Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER XIII

  When Peter descended the stairway into the narrow vestibule whichserved as reception-hall, dining-saloon, and, incidentally, as thecorridor from which the _Hankow's_ four small staterooms were entered,he had the chilly feeling that the darkness had eyes.

  Yet he saw nothing. The cabin was dark. Three round ports glimmeredgreenly beyond the staircase on the cabin's forward side. The glimmerwas occasioned by the refracted rays of the _Hankow's_ dazzlingsearchlight. But these were not the ones he felt.

  Gradually his own eyes became accustomed to the pulp-like darkness. Hesteadied his body against the gentle swaying of the steamer, andendeavored to listen above, or through, the imminent thrashing andclattering of the huge engine.

  He examined the four stateroom doors anxiously. As the darkness beganto dissolve slightly, Peter, still conscious that eyes were fastenedupon him, made the discovery that the stateroom adjoining his wasslightly ajar. The moon favored him--Miss Vost's impersonal moon. Itoutlined against the slit what appeared to be a large, irregular block.

  Peter decided that the irregular block was nothing more nor less thanthe head of a man. To prove that his surmise was correct, Peterquickly shifted the revolver from his right hand to his left, broughtit even with his eyes and--struck a match.

  In the startling flare of the phosphorus the evil glint of Celestialeyes was instantly revealed in the partly opened door.

  With incredible softness the door was closed. Where there had beenhalf-lidded eyes, a positive snarl, and a shock of blue-black hair wasnow a white-enameled panel.

  Peter continued to smile along the barrel, which glistened in the dyingflame of the match. He unlocked his door, closed it, and shot thebolt. Switching on the electric light, he cautiously drew back thesheet. Apparently satisfied, he sniffed the air. It was nothing morethan stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so isapt to be.

  Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-boundport-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneouslyvoices came into the room.

  Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tensesyllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing onthe deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from hisporthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surgingwater.

  "But I do--I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumblingvoice. "Ever since you set foot on the old _Sunyado Maru_ I've beenyour shadow--your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly.

  "Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She becameabruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you--ever so much.But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understandme. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're toosudden--too brutal--too----"

  "Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you----"

  "But I don't _need_ shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless,and--twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!"

  "Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie."I--I just want----"

  "You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me."

  "You love somebody else, then. That young pup!"

  Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon.

  "Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted MissVost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respecthim very, _very_ much."

  "He can't fool around any girl of mine!"

  Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if hemight have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that.

  "A girl of _yours_!" snapped Miss Vost.

  Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminatedby a long, light, and delicious laugh.

  "Bobbie, you're so _funny_!" Miss Vost gurgled.

  "I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently.

  "You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped.

  "_Why_ should _I_ go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice.

  "To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die inLiauchow. So runs the proverb."

  "Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie.

  "Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, andLiauchow the best coffins!"