CHAPTER XIV.
ROCKINGHAM TO THE SHARKS.
At one o'clock in the morning I arose, dressed hurriedly, drew on a pairof felt slippers, and put a revolver in my pocket. It was then time toput Edith Metford's proposal to the proof, and she would be waiting forme on deck to hear whether I had succeeded in it. We had parted a coupleof hours before on somewhat chilling terms. I had agreed to follow hersuggestion, but I could not trouble my tired brain by guesses at thecause of her moods.
It was very dark. There was only enough light to enable me to find myway along the corridor, off which the state-rooms occupied by Brande andhis immediate lieutenants opened. All the sleepers were restless fromthe terrible heat. As I stole along, a muffled word, a sigh, or amovement in the berths, made me pause at every step with a beatingheart. Having listened till all was quiet, I moved on again noiselessly.I was almost at the end of the corridor. So intent had I been onpreserving perfect silence, it did not sooner occur to me that I wassearching for any special door. I had forgotten Brande's number!
I could no more think of it than one can recall the name of ahalf-forgotten acquaintance suddenly encountered in the street. It mighthave been fourteen, or forty-one; or a hundred and fifty. Every numberwas as likely as it was unlikely. I tried vainly to concentrate my mind.The result was nothing. The missing number gave no clue. To enter thewrong room in that ship at that hour meant death for me. Of that I wascertain. To leave the right room unentered gave away my first chance inthe unequal battle with Brande. Then, as I knew that my first chancewould probably be my last, if not availed of, I turned to the nearestdoor and quietly tried the handle. The door was not locked. I enteredthe state-room.
"What do you want?" It was Halley's voice that came from the berth.
"Pardon me," I whispered, "a mistake. The heat, you know. Went on deck,and have blundered into your room."
"Oh, all right. Who are you?"
"Brande."
"Good-night. You did not blunder far;" this sleepily.
I went out and closed the door quietly. I had gained something. I waswithin one door of my destination, for I knew that Halley was berthedbetween Rockingham and Brande. But I did not know on which side Brande'sroom was, and I dared not ask. I tried the next door going forward. Itopened like the other. I went in.
"Hallo there!" This time no sleepy or careless man challenged me. It wasRockingham's voice.
"May I not enter my own room?" I whispered.
"This is not your room. You are?" Rockingham sprang up in his berth, butbefore he could leave it I was upon him.
"I am Arthur Marcel. And this iron ring which I press against your leftear is the muzzle of my revolver. Speak, move, breathe above yournatural breath and your brains go through that porthole. Now, loose yourhold of my arm and come with me."
"You fool!" hissed Rockingham. "You dare not fire. You know you darenot."
He was about to call out, but my left hand closed on his throat, and agurgling gasp was all that issued from him.
I laid down the revolver and turned the ear of the strangling man closeto my mouth. I had little time to think; but thought flies fast whensuch deadly peril menaces the thinker as that which I must face if Ifailed to make terms with the man who was in my power. I knew thatnotwithstanding his intensely disagreeable nature, if he gave hispromise either by spoken word or equivalent sign, I could depend uponhim. There were no liars in Brande's Society. But the word I could nottrust him to say. I must have his sign. I whispered:
"You know I do not wish to kill you. I shall never have another happyday if you force me to it. I have no choice. You must yield or die. Ifyou will yield and stand by me rather than against me in what shallfollow, choose life by taking your right hand from my wrist and touchingmy left shoulder. I will not hurt you meanwhile. If you choose death,touch me with your left."
The sweat stood on my forehead in big beads as I waited for his choice.It was soon made. He unlocked his left hand and placed it firmly on myright shoulder.
He had chosen death.
So the man was only a physical coward--or perhaps he had only made achoice of alternatives.
I said slowly and in great agony, "May God have mercy on your soul--andmine!" on which the muscles in my left arm stiffened. The big biceps--anheirloom of my athletic days--thickened up, and I turned my eyes awayfrom the dying face, half hidden by the darkness. His struggles werevery terrible, but with my weight upon his lower limbs, and my graspupon his windpipe, that death-throe was as silent as it was horrible.The end came slowly. I could not bear the horror of it longer. I mustfinish it and be done with it. I put my right arm under the man'sshoulders and raised the upper part of his body from the berth. Then adesperate wrench with my left arm, and there was a dull crack like thesnapping of a dry stick. It was over. Rockingham's neck was broken.
I wiped away the bloody froth that oozed from the gaping mouth, andtried to compose decently the contorted figure. I covered the face.Then I started on my last mission, for now I knew the door. I hadbought the knowledge dearly, and I meant to use it for my own purpose,careless of what violence might be necessary to accomplish my end.
When I entered Brande's state-room I found the electric light full on.He was seated at a writing-table with his head resting on his arms,which hung crossways over the desk. The sleeper breathed so deeply itwas evident that the effect of the morphia was still strong upon him.One hand clutched a folded parchment. His fingers clasped itnervelessly, and I had only to force them open one by one in order towithdraw the manuscript. As I did this, he moaned and moved in hischair. I had no fear of his awaking. My hand shook as I unfolded theparchment which I unconsciously handled as carefully as though the thingitself were as deadly as the destruction which might be wrought by itsdirection.
To me the whole document was a mass of unintelligible formulae. My rustyuniversity education could make nothing of it. But I could not wastetime in trying to solve the puzzle, for I did not know what moment someother visitor might arrive to see how Brande fared. I first examinedwith a pocket microscope the ink of the manuscript, and then making ascratch with Brande's pen on a page of my note-book, I compared the two.The colours were identical. It was the same ink.
In several places where a narrow space had been left vacant, I put 1 infront of the figures which followed. I had no reason for making thisparticular alteration, save that the figure 1 is more easily forged thanany other, and the forgery is consequently more difficult to detect. Myadditions, when the ink was dry, could only have been discovered by onewho was informed that the document had been tampered with. It wasprobable that a drawer which stood open with the keys in the lock wasthe place where Brande kept this paper; where he would look for it onawaking. I locked it in the drawer and put the keys into his pocket.
There was something still to do with the sleeping man, whose braincompassed such marvellous powers. His telepathic faculty must bedestroyed. I must keep him seriously ill, without killing him. As longas he remained alive his friends would never question his calculations,and the fiasco which was possible under any circumstances would then beassured. I had with me an Eastern drug, which I had bought from anIndian fakir once in Murzapoor. The man was an impostor, whose tricksdid not impose on me. But the drug, however he came by it, was reliable.It was a poison which produced a mild form of cerebritis that dulled butdid not deaden the mental powers. It acted almost identically whetheradministered sub-cutaneously or, of course in a larger dose, internally.I brought it home with the intention of giving it to a friend who wasinterested in vivisection. I did not think that I myself should be thefirst and last to experiment with it. It served my purpose well.
The moment I pricked his skin, Brande moved in his seat. My hand was onhis throat. He nestled his head down again upon his arms, and drew adeep breath. Had he moved again that breath would have been his last. Ihad been so wrought upon by what I had already done that night, I wouldhave taken his life without the slightest hesitation, if the sacrificeseemed necessary.
When my operation was over, I left the room and moved silently along thecorridor till I came to the ladder leading to the deck. Edith Metfordwas waiting for me as we had arranged. She was shivering in spite of theawful heat.
"Have you done it?" she whispered.
"I have," I answered, without saying how much I had done. "Now you mustretire--and rest easy. The formula won't work. I have put both it andBrande himself out of gear."
"Thank God!" she gasped, and then a sudden faintness came over her. Itpassed quickly, and as soon as she was sufficiently restored, I beggedher to go below. She pleaded that she could not sleep, and asked me toremain with her upon the deck. "It would be absurd to suppose thateither of us could sleep this night," she very truly said. On which Iwas obliged to tell her plainly that she must go below. I had more todo.
"Can I help?" she asked anxiously.
"No. If you could, I would ask you, for you are a brave girl. I havesomething now to get through which is not woman's work."
"Your work is my work," she answered. "What is it?"
"I have to lower a body overboard without anyone observing me."
There was no time for discussion, so I told her at once, knowing thatshe would not give way otherwise. She started at my words, but saidfirmly:
"How will you do that unobserved by the 'watch'? Go down and bring upyour--bring it up. I will keep the men employed." She went forward, andI turned again to the companion.
When I got back to Rockingham's cabin I took a sheet of paper and wrote,"Heat--Mad!" making no attempt to imitate his writing. I simply scrawledthe words with a rough pen in the hope that they would pass as a messagefrom a man who was hysterical when he wrote them. Then I turned to theberth and took up the body. It was not a pleasant thing to do. But itmust be done.
I was a long time reaching the deck, for the arms and legs swung to andfro, and I had to move cautiously lest they should knock against thewoodwork I had to pass. I got it safely up and hurried aft with it.Edith, I knew, would contrive to keep the men on watch engaged until Ihad disposed of my burden. I picked up a coil of rope and made it fastto the dead man's neck. Taking one turn of the rope round a boat-davit,I pushed the thing over the rail. I intended to let go the rope themoment the weight attached to it was safely in the sea, and so loweredaway silently, paying out the line without excessive strain owing to thesupport of the davit round which I had wound it. I had not to wait solong as that, for just as the body was dangling over the foaming wake ofthe steamer, a little streak of moonlight shot out from behind a bank ofcloud and lighted the vessel with a sudden gleam. I was startled bythis, and held on, fearing that some watching eye might see my curiousmovements. For a minute I leaned over the rail and watched the track ofthe steamer as though I had come on deck for the air. There was a quickrush near the vessel's quarter. Something dark leaped out of the water,and there was a sharp snap--a crunch. The lower limbs were gone in thejaws of a shark. I let go the rope in horror, and the body droppedsplashing into that hideous fishing-ground. Sick to death I turnedaway.
"Get below quickly," Edith Metford said in my ear. "They heard thesplash, slight as it was, and are coming this way." Her warning wasnearly a sob.
We hurried down the companion as fast as we dared, and listened to thecomments of the watch above. They were soon satisfied that nothing ofimportance had occurred, and resumed their stations.
Before we parted on that horrible night, Edith said in a tremblingvoice, "You have done your work like a brave man."
"Say rather, like a forger and murderer," I answered.
"No," she maintained. "Many men before you have done much worse in agood cause. You are not a forger. You are a diplomat. You are not amurderer. You are a hero."
But I, being new to this work of slaughter and deception, could onlydeprecate her sympathy and draw away. I felt that my very presence nearher was pollution. I was unclean, and I told her that I was so.Whereupon, without hesitation, she put her arms round my neck, and saidclinging closely to me:
"You are not unclean--you are free from guilt. And--Arthur--I will kissyou now."