CHAPTER XXII
TWO THIRTEEN
To Neeland, the entire affair had seemed as though it were some ratherobvious screen-picture at which he was looking--some photo-play toocrudely staged, and in which he himself was no more concerned than anycasual spectator.
Until now, Neeland had not been scared; Ali Baba and his automaticpistol were only part of this unreality; his appearance on the scenehad been fantastically classical; he entered when his cue was given byScheherazade--this oily, hawk-nosed Eurasian with his pale eyes settoo closely and his moustache hiding under his nose a la EnverPasha--a faultless make-up, an entry properly timed and prepared. Andthen, always well-timed for dramatic effect, Golden Beard hadappeared. Everything was _en regle_, every unity nicely preserved.Scheherazade had protested; and her protest sounded genuine. Alsoentirely convincing was the binding and gagging of himself at thepoint of an automatic pistol; and, as for the rest of the business, itwas practically all action and little dialogue--an achievement reallyin these days of dissertation.
All, as he looked on at it over the bandage which closed his mouth,had seemed unreal, impersonal, even when his forced attitude hadcaused him inconvenience and finally pain.
But now, with the light extinguished and the closing of the doorbehind Golden Beard and Ali Baba, he experienced a shock which beganto awaken him to the almost incredible and instant reality of things.
It actually began to look as though these story-book conspirators--thesehirelings of a foreign government who had not been convincing becausethey were too obvious, too well done--actually intended to expose him toserious injury.
In spite of their sinister intentions in regard to him, in spite oftheir attempts to harm him, he had not, so far, been able to take themseriously or even to reconcile them and their behaviour with thecommonplaces of the twentieth century in which he lived.
But now, in the darkness, with the clock on the washstand shelfticking steadily, he began to take the matter very seriously. The gagin his mouth hurt him cruelly; the bands of linen that held it inbegan to stifle him so that his breath came in quick gasps through hisnostrils; sweat started at the roots of his hair; his heart leaped,beat madly, stood still, and leaped again; and he threw himselfagainst the strips that held him and twisted and writhed with all hisstrength.
Suddenly fear pierced him like a poignard; for a moment panic seizedhim and chaos reigned in his bursting brain. He swayed and strainedconvulsively; he strove to hurl all the inward and inert reserve ofstrength against the bonds that held him.
After what seemed an age of terrible effort he found himself breathingfast and heavily as though his lungs would burst through hisstraining, dilating nostrils, seated exactly as he had been without aband loosened, and the icy sweat pouring over his twitching face.
He heard himself trying to shout--heard the imprisoned groan shatteredin his own throat, dying there within him.
Suddenly a key rattled; the door was torn open; the light switched on.Golden Beard stood there, his blue eyes glaring furious inquiry. Hegave one glance around the room, caught sight of the clock, recoiled,shut off the light again, and slammed and locked the door.
But in that instant Neeland's starting eyes had seen the clock. Thefixed hands on one of the dials still pointed to 2:13; the movinghands on the other lacked three minutes of that hour.
And, seated there in the pitch darkness, he suddenly realised that hehad only three minutes more of life on earth.
All panic was gone; his mind was quite clear. He heard every tick ofthe clock and knew what each one meant.
Also he heard a sudden sound across the room, as though outside theport something was rustling against the ship's side.
Suddenly there came a click and the room sprang into full light; anarm, entering the open port from the darkness outside, let go theelectric button, was withdrawn, only to reappear immediately clutchingan automatic pistol. And the next instant the arm and the head of IlseDumont were thrust through the port into the room.
Her face was pale as death as her eyes fell on the dial of the clock.With a gasp she stretched out her arm and fired straight at the clock,shattering both dials and knocking the timepiece into the washbasinbelow.
For a moment she struggled to force her other shoulder and her bodythrough the port, but it was too narrow. Then she called across to thebound figure seated on the bed and staring at her with eyes thatfairly started from their sockets:
"Mr. Neeland, can't you move? Try! Try to break loose----"
Her voice died away in a whisper as a flash of bluish flame broke outclose to the ceiling overhead, where the three bombs were slung.
"Oh, God!" she faltered. "The fuses are afire!"
For an instant her brain reeled; she instinctively recoiled as thoughto fling herself out into the darkness. Then, in a second, herextended arm grew rigid, slanted upward; the pistol exploded once,twice, the third time; the lighted bombs in their sling, released bythe severed rope, fell to the bed, the fuses sputtering and fizzling.
Instantly the girl fired again at the big jug of water on the bracketover the head of the bed; a deluge drenched the bed underneath; twofuses were out; one still snapped and glimmered and sent up littlejets and rings of vapour; but as the water soaked into the match thecinder slowly died until the last spark fell from the charred wet endand went out on the drenched blanket.
She waited a little longer, then with an indescribable look at thehelpless man below, she withdrew her head, pushed herself free, hungto the invisible rope ladder for a moment, swaying against the openport. His eyes were fastened on her where she dangled there againstthe darkness betwixt sky and sea, oscillating with the movement of theship, her pendant figure now gilded by the light from the room, nowphantom dim as she swung outward.
As the roll of the ship brought her head to the level of the port oncemore, she held up her pistol, shook it, and laughed at him:
"Now do you believe that I can shoot?" she called out. "Answer me sometime when that mocking tongue of yours is free!"
Then, climbing slowly upward into darkness, the light, falling nowacross her body, now athwart her skirt, gilded at last the heels ofher shoes; suddenly she was gone; then stars glittered through themeshes of the shadowy, twitching ladder which still barred the openport. And finally the ladder was pulled upward out of sight.
He waited. After a little while--an interminable interval to him--heheard somebody stealthily trying the handle of the door; then came apause, silence, followed by a metallic noise as though the lock werebeing explored or picked.
For a while the scraping, metallic sounds continued steadily, thenabruptly ceased as though the unseen meddler had been interrupted.
A voice--evidently the voice of the lock-picker--pitched to a cautiouskey, was heard in protest as though objecting to some intentionsevident in the new arrival. Whispered expostulations continued for awhile, then the voices became quarrelsome and louder; and somebodysuddenly rapped on the door.
Then a thick, soft voice that he recognised with a chill, grew angrilyaudible:
"I say to you, steward, that I forbid you to entaire that room. Iforbid you to disturb thees yoong lady. Do you know who I am?"
"I don't care who you are----"
"I have authority. I shall employ it. You shall lose your berth! Theesyoong lady within thees room ees my fiancee! I forbid you to enterforcibly----"
"Haven't I knocked? Wot's spilin' you? I am doing my duty. Back awayfrom this 'ere door, I tell you!"
"You spik thees-a-way, so impolite----"
"Get out o' my way! Blime d'you think I'll stand 'ere jawin' anylonger?"
"I am membaire of Parliament----"
And the defiant voice of Jim's own little cockney steward retorted,interrupting:
"Ahr, stow it! Don't I tell you as how a lydy telephones me just nowthat my young gentleman is in there? Get away from that door, youblighter, or I'll bash your beak in!"
The door trembled under a sudden and terrific kick; the wo
rdy quarrelceased; hurried steps retreated along the corridor; a pass key rattledin the lock, and the door was flung wide open:
"Mr. Neeland, sir--oh, my Gawd, wot ever 'ave they gone and done, sir,to find you 'ere in such a 'orrid state!"
But the little cockney lost no time; fingers and pen-knife flew;Neeland, his arms free, tore the bandage from his mouth and spat outthe wad of cloth.
"I'll do the rest," he gasped, forcing the words from his bruised anddistorted lips; "follow that man who was outside talking to you! Findhim if you can. He had been planning to blow up this ship!"
"_That_ man, sir!"
"Yes! Did you know him?"
"Yes, sir; but I darsn't let on to him I knew him--what with 'earingthat you was in here----"
"You _did_ know him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who is he?"
"Mr. Neeland, sir, that there cove is wot he says he is, a member ofParliament, and his name is Wilson----"
"You're mad! He's an Eurasian, a spy; his name is Karl Breslau--Iheard it from the others--and he tried to blow up the captain's cabinand the bridge with those three bombs lying there on the bed!"
"My God, sir--what you tell me may be so, but what I say is true, sir;that gentleman you heard talking outside the door to me is CharlesWilson, member of Parliament, representing Glebe and Wotherness; and Iknew it w'en I 'anded 'im the 'ot stuff!--'strewth I did, sir--andtook my chance you'd 'elp me out if I got in too rotten with thecompany!"
Neeland said:
"Certainly you may count on me. You're a brick!" He continued to ruband slap and pinch his arms and legs to restore the circulation, andfinally ventured to rise to his shaky feet. The steward offered anarm; together they hobbled to the door, summoned another steward,placed him in charge of the room, and went on in quest of CaptainWest, to whom an immediate report was now imperative.
The Dark Star Page 24