"There's no news of the _Andromeda_, and _her_ rate is all right," he said.

David scowled at him.

"D--n the rate!" he cried. "I want to 'ear of the ship. Wot the----"

But his subordinate vanished. David read a few more letters. Some were from the families of such of the _Andromeda's_ crew as lived in South Shields, the Hartlepools, Whitby. They asked as a great favor that a telegram might be sent when----

"Oh, curse my luck!" groaned the man, quivering under the conviction that the _Andromeda_ was lost "by the act of G.o.d" as the charter-party puts it. The belief unnerved him. Those words have an ominous ring in the ears of evil-doers. He could show a bold front to his fellowmen, but he squirmed under the dread conception of a supernatural vengeance.

So, like every other malefactor, David railed against his "luck."

Little did he guess the extraordinary turn that his "luck" was about to take.

The office boy announced a visitor, evidently not the terrible Bulmer, since he said:

"Gennelman to see yer, sir."

"Oo is it?" growled the shipowner.

"Gennelman from the noospaper, sir."

"Can't be bothered."

"'E sez hit's most himportant, sir."

"Wot is?"

"I dunno, sir."

"Well, show 'im in. I'll soon settle 'im."

A quiet-mannered young man appeared. He ignored David's sharp, "Now, wot can I do for you?" and drew up a chair, on which he seated himself, uninvited.

"May I ask if you have received any private news of the _Andromeda_?"

he began.

"No."

"In that case, you must prepare yourself for a statement that may give you a shock," said the journalist.

David creaked round in his chair. His face, not so red as of yore, paled distinctly.

"Is she lost?" said he in a strangely subdued tone.

"I--I fear she is. But there is much more than an ordinary shipwreck at issue. Several telegrams of the gravest import have reached us this morning. Perhaps, before I ask you any questions, you ought to read them. They are in type already, and I have brought you proofs. Here is the first."

David took from the interviewer's outstretched hand a long strip of white paper. For an appreciable time his seething brain refused to comprehend the curiously black letters that grouped themselves into words on the limp sheet. And, indeed, he was not to be blamed if he was dull of understanding, for this is what he read:

"REVOLUTION IN BRAZIL.

"SERIOUS POSITION.

"STARTLING ESCAPADE OF A BRITISH SHIP.

"RIO DE JANEIRO, September 5th. A situation of exceptional gravity has evidently arisen on the island of Fernando do Noronha, whence, it is said, ex-President De Sylva recently attempted to escape. A battleship and two cruisers have been despatched thither under forced draught. No public telegrams have been received from the island during the past week, and the authorities absolutely refuse any information as to earlier events, though the local press hints at some extraordinary developments not unconnected with the appearance off the island of a British steamship known as the _Andromeda_.

"_Later_--De Sylva landed last night at the small port of Maceio in the province of Alagoas, a hundred miles south of Pernambuco. It is currently reported that Fernando Noronha was captured by a gang of British freebooters. De Sylva's return is unquestionable. To-day he issued a proclamation, and his partisans have seized some portion of the railway. Excitement here is at fever heat."

Verity glared at the journalist. He laughed, almost hysterically.

"The _Andromeda_!" he gasped. "Wot rot! Wot silly rot!"

"Better withhold your opinion until you have mastered the whole story,"

was the unemotional comment. "Here is a more detailed message. It is printed exactly as cabled. We have not added a syllable except the interpolation of such words as 'that' and 'the.' You will find it somewhat convincing, I imagine."

The shipowner grasped another printed slip. This time he was able to read more lucidly:

"PERNAMBUCO, September 4th. Public interest in the abortive attempt to reinstate Dom Corria De Sylva as President was waning rapidly when it was fanned into fresh activity by news that reached this port to-day.

It appears that on the 31st ulto. a daring effort was made to free De Sylva, who, with certain other ministers expelled by the successful revolution of two years ago, is a prisoner on the island of Fernando do Noronha. Lloyd's agent on that island reports that the British steamer _Andromeda_, owned by David Verity & Co. of Liverpool, put into South Bay, on the southeast side of Fernando do Noronha, early on the morning of August 31st, and it is alleged that her mission was to take De Sylva and his companions on board. The garrison, forewarned by the central government, and already on the _qui vive_ owing to the disappearance of their important prisoners from their usual quarters, opened fire on the _Andromeda_ as soon as she revealed her purpose by lowering a boat.

"The steamer, being unarmed, made no attempt to defend herself, and was speedily disabled. She sank, within five minutes, off the Grand-pere rock, with all on board. With reckless bravado, her commander ran up the vessel's code signals and house flag while she was actually going down, thus establishing her ident.i.ty beyond a shadow of doubt. A note of pathos is added to the tragedy by the undoubted presence of a lady on board--probably De Sylva's daughter, though it was believed here that the ex-President's family were in Paris. Telegrams from the island are strictly censored, and the foregoing statement is unofficial, but your correspondent does not question its general accuracy. Indeed, he has reason to credit a widespread rumor that the island is still in a very disturbed condition. No one knows definitely whether or not De Sylva has been recaptured. It is quite certain that he has not landed in Brazil, but the reticence of the authorities as to the state of affairs on Fernando Noronha leads to the a.s.sumption that he and a few stanch adherents are still in hiding in one of the many natural fastnesses with which the island abounds.

"The British community on the littoral is deeply stirred by the drastic treatment received by the _Andromeda_. It is pointed out that another ship, the _Andros-y-Mela_, believed to have been chartered by the insurgents, is under arrest at Bahia, and the similarity between the two names is regarded as singular, to say the least. Were it not that Lloyd's agent, whose veracity cannot be questioned, has stated explicitly that the _Andromeda_ put in to South Bay--a point significantly far removed from the regular track of trading vessels--it might be urged that a terrible mistake had been made. In any event, the whole matter must be strictly inquired into, and one of His Majesty's ships stationed in the South Atlantic should visit the island at the earliest date possible. _Delayed in transmission_."

Something buzzed inside Verity's head and stilled all sense of actuality. He was unnaturally calm. Though the weather was chilly for early September, great beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

His eyes were dull; they lacked their wonted shiftiness. He gazed at the reporter unblinkingly, as though thought itself refused to act.

"Is that the lot?" he inquired mechanically.

"Nearly all, at present. These cablegrams reached us through London, and the agency took the earliest measures to substantiate their accuracy. The Brazilian Emba.s.sy pooh-poohs the whole story, but Emba.s.sies invariably do that until the news is stale. By their own showing, Amba.s.sadors are singularly ill-informed men, especially in matters affecting their own countries. Here, however, is a short telegram from Paris which is of minor interest."

And Verity read again:

"PARIS, September 6th. The members of Dom Corria De Sylva's family, seen early this morning at the Hotel Continental, deny that any lady connected with the cause of Brazilian freedom took part in the attempted rescue of the ex-President. They are much annoyed by the unfounded report, and hold strongly to the opinion that the revolution would now have been a _fait accompli_ had not a traitor revealed the destination of the _Andros-y-Mela_ and thus led to that vessel's detention at Bahia."

The lady! Iris Yorke! At last David's supercharged mind was beginning to a.s.similate ideas. He was conscious of a fierce pain in the region of his heart. The buzzing in his head continued, and the journalist's voice came to him as through a dense screen.

"You will observe that the former President's relatives tacitly admit that there was a plot on foot," the other was saying. "It is important to note, too, that the long message from Pernambuco, marked 'delayed in transmission' seems to imply a prior telegram which was suppressed. It alludes to a revolt of which nothing is known here. Now, Mr. Verity, I want to ask you----"

The door was flung open. In rushed d.i.c.key Bulmer with a speed strangely disproportionate to his years. In his hands he held a crumpled newspaper.

"You infernal blackguard, have you seen this?" he roared, and his att.i.tude threatened instant a.s.sault on the dazed man looking up at him.

The reporter moved out of the way. Here, indeed, was "copy" of the right sort. Bulmer held a position of much local importance. That he should use such language to the owner of the _Andromeda_ promised developments "of the utmost public interest."