A Man and His Money by Frederic Stewart Isham
CHAPTER XV
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
Mr. Heatherbloom stood as if stunned, his face very pale. For theinstant all his suppressed emotion concentrated on this woman--his evilgenius--who had betrayed him before and who would betray him again, now.He waited, breathing hard. Why did she not appear? Why did not the blowfall? He could not understand that interval--nothing happening. Was shebut playing with him? The prince had abruptly turned; apparently he hadnot heard that very low laugh. Bored, no doubt, by the interview, he hadstarted to walk away, almost at the same time Mr. Heatherbloom hadcaught sight of the face at the window. As in a dream Mr. Heatherbloomnow heard his excellency's brusk voice addressing a command to theofficer, listened to the latter a moment or two later, addressing him.
"Come along!" The officer's English was labored and guttural.
Mr. Heatherbloom's eyes swung swiftly from the near-by door throughwhich he had momentarily expected the woman to emerge. Involuntarily hewould have stepped after the vanishing figure of the prince--what to do,he knew not, when--
"_Non, non_," said the officer, intervening. "Hees excellenz dislikes tobe--importuned." The last word cost the speaker an effort; to thelistener it was hardly intelligible, but the officer's manner indicatedplainly his meaning. Mr. Heatherbloom managed to hold himself still; heseemed standing in the center of a vortex. The prince had by this timegone; the woman did not step forth. This lame and impotent conclusionwas out of all proportion to the seemingly inevitable. He could scarcelyrealize it was he--actually he!--who, after another pause, followed theofficer, with scant interest, hardly any at all, to some inferno whereflames leaped and hissed.
He could not but be aware of them, although the voice telling him thathe would remain here, make himself useful, and, incidentally, work hisway among the stokers, sounded very far off. He could have exclaimedscoffingly after the disappearing officer, not anxious to linger anylonger than necessary here. Work his way, indeed! How long would he bepermitted to do so? When would he be again sent for, and dealt with--inwhat manner?
He shoveled coal feverishly though the irony of the task smote him, forin feeding the insatiable beds, he was with his own hand helping tofurnish the energy that wafted her, he would have served, farther andfarther from the home land. Every additional mile put between that shoreand the boat, increased the prince's sense of power. He was working forhis excellency and against her. In a revulsion of feeling he leaned onhis shovel, whereupon a besooted giant of the lower regions tapped hisshoulder. This person--foreman of the gang--pointed significantly to theinactive implement. His brow was low, brutish, and he had a fist like ahammer. Mr. Heatherbloom lifted the shovel and looked at the low browbut, fortunately, he did not act on the impulse. It was as if somedetaining angel reached down into those realms of Pluto and, at thecritical moment, laid a white hand where the big paw had touched him.
The young man resumed his toil. After all, what did it matter?--some onewould shovel the stuff. That brief revolt had been spasmodic,sentimental. Here where the heat was almost intolerable and the redtongues sprang like forked daggers before dulled eyes, brutality andhatred alone seemed to reign. The prince might be the prodigal,free-handed gentleman to his officers; he was the slave-driver, byproxy, to his stokers. He who dominated in that place of torment hadbeen an overseer from one of the villages the prince owned; these menwere the descendants of serfs.
Once or twice Heatherbloom rather incoherently tried to engage one ortwo of them in conversation, to learn where the yacht was going--toSouthern seas, across the Atlantic?--but they only stared at him as ifhe were some strange being quite beyond their ken. So he desisted; ofcourse they could not understand him, and, of course, they knew nothinghe wished to know. In this prison a sense of motion and direction was asnaught.
Fortunately Mr. Heatherbloom's muscles were in good condition and therewas not a superfluous ounce on him, but he needed all his energies toescape the fist and the boot that day, to keep pace with the others. Theperspiration poured from his face in sooty rivulets; he knew if he gaveway what kind of consideration to expect. He was being tested. Theforeman's eyes, themselves, seemed full of sparks; there was somethingtentative, expectant in their curious gleam as they rested on him.Heatherbloom now could hardly keep to his feet; his own eyes burned. Theflames danced as if with a living hatred of him; in a semi-stupor healmost forgot the sword, without, that swung over him, held but by athread that might be cut any instant.
He could not have lasted many minutes more when relief came; soddensullen men took the places. Heatherbloom staggered out with his ownherd; he felt the need of food as well as rest. He groped his waysomewhere--into a dark close place; he found black-looking bread--or,was it handed to him? He ate, threw himself down, thought of her!--thenceased to think at all. The sword, his companions or specters no longerexisted for him.
It may be some spiritual part of him during that physical coma, drewfrom a supermundane source beatific drafts, for he awoke refreshed, hismind clear, even alert. He gazed around; he, alone, moved. Hiscompanions resembled so many bags of rags cast here and there; only thesnores, now diminuendo, then crescendo, dispelled the illusion. Asmoking lamp threw a paucity of light and a good deal of odor aroundthem. Was it night? The shadows played hide-and-seek in corners; therewas no sound of the sea.
Mr. Heatherbloom moved toward a door. His pulses seemed to throb inrhythm with the engines whose strong pulsations shook those limpunconscious forms. He opened the iron door and looked out. Onlyblackness, relieved by a low-power electric light, met his gaze. Hecrept from the place.
Why did not some one rise up to detain him? Surely he was watched. Heexperienced an uncanny sense of being allowed to proceed just so far,when invisible fingers would pounce upon him, to hurl him back. The sootstill lay on his face; he had seen no bucket and water. At the mouth ofa tunnel-like aperture, he hesitated, but still no one sprang in front,or glided up from behind to interfere with his progress. He went on; aperpendicular iron ladder enabled him to reach an open space on thedeserted lower deck. Another ladder led to the upper deck. Could hemount it and still escape detection? And in that case--to what end?
A bell struck the hour. Nine o'clock! He counted the strokes. Much timehad, indeed, passed since leaving port. The yacht, he judged, should becapable of sixteen knots. Where were they now? And where was she--inwhat part of the boat had they confined the young girl? Come what might,he would try to ascertain. Creeping softly up the second ladder, hepeered around. Still he saw no one. It was a dark night; a shadow laylike a blanket on the sea. He felt for his revolver--they had not takenit from him--- and started to make his way cautiously aft, whensomething he saw brought him to an abrupt halt.
A figure!--a woman's!--or a young girl's?--not far distant, lookingover the side. The form was barely discernible; he could but make outthe vague flutterings of a gown. Was it she whom he sought? How could hefind out? He dared not speak. She moved, and he realized he could notlet her go thus. It might be an opportunity--no doubt they would sufferthe young girl the freedom of the deck. It would be along the line of aconciliatory policy on the prince's part to attempt to reassure her asmuch as possible after the indignities' she had suffered. The watcher'seyes strained. She was going. He half started forward--to risk all--tospeak. His lips formed a name but did not breathe it, for at that momentthe swaying of the boat had thrown a flicker of light on the face andMr. Heatherbloom drew back, the edge of his ardor dulled.
The woman moved a few steps, this way and that; he heard the swish ofher skirts. Now they almost touched him, standing motionless where theshadows were deepest, and at that near contact a blind anger swept overhim, against her--who held him in her power to eliminate, when shewould--When? What was her cue? But, of course, she must have spokenalready--it was inconceivable otherwise. Then why had the prince notacted at once, summarily? His excellency was not one to hesitate aboutdrastic measures. Mr. Heatherbloom could not solve the riddle at all. Hecould only crouch back farther now a
Through the gloom he divined a new swiftness in her step, a certainsinuosity of movement that suddenly melted into immobility. A red spothad appeared close by, burned now on blackness; it was followed byanother's footstep. A man, cigar in hand, joined her.
"Ah, Prince!" she said.
He muttered something Heatherbloom did not catch.
"What?" she exclaimed lightly. "No better humored?"
His answer was eloquent. A flicker of light he had moved toward revealedhis face, gallant, romantic enough in its happier moments, but nowdistinctly unpleasant, with the stamp of ancestral Sybarites of thePetersburg court shining through the cruelty and intolerance ofsemi-Tartar forbears.
The woman laughed. How the young man, listening, detested that musicalgurgle! "Patience, your Highness!"
The red spark leaped in the air. "What have I been?"
"That depends on the standpoint--yours, or hers," she returned in thesame tone.
"It is always the same. She is--" The spark described swift angrymotions.
"What would you--at first?" she retorted laughingly. "After all thathas taken place? _Mon Dieu_! You remember I advised you against thismadness--I told you in the beginning it might not all be like Watteau'smasterpiece--the divine embarkation!"
"Bah!" he returned, as resenting her attitude. "You were ready enoughfor your part."
She shrugged. "_Eh bien?_ Our little Moscow theatrical company had cometo grief. New York--cruel monster!--did not want us. _C'en est fait denous_! Your Excellency met and recognized me as one you had once beenpresented to at a merry party at the Hermitage in our beloved city ofchurches. Would I play the _bon camarade_ in a little affair of theheart, or should I say _une grande passion_? The honorarium offered wasenormous for a poor ill-treated player whose very soul was ready to sing_De Profundis_. Did it tempt her--forlorn, downhearted--"
She paused. Close by, the spark brightened, dimmed--brightened, dimmed!Mr. Heatherbloom bent nearer. "At any rate, she was honest enough toattempt to dissuade you--in vain! And then"--her voice changed--"sinceyou willed it so, she yielded. It sounded wild, impossible, the plan youbroached. Perhaps because it did seem so impossible it won over poorSonia Turgeinov--she who had thrown her cap over the windmills. Therewould be excitement, fascination in playing such a thrilling part inreal life. Were you ever hungry, Prince?" She broke off. "What an absurdquestion! What is more to the point, tell me it was all well done--thedevice, or excuse, of substituting another motor-car for her own, themad flight far into the night, down the coast where save for thatmishap--But I met all difficulties, did I not? And, believe me, it wasnot easy--to keep your little American inamorata concealed until the_Nevski_ could be repaired and meet us elsewhere than we had originallyplanned. _Dieu merci!_ I exclaimed last night when the little spitfirewas brought safely aboard." Mr. Heatherbloom breathed quickly. BettyDalrymple, then, had been with the woman in the big automobile--
"Why don't you praise me?" the woman went on. "Tell me I well earnedthe _douceur_? Although"--her accents were faintly scoffing--"I neverdreamed _you_ would not afterward be able to--" Her words leaped into anew channel. "What can the child want? _Est-ce-qu'elle aime un autre_?That might explain--"
An expletive smacking more of Montmartre than of the BoulevardCapucines, fell from the nobleman's lips. He brushed the ash fiercelyfrom his cigar. "It is not so--it won't explain anything," he returnedviolently. "Didn't I once have it from her own lips that, at least, shewas not--" He stopped. "_Mon Dieu!_ That contingency--"
Suddenly she again laughed. "Delicious!"
"What?"
"Nothing. My own thoughts. By the way, what has become of the man wepicked up from the sail-boat?"
The prince made a gesture. "He's down below--among the stokers. Why doyou ask?"
"It is natural, I suppose, to take a faint interest in a poor fishermanyou've almost drowned."
"Not I!" Brutally.
"No?" A smile, enigmatical, played around her lips. "How droll!"
"Droll?"
"Heartless, then. But you great nobles are that, a little, eh, _monami_?"
He shrugged and returned quickly to that other more interesting subject.
"_Elle va m'epouser!_" he exclaimed violently. "I will stake my life onit. She will; she must!"
"Must!" The woman raised her hand. "You say that to an American girl?"
"We're not at the finis yet!" An ugly crispness was manifest in histones. "There are ports and priests a-plenty, and this voyage is apt tobe a long one, unless she consents--"
"Charming man!" She spoke almost absently now.
"Haven't I anything to offer? _Diable_! One would think I was a beggar,not--am I ill-looking, repugnant? Your sex," with a suspicion of asneer, "have not always found me so. I have given my heart before, youwill say! But never as now! For she is a witch, like those that come outof the reeds on the Volga--to steal, alike, the souls of fisherman andprince." He paused; then went on moodily. "I suppose I should havegone--allowed myself to be dismissed as a boy from school. 'I haveplayed with you; you have amused me; you no longer do so. Adieu!' So shewould have said to me, if not in words, by implication. No, _merci_," hebroke off angrily. "_Tant s'en faut_! I, too, shall have something tosay--and soon--to-night--!"
He made a swift gesture, threw his cigar into the sea and walked off.
"How tiresome!" But the words fell from the woman's lips uneasily. Shestretched her lithe form and looked up into the night. Then she, too,disappeared. Mr. Heatherbloom stood motionless. She knew who he was andyet she had not revealed his secret to the prince. Because she deemedhim but a pawn, paltry, inconsequential? Because she wished to save thehot-headed nobleman from committing a deed of violence--a crime,even--if he should learn?
The reason mattered little. In Mr. Heatherbloom's mind his excellency'slast words--all they portended--excluded now consideration of all else.He gazed uncertainly in the direction the nobleman had gone; suddenlystarted to follow, stealthily, cautiously, when another personapproached. Mr. Heatherbloom would have drawn back, but it was toolate--he was seen. His absence from the stokers' quarters had beendiscovered; after searching for him below and not finding him, the giantforeman had come up here to look around. He was swinging his long armsand muttering angrily when he caught sight of his delinquent helper. Theman uttered a low hoarse sound that augured ill for Mr. Heatherbloom.The latter knew what he had to expect--that no mercy would be shown him.He stepped swiftly backward, at the same time looking about forsomething with which to defend himself.