Taking one thing with another, Browne's night after the incident
described at the end of the previous chapter was far from being a good
one. He could not, try how he would, solve the mystery as to what had
become of that envelope. He had hunted the cabin through and through,
and searched his pockets times without number, but always with the same
lack of success. As he lay turning the matter over and over in his
mind, he remembered that he had heard the soft shutting of a door as he
descended the companion-ladder, and also that Maas had betrayed
considerable embarrassment when he entered the saloon. It was absurd,
however, to suppose that he could have had any hand in its
disappearance. But the fact remained that the envelope was gone. He
rang for his valet, and questioned him; but the man declared that, not
only did he know nothing at all about it, but that he had not entered
the cabin between dinner-time and when he had prepared his master for
the night. It was a singular thing altogether. At last, being unable
to remain where he was any longer, he rose and dressed himself and went
up to the deck. Day was just breaking. A cloudless sky was overhead,
and in the gray light the Peak looked unusually picturesque; the water
alongside was as smooth as a sheet of glass; the only signs of life
were a few gulls wheeling with discordant cries around a patch of
seaweed floating astern.
Browne had been pacing the deck for upwards of a quarter of an hour,
when he noticed a _sampan_ pull off from the shore towards the yacht.
From where he stood he could plainly distinguish the tall figure of
MacAndrew. He accordingly went to the gangway to receive him.
Presently one of the women pulling brought her up at the foot of the
accommodation-ladder, when the passenger ran up the steps, and
gracefully saluted Browne.
"Good-morning," he said. "In spite of the earliness of the hour, I
think I am up to time."
"Yes, you are very punctual," answered Browne. "Now, shall we get to
business?"
They accordingly walked together in the direction of the smoking-room.
"You mastered the contents of my note, I suppose?" asked MacAndrew, by
way of breaking the ice.
"Perfectly," replied Browne; "and I was careful to burn it afterwards."
"Well, now that you have perused it, what do you think of it?" inquired
the other. "Do you consider the scheme feasible?"
"Very feasible indeed," Browne replied. "With a decent amount of luck,
I think it should stand a very good chance of succeeding.
"I'm very glad to hear that," returned MacAndrew. "I thought you would
like it. Now, when the other preliminaries are settled, I can get to
work, head down."
"By the other preliminaries I suppose you mean the money?" queried
Browne.
MacAndrew looked and laughed.
"Yes; the money," he admitted. "I'm sorry to have to be so mercenary;
but I'm afraid it can't be helped. We must grease the machinery with
gold, otherwise we shan't be able to set it in motion."
"Very well," rejoined Browne; "that difficulty is easily overcome. I
have it all ready for you. If you will accompany me to my cabin we may
procure it."
They accordingly made their way to the cabin. Once there, Browne
opened his safe, and dragged out a plain wooden box, which he placed
upon the floor. MacAndrew observed that there was another of similar
size behind it. Browne noticed the expression upon his face, and
smiled.
"You're wondering what made me bring so much," he remarked. How well
he remembered going to his bank to procure it! He seemed to see the
dignified, portly manager seated on his leather chair, and could recall
that worthy gentleman's surprise at the curious request Browne made to
him.
"But how do you propose to get it ashore?" said the latter to
MacAndrew. "It's a heavy box; and what about the Customs authorities?"
"Oh, they won't trouble me," answered MacAndrew coolly. "I shall find
a way of getting it in without putting them to the inconvenience of
opening it."
"Do you want to count it? There may not be five thousand pounds there."
"I shall have to risk that," MacAndrew replied. "I haven't the time to
waste in counting it. I expect it's all right." So saying, he took up
the box, and followed Browne to the deck above.
"You quite understand what you've got to do, I suppose?" he asked when
they once more stood at the gangway.
"Perfectly," said Browne. "You need not be afraid lest I shall forget.
When do you think you will leave?"
"This morning, if possible," MacAndrew replied. "There is no time to
be lost. I've got a boat in my eye, and as soon as they can have her
ready I shall embark. By the way, if I were in your place I should be
extremely careful as to what I said or did in Japan. Excite only one
little bit of suspicion, and you will never be able to rectify the
error."
"You need have no fear on that score," rejoined Browne. "I will take
every possible precaution to prevent any one suspecting."
"I'm glad to hear it," MacAndrew returned. "Now, good-bye until we
meet on the 13th."
"Good-bye," said Browne; "and good luck go with you!"
They shook hands, and then MacAndrew, picking up his precious box, went
down the ladder, and, when he had taken his place in the well, the
_sampan_ pushed off for the shore.
"A nice sort of position I shall be in if he should prove to be a
swindler," reflected the young man, as he watched the retreating boat.
"But it's too late to think of that now. I have gone into the
business, and must carry it through, whatever happens."
When Jimmy Foote put in an appearance on deck that morning he found
that the city of Victoria had disappeared, and that the yacht was
making her way through the Ly-ee-Moon Pass out into the open sea once
more.
It was daybreak on the morning of the Thursday following when they
obtained their first glimpse of Japan. Like a pin's head upon the
horizon was a tiny gray dot, which gradually grew larger and larger
until the sacred mountain of Fujiyama, clear-cut against the sky-line,
rose from the waves, as if to welcome them to the Land of the
Chrysanthemum. Making their way up Yeddo Bay, they at length cast
anchor in the harbour of Yokohama. Beautiful as it must appear to any
one, to Browne it seemed like the loveliest and happiest corner of
Fairyland. He could scarcely believe, after the long time they had
been separated, that, in less than half an hour, he would really be
holding Katherine in his arms once more. During breakfast he could
with difficulty contain his impatience, and he felt as if the excellent
appetites which Foote and Maas brought to their meal were personal
insults to himself. At length they rose, and he was at liberty to go.
At the same moment the captain announced that the steam-launch was
alongside.
"Good luck to you, old fellow," said Jimmy, as Browne put on his hat
and prepared to be off. "Though love-making is not much in my line, I
must say I envy you your happiness. I only wish I were going to see a
sweetheart too."
"Madame Bernstein is a widow," remarked Browne, and, ducking his head
to avoid the stump of a cigar which Jimmy threw at him, he ran down the
accommodation-ladder, jumped into the launch, and was soon steaming
ashore.
Reaching the Bund, he inquired in which direction the Club Hotel was
situated, and, having been informed, made his way in that direction.
He had reached the steps, and was about to ascend them to enter the
verandah, when he saw, coming down the passage before him, no less a
person than Katherine herself. For weeks past he had been looking
forward to this interview, wondering where, how, and under what
circumstances it would take place. Again and again he had framed his
first speech to her, and had wondered what she would say to him in
return. Now that he was confronted with her, however, he found his
presence of mind deserting him, and he stood before her, not knowing
what to say. On her side she was not so shy. Directly she realized
who it was, she ran forward with outstretched hands to greet him.
"Jack, Jack," she cried, her voice trembling with delight, "I had no
idea that you had arrived. How long have you been in Japan?"
"We dropped our anchor scarcely an hour ago," he answered. "I came
ashore the instant the launch was ready for me."
"How glad I am to see you!" she exclaimed. "It seems years since we
said good-bye to each other that miserable day at Marseilles."
"Years!" he cried. "It seems like an eternity to me." Then, looking
up at her, as she stood on the steps above him, he continued:
"Katherine, you are more beautiful than ever."
A rosy blush spread over her face. "It is because of my delight at
seeing you," she whispered. This pretty speech was followed by a
little pause, during which he came up the steps and led her along the
verandah towards two empty chairs at the farther end. They seated
themselves, and, after their more immediate affairs had received
attention, he inquired after Madame Bernstein.
"And now tell me what you have arranged to do?" she said, when she had
satisfied him that the lady in question was enjoying the best of
health. "I received your cablegram from Hong-kong, saying that
everything was progressing satisfactorily. You do not know how
anxiously I have been waiting to see you."
"And only to hear that?" he asked, with a smile.
"Of course not," she answered. "Still, I think you can easily
understand my impatience."
"Of course I understand it, dear," he replied; "and it is only right
you should know all I have arranged."
He thereupon narrated to her his interview with MacAndrew, speaking in
a low voice, and taking care that no one should overhear him. When he
had finished he sat silent for a few moments; then, leaning a little
nearer her, he continued, "I want to remind you, dear, to be
particularly careful to say nothing at all on the subject to any one,
not even to Madame Bernstein. I was warned myself not to say anything;
but in your case, of course, it is different."
"You can trust me," she returned; "I shall say nothing. And so you
really think it is likely we shall be able to save him?"
"I feel sure it is," said Browne; "though, of course, I, like you, am
somewhat in the dark. Every one who is in the business is so chary of
being discovered, that they take particular care not to divulge
anything, however small, that may give a hint or clue as to their
complicity."
For some time they continued to discuss the question; then Katherine,
thinking that it behoved her to acquaint Madame Bernstein with the fact
of her lover's arrival, departed into the house. A few moments later
she returned, accompanied by the lady in question, who greeted Brown
with her usual enthusiasm.
"Ah, monsieur," she cried, "you do not know how _triste_ this poor
child has been without you. She has counted every day, almost every
minute, until she should see you."
On hearing this Browne found an opportunity of stroking his
sweetheart's hand. Madame Bernstein's remark was just the one of all
others that would be calculated to cause him the greatest pleasure.
"And now, monsieur, that you are here, what is it you desire we should
do?" inquired Madame, when they had exhausted the topics to which I
have just referred.
"We must be content to remain here for at least another fortnight,"
said Browne. "The arrangements I have made cannot possibly be
completed until the end of that time."
"Another fortnight?" exclaimed Madame, in some astonishment, and with
considerable dismay. "Do you mean that we are to remain idle all that
time?"
"I mean that we must enjoy ourselves here for a fortnight," Browne
replied. Then, looking out into the street at the queer characters he
saw there--the picturesque dresses, the _jinrickshas_, and the thousand
and one signs of Japanese life--he added: "Surely that should not be
such a very difficult matter?"
"It would not be difficult," said Madame, as if she were debating the
matter with herself, "if one had all one's time at one's disposal, and
were only travelling for pleasure; but under the present circumstances
how different it is!" She was about to say something further, but she
checked herself; and, making the excuse that she had left something in
her room, retired to the house.
"Do not be impatient with her, dear," said Katherine softly, when they
were alone together. "Remember that her anxiety is all upon my
account."
Browne admitted this, and when he had done so the matter was allowed to
drop.