“When I talk, I watch who listens. Gimme a drop o’ liquor.”
“Ain’t got none.”
The men shuffled closer to my hiding-place.
“Do we scrap, or don’t us?” demanded Jim Morrison.
“We don’t have to,” said Leblanc. “It’s skin eyes and shut mouth. When
they done the findin’, than up we come. See?”
“Say, but what about this Redpath? Teaser, ain’t he?”
“Do what he tells ye, Jim,” said the half-breed, and I could tell by
his voice that he was ill at ease. “Redpath don’t have no monkeyin’. If
we ain’t clean to him, he’ll start to work an’ snuff us out, same as
he’s done to Rupe Petrie. If he says ‘Lick me boots,’ we goter lick.
See?”
“Will I talk to Olaffson?” suggested Jim Morrison. “Maybe he’d come
useful.”
Leblanc grunted.
“He’ll chalk his own track. There’s only one man, ’sides Redpath, what
could spile us, an’ he’s ben spilt hisself. He could have bruke the lot
of us, same as he bruke Jake Peterssen.”
“Ole Mac, he ain’t no sort er good?” muttered Morrison.
“No sort, now his pard’s gone.”
“Gimme a match.”
A high-pitched voice came sounding into the hold, and I recognised the
cry of Sandy, the mate.
The men separated at once, climbing out of the hold at opposite ends;
while I jumped over the barrels, and stretched myself in the open,
feeling strong and fit again.
MacCaskill and I had foreseen that the ship would be full of plotting,
but I had now learnt that the cross-plots were likely to prove of a
more serious nature than we had anticipated.
Leblanc knew something of old Fagge’s secret, and he had taken Morrison
into his confidence; while assuming to be in abject submission to
Redpath, they were planning how to best him. I was sorry for them.
In determining the position, I made it out to be that Leblanc and
Morrison were against everyone; MacCaskill and myself against Redpath
and the Icelander, with, incidentally, the two thick-skulled sailors;
Redpath always for himself; Olaffson nominally for the adventurer,
actually for himself. MacCaskill and myself formed the only genuine
alliance, with Akshelah to aid us, and I felt we were good enough to
carry the position.
After recognising Redpath under the disguise of Father Lacombe, the
factor made the plan to keep me hidden. He had brought me on board the
_Carillon_, and stowed me away below the night before sailing; while
he had come aboard in the ordinary way with Akshelah, who, of course,
could not be induced to return to Yellow Sands.
It was while waiting for the vessel to get well out to sea from Gull
that I had overheard the conversation between the two sailors.
Swinging myself up out of the hold, I made along the lower deck,
enjoying the prospect of the consternation my presence must cause.
Suddenly a very different voice came to me.
One more step over the greasy boards, and I caught a side glance of the
entrance to the engine-room, and my heart went a little faster, because
I had seen the abrupt flicker of a black skirt.
Scarcely five yards away, blocking the entry, stood my hereditary
enemy, his back towards me, still preserving the disguise of the
black-bearded priest.
Without a sound, I seated myself upon one of the numerous barrels,
full in the open, the gloom of the ship falling behind me. I knew that
Redpath must turn and see me sitting there, silent and motionless, with
my eyes fixed upon him. I thought it possible that the sight might
scare him pretty badly.
Thus situated, I could hear the adventurer speak, and at the same time
I imagined that the engineer could not be very happy at being examined
by this particular passenger.
It was impossible to hear Pete’s replies, but Redpath’s questions were
sufficiently audible.
“You must often find the heat down here intolerable?” he suggested,
in his kindly tones. “Ah, yes, it would reduce a fat man considerably.
While the weather remains as at present you must find your duty a
pleasure. What? No, I did not observe the sound. My ears are not
trained like yours.”
He stepped back until he was quite outside the engine-room, and I made
certain that he would turn and discover me. But after listening, he
returned to his former position, and went on:
“I suppose we must expect a fresher wind, now that we are approaching
the open sea. Ah, I heard it then. What effect does the moving of that
lever have?”
He waited for the reply, which was inaudible to me, and continued with
increased interest:
“For reducing the pressure. I see. If you desired to lower the speed so
as to stop the vessel? Yes. And for starting? Ah, I quite understand.
What? Shift the lever gently and gradually, as she gains way. Ah, yes,
it is all very interesting, and equally instructive. To a man of my
calling, a very full, general knowledge becomes indispensable. It will
be obvious to you that at some future date a contingency might possibly
befal, which would make it imperative upon me to understand how to
control such a vessel as this. The knowledge you are now giving me in
an idle moment might well lead to the saving of many precious human
lives. Thank you, my son!”
How could the man do it?
A great wave flung itself against the side; and when it had beaten
back, Redpath was saying:
“Quite so. I can easily believe that in the hour of danger the
engineer’s position becomes especially full of peril. Now, if this fair
weather continues, when may I expect to be landed at the mouth of the
Little Peace?”
I suppose the engineer referred to the chance of delay, because the
adventurer said presently:
“You need not remind me. I know this dangerous lake, with its
mysterious storms, which, as you say, spring up suddenly under a clear
sky, and vanish with the speed of their coming. I have heard so many
sad tales from my own flock, so many poor Indian fishermen lost, so
many lumber scows wrecked. It is very pitiful!”
The rascal coughed sanctimoniously. His back was still towards me; I
wondered that he had not felt my presence so very near to him.
A big shaft of light fell through the hatchway ahead, and suddenly a
couple of burly legs appeared on the ladder in that light. Then Factor
MacCaskill trod heavily down, and saw me when he had made a few paces;
and he saw also the mock priest between us, and was quick-witted enough
to grasp the situation, and clever enough to use it to the full. He
checked himself abruptly when a couple of short paces divided him from
Redpath, and his glance went heedlessly past the masquerader, to settle
upon me with a well-simulated expression of fear and amazement.
“Golden gates of Jerusalem!” called the old fellow, making his voice
thick and unsteady, and allowing his pipe to drop upon the deck.
The adventurer swung round between us, and in one moment his face
became like the underpart of a fish. The flesh seemed to shrink up
under its covering of false hair, and his eyes were like two little
pits of oil. He had confessed that his body was weak--he had almost
boasted of it--but his will was like steel. For the moment only it
bent, and the next was strong again. His eyes left me and settled upon
MacCaskill, and the factor looked him back like an honest man, without
yielding an inch or ceding a wink. I left my barrel, and stepped
forward with all the indifference I could muster.
“Where in the name of everything upon earth have ye sprung from, Rupe?”
exclaimed MacCaskill.
“I only stowed myself among the cargo,” I said, for the benefit of
listeners. Then I turned towards Redpath and Pete, who put his startled
face out of the hot oil-smelling recess, “How are you, father?” I said,
with all the confidence of having the stronger hand.
The adventurer stuck to the rules of his game.
“My dear young man!” he exclaimed, with splendid affection, emphasising
each syllable with ease and unction. “This is, indeed, a joyful
surprise. Why, we have all been in mourning for you!”