dinner was out of the question that night for all of us. karamaneh who had spoken no word, but, grasping my hands, had looked into my eyes—her own glassy with unshed tears—and then stolen away to her cabin, had not since reappeared. seated upon my berth, i stared unseeingly before me, upon a changed ship, a changed sea and sky upon another world. the poor old bishop, my neighbor, had glanced in several times, as he hobbled by, and his spectacles were unmistakably humid; but even he had vouchsafed no word, realizing that my sorrow was too deep for such consolation.
when at last i became capable of connected thought, i found myself faced by a big problem. should i place the facts of the matter, as i knew them to be, before the captain? or could i hope to apprehend fu-manchu’s servant by the methods suggested by my poor friend? that smith’s death was an accident, i did not believe for a moment; it was impossible not to link it with the attempt upon karamaneh. in my misery and doubt, i determined to take counsel with dr. stacey. i stood up, and passed out on to the deck.
those passengers whom i met on my way to his room regarded me in respectful silence. by contrast, stacey’s attitude surprised and even annoyed me.
“i’d be prepared to stake all i possess—although it’s not much,” he said, “that this was not the work of your hidden enemy.”
he blankly refused to give me his reasons for the statement and strongly advised me to watch and wait but to make no communication to the captain.
at this hour i can look back and savor again something of the profound dejection of that time. i could not face the passengers; i even avoided karamaneh and aziz. i shut myself in my cabin and sat staring aimlessly into the growing darkness. the steward knocked, once, inquiring if i needed anything, but i dismissed him abruptly. so i passed the evening and the greater part of the night.
those groups of promenaders who passed my door, invariably were discussing my poor friend’s tragic end; but as the night wore on, the deck grew empty, and i sat amid a silence that in my miserable state i welcomed more than the presence of any friend, saving only the one whom i should never welcome again.
since i had not counted the bells, to this day i have only the vaguest idea respecting the time whereat the next incident occurred which it is my duty to chronicle. perhaps i was on the verge of falling asleep, seated there as i was; at any rate, i could scarcely believe myself awake, when, unheralded by any footsteps to indicate his coming, some one who seemed to be crouching outside my stateroom, slightly raised himself and peered in through the porthole—which i had not troubled to close.
he must have been a fairly tall man to have looked in at all, and although his features were indistinguishable in the darkness, his outline, which was clearly perceptible against the white boat beyond, was unfamiliar to me. he seemed to have a small, and oddly swathed head, and what i could make out of the gaunt neck and square shoulders in some way suggested an unnatural thinness; in short, the smudgy silhouette in the porthole was weirdly like that of a mummy!
for some moments i stared at the apparition; then, rousing myself from the apathy into which i had sunk, i stood up very quickly and stepped across the room. as i did so the figure vanished, and when i threw open the door and looked out upon the deck... the deck was wholly untenanted!
i realized at once that it would be useless, even had i chosen the course, to seek confirmation of what i had seen from the officer on the bridge: my own berth, together with the one adjoining—that of the bishop—was not visible from the bridge.
for some time i stood in my doorway, wondering in a disinterested fashion which now i cannot explain, if the hidden enemy had revealed himself to me, or if disordered imagination had played me a trick. later, i was destined to know the truth of the matter, but when at last i fell into a troubled sleep, that night, i was still in some doubt upon the point.
my state of mind when i awakened on the following day was indescribable; i found it difficult to doubt that nayland smith would meet me on the way to the bathroom as usual, with the cracked briar fuming between his teeth. i felt myself almost compelled to pass around to his stateroom in order to convince myself that he was not really there. the catastrophe was still unreal to me, and the world a dream-world. indeed i retain scarcely any recollections of the traffic of that day, or of the days that followed it until we reached port said.
two things only made any striking appeal to my dulled intelligence at that time. these were: the aloof attitude of dr. stacey, who seemed carefully to avoid me; and a curious circumstance which the second officer mentioned in conversation one evening as we strolled up and down the main deck together.
“either i was fast asleep at my post, dr. petrie,” he said, “or last night, in the middle watch, some one or something came over the side of the ship just aft the bridge, slipped across the deck, and disappeared.”
i stared at him wonderingly.
“do you mean something that came up out of the sea?” i said.
“nothing could very well have come up out of the sea,” he replied, smiling slightly, “so that it must have come up from the deck below.”
“was it a man?”
“it looked like a man, and a fairly tall one, but he came and was gone like a flash, and i saw no more of him up to the time i was relieved. to tell you the truth, i did not report it because i thought i must have been dozing; it’s a dead slow watch, and the navigation on this part of the run is child’s play.”
i was on the point of telling him what i had seen myself, two evenings before, but for some reason i refrained from doing so, although i think had i confided in him he would have abandoned the idea that what he had seen was phantasmal; for the pair of us could not very well have been dreaming. some malignant presence haunted the ship; i could not doubt this; yet i remained passive, sunk in a lethargy of sorrow.
we were scheduled to reach port said at about eight o’clock in the evening, but by reason of the delay occasioned so tragically, i learned that in all probability we should not arrive earlier than midnight, whilst passengers would not go ashore until the following morning. karamaneh who had been staring ahead all day, seeking a first glimpse of her native land, was determined to remain up until the hour of our arrival, but after dinner a notice was posted up that we should not be in before two a.m. even those passengers who were the most enthusiastic thereupon determined to postpone, for a few hours, their first glimpse of the land of the pharaohs and even to forego the sight—one of the strangest and most interesting in the world—of port said by night.
for my own part, i confess that all the interest and hope with which i had looked forward to our arrival, had left me, and often i detected tears in the eyes of karamaneh whereby i knew that the coldness in my heart had manifested itself even to her. i had sustained the greatest blow of my life, and not even the presence of so lovely a companion could entirely recompense me for the loss of my dearest friend.
the lights on the egyptian shore were faintly visible when the last group of stragglers on deck broke up. i had long since prevailed upon karamaneh to retire, and now, utterly sick at heart, i sought my own stateroom, mechanically undressed, and turned in.
it may, or may not be singular that i had neglected all precautions since the night of the tragedy; i was not even conscious of a desire to visit retribution upon our hidden enemy; in some strange fashion i took it for granted that there would be no further attempts upon karamaneh, aziz, or myself. i had not troubled to confirm smith’s surmise respecting the closing of the portholes; but i know now for a fact that, whereas they had been closed from the time of our leaving the straits of messina, to-night, in sight of the egyptian coast, the regulation was relaxed again. i cannot say if this is usual, but that it occurred on this ship is a fact to which i can testify—a fact to which my attention was to be drawn dramatically.
the night was steamingly hot, and because i welcomed the circumstance that my own port was widely opened, i reflected that those on the lower decks might be open also. a faint sense of danger stirred within me; indeed, i sat upright and was about to spring out of my berth when that occurred which induced me to change my mind.
all passengers had long since retired, and a midnight silence descended upon the ship, for we were not yet close enough to port for any unusual activities to have commenced.
clearly outlined in the open porthole there suddenly arose that same grotesque silhouette which i had seen once before.
prompted by i know not what, i lay still and simulated heavy breathing; for it was evident to me that i must be partly visible to the watcher, so bright was the night. for ten—twenty—thirty seconds he studied me in absolute silence, that gaunt thing so like a mummy; and, with my eyes partly closed, i watched him, breathing heavily all the time. then, making no more noise than a cat, he moved away across the deck, and i could judge of his height by the fact that his small, swathed head remained visible almost to the time that he passed to the end of the white boat which swung opposite my stateroom.
in a moment i slipped quietly to the floor, crossed, and peered out of the porthole; so that at last i had a clear view of the sinister mummy-man. he was crouching under the bow of the boat, and attaching to the white rails, below, a contrivance of a kind with which i was not entirely unfamiliar. this was a thin ladder of silken rope, having bamboo rungs, with two metal hooks for attaching it to any suitable object.
the one thus engaged was, as karamaneh had declared, almost superhumanly thin. his loins were swathed in a sort of linen garment, and his head so bound about, turban fashion, that only his gleaming eyes remained visible. the bare limbs and body were of a dusky yellow color, and, at sight of him, i experienced a sudden nausea.
my pistol was in my cabin-trunk, and to have found it in the dark, without making a good deal of noise, would have been impossible. doubting how i should act, i stood watching the man with the swathed head whilst he threw the end of the ladder over the side, crept past the bow of the boat, and swung his gaunt body over the rail, exhibiting the agility of an ape. one quick glance fore and aft he gave, then began to swarm down the ladder: in which instant i knew his mission.
with a choking cry, which forced itself unwilled from my lips, i tore at the door, threw it open, and sprang across the deck. plans, i had none, and since i carried no instrument wherewith to sever the ladder, the murderer might indeed have carried out his design for all that i could have done to prevent him, were it not that another took a hand in the game....
at the moment that the mummy-man—his head now on a level with the deck—perceived me, he stopped dead. coincident with his stopping, the crack of a pistol shot sounded—from immediately beyond the boat.
uttering a sort of sobbing sound, the creature fell—then clutched, with straining yellow fingers, at the rails, and, seemingly by dint of a great effort, swarmed along aft some twenty feet, with incredible swiftness and agility, and clambered onto the deck.
a second shot cracked sharply; and a voice (god! was i mad!) cried: “hold him, petrie!”
rigid with fearful astonishment i stood, as out from the boat above me leaped a figure attired solely in shirt and trousers. the newcomer leaped away in the wake of the mummy-man—who had vanished around the corner by the smoke-room. over his shoulder he cried back at me:
“the bishop’s stateroom! see that no one enters!”
i clutched at my head—which seemed to be fiery hot; i realized in my own person the sensation of one who knows himself mad.
for the man who pursued the mummy was nayland smith!
i stood in the bishop’s state-room, nayland smith, his gaunt face wet with perspiration, beside me, handling certain odd looking objects which littered the place, and lay about amid the discarded garments of the absent cleric.
“pneumatic pads!” he snapped. “the man was a walking air-cushion!” he gingerly fingered two strange rubber appliances. “for distending the cheeks,” he muttered, dropping them disgustedly on the floor. “his hands and wrists betrayed him, petrie. he wore his cuff unusually long but he could not entirely hide his bony wrists. to have watched him, whilst remaining myself unseen, was next to impossible; hence my device of tossing a dummy overboard, calculated to float for less than ten minutes! it actually floated nearly fifteen, as a matter of fact, and i had some horrible moments!”
“smith!” i said—“how could you submit me...”
he clapped his hands on my shoulders.
“my dear old chap—there was no other way, believe me. from that boat i could see right into his stateroom, but, once in, i dare not leave it—except late at night, stealthily! the second spotted me one night and i thought the game was up, but evidently he didn’t report it.”
“but you might have confided...”
“impossible! i’ll admit i nearly fell to the temptation that first night; for i could see into your room as well as into his!” he slapped me boisterously on the back, but his gray eyes were suspiciously moist. “dear old petrie! thank god for our friends! but you’d be the first to admit, old man, that you’re a dead rotten actor! your portrayal of grief for the loss of a valued chum would not have convinced a soul on board!
“therefore i made use of stacey, whose callous attitude was less remarkable. gad, petrie! i nearly bagged our man the first night! the elaborate plan—marconi message to get you out of the way, and so forth—had miscarried, and he knew the porthole trick would be useless once we got into the open sea. he took a big chance. he discarded his clerical guise and peeped into your room—you remember?—but you were awake, and i made no move when he slipped back to his own cabin; i wanted to take him red-handed.”
“have you any idea...”
“who he is? no more than where he is! probably some creature of dr. fu-manchu specially chosen for the purpose; obviously a man of culture, and probably of thug ancestry. i hit him—in the shoulder; but even then he ran like a hare. we’ve searched the ship, without result. he may have gone overboard and chanced the swim to shore...”
we stepped out onto the deck. around us was that unforgettable scene—port said by night. the ship was barely moving through the glassy water, now. smith took my arm and we walked forward. above us was the mighty peace of egypt’s sky ablaze with splendor; around and about us moved the unique turmoil of the clearing-house of the near east.
“i would give much to know the real identity of the bishop of damascus,” muttered smith.
he stopped abruptly, snapping his teeth together and grasping my arm as in a vise. hard upon his words had followed the rattling clangor as the great anchor was let go; but horribly intermingled with the metallic roar there came to us such a fearful, inarticulate shrieking as to chill one’s heart.
the anchor plunged into the water of the harbor; the shrieking ceased. smith turned to me, and his face was tragic in the light of the arc lamp swung hard by.
“we shall never know,” he whispered. “god forgive him—he must be in bloody tatters now. petrie, the poor fool was hiding in the chainlocker!”
a little hand stole into mine. i turned quickly. karamaneh stood beside me. i placed my arm about her shoulders, drawing her close; and i blush to relate that all else was forgotten.
for a moment, heedless of the fearful turmoil forward, nayland smith stood looking at us. then he turned, with his rare smile, and walked aft.
“perhaps you’re right, petrie!” he said.
