"Come on," whispered Morgan. "You're getting nerves, Skipper. Stuff those things away somewhere, and let's get out of here. We'll put this little job through without any hitch, and they'll never suspect us… "
A voice said:
"You think so?"
Morgan felt his skin crawl, and his head bump forward against the trunk as he knelt. The voice was not loud, but it brought the universe to a standstill like a dead clock. After it the silence was so heavy that he seemed unable to hear the sea or the thrumming curtain.
He looked up.
The door to the bathroom, previously closed, was standing open. Captain Whistler stood with one hand on the knob and the other on a trigger. He was wearing full-dress uniform, an arabesque of gold braid against the blue, from which the breeze (Morgan noticed even in that glassy, frozen moment) brought a wave of Swat Number 2 Liquid Insect Exterminator. Captain Whistler's good eye had a malignant gleam as at the realisation of some obvious fact that had hitherto escaped him… Behind him, Second-Officer Baldwin was looking over his shoulder…
His glance travelled to the emerald in Morgan's hand.
"So you two," said Captain Whistler, "were the real thieves, after all. I might have known it. I was a fool not to see it first off last night… Don't move! All right, Mr. Baldwin. Move out and see if they're armed. Steady now…" -
17 — Bermondsey Carries On
There were, as they afterwards reflected, several courses that thoughtful men might have pursued. Even thoughtful men, however, would have conceded that these two conspirators were fairly in the soup. If at one time explanations might have been made to Captain Whistler, both Morgan and Valvick realised that by this time the Parcae hud no tangled matters up that it was practically impossible to explain anything. Morgan himself doubted whether even hull an hour's lucid thought would enable him to explain the situation to himself. Yet there are certain courses which thoughtful men deplore — those courses are elementary, like a reflex action, and spring to the muscles horn a prompting older than reason. Captain Valvick, for Instance, might have held out the steel box. He might have tin own the box on the floor at Whistler's feet, and surrendered in explanation. (a plain Valvick did nothing of the kind, lie threw that steel box, in fact, straight at the light in the roof of Cabin C 46, where it spattered glass and extinguished the same in one reverberating pop. Then he nearly yanked Morgan's arm from his socket swinging him out before himself into the passage and slamming the door behind.
Morgan dimly heard Whistler's avenging yell. Flung against the opposite bulkhead, he bounced back in time!» hear a weight of bodies thud against the door inside.
"Dat old Barnacle!" roared Valvick, whose powerful hands were firmly clamped on the knob at the door as he held it. "Dat!&—£./&???(!! ay show him! He t'ank we iss t'ieves, eh? By jumping Yudas, ay show him. Nobody effer tell me dat before; nobody! Ay show him. Qvick, lad; rope! Ve got to get rope and tie de door shut… "
"Wassermarrer?" inquired a voice behind Morgan.
The voice had to speak loudly and hoarsely, because insane riot banged at the door inside, mingled with baffled bellowings from the Queen Victoria's skipper. Morgan spun round, to see that the door of Cabin C 47 was open. Framed in the doorway, his shoulders filling it and wriggling out at either side, stood a young man who was likewise so tall that he had to bend his head to peer out. He had a flattened countenance and a ruminating jaw like a philosophical cow.
"Coroosh!" roared Valvick, with a blast of thankfulness. He panted. "Bermondsey! Iss dat you?"
"Ho!" said the Bermondsey Terror, his face lighting up. "Sir!"
"Bermondsey — qvick — dere is no time to argue. Ay haff done you a good turn wit' de toot-ache, eh?"
"Ho!" said the Bermondsey Terror.
"And you say you like to do me a good turn? Good! Den you do diss, eh? You hold diss door for me until we can go for help and get aw — can get rope to tie dem up. Here, you hold…"
Uttering his significant monosyllable, the other leaped from the door with a crack of his head on the doorpost which he seemed to mind not at all, and lent his weight to the knob.
"Wot's up?" he inquired.
"Dey iss robbers," said Captain Valvick.
"Ho?"
"Dey steal my pearl cuff-links," rumbled Captain Valvick, with rapid pantomime, "and de platinum studs which my old mudder gave me. Dey steal dis yentleman's watch and his pocket-book wit' all de money… "
"Robbed you?"
"Yess. All ay want you to do iss hold de door v'ile—"
"Ho!" said the Bermondsey Terror, letting to the door to hitch up his belt. "Lemme at 'em!"
"No!" roared the captain, with a hideous insight of what he had done with his burst of poetic fancy. "No! Not dat! Only hold de door! Ay tell you it is de capt—"
The Bermondsey Terror's somewhat diminutive mind was concentrated on business. He hurled his fifteen stone at the door without pausing for explanation or protest. There was a thud and crackle; then a sound suggesting that two rather heavy bodies had been catapulted back across the cabin like bowling-pins. Then Bermondsey plunged Into the dark cabin.
"We've got to stop him!" panted Morgan, trying to get through the door. He was stopped by Valvick's arm. "Listen! he'll—"
"Ay don't t'ink we can do not'ing but run," said Valvick. "No! Stay back. Ay am sorry for old Barnacle, but—"
From the cabin issued hideous muffled noises, language reminiscent of King Kong, and the clean inspiriting crack of knuckles against bone and flesh. A large suit-case sailed out of the darkness, as though from a lively spiritualist stance; banged against the opposite wall and showered underwear, socks, shirts, and papers. The passage began to be inundated with Dr. Kyle's possessions. Morgan, breaking loose, made another effort to dive in at the door. It was a gallant attempt, which might have succeeded if at that moment somebody had not thrown a chair.
Then he had a vague impression that somebody was dragging him away. Dimly he heard the Bermondsey Terror's hoarse voice announcing in muffled accents, between cracks, that he would teach people to steal pearl cuff-links and gold watches that their mothers gave them. When Morgan's wits cleared a second or more later, he was some distance from the scene of tumult. A new sound struck him — a deepening, gathering buzz and laughter. They were in the passage leading to the back stairs of the concert-hall.
"You ain't hurt!" Valvick was saying in his ear. "It yust bump you. Brace up! Qvick, now! De hunt be up in a second, and we got to find a place to hide if we don't want to be put in irons… Sh-h-h! Walk careless! Here iss somebody… "
Morgan straightened up, feeling his eyes crossed in a buzzing head, as somebody stalked round the corner into the narrow gangway. It was a steward bearing a large tray on which there were six tall gilt-foil bottles. Paying no attention to them, the steward swung past and knocked at the door of the dressing-room. In response to his knock there was poked out a face of such appalling hideousness that Morgan blinked. It was a brown face with tangled black hair, murderous squint-eyes, and whiskers.
"Champagne, sir," said the steward, crisply, "for a Mr. D. H. Lawrence. That'll be six pounds six, sir."
The cut-throat leered. On his head he placed rather rakishly a spiked helmet of brass set with emeralds and rubies; so that he could the better reach under an elaborate green robe, where he fumbled a moment, and then laid on the tray two American twenty-dollar bills. The bottles were mysteriously whisked inside by what appeared to be feminine hands behind the warrior. Then, as the steward hastened away, the warrior drew from its scabbard a broad curved scimitar and squinted evilly up and down the passage. Seeing Valvick and Morgan, he beckoned.