It is needless to place on record the formula of David's denial. It was forcible, and served its purpose--that should suffice.

"Under ordinary conditions she would 'ave pa.s.sed the island about the 31st?" continued Bulmer.

"Yes. Confound it, 'aven't I bin cablin' there every two days for a fortnight or more? B'lieve me or not, d.i.c.key, it cut me to the 'eart to keep you in the dark about Iris. But I begun it, like an ijjit, an'

kep' on with it."

"To sweeten me on account of the new ships, I s'pose?"

"Yes, that's it. No more lyin' for me. I'm sick of it."

"For the same reason you wanted that letter published?"

"Well--yes. There! You see I'm talkin' straight."

"So am I. If--if Iris is alive, the partnership goes on. If--she's dead, it doesn't."

"D'ye mean it?"

"I always mean wot I say."

The click of an indicator on the desk showed that Verity's private telephone had been switched on from the general office. By sheer force of routine, David picked up a receiver and placed it to his ear. The sub-editor of the newspaper whose representative had not been gone five minutes asked if he was speaking to Mr. Verity.

"Yes," said David, "wot's up now?" and he motioned to Bulmer to use a second receiver.

"A cablegram from Pernambuco states specifically that the captain and crew of the _Andromeda_ fought their way across the island of Fernando Noronha, rescued Dom De Sylva, seized a steam launch, attacked and captured the German steamship _Unser Fritz_, and landed the insurgent leader at Maceio. The message goes on to say that the captain's name is c.o.ke, and that he is accompanied by his daughter. . . . Eh? What did you say? . . . Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm 'ere, or I think I am," said David with a desperate calmness.

"Is that all?"

"All for the present."

"It doesn't say that c.o.ke is a ravin', tearin', 'owlin' lunatic, does it?"

"No. Is that your view?"

Bulmer's hand gripped David's wrist. Their eyes met.

"I was thinkin' that the chap who writes these penny novelette wires might 'ave rounded up his yarn in good shape," said Verity aloud.

"But there is not the slightest doubt that something of the kind has occurred," said the voice.

"It's a put-up job!" roared David. "Them bloomin' Portygees 'ave sunk my ship, an' they're whackin' in their flam now so as to score first blow. A year-old baby 'ud see that if 'is father was a lawyer."

The sub-editor laughed.

"Well, I'll ring you up again when the next message comes through," he said.

But to Bulmer, David said savagely:

"Wot's bitten c.o.ke? 'E must 'ave gone stark, starin' mad."

"Iris is alive!" murmured Bulmer.

"Nice mess she med of things w'en she slung 'er 'ook from Linden 'Ouse," grunted her uncle.

"I don't blame 'er. She meant no 'arm. She's on'y a bit of a la.s.s, w'en all is said an' done. Mebbe it's my fault, or yours, or the fault of both of us. An' now, David, I'll tell you wot I 'ad in me mind in comin' 'ere this morning. You're hard up. You don't know where to turn for a penny. If you're agreeable, I'll put a trustworthy man in this office an' give 'im full powers to pull your affairs straight.

Mind you, I'm doin' this for Iris, not for you. An' now that we know wot's 'appening in South America, you an' I will go out there and look into things. A mail steamer will take us there in sixteen days, an'

before we sail we can work the cables a bit so as to stop Iris from startin' for 'ome before we arrive. The trip will do us good, an'

we'll be away from the gossip of Bootle. Are you game? Well, gimme your 'and on it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Well, gimme your 'and on it"]

CHAPTER XII

THE LURE OF GOLD

"Philip, I want to tell you something."

"Something pleasant?"

"No."

"Then why tell me?"

"Because, unhappily, it must be told. I hope you will forgive me, though I shall never forgive myself. Oh, my dear, my dear, why did we ever meet? And what am I to say? I--well, I have promised to marry another man."

"Disgraceful!" said Philip.

Though Iris's faltered confession might fairly be regarded as astounding, Philip was unmoved. The German captain had given him a cigar, and he was examining it with a suspicion that was pardonable after the first few whiffs.

"Philip dear, this is quite serious," said Iris, momentarily withdrawing her wistful gaze from the far-away line where sapphire sea and amber sky met in harmony. Northeastern Brazil is a favored clime.

Bad weather is there a mere link, as it were, between unbroken weeks of brilliant sunshine, when nature lolls in the warmth and stirs herself only at night under the moon and the stars. That dingy trader, the _Unser Fritz_, ostensibly carrying wool and guano from the Argentine to Hamburg, was now swinging west at less than half speed over the long rollers which alone bore testimony to the recent gale. Already a deep tint of crimson haze over the western horizon was eloquent, in nature's speech, of land ahead. At her present pace, the _Unser Fritz_ would enter the harbor at Pernambuco on the following morning.

Iris, her troubled face resting on her hands, her elbows propped on the rails of the p.o.o.p on the port side, looked at Philip with an intense sadness that was seemingly lost on him. His doubts concerning the cigar had grown into a certainty. He cast it into the sea.

"I really mean what I say," she continued in a low voice that vibrated with emotion, for her obvious distress was enhanced by his evident belief that she was jesting. "I have given my word--written it--entered into a most solemn obligation. Somehow, the prospect of reaching a civilized place to-morrow induces a more ordered state of mind than has been possible since--since the _Andromeda_ was lost."

"Who is he?" demanded Hozier darkly. "c.o.ke is married. So is Watts.

Dom Corria has other fish to fry than to dream of committing bigamy.

Of course, I am well aware that you have been flirting outrageously with San Benavides----"

"Please don't make my duty harder for me," pleaded Iris. "Before I met you, before we spoke to each other that first day at Liverpool, I had promised to marry Mr. Bulmer, an old friend of my uncle's----"

"Oh,--he? . . . I am sorry for Mr. Bulmer, but it can't be done,"

interrupted Hozier.