The Blind Barber

don't you think there's a dreadful mistake somewhere?

What can be happening, anyhow? Every time we think we know something, it turns to be just the other way round. I'm getting frightened. I don't believe anything. What can we do now?'

'Come along, Skipper,' said Morgan. 'We're going to find Mrs. Perrigord.'

15 — How Mrs. Perrigord Ordered Champagne, and the Emerald Appeared Again

Clear yellow evening drew in over the Queen Victoria moving steadily, and with only a silken swishing past her bows, down towards a horizon darkening to purple. So luminous was the sky that you could watch the red tip of the sun disappear at the end of a glowing path, the clouds and water changing like the colours of a vase, and the crater of glowing clouds when the sun was gone. The dress bugle sounded at the hush between the lights. And the Queen Victoria, inspired for the first time by that mild fragrance in the air, woke up.

Sooner or later on any voyage this must happen. Hitherto-blank-faced passengers rouse from their deck- chairs and look at one another. They smiled nervously, wishing they had made more acquaintances. The insinuating murmur of the orchestra begins to have its suggestion on them; they see broad Europe looming, and lamps twinkling in the trees of Paris. A sudden clamour of enjoyment whips the decks like the entrance of a popular comedian. Then they begin by twos and threes to drift into the bar.

Activity had begun to pulse this night before it was quite dark. The beautiful, mongoose-eyed shrew who was going to Paris for her divorce searched out her shrewdest evening-gown; so did the little high-school teacher determined to see the Lake Country. Love affairs began to flicker brightly; two or three bridge games were started; and the disused piano in the screened deck off the bar was rolled out for use. The dining-saloon was in a roar of talk. Diffident ladies had come out with unexpected rashes of jewels, optimists ordered from the wine-list, and the orchestra was for the first time encouraged. When Henry

Morgan — tired, disgusted, and without energy to dress for dinner — entered with his two companions towards the close of the meal, he saw that it was the beginning of what for (he sedate Queen Victoria would be a large night.

His own ideas were in a muddle. After four exasperating hours of questioning, he was almost convinced that the girl with the Greek-coin face had never existed. She was not aboard, and (so far as he could ascertain) had never been aboard. The thing was growing eerie.

Nobody knew her, nobody remembered having seen her, when at length in desperation he had dropped the pretext of searching for music-hall talent. On the tempers of some already harassed people, in fact, this latter device had been ill-timed. Its effects on Lord Sturton, on an Anglo-Indian colonel and his lady not yet recovered from mal-de-mer, on a D.A.R. from Boston and kindred folk, had been a bouncer's rush from the cabin before the request was fully out of his mouth. Even Captain Valvick's easy temper was ruffled by receptions of this kind.

Mrs. Perrigord, on the other hand, had been invaluable. Although she must have been aware that there was more in the tour than Morgan would admit, she had been impassive, helpful, even mildly enthusiastic. She took on herself a duty of cutting things short in a way that the easygoing novelist admired but could not imitate. When a proud mother eagerly went into long explanations of how her daughter Frances, aged nine, could play 'Santa's Sleigh-Bells' on the violin after only six lessons, and how Professor E. L. Kropotkin had confidently predicted a concert future, then Mrs. Perrigord had a trick of saying, 'I reolly don't think we need waste your time,' in a loud, freezing voice which instantly struck dumb the most clamorous. It was an admirably frank trait, but it did not add to Morgan's comfort through those long, hot, gabbling, foodless hours in which he acquired a distaste for the entire human race.

Mrs. Perrigord did not mind at all. She said she enjoyed it, chatting volubly all the while, and coyly taking Morgan's arm. Moreover, she took quite a fancy to Captain Valvick, who, she confided to Morgan in a loud side- whisper, was so fresh and unspoilt, a definition which the skipper seemed to associate vaguely with fish, and which seemed to fret him a good deal. Another curious, puzzling circumstance was the behaviour of Warren, when they looked in on him in the padded cell just before going down to dinner.

It was growing dark, but he had not switched on the light in his cell. He was lying at full length on the bunk, his face turned to the wall as though he were asleep. In one hand was a closed book with his finger marking the place in the leaves. He breathed deeply.

'Hey!' said Morgan, whistling through the bars. 'Curt! Wake up! Listen…!'

Warren did not stir. An uneasy suspicion assailed his friend, but he thought he could see the whisky-bottle also, and it appeared to be only slightly depleted: he could not be drunk. Mrs. Perrigord murmured, 'Pooah lad!' The sailor on guard duty, who had respectfully risen, said the gentleman 'ad been like that all afternoon; was exhausted-like.

'Ay don't like dis,' said Valvick, shaking his head. 'Ahoy!' he roared, and pounded at the bars. 'Mr. Warren! Ahoy!'

The figure moved a little. It raised its head cautiously in the gloom and there was a fiendish expression on its face. Placing a finger on its lips, it hissed ' Sh-h-h!', made a fierce gesture for them to go away, and instantly fell somnolent again.

They went. Whatever the meaning of the episode, it was driven from Morgan's mind by the prospect of food and drink. The fragrance and glitter of the dining-room soothed his rattled nerves; he breathed deeply once more. But— there was nobody whatever at the captain's table, not even Dr. Kyle. In the middle of the crowd and clatter, every chair remained ominously empty. He stared.

'… Now you must,' Mrs. Perrigord was saying, 'you really must come and dine at ouah table to-night, you kneow. Whatevah is worrying you, Mr. Morgan, I must insist on youah forgetting it. Come!' Her smile became mysterious as she took her rather dazed guests across the loom. 'Les-leh will not be with us to-night. He will dine on milk and dry biscuit, and prepare himself foah his talk.' She leaned close to Morgan. 'My husband, you know, has rather extrooordinry principles, Mr. Morgan. But I, on the othah hand—'

Again she smiled. That was how she came to order champagne.

Alter the soup, Morgan felt a warmth steal through him. After the fish, his wolfish silence began to wear thin and III* spirits stirred from their depths. In the midst of a tender steak, done rare between crisp marks of the grill and smoking between those smooth-slipping chipped potatoes whose edges have no hardness, he suddenly felt a pleased sense of relaxation. The music of the orchestra did not not i nd far away, and he rather liked the appearance of the faces about him. Life looked less like a heap of unwashed dishes, and the warm lights were comforting. Champagne nipped warm and soothing. Captain Valvick said, 'Ahh-h!' on a long-drawn note. When the steak disappeared, to be replaced by mysteriously tinted ice-cream and smoking black coffee, his spirits commenced to soar. He appreciated the noise that people were making around him. The champagne nestled through his innards, causing him to beam round on Mrs. Perrigord and the captain; to find himself keeping time with his foot when a reckless orchestra ventured into Gilbert and Sullivan.

'Ta-ti-ta-ta-ta-, ti-ta-ta-ta-ri; sing, 'Willow, tit-willow, tit- willow,' ' murmured Henry Morgan, wagging his head expansively. He smiled, and Mrs. Perrigord spread effulgence in reply. ''Iss it veakness of intellect, birdie, ay cried—!'' whoomed Captain Valvick, drawing back his chin for a thoughtful rumble; ' 'Or a tough worm in youah little in-side—' ' gently speculated Mrs. Perrigord, beginning to giggle; and all three together, inspired with a surge of mirth, whirled out together:

'With a shake of his poor little head he replied, ''Willow, ' 'Tit-willow,

''Tit-willow!' (Whee!)'

'Oh, I say, you know,' protested Mrs. Perrigord, whose face was growing rather flushed and her voice more loud, 'we reolly shouldn't be doing this at oil, should we? Oh, I say! Heh-heh-heh! Shall we have anothah bottle?' she beamed on them.

'You yust bet we do!' boomed Captain Valvick. 'And diss one iss on me. Steward!' A cork popped, pale smoke sizzled, and they raised glasses. 'Ay got a toast ay like to giff… '

'Oh, I say, you know, I reolly mustn't!' breathed Mrs. Perrigord, putting her hand against her breast; 'just