The Pagan Madonna Part 27

"I've as much right to believe that as you have that Cunningham will keep his word."

"Oh!" she cried, but it was an outburst of anger. And it had a peculiar twist, too. She was furious because both father and son were partly correct; and yet there was no diminution of that trust she was putting in Cunningham. "Next you'll be hinting that I'm in collusion with him!"

"No. Only he is an extraordinarily fascinating rogue, and you are wearing the tinted goggles of romance."

Fearing that she might utter something regrettable, she flew down the port pa.s.sage and entered her cabin, where she remained until dinner. She spent the intervening hours endeavouring to a.n.a.lyze the cause of her temper, but the cause was as elusive as quicksilver. Why should she trust Cunningham?

What was the basis of this trust? He had, as Denny said, broken the law of the sea. Was there a bit of black sheep in her, and was the man calling to it? And this perversity of hers might create an estrangement between her and Denny; she must not let that happen. The singular beauty of the man's face, his amazing career, and his pathetic deformity--was that it?

"Where's the captain?" asked Cunningham, curiously, as he noted the vacant chair at the table that night.

"On deck, I suppose."

"Isn't he dining to-night?"--an accent of suspicion creeping into his voice. "He isn't contemplating making a fool of himself, is he? He'll get hurt if he approaches the wireless."

"Togo," broke in Cleigh, "bring the avocats and the pineapple."

Cunningham turned upon him with a laugh.

"Cleigh, when I spin this yarn some day I'll carry you through it as the man who never batted an eye. I can see now how you must have bluffed Wall Street out of its boots."

When Cunningham saw that Jane was distrait he made no attempt to pull her out of it. He ate his dinner, commenting only occasionally. Still, he bade her a cheery good-night as he returned to the chart house, where he stayed continually, never quite certain what old Captain Newton might do to the wheel and the compa.s.s if left alone too long.

Dennison came in immediately after Cunningham's departure and contritely apologized to Jane for his rudeness.

"I suppose I'm on the rack; nerves all raw; tearing me to pieces to sit down and twiddle my thumbs. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course I will! I understand. You are all anxious about me.

Theoretically, this yacht is a volcano, and you're trying to keep me from kicking off the lid. But I've an idea that the lid will stay on tightly if we make believe we are Mr. Cunningham's guests. But it is almost impossible to suspect that anything is wrong. Whenever a member of the crew comes in sight he is properly polite, just as he would be on a liner.

If I do go to the bridge again I'll give you warning. Good-night, Mr.

Cleigh, I'll read to you in the morning. Good-night--Denny."

Cleigh, sighing contentedly, dipped his fingers into the finger bowl and brushed his lips.

The son drank a cup of coffee hastily, lit his pipe, and went on deck. He proceeded directly to the chart house.

"Cunningham, I'll swallow my pride and ask a favour of you."

"Ah!"--in a neutral tone.

"The cook tells me that all the wine and liquor are in the dry-stores compartment. Will you open it and let me chuck the stuff overboard?"

"No," said Cunningham, promptly. "When I turn this yacht back to your father not a single guy rope will be out of order. It would be a fine piece of work to throw all those rare vintages over the rail simply to appease an unsubstantial fear on your part! No!"

"But if the men should break in? And it would be easy, because it is nearer them than us."

"Thank your father for building the deck like a city flat. But if the boys should break in, there's the answer," said Cunningham, laying his regulation revolver on the chart table. "And every mother's son of them knows it."

"You refuse?"

"Yes."

"All right. But if anything happens I'll be on top of you, and all the bullets in that clip won't stop me."

"Captain, you bore me. Your father and the girl are good sports. You ought to be one. I've given you the freedom of the yacht for the girl's sake when caution bids me dump you into the brig. I begin to suspect that your misfortunes are due to a violent temper. Run along with your thunder; I don't want you hurt."

"If I come through this alive----"

"You'll join your dad peeling off my hide--if you can catch me!"

It was with the greatest effort that Dennison crushed down the desire to leap upon his tormentor. He stood tense for a moment, then stepped out upon the bridge. His fury was suffocating him, and he realized that he was utterly helpless.

Ten minutes later the crew in their quarters were astonished to see the old man's son enter. None of them stirred.

"I say, any you chaps got an extra suit of twill? This uniform is getting too thick for this lat.i.tude. I'm fair melting down to the bone."

"Sure!" bellowed a young giant, swinging out of his bunk. He rummaged round for a s.p.a.ce and brought forth a light-weight khaki s.h.i.+rt and a pair of ducks. "Guess these'll fit you, sir."

"Thanks. Navy stores?"

"Yes, sir. You're welcome."

Dennison's glance travelled from face to face, and he had to admit that there was none of the criminal type here. They might carry through decently. Nevertheless, hereafter he would sleep on the lounge in the main salon. If any tried to force the dry-stores door he would be likely to hear it.

At eleven o'clock the following morning there occurred an episode which considerably dampened Jane's romantical point of view regarding this remarkable voyage. Cleigh had gone below for some illuminated ma.n.u.scripts and Dennison was out of sight for the moment. She leaned over the rail and watched the flying fish. Suddenly out of nowhere came the odour of whisky.

"You ought to take a trip up to the cut.w.a.ter at night and see the flying fish in the phosph.o.r.escence."

She did not stir. Instinctively she knew who the owner of this voice would be--the man Cunningham called Flint. A minute--an unbearable minute--pa.s.sed.

"Oh! Too haughty to be a good fellow, huh?"

Footsteps, a rush of wind, a scuffling, and an oath brought her head about. She saw Flint go balancing and stumbling backward, finally to sprawl on his hands and knees, and following him, in an unmistakable att.i.tude, was Dennison. Jane was beginning to understand these Cleighs; their rage was terrible because it was always cold.

"Denny!" she called.

But Dennison continued on toward Flint.

CHAPTER XV

Flint was a powerful man, or had been. The surprise of the attack over, he jumped to his feet, and blazing with murderous fury rushed Dennison. Jane saw a tangle of arms, and out of this tangle came a picture that would always remain vivid--Flint practically dangling at the end of Dennison's right arm. The rogue tore and heaved and kicked and struck, but futilely, because his reach was shorter. Dennison let go unexpectedly.

"Listen to me, you filthy beachcomber! If you ever dare speak to Miss Norman again or come within ten feet of her I'll kill you with bare hands!