Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/147

 sick, that's what held him. He had to get a nurse for her and was near broke at leaving her.”

“The deuce!” said James. He felt sorry as a man feels who has done another an injustice, by accident; then he forgot Morgan and his mother and everything else about him, retiring at ten o'clock to a comfortable bed to sleep the sleep of the just, untroubled by fear of being roused to take his trick at the wheel.

It was not till they were entering the great harbor of Havana that unrest came back to James attended by seven devils worse than itself.

They berthed far out, not a great distance from the old anchorage of the Maine and the sight of the port authorities' boat raised a little flutter in his breast. Might it not possibly be that the dead Bompard or his friends No. The port authorities came on board smiling and bowing, had drinks and cigars in the cabin and departed in their fussy launch. No, there was nothing to fear on the score of Bompard, the cables had had plenty of time to work in and the port authorities of Santa Cruz had known the destination of the Dulcinea.

But that fact did not alter the determination that had arisen in the mind of James, surrounding a plan.

He had got from the port officers a valuable piece of information. The Tennessee of the New York, Key West, Havana line was due to leave for New York at five o'clock that afternoon; being summer time there would be plenty of accommodation on board of her.

He turned from the rail, went below and turned to his writing table, rang for a whisky and soda, lit a cigar and took a sheet of paper headed “Y. Dulcinea. R. T. Y. C.”

Then he began to write. He wrote two long letters, tore them up one after the other, and started again:

Then he wrote a check for five thousand dollars, put it in the letter, addressed the envelope “R. Sebright, Esq.,” and sealed it.

“And that's that,” said James, lighting a new cigar.

A weight was gone from his mind. He had done the right thing.

He rang the bell, brought the captain down and explained matters.

“I'm going to New York by the Tennessee,” said James. “Then to London. By the way, have a boat sent off to her and engage a stateroom. Mr. Sebright and the Baltrum will be up here to-morrow or next day. I want you to give him this letter. You are to put the yacht at his disposal and hang on here as long as he wants, then bring her on up to New York. You can cable me how things go. You have money enough for the ship; if you are short, you can draw on Gundermann's up to five thousand dollars. I'm going ashore to see them and give directions.”

He came up with the captain, who called a quartermaster to get the pinnace ready, and as they stood under the awning looking toward the distant town and the shipping, fluttering to the warm breeze the flags of all nations, the deep moist bellow of a siren made them turn to where, coming up from the half-mile channel entrance, a steamer showed ghost gray in the hot and misty blue. She was the Seville of the Cadiz, Teneriffe, Havana line; a four-thousand-tonner painted lavender-white like the Union Castle boats, and with two bright yellow funnels.

She came along, her wash giving the Dulcinea a slight roll as she drew away toward the far-distant quays across the sparkling blue of the vast harbor.

Had the Seville been made of glass, James, watching, might have seen in her smoke room four card players, four cigar merchants of Havana, utterly undisturbed by their entrance into port and the near proximity of their wives and families; three dried-up Spaniards and a big, black-bearded, jovial Frenchman—Bompard, or his living twin image!