“You don’t want a passage, sir? You may be the friend he’s expecting.”
“No, I don’t want a passage—not at present certainly.” Then I ventured on a bold stroke. “Look here,” I said, leaning across towards him, and assuming a confidential tone: “I am a private detective”—which was perfectly true in essence—“and I’m dogging the Professor, who, for all his eminence, is gravely suspected of a great crime. If you will help me, I will make it worth your while. Let us understand one another. I offer you a five-pound note to say nothing of all this to him.”
The sallow clerk’s fishy eye glistened. “You can depend upon me,” he answered, with an acquiescent nod. I judged that he did not often get the chance of earning some eighty rupees so easily.
I scribbled a hasty note and sent it round to Hilda: “Pack your boxes at once, and hold yourself in readiness to embark on the Vindhya at six o’clock precisely.” Then I put my own things straight; and waited at the club till a quarter to six. At that time I strolled on unconcernedly into the office. A cab outside held Hilda and our luggage. I had arranged it all meanwhile by letter.
“Professor Sebastian been here again?” I asked.
“Yes, sir; he’s been here; and he looked over the list again; and he’s taken his passage. But he muttered something about eavesdroppers, and said that if he wasn’t satisfied when he got on board, he would return at once and ask for a cabin in exchange by the next steamer.”
“That will do,” I answered, slipping the promised five-pound note into the clerk’s open palm, which closed over it convulsively. “Talked about eavesdroppers, did he? Then he knows he’s been shadowed. It may console you to learn that you are instrumental in furthering the aims of justice and unmasking a cruel and wicked conspiracy. Now, the next thing is this: I want two berths at once by this very steamer—one for myself—name of Cumberledge; one for a lady—name of Wade; and look sharp about it.”
The sandy-haired man did look sharp; and within three minutes we were driving off with our tickets to Prince’s Dock landing-stage.
We slipped on board unobtrusively, and instantly took refuge in our respective staterooms till the steamer was well under way, and fairly out of sight of Kolaba Island. Only after all chance of Sebastian’s avoiding us was gone for ever did we venture up on deck, on purpose to confront him.
It was one of those delicious balmy evenings which one gets only at sea and in the warmer latitudes. The sky was alive with myriads of twinkling and palpitating stars, which seemed to come and go, like sparks on a fire-back, as one gazed upward into the vast depths and tried to place them. They played hide-and-seek with one another and with the innumerable meteors which shot recklessly every now and again across the field of the firmament, leaving momentary furrows of light behind them. Beneath, the sea sparkled almost like the sky, for every turn of the screw churned up the scintillating phosphorescence in the water, so that countless little jets of living fire seemed to flash and die away at the summit of every wavelet. A tall, spare man in a picturesque cloak, and with long, lank, white hair, leant over the taffrail, gazing at the numberless flashing lights of the surface. As he gazed, he talked on in his clear, rapt voice to a stranger by his side. The voice and the ring of enthusiasm were unmistakable. “Oh, no,” he was saying, as we stole up behind him, “that hypothesis, I venture to assert, is no longer tenable by the light of recent researches. Death and decay have nothing to do directly with the phosphorescence of the sea, though they have a little indirectly. The light is due in the main to numerous minute living organisms, most of them bacilli, on which I once made several close observations and crucial experiments. They possess organs which may be regarded as miniature bull’s-eye lanterns. And these organs—”