Chapter XXXIX
The morning for Mr. Stepney had been doubly disappointing; again andagain he drew up an empty line, and at last he flung the tackle into thewell of the launch.
"Even the damn fish won't bite," he said, and the humour of his remarkcheered him. He was ten miles from the shore, and the blue coast was adim, ragged line on the horizon. He pulled out a big luncheon basketfrom the cabin and eyed it with disfavour. It had cost him two hundredfrancs. He opened the basket, and at the sight of its contents, wasinclined to reconsider his earlier view that he had wasted his money,the more so since the _maitre d'hotel_ had thoughtfully included twoquart bottles of champagne.
Mr. Marcus Stepney made a hearty meal, and by the time he had dropped anempty bottle into the sea, he was inclined to take a more cheerful viewof life. He threw over the debris of the lunch, pushed the basket underone of the seats of the cabin, pulled up his anchor and started theengines running.
The sky was a brighter blue and the sea held a finer sparkle, and hewas inclined to take a view of even Jean Briggerland, more generous thanany he had held.
"Little devil," he smiled reminiscently, as he murmured the words.
He opened the second bottle of champagne in her honour--Mr. MarcusStepney was usually an abstemious man--and drank solemnly, if notsoberly, her health and happiness. As the sun grew warmer he began tofeel an unaccountable sleepiness. He was sober enough to know that tofall asleep in the middle of the ocean was to ask for trouble, and heset the bow of the _Jungle Queen_ for the nearest beach, hoping to finda landing place.
He found something better as he skirted the shore. The sea and theweather had scooped out a big hollow under a high cliff, a hollow justbig enough to take the _Jungle Queen_ and deep and still enough toensure her a safe anchorage. A rock barrier interposed between thebreakers and this deep pool which the waves had hollowed in the stonyfloor of the ocean. As he dropped his anchor he disturbed a school offish, and his angling instincts re-awoke. He let down his line over theside, seated himself comfortable in one of the two big basket chairs,and was dozing comfortably....
It was the sound of a shot that woke him. It was followed by another,and a third. Almost immediately something dropped from the cliff, andfell with a mighty splash into the water.
Marcus was wide awake now, and almost sobered. He peered down into theclear depths, and saw a figure of a woman turning over and over. Then asit floated upwards it came on its back, and he saw the face. Without amoment's hesitation he dived into the water.
He would have been wiser if he had waited until she floated to thesurface, for now he found a difficulty in regaining the boat. After agreat deal of trouble, he managed to reach into the launch and pull outa rope, which he fastened round the girl's waist and drew tight to asmall stanchion. Then he climbed into the boat himself, and pulled herafter him.
He thought at first she was dead, but listening intently he heard thebeating of her heart, and searched the luncheon basket for a small flaskof liqueurs, which Alphonse, the head waiter, had packed. He put thebottle to her lips and poured a small quantity into her mouth. Shechoked convulsively, and presently opened her eyes.
"You're amongst friends," said Marcus unnecessarily.
She sat up and covered her face with her hands. It all came back to herin a flash, and the horror of it froze her blood.
"What has happened to you?" asked Marcus.
"I don't know exactly," she said faintly. And then: "Oh, it wasdreadful, dreadful!"
Marcus Stepney offered her the flask of liqueurs, and when she shook herhead, he helped himself liberally.
Lydia was conscious of a pain in her left shoulder. The sleeve was torn,and across the thick of the arm there was an ugly raw weal.
"It looks like a bullet mark to me," said Marcus Stepney, suddenlygrave. "I heard a shot. Did somebody shoot at you?"
She nodded.
"Who?"
She tried to frame the word, but no sound came, and then she burst intoa fit of weeping.
"Not Jean?" he asked hoarsely.
She shook her head.
"Briggerland?"
She nodded.
"Briggerland!" Mr. Stepney whistled, and as he whistled he shivered."Let's get out of here," he said. "We shall catch our death of cold. Thesun will warm us up."
He started the engines going, and safely navigated the narrow passage tothe open sea. He had to get a long way out before he could catch aglimpse of the road, then he saw the car, and a cycling policemandismounting and bending over something. He put away his telescope andturned to the girl.
"This is bad, Mrs. Meredith," he said. "Thank God I wasn't in it."
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"I'm taking you out to sea," said Marcus with a little smile. "Don't getscared, Mrs. Meredith. I want to hear that story of yours, and if it isanything like what I fear, then it would be better for you thatBriggerland thinks you are dead."
She told the story as far as she knew it and he listened, notinterrupting, until she had finished.
"Mordon dead, eh? That's bad. But how on earth are they going to explainit? I suppose," he said with a smile, "you didn't write a letter sayingthat you were going to run away with the chauffeur?"
She sat up at this.
"I did write a letter," she said slowly. "It wasn't a real letter, itwas in a story which Jean was dictating."
She closed her eyes.
"How awful," she said. "I can't believe it even now."
"Tell me about the story," said the man quickly.
"It was a story she was writing for a London magazine, and her wristhurt, and I wrote it down as she dictated. Only about three pages, butone of the pages was a letter supposed to have been written by theheroine saying that she was going away, as she loved somebody who wasbeneath her socially."
"Good God!" said Marcus, genuinely shocked. "Did Jean do that?"
He seemed absolutely crushed by the realisation of Jean Briggerland'sdeed, and he did not speak again for a long time.
"I'm glad I know," he said at last.
"Do you really think that all this time she has been trying to kill me?"
He nodded.
"She has used everybody, even me," he said bitterly. "I don't want youto think badly of me, Mrs. Meredith, but I'm going to tell you thetruth. I'd provisioned this little yacht to-day for a twelve hundredmile trip, and you were to be my companion."
"I?" she said incredulously.
"It was Jean's idea, really, though I think she must have altered herview, or thought I had forgotten all she suggested. I intended takingyou out to sea and keeping you out there until you agreed----" he shookhis head. "I don't think I could have done it really," he said, speakinghalf to himself. "I'm not really built for a conspirator. None of thatrough stuff ever appealed to me. Well, I didn't try, anyway."
"No, Mr. Stepney," she said quietly, "and I don't think, if you had, youwould have succeeded."
He was in his frankest mood, and startled her later when he told her ofhis profession, without attempting to excuse or minimise the method bywhich he earned his livelihood.
"I was in a pretty bad way, and I thought there was easy money coming,and that rather tempted me," he said. "I know you will think I am adespicable cad, but you can't think too badly of me, really."
He surveyed the shore. Ahead of them the green tongue of Cap Martinjutted out into the sea.
"I think I'll take you to Nice," he said. "We'll attract less attentionthere, and probably I'll be able to get into touch with your old Mr.Jaggs. You've no idea where I can find him? At any rate, I can go to theVilla Casa and discover what sort of a yarn is being told."
"And probably I can get my clothes dry," she said with a little grimace."I wonder if you know how uncomfortable I am?"
"Pretty well," he said calmly. "Every time I move a new stream of waterruns down my back."
It was half-past three in the afternoon when they reached Nice, andMarcus saw the girl safely to an hote
l, changed himself and brought theyacht back to Monaco, where Briggerland had seen him.
For two hours Marcus Stepney wrestled with his love for a girl who wasplainly a murderess, and in the end love won. When darkness fell heprovisioned the _Jungle Queen_, loaded her with petrol, and heading herout to sea made the swimming cove of Cap Martin. It was to the boat thatJean flew.
"What about my father?" she asked as she stepped aboard.
"I think they've caught him," said Marcus.
"He'll hate prison," said the girl complacently. "Hurry, Marcus, I'dhate it, too!"
The Angel of Terror Page 39
