The Dark Star

“I read the note you have shoved under his door,” said Golden Beard. “That iss why we are here, Karl and I.”

Neeland remembered the wax in the keyhole then. He turned his eyes on Ilse Dumont, curiously, less certain of her treachery now.

Meanwhile, Golden Beard continued busily unwinding things from his apparently too stout person, and presently disengaged three life-belts.

One of these he adjusted to his own person, then, putting on his voluminous overcoat, took the pistol from Ali Baba, who, in turn, adjusted one of the remaining life-belts to his body.

Neeland, deeply perplexed and uncomfortable, watched these operations in silence, trying to divine some reason for them.

“Now, then!” said Golden Beard to the girl; and his voice sounded cold and incisive in the silence.

“This is not the way to do it,” she said in a low tone. “I gave him my word of honour.”

“You will be good enough to buckle on that belt,” returned Golden Beard, staring at her.

Slowly she bent over, picked up the life-belt, and, looping the silk rope over her arm, began to put on the belt. Golden Beard, impatient, presently came to her assistance; then he unhooked from the wall a cloak and threw it over her shoulders.

“Now, Karl!” he said. “Shoot him dead if he stirs!” And he snatched a sheet from the bed, tore it into strips, walked over to Neeland, and deftly tied him hand and foot and gagged him.

Then Golden Beard and Ali Baba, between them, lifted the young man and seated him on the iron bed and tied him fast to it.

“Go out on deck!” said Golden Beard to Ilse Dumont.

“Let me stay–”

“No! You have acted like a fool. Go to the lower deck where is our accustomed rendezvous.”

“I wish to remain, Johann. I shall not interfere–”

“Go to the lower deck, I tell you, and be ready to tie that rope ladder!”

Ali Baba, down on his knees, had pulled out a steamer trunk from under the bed, opened it, and was lifting out three big steel cylinders.

These he laid on the bed in a row beside the tied man; and Golden Beard, still facing Ilse Dumont, turned his head to look.

The instant his head was turned the girl snatched a pistol from the brace of weapons on the washstand and thrust it under her cloak. Neither Golden Beard nor Ali Baba noticed the incident; the latter was busy connecting the three cylinders with coils of wire; the former, deeply interested, followed the operation for a moment or two, then walking over to the trunk, he lifted from it a curious little clock with two dials and set it on the railed shelf of glass above the washstand.

“Karl, haf you ship’s time?”

Ali Baba paused to fish out his watch, and the two compared timepieces. Then Golden Beard wound the clock, set the hands of one dial at the time indicated by their watches; set the hands of the other dial at 2:13; and Ali Baba, carrying a reel of copper wire from the bed to the washstand, fastened one end of it to the mechanism of the clock.

Golden Beard turned sharply on Ilse Dumont:

“I said go on deck! Did you not understand?”

The girl replied steadily:

“I understood that we had abandoned this idea for a better one.”

“There iss no better one!”

“There is! Of what advantage would it be to blow up the captain’s cabin and the bridge when it is not certain that the papers will be destroyed?”

“Listen once!” returned Golden Beard, wagging his finger in her face:

“Cabin and bridge are directly above us and there remains not a splinter large like a pin! I know. I know my bombs! I know–”

The soft voice of Ali Baba interrupted, and his shallow, lightish eyes peered around at them:

“Eet ees veree excellent plan, Johann. We do not require these papers; eet ees to destroy them we are mooch anxious” – he bent a deathly stare on Neeland – “and this yoong gentleman who may again annoy us.” He nodded confidently to himself and continued to connect the wires. “Yes, yes,” he murmured absently, “eet ees veree good plan – veree good plan to blow him into leetle pieces so beeg as a pin.”

“It is a clumsy plan!” said the girl, desperately. “There is no need for wanton killing like this, when we can–”

“Killing?” repeated Golden Beard. “That makes nothing. This English captain he iss of the naval reserve. Und this young man” – nodding coolly toward Neeland – “knows too much already. That iss not wanton killing. Also! You talk too much. Do you hear? We are due to drop anchor about 2:30. God knows there will be enough rushing to and fro at 2:13.

“Go on deck, I say, and fasten that rope ladder! Weishelm’s fishing smack will be watching; und if we do not swim for it we are caught on board! Und that iss the end of it all for us!”

“Johann,” she began tremulously, “listen to me–”

“Nein! Nein! What for a Frauenzimmer haff we here!” retorted Golden Beard, losing his patience and catching her by the arm. “Go out und fix for us our ladder und keep it coiled on the rail und lean ofer it like you was looking at those stars once!”

He forced her toward the door; she turned, struggling, to confront him:

“Then for God’s sake, give this man a chance! Don’t leave him tied here to be blown to atoms! Give him a chance – anything except this! Throw him out of the port, there!” She pointed at the closed port, evaded Golden Beard, sprang upon the sofa, unscrewed the glass cover, and swung it open.

The port was too small even to admit the passage of her own body; she realised it; Golden Beard laughed and turned to examine the result of Ali Baba’s wiring.

For a second the girl gazed wildly around her, as though seeking some help in her terrible dilemma, then she snatched up a bit of the torn sheeting, tied it to the screw of the porthole cover, and flung the end out where it fluttered in the darkness.

As she sprang to the floor Golden Beard swung round in renewed anger at her for still loitering.

“Sacreminton!” he exclaimed. “It is time you do your part! Go to your post then! We remain here until five minutes is left us. Then we join you.”

The girl nodded, turned to the door.

“Wait! You understand the plan?”

“Yes.”

“You understand that you do not go overboard until we arrive, no matter what happens?”

“Yes.”

He stood looking at her for a moment, then with a shrug he went over and patted her shoulder.

“That’s my brave girl! I also do not desire to kill anybody. But when the Fatherland is in danger, then killing signifies nothing – is of no consequence – pouf! – no lives are of importance then – not even our own!” He laughed in a fashion almost kindly and clapped her lightly once more on her shoulder: “Go, my child. The Fatherland is in danger!”

She went, not looking back. He closed and locked the door behind her and calmly turned to aid Ali Baba who was still fussing with the wires. Presently, however, he mounted the bed where Neeland sat tied and gagged; pulled from his pockets an auger with its bit, a screw-eye, and block and tackle; and, standing on the bed, began to bore a hole in the ceiling.