The Pirate of Panama Part 47

"Do as you will, dear. But go now--before any one comes. And--G.o.d with us, Jack!"

Her arm slid round my neck, she drew my face down to hers, and kissed me with a pa.s.sion that I had not known was in her.

"Remember, Jack--if I never see you again--no matter what happens--I love you, dearest, for ever and ever."

She whispered it brokenly, then pushed me from her toward the door.

The last glimpse I had of her she was standing there in the shadows, like a divine incarnation of love, her eyes raining upon me the soft light that is the sweetest glimpse of heaven given to a man in this storm-battered world.

CHAPTER XXIV

A RAT IN A TRAP

I groped my way forward in the darkness till I came to a room used for storing purposes. Well up near the beams was a porthole. Too high for me to reach, I presently found a large box which I upended cautiously until it lay beneath the port. Standing on this I could look through into the heavy foliage of the bushes projecting from the sh.o.r.e.

Except for the lapping of the waves the night was very still. The moon rode low in the sky. A fan-shaped wedge of light silvered the inky river.

I gave the signal agreed upon between me and my men, but no answering flash of white replied to the wave of my handkerchief. Again I shook the piece of linen from the porthole, and at intervals for fully five minutes.

Did Alderson see me? Or was there a reason why he could not answer? It was impossible they could have been captured without some sound having reached me. Nor was it more likely that they had deserted their post.

The bushes stirred at last and the bow of a boat pushed through. Smith stood up so that his face was just below mine. His finger was on his lips.

"Couldn't come any sooner, sir. Captain Bothwell was leaning over the rail smoking a cigarette. I wonder he didn't see your handkerchief," he whispered.

I gave him orders concisely and the men backed the boat till the bushes hid them. For me there was nothing left to do but wait. How long it might be before Blythe would get back with a rescue party I could not tell. The men in the boat would not dare to stir from their hiding-place until the moon went under a cloud.

The tide must now be at the full, so that it would be running out strong before they got started. This would carry them swiftly back to the bay.

I found myself giving my friends two hours as a minimum before they could return to me. At the worst they should be here within four, unless my messenger met with bad luck.

But what about Bothwell? Would he force my hand before Blythe arrived? I thought it very likely. There is something in the tropical air that calls to the pa.s.sion of a man, and reduces his sense of law till restraint ebbs away.

In Bothwell's case desire and interest went together. He was a criminal on more than one count, but the charges against him would in a measure fall to the ground if he could drive Evie to marry him.

Once she was his wife the kidnaping charge would not stick, and even his black record on the _Argos_ could be made to appear the chivalry of a high-minded man saving the woman he loved from her enemies.

Moreover, his claim to the treasure would then be a valid one. The man was no fool. What he did must be done quickly. There lay before him one safe road. Since that was the path he desired above all things to follow, it was sure he would set out on it without delay.

Her scruples had hitherto held him back, because it would be better she should come of her own accord to him. But these could not hold him many hours longer.

The masterful insistence of the man had told me that, but no more plainly than his mounting pa.s.sion.

I sat down on the box and waited. In that dark, stuffy hole the heat was intense. The odor of food decomposing in the moisture of the tropics did not add to my comfort.

Sitting in cushioned chairs in club rooms with a surfeit of comfort within reach, men have argued in my presence that there is no such thing as luck. Men win because of merit; they fail only if there is some lack in themselves.

This is a pleasant gospel for those who have found success, but it does not happen to be true. Take my own case here. How could I foresee that a barefooted, half-naked black cook would come into the storeroom to get a pan of rice for next day's dinner?

Or, as I lay crouched beside a box in the shadows beyond the dim circle illumined by his candle, how could I know whether it were best to announce myself or lie still?

I submit that the part of wisdom was to let the fellow go in peace, and this I did.

But as he turned the light for an instant swept across me. He gave a shriek and flung away both the candle and the pan of rice, bolting for the door. I called to him to stop. For answer he slammed the door--_and locked it_. Nor did my calls stay the slap of his retreating feet. I was caught fast as a rat in a trap.

I certainly had spilt the fat into the fire this time. Inside of five minutes the pa.s.sage outside was full of men. But during that time I had been an active Irishman. In front of me and around me I had piled a barrier of boxes and barrels.

"Who's in there?" Bothwell called.

I fired through the door. Some one groaned. There was a sudden scurry of retreating footsteps, followed by whisperings at the end of the pa.s.sage.

These became imperative, rose and fell abruptly, so that I judged there was a division of counsel.

Presently Bothwell raised his voice and spoke again.

"We've got you, whoever you are. My friend, you'll have a sick time of it if you don't surrender without any more trouble. Do you hear me?"

He waited for an answer, and got none. I had him guessing, for it was impossible to know how many of us might be there. Moreover, there was a chance of working upon the superst.i.tion of the natives among the crew.

The cook had very likely reported that he had seen a ghost.

Except a shot out of the darkness no sound had come from me since. So long as I kept silent the terror of the mystery would remain. Was I man or devil? What was it spitting death at them from the black room?

"We're going to batter that door down," went on Bothwell, "and then we're going to make you wish you'd never been born."

The voices fell again to a whispered murmur. Soon there would be a rush and the door would be torn from its hinges. I made up my mind to get Bothwell if I could before the end.

Above the mutterings came clearly a frightened soprano.

"What is it, Boris? What are you going to do?"

Evelyn had come out of her room to try to save me.

"Just getting ready to ma.s.sacre your friend," her cousin answered promptly.

"Mr. Sedgwick?"

Terror shook in the voice that died in her throat.

Bothwell bayed deep laughter.

"O-ho! My friend from Erin once more--for the last time. Come out and meet your welcome, Sedgwick."

"Suppose you come and take me," I suggested.

"By G.o.d, I will! Back with you into that room, girl."