Thatbachelor’s balm, a night at a music hall, was of no avail in diverting my mind from the house in Camford Street. In the body I might be present at a vocal rendering of the latest things in comic songs; in the spirit I was the other side of the water. Before the night was over I was there physically, too.
As the ten o’clock “turn” was coming on, and the brilliancy of the entertainment was supposed to have reached high-water mark, I walked down the stairs of the Cerulean and out into the street. I strolled down the Haymarket without any clear idea of where I meant to go.
“You’re an ass,” I told myself. “An ass, sir! If you’d stopped to see Pollie Floyd she’d have driven the cobwebs out of your head. You pay five shillings for a seat, and when, at last, there is going to be something worth looking at, and listening to, you get out of it, and throw away your money. At this time of night, where do you think you’re going?”
I knew all the time, although even to myself I did not choose to confess it—Camford Street. I made for it as straight as I could. It was past half-past ten when I got there. The street was nearly all in darkness. The public-houses were open; but, as they were not of the resplendent order, they were of but little use as illuminants. Mr. Kennard’s establishment was shut. Lights were visible in but few of the houses. No. 84, in the prevailing shadows, looked black as pitch. If the two girls had been obedient to the injunctions laid down in Mr. Batters’ will—and that first night, at any rate, they would have hardly ventured to contravene them—they were long since within doors. Doing what? Asleep? Were both of them asleep? I wondered, if she was awake, what occupied her thoughts? Was she thinking of—the person in the street?
Too ridiculous! Absurd! It is amazing of what crass stupidity even the wisest men are capable. Why should a girl who was a perfect stranger, be thinking, whether awake or sleeping, at that hour of the night, of an individual who had been brought into accidental business association, on one occasion only, with a friend of hers? I kept on putting such-like brain-splitting questions to myself. Without avail. I simply shirked them. I only hoped. That was all.
I had some nonsensical notion of hammering at the front door to see what would happen. But as I was unable to perceive what could result, except possible scandal—suppose they were in bed! they might think I was burglars, or Mr. Batters’ ghost—I held my hand. I was not too far gone to be incapable of realising that frightening a woman into fits was not the best way of winning her trust and confidence. That she was of a nervous temperament I thought probable. I like a woman to be reasonably timorous.
What might have been expected happened. My persistency in strolling about, and behaving as if I were a suspicious character, at last succeeded in arousing the attention of the police. An overcoated constable strode up to me. I stopped him, feeling that it might be better for me to open the ball.
“Officer, do you know anything about the house opposite—No. 84?”
He eyed me; apparently arriving at a conclusion that I bore no conspicuous signs of belonging to the criminal classes.
“We call it the haunted house.”
“Haunted? Why haunted?”
It was a horrible idea that she should be sleeping alone, or as good as alone, in a house which bore the reputation of being haunted. Not that I placed any credence in such rubbish myself, but when she was concerned it was a different matter.
“I can’t say why; but it’s known as such, in the force, and, I believe, among the people in the neighbourhood.”
“Ah! Well, officer, two friends of mine—ladies—young ladies—have taken up their residence at No. 84, and as they’re all alone I shall be obliged if you’ll keep an eye upon the house. If you see any ghosts about the place you run ’em in.”
I gave that policeman half-a-crown. I do not know what he thought of me. I was completely conscious that if I continued to placate members of the constabulary force with two-and-sixpence each I should not find the Batters’ connection a lucrative one. It was all owing to the state of mind I was in. To have remained in her immediate neighbourhood I would have showered half-crowns.
Yet I tore myself away, and went straight home to bed. Hardly to sleep, for such slumber as visited my eyes was troubled by strange imaginings. It would be incorrect to say that all night I dreamed of her, for most of my dreams took the shape of nightmare visitations; but I do not hesitate to affirm that they were caused by her. I had not been troubled by such things for years. If she was not the cause of them, what was?
I awoke at some most unseemly hour. Since sleep was evidently at an end I concluded that it might be as well to have done with what had been, for the first time for many nights, a bed of discomfort. So I arose and dressed. It was a fine morning. I could see that the sun was shining, even from my window. I concluded that I would put into execution a resolution which I had often formed, and as often broken, of going for a walk before breakfast. One is constantly being told—for the most part by people who know nothing about it—how beautiful London is in the early morning sun.
So soon as I was in Fleet Street I saw something which I had certainly not expected to see, at least, not there, just then—Miss Purvis. Fleet Street was deserted; she was the only living thing to be seen; the sight of her nearly took me off my feet. She had been in my thoughts. Her sudden, instant presence was like the miraculous materialisation of some telepathic vision. I felt as if I had heard her calling me, and had come.
She was distant some fifty yards, and was coming towards me. I was at once struck by the air of wildness which was about her. It moved me strangely. She was not attired for the street, having on neither hat nor bonnet, jacket or gloves. Her hair was in disorder. She looked as if she had been in some singular affray. My heart jumped so within my breast that I had, perforce, to stand as if I had been rooted to the ground. Conscience-stricken, I railed at myself for not having, last night, broken down the door, instead of lounging idly in the street. All the while, I knew that there was something wrong. I owned it now, though I had been reluctant to admit it then.
I think she saw me as soon as I saw her. At sight of me she broke into a little tremulous run, swaying from side to side, as if she was so weak that her feet were not entirely under her own control. It was pitiful to watch. Tearing myself from where I seemed to be rooted, I ran to her. I had reached her in less than half-a-dozen seconds. When I was close, stretching out her hands, she cried, in a faint little voice:—
“It’s you! it’s you! Oh, Mr. Paine!”
She did not throw herself into my arms, she had not so much strength; she sank into them, and was still. I saw that she had fainted.
I bore her to my rooms. It was the least that I could do. No one was in sight. And though, no doubt, some straggler might have soon appeared, I could not tell what kind of person it might prove to be. I could hardly keep her out there in the street awaiting the advent of some quite possibly undesirable stranger, even had I been willing, which I was not. Lifting her in my arms, I carried her to my chambers.
Not once did she move. She was limp as some lay figure. I laid her on the couch. So far as I could judge, at first she did not breathe. Then, all at once, she sighed; a tremblement seemed to go all over her. I expected her to open her eyes, and see me there. I felt as if I had been guilty of I knew not what, and feared to meet her accusatory glances. But instead she lay quite still, though I could see that her bosom rose and fell, moved by gentle respirations. My blood boiled as I wondered what could have made her cheek so white.
On a sudden her eyes unclosed. For some seconds she looked neither to the right nor left. She seemed to be considering the ceiling. Then, with a start, she turned and saw me.
“Where am I?” she exclaimed.
“You are safe in my chambers. You know who I am, do you not?”
“You are Mr. Paine. Oh, Mr. Paine!”
She began to cry. Turning from me, she buried her face in the cushion.
“Miss Purvis! What is wrong? What is the matter? Tell me what has happened.”
She continued to cry, her sobs shaking her whole frame. I was beginning to be conscious that the situation was a more delicate one than had at first appeared. After all, the girl was but a stranger to me. I had not the slightest right to attempt to offer her consolation. I remembered to have read somewhere that you ought to know a man intimately for fifteen years before presuming to poke his fire. If that were the case the imagination failed to picture how long a man ought to be acquainted with a girl before venturing to try, with the aid of a pocket handkerchief, to dry her tears.
She kept on crying. It was a severe trial to one’s more or less misty sense of what etiquette demanded. Ought I to remain to be a witness of her tears? She might not like it. She might, very reasonably, resent being practically compelled to exhibit her grief in the presence of a stranger. On the other hand, to leave her alone to, as it were, cry it out, might be regarded, from certain points of view, as the acme of brutality. What I should have liked to have done would have been to take her in my arms, and comfort her as if she had been a child. In the midst of my bewilderment it irritated me to think of the asinine notions which would enter my head. Did I, I inquired of myself, wish to make an enemy, a righteous enemy, of the girl for life?
I tried the effect of another inquiry.
“Miss Purvis, I—I wish you would tell me what has happened.”
“Pollie!”
That was all she said; and that utterance was so blurred by a choking gasp as to render it uncertain if that was what she had said.
“Pollie? Who is Pollie?”
Quite possibly my tone was one of dubiety. Either that or the question itself affected her in a fashion which surprised me. She stopped as suddenly as if the fountain of her tears had been worked by some automatic attachment. Raising herself slightly from the couch, she looked at me, her eyes swollen with weeping.
“Pollie? You ask me who is Pollie? And you’re her lawyer!”
“Her lawyer?—Pollie’s——? You’re not referring to Miss——? Of course, how stupid of me! I had forgotten that Miss Blyth’s Christian name was Mary. I suppose that by her friends she is known as Pollie. I hope that nothing has happened to Miss Blyth.”
“Do you think that I should be here if nothing had happened to Pollie?”
The question was put with an amount of vigour which, in one so fragile, was almost surprising. I was delighted to see in her such a renewal of vigour. It made me feel more at my ease.
“I am only too fortunate, Miss Purvis, whatever the object of your visit. If you will permit me I will get you a cup of tea; that’s what you’re wanting. I live so much alone I’m accustomed to do all sorts of things for myself. Here’s a gas stove; in five minutes the water will be boiling; you shall have your tea. It will do you an immensity of good.”
I had always understood that girls liked tea. But, as I moved about the room, preparing to set the kettle on the stove, she stared at me with an apparent want of comprehension.
“Do you suppose that I’ve come through the streets like this just to get a cup of tea?”
“Never mind for the moment why you’ve come, Miss Purvis; the great thing is that you have come. Tea first: explanation afterwards. If you take my advice you’ll let that be the order of procedure. Nothing like a good brew to promote clarity of exposition.”
I lit the stove.
“Mr. Paine! Mr. Paine!”
She jumped off the couch in quite a passion of excitement.
“Now, Miss Purvis, I do beg you will control yourself. I give you my word that in less than five minutes the water will be boiling.”
She stamped her foot; rage certainly became her.
“You keep talking about your tea, when Pollie’s killed!”
“Killed—Miss Purvis! You don’t mean that Miss Blyth is—killed?”
“She is!—or something awful—and worse!”
“But”—I placed the kettle on the stove to free my hand—“let me understand you plainly. Do you wish to be taken literally when you say that Miss Blyth is—killed?”
“If she isn’t she will be soon.”
“I’m afraid I must ask you to be a little plainer. Where is Miss Blyth?”
“She’s in one of Bluebeard’s Chambers?”
I began to wonder if her mind was wandering.
“I’m afraid that I still don’t——”
“That’s the name she gave them. In that dreadful house in Camford Street there are two rooms locked up, and Pollie’s in one.”
“I see.” I did not, though, at the same time, I fancied that I began to perceive a dim glimmer of light. “But if, as you say, the rooms were locked, how did she get in, and what happened to her when she was in?”
In reply Miss Purvis poured out a series of disjointed statements which I experienced some difficulty in following, and more in reconciling. As I listened, in spite of her manifold attractions, I could not but feel that if she should figure in the witness box, in a case in which I was concerned, I would rather that she gave evidence for the other side.
“That house was full of wickedness!”
“Indeed. In what sense?”
“There’s a woman in it!”
“A woman? There is a woman? Then that’s all right.”
“All right?”
“I was afraid there wouldn’t be another woman.”
“Afraid! Women are ever so much worse than men. And she’s—awful. She says she’s the daughter of the gods.”
“A little wanting, perhaps.”
I touched my head. Apparently Miss Purvis did not catch the allusion.
“Wanting! She’s wanting in everything she ought to have. She’s—she’s not to be described. I thought she was rats.”
“You thought she was rats?”
“The house is full of them—in swarms! They’d have eaten me—picked the flesh off my bones!—if I’d given them the chance.”
I was becoming more and more persuaded that agitation had been too much for her. I had never encountered a case of a person being eaten alive by rats, except the leading one of Bishop Hatto in his rat tower on the Rhine, and that was scarcely quotable.
“Now, Miss Purvis, the kettle is just on the boil. I do beg you’ll have a cup of tea before we go any further.”
“With Pollie lying dead?”
“But is she lying dead?”
“I believe she’s eaten!”
“Eaten?—by rats?”
There was a dryness in my tone which was, perhaps, rather more significant than I had intended.
“Are you laughing at me?—Are you—laughing at me?”
She repeated her inquiry for the second time with a great sob in her voice, which made me realise what a brute I was.
“I am very far from laughing. I am only anxious that you should not make yourself ill.”
“You’re not! you’re not!” She stamped her foot again. I gazed at her with admiration. She was the first beautiful woman I remembered to have seen whose personal appearance was positively improved by getting into a temper.
“You’re laughing at me all the time; you haven’t a spark of human feeling in you!” This was an outrageous charge. At that moment I would have given a great part of what I possessed to have been able to take her in my arms. “What I’ve endured this night no tongue can tell, no pen describe. I’ve gone through enough to make my hair turn white. Hasn’t it turned white?”
“It certainly hasn’t. It’s lovely hair.”
“Lovely——?” She stopped, to look at me; seeing something in my countenance—she alone knew what it was—which made her put her hands up to her face, and burst again into tears. “Oh, Mr. Paine!”
My name, as it came from her lips, was a wail which cut me to the heart. Her agitation was making me agitated too. I had only one resource.
“Now, Miss Purvis, this kettle is really boiling.”
“If you say another word about that kettle I’ll knock it over!”
The small virago was facing me, the tears running down her cheeks, her small fists clenched, as if, on that point at least, she was capable of being as good as her word.
“Knock it over by all means, Miss Purvis, if it pleases you. I—I only want to give you pleasure.”
“Mr. Paine!”
Up went her hands again.
“Don’t do that. I—I can’t bear to see you cry.”
“Then why are you so unkind?”
“I don’t know; it’s my stupidity, I suppose; it’s far from my intention to be unkind.”
“I know! I know! I’m a nothing and a nobody; an impertinent creature who has come to bother you with a tale which you don’t believe, and which wouldn’t interest you if you did; and so you just make fun of me.”
“Don’t say that; not that. Don’t say that to me you are a nothing and a nobody.”
“I am! I am!”
“You are not.”
“Then, why do you treat me as you do?”
“Treat you! How do I treat you? There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you—nothing!”
“Mr. Paine!”
“Miss Purvis!”
I do not know how it happened. I protest, in cold blood, and in black and white, that I have no idea. But, on a sudden, I found that I had my arms about her. A moment before I had no intention of doing anything of the kind—that I swear. And I can only suppose that it was because, in her agitation, she really did not know what was happening, that she allowed her head to rest against my breast.
It was while it was there that a voice said, proceeding from the neighbourhood of the door:—
“This is a bit of all right; but where do I come in?”
I haveonly to point out that, despite the interruption, Miss Purvis continued in the same position, without making the slightest effort to disengage herself, to make it clear that she, to at least a certain extent, was unconscious of her surroundings. For my part I held her somewhat closer, so that I might act as a more efficient protection against I knew not what.
Glancing in the direction from which the voice had come I perceived that a distinctly disreputable individual had intruded himself, uninvited, into the room. He was a tall, shambling fellow, with a chronic stoop, extending even to the neighbourhood of his knees. His attire consisted of a variety of odds and ends, all of them emphatically the worse for wear. A dirty cloth cap, apparently a size too small, was stuck at the back of his head. His black, greasy hair formed a ragged, uneven fringe upon his forehead, reaching in one place nearly to the top of his long, pointed nose. His mouth was too wide for his face, which was narrow. As he stood there with it open, in what I presume he intended for a friendly grin, the fact was revealed that seemingly every alternate tooth in his head was missing. Even in that moment of agitation I could not help mentally noting that I had never seen such a collection of fangs in one man’s head before.
“What do you mean, sir, coming in without knocking?”
“What do I mean? That’s what I’m here to tell you. And as for knocking, I did knock, with my knuckles; but you was too much engaged to notice my modest knock; so, seeing the door was open, I just come in.”
“Then you’ll just go out again; and sharp’s the word.”
While the fellow was speaking, Miss Purvis, awaking, for the first time, to a sense of her delicate position, drew herself away from me. Turning, she stared at the intruder.
“Sharp’s the word, is it? That’s how it may be. Anyhow, it don’t apply to me, because I’m here on business.”
“Then come in business hours. I don’t receive clients at this time of day. Don’t you see that I’m engaged?”
“Engaged, are you? That’s as it should be. I congratulate you. Likewise the young lady, for having won so outspoken a young gentleman; and one that’s well spoken of, from all I hear.”
Whether the fellow was intentionally impertinent I could not tell. It was uncommonly awkward for both of us. Miss Purvis went scarlet. I felt like knocking him down.
“Now, then, out you go!”
“Softly! softly! You listen to me before the band begins to play. I don’t allow no one to lay hands on me without laying of ’em back again.”
The fellow extended, to ward me off, a pair of enormously long arms. Observing them, I realised that if he would only hold himself upright his height would be gigantic. I am no bantam; yet as I considered his evident suppleness, and sinewy build, I thought it possible that in him I had met my match. Anyhow, I did not wish to indulge in a rough-and-tumble before Miss Purvis.
“Who are you? And what do you want?”
“What I want first of all is to know who you are. Are you Mr. Frank Paine?”
“I am.”
“I’m told that you’re making inquiries about a party named Batters; now I’m making inquiries about a party named Batters, too; and if you was to tell me what you know, I might tell you what I know.”
“You are quite right, I have been inquiring for a person of the name of Batters. And if you will come again, say, between ten and eleven, I shall be glad to hear what you have to say. By that time I shall be disengaged.”
“You’ll be disengaged, will you? That’s hard on the young lady. Engaged to her at seven, and disengaged between ten and eleven, all of the same day.”
“Look here, my man!”
“I’m looking, Mr. Paine, I’m looking; and I do hope I’m looking milder nor what you are. May I make so bold as to ask if this young lady’s name is Blyth?”
“It is not.”
“I thought it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t hardly seem natural for a beautiful young lady like she is to be grafted from a stock like that. Lovely is what I call her, downright lovely.”
“Oh, Mr. Paine!”
Miss Purvis held out her hand. I took it.
“If you suppose because I have borne with you so far I will bear with you much further, you’re mistaken. If you take my advice, you’ll be careful.”
“That’s right, sir; that’s quite right. Careful’s the lay for me.”
“If you have anything to say, be quick about it.”
“Well, I do happen to have something which I wish to say, and that’s a fact; but as for quickness I’m afraid that I’m not naturally so quick as perhaps you might desire.” He stopped, to regard me with his bold, yet shifty eyes, as if he were endeavouring to ascertain what sort of person I might be. When he spoke again it was to put a question for which I was unprepared. “Where’s Batters?”
“Mr. Batters—if you are referring to the late Mr. Benjamin Batters—is dead.”
“Dead? Oh! Late, is he? Ah! He was the sort to die early, was Batters. Where might he happen to have died?”
“On Great Ka Island.”
“Great Ka Island? Ah! And where might that be?”
“On the other side of the world.”
“That’s some way off, isn’t it? Most unfortunate. I take it most uncivil of Batters to go and die in a place like that. Especially when I should like to have a look at his grave. You don’t happen to know where it is.”
“I do not, except that I have been given to understand that he was buried where he died.”
“That so? He would be. In the local cemetery, with the flowers growing all around. In a nice deep grave with a stone on top to keep him from getting out of it, and some words cut on it, like ‘He lies in peace.’ There’s no doubt about his lying, anyhow, I’ll take my oath to that.” He emitted a sound which might have been meant for a chuckle. It startled Miss Purvis. “You don’t happen to know when he died?”
“I do not know the precise date, but it was at any rate some three or four months ago.”
“That’s odd, very. Because, as it happens, I was with him some three or four months ago, and I never saw nothing about him that looked like dying. So far from dying, he was lively, uncommon; fleas wasn’t in it with the liveliness of Batters. And to think that he should have died with me looking at him all the time, and yet knowing nothing at all about it. It shows you that there is such things as miracles.”
“Do I understand you to say that three months ago you were in the company of Mr. Batters?”
“I was. And likewise four months ago. And I hope to be in his company again before long, dead or alive. It won’t be my fault if I’m not; you may go the lot on that.”
There was something about the fellow which struck me as peculiar; it was not alone his impudence, which belonged to another sort of singularity. There seemed to be a covert meaning in his manner and his words. I turned to Miss Purvis.
“If you don’t mind I think I will hear what this person has to say; it may be of importance to your friend. If you will allow me to leave you here, I think I may arrive quicker at his meaning if I am alone with him.”
She signified her consent. I led the way into the office. Without showing in any way that he objected, the stranger followed.
“Now my man, let us understand each other as clearly as we can, and keep to the point as closely as you are able. What’s your name?”
“Luke.”
“Luke what?”
“Luke nothing. I’m known to those who knew me best as St. Luke, after the apostle, being of saintlike character, but in general Luke’s name enough for me. They was modest where I come from.”
“What are you?”
“A sailor man, late of the good shipFlying Scud.”
“The Flying Scud?” I stared at him askance, not certain that I had caught the name correctly. That particular ship seemed in the air. “Then do you know Captain Lander?”
As I asked the question his manner changed. It became suspicious. Thrusting his thumbs into his waistcoat armholes he eyed me warily, as if he had all at once been put upon his guard.
“Now how much do you know about it?”
“What do you mean? How much do I know about what?”
“What’s Captain Lander told you about me?”
“About you? To me Captain Lander has never so much as mentioned your name.”
A sudden wild thought came into my head. “Are you—are you Benjamin Batters?”
The fellow’s mouth opened so wide I could see right down his throat.
“Me Benjamin Batters! Good Lord! What made you ask me such a thing as that?”
“Are you? Are you?” As I watched I doubted more and more. “I believe you are.”
“I’m not. Good Lord! You ask Captain Lander if I am. You said yourself just now that he was dead and buried.”
“And you hinted that he was not, but that he was still alive.”
Putting his hand up to his brow he brushed the fringe of hair partially aside, glancing furtively about the room.
“That’s as may be; that’s another matter altogether. But I don’t like your asking me if I was Batters. No man would. Have you ever seen him?”
“Never; unless I see him now.”
“Meaning me? I never came across such a man. What do you mean by keeping on asking if I’m Batters? What are you driving at? I won’t have it, whatever it is. Why Batters——” He stopped: then second thoughts appearing best, changed from heat to cold. “Batters was not my sort at all.”
The man’s manner puzzled me.
“What was there about Benjamin Batters which makes you resent any comparison with him?”
He hesitated, putting up his fingers to scratch his head, visibly perturbed.
“Excuse me, but I came here to put a question or two, not to answer any. If you’d told me at the first that Captain Lander was a friend of yours, I should have taken myself off straightway, like as I’m going to now.”
I stepped between him and the door.
“No you don’t. You stopped at the beginning to please yourself; now you’ll remain a little longer to please me. Before you leave this room you’ll give me satisfactory answers to one or two questions.”
“Who says I will?”
“I do. If you decline I send for a policeman. Then I think you’ll find yourself in Queer Street.”
His disturbance obviously increased.
“Now, Mr. Paine, I’ve done nothing to you to make you behave nasty to me. If I made a mistake in coming here to make a few inquiries I apologise, and no man can do more than that, so there’s no harm done to either side.”
“Was Batters your shipmate?”
“My shipmate?”
“Was he an officer or member of the crew on boardThe Flying Scud?”
“My gracious, no!”
“He was onThe Flying Scud?”
“He might have been.”
“As passenger?”
“The Flying Scud’sa cargo boat; she don’t carry no passengers.”
“If he was neither officer, sailor, nor passenger, in what capacity was he there?”
“You ask Captain Lander, he was in command, not me. I’ve had enough of this bullyragging. You let me go before there’s trouble.”
“Gently, my man, gently! Now, come, be frank with me. What is the mystery about Benjamin Batters? I see there is one.”
“That’s more than I can tell you, straight it is. I wish it wasn’t. If you was to ask me I should say he was all mystery, Batters was.”
“I suppose he was a man?”
“A man?” The inquiry, suggested by the fashion in which he persisted in shuffling with my questions, had an odd effect upon my visitor. He glanced from side to side, and up and down, as if desirous, at any cost, to avoid meeting my eye. “It depends on what you call a man.”
“You know very well what I call a man. Was he a man in the sense that you and I are men?”
He shuddered.
“The Lord forbid that I should be in any way like him; the Lord forbid!”
“I observed him narrowly, at a loss to make him out. That there was something very curious about Benjamin Batters I was becoming more and more persuaded. I had as little doubt that my visitor had at least some knowledge of what it was. Equally obvious, however, was the fact that he had reasons of his own for concealing what he knew. How I could compel him to make a confidant of me against his will I failed to see. I tried another tack.
“You say that you were in Batters’ company three months ago.”
“I might have been.”
“How long ago is it since you last saw him?”
“I couldn’t exactly say.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“Where?” He looked round and round the room, as if seeking for information. Then the fashion of his countenance changed, an ugly look came on it. “I’m not going to tell you when I saw him last, nor where. It’s no business of yours. You mind your own business, and leave mine alone. And as for your policeman, I don’t care for no policeman. Why should I? I’m an honest man. So you get out of my way and let me pass; and that’s all about it.”
“Have you seen Benjamin Batters within the month?”
“Never you mind!”
“Your words are a sufficient answer. I believe that you have been conspiring with Benjamin Batters with fraudulent intent. If you do not furnish me with abundant proof that my suspicions are unfounded I shall summon a constable, and give you into custody upon that charge.”
It was a piece of pure bluff upon my part, which failed.
“That’s the time of the day, is it? I’ve been conspiring with him, have I? What have I been conspiring about?”
“I have no doubt that that is a point on which Captain Lander will be able to show more than sufficient light.”
My words had at last struck home. What lent them especial weight I could not even guess. But that they had moved him more than anything which had gone before his behaviour showed.
“He will, will he? So that’s the game you’re after. You’re a lawyer, and I’m a poor, silly sailor man, so you think you can play just what tricks with me you please. But there’s something else Captain Lander can tell you if you ask him, and that’s that I can be disagreeable when I’m crossed, and if you don’t move away from that door inside a brace of shakes I’m going to be disagreeable now.”
“Don’t threaten me, my man.”
“Threaten?”
His tone suggested that he scorned being thought capable of threatening only, and his action proved it.
He came at me with a suddenness for which I was unprepared. Putting his arms about me while I was still unready he lifted me off my feet. As he was still holding me aloft, crooking my leg inside his, I bore on him with all my might, and brought him with a crash to the floor. Although he lay underneath, his arms still retained their grip.
While I hesitated whether to attack the man in earnest or to remonstrate with him instead—for Miss Purvis might at any moment look in, and then a nice opinion she would have of me—someone standing behind slipped what seemed to be a cord over my head, and drew it so tight about my throat that in an instant I was all but choked. When, gasping for breath, I put up my hand to free myself, it was drawn still tighter. So tight indeed that not only did it cut like a knife, but I felt as if my tongue was being torn out of my mouth, and I lost all consciousness.
Howlong I remained unconscious I could not say. When I did come to, during some seconds I was unable to realise my position. It was like waking out of an uncomfortably heavy sleep. Consciousness returned by degrees, and painfully; as it were, by a series of waves, which were like so many shocks. I was oppressed by nausea, my eyes were dim, my brain seemed reeling, as if it were making disconcerting efforts to retain its equilibrium. It was some time before I understood that I was still in my own room; yet, longer before I had some faint comprehension of the situation I was in, and of what was taking place about me.
It was probably some minutes before I completely understood that I was trussed like a fowl, and that the exquisite pain which I was enduring was because of the tightness and ingenuity of my bonds. I was on the floor with my back against the wall. Cords which were about my wrists were attached to my ankles, passed up my back, then round my throat, so that each movement I made I bade fair to choke myself. It was a diabolical contrivance. The cords were thin ones—red-hot wires they seemed to me to be, they cut my wrists like knives, and burned them as with fire. My legs were drawn under my body in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. They were torn by cramp, yet whenever I made the slightest attempt to ease them I dragged at the cord which was about my throat. One thing seemed plain, if the worst came to the worst I should experience no difficulty in committing suicide. Apparently I had only to let my head forward to be strangled.
By way of making the condition of affairs entirely satisfactory something sharp had been forced into my mouth, which not only acted as a gag, effectually preventing my uttering a sound, but which made it difficult for me to breathe. That it was cutting me was made plain by the blood which I was compelled to swallow.
As I have said, it was not at first that I had a clear perception of the personal plight that I was in. When it dawned on me at last I had a morbid satisfaction in learning that I was not alone in it. Someone so close on the left as to be almost touching me was in a similar plight. It was St. Luke. I had mistily imagined that that seafaring associate of the more and more mysterious Benjamin Batters had been in some way responsible for my misadventure. Not a bit of it. I had wronged the honest man. So far as I could perceive, his plight was an exact reproduction of my own. The same attention had been paid to his physical comfort; only apparently the gag had been so placed in his mouth as to leave him more freedom to gasp, and to grunt, and to groan.
Who, then, was responsible for this pretty performance? What man, or men, had I so wronged as to be deserving this return? The problem was a nice one. I looked for the solution.
I found it, and, in doing so, found also something else, which filled me with such a tumult of passion that I actually momentarily forgot the egregious position I was in.
Miss Purvis had been served as I had been.
She had either, wondering at my delay, or startled by the noise, peeped into the office, and so disturbed the ruffians at their work; or the miscreants, penetrating into the inner room, had found her there and dragged her out. However it had been, there she was, trussed and gagged against the wall upon my right. They had shown no respect for a woman, but had handled her precisely as they had done St. Luke and me. My brain felt as if it would have burst as I thought of the indignity with which they must have used her, and of the agony, mental and bodily, she must have endured, and be enduring still. Her face—her pretty face!—was white as the sheet of paper on which I write. Her eyes—her lovely eyes!—were closed. I hoped that she had fainted, and so was oblivious of suffering and shame. Yet, as I watched her utter stillness, I half feared she might be dead.
The gentlemen who were responsible for this pleasant piece of work were three. They were there before me in plain sight. It was with an odd sense that it was just what I had expected that I recognised the trio who had already paid me a visit in the silent watches of the night. There was the imposing, elderly, bald-headed gentleman, who represented length without breadth; there, also, were his two attendant satellites. How to account for their assiduous interest in my unpretending office was beyond my power. Nor did I understand why it should have been necessary to use quite such drastic measures against the lady, St. Luke, and myself. Still less—I admit it frankly—when I observed their conspicuous lack of avoirdupois, did I gather how they had managed to make of us so easy a prey. Under ordinary conditions I should have been quite willing to take the three on single-handed. The truth probably was that St. Luke and I had unwittingly played into their dexterous hands. Had we not been engaged in matching ourselves against each other we should have been more than a match for them. But when they came in, and found the sailor man upon the floor prisoning me close within his arms, all they had to do was to slip one cord round my throat, and another round his. We were at their mercy. No man can show much fight when he is being strangled; especially when the job is in the hands of a skilled practitioner. Never mind what the theory is, that is the teaching of experience.
What they wanted, with so much anxiety, in my office, I was unable to guess. They had already purloined the God of Fortune.
Stay! It had been returned to me again. I had dropped it on the floor; been unable to find it. Could it be that they were after it a second time. I wondered. What peculiar significance, what attribute, could that small plaything have?
Beyond doubt they were treating my belongings with scant regard for the feelings of their owner? If they failed to find what they were seeking it would not be for want of a thorough quest. Pretty well everything the apartment contained they subjected to a minute examination. They allowed nothing to escape them. It was delightful to watch them. If I had been suffering a little less physical inconvenience I should have enjoyed myself immensely. They might be Orientals; but if they were not professional burglars in their own country then they ought to have been. They were artists any way.
To note one point—there was such order in their methods. They began at one corner of the room, and they worked right round it, emptying boxes, turning out drawers, pulling the books out of their covers, and the stuffing out of the chairs, and the furniture to pieces generally, in search of secret hiding-places. Then they began tapping at the walls, tearing off scraps of paper here and there, to see what was behind. It beat me to imagine what it was that they were after, though it was flattering to think what a first-rate hand at concealment they must be taking me to be. Apparently they were under the impression that a solicitor had plenty of waste time which he occupied by secreting odds and ends in solid walls. The rapidity with which they did all they did do was simply astonishing, particularly when one had to admit with what thoroughness it was done. But when they came to dragging the carpet up, and tearing boards from the floor, I began to wonder if they were going through the house piecemeal.
The litter was beyond description. My practice might not have been a large one, but my papers were many. When a large number of documents are thrown down anywhere, anyhow, they are apt to look untidy. Even in that moment of martyrdom I groaned in spirit as I thought of the labour which their rearrangement would involve.
One mental note I did take; that, despite the eagerness with which they turned out papers from every possible receptacle, they seemed to attach to them but scant importance. That they were after something connected with Mr. Benjamin Batters I had no doubt. Yet they unearthed the Batters’ papers among the rest—even the Batters’ bonds!—and tossed them on one side as if they contained nothing which was of interest to them. If they were able to read English I could not tell, but every now and then the tall, thin party glanced at a paper as if it was not altogether Double Dutch to him.
At last, short of pulling the room itself down about their ears, they had, apparently to their own entire dissatisfaction, exhausted its resources. There was a pause in the operations. There ensued a conclave. The elderly gentleman spoke, while, for the most part, the others listened. What was being said I had no notion. They were sparing of gesture, so no meaning was conveyed through the eye to the brain. I am no linguist. My knowledge of Eastern tongues is nil. I did not know what language they were speaking; had I known I should have been no wiser. One fact, however, was unmistakable; their words were accompanied by glances in my direction, which I did not altogether relish. If ever I saw cruelty written on a human countenance it was on the faces of those three gentlemen. Theirs was the love of it for its own sake. Their faces were rather inhuman masks, expressionless, impassive, unfeeling. It was not difficult to conceive with what ingenuity they could contrive tortures with which to rack the nerves of some promising subject. It was easy to believe that they would put them into practice with the same composure with which they would observe the sensations of the object of their curious experiments.
I had already had some experience of their skill in more than one direction, and I did not desire a practical demonstration of it in yet another.
And for the present I was to be spared the exhibition. It seemed that they all at once bethought themselves that there were other apartments of mine which still remained unsearched. Whereupon off they went to search them. To us they paid no need. Plainly they were sufficiently acquainted with the good qualities of their handiwork to be aware that from us they need fear nothing. That we might be able to free ourselves without assistance was a million to one chance which it was unnecessary to consider. Until some one came to loose us we were bound. Of that they were absolutely sure. So they left us there to keep each other company, and to console each other if we could, while they went to overhaul the rest of my establishment. It was a pleasant thought for me to dwell upon.
Miss Purvis’ eyes were open, but that was about the only sign of life she showed. They wandered once or twice towards me; wandered was just the word which expressed the look which was in them. Her face was white and drawn. There was that about it which made me doubt if even yet she was conscious of what was being done; I wondered if the pain which she was suffering had taken effect upon her brain. It would not have been surprising if it had. It was only by dint of a violent and continued exercise of will that I myself was able to retain, as it were, a hold upon my senses. There was, first of all, the torture of the cramped position. Then there was the way in which the cords cut into the flesh—what particular kind of cords had been used I could not make out, but I suspected fiddle-strings. Then there was the fact that the slightest movement made with a view of obtaining relief threatened not only strangulation but decapitation too.
I wondered what the time was. A laundress, one Mrs. Parsons, was supposed to arrive at eight. It must be nearly that. I had been up for hours; I was convinced that it was hours. It must be after eight. If the woman had any regard for punctuality, at any moment she might appear. If she did not arrive within five minutes she should be dismissed. How could she expect to keep my rooms in proper order if her habits were irregular? I had long wondered how it was my chambers did not do me so much credit as they might have done; I had an eye for such things although she might not think it. Now I understood. If Mrs. Parsons would only have the sense, the honesty, the decency, to keep to her engagements and come at once, while those scoundrels were engaged elsewhere, in a moment I should be free. Then I would show them.
A clock struck seven. It must be wrong. There was a second, third, fourth, all striking seven. An hour yet before the woman was even due! And whoever heard of a laundress who was punctual? Before she came what might not happen? For another hour, at least, we were at the mercy of these ingenious adventurers.
They reappeared. What havoc they had wrought in the rooms in which I lived, and moved, and had my being, I could only guess. Either, from their point of view, they had not done mischief enough, or the result of what they had done had not been satisfactory. Plainly, they were discontented. Their manner showed it. The tall gentleman spoke to his two associates in a tone which suggested disapprobation of their conduct. They seemed, with all possible humility, to be endeavouring to show that the fault was not entirely theirs. This he appeared unwilling to concede. Finally, flopping down on to their knees, touching the floor with their foreheads, they grovelled at his feet. So far from being appeased by this show of penitence, putting out his right foot, he gave each of them a hearty kick. The effect this had on them was comical. They sprang upright like a pair of automata, endeavouring to carry themselves as if they had been the recipient of the highest honours.
The tall gentleman moved towards Miss Purvis. They meekly hung on his heels. He addressed to them remarks to which they scarcely ventured to reply. He eyed the lady. Then glanced towards me. I wondered what was the connection which he supposed existed between us. Something menacing was in his air. He hovered above the helpless girl as a hawk might above a pigeon. Stretching out his cruel-looking hand he thrust it almost in her face. I expected to see her subjected to some fresh indignity, and felt that, if she were, then rage might give me strength to break the bonds which shackled me.
If such had been his intention, it was either deferred, or he changed his mind. He gave a gesture in my direction. Immediately one of his familiars, advancing, tilted me back with no more compunction than if I had been an empty beer cask. Thrusting his filthy fingers into my mouth he dragged out the gag with so much roughness that it tore my tongue and palate as it passed. Returning me to the position which suited him best, out of simple wantonness, with the hand which held the gag he struck me a vigorous blow upon the cheek; so vigorous that, as it jerked my head on one side it seemed to cause the thong which was about my throat to nearly sever my head from my shoulders. Even as he struck me I recognised in my assailant the individual who had dogged my steps from Camford Street, and whom afterwards I had treated to a shaking. This was his idea of crying quits. While the blood still seemed to be whirling before my eyes I said to myself that, if all went well, to his quittance I would add another score. The last blow should not be his.
The removal of the gag did not at once restore to me the faculty of speech. My mouth was bleeding, I was nearly choked by blood. My tongue was torn, and sore, and swollen. It felt ridiculously large for the place it was supposed to occupy. Evidently the attenuated gentleman understood that there were reasons why I should not be expected to join in conversation until I had been afforded an opportunity to get the better of my feelings. He stood regarding me, his parchment-like visage perfectly expressionless, as if he were awaiting the period when I might be reasonably required to give voice to my emotions.
When, as I take it, he supposed such a time to have arrived, he addressed me, to my surprise, in English, which was not bad of its kind.
“Where is the Great Joss?”
I had no notion what he meant. Had I understood him perfectly I should have been unable to give him the information he required. So soon as I attempted to speak I found that my tongue refused, literally, to do its office. I could only produce those mumbling sounds which proceed, sometimes, from the mouths of those who are dumb.
In his judgment, however, it seemed that I ought already to have advanced to perfect clarity of utterance. He repeated his inquiry.
“Where is the Great Joss? I am in haste. Tell me quick.”
“Untie my hands and throat.”
That was my reply. The words, as they came from my lips, assumed a guise in which they could hardly have been recognisable for what they were meant to be, so inarticulately were they spoken. Whether he understood them I could not say, he ignored their meaning if he did. One of his satellites—the one who had struck me—hazarded an observation, with a deep inclination of his head, but his superior paid no heed to him whatever. He persisted in his previous inquiry.
“Tell me, where is the Great Joss?”
With an effort I mumbled an answer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Evidently the reply did not fall in with his view at all; he disbelieved it utterly.
“Tell me where is the Great Joss, or the woman shall die.”
His meaning was unmistakable. He stretched out his finger towards Miss Purvis with a gesture. That he was capable of murder I had not the slightest doubt. That he would make nothing of having an innocent, unoffending girl tortured to death before my eyes I believed. Fleet Street might be within a hop, skip, and a jump; but, for the present, this spot in its immediate neighbourhood was delivered over to the methods of the East. If I could not afford this monster, who had sprung from some unknown oriental haunt of merciless fiends, the satisfaction he demanded, I might expect the worst to happen before help could come. With him I felt assured that in such matters one could rely upon the word being followed by the blow.
I made an effort to appease him.
“I don’t know where your Joss is. It dropped upon the floor.”
My reference, of course, was to the toy which Miss Blyth had given me, and which, when I had let it fall, I was unable to find. Still my answer did not seem to be the one he wanted. He scrutinised me in silence for some seconds before he gave me to understand as much.
“You play with me?”
There was that in his tone which was anything but playful. I made all possible haste to deny the soft impeachment.
“I don’t. Is it the God of Fortune you are after?”
“The God of Fortune? What do you know about the God of Fortune?”
“It was given to me. I let it drop. When I came to look for it I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
There was something about my reply which he did not like. I was sure of it by the way in which he spoke, in that unknown tongue, to his associates. Instantly they approached Miss Purvis, standing one on either side of her. Their attitude was ominous.
“Do you wish that she shall die?”
I did not. I could scarcely have more strenuously desired that she should live. As I told him with such clearness of language as I could muster. Considering all things I was eloquent.
“What it is you want from me I don’t know; consciously I have nothing which is yours. But you had better understand this, if you are able to understand anything at all, that only for a minute or two at most are we in your power. If you want to be let off lightly you will loose that lady at once; if you harm so much as a hair of her head the law of England will make you pay for it dearly.”
In reply the fellow was arrogance itself.
“What do we care for your law? What has your law to do with us? Are we dogs that you should use us as you choose? You have stolen, and have hidden, the Great Joss. Return him to us; or as you have shamed us so we will shame you.”
“Not only have I not stolen the Great Joss, but I don’t even know what the Great Joss is. The only Joss I’ve seen was one about the size of my finger, which, as I’ve told you already, I dropped on the floor, and couldn’t find.”
“You laugh at us.”
“I do not laugh. I am speaking the simple, absolute truth.”
“You lie. The gods have told us that the secret of the hiding-place of the Great Joss is here. Show it to us quickly, or the woman shall die.”
“It is your gods who lie, not I.”
The fellow said something to his colleagues. At once, whipping Miss Purvis from off the floor, just for all the world as if she were a trussed fowl, they placed her on the table.
“Be careful what you do!” I shouted.
“It is for you to be careful. We come from far across the sea to look for the Great Joss, which you and yours have stolen, and you make a mock of us. We are not children that we may be mocked. Give us what is ours, or we will take what is yours, though we desire it not, and the woman shall die.”
“I tell you, man, that if anyone has robbed you it isn’t I. I have not the faintest notion who you are, or what you’re after; and as for your Great Joss, I’ve not the least idea what a Great Joss is. What I say is a simple statement of fact; and what reason you suppose yourself to have for doubting me is beyond my comprehension.”
“That is your answer?”
“Don’t speak as if you suspected me of a deliberate intention to deceive. What other answer can I give? If, as is possible, you are suffering from a genuine grievance, I shall be glad to be of any assistance I can. But you must first give me clearly to understand what it is you’re after. At present I am completely in the dark.”
“The woman must die.”
The fellow was impervious to reason. He repeated the words with a passionless calm which added to their significance. Again I screamed at him:
“You had better be careful!”
He ignored me utterly. Turning to his collaborators he issued an order which was promptly obeyed. Loosing Miss Purvis’ bonds they stretched her out upon the table, and tied her on it with a dexterous rapidity which denoted considerable practice in similar operations. I observed the proceedings with sensations which are not to be described. I had hoped that at the last extremity rage would supply me with strength with which to burst the cords which prevented me from going to her assistance. I had hoped in vain. The only result of my frenzied struggles was to increase the tension, and to make my helplessness, if possible, still clearer.
“Help! help!” I yelled. “Help!”
I was aware that I was the only person who lived in the house, and that the hour was yet too early for the occupants of offices to have arrived. But I was actuated by a forlorn hope that my voice might reach someone who was in a position to render aid. None came. What I had endured, and was enduring, had robbed my voice of more than half its power. And though I shouted with what, at the moment, was the full force of my lungs, I was only too conscious that my utterance was too inarticulate, too feeble, to allow my words to travel far.
As for that attenuated fiend, who, it was clear, was not by any means so long as he was wicked, he regarded my maniacal contortions with a degree of imperturbability which seemed to me to be the climax of inhumanity. Although it was certain that he both saw and heard me, since it was impossible that it could be otherwise, not by so much as the movement of a muscle did he betray the fact. He suffered me to writhe and scream to my heart’s content. He simply took no notice; that was all. When the process of tying down Miss Purvis had been completed, being informed of the fact by one of his assistants, he turned to examine, with a critical eye, how the work had been done. Moving round the table, he tried each ligature with his finger as he passed. Since he found no fault, apparently the way in which the woman had been laid out for slaughter met with his complete approval.
He condescended once more to bestow his attention upon me.
“For the last time—where is the Great Joss?”
“I can’t tell you—how can I tell you if I don’t know what the Great Joss is? For God’s sake, man, tell me what it is you’re really after before you go too far. If you want my help, give me a chance to offer it. Explain to me what the Great Joss is. It is possible, since you appear to be so positive, that I do know something of its whereabouts. Tell me, clearly, what it is, and all I know is at your service. Put my words to the test, and you will find that they are true ones.”
To me it seemed impossible that even such an addle-headed idiot as the individual in front of me could fail to see that I was speaking the truth. But he did, he failed entirely. He had convictions of his own, of which he was not to be disabused.
“You lie again, making a mock of the gods. To the gods the woman shall be offered as a sacrifice.”
He spoke with a passionless calm which denoted a set purpose from which there was no turning him.
I raved, I screamed myself hoarse. He paid no heed. I could do no more. I could either keep my eyes open and watch what went on, or close them, and my imagination would present me with pictures more lurid still. The situation was not rendered more agreeable by the fact that, although they had not given her back the power of speech, as they had done me, by the removal of the gag, I was conscious that she was perfectly cognisant of all that was being said, and especially of the frenzied appeals which I made on her behalf—in vain.
During the minutes which followed I was as one distraught. Now I watched, with wide open staring eyes; now I shut them, in a sudden paroxysm of doubt as to what horror I might be compelled to be an unwilling witness; then, being haunted by frightful imaginings of what might be transpiring without my knowledge—for she could make no sound—I opened them again to see.
The three scoundrels set about their hideous business with a matter of fact air which suggested that, in their opinion, they were doing nothing out of the common. And perhaps, in that genial portion of the world from which they came, such butcheries were the everyday events of their lives.
The tall man issued some curt instructions. The two shorter ones set about gathering the papers which were scattered about the room, and piling them in a heap beneath the table. On these they placed more or less inflammable fragments of my solider belongings. It seemed to be their intention to have a bonfire on lines of their own. Unless they were acquainted with a trick or two in that direction, as well as in others, how they proposed to keep it alight, after ignition, one was at a loss to understand.
About the procedure of the principal villain there was no such room for doubt. There was a frankness in his proceedings which caused me now to shriek at him in half imbecile, because wholly impotent, rage; and now to shut my eyes in terror of what he might be doing next.
By way of a commencement he took from some receptacle in his clothing what turned out to be a curiously shaped lamp. This he placed on the table at Miss Purvis’ feet. Having lit it by the commonplace means of a match from a box of mine which was on the mantelpiece, he threw on it, at short intervals, what was probably some variation of what firework vendors describe as “coloured fire.” The result was that surrounding objects assumed unusual hues, and the room was filled with a vapour, which was not only obscuring, but malodorous. From his bosom he produced an evil-looking knife. Laying a defiling hand upon his victim’s throat, partly by sheer force, partly by the aid of his knife, he tore her garments open nearly to the waist. Bending over her, he seemed to be marking out some sort of design with the point of his blade on the bare skin, in the region of the heart. Drawing himself upright he suffered his voluminous sleeves to fall back, and bared his arms, as a surgeon might do prior to commencing an operation.
Then he leaned over her again; his knife held out.
Howit all happened I have but a misty notion.
My eyelids were twitching; my eyes were neither shut nor open. I could not look, nor hide from myself the knowledge of what was being done. I saw the silent woman, the whiteness of her flesh, the gleam of steel, the tall figure stooping over her. There were the attendant demons, one on either side. All was still. My voice had perished, I could no longer utter a sound. And all that was done by the man with the knife was done in silence.
So acute was the stillness I listened for the entry of the steel into the flesh—as if that were audible!
Then, on a sudden, all was pandemonium. Of the exact sequence in which events occurred, I have, as I have said, but a shadowy impression.
Something struck the fellow with the knife full in the face. What it was at the moment I could not tell. I learnt afterwards that it was a soft, peaked sailor’s cap, thrown by a strong wrist, with unerring aim. The impact was not a slight one. Taken unawares the tall man staggered; he had been hit clean between the eyes. He put his hand up to his face, as if bewildered. Before he had it down again he had been seized by the shoulders, flung to the ground, and the knife wrenched from him.
His assailant was Captain Lander.
“Lander!” I gasped.
The captain glanced in my direction, then at the woman stretched upon the table, then at the gentleman upon the floor. Him he appeared to recognise.
“So it’s you, is it? What devil’s work have you been up to now? This is not Tongkin! Look out there—stop ’em, my lads!”
The attendant demons, perceiving that a change had come o’er the spirit of the scene, were making for the window, judging, doubtless, discretion to be the better part of valour. I then learned that Captain Lander was not alone. He had three companions. These made short work of stopping the flight of the ingenuous colleagues. One of the captain’s companions, a man of somewhat remarkable build, gripping the pair by the nape of the neck by either hand, banged their heads together. It was a spectacle which I found agreeable to behold.
The long gentleman was rising from the ground. The captain assisted him by dragging him up by the shoulder. They observed each other with looks which were not looks of love. The captain jeered.
“So we’ve met again, have we? It seems as if you and I were bound to meet. We must be fond of one another.”
The other replied with the retort discourteous.
“You dog! You thief! You accursed!”
He seemed to be nearly beside himself with rage, which under the circumstances, perhaps, was not surprising.
The words apparently conveyed a taunt which drove the man to madness. Forgetful of the disparity which existed between them and how little he was the captain’s match, he flung himself at him with the unreflecting frenzy of some wild cat. Lander laughed. Putting his arms about the frantic man, with a grin he compressed them tighter and tighter till I half expected to see him squeeze the life right out. When he relaxed his hold the other had had enough. Tottering back against the wall, he leaned against it, breathless. I had supposed his face to be a mask, incapable of expression, but perceived my error when I noted the glances with which he regarded his late antagonist.
Careless of how the other might be observing him, Lander, with a few quick touches of the tall gentleman’s own knife, released the girl who had already, in very truth, tasted of the bitterness of death. Seeing the gag, he withdrew it with a tenderness which was almost feminine. His own coat he threw over her shoulders. A tremor passed all over her; she raised herself a little; then, with a sigh, sank back upon the table.
As if satisfied that with her all would now be well, Lander turned to me. In a moment my bonds were severed.
“Why, Mr. Paine, how come you in this galley?”
“That is more than I can tell. Is the lady badly hurt?”
“Not she. She’ll be all right in a minute. I came just in time.” He uttered an exclamation on perceiving the sailor man, Luke, bound, at my side. “Why, it’s the Apostle! Lads, here’s our friend, Luke! The trusty soul! Tied hand and foot, just like a common cur—and gagged as well! Mr. Luke, this is an unexpected pleasure! We’ll have the gag out at any rate, if only for the sake of hearing your dear old tongue start wagging. I hope that didn’t hurt you; you must excuse a little roughness, for old acquaintance, but I think we’ll leave you tied.”
Mr. Luke seemed to experience as much difficulty in recovering the faculty of speech as I had done. Stammering words came from his bleeding lips.
“Then—in that case—you’d better—kill me.”
“No: we won’t kill you, not just yet; though I would have killed you out of hand, if I could have got within reach of you—you know when. On second thoughts I fancy we’ll untie you. Pray tell us, Mr. Luke, where’s the Great Joss now?”
Mr. Luke was stretching his limbs, gingerly, apparently finding the process anything but an agreeable one.