PhuePwint/jungle_book · Datasets at Hugging Face

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unaccustomed sight of a richly gowned woman in their midst. Rapidly she
approached the slovenly barmaid who stared half in envy, half in hate,
at her more fortunate sister.

“Have you seen a tall, well-dressed man here, but a minute since,” she
asked, “who met another and went away with him?”

The girl answered in the affirmative, but could not tell which way the
two had gone. A sailor who had approached to listen to the conversation
vouchsafed the information that a moment before as he had been about to
enter the “pub” he had seen two men leaving it who walked toward the
wharf.

“Show me the direction they went,” cried the woman, slipping a coin
into the man’s hand.

The fellow led her from the place, and together they walked quickly
toward the wharf and along it until across the water they saw a small
boat just pulling into the shadows of a near-by steamer.

“There they be,” whispered the man.

“Ten pounds if you will find a boat and row me to that steamer,” cried
the woman.

“Quick, then,” he replied, “for we gotta go it if we’re goin’ to catch
the Kincaid afore she sails. She’s had steam up for three hours an’
jest been a-waitin’ fer that one passenger. I was a-talkin’ to one of
her crew ’arf an hour ago.”

As he spoke he led the way to the end of the wharf where he knew
another boat lay moored, and, lowering the woman into it, he jumped in
after and pushed off. The two were soon scudding over the water.

At the steamer’s side the man demanded his pay and, without waiting to
count out the exact amount, the woman thrust a handful of bank-notes
into his outstretched hand. A single glance at them convinced the
fellow that he had been more than well paid. Then he assisted her up
the ladder, holding his skiff close to the ship’s side against the
chance that this profitable passenger might wish to be taken ashore
later.

But presently the sound of the donkey engine and the rattle of a steel
cable on the hoisting-drum proclaimed the fact that the Kincaid’s
anchor was being raised, and a moment later the waiter heard the
propellers revolving, and slowly the little steamer moved away from him
out into the channel.

As he turned to row back to shore he heard a woman’s shriek from the
ship’s deck.

“That’s wot I calls rotten luck,” he soliloquized. “I might jest as
well of ’ad the whole bloomin’ wad.”

When Jane Clayton climbed to the deck of the Kincaid she found the ship
apparently deserted. There was no sign of those she sought nor of any
other aboard, and so she went about her search for her husband and the
child she hoped against hope to find there without interruption.

Quickly she hastened to the cabin, which was half above and half below
deck. As she hurried down the short companion-ladder into the main
cabin, on either side of which were the smaller rooms occupied by the
officers, she failed to note the quick closing of one of the doors
before her. She passed the full length of the main room, and then
retracing her steps stopped before each door to listen, furtively
trying each latch.

All was silence, utter silence there, in which the throbbing of her own
frightened heart seemed to her overwrought imagination to fill the ship
with its thunderous alarm.

One by one the doors opened before her touch, only to reveal empty
interiors. In her absorption she did not note the sudden activity upon
the vessel, the purring of the engines, the throbbing of the propeller.
She had reached the last door upon the right now, and as she pushed it
open she was seized from within by a powerful, dark-visaged man, and
drawn hastily into the stuffy, ill-smelling interior.

The sudden shock of fright which the unexpected attack had upon her
drew a single piercing scream from her throat; then the man clapped a
hand roughly over the mouth.

“Not until we are farther from land, my dear,” he said. “Then you may
yell your pretty head off.”

Lady Greystoke turned to look into the leering, bearded face so close
to hers. The man relaxed the pressure of his fingers upon her lips, and
with a little moan of terror as she recognized him the girl shrank away
from her captor.

“Nikolas Rokoff! M. Thuran!” she exclaimed.

“Your devoted admirer,” replied the Russian, with a low bow.

“My little boy,” she said next, ignoring the terms of endearment—“where
is he? Let me have him. How could you be so cruel—even as you—Nikolas
Rokoff—cannot be entirely devoid of mercy and compassion? Tell me where
he is. Is he aboard this ship? Oh, please, if such a thing as a heart
beats within your breast, take me to my baby!”

unaccustomed sight of a richly gowned woman in their midst. Rapidly she

approached the slovenly barmaid who stared half in envy, half in hate,

at her more fortunate sister.

“Have you seen a tall, well-dressed man here, but a minute since,” she

asked, “who met another and went away with him?”

The girl answered in the affirmative, but could not tell which way the

two had gone. A sailor who had approached to listen to the conversation

vouchsafed the information that a moment before as he had been about to

enter the “pub” he had seen two men leaving it who walked toward the

wharf.

“Show me the direction they went,” cried the woman, slipping a coin

into the man’s hand.

The fellow led her from the place, and together they walked quickly

toward the wharf and along it until across the water they saw a small

boat just pulling into the shadows of a near-by steamer.

“There they be,” whispered the man.

“Ten pounds if you will find a boat and row me to that steamer,” cried

the woman.

“Quick, then,” he replied, “for we gotta go it if we’re goin’ to catch

the Kincaid afore she sails. She’s had steam up for three hours an’

jest been a-waitin’ fer that one passenger. I was a-talkin’ to one of

her crew ’arf an hour ago.”

As he spoke he led the way to the end of the wharf where he knew

another boat lay moored, and, lowering the woman into it, he jumped in

after and pushed off. The two were soon scudding over the water.

At the steamer’s side the man demanded his pay and, without waiting to

count out the exact amount, the woman thrust a handful of bank-notes

into his outstretched hand. A single glance at them convinced the

fellow that he had been more than well paid. Then he assisted her up

the ladder, holding his skiff close to the ship’s side against the

chance that this profitable passenger might wish to be taken ashore

later.

But presently the sound of the donkey engine and the rattle of a steel

cable on the hoisting-drum proclaimed the fact that the Kincaid’s

anchor was being raised, and a moment later the waiter heard the

propellers revolving, and slowly the little steamer moved away from him

out into the channel.

As he turned to row back to shore he heard a woman’s shriek from the

ship’s deck.

“That’s wot I calls rotten luck,” he soliloquized. “I might jest as

well of ’ad the whole bloomin’ wad.”

When Jane Clayton climbed to the deck of the Kincaid she found the ship

apparently deserted. There was no sign of those she sought nor of any

other aboard, and so she went about her search for her husband and the

child she hoped against hope to find there without interruption.

Quickly she hastened to the cabin, which was half above and half below

deck. As she hurried down the short companion-ladder into the main

cabin, on either side of which were the smaller rooms occupied by the

officers, she failed to note the quick closing of one of the doors

before her. She passed the full length of the main room, and then

retracing her steps stopped before each door to listen, furtively

trying each latch.

All was silence, utter silence there, in which the throbbing of her own

frightened heart seemed to her overwrought imagination to fill the ship

with its thunderous alarm.

One by one the doors opened before her touch, only to reveal empty

interiors. In her absorption she did not note the sudden activity upon

the vessel, the purring of the engines, the throbbing of the propeller.

She had reached the last door upon the right now, and as she pushed it

open she was seized from within by a powerful, dark-visaged man, and

drawn hastily into the stuffy, ill-smelling interior.

The sudden shock of fright which the unexpected attack had upon her

drew a single piercing scream from her throat; then the man clapped a

hand roughly over the mouth.

“Not until we are farther from land, my dear,” he said. “Then you may

yell your pretty head off.”

Lady Greystoke turned to look into the leering, bearded face so close

to hers. The man relaxed the pressure of his fingers upon her lips, and

with a little moan of terror as she recognized him the girl shrank away

from her captor.

“Nikolas Rokoff! M. Thuran!” she exclaimed.

“Your devoted admirer,” replied the Russian, with a low bow.

“My little boy,” she said next, ignoring the terms of endearment—“where

is he? Let me have him. How could you be so cruel—even as you—Nikolas

Rokoff—cannot be entirely devoid of mercy and compassion? Tell me where

he is. Is he aboard this ship? Oh, please, if such a thing as a heart

beats within your breast, take me to my baby!”