chorus. The straps and hooks for their wires rattled eerily; they were solid lumps about four and a half feet tall; they glittered with gilt armour, red cloaks, and gaudy jewelled accoutrements. Their faces, bearded formidably in dark wool, smirked from under spiked helmets. While they swayed, a powerful-looking man with a flattish dark face sat on the couch with another dummy across his knee. In the dim light he was mending the figure’s cloak with a long needle and blue thread. Occasionally he glanced towards the dark berth where something heavy was burrowing and groaning.
“ Je meurs! ” whispered a voice from the berth, dramatically. “ Ah, mon Dieu, je meurs! Ooooo! Abdul, je t’implore … ”
Abdul shrugged, squinted at his needle, shrugged again, and spat on the floor. Peggy closed the door.
“He’s no better,” she said, unnecessarily, and they started back to the cabin where Warren was waiting. Morgan, in fact, was not eager for more than a glimpse into that cabin. Whether it was merely night and the rain in the middle of a shouting Atlantic, or merely that dull after-dinner feeling which is not dispelled on shipboard without bibulous hilarity, still he did not like the look of those smirking dummies. Moreover, such an irrelevant impression as that had given him another impression—of trouble ahead. There was no Q.E.D. about it, or even a rational subtlety. But he glanced round rather sharply when they reached the side passage that led to Warren’s cabin.
It opened off a main corridor, and its short length contained two cabins on either side. Warren’s was an end one on the left, beside a door opening out on C deck. It was dark, and the white-painted door was hooked open. Morgan knocked in the manner agreed on at the door beside it, and they slipped inside.
Only the light inside the lower berth was on. Warren sat gingerly on the edge of the berth. And he looked worried.
Morgan said sharply, but in a low voice, “Anything wrong?”
“Plenty,” said the other. “Sit down and keep as quiet as you can. I think we’ve got a long time to wait, but you never can tell what this joker will be up to. Valvick’s gone for some soda-water. And we’re set now.” He nodded towards the ventilator high in the wall, communicating with the next cabin. “If anybody goes in there, we can hear him in a second. Then we nab him. Moreover, I’ve got the hook on the door wedged so that, no matter how quiet he tries to be, he’ll make a racket as loud as an alarm clock.”
Warren paused, rubbing his jaw rather nervously and peering about the dim-lit state-room. He had discarded the towel round his head, but absorbent gauze and sticking-plaster along the back of the skull still made his dark hair stand up in a goblin-like way. The glow in the berth illumined one side of his face, and they could see a vein beating in his temple.
“Curt,” said the girl, “what is wrong?”
“All hell, I’m afraid. Old Valvick went to see Captain Whistler before dinner … ”
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t know how much in earnest you people were when we were sitting in there piling up theories about fancy crooks. But the impossible happened. We were right. There’s a very badly wanted little joker aboard, and no joke about it. He’s after old Sturton’s emerald. And—he’s a killer.”
Morgan felt in the pit of his stomach an uneasy sensation which was partly the motion of the ship. He said:
“Are you serious, or is this—?”
“You bet I’m serious. So is Whistler. Valvick got the information from him, because Whistler badly needs advice. Old Valvick’s story is pretty muddled; but that much is clear. Whistler wonders whether to keep it dark or broadcast the news to the ship. Valvick advised the latter: it’s customary. But Whistler says this is a respectable boat, a family boat, and the rest of that stuff … ”
Morgan whistled. Peggy went over and sat down beside Warren. She protested stoutly that it was
“ Je meurs! ” whispered a voice from the berth, dramatically. “ Ah, mon Dieu, je meurs! Ooooo! Abdul, je t’implore … ”
Abdul shrugged, squinted at his needle, shrugged again, and spat on the floor. Peggy closed the door.
“He’s no better,” she said, unnecessarily, and they started back to the cabin where Warren was waiting. Morgan, in fact, was not eager for more than a glimpse into that cabin. Whether it was merely night and the rain in the middle of a shouting Atlantic, or merely that dull after-dinner feeling which is not dispelled on shipboard without bibulous hilarity, still he did not like the look of those smirking dummies. Moreover, such an irrelevant impression as that had given him another impression—of trouble ahead. There was no Q.E.D. about it, or even a rational subtlety. But he glanced round rather sharply when they reached the side passage that led to Warren’s cabin.
It opened off a main corridor, and its short length contained two cabins on either side. Warren’s was an end one on the left, beside a door opening out on C deck. It was dark, and the white-painted door was hooked open. Morgan knocked in the manner agreed on at the door beside it, and they slipped inside.
Only the light inside the lower berth was on. Warren sat gingerly on the edge of the berth. And he looked worried.
Morgan said sharply, but in a low voice, “Anything wrong?”
“Plenty,” said the other. “Sit down and keep as quiet as you can. I think we’ve got a long time to wait, but you never can tell what this joker will be up to. Valvick’s gone for some soda-water. And we’re set now.” He nodded towards the ventilator high in the wall, communicating with the next cabin. “If anybody goes in there, we can hear him in a second. Then we nab him. Moreover, I’ve got the hook on the door wedged so that, no matter how quiet he tries to be, he’ll make a racket as loud as an alarm clock.”
Warren paused, rubbing his jaw rather nervously and peering about the dim-lit state-room. He had discarded the towel round his head, but absorbent gauze and sticking-plaster along the back of the skull still made his dark hair stand up in a goblin-like way. The glow in the berth illumined one side of his face, and they could see a vein beating in his temple.
“Curt,” said the girl, “what is wrong?”
“All hell, I’m afraid. Old Valvick went to see Captain Whistler before dinner … ”
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t know how much in earnest you people were when we were sitting in there piling up theories about fancy crooks. But the impossible happened. We were right. There’s a very badly wanted little joker aboard, and no joke about it. He’s after old Sturton’s emerald. And—he’s a killer.”
Morgan felt in the pit of his stomach an uneasy sensation which was partly the motion of the ship. He said:
“Are you serious, or is this—?”
“You bet I’m serious. So is Whistler. Valvick got the information from him, because Whistler badly needs advice. Old Valvick’s story is pretty muddled; but that much is clear. Whistler wonders whether to keep it dark or broadcast the news to the ship. Valvick advised the latter: it’s customary. But Whistler says this is a respectable boat, a family boat, and the rest of that stuff … ”
Morgan whistled. Peggy went over and sat down beside Warren. She protested stoutly that it was
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