“You and I? How can we?” Roberta questioned.
“We must elope—or seem to be eloping. I’ve tried to think of something else, for your sake; but that is the only safe thing. It is the one subterfuge no one would associate with a suffragette.”
The Royal Mail S. S. Cumberland, from Glasgow for New York, steamed down the Firth of Clyde in a soft, Scottish rain; outside, off the northern coast of Ireland, there was fog. Showers on that first day at sea sometimes thinned it to a mist; but throughout the second day the foghorn of the Cumberland blew its long blast every two minutes; and from ahead, abeam, and astern answering bellows from steam whistles warned the passing of other ships lost behind the thick fog curtains and enforced the need for half speed day and night, and less when vessels blundered in close.
Then the ships bound westward on the same course, and the passing vessels, eastbound, spread farther and farther apart, and were separated by a safer distance; but still on that steamship lane across the North Atlantic, fog shrouded the sea; as far ahead as the Grand Banks—so ships sent word by the wireless—the ocean was gray and greasy with fog. And, in the perverse manner which the elements have when men must count upon their fairness, the sea and sky were clear during those days and nights upon the course of steamers for New York out of the English Channel and steering from the south of Ireland. By the second night, therefore, the Southampton liner Corinthian had made up half of the advantage of the Cumberland’s earlier start from the Scottish port. As the steamship lanes drew closer and closer together in mid-Atlantic, the two ships came within easy wireless communication.
So Mr. Andy Farnham read the following on the bulletin board as he came up from breakfast to go on deck on the third day at sea:
NEW BULLETIN FOR FIRST-CABIN PASSENGERS.
As previously announced, wireless communication has been established with R. M. S. Corinthian from Southampton. It will be of interest to know that the officers of the Corinthian definitely have identified the young woman, suspected since sailing of being Roberta Leigh, as being, indeed, the violent American suffragist who is wanted by the English police for criminal participation in the destruction of many public buildings in England, including the government armory at Stoketon. The intelligence has been sent by wireless to England. The crown officers have congratulated the captain of the Corinthian for his valuable service. The knowledge that she had been recognized has not been communicated to Miss Leigh; but she is being held under strict surveillance till she will be handed over to the proper representative of the crown at New York.
The Corinthian has found very favorable weather, and is now commanded to make all possible haste in order that Miss Leigh may be returned to England by the S. S. Mauretania, sailing Saturday from New York, and immediately be brought to answer for her crimes before an English court.
The last sentence more than counteracted for Mr. Farnham the pleasure following the perusal of the first paragraph. The bulletin was dated at midnight; now it was after eight o’clock. The blasts from the foghorn proclaimed the persistence of foul weather. He gave his place before the bulletin board to other passengers crowding in eager interest. He went into the writing room, and, after considering for a moment, scribbled curtly:
8:10 a. m.