“Stand where you are,” said Eunice again, and this time she had the means to enforce her command.
Digby could only stare at the muzzle of the pistol pointed towards his heart, and then he shrank back.
“Put that thing away!” he said harshly. “Damn you, put it away! You are not used to firearms, and it may explode.”
“It will explode,” said Eunice. Her voice was deep and intense, and all the resentment she had smothered poured forth in her words. “I tell you, Digby Groat, that I will shoot you like a dog, and glory in the act. Shoot you more mercilessly than you killed that poor Spaniard, and look upon your body with less horror than you showed.”
“Put it away, put it away! Where did you get it?” he cried. “For God’s sake, Eunice, don’t fool with that pistol; you don’t want to kill me, do you?”
“There are times when I want to kill you very badly,” she said, and lowered the point of the revolver at the sight of the man’s abject cowardice.
He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief, and she could see his knees trembling.
“Who gave you that pistol?” he demanded violently. “You didn’t have it when you left Kennett Hall, that I’ll swear. Where did you find it? In one of those drawers?” He looked at the bureau, one of the drawers of which was half open.
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Now, Mr. Groat, you will please go out of my cabin and leave me in peace.”
“I had no intention of hurting you,” he growled. He was still very pale. “There was no need for you to flourish your revolver so melodramatically. I only came in to say good night.”
“You might have come about six hours earlier,” she said. “Now go.”
“Listen to me, Eunice,” said Digby Groat; he edged forward, but her pistol covered him, and he jumped. “If you’re going to play the fool, I’ll go,” he said, and followed the action by the deed, slamming the door behind him.
She heard the outer door open and close, and leant against the brass column of the bed for support, for she was near to the end of her courage. She must sleep, she thought, but first she must secure the outer door. There was a lock on the lobby door; she had not noticed that before. She had hardly taken two steps through the cabin door before an arm was flung round her, she was pressed back, and a hand gripped the wrist which still carried the weapon. With a wrench he flung it to the floor, and in another moment she was in his arms.
“You thought I’d gone”—he lifted her, still struggling, and carried her back to the saloon. “I want to see you,” he breathed; “to see your face, your glorious eyes, that wonderful mouth of yours, Eunice.” He pressed his lips against hers; he smothered with kisses her cheeks, her neck, her eyes.
She felt herself slipping from consciousness; the very horror of his caresses froze and paralysed her will to struggle. She could only gaze at the eyes so close to hers, fascinated as by the glare of the deadly snake.
“You are mine now, mine, do you hear?” he murmured into her ear. “You will forget Jim Steele, forget everything except that I adore you,” and then he saw her wild gaze pass him to the door, and turned.
The little captain stood there, his hands on his hips, watching, his brown face a mask.
Digby released his hold of the girl, and turned on the sailor.
“What the hell are you doing here? Get out,” he almost screamed.
“There is an aeroplane looking for us,” said the captain. “We have just picked up her wireless.”
Digby’s jaw dropped. That possibility had not occurred to him.
“Who is she? What does the wireless say?”
“It is a message we picked up saying, ‘Nothing sighted. Am heading due south.’ It gave her position,” added the captain, “and if she is coming due south I think Mr. Steele will find us.”
Digby fell back a pace, his face blanched.
“Steele,” he gasped.
The captain nodded.
“That is the gentleman who signs the message. I think it would be advisable for you to come on deck.”
“I’ll come on deck when I want,” growled Digby. There was a devil in him now. He was at the end of his course, and he was not to be thwarted.
“Will the good gentleman come on deck?”
“I will come later. I have some business to attend to here.”
“You can attend to it on deck,” said the little captain calmly.
“Get out,” shouted Digby.
The captain’s hand did not seem to move; there was a shot, the deafening explosion of which filled the cabin, and a panel behind Digby’s head splintered into a thousand pieces.
He glared at the revolver in the Brazilian’s hand, unable to realize what had happened.
“I could have shot you just as easily,” said the Brazilian calmly, “but I preferred to send the little bullet near your ear. Will you come on deck, please?”
Digby Groat obeyed.
XLVIII
White and breathless he leant against the bulwark glowering at the Brazilian, who had come between him and the woman whose ruin he had planned.
“Now,” he said, “you will tell me what you mean by this, you swine!”
“I will tell you many things that you will not like to hear,” said the captain.
A light dawned upon Digby.
“Did you give the girl that revolver?”
The Brazilian nodded.
“I desired to save you from yourself, my friend,” he said. “In an hour the gentleman Steele will be within sight of us; I can tell where he is within a few miles. Do you wish that he should come on board and discover that you have added something to murder that is worse than murder?”
“That is my business,” said Digby Groat, breathing so quickly that he felt he would suffocate unless the pent-up rage in him found some
