by Susan Barrie
It was a situation that Steve found intensely revolting.
Two nights later, when the weather was a little cooler—owing, the Captain explained, to a storm that had taken place several hundred miles to the south-east of them—an awning was rigged up on deck and they danced after dinner. The music was provided by a record player that was looked after by one of the younger members of the crew, and even Signor Valdoli—who declared that he didn’t dance—piloted Rosalie Trent round and round the somewhat confined space of the deck. Steve was partnered by Neil—she found it somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t to retire to her cabin immediately after dinner—and the Comte, of course, partnered his special guest, Gabrielle.
The deck was brightly lighted by colored lanterns, and the moon—looking less like a pale slice of melon and more like the half of a huge golden orange—climbed slowly out of the motionless sea until it had swung itself well aloft, and remained there above the awning and the smoothly travelling Odette until it began to descent into the sea once more, and continue its journey to the far side of the world.
But, long before the moon had waned, or had even begun to wane, the lighthearted close to another long, sun-filled day was marred by an announcement which the Comte made after a brief visit to his own private state-room.
He returned to the deck with an expression on his face that was unlike anything Steve had seen on it before. She had seen him looking hard, grim, autocratic, derisive. She had seen his expression soften miraculously, and his eyes grow tender ... meltingly tender. And she had seen those black eyes glitter with excitement at the thought of kissing her!
But now his face was bleak and cold, the line of his mouth quite ruthless.
“Someone has forced an entrance to my stateroom,” he informed them, after signalling to the youth who was looking after the gramaphone to cease filling the air with dance music. “I have a specially constructed private safe in my room, and everything I particularly value was deposited there when I came aboard the yacht. The emerald necklace which came into my possession in Tangier was kept there ... was kept there, I say, for it is not there now!”
A loud gasp went from mouth to mouth.
“But of course it must be there!” Gabrielle exclaimed, looking at him tragically. “Léon, you can’t mean ... you simply can’t mean that it’s been stolen?”
The Comte looked at her for a long moment, rather curiously.
“You have put the words into my mouth, petite,” he said. “Since emerald necklaces are, not quite equipped with legs, and it was there in the safe when I dressed for dinner—and it is not there now!—the only explanation that occurs to me is that it has been stolen.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE change that came over the atmosphere could not have been more marked. One moment there was dancing and laughter, rhythmic music and the wash of their passage through the glass-like sea, apart from the constant faint vibration of the engines. The next there was only the wash of their passage, and that endless steady beat that meant they were driving steadily ahead.
And then Mrs. Trent, who was sitting fanning herself with a lace stole she had bought in Italy, exclaimed bluntly:
“But that’s rubbish! None of us knew where the emeralds were ... at least, I’m sure I hadn’t a clue. And even if I’d had half a dozen clues I’m not a thief! I hope I haven’t been making a long cruise in the company of someone who is?” and she glanced round as if searching for a possible suspect.
“Don’t be silly, Mummy!” her daughter exclaimed quickly. “The Comte is well aware that there must be some explanation for his missing emeralds.”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid there is no explanation I can offer,” the Comte said with the suaveness to which he-resorted at times. “I wish I could!”
“But this is dreadful,” Madelon said nervously. She too glanced around as if looking for one amongst them who might possibly be guilty. “But I am superstitious about emeralds, and it is possible those were not fortunate ones.” She looked towards the Comte for some agreement. “You did say there were many stories attaching to them?”
“I did,” the Comte agreed dryly. “And, wherever they are at this moment, the stories are still attaching to them. But that does not assist me to find out where they are.” He sent a keen glance round at his guests. “Please do not imagine I suspect any one of you, but I should be grateful for some information that could lead to the recovery of my emeralds!”
There was silence—a dismayed, uncomfortable silence—and then Gabrielle stamped a foot in a thin brocade shoe.
“But this is absurd!” she declared. “That we should all have to stand here and be more or less accused!” She threw back her head, with its gleaming crown of hair, and her green eyes flashed reproachful fire. “The last time I saw your necklace was when you permitted us all to see it once more after dinner, and you refused to allow me to sleep in it for just one night! That was before we reached the Greek islands, and Tim joined us.” She put out a hand, and inside her “brother’s” arm, and drew to her side as if she would remove him field of possible blame. “Tim has never seen the necklace, and I’m sure he wouldn’t be the slightest degree interested in it if he did. It’s places that interest Tim—colorful places he can paint. Not the unlucky emeralds of a dead queen!” with a coldly defiant air.
As the Comte regarded her a muscle at one corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“And were you so sure they were unlucky when you wished to wear them just for one night?” he asked.
“No, and I am very far from believing they are unlucky now,” she told him, as she released Strangeways and moved swiftly to the side of the host. “Léon,” slipping a hand inside his arm, “I share your consternation because your emeralds are gone, and we must take every step that is possible to recover them at once. After all,” with a sudden meaning softening of the brilliant eyes as she gazed up into his face, “did you not promise me I should wear them some day? Only two nights ago you said: ‘Before the end of the cruise I will myself fasten them round your neck!’ Was not that a promise?”
Watching them, Steve could read nothing in his face that was a denial of that promise, and something inside her felt sick.
“Therefore, if the emeralds are not found, I shall never wear them!” Gabrielle cried. “And because I am dying to wear them, I insist that they must be found!”
She wheeled round and looked at everyone with overbright eyes.
“We are all friends here, Léon. There isn’t one amongst us whom you cannot trust, and not one whom you haven’t known for a long time. With the exception of Tim—for whom. I myself can vouch—and Mademoiselle Blair. What do you know of Mademoiselle Blair?”
Steve felt herself become the immediate cynosure of every pair of eyes on the brightly lit deck, but the Comte’s eyes were grave and thoughtful as they rested on her.
“I know that she has carried out her duties very well since she came aboard here,” he said. “She has run very willingly after every one of you to ensure your comfort.”
“But—” Gabrielle’s eyes flashed “—what do you know of her? You picked her up in Paris. Well—” as his eyes flashed in their turn “—there was some mistake about her occupation of your flat, which has always seemed odd to me, and I am not suggesting there was anything in the nature of an affair between you.” She glanced at him with a hard smile on her red lips. “I know you too well, chéri, to believe you incapable of having affairs. Even when you have serious plans that you would dislike interfered with you are not above the gay, lighthearted interlude that is never serious. But for these moments of diversion you would not pick upon someone like Mademoiselle Blair. Not while there are so many exciting women in the world!” with a contemptuous glance at Steve.
The latter stood absolutely still and waited for the Comte to accuse her.
“All I suggest is that in some way or other you have been imposed upon,” the attractive, husky, determined voice continued. “Your heart was touc
hed because this young woman was in temporary difficulties—quite possibly she fainted before your eyes, as she fainted before the eyes of your friend in London! But neither of you, it seems, knows anything at all about her background, or any of the important things one should know about an—employee. Therefore I suggest—”
“And I protest!” Neil Heritage exclaimed, his face white with anger. “If Mademoiselle Descarté thinks she can get away with accusing someone like Miss Blair of the theft of a miserable string of emeralds—which should never have been brought on a cruise of this sort, anyway!—then I can only tell her that a deliberate attack on Miss Blair’s character will meet with a defence she may not like. In fact—”
“No one is accusing Miss Blair of anything whatsoever,” the Comte intervened, in his quietest voice.
Gabrielle’s eyes glinted mockingly at Neil.
“So Miss Blair has at least one champion!” she exclaimed. “Well, it’s been obvious for some time, Monsieur Heritage, that she’s the type to throw dust in your eyes, but that does not convince me she is as innocent as you would .have us believe. For instance, I can reveal now that my brother and Miss Blair met in Tangier—secretly, while the rest of us were given to understand she had some urgent mission to execute!—and she has been terrified that Tim would give her away ever since we ran into him on the island of Rhodes!”
Even Neil looked startled by this announcement, and the Comte looked at Steve with very cold, inquiring eyes.
“Is this true, Miss Blair?”
Steve swallowed, met the cool, inscrutable blue eyes of Tim Strangeways across the moon-bathed deck, and then nodded her head.
“Yes, it’s quite true, monsieur.”
Everyone audibly drew in an astounded breath. But Gabrielle spoke quickly, giving them no opportunity to dwell upon the intelligence ... at least, not until they had something else to dwell upon as well.
“And you might as well know now—all of you—since you now know how utterly unreliable she is (the reason why I, for one, have always kept a very cautious eye upon her!) that it was only because he was' sorry for Miss Blair, and didn’t wish her to be sacked from her job or something of that sort, that my half-brother refrained from acknowledging her when they met on Rhodes. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to pretend that he’d never been in Tangier if Miss Blair hadn’t looked as if she was ready to faint with fright when they came face to face again so unexpectedly, so he made up that story about spending the whole summer amongst the islands. It wasn’t true—although it was chivalrous—and it saved the situation for Miss Blair.”
“And didn’t you meet your half-brother in Tangier?” Neil Heritage wanted to know, rather grimly. “Or did you decide not to be a spoil-sport and leave all the opportunities for meetings to Miss Blair?” with open sarcasm in his voice.
She gazed at him through narrowed lids that were normally very white, but glistened now with strange silvery eye-shadow.
“That is precisely what I did, Monsieur Heritage, although I was shocked when I heard about the meetings. Unfortunately it was through me that Miss Blair met my brother. We had an encounter on the staircase of the hotel where we all had lunch that very first day in Tangier.”
“And it proved to be a fatal encounter?”
“On Miss Blair’s side it was, I imagine, a memorable encounter,” with a glance of dislike at the girl herself. “Tim is hardly the type to be very much impressed by a colorless young woman from England.”
Tim who was gazing out across the yacht rail with an impassive face, spoke sharply:
“There’s no need to be crude, Gabrielle!”
Neil continued relentlessly:
“Yet, on the strength of that encounter—because some impression, at least, must have been made!—your brother arranged to meet Miss Blair that night while, presumably, your back was considerably tuned towards them?” She shrugged. “And, risking the displeasure of her employer, who could have dismissed her on the spot when he found , out, Miss Blair borrowed one of the Comte’s cars while we were all at dinner and went off to keep the tender tryst.”
“How do you know that?” Gabrielle asked curiously.
“I happened to be another member of the party who didn’t fit in with the arranged program for the evening. Although you’ve probably forgotten it, I too missed dinner—too much rich cooking never agrees with me at first—and I stayed in my room and read a book, and saw Miss Blair leave the house, and I also saw her when she returned.”
“Then why did you say nothing about it?” Gabrielle inquired, with the faint air of hauteur she could assume at times, and which would; become her very well indeed when she was a Comtesse.
“I did. The following day, when she was setting off to meet your ‘brother’ for the second time,” Neil informed her, adding perhaps by accident a touch of emphasis to the word “brother”. “I thought it high time the affair which was obviously blossoming should be nipped in the bud, and I mentioned the matter to the Comte. He took the necessary action, and the affair was nipped in the bud!”
Gabrielle gazed at him for a long moment with intense dislike on her face; then she turned away with a very French gesture of impatience.
“All this is getting us nowhere, and the Comte has lost a priceless necklace—”
“We will not discuss the necklace any more tonight, if you do not mind,” the Comte said, speaking for the first time for several minutes in a voice that was icy with disapproval. “Too much discussion has gone on already that I find infinitely distasteful, and now I think we will go to bed.” He didn’t even glance at Steve, who felt as if the biggest disaster that could ever occur to her had taken place. “I think we will all go to bed”—standing aside for the ladies to pass him.
But Gabrielle caught him by his arm again. “But, Léon, your emeralds! We cannot possibly go to bed and attempt to sleep until something has been done to discover who it is who robbed you. I for one will not dare to close my eyes knowing that there is a thief on board!”
But he silenced her bleakly.
‘We will say nothing more about them tonight, if you please, Gabrielle. And in the morning, Mademoiselle Blair—” looking deliberately away from her as he spoke “—I will have a few words with you in my private suite. Come to my state-room as soon as you have breakfasted.”
Steve answered with a catch in her voice, “Yes, monsieur!”
But in the morning the Odette was only a memory, and there was no state-room for Steve to visit. She was awakened from an uneasy sleep—into which she had drifted after a full hour of lying awake—by the sound of usually active feet on the deck above her head, and realizing that it was still dark she sprang out of bed and reached for her dressing-gown. It was then that she started to cough because her cabin was full of smoke.Voices were shouting hoarse commands on the deck above her head, and the fever of activity was becoming intense. Someone hammered on her door, and when she opened it she discovered it was Neil Heritage, wearing a dressing-gown over a pair of dress-trousers and the white shirt that had gleamed so immaculately the evening before.
He seized her hand as soon as he saw that she was adequately covered, and ran with her to the companion-stairway at the end of the corridor.
“But what is it?” she demanded, stumbling over the sash of her dressing-gown as it trailed behind her, and because he realized it impeded her progress he stopped to allow her to fasten it.
“Fire,” he answered briefly, and she hadn’t really needed any such answer. All that suffocating smoke spoke for itself, and so did the ominous crackling noise which was louder when they reached the deck.
“Bad fire?" she asked, trying not to sound as if she was petrified by the very thought of fire at sea.
“Bad enough,” he answered, with unusual curtness. “Someone must have left a cigarette-end burning where it hadn’t any right to be left burning, or it could have started in the galley, of course. But I shouldn’t think so ... not at this late hour! Or rather, early hour!” glancing
at his watch.
“What time is it?” she gasped, as they raced along. “I’m afraid I’ve left my watch in my cabin.”
“Four o’clock,” he answered. “In another hour it will be broad daylight, which is perhaps fortunate.”
But on deck it was still dark, and the stars had that intense brightness which they assume before the rush of gold and blue from the east, heralding a new day, extinguishes them altogether. They reminded Steve of exotic silver flowers, attached to invisible stems, drooping in the wine-dark sky above them, and for one inconsequent, lightheaded moment she wanted to put out a hand and catch hold of one ... or try to.
Then she heard the Comte’s voice speaking almost in her ear.
“So there you are, Miss Blair. Good man, Heritage!” There was the most extraordinary mixture of relief and praise in his voice. “I’ve just been down to Miss Blair’s cabin, but you must have got there, first; I had a nasty fear that she might have been overcome by smoke in another part of the Odette.”
Steve could see his face, glimmering palely in the gloom, and the warm darkness of his eyes. They looked straight into hers.
“But I can’t see any real signs of fire...” she was beginning, when a brilliant flame leapt up in the forward part of the yacht, and in its sinister, vivid light she could see the rest of the Comte’s guests, huddled together near the lifeboats, that were being launched with the maximum of speed. One or two of them—and these were mostly men—had had a chance to dress, but the Trents, like herself, were wearing dressing-gowns, and Madelon Villennes had scrambled into a pair of jeans and dragged a sweater over her head. Gabrielle, in a gorgeous floating nightdress and satin housecoat that was a rich crimson in the light of the fire, but was actually a tawny apricot that went very well with her hair, was threatening hysterics and being held strongly by a seaman, because there was no other available man to cope with her just then.
