# "C Q", or, In the Wireless House/Chapter 18

XVIII
Mrs. Trevelyan avails herself of a “locu penitentiae”
THE Pavonia was already under way the next morning when Lily Trevelyan awoke from a nervous and troubled sleep. The fog had cleared and the air sparkled with the brilliancy of autumn. But her discontent and melancholy had not vanished with the mist. Uneasily she wondered if she had not made a mistake in trusting so much to Micky’s good nature,—wondered if she had not obviously over-played her hand,—had not given herself away. What if he should hand the package back to her as she was leaving the ship? What if he opened it, and should choose to feel that she had taken advantage of him? He might even report the matter to the inspectors. No, he would hardly be as treacherous as that—and yet something might so easily go wrong. But now she was committed. Her name was ​signed to a declaration intended to defraud the Government and perhaps already in the hands of the Customs’ officers.
She sprang out of bed and called for Fantine, but the maid was not there. Where could she have gone? Lily’s anxiety increased. Neither was there any response when she rang the bell for the stewardess. Then she remembered the notice that had been posted stating that breakfast would be served only in the saloon. Hurriedly she began to dress herself without Fantine’s customary assistance. But in the midst of her toilet the door opened and the maid, dressed for landing, made her appearance.
“Oh, Madame!” she cried. “Quel Malheur. I have overheard the stewardesses talking. This Dorrance is a detective!”
“A what!” cried Lily faintly.
“A detective, Madame! In the employ of the Government!” answered Fantine with a white face. “And Madame has not declared her pearls?"
"No,” answered her mistress. “Why? They were not purchased abroad—you understand?
​“Oui, Madame,” said the maid. “But the stewardess believes them to have been bought in Paris. Oh, Madame! Last week they put a lady in prison who did not declare her furs.”
Fantine began to wring her hands and walk excitedly up and down the room. Lily turned hot and then cold. Her knees seemed to have lost their strength.
“Nonsense!” she cried in a tone unconvincing even to herself. “Nonsense!”
“It is true, Madame!” wailed Fantine hysterically. “Madam Corwin-Hill was sent to the—comment e’appellez-vous—the sepulcre—”
“Tombs”—corrected Lily.
“And another lady hung herself out of a window for shame and disgrace!”
“Stop, you fool!” almost shouted Lily. “Why do you tell me such things!”
But she sank into a chair and ground her nails into her palms. No, it was too late. The declaration was beyond her control,—and so were the pearls. She must bluff it through.
As soon as she was dressed she stepped out upon the deck into the gorgeous sunlight that ​flooded the harbor. The Pavonia was slowly sweeping by the green shores of Bay Ridge. Here and there other huge liners were moving in the same and the opposite direction. The Auguste-Victoria, outward bound, bands playing and decks black with swarms of waving passengers, majestically swung past and gave the Pavonia a roar of welcome.
But Lily’s heart did not thrill at the martial strains. It had sunk somewhere far below her waist line. She had a premonition of impending disaster—the culmination of an unfortunate crossing. Neither did the inspiring vision of turreted Manhattan, rising like an island fortress of white marble, from an azure sea, arouse any response in her breast. She had turned to common clay, ready to be shattered at a blow.
As she stood there at the steamer’s side a tug whistling shrilly came darting down channel towards the Pavonia. She looked at it idly, then focused her eyes upon the figure standing in the bow. It was her hus-​band, Hubert Trevelyan, immaculately clad as usual, his iron-grayish hair blowing back over his bald spot,—a tall, rather stoop-shouldered figure, with an anxious, melancholy face. Behind him were stationed two other men,—and the sunlight flashed and twinkled from time to time as it caught something upon the breast of each. Fear rose in her throat. Who were these men and why were they with Trevelyan? Were they Customs inspectors, dogging him in order to prevent possible collusion as to the necklace? Why had he come down the harbor anyway? Had the declarations already been filed and her deception made known? Or had he merely come to warn her against any attempt at evading the law? But already he had seen her and waved his hat passively. In reply she nodded. That was all—the only recognition between husband and wife—separated for four months. The tug cut a wide circle, came up alongside, the companionway was lowered and Trevelyan made his appearance followed by the two officers. Lily did not go to meet him. She only turned in his direction, as he hurried towards her.
​“Hello, Trevelyan!” she remarked in matter-of-fact tones. “Why this excitement?”
He shook hands with her ceremoniously.
“I ’ve come for Chilvers, of course,” said he. “I wanted to avoid any publicity at the dock. You received my Marconigram? Why have n’t you got on the necklace?”
She choked in spite of herself.
“I—I—” she stammered in a low tone. “I—have n’t got it!”
“Haven’t got it!” he cried aghast. “Haven’t got it! Why not? Where is it?”
“I have n’t declared it,” she answered. “Don't be cross with me! I shall manage. A friend of mine on the boat is going to bring it ashore for me.”
He looked at her in consternation. “You must be mad!” he whispered. “The Customs people know all about that necklace. It ’s historic. Its sale was reported next day by cable in New York. It used to belong to the Marquise de Villancourt. You must get it back at once and wear it in.”
“I wish I could,” she gasped. “But I ’m afraid it ’s too late!”
​“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why too late?”
“Oh you would n’t understand,” she answered. “I did n't tell him what it was,—but he suspects, do you see? And I really did n’t give him a chance to refuse. We ’re in his hands,—at his mercy.”
She hurried him to the ladder leading to the wireless house and the eyes of those on deck followed them curiously,—this joyless aristocrat and his butterfly! Behind them walked the central office men.
“You have to go up here,” she said. “I left it with the wireless operator.”
Sir Hubert preceded her stiffly up the ladder, and waited while she knocked at the door of the wireless house. In a moment it was opened by Micky Fitz.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Treyelyan!” he exclaimed in his usual cheerful manner. "What can I do for you?”
“I wish to present my husband, Sir Hubert Trevelyan.” she answered. Micky held out his hand but the baronet merely bowed. Then a look half of inspiration, half of mischief, crossed Micky’s freckled face.
​“Won’t you step into my parlor?” he said, politely holding open the door.
They passed in, leaving the officers outside.
Sitting on the bunk with her handkerchief to her eyes was the Bennett girl. Mrs. Trevelyan did not recognize her.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, my husband and I have come to find out if you have the package I left here last night,” said Lily, formally. She might have been the merest acquaintance. Indeed, from her tone one would have gathered such to have been the case.
Micky hesitated, and looked inquiringly from one to the other.
“Yes,” echoed Sir Hubert with emphasis. “What I want is my wife’s necklace!”
“Necklace?” returned Micky innocently. “Was there a necklace in that package?”
Trevelyan bit his lips, and metaphoricallv kicked himself for a fool.
“Yes,—it contained my necklace,” said Lily, frankly. “I was trying to smuggle it in. I might as well tell you the truth.”
Micky nodded.
“Right-o!” he exclaimed, experiencing one of those quick changes of emotion that Lily ​Trevelyan could always inspire. “But don’t you think you were a bit rash?”
Trevelyan scowled.
“We are not here to discuss the wisdom of my wife’s course,” he remarked coldly. “The only question in which we are interested is whether you intend to return the necklace at once.”
It would have been quite impossible for Micky to formulate the vague hope which the juxtaposition of Sir Hubert and the wife of the latter’s unfortunate employee had suggested to him. Indeed, he would undoubtedly have then and there produced and turned over to Lily the package had not the hitherto silent witness behind them created an unexpected diversion, by suddenly swaying and toppling over upon the bunk. Micky darted forward, but Lily had taken in the situation and thrown herself upon her knees by the girl’s side.
“She's fainted!” she cried. “Hand me that pitcher, Micky!”
In another moment she was gently bathing the girl’s forehead while Micky opened the door and windows.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Sir Hubert, as he ​adjusted his glasses. “Poor child! Poor little thing! Can't I do something? Can’t I be of some assistance?”
He moved around ambiguously, totally helpless, entirely ineffectual.
The girl on the bunk opened her eyes and fixed them imploringly upon the baronet.
“You won’t—you won’t—put Jim in prison?” she pleaded in a weak voice.
“Er—are you speaking to me?” inquired Trevelyan, in an embarrassed manner. “Who is this young person, may I ask?”
“It ’s Mrs. Chilvers,” said Micky turning to the representative of the Royal Bank of Edinburgh. “The wife of the man who took that money from your London Branch—that is, he did n’t take it, but he was willing to assume the blame for it.”
Trevelyan and his wife both turned to Micky in astonishment.
“What do you know about it, may I ask?” snapped the baronet, his manner changing abruptly. “That is what she says, I assume.”
“It ’s God's own truth!” cried the Chilvers girl. “Every word of it! Father took the ​money for medicine and doctors and to send mother to Egypt. Without it she ’d have died.
“Who is your father?” asked Sir Hubert.
“Fergus MacPherson,” she replied. Trevelyan seemed stunned.
“MacPherson! Why, he ’s been with the bank for over thirty years! It’s impossible! He would n’t betray his trust like that!” he cried angrily. “And why should any one else want to shoulder the blame for him?”
“On mother's account,” answered the girl. “If father had been arrested, the shock would surely have killed her. So Jim—Chilvers—said it was better for him to pretend he was the one. So we ran away, and here we are.”
“Oh, Hubert!” groaned Lily in a rush of sympathy. “Don’t arrest him!”
“A fine fool I ’d make of myself with the directors if I did n’t!” he retorted, the veins in his temples swelling ominously. “I never heard such a cock-and-bull story in my life! Aged father—dying mother—heroic lover! No, no! I ’m too old a bird to be caught that way. Why, you ’ve only got this girl’s word ​for it! No man ever admits that he’s a criminal. If there ’s any truth in his yarn let the jury acquit him!”
“It’s true! I swear every word is true!” moaned the girl. “Are you going to lock him up in prison because he was too kind-hearted to let my mother know what father had done? Oh, Sir Hubert! Have some pity! And father had worked for you thirty years—thirty years,—and the most he was paid,—at the very end,—was two hundred and fifty pounds a year! He could n’t support us all and educate me, and have proper care for mother on that!”
“Trevelyan,” interrupted Lily, speaking very steadily and clearly, “let me say a word. I believe this girl. I don’t believe her husband is a criminal. All I ask you, is not to be hasty in the matter. Save him the humiliation of an arrest and have his story investigated. The directors certainly would not want to punish an innocent man, and they probably would n’t want to prosecute old Fergus MacPherson under the circumstances.”
“But my duty!” returned Trevelyan doggedly. “How about my duty? Are we to
let people commit crime without being punished for it?”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Hubert,” said Micky quietly. “I believe you were asking for Mrs. Trevelyan’s necklace. Here it is—without any strings to it, either.”
Trevelyan turned a deep red.
“Hubert,” murmured Lily, “do you know whom I thought those officers were coming for? I thought they were going to arrest a woman for attempting to violate the Customs laws. She was guilty, too. But it turned out they were after a poor fellow who had committed no crime at all. Can't you do something for him, Trevelyan? Let him go! Let them start life over again somewhere else! Do it for me! I ask you! For me!”
Trevelyan gnawed his mustache and looked nervously out of the window.
“Of course,” he stammered, “I have no personal feeling in the matter. On the contrary, I am very much affected by what the young woman tells me. But the writ has been issued and the warrant will have to be served.”
“Excuse me,” contradicted Micky. “Extradition is simply a courtesy extended by one ​country to another. If the complainants request it the warrant need not be served. It ’s up to you!”
“Nevertheless,” answered Sir Hubert, “I shall not interfere. The law must take its course. Later on we will see what can be done.”
Micky shrugged his shoulders, while the Chilvers girl threw herself upon the bunk and burst into a torrent of weeping.
Trevelyan started towards the door, but before reaching it, he turned.
“However,—in view of all the circumstances I will take the matter up with our local board before sending Chilvers back to England,” he said gruffly. “Meantime I will withhold the warrant, and merely keep him under surveillance. But I warn you,” he looked sternly at Mrs. Chilvers, “that this is only temporary and that the chances are we shall allow the extradition proceedings to be carried through.”
He walked out sententiously.
“Fiddlesticks!” cried Lily. “He thinks he means it,—but he does n’t. He ’s all for law and order and all that sort of thing—​theoretically. But he ’ll cool off. I promise you—I promise you, that nothing shall happen to Chilvers. You can trust me for that. I ’ll make him see the truth!”
Her face was set in determination.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” cried the girl. “You ’re the best woman in the world!”
Lily smiled—sphinx-like smile.
“Sometimes I am.” she said, “and sometimes I ’m the worst. If you don’t believe it ask Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“You ’re the best to-day anyhow,” retorted Micky. “We shall hold you to your promise.”
Outside Trevelyan was endeavoring to explain the situation as best he could in high-pitched English tones to two very much astonished central office men. He desired obviously to carry out the law as far as possible without carrying it out. There are many admirable people just like him.
“So you see, my good man, I shan’t need you for the present, do you understand?”
“All right boss!” replied the puzzled officer, touching his cap as he pocketed the twenty-dollar bill which Sir Hubert handed ​him. ”I ’ll call up the District Attorney and tell him what you say.”
Lily was an amused spectator of her husband’s encounter with the officials of the law.
”You rascal, Micky!” she laughed. ”You little blackmailer! Do you know you ’ve really made my husband act like a sensible human being. And if he dares to change his mind—! Well, let him look out.”
She nodded to the girl and started to join her husband.
”Micky,” she added over her shoulder, ”don't forget our engagement—to-morrow afternoon at the St. Regis—at five o’clock precisely.”
Micky laughed and touched his cap to her.
”I fancy everything is all right, Mrs. Chilvers,” he said.