“He—you danced with him?” gasped the horrified Aunt Julia.
“Don't you remember? Phil Morton introduced him to us. I—I can't believe my eyes.”
“I can't believe mine,” snapped the elder woman. “I never saw this fellow before in my life. The idea! Phil Morton having a friend like—You are mistaken. And people are staring at us.”
“Just the same,” said her niece, stubbornly, “I did dance with him, and, what's more, I danced more than once with him. Didn't I, Mr. Percival?”
Mr. Percival, still beaming, again looked at the sailor appealingly.
“You can tell it to me,” said the latter, furtively glancing to the right and left before making the concession.
Looking straight into the sailor's eyes, Percival said:
“Yes, Miss Clinton. I had four dances with you,—and a lemon squash.”
“Wait a moment, Aunt Julia,” protested the young lady, holding back. “Would you mind telling me, Mr. Percival, how you happen to be here and in this plight? You didn't mention sailing on the Doraine.”
Mr. Percival, to the sailor: “Neither did you, Miss Clinton. You certainly are no more surprised than I am.”
“Why are you on board as a stowaway? Phil Morton told me you belong to an old Baltimore family and had all kinds of—that is, you were quite well-off.”
Mr. Percival, to the sailor: “Please don't blush, Miss Clinton. I'm not the least bit sensitive. Money isn't everything. I seem to be able to get along without it. Later on, I hope to have the opportunity to explain just why—”
“That'll do,” interrupted the sailor. “Here comes the Captain.”
Captain Trigger hove in sight around the corner of the deck building, with Chief Engineer Gray and the Second Officer.
“I don't know what to make of you,” said Miss Clinton, sorely puzzled. Her aunt was clutching her arm. “You seemed so awfully jolly the other night. And—and just look at you now.”
She moved away, followed by the bespectacled young woman and the steamer-rugs, graceful despite the sudden yank with which her aunt set her in motion. Percival managed to keep an eye on her till she turned the corner. Then he sighed.
The Captain halted in front of him.
“Are you acquainted with Mrs. Spofford and her niece, Percival?” he inquired.
“Miss Clinton has done me the honour to remember meeting me night before last at the Alcazar Grand, sir. Mrs. Spofford is not so generous.”
“I see,” said Captain Trigger reflectively. “You will report at once to Mr. Gray. He will give you a less public job, as you call it.” A twinkle came into his eyes. “He doesn't like the hat you're wearing. Nor the shirt. Nor the boots.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And, by the way, Percival, as soon as you are slightly refurbished I want you to stroll through the second cabin and if possible identify the two stewards who came to No. 22. Let me see, was it during the day or at night?”
“Some time during the night, sir. Eleven or half-past, I should say.”
“Very well.”
An hour later he reported to Captain Trigger. “I have seen all of the stewards, sir, according to Mr. Codge, and I do not recognize any of them as the men who came to No. 22. I had a fairly good view of them, too, from beneath the lower berth. They spoke in a language I did not understand—”
“Do you understand German?”
“No, sir. I know it when I hear it, however. They were not speaking German. I may have been wrong, but I came to the conclusion that they were transferring some one to No. 22. They brought in two suitcases, and left them when they went out. I—”
Captain Trigger brought his clenched fist down on the table with a resounding, emphatic bang.
“Now, we have it! That Chicago detective is right, by gad!”
He turned to the small group of officers clustered behind him. Fresh alarm,—real consternation,—had leaped into the eyes of every man of them.
“Then—then, that means our search isn't over?” cried Mr. Mott, starting up.
“It does! Every inch of this ship,—every damned inch of it, from stem to stern. Overlook nothing, Mr. Mott. Don't delay a second.”
Percival was alone with the agitated Captain an instant later. Trigger's eyes were rather wild and bloodshot. The younger man's face blanched. He knew now that the danger was real. He waited for the Captain to speak.
“Percival, the two men you saw in 22 were not stewards. They were the men who jumped overboard. You tell me they left two bags there when they went out of the room. Well, they were not there this morning when the regular steward went into the room. They have disappeared. But the contents of those bags are still somewhere on board this ship. And if they are not found in time, by gad, sir, we will all be in Kingdom Come before we know it.”
CHAPTER IV.
The first explosion occurred at eleven minutes past six. The chart-house and part of the bridge were blown to pieces. Three dull, splintering crashes ensued in rapid succession, proving beyond question that the bombs were set to automatically explode at a given time. One of them wrecked the engine-room; another blew a great hole in the stern of the ship, above the water line; the third destroyed the wireless house and carried away a portion of the deck with it.
There were eight in all of these devilish machines in the heart of the Doraine. Some time prior to the first explosion, the feverish searchers had uncovered four of them, cunningly planted in the most vital parts of the ship. Two were taken from the lower hold, one at each end of the vessel, and two more were found close to the carefully protected section of the vessel in which a rather insignificant but deadly shipment of high explosives was stored.
The discovery of the four bombs and their immediate consignment to the sea saved the ship from being blown to bits. With another hour to spare, it is more than probable the remaining four would have been found, notwithstanding the amazing cleverness with which they were hidden, so thorough and so dogged was the search. Confusion, terror, stupefaction and finally panic followed the successive blasts. The decks were strewn with people prostrated by the violent upheavals, and many there were who never got up again. Stunned, dazed, bewildered, those who were able to do so scrambled to their feet only to be hurled down again and again. Shrieks, groans, prayers,—and curses,—filled the brief, ghastly silences between the muffled detonations. The great vessel surged and rolled and plunged like a tortured animal.
The splintering of wood, the rending of plates, the shattering of glass, and above all this horrid turmoil the mighty roaring and hissing of steam!... And the wild, gurgling cries of the frantic unfortunates who had leaped into the sea!
Out of the chaos with incredible swiftness came the paralysis of despair, and out of that slowly but surely groped the never-failing courage of the men who go down to the sea in ships. Hoarse commands lifted above the groans and prayers, and strong but shaken figures sprang with mechanical precision to the posts allotted them. Life-boat after life-boat went down into the sea that glistened with the slanting rays of an untroubled sun, low-lying at the end of day.
Fire broke out in several places. Down into the bowels of the ship plunged the resolute, undaunted heroes who remained behind, the chosen complement reserved for just such an emergency by the far-seeing