Fighting Byng: A Novel of Mystery, Intrigue and Adventure
Page 15
CHAPTER XV
For a long time the Transatlantic Banking Company, which I havementioned on several occasions, puzzled me. I wondered if it was trulya big bank, and why it should hold an interest in Bulow and Company.My suspicion was that it might figure in the matter at hand as it didin Howard Byng's affairs fifteen years previously.
That point mystified me. It took a long time to reason it out,although I was looking for the cloven-hoof in banks, and evengovernments, and I did believe that the Kaiser had been planning aworld conquest ever since he tucked France's thousand millions intohis wallet and went away with his chest out.
I did believe that the Germans nourished and practiced morganaticmarriage, the well-spring of most all forms of concubinage anddegeneracy, liberally imported to New York and all other large citiesof the world--the tap-root of the social evil. The entire German royalcrowd are sexual degenerates. We allow the male as well as the femaleof this species to enter respectable residential sections, socialclubs, and churches, there to rub elbows and even kiss with theirscarlet lips girls and boys, thus encouraging further acquaintancewith their kind of "morality."
We can see all that now, but I, like millions of others, didn't fallfor its enormity until actually struck by lightning, so to speak.
The Kaiser's coterie had started out to seduce the world, and came witha clean, pink face. Kultur, music, art, science--frequently stolen--astab at literature, and a big display of substance--money--were usedas wedges. They began as the libertine always begins, by cloakingthemselves as respectable. Hell's reward is ashes, bitter, acrid,scalding ashes, slow in coming and sometimes at the expense of bloodand millions. Adjectives, adverbs and qualifying phrases have losttheir power to convey a conception of the underground system of theHun.
While we dislike sermons and smile sometimes at our own moralizing,and hate bristling, pregnant facts, nevertheless we have faced a wallof them, and it remains to be seen whether we smash it, therebyletting in the noonday sun, or shall walk cowardly around the truth tofurther plague ourselves and generations to come.
I took the early train to Canby's place next morning, convinced thatBulow and Company's cutter was going out on an expedition that meantharm to the little girl's father, whom I had not met. I wonderedif his delightful daughter, whom I had learned to venerate, wouldallow me to use a motorboat so I could go to her father. I foundmyself thinking of her as an "oasis on a barren Key." Of how muchself-interest was concealed in that who shall be the judge? I meanthe possibility of excitement, lure of danger, of serving and makinga record with the Government which signed my vouchers. This childwould become a valuable witness. I recalled what the old judge hadsaid about the odor the papers gave off to him--white paper and inkcan give a terrible stench to our sixth sense if one has the nostrilsto detect it.
I walked through the store and came out on the big veranda, only tosee her hurrying in from among her flowers. Coal-black Don was sittingon the wharf, bareheaded.
"Mr. Wood, I knew it must be you because the train never stops foranyone else!" she exclaimed, naively, coming up and offering me adelicate but firm little hand. "Is there something wrong? Are we goingto get the goods? Daddy was so glad I ordered them and is planning onthem.
"He started early for the Tortugas and will not come back till late. Itried to keep him here, and out of the water, but I can't. I know heis diving again. I can tell by his red eyes when he returns. He talksabout doing it so that I may go North to school, and makes me forgethow hard he is working by telling me how much fun it is, and how hemade a dummy man for the sharks to charge at. As soon as they bite atit a torpedo goes off and kills them. He says that long before he getsold he will really quit, and we will be so happy together."
"But I want to see your father this morning; in fact, it isimportant," I insisted quietly.
"Is it very--very important?"
"Yes, it is very important." I'll admit I lacked courage to tell herwhy, for it seemed a pity to disturb her delightful state of mind.
"I could take you out there in the _Titian_, but my father would bedispleased if it were not something very important. I never did thatbefore," she said, coming closer and eyeing me fearlessly.
"Your father would not be displeased. He would say you were thebravest and best little girl in the world." She had apparently beentaught to obey and never thought to ask why I wanted to see him.
"Oh, I will gladly go. I love the water and the _Titian_ is so fastand seems to love it, too," and with no more ado she called to Don tobring the _Titian_ alongside the wharf and take off the cover.
The negro slid off, turtlelike, into the ebb tide and waded out to theboat, which he soon made ready for the trip.
The girl felt for her shark knife, to be sure it was there, and wentinto the store and got her rifle. "Daddy says for me never to go outwithout a rifle and a shark knife, as I may need them any time," sheexplained as I looked on wonderingly.
"He says, with a shark knife, rifle, some 'terrors,' an oxygen tankand a good boat, there is little danger," she volunteered, somehowthinking it necessary to reassure me as we walked to the power boatnow ready for us.
The boat evidenced a feminine touch. Painted, varnished, brass shiningspick and span, as would the engine room of an ocean liner. Perhapsthirty-five feet over all without a cabin, though there were bunks fortwo in the bow ahead of the steering wheel protected from the weatherby a cowl over which the little girl could just see when standing. Theshining, six-cylinder motor, with up-to-date starter and reverseclutch, was in the center at the bottom of an open cockpit extendingclear astern, surrounded by seats under which was closed storagespace.
"You see," she said, placing the rifle in a convenient leather holsterunder which hung binoculars, "we used this boat to sponge from for along time, but since Daddy got the _Sprite_ and gave the _Titian_ tome I have changed it some--and painted it up to suit myself," sheadded, as the motor sprang into life at her touch. The cutter movedinstantly toward the entrance of the little bay and out on the Gulfinto a slight head wind.
"Better come up here under the cowl, for she throws a spray after shegets full headway, even if there is no sea," she warned, not movingher eyes from her steering course and glancing occasionally at thecompass in the miniature binnacle.
I took a seat on the side opposite her, protected from the spray asthe _Titian_ eagerly reached ahead. The craft seemed vitalized by herpresence, and sped like the wind over the long swells now cominghead-on from somewhere out in the great Gulf.
She charmed me, standing there at the wheel, on the opposite side ofthe cockpit, receiving the spray on her boyishly cropped hair--abaptismal glory. She was a picture with her perfectly shaped, naturalfeet, plump but sinuous legs bare to the knees, brown arms, remarkablechest, chiseled nose and chin, and a wonderfully calm, seraphic face,delighted with the exhilaration of motion and speed. Her great thoughtwas that she was performing some big service for the father she lovedso much. The picture will remain with me forever.
"How long will it take to get there?" I finally asked, thinking of thepossibilities in Bulow and Company's movements. My intuition hadflogged me to suspect certain happenings during the previous night,after I had parted from Scotty. Notwithstanding a good night's sleepmy suspicions were even yet strong within me, and I actually prayedthat results would spare this child from a knowledge of the savageryof the people with whom I was likely to deal.
I was positive that harm was meant to Canby, when and where was theonly question. But why did they want him?--why the warrants? Why theirvisit to his warehouse?--and why their cannon and rifles, and otherparaphernalia?
The child finally seemed to come out of a delightful reverie. Sheglanced back at the motor, whose every valve, spring and cylinder washumanized--biting eagerly in answer to her will.
"If Daddy is where I think he is we will reach him in another halfhour; it's only about twenty-five miles from here and the _Titian_behaves well. She knows she has a guest aboard," she added with asmile.
I looked at my watch. We would arrive there a little after twelve. Ifthe little Scottish engineer had not failed we would be there in time,and then I could have another laugh at my ominous premonition thatcounseled such extreme haste and energy.
Finally I saw the little girl's hand leave the wheel, and reach. Iwatched her take from the leather pocket a pair of glasses and raisethem to her eyes, meanwhile steering with the other hand.
I am willing to admit a thrill of relief when she exclaimed:
"There he is. I can see the _Sprite_ now, I know her, as far as I cansee--her lines are so different."
I arose hastily and peered in the direction she indicated. She handedme the glasses. I could but faintly discern the boat, but we weretraveling so fast I soon made out a trim motor boat about as long asthe Boche cutter, evidently anchored to the leeward of one of thestraggling coral formations of the Tortugas group. I swept the sea,but at that moment could see no other vessel. She must have noted myrelief as I returned the glasses.
"I was sure I could go straight to him. I haven't missed it much," shesaid, clapping her hands delightedly. "You see I wasn't two points offwhere he is anchored," she added, changing her course to bear directlydown upon him, the spot now easily visible to the naked eye.Anticipation of the loving welcome she would receive beaming in herhappy face.
My exultation did not last long. I detected something moving in thesea beyond the island. I reached for the glasses instantly to assuremyself that my imagination was not tricking me. Without a possibledoubt the Boche boat was coming up toward Canby's boat, shielded bythe little island.
Scotty's work had delayed them some, but not quite enough. Heavyforebodings again possessed me as I watched the boat stealthilyapproaching. Screened by the island between it and the Canby boat, itdashed forward at express speed. The _Sprite_ was manifestly at anchorwith no signs of life aboard. No doubt Canby was diving and the Bochehad selected that moment in which to strike.