CHAPTER XIX
AND THEN--
Mr. Heatherbloom regained consciousness, or semi-consciousness, in anill-smelling place. His first impulse was to raise his hands to hisaching head, but he could not do this on account of two iron bands thatheld his wrists to a stanchion. His legs, too, he next became vaguelyaware, were fastened by a similar contrivance to the deck. He closed hiseyes, and leaned back; the throbbings seemed to beat on his brain likethe angry surf, smiting harder and harder until nature at length came tohis relief and oblivion once more claimed him.
How long it was before he again opened his eyes he could not tell. Theshooting throes were still there but he could endure them now and eventhink in an incoherent fashion. He gazed around. The light grudginglyadmitted by a small port-hole revealed a bare prison-like cell.Realization of what it all meant, his being there, swept over him, and,in a semi-delirious frenzy, he tugged at his fastenings. He did notsucceed in releasing himself; he only increased the hurtling waves ofpain in his head. What did she think of her valiant rescuer now, he whohad raised her hopes so high but to dash them utterly?
Some one, some time later, brought him water and gave him bread,releasing his wrists while he ate and fastening them again when he hadfinished. The hours that seemed days passed. During that time he halfthought he had another visitor but was not sure. The delirium hadreturned; he strove to think lucidly, but knew himself verylight-headed. He imagined Sonia Turgeinov came to him, that she lookeddown on him.
"_Mon Dieu_! It is my canine keeper; the man with the dogs. What a lameand impotent conclusion for one so clever! I looked for something betterfrom you, my intrepid friend, who dared to come aboard in thatthrilling manner--who managed to follow me, through what arts, I do notknow. How are the mighty fallen!"
Her tone was low, mocking. He disdained to reply.
"Really, I am disappointed, after my not having betrayed who you were tothe prince."
"Why didn't you?" he said.
She laughed. "Perhaps because I am an artist, and it seemed inartisticto intervene--to interrupt the action at an inopportune moment--tostultify what promised to be an unusually involved complication. Whenfirst I saw and recognized you on the _Nevski_, it was like one of thosedivine surprises of the master dramatist, M. Sardou. Really, I wasindebted for the thrill of it. Besides, had I spoken, the prince mighthave tossed you overboard; he is quite capable of doing so. That, too,would have been inartistic, would have turned a comedy of love into rankmelodrama."
Rank nonsense! Of course such a conversation could not be real. But hecried out in the dream: "What matter if his excellency had tossed meoverboard? What good am I here?"
"To her, you mean?"
"To her, of course." Bitterly.
The vision's eyes were very bright; her plastic, rather mature form bentnearer. He felt a cool hand at the bandage, readjusting it about hishead. That, naturally, could not be. She who had betrayed BettyDalrymple to the prince would not be sedulous about Mr. Heatherbloom'sinjury.
"Foolish boy!" she breathed. Incongruous solicitude! "Who are you? Nocommon dog-tender--of that I am sure. What have you been?"
"What--" Wildly.
"There! there!" said half-soothingly that immaterial, now maternalvisitant. "Never mind."
"How is she? Where is she?" he demanded, incoherently.
"She is well, and is going to be, very soon now, the prince's bride."
"Never."
"Don't let his excellency hear you say so in that tone. He thinks youonly a detective, not an ardent, though secret wooer yourself. TheStrogareffs brook no rivals," she laughed, "and he is already like amadman. I should tremble for your life if he dreamed--"
"Help me to help her--" he said. "It will be more than worth your while.You did this for--"
She shook her head. "I have descended very low, indeed, but not so lowas that. Like the bravos of old"--was it she who spoke bitterlynow?--"Sonia Turgeinov is, at least, true to him who has given her thelittle _douceur_. No, no; do not look to me, my young and Quixoticfriend. You have only yourself to depend upon--"
"Myself!" He felt the sharp iron cut his flesh. That seemedindubitable--no mere fantasy of pain but pain itself.
"Let well enough alone," she advised. "The prince will probably put youashore somewhere--I'll beg him to do that. He'll be better naturedafter--after the happy event," she laughed. "Perhaps, he'll even slip alittle purse into your pocket though you did hurt a few of his men. Notthat he cares much for them--mere serfs. You could find a littleconsolation, eh? With a bottle, perhaps. Besides, I have heard theseisland girls have bright eyes." He could not speak. "Are you adamant,save for one?" she mocked. "Content yourself with what must be. It is agood match for her. The little fool might scour the world for a betterone. As for you--your crazy infatuation--what have you to offer? _Tresdrole!_ Do dog-tenders mate with such as she? No; destiny says to her,be a grand lady at the court of Petersburg. I am doing her a greatfavor. Many American families would pay me well, I tell you--"
She paused. "You will smile at it all, some day, my friend. You playedand lost. At least, it was daringly done. You deceived even me over thetelephone. 'Go to sleep,' forsooth! You commanded in a right princelytone. And I obeyed."
An instant her hand lingered once more near the bandage. It wasridiculous, that tentative, almost sympathetic touch. Then, she--afigment of disordered imagination--receded; there was no doubt about hislight-headedness now.
They sent again bread and water, and, after what seemed an intolerableinterval, he found himself eating with zest; he was exceedingly hungry.He also began to feel mentally normal, although his thoughts were thereverse of agreeable. Days had, no doubt, gone by. He chafed at thisenforced inaction, but sometimes through sheer weariness fell into asemblance of natural sleep despite the sitting posture he was obliged tomaintain. On one such occasion he was abruptly awakened by a lightthrown suddenly on his face. He would have started to his feet but thefetters restrained him.
It was night; a lantern, held by a hand that shook slightly, revealed aface he did not know. He felt assured, however, of his mental lucidityat the moment. The new-comer, though a stranger, was undoubtedly fleshand blood.
"What do you want?" said the prisoner.
"A word with you, Monsieur." The speaker had a smooth face and darksoulful eyes. His manner was both furtive and constrained. He lookedaround as if uncomfortable at finding himself in that place.
"Well, I guess you can have it. I can't get away," muttered the manacledman.
"Miss Dalrymple sent me."
Mr. Heatherbloom's interest was manifest; he strove to suppress outwardsigns of it. "What--what for?"
"She wanted to make sure you were not dead."
The prisoner did not answer; his emotion was too great at the moment topermit his doing so. She was in trouble, yet she considered the poordetective. That was like her--straight as a string--true blue--
The visitor started to go. "Hold on!" said Mr. Heatherbloom, whose ideaswere surging fast. This youth had managed to come here at herinstigation. Had she made a friend of him, an ally? He did not appear anheroic one, but he was, no doubt, the best that had offered. BettyDalrymple was not one to sit idly; she would seek ways and means. Shewas clever, knew how to use those violet eyes. (Did not Mr. Heatherbloomhimself remember?) Who was he--this nocturnal caller? Not an officer--hewas too young. Cabin-boy, perhaps? More likely the operator. Mr.Heatherbloom had noticed that the yacht was provided with the wirelessoutfit.
"How long have I been here?" he now asked abruptly.
"It is three days since monsieur was knocked on the head."
Mr. Heatherbloom looked down. "Three days? Well, it cost me a fortune,"he sighed, remembering the role of detective that had been thrust uponhim. "I could have stood for the sore head."
The other had his foot at the threshold but he lingered. "How much of afortune? What was the reward?" He strove to speak carelessly but therewas a trace of eagerness in his tones.
 
; "You mean what _is_ it?" returned Mr. Heatherbloom, and named an amountlarge enough to make the soulful eyes open. "And to think," watchfully,"one little message to the shore might procure for the sender such asum!"
"Monsieur!" Indignantly. "You think that I would--"
"Then you _are_ the wireless operator?"
"I was." Francois spoke more calmly. "His excellency has had theapparatus destroyed. He will take no chances of other spies ordetectives being aboard who might understand its use."
The prisoner hardly heard the last words; for the moment he wasconcerned only with his disappointment. A sudden hope had died almost assoon as it had been born. "Too bad!" he murmured. Then--"How did you gethere?"
"The third officer has the keys and our cabins are adjoining. I seizedan opportune moment, slipped in, and took a wax impression of what Iwanted. Then with an old key and a file--Monsieur is a great detective,perhaps, but I, too," with Gaston boastfulness, "can aspire to a littlecleverness."
"A great deal," said Mr. Heatherbloom, the while his brain workedrapidly. Betty Dalrymple must have paid the youth well for serving herthus far. Thrift, as well as sentiment, seemed to shine from Francois'eloquent dark eyes. Could he be induced to espouse her cause yetfurther?
"Monsieur must not think I would prove disloyal to his excellency, myemployer," spoke up the youth as if reading what had been passingthrough the other's mind. "There could be no harm in a mere inquiry asto monsieur's state of health."
"None at all," assented the prisoner quickly. "Though"--a suddeninspiration came to Mr. Heatherbloom--"contingencies may arise when onecan best serve those who employ him by secretly opposing them."
"I don't understand, Monsieur," said Francois cautiously.
"The prince is a madman. By incurring the enmity of his Imperial Masterhe would rush on to his own destruction. Suppose by this misalliance,the very map of Europe itself were destined to be changed?"
The words sounded portentous, and Francois stared. He had imagination.The beautiful American girl had told him that this man before him was agreat and daring detective. He spoke now even as an emissary of the czarhimself. The prince was a high lord, close to the throne. These weredeep waters. The youth looked troubled; Mr. Heatherbloom allowed thethought he had inspired to sink in.
"What is our first port?" his voice, more authoritative, now demanded.
Francois mentioned an island.
"When do we get there?"
"We are near it to-night but on account of the rocks and reefs, I heardthe captain say we would slow down, so as not to enter the harbor untildaybreak."
Daybreak! And then? Mr. Heatherbloom closed his eyes; when he againopened them they revealed none of the poignant emotion that had sweptover him. "What time is it now?"
"About ten."
"My jailer--the third officer, you say--visits this cell once everynight. Do you know what time he comes?"
"I shouldn't be here, Monsieur, at this moment, if I didn't know that.He comes in an hour, after his watch is over, with the bread andwater--monsieur's frugal fare. And now"--those apprehensions,momentarily dulled by wonderment seemed returning to Francois--"I willbid monsieur--"
"Stay! One moment!" Mr. Heatherbloom's accents were feverish,commanding. "You must--in the name of the czar!--for the prince'ssake!--for hers--for--for the reward--"
"Monsieur!" Again that flicker of indignation.
Mr. Heatherbloom swept it aside. "She has asked you to help her escape?"he demanded swiftly.
Francois did not exactly deny. There were no listeners here. "It wouldbe impossible for her to escape," he answered rather sullenly.
"Then she did broach a plan--one you refused to accede to. What was it?"
"Mere madness!" Scoffingly. "Mademoiselle may be generous, and _monDieu_! very persuasive, but she doesn't get me to--"
"What _was_ her proposal? Answer." Sternly. "You can't incriminateyourself here."
Francois knew that. The cell was remote. There could be no harm inletting the talk drift a little further. He replied, briefly outliningthe plan.
"Excellent!" observed Mr. Heatherbloom.
"Mere madness!" reiterated Francois.
"Not at all. But if it were, some people would, under thecircumstances," with subtle accent, "gladly undertake it--just as youwill!" he added.
"Oh, will I?" Ironically.
"Yes, when you hear all I have to say. In the first place, I relinquishall claim to the reward. Sufficient for me--" And Mr. Heatherbloommumbled something about the czar.
"Bah! That sounds very well, only there wouldn't be any reward,"retorted Francois. "The prince would only capture us again and then--"He shrugged. "I know his temper and have no desire for the longer voyagewith old man Charon--"
"Wait!" More aggressively. "I have not done. No one will suspect thatyou have been here to-nigh't?" he asked.
"Does monsieur think I am a fool? No, no! And now my little errand formademoiselle being finished--"
"You can do as Miss Dalrymple wishes, achieve an embarrassment ofriches, and run no risk whatever yourself."
"Indeed?" Starting slightly.
"At least, no appreciable one." Mr. Heatherbloom explained his planquickly. Francois listened, at first with open skepticism, then withgrowing interest.
"_Mon Dieu_! If it were possible!" he muttered. South-of-Franceimagination had again been appealed to. "But no--"
"Remember all the reward will be for you"--swiftly--"sufficient to buyvineyards and settle down for a life of peace and plenty--" Francois'eyes wavered; any Frenchman would have found the picture enticing.Already the beautiful American girl had, as Mr. Heatherbloom suspected,surreptitiously thrust several valuable jewels upon the youth as areward for this preliminary service. Having experienced a foretaste ofriches, Francois perhaps secretly longed for more of the glittering gemsand for some of those American dollars which sounded five times as largein francs. Besides, this man, the great detective, or emissary, inspiredconfidence; his tones were vibrant, compelling.
"And for you, Monsieur?--the risk for you--" Francois faltered.
"Never mind about me. You consent?"
The other swallowed, muttered a monosyllable in a low tone.
"Then--" Heatherbloom murmured a few instructions. "Miss Dalrymple isnot to know."
"I understand," said Francois quickly. And going out stealthily, heclosed and locked the door behind him.