Stolen Idols. E. Phillips Oppenheim

that I was to become nourishment for the alligators. Wu Ling heard about it at one of the villages where he was trading and released me. It sounds like a page from somebody’s novel, doesn’t it? It was all very real at the time, though.”

      They both looked at him curiously, but the older woman had lived for some time in a country where few questions were asked, and Claire was more concerned with the shadow of either pain or sleeplessness which seemed to darken his face.

      “I can quite understand your feeling like a rest,” she said sympathetically. “I thought you looked terribly ill the day we met in the warehouse.”

      She picked up a book, merely with the idea of giving him an opportunity to pass on if he cared to, but after strolling about the deck aimlessly for a quarter of an hour, he returned to find her with her book still unopened, her mind, as a matter of fact, occupied with him and his story. She accepted immediately his invitation to walk. They went on to the upper deck and looked down together at the oily water with its streak of phosphorescence. They talked of the ship, of such of their fellow passengers as they had observed, and of the route home, with a certain obvious attempt at casualness; conversation of little import, yet almost a necessary stepping-stone to more intimate understanding. Claire’s perceptions were keen enough for her to realise that this young man was scarcely in a normal condition.

      “You have had no wireless from your uncle or from the firm since you left?” he asked, a little abruptly.

      She shook her head.

      “You asked me that before,” she reminded him. “Why on earth should I? We said good-by early in the morning after the night you dined with us. Uncle would never dream of coming to see me off. He hates steamers and he hates what he calls ‘looking westwards.’ How he will survive life in England I am sure I can’t imagine, except that he does sometimes still admit that English country life is wonderful.”

      “He really means to come then?”

      “Why, surely.”

      “And you? Shall you like it?”

      She assented a little doubtfully.

      “I think I would rather live in New York,” she confessed, “but I can’t fancy Uncle there. I think that would be expecting a little too much of him. He still has friends and a few relatives in England.”

      “Pretty sporting of him to break away at all,” Gregory observed, “after all these years.”

      “I think it is marvellous,” she agreed. “I am sure if I hadn’t come, he’d rather go on living in that strange, smelly little house of his and read Chinese manuscripts and interpret Chinese hieroglyphics round old ornaments, and talk Chinese literature with some of the quaintest-looking people you ever saw up at the University, than do anything else in the world.”

      “All the same,” Gregory remarked, “they say that a man should always return to the country of his birth to end his days. Besides, China is no place for an Englishman after a certain number of years. He’d become nothing but an old fossil without the society of his own kind.”

      “What a nice, consoling person you are,” she declared. “Sometimes I’ve had it on my conscience a little that I’m taking him away from the things he likes best in life.”

      “I shouldn’t worry about that,” he told her. “He’ll be better at home amongst some of his old cronies, and for you—well, of course, China would be utterly impossible.”

      “I am very happy to be going to England,” she assured him. “I am looking forward to the country life immensely.”

      “Fond of games?” he asked her.

      “Riding and tennis are the extent of my accomplishments,” she replied. “I like those. And then, after a year or so, I shall hope to travel on the Continent. My aunt still has a great many friends in Paris.”

      “One meets so many American women and girls in France and Italy,” he observed, “and so few men. Why are they such stay at homes?”

      “They aren’t,” she explained. “They travel, but they want something out of it. They either prospect for mines, or look for markets, or something of that sort.”

      “In a way then, they too have the adventurer’s instinct. I haven’t any head for business. When the war ended—I had been wounded twice and transferred into the Intelligence Department—it chanced that I was in Palestine, and I went on from there to Abyssinia. From there I visited some friends in Bombay, and when I got home my father and I planned my little adventure in China.”

      “You certainly are some traveller,” she admitted smilingly.

      “So was my father before me,” he confided. “He was in the Diplomatic Service for some time, and lived in Pekin during the days of the Monarchy.”

      She suddenly looked around and saw the rising moon, a blood-red circle emerging with incredible swiftness from the edge of a black sea. She crossed the deck swiftly, waving to him to follow her. Halfway there he paused. She was standing full in the light shining through the uncurtained window of the Marconi room; tall, slim and white in the windless night—a curiously and wonderfully desirable vision. She turned and waved to him impatiently, a smile of invitation upon her lips, her eyes full of eager delight.

      “Hurry!” she cried. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

      He came slowly across the deck, and a little puzzled frown took the place of her smile as he drew near.

      “Why do you look at me as though you had never seen me before?” she asked, as he took his place by her side.

      “I never have, with the same eyes,” he answered uneasily.

      “Idiot!” she laughed. “Well, you’ll have to put up with me for at least six weeks like this. Don’t you love the stillness with just the throb of the engine?”

      “I’d like it better without the engine,” he observed. “It is beautiful enough here to make one believe that we are on our way to paradise, and that wretched throb keeps on reminding us that our next stop is Bombay.”

      “Aren’t you just a little inclined to be cynical to-night?” she asked.

      “I don’t know quite what’s the matter with me,” he answered restlessly. “I think that terrible country behind has broken my nerve, or——”

      His thoughts flashed back to his stateroom. She was suddenly intent upon listening. From away upon the lower deck they could hear the sound of the orchestra. Her face lit up with pure joy.

      “Dancing!” she cried. “I believe they’re dancing. Why, I haven’t even heard the music since I left New York! Come along!”

      She had reached the companion ladder before he could catch her up. Already her feet were moving to the music.

      “Look here,” he confided doubtfully, “remember I’ve been out of England for a very long time. I’m not at all sure that I can manage these new steps.”

      She slipped her arm through his in friendly fashion.

      “You’re the only man on board I know, and you’ve got to,” she declared imperiously.

CHAPTER VI

       Table of Contents

      “Perkins,” Gregory demanded, as he struggled into his dinner coat a few nights later, “what should you think if I told you to drop that grinning piece of wooden monstrosity there into the sea?”

      The steward glanced doubtfully over his shoulder at the Image.

      “It’s a damned ugly piece of goods, sir,” he admitted, “but I shouldn’t make away with it like that. It’s very likely valuable. They give no end of money sometimes for genuine bits of stuff from China way.”