At last Wilmot appeared again. He was carrying a suitcase, and I saw him signal to the airship. She manoeuvred back into position and the cage was lowered on to the deck of the yacht. And a minute later we were in the dirigible once more.
“A most satisfactory little experiment,” said Wilmot. “We will now examine the spoils more closely.”
Sick with the horror of it all, I stood at the cabin window, whilst he and the woman went over the jewels on the table behind me. We had circled a little away from the yacht, and the other vessel no longer lay alongside, but a hundred yards or so away. And suddenly there came a dull boom, and the yacht rocked a little on the calm sea.
“A sight, my dear, which I don’t think you’ve ever seen,” said Wilmot, and he and the woman came to the window. “A ship sinking.”
Slowly the yacht settled down in the water: they had blown a great hole in her bottom. And then at last with a sluggish lurch her bows went under and she turned over and sank. For a time the water swirled angrily to mark her grave: then everything grew quiet. No trace remained of their devilish handiwork: the sea had swallowed it up.
“Most satisfactory,” repeated Wilmot. “Don’t you agree, Gaunt?”
He laughed evilly at the look on my face.
“And you have committed that atrocious crime for those,” I said, pointing at the jewels.
“Not altogether,” he answered. “As I told you before, this is merely in the nature of a trial trip. Of course it’s pleasant to have one’s expenses paid, but the principal value of this has been practice for bigger game. … That is what we are out for, my dear Gaunt: bigger game.”
I watched him with a sort of dazed fascination as he lit a cigar. Then he began to examine through a lens the great heap of precious stones in front of him. And after a while the thought began to obsess me that he was not human. His complete air of detachment: his amused comments when he discovered that a beautiful tiara was only paste: above all the languorous indifference of the girl who only an hour before had witnessed an act of wholesale murder made my head spin.
They are devils—both of them: devils in human form; and I told them so.
They laughed, and Wilmot poured me out a glass of champagne.
“You flatter us, Gaunt,” he remarked. “Surely you have not been listening to the foolish remarks of the crew. They, poor simple-minded fellows, do, I understand, credit me with supernatural powers, but I am surprised at you. Merely your antidote, my friend: that’s all.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I muttered.
“There now,” he said genially, “I am always forgetting that your knowledge of past events is limited. An amusing little story, Gaunt, and one which flatters your powers as a chemist. I may say that it also flatters my powers as a prophet. My men, as you may know, are largely Russians of the lower classes. Docile, good fellows as a general rule, with a strong streak of superstition in them. And realising that in a concern of this sort one has to control with an iron hand, I anticipated that possibly an occasion might arise when some foolish man would question that control. It was because of that, my dear Gaunt, that I took so much trouble to procure that admirable ointment of yours, the existence of which is not known to the members of my crew. In that point lay the little element of—if I may say so—genius, which separates a few of us from the common herd. Though I admit that it was with some trepidation—pardonable I think you will allow—that I put the matter to the test. Of the efficacy of your poison I had no doubt, but with regard to the antidote I had only seen it in action once, and then on a guinea-pig. If I remember aright, my darling,” he said to the girl, “we drank to Mr. Gaunt’s skill as a chemist in one of our few remaining bottles of Imperial Tokay, at the conclusion of the episode. A wonderful wine, Gaunt; but I fear extinct. These absurd revolutions that take place for obscure reasons do a lot of harm.”
That’s how he talked: the man is not human. Then he went on.
“But the episode in question will, I am sure, interest you. As I had foreseen, some stupid men began to question my authority. In fact, though you will hardly believe it, it came to my ears that there was a conspiracy to take my life. It is true I had had a man flogged to death, but what is a Russian peasant more or less? Apparently this particular fellow sang folk-songs well, or tortured some dreadful musical instrument better than his friends. At any rate he was popular, and his death was a source of annoyance to the others. So, of course, it became necessary to take the matter in hand at once in a way which should restore discipline, and at the same time prevent a recurrence in the future. My dearest, this caviar is not so good as the last consignment. Another devastating example of the harm done by revolutions, I fear. Even the sturgeons have gone on strike.
“However, to return to my little story. I bethought me of your antidote. ‘Here,’ said I to myself, ‘is an opportunity to test that dear chap Gaunt’s excellent ointment in a manner both useful and spectacular.’ So I rubbed it well into my face and hands—even into my hair, Gaunt—and strode like a hero of old into the midst of the malcontents. You perceive the beauty of the idea. A man not gifted
