Part 64 (1/2)
”Very well, sir!” The mate turned, but Mildred said, suddenly:
”Wait! Why don't you talk to her, father?”
”That creature? I have nothing to say to her.”
”Quite right!” agreed Marsh, with a cautionary glance at the speaker. ”She is up to some trick.”
”She may have something really important to say to you,” urged the girl.
”No.”
Mildred leaned forward, and called to the s.h.i.+p's officer: ”Show her up. I will see her.”
”Mildred, you mustn't talk to that woman!” her father cried.
”It is very unwise,” Marsh chimed in, apprehensively. ”She isn't the sort of person--”
Miss Wayland chilled him with a look and waved the mate away, then sank back into her chair.
”I have talked with her already. I a.s.sure you she is not dangerous.”
”Have your own way,” Mr. Wayland grunted. ”But it is bound to lead to something unpleasant. She has probably come with a message from--that fellow.”
Willis Marsh squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He fixed his eyes upon the knot of men at the starboard rail; an expression of extreme alertness came over his bland features. His feet were drawn under him, and his fingers were clinched upon the arms of his chair. Then, with a sharp indrawing of his breath, he leaped up and darted down the deck.
Over the side had come Cherry Malotte, accompanied by an Indian girl in shawl and moccasins--a slim, shrinking creature who stood as if bewildered, twisting her hands and staring about with frightened eyes.
Behind them, head and shoulders above the sailors, towered a giant copper- hued breed with a child in his arms.
They saw that Marsh was speaking to the newcomers, but could not distinguish his words. The Indian girl fell back as if terrified. She cried out something in her own tongue, shook her head violently, and pointed to her white companion. Marsh's face was livid; he shook a quivering hand in Cherry Malotte's face. It seemed as if he would strike her; but Constantine strode between them, scowling silently down into the smaller man's face, his own visage saturnine and menacing. Marsh retreated a step, chattering excitedly. Then Cherry's voice came clearly to the listeners:
”It is too late now, Mr. Marsh. You may as well face the music.”
Followed by the stares of the sailors, she came up the deck toward the old man and his daughter, who had arisen, the Indian girl clinging to her sleeve, the tall breed striding noiselessly behind. Willis Marsh came with them, his white lips writhing, his face like putty. He made futile detaining grasps at Constantine, and in the silence that suddenly descended upon the s.h.i.+p, they heard him whispering.
”What is the meaning of this?” demanded Mr. Wayland.
”I heard you were about to sail, so I came out to see you before--”
Marsh broke in, hoa.r.s.ely: ”She's a bad woman! She has come here for blackmail!”
”Blackmail!” cried Wayne Wayland. ”I thought as much!”
”That's her game. She wants money!”
Cherry shrugged her shoulders and showed her white teeth in a smile.
”Mr. Marsh antic.i.p.ates slightly. You may judge if he is right.”
Marsh started to speak, but Mildred Wayland, who had been watching him intently, was before him.
”Who sent you here, Miss?”