THE LOVE OF COMRADES.
“Good heavens!” Nick Carter broke out. “Do you actually mean to tell me
that he has attacked you before?”
“I do,” the deep voice replied. “He tried to shoot me from ambush a
week or so before we left Brazil, and just prior to our arrival at
Kingston he made another attempt. He was not nearly so successful that
time, though. I managed to overpower him.”
They were pacing along the dark deck now, and Nick heard the man by his
side draw a deep breath.
“Something has gone wrong with Jimmy Stone,” he said quietly. “You
don’t know him as I do, Carter. Up to a short six months ago he was
like a brother to me. Man, I tell you that Jim Stone is the only person
in the world that I—I care two straws about. You know what it means to
men who have lived and starved together.”
The rich voice stopped, and Nick caught something that was suspiciously
like a suppressed sob. Involuntarily he paused, and Crawford halted for
a moment, his shoulders shaking.
A strong man’s grief is a terrible thing to witness, and the detective
felt himself tongue-tied.
“My friend—my old comrade!” Crawford went on huskily. “Trying to murder
me! By Heaven, Carter, it almost breaks my heart!”
He swung around suddenly and caught Nick by the arm again.
“I want you to keep this thing a secret,” he said earnestly. “Jim
isn’t accountable for this mood that has been on him for the last few
months—he isn’t accountable for his actions. I had feared for some time
that there was a little trouble with his brain, and my suspicions were
confirmed before we left South America.”
He then went on to tell in detail of Stone’s attempt to shoot him, as
revealed by the young physician; of the latter’s opinion of Stone’s
sanity—or, rather, insanity—and finally of the promise Floyd had wrung
from the misguided man.
He told the detective that Stone had reluctantly agreed to consult a
famous specialist, but only because he had felt compelled to do so in
order to stop Floyd’s mouth. Unfortunately, however, he had forgotten
the specialist’s name and that of the hospital of which he was the head.
Had Nick learned those important facts, there might have been a
different story to tell.
“You will help me shield him, won’t you, Carter?” Crawford begged. “I
suppose I haven’t any right to ask it, but, after all, it’s my funeral
and not yours. That’s what I told Floyd. He couldn’t rest until he had
warned me, but it did not seem right for me to change my plans in any
way. Jim is my oldest and best friend—my only close friend, in fact—and
I couldn’t bear to cut adrift from him. Besides, I’ve been hoping all
the time that he’d come out from under this cloud; that I’d find
some way of reaching his heart and making it all right again. I have
tried time after time, but always failed. He thinks I’m his enemy,
and attributes to me all the evil suspicions that are bred in his
poor diseased brain. It seems hopeless, unless he can get some help,
but whatever happens I’m going to stick to him. There’s so little the
matter with him, you see, and I know that the man himself is one of the
finest. He would never dream of hurting any one if he were in his right
mind, least of all me.”
“I have no doubt you are right about that,” the detective agreed, “and
that you’re the only one who is in any danger from him; nevertheless, I
can’t help thinking that your affection, highly commendable as it is,
has caused you to take a very foolish risk. You say yourself that you
haven’t been able to do him any good, and certainly he doesn’t take any
pleasure in your society, to say the least. It was very unwise of you
to have traveled all this distance with him, and to have occupied an
adjoining stateroom. It has simply put temptation in his way. You don’t
want to make him a murderer, do you, aside from the question of your
own safety?”
“No, no! Heaven knows I don’t!”
“Then you ought by all means to keep out of his way,” Nick advised
gravely. “You say that this Doctor Floyd extracted a promise from
him that he would do nothing more against you until he had seen this
specialist, but you admit that he has broken that promise not less than
twice during the voyage. Plainly there’s no reliance to be placed in
him, as there never is in the case of any one who is mentally affected
even in the slightest degree.”
“I know,” admitted Crawford. “Jimmy doesn’t think he has broken his
promise, though. He made a condition that he should do nothing unless
I provoked it or he was obliged to act in self-defense. I’m sure he
thinks he has adhered to that condition. Both times when he has pounced
on me he snarled, ‘You would, would you?’ or something like that, as if
I had made some move to attack him.”
“That’s just it,” commented the detective. “He’s obviously unbalanced,
and imagines all sorts of things. Under the circumstances, therefore,
you can do him no possible good, and may lose your life at any moment.”
The miner shook his head.
“I realize that what you say is all true,” he admitted, “but I’m afraid
I’m a fatalist, Mr. Carter. I simply can’t turn my back on Jimmy. I
feel that I must stick by him for the sake of old times, and, besides,
it seems like cowardice to do anything else. I’ve never been a coward,
and I don’t want to begin now. Anyway, I have engaged rooms for both of
us at the Windermere, connecting rooms. I’d feel like a selfish sneak
if I made any change. I don’t want Jimmy to have my blood on his head,
or the blood of any one, and I hope and pray it won’t come to that; but
the bonds between us are too strong to be broken by me. You see how
it is, Mr. Carter, and that it’s hopeless to argue with me. Are you
willing to let me go my way in this, and to promise me that you’ll not
take any action whatever?”
The anxiety in his voice indicated how keenly Crawford felt the
situation. On the one hand, the man’s amazing obstinacy made Nick
very impatient, but on the other, he felt a strange admiration for
Crawford’s unfaltering loyalty. He thrust out his hand in the darkness,
and the palms of the two men met.
“All right, Crawford,” he said, and his voice was deep and vibrating.
“I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s the kind of mistake one
can’t help honoring you for. I look upon you as one of the bravest men
I have ever met, and you may be sure that I will keep your secret.”
Crawford wrung the outstretched hand.
“I thank you with all my heart,” he said, “and I—I won’t forget that
you saved my life. Some day I hope to be able to repay you. In any
event, we’ll meet again in New York.”
But neither he nor Nick dreamed of the curious circumstances that were
to draw them together again in the great city.