THE SOUTHERN CROSS
Dan spent a miserable night. He had soon satisfied himself that escape
was impossible. A child could not have squeezed through the port hole,
and the stoutness of the door--barred, he fancied, as well as locked on
the outside,--seemed to indicate that this particular cabin had been
constructed for the purpose of keeping an enemy out of mischief.
Young Frost's reflections, as at length he stretched himself upon the
bunk, were anything but agreeable. The reconnoitre at the House on the
Dunes had established nothing but what they already practically
knew--that the Marquis, the lady, and the captain of the schooner were
working together. If they were responsible for Nancy's disappearance, as
Dan was convinced, he had not succeeded in getting a scrap of evidence
against them. And to cap the climax, he had stupidly allowed himself to
be captured. The method of his capture seemed to him quite as ignominious
as the fact.
He was not particularly alarmed for his own safety. He did not doubt that
eventually he would escape, though at the moment he could not imagine
how; or, failing in that, he supposed he would be released,--honorably
discharged, as it were,--when it was too late for him to interfere with
the designs of the conspirators. And this was the bitterest reflection of
all: that a carefully-planned conspiracy was on foot, and no sooner had
he and Tom realized it than through sheer stupidity he must not only make
it clear to the Marquis and his colleagues that they were being watched,
but must let himself fall into their power. Poor Tom! thought Dan
ruefully as he tossed upon the little bunk, there must fall upon him now
the brunt of whatever was to be done for Nancy's rescue, for the
thwarting of whatever nefarious designs this gang of French desperados
were concocting.
Escape! A dozen times and more he sprang from his bed to press his face
against the thick glass of the little port and to rage futilely that he
could not elongate his six feet of anatomy, and slip through. In vain he
would throw his weight against the door, without so much as shaking it.
And then he would sink back upon the bunk and determine to conserve his
strength by snatching a bit of sleep. And he would wait--since he must
wait--till morning.
The gale had lashed itself into a fury; the rain was pouring in
torrents; and the ship rolled distressingly in the rising sea. It was
near dawn before Dan succeeded in getting to sleep at all, but from then
on for several hours he slept heavily. When he awoke the storm, like
many storms that come out of the south, had exhausted itself. The rain
had ceased, the wind had fallen, and it was evident from the motion of
the ship, that the sea was going down. Dan sprang to the port hole and
peered out, and was thankful to realize that the peep hole of his prison
gave upon the shore.
Though it had stopped raining, the clouds were still grey and lowering,
and the morning light was weak and pale. The Dunes, beyond the disturbed
waters of the little cove, looked dirty and bedraggled. The snow had been
washed off the hillocks, the little streams that here and there emptied
into the Cove had swollen to the size of respectable brooks, and the high
water of the night had strewn the beach with brown tangled seaweed. There
was no sign of human life in evidence. Dan could just see the upper story
of the House on the Dunes, but no other habitation save the deserted
fisherman's huts that straggled along the beach.
His watch showed half-past seven when the evil-visaged Jean unbarred the
door, opened it about a foot, and thrust in upon the floor a tray of
food. Dan sprang forward and succeeded in getting his foot into the
opening, so that Jean could not close the door. He was prepared to fight
for his liberty. Despite Jean's superior strength, Dan had the advantage
in that his own body acted as a lever, and for a moment it seemed that he
was to be successful; but the Frenchman, with a violent execration,
suddenly let go his hold on the knob, the door swung in, and Dan fell
back on all fours upon the floor. By the time he had recovered himself
for another dash, he was confronted by Jean, a disagreeable leer upon his
unpleasant countenance and a cocked pistol in his hand.
Dan stood in his tracks. "I want to see Captain Bonhomme!" he demanded,
making up in the tone of his voice for the vigor his movements
suddenly lacked.
"_Je ne parle pas englais_," was the irritating reply, as Jean, menacing
the prisoner with the pistol, reached for the door and closed it with a
snap. Dan had the chagrin of hearing the key turn in the lock and the
heavy bar fall into place across the panels.
He sat down ruefully, but after a moment or so took up the tray and
placed it on the bunk before him. He made a bad breakfast off thick
gruel, black bread and villainous coffee, and then kicked his heels
impatiently for an hour or more.
Eventually Jean reappeared, this time pistol in hand, and behind him, to
Dan's relief, Captain Bonhomme. The captain entered the little cabin,
leaving the door open behind him while Jean stood in the passage on duty
as guard. The swarthy unattractive face of Captain Bonhomme wore this
morning an expression of sarcastic levity that was more irritating to
Frost than its ferocious anger had been the night before.
"_Bon jour, monsieur_," said the captain in a tone of obnoxious
pleasantry. "I trust the night has gone well with you."
"You will oblige me," snapped Dan for reply, "by omitting your
hypocritical courtesy. I demand to know what you mean by this
proceeding,--capturing me like a common thief and imprisoning me on this
confounded ship?"
Captain Bonhomme's countenance quickly lost its factitious cheerfulness.
"Monsieur," he replied sharply, "I did not come to you to bandy words. If
you will reflect on the occupation you were indulging last night at the
moment we surprised you, you will comprehend that it was certainly to be
inferred that, if you were not a thief, you were an eavesdropper; which,
to my way of thinking, is as bad. If you address me again in that
insulting tone, I shall leave you till such a time as you may be willing
to listen at least with common courtesy to what I have to say. You are,
young gentleman, a prisoner on my ship and very much in my power. You
have grossly offended a distinguished countrywoman who is under my
protection in your barbarous country. Madame de la Fontaine, however, has
been good enough to interest herself in your behalf and to beg that I
shall not unceremoniously pitch you overboard to feed the fishes as you
so richly deserve."
Dan bit his lips, but for the moment kept silent.
"I am come this morning," continued Captain Bonhomme, "not for the
pleasure of entering upon a discussion, but to inform you that a little
later in the morning, when this infernal wind of yours has blown itself
out, Madame de la Fontaine proposes to come aboard. For reasons of her
own, she does you the honor to desire a conversation with you. I have to
ask that you will meet my distinguished patroness as the gentleman you
doubtless profess to be, and that you will give me your word not to
attempt to escape while Madame is on board the ship."
"I shall not give my word," protested Dan, "under any circumstances to a
pirate such as I take you to be."
"_Eh bien, monsieur_; in that case, you will appear before Madame in
irons. From your window, so admirably small, you will see at what hour
Madame comes aboard. If in the meantime you have decided to give us your
word of honour, well and good; if you continue to display your freedom of
choice by the exercise of your stupidity, also, well and good. And now,
_an revoir_." Captain Bonhomme smiled grimly, bowed again with insulting
politeness, and left Dan alone in the cabin.
An hour, two hours passed. The wind had abated, the sun was struggling to
dissipate the murky bank of cloud that hung from zenith to the eastern
horizon. From his coign of vantage at the little port hole Dan saw Madame
de la Fontaine pick her way across the Dunes and come upon the little
beach. A small boat had put off from the schooner and was being rowed to
shore by two seamen. The French lady gathered her skirts about her
ankles, and stepped lightly into the skiff, as the men held it at the
edge of the surf. The little boat was then pushed off and rowed briskly
toward the _Southern Cross_.
Half-an-hour passed before the door of Dan's cabin was opened again, and
Captain Bonhomme, attended by the faithful Jean, reappeared. In the
skipper's hand was a pair of irons.
"Monsieur," said the captain, holding up the irons, "Madame de la
Fontaine does you the honour of desiring an interview in the saloon. May
I venture to enquire your pleasure?"
The ignominy of appearing before his charming acquaintance of the day
before manacled like a criminal, was too much for Dan's vanity. "I give
you my word of honour," he said gruffly.
"Ah, monsieur," murmured the captain, "permit me to applaud your good
taste. But let us be exact: until you are returned to this cabin and are
again under lock and key, that is to say until Madame is safely upon
shore again,--you give me your word of honour as a gentleman to make no
attempt to escape?"
"Yes, yes," said Dan, striving to conceal his irritation. "But spare me,
I beg, your explanations. As you know, I am practically helpless. We
understand each other. I trust that Madame de la Fontaine will give me an
explanation of the outrage that you have refused."
"_Sans doute, sane doute_!" exclaimed the captain. He waved his
hand toward the door. "_Aprés vous, monsieur_. Our worthy Jean will
lead the way."
Without more ado they left the little cabin that had served as
Dan's prison and traversed a narrow passageway aft to the door of a
little saloon.
In the saloon, seated in a deep arm chair by the side of the table, was
Madame de la Fontaine. She was clad in some soft green gown, with furs
about her neck and wrists, and a little bonnet, adorned by the gay
plumage of a tropical bird, worn close upon her head. At first glance she
was as bewitchingly beautiful, as entirely charming, as she had seemed to
Dan the day before. He blushed to the roots of his hair and for the
moment quite forgot the extraordinary predicament in which he was placed.
Madame de la Fontaine rose, a bright smile beaming from her soft blue
eyes, and waited for Dan to approach.
"Good morning, Mr. Frost. This is charming of you. And now, Captain
Bonhomme, if you will be so kind,--" she turned with her delightful smile
to the skipper. "_Eh bien_, Jean!" This last remark was uttered in a
sharp tone of command, very different from the silvery accents in which
she had spoken to Frost and the captain. Dan wondered at it.
The disagreeable impression was but momentary, for the lady turned
again to Dan, engaged him with her frank and pleasant glance, and young
Frost forgot everything in the presence of the most charming woman he
had ever met.
Captain Bonhomme and his watchdog had disappeared, closing the saloon
door behind them. Dan and Madame de la Fontaine were alone.
"Will you not seat yourself, monsieur?" she said. "We shall then talk so
much more at our ease."
"Thank you," Dan murmured vaguely, and advancing a step or two nearer,
seated himself in the first chair within reach.
"Ah, not there, Mr. Frost," the lady protested with a little laugh
of amusement. "It will never be that we are able to talk at so
great a distance." She indicated a more comfortable chair at much
closer quarters.
Dan obediently changed his seat, and waited for Madame de la Fontaine to
begin the conversation. But she continued for a moment silently to regard
him with a naive air of interest and of unconcealed admiration.
"May I ask," said Dan at length, disturbed by this scrutiny, and rising
to a courtesy that was in reality beyond him, "for what reason you have
done me the honour to wish to speak with me?"
"_Vraiment_," replied Madame de la Fontaine; "after the events of last
night there is need that we should have some conversation. You are very
young and I have reason to be grateful to you for courtesy and kindness,
so I have yielded to impulse, against my judgment, to interfere with
Captain Bonhomme who has great anger with you."
"You are very kind, madame," Dan replied with dignity. "I am to infer
then that my liberty or my further unwarranted imprisonment on this ship
is to be determined by you?"
"_Mais non, Monsieur_. It is true only that I have a little influence
with Captain Bonhomme. Last night you were watching me, so it interests
me to know why."
"I was watching Mrs. Heath's house," Dan answered.
"Ah! but I and my maid were alone in the room into which you so
unceremoniously looked, monsieur!"
"Yes, madame, but why should you infer that my motive in looking into
that room was interest in your affairs?"
"I do not altogether assume that, Mr. Frost," the lady protested. "I
infer simply--but, pardon! you were to say--?"
"Merely to ask you, madame, what Captain Bonhomme proposes to do with me,
should you not be so good as to use your influence in my behalf?"
For reply the lady shrugged her shoulders a trifle. "I have fear,
monsieur," she said after a moment, "that Captain Bonhomme will take you
for a sail, perhaps a long sail, on the _Southern Cross_."
"Then," said Dan, "since there is no doubt in my mind of your influence
with the captain, I beg that you will have him release me."
"It is that that I desire, monsieur; and yet--?" Madame de la Fontaine
paused and glanced at her companion with a charming little air of
interrogation.
"And yet?" repeated Dan, flushing a little as he looked into the lovely
blue eyes that met his so frankly.
"I confess, monsieur, I must first discover if you are really deserving
of my efforts. I care to know very much why you watched me last night
at the House on the Dunes. For what reason do you watch me at midnight?
a stranger, a woman? Why is it that my affairs give you interest? I
would know."
Her voice, her countenance expressed now only her sense of injury, an
injury which, as it were, she was striving not to regard also as an
insult. Under the persistent searching of her soft glance, Dan felt
himself very small indeed.
"Answer me, if you please," she said. This time Dan detected just a trace
of the sharpness with which she had dismissed the obsequious Jean. It
gave him courage and a sense of protection from the fascination he knew
that this strange woman was successfully exerting over him.
As he replied, his glance encountered hers with frankness. "Madame de la
Fontaine, I told you yesterday morning, my sister, Nancy Frost, has
disappeared. We searched for her all day in vain. Not a trace of her has
been found. But certain strange events have led me to suspect that
certain persons have had something to do with her disappearance and must
know her whereabouts. I will be frank Madame. One of the persons whom I
so suspect is yourself."
"I!--_mon Dieu_! and why is it that you believe this, Monsieur?"
"I suspect you, madame, because I suspect the Marquis de Boisdhyver."
"Ah! the French gentleman who is staying with you at the Inn at the Red
Oak, is it not so?"
"Yes."
"But--why me?"
"Because, madame, I discovered that you and the Marquis de Boisdhyver
have been in secret communication with each other."
"_C'est impossible. Te me comprende pas, monsieur_. Will you tell me why
it is that you can think that this Marquis de Bois--what is the name?"
"De Boisdhyver."
"_Merci_. Why is it that you can think that the Marquis de Boisdhyver and
I have been in secret communication?"
"Lights, green and red lights, have been used as signals; by the Marquis
at the Inn; by you, madame, from the House on the Dunes; and by some
one,--Captain Bonhomme, I suppose,--from this ship."
"Lights, you have seen lights?"
"Several times last night, Madame. My suspicions were aroused. I was
determined to find my sister. I resolved to learn the meaning of those
mysterious signals. My method was stupid: I blundered, and as you have
several times so gently hinted, I am in your power."
For a moment Madame de la Fontaine was silent, then she looked quickly
up; a half-vexed, half-amused expression curling her pretty lips.
"Look at me, monsieur," she said. "Do you know what you tell me? That I
am an adventuress?"
Dan flushed suddenly as he met her steadfast gaze. "I have stated only a
suspicion, madame, to account for my own stupid blundering. But if you
think that my suspicions are extraordinary, don't you think that our
present situation and conversation are also extraordinary, and that they
might rather confirm my suspicions?"
Madame de la Fontaine dropped her eyes with a perceptible frown of
displeasure; but again she looked up, smiling.
"_C'est drole_, monsieur, but I find you very attractive? You are at once
so naive and so clever?"
Dan, finding nothing to reply to this unexpected remark, bit his lips.
"Will you not trust me?" she asked him suddenly, and putting out her hand
she touched his own with the tips of her fingers.
Poor Frost tingled at this unaccustomed contact. "I--I--" he stammered
awkwardly. "I have certainly no desire to distrust you, madame."
"And yet it is that you do distrust me."
"But what would you have me do?"
"Ah!" Her hand spontaneously closed upon his with a clasp that delighted
and yet disconcerted him. "I hope that we shall make each other to
understand."
"What would you have me do?" Dan repeated.
"Monsieur, let me make to you a confession. I understand your
suspicions; I understand your desire to find if they are true. You have
reason; Monsieur le Marquis de Boisdhyver and I have exchanged the
mysterious signals that you have witnessed. Why should I deny that which
already you know? Monsieur de Boisdhyver and I are occupied with affairs
of great importance, and it is necessary that all is kept secret. But I
believe, that it is that I can trust you, monsieur."
"And Nancy--?" exclaimed Dan.
"_Pas si vite, pas si vite_!" said the lady, laughing gayly, Dan's hand
still in her friendly pressure. "All in good time, _mon ami_. It is
necessary before I confide in you our little secret that I consult
Monsieur le Marquis."
Dan's face betrayed his disappointment. "But you do know about Nancy," he
insisted; "you will assure me--"
"Of nothing, dear boy,"--and she withdrew her hand. "But it had been so
much better for us all if only Monsieur le Marquis had at the first
confided in you."
Madame de la Fontaine had risen now and was holding out her hand to
say good-bye.
"It is necessary that I return to the shore. I will see Monsieur le
Marquis this afternoon, and immediately afterward--"
"But, madame, surely," Dan exclaimed, "I am to accompany you?"
"Ah! monsieur," she replied with a charming little smile, "for the
present you must rest content to be _mon captif_. We must quite clearly
understand each other before--well. But you are too impetuous, Monsieur
Dan. For the moment I leave you here."
"But Madame de la Fontaine," cried Dan, "I cannot consent--"
"No! no!" she said, as with a gay laugh, she placed a cool little hand
across his mouth to prevent his finishing his sentence.
What absurd impulse fired his blood at this sudden familiarity, Dan did
not know; but, quite spontaneously, as though all his life he had been in
the habit of paying such gallantries to charming ladies, he kissed the
soft fingers upon his lips. Madame de la Fontaine quickly withdrew them.
"Ah, _mon ami_;" she said, "I expected not to find here _une telle
galanterie_."
"I have offended you," murmured Dan, blushing furiously.
"Ah, _pas du tout_!" said Madame de la Fontaine. "You are a dear boy,
monsieur Dan, and I--well, I find you charming."
As she said this, to Dan's complete confusion, Madame de la Fontaine
lightly brushed his cheeks with her lips, and passing him rapidly, went
out of the door of the saloon.