"So I sneaked away and made straight for Kyle's cabin to get the goods on him. I wasn't afraid of running into Kyle because I looked through a porthole and saw him in the bar; besides, I knew he was due at the concert. And— there you are. The proof! Also, I've got his papers. All I was afraid of was what Captain Whistler had said about maybe catching Kyle, but everything was fine. Now all we've got to do is examine his papers, and we'll find evidence that he's really the crook who's impersonating Dr. Kyle____"
"Yess, dere is de papers, too," rumbled Captain Valvick. "It is a hawful offence, ay tell you. Worst offence on de high seas to steal a man's papers. What we going to do now?"
Morgan stalked up and down the cabin, slapping his hand against the back of his head.
"There's only one thing. We've got to get Curt back to the brig before the captain learns he's on the loose. I don't see how it's to be done without—Mrs. Perrigord" he said whirling round, "what are you doing?"
"But, my own Henry," protested Mrs. Perrigord, jumping involuntarily. Her face wrinkled up in anguish. "Oh, I do so hope I didn't offend you! Reolly, I was only ringing the bell for the steward. Pierre Louys wants a bottle of champagne, you know, and you know it would be dreadfully rude if we didn't kick-offer… But I reolly didn't know which was the b-bell, so what could I do but ring oil the bells, you see… "
Morgan reeled. He dived and caught her arm just as she
was about to press a last push-button, hitherto overlooked, and labelled "Fire Alarm."
"Peggy," he said, "if you ever showed any sense and speed, show 'em now. If those bells don't bring down a Blob, at least there'll be a crowd of highbrows swarming in ire If things are all ready for the performance. At the moment, this is the safest place on the ship for Curt if you'll do as I tell you. Black his face — fit him out in wig Mild whiskers… "
"I will, Captain!" said Peggy grimly. "The poor darling sha'n't go back to that horrible old brig if 1 can help it. But what—?"
Morgan took her hands and looked her steadily in the aye.
"Can i trust you and Curt here for just five Minutes — just five minutes, that's all I ask — without your getting in more trouble. You can stay out of more trouble for live minutes, can't you?"
"I swear it, Hank! But what are you going to do?" " The skipper and I are going to take those papers back to that cabin before anybody discovers they're gone. There's no chance of being caught; the only chance and danger is here. Give me that emerald, Curt. I don't know What's happened or what it is, but we'll take it back and be quit of the responsibility. Hand it over!"
"Are you stark, raving crazy?" shouted Warren. "I risk life and limb and my position in the Diplomatic Service to get the goods on a murdering crook, and now you ask me lo hand back—"
Morgan lowered his voice, perceiving this was the only Way of handling the matter, and fixed him with a hypnotic
eye.
"This is subtle, Curt. A subtle, deep scheme, you see. We only pretend to do it. But the moth is in our net now. A pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to our Baker Street collection! You see? You trusted the wit and resource of Lord Gerald in a tight spot; now trust it again.
… Eh? Ah, that's it. That's it, old chap. Papers all here? Good! And — er — go light on the whisky, will you, or what there is left of it, until we get back? Stout fellow… Now, remember, Peggy, you've promised there'll be no trouble. I rely on you. Come on, Skipper… "
He backed away gingerly, as a lion-tamer might swerve to get out of a cage. Mrs. Perrigord said she wanted to go with Henry. She insisted on going with Henry. Exactly how she was dissuaded from this intention Morgan never knew, since he and Valvick slid out a fraction of a second before the closing door.
The gangway was empty, although a more confused buzzing and laughing, mingled with the deep note of people shuffling chairs, swept down from the staircase up to the stage.
"Well, remarked the skipper musingly, "we is de only two people left wit' any sense, and ay don't t'ink much of diss Lord Gerald, whoever he iss. Coroosh! Ay don't believe de government off de United States need to care much about dat movie-film. Ay dunno if dey know it, but dey have bigger worries. All dey got to do iss send dat young Warren out in de Diplomatic Service and dey are going to have a war every week. It iss up to us. We got to save de situation."
"We'll save it, Skipper. Easy, now!… Damn it! Don't walk like a crook! We're only out for a stroll. Take these papers. Round the corner here. At least, thank the Lord we've kept out of trouble so far. If anybody saw Curt sneaking back to Kyle's cabin, he'd be pounced on in a second. We haven't got a chance to put Kyle's papers back where they were — he'll know there's been a burglary— but at least there'll be nothing missing. In the ensuing search this emerald… Look here, do you think somebody's pinched it back from Sturton?"
"Ay not be surprised. Ay not be surprised at anyt'ing. Sh-h-h, now! Here is where we turn off. Listen!"
At a dim side-passage off the main corridor they stopped and peered down. All the noises of the ship were away from them, in the dim tumult of the throng milling up on B deck towards the concert-hall. Here it was so quiet the sea's rush and murmur became again discernible, and the low creaking of woodwork. But there were voices some-where. They listened a moment before they could place them as coming from behind the closed door of C 47 in the passage.
"It iss all right," whispered the captain, nodding. "Dat iss Sparks and hiss cousin, de Bermondsey Terror. Ay half start de Bermondsey Terror off on Old Rob Roy, and ay bet he don't want to stop. But don't disturb 'em, or we Haff to explain. Walk soft____!"
C' 46, Dr. Kyle's cabin, had its door closed. They tip-toed down, and Morgan felt his heart rise in his throat, growing to an enormous pounding, as he softly turned the knob. He pushed it open…
Nobody inside.
One danger passed. If there had been somebody…
Again he felt hot fear as he switched on the light, but there was nobody. It was a large cabin, with what he supposed to be a bathroom attached, and now in a wild state of confusion. Not even a private detective could have called Warren's methods in the least subtle.
Under the porthole stood a large wardrobe trunk with Its leaves apart, its lid propped up and top shelf streaming ties. He pointed.
"Look there, Skipper. If that steel box were thrown in this porthole last night, it would land behind that trunk and nobody would ever see it unless the trunk were moved… "
Valvick closed the door softly. He was peering at two valises open on the floor, and an unlocked brief-case lying across the berth.
"Come on," he said; "we haff to work fast. Take a handful of these papers and shove 'em somew'ere. Coroosh! Ay feel like a crook! Ay don't like diss. What you doing?"
Morgan was groping behind the trunk. His fingers touched metal, and he withdrew the circular box with the hinged lid. He stared at it a moment, and handed it to Valvick.
'There it is, Skipper. And here's the elephant" — he stared at Warren's trophy in his hand and shivered. "Come on; let's put it back. The less we have to do… "
"Listen!" said Valvick, cocking his head.
Nothing. The porthole was open; they heard the curtain thrumming in the breeze, and the multitudinous rustlings of the sea. Also, very faintly, they could hear the murmur of voices from the gangway opposite, where sat Sparks and the Bermondsey Terror. Nothing else.