CHAPTER IX

On board the _Marathon_, as she speeds once more on her lawful occasions, fore and aft throughout the ship all tongues are wagging on the subject of the evening's occurrences.

As a general rule, life on board a man-of-war at sea passes without any incident worthy of remark; and this is true to a great degree in war time, just as much as in times of peace. Anything therefore, so out of the common as this timely rescue of shipwrecked people met just in the nick of time provides welcome conversational material for every officer and man; for naval men are, it is well known, the biggest gossips in the world and can give points to any charwoman in the art of discussing a bit of news from every imaginable point of view.

Dinner has been cleared away, and the topic which has held sole sway all through the meal is not yet exhausted. Stapleton alone has taken but little part in the talk; he is remarkably silent, for him--as a rule he can find plenty to say for himself. But, as a matter of fact, he has not been listening much to the chattering voices around him; his sole thought is, how different the wardroom looks now that it no longer holds the presence of his beloved.

For she is his, he thinks. Surely he is not mistaken in believing that Norah really did understand him and was not entirely unmoved by his sudden and violent love-making? When two affinities meet like this, it is as though their souls have been wandering through space for countless ages in the endeavour to find each other; and when at last the encounter takes place, it is inevitable that the truth should come home with equal force to both of them. So, at least, thinks Stapleton; and he is convinced that Norah had not at any rate looked upon him unkindly. For the rest, he will make sure of things at their next meeting.

But, good heavens! Why--the thought has not struck him till this moment--in spite of all his pressing entreaties. Norah never told him where she might be found! Something happened--he cannot remember exactly what it was--to change the conversation, and she left the ship without giving him any clue as to where he may meet her again!

So then, he has lost her. No--surely he will be able to find out something when the ship returns to the base, something that will enable him to trace her even though it may turn out to be a long job. So he plucks up heart again.

These reflections are interrupted by a remark from Merritt:

"I say, that was a funny yarn of the fair-haired one, wasn't it? I wonder how anyone could have the imagination to invent such a pack of stuff!"

Stapleton pricks up his ears. "What yarn was that?" he asks.

Merritt is only too willing to repeat the story of Netta's delirious ravings; but thinks it hardly fair on the girl to give her away in the presence of so many of the other officers; Stapleton is different--he can be trusted not to spread the yarn. For all his youthful simplicity Merritt has the delicacy to realise that Netta would not be pleased if the story should travel back to her: as he expresses it in his own mind, it would make her feel such a silly fool!

So, with an apologetic "tell you presently," he glides gracefully to another topic, and does not return to Netta's wonderful revelations till the wardroom is emptied of all but Stapleton, Dale and himself.

"Well, what about this yarn of yours that you were so full of just now?" queries the first lieutenant.

Merritt tells him.

"What an absurd story," comments Stapleton, when the other has come to the end of his extraordinary narrative. "How on earth could the girl get such weird ideas into her head?"

"Purely and simply the result of the workings of a brain thrown out of gear by physical suffering," Dale informs him; "sub-conscious ideas come to the surface under such conditions, and the memories and fancies gleaned from books, conversations, and a thousand similar sources weave themselves together into a fabric which sometimes, as in this present case, possesses a wonderful consistency."

"Pity she couldn't invent something a little more convincing while she was about it," smiles Stapleton.

"How do you mean? I thought it was rather a good effort, for a piece of pure imagination."

"Well, yes; all but one thing. Anybody that had the slightest knowledge--real knowledge of the subject, would never have made such a howler as to talk of blowing up a ship with a bomb small enough to be concealed in one's clothing. That's the weak point of the story which gives it away at once."

"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't like to say that, exactly. Modern developments in high explosives have been pretty marvellous and according to what I have read about these things I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to pack into a cigarette-case enough stuff to wreck all London."

"Yes, you could, certainly--in theory. But when it comes to practice you find yourself up against certain difficulties--the chief one being that you would be almost dead sure to wreck yourself first. Very powerful explosives are nothing new--take fulminate of mercury, for instance; that is an old discovery, yet so tremendously potent that a teaspoonful of it would be sufficient to blow this room to blazes."

"If that's the case," asks Merritt, "why do you say that a small-sized bomb couldn't be made with enough of it to blow up a ship?"

"Because, my son, all these very high explosives are what is called very _unstable_, they won't stand any knocking about. Why, supposing you had the teaspoonful of fulminate I spoke about, it would probably explode if someone were to slam the door or even walk across the deck with a heavy tread. So you see, you can't put stuff of that sort into bombs and cart it round with you."

Dale has an objection to make, as a scientist. "What you say is true enough, Number One, but only as far as our knowledge goes at present. There has been a lot of progress made lately in these affairs and what I say is that there is no reason why someone should not have discovered a means of overcoming the instability."

"Someone such as----?"

"Oh, possibly one of those German chemists; a secret of that sort would be just the very thing they would be all out to discover. It would make a tremendous difference to them in this war. It might, for instance, encourage them to attempt just such a scheme as our imaginative young friend raved about."

"You speak as though you were not entirely convinced that she was raving, Dale."

Stapleton looks sharply at the surgeon as he snaps out these words. The love which has sprung up in his heart makes him keenly jealous of the least shadow of a slur being cast upon anyone belonging to her.

"Not at all, not at all!" rejoins Dale; "as a matter of fact, it was the evident absurdity of the girl's story that convinced me of the _bona fides_ of the party."

"What in the world do you mean?"--Stapleton has all his hackles up now and is quite prepared to take serious offence.

"I mean," says Dale calmly, taking no notice of his friend's annoyance, "that up to the time when the girl chucked her fit I was rather inclined to think there was something darned fishy about the whole affair; but no one in his senses could concoct such a marvellous yarn as that one about a bomb and a plot and a motor-boat and all the rest of it, so as soon as I heard it I knew that it was nothing but delirium, and that proved to my mind that the three of them had been through all that they said they had."

"And what was it, if I may ask, that made you suspicious at first?" The first lieutenant is properly on his high horse now.

Indeed, the air appears so threatening that the assistant paymaster, not willing to be dragged into a quarrel, thinks it opportune to make himself scarce. He has indeed, a very good excuse, as he is the ship's Intelligence Officer and it is time for him to go to the office beneath the fore bridge where he employs himself in that capacity.

Stapleton, left alone with Dale, presses the question.

"There were one or two things that didn't seem quite to fit in, to my mind," Dale replies.

"What things?"

"Well, one was that for people who had been drifting all day in an open boat with hardly any clothing to speak of, and in this weather, they didn't strike me as being quite so much done in as one might expect. The tall girl, the one you were so chummy with, for instance----"

"Yes? What about her?" almost ferociously.

"Eh? What are you looking so shirty about? I was only going to say that she didn't look as if she had been under the weather to any extent. No more did the man. Indeed, except for the fact that they both had very red noses there didn't seem much matter with either of them!"

An indignant snort is Stapleton's reply. _Red noses!_ Norah's nose--_red_, indeed! He contrives to smother his indignation, and remarks in an unnaturally calm voice:

"And the younger girl? Perhaps you thought her, too, in a buxom state of health, what?"

"No, of course not. That's just what I told you--it was her evident condition of collapse which told me that the others also must have really suffered even if they didn't show it so much."

"How very observant of you!"--Stapleton is not showing the best side of his character now. It is unlike him to sneer in this way, and to quarrel with his old friend; but love is responsible, very often, for upsetting people's tempers.

"And what else did you notice that was suspicious?" he goes on, still aggrieved.

"Oh, that was the chief thing. But there was another little point also--didn't you notice it?--one of 'em said their ship was torpedoed at five o'clock, and the other, your girl, I think it was--said seven."

"_My girl!_" echoes Stapleton, now thoroughly angry. "I can see no occasion for _coarseness_ on your part, Dale, and I'll thank you not to speak of the lady again in that way!" A curious point to quarrel about, since if there is one particular light in which he regards Norah Sheridan it is undoubtedly as _his girl_! But again, there is no accounting for the whimsies of a man in love.

"And what's more," continues the irate officer, "I consider you no better than a suspicious-minded busybody to entertain for a single moment such ideas as these. They don't do you much credit, I must say!"

Dale is surprised at the other man's vehemence. "All right, old man," he says kindly, "don't get annoyed about it. Sorry if I've said anything to offend you. Anyhow, I've got to go for'ard to the sick bay now, so you can just calm down and forgive me by the time I come back."

He goes, leaving Stapleton still angry and unappeased.

Which is a very great pity. Stapleton remembers this one-sided quarrel afterwards with bitter shame and grief.

For it is the last time he ever sets eyes on his old friend.

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