Leaving the Club, therickshácoolie proceeded in the opposite direction to that which Browne had followed, when in search of the gentleman to whom he had presented the letter of introduction. At first, and while he remained in the Queen's Road, there was but little difference to be observed; the thoroughfare was a fine one, broad and commodious. After one or two turnings, however, matters changed somewhat, and he found himself in a labyrinth of narrow, tortuous streets, the shops on either side of which were small and mean, the names over the doors being for the most part in the Celestial characters. The confusion that existed in the streets was indescribable. Here the Mongolian was to be seen in all his glory. But, in addition to the Chinamen, almost every nationality known to the Asiatic world was represented; while through it all, towering head and shoulders above the crowd, stalked the stately Sikhs on patrol duty. At last, after a drive that had occupied perhaps a quarter of an hour, the coolie drew up, before what was probably the largest shop Browne had yet seen in the neighbourhood. It was built in the Chinese fashion, and, in order that West and East may meet on an equal footing, had two names over the door, one in Chinese writing, the other plainly printed in English characters: "Johann Schmidt." Browne alighted, and, having told his coolie to wait, entered the shop. He was greeted on the threshold by a stout Chinaman, who was plainly in charge.
"What for you piecee look see?" inquired the latter.
Browne, not being adept at pidgin-English, replied to the effect that he desired to see and speak with Herr Schmidt. Whether the man comprehended or not he could not tell; at any rate he left him alone in the shop, while he disappeared behind a curtain at the farther end. When he returned, a few seconds later, he was accompanied by a portly individual, whose nationality the veriest tyro could not mistake. As if to make it doubly sure, he carried in his hand an enormous pipe fashioned after the pattern of the Fatherland. His face was large and almost spherical; his hair was close-cropped, as was his beard; he was attired in white trousers, a flannel shirt, which would have been none the worse for a wash, and a black alpaca coat. The Teutonic stolidity was certainly well developed in him. On seeing Browne he stopped and sucked contentedly at his pipe, but said nothing. The younger man was the first to speak.
"You are Herr Schmidt, I believe?" said Browne, in English. The other nodded his head, but still did not venture upon speech. "I bring a letter of introduction to you," said Browne, dropping his voice a little, as though he were afraid of being overheard. "It is from a certain Herr Otto Sauber, whom I met in Paris about two months ago. He told me that you would do all you could for me in a certain matter."
"Herr Sauber?" inquired the German. "I cannot dink that I am mit him acquainted."
Browne's disappointment was plainly discernible on his face. He had fully expected that, immediately he presented the letter Sauber had given him, this mysterious Johann Schmidt would understand and arrange everything. This, however, did not appear to be the case. The man before him sucked stolidly at his pipe, and watched him with eyes that had no expression in them. The position was embarrassing, to say the least of it. Was it possible that his mission was going to prove futile after all, and that, for the good he was to get out of it, he might just as well not have wasted his time by calling at Hong-kong at all? For upwards of thirty most uncomfortable seconds the two men stood watching each other. Then Browne spoke.
"You are quite sure, I suppose," he asked, "that you do not know the gentleman in question? I certainly understood from him that you had been acquainted with each other for many years."
The German shook his head. Then he said slowly, "Perhaps, mein frien, if you would mit me come, I will talk mit you ubon the madder. So many men do say dot they know Johann Schmidt. But Johann do not know dem. If you to mine office would come, we will talk mit each other dere."
Browne accordingly followed him behind the curtain to which I have alluded. There he found, to his surprise, a most comfortable and, I might almost add, luxurious apartment. The walls were hung with pictures of considerable merit, interspersed with innumerable curios, collected from almost every country in the Farther East. In any other place the room might have ranked as a fairly noteworthy apartment; but here, surrounded by so much that was sordid—nay, almost barbaric—it was little short of unique. Pointing to a long bamboo chair which fitted a corner beneath an enormous Cantonese dragon, used for burning pastilles, the German bade Browne seat himself. Before the latter did so, however, he handed the German the letter with which Herr Sauber had furnished him. The other took it, cut the flap of the envelope with a jade paper-knife, and, drawing forth the contents, placed an enormous pair of spectacles upon his nose, and read them thoroughly. Upwards of five minutes had elapsed between the time Browne had given him the letter until he spoke again. These long delays were having a bad effect upon the young man's temper; they strained his nerves to breaking-pitch. He felt that this phlegmatic individual would not hurry himself, even if another's existence depended upon it. To all intents and purposes he had united in his person the apathy of the Asiatic with the stolidity of the Teuton.
"Now dat I look ubon it, I do remember Herr Sauber," the other replied. "It was once dat we very good friends were, but it is many years dat I heard of him." The old fellow wagged his head solemnly until his glasses shook upon his nose. The recollection of the incident, whatever it was, seemed to afford him considerable satisfaction, though why it should have done so was by no means apparent to Browne.
"But with regard to what he says in the letter?" the young man at last exclaimed in desperation. "Will you be able to help me, do you think?"
"Ah! I know noddings about dat," answered Schmidt. "I do not understand what dis business is. If it is Chinese silk, or curios, or gondiments of any kind, den I know what you want. Dere is no one on dis island can subbly you so goot as Johann Schmidt."
Browne did not know what to say. For his own sake he knew that it would not be safe to broach such a delicate subject to a man, like the one seated before him, whose only idea in life seemed to be to cross one fat leg over the other and to fill and smoke his pipe until the room was one large tobacco-cloud, unless he was quite certain of that person's identity with the individual, to whom he had been directed to apply.
"To put the matter in a nutshell," said Browne, lowering his voice a little in order that it should not carry farther than the man seated before him, "I understood from Herr Sauber that if any one happened to have a friend, who had the misfortune to be compelled to stay rather longer in a certain place, than was quite conducive to his health or peace of mind, by applying to you an arrangement might possibly be made, whereby his release might be effected."
Herr Schmidt for the first time took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at him. "Bardon, mein frien, but I do not understand what is meant by dat speech," he replied. "If de place, where dat frien of yours is living, is not to his health suited, why does not he elsewhere go?"
Though Browne felt morally certain that the man understood what he meant, he did not feel justified in speaking more plainly at the moment. He had to feel his way before he definitely committed himself. However, a little reflection was sufficient to show him, that it would be impossible to make any progress at all unless he spoke out, and that even in the event of his doing so, he would not be placing himself in any way in the other's power. He accordingly resolved upon a line of action.
"The truth of the matter is, Herr Schmidt," he began, leaning a little forward, and speaking with all the emphasis of which he was master, "I happen to have a friend who is at the present time confined on a certain island. He is in delicate health, and his friends are anxious to get him away. Now, I have been informed that, if suitable terms can be arranged, it would be possible for you to effect this escape. Is this so?"
"Mine goot frien," returned the German, "let me tell you dat you speak too plain. The words dat you talk mit me would make trouble mit my friens de police. Besides, dere is no esgaping from der jail ubon dis island."
"I did not say anything about the jail upon this island," retorted Browne; "the place I mean is a very long way from here."
"Well then, Noumea, perhaps?"
"No, not Noumea," answered Browne. "If I am to enter into more explanations, I might say that my friend is a Russian, and that he is also a political prisoner." He stopped and watched Herr Schmidt's face anxiously. The latter was sitting bolt upright in his chair, with a fat hand resting on either knee; his spectacles were pushed on to the top of his head, and his long pipe was still in his mouth. Not a sign escaped him to show that he understood.
"I dink dat mein old comrade, Herr Sauber, must have been drunken mit too much schnapps when he talk mit you. What should Johann Schmidt have to do mit Russian bolitical brisoners? His piziness is mit de curios of China, mit silk, rice, ginger, but not mit de tings you do speak to him about."
"Then I am to understand that you can do nothing to help me?" said Browne, rising from his chair as if to take leave.
"For mineself it is not possible," returned the other, with great deliberation. "But since you are a frien of mein old comrade Sauber, den I tink over tings and gause inquiries to be made. Dis a very strange work is, and dere are many men in it. I do not tell you dat it gannot be done, but it will be difficult. Perhaps dere may be a man to be found who will gommunicate mit your friend."
The meaning of this speech was perfectly clear to him. In plain English, it, of course, meant that, while Herr Schmidt was not going to commit himself, he would find some one else who would.
"I should be under a life-long obligation if you would do so," answered Browne. "And what is more, I may as well say now I am not afraid to pay handsomely for the service rendered."
This time there was a twinkle to be seen in the German's eye. "I know noddings at all about what you speak; you will remember dot," continued he. "But I will do de best I can. If you write me now on a paper de name of your frien, and de place where he is—what shall we say?—now staying, I will let you know what de price would be, and when der work can be done. It will be—how you call it?—a ready-money transaction."
"I desire it to be so," replied Browne a little shortly.
There was silence between them for a few moments. Then Schmidt inquired where Browne's yacht was anchored. Browne informed him; and as he did so, it struck him that this was a rather curious remark upon his companion's part, if, as he had led him to believe at the beginning of the interview, he knew nothing whatever about his coming to Hong-kong. However, he did not comment upon it.
"Dat is goot, den," said Schmidt. "If I find a man who will run de risk, den I will gommunicate mit you before den o'clock to-night."
Browne thanked him; and, feeling that they had reached the end of the interview, bade him good-bye and passed through the shop out into the street once more. His coolie was still seated on the shafts of hisrickshá; and, when Browne had mounted, they returned at a smart trot, by the way they had come, to the Club. Here he found his friends awaiting him. They had done the sights of the city, and were now eager to get back to the yacht once more.
"Did you find your friend Schmidt?" inquired their host of Browne as he seated himself in a chair and lit a cigar.
"Yes," the latter answered, "I found him, and a curious character he is. He has some wonderful curios in his shop, and I could have spent a day there overhauling them."
"I should be very careful, if I were you, what sort of dealings you have with him," said the other, with what struck Browne as a peculiar meaning. "He does not bear any too good a reputation in these parts. I have heard some funny stories about him at one time and another."
"Oh, you need not be afraid on my account," replied Browne. "As I told you in your office, my dealings with him are of a purely commercial character, and I don't think he has robbed me of very much so far. Now, what would you say if we were to make our way to the yacht?"
They accordingly adjourned to the boat. Perhaps, as the result of his interview that afternoon, Browne was in the highest of spirits. He did the honours of his table royally, and the new-comer, ever since that day, has been wont to declare that it was the jolliest dinner of which he has ever partaken in his life. How little he guessed the tragedy that was overhanging it all! Of the quartette, Maas was the only one in any way silent. For some reason or anotherheseemed strangely preoccupied. It was not until some months later that Browne heard from Jimmy Foote that that afternoon, during their perambulations of the city, he had excused himself, and having discovered the direction of the telegraph station, had left them for upwards of three-quarters of an hour.
"I am not quite myself to-night," he remarked, in reply to a remark from Browne. "But I have no doubt I shall be all right again to-morrow."
Dinner being at an end, they adjourned to the deck, where they settled down to coffee and cigars. The myriad lights of the city ashore flashed out, and were reflected like countless diamonds in the still waters of the bay. Browne was irresistibly reminded of another harbour-scene. At another momentous epoch of his life, he had sat on this self-same deck, and looked across the water at the lights ashore. And what a different man he had been then to the man he was now! So much had happened that it seemed scarcely possible it could be the same.
Their friend of the afternoon proved a most interesting companion. He had spent the greater portion of his life in the Farthest East, and was full of anecdotes of strange men he had met, and still stranger things he had seen. They reclined in their deck-chairs and smoked until close upon ten o'clock. Then the new-comer thought it was time for him to see about getting ashore. He accordingly rose from his chair, and was commencing the usual preparatory speeches, when a hail from alongside reached their ears. A quartermaster went to the bulwark and inquired who was calling, and what he wanted. A voice answered him in educated English:—
"Can you tell me if this is theLotus Blossom?" it said.
"Yes," answered the quartermaster. "What do you want?"
"I want to see Mr. Browne, if he is aboard," the other answered.
"He is aboard," returned the quartermaster. "But I don't know whether he can see you. I will inquire."
"Who is he?" asked Browne. "Tell him to give you his name."
The quartermaster hailed the sampan again. "He says his name is MacAndrew, sir," he replied after a short pause, "and if you will see him, he says he will not detain you many minutes."
"Let him come aboard, then," said Browne. "Just tell him to look sharp." Then, turning to his guests, he continued, "I wonder who the fellow is, and what he wants with me at this hour of the night." In his own heart he thought he knew pretty well.
"By the way," remarked his guest, "I should advise you to keep your eyes open while you are in this port. You can have no idea what queer sort of people you will have to do with; but when I tell you that it is the favourite meeting-place for half the villains of the East, you will have some very good notion."
"Thanks for the warning," returned Browne. "I'll bear it in mind."
He had scarcely finished speaking, before the figure of a man appeared at the top of the gangway and came towards them. He was tall and slimly built, was dressed entirely in white, and wore a helmet of the same colour upon his head. From an indescribable something about him—it may possibly have been his graceful carriage or the drawl in his voice when he spoke—he might very well have passed for a gentleman.
"Mr. Browne?" he began, lifting his hat, and, as he did so, looking from one to another of the group.
"My name is Browne," said the young man, stepping forward. "What can I do for you?"
"I should be glad if you would favour me with a few minutes' private conversation," answered the other. "My business is important, but it will not detain you very long."
"I can easily do that," replied Browne, and as he said it his guest of the evening came forward to bid him good-bye.
"Must you really go?" Browne inquired.
"I am afraid I must," the other responded; "the boat has been alongside for some considerable time, and to-morrow the homeward mail goes out, and I have my letters to finish. I must thank you for a very jolly evening. My only regret is that you are not staying longer in Hong-kong. However, I hope we shall see you on the return voyage, when you must let us entertain you, in a somewhat better fashion, than we have been able to do to-day."
"I shall be delighted," said Browne as he shook hands; but in his own heart he was reflecting that, when he did return that way, there would, in all probability, be some one with him, who would exercise such control over his time and amusements, that bachelor pleasures would be out of the question. The man having taken his departure, Browne begged his friends to excuse him for a few moments, and then passed down the deck towards the tall individual, whom he could see waiting for him at the saloon entrance. "Now, sir," he began, "if you wish to see me, I am at your disposal."
"In that case, let us walk a little farther aft," replied the tall man. "Let us find a place where we shall run no risks of being disturbed."
"This way, then," said Browne, and led him along the deck towards the taffrail. He climbed up on to the rail, while his companion seated himself on the stern grating. The light from the after-skylight fell upon his face, and Browne saw that it was a countenance cast in a singularly handsome mould. The features were sharp and clear cut, the forehead broad, and the mouth and chin showing signs of considerable determination. Taken altogether, it was the face of a man who, having embarked upon a certain enterprise, would carry it through, or perish in the attempt. Having lit a cigarette and thrown the match overboard, he began to speak.
"It has been brought to my knowledge," he began, "that you are anxious to carry out a certain delicate piece of business connected with an island, a short distance to the north of Japan. Is that so?"
"Before you go any farther," continued Browne, "perhaps it would be as well for you to say whether or not you come from Johann Schmidt."
"Johann Schmidt!" replied the other, with some little astonishment. "Who the devil is he? I don't know that I ever heard of him."
It was Browne's turn this time to feel surprised. "I asked because I understood that he was going to send some one to me this evening."
"That is very possible," MacAndrew answered; "but let me make it clear to you that I know nothing whatsoever of him; in matters like this, Mr. Browne, you will find it best to know nothing of anybody."
After this plain speech, Browne thought he had grasped the situation. "We will presume, then, that you know nothing of our friend Johann," he said. "Perhaps you have a plan worked out, and can tell me exactly what I ought to do to effect the object I have in view."
"It is for that reason that I am here," resumed MacAndrew, with business-like celerity, as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I've got the plan fixed up, and I think I can tell you exactly how the matter in question is going to be arranged. To begin with, I may as well inform you that it is going to be an expensive business."
"Expense is no difficulty to me," replied Browne. "I am, of course, quite prepared to pay a large sum, provided it is in reason, and I am assured in my own mind, that the work will be carried out in a proper manner. How much do you think it will cost me?"
"Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold," answered MacAndrew; "and what is more, the money must be paid down before I put my hand to the job."
"Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold.""Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold."
"Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold.""Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold."
"But, pardon my alluding to it, what sort of a check am I going to have upon you?" Browne next inquired. "How am I to know that you won't take the money and clear out?"
"You've got to risk that," said MacAndrew calmly. "I see no other way out of it. You must trust me absolutely; if you don't think you can, say so, and I'll have nothing whatever to do with it. I won't make you any promises, because that's not my way; but I fancy when the business is finished you'll be satisfied."
"I hope so," returned Browne, with a smile. "But can you give me no sort of guarantee at all?"
"I don't see that I can," muttered MacAndrew. "In cases like this a guarantee is a thing which would be a very unmarketable commodity. In other words, we don't keep them in stock."
"It's to be a case of my putting my money in the slot, then, and you do the rest?"
"As the Yankees say," said the other, "I reckon that is so. No, Mr. Browne, I'm very much afraid you must rest content with my bare word. If you think I'm straight enough to pull you through, try me; if not, as I said just now, have nothing more to do with me. I cannot speak fairer than that, I think, and I shall now leave it to you to decide."
"Well, I must see your plan," continued Browne. "When I have done that it is just possible that I may see my way to undertaking the business."
"The plan, then, by all means," replied the other, and, as he did so, he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out an envelope, which he handed to Browne. "Here it is. I have roughly sketched it all out for you. You had better read it when you are alone in your cabin, and after you have got it by heart be sure to burn it carefully. I wrote it down in case I should not be able to see you, and also fearing, even if I did have speech with you, I might not be able to say what I wanted to, without being overheard. I will come off at daybreak to-morrow morning for your answer. In the meantime you can think it over. Will that suit you?"
"Admirably," said Browne. "I will let you know my decision then without fail."
"In that case, good-night."
"Good-night. I shall expect you in the morning."
"In the morning."
A quarter of an hour later Browne was alone in his own cabin. Having locked his door, he took the letter, the other had given him, from his pocket and opened it. A half-sheet of note-paper, upon which scarcely five hundred words were written, was all he found. But these words, he knew, meant all the world to him. He read and re-read them, and, as soon as he had got them by heart, lit a match and set fire to the paper, which was reduced to ashes. Then he returned to the deck, where Maas and Foote were still seated, and settled himself down for a chat. They had not been there many minutes before Maas found, that he had smoked the last cigar of a particular brand he affected, and rose to go to his cabin in search of another. He had not been very long absent before Browne remembered that he had left the envelope of MacAndrew's letter on his dressing-table. Accordingly he set off in search of it, intending to destroy it as he had done its contents. Having reached the companion, he was descending to the saloon below, when a sound resembling the careful, though hurried, closing of a door attracted his attention. A moment later he stepped into the saloon, to find Maas there, who, for once in his life, appeared to be flurried and put out by something.
"I have lost my cigar-case, my dear Browne," he said, as if in explanation. "Is it not annoying?"
Browne felt sure that this was not the truth. However, he did not say so, but when he had condoled with him, entered his own cabin, where a surprise was in store for him. The envelope he had come down to burn, and which he distinctly remembered having placed upon the table less than half an hour before, was missing. Some one had taken it!
Taking one thing with another, Browne's night after the incident described at the end of the previous chapter was far from being a good one. He could not, try how he would, solve the mystery as to what had become of that envelope. He had hunted the cabin through and through, and searched his pockets times without number, but always with the same lack of success. As he lay turning the matter over and over in his mind, he remembered that he had heard the soft shutting of a door as he descended the companion-ladder, and also that Maas had betrayed considerable embarrassment when he entered the saloon. It was absurd, however, to suppose that he could have had any hand in its disappearance. But the fact remained that the envelope was gone. He rang for his valet, and questioned him; but the man declared that, not only did he know nothing at all about it, but that he had not entered the cabin between dinner-time and when he had prepared his master for the night. It was a singular thing altogether. At last, being unable to remain where he was any longer, he rose and dressed himself and went up to the deck. Day was just breaking. A cloudless sky was overhead, and in the gray light the Peak looked unusually picturesque; the water alongside was as smooth as a sheet of glass; the only signs of life were a few gulls wheeling with discordant cries around a patch of seaweed floating astern.
Browne had been pacing the deck for upwards of a quarter of an hour, when he noticed asampanpull off from the shore towards the yacht. From where he stood he could plainly distinguish the tall figure of MacAndrew. He accordingly went to the gangway to receive him. Presently one of the women pulling brought her up at the foot of the accommodation-ladder, when the passenger ran up the steps, and gracefully saluted Browne.
"Good-morning," he said. "In spite of the earliness of the hour, I think I am up to time."
"Yes, you are very punctual," answered Browne. "Now, shall we get to business?"
They accordingly walked together in the direction of the smoking-room.
"You mastered the contents of my note, I suppose?" asked MacAndrew, by way of breaking the ice.
"Perfectly," replied Browne; "and I was careful to burn it afterwards."
"Well, now that you have perused it, what do you think of it?" inquired the other. "Do you consider the scheme feasible?"
"Very feasible indeed," Browne replied. "With a decent amount of luck, I think it should stand a very good chance of succeeding.
"I'm very glad to hear that," returned MacAndrew. "I thought you would like it. Now, when the other preliminaries are settled, I can get to work, head down."
"By the other preliminaries I suppose you mean the money?" queried Browne.
MacAndrew looked and laughed.
"Yes; the money," he admitted. "I'm sorry to have to be so mercenary; but I'm afraid it can't be helped. We must grease the machinery with gold, otherwise we shan't be able to set it in motion."
"Very well," rejoined Browne; "that difficulty is easily overcome. I have it all ready for you. If you will accompany me to my cabin we may procure it."
They accordingly made their way to the cabin. Once there, Browne opened his safe, and dragged out a plain wooden box, which he placed upon the floor. MacAndrew observed that there was another of similar size behind it. Browne noticed the expression upon his face, and smiled.
"You're wondering what made me bring so much," he remarked. How well he remembered going to his bank to procure it! He seemed to see the dignified, portly manager seated on his leather chair, and could recall that worthy gentleman's surprise at the curious request Browne made to him.
"But how do you propose to get it ashore?" said the latter to MacAndrew. "It's a heavy box; and what about the Customs authorities?"
"Oh, they won't trouble me," answered MacAndrew coolly. "I shall find a way of getting it in without putting them to the inconvenience of opening it."
"Do you want to count it? There may not be five thousand pounds there."
"I shall have to risk that," MacAndrew replied. "I haven't the time to waste in counting it. I expect it's all right." So saying, he took up the box, and followed Browne to the deck above.
"You quite understand what you've got to do, I suppose?" he asked when they once more stood at the gangway.
"Perfectly," said Browne. "You need not be afraid lest I shall forget. When do you think you will leave?"
"This morning, if possible," MacAndrew replied. "There is no time to be lost. I've got a boat in my eye, and as soon as they can have her ready I shall embark. By the way, if I were in your place I should be extremely careful as to what I said or did in Japan. Excite only one little bit of suspicion, and you will never be able to rectify the error."
"You need have no fear on that score," rejoined Browne. "I will take every possible precaution to prevent any one suspecting."
"I'm glad to hear it," MacAndrew returned. "Now, good-bye until we meet on the 13th."
"Good-bye," said Browne; "and good luck go with you!"
They shook hands, and then MacAndrew, picking up his precious box, went down the ladder, and, when he had taken his place in the well, thesampanpushed off for the shore.
"A nice sort of position I shall be in if he should prove to be a swindler," reflected the young man, as he watched the retreating boat. "But it's too late to think of that now. I have gone into the business, and must carry it through, whatever happens."
When Jimmy Foote put in an appearance on deck that morning he found that the city of Victoria had disappeared, and that the yacht was making her way through the Ly-ee-Moon Pass out into the open sea once more.
It was daybreak on the morning of the Thursday following when they obtained their first glimpse of Japan. Like a pin's head upon the horizon was a tiny gray dot, which gradually grew larger and larger until the sacred mountain of Fujiyama, clear-cut against the sky-line, rose from the waves, as if to welcome them to the Land of the Chrysanthemum. Making their way up Yeddo Bay, they at length cast anchor in the harbour of Yokohama. Beautiful as it must appear to any one, to Browne it seemed like the loveliest and happiest corner of Fairyland. He could scarcely believe, after the long time they had been separated, that, in less than half an hour, he would really be holding Katherine in his arms once more. During breakfast he could with difficulty contain his impatience, and he felt as if the excellent appetites which Foote and Maas brought to their meal were personal insults to himself. At length they rose, and he was at liberty to go. At the same moment the captain announced that the steam-launch was alongside.
"Good luck to you, old fellow," said Jimmy, as Browne put on his hat and prepared to be off. "Though love-making is not much in my line, I must say I envy you your happiness. I only wish I were going to see a sweetheart too."
"Madame Bernstein is a widow," remarked Browne, and, ducking his head to avoid the stump of a cigar which Jimmy threw at him, he ran down the accommodation-ladder, jumped into the launch, and was soon steaming ashore.
Reaching the Bund, he inquired in which direction the Club Hotel was situated, and, having been informed, made his way in that direction. He had reached the steps, and was about to ascend them to enter the verandah, when he saw, coming down the passage before him, no less a person than Katherine herself. For weeks past he had been looking forward to this interview, wondering where, how, and under what circumstances it would take place. Again and again he had framed his first speech to her, and had wondered what she would say to him in return. Now that he was confronted with her, however, he found his presence of mind deserting him, and he stood before her, not knowing what to say. On her side she was not so shy. Directly she realized who it was, she ran forward with outstretched hands to greet him.
"Jack, Jack," she cried, her voice trembling with delight, "I had no idea that you had arrived. How long have you been in Japan?"
"We dropped our anchor scarcely an hour ago," he answered. "I came ashore the instant the launch was ready for me."
"How glad I am to see you!" she exclaimed. "It seems years since we said good-bye to each other that miserable day at Marseilles."
"Years!" he cried. "It seems like an eternity to me." Then, looking up at her, as she stood on the steps above him, he continued: "Katherine, you are more beautiful than ever."
A rosy blush spread over her face. "It is because of my delight at seeing you," she whispered. This pretty speech was followed by a little pause, during which he came up the steps and led her along the verandah towards two empty chairs at the farther end. They seated themselves, and, after their more immediate affairs had received attention, he inquired after Madame Bernstein.
"And now tell me what you have arranged to do?" she said, when she had satisfied him that the lady in question was enjoying the best of health. "I received your cablegram from Hong-kong, saying that everything was progressing satisfactorily. You do not know how anxiously I have been waiting to see you."
"And only to hear that?" he asked, with a smile.
"Of course not," she answered. "Still, I think you can easily understand my impatience."
"Of course I understand it, dear," he replied; "and it is only right you should know all I have arranged."
He thereupon narrated to her his interview with MacAndrew, speaking in a low voice, and taking care that no one should overhear him. When he had finished he sat silent for a few moments; then, leaning a little nearer her, he continued, "I want to remind you, dear, to be particularly careful to say nothing at all on the subject to any one, not even to Madame Bernstein. I was warned myself not to say anything; but in your case, of course, it is different."
"You can trust me," she returned; "I shall say nothing. And so you really think it is likely we shall be able to save him?"
"I feel sure it is," said Browne; "though, of course, I, like you, am somewhat in the dark. Every one who is in the business is so chary of being discovered, that they take particular care not to divulge anything, however small, that may give a hint or clue as to their complicity."
For some time they continued to discuss the question; then Katherine, thinking that it behoved her to acquaint Madame Bernstein with the fact of her lover's arrival, departed into the house. A few moments later she returned, accompanied by the lady in question, who greeted Brown with her usual enthusiasm.
"Ah, monsieur," she cried, "you do not know howtristethis poor child has been without you. She has counted every day, almost every minute, until she should see you."
On hearing this Browne found an opportunity of stroking his sweetheart's hand. Madame Bernstein's remark was just the one of all others that would be calculated to cause him the greatest pleasure.
"And now, monsieur, that you are here, what is it you desire we should do?" inquired Madame, when they had exhausted the topics to which I have just referred.
"We must be content to remain here for at least another fortnight," said Browne. "The arrangements I have made cannot possibly be completed until the end of that time."
"Another fortnight?" exclaimed Madame, in some astonishment, and with considerable dismay. "Do you mean that we are to remain idle all that time?"
"I mean that we must enjoy ourselves here for a fortnight," Browne replied. Then, looking out into the street at the queer characters he saw there—the picturesque dresses, thejinrickshas, and the thousand and one signs of Japanese life—he added: "Surely that should not be such a very difficult matter?"
"It would not be difficult," said Madame, as if she were debating the matter with herself, "if one had all one's time at one's disposal, and were only travelling for pleasure; but under the present circumstances how different it is!" She was about to say something further, but she checked herself; and, making the excuse that she had left something in her room, retired to the house.
"Do not be impatient with her, dear," said Katherine softly, when they were alone together. "Remember that her anxiety is all upon my account."
Browne admitted this, and when he had done so the matter was allowed to drop.
That afternoon they boarded the yacht, and Katherine renewed her acquaintance with Jimmy Foote. Maas was also introduced to her, and paid her the usual compliments upon her engagement. Later she explored the yacht from stem to stern, expressing her delight at the completeness of every detail. The pleasure she derived from it, however, was as nothing compared with that of her lover, who never for one instant left her side.
"Some day," he said, as they stood together upon the bridge, looking at the harbour and watching the variety of shipping around them, "this vessel will be your own property. You will have to invite whoever you like to stay on board her with you. Do you think you will ever let me come?" He looked into her face, expecting to find a smile there; but, to his astonishment, he discovered that her eyes were filled with tears. "Why, my darling," he cried, "what does this mean? What is the reason of these tears?"
She brushed them hastily away, and tried to appear unconcerned. "I was thinking of all your goodness to me," she replied. "Oh, Jack! I don't know how I can ever repay it."
"I don't want you to repay it," he retorted. "You have done enough already. Have you not honoured me, dear, above all living men? Are you not going to be my wife?"
"That is no return," she answered, shaking her head. "If you give a starving man food, do you think it kind of him to eat it? I had nothing, and you are giving me all. Does the fact that I take it help me to repay it?"
What he said in reply to this does not come within the scope of a chronicler's duty to record. Let it suffice that, when he went below with her, he might very well have been described as the happiest man in Japan. The history of the following fortnight could be easily written in two words, "love and pleasure." From morning till night they were together, seeing everything, exploring the temples, the country tea-houses, spending small fortunes with the curio dealers, and learning to love each other more and more every day. In fact, there was only one cloud in their sky, and that was the question of what was to be done with Maas. Up to that time, that gentleman had shown no sort of inclination to separate himself from the party. Browne could not very well ask him to leave, and yet he had the best of reasons for not wanting him to go on with them. What was to be done? He worried himself almost into a fever to know what he should do. Then, almost at the last minute, Maas settled the question for them, not in an altogether unexpected fashion. Finding his host alone in the verandah of the hotel one evening, he asked outright, without pretence of beating about the bush, whether he might, as an old friend, continue to burden them with his society. Browne found himself placed in a most awkward position. Though he did not want him, he had known Maas for so many years, and they had always been on such a footing of intimacy together, that he felt he could do nothing but consent. He accordingly did so, though with scarcely the same amount of grace, that usually characterized his hospitality. Jimmy Foote, however, expressed himself more freely.
"Look here, Jack, old man," said the latter to Browne, when he was informed what had taken place, "you know as well as I do that Maas and I were never the greatest of friends. I tell you this because I don't want you to think I am saying, behind his back, what I would not say to his face. At the same time, Idothink that you ought to have told him straight out that he couldn't come."
"How on earth could I do that?" asked Browne. "Besides being exceedingly rude, it would have given the whole show away. What possible sort of excuse could I have made for not wanting him on board?"
"I don't know what sort of excuse you could have made," replied Jimmy; "all I know is that you ought to have made it. You have other people besides yourself to consider in the matter."
The deed was done, however, and could not be undone. For this reason, when the yacht said good-bye to the lovely harbour of Yokohama, and Treaty Point was astern, Maas stood upon the deck watching it fade away and drop below the sea-line.
"And now that we are on our way again, my dear Browne," said Maas when the others had gone below, "what is our destination?"
"Of our ultimate destination I am not yet quite certain," answered Browne, who was anxious to gain time to think before he committed himself. "But at first we are going north to have a look at the Sea of Okhotsk. Myfiancée'sfather has been residing on an island there for many years, and it is our intention to pick him up and to bring him home, in order that he may be present at our wedding."
"In other words," put in Maas, "you are conniving at the escape of a Russian convict from Saghalien. Is that so?"
Browne uttered a cry that was partly one of astonishment, and partly one of terror. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright. This was the second time, since they had been on board the yacht, that Maas had played him this sort of trick, and he did not want to be taken in again. Was the other really aware of what they were going to do, or was this, as on the previous occasion, a shot fired at random?
"My dear fellow," he began, as unconcernedly as his excitement would permit, "what on earth do you mean? Help a Russian convict to escape? Surely you must have taken leave of your senses."
"Look here," said Maas with unusual emphasis, "what is the use of your attempting to keep a secret? Nature never intended you for a conspirator. You may not have guessed it, but I have seen for some considerable time past, long before we left Europe in fact, that there was trouble in the wind. Otherwise, why do you think I should have accompanied you to the East, so many thousand weary miles from Paris and civilization?"
"Because your health was bad," Browne replied. "At least, that is what you said yourself. Was that not so?"
"My health is as good as your own," the other answered. "No, Browne, I invented that excuse because I wanted to come with you; because I had some sort of notion of what you were about to do."
"But, even supposing it should be so, how could you have known it?"
"I will tell you. Do you remember the night at the Amphitryon Club when you told me that you were thinking of taking a trip to the Farther East?"
Browne admitted that he did remember it.
"Well, I happened to know who the lady was to whom you were paying such marked attention. I happened to mention her name one day to an old friend, who immediately replied, 'I know the young lady in question; she is the daughter of the famous Polowski, the Nihilist, who was sent to Siberia, and who is now confined upon the island of Saghalien.' Then you spoke of your yachting voyage to the Farther East, and I put two and two together, and resolved that, happen what might, I would see you through the business. You see how candid I am with you."
"And do you mean to say that you knew all the time what I was going to do?"
"All the time," said Maas. "Did not I give you a hint at breakfast on the morning following our joining the yacht at Southampton? I am your friend, Browne; and, as your friend, I want to be allowed to stand by you in your hour of danger. For it is dangerous work you are engaged upon, as I suppose you know."
"And do you really mean that you are going to help me to get this man out of his place of captivity?" inquired Browne, putting on one side the other's reference to their friendship.
"If you are going to do it, I'm certainly going to stand by you," Maas replied. "That's why I am here."
"And all the time I was wishing you at Hanover, because I thought, that if you knew, you would disapprove."
"It only goes to show how little we know our true friends," continued Maas. "If you feel that you can trust me now, do not let us have any more half-measures. Let me be with you hand and glove, or put me ashore somewhere, and get me out of the way. I don't want to push myself in where I am not wanted."
Browne was genuinely touched. "My dear old fellow," he answered, putting his hand on Maas's shoulder, "I must confess I feel as if I had treated you very badly. If you are really disposed to help me, I shall be only too glad of your assistance. It's a big job, and a hideously risky one. I don't know what on earth I shall do if we fail."
Then, in the innocence of his heart, Browne told him as much of their arrangements as he had revealed to Jimmy Foote. Maas expressed his sympathy, and forthwith propounded several schemes for getting the unhappy man to a place of safety, when they had got him on board the yacht. He went so far as to offer to land on the island, and to make his way into the interior in the hope of being able to render some assistance should it be necessary.
"Well, you know your own business best," said Jimmy Foote to Browne, when the latter had informed him of the discovery he had made. "But I can't say that I altogether like the arrangement. If he had guessed our secret, why didn't he let us know that he knew it? It seems to me that there is a little bit of underhand work somewhere."
"I think you are misjudging him," returned Browne; "upon my word I do. Of one thing there can be no sort of doubt, and that is, that whatever he may have known, he is most anxious to help."
"Is he?" exclaimed Jimmy, in a tone that showed that he was still more than a little sceptical concerning Maas's good intentions. "I don't set up to be much of a prophet; but I am willing to go so far as to offer to lay a hundred pounds to a halfpenny, that we shall find he has been hoodwinking us somewhere before we've done."
Jimmy spoke with such unusual gravity that Browne looked at him in surprise. "Oh, you may look," answered Jimmy; "but you won't stare away what I think. Browne, old man," he continued, "you and I were at school together; we have been pals for a very long time; and I'm not going to see you, just when you're booked to settle down happily with your wife, and become a respectable member of society, upset and spoil everything by a foolish action."
"Thank you, Jimmy," said Browne. "I know you mean well by me; but, at the same time, you must not let your liking for me make you unjust to other people. Maas has proved himself my friend, and I should be mean indeed if I ventured to doubt him."
"All right," replied Jimmy; "go your way. I'll say no more."
That evening Browne realized his long-felt wish. He and Katherine promenaded the deck together, as the yacht sped on its way, across the seas, towards their goal, and talked for hours together of their hopes and aspirations. When at last she and Madame Bernstein bade the gentlemen good-night, the latter adjourned to the smoking-room to discuss their plan of action. Maas had been evidently thinking the matter over, for he was prepared with one or two new suggestions, which struck the company as being eminently satisfactory. So sincere was he, and so anxious to be of service, that when at last they bade each other good-night, and he had retired below, Jimmy turned to Browne, who was standing beside the bulwark, and said:—
"Jack, old boy, I believe, after all, that I've done that man an injustice. Idothink now that he is really anxious to do what he can."
"I'm glad indeed to hear you say so," Browne rejoined; "for I'm sure he is most anxious to be of use. Forgive me if I was a bit sharp to you this afternoon. I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you for all your kindness."
"Fiddlesticks!" muttered Jimmy. "There's no talk of kindness between us."
Fourteen days after leaving Yokohama, and a little before sunset, those on board the yacht caught their first glimpse of the Russian island, of which they had come in search. At first it was scarcely discernible; then, little by little, it grew larger, until its steep and abrupt rocks could be distinctly seen, with a far-away line of distant mountain-peaks, stretching to the northward.
Katharine, Madame Bernstein, and the three young men were upon the bridge at the time. Browne, who held his sweetheart's hand, could feel her trembling. Madame Bernstein appeared by far the most excited of the group. Advanced though the time of year was, the air was bitterly cold. But, for once in a way, the Yezo Strait, usually so foggy, was now devoid even of a vestige of vapour. The season was a late one, and for some hours they had been passing packs of drift ice; but as they closed up on the land it could be seen lying in thick stacks along the shore.
"That is Cape Siretoko," said Browne. "It is the most southerly point of Saghalien."