WHAT NORAH SAW.
“BOTHER!” said Norah, with vexation.
She sat up in bed in the dark. From the skylight over her door a very faint light filtered in from the shaded lamp in the alley-way; but the cabin was very gloomy.
“Toothache is bad enough in the day,” murmured Norah, indignantly. “But when it wakes one up at night——!” She put her hand to her face, trying to still the throbbing of the offending tooth; obtaining no relief, as was natural, seeing that for half an hour she had been trying such simple means, aided by the warmth of her pillow. The tooth had refused to be soothed; it was evident that sterner measures were demanded.
“Now, if I could remember where I put that bottle of toothache stuff——!” she pondered. “Brownie packed it, I know, and I’m sure I unpacked it; but where did I put it? And I can’t switch on my light to look. Bother the old Germans!”
She slipped out of bed. The breeze blew in sharply through the open port-hole, and shivering a little, she groped for her dressing-gown and slippers, and, having donned them, drew the curtain across the port-hole. Then she found her little electric torch, and blinked as its ray illuminated the cabin.
“That’s better,” she reflected. “Now for that horrid little bottle.”
It is not very easy to hunt for a small object in drawers and boxes when one hand is occupied in pressing the button of an electric torch; and the search was somewhat prolonged. Finally, the missing toothache cure turned up in the retirement of a work-bag, and Norah thankfully applied it to the troublesome tooth. By this time she was cold and tired—glad to get back to the warm comfort of bed.
Peace, however, did not last long. In a very few minutes a heavy step sounded in the alley-way, and an authoritative tap at her half-open door.
“Who’s there?” said Norah, quaking.
“Quartermaster, ma’am,” said a deep voice. “Officer of the watch wants to know if your port is uncovered. Light showing on this side.”
Norah explained briefly.
“My curtain was drawn,” she finished; “and my little torch doesn’t give much light. The purser said I might use it.”
“The purser doesn’t have to stand watch at night,” said the quartermaster, acidly. “That there torch of yours must give more light than you think, ma’am. Orders are to close your port if found open and light showing. Can I come in, ma’am?”
He came in; a sternly official figure in oilskins, bearing a shaded lantern. At the sight of the dismayed little figure with the mass of disordered curls, he relented somewhat.
“Oh, it’s you, miss! Now, didn’t you know you was disobeying orders?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Norah, sturdily. “I had leave. And that is all the light my little torch gives.” She pressed the button.
“Well, it don’t look exactly powerful and that’s a fact,” remarked the quartermaster. “Still, orders is orders—and you’d be surprised to see how a light shines out through a winder, miss, when you’re lookin’ down from the bridge.”
“Well, I won’t light it again—not at all—if only you’ll leave the port open,” Norah pleaded. “The ship is stuffy enough without having one’s cabin stuffy too.”
“Lor, you should put your nose into our quarters, miss!” remarked the quartermaster. “No draughts up there, I promise you! We wouldn’t sleep easy with all this cold air a-blowin’ in.” He looked at Norah’s distressed face. “Well, if you give me your word there won’t be any more light, miss, I might chance it.”
“Not if I have fifty teeth aching—I promise!” said Norah gratefully. “Thank you ever so much, quartermaster.”
“Don’t mention it,” said the sailor, affably. “Good-night miss—or rather good-morning! It ain’t far off dawn.” He tramped out, leaving the cabin redolent of oilskins and hot lantern.
Jim, a few hours later, was indignant.
“I never heard such bosh,” he said, warmly. “Light—why, that little torch couldn’t be seen a dozen yards away! I wonder who was the officer of the watch. I’d like to speak to him.”
“Oh, don’t bother, Jimmy!” said Norah. “It must show more than we thought, or they couldn’t have seen it, that’s clear. And for all we know, I may never want to use it again. If I do, I’ll rig up a dark serge skirt over the port-hole, and I’m sure no one could see a chink of light then.
“Well, it’s rather a bore to have to do that in the dark, but I suppose there’s no help for it,” said Jim. “And there is really nothing to be gained by speaking to headquarters, I suppose; if the light shows, it mustn’t be permitted, and that’s all about it. I’m glad the quartermaster was decent over it, anyhow.”
“Oh, he was a dear! he might have shut the port-hole, and he didn’t. But I’m sorry the officer should think I disobeyed orders,” added Norah.
“I’ll fix that up with him, if I get a chance,” said her brother. “And don’t you go making a habit of getting toothache and lying awake at night; it isn’t good for you.” He gave her hair a friendly tweak. “Come up on deck; Wally will be looking for us.”
It occurred to Norah two nights later, that she was in a fair way to disobeying at least part of Jim’s injunction. Toothache had not visited her, certainly; but she had a most unusual fit of wakefulness. It was a still night, mild and close; scarcely any breeze came through her port-hole. Early in the night she had found the grey ’possum rug too hot and had cast it off; then a blanket followed suit; and still she was hot and restless, and the little bunk seemed suddenly narrow and uncomfortable.
She got up at last, put on her dressing-gown and leaned out of the port-hole. Without, the night was very dark; somewhere, a storm was brewing, and all the stars had disappeared. A faint, occasional glow of phosphorescence shone from the water racing past. There was refreshment in the cool touch of the night air upon her hot face. Norah liked the sea at night; even though now she could scarcely see it, it was there, great, and quiet, and companionable, with something soothing in the gentle touch of the water on the side of the ship. She liked it best when it came in waves that dashed cheerily beneath her port, breaking in a scatter of star-lit foam; but to-night it was dark and mysterious, and if you were wakeful it was easy to weave stories about it, and to picture tropic islands where just such seas lapped lazily on white coral beaches. In the daytime, Norah was a very practical person, and rarely thought of weaving stories. At night everything seemed different and strange; and the sea took possession of her imagination and whispered to her all sorts of queer things that she could never have told to any one—not even to Dad and Jim. They would have been kind and sympathetic, of course, and would never laugh at her; but they would probably have questioned themselves as to whether she were quite well.
As she leaned out, watching, the little phosphorescent gleams on the water came and went fitfully; sometimes barely a glimmer, and then a stronger gleam that rested for a moment on the crest of a lazy swell. So black was the night that every tiny fragment of light seemed twice its real size—and when dark water rolled over the faint sparkles, the gloom seemed a hundred-fold deeper. Presently, however, the little intermittent flashes grew stronger, and the periods of complete darkness less frequent.
“I do believe it’s getting into the air,” Norah murmured. “I never heard of phosphorescence in the air, but that doesn’t say it may not be there!” She leaned further. “There!—that flash wasn’t in the water, I’m sure.”
It had not seemed so—still it was a little difficult to tell where the water ended and the dark bulk of the ship began. She watched, keenly interested; this was a new natural phenomenon—something to tell dad and the boys in the morning. The little flashes in the air came again; and at the same moment, far below, a curl of phosphorescence on a long wave.
“Why!” said Norah, in amazement—“why, it’s quite different. It’s not the same light at all!”
It was not the same. The glimmer on the water was a pure white radiance—almost the ghost of light; but this flash in the air was quite another thing. It came more regularly now; and Norah, searching the side of the ship with wide eyes of curiosity, saw that its origin seemed to be in one place alone; she could not tell how it came. Flash—flash—flash. Then comprehension swooped upon her, and she gasped in amazed horror.
“Why!—it’s some one signalling!”
The flashes came and went, intermittently, yet with a certain regularity. It was puzzling; she could not see their beginning, or what caused them, and yet they were there—in the air, more than coming from the ship; ghostly, mysterious rays. Still, the longer Norah watched, the more certain she felt that this was something wrong—something coming stealthily from the steamer—sending a hidden message over the water.
She slipped down, and stood inside her cabin, breathing quickly. Her first impulse, to ring for the night-steward, she put aside; she must be more certain first. The night-steward was an unintelligent person, and might raise a wild alarm, or simply laugh at her; and neither alternative seemed to meet the case. She must be quite certain before taking any one into her confidence.
Her little electric torch came into her mind. She found it, and managed to wriggle one small shoulder and arm as well as her head, through the port-hole; then, twisting to obtain a clear view along the side of the ship, she pressed the button. The little beam shot out and for an instant she could see the dark hull and the long line of ports like black eye-holes. The second from her own was obscured by what Norah recognised as a wind-scoop—the long tin funnel, like a grocer’s mammoth scoop, with which each cabin was fitted. They used them in the tropics, her steward had told her, screwed into each port to project outwards and catch more air and so suck it into the cabin. This wind-scoop was fitted in the wrong way; its wide part uppermost, so that the port-hole was completely screened from the deck above. It was only a second that Norah looked, but that glance was enough. She released the button of the torch, and wriggled back into the cabin.
“I think I’ll get Jim,” she said, shivering a little in her excitement. “This job is too big for me!”
She found her dressing-gown and a pair of noiseless slippers, and hurried down the dim alley, wondering how she should explain her presence if she met a steward or any of the watch. But it was three o’clock in the morning, when even night-stewards grow sleepy; there was no one visible. Faint snores came from sundry cabins as she passed. She came to Jim’s door; it was wide open, the curtain drawn across it. Norah tapped on it gently.
“Jim! Jim!” she said, very softly.
“Who’s there?” came a voice, prompt, but sleepy.
“It’s me—Norah.”
“What’s wrong?—is Dad ill?” Jim was out of bed, wide awake in an instant.
“No, he’s asleep. But there’s some one signalling, Jim!”
“Well, that’s the ship’s business,” said Jim, in natural bewilderment. “There are plenty of people on deck to receive signals. What are you worrying for, kiddie? Go back to bed.”
“Oh, it isn’t any one signalling to us!” Norah answered, impatiently. “I wouldn’t have waked you for that, Jimmy. But there’s some one in a cabin near mine sending out signals.”
“Are you certain?” Jim asked, incredulously.
“I’ve been watching for a long time. He’s got a wind-scoop fixed over his port-hole, so as to screen it from the deck. It’s on this side; look out of your own port, and you’ll see the flashes. Go on—I’ll wait.”
Jim sprang to his port-hole. A sleepy voice came from Wally’s berth, demanding what was up?
“Look out here, Wal,” said Jim’s voice, from the darkness, in a quick whisper. “Can’t you see flashes? There’s some queer game on. Norah saw it first, and woke me.”
There was never any hesitation on the part of Wally between being profoundly asleep and broad awake. He was at Jim’s side in a bound, craning his neck through the narrow opening. Then the two boys faced each other in the dark.
“This is a nice little find,” Jim ejaculated. “There are no officers’ quarters down here, are there?”
“No; nothing but passengers. Do you know who have cabins on this side?”
“There’s West,” Jim said, considering—“and Grantham, that New South Wales fellow, and I think Mrs. Andrews. I don’t know who else.”
“I’m coming in—I’m lonely!” said Norah, from the door. She groped her way in, suddenly relieved to find Jim’s hand on her shoulder.
“Poor little kiddie!” he said. “A jolly good thing you saw it. Is it next cabin to yours?”
“No—the one after the next—that’s vacant,” Norah said. “It’s the little one where I dress. The light comes from the one next to that. I don’t know who sleeps in it—it opens on a different alley-way. You don’t think we’re making a mistake, Jim? I was so afraid you’d think I was a duffer to come to you.”
“Indeed I don’t,” Jim answered. “It’s no right thing, whatever it is. We’ll go along to your cabin and look out—it’s closer to the enemy.”
They filed along the gloomy alleys, silently, with hurried steps. Further inspection from Norah’s port-hole only confirmed the boys’ previous opinion. They held a council of war, whispering in the darkness.
“Let’s make a dash for him, whoever he may be,” said Wally. “If we spring in and surprise him he can’t get away, and the wind-scoop will be evidence; no other cabin has one sticking out.”
Jim hesitated.
“That won’t do,” he said at length. “He isn’t such a fool as not to have his door bolted—and a wind-scoop is evidence to a certain extent, but it won’t convict a passenger of signalling. He might simply deny any light, and say he had a passion for more air.”
“Much air he’d get with the scoop in that way!” objected Wally. “The broad part has to be against the wind.”
“Yes, but lots of passengers don’t know how to fix them. I don’t see that we can run this by ourselves, Wal—we’ll have to get an officer and let him see the flashes. We don’t want to make fools of ourselves; and there is a chance that it may be something we don’t understand, and quite all right.”
“Oh, all serene!” Wally agreed. “If you’ll watch I’ll go and report it on the bridge. I expect they’ll have to come in here, Norah—do you mind?”
“Of course she doesn’t—and it wouldn’t matter to them if she did!” said Jim in an impatient whisper, cutting across Norah’s quick disclaimer. “Hurry, Wal—it would be awful if he knocked off and went to bed!”
Wally sped for the door, a dim vision of haste, lean and long in his pyjamas. Disaster awaited him—his foot caught in the fur rug trailing from Norah’s berth, unseen in the gloom, and he fell violently against the half-open door. It crashed into a wardrobe behind it, with a clatter of timber and falling bottles within. The noise echoed through the silent ship.
“Oh, Lord!” said Jim, disgustedly, his head through the port-hole. “That’s finished him, I guess.”
The flashes of light ceased abruptly. Silence fell again—and then Mr. Linton’s voice.
“What’s that? Are you all right, Norah?”
“Yes, she’s all right,” answered Wally, ruefully—his bruises nothing in comparison with his deep abasement. “Jim’s here, sir—come in. We’re spy-hunting, and I’ve spoilt the show. Oh, I am a blithering ass!”
“But what on earth——?” began Mr. Linton, justifiably bewildered. Norah whispered a hasty explanation.
“You couldn’t help it,” she finished, consolingly to Wally. “I ought to have remembered about the rug.”
“I ought to have been careful where I was going,” said the disconsolate Wally. “Trust me to mess up a good thing!—why ever did you wake me? He might have been in irons now, but for me! I ought to be put in ’em myself.” He sat down on the edge of the berth and groaned in a whisper.
“Cheer up,” said Jim, coming softly from the port-hole. “The show’s over for to-night, I expect, but I really think he’s given himself away—the flashes stopped the instant the noise came, and after a few minutes the wind-scoop was very gently taken in. We’ll get him yet. Come on back to bed.”
“Aren’t you going to report it?”
“What have we got to report? There is no evidence now—not even a wind-scoop. Whoever is in that cabin has probably unbolted his door by this time, and if any one came to investigate, he would be sleeping peacefully. And it’s getting towards morning—he can’t do much more to-night, in any case.”
“I think you’re right,” Mr. Linton said. “Go back to your cabin now, boys, and let Norah get to bed. We’ll hold a council in the morning.” The boys tip-toed away, and Norah crept into her berth, perfectly certain that she was far too excited ever to sleep again.
Then she suddenly found that she was very tired; and in five minutes she was sound asleep. The ship had not been disturbed by the sudden clamour of a moment; it was perfectly silent, in the sleepy hush before the dawn. Without, the second port-hole from her own loomed round and black. No further flashes came from it to mingle with the phosphorescent glimmer on the water below.