The Bandbox

And while he was easing away and preparing to run before the wind to escape any such hideous complication, he was abruptly brought up all-standing by the information that the colour of the lady’s soul was pink. She knew this to be a fact beyond dispute, because she never could do her best work save when garbed exclusively in pink. She enumerated several articles of wearing apparel not customarily discussed between comparative strangers but which – always provided they were pink – she held indispensable to the task of dramatic composition.

In his great agony, happening to glance in Miss Searle’s direction, he saw her with head bent and eyelids lowered, lips compressed, colour a trifle heightened, shoulders suspiciously a-quiver.

Incongruously, the impression obtruded that they were unusually handsome shoulders.

For that matter, she was an unusually handsome young woman: tall, fair, with a face featured with faint, exquisite irregularity, brown eyes and brows in striking contrast to the rich golden colour of her hair; well-poised and balanced – sure but not too conscious of herself …

Staff heard himself saying “Beg pardon?” to a third repetition of one of Mrs. Thataker’s gratuitous revelations.

At this he took fright, drew back into his reserve for the remainder of the meal, and as soon as he decently could, made his excuses and fled to join Iff in the smoking-room…

He found the little man indulging his two passions; he was drinking whiskey-and-sodas and playing bridge, both in the most masterly fashion. Staff watched the game a while and then, the opportunity offering, cut in. He played till ten o’clock, at which hour, wearied, he yielded his seat to another, leaving Mr. Iff the victor of six rubbers and twelve whiskey-and-sodas. As Staff went out on deck the little man cut for the seventh and ordered the thirteenth. Neither indulgence seemed to have had any perceptible effect upon him.

Staff strolled forward, drinking in air that seemed the sweeter by contrast with the reeking room he had just quitted. The wind had freshened since nightfall; it blew strong and cool, but not keen. And there was more motion in the seas that sang overside, wrapped in Cimmerian blackness. The sky had become overcast; there were no stars: only the ’longshore lights of Ireland twinkled, small, bright, incredibly distant over the waters. The decks were softly aglow with electric lights, lending a deeper shade of velvety denseness to the night beyond the rails.

He hadn’t moved far forward when his quick sight picked out the shimmer of a woman’s hair, like spun gold, about amidships in the rank of deck-chairs. He made sure it was Miss Searle; and it was. She sat alone, with none near her, her head resting against the back of the chair, her face turned a trifle forward; so that she was unaware of his approach until he stopped before her.

“Miss Searle – ” he began diffidently.

She looked up quickly and smiled in what he thought a friendly way.

“Good evening,” said she; and moved her body slightly in the deck-chair, turning a little to the left as if expecting him to take the vacant chair on that hand.

He did so without further encouragement, and abruptly found himself wholly lacking words wherewith to phrase what he had in mind to say. In such emergency he resorted to an old, tried and true trick of his and began to talk on the first subject, unrelated to his dilemma, that popped into his head.

“Are you a good sailor?” he enquired gravely.

The girl nodded. “Very.”

“Not afraid of seasickness?”

“No. Why?”

“Because,” said Staff soberly, “I’ve been praying for a hurricane.”

She nodded again without speaking, her eyes alone questioning.

“Mrs. Thataker,” he pursued evenly, “confided to me at dinner that she is a very poor sailor indeed.”

Miss Searle laughed quietly. “You desire a punishment to fit the crime.”

“There are some crimes for which no adequate punishment has ever been contrived,” he returned, beginning to see his way, and at the same time beginning to think himself uncommonly clever.

“Oh!” said Miss Searle with a little laugh. “Now if you’re leading up to a second apology about that question of the bandbox, you needn’t, because I’ve forgiven you already.”

He glanced at her reproachfully. “You just naturally had to beat me to that, didn’t you?” he complained. “All the same, it was inexcusable of me.”

“Oh, no; I quite understood.”

“You see,” he persisted obstinately, “I really did think it was my bandbox. I actually have got one with me, precisely like yours.”

“I quite believed you the first time.”

Something in her tone moved him to question her face sharply; but he found her shadowed eyes inscrutable.

“I half believe you know something,” he ventured, perplexed.

“Perhaps,” she nodded, with an enigmatic smile.

“What do you know?”

“Why,” she said, “it was simple enough. I happened to be in Lucille’s yesterday afternoon when a hat was ordered delivered to you.”

“You were! Then you know who sent it to me?”

“Of course.” Her expression grew curious. “Don’t you?”

“No,” he said excitedly. “Tell me.”

But she hesitated. “I’m not sure I ought …”

“Why not?”

“It’s none of my affair – ”

“But surely you must see … Listen: I’ll tell you about it.” He narrated succinctly the intrusion of the mysterious bandbox into his ken, that morning. “Now, a note was promised; it must have miscarried. Surely, there can be no harm in your telling me. Besides, I’ve a right to know.”

“Possibly … but I’m not sure I’ve a right to tell. Why should I be a spoil-sport?”

“You mean,” he said thoughtfully – “you think it’s some sort of a practical joke?”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm-mm,” said Staff. And then, “I don’t like to be made fun of,” he asserted, a trace sulkily.

“You are certainly a dangerously original man,” said Miss Searle – “almost abnormal.”

“The most unkindest slam of all,” he murmured.

He made himself look deeply hurt. The girl laughed softly. He thought it rather remarkable that they should enjoy so sympathetic a sense of humour on such short acquaintance…

“But you forgive me?”

“Oh, yes,” he said generously; “only, of course, I couldn’t help feeling it a bit – coming from you.”

“From me?” Miss Searle sat up in her deck-chair and turned to him. “Mr. Staff! you’re not flirting with me?”

“Heaven forfend!” he cried, so sincerely that both laughed.

“Because,” said she, sinking back, “I must warn you that Mrs. Ilkington has been talking …”

“Oh,” he groaned from his heart – “damn that woman!”

There was an instant of silence; then he stole a contrite look at her immobile profile and started to get up.

“I – Miss Searle,” he stammered – “I beg your pardon …”

“Don’t go,” she said quietly; “that is, unless you want to. My silence was simply sympathetic.”

He sat back. “Thank you,” he said with gratitude; and for some seconds considered the case of Mrs. Ilkington, not charitably but with murder in his bosom. “Do you mean,” he resumed presently, “she has – ah – connected my name with – ”

“Yes,” nodded the girl.

“‘Something lingering in boiling oil,’” he mused aloud, presently… “What staggers me is how she found out; I was under the impression that only the persons most concerned knew about it.”

“Then it’s true? You are engaged to marry Miss Landis? Or is that an impertinent question?” Without pause the girl answered herself: “Of course it is; only I couldn’t help asking. Please forget I spoke – ”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said wearily; “now that Mrs. Ilkington has begun to distribute handbills. Only … I don’t know that there’s a regular, hard-and-fast engagement: just an understanding.”

“Thank you,” said Miss Searle. “I promise not to speak of it again.” She hesitated an instant, then added: “To you or anybody else.”

“You see,” he went on after a little, “I’ve been working on a play for Miss Landis, under agreement with Jules Max, her manager. They want to use it to open Max’s newest Broadway theatre late this autumn. That’s why I came across – to find a place in London to bury myself in and work undisturbed. It means a good deal to me – to all of us – this play… But what I’m getting at is this: Alison – Miss Landis – didn’t leave the States this summer; Mrs. Ilkington (she told me at dinner) left New York before I did. So how in Heaven’s name – ?”

“I had known nothing of Mrs. Ilkington at all,” said Miss Searle cautiously, “until we met in Paris last month.”

He was conscious of the hint of uneasiness in her manner, but inclined to assign it to the wrong cause.

“I trust I haven’t bored you, Miss Searle – talking about myself.”

“Oh, no; indeed no. You see – ” she laughed – “I quite understand; I keep a temperament of my own – if you should happen to wonder why Mrs. Ilkington interests herself in me. I’m supposed to have a voice and to be in training for grand opera.”

“Not really?”

And again she laughed. “I’m afraid there isn’t any cure for me at this late date,” she protested; “I’ve gone so far I must go farther. But I know what you mean. People who sing are difficult. However …” She stirred restlessly in her chair, then sat up.

“What is that light over there?” she asked. “Do you know?”

Staff’s gaze sought the indicated direction. “Roches Point, I imagine; we’re about due at Queenstown …”

“As late as that?” The girl moved as if to rise. Staff jumped up and offered her a hand. In a moment she was standing beside him. “I must go below,” said she. “Good night.”

“You won’t tell me who it was in Lucille’s, yesterday?” he harked back pleadingly.

She shook her head gaily as she turned forward to the main companionway entrance: “No; you must find out for yourself.”

“But perhaps it isn’t a practical joke?”

“Then —perhaps– I shall tell you all – sometime.”

He paused by the raised door-sill as she stepped within the superstructure. “Why not stop up and see the tender come off?” he suggested. “It might be interesting.”

She flashed him a look of gay malice. “If we’re to believe Mrs. Ilkington, you’re apt to find it more interesting than I. Good night.”

“Oh – good night!” he muttered, disturbed; and turned away to the rail.

His troubled vision ranged far to the slowly shifting shore lights. The big steamship had come very close inshore – as witness the retarded speed with which she crept toward her anchorage – but still the lights, for all their singular brightness, seemed distant, incalculably far away; the gulf of blackness that set them apart exaggerated all distances tenfold. The cluster of sparks flanked by green and red that marked the hovering tender appeared to float at an infinite remove, invisibly buoyed upon the bosom of a fathomless void of night.

Out of this wind-swept waste of impenetrable darkness was to come the answer to these many questions that perplexed him – perhaps. Something at least would come to influence him; or else Mrs. Ilkington’s promise had been mere blague… Then what?

Afterwards he assured himself that his stupidity had been unparalleled inconceivable. And indeed there seems to be some colour of excuse for this drastic stricture, self-inflicted though it were.

Below him, on the main deck, a squad of deckhands superintended by a petty officer was rigging out the companion-ladder.

Very suddenly – it seemed, because of the immense quiet that for all its teeming life enveloped the ship upon the cessation of the engine’s song – the vessel hesitated and then no longer moved. From forward came the clank of chains as the anchor cables were paid out. Supple to wind and tide, the Autocratic swung in a wide arc, until the lights of the tender disappeared from Staff’s field of vision.

Before long, however, they swam silently again into sight; then slowly, cautiously, by almost imperceptible stages the gap closed up until the tender ranged alongside and made fast to her gigantic sister.

Almost at once the incoming passengers began to mount the companion-ladder.

Staff promptly abandoned his place at the rail and ran down to the main-deck. As he approached the doorway opening adjacent to the companion-ladder he heard a woman’s laugh out on the deck: a laugh which, once heard, was never to be forgotten: clear, sweet, strong, musical as a peal of fairy bells.

He stopped short; and so did his breath for an instant; and so, he fancied, did his heart. This, then, was what Mrs. Ilkington had hinted at! But one woman in all the world could laugh like that …

Almost at once she appeared, breaking through the cluster of passengers on the deck and into the lighted interior with a swinging, vigorous manner suggestive of intense vitality and strength. She paused, glancing back over her shoulder, waiting for somebody: a magnificent creature, splendidly handsome, wonderfully graceful, beautiful beyond compare.

“Alison!” Staff breathed hoarsely, dumfounded.

Though his exclamation could by no means have carried to her ears, she seemed to be instantly sensitive to the vibrations of his emotion. She swung round, raking her surroundings with a bright, curious glance, and saw him. Her smile deepened adorably, her eyes brightened, she moved impulsively toward him with outflung hands.

“Why,” she cried – “Why, Staff! Such a surprise!”

Nothing could have been more natural, spontaneous and unaffected. In an instant his every doubt and misgiving was erased – blotted out and as if it had never been. He caught and held her hands, for the moment speechless. But his eyes were all too eloquent: under their steadfast sincerity her own gaze wavered, shifted and fell. She coloured consummately, then with a gentle but determined manner disengaged her hands.

“Don’t,” she said in the low, intimate voice she knew so well how and when to employ – “don’t! People are looking …” And then with a bewildering shift, resuming her former spirit: “Of all things wonderful, Staff – to meet you here!”

She was acting – masking with her admirable art some emotion secret from him. He knew this – felt it intuitively, though he did not understand; and the knowledge affected him poignantly. What place had dissimulation in their understanding? Why need she affect what she did not feel – with him?

Distressed, bewildered, he met evasion with native straightforwardness.

“I’m stunned,” he told her, holding her eyes with a grave, direct gaze; “I’m afraid I don’t understand… How does this happen?”

“Why, of course,” she said, maintaining her artificial elation – “I infer – you’ve finished the play and are hurrying home. So – we meet, dear boy. Isn’t it delightful?”

“But you’re here, on this side – ?”

“Oh, just a flying trip. Max wanted me to see Bisson’s new piece at the Porte St. Martin. I decided to go at the last moment – caught the Mauretania on eight hours’ notice – stayed only three days in Paris – booked back on this tub by telegraph – travelled all day to catch it by this wretched, roundabout route. And – and there you are, my dear.”

She concluded with a gesture charmingly ingenuous and disarming; but Staff shook his head impatiently.

“You came over – you passed through London twice – you stayed three days in Paris, Alison – and never let me know?”

“Obviously.” She lifted her shoulders an inch, with a light laugh. “Haven’t I just said as much?.. You see, I didn’t want to disturb you: it means so much to – you and me, Staff – the play.”

Dissatisfied, knitting his brows faintly, he said: “I wonder …!”

“My dear!” she protested gaily, “you positively must not scowl at me like that! You frighten me; and besides I’m tired to death – this wretched rush of travelling! Tomorrow we’ll have a famous young pow-wow, but tonight – ! Do say good night to me, prettily, like a dear good boy, and let me go… It’s sweet to see you again; I’m wild to hear about the play… Jane!” she called, looking round.

Her maid, a tight-mouthed, unlovely creature, moved sedately to her side. “Yes, Miss Landis.”

“Have my things come up yet?” The maid responded affirmatively. “Good! I’m dead, almost…”

She turned back to Staff, offering him her hand and with it, bewitchingly, her eyes: “Dear boy! Good night.”

He bent low over the hand to hide his dissatisfaction: he felt a bit old to be treated like a petulant, teasing child…

“Good night,” he said stiffly.

“What a bear you are, Staff! Can’t you wait till tomorrow? At all events, you must…”

Laughing, she swept away, following her maid up the companion stairs. Staff pursued her with eyes frowning and perplexed, and more leisurely with his person.

As he turned aft on the upper deck, meaning to go to the smoking-room for a good-night cigarette – absorbed in thought and paying no attention to his surroundings – a voice saluted him with a languid, exasperating drawl: “Ah, Staff! How-d’-ye-do?”

He looked up, recognising a distant acquaintance: a man of medium height with a tendency toward stoutness and a taste for extremes in the matter of clothes; with dark, keen eyes deep-set in a face somewhat too pale, a close-clipped grey moustache and a high and narrow forehead too frankly betrayed by the derby he wore well back on his head.

Staff nodded none too cordially. “Oh, good evening, Arkroyd. Just come aboard?”

Arkroyd, on the point of entering his stateroom, paused long enough to confirm this surmise. “Beastly trip – most tiresome,” he added, frankly yawning. “Don’t know how I should have stood it if it hadn’t been for Miss Landis. You know her, I believe? Charming girl – charming.”

“Oh, quite,” agreed Staff. “Good night.”

His tone arrested Arkroyd’s attention; the man turned to watch his back as Staff shouldered down the alleyway toward the smoking-room. “I say!” commented Mr. Arkroyd, privately. “A bit hipped – what? No necessity for being so bally short with a chap…”

The guess was only too well founded: Staff was distinctly disgruntled. Within the past ten minutes his susceptibilities had been deeply wounded. Why Alison should have chosen to slight him so cavalierly when in transit through London passed his comprehension… And the encounter with Arkroyd comforted him to no degree whatever. He had never liked Arkroyd, holding him, for all his wealth, little better than a theatre-loafer of the Broadway type; and now he remembered hearing, once or twice, that the man’s attentions to Alison Landis had been rather emphatic.

Swayed by whim, he chose to avoid the smoking-room, after all – having little wish to be annoyed by the chatter of Mr. Iff – and swung out on deck again for a half-hour of cigarettes and lonely brooding…

But his half-hour lengthened indefinitely while he sat, preoccupied, in the deck-chair of some total stranger. By definite stages, to which he was almost altogether oblivious, the Autocratic weighed anchor, shook off her tender and swung away on the seven-day stretch. As definitely her decks became bare of passengers. Presently Staff was quite a solitary figure in the long array of chairs.

Two bells rang mellowly through the ship before he roused, lifted himself to his feet and prepared to turn in, still distressed and wondering – so much so that he was barely conscious of the fact that one of the officers of the vessel was coming aft, and only noticed the man when he paused and spoke.

“I say – this is Mr. Staff, isn’t it?”

Staff turned quickly, searching his memory for the name and status of the sturdy and good-looking young Englishman.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “but – ”

“I’m Mr. Manvers, the purser. If I’m not mistaken, you crossed with us this spring?”

“Oh, yes; I did. How-d’-you-do?” Staff offered his hand.

“Sure I recognised you just now – saw you on the main-deck – talking to Miss Landis, I believe.”

“Yes …?”

“Beg pardon; I don’t wish to seem impertinent; but may I ask, do you know the lady very well?”

Staff’s eyes clouded. “Why …”

“Knew you’d think me impertinent; but it is some of my business, really. I can explain to your satisfaction. You see” – the purser stepped nearer and lowered his voice guardedly – “I was wondering if you had much personal influence with Miss Landis. I’ve just had a bit of a chat with her, and she won’t listen to reason, you know, about that collar.”

“Collar?” Staff repeated stupidly.

“The Cadogan collar, you know – some silly pearl necklace worth a king’s ransom. She bought it in Paris – Miss Landis did; at least, so the report runs; and she doesn’t deny it, as a matter of fact. Naturally that worries me; it’s a rather tempting proposition to leave lying round a stateroom; and I asked her just now to let me take care of it for her – put it in my safe, you know. It’d be a devilish nasty thing for the ship, to have it stolen.” The purser paused for effect. “Would you believe it? She wouldn’t listen to me! Told me she was quite capable of taking care of her own property! Now if you know her well enough to say the right word … it’d be a weight off my mind, I can tell you!”

“Yes, I can imagine so,” said Staff thoughtfully. “But – what makes you think there’s any possibility – ”

“Well, one never knows what sort of people the ship carries – as a rule, that is. But in this instance I’ve got good reason to believe there’s at least one man aboard who wouldn’t mind lifting that collar; and he’s keen enough to do it prettily, too, if what they tell of him is true.”

“Now you’re getting interesting. Who is this man?”

“Oh, quite the swell mobsman – Raffles and Arsène Lupin and all that sort of thing rolled into one. His name’s Ismay – Arbuthnot Ismay. Clever – wonderful, they say; the police have never been able to fasten anything on him, though he’s been known to boast of his jobs in advance.”

“You told Miss Landis this?”

“Certainly – and she laughed.”

This seemed quite credible of the lady. Staff considered the situation seriously for a moment or two.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said at length; “though I’m not hopeful of making her see it from your point of view. Still, I will speak to her.”

“That’s good of you, I’m sure. You couldn’t do more.”

“You’re positive about this Ismay?” Staff pursued. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

“Not I,” asserted the purser confidently. “He crossed with us last year – the time Mrs. Burden Hamman’s jewels disappeared. Ismay, of course, was suspected, but managed to prove every kind of an alibi.”

“Queer you should let him book a second time,” commented Staff.

“Rather; but he’s changed his name, and I don’t imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight.”

“What name does he travel under now?”

The purser smiled softly to himself. “I fancy you won’t be pleased to learn it,” said he. “He’s down on the passenger-list as Iff – W. H. Iff.”