The space through which Jane had passed held Dennison's gaze for two or
three minutes. Then he sat down on the companionway step, his arms across
his knees and his forehead upon his arms. What to say? What to do? She
expected him to be amusing!--when he knew that the calm on board was of
the same deceptive quality as that of the sea--below, the terror!
It did not matter that the crew was of high average. They would not be
playing such a game unless they were a reckless lot. At any moment they
might take it into their heads to swarm over Cunningham and obliterate
him. Then what? If the episode of the morning had not convinced Jane, what
would? The man Flint had dropped his mask; the others were content to wear
theirs yet awhile. Torture for her sake, the fear of what might actually
be in store for her, and she expected him to talk and act like a chap out
of a novel!
Ordinarily so full of common sense, what had happened to her that her
vision should become so obscured as not to recognize the danger of the
man? Had he been ugly, Jane would probably have ignored him. But that face
of his, as handsome as a Greek god's, and that tongue with its roots in
oil! And there was his deformity--that had drawn her pity. Playing with
her, and she deliberately walked into the trap because he was amusing! Why
shouldn't he be, knowing that he held their lives in the hollow of his
hand? What imp of Satan wouldn't have been amiable?
Because the rogues did not run up the skull and crossbones; because they
did not swagger up and down the deck, knives and pistols in their sashes,
she couldn't be made to believe them criminals!
Amusing! She could not see that if he spoke roughly it was only an
expression of the smothered pain of his mental crucifixion. He could not
tell her he loved her for fear she might misinterpret her own sentiments.
Besides, her present mood was not inductive to any declaration on his
part; a confession might serve only to widen the breach. Who could say
that it wasn't Cunningham's game to take Jane along with him in the end?
There was nothing to prevent that. His father holding aloof, the loyal
members of the crew in a most certain negligible minority, what was there
to prevent Cunningham from carrying off Jane?
Blood surged into Dennison's throat; a murderous fury boiled up in him;
but he remembered in time what these volcanic outbursts had cost him in
the past. So he did not rush to the chart house. Cunningham would lash him
with ridicule or be forced to shoot him. But his rage carried him as far
as the wireless room. He could hear the smack of the spark, but that was
all. He tried the door--locked. He tried the shutters--latched.
Cunningham's man was either calling or answering somebody. Ten minutes
inside that room and there would be another tale to tell.
In the end Dennison spent his fury by travelling round the deck until the
sea and sky became like pearly smoke. Then he dropped into a chair and
fell asleep.
Cunningham had also watched through the night. The silent steersman heard
him frequently rustling papers on the chart table or clumping to the
bridge or lolling on the port sills--a restlessness that had about it
something of the captive tiger.
Retrospection--he could not break the crowding spell of it, twist mentally
as he would; and the counter-thought was dimly suicidal. The sea there; a
few strides would carry him to the end of the bridge, and then--oblivion.
And the girl would not permit him to enact this thought. He laughed. God
had mocked him at his birth, and the devil had played with him ever
since. He had often faced death hotly and hopefully, but to consider
suicide coldly!
A woman who had crossed his path reluctantly, without will of her own; the
sort he had always ignored because they had been born for the peace of
chimney corners! She--the thought of her--could bring the past crowding
upon him and create in his mind a suicidal bent!
Pearls! A great distaste of life fell upon him; the adventure grew flat.
The zest that had been his ten days gone, where was it?
Imagination! He had been cursed with too much of it. In his youth he had
skulked through alleys and back streets--the fear of laughter and ridicule
dogging his mixed heels. Never before to have paused to philosophize over
what had caused his wasted life! Too much imagination! Mental strabismus!
He had let his over-sensitive imagination wreck and ruin him. A woman's
laughter had given him the viewpoint of a careless world; and he had fled,
and he had gone on fleeing all these years from pillar to post. From a
shadow!
He was something of a monster. He saw now where the fault lay. He had
never stayed long enough in any one place for people to get accustomed to
him. His damnable imagination! And there was conceit of a sort. Probably
nobody paid any attention to him after the initial shock and curiosity
had died away. There was Scarron in his wheel chair--merry and cheerful
and brave, jesting with misfortune; and men and women had loved him.
A moral coward, and until this hour he had never sensed the truth! That
was it! He had been a moral coward; he had tried to run away from fate;
and here he was at last, in the blind alley the coward always found at the
end of the run. He had never thought of anything but what he was--never of
what he might have been. For having thrust him unfinished upon a
thoughtless rather than a heartless world he had been trying to punish
fate, and had punished only himself. A wastrel, a roisterer by night, a
spendthrift, and a thief!
What had she said?--reknead his soul so that it would fit his face? Too
late!
One staff to lean on, one only--he never broke his word. Why had he laid
down for himself this law? What had inspired him to hold always to that?
Was there a bit of gold somewhere in his grotesque make-up? A straw on the
water, and he clutched it! Why? Cunningham laughed again, and the
steersman turned his head slightly.
"Williams, do you believe in God?" asked Cunningham.
"Well, sir, when I'm holding down the wheel--perhaps. The screw is always
edging a ship off, and the lighter the ballast the wider the yaw. So you
have to keep hitching her over a point to starboard. You trust to me to
keep that point, and I trust to God that the north stays where it is."
"And yet legally you're a pirate."
"Oh, that? Well, a fellow ain't much of a pirate that plays the game we
play. And yet----"
"Ah! And yet?"
"Well, sir, some of the boys are getting restless. And I'll be mighty glad
when we raise that old Dutch bucket of yours. They ain't bad, understand;
just young and heady and wanting a little fun. They growl a lot because
they can't sleep on deck. They growl because there's nothing to drink. Of
course it might hurt Cleigh's feelings, but I'd like to see all his grog
go by the board. You see, sir, it ain't as if we'd just dropped down from
Shanghai. It's been tarnation dull ever since we left San Francisco."
"Once on the other boat, they can make a night of it if they want to. But
I've given my word on the _Wanderer_."
"Yes, sir."
"And it's final."
Cunningham returned to his chart. All these cogitations because a woman
had entered his life uninvited! Ten days ago he had not been aware of her
existence; and from now on she would be always recurring in his thoughts.
She was not conscious of it, but she was as a wild thing that had been
born in captivity, and she was tasting the freedom of space again without
knowing what the matter was. But it is the law that all wild things born
in captivity lose everything but the echo; a little freedom, a flash of
what might have been, and they are ready to return to the cage. So it
would be with her.
Supposing--no, he would let her return to her cage. He wondered--had he
made his word a law simply to meet and conquer a situation such as this?
Or was his hesitance due to the fear of her hate? That would be immediate
and unabating. She was not the sort that would bend--she would break. No,
he wasn't monster enough to play that sort of game. She should take back
her little adventure to her cage, and in her old age it would become a
pleasant souvenir.
He rose and leaned on his arms against a port sill and stared at the stars
until they began to fade, until the sea and the sky became like the pearls
he would soon be seeking. A string of glass beads, bringing about all
these events!
At dawn he went down to the deck for a bit of exercise before he turned
in. When he beheld Dennison sound asleep in the chair, his mouth slightly
open, his bare feet standing out conspicuously on the foot rest, a
bantering, mocking smile twisted the corners of Cunningham's lips.
Noiselessly he settled himself in the adjacent chair, and cynically hoping
that Dennison would be first to wake he fell asleep.
The _Wanderer's_ deck toilet was begun and consummated between six and
six-thirty, except in rainy weather. Hose, mops, and holystone, until the
teak looked as if it had just left the Rangoon sawmills; then the brass,
every knob and piping, every latch and hinge and port loop. The care given
the yacht since leaving the Yang-tse might be well called ingratiating.
Never was a crew more eager to enact each duty to the utmost--with mighty
good reason.
But when they came upon Dennison and Cunningham, asleep side by side, they
drew round the spot, dumfounded. But their befuddlement was only a tithe
of that which struck Cleigh an hour later. It was his habit to take a
short constitutional before breakfast; and when he beheld the two, asleep
in adjoining chairs, the fact suggesting that they had come to some
friendly understanding, he stopped in his tracks, as they say, never more
astonished in all his days.
For as long as five minutes he remained motionless, the fine, rugged face
of his son on one side and the amazing beauty of Cunningham's on the
other. But in the morning light, in repose, Cunningham's face was tinged
with age and sadness. There was, however, no grain of pity in Cleigh's
heart. Cunningham had made his bed of horsehair; let him twist and writhe
upon it.
But the two of them together, sleeping as peacefully as babes! Dennison
had one arm flung behind his head. It gave Cleigh a shock, for he
recognized the posture. As a lad Dennison had slept that way. Cunningham's
withered leg was folded under his sound one.
What had happened? Cleigh shook his head; he could not make it out.
Moreover, he could not wake either and demand the solution to the puzzle.
He could not put his hand on his son's shoulder, and he would not put it
on Cunningham's. Pride on one side and distaste on the other. But the two
of them together!
He got round the impasse by kicking out the foot rest of the third chair.
Immediately Cunningham opened his eyes. First he turned to see if Dennison
was still in his chair. Finding this to be the case, he grinned amiably at
the father. Exactly the situation he would have prayed for had he believed
in the efficacy of prayer.
"Surprises you, eh? Looks as if he had signed on with the Great Adventure
Company."
His voice woke Dennison, who blinked in the sunshine for a moment, then
looked about. He comprehended at once.
With easy dignity he swung his bare feet to the deck and made for the
companion; never a second glance at either his father or Cunningham.
"Chip of the old block!" observed Cunningham. "You two! On my word, I
never saw two bigger fools in all my time! What's it about? What the devil
did he do--murder someone, rob the office safe, or marry Tottie Lightfoot?
And Lord, how you both love me! And how much more you'll love me when I
become the dear departed!"
Cleigh, understanding that the situation was a creation of pure malice on
Cunningham's part--Cleigh wheeled and resumed his tramp round the deck.
Cunningham plowed his fingers through his hair, gripped and pulled it in a
kind of ecstasy. Cleigh's phiz. The memory of it would keep him in good
humour all day. After all, there was a lot of good sport in the world. The
days were all right. It was only in the quiet vigils of the night that the
uninvited thought intruded. On board the old Dutch tramp he would sleep
o'nights, and the past would present only a dull edge.
If the atoll had cocoanut palms, hang it, he would build a shack and make
it his winter home! _Dolce far niente!_ Maybe he might take up the brush
again and do a little amateur painting. Yes, in the daytime the old top
wasn't so bad. He hoped he would have no more nonsense from Flint. A surly
beggar, but a necessary pawn in the game.
Pearls! Some to sell and some to play with. Lovely, tenderly beautiful
pearls--a rope of them round Jane Norman's throat. He slid off the chair.
As a fool, he hung in the same gallery as the Cleighs.
Cleigh ate his breakfast alone. Upon inquiry he learned that Jane was
indisposed and that Dennison had gone into the pantry and picked up his
breakfast there. Cleigh found the day unspeakably dull. He read, played
the phonograph, and tried all the solitaires he knew; but a hundred times
he sensed the want of the pleasant voice of the girl in his ears.
What would she be demanding of him as a reparation? He was always sifting
this query about, now on this side, now on that, without getting anywhere.
Not money. What then?
That night both Jane and Dennison came in to dinner. Cleigh saw instantly
that something was amiss. The boy's face was gloomy and his lips locked,
and the girl's mouth was set and cheerless. Cleigh was fired by curiosity
to ascertain the trouble, but here again was an impasse.
"I'm sorry I spoke so roughly last night," said Dennison, unexpectedly.
"And I am sorry that I answered you so sharply. But all this worry and
fuss over me is getting on my nerves. You've written down Cunningham as a
despicable rogue, when he is only an interesting one. If only you would
give banter for banter, you might take some of the wind out of his sails.
But instead you go about as if the next hour was to be our last!"
"Who knows?"
"There you go! In a minute we'll be digging up the hatchet again."
But she softened the reproach by smiling. At this moment Cunningham came
in briskly and cheerfully. He sat down, threw the napkin across his knees,
and sent an ingratiating smile round the table.
"Cleigh"--he was always talking to Cleigh, and apparently not minding in
the least that he was totally ignored--"Cleigh, they are doing a good job
in the Santa Maria delle Grazie, so I am told. Milan, of course. They are
restoring Da Vinci's Cenacolo. What called it to mind is the fact that
this is also the last supper. To-morrow at this hour you will be in
possession and I'll be off for my pearls."
The recipients of this remarkable news appeared petrified for a space.
Cunningham enjoyed the astonishment.
"Sounds almost too good to be true, doesn't it? Still, it's a fact."
"That's tiptop news, Cunningham," said Dennison. "I hope when you go down
the ladder you break your infernal neck. But the luck is on your side."
"Let us hope that it stays there," replied Cunningham, unruffled. He
turned to Cleigh again: "I say, we've always been bewailing that job of Da
Vinci's. But the old boy was a seer. He knew that some day there would be
American millionaires and that I'd become a force in art. So he put his
subject on a plaster wall so I couldn't lug it off. A canvas the same
size, I don't say; but the side of a church!"
"A ship is going to pick you up to-morrow?" asked Jane.
"Yes. The crew of the _Wanderer_ goes to the _Haarlem_ and the _Haarlem_
crew transships to the _Wanderer_. You see, Cleigh, I'm one of those
efficiency sharks. In this game I have left nothing to chance. Nothing
except an act of God--as they say on the back of your steamer ticket--can
derange my plans. Not the least bit of inconvenience to you beyond going
out of your course for a few days. The new crew was signed on in
Singapore--able seamen wanting to return to the States. Hired them in your
name. Clever idea of me, eh?"
"Very," said Cleigh, speaking directly to Cunningham for the first time
since the act of piracy.
"And this will give you enough coal to turn and make Manila, where you can
rob the bunkers of one of your freighters. Now, then, early last winter in
New York a company was formed, the most original company in all this rocky
old world--the Great Adventure Company, of which I am president and
general adviser. Pearls! Each member of the crew is a shareholder,
undersigned at fifteen hundred shares, par value one dollar. These shares
are redeemable October first in New York City if the company fails, or are
convertible into pearls of equal value if we succeed. No widows and
orphans need apply. Fair enough."
"Fair enough, indeed," admitted Cleigh.
Dennison stared at his father. He did not quite understand this
willingness to hold converse with the rogue after all this rigorously
maintained silence.
"Of course the Great Adventure Company had to be financed," went on
Cunningham with a deprecating gesture.
"Naturally," assented Cleigh. "And that, I suppose, will be my job?"
"Indirectly. You see, Eisenfeldt told me he had a client ready to pay
eighty thousand for the rug, and that put the whole idea into my noodle."
"Ah! Well, you will find the crates and frames and casings in the forward
hold," said Cleigh in a tone which conveyed nothing of his thoughts. "It
would be a pity to spoil the rug and the oils for the want of a little
careful packing."
Cunningham rose and bowed.
"Cleigh, you are a thoroughbred!"
Cleigh shook his head.
"I'll have your hide, Cunningham, if it takes all I have and all I am!"