DISCLOSES A MILLIONAIRE’S SECRET
So heavily was the yacht rolling that I was compelled to hold firmly,
lest I should lose my balance and roll down upon the deck.
My foothold was insecure, and the sight which presented itself as I
peered within was so unexpected and startling, that in the excitement
of the moment I loosened my grip and narrowly escaped being pitched
down headlong. From my position I unfortunately could not obtain a view
of the entire interior, the ventilator being open only a couple of
inches, but what I saw was sufficient to unnerve any woman.
The cabin was brilliantly lit by electricity, but the walls, instead
of being panelled in satinwood, as were most of the others, were
decorated in a manner more rich and magnificent than in any other part
of the vessel. They were of gilt, with white ornamentation in curious
Arabesques, while upon the floor was a thick Turkey carpet with a
white ground and pattern of turquoise blue. The effect was bright
and glaring, and at the first moment it occurred to me that the place
was really a ladies’ boudoir. There was another aft, it was true, but
this one had evidently been intended as a lounge for female guests.
As I looked down old Benjamin Keppel himself passed into that part of
the cabin within the zone of my vision. His hat was off, displaying
his scanty gray hair, and as he turned I caught a glimpse of his face.
His countenance, usually so kind and tranquil, was distorted by abject
fear; his teeth were set, his cheeks hard and bloodless. Both anger and
alarm were depicted upon his rugged countenance. His appearance was
mysterious, to say the least, but it was a further object I saw within
that place which held me in speechless wonderment.
Beside where he stood, lying in a heap at his feet, was a dark-haired,
handsome woman of mature age, who was dressed in a white serge robe--a
stranger.
The old millionaire, with sudden movement, flung himself upon his knees
and touched her face caressingly. Next instant he drew back his hand.
“Dead!” he gasped, in the thick voice of a man grief-stricken. “Dead!
And she did not know--she did not know! It is murder!” he gasped in a
terrified whisper--“murder!”
The wind howled about me weirdly, tearing at my clothes as though it
would hurl me beyond into the raging sea, while the yacht, steaming on,
rose and plunged, shipping huge seas each time her bows met the angry
waves.
For some moments the strange old man bent over the woman in silence. I
was puzzled to discover her identity. Why had she been kept prisoner
in that gilded cabin during the cruise? Why had we remained in total
ignorance of her presence? I alone knew our host’s secret. We had a
dead woman on board.
Keppel touched the woman again, placing his hand upon her face. When
he withdrew it I saw that blood was upon it. He looked at it and,
shuddering, wiped it off upon his handkerchief.
At the same instant a voice, that of a man, sounded from the opposite
side of the cabin, saying:
“Don’t you see that that ventilator is open up above? Shut it, or
somebody may see us. They can see down here from the bridge.”
“Think of her,” the old man exclaimed in a low voice, “not of us.”
“Of her? Why should I?” inquired the gruff voice of the unseen. “You’ve
killed her, and must take the consequences.”
“I?” gasped the old man, staggering unevenly to his feet, and placing
both hands to his eyes as though to shut out from view that hideous
evidence of his crime. “Yes,” he cried in an awe-stricken tone, “she is
dead!”
“And a good job too,” responded the man unseen in a hard, pitiless tone.
“No,” cried Keppel angrily. “At least respect her memory. Remember who
she was.”
“I shall remember nothing of this night’s work,” the other responded.
“I leave all memories of it as a legacy to you.”
“You coward!” cried Keppel, turning upon the speaker, his eyes
flashing. “I have endeavored to assist you, and this is your gratitude.”
“Assist me?” sneered his companion. “Pretty assistance it’s been! I
tell you what it is, Benjamin Keppel, you’re in a very tight place just
now. You killed that--that woman there, and you know what the penalty
is for murder.”
“I know,” wailed the white-faced, desperate man.
“Well, now, if I might be permitted to advise, I’d make a clear sweep
of the whole affair,” said the man.
“What do you mean?”
“Simply this: we can’t keep the body very long in this cabin without it
being discovered. And when it is found--well, it will be all up with
both of us. Of that there’s but little doubt. I suggest this: Let us
make at once for one of the Italian ports, say Leghorn, where you will
land to transact some important business, and I’ll land also. Then the
Vispera will sail for Naples, to which port you will go by rail to
rejoin her. On the way there, however, the vessel disappears--eh?”
“Disappears--how? I don’t understand.”
“Is blown up.”
“Blown up!” he cried. “And how about the guests?”
“Guests be hanged!”
“But there are eleven of them, besides the crew.”
“Never mind them. There are the boats, and no doubt they’ll all take
care of themselves. Fools if they don’t.”
“I should feel that I murdered them all,” the old man responded.
“In this affair we must save ourselves,” declared the unseen man very
firmly. “There has been a--well, we’ll call it an ugly occurrence
to-night, and it behooves us to get clear out of it. If the Vispera
goes down the body will go down with it, and the sea will hide our
secret.”
“But I cannot imperil the lives of all in that manner. Besides, by what
means do you suggest destroying the ship?”
“By perfectly simple means. Just give orders to Davis in the morning
to put in at Leghorn with all possible speed, and leave the rest to
me. I’ll guarantee that the Vispera will never reach Naples.” Then he
added: “But just shut that infernal ventilator; I don’t like it being
open.”
Old Keppel, staggering, reached the cord, and in obedience to his
companion’s wish closed the narrow opening with a sudden bang. The
woodwork narrowly escaped coming into contact with my face, and for
some moments I remained there, clutching at my unstable supports and
being rudely buffeted by the gale.
At any moment I might be discovered, therefore after some difficulty I
succeeded in lowering myself again to the deck and making my way back
to my own cabin.
I had been soaked to the skin by the rain and spray, but, still in my
wet things, I sat pondering over the mysterious crime I had discovered.
Who was that unseen man? Whoever he was he held old Benjamin Keppel in
his power, and to his diabolical plot would be due the destruction of
the Vispera and perhaps the loss of every soul on board.
He had suggested an explosion. He no doubt intended to place on board
some infernal contrivance which, after the lapse of a certain number of
hours, would explode and blow the bottom out of the yacht. Whoever that
man was he was a crafty villain. Providentially, however, I had been
led to the discovery of the scheme, and I did not mean that the lives
of my fellow-guests or of the crew should be sacrificed in order to
conceal a crime.
A vision of that white, dead face recurred to me. It was the face of
a woman who had once been very handsome, but to my remembrance I had
never seen it before. The mystery of the woman’s concealment there
was altogether extraordinary. Yet it scarcely seemed possible that
she should have remained in hiding so long without a soul on board
save Keppel being aware of her presence. She had been fed, of course,
and most probably the steward knew of her presence in that gilded
deck-house. But she was dead--murdered by the inoffensive old gentleman
who was the very last person in the world I should have suspected of
having taken human life.
And why had he stroked her dead face so caressingly? Who, indeed, was
she?
My wet clothes clung to me cold and clammily, therefore I exchanged
them for a warm wrap, and entering my berth tried to rest. Sleep was,
however, impossible in that doomed ship amid the wild roaring of the
tempest and the thunder of the waves breaking over the deck above. Once
it occurred to me to go straight to Ulrica and tell her all I had seen
and heard, but on reflection I resolved to keep my own counsel and
narrowly watch the course of events.
The mystery of the hidden man’s identity grew upon me, until I suddenly
resolved to make a further endeavor to discover him. The voice was deep
and low, but the roaring of the wind and hissing of escaping steam
had prevented me hearing it sufficiently clearly to recognize whether
it was that of one of our fellow-guests. I slipped on a mackintosh,
and returning to the deck crept towards the cabin wherein reposed the
remains of the mysterious woman in white serge. But soon I saw that
the light had been switched off. All was in darkness. The guilty pair
had gone below to their own berths. Through the whole night the storm
continued, but the morning broke brightly and the tempest, as is so
frequent in the Mediterranean, was succeeded by a dead calm, so that
when we sat down to breakfast we were steaming in comparatively smooth
water.
“Have you heard?” said Ulrica across to me after we had been exchanging
our sleepless experiences. “Mr. Keppel has altered our course. He has
some pressing business to attend to, so we are going into Leghorn.”
“Leghorn!” exclaimed Lord Eldersfield at my elbow. “Horrid place! I
was there once. Narrow streets, dirty people, primitive sanitation, and
a sorry attempt at a promenade.”
“Well, we don’t stay there long, that’s one comfort,” said Ulrica. “Mr.
Keppel is going to land, and he’ll rejoin us at Naples.”
I looked down the table and saw that the face of the old millionaire
was pale, without its usual composure. He was pretending to be busily
occupied with his porridge.
“Are we going on straight to Naples, Keppel?” inquired Eldersfield.
“Certainly,” answered our host. “I much regret that I’m compelled to
take you all out of our original course, but I must exchange some
telegrams with my agent in New York. We shall be in Leghorn to-night,
and if you are all agreed you may sail again at once.”
“I’d like to see Leghorn,” declared Ulrica. “People who go to Italy
always leave it out of their itinerary. I’ve heard that it is quite
charming in many ways. All the better-class Italians from Florence and
Rome go there for the bathing in summer.”
“Which I fear isn’t much of a recommendation,” observed his Lordship,
who was, I believe, Ulrica’s pet aversion.
“The bathing itself is declared by all the guide-books to be the best
in Europe,” she answered.
“And the heat and mosquitoes in summer greater than in any other place
on the Continent of Europe. Its imports are rags from Constantinople
and codfish from Newfoundland. No wonder its effluvias are not all
roses.”
“Perhaps so. Of course, if you know the place you are welcome to your
own opinion. I don’t know it.”
“When you do, Miss Yorke, you’ll share my opinion; of that I feel
certain,” he laughed, and then continued his meal.
The question was shortly afterwards decided by popular vote whether the
Vispera should remain in Leghorn or not. To the majority of the guests
Leghorn was supposed to be merely a dirty seaport, and although I, who
knew the place well, tried to impress upon them that it possessed many
charms not to be found in other Italian towns, it was decided that the
yacht should only remain there a day, and then go straight on to Naples.
This decision was disconcerting. I had to prevent the trip southward,
and the problem of how to do so without arousing suspicion was an
extremely difficult one to solve. If the vessel sailed from Leghorn,
then she was doomed, with every soul on board.