IN THE NIGHT
A wayworn figure, some time thereafter, moved slowly along the deserted
road, where it ran like a winding ribbon over the top of a great bluff.
A sea wind, coming in varying gusts, bent low the long grass and rustled
in the bushes. The moon had escaped from behind dark clouds in a stormy
sky and threw its rays far and wide. They imparted a frosty sheen to the
wavy surface between road and sea and brightened the thoroughfare,
which, lengthening tortuously, disappeared beneath in a tangle of forest
or underbrush.
Mr. Heatherbloom gazed wearily down the road, then over the grass. In
the latter direction, afar, a strip of ocean lay like an argent stream
flowing between the top of the bank and the horizon. Toward that
illusory river he, leaving the main highway, walked in somewhat
discouraged fashion. It might avail him little, so much time had
elapsed, but from the edge of the bluff he would be afforded a view of
the surrounding country and the topography of the coast.
A vast spread of the ocean unfolded to his gaze before he had reached
the brink of the prominence. His heavy-lidded eyes, sweeping to the
right, rested on a heterogeneous group of dwellings scattered well above
the sands and directly below a wooded uprising of land. Myriad specks of
light glimmered amid shadowy roofs. Brownville? Undoubtedly! A board
walk ran along the ocean and a small pier extended like an arm over the
water. On the faintly glistening sands old boats, drawn up here and
there, resembled so many black footprints.
Not far from where Mr. Heatherbloom stood a path went downward, a
shorter way to the village than by the road he had just left. He stared
unthinkingly a moment at the narrow walk; then began mechanically to
descend. A dull realization weighed on him that when he reached his
destination the woman would be far away. He wondered why he had gone on,
under the circumstances--why he had ever thought he stood a ghost of a
chance of overtaking her? Only the hopelessness of the situation, in all
its grim verity, faced him now.
The path zigzagged through the bushes. At a turn the village was lost to
sight; in front was a sheer fall to the sea. As he kept on, projecting
branches struck him and raising his hand to guard his face, he, tripped
and almost fell. Recovering himself, he glanced down; something had
caught on his shoe and he leaned over to loosen it. His fingers closed
on a long strip of soft substance--a veil, the kind worn by women
motoring! Mr. Heatherbloom's eyes rested on it apathetically, then with
a sudden flash of interest; a faint but heavy perfume emanated from the
silky filament. It was darkish in hue--brown, he should say; the Russian
woman was partial to that color. The thought came to him quickly; he
stood bewildered. What if it were hers? Then how had it come here, on
this narrow foot-path, unless--Had the big car stopped at the top of the
promontory and discharged its passengers there? But why should it have
done so; for what possible reason?
He could think of none. Other women came this way--the path was not
difficult. Other women wore brown veils. And yet that odd familiar
fragrance--It seemed to belong to a foreign bizarre personality such as
Sonia Turgeinov's.
Crushing in his palm the veil he thrust it into his pocket. He would
find out more below, possibly; if she had actually passed this way. A
feverish zest was born anew; the authorities were looking for her as
well as for himself, he remembered. She, apparently, had so far cleverly
evaded them; if he could but lead them to her he would not mind so much
his own apprehension. Her presence in the locality at the same time the
_Nevski_ had been in the harbor would fairly prove the correctness of
his theory of Miss Dalrymple's whereabouts. If he could now deliver the
Russian woman into the hands of the law, he would have a wedge to force
the powers that be to give credence to at least the material part of his
story--that the prince had left port with the young girl--and to compel
them to see the necessity of acting at once. That he, himself, would be
held equally culpable with the woman was of no moment.
Fatigue seemed to fall from his shoulders. He went along more swiftly,
inspired with new vague hopes. Down--down! The voice of the sea grew
nearer; now he could hear the dull thud of the waves, then the weird
whistling sounds that succeeded. Springing from a granite out-jutting to
the sands, he looked eagerly, searchingly, this way and that. He saw no
one. His gaze lowered and he walked from the dry to the wet strand.
There he stopped, an exclamation escaping his lips.
A faint light, falling between black rocks, revealed fresh footprints on
the surface of the sands, and, yes!--a long furrow--the marks of the
keel of a boat. He studied the footprints closer, but without
discovering signs of a woman's; only the indentations of heavy seamen's
boots were in evidence. Mr. Heatherbloom experienced a keen
disappointment; then felt abruptly reassured. The impress of her lighter
tread had been eliminated by the men in lifting and pushing to launch
the boat. Their boots had roughly kicked up the sand thereabouts.
He was fairly satisfied the woman had embarked. The seclusion of the
spot favored the assumption; the fishing-boats were all either stranded,
or at anchor, nearer the village. But why and whither had she gone? The
ocean, in front, failed to answer the latter question, and his glance
turned. On the one hand was the village; on the other, high, almost
perpendicular rocks ran seaward, obscuring the view. It would not be
easy to get around that point; without a boat it could not be done.
Mr. Heatherbloom began to walk briskly toward the village; the moon
threw his shadow in odd bobbing motions here and there. Once he stopped
abruptly; some one on the beach afar was approaching. A fisherman? Mr.
Heatherbloom crouched back among the rocks, when the person came to a
halt. Clinging to the shadows on the landward side of the beach the
young man continued to advance, but cautiously, for a single voice might
now start a general hue and cry. Beyond, closer to town, he could see
other forms, small dark moving spots. Not far distant, however, lay the
nearest boat; to get to her he had to expose himself to the pale
glimmer. No alternative remained. He stepped quickly across the sand,
reached the craft and strove to launch her. But she was clumsy and
heavy, and resisted his efforts. The man, whoever he might be, was
coming closer; he called out and Mr. Heatherbloom pushed and struggled
more desperately--without avail! He cast a quick glance over his
shoulder; the man was running toward him--his tones now rang out loudly,
authoritatively. Mr. Heatherbloom did not obey that stern command to
halt; instead he made a wild abrupt dash for the sea. The report of a
revolver awoke the echoes and a bullet whizzed close. Recklessly he
plunged into the water.
The man on the shore emptied his weapon, but with what success he could
not tell. A head amid the dark waves was not easily discernible. Another
and larger object, however, was plainly apparent about a hundred yards
from land--a fishing-boat that swung at anchor. Would the other succeed
in reaching it, for that was, no doubt, his purpose, or had one of the
leaden missives told? The man, with weapon hot, waited. He scanned the
water, then looked toward the town. A number of figures on the beach
were hastening in his direction; from the pier afar, a naphtha put out;
he could hear faintly the sound of the engine.
Suddenly, above the boat at anchor near the man on shore, a sail shot
up, then fluttered and snapped in the wind. A moment later it was drawn
in, the line holding the craft to the buoy slipped out, and the bow
swung sharply around. Mr. Heatherbloom worked swiftly; one desire moved
him--to get around that point before being overtaken--to discover what
lay beyond. Then let happen what would! He reached for a line and
hoisted a jib, though it was almost more canvas than his small craft
could carry. She careened and plunged, throwing the spray high. He
turned a quick glance back toward the naphtha. The sky had become
overcast, and distant objects were not so easily discernible on the
surface of the water, but he made out her lights--two! She was head on
for him.
He looked steadily ahead again. The grim line of out-jutting rocks--a
black shadow against the sky--exercised a weird fascination for him. He
was well out in the open now where the wind blew a half-gale. His figure
was wet from the sea but he felt no chill. Suddenly the hand gripping
the tiller tightened, and his heart gave a great bound; then sank. Not
far from that portentous point of land he saw another light--green! A
boat was emerging from the big basin of water beyond. The starboard
signal, set high above the waves, belonged to no small craft such as the
woman had embarked in. The sight of it fitted a contingency that had
flashed through his brain on the beach. The realization left him
helpless now--his last opportunity was gone!
He shifted the tiller violently, recklessly. At that moment a shrill
whistle from behind reminded him once more of the naphtha; he could have
laughed. What was the wretched little puffing thing to him now? The
single green light--that alone was the all in all. It belonged to the
_Nevski_ he was sure; for one reason or another she had but made
pretense of going to sea, and, instead, had come here--to wait. The
woman was on her now, and, also--The thought maddened him.
Again that piercing whistle! The naphtha was coming up fast; amid the
turmoil of his thoughts he realized this vaguely. He did not wish to
find himself delivered unto them yet--not just yet! A wilder
recklessness seized him. Clouds sped across the heavens like gripping
furies' hands; the water ran level to his boat's gunwales but he refused
to ease her. All the while he was drawing nearer the single green
light--a mocking light, signal of a mocking chase that had led, and
could lead, to nothing. Still he went on, tossed by the waves--sport of
them. He had to play the play out. Oh, to see better, to visualize to
the utmost the last scene of his poignant drama of failure!
In the naphtha some one's voice belched through a megaphone; he laughed
outright now. Come and get him, if they wanted him! He would give them
as merry a dash as possible. His boat raced madly through the
water--nearer, yet nearer the green light. Now a large dark outline
loomed before him; he would have to stop, to come about in a moment,
or--A great wave struck him, half filling his boat, but he did not seem
to notice.
A dazzling white glow suddenly surrounded him; from the naphtha a
search-light had been flashed. It fell on him fully, sprinkled over on
the wild hurtling waves beyond, and just touched the side of the
outgoing vessel. Mr. Heatherbloom looked toward the vessel and his
pupils dilated. The light leaped into the air with the motion of the
naphtha, and, in an instant was gone, but the impress of a single detail
remained on his retina--of a side ladder, lowered, no doubt, for the
woman, and not yet hoisted into place on the big boat.
The wildness of the sea seemed to surge through Mr. Heatherbloom's
veins; he did not come about; he did not try to. Now it was too late!
That ladder!--he would seize it as they swept by. Closer his boat ran; a
swirl of water caught him, threw him from his course. He made a frantic
effort to regain it but without avail. The big steel bow of the great
boat struck and overwhelmed the little craft.