Chapter XVIII

When the official conference was all but over and the three Russians were about to take their departure, Yanovisk asked to see Captain Cooper’s papers, thereby disproving Skinner’s prophecies that no one would so much as glance at them. For once the old captain had surely misjudged the high-born Muscovites. Going into the captain’s quarters, they not only looked at the permits and charters, but read all the fine print on the backs of the sheets and otherwise examined them with minute care. Yet their interest in the documents was no great triumph for Jeff. In the first place, reading them did not cause the governor to dismiss the guard. In the second, the incident itself was not without certain disquieting aspects.

As Yanovisk bent over the papers Staritsa spoke swiftly in Russian, a remark of course unintelligible to Captain Skinner and to Jeff, Yanovisk glanced toward Spaskii, saw him nod, and continued his reading with every sign of added interest. Yet it did not seem to Jeff that he was looking up some doubtful point. His absorption in the papers looked now like pretense, and fully on guard, he waited for enlightenment. It was not long in coming.

“They seem quite correct, your Excellency, yet I would like to suggest further scrutiny,” Yanovisk began. “Mr. Sharp says himself that he does not personally know Captain Cooper, and it is our custom under such circumstances to make most complete investigations.” He turned to Jeff. “You will not mind if I take these papers to my quarters where it is to examine them at my leisure, yes?”

Jeff got up and with dignity took the documents from the Russian’s hands. “I would prefer to keep them on the ship,” he said.

“Yes—we won’t,” was Captain Skinner’s comment.

Staritsa moved into the center of the group; and there was nothing about him to suggest the gallant, courtly nobleman of an hour before. “Your Excellency, I believe you have the authority to seize those papers, if the American does not yield them freely.”

Jeff’s answer was to slip a band about the documents and put them in his pocket.

“You’ve got no more right to seize them than my crew has to seize you—and heave you head over heels over the railing,” Captain Skinner observed pleasantly. “And just about as much chance.”

All three Russians eyed Skinner intently and undoubtedly they received impressions not altogether favorable. He did not appear to realize that he came of an inferior nation; and indeed, he might create some little disturbance before submitting to their own noble wills. They observed that his face was lighted with a cheery smile—indeed, a smile of encouragement—but somehow they were disinclined to take advantage of it. Jeff, who should know better, seemed likewise unimpressed by their several highnesses, and his black eyes looked squarely into their own, instead of being humbly averted as was proper. There was also a look about his lips that boded no good. Perhaps it might be well to postpone the interview until a more likely time.

The commissioner bowed, stood up, and speaking a Russian farewell, led the way out of the cabin. A moment later the trio strode down the gang and disappeared. The four soldiers took their posts on the deck.

Jeff and Skinner, left once more to their own devices, eyed each other in silence. The latter’s grim and deadly smile slowly changed to a grin of real amusement; and presently he cackled, a strange sound in this cabin hushed and breathless in the aftermath of the crisis just passed.

“It’s not very funny, I should say,” Jeff remarked gravely. “We’re virtually prisoners on your own ship.”

“Sure. They weren’t going to take any chance on us getting away sometime in the night with them otter skins. I was laughing at the mess we’ve let ourselves in for. My boy, we’ll be lucky to get out of here with our own skins.”

“Of course, if we had let him have the documents we would have never seen them again.”

“Sure not. The next thing, they’d confiscate the fur and maybe the ship, and when you registered a kick through Uncle Sam, they’d say there never was no papers. They’d make out they caught you trading with the natives.”

“This is all Baron Karl’s work. I think Maksoutof is pretty much all right. Now what’s going to happen, Captain Skinner?”

“You know as well as I do; but we’re not licked yet. Who knows, maybe an American gunboat will come into the harbor. Lord, how I’d love to see one.”

On serious reflection, Jeff decided that he’d rather like to see one himself.

“What comes next?” This was the question that was frequently on Jeff’s lips in the next few days. These days were entirely calm, the business of the town moved quietly ahead, and except for the presence and periodical change of the guard, there was nothing to remind him of the delicate situation brought about by the acquisition of the otter fur. But official Alaska had not forgotten him. Skinner never guessed that it had.

On the afternoon of the fourth day Jeff was called to a conference at the Executive Mansion; but although he was on guard, Jeff could not detect a single suspicious circumstance in connection with the meeting. The furs were not even mentioned, but only some matters dealing with America which Maksoutof and himself had discussed before. Staritsa came in about five, and seeing that the two Muscovites wished to confer, Jeff immediately left. As he walked down the hill he met Baron Karl and Templeton, the Englishman, on the way up.

Except when a deep bias blinded him, Jeff was ordinarily not slow in perceiving ulterior motives; but now it actually did not occur to him that there might be collusion behind this meeting. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. Ingenuousness is a Southern trait; almost an innocence, a faith in the right dealing of others. He assumed that these men were also on their way to confer with the government head. Perhaps because Maksoutof had quieted his fears, perhaps because he still had utmost faith in Templeton, he willingly paused to exchange a few words with the two men; and he was not particularly on guard.

“Here is the new fur lord, I understand,” Templeton remarked pleasantly. “You Americans certainly trust each other—to hand about among yourselves a million rubles in otters.”

Karl’s remark seemed a natural development of his friend’s idea. “Americans are a trusting race, is it not?” He smiled pleasantly. “Innocent, honest backwoodsmen trusting everybody—and not forgetting to expect every one to trust them in return, yes? And then when we trust them—well, you know what happens.” He made a suggestive motion with his strong, deft hand.

Jeff had been twitted before about Yankee shrewdness—a trait which he, a Southerner, indignantly disclaimed—but he hardly thought that this was playing the game. If this were a joke, it was a poor one. “Your relations with Americans have not been happy,” he suggested.

“Americans are overly—what you say—appreciative, of the trust that monarchs and governors give to special correspondents and so on,” Karl went on. “By arranging with their fellows, they can manage to turn the freedom allowed them into a handsome profit. Naturally, as you suggest, Templeton, good business demands that they keep trust with each other during these operations. What is the saying about honor among—how does it proceed?”

This was so bald, the insult so perfectly apparent, that Jeff actually wondered whether he had heard right. In any case, it seemed impossible to ignore the remark. “The expression is—‘honor among thieves,’” Jeff replied quietly. He was only slightly pale, and with his cane he accurately struck off the top of an outlaw weed. “Do you mean to tell me that you and your friends do not retain even this?”

Jeff had right to feel proud. This was thrust and parry with a vengeance. Suitable rejoinders suggest themselves readily a few minutes after an encounter; but are not always easy to think of on the spot.

Templeton’s smile showed plainly that this thrust was not lost on him. A bold, resolute, none-too-scrupulous man, this Englishman was not without a sporting sense that he never quite left behind him, a trait of all his breed. He liked fast and clever work, and even such deadly games as this had their entertainment for him.

Karl’s eyes flashed; and his manner showed that Jeff’s prompt reply had taken him somewhat by surprise. He turned to his friend.

“Templeton, was that remark merely an instance of a rail-splitter’s usual clumsiness at social conversation, or was it some sort of a veiled implication?” he asked. “I wish to be sure of my ground before I go ahead.”

“You are perfectly free to go ahead,” Jeff told him casually, “any way you like.”

“Good. I haven’t seen you in such an agreeable mood since the night we met—in the Governor’s gardens. By the way, Sharp, I have never heard from you in regard to the subject that came up that night.”

“No. You have been reticent about it yourself.”

“I take it, then, you merely wished to postpone the matter until such time as you could give it your attention? You are still, I trust, in the same mind?”

Jeff’s hands shook, but by putting them behind him, he hid them from the sight of his foes. He was ashamed of their slight tremor, and this was a thing that would have brought tears to Molly’s eyes, had she been there to see. It was so fine, so proud, so foolish with that dear, sad folly of youth that it would have gone straight to the heart of one who was wise with the eternal wisdom of Eve. “I am at your disposal any time you wish,” he said.

A look of triumph overspread Karl’s face. “Good. I shall enjoy meeting you. Shall it be to-morrow, just after sunrise?”

“That will be entirely to my satisfaction.”

“Up Kolosh Ryeka trail, beyond the Governor’s walk?”

“Yes. That seems a favorite place for your operations, Baron Karl.”

“Indeed? I shall ask Mr. Templeton to be my second, and any further negotiations may be carried on between him and the person you choose to represent you. Perhaps it might be well now, however, considering the shortness of time, to appoint a master of ceremonies. Perhaps you, Mr. Templeton, could suggest a friend of both myself and Mr. Sharp, yes?”

“I would suggest our mutual friend, Staritsa,” Mr. Templeton replied. “He is widely known as a sportsman.”

“He is satisfactory to me,” Jeff told him.

“And to me,” Karl agreed. His face was startlingly pale except for the red wound. “Perhaps you will find out also, Templeton, whether Mr. Sharp prefers sabers or pistols. I believe it is his right to choose.”

“Pistols,” Jeff told them. “Considering that I never crossed sabers with a man, pistols would seem to furnish the more interesting encounter.”

“I would think so,” Templeton answered with evident sincerity. “It should be a very pleasant adventure for every one concerned.”