read the letter that was enclosed with the documents he took from your friend. Now, have you made any calculations about this voyage?'
'Calculations? I don't know what you mean.'
'Well, I mean just this: We shall probably reach Queenstown on Saturday afternoon. This report, making allowance for the difference in the time, will appear in the Argus on Sunday morning. Your telegram will reach your house or your firm on Saturday night, when nothing can be done with it. Sunday nothing can be done. Monday morning, before your report will reach the directors, the substance of what has appeared in the Argus will be in the financial papers, cabled over to London on Sunday night. The first thing your directors will see of it will be in the London financial papers on Monday morning. That's what I mean, Mr. Wentworth, by calculating the voyage.'
Wentworth said no more. He staggered to his feet and made his way as best he could to the state-room, groping like a blind man. There he sat down with his head in his hands, and there his friend Kenyon found him.
CHAPTER IX
'Tell me what has happened,' demanded John Kenyon.
Wentworth looked up at him.
'Everything has happened,' he answered.
'What do you mean, George? Are you ill? What is the matter with you?'
'I am worse than ill, John—a great deal worse than ill. I wish I were ill.'
'That wouldn't help things, whatever is wrong. Come, wake up. Tell me what the trouble is.'
'John, I am a fool—an ass—a gibbering idiot.'
'Admitting that, what then?'
'I trusted a woman—imbecile that I am; and now—now—I'm what you see me.'
'Has—has Miss Brewster anything to do with it?' asked Kenyon suspiciously.
'She has everything to do with it.'
'Has she—rejected you, George?'
'What! that girl? Oh, you're the idiot now. Do you think I would ask her?'
'I cannot be blamed for jumping at conclusions. You must remember "that girl," as you call her, has had most of your company during this voyage; and most of your good words when you were not with her. What is the matter? What has she to do with your trouble?'
Wentworth paced up and down the narrow limits of the state-room as if he were caged. He smote his hand against his thigh, while Kenyon looked at him in wonder.
'I don't know how I can tell you, John,' he said. 'I must, of course; but I don't know how I can.'
'Come on deck with me.'
'Never.'
'Come out, I say, into the fresh air. It is stuffy here, and, besides, there is more danger of being overheard in the state-room than on deck. Come along, old fellow.'
He caught his companion by the arm, and partly dragged him out of the room, closing the door behind him.
'Pull yourself together,' he said. 'A little fresh air will do you good.'
They made their way to the deck, and, linking arms, walked up and down. For a long time Wentworth said nothing, and Kenyon had the tact to hold his peace. Suddenly Wentworth noticed that they were pacing back and forth in front of Miss Brewster, so he drew his friend away to another part of the ship. After a few turns up and down, he said:
'You remember Rivers, of course.'
'Distinctly.'
'He was employed on that vile sheet, the New York Argus.'
'I suppose it is a vile sheet. I don't remember ever seeing it. Yes, I know he was connected with that paper. What then? What has Miss Brewster to do with Rivers?'
'She is one of the Argus staff, too.'
'George Wentworth, you don't mean to tell me that!'
'I do.'
'And is she here to find out about the mine?'
'Exactly. She was put on the job after Rivers had failed.'
'George!' said Kenyon, suddenly dropping his companion's arm and facing him. 'What have you told her?'
'There is the misery of it. I have told her everything.'
'My dear fellow, how could you be–'
'Oh, I know—I know! I know everything you would say. Everything you can say I have said to myself, and ten times more and ten times worse. There is nothing you can say of me more bitter than what I think about myself.'
'Did you tell her anything about my report?'
'I told her everything—everything! Do you understand? She is going to telegraph from Queenstown the full essence of the reports—of both our reports.'
'Heavens! this is fearful. Is there no way to prevent her sending it?'
'If you think you can prevent her, I wish you would try it.'
'How did you find it out? Did she tell you?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter how I found it out. I did find it out. A man told me who she was; then I asked her, and she was perfectly frank about it. She read me the report, even.'
'Read it to you?'
'Yes, read it to me, and punctuated it in my presence—put in some words that I suggested as being better than those she had used. Oh, it was the coolest piece of work you ever saw!'
'But there must be some way of preventing her getting that account to New York in time. You see, all we have to do is to wire your people to hand in our report to the directors, and then hers is forestalled. She has to telegraph from a British office, and it seems to me that we could stop her in some way.'
'As, for instance, how?'
'Oh, I don't know just how at the moment, but we ought to be able to do it. If it were a man, we could have him arrested as a dynamiter or something; but a woman, of course, is more difficult to deal with. George, I would appeal to her better nature if I were you.'
Wentworth laughed sneeringly.
'Better nature?' he said. 'She hasn't any; and that is not the worst of it. She has "calculated," as she calls it, all the possibilities in the affair; she "calculates" that we will reach Queenstown about Saturday night. If we do, she will get her report through in time to be published on Sunday in the New York Argus. If that is the case, then see where our telegram will be. We telegraph our people to send in the report. It reaches the office Saturday night, and is not read. The office closes at two o'clock; but even if they got it, and understood the urgency of the matter, they could not place the papers before the directors until Monday morning, and by Monday morning it will be in the London financial sheets.'
'George, that woman is a fiend.'
'No, she isn't, John. She is merely a clever American journalist, who thinks she has done a very good piece of work indeed, and who, through the stupidity of one man, has succeeded,
