CHAPTER XIX.

DR. ZIMMERMANN CALLS

“You have my authority to take any steps you may think fit, Major O’Shea,” said the Captain. “I have received the usual instructions and of course I shall do nothing without consulting you.”

We came down to the nearly deserted promenade deck. Three young men were doing a midnight route march there--and Nanette, coiled up, squirrel-like, in a furry cloak, occupied one of two chairs. The other accommodated Slattery. “Mrs. P.,” leaving her charge in selected company, had presumably retired.

Slattery was obviously elated. The chairs were set very near to the foot of the ladder communicating with the bridge and the commander’s quarters. Slattery didn’t know that Nanette had seen O’Shea go up and that she was patiently waiting to see him come down.

We crossed to the rail, and leaned there, watching the clear water and the strange phosphorescent shapes glittering in its depths. And presently a slim bare arm was slipped under mine. I turned, startled--to find Nanette beside me.

“Please may I stay for five minutes?” she said. “Or do you want to go to the smoke-room?”

She stayed, and for longer than five minutes. Slattery had disappeared; and the threesome had terminated around a table decorated with tall glasses. We began to pace up and down, Nanette clinging to my arm.

Presently, as we turned, very timidly she slipped her other arm under O’Shea’s.

“Is it true,” she asked, “that there was nearly a mutiny at a reinforcement camp where you were toward the end of the war? And that a company sergeant-major called Meakin was courtmartialled?”

O’Shea looked down at her in his gravely gentle way.

“It is not true, Nanette,” he answered. “Where did you hear the story?”

“I didn’t believe it,” she answered indignantly, “but someone told me.”

O’Shea caught my side glance and smiled--the happy, revealing smile that had grown so rare. But after Nanette had retired, over a final pipe in O’Shea’s room:

“Queer thing,” he murmured. “That that story should have leaked out.”

“What story?” said I.

“The trouble with a group of N.C.O’s at that camp, which rumour would seem to have expanded to a mutiny.” He stared at me coldly. “It was the long arm of hidden Moscow,” he added. “We had agents of theirs in our ranks. Did you ever hear of it?”

“Vaguely, now that you remind me.”

“The ringleaders managed to slip away. But it’s odd Nanette should have got hold of the thing. Well!” He lay back on the sofa berth and regarded me with raised brows. “There is nothing more to be done to-night.”

“Are you satisfied about Zimmermann and Wainwright?”

“About Wainwright, yes. He had been playing since dinner time. Zimmermann nobody seems to have noticed. How long he had been in the smoke-room I can’t discover. We may safely count steam trawlers out, Decies. Focus on the neolithic fauna of South Africa.”

“Shall you turn in now?”

“No,” said O’Shea, reaching up to the rack above his head for a pipe and tobacco pouch that lay there. “I am going to spend an hour with the young gentleman from the Marconi Company. Radio operators are sometimes inspiring.”

To reach my cabin I had to pass the smoke-room door, and, just as I came to it:

“Either of them is old enough to be her father!” I heard.

I stepped in. The faithful three alone kept a resentful steward from his bed.

“Whose father?” said I.

“Hullo, Decies!” the speaker hailed me. “Sit down and let’s have a doch-an’-dorris. We were talking about Nanette.”

“Oh!” I remarked, dropping into a chair. “What seems to be the difficulty?”

“Well,” another explained, “she has fallen flat for that chap Slattery; and we were saying that he’s old enough to be her father.”

“He is about thirty-five,” I hazarded--“a dangerous age for a girl of eighteen.”

“Piffle!” was the retort. “Why, when she was only thirty he would be nearly fifty!”

“Have you pointed this out to her?”

“Rather not! Suppose _you_ have a shot. You are well in with her ladyship.”

“I should prefer to be excused,” said I.

The profound slumbers of my Scottish friend proclaimed themselves to the ear as I walked along the alleyway leading to our stateroom. A sleeping partner who snores is difficult. When he snores in Gaelic he is nearly insupportable.

I undressed to a ceaseless accompaniment that I found the reverse of soothing. Slipping on a dressing gown, I lighted my pipe, determined to go out on the deserted deck; for the night was hot as Sahara; the sea a burnished mirror.

Off I went, and met not a soul. For half an hour or so I wandered aimlessly. When, at last, my pipe burned out, feeling sleepy enough to face the snore barrage, I retraced my steps.

Rounding the corner of the alleyway, I pulled up short.

Dr. Zimmermann had just come out of my room and was quietly closing the door behind him!

I stepped back swiftly. But I was too late. He turned and saw me.

He wore an appalling red gown and a really incredible nightcap. Through the thick pebbles of his spectacles he beamed apologetically, and:

“Mr. Decies--my _dear_ sir!” he said, coming forward. “I can never forgive myselves--never!” He held up a huge pipe. “I did not know that you had a companion. I knock. I think I hear you sleeping. And I venture to come in. I am restless. The smoke-room steward is retired. I know you are a pipe lover, and”--he indicated the yawning bowl--“I have not tobacco, so, I venture.”

I stared him fully in the eyes for a moment, then:

“Don’t apologize,” I said. “You are welcome to a pipe.”

Opening the door, I stood aside for him to enter. My pouch lay, conspicuous, on the bed cover, but:

“I see it there,” Zimmermann whispered, stuffing about an ounce of expensive mixture into his incinerator. “But you are not here.”

Thanking me profusely in a thick undertone, he presently took his departure. I listened to his receding footsteps, then I stooped, pulled out my trunk, and examined the lock.

It was fast. Nor could I find a scrap of evidence to show that anything else in the cabin had been tampered with.

What was I to believe? Could Dr. Zimmermann really be the formidable agent, Adolf Zara? If it were so, he had cool courage enough to justify the faith of his employers. In any event, I determined that O’Shea must be informed without delay of this suspicious occurrence. Sleep was not for me.