alarm took its place. He began to ask himself more seriously if his
position were not one of great danger, if he had not to face some
mysterious but very daring enemy--even if he were like to come out of
the adventure with his life. Yet his mind could not bring to his
recollection any deed that had merited vindictive anger on the part of
another; nor was he a blamable man as the world goes. He paid his
debts--every three years; he was amongst the governors of five
fashionable charities, and the only scandalous case which concerned him
was arranged between the lawyers on the eve of its coming into court.
The matrons told you that he was "a dear delightful rogue"; the men said
that he was "a cunning old dog"; and between them agreed that he had
read the commandments at least. Possibly, however, those hours of
solitude in the cabin compelled him to think rather of his vices than of
his virtues--and it may be that the fear was so much the more real as
his shortcomings were secret. Be that as it may, he assured me that he
had never suffered so much as he did during that strange imprisonment,
and that he cried almost with delight when the door of the cabin opened,
and he saw the table of the saloon set for dinner, and light falling
upon it from a handsome lamp below the skylight. During one delicious
moment he thought himself the victim of a well-meaning practical
joker--the next his limbs were limp as cloth, and he sank upon a
cushioned seat with a groan which must have been heard by the men above.
This scene has been so faithfully described to me that I can see it as
clearly as though I myself stood amongst the players. On the one hand, a
pretty little American girl, with hands clasped and malicious laughter
about her rosy mouth; on the other, a shrinking, craven, abject shadow
of a man, cowering upon the cushions of a sofa, in blank astonishment,
and hiding his view of her with bony fingers. At a glance you would have
said that the girl was not twenty--but she was twenty-three, the picture
of youth, with the color of the sea-health upon her cheeks, the spray of
the sea-foam glistening in her rich brown hair. She had upon her head a
little hat of straw poised daintily; her dress was of white serge with a
scarf of yacht-club colors at the throat; but her feet were the tiniest
in the world, and the brown shoes which hid them not unfit for an
artist's model. And as she stood laughing at the man who had become her
guest upon the yacht, her attitude would have made the fortune of half
the painters in Hampstead. The two faced each other thus silently for a
few minutes, but she was the first to speak, her voice overflowing with
rippling laughter.
"Well," she said, "I call this real good of you, my lord, to come on my
yacht--when you were just off to the other girl--and your wedding's
fixed for the eighteenth of July. My word, you're the kindest-hearted
man in Europe."
He looked up at her, some shame marked in his eyes, and he said,--
"Evelyn, I--I--never thought it was you!"
"Then how pleased you must be. Oh, I'm right glad, I tell you; I'm just
as pleased as you are. To think that we've never met since you left
N'York in such a flurry that you hadn't time even to send me a line--but
of course you men are so busy and so smart that girls don't count, and I
knew you were just dying to see me, and I sent the boat off saying it
was old Burrow--how you love Burrow!--and here you are, my word!"
She spoke laboring under a heavy excitement, so that her sentences
flowed over one another. But he could scarce find a coherent word, and
began to tremble as she went on,--
"You'll stay awhile, of course, and--why, you're as pale as spectres, I
guess. Now if you look like that I shall begin to think that we're not
the old friends we were in N'York a year ago, and walk right upstairs to
Arthur. You remember my brother Arthur, of course you do. He was your
particular friend, wasn't he?--but how you boys quarrel. They really
told me two months ago in the city that Arthur was going in the shooting
business with you. Fancy that now, and at your age."
This sentence revealed what was lacking in the character of the girl; it
showed that malicious, if rather low and vulgar, cunning which prompted
the whole of this adventure; and it betrayed a revenge which was worthy
of a Frenchwoman. Maclaren had but to hear the harsh ring of the voice
to know that the girl who had threatened him months ago in New York had
met her opportunity, and that she would use it to the last possibility.
Every word that she uttered with such meaning vehemence cut him like a
knife; his hair glistened with the drops of perspiration upon it; his
right hand was passed over his forehead as though some heat was
tormenting his brain. And as her voice rose shrilly, only to be
modulated to the pretence of suavity again, he blurted out,--
"Evelyn, what are you going to do?"
"I--my dear Lord Maclaren--I am entirely in your hands; you are my
guest, I reckon, and even in America we have some idea of what that
means. Now, would you like to play cards after dinner, or shall we have
a little music?"
The steward entered the cabin at this moment, and the conversation being
interrupted, Maclaren chanced to see that the companion was free. A wild
idea of appealing to the captain of the yacht came to him, and he made a
sudden move to mount the ladder. He had but taken a couple of steps,
however, when a lusty young fellow, perhaps of twenty-five years of age,
barred the passage, and pushed him with some roughness into the cabin
again. The man closed the long, panelled door behind him; and then
addressed the unwilling guest.
"Ah, Maclaren, so that's you--devilish good of you to come aboard, I
must say."
The newcomer was Evelyn Lenox's brother, the owner of the ketch
_Bowery_. He acted his part in the comedy with more skill than his
sister, having less personal interest in it; indeed, amusement seemed
rather to hold him than earnestness. It was perfectly clear to Maclaren,
however, that he would stand no nonsense; and seeing that a further
exhibition of feeling would not help him one jot, the unhappy prisoner
succumbed. When the dinner was put upon the table, he found himself
sitting down to it mechanically, and as one in a dream. It was an
excellent meal to come from a galley; and it was made more appetizing by
the wit and sparkle of the girl who presided, and who acted her _role_
to such perfection. She seemed to have forgotten her anger, and cloaked
her malice with consummate art. She was a well-schooled flirt--and her
victim consoled himself with the thought, "They will put me ashore in
the morning, and I can make a tale." By ten o'clock he found himself
laughing over a glass of whisky and soda. By eleven he was dreaming that
he stood at the altar in the church of St. Peter's and that two brides
walked up the aisle together.
* * * * *
The next picture that I have to show you of Maclaren is one which I am
able to sketch from a full report of certain events happening on the
evening of his wedding day. The yacht lay becalmed some way out in the
bay of the Somme; the sea had the luster of a mirror, golden with a
flawless sheen of brilliant light which carried the dark shadows of
smack-hulls and flapping lug-sails. There was hardly a capful of wind,
scarce an intermittent breath of breeze from the land; and the crew of
the _Bowery_ lay about the deck smoking with righteous vigor, as they
netted or stitched, or indulged in those seemingly useless occupations
which are the delight of sailors. Often however, they stayed their work
to listen to the rise and fall of sounds in the saloon aft; and once,
when Maclaren's voice was heard almost in a scream, one of them,
squirting his tobacco juice over the bulwarks, made the sapient remark,
"Well, the old cove's dander is riz now, anyway."
The scene below was played vigorously. Evelyn Lenox sat upon the sofa,
her arms resting upon the cabin table, her bright face positively alight
with triumph. Maclaren stood before her with clenched hands and gnashing
teeth. Arthur, the brother, was smoking a pipe and pretending to read a
newspaper, leaving the conversation to his guest, who had no lack of
words.
"Good God, Evelyn," he said, "you cannot mean to keep me here any
longer--to-morrow's my wedding day!"
She answered him very slowly.
"How interesting! I remember the time, not so long ago, when my wedding
day was fixed--and postponed."
He did not heed the rebuke, but continued cravenly,--
"You do not seem to understand that your brother and yourself have
perpetrated upon me an outrage which will make you detested in every
country in Europe. Great Heaven! the whole town will laugh at me. I
shan't have a friend in the place; I shall be cut at every club, as I'm
a living man."
The girl listened to him, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of it.
"Did you never stop to think," said she, "when you left America, like
the coward you were, that people would laugh at me, too, and I should
never be able to look my friends in the face again? Why, even in the
newspapers they held me up to ridicule when my heart was breaking. You
speak of suffering; well, I have suffered."
Her mood changed, as the mood of women does--suddenly. The feminine
instinct warred against the actress, and prevailed. She began to weep
hysterically, burying her head in her arms; and a painful silence fell
on the man. He seemed to wait for her to speak; but when she did so,
anger had succeeded, and she rose from her place and stamped her foot,
while rage seemed to vibrate in her nerves.
"Why do I waste my time on you?" she cried; "you who are not worth an
honest thought. Pshaw! 'Lord Maclaren, illustrious nobleman and great
sportsman'"--she was quoting from an American paper--"go and tell them
that for ten days you have humbled yourself to me, and have begged my
pity on your knees. Go and tell them that my crew have held their sides
when the parts have been changed, and you have been the woman. Oh, they
shall know, don't mistake that; your wife shall read it on her wedding
tour. I will send it to her myself, I, who have brought the laugh to my
side now, scion of a noble house. Go, and take the recollection of your
picnic here as the best present I can give to you."
I was told that Maclaren looked at her for some moments in profound
astonishment when she pointed to the cabin door. Then, without a word,
he went on deck, to find the yacht's boat manned and waiting for him. He
said himself that many emotions filled him as he stepped off the
yacht--anger at the outrage, desire for revenge, but chiefly the
emotions of the thought, was there time to reach St. Peter's for the
wedding ceremony? He did not doubt that lies would save him from the
American woman, if things so happened that he could reach England by the
morning of the next day. But could he? Where was he? Where was he to be
put ashore? He asked the men at the oars these questions in a breath,
standing up for one moment as the boat pushed off to shake his fist at
the yacht, and cry, "D--n you all!" But the answer that he got did not
reassure him. He was to be put ashore, the seaman said, at Crotoy, the
little town on a tongue of land in the bay of the Somme. There was a
steamer thence once a day to Saint Valery, from which point he could
reach Boulogne by rail. He realized in a moment that all his hope
depended on catching the steamer. If she had not sailed, he would arrive
at Boulogne before sunset, and, if need were, could get across by the
night mail and a special train from Folkestone. But if she had sailed!
This possibility he dared not contemplate.
The men were now rowing rapidly towards the shore, whose sandy dunes and
flat outlines were becoming marked above the sea-line. The yacht lay far
out, drifting on a glassy mirror of water; the sun was sinking with
great play of yellow and red fire in the arc of the west. Maclaren had
then, however, no thought for Nature's pictures, or for seascapes. One
burning anxiety alone troubled him--had the steamer sailed? He offered
the men ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds if they would catch her.
The remark of one of them that she left on the top of the tide begot in
him a mad eagerness to learn the hour of high-water; but none of those
with him could remember it. He found himself swaying his body in rhythm
with the oars as coxswains do; or standing up to look at the white
houses shorewards. Another half-hour's rowing brought him a sight of the
pier; he shouted out with a laugh that might have come from a jackal
when he saw that the steamer was moored against it, and that smoke was
pouring heavily from her funnels.
"Men," he said, "if you catch that boat, I'll give you two hundred and
fifty pounds!" and later on their lethargy moved him to such disjointed
exclamations as "For the love of heaven, get on to it!" "Now, then, a
little stronger--fine fellows, all of you--a marriage depends upon
this." "I'll give you a gold watch apiece, as I'm alive." "By----, she's
moving--no, she isn't, there's time yet, if you'll put your backs on to
it--time, time--oh, Lord, what a crawl, what a cursed crawl!"
If one had peered into the faces of the yachtsmen critically, one might
have detected the ripples of smirks about their lips; but Maclaren could
not take his eyes away from the steamer, and the import of the
suppressed amusement was lost upon him. The little town of Crotoy, with
the garish _etablissement des bains_, the picturesque church, and the
time-wrecked ramparts escarped by the ceaseless play of currents, was
then not half a mile away; but a bell was ringing on the pier, and there
was all the hurry and the press known in "one packet" or "one train"
towns. Those who had much to do did it slowly, that they might enjoy
leisure to blow whistles or to shout; those who had little atoned by
great displays of ineffective activity. Some ran wildly to and fro near
the steamer; others bawled incomprehensible ejaculations, and incited,
both those who were to leave by the ship, and those who were not, to
hurry, or they would be late. Presently the little passenger steamer
whistled with a hoarse and lowing shriek, and cast foam behind her
wheels. Maclaren observed the motion, and cried out as a man in pain,
waving his arms wildly. Those on shore mistook as much as they could see
of his surprising signals for a parting salute to the vessel; and she
left ten minutes after her time--without him.
He was hot from the battle of excitement, rivulets of perspiration
trickling upon his face; but he had breath to curse the crew of the
yacht's boat for five minutes when he stepped ashore; and the request of
the coxswain to drink his health stirred up uncounted gifts for
oath-making within him. In a quarter of an hour he was raving about the
town of Crotoy, threatening to do himself injury if a boat were not
forthcoming to carry him to St. Valery, whence he could get train to
Boulogne. But the day was nigh gone, and the local seamen were at their
homes. Few cared for his commission, and the man who took it ultimately
set him down just twenty minutes after the last train had left.
* * * * *
The accounts given in the society papers for the abandonment of the
wedding between Lord Maclaren and the Hon. Christine King were many. The
true one is found in the simple statement that his lordship did not
reach England until the evening of the day which had been fixed for the
ceremony. So the presents were returned--and I kept the pearls which
were to have made the famous anchor bracelet. And when I think the
matter over, I cannot wonder at Maclaren's hatred of them, or of his
wish that I should burn them.
"Sutton," he said, "I was more than a fool. I ought to have remembered
that Evelyn Lenox was with me when I saw the piece of stuff similar to
that I wanted you to make. Why, I got the very notion of it from her,
and it was only when one of your idiots let a society journalist know
what you were doing for me that she heard of the marriage, and of my
being at Ramsgate."
But the rest of his remarks were purely personal.
THE WATCH AND THE SCIMITAR.
THE WATCH AND THE SCIMITAR.
The city of Algiers, the beautiful El Djzair, as the guide-book maker
calls it, has long ceased to charm the true son of the East, _blase_
with the nomadic fulness of the ultimate Levant, or charged with those
imaginary Oriental splendors which are nowhere writ so large as in the
catalogues and advertisements of the later day upholsterer. This is not
the fault of the new Icosium, as any student of the Moorish town knows
well; nor is it to be laid to the account of the French usurpation, and
that strange juncture of Frank and Fatma, which has brought the
boulevard to the city of the Corsairs and banished Mohammed to the
shadow of the Kasbah. Rather, it is the outcome of coupons and of
co-operative enthusiasm, which sends the roamer to many lands, of which
he learns the names, and amongst many people with whose customs he
claims familiarity.
To know Algiers, something more than a three days' _pension_ in the
Hotel de la Regence is necessary; though that is the temporal limit for
many who return to Kensington or Mayfair to protest that "it is so
French, you know." I can recollect well the monitions and advice which I
received two years gone when I ventured a voyage to Burmah--in the
matter of the ruby interest--and determined to see Cairo, Tunis, and the
City of Mosques on my return westward. Many told me that I would do
better to reach Jaffa and Jerusalem, others advised the seven churches
of Asia; many spoke well of Rhodes; all agreed, whether they had been
there or whether they had not, that Algiers was eaten up with
Chauvinism, and scarce worthy a passing call. Barisbroke at the club,
who is always vigorous in persuading other people not to do things,
summed it up in one of his characteristically inane jokes. "It's had its
Dey," said he, and buried himself in his paper as though the project
ended then and there upon his own _ipse dixit_. This marked and decided
consensus of opinion could have had but one result--it sent me to the
town of Hercules at the first opportunity.
If the truth is to be told, the visit was in some part one of pleasure,
but in the more part a question of sequins. I had done well in the
remoter East, and had sent some fine parcels of rubies, sapphires, and
pearls to Bond Street; but a side-wind of curiosity casting me up upon
the shores of Tunis, I had bought there, in the house of a very
remarkable Jew, a bauble whose rival in strange workmanship and splendor
of effect I have not yet met with. It was, to describe it simply, the
model of a Moorish scimitar perhaps four inches long, the sheath
exquisitely formed of superb brilliants, the blade itself of platinum,
and in the haft not only a strange medley of stones, but a little watch
with a thin sheet of very fine pearl for a face, and a superb diamond as
the cup of the hands. Although the jewels in this were worth perhaps
five hundred pounds, the workmanship was so fine, and the whole bauble
had such an original look, that I paid eight hundred pounds for it
cheerfully, and thought myself lucky to get it at that. What is more to
the point, however, is the fact that the hazard which gave me the
possession of the scimitar sent me also to Algiers to hunt there for
like curiosities--and in the end brought me a large knowledge of the
Moorish town, and nearly cost me my life.
I had intended to stay in the town for three days, but on the very
evening of my coming to the Hotel d'Orleans in the Boulevard de la
Republique, I met a French lieutenant of artillery, a man by name Eugene
Chassaigne; an exceedingly pleasant fellow, and one who had some Arabic,
but small appreciation of anything beyond the "to-day" of life. He
laughed at my notion of buying anything in the upper city, and urged me
not to waste time plodding in dirty bazaars and amongst still dirtier
dealers. For himself his one idea was to be _dans le mouvement_; but he
brought me to know, on the second day of my visit, a singularly docile
Moor, Sidi ben Ahmed by name; and told me that if I still persisted in
my intention, the fellow would serve well for courier, valet, or in any
office I chose to place him. And in this he spoke no more than the
truth, as I was very soon to prove.
I have always thought when recalling this sheep-like Moor to my
recollection, that the Prophet had done him a very poor turn in locating
him so far away from the blessings of company-promotion and rickety
building societies. His face would have been his fortune at any public
meeting; and as for thoroughness, his love of detail was amazing. Before
I had been in his hands for twenty-four hours he knew me; being able to
tell you precisely how much linen I carried, the number of gold pieces
in my purse, my taste in fish and fruits, my object in coming to his
country. And this was vexatious; for all the vendors of Benares ware
fashioned in Birmingham, all the sellers of gaudy burnouses, the
hucksters of the tawdriest carpets and the most flimsy scimitars, held
concert on the steps of the hotel every time I showed my face within
twenty paces of the door. Sidi alone was immobile, stolid "_Nom d'un
chien_--they are _blagueurs_ all," said he; and I agreed with him.
If these things troubled my man, the jewel I had purchased in Tunis
troubled him still more. How he learned that I had it heaven alone could
tell; but he did not fail to come to me at _dejeuner_ each morning and
to repeat with unfailing regularity the monition, "If Allah wills, the
jewel is stolen." I used to tolerate this at first; but in the end he
exasperated me; and upon the seventh morning I showed him the model and
said emphatically, "Sidi, you will please to observe that Allah does not
will the loss of the jewel--let us change the subject." He gave me no
answer, but on the next morning I had from him the customary
greeting--and the laugh was all upon his side, for the scimitar was
gone.
I say that the laugh was with Sidi, but in very truth I do not believe
that this worthy fellow ever laughed in his life. He possessed a stolid
immobility of countenance that would have remained in repose even at the
sound of the last trumpet. The intelligence which I conveyed to him, I
doubt not with pathetic anger, and much bad language, moved him no more
than the soft south wind moved the statue of the first Governor-General
out by the mosque there. He examined my ravished bag with a provoking
silence; muttered a few pessimistic sentences in Arabic; and then fell
back upon the Koran and the platitudes of his prophet. If he had been an
Englishman, I should have suspected him without hesitation; but he bore
such a character, he had been so long a servant of the hotel, he was by
his very stolidity so much above doubt, that this course was impossible;
and being unable to accuse him, I bade him take me to the nearest bureau
of police, that I might satisfy my conscience with the necessary farce.
This he did without a protest, but I saw that he looked upon me with a
pitying gaze, as one looks upon a child that is talking nonsense.
Although I flatter myself that I concealed my annoyance under a placid
exterior, this loss affected me more than I cared to tell. For one
thing, the jewel was very valuable (I was certain that I could have
obtained a thousand pounds for it in Bond Street); I was convinced,
moreover, that I should hardly discover its fellow if I searched Europe
through. During my stay at the Hotel d'Orleans I had kept it locked in a
well-contrived leather pouch in my traveling trunk; and as this pouch
had been opened with my own keys it was evident that the thief had
access to my bedroom during the night--a conclusion which led me to
think again of this stolid Moor, and to declare that the case against
him was singularly convincing. So strong, in fact, were my suspicions
that I made it my first care to go to the _maitre_ of the hotel and to
demand satisfaction from him with all the justifiable indignation which
fitted the case. When he heard my tale, his face would have given
Rembrandt a study.
"How?" said he. "Monsieur is robbed, and _chez-moi_?"
I repeated that I was, and told him that if he did not recover the
bauble in twenty-four hours, consequences would follow which would be
disastrous to his establishment. Then I asked him frankly about the Moor
Sidi; but he protested with tears in his eyes that he would as soon
accuse his own mother. He did not deny that some one in his house might
know something about it; and presently he had marshaled the whole of his
servants in the central court, addressing them with the fierce
accusation of a _juge d'instruction_. It is superfluous to add that we
made no headway, and that all his "desolation" left me as far from the
jewels I had lost as I was at the beginning of it.