Chapter LV: The “thomas Inland”

The caboose had three windows, one port, one starboard, and the other facing the bridge. All, however, were so placed that it was difficult for anybody outside to look in--for which Bill was truly grateful.

He climbed up to the port window opposite the door, fumbled for the fastening screw, and, using all his strength, forced it open. In another second he was on the deck and running lightly towards the aft part of the ship. He knew that the companionway was guarded--he could not afford to take a chance of escaping the vigilant sentinel. To go past the gymnasium must also lead to detection, for men were on duty there. Slipping over the rail, he swung himself to the deck below. It was an eerie experience, hanging suspended there in the mist, and it required all his courage to swing inward and release his hold, for the fog was so dense that he could not see where he was landing.

Would Hale suspect the steward who had brought up the tray? He must risk that too. Making his way to D. deck, he saw Stone for a moment, and, going along to the cabin which had been allotted to him, he hid the bottle and went back to wait developments. They were not long in coming.

Suddenly he heard four short blasts from the steamer’s siren: it was the signal to muster all hands.

“This is where I become a stowaway or something,” said Bill.

He fell in with the other stewards on the lower promenade deck, and after half-an-hour’s wait, he saw the towering bulk of Harvey Hale coming along, scrutinising the line, man by man. He stopped before Bill.

“You’re the steward who came to the bridge with tea, ain’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bill.

“What were you doing on the boat deck?”

The very question told Holbrook that the new captain did no more than suspect--if he had known, there would have been no question.

“On the boat deck, sir?” said Bill. “I don’t know what you mean; I had to go to the boat deck to reach the bridge.”

“Did you come back to the promenade straight away?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The man on watch at the foot of the ladder said you didn’t.”

It was the moment for a bold bluff.

“There was no man at the foot of the ladder when I came down, sir,” said Bill.

It was a desperate lie, but it succeeded. Hale turned, with a curse, to his companion.

“That comes of putting a dirty longshoreman on duty!” he swore. “I know he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there when I came down myself!”

“He was cold,” said the other, his voice trembling. It was evident that the “officers” were in terror of their brutal commander.

“Cold!” yelled Hale. “He could freeze for an hour, couldn’t he?”

A few minutes after, the muster was dismissed, and Bill went back to his cabin, a greatly relieved young man. The absence of the wireless operator and his guard had been discovered.

The ship was now moving dead slow, and once everybody on board felt a shiver and a jar, whilst at about eleven o’clock that night she must have touched an iceberg; for a moment the vessel heeled over and Bill thought that the worst had happened. But there was some justification for Harvey Hale’s claim that he was the greatest seaman in the world, for all that happened apparently was the merest graze, and scarcely bent a plate, and an hour later the ship ran out of the fog.

There was ice everywhere--great masses of hummock ice like floating islands; bigger bulks that stood up from the sea like white cathedrals.

By this time Bill guessed, rather than knew, that a vigorous search had been undertaken to find the men he had thrown overboard. Evidently something even more serious had happened, for an order came that the promenade deck was closed to passengers.

The _Escorial_ was now going at full speed, and in the grey light of midnight Holbrook saw, through the porthole of the Stones’ cabin, that the sea was now comparatively free from ice.

He snatched a few hours’ sleep, and at five o’clock he was in the “H” suite sitting-room. Here was the chief danger: Lambert Stone was a doomed man. Twice in his search for easy wealth had Joshua Laffin been baffled. The murder of his patron had not brought him the money that he had every right to expect would accrue to him. His scheme to gain control of the finances of the Proud Sons of Ragousa had been thwarted by Pawter. To-day, for the first time in his life, there were untold millions in his hands, and the insurance of a rich wife, if this, the most desperate of all his deeds, should fail.

He took along Lord Lowbridge’s coffee, but might have saved himself the trouble, for Benson had forestalled him, and Clive, wrapped in a heavy overcoat, was sitting up in bed when Bill went in.

“Benson tells me that the ship is in the hands of a gang. Is that true, steward?”

“Quite true, sir,” said Bill.

“Good Lord!” An expression of amazement was on Clive’s handsome face. “It doesn’t seem possible. How far are we from New York now?”

“About three thousand miles,” said Bill. “Is there anything you require?”

“No, thank you, steward. Have you had any news of Mr. Holbrook?”

Bill had ready a new explanation for his own absence.

“He must have found a warmer cabin--he complained about the cold.”

“Can’t understand what has happened to him.” Clive ruffled his hair impatiently. “You don’t think he has fallen overboard?”

“That is unlikely, my lord,” said Bill, and got away from the cabin as soon as he could.

Early in the afternoon, the _Escorial’s_ engines stopped, and Bill saw that they were taking soundings from the bridge, and apparently these were satisfactory to Hale, for presently the big port anchor dropped with a roar.

And now, when the noise of the engines ceased, the perfect stillness was bewildering. The slightest whisper sounded like the sound of shouting. Holbrook understood for the first time what explorers meant when they talked of the “Arctic hush.”

Ice had again appeared; huge bergs were visible on every side. Two white seals rested on a floe that came slowly past the ship as she lay at anchor, and one of the stewards told him that, a few hours before she stopped, the _Escorial_ had passed an enormous iceberg, on which a bear had been seen.

The cold was deadly, and it was accentuated by the wind that blew from the north, that presently brought something like a blizzard, which covered the ship from masts to deck in a coat of powdery snow.

His duty carried him to the purser’s cabin. The stout man was shivering over his little electric radiator, and cursing the day that he had left Southampton.

“Another three days’ steaming and we pretty well clear out our supply of fuel,” he said in a low voice. “Our only chance is to stay anchored. At any rate, there’s enough oil on board to keep the dynamos going for two months.”

“At the end of two months what will happen?”

“We shall be frozen in,” said the purser emphatically. “I shouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t get iced up in a month! I don’t know what they’re doing: they’re simply cutting their own throats coming here.”

Bill told him of the supply ship and the message he had sent--news that brought the purser to life.

“It was you, was it? I heard all about it. They lost two men; what happened to them?”

“They committed suicide,” said Bill coolly. “Mr. Jackson, suppose the gang abandons us? Would there be enough oil to get us back to the track of shipping?”

The purser shook his head.

“If there was we couldn’t make it,” he said. “They’ve been all morning examining the engines with the idea of putting the machinery out of order. Oh, they’ve been thorough! By the way, the passengers are rationed for to-morrow--tinned beef and mutton, dried peas and beans--all fresh meat has been taken for Hale’s men.”

The two days which followed were a nightmare to Bill. On the first of those, three passengers in the steerage died of cold and exposure, and on the following day a man in the second class saloon went mad and attacked his fellow travellers. The shadow of tragedy lay on the ship, and, looking up at her huge funnels and towering masts, and visualising the enormous bulk of her, Bill could pinch himself in an effort to wake from the fearful dream. The thing was so fantastical, so utterly impossible. Here was a ship, the largest in the world, stolen more easily than a sneak-thief could take a watch on a race-track! It was unbelievable.

On the evening of the second day the deck steward came to him in a state of excitement.

“There’s a ship in sight,” he said.

“A warship?” said Bill, his heart leaping.

The man shook his head.

“No, she looks like a tanker to me.”

Bill’s jaw dropped. He knew, before the ungainly craft came slowly within a few cables’ length of the liner, that it was the _Thomas Inland_, and that the supreme hour of danger was at hand.