Part 25 (1/2)
”We will not stay there long,” I said. ”But tell me about it. I should like to know.”
”Etretat,” said my companion, ”is rather a bohemian resort. Alphonse Karr discovered it somewhere back in the dark ages, and advertised it--the Etretatians were immensely grateful, and named the main street of the town after him--and since then a lot of artists and theatrical people have built villas there. It has a little beach of gravel where people bathe all day long. When one's tired of bathing, there are the cliffs and the downs, and in the evening there's the casino. You know French, Mr. Lester?”
”Why,” I explained, ”I was supposed to study it at college. I still remember my '_j'ai, tu a, il a_.'”
”You'll remember more when you get to Etretat,” she laughed. ”You'll have to, or starve.”
”Oh, I also know the phrase made immortal by Mark Twain.”
”'_Avez-vous du vin?_'--yes.”
”And I think I also have a hazy recollection of the French equivalents for bread and b.u.t.ter and cheese and meat. We shan't starve--besides, I think Mr. Royce can help. He's been to France.”
”Of course--and here he comes to claim his chair.”
”I won't permit him to claim it if you'll use it a little longer,” I protested.
”Oh, but I must be going,” and she arose, laughing. ”Have I been a satisfactory entertainer?”
”More than satisfactory; I'll accept no other.”
”But you won't need any at all, after this morning--I don't really believe you're ill now!”
She nodded to Royce, and moved away without waiting for my answer, which somehow halted on my lips; and so I was left to the rosiest, the most improbable of day dreams.
Sat.u.r.day, Sunday, and Monday pa.s.sed, with only such incidents to enliven them as are common to all voyages. But I saw that quiet and sea air were doing their work well with my companion, and that he was steadily regaining his normal health. So I felt more and more at liberty to devote myself to Miss Kemball--in such moments as she would permit me--and I found her fascination increasing in a ratio quite geometrical. Martigny was still abed, and, so the s.h.i.+p's doctor told me, was improving very slowly.
It was Tuesday evening that Mrs. Kemball and her daughter joined us on the promenade, and weary, at last, of Strauss waltzes and Sousa marches, we sauntered away toward the bow of the boat, where the noise from the orchestra could reach us only in far-away s.n.a.t.c.hes. We found a seat in the shadow of the wheel-house, and sat for a long time talking of many things, watching the moonlight across the water. At last we arose to return, and Royce and Mrs. Kemball started on ahead, after a habit they had fallen into, which, now I think of it, I am sure was our junior's doing.
”Two more days, and we'll be at Havre,” I said. ”I'll be very sorry, Miss Kemball.”
”Sorry? I'd never have suspected you of such a fondness for the ocean!”
”Oh, it's not the ocean!” I protested, and--what with the moonlight and the soft night and the opportunity--”the time and the place and the loved one, all together”--would have uttered I know not what folly, had she not sprung suddenly forward with a sharp cry of alarm.
”Mr. Royce!” she cried. ”Mother!”
They stopped and turned toward her, just as a heavy spar crashed to the deck before them.
CHAPTER XV
Two Heads are Better than One
I understood in a flash what had happened, and sprang up the stair to the upper deck, determined to have it out with our enemy, once for all. I searched it over thoroughly, looking in and under the boats and behind funnels and ventilators, but could discover no sign of anyone.
When I got back to the promenade, a little crowd had gathered, attracted by the noise of the falling spar, which a dozen members of the crew were busy hoisting back into place.
”I do not see how those las.h.i.+ngs could have worked loose,” said the officer in charge. ”We lashed that extra spar there just before we sailed, and I know it was well fastened.”
I took a look at the las.h.i.+ngs. They had not been cut, as I expected to find them, but had been untied. Martigny had doubtless worked at them while we sat there talking--he was too clever an artist in crime to do anything so clumsy as to cut the ropes.