The Game and the Candle Part 7

"Try your Sauterne," advised Stanief quietly.

Allard obeyed. The food nauseated him, the heavy pulse of his own heart seemed tangled with the nearing throb of the boat; the suspense was physical pain. The wine helped, sending its vivifying warmth along his numbed nerves.

"You know," the tranquil voice added, "this s.h.i.+p is foreign ground.

There are a few formalities attached. We should have a little time, even--"

Allard lifted his head with a quick breath.

"Once, in such an hour, I asked one whom I believed a friend to leave me a revolver," he said. "Not being of the cla.s.s, he refused. If there should be--a little time, I will make that request of you, your Royal Highness."

"And I am of the cla.s.s. But there are many things before that."

Voices on deck, hurrying feet, stilled the sentence.

"Thank you," Allard answered, and waited.

Marzio again, deftly removing plates, changing gla.s.ses. Then another entrance,--the blond Vasili who had accompanied Stanief that day.

"Well?" queried his chief.

"Your Royal Highness, Captain Delsar respectfully begs an interview."

"Why?"

"Your Royal Highness, a boat from sh.o.r.e has arrived and the officers request permission to search the yacht for an escaped prisoner."

"Is that the reason for the din they are creating?"

"Yes, your Royal Highness."

Stanief selected a cigarette and pushed the tray toward Allard.

"Of course they have no right to do so," he replied indifferently, "but I have no objection. Let them search, by all means. Tell Captain Delsar to aid them all he can, although, unless he swam, there was no way for a man to reach the yacht except on the launch which brought Monsieur John and me. Monsieur John, let me introduce Lieutenant Paul Vasili."

Allard turned to acknowledge the other's friendly salute. Stanief faced the door, which consequently was behind his companion.

"Give the message, Vasili, and say the yacht is open to them; even these rooms, if they wish. And tell the captain that we sail in an hour. That is all."

Silence again. Allard mechanically maintained the pretense of eating with each course while in reality he knew nothing but the faint sounds of the search and the intermittent roar of the whistle.

With the coffee came Vasili once more. Stanief nodded permission for the message.

"Your Royal Highness, the officers from the prison have finished. As a matter of form, they would accept your Royal Highness' offered consent and glance in here, in order to report every part of the yacht examined."

"Very good; admit them. Marzio, why have you this electric light over the table? Turn it out; the candelabra and the side lights are ample."

Both orders were promptly obeyed. Vasili disappeared and the flaring light went out, leaving the room softly glowing with rosy color. Stanief looked into the set face opposite with the first trace of annoyance on his own.

"I forgot the coat, left on the bench all the afternoon. If any one saw it--"

Allard made a movement, then the door behind him opened.

"Come in, officer," Stanief invited pleasantly. "You are satisfied with a mere survey, or do you wish to carry it farther? I think either Mr.

John or I have been in this room, however, since we came aboard at half-past five."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Come in, Officer," Stanief invited pleasantly.]

"Yes, sir," answered an embarra.s.sed voice, a voice which for months had represented autocracy for Allard. "We just want to report a complete search, sir. I'm sorry to trouble."

Stanief lighted a cigar, letting the man slowly take in the scene. The gorgeous, velvet-draped salon, the last course of the dinner, the serene "distinguished visitor,"--there was no clue here. And certainly there was nothing to suggest a desperate convict in the gentleman in evening dress whose back was to the door, and who stirred his cafe noir so indifferently.

"Why did you fancy he came to the yacht?" Stanief inquired.

"Oh, excuse me, sir; it was only one chance. We thought he might have got to the river and swam for here. You see, it would be pretty hard to get out the other way in his clothes."

Allard raised his head impulsively.

"Why," he began, then remembered the punctilious Vasili and checked himself. "I beg pardon, your Royal Highness."

A gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt flickered across Stanief's black eyes at the quickly-learned etiquette.

"_Faites_, my dear John," he granted, waiving the point.

"It occurred to me that your Royal Highness had ordered a rain coat to be left on the bench by the rear door, and when we returned it was not there. Could it be possible--"

"That it was stolen?" caught up Stanief, grasping the audacity of the idea. "Undoubtedly so. I fancied my order neglected and intended rebuking the one responsible. Officer, behold your clue: a hatless man in an English rain coat."

The phrase captivated the man's dull imagination.

"A hatless man in an English rain coat," he echoed, fascinated. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir. We will telegraph all around. If I may go, sir--"

"You are quite certain he is not aboard? I do not wish to carry any dangerous stowaways, and we sail at once."

"Quite sure, sir. I must waste no more time."

"Good night, then. I imagine you will have no more trouble with that prisoner."

"Oh, no, sir," not understanding the double meaning. "Not after this. A hatless man in an English rain coat! Good night, sir."

"Marzio," said Stanief, when the door closed, "you may bring some cognac, and leave us. No one enters."

Voices on deck, hurrying feet, and presently the retreating throb of a little engine.

"Drink your cognac, Monsieur John."

"Thank you."

"Bah, your nerves are superb, but they pay beneath your stillness.

Drink; I warn you that I have the habit of domination."