"Sheila! How is she? You saw her?"
"Of course. She thinks you're a piker." As he saw the expression of pain that swept like a tide across Neil's face, he hurried on. "Aw, don't let me kid you. She was the one who said you were being made a goat by Swickard. I—I like her."
Neil smiled gaily. "Thank heavens, we can go home now. But how can I get myself right, how can I prove all this crooked work of the company?"
Tod gave him a searching look as he said: "We're not the only one who wants to do that. The cook does too."
"Why the cook?"
"Because he happens to be Captain Tom Jarvis of the Annie Jamison."
Neil's slender hands gripped the knees of his old trousers, then nervously went up to the buttons of his worn blue shirt. "Captain Tom Jarvis!" he breathed, "I suppose he thinks I ran away from the inquiry."
Tod looked out toward the passing row of villas. "He told me he counted on you—you of all men on his ship. And you failed him, Neil. Failed him. Why?"
"Because I didn't think the Board of Inquiry would fixe the blame on him. Swickard said it was only a formality, that the blame rested on no one. I went to Brazil on the Panama for coffee and didn't learn about it until months later. It took me weeks to figure out just what had happened." He paused and ran his hand through his uncovered hair.
"Just what did happen, Neil?"
"You remember it was my first trip as purser. It was our third night out from San Francisco, bound north for Seattle. I remember that I came on deck during the second dog watch, perhaps seven o'clock in the evening. We had run into a fog bank two days before, and the whistle was shrieking every minute or so. I could just see the Point Adams lighthouse winking on the starboard beam. The Columbia River bar wasn't many hours ahead.
"I had been sitting in the chief engineer's cabin amidships, and some sudden noise, I don't know what it was, made me get up and go on deck. I think now that it must have been an explosion in number four hold. Captain Jarvis was laying out the course in the chart room, and what with fooling with the ruler and compass, he must not have heard. It was the second mate who hurried for'ard with the news that number four hatch had blown loose, that the hold beneath was filling with water.
"Captain Jarvis hurried aft as cool as you make them. He didn't know then that it was not only the sea he had to contend with. I heard him order the pumps manned and the watertight bulkheads closed. The crew were a weak bunch, and the chief engineer one of Swickard's friends that I didn't like. I don't know what it was that made me go down to the engine room a half hour later. Perhaps I sensed that something was wrong there. Well, there was 1 The chief had reported to the skipper that all was O. K. below. O. K.! Good heavens, the engine room was filling with water and the steam pipes liable to burst at any moment. I didn't realize until later that they dared lie to the skipper, that they had not closed the bulkheads. They opened them."
Tod listened breathlessly. "Yes—and then?"
"After that, the pumps were useless. A column of water half the size of a man's body was being projected vertically up into the hold; it seemed to come through the manhole of the ballast tank on the port side of the tunnel. The captain realized then that he couldn't save the ship. He gave the order to clear away the boats and signalled to the engine room to stop the engines. By that time, there was such a list to port that the starboard boats couldn't be lowered. Provisions were got out and all hands took to the boats. A half hour later, we were drawn up a half mile or so from the ship, when we heard another explosion—the pressure in the forehold, probably, and the water reaching the boilers.
"We had left the fog bank behind, and the captain had turned the Annie Jamison as near to land as he could. We watched her sink, stern first. It was awful—the crew shivering and the captain not saying a word.
"Next morning, at dawn, we were picked up. A coaster took us in to Portland."
"That was all?"
"Yes. I went back to San Francisco, thinking that if the steamer might perhaps have been saved, it was because of the crazy crew and the chief engineer not trying very hard. I didn't think that they had meant to sink her. I didn't know then that such things happened in everyday life. Well, I know better now. She was overinsured; and the cargo, for all I know, may have been faked crates of tinned goods, with water in them instead of fruit."
Tod turned earnestly to his brother. "Could you and Tom Jarvis prove it now—if you got together?"
Neil shook his head. "I don't know how. We suspect, but that's all. Only—" He stopped and his eyes widened. "Tod, only if they are trying to pull the same stunt on this Araby!"
Tod trembled in his eagerness. "They are, Neil. Jarvis thinks so, too. Swickard's got a captain on her that's drunk half the time, and a first mate that runs things to suit himself. Jarvis says that the Company doesn't mean to let the ship reach San Francisco again."
"They'll have to be mighty careful. The underwriters aren't asleep, you know."
"What are we going to do, then?"
"The American Consul ought to advance us enough to get to Marseilles. We'll see Jarvis, and together go to the insurance office. If the Araby is loading a fake cargo in Marseilles for San Francisco, we'll have them just where we want them."
"The Company has a general cargo waiting at Genoa. We load there for home."
"Then we'll have to go slow. We've got to get them, this time. I can't prove a thing against Swickard yet. I suspect; I know; but there is no direct evidence that would convict him in any court. He's slick, he's smooth. But how can we get him?"
"Tom Jarvis knows. I'm sure he knows more than he says. He's waiting—waiting to spring a trap on them. That'll prove he wasn't to blame. And we'll help him, Neil; we'll let him know that he was mistaken when he said Neil Moran ran away."
Neil turned and gripped his brother's hand. "Put it there, kid," he said. "We'll show him—yes."
Ten minutes later, they descended in the Rue de France, where a gendarme pointed out their way. Before the American Consulate in the Boulevard Victor Hugo, a flag was flying, a flag that made Tod's heart give a little leap. Home! Home!
The American Consul himself was not visible; but his secretary proved to be a middle-aged man of kindly countenance and with a humorous twist about his mouth. He listened to their story as told by Neil, and smiled.
"H—m. Sailors away from your ship, eh? Want to get back to Marseilles. Where's your papers?"
"I haven't mine," Neil acknowledged; "but my brother has his all right."
The secretary looked them over. "Steamer Araby. One moment." He turned to his desk, brought forth a shipping guide, and ran his finger down a list. "Here we are. Marseilles Harbour, offshore vessels in port: Achilles, Algonquin, Antonio Giomi, Anyo Maru, Apremont, Araby —here it is. Captain Ramsey, merchandise to Granet and Company. H—m! How long did you say you had been ashore?"
"Three days," Tod replied.
The secretary gave them a quizzical glance. "The Araby cleared for Genoa last night."
For an instant Tod thought the room was whirling. He steadied himself.
"For Genoa!" Neil's voice was hoarse with disappointment.
"The mate probably filled your places when you didn't turn up. Too bad. I'd better give you a letter to the office in Marseilles; they will see that you get a berth for home. New York, probably, though. Do you mind that?"
"But we've got to get back on the Araby." Tod's voice trembled with emotion.
"Of course you have; but you're too late. She's gone."