CHAPTER XXI

"No, Norah dear, I would rather see him alone, thank you."

"But won't you tell me what your plan is?"

This, also, Netta refuses. For the very good reason that she has no plan; that is, nothing definite. Only she has a vague idea that their sole hope--and a very faint hope, too--lies in Dick Baynes. He may not be able to suggest any means of help; but if he cannot, there is no one else who can.

The stalwart young seaman, on entering the room, finds Netta Sheridan looking a very picture.

He does not know--how should he--that she has taken a good deal of pains to produce this effect. All the electric lights except one have been turned out, and this one is selected to cast a soft light on the girl as she reclines gracefully on a couch, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

So Baynes, when he comes in, has his eyes directed at once towards a very attractive _tableau vivant_. There are soft glints of light reflected in the girl's ashen-gold hair, and a pair of pleading grey eyes shine on him very effectively.

"You've sent for me, miss?"--the man speaks in an awed hushed voice, like a devotee before his idol in a temple.

"Yes, Baynes--Dick. I thought that I should like to see you again and talk to you."

She had never called him "Dick" before, not in all those happy days in Glasgow!

Is it a matter for wonder that after a few more doses of this diplomatic kind, Baynes is easily reduced to the state of mind which Netta desires?

But the girl has no intention of wasting time; idle dalliance is a thing she has no use for, except so far as it can serve her purpose; and to her purpose she presently comes.

"Now I want your advice and help, Dick, in a very difficult situation," she tells him. "It was partly for this reason that I asked you to come."

"Yes, miss? If there is anything I can do, you can depend on me to do it. Tell me what it is."

"Well, it's just this." Having come to the point, Netta finds some difficulty in expressing herself. There is such a very little that will bear telling. Baynes must not know a single word about the conspiracy to blow up the _Marathon_. It is sincerely to be hoped that he has not yet heard the news that the ship is lost; but even if he has heard this, he must be kept from all suspicion of any connection between that disaster and the presence of the Sheridans' party at the base.

"It's just this," she repeats. "I can't tell you everything, you know, because it's such a delicate matter. If I keep anything from you, it is because I think I ought not to tell it, and you must just trust me. _Can_ you trust me?"

"You know I can, miss," thrills the deep-toned reply. "I would trust you with my life!"

The dark sweeping eyelashes are raised to let a languorous look of gratitude escape from the grey eyes and in an instant are lowered again.

"It is about Norah. She is in very great danger. She has met someone here this afternoon, an officer, who has somehow managed to discover a secret of her past life which she would give anything to keep from him."

"Yes, miss? Well, I am sure it can't be anything shameful, whatever it is. Does it matter so very much?"

"It matters very much, indeed; it is almost a matter of life and death. And the dreadful part of it is that he is sure to go and tell the admiral at the earliest possible opportunity."

"He ought to be stopped, miss."

"Yes, of course he ought. But"--with a smile of engaging frankness--"are you quite sure you ought to be listening to me? Don't you think we may be spies, all three of us?"

An indignant protest is his answer to this, and more protestations of the most complete trust.

"If any means could be found of preventing this Mr. Stapleton--that is the officer's name--from telling the admiral what he has found out about Norah, she would never cease to be grateful to you."

Dick Baynes does not appear greatly impressed. Netta remarks this fact.

"And _I_ should be more than grateful, too," she adds.

"Would you?" A very different look comes over the man's face.

"Yes, of course I should. But can you suggest any means of stopping his mouth?"

"Only one, miss," Baynes replies, revolving the matter slowly in his simple mind. "I'm a pretty strong chap, you know; I might have to hurt him a little--nothing to speak of, you know, only just enough to lay him up for a few days, till you can get away back to Glasgow."

Netta is horrified at the idea.

"How dare you suggest such a thing?" she cries, flushing with indignation. "What! Do you think that I should allow you to--to play the part of the hired assassin----"

"I didn't say _kill_ him, miss; I only meant that I would put him out of action, so to speak, for a little while," murmurs the man apologetically.

"Well, to act the bully and ruffian, then. It is much the same thing. I am disappointed in you, Mr. Baynes. I did think that a man of your intelligence and cleverness might be able to find some means of helping me out of a difficulty. But never mind! I dare say I have alarmed myself needlessly--the troubles one frets and worries over often vanish when the time comes, don't they? And if not--well, it's only two girls that will have to suffer. Thank you all the same."

This is quite unendurable. Baynes becomes on the instant a limp and crushed mass of denials, protests, and eager avowals that he will do anything his idol desires of him and nothing she objects to; that her wishes are all and all to him, and that she must pardon him for even imagining she meant him to use brute force--of course such an idea was far below her--and so on and so forth. To put it shortly, he is brought to just such a state of mind as Netta intended him to be.

She rewards and pacifies him with a smile, and graciously takes him into favour again.

No question about it, a censorious world would pronounce the opinion that Netta was not quite nice, judging from the part she is playing at present; but it must be remembered in her defence that she is fighting for one who is very dear to her, her wilful, headstrong cousin Norah, who is too brave and fearless to do anything for her own safety.

"I promise you, miss, that I will think of something that will put matters right for you and Miss Norah. Only you took me rather sudden like; when I turn it over in my mind a bit I shall find some way to manage it, never fear!" With such words Baynes endeavours to reinstate himself in Netta's good graces.

"But you must do it at once; there is no time to waste," she urges him.

"Certainly, miss, that's right. I quite see that." But his actions did not bear out his words, for he makes no motion to go away, but on the contrary draws rather nearer to the anxious girl.

"Then why don't you go?" she asks bluntly. Having gained her purpose, Netta is unable to see any reason why the interview should be prolonged.

Dick Baynes, however, does not see matters in quite the same light.

"Because I want to know what my reward is to be if I do this for you," he answers.

Netta's pretty mouth curls contemptuously. "What?" she taunts him. "You want payment? I thought you would help me out of friendship!"

"For friendship? No--but for love!" he cries in a voice vibrating with passion. "That is all the payment I require, and that you must and shall give me!"

With a rapid stride he comes to her and kneels beside her couch, taking her into his arms. She neither repels him nor accepts his rough caresses, but remains listless, cold and indifferent.

To tell the truth, she is just a little bit frightened--frightened, and still more annoyed. She did not expect this development, and is not at all pleased with it.

Women are like this occasionally; they play with fire, and are quite shocked to make the discovery that fire burns.

It is very pretty and feminine and all that sort of thing to adopt a seductive manner, but the lady who does so ought not to be altogether unprepared to find herself successful as a seductress.

Netta has been willing to make use of her handsome sailor as a convenient machine; it comes upon her like a cold douche to find that he is a man!

And a real live warm-blooded man, strong and forceful in his desires and most insistent in his manner of expressing them.

He has cast all diffidence to the winds now. Forgetting his present position and the difference in their respective stations, forgetting everything else, he only remembers that she is a woman and that he loves her.

"I am hungry for you, Netta," he cries, his simple, homely speech setting forth his appeal far dearer than any finer phrases could do--"hungry for you, and 'tis none but you can still the aching in my heart! 'Tis you alone I want, and I have wanted you since first I saw you. Give me yourself and I am yours to do what you will with!"

His strong arms press the girl close to his heart and he rains passionate kisses upon her face.

With an effort Netta succeeds in releasing herself, pushing him gently away; not angrily, with the hot indignation of an outraged maiden, nor yet coquettishly as one who would by a feigned repulse encourage further advances; simply, she does not greatly care. This unforeseen turn of events strikes her as rather a nuisance, that is all; it introduces an element that may interfere with her plans. Yet, on the other hand, it may have its uses; so it is as well to take up a non-committal attitude.

"Is this quite honourable?" she asks coldly, "to take advantage of my distress and to make a bargain with me for my love?"

"Honourable or not," comes his ready answer, "it is the only chance I have with you, and I am going to take it. I know well that you would never listen to me if it were not for this, and you must not blame a desperate man if he makes use of the power that chance puts into his hands. I want you, and I am going to have you for my own!"

Netta looks closely at him. The man is so terribly in earnest. His fine, handsome face is lighted up with the kindling fires of his love, and in his eyes tenderness and eagerness are clashing in conflict. No doubt he is a fine figure of a man, and if a girl should fall in love for good looks alone, she need not go further than this very impetuous and ardent sailor.

She gives a tiny sigh, so small that it escapes her lover's notice. But that sigh means a great deal. It means, "If I had no other matters to think about, and if I felt myself capable of loving any one and if this man were not what he is, and if----"

A greater "if" than all these still confronts her; if she does not consent to his bargain, then she cannot hope that he will make the effort to save Norah. This has to be faced at once, and there is only one way of facing it.

"Tell me, girl, tell me," urges her seaman lover again, seizing both her hands and forcing her eyes to meet his own, "do you agree? If I help you, will you give me your promise to be mine? I will trust you. I know you will keep your word. Otherwise----"

He does not finish his sentence.

"I suppose so," Netta's consent, given in a low whisper, is not very encouraging, but Baynes appears to be content with it.

"Then seal the bargain with me," he cries. Netta coldly turns her cheek towards him, as a girl might do for the chaste salute of an aged priest or a maiden aunt.

"No," exclaims the sailor, "that will not do for me. If you are going to give me yourself, you must give me an earnest of it now."

There is no doubt as to his meaning; indeed, he helps her to understand, by placing both his big, strong hands upon that mass of pale gold hair coiled on her head, and drawing her lips to his own eager ones.

It seems an eternity before he releases her. An eternity which gradually blackens into an eternity of shame. She would struggle and escape from it, but she is held as though in a vice.

When her seared lips are at last set free, she falls back upon the couch, her cheeks burning red and her eyes ready to burst into tears.

"Now go!" she says briefly, and in such a tone that Baynes is wise enough to obey at once without another word.

And when the door closes behind him, then the bitter tears fall indeed, as Netta realises what a price she has paid and still must pay for the bargain she has made.

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