Lady Penrose nodded. “Very well,” she said briskly. “I want the head of Captain Tollhurst on a charger.”
“Oh!” said Carstairs, relieved. “Oh, is that all? What a fuss to make about a little thing like that! I have no doubt Tollhurst will be delighted.”
“His feelings don’t matter. Now, you have passed your word, you know; there is no escape for you. I want — a mutiny.”
“What, as well as Tollhurst’s head?” inquired her astonished host.
“Same thing,” said Lady Penrose. “Captain Tollhurst will lose his head when it happens and the thing is done. He will never hold it up again.”
Carstairs became grave. “You are not serious,” he protested.
“Never more so in my life,” said Lady Penrose, cheerfully.
“I know better,” said Carstairs stoutly. “You are far too kind and good-natured and thoughtful for others, and—”
“Suppose we stop this unwholesome flattery and get to business,” quoted the other, smiling.
“And you mustn’t forget that Tollhurst is my guest,” concluded Carstairs gravely.
“And you mustn’t forget that you promised me,” said Lady Penrose. “Oh, I can see myself clinging to his arm and begging him to save me. Like this, you know!”
She clung lightly to Carstairs’ arm and gazed at him appealingly.
“Well, he would if you looked at him like that,” he said, with a laugh, as she released his arm. “He couldn’t help himself. And suppose he takes the thing seriously and kills somebody? Besides, think how frightened the ladies would be. It is impossible.”
“I will arrange for the ladies,” said Lady Penrose dryly.
“It isn’t fair to Tollhurst,” said Carstairs, shaking his head obstinately. “It can’t be done.”
“Why not? It gives him the opportunity of his life. Think what a magnificent chance it gives him of displaying his courage. You don’t doubt his valour, do you?”
“Your duplicity,” said Carstairs mournfully, “is shocking.”
“And I’m sure the sailors would enjoy it.
Poor fellows; their lives are very grey, Mr. Carstairs, very grey.”
“Nothing to what mine would be,” said Carstairs. “You won’t hold me to my promise, Lady Penrose?”
“I certainly shall,” she answered. “And here comes Captain Vobster,” she added, as the burly figure of the skipper came down from the bridge. “Oh, captain!”
“Ma’am,” said the skipper, pausing and raising his cap.
“Mr. Carstairs has got a little request to make. He was waiting to speak to you about it.”
“Yes, sir?” said Vobster, looking from one to the other.
Carstairs shifted in his seat. “Lady Penrose finds life at sea rather dull, captain,” he said, after an awkward pause, “and she was suggesting a little excitement which I feel sure you would not care to permit.”
“Mr. Carstairs, that’s not fair,” said Lady Penrose sharply.
Captain Vobster gazed at her with admiration. “Anything that I can do to oblige Lady Penrose, sir—” he began.
Lady Penrose returned his glance of admiration with interest. “Thank you, Captain Vobster,” she said warmly. “I felt sure of your support.”
There was another long pause, broken at last by Carstairs. “Lady Penrose was wondering whether you could provide a little — er — er — amusement,” he said desperately.
“Amusement!” repeated the skipper, and, tilting his cap, scratched his head as an aid to thought.
“We want the crew to amuse us, captain,” explained Lady Penrose.
The skipper’s face cleared and his cap settled back into its place. “Crew,” he said meditatively. “Lemme see. There’s one of ’em plays the concertina, I know, because I’ve stopped him at it half a dozen times. And there’s one of ’em can walk on his hands surprising well. Mr. Pope met him doing it night before last, and it gave him quite a shock.”
Carstairs sighed. “Ah, I’m afraid Lady Penrose wouldn’t be satisfied with simple, healthy amusements of that kind; she wants something more elaborate. This conversation is quite private, captain?”
“Certainly, sir,” said that mystified mariner.
“Well, she — er — wants you to — to arrange a mutiny.”
“As soon as possible,” added the smiling Lady Penrose, “before it leaks out. Tomorrow would do.”
“A mutiny!” ejaculated the startled Vobster. “A mutiny! What, aboard of my ship?”
“Only an imitation one, you know,” said Carstairs. “Just pretending.”
“A little play, really,” explained Lady Penrose hastily. “Like a charade, you know, or Dumbo Crambo. The crew seizing the passengers — only the men, of course — and holding the officers down.”
“Hold—” repeated the skipper, in a strangulated voice. “Hold — holding the — I think I see ’em doing it. I think I see ’em — I — I”
His face turned a deep purple and the veins in his neck swelled. Past speech, he took a turn up and down, gobbling helplessly. Lady Penrose sat regarding him with gentle interest.
“It is only fun, Captain Vobster,” she said softly; “and the men would enjoy it so. They don’t have much amusement, poor things. Their lives are very grey.”
The skipper pulled up short and stood eyeing her. “And they’d be black and blue, too, before I’d done with them, if they laid hands on me,” he growled.
“Then you refuse to give your consent, captain?” said Carstairs, with great cheerfulness.
“With all respect to you, sir, most certainly,” said Vobster, still breathing hard. “I’ve been asked to do a good many things in my life, but I’ve never been asked before to let a pack of idle, good-for-nothing fo’c’sle sweepings hold me down. Never!”
“I’m so sorry,” said Carstairs, turning to Lady Penrose, with an air of gentle regret, “but you see how it is, don’t you? I was afraid all along that Captain Vobster wouldn’t. You see, there is such a strong idea of discipline rooted in—”
“Yes, I know,” said Lady Penrose impatiently, “but it’s a great disappointment to me. Please leave me to myself for a minute or two; I want to think.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Carstairs, rising. “Come along, captain.”
“I want him,” said Lady Penrose calmly, as the relieved skipper turned to obey.
Carstairs started, and meeting the skipper’s eye gave him a glance full of warning; Vobster, in return, favoured him with something as near a wink as his sense of discipline would allow.
“Come and sit here,” said Lady Penrose, with a gracious smile, as Carstairs walked off.
“I want to talk to you.”
Captain Vobster looked around helplessly, and, accepting the inevitable, planted himself in the chair. A graven image would have looked more amenable to reason. Bolt upright, with his clenched fists on his knees, he sat ready to refuse all overtures.
“Have you ever set your heart upon having anything?” she inquired, in a small, timid voice.
“Very often,” was the reply.
“Ah, you can sympathise with me, then,” remarked Lady Penrose gently.
“And, generally speaking,” said Captain Vobster, nodding to himself with great satisfaction, “it turned out fortunate for me that I didn’t get it.”
“How nice!” she murmured, with a vindictive glance. “But when you were engaged, Captain Vobster, and your fiancée asked you for anything—”
“She didn’t,” interrupted the skipper, freshly.
“No?”
“No; she waited until we were married. Then,” continued Captain Vobster, his face darkening, “she made up for it.”
“It comes to the same thing,” said Lady Penrose hopefully.
“Yes — she didn’t get it,” said Vobster, with a chuckle.
Lady Penrose laughed, and the skipper, relaxing, took up a more comfortable position.
“It is no good for anybody to try and get the bett
er of you, Captain Vobster,” she said, in admiring accents. “You have too much strength of mind. Do you know that in manner and appearance you remind me very much of Lord Merton?”
The astonished Vobster put his cap straight. “Indeed!” he murmured.
“The likeness is extraordinary; even your voices are alike. When we get back I must introduce you; then you can see for yourself. You will come and see me, won’t you?”
“I shall be delighted,” was the reply.
“And then I shall be able to ask Mrs. Vobster about those things she didn’t get.”
The skipper shifted a little in his seat. “Oh, she’d be sure to tell you she got ’em,” he said uneasily. “You see — she — she has got a sort of idea rooted in her head that she gets her own way. ‘Course, I need hardly say — —”
“Of course,” agreed his listener, “anybody could see that.”
“It pleases her, and it don’t hurt me, if you understand.”
“Perfectly,” said Lady Penrose. “Now, Captain Vobster, as a special favour to me won’t you oblige by helping us in our little play? It is only just private theatricals, and we can’t do it without your consent. On board ship the captain is, of course, master. His word is law.”
The unhappy skipper looked about him helplessly. “I never heard of such a thing before,” he said awkwardly. “Never.”
“Neither have I,” said the temptress frankly; “and, of course, with most captains I shouldn’t have dreamt of such a thing. With an ordinary captain, destitute of any sense of humour, it would be impossible. Really — to tell you a secret — it was observing the command you have over your men that made me think of it first, I believe. That and your likeness to Lord Merton. He would have jumped at it. Shall we walk?”
She rose, and, placing her hand on the skipper’s arm, paced slowly up and down. Her face expressed gentle resignation.
“You see, it’s the sailormen,” said the perturbed Vobster, after half a dozen turns.
Lady Penrose nodded. “Of course; but I know you well enough to know that you would have them thoroughly in hand all the time.”
“And it would look so bad for me,” continued the skipper. “What should I be supposed to be doing while those lazy rascals of mine were mutinying?”
“That would be all right,” she said softly. “I thought of you first.”
Vobster smiled. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, “but I don’t see—”
“Six of the biggest and most powerful men in the ship must seize you suddenly from behind and gag and bind you.”
“Bind!” spluttered the skipper, dropping her arm and springing back. “Bind! Gag! Bind and gag me? What, sailormen? ME!”
“And Mr. Carstairs and Sir Edward Talwyn and the others,” said Lady Penrose, in a coaxing voice. “You won’t be alone. Sir Edward is one of the oldest baronets in the kingdom, and he’ll enjoy it. I am sure of it. Now, Captain Vobster, you will, won’t you?” She took his arm again without any assistance from him and gazed at him in mute appeal. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t like to be a spoil-sport,” he began firmly, “but when—”
“And you won’t,” she interrupted, with conviction. “I am sure you won’t. After all, it’s only acting. Why, I’ve seen a prince play the part of a servant-girl, in a dirty cap and apron with his nose smutted. Now, I’m not suggesting anything so undignified for you.”
“Not gagging?” demanded the skipper thickly.
“Nothing like so bad. Of course, the men will only pretend to bind you,” said Lady Penrose, looking up as Pope and Carstairs came towards them. “Oh, Mr. Carstairs, Captain Vobster, in the noblest fashion, has consented.”
“EH?” said Carstairs and Vobster, in tones of blank amazement.
“He is a born actor,” continued Lady Penrose. “He saw all sorts of possibilities in the part. He is going to be bound and gagged. Pretend to be, I mean.”
“I — I” began the indignant skipper, “I — I’m afraid—”
“Now, Captain Vobster,” said Lady Penrose, with conviction, “I am quite sure that nothing could make you afraid.”
“Bound and gagged?” repeated Pope, open-eyed. “Why, what’s he done?”
“H’sh! Nothing,” said Lady Penrose, with a radiant smile at the fermenting Vobster. “Nothing, except to refuse to say ‘ No’ to a lady.”
“Well, nobody expected him to do that,” said the mystified Pope.
Captain Vobster looked about him with the helpless gaze of a trapped animal. “Very well,” he said thickly. “Very well; but I must have instructions from you before witnesses, sir. I won’t do it without. And I’ll have ’em in writing.”
“Better do it now,” said the triumphant Lady Penrose before Carstairs could speak. “Come along, Mr. Pope. Now, Mr. Carstairs.”
She walked towards the drawing-room, the two gentlemen following, leaving Captain Vobster a prey to gloom alone on the deck. A harmless seaman passing to his work found himself brought up by a gaze of cold and concentrated venom. He faltered, and stood still.
“WELL?” inquired the skipper, in a hurricane voice.
“Yessir,” said the man, and, backing slowly, turned and fled.
“Gagged!” said Vobster, to the mainmast, in a broken voice. “By sailormen!”
CHAPTER XVIII
MR. POPE, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed in thought, paced slowly up and down the deck. His face was grave and the lines on his brow suggested worry. Knight, coming out from the smoke-room, eyed him with concern.
“Halloa!” he cried, “what’s the matter? Seen a blackbeetle?”
Pope gave him a baleful glance over the top of his glasses. “Run away and play,” he said shortly.
“Right-o,” said the other, crouching. “I’ll hop you twice round the ship for tuppence.”
“And try and be serious for once,” said the older man, reddening. “I’ve got things to think about.”
“What things?”
“Cabinet secrets,” said Pope loftily.
“What are they? Now, it’s no use looking at me in that fashion; you ought to know that by this time.”
“Well, I can’t tell you,” grunted the other, looking around carefully. “Better go away; if Lady Penrose sees us she may think I am talking about things I oughtn’t to.”
Knight nodded. “You go to your cabin,” he said, in the low tones of a conspirator, “and I’ll come in for a cigar.”
Pope shook his head, but without decision, and after a turn or two disappeared. Knight gave him a couple of minutes’ grace, and then entered his cabin.
“Halloa! Who’d have thought of seeing you here?” he exclaimed.
“Do be serious,” said Pope testily. “I’ve a good mind to tell you, because I’m afraid things might get out of hand if I don’t. They’re shoving all the responsibility on to me.”
“They generally do,” murmured the other, eyeing him carefully. “I don’t know what Carstairs would do without you.”
“If things go wrong,” said Pope, biting the end off a cigar and placing it in his mouth while he fumbled in his pocket for matches, “they’ll blame me. Everybody will; Lady Penrose said so. Carstairs has given me full powers; he has left all the details to me.”
Knight made a sympathetic noise and waited. To pass the time he took a cigar, and let it out two minutes later in his interest at Pope’s revelations.
“And I’m only telling you,” concluded the latter, “because I thought that if you took it seriously things might go a bit too far. It would be a serious thing if you broke anybody’s head.”
“It would,” said Knight grimly; “and more serious still if they broke mine. I’m going to tell Maloney; his temper is not exactly lamb-like. And what about the ladies? They’ll be scared to death.”
“I am to prepare them,” replied Pope. “I’ve got to do everything, it seems to me. Lady Penrose doesn’t want to appear in it, and Carstairs says he washes his hands of
it. I’ve had no end of difficulty in trying to explain to the bo’sun what he has got to do. He is to be the ringleader.”
“They couldn’t have left it in more capable hands,” said Knight warmly. “They have avoided disaster by relying on your common sense. And Vobster has got written instructions?”
Pope nodded, and Knight, relighting his cigar, paused to pay a few more well-turned compliments, and withdrew. In the solitude of his own cabin he sat for some time considering ways and means of turning the information he had received to his own advantage. He had an idea that it would be an odd thing if he could not fish to some purpose in such troubled waters as a mutiny, and Maloney, whose cabin he invaded after dinner, felt disposed to agree with him. In low tones they discussed the situation.
“It’s a bit hard on Tollhurst,” said Knight slowly.
“We might give him the tip,” suggested the doctor.
Knight shook his head. “I’ve got a better plan,” he said, “if I could only get it carried out.”
He bent to the doctor’s ear, and whispered.
“Eh?” said the other, starting back. “Nonsense. It’s impossible!”
“We’ll see,” said Knight. “With your assistance and—”
“You can count me out,” interrupted the doctor coldly. “I’m not very particular, but Carstairs happens, for the time being, to be my employer.”
“It would be doing him a good turn,” said Knight eagerly.
“Also, there is a lady in the case,” continued the other.
“Of course there is,” retorted Knight. “I’ve just been telling you. It’s her scheme, and there’s no reason why she should object to having it touched up a little bit here and there. That’s all I propose to do.”
The doctor laughed and stretched himself. “How are you going to manage it?” he inquired.
“I’m going to enlist the services of Biggs. I’ve left word for him to come round to my cabin at ten to-night. You can come, too, if you like. I’m disappointed in you —
I thought you’d have jumped at the idea. Anyway, I know you’ll keep quiet. Pity you haven’t got more spirit.”
Maloney shifted. “That’ll do,” he said curtly. “And I don’t think Biggs’ll be much use to you.”
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 93
