have noticed.
He edged himself sideways into the
doorway.
"You're to have No. 28 on the port side,"
said the steward. "A very good cabin, sir."
"I am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was
the cabin promised to me."
We had come to an impasse. Each one of us
was determined not to give way. Strictly
speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired
from the contest and eased matters by
offering to accept Cabin 28. So long as I did
not have 13 it was immaterial to me what
other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I
had not the least intention of being the first to
give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had
false teeth which clicked when he ate. Many
men have been hated for less.
We all said the same things over again. The
95
steward assured us, even more strongly, that
both the other cabins were better cabins.
None of us paid any attention to him.
Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester
kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept
mine. And still none of us would give way an
inch.
A wink and a whispered word from the
steward gave me my cue. I faded
unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky
enough to encounter the purser almost
immediately.
"Oh, please," I said, "you did say I could
have Cabin 17? And the others won't go
away. Mr. Chichester and Mr. Pagett. You
will let me have it, won't you?"
I always say that there are no people like
sailors for being nice to women. My little
purser came to the scratch splendidly. He
strode to the scene, informed the disputants
that No. 17 was my cabin, they could have
Nos. 13 and 28 respectively or stay where
they were—whichever they chose.
I permitted my eyes to tell him what a hero
he was and then installed myself in my new
domain. The encounter had done me worlds
of good. The sea was smooth, the weather
96
growing daily warmer. Sea-sickness was a
thing of the past!
I went up on deck and was initiated into the
mysteries of deck-quoits, I entered my name
for various sports. Tea was served on deck,
and I ate heartily. After tea, I played shovelboard
with some pleasant young men. They
were extraordinarily nice to me. I felt that life
was satisfactory and delightful.
The dressing bugle came as a surprise and I
hurried to my new cabin. The stewardess was
awaiting me with a troubled face.
"There's a terrible smell in your cabin,
miss. What it is, I'm sure I can't think, but I
doubt if you'll be able to sleep here. There's a
deck cabin up on C deck, I believe. You
might move into that—just for the night,
anyway."
The smell really was pretty bad—quite
nauseating. I told the stewardess I would
think over the question of moving whilst I
dressed. I hurried over my toilet, sniffing
distastefully as I did so.
What was the smell? Dead rat? No, worse
than that—and quite different. Yet I knew it!
It was something I had smelt before. Something——Ah!
I had got it. Asafoetida! I had
worked in a hospital dispensary during the
97
war for a short time and had become
acquainted with various nauseous drugs.
Asafbetida, that was it. But how——
I sank down on the sofa, suddenly realizing
the thing. Somebody had put a pinch of
asafoetida in my cabin. Why? So that I should
vacate it? Why were they so anxious to get me
out? I thought of the scene this afternoon
from a rather different point of view. What
was there about Cabin 17 that made so many
people anxious to get hold of it? The other
two cabins were better cabins; why had both
men insisted on sticking to 17?
17. How the number persisted! It was on
the 17th I had sailed from Southampton. It
was a 17--I stopped with a sudden gasp.
Quickly I unlocked my suit-case, and took my
precious paper from its place of concealment
in some rolled stockings.
17 1 22—1 had taken that for a date, the
date of departure of the Kilmorden Castle.
Supposing I was wrong. When I came to
think of it, would anyone, write down a date,
think it necessary to put the year as well as
the month? Supposing 17 meant Cabin 17?
And I? The time—one o'clock. Then 22 must
be the date. I looked up my little almanac.
To-morrow was the 22nd!
98
10
I WAS violently excited. I was sure that I
had hit on the right trail at last. One thing
was clear, I must not move out of the
cabin. The asafoetida had got to be borne. I
examined my facts again.
To-morrow was the 22nd, and at 1 a.m. or
1 p.m. something would happen. I plumped
for 1 a.m. It was now seven o'clock. In six
hours I should know.
I don't know how I got through the
evening. I retired to my cabin fairly early. I
had told the stewardess that I had a cold in
the head and didn't mind smells. She still
seemed distressed, but I was firm.
The evening seemed interminable. I duly
retired to bed, but in view of emergencies I
swathed myself in a thick flannel dressinggown,
and encased my feet in slippers. Thus
attired I felt that I could spring up and take
an active part in anything that happened.
What did I expect to happen? I hardly
knew. Vague fancies, most of them wildly
improbable, flitted through my brain. But
99
one thing I was firmly convinced of, at one
o'clock something would happen.
At various times I heard my fellowpassengers
coming to bed. Fragments of
conversation, laughing good-nights, floated
in through the open transom. Then silence.
Most of the lights went out. There was still
one in the passage outside, and there was
therefore a certain amount of light in my
cabin. I heard eight bells go. The hour that
followed seemed the longest I had ever
known. I consulted my watch surreptitiously
to be sure I had not overshot the time.
If my deductions were wrong, if nothing
happened at one o'clock, I should have made
a fool of myself, and spent all the money I
had in the world on a mare's nest. My heart
beat painfully.
Two bells went overhead. One o'clock!
And nothing. Wait--what was that? I heard
the quick light patter of feet running--running
along the passage.
Then with the suddenness of a bombshell
my cabin door burst open and a man almost
fell inside.
"Save me," he said hoarsely. "They're
after
me."
100
It was not a moment for argument or
explanation. I could hear footsteps outside. I
had about forty seconds in which to act. I had
sprung to my feet and was standing facing the
stranger in the middle of the cabin.
A cabin does not abound in hiding-places
for a six-foot man. With one arm I pulled out
my cabin trunk. He slipped down behind it
under the bunk. I raised the lid. At the same
time, with the other hand I pulled down the
wash-basin. A deft movement and my hair
was screwed into a tiny knot on the top of my
head. From the point of view of appearance it
was inartistic, from another standpoint it was
supremely artistic. A lady, with her hair
screwed into an unbecoming knob and in
the act of removing a piece of soap from her
trunk with which, apparently, to wash her
neck, could hardly be suspected of
harbouring a fugitive.
There was a knock at the door, and without
waiting for me to say "Come in" it was
pushed open.
I don't know what I expected to see. I think
I had vague ideas of Mr. Pagett brandishing a
revolver. Or my missionary friend with a
sandbag, or some other lethal weapon. But
certainly I did not expect to see a night
101
stewardess, with an inquiring face and
looking the essence of respectability.
<
called out."
"No," I said, "I didn't."
"I'm sorry for interrupting you."
"That's all right," I said. "I couldn't sleep.
I thought a wash would do me good." It
sounded rather as though it were a thing I
never had as a general rule.
"I'm so sorry, miss," said the stewardess
again. "But there's a gentleman about who's
rather drunk and we are afraid he might get
into one of the ladies' cabins and frighten
them."
"How dreadful!" I said, looking alarmed.
"He won't come in here, will he?"
"Oh, I don't think so, miss. Ring the bell if
he does. Good night."
"Good night."
I opened the door and peeped down the
corridor. Except for the retreating form of the
stewardess, there was nobody in sight.
Drunk! So that was the explanation of it.
My histrionic talents had been wasted. I
pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and
said: "Come out at once, please," in an acid
voice.
102
There was no answer. I peered under the
bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed
to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did
not move.
"Dead drunk," I thought vexedly. "What
am I to do?"
Then I saw something that made me catch
my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor.
Using all my strength, I succeeded in
dragging the man out into the middle of the
cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed
that he had fainted. I found the cause of his
fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed
under the left shoulder-blade—a nasty deep
wound. I got his coat off and set to work to
attend to it.
At the sting of the cold water he stirred,
then sat up.
"Keep still, please," I said.
He was the kind of young man who
recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled
himself to his feet and stood there swaying a
little.
"Thank you; I don't need anything done
for me."
His manner was defiant, almost aggressive.
Not a word of thanks—of even common
gratitude!
103
"That is a nasty wound. You must let me
dress it."
"You will do nothing of the kind."
He flung the words in my face as though I
had been begging a favour of him. My
temper, never placid, rose.
"I cannot congratulate you upon your
manners," I said coldly.
"I can at least relieve you of my presence."
He started for the door, but reeled as he did
so. With an abrupt movement I pushed him
down upon the sofa.
"Don't be a fool," I said unceremoniously.
"You don't want to go bleeding all over the
ship, do you?"
He seemed to see the sense of that, for he
sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as
best I could.
"There," I said, bestowing a pat on my
handiwork, "that will have to do for the
present. Are you better-tempered now and do
you feel inclined to tell me what it's all
about?"
"I'm sorry that I can't satisfy your very
natural curiosity."
"Why not?" I said, chagrined.
He smiled nastily.
104
"If you want a thing broadcast, tell a
woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut."
"Don't you think I could keep a secret?"
"I don't think-I know."
He rose to his feet.
"At any rate," I said spitefully, "I shall be
able to do a little broadcasting about the
events of this evening."
"I've no doubt you will too," he said
indifferently.
"How dare you!" I cried angrily.
We were facing each other, glaring at each
other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For
the first time, I took in the details of his
appearance, the close-cropped dark head, the
lean jaw, the scar on the brown cheek, the
curious light grey eyes that looked into mine
with a sort of reckless mockery hard to
describe. There was something dangerous
about him.
"You haven't thanked me yet for saving
your life!" I said with false sweetness.
I hit him there. I saw him flinch distinctly.
Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to
be reminded that he owed his life to me. I
didn't care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never
wanted to hurt anyone so much.
"I wish to God you hadn't!" he said
105
explosively. "I'd be better dead and out of
it."
"I'm glad you acknowledge the debt. You
can't get out of it. I saved your life and I'm
waiting for you to say *Thank you'."
If looks could have killed, I think he would
have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly
past me. At the door he turned back, and
spoke over his shoulder.
"I shall not thank you—now or at any other
time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I
will pay it."
He was gone, leaving me with clenched
hands, and my heart beating like a mill race.
106
11
THERE were no further excitements
that night. I had breakfast in bed and
got up late the next morning. Mrs.
Blair hailed me as I came on deck.
"Good morning, gipsy girl. Sit down here
by me. You look as though you hadn
't slept
well."
"Why do you call me that?" I asked, as I sat
down obediently.
"Do you mind? It suits you somehow. I've
called you that in my own mind from the
beginning. It's the gipsy element in you that
makes you so different from anyone else. I
decided in my own mind that you and
Colonel Race were the only two people on
board who wouldn't bore me to death to talk
to."
"That's funny," I said. "I thought the
same about you--only it's more understandable
in your case. You're--you're such an
exquisitely finished product."
"Not badly put," said Mrs. Blair, nodding
her head. "Tell me all about yourself, gipsy
tmitbss 107
girl. Why are you going to South Africa?"
I told her something about Papa's lifework.
"So you're Charles Beddingfield's
daughter? I thought you weren't a mere
provincial miss! Are you going to Broken Hill
to grub up more skulls?"
"I may," I said cautiously. "I've got other
plans as well."
"What a mysterious minx you are. But you
do look tired this morning. Didn't you sleep
well? I can't keep awake on board a boat. Ten
hours' sleep for a fool, they say! I could do
with twenty!"
She yawned, looking like a sleepy kitten.
"An idiot of a steward woke me up in the
middle of the night to return me that roll of
films I dropped yesterday. He did it in the
most melodramatic manner, stuck his arm
through the ventilator and dropped them
neatly in the middle of my tummy. I thought
it was a bomb for a moment!"
"Here's your Colonel," I said, as the tall
soldierly figure of Colonel Race appeared on
the deck.
"He's not my Colonel particularly. In fact
he admires you very much, gipsy girl. So
don't run away."
108
"I want to tie something round my head. It
will be more comfortable than a hat."
I slipped quickly away. For some reason or
other I was uncomfortable with Colonel
Race. He was one of the few people who were
capable of making me feel shy.
I went down to my cabin and began looking
for something with which I could restrain my
rebellious locks. Now I am a tidy person, I
like my things always arranged in a certain
way and I keep them so. I had no sooner
opened my drawer than I realized that somebody
had been disarranging my things.
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