"Good night then; think this over, and we 'll have another talk tomorrow. The third starboard stateroom is yours."
I took his hand, feeling the sinewy grip of his lean, brown fingers, and turned to the door, cursing myself under my breath for a weakling, and yet utterly unable to perceive how I could choose otherwise. The single lamp in the main cabin was turned low, only faintly illuminating the interior. In the quiet I could feel the movement of the vessel, and realized there was some sea on, although the engines were being operated only at half speed. This seemed odd, if speed was desirable, as I supposed it must be on a voyage of this nature. However that was none of my affair, and, heaven knows, I had enough to consider in my own situation. I was not in the least sleepy, and sank down in the first chair to think, my eyes on the Captain's door. But I was not disturbed. If this was my case exclusively I doubt if it would have greatly worried me. Indeed, I might have rejoiced over the outlook, welcoming the excitement, and rough experience promised in a new land. I possessed the adventurous spirit, and the position offered had its appeal. But the girl stood directly in the way. What Henley meant to do with her was problematical—I had not thought to ask—but he either intended putting her ashore in Honduras, or else holding her prisoner on board until the Sea Gull returned North. Either contingency was bad enough, and the suspicion flashed suddenly across me that the final decision would depend on how kindly she might receive the attentions of the Captain. Nor did I question the result. I had not known the lady long, but, in that brief time, our relations had been sufficiently intimate to yield me a good insight into her womanly character. There would be no yielding, no compromise. Neither threats nor promises would change her attitude in the least. Not only did she know the fellow to be a lying knave, but he was not of the sort to ever influence her in the slightest degree. I could imagine how she would look at him, with those searching eyes burning in indignation, and her instant squelching of his first protestations. There would be no need of my help to repel the insults of such a beast. But afterwards there would, for I realized also what he would become after such a repulse—a cold, sneering Nemesis, revengeful, ready to crush even a woman remorselessly. And he possessed the power, the means to make that revenge complete. I felt my teeth lock, my hands clinch in sudden anger. Perhaps I could accomplish little in her defense, but I intended to be free to do that little. Whatever fate might be in store for us, that sneering, olive-hued devil should receive his deserts if ever he attempted wrong to her. That had become the one purpose of my heart, for I realized here skulked the real danger, the deeper peril of our situation.
I may have remained there for a quarter of an hour, motionless, thinking over every incident, and reviewing carefully, and in detail, the various happenings which had led to our present condition. The only result was to enlist me yet more strongly to her service. Believing her statement I could see nothing in her conduct to criticize, and she appealed to me in all womanhood. I would be a dastard to doubt, or desert, her cause now, and the warm blood throbbed in my veins responsive to the memory of what had already been between us. No one disturbed me, the Captain was still in his stateroom, where, once or twice, I imagined I heard him pacing the floor. The steward had apparently retired for the night, although it was not late, as a glance at my watch proved. My eyes traced the doors on either side, ten altogether, each plainly numbered, and I opened the one assigned to me, and glanced within. Except that it was more commodious, and contained a washstand at one corner, it did not differ greatly from the other forward where I had been held prisoner.
I wondered which of these others might be hers, and passed silently from door to door, vaguely hoping for some sign of guidance. They were all tightly closed, and I dare not try the locks, as I was certain one, at least, of the under officers would be sleeping below. My round had brought me to the second door on the port side when, in the dim light, I perceived something lying at my feet, and stooped down to better determine its character. It was the end of a very narrow light blue ribbon, apparently caught beneath the door. Assured that she was the only one of her sex aboard, I drew the strip forth, fondled it, imagined I had seen it before, struggling with a desire to make myself known. The door before which I hesitated was numbered "5." Whether by accident, or design, she had left the one clew I most needed. Indeed, at the moment, I believed the ribbon had been purposely dropped. That last meeting of our eyes had reassured her of my loyalty; with the quick intuition of a woman she had comprehended the truth, and this ribbon, apparently carelessly dropped, was for my guidance. I thrust it into my pocket, but the soft touch of the silk seemed to bring back to me a sense of caution. I knew the door was locked, and assured myself there was no space beneath. If I was to communicate with her, other means must be employed. What? This was the second stateroom on the port side. Judging from my own, the width of each room would be about six feet. There ought to be no difficulty in locating her porthole from the deck above, nor in attracting her attention.
The one thing I desired now was to reëstablish myself fully in her confidence, assure her I was at liberty on board, able and willing to be of service. This necessity overshadowed all else. If I could discover means of communication we could plan hopefully, assured of cooperation. And this seemed possible, the way to its accomplishment open. Shadowed from observation by the thick butt of the after-mast, I wrote a few lines hastily on the back of an envelope, thrust it into my pocket, and ventured up the companion stairs. Reaching the top, and stealing to one side out of the dim range light, I took hasty survey of the deck. It was a dark night, although a few stars were visible, and the Sea Gull was steaming slowly through a fairly rough sea, pounding against her port quarter. Little twinkles of light were visible off the port side, so numerous as to make me suspicion land, while a narrow strip of moon, barely exposed beneath an edge of cloud, convinced me our course was almost directly east. This was strange if the boat's destination was Spanish Honduras, and the Captain was, as he contended, desirous of making a swift passage. I recall this flash of thought, yet my attention almost instantly reverted elsewhere. The closer we hugged the shore the greater the opportunity for escape, the more vital the necessity of immediately establishing communication with the fair prisoner below.
A glance sufficed to convince that I was alone, and unobserved. The deck was unobstructed aft, except for a small boat swung to davits astern, and the cabin transoms. These last were elevated some three feet, but considerable space separated from the rail. I slipped into this opening on the port side, crouching in the dense shadow, until again assured I was alone. My position afforded as good a view forward as the darkness would permit, and likewise enabled me to see into the dimly lit cabin below. The fact that Henley—for whatever his name might be, this was the one to which he laid claim—had not left his stateroom, or made any effort to observe my movements, was a decided encouragement. Beyond all question he believed me safely in his grasp, and his promise of liberty on board was being substantiated. I was not to be watched, or spied upon. For the first time I began to feel a true sense of freedom.
The deck forward of the main mast was too dark for observation, although I was certain of a group of men gathered in the waist to leeward. Occasionally the sound of a voice was blown back, and I could perceive the dull, red glow of a pipe or two. The main body of the watch these would be, and even as I stared at the lumping shadow, a command was roared from the bridge, and two shapeless figures detached themselves from the mass, and ran forward. The bridge itself was partially outlined against the lighter sky, giving me a vague glimpse of two figures, one standing motionless, as though gripping the rail, and peering straight ahead into the smother, the other striding back and forth. The last appeared a huge shadow, his coat flapping in the wind, and I knew he must be the German first mate, Herman.
Satisfied on these points, and with a glance below at the unoccupied cabin, I stepped back and paced off the distance, until convinced that I had safely located where the porthole of number "5" should be. I leaned over, seeking to trace its outline by some reflection of light from within, but the receding side of the vessel baffled me. Yet,