Clement Seadon got up from his bunk almost as soon as he had sat down on it. He was young, that is, he preferred swift action to deep thinking.
“It’s no good arguing about this,” he told himself. “It’s no good telling one’s cautious soul that outside the cinematograph and the painted pages of fiction, pretty young women aren’t the victims of gangs of rogues in this the twentieth century. She is. I’ve seen her. I’ve seen the gang and already felt them at work.... I’ve had circumstantial evidence pumped into me by that hurtling little lawyer. It all sounds mad. It all sounds untrue. But it happens to be true. I’ve got to do something.”
He made a stride towards the door. He stopped.
“Ah, yes,” he reflected. “I’ve got to do something—what?”
He suddenly realized how easy it was to say “I’ve got to do something.” How hard it was to do anything at all.
What could he do? Rush out and confront the gang with their villainies—idiotic idea. He’d probably be put into irons as an irresponsible madman. There wasn’t any evidence. If there had been any, the little lawyer would have acted upon it, the criminal gang would have been slapped into jail before the ship sailed. Heloise—what a really suitable name for her, Heloise; how it fitted her curious, slim, rather exaltè kind of beauty—Heloise would have been rescued even before she started for Canada.... The voyage would not have been undertaken....
On second thoughts he was rather glad there had been no evidence. Gang or no gang, it was rather pleasant to think that Heloise Reys really would be with him on the Empress until they all reached Quebec.... And perhaps he’d be with her longer.
“All the same,” he reflected, “this isn’t going to be so simple as it looks. I only know indirectly that there is a gang at work to ensnare Heloise Reys. Nothing to go on except suspicion. Also, I must remember that Heloise herself is, to all intents and purposes, on the side of the gang. She wants to get to Henry Gunning and marry him. She does regard the one member of the gang she knows, this Gorgon companion, Méduse, not as an enemy, but as a tried, and trusted friend. If I do unpleasant and senseless things to the gang I make Heloise my enemy, through the Gorgon.... Oh, it’s infernally complicated. This isn’t a matter for clumsy rough-and-tumble methods. This is a matter for wits, for brain work, for guileful intelligence.... However, I fancy I have a good share of guileful intelligence.”
As a matter of fact Clement was doing himself rather less than justice. He had rather more than his fair share of keen wits, only, as one of his friends said, “one never noticed it because he was so well-tailored.”
Clement Seadon was one of those young Anglo-Saxons—and their number is not so inconsiderable as our enemies imagined—who were responsible for so many German failures during the war. They were so entirely unlike the things they were capable of doing.
Clement, for example, looked indolent. He looked easy-going. He looked as if he cared for nothing very much, and hadn’t any particular intelligence. He was obviously very careful about the set of his clothes, and could be guaranteed to shine adequately in most sports and at any social gathering. He had blunt, but neat features, that conspired to give him a suggestion of geniality not easily moved from an habitual calm. People felt they could not take him quite seriously—until they suddenly bumped up against an extremely disconcerting and swift coolness of wit. Only then, when they had been “stung” did they note the squareness of the jaw and the lips, and the broad and quite definite power of his brow.
Clement Seadon, in fact, was rather a drastic sort of young man to those who thought he didn’t matter very much. In the Diplomacy, where he had served before the war, several quite brilliant brains had chuckled at him for an amiable and well-dressed ninny, whom it was ridiculously easy to twist round the finger. They had thought this until a sharp reprimand from their Governments, and, on some occasions, instant dismissal, taught them that some people are not so simple as they look, and that the cheerful young man who had seemed to them so easy a victim had actually been twisting them round his well-manicured fingers all the time—not they him.
Clement was not in Diplomacy now; he had thrown up his job to go to the front. His father, his only relative, had died during the war, so that after the armistice he had found himself in complete control of a very useful income, and with it a freedom to indulge his love of travel and sport, which, up to the war, he had only been able to assuage intermittently.
He was, then, a young man entirely free to do as he liked. A young man who preferred action, who did not ask for adventure, but wasn’t so very sorry when adventure came along; and also a young man who knew quite well how to enjoy the considerable mental faculties he happened to possess.... He was, as the little lawyer had felt, quite the luckiest ally Heloise could find in a battle against the powers of crime.
Clement, thinking near his door, turned the matter over.
“Obviously,” he thought, “I can do nothing just at present. I can’t strike at them until I find out their plot and have proof that they are criminals. What then? Consolidate my position with Heloise?—blessed word consolidate. That’s the first and only move. I must get to know her better; I must get her to trust in me. I must become intimate....”
At that thought he suddenly switched round and shook his fist at the place where he thought Liverpool must stand—the sound of machinery had told him some time ago that the ship had begun to move.
“Why did you talk of marriage,” he said with irritation, obviously referring to the little-head-long lawyer. “Marry the girl!... Marry her, that actually complicates things. I shall ... I mean I should feel just as much an adventurer, a conspirator, as this Henry Gunning person if I did ... if I ever thought of doing such a thing.” And then, with the inconsequence of the young, he said, “But she is astonishingly pretty and good company.... Oh, hang, that only makes it worse.”
“Marry her,” he went on. “That’s quite absurd, of course. I mean—well, it is quite absurd. She’s got her mind set on Henry Gunning ... and she wouldn’t care twopence for a fellow like me. Indecent to think she would.... No, marriage is a bee in that old lawyer’s bonnet. But I’ll help. I’ll do all I can to help her. And that’s the first move; I’ll now lay the solid foundations upon which real friendship can be based.”
He went very quickly to the door of his cabin.
“The first move, and I know how to make it.”
He went quickly along the gallery. As he passed along the balcony that overhung the dining saloon, he looked down at a little group of people collected about one of the tables near the door. Yes, old Maxwell was already filling up tables, and a few of the travel-wise were selecting them. Clement smiled. He was glad he was travel-wise himself.
But before he got to the end of the gallery he was pulled up in his stride. His way was blocked by a very large, a very solid, an immovable man. There was no getting past this human mountain. And the back of the human mountain was towards him, and he was obviously deep in some most absorbing contemplation. Clement said gently, “If you don’t mind.” And then he said, “Sorry, do you mind my passing?” And then he said, “Would you mind getting out of the way?” Then he touched the human mass on the shoulder, and shouted in his ear, “I’m through. I’ve said everything I can remember.... The next move’s with you.... Just move!”
The dinosaur heaved a little. There was a perceptible undulation over its surface. A voice came back. “What’s that?”
“I want to pass,” said Clement.
“Eh?”
“I want to——”
But Clement did not finish. The mass, as though the thing that had held its attention had suddenly released it, came round with an almost dismaying swiftness—how could such a bulk actuate with such rapidity. A large man stood in front of Clement, bowing and apologizing.... A large man who seemed genial only on the surface, whose eyes were astonishingly close together, and looked steadily, not into Clement’s eyes, but at something mystical across his shoulder. It was the large fat man again. The large fat man who seemed instinctively to mix himself up in Clement’s accidents.
“I owe you a thousand apologies,” said the big man pleasantly and without the slightest sense of right. “I did not know you were behind me.” He smiled sleekly. “It seems that I am foredoomed to stand in your way, sir.”
“That,” Clement’s mind told him at once, “that is a threat—or a warning.” And he answered in his pleasantest, young-fellow-about-town voice, “Does seem a habit of mine to come stealing up behind, so to speak.”
“And that,” he told himself, “is also a threat, or warning. Only he won’t see it. I’m much too well dressed.”
“Ah, ‘behind,’ that has an ominous ring. Let us hope it is not ominous,” smiled the large man with his artificial geniality, and he stepped aside and let Clement by.
And Clement went on musing, “But, by Jove! he did see. That was another warning. I shall have to keep my eyes on that large fellow. He, too, has wits and doesn’t look it.”
He ran down the accommodation stairs towards the dining saloon deck. On that deck he received another shock. Coming through the swing doors of the saloon was the Gorgon. She came out briskly with the gait of an old traveler. She saw Clement, and she smiled. Clement thought it a smile with malice behind it. As she passed him she nodded, and said brightly, “Well, we’ve started them.”
A commonplace remark. One of the ordinary, stupid, current phrases of travelers by liner. It referred, possibly, to the fact that the ship had sailed, that the voyage had started. It might mean only that. On the other hand it mightn’t. In the light of that smile Clement reserved his judgment until he had gone into the saloon.
He greeted Maxwell, the chief steward, as an old friend, and asked if there were any good tables left.
“Nearly all the good tables,” said Maxwell. “Not many old travelers on this trip. You can take almost anything you like.”
Clement did not take what he liked. He examined the chart of tables and saw that what he liked had already gone. He had planned to sit at the same table as Heloise Reys. That is, he had schemed to be her companion at meals all through the voyage. That was the recognized move of the wise and old traveler. But he had not been wise quickly enough. As he looked down the chart he saw the names “Miss Heloise Reys,” “Miss Méduse Smythe” already inscribed.
And Miss Heloise Reys and Miss Méduse Smythe were to occupy a small table that would only accommodate two.
He had received his first check. He understood why the large fat man had blocked his way. He understood why the Gorgon had smiled with meaning.
They had started the game of wits, and the first trick was against him.
They had scored the first trick, but it was not altogether a signal advantage. It put Clement on his mettle. It enabled him to appreciate exactly the type of rogues he was dealing with. There was going to be nothing timid about their methods. They were bold and they were clever, they were going to take hold of every advantage and push it home ruthlessly. Clement did not mind that at all. He could be bold and ruthless, too, and because of his apparently casual manner his boldness and his ruthlessness could be carried off in a way which would baffle them.
In fact, no later than that afternoon, Clement, with an apparently thoughtless inconsequence, began to baffle them. He played for the second trick—and won it.
It was obvious that from the first the gang meant to block him from Heloise’s side. Clement smiled as he saw the little comedy being played. The Gorgon clung to the girl tenaciously. To double the guard, so to speak, the large fat rogue was called in.
They were clever. They played with infinite skill. The mountain of a man was drawn in with brilliant casualness. Heloise and the Gorgon looked at Ireland over the taffrail. They talked about Ireland. The Gorgon made a conspicuous mistake about an Irish headland ... and there was the large fat man putting her right, standing already one of that little group pouring out attractive facts about Ireland with a pleasant, well-informed politeness.
It was one of those swift shipboard acquaintances. The apparent stranger had skillfully inserted himself into the duologue between the Gorgon and Heloise, and the Gorgon had, as skillfully, drawn him into the circle.
Clement, who had been hovering in the background saw what it meant. One of them, now, would always be at the girl’s side; effectually putting a stop to any particular and personal approach of his own.
The three watched Ireland until they had had enough of it. Then they walked the deck a little. Then the two ladies sat down, and the fat man, with invincible politeness, walked away. Clement exchanged a few words with the two women in their deck chairs; pleasant words, but of no effect. The Gorgon showed no signs of moving, Heloise was too polite to move away from the Gorgon.
The lunch bugle went, and they were separated. After lunch the Gorgon and Heloise were inseparable. They sat on deck chairs again. Tea came. Clement found that the Gorgon had whisked the girl into an alcove in the lounge. He was about to join them boldly, when the big fat man materializing with his unexpected swiftness, crossed the lounge and planted himself in the only other seat available. Clement smiled and sat and had his own tea and waited. He watched the trio. Presently his chance came. The fat man and the Gorgon suddenly involved themselves in one of those duologues in which the third person plays the part of a listener only. As the two talked Clement crossed to them swiftly and quietly—and snapped the girl from under their very noses.
It was one of those simple acts that baffle the clever. Clement slipped round behind the discussion, as it were, and said to the girl, “Coming for a stroll, Miss Reys?”
And Heloise came—alone. There was nothing for the others to do. To break off their discussion to fence with this pleasant young man would have looked strange. To come out with the girl was certainly impossible, for they had not been invited. They had to remain, apparently unconcerned, if they were not to draw attention to themselves and their actions.
And in his casual way Clement clinched his victory by drawing attention to any future “blockading” action the precious pair might attempt.
He took Heloise up to the boat deck, and found chairs and placed them in a spot that could only accommodate two, which was also quite neatly screened from casual view. He sighed, “Oh, well, this is very much better.”
“It isn’t strolling, anyhow,” laughed Heloise.
“Oh, I didn’t want to stroll, I just wanted to be selfish,” smiled Clement. “I wanted you to myself. There seem to have been millions of people about you ever since we came aboard.”
“Scarcely millions,” she smiled back. “Only my companion and that rather stout, quite pleasant Mr. Neuburg.”
“Only those,” said Clement, underlining the personality and the actions of the pair deliberately, “but they do seem to be rather clinging.... Always there seems to be a great crowd barring the way....”
“Always,” she laughed. “But we’ve only been on board half a day.”
“Perhaps I was looking forward,” said Clement, ingeniously emphasizing his point. “I saw it happening every day, every hour of the day, for the rest of the voyage.”
“You’re unnecessarily gloomy,” laughed the girl, not altogether displeased at the interest this good-looking young man took in her. “It won’t happen every hour every day.”
And Clement, with an inward chuckle, thought it wouldn’t. He left it at that. He had won that trick. Not merely would he have tête-à-tête talks with Heloise in the future, but he had so emphasized the attitude of the pair of rogues that their attempts to shut him out from Heloise must only engender suspicion in her mind.
After a moment’s silence Heloise said, “You’re rather hard on Mr. Neuburg. He’s a very pleasant person, and quite well-informed about Canada.”
“I’m quite well-informed about Canada myself,” said Clement.
“About shooting—sport”—she teased him.
“That—and other things,” Clement laughed back. “I know appearances are against me, but, really, there’s a solid core inside. I know quite a lot about Canadian industries, for instance.”
It was a casual remark delivered with an inconsequence that covered up the deliberate meaning Clement had put into it. And it struck home, as Clement had meant it to.
“Really!” she cried. “Industrial things—you know something about Canadian industries?” She was eager at once.
“Quite a lot,” said Clement. “You see, even if I didn’t happen to be keen—which I am—I’d have to take a personal interest. I’ve money invested in quite a number of Canadian concerns—agricultural machinery, fruit farms, grain areas, mines——”
“Mines!” breathed the girl. “Do you know something about mines?”
Under his casual easiness Clement Seadon thrilled. He had suspected from the beginning that the venture in which Henry Gunning was supposed to need backing must be mines; the district in which he lived pointed to that. But here was confirmation of that suspicion. He had touched the matter which was the foundation of the plot at his first attempt to find out. And he had also obviously done more. He had made the girl feel that he was a sympathetic and knowledgeable person to whom it would be easy to talk about mines and the prospects of mining. And, in fact, he was just that person. He said, “I know, I think, a very fair amount about mines. Oh, but not merely on the investing, but on the practical side, too. Before the war I went out for three months with a prospecting party—not as a fortune hunter, but as one who wanted to learn. It’s rather a fad of mine to get to know how things are done from the bottom up. As some of our money was invested in mines, it seemed to me that I should have a working knowledge of the whole proposition.”
“And you did your prospecting—where?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
“Oh—in Canada,” he said. And then he paused. Should he risk being specific? Would it frighten her to hear the name of the very place where Henry Gunning, her old lover, was living; and would that put her on her guard against him—as she had been on her guard against the questions of the little lawyer? Or would it, on the other hand, draw out confidences? He rather felt it might. He was, as far as she knew, quite outside her concerns, and she might want to learn things, just as he wanted to learn everything as early as possible if he was to act. And then as he hesitated, she said with extraordinary eagerness, “In Canada; but what part of Canada?”
Her eagerness decided Clement. “In British Columbia,” he answered, as a man mentioning something of no purpose. “To be exact, in the mountain valleys in the south of British Columbia. There’s a whole string of valleys there with rather beautiful lakes in ’em. We started at Penticton, on Okanagan Lake, and worked up northward.... They mostly grow apples and peaches there, but there was a good deal of mineral about, we’d heard. Anyhow—I say, I hope I’m not boring you—anyhow, we pushed slowly up those valleys to a little one-horse place called Sicamous——”
“Sicamous!” she cried, her eyes very bright, her cheeks exquisitely flushed, and for a moment Clement wondered if he had done right to mention that name. “Sicamous! But that’s real luck—for me, I mean. I actually want to learn something first-hand about Sicamous—and about the mining in those districts....”
With a throb of excitement and satisfaction, Clement, looking exactly like an Englishman who was no more interested than he should be when a pretty woman gave him her confidences, leaned forward to hear the next important words. And....
“Oh ... Loise.... Forgive me, Miss Heloise.... Where did you put the aspirin tablets?... I have a terrible headache.... I went to the cabin, and could not find them.... And I’ve looked for you everywhere....”
Before them stood the Gorgon smiling apologetically, wearily, but at the same time determinedly. She had arrived just at the right moment to interrupt revelations.
The Gorgon did interrupt revelations, but, as Clement had planned, the trick he had scored was a most useful one. More useful from the fact that the pair of rogues did not know how effectively the inconsequent-looking young Briton had taken measures against them. That is, they still continued the tactics of trying to shut Clement off from intimacy with Heloise.... The very method Clement had delicately drawn the girl’s attention to.
And of course the girl began to notice that the Gorgon was always at her side with a sort of leechlike doggedness. She began to notice that the massive Mr. Neuburg inevitably took up the siege, as it were, whenever her companion was away. Mr. Neuburg talked cleverly and also incessantly, but he wasn’t young and he wasn’t that rather attractive Mr. Seadon. Without realizing anything of its meaning, she felt that Mr. Seadon was, as he had laughingly suggested, being barred out by a crowd.
She began to show irritation—and independence. Mr. Neuburg found she was leaving him in the middle of conversations. Méduse Smythe could produce nothing important enough to hold her mistress at her side. The twain were not fools. They recognized they were beaten. They ceased their attentions with a brilliant naturalness, but Clement knew that the eyes of Mr. Neuburg watched him always as he walked with Heloise.
Clement knew that the intelligence that was busy considering him was not one to be despised. He did not know the extent of the gang working to ensnare Heloise, but he felt that Neuburg was probably the brains of it, the master mind, and that he would act in a masterly manner, leaving very little to chance. To checkmate such a fellow would call for all his ability—and perhaps all his strength and courage.
All the same, though he was constantly on the alert, Clement made the most of his opportunities with Heloise. It was for the good of Heloise—and it was extraordinarily attractive for himself. He wasn’t going to marry her. That was absurd.... How could he? Only—only she was decisively and radiantly pretty. The singular glowing curd-whiteness of her skin, the vividness of her beautiful and delicate lips against the coolness of that skin, the clearness and steadiness of her eyes—all these things gave him an eversharpening sense of delight whenever he set eyes on her.
And her step suited his so perfectly. On board ship, one is immensely appreciative of any one whose step suits one perfectly. Her tall figure swung so gracefully, so untiringly, beside him as they walked, no matter if the sea was as smooth as polished glass—which the Atlantic rarely is—or whether there was a “lop” on. She was as physically fit and as hard as he was, and she took the same zest in out-of-door things. He felt a sort of comradeship, a rightness in the fact that they should stride up and down the promenade deck together in such a perfect unison as almost to suggest they were one....
As though they were one!... but, of course, that was idiotic. They weren’t one. There was no suggestion of their being one. One—that meant marriage. And that question didn’t come up. Although, of course, the little lawyer had said ... “Oh, hang the little lawyer!” he muttered.
“Who are you hanging?” asked Heloise, who was near and who had heard the most lethal part of his muttering.
“I was hanging this top-heavy sea,” said Clement genially. “I wanted to show you the captain’s bridge—I’ve got permission—but with this lop....”
“Show me the captain’s bridge—now,” she laughed back. “The lop doesn’t matter—not a hang.”
That was part of her attraction. She really didn’t care a hang about things that made other people uncomfortable. She enjoyed risks. She was daring enough to go anywhere, see everything. They adventured into all the strange and usually unseen parts of that splendid ship, even as far as the boiler room. She was eager, she was interested in everything, she had a zest for life. She was an ideal chum. More and more he began to perceive that she was the ideal chum—anyhow for one particular man. And presently he was saying not “Hang the little lawyer,” but “Hang Henry Gunning.”
Because both had a healthy disregard for exposure, and a healthy regard for fresh air, they became almost the sole occupants of the breezy boat deck. There they sat daily and talked; there in the evenings they sat, and sometimes did not talk.
In their talks they found splendid affinities. They found that they liked so many similar things: not merely sports, books, theaters, the open country and the other solaces of life, but other more significant things. They found that both cared most in life for character: for honesty, straightness, generosity, high-mindedness. They liked intelligent people rather than merely jolly ones. They liked people who did things rather than people who played at doing things. They found that they had a mutual austerity of ideal in their way of looking at problems ... would rather be the losers in anything than win underhand; they would take the difficult path if it was the right one, rather than the easy if it were wrong.
This brought them dangerously near to the core of the matter they were both engaged on, dangerously near Henry Gunning ... yet both instinctively veered away from that.
But he had come in when she spoke of her journey to Canada—though even in this he came in only as “a friend, an old friend in whom I am interested.”
This happened when they talked about Sicamous one night.
“I am going as far as Sicamous, at any rate,” she had said. “And that reminds me, there are things I wanted to ask you about Sicamous.... Perhaps you remember—we were interrupted?”
“Something about mines, wasn’t it?” said Clement with a careful casualness.
“Yes.... I want you to tell me all about mines in that area.... Now—please tell me.”
Clement laughed with a touch of dismay.
“But all about them. That’s a terrifically large order. In the first place, there’s nothing to say about them—and then there’s everything.”
“That sounds enigmatic. You’ll have to explain.”
“I mean by that there are not so very many mines—those at Nelson, on Kootenay Lake—silver-mines, they are—are perhaps the most important. But, on the other hand, it’s always supposed that there are great possibilities among those rocky valleys.”
“Ah,” breathed the girl, “there are possibilities then.”
“Not thinking of going in for mining, are you?” Clement teased—and with a reason.
“N-o,” said the girl. “It’s rather—it’s rather because a friend of mine is interested. Deeply interested. I wanted to learn if there is any foundation for—for expecting big things, immense returns from mining in the Sicamous district.”
Clement was excited. Then it was mining. That was the venture Henry Gunning was supposed to need backing for. He answered without any show of his emotion. “What exactly are your friend’s interests—silver, copper, gold?”
“All of them,” she answered quickly, and Clement though he saw the character of Gunning at once in that report. Your unsuccessful prospector is rather like that. He hasn’t merely a Golconda of one metal up his sleeve—he has all the rare metals in the world, only asking to be picked out of the surface ... if only some one will oblige with the money to buy picks. “All of them,” repeated the girl. “I understand that—that the claims (that’s right, isn’t it?) pegged out show rich veins of gold, copper and silver, and there’s also nickel—even platinum. It—is that possible?”
“I will say,” said Clement candidly, “It’s held to be possible. Prospectors are always saying that the whole of the district is a likely place for—yes, all those minerals.”
“These particular claims have been assayed and show excellent results.”
“They have, however, to be worked, I take it,” said Clement. “With mines you can’t really tell until they have been worked.”
“Oh——” said the girl rather pitifully. “Then don’t you think there is a possibility of an—an immense fortune in claims showing such good sample results?”
“There might be. There is always that possibility.... On the other hand, I should advise your friend to go with extreme caution.”
“You’re not—you’re not very stimulating,” she said ruefully.
“I’m just being as honest as I can,” said Clement, with a meaning she could not appreciate, for actually he was. His whole instinct told him to pour the coldest of cold water upon that mining scheme—and yet he couldn’t altogether in fairness do that.
“I believe you are,” she said softly, and with a surprising intuition she added, “I believe you’d be honest even against your own interests.”
In the tiny and quite significant pause that followed that touch of curiously personal intimacy, Clement felt bound to say, “You see, Miss Heloise, mining is a risky venture. You can throw away more money and more easily in mining than you can in anything else—not even excepting theaters and newspapers. There are so many things that make it a gamble. The lode or stope may peter out. There may be immense difficulties in cutting shafts. There may be fatal drawbacks in the matter of transport, of working, of labor, and scores of things.... Mineral finds that look good at the first assay may not pay for their keep when they come to be worked. I know these valleys. We came across some seams that looked good. They looked enormously good to a tenderfoot like myself, for example. But the experts with the party wouldn’t look at them. Nothing in them. Not worth the blasting.... Your friend certainly should be advised to move with the greatest care in this matter.”
The girl was silent for a while.
“It hurts so to shatter people’s dreams,” she said in a low voice. And then she said on a lighter note, “But I remember—you talked of difficulties that turned on transport; most of the difficulties do, don’t they?”
“Yes; it’s lack of transport facilities that kills most mining ventures.”
“Well,” cried the girl, with glee, “that’s a difficulty that doesn’t hold good here.... The railway runs within a very short distance of the claims. Doesn’t that make it sound more hopeful?”
Clement said decisively, “It makes it sound hopeless.”
“Mr. Seadon!” she protested, aghast.
“It does,” said Clement, sure of himself. “Miss Heloise, if those claims are only a very short distance from the railway, then they are claims that could not have been overlooked. Don’t you see ... railwaymen, engineers, prospectors, scores of people must have had a chance of poking round. If there had been anything good there, it would have been found long ago. And as it hasn’t happened—well——”
“You think there is no chance at all,” said the girl in dismay.
“I think,” said Clement impressively—this, he felt, was his great opportunity. He must drive home truth into the soul of this girl, though it was painful—“I think that you—that your friend should go into this matter with the most scrupulous attention, that you—that your friend should commit himself” (in his stress he overlooked the gender he had employed) “in no way. All the dealings should be made through unbiased experts—unbiased, Miss Heloise; some big mining consultants with a reputation for straight-dealing.... Nobody locally. I urge you to impress upon your friend the need of the greatest care.”
The girl gave a gasp. It was a gasp of misery. Clement felt sore and sorry for her—but he must say what he had to say. Then she said with pain, “Then you think—you think there might be something—underhand about such a venture.”
“Yes,” said Clement slowly, “I think there is a great possibility of there being something underhand in it—from what you tell me.”
“O-oh,” sighed the girl, and she fell back in her chair. Clement knew why she was overcome. His confirmation of the suspicions that the little lawyer Hartley Hard had fired at her, had forced her soul to face an ugly conviction.
Clement, inexpressibly sorry for her, followed her action with his eyes. He would like to help her, he felt in his heart an almost agonized desire to do something to soothe her wounded soul. She was so gentle, so young to have suffered a shock. He half turned in his eagerness to help her.
Something—a shadow where there should have been the gray-blue light of the open sea—caused him to lift his eyes.
Behind her chair, close behind, crouching against the bow of the boat that shielded them from the wind, filling up the space through which Clement should have been able to gaze straight out to sea, he saw a figure.
A great, a bulky figure. The black, the stealthy figure of a mountain of a man—listening.
He poised there for a minute—then he vanished.
Heloise had had her warning—and so had Mr. Neuburg.
What effect his warning would have on the girl, Clement did not know. Time alone would show that. But he knew what would be the effect on the big and sinister man.
It would be a direct declaration of war. Neuburg had heard something which must tell him definitely that he—Clement Seadon—meant to prevent Heloise Reys from having anything to do with Henry Gunning and his wild-cat schemes.
In other words the mountainous Mr. Neuburg knew that Clement meant to prevent him getting the million pounds which he considered his legitimate plunder. And if Clement knew anything that was not the sort of threat that the big man would suffer quietly.
It was going to be a fight, and, an ugly one. He made no mistake about this Neuburg. He was a brilliant fellow and a criminal to boot. He would not only employ all his cunning, but he would also stop at nothing to gain his ends. Clement was perfectly certain that if it came to the pinch, Mr. Neuburg would kill him, or have him killed, if he felt it necessary.
But that thought only stiffened him. When he thought of Heloise and her beauty and her trustfulness at the mercy of such blackguards, his heart might grow sick, but his chin grew stiff also. He was not going to allow Heloise to be their victim.
He’d beat the scoundrels. But how?
In his cabin after he had said good-night to Heloise, he thought it out. Against a gang the odds were decidedly not in his favor. He could be smothered by sheer weight if he fought them direct. Should he play carefully to try and win Heloise to reason? Not a trustworthy policy. They would be working against him all the time, and the slightest slip might prove disastrous. Should he wait and expose this mining scheme with his own knowledge? Dangerous again, there was no saying how Heloise’s emotions might react when she saw her old lover, or what cunning trick Mr. Neuburg might spring to win her emotions.
What then?
The words of the little lawyer rose up. “Make her love you! Marry her!”
By Jove, after all, that little lawyer was right. It was the only sure thing. Marry her and her quixotic trip was finished. Marry her and Gunning was ended and all that Gunning stood for. Marry her....
“And I want to marry her,” he said to his looking glass. “Clement, my dear ass, do look things in the face. You think she’s adorable. The way she smiles; the way she lifts that soft little chin of hers; the sound of her voice; that boyish brave air of hers ... all of her is adorable. You know you want her, you know you want to marry her. Why put on this ‘She loves another’ pose? She doesn’t really love him—it’s just sentiment; while she does—well, she’s awfully fond of you. She is, don’t pretend. Propose to her at once, propose to her before you reach Quebec and you’ll carry her away. Marry her, that’s it, you want to and you’ll also put a spoke in their wheels.”
And even while he was contemplating putting a spoke in the wheel of the gang, it was actually putting a spoke in his.
He went to bed full of this happy resolve.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I’ll propose.”
The big Mr. Neuburg had slipped from his hiding place, with that curious silent swiftness which went so strangely with his bulk, crossed the boat deck noiselessly, and went down to the promenade.
He found the Gorgon sitting there, and he dropped into the seat beside her. What he had to say was not very much, but it was apparently to the point. She listened attentively, nodded, and when he finished she rose.
But before she went to her cabin, she took from him a paper.
“Make this your opening,” Mr. Neuburg said. “I know you are clever; this is a time for being very clever. Be very natural ... be very sympathetic ... do not pretend this letter has any significance for you.”
When Heloise, tired and dispirited, came down to the cabin, she found her companion already half undressed. Not very talkative, she never was, but showing no emotion against or for anybody—Clement, of course, was the anybody. It was no different from any of the going-to-bed scenes that had taken place since they came on board—that is, it wasn’t until Heloise, stretching out her hand for her hairbrush, that inevitable feminine implement, encountered a folded sheet of notepaper. She picked it up absently. It was a business letter, that had been folded lengthways in three, and the printed heading was on the outside. She read the name of the firm which had sent it—Rigby & Root.
“Méduse,” she said in a surprised voice. “Did I leave this lying about?”
“Did you leave what lying about, Loise?” said the companion in a quiet voice, though, for all her apparent indifference, her singularly immobile eyes seemed to gleam below the surface.
“This letter—from my lawyers?”
At that, “Yes, you did,” said the companion—there was the nicest tinge of reproach in her voice; it was beautifully done. “You did—on the promenade deck. Yes, my dear Loise, it was on the very deck. I actually kicked it out of my way before it occurred to me that it really was a letter and not a dirty piece of paper. Then I picked it up, and saw that name on the outside—Rigby & Root. And I was surprised—your lawyers, of course; I knew that—so naturally I brought it straight down here....”
“How could I have taken it up on deck?” said Heloise, puzzled.
“That I don’t know,” said Méduse pleasantly. “Unless you are like me, and use the first thing that comes to hand as a bookmarker. It’s not always wise. I remember once opening a book at a young woman’s religious instruction class, and the piece of paper I had used as a marker slipped out for all to see ... and it was a handbill of the most lurid sort of play—a very fast play even. You see I....” Her manner was gossipy, perfect, but she did not have to carry her garrulous anecdote to a finish.
First, Heloise said, “But a lawyer’s letter.” And then with a sort of gasp she cried, “But it’s not my letter.”
The Gorgon switched round, smiling indulgently. “My dear ... but I saw the name at the top—Rigby & Root.”
“Yes, it’s from Rigby & Root,” said Heloise in a curious voice, for she was at that moment, and abruptly, a prey to strange emotions of doubt and suspicion.
“Well, if it’s from Rigby & Root——” said the Gorgon indolently.
“It’s addressed to Mr. Clement Seadon,” said Heloise in a dry voice.
The Gorgon’s look of smiling amazement was an admirable piece of acting. “But, my dear—whatever are your lawyers writing to Mr. Seadon about?”
And that well-barbed dart was fired with beautiful precision. Without the slightest appearance of malice, the Gorgon had underscored the significant fact that Mr. Clement Seadon was connected with the little lawyer Hartley Hard (a partner in Rigby & Root), who had shown himself so prejudiced against Henry Gunning and Heloise’s journey to Canada. She looked at the girl, her eyebrows raised in faint amusement and surprise. “What could Mr. Hard be writing to Mr. Seadon about?”
Heloise did not read other people’s letters, but the circumstances made it impossible for her not to read that short and very businesslike communication. It was unthrilling. It dealt with the sale of certain stocks, and the buying of certain bonds. It was not signed by the irritating Mr. Hard. She said, “It’s not from Mr. Hard. It’s from Mr. Root himself” (Rigby was dead). “And it’s about nothing in particular—just business. Apparently Rigby & Root are Mr. Seadon’s lawyers also.”
Heloise had an air of dismissing any implication of underhand conduct. But she had not dismissed it. The surprising fact, brought before her mind so suddenly and neatly, made her feel that she had been trusting somebody who could not be trusted. He was in league with the man who had tried to hamper her movements.... She tried to tell herself, of course, that there was no ground for such a thought; people can have the same lawyers without conspiring with those lawyers. But the shock of it, the coincidence of it cut the ground from under her.... This young man who had only just now taken pains to set her against Henry Gunning and his mining schemes was intimate with her lawyers, who had also taken pains to set her against Henry Gunning.... The facts seemed too pronounced to admit of coincidence.... And while she was feeling sore, rankled, the clever companion pushed the barb of suspicion a little deeper.
“How strange that you should both have the same lawyers,” she said with an air of innocent wonder. “How strange that he should know that Mr. Hard who has been so annoying to you.”
It was, of course, the attitude of Méduse Smythe to pretend that she had little or nothing to do with Heloise’s trip to Canada. She pretended all along to play a passive part. All the initiative was supposed to come from Heloise.
Méduse Smythe was clever. She had the master brain of Mr. Neuburg to prompt her, and she had played her cards subtly, so that although it was she alone who had inspired the high-minded girl to undertake this adventure, she was yet able to pose as no more than a lucky and accidental link in the chain of circumstances. Heloise thought of her only as a companion who was but faintly and sentimentally interested in an act of her employer’s life over which she had no control. It was to keep up this air of being altogether outside the business that Méduse had said not that Mr. Hard was annoying to “us,” but that “Mr. Hard had been so annoying to you.”
Her attitude gave her so many advantages. Thus when Heloise said in answer to that little flick on the raw, “I wonder whether he knows Mr. Hard?” she was able to say with an admirable and impersonal air. “Well, it didn’t seem important before, but it may explain why he has monopolized you since you came on board.”
Heloise was suddenly aware how easily, how frequently she had slipped off with Clement Seadon. Had he monopolized her? Why——? She remembered how she had talked to him about Sicamous, about mining. How he had warned her.... Was that the reason? His lawyers were her lawyers ... her lawyers had warned her, too. Was that the reason?
And then as the girl sat quietly, feeling suspicious, miserable, hurt, the clever Miss Méduse Smythe improved the shining hour. She fired another little barb: “Of course, you are both young, and he is very handsome and has charming ways with him—I could understand your getting on so well together ... indulging in even a little ship-board flirtation.”
Heloise gasped. She was acutely conscious of Clement’s good looks, his charming ways—had they been used to an end? And flirting—had she flirted?
“You think I have been flirting?” she said in a low, breathless voice.
“You?” smiled Miss Méduse tolerantly. “Oh, no, I don’t think you flirted, my dear. I know how you feel about your Mr. Gunning.” Heloise winced. She had not been feeling very much about Mr. Gunning lately. She was unpleasantly reminded of her inconstancy—as Miss Méduse Smythe meant her to be reminded. “I knew you were safe enough,” the smiling companion went on, “but I don’t know about that young man.... He seemed, well, yes, I must say, I think he flirted.”
That practically ended the conversation. A conversation with apparently very little in it, but a very telling conversation all the same. When Heloise went to bed she carried it with her. And as she tossed unsleeping, its different phases kept turning over in her mind, turning over and over with something of the steady throbbing of the engines in their ceaselessness.
So that while Clement Seadon, also awake, was tossing in his bunk, the throb of the engines beating out entrancingly the thoughts, “I’ll marry her ... I love her and I’ll marry her ... I’ll make her marry me ... I’ll save her through loving her....” Heloise lay awake asking herself: “Is he in league against me? Is he tricking me? After all I thought of him, isn’t he tricking me? His lawyers are my lawyers. He has wormed out my secret from me ... things my lawyers did not know. Things they wanted to know? Was that accidental, or was it cunning? Is he fighting against—Harry?” She shivered in disgust at herself. “Harry ... have I acted honorably towards Harry? I have flirted with this man ... flirted! I’ve enjoyed his company, I’ve come to like him ...” she could not go on. She dare not go on. She dare not put her feelings for Clement Seadon under close examination.... “I’ve behaved dishonorably. I’ve forgotten Harry for this man who has—has been working against Harry.” Her heart chilled. “Perhaps his—his flirting with me was part of his plan against Harry....”
The whole of these thoughts jumbled and tumbled together in her anguished mind. The duplicity of Clement Seadon became entangled with her own inconstancy towards Henry Gunning, until, in the end, they became one and the same thing, and Seadon was the archvillain responsible for all ... as the adroit Mr. Neuburg and the clever Miss Méduse Smythe had meant him to be.
And so when the morning came Clement rose saying with immense purpose, “I’ll do it to-day. It’s the last day; to-morrow we land. I will tell her I love her to-day. I’ll make her love me.”
As he said that with great cheerfulness, Heloise, rising, jaded, worn out, with a mind incapable of clear and unprejudiced thought, said, “I must find out. I’ll put it to the test. I’ll confront him with this letter. And if I am right....”
She knew a little pain, but that only strengthened her resolve. If she found out she was right, then it would be finished. Clement Seadon would not be allowed to intrude into her life again.
It was the last day of the voyage, and Clement Seadon, supremely conscious of the fact, was feeling baffled.
Again Heloise Reys was proving unapproachable. Again he was finding it difficult to get near her because of the crowd about her. The blockade of the first days of the trip was resumed.
But now Clement could not view this blockade with equanimity. He could not smile and bide his time—there was no time. Already they were passing up the mighty river St. Lawrence, already the end of the voyage was in sight. A few hours only were all that were left to him. He must get her alone.
He could not get her alone—not for a moment. And as the day relentlessly advanced, a further, a more disturbing thought was born in upon him—she did not want to be left alone with him. He began to realize this with a sense of dismay. It was she who was putting barriers between them. It was she who kept her companion close at her side, who actually invited the big man to fill the vacancy when the companion went away. It was not the pair shutting him out; it was Heloise herself deliberately shutting him out with the pair.
He could not understand it. She had left him in perfect friendliness last night. There was no hint of misunderstanding—estrangement. Why had she changed? What was causing her to stand so aloof from him? Was it the doing of that precious rascally pair? Was it anything he himself had done or said? Was it, perhaps, the way he had talked about the mining venture? He did not think so. He knew that had pained her—that could not be helped; but it had not offended her. She had left him, well, in such a manner that he had felt confident of winning her as a lover....
No, it wasn’t that—but what was it? Some deep and cunning game of those rogues. Something subtle and devilish emanating from the brain of that master villain Neuburg—that was the only explanation. But what it was he could not find out. And the fact that there was so little time to find out, win back her confidence—that and the real ardor he felt for her, robbed his wits of their habitual steadiness, made them unstable, in a crisis.
And the crisis came. It came with an unfair abruptness. It could not be aught else, for Heloise’s wits were also in something of a whirl. She was dreading the moment of confronting Clement, just as she was determined that she would do so. Her mind had been an affair of veering unstability all day. Now she believed him to be underhand, now she disbelieved. Now she hated him, now she thought he could do nothing dishonorable. Now she made up her mind to go to him, now she held back. She was a mass of hesitations and decisions; she was hot, and she was cold.
She made up her mind only a few minutes before the dressing-bugle sounded. Clement had tramped past her in dark loneliness, had turned and passed round the end of the deck. She felt, “I must do it now or never.” With an indefinite gesture, more than half an appeal for support, to her companion, she rose and went after him.
She expected to see him on the other side of the deck, and she would call him and hand him his letter.... But when she reached the end of the deck she actually ran into him. He had swung round on his heel, returned in his tracks.... As a matter of fact, he had made up his mind to talk to her, to demand an explanation from her.
They met. It was a shock. They stared at each other a little breathless. Then, “This is your letter,” said Heloise.
Clement took it, looked at it, frowned.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “But how on earth....” Heloise wasn’t going to trouble about trivial explanations.
“I looked at it because Rigby & Root are my lawyers as well as your own—did you know that?”
Clement was too honest, as well as too startled, to tell anything but the truth.
“Yes, I did know it,” he said.
Heloise’s breath caught in something like a sob. There was a sudden blaze of contempt and anger in her heart; she had trusted this man ... and liked him.
“And you knew about me ... about the reason of my voyage?”
“Miss Reys——” he began.
“Did you?” she cried. “Did you?”
“Yes, I knew, but——”
“You knew,” she cried at him, and her face was white. “And you were acting in the interests of—of Mr. Hard?...”
Clement stared at her. This sudden attack had left his wits woolly and bewildered. And, of course, he was, in a sense, acting in the interests of Mr. Hard. If he said he wasn’t he would be lying. And yet Mr. Hard wasn’t the whole of the thing ... but the whole of the thing.... How could he explain it to her in this unsympathetic mood, in the presence of her archenemy and his, Miss Méduse?... He couldn’t explain. He could only temporize. He cried, “Miss Reys ... there is an explanation behind it all....”
He got no further. Heloise read his hesitation correctly. He was acting for Mr. Hard. He had, under the guise of friendship, been conspiring against her....
She turned about. Clutching the arm of the clever Miss Méduse Smythe she walked away, left him.
The first thing Clement Seadon did was to give way to one of those outbursts of anger that, in time, bring calmness. They had scored over him—they had tricked him, these blackguards. They had dealt him a very damaging blow.
Then from this anger against their very definite triumph, his cooling brain turned to the matter which had helped them to score that point. The explanation he found was perfectly simple. That letter had been stolen from his despatch case. He was not of the type that leaves letters lying about, particularly lawyers’ letters. Theft, that was the solution. Some one had been through his effects. They had found this letter, appreciated its worth as a means of alienating Heloise. They had been clever, as clever as he thought they were, and had struck at him at the psychological moment.
Who had been the thief? That, again, was easy. Who else but the rascally steward, a fellow in their pay, a member of the gang, who had the right to come and go in all the cabins. And, now that the thing was brought acutely to his mind, he recalled seeing the rogue hanging about in the gallery, conspicuously near his door. He remembered him, not merely because of his redoubtably evil face, but also because he was so resolutely dirty.... His should-be white steward’s jacket had a beastly and disfiguring stain of yellow—rust, perhaps—up the left arm and shoulder.
Yes, that criminal-looking steward was the thief—but what matter? That part was passed and over. Could the thing be remedied? It looked black. It looked as though Heloise Reys would for the future hold him at arm’s length—only she must not. For her own sake, if not for his, he must prevent her holding him at arm’s length. He must speak with her.
It would be difficult. He might see and be able to speak to her to-night, after dinner, but he was not hopeful. She would evade him—Neuburg and the Gorgon would see to that. To-morrow—less hope to-morrow. The hustle and bustle of leaving the ship at Quebec would give no opportunity. At Quebec ... he gained a ray of comfort. At Quebec, yes, it might be done. He knew that she was to stay at the Château Frontenac for at least two days. She had told him she had rooms reserved there.... And so had he. Well, if he could not see her, even if he had to force himself upon her, during those two days, then he wasn’t the man he thought he was.
Quebec would be his salvation. Quebec would see him right himself with her, put him on a footing which would enable him better to counteract the plans of her enemies. He felt more sanguine.
More than that, he felt his old capacity and alertness come back to him.
It was as well it did. He had full need of those qualities.
For the gang was not leaving things to chance. Mr. Neuburg, that master mind, was aware that Quebec would give him opportunities for regaining ground with Heloise. Mr. Neuburg meant to prevent that.
As the great liner pushed up the vast river towards that city of beauty and history, that on its great cliff hangs like a fairy citadel over the shining waters, Mr. Neuburg acted. He devised an acute, a cunning and a beastly plan for getting Clement Seadon out of the way.
As the big vessel was wharping into the dockside, Clement Seadon, who had remained on deck to the last possible moment in the hope of seeing Heloise Reys, went below. He went below disconsolately to gather together his traps, and to prepare for his effort in Quebec.
He went below, past the busy stewards working in their shirt-sleeves among the baggage, past their glory hole, full of their clothes and their intimate litter, past the many scattered trunks and suitcases ready to be taken off, past the wholesale reminders of voyages ended, and into his own cabin.
His own kit was, of course, already packed. A good traveler, he got through that swiftly and early. Now he gathered together his stick and his mackintosh and his hat ready for departure. He sat down on his bunk and felt for his cigarette case.
His cigarette case indicated the state of mind he was in; it was empty. For a moment, and in sheer desperation, he felt that he could not be bothered to unstrap his suitcase and dive to its bottom for smoking materials. Then he drove his melancholy from him, pulled the heavy leather case towards him.
In thirty seconds his hand encountered something hard and edgy. Something strange to his groping fingers.... He tugged it out....
In the palm of his hand lay a thing that glittered and flashed. A thing of immense worth—a woman’s tiara.
A woman’s diamond tiara in his suitcase. It was incredible.
Then Clement Seadon jumped alertly to his feet. He saw the meaning of that tiara at once. It had been put there so that he should be branded as a thief, that he—by gad!—that he should be arrested, be kept under lock and key while Heloise Reys was in Quebec.
He saw it all. The devils, the clever devils, this was their plan—Neuburg’s plan—to get him out of the way.
What should he do? The thing was immensely valuable. Return it?... No, couldn’t risk wandering about with that in his possession, for anybody to fling accusations. Oh, but there was something quite simple ... there always is. The purser ... he’d run right along to the purser, hand it to him, say that he had found it. He’d do it now. He guessed he’d have to be quick. Neuburg and his gang would see to it that the loss of that tiara did not go long undiscovered.
He almost ran along the gallery towards the purser’s office. He did not get far. Before he came to the accommodation stairs that led up to the smoking saloon, stairs that stood between him and the purser, he heard an excited babble of voices coming down those stairs.
Yes, there was a definite excitement in them. Men’s voices raised in protest and advice. A woman’s voice, hysterical and accusative.... A woman who had a grievance.
The hunt was up.... They were after that tiara.
It was absolutely impossible to go on. They were bound to see him ... and he had that damnable tiara on him.... He glanced about wildly.... There seemed no way of escape, and the voices were very near.... They were about to come round the corner.... Like a fox bolting to earth, Clement Seadon dived into the empty glory hole. He crouched behind the door amid the hanging coats.... The voices passed him talking at a babble.... He heard them drifting along the gallery towards his cabin.... He stood up, scrutinizing his lair carefully. No other way out except by the door he had come in. He waited a few moments. Then he stepped out quietly, and walked a little way towards the purser’s office, he must not on any account show haste. He heard voices behind him, he faced about for a moment and looked.... It was a crucial moment. As he looked, the captain of the ship walked out from the alleyway in which his cabin stood, looked along the gallery towards him ... saw him.
He saw him and immediately called out, “Hello, Seadon” (genial Captain Heavy was an old friend), “I say, you’re the man we want. Would you mind coming along here for a moment, my good chap?”
Clement Seadon, with a throbbing heart, went along. He went to his own cabin. There seemed to be a crowd of people in that cabin. In the blur which his painful sensations brought to him, Clement could only distinguish one excited and angry lady and a steward—the evil little steward. He turned his face quickly away from these. He looked at Captain Heavy. He meant to say something to Heavy, but his mouth was parched.
Captain Heavy, his good-tempered face frowning, understood that inquiring look. “Yes, it does seem an idiot mob to thrust into a man’s cabin, old chap. None of my doing. I—well, look here, it’s a rotten and unwarrantable thing, but—but you see this lady has lost a valuable piece of jewelry ... a diamond tiara.... She says it has been stolen....”
“It has been stolen,” snapped the lady.
“Well—she says it has been stolen. And one of the stewards declares he knows who did it. In fact—in fact, old man, he has the—the effrontery to say that it was—you.”
“Well,” said Clement, in a voice whose evenness surprised him.
“Well—well,” said the distressed captain. “Well—they came along to see for themselves—to—to search.”