Next morning, under pretext of the Deemster's fortnightly Court at
Douglas and of important business to do before it, Stowell
breakfasted by the light of a lamp and the crackling of a fire, and
set out in his car for Peel.
Soon after six he was descending into the little white fishing-port
that lies in the lap of its blue circle of sea, with the red ruins of
its Cathedral at its feet and the green arms of its hills behind it.
The little town was still half asleep. Middle-aged women were
gutting herrings from barrel to barrel, while blood dripped from
their broad thumbs; old men were baiting lines with shellfish;
cadgers' cart were standing empty at the foot of the pier, with their
horses' heads in bags of oats and chopped hay; a hundred
fishing-boats by the quay, with their sails hanging slack from their
masts, were swaying to the ebbing tide, and an Irish tramp steamer,
the Dan O'Connor, was lazily letting down the fires under her black
and red funnel.
But at the pier-head, close under the blind eyes of the Cathedral,
there was a scene of real activity. It was the fish auction for the
night's catch. The auctioneer, an Irishman, was standing on a
barrel, with a circle of fish-cadgers around him, and an empty space,
like a cock-pit, in front, to which the long-booted fishermen, one by
one, with ponderous agility, were carrying specimen baskets of
herrings and dropping them down on the red flags with a thud.
"Now, gintlemen, here's your last chance of a herring this week.
We're a religious people in the Isle of Man and sorra a wan more will
ye get till Tuesday."
Stowell, who had drawn up his car, and was standing at the back of
the crowd, was startled. How had he come to forget that Manx fishing
boats did not go out on Saturday or Sunday? Was this going to defeat
his plan?
The fish auction went on.
"Now, min, what do you say to forty mease from the _Mona_?
Thirty-five shillin'! Thank you, Mr. Flynn! Any incrase on
thirty-five?"
"Thirty-six and a quid for yourself if you'll lave me to put a sight
up on the wife," said a voice from the back of the crowd.
During the laughter which the rude jest provoked, Stowell looked at
the speaker. He was the skipper of the Irish tramp steamer--a
grizzly old salt, spitting tobacco juice from behind a discoloured
hand, and having rascal written on every line of his face.
Turning away, Stowell walked slowly to the further end of the bay,
and as slowly back again. A new scheme had occurred to
him--something better than a fishing-boat, far better. He was now
more sure than ever that the Almighty was using him for His righteous
ends since even his failures of memory were helping him.
By the time he returned the auction was over. The pier was empty and
nobody was in sight except the Irish Captain who was standing on the
deck of his ship by the side of the cabin companion. After looking
to right and left, Stowell saluted him.
"Where are you going to when you leave Peel, Captain?"
"To Castletown, Sir."
"And from there?"
"To wherever the dust" (the money) "looks brightest."
"May I come aboard, Captain? I have something to say to you."
"Shure!"
After another look to right and left, Stowell stepped on to the
steamer and followed the Captain to his cabin.
When he came on deck, half-an-hour later, his face was flushed.
"Then it's settled, Captain?"
"Take the world aisy--it's done, Sir."
"At what time will it be high water on Sunday night?"
"Elivin o'clock, Sir."
"You'll sail immediately your passengers come aboard?"
"The minit they put foot on deck, Sir."
"What about the harbour-master?"
"Him and me are same as brothers."
"And the turnkey?"
"Willie Shimmin? He's got a petticoat at the 'Manx Arms.'"
"You have no doubt you can do it?"
"Divil a doubt in the world, Sir."
Stowell, back in his car, was driving to Douglas. The Judge had
bribed a blackguard, but he was still sure that he was doing God's
service.
Only one thing remained to do now, and through the long hours of an
uneasy night he had thought of it. It was not even enough that
Bessie Collister should escape from the island. If she were not to
be tracked and brought back it was essential that somebody should go
with her. Who should it be? There was only one answer to this
question--Alick Gell.
Would Alick go? He must! Betrayed and deceived as he had been, if
he did not see that he must forgive the woman who had faced death for
him, and save her from an unjust punishment, Stowell would feel like
taking him by the throat and choking him.
But would Gell forgive him also? That was a different matter.
Memory flowed back, and he saw again the fierce yet broken creature
who had come stumbling into Ballamoar on the night after the
adjournment, crying in the torment of his betrayal, "Damn him,
whoever he is! Damn him to the devil and hell!"
"No matter! I must face it out," thought Stowell.
He must unite those two injured ones. And perhaps some day, when
they were gone from the island, and safe in some foreign country, the
Almighty would accept his act as a kind of reparation and cover up
all his wretched wrongdoing in the merciful veil which is God's
memory. But meantime he must go about for a few days longer, a few
days after to-day, warily, secretly, unseen and unsuspected by
anybody.
Driving into Douglas, he came upon the Chief Constable, Colonel
Farrell (a cringer to all above him and a bully to all beneath), who
hailed him and said,
"Just the gentleman I wished to see, Sir. It's about Mr. Gell. Ever
since you sentenced that woman of his he has been threatening you,
and we've had to keep a close watch on him. But he seems to be going
out of his mind, and I've been warning the Speaker that we may have
to put him away. The other night he gave us the slip and we believe
he went to Ballamoar."
"Well?"
"We wish you to allow a plain-clothes man to go about with you for
the next few days."
Stowell was startled.
"No, certainly not. It is quite unnecessary," he said.
"Well, if you say so it's all right, Sir. Still, with a madman
about, who may make a murderous attack on you...."
"Where is he now?"
"In his chambers."
"Good-morning, Colonel!" said Stowell, and before the Chief Constable
had replied he was gone.
A few minutes later the policeman who, for the protection of the
Deemster, was on point duty outside Gell's rooms was astonished to
see the Deemster himself go up the carpetless staircase.
At a door on the second landing, with Gell's name on it in white
letters, he stopped and knocked. The door was not opened, but he
heard shuffling steps inside and knocked again.