Part 26 (1/2)

They whispered in awe of the Southern Cross, which sparkled like frost on the low horizon. She confessed that at night the moon was her G.o.d, and Peter, feeling exalted under the influence of her exquisite charm, the touch of the light fingers upon his arm which tingled and burned under the subtle pressure, became bold and recited that verse of ”Mandalay” wherein ”I kissed her where she stood.”

It was quite thrilling, quite delicious, and altogether quite too fine to last.

After a while, when they were pa.s.sing the door of the wireless cabin, Romola squeezed his arm lightly and expressed a desire to have him send a message, a message she had quite forgotten. When Peter replied that such a message would be costly, involving an expensive retransmission by cable from Manila to Hong Kong, she only laughed.

Peter snapped on the green-shaded light and handed her pad and pencil.

Dropping lightly to the couch which ran the length of the opposite wall, she nibbled at the pencil's rubber, and her smooth brow was darkened by a frown of perplexity.

Peter, lowering the aerial switch, sent out an inquiring call for the Manila station. The air was still as death. A dreary hush filled the black receivers, and then, through this gloomy silence trickled a far-away silver voice, the brisk, clear signals of Manila.

He swiveled half around, and the girl nervously extended the pad of radio blanks.

The message was directed to Emiguel Borria, the Peak, Hong Kong, and it contained the information that she would reach the Hong Kong anchorage on the following Tuesday morning. The last sentence; ”Do not meet me.”

Peter inclined his eyebrows slightly, but not impertinently, counted the words and flashed them to the operator at Manila.

This one shot back the following greeting:

”Who are you? Only one man on the whole Pacific has a fist like that.”

Peter changed the manner of his sending, resorting to a long and painful ”drawl.”

”I am a little Chinese waif,” Peter spelled out slowly, and smiled, adding: ”Good hunting to you, Smith!” He signed off.

The silvery spark of Smith was quick in reply.

”If you are Peter Moore, the Marconi people are scouring the earth trying to find you. Are you Peter Moore?”

”In China,” replied Peter breezily, changing back to the inimitably crisp sending for which he was famous, ”we bite off people's noses who are inquisitive. Good night, old-timer!”

The voice of Manila screamed back in faint reprisal, but Peter dropped the nickeled band to the ledge, and pivoted quickly, to face the girl.

It was startling, the look she was giving him. Perhaps he had completed the transmission before she was aware. At all events, when Peter turned with a smile, her eyes bored straight into his with a distorted look, a look that seemed cruel, as if it might have sprung from a well of hate; and hard and glinting and black as polished jade.

All of this vanished when she caught Peter's eyes, and it was as the pa.s.sage of a vision, unreal. In its place was an expression of demureness, of gentle, almost fondling meekness. Had she been staring, not at him, but beyond him, over the miles to a detestable scene, a view of horror? It seemed more than likely.

Then he observed that the door of the wireless room was closed. He made as if to open it, but she interrupted him midway with a commanding gesture of her white, small hand.

”Lock it, and sit down here beside me.”

Somewhat dazed and greatly flabbergasted, Peter obeyed.

He locked the door, then sat down beside her. She moved closer, took his hand, wrapped both of hers tightly around it, and leaned toward him until the breath from her parted lips was upon his throat, moist and warm, and her eyes were great s.h.i.+ning b.a.l.l.s of limpid mystery and dancing excitement, so close to his that he momentarily expected their eyelashes to mingle.

She caught her breath, and then, for such dramatic circ.u.mstances, made a most ridiculous remark. She realized that herself, for she whipped out:

”It is a foolish question. But, Mr. Moore, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Peter's tense look dissolved into a smile of giddy relief. He was expecting something quite frightful, and the clear wit of him found a ready answer.