CHAPTER THE SIXTH—THE ESCAPE
I
THE steamer had no sooner reached Calais than a new cause for alarm presented itself. During the channel crossing Hindwood had been keyed up to the last point of tension. Every moment he had expected to be tapped on the shoulder and informed that his secretary's identity had been discovered. He had spent most of his time surreptitiously mounting guard in the neighborhood of Santa's cabin. If the same man chanced to pass him twice, he had at once jumped to the conclusion that he was being shadowed.
The hesitancy at Dover over O.K.'ing Santa's passport had robbed him of whatever sense of security he had possessed. It had compelled him to acknowledge the ruin that faced him, should he be exposed while engineering the flight of so notorious a criminal. As the Major had warned him, she was being sought by the police of every country.
If the worst should happen, he would find no apologists. It would be useless for him to plead a chivalrous motive. She had been the lodestar of masculine passions too often. Though he managed to escape a prison sentence, he would emerge from the catastrophe broken in character—a paltry creature, half knave, half fool, who had gambled away his integrity and made himself a laughing stock. Already in imagination he was reading the scare headlines which would advertise his shame to the world. He would be regarded as a malefactor—hustled behind bars and herded for trial with blackmailers and pickpockets.
Dogged by these persistent dreads, when the ship was inside Calais harbor he rapped on her door and having heard her bid him enter, slipped across the threshold, announcing tersely:
“We're there.”
Since she joined him, he had held no conversation with her. She made no attempt to break through his silence. Rising obediently, while she adjusted her hat, she watched him in the mirror with the eyes of a reproachful dog. Without sign or sound, as he turned away impatiently, she followed. No sooner did they appear on deck than the new cause for alarm started.