“Yes,” said the King. “I had yesterday to decide the possession of a goat. It was a goat in milk, valuable because the milk could be sold to the Exiles’ Club. Shall I have some milk sent up?”
“How far away is the goat?”
“About a mile.”
“Then have the goat driven here, and driven very gently. I’d like to vet the beast first. If she’s healthy, then with a little modification the milk will do. Have you an ice-machine here?”
“Yes.”
“I shall want a good deal of ice to-night probably.”
“I will see to that. Is there anything else?”
“I may want some brandy later, and if so I want the best I can get. You used to havesome—”
“Of the genuine old cognac that the French padre gave me. There is still one bottle left. It is at my office. I will send a messenger for it.”
“Right. See about the goat first, please.” Dr Pryce turned back to the house.
There he found the tear-stained Tiva waiting for him. In her hand she held a plant withsmall yellowish-white flowers. Dr Pryce had sent her to get it.
“See,” she said eagerly. “All right?”
“Yes, that’s all right,” said Dr Pryce, taking the plant. “You’re a good girl, though a fool in some respects. You can go back to Ioia now. And, remember, you do not enter Miss Auriol’s room, unless she rings that little bell by her bedside.”
In addition to doing much of the work that usually falls to the nurse, Dr Pryce had also to be his own manufacturing chemist. Two cases of drugs and apparatus, that he had brought with him, had been placed in a room near Hilda’s. Dr Pryce unpacked what he wanted. There was oxygen to be made and stored, and the dangerous virtue of those yellowish-white flowers to be extracted.
The King was kept very busy on the beach that afternoon and evening. His schooner had come in, and brought stores of all kinds, some for the Exiles’ Club and some for the King himself. There was a bag of letters, and there was money for Lord Charles Baringstoke. Two messengers had come down from the palace by his direction, but they had brought little news; the case was going onmuch as had been expected—that was all Dr Pryce would say. At ten o’clock, as no messenger had come for the last four hours, the King mounted his horse and rode up to the palace.
“I’m glad you’ve come, sir,” said Mr Lechworthy. “Indeed, I was on the point of sending for you.”
“Miss Auriol is better?”
“I—I don’t know. At sunset it was terrible—one heard her moaning and screaming. Dr Pryce had told me it would be so, but still it was terrible. For the last two hours he has been in her room and everything has been quite quiet.”
“He dined with you, I suppose.”
“No. He came in for a minute, and took a cup of coffee. That was all. I can’t tell you the things that that man has done to-day. He has done everything—even to the preparing of such food as she has been allowed to take. If she recovers, it is to Dr Pryce, under Providence, that she owes her life.”
“But why does he remain so long? Why does he not come and tell us?”
“I don’t know. I hope, of course, that she is asleep.”
“If she is asleep, then all is well, and he need not remain.”
“Yes,” admitted Mr Lechworthy. “But I have very great confidence in that doctor. We had better not interfere.”
“Here he comes,” said the King.
“I heard nothing.”
“A door opened and shut softly.”
Dr Soames Pryce came out on to the verandah where Lechworthy and the King were seated. His coat and waistcoat were off. With his left hand he rubbed his right forearm. His smile was slightly triumphant.
“Well, we’ve got through all right, Mr Lechworthy. Had a bit of a fight for it too. Miss Auriol has been asleep for nearly two hours and is still asleep.”
“Then why have you left us without news?” asked the King.
“This another of your little tests?” sneered Pryce.
“Do you want me to apologise again for that? I will if you like. I was a fool, and I know it now. I asked that only because I did not understand. I did not think it would annoy you.”
Mr Lechworthy looked from one man to theother. He did not understand to what they referred.
“All right, old chap,” said Pryce. “I couldn’t come before because Miss Auriol had hold of my right hand when she went to sleep, and I didn’t want to wake her again. Simple enough, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid she’s given you a cramp in your right arm,” said Lechworthy.
“It wouldn’t prevent me from holding a knife and fork,” said the doctor.
“That’s good,” said the King. “We will have supper together.” In another second he would have clapped his hands.
“No noise,” said Pryce, quickly.
“Right. I will go and fetch servants myself.”
Lechworthy also rose and went through the French windows. Dr Pryce stretched himself at full length in a chair and closed his eyes. He was rather more worn out than he would have admitted.
He opened his eyes again as Lechworthy came back on to the verandah with a glass in his hand. “I’ve ventured,” said Mr Lechworthy. “Supper won’t be ready for a few minutes. Whisky-and-soda, eh?”
“Good idea,” said Pryce, taking the glass. “All the same, I don’t want you to run about waiting on me.”
“But my dear doctor, I can’t even beginto—”
“Miss Auriol’s a prize patient,” interrupted Dr Pryce. “Good constitution, good pluck, good intelligence. By theway—”
King Smith came out to tell them that supper was ready.
Lord Charles Baringstoke stretched himself in a lounge-chair on the verandah. It was eleven in the morning, and he had the tired meditative feeling of one who has risen too early. The parrot, who had been sitting for some minutes motionless on its perch, swayed backwards and forwards, considering its repertoire. It produced a plausible imitation of the drawing of a cork.
“Yes,” said Lord Charles Baringstoke, wearily, “that’s rather what I think myself.”
Mr Mandelbaum waddled out to survey the morning. Between his fingers he held a cigar, slightly bloated and rather doubtful, and in these respects curiously like its proprietor.
“Well, my young frient,” said Mandelbaum, “I make myself a good breakfast zis morning.”
“Gross feeder—what? I say, ain’t Soames Pryce ever comin’ back?”
“Ask ze Herr Zecretary. I am noddings here. Do you want pills?”
“No. You see, it’s rather a rum funny thing. You know that lizard of mine—you backed him once.”
“And lost my money. I hop’ he is dead, zat lizart.”
“Yes, he’s dead all right, but that ain’t it. I was exercisin’ him yesterday, when the boy brought me a glass of sherry and angostura with a fly in it.”
“Fly? Vot fly?”
“Just a plain fly, and I hadn’t ordered it. But I fished it out and chucked it to my lizard, who took it in one snap.”
“Vell, vell, vot about it? If you veesh to gomplain zat your drink hat som’flies—”
“I did the complainin’ at the time, thanks. I don’t let a thing of that kind go past me. But what I mean is that the lizard started off round the course like a flash of light. Cut the record all to rags. Did two rounds and a bit, and then he died, you know. But I’ve got another lizard, and I can get another fly and some more sherry. And I’ve got some money just now, and Soames Pryce has got a lizardthat he thinks can’t be beaten. So that’s how it is, you see.”
“I see, my young frient. Dope.”
“Well, puttin’ it coarsely, dope. And good.”
“Ve borrow a lizart and try him again,” said Mr Mandelbaum, thoughtfully. “Perhaps zat vos only a chance. Ach, here is Sir John!”
The neatness and freshness of Sir John’s attire made the other men look untidy. Sir John had been distressed to hear of the carelessness of one of the native waiters the day before, but at the same time he thought it would have been better if Lord Charles had not thrown the glass in the boy’s face. Glassware was so difficult to replace. It would have been enough to have said a word to Thomas about it. “And though the boy’s eye will probably get all right again, we think it’s politic not to handle the natives too roughly.”
“Awfully sorry,” said Lord Charles. “This club etiquette does hedge you around, don’t it? And I give you my word of honour there was nobody else there to chuck the blessed glass at. And—oh! I say, when’s Pryce comin’ back? He’s been away a week.”
“Not quite a week. As it happens, I’m expecting him every moment. But he goes away again to-night.”
“But ze girl vos all right again now, zey tell me,” said Mandelbaum.
“Well, yes,” said Sir John, genially. “A good recovery, I’m glad to say. But possibly Mr Lechworthy is still a little nervous. Smith, too, can’t be there much, he has his business, and I daresay he’s getting the doctor to help him with his guests. Our friend Pryce knows the island, you see.”
“Shall we gather at the river?” suggested the parrot very loudly, and with distinct lapses from accuracy in its reproduction of the melody. Nobody took any notice of it.
“Well, if Pryce is comin’, I’ll wait,” said Lord Charles. “I want to do a little lizard-racin’ with him.”
“Doubt if he’ll have time for it. You see, Charles, I’m sorry to disturb your plans, but we want a little business with the doctor. Committee.”
“Then I’ll find a canoe to take me over to theSnowflake. Unsociable lot on that boat—never come ashore for a drink or anythin’. I should do ’em good.”
“Sorry to disappoint you again, but theSnowflakeleft Faloo this morning.”
“Where to? When’s she comin’ back?”
Sir John stroked his beard and looked very discreet. “I’m afraid,” he said, “I’m not in a position to say.”
“Well, I am gettin’ it in the neck this mornin’, I don’t think. Mayn’t do what I’ve done—can’t do what I wanted—and not to be told anythin’ about anythin’. Krikey! And nothin’ for breakfast but two oranges and a bad headache. What a life!”
“Ah, ha!” laughed Sir John. “You keep it up too late, you and Mast!”
“Shallwe,” screamed the parrot with much emphasis on the first word, and then paused. With its head on one side, it blinked at Sir John and observed parenthetically, “You damned thief!” For the moment it had forgotten what it had first intended to say. “Gather at the river?” it suddenly added with perfunctory rapidity.
As a matter of fact Sir John knew no more than the others about the destination of theSnowflake. Nor did he know when she would return to take up her owner. His information was derived from a very laconic note fromDr Pryce, received on the previous evening. “Syndicate chucked,” wrote Dr Soames Pryce. “Lechworthy partners Smith.Snowflakeleaves to-morrow morning, but returns for Lechworthy. Shall be at the club for a few hours then. So please call committee to meet me and explain.” That morning Sir John had received the King’s formal notice of his intention to buy out his partners. The letter was brief, severely correct, business-like in every phrase, and clearly had nothing of King Smith about it except the signature.
The situation was very serious. No longer had the Exiles’ Club the slightest hold over King Smith. Nor did it seem likely that the King’s association with Lechworthy would be confined to the business venture. The King, Sir John had guessed, had other schemes. A desperate crisis must sometimes be dealt with in a desperate way, and of the desperate ways it is better to say as little as possible. If one uses the knife to cut the knot and all comes free, it may be more comfortable afterwards to ignore what has happened and to hide the knife. Sir John spoke of the departure of theSnowflake, for this was, or would be in an hour, pretty generally known, but he was not goingto babble of the situation to irresponsible people. He was careful to emphasise the note of indulgent good-humour, and gave no indication of the anxiety that tortured him.
Dr Soames Pryce came across the lawn with irritating slowness, rolling a cigarette as he walked. He greeted Sir John and the other two men, and made one or two poignant observations on the personal appearance of Lord Charles. Then he turned to the parrot.
“Nice morning, Polly, ain’t it?”
“Hell to you, sir!” said that profane fowl promptly.
Sir John showed pardonable signs of impatience. “Hanson and Mast have been waiting in the secretary’s room for some time,” he said.
“Sorry. I’ll come.”
But in the hall a further interruption took place. Thomas came forward.
“Beg pardon, sir, but one of the native boys has got his eye a good deal cut about. Gentleman threw a glass at him yesterday.”
“Never mind that now. Another time.” said Sir John.
“No,” said Pryce, “I must go and have a look at him. I shan’t be long, probably.Meanwhile, you and the others can get through all the formal business—you don’t want me for that. You’ve explained the situation?”
“I’ve spoken of it to Hanson and Mast, so far as I know it. You ought to have written in more detail. Do be as quick as you can.”
“There’s no hurry,” said Pryce, cheerfully, as he followed Thomas.
The formal business went through, including the provisional election of a new member, and some desultory discussion followed. The Rev. Cyril Mast looked ill, shaky and depressed. He asked many questions, most of which could not be answered, and repeated at intervals that in his belief Dr Pryce would pull them through. Sir John was barely civil to him, and glanced repeatedly at his watch. Hanson was taciturn.
Half an hour had elapsed before Dr Pryce entered the room. He was quite conscious that he was being talked about as he entered. He nodded to Hanson and Mast, dropped into a chair, and lit a cigarette.
“At last!” said Sir John, severely.
“That chap won’t lose the sight of the eye, but he’s had a damned near shave.”
Sir John controlled himself with difficulty.“Very interesting, doctor. We are not here, however, to consider the fact that one of the native servants has not lost his eyesight, but a subject of almost equal importance—the liberty and probably the lives of every white man on the island. Dr Pryce, gentlemen, comes fresh from the enemy’s camp. He was called in, as you know, to attend Lechworthy’s niece, and he has had unusual opportunities for observation. He has already sent us, very briefly, some alarming and serious news. We shall be glad if he can supplement it in any way, and if he will tell us to what conclusions he has come.”
“Hear, hear,” said Mast.
“The conclusion to which I have come,” said Pryce, “is that Faloo is finished, so far as we are concerned. The Exiles’ Club is done, D-o-n-e, done.Sauve qui peut—that’s the order.”
His three hearers looked at him, and at one another. There was a moment’s silence.
“Rather a sweeping conclusion,” said Sir John, suavely. “I should have to feel very sure that our case was desperate before I accepted it. What has been happening up at the King’s palace?”
“The first few days I was a good deal occupied with my patient, who is now practically well again. Lechworthy and the King had two or three consultations together, at which I was not present. It was not till yesterday morning that they came to their final agreement. Then, as soon as Smith had gone, Lechworthy asked if he could have some talk with me. Well, he told me all that had been arranged, quite fully and frankly.”
“And you believed him?” asked Mast, with a silly assumption of acuteness.
Dr Soames Pryce took no notice of the question and continued. “Lechworthy’s business partnership with the King was first touched upon. I did not know before what terms the syndicate had made with the King, and when I heard them I was not pleased. It’s not surprising that, as soon as he got the chance, Smith supplanted us.”
“You were one of the syndicate yourself,” said Sir John.
“I was asked to put a couple of hundred into the business when I came here. I paid my footing. I knew, of course, that the syndicate had Smith by the neck, and that this was necessary. But I did not know that wewere picking his pocket at the same time, which was unnecessary. We needn’t discuss it. Lechworthy will take our place. But that is merely a temporary arrangement, for if the King and Lechworthy succeed in doing what they intend to do, there will be no more trading. Under the trader lies the patriot. The King’s scheme is that Faloo shall be the asylum of a dying race. You were not far wrong, Sweetling. It is to be Faloo for its own people. No white man is to set foot on the island. Civilisation is not to contaminate it, for civilisation kills the native. Under British protection, which is sought, this would be possible.”
“Great Britain is to be asked to protect an island, of which it is to be allowed to make no use whatever,” said Sir John. “Come, doctor, we are practical people.”
“Well, Smith is ready to pay for anything that he has. He is willing, too, to have the thing tried experimentally for a few years, and to risk everything on the experiment being successful in arresting the deterioration and decay of the native race. Lechworthy, too, is just the man to pull such a thing through. He owns an influential paper, and he contributes largely to the party funds. He is not often heard in the House, but he is working behind the scenes most of the time. The idea is sentimental, inexpensive and not dangerous, for France isn’t going to worry about Faloo.”
“The missionary question,” suggested Hanson.
“That created a difficulty for some time. Smith’s way out of it is disingenuous, but it has worked. The white missionary is barred, but native Protestant converts will be admitted freely, and a church will be built. Religion is accepted but not secular education. There will be a church, but there will be no school. As for the Catholics, Smith appears to do what he likes. The priests will ask to be transferred to another island—a sphere of greater usefulness. They came here enthusiastic, but they’ve grown slack and they’ve done themselves too well. Smith knows something perhaps, and could write a letter if necessary, and they know that he could. At any rate there are to be no more Catholics in Faloo. That was a point which told tremendously with Lechworthy. Of course, we know that in a very short time there will beno more Protestants either. We know what happens to the Protestant convert when the white man is away and there is neither moral support nor public opinion to back him.”
“If you had worked on that,” said Mast, “you might have separated Smith and Lechworthy.”
“It might have been tried,” said Sir John.
“It was, and it failed. You see, Sweetling, Smith had been ready for it. The line taken was that the true religion must prevail, whether by the native convert or by the white missionary. The idea of the first Protestant church in Faloo had a glamour about it for Lechworthy. A site is chosen already for that church, and a rough plan sketched out. And I have not the least doubt that it will actually be built. Smith knows what he’s about. I found I had come up against real faith, and with that one cannot argue. And even if I had succeeded, what was the use? So soon as the business partnership comes into being, we lose our hold on Smith, and the position becomes intolerable. He can charge us anything he likes for the goods he supplies. He can refuse to supply us altogether. He can refuse to carry our mail. And certainly hewould no longer risk his popularity by standing between us and those of the natives, who, with good reason, hate us. The game’s up.Rien ne va plus.”
“The position is certainly very grave,” said Sir John. “What about theSnowflake?”
“Was to have left yesterday afternoon. Lechworthy asked me if I had any letters to send, but I had none. The delay was caused because Smith had not had time to finish some papers that Lechworthy wanted to send on. Lechworthy himself sent, amongst others, letters to his editor and to his political chief. They will catch a steamer at the nearest port on the route. Then theSnowflakereturns to Faloo, to take up Lechworthy and his niece. Those letters are on their way now, and you can imagine the kind of letters that the astonished visitor to Faloo is likely to write. This island has become too public for us.”
“If those letters arrive, that must be so,” said Sir John. “Well, I deprecate any interference with private letters, of course, but there are exceptional cases. Here are we, a body of men, who, from mistakes and misunderstandings, are anxious to retire from the world. Without our invitation and againstour wishes this vulgar wealthy manufacturer intrudes himself here, and proposes to make the place intolerable for us. We had a right to see that those letters were not sent. It seems to me, Dr Pryce, that you might have gone on board theSnowflakeand, one way or another, managed that.”
“Then you’re wrong, Sweetling. If I could have done it, it would have meant only a temporary postponement of our troubles, but it was not possible. I went to the King’s house as a suspected man. Smith, in a flurried moment, let me see that he suspected me—he thought I meant to kill Miss Auriol, or at any rate to allow her to die. Lechworthy did not suspect me at all; if I had wished to join theSnowflakefor this preliminary trip he would have arranged it; he is really absurdly grateful to me. But even he would have thought my desertion of the patient queer, for he wishes her to be still under a doctor’s care. Smith would have gone further, and would have sent a message to the skipper. Do you think a suspected man is going to have a chance to fool with the mail that’s entrusted to a sober Scotch skipper?” Here he looked steadily at Sir John. “Why, he’d have asgood a chance of scuttling the ship, and he’d have no chance of that. Suspected people don’t have chances.”
“This is most disappointing,” said Mast, peevishly. “I had felt confident that Dr Pryce would pull us through. And what has he done? Nothing.”
“And what would you have done, you silly boozer?”
“Order,” said Sir John. “These provocativeexpressions—”
“Very well. Let’s hear what the Rev. Cyril Mast would have done.”
“Naturally, I should have to think over that,” said Mast.
“If you’d learned to think a little earlier, you would not have brought Lechworthy to the Exiles’ Club. You made this trouble, you know.”
“True enough,” said Sir John. “I’ve told you so myself, Mast.”
“I don’t deny it. And I tell you once more that there is no possible act of reparation which I am not ready to make.”
“I can’t say anything about that,” said Pryce. “Not at any rate within the present limitations as to language at committeemeetings. And I don’t think there’s much else to say. I’ve one more little thing to tell you, and I heard it as I was on my way here. A native, whom I was treating for pneumonia just about the time of Smith’s rejection as a member here, recovered. To-day he came running after my gee in a highly agitated condition. He had something to say to me. Briefly it came to this, that the white men on the island were to be killed as he put it, pretty dam quick. If necessary, Smith was to be killed too. This was all decided, and I understood that he was one of the conspirators who had decided it. But, as he was pleased to say I had saved his life and he wished to save mine, I was to clear out on the trading schooner, I believe. Personally, if there’s any conspiracy on foot, I think the conspirators are likely to get hurt. You were right about those piano-cases, Sweetling. Smith has got seventy-five men up at his house, and they all have rifles. I mention it in case you may think it of any importance. My own opinion was not altered by it. Lechworthy is not doing any detective or police-work. He’s not sending over a list of names or anything of that kind. But I make no doubt that he has said somethingof the nature of the Exiles’ Club. If we stay, we are lost. If we disperse, there’s still one more chance. With many of us the scent is cold and the hounds have given up. And the world’s wide. I propose, Mr President, that the question of winding up the club, or of any alternative scheme be considered at another meeting to-morrow. I have not much more time now. And you do not want to decide hurriedly.”
Sir John rather dejectedly agreed, and there was no dissentient voice.
“Then shall we meet again at this time to-morrow?” asked Mast. “That would suit me.”
“What do you think, doctor?” asked Sir John.
“Meet then if you like. I shan’t be here. I’m going fishing with Lechworthy. You know my views. The members of the Exiles’ Club should disperse deviously, and as soon as Smith’s rotten schooners can take them. As to the winding-up of the club, I’m content to leave it in your hands, Sweetling.”
“So in a crisis like this you find it amusing to go fishing,” said the Rev. Cyril Mast with offensive bitterness.
“Fishing is an occupation,” said Pryce. “Pitching idiots through windows is another occupation and it’s difficult to keep off it sometimes.”
“Order, please,” said Sir John. “These suggestions of violence are most improper. At the same time you, Mr Mast, are the very last person who should venture to offer any criticism. Now, gentlemen, as to the date of the next meeting. What do you think, Mr Hanson?”
“This day week,” said Hanson. “By that time we may know more—or other things may have happened.”
“I can be here then,” said Pryce.
The date was agreed upon, and Pryce came out into the hall. He was going to walk back to the King’s house, and he thought he would take a drink first. In the hall Lord Charles Baringstoke came up to him with Herr Mandelbaum in attendance.
“Oh, I say,” said Lord Charles. “I’ve got my money now, you know. And I’ve got a lizard I’d like to back against yours—or against the clock if you like.”
“Well,” said Pryce, “can’t a man have a drink first?”
“Funny thing—just what I was goin’ to propose. What’s yours?”
“Sherry and Angostura,” said Dr Soames Pryce, impressively. “And I’ll have two flies in mine.”
Mandelbaum’s deep bass laughter rolled upwards from a widely-opened mouth.
“Golly!” exclaimed Lord Charles. His look betokened no shame but considerable curiosity. “You’re on it, of course; but, I say, how did you know?”
“When you smashed a glass on the face of that native boy you nearly cut his eye out—but you didn’t cut his tongue out.”
“Goot! Ver’ goot!” roared Mandelbaum.
“So you’ve been patchin’ his face up?” said Lord Charles. “I see. Well, it’s my mistake, ain’t it? But you’ll have a drink all the same.”
“The cheek of it! What, you dirty dog, you try to swindle me and then expect me to drink with you? Well, well, one mustn’t be too particular in Faloo, and you were born without any moral sense, Charles, and it may be Lord knows the last drink we’ll take together. But you’ll drink with me this time. Come on, Mandelbaum.”
Mandelbaum quoted a German couplet to the effect that a drink in the morning has a medicinal value. Lord Charles protested, but permitted Dr Pryce to pay. Sir John and Hanson joined the party. Mast had gone off by himself. He was sick of the alternate patronage and reprobation of Sir John. He was sick of his own miserable position—to be despised by the members of the Exiles’ Club was to be despised indeed. His weak imaginative vanity pictured himself saving the situation, winning even from his enemies a frank and generous admiration. But his drink-bemused brains supplied no plan of action. He found an unfrequented corner of the garden in which to sulk and swill.
Pryce remained but a few minutes, promised Sir John that he would write if there were anything worth writing, and went on his way. And then Sir John called Hanson apart.
“You said very little at the meeting, Hanson. The modesty of the newly-elected, eh?”
“No,” said Hanson. “I had something to say, but it was not the time.”
“Too many listeners? Pryce?”
“I formed an idea about him—you also, probably.”
“He had meant to do—er—something that was not discussed. But he managed to give me good reason why he couldn’t do it. I can’t blame him. And I fear he’s right in his conclusions. What was your idea?”
“That Dr Soames Pryce does not care one damn what becomes of the Exiles’ Club—or what happens to himself either.”
“He’s a very unemotional man, hates scenes, prides himself (so I should imagine) on his philosophical calm.”
“He has himself well in hand, but it struck me that it was done with great difficulty. He would have much liked to kill our friend Mast. Unemotional? Why, the man’s being burned alive with his emotions!”
“What emotions?”
“Not anger with Mast, nor sorrow, nor fear. There’s one white girl on the island—isn’t that explanation enough?”
“I hadn’t thought of it. It may be that you’re right. But that doesn’t affect the main thing—we have got to quit Faloo.”
“I agree with you that it doesn’t affect that. But still—do you play chess, Sir John?”
“Rarely, but I’m not your class, and I shouldn’t care for a game at the moment.”
“I had not meant to suggest it. And when you play what is the object of your attack?”
“The King, I suppose.”
“It is the same here—in Faloo—now. It is too simple to amount to a problem. We can win in one move.”
“I must hear this.”
“In the garden, I think. It’s not talk to be overheard.”
The two men went down the steps of the verandah together.
Sir John took a cigar from a golden and armorial case and snipped the end.
“Well, Hanson,” he said, “you’re a new man on the committee, and new men bring new ideas. So we are to attack the King, are we? It can be done, of course. You may leave the details to me, but if I saw the regrettable necessity, you may take it from me that Smith would be removed to-night. But what I do not see is how it would do us any good. Smith still stands between some of these angry natives and ourselves, though it’s a question how much longer he will do it. If the King goes, there is still Lechworthy. Then theSnowflakeis coming back here. So, yousee—”
“Yes, yes,” said Hanson. “But that is not the way the game should be played. Shall I tell you?”
“Certainly. That is what I want.” Sir John lit his cigar, and was careful not to throwthe match down on the lawn, for he disliked untidiness.
“Our first move is to make a feint of accepting the situation. At the next meeting we go through the formalities of winding up the club; we discuss quite openly the means of getting away from the island, and speculate as to what will be the safest place to which to retreat. We allow Smith to hear all this, and from him, or from Pryce, it will go through to Lechworthy. Nobody but you and I, Sir John, will know it is a feint. We shall be doing nothing that will surprise Pryce, since he thinks it is the only thing left for us; and he had better not be told. I know the man is loyal, but I mean to cut out even the possibility of a mistake. The other side will continue the game according to their original plan. Lechworthy and his niece will sail away in theSnowflake, and take the next available steamer for England. Our second move is then—and not till then—to arrange for the disappearance of Smith. And that wins us the game.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Smith, as is common enough in these islands, has no child; neither has he any official and acknowledged wife, which is muchless common. The succession would certainly be disputed. The support and the weapons of the white men would turn the scale in that dispute. In other words, the new King of Faloo would be our nominee, and would have to carry out the conditions on which he gained our support. He would repudiate Smith’s scheme entirely; he would refuse any business or political association with Lechworthy. What can Lechworthy do? Nothing. I doubt if he could have got Great Britain to give this weird sort of protection to Faloo, when the King and people of Faloo asked for it and would pay for it. He is too practical a visionary to attempt it when Faloo repudiates anything of the kind.”
“Yes, you’ve worked it out. Smith’s a good life, and I’d never thought about the succession myself—you’re sure of your facts there?”
“Quite sure. What do you think of it?”
“Good. We must do it. But it’s no cinch.”
“That’s true,” said Hanson. “You heard what that native boy told Dr Pryce. A rising against the white men may take place any moment now, and might upset my scheme; we should have to deal with it as it came and wait chances.”
“I think that’s all gas. I used to believe in it, but it would have come earlier if it had been coming at all. I never met a native yet, except Smith—and he has got a dash of white man in him—who had the grit to start a thing of that kind and run it through. I’d something quite different in my mind. When Lechworthy hears from the new King he will know perfectly well that we are at the bottom of it.”
“Probably.”
“Then he will give us all away.”
“I doubt it. He would find it too difficult to explain why he had not given us away before. Besides, he is not a vindictive man; his conscience is his only guide, and if his conscience does not prescribe a man-hunt now it will not prescribe it then. I know something of Lechworthy. He would cut his hand off—and do it cheerfully—to convert us, so that we gave ourselves up to what is called justice; but to pursue and to punish is not in his nature. Besides, his gratitude to Pryce will hold him.”
“You may be right. It is difficult to forecast so far ahead, and things we have not even imagined may happen, but you may be right. If it comes off the position is better than ever.We’ve dealt with Smith with moderate success, but there are not two Smiths and we shall do as we like with the next king. You’ve shown us the best game to play and we will play it. Then, for the present, we do nothing?”
“Nothing,” said Hanson. “When the next meeting of committee is called we acquiesce in Dr Pryce’s proposals. We take first steps towards winding-up. They will be merely paper-work, and serve to fill in time till Lechworthy goes. Then—I leave it to you. You must be prompt. Smith must go.”
“Yes,” said Sir John. “I think it is likely that his death will be the result of a private quarrel. That will be the accepted version.”
“Very well. You’ll arrange all that. Lunch, eh?”
“I think so,” said Sir John. And they turned back towards the club-house.
It occurred to Lord Charles Baringstoke to be curious as to the affairs of the club that afternoon. His method was direct. “And what did the committee do?” he asked Sir John, as they sat on the verandah together.
Sir John neither hesitated nor lied. He told the exact truth so far as he knew it—as to one transaction which had taken place incommittee, while they were still waiting for Dr Pryce.
“We’ve given provisional election to a Mr Pentwin, whose credentials and application arrived by last mail. He himself arrives on Smith’s second schooner. He should be here in a day or two.”
“I got a newspaper by the same mail. He was Pentwin’s Popular Bank, and the police believe he’s in Barcelona. He’s got the stuff with him too.”
“We need not go into that, Charles,” said Sir John, with dignity. “We do not discuss the mistakes that members here may have made in their past life, nor the mistakes which the police may have made. Mr Pentwin sends his subscription and a letter of recommendation from the widow of an old member, Herbert Wyse.”
“Didn’t know him.”
“No,” said Sir John. “Poor Wyse was called to his rest before you arrived here.”
Wyse had thought that he wished to get away from the police. After a few months on Faloo he had found that what he really wanted to get away from was himself and the thing he had to think about. He cut his throat.
The provisional election of Pentwin had been a matter of course. The only comment in committee had been a remark of Hanson’s that he would sooner have had a recommendation from a living member of the club. As Sir John said, if Pentwin was not suitable, he would not remain a member; one or two such cases had occurred before and had given no trouble.
As to the principal business of the committee, Sir John said not one word to Lord Charles Baringstoke, who believed that this provisional election of Pentwin had been the principal business and was quite satisfied. Sir John, as has already been said, had told the truth about the election so far as he knew it. He was exact in saying that a subscription and letter of recommendation from poor Mrs Wyse had been received, and that the name given was Pentwin. Also, the solitary passenger who was at present cursing the cockroaches and discomforts of Smith’s smaller trading vessel, and enduring many things in order to reach Faloo, called himself Pentwin and was thus addressed by people who had time to talk to him. The initials H. P. were on his rather scanty luggage, and the Christian name of thehero, or villain, of Pentwin’s Popular Bank was undeniably Hector.
But this man was not Hector Pentwin, knew very little about him, and knew less about bank business than he did about some other things. Hector himself, flying from justice with a presentiment (subsequently fulfilled) that he would be caught and punished, would have been much surprised had he known that anybody was impersonating him. He could have imagined no possible motive. Yet the impersonator (whom we may continue to call by the assumed name of Pentwin) had his sound and sufficient reasons.
He was a round-faced little man with a cheery smile and an inexhaustible flow of rather commonplace talk. He had money to spend, and appeared immune to alcohol and anxious to prove it. In two days he seemed quite to have fallen into the ways of the club, and was on the best of terms with all the members.
“Pentwin will do very well,” said the president, and the secretary agreed.
The Rev. Cyril Mast extended patronage to Pentwin, who received it with a seemly gratitude.
“Of course,” said Mast, “as a member ofthe committee I have to exercise discretion. I can’t discuss the committee’s business.”
“Certainly not,” said Pentwin. “I shouldn’t expect it. Besides, I’m the least curious of men.”
“Apart from that, I shall be only too glad to put you up to things.”
“That’s really kind of you. I’m a new member, but I hope to spend many happy years here, and for that reason I don’t want to begin by treading on the toes of other members. You understand what I mean. Nobody has said a word to me about Pentwin’s Popular Bank, and I appreciate that. It shows nice feeling. Before I make any blunder, you can perhaps tell me what subjects to avoid with particular members.”
They chatted over the subject, and Mast became from force of habit rather vinously and aggressively moral on the sins of other people. He noticed it himself and half apologised for it.
“You see, Pentwin, I have never been able to shut my eyes to the serious side of life. Have another drink?”
“Thank you, I will,” said Pentwin, and did.
All went smoothly and peacefully now at theExiles’ Club. A tentative order to King Smith had been received and executed with alacrity, and so far he had shown no disposition to quarrel with the men whose partnership he was renouncing. Members of the club who had had fears of what Lechworthy might do had been quieted by Sir John, or Hanson, or Mast. It had all been arranged, they were told. Pryce, clever fellow, had got Lechworthy’s promise of silence in exchange for his professional services to Lechworthy’s niece. Mast had the feeling of elation which comes to a man who after a period of depression finds himself becoming of importance. Sir John, after his talk with the chess-player in the garden, had talked very seriously to Mast. “We have a new scheme on foot,” he said. “Pryce is not in it, and you are.” Nothing could have made Mast better pleased. True, he was not told what the scheme was. Until Lechworthy’s departure nothing was to be done except the first formal step towards the winding up of the club; and it was generally to be given out that Pryce had squared Lechworthy. “Once Lechworthy has gone,” said Sir John, “you’ll be called upon to act. You’ll be shown what to do. Do it, and you’llwipe out your past follies, and the new scheme will go through and we shall all be safe.”
Sir John had considered that whoever killed King Smith would be very lucky indeed if he escaped being killed in his turn. Mast had made the trouble, and had professed his readiness to redeem his mistake. Mast could be spared, for he had greatly deteriorated since his election to the committee. He might as well die that way as from drink. Hanson had planned the game; Sir John would play it; Mast would be merely a miserable pawn, gladly sacrificed for the great end.
Meanwhile, the wretched cat’s-paw felt himself the man of destiny. On some subjects he might chatter freely, but he preserved an iron discretion where Sir John enjoined it. To any member who pressed a question he was reassuring but gave no details. “We’ve gagged Lechworthy all right” was a favourite phrase with him. “You can sleep in your beds.”
He did not mention Lechworthy to the new member, for so far he had no reason to be proud of the subject. But what Mr Pentwin did not hear from the Rev. Cyril Mast he heard at length from Lord Charles Baringstoke, who had no more discretion than the club parrot.
“Lechworthy—you must have heard of him,” said Lord Charles. “Portmanteaux and piety, you know. He’s a G.T. at present, with a pretty niece with him. Funny his bargin’ in here, ain’t it?”
“And where did you say he was living?”
Lord Charles closed one eye impressively. “No use, young man. The same idea had occurred to me, but there isn’t a girl in an English high-class boarding-school who’s quite so well looked after as Lechworthy’s Hilda. She’s up at the King’s house, and you are not invited to inspect the goods.”
“How do you mean?”
“Tell you what happened to myself. I thought I’d have a look, just to see if anything could be done. I never said a word to a soul but I went off on my own. The garden of the place is surrounded by a scraggy hedge standing on the top of a high bank, and it occurred to me that there was a chance the girl might be walking or sitting out in the garden. So I climbed up the bank and looked through the hedge. I didn’t see the girl, but I did see four natives with rifles. Smith has got a young army of them up there, and they are picked smart men. I never thought I couldbe seen, but I suppose I moved the bushes or something. As their rifles went up to their shoulders I dropped and rolled down the bank. If I’d not done that I should have been jewelled in four holes, like Sweetling’s presentation watch that he’s so proud of. You leave it alone, my son. It’s not healthy.”
“You never tried sending in a native with a note for the girl?” suggested Pentwin.
“It’s like this. There’s a pack of servants there, and there are the gents with rifles. But to every other native the place is taboo. There’s not enough tobacco and coloured shirts in the world to bribe a native to try to get in. You might get a boy to go as far as the entrance and holloa. The guard would turn up, and he could hand over his letter. But the chances are that the letter would go straight to the King, or to Uncle Lechworthy, or to the doctor—who’s a bit of a boss there just now.”
“What doctor’s that?”
“Soames Pryce. On the committee here, and a pretty tough proposition too. The girl fell ill—very ill—rotten. Pryce pulled her through and is stopping on. He’s got Lechworthy in his pocket to do what he likes with, they tell me.”
“I see,” said Pentwin. “Well, things being so, I shan’t bother about the girl.”
To do Pentwin justice he had never in the least bothered about the girl. He knew that he would need shortly to communicate with a person in the King’s house, and he wished to know how to do it, but that person would not be Hilda Auriol. He now permitted himself to be initiated by Lord Charles Baringstoke into the mysteries of lizard-racing, and took his losses with equanimity. He won them back, and more too, at bridge that evening, and had the honour of being congratulated on his game by the great Sir John Sweetling himself.
“A very pleasant, cheery little fellow,” said Sir John when Pentwin had gone up to bed. “Self-made man, I should say. Not much education or manners to boast of. But he’s unpretentious and good-hearted, and his bridge is really excellent.” Nobody values unpretentiousness more highly than the incurably pretentious.
Pentwin occupied the room which had been Bassett’s. He had heard the story of Bassett, but he was not a nervous man. Alone in his own room, his air of careless cheerfulnessvanished. He looked quite serious, but not in the least depressed. He had the air of a man playing a difficult game, but a man who had played difficult games before and with success.
From his breast-pocket he took a small canvas envelope, which contained all the papers that he had brought with him, including a wad of Bank of England notes and a proof of his real identity. From the envelope he took a sheet of memoranda, and added to them with a sharp-pointed, indelible pencil in a microscopic writing. He wrote slowly, though he was familiar with the cipher which he was using, and replaced the paper in the envelope.
In pyjamas and slippers he paced up and down the room. Through the open window he could see high up in the distance a tangle of lights among dark trees, where the King’s house stood.
“Well,” he said to himself, as he had often said before, “one must see how things work out.” He placed under his pillow the canvas envelope, a revolver, and a leather bag containing twenty-eight sovereigns and some odd silver. Then he put out his lamp and got into bed.
He could hear a faint murmur of voices below. Then steps came up the stairs, andthe voices became audible. The two men were standing at the top of the stairs now.
“You’ve no reason to be nervous,” said a querulous voice, which Pentwin recognised as Mast’s. “You can depend on me, Sir John.”
“But can I?” said a deeper voice. “It will be at the risk of your life.”
“Why can’t you tell me plainly here, and now what it is? Why wait? I’ve shown discretion?”
“Of late? Yes. But don’t talk so loudly.”
“I don’t care one straw about the risk of my life. When the time comes for me to make good my word I shall do it. I’m only too glad that you’ve given me the chance. It amuses Dr Pryce to treat me as a fool and a baby. He’ll see. Well, that doesn’t matter, I don’t want to talk about myself.”
“Quite right. Don’t talk—it’s what you do which counts. Now you’ve got to be patient. You can’t eat your dinner till it’s cooked.You—”
The voices died away down the passage. Pentwin heard a shutting of doors. All was still. “Now,” thought Pentwin, “I wonder what game is on there.” But it troubled him very little, and in a few minutes he was asleep.
Lechworthy’s project for a pamphlet dealing with mission work in the South Seas had never been of a very ambitious character. It was to be nothing more than the notes of a passing traveller, with no intention of comprehensiveness or finality, designed only to awaken more interest in the missions. Very rarely did Lechworthy lay aside any work that he had projected and actually begun; persistence and self-reliance had been the distinguishing notes of his commercial career. But now he gathered together the memoranda that he had already made, wrapped them in a big envelope, endorsed it and sealed it.
“Hilda,” he said, “you remember an idea I had of writing something about the missionary work, you know—I’ve given that up.”
“Yes,” said Hilda, who understood him well, “I suppose so. There’s a good deal else, isn’t there?”
Lechworthy’s mind had always been far less constricted than his opponents had supposed, and he was beginning now to adjust himself to the new ideas and facts that had lately come within his experience. Some change of view had been dawning upon him before he ever reached Faloo. His belief in Christianity as expounded by the evangelical section of the Church of England remained unshaken, the main pillar of his life as it had ever been. He still felt the encouragement of missionary enterprise to be part of his religious duty. But he had seen things, and he had lost faith in some of the faithful.
He had found quite good men making hypocrites and calling them native converts, and had regretted that the wisdom of the serpent is so seldom joined to the harmlessness of the dove. He had found that the teaching of Christianity had involved too often the teaching of much which was worthless in European civilisation and positively dangerous when transported to these islands. With many illustrations the King had made that clear to him. He had found, too, that much good work was being done by men whom he regarded as lost heretics and spoke of as “Romans.” To write the truth as he had found it might do harm. And here, in thisremote island, out of the political and commercial atmosphere that had sometimes distorted his vision, and far from the petty wars of sects, specious misrepresentation refused to be called by any prettier name. Hilda herself would not have shrunk from it with more acute disgust.
Accustomed as he was to regard all that happened to him as specially ordained by Providence, he meekly submitted to the change in his plans which it seemed to him that Providence had directed. The work which he had designed had been taken out of his hands; it might be that some vainglorious thoughts had mingled with that design. And other work had been given him. He regarded it as no blind chance which had brought him to Faloo, had saved him from Bassett’s revolver and Hilda from the island fever, and had put him into the hands of this strange native king, with his scheme for making of his own little island a refuge for some remnant of his race against the devastating inroad of an unsuitable civilisation.
In his new work Lechworthy was yoked with an unbeliever, or at least with one who doubted. The King made no profession of Christianity. With the fundamental facts of Christianity hewas already acquainted, and for a philosophical discussion of them he was always ready. He professed a general toleration and a readiness to be convinced by events. But he left Lechworthy with no more than a conviction of his honesty and a hope for his future.
“You see,” said the King, one evening, “we are very good and mild people here, and we wish to please. On some islands they fight very often, and they eat man. But my people are gentle, unless they are greatly hurt, and so also am I. You, too, I specially wish to please, and a little lie is easy and costs nothing. But suppose you find me out, what then? Would you be pleased?”
“I should not, sir,” said Lechworthy. “I should resent it. In fact, it would make it impossible for us to work together.”
“All right. Very good. That is what I thought. So I do not say I think just the same as you and repeat pieces of your sacred books. It would be pleasant but untrue. So when I say something else that may please you, then you can believe me. You go to get me British protection, to shut out the white men, to leave Faloo for its own people. But you want Protestant religion. I say that shall be.In return I give this Protestant religion a very good chance. I bring in the best native converts I find, and they shall teach the religion. Not boots, and square-face, and English weights and measures, but just the religion. And I build a fine church all correct. If I do not do all I have said, then I am a liar and you may take the British protection away from us again.”
Lechworthy smiled patiently. “You will keep talking as if I carried British protection in my pocket. I hope that something can be done, and I shall do my best. But how often have I told you that it is all very doubtful and may end in nothing?”
“No,” said the King, stolidly, “you are a political man, just the same as Gladstone. So you understand how this can be managed.”
“But I’m not at all the same as Gladstone,” said Lechworthy. “I have not the gifts, nor the position, nor the influence that he had.I—”
“But still you will do it. You have a newspaper, much money, many friends. I think you too modest. If you wish you will do it. If you do it I will give your Protestant religion a very good chance.”
“Wouldn’t the chance be better,” said Lechworthy, “if you allowed one white missionary. I could select the man myself—a man who would be in sympathy with your views.”
“It is not then a religion for all races?” asked the King. “Without the help of the white man it cannot work—eh?” These were calculated questions.
Gradually he brought Lechworthy to agree with him. In the face of the doubter Lechworthy felt that he himself must show no doubt. In uplifted moments he did really feel enthusiastic and confident.
Lechworthy went on in a steady and business-like way, preparing his appeal for a native Faloo, and requiring from the King endless information. Were the people sober? They were. As a matter of fact they had no chance of drinking. Were they industrious? Here the King hesitated a little. The people of his race were naturally less active than Europeans. But they could be made to work—oh, yes. What were the statistics as to the prevalence of crime and violence? There were no statistics, but the King could give a general assurance. Above all, was the Government strong and stable, able to control the inhabitants, and properly representative of their interests?
“But I myself am the Government,” said Smith, slightly aggrieved. “And what does it matter?”
“I must show that your people are quiet and orderly, and that they can with safety and humanity be left to themselves; that no interference, even in the guise of help, from the more civilised nations is required here. It is part of the foundation of the whole thing—the essential foundation.”
And Lechworthy went on collecting such facts and concrete instances as he could, showing an appetite for names and figures that dismayed the King. None the less, the King was quite docile and did his best. Either by the extent of his knowledge, or by the extent of his ignorance, he was always astounding Lechworthy.
The Exiles’ Club also astounded—and possibly illuminated—Lechworthy. He got on well, amazingly well, with Dr Pryce, whom he could not help liking and admiring, and to whom he was very deeply and sincerely grateful, but Pryce was very reticent as to his fellow-members. It was the King who was Lechworthy’s principal source of information, and the King had many strange stories to tell of the Exiles’ Club.
Lechworthy had not often been brought into contact with bad men and criminals, and his idea of the bad man was crude to the point of childishness. He would have admitted that we were all sinners, and that even the best of men have their trivial defects and lapses, but he had always thought of criminals as men bad all through, bad in every thought and act. He had never realised the share in humanity that even the worst men sometimes hold.
It did not surprise him that there were occasional scenes of disorder and excess at the Exiles’ Club, but it did surprise him to find that as a rule all was orderly and well-organised, and that, without policeman or magistrate, they obeyed the laws that they had been forced to make. It did surprise him to hear that the Rev. Cyril Mast, when he first came to the island, instituted a Sunday morning service, and that several members of the club, Sir John Sweetling among them, attended it regularly. It was Mast himself who, under an acute and slightly maudlin sense of his own unworthiness, had discontinued these services.
“Yes,” said Smith, simply, “this Mast lives badly, talks badly, drinks very much. But he is a religious man and most unhappy about it.If he had a choice I think he would sooner be quite good.”
“Every man has the choice,” said Lechworthy, firmly; but to himself he admitted that every man has not the same kind of choice.
The King was perfectly fair, too, in speaking of the trouble between the exiles and the natives. It was due to one special cause, and it was a cause which drove the natives mad; it made them forget all benefits that they had received, and include both the innocent and the guilty in one condemnation.
“The innocent?” said Lechworthy.
“Yes, innocent so far as the natives are concerned. The native servants at the club are treated well as a rule, well fed and well paid, and they get many presents. Some of the members have handled them roughly at times, through drink or anger, but that is uncommon, and Sir John does not like it. If any of them is sick then Pryce comes and makes him well again, just as he is making your niece well again, and never anything to pay. The native who has something good—fish or fruit or fresh milk, can sell it better to the white man than to another native. It is a few of the younger men at the club who havegreatly wronged my people, but there are many of my people who would like to destroy them all.”
“I wish you could tell me more of this Dr Pryce. Apart from all he has done for us I like him. I can’t understand your ideas about him.”
“What ideas?”
“When Hilda was ill you said—truly, I think—that Dr Pryce could save her. But you said it would be necessary to frighten him. Did you frighten him? Why was it necessary?”
“I thought he might like to kill her—you too. But I did not frighten him, and I believe I was wrong.”
“And that story of yours about theSnowflake?”
“I do not know. He asked me to get him a passage on theSnowflake. I wondered—and then I warned you. I said the ship and all aboard her would be lost. I think I was right then, and that it would not be so now.”
“Well, sir, I think you were wrong. He knows that I would give him that passage, that I’d give him the boat, that I’d give him anything. He has asked for nothing.”
“That is because, when your niece was ill, I made a little mistake, and he saw that Isuspected him. If he is suspected then his plan is no good. He would know that.”
“It’s not an easy thing to find a good man who’ll sacrifice his life for his friends. Why should Dr Pryce do it for the scum at the Exiles’ Club?”
Smith shook his head. “I do not understand him,” he said. “He is the one man there that I do not see through. He is straight—yes, but then he has plenty. He does not take much care of his own skin. I myself have seen him risk his life—just for a game, for the sport. Why not then also for the sake of the men with whom he has lived for so long?”
“But you think he means us no harm now?”
The King waved his hand, as though to put the suggestion aside. “I leave him here alone with you. He takes you out—you and your niece—shows you the island. Very well. Every day he has a hundred chances, if he meant harm. If I did not know that he meant no harm he would have no chance at all. You are the guest of the King of Faloo, and that is an important thing with me. Besides, on your safety all my plan depends.”
“I’m glad you think that way about him now. You certainly would not be able to convince me of the opposite. Why did he ever come to Faloo?”
The King shrugged his shoulders. “I did once ask him that question. I have not asked it of many of the exiles. The man they call Charles will chat and laugh about anything, past or present. Bassett once, when he had drunk a little cognac, told me about himself. Mast has made confessions when he was drunk, and said they were all lies when he was sober again. But most of them will not speak of the past, and questions make them very angry. However, I was very sick, and Pryce looked after me. Perhaps he saved my life—who knows? So I thought he would make me his friend, and one night when he had sat late with me I did ask him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said, ‘Go to the devil!’ and put the little thermometer-machine in my mouth.”
“Well,” said Lechworthy, “I’ve half a mind to ask him myself.”
“If you take my advice, then no. If he wishes to tell you, he will tell you. If he does not wish it will be no good to ask.”
The general tendency of Lechworthy’s mind was optimistic. His perplexities did not leadhim to depression. With a complete confidence in an omnipotent power of good, cognisant of and concerned in the smallest details of even the least of the human swarm, pessimism is impossible. Side by side with “I do not understand” comes the consolatory “I do not need to understand.” It is probable that a patient submission to the limitation of knowledge, at those very points where the thirst to know is most acute, is one of the conditions of happiness. It is rare among the thoughtful men of the day.