The Brand of Silence | Page 4

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 took it up and
glanced at it. A few words of handwriting were upon the paper, words
that looked as if they had been scrawled hurriedly with a pencil that
needed sharpening badly.
"Retribution is inevitable and comes when you least expect it."
The smile fled from Sidney Prale's lips, and the Spanish love song he
had been humming died in his throat. He frowned, and read the
message again.
"Now what the deuce does this mean?" he gasped.
CHAPTER II
THE GIRL ON THE SHIP
Sidney Prale folded the piece of paper carefully and slipped it into his
wallet. Winning a fortune in ten years in a foreign country had taught
Prale many things, notably that everything has its cause and effect, and
that things that seem trifles may turn out to be of great importance later.
He finished his packing, locked the suit case, put on coat and hat and
went out upon the deck. The Manatee was docking. A throng was on
the wharf. Prale glanced at the buildings in the distance and forgot for

the time being the scrap of paper, because of his happiness at being
home again and his eagerness to land. Returning to New York after an
absence of so many years was in the nature of an adventure. There
would be exploring trips to make, things to find, surprises at every turn
and on every side.
The passengers were crowding forward now, preparing to go ashore.
Sidney Prale picked up his suit case and started through the jostling
crowd. Already those on board were calling greetings to relatives and
friends on the wharf, and Prale's face grew solemn for a moment
because there was nobody to welcome him.
"Not a friend in the world," he had said to Rufus Shepley that morning.
"A man with a million dollars has a million friends," Shepley had
replied. "The only trouble is, you can't enjoy that sort of friends except
by getting rid of them, unless you happen to be a miser."
Well, that was something, Sidney Prale told himself now. He had
ample funds, at least, and perhaps he could enjoy himself after ten
years of battling with financial sharks, of inspecting and working mines,
of cutting through dense forests and locating growths that could be
turned into wealth.
Prale put his suit case against the rail to wait until he could move
forward again. He looked down at the throng on the wharf, and up and
down the rail at his fellow passengers. Then he saw the girl again!
He had seen her before. The first time had been at Tegucigalpa, at a
ball given by some society people for charity. He had known her at
once for an American, and finally had obtained an introduction. Her
name was Kate Gilbert, and she lived in New York. It was understood
that she was of a wealthy family and traveling for her health. She was
accompanied only by a middle-aged maid, a giant of a woman who
seemed to be maid and chaperon and general protector in one.
That night at Tegucigalpa, Prale had talked to her and had danced with
her twice. He judged her to be about twenty-eight, some ten years

younger than himself. She was small and charming, not one of the
helpless butterfly sort, but a woman who gave indication that she could
care for herself if necessary.
Prale had been surprised to find her aboard the Manatee, but she had
told him that she was going home, that her health had been much
benefited, and that she felt she could not remain away longer. It had
seemed to Prale that she avoided him purposely, and that puzzled him a
bit. He could not understand why any woman should absolutely dislike
him. His record in Honduras was a clean one; it was known that he did
not care much for women, and surely she had learned that he was a man
of means, and did not think he might be a fortune hunter wishing to
marry a prominent heiress.
He had not spoken to her half a