The Pagan Madonna Part 17

Cleigh was not only a big and powerful man--he was also courageous, but the absence of Dodge and the presence of Cunningham offered such sinister omen that temporarily he was bereft of his natural wit and initiative.

"Where's Dodge?" he asked, stupidly.

"Dodge is resting quietly," answered Cunningham, gravely. "He'll be on his feet in a day or two."

That seemed to wake up Cleigh a bit. He drew his automatic.

"Face to the wall, or I'll send a bullet into you!"

Cunningham shook his head.

"Did you examine the clip this morning? When you carry weapons like that for protection never put it in your pocket without a look-see. Dodge wouldn't have made your mistake. Shoot! Try it on the floor, or up through the lights--or at me if you'd like that better. The clip is empty."

Mechanically Cleigh took aim and bore against the trigger. There was no explosion. A depressing sense of unreality rolled over the _Wanderer's_ owner.

"So you went into town for her luggage? Did you find the beads?"

Cleigh made a negative sign. It was less an answer to Cunningham than an acknowledgment that he could not understand why the bullet clip should be empty.

"It was an easy risk," explained Cunningham. "You carried the gun, but I doubt you ever looked it over. Having loaded it once upon a time, you believed that was sufficient, eh? Know what I think? The girl has hidden the beads in her hair. Did you search her?"

Again Cleigh shook his head, as much over the situation as over the question.

"What, you ran all this risk and hadn't the nerve to search her? Well, that's rich! Unless you've read her from my book. She would probably have scratched out your eyes. There's an Amazon locked up in that graceful body. I'd like to see her head against a bit of clear blue sky--a touch of Henner blues and reds. What a whale of a joke! Abduct a young woman, risk prison, and then afraid to lay hands on her! You poor old piker!"

Cunningham laughed.

"Cunningham----"

"All right, I'll be merciful. To make a long story short, it means that for the present I am in command of this yacht. I warned you. Will you be sensible, or shall I have to lock you up like your two-gun man from Texas?"

"Piracy!" cried Cleigh, coming out of his maze.

"Maritime law calls it that, but it isn't really. No pannikins of rum, no fifteen men on a dead man's chest. Parlour stuff, you might call it. The whole affair--the parlour side of it--depends upon whether you purpose to act philosophically under stress or kick up a hullabaloo. In the latter event you may reasonably expect some rough stuff. Truth is, I'm only borrowing the yacht as far as lat.i.tude ten degrees and longitude one hundred and ten degrees, off Catwick Island. You carry a boson's whistle at the end of your watch chain. Blow it!" was the challenge.

"You bid me blow it?"

"Only to convince you how absolutely helpless you are," said Cunningham, amiably. "Yesterday this day's madness did prepare, as our old friend Omar used to say. Vedder did great work on that, didn't he? Toot the whistle, for shortly we shall weigh anchor."

Like a man in a dream, Cleigh got out his whistle. The first blast was feeble and windy. Cunningham grinned.

"Blow it, man, blow it!"

Cleigh set the whistle between his lips and blew a blast that must have been heard half a mile away.

"That's something like! Now we'll have results!"

Above, on deck, came the scuffle of hurrying feet, and immediately--as if they had been prepared against this moment--three fourths of the crew came tumbling down the companionway.

"Seize this man!" shouted Cleigh, thunderously, as he indicated Cunningham.

The men, however, fell into line and came to attention. Most of them were grinning.

"Do you hear me? Brown, Jessup, McCarthy--seize this man!"

No one stirred. Cleigh then lost his head. With a growl he sprang toward Cunningham. Half the crew jumped instantly into the gap between, and they were no longer grinning. Cunningham pushed aside the human wall and faced the _Wanderer's_ owner.

"Do you begin to understand?"

"No! But whatever your game is, it will prove bad business for you in the end. And you men, too. The world has grown mighty small, and you'll find it hard to hide--unless you kill me and have done with it!"

"Tut, tut! Wouldn't harm a hair of your head. The world is small, as you say, but just at this moment infernally busy mopping up. What, bother about a little d.i.n.k.u.m d.i.n.kus like this, with Russia mad, Germany ugly, France grumbling at England, Italy shaking her fist at Greece, and labour making a monkey of itself? Nay! I'll shift the puzzle so you can read it.

When the yacht was released from auxiliary duties she was without a crew.

The old crew, that of peace times, was gone utterly, with the exception of four. You had the yacht keelhauled, gave her another daub of war paint and set about to find a crew. And I had one especially picked for you!

Ordinarily, you've a tolerably keen eye. Didn't it strike you odd to land a crew who talked more or less grammatically, who were clean bodily, who weren't boozers?"

Cleigh, fully alive now, coldly ran his inspecting glance over the men. He had never before given their faces any particular attention. Besides, this was the first time he had seen so many of them at once. During boat drill they had been divided into four squads. Young faces, lean and hard some of them, but reckless rather than bad. All of them at this moment appeared to be enjoying some huge joke.

"I can only repeat," said Cleigh, "that you are all playing with dynamite."

"Perhaps. Most of these boys fought in the war; they played the game; but when they returned n.o.body had any use for them. I caught them on the rebound, when they were a bit desperate. We formed a company--but of that more anon. Will you be my guest, or will you be my prisoner?"

The velvet fell away from Cunningham's voice.

"Have I any choice? I'll accept the condition because I must. But I've warned you. I suppose I'd better ask at once what the ransom is."

"Ransom? Not a copper cent! You can make Singapore in two days from the Catwick."

"And for helping me into Singapore I'm to agree not to hand such men as you leave me over to the British authorities?"

"All wrong! The men who will help you into Singapore or take you to Manila will be as innocent as newborn babes. Wouldn't believe it, would you, but I'm one of those efficiency sharks. Nothing left to chance; all cut and dried; pluperfect. Cleigh, I never break my word. I honestly intended turning over those beads to you, but Morrissy muddled the play."

"Next door to murder."

"Near enough, but he'll pull out."

"Are you going to take Miss Norman along?"

"What, set her ash.o.r.e to sic the British Navy on us? I'm sorry. I don't want her on board; but that was your play, not mine. You tried to double-cross me. But you need have no alarm. I will kill the man who touches her. You understand that, boys?"

The crew signified that the order was understood, though one of them--the returned Flint--smiled cynically. If Cunningham noted the smile he made no verbal comment upon it.

"Weigh anchor, then! Look alive! The sooner we nose down to the delta the sooner we'll have the proper sea room."

The crew scurried off, and almost at once came familiar sounds--the rattle of the anchor chain on the windla.s.s, the creaking of pulley blocks as the launch came aboard, the thud of feet hither and yon as portables were stowed or lashed to the deck-house rail. For several minutes Cleigh and Cunningham remained speechless and motionless.

"You get all the angles?" asked Cunningham, finally.

"Some of them," admitted Cleigh.