There was a feeling of constraint when Gaunt led Edward Drake from the
room after the latter’s interview with Lady Ethel.
“I am afraid that I came in at a rather inopportune moment, but this is
not the time for love-making,” Gaunt remarked kindly.
Half an hour later they were with Captain Armstrong, who had just
arrived from Newcastle to make final arrangements.
“We can sail in a couple of days,” the captain remarked cheerfully.
“And if we leave by the _Saxon_ on Saturday, you can pick us up at Las
Palmas. With the superior speed of the _Esmeralda_ you ought to arrive
about the same time we do,” Gaunt remarked.
“She did twenty-five knots in her last trial,” the captain answered
complacently.
“You are quite satisfied with the men you have got?”
“Yes, but I have had to be very cautious, for there are one or two
naval men at Elswick who have been mighty curious. I must say that
Señor Alvarez has played the game skillfully, for they all think that
I have entered the San Salvador navy. But I shall be glad when we are
outside British waters.”
“Then you had better get away as soon as possible. Of course you must
not come into Las Palmas harbor?” Gaunt asked.
“No, for one doesn’t generally go to South America via the Canaries. I
intend to lie a few miles off, and I shall come ashore in the pinnace.
I suppose I shall find you at the Santa Catalina Hotel?”
“Yes. Captain Drake will be with us, and he will look after the men who
are already there.”
They dined at the Carlton Hotel, and Captain Armstrong was in the
highest spirits, in contrast to the others. The meal had just come to
an end, and they had lighted their cigars when Edward Drake gave a
significant look at Gaunt. The latter turned round and saw that the
Baron de Croiseuil was seating himself at a table on the other side of
the room.
“It is as well that he should see me here. Hang it, I’ll go over and
speak to him,” Gaunt said suddenly, and immediately hastened across the
room.
“Good-evening, Baron,” he said suavely, and took a chair on the other
side of the table.
For once in his life the Baron lost his composure, and flushed hotly.
“You have done your worst and have failed,” Gaunt continued quietly.
“Not quite, for I have effectually closed your mouth, my friend. It
was very painful to me—the necessity of taking these proceedings. But
still, it is possible to end them. One word, and Mr. Ruggles will
explain that a dreadful mistake has been made,” the Baron said coolly,
after a supreme effort at self-control.
“I do not intend to say that word. You have done your worst. You have
put forward a false charge in an infamous way. You have attempted to
ruin me utterly. And do you think that I am the man to take it lying
down? No, my friend. It soon will be my turn,” Gaunt said grimly.
“You can do nothing, and I am still willing to be friends.”
“Friends!” Gaunt cried contemptuously. “Such _canaille_ as you, my
friend! I would prefer an out and out _Apache_. But I won’t detain you
from your dinner. _Au revoir_, Baron.”
And he was immediately ashamed of the outbreak, for he had done no good
save to relieve his feelings. He did not realize that he had made the
Baron thoroughly uncomfortable.
It was decided that they should leave Gaunt House that night and go
straight to Winchester, and there await the wire from Captain Armstrong
to the effect that the _Esmeralda_ was about to sail.
The next day such a message came.
“You have still time to motor to Lynton House,” Edward Drake suggested
as they were getting ready to start for Southampton, where they
intended to stay the night.
“I have told you that I won’t discuss my wife with you,” Gaunt answered
coldly.
“You are very hard, and I think you will regret it. Try to put yourself
in her place. She was sorely tried,” Drake protested quietly.
In reply Gaunt took his wife’s letter from his pocket.
“Read that, and if you are a man you will understand.”
And Drake knew that it was hopeless to make another effort at
reconciliation. But that night was a very miserable one for all three
of them. Each was thinking of the woman that he loved, and remembering
that in the morning they sailed upon a desperate adventure from which
they might never return.
Passages had been booked under fictitious names, and they went aboard
the _Saxon_ just before sailing time. However, there was considerable
delay, and they knew no peace until the last rope had been thrown
ashore.
And then Gaunt turned to Drake.
“We have started for good or ill,” he said with unwonted solemnity.
“It is for good, and God is with us,” Edward Drake answered reverently.
And then he gave a cry.
“There is a motor-car with two ladies.”
Gaunt strained his eyes towards the shore and his face became very
white when he recognized his wife. He did not move his eyes from the
place where Lady Mildred stood, but his face did not soften. The liner
cleared the point, and began to travel more quickly, so that in a very
few minutes the wharf disappeared from view.
And then he turned away with a sigh and walked to the cabin which had
been reserved for him on the deck. There was a cold wind blowing, and
he closed the door; not till then did the mask fall from his face. Love
tugged at his heart, and he would have given all he possessed to be
face to face with his wife. His anger vanished, never to return, and
his longing for her came back with overwhelming force. Now he blamed
himself bitterly that he had not gone to her before his departure, for
now, many weary weeks must elapse before he could see her again.
He sat there thinking deeply—of the vow he had made—his crusade against
the rulers of the Congo—and his wife. There was a knock at the door,
and the steward entered to unpack his trunk. Still he did not move
until the bugle sounded the hour for dressing.
Almost mechanically he put on his evening clothes, and went down to
the saloon, where the passengers were busily looking for their places
at the table. Edward Drake and his brother were already there, but the
meal was a very silent one, for each was busy with his thoughts.
After dinner Gaunt and Edward Drake went to the comfortable
smoking-room on deck, and lighted their cigars.
“Now there can be no turning back,” Edward Drake remarked.
“Do you wish to?” Gaunt demanded abruptly.
“No. Except that I was sorry to leave England without obtaining the
answer to a question which I had asked.”
“I suppose you refer to the time when I interrupted you. I am very
sorry. Drake, you are a good fellow, and I could not wish a woman a
better husband.”
“Thank you,” Drake answered simply. “At one time I never dreamt of
telling Lady Ethel of my love. My brother Lindsay is my rival, and
I thought that I must leave the way clear to him. But love can be
selfish, and I intend to fight for my happiness. But it is hardly
credible that she can care for me.”
“You never can tell where a woman’s feelings are concerned.”
“Lady Ethel was with your wife on the wharf. I am sorry that they
did not come a quarter of an hour earlier. Lady Mildred will be very
miserable.”
“And so will her husband. But we won’t talk of it, Drake. I have made
up my mind to think of one thing, and one thing alone—the Congo. This
may be a rash adventure of ours, but it shall not fail from any lack of
energy on my part. And here’s luck to it,” Gaunt remarked as he raised
his glass to his lips.
As they steamed down the channel the weather grew so rough that many of
the passengers were confined to their cabins. But they had determined
to make no acquaintances, and kept themselves strictly to themselves,
so they were rather glad than otherwise. Upon reaching the bay of
Biscay, as is often the case, the sea was smoother and they were able
to spend more time in the open air. It was not until the fourth day
that anything of moment happened. It was just after twelve o’clock that
they saw smoke on the horizon, and soon they could make out a steamer
that was traveling very rapidly.
“Looks like one of our small cruisers,” the first officer remarked to
them.
And it was not until the war-ship was but some two or three miles
astern that they knew that she was the _Esmeralda_.
“She is flying the San Salvador flag,” the officer remarked.
Gaunt ran for his glasses, and fixed them on the vessel of which he was
the temporary owner and his heart beat more rapidly as he noticed her
workmanlike appearance.
“She is doing well over twenty knots, and I should say she carries
turbines. A smart little ship,” the friendly officer continued.
The _Esmeralda_ was quickly overhauling them, and soon signal flags
fluttered on the _Saxon_ which were answered by the cruiser.
“What does she say?” Gaunt asked quickly.
“Only her name. She is not very communicative, and is evidently in a
hurry.”
The smoke was belching from her stacks and she seemed to spurt forward
so that the _Saxon_ was rapidly left behind.
It was late at night when they reached Las Palmas, and they went ashore
at once, to be driven along pebbly streets to the Santa Catalina Hotel.
Immediately upon their arrival Captain Drake left to visit the men who
had already arrived and were awaiting them.
He ascertained from the officer who had been placed in charge that
there had been no mishap, and that they were ready to embark at any
moment.
Breakfast had been ordered for an early hour in the morning, and they
had not been at the table very long before Captain Armstrong joined
them.
“Everything all right?” asked Gaunt.
“Couldn’t be better,” the captain answered briskly. “I have a good lot
of men and they are shaping well. Haven’t had trouble of any kind.”
“Good. Let us get breakfast over for we mustn’t stay here a moment
longer than we can help.”
Tugs had been chartered, and by eleven o’clock the whole party had left
the harbor. There had been many inquiries from the officials of the
port, which Captain Armstrong had deftly turned aside.
An hour later they reached the _Esmeralda_; the men were quickly got on
board and the tugs returned to Las Palmas.
Gaunt and the Drakes stood on the quarter-deck and looked around
curiously. Yes. Captain Armstrong had done wonders in the short time at
his disposal.
Six inch guns stared at them from squat turrets, and Edward Drake
looked at Gaunt with something akin to awe.
“I am beginning to realize what it means. Maybe death, but life for the
natives of the Congo,” he said in a low voice.
An order from the bridge and the flag of San Salvador was lowered. Then
an ensign took its place, which was white with a red cross.
“She is doing close on twenty-five knots,” Captain Armstrong remarked
as he joined them, and there was a look of pride on his face.
But no one answered, and the men looked at one another.
And Edward Drake sighed.