Regularly at eight o’clock every morning I used to run down and dive in.
At this hour I had the pool to myself. Horace, an early riser, had finished
his swim, and the others were too lazy or too timid to enjoy cold water upon
getting out of bed.
On the morning after we sailed from Willemstad, I dressed after my swim
and went up to breakfast. This was a sort of movable feast in the English
fashion. There was an electric table in the dining-saloon to keep things hot,
and you went in and helped yourself whenever you had a mind to.
I breakfasted alone this morning. As I was finishing I heard the sound of
a banjo being played on deck. A gay and careless tune, surprising to hear on
that luckless vessel. So I went to investigate.
I found the player sunk deep in an easy-chair on the after-deck, with his
heels cocked up on a table, and the banjo in his lap. I got a good look at
him before he saw me. A tall, lean, ugly young man wearing glasses. He was
playing the sort of rollicking tune that you associate with old-time
minstrels, but when he threw back his head and sang, I discovered that the
words were Spanish. Something about
Simbolico Nombray
.
I knew it must be Martin Coade, Horace’s secretary. Upon catching sight of
me he never batted an eye nor stopped strumming, but sang out:
“Hello, Bella!”
“Hello yourself,” I said.
He made believe to be greatly alarmed. “Cheese it, Bella! Your roof’s on
fire! Don’t come near me, girl! It’s hot enough already!”
“Well! My hair is red, but it’s not as red as all that.” He was
deliberately trying to rile me, so I held myself in. “You’re pretty fresh,” I
said.
“Fresh as new-made beer!” he cried, strumming a loud chord on the banjo.
“I foam at the tap!”
“Unfit to drink,” I said.
He was one of those funny men who never laugh themselves. His grey eyes
were sharp behind his glasses, and he had a way of searching you through and
through like certain children I have known, and then coming out with
something nasty. How he guessed that I detested the name of Nellie I could
never tell you. “Come and sit down beside me, Nellie,” he said, “and let’s
get acquainted.”
I remained by the rail. “Thanks, I like it better here,” I said. “There’s
more air.”
He played a little obbligato on the banjo and sang;
“Nellie! Nellie! Give me your answer, do!
I’m half crazy all for the love of you!”
“Not very good,” I said.
He became serious. Blinking rapidly behind his glasses, he said: “Nellie,
what’s the situation aboard this hooker? I dropped in on it yesterday all
unprepared. Something tells me there’s hell to pay. Put me wise, kid, so I
won’t make a crashing fool of myself.”
“I couldn’t stop you from that,” I said.
“Smarty! On the level, Nell, give me the dope.”
“I know nothing,” I said.
He struck a chord and sustained it. “You lie, darling!”
“Horace is the right one to tell you.”
“Can you see me asking him? Horace has to be handled with due regard to
antisepsis, my love. You and I ought to form the Secretaries’ Club for mutual
support and protection.”
“Suits me,” I said.
“Then come and sit down and let’s organise.”
By this time the others were beginning to appear on deck. The first to
pass us was Mme. Storey, taking her morning constitutional alone. Her face
was serene as it always is when she is thinking hardest. She smiled at us and
went on.
An extraordinary expression came into Martin’s face. “Some doll!” he
murmured.
The cheap phrase angered me, and I suppose it showed in my face when I
turned on him. At any rate, he blinked rapidly and tried to smooth me down by
asking:
“Why didn’t you introduce me?”
“You didn’t wait for an introduction to me!”
“Oh, you’re such a cuddly bit, Bella, it didn’t seem necessary. Aren’t we
both secretaries together? But Rosika is so…so pictureskew and monumental
she puts the fear of God into me.”
“Is it possible?”
“
Quelle femme! Quelle femme!
” he murmured, with more stunts on the
banjo.
Presently Sophie and Adrian walked briskly past us. They were both great
talkers, and one could hardly wait until the other was through. They didn’t
listen to each other. Martin followed them with his eyes grinning
derisively.
“What brought those two so close?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s natural for people aboard ship to pair off,” I said.
“That’s no natural pairing off, ducky. They love each other like the
Chinese and the Japs.”
The next couple to pass was young Emil and Celia, trying to conceal how
happy they were in each other’s company, and not succeeding.
“Hm!” said Martin; “that lad was hired to claw the ivories and not to
strut with the boss’s girl. A mere piano-player is not supposed to have the
feelings of a man.”
“Emil happens to be a great artist,” I said indignantly.
“Oh, yeah?” said Martin. “Listen to this!” And he punished the banjo
further.
Finally Adele passed with Dr. Tanner. I have had no occasion to mention
him before. He occupied a position something between that of ship’s officer
and guest. A young man with protuberant black eyes and a silky moustache. I
didn’t like him. Adele was talking to him in an emotional way, and he was
listening with a wooden face, occasionally nodding his head wisely.
“I reckon the boss is fed up with Fluffy Ruffles,” said Martin.
“What makes you think so?”
“When a woman like Adele gets shipped she has to pick up another fellow
quick in order to save her face…Oh, well, it was inevitable!”
“Why inevitable?”
Martin blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “What chance has a chicken when
the bird of paradise comes aboard?”
When she had taken her regular number of turns around the deck, Mme.
Storey dropped into the chair on the other side of Martin. She didn’t bother
about preliminaries, but started in as if she had always known him:
“I’m glad you’ve come aboard. I’m depending on you to help me handle
Horace.”
Martin straightened up and left off playing the banjo. He blinked and ran
his fingers inside his collar. “Lady, you can put your foot on this neck. Or
say the word and I’ll leap over yonder rail with my banjo. But I cannot
undertake to make my wealthy boss act like a reasonable man.”
She laughed at his nonsense. “You have more influence over him than you
think. Judging from the way he talks about you, I should say you were the
only person aboard to whom he is really attached.”
Martin searched her with his keen glance from behind the glasses. “Not the
only one,” he said meaningly. “You are putting me on a painful spot, Lady.
Asking me to embalm myself for the sake of another.”
He didn’t get any change out of Mme. Storey. “Yes, yes, it’s very sad!”
she said with mock sympathy. “But the man who enjoys hearing himself talk
will never die of grief!”
Martin dropped his fooling. “What
is
the situation?” he asked.
“You know why I was invited to join this cruise?” she said.
“Yes. Horace wirelessed me that.”
“I can’t tell you any more now,” she said. “Too many people about. You and
I mustn’t appear to become confidential. I’ll find an opportunity later. We
will work together.”
Horace came up the little service stairway towards the stern. He was
followed by Mr. Niederhoff, the natty first-officer, big Les Farman, the
handsomest sailor aboard, and Fahrig, a mean-looking steward who, I had been
told, was the Captain’s personal servant.
Horace approached us with a face as black as thunder. Martin began to
strum softly on the banjo. Fahrig slipped away forward; Niederhoff went to
the rail and stood staring at the sea, while Les Farman remained standing by
the stairway. It was only too clear that there had been violent scenes
below.
Horace snarled at Martin: “Stop that damned noise!”
Martin sucked in his cheek, and laid the banjo softly on the table. Horace
dropped heavily into the chair beyond Madame Storey. The man appeared to be
poisoned with baulked anger. My employer said:
“Have you finished the search?”
“Yes,” he growled. “Didn’t find either of them.”
“Are you satisfied they are not aboard?”
“No!” he cried with an oath. “I believe the whole gang is in cahoots! The
hull is divided into five compartments. There are watertight doors between
them which are not supposed to be opened. But while we were crossing over the
deck from one compartment to another, what was to prevent them from opening
the doors below and slipping through?”
Mme. Storey prudently held her tongue. Even her silence exasperated him.
“Why don’t you say: ‘I told you so!’” he snarled. “You’re thinking it!”
She shrugged slightly and said nothing.
Horace’s poisoned glance happened to fall on Les Farman at that moment.
The good-looking sailor was merely standing awaiting further orders with a
composed face, but Horace’s rage had reached the pitch where it had to have
some object to vent itself on. He jumped up.
“What are you standing there for looking at me?” he cried. “Get to your
work!”
The sailor looked at him in surprise. “You hadn’t told me if you wanted me
any further,” he said.
“Well, I don’t want you!” shouted Horace. “Get the hell forward where you
belong!”
Les Farman gave him a slow, hard look and started forward. He didn’t move
fast enough to suit the infuriated Horace, who gave him a violent push from
behind. When Les recovered his balance he turned around with a white face and
an ugly furrow etched on his brow. He came back to Horace with clenched
fists. I thoughts we were in for it then. I saw Niederhoff coming up,
reaching for his hip-pocket as if to protect Horace.
Les Farman himself saved the situation. He held himself in with an effort,
and a hard grin spread across his handsome face. “Keep your shirt on, boss,”
he drawled. And went quietly forward.
Naturally, this didn’t make Horace feel any better. He dropped into the
chair beside Mme. Storey with a groan. Meanwhile, Niederhoff slipped down the
stairway. My employer was not disposed to spare Horace now. She said
quietly:
“You have made an enemy of the best man aboard the ship.”
“Aah! what the hell!” snarled Horace. “What’s one more or less?”
WHILE we were all gathered around the table at lunch Adrian
Laghet, in his light-headed way, proposed that we have a dance on deck that
night.
“The wind goes down with the sun every evening, and the nights are like
black velvet,” he said sentimentally. “It would be a shame not to take
advantage of it.”
Horace, who had scarcely spoken throughout the meal, sneered at his
brother’s effusiveness. His ill-tempered glance travelled from face to face
around the table, watching to see how we would react to the suggestion. Mme.
Storey, who knew how to handle Horace, made believe to express pleasure.
“Up on the boat-deck,” she said, “under the stars.”
The others were dead against it. Martin, Sophie, Dr. Tanner; even Emil and
Celia, who were no doubt longing to dance with each other, must have felt
that it would be unsafe to do so under Horace’s poisoned glance. Adele, who
sat at the table like a wan ghost, said nothing, but her face was expressive
enough. And perhaps mine was also! Imagine getting up a dance with such ugly
hidden passions smouldering under hatches.
When Horace saw that the majority was against it, nothing could have held
him back. He laughed harshly and struck the table. “Fine!” he said. “We’ll
trip the light fantastic until dawn!”
“Can I give orders to have the boat-deck decorated?” asked Adrian
eagerly.
“Go as far as you like!” said Horace.
Later, Mme. Storey found Horace alone in his den on the boat-deck. “You’d
better call off this dance before the preparations go too far,” she said.
“Why!” he said in pretended surprise, “you welcomed the idea at the
lunch-table.”
“You are not having it to please me, but to spite the others.”
“Maybe you think I can’t dance,” he said. “I’ll show you. I’d like to
dance with you. If there’s a dance you can’t refuse to dance with me.”
“Why should I?”
“I’ll dance every dance with you!” he said violently.
“Oh, no,” she said coolly. “A woman reserves some freedom of choice.”
“Why shouldn’t we have a dance?” he demanded like a wilful child,
She steadily faced him out. “It is dangerous.”
He sneered. “What do you expect to happen?”
“How can I tell? I’m no soothsayer. But matters aboard this ship are
clearly coming to a head. Give me another day and I’ll put the truth before
you.”
“All right,” said Horace. “But in the meantime we’ll have our dance.”
She shrugged and left him.
So the preparations went on. Adrian excelled at this sort of thing. He had
a boom affixed to the aftermast with long strings of coloured lights hanging
from it, the lower ends being tied to temporary stanchions around the rail.
This made a sort of canopy of lights over the dance-floor, with the stars
peeping between. The deck was waxed and polished, and palms brought from
every part of the ship were banked in the corners. The after-end of the
winter-garden folded all the way back, making a sort of veranda café opening
on the dance-floor.
Nobody wanted to go to the dance, but nobody dared stay away. All the
women prepared to wear their best. Sophie casually let fall that she wasn’t
going to dress until after dinner. This merely meant that she wanted to show
two dresses. A foolish business, but none of us wanted to be outdone by
Sophie. We all followed suit. Dinner was a nervous meal with squalls of
artificial gaiety. Horace sat silent throughout, drinking a lot more than was
good for him.
At ten we gathered on the boat-deck. There were not enough of us to make a
party go; just five couples and two or three of the stiff young German
officers for stags. They didn’t contribute much. Little Celia’s eyes were
shining with youth, and Sophie’s with belladonna drops. The latter was
wearing a little dancing dress of yellow net as light as a butterfly’s wing,
but man! she was stoutly held in underneath. She could scarcely breathe.