TIMOTHY sat now on an upturned trunk, his elbows on the rails of the
s.s. _Tigilanes_ and his speculative eye roving the river front of
Liverpool.
It was the last hour of the voyage, and Timothy, who had left Funchal
with four hundred pounds in his pocket-book, had exactly three genuine
shillings and a five-milreis piece of dubious quality.
A man strolled along the deck and fell in at his side.
“Cleaned you out last night, didn’t they?” he asked sympathetically.
“Eh? Oh, yes, I believe they did. That red-haired man had all the luck
and most of the cards.”
He smiled and Timothy had a swift, happy smile that brought tired little
ridges under his eyes. He was not only good-looking and young, but he
was interesting.
The man at his side took the cigar from his teeth and looked at it
before he spoke.
“Of course, you know they were crooks—they work this coast line
regularly.”
“Eh?”
Timothy looked round, shocked and pained.
“You don’t say? Crooks! What, that little red-haired fellow who has been
trying to pick a quarrel with me all the voyage, and the tall,
nice-looking Englishman?”
His companion nodded.
“Don’t you remember the Captain warned us not to play cards——”
“They always do that to be on the safe side,” said Timothy, but he was
obviously uneasy. “Of course, if I knew they were crooks——”
“Knew! Good lord! Anybody will tell you. Ask the purser. Anyway, you’ve
been stung and you can do nothing. The best thing to do is to grin and
bear your losses. It is experience.”
Timothy felt the three honest shillings in his pocket and whistled
dismally.
“Of course, if I were sure——”
He turned abruptly away and raced down the main companion-way to the
purser’s little office under the stairs.
“Mr. Macleod, I want to see you.”
“Yes, sir,”—all pursers are a little suspicious,—“anything wrong with
your bill?”
“No—not unless his name’s Bill. Shall I come in?”
The purser opened the half-door and admitted him to the sanctuary.
“There are two fellows aboard this packet—a red-haired fellow named
Chelwyn and a disguised duke named Brown—what do you know about ’em?”
The purser made a face. It was intended to convey his lack of real
interest in either.
“I’ll put it plainly,” said the patient Timothy. “Are they crooks?”
“They play cards,” said the purser diplomatically.
He desired at this the eleventh hour to avoid scandal, explanations, and
such other phenomena which he associated in his mind with the
confrontation of the wise men and their dupes. That sort of thing
brought the Line into disrepute, and indirectly reflected upon the
ship’s officers. Besides, the ship was making port, and, like all
pursers, he was up to his eyes in work and frantically anxious to clear
it off in a minimum time so that he could take a train to his little
villa at Lytham, where his family was established.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson, if you’ve been stung,” he said, “but the
captain gives fair warning the first night out of Cape Town and
Madeira—that’s where you came aboard, isn’t it?—and there were notices
posted up, both in the saloon and in the smoking-room. Have you lost
much?”
He looked up with some sympathy at the tall, athletic figure with the
tired, smiling eyes.
“I cleared up £500 at the Funchal Casino,” said Timothy, “and I reckon I
have spent £100 legitimately.”
“The rest is gone, eh?” said the purser. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I am
afraid I can do nothing. The best thing to do is to mark it down against
‘Experience’.”
“I’ll forgive you for being philosophical about my losses,” said
Timothy. “Will you be kind enough to tell me the number of Mr. Chelwyn’s
cabin?”
“Two seventy-four,” said the purser. “I say, Mr. Anderson, if I were you
I’d let the matter drop.”
“I know you would, dear old thing,” said Timothy, shaking him warmly by
the hand, “and if I were you I should let it drop too. But, as I am
me—274, I think you said?”
“I hope you’re not going to make any trouble, Mr. Anderson,” said the
alarmed purser. “We’ve done our best to make you comfortable on the
voyage.”
“And I did my best to pay for my ticket, so we’re quits,” and with a
wave of his hand Timothy strode out of the cabin, dodged down past the
steward carrying up the luggage to the next deck, and walked swiftly
along the carpeted corridor till he found a little number-plate bearing
the figures “274.” He knocked at the cabin door, and gruff voice said,
“Come in!”
Chelwyn, the red-haired man, was in his shirt sleeves, fastening his
collar. Brown was sitting on the edge of his bunk, smoking a cigarette,
and Chelwyn, who had seen Timothy reflected in the mirror as he came in,
was first to recognise him.
“Hullo, Mr. Anderson, do you want anything?” he asked politely. “Sorry
you’ve had such bad luck—what the devil are you doing?”
Timothy had shut the door and slipped the bolt.
“Yes, I want something,” he said. “I want four hundred pounds.”
“You want——”
“Listen. I thought you were playing straight, you fellows, or I wouldn’t
have played with you. I’m willing to take a chance, for that’s my motto
in life, dear lads, but there isn’t a chance to take when you’re playing
with crooks.”
“Look here,” said the red-haired man, walking over to him and
emphasising his words with his forefinger against Timothy’s chest, “that
kind of stuff doesn’t amuse me. If you lose your money, lose it like a
sportsman and a gentleman, and don’t squeal.”
Timothy grinned.
“Boys,” he said, “I want four hundred pounds from you, so step lively.”
The suave Mr. Brown, who had been watching the scene with bored eyes,
stroking his drooping moustache the while, made a gentle entrance into
the conversation.
“I’m rather surprised, in fact, I am shocked, Mr. Anderson, that you
should take this line,” he said. “You’ve lost your money fairly and
squarely——”
“That’s where you’re lying,” said Timothy pleasantly. “Now, I’m telling
you this. We’re very near the shore. Somewhere at the back of those
warehouses there’s certain to be a police organisation and a well-paid
magistrate. You are going to have a grand opportunity of appearing in
the respectable part of the court as a prosecutor, for I’m going to beat
you up—first you,” he pointed to the red-haired Chelwyn, “and then
you.”
“You’re going to beat me up, are you?” said the red-haired man and made
a quick dive.
It was not pretty to watch, unless you took an interest in fighting.
They closed for a second and something jolted twice under Chelwyn’s jaw.
He fell back against the cabin partition. He leapt again, but Timothy’s
fist met him half-way, and he never really felt what hit him.
“I’ve won this fight,” said Timothy, “and I award myself a purse of four
hundred pounds. Do you take any interest in these proceedings. Brown?”
The other man had not moved from his bunk, but now he rose and lifted
his dazed companion to his feet.
“We’d better pay this fellow.”
“I’ll see him——” mumbled the other, but Brown was apparently the
brains of the organisation and had merely mentioned his intention of
paying out of sheer politeness to his companion.
He took a thick pocket-book from his hip pocket and counted out the
notes, and Timothy picked them up.
“I’ll fix you for this,” said Chelwyn, mopping his bleeding lip. “You’ve
taken this from me—not him.”
“Don’t frighten me,” said Timothy as he unbolted the door and stepped
out.
“Some day I’ll get you,” said the livid man, and the finger he pointed
at Timothy was shaking with anger.
“I’ll take a chance on that,” said Timothy.
He ascended the companion-way feeling remarkably cheerful, and met the
purser coming down. That officer regarded him even more suspiciously
than ever. But as there were no signs of the fray upon him, the purser
went to his cabin relieved, and Timothy passed out to relieve his
feelings by the side of the rail. So he sat whilst the big liner was
brought alongside the wharf, and then he heard his name spoken and
jumped up, hat in hand.
“I just wanted to tell you, Timothy, in case I did not see you on the
train,” she remarked, “that Mrs. Renfrew has decided not to go back to
Bath but to go on to Paris almost immediately.”
“Good for Mrs. Renfrew,” said Timothy. “Bath or Paris will find me
hanging around. I nearly came down to you just now to borrow my fare to
Bath.”
“Timothy,” she said in a shocked voice, “did you lose all the money you
won in Funchal?”
Timothy rubbed his nose.
“I didn’t exactly lose it,” he said. “I lent it and it has just been
repaid.”
“Mrs. Renfrew doesn’t think it proper your travelling on the same boat.
She thinks you ought not to have come to Madeira after me—us.”
There was mischief in Mary’s eyes, in spite of the solemnity of her
tone.
“I shouldn’t worry about what Mrs. Renfrew thinks,” said Timothy. “Why,
you’re almost as badly off for cousins as I am.”
“As you are?” she said in surprise. “Have you any cousins?”
“Hundreds of ’em,” said Timothy glibly.
“Who are they?” she asked, interested.
She had reached a stage in their friendship when his relatives were
immensely interesting.
“I don’t know their names,” lied Timothy. “I don’t give ’em names but
numbers—one, two, three, four, etc.—just at that moment I was thinking
of number seventy-nine—good morning, Mrs. Renfrew.”
Mrs. Renfrew was severe and thin, with a yellow face and hooked nose.
She was a member of one of the best, if not the best, families in Bath,
and it was an unfailing source of pride that she did not know the people
that other people knew.
Mary watched the encounter with dancing eyes.
“Shall I have the pleasure of your company to London?” asked Mrs.
Renfrew.
She invariably made a point of leaving Mary out, and indeed sustained
the pleasant fiction that Mary had no existence on board the ship.
“The pleasure will be mine,” said Timothy. “I am not travelling with you
to London.”
He said this so innocently that Mrs. Renfrew was in the middle of her
next observation before she had any idea that the remark had an
offensive interpretation.
“You seem to have had a very unfortunate experience—what do you mean?”
Happily a very hot-looking steward made his appearance at that moment
and called Mrs. Renfrew away. She gathered up her charge and with a
withering glance at Timothy departed.
“Take A Chance” Anderson, feeling particularly happy, was one of the
first to land and strolled along the quay-side waiting within view of
the gangway for Mary to disembark. Immediately above him towered the
high decks of the _Tigilanes_—a fact of which he was reminded when,
with a crash, a heavy wooden bucket dropped so close to his head that it
grazed his shoulder. It was a large bucket, and, dropped from that
height, might have caused him considerable physical distress.
He looked up.
The two card-players with whom he had had some argument were lolling
over the rail, their faces turned in quite another direction and talking
earnestly.
“Hi!” said Timothy.
They were deaf, it appeared, for they still continued their discussion.
A deck hand was passing with a crate load of oranges; one fell out and
Timothy picked it up. The attention of Messrs. Chelwyn and Brown was
still directed elsewhere, and with a little swing of his arm Timothy
sent the orange upon its swift and unerring course. It caught the
red-haired man square in the side of the face and burst, and he jumped
round with an oath.
“You’ve dropped your bucket,” said Timothy sweetly. “Shall I throw it at
you or will you come down and get it?”
The man said something violent, but his companion pulled him away, and
Timothy went to look for a seat with peace in his heart.