He plucked at his collar, gasping, as though it choked him.
“God!” he whispered. “To pay him back for that! If it is true…I would face death…singing…but I must know if it is true.”
I waited until he had regained control.
“Help me find out whether it is or not,” I said. “It may well turn out to be an impossible job for me—alone.”
He shook his head.
“You have Barker to help you,” he replied.
“I don’t want to run him into any more risks.” I would cover up the little man as much as I could. “There’s a certain amount of prowling involved, Consardine. We might run across somebody not so well disposed as you. But the three of us ought to be able to settle matters one way or the other quickly.”
“No,” he said, stubbornly. “Why should I? It is up to you, Kirkham. It is you who have raised the doubt. It is you who must resolve it. One way or the other. After all, your suspicions are based upon the vaguest evidence. A triviality, and two, or it may be three, perfectly explicable happenings. The chances that you are wrong are enormously greater than those that you are right. Why should I risk my life upon them? I have already gone far. I have promised you neutrality, and somewhat more. I will go no further. Take Barker. I promise neither to see nor hear you should I meet you in your—wanderings. But at this time I will not invite certain death by joining you in them. I have been reasonably content. If you are wrong, I shall still be. If you are right—ah, then, I repeat, you will be no longer alone.
“In the meantime—Michael Consardine holds fast to his place in the sun.”
He chirruped to the black gelding, and mounted it. There was no use in further argument, that was plain. We rode away, through the woods, and after a while turned back to the chateau.
I left him at the stable, and went to my rooms to change. There was a note pinned to my pillow. It was from Satan. A casual sort of message. He hoped I was enjoying myself as I deserved, and would see me about nine o’clock that evening.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The more I thought over Consardine’s talk, the more I sympathized with his viewpoint. Also, oddly enough, the higher rose my spirits. I sat down to dinner in a pleasantly reckless state of mind.
Consardine was at the head of the board as on the previous night. I had Cobham for companion. I saw Eve toward the far end. She ignored me. It was difficult for me to do the same toward her.
Cobham had been drinking. For some reason he seemed to feel a certain responsibility for me. He paid no attention to any one else, nor would he let me. He was vastly interesting, but as the time wore on I began to feel a profound distaste for Cobham. He was expounding his theories of life as a mere electrochemical reaction. He made it clear that neither the individual nor the mass meant anything to him in terms of what is commonly called humanity. He was appallingly callous about it.
He seemed to have no more feeling about men and women than he would have about his test tubes. Rather less, I fancied. In fact, that was what men and women appeared to him to be, just a lot of animated test tubes with minute curiosity-provoking differences in their contents. And he saw no reason why they should not be broken, or emptied or the contents changed in the way of experimentation. He sketched a few rather awful experiments with gases upon the kehjt slaves. At least, I hoped that the unfortunate subjects had been the slaves. He did not say so.
Listening, I was convinced that of the two, Satan might be the more humane. Cobham kept on drinking steadily. The only effect of the liquor was to make him more coldly, inhumanly scientific.
“You’ve got too much sentiment in your ferment, Kirkham,” he said. “You probably think that life is sacred, to use the cant word, not to be destroyed unless by dire necessity. Bosh! It is no more sacred than the current I turn on or off at will from my lamps, nor the ferments in my tubes that I end at will. Whenever did Nature give a damn about the individual? Neutralize the weakening ingredient in you, Kirkham, and you might become a great man. I can do it for you, if you will let me.”
I promised to think it over.
At 8:30 Satan appeared. I had been wondering where I was to see him. Consardine yielded his place, and Satan beckoned me to sit at his left hand.
“To my new follower, James Kirkham,” he raised his glass. “I am much pleased with him.”
They drank to me, standing. I saw Eve pointedly set down her glass untouched. So, as she had meant him to do, did Satan.
At 8:45, as though at some signal, the company began to drift out of the room. In a few minutes there remained only Satan, Cobham and myself. It rather surprised me to see Consardine leave. Servants cleared the table, and at a nod from Satan withdrew.
“There is a ship,” he said abruptly, “that sails from Havre within three days. She is the Astarte. A slow boat. She carries some things of superlative beauty which I feel it time for me to claim. There is a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds, another by Romney. There is a ewer of rock crystal and twelve rock crystal cups, marvelously engraved and set with great cabochon sapphires and rubies. They were made, it may be, in ancient Crete for Queen Pasiphae. At least, they are immemorially old. And to them an unknown genius gave his best. They were long hidden in the Kremlin. The Communists have sold them. There is a necklace of emeralds upon each of which is graven one of the Metamorphoses of Ovid. There is nothing like it in the world.”
He paused, then bent his head toward me.
“I must have them, James Kirkham. You and Cobham shall get them for me.”
I bowed, awaiting further enlightenment. Cobham, I noticed, had not drunk anything since Satan’s entrance. He did not show at all what he had drunk. He sat silent, eyes upon the glass with which his fingers played; cynical, a faint smile upon his full lips. Yet I felt that he was watching me covertly, as though awaiting something. Whatever Satan was about to tell me, I suspected that he had already gone over it with him.
“I have selected you as leader,” Satan went on, “not only because the task may demand the exercise of unusual resourcefulness, but also that close obedience to orders which you have proved to me you can exercise. I am merely outlining the venture tonight so you may be turning it over in your mind. You will receive your detailed instructions before you sail.”
Sail? That meant leave Eve! I moved restlessly. I suppose my discomfort showed in my face. At any rate, he sensed it.
“Yes,” he said. “The transfer will not be made on land after the Astarte arrives. I prefer to make it on the high seas. You are to engage in what the prejudiced would call piracy, James Kirkham. Ah, well, it is a romantic calling.”
He eyed me, faint malice in the sparkling gaze.
“And you have your romantic side,” he purred. “I admire it. For I, too, have mine. Therefore, I envy you, somewhat, this venture.”
“And I am grateful,” I smiled, meeting his scrutiny squarely. But the palms of my hands had grown suddenly moist.
“The Astarte,” he continued, “will take the southern route. There is little likelihood of her encountering any serious storms at this time of year in those latitudes. On the day she sails, you and Cobham will set out in my yacht which I perceived you admiring today. Besides her crew, the yacht will carry a dozen of my drinkers of the kehjt. They will be for use in emergency. But it is my hope that none such may arise. The Cherub—is it not a lovely name?—the Cherub will leave ostensibly for a coastwise voyage. On the first day out, the night rather, the Cherub will cease to be her angelic self—yes, I assure you there were girl cherubs as well as boy ones. She will be cunningly changed to the semblance of the Sea Wolf, the yacht of an eminently respectable financier which at that moment will be logging along its unsuspecting way to Havana. This also in case of emergency. And, of course, the name of the Sea Wolf will replace that of the Cherub wherever the name is noticeable.
“You will circle the Astarte two days later at a designated section, keeping out of sight, of course. Her speed is fifteen knots, yours thirty. You
will be able, therefore, to stop her, remove what I desire, and get back here—again the innocent, spotless Cherub—at least two days before she can arrive in port.”
My heart, which had been growing steadily heavier, lightened. Satan intended no mischief to the ship then, or to its crew. Else he would not speak of her return. Cobham gave a short bark, like a suppressed laugh. The cynicism of his smile had deepened. Satan’s blue stare rested upon him for an instant. Cobham moved uneasily.
“You have planned, of course, sir,” I said, “how we are to stop the Astarte.”
“Naturally,” he answered. “I am coming to that. At this time of year, this boat would not carry more than a hundred persons. Some of the passengers she does carry will be my people. But beside that, I have arranged it so that there will be even fewer than usual. A number of staterooms have been reserved for a tourists’ club. But, oddly, just before the Astarte is to sail, these reservations will be canceled. There will have been an unavoidable change of plans. The generous representative of the club will waive all claims upon the reservation money, and the line will be guaranteed indemnity. The Astarte, because of the anxiety of the owners of the objects I intend to acquire, will not delay her sailing. I think there will be not more than thirty passengers, of whom ten, at least, will be of my following.
“Very well, James Kirkham. We come now to the night of your adventure. All that afternoon you have been following the Astarte at a distance of ten miles. It is a moonless night. At nine o’clock there is a concert going on in the saloon. The few passengers are a happy little family party. They are probably all there. So are some of the officers. You have put out your lights and have steamed up to within four miles.
“There will be a signal from the Astarte which you will answer. At the moment of that signal, two men assigned to that task will hurl a few bombs into the engine room of the Astarte. The bombs will be filled with a certain gas, the invention of Mr. Cobham. Immediately thereafter the occupants of the engine room will take no further interest in their work. A third man of mine will slip into the engine room and bring the boat to a standstill.”
He paused, scrutinizing me; I felt upon me again the covert glance of Cobham. By some miracle I managed to keep from my face the horror I felt in my heart; managed to make my voice indifferent and steady as I spoke:
“Well, that wipes out the engine room crew. Then what?”
For many moments Satan did not answer me. His brilliant eyes searched me. I drove from my mind the swift picture that had come into it of men choking and writhing on the floor of the Astarte’s engine room. I bore his gaze, frowning as though puzzled. Whether he had found what he had been hunting I do not know, but suddenly its disconcerting intensity diminished.
“Oh, fie, James Kirkham!” he said unctuously, “it is not necessary to kill. The gas I refer to is not lethal. It is a sleep gas. Its effect is practically instantaneous. At least, it acts within five seconds. But it is harmless. Six hours, and its breathers awaken without even a headache. How bloodthirsty he thinks us, Cobham!”
Something warned me to hide my relief, even as I had hidden my dread.
“We still have the officers and the crew,” I said indifferently. “What happens to them? Frankly, in all you have outlined, Satan, I seem to be nothing but an onlooker. A messenger boy. Where are my piratical thrills?”
“The venture at this point passes into your hands,” he answered. “You will by this time have drawn up beside, the Astarte and will board her with Cobham and a sufficient force to take charge. Conditions may now arise which I can foresee, but must trust to your ingenuity and courage to meet. There will be much confusion on board the Astarte. You must see to it that no boats are launched, and that no one escapes from her. Before you board, the captain, and a mate or two, may have suffered some slight accident. Nothing serious. No, no. Merely disabling. Then again—they may not. You may have their resistance to overcome. Without bloodshed, if you can. But with or without—it must be overcome. Then weather conditions may complicate matters. I think you will not find it too tame, James Kirkham.”
Nor did I. I had an uneasy feeling that Satan was not presenting me with the full picture.
“In your final instructions you will find definite information as to the location of what you are to bring to me,” he said. “The objects are in a strong safe in a steel storeroom. So precious are the jewels that only the captain will know the combination of the safe. You need waste no time trying to persuade him to tell it to you. There will be with you an expert to whom the safe will have no mysteries. After you have recovered the things for me, you will cut loose from the Astarte and make all speed home, taking off from her, before starting, certain of my people on board her who would find it embarrassing to remain. That is all.”
I considered for a moment. What he meant was that some of his agents on the Astarte would be questioned and might be recognized for what they were. Well, how about us on the Cherub?
“Have you considered the probability of some one on the Astarte identifying us later, sir?” I began.
“You will all be masked, of course,” he interrupted, smoothly. Cobham moved suddenly, impatiently.
“The wireless,” I suggested. “I suppose that will be disabled before the engine room attack?”
“It will not be necessary,” he answered. “The yacht carries extraordinarily strong batteries. At the moment of the signal, the Astarte’s radio will be blanketed, her waves strangled. There will be no message from her that can break through the barrier the able operator of the Cherub will interpose.”
I sat for a moment in thought. Everything seemed to be plain. And yet—I felt a cold unease, a boding depression. There was something else, something deadly sinister hiding behind Satan’s smooth phrases.
“I trust you were satisfied with the rewards of your necklace venture,” he broke the current of my thoughts. “The rewards of this one will be proportionately greater, naturally. The invitation to join me cut your vacation rather short. What would you say to taking, after the affair, a six months’ trip? You shall go where you please, and as you please, and do as you please. At my expense, of course. You may also spend what you please, let me add.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, “but I feel no need of a vacation. And frankly, I find my contacts with you infinitely more interesting than anything I could hope to experience away from you.”
His face was inscrutable as ever, but I felt that I had pleased him.
“Well,” he said, “we shall see. Only continue as you have begun, James Kirkham, and you shall have no cause to complain of my generosity.”
He arose. I stood up, politely; Cobham, cautiously. Satan for a moment considered us.
“How are you spending the evening?” he asked me.
“Cobham spoke of us joining the bridge game,” I answered, “but if you have any other desire—”
Cobham had done nothing of the sort. He had said so much, however, that I hoped he might take it for granted that he had. I particularly did not want to be separated from Cobham just then. If Satan had thought, as I half feared, of asking either of us to accompany him, he changed his mind. He nodded, and walked toward the wall.
“It would be a good idea,” he turned beside the opened panel, “to look over the Cherub tomorrow. Familiarize yourself with her. Good night.”
Cobham sat silently for a good minute, staring at the point where Satan had disappeared.
“That was damned decent of you, Kirkham,” he said at last, slowly. “I don’t know how you guessed it, but I couldn’t have stood much more of Satan tonight. Damned decent!”
He stretched out a hand to the brandy. I grinned—Cobham had remembered, then, and was aware of my maneuver. He poured his goblet half full of the liquor and drank it neat.
“Damned decent,” he repeated, and I saw the brandy take hold of him swiftly. “Have a drink with me.”
I poured myself a small one. Again he half filled his glass and tossed it off.
So! It was coming, was it! That hidden, sinister something I had sensed was getting ready to crawl from Cobham’s lips.
“Have a drink with me,” I said, and tipped the decanter. “Who’s treating me like a child?”
He glared at me, drunkenly.
“You think that gas is going to put that engine room crew to sleep, eh?” he chuckled. “Nice little lullaby for poor tired sailors? Sweet little chemical sl-slumber song composh-composed by Pa Satan and M-Ma Cobham? Well, Kirkham, you’re damned well right it’s going put ’em to sh-sleep. Forever!”
I poured myself another brandy, and drank it composedly.
“Well, what of it?” I asked. “A long sleep or a short one—what does it matter?”
“What’s it matter? What’s it matter!” he stared at me, then brought his fist down with a thump on the table. “By God, I was right! Told Satan you had the guts! Told him needn’t—needn’t tamper with the form-florm-formula with you! What’s it matter, he asks. Have a drink with me.”
I drank with him. He began to shake with laughter.
“Masks!” he said. “You wanted masks so people on Astarte couldn’t ren-recognize you later. Later! Ha! Ha! Later! That’s good, that is. Hell, man, there’s not going to be any later for them!”
The room swam around me. What was Cobham saying now?
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 103