Chapter 13 - Page 2

something about bursting the door in. Mr. Van Wyk, to
avoid them, crossed in the dark to the other side of the deserted deck.
The planking of the little wharf rattled faintly under his hasty feet.

"Mr. Van Wyk! Mr. Van Wyk!"

He walked on: somebody was running on the path. "You've forgotten to get
your mail."

Sterne, holding a bundle of papers in his hand, caught up with him.

"Oh, thanks."

But, as the other continued at his elbow, Mr. Van Wyk stopped short.
The overhanging eaves, descending low upon the lighted front of the
bungalow, threw their black straight-edged shadow into the great body of
the night on that side. Everything was very still. A tinkle of cutlery
and a slight jingle of glasses were heard. Mr. Van Wyk's servants were
laying the table for two on the veranda.

"I'm afraid you give me no credit whatever for my good intentions in the
matter I've spoken to you about," said Sterne.

"I simply don't understand you."

"Captain Whalley is a very audacious man, but he will understand that
his game is up. That's all that anybody need ever know of it from me.
Believe me, I am very considerate in this, but duty is duty. I don't
want to make a fuss. All I ask you, as his friend, is to tell him from
me that the game's up. That will be sufficient."

Mr. Van Wyk felt a loathsome dismay at this queer privilege of
friendship. He would not demean himself by asking for the slightest
explanation; to drive the other away with contumely he did not think
prudent--as yet, at any rate. So much assurance staggered him. Who
could tell what there could be in it, he thought? His regard for Captain
Whalley had the tenacity of a disinterested sentiment, and his practical
instinct coming to his aid, he concealed his scorn.

"I gather, then, that this is something grave."

"Very grave," Sterne assented solemnly, delighted at having produced
an effect at last. He was ready to add some effusive protestations
of regret at the "unavoidable necessity," but Mr. Van Wyk cut him
short--very civilly, however.

Once on the veranda Mr. Van Wyk put his hands in his pockets, and,
straddling his legs, stared down at a black panther skin lying on the
floor before a rocking-chair. "It looks as if the fellow had not the
pluck to play his own precious game openly," he thought.

This was true enough. In the face of Massy's last rebuff Sterne dared
not declare his knowledge. His object was simply to get charge of the
steamer and keep it for some time. Massy would never forgive him for
forcing himself on; but if Captain Whalley left the ship of his own
accord, the command would devolve