Thomas was a busy man up to and long after the hour of sailing. His
cabins were filled with about all the variant species of the race: two
nervous married women with their noisy mismanaged children, three young
men on a lark, and an actress who was paying her husband's expenses and
gladly announced the fact over and through the partitions. Three bells
tingled all day long, and the only thing that saved Thomas from the
"sickbay" was the fact that the bar closed at eleven. And a rough
passage added to his labors. No Henley this voyage, no comfy loafing
about the main-deck in the sunshine. A busy, miserable, dejected young
man, who cursed his folly and yet clung to it with that tenacity which
makes prejudice England's first-born.
Night after night, stretched out wearily on his bunk, the sordid
picture of Lumpy Joe's returned to him. By a hair's breadth! It was
always a source of amazement to recall how quickly and shrewdly his
escape had been managed. He felt reasonably safe. Jameson would never
dare tell what he knew, to incriminate himself for the sake of revenge.
To have got the best of him and to have pulled the wool over the eyes
of a keen American detective!
In Liverpool he deliberately threw away a full sovereign in
motion-pictures and music-halls. But he drank nothing, not even his
customary ale. Not so long ago he had tasted his first champagne; very
expensive, something more than two hundred pounds. Stupid ass! And
yet . . . The very life he had always been longing for, dreaming of,
behind his counters: to be free, to rove at will, to seek adventure.
"Then," said Sir Tristram, "I will fight with you unto the uttermost."
"I grant," said Sir Palomides, "for in a better quarrel keep I never to
fight, for and I die of your hands, of a better knight's hands may I
not be slain." . . .
Off for America again; and the Book of Marvelous Adventures, to be
opened wide by a pair of Irish blue eyes, deep as the sea, glancing as
the sunlight on its crests.
"You are my steward, I believe?"
In his soul of souls Thomas hoped so. "Yes, miss--indeed, yes, if you
occupy this cabin."
"Here are the tickets"; and the young lady signed the slip of paper he
gave her: Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Killigrew, Miss Killigrew and maid. "I
shall probably keep you very busy." There was a twinkle in her eyes,
but he was English and did not see it.
"That is what I am here for, miss." He smiled reassuringly.
"Never ask my father if he wishes tea and toast"--gravely.
"Yes, miss"--with honest gravity. Thomas knew nothing of women, young
or old. With the habits and tastes of the male biped he was tolerably
familiar. He was to learn.
"Hot water-bottles for my mother every night, and a pot of chocolate
for myself. I shall always have my breakfast early in the saloon. I'm
a first-rate sailor."
A rush, a whir.
"Kitty, you darling! They have put us on the other side of the ship."
Thomas was genuinely glad of it. With a goddess and a nymph to wait
upon, heaven knew how many broken dishes he'd have to account for.
Never in the park, never after the matinees, never in all wide London,
had he seen two such lovely types: Titian and Greuse.
"No!" said the Greuse.
"Stupid mistake at the booking-office," replied the Titian. "Come up
on deck. They are putting off."
"Just a moment. Put the small luggage, Mr. . . ."
"Webb."
"Mr. Webb. Put the small luggage on the lounge. Never mind the
straps. That is all."
"Yes, miss."
The two young women hurried off. Thomas stared after them, his brows
bent in a mixture of perplexity, dazzlement and diffidence.
"A very good-looking steward."
"Kitty, you little wretch!"
"Why, he _is_ good-looking."
"Princes, dukes, waiters, cabbies, stewards; all you do is look at
them, and they become slaves. You've more mischief in you than a dozen
kittens."
"I have met cabbies whom I much prefer to certain dukes."
"But I've a young man picked out for you. He's an artist."
"Good night!" murmured Kitty. "If there is one kind of person in the
world dad considers wholly useless and incompetent, it's an artist or a
poet."
"But this artist makes fifteen thousand and sometimes twenty thousand
the year."
"Then he's no artist. What is his name?"
"Forbes, J. Mortimer Forbes."
"Oh. The pretty-cover man."
"My dear, he is one of the nicest young men in New York. His family is
one of the best, and he goes everywhere. And but for his
kindness. . . ."
"What?"
"Some day I'll tell you the story. Here we go! Good-by, England!"
"Good-by, sapphires!" said Kitty, so low that the other did not hear
her.
At dinner Thomas was called to account by the chief steward for
permitting his thumb to connect with the soup. But what would you,
with Titian and Greuse smiling a soft "Thank you!" for everything you
did for them?
* * * * * *
"Night, daddy."
"Good night, Kittibudget."
Crawford smiled after the blithe, buoyant figure as it swung
confidently down the deck.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," mused Killigrew, looking across
the rail at the careening stars.
"What about?"
"That child. I can't harness her."
"Somebody's bound to"--prophetically.
"It's got to be a whole man, or he'll wish he'd never been born. She's
had her way so long that she's spoiled."
"Not a bit of it."
"Yes, she is. I told her not to wear those sapphires that night. And,
by the way, I've been hoping they'd turn up like that ruby of yours.
How do you account for that?"
The coal of Crawford's cigar waxed and waned and the ash lengthened.
"I've no doubt that you've been mighty curious since that morning.
Perhaps you read the tale in the newspapers. I know of only one man
who would return the Nana Sahib's ruby. Sentiment; for I believe the
poor devil was really fond of me. A valet. With me for ten years. He
was really my comrade; always my right-hand on my exploration trips;
back-boned, fearless, reliable in a pinch, and a scholar in a way;
though I can't imagine how and where he picked up his learning. He
saved my life at least twice by his quick wit. In those days I was
something of a stick; never went out. I hired him upon his word and
because he looked honest. And he was for ten years. He gave his name
as Mason, said he was born in central New York. We got along without
friction of any sort. And I still miss him. Stole a hundred thousand
dollars' worth of gems; hid them in the heels of my old shoes and
nearly got away with them. Haggerty, the detective, thought for weeks
that I was the man. I still believe that I was the innocent cause of
Mason's relapse; for Haggerty was certain that somewhere in the past
Mason had been a criminal. You see, I had a peculiar fad. I used to
buy up old safes and open them for the sport of it. Crazy idea, but I
found a good deal of amusement in it."
"You don't say!" gasped Killigrew, who had never heard of this phase
before.
"It's my belief that Mason got his inspiration from watching me. I am
devilish sorry."
"Then you believe that he is up to his old tricks again?"
"Yes,"--reluctantly. "The man who took my wife's ruby, took your
daughter's sapphires. It needed a clever mind to conceive such a
_coup_. Three other carriages were entered, with more or less success.
In a dense fog; a needle in a haystack. And they'll never find him."
"It's up to you to put the detectives on the right track."
"I suppose I'll have to do it."
"If he returns to America he'll be caught. I'll give Haggerty the tip."
"I have my doubts of Mason committing any such folly. He picked up a
small fortune that night. Strange mix-up."
"Here, try one of these," urged Killigrew, as the butt of Crawford's
cigar went overboard.
"Thanks."
Thomas moved away from the ventilator. Mix-up, indeed! He stole down
to the promenade deck, where the stewardess informed him that Miss
Killigrew had just ordered her chocolate. He flew to the kitchens. It
was a narrow escape. To have been found wanting the first night out!
"Come in," said a voice in answer to his knock.
[Illustration: "Come in," said a voice.]
He set the tray down on the stool, his heart insurgent and his fingers
all thumbs. He might live to be a steward eighty years old, but he
never would get over the awe, the embarrassment of these invasions by
night. Each time he saw a woman in her peignoir or kimono he felt as
though he had committed a sacrilege. True, he understood their
attitude; he was merely a serving machine and for the time wiped off
the roster of mankind.
A long blue coat of silk brocade enveloped Kitty from her throat to her
sandals; sleeves which fell over her hands; buttoned by loops over
corded knots. An experienced traveler could have told him that it was
the peculiar garment which any self-respecting Chinaman would wear who
was in mourning for his grandfather. Kitty wore it because of its
beauty alone.
"Thank you," she said, as Thomas went out backward, court style. Kitty
smiled across at her maid who was arranging the combs and brushes
preparatory to taking down her mistress' hair. "He looked as if he
were afraid of something, Celeste."
Celeste smiled enigmatically. "Ma'm'selle shoult haff been born in
Pariss."
This was translatable, or not, as you pleased. Kitty sipped the
chocolate and found it excellent. At length she dismissed the maid,
switched off the lights, and then remembered that there was no water in
the carafe. She rang.
Thomas replied so promptly that he could not have been farther off than
the companionway. "You rang, miss?"
"Yes, Webb. Please fill this carafe."
"Is it possible that it was empty, miss?"
"I used it and forgot to ring for more."
All this in the dark.
Thomas hurried away, wishing he could find some magic spring on board.
For what purpose he could not have told.
As for Kitty, she remained standing by the door, profoundly astonished.