IN THE PRESENCE.
The cursing gentleman and his two friends were awaiting us upon the
pavement. I said a word of a kind to the long ’un.
“Look here, my bald-headed friend, I don’t quite know who you are, or
what you want, but I’ve seen enough of your little ways to know
they’re funny; so if you take my advice you’ll make yourself scarce
before there’s trouble.”
He held out his hands. Looking, on the dirty pavement of that shabby
street, like a fish out of water.
“The Great Joss! The Great Joss! He is in there--give him back to
us--then we go.”
I reflected. After all there was some reason in the creature. He was
almost as much interested in Mr. Batters as I was. Considering how Mr.
Batters had treated me I didn’t see why he shouldn’t learn what an
object of interest he really was. It might occasion him agreeable
surprise. The fellow was in such dead earnest. It beat me how he and
his friends had got where they were. Reminding me of the flocks of
migratory birds which one meets far out at sea. Goodness only knows by
what instinct they pursue the objects of their search. I turned to Mr.
Paine.
“This gentleman was high priest, or something of the kind, in the
temple in which Mr. Batters was Number One God.”
“Number One God?”
“That’s about the size of it. He was a god when I first made his
acquaintance. This gentleman’s own particular. Since he and his
friends have come a good many thousand miles to get another peep at
him, I don’t think there’ll be much harm in letting him have one if
it’s to be got. So, so far as I’m concerned, right reverend sir, you
can stop and see the fun.”
Mr. Paine stared. He didn’t understand. The look with which he
regarded the foreign gentleman wasn’t friendly. The experience he had
had of his peculiar methods was a trifle recent. Perhaps it rankled.
I turned my attention to the house in front of which the lot of us
were standing, cabs and all.
“The question is, since no one seems inclined to open the door, how we
are going to get in to enable us to pay our little morning call.”
Rudd practically suggested one way by hurling himself against the door
as if he had been a battering ram. He might as well have tried his
luck against a stone wall. As much impression would have been made.
When I ran my stick over it, it sounded to me like a sheet of metal.
Luke proffered his opinion.
“You’ll want a long chisel for this job. Or a pair. Nothing else ’ll
do it. That door’s been put there to keep people out. Not to let ’em
in. It’ll be like breaking into a strong room.”
Luke proved right. All our efforts were unavailing. That door had been
built to keep folks out.
“If this is going to be a case for chisels,” said Rudd, “we’d better
start on it at once, before those police come interfering.”
We were already centres of attraction to a rapidly increasing crowd.
Our goings-on provided entertainment of a kind they didn’t care to
miss. Long before we had put that job through the police did come.
What is more, we were glad to see them.
Rudd fetched a pair of crowbars from an ironmonger’s shop close by.
With his assistance, and acting under his instructions, we started to
shift that door. We never got beyond the starting. We might as well
have tried to shift the monument. He rigged up contrivances; tried
dodges. There was the door just as tight as ever. And just as we were
thinking of breaking the heads of some of the members of that
interested crowd, up the police did come.
Mr. Paine explained to them what we were after. Then he and the young
lady and Rudd went off with one of them to the station, while another
stayed behind. In course of time they returned, together with an
inspector, three more policemen, and two specimens of the British
working man, who were wheeling something on a barrow. The interest of
the crowd increased. The new arrivals were received with cheers.
Those workmen, in conjunction with Isaac Rudd, fitted up a machine
upon the pavement. It was some kind of a drill I believe. Presently
not one but half a dozen holes had been cut right through that door.
Into these were inserted crowbars of a different construction to those
we had been using. We all lent a hand. And the door was open.
The crowd pressed forward.
“Keep back!” cried the inspector.
And the police kept them back.
The inspector entered, with the young lady, Mr. Paine, Rudd and I. The
rest were kept out, including the cursing gentleman and his two
friends, which seemed hard on them after all they must have gone
through. But it was little that they lost. At the beginning anyhow.
For as soon as we set foot inside the passage we found that there was
another door defying us. It seemed to lead into a room upon our left.
Rudd called one of the workmen in to consult with him. They sounded
the door, they sounded the wall, and concluded that the shortest way
into the room was through the wall. So soon the house was being
knocked to pieces before our eyes. There was sheet iron on the other
side of that wall. But they were through it in what seemed no time. And
there was a great hole, large enough to admit of the passage of a man.
And on the other side of this hole stood Susie.
She stared at us, and we stared at her, neither understanding who the
other was. But when I did understand I felt as if my legs were giving
way. And something inside me set up a clamour which was deafening. And
when she saw it was me she called out:
“Max!”
She was through that wall like a flash of lightning. I had her in my
arms almost before I knew it.
“Susie!” I said. “My sweet!”
I could tell by the way of her that she knew more about wives than she
did when I saw her last. And that she had grown reconciled to the idea
of being one. And perhaps a bit more than reconciled. The fates be
thanked.
Miss Blyth was in the room with her. Alive and sound, and, indeed,
unhurt. They had been frightened out of their wits when they heard us,
and at the noise we made, thinking they were going to be murdered, at
the least.
“Where’s your father?” I asked.
“When he brought her in,” she answered--meaning Miss Blyth--“he went
out, shutting the door behind him, taking the key. He left us
prisoners. We’ve been prisoners ever since. We’ve heard and seen
nothing of him. Where he is I don’t know. Unless he’s above.”
He was above. In a room at the top of the house. With another door to
it. So that we had to get through the wall again.
He had had a sort of throne rigged up. Intending, maybe, to have an
imitation of the one which he had occupied when I had first come upon
him in the temple. If that was so the imitation was a precious poor
one. But he was on it. Dead. And cold. He had been gone some hours.
Whether he had committed suicide, or whether the end had come to him
in the ordinary course of nature, there was nothing to show.
A colony of snakes was in the room. Those favourites of his. One
shared the throne with the Great Joss. It was on the seat, in front of
him, where his legs ought to have been. My idea was that the thing had
killed him. But it seemed that that was not the case. The creatures
were declared not to be venomous. And there was no mark of a
snake-bite about him anyhow.
While we stood looking at the throne, and what was on it, there was a
movement behind. The cursing gentleman and his two friends came in. At
sight of the Great Joss they threw themselves on their faces, and bit
the floor. I never saw men so scared. Or so surprised. I had a sort of
notion that they had supposed him to be immortal, and that he couldn’t
die. When the body came to be examined, and it was discovered what a
torso it really was, and to what prolonged and hideous tortures the
man must have been subjected, one began to understand that they might
have had reasons of their own for thinking so. It might very well have
been incomprehensible to them why, if he could die, he hadn’t died.
At the foot of the throne was the little doll-like thing which I had
seen perched on the head of the fifty thousand pound monstrosity. He
had called it the God of Fortune. Saying that where it was he was not
far away.
The case seemed to present an illustration of the truth of his words.
The doll was broken to atoms. The Great Joss and the God of Fortune
seemed to have come to an end together.
BOOK V.
AUTHOR’S POSTSCRIPT.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
HOW MATTERS STAND TO-DAY.
I should have preferred that the close of Captain Max Lander’s
statement should have been the conclusion of this strange history. But
for the satisfaction of any reader who may desire to know what became
of A, B, C, or D, these following lines are added.
What have been described by Captain Lander as “the treasures of the
temple” were found in the house in Camford Street. So far as could be
ascertained, intact. The question of ownership involved a nice legal
problem. The native attendants of the temple vanished almost as soon
as they appeared. No one knew where they went to. Nothing has been
seen or heard of them since. It seemed, therefore, that they put
forward no claims. There remained the girl, Susan, presumably the dead
man’s daughter, though there was no legal proof of the fact; Mary
Blyth, who had claims under her uncle’s will; Captain Lander, who held
the document entitling him to a half share; and the owners and crew of
_The Flying Scud_. All these had claims which required consideration.
In the end, by great good fortune, an amicable settlement was arrived
at, which gave satisfaction to all parties concerned.
As might have been expected, the value set on the property by Mr.
Batters proved to be an exaggeration. It was worth nothing like a
million. Still, it fetched a considerable amount when realised, and
after the owners and crew of _The Flying Scud_ had been
appeased--excepting Mr. Luke, who was markedly dissatisfied because he
only received an ordinary seaman’s share--an appreciable sum remained
as surplus. To this was added the cash which had been bequeathed to
Miss Blyth by the will whose validity was, at best, extremely
doubtful; the whole being divided, in equal portions, between the
niece and the daughter. As Miss Batters immediately afterwards became
Mrs. Max Lander, the commander of _The Flying Scud_ had no cause to be
discontented with this arrangement.
No. 84, Camford Street is still without an owner. It appears, from the
story told by the girl, Susan, that on reaching England, her father
hurried her from place to place, seldom stopping for more than two or
three days under one roof. They seem to have made their most lengthy
stay in a barge in one of the lower reaches of the river. No doubt the
notion of concealment was present to his mind from the first. Though
how he lighted on the house in Camford Street is still a mystery. Nor
has anything transpired to show by whose orders it was fortified in
such ingenious and elaborate fashion; nor by whom the work was
executed. Nothing has been found which goes to show that he had any
right to call the house his property. Its actual ownership still goes
begging.
The document purporting to be a will was possibly drawn up by his own
hand. The letter signed “Arthur Lennard, Missionary,” pretending to
announce his death on that far-off Australasian island, was probably
concocted, at his instigation, by one of the miscellaneous
acquaintances whom he picked up during his wanderings among the
riverside vagabonds. From such an one he might have acquired Mr.
Paine’s name, together with some side-lights on that gentleman’s
character. Miss Batters made it abundantly clear that her father was
the “freak” to whom Mr. Paine was of service by rescuing him from the
too curious crowd in the Commercial Road.
His exact object in making his will has never been shown. No doubt the
man’s brain was in disorder. He was actuated, perhaps, by three
considerations. The desire for concealment; the consciousness that he
and his daughter would fare very badly if shut up in a house alone
together; the wish to avail himself of his niece’s services. To have
gone to her with a straightforward tale would have been in accord
neither with his character or policy. He had lived too long in what,
for civility’s sake, may be called a diplomatic atmosphere, to be able
to breathe in any other. Also, he knew nothing of his niece. Suspected
that she knew nothing good of him. Was moved, possibly, by a very
natural unwillingness to make himself, or his story, known to her
until he had learned what kind of person she was.
So he invented his own death, making her his heiress, for the sole
purpose of getting her inside the house. It is impossible to say what
might have happened had she proved amenable to his wishes; and events
moved along the road which he had laid down for them. The presumption
is that, sooner or later--probably sooner--he would have made himself
known to her, and endeavoured to purchase her fidelity, and services,
on terms of his own.
As it is, the uncle is the constant theme of the niece’s conversation.
Miss Blyth is now Mrs. Cooper. The Coopers are residents of one of the
smaller south coast watering places, where they are regarded as
leading lights among local social circles. Mr. Cooper is a
vice-president of the boat-club, yacht-club, swimming-club,
cricket-club, football club, and so on; his wife is the mother of an
increasing family, and a lady with a tale. Its subject is Uncle
Benjamin. That gentleman lived a life of strange and varied adventure.
His history loses none of its marvels at his niece’s lips. Either
because they are a trifle tired of the theme, or are merely jealous,
some of the more frequent hearers have been heard to doubt if there
ever was an Uncle Benjamin. If these doubts are serious they do the
lady less than justice.
Mr. and Mrs. Lander are also happy. One would be reluctant to doubt
it. Yet, at the same time, one cannot refuse to admit that there are
occasions when the outward and visible signs of their happiness take a
somewhat boisterous shape. He has a temper; she has a temper. There
are moments when it would appear as if there was hardly room for the
two tempers in a single house. Since they seldom remain in one place
for more than three months, they can scarcely be said to live
anywhere. In selecting their next abiding-place, they seem to act on
the principle of letting it be as far from the present as possible.
Mr. Lander has not pursued his profession since the last eventful
voyage which he has herein set forth. Possibly by way of killing time
he is apt to be a trifle too convivial. Nothing makes Mrs. Lander more
indignant than an even hinted doubt of her positive assertion, made in
and out of season, that every drop of blood in her veins is English.
As her complexion is a little dusky, her aggressive attitude upon this
point makes her rather a difficult person to get on with.
Mr. Frank Paine, oddly enough, has married Miss Purvis. And, what is
perhaps still more odd, theirs is the happiest match of the three.
About their complete and absolute content with their condition there
can be no possible doubt whatever. He worships her; she worships him.
If there is any finer recipe for matrimonial happiness than that, it
has not come in the present writer’s way. His practice as a solicitor
has grown large. Mrs. Paine is of opinion that he is rightly regarded
with even fulsome reverence by the entire bench and bar. Since he
would not dream of contesting any opinion which happened to be his
wife’s, the position of affairs could not possibly be improved.
Mr. Benjamin Batters lies in Kensal Green Cemetery. In a deep grave,
and in a full-sized coffin. Surrounded by dignitaries and
respectabilities. In his coffin were placed the broken pieces of the
curiosity which he called the God of Fortune. So they are still
together. A handsome monument has been raised above him. There is no
hint, in the inscription, that below are but the mangled fragments of
what was once a human body; or any reference to the fact that he ever
posed as a joss; or a god; or was ever believed, even by savages, to
have put on immortality before his time. It simply says:
“BENEATH THIS STONE
REPOSES
BENJAMIN BATTERS,
WHO,
AFTER A LIFE OF VARIED ADVENTURE
IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE WORLD,
SLEEPS WELL.”
We will hope that it is so.
[THE END.]
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
Alterations to the text:
Change several instances of _aint_ to _ain’t_, and _dont_ to _don’t_.
Some punctuation corrections.
[Chapter II]
Change “to be as old as _Methusaleh_” to _Methuselah_.
[Chapter IV]
“it's nothing, Buck up, old girl.” change first comma to a period.
“broke into stammering _speeh_” to _speech_.
[Chapter V]
“Great _Ke_ Island” to _Ka_.
[Chapter VI]
“_tennacy_ of my house” to _tenancy_.
[Chapter VII]
“They seemed be in a hurry.” add _to_ after _seemed_.
[Chapter XI]
“to _nogotiate_ the obstacle” to _negotiate_.
[Chapter XII]
“of chairs, the _washhandstand_” to _washhand stand_.
[Chapter XIII]
“wooden _windsor_ chair” to _Windsor_.
[Chapter XV]
“sound sleep, as it _semed_” to _seemed_.
[Chapter XVII]
“They’re ’only ’aving a bit o’ fun” delete the apostrophe attached
to _only_.
“was it, after after all, his serious” delete one _after_.
“Since nearly a month _elasped_” to _elapsed_.
[Chapter XX]
“treatment than _Messrs_ Staple, _Wainright_ and Friscoe” to _Messrs._
and _Wainwright_, respectively.
“_Dantily_ fashioned, curves” to _Daintily_.
[Chapter XXI]
“It was _past-half past_ ten” to _past half-past_.
[Chapter XXII]
“_Epecially_ when I should like” to _Especially_.
“What’s _Captian_ Lander” to _Captain_.
[Chapter XXXIII]
“There was sheet iron on the other side that wall” add _of_ after
_side_.
[End of Text]