Free Dangerous Cargo by Hulbert Footner Page B

now!”
    “Just as you will,” said Mme. Storey mildly. “But if the search is carried
out by the same men who have an interest in hiding the sailors, your chances
of finding them are not very good, are they?”
    “I’ll head the search myself,” he growled.
    Adele appeared on the stairway from the deck below. She came towards us
pouting like a child who is sure of getting what it wants. “Horace, how long
are you going to keep me waiting?” she said.
    He turned on her with blazing eyes. I thought he was going to strike her,
but he held himself in. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t necessary. The heat
of his rage shrivelled her. She drew back, terrified, and her hand
instinctively closed over the diamond on her breast.
    Observing the action, Horace laughed harshly and walked away up
forward.
----
X. — THE BANJO-STRUMMER
    THE swimming-pool gave me more pleasure than anything else
aboard the Buccaneer . It was constructed deep in the hold of the
yacht, forward of the engine space, the bottom of the pool resting on the
keel, so that the water in it served as ballast.
    It had been Horace’s notion to have the whole place furnished in dull
black marble, with a row of slender pillars all around. Overhead there was a
dome of coloured glass with lights behind it to give the illusion of sunlight
shining through. There was a row of dressing-boxes along the far end with
curtains hanging in front, but these were never used. We dressed in our
cabins.
    Regularly at eight o’clock every morning I used to run down and dive in.
At this hour I had the pool to myself. Horace, an early riser, had finished
his swim, and the others were too lazy or too timid to enjoy cold water upon
getting out of bed.
    On the morning after we sailed from Willemstad, I dressed after my swim
and went up to breakfast. This was a sort of movable feast in the English
fashion. There was an electric table in the dining-saloon to keep things hot,
and you went in and helped yourself whenever you had a mind to.
    I breakfasted alone this morning. As I was finishing I heard the sound of
a banjo being played on deck. A gay and careless tune, surprising to hear on
that luckless vessel. So I went to investigate.
    I found the player sunk deep in an easy-chair on the after-deck, with his
heels cocked up on a table, and the banjo in his lap. I got a good look at
him before he saw me. A tall, lean, ugly young man wearing glasses. He was
playing the sort of rollicking tune that you associate with old-time
minstrels, but when he threw back his head and sang, I discovered that the
words were Spanish. Something about Simbolico Nombray .
    I knew it must be Martin Coade, Horace’s secretary. Upon catching sight of
me he never batted an eye nor stopped strumming, but sang out:
    “Hello, Bella!”
    “Hello yourself,” I said.
    He made believe to be greatly alarmed. “Cheese it, Bella! Your roof’s on
fire! Don’t come near me, girl! It’s hot enough already!”
    “Well! My hair is red, but it’s not as red as all that.” He was
deliberately trying to rile me, so I held myself in. “You’re pretty fresh,” I
said.
    “Fresh as new-made beer!” he cried, strumming a loud chord on the banjo.
“I foam at the tap!”
    “Unfit to drink,” I said.
    He was one of those funny men who never laugh themselves. His grey eyes
were sharp behind his glasses, and he had a way of searching you through and
through like certain children I have known, and then coming out with
something nasty. How he guessed that I detested the name of Nellie I could
never tell you. “Come and sit down beside me, Nellie,” he said, “and let’s
get acquainted.”
    I remained by the rail. “Thanks, I like it better here,” I said. “There’s
more air.”
    He played a little obbligato on the banjo and sang;
    “Nellie! Nellie! Give me your answer, do!
I’m half crazy all for the love of you!”
    “Not very good,” I said.
    He became serious.