Название: 75 лучших рассказов / 75 Best Short Stories
Автор: Коллектив авторов
Жанр: Зарубежная классика
Серия: Иностранный язык: учимся у классиков
isbn: 978-5-699-72223-5
isbn:
‘Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I say what I like? Over-caution is just what would ruin us.’
‘I believe you want it not to come off,’ said Flannigan.
‘You believe nothing of the sort,’ said the other, speaking rapidly and loudly. ‘You know as well as I do that when I play for a stake I like to win it. But I won’t have my words criticised and cut short by you or any other man; I have as much interest in our success as you have – more, I hope.’
He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his cigar for a few minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian wandered alternately from Dick Merton to myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man, that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to plunge a weapon into my heart; but I betrayed more self-command than I should have given myself credit for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he was as immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.
There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the crisp rattle of the cards as the man Muller shuffled them up before replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he glanced defiantly at his companion, and turned towards me.
‘Can you tell me, sir,’ he said, ‘when this ship will be heard of again?’
They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a trifle paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered —
‘I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters Queenstown Harbour.’
‘Ha, ha!’ laughed the angry little man; ‘I knew you would say that. Don’t you kick me under the table, Flannigan; I won’t stand it. I know what I am doing. You are wrong, sir,’ he continued, turning to me; ‘utterly wrong.’
‘Some passing ship, perhaps,’ suggested Dick.
‘No, nor that either.’
‘The weather is fine,’ I said; ‘why should we not be heard of at our destination?’
‘I didn’t say we shouldn’t be heard of at our destination. No doubt we shall in the course of time; but that is not where we shall be heard of first.’
‘Where then?’ asked Dick.
‘That you will never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious agency will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha, ha!’ and he chuckled once again.
‘Come on deck!’ growled his comrade; ‘you have drunk too much of that confounded brandy-and-water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!’ and taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together, and on to the deck.
‘Well, what do you think now?’ I gasped, as I turned towards Dick. He was as imperturbable as ever.
‘Think!’ he said; ‘why, I think what his companion thinks – that we have been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of brandy.’
‘Nonsense, Dick! you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue.’
‘Of course he did. He didn’t want his friend to make a fool of himself before strangers. Maybe the short one is a lunatic, and the other his private keeper. It’s quite possible.’
‘Oh, Dick, Dick,’ I cried; ‘how can you be so blind? Don’t you see that every word confirmed our previous suspicion?’
‘Humbug, man!’ said Dick; ‘you’re working yourself into a state of nervous excitement. Why, what the devil do you make of all that nonsense about a mysterious agent which would signal our whereabouts?’
‘I’ll tell you what he meant, Dick,’ I said, bending forward and grasping my friend’s arm. ‘He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far out at sea by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That’s what he meant.’
‘I didn’t think you were such a fool, Hammond,’ said Dick Merton testily. ‘If you try to fix a literal meaning on the twaddle that every drunken man talks, you will come to some queer conclusions. Let us follow their example, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think. Depend upon it, your liver is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a world of good.’
‘If ever I see the end of this one,’ I groaned, ‘I’ll promise never to venture on another. They are laying the cloth, so it’s hardly worth while my going up. I’ll stay below and finish my smoke.’
‘I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state of mind,’ said Dick; and he went out, leaving me to my thoughts until the clang of the great gong summoned us to the saloon.
My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been improved by the incidents which had occurred during the day. I sat down, however, mechanically at the table, and listened to the talk which was going on around me. There were nearly a hundred first-class passengers, and as the wine began to circulate, their voices combined with the clash of the dishes to form a perfect Babel. I found myself seated between a very stout and nervous old lady and a prim little clergyman; and as neither made any advances, I retired into my shell, and spent my time in observing the appearance of my fellow-voyagers. I could see Dick in the dim distance dividing his attentions between a jointless fowl in front of him and a self-possessed young lady at his side. Captain Dowie was doing the honours at my end, while the surgeon of the vessel was seated at the other. I was glad to notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite to me. As long as I had him before my eyes I knew that, for the time at least, we were safe. He was sitting with what was meant to be a sociable smile on his grim face. It did not escape me that he drank largely of wine – so largely that even before the dessert appeared his voice had become decidedly husky. His friend Muller was seated a few places lower down. He ate little, and appeared to be nervous and restless.
‘Now, ladies,’ said our genial captain, ‘I trust that you will consider yourselves at home aboard my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen. A bottle of champagne, steward. Here’s to a fresh breeze and a quick passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of our safe arrival in twelve days, or a fortnight at the very latest.’
I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed between Flannigan and his confederate, I was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile upon the former’s thin lips.
The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion, each was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested listener. It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the subject which was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an off-hand way, and would at least have the effect of turning the captain’s thoughts in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it would have upon the faces of the conspirators.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favourable one.
‘May I ask, captain,’ I said, bending forward, and speaking very distinctly, ‘what you think of Fenian manifestoes?’
The captain’s ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation.
‘They are poor cowardly things,’ he said, ‘as silly as they are wicked.’
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