CHAPTER XIII

When Peter descended the stairway into the narrow vestibule which

served as reception-hall, dining-saloon, and, incidentally, as the

corridor from which the _Hankow's_ four small staterooms were entered,

he had the chilly feeling that the darkness had eyes.

Yet he saw nothing. The cabin was dark. Three round ports glimmered

greenly beyond the staircase on the cabin's forward side. The glimmer

was occasioned by the refracted rays of the _Hankow's_ dazzling

searchlight. But these were not the ones he felt.

Gradually his own eyes became accustomed to the pulp-like darkness. He

steadied his body against the gentle swaying of the steamer, and

endeavored to listen above, or through, the imminent thrashing and

clattering of the huge engine.

He examined the four stateroom doors anxiously. As the darkness began

to dissolve slightly, Peter, still conscious that eyes were fastened

upon him, made the discovery that the stateroom adjoining his was

slightly ajar. The moon favored him--Miss Vost's impersonal moon. It

outlined against the slit what appeared to be a large, irregular block.

Peter decided that the irregular block was nothing more nor less than

the head of a man. To prove that his surmise was correct, Peter

quickly shifted the revolver from his right hand to his left, brought

it even with his eyes and--struck a match.

In the startling flare of the phosphorus the evil glint of Celestial

eyes was instantly revealed in the partly opened door.

With incredible softness the door was closed. Where there had been

half-lidded eyes, a positive snarl, and a shock of blue-black hair was

now a white-enameled panel.

Peter continued to smile along the barrel, which glistened in the dying

flame of the match. He unlocked his door, closed it, and shot the

bolt. Switching on the electric light, he cautiously drew back the

sheet. Apparently satisfied, he sniffed the air. It was nothing more

than stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so is

apt to be.

Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-bound

port-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneously

voices came into the room.

Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tense

syllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing on

the deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from his

porthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surging

water.

"But I do--I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumbling

voice. "Ever since you set foot on the old _Sunyado Maru_ I've been

your shadow--your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly.

"Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She became

abruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you--ever so much.

But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understand

me. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're too

sudden--too brutal--too----"

"Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you----"

"But I don't _need_ shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless,

and--twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!"

"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie.

"I--I just want----"

"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me."

"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!"

Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon.

"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss

Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect

him very, _very_ much."

"He can't fool around any girl of mine!"

Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he

might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that.

"A girl of _yours_!" snapped Miss Vost.

Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated

by a long, light, and delicious laugh.

"Bobbie, you're so _funny_!" Miss Vost gurgled.

"I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently.

"You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped.

"_Why_ should _I_ go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice.

"To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die in

Liauchow. So runs the proverb."

"Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie.

"Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, and

Liauchow the best coffins!"