finish my breakfast that day than I made my way towards a high point on
the cliffs, and having ensconced myself in a sheltered spot, where I
caught the warmth of the sun and at the same time had a glorious view of
sea and coast, I gave myself up to pure enjoyment. I felt very happy, I
remember. A letter had come to me from Hugh Lethbridge, telling me he
had received a commission, in recognition of services he had rendered,
and that he was well, and almost happy. The winter had about come to an
end, and while I certainly was not so strong as when I had come to
Cornwall, I did not feel like dying. The bright sunshine and pure air
seemed to give me a new lease of life, and at times I caught myself
wondering whether I had not enough vitality in me to overcome the malady
from which I was suffering, and which I so much dreaded.
I had not been there more than a few minutes when I heard the sound of
voices. A man and woman were talking in the most casual way about the
war, and I gathered that something had appeared in that morning's paper
which promised well for our arms.
"It is splendid, isn't it?" It was the woman who spoke. "A number of
trenches taken, and the Germans driven back nearly half a mile."
"It won't be long now," said the man. "We shall soon begin to work in
good earnest. Did not Lord Kitchener say that he did not know when the
war would end, but he knew it would really begin in May? This is only a
foretaste of the good news which will come presently."
"The Germans are such brutes," said the woman. "There doesn't seem to be
a shred of honor in the country."
"They are not sportsmen," said the man. "I was talking to a man the
other day who had been to school there, and he told me that no German
boy knew the meaning of 'playing the game.' All they have done is a
repetition of that which commenced the war. 'It is only a scrap of
paper,' said the German Chancellor. 'Of course we signed the treaty, we
gave our promise; but necessity knows no law.' That is Germany all over.
Could anything be more devilish than to bombard those defenseless towns
up north? As for their treatment of the Belgians--well, it is all a part
of their gospel of frightfulness."
"It fairly makes me feel murderous," said the woman. "I am ashamed of
having been friendly with Germans."
"That is exactly what I feel," said the man.
I heard every word they said plainly, although I was hidden from their
view; and as everything they said agreed so perfectly with my own
feelings, I felt like shouting "Hear, hear." Of course, I said nothing,
but remained in the shelter of the great rock, basking in the sun and
rejoicing in the soft spring air. A little later both the man and woman
came within my view. Evidently they had not been conscious of my
presence, for they started when they saw me.
"Excuse me," said the man, "but the sight of you was so sudden that it
almost gave me a shock. You have discovered a delightful spot."
Then I remembered having seen the man before. He had come to see me
immediately after my arrival, and I had had some little talk with him.
"Have you seen the good news this morning?" Apparently he was in a
communicative mood.
"No," I replied. "I never get a paper until hours after other people
have read and digested theirs."
"Ah!" he said. "Haven't I seen you before? Yes, I remember now. You live
at yon little wooden hut, don't you? I saw you last summer, and your
servant was good enough to give me a glass of milk. Have you not felt it
very lonely through the winter?"
"Somewhat," I replied, "but I have got used to it now. Besides, such a
day as this atones for a score of dreary ones."
"The news this morning is splendid," he said. "My sister and I have just
been talking about it. I think we shall soon have them on their knees
now, don't you?"
I did not reply. I was at the moment too much interested in watching the
lady, at whom I am afraid I stared rather rudely. She was, perhaps, my
own age, or it might be two or three years my junior. According to every
standard of beauty I know, she was one of the most handsome women I had
ever seen. Magnificently proportioned, simply dressed, a fine carriage,
and a brilliant complexion, she would be noticed in any crowd. I
wondered who she was; wondered that even I, living the secluded life I
did, had not in some way heard of her. Her eyes, too, were very
striking--large, lustrous, brilliant.
"I don't know," I said, turning to the man. "With such an enemy as
Germany, we have all our work cut out."
"Ah, but surely," and he laughed gaily, "you are not what the papers
call a 'dismal Jimmy,' you are not a pessimist. The Germans are no
fighters, they are only boasters. I admit they are very thorough in
their preparations, and there is no doubt about it, they have prepared
for this war to the minutest detail; but when it comes to hand-to-hand
fighting, they are nowhere."
"You think so?" I queried.
"I am sure of it," said the man. "I have been in Germany a good deal,
and they are blusterers, boasters, cruel if you like, but not brave. My
sister and I were talking about them a few minutes ago, and we both
agreed about it. Of course, they are mean and treacherous, they have no
sense of honor. There are no depths to which they will not sink, in
order to gain their own ends."
"Yes, you have had evidence of that," I replied. "But what angers me
more than their treachery, is the treachery of our own people who have
given them information. I saw in yesterday's paper that only English
people could have given them signals on the Yorkshire coast whereby they
were able to do their baby-killing."
"Well, we are safe down here, at all events," was the man's reply.
"There is nothing for which they need come to Cornwall."
"I am not so sure," replied the woman, and her voice startled me, it was
so clear, so musical. "They seem to have a hundred deep-laid schemes
which are apparently innocent, so nobody suspects them. Even in a
district like this there may be spies about."
Both the man and myself laughed merrily. Looking out over the blue
waters, which glistened in the sunlight, we could see three great
warships evidently patrolling the coast.
"We have no fear for what they can do here, Rachel, with those steel
monsters about," laughed the man. "The Navy has been our salvation, and
will be our salvation."
"I have heard," said the woman, "that Germans know this country to its
minutest detail, that there is not a lane, nor a creek, nor a cave along
the whole coast from Land's End to John o' Groat's House, but what they
are aware of it."
"Nonsense, Rachel. I think you are like the rest of the women, carried
away by fairy stories. How long have you been living here, sir?"
"More than nine months," I replied.
"The war must have broken out soon after you came?"
"Yes," I replied. "I came in May."
"My sister is awfully frightened, and is constantly manufacturing
schemes whereby the Germans can invade us, and she fancies that every
stranger is a German spy. Have you, living so close to the cliffs for
more than three-quarters of a year, ever seen anything of a German spy?"
I shook my head.
"Never seen a sign of a German spy, have you?"
Again I shook my head.
"There, Rachel," laughed the man, "surely that should quieten your
fears."
A few minutes later they passed on, leaving me alone. I watched them
follow the pathway which led close to my house, then they mounted the
hill at the back, and were lost to my sight.
That night I went to bed early. I had exercised myself more than usual
during that day, and felt rather tired, yet I could not sleep. I could
not tell why it was, but my mind seemed abnormally active. Perhaps it
was because the time allowed me by Dr. Rhomboid was fast drawing to a
close. If he were right, I had not more than three months to live. I got
up and lit a candle and looked in the glass. My cheeks were certainly
pale and hollow, my hands and arms painfully thin, and yet I did not
feel like a dying man. I remember blowing out the light and putting
aside the curtain and looking out on the sea. There was no moon, but it
was a wonderful night of stars, and I could see the long line of
breakers as they rolled against the cliffs. The night was as still as
heaven, not a breath of wind stirred. The very thought of war, of
tumult, of the roar of big guns, seemed infinitely removed from me. The
night contained the very genius of peace. I went back to bed again, and
still I could not sleep. Hour after hour I lay restless. Why it was I
could not tell, for on the whole I slept well.
I yielded to what seems now a mad impulse, and putting on my clothes, I
went out into the night. Soon my heart beat wildly, for coming round the
headline I saw several boats. They made no noise, and yet, in the light
of the stars, I was sure I saw them. How many there were I could not
tell, but there seemed to be many. Each cleared the corner silently, and
then, passing near to the cliffs, was lost to my view.
As I have said, the night was windless, but not a sound could I hear. No
splash of oars, no throb of machinery, and yet, I felt sure I had seen
the boats pass. Of course, I might easily be deceived; for, although it
was a night of stars, nothing on the sea showed clearly--the boats were
like so many phantoms. Once, as I crept closer towards the cliff, I
thought I heard a rustling noise, but I was not sure. No matter how
still the weather might be, the murmur of the waves was always heard,
and my mind, excited as it was, could easily conjure up foolish fancies.
How long I stood there, I do not know. It might have been an hour, for I
was unconscious of time. Presently I felt myself shiver, then, realizing
how foolish I had been, made my way back to my little wooden hut. I had
barely reached my door, when I was certain I heard a rustling in the
bushes, just above the spot where a spring of water gushed out.
"It was a hare or a rabbit, or it might be a fox," I said to myself, and
yet, in the excited state of my mind, I was not satisfied. I had a
feeling that something was happening around me. I called to mind the
story of Father Abraham. I remembered, too, the repeated visits of the
idiot lad called Fever Lurgy. What had become of him? I had neither
seen nor heard anything of him for months now. What lay behind this
feverish warning? Why had he told me to leave? I went back to bed, and
in a few minutes was asleep.
When I awoke, it was broad daylight, and hastily dressing myself, I went
to the spot in which I had stood the previous night. All was quite calm
and peaceful. The day was wondrous in its glory, even although the sun
was yet low in the heavens. Sea-birds floated overhead, uttering
mournful cries. Out at sea the great steel monsters ploughed their way
through deep waters, ever watching our shores.
After breakfast I clambered down the rugged footpath towards the beach.
I felt a feverish desire to see the cave I had visited on first coming
to St. Issey. The day was like summer; the sea rippled on the yellow
sandy beach, and its music to me was like a long song. Everything caused
my wild fancies to appear foolish. I looked carefully on the sand, but
there was no sign of a foot-mark, no suggestion of a boat. Presently I
found the fissure which led to the cave. This I entered, thinking as I
did so of the quaint brooch of barbaric design which I had found there
months before, and which I still possessed. Lighting a match, I looked
at the sandy floor, and my whole body quivered with excitement. I saw
many footmarks, and what seemed to me more important still, a piece of
paper which had evidently been used as a wrapper of a bottle. On it was
printed, in German, these words: "_Bremen's Special Whisky, Manufactured
in Dusseldorf_."
What seemed suspicious was, that any one in Cornwall should be drinking
German whisky nine months after the war had commenced. Not even in
peace-time had the English people been in the habit of patronizing
German whisky distillers. In war-time it was unthinkable. More than
that, I was absolutely certain that this paper did not lie here when I
last visited the cave. Moreover, the footmarks were fresh. They had been
made within the last few hours. I felt as perturbed as Robinson Crusoe
was, when, walking on the beach of his lonely island, he had seen a
man's footprint on the sand. What did it portend? I ransacked my brain,
but could think of nothing. What could Germans be doing here? What
advantage could it be to them? And yet, what I had seen troubled me.
Leaving the cave, I carefully examined every portion of the cliff, but
could discover nothing. No footmarks appeared. No place seemed to exist
wherein anything could be hidden. I spent hours thinking, wondering,
watching, all to no avail. When I reached my cottage it was lunch-time.
That afternoon, I remember, the sky became cloudy, and the sea, instead
of a wondrous blue, became dark and forbidding.
"I will not go to bed to-night until I feel sleepy," I reflected. "I
won't have such a restless time as I had last night."
I undid the wrapper of a new novel which I had ordered to be sent to me,
and prepared to read. Simpson had gone to bed. The night was chilly, so
throwing some fresh lumps of wood on to the fire, and drawing up a
chair, I made myself as comfortable as possible. The book was by one of
our younger novelists who, as it appeared to me, struck a new vein. He
possessed what very few novelists have--namely, vision. He looked deeper
into the heart of things than any man I had read for some time. I became
so interested that I forgot the lapse of time, until, looking at my
watch. I found it was past midnight. I had scarcely noticed this when I
heard stealthy footsteps outside. I sat up and listened. A moment later
there was a knock at the door--not loud but cautious. I waited a few
seconds, and the knock was repeated. Standing close to the door I spoke,
not loudly, but sufficiently clearly to reach any one who might be
outside.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Let me in, and I will tell you."
"Tell me who you are before I do that," I replied. "It is a strange time
of night to come to one's house, and I shall not open the door until I
know who you are."
"I mean only your good," was the answer.
"That is easily said," was my reply. "As it happens, my man is sleeping
only a few yards away, and I have a loaded revolver close beside me. I
am a good shot, too."
I scarcely know why I said this. Perhaps it was because I thought if the
man were there on evil intent I might frighten him.
"I have something to tell you, something vastly important."
"Who are you? What is your name?"
"One name is as good as another. I mean only your good; let me in."
"Very well," I said, "I will open the door. If you do not play the game
fairly, expect trouble."
Whereon I opened the door, and saw an old, white-bearded man. He wore a
long ulster and a soft, broad-brimmed hat which partially hid his
features. He came in without invitation, and I shut the door and locked
it, putting the key in my pocket. He looked at me steadily,
questioningly. He appeared like a man trying to form an estimate of me.
"Won't you take off your ulster?" I said.
Without a word, he divested himself of the heavy coat, and placing his
hat upon it, looked at me steadily again.
He might have been Adam in _As You Like It_. He was doubtless very old,
but he was ruddy and hale. His eyes were bright and piercing, and I
noticed that they were largely shaded by heavy white eyebrows. His hair,
also, was thick and white and glossy. A kindly-looking old man he was,
but alert, capable, strong.
"There," I said, pointing to a chair. "Sit down, and tell me what you
have to say."
"Do you know you are standing on a powder magazine?"
The words came from his mouth like a shot, so tersely, so suddenly did
he speak.
"Do you speak literally or metaphorically?"
"Maybe both," was his reply.
"Anyhow, it hasn't exploded yet," was my answer. "Won't you sit down?"
"You are very cool."
"I see no reason to be excited."
He chuckled, as though he were amused.
"Since you are so kind," he said, "I will sit down. Ah, that is a good
cigar you have been smoking."
"Yes," I replied. "Won't you have one?" and I pushed him the box.
He lit the cigar with a steady hand, and seemed to be enjoying it, but I
noticed that he gave me several quick, searching glances.
I was beginning to enjoy what seemed like an adventure. Although my
strength had ebbed away considerably during the past few months, my
nerves were still steady, and I saw no reason for being afraid. I knew
that Simpson was within call, knew too that, at his oft-repeated
request, I had obtained a revolver, which was within easy reach. But I
had no thought of using it. The man's visit was evidently of a friendly
nature, and I believed he had something of importance to tell me.
XVIII
FATHER ABRAHAM
"If I were you, I should leave this house."
"May I ask why?"
"Because your life is in danger. Yes, I see you smile, but I know; I
have reason to know."
"No," I replied, "my life is in no danger at all. I gather you are
thinking of murder. I happen to be a lawyer, and have studied criminal
cases for the last ten years, and I can never remember a murder to have
taken place without some grave motive for it. No one has a sufficient
motive to kill me. As far as I know, I haven't an enemy in the world, my
death would benefit no one, and there is no reason why any would-be
murderer would endanger his life by killing me."
The old man looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye. He seemed to
regard me as an interesting specimen of humanity.
"You are talking in the dark, my young friend," he said.
"No," I replied. "I am not talking in the dark, I am talking common
sense. If I possessed a secret which was dangerous to any one, if I had
it in my power to hurt any one, if I had money which some one desired,
if some one hated me very much, if I had done any one any great injury,
if I had stolen some young fellow's sweetheart, I could believe there
might be truth in your words; but I have done none of these things. I
have lived the most commonplace, humdrum life imaginable, and I haven't
an enemy in the world. More than that, circumstances have made it
unnecessary for any one to kill me. My death will come in a perfectly
natural way in a very short time."
"What do you mean by that last sentence?"
"Just as I told you. If you do not believe me, I beg you to refer to Dr.
Rhomboid, R-H-O-M-B-O-I-D, of Harley Street, London."
"I see. But you are a cool one!"
"I have no reason to be other than cool."
"You say you are a lawyer, but there is no need for you to tell me
that."
"Still," I said, "I am interested in what you say. You have taken the
trouble to come here at midnight, when every one else is asleep, and you
tell me my life is in danger. I cannot believe that in the slightest
degree; but the bump of curiosity, as the phrenologists say, is largely
developed in my cranium. Tell me why you came."
"I have found out all about you that there is to know," he said between
the puffs of his cigar.
"That didn't take you long," I replied.
Again there was a silence between us, during which he watched my face
closely.
"Let me tell you this, my young friend. A man with sharp eyes, as yours
are, and a brain quick to think, as yours is, is always in danger while
a certain class of people exist."
"What class of people?"
He ignored my question entirely.
"You said just now," he remarked, "that the bump of curiosity in your
cranium is largely developed."
"Very largely indeed."
"What is your interest in this coast? Why have you been seen creeping
along the beach examining the cliffs?"
"Put it down to curiosity."
"Exactly! Curiosity. And let me tell you this, my young friend, that if
your curiosity should be rewarded, you will be a dead man within
twenty-four hours. You might, instead of living here in a perfectly
defenseless way, surround yourself by a thousand safeguards; you might
have as many sentries as the Kaiser himself, but your life would not be
worth a pin's purchase."
"And a pin will not purchase much," I retorted.
"Exactly! That is why I tell you to leave here."
"You evidently know what you are talking about," I replied, "or at least
you think you do. You will have noticed that I have not asked you any
questions about yourself. There has seemed to be no reason why I
should."
"Why? What do you know about me?"
"Practically nothing," I replied. "I am no Sherlock Holmes, and even if
I were, I have not had sufficient energy to satisfy my curiosity; still,
I can give you a rough outline of who and what you are. You built this
little hut here, built it with care and intelligence, for which I am
very grateful. You had as your man Friday, an idiot who went by the name
of Fever Lurgy. You lived here like a hermit for years, and were a
mystery to every one. Still, people did not trouble much about you, as a
good many unconventional people live along the coast. I find that about
a mile farther on from here, in another little bay, several artists have
built little huts similar to this. One or two writing fellows also live
lonely lives on this Cornish coast. You became known as Father Abraham;
you showed yourself to practically no one; then, suddenly you left.
There were signs of violence in the little room where you slept, and
where I now sleep, and it was given out that you were the victim of foul
play, that possibly you were murdered. Evidently, however, you were not.
As a consequence, there was a good amount of honest sympathy wasted."
The old man laughed. Evidently I had amused him.
"As a lawyer," I went on, "I have discovered that everything may be
resolved into a matter of motive. You must have a motive for doing this.
Your past life must be interesting! You tell me that I am in danger of
being murdered. I do not believe it a bit. At the same time, there is a
connection between your past life and your reason for telling me this
doleful news."
"I like a man with a clear brain," he chuckled. "I like a man who can
analyze, who can deduce, who has studied the laws of synthesis. You were
a student of Socrates, weren't you, years ago? You loved the Socratic
method of reasoning?"
"Your deductions are from insufficient data," I remarked. "But that is
by the way. Seeing you have taken the trouble to pay me this visit,
would you mind telling me what has caused you to prophesy such evil
things about me?"
"I do not prophesy, I warn. More than that"--again he looked at me
keenly--"your report concerning your health and your declaration of Dr.
Rhomboid's verdict on you doesn't justify you in not heeding my warning.
Even although a thousand doctors pronounce the death sentence on you,
you can still hope that they are mistaken; and you long to live, you
hate the thought of death."
I reflected a moment. Somehow the old man's presence and his quick
intelligence had made me think rapidly.
"Do you know," he went on, "that there is a great deal of reason for the
foreigners' opinion concerning John Bull's brains? Mind you, John Bull
is a cleverer man than he is thought to be; all the same, they have
their reason for their opinions."
"What might their opinions be?" I asked.
He laughed quietly, and again looked at me keenly.
"You, now. You are a clever man, you have had a lawyer's training, you
are given to observe, to analyze, to synthesize, but you have the
Englishman's fault."
"And that?" I asked.
"You always try to find out the thing which is lying a long way off from
you. You never observe the thing which is close by."
"You speak in a detached way," I replied. "You speak of Englishmen in
the third person. Why do you do that? You are an Englishman?"
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"Instead of answering that," I replied, "I will tell you something else.
You have spent a good deal of time in Germany."
I was startled by the change which came over his face. I had evidently
made him fear.
"Why do you say that?" he cried.
"There is such a thing as intuition as well as deduction," I replied.
"Intuition and deduction act and react one upon the other. But, after
all, you didn't come here because you were interested in mental
gymnastics. You say I am in danger in this place; you have warned me to
leave it. Why do you say this to me?"
"Ah, there is the English side of your character coming out! Will you
not do as I tell you without my giving you a reason?"
"No," I replied.