I
Clement Seadon got up from his bunk almost as soon as he had sat down on it. He was young, that is, he preferred swift action to deep thinking.
“It’s no good arguing about this,” he told himself. “It’s no good telling one’s cautious soul that outside the cinematograph and the painted pages of fiction, pretty young women aren’t the victims of gangs of rogues in this the twentieth century. She is. I’ve seen her. I’ve seen the gang and already felt them at work.... I’ve had circumstantial evidence pumped into me by that hurtling little lawyer. It all sounds mad. It all sounds untrue. But it happens to be true. I’ve got to do something.”
He made a stride towards the door. He stopped.
“Ah, yes,” he reflected. “I’ve got to do something—what?”
He suddenly realized how easy it was to say “I’ve got to do something.” How hard it was to do anything at all.
What could he do? Rush out and confront the gang with their villainies—idiotic idea. He’d probably be put into irons as an irresponsible madman. There wasn’t any evidence. If there had been any, the little lawyer would have acted upon it, the criminal gang would have been slapped into jail before the ship sailed. Heloise—what a really suitable name for her, Heloise; how it fitted her curious, slim, rather exaltè kind of beauty—Heloise would have been rescued even before she started for Canada.... The voyage would not have been undertaken....
On second thoughts he was rather glad there had been no evidence. Gang or no gang, it was rather pleasant to think that Heloise Reys really would be with him on the Empress until they all reached Quebec.... And perhaps he’d be with her longer.
“All the same,” he reflected, “this isn’t going to be so simple as it looks. I only know indirectly that there is a gang at work to ensnare Heloise Reys. Nothing to go on except suspicion. Also, I must remember that Heloise herself is, to all intents and purposes, on the side of the gang. She wants to get to Henry Gunning and marry him. She does regard the one member of the gang she knows, this Gorgon companion, Méduse, not as an enemy, but as a tried, and trusted friend. If I do unpleasant and senseless things to the gang I make Heloise my enemy, through the Gorgon.... Oh, it’s infernally complicated. This isn’t a matter for clumsy rough-and-tumble methods. This is a matter for wits, for brain work, for guileful intelligence.... However, I fancy I have a good share of guileful intelligence.”
As a matter of fact Clement was doing himself rather less than justice. He had rather more than his fair share of keen wits, only, as one of his friends said, “one never noticed it because he was so well-tailored.”
Clement Seadon was one of those young Anglo-Saxons—and their number is not so inconsiderable as our enemies imagined—who were responsible for so many German failures during the war. They were so entirely unlike the things they were capable of doing.
Clement, for example, looked indolent. He looked easy-going. He looked as if he cared for nothing very much, and hadn’t any particular intelligence. He was obviously very careful about the set of his clothes, and could be guaranteed to shine adequately in most sports and at any social gathering. He had blunt, but neat features, that conspired to give him a suggestion of geniality not easily moved from an habitual calm. People felt they could not take him quite seriously—until they suddenly bumped up against an extremely disconcerting and swift coolness of wit. Only then, when they had been “stung” did they note the squareness of the jaw and the lips, and the broad and quite definite power of his brow.
Clement Seadon, in fact, was rather a drastic sort of young man to those who thought he didn’t matter very much. In the Diplomacy, where he had served before the war, several quite brilliant brains had chuckled at him for an amiable and well-dressed ninny, whom it was ridiculously easy to twist round the finger. They had thought this until a sharp reprimand from their Governments, and, on some occasions, instant dismissal, taught them that some people are not so simple as they look, and that the cheerful young man who had seemed to them so easy a victim had actually been twisting them round his well-manicured fingers all the time—not they him.
Clement was not in Diplomacy now; he had thrown up his job to go to the front. His father, his only relative, had died during the war, so that after the armistice he had found himself in complete control of a very useful income, and with it a freedom to indulge his love of travel and sport, which, up to the war, he had only been able to assuage intermittently.
He was, then, a young man entirely free to do as he liked. A young man who preferred action, who did not ask for adventure, but wasn’t so very sorry when adventure came along; and also a young man who knew quite well how to enjoy the considerable mental faculties he happened to possess.... He was, as the little lawyer had felt, quite the luckiest ally Heloise could find in a battle against the powers of crime.
Clement, thinking near his door, turned the matter over.
“Obviously,” he thought, “I can do nothing just at present. I can’t strike at them until I find out their plot and have proof that they are criminals. What then? Consolidate my position with Heloise?—blessed word consolidate. That’s the first and only move. I must get to know her better; I must get her to trust in me. I must become intimate....”
At that thought he suddenly switched round and shook his fist at the place where he thought Liverpool must stand—the sound of machinery had told him some time ago that the ship had begun to move.
“Why did you talk of marriage,” he said with irritation, obviously referring to the little-head-long lawyer. “Marry the girl!... Marry her, that actually complicates things. I shall ... I mean I should feel just as much an adventurer, a conspirator, as this Henry Gunning person if I did ... if I ever thought of doing such a thing.” And then, with the inconsequence of the young, he said, “But she is astonishingly pretty and good company.... Oh, hang, that only makes it worse.”
“Marry her,” he went on. “That’s quite absurd, of course. I mean—well, it is quite absurd. She’s got her mind set on Henry Gunning ... and she wouldn’t care twopence for a fellow like me. Indecent to think she would.... No, marriage is a bee in that old lawyer’s bonnet. But I’ll help. I’ll do all I can to help her. And that’s the first move; I’ll now lay the solid foundations upon which real friendship can be based.”
He went very quickly to the door of his cabin.
“The first move, and I know how to make it.”
He went quickly along the gallery. As he passed along the balcony that overhung the dining saloon, he looked down at a little group of people collected about one of the tables near the door. Yes, old Maxwell was already filling up tables, and a few of the travel-wise were selecting them. Clement smiled. He was glad he was travel-wise himself.
But before he got to the end of the gallery he was pulled up in his stride. His way was blocked by a very large, a very solid, an immovable man. There was no getting past this human mountain. And the back of the human mountain was towards him, and he was obviously deep in some most absorbing contemplation. Clement said gently, “If you don’t mind.” And then he said, “Sorry, do you mind my passing?” And then he said, “Would you mind getting out of the way?” Then he touched the human mass on the shoulder, and shouted in his ear, “I’m through. I’ve said everything I can remember.... The next move’s with you.... Just move!”
The dinosaur heaved a little. There was a perceptible undulation over its surface. A voice came back. “What’s that?”
“I want to pass,” said Clement.
“Eh?”
“I want to——”
But Clement did not finish. The mass, as though the thing that had held its attention had suddenly released it, came round with an almost dismaying swiftness—how could such a bulk actuate with such rapidity. A large man stood in front of Clement, bowing and apologizing.... A large man who seemed genial only on the surface, whose eyes were astonishingly close together, and looked steadily, not into Clement’s eyes, but at something mystical across his shoulder. It was the large fat man again. The large fat man who seemed instinctively to mix himself up in Clement’s accidents.
“I owe you a thousand apologies,” said the big man pleasantly and without the slightest sense of right. “I did not know you were behind me.” He smiled sleekly. “It seems that I am foredoomed to stand in your way, sir.”
“That,” Clement’s mind told him at once, “that is a threat—or a warning.” And he answered in his pleasantest, young-fellow-about-town voice, “Does seem a habit of mine to come stealing up behind, so to speak.”
“And that,” he told himself, “is also a threat, or warning. Only he won’t see it. I’m much too well dressed.”
“Ah, ‘behind,’ that has an ominous ring. Let us hope it is not ominous,” smiled the large man with his artificial geniality, and he stepped aside and let Clement by.
And Clement went on musing, “But, by Jove! he did see. That was another warning. I shall have to keep my eyes on that large fellow. He, too, has wits and doesn’t look it.”
He ran down the accommodation stairs towards the dining saloon deck. On that deck he received another shock. Coming through the swing doors of the saloon was the Gorgon. She came out briskly with the gait of an old traveler. She saw Clement, and she smiled. Clement thought it a smile with malice behind it. As she passed him she nodded, and said brightly, “Well, we’ve started them.”
A commonplace remark. One of the ordinary, stupid, current phrases of travelers by liner. It referred, possibly, to the fact that the ship had sailed, that the voyage had started. It might mean only that. On the other hand it mightn’t. In the light of that smile Clement reserved his judgment until he had gone into the saloon.
He greeted Maxwell, the chief steward, as an old friend, and asked if there were any good tables left.
“Nearly all the good tables,” said Maxwell. “Not many old travelers on this trip. You can take almost anything you like.”
Clement did not take what he liked. He examined the chart of tables and saw that what he liked had already gone. He had planned to sit at the same table as Heloise Reys. That is, he had schemed to be her companion at meals all through the voyage. That was the recognized move of the wise and old traveler. But he had not been wise quickly enough. As he looked down the chart he saw the names “Miss Heloise Reys,” “Miss Méduse Smythe” already inscribed.
And Miss Heloise Reys and Miss Méduse Smythe were to occupy a small table that would only accommodate two.
He had received his first check. He understood why the large fat man had blocked his way. He understood why the Gorgon had smiled with meaning.
They had started the game of wits, and the first trick was against him.