“NOBODY MUST KNOW!”
Preston’s servant, an ex-soldier who had served under him in France,
returned to the houseboat, but neither Preston nor Yootha had arrived.
The man looked about him, puzzled. Then, concluding that his master
must have been detained by friends on his way back, he began to attend
to his work.
But when an hour had passed, and still Preston did not return, he went
outside and scanned the river with his master’s field-glasses. It was
past seven, and he had dinner nearly ready. It would be annoying if his
master stayed away for dinner without giving him warning.
Presently a boat stopped alongside, and its sole occupant got out and
came aboard.
“Captain Preston about?” he inquired breezily. “I am dining with him.”
“Dining with him, sir?”
“Yes. Hasn’t he told you?”
“He has not been here since four o’clock, sir. He and Miss Hagerston
went out to tea and have not been back since. I have an important
letter for him and wish he would return.”
It was now Johnson’s turn to look puzzled.
“I met him and Miss Hagerston at tea,” he said at last, “and they
invited me to come and dine. I can’t understand it. Anyhow, I had
better wait.”
“If you would, sir. As he has invited you to dine he is bound to be
back soon.”
Johnson looked again at the man.
“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
“Yes, sir, at Fig Tree Court.”
“Of course. I remember.”
He lay back in the deck-chair which he had taken, lit a cigarette, and
began carelessly to focus the boats on the river through Preston’s
binocular.
At eight o’clock the man came back.
“Hadn’t I better serve your dinner, sir?” he inquired tentatively. “I
am sure the captain would not like you to be kept waiting. Something
important must have detained him, sir, for he is always punctual to the
moment, and of course there being no telephone----”
“Thank you, but I will wait a little longer. If he is not back by
half-past eight perhaps I will have something to eat, as I can’t get
anything anywhere else now.”
“Thank you, sir,” and the man retired with noiseless tread.
But at half-past eight neither Preston nor Yootha had returned, nor had
they by half-past nine. Johnson had waited until nine, then had eaten a
light meal and gone away.
The ex-soldier was becoming anxious.
He pulled out of his pocket the long envelope addressed to his master,
which had been brought by a man in flannels who had appeared to him a
gentleman and had assured him the letter was most urgent and must be
delivered at the earliest possible moment.
“I wonder if this would throw some light on it?” he said aloud, as he
eyed the envelope suspiciously. “So help me, I’d like to know.”
It was a gorgeous night, without a breath of air, and as warm as in the
tropics. As the man stood on the deck of the house-boat smoking a cigar
and with his hands in his pockets, his thoughts traveled back to the
many hardships he and his master had endured together in France during
the three years he had served under him; of the tight corners they had
more than once found themselves in; and of his master’s extraordinary
coolness in moments of extreme crisis.
“Ah, if they was all like him,” he said reflectively, “we should have
an army, and no mistake!”
For, like many another British Tommy who had been face to face with
death alongside his officers, the fellow worshiped Preston. In such
high esteem did he hold him, indeed, that sometimes his friends would
grow weary of hearing “Captain Preston’s” many virtues extolled by the
faithful servant, and curtly bid him “shut up.”
It was nearly eleven when the man, half-dozing in a deck-chair, heard
his name called. Instantly he sprang up.
“Yes, sir? That you, sir? Nothing the matter, I hope, sir?”
In the moonlight Preston and Yootha Hagerston could be seen standing
together on the bank.
“Are you alone, Tom?” Preston asked. His voice had a curious timbre.
“Yes, sir. Doctor Johnson came to dinner, sir, but as you had not
returned by nine o’clock I gave him dinner alone, sir.”
“You did quite right.”
After speaking a few words under his breath to Yootha, Preston came
aboard alone, leaving her standing on the bank.
“Tom,” he said in a low tone; “Miss Hagerston is in rather an
embarrassing position. Things have happened which have prevented her
returning to town with Mrs. Hartsilver, who was to have met her after
leaving her friends, and there isn’t a bed to be had anywhere, and of
course the last train to London has gone. There is nothing for it but
for Miss Hagerston to sleep here, but nobody must know about it, you
understand. Now, what can we arrange?”
Tom rubbed his chin. Then suddenly he looked up.
“I can sleep on deck, sir, in a deck-chair; very nice on a night like
this. Then if you would sleep in my quarters, Miss Hagerston could have
your quarters and be completely cut off, sir.”
Preston reflected.
“That seems the only solution,” he said at last. “But, as I say--nobody
must know.”
“Nobody shall know, sir.”
“Right.”
He turned, and called to Yootha to come aboard. Then he told her of the
arrangement.
She was pale, and looked greatly worried. There were dark marks under
her eyes, and a casual acquaintance who had met her in the afternoon
would hardly have believed her now to be the same woman. She was silent
and _distraite_.
“To-night’s adventure seems like a horrid nightmare,” she exclaimed a
little later, suddenly gripping Preston’s arm. “What is it makes people
so horrible, Charlie? All to-day we were so happy, and now----”
She stopped abruptly, and a sob choked her. Preston put his arms about
her, kissing her at first gently, then passionately, on the lips.
“My little girl mustn’t fret,” he murmured. “I know it is all dreadful,
but it will pass. We think now there is no way of escape, because we
can see none, but we shall find a way. My darling must leave everything
to me and place implicit confidence in me.”
But though he spoke thus his heart was heavy. And on the top of it all
here was Yootha alone with him in his house-boat for the night. True,
nobody need know, but the risk of discovery existed, and so long as
it existed there was danger, especially in view of his and Yootha’s
experience during the past few hours. Blackmailers he had for years
looked upon with loathing, and always he had told himself that should
he by any extraordinary mishap ever render himself open to blackmail
he would then and there face the music, attack his attacker, thrash
him if need be, do anything and everything sooner than accede to any
scoundrel’s proposals.
And yet here he was hemmed in with Yootha and on the point of becoming
an unwilling accessory to another’s blackmail in order to shield, not
himself only--that, he told himself, he never would have done--but the
woman he loved to distraction, and to protect her honor. The prospect
was too awful, and, as he thought about it now, racking his brain to
find a way out of the net which had been so cleverly drawn around them
both, every way seemed blocked, and a cold perspiration broke out all
over him.
Silently he kissed Yootha once more as she bade him good night, and for
several minutes they remained locked in each other’s arms.
When he was alone again, Tom came to him. In his hand was a large,
rather bulky gray envelope.
“This was brought for you, sir, about six o’clock, and as it is marked
very urgent I took the dinghy and rowed to the boat where you had gone
to tea, but the gentleman told me you had just left.”
“What gentleman?”
“I don’t know his name, sir, but----”
And he described his appearance.
“La Planta,” Preston said aloud, with a frown. Then he took the letter
and went below to read it by the light of the lamp, leaving Tom on
deck.
About two minutes later the ex-soldier stopped abruptly in his work of
folding up the deck-chairs, and listened. No sound was audible.
“Strange,” he murmured. “I could have sworn I heard a groan.”
Stepping very quietly, he crept down the few steps, then peered into
his master’s cabin, the door of which stood half open.
Preston, seated with his elbows on the table, his head resting between
his hands, was staring at some letters spread out in front of him. Thus
he remained for several moments, motionless, though from where Tom
stood his heavy breathing was audible.
Tom gave a light knock on the door, then entered.
Preston gave no sign.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, sir, before I go to bed?” the
man asked.
Preston did not reply. He still made no sign, and seemed unconscious of
the other’s presence.
Tom was about to repeat the inquiry, when all at once Preston collapsed
in a heap, his head falling forward heavily on to the table.
Instantly his servant sprang to his assistance. Thinking he must
have fainted, though never before had he known him to faint, the man
loosened his collar, then ran quickly away and returned with water with
which he began to bathe his master’s temples and the back of his neck.
Thus he continued for some minutes, at the end of which time Preston
began slowly to recover consciousness. Soon he looked into Tom’s face,
then gripped his hand tightly.
“Tom,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “I have had bad news, very bad
news. I may be in great difficulties soon, and you are about the only
man who will then be able to help me. I can trust you implicitly, eh,
Tom?”
He gave the man a searching look, with an expression in his eyes which
Tom had never seen there before. Though only his servant, Tom had come
to be looked upon by Preston, who had so often faced death with him, as
a personal friend.
“I think so, sir,” he answered grimly. “Do you feel a little better
now, sir?”
“Yes, I’m all right. Tell me who handed you the letter you gave me just
now?”
Tom described the appearance of the man in flannels.
“Did he say anything?”
“No, sir. Only asked me to be sure to give it to you the moment you
returned, as it was very urgent. I was to give it to you myself, sir.”
He turned, opened a little cupboard in the corner, and took out a
tantalus and a siphon.
“You had better drink this, sir,” and he handed his master a stiff
brandy and soda.
“Thank you, Tom.”
When he had emptied the tumbler, Preston looked better.
“Miss Hagerston must know nothing about my being taken ill,” he said.
“She shall not, sir.”
“Or that I received a letter brought by hand.”
“She shall not, sir.”
“Tom, is my little automatic anywhere about?”
The man glanced at him suspiciously. A thought had flashed into his
mind, but the next moment he had dismissed it, and replied:
“Yes, sir, I have it.”
“Keep it loaded, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now you can go to bed, Tom. I hope you will manage to sleep on
that chair.”
“We have both of us slept in worse places than that, sir,” and he
smiled grimly at the recollection. “Will you be all right now, sir?”
“Quite all right. I think the heat upset me. Good night, Tom.”
“Good night, sir.”
“The heat!” Tom murmured as he rolled himself up in his blanket in the
deck-chair. “I _don’t_ think!”