HEREINGEFALLEN!
It did not seem that I had been very long turned in when Haigh came to
my bedroom and woke me.
"Come across to my room," said he, "and see our anarchist shipmate in
the process of going crazy."
"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, sitting up.
"I don't quite know whether I mean what I say, but anyway, come and see
for yourself."
So I flung off the quilted coverlet, and pattered over the tiled floor
on my bare feet, and across the corridor, and saw the anarchist dressed
in his long black frockcoat, and apparently in nothing else. He was
dancing with fury, reeling out a continuous string of the most venomous
Spanish oaths--which, by a peculiar irony of a man of his creed, are
drawn almost exclusively from an ecclesiastical basis--and at intervals
pounding with one bony fist at a crumpled letter which lay in the palm
of the other.
Had I not witnessed the fact with my eyes, I should not have imagined
it possible that he could so lose his self-possession. I knew him to be
a man of strong emotions, but I had always believed him capable of
keeping them under iron control.
"We have been fooled, laughed at, betrayed!" he screamed. "The wretch
that holds the Recipe has been playing with us. 'Us' do I say? He might
have played with you and been forgiven. You are but tools; you do not
even belong to the inner brotherhood. But he has trifled with me; he
has dared to make sport of me--Taltavull--whose edicts have caused
thrones to totter, whose hand will soon sweep all thrones away. That
can never be forgiven. He cannot live and expiate that insult."
From one of his pockets the old man drew a revolver and held it up,
resting the barrel on a crooked arm, and aligning the sights at an
imaginary enemy.
"You two, my comrades, must help me in this just vengeance."
"Not much," said Haigh, peering at him coolly through half-shut eyes.
"I've put my name down for a little gentle highway robbery; but if
ordinary murder is to be added to the scheme, you may transfer me to
the retired list. I'm not burdened with many scruples, but making cold
meat of a gentleman for the small crime of sticking to his own property
happens to be one of them."
"And the woman who has helped him, and who has also put shame on us?"
"My dear fellow, you can't expect me to indulge in fisticuffs with a
lady--especially one with such a catholic taste in Majolica
lustreware."
Taltavull stamped and swore afresh. "And this insult--will your cold
northern blood permit you to swallow that unresented?"
"My swallowing power has its limits, Mr. Taltavull; so slow down.
There's an old adage about thieves quarrelling, and we three should do
best by not falling out with one another. Come, let's try back a bit.
What the devil is this eighteen-cornered insult you're so furious
about?"
Taltavull thrust the letter into his hand, and stalked away to the
window muttering in his beard.
I looked over Haigh's shoulder, and read with him:--
"FONDA FORGET-WHAT, ALCUDIA, MALLORCA,
"_Tuesday morning, 1.37 a.m._
"MOST WORTHY SENORES,--Once more let me write 'Hereingefallen,' and
if two of you fail to appreciate its delicate and subtle import, I
am sure that the polyglot Mr. Michael Cospatric will courteously
interpret.
"Your arrival here came to me, I own, as a trifling surprise. I had
not expected such pressing attention.
"It may please you to learn that I nearly joined your conclave
during the course of last evening. Mrs. Cromwell's prolonged
absence made me anxious, and I descended the stairs from our joint
sitting-room, and I was within an ace of entering the _cafe_ where
you were all four seated to inquire after her whereabouts. But,
with my hand on the latch of the door, a sound met my ear which
caused me to pause. It was the well-known mellow voice of my friend
Mr. Haigh, raised in argument. I recognized it in an instant. It is
a conceit of mine to study voices, and a peculiar talent never to
forget them.
"To enter might have caused unpleasantness. Being a man of peace, I
consequently forbore to enter, and waited in my room till Mrs.
Cromwell returned. You had been most generously profuse in your
explanations. From one or another of you she gathered all there was
to know. Senores, you have been most solicitous after my humble
welfare. Senores, I would have you accept my most profuse thanks.
"I regret that the pressure of circumstances forbids my taking
formal leave of you. But at an early hour this morning, when you
will still be stretched upon your virtuous pallets, Mrs. Cromwell
and I set off for the port of Soller. We shall have our morning
coffee at Pollensa, and eat our lunch at the convent of Nuestra
Senora del Lluch. And there we shall leave the carriage. But we
shall not spare time to pay our devotions at the shrine of that
celebrated black virgin. Mules will be waiting to take us through
the ilex forests, and down the canyon, and over the high mountain
track, and down that cleverly-built pass-road to the lovely valley
of Soller.
"Do you know Soller, senores--the prettiest little valley in
Europe, full of the scents of the orange and the lemon trees with
which it is planted? No? then visit it when you have the chance. I
regret that we shall not be there to receive you. But we go on to
the little port of Soller, where a feluccre is lying stern-on to
the quay waiting for us. By nightfall we shall be in the lift of
the swell, standing out between the lights at the tiny harbour's
mouth.
"Our destination? Senores, believe me, I blush for joy whilst I
write. Mrs. Cromwell is about to honour me by adding her hand to
the heart she has already bestowed upon me.
"As regards that undeveloped negative, which Mr. Cospatric (with
the skill acquired when he was bottle-washer to a photographer) so
kindly put into the portable dark slide, my wife will take lessons
in the art in some quiet town on the mainland, and when
sufficiently skilled in technique will develop out its secret, and
share with me the great reward.
"I do not know that I am indebted to M. Taltavull for any matter,
but I should be sorry to leave unrequited the interest he appears
to take in my welfare. If he will send his address to 'Poste
Restante,' Cannes, Monte Carlo, or Hyeres, I shall be proud to send
him a delicate wedge of our wedding cake. I trust, however, he
knows my name; for here I shall only sign myself, senores, your
infinite superior,
"L'AVEUGLE."
"That's delicious," said Haigh when he had finished reading.
"But the insults, senor," said the anarchist, turning round again.
"Beautiful!"
"Have you read those burning gibes?"
"The humour of the thing's transcendental."
"Senor Haigh, look at that letter calmly."
"I am doing. Isn't the satire something lovely? My mellow voice! Ho,
ho, ho! And Cospatric's experiences as a photographer's bottle-washer!
Grand!"
The anarchist began to stamp about in a new access of fury, and so
Haigh changed his tone.
"Laugh when you're licked, my dear fellow," said he. "Believe me, it's
the best way, and Lord knows I ought to be an authority."
"We're differently constituted, senor."
"Faith, I grant that same's true."
"This loss means more to me than it does to you."
"You are making it do so, certainly. But there, for God's sake, don't
let's be asses enough to quarrel. Here, smoke."
We all three lit cigarettes, and there was a silence for some minutes.
Then Haigh broke out again,--
"Phe--ew!" he whistled. "Have they gone posting to Soller after all?"
"Eh?" said Taltavull.
"I mean, isn't this all a blind? Wasn't that letter written just to put
us on the wrong track? Why should the man have taken the trouble to
make all that long screed just for the sake of jeering, when he
wouldn't be here to see what effect his smart sarcasms would have?
Besides, if he showed his route, he might think we could work the
telegraph wires and get him and his blessed feluccre stopped in Soller
Port till we came up. Now, here or Palma are the orthodox outlets to
this island. What's the best way to Palma?"
"La Puebla, and rail from there."
"Bet any one an even ten pesetas that Mr. Pether has cleared by the
early train from La Puebla."
"The same road leads out of here till it branches, whether one is going
to Pollensa or La Puebla," exclaimed the anarchist, with a fresh access
of excitement. "I can wire friends at both places, who can find out for
me which way they have gone. I will go and do it at once."
He rushed away to the stairhead till Haigh shouted, "Put on your
trousers, man, first!" and then he turned to his own bedroom.
"He don't take a whipping well," said I, as the gaunt figure
disappeared.
"Ruffle a fanatic," said Haigh, "and you'll soon see that he's all
superfluous nerves and useless springs."
[_There breaks in at this point an extract from the life-history of
Mr. N. C. Pether, which bears upon the main narrative. It is told by
himself._]