I
“Did you ever hear of Daedalus?” asked Captain Utterbourne dreamily when
his caller had been shown into the little white cabin he called his shop.
“I’ve just come across a fascinating account of him in a book of myths.
Daedalus, it seems, was the man who invented sails. Like all advanced
spirits from the beginning of time, he was looked upon as mad—just
because he was always experimenting—trying to fasten sails on to his own
body, and similar devices—h’m? Isn’t it funny how little it takes to make
the world think you mad?”
It wasn’t, perhaps, quite tangible—almost, in fact, as though the master
of this romantic freighter were himself, after all, part of a myth. “And
anyhow,” puzzled Jerome, “tangible or not, what has Daedalus, even if
he did invent sails, to do with this hurry-up call on my last night in
Borneo?”
His glance discovered upon the table a sheet of paper scrawled over
with anchors in many positions. The Captain had evidently been busy
on them prior to his arrival. Then his glance strayed to the map of
the world, and again, in a parenthetical flash, he felt its peculiar
thrill—almost as though it were a special or enchanted map. Jerome had
always more or less responded to the thrill of maps—a little, even, in
the funny old school geographies. Now that he was himself abroad upon
it, the spell was brightly multiplied. What a pace he had gone! At
length he was aboard a ship in the harbour of Sandakan, listening to a
story about the man who invented sails.... And back of the story there
was something—something.... The suspense was terrific; yet “I must be
patient,” he told himself; for he guessed that the Captain was a man who,
like certain horses, would only proceed the more slowly if urged.
Finally Utterbourne, perceiving with a quick glance of his little grey
eyes that his visitor seemed momentarily absorbed in the map on the wall,
swung slowly round in his swivel chair. Appearing to forget Daedalus
entirely, he rocked back and forth, his hands spread loosely on his
knees. A light of quizzical and devious affection flickered into his
face, and, gazing at the young man before him he murmured:
“Stewart, did you ever sit down before a map of the world and just let
yourself go? H’m? It’s a gorgeous piece of adventure!”
After that the Captain sat for a time without saying anything at all—only
drumming idly with a pencil. There was something fiendish about these
silences; yet out of them, one could be sure, great things were wont to
grow.
“I’ve been wondering—h’m?” And still he drummed, his upsetting gaze never
quite leaving the other’s face, though it wavered a bit at intervals to a
point just beyond, only to return at once. The substantial ticking of a
brass clock set into the wall above the Captain’s desk added an effect of
overtone to the silence which had fallen between them. Jerome, breathless
with impatience and excitement, cleared his throat, and Utterbourne
said: “H’m?” in a murmur of unbroken meditation. But at last the Captain
stirred, laid aside his pencil—which seemed a sign they were making
progress—clasped his hands loosely on the table and said:
“I sent for you, Stewart, because I thought—h’m?—I thought you might be
able to help us out.” He hesitated, still quizzical. “You’ve been on
my mind, rather, ever since I began hearing about your extraordinary
exploits this year. To be perfectly frank”—he smiled, and Jerome,
guessing what the Captain would say, smiled back easily—“I shouldn’t have
quite picked you out—well, say that night in the Pavillon d’Orient—as a
man I’d ever be likely to see my way clear to using. But,” he went on,
his voice subtle with congratulation, “a man—h’m?—a man can’t have the
experiences you seem to have had without developing a kind of feeling”—he
held the thought a little sensuously suspended a moment—“a feeling for
the finer grain in adventure—h’m? It’s pretty hard to phrase; it’s a
thing to be sensed.”
Jerome would have spoken, his eyes, now, quite aflame with delighted
excitement; but the Captain lifted one hand in a faint gesture and went
on speaking: “Stewart, I’ve been thinking you may be one of the men I’ll
have need of when we launch a project we have in mind—h’m?—a sort of
office and clearing house for our Mediterranean trade—maybe at Naples,
or perhaps Tripoli—the plans are still very much in the air. I knew you
were sailing in the morning, and I wanted to sound you a little—in fact,
I didn’t know but you might be induced to come along with us instead—h’m?”
Again Jerome was eager to voice his sentiments in this connection,
and again the Captain, perceiving his eagerness, chose to hold him
in a torment of unreleased speech. “I presume,” he drawled, “you’re
anxious to get home after your life-and-death struggle with the Dark
Angel—h’m?” There was a smile on Utterbourne’s lips, a smile of chilly,
faint derision, since, so far as he was concerned, the Dark Angel was
at liberty to pause on his threshold whenever the impulse prompted; he
would be ready, without question or prayer. “But, as a matter of fact,”
he resumed, “I expect to reach San Francisco myself maybe sooner than
Curry and his songbirds—or at any rate not very much later. If you care
to consider the Mediterranean business at all, but feel you’d rather not
run the risk of reaching home a week, a day, or even an hour later, then
go on tomorrow with Curry, and I’ll get in touch with you afterward. H’m?
If, on the other hand, you’d like to come along with us now, I could
perhaps lay a sort of ground-work in your mind between here and San
Francisco, which might facilitate matters in case it developed that we
wanted to get things under way rather quickly.”
“I think,” said Jerome (permitted at last to speak) with a voice he
tried hard to keep perfectly steady, “that I’ll run the risk!” His eyes
sparkled a little. “Would you like me to sleep on board tonight? I’d hate
like the devil to wake up somewhere else and find all this was only a
dream!”
Then Utterbourne laughed. That is to say, he shouted. And when Jerome was
gone, he sat in the dark on deck a long time, smoking one cigarette after
another, and gently humming _To a Wild Rose_ at intervals.