I Prove a Bad Sentinel
I watched him with a kind of fascination until he disappeared through
the door of the cabin. I could guess what it had cost him to drag
himself from his bed, what agony of apprehension must have been upon
him to make him take the risk. The Jourdains, puzzled at my not
returning, unable to keep silence, suspecting, perhaps, some plot
against themselves, had doubtless gone to the hospital and told him of
my appearance--there had been no way for me to guard against that. He
had easily guessed the rest. He had only to consult the passenger list
to assure himself that Mr. Royce and I were aboard. And he was
following us, hoping--what? What could a man in his condition hope to
accomplish? What need was there for us to fear him? And yet, there was
something about him--something in the atmosphere of the man--that
almost terrified me.
I came back to earth to find that Royce and Mrs. Kemball had drifted
away together, and that my companion was regarding me from under
half-closed lids with a little smile of amusement.
"So you're awake again, Mr. Lester?" she asked. "Do you often suffer
attacks of that sort?"
"Pardon me," I stammered. "The fact is, I--I----"
"You looked quite dismayed," she continued relentlessly. "You seemed
positively horror-stricken. I saw nothing formidable about him."
"No; you don't know him!" I retorted, and stopped, lest I should say
too much.
She was smiling broadly, now; an adorable smile that wrinkled up the
corners of her eyes, and gave me a glimpse of little white teeth.
"I think we'd better sit down," she said.
"Your knees seem to be still somewhat shaky. Mother and Mr. Royce have
deserted us."
So we sought a seat near the stern, where we could watch the city sink
gradually away in the distance, as the great boat glided smoothly out
into the bay, her engines starting on the rhythm which was to continue
ceaselessly until the voyage ended. I confess frankly I was worried. I
had not thought for a moment that Martigny would have the temerity to
board the same boat with us--yet it was not so wonderful after all,
since he could not guess that I suspected him, that I knew him and
Bethune to be the same person. That was my great advantage. In any
event, we were in no danger from him; he was probably following us
only that he might warn his confederates, should we seem likely to
discover them. Certainly they were in no present danger of discovery,
and perhaps might never be. But his following us, his disregard of the
grave danger to himself, gave me a new measure of his savage
determination to baffle us; I found myself more and more beginning to
fear him. My fancy cast about him a sinister cloud, from the depths of
which he peered out at us, grim, livid, threatening.
Should I inform Mr. Royce of this new development? I asked myself;
then I remembered the doctor's words. He must have rest and quiet
during the coming week; he must be free from worry.
"I trust that I'm not in the way, Mr. Lester?" inquired a low,
provoking voice at my side, and I awoke to the fact that I had again
been guilty of forgetting my companion.
"Miss Kemball," I began desperately, "let me confess that I'm in an
exceedingly vexatious situation. The fact that I can't ask advice
makes it worse."
"You can't ask even Mr. Royce?" she queried, with raised brows.
"He least of all. You see, he's just recovering from a severe nervous
breakdown--he must have quiet--that's one reason he's taking this
voyage."
"I see," she nodded.
I glanced at her again--at the open, candid eyes, the forceful mouth
and chin--and I took a sudden resolution.
"Miss Kemball," I said, "I'm going to ask your help--that is, if I
may."
"Of course you may."
"Well, then, that man who came on board last is the inveterate enemy
of both Mr. Royce and myself. We're trying to unearth a particularly
atrocious piece of villainy in which he's concerned. I have reason to
believe him capable of anything, and a very fiend of cleverness. I
don't know what he may plot against us, but I'm certain he'll plot
something. Mr. Royce doesn't even know him by sight, and shouldn't be
worried; but, unless he's forewarned, he may walk right into danger. I
want you to help me keep an eye on him--to help me keep him out of
danger. If we look after him closely enough, I shan't need to warn
him. Will you help me?"
Her eyes were dancing as she looked up at me.
"Why, certainly!" she cried. "So we're to have a mystery--just we
two!"
"Just we two!" I assented with a quickened pulse.
She looked at me doubtfully for a moment.
"I must remember Mr. Graham's warning," she said. "You haven't
invented this astonishing story just to entertain me, Mr. Lester?"
"On my word, no," I responded, a little bitterly. "I only wish I had!"
"There," she said contritely; "I shouldn't have doubted! Forgive me,
Mr. Lester. Only it seemed so fantastic--so improbable----"
"It _is_ fantastic," I assented, "but, unfortunately, it is true. We
must keep an eye on Monsieur Martigny or Bethune."
"Which is his real name?"
"Those are the only ones I know, but I doubt if either is the true
one."
Royce and Mrs. Kemball joined us a moment later, and we sat watching
the low, distant Long Island shore until the gong summoned us to
lunch. A word to the steward had secured us one of the small tables in
an alcove at the side--Mrs. Kemball and her daughter surrendered the
grandeurs of the captain's table willingly, even gladly, to minister
to us--and the meal was a merry one, Mr. Royce seeming in such spirits
that I was more than ever determined not to disturb him with the
knowledge of Martigny's presence.
As the moments passed, my fears seemed more and more uncalled for. It
was quite possible, I told myself, that I had been making a bogy of my
own imaginings. The Frenchman did not appear in the saloon, and,
afterwards, an inquiry of the ship's doctor developed the fact that he
was seriously ill, and quite unable to leave his state room.
So afternoon and evening passed. There were others on board who
claimed their share of the charming Mrs. Kemball and her daughter. Mr.
Royce knew a few of them, too, and introduced me to them, but I found
their talk somehow flat and savorless. I fancied that my companion
looked slightly wearied, too, and at last we stole away to our deck
chairs, where we sat for an hour or more looking out across the
dancing waves, listening to the splash of the boat as she rose and
fell over them. He was thinking, no doubt, of a certain dark beauty,
whose caprices there was no explaining. As for me--well, I had
suddenly developed a sturdy preference for blue eyes.
* * * * *
I may as well confess at once that I was seasick. It came next
morning, ten minutes after I had left my berth--not a violent
sickness, but a faintness and giddiness that made me long for my
berth again. But Mr. Royce would not hear of it. He got me out on deck
and into my chair, with the fresh breeze blowing full in my face.
There was a long line of chairs drawn up there, and from the faces of
most of their occupants, I judged they were far more miserable than I.
At the end of an hour, thanks to this treatment, I felt almost well
again, and could devour with some appetite the luncheon which Mr.
Royce ordered for me.
After a while the doctor came down the line and looked at each of us,
stopping for a moment's chat. The more serious cases were below, and
all that any of us needed was a little encouragement.
"Won't you sit down a minute, doctor?" I asked, when he came to me,
and motioned to Mr. Royce's chair.
"Why, you're not sick!" he protested, laughing, but he dropped into
the vacant place.
"It wasn't about myself I wanted to talk," I said. "How's your other
patient--the one who came aboard last?"
His face sobered in an instant.
"Martigny is his name," he said, "and he's in very bad shape. He must
have been desperately anxious to get back to France. Why, he might
have dropped over dead there on the gang-plank."
"It's a disease of the heart?"
"Yes--far advanced. He can't get well, of course, but he may live on
indefinitely, if he's careful."
"He's still confined to his bed?"
"Oh, yes--he won't leave it during the voyage, if he takes my advice.
He's got to give his heart just as little work as possible, or it'll
throw up the job altogether. He has mighty little margin to go on."
I turned the talk to other things, and in a few moments he went on
along his rounds. But I was not long alone, for I saw Miss Kemball
coming toward me, looking a very Diana, wind-blown and rosy-cheeked.
"So _mal-de-mer_ has laid its hand on you, too, Mr. Lester!" she
cried.
"Only a finger," I said. "But a finger is enough. Won't you take pity
on a poor landsman and talk to him?"
"But that's reversing our positions!" she protested, sitting down,
nevertheless, to my great satisfaction. "It was you who were to be the
entertainer! Is our Mephisto abroad yet?" she asked, in a lower tone.
"I, too, am feeling his fascination--I long for another glimpse of
him."
"Mephisto is still wrestling with his heart, which, it seems, is
scarcely able to furnish the blood necessary to keep him going. The
doctor tells me that he'll probably spend the voyage abed."
"So there'll be nothing for us to do, after all! Do you know, Mr.
Lester, I was longing to become a female Lecoq!"
"Perhaps you may still have the chance," I said gloomily. "I doubt
very much whether Mephisto will consent to remain inactive. He
doesn't look to be that sort."
She clapped her hands, and nodded a laughing recognition to one of the
passing promenaders.
"You're going to Paris, aren't you, Miss Kemball?" I asked.
"To Paris--yes. You too? You must be, since you're going to France."
"We go first to Etretat," I said, and stopped, as she leaned,
laughing, back in her chair. "Why, what's wrong with that?" I
demanded, in some astonishment.
"Wrong? Oh, nothing. Etretat's a most delightful place--only it
recalled to me an amusing memory of how my mother was one day
scandalized there by some actresses who were bathing. It's the
prettiest little fishing-village, with the finest cliffs I ever saw.
But it's hardly the season for Etretat--the actresses have not yet
arrived. You'll find it dull."
"We will not stay there long," I said. "But tell me about it. I
should like to know."
"Etretat," said my companion, "is rather a bohemian resort. Alphonse
Karr discovered it somewhere back in the dark ages, and advertised
it--the Etretatians were immensely grateful, and named the main street
of the town after him--and since then a lot of artists and theatrical
people have built villas there. It has a little beach of gravel where
people bathe all day long. When one's tired of bathing, there are the
cliffs and the downs, and in the evening there's the casino. You know
French, Mr. Lester?"
"Why," I explained, "I was supposed to study it at college. I still
remember my '_j'ai, tu a, il a_.'"
"You'll remember more when you get to Etretat," she laughed. "You'll
have to, or starve."
"Oh, I also know the phrase made immortal by Mark Twain."
"'_Avez-vous du vin?_'--yes."
"And I think I also have a hazy recollection of the French equivalents
for bread and butter and cheese and meat. We shan't starve--besides, I
think Mr. Royce can help. He's been to France."
"Of course--and here he comes to claim his chair."
"I won't permit him to claim it if you'll use it a little longer," I
protested.
"Oh, but I must be going," and she arose, laughing. "Have I been a
satisfactory entertainer?"
"More than satisfactory; I'll accept no other."
"But you won't need any at all, after this morning--I don't really
believe you're ill now!"
She nodded to Royce, and moved away without waiting for my answer,
which somehow halted on my lips; and so I was left to the rosiest, the
most improbable of day dreams.
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed, with only such incidents to
enliven them as are common to all voyages. But I saw that quiet and
sea air were doing their work well with my companion, and that he was
steadily regaining his normal health. So I felt more and more at
liberty to devote myself to Miss Kemball--in such moments as she would
permit me--and I found her fascination increasing in a ratio quite
geometrical. Martigny was still abed, and, so the ship's doctor told
me, was improving very slowly.
It was Tuesday evening that Mrs. Kemball and her daughter joined us on
the promenade, and weary, at last, of Strauss waltzes and Sousa
marches, we sauntered away toward the bow of the boat, where the noise
from the orchestra could reach us only in far-away snatches. We found
a seat in the shadow of the wheel-house, and sat for a long time
talking of many things, watching the moonlight across the water. At
last we arose to return, and Royce and Mrs. Kemball started on ahead,
after a habit they had fallen into, which, now I think of it, I am
sure was our junior's doing.
"Two more days, and we'll be at Havre," I said. "I'll be very sorry,
Miss Kemball."
"Sorry? I'd never have suspected you of such a fondness for the
ocean!"
"Oh, it's not the ocean!" I protested, and--what with the moonlight
and the soft night and the opportunity--"the time and the place and
the loved one, all together"--would have uttered I know not what
folly, had she not sprung suddenly forward with a sharp cry of alarm.
"Mr. Royce!" she cried. "Mother!"
They stopped and turned toward her, just as a heavy spar crashed to
the deck before them.