A DISCOVERY.
The March wind died down during the night, so that, when the dawn
came, the whole neighbourhood was enveloped in one of the many
exhalations which are constantly arising from the Marshes hard by.
And, all through the day, there was still an absence of breeze, so
that the fog and mist remained hanging like a pall over the locality,
and shrouding everything from observation which was more than a few
yards distant.
"You see," said Granger, as now he and Bufton made their way on foot
early, and not waiting for the afternoon--on foot, because thus
attention would be less likely to be attracted--"how fortune favours
us. A better day it would be impossible to desire. Until the victims
are near at hand, close to where the boat will be alongside the shore,
all will be invisible. Yet not that it matters much, for down where
that will lie none ever come after dark, and not many by daylight."
They neared now an inn which, in the days of George II., and those of
his successor--at this time so close at hand--stood in the Marshes. It
was a low-roofed, one-storied place; whitewashed so that, it was said,
vessels coming up the river might discern it as a landmark; and it was
used for more than one nefarious practice. For smuggling purposes it
was not particularly well adapted, since, by the time vessels had got
so far up as to be off it in the river, they had little enough in them
which had escaped the revenue officers; yet, even then, they
occasionally had something to dispose of. Sometimes it was a small
barrel of spirits inside a larger one, the space between the two being
filled up with fresh water, whereby, if tapped, the latter fluid alone
ran out, leaving that which was more valuable intact in its case;
sometimes, too, bottles of cheap common wine on which a small duty had
been paid, but which, below the first and second layers, contained
things far more valuable and subject to a higher duty, such as
Mechlin, Brussels, Valenciennes, and Château Thierry lace stuffed into
them; and also other matters. There was not, however, as has been
said, much to be done in this way, the place being so far inland and
twenty miles from the sea as the crow flies, and it was more in the
traffic of human beings than aught else that the landlord of the "Red
Rover" made his money. For many a man had been taken off drunk from
his house (who had come into it perfectly sober, and meaning only to
have "one half-pint" before continuing his journey) to some ship lying
hard by; many a girl and woman now slaving their hearts out in the
colonies had been inveigled into the inn by pretended lovers and sold
in the same way. Thus the landlord had done a roaring trade, and still
did one--or would have done if men had been forthcoming--by supplying
sailors to His Majesty's fleet; while, to add as well to his income,
the fellow was under the rose a fence of the worst description, and
over and over again the proceeds of successful housebreaking in the
surrounding counties--proceeds such as silver salvers, coffee-pots,
and antique tankards--had, after lying in his vaults or being buried
in his _fumier_ at the back of the house for some time, gone to grace
the sideboards of Carolina or Virginia planters.
"Here," said Granger, "you can rest at your ease until night comes.
The house is of none too good repute, yet 'twill serve your purpose.
Also, the landlord is away. I protest we are a strange people in this
England of ours! Vagabond as the man is, he is now serving on a jury
at Chelmsford, where it should be strange if he does not help to try
many of his own kidney. Strange, too, 'twill be if, some day, he is
not tried himself."
"What will you do?" asked Bufton, when they had been shown into a
private parlour, a fire had been lighted, and something brought to
warm them, he ignoring Granger's description of the landlord's present
occupation. "You must help me, you know; I rely on you."
"Have I ever failed?" Granger asked, with a fierce glance--a glance of
assumed fierceness. "And--as to what I have to do! Why, man, countless
things. First, to warn the master of the schooner that he must be
ready to drop down the river at any time after six this evening. Next,
to get the letter delivered, and also to see that the women set out.
That is, unless now, even at the last, you resolve to spare them."
"Spare them!" repeated Bufton contemptuously, fiercely. "Let us not
talk folly."
"So be it, since you are resolute. Well! I must away. Now, keep close
and snug; but quit not this room. No questions will be asked: though,
should any arise, you are a gentleman, a planter, taking passage to
Delaware. That will suffice."
"You think of everything! Granger, at my mother's death you shall be
paid in full----"
"No matter for that now. Evilly as you once treated me, I know that I
shall be paid in full," the other said, hoping, even as he did so,
that he had not emphasised his words too strongly.
"I will sleep, and eat, and drink," said Bufton; "thus the time will
pass. And I did not sleep very well last night; to-night, when all is
accomplished, I shall rest. I shall be content."
"Doubtless! I hope so." With which words Granger turned and left the
other. Yet, as he reached the door he uttered another word or two--
"The master of the _Nederland_ will expect that fifty guineas," he
said, "if--if--Anne is--to--well! to fling herself overboard. You
understand?"
"Ay, I understand. And I have them here," touching his breast pocket.
"When will he desire to receive them?"
"As they go on board, as they are taken on board. To-night, when I
return, hand them to me. Then, since you will scarce desire to appear
too prominently, I will give them to the man in the boat."
"I have a vizard mask," whispered Bufton.
"So, too, have I. Yet I may not need it. Now, till to-night,
farewell."
After which Granger went away, leaving Bufton to his reflections.
He went away, that is to say, so far as to descend the stairs with the
intention of at once departing for Blackwall, there to have an
interview with Anne. For, although the girl had told him that he must
contrive to inveigle Bufton into the neighbourhood of where the
schooner was lying without any assistance from her, he still hoped
that such assistance might be obtained. Otherwise, he knew that Bufton
would depart from the "Red Rover" by the time night had come, and the
last chance would then indeed be gone. Nothing, he knew also, would
have drawn the man to the Marshes but the hope of wreaking his
vengeance on his wife and on--through Ariadne--Sir Geoffrey Barry.
Granger paused now, however, to take a glass of spirits before setting
out to walk the two other miles of his journey, and, indeed, the
atmosphere which prevailed outside would have justified any one on
those Marshes in doing so, on such a day as this. For the raw, damp
mist had by now turned into a thicker, more raw and clammy fog, so
that one could scarcely see thirty yards ahead, while, in the house
itself, it seemed to be creeping along the passages and into rooms,
and up the flight of stairs which led to the next and only floor
above.
"If it continues like this," Granger muttered to himself, as now he
pushed open the door of a bar-parlour, and went into the room, "it
will serve our--my purpose. That is, if at night one can see at all."
The bar was attended by a slatternly-looking girl, the one who had lit
the fire in the sitting-room above and served Granger and Bufton with
what they had called for; though, because it was early in the morning,
she had no customers to draw for. Whereupon, after giving Granger the
drink he desired, she locked up the bottles and glasses in their
cupboard and went away, leaving him alone. Alone, and as was ever the
case when he found himself so, meditating deeply on the past. Yet
now--and he was surprised at the feelings which had taken possession
of him--on this morning of all others--when his last act of revenge
was close at hand and Bufton was about to pay for the ruin he had
brought upon him--now it almost seemed as if he had grown listless in
his desire for that vengeance; as if he scarcely cared to go on with
what he had hitherto pursued with such eagerness and tenacity.
"What is it?" he asked himself, as he stood with the glass in his
hand, looking over the red blind of a window in the bar-parlour which
gave on to the passage; a window at which the landlord sometimes
passed hours in the observation of those who entered and quitted his
house--"what is it that is influencing me, slackening my desires?"
And, being no student of ethics, he was not altogether able to tell
himself how often listlessness comes, accompanied by a cessation of
desire, when, at last, that which we have striven for so hard is
within our grasp; is to be had for the taking. Nevertheless, he
continued his musings, saying again, "What is it? Am I forgetting my
hatred of the man above, forgetting all my vows of retaliation because
I am growing well-to-do and am making money fast by my loathsome
calling? Is that possible--or does the passion for revenge die out at
last, as every other passion we possess dies in time? Shall I spare
him now, at the last moment? Or tell him to-night that the plot he
imagines I have concocted has failed--and--let him go free? Shall I do
that, or must I force myself to think of my dead mother again, of my
lost love, thereby to spur myself on to finish what I have begun?"
Meditating thus, Lewis Granger was at his best; his worst--which was
what Fate and a scoundrel had made him--was away falling into the
background. He was at his best! and that best was triumphing, was
triumphant. He became resolved; to-night Bufton should be told that
nothing could be done, that neither Ariadne nor Anne could come, that
their trick had failed since the _Mignonne_ had returned. Thus the man
himself should be spared. Bufton should go free and his own vengeance
sleep for ever. Truly Granger was at his best!
Deciding thus, determined that even now--at once--he would return to
the room above and tell its occupant that this had happened, he was
about to turn away from the window through which he was still glancing
heedlessly as he ruminated, when he saw a man enter the passage, and,
after looking round and about the place in a cautious manner, proceed,
with an evident attempt to avoid observation if possible, towards the
foot of the stairs.
"Where have I seen that fellow before?" he thought, even as he edged
himself to the blind so that, thereby, he Could follow the newcomer's
movements along the passage. "Where? I know him, have seen him lately.
That bulldog-looking form and those earrings are familiar to me!"
Then, in a moment, he recalled who the man was. He remembered that he
was the mate of the _Nederland_, and that he had observed him at work
on the deck of the schooner, and giving orders to the sailors as to
the bestowal of casks and bales in the hold only a day or so ago when
he had visited the master.
Not knowing, or scarcely knowing, why this man's presence here should
surprise him, or why, indeed, he should feel any surprise at all,
except at the stealthy, cautious way in which he skulked along the
passage in so surreptitious a manner--since the "Red Rover" was the
only place of call on this side of the river for some mile or so--he
determined to see where the man was going. Whereon, opening the door
of the bar-parlour as quietly as might be, he looked out into the
passage and was in time to observe the back of the mate vanishing
round the landing of the stairs.
"Strange," he thought to himself; "strange. What business can he have
up there? He is not, cannot be, living ashore in the house; who then
can he desire to see, or what desire to do?"
While, as he so thought, he heard a slight rap given on a door above
and a voice call out, "Who is it?"
The voice of Bufton.
Then, standing at the foot of the stairs, but sheltered from
observation overhead by the dirty ceiling beneath the landing
floor--sheltered too from observation by the fog that now filled the
house--Granger heard the door of the room Bufton was in opened, and a
whispered question and answer. After which the door was closed to
again, and he heard no more. The visitor had been admitted.
"So," Granger said to himself, "I am not to have it all my own way, it
would seem. The good Bufton has evidently two strings to his bow. Yet
how in Heaven's name has he done it! How has he formed an intimacy
with any one on board the schooner? Later, perhaps, I shall know, as
well as his reason for doing so. At least let me try for the means of
knowing as soon as possible."
The means he took were to proceed at once up the stairs himself, doing
so very quietly and as stealthily as he who had gone before him had
done; and then, when on the unclean stone passage, he went quietly
past the door of the room where the men were until he came to another
door next to it.
"This may do," he said. "I think it may. I have slept in most of these
rooms when my affairs required my presence here. And if I remember
aright--nay! as I know it is, there are communicating doors between
these two rooms. I should indeed learn something."
With every precaution that it was possible to take, he opened now the
door of the second room, seeing at once as he did so that it had not
been let nor occupied overnight; then he shut it, and, finding the key
within, locked it. After which, sitting down upon the bedside, he drew
off his shoes and laid them on the bed.
"If no one comes to this room for a quarter of an hour," he thought,
"as no one is likely to come, since it requires no attention, I ought
to hear all I desire."
Upon which he crept quietly to the communicating door, and listened to
the conversation that was already being carried on upon the other side
of it.