A DAY AT "GIB."
THE inquest on the body of Lionel Ventin was resumed next day, but
nothing new was discovered, and taking into consideration the strange
story told by the deceased to Monteith, the time of the committal of
the crime, which, according to the Doctor's showing, must have taken
place when the ship was leaving Valletta, there appeared no doubt but
that the murder had been committed before the steamer left Malta. As
the deceased's real name was not Ventin, and all the evidence was
purely circumstantial, the jury brought in a verdict of "Wilful murder
against a person unknown." The evidence was taken down so as to be
handed to the authorities in Gibraltar, entries were made in the
log-book about the affair, and poor Lionel Ventin's body was committed
to the deep.
There is something inexpressibly sorrowful and solemn in a burial at
sea. The body, wrapped in a sail, with iron shot at its feet, was
placed on the lower deck near the open bulwarks, and was covered with
the Union Jack. A number of the passengers were present, leaning from
the upper deck, but many of the ladies, among whom was Mrs. Pellypop,
were reading the service for the dead to themselves in the saloon. The
captain, surrounded by his officers, read the service over the
deceased, and at a signal the body was pushed over the side, slipping
from under the Union Jack, and fell with a dull splash into the sea.
Then everyone dispersed, the engines, which had been slowed down
during the burial, resumed their usual speed, and life on board went
on as usual. There was a gloom, however, over all the ship, for it
was not an ordinary death, and it was not until the "Neptune" reached
Gibraltar that the passengers began to recover their usual gaiety.
Meanwhile Ronald Monteith had become the slave of Carmela Cotoner,
and, judging from her gracious manner towards him, she was in no wise
displeased at having him at her feet. Ronald had hitherto laughed at
the tender passion, but now he was being paid back for insulting the
god of Love, as he found out to his cost. He was always at Carmela's
elbow--carried her rugs and pillows about for her, danced with her,
read poetry to her, and, in fact, was so constant in his attentions,
that it was soon patent to the whole ship that Monteith was madly in
love with the girl from Malta.
And, indeed, she was called nothing else. Mrs. Pellypop, not knowing
her name at first, had given her that title, and everyone else
followed suit. She was the belle of the ship, vice Kate Lester
resigned, and was always followed by an adoring crowd of young men, of
whom Ronald grew unspeakably jealous, and would get quite sulky if
she smiled or spoke to anyone else. He carried this absurd behaviour
to such an extent that Pat Ryan took him to task one day for his sins.
"You are a jolly old ass, Ronald," observed the candid Irishman, "to
go on like this, making a fool of yourself."
"I can't help it," said Monteith, ruefully surveying at a distance a
group of young fellows standing round Carmela; "just look at her; she
doesn't care a bit about me."
"Of course, you say that," said Pat, lighting a cigarette, "because
she doesn't devote herself exclusively to you. I tell ye what, girls
don't like being made faces at because they speak to another fellow;
hang it, I've seen you speak to girls enough."
"That was before I--I," hesitatingly, "met Miss Cotoner."
"Before you were in love, ye mean," retorted Pat; "begad, ye've got
the disease badly. Are ye going to marry her?"
"I will, if she'll have me."
"Then why don't you ask her?"
"I've only known her a few days. Isn't that rather soon?"
"Not a bit, women like to be taken by storm," wisely remarked Pat, who
was just out of the nursery, and fancied he knew the sex--Heaven help
him--"go in, and win, my boy."
"By Jove I will," said Ronald, eagerly, and then fell to thinking what
his father would say to the marriage. He didn't know who the young
lady was--what she was--knew nothing about her family, and yet--and
yet, he adored her. Why shouldn't he marry her? He was his own master,
and if his father cut him off with a shilling, he could work--she was
worth working for--yes, he would ask her to marry him--of course she
would say yes--for it never entered this confident young man's head
that women sometimes say "No." So Master Ronald went on building
castles in the air, all inhabited by himself and Mrs. Monteith--no
hang it, not yet--the girl from Malta.
He was aroused from these golden visions by a touch on his arm, and
turning round, saw his special dislike, the Marchese Vassalla, looking
at him. The Marchese detested Monteith, both for his good looks, and
for the evident regard Miss Cotoner had for him. He would like to have
dropped his rival over the side along with poor Ventin's body, but as
he couldn't do this, he was excessively polite, and watched for an
opportunity to do him an injury. Here was a chance now, and the wily
Maltese took full advantage of it. He overheard the conversation
between Pat and Monteith, so determined to dash all Ronald's hopes to
the ground, by telling him that Carmela was engaged. To this end the
serpent came into Ronald's paradise, and smiling, invited him not to
have an apple, but a drink. The young man would have refused, but then
he thought he might learn something about Carmela, and after all, the
Marchese was her cousin, so he consented, and went down to the bar
with the smiling Maltese gentleman.
As it was about eleven o'clock, they found the bar surrounded by
thirsty souls having cocktails. In fact, there was a "Cocktail Club"
on board, and it was a very popular drink with the young men,
particularly if they had been up late the night before. Cocktails
therefore, being the prevailing beverage, the Marchese and his victim
each had one, and then the former gentleman opened the campaign.
"I shall be sorry when this voyage is over," he said, carelessly.
"So shall I," replied Monteith, thinking of the chances of meeting
Carmela in London. "But I daresay I'll meet Miss--I mean you again."
"I don't think so," said Vassalla, coldly. "Myself and my cousin only
stay a few days in London, and then go down to some friends in the
country."
"Oh!" said Ronald, and looked blank.
"And then," pursued his tormentor, eyeing him mercilessly, "I am
coming back to London to arrange about our marriage."
The poor lad turned pale as death.
"Whose marriage?"
"Mine and my cousin's. Did you not know we were engaged?"
Ronald finished his drink in a mechanical sort of way, and putting
down his glass, walked away to his cabin, and shut himself in. The
Marchese looked after him with a grim smile.
"I think that will give you food for reflection my friend," he
muttered, lighting a cigarette as he strolled away.
"What's up with that Maltese devil?" asked Bentley. "He looks quite
pleased with himself."
"It's more than Monteith did; he walked away as pale as a ghost," said
Pat.
"It's about the girl from Malta, you bet," said Bentley, sagely, and
no one contradicted him.
Miss Cotoner was without her attentive cavalier all that day, and was
much surprised thereat. She asked her cousin about him, and that
smiling gentleman told her Ronald was ill, and had gone to lie
down. And indeed, Ronald was ill, not with a headache, but with a
heart-ache, which is worse, and he lay all day in his narrow berth
bemoaning his hard fate. Nor did he come to dinner, and Miss Cotoner
was so vexed to think he was so ill, that she sent her steward with a
little note to his cabin, saying how sorry she was, and she hoped he
would be well enough on the morrow to take her over Gibraltar, all of
which Monteith read and puzzled over.
"She's a flirt, a heartless coquette," cried the poor boy; "she's
engaged to another man, and she's trying to break my heart, but she
won't. I care no more for her than this bit of paper," and he threw
the little note on the floor.
After a bit, however--with the usual inconsistency of lovers--he
picked it up, and thought what a pretty hand she wrote, and then that
he would go over Gibraltar with her, and he would find out if she were
really engaged to that beastly Maltese. Ronald's language was strong
but not choice. Then he sent a reply to Carmela, saying he would see
her in the morning, and afterwards drank a bottle of champagne, and
felt better. Oh what a queer disease is love, with its hopes, its
fears, its smiles and tears, its kisses and blisses, and--its intense
egotism.
The next day Monteith arose, cooled his hot head with a shower bath,
donned a suit of spotless, white flannels, put a straw hat on his
curly locks, and sallied forth with the determination to save his
charming Princess from the clutches of the ogre Vassalla, or die in
the attempt.
"Hullo," cried Pat, seeing the unusual splendour of Master Ronald's
apparel, "going on the mash to-day? gad you'll knock the Gib girls
over like nine-pins."
Whereat Ronald informed Pat in confidence that he intended to try his
fate with Miss Cotoner that day, and Pat informed Ronald, likewise in
confidence, that he thought he was quite right, and would bet him a
bottle of champagne he would be accepted, which wager Monteith took,
and went on deck with a light heart and a strong determination to win.
All this time, however, in spite of his new-born love, Monteith never
for a moment wavered from his determination to hunt down the assassin
of his dead friend, and told Captain Templeton as much.
"How are you going to do it?" asked Templeton, dubiously, "we cannot
even find out Ventin's real name."
"Isn't there a portrait of him among his luggage?" asked Monteith.
Templeton shook his head.
"Not anything likely to lead to identification," he answered, "but
I'll have a talk with you after we leave Gibraltar, for I must confess
I would like the riddle solved," and the captain went off to his post
on the bridge as they were now nearing the famous Rock.
Who that has once seen it can forget that enormous grey mass rising up
from the blue water into the blue sky, with the red-roofed town
nestling at its base? Monteith had never seen anything so impressive
since Aden, which he had beheld, vague and mysterious, in the
starlight. He realized with a thrill of pride that this was one of the
visible signs of England's greatness, and he thought, with
satisfaction, that he, too, was of the race that had conquered it.
Aden, Malta, Gibraltar, all held by England; it made Ronald quite
patriotic when he thought of the impregnability of these strongholds.
If he had been a poet he would have burst into verse, but as he was
not he simply contented himself with a commonplace observation--
"By Jove, it's wonderful!"
The Anglo-Saxon race are rarely enthusiastic.
The ship cast anchor about a mile from the shore, and soon Ronald and
his beloved were in one of the boats dancing over the choppy water.
Pat also was in the boat, and so was Mrs. Pellypop and Kate Lester.
Ronald hinted to Pat that the old lady would be in the way, but Pat
magnanimously said he would look after both her and Miss Lester, so as
to leave Monteith free to pursue his wooing with Carmela.
When they reached shore, they rejected all the offers of carriages
made by brown-skinned natives of the Rock, and sauntered leisurely up
the dusty street, under the massive gateway above which they could see
the red-coated sentries, and walked right into the market-place, where
a lot of buying, selling, swindling, and talking were going on. Jews,
with black, beady eyes and hooked noses, invited them into dingy
little shops and produced oriental goods; and sedate-looking Moors in
baggy trousers and large turbans, watched them, with Eastern apathy,
as they passed along. The tall white houses with the striped awnings
over the windows, the crowd of dirty little brats howling for money,
the number of red uniforms about, and the narrow, crowded streets, all
afforded them much amusement. Then Mrs. Pellypop, inveigled by the
wily Pat, went into a shop to buy some things, and was soon engaged in
a lively altercation with the shopman, who spoke broken English, and
showed her broken things which he said came from Granada, and would
have had a broken head if Mrs. Pellypop had not reflected that using
her umbrella for such a purpose, might lower her dignity. Pat and Miss
Lester looked on and laughed at the scene, so, taking advantage of the
confusion, Ronald and Carmela slipped away and climbed up the steep
lanes to the old Moorish castle which frowns over the town.
"I don't care much for ruins," said Miss Cotoner, putting up her red
sunshade, and a pretty picture she looked under it; "there's a good
deal of sameness about them; but Moorish architecture is picturesque."
"Yes, very!" assented Ronald, who would have agreed to anything she
said.
"I have Arab blood in my own veins," observed Carmela; "at least, so
my father said. One of our ancestors was an Emir."
"Is your father alive?" asked Ronald, who saw in this remark a good
opportunity for finding out all about his beloved.
"No, he died a long time ago," she said, sadly. "My mother is also
dead, and I lived in Malta with my sister."
"Was that your sister who was with you the first time I saw you?"
Carmela nodded.
"Yes, we did not get on well together, so I left her and am going to
some relations in England."
"Then I shall not see you again," said the young man, in a moody tone.
"That depends on yourself," she replied, blushing.
All the blood rushed to Ronald's fair face, and it was only by a great
effort he prevented himself from taking her in his arms, and kissing
her.
"Does your cousin, the Marchese go with you?" he asked eagerly.
"I believe so."
"I suppose you are glad?"
"Glad!" she looked at him with surprise; "why on earth should I be
glad?"
"Because--because--well"--desperately--"he's going to marry you."
Carmela frowned.
"Who told you so?"
"Vassalla himself--is it true?" asked the young man breathlessly.
Miss Cotoner looked at him in a queer manner for a moment, then turned
away her head.
"My parents arranged a match between us," she answered, nervously.
"And you?"
"I'm not in favour of it--I don't think there is any chance of my ever
marrying the Marchese."
Ronald sprang forward with a cry of delight.
"Oh, Miss Cotoner--Carmela--I----"
"Would like to see the fortifications," she answered, quickly nipping
the declaration, she knew was coming, in the bud; "I wouldn't; let us
go down to the Almeda."
She turned away, and Ronald followed mortified and humbled at his
failure, but half way down the hill began to pick up his spirits.
"I can't expect her to fall like ripe fruit into my mouth," he
thought, hopefully; "and it's impossible she can love me in so short a
time."
He was wrong there, for Carmela liked him very much--in fact, more
than she cared to acknowledge to herself; but she would not allow him
to speak because--well, because she was a riddle. Woman is an eternal
riddle that man has been trying to solve since the beginning of the
world, but every attempt has failed.
Monteith, however, took his failure like the honest gentleman he was,
and turned the conversation. Remembering his anxiety to solve the
mystery of Ventin's death, he thought he would question his fair
companion. "Did you know a lady in Valletta called Mrs. Ventin?" he
asked, as they walked slowly along in the burning sun.
"No, I never heard the name before," replied Carmela promptly, looking
at him.
"Of course not," thought Monteith; "it wasn't his right name."
"Who is she?" said Carmela carelessly; "that's the same name as the
gentleman who died."
"She was his wife," replied Ronald.
"Does she live at Valletta?" asked Miss Cotoner.
"I think so."
"Strange I never met her."
"She was married to my friend seven years ago."
"Oh!" said Miss Cotoner with a slight start; "no I never heard of her,
Mr. Monteith."
They were strolling along the Almeda by this time, and the Grand
Promenade of Gibraltar was crowded. Many an admiring glance was
directed at the pretty girl Ronald as escorting; and one young officer
was heard to declare that "That dark girl was deuced good style you
know."
On the Almeda they met Mrs. Pellypop, and the ever-lively Pat along
with Miss Lester, and the whole party were tired and dusty with
sight-seeing. Mrs. Pellypop, in fact, was rather cross, but
triumphant, as she had secured a number of bargains, though, truth to
tell, she had paid dearly for her purchases. She was not at all
pleased at seeing Ronald escorting Carmela, and observed, with some
asperity, that it was time to return to the ship. Everyone being weary
agreed, and they went down the steep street out of the gate, and Pat
ran to get a boat. While thus waiting, the Marchese Vassalla came up
and addressed himself with some anger to Miss Cotoner.
"I did not get on shore till you left, and have been looking for you
all day; you ought to have waited for me to escort you."
"Thank you," replied his cousin languidly; "Mr. Monteith has been kind
enough to relieve you of your duties."
The look Vassalla cast on Ronald was not, by any means, a pleasant
one.