Part 15 (2/2)

”Would he have hesitated?” The night two years ago surged back to his mind; the plaintive crying of the dying child struck on his ears. He stepped a pace forward with a snarl--his grip tightened on the bar--when suddenly the man who had carried up the little girl gave a hoa.r.s.e cry, and with all his force smote the nearest German in the mouth. The German fell like a stone.

”Stand fast.” Jerry's voice dominated the scene. The old traditions had come back: the old wonderful discipline. The iron pin dropped with a clang on the deck. ”It is not their fault, they were only obeying his orders.” And once again his eyes rested on their officer.

”So we meet again, Baron von Dressler,” he remarked, ”and the rat-eaten s.h.i.+p is not sunk. Is this your work?” He pointed to the mangled bodies.

”It is not,” muttered the Prussian.

”You lie, you swine, you lie! Unfortunately for you you didn't quite carry out your infamous butchery completely enough. There is one person on board who knows the U 99 sank the _Lucania_ without warning and was in the boat you sh.e.l.led.”

”I don't believe you, I----”

”Then perhaps you'll believe her. I rather think you know her--very well.” As he spoke he was looking behind the Prussian, to where Maisie--roused from her semi-stupor by the Baron's voice--had got up, and with her hand to her heart was swaying backwards and forwards. ”Look behind you, you cur.”

The Prussian turned, and then with a cry staggered back, white to the lips. ”You, great heavens, you--Maisie----”

And so once again the three princ.i.p.als of my little drama were face to face: only the setting had changed. No longer sensuous music and the warm, violet waters of the Riviera for a background; this time the moaning of dying men and children was the ghastly orchestra, and, with the grey scud of the Atlantic flying past them, the Englishman and the German faced one another, while the American girl stood by. And watching them were the muttering sailors.

At last she spoke. ”This ring, I believe, is yours.” She took a magnificent half-hoop of diamonds from her engagement finger and flung it into the sea. Then she moved towards him.

”You drowned my mother, and for that I strike you once.” She hit him in the face with an iron-shod pin. ”You drowned my father, and for that I strike you again.” Once again she struck him in the face. ”I will leave a fighting man and a gentleman to deal with you for those poor mites.”

With a choking sob she turned away, and once again sank down on the coil of rope.

The Prussian, sobbing with pain and rage, with the blood streaming from his face, was not a pretty sight; but in Travers's face there was no mercy.

”'The old and effete versus the new and efficient!' I seem to recall those words from our last meeting. May I congratulate you on your efficiency? Bah! you swine”--his face flamed with sudden pa.s.sion--”if you aren't skulking in Kiel, you're butchering women. By heavens! I can conceive of nothing more utterly perfect than flogging you to death.”

The Prussian shrank back, his face livid with fear.

”They were my orders,” he muttered. ”For G.o.d's sake----”

”Oh, don't be frightened, Baron von Dressler.” The Englishman's voice was once again under control. ”The old and effete don't do that. You were safe as our guest two years ago; you are safe as our prisoner now.

Your precious carca.s.s will be returned safe and sound to your Royal uncle at the end of the war, and my only hope is that your face will still bear those honourable scars. Moreover, if what you say is true, if the orders of your Government include sh.e.l.ling an open boat crammed with defenceless women and children--and neutrals at that--I can only say that their infamy is so incredible as to force one to the conclusion that they are not responsible for their actions. But--make no mistake--they will get their retribution.”

For a moment he fell silent, looking at the cowering, blood-stained face opposite him, and then a pitiful wail behind him made him turn round.

”Mummie, I'se hurted.” On her knees beside the little girl was Maisie, soothing her as best she could, easing the throbbing head, whispering that mummie couldn't come for a while. ”I'se hurted, mummie--I'se hurted.”

Travers turned back again, and the eyes of the two men met.

”My G.o.d! Is it possible that a sailor could do such a thing?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the Prussian heard and winced.

In the depths of even the foulest bully there is generally some little redeeming spark.

”I'se hurted; I want my mummie.”

The Prussian's lips moved, but no sound came, while in his eyes was the look of a man haunted. Travers watched him silently; and at length he spoke again.

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