The Rev. Cyril Mast left his guests for a few minutes on the lawn,
while he went into the club to order breakfast. The hour was early, but
not unusually early, and the Exiles’ Club never closed. For a few hours
after midnight the staff was much diminished, and only one of the white
servants was on duty, but even then a member could always get anything
he wanted. At least two-thirds of the members had bedrooms at the club.
But to-day the club did not wear its air of morning freshness. The
soiled glasses and laden ash-trays of the night before were left still
on the little tables on the verandah and in the hall. Not enough
windows had been opened, and the sour smell of stale cigar-smoke
poisoned the place. Even the Rev. Cyril Mast, who was by no means
particular, noticed it. A reluctant native servant was sent to find
Thomas, and failed; a minute later Thomas arrived of his own volition
from the bedrooms, looking hurried and worried. His quick eye noticed
Mast’s clerical clothes.
“I say, Thomas,” said Mast, “this place is in a hell of a mess.”
“Yes, sir,” said Thomas, and gave a rapid order to two native servants.
“Very sorry, sir, but it’s all the schooner.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s made so many of the gentlemen unusually early. Quite a little
excitement, when we first heard about it, sir. Seems it’s just a
chance visit from some missionary, but it’s meant more for us to do
here--gentlemen requiring baths and breakfasts. Three orders to give at
this moment.”
“Do that first, and then I can talk.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Thomas, and called down the speaking-tube.
“Drinking cokernut, large gin, ice and dry biscuit to Lord Charles. Got
that? Right. Tea and boiled eggs, Mr Bassett. Got that? Right. Those
two lots in the bedrooms at once. Coffee, two pork chops and stewed
pineapple to Mr Mandelbaum downstairs in twenty minutes. Yes, that’s
all. Now, sir, I’m ready.”
“I have two guests from the schooner--one of them is a lady--and I want
breakfast for them in the garden. And, look here, Thomas, they’re here
for only an hour or so, and we’ve got business, and if possible I don’t
want to be interrupted by any of the gentlemen. Put the table in some
secluded corner. See?”
“Certainly, sir. Sir John and Dr Soames Pryce are out already, sir, but
they will probably have gone to the beach, and I think there’s no other
gentleman down yet.”
As they settled the details of the breakfast more windows were opened
and a strong, fresh breeze blew in from the sea. Under the eye of
Thomas the native servants moved more quickly and order began to be
restored.
“You manage those beggars pretty well,” said Mast.
But Thomas was pessimistic. Four gallons of methylated spirits had been
stolen from the club stores, and for the life of him he couldn’t find
out which of his boys had got it. It was his belief that the only man
who could really manage them was King Smith.
The Rev. Cyril Mast had been careful to place chairs for his guests
where the orange-trees screened them from any view of the house. Mr
Lechworthy was perfectly contented to stay where he had been put. He
was quite happy, and he promised himself that presently he would
acquire valuable material for a sketch of a Protestant mission on one
of the smallest, the loneliest, and the most beautiful of the South Sea
islands. Meanwhile he had risen very early, and he had some ability for
the five-minute snooze. His head went back and the brim of his black
felt hat shaded his eyes. But Hilda Auriol had sighted a big parrot,
swaying on its perch in a patch of sunshine, and it was her wont to
make friends with all tame birds and beasts.
She went up and spoke to the parrot. The bird gave a husky cough,
imitated the act of expectoration, and began to say the three worst
things it knew. Then it sat blinking and thinking in silence. As Hilda
passed the verandah, the French windows of the card-room were flung
wide open, and she caught one glimpse of it--precisely as it had been
left the night before. She returned and roused Mr Lechworthy.
“There are at least sixteen missionaries here, uncle, which seems a
good many for such a small island. The sixteen play cards, drink, and
teach a parrot bad language. I don’t think I like them.”
Mr Lechworthy was much startled. “What do you mean, my dear?”
Hilda told him precisely what she had seen--the card-room with the four
tables, at all of which play had taken place, and the other tables
piled with glasses, gazogenes, and tiny decanters. She pointed out the
parrot, and once more the bird became clearly articulate and quite
reprehensible.
“I cannot understand it,” said Mr Lechworthy. “The thing’s
incomprehensible. I must see into this--there may be something which
I shall have to put a stop to. I ought not to have brought you here,
Hilda. You must leave me and get back to the boat at once.”
Hilda laughed. “Oh, no. We’ll see it through together. Here comes our
host.”
“Well, he shall have his chance to explain. He spoke of other white
men--traders and planters. They may be responsible. It is impossible
to believe that a minister of the true religion would--No, he will
explain.”
Hilda and her uncle went forward to meet Mast. They stood now in full
view of the house and close to the entrance to the garden. Mast was
voluble in his apologies. He was sorry to have kept them so long, but
he was afraid his native servants were not very intelligent. He feared
that breakfast would be rather primitive when it did arrive. But they
would have it in a spot from which one of the loveliest views in the
island could be obtained.
Mr Lechworthy smiled pleasantly. He and his niece preferred to live
quite simply, and it was most kind of Mr Mast to entertain them in any
case. “While we are waiting for breakfast, perhaps you will show us the
mission-house. We should particularly like to see that--the church,
too, that you built for the natives.”
Cyril Mast made three different excuses in three different sentences.
Lechworthy watched him narrowly, and drew one or two correct
conclusions. His pleasant smile vanished, and beneath their heavy brows
his eyes looked serious.
And then Bassett’s curious little figure appeared on the verandah. He
had hurried through his breakfast and was hastening down to the beach
to find out what he could of the schooner. But he was scarcely outside
the doors before the wind, blowing now with increasing force, caught
up his big felt hat and whirled it into the bushes. Bassett chased
his hat, and for the moment did not notice the little group by the
orange-trees. But Lechworthy’s quick eye had already recognised him.
“That man over there--is he also engaged in missionary work?”
“Yes. In a sense, yes,” stammered Mast. “He--”
“It will be interesting to talk to him about it. I happen to know him,
and I will call him. Bassett!”
Bassett was startled and turned sharply. He came very slowly across
the lawn, much as a dog comes to his master for punishment. What on
earth was Lechworthy doing in Faloo? Was he, too, flying from justice?
That would explain the arrival of the schooner and the fact that he
was evidently on friendly terms with Cyril Mast. But Bassett had to
put that notion aside. Knowing Lechworthy, he knew that it was not
possible. And Bassett was very much afraid. What did Lechworthy mean
to do? Well, he must put the best face on it he could. A defence that
would be torn to rags in court might seem plausible enough in Faloo.
“Good-morning, Mr Lechworthy,” said Bassett. “This is a great surprise.
Morning, Mast.”
“Bassett,” said Lechworthy, “Mr Mast, whom I had not met before,
brought us here from my schooner. He has told me that you are
associated with him in his missionary work here. Now you, Bassett, I
have met many times before, and I know your history.”
But it was not Bassett who answered; it was Cyril Mast, whose face was
white and twitched curiously.
“This is my fault, Mr Lechworthy,” said Mast. “I had not meant to
represent myself to you as a missionary. But you made the mistake, and
I was tempted to go on with it.”
“Yes,” said Lechworthy, quietly. “I don’t think I see why. You hardly
seem to be enjoying a practical joke.”
“Don’t you? For four years I have not spoken with a decent white man
or woman. We are all the same here--and we’re here because there’s
no other place left. If you had known about me--the truth about
me--you would not have spoken to me at all. That’s all. Don’t ask me
any questions, please. I’m going to leave you now. Get back to the
schooner at once; any of the natives on the beach will find a canoe for
you.”
Without a word to Bassett Mast raised his hat and turned away. He went
up the steps of the verandah and into the club-house.
“I think,” said Hilda, “that his advice is good. It’s blowing hard now,
and the _Snowflake_ can’t lie where she is--with the reef on her lee.”
“Yes, my dear, we will go. But I must have a few words with Mr Bassett
in private. Go on ahead of us a little.”
And now Bassett found his tongue. “You must not pay any attention to
what Mast said, Mr Lechworthy. Mast is a good fellow, but he suffers
from fits of morbid depression in which he believes himself to have
done horrible things--the life here is very lonely, you know--no
amusements of any kind--nobody to speak to.”
Lechworthy thought of the card-tables. “Bassett,” he said, “it’s not
about Mast but about yourself that I wish to speak. Many have looked
for you and have not found you. I have found you unwittingly--I think
because I was sent to find you. You are a thief, Bassett. You are a
murderer, for one of those poor women whose property you stole took
her own life.”
“I am absolutely innocent, Mr Lechworthy. I have a complete
explanation. You--should be careful, sir. I have seen men shot dead on
this island for saying less than you have said to me.”
“Do not try to frighten me, Bassett. I am ready for death when God
wills, and death will come no sooner than that. You are coming back
home with me, Bassett. You’ve fled to the far corner of the earth, and
it’s no use; your sin has found you out. You are coming back to take
your trial, and, if need be, your punishment. Do that, and I will help
you by all the means in my power. I will help you to make your peace
with man and to something better--your peace with God. It’s the one way
to happiness. You’ll find no way here. Turn back for nothing. Come now,
this moment.”
Even as he spoke Bassett had made his plan. Hilda, a few yards in front
of them, turned round. “Which way?” she called.
“The little track to the right, if you please,” called Bassett, “it’s
the shortest.” Then he turned to Lechworthy. “I will come,” he said.
“I put myself in your hands unreservedly.”
The little track to the right was very narrow and led through thick
scrub, damp and odorous with the scent of the frangipani bushes. Hilda,
well on ahead, fought her way through a tangle of lianas. Behind her
came Lechworthy, crouching and going gingerly, serenely happy. Behind
him at a little distance came Bassett, his hat under his arm, sweating
profusely, the revolver which he had taken out from his pocket held
clumsily in his shaking right hand.
And some way behind Bassett, going far faster than any of them, and
unseen by any of them, came the lithe figure of King Smith.
Just as Bassett fired the King’s club came down heavily on his head.
Hilda turned with a cry, as she heard the report, and struggled back
again to her uncle. Mr Lechworthy had at last found a place where he
could stand upright and ease his aching back. He held his black felt
hat in his hand, and examined the bullet-hole in the rim with a mild,
inquiring benevolent eye.
“You are not hurt, uncle?”
“Not in the least, my dear, thanks to this gentleman.”
“Get up,” said King Smith to Bassett.
Dazed, rubbing his sore head with one hand, Bassett staggered to his
feet. He looked from one to the other bewildered. In this wind, that
gave a voice to every bush, he had not heard the approach of King
Smith. And now his revolver lay on the ground, and the King’s foot was
on it, and it was the King who spoke in a way that Bassett had not
heard before.
“I have finished with you. Go where you like and do what you like. And
a little before midnight you will die.”
It was the definite sentence of death, and Bassett knew it.
Half-stunned as he was, he could still lie and make a defence.
He began an explanation. He had taken out the revolver to draw the
cartridges and stumbled. The thing was a pure accident. But of course
King Smith was not in earnest. He could not sentence a white man to
death like that. He would be elected to the white men’s club in a few
days. The white men were his partners in business, and--
The King cut him short. “It is to the King and not to the trader that
you speak now,” he said, as he picked up Bassett’s revolver. “Do not
compel me to shoot you where you stand. It is better that you should
have a few hours to arrange your affairs. Shortly before midnight,
remember.”
Bassett turned away in silence. Certainly the white men would act
together and stop an outrage of this kind. He must see Sir John and Dr
Pryce at once.
The King was transformed immediately from a stern judge into a
courteous man. He made many apologies to Lechworthy. He brought news
from the _Snowflake_, from which he had just returned. The wind had got
up so suddenly that there had been no time to send for Lechworthy; the
schooner had run for the lee of the island.
“I think, Mr Lechworthy, that the English have a proverb that it is an
ill wind which blows nobody any good. I confess that I am very glad to
get this opportunity of speaking with you. You can help us very much
in this island if you will. Of course my palace in the interior will
be entirely at the disposal of yourself and your niece. A guard will
be placed there, and I can guarantee your personal safety. I will do
my best for your comfort. And in a day or two, when the hurricane has
blown itself out, you shall go on your way again if you will.”
“We owe you our lives, sir,” said Mr Lechworthy with some dignity. “And
now we must thank you for your hospitality as well. It is as though God
had sent you to save us. We shall come to you willingly and with the
utmost gratitude.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Hilda.
“Perhaps,” said the King, “you will do me a greater service than
anything I am able to do for you. Now, if you will follow me back to
the next clearing, some of my people will be waiting for us.”
“There’s just one thing,” said Hilda, hesitatingly. She had never
spoken to a King before, and she was rather shy about it.
“Yes?” said the King, smiling. “The schooner? It will be quite safe.”
“I’m afraid,” said Hilda, “that I meant--er--clothes.”
“I foresaw that,” said the King. “Everything in that way that could be
got together in the few minutes that we had to spare has already been
brought ashore in my canoes. If there is anything further that you
would like, another canoe will go out to the schooner as soon as it is
practicable.”
“Thanks so much,” said Hilda, fervently.
They retraced their steps to the clearing, for the path by which
Bassett had taken them led only into the scrub. Many natives were in
waiting, full of smiles and excitement. To one group after another the
King gave rapid yet careful directions. Some sped inland and others
down to the beach. Presently some twenty of the native boys were racing
on bicycles up the road to the King’s house. Soon only two of the
natives remained, two girls of surpassing beauty, chosen by the king
from many aspirants. The King turned to Hilda.
“Miss Auriol, these two girls wish to be your friends, and to do
everything that you want while you are on the island. They will be in
attendance upon you while you are at my house, if you will let them
come. They are of my kin, and they speak a little English. If you will
have them, you will make them very happy.”
Hilda had already been watching the girls with frank admiration. “Oh,
yes, please,” she said eagerly. “There is nothing I should have liked
better.”
Tiva and Ioia flew to her side at once. Hilda made in them pleasant
discoveries of shyness, _naïveté_, curiosity, the utmost friendliness,
and a delicious sense of humour. Their questions were many and amazing,
their broken English made her laugh, and their laughter echoed her own.
Even in the short descent to the beach, these fascinating people made
her forget how near she had been to tragedy. The beautiful island of
Faloo that had begun to be dark and hateful to her took up its charm
again.
Behind the group of girls walked Mr Lechworthy in placid converse with
the King.
“Events happen quickly here,” said Lechworthy. “A bogus missionary--a
meeting with an absconding solicitor, whom I knew in his better
days--an attempt to murder me--my escape, for which I thank you, sir,
and, unhappily, the sentence of death.” He hesitated, and then ventured
to point out that in England an attempt to murder was punished less
severely.
To the ignorant native the English practice seemed to be illogical and
to put a premium on bad shooting. But he did not raise this point. He
said that he had never pronounced sentence on a white man before,
though the white men in his island had done much wrong. This was not
the only offence that Bassett had committed, and it was necessary that
he should die. “Here, you see, I am the King and the law--and my island
is not England. It is all different. You will see later.”
There was a pause, and then the King said, “I already know something
of you, Mr Lechworthy. I read your speeches at the time of the South
African war, and an article about you which appeared a year or more
ago in a paper called the _Spectator_. I have your pamphlet about
Setton Park, and I have many copies of the _Morning Guide_ containing
articles signed by you. I cannot tell you with what joy I found it was
you that the _Snowflake_ had brought. You, perhaps more than any other
Englishman, can help us here.”
“Every minute, sir, I become more surprised. Here, many hundreds of
miles from civilisation, I find a native king who speaks English like
an Englishman, procures and reads the English papers, even knows
something of such a seventh-rate politician and busy-body as myself.
But, sir, with the best will in the world to help you in any way that
my conscience permits, I don’t see what I am to do.”
“If you are kind enough to permit me to dine with you to-night, I will
explain everything.”
They had reached the beach, and once more the King changed the subject.
“You breakfasted at the Exiles’ Club? No? I thought perhaps that might
be so. Well, it is all ready here.” The King led the way to a broad
balcony of his unofficial residence, well sheltered from the wind. “You
will be more comfortable at my house inland--here there is not much.”
Certainly, the plates and cups were of various patterns and had seen
service; the forks and spoons were not coated with a precious metal,
and the use of the Union Jack as a cloth to the low breakfast-table
could only be excused by those who saw that a compliment was intended.
But Mr Lechworthy drank the best coffee he had met in the islands, and
devoured in blind faith delicious fruits of which he did not even know
the names. “Also very good,” he murmured at every fresh experiment.
King Smith had business needing his attention elsewhere, and it was
Tiva and Ioia who waited upon his guests. Nominally these two girls
did not breakfast, but Tiva ate sugar when she happened to come across
it, and Ioia drank coffee out of Hilda’s cup when Hilda had finished
with it. In the intervals they learned the word “Hilda,” and exchanged
the story of the robber-crab for hints on hair-dressing. Of their own
toilette they spoke with an innocent freedom, utterly open-air and
natural, which to some European girls might have been disconcerting.
But Hilda had picked up the right point of view, an invaluable
possession to the traveller anywhere. She had talked and played with
native girls in Tahiti and other islands, but she had found nothing so
charming as Tiva and Ioia.
“When shall we go on to the palace?” Hilda asked.
“Sometime--plenty quick,” said Tiva. The answer was not precise; but
then to Tiva the question was idle, for what on earth does time matter?
“I wonder,” said Mr Lechworthy, “if you could tell us anything about
this palace? It must be an interesting place.”
Mr Lechworthy inspired the girls with some awe. It was quite clear to
them that he was a very great chief indeed, and possibly King Edward
VII. Never before had King Smith received any white man in this way.
Wherefore Tiva hid her face in Hilda’s shoulder. Ioia said thoughtfully
that the palace was a “plenty-plenty big house.” She had thoughts of
adding a few picturesque inventions--it was so hard for her not to give
everybody everything they wanted--but she refrained. It subsequently
transpired, in talk with Hilda, that neither Tiva nor Ioia had ever
seen the King’s official residence. It stood in a big garden, hidden by
trees, and the whole place had been taboo to all native women. A few of
the native men had charge of it, and no one else had been allowed to
enter. This would be changed now. Tiva and Ioia were to reside there as
long as Hilda remained, and it was clear that they looked forward with
delight to this privilege and, possibly, to the satisfaction of their
curiosity.
King Smith himself announced that all was now ready for the drive to
his house in the interior. There were two light, well-built buggies,
with island ponies harnessed to them. Hilda and her two attendants
went in the first vehicle, followed by the King and Mr Lechworthy.
The luggage had already gone on, borne on the heads of natives. The
drive was along a wide, white-powdered road, bordered on either side by
groves of palms. Glorious bougainvilleas made streams and splashes of
colour. The tall utu scattered its graceful plumes of rose and white.
Sheltered though the road was, the travellers could hear the roar of
the wind, and now and then a soft thud, as a nut heavily-husked thumped
to the ground.
As they went, the King told Lechworthy all that he wished to know about
the Exiles’ Club.
“But how can you permit it, sir--this lazar-house, this refuge for the
worst scum of Europe polluting your beautiful kingdom?”
“I have not only permitted it, I have even--in vain--tried to become a
member of the club. I have done even worse. My friend, if a man wishes
to escape from a prison, he will use good tools, if he has them, to
break through the walls. And if he has not good tools, he will use
anything that comes to his hand--rusty iron, old nails, anything. And
he will use them even if they hurt his hand and put a festering wound
in it.”
“Yes, sir, I see what you mean. I will not judge hastily. To-night, I
think you said--”
“To-night I tell you everything. You will find much to condemn, much
that is hateful to you. But you love liberty and you will help my
people in spite of all. Then I shall no longer need the bad tools, and
I shall put them down. And as for the festering wound in my hand, I
shall burn it with a little gunpowder and in time it will be made whole
again.”
Lechworthy, watching him as he spoke, was conscious that he had found
here a master among men, clear in purpose, indomitable in pursuit of
it. But where was the man’s Christianity? What were his political
purposes? Was there no danger in being drawn into them? Well, that
night he would see. He had already found that the King could be
inexorable, and that it seemed impossible to procure postponement of
the execution of Bassett even by one single hour.
Bassett himself was horribly frightened, but he did not believe that
the sentence of death would be carried out. For the moment King Smith
was angry; later in the day Bassett would see him again, or would get
Sir John to do it for him. He would persist, of course, that the shot
was accidental. Besides, King Smith might be pleased to say that he did
not speak as a trader, but he still was a trader, and on the trader
the members of the Exiles’ Club could bring very stringent and serious
pressure to bear. If the King still persisted--well, it was easy enough
for him to pronounce sentence, but he would find it impossible to carry
it out.
In the hall of the club Mr Bassett found the Rev. Cyril Mast and Lord
Charles Baringstoke. The latter was shivering in pale blue pyjamas and
an ulster; he had not yet bathed, neither had he brushed his yellow
hair. The two men were getting on well with a bottle of doubtful
champagne.
“Hullo, Mr damned Bassett,” said his lordship. “You’ve got a lot of
blood on your collar. Somebody been crackin’ your egg for you?”
Bassett took no notice of him. He turned upon Mast and swore hard at
him. So choked was he with rage that he could hardly articulate. He
repeated himself over and over again. Had Mast gone clean out of his
mind? What had he done it for? What had he brought Lechworthy there
for? Lechworthy of all people! He stormed and spluttered his abuse.
“Lechworthy was my guest and you can mind your own business,” said
Mast, sullenly, and refilled his glass. “If you swear at me again, I’ll
hit you.”
“My business?” screamed Bassett--but he did not swear this time. “Why,
wait till you’ve heard. We’re done--every man of us--and all the result
of your folly. You haven’t seen King Smith, but I have--and he means to
take my life to-night. Oh, what’s the good of talking to you boozers?
Where’s Pryce? Where’s Sir John?”
“Ask the waiter,” said Mast.
“Look here, old friend, I’ll tell you. Pryce and Sir John went out
to find Duncombe,” said Lord Charles. “Duncombe’s been stopping out
all night. Naughty, naughty! And won’t he catch it from Sir Jonathan
Gasbags? Jaw, jaw, jaw! Lordy, I had some of it yesterday! I say,
Bassett, has anything really been happening? Because, if so, I should
like to be in it. Why, there they are!”
Sir John and Dr Soames Pryce entered from the verandah. Mast and
Bassett both began to speak at once, angrily and in a high voice. Lord
Charles Baringstoke gave a quite good imitation of a north-country
pitman encouraging a dog-fight. The noise was terrific. Members came
out from the reading-room to see what was happening. Servants paused on
the stairs to watch.
Sir John’s walking-cane came down with a crack on the table before him.
“Silence!” he roared. And he got it.
“Now then,” he said severely, “is this a club or a bear-garden?
You--members of the committee--behaving like this? Now, Mr Bassett.
Now, sir, I’ll hear you first. And don’t shout, please.”
“A most serious thing has happened, Sir John. I fear that we’re done
for. I must see you and Dr Pryce in private about it. And the whole
thing’s due to the damned folly of this man Mast.”
The champagne bottle whizzed past his head, missing him by a
hair’s-breadth and smashing on the opposite wall. Mast would have
followed up the attack, but he met a quick fist with the weight of Dr
Pryce behind it; the lounge-chair on which he fell collapsed under him,
and he lay sprawling on the floor.
“You all seem very excited,” said Dr Pryce, cheerfully. “I would
suggest, Sweetling, that you and Mr Bassett go off to his room, and
I’ll join you there in a minute.”
“Very well,” said Sir John. “Come on, Mr Bassett. This must be
discussed quietly.”
“Get up, old cockie,” said Dr Pryce, extending a hand to Mast. “Made
up your mind to bring disgrace on the cloth this morning, haven’t you?
You’ve been drinking too much. Go and lie down for a bit--you can’t
stand it, you know.”
“You’re a good chap, Pryce,” said Mast. “Perhaps I can stand it and
perhaps I can’t. But I’m going on with it for this day anyhow. Thomas,
I say, where’s Thomas?”
“Go to the devil your own way then,” said Pryce, and followed Sir John
and Mr Bassett.
Lord Charles Baringstoke turned to the on-lookers. “Seem very cross,
don’t they?” he said. “Now is anybody going to stand me one little
brandy before I go up to bathe my sinful body?”
In the secretary’s room Bassett’s story was told at length. Sir John
listened to it with gravity and Dr Soames Pryce with a sardonic
smile. In the main Bassett stuck to the facts, but he lied when he
said that Mast was drunk when he brought Lechworthy to the club. “I
left Lechworthy with King Smith, and he can’t have got back to the
_Snowflake_. So I suppose that he’s with the King now.”
“Most likely,” said Sir John, drumming on the table with his nails.
“See, Pryce? Remember what I said? Well, the King’s got into touch at
last. Lord knows what Lechworthy was doing here, though.”
“Yes,” said Pryce. “That is so. The illustrious visitor will stop at
His Majesty’s official residence. That is why we met that gang of boys
cycling up there.”
“It was the worst of luck,” whined Bassett. “If King Smith hadn’t come
up just at that moment I should have saved the situation. You see that,
of course.”
“No, I don’t,” said Sir John.
“Bassett, my poor friend,” said Dr Pryce, “you’ve made every possible
blunder. I can’t think of one that you’ve left out. I’m not going to
argue about it, but it is so. So don’t brag about saving situations.”
“You express my own opinion,” said Sir John. “And the consequences of
your blunders, Bassett, are likely to be serious.”
“Anyhow, the consequences are serious. The most serious of all is that
my life is threatened.”
Dr Pryce laughed.
“You’ll pardon us if we don’t think so,” said Sir John. “But you can
cheer up, Bassett. Threatened men sometimes live long. Remain in the
club. It will be well guarded to-night. Every precaution will be taken.
Smith simply can’t get at you--short of a general attack on the white
men by the natives, and he won’t risk that. It wouldn’t suit his book
at all just now. Meanwhile, you appeal to Lechworthy.”
“Surely he’s the last man in the world to--”
“He’s the only man who’s likely to have much influence with King Smith
just now, and he won’t approve of irregular executions. If he asks to
be allowed to take you back to England, he’ll probably get you. And
it’s better to go than to die--also, you can probably give him the slip
somewhere or other on the way.”
“Yes,” said Bassett, rubbing his chin. “There’s that. There’s always
that.”
“Look here, Bassett,” said Dr Pryce, suddenly, “we shall want four
or five good men to patrol outside from sunset to midnight--sober men
who can shoot and know when to shoot--Hanson and Burbage are the right
type. Go now and find them.”
“I’ll do it at once. Shall I bring them here?”
“No. Just get their names. I’ll talk to them later.”
“And, I say, wouldn’t it be a good thing if we elected King Smith a
member now?”
“Might as well offer a mad buck-elephant a lump of sugar. You go and
find those men.”
“Now,” said Dr Pryce, as soon as Bassett had gone.
“Smith will tell Lechworthy everything. Lechworthy goes home with our
names in his pocket. Therefore he must not go home.”
“Certainly. Nor must other people go home with similar information.”
“They must not,” said Sir John. “Therefore we must get a man on board
the _Snowflake_. That ship must be lost with crew and passengers. Our
man may be able to save himself or he may not. It’s a devilish risky
business. Still, money will tempt people.”
“I wouldn’t trust a paid man on that job,” said Pryce. He reflected
a minute. “My lot’s thrown in with the sinners. Tell you what,
Sweetling--I’ll do it myself.”