CHAPTER III
It was a lovely May morning on the English Channel, and the steamyacht _Nadine_ was travelling under easy steam at about eight knots anhour midway between Guernsey and Southampton. Her owner, Ernest ShaftoHardress, Viscount Branston, eldest son of the Earl of Orrel, wastaking his early coffee on the bridge with his college chum and guest,Frank Lamson, M.A. of Cambridge, and Doctor of Science of London, theyoungest man save one who had won the gold medal in the examinationfor that distinguished degree. In fact, he was only thirty-two, andthe medal had already been in his possession nearly a year.
The morning was so exquisitely mild, that sea and sky looked rather asthough they were in the Mediterranean instead of the Channel. Theywere sitting in their pyjamas, with their bare feet in grass slippers.
"Well, I suppose it's time to go below and shave and dress; MissChrysie and Lady Olive will be up soon, and we'll have to makeourselves presentable," said Lamson, getting out of his deck-chair andthrowing the end of his cigarette overboard. "Hello, what's that?Here, Hardress, get up! There's a body there in the water, horriblymangled."
"What!" exclaimed Hardress, springing from his seat and going to theend of the bridge where Lamson was standing. "So it is! Poor chap,what can have made such a mess of him as that?"
"Fallen overboard from a steamer, I should say, and got mopped by thescrew," said Lamson, in his cold, bloodless voice. "It's a way screwshave, you know, especially twin screws."
"That's just like you, Lamson," said Hardress; "you talk about thepoor chap just as if he was an empty barrel. Still, he's been a manonce, and it's only fair that he should have Christian burial,anyhow."
As he said this he caught the handle of the engine telegraph andpulled it over. "Stop." The yacht slowed down immediately, and he wenton:
"Lamson, you might go and send the stewardess to tell the ladies notto get up for half-an-hour or so. This isn't exactly the sort of job awoman wants to see. Mr Jackson, will you kindly lower away thequarter-boat?"
The young Viscount was right--for the object that was hauled in fromthe sea could hardly even be called a human corpse, so frightfully wasit mangled out of all mortal shape. When it was brought on board, acareful search was made through the tattered remnants of clothing thatwere still attached to it for some marks of identification; butnothing was found. A couple of pockets, one in the waistcoat and onein the trousers which were left intact, contained nothing. There wasno mark on what was left of the linen. The upper half of the head wasgone, and so there was no use in photographing the remains. In short,the ghastly spectacle was the only revelation of a secret of the seawhich might never be further revealed.
"I'm afraid it's no good," said Lamson; "there's nothing that anybodycould recognise the poor chap by. In fact, it looks to me like a caseof deliberate suicide by someone who didn't want to be identified.He's evidently fallen overboard from a steamer, and people don't dothat by accident with empty pockets. For instance, that inside coatpocket was made to button, and would probably have had a pocket-bookand tickets in it. From what's left of them I should say the clotheswere French, and, judging by the locality, I should say he might havebeen a French passenger from le Havre--perhaps to Southampton on oneof the South-Western boats. Hello, what's this? Perhaps this is a clueto the mystery."
As he spoke he put his hand on the back of the body, where the soddenclothes outlined an oblong shape, a few moments after it had beenturned over.
"It feels like a box, or something of that sort. At any rate, we'dbetter see what it is," he went on, taking a sheath-knife from one ofthe sailors and ripping the cloth open. "Tied to the body. By Jove!Why, this is mystery on mystery! Nothing in his pockets, no mark onhis linen or clothes, and this thing tied to his body! Well, I supposewe may as well see what there is in it; and as you're the owner of theyacht and Deputy-Lieutenant of your county, I suppose I'd better handit over to you."
As he said this he cut the cords and handed the tin box to ViscountBranston, who said as he took it:
"Of course, we shall have to open it, and we'll do it together afterbreakfast. Now, Mr Jackson, oblige me by having the body sewn up in abit of canvas. I don't want the ladies to see it in that horriblestate. And you may as well put on full speed; we don't want it onboard any longer than we can help. Now, Lamson, come along and dress."
When they came out of their state-rooms they found the ladies alreadyon deck, taking an ante-prandial stroll arm-in-arm. Lady Olive was atall, perfectly-proportioned young woman of about twenty-five, notexactly pretty, but with a dark, strong, aristocratic face, whichshowed breeding in every line, and which was lighted up and relievedmost pleasantly by a pair of soft, and yet brilliant, Irish eyes. Whenher features were in repose, some people would have called herhandsome; when she smiled, others would have called her, not pretty,but charming--and they would have been about right.
Her companion, Miss Chrysie Vandel, daughter of Clifford K. Vandel,President of the American Electrical Storage Trust of Buffalo, N.Y.,was an absolute contrast to her. She was about an inch shorter,exquisitely fair, and yet possessed of a pair of deep blue eyes, whichin some lights looked almost black. Her brows were several shadesdarker than her hair, which was golden in the sun and brown in theshade. She was not what a connoisseur would call beautiful, for herfeatures were just a trifle irregular, and her mouth was just ever solittle too large. Still, taken as a whole, her face had thatdistracting and indescribable piquancy which seems to be the peculiarproperty of the well-bred American girl at her best.
Both were dressed in grey serge, short-skirted yachting suits, andeach had a white duck yachting cap pinned to her hair.
"Well, Shafto," said Lady Olive, as the two men took their caps off,"and what is all this mystery about? Chrysie and I have beenspeculating all sorts of things."
"Why, yes, Lord Branston," chimed in Miss Chrysie. "I got out of mybath and fixed myself double quick, half expecting to come on deck andfind ourselves held up by a French torpedo-boat, after all that talkwe heard in Jersey about the trouble between you and France and Russiaover China."
"I am happy to say it is not quite so serious as that, Miss Vandel,"said Hardress, "and I hope we shall be able to get you safe toSouthampton before the war starts. The fact is, about an hour ago,while Lamson and I were having our coffee on the bridge, he saw--well,the body of a man, terribly mangled, floating in the water. So westopped to pick it up. It was frightfully mutilated, and, of course,it was nothing for eyes like yours to look upon, so we've had it sewnup in canvas, and we're taking it to Southampton to give it a decentburial."
"Now, I call that real good of you, Viscount. I guess you British havefiner feelings in that way than we have. I don't believe Poppa wouldhave stopped his yacht if he'd struck a whole burying lot afloat."
"Well," laughed Hardress; "that is what a busy man like your fathermight be expected to do. In fact, I suppose most Englishmen would havedone so; but, as it happens, in this case virtue was rewarded--for wehave discovered what may be a mystery."
"A mystery! Oh, do say, Viscount. That's just too lovely for words--ayacht, dead body at sea, and a mystery----"
"Yes," said Lamson; "and in a tin box, attached firmly by cords tocorpse aforesaid."
"Don't, Mr Lamson; please don't," interrupted Lady Olive, somewhatseverely. Then she went on, with a little shiver, "I hope, Shafto, youwill get us to Southampton as quickly as you can. I don't want to beshipmates any longer than I can help with--with--ah--remains. It isn'tlucky at sea, you know."
"My dear Olive," replied her brother, "about the first thing I thoughtof was that very idea; that is why we are now steaming fullspeed--twenty knots instead of eight--so that you and Miss Vandel maybe relieved of this disquieting presence on board as soon as possible.And now, by way of passing the inconvenient hours that our newpassenger will be with us, suppose we go to breakfast."
"A nice appetising sort of remark that, I must say, Viscount," saidMiss Chrysie; "still I suppose we may as well go. This morning air at
sea does make living people feel alive; I guess that's why I'm sohungry."
"And after breakfast, Shafto," said Lady Olive, "I presume that youwill tell us all about the mystery of the tin box."
"My dear Olive," replied her brother, "it may be anything or nothing;and, as Lamson found it and gave it to me, instead of having it buriedwith the unknown deceased, I've agreed with him that we shall gothrough the contents, whatever they are, together; and, of course, ifthere's anything really interesting in them, then we shall tell youall about it."
"Now, that's real kind," said Miss Chrysie. "I guess if we don't havequite an interesting conversation over lunch it'll be the fault of ournew passenger."
"My dear Chrysie," said Lady Olive, frigidly, "how can you! Really,you remind me rather strongly of what Kipling says about theAmericans."
"And what might that be, Lady Olive?" she replied, looking up, withthe flicker of a smile round her lips, and the twinkle of a challengein her eyes.
"I don't think I remember the exact words just now, but I've got the'Seven Seas' downstairs," replied Lady Olive; "but I think it'ssomething about the cynic devil in his blood that bids him mock hishurrying soul."
"Thanks!" replied Miss Chrysie, with a toss of her shapely head, andan unmistakable sniff; "I think I've read that poem, too. Isn't therea verse in it that runs something this way?--
"'Inopportune, shrill-accented, The acrid Asiatic mirth That leaves him careless 'mid his dead, The scandal of the elder earth.'"
She repeated the lines with such an exquisite exaggeration of the"shrill accent" that the two men burst out laughing, and Lady Olivefirst flushed up to her brows, and then also broke into a saving fitof laughter.
"That's a distinct score for Miss Vandel, Olive," said Hardress. "Ifyou knew the whole poem a bit better, I don't think you'd have madethat last remark of yours. But, of course, Miss Vandel will begenerous and allow you to take the only way there is out of thedifficulty--the way to breakfast."
"Why, certainly," said Miss Chrysie, who was trying hard not to laughat her little triumph. "Kipling's good, but breakfast's better, in anair like this."
And so, as she would have put it, they "let it go at that," and wentdown into the saloon to breakfast.