The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Celebrity, Volume 04This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The Celebrity, Volume 04Author: Winston ChurchillRelease date: October 19, 2004 [eBook #5386]Most recently updated: December 28, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Widger*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CELEBRITY, VOLUME 04 ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The Celebrity, Volume 04Author: Winston ChurchillRelease date: October 19, 2004 [eBook #5386]Most recently updated: December 28, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Widger
Title: The Celebrity, Volume 04
Author: Winston Churchill
Author: Winston Churchill
Release date: October 19, 2004 [eBook #5386]Most recently updated: December 28, 2020
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CELEBRITY, VOLUME 04 ***
Produced by David Widger
By Winston Churchill
I am convinced that Mr. Cooke possessed at least some of the qualities of a great general. In certain campaigns of past centuries, and even of this, it has been hero-worship that impelled the rank and file rather than any high sympathy with the cause they were striving for. And so it was with us that morning. Our commander was everywhere at once, encouraging us to work, and holding over us in impressive language the awful alternative of capture. For he had the art, in a high degree, of inoculating his followers with the spirit which animated him; and shortly, to my great surprise, I found myself working as though my life depended on it. I certainly did not care very much whether the Celebrity was captured or not, and yet, with the prospect of getting him over the border, I had not thought of breakfast. Farrar had a natural inclination for work of this sort, but even he was infused somewhat with the contagious haste and enthusiasm which filled the air; and together we folded the tents with astonishing despatch and rowed them out to the Maria, Mr. Cooke having gone to his knees in the water to shove the boat off.
"What are we doing this for?" said Farrar to me, as we hoisted the sail.
We both laughed.
"I have just been asking myself that question," I replied.
"You are a nice district attorney, Crocker," he said. "You have made a most proper and equitable decision in giving your consent to Allen's escape. Doesn't your conscience smart?"
"Not unbearably. I'll tell you what, Farrar," said I, "the truth is, that this fellow never embezzled so much as a ten-cent piece. He isn't guilty: he isn't the man."
"Isn't the man?" repeated Farrar.
"No," I answered; "it's a long tale, and no time to tell it now. But he is really, as he claims to be, the author of all those detestable books we have been hearing so much of."
"The deuce he is!" exclaimed Farrar, dropping the stopper he was tying."Did he write The Sybarites?"
"Yes, sir; he wrote The Sybarites, and all the rest of that trash."
"He's the fellow that maintains a man ought to marry a girl after he has become engaged to her."
"Exactly," I said, smiling at his way of putting it.
"Preaches constancy to all men, but doesn't object to stealing."
I laughed.
"You're badly mixed," I explained. "I told you he never stole anything. He was only ass enough to take the man's name who is the living image of him. And the other man took the bonds."
"Oh, come now," said he, "tell me something improbable while you are about it."
"It's true," I replied, repressing my mirth; "true as the tale of Timothy. I knew him when he was a mere boy. But I don't give you that as a proof, for he might have become all things to all men since. Ask Miss Trevor; or Miss Thorn; she knows the other man, the bicycle man, and has seen them both together."
"Where, in India? Was one standing on the ground looking at his double go to heaven? Or was it at one of those drawing-room shows where a medium holds conversation with your soul, while your body sleeps on the lounge? By George, Crocker, I thought you were a sensible man."
No wonder I got angry. But I might have come at some proper estimation of Farrar's incredulity by that time.
"I suppose you wouldn't take a lady's word," I growled.
"Not for that," he said, busy again with the sail stops; "nor St. Chrysostom's, were he to come here and vouch for it. It is too damned improbable."
"Stranger things than that have happened," I retorted, fuming.
"Not to any of us," he said. Presently he added, chuckling: "He'd better not get into the clutches of that man Drew."
"What do you mean?" I demanded. Farrar was exasperating at times.
"Drew will wind those handcuffs on him like tourniquets," he laughed.
There seemed to be something behind this remark, but before I could inquire into it we were interrupted by Mr. Cooke, who was standing on the beach, swearing and gesticulating for the boat.
"I trust," said Farrar, as we rowed ashore, "that this blind excitement will continue, and that we shall have the extreme pleasure of setting down our friend in Her Majesty's dominions with a yachting-suit and a ham sandwich."
We sat down to a hasty breakfast, in the middle of which the Celebrity arrived. His appearance was unexceptionable, but his heavy jaw was set in a manner which should have warned Mr. Cooke not to trifle with him.
"Sit down, old man, and take a bite before we start for Canada," said my client.
The Celebrity walked up to him.
"Mr. Cooke," he began in a menacing tone, "it is high time this nonsense was ended. I am tired of being made a buffoon of for your party. For your gratification I have spent a sleepless night in those cold, damp woods; and I warn you that practical joking can be carried too far. I will not go to Canada, and I insist that you sail me back to Asquith."
Mr. Cooke winked significantly in our direction and tapped his head.
"I don't wonder you're a little upset, old man," he said, humoringly patting him; "but sit down for a bite of something, and you'll see things differently."
"I've had my breakfast," he said, taking out a cigarette.
Then Mr. Trevor got up.
"He demands, sir, to be delivered over to the authorities," said he, "and you have no right to refuse him. I protest strongly."
"And you can protest all you damn please," retorted my client; "this isn't the Ohio State Senate. Do you know where I would put you, Mr. Trevor? Do you know where you ought to be? In a hencoop, sir, if I had one here. In a hen-coop. What would you do if a man who had gone a little out of his mind asked you for a gun to shoot himself with? Give it him, I suppose. But I put Mr. Allen ashore in Canada, with the funds to get off with, and then my duty's done."
This speech, as Mr. Cooke had no doubt confidently hoped, threw the senator into a frenzy of wrath.
"The day will come, sir," he shouted, shaking his fist at my client, "the day will come when you will rue this bitterly."
"Don't get off any of your oratorical frills on me," replied Mr. Cooke, contemptuously; "you ought to be tied and muzzled."
Mr. Trevor was white with anger.
"I, for one, will not go to Canada," he cried.
"You'll stay here and starve, then," said Mr. Cooke; "damned little I care."
Mr. Trevor turned to Farrar, who was biting his lip.
"Mr. Farrar, I know you to be a rising young man of sound principles, and Mr. Crocker likewise. You are the only ones who can sail. Have you reflected that you are about to ruin your careers?"
"We are prepared to take the chances, I think," said Farrar.
Mr. Cooke looked us over, proudly and gratefully, as much as to say that while he lived we should not lack the necessities of life.
At nine we embarked, the Celebrity and Mr. Trevor for the same reason that the animals took to the ark,—because they had to. There was a spanking breeze in the west-northwest, and a clear sky, a day of days for a sail. Mr. Cooke produced a map, which Farrar and I consulted, and without much trouble we hit upon a quiet place to land on the Canadian side. Our course was north-northwest, and therefore the wind enabled us to hold it without much trouble. Bear Island is situated some eighteen miles from shore, and about equidistant between Asquith and Far Harbor, which latter we had to pass on our way northward.
Although a brisk sea was on, the wind had been steady from that quarter all night, and the motion was uniform. The Maria was an excellent sea-boat. There was no indication, therefore, of the return of that malady which had been so prevalent on the passage to Bear Island. Mr. Cooke had never felt better, and looked every inch a sea-captain in his natty yachting-suit. He had acquired a tan on the island; and, as is eminently proper on a boat, he affected nautical manners and nautical ways. But his vernacular savored so hopelessly of the track and stall that he had been able to acquire no mastery over the art of marine invective. And he possessed not so much as one maritime oath. As soon as we had swung clear of the cove he made for the weather stays, where he assumed a posture not unlike that in the famous picture of Farragut ascending Mobile Bay. His leather case was swung over his shoulder, and with his glasses he swept the lake in search of the Scimitar and other vessels of a like unamiable character.
Although my client could have told you, offhand, jackstraw's last mile in a bicycle sulky, his notion of the Scimitar's speed was as vague as his knowledge of seamanship. And when I informed him that in all probability she had already passed the light on Far Harbor reef, some nine miles this side of the Far Harbor police station, he went into an inordinate state of excitement. Mr. Cooke was, indeed, that day the embodiment of an unselfish if misdirected zeal. He was following the dictates of both heart and conscience in his endeavor to rescue his guest from the law; and true zeal is invariably contagious. What but such could have commanded the unremitting labors of that morning? Farrar himself had done three men's work before breakfast, and it was, in great part, owing to him that we were now leaving the island behind us. He was sailing the Maria that day as she will never be sailed again: her lee gunwale awash, and a wake like a surveyor's line behind her. More than once I called to mind his facetious observation about Mr. Drew, and wondered if he knew more than he had said about the detective.
Once in the open, the Maria showed but small consideration for her passengers, for she went through the seas rather than over them. And Mr. Cooke, manfully keeping his station on the weather bow, likewise went through the seas. No argument could induce him to leave the post he had thus heroically chosen, which was one of honor rather than utility, for the lake was as vacant of sails as the day that Father Marquette (or some one else) first beheld it. Under such circumstances ease must be considered as only a relative term; and the accommodations of the Maria afforded but two comfortable spots,—the cabin, and the lea aft of the cabin bulkhead. This being the case, the somewhat peculiar internal relations of the party decided its grouping.
I know of no worse place than a small yacht, or than a large one for that matter, for uncongenial people. The Four betook themselves to the cabin, which was fortunately large, and made life bearable with a game of cards; while Mrs. Cooke, whose adaptability and sense I had come greatly to, admire, contented herself with a corner and a book. The ungrateful cause of the expedition himself occupied another corner. I caught sight of him through the cabin skylight, and the silver pencil he was holding over his note-book showed unmistakable marks of teeth.
Outside, Mr. Trevor, his face wearing an immutable expression of defiance for the wickedness surrounding him, had placed his daughter for safe-keeping between himself and the only other reliable character on board,—the refrigerator. But Miss Thorn appeared in a blue mackintosh and a pair of heavy yachting-boots, courting rather than avoiding a drenching. Even a mackintosh is becoming to some women. All morning she sat behind Mr. Cooke, on the rise of the cabin, her back against the mast and her hair flying in the wind, and I, for one, was not sorry the Celebrity had given us this excuse for a sail.
About half-past eleven Mr. Cooke's vigilance was rewarded by a glimpse of the lighthouse on Far Harbor reef, and almost simultaneously he picked up, to the westward, the ragged outline of the house-tops and spires of the town itself. But as we neared the reef the harbor appeared as quiet as a Sunday morning: a few Mackinaws were sailing hither and thither, and the Far Harbor and Beaverton boat was coming out. My client, in view of the peaceful aspect affairs had assumed, presently consented to relinquish his post, and handed the glasses over to me with an injunction to be watchful.
I promised. And Mr. Cooke, feeling his way aft with more discretion than grace, finally descended into the cabin, where he was noisily received. And I was left with Miss Thorn. While my client had been there in front of us, his lively conversation and naive if profane remarks kept us in continual laughter. When with him it was utterly impossible to see any other than the ludicrous side of this madcap adventure, albeit he himself was so keenly in earnest as to its performance. It was with misgiving that I saw him disappear into the hatchway, and my impulse was to follow him. Our spirits, like those in a thermometer, are never stationary: mine were continually being sent up or down. The night before, when I had sat with Miss Thorn beside the fire, they went up; this morning her anxious solicitude for the Celebrity had sent them down again. She both puzzled and vexed me. I could not desert my post as lookout, and I remained in somewhat awkward suspense as to what she was going to say, gazing at distant objects through the glasses. Her remark, when it came, took me by surprise.
"I am afraid," she said seriously, "that Uncle Fenelon's principles are not all that they should be. His morality is something like his tobacco, which doesn't injure him particularly, but is dangerous to others."
I was more than willing to meet her on the neutral ground of UncleFenelon.
"Do you think his principles contagious?" I asked.
"They have not met with the opposition they deserve," she replied. "Uncle Fenelon's ideas of life are not those of other men,—yours, for instance. And his affairs, mental and material, are, happily for him, such that he can generally carry out his notions with small inconvenience. He is no doubt convinced that he is acting generously in attempting to rescue the Celebrity from a term in prison; what he does not realize is that he is acting ungenerously to other guests who have infinitely more at stake."
"But our friend from Ohio has done his best to impress this upon him," I replied, failing to perceive her drift; "and if his words are wasted, surely the thing is hopeless."
"I am not joking," said she. "I was not thinking of Mr. Trevor, but of you. I like you, Mr. Crocker. You may not believe it, but I do." For the life of me I could think of no fitting reply to this declaration. Why was that abominable word "like" ever put into the English language? "Yes, I like you," she continued meditatively, "in the face of the fact that you persist in disliking me."
"Nothing of the kind."
"Oh, I know. You mustn't think me so stupid as all that. It is a mortifying truth that I like you, and that you have no use for me."
I have never known how to take a jest from a woman. I suppose I should have laughed this off. Instead, I made a fool of myself.
"I shall be as frank with you," I said, "and declare that I like you, though I should be much happier if I didn't."
She blushed at this, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps it was unlooked for.
"At any rate," she went on, "I should deem it my duty to warn you of the consequences of this joke of yours. They may not be all that you have anticipated. The consequences for you, I mean, which you do not seem to have taken into account."
"Consequences for me!" I exclaimed.
"I fear that you will think what I am going to say uncalled for, and that I am meddling with something that does not concern me. But it seems to me that you are undervaluing the thing you have worked so hard to attain. They say that you have ability, that you have acquired a practice and a position which at your age give the highest promise for the future. That you are to be counsel for the railroad. In short, that you are the coming man in this section of the state. I have found this out," said she, cutting short my objections, "in spite of the short time I have been here."
"Nonsense!" I said, reddening in my turn.
"Suppose that the Celebrity is captured," she continued, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her mackintosh. "It appears that he is shadowed, and it is not unreasonable to expect that we shall be chased before the day is over. Then we shall be caught red-handed in an attempt to get a criminal over the border. Please wait until I have finished," she said, holding up her hand at an interruption I was about to make. "You and I know he is not a criminal; but he might as well be as far as you are concerned. As district attorney you are doubtless known to the local authorities. If the Celebrity is arrested after a long pursuit, it will avail you nothing to affirm that you knew all along he was the noted writer. You will pardon me if I say that they will not believe you then. He will be taken East for identification. And if I know anything about politics, and especially the state of affairs in local politics with which you are concerned, the incident and the interval following it will be fatal to your chances with the railroad,—to your chances in general. You perceive, Mr. Crocker, how impossible it is to play with fire without being burned."
I did perceive. At the time the amazing thoroughness with which she had gone into the subject of my own unimportant affairs, the astuteness and knowledge of the world she had shown, and the clearness with which she had put the situation, did not strike me. Nothing struck me but the alarming sense of my own stupidity, which was as keen as I have ever felt it. What man in a public position, however humble, has not political enemies? The image of O'Meara was wafted suddenly before me, disagreeably near, and his face wore the smile of victory. All of Mr. Cooke's money could not save me. My spirits sank as the immediate future unfolded itself, and I even read the article in O'Meara's organ, the Northern Lights, which was to be instrumental in divesting me of my public trust and fair fame generally. Yes, if the Celebrity was caught on the other side of Far Harbor, all would be up with John Crocker! But it would never do to let Miss Thorn discover my discomfiture.
"There is something in what you say," I replied, with what bravado I could muster.
"A little, I think," she returned, smiling; "now, what I wish you to do is to make Uncle Fenelon put into Far Harbor. If he refuses, you can go in in spite of him, since you and Mr. Farrar are the only ones who can sail. You have the situation in your own hands."
There was certainly wisdom in this, also. But the die was cast now, and pride alone was sufficient to hold me to the course I had rashly begun upon. Pride! What an awkward thing it is, and more difficult for most of us to swallow than a sponge.
"I thank you for this interest in my welfare, Miss Thorn," I began.
"No fine speeches, please, sir," she cut in, "but do as I advise."
"I fear I cannot."
"Why do you say that? The thing is simplicity itself."
"I should lose my self-respect as a practical joker. And besides," I said maliciously, "I started out to have some fun with the Celebrity, and I want to have it."
"Well," she replied, rather coolly, "of course you can do as you choose."
We were passing within a hundred yards of the lighthouse, set cheerlessly on the bald and sandy tip of the point. An icy silence sat between us, and such a silence is invariably insinuating. This one suggested a horrible thought. What if Miss Thorn had warned me in order to save the Celebrity from humiliation? I thrust it aside, but it returned again and grinned. Had she not practised insincerity before? And any one with half an eye could see that she was in love with the Celebrity; even the Fraction had remarked it. What more natural than, with her cleverness, she had hit upon this means of terminating the author's troubles by working upon my fears?
Human weakness often proves too much for those of us who have the very best intentions. Up to now the refrigerator and Mr. Trevor had kept the strictest and most jealous of vigils over Irene. But at length the senator succumbed to the drowsiness which never failed to attack him at this hour, and he forgot the disrepute of his surroundings in a respectable sleep. Whereupon his daughter joined us on the forecastle.
"I knew that would happen to papa if I only waited long enough," she said. "Oh, he thinks you're dreadful, Mr. Crocker. He says that nowadays young men haven't any principle. I mustn't be seen talking to you."
"I have been trying to convince Mr. Crocker that his stand in the matter is not only immoral, but suicidal," said Miss Thorn. "Perhaps," she added meaningly, "he will listen to you."
"I don't understand," answered Miss Trevor.
"Miss Thorn has been good enough to point out," I explained, "that the political machine in this section, which has the honor to detest me, will seize upon the pretext of the Celebrity's capture to ruin me. They will take the will for the deed."
"Of course they will do just that," cried Miss Trevor. "How bright of you to think of it, Marian!"
Miss Thorn stood up.
"I leave you to persuade him," said she; "I have no doubt you will be able to do it."
With that she left us, quite suddenly. Abruptly, I thought. And her manner seemed to impress Miss Trevor.
"I wonder what is the matter with Marian," said she, and leaned over the skylight. "Why, she has gone down to talk with the Celebrity."
"Isn't that rather natural?" I asked with asperity.
She turned to me with an amused expression.
"Her conduct seems to worry you vastly, Mr. Crocker. I noticed that you were quite upset this morning in the cave. Why was it?"
"You must have imagined it," I said stiffly.
"I should like to know," she said, with the air of one trying to solve a knotty problem, "I should like to know how many men are as blind as you."
"You are quite beyond me, Miss Trevor," I answered; "may I request you to put that remark in other words?"
"I protest that you are a most unsatisfactory person," she went on, not heeding my annoyance. "Most abnormally modest people are. If I were to stick you with this hat-pin, for instance, you would accept the matter as a positive insult."
"I certainly should," I said, laughing; "and, besides, it would be painful."
"There you are," said she, exultingly; "I knew it. But I flatter myself there are men who would go into an ecstasy of delight if I ran a hat-pin into them. I am merely taking this as an illustration of my point."
"It is a very fine point," said I. "But some people take pleasure in odd things. I can easily conceive of a man gallant enough to suffer the agony for the sake of pleasing a pretty girl."
"I told you so," she pouted; "you have missed it entirely. You are hopelessly blind on that side, and numb. Perhaps you didn't know that you have had a hat-pin sticking in you for some time."
I began feeling myself, nervously.
"For more than a month," she cried, "and to think that you have never felt it." My action was too much for her gravity, and she fell back against the skylight in a fit of merriment, which threatened to wake her father. And I hoped it would.
"It pleases you to speak in parables this morning," I said.
"Mr. Crocker," she began again, when she had regained her speech, "shallI tell you of a great misfortune which might happen to a girl?"
"I should be pleased to hear it," I replied courteously.
"That misfortune, then, would be to fall in love with you."
"Happily that is not within the limits of probability," I answered, beginning to be a little amused. "But why?"
"Lightning often strikes where it is least expected," she replied archly. "Listen. If a young woman were unlucky enough to lose her heart to you, she might do everything but tell you, and you would never know it. I scarcely believe you would know it if she did tell you."
I must have jumped unconsciously.
"Oh, you needn't think I am in love with you."
"Not for a minute," I made haste to say.
She pointed towards the timber-covered hills beyond the shore.
"Do you see that stream which comes foaming down the notch into the lake in front of us?" she asked. "Let us suppose that you lived in a cabin beside that brook; and that once in a while, when you went out to draw your water, you saw a nugget of—gold washing along with the pebbles on the bed. How many days do you think you would be in coming to the conclusion that there was a pocket of gold somewhere above you, and in starting in search of it?"
"Not long, surely."
"Ah, you are not lacking in perception there. But if I were to tell you that I knew of the existence of such a mine, from various proofs I have had, and that the mine was in the possession of a certain person who was quite willing to share it with you on application, you would not believe me."
"Probably not."
"Well," said Miss Trevor, with a nod of finality, "I was actually about to make such a disclosure. But I see it would be useless."
I confess she aroused my curiosity. No coaxing, however, would induce her to interpret.
"No," she insisted strangely, "if you cannot put two and two together, I fear I cannot help you. And no one I ever heard of has come to any good by meddling."
Miss Trevor folded her hands across her lap. She wore that air which I am led to believe is common to all women who have something of importance to disclose; or at least what they consider is of importance. There was an element of pity, too, in her expression. For she had given me my chance, and my wits had been found wanting.
Do not let it be surmised that I attach any great value to such banter as she had been indulging in. At the same time, however, I had an uneasy feeling that I had missed something which might have been to my advantage. It was in vain that I whipped my dull senses; but one conclusion was indicated by all this inference, and I don't care even to mention that: it was preposterous.
Then Miss Trevor shifted to a very serious mood. She honestly did her best to persuade me to relinquish our enterprise, to go to Mr. Cooke and confess the whole thing.
"I wish we had washed our hands of this Celebrity from the first," she said, with a sigh. "How dreadful if you lose your position on account of this foolishness!"
"But I shan't," I answered reassuringly; "we are getting near the border now, and no sign of trouble. And besides," I added, "I think Miss Thorn tried to frighten me. And she very nearly succeeded. It was prettily done."
"Of course she tried to frighten you. I wish she had succeeded."
"But her object was transparent."
"Her object!" she exclaimed. "Her object was to save you."
"I think not," I replied; "it was to save the Celebrity."
Miss Trevor rose and grasped one of the sail rings to keep her balance.She looked at me pityingly.
"Do you really believe that?"
"Firmly."
"Then you are hopeless, Mr. Crocker, totally hopeless. I give you up."And she went back to her seat beside the refrigerator.
"Crocker, old man, Crocker, what the devil does that mean?"
I turned with a start to perceive a bare head thrust above the cabin roof, the scant hair flying, and two large, brown eyes staring into mine full of alarm and reproach. A plump finger was pointing to where the sandy reef lay far astern of us.
The Mackinaws were flecked far and wide over the lake, and a dirty smudge on the blue showed where the Far Harbor and Beaverton boat had gone over the horizon. But there, over the point and dangerously close to the land, hung another smudge, gradually pushing its way like a writhing, black serpent, lakewards. Thus I was rudely jerked back to face the problem with which we had left the island that morning.
I snatched the neglected glasses from the deck and hurried aft to join my client on the overhang, but a pipe was all they revealed above the bleak hillocks of sand. My client turned to me with a face that was white under the tan.
"Crocker," he cried, in a tragic voice, "it's a blessed police boat, or I never picked a winner."
"Nonsense," I said; "other boats smoke beside police boats. The lake is full of tugs."
I was a little nettled at having been scared for a molehill.
"But I know it, sure as hell," he insisted.
"You know nothing about it, and won't for an hour. What's a pipe and a trail of smoke?"
He laid a hand on my shoulder, and I felt it tremble.
"Why do you suppose I came out?" he demanded solemnly.
"You were probably losing," I said.
"I was winning."
"Then you got tired of winning."
But he held up a thumb within a few inches of my face, and with it a ring I had often noticed, a huge opal which he customarily wore on the inside of his hand.
"She's dead," said Mr. Cooke, sadly.
"Dead?" I repeated, perplexed.
"Yes, she's dead as the day I lost the two thousand at Sheepshead. She's never gone back on me yet. And unless I can make some little arrangement with those fellows," he added, tossing his head at the smoke, "you and I will put up to-night in some barn of a jail. I've never been in jail but once," said Mr. Cooke, "and it isn't so damned pleasant, I assure you." I saw that he believed every word of it; in fact, that it was his religion. I might as well have tried to argue the Sultan out of Mohammedanism.
The pipe belonged to a tug, that was certain. Farrar said so after a look over his shoulder, disdaining glasses, and he knew the lake better than many who made their living by it. It was then that I made note of a curious anomaly in the betting character; for thus far Mr. Cooke, like a great many of his friends, was a skeptic. He never ceased to hope until the stake had found its way into the other man's pocket. And it was for hope that he now applied to Farrar. But even Farrar did not attempt to account for the tug's appearance that near the land.
"She's in some detestable hurry to get up this way, that's flat," he said; "where she is, the channel out of the harbor is not forty feet wide."
By this time the rest of the party were gathered behind us on the high side of the boat, in different stages of excitement, scrutinizing the smoke. Mr. Cooke had the glasses glued to his eyes again, his feet braced apart, and every line of his body bespeaking the tension of his mind. I imagined him standing thus, the stump of his cigar tightly clutched between his teeth, following the fortunes of some favorite on the far side of the Belmont track.
We waited without comment while the smoke crept by degrees towards the little white spindle on the tip of the point, now and again catching a gleam of the sun's rays from off the glass of the lantern. And presently, against the white lather of the lake, I thought I caught sight of a black nose pushed out beyond the land. Another moment, and the tug itself was bobbing in the open. Barely had she reached the deep water beyond the sands when her length began to shorten, and the dense cloud of smoke that rose made it plain that she was firing. At the sight I reflected that I had been a fool indeed. A scant flue miles of water lay between us and her, and if they really meant business back there, and they gave every sign of it, we had about an hour and a half to get rid of the Celebrity. The Maria was a good boat, but she had not been built to try conclusions with a Far Harbor tug.
My client, in spite of the ominous condition of his opal, was not slow to make his intentions exceedingly clear. For Mr. Cooke was first and last, and always, a gentleman. After that you might call him anything you pleased. Meditatively he screwed up his glasses and buckled them into the case, and then he descended to the cockpit. It was the Celebrity he singled out of the party.
"Allen," said he, when he stood before him, "I want to impress on you that my word's gold. I've stuck to you thus far, and I'll be damned now if I throw you over, like they did Jonah."
Mr. Cooke spoke with a fine dignity that in itself was impressive, and when he had finished he looked about him until his eye rested on Mr. Trevor, as though opposition were to come from that quarter. And the senator gave every sign of another eruption. But the Celebrity, either from lack of appreciation of my client's loyalty, or because of the nervousness which was beginning to show itself in his demeanor, despite an effort to hide it, returned no answer. He turned on his heel and resumed his seat in the cabin. Mr. Cooke was visibly affected.
"I'd sooner lose my whip hand than go back on him now," he declared.
Then Vesuvius began to rumble.
"Mr. Cooke," said the senator, "may I suggest something which seems pertinent to me, though it does not appear to have occurred to you?"
His tone was the calm one that the heroes used in the Celebrity's novels when they were about to drop on and annihilate wicked men.
"Certainly, sir," my client replied briskly, bringing himself up on his way back to the overhang.
"You have announced your intention of 'standing by' Mr. Allen, as you express it. Have you reflected that there are some others who deserve to be consulted and considered beside Mr. Allen and yourself?"
Mr. Cooke was puzzled at this change of front, and unused, moreover, to that veiled irony of parliamentary expression.
"Talk English, my friend," said he.
"In plain words, sir, Mr. Allen is a criminal who ought to be locked up; he is a menace to society. You, who have a reputation, I am given to understand, for driving four horses, have nothing to lose by a scandal, while I have worked all my life for the little I have achieved, and have a daughter to think about. I will neither stand by Mr. Allen nor by you."
Mr. Cooke was ready with a retort when the true significance of this struck him. Things were a trifle different now. The tables had turned since leaving the island, and the senator held it in his power to ruin our one remaining chance of escape. Strangely enough, he missed the cause of Mr. Cooke's hesitation.
"Look here, old man," said my client, biting off another cigar, "I'm a first-rate fellow when you get to know me, and I'd do the same for you as I'm doing for Allen."
"I daresay, sir, I daresay," said the other, a trifle mollified; "I don't claim that you're not acting as you think right."
"I see it," said Mr. Cooke, with admirable humility; "I see it. I was wrong to haul you into this, Trevor. And the only thing to consider now is, how to get you out of it."
Here he appeared for a moment to be wrapped in deep thought, and checked with his cigar an attempt to interrupt him.
"However you put it, old man," he said at last, "we're all in a pretty bad hole."
"All!" cried Mr. Trevor, indignantly.
"Yes, all," asserted Mr. Cooke, with composure. "There are the police, and here is Allen as good as run down. If they find him when they get abroad, you don't suppose they'll swallow anything you have to say about trying to deliver him over. No, sir, you'll be bagged and fined along with the rest of us. And I'd be damned sorry to see it, if I do say it; and I blame myself freely for it, old man. Now you take my advice and keep your mouth shut, and I'll take care of you. I've got a place for Allen."
During this somewhat remarkable speech Mr. Trevor, as it were, blew hot and cold by turns. Although its delivery was inconsiderate, its logic was undeniable, and the senator sat down again on the locker, and was silent. But I marked that off and on his fingers would open and shut convulsively.
Time alone would disclose what was to happen to us; in the interval there was nothing to do but wait. We had reached the stage where anxiety begins to take the place of excitement, and we shifted restlessly from spot to spot and looked at the tug. She was ploughing along after us, and to such good purpose that presently I began to catch the white of the seas along her bows, and the bright red with which her pipe was tipped. Farrar alone seemed to take but slight interest in her. More than once I glanced at him as he stood under me, but his eye was on the shuddering leach of the sail. Then I leaned over.
"What do you think of it?" I asked.
"I told you this morning Drew would have handcuffs on him before night," he replied, without raising his head.
"Hang your joking, Farrar; I know more than you about it."
"Then what's the use of asking me?"
"Don't you see that I'm ruined if we're caught?" I demanded, a little warmly.
"No, I don't see it," he replied. "You don't suppose I think you fool enough to risk this comedy if the man were guilty, do you? I don't believe all that rubbish about his being the criminal's double, either. That's something the girls got up for your benefit."
I ignored this piece of brutality.
"But I'm ruined anyway."
"How?"
I explained shortly what I thought our friend, O'Meara, would do under the circumstances. An inference sufficed Farrar.
"Why didn't you say something about this before?" he asked gravely."I would have put into Far Harbor."
"Because I didn't think of it," I confessed.
Farrar pulled down the corners of his mouth with trying not to smile.
"Miss Thorn is a woman of brains," he remarked gently; "I respect her."
I wondered by what mysterious train of reasoning he had arrived at this conclusion. He said nothing for a while, but toyed with the spokes of the wheel, keeping the wind in the sail with undue nicety.
"I can't make them out," he said, all at once.
"Then you believe they're after us?"
"I changed the course a point or two, just to try them."
"And—"
"And they changed theirs."
"Who could have informed?"
"Drew, of course," I said; "who else?"
He laughed.
"Drew doesn't know anything about Allen," said he; "and, besides, he's no more of a detective than I am."
"But Drew was told there was a criminal on the island."
"Who told him?"
I repeated the conversation between Drew and Mr. Trevor which I had overheard. Farrar whistled.
"But you did not speak of that this morning," said he.
"No," I replied, feeling anything but comfortable. At times when he was facetious as he had been this morning I was wont to lose sight of the fact that with Farrar the manner was not the man, and to forget the warmth of his friendship. I was again to be reminded of this.
"Well, Crocker," he said briefly, "I would willingly give up this year's state contract to have known it."
It was, accurately as I can remember, half after noon when Mr. Cooke first caught the smoke over the point, for the sun was very high: at two our fate had been decided. I have already tried to describe a part of what took place in that hour and a half, although even now I cannot get it all straight in my mind. Races, when a great deal is at stake, are more or less chaotic: a close four miles in a college eight is a succession of blurs with lucid but irrelevant intervals. The weary months of hard work are forgotten, and you are quite as apt to think of your first velocipede, or of the pie that is awaiting you in the boathouse, as of victory and defeat. And a yacht race, with a pair of rivals on your beam, is very much the same.
As I sat with my feet dangling over the washboard, I reflected, once or twice, that we were engaged in a race. All I had to do was to twist my head in order to make sure of it. I also reflected, I believe, that I was in the position of a man who has bet all he owns, with large odds on losing either way. But on the whole I was occupied with more trivial matters a letter I had forgotten to write about a month's rent, a client whose summer address I had mislaid. The sun was burning my neck behind when a whistle aroused me to the realization that the tug was no longer a toy boat dancing in the distance, but a stern fact but two miles away. There could be no mistake now, for I saw the white steam of the signal against the smoke.
I slid down and went into the cabin. The Celebrity was in the corner by the companionway, with his head on the cushions and a book in his hand. And forward, under the low deck beams beyond the skylight, I beheld the crouching figure of my client. He had stripped off his coat and was busy at some task on the floor.
"They're whistling for us to stop," I said to him.
"How near are they, old man?" he asked, without looking up. The perspiration was streaming down his face, and he held a brace and bit in his hand. Under him was the trap-door which gave access to the ballast below, and through this he had bored a neat hole. The yellow chips were still on his clothes.
"They're not two miles away," I answered. "But what in mystery are you doing there?"
But he only laid a finger beside his nose and bestowed a wink in my direction. Then he took some ashes from his cigar, wetted his finger, and thus ingeniously removed all appearance of newness from the hole he had made, carefully cleaning up the chips and putting them in his pocket. Finally he concealed the brace and bit and opened the trap, disclosing the rough stones of the ballast. I watched him in amazement as he tore a mattress from an adjoining bunk and forced it through the opening, spreading it fore and aft over the stones.
"Now," he said, regaining his feet and surveying the whole with undisguised satisfaction, "he'll be as safe there as in my new family vault."
"But" I began, a light dawning upon me.
"Allen, old man," said Mr. Cooke, "come here."
The Celebrity laid down his book and looked up: my client was putting on his coat.
"Come here, old man," he repeated.
And he actually came. But he stopped when he caught sight of the open trap and of the mattress beneath it.
"How will that suit you?" asked Mr. Cooke, smiling broadly as he wiped his face with an embroidered handkerchief.
The Celebrity looked at the mattress, then at me, and lastly at Mr.Cooke. His face was a study:
"And—And you think I am going to get in there?" he said, his voice shaking.
My client fell back a step.
"Why not?" he demanded. "It's about your size, comfortable, and all the air you want" (here Mr. Cooke stuck his finger through the bit hole). "Damn me, if I were in your fix, I wouldn't stop at a kennel."
"Then you're cursed badly mistaken," said the Celebrity, going back to his corner; "I'm tired of being made an ass of for you and your party."
"An ass!" exclaimed my client, in proper indignation.
"Yes, an ass," said the Celebrity. And he resumed his book.
It would seem that a student of human nature, such as every successful writer should be, might by this time have arrived at some conception of my client's character, simple as it was, and have learned to overlook the slight peculiarity in his mode of expressing himself. But here the Celebrity fell short, if my client's emotions were not pitched in the same key as those of other people, who shall say that his heart was not as large or his sympathies as wide as many another philanthropist?
But Mr. Cooke was an optimist, and as such disposed to look at the best side of his friends and ignore the worst; if, indeed, he perceived their faults at all. It was plain to me, even now, that he did not comprehend the Celebrity's attitude. That his guest should reject the one hope of escape left him was, according to Mr. Cooke, only to be accounted for by a loss of mental balance. Nevertheless, his disappointment was keen. He let down the door and slowly led the way out of the cabin. The whistle sounded shrilly in our ears.
Mr. Cooke sat down and drew a wallet from his pocket. He began to count the bills, and, as if by common consent, the Four followed suit. It was a task which occupied some minutes, and when completed my client produced a morocco note-book and a pencil. He glanced interrogatively at the man nearest him.
"Three hundred and fifty."
Mr. Cooke put it down. It was entirely a matter of course. What else was there to be done? And when he had gone the round of his followers he turned to Farrar and me.
"How much are you fellows equal to?" he asked.
I believe he did it because he felt we should resent being left out: and so we should have. Mr. Cooke's instincts were delicate.
We told him. Then he paused, his pencil in the air, and his eyes doubtfully fixed on the senator. For all this time Mr. Trevor had been fidgeting in his seat; but now he opened his long coat, button by button, and thrust his hand inside the flap. Oh, Falstaff!
"Father, father!" exclaimed Miss Trevor. But her tongue was in her cheek.
I have heard it stated that if a thoroughly righteous man were cast away with ninety and nine ruffians, each of the ruffians would gain one-one-hundredth in virtue, whilst the righteous man would sink to their new level. I am not able to say how much better Mr. Cooke's party was for Mr. Trevor's company, but the senator seemed to realize that something serious had happened to him, for his voice was not altogether steady as he pronounced the amount of his contribution.
"Trevor," cried Mr. Cooke, with great fervor, "I take it all back.You're a true, public-spirited old sport."
But the senator had not yet reached that extreme of degradation where it is pleasurable to be congratulated on wickedness.
My client added up the figures and rubbed his hands. I regret to say that the aggregate would have bought up three small police organizations, body and soul.
"Pull up, Farrar, old man," he shouted.
Farrar released the wheel and threw the Maria into the wind. With the sail cracking and the big boom dodging over our heads, we watched the tug as she drew nearer and nearer, until we could hear the loud beating of her engines. On one side some men were making ready to lower a boat, and then a conspicuous figure in blue stood out by the davits. Then came the faint tinkle of a bell, and the H Sinclair, of Far Harbor, glided up and thrashed the water scarce a biscuit-throw away.
"Hello, there!" the man in uniform called out. It was Captain McCann, chief of the Far Harbor police.
Mr. Cooke waved his cigar politely.
"Is that Mr. Cooke's yacht, the Maria?
"The same," said Mr. Cooke.
"I'm fearing I'll have to come aboard you, Mr. Cooke."
"All right, old man, glad to have you," said my client.
This brought a smile to McCann's face as he got into his boat. We were all standing in the cockpit, save the Celebrity, who was just inside of the cabin door. I had time to note that he was pale, and no more: I must have been pale myself. A few strokes brought the chief to the Maria's stern.
"It's not me that likes to interfere with a gent's pleasure party, but business is business," said he, as he climbed aboard.
My client's hospitality was oriental.
"Make yourself at home, old man," he said, a box of his largest and blackest cigars in his hand. And these he advanced towards McCann before the knot was tied in the painter.
Then a wave of self-reproach swept over me. Was it possible that I, like Mr. Trevor, had been deprived of all the morals I had ever possessed? Could it be that the district attorney was looking calmly on while Mr. Cooke wilfully corrupted the Far Harbor chief-of-police? As agonizing a minute as I ever had in my life was that which it took McCann to survey those cigars. His broad features became broader still, as a huge, red hand was reached out. I saw it close lingeringly over the box, and then Mr. Cooke had struck a match. The chief stepped over the washboard onto the handsome turkey-red cushions on the seats, and thus he came face to face with me.
"Holy fathers!" he exclaimed. "Is it you who are here, Mr. Crocker?"And he pulled off his cap.
"No other, McCann," said I, with what I believe was a most pitiful attempt at braggadocio.
McCann began to puff at his cigar. Clouds of smoke came out of his face and floated down the wind. He was so visibly embarrassed that I gained a little courage.
"And what brings you here?" I demanded.
He scrutinized me in perplexity.
"I think you're guessing, sir."
"Never a guess, McCann. You'll have to explain yourself."
McCann had once had a wholesome respect for me. But it looked now as if the bottom was dropping out of it.
"Sure, Mr. Crocker," he said, "what would you be doing in such company as I'm hunting for? Can it be that ye're helping to lift a criminal over the border?"
"McCann," I asked sternly, "what have you had on the, tug?"
Force of habit proved too much for the man. He went back to the apologetic.
"Never a drop, Mr. Crocker. Upon me soul!"
This reminded Mr. Cooke of something (be it recorded) that he had for once forgotten. He lifted up the top of the refrigerator. The chief's eye followed him. But I was not going to permit this.
"Now, McCann," I commenced again, "if you will state your business here, if you have any, I shall be obliged. You are delaying Mr. Cooke."
The chief was seized with a nervous tremor. I think we were a pair in that, only I managed to keep mine, under. When it came to the point, and any bribing was to be done, I had hit upon a course. Self-respect demanded a dignity on my part. With a painful indecision McCann pulled a paper from his pocket which I saw was a warrant. And he dropped his cigar. Mr. Cooke was quick to give him another.
"Ye come from Bear Island, Mr. Crocker?" he inquired.
I replied in the affirmative.
"I hope it's news I'm telling you," he said soberly; "I'm hoping it's news when I say that I'm here for Mr. Charles Wrexell Allen,—that's the gentleman's name. He's after taking a hundred thousand dollars away from Boston." Then he turned to Mr. Cooke. "The gentleman was aboard your boat, sir, when you left that country place of yours,—what d'ye call it? —Mohair? Thank you, sir." And he wiped the water from his brow. "And they're telling me he was on Bear Island with ye? Sure, sir, and I can't see why a gentleman of your standing would be wanting to get him over the border. But I must do my duty. Begging your pardon, Mr. Crocker," he added, with a bow to me.
"Certainly, McCann," I said.
For a space there was only the bumping and straining of the yacht and the swish of the water against her sides. Then the chief spoke again.
"It will be saving you both trouble and inconvenience, Mr. Crocker, if you give him up, sir."
What did the man mean? Why in the name of the law didn't he make a move?I was conscious that my client was fumbling in his clothes for thewallet; that he had muttered an invitation for the chief to go inside.McCann smoked uneasily.
"I don't want to search the boat, sir."
At these words we all turned with one accord towards the cabin. I feltFarrar gripping my arm tightly from behind.
The Celebrity had disappeared!
It was Mr. Cooke who spoke.
"Search the boat!" he said, something between a laugh and a cry.
"Yes, sir," the chief repeated firmly. "It's sorry I am to do it, withMr. Crocker here, too."
I have always maintained that nature had endowed my client with rare gifts; and the ease with which he now assumed a part thus unexpectedly thrust upon him, as well as the assurance with which he carried it out, goes far to prove it.
"If there's anything in your line aboard, chief," he said blandly, "help yourself!"
Some of us laughed. I thought things a little too close to be funny. Since the Celebrity had lost his nerve and betaken himself to the place of concealment Mr. Cooke had prepared for him, the whole composition of the affair was changed. Before, if McCann had arrested the ostensible Mr. Allen, my word, added to fifty dollars from my client, would probably have been sufficient. Should he be found now, no district attorney on the face of the earth could induce the chief to believe that he was any other than the real criminal; nor would any bribe be large enough to compensate McCann for the consequences of losing so important a prisoner. There was nothing now but to carry it off with a high hand. McCann got up.
"Be your lave, Mr. Crocker," he said.
"Never you mind me, McCann," I replied, "but you do what is right."
With that he began his search. It might have been ludicrous if I had had any desire to laugh, for the chief wore the gingerly air of a man looking for a rattlesnake which has to be got somehow. And my client assisted at the inspection with all the graces of a dancing-master. McCann poked into the forward lockers where we kept the stores,—dropping the iron lid within an inch of his toe,—and the clothing-lockers and the sail-lockers. He reached under the bunks, and drew out his hand again quickly, as though he expected to be bitten. And at last he stood by the trap with the hole in it, under which the Celebrity lay prostrate. I could hear my own breathing. But Mr. Cooke had his wits about him still, and at this critical juncture he gave McCann a thump on the back which nearly carried him off his feet.
"They say the mast is hollow, old man," he suggested.
"Be jabers, Mr. Cooke," said McCann, "and I'm beginning to think it is!
"He took off his cap and scratched his head.
"Well, McCann, I hope you're contented," I said.
"Mr. Crocker," said he, "and it's that thankful I am for you that the gent ain't here. But with him cutting high finks up at Mr. Cooke's house with a valet, and him coming on the yacht with yese, and the whole country in that state about him, begorra," said McCann, "and it's domned strange! Maybe it's swimmin' in the water he is!"
The whole party had followed the search, and at this speech of the chief's our nervous tension became suddenly relaxed. Most of us sat down to laugh.
"I'm asking no questions, Mr. Crocker, yell take notice," he remarked, his voice full of reproachful meaning.
"McCann," said I, "you come outside. I want to speak to you."
He followed me out.
"Now," I went on, "you know me pretty well" (he nodded doubtfully), "and if I give you my word that Charles Wrexell Allen is not on this yacht, and never has been, is that sufficient?"
"Is it the truth you're saying, sir?"
I assured him that it was.
"Then where is he, Mr. Crocker?"
"God only knows!" I replied, with fervor. "I don't, McCann."
The chief was satisfied. He went back into the cabin, and Mr. Cooke, in the exuberance of his joy, produced champagne. McCann had heard of my client and of his luxurious country place, and moreover it was the first time he had ever been on a yellow-plush yacht. He tarried. He drank Mr. Cooke's health and looked around him in wonder and awe, and his remarks were worthy of record. These sayings and the thought of the author of The Sybarites stifling below with his mouth to an auger-hole kept us in a continual state of merriment. And at last our visitor rose to go.
As he was stepping over the side, Mr. Cooke laid hold of a brass button and pressed a handful of the black cigars upon him.
"My regards to the detective, old man," said he.
McCann stared.
"My regards to Drew," my client insisted.
"Oh!" said McCann, his face lighting up, "him with the whiskers, what came from Bear Island in a cat-boat. Sure, he wasn't no detective, sir."
"What was he? A police commissioner?"
"Mr. Cooke," said McCann, disdainfully, as he got into his boat, "he wasn't nothing but a prospector doing the lake for one of them summer hotel companies."