CHAPTER XLVI

MR. WATSON IS ASTONISHED

At dinner-time Mr. Sabin was the most silent of the little quartette who occupied the head of the table. The captain, who had discovered that notwithstanding their stoppage they had made a very fair day’s run, and had just noticed a favourable change in the wind, was in a better humour, and on the whole was disposed to feel satisfied with himself for the way he had repulsed the captain of the Kaiser Wilhelm. He departed from his usual custom so far as to drink a glass of Mr. Sabin’s champagne, having first satisfied himself as to the absence of any probability of fog. Mr. Watson, too, was making an effort to appear amiable, and his wife, though her colour seemed a trifle hectic and her laughter not altogether natural, contributed her share to the conversation. Mr. Sabin alone was curiously silent and distant. Many times he had escaped death by what seemed almost a fluke; more often than most men he had been at least in danger of losing it. But this last adventure had made a distinct and deep impression upon him. He had not seriously believed that the man Watson was prepared to go to such lengths; he recognised for the first time his extreme danger. Then as regards the woman he was genuinely puzzled. He owed her his life, he could not doubt it. She had given him the warning by which he had profited, and she had given it him behind his companion’s back. He was strongly inclined to believe in her. Still, she was doubtless in fear of the man. Her whole appearance denoted it. She was still, without doubt, his tool, willing or unwilling.

They lingered longer than usual over their dessert. It was noticeable that throughout their conversation all mention of the events of the day was excluded. A casual remark of Mr. Watson’s the captain had ignored. There was an obvious inclination to avoid the subject. The captain was on the qui vive all the time, and he promptly quashed any embarrassing remark. So far as Mrs. Watson was concerned there was certainly no fear of her exhibiting any curiosity. It was hard to believe that she was the same woman who had virtually taken the conversation into her own hands on the previous evening, and had talked to them so well and so brightly. She sat there, white and cowed, looking a great deal at Mr. Sabin with sad, far-away eyes, and seldom originating a remark. Mr. Watson, on the contrary, talked incessantly, in marked contrast to his previous silence; he drank no wine, but seemed in the best of spirits. Only once did he appear at a loss, and that was when the captain, helping himself to some nuts, turned towards Mr. Sabin and asked a question—

“I wonder, Mr. Sabin, whether you ever heard of an Indian nut called, I believe, the Fakella? They say that an oil distilled from its kernel is the most deadly poison in the world.”

“I have both heard of it and seen it,” Mr. Sabin answered. “In fact, I may say, that I have tasted it—on the tip of my finger.”

“And yet,” the captain remarked, laughing, “you are alive.”

“And yet I am alive,” Mr. Sabin echoed. “But there is nothing very wonderful in that. I am poison-proof.”

Mr. Watson was in the act of raising a hastily filled glass to his lips when his eyes met Mr. Sabin’s. He set it down hurriedly, white to the lips. He knew, then! Surely there must be something supernatural about the man. A conviction of his own absolute impotence suddenly laid hold of him. He was completely shaken. Of what use were the ordinary weapons of his kind against an antagonist such as this? He knew nothing of the silent evidence against him on deck. He could only attribute Mr. Sabin’s foreknowledge of what had been planned against him to the miraculous. He stumbled to his feet, and muttering something about some cigars, left his place. Mrs. Watson rose almost immediately afterwards. As she turned to walk down the saloon she dropped her handkerchief. Mr. Sabin, who had risen while she passed out, stooped down and picked it up. She took it with a smile of thanks and whispered in his ear—

“Come on deck with me quickly; I want to speak to you.”

He obeyed, turning round and making some mute sign to the captain. She walked swiftly up the stairs after a frightened glance down the corridor to their state-rooms. A fresh breeze blew in their faces as they stepped out on deck, and Mr. Sabin glanced at her bare neck and arms.

“You will be cold,” he said. “Let me fetch you a wrap.”

“Don’t leave me,” she exclaimed quickly. “Walk to the side of the steamer. Don’t look behind.”

Mr. Sabin obeyed. Directly she was sure that they were really beyond earshot of any one she laid her hand upon his arm.

“I am going to ask you a strange question,” she said. “Don’t stop to think what it means, but answer me at once. Where are you going to sleep to-night—in your state-room or in the deck cabin?”

He started a little, but answered without hesitation—

“In my deck cabin.”

“Then don’t,” she exclaimed quickly. “Say that you are going to if you are asked, mind that. Sit up on deck, out of sight, all night, stay with the captain—anything—but don’t sleep there, and whatever you may see don’t be surprised, and please don’t think too badly of me.”

He was surprised to see that her cheeks were burning and her eyes were wet. He laid his hand tenderly upon her arm.

“I will promise that at any rate,” he said.

“And you will remember what I have told you?”

“Most certainly,” he promised. “Your warnings are not things to be disregarded.”

She drew a quick little breath and looked nervously over her shoulders.

“I am afraid,” he said kindly, “that you are not well to-day. Has that fellow been frightening or ill-using you?”

Her face was very close to his, and he fancied that he could hear her teeth chattering. She was obviously terrified.

“We must not be talking too seriously,” she murmured. “He may be here at any moment. I want you to remember that there is a price set upon you and he means to earn it. He would have killed you before, but he wants to avoid detection. You had better tell the captain everything. Remember, you must be on the watch always.”

“I can protect myself now that I am warned,” he said, reassuringly. “I have carried my life in my hands many a time before. But you?”

She shivered.

“They tell me,” she whispered, “that from Boston you can take a train right across the Continent, thousands of miles. I am going to take the very first one that starts when I land, and I am going to hide somewhere in the furthest corner of the world I can get to. To live in such fear would drive me mad, and I am not a coward. Let us walk; he will not think so much of our being together then.”

“I am going to send for a wrap,” he said, looking down at her thin dinner dress; “it is much too cold for you here bare-headed. We will send the steward for something.”

They turned round to find a tall form at their elbows. Mr. Watson’s voice, thin and satirical, broke the momentary silence.

“You are in a great hurry for fresh air, Violet. I have brought your cape; allow me to put it on.”

He stooped down and threw the wrap over her shoulders. Then he drew her reluctant fingers through his arm.

“You were desiring to walk,” he said. “Very well, we will walk together.”

Mr. Sabin watched them disappear and, lighting a cigar, strolled off towards the captain’s room. Many miles away now he could still see the green light of the German man-of-war.