Saidee Isaacs lifted her hand from Fay’s arm, swung with the movement of the ship, then hurried forward toward the direction of the Ladies’ Saloon where the game of Bridge was scheduled.
Fay watched her vanish in the glow of the deck-lights. He saw a door open and then close. A shaft of mellow fire struck out onto the rail and the crisscrossed waves. It vanished. The long deck was deserted.
The cracksman crammed his hands into the side pockets of his overcoat, fished out a cigarette and lighted it by the quick scratch of a match on his heel. His eyes were useless over the period of a minute. Gradually sight and clear vision came to him. He removed the cigarette and stared at its glowing end. He pasted it to his lower lip and started around to the port side of the ship.
Passengers were seated there to the number of a score or more. They were crouched in sheltered chairs or between the ventilators and the outswung boats. A regulation was still in effect regarding these. German mines, so profusely distributed during the period of the war, might be encountered at any moment. Many ships had been lost in the same waters.
Fay reached midship and the shelter of a ladder
which led upward to the hurricane deck. He drew out his watch, held it sideways toward a luminous port-hole and stared at the dial. Saidee Isaacs had ample time to arrange the setting for the bridge game. It should be well in progress.
He moved slowly forward as if seeking shelter. He reached the first of the port-holes which marked the Ladies’ Saloon. These were partly curtained with many-colored silks.
Glancing inside, Fay saw a group of passengers about an upright piano. A singer stood at one end of the piano. She held a sheet of music in her hand. Beyond her, and close up to the sheathing of the cabin, an alcove showed within which sat Saidee Isaacs, a stout Russian, the cockney stall and Harry Raymond, whose back was turned from Fay’s view.
Fay glided to the nearest port-hole, leaned back, surveyed the deck, then tossed his cigarette away and gradually thrust his head toward the round disc of the port-glass.
The view inside held all the charm of eavesdropping. The warm colors of the Saloon, the tinkling notes of the piano, the woman’s rather faded voice—that echoed within the surge and hiss of the sea—wove a spell.