Cunningham sat down. "The spirit is willing, Cleigh, but the flesh is
weak. You'll never get my hide. How will you go about it? Stop a moment
and mull it over. How are you going to prove that I've borrowed the rug
and the paintings? These are your choicest possessions. You have many at
home worth more, but these things you love. Out of spite, will you inform
the British, the French, the Italian governments that you had these
objects and that I relieved you of them? In that event you'll have my
hide, but you'll never set eyes upon the oils again except upon their
lawful walls--the rug, never! On the other hand, there is every chance in
the world of my returning them to you."
"Your word?" interrupted Jane, ironically.
So Cleigh was right? A quarter of a million in art treasures!
"My word! I never before realized," continued Cunningham, "what a fine
thing it is to possess something to stand on firmly--a moral plank."
Dennison's laughter was sardonic.
"Moral plank is good," was his comment.
"Miss Norman," said Cunningham, maliciously, "I slept beside the captain
this morning, and he snores outrageously." The rogue tilted his chin and
the opal fire leaped into his eyes. "Do you want me to tell you all about
the Great Adventure Company, or do you want me to shut up and merely
proceed with the company's business without further ado? Why the devil
should I care what you think of me? Still, I do care. I want you to get my
point of view--a rollicking adventure, in which nobody loses anything and
I have a great desire fulfilled. Hang it, it's a colossal joke, and in the
end the laugh will be on nobody! Even Eisenfeldt will laugh," he added,
enigmatically.
"Do you intend to take the oils and the rug and later return them?"
demanded Jane.
"Absolutely! That's the whole story. Only Cleigh here will not believe it
until the rug and oils are dumped on the door-step of his New York home. I
needed money. Nobody would offer to finance a chart with a red cross on
it. So I had to work it out in my own fashion. The moment Eisenfeldt sees
these oils and the rug he becomes my financier, but he'll never put his
claw on them except for one thing--that act of God they mention on the
back of your ticket. Some raider may have poked into this lagoon of mine.
In that case Eisenfeldt wins."
Cleigh smiled.
"A pretty case, Cunningham, but it won't hold water. It is inevitable that
Eisenfeldt gets the rug and the paintings, and you are made comfortable
for the rest of your days. A shabby business, and you shall rue it."
"My word?"
"I don't believe in it any longer," returned Cleigh.
Cunningham appealed to Jane.
"Give me the whole story, then I'll tell you what I believe," she said.
"You may be telling the truth."
What a queer idea--wanting his word believed! Why should it matter to him
whether they believed in the honour of his word or not, when he held the
whip hand and could act as he pleased? The poor thing! And as that phrase
was uttered in thought, the glamour of him was dissipated; she saw
Cunningham as he was, a poor benighted thing, half boy, half demon, a
thing desperately running away from his hurt and lashing out at friends
and enemies alike on the way.
"Tell your story--all of it."
Cunningham began:
"About a year ago the best friend I had--perhaps the only friend I
had--died. He left me his chart and papers. The atoll is known, but
uncharted, because it is far outside the routes. I have no actual proofs
that there will be shell in the lagoon; I have only my friend's word--the
word of a man as honest as sunshine. Where this shell lies there is never
any law. Some pearl thiever may have fallen upon the shell since my friend
discovered it."
"In that case," said Cleigh, "I lose?"
"Frankly, yes! All financial ventures are attended by certain risks."
"Money? Why didn't you come to me for that?"
"What! To you?"
Cunningham's astonishment was perfect.
"Yes. There was a time when I would have staked a good deal on your
word."
Cunningham rested his elbows on the table and clutched his hair--a
despairing gesture.
"No use! I can't get it to you! I can't make you people understand! It
isn't the pearls, it's the game; it's all the things that go toward the
pearls. I want to put over a game no man ever played before."
Jane began to find herself again drawn toward him, but no longer with the
feeling of unsettled mystery. She knew now why he drew her. He was the
male of the species to which she belonged--the out-trailer, the hater of
humdrum, of dull orbits and of routine. The thrilling years he had
spent--business! This was the adventure of which he had always dreamed,
and since it would never arrive as a sequence, he had proceeded to
dramatize it! He was Tom Sawyer grown up; and for a raft on the
Mississippi substitute a seagoing yacht. There was then in this
matter-of-fact world such a man, and he sat across the table from her!
"Supposing I had come to you and you had advanced the money?" said
Cunningham, earnestly. "All cut and dried, not a thrill, not a laugh,
nothing but the pearls! I have never had a boyhood dream realized but,
hang it, I'm going to realize this one!" He struck the table violently.
"Set the British after me, and you'll never see this stuff again. You'll
learn whether my word is worth anything or not. Lay off for eight months,
and if your treasures are not yours again within that time you won't have
to chase me. I'll come to you and have the tooth pulled without gas."
Dennison's eyes softened a little. Neither had he realized any of his
boyhood dreams. For all that, the fellow was as mad as a hatter.
"Of course I'm a colossal ass, and half the fun is knowing that I am." The
banter returned to Cunningham's tongue. "But this thing will go
through--I feel it. I will have had my fun, and you will have loaned your
treasures to me for eight months, and Eisenfeldt will have his principal
back without interest. The treasures go directly to a bank vault. There
will be two receipts, one dated September--mine; and one dated
November--Eisenfeldt's. I hate Eisenfeldt. He's tricky; his word isn't
worth a puff of smoke; he's ready at all times to play both ends from the
middle. I want to pay him out for crossing my path in several affairs.
He's betting that I will find no pearls. So to-morrow I will exhibit the
rug and the Da Vinci to convince him, and he will advance the cash. Can't
you see the sport of it?"
"That would make very good reading," said Cleigh, scraping the shell of
his avocado pear. "I can get you on piracy."
"Prove it! You can say I stole the yacht, but you can't prove it. The crew
is yours; you hired it. The yacht returns to you to-morrow without a
scratch on her paint. And the new crew will know absolutely nothing, being
as innocent as newborn babes. Cleigh, you're no fool. What earthly chance
have you got? You love that rug. You're not going to risk losing it
positively, merely to satisfy a thirst for vengeance. You're human. You'll
rave and storm about for a few days, then you'll accept the game as it
lies. Think of all the excitement you'll have when a telegram arrives or
the phone rings! I told you it was a whale of a joke; and in late October
you'll chuckle. I know you, Cleigh. Down under all that tungsten there is
the place of laughter. It will be better to laugh by yourself than to have
the world laugh at you. Hoist by his own petard! There isn't a newspaper
syndicate on earth that wouldn't give me a fortune for just the yarn. Now,
I don't want the world to laugh at you, Cleigh."
"Considerate of you."
"Because I know what that sort of laughter is. Could you pick up the old
life, the clubs? Could a strong man like you exist in an atmosphere of
suppressed chuckles? Mull it over. If these treasures were honourably
yours I'd never have thought of touching them. But you haven't any more
right to them than I have, or Eisenfeldt."
Dennison leaned back in his chair. He began to laugh.
"Cunningham, my apologies," he said. "I thought you were a scoundrel, and
you are only a fool--the same brand as I! I've been aching to wring your
neck, but that would have been a pity. For eight months life will be full
of interest for me--like waiting for the end of a story in the magazines."
"But there is one thing missing out of the tale," Jane interposed.
"And what is that?" asked Cunningham.
"Those beads."
"Oh, those beads! They belonged to an empress of France, and the French
Government is offering sixty thousand for their return. Napoleonic. And
now will you answer a question of mine? Where have you hidden them?"
Jane did not answer, but rose and left the dining salon. Silence fell upon
the men until she returned. In her hand she held Ling Foo's brass hand
warmer. She set it on the table and pried back the jigsawed lid. From the
heap of punk and charcoal ashes she rescued the beads and laid them on the
cloth.
"Very clever. They are yours," said Cunningham.
"Mine?"
"Why not? Findings is keepings. They are as much yours as mine."
Jane pushed the string toward Cleigh.
"For me?" he said.
"Yes--for nothing."
"There is sixty thousand dollars in gold in my safe. When we land in San
Francisco I will turn over the money to you. You have every right in the
world to it."
Cleigh blew the ash from the glass beads and circled them in his palm.
"I repeat," she said, "they are yours."
Cunningham stood up.
"Well, what's it to be?"
"I have decided to reserve my decision," answered Cleigh, dryly. "To hang
you 'twixt wind and water will add to the thrill, for evidently that's
what you're after."
"If it's on your own you'll only be wasting coal."
Cleigh toyed with the beads.
"The _Haarlem_. Maybe I can save you a lot of trouble," said Cunningham.
"The name is only on her freeboard and stern, not on her master's ticket.
The moment we are hull down the old name goes back." Cunningham turned to
Jane. "Do you believe I've put my cards on the table?"
"Yes."
"And that if I humanly can I'll keep my word?"
"Yes."
"That's worth many pearls of price!"
"Supposing," said Cleigh, trickling the beads from palm to
palm--"supposing I offered you the equivalent in cash?"
"No, Eisenfeldt has my word."
"You refuse?" Plainly Cleigh was jarred out of his calm. "You refuse?"
"I've already explained," said Cunningham, wearily. "I've told you that I
like sharp knives to play with. If you handle them carelessly you're cut.
How about you?" Cunningham addressed the question to Dennison.
"Oh, I'm neutral and interested. I've always had a sneaking admiration for
a tomfool. They were Shakespeare's best characters. Consider me neutral."
Cleigh rose abruptly and stalked from the salon.
Cunningham lurched and twisted to the forward passage and disappeared.
When next Jane saw him in the light he was bloody and terrible.