Bragdon had reached the stage where he dared not speak and was busying himself trying to “breathe with the motion of the boat,” as he had called it.
“By Gad,” continued Monty, relentlessly, “this smoke is getting thick. Some of this toilet water might help if I sprinkled it about.”
One whiff of the sweet-smelling cologne was enough for Bragdon and he bolted up the companionway, leaving the stateroom door wide open and the prisoner free to go where he pleased. Monty’s first impulse was to follow, but he checked himself on the threshold.
“Damn that bet with DeMille,” he said to himself, and added aloud to the fleeting guard, “The key, Joe, I dare you to come back and get it!”
But Bragdon was beyond recall and Monty locked the door on the inside and passed the key through the ventilator.
On deck a small part of the company braved the spray in the lee of the deck house, but the others had long since gone below. The boat was pitching furiously in the ugliest sea it had encountered, and there was anxiety underneath Captain Perry’s mask of unconcern. DeMille and Dr. Lotless talked in the senseless way men have when they try to conceal their nervousness. But the women did not respond; they were in no mood for conversation.
Only one of them was quite oblivious to personal discomfort and danger. Peggy Gray was thinking of the prisoner below. In a reflection of her own terror, she pictured him crouching in the little stateroom, like a doomed criminal awaiting execution, alone, neglected, forgotten, unpitied. At first she pleaded for the men for his release, but they insisted upon waiting in the hope that a scare might bring him to his senses. Peggy saw that no help was to be secured from the other women, much as they might care for Brewster’s peace of mind and safety. Her heart was bitter toward everyone responsible for the situation, and there was dark rebellion in her soul. It culminated finally in a resolve to release Monty Brewster at any cost.
With difficulty she made her way to the stateroom door, clinging to supports at times and then plunging violently away from them. For some minutes she listened, frantically clutching Brewster’s door and the wall-rail. There was no guard, and the tumult of the sea drowned every sound within. Her imagination ran riot when her repeated calls were not answered.
“Monty, Monty,” she cried, pounding wildly on the door.
“Who is it? What is the trouble?” came in muffled tones from within, and Peggy breathed a prayer of thanks. Just then she discovered the key which Monty had dropped and quickly opened the door, expecting to find him cowering with fear. But the picture was different. The prisoner was seated on the divan, propped up with many pillows and reading with the aid of an electric light The Intrusions of Peggy.
XXVIII
A Catastrophe
“Oh!” was Peggy’s only exclamation, and there was a shadow of disappointment in her eyes.
“Come in, Peggy, and I’ll read aloud,” was Monty’s cheerful greeting as he stood before her.
“No, I must go,” said Peggy, confusedly. “I thought you might be nervous about the storm—and—”
“And you came to let me out?” Monty had never been so happy.
“Yes, and I don’t care what the others say. I thought you were suffering—” But at that moment the boat gave a lurch which threw her across the threshold into Monty’s arms. They crashed against the wall, and he held her a moment and forgot the storm. When she drew away from him she showed him the open door and freedom. She could not speak.
“Where are the others?” he asked, bracing himself in the doorway.
“Oh, Monty,” she cried, “we must not go to them. They will think me a traitor.”
“Why were you a traitor, Peggy?” he demanded, turning toward her suddenly.
“Oh—oh, because it seemed so cruel to keep you locked up through the storm,” she answered, blushing.
“And there was no other reason?” he persisted.
“Don’t, please don’t!” she cried piteously, and he misunderstood her emotion. It was clear that she was merely sorry for him.
“Never mind, Peggy, it’s all right. You stood by me and I’ll stand by you. Come on; we’ll face the mob and I’ll do the fighting.”
Together they made their way into the presence of the mutineers, who were crowded into the main cabin.
“Well, here’s a conspiracy,” cried Dan DeMille, but there was no anger in his voice. “How did you escape? I was just thinking of unlocking your door, Monty, but the key seemed to be missing.”
Peggy displayed it triumphantly.
“By Jove,” cried Dan. “This is rank treachery. Who was on guard?”
A steward rushing through the cabin at this moment in answer to frantic calls from Bragdon furnished an eloquent reply to the question.
“It was simple,” said Monty. “The guards deserted their post and left the key behind.”
“Then it is up to me to pay you a thousand dollars.”
“Not at all,” protested Monty, taken aback. “I did not escape of my own accord. I had help. The money is yours. And now that I am free,” he added quietly, “let me say that this boat does not go to Boston.”
“Just what I expected,” cried Vanderpool.
“She’s going straight to New York!” declared Monty. The words were hardly uttered when a heavy sea sent him sprawling across the cabin, and he concluded, “or to the bottom.”
“Not so bad as that,” said Captain Perry, whose entrance had been somewhat hastened by the lurch of the boat. “But until this blows over I must keep you below.” He laughed, but he saw they were not deceived. “The seas are pretty heavy and the decks are being holystoned for nothing, but I wouldn’t like to have any of you washed overboard by mistake.”
The hatches were battened down, and it was a sorry company that tried to while away the evening in the main cabin. Monty’s chafing about the advantages
