A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

enjoyment his pallid face belied, as I entered the berth. “Pray how do you feel today?”

“In first-class form,” I replied, “and as hungry as a hunter.”

He laid himself back on his pillow with a remark that sounded very much like “Oh dear,” and thereafter I was suffered to shave and complete my toilet in silence. Having done so I put on my cap and went on deck.

It was indeed a glorious morning; bright sunshine streamed upon the decks, the sea was a perfect blue, and so clear was the air that, miles distant though it was from us, the Italian coastline could be plainly discerned above the port bulwarks. By this time I had cross-examined the chief steward, and satisfied myself that Nikola was not aboard. His absence puzzled me considerably. Was it possible that I could have been mistaken in the whole affair, and that Baxter’s motives were honest after all? But in that case why had Nikola drugged me? And why had he warned me against sailing in the Saratoga? The better to think it out I set myself for a vigorous tramp round the hurricane deck, and was still revolving the matter in my mind, when, on turning the corner by the smoking-room entrance, I found myself face to face with Baxter himself. As soon as he saw me, he came smiling towards me, holding out his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Hatteras,” he said briskly; “what a delightful morning it is, to be sure. You cannot tell how much I am enjoying it. The sea air seems to have made a new man of me already.”

“I am glad to hear it. And pray how is your charge?” I asked, more puzzled than ever by this display of affability.

“Not at all well, I am sorry to say.”

“Not well? You don’t surely mean to say that he is seasick?”

“I’m sorry to say I do. He was perfectly well until he got out of his bunk half an hour ago. Then a sudden, but violent, fit of nausea seized him, and drove him back to bed again.”

“I am very sorry to hear it, I hope he will be better soon. He would have been one of the last men I should have expected to be bowled over. Are you coming for a turn round?”

“I shall feel honoured,” he answered, and thereupon we set off, step for step, for a constitutional round the deck. By the time we had finished it was nine o’clock, and the saloon gong had sounded for breakfast.

The meal over, I repaired to the Marquis’s cabin, and having knocked, was bidden enter. I found my lord in bed, retching violently; his complexion was the colour of zinc, his hands were cold and clammy; and after every spasm his face streamed with perspiration.

“I am indeed sorry to see you like this,” I said, bending over him. “How do you feel now?”

“Very bad indeed!” he answered, with a groan. “I cannot understand it at all. Before I got out of bed this morning I felt as well as possible. Then Mr. Baxter was kind enough to bring me a cup of coffee, and within five minutes of drinking it, I was obliged to go back to bed feeling hopelessly sick and miserable.”

“Well, you must try and get round as soon as you can, and come on deck; there’s a splendid breeze blowing, and you’ll find that will clear the sickness out of you before you know where you are.”

But his only reply was another awful fit of sickness, that made as if it would tear his chest asunder. While he was under the influence of it, his tutor entered, and set about ministering to him with a care and fatherly tenderness that even deceived me. I can see things more plainly now, on looking back at them, than I could then, but I must own that Baxter’s behaviour towards the boy that morning was of a kind that would have hoodwinked the very Master of All Lies himself. I could easily understand now how this man had come to have such an influence over the kindly-natured Duke of Glenbarth, who, when all was said and done, could have had but small experience of men of Baxter’s type.

Seeing that, instead of helping, I was only in the way, I expressed a hope that the patient would soon be himself again, and returned to the deck.

Luncheon came, and still Lord Beckenham was unable to leave his berth. In the evening he was no better. The following morning he was, if anything, stronger; but towards midday, just as he was thinking of getting up, his nausea returned upon him, and he was obliged to postpone the attempt. On Wednesday there was no improvement, and, indeed, it was not until Thursday afternoon, when the low-lying coast of Port Said was showing above the sea-line, that he felt in any way fit to leave his bunk. In all my experience of seasickness I had never known a more extraordinary case.

It was almost dark before we dropped our anchor off the town, and as soon as we were at a standstill I went below to my friend’s cabin. He was sitting on the locker fully dressed.

“Port Said,” I announced. “Now, how do you feel about going ashore? Personally, I don’t think you had better try it.”

“Oh! but I want to go. I have been looking forward to it so much. I am much stronger than I was, believe me, and Mr. Baxter doesn’t think it could possibly hurt me.”

“If you don’t tire yourself too much,” that gentleman put in.

“Very well, then,” I said. “In that case I’m your man. There are plenty of boats alongside, so we’ll have no difficulty about getting there. Won’t you come, too, Mr. Baxter?”

“I think not, thank you,” he answered. “Port Said is not a place of which I am very fond, and as we shall not have much time here, I am anxious to utilize our stay in writing His Grace a letter