Chapter LVII: Warships

“Throw it overboard,” said Hale curtly.

The shock of the deed had sobered him; his face was the colour of putty.

“Step lively, damn you!”

The man leapt at his word. Bill, standing in the chart-house, heard the click of the sword as it dragged along the deck… there was a loud splash. It was so horribly matter-of-fact a proceeding that Bill could not believe that he had witnessed a murder.

“Now, young fellow, get down and tell the purser to come himself, and to bring with him the Stones, do you hear?”

“I hear,” said Bill steadily.

“You’re the man that was up here the night my two fellows disappeared?” Hale was looking at him with a new interest through his half-closed eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Smithers,” said Bill.

“Well, go down, Mr. Blooming Smithers, and come back with the Stones. I’d like a word with you.”

Holbrook gave a quick glance round; every man of the party was armed. He could have killed Harvey Hale then and there, but there were too many for him. He might shoot down three, he calculated coldly, but the fourth or the fifth would get him.

“Here!” Hale called him back. “I want a wireless operator. Do you understand radio?”

“No, sir.”

“Understand morse, though, don’t you?”

It dawned upon Bill at that moment that in all probability the captain of the _Thomas Inland_ had also picked up his message.

“No, sir, I don’t understand morse. Several of the stewards do, though.”

“Humph!” said Hale, and jerked his head.

He was apparently not satisfied to let Bill go alone, for, looking round, the reporter saw that he was closely followed by two of Hale’s subordinates. Despite his apparent coolness, his head was in a whirl. Joshua Laffin was dead! He met the purser at the foot of the companion stairway, and gave his message.

“It’s no use, Holbrook,” said the man in a low voice. “I know where the Stones are. I went into the linen store, looking for a place to hide, and saw them. They wouldn’t last a minute there. They searched that place when you disappeared.”

Bill’s heart sank. He ran along the alleyway, opened the door of his cabin and called the girl and her uncle out.

“I agree with the purser--you’ll be found in the cabin. The only chance we have is on the boat deck,” he said.

As they walked along the corridor he told the news of Joshua Laffin’s murder.

“How horrible!” she said in a low voice. “Yet--yet my first thought----”

He nodded and gripped her arm.

“A couple of Hale’s men are at the companion,” he said. “We shan’t have another opportunity of talking. I want you to follow me wherever I go. Have you the pistol?”

She showed him the bag in her hand.

“It is certain to be necessary; I hope it will be effective,” he said grimly.

He led the way along the deck, Stone and the girl following him, and the two gangsters bringing up the rear.

“Go ahead,” he said, when they came to the foot of the ladder that gave to the boat deck.

Stone went first, the girl after, then came Bill, and following him his two custodians. He reached the head of the steps, and, turning suddenly, dashed his boot in the chest of the nearest man. He dropped with a yell, bringing down his companion.

“This way!” shouted Holbrook, and flew across the deck towards the wireless caboose.

The man on duty at the door whipped a revolver from his pocket, but before he could press the trigger Holbrook shot him down. In another instant he was in the cabin, and the new operator did not show fight; he dropped his gun and put up his hands at the moment of their entrance.

“Outside,” said Bill tersely, and kicked him on to the deck.

He dragged Betty into the cover of the cabin, and when Stone had followed, the reporter shut the door and pushed the bolts. With the butt of his pistol he smashed the three glass windows. He had seen that, from the wireless room, and standing on the operator’s table, he could cover both bridges--a fact which one of the gang was to discover, for incautiously coming into view, Bill dropped him with a bullet through his knee, and the yell of the wounded man was excellent propaganda as a deterrent to imitators.

“They’ll try to starve us out, but I don’t think they’ll make any direct attack. Thank God, there’s no night in these regions--I never dreamt I should be thankful for that!”

The operator had left behind him on the table two large naval revolvers, and they made a welcome addition to the armament of the party. He handed one to Stone.

“Take that and cover the left ladder; I’ll look after the right,” said Bill. “Shoot anybody you see--you cannot make a mistake.”

“Can I do anything?” asked Betty quietly. “I’m not afraid--look!” She put out her hand, and to Bill’s amazement it did not tremble.

“For the moment you had better keep out of range. This caboose is made of steel and ought to resist an ordinary rifle bullet. Our danger is from the rear, where we cannot see an attack coming.”

The real danger, he discovered, was from the roof, for presently they heard a patter of feet overhead and the blow of an axe clanging against the iron roof.

“It would require the skill of Mr. Toby Marsh to make an entrance that way,” said Bill coolly.

It was queer that he should think of Toby Marsh at that moment, yet several times that day the man had come to his mind. Was he, with Laffin, the mysterious force which directed the blow of Harvey Hale’s knife? For this was clear, that the big man was acting under orders, and somehow he could not think of Laffin as leader.

The blows on the roof ceased, the footsteps sounded no more; but presently they came again, dragging something heavy. Suddenly the nozzle of a hosepipe was thrust in through the broken window and paid out furiously. Before Bill could gather the pipe and fling it out of the window there was ample time for the cabin to have been flooded, but no water came, and he wondered if there had been a blunder somewhere.

“The pipes are frozen.” It was Stone who supplied the explanation.

“They’ll try smoke next,” said Bill. “I can only pray that they haven’t a Mills bomb on board.”

She shivered at his cold-bloodedness.

“You said they had taken Clive? What will they do to him?”

“I don’t know. He is a prisoner in the chart-house,” said Bill. “They will probably use him as either a lever or an ambassador.”

It was a shrewd guess. Some time later, after a long lull, the figure of Clive appeared at the top of the bridge steps. He was still handcuffed; the look of bewilderment which Bill had seen on his face had intensified, so that there was something almost comic in his embarrassment. Bill felt a little pang of pleasure, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, that his rival should appear at such a disadvantage and was instantly ashamed of his meanness.

“Don’t come down. What do you want?” shouted Bill.

From where he stood he could see not only the bridge, but had a good view beneath the bridge, across to the bow of the anchored _Escorial_, which was swinging idly in the tide.

“I have a message for you,” shouted Clive, with a dismal attempt at cheerfulness. “Don’t plug me--I’m doing my best!”

“Tell the others to keep back,” warned Bill, and watched his lordship descend the ladder with painful slowness.

Presently he stood under the broken window.

“They say that if you’ll surrender, there’ll be no further trouble. Hale has killed the doctor--you know that? Now he talks about going back, turning State’s evidence, and handing the ship over to the New York police authorities.”

“Loud cheers,” said Bill sarcastically. “Do you believe that?”

“I’m blest if I know what to think, Holbrook,” said Clive. “They threatened to hang me at the yardarm or some other beastly place, unless I can induce you to do as they wish! They say you can go back to your cabin and that no further attempt will be made on you. Naturally they’re anxious about their own skins.”

“I’ll not do it!”

Lowbridge looked round fearfully.

“I’d ask you to let me in, only I’m afraid these devils would shoot me. They’ve got me covered. Honestly, I believe Hale is scared sick.”

“In which case he can get up his anchor and steam south,” said Bill. “We can travel just as comfortably in this caboose as we can in the luxury of suite H.” Then, with a gasp: “Who told you who I was?” he demanded.

“They know. Personally, I shouldn’t have recognised you. Gosh! if I ever get out of this I’ll never come to sea again, even if I have to settle down in America! What shall I tell them?” he asked after a pause.

“What I said. If he turns the ship south, we go south too, whether we’re here or in suite H. I don’t trust him, and you’ll be a fool if you do. Why does he threaten to hang you if he’s square?”

“Because apparently he wants your good word. He seems to have an inordinate faith in the power of the press----”

Bill’s derisive laughter interrupted him.

“Am I a child?” he said. “I’m sorry if you’re running any risks--I don’t think you are, Lowbridge, because he’ll not put his threat into execution. But you must tell him that I’m staying here till we reach somewhere in the region of 45 degrees north. He has enough oil to strike the track of steamers.”

The disconsolated Clive returned to the bridge.

“What will they do now? You don’t think Clive is in any danger?” asked Stone anxiously.

“If they’re serious about hanging him I may change my mind, but for the moment we stay here.”

The vessel was still swinging. A big iceberg which had been in view through the port window had disappeared, and a newer and smaller berg was slowly coming into sight as the great vessel leisurely circled her anchor. Suddenly Bill, who had been watching the bridge, dropped to the floor, seized a pair of binoculars that he had seen on a shelf, and leapt up to the table again.

Far away on that sector of the horizon which was now in view, were three blurs of smoke, and through the powerful glasses he distinguished them. He did not know the _Kent_ from the _Sussex_, but the third vessel with a lattice mast was a United States warship, or he had never seen one!