The Bandbox by Louis Joseph Vance (read novels website .txt) 📕

“You told Miss Landis this?”

“Certainly—and she laughed.”

This seemed quite credible of the lady. Staff considered the situation seriously for a moment or two.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said at length; “though I’m not hopeful of making her see it from your point of view. Still, I will speak to her.”

“That’s good of you, I’m sure. You couldn’t do more.”

“You’re positive about this Ismay?” Staff pursued. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

“Not I,” asserted the purser confidently. “He crossed with us last year—the time Mrs. Burden Hamman’s jewels disappeared. Ismay, of course, was suspected, but managed to prove every kind of an alibi.”

“Queer you should let him book a second time,” commented Staff.

“Rather; but he’s changed his name, and I don’t imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight.”

“What name does he travel under now?”

The purser smiled softly to himself. “I fancy you won’t be pleased to learn it,” said he. “He’s down on the passenger-list as Iff—W. H. Iff.”

When Staff went below a little later, he was somewhat surprised to find his stateroom alight,—surprised, because he had rather expected that Mr. Iff would elect to sleep off his potations in darkness.

To the contrary, the little man was very much awake, propped up in his berth with a book for company, and showed no effects whatever of overindulgence, unless that were betrayed by a slightly enhanced brightness of the cool blue eyes which he brought to bear upon his roommate.

“Good morning!” he piped cheerfully. “What on earth got you up so early? The bar’s been closed an hour and more.”

“Is that why you came to bed?” enquired Staff.

“Sure,” agreed Mr. Iff complacently.

Staff quietly began to shed his clothing and to insert his spare frame into pajamas. Iff lay back and stared reflectively at the white-painted overhead girders.

“Got to slip it to you,” he observed presently, “for perfect mastery of the dignified reserve thing. I never knew anybody who could better control his tumultuous emotions.”

“Thanks,” said Staff drily as he wound up his watch.

“Anything ’special troubling you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You talk so darn much.”

“Sorry if I’m keeping you awake,” said Staff politely.

“Oh, I don’t mean to seem to beef about it, only ... I was wondering if by any chance you’d heard the news?”

“What news?”

“About me.”

“About you!” Staff paused with his fingers on the light-switch.

“About my cute little self. May I look now?” Iff poked his head over the edge of the upper berth and beamed down upon Staff like a benevolent, blond magpie. “Haven’t you heard the rumour that I’m a desperate character?”

“Just what do you mean?” demanded Staff, eyeing the other intently.

“Oh, simply that I overheard the purser discussing me with his assistant. He claims to recognise in me a bold bad man named Ismay, whose specialty is pulling off jobs that would make Sherlock Holmes ask to be retired on a pension.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you Ismay?”

A broad, mocking grin irradiated the little man’s pinched features. “Don’t ask me,” he begged: “I might tell you.”

Staff frowned and waited a minute, then, receiving no further response to his enquiry, grunted “Good night,” turned off the light and got into his berth.

A moment later the question came out of the darkness overhead: “I say—what do you think?”

“Are you Iff or Ismay—you mean?”

“Aye, lad, aye!”

“I don’t know. It’s for you to say.”

“But if you thought I was Ismay you’d shift quarters, wouldn’t you?”

“Why?”

“Because I might pinch something of yours.”

“In the first place,” said Staff, yawning, “I can’t shift without going into the second cabin—and you know it: the boat’s full up. Secondly, I’ve nothing you could steal save ideas, and you haven’t got the right sort of brains to turn them to any account.”

“That ought to hold me for some time,” Iff admitted fairly. “But I’m concerned about your sensitive young reputation. Suppose I were to turn a big trick this trip?”

“As for instance—?”

“Well, say I swipe the Cadogan collar.”

“Then I’d stand just so much the better chance of catching you red-handed.”

“Swell notion you’ve got of the cunning of the Twentieth Century criminal, I must say. D’ you for an instant suppose my work’s so coarse that you could detect grits in it?”

“Then you are Ismay?”

“My son,” said the other solemnly, “your pertinacity shan’t go unrewarded: I will be frank with you. You shall know all. I am Iff—the eternal question.”

“Oh, go to thunder!” said Staff indignantly.

But as he slipped off to sleep he could hear the man overhead chuckling quietly, beneath his breath....

The next few days would have provided him with ample opportunity in which to ponder the question of his roommate’s identity, had Staff chosen so to occupy his time. As it happened, Heaven was kind to the young man, and sent a gale of sorts, which, breaking upon the Autocratic the following morning, buffeted her for three days and relegated to their berths all the poor sailors aboard, including the lady with the pink soul and underthings. Of Mrs. Thataker, indeed, Staff saw nothing more until just before the vessel docked in New York. He wasn’t heartless by any manner of means; he was, as a matter of fact, frankly sorry for the other poor passengers; but he couldn’t help feeling there was a lot of truth in the old saw about an ill wind....

Otherwise the bad weather proved annoying enough in several ways. To begin with, Alison Landis herself was anything but a good sailor, and even Miss Searle, though she missed no meals, didn’t pretend to enjoy the merciless hammering which the elements were administering to the ship. Alison retired to her suite immediately after the first breakfast and stuck religiously therein until the weather moderated, thus affording Staff no chance to talk with her about the number of immediately interesting things on his mind. While Miss Searle stayed almost as steadily in her quarters, keeping out of harm’s way and reading, she told Staff when they met at meals. Mrs. Ilkington, of course, disappeared as promptly as Mrs. Thataker. In consequence of all of which, Staff found himself thrown back for companionship on Bangs, who bored him to the point of extinction, Arkroyd, whom he didn’t like, and Iff, who kept rather out of the way, dividing his time between his two passions and merely leering at the younger man, a leer of infinite cunning and derision, when chance threw them together.

In despair of finding any good excuse for wasting his time, then, Mr. Staff took unto himself pens, ink, paper and fortitude and—surprised even himself by writing that fourth act and finishing his play. Again—an ill wind!

And then, as if bent on proving its integral benevolence so far as concerned Mr. Staff, the wind shifted and sighed and died—beginning the operation toward sundown of the third day out from Queenstown. The morning of the fourth day dawned clear and beautiful, with no wind worth mentioning and only a moderate sea running—not enough to make much of an impression on the Autocratic. So pretty nearly everybody made public appearance at one time or another during the morning, and compared notes about their historic sufferings, and quoted the stewardess who had been heard to say that this was the worst westbound passage the boat had ever made, and regained their complexions, and took notice of the incipient flirtations and—well, settled down in the usual way to enjoy an ocean voyage.

Staff, of course, was on deck betimes, with an eye eager for first sight of Alison and another heedful of social entanglements which might prevent him from being first and foremost to her side when she did appear. But for all his watchfulness and care, Mrs. Ilkington forestalled him and had Alison in convoy before Staff discovered her; and then Arkroyd showed up and Mrs. Ilkington annexed him, and Bangs was rounded up with one or two others and made to pay court to Mrs. Ilkington’s newly snared celebrity and ... Staff went away and sulked like a spoiled child. Nor did his humour become more cheerful when at lunch he discovered that Mrs. Ilkington had kept two seats at their table reserved for Miss Landis and Arkroyd. It had been a prearranged thing, of course; it had been Alison with whom Mrs. Ilkington had talked about him in Paris; and evidently Alison had been esquired by Arkroyd there. Staff didn’t relish the flavour of that thought. What right had Arkroyd to constitute himself Alison’s cavalier on her travels? For that matter, what right had Alison to accept him in such a capacity?... Though, of course, Staff had to remind himself that Alison was in reality not bound in any way....

But he had his reward and revenge after lunch. As the party left the table Alison dropped behind to speak to him; and in interchange of commonplaces they allowed the others to distance them beyond earshot.

“You’re a dear,” the young woman told him in a discreet tone as they ascended the companionway.

“I’m bound to say,” he told her with a faint, expiring flicker of resentment, “that you hardly treat me like one.”

Her eyes held his with their smiling challenge, half provocative, half tender; and she pouted a little, prettily. In this mood she was always quite irresistible to Staff. Almost against his will his dignity and his pose of the injured person evaporated and became as if they had never been.

“Just the same,” she declared, laughing, “you are a dear—if you don’t deserve to be told so.”

“What have I done?” he demanded guiltily—knowing very well on what counts he was liable to indictment.

“Oh, nothing,” said Alison—“nothing whatever. You’ve only been haughty and aloof and icy and indifferent and everything else that men seem to consider becoming to them when they think they’re neglected.”

“You certainly don’t expect me to like seeing Arkroyd at your side all the time?”

“Oh!” she laughed contemptuously—“Arkroyd!” And she dismissed that gentleman with a fine sweeping gesture. “Can I help it if he happens to travel on the same ship?”

They halted at the top of the steps.

“Then it was accidental—?” he asked seriously.

“Staff!” The young woman made an impatient movement. “If I didn’t like you—you know how much—upon my word I’d snub you for that. You are a bear!”

“A moment ago I was a dear.”

“Oh, well, I’m fond of all sorts of animals.”

“Then I advise your future husband to keep you away from zoos.”

“Oh, Staff! But wouldn’t you want me to come to see you once in a while?”

He jerked up one hand with the gesture of a man touched in a fencing-bout. “You win,” he laughed. “I should’ve known better....”

But she made her regard tender consolation for his discomfiture. “You haven’t told me about the play—our play—my play?”

“It’s finished.”

“Not really, Staff?” She clasped her hands in a charmingly impulsive way. He nodded, smiling. “Is it good?”

“You’ll have to tell me that—you and Max.”

“Oh—Max! He’s got to like what I like. When will you read it to me?”

“Whenever you wish.”

“This afternoon?”

“If you like.”

“Oh, good! Now I’m off for my nap—only I know I shan’t sleep, I’m so excited. Bring the ’script to me at two—say, half-past. Come to my sitting-room; we can be alone and quiet, and after you’ve finished we can have tea together and talk and—talk our silly heads off. You darling!”

She gave him a parting glance calculated to turn any man’s head, and swung off to her rooms, the very spirit of grace incarnate in her young and vigorous body.

Staff watched her with a kindling eye, then shook his head as one who doubts—as if doubting his own worthiness—and