Still, as Elliott grew cooler, he could not attach much importance to the directions given by Laurie. He still felt convinced that the missionary had known no more than himself. He had made a false confession under the strain of the torture, and his desperation at the prospect of going to the Mozambique Channel clearly indicated its falsity.
But it was of Margaret that he thought, and his heart was wrung. He pictured her waiting all night for her father’s return and for himself. Perhaps she was waiting still, in such an agony of alarm as he dared not imagine, while the body of the missionary was probably floating in the harbour at the foot of the Chinese city. She had no money. She knew no one in Victoria.
Elliott jumped up and paced the deck feverishly. Surely something could be done. China was almost out of sight in the southwest, and he would have given his left hand to have been able to reach that bluish line that was falling away at fifteen knots an hour. And yet, what could he do? He was at sea for almost three weeks.
There was the hope that he might be able to send a message back to Victoria, and he went to the saloon at once to write it, in case an opportunity should present itself. But it was hard to decide what to say. He did not know whether she had learned of her father’s death, but judged it unlikely. Carlton and Sevier must have disposed of the body so that it would not be found for some time. But above all things, Margaret must leave Victoria at once.
“Your father is seriously ill,” he wrote at last. “He is with me. We got aboard this ship by a mistake which I will explain when I see you, and we are bound for San Francisco. You must follow us at once. Take the next steamer. If you will call on the American consul and give him the enclosure, he will arrange for your passage. Don’t delay a day.
“Wingate Elliott.
“On board S. S. Peru.”
With the letter he enclosed a note to the American consul begging him to furnish Miss Laurie with such money as she might require, and enclosing a promissory note for a hundred dollars. He then obtained an empty beer-bottle from the smoking-room steward and corked up this correspondence tightly, along with a sovereign to reward the finders.
The opportunity came late that afternoon. The Peru passed a British three-master booming down a fair wind toward the China coast, and the captain was as good as his word. After an exchange of signals, the Britisher lowered a boat, and the Peru even deviated a little from her course to approach it. Elliott cut a life-buoy from the rigging, tied his bottle fast to it and cast it overboard.
The big liner tore past the boat like a locomotive, tossing it high on the wash of her passage. Elliott had not before realized her speed. He ran to the stern, and saw the boatmen fish the precious float from the water.
“You’ll have to pay for that life-belt, you know,” said the second officer, at his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have got it if I’d seen you in time.”
Elliott had to pay for more than the life-belt. He had nothing with him but the clothes he stood in, and he was obliged to purchase a clean shirt, fresh collars, handkerchiefs,—a dozen small articles,—from the stewards, paying sea prices, which differ from land prices according to the needs of the purchaser. Elliott’s need was great, and he felt almost grateful to his kidnappers for having left him his money-belt. He felt certain that it was to Sevier that he owed that.