"Oh--I don't know."
"No--haven't had any chance. I rather expect to find out something by
the time I get home, though. It isn't likely that so beautiful a hat
will be permitted to blush unseen." His interest quickened. "Won't you
tell me, please?" he begged, bending forward.
But the girl laughed softly and shook her head.
"Please!"
"Oh, I couldn't. I've no right to spoil a good joke."
"Then you think it's a joke?" he enquired gloomily.
"What else could it be?"
"I only wish I knew!"
The exclamation was so fervent that Miss Searle laughed again.
Six bells sounded in the pause that followed and the girl sat up
suddenly with a little cry of mock dismay.
"Eleven o'clock! Good Heavens, I mustn't loaf another minute! I've all
my packing to do."
She was up and standing before Staff could offer to assist her. But she
paused long enough to slip a hand into his.
"Good night, Mr. Staff; and thank you for volunteering to help me."
"I shan't forget," he promised. "Good night."
He remained momentarily where she left him, following with his gaze her
tall and slender yet well-proportioned figure as it moved along the
moonlit deck, swaying gracefully to the long, smooth, almost
imperceptible motion of the ship.
He wore just then a curious expression: his eyes wondering, his brows
puckered, his thin lips shaping into their queer, twisted smile....
Funny (he found it) that a fellow could feel so comfortable and content
in the company of a woman he didn't care a rap about, so ill at ease and
out of sorts when with the mistress of his dreams! It didn't, somehow,
seem just right....
With a dubious grimace, he went aft. Iff, however, wasn't in the
smoking-room. Neither was he anywhere else that Staff could discover in
his somewhat aimless wanderings. And he found his stateroom unoccupied
when at length he decided to turn in.
"Sleuthing," was the word with which he accounted for the little man's
invisibility, as he dropped off to sleep.
If he were right, Iff was early on the job. When the bath-steward's
knock brought Staff out of his berth the next morning, his companion of
the voyage was already up and about; his empty berth showed that it had
been slept in, but its occupant had disappeared with his clothing; and
even his luggage (he travelled light, with a kit-bag and a suit-case for
all impedimenta) had been packed and strapped, ready to go ashore.
"Conscientious," commented the playwright privately. "Wonder if he's
really on the track of anything?"
Idle speculation, however, was suddenly drowned in delight when, his
sleep-numb faculties clearing, he realised that the Autocratic was
resting without way, and a glance out of the stateroom port showed him
the steep green slopes of Fort Tompkins glistening in new sunlight.
Home! He choked back a yell of joy, and raced to his bath. Within twenty
minutes, bathed, clothed and sane, he was on deck.
By now, having taken on the health officers, the great vessel was in
motion again, standing majestically up through the Narrows. To
starboard, Bay Ridge basked in golden light. Forward, over the starboard
bow, beyond leagues of stained water quick with the life of two-score
types of harbour and seagoing craft, New York reared its ragged
battlements against a sky whose blue had been faded pale by summer heat.
Soft airs and warm breathed down the Bay, bearing to his nostrils that
well-kenned, unforgettable odour, like none other on earth, of the
sun-scorched city.
Staff filled his lungs and was glad. It is good to be an American able
to go roaming for to admire and for to see; but it is best of all to be
an American coming home.
Joy in his heart, Staff dodged below, made his customs declaration,
bolted his breakfast (with the greater expedition since he had for
company only Mrs. Thataker, a plump, pale envelope for a soul of pink
pining for sympathy) and hurried back to the deck.
Governor's Island lay abeam. Beyond it the East River was opening
up--spanned by its gossamer webs of steel. Ahead, and near at hand, New
York bulked magnificently, purple canyons yawning between its
pastel-tinted cliffs of steel and glass and stone: the heat haze,
dimming all, lent soft enchantment....
Ranks of staring passengers hid the rail, each a bundle of unsuspected
hopes and fears, longings and apprehensions, keen for the hour of
landing that would bring confirmation, denial, disappointment,
fulfillment.
Amidships Staff descried Mrs. Ilkington's head and shoulders next to
Miss Searle's profile. Arkroyd was with them and Bangs. Alison he did
not see, nor Iff. As he hesitated whether or not to approach them, a
steward touched his arm apologetically.
"Beg pardon--Mr. Staff?"
"Yes ...?"
"Mr. Manvers--the purser, sir--awsked me to request you to be so kind as
to step down to Miss Landis' stiteroom."
"Certainly."
The door to Alison's sitting-room was ajar. He knocked and heard her
voice bid him enter. As he complied it was the purser who shut the door
tight behind him.
He found himself in the presence of Alison, Jane, Manvers and three men
whom he did not know. Alison alone was seated, leaning back in an
armchair, her expression of bored annoyance illustrated by the quick,
steady tapping of the toe of her polished boot. She met his questioning
look with a ready if artificial and meaningless smile.
"Oh, you weren't far away, were you, Staff?" she said lightly. "These
gentlemen want to ask you some questions about that wretched necklace. I
wish to goodness I'd never bought the thing!"
Her expression had changed to petulance. Ceasing to speak, she resumed
the nervous drumming of her foot upon the carpet.
Manvers took the initiative: "Mr. Staff, this is Mr. Siddons of the
customs service; this is Mr. Arnold of the United States Secret Service;
and this, Mr. Cramp of Pinkerton's. They came aboard at Quarantine."
Staff nodded to each man in turn, and reviewed their faces, finding them
one and all more or less commonplace and uninteresting.
"How-d'-you-do?" he said civilly; and to Manvers: "Well ...?"
"We were wondering if you'd seen anything of Mr. Iff this morning?"
"No--nothing. He came to bed after I'd gone to sleep last night, and was
up and out before I woke. Why?"
"He--" the purser began; but the man he had called Mr. Arnold
interrupted.
"He claimed to be a Secret Service man, didn't he?"
"He did," returned Staff. "Captain Cobb saw his credentials, I believe."
"But that didn't satisfy him," Manvers put in eagerly. "I managed to
make him understand that credentials could be forged, so he wirelessed
for information. And," the purser added triumphantly after a distinct
dramatic pause, "he got it."
"You mean Iff isn't what he claimed--?" exclaimed Staff.
Arnold nodded brusquely. "There's no such person in the service," he
affirmed.
"Then he _is_ Ismay!"
The Pinkerton man answered him: "If he is and I lay eyes on him, I can
tell in two shakes."
"By George!" cried Staff in admiration--"the clever little scamp!"
"You may well say so," said Manvers bitterly. "If you'd listened to
me--if the captain had--this wouldn't have happened."
"What--the theft?"
"Yes, that primarily; but now, you know--because he was given so much
rope--he's vanished."
"What!"
"Vanished--disappeared--gone!" said the purser, waving his hands
graphically.
"But he can't have left the ship!"
"Doesn't seem so, does it?" said the Pinkerton man morosely. "All the
same, we've made a pretty thorough search, and he can't be found."
"You see," resumed Manvers, "when the captain got word yesterday
afternoon that Iff or Ismay wasn't what he pretended to be, he simply
wirelessed back for a detective, and didn't arrest Iff, because--he
said--he couldn't get away. I told him he was wrong--and he was!"