"I don't want to go back to the ship," Bernice declared. She was already fathoms deep in astonished rapture. "You know how I hate it!"
"Then we'll stay here in Africa. Easy!"
"And—and get married, like you said?"
"Jesus, honey!" answered Louis, "you don't think I'd let you get awaynow?"
"I know what," said Bernice happily. "We'll send them a telegram."
"Sir, I can't imagine where they've gone," reported Tiptree-Jones on the long-distance telephone from Johannesburg. Beneath the smooth manner there was some agitation; he felt that he was going to be blamed, whatever happened. "The position here is that we move on to the Game Reserve, early tomorrow morning, and neither Scapelli nor the girl have been seen by anyone, for at least twenty-four hours. They didn't sleep at the hotel last night, either."
"It's your job to keep an eye on them," growled the Captain. But he was not yet worried; passengers did strange things, but he could not imagine anyone doing a strange thing to Bernice Beddington. "I suppose, if the truth was known, you were damned glad to have her taken off your hands."
"Well," said Tiptree-Jones, detecting benevolence in an unexpected quarter, "therewas that, sir."
Captain Harmer glanced down at his watch. It was nine o'clock in the evening; he himself had to take the Alcestis out, at first light, for Durban. "There's not much you can do except wait," he decided finally. "Ring me up again at midnight. If they haven't shown up by then, we might have to tell the police. Of course, it's probably nothing at all. I don't trust Scapelli in any area known to God, but I think I would trust him with Bernice. I dare say their car broke down somewhere."
"I'll ring again at twelve, sir," said Tiptree-Jones. He sounded relieved—on one point, at least. "And, sir—"
"What is it?"
"Do you think you could switch this call to the doctor? I'd like to speak to him."
"The doctor?" said Harmer, irritated. "What do you want the doctor for?"
From a long way away, rather faint, Tiptree-Jones answered: "Well, it's a personal matter, sir."
The Captain allowed himself a single short laugh, for the frailties of human nature which could be thus betrayed in odd areas; then he switched the call, and hung up. He was still not worried; it was just a question as to whether, at this stage, the girl's parents should be told. If it were anyone but Scapelli. . . . After the second call at midnight, with no further news, he was still debating the next step when Mr. Beddington himself stormed into the cabin, and almost shouted:
"I want an explanation of this, Captain!"
"I beg your pardon," said Harmer coldly.
'"We've been having dinner ashore—only just got back." Small, like his wife, Mr. Beddington supplemented his stature with a towering indignation. "There was this telegram waiting for us. My wife has it!"
"Telegram?"
"Our little girl's gone off with that wop!"
6
"It's disgraceful!" said Mrs. Beddington, for the twentieth time; but already she was calmer, and there was less conviction in her voice. Carl, faced with the most crucial moment of the voyage, and aware all the time of the Captain's deep resentment, was doing a masterly job of spreading a thick layer of soft soap over the entire area. To restore any kind of normality to the situation, he had to make two points: firstly, that Louis was actually a highly desirable character, and, secondly, that Bernice Beddington had brought off something like a coup, something for which her parents had been praying for years.
The first requirement was in the realm of the impossible, and the second was difficult to press home without seeming offensive. But in his singular display of skill, with the Captain prepared to jump in, any time he faltered, Carl had never shown better form on any track in the world.
To begin with, anger and alarm had predominated; the Beddingtons, ready to blame anyone remotely concerned with the outrage, were all for action—action in any direction. They sat side by side on the Captain's long sofa, a small tough team armoured by a just cause, and belaboured anything they could reach.
"You must have him tracked down, and arrested!" declared Mrs. Beddington. Her main target was Carl, sitting opposite her on a hard upright chair. "It's your responsibility! He's your nephew, isn't he? You're liable for whatever he does wrong! It's the law!"
"Technically, that is not so," answered Carl, with judicious calm.
"I was his legal guardian when he was under-age, but that of course is no longer true. He is now an adult, with an adult's freedom of action."
"Freedom!" exclaimed Mrs. Beddington. "Don't you dare talk to me about freedom! If he's your nephew, you should control him! Everyone knows he's got a terrible reputation, everyone knows he's been chasing after every woman in the ship! Most of them old enough to be his mother, too!"
"But obviously," said Carl, "he has now decided to settle down."
"Of course he's decided to settle down," it was Mr. Beddington's turn to explode, "with a girl who owns half a million dollars of my company's stock in her own right!" He swung round to the Captain, sitting watchfully at his desk. "What I want to know is, how a thing like this can happen. A young single girl goes away on a trip like this, surely there's someone in charge? A chaperon, or something? Is this your idea of proper supervision? Let me tell you, if this was a business deal, you could be sued for gross incompetence!"
The Captain kept his temper; it had been a very long time since anyone had spoken to him in these terms, but he realized the genuine distress behind the outburst. His own anger was reserved for Carl, and for this whole shoddy gang who could make a farm-yard out of a decent ship. . . .
"Naturally we exercise supervision," he said, as firmly as he felt necessary. "But you must realize that we are not dealing with children. Most passengers resent any kind of control; they feel quite capable of organizing their own lives. And after all, your daughter is of age, and presumably you must trust her, or you wouldn't have allowed her to make this Johannesburg trip alone. I would have thought she was the very last person to get into any sort of trouble."
"What do you mean, the very last person?" inquired Mrs. Bedding-ton, with an edge to her voice.
"I mean," said Harmer, "she's a most sensible girl, well able to take care of herself."
"And now she's been seduced!" said Mr. Beddington bitterly. "And by one of your own passengers—the biggest bastard in the ship!" He looked round at Carl. "I agree with my wife—I think you've got a hell of a lot to answer for, as well."
Carl assumed a highly shocked expression. "Did you use the word 'seduced'?" he inquired, as if he had overheard some rude version of a hymn. "I must say I am very surprised. Your daughter's telegram said nothing of any such—ah—development. All she said was—" he glanced down, and read from the fatal piece of paper, "—'Staying here till I can marry Louis Scapelli very happy don't worry best love Bernice'." In the silence that followed, Carl went on: "That seems to me, if I may say so, a telegram that any mother and father would be glad and proud to receive."
"Glad and proud?" said Mr. Beddington, stopped in his tracks. "What the hell do you mean, glad and proud? She's run away, and she's going to get married—maybe. The man involved is a woman-chasing bastard, probably without a cent to his name. What is there to be glad and proud about?"