Jane shut her eyes, and Dennison opened a novel. It was good reading, and
he became partially absorbed. The sudden creak of a chair brought his
glance round. His father had seated himself in the vacant chair.
The phase that dug in and hurt was that his father made no endeavour to
avoid him--simply ignored his existence. Seven years and not a crack in
the granite! He laid the book on his knees and stared at the rocking
horizon.
One of the crew passed. Cleigh hailed him.
"Send Mr. Cleve to me."
"Yes, sir."
The air and the tone of the man were perfectly respectful.
When Cleve, the first officer, appeared his manner was solicitous.
"Are you comfortable, sir?"
"Would ten thousand dollars interest you?" said Cleigh, directly.
"If you mean to come over to your side, no. My life wouldn't be worth a
snap of the thumb. You know something about Dick Cunningham. I know him
well. The truth is, Mr. Cleigh, we're off on a big gamble, and if we win
out ten thousand wouldn't interest me. Life on board will be exactly as it
was before you put into Shanghai. More I am not at liberty to tell you."
"How far is the Catwick?"
"Somewhere round two thousand--eight or nine days, perhaps ten. We're not
piling on--short of coal. It's mighty difficult to get it for a private
yacht. You may not find a bucketful in Singapore. In America you can
always commandeer it, having ships and coal mines of your own. The drop
down to Singapore from the Catwick is about forty hours. You have coal in
Manila. You can cable for it."
"You are honestly leaving us at that island?"
"Yes, sir. You can, if you wish, take the run up to Saigon; but your
chance for coal there is nil."
"Cleve," said Cleigh, solemnly, "you appreciate the risks you are
running?"
"Mr. Cleigh, there are no risks. It's a dead certainty. Cunningham is one
of your efficiency experts. Everything has been thought of."
"Except fate," supplemented Cleigh.
"Fate? Why, she's our chief engineer!"
Cleve turned away, chuckling; a dozen feet off this chuckle became
boisterous laughter.
"What can they be after? Sunken treasure?" cried Jane, excitedly.
"Hangman's hemp--if I live long enough," was the grim declaration, and
Cleigh drew the rug over his knees.
"But it can't be anything dreadful if they can laugh over it!"
"Did you ever hear Mephisto laugh in Faust? Cunningham is a queer duck. I
don't suppose there's a corner on the globe he hasn't had a peek at. He
has a vast knowledge of the arts. His real name nobody seems to know. He
can make himself very likable to men and attractive to women. The sort of
women he seeks do not mind his physical deformity. His face and his
intellect draw them, and he is as cruel as a wolf. It never occurred to me
until last night that men like me create his kind. But I don't understand
him in this instance. A play like this, with all the future risks! After I
get the wires moving he won't be able to stir a hundred miles in any
direction."