THE DOCTOR SPEAKS
Hal had been at work five minutes when he was startled by a sharp
knock. The door was flung open in no gentle manner.
Dr. Filhiol, leaning on his cane, confronted him. Hal knew trouble lay
dead ahead. Standing there in shirt-sleeves, with litter and confusion
of packing all about, and two half-filled suit-cases on a couple of
chairs, Hal frowned angrily.
“You’ve got a nerve to butt in like this!” he growled. “What d’ you
want now?”
“I want to talk to you, sir.”
“I’ve got no time to waste on nonsense!”
“You’ve got time to talk to me, and talk to me you’re going to,”
returned the doctor. “This is no nonsense.” He came in and shut the
door. The scent of liquor met his nostrils. “A young man who’s been
responsible for the things you have, has certainly got time to answer
me!”
Awed by the physician’s cold determination, and with fear at heart—for
might not Filhiol know about the stolen money?—Hal moderated his
defiance. This old man must be kept quiet for a few hours yet; Hal must
have a few hours.
“You’re assuming too much authority for a stranger,” said Hal,
sullenly. “I never knew before that a gentleman would interfere in this
way.”
“Probably not, when dealing _with_ a gentleman,” retorted Filhiol, “but
this case is different. My acquaintance with your grandfather dates
back more than half a century, and when my duty requires me to speak,
no young bully like you is going to stop me. No, you needn’t double
your fist, or look daggers, because I’m not in the least afraid of you,
sir. And I’m not going to mince matters with you. What did you do with
the captain’s five hundred dollars?”
Hal felt himself lost. He had effectually closed Ezra’s mouth, but now
here stood the doctor, accusing him. One moment he had the impulse to
do murder; but now that all things were in readiness for his flight,
he realized violence would be a fatal error. His only hope lay in
diplomacy.
“What five hundred dollars?”
“You know very well what five hundred! Come, what did you do with it?”
“Really, Dr. Filhiol, this is a most astonishing accusation!” said Hal.
“_I_ don’t know anything about any five hundred. Is that amount gone?”
“You know very well it’s gone!”
“I know nothing of the kind! How should I?”
“You can’t fool me, young man!” exclaimed the doctor hotly. He raised
his cane in menace.
“Put that stick down, sir,” said Hal in a wicked voice. “No man living
can threaten me with a stick and get way with it. I tell you I don’t
know anything about the money! I’ve been out of this house for some
time, and you and Ezra have been here. Now you tell me there’s five
hundred dollars gone. By God, if you weren’t an old man and a guest,
you’d eat your words damned quick!”
“I—you—” stammered the doctor, outgeneralled.
“I’ve wasted enough time on you now!” Hal flung at him. “It’s time for
you to be going.” He gripped Filhiol by the wrist with a vise-pressure
that bruised. “And one thing more, you!” he growled. “You’d just
better not go stirring up gramp against me, or accusing me to Ezra. It
won’t be healthy for you to go accusing me of what you can’t prove, you
prying gray ferret!”
“Ezra knows all about it already!” retorted the doctor, tempted to
smash at that insolent, evil face with his cane.
“Knows it, does he?” Hal could not repress a start.
“Yes, he does. He’s already sworn to a falsehood to me, to save your
worthless hide!”
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean he’s accused himself of the theft, you scoundrel!”
“Let him, then! If the shoe fits him, let him put it on!”
“Oh, let him, eh? Yes, and let him beggar himself. Let him try to get
his pitiful life-savings back into the safe in time to save you! A man
who’ll stand by and let a poor old servant, more faithful than a dog,
bankrupt himself to cover up a sneaking crime—a man who’ll pack up and
run away—”
“I’ve had enough o’ you!” snarled Hal. He pushed the doctor out into
the hall. “Ezra’s admitted it, and gramp wouldn’t believe I did it,
even if he saw the money in my hand. Get out now, and if you cross my
path again, look out!”
The doctor met his threat unflinchingly.
“Young man,” said he, “I sailed harder seas, in the old times, than any
seas to-day. I sailed with your grandfather when he was a bucko of the
old school, and though we didn’t usually agree and once I nearly shot
him, I never knuckled under. Maybe the bullet that just missed cutting
off your grandfather’s life is still waiting for its billet. Maybe
that’s part of the curse on _you_!”
His eyes were cold steel as he peered at the menacing, huge figure of
Hal.
“Be careful, sir,” he added. “Be very careful how you raise your hand
against a man like me!”
“If I ever _do_ raise my hand, there’ll be no more threats of shooting
left in you!” Hal flung at him. With a sudden flare of rage he pushed
old Filhiol through the door and turned the lock. The doctor stumbled,
dropped his cane and fetched up against the balustrade of the stairs.
Ashen and trembling he clung there a moment. Then he raised his shaking
fist to heaven.
“Oh, God,” he prayed, “God, give me power to stamp this viper’s
head before it poisons the captain—before it poisons Laura and old
Ezra—the town, the very air, the world! God, give me strength to stamp
it in the dust!”
Within the room sounded the tread of Hal, going, coming as he growled
to himself, packed up his things for flight.
“Aye, go!” thought the doctor. “Go, and devil take you! Go, and if
there’s any curse, carry it with you to the end of the world!”
The doctor realized that nothing better than this departure could
happen. The boy would undoubtedly come to his end before long in some
drunken brawl. Sooner or later he would meet his match; would get
killed, or would do murder and would finish on the gallows or in the
chair. That over-mastering physical strength, backed by the arrogance
of conscious power, could not fail to ruin him.
“The world will soon settle with you, Hal Briggs,” said he, as he made
his way down-stairs. “Soon settle, and for good. It will break the
captain’s heart to have you go, but it would break it worse to have you
stay. This is best.”
Calmer now, he stopped a moment at the cabin door to assure himself
Captain Briggs was sleeping.
“Lord!” he thought. “I hope Hal gets away before the old man wakes up.
It will spare us a terrible scene—a scene that might cost the captain
his life!”
His eye caught a glint of red. Oddly enough, firelight, reflected from
one of the captain’s brass instruments, ticked just a tiny point of
crimson on the blade of the old kris.
The doctor shuddered and passed on, failing to notice the open window
in the room. He felt oppressed and stifling. Air! he must have air! He
got into a coat hanging on the rack, put on his hat and limped out upon
the porch.
Up and down walked Dr. Filhiol a few times, trying to shake off heavy
bodings of evil. A curious little figure he made, withered, bent, but
with the fires of invincible determination burning in his eyes. The
time he had passed at Snug Haven had brought back his fighting spirit.
Dr. Filhiol seemed quite other from the meek and inoffensive old man
who had so short a time ago driven up to the captain’s gate. Even the
grip of his hand on his cane was different. Hal Briggs might well look
out for him now, if any turn of chance should put him into Filhiol’s
power.
The doctor paused at last on the sheltered side of the porch, near the
captain’s windows and away from that side of the house where Hal’s room
was located. More heavily than ever the rain was sheeting down, and
from the shore a long thunder told of sea charges broken against the
impenetrable defenses of the rocks.
All at once the doctor saw a figure coming along the road, head down to
wind and rain—a figure in a mackintosh, with a little white hat drawn
down over thick hair—the figure of a woman.
Astonished that a woman should be abroad in such weather, he peered
more closely. The woman came to the side gate, stopped there, and,
holding her hat and flying hair with one hand, looked anxiously over
the hedge at Snug Haven.
Then Dr. Filhiol recognized her.
“Laura! What the devil now?” said he.
The doctor seemed to read her thought, that she was afraid of being
seen by Hal, but that she greatly desired speech of some one else. With
raised hand he beckoned her; and she, perceiving him, came quickly
through the gate to the porch.
Wild-tossed and disheveled she was with frightened eyes and wistful,
pleading face. Filhiol’s heart yearned to her, filled with pity.
“You’re Laura, aren’t you?” asked the doctor, taking her hand and
steadying her a little. “Laura Maynard? Yes? I’m Dr. Filhiol, a very
old and confidential friend of the captain’s. What can I do to help
you?”
“The captain!” she panted, almost spent with exertion and chill. “I’ve
got to—see the captain right away!”
“My dear, that’s quite impossible,” said Filhiol, drawing her more into
shelter. “He’s asleep, worn out with exertions concerning Hal. You’ve
come to see him about Hal. Yes, I thought so. Well, the captain can’t
be disturbed now, for any reason whatever. But you can tell me, Laura.
Perhaps I may do quite as well.”
She pondered a moment, then asked with a strong effort: “Where is Hal
now?”
“Up-stairs. Do you want to see him?”
“No, no, no!” she shuddered. “God forbid! But—oh, doctor, please let
me see the captain, if only for a minute!”
“He’s ill, I tell you, Laura.”
“Not seriously?” she asked with sudden anxiety.
“Perhaps not yet, but we can’t take any chances.”
The girl took his hand in a trembling clasp.
“Don’t let anything happen to the captain!” she exclaimed, her
rain-wet face very beautiful in its anxiety. “Oh, doctor, he’s the
most wonderful old man in the world, the finest, the noblest! Nothing,
nothing must happen to _him_!”
“Nothing shall, if I can help it. If I can stand between him and—and—”
“And Hal?” she queried. “Yes, I understand. What a terrible curse to
love a man like that!”
“The captain must soon find it so,” said Filhiol. “Every one who loves
that boy has got to suffer grievously. You, too, Laura,” he added. “You
must steel your heart to many things. The captain will soon need all
your strength and consolation.”
“You know the bad news, too?”
“I know much bad news. But if you’ve got any more, tell me!”
“You know about the fight he had this afternoon and about his buying
Gordon’s boat, the _Kittiwink_?”
“No. Nothing about that. But I know Hal’s packing some things now to
make what they call a getaway. And—”
“And you’re not going to stop him?” exclaimed the girl, clutching his
arm. “You’re _not_?”
“Shhh, my dear!” warned Filhiol. “We mustn’t wake the captain in there!
Stop Hal? No, no! Nothing better could happen than to have him go
before he does murder in this town.”
“He almost did murder this afternoon! He ran into three of McLaughlin’s
men down at Hadlock’s Cove, and they twitted him about apologizing to
McLaughlin. Then—”
“Say no more,” interrupted the doctor, raising his hand. “I understand.”
“Yes, doctor, but the news has spread, and the rest of the crew have
sworn vengeance on Hal. They’ll surely kill him, doctor!”
“God grant they may!” the doctor thought, but what he said was:
“The quicker he goes, then, the better.”
“But isn’t there any way to bring him to reason, doctor? To make him
like other men? To save him?”
“I see none,” Filhiol answered. He pondered a moment while the
rain-drums rolled their tattoos on the roof of the porch and the sea
thundered. “The curse, the real curse on that boy, is his unbridled
temper, his gorilla-like strength. His strength has unsettled his
judgment and his will. Ordinary men rely on their brains, and have
to be decent. Hal, with those battering-ram fists, thinks he can
smash down everything, and win, like one of Nietzsche’s supermen. If
something could drain him of strength, and weaken and humble him, it
might be the salvation of him yet.”
“God grant it might!”
“You still love him, girl?” asked Filhiol, tenderly as a father. “In
spite of everything?”
“I love the good in him, and there’s so wonderfully much!”
“I understand, my dear. Just now, the bad is all predominant. There’s
nothing to do but let him go, Laura. Because—he’s determined to go, at
all costs. Where, I don’t know, or how.”
“_I_ know how!” exclaimed the girl. “He’s bought the _Kittiwink_ and
laid in supplies. My father’s in the boat-brokerage business, and he’s
got word of it.”
“Bought it?” interrupted the doctor. “How? On credit?”
“No, cash. He paid four hundred and seventy-five dollars for it, in
bills.”
“He did? By—h-m!”
“What is it, doctor? Where could Hal get all that money? Do you know?”
“I know only too well, my dear.”
“Tell me!” she exclaimed eagerly, and took him by the hand.
So absorbed were they that neither heard a slight sound from the
captain’s window, like the quick intake of a breath. How could they
know the old man had wakened, had heard their voices; how could they
know he had arisen, and, all trembling and weak, was now standing
hidden inside the window, listening to words that tore the heart clean
out of him?