CHECKMATED
Fay’s first movement was a start of surprise. He gripped the rail and
waited as the dingy Dutch ship backed, starboarded, then started to turn
in the confined waters of the canal.
Over him surged a rage which mounted in hot waves of blood to his
temples. He stood before the door, behind which crouched the man who had
set the trap in the Holland marsh, and who held the cipher-key.
He felt caution vanish in one desire. He bunched his muscles and hurtled
toward the door. He struck it with staggering force. A crash resounded
above the sounds of shore-leaving. Seamen hurried in his direction.
Seeing red, and grimly determined to smash through to Dutch Gus, he
glided back against the rail, then lunged forward—this time with double
force.
The stout door was immovable. One panel gave, however. Through this
opening an arm was thrust. A funnel of crimson fire stabbed the night. A
bullet clipped a piece from the rail. A roar sounded as a second shot
was fired from an American revolver.
Fay staggered to one side of the door and wiped his face. He had not
been struck. The blood that showed was from the old stone bruise. A
sailor clutched his arm. He swiftly turned.
“There’s a crazy man in that cabin,” he explained. “Open it up so I can
see what is the matter with him.”
“I dank you better look out,” said the seaman. “I dank I better see der
capitan. Ya, dat fellow is crazy!”
Dutch Gus thrust out the automatic revolver. A Holland mate appeared and
swung down from the boat deck. He stared at Fay and then at the smashed
panel.
The cracksman pointed toward the door.
“You’ve got a mad passenger. He almost killed me. You should put him in
irons,” he declared firmly.
The mate glanced at Fay. He turned and advanced toward the cabin door.
The automatic was jerked inside. A table or shelf was held over the
opening. The crook was taking no chances. He had barricaded himself
inside the cabin! A mattress and a blanket were stuffed in the opening.
Fay saw the uselessness of arguing the matter. A bo’swain and two seamen
conferred with the mate. A purser came up. Fay grasped his arm and
asked:
“Where is the lady I was with? What is the number of her cabin?”
The purser jerked his head toward the stern of the boat. Fay followed
him through the gloom. The ship was gliding by the shores of the canal.
The fog was heavy—impenetrable. The siren aft the funnel blared a
long-drawn warning. Bridges were swung to let the ship pass. Fisher
boats were drawn out of the way.
Saidee Isaacs stood at the rail in the stern of the freighter. Boxes,
bales and crates formed a barricade between her and the cabins. She had
not noticed the commotion in the forward part of the ship. Fay dismissed
the purser and glided to her side.
“Come to your cabin!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Dutch Gus has stolen the
cipher-key! He’s aboard. But I’ll get it from him!—I’m in this thing,
now—all the way!”
“Where—when?” she questioned eagerly. “Checkmated?”
Fay stared at the sea over the stern of the ship. His face grew gloomy
with thought. It came to him with the force of a blow that he had been
careless in the matter—so careless that it would be very hard to explain
to Sir Richard.
“Yes, he beat me to it,” he said, lowering his voice and backing against
the rail. “He’s got the package that contains the key in his cabin.”
“You dropped it—lost it?”
Fay pressed his hand over his forehead. A stain of blood was on his
fingers as he drew them away.
“It was when I went back for the bags—the thing happened, Saidee. I’m
not over it yet. I got what I deserve for being so careless.”
The cracksman paused and stared into her crimsoning face. The olive
beauty was gone. In its place had crept a saffron hue which seemed to
center in her eyes. She stamped her foot on the deck.
“Come on,” he said wearily. “Let’s go to your cabin. Climb over these
bales. Look out for that tackle. Now through these crates.”
He seized her arm and guided her through the last of the deck stores.
They mounted a short ladder and hurried forward. The two cabins assigned
to them by the purser were upon the opposite side of the ship from the
one occupied by Dutch Gus.
She hastily got out a key, twisted it in her trembling fingers and
opened her door. She entered and switched on the light. He followed her
after a glance up the deck. He drew her door closed.
“Now, explain everything,” she whispered as she leaned forward and
studied his blood-stained face. “Just how did you come to lose it?”
Fay drew off his cap and tossed it to the bunk. She helped him with his
overcoat. She stood near the door as he rolled up his sleeves, glanced
swiftly at the blood stains, then started pouring water from a
racked-pitcher.
“Wait till I clean up,” he replied, lathing his hands. “Dutch Gus took
everything. They knocked me out and went through my pockets. The
package—my money—the revolver—everything is gone. It reminded me of
Chicago—only worse!”
She caught the laugh in his voice. It reassured her. He was far from
being beaten.
“Have you any money?” he asked, turning his hands toward the light and
staring at them.
“Yes! Plenty! Thank goodness, mine wasn’t in my bag. But almost
everything else was!”
“You don’t happen to have a gun?” He dipped his face into fresh water,
mopped his hair, then reached for a towel.
“I’ve a little one. It’s loaded.”
“Better give it to me. I’m going to get Dutch Gus before this ship
reaches land. He can’t get away with what he has done. Part of his gang
is aboard. I don’t care. He’s lived entirely too long, for the good of
the world, Saidee.”
She caught the new, determined note in his voice. It steadied her. She
stooped, turned up the bottom of her skirt and drew out from a secret
pocket a tiny silver-plated revolver of superior make.
Glancing at it, she dropped her skirt and thrust it into his reaching
hand.
He twirled the barrel, pocketed the revolver and put on his coat,
overcoat and cap.
“I was pretty rough,” he said apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive
that part. I’m going after Dutch Gus, Saidee.”
“Be careful. Can’t you wait till the ship lands?”
“No! It’ll put into Denmark. Germany has agents there who will come
aboard and take Dutch Gus with them. It’s now or never.”
Fay stepped to the door and moved it partly open. He stared out. Turning
his head, he said:
“The fog is lifting—I see dykes and the open sea. I’ll go around on the
other side and wait by his door. I won’t let him out. You try this side
and see if you can find any of his pals. There were two or three of
them. Perhaps they didn’t all come aboard.”
“Is there any way we could wireless MacKeenon?”
“Too late for that. The ship will put into Denmark early in the
afternoon.”
She watched him disappear through the door and glide toward the stern.
Arranging her hat in the mirror and frowning at her disheveled
appearance, she hurried to the deck and started forward.
Two skulkers by an outswung life-boat turned their faces away and
pretended to watch the shore. She saw that they were Germans and that
their shoes were caked with marsh-mud. She turned at the pilot-house and
glanced back. They were eyeing her sharply.
Fay stood by the rail directly in front of Dutch Gus’s cabin. He raised
his cap as she hurried in his direction. A steward and a deck hand had
nailed a barricade before the shattered door. No sound came from inside
the cabin.
“All right,” said Fay, without moving his lips. “He is trapped. They
think he’s crazy. He can’t get out, but we can’t get in. The captain
says he’ll call the port officers when we reach Denmark.”
“And some of them will be German agents.”
Fay admitted this by a slow nod. He backed against the rail, hooked his
heel into a netting and eyed the door for all the world like a man who
was there to stay.
She realized what was passing in his mind. The time was slipping by.
Already the open water had been reached. The ship would soon be in the
North sea. A slight rocking foretold the seas to come.
Glancing toward the bow, she puckered her brow. Her thoughts were on the
cipher-key. It was in the hands of Dutch Gus. He well knew its value. He
had followed her from Holland to London and from London back to Holland
in the quest. There seemed no way to get him out of the cabin before the
ship put into port.
Fay dropped his heel to the deck. They were out of ear-shot of the
steward and the deck-hand who were standing guard over the remarkable
passenger.
“I’ve a plan,” she said with the brevity of a man.
“What—is it?”
“Set the ship on fire and get him when he comes out.”
Fay glanced at her in admiration. “Good!” he said. “Good idea, but—”
“But what?”
He turned and studied the sea. A fog draped the lowlands. Beyond, rocks
and hills rose. A ridge followed the coast line. The wind was from the
north and west. Sailing craft dotted the ocean.
“If we burn this boat,” he said to her. “If we do—and I can do it—we
might burn him with the cipher-key. He couldn’t get out of the cabin
soon enough. This ship’s loaded with inflammable crates.”
“But we must do something.”
He lifted his chin and stared at the funnel and the pilot-house. He
turned and counted the small-boats. His eyes darted swiftly over the
superstructure. They fastened finally upon a companion with a handrail.
It led downward to the engine-room. A grimy Dutch coal-passer was
leaning over the rail, smoking a pipe. His shirt was open to the waist.
His belt was a black-tarred rope’s end.
“I’ve got it!” said Fay, suddenly. “See where that hatch leads? Look,
Saidee! It leads to the stoke-hold and the engine-room.”
“To the bottom of the ship?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I’m going around the deck and count the boats. I don’t think there are
but four. There’s not more than six or seven passengers. The crew can’t
number over fifteen—counting the engineers and the stokers. Twenty or
twenty-two souls—all told. We’ll get Dutch Gus out into the open where
we can handle him. Come on!”
“Are you going to leave him alone?”
“Yes! He won’t trust that cipher-key to anybody. It’s sealed. He won’t
open it. He’s certainly got it with him. It’ll be with him when the
crash happens. Go to your cabin. I want you to stay there till I come
for you.”
She followed him around the stern. He opened her cabin door, after a
shrewd glance at the two Germans by the life-boat, and went in.
“Stay here,” he said. “We’re sure to be watched, together. I’ll be back
in ten minutes. I’m going below, and if this ship is what I think it
is—we’ll get the cipher-key. You look out every minute and watch the
Germans. Follow them if they go to Dutch Gus’s cabin.”
He darted away from the girl and around the stern of the ship. Already a
heavy swell was lifting the bow. There was a promise of more seas to
come. The fog had lightened in patches. Vistas showed, framed by
dragging vapor like the ropes of huge Zeppelins. A glint of sun slanted
over the coast of Holland. The ship was skirting the coast line. It was
in danger of floating mines which had broken loose before peace had been
declared.
He paused in his steps, after descending the ladder and advancing part
of the distance to the engine-room companion. The Dutch stoker, with his
pipe, was still taking the air.
“Can I go down?” Fay asked as he pointed toward the deck. “I’d like to
see the engines.”
“Engines, Ja!” said the stoker, removing his pipe and pressing the bowl
with a broad thumb. “Ja! Ja!”
“Thanks,” said Fay, grasping the curved hand-rail and turning in his
descent. He glanced at the waves apprehensively.
He reached the grating and stood in the gloom between a rusty bulkhead
and a triple-expansion engine. He saw, high over his head, a row of open
port-holes. He had marked these from the deck. They had given him the
plan to save the cipher-key.
An oil-incrusted engineer passed without noticing him. Fay started aft.
There was a maze of injector-pumps, bilge-pumps, condenser-pipes and
steam leaders on the starboard side of the engine. He saw the hand
wheels of the sea-cocks. These were well down on their threads in a
closed position. He glanced at the open hatch.
His chance came as the same surly engineer shouted an order and vanished
through the bulkhead-door which led to the stoke-hold. It was a free and
easy ship such as is found in the coast service of Holland and the North
Countries. He worked swiftly as he opened three of the sea-cocks. He
paused on the ladder which led to the engine-room companion. Running
water sounded within the space between the double skin of the ship.
Bilge muck seeped along the gratings. An oily patch glistened and
reflected the light from a yellow lantern.
Fay descended the ladder and waited at the foot. He was not sure that he
had done everything necessary to sink the ship. There might be an
automatic stop on the sea-valves. An indicator bell was liable to ring.
He leaned and listened. Sounds came to him of shovels scraping over the
iron plates in the stoke-hold. There was a smell of hot oil about the
engine room. The clanking of the engines seemed slowed for some reason.
Gripping the palms of his hands with his fingernails, he waited for
someone to come aft and report the water. It would be easy then to
explain that he had come down the ladder to investigate the matter.
An oath in Dutch sounded from the stoke-hold. A coal-passer threw down a
shovel. There was an argument between the engineer who had gone forward
and the stoker. Hot words rolled through the bulkhead door. This would
serve to gain time. Fay suddenly glanced at the deck. It was almost a
foot deep with brine.
He turned and climbed the ladder swiftly. He passed the Dutchman at the
engine-room companion, who was still smoking his pipe. The mild eyes of
the man made no sign. A heavy veil of fog and mist rolled over the
ship’s bow and wrapped the standing rigging.
Fay stared about the deck. A bo’swain stood in the chains on the
starboard side. He swung a lead line but did not let it go. The skipper
leaned out of the side door of the pilot-house. His eyes were on the
fog.
A sudden sickening lunge of the bow showed that the ship had taken
aboard much water. This action escaped the seamen. They stood at their
position—unaware that the deck had lowered toward the surface of the
water.
Fay thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets and climbed to the
boat-deck. He felt the cool surge of victory. A few minutes more and
there would be no saving power to keep the vessel from a watery grave.
Already it was water-logged and sluggish.
He turned and saw Saidee Isaacs standing in the doorway of her cabin.
She was watching the two Germans who were sheltered by the long-boat.
Fay moved along the canted deck and grasped her arm.
“Get ready for trouble,” he whispered buoyantly. “Have you anything in
the cabin you want? You won’t have a chance to get it later.”
“What have you done?”
He loosened his grip and smiled at the thought of the open sea-cocks.
“I’ve done enough,” he said. “I didn’t think it could be done. This is a
sleepy ship.”
“Have you set fire to it?”
Fay leaned against the cabin sheathing and marked the nearness of the
sea.
“Not quite as bad as that,” he said, pressing his hand against the
sheathing. “I’ve scuttled her, though, or think I have. I opened almost
everything with a wheel on it, below. As soon as the alarm is given, I
want you to hurry to the after boat and pull the plug. One boat ought to
be enough for the crew and passengers. There will be a sort of a panic.
They’ll all get away, though, except the man we want. He’s nailed tight
in his cabin.”
Fay stepped to the rail and leaned over. The reaching waves which curled
to the scupper holes seemed like white fangs. The alarm had not yet been
given!
“Tell me what you have done,” she asked again.
“Opened the sea-cocks, Saidee.”
“But—I don’t understand.”
“You will! This won’t be the first ship that has been sunk in the same
manner. I don’t think there is any way to save her. See, she’s listing
to starboard. Hear the crew?”
They stepped to the cabin door. The Germans by the life-boat had
vanished. A running of footsteps sounded overhead. The hoarse voice of
the captain blared through the fog. An oiler burst through the
engine-room companion and staggered forward.
“She’s sinking!” he shouted in English. “Der ship is sinking!”
“I hope it is,” said Fay. “The fools haven’t sense enough to shut off
the sea-cocks and start the bilge pumps. A little black water in an
engine room is very disconcerting. Come, Saidee,” he added. “Dutch Gus
will be driven from his cabin like a rat from a hole.”
She walked past him. He saw her climb to the after boat and jerk at the
lanyard of the wooden plug. The cord broke. He passed around the
pilot-house, grasped a hand-rail and lowered himself to the starboard
side as the ship lurched and her bow went under a northern wave.
Pandemonium seized the decks. The crew and the engine-room force lost
their heads. Their one thought was to outboard the life-boats and get
away. Burly forms loomed through the fog. Knives slashed at the boats’
lashings. Fay heard a cry from aft. A boat had already been lowered. He
glided along the canted deck and saw that the door to Dutch Gus’s cabin
was still barred. The German crook had been deserted by his companions.
The planks, nailed in place by the purser and the deck hand, were stout
ones.
Fay waited until Saidee Isaacs came through the fog and the sea-spray.
She was water-soaked and frightened. She had seen the crew deserting the
ship.
“Get by that forward boat!” he ordered. “I’ll be there in a minute. The
ship will float a little longer. Stand by, Saidee, and wait for me!”
He grasped the rail and edged toward Dutch Gus’s door. Stout blows
indicated that the crook was trying to pound his way out. The panels had
been shattered. The way was barred by the planks which were nailed to
the sills.
The cracksman grasped the end of one of these, braced his feet against
the cabin-sheathing, and jerked the plank from its nail hold. He dropped
his hand swiftly to his side pocket and drew out the tiny revolver.
Poising it, he waited grimly.
First the shock-head and then the evil, heavy-browed eyes of the crook
appeared. These were followed by his shoulders.
“Get back!” snapped Fay, thrusting forward his revolver. “Get
back—you—Get back!”
Fay moved toward Saidee Isaacs. She was standing helplessly by the
boat’s falls.
“Cast these off,” he said, bending and untwisting the ropes from the
cleats. “That’s right, help! Now get into the boat. I’ll lower it. See,
it goes out and down. The water isn’t far.”
A reaching comber lapped over the bow of the doomed freighter and curled
along the upper decks. Fay braced himself against this flood. He saw the
boat lift and then drop into a trough of the waves. It crashed against
the ship’s plates. Saidee Isaacs was thrown against a gunwale. She
raised to her knees and glanced helplessly up at him.
He turned and darted a swift survey of the canted deck. Dutch Gus was
crawling through the opening between the planks. The stern of the ship
was a swelter of foam and curling eddies. A small-boat, crowded with
Dutch seamen, tossed like an egg-shell upon the crest of a wave. It
disappeared in the hollow between two great seas.
Fay climbed over the rail, waited, then leaped the distance for the
small-boat. He landed in the stern and fell sideways. He rose and
grasped the gunwales; Saidee Isaacs’s face was not more than a foot from
his. Her dark eyes had opened to their widest proportions. Her hat and
waist were sodden with brine.
He smiled reassuringly. “Buck up, Saidee!” he said. “Think of poor Dutch
Gus. Watch, when he jumps.”
Wonder broke through the beauty of her eyes. She turned and stood erect.
The dingy freighter was on the verge of its last plunge. The starboard
rails were under the sea. A single figure climbed for the highest
places. It appeared on the top of the pilot-house. Fog wrapped the
standing rigging. Wind and mist blotted out the view.
The view returned. The figure was now close by the funnel. Hands were
raised impotently toward the heavens. The German in Dutch Gus had caved.
He cried, and the sea mocked him.
Fay loosened a pair of oars, sat down, and swung the bow of the small
boat toward the ship. He sensed his position and bent his back. The ship
went down in a geyser of white foam. The upper deck-cabins and
ventilators were sheered from their holding-bolts. The sea churned with
white wreckage.
Out of this wreckage there appeared a bobbing head. Fay swung the boat
and rowed in the direction of this head. He waited, inboarded his oars
and rose with the tiny revolver clutched tightly in his hand. Saidee
Isaacs leaned over the bow. She pointed toward Dutch Gus.
The German crook was going down for the second time when Fay leaped
forward and reached out his right hand.
He caught a firm grip upon the swimmer’s neckband. He jerked backward
and lifted Dutch Gus out of the sucking sea. The girl stumbled to the
stern of the boat as the bow went under and water cascaded over the
seats. She stood erect and watched Fay.
Taking no chances, he laid the form over a gunwale and searched the
pockets. He found a pasty mass of Bank of England notes and some gold. A
knife, cartridges, papers and a notebook followed.
He deposited these on a seat and rose. He glanced over the sea. There
was no sign of the other boats of the ship. Wreckage and floating crates
lifted and fell with the waves. Fog swirled and wreathed about the spot
where the freighter had gone down.
Stooping swiftly, Fay unbuttoned the German’s clothes and removed a
money-belt. There was a bulge near the buckle of this. The buckle was
hard to open. Fay turned, steadied himself, and snatched up the knife.
He opened a blade with his strong teeth. He slit the chamois of the belt
and drew out the cipher-key. It was sealed. It had not been tampered
with. The paper with which it was bound was wet.
“We win!” he exclaimed as he turned toward the girl in the stern of the
boat. “He’s checkmated!”
Her eyes flashed. She clutched the tossing gunwale with her fingers. She
poised as he held up the package.
“Give it to me, Chester,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”
He extended his arm and passed the package to her. “It may be worth the
price,” he said. “Guard it carefully.”
He wheeled and stepped toward Dutch Gus. The German lay half in and half
out of the water. His legs dragged through the waves. Fay rolled back
the eye-lids and studied the pupils. He felt the pulse.
Turning then and searching the bottom of the boat, he saw a dry place
where he could lay him. He lifted the body and staggered aft with it. He
dropped it between the center and the stern-seat.
“Come forward,” he said to the girl. “He isn’t armed! We’ll wait till he
recovers his senses and then we’ll make him row us ashore. It can’t be
more than six or seven miles.”
Dutch Gus stirred at this statement. He threw up an arm and rolled over
on his face. His hand crept toward his waist with sly, creeping jerks.
Fay smiled as the girl came to his side and sat down on the forward
seat. “Watch,” he whispered. “He’s shamming! Watch, when he misses the
package.”
A savage roar greeted the discovery of the loss. Dutch Gus doubled,
turned, and lifted himself by grasping the starboard gunwale of the
boat. He glared forward. His eyes were blood-shot and baleful. He saw
the tiny revolver come up inch by inch until its muzzle pointed straight
for his forehead.
“Row!” said Fay. “Take up those oars and go to work. I plucked you
clean! You lost the gun you stole from me when the ship sunk. This one
is a six-gun with steel bullets and smokeless-powder. It’s little, but
it’ll do the work!”
The crook’s eyes wavered. They searched the tossing sea, which was
fog-shrouded. They returned to the sight of the little gun held so
steadily. They dropped to the oars.
“That’s right,” said Fay. “Sit backwards and fall to. It’s only seven
miles, Dutch. Why did you pick such an awful coast?”
The German had no answer for this question. He staggered to his feet and
stared about with savage eyes. Each time he turned toward the stern of
the boat, he saw the little silver-plated revolver.
“Sit down!” said Fay. “Take up those oars! I’ll give you ’till I count
three. One!”
Dutch Gus dropped to the seat and picked up an oar. He outboarded this,
then reached for the other. His broad back and sodden clothes blotted
out the view astern. He swung his body and cursed as the oars missed the
water. He dug the blades too deeply. He made poor progress.
Fay reached and pressed the cold muzzle of the gun against the German’s
purple neck where it showed above the collar.
“A little faster,” said the cracksman. “Try it again. It’s only six or
seven miles.”
The girl glanced now and then over her shoulder. The fog along the coast
was heavier than any veil. Beneath this fog the sea lifted and dropped
with a long-drawn moan.
An hour passed with the boat making slight headway. Fay shifted the
revolver to his left hand. They were caught in a current which was
bearing them toward the coast faster than the German could ever row. An
island showed through the fog. A ship blared a signal.
Saidee Isaacs rose, stood on the seat, balanced herself against Fay’s
shoulder, and called. She repeated the call. It was unanswered. An echo
mocked them as a faint cry was thrown backward.
“Sit down!” commanded Fay. “It isn’t far, now. See? That’s land! That
isn’t fog. Over there!”
He pointed the gun toward where a murky mass of vapor was backed by a
deeper shadow.
She glanced over the boat’s side. The water was yellow—from mud.
“We’re nearing shore,” she said.
He stared at her. They both were buoyant with the thought of the
cipher-key. It drove away sleep and weariness. Now and then she touched
the hiding place and smiled at him.
Dutch Gus rested on his oars and breathed heavily. Fay clicked the
cocking mechanism of the little revolver. The German did not turn. He
bent forward swiftly and dragged backward. He repeated the motion. The
fear of death had crept through his brain.
An island, mud-shored and barren, lifted out of the sea. It was no
larger than the deck of a ship. Rocks showed where the high-tide had
washed. There was a white line on these rocks.
“Starboard, a little,” said Fay. “No, the other oar!” he snapped.
“That’s right. Make for the island. I’m going to maroon you there.”
The German rose as the boat grounded. He turned and stared downward at
the menace of the revolver. It was compelling. The steady finger through
the trigger-guard, the eye that flashed over the sights, meant death,
and quickly.
“Get over the bow and wade!”
Fay said no more. He crouched by lifting himself partly from the seat.
He watched Dutch Gus leap from the boat and sink to his waist in mud and
water. He turned the gun and handed it to Saidee Isaacs.
Taking the oars, he drove the light craft far off the shore and in the
direction of the mainland. Each time he feathered the blades he saw the
lone figure standing by the rocks. A clenched fist was raised to the
overhanging pall of fog and sea vapor. A horrible curse rolled over the
waters.
Fay turned away and glanced into Saidee Isaacs’ olive face. She smiled
with her eyes. She pointed over the bow. He nodded and bent his back.
The boat reached an inlet between two high promontories. He guided it
ashore and inboarded the oars with a jerk of his wrists.
She stepped out and seized the painter. Fay sprang over the seats and
assisted her. They stood on a shelving beach which bore the marks of
fisher-boats’ keels.
“We’ll go up there,” he said, pointing to a path which wound around the
sea end of the northern promontory.
She followed him. He turned now and then and assisted her to climb the
rougher spots. They came to a shelf which was directly over the sea.
They stood and gazed out toward the island whereon Dutch Gus was
marooned. It was hidden by the sea mist.
“Let me see the package,” he said, fastening his glance upon her. “Let’s
open it and find out what it is. Then, if it is ever lost we’ll know how
to solve the riddle of the dye-cipher. I’d rather have it in my head
than where it can be stolen.”
“Do you think we should open it?” she asked, thrusting her hand in her
waist at the breast. “Don’t you think we can wait?”
“No! We might get stopped yet, Saidee. We don’t know where we are. This
may be Denmark. The coast guards may search us.”
She handed him the package. He glanced at the strings and the seals.
They had been untouched. He studied the name blotted by the sea water
into a running smear.
“It’s all right,” said he with satisfaction. “Dutch Gus never opened
it—but I’m going to. You’re my witness, Saidee. Here goes.”
He drew the German’s knife from his pocket and cut the strings. He ran
the thin point of the blade under the seals. There were five of them
joining the paper. He unwrapped the covering and held out an oblong box
which was stamped with a small, “Made in Germany” mark.
Lifting the lid, he peered inside!
Her warm breath struck his cheek. Her gasp of surprise was followed by a
disappointed cry. Her hands raised and clutched the soiled ruching at
her throat. She stamped her foot.
Inside the box was a pair of smoked-glasses!
Fay lifted his white, drawn face and glared toward the sea. He swayed as
he drew the box with its contents back and over his right shoulder. He
flushed suddenly with the memory of the trip he had taken. Rage
crimsoned his features.
“Sent me!” he exclaimed huskily. “They sent me through hell to get this
trifle. You, Richard, and you, Keenon—are mad!”
The box and the glasses described a flashing arc through the air. They
struck the sullen waves below the shelf of dark rock. They sank in many
fathoms of brine. A winding shroud of opal vapor swirled and enclosed
them in its clammy folds. It was like a pall to all his hopes!