Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/55

 right! That goes! And we've gained enough to fool them. That's my ship. Run down on it and do as I say.”

Pietro shouted to the man at the engine. The launch swung round, and the black hull of the Adventure screened everything of the fête from sight. To Jimmy's gratification he saw that her side ladder was still down. Looking upward he saw the heavy roll of smoke from her funnel against and besmirching the stars. Moreover her anchor was up. It all seemed too good to be true. He wondered how all this could be. Then a voice from the head of the ladder became audible and he recognized it as Barton's, when it said, “All right, sir. We can be under way in five minutes. As soon as you are aboard.”

“This,” said Jimmy,” must certainly be Fate!”

He boosted the astonished Tommie upward, Tomaso, obedient to his orders came behind, and with a “Good night, signorina. Good night, signor,” Pietro called to his kinsman and the launch shot ahead, tearing up the quiet waters and leading the befooled police boats on a long and fruitless chase.

APTAIN JIMMY escorted the bewildered Miss Tommie down to his cabin, told her to use it and retired to give her an opportunity to rearrange her somewhat disordered attire. He returned to the deck and climbed to the bridge, where he found Barton and saw that the ship was making full speed through the still night. Already the illuminations of Venice and the fête were dropping behind. Barton made way for him as if for his superior officer and Jimmy smiled.

“I suppose you understand you are master of the ship now, and duly registered as such,” he said. “Have you any objections to taking two passengers to Spalato?”

Barton grinned appreciatively and shook his head.

“So many strange things are happening that I'm getting used to anything,” he remarked. “But, to tell the truth, sir, when I got that letter of yours I didn't quite know what to make of it!”

“What's that? Letter from me? I have written you no letter.”

Barton pulled from the inner pocket of his coat an envelope and handed it to Jimmy, who took it inside the chart house and spread it under the chart lamp, frowning in bewilderment. It was typewritten, even to the signature, and a most extraordinary epistle which read:

Jimmy took off his hat, laid it on the table and read the letter again. Barton, standing behind him said, apologetically, “When I got it, sir, I didn't quite know what to make of it. It didn't sound like you, and to order the anchor brought aboard, leaving the ship to hold her place with the engines when the tide was on the turn sounded so—well—I beg pardon, sir—so unseamanlike—and then there was that typewritten signature, too. Honestly, if you hadn't given me orders to clear to-night I don't think I'd have paid any attention to this until I hunted you up and made certain that it was you who wrote it.”

“I didn't write it,” Jimmy said, still staring at the letter. Then suddenly he turned and asked: “About the lady's luggage—did it come aboard?”

“Yes, sir. A suit case and a trunk. I had them taken to your cabin. There was a note and, I think, some keys in an envelope addressed to Miss Powell, sir, that I laid on top of the trunk so she could be certain to find it.”

“Well, I'll be hanged!” was all Jimmy could say, as he still stood there stupefied by surprise and striving to conjecture how all this could have come about.

“Who brought the lady's luggage?” he asked.

“The regular gondolier from the hotel—or at least the man wore one of the hotel sweaters and caps.”

“All right! I don't understand it, and I didn't write the letter, but—well, it has helped, Barton. It has helped! No one was ever more glad to get under way quickly than I was when I came aboard. You can bet on that. But you are master of the ship and—I'm going below to see if our passenger is comfortable. Is everything in