Part 44 (1/2)

Recollection of the absurd situation incited his reprehensible merriment to the point of unrestrained laughter; and he clasped his knees and rocked to and fro, where he sat on his suitcase, all alone under the stars.

The midnight express was usually from five to forty minutes late at Orangeville; but from there east it made up time on the down grade to Albany.

And now, as he sat watching, far away along the riverside a star came gliding into view around an unseen curve--the headlight of a distant locomotive.

A few moments later he was in his drawing-room, seated on the edge of the couch, his door locked, the shade over the window looking on the corridor drawn down as far as it would go; and the train rus.h.i.+ng through the starry night on the down grade toward Albany.

He could not screen the corridor window entirely; the shade seemed to be too short; but it was late, the corridor dark, all the curtains in the car closed tightly over the berths, and his privacy was not likely to be disturbed. And when the conductor had taken both tickets and the porter had brought him a bottle of mineral water and gone away, he settled down with great content.

Neeland was in excellent humour. He had not the slightest inclination to sleep. He sat on the side of his bed, smoking, the olive-wood box lying open beside him, and its curious contents revealed.

But now, as he carefully examined the papers, photographs, and drawings, he began to take the affair a little more seriously. And the possibility of further trouble raised his already high spirits and caused that little drop of Irish blood to sing agreeably in his veins.

Dipping into Herr Wilner's diary added a fillip to the increasing fascination that was possessing him.

”Well, I'm d.a.m.ned,” he thought, ”if it doesn't really look as though the plans of these Turkish forts might be important! I'm not very much astonished that the Kaiser and the Sultan desire to keep for themselves the secrets of these fortifications. They really belong to them, too. They were drawn and planned by a German.” He shrugged. ”A rotten alliance!” he muttered, and picked up the bronze Chinese figure to examine it.

”So you're the Yellow Devil I've heard about!” he said. ”Well, you certainly are a pippin!”

Inspecting him with careless curiosity, he turned the bronze over and over between his hands, noticing a slight rattling sound that seemed to come from within but discovering no reason for it. And, as he curiously considered the scowling demon, he hummed an old song of his father's under his breath:

”Wan balmy day in May Th' ould Nick come to the dure; Sez I 'The divil's to pay, An' the debt comes harrd on the poor!'

His eyes they shone like fire An' he gave a horrid groan; Sez I to me sister Suke, 'Suke!!!!

Tell him I ain't at home!'

”He stood forninst the dure, His wings were wings of a bat, An' he raised his voice to a roar, An' the tail of him switched like a cat, 'O wirra the day!' sez I, 'Ochone I'll no more roam!'

Sez I to me brother Luke, 'Luke!!!!

Tell him I ain't at home!'”

As he laid the bronze figure away and closed, locked and strapped the olive-wood box, an odd sensation crept over him as though somebody were overlooking what he was doing. Of course it could not be true, but so sudden and so vivid was the impression that he rose, opened the door, and glanced into the private washroom--even poked under the bed and the opposite sofa; and of course discovered that only a living skeleton could lie concealed in such s.p.a.ces.

His courage, except moral courage, had never been particularly tested.

He was naturally quite fearless, even carelessly so, and whether it was the courage of ignorance or a const.i.tutional inability to be afraid never bothered his mind because he never thought about it.

Now, amused at his unusual fit of caution, he stretched himself out on his bed, still dressed, debating in his mind whether he should undress and try to sleep, or whether it were really worth while before he boarded the steamer.

And, as he lay there, a cigarette between his lips, wakeful, his restless gaze wandering, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something moving--a human face pressed to the dark gla.s.s of the corridor window between the partly lowered shade and the cherry-wood sill.

So amazed was he that the face had disappeared before he realised that it resembled the face of Ilse Dumont. The next instant he was on his feet and opening the door of the drawing-room; but the corridor between the curtained berths was empty and dark and still; not a curtain fluttered.

He did not care to leave his doorway, either, with the box lying there on his bed; he stood with one hand on the k.n.o.b, listening, peering into the dusk, still excited by the surprise of seeing her on the same train that he had taken.

However, on reflection, he quite understood that she could have had no difficulty in boarding the midnight train for New York without being noticed by him; because he was not expecting her to do such a thing and he had paid no attention to the group of pa.s.sengers emerging from the waiting room when the express rolled in.

”This is rather funny,” he thought. ”I wish I could find her. I wish she'd be friendly enough to pay me a visit. Scheherazade is certainly an entertaining girl. And it's several hours to New York.”

He lingered a while longer, but seeing and hearing nothing except darkness and a.s.sorted snores, he stepped into his stateroom and locked the door again.

Sleep was now impossible; the idea of Scheherazade prowling in the dark corridor outside amused him intensely, and aroused every atom of his curiosity. Did the girl really expect an opportunity to steal the box? Or was she keeping a sinister eye on him with a view to summoning accomplices from vasty metropolitan deeps as soon as the train arrived? Or, having failed at Brookhollow, was she merely going back to town to report ”progress backward”?