The Holladay Case Part 24

"I trust that I'm not in the way, Mr. Lester?" inquired a low, provoking voice at my side, and I awoke to the fact that I had again been guilty of forgetting my companion.

"Miss Kemball," I began desperately, "let me confess that I'm in an exceedingly vexatious situation. The fact that I can't ask advice makes it worse."

"You can't ask even Mr. Royce?" she queried, with raised brows.

"He least of all. You see, he's just recovering from a severe nervous breakdown--he must have quiet--that's one reason he's taking this voyage."

"I see," she nodded.

I glanced at her again--at the open, candid eyes, the forceful mouth and chin--and I took a sudden resolution.

"Miss Kemball," I said, "I'm going to ask your help--that is, if I may."

"Of course you may."

"Well, then, that man who came on board last is the inveterate enemy of both Mr. Royce and myself. We're trying to unearth a particularly atrocious piece of villainy in which he's concerned. I have reason to believe him capable of anything, and a very fiend of cleverness. I don't know what he may plot against us, but I'm certain he'll plot something. Mr. Royce doesn't even know him by sight, and shouldn't be worried; but, unless he's forewarned, he may walk right into danger. I want you to help me keep an eye on him--to help me keep him out of danger. If we look after him closely enough, I shan't need to warn him. Will you help me?"

Her eyes were dancing as she looked up at me.

"Why, certainly!" she cried. "So we're to have a mystery--just we two!"

"Just we two!" I a.s.sented with a quickened pulse.

She looked at me doubtfully for a moment.

"I must remember Mr. Graham's warning," she said. "You haven't invented this astonis.h.i.+ng story just to entertain me, Mr. Lester?"

"On my word, no," I responded, a little bitterly. "I only wish I had!"

"There," she said contritely; "I shouldn't have doubted! Forgive me, Mr. Lester. Only it seemed so fantastic--so improbable----"

"It _is_ fantastic," I a.s.sented, "but, unfortunately, it is true. We must keep an eye on Monsieur Martigny or Bethune."

"Which is his real name?"

"Those are the only ones I know, but I doubt if either is the true one."

Royce and Mrs. Kemball joined us a moment later, and we sat watching the low, distant Long Island sh.o.r.e until the gong summoned us to lunch. A word to the steward had secured us one of the small tables in an alcove at the side--Mrs. Kemball and her daughter surrendered the grandeurs of the captain's table willingly, even gladly, to minister to us--and the meal was a merry one, Mr. Royce seeming in such spirits that I was more than ever determined not to disturb him with the knowledge of Martigny's presence.

As the moments pa.s.sed, my fears seemed more and more uncalled for. It was quite possible, I told myself, that I had been making a bogy of my own imaginings. The Frenchman did not appear in the saloon, and, afterwards, an inquiry of the s.h.i.+p's doctor developed the fact that he was seriously ill, and quite unable to leave his state room.

So afternoon and evening pa.s.sed. There were others on board who claimed their share of the charming Mrs. Kemball and her daughter. Mr.

Royce knew a few of them, too, and introduced me to them, but I found their talk somehow flat and savorless. I fancied that my companion looked slightly wearied, too, and at last we stole away to our deck chairs, where we sat for an hour or more looking out across the dancing waves, listening to the splash of the boat as she rose and fell over them. He was thinking, no doubt, of a certain dark beauty, whose caprices there was no explaining. As for me--well, I had suddenly developed a st.u.r.dy preference for blue eyes.

I may as well confess at once that I was seasick. It came next morning, ten minutes after I had left my berth--not a violent sickness, but a faintness and giddiness that made me long for my berth again. But Mr. Royce would not hear of it. He got me out on deck and into my chair, with the fresh breeze blowing full in my face.

There was a long line of chairs drawn up there, and from the faces of most of their occupants, I judged they were far more miserable than I.

At the end of an hour, thanks to this treatment, I felt almost well again, and could devour with some appet.i.te the luncheon which Mr.

Royce ordered for me.

After a while the doctor came down the line and looked at each of us, stopping for a moment's chat. The more serious cases were below, and all that any of us needed was a little encouragement.

"Won't you sit down a minute, doctor?" I asked, when he came to me, and motioned to Mr. Royce's chair.

"Why, you're not sick!" he protested, laughing, but he dropped into the vacant place.

"It wasn't about myself I wanted to talk," I said. "How's your other patient--the one who came aboard last?"

His face sobered in an instant.

"Martigny is his name," he said, "and he's in very bad shape. He must have been desperately anxious to get back to France. Why, he might have dropped over dead there on the gang-plank."

"It's a disease of the heart?"

"Yes--far advanced. He can't get well, of course, but he may live on indefinitely, if he's careful."

"He's still confined to his bed?"

"Oh, yes--he won't leave it during the voyage, if he takes my advice.

He's got to give his heart just as little work as possible, or it'll throw up the job altogether. He has mighty little margin to go on."

I turned the talk to other things, and in a few moments he went on along his rounds. But I was not long alone, for I saw Miss Kemball coming toward me, looking a very Diana, wind-blown and rosy-cheeked.

"So _mal-de-mer_ has laid its hand on you, too, Mr. Lester!" she cried.

"Only a finger," I said. "But a finger is enough. Won't you take pity on a poor landsman and talk to him?"

"But that's reversing our positions!" she protested, sitting down, nevertheless, to my great satisfaction. "It was you who were to be the entertainer! Is our Mephisto abroad yet?" she asked, in a lower tone.

"I, too, am feeling his fascination--I long for another glimpse of him."

"Mephisto is still wrestling with his heart, which, it seems, is scarcely able to furnish the blood necessary to keep him going. The doctor tells me that he'll probably spend the voyage abed."

"So there'll be nothing for us to do, after all! Do you know, Mr.

Lester, I was longing to become a female Lecoq!"

"Perhaps you may still have the chance," I said gloomily. "I doubt very much whether Mephisto will consent to remain inactive. He doesn't look to be that sort."

She clapped her hands, and nodded a laughing recognition to one of the pa.s.sing promenaders.

"You're going to Paris, aren't you, Miss Kemball?" I asked.

"To Paris--yes. You too? You must be, since you're going to France."

"We go first to Etretat," I said, and stopped, as she leaned, laughing, back in her chair. "Why, what's wrong with that?" I demanded, in some astonishment.

"Wrong? Oh, nothing. Etretat's a most delightful place--only it recalled to me an amusing memory of how my mother was one day scandalized there by some actresses who were bathing. It's the prettiest little fis.h.i.+ng-village, with the finest cliffs I ever saw.

But it's hardly the season for Etretat--the actresses have not yet arrived. You'll find it dull."