"On the night of Uncle Warpus's eloquence, I was a little tight myself. The packing up I left to the butler, and I showed him how to do the marking. What must have happened — I can see it now — was that he got the notations mixed. I carefully destroyed two reels that I thought were the right ones. But, like an imbecile" — Warren got out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one askew into his mouth— "like an imbecile, I only examined one of the reels with any care. So I destroyed the Gettysburg Address, the Dagger Scene, and the singing of 'Annie Laurie.' But the rest of it… well, I can figure it now. What I got rid of were some swell shots of the Bronx Park Zoo.'
"And the rest of it?"
Warren pointed to the floor.
"In my luggage, without my knowing it. Never a suspicion, you see, until this afternoon. Gaa! what a situation. Well, you see, I had an urgent radiogram I had to send off to somebody at home—"
"Oh?" said Miss Glenn, sitting up and eyeing him suspiciously.
"Yes. To my old man. So I went up to the wireless-room. The operator said he'd just received a message for me. He also said, 'This looks like code. Will you check it over and make sure it's all right?' Code. Ho-ho! I glanced over it, and it seemed so queer that I read it aloud. You must remember, what with the excitement of going away and things on board here and all, I'd forgotten that little performance entirely. Besides, the radiogram was unsigned; I suppose Uncle Warpus didn't dare…" Warren shook his head sadly, a weird turbaned figure with the cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth and his face scrubbed like a schoolboy's. Then he took the cable from his pocket. "It said, 'found traces in sweeping out. Hiller—' that's his butler; old family retainer; wouldn't squeal if Uncle Warpus pinched the silver out of the White House—'Hiller nervous. They look like bears. Is this real reel. Urgent no hitch in sarcasm effaced. Advise about bears.'"
"Eh?" demanded Captain Valvick, who was puffing slowly.
"That's the closest he could take a chance on coming to it," Warren explained. "Bears in the zoo. But it's not the sort of thing that makes much sense when it's sprung on you unexpectedly. I argued it out with the wireless operator, and it wasn't until ten minutes later that it struck me — how the devil was I to know Uncle Warpus had sent it? So I couldn't connect up the words; then suddenly it hit me.
"Well, I rushed down here to my cabin. It was getting dark, and besides, the curtain was drawn over the porthole… but there was somebody in here."
"And of course," said Morgan, "you didn't see who it was?"
"When I get that low-down" — snarled Warren, going off at a tangent and glaring murderously at the waterbottle— "when I find — no, damn it! All I knew was that it was a man. He had my film-box over in the corner, half the tins with their lids off (I found this later) and had the right roll in his hands. I dived for him, and he let go a hard one at my face. When I grabbed him I grabbed a piece of the film. He cracked out again — there isn't much space in here, and the boat was pitching pretty heavily — then we staggered over against the washstand while I tried to slam him against the wall. I didn't dare let go of the film. The next thing I knew the whole cabin went up like a flashlight powder; that was his blackjack on the back of my head. I didn't quite lose consciousness, but the place was going round in sparks; I slugged him again, and I was bent over the part of the film I had. Then he yanked the door open and got out somehow. I must have been knocked out for a few minutes then. When I came to, I rang for the steward, sloshed some water on my head, and discovered—" With his foot Warren raised the tangle of film on the floor.
"But didn't you see him?" asked the girl, in her fluttering concern, again taking hold of his head and causing an agonised "Ow!" She jumped. "I mean, old boy, that, after all, you were fighting with him…"
"No, I didn't see him, I tell you! It might have been anybody… But the question is, what's to be done? I'm appealing to you for help. We've got to get that piece of film back. He got — maybe fifty feet of it. And that's as dangerous as though he'd got all of it."
3 — Trap for a Film Thief
"Well," Morgan observed thoughtfully, "I admit this is the rummiest kind of secret-service mission that a self-respecting hero was ever called on to undertake. It rouses my professional instincts."
He felt a glow of pleasurable excitement. Here was he, an eminent writer of detective stories, involved in one of those complicated spy plots to recover a stolen document and preserve the honour of a great Personage. It was the sort of thing that would have been nuts to Mr. Oppenheim; and, Morgan reflected, he himself had often used the background of a luxurious ocean liner, sweeping its lighted decks through waters floored with stars — full of monocled crooks sipping champagne; of pale, long-necked Ladies with a Purpose who are not interested in love-making; and of dirty work in general. (The women in a secret-service story seldom are interested in love-making; that is the trouble with it.) Although the Queen Victoria was scarcely the boat for such goings-on, Morgan considered the idea and found it good. Outside, it had begun to rain. The liner was bumping like a tub against the crash of the swell, and Morgan lurched a little as he stalked up and down the narrow cabin, revolving plans, pushing his glasses up and down his nose, becoming each second more excited with the prospect.
"Well?" demanded Peggy Glenn. "Say something, Hank! Of course we help him, don't we?"
She still seemed hurt by the behaviour of the eminent soaks; but her protective instincts had been roused and her small jaw was very square. She had even put on her shell-rimmed reading-glasses, which lent a look of unwonted sombreness (or flippant make-believe, if you like) to the thin face. And she had removed her hat, to show a mop of black bobbed hair. Sitting with one leg curled under her, she regarded Morgan almost fiercely. He said:
"My girl, I wouldn't miss it for — well, for a good deal. Ha! It is obvious,' he continued, with relish, and hoped it was true, "that there is aboard a wily and clever international crook who is determined to secure that film for purposes of his own. Very good. We therefore form a Defensive Alliance… "
"Thanks," said Warren, in some relief. "God knows I need help and — you see, you were the only people I could trust. Well, then?"
"Right. You and I, Curt, will be the Brains. Peggy will be the Siren, if we need one. Captain Valvick will be the Brawn—"
"Hah!" snorted the captain, nodding vigorously and lifting his shoulders with approval. He twinkled down on them, and raised his arm with terrific gusto. " 'For God! For de cause! For de Church! For de laws,' " he thundered unexpectedly. " 'For Charles, King of England, and Rupert off de Rhine!' Ha-ha-ha."
"What the devil's that?" demanded Morgan.
"Ay dunno yust what it mean," admitted the captain, blinking on them rather sheepishly. "Ay read it in a book once, and ay t'ink it iss fine. If ay ever get stirred up in de heart — hoooo-o! — Ay say it." He shook his head. "But ay got to be careful wit' de books. When ay finish reading one, ay got to be careful to write its name down so I don't forget and go back and read it all over again."
He looked on them with great amiability, rubbing his nose, and inquired, "But what iss dere you want me to do?"
"First," said Morgan, "it's agreed that you don't want official steps taken, Curt? I mean, you could tell Captain Whistler—?"
"Lord, no!" the other said violently. "I can't do that, don't you see? If we get this back at all, it's got to be under the strictest cover. And that's where it's going to be difficult. Out of the whole passenger-list of this boat, how are we going to pick out the person who might want to steal the thing? Besides, how did the fellow know I had that film, if I didn't know it myself?"