In the morning following the receipt of the letter from Foote, as described in the previous chapter, Browne was walking from his house in Park Lane in the direction of Piccadilly, when he saw Maas coming towards him.
"This is a fortunate meeting, my dear Browne," said the latter, after they had greeted each other; "for I was on my way to call upon you. If you are walking towards Piccadilly perhaps you will permit me to save time by accompanying you."
Browne was not feeling particularly happy that morning, and this may have been the reason that he was glad of Maas's company. He stood in need of cheerful society. But though he wanted it, he was not destined to have it. It was a bleak, dreary morning, and once or twice during the walk the other coughed asthmatically. Browne noticed this, and he noticed also that Maas's face was even paler than usual.
"I am afraid you are not very well, old man," he said.
"What makes you say that?" asked Maas.
Browne gave him his reasons, and when he heard them the other laughed a little uneasily. "I am afraid you've hit it, my friend," he said. "I am not well. I've been to see my doctor this morning, and he has given me some rather unpleasant news."
"I am sorry indeed to hear that," said Browne. "What does he say is the matter with you?"
"Why, he says that it is impossible for me to stay in England any longer. He declares that I must go away for a long sea voyage, and at once. To tell the truth, I do not come of a very strong family; and, by way of making me feel better satisfied with myself, he tells me that, unless I take care of myself, I may follow in their footsteps. Of course it's all very well to say, 'Take care of yourself'; but the difficulty is to do so. In a life like ours, what chance have we of guarding against catching cold? We dance in heated rooms, and sit in cold balconies between whiles: we travel in draughty railway carriages and damp cabs, and invariably eat and drink more than is good for us. The wonder to me is that we last as long as we do."
"I've no doubt we are awfully foolish," said Browne. "But our fathers were so before us."
"A small satisfaction, look at it how you will," returned Maas.
"And so you're going to clear out of England, are you?" said Browne very slowly, after the pause that had followed his companion's speech. "Where are you thinking of going?"
"Now, that was just what I was coming to see you about," replied his friend. "You may remember that in Paris the other day, you spoke of undertaking a trip to the Farther East. I laughed at it at the time, for I thought I should never move out of Europe; since then, however, or rather since the doctor gave me his unwholesome news this morning, I have been thinking over it. I dined last night with the Rocktowers, who, as you know, are just back from Japan, and found that they could talk of nothing else. Japan was this, Japan was that, possessed the most beautiful scenery in the world, the most charming people, and the most perfect climate. So fascinated was I by their description that I went home and dreamt about it; and I've got a sort of notion now that, if I could only get as far as Japan, all would be well with me."
Now, from the very first moment that Maas had spoken of leaving England, Browne had had an uneasy suspicion that something of the kind was coming. In his inmost heart he knew very well what his companion wanted; but, unfortunately for him, he did not see his way to get out of it. When he had told Maas in Paris that he intended taking a yachting cruise to the Farther East, and had laughingly suggested that the latter should accompany him, he had felt quite certain in his own mind that his invitation would be refused. To find him now asking to be allowed to accept after all was almost too much for his equanimity. Pleasant companion as Maas undoubtedly was, he was far from being the sort of man Browne would have taken with him on such an excursion, had he had the choice. Besides, he had already arranged that Jimmy should go with him. Therefore, like the ingenuous youth he was, he took the first way of getting out of his difficulty, and in consequence found himself floundering in a still greater quagmire immediately.
"You have not booked your passage yet?" he inquired, as if the matter of the other's going with him had never for a moment crossed his mind.
Maas threw a searching glance at him. He had a bold stroke to play, and he did not quite know how to play it. Though he had known Browne for some considerable time, and was well aware that he was far from being an exceptionally clever young man, yet, for a reason which I cannot explain, he stood somewhat in awe of him.
"Well, to tell the truth," he said, "that was just what I was coming to see you about. I wanted to find out, whether you would permit me to withdraw my refusal of your kind invitation, in favour of an acceptance. I know it is not quite the thing to do; but still our friendship is old enough to permit of such a strain being placed upon it. If, however, you have filled your cabins, do not for a moment consider me. It is just possible I may be able to secure a berth on one of the outgoing mail-boats. Get away, however, I must, and immediately."
Browne scarcely knew what to say in reply. He knew that every person he added to the party meant an additional danger to all concerned; and he felt that, in common justice to Maas, he could not take him without giving him some hint of what he was about to do. Maas noticed his hesitation; and, thinking it betokened acquiescence to his plan, was quick to take advantage of it.
"My dear fellow," he said, "if I am causing you the least inconvenience, I beg of you not to give it a second thought. I should not have spoken to you at all on the subject had you not said what you did to me in Paris."
After this speech Browne felt that he had no opening left, save to declare that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to have the other's society upon the voyage.
"And you are quite sure that I shall not be in the way?" Maas inquired.
"In the way?" Browne replied. "Not at all; I have only Jimmy Foote going with me. We shall be a snug little party."
"It's awfully good of you," said Maas; "and I'm sure I don't know how to thank you. When do you propose to sail?"
"On Monday next from Southampton," answered Browne. "I will see that you have a proper notice, and I will also let you know by what train we shall go down. Your heavier baggage had better go on ahead."
"You are kindness itself," said Maas. "By the way, since we have come to this arrangement, why should we not have a little dinner to-night at my rooms as a send off? I'll find Foote and get him to come, and we'll drink a toast to the Land of the Rising Sun."
"Many thanks," said Browne, "but I'm very much afraid it's quite out of the question. I leave for Paris this afternoon, and shall not be back until Saturday at earliest."
"What a pity!" said Maas. "Never mind; if we can't celebrate the occasion on this side of the world, we will do so on the other. You are turning off here? Well, good-bye, and many, many thanks to you. You cannot imagine how grateful I feel to you, and what a weight you have taken off my mind."
"I am glad to hear it," said Browne; and then, shaking him by the hand, he crossed the road and made his way down St. James's Street. "Confound it all!" he said to himself, as he walked along, "this is just the sort of scrape my absurd mania for issuing invitations gets me into. I like Maas well enough as an acquaintance, but I don't know that he is altogether the sort of fellow I should have chosen to accompany me on an expedition like this. However, what's done cannot be undone; and it is just possible, as his health is giving way, that he will decide to leave us in Japan; then we shall be all right. If he doesn't, and elects to go on with us—well, I suppose we must make the best of it."
As he came to this philosophical conclusion, he turned the corner from St. James's Street into Pall Mall, and ran into the arms of the very man for whom he was in search. Foote was evidently in as great a hurry as himself, and, such was the violence of the shock, that it was a wonderful thing that they did not both fall to the ground.
"Hang it, man, why don't you look where you're going?" Foote cried angrily, as he put his hand to his head to hold on his hat. As he did so he recognised Browne.
"Hullo, old chap, it's you, is it?" he cried. "By Jove! do you know you nearly knocked me down?"
"It's your own fault," Browne answered snappishly. "What do you mean by charging round the corner like that? You might have known what would happen."
They stood and looked at one another for a moment, and then Foote burst out laughing. "My dear old fellow," he said, "what on earth's wrong with you? You don't seem to be yourself this morning."
"I'm not," said Browne. "Nothing seems to go right with me, do what I will. I tell you, Jimmy, I'm the biggest ass that walks the earth."
Jimmy whistled softly to himself. "This is plainly a case which demands the most careful treatment," he said aloud. "From what I can see of it, it will be necessary for me to prescribe for him. My treatment will be a good luncheon and a pint of the Widow to wash it down. Come along." So saying, he slipped his arm through that of his companion, and led him back in the direction of the Monolith Club. "Now, Master Browne," he said, as they walked along, "you will just tell me everything,—hiding nothing, remember, and setting down naught in malice. For the time being you must look upon me as your father-confessor."
"In point of fact, Jimmy," Browne began, "I have just seen our friend Maas."
"Well, what of that?" replied the other. "How has that upset you? From what I know of him, Maas is usually amusing, except when he gets on the topic of his ailments."
"That's exactly it," said Browne. "He got on the subject of his ailments with me. The upshot of it all was that he reminded me of an invitation I had given him in Paris, half in jest, mind you, to visit the East with me."
"The deuce!" said Jimmy. "Do you mean to say that he has decided to accompany us, now?"
"That's just it," said Browne. "That's why I'm so annoyed; and yet I don't know exactly why I should be, for, all things considered, he is not a bad sort of a fellow."
"Nevertheless, I wish he were not coming with us," said Jimmy, with unwonted emphasis. "Did you tell him anything of what you are going to do?"
"Of course not," said Browne. "I did not even hint at it. As far as he knows, I am simply visiting Japan in the ordinary way, for pleasure."
"Well, if I were you," said Jimmy, "I should let him remain in that belief. I should not say anything about the real reason at all, and even then not until we are on the high seas. Of course I don't mean to imply, for an instant, that he would be likely to say anything, or to give you away in any possible sort of fashion; but still it would be safer, I should think, to keep silence on the subject. You know what we are going to do, I know it, Miss Petrovitch knows it, and Madame Bernstein also. Who else is there you have told?"
"No one," said Browne. "But I dropped a hint to Mason that the errand, that was taking us out, was a peculiar one. I thought he ought to know as much as that for more reasons than one."
"Quite right," said Jimmy; "and what's more, you can trust Mason. Nevertheless, say nothing to Maas."
"You may depend upon it I will not do so," said Browne.
"Now here's the club," said Jimmy, as they reached the building in question. "Let us go in and have some luncheon. After that what are you going to do?"
"I am off to Paris this afternoon," the other replied. "Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch leave for Japan in one of the French boats the day after to-morrow, and I want to see them before they go."
After luncheon with Foote, Browne returned to his house, wrote a letter containing the most minute instructions to Captain Mason, and later on caught the afternoon express for Paris. The clocks of the French capital were striking eleven as he reached his hotel that night. He was worn out, and retired almost immediately to bed, though it would have required but little persuasion to have taken him off to the Rue Jacquarie. As it was, however, he had to content himself with the reflection, that he was to see her the very first thing in the morning.
Nine o'clock on the following day, punctual almost to the minute, found Browne exchanging greetings with theconciergeat the foot of the stairs, who, by this time, had come to know his face intimately. The latter informed him that Mademoiselle Petrovitch was at home, but that Madame Bernstein had gone out some few minutes before. Browne congratulated himself upon the latter fact, and ran upstairs three steps at a time. Within four minutes from entering the building Katherine was in his arms.
"Are you pleased to see me again, darling?" he inquired, after the first excitement of their meeting had passed away.
"More pleased than I can tell you," she answered; and as she spoke Browne could see the love-light in her eyes. "Ever since your telegram arrived yesterday, I have been counting the minutes until I should see you. It seems like years since you went away, and such long years too!"
What Browne said in reply to this pretty speech, it does not behove me to set down here. Whatever it was, however, it seemed to give great satisfaction to the person to whom it was addressed. At length they sat down together upon the sofa, and Browne told her of the arrangements he had made. "I did not write to you about them, dear," he said, "for the reason that, in a case like this, the less that is put on paper the better for all parties concerned. Letters may go astray, and there is no knowing what may happen to them. Therefore I thought I would keep all my news until I could tell it to you face to face. Are you ready for your long journey?"
"Yes, we are quite ready," said Katherine. "We are only waiting for you. Madame has been very busy for the last few days, and so have I." She mentioned Madame's name with some little trepidation, for she feared lest the old subject, which had caused them both so much pain on the last occasion that they had met, might be revived. Browne, however, was careful, as she was, not to broach it.
"And when will your yacht leave England?" she inquired, after he had detailed his arrangements to her.
"On Monday next at latest," he answered. "We shall not be very far behind you."
"Nevertheless it will be a long, long time before I shall see you again," she continued in a sad tone. "Oh, Jack, Jack, I cannot tell you how wicked I feel in allowing you to do so much for me. Even now, at this late hour, I feel I have no right to accept such a sacrifice at your hands."
"Stop," he replied, holding up his finger in warning. "I thought we had agreed that nothing more should be said about it."
At this juncture there was the sound of a footstep in the passage outside, and a few seconds later Madame Bernstein entered the room. On seeing Browne she hastened forward, and greeted him with all the effusiveness of which she was mistress. "Ah, Monsieur Browne," she said, "now that I see you my courage returns. As Katherine has doubtless told you, everything is prepared, and we are ready to start for Marseilles as soon as you give the order. Katherine is looking forward to the voyage; but as for me—— Ah! I do hate the sea more than anything in the world. That nasty little strip of salt water which divides England from France is a continual nightmare to me, and I never cross it without hoping it may be the last time."
Browne tried to comfort her by telling her of the size of the vessel in which they were to travel, and assured her that, even if she should be ill, by the time they were out of the Mediterranean she would have recovered. Seeing that no other consolation was forthcoming, Madame was compelled to be content with this poor comfort.
Though Browne had already breakfasted in the solid, substantial English fashion, he was only too glad to persuade Madame Bernstein and his sweetheart to partake ofdéjeunerat one of the famous cafés on the Boulevards. After the meal Madame returned to the Rue Jacquarie in order to finish a little packing, which she had left to the last moment; while Browne, who had been looking forward to this opportunity, assumed possession of Katharine, and carried her to one of the large shops in the Rue de la Paix, where he purchased for her the best dressing-bag ever obtained for love or money; to which he added a set of sables that would have turned even Russian Royalty green with envy. Never had his money seemed so useful to Browne. These commissions executed, they returned to the Rue Jacquarie, where they found Madame Bernstein ready for the journey. The express was due to leave Paris for Marseilles at 2.15 p.m. Twenty minutes before that hour a cab drove up to the door, and in it Browne placed Madame Bernstein and Katherine, following them himself. Wonderful is the power of a gift! Browne carried the bag, he had given Katherine that morning, down to the cab with his own hands, and without being asked to do so, placed it on the seat beside her. He noticed that her right hand went out to take it, and held it lovingly until they reached the station, where she surrendered it to him again.
When they made their appearance on the platform an official hurried forward to meet them, and conducted them forthwith to the special saloon carriage Browne had bespoken for their use that morning. As she stepped into it Katherine gave a little grateful glance at her lover to show that she appreciated his generosity. Poor as she had always been, she found it hard to realize what his wealth meant. And yet there were many little signs to give her evidence of the fact—the obsequious railway officials; his own majestic English servant, who brought them a sheaf of papers without being instructed to do so; and last, but by no means least, the very railway carriage itself, which was of the most luxurious description. On Madame Bernstein entering the compartment she placed herself in a corner, arranged her travelling-rug, her smelling-salts, her papers, and her fan to her satisfaction; and by the time she had settled down the journey had commenced. The train was an express, and did not stop until it reached Laroche at 4.40. Here afternoon tea was procured for the ladies; while on reaching Dijon, two hours and a half later, it was discovered that an unusually luxurious dinner had been ordered by telegraph, and was served in the second compartment of the carriage. Having done justice to it, they afterwards settled themselves down for the night. It is a very significant fact that when Browne looks back upon that journey now, the one most important fact, that strikes his memory, is that Madame Bernstein fell asleep a little after eight o'clock, and remained so until they had passed Pontanevaux. During the time she slept, Browne was able to have a little private conversation with Katherine; and whatever trouble he had taken to ensure the journey being a successful one, he was amply compensated for it. At ten o'clock the polite conductor begged permission to inform mesdames and monsieur that their sleeping apartments were prepared for them. Browne accordingly bade the ladies good-night.
As the young man lay in his sleeping compartment that night, and the train made its way across France towards its most important sea-port, Browne's dreams were of many things. At one moment he was back in the Opera House at Covent Garden, listening toLohengrin, and watching Katherine's face as each successive singer appeared upon the stage. Then, as if by magic, the scene changed, and he was on the windy mountain-side at Merok, and Katherine was looking up at him from her place of deadly peril a few feet below. He reached down and tried to save her, but it appeared to be a question of length of arm, and his was a foot too short. "Pray allow me to help you," said Maas; and being only too grateful for any assistance, Browne permitted him to do so. They accordingly caught her by the hands and began to pull. Then suddenly, without any warning, Maas struck him a terrible blow upon the head; both holds were instantly loosed, and Katherine was in the act of falling over the precipice when Browne awoke. Great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead, and, under the influence of this fright, he trembled as he did not remember ever to have done in his life before. For upwards of an hour he lay awake, listening to the rhythm of the wheels and the thousand and one noises that a train makes at night. Then once more he fell asleep, and, as before, dreamt of Katherine. Equally strange was it that on this occasion also Maas was destined to prove his adversary. They were in Japan now, and the scene was a garden in which the Wistaria bloomed luxuriously. Katherine was standing on a rustic bridge, looking down into the water below, and Maas was beside her. Suddenly the bridge gave way, and the girl was precipitated into the water. Though she was drowning, he noticed that Maas did nothing to help her, but stood upon what remained of the bridge and taunted her with the knowledge that, if she were drowned, her mission to the East would be useless. After this no further sleep was possible. At break of day he accordingly rose and dressed himself. They were passing through the little town of Saint-Chamas at the time. It was a lovely morning; not a cloud in the sky, and all the air and country redolent of life and beauty. It was a day upon which a man might be thankful for the right to live and love. Yet Browne was sad at heart. Was he not about to part from the woman he loved for nearly two whole months? Brave though he was in most things, it must be confessed he feared that separation, as a confirmed coward fears a blow. But still the train flew remorselessly on, bringing them every moment nearer and nearer their destination.
When they reached it they drove direct to an hotel. Here they breakfasted, and afterwards made their way to the steamer. Browne's heart was sinking lower and lower, for never before had Katherine seemed so sweet and so desirable. Once on board the vessel they called a steward to their assistance, and the two ladies were shown to their cabins. As they afterwards found out, they were the best that Browne could secure, were situated amidships, and were really intended each to accommodate four passengers. While they were examining them Browne hunted out the chief steward, and the stewards who would be likely to wait upon his friends. These he rewarded in such a way that, if the men only acted up to their protestations, the remainder of the passengers would have very good cause to complain. Having finished this work of bribery and corruption, he went in search of the ladies, only to be informed by the stewardess that they had left their cabins and had gone on deck. He accordingly made his way up the companion-ladder, and found them standing beside the smoking-room entrance.
"I hope you found your cabins comfortable," he said. "I have just seen the chief steward, and he has promised that everything possible shall be done to make you enjoy your voyage."
"How good you are!" said Katherine in a low voice, and with a little squeeze of his hand; while Madame protested that, if it were possible for anything to reconcile her to the sea, it would be Monsieur Browne's kindness. Then the warning whistle sounded for non-passengers to leave the ship. Madame Bernstein took the hint, and, having bade him good-bye, made her way along the deck towards the companion-ladder, leaving the lovers together. Katherine's eyes had filled with tears and she had grown visibly paler. Now that the time had come for parting with the man she loved, she had discovered how much he was to her.
"Katherine," said Browne, in a voice that was hoarse with suppressed emotion, "do you know now how much I love you?"
"You love me more than I deserve," she said. "I shall never be able to repay you for all you have done for me."
"I want no repayment but your love," he answered.
"Si vous n'êtes pas un voyageur, m'sieu, ayez l'obligeance de débarquer," said a gruff voice in his ear.
Seeing that there was nothing left but to say good-bye, Browne kissed Katherine, and, unable to bear any more, made for the gangway. Five minutes later the great ship was under way, and Katherine had embarked upon her voyage to the East.
As soon as the mail-boat, which was carrying Katherine and Madame Bernstein to the East, was out of sight, Browne turned to his man, who was waiting beside him, and said: "Now, Davis, a cab, and quickly too. We must not miss that train for London whatever happens."
As it was, they were only just in time. He had scarcely taken his seat before the train began to move out of the station. Placing himself in a corner of the carriage, he endeavoured to interest himself in a book; but it was of no use. Though his material body was seated in the carriage being whirled away across the green plains of Southern France, his actual self was on board the great mail-boat, which was cutting its way through the blue waters, carrying Katherine mile by mile farther out of his reach. Dreary indeed did Europe seem to him now. It was a little before twelve o'clock when the train left Marseilles; it was nearly four next afternoon when he sighted the waters of the Channel at Calais. Much to his astonishment and delight, Jimmy Foote met him at Dover, and travelled back to town with him. During his absence Browne had entrusted their arrangements to his care; and in consequence Jimmy carried about with him an air of business, which at other times was quite unusual to him.
"I have been down to Southampton," he reported, "and have seen Mason. He was hard at work getting the stores aboard, and asked me to tell you he will be able to sail without fail early on Monday morning. When do you think we had better go down?"
"On Sunday," said Browne. "We may as well get on board as soon as we can."
Though he spoke in this casual way, he knew that in his heart he was waiting the hour of departure with an impatience, that bordered almost on desperation. He longed to see the yacht's head pointed down Channel, and to know that at last she was really in pursuit of the other boat, which had been granted such a lengthy start. On reaching London they drove together to Browne's house. It was Saturday evening, and there were still a hundred and one things to be settled. Upon his study table Browne discovered upwards of fifty invitations from all sorts and conditions of people. He smiled cynically as he opened them, and, when the last one had been examined, turned to Jimmy.
"Thank Heaven, I can decline these with a clear conscience," he said. "By the time the dates come round we shall be on the high seas, far beyond the reach of dinners, dances, and kettledrums. I wonder how many of these folk," he continued, picking up one from the heap and flicking it across the table to his friend, "would have me in their houses again if they knew what I am about to do?"
"Every one of them, my boy," the other replied; "from the Duchess of Matlock downwards. You might help a thousand Russian convicts to escape from Saghalien, and they will pardon you; but you are doing one other thing for which you must never hope to be forgiven."
"And what may that be?" Browne inquired.
"Why, you are marrying Miss Petrovitch," answered Jimmy. "If she were a famous beauty, a great heiress, or even the daughter of a peer, all would be well; but you must remember that no one knows her; that, however much you may love her, and however worthy she may be, she is nevertheless not chronicled in theCourt Guide. To marry out of your own circle is a sin seldom forgiven, particularly when a man is a millionaire, and has been the desire of every match-making mother for as long as you have."
"They had better treat my wife as I wish them to, or beware of me," said Browne angrily. "If they treat her badly they'll find I've got claws."
"But, my dear fellow, you are running your head against the wall," said Jimmy. "I never said theywouldtreat her badly. On the contrary, they will treat her wonderfully well; for, remember, she is your wife. They will accept all her invitations for dances in London, will stay with her in the country; they will yacht, hunt, fish, and shoot with you; but the mothers, who, after all is said and done, are the leaders of society, will never forget or forgive you. My dear fellow," he continued, with the air of a man who knew his world thoroughly, which, to do him justice, he certainly did, "you surely do not imagine for an instant that Miss Verney has forgotten that——"
"We'll leave Miss Verney out of the question, Jimmy, if you don't mind," replied Browne, with rather a different intonation.
"I thought that would make him wince," murmured Jimmy to himself; and then added aloud, "Never mind, old man; we won't pursue the subject any further. It's not a nice one, and we've plenty else to think about, have we not? Let me tell you, I am looking forward to this little business more than I have ever done to anything. The only regret I have about it is that there does not appear to be any probability of our having some fighting. I must confess I should like to have a brush with the enemy, if possible."
"In that case we should be lost men," Browne replied. "No; whatever we do, we must avoid coming into actual conflict with the Authorities. By the way, what about Maas?"
"I saw him this morning," Foote replied. "I told him what arrangements we had made, and he will meet us whenever and wherever we wish. He seemed quite elated over the prospect of the voyage, and told me he thought it awfully good of you to take him. After all, he's not a bad sort of fellow. There is only one thing I don't like about him, and that is his predilection for wishing people to think he is in a delicate state of health."
"And you don't think he is?" said Browne.
"Of course I don't," Jimmy replied. "Why, only this morning I was with him more than an hour, and he didn't cough once; and yet he was continually pointing out to me that it was so necessary for his health—for his lungs, in fact—-that he should go out of England at once. It is my idea that he is hypochondriacal."
"Whatever he is, I wish to goodness he had chosen any other time for wanting to accompany us. I have a sort of notion that his presence on board will bring us bad luck."
"Nonsense," said his matter-of-fact friend. "Why should it? Maas could do us no harm, even supposing he wanted to. And he's certain not to have any desire that way."
"Well," answered Browne, "that is what I feel, and yet I can't make out why I should do so." As he said this he pressed the ring Katharine had given him, and remembered that that was his talisman, and that she had told him that, while he wore it, he could come to no harm. With that on his finger, and his love for her in his heart, it would be wonderful indeed if he could not fulfil the task he had set himself to do.
It is strange how ignorant we are of the doings, and indeed of the very lives, of our fellow-men. I do not mean the actions which, in the broad light of day, lie in the ordinary routine of life, but those more important circumstances which are not seen, but make up, and help to weave the skein of each man's destiny. For instance, had a certain well-known official in the office of the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, who stood upon the platform of Waterloo station, waiting for the train that was to carry him to the residence of a friend at Woking, dreamt for an instant that the three gentlemen he nodded so affably to, and who were standing at the door of a saloon carriage in the same train, were leaving England next day, in order to cause considerable trouble to a Power that, at the moment had shown signs of being friendly, what would his feelings have been? He did not know it, however; so he seated himself in his comfortable smoking-carriage, lit a cigar, and read his Sunday paper, quite unconscious of the circumstances.
It was nearly eight o'clock before they readied Southampton. When they did they made their way to the harbour, where a steam-launch from the yacht was awaiting them. TheLotus Blossomherself lay off the Royal Pier; and when they reached her, Captain Mason received them at the gangway.
"Well, Mason," said Browne, "is everything ready for the start to-morrow?"
"Everything is ready, sir," Mason replied. "You have only to say when you desire to get off, and we'll up anchor."
Browne thought that he would like to get under way at once; but it could not be. He looked along the snow-white decks and upon the polished brasswork, and thought of the day that he had left the boat when she was anchored in the harbour of Merok, to accompany his guests on their walk to the falls, and of the wonderful things that had happened since then. Before many weeks had passed over their heads he hoped that Katherine herself would be standing on these self-same decks. He pictured the delight he would feel in showing her over his trim and beautiful vessel, and thought of the long conversations they would have on deck at night, and of the happiness they would feel when they were speeding towards safety once more, with the rescued man on board. What they were to do with her father, when they had got him, was one thing he wanted to leave to Katherine to decide. He was awakened from these dreams by Foote, who inquired whether he intended to allow his guests to remain on deck all night, or whether he was going to take them below.
"I beg your pardon," said Browne. "It's awfully rude of me to keep you standing here like this. Come along."
They accordingly made their way down the companion-ladder to the saloon below. Everything had been prepared for their reception, and the stewards were already laying dinner as they entered. Having finished that important meal, and drunk the toast of a pleasant voyage, they ascended to the deck once more, when Foote and Maas made their way to the smoking-room, while Browne went up to the bridge to have a talk with the captain. When he descended again, he announced to his guests that the yacht would be got under way as soon as it was light in the morning, and that the first coaling-place would be Gibraltar.
"Bravo!" said Jimmy, rapping the table with his pipe. "Thank goodness, by midday we shall be well out in the Channel."
At the same moment Maas's cigar slipped from between his fingers and dropped on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but at first could not find it. By the time he had done so the conversation had changed, and Browne had drawn his watch from his pocket. A cry of astonishment escaped him: "Have you any idea what the time is?"
They confessed that they had not.
"Well, it's nearly twelve o'clock," he said. "If you won't either of you take anything else, I think the best thing we can do is to get to bed as soon as possible."
So tired was Browne that night that he slept without waking until well on in the following morning. Indeed, it was past nine o'clock when Davis, his man-servant, entered and woke him; he sat up, and rubbed his eyes, as if he could very well have gone on sleeping for another hour or two.
"By Jove! we're under way," he said, as if he were surprised to find the yacht moving. "Where are we, Davis?"
"Off Swanage, sir," the man replied. "Captain Mason couldn't get away quite as early as he hoped to do; but he's making up for lost time now, sir."
"What sort of a day is it?" Browne inquired.
"Beautiful, sir; it couldn't be no better if you'd ordered it special," said Davis, who was a bit of a wag in his way, and was privileged as such. "There's just a nice bit of swell running, but no more. Not enough to shake the curls of a schoolmistress, in a manner of speaking."
This Browne discovered to be the case, when he ascended to the deck. The yacht was bathed in sunshine, and she sat as softly as a duck upon a large green swell, that was as easy as the motion of a rocking-horse. Far away to starboard the pinewood cliffs of Bournemouth could be descried; while a point on the starboard-bow was Poole Harbour and Swanage headland, with Old Harry peering up out of the sunlit waves. Browne ascended to the bridge, to find Foote and Captain Mason there. The latter touched his cap, while Foote came forward and held out his hand.
"Good-morning," said Jimmy. "What do you think of this, my boy? Isn't it better than London? Doesn't it make you feel it's worth something to be alive? I wouldn't change places this morning with any man in England."
"And you may be very sure I would not," said Browne; then, turning to the skipper, he inquired what the yacht was doing.
"Thirteen knots good, sir," the latter replied. "We shall do better, however, when we've put Portland Bill behind us."
As he spoke the breakfast-bell sounded, and simultaneously with it Maas appeared on deck. Browne and Foote descended from the bridge to greet him, and found him in excellent spirits.
"I feel better already," he said, as they went down the companion-ladder and took their places at the table. "How beautiful the air is on deck! Alchemists may say what they please, but this is the Elixir of Life. What a pity it is we cannot bottle it, and introduce it into the crowded ballrooms and dining-rooms during the London season!"
"That's rather an original notion," retorted Jimmy. "Fancy, after a waltz with a heavy partner, taking her off to a room set apart for the purpose, seating her in a chair, and, instead of asking her the usual insipid question, whether she would have an ice, or coffee, or claret cup, inquiring what brand of air she preferred—whether she would have a gallon of Bournemouth, which is relaxing, or Margate, which is bracing, or Folkestone—shall we say?—which is midway between the two. It could be laid on in town and country houses, and, combined with the phonograph, which would repeat the nigger minstrel melodies of the sands, and the biograph, which would show the surrounding scenery, would be a tremendous attraction. Having purchased one of these machines, paterfamilias need not trouble his head about taking his family away for the annual trip to the seaside. Rents would not affect him; he would be free from landladies' overcharges. All he would have to do would be to take his wife and bairns into a room, turn on the various machines, and science would do the rest."
"Perhaps, when you have done talking nonsense," said Browne, "you will be kind enough to hand me thepâté de foie gras. I remember so many of your wonderful schemes, Jimmy, that I begin to think I know them all by heart."
"In that case you must admit that the majority of them were based upon very sound principles," replied Jimmy. "I remember there was one that might have made a fortune for anybody. It was to be a matrimonial registry for the upper ten, where intending Benedicts could apply for particulars respecting their future wives. For instance, the Duke of A——, being very desirous of marrying, and being also notoriously impecunious, would call at the office and ask for a choice of American heiresses possessing between five and ten millions. Photographs having been submitted to him, and a guarantee as to the money given to him, meetings between the parties could be arranged by the company, and a small commission charged when the marriage was duly solemnized. Then there was another scheme for educating the sons of millionaires in the brands of cigars they should give their friends. For a small commission, Viscount B——, who has smoked himself into the bankruptcy court, would call at their residences three times a week, when he would not only show them how to discriminate between a Trichinopoli and a Burma Pwé, which is difficult to the uninitiated, but also between La Intimidad Excelsos of '94 and Henry Clay Soberanos, which is much more so."
"I remember yet another scheme," said Maas quietly, as he helped himself to some caviare from a dish before him. "You told me once of a scheme you were perfecting for forming a company to help long-sentenced burglars of proved ability to escape from penal servitude, in order that they should work for the society on the co-operative principle. If my memory serves me, it was to be a most remunerative speculation. The only flaw in it that I could see was the difficulty in arranging the convict's escape, and the danger, that would accrue to those helping him, in case they were discovered."
Had a bombshell fallen through the skylight of the saloon and settled itself in the centre of the table, it could scarcely have caused greater consternation than did Maas's simple remark. Browne felt that his face was visibly paling, and that guilt must be written on every inch of it. As for Jimmy, his mouth opened and shut like that of an expiring fish. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright. He had certainly once in an idle moment joked in the fashion Maas had attributed to him; but what had induced the latter to remember and to bring it up now, of all times, when their nerves were so tightly stretched? Maas's face, however, was all innocence. He seemed not to have noticed the amazement he had caused, but ate his caviare with the air of a man who had said something worthy, the point of which had fallen a trifle flat. It was not until the meal was over, and they had ascended to the deck once more, that Browne found an opportunity of having a few words with Jimmy.
"What on earth did he mean by that?" he asked. "Do you think he can have heard anything? Or do you think he only suspects?"
"Neither," said Jimmy. "I'll tell you what I think it was; it was a perfectly simple remark, which by sheer ill-luck just happened to touch us in the wrong place. It was, as the shooters say, an unintentional bull's-eye. But, by Jove! I must confess that it made me feel pretty bad at the moment."
"Then you think we need not attach any importance to it?"
"I'm quite sure we need not," his friend replied. "Look at it in this way: if the man had known anything he most certainly would not have said anything about it. If we had suspected him of knowing our secret, and had put ourselves out in order to bring him to the point, and he had kept silence, then we might have thought otherwise; as it is, I am positive we need not be afraid."
As if to reassure them, Maas said nothing further on the subject. He was full of good-humour, absorbed the sunshine like a Neapolitan, and seemed to enjoy every hour he lived. He also did his best to make the others do likewise. He talked upon every conceivable subject, and did not feel in the least annoyed when the others appeared occupied. They passed Plymouth soon after twelve next day, and said good-bye to Old England shortly afterwards. How little those on board guessed what was to happen before they could see her shores again? Five days later they were at Gibraltar, anchored in the harbour beneath the shadow of the batteries. Though he grudged every minute, and though he had seen the Rock a dozen times before, Browne accompanied them ashore, explored the Galleries, and lunched at the Officers' Mess.
"What rum beggars we are, to be sure!" said young Bramthwaite, of the 43rd Midlandshire, to Browne, as they lit their cigars afterwards. "Here are you, posting off for the East, and as anxious as you can be to turn your back on Old England; while I, poor beggar, am quartered here, and am longing to get home with all my might and main. Do you think, if I had your chance, I would go abroad? Not I."
"Circumstances alter cases," returned Browne. "If you were in my place you would want to be out of England. You should just have seen London as we left. Fogs, sleet, snow, drizzle, day after day, while here you are wrapped in continual sunshine. I don't see that you have much to grumble at."
"Don't you?" said his friend. "Well, I do. Let us take my own case again. I am just up from a baddish attack of Rock-fever. I feel as weak as a cat—not fit for anything. And what good does it do me? I don't even have the luck to be properly ill, so that I could compel them to invalid me. And, to make matters worse, my brother writes that they are having the most ripping hunting in the shires; from his letters I gather that the pheasants have never been better; and, with it all, here I am, like the Johnny in the heathen mythology, chained to this rock, and unable to get away."
Browne consoled him to the best of his ability, and shortly afterwards collected his party and returned to the yacht. The work of coaling was completed, and Captain Mason, who resembled a badly blacked Christy Minstrel, was ready to start as soon as his owner desired. Browne, nothing loath, gave the order, and accordingly they steamed out of the harbour, past the Rock, and were in blue seas once more. They would not touch anywhere again until they reached Port Said.
That night on deck Browne was lamenting the fact that the yacht did not travel faster than she did.
"My dear fellow," said Maas, "what a hurry you are in, to be sure! Why, this is simply delightful. What more could you wish for? You have a beautiful vessel, your cook is a genius, and your wines are perfect. If I had your money, do you know what I would do? I would sail up and down the Mediterranean at this time of the year for months on end."
"I don't think you would," replied Browne. "In the meantime, what I want is to get to Japan."
"I presume yourfiancéeis to meet you there?" said Maas. "I can quite understand your haste now."
There was a silence for a few moments, and then Maas added, as if the idea had just struck him: "By the way, you have never told me her name."
"Her name is Petrovitch," answered Browne softly, as if the name were too precious to be breathed aloud. "I do not think you have ever met her."
"Now I come to think of it, I believe I have," Maas responded. "At least, I am not acquainted with her personally, but I have met some one who knows her fairly well."
"Indeed!" said Browne, in some astonishment. "And who might that some one be?"
"You need not be jealous, my dear fellow," Maas continued. "My friend was a lady, a Miss Corniquet, a French artist. Miss Petrovitch, I believe, exhibited in the Salon last year, and they met shortly afterwards. I remember that she informed me that the young lady in question showed remarkable talent. I am sure, Browne, I congratulate you heartily."
"Many thanks," remarked the other; and so the matter dropped for the time being.
Port Said and the work of coaling being things of the past, they proceeded through the Suez Canal and down the Red Sea; coaled once more at Aden, and later on at Colombo. By the time they reached Singapore, Browne's impatience could scarcely be controlled. With every day an increased nervousness came over him. At last they were only a few hours' steam from Hong-kong. It was there that Browne was to interview the famous Johann Schmidt, of whom Herr Sauber had spoken to him in Paris. What the result of that interview would be he could only conjecture. He wanted to get it over in order that he might have his plans cut and dried by the time they reached Japan, where Katharine and Madame Bernstein must now be. If all went well, he would soon join them there.
At ten o'clock on a lovely morning they entered the Ly-ee-moon Pass, steamed past Green Island, and at length they came in sight of the crowded harbour of Victoria. Once at anchor, the steam-launch was slung overboard and brought alongside, Browne and his friends took their places in her, and she forthwith made her way to the shore. None of the men had seen the wonderful city, they were now visiting, before, so that all its marvels, its wealth, and its extraordinary mixture of races were new to them. Though they had encountered him in his American hybrid condition, it was the first time they had been brought into actual contact with their marvellous Yellow Brother, who in Hong-kong may be seen in all the glory of his dirt and sumptuousness. Reaching the Praya, they disembarked, and ascended the steps. Accosting an English inspector of police whom they met, they inquired in what direction they should proceed in order to reach the Club. He pointed out the way, and they accordingly set off in search of it. Turning into the Queen's Road, they made their way along it until they reached the place in question. Browne had a letter of introduction to one of the members, given to him in London, and he was anxious to present it to him in order to learn something, if possible, of Johann Schmidt before going in search of him. Leaving his two friends outside, he entered the Club and inquired for the gentleman in question. The servant who received him informed him that the member was not at the time in the building.
"Can you tell me his address?" said Browne. "It's just possible I may find him at his office."
The man furnished him with what he wanted, and showed him how he could reach it. Rejoining his companions, Browne proceeded down the street, passed the Law Courts, and went in the direction of the Barracks. At last he reached the block of buildings of which he was in search. The name of the man he wanted was to be seen on a brass plate upon the door. He entered, and accosting a white-clad Englishman in an enormous solar topee, whom he found there, inquired if he could tell whether his friend was at home.
"I believe he is," the man replied. "At any rate, if you will wait a moment I'll soon find out." Leaving them, he departed down the passage, to return presently with the information that the person they wanted to see was in his office.
Foote and Maas remained in the street, while Browne entered a cool and airy room at the farther end of the passage. Here, seated at an office-table, was another white-clad Englishman. He had a cigar in his mouth, and possessed a handsome face and a close-cropped beard.
"Mr. ——?" said Browne, after he had thanked his conductor for his courtesy.
"That is my name," the gentleman replied. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?"
"I have a letter of introduction to you," said Browne, producing the document in question from his pocket, and handing it across the table. "I believe we are common friends of George Pellister?"
"George Pellister!" cried the man. "I should rather think so; when I was home three years ago he was awfully kind to me. So you are a friend of his? Pray forgive my not having come out to greet you. Come and sit down. How long have you been in the island?"
"Only an hour and a half," Browne replied.
"An hour and a half!" the other repeated. "I had no idea there was an English mail-boat in. The P. & O. only left yesterday."
"I didn't come in a mail-boat," said Browne. "I've got my own tub. We left London on the 7th of last month."
The man behind the table opened his eyes in surprise. Gentlemen who travelled as far as Hong-kong in their own steam-yachts, were few and far between, and had to be treated with proper respect. He accordingly found an opportunity of opening the letter of introduction. Had Browne been watching his face, he would have seen the expression of astonishment that spread over it, as he realized that his visitor was no less a person than the fabulously wealthy John Grantham Browne, of whose doings in the social and sporting world he had so often read.
"I am very glad indeed that you have called on me," he said, after he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment. "While you are here you must let me do the honours of Hong-kong, such as they are. Of course I can put you up at the Club, if that's any use to you, and show you all there is to be seen, though I fear it will bore you fearfully after London. How long are you staying?"
"Well," answered Browne, "I'm afraid I shall not be able to remain very long on the outward voyage. I should not have called here at all, but that I had some rather important business to transact. I'm on my way to Japan."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the other. "Well, I shall be only too happy if you will let me help you in any way I can."
"It's not a very big matter," replied Browne. "All I want to know is the address of a certain person living in Hong-kong whose name is Schmidt—Johann Schmidt."
"Johann Schmidt?" asked the other. "I am not quite certain that I know this particular one; there are so many of that name here, and I dare say a large proportion of them are Johanns. However, I will send some one to find out; and if you will take tiffin with me at the Club, my clerks shall make inquiries while we are doing so."
Browne thereupon explained that he had two friends travelling with him, with the result that the other replied that he would only be too happy if they would join the party. They accordingly adjourned, and, picking up Maas and Foote in the street, proceeded to the Club. Tiffin was almost at an end, when a servant entered and placed a card beside their host's plate. He glanced at it, and, turning to Browne, he pushed it towards him.
"If I'm not mistaken, that is the man you want," he remarked. "I think it only fair to tell you that I know the fellow, and he is rather an extraordinary character. Between ourselves, he does not bear any too good a reputation."
"Oh, that doesn't matter to me in the least," responded Browne. "My business with him is purely of a commercial nature."
After that no more was said on the subject, and, when they rose from the table, Browne proposed that he should go in search of the man in question. "I am anxious, if possible, to leave Hong-kong at daybreak to-morrow morning," he said; and then added, by way of explanation, "I am due in Japan, and have no time to spare."
"I am sorry to hear that," returned the other. "I had hoped you would have stayed longer. However, while you are away, your friends had better remain with me. I will do my best to amuse them."
Browne thereupon rose to take leave. His host accompanied him to the street, and, having put him in arickshá, told the coolie where he was to take him.
"I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness," said Browne, as he shook hands. "Will you not let me return it by asking you to dine with us on board my boat to-night? She is theLotus Blossom. I don't suppose you will have much difficulty in finding her."
"I shall be delighted," replied the other. "At what time do you dine?"
"At half-past seven," answered Browne.
"Au revoir, then, until half-past seven."
They waved hands to each other, and Browne laid himself back in therickshá, mumbling as he did so, "Now for our friend Johann Schmidt."