Part 32 (2/2)
It was whispered that the helpless one had been done away with by foul means. And Peter became conscious during the meal that his fat and jovial little captain was looking at him and through him with a glance that could not be denied or for long avoided.
Wondering what his Herr Captain might know of the particulars of last night's doings, Peter sucked a mangosteen slowly, arranging his thoughts, card-indexing his alibis, and making cool preparations for an official cross-questioning. Clever lying out of his difficulty was the order, or the alternative for Peter was the irons.
When the fat fingers of Mynheer the Captain at length dabbled in the lacquered finger-bowl, after rounding out his fourth pomelo, Peter got up slowly and walked thoughtfully to the foot of the staircase. Here the captain caught up with him, touched his elbow lightly, and together they proceeded to the promenade-deck, which was s.h.i.+ning redly in places where the wetness of the was.h.i.+ng down had not yet been evaporated by the warm, fresh wind.
Mynheer the Captain fell into place at Peter's side, gripped his fat Javanese cigar between his teeth, and caught his fat wrists together stolidly behind his back, and his low, wide brow slowly beetled.
”Mynheer,” he began in a somewhat constrained voice, low and richly guttural, ”it iss known to you vat took place on der s.h.i.+p some dam during der nacht? Ja?”
”I overheard the pa.s.sengers talking about a coolie falling overboard last night, sir,” replied Peter guardedly. As long as no direct accusation came, he felt safer. He was reasonably sure, basing his opinion of skippers on many past encounters, that this one would go typically to his subject. In his growing c.o.c.k-sureness, Peter expected no rapier-play. It would be a case, he felt sure, of all the cards on the table at once; a slam-bang, as it were.
”You know nodding of dot business, young man?”
”Nothing at all, Myn Captain.”
”Dot iss strange. Dot iss strange,” muttered the captain as they rounded the forward cabin and made their way in slow, measured strides down the port side. ”I haf seen you come aboard yesterday, mynheer; und I haf seen you t'row over der side a coolie, a coolie who wa.s.s wit'
der coolie who dis'ppeared last nacht. Why did you t'row him over der side, eh?”
”He threatened me with his knife,” replied Peter without an instant's hesitation. ”_Mynheer_, he was a bad c.h.i.n.k, a killer.”
”_Ja_. _Tot ver vlomme_! All of 'em are bad c.h.i.n.ks.”
”Why should he stab me?” intoned Peter. ”I never saw him before. I am a peaceful citizen. The only interest I have on this s.h.i.+p, Mynheer Captain, is the wireless apparatus.”
”_Ja_? Dot iss gude to hear, young man. I haf liked you--how does one say it?--immensely. Der oder man wa.s.s no gude. He is gude rittance.
You intend to stay wit' us. Ja?”
”I hope so,” said Peter heartily and with vast relief.
”You like dis s.h.i.+p, eh?”
”Very much, indeed.”
”And I vant you to stay, young man. I vant you to stay joost as long as you feel like staying. But I vant to ask you one t'ing, joost one t'ing.”
”I'll do anything you say, sir.”
The fat, jovial skipper of the _Persian Gulf_ eyed Peter with beady, cunning eyes, and Peter was suddenly conscious of a sinking sensation.
”Joost one t'ing. Better, first I should say, ven you t'row overboard der coolies you dislike, it vould be best not to keep--vat are dey called--der soufenirs. Sooch t'ings as peestols.”
”But, _mynheer_----”
The fat hand waved him to silence.
”Bot' of dem vas bad c.h.i.n.ks. I know. I know bot' of dose coolies a long, long time. T'ieves and blood men. _Tot ver vlomme_! It iss gude rittance, as you say. Young man, I haf nodding but one more t'ing to tell you. I say, I like you--immensely. I vant you very much to stay. But der next time coolies are to be t'rown over der side, I will be pleased to haf you ask my permission.”
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