“I am quite sure,” he said, in a tone of kindly approval, “that I shall find you a most interesting companion on this trip. You and I must have a little further conversation together. I have won a considerable sum of money, I may say, by my — er — exploit, and I have invited some of these newspaper fellows to take a drink with me before luncheon in the smoking room. I hope you will join us?”
“I shall be delighted,” Jocelyn accepted. “A drink with a friend, and a little mutual toast, is always a pleasure.”
Crawshay paused. They were standing outside the entrance to the captain’s cabin.
“I quite agree with you,” he said. “Exercise your ingenuity, Mr. Jocelyn Thew, and think out a toast that we can both drink sincerely. You will excuse me? I am going in to talk to the captain for a few minutes. There are a few matters concerning my personal comfort which need his attention. I find the purser,” he added, dropping his voice, “an excellent fellow, no doubt, but just a trifle unsympathetic, eh?”
“I have no doubt you are right,” Jocelyn agreed. “We will meet again, then, just before one o’clock.”
.
CHAPTER VI
Crawshay knocked at the door of the captain’s room, received a stentorian invitation to enter, and sank a little plaintively into a vacant easy-chair. The purser, who had been in close confabulation with his chief, hastily took his leave.
“Good morning, sir,” the visitor said languidly.
“Good morning, Mr. Crawshay,” the captain replied. “Feeling a little stronger this morning, I hope?”
Crawshay sighed.
“The memory of that experience,” he began, settling down in his chair, —
“Well, well, you ought to have got over that by this time,” the captain interrupted. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crawshay? I have been yarning with the purser a little longer than usual, this morning, and I have some rounds to do.”
“I must not stand in the way of your daily avocation,” the newcomer said gloomily. “I really dropped in chiefly to see if by any chance you had had a wireless message about me.”
“Not a word.”
“No message, eh? Now, do you know, that seems to me exceedingly strange,” Crawshay ruminated.
“I don’t see why it should,” was the somewhat brusque reply. “I have no doubt that the New York papers have some wonderful headlines— ‘How an Englishman catches the steamer!’ or ‘An English diplomatist, eager to fight’ — and all that sort of thing. But apart from the spectacular side of it, I don’t suppose they consider your adventure of national interest.”
“On the contrary, it is the development of a new era,” Crawshay replied, with dignity. “Just consider what actually happened. I miss the steamer, owing to the breakdown of the Chicago Limited and a subsequent automobile accident. I arrive at the dock whilst you are in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty. What do I do? What no one else has ever done before! I fly after you! Romance has never pictured such a thing. I am a pioneer, Captain.”
The Captain grinned.
“You’ve been pretty sorry for yourself ever since,” he observed.
“I must confess that I made up my mind to the heroic deed in a rash moment,” Crawshay acknowledged. “I am a person of strong and unconquerable impulses. You see, that exceedingly disagreeable American policeman who was sent up to Halifax on a fool’s errand with me, and who subsequently led me on another to Chicago, bet me five hundred dollars, as we stood upon the dock, that I couldn’t catch that steamer. Now if there is one thing,” he went on, crossing his legs, “which excites my interest more than another, it is a bet.”
“That and your accent,” the captain said, smiling, “are two of your most prominent British traits, Mr. Crawshay.” The latter took out his eyeglass and polished it.
“I have others,” he retorted, “but never mind. I understood you to say, I think, that you have heard nothing by wireless about me?”
“Not a word.”
The captain glanced at his clock and showed some signs of impatience. His visitor, however, remained blandly imperturbable.
“I see that you have only one operator in the wireless room,” he remarked.
“How do you know that?”
“I happened to be walking by last night, and I glanced in.”
“We are short-handed,” the captain explained.
“Quite naturally,” Crawshay replied. “Now with reference to this young man, I watched him coming down the steps from his office this morning. You may be surprised to hear, Captain, that I found him unprepossessing — in fact I might almost say that I took a dislike to him.”
“I am sure he would be very much disturbed if he knew your opinion,” was the faintly sarcastic reply. “He happens to be a young man with exceptionally good credentials.”
“Credentials,” Crawshay observed blandly, “in which I have no faith — no faith whatever.”
The captain turned his head suddenly. There was a new expression in his face as he looked keenly at his visitor.
“What do you mean, Mr. Crawshay?”
“Nothing much. I see you have been smoking a pipe, Captain. You will forgive me if I light one of these perfectly damnable cigarettes which are all I have been able to buy on board. — Thank you. — I talk better when I smoke.”
“It seems to me that you talk a great deal of nonsense,” the captain declared bluntly.
“Intermingled at times,” the other insisted, “with a word or two of sense. Now I am going to repeat that I have very little faith in this wireless operator of yours. At three o’clock this morning — I don’t wish to tie myself down, Captain, so I will say in the vicinity of that hour — he received a message — a long one, I should imagine. I put it to you, sir — was that dispatch for you?”
“No,” the captain admitted, “I had no message at that hour or since.”
“Very-well, then,” Crawshay continued, loosening a little muffler at his throat, “I suppose you can ascertain from the purser if any message was delivered to any one of your passengers?”
“I certainly can,” the captain admitted, “but to tell you the truth, sir, I scarcely see how this concerns you.”
“I am endeavouring,” his visitor replied, with a little wave of his hand, “to justify my statement. Enquire of the purser, I beg you. It will do no harm.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders, touched the bell and despatched his steward for Mr. Dix, the purser, who, happening to be on the deck outside, made an immediate appearance.
“Mr. Dix,” the captain asked him, “can you tell me if you have received any wireless message intended for any one of the passengers at or since three o’clock this morning?” “Not one, sir.”
Crawshay’s smile was beatific and triumphant. He relit his cigarette which had gone out, and, crossing his legs, made himself a little more comfortable.
“Very well, then,” he said, “what I should like to know is, what became of that message which made very pretty illuminations around your conductor, or whatever you call it, for at least a quarter of an hour this morning?”
“The message may merely have been an intercepted one,” the purser pointed out. “It may not have been fur us at all.”
“I had an idea,” Crawshay persisted, with bland and officious precision, “that even intercepted messages, especially in time of war, were referred to some person of authority on board. Apart from that, however, the message I refer to was written down and delivered to one of your passengers. I happened to see your operator leave his office with an envelope in his hand.”