CHAPTER XLV

MR. SABIN IN DANGER

Mr. Sabin found the captain by no means inclined to talk about the visit which they had just received. He was still hurt and ruffled at the propositions which had been made to him, and annoyed at the various delays which seemed conspiring to prevent him from making a decent passage.

“I have been most confoundedly insulted by those d—— Germans,” he said to Mr. Sabin, meeting him a little later in the gangway. “I don’t know exactly what your position may be, but you will have to be on your guard. They have gone on to New York, and I suppose they will try and get their warrant endorsed there before we land.”

“They have a warrant, then?” Mr. Sabin remarked.

“They showed me something of the sort,” the captain answered scornfully. “And it is signed by the Kaiser. But, of course, here it isn’t worth the paper it is written on, and America would never give you up without a special extradition treaty.”

Mr. Sabin smiled. He had calculated all the chances nicely, and a volume of international law was lying at that moment in his state-room face downwards.

“I think,” he said, “that I am quite safe from arrest, but at the same time, Captain, I am very sorry to be such a troublesome passenger to you.”

The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it is not your fault,” he said; “but I have made up my mind about one thing. I am not going to stop my ship this side of Boston Harbour for anything afloat. We have lost half a day already.”

“If the Cunard Company will send me the extra coal bill,” Mr. Sabin said, “I will pay it cheerfully, for I am afraid that both stoppages have been on my account.”

“Bosh!” The Captain, who was moving away, stopped short. “You had nothing to do with these New Yorkers and their broken-down yacht.”

Mr. Sabin finished lighting a cigarette which he had taken from his case, and, passing his arm through the captain’s, drew him a little further away from the gangway.

“I’m afraid I had,” he said. “As a matter of fact they are not New Yorkers, and they are not husband and wife. They are simply agents in the pay of the German secret police.”

“What, spies!” the captain exclaimed.

Mr. Sabin nodded.

“Exactly!”

The captain was still incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me,” he exclaimed, “that charming little woman is not an American at all?—that she is a fraud?”

“There isn’t a shadow of a doubt about it,” Mr. Sabin replied. “They have both tacitly admitted it. As a matter of fact I am in treaty now to buy them over. They were on the point of accepting my terms when these fellows boarded us. Whether they will do so now I cannot tell. I saw that fellow Graisheim talking to the man just before they left the vessel.”

“You are safe while you are on my ship, Mr. Sabin,” the captain said firmly. “I shall watch that fellow Watson closely, and if he gives me the least chance, I will have him put in irons. Confound the man and his plausible——”

They were interrupted by the deck steward, who came with a message from Mrs. Watson. She was making tea on deck—might she have the loan of the captain’s table, and would they come?

The captain gave the necessary assent, but was on the point of declining the invitation. “I don’t want to go near the people,” he said.

“On the other hand,” Mr. Sabin objected, “I do not want them to think, at present at any rate, that I have told you who they are. You had better come.”

They crossed the deck to a sunny little corner behind one of the boats, where Mrs. Watson had just completed her preparation for tea.

She greeted them gaily and chatted to them while they waited for the kettle to boil, but to Mr. Sabin’s observant eyes there was a remarkable change in her. Her laughter was forced and she was very pale.

Several times Mr. Sabin caught her watching him in an odd way as though she desired to attract his attention, but Mr. Watson, who for once had seemed to desert the smoking-room, remained by her side like a shadow. Mr. Sabin felt that his presence was ominous. The tea was made and handed round.

Mr. Watson sent away the deck steward, who was preparing to wait upon them, and did the honours himself. He passed the sugar to the captain and stood before Mr. Sabin with the sugar-tongs in his hand.

“Sugar?” he inquired, holding out a lump.

Mr. Sabin took sugar, and was on the point of holding out his cup. Just then he chanced to glance across to Mrs. Watson. Her eyes were dilated and she seemed to be on the point of springing from her chair. Meeting his glance she shook her head, and then bent over her hot water apparatus.

“No sugar, thanks,” Mr. Sabin answered. “This tea looks too good to spoil by any additions. One of the best things I learned in Asia was to take my tea properly. Help yourself, Mr. Watson.”

Mr. Watson rather clumsily dropped the piece of sugar which he had been holding out to Mr. Sabin, and the ship giving a slight lurch just at that moment, it rolled down the deck and apparently into the sea. With a little remark as to his clumsiness he resumed his seat.

Mr. Sabin looked into his tea and across to Mrs. Watson. The slightest of nods was sufficient for him. He drank it off and asked for some more.

The tea party on the whole was scarcely a success. The Captain was altogether upset and quite indisposed to be amiable towards people who had made a dupe of him. Mrs. Watson seemed to be suffering from a state of nervous excitement, and her husband was glum and silent. Mr. Sabin alone appeared to be in good spirits, and he talked continually with his customary ease and polish.

The Captain did not stay very long, and upon his departure Mr. Sabin also rose.

“Am I to have the pleasure of taking you for a little walk, Mrs. Watson?” he asked.

She looked doubtfully at the tall, glum figure by her side, and her face was almost haggard.

“I’m afraid—I think—I think—Mr. Watson has just asked me to walk with him,” she said, lamely; “we must have our stroll later on.”

“I shall be ready and delighted at any time,” Mr. Sabin answered with a bow.

“We are going to have a moon to-night; perhaps you may be tempted to walk after dinner.”

He ignored the evident restraint of both the man and the woman and strolled away. Having nothing in particular to do he went into his deck cabin to dress a little earlier than usual, and when he had emerged the dinner gong had not yet sounded.

The deck was quite deserted, and lighting a cigarette d’appetit, he strolled past the scene of their tea-party. A dark object under the boat attracted his attention. He stooped down and looked at it. Thomas, the ship’s cat, was lying there stiff and stark, and by the side of his outstretched tongue a lump of sugar.