A PRISONER OF MORPHIA
It was mid-forenoon of the following day when Ethel awoke from the
profound sleep superinduced by the drug. It was with a vast astonishment
that her startled eyes took in the surroundings of the stateroom. There
was a blank wall straight opposite her widely gazing eyes, where should
have stood a dressing table of Circassian walnut, topped by the long
oval mirror always ready to show her the reflected loveliness of her
face. And there should have been also lying exposed on the polished
surface of the table an orderly and beautiful array of those things that
make for a woman's beauty--the creams that cleanse a skin too delicate
for the harsh water poured from city mains; in a gold-topped bottle a
lotion for the hair, delicate and effective; in dainty phials essences
of perfume, subtle, yet curiously pervasive, with the fragrance of
joyous springtime. Indeed, a medley of the arts evolved through the ages
for the perfecting of that beauty, which, after all, is God-given--a
thing not to be attained by the processes of even the most skilled
beauty-doctors....
But Ethel possessed the thing itself. To her the accessories were but
absurdities--unnecessary and wanton, means whereby to emphasize a
natural loveliness.
There should have been a glimmer of pure white light from the back of a
hair brush, lying on the dressing table. Ethel had loved the purity of
that ivory surface. She had loved it so much that she refused to have it
broken by the superimposition upon it of initials wrought cleverly in
silver or gold or platinum. That brush meant so much to her! Night by
night, she toiled with it. After she had undone the masses of her
bronze-gold hair, she worked over them, with a sybaritical, meticulous
care.
She was used to sitting in negligee and having her maid brush the
strands. That brushing made the hair resplendent.... Now, Ethel
looked--there was no dressing table--no mirror--nothing, of the sort
that she was accustomed to see when she awoke in the morning.
She thought again of her own bedroom at home. She was minded to take her
bath, which must be drawn and waiting.... And then, suddenly, that blank
wall there before her eyes hammered upon her consciousness.
She was stricken with a curious sense of horror in this instant of
realization that she was in some unknown place--absolutely apart from
the dear, familiar things of home.
For a few horrid instants that shock of a vague terror pressed upon her
like a destroying incubus.
A moment later, recollection thronged upon her. She remembered
everything--the coming to the yacht, the fall, the wrenched ankle, the
arrival of the physician, the almost dainty pain of the needle thrust
into her flesh. And then Ethel began to think that it would be pleasant
to be an invalid on board the yacht for a long time. It would need only
a judicious selection of guests to make a voyage the most agreeable of
diversions.
Just then she was startled into a new emotion. She realized the rhythmic
beating of the engines.... The yacht was already under way.
For a little, Ethel was too stunned by the shock of surprise to take
action. To her, it was inconceivable that the yacht should be thus
voyaging. It should be still lying at anchor in the North River. Her
father could have given no orders for its sailing. She had not. There
was no one else with authority to command the movements of the craft. It
should be lying at anchor in its berth.... But it was not. There was the
pulse from the engines, the gentle swing of the hull to prove that a
journey was begun. A journey--whither or wherefore she could not even
guess.
Ethel put her feet out of the berth, and winced with pain from the
movement of the injured ankle. But she set her teeth in grim
determination, and stood up, putting her weight on the sound foot. Then
she hobbled to the port, and looked out. She saw the highlands of New
Jersey slipping gently past. She recognized the lightship. There was no
longer room for doubt. The yacht had put to sea.
Ethel remained staring out of the port-hole for a long hour, during
which the New Jersey coast unrolled a panorama of varied loveliness. And
throughout all that hour, the girl was in a maze of wonder over this
thing that had befallen. She could make no guess as to the meaning of it
all. She found herself dazed by the unexpected situation. Yet, a certain
instinct warned her of danger. She did not in the least understand the
nature of the peril, the cause of it, the effect. But somehow a
subconscious intelligence guided her to the realization that this
inexplicable situation was fraught with portents of evil. Her fear
sharpened when she found that the door of the stateroom was locked from
the outside.
Moving with care that she might not cause herself more pain by strain in
the injured ankle, she looked for and found a pencil and a sheet of
paper, on which she scribbled a note to her lover.
"Mr. Roy Morton,
"Birchwood Camp,
"Nahassane, N. Y.
"DEAREST ROY:
"I fell and injured my ankle and concluded to stay aboard _The
Isabel_ under the care of Dr. Garnet. I awoke this morning and
to my surprise, found the yacht headed down the New Jersey
coast. I tried to go on deck. I found I had been locked in my
stateroom.... Boat still headed south. Come to my rescue!
"I am going to place this note in a face-powder can. I see ahead a
fisherman's boat. It is near enough for me to attract its
attention. I shall throw the can near the boat, with the hope that
the fisherman will open it and find this note. We are heading
toward the Delaware Capes.
"Love to you and father,
"ETHEL MARION."
She folded the note and scrawled a few words on the outside very
hurriedly, for they were now almost abreast the fleet of fishing yawls.
"Mr. Fisherman, I am a prisoner on my own yacht. Please help me and
telegraph this letter to Mr. Morton's address." She crammed the bit of
paper into the can from which she had emptied the powder. She thrust her
head out of the port and uttered a shrill cry to attract the attention
of the fisherman. Then she threw the can with all force toward the
nearest boat.
Ethel watched in a mood of half hope, half despair. She saw the can fall
into the sea. But one of the fishermen also observed the container of
her message as it was thrown into the water. Ethel, watching with
strained eyes, perceived the figure of a man in oilskins who suddenly
thrust a boat-hook overboard, fished with it for a moment, then drew
alongside the tin can, bent over, and picked it out of the water.... The
girl thrilled with relief over the success of her attempt to send news
of the trouble come upon her.
Nevertheless, there was, there could be, no immediate effect of the
message. The engine of the yacht throbbed steadily, carrying her moment
by moment further from home and lover and father and friends, to a
destination unknown--a destination fraught by imagination with unguessed
horrors.
Suddenly, Ethel forgot all the difficulties of this strange situation in
a realization of the fact that she was hungry--atrociously hungry! It
dawned upon her that she had not eaten a single morsel of food since the
luncheon of the previous day. She realized then that she was entirely
dependent upon her unknown captor, even for food to keep her body alive.
The distraught girl thought of the locked stateroom door, and was made
frantic by the fact that she was thus shut in, a prisoner. She stared
longingly at the small, round port-hole. She regarded that swinging
window of heavy plate glass with an anxiety of desire that thrilled
through every atom of her blood. She wondered: Could she by any chance
thrust her slender body through that narrow aperture? She even went so
far as to measure the width of the disc--comparing the space to her own
slender breadth of shoulders.
She thought that it might be possible for her to thrust her lithe form
through the meager opening. She believed that she could push her body
through the port-hole. She dared to hope that she might thus escape.
Down below was the runway used by the sailors. It seemed to her that the
matter of escape would be simple.
Her hunger urged Ethel to make the desperate attempt. She was sure that
could she once reach the runway she would be safe from detection on the
part of the one directing the course of the craft from the pilot-house.
She had heard no noise from the galley, which was near her room. She was
certain that it was unoccupied, and that she could slip into it
unnoticed, there to satisfy her longing for food from the abundant
supply of canned goods. Then, after relieving her hunger, she could
determine her future conduct. She might decide to act the brave part by
showing herself and demanding to know the cause of her confinement; or
she might return in the way by which she had come to the stateroom, with
a supply of food, and thus await developments.
The distracted girl took a full hour for consideration of the matter.
Betimes, she was bold to the point of desperation; betimes, she was
flaccid with despair, helpless before the mysterious horrors of her
situation. But at last courage rose in her, became dominant. She
resolved to make the attempt at a descent through the opening. Now, she
was not in the least intimidated by the very real danger of being unable
to secure safe footing upon the narrow runway. The deck below was
without a solid rail. It had only the light hand rail with an open space
beneath, through which her body might easily plunge into the sea.
Moreover, the peril of the exploit was increased for her by the fact of
her injured ankle, which must make her footing awkward and unsteady at
the best.
Ethel found some comfort on a final examination of the injured ankle.
The swelling from the sprain had lessened very perceptibly. She
discovered, too, that now she could bend the joint a little without
experiencing the excruciating pain which such movement had produced
before she lost consciousness from the effect of the opiate. The fact
that the injury was not so severe as she had thought and that she could
at least depend upon the hurt member for some support, painful though it
might be, heartened her anew. Without further pause for reasonings pro
and con, she began to force her body through the opening.
The berth was so located that by placing her sound foot upon the edge of
it she was able to thrust the upper part of her body out of the
port-hole. But this aid would not serve for the remainder of the
progress. To get her hips through, she would have to depend on being
able to seize the hand rail and thus pull herself outward and downward.
She had no fear of being caught midway and held fast, for her
measurements had proved that her shoulders were a trifle broader than
her hips. The danger would lie in getting a firm grip with her hands on
the rail and in the subsequent swinging down of her body to the tiny
width of the runway. Now, as she lunged forward, she held her hands
outstretched, as if she were about to dive into the sea. In this moment
of stress she thanked God for the strictness with which her father had
insisted on athletic training. She knew that her eye was keen and
accurate, that her muscles were strong, ready with instant response to
the commands of will.
But, to her dismay, Ethel found that, notwithstanding measurements, her
shoulders would not pass through the opening. She writhed in fruitless
endeavor until she was exhausted by the strain. Finally, she gave up the
attempt and drew back into the cabin, utterly downcast by her failure.
Then, when she was somewhat refreshed, she tested the accuracy of her
measurements. To her astonishment she found that she had made no
mistake. The port-hole was in fact a little wider than her shoulders.
For a time she was puzzled by the mystery of it all. Then, suddenly,
understanding came to her. She realized that the outstretching of her
arms had caused a lifting and consequent broadening of the shoulders.
Once again hope filled her. She repeated her attempt, but now with arms
dropped close to her sides. She thrilled with delight as her shoulders
slid easily through the opening.
Then, in the next instant, the joy vanished. In its place came stark
terror. For she found herself held motionless, when half way through the
port-hole, with her arms bound fast by the pressure. She struggled
violently, but to no avail. She was caught prisoner with a ruthless
firmness that could not be escaped. Her frantic strivings did not budge
her body the fraction of an inch either forward or backward. Indeed, it
seemed that her futile endeavors to free herself only succeeded in
wedging her more securely. She fancied that her own physical violence
was causing her body to swell so that it should be gripped more fiercely
by the unyielding circumference of the window. There flashed on her a
memory of how once she had tried on a friend's ring, had tried it on a
finger too large; of how she had pushed it down easily enough over the
joint; of how she could not push it back again. She remembered how the
finger had swiftly swollen until the ring was deep sunken in the
reddened flesh. Now, she imagined her body, caught within the metal rim
of the port-hole, was thus reddened and swollen. Her plight filled her
with anguish. The dread of it made her forget in this new, overmastering
fear all that she had so greatly dreaded hitherto.... Her voice broke in
a scream:
"Help! Oh, help! Help!"
Almost instantly, as her voice ceased, Ethel heard the sound of hurrying
feet on the deck above. She twisted her neck to look upward, and saw the
pleasantly smiling face of Doctor Gifford Garnet, as he peered over the
hurricane rail. In that moment of relief, the girl welcomed the familiar
countenance of the family physician. She had no thought for the cunning
smile that answered to her anguished appeal. She realized only that here
was one to succor her in her extremity. She called out to him
imploringly:
"Oh, Doctor, help me please. I am caught here. My body is swelling, I
think. You must get me out at once or I shall die. Oh, hurry!"
The Doctor grinned at her with sardonic enjoyment of her predicament.
But his bland words soothed her alarm:
"I come to your rescue with all speed, Miss Ethel. Never fear, little
one, you will soon be quite safe. I hasten to relieve your suffering."
He vanished. Then, a few seconds later, she saw him making his way along
the runway. She did not see the hypodermic syringe he carried in his
left hand. She did not understand even when he came to her, and put his
two hands to her shoulders as if to help her. She felt the sting of pain
in her right arm, but thought it no more than the twinge of a strained
muscle. Doctor Garnet deftly slipped the hypodermic syringe into his
pocket without the girl's observing it. He spoke to her gently,
encouragingly, awaiting the action of the drug. Then, a few moments
later, Ethel's lids drooped, her form grew limp, her head lolled to the
slight swaying of the yacht. She was held now in a clutch more terrible
and more relentless than that of the metal band about her body. She was
the hapless prisoner of morphia. Dr. Garnet stared into the face of the
unconscious girl for a long half minute, with a curious gloating in his
gaze. Then, abruptly, he strode away, and as he went he chuckled softly,
with infinite relish over some evil jest known only to himself.