The Blind Barber

in more trouble. You can stay out of more trouble for live minutes, can't you?'

'I swear it, Hank! But what are you going to do?' ' The skipper and I are going to take those papers back to that cabin before anybody discovers they're gone. There's no chance of being caught; the only chance and danger is here. Give me that emerald, Curt. I don't know What's happened or what it is, but we'll take it back and be quit of the responsibility. Hand it over!'

'Are you stark, raving crazy?' shouted Warren. 'I risk life and limb and my position in the Diplomatic Service to get the goods on a murdering crook, and now you ask me lo hand back—'

Morgan lowered his voice, perceiving this was the only Way of handling the matter, and fixed him with a hypnotic

eye.

'This is subtle, Curt. A subtle, deep scheme, you see. We only pretend to do it. But the moth is in our net now. A pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to our Baker Street collection! You see? You trusted the wit and resource of Lord Gerald in a tight spot; now trust it again.

… Eh? Ah, that's it. That's it, old chap. Papers all here? Good! And — er — go light on the whisky, will you, or what there is left of it, until we get back? Stout fellow… Now, remember, Peggy, you've promised there'll be no trouble. I rely on you. Come on, Skipper… '

He backed away gingerly, as a lion-tamer might swerve to get out of a cage. Mrs. Perrigord said she wanted to go with Henry. She insisted on going with Henry. Exactly how she was dissuaded from this intention Morgan never knew, since he and Valvick slid out a fraction of a second before the closing door.

The gangway was empty, although a more confused buzzing and laughing, mingled with the deep note of people shuffling chairs, swept down from the staircase up to the stage.

'Well, remarked the skipper musingly, 'we is de only two people left wit' any sense, and ay don't t'ink much of diss Lord Gerald, whoever he iss. Coroosh! Ay don't believe de government off de United States need to care much about dat movie-film. Ay dunno if dey know it, but dey have bigger worries. All dey got to do iss send dat young Warren out in de Diplomatic Service and dey are going to have a war every week. It iss up to us. We got to save de situation.'

'We'll save it, Skipper. Easy, now!… Damn it! Don't walk like a crook! We're only out for a stroll. Take these papers. Round the corner here. At least, thank the Lord we've kept out of trouble so far. If anybody saw Curt sneaking back to Kyle's cabin, he'd be pounced on in a second. We haven't got a chance to put Kyle's papers back where they were — he'll know there's been a burglary— but at least there'll be nothing missing. In the ensuing search this emerald… Look here, do you think somebody's pinched it back from Sturton?'

'Ay not be surprised. Ay not be surprised at anyt'ing. Sh-h-h, now! Here is where we turn off. Listen!'

At a dim side-passage off the main corridor they stopped and peered down. All the noises of the ship were away from them, in the dim tumult of the throng milling up on B deck towards the concert-hall. Here it was so quiet the sea's rush and murmur became again discernible, and the low creaking of woodwork. But there were voices some-where. They listened a moment before they could place them as coming from behind the closed door of C 47 in the passage.

'It iss all right,' whispered the captain, nodding. 'Dat iss Sparks and hiss cousin, de Bermondsey Terror. Ay half start de Bermondsey Terror off on Old Rob Roy, and ay bet he don't want to stop. But don't disturb 'em, or we Haff to explain. Walk soft____!'

C' 46, Dr. Kyle's cabin, had its door closed. They tip-toed down, and Morgan felt his heart rise in his throat, growing to an enormous pounding, as he softly turned the knob. He pushed it open…

Nobody inside.

One danger passed. If there had been somebody…

Again he felt hot fear as he switched on the light, but there was nobody. It was a large cabin, with what he supposed to be a bathroom attached, and now in a wild state of confusion. Not even a private detective could have called Warren's methods in the least subtle.

Under the porthole stood a large wardrobe trunk with Its leaves apart, its lid propped up and top shelf streaming ties. He pointed.

'Look there, Skipper. If that steel box were thrown in this porthole last night, it would land behind that trunk and nobody would ever see it unless the trunk were moved… '

Valvick closed the door softly. He was peering at two valises open on the floor, and an unlocked brief-case lying across the berth.

'Come on,' he said; 'we haff to work fast. Take a handful of these papers and shove 'em somew'ere. Coroosh! Ay feel like a crook! Ay don't like diss. What you doing?'

Morgan was groping behind the trunk. His fingers touched metal, and he withdrew the circular box with the hinged lid. He stared at it a moment, and handed it to Valvick.

'There it is, Skipper. And here's the elephant' — he stared at Warren's trophy in his hand and shivered. 'Come on; let's put it back. The less we have to do… '

'Listen!' said Valvick, cocking his head.

Nothing. The porthole was open; they heard the curtain thrumming in the breeze, and the multitudinous rustlings of the sea. Also, very faintly, they could hear the murmur of voices from the gangway opposite, where sat Sparks and the Bermondsey Terror. Nothing else.

'Come on,' whispered Morgan. 'You're getting nerves, Skipper. Stuff those things away somewhere, and let's get out of here. We'll put this little job through without any hitch, and they'll never suspect us… '

A voice said:

'You think so?'

Morgan felt his skin crawl, and his head bump forward against the trunk as he knelt. The voice was not loud, but it brought the universe to a standstill like a dead clock. After it the silence was so heavy that he seemed unable to hear the sea or the thrumming curtain.

He looked up.

The door to the bathroom, previously closed, was standing open. Captain Whistler stood with one hand on the knob and the other on a trigger. He was wearing full-dress uniform, an arabesque of gold braid against the blue, from which the breeze (Morgan noticed even in that glassy, frozen moment) brought a wave of Swat Number 2 Liquid Insect Exterminator. Captain Whistler's good eye had a malignant gleam as at the realisation of some obvious fact that had hitherto escaped him… Behind him, Second-Officer Baldwin was looking over his shoulder…

His glance travelled to the emerald in Morgan's hand.

'So you two,' said Captain Whistler, 'were the real thieves, after all. I might have known it. I was a fool not to see it first off last night… Don't move! All right, Mr. Baldwin. Move out and see if they're armed. Steady now…' -

17 — Bermondsey Carries On

There were, as they afterwards reflected, several courses that thoughtful men might have pursued. Even thoughtful men, however, would have conceded that these two conspirators were fairly in the soup. If at one time explanations might have been made to Captain Whistler, both Morgan and Valvick realised that by this time the Parcae hud no tangled matters up that it was practically impossible to explain anything. Morgan himself doubted whether even hull an hour's lucid thought would enable him to explain the situation to himself. Yet there are certain courses which thoughtful men deplore — those courses are elementary, like a reflex action, and spring to the muscles horn a prompting older than reason. Captain Valvick, for Instance, might have held out the steel box. He might have tin own the box on the floor at Whistler's feet, and surrendered in explanation. (a plain Valvick did nothing of the kind, lie threw that steel box, in fact, straight at the light in the roof of Cabin C 46, where it spattered glass and extinguished the same in one reverberating pop. Then he nearly yanked Morgan's arm from his socket swinging him out before himself into the passage and slamming the door behind.

Morgan dimly heard Whistler's avenging yell. Flung against the opposite bulkhead, he bounced back in time!»