So this was the Cholita, and I was the guest of the famous Thursday Island Schmidt!
I felt a touch on my shoulder, Marama was beside me, a serious expression on his face. "Listen!" he said in a hurried whisper; "I must go forward before the captain returns. If we approach the land to-night, let us slip overboard and swim ashore. Seroni must be warned, for I think that there is evil afoot. Do you remember Rairi, the Tara's cook who tried to kill old Pahuri that night on our passage south? He is aboard—I have seen him, though his face was turned away from me. He has been ordered to keep out of your sight. This schooner was bound for Iriatai before she picked us up. The mate, who is a good man and beginning to fear for himself, has told me as much."
The captain was approaching with a noiseless step; when I glanced up he was not four yards off. He halted and looked at Marama in angry astonishment. "Get forward," he bellowed, in a voice that made the sailors turn their heads, "verdammt Kanaka cheek!" He turned to me, the former suavity gone from his manner. "And you," he ordered—"go below!"
I obeyed him, choking with anger and a sense of impotence. The half-caste girl was sitting on the lounge, she had been sewing, but now her hands were clenched and her work lay where it had dropped to the floor. There was a look of apprehension in her eyes. When she saw that I was alone she beckoned me with a swift gesture.
"Come here, boy—me want talk with you," she whispered in quaint broken English. "Me hear Schmidt say 'Go below'—he too much bad man! Guk! Me hate him!—Suppose we go near land tonight, me jump overboard, swim ashore. You come too—we go hide in bush."
Her fierce eyes blazed as she pointed to the bruise on her cheek.
"Schmidt do that yesterday," she went on. "Me like kill him, but too much 'fraid! Before, me think him good man. My father white man—same you. Me, my mother, live Ponape, Caroline Island. One day Cholita come—everybody think Schmidt good man—spend plenty money—have good time. Every day he come my house. By and by he say: 'To-morrow I go 'way; you my friend—give me orange, pig, drinking-coconut. To-night you bring old woman aboard—we have big kaikai.' My mother think he good man—we go. Schmidt bring us aboard schooner—we eat, play accordion, have good time. Pretty soon hear noise on deck. My mother stand up. 'What that?' she say. Then Kwala hold old woman—Schmidt throw me in stateroom—lock door. Outside reef he throw my mother in canoe—tell her go ashore. Porthole open—me hear old woman crying—Guk! Schmidt never let me go ashore. In Tahiti—Noumea—me 'fraid—he say suppose me swim ashore, send police fetch."
Her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep on deck and she signaled me hurriedly to move away. Next moment Schmidt came down the companionway, glancing at the woman sharply. Without a word he motioned me into the stateroom, slammed the door behind me, and turned the key.
I heard Raita's voice raised in protest, and the captain's gruff reply. Then the companionway creaked under his weight as he went on deck again.
Until now I had viewed the Cholita and her master in an adventurous light; but as I lay there in the dark behind a locked door I began to feel anxious and a little afraid. Little by little, as realization grows at such a time, I put together the scattered recollections in my mind: what my uncle had said of Schmidt; the half-caste girl's story; the presence aboard the Cholita of Rairi, our former cook; the old letter, telling of the gold-lipped shell in Iriatai lagoon; Rairi's stealthy visit to the Tara after his discharge; Schmidt's treatment of me; Marama's words, and the brutal stopping of our conversation. There was small room for doubt—each detail fitted perfectly into the story taking form in my mind.