Taking one thing with another, Browne’s night after the incident described at the end of the previous chapter was far from being a good one. He could not, try how he would, solve the mystery as to what had become of that envelope. He had hunted the cabin through and through, and searched his pockets times without number, but always with the same lack of success. As he lay turning the matter over and over in his mind, he remembered that he had heard the soft shutting of a door as he descended the companion-ladder, and also that Maas had betrayed considerable embarrassment when he entered the saloon. It was absurd, however, to suppose that he could have had any hand in its disappearance. But the fact remained that the envelope was gone. He rang for his valet, and questioned him; but the man declared that, not only did he know nothing at all about it, but that he had not entered the cabin between dinner-time and when he had prepared his master for the night. It was a singular thing altogether. At last, being unable to remain where he was any longer, he rose and dressed himself and went up to the deck. Day was just breaking. A cloudless sky was overhead, and in the gray light the Peak looked unusually picturesque; the water alongside was as smooth as a sheet of glass; the only signs of life were a few gulls wheeling with discordant cries around a patch of seaweed floating astern.
Browne had been pacing the deck for upwards of a quarter of an hour, when he noticed a sampan pull off from the shore towards the yacht. From where he stood he could plainly distinguish the tall figure of MacAndrew. He accordingly went to the gangway to receive him. Presently one of the women pulling brought her up at the foot of the accommodation-ladder, when the passenger ran up the steps, and gracefully saluted Browne.
“Good-morning,” he said. “In spite of the earliness of the hour, I think I am up to time.”
“Yes, you are very punctual,” answered Browne. “Now, shall we get to business?”
They accordingly walked together in the direction of the smoking-room.
“You mastered the contents of my note, I suppose?” asked MacAndrew, by way of breaking the ice.
“Perfectly,” replied Browne; “and I was careful to burn it afterwards.”
“Well, now that you have perused it, what do you think of it?” inquired the other. “Do you consider the scheme feasible?”
“Very feasible indeed,” Browne replied. “With a decent amount of luck, I think it should stand a very good chance of succeeding.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” returned MacAndrew. “I thought you would like it. Now, when the other preliminaries are settled, I can get to work, head down.”
“By the other preliminaries I suppose you mean the money?” queried Browne.
MacAndrew looked and laughed.
“Yes; the money,” he admitted. “I’m sorry to have to be so mercenary; but I’m afraid it can’t be helped. We must grease the machinery with gold, otherwise we shan’t be able to set it in motion.”
“Very well,” rejoined Browne; “that difficulty is easily overcome. I have it all ready for you. If you will accompany me to my cabin we may procure it.”
They accordingly made their way to the cabin. Once there, Browne opened his safe, and dragged out a plain wooden box, which he placed upon the floor. MacAndrew observed that there was another of similar size behind it. Browne noticed the expression upon his face, and smiled.
“You’re wondering what made me bring so much,” he remarked. How well he remembered going to his bank to procure it! He seemed to see the dignified, portly manager seated on his leather chair, and could recall that worthy gentleman’s surprise at the curious request Browne made to him.
“But how do you propose to get it ashore?” said the latter to MacAndrew. “It’s a heavy box; and what about the Customs authorities?”
“Oh, they won’t trouble me,” answered MacAndrew coolly. “I shall find a way of getting it in without putting them to the inconvenience of opening it.”
“Do you want to count it? There may not be five thousand pounds there.”
“I shall have to risk that,” MacAndrew replied. “I haven’t the time to waste in counting it. I expect it’s all right.” So saying, he took up the box, and followed Browne to the deck above.
“You quite understand what you’ve got to do, I suppose?” he asked when they once more stood at the gangway.
“Perfectly,” said Browne. “You need not be afraid lest I shall forget. When do you think you will leave?”
“This morning, if possible,” MacAndrew replied. “There is no time to be lost. I’ve got a boat in my eye, and as soon as they can have her ready I shall embark. By the way, if I were in your place I should be extremely careful as to what I said or did in Japan. Excite only one little bit of suspicion, and you will never be able to rectify the error.”
“You need have no fear on that score,” rejoined Browne. “I will take every possible precaution to prevent any one suspecting.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” MacAndrew returned. “Now, good-bye until we meet on the 13th.”
“Good-bye,” said Browne; “and good luck go with you!”
They shook hands, and then MacAndrew, picking up his precious box, went down the ladder, and, when he had taken his place in the well, the sampan pushed off for the shore.
“A nice sort of position I shall be in if he should prove to be a swindler,” reflected the young man, as he watched the retreating boat. “But it’s too late to think of that now. I have gone into the business, and must carry it through, whatever happens.”
When Jimmy Foote put in an appearance on deck that morning he found that the city of Victoria had disappeared, and that the yacht was making her way through the Ly-ee-Moon Pass out into the open sea once more.
It was daybreak on the morning of the Thursday following when they obtained their first glimpse of Japan. Like a pin’s head upon the horizon was a tiny gray dot, which gradually grew larger and larger until the sacred mountain of Fujiyama, clear-cut against the sky-line, rose from the waves, as if to welcome them to the Land of the Chrysanthemum. Making their way up Yeddo Bay, they at length cast anchor in the harbour of Yokohama. Beautiful as it must ............