The Wheel O Fortune | Page 8

he had in his pocket, and wished he had
used his fist instead of his open hand on the junior partner's face.
This, of course, had singularly little bearing on his declaration to von
Kerber, who metaphorically stuck his talons into that portion of
Royson's utterance which interested him. He bent across the table,

leaning on his curved fingers, spread apart, like claws.
"Ah," he said slowly. "That is good. You would not betray a man who
trusted you. You mean that?"
"I do."
"Very well, then. I offer you the position of second mate on my yacht,
the Aphrodite. She is a sailing vessel, with auxiliary steam, a seaworthy
craft, of two hundred and eighty tons. I pay well, but I ask good service.
The salary is £20 per month, all found. The captain, two officers, and
fourteen men receive ten per cent of the gross profits of a certain
undertaking--the gross profits, remember--divided in proportion to their
wages. If successful, your share, small though it sounds, will be large
enough to make you a comparatively rich man. Do you accept, yes?"
Dick Royson felt his heart thumping against his ribs. "Why, of course, I
accept," he cried. "But your terms are so generous, to a man without a
profession, that I must ask you one thing? Is the affair such as an
honest man can take part in?"
"It is. No one can cavil at its honesty. Yet we may encounter
difficulties. There may be fighting, not against a government, but to
defend our--our gains--from those who would rob us."
"I'm with you, heart and soul," cried Royson, stirred out of his enforced
calmness. "Indeed, I am exceedingly obliged to you. I am at a loss to
account for my amazing good luck."
The Baron snapped his fingers with a fine air. "Good luck!" he
exclaimed. "There is no such thing. A man with intelligence and nerve
grasps the opportunity when it presents itself. You took it this morning.
You may say that you might not have been given the chance. Nonsense,
my dear Mr. King! Missing that, you would have found another. Let
me tell you that I have created a place for you on the ship's roll. You
took my fancy. I had already secured my crew. They are all
Englishmen--stupid fellows, some of them, but trustworthy. You are a
trustworthy race, yes?"

"That is our repute. I have met exceptions."
"Oh, as for that, every man has his price. That is why I pay well. Now,
I am going out to dine. The Aphrodite sails this week. You. will sign an
agreement, yes?"
"Delighted," said Dick, though bitter experience had taught him that
von Kerber's last question might reveal some disagreeable feature
hitherto unseen, just as the sting of the scorpion lies in its tail.
The Baron handed him a printed document.
"Read that," he said. "You need have no fear of legal quibbles. It
contains nothing unreasonable, but I insist on its observance in letter
and spirit."
Certainly, no unfair demand was made by the brief contract which
Royson glanced at. He noticed that the Aphrodite was described as
"owned by Hiram Fenshawe, Esq., of Chalfount Manor, Dorset, and
Emperor's Gate, London, W.," while Baron Franz von Kerber figured
as "controller and head of the expedition." The agreement was to hold
good for six months, with an option, "vesting solely in the said Baron
Franz von Kerber," to extend it, month by month, for another equal
period. There were blanks for dates and figures--, and one unusual
clause read:
"The undersigned hereby promises not to divulge the vessel's
destination or mission, should either, or both, become known to him;
not to give any information which may lead to inquiry being made by
others as to her destination or mission, and not to make any statement,
in any form whatsoever, as to the success or otherwise of the voyage at
its conclusion, unless at the request of the said Baron Franz von Kerber.
The penalty for any infringement of this clause, of which Baron Franz
von Kerber shall be the judge, shall be dismissal, without any
indemnity or payment of the special bonus hereinafter recited."
Then followed the salary clause, and a stipulation as to the ten per cent
share of the gross profits. The Baron's promises could not have been

phrased in more straightforward style.
"Give me a pen," said Royson, placing the paper on a blotting pad.
There was an unconscious masterfulness in his voice and manner which
seemed to startle von Kerber. In very truth, the younger man was
overjoyed at the astounding turn taken by his fortunes. The restraint he
had imposed on himself earlier was gone. He wanted to wring the
Baron's hand and hail him as his best friend. Perhaps the other