But, ignoring the challenge, Miss Jimpson refused to be drawn at present. "Tell me," she said—"that is if you care to—why Brant has been bribed to do this dirty work, and where the ship is bound for."
Wisely abstaining from forcing her ally's hand, Violet disclosed in such halting sentences as her pride would permit the object of the cunning intrigue that had centred round her. Nettle Jimpson's fearless eyes grew rounder and rounder as she listened to the crop of mischief sown by the Maharajah of Sindkhote 5,000 miles away to ripen in a quiet English village. And not being the direct object of the villainous outrage, she appreciated more fully than Violet was yet able to the ghastly tragedy looming ahead at the end of the Cobra's voyage.
"There's one chance," she said when the story of the Eastern Prince's passion, aided by a western rascal's guile, came to an end. "Only a little one, but still a chance. On condition that I didn't play the giddy goat over being kidnapped Brant promised to put into Plymouth on the way down channel, so that I could send a letter ashore for my young man. He's a petty officer on the destroyer Snipe."
"The Snipe!" repeated Violet. The name struck her at once as familiar, and a moment later she remembered why. It had been ever on the impertinent lips of Enid Mallory as that of the diminutive warship commanded by her own particular naval hero, Reggie Beauchamp.
"Yes," said Nettle, "the Snipe is attached to the torpedo flotilla there. If I could communicate your position to Ned he'd tell his commander, and something would surely be done to stop this steamer before she reaches her destination. It's a far cry to India, and the authorities would set the cables to work. It would go hard with us if the Cobra wasn't snapped up by a man-of-war somewhere betwixt this and there."
Violet shook her head. "That promise was made to be broken," she smiled sadly. "I fear Brant would never incur such a risk as that."
"If he doesn't this is going to be a hot ship," rejoined Nettle with spirit. "But you are very likely right," she added after a pause. "When I asked the mate Cheeseman when we should be off Plymouth he tried to box my ears—by the captain's orders, he said. That was why I smacked his face."
Suddenly Violet rose and began pacing the saloon. "Oh, but I have been selfishly thinking of myself!" she cried. "I heard that brute say that Leslie—Mr. Chermside—was only stunned and that he was coming to, but for all that he may be badly injured and in pain. Can you find out for me, you dear kind girl? Not if it will entail insult or ill-treatment for you, though."
"I'll chance that," replied Nettle firmly. "They carried him down on to the lower deck somewhere, and I'll go and see. But I am forgetting my duties. I was to show you your sleeping cabin. It's next door to this."
Violet waved her away. "As if I could sleep," she protested with a petulance which she instantly regretted.