THE FIGHT IN THE MUSIC-ROOM
The _Sea Queen_ was making way on her northerly course athwart the long
rollers of the Pacific. The wind blew briskly from the west, and the
sea ran high, so that the yacht lay over with a strong list as she
battled through the rough water. My watch began at twelve o'clock that
night, and I took the precaution to lie down for a rest about eight. I
fell asleep to the sound of the sea against my porthole window, but
awoke in good time. It was full dark, and, save for the screw and the
eternal long wash without, there was silence. Somehow the very
persistence of these sounds seemed profounder silence. I groped my way
into the passage, with the screw kicking under my feet, and passed
Barraclough's cabin. Still there was no sound or sign of life, but I
perceived the glimmer of a light beyond, and seeing that it issued from
Pye's cabin I turned the handle of the door. It was locked.
"Who is that?" demanded a tremulous voice.
"It's I. Let me in," I called back.
The door was opened slowly and little Pye stood before me. In the
illumination of the incandescent wire he stood out ghastly white.
"It's you, doctor," he said weakly.
The smell of spirits pervaded the cabin. I looked across and saw a
tumbler in the rack, half full of whisky and water. He noticed the
direction of my gaze.
"I can't sleep," said he. "This heavy water has given me a touch of
sea-sickness. I feel awfully queer."
"I don't suppose whisky will do you any good," said I.
He laughed feebly and vacantly. "Oh, but it does! It stays the stomach.
Different people are affected different ways, doctor." As he spoke he
took down the glass with quivering fingers and drank from it in a
clumsy gulp.
"I shall be better if I can get to sleep," he said nervously, and drank
again.
"Pye, you're making trouble for yourself," said I. "You'll be pretty
bad before morning."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't talk about morning!" he broke out in a
fit of terror.
I gazed at him in astonishment, and he tried to recover under my eyes.
"That's not your first glass," said I.
He did not deny it. "I can't go on without it. Let me alone, doctor;
for heaven's sake let me alone."
I gave him up. "Well, if you are going to obfuscate yourself in this
foolish manner," I said, my voice disclosing my contempt, "at least
take my advice and don't lock yourself in. None but hysterical women do
that."
I was closing the door when he put a hand out.
"Doctor, doctor...." I paused, and he looked at me piteously. "Could
you give me a sleeping draught?"
"If you'll leave that alone, I will," I said; and I returned to my
cabin and brought some sulphonal tabloids.
"This will do you less harm than whisky," I said. "Now buck up and be a
man, Pye."
He thanked me and stood looking at me. His hands nervously adjusted his
glasses on his nose. He took one of the tabloids and shakily lifted his
whisky and water to wash it down his throat. He coughed and sputtered,
and with a shiver turned away from me. He lifted the glass again and
drained it.
"Good-bye, doctor--good-night, I mean," he said hoarsely, with his back
still to me. "I'm all right. I think I shall go to sleep now."
"Well, that's wise," said I, "and I'll look in and see how you go on
when my watch is over."
He started, turned half-way to me and stopped. "Right you are," he
said, with a struggle after cheerfulness. His back was still to me. He
had degrading cowardice in his very appearance. Somehow I was moved to
pat him on the shoulder.
"That's all right, man. Get to sleep."
For answer he broke into tears and blubbered aloud, throwing himself
face downwards on his bunk.
"Come, Pye!" said I. "Why, what's this, man?"
"I'm a bit upset," he said, regaining some control of himself. "I think
the sea-sickness has upset me. But I'm all right." He lay on his face,
and was silent. And so (for I was due now in the corridor) I left him.
As I turned away, I could have sworn I heard the key click in the door.
He had locked himself in again.
Lane was on duty at the farther end of the corridor, and I had the door
near the entrance connecting with the music balcony. Two electric
lights shed a faint glow through the length and breadth of the
corridor, and over all was silence. As I sat in my chair, fingering my
revolver, my thoughts turned over the situation helplessly, and swung
round finally to the problem of Barraclough and Mademoiselle. The
Princess and I had guessed what was forward, and Lane also had an
inkling. Only the Prince was ignorant of the signal flirtation which
was in progress under his nose. I suppose such a woman could not remain
without victims. It did not suffice for her that she had captured a
prince of the blood, had dislocated the policy of a kingdom, and had
ruined a man's life. She must have other trophies of her beauty, and
Barraclough was one. I was sorry for him, though I cannot say that I
liked him. The dull, unimaginative and wholesome Briton had toppled
over before the sensuous arts of the French beauty. His anxiety was for
her. He had not shown himself timorous as to the result before.
Doubtless she had infected him with her fears. Possibly, even, it was
at the lady's suggestion that he had made advances to Holgate.
Suddenly my thoughts were diverted by a slight noise, and, looking
round, I saw Lane advancing swiftly towards me.
"I say, Phillimore," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I've lost the key."
"Key!" I echoed. "What key?" For I did not at once take in his meaning.
"Why, man, the purser's key--the key of the strong room," he said
impatiently.
I gazed in silence at him. "But you must have left it below," I said at
last.
"Not I," he answered emphatically. "I'm no juggins. They're always on
me. I go to bed in them, so to speak. See here." He pulled a ring of
keys from his pocket. "This is how I keep 'em--on my double chain. They
don't leave me save at nights when I undress. Well, it's gone, and I'm
damned if I know when it went or how it went."
He gazed, frowning deeply at his bunch.
"That's odd," I commented.
"It puts me in a hole," said he. "How the mischief can I have lost it?
I can't think how it can have slipped off. And it's the only one gone,
too."
"It didn't slip off," said I. "It's been stolen."
He looked at me queerly. "That makes it rather worse, old chap," he
said hesitatingly. "For it don't go out of my hands."
"Save at night," said I.
He was silent. "Hang it, what does any blighter want to steal it for?"
he demanded in perplexity.
"Well, we know what's in the strong room," I said.
"Yes--but----" There was a sound.
"To your door," said I. "Quick, man."
Lane sped along the corridor to his station, and just as he reached it
a door opened and Princess Alix emerged. She hesitated for a moment and
then came towards me. It was bitterly cold, and she was clad in her
furs. She came to a pause near me.
"I could not sleep, and it is early yet," she said. "Are you expecting
danger?"
"We have always to act as if we were," I said evasively.
She was examining my face attentively, and now looked away as if her
scrutiny had satisfied her.
"Why has this man never made any attempt to get the safes?" she asked
next.
"I wish I knew," I replied, and yet in my mind was that strange piece
of information I had just had from Lane. Who had stolen the key?
The Princess uttered a little sigh, and, turning, began to walk to and
fro.
"It is sometimes difficult to keep one's feet when the floor is at this
angle," she remarked as she drew near to me; and then she paced again
into the distance. She was nervous and distressed, I could see, though
her face had not betrayed the fact. Yet how was I to comfort her? We
were all on edge. Once again she paused near me.
"What are our chances?"
"They are hopeful," said I, as cheerfully as I might. "The fortress has
always more chances than the leaguers, providing rations hold out, and
there is no fear of ours."
"Ah, tell me the truth!" she cried with agitation.
"Madam, I have said what is exactly true," I replied gravely. "I have
spoken of chances."
"And if we lose?" she asked after a pause.
Her eyes encountered mine fully. "I have no information," I said
slowly, "and very little material to go on in guessing. But I hope we
shall not lose," I added.
"This can't go on forever, Dr. Phillimore," she said with a little
catch in her voice. "It has gone on so long."
My heart bled for her. She had been so courageous; she had shown such
fortitude, such resistance, such common sense, this beautiful proud
woman; and she was now breaking down before one of her brother's
employees.
"It can't go on much longer," I said, again gravely. "It will come to
its own conclusion presently."
"Ah, but what conclusion?" she cried. "Who knows! Who knows?"
The sight of her agitation, of that splendid woman nigh to tears,
thrilled me to the marrow with a storm of compassion and something
more. I was carried out of myself.
"God be witness," I cried, "that while I live you shall be safe from
any harm. God be my witness for that."
She uttered a tiny sob and put out her hand impulsively.
"You are good," she said brokenly. "I am a coward to give way. But I
was alone. I have brooded over it all. And Frederic--Thank you, oh,
thank you! To have said so much, perhaps, has helped me. Oh, we shall
all live--live to talk of these days with shudders and thankfulness to
God. You are right to call God to witness. He is our witness now--He
looks down on us both, and He will help us. I will pray to Him this
night, as I have prayed three times a day."
She spoke in a voice full of emotion, and very low and earnest, and her
hand was still in mine. And, as she finished, the two electric lights
in the corridor went out, leaving us in pitch darkness. I felt the
Princess shudder.
"Be brave," I whispered. "Oh, be brave! You have called to God. He will
hear you."
"Yes, yes," she whispered back, and clutched my hand tighter, drawing
nearer me till her furs rested against my breast. "But what is it? What
does it mean?"
"It may mean nothing," I replied, "but it may mean----"
I put my ear to the door, still holding her, and listened. Through the
noises of the sea I could make out other and alien sounds. "They
come... You must go. Can you find your way?"
"Let me stay," she murmured breathlessly.
"No, no; go," I said. "Your place is in your cabin just now. Remember,
I know where it is and I can find you."
"Yes, find me," she panted. "Please find me. See, I--I have this." She
put the butt of a revolver into my hand. "That has been by me since the
first. But come; find me--if--if it is necessary."
I raised her hand to my lips and she melted away. I turned to the door.
"Lane!" I called. "Lane!"
His voice sailed back to me. "What's gone wrong with the lights?"
"They're coming," I said. "Look to your door." And even as I spoke a
bar crashed upon mine from without. In an instant the corridor was full
of noises. The mutineers were upon us, but they had divided their
forces, and were coming at different quarters. It remained to be seen
at which spot their main attack was to be delivered. I put my revolver
through one of the holes we had drilled in the door, and fired. It was
impossible to say if my shot took effect, but I hoped so, and I heard
the sound of Lane's repeater at the farther end. The blows on the door
were redoubled, and it seemed to me to be yielding. I emptied two more
cartridges through the hole at a venture, and that one went home I
knew, since I had touched a body with the muzzle as I pulled the trigger.
Ellison was on guard in the saloon below, and Grant and the cook in the
music saloon; and I judged from the sounds that reached me in the
_melee_ that they also were at work. By this time Barraclough and
Jackson and the Prince had arrived on the scene, the last with a lantern
which he swung over his head. Barraclough joined me, and Jackson was
despatched to grope his way into the saloon to assist Ellison. The Prince
himself took his station with Lane, and I heard the noise of his weapon
several times. My door had not yet given way, but I was afraid of those
swinging blows, and both Barraclough and I continued to fire. The
corridor filled with smoke and the smell of powder.
"Do you think he's made up his mind to get through here?" asked
Barraclough.
"I don't know," I shouted back. "He's attacking in three places, at any
rate. We can't afford to neglect any one of them."
"Confound this darkness!" he exclaimed furiously. "Oh, for an hour of
dawn!"
The blows descended on the door, but still it held, and I began to
wonder why. Surely a body of men with axes should have destroyed the
flimsy boards by this time. It looked as if this was not the real
objective of the attack. I sprang to the bolt and was drawing it when
Barraclough called out, for he could see in the dim light of the
lantern.
"Good heavens, man, are you mad?"
"No," I called back. "Stand ready to fire. I believe there's practically
no one behind this"; and, having now released the bolt, I flung open
the door. Simultaneously Barraclough fired through the open darkness,
and a body took the deck heavily, floundering on the threshold. The
rest was silence. No one was visible or audible. But at my feet lay two
bodies.
"I thought so," I said excitedly. "This was mere bluff. And so's the
attack on Lane's door. See, there's no force there. I will settle
that."
I delivered a pistol shot along the deck in the direction of some
shadows, and retreated, bolting the door behind me.
"Where is it?" gasped Barraclough, out of breath.
"One at each door will do," said I. "Fetch Lane here. I think its the
music-room. You and I had better get there as fast as we can."
Without disputing my assumption of authority, he ran down the corridor,
and explained our discovery, returning presently with Lane. Then we
made for the music-room.
It was pitch black on the stairs, but we groped our way through, guided
by the sounds within. Barraclough struck a match and shed a light on
the scene. For an instant it flared and sputtered, discovering to us
the situation in that cockpit. The place was a shambles. Grant was at
bay in a corner, the cook lay dead, and half a dozen mutineers were
struggling in the foreground with some persons I could not see: while
through the broken boards of the windows other men were climbing. With
an oath Barraclough dropped his match and rushed forward. My revolver
had barked as he did so, and one of the ruffians who was crawling
through the window toppled head first into the saloon. But the darkness
hampered us, for it was impossible to tell who was friend or enemy; and
I believe it had hampered the mutineers also, or they must have
triumphed long ere this. I engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with some
one who gripped me by the throat and struck at me with a knife. I felt
it rip along my shoulder, and a throb of pain jumped in my arm. But the
next moment I had him under foot and had used the last cartridge in my
chamber.
"Where are you, Grant, Barraclough, Ellison?" I called out, and I heard
above the din of oaths and feet and bumping a voice call hoarsely to
me. Whose it was I could not say and upon that came an exclamation of
pain or cry. "My God!"
With the frenzy of the lust of blood upon me, I seized some one and
drove my revolver heavily into his skull. I threw another man to the
floor from behind, and was then seized as in a grasp of a vice. I
turned about and struggled fiercely, and together my assailant and I
rocked and rolled from point to point. Neither of us had any weapon, it
appeared, and all that we could do was to struggle in that mutual and
tenacious grip and trust to chance. I felt myself growing weaker, but I
did not relax my hold and, indeed, came to the conclusion that if I was
to survive it must be by making a superhuman effort. With all the force
of my muscles and the weight of my body I pushed my man forward, at the
same time striving to bend him backward. He gave way a little and
struck the railings that surrounded the well of the saloon, bumping
along them heavily. Then recovering, he exerted all his strength
against me, and we swayed together. Suddenly there was a crack in my
ears, the rail parted asunder, and we both toppled over into space. A
thud followed which seemed to be in my very brain, and then I knew
nothing.
When I was next capable of taking in impressions with my senses I was
aware of a great stillness. Vacantly my mind groped its way back to the
past, and I recalled that I had fallen, and must be now in the saloon.
Immediately on that I was conscious that I was resting upon some still
body, which must be that of my opponent who had fallen under me. What
had happened? I could hear no sounds of any conflict in progress. Had
the enemy taken possession of the state-rooms, and were all of our
party prisoners or dead? I rose painfully into a sitting posture, and
put out a hand to guide myself. It fell on a quiet face. The man was
dead.
It was with infinite difficulty that I got to my feet, sore, aching,
and dizzy, and groped my way to the wall. Which way was I to go? Which
way led out? The only sound I seemed to hear was the regular thumping
of the screw below me, which was almost as if it had been in the
arteries of my head, beating in consonance with my heart. Then an idea
struck me, flooding me with horror, and bracing my shattered nerves.
The Princess! I had promised to go to her if all was lost. I had
betrayed my trust.
As I thought this I staggered down the saloon, clutching the wall, and
came abruptly against a pillar which supported the balcony above. From
this I let myself go at a venture, and walked into the closed door
forthright. Congratulating myself on my luck, I turned the handle and
passed into the darkness of the passages beyond. And now a sound of
voices flowed toward me, voices raised in some excitement, and I could
perceive a light some way along the passage in the direction of the
officers' cabins. As I stood waiting, resolute, not knowing if these
were friends or foes, and fearing the latter, a man emerged toward me
with a lantern.
"If that fool would only switch on the light it would be easier," he
said in a voice which I did not recognise. But the face over the
lantern was familiar to me. It was Pierce, the murderer of McCrae, and
the chief figure after Holgate in that mutiny and massacre. I shrank
back behind the half-open door, but he did not see me. He had turned
and gone back with an angry exclamation.
"Stand away there!" I heard, in a voice of authority, and I knew the
voice this time.
It was Holgate's. The mutineers had the ship.
What, then, had become of the Prince's party? What fate had enveloped
them? I waited no longer, but staggered rather than slipped out of the
saloon and groped in the darkness toward the stairs. Once on them, I
pulled myself up by the balustrade until I reached the landing, where
the entrance-hall gave on the state-rooms. I was panting, I was aching,
every bone seemed broken in my body, and I had no weapon. How was I to
face the ruffians, who might be in possession of the rooms? I tried the
handle of the door, but it was locked. I knocked, and then knocked
louder with my knuckles. Was it possible that some one remained alive?
Summoning my wits to my aid, I gave the signal which had been used by
me on previous occasions on returning from my expeditions. There was a
pause; then a key turned; the door opened, and I fell forward into the
corridor.