The Blind Barber

Baldwin, you watch them. I mean, watch him. You've been wandering round the boat, have you, Mr. Warren? And what's that on your head? Come into the light. Sticking plaster. Oh, yes. You hurt your head… '

Warren made a gesture. 'Yes, I did. And that's what I want to tell you. If you won't let us go, at least send somebody back to my cabin. Send the doctor, you old fool! You're all right. Send the doctor, I tell you. There's a young girl back there — unconscious — maybe dead — I don't know. Have some sense, can't you? She's been hit over the head and knocked unconscious… '

'What?'

'Yes. Somebody cracked her over the head and then—'

Between them, the doctor and the second officer got the captain away to a sheltered recess, where he did not stop talking. He would hear of nothing, not a step or a movement. He insisted that the four conspirators should remain within reach of the eye of Mr. Baldwin, who was holding up the flashlight for the repair-work. So they huddled against a glass front that was stung with whips of rain; Warren took off his coat and wrapped it round the girl, and they took whispered communion.

'Listen,' said Morgan, peering over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. 'We're going to be jolly lucky if we don't get shoved in the brig. Scuttle my hatches, the old man's raving. He's insane, and you don't want to cross him. What fathead dropped that whisky-bottle beside him, anyway?'

'Ay did,' replied Captain Valvick, thumping his chest. He beamed proudly. 'Ay t'ank dat was a touch of yenius, eh? What iss wrong? Dere wass no more whisky in it, honest. Eh, eh; you t'ink dere be fingerprints on it, maybe?'

Warren frowned and ran a hand through his goblin hair. 'Say, Hank,' he muttered uneasily, 'that's an idea. If it occurs to the old boy… And there's another thing. Baby, what possessed you to fire that box through the porthole of somebody's cabin?'

She was indignant. 'Well, I like that! With those officers coming down on us — you didn't want me to chuck it overboard, did you? Besides, I think it was a splendid idea. It can't be blamed on us, and it won't be blamed on anybody else. I don't know whose cabin that was. But there'll be a hunt for the box. And then whoever has the cabin will wake up to-morrow morning and find it on the floor; then he'll take it to the captain and explain it was thrown through the porthole, and there you are.'

'Well,' said Warren, drawing a deep breath, 'all I can say is that we had a piece of luck. I tell you, I damn near died when you did that. I had visions of somebody sticking his head out the porthole just as those officers were coming up, and saying, 'Hey, what's the idea of throwing things through my window?' '

He brooded, staring out through the glass at the murky night ahead, dimly luminous from the glow above on the bridge; at the sharp bows shouldering up ill mist; at the white torrent that poured, swirled, and fell away round stubborn winches. From far above smote the clang of the liner's bell—one-two, one-two, one- two—that is the drowsiest of sea noises by night. The wind had a flat whine now; it was dying, and rain had ceased to tick on the glass. Stately as a galleon, the tall foremast rose, swung, and tilted as the bows smashed down again into a fan of spray…

Warren glared straight ahead.

'I've let you people in for all this,' he said in a low voice. 'I'm — I'm damned sorry.'

'Dat iss de bunk, son,' said Captain Valvick. 'Ay ain't had so much fun in a long time. De only t'ing, we got to agree on a story dat we are all going to tell… '

'I got you into this,' continued Warren doggedly, 'and I'm going to get you out. Don't worry about that. You let mc do the talking, and I'll convince him. There's nothing wrong with my diplomatic talents. I very, very seldom go off half-Cocked' — Morgan coughed but the other obviously believed what he was saying, so nobody spoke—'and I'll fix it. All that burns me up—' declared Warren, lifting a heavy fist high and bringing it down on the rail—'all that makes me burn and sizzle with bright murderous flames is that there really is a lousy, low-down, black-jack-using crook aboard this tub, and he's giving us the merry horse laugh right now. Goroo! This was made to order for him. And I'm mad now. I'm good and mad. I'll catch him. I'll get him, if it's the last thing I ever do, and if I have to sit up every night and wait for him to come after that fi—'

He stopped, stiffening, as an idea struck him. Slowly he turned round a lean, hollow-eyed, startled face.

'Film!' he said, clutching at the ends of his spiked hair. 'Film! In my cabin. The rest of it. Unguarded! The rest of poor old Uncle Warpus's speech, and he's probably pinching it right now…'

Before anybody could stop him, he had whirled round and was stumbling back towards his cabin along the slippery deck.

'Curt!' said Morgan, with a groan which ended deep in his stomach. 'Listen! Hey! Come back! The captain —'

Over his shoulder Warren called out a suggested course of action for the captain. Whistler was out of his alcove at a bound and trumpeting. He shouted to the second officer to follow; then he stood and gibbered while Baldwin pursued the flying shirt-sleeved figure down the deck. Warren got inside the door, and Baldwin after him. In vain stout Valvick attempted to pacify his fellow skipper. Captain Whistler, imprimis, objected to being addressed as 'barnacle,' and described horrible surgical tortures he would like to perform.»He was in no better mood when presently Warren, with Second-Officer Baldwin keeping a firm grip on his arm, emerged from the door. Warren seemed to be expostulating as they skidded back down the deck.

'But haven't you got any heart?** he demanded. 'All I ask you to do, one little thing, is go into that next cabin and see whether that poor girl is alive — whether she needs help — whether — Or let me go. But no. I've got a good mind,' said Warren, closing one first with a meditative air, 'to—'

'What was he up to?' Whistler demanded eagerly, as the culprit was led up 'Why did he bolt?'

A very harassed-looking Baldwin regarded Warren in some uneasiness.

'I don't know, sir. He rushed in 'is own cabin, and when I got there he was kneeling on the floor throwing motion-picture films over his shoulder and saying, 'Gone! Gone!' '

'Yes,' agreed Warren. Wryly he shook his head as he glanced from Peggy to Morgan. 'The little joker's been there in the meantime. He's swiped it all right.'

'What is gone, young man?' inquired Captain Whistler.

A little of the first shock of rage had gone from him. He was still in a thrice-dangerous mood, but the insult of the attack had been partly put aside in favour of appalling reflections as to its consequences. Evidently what bulked large in the captain's rather small brain, larger than whisky-bottles or upper-cuts, was the fact that an emerald trinket worth fifty thousand pounds had been stolen while in his possession. And Lord Sturton had a crusty reputation. Captain Whistler savagely waved aside the doctor, who had not yet completed his ministrations. A few strips of sticking-plaster lent an even subtler Cezanne touch to his purple countenance; he narrowed his good right eye, squared his shoulders, and repeated with hoarse control of his temper: 'What is gone, young man?'

'I can't tell you,' returned Warren. 'And anyway it's not important. To you, anyway. It doesn't concern whatever he stole from you. All I would beg and plead of you, if you have any heart, is don't let that poor girl lie there, maybe dying…!'

'Mr. Warren,' said the skipper, with a tense and sinister calmness, 'I will have some sense out of this… I will start at the beginning, and I will tell you that there is known to be aboard this ship a dangerous criminal who hits stolen from me an object of enormous value… '

'Ay told you, Barnacle,' interposed Valvick, shaking his head gloomily—'ay told you it be better to post a notice and warn all de people. Now look at what iss done.'

'Never you mind what you told me, sir. You keep out of this, Sharkmeat. You stow your t'g'lant-royals and come off the high and mighty when you talk to me, Shark-meat. I remember the time—' He caught himself up. 'Hurrum! No matter, I will continue, Mr. Warren. You are the nephew of a very distinguished gentleman and were confided especially to my care. I have read Mr. Morgan's stories; he has travelled with me before, and I know him. Captain Valvick, God knows, I am familiar with. I am not drunk or mad, sir. I do not believe that any of you is this notorious criminal. Kindly understand that. But I do believe, Mr. Warren, that from the time Miss Glenn told me about you at dinner to-night, you have been guilty of very odd behaviour. Now, when you tell me about a young lady who has received an injury to the back of her head, I insist on hearing your full story.'

'Right!' said Warren, with the air of one coming to an agreement. 'That's fair enough, Skipper, and here you are. We don't know anything about the attack on you. It happened this way. We were all together, you see, when