The Black Box Part 45

"It's no trouble," the Captain replied, "and apart from the disagreeable nature of your business, I am delighted to have you on board. If you can forget your suspicions about this fellow Craig, I shall do my best to make your trip a pleasant one as far as Port Said, or on to India if you decide to take the trip with me."

"Very good of you, Captain, I'm sure," Quest p.r.o.nounced. "We shall go on keeping our eyes open, of course, but apart from that we'll forget the fellow."

The Captain nodded.

"I am coming down to dinner to-night," he announced, "and shall hope to find you in your places. What the mischief are you hanging about for, Brown?" he asked, turning to the steward, who was standing by with a carpet-sweeper in his hand.

"Room wants cleaning out badly, sir."

The Captain glanced distastefully at the carpet-sweeper.

"Do it when I am at dinner, then," he ordered, "and take that d.a.m.ned thing away."

The steward obeyed promptly. Quest and Harris followed him down the deck.

"Queer-looking fellow, that," the latter remarked. "Doesn't seem quite at his ease, does he?"

"Seemed a trifle over-anxious, I thought, when he was showing us round the s.h.i.+p," Quest agreed.

"M-m," Harris murmured softly, "as the gentleman who wrote the volume of detective stories I am reading puts it, we'd better keep our eye on Brown."...

The Captain, who was down to dinner unusually early, rose to welcome Quest's little party and himself arranged the seats.

"You, Miss Lenora," he said, "will please sit on my left, and you, Miss Laura, on my right. Mr. Quest, will you sit on the other side of Miss Laura, and Mr. Harris two places down on my left. There is an old lady who expects to be at the table, but the steward tells me she hasn't been in yet."

They settled down into the places arranged for them. Harris was looking a little glum. Lenora and Quest exchanged a meaning glance.

"I'm not sure that I appreciate this arrangement," Harris whispered to his neighbour.

"You may be candid," Lenora replied, "but you aren't very polite, are you?"

Harris almost blushed as he realized his slip.

"I am sorry," he said, "but to tell you the truth," he added, glancing towards Quest, "I fancied that you were feeling about the same."

"We women are poor dissemblers," Lenora murmured. "Do look how angry this old woman seems."

An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by the steward to a seat by Quest's side. She acknowledged the Captain's greeting acidly.

"Good evening, Captain," she said. "I understood from the second steward that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me. I am Mrs.

Foston Rowe."

The Captain received the announcement calmly.

"Very pleased to have you at the table, madam," he replied. "As to the seating, I leave that entirely to the steward. I never interfere myself."

Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora glanced away to hide a smile. Mrs.

Foston Rowe studied the menu disapprovingly.

"Hors d'oeuvres," she declared, "I never touch. No one knows how long they've been opened. Bouillon--I will have some bouillon, steward."

"In one moment, madam."

The Professor just then came ambling along towards the table.

"I fear that I am a few moments late," he remarked, as he took the chair next to Mrs. Foston Rowe. "I offer you my apologies, Captain. I congratulate you upon your library. I have discovered a most interesting book upon the habits of seagulls. It kept me engrossed until the very last moment."

"Very disagreeable habits, those I've noticed," Mrs. Foston Rowe sniffed.

"Madam," the Professor a.s.sured her, "yours is but a superficial view. For myself, I must confess that the days upon which I learn something new in life are days of happiness for me. To-day is an example; I have learnt something new about seagulls, and I am hungry."

"Well, you'll have to stay hungry a long time at this table, then," Mrs.

Foston Rowe snapped. "Seems to me that the service is going to be abominable."

The steward, who had just arrived, presented a cup of bouillon to Quest.

The others had all been served. Quest stirred it thoughtfully.

"And as to the custom," Mrs. Foston Rowe continued, "of serving gentlemen before ladies, it is, I suppose, peculiar to this steamer."

Quest hastily laid down his spoon, raised the cup of bouillon and presented it with a little bow to his neighbour.

"Pray allow me, madam," he begged. "The steward was to blame."

Mrs. Foston Rowe did not hesitate for a moment. She broke up some toast in the bouillon and commenced to sip it.

"Your politeness will at least teach them a lesson," she said. "I am used to travel by the P. & O. and from what I have seen of this steamer--"

The spoon suddenly went clattering from her fingers. She caught at the sides of the table, there was a strange look in her face. With scarcely a murmur she fell back in her seat. Quest leaned hurriedly forward.

"Captain!" he exclaimed. "Steward! Mrs. Foston Rowe is ill."

There was a slight commotion. The Doctor came hurrying up from the other side of the salon. He bent over her and his face grew grave.

"What is it?" the Captain demanded.

The Doctor glanced at him meaningly.

"She had better be carried out," he whispered.

It was all done in a moment. There was nothing but Mrs. Foston Rowe's empty place at the table and the cup of bouillon, to remind them of what had happened.

"Was it a faint?" Lenora asked.

"We shall know directly," the Captain replied. "Better keep our places, I think. Steward, serve the dinner as usual."

The man held out his hand to withdraw the cup of bouillon, but Quest drew it towards him.

"Let it wait for a moment," he ordered.