Chapter 32

A TALK IN THE NIGHT

I wondered what awaited us ahead in that black mystery of waters; had they discovered yet our absence on board the _Sea Gull_? If so, what would Henley do? Knowing that I had rifled his desk, his one thought upon release would naturally be the recovery of the papers. Besides, smarting from his bonds, and thirsting for revenge, he would never permit the vessel to depart from these waters without an effort to overtake us. Private vengeance would outweigh all other considerations. God pity us if we ever fell into his clutches again. And there would be no doubt as to the manner of our escape--the trail left was a plain one. I could imagine the scene on board when the discovery of our escape was first made--the search for the missing mate, the discovery of the loss of the boat, the dangling ropes proving how it had been lowered. Then would follow an excited investigation below, revealing the steward locked into his pantry, and the raging captain tied and gagged in his berth. I could not forbear laughing to myself at the picture, and yet never was insensible to the danger still confronting us.

There was in my mind, now I had leisure to consider, no doubt as to what those on board that vessel would do. They would realize we were somewhat astern, and, in the hope of sighting us at daylight, would cruise back and forth in those immediate waters. Any moment the _Sea Gull's_ sharp prow might loom up out of the black wall. As she carried no lights there would be no warning. It occurred to me that they would be more apt to take a course well in toward shore, anticipating I would endeavor to reach the protection of the coast under cover of darkness. Someone would discover the loss of the tell-tale compass, which would naturally confirm that suspicion. Convinced of this I steered more to the eastward, feeling of the face of the compass again to assure myself of the direction. I found even this small change an advantage in more ways than one, as the boat moved steadier, and I was able to spread a larger amount of canvas. Lashing the tiller, I crept forward and shook out an additional reef, hauling the ropes taut. By this time the wind had steadied into a brisk breeze, and the rain had ceased. Crawling back across the thwarts, I took the jumping tiller again into my hands, and held her nose to it, seeking every advantage. I had brought back with me a tin of biscuit from the bow locker, more as an excuse for opening conversation than from any feeling of hunger.

"It must be pretty close to midnight," I said finally. "Are you hungry?"

The shapeless form in the oilskins straightened slightly, and I knew she had turned her face toward me.

"Hungry! Oh, no; I had not thought of that."

"You have been crying?"

"Yes; it is so foolish, but I am so frightened out here in this little boat. The darkness, and that awful water has got upon my nerves. You--you must n't scold me."

"Of course not--I feel the weight myself," I replied kindly. "This experience is almost as new to me as to yourself. You must remember I am no sailor."

"Yet you understand boats; you know the sea."

"Only a little about small boats; I picked that up in the Philippines; but I have never had to rely entirely upon myself before."

"But you are not afraid?"

I laughed softly, hoping to reassure her.

"Not of those things which most affect you, at least. I can handle the boat all right in this sea and wind, while the darkness possesses no special terror."

"Nor the memory of that dead man float--floating somewhere yonder?"

"I have hardly thought about him. I have seen so many dead men in the past three years I have become hardened possibly. You must n't let your mind dwell on that grewsome incident. It was unavoidable, our only means of escape. His death was an accident."

"What is it then you are afraid of?"

I told her, dwelling upon our situation so far as I could understand it, and describing the change in my plans. She listened quietly, asking a question now and then, sitting erect, the oilskins thrown aside, and one hand grasping the boat's rail.

"What papers did you find in the desk?"

"Letters mostly, establishing the identity of the Captain."

"Who is he--really?"

"Charles Henley--Philip Henley's half brother by a negro mother. Did you ever hear of him?"

"No; I was never told there was such a man."

"I doubt if anyone, outside those immediately interested, ever knew the circumstances. Of course the family kept it a close secret. This is where the man had all the advantage. As soon as the Judge died he determined to represent himself as Philip, and claim the property.

"As Philip had been absent so long, no one could dispute successfully his claim to be that individual. He possessed ample evidence that he was the son of Judge Henley."

"But surely he would anticipate that my hus--Philip--would hear of his father's death?"

"He took the chance of getting the property into his hands first. As I understand the matter he possessed no knowledge that the Judge was in communication with Philip. He believed the latter had disappeared utterly, and would only learn of his inheritance through accident. To prevent this he dispatched a man North to discover him, if possible, and keep him under surveillance. He thought he had every avenue guarded."

"And--and you said his mother was a negress?"

"Yes--old Sallie."

"What! That awful creature!"

"Probably she was not that in her younger days."

"I cannot imagine such a thing. How did you learn this?"

"From Broussard first. They have been together for years, but I happened to discover the fellow when he was angry over a punishment. He talked more freely than he intended to do, and later I verified all he said by the letters found."

"Then, strange as it sounds, it is true?"

"Without doubt. Moreover," and I lowered my voice in sudden embarrassment, "within the last two weeks the Captain had received news from his agent in the North, which gave him fresh confidence. From his standpoint he no longer had any cause for fear from the chief source."

"What--what do you mean?"

"You will believe me? You will not think I manufacture this?"

"Certainly not:--but--but I do not understand."

"Well, the man reported that he had found trace of Philip Henley; he told of the life the man was leading, and where he lived. I think all this must have been immediately after your separation, as he mentioned no wife. However, he described something even more important."

"You must tell me," she burst forth, as I hesitated. "Don't be afraid to trust me with all you know."

"I am not afraid," I returned stoutly enough, "not in the sense you mean, at least, yet it is never easy to be the bearer of evil news."

"It is evil?"

"Misfortune, certainly. The man reported the death of your husband."

"His death! You are sure?"

I could hear her quick breathing, as she leaned forward, all attention riveted on me.

"Yes."

"You saw the report?"

"I have it with me; as soon as it becomes daylight you can read it yourself."

"Yes, but tell me now what he said; how it happened."

"The report was specific, and would seem to be true. He says that Philip Henley, while intoxicated, was struck and killed by an automobile. The date given was after you left him. His body was found by the police but his pockets had been rifled, and there were no marks of identification on his clothes. He was buried unknown, but the informant claimed to have visited the morgue, viewed the body, and states positively the dead man was Philip."

"And--and you think--tell me what you believe, Gordon Craig."

"There is but one conclusion to my mind. I have no doubt as to the entire truth of the story. The silence and disappearance of your husband is evidence that he is either dead, or, in some other way, helpless. The former explanation is the most probable, and, coupled with this fellow's statement, seems unquestionable. There would be no apparent reason why he should lie."

"No; there is none. I--I--really, I have thought this all the time; but about those others?"

"Vail and Neale, you mean? It seems to me they fit in exactly with the story. Everything had been removed from Philip's pockets, and all ordinary means of identification destroyed. There must have been a purpose in this, and it must have been done by a second party, as there is no suggestion of suicide. My theory is this--the body was either found by others before the police arrived, or else the automobile party which killed him paused long enough to ascertain the extent of his injuries. In either case his pockets were searched, and all contents removed. Do you comprehend what that would mean?"

"I--I think so; but tell me yourself."

"He certainly had papers with him dealing with his inheritance. To a shrewd, criminal mind they would be suggestive. He also, undoubtedly, had keys to his apartments. With these in their possession it would be comparatively easy for unscrupulous persons to ascertain the entire nature of the case, and secure all necessary documents. Then there would be nothing more needed except a man capable of passing himself off as Philip Henley."

"And Vail was not a lawyer," she asked breathlessly, "nor Neale one of the executors?"

"In my judgment the fellows merely took those names to impose upon me, to help bolster up their story, and make it appear probable. They were simply two crooks, willing to take a chance for a pot of money. I happened to be the one selected to pull their chestnuts out of the fire."

I saw her head sink into the support of her hands, and knew she was sobbing silently.