Cleigh was not only a big and powerful man--he was also courageous, but
the absence of Dodge and the presence of Cunningham offered such sinister
omen that temporarily he was bereft of his natural wit and initiative.
"Where's Dodge?" he asked, stupidly.
"Dodge is resting quietly," answered Cunningham, gravely. "He'll be on his
feet in a day or two."
That seemed to wake up Cleigh a bit. He drew his automatic.
"Face to the wall, or I'll send a bullet into you!"
Cunningham shook his head.
"Did you examine the clip this morning? When you carry weapons like that
for protection never put it in your pocket without a look-see. Dodge
wouldn't have made your mistake. Shoot! Try it on the floor, or up through
the lights--or at me if you'd like that better. The clip is empty."
Mechanically Cleigh took aim and bore against the trigger. There was no
explosion. A depressing sense of unreality rolled over the _Wanderer's_
owner.
"So you went into town for her luggage? Did you find the beads?"
Cleigh made a negative sign. It was less an answer to Cunningham than an
acknowledgment that he could not understand why the bullet clip should be
empty.
"It was an easy risk," explained Cunningham. "You carried the gun, but I
doubt you ever looked it over. Having loaded it once upon a time, you
believed that was sufficient, eh? Know what I think? The girl has hidden
the beads in her hair. Did you search her?"
Again Cleigh shook his head, as much over the situation as over the
question.
"What, you ran all this risk and hadn't the nerve to search her? Well,
that's rich! Unless you've read her from my book. She would probably have
scratched out your eyes. There's an Amazon locked up in that graceful
body. I'd like to see her head against a bit of clear blue sky--a touch of
Henner blues and reds. What a whale of a joke! Abduct a young woman, risk
prison, and then afraid to lay hands on her! You poor old piker!"
Cunningham laughed.
"Cunningham----"
"All right, I'll be merciful. To make a long story short, it means that
for the present I am in command of this yacht. I warned you. Will you be
sensible, or shall I have to lock you up like your two-gun man from
Texas?"
"Piracy!" cried Cleigh, coming out of his maze.
"Maritime law calls it that, but it isn't really. No pannikins of rum, no
fifteen men on a dead man's chest. Parlour stuff, you might call it. The
whole affair--the parlour side of it--depends upon whether you purpose to
act philosophically under stress or kick up a hullabaloo. In the latter
event you may reasonably expect some rough stuff. Truth is, I'm only
borrowing the yacht as far as latitude ten degrees and longitude one
hundred and ten degrees, off Catwick Island. You carry a boson's whistle
at the end of your watch chain. Blow it!" was the challenge.
"You bid me blow it?"
"Only to convince you how absolutely helpless you are," said Cunningham,
amiably. "Yesterday this day's madness did prepare, as our old friend Omar
used to say. Vedder did great work on that, didn't he? Toot the whistle,
for shortly we shall weigh anchor."
Like a man in a dream, Cleigh got out his whistle. The first blast was
feeble and windy. Cunningham grinned.
"Blow it, man, blow it!"
Cleigh set the whistle between his lips and blew a blast that must have
been heard half a mile away.
"That's something like! Now we'll have results!"
Above, on deck, came the scuffle of hurrying feet, and immediately--as if
they had been prepared against this moment--three fourths of the crew came
tumbling down the companionway.
"Seize this man!" shouted Cleigh, thunderously, as he indicated
Cunningham.
The men, however, fell into line and came to attention. Most of them were
grinning.
"Do you hear me? Brown, Jessup, McCarthy--seize this man!"
No one stirred. Cleigh then lost his head. With a growl he sprang toward
Cunningham. Half the crew jumped instantly into the gap between, and they
were no longer grinning. Cunningham pushed aside the human wall and faced
the _Wanderer's_ owner.
"Do you begin to understand?"
"No! But whatever your game is, it will prove bad business for you in the
end. And you men, too. The world has grown mighty small, and you'll find
it hard to hide--unless you kill me and have done with it!"
"Tut, tut! Wouldn't harm a hair of your head. The world is small, as you
say, but just at this moment infernally busy mopping up. What, bother
about a little dinkum dinkus like this, with Russia mad, Germany ugly,
France grumbling at England, Italy shaking her fist at Greece, and labour
making a monkey of itself? Nay! I'll shift the puzzle so you can read it.
When the yacht was released from auxiliary duties she was without a crew.
The old crew, that of peace times, was gone utterly, with the exception of
four. You had the yacht keelhauled, gave her another daub of war paint and
set about to find a crew. And I had one especially picked for you!
Ordinarily, you've a tolerably keen eye. Didn't it strike you odd to land
a crew who talked more or less grammatically, who were clean bodily, who
weren't boozers?"
Cleigh, fully alive now, coldly ran his inspecting glance over the men. He
had never before given their faces any particular attention. Besides, this
was the first time he had seen so many of them at once. During boat drill
they had been divided into four squads. Young faces, lean and hard some of
them, but reckless rather than bad. All of them at this moment appeared to
be enjoying some huge joke.
"I can only repeat," said Cleigh, "that you are all playing with
dynamite."
"Perhaps. Most of these boys fought in the war; they played the game; but
when they returned nobody had any use for them. I caught them on the
rebound, when they were a bit desperate. We formed a company--but of that
more anon. Will you be my guest, or will you be my prisoner?"
The velvet fell away from Cunningham's voice.
"Have I any choice? I'll accept the condition because I must. But I've
warned you. I suppose I'd better ask at once what the ransom is."
"Ransom? Not a copper cent! You can make Singapore in two days from the
Catwick."
"And for helping me into Singapore I'm to agree not to hand such men as
you leave me over to the British authorities?"
"All wrong! The men who will help you into Singapore or take you to Manila
will be as innocent as newborn babes. Wouldn't believe it, would you, but
I'm one of those efficiency sharks. Nothing left to chance; all cut and
dried; pluperfect. Cleigh, I never break my word. I honestly intended
turning over those beads to you, but Morrissy muddled the play."
"Next door to murder."
"Near enough, but he'll pull out."
"Are you going to take Miss Norman along?"
"What, set her ashore to sic the British Navy on us? I'm sorry. I don't
want her on board; but that was your play, not mine. You tried to
double-cross me. But you need have no alarm. I will kill the man who
touches her. You understand that, boys?"
The crew signified that the order was understood, though one of them--the
returned Flint--smiled cynically. If Cunningham noted the smile he made no
verbal comment upon it.
"Weigh anchor, then! Look alive! The sooner we nose down to the delta the
sooner we'll have the proper sea room."
The crew scurried off, and almost at once came familiar sounds--the rattle
of the anchor chain on the windlass, the creaking of pulley blocks as the
launch came aboard, the thud of feet hither and yon as portables were
stowed or lashed to the deck-house rail. For several minutes Cleigh and
Cunningham remained speechless and motionless.
"You get all the angles?" asked Cunningham, finally.
"Some of them," admitted Cleigh.
"At any rate, enough to make you accept a bad situation with good grace?"
"You're a foolhardy man, Cunningham. Do you expect me to lie down when
this play is over? I solemnly swear to you that I'll spend the rest of my
days hunting you down."
"And I solemnly swear that you shan't catch me. I'm through with the old
game of playing the genie in the bottle for predatory millionaires.
Henceforth I'm on my own. I'm romantic--yes, sir--I'm romantic from heel
to cowlick; and now I'm going to give rein to this stifled longing."
"You will come to a halter round your neck. I have always paid your price
on the nail, Cunningham."
"You had to. Hang it, passions are the very devil, aren't they? Sooner or
later one jumps upon your back and rides you like the Old Man of the
Sea."
Cleigh heard the rumble of steam.
"Objects of art!" went on Cunningham. "It eats into your vitals to hear
that some rival has picked up a Correggio or an ancient Kirman or a bit of
Persian plaque. You talk of halters. Lord lumme, how obliquely you look at
facts! Take that royal Persian there--the second-best animal rug on
earth--is there no murder behind the woof and warp of it? What? Talk
sense, Cleigh, talk sense! You cable me: Get such and such. I get it. What
the devil do you care how it was got, so long as it eventually becomes
yours? It's a case of the devil biting his own tail--pot calling kettle
black."
"How much do you want?"
"No, Cleigh, it's the romantic idea."
"I will give you fifty thousand for the rug."
"I'm sorry. No use now of telling you the plot; you wouldn't believe me,
as the song goes. Dinner at seven. Will you dine in the salon with me, or
will you dine in the solemn grandeur of your own cabin, in company with Da
Vinci, Teniers, and that Carlo Dolci the Italian Government has been
hunting high and low for?"
"I will risk the salon."
"To keep an eye on me as long as possible. That's fair enough. You heard
what I said to those boys. Well, every mother's son of 'em will toe the
mark. There will be no change at all in the routine. Simply we lay a new
course that will carry us outside and round Formosa, down to the South Sea
and across to the Catwick. I'll give you one clear idea. A million and
immunity would not stir me, Cleigh."
"What's the game--if it's beyond ransom?"
Cunningham laughed boyishly.
"It's big, and you'll laugh, too, when I tell you."
"On which side of the mouth?"
"That's up to you."
"Is it the rug?"
"Oh, that, of course! I warned you that I'd come for the rug. It took two
years out of my young life to get that for you, and it has always haunted
me. I just told you about passions, didn't I? Once on your back, they ride
you like the devil--down-hill."
"A crook."
"There you go again--pot calling kettle black! If you want to moralize,
where's the line between the thief and the receiver? Fie on you! Dare you
hang that Da Vinci, that Dolci, that Holbein in your gallery home? No!
Stolen goods. What a passion! You sail across the seas alone, alone
because you can't satisfy your passion and have knowing companions on
board. When the yacht goes out of commission you store the loot, and
tremble when you hear a fire alarm. All right. Dinner at seven. I'll go
and liberate your son and the lady."
"Cunningham, I will kill you out of hand the very first chance."
"Old dear, I'll add a fact for your comfort. There will be guns on board,
but half an hour gone all the ammunition was dumped into the Whangpoo. So
you won't have anything but your boson's whistle. You're a bigger man than
I am physically, and I've a slue-foot, a withered leg; but I've all the
barroom tricks you ever heard of. So don't make any mistakes in that
direction. You are free to come and go as you please; but the moment you
start any rough house, into your cabin you go, and you'll stay there
until we raise the Catwick. You haven't a leg to stand on."
Cunningham lurched out of the salon and into the passage. He opened the
door to Cabin Two and turned on the light. Dennison blinked stupidly.
Cunningham liberated him and stood back.
"Dinner at seven."
"What the devil are you doing on board?" asked Dennison, thickly.
"Well, here's gratitude for you! But in order that there will be no
misunderstanding, I've turned to piracy for a change. Great sport! I've
chartered the yacht for a short cruise." His banter turned into cold,
precise tones. Cunningham went on: "No nonsense, captain! I put this crew
on board away back in New York. Those beads, though having a merit of
their own, were the lure to bring your father to these parts. Your
presence and Miss Norman's are accidents for which I am genuinely sorry.
But frankly, I dare not turn you loose. That's the milk in the cocoanut. I
grant you the same privileges as I grant your father, which he has
philosophically agreed to accept. Your word of honour to take it sensibly,
and the freedom of the yacht is yours. Otherwise, I'll lock you up in a
place not half so comfortable as this."
"Piracy!"
"Yes, sir. These are strangely troubled days. We've slumped morally.
Humanity has been on the big kill, with the result that the tablets of
Moses have been busted up something fierce. And here we are again, all
kotowing to the Golden Calf! All I need is your word--the word of a
Cleigh."
"I give it." Dennison gave his word so that he might be free to protect
the girl in the adjoining cabin. "But conditionally."
"Well?"
"That the young lady shall at all times be treated with the utmost
respect. You will have to kill me otherwise."
"These Cleighs! All right. That happens to be my own order to the crew.
Any man who breaks it will pay heavily."
"What's the game?" asked Dennison, rubbing his wrists tenderly while he
balanced unsteadily upon his aching legs.
"Later! I'll let Miss Norman out. That's so--her things are in the salon.
I'll get them, but I'll unlock her door first."
"What in heaven's name has happened?" asked Jane as she and Dennison stood
alone in the passage.
"The Lord knows!" gloomily. "But that scoundrel Cunningham has planted a
crew of his own on board, and we are all prisoners."
"Cunningham?"
"The chap with the limp."
"With the handsome face? But this is piracy!"
"About the size of it."
"Oh, I knew something was going to happen! But a pirate! Surely it must be
a joke?"
So it was--probably the most colossal joke that ever flowered in the mind
of a man. The devil must have shouted and the gods must have held their
sides, for it took either a devil or a god to understand the joke.