CHAPTER V
"Steward," Gregory asked him, standing up in the centre of hisstateroom, his hands behind his back, "do I look drunk?"
The steward was used to eccentric passengers and answered as though thequestion were an entirely reasonable one.
"For a young gentleman as hasn't moved out of his stateroom for twodays, and 'as had a good deal more to drink than to eat," he pronounced,"you look wonderful, sir."
"Fetch me a whisky and soda, then."
"Certainly, sir."
The man withdrew, closing the door behind him. Gregory drew back thecurtain of his upper bunk and again, with tireless eyes, he stared atthe treasure which had cost him his friend's life, and, as it seemed tohim sometimes now, especially in those horrible watches of the night,his own honour. Always there was the same fascination. Every time helooked, he fancied that he discovered some fresh horror in that grim yetsuperbly bestial face.
"You are ugly," he said softly, as he dropped the curtain. "You aredamnably ugly! I wish you were at the bottom of the sea, and yet I can'tpart with you."
The steward brought him the whisky and soda. He paused for a momentbefore drinking it.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Perkins, sir."
"Well then, Perkins," he directed, "please see the second steward forme. Try to get me a small table in the saloon, alone in a corner, and Iwill go in to dinner to-night."
"Very good, sir," the man replied, as he made his exit. "There will beplenty of room to sit just where you please until we get to Bombay."
Once more Gregory pushed aside the curtain, raised his glass and drainedits contents, his eyes fixed all the time upon the Image. He set downthe empty tumbler.
"That's what you like; to see me drink, isn't it?" he murmured softly."You'd like the whole world to be as foul as the things some devil hascarved into your face. Yet I suppose I would forgive you if only youwould give up your secret."
For the hundredth time he passed his fingers over the carved head;fingers which were long and slim and sensitive of touch. Nowhere,however, could they discover the slightest sign of any join or anypossible aperture, however cunningly concealed. The wood had become assmooth and hard as marble, black as jet, shining as though withgenerations of polish. Gregory drew the curtain and turned away, baffledonce more. With his back turned to the Image he made a long anddeliberate toilet. Afterwards he lit a cigarette and for the first timesince he had boarded the steamer, ventured on deck to find only a fewpeople promenading, a dozen or so drinking cocktails in the smokingroom. There was no sign of the person he longed yet dreaded to see. Theheat was great but it was not unusually oppressive. In the west, ablood-red sun, pencils of black cloud surrounding it, seemed almost tobe falling into the ocean. Gregory loitered about until long after thebugle had sounded, and then, summoning up all his courage, descended totake his place in the saloon. The second steward hurried forward to meethim and showed him his table. He breathed a sigh of relief as herealised its isolation.
"I have given you a table to yourself, sir, as Perkins seemed to thinkyou wanted it," he announced, "but if you would care for a seat at thecaptain's table--that was where we had intended to put you--it could bearranged now, if you preferred it."
"Not on any account," Gregory begged earnestly. "I've been laid up. Mustbe quiet. This exactly suits me."
He continued a conversation for some minutes, accepted the wine list,studied the menu, gave his orders, and finally ventured to look around.She was there, seated on the right hand of the captain, her inevitableplace under the circumstances. Their eyes met. Without hesitation shesmiled a greeting. Gregory half rose in his place and bowed. When he satdown he realised that both his hands were clenched, the white of theknuckles showing through the skin. His breath was coming a littlequickly. It was an absurd thing but he had a feeling that he had passedthrough one of the crises of his life. There had been no message thenfrom her uncle--no wireless. She knew nothing.
Afterwards he came across her on deck, talking to an elderly woman whomhe realised must be the Mrs. Hichens of whom she had spoken as apossible chaperone. She turned round at once and welcomed him smilingly.There was a shade of reproach in her tone.
"I was beginning to wonder what had become of you, Mr. Ballaston," shesaid. "Let me present you to my chaperone, Mrs. Hichens."
Gregory acknowledged the introduction and spent the next few minutessearching for and arranging their chairs.
"I suppose I have been outrageously lazy," he confessed, when at last hehad installed them. "That trip of mine into the interior, which youheard me speaking of with your uncle, was rather an exhausting affair."
"Some day you must tell me the whole story," she begged. "The snatches Iheard of it were most romantic. You came back in Wu Ling's tradingschooner, didn't you?"
"Wu Ling," Gregory confided, "saved my life, and brought me back to thecity. I got into trouble. I was certainly somewhere where I had no rightto be, and I was handed over to Wu Abst, the famous pirate, by a coupleof fanatical priests, with instructions that I was to become nourishmentfor the alligators. Wu Ling heard about it at one of the villages wherehe was trading and released me. It sounds like a page from somebody'snovel, doesn't it? It was all very real at the time, though."
They both looked at him curiously, but the older woman had lived forsome time in a country where few questions were asked, and Claire wasmore concerned with the shadow of either pain or sleeplessness whichseemed to darken his face.
"I can quite understand your feeling like a rest," she saidsympathetically. "I thought you looked terribly ill the day we met inthe warehouse."
She picked up a book, merely with the idea of giving him an opportunityto pass on if he cared to, but after strolling about the deck aimlesslyfor a quarter of an hour, he returned to find her with her book stillunopened, her mind, as a matter of fact, occupied with him and hisstory. She accepted immediately his invitation to walk. They went on tothe upper deck and looked down together at the oily water with itsstreak of phosphorescence. They talked of the ship, of such of theirfellow passengers as they had observed, and of the route home, with acertain obvious attempt at casualness; conversation of little import,yet almost a necessary stepping-stone to more intimate understanding.Claire's perceptions were keen enough for her to realise that this youngman was scarcely in a normal condition.
"You have had no wireless from your uncle or from the firm since youleft?" he asked, a little abruptly.
She shook her head.
"You asked me that before," she reminded him. "Why on earth should I? Wesaid good-by early in the morning after the night you dined with us.Uncle would never dream of coming to see me off. He hates steamers andhe hates what he calls 'looking westwards.' How he will survive life inEngland I am sure I can't imagine, except that he does sometimes stilladmit that English country life is wonderful."
"He really means to come then?"
"Why, surely."
"And you? Shall you like it?"
She assented a little doubtfully.
"I think I would rather live in New York," she confessed, "but I can'tfancy Uncle there. I think that would be expecting a little too much ofhim. He still has friends and a few relatives in England."
"Pretty sporting of him to break away at all," Gregory observed, "afterall these years."
"I think it is marvellous," she agreed. "I am sure if I hadn't come,he'd rather go on living in that strange, smelly little house of hisand read Chinese manuscripts and interpret Chinese hieroglyphicsround old ornaments, and talk Chinese literature with some of thequaintest-looking people you ever saw up at the University, than doanything else in the world."
"All the same," Gregory remarked, "they say that a man should alwaysreturn to the country of his birth to end his days. Besides, China is noplace for an Englishman after a certain number of years. He'd becomenothing but an old fossil without the society of his own kind."
"What a nice, consoling
person you are," she declared. "Sometimes I'vehad it on my conscience a little that I'm taking him away from thethings he likes best in life."
"I shouldn't worry about that," he told her. "He'll be better at homeamongst some of his old cronies, and for you--well, of course, Chinawould be utterly impossible."
"I am very happy to be going to England," she assured him. "I am lookingforward to the country life immensely."
"Fond of games?" he asked her.
"Riding and tennis are the extent of my accomplishments," she replied."I like those. And then, after a year or so, I shall hope to travel onthe Continent. My aunt still has a great many friends in Paris."
"One meets so many American women and girls in France and Italy," heobserved, "and so few men. Why are they such stay at homes?"
"They aren't," she explained. "They travel, but they want something outof it. They either prospect for mines, or look for markets, or somethingof that sort."
"In a way then, they too have the adventurer's instinct. I haven't anyhead for business. When the war ended--I had been wounded twice andtransferred into the Intelligence Department--it chanced that I was inPalestine, and I went on from there to Abyssinia. From there I visitedsome friends in Bombay, and when I got home my father and I planned mylittle adventure in China."
"You certainly are some traveller," she admitted smilingly.
"So was my father before me," he confided. "He was in the DiplomaticService for some time, and lived in Pekin during the days of theMonarchy."
She suddenly looked around and saw the rising moon, a blood-red circleemerging with incredible swiftness from the edge of a black sea. Shecrossed the deck swiftly, waving to him to follow her. Halfway there hepaused. She was standing full in the light shining through theuncurtained window of the Marconi room; tall, slim and white in thewindless night--a curiously and wonderfully desirable vision. She turnedand waved to him impatiently, a smile of invitation upon her lips, hereyes full of eager delight.
"Hurry!" she cried. "Isn't it wonderful?"
He came slowly across the deck, and a little puzzled frown took theplace of her smile as he drew near.
"Why do you look at me as though you had never seen me before?" sheasked, as he took his place by her side.
"I never have, with the same eyes," he answered uneasily.
"Idiot!" she laughed. "Well, you'll have to put up with me for at leastsix weeks like this. Don't you love the stillness with just the throb ofthe engine?"
"I'd like it better without the engine," he observed. "It is beautifulenough here to make one believe that we are on our way to paradise, andthat wretched throb keeps on reminding us that our next stop is Bombay."
"Aren't you just a little inclined to be cynical to-night?" she asked.
"I don't know quite what's the matter with me," he answered restlessly."I think that terrible country behind has broken my nerve, or----"
His thoughts flashed back to his stateroom. She was suddenly intent uponlistening. From away upon the lower deck they could hear the sound ofthe orchestra. Her face lit up with pure joy.
"Dancing!" she cried. "I believe they're dancing. Why, I haven't evenheard the music since I left New York! Come along!"
She had reached the companion ladder before he could catch her up.Already her feet were moving to the music.
"Look here," he confided doubtfully, "remember I've been out of Englandfor a very long time. I'm not at all sure that I can manage these newsteps."
She slipped her arm through his in friendly fashion.
"You're the only man on board I know, and you've got to," she declaredimperiously.
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