Without further mental parley I went down to my cabin, where I routed
out from among my traps a bronze paper-weight as heavy as lead. Wrapping
the mysterious sheet about it, I brought the package back on deck. There
was not a soul in sight; it was a propitious hour.
To right and to left the coast lights were slipping past, making golden
paths on the black water as our tug pulled us out to sea. The reservists
down below were singing "_Va fuori, o stranier_!" I dropped my package
overboard, watched it vanish, and turned to behold the sphinx-like
Van Blarcom, sprung up as if by magic, regarding me placidly from the
shelter of the smoking-room door.
CHAPTER V
MR. VAN BLARCOM. U. S. A.
For a trip that had begun with such rich promise of the unusual, my
voyage on the _Re d'Italia_ proved a gratifying anticlimax during its
first few days. The weather was bad. We plowed forward monotonously,
flagless, running between dark-gray water and a lowering, leaden sky.
Screws throbbed, timbers creaked, and dishes crashed as the Gulf Stream
took us, and great waves reared themselves round us like myriads of
threatening Alps.
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