The Queen of Night

Front matter

THE QUEEN OF NIGHT. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. The Rajah's Second Wife. A Story of Missionary Life in India. The Divinations of Kala Persad, and Other Stories. Ward, Lock & Co., Limited. " Holding Dicey's body before me as a shield, I fired over his shoulder." The Queen of Night] [Page 198. THE Queen of Night. by HEADON HILL, AUTHOR OF "GUILTY GOLD," "ZAMBRA THE DETlitnVE," "THE RAJAH'S SECOND WIFE," ETC, ET^f London : Ward, Lock & Co., Limited Warwick House, Salisbury Square, E.C. New York and Melbourne 1896 [All rights reserved] CONTENTS PAGE

Prologue

7 CHAP. I. HARD LINES 17 II. A NEW BERTH 29 iii. sir simon's news 40 IV. THE FACE AT THE GANGWAY . . -48 V. THE MISSING PASSENGERS . . . . 60 VI. THE DOCTOR'S FIRST PATIENT . . -7° VII. THE STOWAWAY 83 VIII. THE FIRST DEATH 91 IX. A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION . . . 102 X. A DETECTIVE'S HOLIDAY . . . , II3 XI. THE OVERLAND ARRIVAL .... I25 XII. ENTRAPPED 134 XIII. THE CONVENT OF SANTA LUCIA . . . I46 XIV. THE MAN AT THE BUFFET .... 154 XV. RED HEART AND BLACK ARROW . . . l66 CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XVI. THE MESSENGER FROM LEGHORN . . 175 XVII. FACE TO FACE 1 85 XVIII. A NARROW SHAVE 195 XIX. " DOCTOR ZAVERTAL WILL PRESCRIBE " . 205 XX. MRS. BRINKWORTH'S NARRATIVE . . . 214 XXI. DOCTOR ZAVERTAL LOSES A PATIENT . . 224 xxii. kennard's coup 233 XXIII. THE ANCHOR DOWN .

PROLOGUE.

. An octagon room, softly lighted by hanging silver lamps, and carpeted with Eastern pile of such generous woof that footsteps fell noiseless ; the incense-like odour of fragrant woods burning in an antique grate ; one priceless picture — no more — on each oi the eight walls ; and a white-draped dining table bright with the glitter of cut crystal and the dull sparkle of ruby wine. At the table, facing each other, two men in evening dress are seated. Empty coffee cups and the curling wreaths of cigarette smoke mark the close of the repast, and even as we ring up the curtain on this eventful drama one of them — the guest — makes a move preparatory to departure. He is a slim, elderly man, with stooping shoulders and a faded face of the aquiline type usually called, in cant phrase, aristocratic.

He has already half risen from the table, when he appears to remember something. Drawing forth a pocket-book, he reseats himself, and, poising a pencil, sends a curious, furtive glance in the direction of his host. " By the way, Vizard," he says, nervously, " I was so interested in what you were saying that I neglected details. Would you give me that address before I go ? " As he waits for the answer his eyes wander to the pictures, to the flower-crowned epergne, to the dishes of hothouse fruit — anywhere but to meet the calm gaze that is watching him from across the table. The fingers that hold the pencil tremble like aspen leaves. The voice that gives the information is clear-cut and musical. " My dear Sir Simon, of course I will," it says. " The name of the vessel is the Queen of Night, and the agents are Nathan and Co., 315, Harp Alley, Fenchurch Street.

They have a West-end branch in Pall Mall, but, if you require a special arrangement, you would have to do business with Mr. Nathan himself — at the City address." The host — he who answers the question — is by far the most striking personality in the room. Six feet high and splendidly proportioned, he attracts attention rather by the magnetic power of his well chiselled face than by his inches and the muscular force revealed in the broad chest and shoulders. Clean shaven, with square massive jowl and deep-sel unfathomable eyes of steely gray, Gaston Vizard —

PROLOGUE.

. 9 the mystery of four London seasons — is known in the beau monde he frequents as the handsomest man about town. Yet there are one or two keen obser vers — women mostly — who avow that they have surprised an expression on those readilysmiling lips that has turned them faint with fear. No one knows his origin, though that matters not nowadays when " dollars maketh man." He is immensely rich, and, in the jargon of society, is " received everywhere," justifying that reception, too, by the perfect breeding of his manners and by the princely hospitality dis pensed by him both here in his Park Lane mansion and at his country house in Hertfordshire. Even his nationality has never been rightly settled. Some say that he is of the old French noblesse, but born in America ; others that he led a revolution in Chile and escaped, more fortunate than most of the kind, with his money and his life.

For the rest, he might be any age from thirty to forty-five, and any one meeting him in the street might take him for an officer of cavalry. The guest writes down the address and again rises with the evident intention of taking his leave. Vizard comes round from his seat at table to accompany him to the hall, but once more he who has been called Sir Simon hesitates, and with a quick nervous gesture detains his host from leaving the room. The latter stops short with his hand on the door, and, towering over the shrinking figure, invites further questioning with a mere elevation of the eyebrows. " It all seems so risky," faltered the elder man. " How should I open up negotiations with Nathan — for what you call a special arrangement, I mean — without fear of compromise ? " Vizard takes from his vest pocket a little sheaf of cards, neatly blended together, and, selecting one, hands it to his guest.

"Give him that," he says. " Nathan will understand that you mean business and are properly introduced. You need tell him nothing beyond the name, and do nothing but pay what he asks. The terms are high, but may be regarded in the light of an investment. There will be absolutely nothing in writing. It is the essence of the system to take all risks without possible compromise to clients." Sir Simon glances at the card. It is blank, save for a red heart pierced by a black arrow. "Good God, how horrible ! — a sort of modern lettre de cachet," he says, shuddering. " And you are sure, Vizard, that this will be effective — that there will be no hitch ? It would be terrible to tempt fortune in such a way — and fail." There is a touch of amused contempt in Vizard's tone as he replies, " There are no failures.

If Miss Challenor takes the trip under the special arrangement, her health will receive the attention you require for her." With these words he opens the door as though there is nothing more to be said, and leads his guest downstairs to a splendid entrance-hall, where two

PROLOGUE.

. 11 footmen spring quickly to attention. One comes forward with Sir Simon's hat and inverness cape, and the other flings open the front door to summon the waiting brougham. A few words of common place farewell are exchanged, and the carriage rolls away, leaving Vizard gazing after it from the top step with an inscrutable smile. There is nothing to distinguish the neatly-appointed equipage from the hundreds of similar ones it meets as it turns into Piccadilly : yet it bears the beginning of a train as deadly as any ever laid to mine of gunpowder. After a minute Vizard goes slowly upstairs again to the octagon room where he has entertained his guest. Touching a hidden spring in the wall, he reveals a cunningly concealed iron safe, whence he takes a small morocco-bound ledger in which he makes a few rapid entries.

What he writes is in cypher, and quite unintelligible to any one not possessing the key. This done, he replaces the book, relocks it in the safe, adjusts the secret panel, and is glancing at the clock, when, after knocking, a manservant enters to announce — " Doctor Zavertal." The subject of the announcement follows quickly into the room, and Vizard advances to greet him with the effusive cordiality of one who is pleased to see a congenial acquaintance. This only lasts, however, till the servant has closed the door and retired. The moment they are alone the show of demonstrative friendship is dropped on both sides for something closer still — for a brevity betokening that their relations are confidential and intimate. " Everything is in order ? " inquires Vizard, not with any anxiety of manner, but as though some importance attached to the answer.

"A most satisfactory cruise," replies the doctor, rubbing his hands softly together in true professional style as he seats himself in an armchair with the air of being thoroughly at home. He is, in his way, almost as remarkable as his friend — this English speaking medico with the curious foreign name. Short in stature, he is rotund and stout withal, and wears on his broad weather-browned face a cheerful expression of good-fellowship that may well make him a favourite with his patients. But looking closer, especially now that he has thrown restraint aside, one might see in his blue eyes, smiling though they are, the same steely coldness that has been noticed in Vizard's gray ones. Seen here for the first time in private, and narrowly studied, he would perhaps give the impression of a man who is always playing the part of " a genial soul," and that the character, though not natural to him, has become so ingrained that he lays it aside with difficulty.

Gradually, as he talks to his companion of strange doings on the sea, his face hardens, and the purring smoothness of his voice takes a more metallic ring. Vizard, evidently knowing the doctor's habits, mixes a glass of claret and water and hands it to him without remark — as a matter of course. Then he

PROLOGUE.

. 13 leans his back against the mantelpiece and pursues his questioning : " News of three of the ' specials ' reached me in ordinary course of post. There was still one un accounted for when you left Gibraltar ? " " That was Trefusis, the Tyneside coal-owning millionaire," says Zavertal, sipping his claret. " He died as we were crossing the Bay of Biscay. Hemor rhage of the liver with complications, I was able to certify." The two men look at each other strangely. There is a cynical dash of droll humour in the doctor's eye, a twist on Vizard's mouth. Then the latter says — " That was rather leaving things to the last, was it not ? The off-chance of having to bring him home for burial, I mean." " There were circumstances to cause delay ; being in charge on the spot, I have often to be guided by such.

You can have no idea what trivial things occur to hamper me sometimes. I would rather bring a special home again than take risks," replies the doctor, with a tinge of remonstrance in his tone. "There was no difficulty whatever," he adds ; "I was able to say that the nature of the case demanded immediate disposal of the remains. He was buried the same day, at sea." " Good," says Vizard. " The ' special ' department is on a sound footing, then, and will show a hand some balance on the voyage. Is there anything fresh in ordinary administration ? " " Yes ; we shall have to find a new skipper for next cruise," replies Zavertal, not, however, as though the information were of unusual importance. " Cap tain Luck expresses his intention of giving up the command, and I expect his resignation is on its way to Nathan by this time.

On parting from me at the Docks this evening he said he had fully decided not to make another trip in the Queen." " He does not suspect ? " says Vizard, impassively. " Oh, dear no — nothing of that kind," returns the doctor. " I flatter myself he would never have left the ship carrying so much as the germ of suspicion with him. He has been promised the command of a steamer in the Australian trade — a regular liner — and he thinks the prospect more certain than on a pleasure cruiser only running part of the year. He has been talking of chucking the berth these several voyages past." " H'm," reflects Vizard aloud : " Luck combined the three essentials of good seamanship, social charm, and crass stupidity. It will be difficult to find such another all in a hurry, but it must be done. My ' special ' arrangements for next cruise are nearly completed, and in a day or two we shall be able to give Nathan the date of sailing."

" Excellent Gaston," says the doctor, approvingly. "And how many ' special ' patients do you hand over to me this time ? " "Two are finally settled — the young Earl of Darranmore, a boy of fourteen fresh from Eton ;

PROLOGUE.

. 15 and Desmond Orlebar, a country gentleman of Hampshire," replies Vizard, with the coolness of an auctioneer cataloguing his "lots." "The first goes at the instance of his uncle, Ralph Darran, who is next heir to the title ; and the second under the auspices of his wife, who I suppose has some feminine reason for desiring a change. Then to night I have had Sir Simon Crawshay here. I have been playing him — the half-hearted coward — quite a long while for his ward, the rich Miss Challenor, and he is as good as captured at last. He went away after dinner with the usual introduction to Nathan in his pocket, and you know how that pans out." "Yes; they never draw back when they have confided in you so far as to extract that gentle missive," assents the doctor. "We may count on three, then — all told — and quite as many as I care to have on one trip now that the boat is so popular and crowded with ordinary pleasure-seekers.

By the way, that new rule that ' specials ' shall not be accompanied by the principals to, or by any one cognisant of, the private arrangement is eminently satisfactory. When we first began we narrowly missed more than one miscarriage through clients, by being on board, having the chance to relent at the last moment." " I thought that would strengthen the system and lighten the strain upon you," remarks Vizard, with the lazy self-contentment of a man who has fathered a good idea. " And speaking of vigilance reminds me," he adds, stiffening up and taking a step forward to look down impressively into Zavertal's upturned eyes, " I had advices from Cincinnati a week ago that Kennard is in Europe." The doctor laughs, quite harshly for a man of such genial temperament, and for the space of two seconds the crow's-feet on his broad face deepen into visible channels.

Then he says jauntily, " And what of that ? I beat him before and could do it again. They make a little god of him in the States — as the greatest detective of the age — but he doesn't often meet men." " Quite so," replies Vizard, " and his present jour neyings can have no concern with us. But as he alone knows your record, I thought you should be aware that he is on this side the Atlantic. Of myself he has no knowledge — for which, perhaps, he rather than I should be congratulated." Doctor Zavertal's only answer is a smile of intense amusement. Then, after a pause, he rises, and, draining his glass, says, with apparent irrelevance — " The Queen of Night sinks all obstructions, eh Gaston ? "

Chapter I. Hard Lines

" Deuce take the luck." That was the phrase which embodied my sentiments as I kicked heels in the outer office of the Flower Steamship Company while the Directors deliberated on my case in the seclusion of the Board-room. I was as certain of " the sack " as man could be. I knew it from the proverbial devotion of our Board to red-tape ; I knew it from the sympathetic glances flung at me by the clerks from behind the great brass-rimmed counters ; I knew it from what good old Beatson — kindliest of skippers — prophesied when he promised to " speak a word " ; and, above all, I knew it because I am a sailor, and, believing in presentiments, believed in that which told me that my hours as first officer of the Dahlia were numbered. Directors are fond of letting their jaw-tackle run, so as they are safe for another ten minutes before they have me in for sentence, I may as well spend 2 .« the interval in overhauling my log of what has thrown me on my beam-ends.

My name is Cyril Forrester, at that time thirty years old, five feet ten in my stockings, sound in wind and limb, and hold ing a master's certificate in the mercantile marine, though never yet in command of a vessel, and under present circumstances never likely to be. The Flower Line of steamships, as every one knows, plies between London and Calcutta, touching at the chief Mediterranean ports ; and the little incident that gave those grim old hunkses in the Board-room the chance to get their knives into me occurred on the last voyage out. We had left London on a Tuesday afternoon, and all went well till the following Thursday morning, when we were steering a steady fifteen knots across the mouth of the Channel. It was my watch, and except for the quartermaster, who was steering, I was alone upon the bridge, the captain being at breakfast in the saloon.

The weather was thick, with a nasty choppy sea, and the third officer, who shared my charge of the deck, was forward on the fo'castle seeing that the look-out man didn't go to sleep. Suddenly my ears were startled by a scrunch ing crash from, as far as I could judge, about two hundred yards off on the port beam, followed by screams and shouts which told me as plain as words could speak that two vessels were in collision close at hand. Almost at the same moment the haze broke a little, and showed me the black hull of a steam-collier slinking away to the westward, and a smart, yawl-rigged yacht cut down to the water's edge, and with scarcely a minute to float. I altered the Dahlia's course so as to bring her round to the sinking craft, singing out at the same time to the third officer to clear away a boat.

As we neared the yacht I could see that all was con fusion on her, and no wonder : her one boat was stove in, and the rascally collier, instead of standing by to help, was already out of sight in the mist. To make matters worse, I caught sight of ladies on the sloping deck, and I knew that unless the yawl floated a few minutes longer they would be in danger, since our ship came round but slowly on a jammed helm. I was keeping one eye on the men engaged in lowering the boat and the other on the yacht, when she plunged forward, then staggered back and went down stern foremost, leaving her people struggling in the sea. Our boat was still at the davit, the freshly-painted gear working stiffly, and I could see that any one who was not a strong swimmer would be swept away and drowned before they could be picked up.

It was no time to reckon rules and con sequences, and almost before I knew what I was going to do my shoes were kicked off and I had taken a header from the bridge. Our ship had greatly reduced the distance, and a few strokes brought me to the scene of the disaster, where about a score of people were keeping themselves afloat in the best way known to them. Luckily the yacht was too small to have sucked them down. An elderly gentleman in flannels, with a life-belt on, was hanging on to a spar, and a man who looked like the sailing-master was supporting a lady who was screaming at the top of her voice some word which I could not make out. The rest — all men and evidently the crew — were swimming strongly towards the Dahlia. I was beginning to think that I had been rather too officious, when a draggled whisp of blue serge, rising in the water between me and the gentleman on the spar, caused me to change my mind and feel glad that I had come.

It was the insensible form of a woman, floating limply to the surface for the first time after immersion, and on the point of sinking again when I managed to grab her by the arm. I noticed no more than that she was young and lay quite a featherweight in my embrace, for my chief concern was now with the arrival of the boat. Looking round, I was glad to see it coming towards us fast, while the Dahlia herself was standing on at quarter speed lest she should run down the yacht's crew, who were already reaching her side. Seeing how I was hampered, the third officer steered his boat straight for us, and after picking us up went on for the sailing-master and his burden, last of all taking in the man on the spar. Five minutes later we were all safe on board the Dahlia, and the two ladies, who were alone the worse for the accident, were handed over to our surgeon and stewardess.

The passengers, who had come up from the saloon to witness the rescue, crowded round me with the usual fuss of congratu lation and curiosity, so that another ten minutes passed before I could slip into dry clothes and join the captain on the bridge. He shook hands with me warmly, but he was looking as solemn as a church. "This is going to end badly, Forrester, I am afraid," he said. " You only did what any decent chap would have done, but you know as well as I do that it was dead against the rules. To leave the bridge with no one in charge is a heinous crime with the wiseacres of Leadenhall Street, and I am bound to log the incident." " I never gave the rule a thought," I said, " and I don't believe it would have made any difference if I had." There having been no loss of life, the excitement soon calmed down, and we stood on our course southward.

It was ascertained that the sunken yacht Norah had been chartered for a channel cruise by Sir Simon Crawshay, the elderly man who had saved himself by clinging to a spar, and that the ladies were respectively his sister, Mrs. Beauchamp, and his ward, Miss Aline Challenor, the latter being the girl whom I had managed to pick up. In the course of the morning I heard that Miss Challenor had quickly revived under the surgeon's treatment, and that Sir Simon had decided to go on in the Dahlia to Naples, whence he would be able to take his party home overland more expeditiously than from Gibraltar. I saw no more of the ladies that day, but during the afternoon, being off duty, I was talking to some of our own passengers on deck, when Captain Beat son passed in conversation with Sir Simon. The latter had been fitted with dry clothes by some passenger, and he appeared to be none the worse for his dip.

I cannot say that I took much of a liking for the man. I saw by the furtive way he kept his eyes askance that he had recognised me, and one would have thought that under the circumstances he would have wished to say something civil. But they passed and repassed several times on their promenade, Sir Simon always at that moment finding an object of interest at the other side of the deck, and Captain Beatson too busy with his discussion to notice surroundings. At about the fifth turn, how ever, the skipper's eyes chanced my way, and he at once brought his companion to a halt, introducing me as the officer who had got Miss Challenor into the boat. Now though I come of a fairly decent family myself, my father having been a clergyman and the grandson of a peer, I went to sea so early that my dealings with the aristocracy have been limited.

I was therefore not sure whether Sir Simon Crawshay's manner towards myself arose from blue blood or from a black heart ; but even if it was infra dig. for a baronet to extend his gratitude to a mere officer in the Merchant Service, I thought it singular that he should show such callousness about his ward's escape. "Oh, indeed! very interesting, and all that sort of thing, I'm sure," was the extraordinary reception he accorded me, adding, with an artificial smile designed apparently to show an expensive set of false teeth, " And did you find the water cold ? " Then, without waiting for a reply, he put his hand on the captain's arm and wheeled him round to continue his promenade. " He's a beast, Forrester — a perfect beast," the skipper said to me when we were alone upon the bridge together that evening.

" His treatment of you was only on a par with his conversation with me. He is thinking a good deal more of the loss of his effects on the yacht than of the safety of his sister and his ward." It was not till the next morning that Aline Challenor appeared on deck and I formed the acquaintance that was destined to lead to such wonderful things. I can see her now, as she came forward with both hands outstretched, a dainty fairy of a girl, with a clear, fresh complexion and real violet eyes that could be frank without being forward. Her own simple blue serge yachting dress had been dried and put to rights for her, and I should never have recognised in the smart little figure the poor pale, half-drowned creature whom I had held in my arms the day before. As she thanked me in a few words for my help, I thought I had never seen such a pretty girl before, and— there ! as the whole of the story hinges on it there is no need for secrecy— I fell head over heels in love with her there and then.

"I am very glad to have been of use," I said, trying not to show my admiration in my face. " But there is really no reason why you especially should thank me. You see I just ' went it blind,' and it was as likely to have been one of the others I chanced upon as you. I am glad it wasn't, though." "You shall not rob me of my gratitude," she replied. "At any rate it didn't happen to be one of the others, and it did happen to be me, and — and I shall never forget it." From that beginning our friendship grew rapidly, as it only can on ship-board, and by the time the Dahlia's bows were turned eastward through the Straits it had ripened into that later phase of friend ship in which, without awkwardness, there can be long silences. Sir Simon's demeanour towards me continued curt and distant — that of his sister, Mrs. Beauchamp, equally so — but he could not very well forbid his ward to speak to the man who had saved her life, and though it was plain that he viewed our increasing intimacy with cynical dislike, he probably counted on the coming separation at Naples to put an end to it.

If so, he was out of his reckoning by about thirty hours. We were that time distant from our port of call, and I remember as if it were yesterday what a beautiful Mediterranean evening it was, when Aline and I shook off the chrysalis shell of friendship for the golden butterfly of love. I found her behind the aft wheelhouse — that time-honoured tryst of sea going lovers. For several minutes we watched the white streak eddying from the screw without speaking. Then I said — " Aline, are you sorry that your voyage on the Dahlia is so nearly at an end ? " It was the first time I had called her by her Christian name — a fact of which the significance will be appreciated by those who have " been there " themselves. Her answer came, faltering a little, but prompt enough for me — " You know I shall," and then after a pause was shyly added the one word — " Cyril."

This is no love story — there is sterner work ahead — and I have not space, even if I had the will, to write down here the words in which my sweet girl and I plighted our troth. All I can say is, that though I had seen thirty years without any sweet hearting, it came natural enough at last, and that when we left the shelter of the wheelhouse we were bound by every promise to be faithful to each other against all odds, all opposition. As the time we should have together was to be so short, we decided to keep our secret till my return from the Eastern voyage, when I could try to secure Sir Simon's consent to a formal engagement. Aline would not come of age for a year, and in the meanwhile, under her father's will, she was not permitted to take any step without her guardian's sanction, though in our new-found happiness we paid but little heed to possible opposition from that quarter.