UNDER WAY
The negro brought the girl's lunch on a tray, and I took it in to her, barely pausing long enough to speak a few encouraging words, for fear of some interruption. Then I sat down and watched while the remnants of our meal were being removed. Except for an occasional footstep on the deck above, and the swift movements of the steward, nothing interrupted my thoughts. After Louis had carried the last dishes into his pantry, and run the table up on its stanchions, he also disappeared, and in the silence I could hear the heavy breathing of the sleeping mate. For the first time I comprehended clearly the entire situation, and I could face it with understanding. Broussard's anger had served me well, and it never occurred to me to doubt this story, told under the inspiration of liquor. It dovetailed in with all I previously knew.
The facts were clear. Philip Henley was dead, killed while intoxicated, either accidentally, or for purposes of robbery. And he had been robbed when picked up by the police, nothing to identify him being found. Beyond doubt this half-breed brother had dispatched a man North to look him up—possibly to assassinate him if necessary. The fellow had either done the job, or been anticipated in his purpose. In either case he was present to identify the body, and had written at once, enclosing the signet ring as proof. That was the same ring we had round in the arbor, and which Viola had instantly recognized. And those men who had made a tool of me were the robbers. They had found papers and letters which opened before them this scheme of fraud; then, with his residence address, using his keys, they had learned everything necessary for the completion of their plans. A copy of the Judge's will must have been in Henley's possession, and, no doubt, some lawyer's letter, describing the situation, received since the departure of his wife. Apparently everything two clever crooks needed to know was in their possession. All they needed to do was pull the strings, using a figurehead to represent Philip Henley. That was the part for which I was chosen. They had to construct a lie in order to interest me, yet that was comparatively easy, and there was a strong probability of success but for peculiar conditions of which they could know nothing. The half-breed had never been mentioned; he was the monkey wrench thrown unexpectedly into their well-oiled machine. Yet, even without him, the reappearance of Philip Henley's wife was sufficient to cause disaster.
Philip Henley's wife! The magic of the words halted me. Then now, if all I had learned was true, she was his widow. What would that mean to me! The swift beating of my heart answered. As I sat there alone, in the silence I forgot everything save her, and my mind dwelt upon every word and look which had passed between us. These had been innocent enough, and yet, to my imagination, stimulated by this discovery, formed the basis of a dream of hope. I knew this, that however sincerely she might have once supposed she loved Henley, his neglect, cruelty, dissipation, had long ago driven all sentiment from her. Before we met, her girlhood affection had been utterly crushed and destroyed. Loyal, she was, and true to every tradition of her womanhood. No audacity, no boldness, could penetrate her reserve, or lower her self-respect. Before I knew who she was, when I had every reason to doubt and to question, I was still restrained by an invisible personality which kept me helpless. It was to guard his interest, not her own, that she had accompanied me on this expedition, risking her good name in the belief that he was unable to care for his own. What would she do now? how would she feel toward me? What change would it make in the friendly relationship between us? I longed to tell her, and yet shrunk from the task. She could not fail to know how much I cared; careful as I had been in word and action, yet a dozen times had my eyes revealed the secret. I had seen her draw back from me, half afraid, had her restrain me by a gesture, or a word. This could be done no longer—we were free now, I to speak, she to listen, but I could only guess the result. Back behind the rare depth of those eyes her heart was hidden, and thus far I had probed for its secret in vain.
The sunlight streaming in through the upper transom told me the sun was dipping into the west. If we were to get away when night came there were many things to consider first; especially was I obsessed now with a desire to overhaul the Captain's papers, and secure those which would be of benefit. We must possess more proof than the garrulous talk of the second mate, and surely that proof would be discovered in the after cabin. The noise of the steward's dish-washing had ceased, and cautious investigation discovered him sound asleep, curled up like a dog, on the deck. Assured as to this, I ventured up the companion stairs, and indulged in a glance forward. Except for a group of sailors doing some sail patching in the shade of the charthouse, no one was visible. The vessel rocked gently, and far forward there was a sound of hammering. The mate would be there, overseeing the job whatever it might be. There was a dark cloud overshadowing the eastern horizon, with zigzag flashes of lightning showing along its edge, but the sea was barely rippled. There was no sign of any boat along the beach of the cove, and the fishermen had disappeared, not a glimmer of white sail showing above the waters. Surely no better opportunity than this could be given.
I stole back, silent and unobserved, listened an instant to Broussard's steady breathing, then unlocked the Captain's door, and entered his cabin. His wicked eyes, blazing with hate, glared at me as I approached, and, inspired by some sudden feeling of sympathy, I bent over, and removed the gag from his mouth. The result was an outburst of profanity, bristling with threats, but these as instantly ceased as I picked up the cloth again.
"It's just as you please," I said soberly. "Either lie quiet, or have this back—it's up to you."
"Do you mean to kill me?"
"Not unless I have to, but I hold some things more valuable than your life. Just at present I mean to look over your papers."
He must have realized I was beyond playing with, and impervious to threats, for he lay quiet, but with glaring eyes following my every movement, as I threw open the drawers of the desk, and began handling their contents. For some time I discovered nothing of special interest, only an accumulation of business letters, manifests and old sea charts, showing that the Sea Gull had been concerned in a vast variety of enterprises. It was only after I had thus emptied the unfastened drawers that I came upon one securely locked. I tried key after key before discovering the right one, realizing from Henley's squirming that I must be drawing near the goal. The first paper touched was a copy of the will, and a little further rummaging put me into possession of various documents which, I believed from a cursory glance at their contents, were of utmost value. These I hastily transferred to my coat pocket, making sure I had the original letter descriptive of Philip Henley's death, as well as the copy of a memorandum which the half-breed had evidently drawn up for the convenience of his lawyers. I ran through this last swiftly, surprised at its frankness, and convinced that the attorneys employed must be as great rascals as the man who commanded their services. Evidently they had requested full particulars so as to be prepared for any emergency.