THE VICTIM OF A CONSPIRACY
“Where is your vessel, Mr. Fobbington?” asked Louis, after the party
had alighted from the carriage at the wharf, at which there was not a
single craft of any kind.
“There she is,” replied the owner of the Oxford, pointing at a
schooner, painted white, at a considerable distance from the shore,
with her foresail and mainsail flapping and banging in the fresh breeze.
A boat with two oarsmen was waiting at the wharf for the party, and
the Parkites embarked immediately. The Oxford was anchored at a short
stay in the middle of a landlocked bay, and the water was smooth, so
that the lady was not affected by the motion. The visitors went up the
accommodation steps to the deck of the vessel. She presented a neat
appearance, though there was nothing gaudy or stylish about her, and
Louis and Captain Ringgold proceeded to examine her.
When the boat was hoisted up at the stern-davits, the two sailors went
forward, and began to trip the anchor. Without any orders from the
owner and captain they then hoisted the jib. Before the party were
fully aware what was going on, the schooner was under way, and standing
out of the bay.
“What are you about, Mr. Fobbington?” demanded Louis, rushing up to the
British millionaire at the wheel.
“Oh, it’s all right; I wanted you and your friends to see the vessel
under way, for you want to know whether she can sail or not,” replied
Mr. Fobbington, with what seemed to Louis to be a mocking laugh.
“Why, yes, Louis; we want to see her sail,” interposed Captain
Ringgold. “I should like to know how she works before I give my opinion
of her, though perhaps I had better go into the hold and look at her
timbers before we get into rough water.”
“I am afraid my mother will be sea-sick,” suggested Louis.
Fobbington had laid a course which would carry the schooner
close-hauled out of the bay, and he called the two sailors, directing
them to show the party into the hold. Captain Ringgold and Felix went
with them, but just as they had gone down, Mrs. Belgrave called her
son. She said she began to feel sick, and she wanted to return to the
shore, for the sea outside looked rough and uninviting to her. Before
he could join his companions below, the Oxford was passing out of the
bay, and the lady was sick in earnest.
Louis conducted her to the cabin. As he reached the foot of the
companion-way, he discovered, seated at the table in the middle of the
apartment, John Scoble!
The truth flashed upon him instantly that he was the victim of a
conspiracy. Frinks Fobbington was a creature of Scoble, and had lured
him on board of the vessel.
By this time Mrs. Belgrave was too sick to notice anything; and with
her face partially covered with her handkerchief, she had failed to
see the only man in the world into whose presence she dreaded to come.
Louis saw a stateroom with an open door, into which he conducted his
mother, tenderly supporting her on his arm. He assisted her into a
berth, and prepared everything in front of it for her use. Then she
begged him to leave her by herself, and she should soon be better, for
she was never sea-sick more than a few hours.
Louis went out into the cabin, closing the door behind him. Scoble was
no longer there, and had evidently determined to keep out of sight for
a time. There was another stateroom in the cabin; but the door was
open, and Scoble was not in it. He looked all about this part of the
vessel without being able to find him. Near the companion-way was the
pantry, the door of which was open. He looked in and saw a door in the
bulkhead, through which he concluded the real captain of the schooner
had retired, and he did not care to search for him. He was likely to
show himself soon enough.
Louis Belgrave did not feel at all like a young millionaire when he
found himself in the cabin of the vessel he had proposed to purchase,
with his repudiated stepfather in command of her. The sight of his
tyrant, as he had come to regard him when they lived together in the
old house, was a terrible shock to him. He was disgusted in realizing
that he had fallen into a trap, and, what was a hundred times worse,
that he had dragged his mother into one.
The young man did not apprehend on the part of Scoble any violence to
his guardian-mother, as he sometimes called her, and always regarded
her. Though he had practically been her guardian in saving her from the
conspiracy of her husband, she was not only his legal guardian, but
she had been his guardian angel from his birth to the present moment.
Whatever he was morally, intellectually, and spiritually, he owed to
her; and no human being, not even Blanche Woolridge, could come between
her and himself.
As his mother was in no peril, and wished to be alone, Louis went on
deck. The accomplished Mr. Fobbington was still at the wheel, and the
two sailors were on the forecastle. The cook appeared to be getting
dinner in his galley. He walked the whole length of the vessel, looked
into the hold or between-decks, as the space seemed to be to him; but
he could find nothing of Captain Ringgold and Felix. They had strangely
disappeared.
The stylish owner of the Oxford had changed his garments, laying aside
his nobby suit of black for one of blue, daubed with grease, tar, and
dirt. Louis was able to understand by this time why the hands of the
elegant gentleman he had met at the hotel were so little in keeping
with his fastidious appearance in every other respect.
Fobbington’s face was still that of the gentleman who spoke French so
fluently; but that was all there was left of him outwardly. He looked
as good-natured as when Louis met him on the piazza, and he approached
him, hoping to ascertain what had become of his two companions.
“_Eh bien?_” (well) “Monsieur Fobbington?” said he, approaching the
betrothed of the daughter of Sir William Lambold, baronet.
“_Eh bien_,” replied the wheelman. “But, my dear little bantam, you
need not trouble yourself to call me Fobbington any longer, for the
name is rather too long for every-day use. My name is simply Wilson
Frinks, and Fobbington is only a swell name; but there is not the
slightest need of using it here.”
“Then you change your name as you do your costume,” replied Louis, who
thought the fellow, whatever he was, had coolness and impudence enough
to fit out any scoundrel for such an enterprise as he was likely to
undertake.
“Well, it takes a little time to change my dress; but I can change
my name in the twinkling of an eye,” replied Frinks, as pleasantly
as though they were still on the piazza of the hotel. “If you have a
pencil and paper in your pocket, you might amuse yourself by figuring
up how much time you could save in a month’s voyage by saying Frinks
instead of Fobbington, for it takes just three times as long to utter
the latter as the former.”
“No doubt that would be a very interesting calculation; but I am not in
the mood just now to cipher it out,” answered Louis, looking about him
to obtain more information in regard to the situation.
“I hope you are quite contented and happy on board of the Oxford,”
added Frinks with a smiling face, which appeared to represent his
satisfaction at the success of the scheme he had brought to a
termination.
“Perfectly happy, my dear fellow; in fact, I am in a state of ecstasy.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so. I took you for a magnificent
fellow, and I did not believe you would groan or sulk under any
possible change of circumstances. I am always happy, and I am
especially so at the present time.”
“You have good reason to be happy, for I suppose you are on the way to
meet Miss Ethel Lambold,” suggested Louis, with something like a smile,
though it was a very sickly one.
“Well, hardly, my dear Louis,” he replied, chuckling again as though
he was still enjoying his victory over the young millionaire. “Do you
know, my beloved friend, that I am a man who despises a liar?”
“Indeed! Then of what an amount of self-condemnation you must be
capable!” exclaimed Louis, looking sharply at the wheelman. “Why, if
his satanic majesty should come on board of the Oxford to look for a
liar, I should not know where to hide you.”
“Because you are not well enough acquainted with the cabin, hold, and
steerage of this vessel,” replied Frinks, laughing at his companion’s
remark. “But if you put me out of sight, he would be sure to take you;
and perhaps he would if he saw me.”
“No, sir; I think he would agree with me that you are the champion liar
of this mundane sphere; and he would want you for another, where you
would feel more at home in spite of the heat.”
“I was about to say that I despised a liar.”
“You did say that; and the royal father of lies would have decided to
take you as the person he wanted.”
“I am not tempted to reply to that charge, for what I said was strictly
true. I did not finish what I had to say before you picked me up. In
the line of his duty a man must sometimes tell falsehoods; and what
I intended to say was that a man or boy who tells an unnecessary lie
was to be despised; and it must be left to a person’s own conscience
to determine whether his lies are necessary or not. The general of an
army”--
“I beg to suggest that you are not the general of an army,” interposed
Louis, still looking about him to increase his knowledge of the
situation, and feeling very little interest in the conversation.
“Excuse me, but I am a general, at least in a figurative sense,”
replied Frinks quickly. “My commander-in-chief sent me on shore to
visit Von Blonk Park, and procure the attendance on board of this
vessel of Mr. Louis Belgrave and his most respectable mother; and I beg
to submit that I have done so. In carrying out my instructions I was
under the necessity of uttering what would certainly have been regarded
as falsehoods under other circumstances, to say nothing of having to
overhear conversations at the fat man’s house and elsewhere.”
“I think I will not dispute this point any longer,” added the young
man, weary of the conversation.
“Knowing you to be a reasonable young man, I was sure I could convince
you that I was right,” answered Frinks, with the air of a victor.
“I will leave the matter to the decision of his satanic majesty when
he comes for you; and I am sure he has no more faithful subject than
yourself.”
“You alluded to Miss Lambold: I am sorry to be obliged to admit, for my
own sake, that the lady is an unmitigated myth; and so is her excellent
papa, Sir William Lambold; I shall not have the pleasure of presenting
you to either of them. I am sorry I cannot; but truth is mighty and
must prevail.”
“I have no doubt it will prevail; and I shall be sorry to see what
becomes of you when that time comes.”
“Don’t distress yourself in the least on my account, my dear Louis.
When you understand my character better you will appreciate it more
highly.”
“If I don’t get ahead any faster than I have so far, I am afraid I
shall have a very mean opinion of you,” replied Louis, trying to keep
up with the raillery of his companion.
“Don’t forestall your judgment. In time you will love me as a model of
integrity and truthfulness.”
“Speed the time when the serpent shall become a new creature. But will
you kindly answer a few questions?” continued Louis, who was still
burning to know what had become of Captain Ringgold and Felix, without
whom he felt that he could do nothing to redeem the situation.