“You forget that I have no need of money, Mr. Groat,” she said with spirit. Any reference to Jim aroused all that was savage in her. “I have not only the money which you have not stolen from my estate, but when you are arrested and in prison, I shall recover all that you have now, including this yacht, if it is yours.”
Her answer made him chuckle.
“I like spirit,” he said. “You can’t annoy me, Eunice, my darling. So you like our yacht—our honeymoon yacht?” he added.
To this, she made no reply.
“But suppose you realise how much I love you.” He leant over and caught her hand in both of his and his eyes devoured her. “Suppose you realise that, Eunice, and knew I would give my life—my very soul—to make you happy, wouldn’t that make a difference?”
“Nothing would make a difference to my feelings, Mr. Groat,” she said. “The only chance you have of earning my gratitude is to put in at the nearest port and set me ashore.”
“And where do I set myself?” he asked coolly. “Be as intelligent as you are beautiful, Eunice. No, no, I shall be very glad to make you happy, so long as I get a little of the happiness myself, but I do not risk imprisonment and death.” He shivered, and hated himself that he had been surprised into this symptom of fear and hated her worst, having noticed that.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We are bound to South America,” said Digby, “and it may interest you to learn that we are following a track which is not usually taken by the South American traffic. We shall skirt Ireland and take what Americans call the Western Ocean route, until we are within 1000 miles of Long Island, when we shall turn due south. By this way we avoid being sighted by the American ships, and we also avoid—”
The man who came in at that moment, Eunice thought must be the captain.
He wore three rings of gold about his wrist, but he was not her ideal of a seaman. Under-sized, lame in one foot, his parchment face of stiff black hair almost convinced her that this was a Japanese boat after all.
“You must meet the captain,” said Digby, introducing him, “and you had better make friends with him.”
Eunice thought that the chances of her making friends with that uncompromising little man were remote.
“What is it, captain?” asked Digby in Portuguese.
“We have just picked up a wireless; I thought you’d like to see it.”
“I had forgotten we had wireless,” said Digby as he took the message from the man’s hand.
It was ill-spelt, having been written by a Brazilian who had no knowledge of English and had set down the message letter by letter as he received it. Skipping the errors of transmission, Digby read;
“To all ships westward, southward, and homeward bound. Keep a sharp look out for the yacht Pealigo and report by wireless, position and bearing, to Inspector Rite, Scotland Yard.”
Eunice did not understand what they were talking about, but she saw a frown settle on Digby’s forehead, and guessed that the news was bad. If it was bad for him, then it was very good for her, she thought, and her spirits began to rise.
“You had better go to bed, Eunice,” said Digby. “I want to talk to the captain.”
She rose, and only the captain rose with her.
“Sit down,” said Digby testily. “You are not here to do the honours to Mrs. Digby Groat.”
She did not hear the last words, for she was out of the saloon as quickly as she could go. She went back to her own cabin, shut the door, and put up her hand to shoot home the bolt, but while she had been at dinner somebody had been busy. The bolt was removed and the key of the door was gone!
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EUNICE stared at the door. There was no mistake. The bolts had recently been removed and the raw wood showed where the screws had been taken out.
The Pealigo was rolling now, and she had a difficulty in keeping her balance, but she made her way round the cabin, gathering chairs, tables, everything that was movable, and piling them up against the door. She searched the drawers of the bureau for some weapon which might have been left by its former occupant, but there was nothing more formidable than a golden-backed hairbrush which the plutocratic Maxilla had overlooked.
The bathroom yielded nothing more than a long-handled brush, whilst her sitting-room made no return for her search.
She sat watching the door as the hours passed, but no attempt was made to enter the cabin. A bell rang at intervals on the deck: she counted eight. It was midnight. How long would it be before Digby Groat came?
At that moment a pale-faced Digby Groat, his teeth chattering, sat in the cabin of the wireless operator, reading a message which had been picked up. Part was in code, and evidently addressed to the Admiralty ships cruising in the vicinity, but the longer message was in plain English and was addressed:
“To the chief officers of all ships. To the Commanders of H.M. ships: to all Justices of the Peace, officers of the police Great Britain and Ireland. To all Inspectors, sub-inspectors of the Royal Irish Constabulary:
“Arrest and detain Digby Groat, height five foot nine, stoutly built, complexion sallow, had small moustache but believed to have shaven. Speaks Spanish, French, Portuguese, and is a qualified surgeon and physician, believed to be travelling on the S.Y. Pealigo, No. XVM. This man is wanted on a charge of wilful murder and conspiracy; a reward of five thousand pounds will be paid by Messrs. Salter & Salter, Solicitors, of London, for his arrest and detention. Believe he has travelling with him, under compulsion, Dorothy Danton, age 22. Groat is a dangerous man and carries fire-arms.”
The little captain of the Pealigo took the thin cigar from his teeth and regarded the grey ash attentively, though he was also looking at the white-faced man by the operator’s side.
“So you see, senhor,” he said suavely, “I am in a most difficult position.”
“I thought you did not speak English,” said Digby, finding his voice at last.
The little captain smiled.
“I read enough English to understand a reward of five thousand pounds, senhor,” he said significantly. “And if I did not, my wireless operator speaks many languages, English included, and he would have explained to me, even if I had not been able to understand the message myself.”
Digby looked at him bleakly.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“That depends upon what you are going to do,” said the Brazilian. “I am no traitor to my salt, and I should like to serve you, but you readily understand that this would mean a terrible thing for me, if, knowing that you were wanted by the English police, I assisted you to make an escape? I am not a stickler for small things,” he shrugged his shoulders, “and Senhor Maxilla did much that I closed my eyes to. Women came into his calculations, but murder never.”
“I am not a murderer, I tell you,” stormed Digby vehemently, “and you are under my orders. Do you understand that?”
He jumped up and stood menacingly above the unperturbed Brazilian, and in his hand had appeared an ugly-looking weapon.
“You will carry out my instructions to the letter, or, by God, you’ll know all about it!”
But the captain of the Pealigo had returned to the contemplation of his cigar. He reminded Digby somewhat of Bronson, and the yellow-faced man shivered as at an unpleasant thought.
“It is not the first time I have been threatened with a revolver,” said the captain coolly. “Years ago when I was very young, such things might have frightened me, but to-day I am not young. I have a family in Brazil who are very expensive; my pay is small, otherwise I would not follow the sea and be every man’s dog to kick and bully as he wishes. If I had a hundred thousand pounds, senhor, I should settle down on a plantation which I have bought and be a happy and a silent man for the rest of my life.”