THE COMPACT
Bendigo lit his pipe and turned to his only book. It was "Moby
Dick." Herman Melville's masterpiece had long ago become for the old
sailor the one piece of literature in the world. It comprised all
that interested him most in this life, and all that he needed to
reconcile him to the approach of death and the thought of a future
existence beyond the grave. "Moby Dick" also afforded him that
ceaseless companionship with great waters which was essential to
content.
"Well," he said to Doria, "get you gone. Look round as usual to see
that all's snug aloft and below; then turn in. Leave only the light
in the hall and the front door on the latch. Did you mark if he had
a watch to know the hour?"
"He had no watch, but Mrs. Pendean thought upon that and lent him
hers."
Bendigo nodded and picked up a clay pipe, while Doria spoke again.
"You feel quite steady in your nerves? You would not like me to lie
in readiness to come forward if you want me!"
"No, no--turn in and go to sleep. And no spying, as you're a
gentleman. I'll talk reason to the poor fellow. I reckon it's going
to be all right. We know that he's had shell shock and all the rest
of it, so I dare say the law won't be very hard upon him."
"The dead man's wife was an angel to Robert Redmayne. He thought at
first that she had come to give him up. But her eyes showed him that
she had come in mercy. May I speak of your niece a moment before I
go?"
Bendigo shrugged his round shoulders and pushed his hand through his
red hair.
"It's no good speaking of her till you've spoken to her," he said.
"I know what you are after very well. But it's up to her, I reckon,
not me. She's gone her own way since she was a nipper--got her
father's will hid under her woman's shape."
He reflected uncomfortably that Mark Brendon must hear every word
about to pass; but there was no help for that.
"Our Italian way is to approach the parents of the loved one,"
explained Doria. "To win you is to be far on my way, for you stand
to her in the place of parent. Is it not so? She cannot live alone.
She was not meant by God to be a single woman, or a widow woman.
There is a saying in my tongue, 'She who is born beautiful is born
married.' I terribly fear that somebody else will come."
"But what about your ambitions--to wed an heiress and claim the
title and the territory of your vanished forbears?"
Doria swept his hands to right and left with a great gesture, as
though casting away his former hopes.
"It is fate," he said. "I planned my life without love. I had never
loved and never wanted to. I guessed that love would appear after I
had married money and earned the necessary means and leisure to
love. But now all is changed. The arrow has sped. There has come the
spirit simpatica instead of the necessary rich woman. Now I do not
want the rich woman but only she who wakens my passion, adoration,
worship. Life has nothing in it but Madonna--English Jenny. What are
castles and titles--pomp and glory--when weighed against her? Dust,
padron mio, all dust!"
"And what about her, Giuseppe?"
"Her heart is hidden; but there is that in her eyes that tells me to
hope."
"And what about me?"
"Alas! Love is selfish. But you are the last I would seek to hurt or
to rob. You have been very good to me and Madonna loves you. It is
certain that if the very best happened, she would do nothing to
offend one who has been to her as you have been."
"We can stow the subject for six months anyhow," replied Bendigo,
lighting his long clay. "I suppose, in your country as well as mine,
there's a right and a wrong way to approach a woman; and seeing my
girl's a widow--made so under peculiarly sad circumstances--you'll
understand that love talk is out of the question for a good bit yet
a while."
"Most truly you speak. I hide even the fire in my eyes. I only dare
look at her between the lids."
"There's a lot goes to Jenny, and no doubt such a keen blade as you
knows that very well. But all's in the air at present. Her husband
left no will and that means, since there's nobody else with any
claim upon him, she has all his dough--five hundred a year perhaps.
But there's much more to her than that in the long run. My brother
Albert and I are both old bachelors with nobody so near us as Jenny.
In fact you may say that if all goes right, she'll be pretty flush
some day. Not enough to waste on ruined castles, but a mighty good
income none the less. Then there's poor Bob's money; for however it
falls out with him, it don't look as though he'd spend it now."
"All this is wind in the trees and the cackling of hens to me,"
declared Doria. "I have not thought about it and I do not want to
think about it. The criterion of love, such as I feel to Jenny, is
that nothing else weighs a mustard seed in the balance against it.
If she were a pauper, or if she owned millions, my attitude of heart
is not changed. I worship her with the whole of myself--so that
there is not a cranny left in my spirit where hunger for money can
find foothold, or fear of poverty exist. Happiness never depends
upon cash, or the lack of it; but without love no real happiness
shall be found in the world."
"That may be bunkum, or it may be God's truth--I don't know. I've
never been in love and nobody ever wasted an ounce of affection on
me," replied Redmayne. "But you've heard me now. You can sit on the
safety valve for six months anyway; and it will probably pay you
best to do so; for one thing's certain: Jenny won't love you any
better for making love under present circumstances."
"It is too true," answered the other. "Trust me. I will hide my soul
and be exquisitely cautious. Her sorrow shall be respected--from no
selfish motive only, but because I am a gentleman, as you remind
me."
"Youth's youth, and you Italians have a good deal more fire kneaded
into you than us northerners."
Suddenly Doria's manner changed and he looked half sternly, half
curiously at Bendigo. Then he smiled to himself and ended, the
conversation.
"Fear nothing," he said. "Trust me. Indeed there is no reason why
you should do otherwise. No more of this for half a year. I bid you
good night, master."
He was gone and for a moment only the hurtle of the rain on the
ground windows of the tower room broke the silence; then Brendon
emerged from his hiding-place and stretched his limbs. Bendigo
regarded him with an expression half humorous and half grim.
"That's how the land lies," he said. "Now you've got it."
Mark bent his head.
"And you think that she--"
"Yes--I think so. Why not? Did you ever in your experience hit up
against a man more likely to charm a young woman?"
"Will he keep his word and not try to make the running for another
six months?"
"You're as green about love as I am; but even I can answer that. Of
course he'll make the running. He can't help it. It doesn't need
words."
"The idea of another husband would be abominable to Mrs. Pendean for
many years; and no Englishman worthy of the name would dare to
intrude upon her sacred grief."
"I don't know anything about that. I only know that whatever the
amount of grief she feels, she's devilish interested in
Giuseppe--and he's not an Englishman."
They talked for the best part of an hour and Mark perceived that the
old sailor was something of a fatalist. He had already concluded
that his niece would presently wed again and with the Italian. Nor
did the prospect do more than annoy Bendigo from the point of view
of his own comfort. Brendon observed that Mr. Redmayne felt no
personal objection or distrust. Jenny's uncle did not apparently
anticipate that she would live to regret such a second husband;
while Mark, from a standpoint quite independent, honestly felt that
one so volatile and strangely handsome might sooner or later cloud
the young woman's life with tribulation. He knew the quality of his
own love, but perceived the hopelessness at present of showing it in
any way. For at this juncture there appeared no possibility of
serving her. He was, however, a patient man and now summoned hope
that in the future it might yet fall within his reach to be of vital
use, even though it should never lie in her power to reward his
devotion.
He knew himself and he knew that this strange and novel emotion of
love was, at least in his case, a deep, omnipotent thing, beyond and
above any selfish and purely personal desire for happiness. Even
Doria admitted that much probably, though whether, did the test
arise, he would put the woman's prosperity before his own passion,
Brendon took leave to doubt.
He retreated presently as the hour of one approached, but before
doing so, returned to the subject of Robert Redmayne. The elder
spoke the last word and left Mark in grave doubt as to what the
immediate future might bring.
"If," said Bendigo, "my brother has any just excuse for what he did,
or can convince me, for instance, that he took Pendean's life in
order to save his own, then I stick by him and don't give him up
while I can fight on his side. You'll tell me that I'll be in reach
of the law myself if I do any such thing; but that won't frighten
me. Blood's thicker than water when you come down to a job like
this."
It was a new attitude, but the detective said nothing, and as a
clock in the hall below beat the hour of one he returned to the
cupboard and drew the door behind him. Bendigo had just lighted
another pipe when there came the sound of feet ascending the stair;
but it was no doubtful or cautious footfall that they heard. The
ascending man neither hesitated nor made any effort to approach
without noise. He came swiftly and as the sailor stood up calm and
collected, to meet his brother--not Robert Redmayne but Giuseppe
Doria appeared.
He was very agitated and his eyes shone. He breathed hard and wiped
the hair away from his forehead. He had evidently been out in the
rain, for water glistened on his shoulders and face.
"Suffer me to drink," he said. "I have been frightened."
Bendigo pushed the bottle and an empty tumbler across his table and
the other sat down and helped himself.
"Be quick; what the devil's the matter? He'll be here in a
minute--my brother."
"No, he will not be here. I have seen and spoken with him--he's not
coming to you."
Doria helped himself very sparingly to some spirits; then he
explained.
"I was going the rounds and just about to turn out the oil lamp over
the front gate as usual when I remembered Mr. Redmayne. That is half
an hour ago and I thought it would be better to leave the lamp, to
guide him, for the night is dark and wild. I came down the ladder
therefore; but I had already been seen. He was waiting under the
shelter of the rocks on the other side of the road, where there is a
pent roof of natural stone; and seeing me he remembered me and came
and spoke a little. He was full of new fear and dread. He said that
people had been hunting him and that even now men were hidden not
far off to take him. I assured him it was not so and swore to him
that you were alone and desired only to succour him. I used my best
words and prayed him to come in swiftly and let me shut the outer
gate and make it fast; but his suspicions grew; the fear of a hunted
animal was in his eyes. He misunderstood me. Terror conquered him
and what I had said, to make him feel safe, acted in the contrary
way. He would not come within the gate but sent a message that you
are to come to him instead, if you still will to save him. He is a
very sick soul and will not last long. I saw death in his eyes under
the lamplight."
There was a pause while Bendigo slowly took in this change in the
situation. Then he lifted his voice and spoke, not to Doria, but to
the man in hiding.
"Come right out, Brendon," he said. "The game's up for to-night as
you've heard. Doria has seen Bob, and he's frightened the poor
beggar off apparently. Anyway he's not coming."
Mark emerged and Giuseppe gazed in astonishment. His mind evidently
ran backward and his face flushed with annoyance.
"Corpo di Bacco!" he swore. "Then you heard my confidences. You are
a sneak!"
"Stow that," cried Bendigo. "Brendon's here because I wished it for
my brother's good. I wanted him to know what passed--and your love
affairs are neither here nor there. He'll not use anything he heard
that don't concern his proper business. What did Robert say?"
But Doria was angry. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it
again, looked first at Brendon and then at his master and breathed
hard.
"Get on," said Bendigo. "Shall I go out to the man, or has he gone?"
"And as for me; don't think twice about it," added Brendon. "I'm
here for one reason only, and that you know. You and your private
hopes and ambitions have nothing to do with me."
Upon this speech the Italian appeared to regain his composure.
"I am a servant for the moment and my duty is to Mr. Redmayne," he
answered. "This is the message that I have been told to bring. The
hunted man will not trust himself behind doors or under a roof,
until he has seen his brother alone. He is hiding now near the place
where Mrs. Pendean and I found him, in a cave beside the sea. It
opens upon the water and it can be approached by boat. But there is
a way also inside, that enables him to creep down into the cave from
the cliffs behind it. He will be in this place until his brother
comes, to-morrow night after twelve o'clock. But the way down from
the land is hidden very carefully and he will not speak of that. You
must go to him from the sea, my master. He thought it out while he
spoke to me. He will light his lamp in the cave, and when the light
is seen from the launch, you will put in and come to him. That is
what he demands shall be done; and if anybody tries to land but only
his brother, he will shoot them. So he swears, and he said also that
when Bendigo Redmayne knows all, then he will forgive all and be on
his side."
"Did he talk like a sane man?" asked Brendon.
"He talked like a sane man; but he is at his last gasp. He must
have had mighty strength once, only it is now worn down to nothing."
An uneasy thought passed through the detective's mind. Could it be
possible that Doria, while speaking previously to Bendigo about
private affairs, had discovered his presence in the great cupboard
and then warned Robert Redmayne that he would not meet his brother
alone? He dismissed the suspicion, however, for Doria's surprise and
anger when he emerged were genuine enough. Moreover there appeared
no reason why Giuseppe should side with the fugitive.
Bendigo spoke.
"So be it," he said. "It's a matter of life and death now and I'm
sorry we must wait till another night. We'll fetch out in the launch
and, when we see the light, go in and hail him."
Then he turned to Brendon.
"I'll ask you to hold off until I've seen the poor chap. As a
brother I ask it."
"Trust me. It's quite understood that nothing shall be done now
until you have seen him and reported. It may not be regular, but
common humanity suggests that."
"You can stop here to-morrow night," continued the sailor. "And if I
prevail with the unfortunate man I'll bring him off in the launch.
Then we'll talk sense to him. We've got to remember that nobody's
ever heard his side."
"If Captain Redmayne had a side he wouldn't have run away, or taken
the extraordinary pains that he did take to conceal his victim,"
answered Mark. "Don't buoy yourself up to suppose that will be a
possible line of defence. We're far more likely to get him off by
proving a homicidal act under the influence of shell shock--and the
less reason there was for murdering Michael Pendean, the more reason
there will be for supposing your brother out of his mind and
therefore guiltless when he did it."
"He is a very sane and a very sorry man now," declared Doria. "He
will come to your hand like a starved bird, signor."
"So much for that, then; and now we had better turn in," said
Bendigo. "I've always got a spare bunk in the spare room and you'll
find all you want, barring a razor, in the bathroom. You young men
use the newfangled safety razors, so Giuseppe can lend you one no
doubt."
Doria promised that a razor should be in the bathroom early on the
following morning; then he retired and Bendigo, who found that he
was hungry, descended to the dining-room. Brendon and he made a meal
before going to bed.
From his couch in a small chamber adjoining the older man's, Mark
heard Mr. Redmayne growling to himself in evident sorrow for his
brother. Himself he felt moved at a situation so painful, but was
glad enough to know that a few more hours would determine it. In his
own mind he felt satisfied of the issue and imagined Robert Redmayne
as detained for a certain period at the royal pleasure and then, if
medical opinion sanctioned the step, once more liberated.
He turned to his own affairs and faced the fact that his hope of
Jenny grew thin. The thought of her was now complicated by her
position. He had never considered that in the future she might be
rich and possessed of far larger means than he could ever attain. He
looked forward and perceived that opportunity would lie with him to
enjoy some private conversation on the following day. Yet, when the
time came, what was there that he could say to her? The storm had
blown itself out and dawn returned before he slept.
With morning Bendigo proved grumpy and desirous to be left alone. He
was evidently much perturbed and shut himself into the tower room
with his pipe and "Moby Dick." He only cared to see Jenny, who spent
some time with him. It was from Brendon that she heard the facts in
the morning when, much to her surprise, he appeared at breakfast
while she was making tea. Doria joined them a little later, but Mr.
Redmayne, usually an early riser, did not appear. Jenny took him his
breakfast.
He came down to luncheon and, after that meal, Doria conveyed
Brendon in the launch to Dartmouth, where Mark visited the police
station and explained the need for further delay. There was now no
necessity for the contemplated man hunt and he let Inspector
Damarell learn that the fugitive had been found and would probably
surrender within four-and-twenty hours. He telephoned to Scotland
Yard the same information and presently returned to "Crow's Nest."
The day was still and sunless with fine rain falling; but the wind
had dropped and the night promised to be calm.
Doria landed Brendon and then put off again, going slowly down the
coast. He asked Mark's permission to do so, that he might make a few
mental notes of distances for the coming night. The raised beach, on
which Robert Redmayne had been first spoken, was about five miles
off, and Giuseppe suspected that Redmayne's hiding-place would be
found to lie still farther to the west.
He departed therefore at a definite rate of speed and was back again
in three quarters of an hour before the dusk had fallen. But he had
nothing to report. He had found no cave where he expected one, and
now guessed that Robert Redmayne's secret holt must be nearer than
they imagined.
The night came at last--very dark overhead but clear and calm.
Beneath "Crow's Nest" the waves, sunk to nothing, made a quiet
whisper along the feet of the precipices and tinkled on the little
beaches that here and there broke the cliff line. The tide was just
making and midnight had struck when Bendigo Redmayne, in
rough-weather kit, stumped down his long flight of steps and went to
sea. Brendon and Jenny stood above under the flagstaff, and soon
they heard the launch purr away swiftly under the darkness.
The woman spoke first.
"Thank God we are at the end of this horrible suspense," she said.
"It has been a cruel nightmare for me, Mr. Brendon."
"I have felt much for you, Mrs. Pendean, and admired your marvellous
patience."
"Who could but be patient with the poor wretch? He has paid the
price of what he did. Even I can say that. There are worse things
than death, Mr. Brendon, and you will presently see them in Robert
Redmayne's eyes. Even Giuseppe was sobered after our first meeting."
That she should use the Italian's Christian name so easily struck
unreasoning regret into the heart of Mark. It gave him an excuse for
a question.
"Do you believe all Doria tells you? Is he regarded here as a
domestic or an equal?"
She smiled.
"As a superior rather than an equal. Yes, I see no reason to doubt
his story. He is obviously a great gentleman and a man of natural
fine feeling. Breeding and education are different things. He has
little education, but a native delicacy of mind belongs to him. You
feel it."
"He interests you?"
"He does," she confessed frankly. "Indeed I owe him something, for
he has a wonderful art and tact to strike the right note with me."
"He has had rare opportunities," said Brendon grudgingly.
"Yes; but not everybody would have taken them. I came here
distracted--half mad. My uncle tried to be kind, but he has no
imagination and could rise to nothing higher than reading me
passages from 'Moby Dick.' Doria was of my own generation and he has
a feminine quality that most men lack."
"I thought women hated feminine qualities in men."
"Perhaps I misuse my words. I mean that he possesses a quick
sympathy and a sort of intuition that are oftener found in a woman
than a man."
Mark was silent and she asked a question.
"I could not fail to note that you do not like him, or if that is
too strong, that you see nothing to admire in him. What is there
antipathetic in his nature to you, and in yours to him? He doesn't
like you either. Yet you both seem to me such gracious, kindly men.
Surely you have no bias against other nationalities--a man with a
cosmopolitan record like yours?"
At this thrust Brendon perceived how unconsciously he had displayed
an aversion for which no real reason existed--no reason, at any
rate, that he might fairly declare. And yet he was frank; nor did
his response perhaps surprise her, though she appeared to be
astonished.
"There's only one answer, Mrs. Pendean: I'm jealous of Signor
Doria."
"Jealous! Why, Mr. Brendon--what have you to envy him?"
"You would not be likely to guess," he replied, though in truth
Jenny had already done so accurately enough. "I am sure that if
Doria is a gentleman I need not be jealous, seeing what is in my
thought cannot be spoken to you by any man for many a long day to
come. And yet to envy him is natural; and when you ask what I envy,
I will be honest and tell you. Fate has given him the privilege of
lightening the cruel burden placed upon your shoulders. His sympathy
and intuition you admit have succeeded in so doing. You will say
that no Englishman could have done that exactly in the way he
did--perhaps you are right; but one Englishman regrets from the
bottom of his heart that the opportunity was denied him."
"You have been good and kind, too," she answered. "Do not think I am
ungrateful. It was not your fault that you failed to discover Robert
Redmayne. And, after all, what would success have amounted to? Only
the capture of the unfortunate man a few months sooner. Now, I hope,
he will see that there is nothing for it but to give himself up to
his brother and trust his fellow creatures to be merciful."
Thus she led conversation away from Doria and herself, and Mark took
the hint. He no longer doubted that her regard for the Italian might
easily ripen into love. He assured himself that he dreaded this for
her, yet suspected all the time that his regret was in reality
selfish and inspired by personal disappointment rather than fear for
her.
Anon they saw the flash of a ruby and an emerald upon the sea
westward and soon heard Redmayne's motor boat returning. Less than
half an hour had passed, and Brendon hoped that Robert Redmayne had
yielded to his brother's entreaty and was now about to land; but
this had not happened. Only Giuseppe Doria ascended the steps and he
had little to tell.
"They didn't want me yet, so I ran back," he said. "All goes well;
his cavern lies quite near to us. The lamp flashed out only two
miles away and I ran in; and there was the man standing just outside
a small cave on the little beach before it. He cried out a strange
welcome. He said, 'If any other lands but you, Ben, I will shoot
him!' So the master shouted that he was to fear nothing, and he
jumped ashore as soon as our nose touched the sand; then told me to
put off instantly. They went back into the cave together and I am to
return within an hour."
He explained the position of the cave.
"It is above the little beach, revealed at low tide, where cowries
are to be found," he said. "I took Madonna there on an occasion to
gather the little shells for the fancywork the master makes."
"Uncle Ben fashions all sorts of wonderful ornaments out of shells,"
explained Jenny.
Doria smoked some cigarettes and then descended again. In twenty
minutes the boat had gone to sea once more, while Jenny bade Mark
good night and retired. She felt it better not to meet her uncles on
their arrival, and Brendon agreed with her.