I FORGET how many miles we were from New York when I turned into my berth that night. We had got into misty weather, which prevented the ship moving at full speed, but I understood that if the fog would only lift we might expect to land on the morrow. I was full of the strangest mixture of feelings. My voyage the great voyage of which I had dreamed but had not supposed would ever be possible to me was nearly over. It had lasted so short a time; it seemed only the other day that I had started with Mr. Stewart in his motor car from Grove Gardens. Of course, I had known that on a quick steamer one travelled from England to America in just over a week, but one has to learn from
experience what, circumstanced as I was, a week means. In one way it had been the shortest week I had ever known; yet I realised that, in a very wide sense, it had meant for me the passing from one world to another I should never again be the Catherine Fraser whose horizon had been bounded for so many years by the Fulham Palace Road. From the moment in which I had first heard of Hugh’s strange adventures in that mysterious house to that hour in which I was looking forward, with feelings of trepidation, to landing in what I had been informed was the greatest country on God’s earth, I had been moving through a series of
sensations which were so strange and so various, so unlike anything I had ever known before, that I could scarcely credit that they were real.
So far as I could ascertain the entry into America was to be a trying ordeal in itself. On the morrow I might expect all sorts of things to happen. The ship was to be boarded by officials who would take all the passengers into custody that, they said, was what it came to.
The most searching questions would be asked on the most delicate subjects, and they would have to be answered. If I made even the slightest error in one of my answers, goodness only knew what would happen to me. That was what I could not learn exactly what would happen to me. It was very important to know how inaccurate I might be.
“Above all things,” a woman had told me only that very afternoon, “don’t play any tricks on the custom-house. If you’ve got anything dutiable, declare it.
They’ll be down on you if they find you out in trying to do them out of a dime.
Unless you’re absolutely certain that you can do them and you never are don’t tell them a lie.”
The advice might not suggest a high moral standard, but I did not care to tell her so. I had been feeling lonely, worried in a way I never thought I should have been; it was good of her to talk to me at all. She was an agent for a Paris
milliner. Some of the stories she told me of her own experience with the custom- house authorities were a little startling. I had no means of telling how true they were, but they made me wonder.
One thing she said did stick in my mind.
“If you do get anything through the customs you can never count on its being safe. I knew someone who got through with never mind how much, but a good lot of Brussels lace. She was met by a friend. As they were going to Brooklyn in a cab, the friend asked her what she had done about the lace. She said she had got it through. They got home. About two hours afterwards, as she was getting the last of the lace out of its hiding-place it had been pretty securely hidden three custom-house officers walked in two men and a woman. They had been talking louder in that cab than they thought, and the cabman had listened the wretch! He had driven straight back and told the custom-house people what he had heard, and they arranged a little surprise. They caught both women in the act, and they hauled them both up and wasn’t there some duty to be paid! If you’ve anything on which you ought to pay, declare it and pay; you’ll find it cheaper in the end.”
It was all very well for her to talk like that, but my position was peculiar. I did not even know if I had anything on which I ought to pay; I could not pay if I had.
That was a difficulty which, in my ignorance, had not occurred to me. Suppose it turned out that I was taking something into the country on which I ought to pay duty, and I said I was not, and they found out that I was whatever would happen to me? Suppose, to go further, the duty which I ought to pay was a lot it quite easily might be; from the hints dropped by Mr. Yashvin and his lady friend it might be a terrific sum; and through making a false declaration I had to pay it several times over. They might send me to prison. I should hardly dare to appeal to Mr. Stewart. He would pull a long face if he were dragged into the trouble, because, from his point of view, I had made a mess of things. If he had to hand over a bagful of money, he might consider his bargain with me off, and after all my high hopes I should have gone through all that worry and trouble for nothing.
If my ad venture were to result like that, I should never hold up my head again.
Once having reached America it had seemed to me that all my troubles would have ended; now I feared that they would be just beginning.
I had this fresh worry on my mind, added to all the others which were there already, when on what I hoped was the eve of my introduction to a land
compared to which my own country was as a drop in the ocean, I went into my cabin to retire for the night. It was not yet ten o’clock. A lot of the passengers were what they called “celebrating,” though quite what they were celebrating I did not understand, but it seemed to involve a good deal of drinking and plenty of noise. The sounds of revelry came to me as I closed the cabin door. There was music in the saloon, where some sort of concert was taking place; somewhere people were dancing; laughing and singing seemed to be general.
Ordinarily I should have joined the revellers. I am as fond of a bit of fun as anyone. To my own surprise I was in no mood for it then. All I wanted was to make certain arrangements of my own, sleep the night out, and await the coming day. I should know no peace till I had handed over my trust to Ezra George Bennington, of 32 Paper Buildings, John Street, New York.
The cabin was empty, which I regarded as lucky. I did all I had wanted to do, undressed and got into my berth before anyone appeared. Just as I was dropping off to sleep I was conscious that Miss Oudinoff had come into the cabin. I
realised how noiseless she was, opening the door without a sound, and standing just inside it as if fearful of disturbing me.
It seemed to me that she stood there quite a considerable time. My back was towards her, so I could not see what she was doing, but I had an odd feeling that she was listening for something, or someone.
Then she crossed towards me. I heard nothing, but I knew she had moved. She came into slight contact with the side of my berth she was leaning over the bedclothes trying to make out if I was asleep.
“Miss Forester,” she whispered, very softly. I said nothing. She addressed me again, a little louder. I continued to hold my peace.
There was a pause. Although I kept my eyes closed, so that even if I had been facing her I could have seen nothing, I knew that she was still leaning over the berth trying to make out if I really was asleep. Then, all at once, apparently for
no reason, I was conscious of a curious feeling a feeling of dread. That woman at my side meant mischief the conviction was borne in on me with a force which there was no resisting. I was clear-headed enough. I did not wish to be caught like a rat in a trap what was I to do? How protect myself from the imminent danger? It was no use to be caught lying down. I suddenly sat up, turned and faced her.
As I did so the door opened, as noiselessly as before the man Yashvin entered.
“What do you want?” I began. I was going to ask, “What do you want in here?”
but before I had gone further than the first four words, she reached out and caught me in some odd way by the windpipe so that I could not breathe.
“Be still,” she said. I knew there was something shining in her other hand some sharp-pointed thing with which she pricked me. “Where are those pearls?” I heard the word “pearls” in a sort of haze; something had happened when she pricked me which made everything seem hazy. “I’ll give you five-and-twenty thousand dollars if you’ll tell us. If you don’t, and we can’t find them, we’ll cut you open to find out if you’ve swallowed them there’s a fog, and you won’t be missed. Quick tell me, where are those pearls?”
I just managed to say something.
“How can I speak when you’re throttling me?”
She removed her hand from my windpipe. Something very odd had happened; I could hardly speak even then. I knew that Yashvin was standing close to the berth; I had lost the power to order him to stand away. I heard his voice cruel, menacing, dangerous.
“Now, Miss Forester, you have no time to lose twenty-five thousand dollars or the sea which is it to be? Will you tell us where they are?”
“No,” I stammered I could just stammer I won’t!”
“She’s had her last chance,” I heard him say. “No more fooling! Give it her.”
The woman stretched out the hand in which was that shining thing and pricked me again.
BOOK III