The Bandbox

Staff nodded none too cordially. “Oh, good evening, Arkroyd. Just come aboard?”

Arkroyd, on the point of entering his stateroom, paused long enough to confirm this surmise. “Beastly trip – most tiresome,” he added, frankly yawning. “Don’t know how I should have stood it if it hadn’t been for Miss Landis. You know her, I believe? Charming girl – charming.”

“Oh, quite,” agreed Staff. “Good night.”

His tone arrested Arkroyd’s attention; the man turned to watch his back as Staff shouldered down the alleyway toward the smoking-room. “I say!” commented Mr. Arkroyd, privately. “A bit hipped – what? No necessity for being so bally short with a chap…”

The guess was only too well founded: Staff was distinctly disgruntled. Within the past ten minutes his susceptibilities had been deeply wounded. Why Alison should have chosen to slight him so cavalierly when in transit through London passed his comprehension… And the encounter with Arkroyd comforted him to no degree whatever. He had never liked Arkroyd, holding him, for all his wealth, little better than a theatre-loafer of the Broadway type; and now he remembered hearing, once or twice, that the man’s attentions to Alison Landis had been rather emphatic.

Swayed by whim, he chose to avoid the smoking-room, after all – having little wish to be annoyed by the chatter of Mr. Iff – and swung out on deck again for a half-hour of cigarettes and lonely brooding…

But his half-hour lengthened indefinitely while he sat, preoccupied, in the deck-chair of some total stranger. By definite stages, to which he was almost altogether oblivious, the Autocratic weighed anchor, shook off her tender and swung away on the seven-day stretch. As definitely her decks became bare of passengers. Presently Staff was quite a solitary figure in the long array of chairs.

Two bells rang mellowly through the ship before he roused, lifted himself to his feet and prepared to turn in, still distressed and wondering – so much so that he was barely conscious of the fact that one of the officers of the vessel was coming aft, and only noticed the man when he paused and spoke.

“I say – this is Mr. Staff, isn’t it?”

Staff turned quickly, searching his memory for the name and status of the sturdy and good-looking young Englishman.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “but – ”

“I’m Mr. Manvers, the purser. If I’m not mistaken, you crossed with us this spring?”

“Oh, yes; I did. How-d’-you-do?” Staff offered his hand.

“Sure I recognised you just now – saw you on the main-deck – talking to Miss Landis, I believe.”

“Yes …?”

“Beg pardon; I don’t wish to seem impertinent; but may I ask, do you know the lady very well?”

Staff’s eyes clouded. “Why …”

“Knew you’d think me impertinent; but it is some of my business, really. I can explain to your satisfaction. You see” – the purser stepped nearer and lowered his voice guardedly – “I was wondering if you had much personal influence with Miss Landis. I’ve just had a bit of a chat with her, and she won’t listen to reason, you know, about that collar.”

“Collar?” Staff repeated stupidly.

“The Cadogan collar, you know – some silly pearl necklace worth a king’s ransom. She bought it in Paris – Miss Landis did; at least, so the report runs; and she doesn’t deny it, as a matter of fact. Naturally that worries me; it’s a rather tempting proposition to leave lying round a stateroom; and I asked her just now to let me take care of it for her – put it in my safe, you know. It’d be a devilish nasty thing for the ship, to have it stolen.” The purser paused for effect. “Would you believe it? She wouldn’t listen to me! Told me she was quite capable of taking care of her own property! Now if you know her well enough to say the right word … it’d be a weight off my mind, I can tell you!”

“Yes, I can imagine so,” said Staff thoughtfully. “But – what makes you think there’s any possibility – ”

“Well, one never knows what sort of people the ship carries – as a rule, that is. But in this instance I’ve got good reason to believe there’s at least one man aboard who wouldn’t mind lifting that collar; and he’s keen enough to do it prettily, too, if what they tell of him is true.”

“Now you’re getting interesting. Who is this man?”

“Oh, quite the swell mobsman – Raffles and Arsène Lupin and all that sort of thing rolled into one. His name’s Ismay – Arbuthnot Ismay. Clever – wonderful, they say; the police have never been able to fasten anything on him, though he’s been known to boast of his jobs in advance.”

“You told Miss Landis this?”

“Certainly – and she laughed.”

This seemed quite credible of the lady. Staff considered the situation seriously for a moment or two.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said at length; “though I’m not hopeful of making her see it from your point of view. Still, I will speak to her.”

“That’s good of you, I’m sure. You couldn’t do more.”

“You’re positive about this Ismay?” Staff pursued. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

“Not I,” asserted the purser confidently. “He crossed with us last year – the time Mrs. Burden Hamman’s jewels disappeared. Ismay, of course, was suspected, but managed to prove every kind of an alibi.”

“Queer you should let him book a second time,” commented Staff.

“Rather; but he’s changed his name, and I don’t imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight.”

“What name does he travel under now?”

The purser smiled softly to himself. “I fancy you won’t be pleased to learn it,” said he. “He’s down on the passenger-list as Iff – W. H. Iff.”

V

ISMAY?

When Staff went below a little later, he was somewhat surprised to find his stateroom alight, – surprised, because he had rather expected that Mr. Iff would elect to sleep off his potations in darkness.

To the contrary, the little man was very much awake, propped up in his berth with a book for company, and showed no effects whatever of overindulgence, unless that were betrayed by a slightly enhanced brightness of the cool blue eyes which he brought to bear upon his roommate.

“Good morning!” he piped cheerfully. “What on earth got you up so early? The bar’s been closed an hour and more.”

“Is that why you came to bed?” enquired Staff.

“Sure,” agreed Mr. Iff complacently.

Staff quietly began to shed his clothing and to insert his spare frame into pajamas. Iff lay back and stared reflectively at the white-painted overhead girders.

“Got to slip it to you,” he observed presently, “for perfect mastery of the dignified reserve thing. I never knew anybody who could better control his tumultuous emotions.”

“Thanks,” said Staff drily as he wound up his watch.

“Anything ’special troubling you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You talk so darn much.”

“Sorry if I’m keeping you awake,” said Staff politely.

“Oh, I don’t mean to seem to beef about it, only … I was wondering if by any chance you’d heard the news?”