So heavily was the yacht rolling that I was compelled to hold firmly, lest I should lose my balance and roll down upon the deck.
My foothold was insecure, and the sight which presented itself as I peered within was so unexpected and startling, that in the excitement of the moment I loosened my grip and narrowly escaped being pitched down headlong. From my position I unfortunately could not obtain a view of the entire interior, the ventilator being open only a couple of inches, but what I saw was sufficient to unnerve any woman.
The cabin was brilliantly lit by electricity, but the walls, instead of being panelled in satinwood, as were most of the others, were decorated in a manner more rich and magnificent than in any other part of the vessel. They were of gilt, with white ornamentation in curious Arabesques, while upon the floor was a thick Turkey carpet with a white ground and pattern of turquoise blue. The effect was bright and glaring, and at the first moment it occurred to me that the place was really a ladies' boudoir. There was another aft, it was true, but this one had evidently been intended as a lounge for female guests. As I looked down old Benjamin Keppel himself passed into that part of the cabin within the zone of my vision. His hat was off, displaying his scanty gray hair, and as he turned I caught a glimpse of his face. His countenance, usually so kind and tranquil, was distorted by abject fear; his teeth were set, his cheeks hard and bloodless. Both anger and alarm were depicted upon his rugged countenance. His appearance was mysterious, to say the least, but it was a further object I saw within that place which held me in speechless wonderment.
Beside where he stood, lying in a heap at his feet, was a dark-haired, handsome woman of mature age, who was dressed in a white serge robe—a stranger.
The old millionaire, with sudden movement, flung himself upon his knees and touched her face caressingly. Next instant he drew back his hand.
"Dead!" he gasped, in the thick voice of a man grief-stricken. "Dead! And she did not know—she did not know! It is murder!" he gasped in a terrified whisper—"murder!"
The wind howled about me weirdly, tearing at my clothes as though it would hurl me beyond into the raging sea, while the yacht, steaming on, rose and plunged, shipping huge seas each time her bows met the angry waves.
For some moments the strange old man bent over the woman in silence. I was puzzled to discover her identity. Why had she been kept prisoner in that gilded cabin during the cruise? Why had we remained in total ignorance of her presence? I alone knew our host's secret. We had a dead woman on board.
Keppel touched the woman again, placing his hand upon her face. When he withdrew it I saw that blood was upon it. He looked at it and, shuddering, wiped it off upon his handkerchief.
At the same instant a voice, that of a man, sounded from the opposite side of the cabin, saying:
"Don't you see that that ventilator is open up above? Shut it, or somebody may see us. They can see down here from the bridge."
"Think of her," the old man exclaimed in a low voice, "not of us."
"Of her? Why should I?" inquired the gruff voice of the unseen. "You've killed her, and must take the consequences."
"I?" gasped the old man, staggering unevenly to his feet, and placing both hands to his eyes as though to shut out from view that hideous evidence of his crime. "Yes," he cried in an awe-stricken tone, "she is dead!"
"And a good job too," responded the man unseen in a hard, pitiless tone.
"No," cried Keppel angrily. "At least respect her memory. Remember who she was."
"I shall remember nothing of this night's work," the other responded. "I leave all memories of it as a legacy to you."
"You coward!" cried Keppel, turning upon the speaker, his eyes flashing. "I have endeavored to assist you, and this is your gratitude."
"Assist me?" sneered his companion. "Pretty assistance it's been! I tell you what it is, Benjamin Keppel, you're in a very tight place just now. You killed that—that woman there, and you know what the penalty is for murder."
"I know," wailed the white-faced, desperate man.
"Well, now, if I might be permitted to advise, I'd make a clear sweep of the whole affair," said the man.
"What do you mean?"
"Simply this: we can't keep the body very long in this cabin without it being discovered. And when it is found—well, it will be all up with both of us. Of that there's but little doubt. I suggest this: Let us make at once for one of the Italian ports, say Leghorn, where you will land to transact some important business, and I'll land also. Then the Vispera will sail for Naples, to which port you will go by rail to rejoin her. On the way there, however, the vessel disappears—eh?"
"Disappears—how? I don't understand."
"Is blown up."
"Blown up!" he cried. "And how about the guests?"
"Guests be hanged!"
"But there are eleven of them, besides the crew."
"Never mind them. There are the boats, and no doubt they'll all take care of themselves. Fools if they don't."
"I should feel that I murdered them all," the old man responded.
"In this affair we must save ourselves," declared the unseen man very firmly. "There has been a—well, we'll call it an ugly occurrence to-night, and it behooves us to get clear out of it. If the Vispera goes down the body will go down with it, and the sea will hide our secret."
"But I cannot imperil the lives of all in that manner. Besides, by what means do you suggest destroying the ship?"
"By perfectly simple means. Just give orders to Davis in the morning to put in at Leghorn with all possible speed, and leave the rest to me. I'll guarantee that the Vispera will never reach Naples." Then he added: "But just shut that infernal ventilator; I don't like it being open."
Old Keppel, staggering, reached the cord, and in obedience to his companion's wish closed the narrow opening with a sudden bang. The woodwork narrowly escaped coming into contact with my face, and for some moments I remained there, clutching at my unstable supports and being rudely buffeted by the gale.
At any moment I might be discovered, therefore after some difficulty I succeeded in lowering myself again to the deck and making my way back to my own cabin.
I had been soaked to the skin by the rain and spray, but, still in my wet things, I sat pondering over the mysterious crime I had discovered.
Who was that unseen man? Whoever he was he held old Benjamin Keppel in his power, and to his diabolical plot would be due the destruction of the Vispera and perhaps the loss of every soul on board.
He had suggested an explosion. He no doubt intended to place on board some infernal contrivance which, after the lapse of a certain number of hours, would explode and blow the bottom out of the yacht. Whoever that man was he was a crafty villain. Providentially, however, I had been led to the discovery of the scheme, and I did not mean that the lives of my fellow-guests or of the crew should be sacrificed in order to conceal a crime.
A vision of that white, dead face recurred to me. It was the face of a woman who had once been very handsome, but to my remembrance I had never seen it before. The mystery of the woman's concealment there was altogether extraordinary. Yet it scarcely seemed possible that she should have remained in hiding so long without a soul on board save Keppel being aware of her presence. She had been fed, of course, and most probably the steward knew of her presence in that gilded deck-house. But she was dead—murdered by the inoffensive old gentleman who was the very last person in the world I should have suspected of having taken human life.
And why had he stroked her dead face so caressingly? Who, indeed, was she?
My wet clothes clung to me cold and clammily, therefore I exchanged them for a warm wrap, and entering my berth tried to rest. Sleep was, however, impossible in that doomed ship amid the wild roaring of the tempest and the thunder of the waves breaking over the deck above. Once it occurred to me to go straight to Ulrica and tell her all I had seen and heard, but on reflection I resolved to keep my own counsel and narrowly watch the course of events.
The mystery of the hidden man's identity grew upon me, until I suddenly resolved to make a further endeavor to discover him. The voice was deep and low, but the roaring of the wind and hissing of escaping steam had prevented me hearing it sufficiently clearly to recognize whether it was that of one of our fellow-guests. I slipped on a mackintosh, and returning to the deck crept towards the cabin wherein reposed the remains of the mysterious woman in white serge. But soon I saw that the light had been switched off. All was in darkness. The guilty pair had gone below to their own berths. Through the whole night the storm continued, but the morning broke brightly and the tempest, as is so frequent in the Mediterranean, was succeeded by a dead calm, so that when we sat down to breakfast we were steaming in comparatively smooth water.
"Have you heard?" said Ulrica across to me after we had been exchanging our sleepless experiences. "Mr. Keppel has altered our course. He has some pressing business to attend to, so we are going into Leghorn."
"Leghorn!" exclaimed Lord Eldersfield at my elbow. "Horrid place! I was there once. Narrow streets, dirty people, primitive sanitation, and a sorry attempt at a promenade."
"Well, we don't stay there long, that's one comfort," said Ulrica. "Mr. Keppel is going to land, and he'll rejoin us at Naples."
I looked down the table and saw that the face of the old millionaire was pale, without its usual composure. He was pretending to be busily occupied with his porridge.
"Are we going on straight to Naples, Keppel?" inquired Eldersfield.
"Certainly," answered our host. "I much regret that I'm compelled to take you all out of our original course, but I must exchange some telegrams with my agent in New York. We shall be in Leghorn to-night, and if you are all agreed you may sail again at once."
"I'd like to see Leghorn," declared Ulrica. "People who go to Italy always leave it out of their itinerary. I've heard that it is quite charming in many ways. All the better-class Italians from Florence and Rome go there for the bathing in summer."
"Which I fear isn't much of a recommendation," observed his Lordship, who was, I believe, Ulrica's pet aversion.
"The bathing itself is declared by all the guide- to be the best in Europe," she answered.
"And the heat and mosquitoes in summer greater than in any other place on the Continent of Europe. Its imports are rags from Constantinople and codfish from Newfoundland. No wonder its effluvias are not all roses."
"Perhaps so. Of course, if you know the place you are welcome to your own opinion. I don't know it."
"When you do, Miss Yorke, you'll share my opinion; of that I feel certain," he laughed, and then continued his meal.
The question was shortly afterwards decided by popular vote whether the Vispera should remain in Leghorn or not. To the majority of the guests Leghorn was supposed to be merely a dirty seaport, and although I, who knew the place well, tried to impress upon them that it possessed many charms not to be found in other Italian towns, it was decided that the yacht should only remain there a day, and then go straight on to Naples.
This decision was disconcerting. I had to prevent the trip southward, and the problem of how to do so without arousing suspicion was an extremely difficult one to solve. If the vessel sailed from Leghorn, then she was doomed, with every soul on board.
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