"YOU MUST GO BACK!"
Marjorie could see nothing. It was quite dark outside now. She
listened, straining her ears, but not another sound could be heard.
Whatever had fallen or been knocked down had made a great noise.
Obviously, some one was in the conservatory.
She turned the handle of the door; it was unlocked, and it opened. Her
first thought was that perhaps one of the dogs had been shut in by
mistake. As she stepped down on to the tessellated pavement into the
darkness she experienced a sudden little throb of fear. For the thought
came that perhaps one of the escaped convicts had made his way into the
conservatory and was hiding there. The fear went as quickly as it came.
Her eyes, growing accustomed to the gloom, saw dimly outlined the
delicate fronds of the ferns and the graceful palms and overhead the
green of the clambering vine. The air was heavy with the warm and
subtle odour of forced growth.
She made her way to the door leading into the garden, and found it
locked and bolted. So no one could have possibly entered that way. She
gave a whistle and snapped her fingers, still thinking that one of the
dogs might be there. There was no response.
She was turning away when her foot struck a portion of broken pot.
Stooping down she saw that a large pile of them had been overturned, and
the majority lay in fragments on the ground, behind them a tin bucket
from which water was still trickling.
She gave a little laugh--it seemed so mysterious. And then her brow
puckered in a frown.... Had some one been listening and spying on them?
The idea was ridiculous, and yet--the bucket, obviously half full of
water, and the pile of pots could not have fallen there on their own
account. It was just possible that a large rat----
She stooped down to peer under the shelf. As she did so she was
conscious of footsteps on the gravel outside, and at the same moment a
brighter light shone through the door leading into the drawing-room. A
servant had brought in the lamp. Then she heard Jim's voice, obviously
speaking to one of the warders from the prison.
The ferns and the drooping tendrils of plants and a bank of moss blocked
her view underneath the shelf; the light from the drawing-room fell at
the wrong angle. Bending lower she brushed aside a clump of ferns.
And she saw, pressed tightly against the wall, the outline of a foot and
leg. Some one was hiding there.
The next moment her eyes had seen the tell-tale broad-arrow on the boot
and trousers.
One of the escaped convicts! She caught her breath, and drawing back
stood upright, uncertain for the moment what to do. The door was bolted
on the inside, and with Jim and the warders a few feet away in the
drawing-room he was trapped. There was no escape. She hesitated a
moment, not in the least alarmed, only surprised and a little
overwhelmed by her discovery. She knew that the moorlands must be alive
with men searching; already, probably, the outbuildings and the houses
were being ransacked--and here the convict lay, at her feet.
The next thought was that he must have heard her enter and knew that she
had discovered him. She wondered why he had not attacked her and tried
to bolt.
"Marjorie--where are you?"
She started at the sound of her lover's voice. It brought her back to a
sense of her duty. As she turned towards the drawing-room she
heard--him saying good-night to the warder to whom he had been talking.
"One moment," she cried, "I want you, Jim."
Something stirred at her feet. A movement from the hunted creature
lying hidden beneath the ferns and flowers.
Suddenly, in a flash, she felt as if her soul, her whole being, had
changed places with his. She experienced the agony that he was
feeling--alternating hope and fear. The desire to live and escape at
all costs, and the desire to kill those who stood between him and
liberty. She heard herself draw her breath with difficulty, with hard,
sharp gasps. Her body broke out into a sweat. She trembled from head to
foot.
Then she felt Jim's hand on her arm. "Hello, dear, what are you doing
out here in the darkness?"
She turned her back on him, afraid lest the light coming through the
open door shone on her face. Again she heard a stealthy movement of feet
followed by a shuffling under the shelf. The convict knew the game was
up and was coming out.
"Don't move," she cried, scarcely knowing what she said.
With an effort she steadied herself and gained self-control. Against
the wall on her right a Marechal Niel rose-tree had been trained. A
yellow bud caught her eyes just out of reach. Jim Crichton entered the
conservatory.
"I wanted to steal that rose," she whispered. "I'm not tall enough. Do
pick it for me, Jim."
"Silly child," he laughed. "You gave me quite a fright. I thought
something was wrong."
Standing on tip-toe, he picked the rosebud and gave it her. Bending her
head she placed her lips to it. Jim kissed the top of her head, then,
turning away, tried the outer door.
"That's all right. No one can get in here. Come along back to the
drawing-room, Marjorie. Those fellows will have finished searching in a
minute and we shall be left in peace again. It's rather serious, you
know, a couple of convicts getting away. But, of course, they'll catch
them all right--though I'm afraid they'll have to wait until the morning
now."
Taking her hand he led her back to the drawing-room. He was closing the
conservatory door when she asked him to leave it open.
"It seems rather hot in here."
"Well, it's hotter in there," he laughed.
He put his arms around her and gazed into her eyes. "I'm jealous of
every minute that's stolen from us. I shall never let you go away again
for such a long period. It's been bad enough for me, and I've had work
that I love. It must have been worse for you, darling."
She nodded, and laid her face on his shoulder. "That's all gone, dear.
This hour is ours--and there's the future.... Jim, I have a confession
to make."
"Well, come and sit down in the arm-chair and make it," he laughed.
"Let me hold you in my arms as if you were a child, for that's all you
are sometimes."
"Not now. I'm a woman. No," as he made a movement, "listen to me, Jim.
While I was away from you I had no doubts about the future. I was
certain that I could make you happy, that love was the principal thing
in life. I'm not so sure now."
She felt his grip tighten. "Why, just now you confessed----"
"I confessed what _I_ felt," she interrupted. "I want you to confess.
I want you to look far, far into the future ... and also to remember the
past. Remember what I am--and what my brother is."
Against her will her eyes were drawn towards the conservatory where the
convict was hiding. An outcast, an outlaw, wearing the shameful uniform
of crime. Just such a man was her brother. Wearing just the same
uniform, living the same life, thinking the same thoughts. Just as
desperate. Her brother: herded with other criminals in one of the great
prisons of England. She had been speaking her thoughts, saying just
what she felt. She knew that she was speaking them to gain time. She
ought not to have wasted one moment before telling Jim of the man hiding
a few yards away from them. Warders were at that moment searching
outbuildings and the gardens. She was committing an unlawful act in not
giving him up. She was making her lover party to her guilt.
But she could not tell him. For one dreadful moment she had entered
into that wretched man's feelings. It was as if she had taken his place
in the darkness out there where he was hiding.
She wanted him to escape! She was incapable of reasoning that moment.
Perhaps the taint of crime was in her blood. Perhaps her brother really
had been guilty of robbing her lover's father.
"My dearest little one, you needn't trouble about my future. I shall
really only begin to live when you're my wife. I can't lose my job--if
I do I can find another. And your love will make me twice as keen on my
work, for you will share in it. We have each got our job to do, and we
shall do it better for being together. That's all about it."
She heard his voice, as from a distance off. As he finished speaking she
heard footsteps in the hall--the opening of the front door.
Some one knocked at the drawing-room door. It opened, and the servant
admitted the chief warder.
"We've searched carefully, sir," he said to Jim, who put Marjorie from
him and stood in front of her. "And some of my men have been right
through the gardens and shrubberies, but they ain't hiding anywhere
here. No doubt you'll see that your men-servants keep a sharp look-out.
One man's badly hit--but he was a sharpish one, he was. I'm afraid there
ain't much chance of getting them to-night, but we shall have them as
soon as day breaks." He saluted. "Good-night, sir. Good-night, ma'am."
The drawing-room door closed, and Marjorie listened to the footsteps
crossing the hall. "We shall get them as soon as day breaks."
Automatically she repeated the words the warder had spoken.
"Jim, come here quickly. I have something I must tell you before the
warders go."
He turned towards her, frowning, a look of amazement on his face. Even
then she hesitated. She heard the front door close. The warders had
gone. Taking Jim by the arm she led him towards the conservatory.
"There's some one hiding in there," she whispered. "When you left the
room to speak to the chief warder I heard a crash from the conservatory.
I went in, and under the shelf I saw a man crouched up. His clothes
bore the broad arrow. He's one of the convicts who escaped."
Jim looked at her with unbelieving eyes. Then putting her aside, he
stepped quickly towards the conservatory. Suddenly he stopped and swung
round.
"Marjorie! You're certain of this? Why didn't you speak--before the
warders left?"
Something moved in the darkness of the hothouse. Slowly out of the
masses of foliage a head and shoulders emerged. Jim sprang to the bell
and rang it.
"What are you going to do?" Marjorie whispered.
"Send Perkins to call the warders back. Give the fellow up," he replied
sharply. "You ought to have told me at once, Marjorie. You had better
wait in the dining-room."
He stood in the doorway blocking the exit. Marjorie stood in front of
him and laid her hands on his arms.
"Jim--you mustn't give him up. It's horrible."
He tried to push her away.
"Jim," her voice rose piercingly. "My brother is a convict.... You
needn't hide him, but just let him go--give him a sporting chance. Let
him go. No one will ever know. Give him a chance."
"Silence, dear. You don't know what you're saying."
The door opened and Perkins entered the room. For a moment there was
silence. Not a sound from the conservatory now. Not a sound from the
garden outside. The barking of the dogs and the voices of the men had
died away.
"You rang, sir?"
"Bring the glasses, a syphon of soda water, and the whisky," Jim said in
a strained voice.
Directly the servant had gone he pointed to the sofa on the other side
of the fireplace away from the entrance to the conservatory.
"Marjorie, dear, go and sit down there. I understand, and I'm sorry;
but I must do my duty."
She looked at him dry-eyed. All the tenderness had left her face.
"It's five-score of men against one. Open the door and let him go.
Yes, he's bound to be caught to-morrow, but every hour, every minute,
every second of freedom must be as sweet to him as our love is to us,
Jim. Give him a run--for his money."
Jim had turned his back on her. He disappeared into the conservatory
and the door closed behind him.
Perkins brought the tumblers and the whisky into the room and placed
them on a small table.
"Quite exciting, miss, this escape of two convicts. Hasn't been an
escape from Princetown for a long time. What with that and this radium
mine on Mr. Dale's estate----"
He suddenly stopped and coughed deprecatingly. He, too, in speaking of
convicts had forgotten that he was speaking to a convict's sister.
Marjorie waited. For a long time she heard no sound. Then Jim's voice,
strained and very stern. Not the voice of a lover now, but the voice of
a soldier--even something more than that, the voice of a man under the
strain of great emotion.
Presently she detected an answering voice. She rose to her feet, and
standing against the conservatory door peered through the glass.
She could see the outlines of the two men distinctly. One her lover,
the other the convict. Jim turned, and as he did so he saw her. She saw
him push the convict back, then, mounting the steps, he opened the door.
"Go back!" he cried fiercely. "Go--away--into the dining-room."
"You must tell me what you're going to do."
She looked into his face, but his eyes fell. His mouth looked merely a
thin line, his jaws protruded. She put her hand on his arm--it was like
a steel band.
"Go away, do you hear! Go away, do you hear! Wait until I come to you."
He commanded now.
He tried to push her across the room. She clung to him and stood her
ground. She stared into his face, forced his eyes to meet hers.
"You are hiding something from me, Jim.... You are going to give him
up----"
Suddenly he seized her wrists in a grip of iron. "You know who's hiding
out there," he said between his teeth.
"A convict--that's all I know----"
A sound from the conservatory made Jim turn his head. Marjorie wrenched
herself free. Out of the darkness beyond the conservatory door the
figure of the convict emerged. Marjorie stopped as she saw him.
"Go back!" Jim cried.
The convict spoke. "It's too late! I'm a coward, I know. But
liberty's dearer than life now." He held out his arms to Marjorie.
"Hide me, for God's sake, hide me!"
She put out her hands as if to keep him off. Her lips framed his name.
The name of her brother! It rattled in her throat. She turned to her
lover.
"I didn't know, Jim, I didn't know!"
He nodded. "Speak quietly. Sit down there."
Crossing the room, he locked the drawing-room door. He motioned Rupert
to the arm-chair and made him place it so that if he had to open the
door no one would see him. Then he poured out a stiff whisky and soda
and gave it him to drink. The tumbler rattled between his teeth as he
emptied the contents. He laid it on the floor by his side, then he
looked at Jim, avoiding his sister's eyes.
"I--I was hunted here. I didn't come purposely. When I broke away it
was not to escape.... I had a message. But the taste of liberty has
grown so sweet that--that nothing else matters!"
He stopped, and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. "But before
it comes to a question of--of fighting for my freedom--in case I go
under, you had better hear what I've got to say. It's for Marjorie and
my father I escaped. It was not for you or your father's ears, Mr.
Crichton--I want to make sure that swine Despard doesn't cheat us of our
rights."
He paused a moment as if expecting an interruption, but neither Jim nor
Marjorie spoke. They were as motionless as figures of stone.
"Just before--before I was accused of robbing your father, Mr. Crichton,
Despard and I found there was pitch-blende in the old tin mine by
Blackthorn Farm. Despard made experiments with it and--he got a report
from Vardoff--you may have heard of him--an expert. The report said
there were good grounds for supposing that radium might be----"
Then Jim Crichton stopped him. "Save your breath. We know this. Why,
already the plant is being erected, a company floated. Mr. Despard has
apparently done quite the right thing. Anyway, the property belongs to
your father again, and if there's any truth in the report he'll make a
fortune. If that's all you came to say, all you wanted to know, you can
go back to prison with an easy conscience." He spoke brutally. "You
must go back, you know."
"I am innocent."
"That's not the question now. You must go back."
Slowly Rupert turned and looked at his sister. "Marjorie. Help me! Say
a word for me. He loves you.... Ask him, and he'll help me to escape.
For he can, now. The warders won't come back here. I'm safe for the
moment. Marjorie--speak. You are my flesh and blood. Speak! It's my
life I'm pleading for."