughly, he hurried her to the door on to the moor, opened it, and as quickly closed it when they had passed through.
"There!" he said in a tone of unaffected relief, "we shall find no more obstacles in our way but a short walk through the heather and a scramble down the steps to the beach. Chermside will be waiting for us at the foot of Colebrook Chine."
But that prophecy was not to be verified. When at length they stood on the pebbles of the shore the figure which emerged from a nook in the cliff was not Leslie Chermside, but Bill Tuke, "The Bootlace Man."
"Well, where is Mr. Chermside?" Nugent demanded of him angrily.
"It's not my fault that he ain't here, sir," the fellow replied in seemingly surly protest. "Nothing I could say would make him stop. As soon as the launch came he insisted on going off to the steamer."
Violet uttered a cry of anguish. Her self-set task had failed. Not only had her lover fled, but he had fled like a craven without keeping the tryst which he had himself sought.
"Did he leave no message?" Nugent inquired, in a tone of perplexity that sounded perfectly natural.
"He did that," replied Tuke. "I was to say that he was frightened to wait about here on the shore lest the coppers should pinch him, but that he would ask the captain, directly he got on board, to keep the yacht out there for a bit, and to send the launch back for the lady. Then she could come out to the steamer and bid him good-bye, and the launch could put her ashore again afterwards."
Nugent turned impetuously to Violet. It was too dark for her to see the expression on his face, but the quiver in his voice was eloquent of hardly-restrained indignation. "Chermside must have lost his head or his nerve," he said. "Though that is no excuse for such a want of consideration. Therequest is outrageous. I will not worry you with my sympathy, Miss Maynard, for I cannot trust myself to speak. Come! Let me take you home without delay, for of course you will not accede to this preposterous request."
"On the contrary, that is exactly what I mean to do—if the launch comes for me," replied Violet, straining her wet eyes seaward through the gloom. "You must remember that it was not to say farewell but to prevent him from going that I came here, Mr. Nugent. I am very sensible of your kindness in bringing me, and I regret Mr. Chermside's conduct as an insult to you, even greater than to me. I will not ask you to remain till I return from the steamer. If—if I am alone I shall prefer to make my way home by myself."
"My duty to your father, who is my friend——" Nugent was beginning.
"I have my duty to myself, and to my affianced husband to consider," Violet cut him short. "Pray spare me an argument in my distress, Mr. Nugent. My mind is quite made up to go out to the yacht."
And, as if to fortify her resolve, there sounded from the dark sea the pulsing clack of the electric launch as it sped towards the shore. A few moments later it had been skilfully beached, and a gruff voice inquired in a guarded undertone—
"Is the lady there?"
"Yes, I am here and ready," responded Violet eagerly; and she went down across the pebbles to where the bows of the tiny craft nuzzled the shore. A horny hand was stretched out to her, and she was drawn on board. When Nugent had tossed a letterinto her, the launch backed off, and, circling round, started for the second time that night on its trip back to the steamer.
"Pray do not wait, Mr. Nugent; I shall be really vexed if you do," Violet's vibrant tones rang from the fast-receding launch.
The reply was uttered so low that it reached no ears but those of Tuke, who, like some foul bird of the night, had hovered round, taking no part in the scene after the delivery of his alleged message.
"I have no intention of causing you any such vexation, dear lady. The wait would, indeed, be a long one," was what Travers Nugent said, as he turned to climb the steps to the top of the cliff.
And the subtle humour of the remark, which was apparently intelligible to "The Bootlace Man," caused that worthy to break into a snigger of servile laughter—the kind of merriment which the junior bar concedes to a jest from the bench.
"That's a good 'un, sir," he wheezed. "She won't trouble you much more, I'm thinking. But what about the little gel in the grotto? She'll make it nasty for us if she ain't let out soon, I reckon."
"Not forus, Tuke," was Nugent's sardonic rejoinder. "But she will probably make it very nasty foryou, or rather her father will. I intend you to bear the brunt of Mr. Mallory's displeasure, my friend, on the usual terms. In other words, you will be well paid for any unpleasantness you may incur on my behalf. I am going to release Miss Enid Mallory now, and as the tale I intend to regale her with does not entail your presence, you had bettergo back to your lodging. And by the first train in the morning you must clear right out for your kennel in London. I will communicate with you by letter as to future requirements."
So at the summit of the cliff they separated, Tuke taking the path to the lower end of the town, where for some days he had been domiciled in a fisherman's cottage, and Nugent striking out across the moor for the back way into his own grounds.
Before he closed the door in the hedge, he turned and looked seaward. Some three miles out a brilliant streak of light was visible. It was moving rapidly westward, like a golden snake gliding on the face of the dark waters. The phenomenon was evidently caused by the port-hole lights of an electrically-lit steamer.
The watcher drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "Brant has lost no time in getting under weigh," he muttered, as he softly shut the door.
Leslie Chermside, having taken his seat in the launch, felt more at ease in his mind than he had done for many a day. Ever since he had been told of the suspicion that threatened him in respect of Levison's death, he had been reconciling himself to the loss of Violet. That dream of midsummer madness had from the first, he realized, from the nature of the circumstances, been doomed to a rude awakening, in spite of Aunt Sarah's generosity. The shattering of his ill-starred love idyll might be borne manfully, as an adequate punishment for his iniquity, and when time had healed his wound he might even rejoice in his expiation.
But with very different feelings had he viewed the possible revelation of his misdeed. That simply would not bear thinking about. That Violet should ever know that he had sought her out in order that her proud young beauty should be offered as an unwilling sacrifice to a licentious Eastern prince was an ever-present nightmare that set him trembling like a frightened child.
And now the strain was over. By his flight he had escaped the terrible disclosures which would have followed arrest, no matter what the verdictmight have been. That Violet would resent his conduct and despise him for it he could not help. Even if Nugent kept his promise of trying to soften it down, the girl's displeasure was inevitable, but it would be as heaven to hell compared with the ignominy he would have incurred by full disclosure. And, to do him justice, he had not been wholly selfish in shrinking from that ignominy. He knew his sweetheart's pure faith in him, and he had been honestly anxious to spare her virginal soul the shock of discovering the loathsome thing from which her short-lived romance had sprung. It might even have been her death-wound—to find that she, the coldly-critical social queen, had surrendered, after so brief a wooing, to a miscreant who had set out to sell her into bondage.
Now, if his luck held, that hideous spectre of disgrace was laid for ever. He would go forth a lonely and a penniless man, to commence life afresh with what courage he could muster in some refuge for human derelicts beyond the seas. If he could not retrieve the past, he might at least lock it up in his own seared heart, as in a chamber of horrors to which he alone had access—to be a torment to himself alone.
So, as the launch cleft the calm sea, his troubled spirit caught something of the influence of the summer night, and he began to take an interest in his immediate prospects. Before he left London to come down to Ottermouth on his misguided mission, he had accompanied Nugent occasionally to the docks where theCobrawas fitting out, and he had made the acquaintance of Captain Brant.In those reckless days he had conceived a great antipathy to the crafty and cruel sailor, and he had reason to believe that the dislike was reciprocated. He wondered how much Nugent had told Brant of their original scheme, and whether he had informed him that he was the cause of its failure. If so, he was likely to be treated with scant courtesy during the voyage.
He was not long left in doubt as to the captain's attitude towards him when the launch had run alongside the steamer, and he had climbed the ladder to the deck. Brant met him as he stepped aboard, but ignored his presence, and called down to Bully Cheeseman and the two men who had remained in the launch—
"Now turn her right round and go back again to the same spot. You know what to do. You'll find Mr. Nugent waiting for you, I guess."
"Aye, aye, sir," came out of the darkness, and Leslie heard the tick-tack of the motor as the little craft sped for the shore. He could hardly believe his ears. Why should a second trip be necessary, and why should Nugent, who had declined to accompany him to the beach, be waiting there now, when his car had left The Hut shortly after his own departure?
"Good evening, captain," he said, forcing himself to speak civilly. "Is it not rather risky to hang about off shore now that I am aboard?"
Brant's baleful eyes blazed like coals of fire in the blackness of the darkened ship. "And who the h—ll are you, sir, to dictate to me what's a risk and what isn't?" the commander of theCobrapiped in his shrill falsetto. "I understand that it's your damned foolishness that's made all this jiggery-pokery necessary. A nice one to talk about risks, when we're taking them on your account. You just have patience, and amuse yourself till I have time to attend to you."
He swung on his heel and mounted the stairs to the bridge, where he entered into a low-voiced colloquy with one of his subordinates. Only a few words of it reached Leslie, but they were enough to show that a keen look-out was being kept for the approach of fishing or other small boats to the steamer. That was all in order. Being engaged in the punishable offence of assisting a fugitive from justice to escape arrest it was intelligible that the captain should be anxious to cover the traces of his misdemeanour. But why the delay? Why the return trip of the launch to the shore, where, so far as he was aware, she had fulfilled her mission in bringing him safely off?
He could find no satisfactory answers to the questions, and, giving up the attempt, he tried to accept the situation philosophically. Not knowing what accommodation had been allotted to him, he could not seek his cabin; so he put his handbag down on the deck and set to pacing to and fro. It was so dark that it was almost impossible to distinguish objects close at hand, and though the crew were evidently alert and at their stations, he could make nothing of them individually. The discipline was perfect.
He passed and repassed ghostlike figures on his promenade, sometimes singly and sometimes ingroups, but they never spoke in so much as a whisper. The silence of the dead reigned over the ship.
He tired of walking at last, and, leaning over the stern-rail, let his eyes range towards the twinkling lights of distant Ottermouth. At this late hour they were momentarily growing fewer, only the larger residences on the hill behind the town showing up in bold relief, and the row of lodging-houses on the parade flanked by the more brilliant glow from the billiard-room of the club. The sight of the quiet haven which had yielded him a short and fickle respite renewed his remorse and filled him with regret. Such joys as the placid little pleasure-haunt had to offer were not for him. His proper place was on the scrap-heap of human failures.
The depression found vent in a sigh that was more than half a groan, and he was immediately surprised to hear it echoed near by. Turning sharply, he discerned the dim outline of a woman also leaning over the stern-rail within a few feet of him.
"Don't mind me," she said, noticing his start. "I expect I shouldn't have made any sound if you hadn't let on that you had the blues too. Sighing is pretty near as catching as yawning, I've been told, and now I know it's true."
Leslie could not see her features—only that she was tall and finely-built. He wondered who the woman could be, for he had not been informed by Nugent of the engagement of any female attendants.
"Perhaps your case is the same as my own—that you are not looking forward to the voyage with pleasure?" he said kindly.
Miss Nettle Jimpson uttered a short laugh."At any rate, you are starting of your own free will," she said. "At least I suppose so, for I was watching you when you came aboard just now, and you didn't make any bones about it. It's different with me. That monkey-faced little devil on the bridge never gave me the option, but just shipped me like a bale of goods to suit his own convenience."
"But surely——" Leslie was beginning.
"Oh, don't make any mistake! I was a consenting party as soon as I heard the terms," Miss Jimpson cut him short, drawing a little nearer. "I'm an avaricious sort of beast, and the prospect of a quick haul tempted me to take Captain Brant's practical joke lying down. You see, I've got a young man in the navy, and it seemed a shorter cut to setting up housekeeping than serving behind the counter in a draper's shop. I acted on the spur of the moment, as I always do, and lucky for the captain I did, or he'd have got his ugly face scratched."
"May I ask what position you hold on board—for what duties you were engaged?" asked Leslie. The voluble young person puzzled him.
"Oh, I'm a kind of mix between a stewardess and a maid to the lady passenger, I believe, though that old rascal baited the hook by calling me a companion."
"The lady passenger?" Leslie repeated blankly.
"Yes, and that leads up to what I wanted to ask you. Why didn't she come out to the steamer with you? You see, if it's an elopement, it will smooth it down for me a lot. I'm that romantic I shall be really interested, instead of grizzling all the timetill we get back. Some hitch in your young lady's getting off, I suppose, as the launch had to go back to fetch her? Brant has been like a cat on hot bricks ever since we sighted that little town yonder, lest something should go wrong. I hope it hasn't, for your sake. I should be sorry for anything in the shape of an angry parent to break the spell of love's young dream, having been there myself."
Leslie thought he understood. His dimly-seen companion at the stern-rail had been "shipped," as she called it, while the ship was lying in the London docks weeks before, when the original plot for the abduction of Violet Maynard held good. She had been informed of half the vile plot in which he had then been an accomplice—that the yacht belonged to him, and that it was being used for an elopement. She was still in that belief, the darker side of the story having been kept from her, and she was under the delusion that she would have a lady to wait on during the voyage.
But why, Leslie asked himself, had the delusion been fostered so long after Nugent, and through him, of course, Brant, had been aware of the breakdown of the conspiracy? Why, for the matter of that, was the woman on board at all, since there would be no unhappy captive for whom her services would be required? The obvious thing to have done would have been to put her ashore at Weymouth directly the wicked project was abandoned.
"There must be some mistake," he said. "I am sorry to spoil your romantic anticipations, but I am certainly not eloping with anybody. So far as I know, I am to be the only passenger."
"Then what's that old liar's game?" blurted Miss Jimpson. "Only this morning, when he had the cheek to keep me aboard, he said——"
"Only this morning," Leslie interrupted in dull amazement. "Do you mean that only to-day for the first time you made the acquaintance of Brant?"
"That is precisely what I do mean. I never saw him or his ship till this morning at eleven o'clock in the harbour at Weymouth. The yarn he pitched me then was that he was going to pick up a lady down along the coast, and that he wanted one of her own sex to keep her company. 'Tis true he did not say anything about an elopement. It was me who figured that out after you came aboard alone and the launch went back for the lady."
"Went back for the lady!" gasped Leslie, a lurid light beginning to dawn upon his dazed senses.
"Well, I expect it's one of my own sex; I don't suppose all the pretty frilly things Brant ordered and paid for, and which I brought on board, were for you or any other gentleman," was Miss Nettle Jimpson's pert rejoinder. "That's what gave me the elopement notion, don't you see—a girl running away on the quiet, and in too much of a pucker to bring her own trunks. And I'm right, after all! Here's the launch back again, and just listen to that!"
Leslie had been conscious of the clack of the electric motor for the last thirty seconds, but now, as it sounded close under the side of the steamer, slowing down at the foot of the accommodation ladder, it was supplemented by the clear tones of a woman's voice—the well-loved tones which he had never thought to hear again, and which rather than hear in that place he would gladly have died a hundred deaths.
For it was the voice of Violet Maynard, self-possessed and confident, assuring the crew of the launch that she was quite accustomed to climbing up the side of a yacht in the dark, and that she would need no help but that of her own hands to scale the dangling rope-ladder.
The truth in all its naked horror burst upon Leslie at last. The original object of the plot had been gained in spite of his own defection. Travers Nugent had been playing a deep and subtle part, and by some trick had prevailed on the girl to place herself in the power of her enemies. In another minute she would be hopelessly in the toils, and theCobra, having gorged her prey, would be steaming at the full speed of her powerful engines on her long voyage to distant Sindkhote.
His memory flew back to the tinselled splendour of the Maharajah's palace, then to the satanic countenance of its owner, and to all the terrors that these implied for the girl in whose foul betrayal he was at any rate a link in the chain. He turned in despair to the odd young woman whose narrative was now quite intelligible.
"I don't know your name, but you sound honest and true, and I'm going to appeal to you," he whispered hoarsely. "They have lured that lady to the ship in ignorance that she is to be kidnapped abroad. I am going to try to prevent it, but I shall probably fail and be killed in the next few minutes. If so, I beseech you to be this poor girl's friend tothe best of your power. The vessel is manned by reckless outlaws."
Without waiting for a reply, he sprang forward to the head of the accommodation ladder and shinned down it into the launch. There was not much sense in the forlorn hope—only a wild longing to do something, and to stake all, life itself, on the chance that he might prevail by surprise. If he could disable the crew of the launch before they realized that they were being attacked he might sheer off and get away in the darkness.
Violet was reaching for the rope rungs of the ladder as he half fell into the little craft, nearly knocking her down in his staggering onrush. Then, steadying himself, he sent his fists crashing right and left into the faces of two men who clutched at him, ducked to avoid a third, and in doing so tripped and fell headlong to the bottom of the boat.
Before he could recover himself a heavy knee was grinding into his chest, and the muzzle of a revolver made a cold circle on his forehead.
"What in thunder is all that racket about?" came down Captain Brant's squeaky hail from the bridge.
"It's the cove we brought off last trip making a bid for freedom, but I've fair downed him," went up Bully Cheeseman's reply. "Shall I shoot?"
"No," said Brant. "I want him for something better than that. I'll send a hand down with some rope. Then you can truss him up, and we'll hoist him aboard."