CHAPTER XVIII
BY RADIO
Perhaps it was because he did not feel particularly hungry that hisdinner appeared unappetising; possibly because it had been standing inthe corridor outside his door for twenty minutes, which did not add toits desirability.
The sun had set and the air in the room had grown cold. He feltchilly; and, when he uncovered the silver tureen and discovered thatthe soup was still piping hot, he drank some of it to warm himself.
He had swallowed about half a cupful before he discovered that theseasoning was not agreeable to his palate. In fact, the flavour of thehot broth was so decidedly unpleasant that he pushed aside the cup andsat down on the edge of his bunk without any further desire to eatanything.
A glass of water from the carafe did not seem to rid him of thesubtle, disagreeable taste lingering in his mouth--in fact, the wateritself seemed to be tainted with it.
He sat for a few moments fumbling for his cigarette case, feelingcuriously uncomfortable, as though the slight motion of the ship wereaffecting his head.
As he sat there looking at the unlighted cigarette in his hand, itfell to the carpet at his feet. He started to stoop for it, caughthimself in time, pulled himself erect with an effort.
Something was wrong with him--very wrong. Every uneven breath he drewseemed to fill his lungs with the odour of that strange and volatileflavour he had noticed. It was beginning to make him giddy; it seemedto affect his vision, too.
Suddenly a terrible comprehension flashed through his confused mind,clearing it for a moment.
He tried to stand up and reach the electric bell; his knees seemincapable of sustaining him. Sliding to the floor, he attempted tocrawl toward the olive-wood box; managed to get one arm around it,grip the handle. Then, with a last desperate effort, he groped in hisbreast pocket for the automatic pistol, freed it, tried to fire it.But the weapon and the unnerved hand that held it fell on the carpet.A muscular paralysis set in like the terrible rigidity of death; hecould still see and hear as in a thickening dream.
A moment later, from the corridor, a slim hand was inserted betweenthe door and jamb; the supple fingers became busy with the rubber bandfor a moment, released it. The door opened very slowly.
For a few seconds two dark eyes were visible between door and curtain,regarding intently the figure lying prone upon the floor. Then thecurtain was twitched noiselessly aside; a young woman in the garb of atrained nurse stepped swiftly into the stateroom on tip-toe, followedby a big, good-looking, blue-eyed man wearing a square golden beard.
The man, who carried with him a pair of crutches, but who did notappear to require their aid, hastily set the dinner-tray andcamp-table outside in the corridor, then closed and bolted the door.
Already the nurse was down on her knees beside the fallen man, tryingto loosen his grasp on the box. Then her face blanched.
"It's like the rigor of death itself," she whispered fearfully overher shoulder. "Could I have given him enough to kill him?"
"He took only half a cup and a swallow of water. No."
"I can't get his hand free----"
"Wait! I try!" He pulled a big, horn-handled clasp-knife from hispocket and deliberately opened the eight-inch blade.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, seizing his wrist. "Don't dothat!"
The man with the golden beard hesitated, then shrugged, pocketed hisknife, and seized Neeland's rigidly clenched hand.
"You are right. It makes too much muss!" tugging savagely at theclenched and unconscious hand. "Sacreminton! What for a death-grip isthis _Kerls_? If I cut his hand off so iss there blood and gossipright away already. No--too much muss. Wait! I try another way----"
Neeland groaned.
"Oh, don't! Don't!" faltered the girl. "You're breaking hiswrist----"
"Ugh!" grunted her companion; "I try; I can it not accomplish. Seeonce if the box opens!"
"It is locked."
"Search this pig-dog for the key!"
She began a hurried search of Neeland's clothing; presently discoveredher own handkerchief; thrust it into her apron pocket, and continuedrummaging while the bearded man turned his attention to the automaticpistol. This he finally succeeded in disengaging, and he laid it onthe wash basin.
"Here are his keys," whispered the nurse feverishly, holding them upagainst the dim circle of evening sky framed by the open port. "Youhad better light the stateroom; I can't see. Hurry! I think he isbeginning to recover."
When the bearded man had switched on the electric light he returned tokneel once more beside the inert body on the floor, and began to pulland haul and tug at the box and attempt to insert the key in the lock.But the stiffened clutch of the drugged man made it impossible eitherto release the box or get at the keyhole.
"_Ach, was! Verfluechtete' schwein-hund----!_" He seized the rigid handand, exerting all the strength of a brutally inflamed fury, fairlyripped loose the fingers.
"_Also!_" he panted, seizing the stiffened body from the floor andlifting it. "Hold you him by the long and Yankee legs once, _und_ Ipush him out----"
"Out of the port?"
"_Gewiss!_ Otherwise he recovers to raise some hell!"
"It is not necessary. How shall this man know?"
"You left your handkerchief. He iss no fool. He makes a noise. No, itiss safer we push him overboard."
"I'll take the papers to Karl, and then I can remain in mystateroom----"
"_No!_ Lift his legs, I tell you! You want I hold him in my arms allday while you talk, talk, talk! You take his legs right awayquick----!"
He staggered a few paces forward with his unwieldy burden and, settingone knee on the sofa, attempted to force Neeland's head and shouldersthrough the open port. At the same moment a rapid knocking soundedoutside the stateroom door.
"Quick!" breathed the nurse. "Throw him on his bed!"
The blue-eyed, golden-bearded man hesitated, then as the knockingsounded again, imperative, persistent, he staggered to the bed withhis burden, laid it on the pillows, seized his crutches, rested onthem, breathing heavily, and listening to the loud and rapid knockingoutside the door.
"We've got to open," she whispered. "Don't forget that we found himunconscious in the corridor!" And she slid the bolt noiselessly,opened the stateroom door, and stepped outside the curtain into thecorridor.
The cockney steward stood there with a messenger.
"Wireless for Mr. Neeland----" he began; but his speech failed and hisjaw fell at sight of the nurse in her cap and uniform. And when, onhis crutches, the bearded man emerged from behind the curtain, thesteward's eyes fairly protruded.
"The young gentleman is ill," explained the nurse coolly. "Mr. Hawksheard him fall in the corridor and came out on his crutches to seewhat had happened. I chanced to be passing through the main corridor,fortunately. I am doing what I can for the young gentleman."
"Ow," said the steward, staring over her shoulder at the bearded manon crutches.
"There iss no need of calling the ship's doctor," said the man oncrutches. "This young woman iss a hospital nurse _und_ she iss sopolite and obliging to volunteer her service for the poor younggentleman."
"Yes," she said carelessly, "I can remain here for an hour or two withhim. He requires only a few simple remedies--I've already given him asedative, and he is sleeping very nicely."
"Yess, yess; it iss not grave. Pooh! It is notting. He slip and knockhis head. Maybe too much tchampagne. He sleep, and by and by he feelbetter. It iss not advisable to make a fuss. So! We are not longerneeded, steward. I return to my room."
And, nodding pleasantly, the bearded man hobbled out on his crutchesand entered his own stateroom across the passage.
"Steward," said the nurse pleasantly, "you may leave the wirelesstelegram with me. When Mr. Neeland wakes I'll read it to him----"
"Give that telegram to _me_!" burst out a ghostly voice from thecurtained room behind her.
Every atom of colour left her face, and she stood there as thoughstiffened
into marble. The steward stared at her. Still staring, hepassed gingerly in front of her and entered the curtained room.
Neeland was lying on his bed as white as death; but his eyes flutteredopen in a dazed way:
"Steward," he whispered.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Neeland."
"My--box." His eyes closed.
"Box, sir?"
"Where--is--it?"
"Which box, sir? Is it this one here on the floor?"--lifting theolive-wood box in its case. The key was in the lock; the other keyshung from it, dangling on a steel ring.
The nurse stepped calmly into the room.
"Steward," she said in her low, pleasant voice, "the sedative I gavehim has probably confused his mind a little----"
"Put that box--under--my head," interrupted Neeland's voice like agroan.
"I tell you," whispered the nurse, "he doesn't know what he issaying."
"I got to obey him, ma'am----"
"I forbid you----"
"Steward!" gasped Neeland.
"Sir?"
"My box. I--want it."
"Certainly, sir----"
"Here, beside my--pillow."
"Yes, sir." He laid the box beside the sick man.
"Is it locked, steward?"
"Key sticking in it, sir. Yes, it's locked, sir."
"Open."
The nurse, calm, pale, tight-lipped, stood by the curtain looking atthe bed over which the steward leaned, opening the box.
"'Ere you are, sir," he said, lifting the cover. "I say, nurse, give'im a lift, won't you?"
The nurse coolly stepped to the bedside, stooped, raised the head andshoulders of the prostrate man. After a moment his eyes unclosed; helooked at the contents of the box with a perceptible effort.
"Lock it, steward. Place it beside me.... Next the wall.... So....Place the keys in my pocket.... Thank you.... I had a--pistol."
"Sir?"
"A pistol. Where is it?"
The steward's roving glance fell finally upon the washbasin. He walkedover, picked up the automatic, and, with an indescribable glance atthe nurse, laid it across Neeland's up-turned palm.
The young man's fingers fumbled it, closed over the handle; and aghost of a smile touched his ashen face.
"Do you feel better, sir?"
"I'm tired.... Yes, I feel--better."
"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Neeland?"
"Stay outside--my door."
"Do you wish the doctor, sir?"
"No.... No!... Don't call him; do you hear?"
"I won't call him, sir."
"No, don't call him."
"No, sir.... Mr. Neeland, there is a--a trained nurse here. You willnot want her, will you, sir?"
Again the shadow of a smile crept over Neeland's face.
"Did she come for--her handkerchief?"
There was a silence; the steward looked steadily at the nurse; thenurse's dark eyes were fixed on the man lying there before her.
"You shan't be wanting her any more, shall you, sir?" repeated thesteward, not shifting his gaze.
"Yes; I think I shall want her--for a little while."... Neeland slowlyopened his eyes, smiled up at the motionless nurse: "How are you,Scheherazade?" he said weakly. And, to the steward, with an effort:"Miss White and I are--old friends.... However--kindly remainoutside--my door.... And throw what remains of my dinner--out of--theport.... And be ready--at all times--to look after the--gentleman oncrutches.... I'm--fond of him.... Thank you, steward."
* * * * *
Long after the steward had closed the stateroom door, Ilse Dumontstood beside Neeland's bed without stirring. Once or twice he openedhis eyes and looked at her humorously. After a while he said:
"Please be seated, Scheherazade."
She calmly seated herself on the edge of his couch.
"Horrid soup," he murmured. "You should attend a cooking school, mydear."
She regarded him absently, as though other matters absorbed her.
"Yes," he repeated, "as a cook you're a failure, Scheherazade. Thatbroth which you seasoned for me has done funny things to my eyes, too.But they're recovering. I see much better already. My vision isbecoming sufficiently clear to observe how pretty you are in yournurse's cap and apron."
A slow colour came into her face and he saw her eyebrows bend inwardas though she were annoyed.
"You _are_ pretty, Scheherazade," he repeated. "You know you are,don't you? But you're a poor cook and a rotten shot. You can't beperfection, you know. Cheer up!"
She ignored the suggestion, her dark eyes brooding and remote again;and he lay watching her with placid interest in which no rancourremained. He was feeling decidedly better every minute now. He liftedthe automatic pistol and shoved it under his pillow, then cautiouslyflexed his fingers, his arms, and finally his knees, with increasingpleasure and content.
"Such dreadful soup," he said. "But I'm a lot better, thank you. Wasit to have been murder this time, too, Scheherazade? Would the entirecupful have made a pretty angel of me? Oh, fie! NaughtyScheherazade!"
She remained mute.
"Didn't you mean manslaughter with intent to exterminate?" heinsisted, watching her.
Perhaps she was thinking of her blond and bearded companion, and theopen port, for she made no reply.
"Why didn't you let him heave me out?" inquired Neeland. "Why did youobject?"
At that she reddened to the roots of her hair, understanding that whatshe feared had been true--that Neeland, while physically helpless, hadretained sufficient consciousness to be aware of what was happening tohim and to understand at least a part of the conversation.
"What was the stuff with which you flavoured that soup,Scheherazade?"
He was merely baiting her; he did not expect any reply; but, to hissurprise, she answered him:
"Threlanium--Speyer's solution is what I used," she said with a sortof listless effrontery.
"Don't know it. Don't like it, either. Prefer other condiments."
He lifted himself on one elbow, remained propped so, tore open hiswireless telegram, and, after a while, contrived to read it:
* * * * *
"James Neeland,"S. S. Volhynia.
"Spies aboard. Be careful. If trouble threatens captain hasinstructions British Government to protect you and order arrests onyour complaint.
"Naia."
* * * * *
With a smile that was almost a grin, Neeland handed the telegram toIlse Dumont.
"Scheherazade," he said, "you'll be a good little girl, now, won'tyou? Because it would be a shocking thing for you and your friendacross the way to land in England wearing funny bangles on your wristsand keeping step with each other, wouldn't it?"
She continued to hold the slip of paper and stare at it long after shehad finished reading it and the words became a series of parallelblurs.
"Scheherazade," he said lightly, "what on earth am I going to do withyou?"
"I suppose you will lodge a charge with the captain against me," shereplied in even tones.
"Why not? You deserve it, don't you? You and your humorous friend withthe yellow beard?"
She looked at him with a vague smile.
"What can you prove?" said she.
"Perfectly true, dear child. Nothing. I don't want to prove anything,either."
She smiled incredulously.
"It's quite true, Scheherazade. Otherwise, I shouldn't have ordered mysteward to throw the remains of my dinner out of the corridorporthole. No, dear child. I should have had it analysed, had yourstateroom searched for more of that elusive seasoning you used toflavour my dinner; had a further search made for a certain sort ofhandkerchief and perfume. Also, just imagine the delightful evidencewhich a thorough search of your papers might reveal!" He laughed. "No,Scheherazade; I did not care to prove you anything resembling a menaceto society.
Because, in the first place, I am absurdly grateful toyou."
Her face became expressionless under the slow flush mounting.
"I'm not teasing you," he insisted. "What I say is true. I'm gratefulto you for violently injecting romance into my perfectly commonplaceexistence. You have taken the book of my life and not only extraillustrated it with vivid and chromatic pictures, but you have unboundit, sewed into its prosaic pages several chapters ripped bodily from apenny-dreadful, and you have then rebound the whole thing and pastedyour own pretty picture on the cover! Come, now! Ought not a man tobe grateful to any philanthropic girl who so gratuitously obligeshim?"
Her face burned under his ridicule; her clasped hands in her lap weretwisted tight as though to maintain her self-control.
"What do you want of me?" she asked between lips that scarcely moved.
He laughed, sat up, stretched out both arms with a sigh ofsatisfaction. The colour came back to his face; he dropped one legover the bed's edge; and she stood erect and stepped aside for him torise.
No dizziness remained; he tried both feet on the floor, straightenedhimself, cast a gaily malicious glance at her, and slowly rose to hisfeet.
"Scheherazade," he said, "_isn't_ it funny? I ask you, did you everhear of a would-be murderess and her escaped victim being on suchcordial terms? Did you?"
He was going through a few calisthenics, gingerly but with increasingabandon, while he spoke.
"I feel fine, thank you. I am enjoying the situation extremely, too.It's a delightful paradox, this situation. It's absurd, it'senchanting, it's incredible! There is only one more thing that couldmake it perfectly impossible. And I'm going to do it!" And hedeliberately encircled her waist and kissed her.
She turned white at that, and, as he released her, laughing, took astep or two blindly, toward the door; stood there with one handagainst it as though supporting herself.
After a few moments, and very slowly, she turned and looked at him;and that young man was scared for the first time since their encounterin the locked house in Brookhollow.
Yet in her face there was no anger, no menace, nothing he had everbefore seen in any woman's face, nothing that he now comprehended.Only, for the moment, it seemed to him that something terrible wasgazing at him out of this girl's fixed eyes--something that he did notrecognise as part of her--another being hidden within her, staring outthrough her eyes at him.
"For heaven's sake, Scheherazade----" he faltered.
She opened the door, still watching him over her shoulder, shrankthrough it, and was gone.
He stood for a full five minutes as though stupefied, then walked tothe door and flung it open. And met a ship's officer face to face,already lifting his hand to knock for admittance.
"Mr. Neeland?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Captain West's compliments, and he would be glad to see you in hiscabin."
"Thank you. My compliments and thanks to Captain West, and I shallcall on him immediately."
They exchanged bows; the officer turned, hesitated, glanced at thesteward who stood by the port.
"Did you bring a radio message to Mr. Neeland?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, I received the message," said Neeland.
"The captain requests you to bring the message with you."
"With pleasure," said Neeland.
So the officer went away down the corridor, and Neeland sat down onhis bed, opened the box, went over carefully every item of itscontents, relocked it with a grin of satisfaction, and, taking it withhim, went off to pay a visit to the captain of the _Volhynia_.
The bearded gentleman in the stateroom across the passage had beenlistening intently to the conversation, with his ear flat against hiskeyhole.
And now, without hesitating, he went to a satchel which stood on thesofa in his stateroom, opened it, took from it a large bundle ofpapers and a ten-pound iron scale-weight.
Attaching the weight to the papers by means of a heavy strand ofcopper wire, he mounted the sofa and hurled the weighted package intothe Atlantic Ocean.
"Pig-dogs of British," he muttered in his golden beard, "you may goand dive for them when The Day dawns."
Then he filled and lighted a handsome porcelain pipe, and puffed itwith stolid satisfaction, leaving the pepper-box silver cover open.
"_Der Tag_," he muttered in his golden beard; and his clear eyes sweptthe starlit ocean with the pensive and terrifying scrutiny of awaiting eagle.