They had scored the first trick, but it was not altogether a signal advantage. It put Clement on his mettle. It enabled him to appreciate exactly the type of rogues he was dealing with. Therewas going to be nothing timid about their methods. They were bold and they were clever, they were going to take hold of every advantage and push it home ruthlessly. Clement did not mind that at all. He could be bold and ruthless, too, and because of his apparently casual manner his boldness and his ruthlessness could be carried off in a way which would baffle them.
In fact, no later than that afternoon, Clement, with an apparently thoughtless inconsequence, began to baffle them. He played for the second trick—and won it.
It was obvious that from the first the gang meant to block him from Heloise’s side. Clement smiled as he saw the little comedy being played. The Gorgon clung to the girl tenaciously. To double the guard, so to speak, the large fat rogue was called in.
They were clever. They played with infinite skill. The mountain of a man was drawn in with brilliant casualness. Heloise and the Gorgon looked at Ireland over the taffrail. They talked about Ireland. The Gorgon made a conspicuous mistake about an Irish headland ... and there was the large fat man putting her right, standing already one of that little group pouring out attractive facts about Ireland with a pleasant, well-informed politeness.
It was one of those swift shipboard acquaintances. The apparent stranger had skillfullyinserted himself into the duologue between the Gorgon and Heloise, and the Gorgon had, as skillfully, drawn him into the circle.
Clement, who had been hovering in the background saw what it meant. One of them, now, would always be at the girl’s side; effectually putting a stop to any particular and personal approach of his own.
The three watched Ireland until they had had enough of it. Then they walked the deck a little. Then the two ladies sat down, and the fat man, with invincible politeness, walked away. Clement exchanged a few words with the two women in their deck chairs; pleasant words, but of no effect. The Gorgon showed no signs of moving, Heloise was too polite to move away from the Gorgon.
The lunch bugle went, and they were separated. After lunch the Gorgon and Heloise were inseparable. They sat on deck chairs again. Tea came. Clement found that the Gorgon had whisked the girl into an alcove in the lounge. He was about to join them boldly, when the big fat man materializing with his unexpected swiftness, crossed the lounge and planted himself in the only other seat available. Clement smiled and sat and had his own tea and waited. He watched the trio. Presently his chance came. The fat man and the Gorgon suddenly involved themselves in one of those duologues in which the third person plays the part of a listener only. As the two talkedClement crossed to them swiftly and quietly—and snapped the girl from under their very noses.
It was one of those simple acts that baffle the clever. Clement slipped round behind the discussion, as it were, and said to the girl, “Coming for a stroll, Miss Reys?”
And Heloise came—alone. There was nothing for the others to do. To break off their discussion to fence with this pleasant young man would have looked strange. To come out with the girl was certainly impossible, for they had not been invited. They had to remain, apparently unconcerned, if they were not to draw attention to themselves and their actions.
And in his casual way Clement clinched his victory by drawing attention to any future “blockading” action the precious pair might attempt.
He took Heloise up to the boat deck, and found chairs and placed them in a spot that could only accommodate two, which was also quite neatly screened from casual view. He sighed, “Oh, well, this is very much better.”
“It isn’t strolling, anyhow,” laughed Heloise.
“Oh, I didn’t want to stroll, I just wanted to be selfish,” smiled Clement. “I wanted you to myself. There seem to have been millions of people about you ever since we came aboard.”
“Scarcely millions,” she smiled back. “Only my companion and that rather stout, quite pleasant Mr. Neuburg.”
“Only those,” said Clement, underlining the personality and the actions of the pair deliberately, “but they do seem to be rather clinging.... Always there seems to be a great crowd barring the way....”
“Always,” she laughed. “But we’ve only been on board half a day.”
“Perhaps I was looking forward,” said Clement, ingeniously emphasizing his point. “I saw it happening every day, every hour of the day, for the rest of the voyage.”
“You’re unnecessarily gloomy,” laughed the girl, not altogether displeased at the interest this good-looking young man took in her. “It won’t happen every hour every day.”
And Clement, with an inward chuckle, thought it wouldn’t. He left it at that. He had won that trick. Not merely would he havetête-à-têtetalks with Heloise in the future, but he had so emphasized the attitude of the pair of rogues that their attempts to shut him out from Heloise must only engender suspicion in her mind.
After a moment’s silence Heloise said, “You’re rather hard on Mr. Neuburg. He’s a very pleasant person, and quite well-informed about Canada.”
“I’m quite well-informed about Canada myself,” said Clement.
“About shooting—sport”—she teased him.
“That—and other things,” Clement laughed back. “I know appearances are against me, but,really, there’s a solid core inside. I know quite a lot about Canadian industries, for instance.”
It was a casual remark delivered with an inconsequence that covered up the deliberate meaning Clement had put into it. And it struck home, as Clement had meant it to.
“Really!” she cried. “Industrial things—you know something about Canadian industries?” She was eager at once.
“Quite a lot,” said Clement. “You see, even if I didn’t happen to be keen—which I am—I’d have to take a personal interest. I’ve money invested in quite a number of Canadian concerns—agricultural machinery, fruit farms, grain areas, mines——”
“Mines!” breathed the girl. “Do you know something about mines?”
Under his casual easiness Clement Seadon thrilled. He had suspected from the beginning that the venture in which Henry Gunning was supposed to need backing must be mines; the district in which he lived pointed to that. But here was confirmation of that suspicion. He had touched the matter which was the foundation of the plot at his first attempt to find out. And he had also obviously done more. He had made the girl feel that he was a sympathetic and knowledgeable person to whom it would be easy to talk about mines and the prospects of mining. And, in fact, hewasjust that person. He said,“I know, I think, a very fair amount about mines. Oh, but not merely on the investing, but on the practical side, too. Before the war I went out for three months with a prospecting party—not as a fortune hunter, but as one who wanted to learn. It’s rather a fad of mine to get to know how things are done from the bottom up. As some of our money was invested in mines, it seemed to me that I should have a working knowledge of the whole proposition.”
“And you did your prospecting—where?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
“Oh—in Canada,” he said. And then he paused. Should he risk being specific? Would it frighten her to hear the name of the very place where Henry Gunning, her old lover, was living; and would that put her on her guard against him—as she had been on her guard against the questions of the little lawyer? Or would it, on the other hand, draw out confidences? He rather felt it might. He was, as far as she knew, quite outside her concerns, and she might want to learn things, just as he wanted to learn everything as early as possible if he was to act. And then as he hesitated, she said with extraordinary eagerness, “In Canada; but what part of Canada?”
Her eagerness decided Clement. “In British Columbia,” he answered, as a man mentioning something of no purpose. “To be exact, in the mountain valleys in the south of British Columbia.There’s a whole string of valleys there with rather beautiful lakes in ’em. We started at Penticton, on Okanagan Lake, and worked up northward.... They mostly grow apples and peaches there, but there was a good deal of mineral about, we’d heard. Anyhow—I say, I hope I’m not boring you—anyhow, we pushed slowly up those valleys to a little one-horse place called Sicamous——”
“Sicamous!” she cried, her eyes very bright, her cheeks exquisitely flushed, and for a moment Clement wondered if he had done right to mention that name. “Sicamous! But that’s real luck—for me, I mean. I actually want to learn something first-hand about Sicamous—and about the mining in those districts....”
With a throb of excitement and satisfaction, Clement, looking exactly like an Englishman who was no more interested than he should be when a pretty woman gave him her confidences, leaned forward to hear the next important words. And....
“Oh ... Loise.... Forgive me, Miss Heloise.... Where did you put the aspirin tablets?... I have a terrible headache.... I went to the cabin, and could not find them.... And I’ve looked for you everywhere....”
Before them stood the Gorgon smiling apologetically, wearily, but at the same time determinedly. She had arrived just at the right moment to interrupt revelations.
The Gorgon did interrupt revelations, but, as Clement had planned, the trick he had scored was a most useful one. More useful from the fact that the pair of rogues did not know how effectively the inconsequent-looking young Briton had taken measures against them. That is, they still continued the tactics of trying to shut Clement off from intimacy with Heloise.... The very method Clement had delicately drawn the girl’s attention to.
And of course the girl began to notice that the Gorgon was always at her side with a sort of leechlike doggedness. She began to notice that the massive Mr. Neuburg inevitably took up the siege, as it were, whenever her companion was away. Mr. Neuburg talked cleverly and also incessantly, but he wasn’t young and he wasn’t that rather attractive Mr. Seadon. Without realizing anything of its meaning, she felt that Mr. Seadon was, as he had laughingly suggested, being barred out by a crowd.
She began to show irritation—and independence. Mr. Neuburg found she was leaving him in the middle of conversations. Méduse Smythe could produce nothing important enough to hold her mistress at her side. The twain were not fools. They recognized they were beaten. They ceased their attentions with a brilliantnaturalness, but Clement knew that the eyes of Mr. Neuburg watched him always as he walked with Heloise.
Clement knew that the intelligence that was busy considering him was not one to be despised. He did not know the extent of the gang working to ensnare Heloise, but he felt that Neuburg was probably the brains of it, the master mind, and that he would act in a masterly manner, leaving very little to chance. To checkmate such a fellow would call for all his ability—and perhaps all his strength and courage.
All the same, though he was constantly on the alert, Clement made the most of his opportunities with Heloise. It was for the good of Heloise—and it was extraordinarily attractive for himself. He wasn’t going to marry her. That was absurd.... How could he? Only—only she was decisively and radiantly pretty. The singular glowing curd-whiteness of her skin, the vividness of her beautiful and delicate lips against the coolness of that skin, the clearness and steadiness of her eyes—all these things gave him an eversharpening sense of delight whenever he set eyes on her.
And her step suited his so perfectly. On board ship, one is immensely appreciative of any one whose step suits one perfectly. Her tall figure swung so gracefully, so untiringly, beside him as they walked, no matter if the sea was as smooth as polished glass—which the Atlantic rarely is—orwhether there was a “lop” on. She was as physically fit and as hard as he was, and she took the same zest in out-of-door things. He felt a sort of comradeship, a rightness in the fact that they should stride up and down the promenade deck together in such a perfect unison as almost to suggest they were one....
As though they were one!... but, of course, that was idiotic. They weren’t one. There was no suggestion of their being one. One—that meant marriage. And that question didn’t come up. Although, of course, the little lawyer had said ... “Oh, hang the little lawyer!” he muttered.
“Who are you hanging?” asked Heloise, who was near and who had heard the most lethal part of his muttering.
“I was hanging this top-heavy sea,” said Clement genially. “I wanted to show you the captain’s bridge—I’ve got permission—but with this lop....”
“Show me the captain’s bridge—now,” she laughed back. “The lop doesn’t matter—not ahang.”
That was part of her attraction. She really didn’t care a hang about things that made other people uncomfortable. She enjoyed risks. She was daring enough to go anywhere, see everything. They adventured into all the strange and usually unseen parts of that splendid ship, even as far as the boiler room. She was eager, she wasinterested in everything, she had a zest for life. She was an ideal chum. More and more he began to perceive that she was the ideal chum—anyhow for one particular man. And presently he was saying not “Hang the little lawyer,” but “Hang Henry Gunning.”
Because both had a healthy disregard for exposure, and a healthy regard for fresh air, they became almost the sole occupants of the breezy boat deck. There they sat daily and talked; there in the evenings they sat, and sometimes did not talk.
In their talks they found splendid affinities. They found that they liked so many similar things: not merely sports, books, theaters, the open country and the other solaces of life, but other more significant things. They found that both cared most in life for character: for honesty, straightness, generosity, high-mindedness. They liked intelligent people rather than merely jolly ones. They liked people who did things rather than people who played at doing things. They found that they had a mutual austerity of ideal in their way of looking at problems ... would rather be the losers in anything than win underhand; they would take the difficult path if it was the right one, rather than the easy if it were wrong.
This brought them dangerously near to the core of the matter they were both engaged on,dangerously near Henry Gunning ... yet both instinctively veered away from that.
But he had come in when she spoke of her journey to Canada—though even in this he came in only as “a friend, an old friend in whom I am interested.”
This happened when they talked about Sicamous one night.
“I am going as far as Sicamous, at any rate,” she had said. “And that reminds me, there are things I wanted to ask you about Sicamous.... Perhaps you remember—we were interrupted?”
“Something about mines, wasn’t it?” said Clement with a careful casualness.
“Yes.... I want you to tell me all about mines in that area.... Now—please tell me.”
Clement laughed with a touch of dismay.
“Butallabout them. That’s a terrifically large order. In the first place, there’s nothing to say about them—and then there’s everything.”
“That sounds enigmatic. You’ll have to explain.”
“I mean by that there are not so very many mines—those at Nelson, on Kootenay Lake—silver-mines, they are—are perhaps the most important. But, on the other hand, it’s always supposed that there are great possibilities among those rocky valleys.”
“Ah,” breathed the girl, “there are possibilities then.”
“Not thinking of going in for mining, are you?” Clement teased—and with a reason.
“N-o,” said the girl. “It’s rather—it’s rather because a friend of mine is interested. Deeply interested. I wanted to learn if there is any foundation for—for expecting big things, immense returns from mining in the Sicamous district.”
Clement was excited. Then it was mining. That was the venture Henry Gunning was supposed to need backing for. He answered without any show of his emotion. “What exactly are your friend’s interests—silver, copper, gold?”
“All of them,” she answered quickly, and Clement though he saw the character of Gunning at once in that report. Your unsuccessful prospector is rather like that. He hasn’t merely a Golconda of one metal up his sleeve—he has all the rare metals in the world, only asking to be picked out of the surface ... if only some one will oblige with the money to buy picks. “All of them,” repeated the girl. “I understand that—that the claims (that’s right, isn’t it?) pegged out show rich veins of gold, copper and silver, and there’s also nickel—even platinum. It—is that possible?”
“I will say,” said Clement candidly, “It’s held to be possible. Prospectors are always saying that the whole of the district is a likely place for—yes, all those minerals.”
“These particular claims have been assayed and show excellent results.”
“They have, however, to be worked, I take it,” said Clement. “With mines you can’t really tell until they have been worked.”
“Oh——” said the girl rather pitifully. “Then don’t you think there is a possibility of an—an immense fortune in claims showing such good sample results?”
“There might be. There is always that possibility.... On the other hand, I should advise your friend to go with extreme caution.”
“You’re not—you’re not very stimulating,” she said ruefully.
“I’m just being as honest as I can,” said Clement, with a meaning she could not appreciate, for actually he was. His whole instinct told him to pour the coldest of cold water upon that mining scheme—and yet he couldn’t altogether in fairness do that.
“I believe you are,” she said softly, and with a surprising intuition she added, “I believe you’d be honest even against your own interests.”
In the tiny and quite significant pause that followed that touch of curiously personal intimacy, Clement felt bound to say, “You see, Miss Heloise, mining is a risky venture. You can throw away more money and more easily in mining than you can in anything else—not even excepting theaters and newspapers. There are so many things that make it a gamble. The lode or stope may peter out. There may be immense difficulties in cuttingshafts. There may be fatal drawbacks in the matter of transport, of working, of labor, and scores of things.... Mineral finds that look good at the first assay may not pay for their keep when they come to be worked. I know these valleys. We came across some seams that looked good. They looked enormously good to a tenderfoot like myself, for example. But the experts with the party wouldn’t look at them. Nothing in them. Not worth the blasting.... Your friend certainly should be advised to move with the greatest care in this matter.”
The girl was silent for a while.
“It hurts so to shatter people’s dreams,” she said in a low voice. And then she said on a lighter note, “But I remember—you talked of difficulties that turned on transport; most of the difficulties do, don’t they?”
“Yes; it’s lack of transport facilities that kills most mining ventures.”
“Well,” cried the girl, with glee, “that’s a difficulty that doesn’t hold good here.... The railway runs within a very short distance of the claims. Doesn’t that make it sound more hopeful?”
Clement said decisively, “It makes it sound hopeless.”
“Mr. Seadon!” she protested, aghast.
“It does,” said Clement, sure of himself. “Miss Heloise, if those claims are only a very shortdistance from the railway, then they are claims that could not have been overlooked. Don’t you see ... railwaymen, engineers, prospectors, scores of people must have had a chance of poking round. If there had been anything good there, it would have been found long ago. And as it hasn’t happened—well——”
“You think there is no chance at all,” said the girl in dismay.
“I think,” said Clement impressively—this, he felt, was his great opportunity. He must drive home truth into the soul of this girl, though it was painful—“I think that you—that your friend should go into this matter with the most scrupulous attention, that you—that your friend should commit himself” (in his stress he overlooked the gender he had employed) “in no way. All the dealings should be made through unbiased experts—unbiased, Miss Heloise; some big mining consultants with a reputation for straight-dealing.... Nobody locally. I urge you to impress upon your friend the need of the greatest care.”
The girl gave a gasp. It was a gasp of misery. Clement felt sore and sorry for her—but he must say what he had to say. Then she said with pain, “Then you think—you think there might be something—underhand about such a venture.”
“Yes,” said Clement slowly, “I think there is a great possibility of there being something underhand in it—from what you tell me.”
“O-oh,” sighed the girl, and she fell back in her chair. Clement knew why she was overcome. His confirmation of the suspicions that the little lawyer Hartley Hard had fired at her, had forced her soul to face an ugly conviction.
Clement, inexpressibly sorry for her, followed her action with his eyes. He would like to help her, he felt in his heart an almost agonized desire to do something to soothe her wounded soul. She was so gentle, so young to have suffered a shock. He half turned in his eagerness to help her.
Something—a shadow where there should have been the gray-blue light of the open sea—caused him to lift his eyes.
Behind her chair, close behind, crouching against the bow of the boat that shielded them from the wind, filling up the space through which Clement should have been able to gaze straight out to sea, he saw a figure.
A great, a bulky figure. The black, the stealthy figure of a mountain of a man—listening.
He poised there for a minute—then he vanished.
Heloise had had her warning—andso had Mr. Neuburg.
What effect his warning would have on the girl, Clement did not know. Time alone would showthat. But he knew what would be the effect on the big and sinister man.
It would be a direct declaration of war. Neuburg had heard something which must tell him definitely that he—Clement Seadon—meant to prevent Heloise Reys from having anything to do with Henry Gunning and his wild-cat schemes.
In other words the mountainous Mr. Neuburg knew that Clement meant to prevent him getting the million pounds which he considered his legitimate plunder. And if Clement knew anything that was not the sort of threat that the big man would suffer quietly.
It was going to be a fight, and, an ugly one. He made no mistake about this Neuburg. He was a brilliant fellow and a criminal to boot. He would not only employ all his cunning, but he would also stop at nothing to gain his ends. Clement was perfectly certain that if it came to the pinch, Mr. Neuburg would kill him, or have him killed, if he felt it necessary.
But that thought only stiffened him. When he thought of Heloise and her beauty and her trustfulness at the mercy of such blackguards, his heart might grow sick, but his chin grew stiff also. He was not going to allow Heloise to be their victim.
He’d beat the scoundrels. But how?
In his cabin after he had said good-night to Heloise, he thought it out. Against a gang the odds were decidedly not in his favor. He couldbe smothered by sheer weight if he fought them direct. Should he play carefully to try and win Heloise to reason? Not a trustworthy policy. They would be working against him all the time, and the slightest slip might prove disastrous. Should he wait and expose this mining scheme with his own knowledge? Dangerous again, there was no saying how Heloise’s emotions might react when she saw her old lover, or what cunning trick Mr. Neuburg might spring to win her emotions.
What then?
The words of the little lawyer rose up. “Make her love you! Marry her!”
By Jove, after all, that little lawyer was right. It was the only sure thing. Marry her and her quixotic trip was finished. Marry her and Gunning was ended and all that Gunning stood for. Marry her....
“And Iwantto marry her,” he said to his looking glass. “Clement, my dear ass, do look things in the face. You think she’s adorable. The way she smiles; the way she lifts that soft little chin of hers; the sound of her voice; that boyish brave air of hers ... all of her is adorable. You know you want her, you know you want to marry her. Why put on this ‘She loves another’ pose? She doesn’t really love him—it’s just sentiment; while she does—well, she’s awfully fond of you. She is, don’t pretend. Propose to her at once, propose to her before you reach Quebec and you’ll carryher away. Marry her, that’s it, you want to and you’ll also put a spoke in their wheels.”
And even while he was contemplating putting a spoke in the wheel of the gang, it was actually putting a spoke in his.
He went to bed full of this happy resolve.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I’ll propose.”
The big Mr. Neuburg had slipped from his hiding place, with that curious silent swiftness which went so strangely with his bulk, crossed the boat deck noiselessly, and went down to the promenade.
He found the Gorgon sitting there, and he dropped into the seat beside her. What he had to say was not very much, but it was apparently to the point. She listened attentively, nodded, and when he finished she rose.
But before she went to her cabin, she took from him a paper.
“Make this your opening,” Mr. Neuburg said. “I know you are clever; this is a time for being very clever. Be very natural ... be very sympathetic ... do not pretend this letter has any significance for you.”
When Heloise, tired and dispirited, came down to the cabin, she found her companion already half undressed. Not very talkative, she never was,but showing no emotion against or for anybody—Clement, of course, was the anybody. It was no different from any of the going-to-bed scenes that had taken place since they came on board—that is, it wasn’t until Heloise, stretching out her hand for her hairbrush, that inevitable feminine implement, encountered a folded sheet of notepaper. She picked it up absently. It was a business letter, that had been folded lengthways in three, and the printed heading was on the outside. She read the name of the firm which had sent it—Rigby & Root.
“Méduse,” she said in a surprised voice. “Did I leave this lying about?”
“Did you leave what lying about, Loise?” said the companion in a quiet voice, though, for all her apparent indifference, her singularly immobile eyes seemed to gleam below the surface.
“This letter—from my lawyers?”
At that, “Yes, you did,” said the companion—there was the nicest tinge of reproach in her voice; it was beautifully done. “You did—on the promenade deck. Yes, my dear Loise, it was on the very deck. I actually kicked it out of my way before it occurred to me that it really was a letter and not a dirty piece of paper. Then I picked it up, and saw that name on the outside—Rigby & Root. And I was surprised—your lawyers, of course; I knew that—so naturally I brought it straight down here....”
“How could I have taken it up on deck?” said Heloise, puzzled.
“That I don’t know,” said Méduse pleasantly. “Unless you are like me, and use the first thing that comes to hand as a bookmarker. It’s not always wise. I remember once opening a book at a young woman’s religious instruction class, and the piece of paper I had used as a marker slipped out for all to see ... and it was a handbill of the most lurid sort of play—a very fast play even. You see I....” Her manner was gossipy, perfect, but she did not have to carry her garrulous anecdote to a finish.
First, Heloise said, “But a lawyer’s letter.” And then with a sort of gasp she cried, “But it’s not my letter.”
The Gorgon switched round, smiling indulgently. “My dear ... but I saw the name at the top—Rigby & Root.”
“Yes, it’s from Rigby & Root,” said Heloise in a curious voice, for she was at that moment, and abruptly, a prey to strange emotions of doubt and suspicion.
“Well, if it’s from Rigby & Root——” said the Gorgon indolently.
“It’s addressed to Mr. Clement Seadon,” said Heloise in a dry voice.
The Gorgon’s look of smiling amazement was an admirable piece of acting. “But, my dear—whateverare your lawyers writing to Mr. Seadon about?”
And that well-barbed dart was fired with beautiful precision. Without the slightest appearance of malice, the Gorgon had underscored the significant fact that Mr. Clement Seadon was connected with the little lawyer Hartley Hard (a partner in Rigby & Root), who had shown himself so prejudiced against Henry Gunning and Heloise’s journey to Canada. She looked at the girl, her eyebrows raised in faint amusement and surprise. “What could Mr. Hard be writing to Mr. Seadon about?”
Heloise did not read other people’s letters, but the circumstances made it impossible for her not to read that short and very businesslike communication. It was unthrilling. It dealt with the sale of certain stocks, and the buying of certain bonds. It was not signed by the irritating Mr. Hard. She said, “It’s not from Mr. Hard. It’s from Mr. Root himself” (Rigby was dead). “And it’s about nothing in particular—just business. Apparently Rigby & Root are Mr. Seadon’s lawyers also.”
Heloise had an air of dismissing any implication of underhand conduct. But she had not dismissed it. The surprising fact, brought before her mind so suddenly and neatly, made her feel that she had been trusting somebody who could not be trusted. He was in league with the man who had tried to hamper her movements.... She tried to tellherself, of course, that there was no ground for such a thought; people can have the same lawyers without conspiring with those lawyers. But the shock of it, the coincidence of it cut the ground from under her.... This young man who had only just now taken pains to set her against Henry Gunning and his mining schemes was intimate with her lawyers, who had also taken pains to set her against Henry Gunning.... The facts seemed too pronounced to admit of coincidence.... And while she was feeling sore, rankled, the clever companion pushed the barb of suspicion a little deeper.
“How strange that you should both have the same lawyers,” she said with an air of innocent wonder. “How strange that he should know that Mr. Hard who has been so annoying to you.”
It was, of course, the attitude of Méduse Smythe to pretend that she had little or nothing to do with Heloise’s trip to Canada. She pretended all along to play a passive part. All the initiative was supposed to come from Heloise.
Méduse Smythe was clever. She had the master brain of Mr. Neuburg to prompt her, and she had played her cards subtly, so that although it was she alone who had inspired the high-minded girl to undertake this adventure, she was yet able to pose as no more than a lucky and accidental link in the chain of circumstances. Heloise thought of her only as a companion who was but faintly and sentimentally interested in an act of her employer’slife over which she had no control. It was to keep up this air of being altogether outside the business that Méduse had said not that Mr. Hard was annoying to “us,” but that “Mr. Hard had been so annoying toyou.”
Her attitude gave her so many advantages. Thus when Heloise said in answer to that little flick on the raw, “I wonder whether he knows Mr. Hard?” she was able to say with an admirable and impersonal air. “Well, it didn’t seem important before, but it may explain why he has monopolized you since you came on board.”
Heloise was suddenly aware how easily, how frequently she had slipped off with Clement Seadon. Had he monopolized her? Why——? She remembered how she had talked to him about Sicamous, about mining. How he had warned her.... Was that the reason? His lawyers were her lawyers ... her lawyers had warned her, too. Was that the reason?
And then as the girl sat quietly, feeling suspicious, miserable, hurt, the clever Miss Méduse Smythe improved the shining hour. She fired another little barb: “Of course, you are both young, and he is very handsome and has charming ways with him—I could understand your getting on so well together ... indulging in even a little ship-board flirtation.”
Heloise gasped. She was acutely conscious of Clement’s good looks, his charming ways—hadthey been used to an end? And flirting—had she flirted?
“You think I have been flirting?” she said in a low, breathless voice.
“You?” smiled Miss Méduse tolerantly. “Oh, no, I don’t think you flirted, my dear. I know how you feel about your Mr. Gunning.” Heloise winced. She had not been feeling very much about Mr. Gunning lately. She was unpleasantly reminded of her inconstancy—as Miss Méduse Smythe meant her to be reminded. “I knew you were safe enough,” the smiling companion went on, “but I don’t know about that young man.... He seemed, well, yes, I must say, I think he flirted.”
That practically ended the conversation. A conversation with apparently very little in it, but a very telling conversation all the same. When Heloise went to bed she carried it with her. And as she tossed unsleeping, its different phases kept turning over in her mind, turning over and over with something of the steady throbbing of the engines in their ceaselessness.
So that while Clement Seadon, also awake, was tossing in his bunk, the throb of the engines beating out entrancingly the thoughts, “I’ll marry her ... I love her and I’ll marry her ... I’ll make her marry me ... I’ll save her through loving her....” Heloise lay awake asking herself: “Is he in league against me? Is he tricking me?After all I thought of him, isn’t he tricking me? His lawyers are my lawyers. He has wormed out my secret from me ... things my lawyers did not know. Things they wanted to know? Was that accidental, or was it cunning? Is he fighting against—Harry?” She shivered in disgust at herself. “Harry ... have I acted honorably towards Harry? I have flirted with this man ... flirted! I’ve enjoyed his company, I’ve come to like him ...” she could not go on. She dare not go on. She dare not put her feelings for Clement Seadon under close examination.... “I’ve behaved dishonorably. I’ve forgotten Harry for this man who has—has been working against Harry.” Her heart chilled. “Perhaps his—his flirting with me was part of his plan against Harry....”
The whole of these thoughts jumbled and tumbled together in her anguished mind. The duplicity of Clement Seadon became entangled with her own inconstancy towards Henry Gunning, until, in the end, they became one and the same thing, and Seadon was the archvillain responsible for all ... as the adroit Mr. Neuburg and the clever Miss Méduse Smythe had meant him to be.
And so when the morning came Clement rose saying with immense purpose, “I’ll do it to-day. It’s the last day; to-morrow we land. I will tell her I love her to-day. I’llmakeher love me.”
As he said that with great cheerfulness, Heloise,rising, jaded, worn out, with a mind incapable of clear and unprejudiced thought, said, “I must find out. I’ll put it to the test. I’ll confront him with this letter. And if I am right....”
She knew a little pain, but that only strengthened her resolve. If she found out she was right, then it would be finished. Clement Seadon would not be allowed to intrude into her life again.
It was the last day of the voyage, and Clement Seadon, supremely conscious of the fact, was feeling baffled.
Again Heloise Reys was proving unapproachable. Again he was finding it difficult to get near her because of the crowd about her. The blockade of the first days of the trip was resumed.
But now Clement could not view this blockade with equanimity. He could not smile and bide his time—there was no time. Already they were passing up the mighty river St. Lawrence, already the end of the voyage was in sight. A few hours only were all that were left to him. He must get her alone.
He could not get her alone—not for a moment. And as the day relentlessly advanced, a further, a more disturbing thought was born in upon him—she did not want to be left alone with him. He began to realize this with a sense of dismay. Itwas she who was putting barriers between them. It was she who kept her companion close at her side, who actually invited the big man to fill the vacancy when the companion went away. It was not the pair shutting him out; it was Heloise herself deliberately shutting him out with the pair.
He could not understand it. She had left him in perfect friendliness last night. There was no hint of misunderstanding—estrangement. Why had she changed? What was causing her to stand so aloof from him? Was it the doing of that precious rascally pair? Was it anything he himself had done or said? Was it, perhaps, the way he had talked about the mining venture? He did not think so. He knew that had pained her—that could not be helped; but it had not offended her. She had left him, well, in such a manner that he had felt confident of winning her as a lover....
No, it wasn’t that—but what was it? Some deep and cunning game of those rogues. Something subtle and devilish emanating from the brain of that master villain Neuburg—that was the only explanation. But what it was he could not find out. And the fact that there was so little time to find out, win back her confidence—that and the real ardor he felt for her, robbed his wits of their habitual steadiness, made them unstable, in a crisis.
And the crisis came. It came with an unfair abruptness. It could not be aught else, for Heloise’s wits were also in something of a whirl.She was dreading the moment of confronting Clement, just as she was determined that she would do so. Her mind had been an affair of veering unstability all day. Now she believed him to be underhand, now she disbelieved. Now she hated him, now she thought he could do nothing dishonorable. Now she made up her mind to go to him, now she held back. She was a mass of hesitations and decisions; she was hot, and she was cold.
She made up her mind only a few minutes before the dressing-bugle sounded. Clement had tramped past her in dark loneliness, had turned and passed round the end of the deck. She felt, “I must do it now or never.” With an indefinite gesture, more than half an appeal for support, to her companion, she rose and went after him.
She expected to see him on the other side of the deck, and she would call him and hand him his letter.... But when she reached the end of the deck she actually ran into him. He had swung round on his heel, returned in his tracks.... As a matter of fact, he had made uphismind to talk to her, to demand an explanation from her.
They met. It was a shock. They stared at each other a little breathless. Then, “This is your letter,” said Heloise.
Clement took it, looked at it, frowned.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “But how on earth....” Heloise wasn’t going to trouble about trivial explanations.
“I looked at it because Rigby & Root are my lawyers as well as your own—did you know that?”
Clement was too honest, as well as too startled, to tell anything but the truth.
“Yes, I did know it,” he said.
Heloise’s breath caught in something like a sob. There was a sudden blaze of contempt and anger in her heart; she had trusted this man ... and liked him.
“And you knew about me ... about the reason of my voyage?”
“Miss Reys——” he began.
“Did you?” she cried. “Did you?”
“Yes, I knew, but——”
“You knew,” she cried at him, and her face was white. “And you were acting in the interests of—of Mr. Hard?...”
Clement stared at her. This sudden attack had left his wits woolly and bewildered. And, of course, he was, in a sense, acting in the interests of Mr. Hard. If he said he wasn’t he would be lying. And yet Mr. Hard wasn’t the whole of the thing ... but the whole of the thing.... How could he explain it to her in this unsympathetic mood, in the presence of her archenemy and his, Miss Méduse?... He couldn’t explain. He could only temporize. He cried, “Miss Reys ... there is an explanation behind it all....”
He got no further. Heloise read his hesitation correctly. Hewasacting for Mr. Hard. He had,under the guise of friendship, been conspiring against her....
She turned about. Clutching the arm of the clever Miss Méduse Smythe she walked away, left him.
The first thing Clement Seadon did was to give way to one of those outbursts of anger that, in time, bring calmness. They had scored over him—they had tricked him, these blackguards. They had dealt him a very damaging blow.
Then from this anger against their very definite triumph, his cooling brain turned to the matter which had helped them to score that point. The explanation he found was perfectly simple. That letter had been stolen from his despatch case. He was not of the type that leaves letters lying about, particularly lawyers’ letters. Theft, that was the solution. Some one had been through his effects. They had found this letter, appreciated its worth as a means of alienating Heloise. They had been clever, as clever as he thought they were, and had struck at him at the psychological moment.
Who had been the thief? That, again, was easy. Who else but the rascally steward, a fellow in their pay, a member of the gang, who had the right to come and go in all the cabins. And, now that the thing was brought acutely to his mind, he recalledseeing the rogue hanging about in the gallery, conspicuously near his door. He remembered him, not merely because of his redoubtably evil face, but also because he was so resolutely dirty.... His should-be white steward’s jacket had a beastly and disfiguring stain of yellow—rust, perhaps—up the left arm and shoulder.
Yes, that criminal-looking steward was the thief—but what matter? That part was passed and over. Could the thing be remedied? It looked black. It looked as though Heloise Reys would for the future hold him at arm’s length—only she must not. For her own sake, if not for his, he must prevent her holding him at arm’s length. He must speak with her.
It would be difficult. He might see and be able to speak to her to-night, after dinner, but he was not hopeful. She would evade him—Neuburg and the Gorgon would see to that. To-morrow—less hope to-morrow. The hustle and bustle of leaving the ship at Quebec would give no opportunity. At Quebec ... he gained a ray of comfort. At Quebec, yes, it might be done. He knew that she was to stay at the Château Frontenac for at least two days. She had told him she had rooms reserved there.... And so had he. Well, if he could not see her, even if he had to force himself upon her, during those two days, then he wasn’t the man he thought he was.
Quebec would be his salvation. Quebec wouldsee him right himself with her, put him on a footing which would enable him better to counteract the plans of her enemies. He felt more sanguine.
More than that, he felt his old capacity and alertness come back to him.
It was as well it did. He had full need of those qualities.
For the gang was not leaving things to chance. Mr. Neuburg, that master mind, was aware that Quebec would give him opportunities for regaining ground with Heloise. Mr. Neuburg meant to prevent that.
As the great liner pushed up the vast river towards that city of beauty and history, that on its great cliff hangs like a fairy citadel over the shining waters, Mr. Neuburg acted. He devised an acute, a cunning and a beastly plan for getting Clement Seadon out of the way.
As the big vessel was wharping into the dockside, Clement Seadon, who had remained on deck to the last possible moment in the hope of seeing Heloise Reys, went below. He went below disconsolately to gather together his traps, and to prepare for his effort in Quebec.
He went below, past the busy stewards working in their shirt-sleeves among the baggage, past their glory hole, full of their clothes and their intimate litter, past the many scattered trunks and suitcases ready to be taken off, past the wholesale reminders of voyages ended, and into his own cabin.
His own kit was, of course, already packed. A good traveler, he got through that swiftly and early. Now he gathered together his stick and his mackintosh and his hat ready for departure. He sat down on his bunk and felt for his cigarette case.
His cigarette case indicated the state of mind he was in; it was empty. For a moment, and in sheer desperation, he felt that he could not be bothered to unstrap his suitcase and dive to its bottom for smoking materials. Then he drove his melancholy from him, pulled the heavy leather case towards him.
In thirty seconds his hand encountered something hard and edgy. Something strange to his groping fingers.... He tugged it out....
In the palm of his hand lay a thing that glittered and flashed. A thing of immense worth—a woman’s tiara.
A woman’s diamond tiara in his suitcase. It was incredible.
Then Clement Seadon jumped alertly to his feet. He saw the meaning of that tiara at once. It had been put there so that he should be branded as a thief, that he—by gad!—that he should be arrested, be kept under lock and key while Heloise Reys was in Quebec.
He saw it all. The devils, the clever devils, this was their plan—Neuburg’s plan—to get him out of the way.
What should he do? The thing was immensely valuable. Return it?... No, couldn’t risk wandering about with that in his possession, for anybody to fling accusations. Oh, but there was something quite simple ... there always is. The purser ... he’d run right along to the purser, hand it to him, say that he had found it. He’d do it now. He guessed he’d have to be quick. Neuburg and his gang would see to it that the loss of that tiara did not go long undiscovered.
He almost ran along the gallery towards the purser’s office. He did not get far. Before he came to the accommodation stairs that led up to the smoking saloon, stairs that stood between him and the purser, he heard an excited babble of voices coming down those stairs.
Yes, there was a definite excitement in them. Men’s voices raised in protest and advice. A woman’s voice, hysterical and accusative.... A woman who had a grievance.
The hunt was up.... They were after that tiara.
It was absolutely impossible to go on. They were bound to see him ... and he had that damnable tiara on him.... He glanced about wildly.... There seemed no way of escape, and the voices were very near.... They were about to come round the corner.... Like a fox bolting to earth, Clement Seadon dived into the empty glory hole. He crouched behind the door amid thehanging coats.... The voices passed him talking at a babble.... He heard them drifting along the gallery towards his cabin.... He stood up, scrutinizing his lair carefully. No other way out except by the door he had come in. He waited a few moments. Then he stepped out quietly, and walked a little way towards the purser’s office, he must not on any account show haste. He heard voices behind him, he faced about for a moment and looked.... It was a crucial moment. As he looked, the captain of the ship walked out from the alleyway in which his cabin stood, looked along the gallery towards him ... saw him.
He saw him and immediately called out, “Hello, Seadon” (genial Captain Heavy was an old friend), “I say, you’re the man we want. Would you mind coming along here for a moment, my good chap?”
Clement Seadon, with a throbbing heart, went along. He went to his own cabin. There seemed to be a crowd of people in that cabin. In the blur which his painful sensations brought to him, Clement could only distinguish one excited and angry lady and a steward—the evil little steward. He turned his face quickly away from these. He looked at Captain Heavy. He meant to say something to Heavy, but his mouth was parched.
Captain Heavy, his good-tempered face frowning, understood that inquiring look. “Yes, it does seem an idiot mob to thrust into a man’s cabin,old chap. None of my doing. I—well, look here, it’s a rotten and unwarrantable thing, but—but you see this lady has lost a valuable piece of jewelry ... a diamond tiara.... She says it has been stolen....”
“It has been stolen,” snapped the lady.
“Well—she says it has been stolen. And one of the stewards declares he knows who did it. In fact—in fact, old man, he has the—the effrontery to say that it was—you.”
“Well,” said Clement, in a voice whose evenness surprised him.
“Well—well,” said the distressed captain. “Well—they came along to see for themselves—to—to search.”
There was a moment of deep silence in the cabin after the definite and cruel accusation was made. Clement swept the little crowd with a glance he strove to make amazed.
“I have been accused of theft! I am to be searched!...” he said. “My dear Heavy, this is absurd!”
“I know! I know! I’ve said that already. This la—they’ve taken the matter into their own hands.”
“But to be searched—the idea is infamous.”
“You can refuse,” said Heavy. “And await—er—the authorities.”
“And I stay here,” said the lady, like a figure of vengeance, “until the authorities come. I amnotgoing to lose my tiara.”
“You’d scarcely do that, madam,” said the captain soothingly. “Even—even if Mr. Seadon had it, he could scarcely get rid of it. If he tried to get rid of it through his porthole people would see him—we’re alongside. And in any case his porthole is shut....”
Seadon, with a start, darted a glance to the porthole. Heavy’s remarks had closed that loophole pretty thoroughly, he thought.
“All the same, I stay,” said the lady implacably. “Unless, of course, Mr. Seadon allows us to search.”
“Shall I signal the police, sir?” asked the evil-looking little steward.
“Is this the man who accused me?” Clement asked sharply, and as the captain nodded, “What’s the reason behind this charge?” he demanded cuttingly of the fellow.
“Reason b’ind it?” snarled the man. “Ain’t no reason be’ind it. It’s just that when Mrs. Smot said she lorst ’er dimend terara, well I recalled or recollected I’d seenyou’angin’ about suspicious like, comin’ out of ’er cabin where an’ when you ’ad no right to be there.”
“And how is it you saw me come out of this lady’s cabin?”
“’Ow! ’Ow! Strewth, ain’t I ’er cabin steward?”
“Oh, you’re her cabin steward. You’re the one who has theentréto her cabin. What’s the record of this man, Heavy?” Seadon rapped out the sentences with a fighting air, obviously trying to parry suspicion.
“Don’t know,” answered Heavy, who was feeling that it was rather stupid of Seadon to act like this, when a search, distasteful though it might be,would clear him at once. “Don’t know. He only signed on this voyage; we don’t know anything about him.”
“If you think you c’n switch it off ter me,” said the steward with an evil grin, “lemme tell youIdon’t mind being searched, anyhow.”
“Oh!” said Clement, catching his breath.
“Yes,” said the lady acidly. “I don’t see why any man, if he is innocent, should object to being searched.”
Clement acknowledged that he could no longer fence off the evil moment. He turned to the captain with a resigned air. “There are my bags,” he said. “I haven’t been in the baggage room since I came aboard, as your baggage master can testify. If that tiara is anywhere it is in my suitcases.” He pointedly drew attention to his suitcases. He noted that the steward attended to this fact. For though he searched the suitcases with great cunning, starting first on the one hehad notput the tiara into, so as to hide his own knowledge, he seemed to have something on his mind.
It was very definitely on his mind after he had drawn blank in the suitcases, had drawn blank in his careful examination of the cabin, and had reassured himself that the porthole had been locked, anyhow, since this morning.
He stood up studying Clement with lowering and evil eyes. He said, “No, it ain’t anywhere’ere. Not in the suitcases or anywheres. There’s only ’imself.”
“You seem curiously anxious to fix suspicion on me,” said Clement sharply. “To divert it, I might say.”
“Well, there’s nowhere else, is there?” snapped the man.
“Captain Heavy,” said Clement, with an anger that must affect the captain, “Am I to submit to this outrage any longer? Is this man to fix suspicion on me for some reason of his own?...”
“I don’t want ter search ’im, if ’e don’t want it. There’s always th’ police,” said the steward.
Clement turned swiftly to the captain. He held his arms out straight. “Please search me, captain,” he said savagely.
Captain Heavy with a little shrug, and a “I wish this was merely a joke, old man,” searched Clement. He did the job in the Scotland Yard manner. It was complete, it was brilliantly thorough. When he had finished he stepped back and stared at the steward. He also stared at the lady. And he said, bitterly, “Well?”
The lady’s face showed that apoplectical tint that might come to even the best-nourished woman when she is torn by the two powerful but contrary emotions, those of groveling apology, and anger with a steward who had made her look a fool.
The steward—well, the steward simply goggledat Clement. There was incredulity and also fear showing in his devastated countenance. He had been ready to pounce at the first glitter of a diamond. He had been ready to suggest some hiding place overlooked by the captain. He was sure that the tiara must be on Clement’s person since it was not in his suitcase—where he himself had put it.
Captain Heavy glared at him, and snapped, “Well, my man, what have you got to say? You’ve subjected a passenger onmyship to a disgusting indignity—for what?”
“It—it must be on ’im,” said the steward, sullenly backing away, his mind absolutely bewildered by the unexpected absence of the tiara.
“Must!” thundered the captain. “Good God! man, do you want me to take his skin off?”
“Well, ’e ’as it. Didn’t I see ’im ’angin’ about——”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this. As I knew, Mr. Seadon didnottake that tiara. Why the devil did you accuse him? I want to know that? And now.”
“I think”—said Clement in a cold voice—“I think I have already suggested why.”
“Eh, Seadon? You suggested? What did you suggest, my good chap?” cried the captain, only too anxious for the good of his service to make amends.
“I suggested that he was anxious to fixsuspicion on some one—some one other than himself.”
“Yes—to divert suspicion. That’s it. That’s what you said,” snapped the lady, who not only had a natural instinct for finding scapegoats, but who owed the steward something for making her appear so conspicuously foolish.
“Ah, divert suspicion,” said the captain, swinging round on the steward and appreciating his substantial air of villainy for the first time. “I see. You are this lady’s cabin steward, and——”
Clement might have helped the good work along. There was no need. The lady was only too anxious to help the good work along herself.
“And he had the run of my cabin,” she piped. “Hecould go in there whenever he liked, do what he liked,takewhat he liked.”
“I never,” snarled the steward, cringing back, glaring hate at Clement. He felt that this softy-looking young man had turned the tables on him in some way. He was afraid. But more, he resented the fact that this dandy fellow, who looked the last person to possess brains in good working order should be tying him in such a knot. As his wits darted back over the happenings and the talk in that cabin during the last few minutes, he saw, blazingly, that its apparent casualness had really been a net to entangle him. In a desperate effort to beat the brain working against him, he cried, “I never took nuthin’. If I ’ad, would I ’ave pushedmeself forward in this ... brought meself inter the limelight? I risked sumthin’ accusin’’im, though it was me duty.”
Clement might have said something. There was no need. He never believed in doing work others could do better. The incensed lady did it much better. She cried, “That was only your vile cunning. Of course it was. My tiara is missing—who would be the first person I would accuse? The cabin steward—naturally. And naturally my cabin steward would know it. If he wasn’t a thief—it wouldn’t matter. If he was—well, he’d do his best to divert suspicion, as Mr. Sneezedon——”
“Seadon,” from Heavy.
“—Seadon said. Oh, I see it. You suggested some one I did not know, on the other side of the ship, to lead me away. You joined furiously in the search so that I should be convinced that you, at least, were honest. Oh, I see it. I see it. You pretended to be honest to cover up your guilt.”
“Guilt ... cut out the guilt. Iain’tguilty,” snarled the steward, backing farther away, and watching Clement all the time. What had this man who looked so inconsequent, and wasn’t, up his sleeve. “I didn’t take that terara.” He made another desperate effort in defense. “An’—an’ why should I pick on this gentleman ’ere, of all passengers. Why?”
Clement cut in like a flash. This was his timeto speak. “Because at the very beginning of the voyage I kicked you out of this cabin—since you were in it, and had no right to be in it. Because you tampered with my private papers during the voyage, and you know I know it, and want either to prejudice beforehand any report I might make, or to get me out of the way.... Isn’t that true?”
“My God!” jerked the man at the mention of the papers, “’ow did you know that?... I mean I never did.” He stared at Clement, his face working. If the gang had utilized that stolen letter with great effect against Clement, he had turned their own weapon against them with dismaying force. The mere mention of it had staggered the steward. Already convicted of theft out of his own mouth the steward was at a loss. It was Captain Heavy who acted next. He rang the cabin bell imperiously. When Clement’s own steward, Nicholson, answered, he snapped, “Nicholson, have this man’s effects searched—atonce. Make it a thorough search. A diamond tiara is missing. This fellow has accused Mr. Clement Seadon of taking it.” Nicholson regarded the evil-faced steward with a sudden glance in which benevolence was conspicuously absent. He knew Mr. Clement Seadon. Also Captain Heavy knew he knew Mr. Clement Seadon. “It’s more than likely that he has merely accused Mr. Seadon to distract attention from himself. Get to it.”
Nicholson got to it. With another unbrotherlyglance at the steward he nipped out of the cabin and sped towards the glory hole. The evil-faced lad attempted an air of insouciance. He even called after Nicholson, “Search ’ard, me bucky. I’ve already expressed me willingness.”
The lady who had been so ready to accuse proved herself more than ready to apologize. Her method of apology was lavish, but particularly unsatisfactory to the evil-faced steward. It was one long hymn of hate concerning the steward. His feelings grew more and more disturbed as the minutes passed.
He was confident it was all right, it was bound to be all right, he told himself. He’d been most careful. Nothing could go wrong with ’im. Nothing ... or anyhow, he thought nothing could go wrong with him. He saw no reason for feeling scared ... but....
Nicholson came into the cabin.
Nicholson looked wisely at Clement; with resignation at his superior officer; with a certain touch of cheeriness at the evil-faced steward.
He lifted his right hand. He opened it. Something flamed and flashed.
“My tiara,” screamed the lady.
“In the pocket of this,” said Nicholson, lifting up a steward’s white jacket.
“My coat—my oath,” blurted the evil-faced steward.
There was no doubt about it. That dirty coatwith its yellow stain—probably rust—on its arm and shoulder was unmistakable. Everybody recognized it. Clement Seadon had never forgotten it, in fact.
“A cunnin’ hiding-place,” said Nicholson. “Hunted all through his—his effects, as ordered, finding nothing. Never thought of looking in his coat. Never would have thought. Only we see it hanging in the glory hole.”
That was where Clement Seadon had seen it hanging last—in the glory hole when he had dodged in there for cover. He smiled.
“My oath!” burst out the evil-faced steward, seeing that smile. “My oath—in my coat pocket.Youput it there.”
He stared at Clement in hate. Clement’s smile was even sweeter.
“Of course I put it there.” And only he and the steward knew that he was telling the truth. The others merely appreciated his sarcasm.
“That settles that,” said Captain Heavy. “Nicholson, take this brute out, and keep him safe until the police come aboard. Seadon, I can’t tell you how mad I am that all this has happened. It’s infamous.... If it’s any consolation, I’ll promise you that this scoundrel will be made to suffer in full....”
But the rest doesn’t matter, nor do the voluble apologies of the lady of the tiara matter. All that matters is that Clement Seadon left theEmpressfor the Château Frontenac, just about the time that the police went on board her to arrest and convey the steward to prison.
And in the lobby of the Château Frontenac, the first person he saw was the mountain of a man—Mr. Neuburg.
Mr. Neuburg was standing facing the door, and he started perceptibly as Clement came into the hotel. He betrayed himself by a quick stride forward and a muttered oath.
Clement smiled. He said cheerfully, “Oh, were you expecting theotherfellow? Sorry. He took my place—at the last minute. You’ll know where to find him, I think—or, anyhow, the firstpolicemanwill direct you——”
The mountain of a man stared across Clement’s shoulder for a moment. In his usually placid eye there was a red light of rage. His hand, with fist clenching, lifted to the level of his ribs. He gulped. Without another sign he swung round and went with his surprising swiftness out of the lobby.