"Why, for sure; did you think it was the shooters or the coal?"
"Surly brute!" muttered the boy, as the colossal form of the skipper disappeared through the door which led to the private cabin; and he remembered that at last they must have come to the Downs. He had been following so closely the sufferings of five hundred Christians who had worked under the lashings of the Moors that the whole business of bringing-to had escaped him. Yet he had longed for a sight of the white cliffs of England with that intense nostalgie which young travellers suffer. For three months he had not seen a wooded lane nor a really green field; for three months—and this was the sorer trial—he had not looked upon the one man who was as brother, father, indeed, the whole world of mankind, to him. In the earlier days letters had been frequent; they had received them at Alexandria, at Cairo, and at Gibraltar, where for a few weeks prior to her voyage northward the yacht had been lying. But the Prince no longer wrote, as once he had written in that terrible hand of his, boyish letters, full of gossip and good wishes; stunted and withered messages, half promises, hints at business of exceeding importance—of such had been his communications at the end of it, until Hal began to ask himself with no little dread: Is he tiring of me? Can I be of no more use to him? Has not the time come for us to take different roads in life?
He was not the one to suffer any mere charity. The moment he was sure that Arnold Messenger had wearied of him he would make his own way, he declared. There were intervals when he was almost angry with the Prince for leaving him on Kenner's yacht. How came it that he could not be in London with him? Of what sort were those affairs which could be manipulated by one who spelled "believe" without an "i," and put three "p's" in "proper"? The mystery was more than the lad's seventeen years of worldly knowledge could solve. He could only conclude with a heavy heart that the grip of evil fortune had clutched him once more, and that the road of life ahead of him lay through dark paths.
All this contributed to an inveterate longing to set foot in England. Had he but known what infinite perils awaited him on the shores of his own country his doubts and fears would have been of another mood. But suspicion was as far away from him as the poles, both at that time and until the more part of the evil was written. Indeed, when he came on deck to observe the white buildings and the conventional pier of Deal, with the hills and dales of lovely Kent, all fair and green in the ripe fulness of a generous summer, what gloominess he had passed from him, and gave place to an overwhelming gladness, because he knew that soon he would hear his one friend's voice again, and feel the grip of a hand which had done so much for him.
In this mood he stood upon the poop of the Semiramis when Roger Burke, the skipper, went to the private cabin where Kenner sat. The two men were soon occupied in earnest conversation, the American having a long letter in cipher before him, as well as a telegram, with which he was more immediately concerned.
"Burke," said he, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, "this cablegram says: 'Stop in the Downs until I come.' Now what does he mean by that? Here's the cipher—you can read it as well as I can—putting it plain that we were to be ready for the job by the eleventh of the month, and this is the tenth. What's the delay, and why?—unless he wants to fly the danger signal, and this is his flag."
The great skipper shook his head, and leaned back on the sofa mystified.
"It's a job ez big ez oceans," said he, "and it's one chance in five hundred that he gets the leg of them. Don't you see that they may be on top of him long afore he's weathered London? By thunder! there ain't a man of us in it what hasn't got a rope round his gullet bought and paid for now, at the beginning of it—not a man of us!"
Kenner was not convinced.
"You don't know the Prince," said he; "it's got to be a fire-and-blazes police to go one better than him, any way."
"I ain't contradictin' that," remarked Burke; "he may be as thick in grit as an out-West man, but he's a poor notion of showing it. What's he want this kid aboard for? Let me ask. Is this a game of base-ball, or is it a job for men?"
"That's his business," replied Kenner, "and I guess it'll come out square when there's settling times. The question I've got to ask now is: Where's he laying for?—and when's the money going over?"
"That's it," said Burke, with a shrug; "and how many's got to share when the candy's split?"
Kenner had an answer upon his lips, but it stayed there, as a great sound of hailing was heard above and footsteps thudded upon the deck. In another moment the cabin-door opened, and Arnold Messenger entered. Though three months had passed since the American had seen him, his face was mobile and impassive as of yore, his manner as confident and easy, his self-possession as remarkable. He had a suit of blue serge upon him that had come from a fine tailor, his brown boots shone like reflectors, his linen had an exquisite whiteness. And as he entered the cabin the others greeted him with a word of intense satisfaction, and waited for him to speak, since the whole fortune of the enterprise hung upon his words.
"Kenner," said he, shutting the door behind him, and bolting it, "what I've got to tell must be told by the clock. I'll be wanting to reach London by the 6.55 out of the town."
"You've half-an-hour," said Kenner laconically. "Burke'll keep the gig out."
"That will suit me perfectly," replied the Prince, settling himself with provoking slowness at the table, upon which he laid some paper; "and if you'll get me ink, we shall save talk.
Burke went to a cupboard at the request; but Kenner could not longer tolerate the mystery.
"Prince," said he, "out with it; is the money going, or do you throw the cards?"
"The money is going to-morrow night," answered Messenger, without moving a muscle of his face, "and the tug Admiral takes it from Tilbury to Flushing."
"Did you happen to know—that is, do you learn the amount?" asked the American, with a husky voice.
"One million sterling!" answered the Prince, his face as placid as marble, and his nerves as steady as steel wires.
"By gosh!" said the American.
Messenger permitted to them a moment's silence in which to digest his words, and then continued with somewhat more satisfying detail—
"Kenner, there's been work to do since we parted, more than three months ago, which I never booked in my calculations the day this thing came to us at Monaco—you remember when. But that you've learned of in my letters, and this is not the time to go into it. The first thing I've to ask you now is this: Have you got a man aboard here that you can't trust in the job, and if so, when are you going to send him ashore?"
Kenner did not answer the question himself, but turned to the skipper, Burke, who sat upon the edge of the bunk nursing his chin in his hand.
"Burke," said he, "that's your affair, I guess. What you don't know about them ain't worth the knowing."
The skipper raised his head at the appeal, and answered quietly :
"If I thought ez any of 'em was that way, I'd put bullets in 'em now, if you was to swing me afore two bells."
"That's all I wanted to hear," replied Messenger, "and in that matter I've no sort of doubt. The next thing to ask you is: How much are we going to tell them safely, and when are they to be told?"
"You've got to tell 'em a good deal, I reckon," said the skipper instantly—"a good deal, barrin' what your cargo's worth; the knowledge of that's between us three——"
"And the skipper of the tug," interposed Messenger; "a man among a thousand, he is—Kess Robinson by name, and as obstinate as a mule. I had to promise him twenty thousand pounds and a couple of thousand per man for his crew——"
"Are they all swore to it?" asked