19000 Pound Part 10

His wife was surprised, amazed, shocked. That was, perhaps, as well.

In her offended dignity she stood aloof from him. It was better so.

Long before breakfast in the morning he had left the house. He wanted to be in Finsbury Circus before the postman, and he was.

The first delivery--no letter. He staggered back, fell into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. What could it mean?

It did not occur to him that a letter from Queenstown could not reach so quickly.

His brain was pregnant with but two ideas. His brother had promised to telegraph--he had not. His brother had promised to write--he had not.

And he seemed to see that one question standing out in fiery letters on the wall: "What did it mean?"

He had the notes. He had instructions what to do with them, but he dared not carry out those instructions.

Suppose his brother had been arrested--arrested with the terrible contents of those two portmanteaus in his possession!

As each edition of the evening papers came out, he sent Sawyer for copies, but he gleaned nothing from them, no arrest was reported, nothing in any way bearing on the matter.

The purchase of the papers did no good--save sending him up in the estimation of his satellite.

Sawyer imagined that "the guv'nor had been putting a bit on the four legged 'uns," and was anxious to peruse the column captioned "All the Winners."

His own sporting instincts made him look up to his employer for the first time.

And the lawyer?

Made up his mind. It was risky what he proposed doing, because, as a man innocent of any knowledge of what had occurred, he was clearly, legally wrong in doing it.

Still he had to find Mr. Depew, and there was only one way to do it.

Fraught with risk--but he risked it. Desperate diseases need desperate remedies.

He sat down and pulled a sheet of his headed office paper towards him.

Then--as a lawyer--he wrote a letter.

It was to the Bank of England stopping the numbers of the nineteen notes he had obtained from that inst.i.tution, and paid over to Mr. Depew.

Bold, daring, but must necessarily be successful.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SEALED UP CABIN

"Man overboard!"

The cry rang through the ship--as cries of that sort do--first uttered by the man who witnessed the happening, and then pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth.

As a matter of fact it was a girl--a child--who had fallen overboard, and the nurse was standing with blanched face and clasped hands, watching what looked like a bundle of clothing on the surface of the ocean, which bundle the vessel was now rapidly leaving astern.

Then another cry rang out. It was literally as well as vocally a man overboard this time--a real man.

For such a t.i.tle is surely due to one who plunges from a liner's deck into the sea to save another's life.

The gongs were ringing in the engine-room before the man touched the water, but a liner traveling at the rate of twenty knots an hour has a way on her.

"Full speed astern" showed on the indicator, and then careful handling of the vessel became necessary. Almost directly she stopped.

As she stopped, the boat which had been hanging from the outspread davits with a crew in her was rapidly lowered, and once in the water, vigorously rowed in the direction pointed out by the standing c.o.xswain.

Rescuer and rescued were promptly hauled into the boat, and carried to the waiting ship, neither of them much the worse for their ducking.

The girl was seized by her mother and nurse, and speedily carried off to their own private cabin.

The rescuer--Gerald Danvers, a second-cla.s.s pa.s.senger--at his own request went down the stoke hole.

Brave enough to dive into the sea, he yet had a dreadful fear of rheumatism, to which he was subject; hence his desire for the warmth of the stoke hole.

A drink of brandy and willing hands to rub him down and the warmth of the stoke hole soon made him himself.

He had at hand only the clothes he stood upright in; the rest of his wardrobe, packed in a portmanteau, was in the hold.

The usual custom was departed from, and a man despatched to try to find his portmanteau--a brown one with his initials "G. D." on it.

"Don't bring it down here, old chap," said Danvers to the man who had volunteered to fetch it. "Here are my keys. There are only clothes in it. Just bring me underflannels and shirt, that's all. I can wait while these trousers dry."

He had thrown off coat and vest and boots before he had dived.

The things were brought him, and he sat talking to the men while his trousers dried, as they very quickly did in such an atmosphere, and before long he was on deck again.

He would probably have been made to pose as a hero--for a shipload of pa.s.sengers needs something to occupy its attention--but another more startling sensation came about.

The mere saving of a life sank into insignificance before the loss of one.

The sea was not rough, and very few pa.s.sengers were in their berths.

Nearly all of them sat down to the meals prepared for them.

Before dinner, the steward went over his list, and found that the occupants of one of the two berthed cabins had not figured at breakfast or luncheon.

He went to the door of the cabin, and rapped with his knuckles--twice--thrice. Getting no answer, he turned the handle and pushed open the door.

One berth was empty; in the other the occupant was apparently asleep.

"Don't you feel well, sir?"