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12
Clyde Lynds watched Archie Abbott drift toward sleep, start awake, then drift again.
Isaac Bell’s redheaded pal would be a goner in ten more minutes, he predicted, and indeed in eight he was fast asleep, sitting up in the chair squeezed into a corner of Clyde’s cabin. Having noticed Archie’s condition, Clyde had prepared for this opportunity by visiting the purser’s office to remove some money from the wallets he and the Professor had left in the safe.
He slipped quietly out the door and signaled a deck steward he had primed to wait, touching a finger to his lips to ensure silence. The steward hurried off and returned quickly with two mates, bigger men then he. They padded quietly along the corridor, their shoes making no sound on the rubber tiles. All three were grinning like men who were about to earn enormous tips for very little effort.
“Ready?”
“Ready, sir.”
“I don’t expect trouble, but just in case.”
“Don’t you worry, sir,” all three assured him.
“If trouble they want, trouble they’ll have.”
“Bet yer sweet life.”
He knew this was crazy. But he had to get a look at the machine to be sure it was O.K. It was a move like this that got the poor Professor the ax, which was why he was paying good money to husky stewards to make sure it didn’t happen to him.
“You know the way?”
“Follow us, sir.”
“Where you headed, Clyde?”
Clyde Lynds whirled around to discover a wide-awake, hard-eyed Archie Abbott in the doorway behind him. The stewards rushed to his rescue, then thought better of it.
“Whoa, Emma!”
Archie held a pistol tucked tight to his torso. “Take it easy, boys. Where are you headed, Clyde?”
Clyde Lynds explained that he had hired the stewards to escort him safely to the baggage hold so he could see his machine. “I just have to make sure it’s O.K., Mr. Abbott. Can you understand? It’s really important.”
Archie took a close look at Clyde’s “protection squad.” Second Class stewards were a tougher lot than he’d seen in First. And one bruiser looked like he’d stepped into the prize ring, though not recently.
“All right.” He pocketed his pistol. “I’m rear guard. Go ahead, gents. Lead the way.”
They went quickly along the corridor and down companionways, Clyde close behind the stewards and Archie lagging behind Clyde, breathing hard and thinking to himself, I could be dining with my wife instead of herding this motley crew into the bowels of an ocean liner.
Both the swindler and his guard were fast asleep under blankets. Neither stirred when Archie, Lynds, and the stewards crowded into the baggage room. Archie smelled something sharp and acrid that he hadn’t noticed on his last visit. Clyde smelled it, too. He stopped abruptly in front of the row of wooden crates from which the smell emanated.
“I smell tar,” said Archie.
“Could be the wine went bad,” said a steward and laughed, “Why don’t we sample some, see if it’s all right?”
Clyde did not laugh, Archie noticed. The young man wet his lips and looked around nervously.
“What’s the matter, Clyde?”
“Uhhmm.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Do you smell something sharp?” Clyde asked.
“Yes, I just said that. So do they. What’s going on?”
