Chapter L: The Evening of the Ball

There was nothing unusual in the appearance of U.S.S. _Escorial_ to suggest the imminence of a tragedy. The bugles called regularly to luxurious meals, the pillared swimming-bath echoed with the laughter of young people and the splash and gurgle of water. The band played in the social hall, where the elderly and the middle-aged preferred to take their tea. The smoke-room was crowded from afternoon till night, and the eight, or more than eight, crooks who worked this particular ship went about their unlawful occupations with skill and modesty.

A fancy dress ball had been announced for that night: the notice was up in the hall, with the further information that dresses, masks, wigs, etc., could be obtained from the amazing barber, who supplied everything from shoe-laces to surreptitious roulette wheels, for the comfort and pleasure of the _Escorial’s_ guests. As he was shaving Bill he offered his assistance.

“I could make you up so that nobody would know you,” he said.

“Thank you--I’m in the publicity business,” interrupted Bill.

That night, after dinner, the centre of the social hall was cleared, and carpets rolled up, exposing a well-sprung dancing floor, and when the hall began to fill, and the trap drummer of the band made his presence known, it was difficult for Betty to believe that they were on a ship in the middle of the ocean, more than a thousand miles from the nearest land.

“It’s very wonderful!” she breathed. He had found a tapestried sofa for her, coffee had been served, and Mr. Stone, a little pale but otherwise cheerful, had been assisted into a corner seat, his wound hidden beneath a black silk bandage.

“Why do you go so often to your cabin? One would think you had a sick child!” she smiled, when Bill came back for the third time.

There was an opportunity now, for the band was playing noisily and the sound of voices and laughter made it impossible that he could be overheard.

“Bullott is in my cabin,” he whispered. “Nobody must know.”

When the dance had finished, she rose.

“Take me on to the deck,” she commanded, and he led her to the forward part of the promenade, which at this hour was bare of people. “Now tell me,” she said. “Bullott is in your cabin? Why doesn’t he come up?”

She listened without interruption.

“He thinks something is going to happen?”

“I won’t deceive you--he does. So do I.”

“It’s in the air to-night. I couldn’t help feeling, when I saw those dominoes and masks dancing on the floor, how easy it would be--oh no, that would be too absurd. I’m thinking in terms of melodrama.”

“Melodrama belongs to the world,” said Bill. “There isn’t a police station that isn’t full of it; there isn’t an insane asylum that doesn’t have it all, from Act One to the final drop.”

“I’d like to see Mr. Bullott,” she said suddenly.

Bill was in a dilemma; he was already regretting that he had broken faith with his friend.

“I’ll take you down,” he said.

To his relief, Bullott was rather amused than otherwise at the sight of the girl.

“I thought he’d tell _you_,” he said, and she flushed at the emphasis he laid on the last word. “Come right in, Miss Stone, and find a place to sit. It isn’t my cabin, and where Holbrook is going to sleep to-night I don’t know.”

“I’ve come to ask you to tell me something, Mr. Bullott,” she said. “Is there really any serious danger?”

“Here, on the _Escorial_? Yes, there is some sort of danger for a few people here.”

“For me?”

He looked perplexed.

“I don’t know--yes, I guess there is,” he said. “You want the truth?”

She nodded her thanks.

“Is there any way by which that danger can be avoided? Can’t somebody be told?” There was a hint of impatience as well as anxiety in her voice.

“Why, no,” said Bullott, considering the matter. “If we were travelling by railroad, there’d be an alarm signal that we could pull, and the train would stop and a policeman would come along and inquire. But nothing stops an ocean liner except a rock or an iceberg, or maybe, a man overboard; and they don’t stop so long for that. We’ve got to go through with it. I’ve told the officers and they just looked at me as though I were not quite right in the head. My only hope is that I get a reply to the radio I’ve sent to Scotland Yard. That’s the only kind of reply that is worth while.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Do you know Halifax? There are two British cruisers there, the _Sussex_ and the _Kent_, fast commerce destroyers. I’ve asked for a convoy.”

Bill looked at him awe-stricken.

“You never have, Bullott! You’ve taken a risk.”

“I’m taking a worse one,” said Bullott. “I thought it out one night, when I was working down in that hot place”--he pointed to the floor. “It seemed the only thing that I could do. I’ve got the codebook with me that we use on special occasions. Fortunately, there’s a code word for Kent and one for Sussex, so I could send it without letting the operator know what I was getting at. It was the last thing I did before I came in here. I was hiding all this morning, down amongst the mailbags--you wouldn’t think I could get there, but I did. I had to run the gauntlet to reach this cabin. A whole lot of people didn’t think I’d get here, either,” he added, with a chuckle, “and not only thought so, but made it pretty hard for me to take that short journey. I’ve hidden in every kind of place--ventilators, bulkheads, rope stores, and if I’d been seen for the fraction of a second I’d have been a dead man.”

“Not this morning in broad daylight?”

“This morning in broad daylight. Where’s Benson?” he asked.

“Whom do you mean--not Lord Lowbridge’s servant?” said the girl. “He’s with my father.”

Bullott grunted something.

“It’s going to be some job,” he said at last. “No, Miss Stone, there’s nothing you can do for me, except to keep it secret that I’m back. I’m not squealing because Holbrook told you; I expected he would.”

He put his hand under his pillow again and took out a small Browning.

“Ever use a pistol?”

She nodded.

“In dramas,” she said.

“Well, I hope you won’t use it in this drama. That’s loaded. Can you hide it somewhere--in your bag, maybe,” he said, looking down at the little bag at her wrist. “That’s good! Don’t forget that it is loaded, and push down the safety catch with your thumb before you press the trigger. You’ve nine chances there.”

Her face was white.

“Are you armed also?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“But don’t you think I ought to tell Mr. Stone?”

He considered this, and decided against such a course.

“The fewer people know, the better. It might have been wiser to have told the passengers in the first place, but I did not know in time--you can leave the key on the inside; I think I can lock and unlock it now. My wound is much easier.”

They heard the door locked as they turned into the alleyway.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, as they reached the deck.

“I’ve been wondering rather what _you_ think,” said Bill.

“You mean if I’m frightened? I was a little bit, but not now. If I only knew where the danger was coming from, and exactly how it threatens----”

“I feel that way myself,” said Bill. “It’s the uncertainty of it, the nervous expectation of attack from all sides that rattles me.” He drew a long breath.

“Why that sigh?” she asked with a smile.

“I’m wondering about the _Sussex_ and the _Kent_. Warships are a hobby of mine,” he said.

All that night Bill sat aloof, literally his back to the wall, watching every point, every move, ready keyed up to deal with the blow when it struck.

He had declined Stone’s offer to sleep in the suite.

“I shall be much better outside,” he said. “It’s only a few paces to the lower promenade deck; I can watch both the doors and the windows,” he added.

The night steward saw him and grinned his respectful admiration of Bill Holbrook’s eccentricity.

“I can’t understand why you always sit up all night, sir. You’re not afraid of shipwreck, are you?” asked the steward.

That explanation had never occurred to Bill.

“Got it first time, son,” he said solemnly. “I have a mad passion for dying well-dressed.”

The steward lingered to gossip.

“I’ve never known a voyage like this; nothing’s happened,” he said. “Dead and alive voyage, I call it.”

“What do you want to happen?” asked Bill.

“Oh, nothing,” said the man vaguely; “only.… stewards like to see something doing. It doesn’t seem natural for a voyage to be--well, just a voyage. You’re an American, sir, aren’t you?”

“I have that peculiarity,” said Bill.

“Doesn’t it strike you that things are very quiet on the _Escorial_. Of course, a fancy dress ball wakens them up a bit, but lord! nothing to what I have seen in my time. Why, I’ve known the smoke-room to be full from the beginning of the voyage to the end! That was in the days before the ships went dry,” he said regretfully.

After a while he made a reluctant retirement, and Bill was left alone. From time to time he walked down the promenade deck and glanced left and right. At least he expected some appearance of Laffin’s men, and his nerves were on edge. But all that he could see was the empty sweep of the deck, and all he heard was the scrub--scrub--scrub overhead; the watch was making the decks presentable for the day that soon would dawn.

Was he mistaken, after all? Had Laffin and his villainy so shaken him that he saw the doctor’s hand in everything--he remembered the poisoned water, the midnight intruder to Stone’s suite.… Bullott lying wounded in his cabin.… No, something was afoot--some diabolical mischief that he could not fathom.

The second officer came down the stairs from the upper deck. He was wearing his heavy sea boots and had evidently come straight from duty on the bridge.

“Can’t sleep?” he said with a pleasant smile. “I’d like to change places with you!”

Above him he heard the voices of the watch. The quartermaster was giving an order, and grumbling in lurid language at the inefficiency of one of his team. And then his heart leapt. He saw the door of Betty’s room open slowly… he saw her peeping round the edge of the door, and her smile reassured him.

“I’ve just wakened up. Is it very late?”

“Nearly four,” he said.

“I don’t think I can sleep any more. Won’t you go and lie down?”

He shook his head, and, with a little nod, she closed the door, and he heard the lock snap. At any rate, he could walk on the deck for a few minutes, and he was glad of the respite.

Yes, the watch were at their work, their long scrubbers moving leisurely; he heard the swish and swirl of water as it was thrown across the deck, the bubbling of the hosepipe--pleasant, homely sounds that filled him with a sense of security.

He was wondering whether any reply had come to Bullott’s radio, and mounting the companion he walked along the bridge deck and tapped at the door of the wireless hut. The operator on duty opened it for him.

“Hullo! Any more messages?” he asked. “The old man properly turned you down! He sent a radio to New York to ask if you were batty. Haven’t had a reply yet.”

“Have you got a message for Bullott?”

“What’s the good? He’s not here, is he? He’s the man that fell overboard in the Channel.”

“He’s here all right,” said Bill.

He closed the door behind him and sat down on the operator’s table.

“There’s no wire for you. There’s one from Esyard, whoever that may be, and it is intended for the Captain.”

“I think that is the one I’m waiting for,” said Bill.

“Can’t give it to you, son,” said the man briskly. “It belongs to the skipper. I’ll give it to him as soon as he wakes. Yards of it!”

“Do the words Kent and Sussex appear in the message?” asked Bill.

“Good Lord, you’re a thought reader! Yes, they do! They’re code though, aren’t they? Otherwise it is a plain English message, I can tell you. Something about ‘_Kent_ and _Sussex_ proceeding immediately.’ There’s lashings of a code wire for the Captain--six pages of it.”

“My friend, you’ll be wise if you wake the Captain and give him that message,” said Bill earnestly. “You don’t know what may depend upon it.”

The operator grinned.

“I know what would happen if I woke him,” he said; “life would lose its savour for three or four voyages. Hullo, who’s that?”

Somebody had knocked at the door. He unfastened the catch and threw it open. For a second he did not see anything, and then out of the darkness came a black shape, masked from head to foot; the two eyes glittered through an opening in the cowl, and the barrel of a pistol covered him.

“Don’t move, don’t touch that instrument, or you’re a dead man!” said a gruff voice. “In the name of the Proud Sons of Ragousa, I order you step out and step lively!”