Lillian Byrd kept in her cabin most of the day after she sent her
dispatch to the Gazette, leaving it only for meals and slipping back
to it the moment these were finished. Although she had done only what
she had felt to be her duty, she yet shrank from facing Ouro Preto and
confessing her action.
She knew that he would not consider her last words final, but would
urge her to change them; and it was largely the fear that she might not
be as steadfast as she wanted to be that led her to send the dispatch
giving McNew the information that she had gained and urging him to lay
it before the President of the country. She felt that the count had a
powerful influence over her, and that she could be sure of herself only
when it was out of her power to accede to his wishes. Later she felt
really afraid to face him.
Face him she must sooner or later, however. Even if he remained
quiescent she could not well seclude herself for the remainder of the
trip; and few things seemed to be more certain than that he would
not remain quiescent. He would insist on seeing her; the fact that he
left her in peace for twenty-four hours merely showed either that he
was content to let her consider matters quietly, or that he, too, was
uncertain as to what was to be done.
Lillian was not ordinarily a coward, and after a day’s reflection the
situation grew intolerable to her, and she determined to give the count
an opportunity to bring matters to a focus. Bitter as his reproaches
might be, they could not be worse than the anticipation of them. She
would face him and bear his words as best she might.
Evening therefore saw her upon the deck in the self-same spot where he
had found her the evening before--waiting.
She waited long! Daylight waned and vanished. The crescent moon
flashed out for an hour and then followed the sun below the horizon,
leaving the big stars as sole lights in the firmament. She looked aft
across the water to where the three lights of Ouro Preto’s yacht had
burned night after night, and noted that they were closer than she had
ever seen them before. Little by little the decks had grown empty as
the passengers had slipped away to more congenial occupations than
watching the white boiling spume of the wake and listening to the
swish of the waves along the steamer’s sides. One or two soft-footed
figures--stewards or sailors engaged in ships tasks--moved ghost-like
beneath the awnings, but if any others were still on deck they were
hidden in the shadows. For all that Lillian could see she was alone.
Four bells struck and still the count had not come. Lillian did not
know whether to be glad or angry. On the one hand she was relieved
to be spared what he might say; on the other she was woman enough to
resent his neglect, as if he had found her further actions or words
unimportant. When he did come at last she was in the mood for combat
rather than apology.
He bowed as he came up, and wished her a good-evening. Then for a few
moments he stood looking down at her in silence, not as if hesitating
as to what he was to say, but rather as one acting in accordance with
some set plan.
“I have come for my answer,” he said, at last, with a tremor in his
voice. “Will you give it to me?”
“Your answer?” Amazement drove all other emotion from Lillian’s mind.
Not thus had she expected Ouro Preto to address her.
“Yes!” Surprise, real or pretended, sounded in the Brazilian’s tones.
“But, yes! I asked you to marry me last night and you ran away without
answering. Ah! Senorita. You do not know what this day has been to me!
One moment I hope! the next I despair. I love you, senorita. Will you
not say that you too love me!”
Lillian’s thoughts whirled, aimless as the spray from the steamer’s
bow. “But--but--” she gasped. “The Emperor! Your great plot! You--All
of it.”
Ouro Preto stared. Then he laughed gently. “Por Dios! senorita!” he
cried. “Have you not forgotten that--that bombast?”
“Bombast?”
“But yes!” He waved his hand airily. “Nothing more! Waste no more
thought over it. It is gone! But you remain--you and I! Will you not
think of my suit. Ah! Senorita! If you but understand how I love you!”
But Lillian shook her head. “I can not forget it,” she declared,
stubbornly, refusing to be diverted. “I cannot forget it. I wish I
could. I am ashamed that I should have imposed upon you as I did. I
wish that you had not told me but now that you have done so, I cannot
forget and I cannot keep it secret. In fact, I must tell you that I
have already--”
The count flung up his hand. “No! No! Think once more, senorita,” he
pleaded.
“I can not. I have--”
“Then, senorita, I must take other measures. I have given you every
chance, and you have refused. Now--Now!”
The man did not even raise his voice. In exactly the same tones as
those he had been using, he repeated his last word “Now!”
Vaguely uneasy; fearing she knew not what, Lillian started to rise.
But before she could do so, a towel saturated with some heavy-smelling
stuff, was flung over her face from behind, and her head was drawn
suddenly back. Vainly she tried to scream; the muffling towel was too
thick. She gasped for breath, plucking with futile fingers at the
bandage. Then her brain reeled; and darkness came over her.
Ouro Preto stood silently, quietly watching her struggles. When at last
she lay still he spoke in a low tone to the sailor who held her.
“Loosen the towel a little and give her air,” he ordered. “I don’t want
to suffocate her.”
As the man obeyed the count stepped to the taffrail, and stared back
to where the lights of his yacht gleamed through the darkness. After
a moment he lifted the rear light of the steamer from its box, and
swung it in wide wagon wheel convolutions--swung it until from out of
the waters behind him a white sword of light sprang up and cleft the
zenith. Right and left it wheeled, cutting fantastic zigzags across the
milky way, but never by any chance falling upon the Southern Cross.
His yacht had hung on the heels of the Southern Cross all the way from
Barbadoes, until those upon the steamer had ceased to pay attention
to her. On that particular night she had closed in until scarcely an
eighth of a mile of smooth rolling water separated the two vessels.
When the search light sprang up, the officers on the Southern Cross
watched it for a moment and then turned to more important things,
neither noting nor caring that the yacht was rapidly eating up the
distance that had separated her from them.
Meanwhile Ouro Preto was busy. From a rack above his head he took two
life preservers; one he bound around himself, and the other he handed
to his confederate to fasten around Miss Byrd’s unconscious form.
“Come along,” he ordered, turning to the starboard quarter, whence a
trailing rope ladder--a so-called Jacob’s ladder--depended, its lower
end just touching the crests of the waves as they rolled past.
He climbed over the rail and took a step or two down the swaying
ladder. “Give me the girl,” he ordered.
But the man held back. “Say, Mister,” he protested. “I ain’t standing
for no murder.”
Ouro Preto glared at him. “Neither am I, you fool,” he snarled. “It’s
all arranged. I can swim like a fish, and my yacht will pick us up in
less than five minutes. See how near she is.”
The man looked up. The yacht was indeed very near.
“Give me the girl,” ordered the count, again, and this time the sailor
obeyed.
Ouro Preto balanced Lillian over his shoulder and descended the Jack
ladder step by step. When he reached the water’s edge he stopped.
“Swing the light around your head twice,” he called, softly.
The sailor obeyed and instantly the yacht’s searchlight crept along
the water until it rested with sudden brilliancy on the stern of the
Southern Cross and on Ouro Preto where he clung to the Jacob’s ladder
with Lillian in his arms.
For only an instant he clung; then he descended the last two or three
steps of the ladder and when the next wave came let go his hold and
dropped upon its crest.
The fall carried the two beneath the surface, but the life preservers
brought them up again as quickly as a bobbing cork. In the interval,
brief as it was, the Southern Cross had drawn away; the count could
see her stern light rapidly lessening in the distance. The yacht’s
searchlight came and went, sweeping over him often enough to prevent
his being lost in the waters, but not often enough to attract belated
attention from the Southern Cross.
Then Lillian revived, drawn back to life by the shock of the chill
water. Half conscious, bewildered, terror stricken, she struggled
desperately to free herself from the count and he let her go for an
instant only to grasp hold of her life belt again as a wave tried to
force them apart.
“It’s all right, Miss Byrd,” he declared. “It’s all right. Don’t be
frightened.”
But Lillian would not heed. “Help! Help!” she screamed across the water.
Ouro Preto made no effort to check her. “It is of no use, senorita,” he
declared, simply. “The Southern Cross is half a mile away and cannot
hear you.”
Miss Byrd gripped at her sinking courage. She realized that she was not
drowning, and she tried desperately to calm herself. “How dare you?”
she choked. “How dare you?”
The count shrugged his shoulders. “I was forced,” he explained. “I
could not let you wreck the plan of years. Believe me, senorita, it
grieves me to the heart to use such means as these. I love you and--”
“Love!”
“Yes! Love! You may not believe it. I cannot blame you if you do not,
but it is true. And, senorita, have no fear. We will be on my yacht
in a few minutes; and you will be as safe there as you were on the
Southern Cross. I will release you very soon--as soon as safety will
allow--probably within two weeks. But I cannot permit the knowledge of
my plans to reach Washington just now!”
Lillian was no longer frightened. The circling searchlight flashed
across her face, and very close at hand she heard the noise of oars in
rowlocks. Besides she was choking with rage, and rage had driven out
fear.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the count that his action was
vain; that his plans had already been wirelessed to land and had very
probably already been printed broadcast. How she could exult over him!
But on second thoughts she held her tongue. She knew instinctively that
he would not under any circumstances restore her to the steamer from
which he had taken her. Perhaps he could not do so even if he would,
and she felt sure that he would not if he could.
When the Southern Cross reached port, she would be looked for, and her
and his disappearance would be understood, and steps would be taken for
her rescue. To tell him would merely be to warn him and cause him to
take precautions that might lessen her chances of early freedom.
Besides, now that the thing was done, she was beginning to feel that
it might all be for the best. She no longer felt the least regret over
her own action. The fact that the count had gone to the lengths he did
to seal her lips proved that something of great moment was afoot. Her
disappearance would add more force to the warning she had sent than
would anything she could say. And here she was forcibly forked into
the very focus of the conspiracy where, if anywhere, she would have an
opportunity to learn all about its tangled threads. And if she learned
anything she would no longer hesitate to use it. Since Ouro Preto had
resorted to open war, she could fight back with good grace. For herself
she had no fear. She did not believe that he would dare to harm her. On
the whole, she began to feel rather glad that she had been kidnapped.
Ouro Preto had been watching her in silence. “Well?” he questioned.
Lillian shrugged her shoulders. “Well!” she replied definitively.
“Since I can’t help myself, I yield for the time being. But I warn you
that you will have to pay some day.”
The count leaned forward. “I am ready to pay now,” he cried eagerly;
“to pay with all I have. Marry me, and--”
“No thank you! Change the subject, please! How did you get me away from
the steamer?”
Ouro Preto spread out his hands. “Very easily,” he explained. “I carry
much gold. The man on watch at the steamer’s quarter wanted it, and
so--Oh! It was easy. But”--he looked up--“But, senorita, here is the
Windbird. The men will lift you on board.”
At full speed the boat came slopping alongside. Two of the sailors
dropped their oars and dragged the girl into the boat, and an instant
later Ouro Preto clambered in beside her. Two minutes later both were
on board the Windbird.
As Lillian, dripped and bedraggled but unconquered, went to her cabin,
she and the wireless operator met face to face. For one breathless
instant she hesitated; then Rutile lifted his cap and stepped aside.
“Pardon, fraulein,” he said.
Miss Byrd bowed in acknowledgment. “On guard!” she whispered.