A Man and His Money

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE COUP

  Mr. Heatherbloom, with fingers deft as a sailor's, secured the prince.The single silken band did not suffice; other cords, diverted from theornamental to a like practical purpose, were wound around and around hisexcellency's legs and arms, holding him so tightly to the chair he couldscarcely move. Having completed this task, Mr. Heatherbloom next, withvandal hands, whipped from the wall a bit of priceless embroidery, threwit over the nobleman's head and, in spite of sundry frenzied objections,effectually gagged him. Then drawing the heavy curtains so that theyalmost concealed the bound figure in the dim recess, the young manstepped once more out into the salon.

  How still it suddenly seemed! His glance swept toward the door throughwhich the young girl had vanished. Why had he heard no sound from her?Why did she not appear now? She must have caught something of what hadbeen going on. He went swiftly to the door.

  "Miss Dalrymple!"

  No answer. He rapped again--louder--then tried the door. It resisted; heshook it.

  "Betty!" Yes; he called her that in the alarm and excitement of themoment. "It's--it's all right. Open the door."

  Again that hush--nothing more. Mr. Heatherbloom pulled rather wildly atthe lock of hair over his brow; then a sudden frenzy seemed to seizehim. He launched himself forward and struck fairly with hisshoulder--once--twice. The door, at length, yielded with a crash. Herushed in--fell to his knees.

  "Betty! Oh, Betty!" For the moment he stared helplessly at themotionless form on the floor, then, lifting the girl in his arms, helaid her on a couch. One little white hand swung limp; he seized it withgrimy fingers. It was oddly cold, and a shiver went over him. He feltfor her pulse--her heart--at first caught no answering throb, for hisown heart was beating so wildly. The world seemed to swim--then hestraightened. The filmy dress, not so white now in spots, had flutteredbeneath her throat. He gazed rapturously.

  "It'll be all right," he said again. "Darling!"

  He could say it now, when she couldn't hear. "Darling! Darling!" herepeated. It constituted his vocabulary of terms of endearment. He feltthe need of no other. She lay like a lily. He saw nothing anomalous incertain stains of soot, even on the wonderful face where his hadunconsciously touched it when he had raised her and strained her to himone mad instant in his arms. In fact, he did not see those stains; hiseyes were closed to such details--and the crimson marks, too, on hergown! His knuckles were bleeding; he was unaware of it. He was not,outwardly, a very presentable adorer but he became suddenly a mostdaring one. His grimy hand touched the shining hair, half-unbound; heraised one of the marvelous tresses--his hungry lips swept itlightly--or did he but breathe a divine fragrance? By some inner processhis spirit seemed to have come that instant very near to hers. He forgotwhere he was; time and space were annihilated.

  He was brought abruptly back to the living present by a sudden knock atthe door without, which he had locked after entering that way from thedeck. Mr. Heatherbloom listened; the person, whoever he was, onreceiving no response, soon went away. Had they discovered what hadhappened to the foreman of the stokers whom Heatherbloom had struck downwith a heavy iron belaying-pin? The man had attacked him with murderousintent. In defending himself, Heatherbloom believed he had killed thefellow. The chance blow he had delivered with the formidable weapon hadbeen one of desperation and despair. It had been more than a question ofhis life or the other's. Her fate had been involved in that criticalmoment. He had dragged the unconscious figure to the shadows behind alife-boat. They would not be likely to stumble across the incriminatingevidence while it was dark. Nor was it likely that the foreman's absencebelow would cause the men to look for him. The overworked stokers wouldbe but too pleased to escape, for a spell, their tyrannous master.

  Mr. Heatherbloom, standing near the threshold of the dressing-room,glanced now toward the little French clock without. Over four hours yetto port! How slowly time went. He turned out all the lights, save oneshaded lamp of low candle-power in the cabin; then he did the same inthe room where the girl was. No one must peer in on him from unexpectedplaces. He looked up, and saw that the skylights were covered withcanvas. Mr. Heatherbloom remained in the salon; he needed to continuemaster of his thoughts. In the dressing-room he had just now forgottenhimself. That would not do; he must concentrate all his faculties, everyenergy, to bringing this coup, born on the inspiration of the moment,to a successful conclusion. Desperate as his plan was, he believed nowhe would win out. By the vibrations he knew the boat was still steamingfull speed on her new course. The conditions were all favorable. Theywould reach port before dawn; at break of day the health officers wouldcome aboard. And after that--

  The telephone suddenly rang. Should he answer that imperious summons?Perhaps the man who had just knocked at the door had been one of theofficers, or the captain himself, come in person to speak with hisexcellency about the unexpected change in the boat's course, or sometechnical question or difficulty that might have arisen in consequencethereof.

  He looked toward the recess; between the curtains he caught sight of theprince's eyes and in the dim light he fancied they shone with suddenhope--expectancy. The nobleman must have heard the crashing of the doorto the dressing-room. What he had thought was of no moment. A viperishfervor replaced that other brief expression in his excellency's gaze.

  Once more that metallic call--harsh, loud, as not to be denied! Mr.Heatherbloom made up his mind; perhaps all depended on his decision; hewould answer. Stepping across the salon, he took down the receivers. Thesinging on the wires had been pronounced; he could imitate the prince'sautocratic tones, and the person at the other end would not discover, inall likelihood, the deception.

  "Well?" said Mr. Heatherbloom loudly, in French. "What do you want?Haven't I given orders not to be--"

  His voice died away; he nearly dropped the receivers. A woman answered.Moreover, the wires did not seem to "sing" so much now. SoniaTurgeinov's tones were transmitted in all their intrinsic, flute-likelucidity.

  "What has happened, your Excellency?" she asked anxiously.

  "Happened?" the young man managed to say. "Nothing."

  "Then why has the yacht's course been changed? I can tell by the starsfrom my cabin window that we are not headed at all in the same directionwe were going--"

  He tried to speak unconcernedly: "Just changed for a short time onaccount of some reefs and the currents! Go to sleep," he commanded, "andleave the problems of navigation to others."

  "Sleep? _Mon Dieu_! If I only could--"

  Mr. Heatherbloom dared talk no more, so rang off. The prince might havebeen capable of such bruskness. Sonia Turgeinov had not seemed tosuspect anything wrong; she had merely been inquisitive, and had takenit for granted the nobleman was at the other end of the wire. Mr.Heatherbloom strode restlessly to and fro. Seconds went by--minutes. Hecounted the tickings of the clock--suddenly wheeled sharply.

  * * * * *

  The young girl stood in the doorway--he had heard and now saw her. Shecame forward quickly, though uncertainly; in the dim light she lookedlike a shadow. He drew in his breath.

  "Miss--" he began, then stopped.

  Her gaze rested on him, almost indistinguishable on the other side ofthe salon.

  "What does it mean? Who are you?" She spoke intrepidly enough but he sawher slender form sway.

  Who was he? About to explain in a rush of words, Mr. Heatherbloomhesitated. To her he had been, of course, but a conspirator of theRussian woman in the affair. Miss Van Rolsen had deemed him culpable;the detective had been sure of it. Would Miss Dalrymple think moreleniently of him than mere unprejudiced people, those who knew less ofhim than she? His very presence on the yacht, although somewhatinexplicably complicated in recent occurrences, was _per se_ a primaldamning circumstance. But she spared him the necessity of answering. Shedivined now from his blackened features what his position on the yachtmust be. He was only a poor stoker, but--

  "You are a brave fellow," crie
d Betty Dalrymple, "and I'll not forgetit. You interfered--I remember--"

  "A brave fellow!" It was well he had not betrayed himself. Let her thinkthat of him, for the moment. A poignant mockery lent pain to the thrillof her words.

  "You rushed in, struck him. What then?"

  "He won't play the bully and scoundrel again for some time!" burst fromMr. Heatherbloom. His tones were impetuous; once more he seemed to seewhat he had seen during those last moments on the deck--when he had beenunable to restrain himself longer--and had yielded to a singlehot-blooded impulse. "The big brute!" he muttered.

  She seemed to regard him in slight surprise. "Where is he? What hasbecome of him?"

  "He is safe--"

  "You mean you conquered him, beat him--you?" Her voice thrilled.

  "You bet I did," said Mr. Heatherbloom with the least evidence ofincoherency. Her words had been verbal champagne to him. "I gave himthe dandiest best licking--" He stopped. Perhaps he realized that hisexplanation was beginning to seem slightly tinged with too greatevidence of personal satisfaction if not boastfulness. "You see I had agun," he murmured rather apologetically.

  "But," said the girl, coming nearer, "I don't understand."

  He started to meet that advance, then backed away a little. "I've gothim safe, where he can't move, or bother you any more." Mr. Heatherbloomglanced over his shoulder; but he did not tell her where he "had him"."And the yacht's going back to the nearest American port," he couldn'thelp adding, impetuously, to reassure her.

  "Going back? Impossible!" Wonder, incredulity were in her voice.

  "It's true as shooting, Bet--"

  She was too bewildered to notice that slight slip of the tongue. "It's afact, miss," he added more gruffly.

  "But how?" Her tones betrayed reticence in crediting the miracle. Yetthis blackened figure must have prevailed over the prince or the latterwould not have so mysteriously disappeared. "How did it happen?"

  "Well, you see I just happened around."

  "You, a stoker?"

  Stokers, he was reminded by her tone, did not usually "happen around" ondecks of palatial private yachts. He must seek a different, moredefinite explanation. He thought he saw a way; he could let her knowpart of the truth. "The fact is, I was looking for this boat at the lastport she stopped at. I had cause to think you would be on her. Couldn'tstop the yacht from going to sea, for reasons too numerous to mention,so I just slipped out and came aboard in a kind of disguise--"

  "A disguise? Then you are a detective?"

  "I think I may truthfully say I am, but in a sort of private capacity.When a really important case occurs, it interests me. Now this was animportant case, and--and it interested me." He hardly knew what he wassaying, her eyes were so insistent. Betty Dalrymple had always had themost disconcerting eyes. "Because, you see, your--your aunt was soanxious--and"--with a flash of inspiration--"the reward was a big one."

  "The reward? Of course." Her voice died away. "You hoped to get it. Thatis the reason--"

  He let his silence answer in the affirmative; he felt relieved now. Shehad not recognized him--yet. In the recess behind the draperies thechair in which his excellency was bound, creaked. Was he struggling torelease himself? Mr. Heatherbloom had faith in the knots and the silkencords. The girl turned her head.

  "Don't you think it would be better"--he spoke quickly--"for you toreturn to your cabin? I'll let you know when I want you and--"

  "But if I prefer to stay here? May I not turn on the lights?"

  "Not for worlds!" Hastily. "It is necessary they should not see me. Ifthey did--"

  He was obliged to explain a little of the real situation to her; of thestratagem he had employed. This he did in few words. She listenedeagerly. The mantle of the commonplace, which to her eyes had fallen afew moments before on his shoulders, became at least partly withdrawn.She divined the great hazard, the danger he had faced--was facing now.Detective or not, it had been daringly done. Her voice, with a warmthrill in it, said as much. Her eyes shone like stars. She came of alive virile stock, from men and women who had done things themselves.

  "If only I, too, had a weapon!" she said, leaning toward him. "In casethey should discover--"

  "No, no. It wouldn't do at all."

  "Why not?" the warm lips breathed. "I can shoot. Some one once taughtme--"

  She stopped short. A chill seemed descending. "You were saying--" heprompted eagerly.

  But she did not answer. The sweep of her hair made a shadowy veil aroundher; his mind harked swiftly back. She had always had wondrous hair. Ithad taken two big braids to hold it; most girls could get their hair inone braid. He had been very proud, for her, of those twobraids--once--with their blue or pink ribbons that had popped below theedge of her skirts. He continued to see blue and pink ribbons now.

  Both were for some time silent. At length she stirred--seated herself.Mr. Heatherbloom mechanically did likewise, but at a distance from her.He tried not to see her, to become mentally oblivious of her presence,to concentrate again solely on the matter in hand. A long, long intervalpassed. Chug! chug! the engines continued to grind. How far away theysounded. Another sound, too, at length broke the stillness--a stealthyfootfall on the deck. It sent him at once softly to the window; he gazedout. She followed.

  "Are--are we getting anywhere near port?"

  He did not tell her that it was not port he was looking for so soon ashe gazed out searchingly into the night.

  "What is it?" She had drawn the curtain a little. Her shoulder touchedhim.

  Suddenly his arm swept her back. "What do you mean"--he turned on hersternly--"by drawing that curtain?"

  "Was any one there?"

  "Any one--" he began almost fiercely; then paused. The figure he hadseen in that flash looked like that of the foreman of the stokers. Inthat case, then, the fellow was not dead; he had recovered. Through amistaken sense of mercy Mr. Heatherbloom had not slipped the seeminglylifeless body over the side. Now he, and she, too, were likely to paydearly for that clemency. Bitterly he clenched his hands. Had the mancaught a glimpse of him at the window? A flicker of electric light,without, shone on it.

  The girl started again to speak. "Hush!" He drew her back yet farther.Above, some one had raised the corner of the canvas covering theskylight. It was too dark, however, for the person, whoever it might be,to discern very much below. Neither Mr. Heatherbloom nor his companionnow moved. The tenseness and excitement of the moment held them. Thegirl breathed quickly; her hand was at his sleeve. Even in that momentof suspense and peril he was conscious of the nearness of her--the litheyoung form so close!

  The creaking of the chair in the recess was again heard. Had hisexcellency caught sight of the person above? Was he endeavoring toattract attention? And could the observer at the skylight discern thenobleman? It seemed unlikely. The glass above did not appear to extendquite over the recess. Through a slight opening of the draperies Mr.Heatherbloom, however, could see his captive and noticed he seemed to betrying to tip back farther in his chair, to reach out behind with hisbound hands--toward what? The young man abruptly realized, and halfstarted to his feet--but not in time! The chair went over backward andcame down with a crash, but not before his excellency's fingers hadsucceeded in touching an electric button near the desk. A flood of lightfilled the place.

  It was answered by a shout--a signal for other voices. Fragments ofglass fell around; a figure dropped into the salon; others followed. Thedoor to the deck yielded to force from without. Mr. Heatherbloom, thoughsurprised and outnumbered, struggled as best he might; his weapon rangout; then, as they pressed closer, he defended himself with the butt ofhis revolver and his fist.

  There could be but one end to the unequal contest. The girl--a helplessspectator--realized that, though she could with difficulty perceive whattook place, it was all so chaotic. She tried to draw nearer, but beardedfaces intervened; rough hands thrust her back. She would have called outbut the words would not come. It was like an evil dream. As through amist she sa
w one among many who had entered from the deck--a giant insize. He carried an oaken bar in his hand and now stole sidewise withmurderous intent toward the single figure striving so gallantly.

  "No, no!" Betty Dalrymple's voice came back to her suddenly; sheexclaimed wildly, incoherently.

  But the foreman of the stokers raised the bar, waited. He found hisopportunity; his arm descended.