“On the other hand,” Mr. Sabin objected, “I do not want them to think, at present at any rate, that I have told you who they are. You had better come.”
They crossed the deck to a sunny little corner behind one of the boats, where Mrs. Watson had just completed her preparation for tea.
She greeted them gaily and chatted to them while they waited for the kettle to boil, but to Mr. Sabin’s observant eyes there was a remarkable change in her. Her laughter was forced and she was very pale.
Several times Mr. Sabin caught her watching him in an odd way as though she desired to attract his attention, but Mr. Watson, who for once had seemed to desert the smoking-room, remained by her side like a shadow. Mr. Sabin felt that his presence was ominous. The tea was made and handed round.
Mr. Watson sent away the deck steward, who was preparing to wait upon them, and did the honours himself. He passed the sugar to the captain and stood before Mr. Sabin with the sugar-tongs in his hand.
“Sugar?” he inquired, holding out a lump.
Mr. Sabin took sugar, and was on the point of holding out his cup. Just then he chanced to glance across to Mrs. Watson. Her eyes were dilated and she seemed to be on the point of springing from her chair. Meeting his glance she shook her head, and then bent over her hot water apparatus.
“No sugar, thanks,” Mr. Sabin answered. “This tea looks too good to spoil by any additions. One of the best things I learned in Asia was to take my tea properly. Help yourself, Mr. Watson.”
Mr. Watson rather clumsily dropped the piece of sugar which he had been holding out to Mr. Sabin, and the ship giving a slight lurch just at that moment, it rolled down the deck and apparently into the sea. With a little remark as to his clumsiness he resumed his seat.
Mr. Sabin looked into his tea and across to Mrs. Watson. The slightest of nods was sufficient for him. He drank it off and asked for some more.
The tea party on the whole was scarcely a success. The Captain was altogether upset and quite indisposed to be amiable towards people who had made a dupe of him. Mrs. Watson seemed to be suffering from a state of nervous excitement, and her husband was glum and silent. Mr. Sabin alone appeared to be in good spirits, and he talked continually with his customary ease and polish.
The Captain did not stay very long, and upon his departure Mr. Sabin also rose.
“Am I to have the pleasure of taking you for a little walk, Mrs. Watson?” he asked.
She looked doubtfully at the tall, glum figure by her side, and her face was almost haggard.
“I’m afraid—I think—I think—Mr. Watson has just asked me to walk with him,” she said, lamely; “we must have our stroll later on.”
“I shall be ready and delighted at any time,” Mr. Sabin answered with a bow.
“We are going to have a moon to-night; perhaps you may be tempted to walk after dinner.”
He ignored the evident restraint of both the man and the woman and strolled away. Having nothing in particular to do he went into his deck cabin to dress a little earlier than usual, and when he had emerged the dinner gong had not yet sounded.
The deck was quite deserted, and lighting a cigarette d’appetit, he strolled past the scene of their tea-party. A dark object under the boat attracted his attention. He stooped down and looked at it. Thomas, the ship’s cat, was lying there stiff and stark, and by the side of his outstretched tongue a lump of sugar.
CHAPTER XLVI
MR. WATSON IS ASTONISHED
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At dinner-time Mr. Sabin was the most silent of the little quartette who occupied the head of the table. The captain, who had discovered that notwithstanding their stoppage they had made a very fair day’s run, and had just noticed a favourable change in the wind, was in a better humour, and on the whole was disposed to feel satisfied with himself for the way he had repulsed the captain of the Kaiser Wilhelm. He departed from his usual custom so far as to drink a glass of Mr. Sabin’s champagne, having first satisfied himself as to the absence of any probability of fog. Mr. Watson, too, was making an effort to appear amiable, and his wife, though her colour seemed a trifle hectic and her laughter not altogether natural, contributed her share to the conversation. Mr. Sabin alone was curiously silent and distant. Many times he had escaped death by what seemed almost a fluke; more often than most men he had been at least in danger of losing it. But this last adventure had made a distinct and deep impression upon him. He had not seriously believed that the man Watson was prepared to go to such lengths; he recognised for the first time his extreme danger. Then as regards the woman he was genuinely puzzled. He owed her his life, he could not doubt it. She had given him the warning by which he had profited, and she had given it him behind his companion’s back. He was strongly inclined to believe in her. Still, she was doubtless in fear of the man. Her whole appearance denoted it. She was still, without doubt, his tool, willing or unwilling.
They lingered longer than usual over their dessert. It was noticeable that throughout their conversation all mention of the events of the day was excluded. A casual remark of Mr. Watson’s the captain had ignored. There was an obvious inclination to avoid the subject. The captain was on the qui vive all the time, and he promptly quashed any embarrassing remark. So far as Mrs. Watson was concerned there was certainly no fear of her exhibiting any curiosity. It was hard to believe that she was the same woman who had virtually taken the conversation into her own hands on the previous evening, and had talked to them so well and so brightly. She sat there, white and cowed, looking a great deal at Mr. Sabin with sad, far-away eyes, and seldom originating a remark. Mr. Watson, on the contrary, talked incessantly, in marked contrast to his previous silence; he drank no wine, but seemed in the best of spirits. Only once did he appear at a loss, and that was when the captain, helping himself to some nuts, turned towards Mr. Sabin and asked a question—
“I wonder, Mr. Sabin, whether you ever heard of an Indian nut called, I believe, the Fakella? They say that an oil distilled from its kernel is the most deadly poison in the world.”
“I have both heard of it and seen it,” Mr. Sabin answered. “In fact, I may say, that I have tasted it—on the tip of my finger.”
“And yet,” the captain remarked, laughing, “you are alive.”
“And yet I am alive,” Mr. Sabin echoed. “But there is nothing very wonderful in that. I am poison-proof.”
Mr. Watson was in the act of raising a hastily filled glass to his lips when his eyes met Mr. Sabin’s. He set it down hurriedly, white to the lips. He knew, then! Surely there must be something supernatural about the man. A conviction of his own absolute impotence suddenly laid hold of him. He was completely shaken. Of what use were the ordinary weapons of his kind against an antagonist such as this? He knew nothing of the silent evidence against him on deck. He could only attribute Mr. Sabin’s foreknowledge of what had been planned against him to the miraculous. He stumbled to his feet, and muttering something about some cigars, left his place. Mrs. Watson rose almost immediately afterwards. As she turned to walk down the saloon she dropped her handkerchief. Mr. Sabin, who had risen while she passed out, stooped down and picked it up. She took it with a smile of thanks and whispered in his ear—
“Come on deck with me quickly; I want to speak to you.”
He obeyed, turning round and making some mute sign to the captain. She walked swiftly up the stairs after a frightened glance down the corridor to their state-rooms. A fresh breeze blew in their faces as they stepped out on deck, and Mr. Sabin glanced at her bare neck and arms.
“You will be cold,” he said. “Let me fetch you a wrap.”
“Don’t leave me,” she exclaimed quickly. “Walk to the side of the steamer. Don’t look behind.”
Mr. Sabin obeyed. Directly she was sure that they were really beyond earshot of any one she laid her hand upon his arm.
“I am going to ask you a strange question,” she said. “Don’t stop to think what it means, but answer me at once. Where are yo
u going to sleep to-night—in your state-room or in the deck cabin?”
He started a little, but answered without hesitation—
“In my deck cabin.”
“Then don’t,” she exclaimed quickly. “Say that you are going to if you are asked, mind that. Sit up on deck, out of sight, all night, stay with the captain—anything—but don’t sleep there, and whatever you may see don’t be surprised, and please don’t think too badly of me.”
He was surprised to see that her cheeks were burning and her eyes were wet. He laid his hand tenderly upon her arm.
“I will promise that at any rate,” he said.
“And you will remember what I have told you?”
“Most certainly,” he promised. “Your warnings are not things to be disregarded.”
She drew a quick little breath and looked nervously over her shoulders.
“I am afraid,” he said kindly, “that you are not well to- day. Has that fellow been frightening or ill-using you?”
Her face was very close to his, and he fancied that he could hear her teeth chattering. She was obviously terrified.
“We must not be talking too seriously,” she murmured. “He may be here at any moment. I want you to remember that there is a price set upon you and he means to earn it. He would have killed you before, but he wants to avoid detection. You had better tell the captain everything. Remember, you must be on the watch always.”
“I can protect myself now that I am warned,” he said, reassuringly. “I have carried my life in my hands many a time before. But you?”
She shivered.
“They tell me,” she whispered, “that from Boston you can take a train right across the Continent, thousands of miles. I am going to take the very first one that starts when I land, and I am going to hide somewhere in the furthest corner of the world I can get to. To live in such fear would drive me mad, and I am not a coward. Let us walk; he will not think so much of our being together then.”
“I am going to send for a wrap,” he said, looking down at her thin dinner dress; “it is much too cold for you here bare-headed. We will send the steward for something.”
They turned round to find a tall form at their elbows. Mr. Watson’s voice, thin and satirical, broke the momentary silence.
“You are in a great hurry for fresh air, Violet. I have brought your cape; allow me to put it on.”
He stooped down and threw the wrap over her shoulders. Then he drew her reluctant fingers through his arm.
“You were desiring to walk,” he said. “Very well, we will walk together.”
Mr. Sabin watched them disappear and, lighting a cigar, strolled off towards the captain’s room. Many miles away now he could still see the green light of the German man-of-war.
CHAPTER XLVII
A CHARMED LIFE
Table of Contents
The night was still enough, but piled-up masses of black clouds obscured a weakly moon, and there were only now and then uncertain gleams of glimmering light. There was no fog, nor any sign of any. The captain slept in his room, and on deck the steamer was utterly deserted. Only through the black darkness she still bounded on, her furnaces roaring, and the black trail of smoke leaving a long clear track behind her. It seemed as though every one were sleeping on board the steamer except those who fed her fires below and the grim, silent figure who stood in the wheelhouse.
Mr. Sabin, who, muffled up with rugs, was reclining in a deck chair, drawn up in the shadow of the long boat, was already beginning to regret that he had attached any importance at all to Mrs. Watson’s warning. It wanted only an hour or so of dawn. All night long he had sat there in view of the door of his deck cabin and shivered. To sleep had been impossible, his dozing was only fitful and unrestful. His hands were thrust deep down into the pockets of his overcoat—the revolver had long ago slipped from his cold fingers. More than once he had made up his mind to abandon his watch, to enter his room, and chance what might happen. And then suddenly there came what he had been waiting for all this while—a soft footfall along the deck: some one was making their way now from the gangway to the door of his cabin.
The frown on his forehead deepened; he leaned stealthily forward watching and listening intently. Surely that was the rustling of a silken gown, that gleam of white behind the funnel was the fluttering of a woman’s skirt. Suddenly he saw her distinctly. She was wearing a long white dressing-gown, and noiseless slippers of some kind. Her face was very pale and her eyes seemed fixed and dilated. Once, twice she looked nervously behind her, then she paused before the door of his cabin, hesitated for a moment, and finally passed over the threshold. Mr. Sabin, who had been about to spring forward, paused. After all perhaps he was safer where he was.
There was a full minute during which nothing happened. Mr. Sabin, who had now thoroughly regained his composure, lingered in the shadow of the boat prepared to wait upon the course of events, but a man’s footstep this time fell softly upon the deck. Some one had emerged from the gangway and was crossing towards his room. Mr. Sabin peered cautiously through the twilight. It was Mr. Watson, of New York, partially dressed, with a revolver flashing in his hand. Then Mr. Sabin perceived the full wisdom of having remained where he was.
Under the shadow of the boat he drew a little nearer to the door of the cabin. There was absolute silence within. What they were doing he could not imagine, but the place was in absolute darkness. Thoroughly awake now he crouched within a few feet of the door listening intently. Once he fancied that he could hear a voice, it seemed to him that a hand was groping along the wall for the knob of the electric light. Then the door was softly opened and the woman came out. She stood for a moment leaning a little forward, listening intently ready to make her retreat immediately she was assured that the coast was clear! She was a little pale, but in a stray gleam of moonlight Mr. Sabin fancied that he caught a glimpse of a smile upon her parted lips. There was a whisper from behind her shoulder; she answered in a German monosyllable. Then, apparently satisfied that she was unobserved, she stepped out, and, flitting round the funnel, disappeared down the gangway. Mr. Sabin made no attempt to stop her or to disclose his presence. His fingers had closed now upon his revolver—he was waiting for the man. The minutes crept on—nothing happened. Then a hand softly closed the window looking out upon the deck, immediately afterwards the door was pushed open and Mr. Watson, with a handkerchief to his mouth, stepped out.
He stood perfectly still listening for a moment. Then he was on the point of stealing away, when a hand fell suddenly upon his shoulder. He was face to face with Mr. Sabin.
He started back with a slight but vehement guttural interjection. His hand stole down towards his pocket, but the shining argument in Mr. Sabin’s hand was irresistible.
“Step back into that room, Mr. Watson; I want to speak to you.”
He hesitated. Mr. Sabin reaching across him opened the door of the cabin. Immediately they were assailed with the fumes of a strange, sickly odour! Mr. Sabin laughed softly, but a little bitterly.
“A very old-fashioned device,” he murmured. “I gave you credit for more ingenuity, my friend. Come, I have opened the window and the door you see! Let us step inside. There will be sufficient fresh air.”
Mr. Watson was evidently disinclined to make the effort. He glanced covertly up the deck, and seemed to be preparing himself for a rush. Again that little argument of steel and the grim look on Mr. Sabin’s face prevailed. They both crossed the threshold. The odour, though powerful, was almost nullified by the rushing of the salt wind through the open window and door which Mr. Sabin had fixed open with a catch. Reaching out his hand he pulled down a little brass hook—the room was immediately lit with the soft glare of the electric light.
Mr. Sabin, having assured himself that his companion’s revolver was safely bestowed in his hip pocket and could not be reached without warning, glanced carefully around his cabin.
He looked first towards the bed and smiled. His little device, then, h
ad succeeded. The rug which he had rolled up under the sheets into the shape of a human form was undisturbed. In the absence of a light Mr. Watson had evidently taken for granted that the man whom he had sought to destroy was really in the room. The two men suddenly exchanged glances, and Mr. Sabin smiled at the other’s look of dismay.
“It was not like you,” he said gently; “it was really very clumsy indeed to take for granted my presence here. I have great faith in you and your methods, my friend, but do you think that it would have been altogether wise for me to have slept here alone with unfastened door—under the circumstances?”
Mr. Watson admitted his error with a gleam in his dark eyes, which Mr. Sabin accepted as an additional warning.
“Your little device,” he continued, raising an unstopped flask from the table by the side of the bed, “is otherwise excellent, and I feel that I owe you many thanks for arranging a death that should be painless. You might have made other plans which would have been not only more clumsy, but which might have caused me a considerable amount of personal inconvenience and discomfort. Your arrangements, I see, were altogether excellent. You arranged for my—er—extermination asleep or awake. If awake the little visit which your charming wife had just paid here was to have provided you at once with a motive for the crime and a distinctly mitigating circumstance. That was very ingenious. Pardon my lighting a cigarette, these fumes are a little powerful. Then if I was asleep and had not been awakened by the time you arrived—well, it was to be a drug! Supposing, my dear Mr. Watson, you do me the favour of emptying this little flask into the sea.”
Mr. Watson obeyed promptly. There were several points in his favour to be gained by the destruction of this evidence of his unsuccessful attempt. As he crossed the deck holding the little bottle at arm’s length from him a delicate white vapour could be distinctly seen rising from the bottle and vanishing into the air. There was a little hiss like the hiss of a snake as it touched the water, and a spot of white froth marked the place where it sank.
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