*CHAPTER XXI*
*LOST DAYS*
As the door of the room in which he was imprisoned slowly opened, and hestood ready to attack the new-comer and fight for his liberty, he becamesuddenly blinded and rendered utterly powerless by a burst of heavy greysmoke.
He drew one whiff of it, and, reeling, fell senseless upon the floor.
Then, as the fumes which had rendered him unconscious slowly cleared,there stood in the dim light a form wearing an exact replica of thewhite cloak and hood which Bernard Boyne used when he visited thatupstairs room in Hammersmith. The window being broken, and now that thedoor was open too, the fumes quickly dispersed, yet Gerald lay therewhere he had fallen, pale as death, and breathing only slightly.
"A heavy dose!" laughed the hooded man grimly. "He won't get over itfor quite a long time!"
And then he turned and left, leaving the door still open, so that alltrace of the poisonous vapour which he had released from a heavy ironcylinder should be removed.
An hour later he returned, but without his cloak, for the gas-mask wasno longer needed. He carried an electric torch, which he flashed intothe white face of the unconscious victim.
"You'll soon go away--never to return!" growled the mysterious manaloud; and then suddenly by the reflection of the light his face becamerevealed.
It was Bernard Boyne.
"The fellow knows too much--and so does the girl!" he muttered tohimself. "We must deal with her next. But she's not yet dangerous.Still, as Lilla says, in our business we can't afford to take any risks.So stay there for the present, my friend," he added.
And bending he felt the prostrate man's pulse in the professional mannerof a medical man. Then, apparently well satisfied, he crossed the room,closed the window and, after locking the door outside again, descendedthe stairs.
When young Durrant at last began to slowly recover his senses, heawakened to find himself seated in an arm-chair in a small and notuncomfortable cabin on board a ship. The vessel was rolling heavily,and ever and anon the waves swept up past the porthole, partiallyobscuring the light.
He drew his hand across his fevered brow and endeavoured to think. Butall was hazy, uncertain, and unreal. Was he still dreaming? he askedhimself. He placed both his hands upon the arms of the leather-coveredchair and felt them. No! It was no dream! He was on a ship at sea!
Suddenly across his brain swept recollections of that room in which hehad been imprisoned--that gruesome chamber with its unmistakableevidence of a tragedy--the place in which some unknown woman had beenfoully done to death. He remembered his meeting with those two ladiesoutside Kensington Gardens, their hospitality and its dire result. Atany rate, there was one satisfaction, that his enemies, whoever theywere, had spared his life.
He rose, his limbs feeling very sore and stiff. How long had elapsedsince he had so suddenly met that mysterious burst of smoke he had noidea. Nor had he any knowledge of where he had been, or where that roomof tragedy was situated. All remained a complete blank.
In rising to his feet he nearly fell owing to the heavy roll of thevessel--a steamer evidently, for he could feel the vibration of theengines. Unsteadily he opened the door, and found himself in a narrowgangway, with several cabins on either side. Opposite him a door stoodopen, revealing a burly, dark-bearded man in uniform lounging in achair, smoking a pipe and reading a book.
Hearing Gerald's footsteps he turned his head.
"Hulloa!" he cried roughly. "Got over your drunk then, Mr. Simpson?Come in here!"
"Thanks," was Durrant's reply. "But I never drink, and my name is notSimpson."
"Ah! I thought you'd say that! Sit down, anyway," the captainremarked, with a good-humoured laugh. "Yesterday when we had a chat,you didn't deny that your name was George Simpson, did you?"
"I don't remember having had a chat with you yesterday," replied Gerald,amazed at the captain's words.
"Ah! You don't remember much, do you? Got a very bad memory, I know."
"No, I've got a pretty good memory, and to my knowledge I've never seenyou in my life before."
"And yet you spent last night with me, and drank more than you ought tohave done. Whisky is a bad thing for you, young fellow. You shouldleave it alone. Never drink till you're forty-five. That's what Isay."
Durrant sank into the chair, and gazed around the captain's cabinabsolutely bewildered.
"What ship is this?" he asked at last.
"You asked me that yesterday. This is the _Pentyrch_, of Sunderland,bound from Hull to Singapore," was the reply.
"And we are on our way there!" gasped the young man in blank dismay.
"Yes. Three days out."
"Where are we now?"
"Off Finisterre."
"Will you tell me your name, Captain?" Durrant asked quite calmly.
"Bowden--John Bowden. And I live at Empress Villa, Queen Street,Sunderland. Aged forty-one; married; two kids. Anything more?"
"Yes, a lot," was the other's reply.
"You asked me a lot of questions about the ship last night, and I toldyou. We've got a general cargo, and after Singapore we go to Batavia,then to Wellington, New Zealand, and back home."
"How long shall we be away?"
"Oh! perhaps nine months--perhaps more if I get other orders," wasBowden's breezy reply. "This old tub ain't very fast, you know. Sheisn't one of your slap-up liners. We never have passengers. I don'tlike 'em. Only Mr. Morton asked me to take you out for the benefit ofyour health, and I consented."
"Mr. Morton! Who's he?"
"A friend of yours, isn't he?"
"I don't know anyone of that name," declared Gerald astounded.
Captain Bowden looked straight into the young man's face for a fewmoments in silence, and then, nodding his head, said:
"Ah! Of course!"
"Why of course?" asked Gerald in annoyance at the captain's tone.
The other only shrugged his shoulders, and continued puffing at his bigbriar pipe.
Gerald was utterly mystified.
Since that moment when he had lost consciousness in the presence of thetwo ladies he had assisted until the present, all his recollections wereblurred and indistinct. Bowden had accused him of drinking heavily thenight before. Yet he felt certain that he had never previously set eyesupon the black-bearded man before him. His unknown enemies had sparedhis life, but they had sent him out upon a nine months' voyage,evidently to get rid of him for some reasons known to themselves.
Was Bernard Boyne at the bottom of it all? He wondered. Yet Boynecould not know anything of his efforts to unravel the mystery of hislife. How could he possibly know?
"Look here, Captain Bowden," he said firmly at last. "Let us be frankwith each other."
"I'm always frank, young man--too frank for some people!" was the bluffseafarer's reply.
"Well, be frank with me. Tell me--do you know any man namedBoyne--Bernard Boyne?"
"Never heard the name before," snapped the other. "What about him?"And he crossed his legs encased in his heavy sea-boots.
"Well, I thought perhaps you might know him," Durrant said. Then,catching sight of the coat he was wearing, he was surprised to see thatit was unfamiliar--a heavy blue-serge suit, such as he had never beforepossessed. The mystery increased as each moment passed.
"No. I don't know any man named Boyne. Who and what is he?"
"He's an insurance agent at Hammersmith."
"That's somewhere in London, ain't it?"
"Yes. I'm a Londoner."
"Oh, are you? Yes, I thought so."
"Why did you think so?" asked Durrant.
"Because I know you come from Liverpool."
"You're trying to be funny!"
"Oh, no, I'm not! It's you who always tries to be funny, young fellow.You sat with me here, in my cabin, last night, and yet to-day you denyhaving done so."
Gerald rose from his chair, intending to firml
y withstand theblack-bearded fellow's ridiculous allegations, but at that instant hefelt that same half-intoxication creeping over him, and he subsided.
"Captain Bowden, I'm sorry to tell you that I honestly think you arelying to me," he said a moment later.
"Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Simpson. I won't retort because you'llbe ill if I do. We're in for bad weather in the Bay, I'm afraid. Glassfalling with a run."
"I've never been to sea before," remarked Gerald hopelessly, yetsurprised that the captain should take his challenge so mildly.
"Well, you'll get your sea-legs on this voyage, I can tell you," laughedthe heavy-jowled captain.
At that moment the first mate came in, holding himself as he stoodagainst the heavy rolling of the tramp steamer.
"Cargo is shifting a bit in number four hold, sir," he said. "Shall Itell Jenkins to call the men and see to it?"
"Yes. Do what the devil you like, Hutton," snapped the captain. "I seewe're in for hellish weather. Look at the glass!"
"I noticed it half an hour ago, sir. We shall catch it strong aftersundown."
"Yes, we shall. Better make everything tight now."
Then, turning to Durrant, Captain Bowden, refilling his pipe, remarked:
"That's the worst of these cursed old tubs. But you see, after the warthey can't get new ones. All those labour troubles on the Clyde haveinterfered with shipbuilding. I was promised a brand-new boat a yearago. But she's still on the stocks. When she goes out I shall do theferry trade from the Levant to London--four weeks out and home."
"But, now tell me--who put me on board this ship?" asked Gerald.
"Who put you on board? why, your friend, Mr. Morton."
"My friend? Why, I don't know the man!"
Bowden smiled, and showed that he was not convinced.
"What was this fellow Morton like?" inquired Durrant eagerly. "Describehim to me."
"Oh! a rather tall, lean, herring-gutted chap, with a baldish head, andnarrow little eyes," was the reply. "But you can't tell me that youdon't know him. Why, you were with him when I promised to take you onthis trip."
"With him!" echoed Gerald. "I certainly was not."
"Ah! The worst of you, Mr. Simpson, is that you're so forgetful,"exclaimed the breezy captain.
"I'm not forgetful!" cried Durrant resentfully, rising to his feetagain, and steadying himself from the slow roll of the ship. "How didyou come to know this mysterious friend of mine--Morton, you say is hisname?"
"That's my affair! You don't believe me, so why should I bother toanswer your questions?"
"I don't believe you when you say that I was here with you yesterday,"was Gerald's frank reply.
"No, because your brain is addled," laughed Bowden deeply, knocking theashes from his pipe. At that moment the ship's bell clanged loudly,marking the time. It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon.
"Yes, it is addled, I admit," said Durrant. "I've been the victim of afoul plot. I--well, let me tell you."
"Oh! I don't want to hear it all over again. You've already told metwice how you assisted two ladies in Kensington, how they took you totheir house, and gave you a dose of drug. Then, how you found yourselfimprisoned in a house, and all that long rigmarole. Spare meagain--won't you?" the captain begged.
Durrant stood aghast.
"But I've never told you anything about it!" he said. "I've never tolda living soul about my strange adventure."
"Look here, Mr. Simpson," said the captain, rising from his chair withslow deliberation. "I'm beginning to think that you're not quite inyour right senses. You told us all about it last night in this verycabin--how you had been entrapped, drugged, and taken away."
"Yes. That is quite true, but I have never told anyone of it."
"Well, the less you say about that affair the better, I think. Nobodywill believe you."
"But don't you think I'm telling the truth?"
"No. I know you are not. Morton told me that you were obsessed by thebelief that you've been the victim of some very cunning plot, and thatyou were drugged," said the captain. "Now, just forget all about it,and enjoy your trip!" he added good-humouredly.
"Ah! This person, Morton, has told you, has he? He told you so as todiscredit me when I explained to you the truth," cried Durrant. "Butwhat I have told you are the true facts."
"Oh, of course they are!" laughed the captain.
"But don't let us discuss it any more."
"Where did I come on board?"
"Why, at Hull, of course. Four days ago."
"At Hull!" gasped Gerald. "I have no recollections of ever having beenin Hull."
"Neither have you any recollections of ever having been born, eh?"remarked Bowden, with biting sarcasm.
"Did Morton bring me on board?"
"Certainly."
"And he paid you to take me on this trip?"
"No, excuse me. We pay you. You've signed on as steward at a bob a daywages. We're not licensed to carry passengers. The Board o' Tradedon't like such old tubs as the _Pentyrch_. Yet she's a good old boat,I'll say that much for her. You'll see England again all right, neverfear--unless the bloomin' boilers burst. They're none too strong, I'mafraid."
"You're not over cheerful, Captain Bowden," the young man remarked, morepuzzled than ever at the extraordinary situation.
"Oh, I'm cheerful enough. It's you who seems to be a-worryin' overthings."
"Well, and wouldn't you worry if you were drugged, waking first to findyourself locked in a strange room, and then again wakening a second timeto discover yourself at sea?"
"You want rest, my dear young fellow--rest! And you'll get it here onthe old tub. The weather will be better when we get along the WestCoast."
"How can I send a message to London?"
"We ain't got wireless. Too expensive for such a hooker as this. Itmeans an operator with lightnin' round his cap. So you'll have to waittill we get to Singapore, and then you can cable."
Wait for five or six weeks till the vessel arrived at Singapore! Whatwould Marigold think? What was she thinking now?
He was, of course, in ignorance of those cleverly worded and reassuringtelegrams.
"Can't I get a message ashore anyhow--by signal to one of Lloyd'sstations?" he begged.
"No, you can't, for we're going straight out. Usually we go up theMediterranean and through the Canal, but this trip we're going round theCape."
"But surely you will allow me to communicate with my friends, captain!"he urged in distress.
"You certainly could if we had orders to put in anywhere. But wehaven't. I can't send a letter to my missus, for instance. She'll knowof our arrival at Singapore because the owners will send her a line, asthey always do."
"All this is maddening!" declared Durrant, angrily stamping his foot.
"Yes, Morton said you were a bit eccentric, and it seems that you are!"remarked Bowden, taking down his shiny black oilskin which had borne thebrunt of many a storm.
"I must go on the bridge--or Hutton will be cursing," he added. "Getyour oilskin--you've got one in your cabin--and go and have a blow ondeck. It will do you good--blow out the cobwebs, and freshen up yourmemory a bit."
Gerald returned to his cabin and found a black oilskin hanging behindthe door. He put it on and, taking an old golf cap, ascended thehatchway to the deck, which was, ever and anon, being drenched with saltspray.
A glance around showed the _Pentyrch_ to be a dirty old tramp, which wasloping along in the teeth of a northerly gale.
"See yonder!" exclaimed the captain, pointing to a little line of land."That's the last bit of Europe we'll see! To-morrow the weather will bea lot better. Have a look round the ship before dinner. And don't youtrouble about that marvellous plot against you. There's nothing at allin it--take it from me! Your friends are all aware of yourhallucinations, and they are much pained by them. So just keepquiet--and rest all you can."
While Bowden ascended to the bridge to reliev
e the first mate, Geraldexplored the ship. He came across one or two rough sailors, who eitherwished him a sullen "Good-day," or stared at him as though he were somenew species.
As a matter of fact, Bowden had given it out to the crew that theirpassenger was an eccentric, but harmless young man, who was labouringunder the delusion that an attempt had been made to kill him. Hence themen's curiosity.
Gerald Durrant was unused to the sea, and in his present unstrungcondition, he was indeed scarcely responsible for his actions.
But what the captain had told him had astounded him. The description ofhis mysterious "friend" Morton--a man who was evidently hisenemy--certainly did not tally with that of Bernard Boyne.
Yet he could not erase from his mind the suspicion that Boyne had had ahand in that plot by which he had been carried away from London--just ata moment when his presence there was so much needed.
Again, as he stood against the hatchway gazing wistfully at the distantFrench coast that was fast disappearing, the thought suddenly occurredto him that if his disappearance was actually due to Boyne, then thelatter must have, somehow or other, discovered the fact that he waskeeping him under observation.
If Boyne had really found it out, then he would also know that Marigoldhad been assisting him. This would, no doubt, lead him to suspect thereal motive of her two stays at Bridge Place.
Bernard Boyne would entrap her--just as he had been entrapped!
In his despair he saw himself powerless, either to warn or to assist thegirl he so fondly loved!