Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 3

HEN Darrell and Bellamy returned to the Golden Horn at half past nine, after the former had sent a code message to Washington, they found no traces of bustle and confusion. The last piece of cargo had been stowed, the stevedores had vanished, and the crew, under the direction of the grim-eyed first mate, were engaged in superficially cleaning the deck.

“Looks as if it might not be so bad, after all,” Bellamy remarked, as they stopped for a moment to watch proceedings.

Darrell did not answer immediately. He was sizing up the sailors nearest them, and he promptly concluded that he had rarely, if ever, seen such a consistently villainous-looking bunch.

“Hard to tell, Jack,” he answered absently. “Of course, we must expect to rough it. I'm more interested in the crew,” he went on, in a lower tone. “Did you ever see such a lot of riff-raff, even on a tramp?”

Bellamy shook his head. “Pretty bad,” he agreed. “Look as if they'd been scraped up on the Barbary Coast. I suppose, though, you must expect that sort of thing on a ship like this.”

“Not always,” Darrell returned quickly. “There are lots of vessels a heap worse than the Golden Horn. However, I don't know that it'll make any difference to us, since were not likely to have any dealings with them. Here comes our esteemed captain, looking as if he meant business.”

“Back again, eh?” remarked Captain Coffin, as he paused for an instant beside them. “You're just in time, for we'll warp out in fifteen minutes. If you'll step into the mess room, you'll find the steward somewhere about, and he'll show you your cabin. I didn't get your names when you first came aboard.”

“Jack Bellamy and Dal Archer,” Knowlton Darrell answered promptly. “I'm Archer.”

The captain nodded, and, with the brief information that the steward's name was Sudo, and that he might need a kick or two to stir him up, he passed on.

“Sounds Japanese,” Darrell remarked, as they sought the cabin.

“Humph! You don't think”

“Oh, no. Nine vessels out of ten have Jap or chink stewards. Still, it behooves us to be doubly careful about giving ourselves away.”

Sudo proved to be an inoffensive-looking little Jap with the sallow, impassive face of his kind. They found him arrayed in a fresh white jacket, and engaged in tidying up the already extremely neat mess cabin. As they appeared, he ducked his head and smiled.

“The honorable passengers desire cabin?” he inquired softly.

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward, and, taking their bags, led the way through a dark passage opening off the mess room, on either side of which were a number of small doors. He walked the entire length of it at the same mincing little trot, and then, setting down one bag, flung open the last door on the right.

The stateroom was small. It was also stuffy, the single porthole being screwed down tight. The Jap made haste to open this and hook it back.

As he did so, a big gray rat scuttled across the floor, and vanished into the corridor.

“Looks as if we might have undesirable company,” Bellamy remarked, with a trace of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh, you'll always find plenty of those on a tramp,” shrugged the secret-service agent. “It's one of the pleasures a fellow has to put up with sometimes.”

They watched the Jap give a smoothing touch to the blankets on the lower berth, and straighten a pillow deftly. Then he pointed out the bell to summon him in case anything was wanted, and departed noiselessly, closing the door behind him.

“Not half bad for an old tub,” commented Bellamy, dropping down on the berth.

“The stateroom, you mean?” Darrell smiled.

“Heavens, no! The Jap.”

The secret-service agent shrugged his shoulders. “A mighty clever people,” he remarked. “Whatever they set out to do they do well, even if it's only stewarding on a tramp steamer out of San Francisco.”

Bellamy frowned. “Do you think theres any danger from him?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Darrell raised his eyebrows. “My dear fellow,” he said, in a tone which barely reached his companion's ears, “there's always danger from one of these little brown men. With them their country is first and foremost. They subordinate everything to their patriotism. I don't mean to say that he's here purposely as a spy, but I know one thing: If he should have the slightest suspicion of our errand, he'd never rest until he had transmitted those suspicions to headquarters. It's up to us, therefore, to keep up our assumed characters when there's any possible chance of his being within hearing distance. After this the open deck will be about the safest place in which to discuss our real plans.”

“I see,” Bellamy nodded. “Well, let's get up there now. This packing box isn't exactly commodious, and it feels as if we were beginning to get under way.

The secret-service agent acquiesced, but before leaving the cabin he opened his bag, and took from the hidden compartment his copy of the government code book, which he placed carefully in an inner pocket of his coat. It was the only tangible bit of evidence he had brought with him which could betray his connection with the service, and he did not propose to run any chances.

The stateroom was the last of a row. A step or two brought them to a door leading out on the forward deck, which at the moment chanced to be almost deserted. Above them loomed the bridge, and in the glass-lined wheelhouse they caught a glimpse of Captain Coffin's square, rough-hewn face and massive shoulders as he guided the vessel. skillfully among the many craft that filled the harbor, heading her around North Point straight for the Golden Gate.

The two friends had scarcely moved over to lean against the port rail when a man who had been squatting up in the bow straightened and turned slowly toward them. Bellamy saw him first, for Darrell was watching the moving panorama of city and harbor, and his muttered exclamation of horrified surprise brought the secret-service agent's gaze swiftly veering to the near foreground, and even he, with all his coolness and self-possession, felt a faint tremor of repulsion go through him.

The man was short and squat, with abnormally broad shoulders, and a decided stoop, which gave him almost the appearance of deformity. He had lost an arm, and the sleeve of his rough blue coat was doubled back and pinned in place. The other arm, hanging straight down, and a little forward from his body, terminated in a huge, hairy, muscular hand, with thick, square-tipped, stubby fingers.

So far there was nothing more than the grotesque in the appearance of the sailor; his dress and a certain hesitating roll in his gait seemed to proclaim him a man who had returned to the sea after a somewhat prolonged period ashore. He gave one an impression of lopsided top-heaviness, as if the slightest jar would send him toppling forward; but that was a fleeting notion which was almost instantly swallowed up in the sinister fascination of his face.

It was round and baggy, with thick lips set in a perpetual leer. A stubby bristle of sandy beard grew well up on his cheeks, but not high enough to cover the livid white-edged scar which zigzagged down from the outer corner of the ghastly, puckered, empty socket looking as if the implement which had gouged away the eye had also torn open the whole side of his face.

But, horrible as it was, the gaping, wrinkled cavity paled into insignificance before the remaining eye. It was wide open and slightly protuberant, with an evil, baleful gleam in its depths; and from the moment of the man's turning it fixed the two friends with a steady, unwinking scrutiny which never altered until he had passed them and disappeared through the cabin door.

For a moment there was silence. Then Bellamy took a long breath, and laughed. “The old ruffian!” he exclaimed, glancing at Darrell. “Did you ever see a more villainous face in your life, Dal? It's enough to give a fellow the creeps. Where the mischief did he get chopped up that way, I wonder?”

“Give it up. He's a tough proposition, all right,” Darrell returned. “It gets me how Coffin can stand for such a crowd. He seems like a pretty fair sort himself. I wonder if”

He paused, and Bellamy regarded him curiously.

“Well?” the latter prompted, at length,

“Nothing special. I was just wondering whether there was anything queer about the vessel or her destination which would account for such a gang of cutthroats being aboard.”

“Filibuster, you mean?”

“Possibly. Since the outbreak of trouble, it's become mighty dangerous and difficult to smuggle arms to the Mexicans, but I happen to know that the attempts have not stopped by a long shot. On the other hand, if there was anything like that in the wind the old man would certainly never have been so ready to take passengers. It looks to me as if we'd have to be on the lookout every minute for—some way of getting next to the colonel as soon as we land at Panama.”

The changed ending of the sentence was due to the sudden and quite noiseless appearance of a strange young man in the cabin doorway. He was tall and slim and rather pale, with a little straw-colored mustache and lazy blue eyes which rested indolently on the two friends for a moment before he lifted his blond brows and moved slowly forward.

“This is really too good to be true,” he observed. “It isn't possible that you are fellow passengers on this wretched vessel?”

Darrell's eyes traveled swiftly over the slender figure, clad in well-fitting blue serge, and came to rest on the bored face.

Then he smiled. “Strange as it may appear,” he returned, “that happens to be the case, I trust the discovery is not unwelcome.”

“Heavens, no!” It was scarcely an exclamation, so drawling was his tone. “Quite the contrary. I give you my word that I've rarely had a more pleasant surprise. When I was forced to take passage on this miserable tramp, her captain—an estimable man, but far from companionable, you'll admit—assured me that there would be but one other passenger. Having seen him, you can perhaps appreciate the pleasure with which I discover your presence here. My name is Philip Carmen, and I am more than glad to meet you.”

“The feeling is reciprocated,” Darrell returned pleasantly, as he shook the slim, languid hand. “I'm Dal Archer, and this is my friend, Jack Bellamy. We were both looking forward to a monotonous trip to Panama. Thanks, I will,” he went on, as Carmen drew out a cigarette case and flicked it open.

Darrell took one of the thin Russian cigarettes, and, striking a match, held it for all three to light up. There was a scarcely perceptible pause as the secret-service agent filled his lungs with the pungent smoke and let it trickle slowly out of nose and mouth.

“I think you must be mistaken,” he added, “in saying that we have seen this fourth passenger.”

Carmen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Surely you can't have missed him?” he asked. “I left him here on the fore deck not ten minutes ago. I give you my word once you set eyes on him you'll never forget his charming countenance as long as you live.”

“Great Scott!” gasped Bellamy. “You don't mean that villainous, one-armed ruffian with only one eye?”

Carmen smiled, and nodded. “I thought I couldn't be mistaken. Genial old pirate, isn't he?”

“He looks as if he might be one of the greatest scoundrels unhung,” Bellamy returned, with force. “We took him for one of the crew. Are you quite sure he's on board as a passenger?”

“Fact!” stated Carmen, with an airy wave of his cigarette. “Extraordinary, but true. He has a cabin next to mine. I couldn't quite credit his own statement, so I asked the captain.”

“You've been talking to him, then?” Darrell put in quietly.

“Oh, yes. Once you recover from the first shock, there's something actually fascinating about him. He's so incredibly, repulsively hideous that one finds an unhealthy sort of interest in just watching him. His name is Billy Boote—Roaring Billy Boote, to give him the whole of it, and I fancy if he chose he could tell tales which would make one's hair stand on end.”

“But whats he doing on board?” Bellamy asked curiously. “Where's he bound?”

Carmen lazily twisted his blond mustache. “He proved reticent as to the reason for his presence here,” he drawled. “The captain informed me that he had taken passage for Magdalena Bay.”