“Of which you are a master Count—I suspect.”
“And you Madame an apt pupil—as you have proved.”
“But travel is not the only thing in life.”
“By no means. I am a poor man and so have little choice but to wander as economically as I can from one pleasant spot to another. If I were rich I should spend at least half the year in London, Paris, and New York. In each—if I were very rich of course—I should keep a fine house in the old tradition. It would be no more expensive than occupying luxury suites at the big hotels and infinitely more comfortable. I should stock my cellars with great wines and appoint three Cordon Bleus to be my chefs; for the lure of a superlatively fine table rarely fails to attract the great brains of the world. Artists, scientists, men of letters, diplomats, statesmen, great beauties, prima donnas and all the men and women who are moulding the world that we shall know to-morrow would be my guests in carefully selected parties where each would be invited to meet some other that they wished to know.
“As I am blessed with a tolerant disposition I should doubtless make many real friends among them and learn much of their hopes and fears, also perhaps something of those fascinating hidden motives, of which the great public never know, but which actuate the policies of men of power and often change the whole lives of many million people. Especially too I would seek for struggling talent among young people and by my introductions bring it to the light. That is a selfish thought perhaps but few pleasures can be so harmless or bring such satisfaction as being the means of helping people of ability to recognition. Then, when I tired of all their chatter I should be more selfish still and, leaving them for a period, sail away to refresh myself by visiting the marvels of India, Egypt. China or Peru.”
Camilla knew that he was really speaking of the life he would make for her if she would marry him. It would be wonderful, she thought, to be a real Grande Dame, and a personality among the people who mattered in the world instead of just a rich girl throwing costly parties for hordes of nonentities whom she hardly knew. She saw herself receiving at the head of a great staircase in some old ducal mansion, accepting the homage of the writers and painters who, by her patronage, she had brought from poverty to fame, or listening in her salon to inventors and explorers as they told her of their latest discoveries before disclosing their secrets to the common world.
Axel was not boasting about his genius for friendship, she felt sure of that. His personality and breeding would secure him a place on equal terms with people of any rank, his brain and learning enable him to converse with the most intelligent, and his sure taste gave him a ready sympathy towards all creators of real beauty in any form. Given the money to pay for the right setting Camilla was certain that he was capable of carrying his wife to almost any height of influence and importance. It would be fun to travel too with a man who possessed such a wide knowledge of the world yet never laboured his learning and, in addition, was such an even tempered and amusing companion. But there was one thing he had not mentioned so Camilla asked with a sly smile.
“Is that everything you want in life, Count?”
“No Camilla,” he answered softly. “As a connoisseur of all things beautiful I want you for my wife.”
Truly Count Axel was an artist in other things besides travel. The very syllables of her christian name coming so firmly but unexpectedly from him, was more effective than a score of platitudes.
There was a slight jolt as the bathysphere landed on its runners and next moment pandemonium reigned as the sailors on the platform attacked the bolts of the steel door with their heavy hammers.
Five minutes later Camilla was on deck again surrounded by her anxious friends.
“It was marvellous,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Absolutely wonderful—you’ve no idea.”
“Tell us,” they cried, “did you see any fish!”
She threw back her golden head and gave way to peals of laughter, then still gurgling she turned to Axel. “Listen to them! Did we see any fish! Scores my dears, hundreds, and every colour of the rainbow.”
“Do tell us about it,” pleaded Sally.
“I can’t darling. It’s utterly impossible. It’s another world, fairyland, heaven, I don’t know. And the light—the brilliance of it—that amazing blue.”
“Light!—down there?” expostulated Nicky.
“Yes, yes, I can’t explain it but it almost makes the sunshine look pale by comparison, and it’s not the tiniest bit frightening. I know one thing. Every time the bathysphere goes down again I’m going too. But I’m ravenous. It’s getting on for three—have you all had lunch?”
They confessed that they had not, but had been hanging about on deck for the last hour and a half wondering if they would ever see her alive again.
Even the taciturn little Doctor was cheerful over the belated meal that followed. It was his second descent in the sphere and, as on the first occasion off the Scillies, his apparatus had worked splendidly. Only a pint and a half of water had been found in the bathysphere’s concave bottom after the dive and he saw no reason that he should not descend in it to much greater depths with equal safety.
After lunch Nicky cornered Sally. “Look here,” he said “I want to talk to you.”
“All right,” Sally smiled. “It’s a free country—ship I mean. Come on deck and don’t look so serious about it.”
“But I am serious,” he announced as soon as they had settled down. “It’s about Camilla.”
“How disappointing, I thought you were going to make love to me.”
“You didn’t!”
“Of course I didn’t. You are a fool Nicky. But quite apart from any question of making love you’d be far wiser at least to pretend a friendly interest in people for their own sakes when you want something out of them.”
“I didn’t say that I wanted anything out of you.”
“But you do.”
“Well yes—in a way—but I’ve been thinking a lot lately and what I want to talk to you about will benefit you too.”
Sally glanced suspiciously at his fine regular features and rather weak mouth. In a way she was sorry for Nicky, most women were when they did not fall desperately for his rather feminine good looks. She knew that his vanity and egoism were not entirely his own fault. Success had come to him when he was still too young to keep any sense of proportion. The flattery of the insincere but anxious to please artists who wanted minor parts in his pictures, and the adulation expressed in his feminine fan mail had gone to his head. Like others among the more sensible of her sex she remained quite untouched by what he believed to be his irresistible fascination for women, but had an instinct to mother him, and make allowances for his shortcomings which men, who mostly loathed him on sight, were quite unprepared to do.
“All right,” she said, “fire away.”
“Well you don’t have much of a life—do you?”
“How exactly do you mean?”
“You’re entirely dependent on Camilla—and at her beck and call all the time.”
“Yes—I suppose I am. Anyhow for the moment.”
“Why for the moment only.”
“Well I might marry you know.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “you might but not before Camilla.”
“Thank you Nicky.”
“Oh no offence, but the odds are all on her—aren’t they.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
“I’d hate to see her marry this rotten dago Prince,” he exclaimed with sudden venom.
“Now Nicky don’t be naughty. Vladimir is just a nice large healthy animal. He’s a gay and affectionate person too but if you will persist in sticking pins in him and making fun of his quaint English you can’t expect him to be nice to you.”
“I don’t give a dime if he’s nice or not. Do you think Camilla is likely to fall for him?”
“I’ve no idea. You’d better ask Camilla.”
“Not very helpful are you?”
“Well, I
don’t think there is any immediate danger of her becoming Princess Renescu.”
“Good. Well the Count’s out of it anyway. He’s far too old. Now about me? What do you think of my chances?”
“Honestly I can’t say, Nicky. She likes you a lot I’m sure, and last night she was talking to me in her cabin about your idea of making her a film star. She seemed terribly intrigued by that but—”
“Did she,” he interrupted joyfully. “That’s fine! Now look here Sally this is where you come in. She thinks a lot of you. Just back me all you know and I’ll see you right. Tell her I’m the Katz pyjamas and do everything you can to sheer her off that rotten Prince. Then, the day she marries me I’ll give you a cheque that will make you independent of her for life—get me?”
Sally got him so thoroughly that for a second her mouth hung open with sheer amazement at his audacity in trying to bribe her, but she shut it slowly and murmured: “Yes—I get you Nicky.”
“Well—is it a deal?”
“I don’t quite know,” Sally hedged. “Do you really love her?”
“Sure,” Nicky declared airily, “I love her lots and I’m not after her cash like those other two. I make the sort of big money that most folks would be mighty glad to have.”
“Even then I hardly like to influence her judgment, besides—after all—I might get married myself and then I wouldn’t need the cheque—would I?”
“Oh nuts. It’s always good for a girl to have her own income. She can tell her old man where he gets off if he starts any rough stuff then. And who could you marry anyway unless—” He paused suddenly.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you’ve got your eye on that old Naval bird. He’s not interested in Camilla—but you’re always cooped up in some corner with him.” Nicky swung round to face her with a jerk. “By Jabez! Sure enough that’s why he was brought along on this fool trip.”
Sally flushed scarlet but she kept her grey eyes steady as she shrugged. “What nonsense! Nicky you do get the most absurd ideas. The McKay is old enough to be my father—almost. Besides he’s an arrant coward and I’ve no time for men who’re as spineless as all that.”
“Coward my foot! You can’t put that over on me.” Nicky grinned. “Everyone knows he’s a V.C. and that’s the highest buttonhole they dish out for glory in the British Isles.”
“How do you know that?” Sally asked with veiled curiosity.
“A fellar back in the hotel told me before we started out. He won it at Zeebrugge or Jutland or some place where they cut each other’s throats when I was in my pram. For jumping on a dock I think it was and shooting down ten Germans while his pals fixed a ladder from their ship. Murderous old devil, the thought of all those fools slaughtering each other makes me feel absolutely sick.”
“Yes Nicky I suppose it does,” murmured Sally thoughtfully.
“Now what about our little arrangement eh? If you’ve got a fancy for old square face that makes no difference to our deal, so can I consider it all fixed?”
“I’ll think about it Nicky,” she replied standing up. “For the moment I’m just remaining neutral if you don’t mind. I’ve got some letters to write now so I’m going below.”
“You won’t say a word about this eh?” he asked anxiously.
“No,” she shook her head, “I’m good at keeping secrets; and I’ll let you know later if I feel I need that cheque.”
Sally’s letters were of no immediate importance and she was much more anxious to have a few words with the McKay. When she found him however he was deep in a discussion with Count Axel about New Zealand, for both had visited the country and they discovered that they had mutual friends living there.
The moment being unpropitious Sally left them and it was not until after dinner, when the ship had dropped anchor off the little town of Horta, their base in the Azores, that she managed to get him on his own.
He was leaning on the rail placidly smoking a cigar as he watched the lights of the tiny port when Sally came up and said abruptly: “I owe you an apology.”
“Oh that’s all right m’dear,” he replied casually turning to smile over his shoulder at her. “Children are always apt to be impetuous but aged people like myself get accustomed to making allowances for the error of their ways.”
“You’re not aged—and I’m not a child,” she protested sullenly.
“Yes, you are m’dear—and a very pretty one.”
“You brute.” Sally felt her cheeks glow in the darkness. “You would choose a moment like this to say things like that—wouldn’t you? But I had no idea you were a V.C.”
“Oh that! Who’s been telling tales out of school, eh?”
“Nicky—he heard it from a man in the hotel. He says you did terribly brave things at Zeebrugge. Won’t you tell me about it?”
He wrinkled up his nose in faint mockery and began to sing in his deep bass voice:
“What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Hoist him up with a running bowline
Early in the morn-ing.”
“No seriously,” Sally said in a wheedling voice, “do tell me?”
“There isn’t much to tell. It was a dark and stormy night and the Captain said to the First Mate, ‘Mate, tell us a story Mate’ and the Mate began as follows: ‘It was a dark and stormy night and the Captain said to the First Mate, ‘Mate tell us a—’”
“You idiot!” Sally interrupted. “Please. I’ve never met a V.C. before. What did you do?”
“I wasn’t joking. It was just like all the other shows of its kind, thousands of which received no recognition at all. I happened to be first off my ship when we were alongside the Mole and created a bit of trouble for the Bosch; then I helped a few of our wounded back just before we sheered off again. My Captain happened to see me so he put in a report. I thought I might perhaps get a mention in despatches and I was ‘struck all of an ‘eap dearie’ when the Cross came through. Honestly there was no conspicuous bravery in what I did.”
“Of course there was,” Sally insisted. “Leading the attack and saving wounded under fire. If that isn’t bravery—what is, and I was fool enough to call you a coward this morning because you said that you wouldn’t go down in the bathysphere.”
“You are probably right m’dear. If it were a matter of duty it would be different although I’d be scared stiff all the same, but nothing would induce me to go below in that death trap just for the fun of the thing.”
“But if you’re a V.C. you must be brave so I can’t understand why you should be frightened of a little trip under water.”
“Can’t you? Have you had a look at the chart in the lounge by any chance?”
“No.”
“All right—come on then.” He took her arm and led her back to the brightly lighted deck house. A map of the Azores was pinned to the bulkhead and he pointed a square stubby finger at a dark spot on the southern side of Fayal Island—the town of Horta.
“That’s where we are now, and the Doctor is being very secret about where we’re going next, but I can give a pretty shrewd guess. If his theory is correct the whole group of islands are the mountain tops of the sunken continent. Now you remember what it said in that account of Plato’s—that the whole region of Atlantis lay towards the south and was sheltered from the north. Further that its capital was on a low mountain no more than sixty miles from the sea. Pretty obviously that meant on one of the foothills of the range which formed the northern coast so the canal which connected it with the open ocean must have been either between the island of St Maria in the extreme west and St Miguel further north or between St Miguel and the big island of Pico north east of us. The odds are anyhow that it lies somewhere about equidistant between all three and the Doctor would have used Pico for his base if it hadn’t been practically uninhabited as you can see from the fact that there are no towns marked on it.”
Sally nodded. “That seems all right, but what is all t
his leading up to?”
“Now take a look at the soundings,” said the McKay, “and you’ll see that practically the whole of that area is nearly a thousand fathoms deep.”
“Well?”
“One thousand fathoms is six thousand feet and Camilla only went down two thousand to-day. Have you any idea what the pressure will be on that tin can of the Doctor’s when they start trying to touch bottom?”
“No,” said Sally.
“Well at two thousand feet it’s very nearly half a ton to the square inch. Think of that on those windows, and the ratio of pressure increases the further you go down, so at six thousand, it’s going to be something that doesn’t bear thinking about. Ever heard of implosion?”
“No.”
“It’s the opposite of explosion and even more horrible. When something explodes near you there is at least a sporting chance of being blown clear and suffering nothing worse than concussion, but from implosion there is not the faintest hope of escape. If one of the ports of the bathysphere gave way under the immense pressure at six thousand feet the implosion would be so terrific that anyone inside it would be crushed as flat as a piece of tissue paper before they could flicker an eyelid. That’s why the old sailor man prefers to stay on deck and smoke his pipe.”
“But the bathysphere has been specially made to resist pressure at that depth.”
“Maybe—still all sorts of things might happen. Say the cable snapped. Where would they be then … down in Davy Jones’ locker for keeps.”
“I don’t understand you,” Sally shook her head. “They will send it down empty before each dive so where is the tremendous danger—and after all—to have any fun in life one’s got to be prepared to take a little risk.”
“A little risk eh! Well I’ve only survived to this age because I’ve always refused to take any risks that weren’t strictly necessary.”
“And yet you got the V.C. The highest decoration for valour that your country gives. I can’t make up my mind if you’re really brave or not.”
“Nor can I m’dear,” smiled the McKay. “It’s a thing that I’ve often wondered but never been quite certain about.”
They Found Atlantis Page 9
