farm-house near the village of Islington, Dick Gollop and his wife,
Martin and Lucy and Gundra, and Mounseer—whose name was Monsieur Raoul
Marie de Caudebec—had just finished the best meal they had had for many
a day.
Mr. Greatorex—proving himself to be a man of his word—had sent them
from the City in a hired coach, and arranged that their furniture should
follow in a wagon. He himself had promised to come and see them as soon
as he had had an interview with one of the sheriffs.
The burns of Martin and the Frenchman had been treated with oil and
flour, and it was Susan Gollop’s opinion that, except for a scar or two,
they would show no permanent marks of their recent terrible experience.
“And I daresay Martin won’t show none at all,” she said. “He’s young,
and young skin has time to change itself over and over again. And as to
Mounseer—well, he’s old, and I don’t suppose he’ll mind if he do bear a
blemish or two.”
“That is philosophy, madam,” said the Frenchman with a smile.
“Your box is marked worse than you,” Susan went on, eyeing with simple
curiosity the small leather casket that lay on the table at Mounseer’s
right hand. “You can’t make a new thing of a bit of old leather,
specially when it’s had a thorough good scorching.”
“That is true, madam.” Mounseer laid his hand on the casket. “It is old,
older than I am; it was to my grandfather.”
“Gracious me! Then it must be very ancient, for you ain’t a chicken
yourself. I don’t mean no offence, Mounseer.”
“I am sure of that: it is just the English way. Eh well, my friends, you
have been so good to me that I owe you to explain. One does not talk of
the private affairs until the time comes. This is the time.”
And then he proceeded to relate a story that held the rapt attention of
his hearers. Escaping from persecution in France, he had brought with
him nothing but his rapier and the casket that contained a number of
valuable jewels, heirlooms in his family. These were his only means of
support. One by one, as he needed money, he had sold them to Mr. Slocum.
His wants being simple, he had made the money go a long way, and he
hoped that the contents of the casket would last for the rest of his
life.
“There now!” exclaimed Susan. “And you _would_ buy lollipops for Lucy!
You didn’t ought to, Mounseer, and I wouldn’t have allowed it if I’d
known.”
“And so you would have robbed me of a great pleasure,” said the old
gentleman.
“I see it now,” said Martin. “You sold your jewels from time to time to
Slocum, and he knew how valuable they were, though I don’t suppose he
paid you anything like what they were worth. And then he had planned to
rob Mr. Greatorex, and being greedy, wanted the rest of your jewels as
well. That explains the attacks on your room.”
Mounseer assented, adding that he had of course never suspected Mr.
Slocum of any part in those attacks. Determined to protect his property,
he had removed a length of the wainscoting of the wall of his room, and
hidden the casket in the cavity behind. When his room was ransacked,
this hiding-place remained undiscovered. He had only just removed the
casket when he was overcome by the smoke.
“And it is to you, my friend,” he said, turning to Martin, “that I owe
that I have still the means to live; and when I die, if any of my jewels
are left, they shall be to you: I will so ordain it in my testament.”
“That’s handsome said,” cried Dick Gollop.
“But I hope there will be none left,” said Martin, flushing.
“Meaning that you’ll live as long as Methusalem, Mounseer,” said Susan.
“And we all agree: of that I’m very sure.”
“I do not covet so long a life,” said Mounseer, “but it must be as the
good God pleases.”
“Ay, and what you can’t help, make the best of,” said Gollop. “That
Slocum and his crowd, now—their course is set for the gallows, and I
hope as they’ll put a cheerful face on it. Nothing upsets me more than
to see a man draw down his chops when he’s on his way to be hanged. He
can’t get out of it, so his looks might just as well be sweet as sour.”
Next day, when Mr. Greatorex paid his promised visit to the farm, he
brought some interesting news. The man who called himself Seymour, but
whose real name was Smith, had purchased his freedom by volunteering to
turn King’s evidence, and had already made a long statement. It appeared
that the man whom Martin had called Blackbeard was a brother of Slocum,
and had spent a good many years in piracy on the eastern seas. He had
captured Captain Leake’s vessel the _Merry Maid_, made some few
alterations in her cut—not skilfully enough to deceive the sharp eyes
of Dick Gollop—changed her name to the _Santa Maria_, and brought her
into dock after a brush with the French. He himself pretended to be a
foreigner and had assumed a foreign accent at times.
Meeting his brother after many years’ absence, he had suggested that the
most valuable articles in Mr. Greatorex’s stock of plate and jewellery
should be gradually transferred to his vessel, carried to Portugal and
sold. Seymour had been admitted as a partner, and had taken a lodging in
the same house as the Frenchman, partly because his room would be
convenient as a temporary storing place, and partly that he might assist
in the robbery of Mounseer’s valuables. The outbreak of the Fire had
enabled Slocum to carry off the whole of the stock openly.
Mr. Greatorex was loud in praise of Martin for the large share he had
had in saving the goods. He offered to take him as a regular apprentice,
but learning that Martin had a passion for the sea, he agreed to place
him on a King’s ship, and promised to take charge of Lucy. And being in
want of a gardener for his country house, he asked Gollop whether he
would like to exchange his constable’s staff for a spade.
“Well, sir, I take it kind of you,” said Dick. “I don’t mind if I do. I
knows nothing about gardening, but then I knowed nothing about the law
till I took up with it, and as a man of law I reckon I’ve a pretty good
name in London town. I’ll do my best, and if I ain’t very good at it
just at first, well, what _I_ can’t help, _you_'ll make the best of,
I’ll be bound.”
It only remained to dispose of Gundra. Susan Gollop undertook to give
him a home until Martin should sail on his first voyage to the East.
Some two years later Martin had the pleasure of restoring the boy to his
own family in Surat.
Slocum and his confederates were not destined to be hanged after all. It
was discovered one day that they had broken prison, and they were never
captured. Years afterwards, when Martin was a captain in the King’s
Navy, he was accosted one day in Portsmouth by a wretched-looking
beggar, who suddenly stopped in the midst of his whining plea for help
and slunk off rapidly round the first corner.
“I could swear that was Slocum,” Martin said to himself. “I suppose he
recognised me and was afraid I should give him up to justice. How it all
comes back to me—that night of the Fire!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected or
standardised.
Inconsistency in accents has been corrected or standardised.
Illustrations have been relocated due to using a non-page layout.