CHAPTER V
LARRY DIVINE UNMASKED
"YES, Barbara, it is I," said Mr. Divine; "and thank God
that I am here to do what little any man may do against this
band of murdering pirates."
"But, Larry," cried the girl, in evident bewilderment, "how
did you come to be aboard this ship? How did you get here?
What are you doing amongst such as these?"
"I am a prisoner," replied the man, "just as are you. I think
they intend holding us for ransom. They got me in San
Francisco. Slugged me and hustled me aboard the night before
they sailed."
"Where are they going to take us?" she asked.
"I do not know," he replied, "although from something I
have overheard of their conversations I imagine that they have
in mind some distant island far from the beaten track of
commerce. There are thousands such in the Pacific that are
visited by vessels scarce once in a century. There they will
hold us until they can proceed with the ship to some point
where they can get into communication with their agents in
the States. When the ransom is paid over to these agents they
will return for us and land us upon some other island where
our friends can find us, or leaving us where we can divulge
the location of our whereabouts to those who pay the ransom."
The girl had been looking intently at Mr. Divine during
their conversation.
"They cannot have treated you very badly, Larry," she said.
"You are as well groomed and well fed, apparently, as ever."
A slight flush mounting to the man's face made the girl
wonder a bit though it aroused no suspicion in her mind.
"Oh, no," he hastened to assure her, "they have not treated
me at all badly--why should they? If I die they can collect no
ransom on me. It is the same with you, Barbara, so I think
you need apprehend no harsh treatment."
"I hope you are right, Larry," she said, but the hopelessness
of her air rather belied any belief that aught but harm could
come from captivity with such as those who officered and
manned the Halfmoon.
"It seems so remarkable," she went on, "that you should be
a prisoner upon the same boat. I cannot understand it. Why
only a few days ago we received and entertained a friend of
yours who brought a letter from you to papa--the Count de
Cadenet."
Again that telltale flush mantled the man's cheek. He cursed
himself inwardly for his lack of self-control. The girl would
have his whole secret out of him in another half-hour if he
were not more careful.
"They made me do that," he said, jerking his thumb in the
general direction of Skipper Simms' cabin. "Maybe that
accounts for their bringing me along. The 'Count de Cadenet' is
a fellow named Theriere, second mate of this ship. They sent
him to learn your plans; when you expected sailing from
Honolulu and your course. They are all crooks and villains. If
I hadn't done as they bid they would have killed me."
The girl made no comment, but Divine saw the contempt in
her face.
"I didn't know that they were going to do this. If I had I'd
have died before I'd have written that note," he added rather
lamely.
The girl was suddenly looking very sad. She was thinking
of Billy Mallory who had died in an effort to save her. The
mental comparison she was making between him and Mr.
Divine was not overly flattering to the latter gentleman.
"They killed poor Billy," she said at last. "He tried to
protect me."
Then Mr. Divine understood the trend of her thoughts. He
tried to find some excuse for his cowardly act; but with the
realization of the true cowardliness and treachery of it that the
girl didn't even guess he understood the futility of seeking to
extenuate it. He saw that the chances were excellent that after
all he would be compelled to resort to force or threats to win
her hand at the last.
"Billy would have done better to have bowed to the inevitable
as I did," he said. "Living I am able to help you now.
Dead I could not have prevented them carrying out their
intentions any more than Billy has, nor could I have been
here to aid you now any more than he is. I cannot see that
his action helped you to any great extent, brave as it was."
"The memory of it and him will always help me," she
answered quietly. "They will help me to bear whatever is
before me bravely, and, when the time comes, to die bravely;
for I shall always feel that upon the other side a true, brave
heart is awaiting me."
The man was silent. After a moment the girl spoke again.
"I think I would rather be alone, Larry," she said. "I am
very unhappy and nervous. Possibly I could sleep now."
With a bow he turned and left the cabin.
For weeks the Halfmoon kept steadily on her course, a little
south of west. There was no material change in the relations
of those aboard her. Barbara Harding, finding herself unmolested,
finally acceded to the repeated pleas of Mr. Divine, to
whose society she had been driven by loneliness and fear, and
appeared on deck frequently during the daylight watches.
Here, one afternoon, she came face to face with Theriere for
the first time since her abduction. The officer lifted his cap
deferentially; but the girl met his look of expectant recognition
with a cold, blank stare that passed through and beyond him
as though he had been empty air.
A tinge of color rose to the man's face, and he continued
on his way for a moment as though content to accept her
rebuff; but after a step or two he turned suddenly and
confronted her.
"Miss Harding," he said, respectfully, "I cannot blame you
for the feeling of loathing and distrust you must harbor
toward me; but in common justice I think you should hear
me before finally condemning."
"I cannot imagine," she returned coldly, "what defense
there can be for the cowardly act you perpetrated."
"I have been utterly deceived by my employers," said
Theriere, hastening to take advantage of the tacit permission to
explain which her reply contained. "I was given to understand
that the whole thing was to be but a hoax--that I was taking
part in a great practical joke that Mr. Divine was to play
upon his old friends, the Hardings and their guests. Until they
wrecked and deserted the Lotus in mid-ocean I had no idea
that anything else was contemplated, although I felt that the
matter, even before that event, had been carried quite far
enough for a joke.
"They explained," he continued, "that before sailing you
had expressed the hope that something really exciting and
adventurous would befall the party--that you were tired of
the monotonous humdrum of twentieth-century existence--
that you regretted the decadence of piracy, and the expunging
of romance from the seas.
"Mr. Divine, they told me, was a very wealthy young man,
to whom you were engaged to be married, and that he could
easily afford the great expense of the rather remarkable hoax
we were supposed to be perpetrating. I saw no harm in taking
part in it, especially as I knew nothing of the supposititious
purpose of the cruise until just before we reached Honolulu.
Before that I had been led to believe that it was but a pleasure
trip to the South Pacific that Mr. Divine intended.
"You see, Miss Harding, that I have been as badly deceived
as you. Won't you let me help to atone for my error by being
your friend? I can assure you that you will need one whom
you can trust amongst this shipload of scoundrels."
"Who am I to believe?" cried the girl. "Mr. Divine assures
me that he, too, has been forced into this affair, but by threats
of death rather than deception."
The expression on Mr. Theriere's face was eloquent of
sarcastic incredulity.
"How about the note of introduction that I carried to your
father from Mr. Divine?" asked Theriere.
"He says that he was compelled to write it at the point of a
revolver," replied the girl.
"Come with me, Miss Harding," said the officer. "I think
that I may be able to convince you that Mr. Divine is not on
any such bad terms with Skipper Simms as would be the case
were his story to you true."
As he spoke he started toward the companionway leading
to the officers' cabins. Barbara Harding hesitated at the top of
the stairway.
"Have no fear, Miss Harding," Theriere reassured her.
"Remember that I am your friend and that I am merely attempting
to prove it to your entire satisfaction. You owe it to
yourself to discover as soon as possible who your friends are
aboard this ship, and who your enemies."
"Very well," said the girl. "I can be in no more danger one
place aboard her than another."
Theriere led her directly to his own cabin, cautioning her to
silence with upraised forefinger. Softly, like skulking criminals,
they entered the little compartment. Then Theriere turned and
closed the door, slipping the bolt noiselessly as he did so.
Barbara watched him, her heart beating rapidly with fear and
suspicion.
"Here," whispered Theriere, motioning her toward his
berth. "I have found it advantageous to know what goes on
beyond this partition. You will find a small round hole near
the head of the berth, about a foot above the bedding. Put
your ear to it and listen--I think Divine is in there now."
The girl, still frightened and fearful of the man's intentions,
did, nevertheless, as he bid. At first she could make out
nothing beyond the partition but a confused murmur of
voices, and the clink of glass, as of the touch of the neck of a
bottle against a goblet. For a moment she remained in tense
silence, her ear pressed to the tiny aperture. Then, distinctly,
she heard the voice of Skipper Simms.
"I'm a-tellin' you, man," he was saying, "that there wan't
nothin' else to be done, an' I'm a-gettin' damn sick o' hearin'
you finding fault all the time with the way I been a-runnin' o'
this little job."
"I'm not finding fault, Simms," returned another voice
which the girl recognized immediately as Divine's; "although I
do think that it was a mistake to so totally disable the Lotus
as you did. Why, how on earth are we ever to return to
civilization if that boat is lost? Had she been simply damaged
a little, in a way that they could themselves have fixed up, the
delay would have been sufficient to permit us to escape, and
then, when Miss Harding was returned in safety to her father,
after our marriage, they would have been so glad to be
reunited that he easily could have been persuaded to drop the
matter. Then another thing; you intended to demand a ransom
for both Miss Harding and myself, to carry out the
fiction of my having been stolen also--how can you do that if
Mr. Harding be dead? And do you suppose for a moment
that Miss Harding will leave a single stone unturned to bring
the guilty to justice if any harm has befallen her father or his
guests? If so you do not know her as well as I."
The girl turned away from the partition, her face white and
drawn, her eyes inexpressibly sad. She rose to her feet, facing
Theriere.
"I have heard quite enough, thank you, Mr. Theriere," she
said.
"You are convinced then that I am your friend?" he asked.
"I am convinced that Mr. Divine is not," she replied
non-committally.
She took a step toward the door. Theriere stood looking at
her. She was unquestionably very good to look at. He could
not remember ever having seen a more beautiful girl. A great
desire to seize her in his arms swept over the man. Theriere
had not often made any effort to harness his desires. What
he wanted it had been his custom to take--by force if
necessary. He took a step toward Barbara Harding. There was
a sudden light in his eyes that the girl had not before seen
there, and she reached quickly toward the knob of the door.
Theriere was upon her, and then, quickly, he mastered
himself, for he recalled his coolly thought-out plan based on
what Divine had told him of that clause in the will of the
girl's departed grandparent which stipulated that the man who
shared the bequest with her must be the choice of both herself
and her father. He could afford to bide his time, and play the
chivalrous protector before he essayed the role of lover.
Barbara had turned a half-frightened look toward him as
he advanced--in doubt as to his intentions.
"Pardon me, Miss Harding," he said; "the door is bolted--
let me unlatch it for you," and very gallantly he did so,
swinging the portal wide that she might pass out. "I feared
interruption," he said, in explanation of the bolt.
In silence they returned to the upper deck. The intoxication
of sudden passion now under control, Theriere was again
master of himself and ready to play the cold, calculating,
waiting game that he had determined upon. Part of his plan
was to see just enough of Miss Harding to insure a place in
her mind at all times; but not enough to suggest that he was
forcing himself upon her. Rightly, he assumed that she would
appreciate thoughtful deference to her comfort and safety
under the harrowing conditions of her present existence more
than a forced companionship that might entail too open
devotion on his part. And so he raised his cap and left her,
only urging her to call upon him at any time that he might be
of service to her.
Left alone the girl became lost in unhappy reflections, and
in the harrowing ordeal of attempting to readjust herself to
the knowledge that Larry Divine, her lifelong friend, was the
instigator of the atrocious villainy that had been perpetrated
against her and her father. She found it almost equally difficult
to believe that Mr. Theriere was so much more sinned against
than sinning as he would have had her believe. And yet, did
his story not sound even more plausible than that of Divine
which she had accepted before Theriere had made it possible
for her to know the truth? Why, then, was it so difficult for
her to believe the Frenchman? She could not say, but in the
inmost recesses of her heart she knew that she mistrusted and
feared the man.
As she stood leaning against the rail, buried deep in
thought, Billy Byrne passed close behind her. At sight of her a
sneer curled his lip. How he hated her! Not that she ever had
done aught to harm him, but rather because she represented
to him in concrete form all that he had learned to hate and
loathe since early childhood.
Her soft, white skin; her shapely hands and well-cared-for
nails; her trim figure and perfectly fitting suit all taunted him
with their superiority over him and his kind. He knew that she
looked down upon him as an inferior being. She was of the
class that addressed those in his walk of life as "my man."
Lord, how he hated that appellation!
The intentness of his gaze upon her back had the effect so
often noted by the observant, and suddenly aroused from the
lethargy of her misery the girl swung around to meet the
man's eyes squarely upon her. Instantly she recognized him as
the brute who had killed Billy Mallory. If there had been hate
in the mucker's eyes as he looked at the girl, it was as nothing
by comparison with the loathing and disgust which sprang to
hers as they rested upon his sullen face.
So deep was her feeling of contempt for this man, that the
sudden appearance of him before her startled a single exclamation
from her.
"Coward!" came the one word, involuntarily, from her lips.
The man's scowl deepened menacingly. He took a threatening
step toward her.
"Wot's dat?" he growled. "Don't get gay wit me, or I'll
black dem lamps fer yeh," and he raised a heavy fist as
though to strike her.
The mucker had looked to see the girl cower before his
threatened blow--that would have been ample atonement for
her insult, and would have appealed greatly to his Kelly-gang
sense of humor. Many a time had he threatened women thus,
for the keen enjoyment of hearing their screams of fright and
seeing them turn and flee in terror. When they had held their
ground and opposed him, as some upon the West Side had
felt sufficiently muscular to do, the mucker had not hesitated
to "hand them one." Thus only might a man uphold his
reputation for bravery in the vicinage of Grand Avenue.
He had looked to see this girl of the effete and effeminate
upper class swoon with terror before him; but to his intense
astonishment she but stood erect and brave before him, her
head high held, her eyes cold and level and unafraid. And
then she spoke again.
"Coward!" she said.
Billy almost struck her; but something held his hand. What,
he could not understand. Could it be that he feared this
slender girl? And at this juncture, when the threat of his
attitude was the most apparent, Second Officer Theriere came
upon the scene. At a glance he took in the situation, and with
a bound had sprung between Billy Byrne and Barbara Harding.
