The Bandbox Part 10

"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," a.s.serted 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 c.o.c.kspur 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 pa.s.senger-list as Iff--W. H.

Iff."

V

ISMAY?

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 a.s.sistant. 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 s.h.i.+ft quarters, wouldn't you?"

"Why?"

"Because I might pinch something of yours."

"In the first place," said Staff, yawning, "I can't s.h.i.+ft 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--?"