“I don’t want to eat,” she said.
“You will come into the dining-saloon whether you want to or not.”
The saloon was empty save for the two and a dark-skinned waiter, and, like her own cabin, it was gorgeously decorated, a veritable palace in miniature, with its dangling electrolier, its flowers, and its marble mantelpiece at the far end.
The table was laid with a delicious meal, but Eunice felt she would choke if she took a morsel.
“Eat,” said Digby, attacking the soup which had been placed before him.
She shook her head.
“If you don’t,” and his eyes narrowed, “if you don’t, my good soul, I will find a way of making you eat,” he said. “Remember,” he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the hateful little black case (it was wet, she noticed) and laid it on the table, “at any rate, you will be obedient enough when I use this!”
She picked up her spoon meekly and began to drink the soup, and he watched her with an amused smile.
She was surprised to find how hungry she was, and made no attempt to deny the chicken en casserole, nor the sweet that followed, but resolutely she refused to touch the wine that the steward poured out for her, and Digby did not press her.
“You’re a fool, you know, Eunice.” Digby lit a cigar without asking permission, and leaning back in his chair, looked at her critically. “There is a wonderful life ahead for you if you are only intelligent. Why worry about a man like Steele? A poor beggar, without a penny in the world—”
“You forget that I have no need of money, Mr. Groat,” she said with spirit. Any reference to Jim aroused all that was savage in her. “I have not only the money which you have not stolen from my estate, but when you are arrested and in prison, I shall recover all that you have now, including this yacht, if it is yours.”
Her answer made him chuckle.
“I like spirit,” he said. “You can’t annoy me, Eunice, my darling. So you like our yacht—our honeymoon yacht?” he added.
To this she made no reply.
“But suppose you realized how much I love you”—he leant over and caught her hand in both of his and his eyes devoured her. “Suppose you realize that, Eunice, and knew I would give my life—my very soul—to make you happy, wouldn’t that make a difference?”
“Nothing would make a difference to my feelings, Mr. Groat,” she said. “The only chance you have of earning my gratitude is to put in at the nearest port and set me ashore.”
“And where do I set myself?” he asked coolly. “Be as intelligent as you are beautiful, Eunice. No, no, I shall be very glad to make you happy so long as I get a little of the happiness myself, but I do not risk imprisonment and death—” He shivered, and hated himself that he had been surprised into this symptom of fear, and hated her worse for having noticed it.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We are bound for South America,” said Digby, “and it may interest you to learn that we are following a track which is not usually taken by the South American traffic. We shall skirt Ireland and take what the mariners call the western ocean route, until we are within a thousand miles of Long Island, when we shall turn due south. By this way we avoid being sighted by the American ships, and we also avoid—” The man who came in at that moment, Eunice thought, must be the captain.
He wore three rings of gold about his wrist, but he was not her ideal of a seaman. Undersized, lame in one foot, his parchment face and stiff black hair almost convinced her that this was a Japanese boat after all.
“You must meet the captain,” said Digby, introducing him, “and you had better make friends with him.”
Eunice thought that the chances of her making friends with that uncompromising little man were remote.
“What is it, captain?” asked Digby in Portuguese.
“We have just picked up a wireless; I thought you’d like to see it.”
“I had forgotten we had wireless,” said Digby as he took the message from the man’s hand.
It was ill-spelt, having been written by a Brazilian who had no knowledge of English and had set down the message letter by letter as he received it. Slipping the errors of transmission, Digby read:
“To all ships westward, southward, and homeward bound. Keep a sharp look out for the yacht Pealigo and report by wireless, position and bearing, to Inspector Rite, Scotland Yard.”
Eunice did not understand what they were talking about, but she saw a frown settle on Digby’s forehead, and guessed that the news was bad. If it was bad for him, then it was very good for her, she thought, and her spirits began to rise.
“You had better go to bed, Eunice,” said Digby. “I want to talk to the captain.”
She rose, and only the captain rose with her.
“Sit down,” said Digby testily. “You are not here to do the honours to Mrs. Digby Groat.”
She did not hear the last words, for she was out of the saloon as quickly as she could go. She went back to her own cabin, shut the door, and put up her hand to shoot home the bolt, but while she had been at dinner somebody had been busy. The bolt was removed and the key of the door was gone!
XLVI
Eunice stared at the door. There was no mistake. The bolts had recently been removed and the raw wood showed where the screws had been taken out.
The Pealigo was rolling now, and she had a difficulty in keeping her balance, but she made her way round the cabin, gathering chairs, tables, everything that was movable, and piling them up against the
