Once in the street the old man slipped his arm through that of his companion, and hobbled along beside him. "My dear young friend," he said, when they had been walking for some few minutes, "we are out of the house now, and able to talk sensibly together without fear of making fools of ourselves or of being overheard. First and foremost, tell me this: have you any notion of what you are doing?"
"'Have you any notion of what you are doing?'""'Have you any notion of what you are doing?'"
"'Have you any notion of what you are doing?'""'Have you any notion of what you are doing?'"
"Of course I am not very well up in it," Browne replied modestly; "but I think I know pretty well."
"Then, let me tell you this, as one who is probably more conversant with the subject than any man living: you know absolutely nothing at all!"
After this facer Browne did not know quite what to say. Herr Sauber stopped and looked at him.
"Has it struck you yet," he said, "that you, a young Englishman, without the least experience in such things, are pitting yourself against all the organization and cunning of the Great Russian Bear?"
"That point has certainly struck me," Browne replied.
"And do you mean to say that, knowing the strength of the enemy you are about to fight, you are not afraid to go on? Well, I must admit I admire your bravery; but I fear it is nearer foolhardiness than pluck. However, since you are determined to go on with it, let me give you a little bit of advice that may be of service to you. I understand you have not long enjoyed the honour of Madame Bernstein's acquaintance?"
Browne stated that this was so, and wondered what was coming next. He was beginning to grow interested in this queer old man, with the sharp eyes, who spoke with such an air of authority.
"Before I go any farther," continued the old gentleman, "permit me to remark that I yield to no one in my admiration for the lady's talent. She is an exceedingly clever woman, whose grasp of European politics is, to say the least of it, remarkable. At the same time, were I in your position, I would be as circumspect as possible in my behaviour towards her. Madame is a charming companion; she is philosophic, and can adapt herself to the most unpleasant circumstances with the readiness of an old campaigner. In matters like the present, however, I regret to say, her tongue runs riot with her, and for that reason alone I consider her little short of dangerous."
This may or may not have been the exact thought Browne had in his own mind. But the woman was Katherine's friend; and, however imprudent she might be, that circumstance alone was sufficient, in a certain sense, to make him loyal to her. Herr Sauber probably read what was passing in his mind, for he threw a glance up at him in his queer sparrow-like way, and, when he had eyed him steadfastly for a few seconds, continued what he had to say with even greater emphasis than before.
"I do not want you to mistake my meaning," he said. "At the same time, I have no desire to see the mission you have taken in hand turn out a failure. I have been acquainted with Madame Bernstein for more years than either she or I would probably care to remember, and it is far from my intention or desire to prejudice your mind against her. At the same time, I have known Katherine's family for a much longer period, and I must study them and their interests before all."
"But what is it of which you desire to warn me?" Browne inquired. "It seems to me that Madame Bernstein is as anxious to assist Katherine's father to escape as any of us."
"I sincerely believe she is," the old man replied. "In spite of the life she has led these twenty years, she still remains a woman, and impetuous. You must see for yourself that, in a matter like the present, you cannot be too careful. Let one little hint reach the Russian Government, and farewell to any chance you may stand of effecting the man's escape."
"But what am I to do to prevent her from giving them a hint?" asked Browne. "She knows as much as I do, and I cannot gag her!"
"But you need not tell her of all your plans," he answered. "Tell Katherine what you please; she has the rare gift of being able to hold her tongue, and wild horses would not drag the secret from her."
"Then, to sum up what you say, I am to take care that, while Katherine and I know everything, Madame Bernstein shall know nothing?"
"I do not say anything of the kind," said Herr Sauber. "I simply tell you what I think, and I leave it to your good sense to act as you think best. You English have a proverb to the effect that the least said is the soonest mended. When the object of your expedition is accomplished, and you are back in safety once more, you will, I hope, be able to come to me and say, 'Herr Sauber, there was no necessity to act upon the advice you gave me'; then I shall be perfectly satisfied."
"I must confess that you have made me a little uneasy," Browne replied. "I have no doubt you are right, however. At any rate, I will be most careful of what I say, and how I act, in her presence. Now, perhaps, you can help me still further, since you declare you are better acquainted with the subject than most people. Being so ignorant, I should be very grateful for a few hints as to how I should set to work." In spite of the old man's boast, Browne thought he had rather got the better of him now. He was soon to be undeceived, however.
"You intend to carry this through yourself, I suppose?" asked his companion. "If I mistake not, I heard you say this evening that you proposed to set sail at once for the Farther East. Is that so?"
"It is quite true," Browne replied. "I leave for London to-morrow afternoon, and immediately upon my arrival there I shall commence my preparations. You will see for yourself, if the man is so ill, there is no time to waste."
"In that case I think I can introduce you to a person who will prove of the utmost assistance to you; a man without whom, indeed, it would be quite impossible for you to succeed in your undertaking."
"That is really very kind of you," said Browne; "and, pray, who is this interesting person, and where shall I find him?"
"His name is Johann Schmidt," said Sauber, "and for some years past he has taken up his residence in Hong-kong. Since we are alone, I may as well inform you that he makes a speciality of these little affairs, though I am not aware that he has done very much in that particular locality in which you are at present most interested. New Caledonia is more in his line. However, I feel sure that that will make little or no difference to him, and I do not think you can do better than pay him a visit when you reach Eastern waters."
"But how am I to broach the subject to him? And how am I to know that he will help me? I cannot very well go to him and say straight out that I am anxious to help a Russian convict to escape from Saghalien."
"I will give you a letter to him," replied Herr Sauber, "and after he has read it you will find that you will have no difficulty in the matter whatsoever. For a sum to be agreed upon between you, he will take the whole matter off your hands, and all you will have to do will be to meet the exile at a spot which will be arranged, and convey him to a place of safety."
"I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Browne. "But will you answer me one more question?"
"I will answer a hundred if they will help you," the other replied. "But what is this particular one?"
"I want to know why you did not tell us all this, when we were discussing the matter at the house just now."
"Because in these matters the safest course is to speak into one ear only. If you will be guided by me you will follow my example. When no one knows what you are going to do, save yourself, it is impossible for any one to forestall or betray you."
By this time they had reached the corner of the Rue Auber. Here the old gentleman stopped and held out his hand.
"At this point our paths separate, I think," he said, "and I have the honour to wish you good-night."
"But what about that address in Hong-kong?" Browne inquired. "As I leave for England to-morrow, it is just possible that I may not see you before I go."
"I will send it to your hotel," Herr Sauber replied. "I know where you are staying. Good-night, my friend, and may you be as successful in the work you are undertaking as you deserve to be."
Browne thanked him for his good wishes, and bade him good-night. Having done so, he resumed his walk alone, with plenty to think about. Why it should have been so he could not tell, but it seemed to him that, since his interview with the old man, from whom he had just parted, the whole aspect of the affair to which he had pledged himself had changed. It is true that he had had his own suspicions of Madame Bernstein from the beginning, but they had been only the vaguest surmises and nothing more. Now they seemed to have increased, not only in number, but in weight; yet, when he came to analyse it all, the whole fabric tumbled to pieces like a house of cards. No charge had been definitely brought against her, and all that was insinuated was that she might possibly be somewhat indiscreet. That she was as anxious as they were to arrange the escape of Katherine's father from the island, upon which he was imprisoned, was a point which admitted of no doubt. Seeing that Katherine was her best friend in the world, it could scarcely have been otherwise. And yet there was a nameless something behind it all that made Browne uneasy and continually distrustful. Try how he would, he could not drive it from his mind; and when he retired to rest, two hours later, it was only to carry it to bed with him, and to lie awake hour after hour endeavouring to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
Immediately after breakfast next morning he made his way to the gardens of the Tuileries. He had arranged on the previous evening to meet Katherine there, and on this occasion she was first at the rendezvous. As soon as she saw him she hastened along the path to meet him. Browne thought he had never seen her more becomingly dressed; her face had a bright colour, and her eyes sparkled like twin diamonds.
"You have good news for me, I can see," she said, when their first greetings were over and they were walking back along the path together. "What have you done?"
"We have advanced one step," he answered. "I have discovered the address of a man who will possibly be of immense assistance to us."
"That is good news indeed," she said. "And where does he live?"
"In Hong-kong," Browne replied, and as he said it he noticed a look of disappointment upon her face.
"Hong-kong?" she replied. "That is such a long way off. I had hoped he would prove to be in London."
"I don't think there is any one in London who would be of much use to us," said Browne, "while there are a good many there who could hinder us. That reminds me, dear, I have something rather important to say to you."
"What is it?" she inquired.
"I want to warn you to be very careful to whom you speak about the work we have in hand, and to be particularly careful of one person."
"Who is that?" she inquired; but there was a subtle intonation in her voice that told Browne that, while she could not, of course, know with any degree of certainty whom he meant, she at least could hazard a very good guess. They had seated themselves by this time on the same seat they had occupied a few days before; and a feeling, that was almost one of shame, came over him when he reflected that, in a certain measure, he owed his present happiness to the woman he was about to decry.
"You must not be offended at what I am going to say to you," he began, meanwhile prodding the turf before him with the point of his umbrella. "The fact of the matter is, I want to warn you to be very careful how much of our plans you reveal to Madame Bernstein. It is just possible you may think I am unjust in saying such a thing. I only hope I am."
"I really think you are," she said. "I don't know why you should have done so, but from the very first you have entertained a dislike for Madame. And yet, I think you must admit she has been a very good friend to both of us."
She seemed so hurt at what he had said that Browne hastened to set himself right with her.
"Believe me, I am not doubting her friendship," he said, "only her discretion. I should never forgive myself if I thought I had put any unjust thoughts against her in your mind. But the fact remains that, not only for your father's safety, but also for our own, it is most essential that no suspicion as to what we are about to do should get abroad."
"You surely do not think that Madame Bernstein would talk about the matter to strangers?" said Katherine, a little indignantly. "You have not been acquainted with her very long, but I think, at least, you ought to know her well enough to feel sure she would not do that."
Browne tried to reassure her on this point, but it was some time before she was mollified. To change the subject, he spoke of Herr Sauber and of the interest he was taking in the matter.
"I see it all," she said; "it was he who instilled these suspicions into your mind. It was unkind of him to do so; and not only that, but unjust. Like yourself, he has never been altogether friendly to her."
Browne found himself placed in somewhat of a dilemma. It was certainly true that the old manhadadded fresh fuel to his suspicions; yet he had to remember that his dislike for the lady extended farther back, even as far as his first meeting with her at Merok. Therefore, while in justice to himself he had the right to incriminate the old man, he had no desire to confess that he had himself been a doubter from the first. Whether she could read what was passing in his mind or not I cannot say, but she was silent for a few minutes. Then, looking up at him with troubled eyes, she said, "Forgive me; I would not for all the world have you think that I have the least doubt of you. You have been so good to me that I should be worse than ungrateful if I were to do that. Will you make a bargain with me?"
"Before I promise I must know what that bargain is," he said, with a smile. "You have tried to make bargains with me before to which I could not agree."
"This is a very simple one," she said. "I want you to promise me, that you will never tell me anything of what you are going to do in this matter, that I cannot tell Madame Bernstein. Cannot you see, dear, what I mean when I ask that? She is my friend, and she has taken care of me for so many, many years, that I should be indeed a traitor to her, if, while she was so anxious to help me in the work I have undertaken, I were to keep from her even the smallest detail of our plans. If she is to be ignorant, let me be ignorant also." The simple, straightforward nature of the girl was apparent in what she said.
"And yet you wish to know everything of what I do?" he said.
"It is only natural that I should," she answered. "I also wish to be honest with Madame. You will give that promise, will you not, Jack?"
Browne considered for a moment. Embarrassing as the position had been a few moments before, it seemed even more so now. At last he made up his mind.
"Yes," he said very slowly; "since you wish it, I will give you that promise, and I believe I am doing right. You love me, Katherine?"
"Ah, you know that," she replied. "I love and trust you as I could never do another man."
"And you believe that I will do everything that a man can do to bring about the result you desire?"
"I do believe that," she said.
"Then let it all remain in my hands. Let me be responsible for the whole matter, and you shall see what the result will be. As I told you yesterday, dear, if any man can get your father out of the terrible place in which he now is, I will do so."
She tried to answer, but words failed her. Her heart was too full to speak. She could only press his hand in silence.
"When shall I see you again?" Browne inquired, after the short silence which had ensued. "I leave for London this afternoon."
"For London?" she repeated, with a startled look upon her face. "I did not know that you were going so soon."
"There is no time to lose," he answered. "All our arrangements must be made at once. I have as much to do next week as I can possibly manage. I suppose you and Madame have set your hearts on going to the East?"
"I could not let you go alone," she answered; "and not only that, but if you succeed in getting my father away, I must be there to welcome him to freedom."
"In that case you and Madame had better hold yourselves in readiness to start as soon as I give the word."
"We will be ready whenever you wish us to set off," she replied. "You need have no fear of that."
Half an hour later Browne bade her good-bye, and, in less than three hours, he was flying across France as fast as the express could carry him. Reaching Calais, he boarded the boat. It was growing dusk, and for that reason the faces of the passengers were barely distinguishable. Suddenly Browne felt a hand upon his shoulder, and a voice greeted him with, "My dear Browne, this is indeed a pleasurable surprise. I never expected to see you here."
It was Maas.
Why he should have been so surprised at meeting Maas on board the steamer that evening Browne has never been able to understand. The fact, however, remains that he was surprised, and unpleasantly so. The truth of the matter was, he wanted to be alone, to think of Katherine and of the work he had pledged himself to accomplish. Even when one is head over ears in love, however, the common usages of society may claim some moderate share of attention; and, all things considered, civility to one's friends is perhaps the first of these. For this reason Browne paced the deck with Maas, watching the lights of Calais growing smaller each time they turned their faces towards the stern of the vessel. Every turn of the paddle-wheels seemed to be taking Katherine farther and farther from him; and yet, was he not travelling to England on her errand, was he not wearing a ring she had given him upon his finger, and was not the memory of her face continually with him? Maas noticed that he was unusually quiet and preoccupied, and attempted to rally him upon the subject. He was the possessor of a peculiarly ingratiating manner; and, much to his own surprise, Browne found himself, before they had been very long on board, telling him the news, that was destined sorely to trouble the hearts of mothers with marriageable daughters before the next few weeks were out. "I am sure I congratulate you most heartily, my dear fellow," said Maas, with a fine show of enthusiasm. "I have had my suspicions that something of the kind was in the air for some considerable time past; but I did not know that it was quite so near at hand. I trust we shall soon be permitted the honour of making the young lady's acquaintance."
"I am afraid that will not be for some considerable time to come," Browne replied.
"How so?" asked Maas. "What are you going to do?"
"As I told you the other day, I am thinking of leaving England on a rather extended yachting cruise to the Farther East."
"Ah, I remember you did say something about it," Maas continued. "Yourfiancéewill accompany you, of course?"
Browne scarcely knew what reply to offer to this speech. He had no desire to allow Maas to suspect his secret, and at the same time his conscience would not permit him to tell a deliberate untruth. Suddenly he saw a way out of his difficulty.
"We shall meet in Japan, in all probability," he answered; "but she will not go out with me."
"What a pity!" said Maas, who had suddenly become very interested in what his companion was saying to him. "There is no place like a yacht, I think, at such a time. I do not, of course, speak from experience; I should imagine, however, that the rippling of the water alongside, and the quiet of the deck at night, would be eminently conducive to love-making."
To this speech Browne offered no reply. The train of thought it conjured up was too pleasant, and at the same time too sacred, to be shared with any one else. He was picturing the yacht making her way across a phosphorescent sea, with the brilliant tropical stars shining overhead, and Katherine by his side, the only sound to be heard being the steady pulsation of the screw and the gentle lapping of the water alongside.
At last the lights of Dover were to be distinctly seen ahead. The passage had not been altogether a smooth one, and for this reason the decks did not contain as many passengers as usual. Now, however, the latter were beginning to appear again, getting their luggage together and preparing for going ashore, with that bustle that usually characterises the last ten minutes on board a Channel steamer. Always an amusing and interesting companion, Maas, on this particular occasion, exerted himself to the utmost to please. By the time they reached Charing Cross, Browne had to admit to himself that he had never had a more enjoyable journey. The time had slipped by so quickly and so pleasantly that he had been permitted no opportunity of feeling lonely.
"I hope I shall see you again before you go," said Maas, as they stood together in the courtyard of the station on the look-out for Browne's hansom, which was awaiting its turn to pull up at the steps. "When do you think you will be starting?"
"That is more than I can tell you," said Browne. "I have a great many arrangements to make before I can think about going. However, I am certain to drop across you somewhere. In the meantime, can I give you a lift?"
"No, thank you," said Maas. "I shall take a cab and look in at the club before I go home. I could not sleep until I have heard the news of the town; who has married who, and who has run away with somebody else. Now, here is your cab; so let me wish you good-night. Many thanks for your society."
Before Browne went to bed that night, he ascended to his magnificent picture gallery, the same which had been the pride and glory of his father's heart, and, turning up the electric light, examined a picture which had lately been hung at the farther end. It was a Norwegian subject, and represented the mountains overlooking the little landlocked harbour of Merok. How much had happened since he had last looked upon that scene, and what a vital change that chance meeting had brought about in his life! It seemed scarcely believable, and yet how true it all was! And some day, if all went well, Katherine would stand in the self-same hall looking upon the same picture, mistress of the beautiful house and all it contained. Before that consummation could be brought about, however, they had a difficult piece of work to do. And what would happen supposing he should never return? What if he should fall into the hands of the Russian Government? That such a fate might befall him was far from being unlikely, and it would behove him to take all precautions in case it should occur. In his own mind he knew exactly what those precautions would be. Waking from the day-dream into which he had fallen, he glanced once more at the picture, and then, with a little sigh for he knew not what, made his way to his bedroom and retired to rest. Next morning he was up betimes, and by nine o'clock had telegraphed to Southampton for the captain of his yacht. At ten o'clock he ordered his hansom and drove to his lawyers' office in Chancery Lane. The senior partner had that moment arrived, so the clerk informed him.
"If you will be kind enough to step this way, sir," the youth continued, "I will conduct you to him."
Browne did as he was requested, and followed him down a passage to a room at the farther end. Browne's visits were red-letter days in the calendar of the firm. When the lad returned to his high stool in the office, it was to wonder how he would spend his time if he were the possessor of such enormous wealth. It is questionable whether he would have considered Browne so fortunate had he been made acquainted with all the circumstances of the case. He was an irreproachable youth in every way, who during the week wore a respectable black coat and top-hat, and lived at Blackheath; while on Sundays he rode a tandem bicycle with the girl of his heart, and dreamt of the cottage they were to share together, directly the firm could be persuaded to make the salary, on which it was to be supported, a little more elastic.
"How do you do, my dear Mr. Browne?" inquired the lawyer, rising from his chair as Browne entered, and extending his hand. "I understood you were in Paris."
"I returned last night," said Browne. "I came up early because I want to see you on rather important business."
"I am always at your service," replied the lawyer, bringing forward a chair for Browne's use. "I hope you are not very much worried."
"As a matter of fact, Bretherton, I have come to see you, because at last I am going to follow your advice, and—well, the long and the short of it is, I am going to be married!"
The lawyer almost jumped from his chair in surprise. "I am delighted to hear it," he answered. "As I have so often said, I feel sure you could not do a wiser thing. I have not the pleasure of knowing Miss Verney; nevertheless——"
Browne held up his hand in expostulation. "My dear fellow," he said, with a laugh, "you are on the wrong scent altogether. What on earth makes you think I am going to marry Miss Verney? I never had any such notion."
The lawyer's face was a study in bewilderment. "But I certainly understood," he began, "that——"
"So have a great many other people," said Browne. "But I can assure you it is not the case. The lady I am going to marry is a Russian."
"Ah, to be sure," continued the lawyer. "Now I come to think of it, I remember that my wife pointed out to me in some ladies' paper, that the Princess Volgourouki was one of your yachting party at Cowes last summer."
"Not the Princess either," said Browne. "You seem bent upon getting upon the wrong tack. Myfiancéeis not a millionairess; her name is Petrovitch. She is an orphan, an artist, and has an income of about three hundred pounds a year."
The lawyer was unmistakably shocked and disappointed. He had hoped to be able to go home that night and inform his wife, that he was the first to hear of the approaching marriage of his great client with some well-known beautiful aristocrat or heiress. Now to find that he was going to espouse a girl, who was not only unknown to the great world, but was quite lacking in wealth, was a disappointment almost too great to be borne. It almost seemed as if Browne had offered him a personal affront; for, although his client was, in most respects, an easy-going young man, still the lawyer was very well aware that there were times when he could be as obstinate as any other man. For this reason he held his tongue, and contented himself with bowing and drawing a sheet of note paper towards him. Then, taking up a pen, he inquired in what way he could be of service.
"The fact of the matter is, Bretherton," the other began, "I have a communication to make to you which I scarcely know how to enter upon. The worst of it is that, for very many reasons, I cannot tell you anything definite. You must fill in the blanks according to your own taste and fancy; and, according to how much you can understand, you can advise me as to the best course for me to pursue."
He paused for a moment, and during the interval the lawyer withdrew his glasses from his nose, polished them, and replaced them. Having done so, he placed his finger-tips together, and, looking at Browne over them, waited for him to proceed.
"The fact of the matter is," said the latter, "before I marry I have pledged myself to the accomplishment of a certain work, the nature of which I cannot explain—I have given my word that I will reveal nothing. However, the fact remains that it will take me into some rather strange quarters for a time; and for this reason it is just possible that I—well, that you may never see me again."
"My dear Mr. Browne," said the lawyer, aghast with surprise, "you astonish me more than I can say. Can it be that you are running such risk of your own free-will? I cannot believe that you are serious."
"But I am," Browne replied; "perfectly serious."
"But have you considered everything? Think what this may mean, not only to the young lady you are about to marry, but to all your friends."
"I have thought of everything," said Browne.
The lawyer was, however, by no means satisfied. "But, my dear sir," he continued, "is there no way in which you can get out of it?"
"Not one," said Browne. "I have given the matter my earnest attention, and have pledged myself to carry it out. No argument will move me. What I want you to do is to make my will to suit the exigencies of the case."
"Perhaps it would not be troubling you too much to let me know of what they consist," said the lawyer, whose professional ideas were altogether shocked by such unusual—he almost thought insane—behaviour.
"Well, to put it in a few words," said Browne, "I want you to arrange that, in the event of anything happening to me, all of which I am possessed, with the exception of such specific bequests as those of which you are aware, shall pass to the lady whom I would have made my wife had I not died. Do you understand?"
"I understand," said the lawyer; "and if you will furnish me with the particulars I will have a fresh will drawn up. But I confess to you I do not approve of the step you are taking."
"I am sorry for that," Browne replied. "But if you were in my place I fancy you would act as I am doing." Having said this, he gave the lawyer the particulars he required; and, when he left the office a quarter of an hour or so later, he had made Katherine Petrovitch the inheritor of the greater part of his enormous wealth. Whatever should happen to him within the next few months she would at least be provided for. From his lawyer's office he drove to his bank to deposit certain papers; then to his tailor; and finally back to his own house in Park Lane, where he hoped and expected to find the captain of his yacht awaiting him. He was not disappointed. Captain Mason had just arrived, and was in the library at that moment. The latter was not of the usual yachting type. He was short and stout, possessed an unusually red face, which was still further ornamented by a fringe of beard below his chin; he had been at sea, man and boy, all his life, and had no sympathy with his brother-skippers who had picked up their business in the Channel, and whose longest cruise had been to the Mediterranean and back. He had been in old Browne's employ for ten years, and in that of his son after him. What was more, he had earned the trust and esteem of all with whom he was brought in contact; and when Browne opened the door and found that smiling, cheerful face confronting him, he derived a feeling of greater satisfaction than he had done from anything for some considerable time past.
"Good-morning, Mason," Browne said, as he shook hands. "I am glad that you were able to come up at once, for I want to consult you on most important business. Sit down, and let us get to work. You were not long in getting under way."
"I started directly I received your message, sir," the man replied. "Perhaps you would not mind telling me what it is I have to do."
"I'll very soon do that," Browne replied; "and, if I know anything of you, you will be glad to hear my needs. I want to see you with regard to a cruise in Eastern waters. I am tired of the English winter, and, as you are aware, I have never yet visited Japan, I've suddenly made up my mind to go out there. How soon do you think you could be ready to start?"
"For Japan, sir?" the captain replied. "Well, that's a goodish step. Might I ask, sir, how long you can give me? Are you in a very great hurry?"
"A very great hurry indeed," Browne said. "I want to get away at the shortest possible notice; in fact, the sooner you can get away, the better I shall be pleased. I know you will do all you can."
"You may be very sure of that, sir," said the captain. "If it is really necessary, I fancy I could be ready—well, shall we say?—on Monday next. Would that suit you, sir?"
"It would do admirably," said Browne. "I may count, then, on being able to sail on that day?"
"Certainly, sir," said the captain. "I will catch the next train back, and get to work without loss of time. Your own steward, I suppose, will accompany you?"
"Yes," said Browne, for he was convinced that the man was one in whose honesty and courage he could place implicit reliance, which was just what would be wanted on such a voyage.
"And how many guests will you be likely to have, sir?" inquired the captain. "I suppose you will fill all the cabins as usual?"
This was a question to which Browne had not yet given any proper consideration, though he had practically decided on one person. The voyage from England to Japan, as all the world knows, is a long one, and he felt that if he went alone he would stand a very fair chance of boring himself to death with his own company.
"I am not able to say yet who will accompany me; but in any case you had better be prepared for one or two. It is more than possible, however, that we shall pick up a few others in Japan."
"Very good, sir," said Mason. "I will see that all the necessary arrangements are made. Now I suppose I had better see about getting back to Southampton."
Having consulted his watch, he rose from his chair, and was about to bid his employer good-bye, when Brown stopped him.
"One moment more, Mason," he said. "Before you go I have something to say to you, that is of the utmost importance to both of us." He paused for a moment, and from the gravity of his face the captain argued that something more serious was about to follow. "I wanted to ask you whether you had any sort of acquaintance with the seas to the northward of Japan, say in the vicinity of the island of Yesso and the Gulf of Tartary?"
"I cannot say that I have any at all, sir," the other replied. "But I could easily make inquiries from men who have sailed in them, and procure some charts from Potter, if you consider it necessary."
"I should do so if I were you," said Browne; "it is always as well to be prepared. In the meantime, Mason, I want you to keep what I have said to yourself. I have the most imperative reasons for making this request to you. A little mistake in this direction may do me an incalculable amount of harm."
Though he did not in the least understand what prompted the request, the captain willingly gave his promise. It was easy for Browne, however, to see that it had caused him considerable bewilderment.
"And there is one other point," Browne continued. "I want you to be more than ordinarily careful that the crew you take with you are the best men procurable. I am not going to say any more to you, but leave you to draw your own conclusions, and to bear in mind that this voyage is likely to be one of the most, if notthemost, important I have ever undertaken. You have been with me a good many years now, and you were with my father before me—it is not necessary for me to say not only as captain, but also as a man who is an old and well-tried friend."
"I thank you, sir, for what you have said," said the captain. "In reply, I can only ask you to believe that, happen what may, you will not find me wanting."
"I am quite sure of that," said Browne, holding out his hand.
The captain took it, and, when he had shaken it as if he would dislocate it at the shoulder, bade his employer good-bye and left the room.
"So much for breaking the news to Mason," said Browne to himself, when the door had closed behind the skipper. "Now I must see Jimmy Foote, and arrange it with him."
He glanced at his watch, and found that it wanted only a few minutes to twelve o'clock. Ringing the bell, he bade the footman telephone to the Monolith Club, and inquire whether Mr. Foote were there; and if he were not, whether they could tell him where it would be possible to find him. The man disappeared upon his errand, to return in a few moments with the information that Mr. Foote had just arrived at the club in question.
"In that case," said Browne, "beg the servants to tell him that I will be there in ten minutes, and that I want to see him on most important business. Ask him not to leave until I come down."
The appointment having been duly made, he ordered his cab and set off in it for the rendezvous in question. On reaching the club—the same in which he had seen Jimmy on that eventful night, when he had discovered that Katherine was in London—Browne found his friend engaged in the billiard-room, playing a hundred up with a young gentleman, whose only claim to notoriety existed in the fact, that at the time he was dissipating his second enormous fortune at the rate of more than a thousand a week.
"Glad indeed to see you, old man," said Jimmy, as Browne entered the room. "I thought you were going to remain in Paris for some time longer. When did you get back?"
"Last night," said Browne. "I came over with Maas."
"With Maas?" cried Jimmy, in surprise. "Somebody said yesterday that he was not due to return for another month or more. But you telephoned that you wanted to see me, did you not? If it is anything important, I am sure Billy here won't mind my throwing up the game. He hasn't a ghost of a chance of winning, so it will be a new experience for him not to have to pay up."
Browne, however, protested that he could very well wait until they had finished their game. In the meantime he would smoke a cigar and watch them. This he did, and as soon as the competition was at an end and Jimmy had put on his coat, he drew him from the room.
"If you've nothing you want to do for half an hour or so, I wish you would walk a little way with me, old chap," he said. "I have got something to say to you that I must settle at once. This place has as long ears as the proverbial pitcher."
"All right," said Jimmy. "Come along; I'm your man, whatever you want."
They accordingly left the club together, and made their way down Pall Mall and across Waterloo Place into the Green Park. It was not until they had reached the comparative privacy of the latter place that Browne opened his mind to his friend.
"Look here, Jimmy," he said, "when all is said and done, you and I have known each other a good many years. Isn't that so?"
"Of course it is," said Jimmy, who noticed his friend's serious countenance, and was idly wondering what had occasioned it. "What is it you want to say to me? If I did not know you I should think you were hard up, and wanted to borrow five pounds. You look as grave as a judge."
"By Jove! so would you," said Browne, "if you'd got on your mind what I have on mine. It seems to me I've got to find some jolly good friend who'll see me through as delicate a bit of business as ever I heard of in my life. That's why I telephoned to you."
"Very complimentary of you, I'm sure," said Jimmy. "But I think you know you can rely on me. Come, out with it! What is the matter? Is it a breach of promise case, or divorce, or what is it?"
"Look here, old man, before we go any farther," said Browne, with great impressiveness, "I want to ask you not to joke on it. It may seem humorous to other people, but I assure you it's life and death to me."
There was a little silence that might have lasted a minute; then Jimmy took his friend's arm. "I'm sorry," said he; "only give me a decent chance and I'm sure to make a fool of myself. I had no idea it was such a serious matter with you. Now then, what is it? Tell me everything from beginning to end."
"I will," said Browne. "But I ought to tell you first that I am not supposed to say anything about it. The secret, while it is mine in a sense, concerns another person more vitally. If I were the only one in it I shouldn't care a bit; but I have to think of others before myself. You may remember that one night—it seems as if it were years ago, though in reality it is only a few weeks—you and I were walking down Regent Street together. You told me you had seen a picture in a shop window that you wanted to show me."
"I remember the incident perfectly," said Jimmy, but this time without a smile. "It was a very foggy night, and you first kept me waiting half an hour outside the shop, and then acted like a lunatic afterwards."
"Well," said Browne, without replying to his friend's comments upon his behaviour on that occasion, "you may remember that the night following you dined with me at Lallemand's, and met two ladies."
"Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch," said Jimmy. "I remember. What next?"
Browne paused and looked a trifle sheepish before he replied, "Well, look here, old man; that girl, Miss Petrovitch, is going to be my wife." He looked nervously at Jimmy as if he expected an explosion.
"I could have told you that long ago," said Jimmy, with imperturbable gravity. "And, by Jove! I'll go further and say that I don't think you could do better. As far as I could tell, she seemed an awfully nice girl, and I should think she would make you just the sort of wife you want."
"Thank you," said Browne, more pleased with Jimmy than he had ever been before.
"But that only brings me to the beginning of what I have to say," he continued. "Now I want you, before we go any further, to give me your word as a friend that, whatever I may say to you, you will not reveal to any one else. You cannot think how important it is, both to her and to me."
"I will give you that promise willingly," said Jimmy. "You can tell me whatever you like, without any fear that I shall divulge it."
"Your promise is all I want," said Browne. Then, speaking very slowly, and as earnestly as he knew how, he continued: "The truth of the matter is that that girl is by birth a Russian. Her father had the misfortune to get into trouble over an attempt upon the Czar's life."
"A Nihilist, I suppose?" said Jimmy.
Browne nodded. "Well, the attempt was discovered, and Katherine's father was arrested and sent to Siberia, condemned to imprisonment for life. He was there for many years, but later on he was drafted to the island of Saghalien, on the eastern coast of Siberia, where he now is."
Jimmy nodded. "After that?"
"Well, on the morning of the second day after that dinner at Lallemand's, Miss Petrovitch and Madame Bernstein left for Paris, on some important business, which I now believe to have been connected with the man who was exiled. I followed her, met her, and eventually proposed to her. Like the trump she is, she did her best to make me see that for me to love her was out of the question. Thinking only of me, she tried to put me off by telling me how impossible it all was. But instead of doing what she hoped, it only served to show me what a noble nature the girl possessed."
"She is not rich, I suppose?" asked Jimmy.
"She has not a halfpenny more than three hundred a year assured to her," the other replied; "and she shares that with Madame Bernstein."
"And yet she was willing to give up a hundred and twenty thousand a year, and the position she would have in English society as your wife?"
"She was," said Browne.
"Then all I can say, is," said Jimmy, with considerable conviction, "she must be one in a million. But I interrupted you; I'm sorry. Go on."
"Well," continued Browne, "to make a long story short, she finished by telling me the sad story of her life. Of course she said that she could not possibly marry me, being the daughter of a convict. Then she went on to add that news had lately come to her—how I cannot say—that her father is dying. It seems that he has been in failing health for some years; and at last the terrible climate, the roughness of the living, and the knowledge that he was hopelessly cut off for the rest of his existence from all he held dear in the world, has resulted in a complete collapse. To hope to obtain a pardon from the Russian Government would be worse than futile. All that remains is to get him away."
"But, surely, my dear old Browne," said Jimmy, who had listened aghast, "it cannot be possible that you dream of assisting in the escape of a Russian convict from Saghalien?"
"That is exactly what Idothink," replied Browne, with unusual earnestness. "Come what may, if it costs me all I am worth in the world, I am going to get the man out of that hell on earth. Try to think, my dear fellow, how you would feel if you were in that girl's place. Her father, the man whom she has been brought up to believe has been sacrificed for his country's good, is dying. She declares it is her duty to be with him. How can I let her do that?"
"I admit it is impossible."
"Well, what remains? Either she must go to him, or he must come to her."
"In plain words, she wants you to risk your good name, all you have in the world, your happiness, your very life indeed, in order to get a fanatic out of the trouble he has brought upon himself."
"You can put it how you like," said Browne; "but that is practically what it means. But remember she is the woman who is to be my wife. If I lose her, what would life be worth to me?"
This was the crucial part of the interview. For the first time it struck Browne that he was figuring before his friend in rather a selfish light.
"I wanted to see you," he began, "in order to find out whether you would care to accompany me to the Farther East. Remember, I don't want you to pledge anything. All that I ask of you is to say straight out whether you would care to come or not. I shall sail in the yacht on Monday next for Japan. We shall touch at Hong-kongen route, where I am to have an interview with a man who, I believe, has brought off one or two of these little affairs before. He will tell me what I am to do, and may possibly do it for me. After that we proceed to Japan, where we are to pick up Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch. From that moment we shall act as circumstances dictate."
"And now I want you to tell me one thing," said Jimmy; "what is your reason for wanting me to accompany you?"
"I will tell you," said Browne. "I want you to come with me, because I am anxious to have one man on board, a friend, in whom I can place implicit confidence. Of course Mason will be there; but, as he will have charge of the boat, he would be comparatively useless to me. To tell the truth, Jimmy, it will make me easier to know that there is some one else on board the boat, who will take care of Miss Petrovitch, in the event of anything happening to me."
"And how long do you propose to be away from England?" his friend inquired.
"Well, that is a very difficult question to answer," said Browne. "We may be away three months, possibly we may be six. But you may rest assured of one thing; we shall not be absent longer from England than is absolutely necessary."
"And when do you want an answer from me," said Jimmy.
"As soon as you can let me have one," Browne replied. "Surely it should not take you long to make up your mind?"
"You don't know my family," he answered. "They say I can never make up my mind at all. Will it do if I let you know by seven o'clock to-night? I could arrange it by then."
"That would suit me admirably," said Browne. "You don't think any the worse of me, old chap, for asking so much of you, do you?"
"Angry with you?" answered the other. "Why should I be? You're offering me a jolly good holiday, in excellent company; and what's more, you are adding a spice of danger too, which will make it doubly enjoyable. The only question is whether I can get away."
"At any rate, I'll give you until to-night to make up your mind. I shall expect to hear from you before seven o'clock."
"You shall hear from me without fail," said Jimmy; "and, if by any chance I can't manage it, you will understand—won't you?—that it is not for any want of feeling for yourself."
"I know that, of course," said Browne; and thereupon the two young men shook hands.
A few moments later Browne bade him good-bye, and, calling a hansom, drove back to his own house. As soon as he had lunched he wrote to Katherine to tell her how things were proceeding. The afternoon was spent in the purchase of various articles which he intended to take with him. For this reason it was not until after six o'clock that he returned to his own house. When he did, the butler brought him a note upon a salver. He opened it, and found, as he expected, that it was from Jimmy.
"Dear old man," it ran, "I am coming with you, happen what may.—Always your friend, J. FOOTE."
"That is another step upon the ladder," said Browne.