Part 32 (1/2)
”He's in love with the girl.”
”A funny way of being in love! . . . He has been persecuting her now for four days.”
”Why does she refuse him? To begin with she's his wife. She said yes just now.”
”She said yes because, ever since this morning, some one has been squeezing dear papa's throat.”
”Well, she'll say yes presently so that it shan't be squeezed a little tighter.”
The man bent down:
”How's the old chap doing?”
”Impossible to say!” growled the woman, who held the cord. ”He told his daughter not to give in, said that he'd rather die. Since then, you'd think he's sleeping. It's two days since he had anything to eat.”
”All this sort of thing,” retorted the sentry, moving off, ”isn't business. Rolleston ought to be on deck. Suppose something happened, suppose we were to be attacked, suppose the enclosure was invaded!”
”In that case, I've got orders to finish the old man off.”
”That wouldn't make us come out on top.”
A short time elapsed. The two women talked in very low tones. At moments Simon seemed to hear raised voices from the cabin:
”Listen,” he said. ”That's Rolleston, isn't it?”
”Yes,” said the Indian.
”We must do something, we must do something,” said Simon.
The door of the cabin was flung open violently. Rolleston appeared. He shouted angrily to the women:
”Are you ready? Count three minutes. In three minutes strangle him,”
and, turning round, ”You understand, Isabel? Three minutes. Make up your mind, my girl.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Quick as thought, Simon had seized Antonio's rifle, but, hampered by the bars, he was unable to take aim before the villain had closed the door.
”You will spoil everything!” said Antonio, crawling from under the tarpaulin and wresting the rifle from him.
Simon, in turn, stood up, with distorted features:
”Three minutes! Oh, poor girl, poor girl!”
Antonio tried to restrain him:
”Let's think of something. There must be a porthole in the cabin.”
”Too late. She will have killed herself by then. We must act at once.”