The Swindler and Other Stories | Page 7

made his peculiar, shrugging gesture. "What does it matter?
Moreover, what you asked of me was something quite apart from this.
It had nothing whatever to do with it."
She stood up sharply at that, and faced him with burning eyes. "Oh,
don't tell me that lie!" she exclaimed passionately. "I'm not such a child
as to be taken in by it. You don't deceive me at all, Mr. West. I know as
well as you do--better--that the man who did the swindling last night
was not you. And I'm sick--I'm downright sick--whenever I think of it!"
West's expression changed slightly as he looked at her. He seemed to
regard her as a doctor regards the patient for whom he contemplates a
change of treatment.
"See here," he abruptly said. "You are distressing yourself all to no

purpose. If you will promise to keep it secret, I'll tell you the facts of
the case."
Cynthia's face changed also. She caught eagerly at the suggestion.
"Yes?" she said. "Yes? I promise, of course. And I'm quite
trustworthy."
"I believe you are," he said, with a grim smile. "Well, the fact of the
matter is this. The man we want is on board this ship, but being only a
private detective, I don't possess a warrant for his arrest. Therefore all I
can do is to keep him in sight. And I can only do that by throwing him
as far as possible off the scent. If he takes me for a card-sharper, all the
better. For he's as slippery as an eel, and I have to play him pretty
carefully."
He ceased. Cynthia's eyes were growing wider and wider.
"Nat Verney on board this ship?" she gasped.
He nodded.
"Yes. You wanted him to get away, didn't you? But I don't think he will,
this time. He will probably be arrested directly we reach New York.
But, meantime, I must watch out."
"Oh!" breathed Cynthia. "Then"--with sudden hope dawning in her
eyes--"it really was your doing, that trick at the card-table last night?"
West uttered his brief, hard laugh.
"What do you take me for?"
She heaved a great sigh of relief.
"And it wasn't Archie, after all? I'm thankful you told me. I thought--I
thought--But it doesn't matter, does it? Tell me, do tell me, Mr. West,"
drawing very close to him, "which--which is Mr. Nat Verney?"
West seemed to hesitate.

"Oh, do tell me!" she begged. "I know I'm only a woman, but I always
keep my word. And it's only two days more to New York."
He looked closely into her eyes and yielded.
"I'm trusting you with my reputation," he said. "It's the stout, red-faced
man called Rudd."
"Mr. Rudd?" She started back. "You don't say? That man?" There
followed a short pause while she digested the information. Then, as on
the previous morning, she suddenly extended her hand. "Well, I hate
that man, anyway. And I believe you're really clever. If you like, Mr.
West, I'll help you to watch out."
"Thanks!" said West. He took the little hand into a tight grip, still
looking straight into her eyes. There was a light in his own that shone
like a blue flame. "Thanks!" he said again, as he released it. "You're
very good, Miss Mortimer. But you mustn't be seen with me, you know.
You've got to remember that I'm a swindler."
The girl laughed aloud. It pleased her to feel that this taciturn man had
taken her into his confidence at last. "I shall remember," she said
lightly.
And she went away, not only comforted, but gay of heart.
* * * * *
During the remainder of the voyage, West was treated with extreme
coolness by every one. It did not seem to abash him in the least. He
came and went in the crowd with the utmost sang-froid, always
preoccupied, always self-contained. Cynthia observed him from a
distance with admiration. The man had taken her fancy. She was keenly
interested in his methods, as well as in his decidedly unusual
personality. She observed Rudd also, and noted the obvious suspicion
with which he regarded West. On the night before their arrival she saw
the latter alone for a moment, and whispered to him that Mr. Rudd
seemed uneasy. At which information West merely laughed

sardonically. He was holding a small parcel, to which, after a moment,
he drew her attention.
"I was going to ask you to accept this," he said. "It is nothing very
important, but I should like you to have it. Don't open it before
to-morrow."
"What is it?" asked Cynthia, in surprise.
He frowned in his abrupt way.
"It doesn't matter; something connected with my profession. I shouldn't
give it you, if I didn't know you were to be trusted."
"But--but"--she hesitated