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!"
