The Singing Monkey/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
“BUT what do you think Selwyn was doing all that time?” queried Vi as she leaned on the rail smoking a cigaret.
“I suppose we'll never know exactly,” replied Carnell, twiddling the brass wheel a few inches. “Probably the naturalist man Lamberteau came into the pantry when he was drinking there and Selwyn learned enough from him to see a chance either to get rid of us by scaring us off the ship, or perhaps, which is more likely, to kill most of us off and get both you and the ship.
“That he had found the egg-bombs or got them from the monkey somehow is proved. He must have been mad with rage and bolted down below after trying to shoot me, with the intention of returning with the egg-bombs and wiping out everybody. Possibly he was a bit groggy from the fight and slipped.”
“Or perhaps the ape tried to get them from him and between them they dropped the bombs which killed both of them?”
“Maybe. Anyway it doesn't matter; they're both dead.”
Vi stared speculatively at the mass of the funnel swaying slightly against the misty stars. Above the gentle swish and sough of the monsoon and sea came the limping groan of the engines.
“Poor uncle!” murmured Vi. “No wonder that poor little man went crazy after the monkey wiped out the whole cabinful. He was absolutely insane when I first saw him in the saloon there. Then the monkey throwing that egg—a real one, fortunately for me!—gave him another shock which brought back his memory more or less. I've seen shell-shock cases react exactly the same way.
“But imagine afterward—that beast must have gone about like a naughty child throwing eggs or bombs at everybody he saw. And of course they would probably have laughed when they saw the beast with an egg in its hand. You remember Mr. Lamberteau said that they had thought it a of a joke. Ghastly! I wonder whether the wretched ape killed uncle?”
“No, I don't think so,” responded Carnell. “I think Selwyn did that. He hated your uncle because—well— And I think he had got hold of the bombs and dropped one in the stoke-hole.”
“But what could he have done if he had been alone on the boat? I mean the salvage?”
“Oh he wouldn't have been alone.”
“Don't, please!”
“And if he had met a steamer he could probably have driven a bargain for sufficient men to work the engines. Quite probably. Just as we could now if one would only turn up. However, it doesn't matter much. We can waddle along like this as far as the coast-line.”
“When d'you think we ought to get there?”
“Oh, about four days, I reckon, if this monsoon holds; and I don't think it's due yet to change to the other direction. By , those fellows will deserve all they will get. Three men to a watch to keep even one boiler going is heavy work.”
“I suppose it is,” assented Vi. “What happens when we get into port?”
“Oh, I shall report to the nearest agents and they will cable the owners, who will swear and report to the underwriters, who will also swear—but with joy though!”
“Then you'll go home by mail?”
“Me? Oh, I don't know. They might give me the job of bringing her home.”
“Oh.” Vi was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” she said in a quiet voice, “I might come home—on the Monsoon.”
“I hope you won't,” he answered quickly in a low voice.
“What!” she exclaimed, pretending surprize. “Why not?”
“I— Oh, I'd rather not. You know why.”
“I don't.” Vi brushed back her hair as if trying to see better in the gloom.
“Of course, if you don't want me to I won't. Now it's my trick at the wheel.”
She moved alongside him. As she sought to take the brass rim of the wheel her fingers encountered his hand.
“Come along!” she snapped impatiently, and looked up at him.
Then the two heads melted into one form silhouetted against the misty stars.