CHAPTER III

At dinner Peter met the notables. It seemed the fat and handsome

captain had taken a fancy to him. And it was as Peter had deduced

earlier. These passengers were stodgy Dutchmen, each with a little

world of his own, and forming the sole orbit of that little world. For

the most part they were plantation owners escaping the seasonal heat

for the cool breezes of a vacation in Japan, boastful of their

possessions, smug in their Dutch self-complacency, and somewhat

gluttonous in their manner of eating.

The fat captain beamed. The fat plantation owners gorged themselves

and jabbered. The three-piece orchestra played light opera that the

world had forgotten. The company became light-hearted as more frosty

bottles of that exotic drink, _arracka_, were disgorged by the _Persian

Gulf's_ excellent ice-box. And all the while, speaking in light,

soothing tones, Romola Borria gazed alluringly into the watchful eyes

of Peter Moore.

At length the chairs were pushed back, and Peter, with this fairy-like

creature in a dinner-gown of most fetching pink gossamer clinging to

his arm, took to the deck for an after-dinner Abdullah.

They chatted in low, confiding tones of the people in the dining-room.

They whispered in awe of the Southern Cross, which sparkled like frost

on the low horizon. She confessed that at night the moon was her god,

and Peter, feeling exalted under the influence of her exquisite charm,

the touch of the light fingers upon his arm which tingled and burned

under the subtle pressure, became bold and recited that verse of

"Mandalay" wherein "I kissed her where she stood."

It was quite thrilling, quite delicious, and altogether quite too fine

to last.

After a while, when they were passing the door of the wireless cabin,

Romola squeezed his arm lightly and expressed a desire to have him send

a message, a message she had quite forgotten. When Peter replied that

such a message would be costly, involving an expensive retransmission

by cable from Manila to Hong Kong, she only laughed.

Peter snapped on the green-shaded light and handed her pad and pencil.

Dropping lightly to the couch which ran the length of the opposite

wall, she nibbled at the pencil's rubber, and her smooth brow was

darkened by a frown of perplexity.

Peter, lowering the aerial switch, sent out an inquiring call for the

Manila station. The air was still as death. A dreary hush filled the

black receivers, and then, through this gloomy silence trickled a

far-away silver voice, the brisk, clear signals of Manila.

He swiveled half around, and the girl nervously extended the pad of

radio blanks.

The message was directed to Emiguel Borria, the Peak, Hong Kong, and it

contained the information that she would reach the Hong Kong anchorage

on the following Tuesday morning. The last sentence; "Do not meet me."

Peter inclined his eyebrows slightly, but not impertinently, counted

the words and flashed them to the operator at Manila.

This one shot back the following greeting:

"Who are you? Only one man on the whole Pacific has a fist like that."

Peter changed the manner of his sending, resorting to a long and

painful "drawl."

"I am a little Chinese waif," Peter spelled out slowly, and smiled,

adding: "Good hunting to you, Smith!" He signed off.

The silvery spark of Smith was quick in reply.

"If you are Peter Moore, the Marconi people are scouring the earth

trying to find you. Are you Peter Moore?"

"In China," replied Peter breezily, changing back to the inimitably

crisp sending for which he was famous, "we bite off people's noses who

are inquisitive. Good night, old-timer!"

The voice of Manila screamed back in faint reprisal, but Peter dropped

the nickeled band to the ledge, and pivoted quickly, to face the girl.

It was startling, the look she was giving him. Perhaps he had

completed the transmission before she was aware. At all events, when

Peter turned with a smile, her eyes bored straight into his with a

distorted look, a look that seemed cruel, as if it might have sprung

from a well of hate; and hard and glinting and black as polished jade.

All of this vanished when she caught Peter's eyes, and it was as the

passage of a vision, unreal. In its place was an expression of

demureness, of gentle, almost fondling meekness. Had she been staring,

not at him, but beyond him, over the miles to a detestable scene, a

view of horror? It seemed more than likely.

Then he observed that the door of the wireless room was closed. He

made as if to open it, but she interrupted him midway with a commanding

gesture of her white, small hand.

"Lock it, and sit down here beside me."

Somewhat dazed and greatly flabbergasted, Peter obeyed.

He locked the door, then sat down beside her. She moved closer, took

his hand, wrapped both of hers tightly around it, and leaned toward him

until the breath from her parted lips was upon his throat, moist and

warm, and her eyes were great shining balls of limpid mystery and

dancing excitement, so close to his that he momentarily expected their

eyelashes to mingle.

She caught her breath, and then, for such dramatic circumstances, made

a most ridiculous remark. She realized that herself, for she whipped

out:

"It is a foolish question. But, Mr. Moore, do you believe in love at

first sight?"

Peter's tense look dissolved into a smile of giddy relief. He was

expecting something quite frightful, and the clear wit of him found a

ready answer.

"Foolish?" he chuckled. "Why, I'm the most devout worshiper at the

shrine! The shrine brags about me! It says to unbelievers: Now, if

you don't believe in love at first sight, just cast your orbs upon

Peter Moore, our most shining example. Allah, by Allah! The old

philanderer is assuredly of the faith!"

"I am quite serious, Mr. Moore."

"As I was afraid, Miss Borria. Seriously, if you must know it, then

here goes: As soon as I saw you I was mad about you! Call it

infatuation, call it a rush of blood to my foolish young head, call it

anything you like----"

"Why don't you stop all this?" she broke him off.

"All what?" he inquired innocently.

"This--this life you are leading. This indolence. This constant

toying with danger. This empty life. This sham of adventure-love that

you affect. It will get you nothing. I know! I, too, thought it was

a great lark at first, and I played with fire; and you know just what

happens to the children who play with fire.

"At first you skirt the surface, and then you go a little deeper, and

finally you can do nothing but struggle. It is a terrible feeling, to

find that your wonderful toy is killing you. Certain people in China,

Mr. Moore, are conducting practises that you of the western world frown

upon. And blundering upon these practices, as perhaps you have, you

believe you are very bold and daring, and you are thrilled as you rub

elbows with death, in tracing the dragons to their dens."

"Dragons!" The syllables cracked from Peter's lips, and his wits,

which were wandering in channels of their own while this lecture

progressed, suddenly were bundled together, and he was alert and keenly

attentive.

"Or call them what you will," went on the girl in a low-pitched

monotone. "I call them dragons, because the dragon is a filthy,

wretched symbol."

"You have some knowledge of my encounters with--dragons?" put in Peter

as casually as he was able.

"I profess to know nothing of your encounters with anybody," replied

the girl quietly and patiently. "I base my conclusions only on what I

have seen. This morning I saw you throw a Chinese coolie into the

harbor at Batavia. It happens that I have seen that coolie before, and

it also happens that I know a little--do not ask me what I know, for I

will never tell you--a little about the company that coolie keeps."

"I guess you are getting a little beyond my depth," stated Peter

uncomfortably. "Would you mind sort of summing up what you've just

said?"

"I mean, I want to try to persuade you that the life you have been

living is wrong. At the same time, I want you to help me, as only you

can help me, in putting a life of wretchedness behind me. It is asking

a great deal, a very great deal, but in return I will give you more

than you will ever realize, more than you can realize, for you cannot

realize the danger that surrounds your every movement, and will

continue to surround you until they--_they_--are assured that you have

decided to forget them."

Peter shook his head, forgetting to wonder what an officer might think

upon finding the door locked. Would the jovial little captain be quite

so jovial viewing these incriminating circumstances? Not likely. But

Peter had dismissed the fat captain from his mind, together with all

other alien thoughts, as he concentrated upon the amazing words of this

exceedingly amazing and beautiful girl. She was looking down at the

chevron of gold sparks on his sleeve.

"I can tell you but one more thing of consequence," she continued. "It

is this: Together we can stand; divided we will fall, just as surely as

the sun follows its track in the heavens. I have a plan that will

offend you--perhaps offend you terribly--but there is no other way.

When _they_ know that we have decided to forget them, we can breathe

easily. Our secrets, grown stale, are not harmful to them."

"I am always open to any reasonable inducement," Peter said dryly.

The eyes meeting his were quite wild.

"How would you like to go to some lovely little place to have money, to

live comfortably, even luxuriously, with a woman of whom you could be

justly proud, and who would bend every power with the sole view of

making you happy?"--she was blushing hotly--"and all this woman would

demand in return would be your loyalty, your respect--and later your

love, if that were possible."

"But this--this is--astounding!" Peter exclaimed.

"I expected you to say that. But let me assure you, I have thought

this over. I have given it every possible consideration, and now I

know there is no other way. I want to leave China. I want to go away

forever and ever. I must leave."

Her shoulders jerked nervously.

"My life has been miserable--so miserable. And I am not brave enough

to go through with it alone. I am afraid, terribly afraid. And afraid

of myself, and of my weakness. I must be encouraged, must have some

one to make me strong and brave, and afterward to take the good in me

and bring it out, and kill the bad."

She relinquished Peter's hand and thumped her chest with small fists.

"There is good in me; but it has never been given a chance! I want a

man who will bring that good out, a man who will make me fine and true

and honorable. For such a man I would give everything--my life!" She

lowered her voice. "I would give my best--my love. When I saw you

lift the coolie, after he showed you his knife, I thought you were such

a man; and when I looked into your face I believed I had found such a

man. The rest--remains--for you to say."

"Where do you want me to t-take you?" demanded Peter.

"Ah! That is of so little importance! To Nara--Nagoya--to

Australia--America."

She shrugged, as if to say, "and little I care."

"Now I am offering you only two rewards for that sacrifice--your safety

against _them_--and money. You can name your price. I feel that you

will come to love me; but that can come, if it cares, any time. When

you want me--I will be waiting. I want you to consider this now. Now!

Will you? Tell me that you will!"

"I--I don't know what to say!" stammered Peter in a husky voice.

"Are--you are not joking, are you, Miss Borria? You can't be! But

this is so serious! Shocking! Why, you never saw me before! Why

should you pick me for such a thing when you never saw me? You don't

know me. You don't know what a brute I might be. Why, I might be

married for all you know----"

"I am reasonably sure," said the girl with some of her former serenity.

"But this--this is unbelievable!" cried Peter. "You never saw me

before to-day. Why, you're a nice girl. You're not the kind of girl

who runs away with a man at first sight. You're not in love with me at

all. Not at all. Miss Borria----"

A flame of hot suspicion shot athwart Peter's mind. He seized her

hands, glared into her eyes, dragged her to her feet.

"See here!" he clamored. "Tell me what you really want. What's your

game, eh? You're a wise little bird, you are. I may look stupid, I

may not see all the way through this talk you've been giving me.

You're holding back. What is it? Come on! Out with it!"

She was not disturbed in the least at his harshness, nor did she

seemingly disapprove of the rough way he handled her.

"I am married," she said simply.