On board the _Marathon_, as she speeds once more on her lawful
occasions, fore and aft throughout the ship all tongues are wagging
on the subject of the evening's occurrences.
As a general rule, life on board a man-of-war at sea passes without
any incident worthy of remark; and this is true to a great degree in
war time, just as much as in times of peace. Anything therefore, so
out of the common as this timely rescue of shipwrecked people met
just in the nick of time provides welcome conversational material for
every officer and man; for naval men are, it is well known, the
biggest gossips in the world and can give points to any charwoman in
the art of discussing a bit of news from every imaginable point of
view.
Dinner has been cleared away, and the topic which has held sole sway
all through the meal is not yet exhausted. Stapleton alone has taken
but little part in the talk; he is remarkably silent, for him--as a
rule he can find plenty to say for himself. But, as a matter of
fact, he has not been listening much to the chattering voices around
him; his sole thought is, how different the wardroom looks now that
it no longer holds the presence of his beloved.
For she is his, he thinks. Surely he is not mistaken in believing
that Norah really did understand him and was not entirely unmoved by
his sudden and violent love-making? When two affinities meet like
this, it is as though their souls have been wandering through space
for countless ages in the endeavour to find each other; and when at
last the encounter takes place, it is inevitable that the truth
should come home with equal force to both of them. So, at least,
thinks Stapleton; and he is convinced that Norah had not at any rate
looked upon him unkindly. For the rest, he will make sure of things
at their next meeting.
But, good heavens! Why--the thought has not struck him till this
moment--in spite of all his pressing entreaties. Norah never told
him where she might be found! Something happened--he cannot remember
exactly what it was--to change the conversation, and she left the
ship without giving him any clue as to where he may meet her again!
So then, he has lost her. No--surely he will be able to find out
something when the ship returns to the base, something that will
enable him to trace her even though it may turn out to be a long job.
So he plucks up heart again.
These reflections are interrupted by a remark from Merritt:
"I say, that was a funny yarn of the fair-haired one, wasn't it? I
wonder how anyone could have the imagination to invent such a pack of
stuff!"
Stapleton pricks up his ears. "What yarn was that?" he asks.
Merritt is only too willing to repeat the story of Netta's delirious
ravings; but thinks it hardly fair on the girl to give her away in
the presence of so many of the other officers; Stapleton is
different--he can be trusted not to spread the yarn. For all his
youthful simplicity Merritt has the delicacy to realise that Netta
would not be pleased if the story should travel back to her: as he
expresses it in his own mind, it would make her feel such a silly
fool!
So, with an apologetic "tell you presently," he glides gracefully to
another topic, and does not return to Netta's wonderful revelations
till the wardroom is emptied of all but Stapleton, Dale and himself.
"Well, what about this yarn of yours that you were so full of just
now?" queries the first lieutenant.
Merritt tells him.
"What an absurd story," comments Stapleton, when the other has come
to the end of his extraordinary narrative. "How on earth could the
girl get such weird ideas into her head?"
"Purely and simply the result of the workings of a brain thrown out
of gear by physical suffering," Dale informs him; "sub-conscious
ideas come to the surface under such conditions, and the memories and
fancies gleaned from books, conversations, and a thousand similar
sources weave themselves together into a fabric which sometimes, as
in this present case, possesses a wonderful consistency."
"Pity she couldn't invent something a little more convincing while
she was about it," smiles Stapleton.
"How do you mean? I thought it was rather a good effort, for a piece
of pure imagination."
"Well, yes; all but one thing. Anybody that had the slightest
knowledge--real knowledge of the subject, would never have made such
a howler as to talk of blowing up a ship with a bomb small enough to
be concealed in one's clothing. That's the weak point of the story
which gives it away at once."
"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't like to say that, exactly. Modern
developments in high explosives have been pretty marvellous and
according to what I have read about these things I see no reason why
you shouldn't be able to pack into a cigarette-case enough stuff to
wreck all London."
"Yes, you could, certainly--in theory. But when it comes to practice
you find yourself up against certain difficulties--the chief one
being that you would be almost dead sure to wreck yourself first.
Very powerful explosives are nothing new--take fulminate of mercury,
for instance; that is an old discovery, yet so tremendously potent
that a teaspoonful of it would be sufficient to blow this room to
blazes."
"If that's the case," asks Merritt, "why do you say that a
small-sized bomb couldn't be made with enough of it to blow up a
ship?"
"Because, my son, all these very high explosives are what is called
very _unstable_, they won't stand any knocking about. Why, supposing
you had the teaspoonful of fulminate I spoke about, it would probably
explode if someone were to slam the door or even walk across the deck
with a heavy tread. So you see, you can't put stuff of that sort
into bombs and cart it round with you."
Dale has an objection to make, as a scientist. "What you say is true
enough, Number One, but only as far as our knowledge goes at present.
There has been a lot of progress made lately in these affairs and
what I say is that there is no reason why someone should not have
discovered a means of overcoming the instability."
"Someone such as----?"
"Oh, possibly one of those German chemists; a secret of that sort
would be just the very thing they would be all out to discover. It
would make a tremendous difference to them in this war. It might,
for instance, encourage them to attempt just such a scheme as our
imaginative young friend raved about."
"You speak as though you were not entirely convinced that she was
raving, Dale."
Stapleton looks sharply at the surgeon as he snaps out these words.
The love which has sprung up in his heart makes him keenly jealous of
the least shadow of a slur being cast upon anyone belonging to her.
"Not at all, not at all!" rejoins Dale; "as a matter of fact, it was
the evident absurdity of the girl's story that convinced me of the
_bona fides_ of the party."
"What in the world do you mean?"--Stapleton has all his hackles up
now and is quite prepared to take serious offence.
"I mean," says Dale calmly, taking no notice of his friend's
annoyance, "that up to the time when the girl chucked her fit I was
rather inclined to think there was something darned fishy about the
whole affair; but no one in his senses could concoct such a
marvellous yarn as that one about a bomb and a plot and a motor-boat
and all the rest of it, so as soon as I heard it I knew that it was
nothing but delirium, and that proved to my mind that the three of
them had been through all that they said they had."
"And what was it, if I may ask, that made you suspicious at first?"
The first lieutenant is properly on his high horse now.
Indeed, the air appears so threatening that the assistant paymaster,
not willing to be dragged into a quarrel, thinks it opportune to make
himself scarce. He has indeed, a very good excuse, as he is the
ship's Intelligence Officer and it is time for him to go to the
office beneath the fore bridge where he employs himself in that
capacity.
Stapleton, left alone with Dale, presses the question.
"There were one or two things that didn't seem quite to fit in, to my
mind," Dale replies.
"What things?"
"Well, one was that for people who had been drifting all day in an
open boat with hardly any clothing to speak of, and in this weather,
they didn't strike me as being quite so much done in as one might
expect. The tall girl, the one you were so chummy with, for
instance----"
"Yes? What about her?" almost ferociously.
"Eh? What are you looking so shirty about? I was only going to say
that she didn't look as if she had been under the weather to any
extent. No more did the man. Indeed, except for the fact that they
both had very red noses there didn't seem much matter with either of
them!"
An indignant snort is Stapleton's reply. _Red noses!_ Norah's
nose--_red_, indeed! He contrives to smother his indignation, and
remarks in an unnaturally calm voice:
"And the younger girl? Perhaps you thought her, too, in a buxom
state of health, what?"
"No, of course not. That's just what I told you--it was her evident
condition of collapse which told me that the others also must have
really suffered even if they didn't show it so much."
"How very observant of you!"--Stapleton is not showing the best side
of his character now. It is unlike him to sneer in this way, and to
quarrel with his old friend; but love is responsible, very often, for
upsetting people's tempers.
"And what else did you notice that was suspicious?" he goes on, still
aggrieved.
"Oh, that was the chief thing. But there was another little point
also--didn't you notice it?--one of 'em said their ship was torpedoed
at five o'clock, and the other, your girl, I think it was--said
seven."
"_My girl!_" echoes Stapleton, now thoroughly angry. "I can see no
occasion for _coarseness_ on your part, Dale, and I'll thank you not
to speak of the lady again in that way!" A curious point to quarrel
about, since if there is one particular light in which he regards
Norah Sheridan it is undoubtedly as _his girl_! But again, there is
no accounting for the whimsies of a man in love.
"And what's more," continues the irate officer, "I consider you no
better than a suspicious-minded busybody to entertain for a single
moment such ideas as these. They don't do you much credit, I must
say!"
Dale is surprised at the other man's vehemence. "All right, old
man," he says kindly, "don't get annoyed about it. Sorry if I've
said anything to offend you. Anyhow, I've got to go for'ard to the
sick bay now, so you can just calm down and forgive me by the time I
come back."
He goes, leaving Stapleton still angry and unappeased.
Which is a very great pity. Stapleton remembers this one-sided
quarrel afterwards with bitter shame and grief.
For it is the last time he ever sets eyes on his old friend.