The Czars Spy | Page 4

ashore is quite a treat
when one has been boxed up on board for some time. So we'll accept,
won't we, Hylton?"
"Certainly," replied the other; and then we began chatting about the
peril of the previous night, Hornby telling me how he had copied the
two letters of thanks in Italian and sent them to their respective
addresses.
"Phil blasphemed like a Levant skipper when he copied those Italian
words!" laughed Chater. "He had made three copies of each letter
before he could get all the lingo in accordance with your copy."
"I've been the whole afternoon at them--confound them!" declared the
owner of the Lola with a laugh. "But, of course, I didn't want to make a
lot of errors in spelling. These Italians are so very punctilious."
"Well, you certainly did the right thing to thank the Admiral," I said.
"It's very unusual for him to send out torpedo-boats to help a vessel in
distress. That is generally left to the harbor tug."

"Yes, I feel that it was most kind of him. That's why I took all the
trouble to write. I don't understand a word of Italian, neither does
Chater."
"But you have Italians on board?" I remarked. "The two sailors who
rowed me out are Genoese, from their accent."
Hornby and Chater exchanged glances--glances of distinct uneasiness, I
thought.
Then the owner of the Lola said--
"Yes, they are useful for making arrangements and buying things in
Italian ports. We have a Spaniard, a Greek, and a Syrian, all of whom
act as interpreters in different places."
"And make a handsome thing in the way of secret commissions, I
suppose?" I laughed.
"Of course. But to cruise in comfort one must pay and be pleasant,"
declared the man with the fair beard. "In Greece and the Levant they
are more rapacious than in Naples, and the Customs officers always
want squaring, otherwise they are for ever rummaging and discovering
mares' nests."
"Did you have any trouble here?" I inquired.
"They didn't visit us," he said with a smile, and at the same time he
rubbed his thumb and finger together, the action of feeling paper
money.
This increased my surprise, for I happened to know that the Leghorn
Customs officers were not at all given to the acceptance of bribes. They
were too well watched by their superiors. If the yacht had really
escaped a search, then it was a most unusual thing. Besides, what
motive could Hornby have in eluding the Customs visit? They would,
of course, seal up his wines and liquors, but even if they did, they
would leave him out sufficient for the consumption of himself and his

friends.
No. Philip Hornby had some strong motive in paying a heavy bribe to
avoid the visit of the dogana. If he really had paid, he must have paid
very heavily; of that I was convinced.
Was it possible that some mystery was hidden on board that splendidly
appointed craft?
Presently the gong sounded, and we went below into the elegantly
fitted saloon, where was spread a table that sparkled with cut glass and
shone with silver. Around the center fresh flowers had been trailed by
some artistic hand, while on the buffet at the end the necks of wine
bottles peered out from the ice pails. Both carpet and upholstery were
in pale blue, while everywhere it was apparent that none but an
extremely wealthy man could afford such a magnificent craft.
Hornby took the head of the table, and we sat on either side of him,
chatting merrily while we ate one of the choicest and best cooked
dinners it has ever been my lot to taste. Chater and I drank wine of a
brand which only a millionaire could keep in his cellar, while our host,
apparently a most abstemious man, took only a glass of iced Cinciano
water.
The two smart stewards served in a manner which showed them to be
well trained to their duties, and as the evening light filtering through
the pale blue silk curtains over the open port-holes slowly faded, we
gossiped on as men will gossip over an unusually good dinner.
From his remarks I discerned that, contrary to my first impression,
Hylton Chater was an experienced yachtsman. He owned a craft called
the Alicia, and was a member of the Cork Yacht Club. He lived in
London, he told me, but gave me no information as to his profession. It
might be the law, as I had surmised.
"You've seen our ass of a captain, Mr. Gregg?" he remarked presently.
"What do you think of him?"

"Well," I said rather hesitatingly, "to tell the truth, I don't think very
much of his seamanship--nor will the Board of Trade when his report
reaches them."
"Ah!" exclaimed