Rockingham To The Sharks

: The Crack Of Doom

At one o'clock in the morning I arose, dressed hurriedly, drew on a pair

of felt slippers, and put a revolver in my pocket. It was then time to

put Edith Metford's proposal to the proof, and she would be waiting for

me on deck to hear whether I had succeeded in it. We had parted a couple

of hours before on somewhat chilling terms. I had agreed to follow her

suggestion, but I could not trouble my tired brain by guesses at the
br /> cause of her moods.



It was very dark. There was only enough light to enable me to find my

way along the corridor, off which the state-rooms occupied by Brande and

his immediate lieutenants opened. All the sleepers were restless from

the terrible heat. As I stole along, a muffled word, a sigh, or a

movement in the berths, made me pause at every step with a beating

heart. Having listened till all was quiet, I moved on again noiselessly.

I was almost at the end of the corridor. So intent had I been on

preserving perfect silence, it did not sooner occur to me that I was

searching for any special door. I had forgotten Brande's number!



I could no more think of it than one can recall the name of a

half-forgotten acquaintance suddenly encountered in the street. It might

have been fourteen, or forty-one; or a hundred and fifty. Every number

was as likely as it was unlikely. I tried vainly to concentrate my mind.

The result was nothing. The missing number gave no clue. To enter the

wrong room in that ship at that hour meant death for me. Of that I was

certain. To leave the right room unentered gave away my first chance in

the unequal battle with Brande. Then, as I knew that my first chance

would probably be my last, if not availed of, I turned to the nearest

door and quietly tried the handle. The door was not locked. I entered

the state-room.



"What do you want?" It was Halley's voice that came from the berth.



"Pardon me," I whispered, "a mistake. The heat, you know. Went on deck,

and have blundered into your room."



"Oh, all right. Who are you?"



"Brande."



"Good-night. You did not blunder far;" this sleepily.



I went out and closed the door quietly. I had gained something. I was

within one door of my destination, for I knew that Halley was berthed

between Rockingham and Brande. But I did not know on which side Brande's

room was, and I dared not ask. I tried the next door going forward. It

opened like the other. I went in.



"Hallo there!" This time no sleepy or careless man challenged me. It was

Rockingham's voice.



"May I not enter my own room?" I whispered.



"This is not your room. You are?" Rockingham sprang up in his berth, but

before he could leave it I was upon him.



"I am Arthur Marcel. And this iron ring which I press against your left

ear is the muzzle of my revolver. Speak, move, breathe above your

natural breath and your brains go through that porthole. Now, loose your

hold of my arm and come with me."



"You fool!" hissed Rockingham. "You dare not fire. You know you dare

not."



He was about to call out, but my left hand closed on his throat, and a

gurgling gasp was all that issued from him.



I laid down the revolver and turned the ear of the strangling man close

to my mouth. I had little time to think; but thought flies fast when

such deadly peril menaces the thinker as that which I must face if I

failed to make terms with the man who was in my power. I knew that

notwithstanding his intensely disagreeable nature, if he gave his

promise either by spoken word or equivalent sign, I could depend upon

him. There were no liars in Brande's Society. But the word I could not

trust him to say. I must have his sign. I whispered:



"You know I do not wish to kill you. I shall never have another happy

day if you force me to it. I have no choice. You must yield or die. If

you will yield and stand by me rather than against me in what shall

follow, choose life by taking your right hand from my wrist and touching

my left shoulder. I will not hurt you meanwhile. If you choose death,

touch me with your left."



The sweat stood on my forehead in big beads as I waited for his choice.

It was soon made. He unlocked his left hand and placed it firmly on my

right shoulder.



He had chosen death.



So the man was only a physical coward--or perhaps he had only made a

choice of alternatives.



I said slowly and in great agony, "May God have mercy on your soul--and

mine!" on which the muscles in my left arm stiffened. The big biceps--an

heirloom of my athletic days--thickened up, and I turned my eyes away

from the dying face, half hidden by the darkness. His struggles were

very terrible, but with my weight upon his lower limbs, and my grasp

upon his windpipe, that death-throe was as silent as it was horrible.

The end came slowly. I could not bear the horror of it longer. I must

finish it and be done with it. I put my right arm under the man's

shoulders and raised the upper part of his body from the berth. Then a

desperate wrench with my left arm, and there was a dull crack like the

snapping of a dry stick. It was over. Rockingham's neck was broken.



I wiped away the bloody froth that oozed from the gaping mouth, and

tried to compose decently the contorted figure. I covered the face.

Then I started on my last mission, for now I knew the door. I had

bought the knowledge dearly, and I meant to use it for my own purpose,

careless of what violence might be necessary to accomplish my end.



When I entered Brande's state-room I found the electric light full on.

He was seated at a writing-table with his head resting on his arms,

which hung crossways over the desk. The sleeper breathed so deeply it

was evident that the effect of the morphia was still strong upon him.

One hand clutched a folded parchment. His fingers clasped it

nervelessly, and I had only to force them open one by one in order to

withdraw the manuscript. As I did this, he moaned and moved in his

chair. I had no fear of his awaking. My hand shook as I unfolded the

parchment which I unconsciously handled as carefully as though the thing

itself were as deadly as the destruction which might be wrought by its

direction.



To me the whole document was a mass of unintelligible formulae. My rusty

university education could make nothing of it. But I could not waste

time in trying to solve the puzzle, for I did not know what moment some

other visitor might arrive to see how Brande fared. I first examined

with a pocket microscope the ink of the manuscript, and then making a

scratch with Brande's pen on a page of my note-book, I compared the two.

The colours were identical. It was the same ink.



In several places where a narrow space had been left vacant, I put 1 in

front of the figures which followed. I had no reason for making this

particular alteration, save that the figure 1 is more easily forged than

any other, and the forgery is consequently more difficult to detect. My

additions, when the ink was dry, could only have been discovered by one

who was informed that the document had been tampered with. It was

probable that a drawer which stood open with the keys in the lock was

the place where Brande kept this paper; where he would look for it on

awaking. I locked it in the drawer and put the keys into his pocket.



There was something still to do with the sleeping man, whose brain

compassed such marvellous powers. His telepathic faculty must be

destroyed. I must keep him seriously ill, without killing him. As long

as he remained alive his friends would never question his calculations,

and the fiasco which was possible under any circumstances would then be

assured. I had with me an Eastern drug, which I had bought from an

Indian fakir once in Murzapoor. The man was an impostor, whose tricks

did not impose on me. But the drug, however he came by it, was reliable.

It was a poison which produced a mild form of cerebritis that dulled but

did not deaden the mental powers. It acted almost identically whether

administered sub-cutaneously or, of course in a larger dose, internally.

I brought it home with the intention of giving it to a friend who was

interested in vivisection. I did not think that I myself should be the

first and last to experiment with it. It served my purpose well.



The moment I pricked his skin, Brande moved in his seat. My hand was on

his throat. He nestled his head down again upon his arms, and drew a

deep breath. Had he moved again that breath would have been his last. I

had been so wrought upon by what I had already done that night, I would

have taken his life without the slightest hesitation, if the sacrifice

seemed necessary.



When my operation was over, I left the room and moved silently along the

corridor till I came to the ladder leading to the deck. Edith Metford

was waiting for me as we had arranged. She was shivering in spite of the

awful heat.



"Have you done it?" she whispered.



"I have," I answered, without saying how much I had done. "Now you must

retire--and rest easy. The formula won't work. I have put both it and

Brande himself out of gear."



"Thank God!" she gasped, and then a sudden faintness came over her. It

passed quickly, and as soon as she was sufficiently restored, I begged

her to go below. She pleaded that she could not sleep, and asked me to

remain with her upon the deck. "It would be absurd to suppose that

either of us could sleep this night," she very truly said. On which I

was obliged to tell her plainly that she must go below. I had more to

do.



"Can I help?" she asked anxiously.



"No. If you could, I would ask you, for you are a brave girl. I have

something now to get through which is not woman's work."



"Your work is my work," she answered. "What is it?"



"I have to lower a body overboard without anyone observing me."



There was no time for discussion, so I told her at once, knowing that

she would not give way otherwise. She started at my words, but said

firmly:



"How will you do that unobserved by the 'watch'? Go down and bring up

your--bring it up. I will keep the men employed." She went forward, and

I turned again to the companion.



When I got back to Rockingham's cabin I took a sheet of paper and wrote,

"Heat--Mad!" making no attempt to imitate his writing. I simply scrawled

the words with a rough pen in the hope that they would pass as a message

from a man who was hysterical when he wrote them. Then I turned to the

berth and took up the body. It was not a pleasant thing to do. But it

must be done.



I was a long time reaching the deck, for the arms and legs swung to and

fro, and I had to move cautiously lest they should knock against the

woodwork I had to pass. I got it safely up and hurried aft with it.

Edith, I knew, would contrive to keep the men on watch engaged until I

had disposed of my burden. I picked up a coil of rope and made it fast

to the dead man's neck. Taking one turn of the rope round a boat-davit,

I pushed the thing over the rail. I intended to let go the rope the

moment the weight attached to it was safely in the sea, and so lowered

away silently, paying out the line without excessive strain owing to the

support of the davit round which I had wound it. I had not to wait so

long as that, for just as the body was dangling over the foaming wake of

the steamer, a little streak of moonlight shot out from behind a bank of

cloud and lighted the vessel with a sudden gleam. I was startled by

this, and held on, fearing that some watching eye might see my curious

movements. For a minute I leaned over the rail and watched the track of

the steamer as though I had come on deck for the air. There was a quick

rush near the vessel's quarter. Something dark leaped out of the water,

and there was a sharp snap--a crunch. The lower limbs were gone in the

jaws of a shark. I let go the rope in horror, and the body dropped

splashing into that hideous fishing-ground. Sick to death I turned

away.



"Get below quickly," Edith Metford said in my ear. "They heard the

splash, slight as it was, and are coming this way." Her warning was

nearly a sob.



We hurried down the companion as fast as we dared, and listened to the

comments of the watch above. They were soon satisfied that nothing of

importance had occurred, and resumed their stations.



Before we parted on that horrible night, Edith said in a trembling

voice, "You have done your work like a brave man."



"Say rather, like a forger and murderer," I answered.



"No," she maintained. "Many men before you have done much worse in a

good cause. You are not a forger. You are a diplomat. You are not a

murderer. You are a hero."



But I, being new to this work of slaughter and deception, could only

deprecate her sympathy and draw away. I felt that my very presence near

her was pollution. I was unclean, and I told her that I was so.

Whereupon, without hesitation, she put her arms round my neck, and said

clinging closely to me:



"You are not unclean--you are free from guilt. And--Arthur--I will kiss

you now."



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