CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 April 1938, Page 10

CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

STUART MARTIN.

Author of “Seven Men’s Sins,” “The Green Ghost,’ etc.

CHAPTER I. OUTWARD BOUND Muriel Stacey stood beside the rail of the ship and watched the shores of England fading from view in the evening mist. Beside her, his hand also on the rail, was a man considerably older than she was; a man with grey hair and the slightly rounded shoulders of the student.

“If we’re successful,” he murmured, “and I don’t see why we should not be, we’ll cause a stir when we return.” “Cleopatra’s pearl!” she exclaimed. “The very name thrills me. Yes, it will cause a stir.” She continued to gaze across the ocean. Up and down the promenade deck passengers were parading gaily. It was a holiday cruise on which the great white vessel was bound with a full complement of people bent on at least a month’s voyage. They were going to the Mediterranean ports, up to Egypt and Suez, then over to Palestine and the Agean and back again. But if Muriel and her companion did not exhibit any interest in the other passengers, more than one head was turned in their direction. The girl was certainly beautiful, and she had that air of self assurance that modern girls acquire unconsciously. As for the man who stood by her side, there was something in his manner that suggested the intimate friend. But just how much a

friend and how intimate? Fred Burton, the assistant purser, asked himself that question as he approached them. He had seen them come up the gangway, had been of assistance in finding them their cabins, and had managed to arrange that they should sit at z his table for meals. “A telegram for you, Mr Robson,” he announced, holding out the slip to the elderly man who had turned from the rail. “I though I would bring it to you on deck rather than leave it in your cabin.” “Thank you very much. Purser, are ’nt you?” “Assistant, sir.” Although Burton answered the man he was looking at the girl. And she, to his surprise, and also a little to his confusion, was looking at him. It was she who looked away first. And that was that.

He turned round and bumped into one of two men who were passing at the moment. They were not really passing, one of them was trying his best to look over Mr Robson’s shoulder and read the telegram, and that was why Fred Burton had bumped into him. a

“Sorry,” said Burton swiftly, as he edged away; and saw that the two glowered at him as they too passed on.

Burton halted for a moment, wondering what on earth had prompted the ill-mannered inquisitiveness of the strangers. He pretended to be looking out over the ocean, but he was taking note of them. They had halted abaft a companionway leading up to the bridge and one was puffing at a huge cigar which he held at an acute angle between his lips. He was a small, rather stout man, with a squihting right eye and a scar across his left jaw. His companion was half a head taller, dark; with small close-set eyes. He was smoking a cigarette rather daintily. Burton noticed that they kept glancing towards the girl and her companion. “Look like a type I’ve seen about race courses,” though Burton. “Tough, I imagine. Expect that little fellow forgot himself for a moment and thought he might find a tip in the telegram.” And then he turned his glance towards the girl and the man who stood beside her. He had read the telegram and was handing it to her to read also. They were both smiling. They turned once more towards the tail-end of England, and Burton saw the telegram slip from the gloved hand of the girl’s companion and flutter towards the deck. The wind caught it and drove it along the deck, among the feet of the promenaders. Its owner still held the envelope, unconscious that the slip had dropped to the deck. Burton dived for it, thrusting his way among the passengers. -He saw the paper whirl upwards for a moment, then it slid out ■of sight. It swung round a deckchair and flew aft, hitting the wall of a deckhouse, then dropping almost at the feet of the two men by the companionway.

Burton dodged one or two people, trying to keep his eye on the telegram. He saw one of the men put out his foot and cover the scrap of paper and draw it towards where he stood. And then Burton was beside him.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll hand that telegram back to its owner.” He spoke to the smaller of the two men, the one with the squinting eye and the scar on his jaw. The cigar tilted to an even more acute angle. “Wot telegram?” “The one that was blown along the deck. You’re standing on it.”

Not an answer for a second, while the small eyes of the taller man bored the assistant purser like gimlets. The squinting eye roamed up and down and about the officer, then travelled up to the flying clouds. “Got hysteria, that’s wot you’re got, sergeant. We never see a telegram. Better get back to the helm and steer the boat, sergeant.” “I saw you put your foot on it,” said Burton quietly. Again a silence, the eyes coming back to him and taking stock of him appraisingly. The taller man never his lips. It was the squinting one who did the talking. He took his cigar from his mouth.

“Sergeant, I’m busy takin’ me ease. Don’t cross me. Your telegram musta blowed into the sea.

For answer Burton bent down quickly, grabbed the man’s right calf and, before he could prevent it, jerked his foot up. The telegram lay crushed and crumped under the flat sole of the shoe. Burton picked it up.

“Sorry to disturb your ease,” he murmured as he stood up, and was about to leave them when he felt a hand on his arm.

The squinting man certainly had a set of firm fingers. There was strength in that grasp. And coolness in his squinting eye too. “I am assistant purser ”

“My mistake. I though you was the captain. Assistant purser, hey? Well, me old college pal, I never liked assistant pursers. Not in my class. Ain’t that so, Farvery?” The tall man • with the small eyes nudged his talkative companion. “Shut up, Mason. Let the officer’s arm go.” “You can go,” said the squinting man, wrinning. “Off you go, college keep away from the girl in future.” His grip loosened and Burton turned on his heel.. But the girl and her companion were no longer standing by the rail when he reached the spot. The dinner bugle sounded just then, Fred Burton made his way to the main staircase and walked slowly down to the office where his Chief was poring over lists and accounts. He looked up as the door opened. (To be continued)