The mysterious assassination of poor Reggie, and the curious events which followed, coupled with the startling discovery I had made on the previous night, had completely unnerved me. As I tried to reflect calmly and logically, I came to the conclusion that it was eminently necessary to ascertain the identity of the man who held the millionaire beneath his thumb—the man who had suggested the blowing up of the yacht. This man intended, without a doubt, to leave the vessel under cover of night; or, if he were actually one of the guests, he could, of course, easily excuse himself and leave the others, as I had done.
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH WE PAY A VISIT ASHORE
The mystery of the deck cabin was puzzling.
I alone held knowledge of the dastardly plan formed to blow up the yacht, and was determined that the vessel should not sail again before I had warned my fellow-guests. But how?
I had watched the old millionaire narrowly, and had plainly detected his nervous agitation, and his anxiety for the cruise to be brought to an end. As far as I myself was concerned, I had no intention of again sailing in the Vispera, and would certainly not allow Ulrica to continue the voyage. That the yacht was doomed was plain. Even at that moment old Mr. Keppel was sending mysterious telegrams, in all of which I scented some connection with the tragedy that had occurred on board. It struck me that the wisest course would be to attach myself to my host as much as possible, and narrowly watch his movements. With that intention, therefore, I turned back and walked as far as the great Piazza Carlo Alberto, where the central telegraph office was situated. On the stone seats around the spacious square hundreds of people were sitting and gossiping beneath the stars, for the Italian of the working-class loves to gossip at night, when the day's toil is over, and the cool breeze comes in from across the sea.
I met Keppel emerging from the office, and with some surprise he greeted me. I told him that I had been making some purchases, while the others had gone to the opera, whereupon he suggested that we, too, should take a cab to the Goldoni and join the party there.
This we did. The old man was unusually chatty and affable, and during our drive told me he had decided that the Vispera should lie in Leghorn for the next five or six days, as he was expecting letters from England in reply to the telegrams he had just despatched.
This surprised me. If he and his unknown accomplice wished to get rid of traces of their crime by blowing up the vessel, it seemed only probable that they would do so at the earliest possible moment. Again, a second point was an enigma. How was it that the Customs officers, who had searched the yacht, and had, of course, entered the mysterious deck-house, had not discovered the crime?
Keppel was a very shrewd old fellow, but it was my duty to prevent the consummation of the dastardly plot which his accomplice had suggested. With this object in view, I made a point of remaining as near him as possible.