Dangerous Cargo (4 page)

“Have you told her?”

“Yes. She has a lot more than that to gain from me living.”

“Surely…Who is your heir?”

“My brother Adrian. Until such a time as I marry, of course.”

“He knows you will marry,” said Mme. Storey quietly. “There’s a possible
motive.”

“What, Adrian!” he cried. He laughed harshly. “That poor fish! He has no
reason for existence apart from me! He is nothing but what I have made
him!”

“He could stand alone if he had your money,” she said.

“Adrian! That’s comic!” He laughed again.

“Weak men are the most dangerous,” remarked Mme. Storey. “They strike in
the dark…You treat him badly.”

“He’s a fool!” said Horace. “He asks for it.”

“How much do you allow him?”

“Fifteen thousand a year.”

“Not very much. Considering what your income is.”

“More than he’s worth,” said Horace. “He does nothing.”

“Suppose this weak man is nursing a sense of resentment in his breast,”
said Mme. Storey. “A sort of poisonous mushroom growth that spreads and
spreads until it crowds out everything but itself.”

“I know every thought in his foolish noddle,” said Horace.

“No man knows the secret thoughts of another.”

“I’ve been with Adrian since infancy. He’s always done what I’ve told
him.”

“He could hire tools stronger than himself. With such a tremendous stake
in view he could afford to offer a big price…”

“You will never convince me that Adrian is plotting against me,” cried
Horace. “He hasn’t the initiative of a tadpole!”

“Well, anyhow, there’s more than one man concerned in it,” said Mme.
Storey. “I advise you not to go on deck alone at night.”

“Let them try it, that’s all,” growled Horace, clenching his fist. “On my
own ship I’ll be the master!”

Mme. Storey suddenly sat erect in her chair. “Lower your voice!” she said
quietly. “There is somebody out on deck.”

With a single movement Horace was out of his chair, and through the door.
We heard him cursing and ran out. He was struggling with a sailor. Horace had
the man by the throat and was shaking him like a rat. It was the same man
whose appearance had so frightened Adele two days before.

“Let the man speak!” said Mme. Storey sharply.

Horace let go and the sailor backed off feeling his throat and scowling
from under his brows with venomous hatred. “What are you doing here?”
demanded Horace.

“Just on my way aft to report to the quarter master,” muttered the
sailor.

“Say ‘Sir’ when you speak to me!”

“Sir!” repeated the man with an ugly sneer.

“You’re a liar!” said Horace. “You were listening just beyond the
window.”

“I wasn’t listening. I could hear that you were talking privately and I
was afraid to show myself in front of the windows. I couldn’t hear
anything.”

“What’s your name?”

“Johnson, sir.”

“Get on about your work!” barked Horace. “If I catch you listening at my
windows again I’ll know what to do.”

The man picked up his hat, saluted, and slouched aft. His glance was
murderous.

“He couldn’t have heard anything,” Horace muttered, rubbing his lip, and
glancing sideways at Mme. Storey.

“You won’t get much out of a spy by strangling him,” she said dryly.
“Leave him to me and I’ll try other measures.”

ONE afternoon Mme. Storey and I were in our sitting-room
decoding wireless messages that had been received, and coding the replies. It
had been impossible to cut off the business in New York with one stroke.
Latham Rowe had been left in charge of the office, and we were in
communication with him every day. I helped Mme. Storey to prepare many of the
messages but not all of them.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Celia Dare. She ran in,
flung her arms around Mme. Storey and buried a hot face in her neck. The girl
was as natural and spontaneous as a flower, and a great friendship had sprung
up between her and my employer.

Mme. Storey held her off, trying to see into her face. “What’s the
matter?” she asked.

Celia obstinately kept her head down. The red and white chased each other
through her delicate cheeks. “Emil kissed me,” she murmured.

Mme. Storey folded her in her arms. We exchanged a glance over Celia’s
head. It was only too clear what a danger this created, yet the girl was such
a darling we couldn’t help smiling too.

“How did it happen?” asked Mme. Storey.

“It was up in the music-room just now. Emil was playing something so
wistful that it brought the tears to my eyes. I always cry when he plays,
though I love it better than anything. Suddenly he stopped and looked around.
He said…he said my eyes were like diamonds. He went down on his knees
beside my chair and…and he kissed me.”

“Did you like it?” asked Mme. Storey.

A very small voice issued from her neck: “Ye-es.”

“Did you kiss him back again?”

“I’m afraid I did.”

Mme. Storey held her close. “But you’re engaged to marry another man.”

“I clean forgot it!” cried Celia.

We laughed outright at that.

“Oh, what shall I do?” mourned Celia.

“Well, we must talk it over,” said Mme. Storey.

“I think Emil is waiting out in the corridor,” murmured Celia.

“Bring him in!”

Emil entered very flustered and good-looking, his blond hair all standing
on end as if he had been wildly running his fingers through it.

“I’m so sorry!” he burst out. “I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything.
I just lost myself!”

Celia raised her head and looked at him a little resentfully.

“Don’t express too much regret,” said Mme. Storey smiling. “It might be
misunderstood.”

“I love her!” he cried with perfect inconsistency. “And I think she loves
me back again. Anyhow, she would in time.”

“Yes,” said Celia,

“Nonsense!” said Mme. Storey as well as she could speak for laughing.
“When did you two meet for the first time?”

“When we came aboard the yacht.”

“Then you don’t know your own minds yet, either of you. Give yourselves a
chance.”

“I shall never change,” said Emil seriously.

“Me neither,” said Celia.

“This is just dramatics,” said Mme. Storey. “Now listen to me. The trouble
with young people is, they attach far too much importance to a kiss. They
think because they have kissed once that they must go on kissing to the
bitter end. There’s nothing to it. A kiss is just an accident. It’s like a
drop of rain that might fall on anybody’s head. You don’t have to stay out in
it until you’re all wet!”

They both laughed at that. Celia left Mme. Storey and, going to Emil,
slipped her hand inside his like a child. They looked at each other,
completely lost. It gave me a little stab of pain to see it, because if ever
a love affair was ill-starred this was it.

“Emil, you know she’s promised to another man,” said Mme. Storey.

He dropped Celia’s hand and thrust his fingers through his hair. “Oh, it’s
damnable!” he cried. “An old man like that!” (Emil was twenty-three.)

“Celia,” said Mme. Storey. “Are you in love with Horace?”

“Oh, no!” cried the girl in great surprise, “I respect him, of course, but
how could I be in love with him?”

“Then you must tell your mother that.”

“I have told her. She says love will come.”

“Emil,” said Mme. Storey, “you know that Horace is a violent man. He is
terrible when his will is crossed. There will be the most awful trouble if
this comes out.”

Emil flushed up. “I’m not afraid of him,” he said quickly.

Mme. Storey saw that she was taking the wrong line, and quietly abandoned
it. “What do you propose to do in this situation?”

Emil despaired again. “What can I do?” he groaned. “If we were ashore it
would be easy. I could walk out of the man’s house. But here I am, a guest on
his yacht and I can’t get away!”

“You can leave at Curaçao when we call there in a couple of days.”

“Oh, no!” they both cried in terror. Their hands flew together again.

“How could I go away and leave her in that man’s power?” cried Emil
brokenly. “Her mother is completely dominated by him. It would be more than
flesh and blood could stand.”

“All right,” said Mme. Storey. “But there must be no more kissing until
this matter is cleared up. Don’t fool yourselves by thinking you can keep it
secret. Nothing can be kept secret aboard a yacht. You must play the
game.”

“All right,” said Emil doggedly. He glanced longingly at Celia. “It’s not
going to be easy now that I know she likes it.”

Mme. Storey bit her lip. “And Celia,” she went on, “you must tell your
mother about Emil.”

The girl paled. “How can I!” she gasped. “Her heart is set on my marrying
Horace. She thinks of nothing else. You don’t know my mother!”

“Mme. Storey is right, Celia,” urged Emil. “Your mother must be told. If
you can’t do it I will.”

“Oh, no!” cried Celia in terror. “That would be worse. She doesn’t like
you.”

“Sophie must be told!” said Mme. Storey firmly.

“All right,” murmured the girl. “I’ll manage it somehow…” She looked
imploringly at Mme. Storey. “But you’ll stand by us, Rosika!”

“To the limit!” said Mme. Storey. “…If you play the game!”

ON the surface that cruise was like any other cruise in a
luxury yacht. High spirits was everybody’s line. Adrian Laghet was the chief
entertainer. He always had some new stunt to propose. Nobody had a good time
really. It was like a lot of hysterical children jumping on the thin crust of
a volcano. I waited for the explosion.

I used to wonder what was really going on behind Adrian’s calf-like brown
eyes which were too large and emotional for a man’s. He was a very
good-looking fellow if you like that sort of thing. He was supposed to be
artistic, but there was no evidence that he had ever worked at the arts.

Once when we happened to be the first ones to meet in the lounge for
cocktails before dinner I asked: “Do you find it difficult to be Horace’s
brother?”

“Why should I?” he countered with a swift hard stare. “Horace is one swell
guy!”

“Why, of course,” I said. “But he’s such an overpowering somebody.”

Adrian sounded his loud empty laugh. “I think it’s a swell job to be
Horace’s little brother!” he cried. He twirled around with his cocktail glass
in one hand and a
canapé d’anchois
in the other. “Like the lilies of
the field I toil not neither do I spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not
clothed like one of these!”

Such was Adrian’s style.

On the night before we arrived at the island of Curaçao, everybody was up
in the winter-garden playing some absurd game that Adrian had started. The
laughter sounded false and strained and I was fed up. Only Emil and Celia
were really enjoying themselves, because the game gave them a chance to touch
hands occasionally.

Adele had already slipped away on the pretext of a headache, and at a
moment when nobody was looking I beat it too. I intended to pick up a book in
the music-room and go to my cabin to read. The sea was as smooth as a
pond.

It was dark in the music-room, and as I put out my hand to turn the
switch, I happened to catch an oblique glimpse of Adele through a window. She
was coming along the promenade deck outside, and there was something so
furtive in her attitude that I instinctively drew back my hand and watched
her.

Her head was continually over her shoulder watching to see if she was
observed. Her face was white and strained. She passed the window going aft,
and I crossed the hall and went on through the dark lounge keeping her in
view through the windows.

At the end of the lounge there were windows looking aft. Out on deck near
the stern there was a little stairway leading down. It was used only by the
sailors. Adele paused with her hand on the rail for a cautious look all
around. Then she descended out of sight.

It was my duty to find out what was going on, and I followed without a
qualm. I hastened back to the stairway. I looked down. I could see nothing. I
took off my slippers and went down in stocking feet.

I was now on what they called A deck. Aft of all the cabins there was a
little open deck from side to side with a solid screen shutting off a bit of
the stern. I think the machinery that turned the rudder was behind this
screen. There was a door in it, and it was closed, but as the deck was open
behind the screen I could hear the murmuring voices there.

I had come right in the middle of a tense scene. I heard Adele’s voice
broken with weeping:

“Oh, Harry, why did you come? why did you come?”

Then a man growling: “Damn it all, you’re my wife!”

I recognised the voice of the sailor that Horace had manhandled on
deck.

“But you knew all along what I was going to do. You agreed then.”

“I got to thinking,” muttered the man. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“What good does it do your coming aboard?” she went on. “You will ruin me!
And yourself, too. He’ll kill you if he finds out. He’s a wild beast when
he’s roused.”

“He won’t find out if you don’t tell him.”

“You know I won’t do that. But, oh God! what torture! Every moment! every
moment! I’ve been sick ever since I learned you were on the vessel. Horace is
already wondering what’s the matter.”

“Damn Horace!” said the man thickly. “Damn his soul to hell!”

“Oh, hush!” wailed Adele. “What good does that do?”

“Do you love this man?” he demanded savagely.

“Love him? I hate him! I hate him! You don’t know what I have to go
through!”

“Look!” he said eagerly. “We’re going to call at one of the islands
to-morrow. Come ashore with me. We’ll make our way back to New York
somehow.”

“He has promised me the Emeritinsky diamond. It’s worth a hundred thousand
dollars.”