He laughed, his eyes sparkling.
"More like 'cause she love you, hey! Sacre, she was fine-lookin' girl, but," shrugging his shoulders, "'t is the Capitaine, not ze mate, who may admire."
I turned on the fellow, my blood boiling.
"What do you mean by that! That Henley will dare intrude himself?"
"Sacre, an' why not, M'sieur! He is ze Capitaine; nobody tell him not on ze Sea Gull. I know him seek, eight year, an' he devil with women. She not ze furst to be on board ze sheep. Zar no use you be mad, M'sieur; he laugh at you."
"Then for once he will laugh at the wrong man, Broussard," I said soberly. Regretting the threat even as I uttered it, I left him and walked aft, aware as I turned of the sneer on his face. Yet even then, although burning with anger, I knew better than to remain. I dare not speak the bitter words on my tongue, feeling certain that whatever I said would be repeated to Henley. I despised Broussard, and would have taken the rat by the throat, but for a wholesome fear of his master. I knew men well enough to understand the character of the Sea Gull's Captain. With unlimited power in his hands he was not an antagonist to be despised. He was a cruel, merciless coward, and, in spite of my boast, I realized how helpless I was to oppose his will, here, in the midst of men who would obey his slightest command. Nor did I doubt his purpose; now that he had seemingly won me over to his scheme, he would turn his attention to her, feeling secure from interference. I had permitted him to believe that she was but a chance acquaintance, in whom I felt little interest, and he would consequently anticipate no serious protest from me. Even if I did intervene he possessed the power to render me helpless. And he was Judge Henley's son, or, at least, so these men believed who had been associated with him for years. The situation grew more and more complicated; it was no longer merely her word against his, and yet I could not doubt the truth of any statement she had made to me. There was a mystery here unexplained, involving the dead, and strangely complicating the lives of the living.
I paced the deck undisturbed, struggling vainly to evolve some solution. Broussard stared in my direction for a moment, but made no effort to follow, and finally disappeared forward. There was nothing on sea or land to distract my attention, and I felt that I would be nearer to her below in the cabin than on deck. The skylight was closed, although even then it gave me a partial view, and, as I gazed through the clouded glass, I perceived a shadow pass. The next instant the negro steward emerged from the companion. Some swift impulse led me to crouch instantly out of sight, until the sound of his feet on the deck convinced me the fellow was going forward. I watched him cautiously; he stopped twice to glance back, but, perceiving nothing, finally vanished into the forecastle. While I in no way connected his actions with myself, yet the disquieting thought as instantly occurred to me that the negro's going forward had left the Captain and Viola Henley alone below. If the steward was acting under orders his being dispatched from the cabin at this hour was for a purpose. Determined to learn what this purpose might be, I crept to the door of the companion, and then down the stairs.
The main cabin was vacant, but the door of number 5 stateroom stood slightly ajar. Assured I should find it empty, my heart already beating furiously, I took a swift glance within. It in no way differed from the room which had been assigned me opposite, and everything was in perfect order. Evidently the girl had departed without a struggle, and with full expectation of an early return. Her small hand-bag lay on the berth unlatched, and a handkerchief, together with a pair of gloves, were upon the chair. That she had not gone on deck was a certainty, while the deserted cabin led me irresistibly to suspect the Captain's quarters. He had dismissed the steward on some excuse, opened her door, and, using some pretense, or authority, had impelled her to accompany him. She had no means of resistance even if she had suspected his purpose, and the probability was the fellow had been plausible enough to achieve his point without violence. This was all clear enough to my mind, but what I could do to help her, to overcome him, was not so evident. I was alone, unarmed, surrounded by men under his command.
Possibly, even now, I was under surveillance. The negro had left the cabin, I knew, but where was Herman? Broussard was in charge of the deck, and hence this would be the first mate's watch below. Impressed with this disconcerting thought, I emerged again into the main cabin. The stateroom doors were all closed, and I had to guess which was the German's. I was sure, however, that Broussard occupied the first on the port side; I had heard him open that door while talking to the steward, and it was highly probable the first mate had the apartment opposite. Judging from the position of the doors these would be larger than the other staterooms, and, if Herman was the real navigator of the boat, he would require good quarters. I listened at the door, but heard nothing; then, rendered desperate by the delay, tried the knob cautiously. The door was unlocked, opening noiselessly. A glance convinced me the room was unoccupied, and I stepped inside, gazing about in surprise. It was nearly twice the size of my own apartment, containing a wide single berth, several comfortable upholstered chairs, and a large desk, on which stood a sextant, besides several charts, one unrolled. To my left, close against the side of the vessel was a narrow door standing ajar, and through the opening I caught sight of a porcelain bath tub.
Instantly my mind leaped to a conclusion—the first mate was not on board; he was ashore with the boat party, and that beast Henley, was entirely alone. He had taken advantage of the opportunity. But what in God's name could I do! If I broke down the door into his cabin, the noise would be heard on deck, and besides, the fellow was armed. The only result of such an effort would be my own imprisonment, leaving her in more helpless stress than before. Without knowing why, I stepped around the desk, and peered into the bathroom. It was small, but perfect in arrangement, and, to my surprise, revealed a second door. In an instant I understood—this was not Herman's private bath, but was also used by the Captain; that second door led to the after-cabin. I was there in two strides, my ear at the crack listening. Nothing reached me but the murmur of a voice, the words indistinguishable, yet this was sufficient to convince me that I was on the right trail. The two were together, and here was an opportunity for me to reach them unobserved. Slowly, using every precaution to avoid noise, I turned the knob, and opened the intervening door a scant inch. I could hear the voice now plainly, but my view was blocked by a heavy curtain. Breathless, I drew a fold aside, and caught a glimpse of the interior.