The book aided him as a commonplace accompaniment aids a
soloist--alternately boring and exasperating him.
It was an "uplift" book, where the heroine receives whacks with
patient smiles. Fate boots her from pillar to post and she blesses
Fate and is much obliged. That most deadly reproach to degenerate
human nature--the accidental fact of sex--had been so skilfully
extirpated from those pages that, like chaste amoebæ, the characters
merely multiplied by immaculate subdivision; and millions of lineal
descendants of the American Dodo were made gleeful for $1.50 net.
It was hard work waiting, harder work reading, but between the two and
a cigarette now and then Neeland managed to do his sentry go until
dinner time approached and the corridors resounded with the trample of
the hungry.
The stewardess reappeared a little later and returned to him his
handkerchief and the following information: Mr. Hawks, it appeared, travelled with a trained nurse, whose
stateroom was on another deck. That nurse was not in her stateroom,
but a similar handkerchief was, scented with similar perfume.
"You're a wonder," said Neeland, placing some more sovereigns in her
palm and closing her fingers over them. "What is the nurse's name?"
"Miss White."
"Very suitable name. Has she ever before visited Herr--I mean
Mr.--Hawks in his stateroom?"
"Her stewardess says she has been indisposed since we left New York."
"Hasn't been out of her cabin?"
"No."
"I see. Did you inquire what she looked like?"
"Her stewardess couldn't be certain. The stateroom was kept dark and
the tray containing her meals was left at the bedside. Miss White
smokes."
"Yes," said Neeland reflectively, "she smokes Red Light cigarettes, I
believe. Thank you, very much. More sovereigns if you are discreet.
And say to my steward that I'll dine in my stateroom. Soup, fish,
meat, any old thing you can think of. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
When she had withdrawn he kneeled down on his sofa and looked out
through the port at the sunset sea.
There was a possibility that Scheherazade and her friends might be on
board the Volhynia. Who else would be likely to take wax impressions
of his keyhole and leave a scented scrap of a handkerchief on his
stateroom floor?
That they had kept themselves not only out of sight but off the
passenger list merely corroborated suspicion. That's what they'd be
likely to do.
And now there was no question in his mind of leaving the box in his
cabin. He'd cling to it like a good woman to alimony. Death alone
could separate his box from him.
As he knelt there, sniffing the salt perfume of the sea, his ears on
duty detected the sound of a tray in the corridor.
"Leave it on the camp-table outside my door!" he said over his
shoulder.