The Brand of Silence | Page 3

gentlemen in that part of the world who watch the New York papers very closely."
"Meaning the men who are fugitives from justice, I see," said Prale.
"I didn't mean anything personal, of course."
"It does look bad, doesn't it?" said Prale. "I went straight to Honduras when I left New York ten years ago, like a man running away from the law, and I have remained there all the time until this trip. And I have been gone ten years--thereby satisfying certain statutes of limitation----"
"My boy, I never meant to insinuate that----"
"I know that you didn't," Prale interrupted. "My conscience is clear, Mr. Shepley. When I land, I'll not be afraid of some officer of the law clutching me by the shoulder and hauling me away to a police station."
"Even if one did, a cool million will buy lots of bail," Rufus Shepley said.
The fog was lifting rapidly now. Here and there through the billows of mist could be seen the roofs of skyscrapers glistening in the sun. Sidney Prale almost forgot the man at his side as he bent over the rail to watch.
"Getting home--getting home!" he said. "I suppose no man ever gets quite over the home idea, no matter how long he remains away. Ten years ought to make a change, but I find that it doesn't. I'll be glad to feel the pavements beneath my shoes again."
"Sure!" said Rufus Shepley.
"Confound the fog! Ah, there's a building I know! And there are a few I never saw before. We're beginning to get in, aren't we? Ought to dock before noon, don't you think?"
"Sure thing!"
"A hotel, a bath, fresh clothes--and then for hour after hour of walking around and taking in the sights!" Prale said.
"Better engage a taxi if you expect to take 'em all in before night, my boy," Shepley said.
"I forgot! We haven't any too many taxis in Honduras. I had a car of my own, but sold it before I came away."
"You let the busy auto agents know that, and you'll have a regiment of them----"
"And there!" Sidney Prale cried. "Now I know that I am home! There is the Old Girl in the Harbor!"
Prale removed his cap, and a mist came into his eyes that did not come from the foggy billows through which the ship was plowing. The sun was shining through the murk at last, and it touched the Statue of Liberty. The great figure seemed like a live thing for a moment; the mist made it appear that her garments were waving in the breeze.
"Now I know that I am home!" Sidney Prale repeated.
"She sure is a great old girl!" Rufus Shepley agreed. "Always glad to see her!"
"Well, I've got to get ready to land; I'm not going to waste any time," Prale said. "I'm glad that I met you--and perhaps we'll meet again in the city."
"Hope we do!" said Shepley, grasping Prale's hand. "Our factories are out in Ohio, but the company headquarters are in New York, of course. Here's my business card, my boy. And I generally put up at the Graymore."
Sidney Prale took the card, thanked Rufus Shepley, and hurried down the deck toward his stateroom, one of the best on the ship. Rufus Shepley looked after him sharply.
"Went straight to Honduras and stayed there for ten years, eh?" Rufus Shepley said to himself. "Um! Looks bad! I never put much stock in those Honduras chaps--but this one seems to be all right. Never can tell, though!"
Sidney Prale, still smiling, and humming a Spanish love song, reached his stateroom and threw open the door; and just inside, he came to a stop, astonished.
Somebody had been in that stateroom and had been going through his things. The contents of his suit case were spilled on the floor. A bag was wide open; he had left it closed and in a corner less than an hour before.
Prale went down on his knees and made a quick inspection. There did not seem to be anything missing. A package of papers--business documents for the greater part--had been examined, he could tell at a glance, but none had been taken.
"Peculiar!" Prale told himself. "Some sneak thief, I suppose. No sense in complaining to the ship's officers at this late hour, especially since nothing has been stolen. Makes a man angry, though!"
He put the suit case on the table and began repacking the things that had been scattered on the floor. Then he gathered up his toilet articles, bits of clothing he had left out until the last minute, a few souvenirs of Honduras he had been showing a tourist the evening before. He turned toward the berth to pick up his light overcoat.
There was a sheet of paper pinned to the pillow, paper that might have been taken from an ordinary writing tablet. Sidney Prale