WAGES.
The moment Rowton spoke Long John rapped his hand loudly on the board. He
rose and spoke in a clear and penetrating voice.
“Silence, men,” he said, “I have something to say.”
Every tongue was instantly arrested.
“I wish to state a fact,” continued Long John, just glancing for a moment
at Rowton, who, white to his lips, was standing near. “Our gentleman
leader, Adrian Rowton, of Rowton Heights, in Yorkshire, otherwise known
to this school by the name of Silver, has been in debt to us to the tune
of five hundred pounds. The debt was contracted on behalf of a certain
diamond, which we all know here as the black diamond. The diamond was
of great worth, and from different circumstances in connection with its
coming into our possession, its presence in the School was fraught with
extreme danger. Silver was commissioned to take it to Spain and sell it
there for two thousand pounds, a sum, as you know, very much below its
intrinsic value. Silver did sell the diamond, but, as it turns out, he
sold it to himself for five hundred pounds _below_ the price I set upon
it. In this manner he contracted a debt to our School of five hundred
pounds. By securing the diamond for himself he contracted a further debt,
the dimensions of which cannot be measured. This further debt formed the
subject of our very painful discussion last night. The first debt was
of small importance; the second debt was vital. There was only one way
in which Rowton could pay the second debt. I wish to tell you all, now,
my men, that Adrian Rowton has cleared the debt. His record with us is
white.”
“Hold a minute,” said Rowton. His voice was loud but somewhat shaky. He
was staggering with mortal pain. “All here present have acted towards me
with treachery. There’s not a man in this room who did not know what Long
John wanted me here for. You, Scrivener, lured me to this place by means
of a lie. When I came here I trusted to your honour, mates. You have
every one of you failed me.”
Some of the men groaned, lowered their eyes, and some shuffled restlessly
with their feet. Long John tapped again on the table.
“The old trite proverb that ‘all is fair in love and war’ applies here,”
he said. “There was only one way to wipe out Rowton’s debt, and that way
has been used.”
“A word more,” continued Rowton; “my debt will be wiped out soon, but
there is another debt to cancel. Long John, you kidnapped the boy. If my
record is white, yours is black. I forgive the rest of you fellows—you
did what you did under compulsion. But as to you, you coward, I swear
that if I appear before my Maker unabsolved and with my sins upon me, so
do you.”
Quick as thought Rowton produced a revolver and fired. He aimed at Long
John’s heart. The man saw his danger, swerved an inch, and received the
bullet in his right arm.
All was immediately confusion and alarm. Rowton, after firing, fell to
the ground in strong convulsions. Long John, white as a sheet, caught
up a napkin to stay the blood which began to pour from his wounded arm.
Simpkins rushed to one of the windows to shut it, fearing that the police
might have heard the sound of the shot. Long John’s face became more and
more ghastly—a smile kept coming and going on his thin lips. Simpkins ran
forward to help him. Scrivener and another man approached the heap on the
floor which had represented the strong, athletic form of Rowton not ten
minutes ago.
“What are you trying to say, mate?” whispered Scrivener.
“Take me where I can be alone.”
The two men tried to lift him in their arms.
“Stay,” called Long John; “we can put cushions on the floor and lay him
here. I am going. One word to you, Rowton, before we part; we have not
yet squared the record.”
“We wait for that,” answered Rowton. He raised his glassy eyes and fixed
them on Long John’s cadaverous face.
Long John staggered to the door. The other men hurried to place cushions
and coats in a corner on the floor. They laid the dying man on them.
“How long have I to live?” he asked.
“I do not know,” returned Scrivener, “but I think for two or three
hours. We gave that poison before to——”
“Hush!” said Simpkins suddenly, clapping his hands across Scrivener’s
mouth.
“I forgot myself in the excitement of the moment,” answered Scrivener. “I
wish I’d never done the ghastly deed—Rowton of all men! If it were not
for Long John, and that he’d find a way to hurry one out of the world if
one did not do his slightest wish, why——” Scrivener wiped the dew from
his face.
“Ours is a ghastly calling,” said Simpkins. “There, mates,” he added,
turning to where a group of the men were huddled together in a distant
part of the room, “you had best leave us. Long John is not killed, but
he has got his deserts after a fashion, and he’ll have to lie dark for
a bit. The rest of you go home, and be quick about it. When we want you
again we’ll let you know.”
The men still hesitated. At last one of them, treading on tiptoe, came to
the upper end of the room.
“Shake hands, mate,” said this fellow, going on his knees and holding out
his hand to Rowton. “Say you forgive us before we go.”
“I forgive you, mates,” answered Rowton; “you were only tools. There
is one man whom I do not forgive, and that is your boss. He acted with
treachery and you were not courageous enough to resist. Now go. I have
only a short time to live and much to do.”
One by one the men came up, looked at his ashy face, shook their heads,
and slowly left the room.
When they had all gone Rowton spoke to Simpkins.
“What did he give me?” he asked.
With some hesitation Simpkins named a drug, bending low to do so.
Rowton’s face could not grow more ghastly.
“Then it is certain death,” he said.
“Yes, certain death; but, if you like, we’ll fetch a doctor.”
“Never mind. Were enquiries set on foot, things would go badly with you.
I die, I hope, as a man——”
He paused, struggling for breath.
“I always knew,” he continued, “that the fate I have met might be mine.
There is no hope, you say. I may live for—two hours.”
“You may, mate, but it is not certain. You are taking the dose hard,”
said Scrivener.
“I want you to do something for me, Scrivener.”
“Anything,” replied the man, falling on his knees.
“Fetch my wife here.”
“Your wife!” said Simpkins suddenly. “Dare you see her, mate?”
“I dare anything. I have one last—_desperate_ wish; it must be granted. I
must see my wife.”
“But if she is in Yorkshire, Silver?” queried Scrivener.
“I have a premonition that she is in London,” replied Rowton. His
words came more and more slowly, with longer and longer gasps between.
“Scrivener—you know Rowton Heights? Wire there at once—get Mrs. Rowton’s
address in London, and then fetch her here. You don’t object, do you? If
so, at any cost, I’ll get back to my hotel.”
“I’ll do what you wish,” said Scrivener.
“It seems reasonable enough,” echoed Simpkins.
“Of course, you’ll take an oath, pal,” continued Scrivener, “that you’ll
let out nothing.”
The ghost of a smile played round Rowton’s white lips.
“Heaven knows I am a deeply-dyed scoundrel,” he said, “but honour among
thieves. You may bring Mrs. Rowton to this house without danger to the
Silver School.”
Scrivener left the room without another word, and Simpkins seated himself
by the dying man.
As Scrivener ran downstairs he could not help muttering some words to
himself.
“Ours is a beastly calling; there’s no mercy in a school like ours. If
it were anyone but Rowton I should not mind a brass button—but Rowton!
’Tain’t that he was _soft_; ’tain’t that he was specially kind; but
he was _straight_, although he belonged to us. We’ll go to pieces now
without him. Long John made a huge mistake.”
Scrivener sprang into a cab and drove to the nearest post-office. From
there he wired to Rowton Heights, remaining in the office until the
message bearing Mrs. Rowton’s address in town was sent to him. He then
hailed another hansom and drove straight to the Universal Hotel.
This was the night on which Nance had come to London and had received
Crossley’s awful communication. She had driven straight to the hotel
with Lady Georgina, and when Scrivener was suddenly announced the two
ladies were in a private sitting-room. From the moment she left Clapham
Common Nance had talked incessantly. She had seemed to all appearances in
the highest spirits. She had refused to disclose the faintest hint with
regard to her interview with Crossley. Beyond telling Lady Georgina that
she believed the man to be altogether mistaken about a certain business
which he had undertaken for her, she turned her conversation resolutely
from the subject.
“I feel in good spirits,” she said once or twice. “I have the same
feeling which possessed me the night of the ball at Rowton Heights. How
long ago did the ball take place, Lady Georgina?”
“Only two days ago, child,” was the reply.
“It seems months back,” said Nance, pushing her hair from her flushed
face. “I told Adrian then that my excitement and high spirits were almost
‘fey,’ as the saying is. I have the same feeling to-night. Never mind;
while I feel happy let me enjoy life. I believe that I shall soon hear
news of the boy and also of my husband. Ah! who is that?”
At this moment Scrivener was announced. Nance, with the flush on her
cheeks and the queer bright light in her eyes, went forward at once
to meet him. She felt stimulated all over to an extraordinary degree.
Crossley had spoken the most utter nonsense. His tidings had not given
her the slightest pain. A shadow of doubt of the man she loved could not
visit her loyal heart.
“I seem to know your face,” she said, looking into that of Scrivener with
a puzzled expression. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Surely I saw you once at
Rowton Heights.”
“I saw you also, madam,” said the man.
He bowed awkwardly. Then his eyes travelled to Lady Georgina, who, bold,
upright, and firm, stood not far away.
“I have a message for you alone, Mrs. Rowton,” he said.
“Please leave us, Lady Georgina,” said Nance.
“I will not,” replied Lady Georgina. “You are left in my charge by your
husband, Nance, and I prefer to remain with you whatever happens. Sir, I
do not know what your business can be with this young lady, but I must
ask you to say it before me.”
“Very well, madam,” replied the man. “We have not a moment to lose, Mrs.
Rowton,” he continued; “your husband has sent for you. I am commissioned
to bring you to him immediately.”
“To bring me to him!” said Nance, her eyes lighting up with sudden
tumultuous joy. “I won’t keep you. But why can he not come to me?”
“He cannot, madam: he is very ill.”
“Ill!” said Nance. She started violently. Her face grew white. “I won’t
keep you a single moment,” she said.
“I’ll go with you, dear,” said Lady Georgina.
“I am sorry, madam,” said Scrivener, “but on that point I am obliged to
be firm. I cannot possibly take you with Mrs. Rowton. If she wishes to
see her husband alive she must trust herself to me alone. I swear no harm
will happen to her.”
“If I wish to see my husband alive?” repeated Nance. “Oh! for Heaven’s
sake, don’t put obstacles in the way now, Lady Georgina. I won’t keep you
a moment,” she said, again turning to the man.
She flew out of the room, returning in less than a minute in her hat and
cloak.
“I am ready,” she said, “let us come.”
“This is an awful situation,” exclaimed Lady Georgina. “I promised to
look after that child. How do I know, sir, that you are not deceiving me?”
“I swear on the Bible, madam, that I am not. Mr. Rowton has sent for his
wife. He is very ill. If you refuse to let Mrs. Rowton come with me I
must go away without her.”
“In that case, I have no alternative,” said Lady Georgina; “I only trust
I am not doing wrong.”
Nance and Scrivener left the room. A hansom was in waiting outside the
hotel.
Nance entered and Scrivener immediately followed her. He gave directions
in a low voice to the driver, and the cab started forward at a quick
pace. Presently Scrivener put his hand through the little window in the
roof.
“A sovereign,” he called to the driver, “if you get us to our destination
in a quarter of an hour from now.”
The man whipped up his horse.
“You said that my husband was very ill; is he in danger?” asked Nance.
“He is, madam, in extreme danger.”
Nance did not ask another question. She locked her hands tightly under
her cloak. Her face was deathlike. She looked like one carved in stone.
By-and-by the cab entered a squalid street leading off the Embankment.
It turned to the left, then to the right, then to the left again, and
finally drew up at a shabby-looking door. Scrivener jumped out.
“This way, Mrs. Rowton,” he said.
He flung the sovereign to the driver, and then knocked in a peculiar way
on the door.
It was opened immediately by a shabbily-dressed girl, whose eyes were red
from violent weeping.
“All right upstairs, Sophy?” asked Scrivener.
“Silver is still alive,” answered Sophy with a catch in her voice.
“Silver,” repeated Nance to herself in a low tone.
It was at this awful moment of her life that a memory came back to her.
She had forgotten it until now. Earlier in that same evening Crossley had
told her that her husband, her brave husband, whom he presently accused
of the most ghastly crime, was also known as Silver, the leader of a
school or mob of burglars, called the Silver School. The information
seemed to her so baseless and false, and was also so completely swallowed
up in the grave and monstrous accusation which followed it, that until
now it was completely blotted out of her memory.
“Silver,” she said, looking with dilated eyes at Scrivener as they
mounted the stairs. “Who is Silver?”
“Never mind about Silver now, madam; I am taking you to see your husband,
Mr. Rowton, of Rowton Heights.”
Nance asked no more questions. The next moment they found themselves
inside the club room. The greater part of the long room was in complete
darkness, but at the farther end a paraffin lamp flared. Nance saw dimly
as she entered the figure of a man lying on the floor.
When he heard her step Rowton raised himself with an effort.
[Illustration: “When he heard her step Rowton raised himself with an
effort.”—_Page 305._]
“My wife has come,” he said to Simpkins. “Leave us. Go into another
room.”