“Mrs. J. B. Peterson,“Lenox,“Mass., U.S.A.”
“Mrs. J. B. Peterson,“Lenox,“Mass., U.S.A.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” he remarked, slipping it into his dressing-case.
“And remember this,” Felix remarked, glancing out at the platform along which they were gliding. “You are a marked man. Disguise is useless for you. Be ever on your guard. You and I have been enemies, but after all you are too great a man to fall by the hand of a German assassin. Farewell!”
“I will thank you for your caution and remember it,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Farewell!”
Felix raised his hat, and Mr. Sabin returned the salute. The whistle sounded. Felix stepped out on to the platform.
“You will not forget the letter?” he asked
“I will deliver it in person without fail,” Mr. Sabin answered.
It was their third day out, and Mr. Sabin was enjoying the voyage very much indeed. TheCaliphawas a small boat sailing to Boston instead of New York, and contemptuously termed by the ocean-going public an old tub. She carried, consequently, only seven passengers besides Mr. Sabin, and it had taken him but a very short time to decide that of those seven passengers not one was interested in him or his affairs. He had got clear away, for the present at any rate, from all the complications and dangers which had followed upon the failure of his great scheme. Of course by this time the news of his departure and destination was known to every one whom his movements concerned. That was almost a matter of course, and realising even the impossibility of successful concealment, Mr. Sabin had made no attempt at any. He had given the name of Sabin to the steward, and had secured the deck’s cabin for his own use. He chatted every day with the captain, who treated him with respect, and in reply to a question from one of the stewards who was a Frenchman, he admitted that he was the Duc de Souspennier, and that he was travelling incognito only as a whim. He was distinctly popular with every one of the seven passengers, who were a little doubtful how to address him, but whom he succeededalways in putting entirely at their ease. He entered, too, freely into the little routine of steamer life. He played shuffleboard for an hour or more every morning, and was absolutely invincible at the game; he brought his golf clubs on deck one evening after dinner, and explained the manner of their use to an admiring little circle of the seven passengers, the captain, and doctor. He rigorously supported the pool each day, and he even took a hand at a mild game of poker one wet afternoon, when timidly invited to do so by Mr. Hiram Shedge, an oil merchant of Boston. He had in no way the deportment or manner of a man who had just passed through a great crisis, nor would any one have gathered from his conversation or demeanour that he was the head of one of the greatest houses in Europe and a millionaire. The first time a shadow crossed his face was late one afternoon, when, coming on deck a little behind the others after lunch, he found them all leaning over the starboard bow, gazing intently at some object a little distance off, and at the same time became aware that the engines had been put to half-speed.
He was strolling towards the little group, when the captain, seeing him, beckoned him on to the bridge.
“Here’s something that will interest you, Mr. Sabin,” he called out. “Won’t you step this way?”
Mr. Sabin mounted the iron steps carefully but with his eyes turned seawards; a large yacht of elegant shape and painted white from stern to bows was lying-to about half a mile off flying signals.
Mr. Sabin reached the bridge and stood by the captain’s side.
“A pleasure yacht,” he remarked. “What does she want?”
“I shall know in a moment,” the captain answered with his glass to his eye. “She flew a distress signal at first for us to stand by, so I suppose she’s in trouble. Ah! there it goes. ‘Mainshaft broken,’ she says.”
“She doesn’t lie like it,” Mr. Sabin remarked quietly.
The captain looked at him with a smile.
“You know a bit about yachting too,” he said, “and, to tell you the truth, that’s just what I was thinking.”
“Holmes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ask her what she wants us to do.”
The signalman touched his hat, and the little row of flags ran fluttering up in the breeze.
“She signals herself theMayflower, private yacht, owner Mr. James Watson of New York,” he remarked. “She’s a beautiful boat.”
Mr. Sabin, who had brought his own glasses, looked at her long and steadily.
“She’s not an American built boat, at any rate,” he remarked.
An answering signal came fluttering back. The captain opened his book and read it.
“She’s going on under canvas,” he said, “but she wants us to take her owner and his wife on board.”
“Are you compelled to do so?” Mr. Sabin asked.
The captain laughed.
“Not exactly! I’m not expected to pick up passengers in mid ocean.”
“Then I shouldn’t do it,” Mr. Sabin said. “If they are in a hurry theAlaskais due up to-day, isn’t she? and she’ll be in New York in three days, and theBaltimoremust be close behind her. I should let them know that.”
“Well,” the captain answered, “I don’t want fresh passengers bothering just now.”
The flags were run up, and the replies came back as promptly. The captain shut up his glass with a bang.
“No getting out of them,” he remarked to Mr. Sabin. “They reply that the lady is nervous and will not wait; they are coming on board at once—for fear I should goon, I suppose. They add that Mr. Watson is the largest American holder of Cunard stock and a director of the American Board, so have them we must—that’s pretty certain. I must see the purser.”
He descended, and Mr. Sabin, following him, joined the little group of passengers. They all stood together watching the long rowing boat which was coming swiftly towards them through the smooth sea. Mr. Sabin explained to them the messages which had passed, and together they admired the disabled yacht.
Mr. Sabin touched the first mate on the arm as he passed.
“Did you ever see a vessel like that, Johnson?” he remarked.
The man shook his head.
“Their engineer is a fool, sir!” he declared scornfully. “Nothing but my own eyes would make me believe there’s anything serious the matter with her shaft.”
“I agree with you,” Mr. Sabin said quietly.
The boat was now within hailing distance. Mr. Sabin leaned down over the side and scanned its occupants closely. There was nothing in the least suspicious about them. The man who sat in the stern steering was a typical American, with thin sallow face and bright eyes. The woman wore a thick veil, but she was evidently young, and when she stood up displayed a figure and clothes distinctly Parisian. The two came up the ladder as though perfectly used to boarding a vessel in mid ocean, and the lady’s nervousness was at least not apparent. The captain advanced to meet them, and gallantly assisted the lady on to the deck.
“This is Captain Ackinson, I presume,” the man remarked with extended hand. “We are exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for taking us off. This is my wife, Mrs. James B. Watson.”
Mrs. Watson raised her veil, and disclosed a dark, piquant face with wonderfully bright eyes.
“It’s real nice of you, Captain,” she said frankly. “You don’t know how good it is to feel the deck of a real ocean-going steamer beneath your feet after that little sailing boat of my husband’s. This is the very last time I attempt to cross the Atlantic except on one of your steamers.”
“We are very glad to be of any assistance,” the captain answered, more heartily than a few minutes before he would have believed possible. “Full speed ahead, John!”
There was a churning of water and dull throb of machinery restarting. The little rowing boat, already well away on its return journey, rocked on the long waves. Mr. Watson turned to shout some final instructions. Then the captain beckoned to the purser.
“Mr. Wilson will show you your state rooms,” he remarked. “Fortunately we have plenty of room. Steward, take the baggage down.”
The lady went below, but Mr. Watson remained on deck talking to the captain. Mr. Sabin strolled up to them.
“Your yacht rides remarkably well, if her shaft is really broken,” he remarked.
Mr. Watson nodded.
“She’s a beautifully built boat,” he remarked with enthusiasm. “If the weather is favourable her canvas will bring her into Boston Harbour two days after us.”
“I suppose,” the captain asked, looking at her through his glass, “you satisfied yourself that her shaft was really broken?”
“I did not, sir,” Mr. Watson answered. “My engineer reported it so, and, as I know nothing of machinery myself, I was content to take his word. He holds very fine diplomas, and I presume he knows what he is talking about. But anyway Mrs. Watson would never have stayed upon that boat one moment longer than she was compelled. She’s a wonderfully nervous woman is Mrs. Watson.”
“That’s a somewhat unusual trait for your countrywoman, is it not?” Mr. Sabin asked.
Mr. J. B. Watson looked steadily at his questioner.
“My wife, sir,” he said, “has lived for many years on the Continent. She would scarcely consider herself an American.”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Sabin remarked courteously. “One can see at least that she has acquired the polish of the only habitable country in the world. But if I had taken the liberty of guessing at her nationality, I should have taken her to be a German.”
Mr. Watson raised his eyebrows, and somehow managed to drop the match he was raising to his cigar.
“You astonish me very much, sir,” he remarked. “I always looked upon the fair, rotund woman as the typical German face.”
Mr. Sabin shook his head gently.
“There are many types,” he said “and nationality, you know, does not always go by complexion or size. For instance, you are very like many American gentlemen whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, but at the same time I should not have taken you for an American.”
The captain laughed.
“I can’t agree with you, Mr. Sabin,” he said. “Mr. Watson appears to me to be, if he will pardon my saying so, the very type of the modern American man.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Captain,” Mr. Watson said cheerfully. “I’m a Boston man, that’s sure, and I believe, sir, I’m proud of it. I want to know for what nationality you would have taken me if you had not been informed?”
“I should have looked for you also,” Mr. Sabin said deliberately, “in the streets of Berlin.”
At dinner-time Mrs. Watson appeared in a very dainty toilette of black and white, and was installed at the captain’s right hand. She was introduced at once to Mr. Sabin, and proceeded to make herself a very agreeable companion.
“Why, I call this perfectly delightful!” was almost her first exclamation, after a swift glance at Mr. Sabin’s quiet but irreproachable dinner attire. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to find myself once more in civilised society. I was never so dull in my life as on that poky little yacht.”
“Poky little yacht, indeed!” Mr. Watson interrupted, with a note of annoyance in his tone. “TheMayfloweranyway cost me pretty well two hundred thousand dollars, and she’s nearly the largest pleasure yacht afloat.”
“I don’t care if she cost you a million dollars,” Mrs. Watson answered pettishly. “I never want to sail on her again. I prefer this infinitely.”
She laughed at Captain Ackinson, and her husband continued his dinner in silence. Mr. Sabin made a mental note of two things—first, that Mr. Watson did not treat his wife with that consideration which is supposed to be distinctive of American husbands, and secondly, that he dranka good deal of wine without becoming even a shade more amiable. His wife somewhat pointedly drank water, and turning her right shoulder upon her husband, devoted herself to the entertainment of her two companions. At the conclusion of the meal the captain was her abject slave, and Mr. Sabin was quite willing to admit that Mrs. J. B. Watson, whatever her nationality might be, was a very charming woman.
After dinner Mr. Sabin went to his lower state room for an overcoat, and whilst feeling for some cigars, heard voices in the adjoining room, which had been empty up to now.
“Won’t you come and walk with me, James?” he heard Mrs. Watson say. “It is such a nice evening, and I want to go on deck.”
“You can go without me, then,” was the gruff answer. “I’m going to have a cigar in the smoke-room.”
“You can smoke,” she reminded him, “on deck.”
“Thanks,” he replied, “but I don’t care to give my Laranagas to the winds. You would come here, and you must do the best you can. You can’t expect to have me dangling after you all the time.”
There was a silence, and then the sound of Mr. Watson’s heavy tread, as he left the state room, followed in a moment or two by the light footsteps and soft rustle of silk skirts, which indicated the departure also of his wife.
Mr. Sabin carefully enveloped himself in an ulster, and stood for a moment or two wondering whether that conversation was meant to be overheard or not. He rang the bell for the steward.
The man appeared almost immediately. Mr. Sabin had known how to ensure prompt service.
“Was it my fancy, John? or did I hear voices in the state room opposite?” Mr. Sabin asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Watson have taken it, sir,” the man answered.
Mr. Sabin appeared annoyed.
“You know that some of my clothes are hung up there,” he remarked, “and I have been using it as a dressing-room. There are heaps of state-rooms vacant. Surely you could have found them another?”
“I did my best, sir,” the man answered, “but they seemed to take a particular fancy to that one. I couldn’t get them off it nohow.”
“Did they know,” Mr. Sabin asked carelessly, “that the room opposite was occupied?”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered. “I told them that you were in number twelve, and that you used this as a dressing-room, but they wouldn’t shift. It was very foolish of them, too, for they wanted two, one each; and they could just as well have had them together.”
“Just as well,” Mr. Sabin remarked quietly. “Thank you, John. Don’t let them know I have spoken to you about it.”
“Certainly not, sir.”
Mr. Sabin walked upon deck. As he passed the smoke-room he saw Mr. Watson stretched upon a sofa with a cigar in his mouth. Mr. Sabin smiled to himself, and passed on.
The evening promenade on deck after dinner was quite a social event on board theCalipha. As a rule the captain and Mr. Sabin strolled together, none of the other passengers, notwithstanding Mr. Sabin’s courtesy towards them, having yet attempted in any way to thrust their society upon him. But to-night, as he had half expected, the captain had already a companion. Mrs. Watson, with a very becoming wrap around her head, and a cigarette in her mouth, was walking by his side, chatting gaily most of the time, but listening also with an air of absorbed interest to the personal experiences which her questions provoked. Every now and then, as theypassed Mr. Sabin, sometimes walking, sometimes gazing with an absorbed air at the distant chaos of sea and sky, she flashed a glance of invitation upon him, which he as often ignored. Once she half stopped and asked him some slight question, but he answered it briefly standing on one side, and the captain hurried her on. It was a stroke of ill-fortune, he thought to himself, the coming of these two people. He had had a clear start and a fair field; now he was suddenly face to face with a danger, the full extent of which it was hard to estimate. For he could scarcely doubt but that their coming was on his account. They had played their parts well, but they were secret agents of the German police. He smoked his cigar leisurely, the object every few minutes of many side glances and covert smiles from the delicately attired little lady, whose silken skirts, daintily raised from the ground, brushed against him every few minutes as she and her companion passed and repassed. What was their plan of action? he wondered. If it was simply to be assassination, why so elaborate an artifice? and what worse place in the world could there be for anything of the sort than the narrow confines of a small steamer? No, there was evidently something more complex on hand. Was the woman brought as a decoy? he wondered; did they really imagine him capable of being dazzled or fascinated by any woman on the earth? He smiled softly at the thought, and the sight of that smile lingering upon his lips brought her to a standstill. He heard suddenly the swish of her skirt, and her soft voice in his ear. Lower down the deck the captain’s broad shoulders were disappearing, as he passed on the way to the engineers’ room for his nightly visit of inspection.
“You have not made a single effort to rescue me,” she said reproachfully; “you are most unkind.”
Mr. Sabin lifted his cap, and removed the cigar from his teeth.
“My dear lady,” he said, “I have been suffering the pangs of the neglected, but how dared I break in upon so confidential atête-à-tête?”
“You have little of the courage of your nation, then,” she answered laughing, “for I gave you many opportunities. But you have been engrossed with your thoughts, and they succeeded at least where I failed—you were distinctly smiling when I came upon you.”
“It was a premonition,” he began, but she raised a little white hand, flashing with rings, to his lips, and he was silent.
“Please don’t think it necessary to talk nonsense to me all the time,” she begged. “Come! I am tired—I want to sit down. Don’t you want to take my chair down by the side of the boat there? I like to watch the lights on the water, and you may talk to me—if you like.”
“Your husband,” he remarked a moment or two later, as he arranged her cushions, “does not care for the evening air?”
“It is sufficient for him,” she answered quietly, “that I prefer it. He will not leave the smoking-room until the lights are put out.”
“In an ordinary way,” he remarked, “that must be dull for you.”
“In an ordinary way, and every way,” she answered in a low tone, “I am always dull. But, after all, I must not weary a stranger with my woes. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Sabin. Are you going to America on pleasure, or have you business there?”
A faint smile flickered across Mr. Sabin’s face. He watched the white ash trembling upon his cigar for a moment before he spoke.
“I can scarcely be said to be going to America on pleasure,” he answered, “nor have I any business there. Let us agree that I am going because it is the one countryin the world of any importance which I have never visited.”
“You have been a great traveller, then,” she murmured, looking up at him with innocent, wide-open eyes. “You look as though you have been everywhere. Won’t you tell me about some of the odd places you have visited?”
“With pleasure,” he answered; “but first won’t you gratify a natural and very specific curiosity of mine? I am going to a country which I have never visited before. Tell me a little about it. Let us talk about America.”
She stole a sudden, swift glance at her questioner. No, he did not appear to be watching her. His eyes were fixed idly upon the sheet of phosphorescent light which glittered in the steamer’s track. Nevertheless, she was a little uneasy.
“America,” she said, after a moment’s pause, “is the one country I detest. We are only there very seldom—when Mr. Watson’s business demands it. You could not seek for information from any one worse informed than I am.”
“How strange!” he said softly. “You are the first unpatriotic American I have ever met.”
“You should be thankful,” she remarked, “that I am an exception. Isn’t it pleasant to meet people who are different from other people?”
“In the present case it is delightful!”
“I wonder,” she said reflectively, “in which school you studied my sex, and from what particular woman you learned the art of making those little speeches?”
“I can assure you that I am a novice,” he declared.
“Then you have a wonderful future before you. You will make a courtier, Mr. Sabin.”
“I shall be happy to be the humblest of attendants in the court where you are queen.”
“Such proficiency,” she murmured, “is the hall markof insincerity. You are not a man to be trusted, Mr. Sabin.”
“Try me,” he begged.
“I will! I will tell you a secret.”
“I will lock it in the furthest chamber of my inner consciousness.”
“I am going to America for a purpose.”
“Wonderful woman,” he murmured, “to have a purpose.”
“I am going to get a divorce!”
Mr. Sabin was suddenly thoughtful.
“I have always understood,” he said, “that the marriage laws of America are convenient.”
“They are humane. They make me thankful that I am an American.”
Mr. Sabin inclined his head slightly towards the smoking-room.
“Does your unfortunate husband know?”
“He does; and he acquiesces. He has no alternative. But is that quite nice of you, Mr. Sabin, to call my husband an unfortunate man?”
“I cannot conceive,” he said slowly, “greater misery than to have possessed and lost you.”
She laughed gaily. Mr. Sabin permitted himself to admire that laugh. It was like the tinkling of a silver bell, and her teeth were perfect.
“You are incorrigible,” she said. “I believe that if I would let you, you would make love to me.”
“If I thought,” he answered, “that you would never allow me to make love to you, I should feel like following this cigar.” He threw it into the sea.
She sighed, and tapped her little French heel upon the deck.
“What a pity that you are like all other men.”
“I will say nothing so unkind of you,” he remarked. “You are unlike any other woman whom I ever met.”
They listened together to the bells sounding from the quarter deck. It was eleven o’clock. The deck behind them was deserted, and a fine drizzling rain was beginning to fall. Mrs. Watson removed the rug from her knees regretfully.
“I must go,” she said; “do you hear how late it is?”
“You will tell me all about America,” he said, rising and drawing back her chair, “to-morrow?”
“If we can find nothing more interesting to talk about,” she said, looking up at him with a sparkle in her dark eyes. “Good-night.”
Her hand, very small and white, and very soft, lingered in his. At that moment an unpleasant voice sounded in their ears.
“Do you know the time, Violet? The lights are out all over the ship. I don’t understand what you are doing on deck.”
Mr. Watson was not pleasant to look upon. His eyes were puffy, and swollen, and he was not quite steady upon his feet. His wife looked at him in cold displeasure.
“The lights are out in the smoke-room, I suppose,” she said, “or we should not have the pleasure of seeing you. Good-night, Mr. Sabin! Thank you so much for looking after me!”
Mr. Sabin bowed and walked slowly away, lighting a fresh cigarette. If it was acting, it was very admirably done.
The habit of early rising was one which Mr. Sabin had never cultivated, and breakfast was a meal which he abhorred. It was not until nearly midday on the following morning that he appeared on deck, and he had scarcely exchanged his customary greeting with the captain, before he was joined by Mr. Watson, who had obviously been on the look-out for him.
“I want, sir,” the latter commenced, “to apologise to you for my conduct last night.”
Mr. Sabin looked at him keenly.
“There is no necessity for anything of the sort,” he said. “If any apology is owing at all, it is, I think, to your wife.”
Mr. Watson shook his head vigorously.
“No, sir,” he declared, “I am ashamed to say that I am not very clear as to the actual expressions I made, but Mrs. Watson has assured me that my behaviour to you was discourteous in the extreme.”
“I hope you will think no more of it. I had already,” Mr. Sabin said, “forgotten the circumstance. It is not of the slightest consequence.”
“You are very good,” Mr. Watson said softly.
“I had the pleasure,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “of an interesting conversation with your wife last night. You are a very fortunate man.”
“I think so indeed, sir,” Mr. Watson replied modestly.
“American women,” Mr. Sabin continued, looking meditatively out to sea, “are very fascinating.”
“I have always found them so,” Mr. Watson agreed.
“Mrs. Watson,” Mr. Sabin said, “told me so much that was interesting about your wonderful country that I am looking forward to my visit more than ever.”
Mr. Watson darted a keen glance at his companion. He was suddenly on his guard. For the first time he realised something of the resources of this man with whom he had to deal.
“My wife,” he said, “knows really very little of her native country; she has lived nearly all her life abroad.”
“So I perceived,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Shall we sit down a moment, Mr. Watson? One wearies so of this incessant promenading, and there is a little matter which I fancy that you and I might discuss with advantage.”
Mr. Watson obeyed in silence. This was a wonderful man with whom he had to deal. Already he felt that all the elaborate precautions of his coming had been wasted. He might be Mr. James B. Watson, the New York yacht owner and millionaire, to the captain and his seven passengers, but he was nothing of the sort to Mr. Sabin. He shrugged his shoulders, and followed him to a seat. After all silence was a safe card.
“I’m going,” Mr. Sabin said, “to be very frank with you. I know, of course, who you are.”
Mr. Watson shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you?” he remarked dryly.
Mr. Sabin bowed, with a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
“Certainly,” he answered, “you are Mr. James B. Watson of New York, and the lady with you is your wife. Now I want to tell you a little about myself.”
“Most interested, I’m sure,” Mr. Watson murmured.
“My real name,” Mr. Sabin said, turning a little as though to face his companion, “is Victor Duc de Souspennier. It suits me at present to travel under the name by which I was known in England and by which you are in the habit of addressing me. Mr. Watson, I’m leaving England because a certain scheme of mine, which, if successful, would have revolutionised the whole face of Europe, has by a most unfortunate chance become a failure. I have incurred thereby the resentment, perhaps I should say the just resentment, of a great nation. I am on my way to the country where I concluded I should be safest against those means of, shall I say, retribution, or vengeance, which will assuredly be used against me. Now what I want to say to you, Mr. Watson, is this—I am a rich man, and I value my life at a great deal of money. I wonder if by any chance you understand me.”
Mr. Watson smiled.
“I’m curious to know,” he said softly, “at what price you value yourself.”
“My account in New York,” Mr. Sabin said quietly, “is, I believe, something like ten thousand pounds.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Mr. Watson remarked, “is a nice little sum for one, but an awkward amount to divide.”
Mr. Sabin lit a cigarette and breathed more freely. He began to see his way.
“I forgot the lady,” he murmured. “The expense of cabling is not great. For the sake of argument, let us say twenty thousand.”
Mr. Watson rose.
“So far as I’m concerned,” he said, “it is a satisfactory sum. Forgive me if I leave you for a few minutes, I must have a little talk with Mrs. Watson.”
Mr. Sabin nodded.
“We will have a cigar together after lunch,” he said. “Imust have my morning game of shuffleboard with the captain.”
Mr. Watson went below, and Mr. Sabin played shuffleboard with his usual deadly skill.
A slight mist had settled around them by the time the game was over, and the fog-horn was blowing, the captain went on the bridge, and the engines were checked to half speed.
Mr. Sabin leaned over the side of the vessel, and gazed thoughtfully into the dense white vapour.
“I think,” he said softly to himself, “that after all I’m safe.”
There was perfect silence on the ship. Even the luncheon gong had not sounded, the passengers having been summoned in a whisper by the deck steward. The fog seemed to be getting denser and the sea was like glass. Suddenly there was a little commotion aft, and the captain leaning forward shouted some brief orders. The fog-horn emitted a series of spasmodic and hideous shrills, and beyond a slight drifting the steamer was almost motionless.
Mr. Sabin understood at once that somewhere, it might be close at hand, or it might be a mile away, the presence of another steamer had been detected.
The same almost ghostlike stillness continued, orders were passed backward and forward in whispers. The men walked backward and forward on tip-toe. And then suddenly, without any warning, they passed out into the clear air, the mist rolled away, the sun shone down upon them again, and the decks dried as though by magic. Cheerful voices broke in upon the chill and unnatural silence. The machinery recommenced to throb, and the passengers who had finished lunch went upon deck. Every one was attracted at once by the sight of a large white steamer about a mile on the starboard side.
Mr. Watson joined the captain, who was examining her through his glass.
“Man-of-war, isn’t she?” he inquired.
The captain nodded.
“Not much doubt about that,” he answered; “look at her guns. The odd part of it is, too, she is flying no flag. We shall know who she is in a minute or two, though.”
Mr. Sabin descended the steps on his way to a late luncheon. As he turned the corner he came face to face with Mr. Watson, whose eyes were fixed upon the coming steamer with a very curious expression.
“Man-of-war,” Mr. Sabin remarked. “You look as though you had seen her before.”
Mr. Watson laughed harshly.
“I should like to see her,” he remarked, “at the bottom of the sea.”
Mr. Sabin looked at him in surprise.
“You know her, then?” he remarked.
“I know her,” Mr. Watson answered, “too well. She is theKaiser Wilhelm, and she is going to rob me of twenty thousand pounds.”
Mr. Sabin ate his luncheon with unimpaired appetite and with his usual care that everything of which he partook should be so far as possible of the best. The close presence of the German man-of-war did not greatly alarm him. He had some knowledge of the laws and courtesies of maritime life, and he could not conceive by what means short of actual force he could be inveigled on board of her. Mr. Watson’s last words had been a little disquieting, but he probably held an exaggerated opinion as to the powers possessed by his employers. Mr. Sabin had been in many tighter places than this, and he had sufficient belief in the country of his recent adoption to congratulate himself that it was an English boat on which he was a passenger. He proceeded to make himself agreeable to Mrs. Watson, who, in a charming costume of blue and white, and a fascinating little hat, had just come on to luncheon.
“I have been talking,” he remarked, after a brief pause in their conversation, “to your husband this morning.”
She looked up at him with a meaning smile upon her face.
“So he has been telling me.”
“I hope,” Mr. Sabin continued gently, “that your advice to him—I take it for granted that he comes to you for advice—was in my favour.”
“It was very much in your favour,” she answered, leaning across towards him. “I think that you knew it would be.”
“I hoped at least——”
Mr. Sabin broke off suddenly in the midst of his sentence, and turning round looked out of the open port-hole. Mrs. Watson had dropped her knife and fork and was holding her hands to her ears. The saloon itself seemed to be shaken by the booming of a gun fired at close quarters.
“What is it?” she exclaimed, looking across at him with frightened eyes. “What can have happened! England is not at war with anybody, is she?”
Mr. Sabin looked up with a quiet smile from the salad which he was mixing.
“It is simply a signal from another ship,” he answered. “She wants us to stop.”
“What ship? Do you know anything about it? Do you know what they want?”
“Not exactly,” Mr. Sabin said. “At the same time I have some idea. The ship who fired that signal is a German man-of-war, and you see we are stopping.”
Of the two Mrs. Watson was certainly the most nervous. Her fingers shook so that the wine in her glass was spilt. She set her glass down and looked across at her companion.
“They will take you away,” she murmured.
“I think not,” Mr. Sabin answered. “I am inclined to think that I am perfectly safe. Will you try some of my salad?”
A look of admiration flashed for a moment across her face,
“You are a wonderful man,” she said softly. “No salad, thanks! I am too nervous to eat. Let us go on deck!”
Mr. Sabin rose, and carefully selected a cigarette.
“I can assure you,” he said, “that they are powerless to do anything except attempt to frighten Captain Ackinson. Of course they might succeed in that, but I don’t think it is likely. Let us go and hear what he has to say.”
Captain Ackinson was standing alone on the deck, watching the man-of-war’s boat which was being rapidly pulled towards theCalipha. He was obviously in a bad temper. There was a black frown upon his forehead which did not altogether disappear when he turned his head and saw them approaching.
“Are we arrested, Captain?” Mr. Sabin asked. “Why couldn’t they signal what they wanted?”
“Because they’re blistering idiots,” Captain Ackinson answered. “They blither me to stop, and I signalled back to ask their reason, and I’m dashed if they didn’t put a shot across my bows. As if I hadn’t lost enough time already without fooling.”
“Thanks to us, I am afraid, Captain,” Mrs. Watson put in.
“Well, I’m not regretting that, Mrs. Watson,” the captain answered gallantly. “We got something for stopping there, but we shall get nothing decent from these confounded Germans, I am very sure. By the bye, can you speak their lingo, Mr. Sabin?”
“Yes,” Mr. Sabin answered, “I can speak German. Can I be of any assistance to you?”
“You might stay with me if you will,” Captain Ackinson answered, “in case they don’t speak English.”
Mr. Sabin remained by the captain’s side, standing with his hands behind him. Mrs. Watson leaned over the rail close at hand, watching the approaching boat, and exchanging remarks with the doctor. In a few minutes the boat was alongside, and an officer in the uniform of the German Navy rose and made a stiff salute.
“Are you the captain?” he inquired, in stiff but correct English.
The captain returned his salute.
“I am Captain Ackinson, Cunard ss.Calipha,” he answered. “What do you want with me?”
“I am Captain Von Dronestein, in command of theKaiser Wilhelm, German Navy,” was the reply. “I want a word or two with you in private, Captain Ackinson. Can I come on board?”
Captain Ackinson’s reply was not gushing. He gave the necessary orders, however, and in a few moments Captain Von Dronestein, and a thin, dark man in the dress of a civilian, clambered to the deck. They looked at Mr. Sabin, standing by the captain’s side, and exchanged glances of intelligence.
“If you will kindly permit us, Captain,” the newcomer said, “we should like to speak with you in private. The matter is one of great importance.”
Mr. Sabin discreetly retired. The captain turned on his heel and led the way to his cabin. He pointed briefly to the lounge against the wall and remained himself standing.
“Now, gentlemen, if you please,” he said briskly, “to business. You have stopped a mail steamer in mid ocean by force, so I presume you have something of importance to say. Please say it and let me go on. I am behind time now.”
The German held up his hands. “We have stopped you,” he said, “it is true, but not by force. No! No!”
“I don’t know what else you call it when you show me a bounding thirty guns and put a shot across my bows.”
“It was a blank charge,” the German began, but Captain Ackinson interrupted him.
“It was nothing of the sort!” he declared bluntly. “I was on deck and I saw the charge strike the water.”
“It was then contrary to my orders,” Captain Dronestein declared, “and in any case it was not intended for intimidation.”
“Never mind what it was intended for. I have my own opinion about that,” Captain Ackinson remarked impatiently. “Proceed if you please!”
“In the first place permit me to introduce the Baron VonGraisheim, who is attached to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs at Berlin.”
Captain Ackinson’s acknowledgment of the introduction was barely civil. The German continued—
“I am afraid you will not consider my errand here a particularly pleasant one, Herr Captain. I have a warrant here for the arrest of one of your passengers, whom I have to ask you to hand over to me.”
“A what!” Captain Ackinson exclaimed, with a spot of deep colour stealing through the tan of his cheeks.
“A warrant,” Dronestein continued, drawing an imposing looking document from his breast pocket. “If you will examine it you will perceive that it is in perfect order. It bears, in fact,” he continued, pointing with reverential forefinger to a signature near the bottom of the document, “the seal of his most august Majesty, the Emperor of Germany.”
Captain Ackinson glanced at the document with imperturbable face.
“What is the name of the gentleman to whom all this refers?” he inquired.
“The Duc de Souspennier!”
“The name,” Captain Ackinson remarked, “is not upon my passengers’ list.”
“He is travelling under the alias of ‘Mr. Sabin,’” Baron Von Graisheim interjected.
“And do you expect me,” Captain Ackinson remarked, “to hand over the person in question to you on the authority of that document?”
“Certainly!” the two men exclaimed with one voice.
“Then I am very sorry indeed,” Captain Ackinson declared, “that you should have had the temerity to stop my ship, and detain me here on such a fool’s errand. We are on the high seas and under the English flag. The document you have just shown me impeaching the Duc de Souspennier for ‘lèse majestie’ and high treason, and all therest of it, is not worth the paper it is written on here, nor, I should think in America. I must ask you to leave my ship at once, gentlemen, and I can promise you that my employers, the Cunard ss. Company, will bring a claim against your Government for this unwarrantable detention.”
“You must, if you please, be reasonable,” Captain Dronestein said. “We have force behind us, and we are determined to rescue this man at all costs.”
Captain Ackinson laughed scornfully.
“I shall be interested to see what measures of force you will employ,” he remarked. “You may have a tidy bill to pay as it is, for that shot you put across my bows. If you try another it may cost you theKaiser Wilhelmand the whole of the German Navy. Now, if you please, I’ve no more time to waste.”
Captain Ackinson moved towards the door. Dronestein laid his hand upon his arm.
“Captain Ackinson,” he said, “do not be rash. If I have seemed too peremptory in this matter, remember that Germany as my fatherland is as dear to me as England to you, and this man whose arrest I am commissioned to effect has earned for himself the deep enmity of all patriots. Listen to me, I beg. You run not one shadow of risk in delivering this man up to my custody. He has no country with whom you might become embroiled. He is a French Royalist, who has cast himself adrift altogether from his country, and is indeed her enemy. Apart from that, his detention, trial and sentence, would be before a secret court. He would simply disappear. As for you, you need not fear but that your services will be amply recognised. Make your claims now for this detention of your steamer; fix it if you will at five or even ten thousand pounds, and I will satisfy it on the spot by a draft on the Imperial Exchequer. The man can be nothing to you. Make a great country your debtor. You will never regret it.”
Captain Ackinson shook his arm free from the other’s grasp, and strode out on to the deck.
“Kaiser Wilhelmboat alongside,” he shouted, blowing his whistle. “Smith, have these gentlemen lowered at once, and pass the word to the engineer’s room, full speed ahead.”
He turned to the two men, who had followed him out.
“You had better get off my ship before I lose my temper,” he said bluntly. “But rest assured that I shall report this attempt at intimidation and bribery to my employers, and they will without doubt lay the matter before the Government.”
“But Captain Ackinson——”
“Not another word, sir.”
“My dear——”
Captain Ackinson turned his back upon the two men, and with a stiff, military salute turned towards the bridge. Already the machinery was commencing to throb. Mr. Watson, who was hovering near, came up and helped them to descend. A few apparently casual remarks passed between the three men. From a little lower down Mr. Sabin and Mrs. Watson leaned over the rail and watched the visitors lowered into their boat.
“That was rather a foolish attempt,” he remarked lightly; “nevertheless they seem disappointed.”
She looked after them pensively.
“I wish I knew what they said to—my husband,” she murmured.
“Orders for my assassination, very likely,” he remarked lightly. “Did you see your husband’s face when he passed us?”
She nodded, and looked behind. Mr. Watson had entered the smoke-room. She drew a little nearer to Mr. Sabin and dropped her voice almost to a whisper.
“What you have said in jest is most likely the truth. Be very careful!”
Mr. Sabin found the captain by no means inclined to talk about the visit which they had just received. He was still hurt and ruffled at the propositions which had been made to him, and annoyed at the various delays which seemed conspiring to prevent him from making a decent passage.
“I have been most confoundedly insulted by those d—— Germans,” he said to Mr. Sabin, meeting him a little later in the gangway. “I don’t know exactly what your position may be, but you will have to be on your guard. They have gone on to New York, and I suppose they will try and get their warrant endorsed there before we land.”
“They have a warrant, then?” Mr. Sabin remarked.
“They showed me something of the sort,” the captain answered scornfully. “And it is signed by the Kaiser. But, of course, here it isn’t worth the paper it is written on, and America would never give you up without a special extradition treaty.”
Mr. Sabin smiled. He had calculated all the chances nicely, and a volume of international law was lying at that moment in his state-room face downwards.
“I think,” he said, “that I am quite safe from arrest, but at the same time, Captain, I am very sorry to be such a troublesome passenger to you.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it is not your fault,” he said; “but I have made up my mind about one thing. I am not going to stop my ship this side of Boston Harbour for anything afloat. We have lost half a day already.”
“If the Cunard Company will send me the extra coal bill,” Mr. Sabin said, “I will pay it cheerfully, for I am afraid that both stoppages have been on my account.”
“Bosh!” The Captain, who was moving away, stopped short. “You had nothing to do with these New Yorkers and their broken-down yacht.”
Mr. Sabin finished lighting a cigarette which he had taken from his case, and, passing his arm through the captain’s, drew him a little further away from the gangway.
“I’m afraid I had,” he said. “As a matter of fact they are not New Yorkers, and they are not husband and wife. They are simply agents in the pay of the German secret police.”
“What, spies!” the captain exclaimed.
Mr. Sabin nodded.
“Exactly!”
The captain was still incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me,” he exclaimed, “that charming little woman is not an American at all?—that she is a fraud?”
“There isn’t a shadow of a doubt about it,” Mr. Sabin replied. “They have both tacitly admitted it. As a matter of fact I am in treaty now to buy them over. They were on the point of accepting my terms when these fellows boarded us. Whether they will do so now I cannot tell. I saw that fellow Graisheim talking to the man just before they left the vessel.”
“You are safe while you are on my ship, Mr. Sabin,” the captain said firmly. “I shall watch that fellowWatson closely, and if he gives me the least chance, I will have him put in irons. Confound the man and hisplausible——”
They were interrupted by the deck steward, who came with a message from Mrs. Watson. She was making tea on deck—might she have the loan of the captain’s table, and would they come?
The captain gave the necessary assent, but was on the point of declining the invitation. “I don’t want to go near the people,” he said.
“On the other hand,” Mr. Sabin objected, “I do not want them to think, at present at any rate, that I have told you who they are. You had better come.”
They crossed the deck to a sunny little corner behind one of the boats, where Mrs. Watson had just completed her preparation for tea.
She greeted them gaily and chatted to them while they waited for the kettle to boil, but to Mr. Sabin’s observant eyes there was a remarkable change in her. Her laughter was forced and she was very pale.
Several times Mr. Sabin caught her watching him in an odd way as though she desired to attract his attention, but Mr. Watson, who for once had seemed to desert the smoking-room, remained by her side like a shadow. Mr. Sabin felt that his presence was ominous. The tea was made and handed round.
Mr. Watson sent away the deck steward, who was preparing to wait upon them, and did the honours himself. He passed the sugar to the captain and stood before Mr. Sabin with the sugar-tongs in his hand.
“Sugar?” he inquired, holding out a lump.
Mr. Sabin took sugar, and was on the point of holding out his cup. Just then he chanced to glance across to Mrs. Watson. Her eyes were dilated and she seemed to be on the point of springing from her chair. Meeting hisglance she shook her head, and then bent over her hot water apparatus.
“No sugar, thanks,” Mr. Sabin answered. “This tea looks too good to spoil by any additions. One of the best things I learned in Asia was to take my tea properly. Help yourself, Mr. Watson.”
Mr. Watson rather clumsily dropped the piece of sugar which he had been holding out to Mr. Sabin, and the ship giving a slight lurch just at that moment, it rolled down the deck and apparently into the sea. With a little remark as to his clumsiness he resumed his seat.
Mr. Sabin looked into his tea and across to Mrs. Watson. The slightest of nods was sufficient for him. He drank it off and asked for some more.
The tea party on the whole was scarcely a success. The Captain was altogether upset and quite indisposed to be amiable towards people who had made a dupe of him. Mrs. Watson seemed to be suffering from a state of nervous excitement, and her husband was glum and silent. Mr. Sabin alone appeared to be in good spirits, and he talked continually with his customary ease and polish.
The Captain did not stay very long, and upon his departure Mr. Sabin also rose.
“Am I to have the pleasure of taking you for a little walk, Mrs. Watson?” he asked.
She looked doubtfully at the tall, glum figure by her side, and her face was almost haggard.
“I’m afraid—I think—I think—Mr. Watson has just asked me to walk with him,” she said, lamely; “we must have our stroll later on.”
“I shall be ready and delighted at any time,” Mr. Sabin answered with a bow.
“We are going to have a moon to-night; perhaps you may be tempted to walk after dinner.”
He ignored the evident restraint of both the man andthe woman and strolled away. Having nothing in particular to do he went into his deck cabin to dress a little earlier than usual, and when he had emerged the dinner gong had not yet sounded.
The deck was quite deserted, and lighting acigarette d’appetit, he strolled past the scene of their tea-party. A dark object under the boat attracted his attention. He stooped down and looked at it. Thomas, the ship’s cat, was lying there stiff and stark, and by the side of his outstretched tongue a lump of sugar.
At dinner-time Mr. Sabin was the most silent of the little quartette who occupied the head of the table. The captain, who had discovered that notwithstanding their stoppage they had made a very fair day’s run, and had just noticed a favourable change in the wind, was in a better humour, and on the whole was disposed to feel satisfied with himself for the way he had repulsed the captain of theKaiser Wilhelm. He departed from his usual custom so far as to drink a glass of Mr. Sabin’s champagne, having first satisfied himself as to the absence of any probability of fog. Mr. Watson, too, was making an effort to appear amiable, and his wife, though her colour seemed a trifle hectic and her laughter not altogether natural, contributed her share to the conversation. Mr. Sabin alone was curiously silent and distant. Many times he had escaped death by what seemed almost a fluke; more often than most men he had been at least in danger of losing it. But this last adventure had made a distinct and deep impression upon him. He had not seriously believed that the man Watson was prepared to go to such lengths; he recognised for the first time his extreme danger. Then as regards the woman he was genuinely puzzled. He owed her his life, he could not doubt it. She had given him the warning by which he had profited, and she had given it him behindhis companion’s back. He was strongly inclined to believe in her. Still, she was doubtless in fear of the man. Her whole appearance denoted it. She was still, without doubt, his tool, willing or unwilling.
They lingered longer than usual over their dessert. It was noticeable that throughout their conversation all mention of the events of the day was excluded. A casual remark of Mr. Watson’s the captain had ignored. There was an obvious inclination to avoid the subject. The captain was on thequi viveall the time, and he promptly quashed any embarrassing remark. So far as Mrs. Watson was concerned there was certainly no fear of her exhibiting any curiosity. It was hard to believe that she was the same woman who had virtually taken the conversation into her own hands on the previous evening, and had talked to them so well and so brightly. She sat there, white and cowed, looking a great deal at Mr. Sabin with sad, far-away eyes, and seldom originating a remark. Mr. Watson, on the contrary, talked incessantly, in marked contrast to his previous silence; he drank no wine, but seemed in the best of spirits. Only once did he appear at a loss, and that was when the captain, helping himself to some nuts, turned towards Mr. Sabin and asked a question—
“I wonder, Mr. Sabin, whether you ever heard of an Indian nut called, I believe, the Fakella? They say that an oil distilled from its kernel is the most deadly poison in the world.”
“I have both heard of it and seen it,” Mr. Sabin answered. “In fact, I may say, that I have tasted it—on the tip of my finger.”
“And yet,” the captain remarked, laughing, “you are alive.”
“And yet I am alive,” Mr. Sabin echoed. “But there is nothing very wonderful in that. I am poison-proof.”
Mr. Watson was in the act of raising a hastily filled glassto his lips when his eyes met Mr. Sabin’s. He set it down hurriedly, white to the lips. He knew, then! Surely there must be something supernatural about the man. A conviction of his own absolute impotence suddenly laid hold of him. He was completely shaken. Of what use were the ordinary weapons of his kind against an antagonist such as this? He knew nothing of the silent evidence against him on deck. He could only attribute Mr. Sabin’s foreknowledge of what had been planned against him to the miraculous. He stumbled to his feet, and muttering something about some cigars, left his place. Mrs. Watson rose almost immediately afterwards. As she turned to walk down the saloon she dropped her handkerchief. Mr. Sabin, who had risen while she passed out, stooped down and picked it up. She took it with a smile of thanks and whispered in his ear—
“Come on deck with me quickly; I want to speak to you.”
He obeyed, turning round and making some mute sign to the captain. She walked swiftly up the stairs after a frightened glance down the corridor to their state-rooms. A fresh breeze blew in their faces as they stepped out on deck, and Mr. Sabin glanced at her bare neck and arms.
“You will be cold,” he said. “Let me fetch you a wrap.”
“Don’t leave me,” she exclaimed quickly. “Walk to the side of the steamer. Don’t look behind.”
Mr. Sabin obeyed. Directly she was sure that they were really beyond earshot of any one she laid her hand upon his arm.
“I am going to ask you a strange question,” she said. “Don’t stop to think what it means, but answer me at once. Where are you going to sleep to-night—in your state-room or in the deck cabin?”
He started a little, but answered without hesitation—
“In my deck cabin.”
“Then don’t,” she exclaimed quickly. “Say that you are going to if you are asked, mind that. Sit up on deck, out of sight, all night, stay with the captain—anything—but don’t sleep there, and whatever you may see don’t be surprised, and please don’t think too badly of me.”
He was surprised to see that her cheeks were burning and her eyes were wet. He laid his hand tenderly upon her arm.
“I will promise that at any rate,” he said.
“And you will remember what I have told you?”
“Most certainly,” he promised. “Your warnings are not things to be disregarded.”
She drew a quick little breath and looked nervously over her shoulders.
“I am afraid,” he said kindly, “that you are not well to-day. Has that fellow been frightening or ill-using you?”
Her face was very close to his, and he fancied that he could hear her teeth chattering. She was obviously terrified.
“We must not be talking too seriously,” she murmured. “He may be here at any moment. I want you to remember that there is a price set upon you and he means to earn it. He would have killed you before, but he wants to avoid detection. You had better tell the captain everything. Remember, you must be on the watch always.”
“I can protect myself now that I am warned,” he said, reassuringly. “I have carried my life in my hands many a time before. But you?”
She shivered.
“They tell me,” she whispered, “that from Boston you can take a train right across the Continent, thousands of miles. I am going to take the very first one that starts when I land, and I am going to hide somewhere in thefurthest corner of the world I can get to. To live in such fear would drive me mad, and I am not a coward. Let us walk; he will not think so much of our being together then.”
“I am going to send for a wrap,” he said, looking down at her thin dinner dress; “it is much too cold for you here bare-headed. We will send the steward for something.”
They turned round to find a tall form at their elbows. Mr. Watson’s voice, thin and satirical, broke the momentary silence.
“You are in a great hurry for fresh air, Violet. I have brought your cape; allow me to put it on.”
He stooped down and threw the wrap over her shoulders. Then he drew her reluctant fingers through his arm.
“You were desiring to walk,” he said. “Very well, we will walk together.”
Mr. Sabin watched them disappear and, lighting a cigar, strolled off towards the captain’s room. Many miles away now he could still see the green light of the German man-of-war.