XLVI

Eunice stared at the door. There was no mistake. The bolts had recently been removed and the raw wood showed where the screws had been taken out.

The Pealigo was rolling now, and she had a difficulty in keeping her balance, but she made her way round the cabin, gathering chairs, tables, everything that was movable, and piling them up against the door. She searched the drawers of the bureau for some weapon which might have been left by its former occupant, but there was nothing more formidable than a golden-backed hairbrush which the plutocratic Maxilla had overlooked.

The bathroom yielded nothing more than a long-handled brush, whilst her sitting-room made no return for her search.

She sat watching the door as the hours passed, but no attempt was made to enter the cabin. A bell rang at intervals on the deck: she counted eight. It was midnight. How long would it be before Digby Groat came?

At that moment a pale-faced Digby Groat, his teeth chattering, sat in the cabin of the wireless operator, reading a message which had been picked up. Part was in code, and evidently addressed to the Admiralty ships cruising in the vicinity, but the longer message was in plain English and was addressed:

“To the chief officers of all ships. To the Commanders of H.M. ships: to all Justices of the Peace, officers of the police Great Britain and Ireland. To all Inspectors, sub-inspectors of the Royal Irish Constabulary:

“Arrest and detain Digby Groat, height five foot nine, stoutly built, complexion sallow, had small moustache but believed to have shaven. Speaks Spanish, French, Portuguese, and is a qualified surgeon and physician, believed to be travelling on the S.Y. Pealigo, No. XVM. This man is wanted on a charge of wilful murder and conspiracy; a reward of five thousand pounds will be paid by Messrs. Salter & Salter, Solicitors, of London, for his arrest and detention. Believe he has travelling with him, under compulsion, Dorothy Danton, age 22. Groat is a dangerous man and carries firearms.”

The little captain of the Pealigo took the thin cigar from his teeth and regarded the grey ash attentively, though he was also looking at the white-faced man by the operator’s side.

“So you see, senhor,” he said suavely, “I am in a most difficult position.”

“I thought you did not speak English,” said Digby, finding his voice at last.

The little captain smiled.

“I read enough English to understand a reward of five thousand pounds, senhor,” he said significantly. “And if I did not, my wireless operator speaks many languages, English included, and he would have explained to me, even if I had not been able to understand the message myself.”

Digby looked at him bleakly.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“That depends upon what you are going to do,” said the Brazilian. “I am no traitor to my salt, and I should like to serve you, but you readily understand that this would mean a terrible thing for me, if, knowing that you were wanted by the English police, I assisted you to make an escape? I am not a stickler for small things,” he shrugged his shoulders, “and Senhor Maxilla did much that I closed my eyes to. Women came into his calculations, but murder never.”

“I am not a murderer, I tell you,” stormed Digby vehemently, “and you are under my orders. Do you understand that?”

He jumped up and stood menacingly above the unperturbed Brazilian, and in his hand had appeared an ugly-looking weapon.

“You will carry out my instructions to the letter, or, by God, you’ll know all about it!”

But the captain of the Pealigo had returned to the contemplation of his cigar. He reminded Digby somewhat of Bronson, and the yellow-faced man shivered as at an unpleasant thought.

“It is not the first time I have been threatened with a revolver,” said the captain coolly. “Years ago when I was very young, such things might have frightened me, but today I am not young. I have a family in Brazil who are very expensive; my pay is small, otherwise I would not follow the sea and be every man’s dog to kick and bully as he wishes. If I had a hundred thousand pounds, senhor, I should settle down on a plantation which I have bought and be a happy and a silent man for the rest of my life.”

He emphasized “silent,” and Digby understood.

“Couldn’t you do that for a little less than a hundred thousand?” he asked.

“I have been thinking the matter out very carefully. We shipmen have plenty of time to think, and that is the conclusion that I have reached, that a hundred thousand pounds would make all the difference between a life of work and a life of ease.” He was silent for a moment and then went on. “That is why I hesitated about the reward. If the radio had said a hundred thousand pounds, senhor, I should have been tempted.”

Digby turned on him with a snarl.

“Talk straight, will you?” he said. “You want me to pay you a hundred thousand pounds, and that is the price for carrying me to safety; otherwise you will return to port and give me up.”

The captain shrugged his shoulders.

“I said nothing of the sort, senhor,” he said. “I merely mentioned a little private matter in which I am glad to see you take an interest. The senhor also wishes for a happy life in Brazil with the beautiful lady he brought on board, and the senhor is not a poor man, and if it is true that the beautiful lady is an heiress, he could be richer.”

The operator looked in. He was anxious to come back to his own cabin, but the captain, with a jerk of his head, sent him out again.

He dropped his voice a tone.

“Would it not be possible for me to go to the young lady and say: ‘Miss, you are in great danger, and I too am in danger of losing my liberty, what would you pay me to put a sentry outside your door; to place Senhor Digby Groat in irons, in the strongroom?’ Do you think she would say a hundred thousand pounds, or even a half of her fortune, senhor?”

Digby was silent.

The threat was real and definite. It was not camouflaged by any fine phrases; as plainly as the little Brazilian could state his demands, he had done so.

“Very good.” Digby got up from the edge of the table where he had sat, with downcast eyes, turning this and that and the other plan over in his mind. “I’ll pay you.”

“Wait, wait,” said the captain. “Because there is another alternative that I wish to put to you, senhor,” he said. “Suppose that I am her friend, or pretend to be, and offer her protection until we reach a port where she can be landed? Should we not both receive a share of the great reward?”

“I will not give her up,” said Digby between his teeth. “You can cut that idea out of your head, and also the notion about putting me in irons. By God, if I thought you meant it⁠—” He glowered at the little man, and the captain smiled.

“Who means anything in this horrible climate?” he said lazily. “You will bring the money tomorrow to my cabin, perhaps⁠—no, no, tonight,” he said thoughtfully.

“You can have it tomorrow.”

The captain shrugged his shoulders; he did not insist, and Digby was left alone with his thoughts.

There was still a hope; there were two. They could not prove that he shot Fuentes, and it would be a difficult matter to pick up the yacht if it followed the course that the captain had marked for it, and in the meantime there was Eunice. His lips twisted, and the colour came into his face. Eunice! He went along the deck and down the companionway, but there was a man standing in the front of the door of the girl’s cabin, a broad-shouldered brown-faced man, who touched his cap as the owner appeared, but did not budge.

“Stand out of the way,” said Digby impatiently. “I want to go into that room.”

“It is not permitted,” said the sailor.

Digby stepped back a pace, crimson with anger.

“Who gave orders that I should not pass?”

“The capitano,” said the man.

Digby flew up the companion-ladder and went in search of the captain. He found him on the bridge.

“What is this?” he began, and the captain snapped something at him in Portuguese, and Digby, looking ahead, saw a white-fan-shaped light stealing along the sea.

“It is a warship, and she may be engaged in manoeuvres,” said the captain, “but she may also be looking for us.”

He gave an order, and suddenly all the lights on the ship were extinguished. The Pealigo swung round in a semicircle and headed back the way she had come.

“We can make a detour and get past her,” explained the captain, and Digby forgot the sentry at the door in the distress of this new danger.

Left and right wheeled the searchlight, but never once did it touch the Pealigo. It was searching for her, though they must have seen her lights, and now the big white ray was groping at the spot where the yacht had turned. It missed them by yards.

“Where are we going?” asked Digby fretfully.

“We are going back for ten miles, and then we’ll strike between the ship and Ireland, which is there.” He pointed to the horizon, where a splash of light trembled for a second and was gone.

“We are losing valuable time,” said Digby fretfully.

“It is better to lose time than to lose your liberty,” said the philosophical captain.

Digby clutched the rail and his heart turned to water, as the searchlight of the warship again swung round. But fortune was with them. It might, as the captain said, be only a ship carrying out searchlight practice, but on the other hand, in view of the wireless messages which had been received, it seemed certain that the cruiser had a special reason for its scrutiny.

It was not until they were out of the danger zone that Digby remembered the mission that had brought him to the bridge.

“What do you mean by putting a man on guard outside that girl’s door?” he asked.

The captain had gone to the deckhouse, and was bending over the table examining an Admiralty chart. He did not answer until Digby had repeated the question, then he looked up and straightened his back.

“The future of the lady is dependent, entirely, on the fulfilment of your promise, illustrious,” he said in the flamboyant terminology of his motherland.

“But I promised⁠—”

“You have not performed.”

“Do you doubt my words?” stormed Digby.

“I do not doubt, but I do not understand,” said the captain. “If you will come to my cabin I will settle with you.”

Digby thought a while; his interest in Eunice had evaporated with the coming of this new danger, and there was no reason why he should settle that night. Suppose he was captured, the money would be wasted. It would be useless to him also, but this, in his parsimonious way, did not influence him.

He went down to his cabin, a smaller and less beautifully furnished one than that occupied by Eunice, and pulling an armchair to the neat little desk, he sat down to think matters over. And as the hours passed, his perspective shifted. Somehow, the danger seemed very remote, and Eunice was very near, and if any real danger came, why, there would be an end of all things, Eunice included, and his money would be of no more value to him than the spray which flapped against the closed porthole.

Beneath the bureau was a small, strong safe, and this he unlocked, taking out the broad money-belt which he had fastened about his waist before he began the journey. He emptied one bulging pocket, and laid a wad of bills upon the desk. They were gold bonds of ten thousand dollar denomination, and he counted forty, put the remainder back in the pocket from whence he had taken it, and locked the belt in the safe.

It was half-past five and the grey of the new day showed through the portholes. He thrust the money in his pocket and went out to talk to the captain.

He shivered in the chill wind of morning as he stepped out on the deck and made his way for’ard. The little Brazilian, a grotesque figure, wrapped in his overcoat and muffled to the chin, was standing moodily staring across the grey waste. Without a word Digby stepped up to him and thrust the bundle of notes into his hand. The Brazilian looked at the money, counted it mechanically, and put it into his pocket.

“Your excellency is munificent,” he said.

“Now take your sentry from the door,” said Digby sharply.

“Wait here,” said the captain, and went below.

He returned in a few minutes.