Kitabı oku: «The Pagan Madonna», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XI
That first dinner would always remain vivid and clear-cut in Jane Norman’s mind. It was fantastic. To begin with, there was that picturesque stone image at the head of the table – Cleigh – who appeared utterly oblivious of his surroundings, who ate with apparent relish, and who ignored both men, his son and his captor. Once or twice Jane caught his glance – a blue eye, sharp-pupiled, agate-hard. But what was it she saw – a twinkle or a sparkle? The breadth of his shoulders! He must be very powerful, like the son. Why, the two of them could have pulverized this pretty fellow opposite!
Father and son! For seven years they had not met. Their indifference seemed so inhuman! Still, she fancied that the son dared not make any approach, however much he may have longed to. A woman! They had quarrelled over a woman! Something reached down from the invisible and pinched her heart.
All this while Cunningham had been talking – banter. The blade would flash toward the father or whirl upon the son, or it would come toward her by the handle. She could not get away from the initial idea – that his eyes were like fire opals.
“Miss Norman, you have very beautiful hair.”
“You think so?”
“It looks like Judith’s. You remember, Cleigh, the one that hangs in the Pitti Galleria in Florence – Allori’s?”
Cleigh reached for a piece of bread, which he broke and buttered.
Cunningham turned to Jane again.
“Will you do me the favour of taking out the hairpins and loosing it?”
“No!” said Dennison.
“Why not?” said Jane, smiling bravely enough, though there ran over her spine a chill.
It wasn’t Cunningham’s request – it was Dennison’s refusal. That syllable, though spoken moderately, was the essence of battle, murder, and sudden death. If they should clash it would mean that Denny – how easy it was to call him that! – Denny would be locked up and she would be all alone. For the father seemed as aloof and remote as the pole.
“You shall not do it!” declared Dennison. “Cunningham, if you force her I will break every bone in your body here and now!”
Cleigh selected an olive and began munching it.
“Nonsense!” cried Jane. “It’s all awry anyhow.” And she began to extract the hairpins. Presently she shook her head, and the ruddy mass of hair fell and rippled across and down her shoulders.
“Well?” she said, looking whimsically into Cunningham’s eyes. “It wasn’t there, was it?”
This tickled Cunningham.
“You’re a woman in a million! You read my thought perfectly. I like ready wit in a woman. I had to find out. You see, I had promised those beads to Cleigh, and when I humanly can I keep my promises. Sit down, captain!” For Dennison had risen to his feet. “Sit down! Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” To Jane there was in the tone a quality which made her compare it with the elder Cleigh’s eyes – agate-hard. “You are younger and stronger, and no doubt you could break me. But the moment my hand is withdrawn from this business – the moment I am off the board – I could not vouch for the crew. They are more or less decent chaps, or they were before this damned war stood humanity on its head. We wear the same clothes, use the same phrases; but we’ve been thrust back a thousand years. And Miss Norman is a woman. You understand?”
Dennison sat down.
“You’d better kill me somewhere along this voyage.”
“I may have to. Who knows? There’s no real demarcation between comedy and tragedy; it’s the angle of vision. It’s rough medicine, this; but your father has agreed to take it sensibly, because he knows me tolerably well. Still, it will not do him any good to plan bribery. Buy the crew, Cleigh, if you believe you can. You’ll waste your time. I do not pretend to hold them by loyalty. I hold them by fear. Act sensibly, all of you, and this will be a happy family. For after all, it’s a joke, a whale of a joke. And some day you’ll smile over it – even you, Cleigh.”
Cleigh pressed the steward’s button.
“The jam and the cheese, Togo,” he said to the Jap.
“Yess, sair!”
A hysterical laugh welled into Jane’s throat, but she did not permit it to escape her lips. She began to build up her hair clumsily, because her hands trembled.
Adventure! She thrilled! She had read somewhere that after seven thousand years of tortuous windings human beings had formed about themselves a thin shell which they called civilization. And always someone was breaking through and retracing those seven thousand years. Here was an example in Cunningham. Only a single step was necessary. It took seven thousand years to build your shell, and only a minute to destroy it. There was something fascinating in the thought. A reckless spirit pervaded Jane, a longing to burst through this shell of hers and ride the thunderbolt. Monotony – that had been her portion, and only her dreams had kept her from withering. From the house to the hospital and back home again, days, weeks, years. She had begun to hate white; her soul thirsted for colour, movement, thrill. The call that had been walled in, suppressed, broke through. Piracy on high seas, and Jane Norman in the cast!
She was not in the least afraid of the whimsical rogue opposite. He was more like an uninvited dinner guest. Perhaps this lack of fear had its origin in the oily smoothness by which the yacht had changed hands. Beyond the subjugation of Dodge, there had not been a ripple of commotion. It was too early to touch the undercurrents. All this lulled and deceived her. Piracy? Where were the cutlasses, the fierce moustaches, the red bandannas, the rattle of dice, and the drunken songs? – the piracy of tradition? If she had any fear at all it was for the man at her left – Denny – who might run amuck on her account and spoil everything. All her life she would hear the father’s voice – “The jam and the cheese, Togo.” What men, all three of them!
Cunningham laid his napkin on the table and stood up.
“Absolute personal liberty, if you will accept the situation sensibly.”
Dennison glowered at him, but Jane reached out and touched the soldier’s sleeve.
“Please!”
“For your sake, then. But it’s tough medicine for me to swallow.”
“To be sure it is,” agreed the rogue. “Look upon me as a supercargo for the next ten days. You’ll see me only at lunch and dinner. I’ve a lot of work to do in the chart house. By the way, the wireless man is mine, Cleigh, so don’t waste any time on him. Hope you’re a good sailor, Miss Norman, for we are heading into rough weather, and we haven’t much beam.”
“I love the sea!”
“Hang it, you and I shan’t have any trouble! Good-night.”
Cunningham limped to the door, where he turned and eyed the elder Cleigh, who was stirring his coffee thoughtfully. Suddenly the rogue burst into a gale of laughter, and they could hear recurrent bursts as he wended his way to the companion.
When this sound died away Cleigh turned his glance levelly upon Jane. The stone-like mask dissolved into something that was pathetically human.
“Miss Norman,” he said, “I don’t know what we are heading into, but if we ever get clear I will make any reparation you may demand.”
“Any kind of a reparation?” – an eager note in her voice.
Dennison stared at her, puzzled, but almost instantly he was conscious of the warmth of shame in his cheeks. This girl wasn’t that sort – to ask for money as a balm for the indignity offered her. What was she after?
“Any kind of reparation,” repeated Cleigh.
“I’ll remember that – if we get through. And somehow I believe we shall.”
“You trust that scoundrel?” asked Cleigh, astonishedly.
“Inexplicably – yes.”
“Because he happens to be handsome?” – with frank irony.
“No.” But she looked at the son as she spoke. “He said he never broke his word. No man can be a very great villain who can say that. Did he ever break his word to you?”
“Except in this instance.”
“The beads?”
“I am quite confident he knows where they are.”
“Are they so precious? What makes them precious?”
“I have told you – they are love beads.”
“That’s rank nonsense! I’m no child!”
“Isn’t love rank nonsense?” Cleigh countered. He was something of a banterer himself.
“Have you never loved anybody?” she shot back at him.
A shadow passed over the man’s face, clearing the ironic expression.
“Perhaps I loved not wisely but too well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean – ”
“You are young; all about you is sunshine; I myself have gone down among the shadows. Cunningham may keep his word; but there is always the possibility of his not being able to keep it. He has become an outlaw; he is in maritime law a pirate. The crew are aware of it; prison stares them in the face, and that may make them reckless. If you weren’t on board I shouldn’t care. But you are young, vital, attractive, of the type that appeals to strong men. In the dry stores there are many cases of liquor and wine. The men may break into the stuff before we reach the Catwick. That will take ten or twelve days if Cunningham lays a course outside Formosa. What’s his game? I don’t know. Probably he will maroon us on the Catwick, an island I know nothing about, except that it is nearer to Saigon than to Singapore. So then in the daytime stay where I am or where Captain Dennison is. Good-night.”
Dennison balanced his spoon on the rim of the coffee cup – not a particularly easy job.
“Whatever shall I do with the jade?” Jane asked, irrelevantly.
“What?”
“The jade necklace. That poor Chinaman!”
“Ling Foo? I wish I had broken his infernal yellow neck! But for him neither of us would be here. But he is right,” Dennison added, with a jerk of his head toward the door. “You must always be with one or the other of us – preferably me.” He smiled.
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“Denny.”
“Will you promise me one thing, Denny?”
“And that is not to attempt to mix it with the scoundrel?”
“Yes.”
“I promise – so long as he keeps his. But if he touches you – well, God help him!”
“And me! Oh, I don’t mean him. It is you that I am afraid of. You’re so terribly strong – and – and so heady. I can never forget how you went into that mob of quarrelling troopers. But you were an officer there; your uniform doesn’t count here. If only you and your father stood together!”
“We do so far as you are concerned. Never doubt that. Otherwise, though, it’s hopeless. What are you going to demand of him – supposing we come through safely?”
“That’s my secret. Let’s go on deck.”
“It’s raining hard, and there’ll be a good deal of pitching shortly. Better turn in. You’ve been through enough to send the average woman into hysterics.”
“It won’t be possible to sleep.”
“I grant that, but I’d rather you would go at once to your cabin.”
“I wonder if you will understand. I’m not really afraid. I know I ought to be, but I’m not. All my life has been a series of humdrum – and here is adventure, stupendous adventure!” She rose abruptly, holding out her arms dramatically toward space. “All my life I have lived in a shell, and chance has cracked it. If only you knew how wonderfully free I feel at this moment! I want to go on deck, to feel the wind and the rain in my face!”
“Go to bed,” he said, prosaically.
Though never had she appeared so poignantly desirable. He wanted to seize her in his arms, smother her with kisses, bury his face in her hair. And swiftly upon this desire came the thought that if she appealed to him so strongly, might she not appeal quite as strongly to the rogue? He laid the spoon on the rim of the cup again and teetered it.
“Go to bed,” he repeated.
“An order?”
“An order. I’ll go along with you to the cabin. Come!” He got up.
“Can you tell me you’re not excited?”
“I am honestly terrified. I’d give ten years of my life if you were safely out of this. For seven long years I have been knocking about this world, and among other things I have learned that plans like Cunningham’s never get through per order. I don’t know what the game is, but it’s bound to fail. So I’m going to ask you, in God’s name, not to let any romantical ideas get into your head. This is bad business for all of us.”
There was something in his voice, aside from the genuine seriousness, that subdued her.
“I’ll go to bed. Shall we have breakfast together?”
“Better that way.”
To reach the port passage they had to come out into the main salon. Cleigh was in his corner reading.
“Good-night,” she called. All her bitterness toward him was gone. “And don’t worry about me.”
“Good-night,” replied Cleigh over the top of the book. “Be sure of your door. If you hear any untoward sounds in the night call to the captain whose cabin adjoins yours.”
When she and Dennison arrived at the door of her cabin she turned impulsively and gave him both her hands. He held them lightly, because his emotions were at full tide, and he did not care to have her sense it in any pressure. Her confidence in him now was absolute, and he must guard himself constantly. Poor fool! Why hadn’t he told her that last night on the British transport? What had held him back?
The uncertain future – he had let that rise up between. And now he could not tell her. If she did not care, if her regard did not go beyond comradeship, the knowledge would only distress her.
The yacht was beginning to roll now, for they were making the East China Sea. The yacht rolled suddenly to starboard, and Jane fell against him. He caught her, instantly turned her right about and gently but firmly forced her into the cabin.
“Good-night. Remember! Rap on the partition if you hear anything you don’t like.”
“I promise.”
After she had locked and latched the door she set about the business of emptying her kit bags. She hung the evening gown she had worn all day in the locker, laid her toilet articles on the dresser, and set the brass hand warmer on the lowboy. Then she let down her hair and began to brush it. She swung a thick strand of it over her shoulder and ran her hand down under it. The woman in “Phra the Phœnician,” Allori’s Judith – and she had always hated the colour of it! She once more applied the brush, balancing herself nicely to meet the ever-increasing roll.
Nevertheless, she did feel free, freer than she had felt in all her life before. A stupendous adventure! After the braids were completed she flung them down her back, turned off the light, and peered out of the rain-blurred port. She could see nothing except an occasional flash of angry foam as it raced past. She slipped into bed, but her eyes remained open for a long time.
Dennison wondered if there would be a slicker in his old locker. He opened the door. He found an oilskin and a yellow sou’wester on the hooks. He took them down and put them on and stole out carefully, a hand extended each side to minimize the roll. He navigated the passage and came out into the salon.
Cleigh was still immersed in his book. He looked up quickly, but recognizing the intruder, dropped his gaze instantly. Dennison crossed the salon to the companionway and staggered up the steps. Had his father ever really been afraid of anything? He could not remember ever having seen the old boy in the grip of fear. What a devil of a world it was!
Dennison was an able seaman. He had been brought up on the sea – seven years on the first Wanderer and five on the second. He had, in company with his father, ridden the seven seas. But he had no trade; he hadn’t the money instinct; he would have to stumble upon fortune; he knew no way of making it. And this knowledge stirred his rancor anew – the father hadn’t played fair with the son.
He gripped the deck-house rail to steady himself, for the wind and rain caught him head-on.
Then he worked his way slowly along to the bridge. Twice a comber broke on the quarter and dropped a ton of water, which sloshed about the deck, drenching his feet. He climbed the ladder, rather amused at the recurrence of an old thought – that climbing ship ladders in dirty weather was a good deal like climbing in nightmares: one weighed thousands of pounds and had feet of lead.
Presently he peered into the chart room, which was dark except for the small hooded bulbs over the navigating instruments. He could see the chin and jaws of the wheelman and the beard of old Captain Newton. From time to time a wheel spoke came into the light.
On the chart table lay a pocket lamp, facing sternward, the light pouring upon what looked to be a map; and over it were bent three faces, one of which was Cunningham’s. A forefinger was tracing this map.
Dennison opened the door and stepped inside.
CHAPTER XII
“How are you making out, Newton?” he asked, calmly.
“Denny? Why, God bless me, boy, I’m glad to see you! How’s your dad?”
“Reading.”
“That would be like him. I don’t suppose if hell opened under his feet he’d do anything except look interested. And it ’pears to me’s though hell had opened up right now!”
A chuckle came from the chart table.
“What’s your idea of hell, Newton?” asked Cunningham.
“Anything you might have a hand in,” was the return bolt.
“Why, you used to like me!”
“Yes, yes! But I didn’t know you then. The barometer’s dropping. If it was August I’d say we were nosing into a typhoon. I always hated this yellow muck they call a sea over here. Did you pick up that light?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the wheelman. “I take it she’s making south – Hong-Kong way. There’s plenty of sea room. She’ll be well down before we cross her wake.”
Silence except for the rumble of the weather canvas standing up against the furious blasts of the wind. Dennison stepped over to the chart table.
“Cunningham, I would like to have a word with you.”
“Go ahead. You can have as many as you like.”
“At dinner you spoke of your word.”
“So I did. What about it?”
“Do you keep it?”
“Whenever I humanly can. Well?”
“What’s this Catwick Island?”
“Hanged if I know!”
“Are you going to maroon us there?”
“No. At that point the yacht will be turned back to your father, and he can cruise until the crack o’ doom without further interference from yours truly.”
“That’s your word?”
“It is – and I will keep it. Anything else?”
“Yes. I will play the game as it lies, provided that Miss Norman is in nowise interfered with or annoyed.”
“How is she taking it?”
“My reply first.”
“Neither I nor the crew will bother her. She shall come and go free as the gull in the air. If at any time the men do not observe the utmost politeness toward her you will do me a favour to report to me. That’s my word, and I promise to keep it, even if I have to kill a man or two. I wish to come through clean in the hands so far as your father, Miss Norman, and yourself are concerned. I’m risking my neck and my liberty, for this is piracy on the high seas. But every man is entitled to one good joke during his lifetime, and when we raise the Catwick I’ll explain this joke in full. If you don’t chuckle, then you haven’t so much as a grain of humour in your make-up.”
“Well, there’s nothing for me to do but take your word as you give it.”
“That’s the way to talk. Now, Flint, this bay or lagoon – ”
The voice dropped into a low, indistinguishable murmur. Dennison realized that the moment had come to depart; the edge of the encounter was in Cunningham’s favour and to remain would only serve to sharpen this edge. So he went outside, slamming the door behind him.
The word of a rogue! There was now nothing to do but turn in. He believed he had a glimmer. Somewhere off the Catwick Cunningham and his crew were to be picked up. He would not be going to the Catwick himself, not knowing whether it was jungle or bald rock. But if a ship was to pick him up, why hadn’t she made Shanghai and picked him up there? Why commit piracy – unless he was a colossal liar, which Dennison was ready enough to believe. The word of a rogue!
Some private war? Was Cunningham paying off an old grudge? But was any grudge worth this risk? The old boy wasn’t to be scared; Cunningham ought to have known that. If Cleigh came through with a whole skin he’d hunt the beggar down if it carried him to the North Pole. Cunningham ought to have known that, too. A planted crew, piracy – and he, Dennison Cleigh, was eventually to chuckle over it! He had his doubts. And where did the glass beads come in? Or had Cunningham spoken the truth – a lure? A big game somewhere in the offing. And the rogue was right! The world, dizzily stewing in a caldron of monumental mistakes, would give scant attention to an off-side play such as this promised to be. Not a handhold anywhere to the puzzle. The old boy might have the key, but Dennison Cleigh could not go to him for the solution.
His own father! Just as he had become used to the idea that the separation was final, absolute, to be thrown together in this fantastic manner! The father’s arm under his neck and the cup at his lips had shaken him profoundly. But Cleigh would not have denied a dog drink had the dog exhibited signs of thirst. So nothing could be drawn from that.
Morning. Jane opened her eyes, only to shut them quickly. The white brilliancy of the cabin hurt. Across the ceiling ran a constant flicker of silver – reflected sunshine on the water. Southward – they were heading southward. She jumped out of bed and stepped over to the port. Flashing yellow water, a blue sky, and far off the oddly ribbed sails of a Chinese junk labouring heavily in the big sea that was still running. Glorious!
She dressed hurriedly and warmly, bundling her hair under a velours hat and ramming a pin through both.
“Denny?” she called.
There was no answer. He was on deck, probably.
An odd scene awaited her in the main salon. Cleigh, senior, stood before the phonograph listening to Caruso. The roll of the yacht in nowise disturbed the mechanism of the instrument. There was no sudden sluing of the needle, due to an amateurish device which Cleigh himself had constructed. The son, stooping, was searching the titles of a row of new novels. The width of the salon stretched between the two.
“Good morning, everybody!”
There was a joyousness in her voice she made not the least attempt to conceal. She was joyous, alive, and she did not care who knew it.
Dennison acknowledged her greeting with a smile, a smile which was a mixture of wonder and admiration. How in the world was she to be made to understand that they were riding a deep-sea volcano?
“Nothing disturbed you through the night?” asked Cleigh, lifting the pin from the record.
“Nothing. I lay awake for an hour or two, but after that I slept like a log. Have I kept you waiting?”
“No. Breakfast isn’t quite ready,” answered Cleigh.
“What makes the sea so yellow?”
“All the big Chinese rivers are mud-banked and mud-bottomed. They pour millions of tons of yellow mud into these waters. By this afternoon, however, I imagine we’ll be nosing into the blue. Ah!”
“Breakfast iss served,” announced Togo the Jap.
The trio entered the dining salon in single file, and once more Jane found herself seated between the two men. One moment she was carrying on a conversation with the father, the next moment with the son. The two ignored each other perfectly. Under ordinary circumstances it would have been strange enough; but in this hour, when no one knew where or how this voyage would end! A real tragedy or some absurd trifle? Probably a trifle; trifles dug more pits than tragedies. Perhaps tragedy was mis-named. What humans called tragedy was epic, and trifles were real tragedies. And then there were certain natures to whom the trifle was epical; to whom the inconsequent was invariably magnified nine diameters; and having made a mistake, would die rather than admit it.
To bring these two together, to lure them from behind their ramparts of stubbornness, to see them eventually shake hands and grin as men will who recognize that they have been playing the fool! She became fired with the idea. Only she must not move prematurely; there must arrive some psychological moment.
During the meal, toward the end of it, one of the crew entered. He was young – in the early twenties. The manner in which he saluted convinced Dennison that the fellow had recently been in the United States Navy.
“Mr. Cunningham’s compliments, sir. Canvas has been rigged on the port promenade and chairs and rugs set out.”
Another salute and he was off.
“Well, that’s decent enough,” was Dennison’s comment. “That chap has been in the Navy. It’s all miles over my head, I’ll confess. Cunningham spoke of a joke when I accosted him in the chart house last night.”
“You went up there?” cried Jane.
“Yes. And among other things he said that every man is entitled to at least one good joke. What the devil can he mean by that?”
Had he been looking at his father Dennison would have caught a fleeting, grim, shadowy smile on the strong mouth.
“You will find a dozen new novels on the shelves, Miss Norman,” said Cleigh as he rose. “I’ll be on deck. I generally walk two or three miles in the morning. Let us hang together this day to test the scalawag’s promise.”
“Mr. Cleigh, when you spoke of reparation last night, you weren’t thinking in monetary terms, were you?”
Cleigh’s brows lowered a trifle, but it was the effect of puzzlement.
“Because,” she proceeded, gravely, “all the money you possess would not compensate me for the position you have placed me in.”
“Well, perhaps I did have money in mind. However, I hold to my word. Anything you may ask.”
“Some day I will ask you for something.”
“And if humanly possible I promise to give it,” and with this Cleigh took leave.
Jane turned to Dennison.
“It is so strange and incomprehensible! You two sitting here and ignoring each other! Surely you don’t hate your father?”
“I have the greatest respect and admiration for him. To you no doubt it seems fantastic; but we understand each other thoroughly, my father and I. I’d take his hand instantly, God knows, if he offered it! But if I offered mine it would be glass against diamond – I’d only get badly scratched. Suppose we go on deck? The air and the sunshine – ”
“But this catastrophe has brought you together after all these years. Isn’t there something providential in that?”
“Who can say?”
On deck they fell in behind Cleigh, and followed him round for fully an hour; then Jane signified that she was tired, and Dennison put her in the centre chair and wrapped the rug about her. He selected the chair at her right.
Jane shut her eyes, and Dennison opened a novel. It was good reading, and he became partially absorbed. The sudden creak of a chair brought his glance round. His father had seated himself in the vacant chair.
The phase that dug in and hurt was that his father made no endeavour to avoid him – simply ignored his existence. Seven years and not a crack in the granite! He laid the book on his knees and stared at the rocking horizon.
One of the crew passed. Cleigh hailed him.
“Send Mr. Cleve to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
The air and the tone of the man were perfectly respectful.
When Cleve, the first officer, appeared his manner was solicitous.
“Are you comfortable, sir?”
“Would ten thousand dollars interest you?” said Cleigh, directly.
“If you mean to come over to your side, no. My life wouldn’t be worth a snap of the thumb. You know something about Dick Cunningham. I know him well. The truth is, Mr. Cleigh, we’re off on a big gamble, and if we win out ten thousand wouldn’t interest me. Life on board will be exactly as it was before you put into Shanghai. More I am not at liberty to tell you.”
“How far is the Catwick?”
“Somewhere round two thousand – eight or nine days, perhaps ten. We’re not piling on – short of coal. It’s mighty difficult to get it for a private yacht. You may not find a bucketful in Singapore. In America you can always commandeer it, having ships and coal mines of your own. The drop down to Singapore from the Catwick is about forty hours. You have coal in Manila. You can cable for it.”
“You are honestly leaving us at that island?”
“Yes, sir. You can, if you wish, take the run up to Saigon; but your chance for coal there is nil.”
“Cleve,” said Cleigh, solemnly, “you appreciate the risks you are running?”
“Mr. Cleigh, there are no risks. It’s a dead certainty. Cunningham is one of your efficiency experts. Everything has been thought of.”
“Except fate,” supplemented Cleigh.
“Fate? Why, she’s our chief engineer!”
Cleve turned away, chuckling; a dozen feet off this chuckle became boisterous laughter.
“What can they be after? Sunken treasure?” cried Jane, excitedly.
“Hangman’s hemp – if I live long enough,” was the grim declaration, and Cleigh drew the rug over his knees.
“But it can’t be anything dreadful if they can laugh over it!”
“Did you ever hear Mephisto laugh in Faust? Cunningham is a queer duck. I don’t suppose there’s a corner on the globe he hasn’t had a peek at. He has a vast knowledge of the arts. His real name nobody seems to know. He can make himself very likable to men and attractive to women. The sort of women he seeks do not mind his physical deformity. His face and his intellect draw them, and he is as cruel as a wolf. It never occurred to me until last night that men like me create his kind. But I don’t understand him in this instance. A play like this, with all the future risks! After I get the wires moving he won’t be able to stir a hundred miles in any direction.”
“But so long as he doesn’t intend to harm us – and I’m convinced he doesn’t – perhaps we’d better play the game as he asks us to.”
“Miss Norman,” said Cleigh in a tired voice, “will you do me the favour to ask Captain Dennison why he has never touched the twenty thousand I deposited to his account?”
Astonished, Jane turned to Dennison to repeat the question, but was forestalled.
“Tell Mr. Cleigh that to touch a dollar of that money would be a tacit admission that Mr. Cleigh had the right to strike Captain Dennison across the mouth.”
Dennison swung out of the chair and strode off toward the bridge, his shoulders flat and his neck stiff.
“You struck him?” demanded Jane, impulsively.
But Cleigh did not answer. His eyes were closed, his head rested against the back of the chair so Jane did not press the question. It was enough that she had seen behind a corner of this peculiar veil. And, oddly, she felt quite as much pity for the father as for the son. A wall of pride, Alpine high, and neither would force a passage!
