“I’ll take the liberty of paying you a short call presently, Captain, if I may,” he said. “I just want to fetch my wraps. And by-the-by, did I tell you that I have been fortunate enough to find a pair of rubbers that just fit me, at the barber’s? One of the greatest blessings on board ship, Captain, believe me, is the barber’s shop. It’s like a bijou Harrod’s or Whiteley’s — anything you want, from an elephant to a needle, you know. In about ten minutes, Captain, if I shan’t be disturbing you.”
The captain found the purser on deck and took him into his cabin.
“I saw you speaking to Doctor Gant in the gangway,” the former observed. “I wonder what he really thinks about his patient?”
“I think I can tell you that, sir, without betraying any confidences,” the purser replied. “Unless a miracle happens, there’ll be a burial before we get across. Poor fellow, it seems too bad after such an effort.”
The captain nodded sympathetically.
“After all, I can understand this hankering of a man to die in his own country,” he said. “I had a brother once the same way. They brought him home from Australia, dying all the way, as they believed, but directly he set foot in England he seemed to take on a new lease of life — lived for years afterwards.” “Is that so?” the purser remarked. “Well, this fellow ought to have a chance. It’s a short voyage, and he has his own doctor and nurse to look after him.”
“Let’s hope they’ll keep him alive, then. I hate the burial service at sea.”
The captain turned aside and filled his pipe thoughtfully.
“Dix,” he continued, “as you know, I am not a superstitious man, but there seems to be something about this trip I can’t fathom.”
“Meaning, sir?”
“Well, there’s this wireless business, first of all. We shall close it up in about thirty-six hours, you know, and in the meantime I have been expecting half a dozen messages, not one of which has come through.”
“Young fellow of the highest character, Robins,” the purser remarked drily.
“That may be,” the captain agreed, “and yet I can’t get rid of my premonition. I wouldn’t mind laying you anything you like, Dix, that we don’t sight a submarine, and shouldn’t, even if we hadn’t our guns trained.”
“That’s one comfort, anyway. Being a family man, sir—”
“Yes, I know all about your family, Dix,” the captain interrupted irritably, “but just at the present moment I am more interested in what is going on in my ship. I begin to believe that Mr. Crawshay’s voyage through the air wasn’t altogether a piece of bravado, after all.”
The purser smiled a little incredulously. “He sent round this evening to know if I could lend him some flannel pyjamas,” he said,— “says all the things that have been collected together for him are too thin. That man makes me tired, sir.”
“He makes me wonder.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“Because I can’t size him up,” the captain declared. “There isn’t a soul on board who isn’t laughing at him and saying what a sissy he is. They say he has smuggled an extra lifebelt into his cabin, and spends half his time being seasick and the other half looking out for submarines.”
“That’s the sort of fellow he seems to me, anyway,” the purser observed.
“I can’t say that I’ve quite made up my mind,” the captain pronounced. “I suppose you know, Dix, that he was connected with the Secret Service at the English Embassy?”
“I didn’t know it,” Dix replied, “but if he has been, Lord help us! No wonder the Germans have got ahead of us every time!”
“I don’t think he was much of a success,” the other continued, “and as a matter of fact he is on his way back to England now to do his bit of soldiering. All the same, Dix, he gave me a turn the other day.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“Showed me an order, signed by a person I won’t name,” the captain went on, lowering his voice, “requesting me to practically run the ship according to his directions — making him a kind of Almighty boss.”
Mr. Dix opened his lips and closed them again. His eyes were wide open with astonishment. There was an indecisive knock at the door, which at a gesture from the captain he opened. Wrapped in a huge overcoat, with a cap buttoned around his ears and a scarf nearly up to his mouth, Crawshay stood there, seeking admittance.
* * * * *
“I am exceedingly fortunate to find you both here,” the newcomer observed, as he removed his cap. “Captain, may I have a few minutes’ conversation with you and Mr. Dix?”
“Delighted,” the captain acquiesced, “so long as you don’t keep me more than twenty minutes. I am due on the bridge at nine o’clock.”
“I will endeavour not to be prolix,” Crawshay continued, carefully removing his rubbers, unfastening his scarf and loosening his overcoat. “A damp night! I fear that we may have fog.”
“This all comes off the twenty minutes,” the captain reminded him.
Crawshay smiled appreciatively.
“Into the heart of things, then! Let me tell you that I suspect a conspiracy on board this boat.”
“Of what nature?” the captain asked swiftly.
“It is my opinion,” Crawshay said deliberately, “that the result of the whole accumulated work of the German Secret Service, compiled since the beginning of the war by means of Secret Service agents, criminals, and patriotic Germans and Austrians resident in the States, is upon this ship.”
“Hell!” the purser murmured, without reproof from his chief.
“It was believed,” Crawshay continued, “that these documents, together with a letter of vital importance, were on the steamer which conveyed the personnel of the late German Ambassador to Europe. The steamer was delayed at Halifax and a more or less complete search was made. I was present on behalf of the English Embassy, but I did not join personally in the search. You have all heard that the seals of a tin chest belonging to a neutral country had been tampered with. The chiefs of my department, and the head of the American Secret Service, firmly believe that the missing papers are in that chest and will be discovered when the chest is opened in London. That is not a belief which I share.”
“And your reasons, Mr. Crawshay?” the captain asked.
“First, because Hobson and I were decoyed to Chicago by a bogus telegram, evidently with the idea that we should find it impossible to catch or search this steamer. Secondly, because there is on board just the one man whom I believe capable of conceiving and carrying out a task as difficult as this one would be.”
“Who is he?” the captain demanded.
“A very inoffensive, well-mannered and exceedingly well-informed individual who is travelling in this steamer under, I believe, his own name — Mr. Jocelyn Thew.”
“Jocelyn Thew!” the captain murmured.
“Thew!” the purser repeated.
“Now I tell you that I have definite suspicions of this man,” Crawshay continued, “because I know that for some reason or other he hates England, although he has the appearance of being an Englishman. I know that he has been friendly with enemy agents in New York, and I know that he has been in recent communication with enemy headquarters at Washington. Therefore, as I say, I suspect Mr. Jocelyn Thew. I also suspect Robins, the wireless operator, because I am convinced that he has received messages of which he has taken no record. I now pass on to the remainder of my suspicions, for which I frankly admit that I have nothing but surmise. I suspect Mr. Phillips, Doctor Gant and Miss Katharine Beverley.”
The last shock proved too much for the captain. For the first time there was distinct incredulity in his face.
“Look here, Mr. Crawshay,” he protested, “supposing you are right, and that you are on the track of a conspiracy, how do you account for a physician from the finest hospital in New York and one of the best-known young ladies in America being mixed up in it?”