The factories of Lechworthy & Co. covered many acres at Setton Park,
and the large village adjoining was inhabited almost solely by those
employed in the factories.
In the factories as in the offices of Lechworthy & Co. one found
the last word of effectiveness and enterprise. Time after time good
machinery had been scrapped to make way for better and to meet American
competition, and the enormous outlay involved had subsequently
justified itself. Everything connected with their business was
manufactured at Setton Park. Boxes and crates were made there. They
made every metal article required--from the eyelets of a pair of cheap
boots to the gold fittings of the most expensive dressing-case. They
made their own glue. They even made their own thread.
Lechworthy & Co. were good employers. They paid fair wages, and in
the treatment of their workwomen went far beyond what the Factory Acts
required of them. Allotments, cricket fields, libraries, recreation
halls abounded. Lechworthy & Co. had themselves seen to it that the
least paid woman in the packing or lining departments could obtain an
abundant supply of pure milk for her babies at a price she could easily
afford. The sanitation was excellent, and the delightful air of the
country--for the tannery was at a judicious distance--made town-workers
envy their more fortunate comrades at Lechworthy’s. Thrift was
compulsory and automatic. The man who grew old and past work, or who
broke down from illness in the company’s service, found ample provision
made for him from funds to which his own savings had contributed,
augmented by the company’s generosity. Such a man need not leave Setton
Park; there was a cottage for him, and it was not called an alms-house;
medical attendance was provided free for him. The conditions still
prevailed which were established when Lechworthy turned his business
into a Limited Company. The ordinary investor had never been given a
chance to put a penny into the concern. Lechworthy had by far the
largest holding, and the other shareholders were men of a like mind,
personal and political friends; men of substance, and, it was averred,
of nice conscience. The company earned an excellent dividend, in spite
of its philanthropical ideas.
It was not of course to be expected that Lechworthy & Co. would
entirely escape criticism. The man who has political friends has
also political enemies, and the political enemy is not always too
scrupulous in the way in which he inquires into his opponents’ private
business. A part at least of the raw material which the company
purchased had been subjected to comment. Their attitude towards any
smaller manufacturer was characterised as merciless--he was absorbed
into Lechworthy’s, or he was frozen off the face of the earth. The
scheme of compulsory thrift was commented upon even by those who
did not deny a value to compulsory virtues. It was said quite truly
that any man who voluntarily left the company’s service, or who was
dismissed for misconduct, thereby sacrificed all that he had been
compelled to put by. It was answered as truly that every man who
entered the service knew upon what conditions he entered it, and that
the company had a right to guard itself against disloyalty, defection
and disorder, by all the means in its power. In view of the fact that
Lechworthy had always proclaimed freedom of religious and political
opinions, it was held to be remarkable that ninety per cent. of his
work-people shared his political views, and that while every shade of
dissent was represented among them, it was hard to find a member of
the Church of England and impossible to find either a Catholic or an
Agnostic. If this were mentioned to Lechworthy he said merely that he
had been fortunate, or that he supposed that like attracted like. He
was sincere, and had strong convictions; he was also shrewd and knew
that strong convictions depend amazingly little upon argument. Many a
workman of Lechworthy’s had professed for mercenary and time-serving
reasons a religion which had afterwards become real to him--not as the
result of a cool reasoning analysis, but by sheer force of habit and by
the unconscious effect of example. Now and again a discharged servant
of the company asserted bitterly that he had been discharged for his
political or religious views, but the head of his department always
had another story to tell, and the evidence of discharged servants
is always--and quite properly--discounted. A more serious charge
was that he had kept on servants whom he should have discharged. Mr
Bruce Chalmers, the Conservative candidate, had attempted to address
a meeting of the men in their dinner-hour. Lechworthy’s young men
had smashed up the motor-car, and hurled stones and mud at himself,
his wife, and his supporters. Mrs Bruce Chalmers had been seriously
injured, the police had come to the rescue, and several of these
fervent young men had been imprisoned without the option of a fine.
But their situations were still waiting for them when they came out,
and in some of the worst cases promotion rapidly followed. Lechworthy
maintained that he had told Chalmers that if he addressed the men he
would do so at his own risk, and that those who provoked a breach of
the peace should not complain if the peace were broken. If, as he
supposed, the law had punished his men sufficiently, it would have been
unnecessary and unjust for him to punish them further. Those who knew
that two words from Lechworthy would have prevented the outbreak, or
knew what Lechworthy’s attitude would have been to a workman who had
been fined for drunkenness, did not think the defence satisfactory.
For the rest, the selection of books in the free library at Setton
Park provoked a sneer, the blacking out of all the racing news in the
reading-room papers seemed a little childish, and the absence of a
rifle-range, when gymnasia, swimming-baths, and cricket fields were
liberally provided, was taken as an instance of the short-sighted
methods of professed lovers of peace.
At the age of sixty Lechworthy determined to retire from the board of
his company. He had relinquished the position of managing director some
years before. He was not so young as he had been--it was his favourite
observation--and other men could be found to take his place on the
board. He was an active Member of Parliament and he was the proprietor
of the _Morning Guide_. The paper did not pay, and Lechworthy did not
run it to pay; he said more than once in public that he ran it in the
service of Christ. Incidentally, it was of some use as an organ of
his political party, and a most enthralling hobby for himself. While
in England he was quite incapable of leaving the editor alone for two
days together. The same doctor who had recommended him to retire from
the board of Lechworthy & Co. had suggested a prolonged holiday in
some place where it would be impossible for him to see a copy of the
_Morning Guide_.
The occasion of his retirement had of course to be marked. Sounded upon
the subject, Lechworthy had objected to the service of gold plate or
to his full-length portrait by the most fashionable and most expensive
artist. He did not want for money, or for the things that money can
buy, and he said that he thought the talented artist might find some
more pleasing subject. He knew too, that subscriptions would come from
many who could ill afford to give them, and that idea was repellent
to him. But he consented to receive an illuminated address, to which
his employees might affix their signatures. The address swelled itself
to a book, every leaf of the finest vellum, magnificently bound,
majestically expressed. The title-page declared as follows:
_To_ WILBERFORCE LECHWORTHY, ESQUIRE,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE AND MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT
FOR SOUTH LOAMSHIRE,
ON THE OCCASION OF HIS RETIREMENT FROM
THAT BUSINESS
WHICH HIS GENIUS AND HIS UNTIRING INDUSTRY
HAVE WITH THE BLESSING OF THE ALMIGHTY
CREATED.
The presentation of this rather portentous volume was to take place
on a Saturday evening. On the afternoon of that day every employee
of the company was invited to tea by Lechworthy. A number of vast
marquees were erected for the purpose on the cricket-field; and the
return match between Setton Park and the Hanley Wanderers was in
consequence postponed. The _Evening News_ headed its paragraph on
the subject: “LECHWORTHY PACKING--WHO MADE THE PORTMANTEAU?” But the
paragraph itself dealt seriously with statistics supplied by the firm
of caterers, informing the curious how many hams or how many pats of
butter had been thought sufficient. The Setton Park Band performed
on the occasion. The antique show of Punch and Judy was to be seen
freely, and swings were prevalent. Wilberforce Lechworthy went
from one marquee to another, joined in the audience that witnessed
the flagrant immoralities of Mr Punch, and chatted with the crowds
that waited for their turn at the swings. He displayed a king-like
memory for faces and the geniality of a headmaster on Speech-day. The
presentation of the address took place some hours later in a hall
which, though it was the largest at the company’s disposal, could not
provide seating accommodation for one third of its workers. Heads of
departments had tickets, and seniority of service counted. For those
who were of necessity omitted, Mr Lechworthy had provided a fine
display of fireworks. Inside the hall the Bishop of Merspool was in
the chair, Mr Albert Grice, M.P., was ready to speak, and the address
was to be presented by Mr Hutchinson, supported by speeches from Mr
Wallis, Mr Salter and Mr Bailey. In spite of this, either from altruism
or from want of thought, several of the privileged workmen offered
their tickets freely to comrades who had otherwise to be content with
the display of fireworks; nor were these offers invariably accepted.
Some observations by the Bishop on the influences of religion in our
commercial life occupied five lines in the papers next morning,
concluding, “The presentation then took place.” The _Morning Guide_
was more explicit and gave nearly a column. It reported the Bishop, Mr
Grice, and Mr Hutchinson; it summarised Mr Wallis and Mr Salter, and
asserted that Mr Bailey (who had spoken for twenty-five minutes) “added
a few words of graceful eulogy.” All it said of Mr Lechworthy was the
bald statement that he returned thanks. Thus, indeed, had Mr Lechworthy
directed.
None of the papers noted the presence on the platform of Miss Hilda
Auriol, the niece of Mr Lechworthy, nor can it be pretended that she
constituted an item of public interest. But, for the idle purposes of
this story, something must be said of her, even if, in consequence, it
become necessary to suppress any detailed account of Mr Bailey’s words
of graceful eulogy, or of the Bishop’s rediscovery that it is better to
be good.
Wilberforce Lechworthy, childless and a widower, had been glad to adopt
Hilda Auriol, one of his married sister’s very numerous family. At the
age of six he professed to have detected in her a decided character.
She was now twenty-three, and her uncle was very fond of her, but she
was perhaps the only person of whom he was much afraid. Let it not
be supposed that her temper was either sour or dictatorial. She was
sunniness itself, and her criticism of life--including her uncle--was
fresh and breezy. Her perspicacity detected and her soul abhorred
anything that was specious and plausible; in practical politics and in
the conduct of a great modern business the specious and the plausible
have unfortunately their place, and Wilberforce did occasionally say
things after which he experienced a momentary reluctance to meet his
niece’s eye. She had a sense of humour and she was by nature a fighter.
Her uncle himself was not a keener politician, and it was perhaps
fortunate that in most respects their politics were identical. If she
had asserted her independence she had not lost her femininity; she did
take much thought as to the wherewithal she should be clothed, and she
liked admiration. And she got it. If she had not already refused six
offers of marriage, it was merely because she had not allowed six men
to go quite as far as they had intended. Heart-whole, she had not yet
met a man who much interested her, nor was she trying to arrange the
meeting. She paid no great attention to athletics, but she could swim
a mile, could sit a horse, and was a really good shot with a revolver.
Of the last item her uncle had not entirely approved. “Why not?” said
Hilda. “It’s a question of instinct. Instinct wouldn’t let me play
football or smack a policeman’s face, but it does let me learn to
shoot and want to vote.” She explained that she was only ready to use
violence if it were not her own violence but the violence of the other
sex. “For instance, when young Bruce Chalmers had the cheek to try to
address your men, I would not have thrown stones myself, but--if I had
been there--I would have encouraged the men who did throw them.”
“For goodness’ sake don’t say that,” said her uncle. “It was a
lamentable occurrence, and it was most unfortunate that it was a woman
who was hurt. It has done us more harm than good.”
Hilda laughed. She had a rather disconcerting laugh.
At the presentation she had looked charming. In the afternoon she had
made friends with a dozen babies and played games with them, and she
still wore her afternoon dress. But she looked fresh, cool, unruffled,
delicately tended. Her mutinous little mouth remained firm and quiet,
but a wicked brightness came into her eyes whenever a speaker achieved
unconscious humour--and this was a calamity which occurred to most of
the speakers. On the other hand, when Mr Grice recalled “an intensely
amusing anecdote related to me by an old Scottish lady,” Hilda sighed
gently and seemed to be thinking of far-off sad things. To such an
extent may feminine perversity be carried.
Mr Grice, Mr Hutchinson and Mr Wallis were all directors of the
company, and returned to London in Mr Lechworthy’s special saloon
carriage. The express stopped at Setton Park by arrangement to pick it
up. The Bishop had already spread his ecclesiastical wings in another
direction. Supper was served at a little flower-decked table in the
carriage for the party of eight. The three who have not already been
mentioned were Lechworthy’s elderly unmarried sister, who was nervous
and good-natured; Burton, his secretary, who had obligingly taken a
short-hand note; and Mr Harmer, quite recently of Corpus, Oxford, and
at present a leader-writer on the _Morning Guide_. Mr Harmer wore at
first the air of a man who had got the little party together and meant
to be kind to them, even if they did not quite reach his level. Later
he had a brief conversation with Hilda Auriol, to whom he wished to
say complimentary things; Hilda, metaphorically speaking, smote him
between the eyes, and thereafter he wore the air of a dead rabbit.
Yet she addressed her uncle’s secretary as Tommy, and went into fits
of laughter over his excellent but irreverent imitation of the Bishop
of Merspool, done for her private delectation. She was polite and
charming to Mr Hutchinson and Mr Wallis, who admired her intensely;
and to Mr Grice, who admired her quite as much as a married and
middle-aged Member of Parliament had any business to do. Altogether, it
was a cheerful little party. Mr Lechworthy, his sister and his niece
did not touch the dry champagne to which the others did justice; but
Mr Lechworthy’s ginger-ale, taken in a champagne-glass, presented a
colourable imitation of festivity. At the moment of the cigarette, Miss
Lechworthy and her niece retired to rest with instructions that they
were not to be called before London.
In the little saloon, when the supper-table had been cleared, the
men sat round and chatted, Mr Harmer alone being taciturn--which was
unusual with him. If the conversation was now more serious it was quite
optimistic. Mr Grice removed a faded malmaison from his button-hole,
jerked it into the outer darkness, and remarked that it must be
difficult for a man of Mr Lechworthy’s splendid energy to get himself
to take a holiday at all.
Mr Lechworthy was smoking the briar pipe which he permitted himself
after dark. His figure was lean, and at this late hour of night did not
show any sign of fatigue. He sat upright. His hair was grey, but he had
no tendency to baldness. He did not wear spectacles or false teeth. He
certainly seemed for a man of his age unusually strong and healthy. But
he made his customary observation that he was not as young as he had
been. He spoke of his holiday plans.
“Let me see,” said Mr Wallis. “I suppose you go to Sydney first?”
“Sydney and then Auckland. Might go on by one of the Union boats from
there. But I want to get a little off the usual lines, and I think
that I should do better to buy or hire a schooner there. I know very
little about such things, but I have friends at Auckland who would help
me. I’m fond of sailing.”
“You’re to be envied,” said Grice. “No business, no House of Commons.
Nothing to do but enjoy yourself.”
Lechworthy fixed his rather fanatical eyes on him. “Nothing to do but
enjoy myself? That would be a poor kind of life, Grice. No, no. Let me
use my holiday as I have tried to use politics, journalism, and even
the business with which I have just disconnected myself--to the highest
service of all.”
“Quite so,” said Hutchinson. “The rest--the gain in health and
strength--will be valuable to you, because they will enable you to
resume that service.”
“Yes, yes. True enough. But I had thought of something beyond that. A
voyage without an end in view would not greatly interest me, and even
if one does not work one must at least have some sort of occupation.
Our friend, Mr Harmer, will laugh at me, but I am proposing to write a
pamphlet--it may even be a little book.”
It should surely be abhorrent to a leader-writer to laugh at
his proprietor’s ambitions. Mr Harmer did not laugh. He left
his taciturnity and his brandy-and-soda to observe that he was
convinced that Mr Lechworthy already possessed materials for a dozen
books--interesting books too. If there was any difficulty about getting
the thing into literary shape Mr Harmer would only be too happy, etc.,
etc.
“Thank you very much. If I don’t ask you, it won’t be because I don’t
know your capabilities in that way. But, you see, Mr Harmer, I’m not
going to try to do anything literary. I couldn’t. And if you did it
for me under my name, I should be wearing borrowed plumes. Tell you
what I’m going to do--I’m going to make notes of the different missions
in the islands I visit. I can only touch the fringe of the subject,
of course. Goodness knows how many inhabited islands there are where
I’m going--Eastern and Southern Pacific--and I shall only have six or
eight months there. Still I want to wake up our people about South Sea
Missions. The ordinary man knows nothing about the islands. What could
you, Tommy, for instance, tell us about them?”
“I dunno,” said Tommy, reflectively. “I read some yarns about them when
I was a kid. All coral and cokernuts, ain’t they?”
“Ah! There are human souls there too. Yes, and I’m told that in one
group at any rate Roman Catholicism is rampant. There’s work to be
done.”
“Well,” said Grice, “if we hadn’t been fools enough to let the French
slip in and grab what they wanted--”
“Grice, my friend, let us be proud that in one instance, at any rate,
this country has not done all the grabbing. I’m not going to suggest
that we should add one square foot to our possessions. We have too
much--territorially, we’re gorged. No, let us see rather what we can do
to spread the true religion in place of the false. That’s what I feel.
If I can do one little thing for the cause of true religion, then my
holiday won’t be entirely wasted.”
“No, indeed,” said Mr Wallis, who suddenly felt that his cigar and the
glass in front of him had been inappropriate.
Mr Lechworthy’s fist descended solemnly on the table before him.
“True religion--that’s the only thing. I’ve kept it before me in my
business. I’ve tried to show that it is possible to treat the workman
as a brother, to consider his soul’s eternal salvation, and yet to make
a fair profit. I’ve dared to bring practical religion into journalism.
_The Morning Guide_ loses me so much every day, so much every year.
The money’s set aside for it--to produce a paper which will never
print a divorce case or an item of racing news--a paper in which every
_feuilleton_ clearly and distinctly enforces a good moral--a paper
which will be the sworn foe of this blatant self-styled imperialism. In
the House I venture to say that I belong to the religious party. You’ll
find little religion among the Conservatives--and what there is, is
largely tainted with ritualism. Unprofitable servant that I am, little
though I have done, I have at least kept my faith and carried it into
my life.”
There were a few seconds of silence. Then somewhere at the back of the
saloon a fool of a servant opened a bottle of soda-water. It went off
with a loud and ironical pop. The gurgle of the fluid seemed to utter
a repeated tut-tut. But Mr Lechworthy was unperturbed. Gliding easily
into another subject, he began to talk about cameras. His book or
pamphlet, whichever it might be, was to be profusely illustrated. Mr
Wallis, an amateur photographer of some experience, was lavish with his
advice. Later, a possible title for the book was discovered. Mr Grice,
who had been a little sleepy, grew suddenly alert again and almost
disproportionately enthusiastic. “A magnificent and noble enterprise
that could only have occurred to yourself, Lechworthy,” was a phrase
that possibly overstated the facts. Tommy Burton slept peacefully--poor
Tommy Burton--much in love with Hilda Auriol and condemned to perpetual
cheerfulness and brotherhood.
* * * * *
Thus it happened that the schooner which Cyril Mast had sighted bore
with it to the island of Faloo Mr Lechworthy and his niece. He had
never intended to take Hilda with him at all, but then Hilda had
always intended to go. Faloo had never been part of his programme, and
all that the skipper could tell him about it was that it was wrongly
charted; but Hilda had caught a glimpse of it in the evening light and
decided that she must spend an hour or two there. It was immediately
discovered that the ship needed oranges and taro, and that Faloo might
as well provide them. Lechworthy still had a will of his own, but then
the captain knew so much more and Hilda cared so much more, and the
sweet content of the South Seas had settled down upon him. He had eaten
peach-flavoured bananas and he was learning the mango. The expressed
juice of the fresh lime, mingled with ice and soda-water, seemed to him
the best drink that had ever been found. As to the missions--well, he
was getting a general impression (which bothered him a little, because
it was not quite the impression that he had meant to get), and he would
fill in the bare facts later. He had taken many photographs and would
develop the rolls of film as soon as he could find the time--unless he
came upon somebody who would do them for him.
At dawn the _Snowflake_ lay in a dead calm just outside the reef. Cyril
Mast took a good look at her. The snowy decks, the brilliant white
paint and the polished metal showing a hundred bright points of light
in the sunshine, told that this was no ordinary trader. Had the retreat
of the exiles been discovered at last? No, for the ship to come in that
case would be something sterner than this pretty toy. In a few minutes
he had changed his clothes; and now his collar, his necktie and his
waistcoat proclaimed his calling. He could manage a canoe excellently
himself--it was his favourite pastime when sober--but now his dignity
demanded that a couple of natives should propel him out through the
opening in the reef to the schooner’s side. The natives--as curious
as Mast--were eager for the work. At the moment the mad idea which
Mast subsequently carried out had not yet entered his head. All that
he wanted was to find out what the schooner was, and if possible to
get some break in the accursed monotony of his island life. He wanted,
pathetically, to exchange a few civilities with some white man who
did not know too much about him--to catch a glimpse of the outside
world that had been closed to him. That was why he wore the starched
dog-collar that was so uncomfortable, and the frayed black alpaca
jacket, and the waistcoat of clerical cut. He had not worn them for
ages; but he meant now, for an hour perhaps, to get back to the old
time, before certain events had made Faloo the only place in the world
for him.
Already there were many natives on the beach, adorned with wreaths and
necklaces of flowers, wearing holiday clothes. It might be of course
that the schooner was merely waiting for a wind, but perhaps a boat
would come ashore and there would be much festivity. Possibly some
order had come to them from King Smith, for a few of the natives who
would have launched their canoes were restrained by the others; and the
two men who had taken Cyril Mast out did not attempt to go on board. Of
King Smith himself nothing was to be seen. The white men still slept
peacefully in their bedrooms at the club, or in their own houses. The
schooner was Cyril Mast’s own discovery; none of the others knew of its
arrival.
On the deck of the _Snowflake_ Mr Lechworthy came forward with hand
outstretched.
“I don’t know your name, sir,” he said, “but I am glad and proud to
meet you. Missionary enterprise is a subject in which I take the
deepest interest. My name’s Lechworthy--you may have come across it in
connection with my business.”
Cyril Mast stammered his own name. He was astounded. He, the pariah,
the outcast, had been mistaken for a missionary. This man of wealth
and position was admiring his heroic self-sacrifice. And that beautiful
girl with the laughing eyes--
“Permit me, sir, to present you to my niece, Miss Auriol.”
Miss Auriol took one glance at his pimply, blotchy complexion, and in
great charity remembered that there was a complaint called prickly heat
and that a prolonged sojourn in the tropics must be unhealthy for a
European. She chatted freely. They expected to sail again later in the
morning, but were sending a boat ashore to see if they could get some
fresh fruit. Her uncle and she had thought of going in the boat and
getting an hour, perhaps, in Faloo.
As she spoke, Cyril Mast made up his mind. He would act the part that
had been given him. The deception could not be kept up for any length
of time, but it might be managed for one hour. It was simple enough
to call the club the mission-house. Few if any of the members would
be about at this hour, and he could manage to get breakfast served at
a table on the lawn outside the house. An hour in which to see this
beautiful English girl--
He found himself speaking rapidly. They must certainly come ashore and
have breakfast at the mission-house. His canoe would pilot their boat.
It would be the greatest pleasure for him to show them something of the
island. See, that was the mission-house there among the orange trees.
Hilda Auriol and her uncle agreed that it looked charming; the
invitation was at once accepted. Preparations for their departure and
the arrangements for their return were made at once. Cyril Mast’s
canoe flew over the water, the schooner’s boat following. Speaking
partly in the native tongue and partly in English he explained to the
crowd on the beach that the ship was “Mikonaree.” He would take the
“Mikonaree” and his daughter up to the club, where they wished to go.
The others--they must entertain them as best they could--would be going
up to the stores to buy things and the King would direct what was to be
done.
On their way up from the beach to the club-house Mr Lechworthy asked if
Mr Mast had been long on the island.
“Four years.”
“And never a holiday?”
“No,” said Mast, who every moment felt more like a real missionary,
“no, I have needed no holiday.”
“Rather lonely, I should think,” said Hilda.
“Well, one has one’s work. There are other white men on the island
too--traders and planters. You may possibly see some of them up at the
mission-house.”
Lechworthy began on the subject of his book--his projected work on the
missions of the South Seas. A native girl ran up with a necklace of
flowers for Hilda. Mast began to talk more easily and fluently, falling
into the part that had been assigned to him. He described King Smith,
that prodigy among natives, with accuracy and with some humour. He
was sketching the French Mission for his guests as they entered, with
exclamations of delight, the beautiful garden of the Exiles’ Club.
Somewhere at the back of his head Mast was wondering why King Smith had
not appeared. The arrival of a schooner constituted a great event. What
could he be doing?
Just at present the King sat in his office, deep in thought. Another
event had happened which made the schooner’s arrival of comparatively
little importance in his eyes. It was the first sign that his power
might not hold back the native outbreak, and it had come before he
expected it. In the early morning, while it was still dark, the King
as he lay awake had heard a scream--brief, agonised. It seemed to be
fairly near--a hundred yards or so away. He had lighted a lantern and
searched the scrub at the back of the stores. There he had found the
dead body of a white man with a native knife sticking in his throat.
The white man was Duncombe, and no complaint against him had ever
reached the King’s ears. It was a private revenge, and might not end
there.
The King decided and acted quickly. Already the body was buried out
of sight, covered with quicklime in a shallow grave. Hundreds of the
natives were in a state of angry ferment, held back by the King with
difficulty; if they saw that the first step had already been taken,
it would be impossible to hold them back at all. The King himself had
been the grave-digger and had kept his own counsel. Duncombe would be
missed at the Exiles’ Club that day. On the morrow his friends would
be anxiously searching for him. Meanwhile, the King would have found
out the assassin and would have used the strange gift with which
the natives credited him. He would talk to the man seriously in the
melodious native tongue, and say that he wished for his death. No other
step would be necessary. The man would go back to his hut, refuse food,
remain obstinately silent, and presently draw a cloth over his face and
die. In what way the death was caused the King could not have told you,
though once before he had used this gift. Modern science may choose
between an explanation by hypnotic suggestion, or a blunt denial of a
fact which has been credibly witnessed and reported.
In a few days the strange disappearance of Duncombe would be forgotten.
The King felt sure that for a while at any rate no further provocation
would come from the white men. The natives would quiet down again, and
their King would be free to follow the line of his own ambitions.
For the moment nothing else could be done. The King roused himself
and went out to look at the schooner. Word had already been brought
to him that this was not a trader. His interest was no more than
idle curiosity. He did not know that already there reclined in a
lounge-chair on the lawn of the Exiles’ Club the man for whom he had
been seeking. Lechworthy proposed to enjoy his hour or two in Faloo;
he also did not know. He did not know that he was destined to remain
in Faloo for days, and to meet with incidents that were but little
enjoyable.