“I’m not. I’m a man in love,” he said thickly. “I wanted her—God, how I wanted her! And, but for you, I’d have succeeded. You’ve robbed me—robbed me of my mate!...” His lips drew back over his teeth in a kind of snarl. “I think you deserve to be punished,” he went on slowly and significantly. “What’s to prevent my putting out to sea—now—this minute—and taking you with me?”
“Brett—” She shrank back, suddenly terrified. His eyes were blazing with a reckless fury—mad eyes. She made a dart for the door, but before she could reach it he had caught her by the arm, his strong fingers crushing deep into her white flesh.
“Well, why not?” he jeered savagely. “You came here in Ann’s place of your own free will! Supposing you take her place—altogether—”
A tap sounded on the door. Brett’s hand fell away from her arm, and she stood quiveringly waiting for what might come. After a discreet pause Achille entered, advancing with soft, cat-like tread.
“For mademoiselle,” he said, tendering a note to Cara on a salver.
As she took the note she vaguely noticed that it bore no superscription. With trembling fingers she tore it open.
“I hear you are on the Sphinx. I’m quite sure you must have a
good reason for being there, if you are there of your own free
will. But in case you are not, and need help, I wanted you to know
I’ve come on board and will take you home whenever you wish,—E.”
Cara glanced across at Brett, who was watching her curiously. She slipped the note, intended for Ann, into the bosom of her gown and turned to Achille.
“Tell Mr. Coventry Miss Lovell is not on board the Sphinx,” she said quietly.
“Coventry!” broke violently from Brett. “Where is he, Achille?”