Stolen Idols

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER VI

  "Perkins," Gregory demanded, as he struggled into his dinner coat a fewnights later, "what should you think if I told you to drop that grinningpiece of wooden monstrosity there into the sea?"

  The steward glanced doubtfully over his shoulder at the Image.

  "It's a damned ugly piece of goods, sir," he admitted, "but I shouldn'tmake away with it like that. It's very likely valuable. They give no endof money sometimes for genuine bits of stuff from China way."

  Gregory straightened his tie and looked at his treasure fixedly.

  "Perkins," he confided, "that Image is either worth a few hundred, orperhaps a thousand pounds as an antique, or it may be worth--listen tome--a million." The steward coughed. He was inclined to think that thispassenger of his, on whom the slackness of the season had enabled him tobestow more than his normal share of attention, was a trifle cracked.

  "If it is worth as much money as that, sir," he remarked, "it would be asin to think of getting rid of it."

  "You're quite right," Gregory assented, "it would be a sin. We'll let itstay where it is."

  At his table in the dining saloon he trifled with his dinner andcovertly watched the girl seated by the captain's side, who, on hisentrance, had sent him a little wave of welcome. He had worshipped moreor less casually at the shrine of girls and women of all ages, but neverwith quite the same restless and fitful confusion of feeling as hadswept over him occasionally during the last few days in her nearpresence, or at the thought of her in his sleepless hours. She was, hetried to tell himself, as he studied her with eyes that attempted to becritical, an ordinary, pleasant-looking, good-looking, attractive girl,like hundreds of others of her age, too young and too lacking inexperience to justify a great passion. Her yellow hair, her one realbeauty, was brushed backwards with a touch almost of severity; afashion, however, which the vivacity of her face justified. Her eyes, hehad to admit, were unusual; grave and tender sometimes, full of thesparkle of humour when, as now, she was engaged in light-heartedconversation. Her mouth was perhaps almost too sensitive, but it wasbeautifully shaped, and not over-small. He watched her rise and walk outof the saloon; a girl's figure still, but with just a suggestion ofcoming power in her easy, flowing movements.

  He had known more beautiful women. There were more beautiful women to beseen every day in Bond Street, he told himself, with an almost fiercedesire to deny her attractiveness, but she possessed a gift whichbaffled him. He only knew that the idea of that message, which without adoubt she must at some time or other receive from her uncle, was like anightmare to him. He felt instinctively how meanness of any sort,dishonour and falsehood, would appeal to her, with her youthful,uncompromising standards, her lack of experience. She would belie thatsensitive mouth and the kindliness of her eyes. Where an older womanmight have sympathised she would have no pity. And with it all his mindwas in a state of turmoil about her. Unaccustomed sensations torturedhim. The flash of her welcoming glance had set his pulses tingling.

  He finished his wine, leaving most of his dinner untasted, and, insteadof going on deck, returned to his stateroom, thrust aside the curtain,and looked fiercely, almost challengingly, at his treasure. As he lookedhe felt once more a certain change in himself and his impulses, suddenlyfelt the torture of a sacrilegious thought, an instinct, horrible at onemoment, alluring the next. He suddenly threw the cigarette case which hewas holding at the face which mocked him.

  "Blast you!" he cried.

  The case, truly enough thrown, recoiled from the unchanging hardness ofthat lowering forehead, and fell, spilling its contents upon the bunk.He recovered it with trembling fingers, listening all the time to themusic of the distant orchestra. He had a sudden impulse to lock the doorand stay where he was; an impulse swept away a moment later by anunconquerable desire to be moving to the music with Claire in his arms.From the door he ventured upon one last unwilling glance upwards. Hecould have sworn that for the fiftieth time that expression had changed.There was a light almost of suggestion in those sightless orbs, a curlof sardonic contempt in the thick lips. He hurried up on to the deck andleaned for a moment over the rail, his eyes looking across the sea.

  "Nerves!" he told himself slowly. "Nerves!"

  The doctor passed him with a cheery good evening. Gregory called out tohim.

  "Just a moment, Doctor."

  "You'll be in disgrace," the latter remarked. "They're dancing already.Come and have a liqueur in my room first."

  "Thank you," Gregory replied.

  They made their way to the lower deck and into the doctor's quarters.The latter excused himself for a moment whilst he prepared somemedicine. Afterwards he opened his cupboard, produced a bottle of brandyand two liqueur glasses and pushed a box of cigarettes across the table.

  "What's wrong with you, young fellow?" he asked a little abruptly.

  "Nerves," Gregory answered. "Do you believe in them?"

  "To some extent," was the cautious reply. "How are they getting at you?"

  "I'm haunted by an evil spirit," Gregory declared, lighting a cigarette."It's there, a wooden Image behind a curtain, down in my stateroom. Nowget ready to laugh. I assure you, Doctor, every moment I spend with thatdamned thing makes me feel more of a rotter."

  "Where did you get it?" the doctor enquired curiously.

  Gregory glanced towards the closed door.

  "I am not sure whether it is wise to tell you," he replied, "but, as amatter of fact, it is a small statue of a famous Chinese god. It ismeant to represent all the gross side of a man's life. It is meant todepict every evil that can haunt the sinner."

  The doctor suddenly leaned forward in his chair.

  "You don't mean to tell me that you were mixed up in the Nilkayaaffair?" he exclaimed. "You're not one of the Englishmen who looted theplace?"

  "I've got one of the Images here, anyway," Gregory admitted.

  "There was a report that you were both dead."

  "My pal is, although he was taking on what we thought the simplest partof the job. They got me, a dozen of those priests. Fought like furies,the fellows did! I was to have been food for the alligators but I wasrescued on the river by a trader from the coast."

  The doctor looked at his companion with amazement.

  "No wonder you've got nerves," he observed. "You've been throughsomething."

  "I've been through hell," Gregory admitted. "The fight wasn't so bad,but I was two days strapped up on that pirate ship with not a mouthfulto eat, in a foul atmosphere, and expecting to be thrown overboard atany moment. I had a certain amount of luck. I got clear, as you see, andI've got one of the Images. It is supposed to be chock full of jewels,and yet I'm half inclined to chuck the damned thing overboard."

  The doctor smiled reassuringly.

  "I won't say anything of the morality of the enterprise," he declared,"but you had a fine, plucky adventure, and when you talk about throwingthe Image overboard, you're talking like an ass. Set your heel upon allthis superstitious nonsense, Ballaston, and go on as usual. Believe me,you'll be none the worse for possessing that piece of wood. You createthe evil in yourself when you allow yourself to believe that the thing'slikely to do you harm. The world's old enough for us to realise thenature of most of its organic forces. The malice of nine hundred yearsago may have been carved into that Image, but it can't come out again."

  Gregory drew a little sigh of relief.

  "Of course you're right," he acquiesced, "and yet----"

  "Cut out the 'and yets'," the doctor interrupted. "Get up on deck nowand dance. That's what's good for you. Be normal and don't harbour anythought that hasn't a definite and reasonable origin. See you later. Imay come up and have a turn myself."

  Gregory hurried on deck to be greeted a little reproachfully by Claire.

  "How dare you keep me waiting," she complained. "The orchestra havenever played better and I've been nearly crazy sitting here by myself.Don't let's waste a minute now you have come."

 
They were out of the region of storms. The awning had been rolled awayand they danced on the outside deck with the orchestra half concealed ina little lounge. The minutes passed by in a sort of enchantment. Fromfox trots they passed to waltzes, both utterly unconscious thatsometimes they were the only two dancing. Suddenly Claire drew back andlooked at her companion.

  "Why, I believe you're tired!" she exclaimed. "Do let's stop."

  "No, we'll go on," he answered quickly.

  The music seemed to have gained a new and more passionate throb. Thestarlit night seemed to be leaning down, to close them in. There was abreath of magic in the languid air, in the perfume from her hair andclothes, swimming out into the stillness. Her eyes for a moment had halfclosed in faint response to the joy of it all. His arm suddenlytightened around her--tightened!

  "Stop!" she ordered quickly.

  He obeyed at once. She looked at him with an expression of amazement, inwhich was almost a gleam of terror. Then she turned away.

  "I'm tired," she said. "I want to speak to Mrs. Hichens. Please don'tcome."

  He knew better than to follow her, to protest, to attempt anyexplanation. He made his way to the smoking room and drank two whiskiesand sodas. The steward looked at him curiously.

  "Hot work dancing to-night, sir," he observed.

  "Hot as hell," Gregory answered. "Give me another drink."

  He was served immediately. Afterwards he stepped back on to the deck.Claire had disappeared. He went up to a woman whom he had previouslyavoided with sedulous care--a grass widow, good-looking still in a way,but overanxious, overobvious, overperfumed. She rose to her feet withastonishing alacrity at his unexpected invitation. A moment later theydanced off into the darkness.

  * * * * *

  The smoking-room steward took Gregory to his stateroom that night, andthe faithful Perkins, summoned from his own repose, undressed him. Hewent to sleep with a chuckle upon his distorted lips.

  "I'm with you, old fellow," he muttered, waving his hand feebly to hisunseen companion. "You're the chap for us Ballastons. Glad I gotyou--and not the other."