The Popular Magazine/Volume 72/Number 1/The Crusader's Casket/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
CONSIDERABLY to the mystification of the Adventure's cook, a “colored gemmleman from Maryland” who prided himself on the excellence of his service for the owner, that somewhat freakish man announced on the following morning that he would not breakfast aboard ship. Furthermore, he had his launch put into the water and was taken ashore.
The boat made a landing almost in front of the staid old Hotel Danieli on the Riva degli Schiavoni, and Captain Jimmy, remembering having read that it was originally a fourteenth-century palace that in its successive times had been the residence of doges, ambassadors and world's notables, and as a hotel had been known for more than a century, felt like taking off his hat and making it a respectful bow. He paused irresolutely for a moment, grinned, consulted his watch, saw that it was but eight thirty on that bright, sunlit morning, and somewhat to the astonishment of his motor sailor ordered him to find a berth near by and await further orders. Then after a surreptitious glance at his clothing, at the polish of his boots, and a fumble at his tie to reassure himself that it was eminently correct, he strode leisurely across the broad way, swinging his malacca stick and entered the Danieli. He trudged past the obsequious and uniformed door man as if he were an habitué of the place instead of making his first visit, glanced sidewise into the breakfast room, seemed again reassured, and delivered hat and stick to another attendant, announcing that he wished breakfast.
The head waiter greeted him at the entrance and was rendered duly respectful and attentive by a gold coin that somehow found its way into his palm.
“That seat over there, please,” said Captain Jimmy in an almost confidential pitch of voice and was thereupon ushered to a seat beside one of the stained-glass windows in the front and, strangely enough, facing another small table at which was seated a young lady with auburn hair, now turned to burnished gold by the light of stained glass. To Captain Jimmy it appeared as if this were an aureole, saintly, glorious.
She was absorbed in a guide book and bestowed upon him nothing more than a cool, casual, indifferent glance before resuming her reading. He had ample opportunity to study her face. There was something about her distinctly thoroughbred, he mentally decided, and in addition to that a suggestion of purposeful independence and bravery. The chin was not that of a weakling and the mouth, although delicate, indicated anything but laxity of will. After that one sweeping, appraising glance she paid no more heed to him than if he had never existed, or never taken a seat at a neighboring table that faced hers. She was too oblivious to his presence for pretense and seemed wholly engrossed in some occupation of her own that was at least methodical; for, when her breakfast was concluded, she thrust the dishes aside with an almost masculine gesture, and spread a map, and with a guide book as reference began tracing certain routes with a tiny gold pencil that she produced from her pocketbook. Now and then she appeared to be in doubt, frowning, meditating and erasing some of the markings to supplant them with others. Captain Jimmy, quietly observant, wondered if all her tours were made in such purposeful manner. When she began to fold the map he hastily summoned the waiter, paid his bill, and without glancing at her sauntered out into the hallway, timing his movements so that he need not depart before she appeared. He saw, lounging in the hallway, the guide Sordillo whom he had overheard talking on the previous night and, even as the rustle of girlish garments behind gave warning of approach, stepped across and accosted him.
“I see by your badge,” he said, “that you are a guide. Perhaps you can tell me where I could find another guide known as Pietro Sordillo.”
At sight of him the guide frowned slightly, but if he recognized his interlocutor as the man he had seen on the previous evening in St. Mark's Square his handsome young face did not betray him. In English almost as flawless as Captain Jimmy's own he replied, with a slight bow, “At your service, sir. I am Pietro Sordillo.”
Captain Jimmy found the directness of the questioning eyes disconcerting, but succeeded in finding a somewhat stammering answer.
“I am a stranger in Venice, but a friend of mine whom you once served recommended you and—and I wish to engage you.”
“I am gratified, sir. And the name of your friend was”
“Farnham. Charles Farnham. An American; but I doubt if you will recall him. A Venetian guide must meet many people,” said Captain Jimmy, with the feeling that he was blundering and had made a mistake in so brazenly prevaricating to this slim young Venetian. “However, that doesn't matter. Are you engaged?”
For quite an appreciable time the dark eyes scrutinized him and Captain Jimmy could not read them.
“I do not remember the name Farnham,” Pietro said at last. “And, signor, I never forget names. But—I am sorry. I am regretful that I cannot be of service. I am bespoken. If I could”
“I seem to be the cause of all this,” a musical voice broke in at Captain Jimmy's side, and he saw the girl beside him, and immediately lifted his hat and bowed. “And I can understand why you particularly wished to engage Pietro Sordillo, for there are but one or two guides in Venice with his knowledge,” she went on, entirely self-possessed and speaking as one American might to another in a foreign land.
“That is what I have been told,” Captain Jimmy said, seizing at any straw for conversation. “I wished particularly to get him to conduct me through the Palace of the Doges.”
The girl's calm eyes studied him for a moment as if to assure herself that she was speaking to a gentleman and then she volunteered, “I was going there myself this forenoon. If you wish, you may come with us. It will not in the least discommode either the guide or me.”
“You are kind,” Captain Jimmy hastened to reply. “I accept, gladly, if you are certain I shall not prove an intruder.”
“Not at all,” she declared, and turned to Pietro with a gesture.
Captain Jimmy, happening to glance at the guide at the same moment, was surprised to discern a tightening of the latter's lips and a flash of disapproval in his eyes; but he cared nothing for these manifestations of distrust now that opportunity had so kindly thrown the girl in his way. They went out together and the shipmaster saw from the corner of his eye that his motor sailor had arisen and stood as if expecting the party to board the launch.
The girl and the guide had paused and were looking in a shop window and Captain Jimmy swiftly made a gesture signaling his man to return to the Adventure. The sailor stood a moment irresolutely as if expecting to receive some orders regarding the return of the launch to the shore, but, when Captain Jimmy somewhat impatiently repeated his signal, touched his cap and started his engine. Another plan had entered his captain's mind, which was that if he wished to become better acquainted with the American girl it might be necessary for him to become a guest of the hotel, something that he could scarcely explain if it were known that his ship was lying in the harbor, and he anything but a casual tourist. No, he decided, the tourist role was the one to adopt. And, as if his deception were to be aided, almost the first question the girl asked brought him in deeper.
“You are stopping at the Hotel Danieli? I think I saw you breakfasting there.”
“Yes,” he replied. “That is, I did breakfast there, although my luggage hasn't yet arrived. Yes, I am stopping there.”
“And I suppose you are touring, like so many of our countrymen do at this season of the year, coming for but a day or two, going, no one knows where?” she asked, but with such an evident lack of interest that he felt certain she was merely making polite conversation. It piqued him somewhat.
“No,” he answered, “I am not one of the rapid tourists. I like to take my time. Suppose I'm rather lazy in my sight-seeing. My stay is indefinite. It may be for but a few days or it may run into weeks. That depends on circumstances.”
As he strode beside her he was almost unaware that he was admiring her with sidelong glances until, happening to look at Pietro, he saw that the latter was fixing him with what he again took to be a look of distinct disapproval.
“Wonder what that boy has got on his mind and why he dislikes me?” the captain thought to himself, but speedily forgot this subject in conversation with his more charming companion.
“And I suppose that you too are here as a tourist?” he questioned.
To his considerable surprise her face suddenly lost its look of calm interest, hardened preceptibly, and without looking at him, but frowning slightly at the pavement as if recalled to something, she replied, “No, I am not a tourist in the ordinary sense.I came here on—on a sort of mission.” And then with a quiet vehemence, and as if speaking impulsively to herself she added, “And I'll stay here too, until it's performed!” There was something like a threat against fate in her declaration that surprised him; but her manner warned him that to intrude with a question would be to tread upon dangerous ground, and at that moment the guide, as if purposely to create a diversion, called their attention to two historic columns of the palace through which those condemned to public execution had been led to death.
But once inside the palace Captain Jimmy found that whatever other matters she had on her mind, the girl was capable of becoming absorbed in the historic and artistic side of her surroundings and, furthermore, displayed an astounding knowledge of what she observed. Once she even disputed a certain point with the guide, compelling his admiration by her argument and making the captain feel woefully ignorant and somewhat “out of it.”
“You seem to be pretty well informed regarding the palace,” he suggested, smiling at her as she victoriously drove home her point.
“Me? I have known the history of much of this palace since I was a child,” she declared. “And I had reason to.”
He was tempted to ask her what that reason might be, but, as if wishing to avoid further questions she stepped across the great council hall in which they were standing and began to inspect at close range some of the adornments. Once again, when they were being led through the Bridge of Sighs with its terrible memories, she stopped and looked through the narrow window into the dark placid waters of the rio beneath, and commented, “There is a tradition that those who might never return were permitted to halt here and take their last look on daylight and the outer, world. Poor, unfortunate men! What despair they must have felt in that moment.”
The captain caught Pietro's eyes fixed on her in the dim light with a great look of understanding, as if he recognized a kindred spirit in the world of romance, and once again was bewildered by the many sides to the girl's character. And this bewilderment was continued when he parted from her at the hotel door, for in that morning's tour he had been amused by her wit, had joined in her laughter, and yet felt that he had made but small headway toward an acquaintanceship.
“I am indebted to your kindness for a very pleasant and instructive morning,” he said, “and—I do not even know your name! Mine is Ware.”
She relented enough to say, after a momentary hesitation as if considering the etiquette of self-introduction, “And mine is Cardell. But please don't thank me for the forenoon. It was nothing. Surely Americans should be friendly to one another when in strange lands.”
That was all. She was gone before he could think of any sentence suggesting a return of her courtesies, or the possibility of other excursions. He felt distinctly rebuffed; quite as if he had failed to make himself sufficiently entertaining to tempt her to a continuance of the acquaintanceship, and secretly his pride was hurt. The guide still was standing near him and the captain thrust his hand into his pocket and proffered an extravagant payment in the shape of a gold coin; but Pietro abruptly put both hands behind him as if to avoid contamination and said: “Signor, the lady pays. She has been your host. I am not a servant who accepts tips from his employer's guests.”
“But—good Lord! You work for a living, don't you, Sordillo?”
“Sometimes I work for love,” stoutly asserted Pietro with a bow, and the captain had difficulty in suppressing a smile at the guide's exaggerated politeness and air of haughtiness.
“Then perhaps you will join me in a drink of something?” Jimmy suggested, but was again rebuffed with an almost equal melodrama of speech.
“I never drink when in attendance upon a lady of such unquestioned refinement and breeding as has the Signorina Cardell. I shall probably be with her this afternoon and it might prove offensive.” But at the look on Captain Jimmy's face he did relent sufficiently to add, “Some other time, signor, when I am off duty, perhaps I shall be glad of the hospitality. But until then”
With an airy wave of his hand and a lift of his hat he turned and disappeared into the vestibule.
“Well, I'll be tarred and feathered if he isn't a funny bird!” the captain chuckled, and then made his way across to the landing and called for a gondola to take him out to the Adventure, which still lay at anchor plainly visible from where he stood, and appearing in the distance like a smudgy tramp asleep in the entrance to the Giudecco.
As the gondolier deftly swung his ornate prow channelward the captain thought of his next move in keeping with his tourist rôle. It might not be wise, he considered, to have his luggage delivered at the hotel by one of his own men, although subterfuge seemed absurd. He wondered why he had not openly said that he was the master of a ship in the harbor and had merely dropped into the hotel for breakfast; but, after all, that might have caused some questioning in the mind of Miss Tommie Cardell as to how and why he should be ashore for an early breakfast. He turned in his seat and addressed the gondolier in English.
“Could you take a steamer trunk and a hand bag back to the Danieli for me and tell them that I shall come ashore and register after lunch?”
The man smiled, displaying wonderful teeth, and shaking his head, paused in his stroke, lifted a gesticulatory hand and said, “Signor, no spika Inglesa.”
Captain Jimmy repeated his words in fluent and unhesitating Italian, much to the gondolier's delight.
“The signor speaks Italian so well that it seems a shame for him to use English! Yes, I can take the trunk and bag and deliver your message. You may trust me that the work will be well done. And I shall tell them that the signor will arrive—when?”
“Some time this afternoon,” Ware replied. “You will have to lay alongside my ship until I get the things packed, but I will pay you for your time.”
“Excellent, signor. Most excellent.”
He fell into his long, swaying stroke again and his passenger turned and stared at the never uninteresting panorama of the marvelous waterway; but behind him the gondolier smiled quietly as if somewhat amused by something, and shook his head until the gold rings in his ears swayed with merriment.
The gondola came alongside the Adventure, whose chief officer had lowered away a side ladder that, like many other appointments of the ship, appeared too well made, too clean and bright, for the use of a mere tramp. The chief himself stood at the head and hailed, “Glad you came back, Captain Ware. We can make our dock right after lunch and the shipping agent has been off to see you, sir.”
Jimmy told the gondolier to wait alongside the ladder, disappeared below and did his hasty packing. The gondolier lounged gracefully on the running board of his slender craft and—singularly enough—held a conversation in very good English with one of the sailors-who had some questions to ask about shore resorts. Furthermore, the gondolier himself seemed to have an inquisitive strain, for he asked several adroit questions as to the master, the owners, and previous voyages. But he used nothing but Italian when the owner appeared behind one of his sailors, who deposited the steamer trunk and bag in the gondola, and even the thanks for the liberal fee given him was expressed in the tongue. The captain, with an expression of amusement in his eyes, watched the gondola sliding away and then turned briskly to his chief officer.
“Mr. Barton,” he said, “I'm afraid you will have to take the ship into the dock and deliver her cargo. About that agent”
“I think I see him shoving off there now,” Barton said, staring at a spot shoreward.
“Oh. Coming off again, is he? That's good. Send him down to my cabin.”
“Yes, sir.” Then after a moment's pause and further staring, “Yes, sir, that's him all right.”
The agent came aboard briskly and with an air of businesslike concern. He was taken below, gaped for a moment at his surroundings, and then remarked, cautiously, “Captain, I've some rather good news for you. Our firm can contract a cargo out at once—that is, of course, if we can come to terms.”
“What is it?” the owner asked, with anything but an air of joy.
“Cement from Spalato, down on the Jugo-Slavia coast, to Alexandria, Egypt. Easy stuff to handle, good berth down there—run right alongside the cement company's dock, steam-crane work, so no delays, use their own men to stow, and full tonnage. All you can carry, if the price is right.”
But to the agent's surprise the owner of the Adventure hesitated, pondered and then asked, “Any rush about it?”
“Yes,” the agent admitted, “there is. It's necessary to get it off immediately.”
“Afraid I can't take it on,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “In fact, I am not open to anything, not even charter for—well—maybe for some days, or possibly weeks,”
And when the agent went over the side he muttered, “That man is crazy!” A judgment in which Ware himself might have concurred smilingly.