Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: FOR A MOMENT OR MORE THERE WAS ABSOLUTE STILLNESS IN
THAT GRASSY ARENA]
AS IT WAS
IN THE
BEGINNING
BY
PHILIP VERRILL MIGHELS
Author of _The Furnace of Gold_ and _Thurley Ruxton_
New York
Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.
Copyright, 1912
By DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC.
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A TRUSTED MESSENGER
II. AN UNEXPECTED OUTBURST
III. A MIDNIGHT TRAGEDY
IV. THE NIGHT AND MORNING
V. THE ISLAND
VI. VARIOUS DISCOVERIES
VII. A GREWSOME GUARDIAN
VIII. PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS
IX. THE MOTHER OF INVENTION
X. THE MASTER POACHER
XI. A MYSTERY
XII. AMBITIOUS PLANS
XIII. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
XIV. TRUANTS OUT OF SCHOOL
XV. A NIGHT IN THE JUNGLE
XVI. A DEAD MAN'S SECRET
XVII. FEVERISH EMPLOYMENTS HALTED
XVIII. AT THE TIGER'S KILL
XIX. GRENVILLE'S RADIANT STAR
XX. A GIRDLE OF GOLD
XXI. MOLTEN METAL AND HOPES
XXII. A TOMB OF STONE
XXIII. A DESPERATE CHANCE
XXIV. A DREADED VISITOR
XXV. AN IRREPARABLE LOSS
XXVI. AFTER TO-MORROW----
XXVII. A FATEFUL EXPLOSION
XXVIII. WHAT THE BLAST DISCOVERED
XXIX. AN INTERRUPTED DIVERSION
XXX. REVEALING AN INTENT
XXXI. THE SILENT VISITORS
XXXII. DEATH AS A BROTHER
XXXIII. THE GIRL BEHIND THE GUN
XXXIV. DYAK DARTS AND METHODS
XXXV. A BATTLE IN THE SMOKE
XXXVI. THE LAST CUP OF WATER
XXXVII. A BREATHLESS MARGIN
XXXVIII. GRENVILLE'S DESPERATE CHANCE
XXXIX. ADDITIONAL HEAD-HUNTERS
XL. PLOT AND COUNTER PLOT
XLI. A LIVING BAIT
XLII. LONG HOURS OF DOUBT
XLIII. THE HOUR OF CLIMAX
XLIV. A LOTUS BLOSSOM
XLV. THE LAST BOMB
XLVI. A GIFT REFUSED
XLVII. A FRIEND IN NEED
AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING
CHAPTER I
A TRUSTED MESSENGER
Grenville was not the type to be readily excited, yet a glow of
exceptional brilliance shone in his eyes as he met the searching gaze
of his friend, and wondered if Fenton could be jesting.
That he had made no reply whatsoever to Fenton's proposition he failed
to realize till Gerald spoke again.
"Well, Sid," demanded that impetuous lieutenant of finance, "gone dumb?
Perhaps I haven't made it plain," and he particularized on his fingers.
"You get an ocean trip of eight or ten weeks' duration, tropic sun at
its best, leisurely business without a fleck of bother, absolute rest,
good provender, thorough recuperation, your entire expenses cheerfully
paid, vast service rendered to me, no time lost on your equilibrator,
time for countless new inventions to sprout in your fertile brain--and
the unutterable joy of escaping this abominable climate, practically at
once!"
Grenville's smile, still brightly boyish, despite the many reverses and
hardships of his six and twenty years, came creeping to his eyes. His
wan face suggested a tint of color.
"Don't wake me up for a moment, Fen," he answered. "I haven't dreamed
anything like it for years."
"Dreamed?" repeated Fenton, resuming his interrupted pacing up and down
the rug, where the firelight reddened his profile. "Does that mean you
like it?--you'll go?"
"Would Cinderella go to a ball?" replied the still incredulous
Grenville, half seriously. "What's the joker, old chap? What is the
worst that could happen at the midnight stroke of twelve?"
Fenton came at once and laid his hands on the broad, bony shoulders of
his friend.
"Have I ever played a joker with you yet?" said he. "Never mind the
apology. I forgive you. I understand the compliment. Proposal sounds
too good to be true, and all that sort of rubbish. The fact is, old
man, I want you to go to Canton, China, and bring home my affianced
bride. That's absolutely all there is to the business. You need the
change and voyage; I haven't the time to go out there and fetch her
myself. Elaine is alone in that heathenish country, miserably
heartsick over her uncle's sudden death. She wishes to return at once.
I can't let the poor girl come alone. I've no one in the world but you
I'd care to send--and there you are."
The glow departed from Grenville's eyes. His doubts of any proposition
with a woman in the case lurked deep in his level gaze. His face
became once more the rugged mask with which he had so long confronted a
world persistently gray. The smile he summoned to his lips was more
quizzical than mirthful.
"It sounds perfectly simple," he replied. "But--you know there are
several tales, recorded in prose and verse, of kings who have sent a
trusted messenger on precisely such an errand. The joker somehow
managed to get into play."
"Just so," agreed Fenton, readily. "Three or four times in a thousand
cases the girl and the--er--messenger rather thoughtlessly--well, a
complication arises. The percentage, however, is excessively low.
We'll consider that a negligible possibility. You see, I know both you
and Elaine, and I am not a king. The question is--will you go?"
Grenville was always amused by Fenton's arguments.
"I have seen no statistics on the subject," he admitted. "In this
particular instance you think there is not the slightest danger?"
"Of finding in old Sid a modern Launcelot?" Fenton turned his friend
about till both of them faced down the length of the room. "Well," he
added, "to be sure----"
Grenville's quick glance had sped to the massive mirror, ten feet away,
where both himself and Fenton were reflected from heels to crown. He
comprehended in a glance the ill-clothed, thin, ungainly figure he
presented: his big hands hanging loosely down, his face too ruggedly
modeled, too sallow for attractiveness, his hair too rebellious for
order.
A Launcelot indeed! The irony of the situation struck home to his
sense of humor.
"Have a look," continued Fenton, his nervous glance indifferent to his
own athletic fitness, the perfect grooming of his person, the grace and
elegance of his tailoring. "Do you discern anything of the disloyal
ambassador in that hard-worked friend and comrade of my happiest
years?" His eyes gleamed irresistibly. "You see, old chap, you have
trusted an invention of perhaps incalculable worth to my honor, and
must leave both your fame and possible fortune in my keeping while you
are long away."
"Yes, but----"
"I know, exactly. This is the sort of thing you and I have always done
by one another. I had no thought of refusing your trust in me, and
so--I have booked your passage for Wednesday."
He turned again to the mantel and began to fill his pipe.
Grenville pivoted slowly and rubbed the corner of his jaw.
"You have--booked my passage--for Wednesday?"
Fenton nodded. "Elaine is quite desolate and lonely. You need
immediate sunshine and warmth, and can do no good remaining here. Fine
day all round for starting, Wednesday, and no boat sailing sooner.
There are one thousand dollars in that wad by the statue of Anubis, for
your outfit and incidental cash."
Grenville glanced mechanically at the dog-headed god of the ancient
Egyptians, apparently guarding the money towards which Fenton had waved
a careless gesture.
"One thou----"
"If it isn't enough, draw on my bankers for more," interrupted Fenton,
puffing at his calabash industriously. "I have written Elaine so fully
you'll have nothing to explain."
"By George!" said Grenville, more aggressively, "I like your nerve--the
way you'd plunge me into trouble! Do you think I'm a mere senseless
rack of wires and bones because I'm not my usual self? What's to
prevent me from falling head over heels---- What's the rest of her
name--Elaine what? And you probably have her photograph somewhere
among your possessions."
"Her full name," Fenton answered, moving to the desk beside the mirror,
"is Elaine Lytton--twenty-one this month. We've known each other seven
years." He returned, extending a small-sized photograph. "Fine girl.
That's her picture. Good likeness--sent me last winter from China."
Grenville studied the photograph superficially. He used it to tap on
the table as he once more faced his host.
"About as I expected," he announced with his customary candor.
"Nice-looking girl--nothing extra, perhaps, but nice enough. Now tell
me how any healthy male friend of yours can guarantee not to fall in
love with Elaine, on a long, lazy trip through the tropics," and he
cast the picture from him towards the lamp.
Fenton relighted his pipe. "Well, suppose he did commit the folly you
describe, what then?"
"What then?" echoed Grenville, incredulously. "By the long, curved
lashes of Juno's eyes, if I were the man you'd certainly see what then!"
"All right," said the imperturbable Fenton. "I accept your conditions,
fully, and about your outfit I'd suggest----"
"Hold on!" interrupted Grenville. "I haven't accepted your commission,
much as the trip----"
"The trip!" said Fenton. "Ah! that's the point! I insist on your
making the trip, you see, and taking the rest. Fetching Elaine from
China is merely incidental--only don't forget her completely and come
back here empty-handed." He sat down to wrestle with his pipe.
Grenville looked at him amusedly.
"Now, see here," he said, "don't you make the slightest mistake, you
confident old idiot. If I should just happen to fancy Elaine, I
wouldn't give you twenty cents in Mexican money for your chances at the
wedding bells and trimmings."
"Then you'll go!" Fenton suddenly exploded, springing to his feet.
"Come on, that's settled--shake."
But Grenville retreated from the outstretched hand, a queer smile
playing on his features.
"Hang your infernal self-conceit," he answered; "you don't think I
could win her if I tried."
"I don't believe you'll try."
"That isn't the point. I might. If I loved her I would, you can bet
your final shoe peg! Your proposition isn't fair--subjecting a man,
and a friend at that, to possible temptation, all kinds of treachery,
and a war between love and duty. Rot that kind of duty! I want you to
know that if I take the trip and happen to fall in this muddle with
your girl, I'm going to pitch your infernal old duty game overboard in
less than two seconds and go in and win her, if I can!"
"Well, what's all the row about, after that?" inquired Fenton as
before. "Haven't I said I accept your challenge? Go out there and
fetch her, that's all. As for the rest--win her, if you can!"
"I don't say I'll try to win the girl. I may not like her for a cent."
"Then why all this futile argument and waste of valuable time?"
"But I may--confound your egotistic nerve, and your insistence! And I
warn you, Fen, I mean every word, in case----"
"I understand--I understand you fully, without repetition," Fenton once
more interrupted. "For Heaven's sake, give me your hand, old man, and
cease firing."
"You meant it, then--no strings on the proposition?"
"Not a string--absolutely not a string."
A strange new thrill of pleasure crept into Grenville's being, warming
his thin, anæmic pulses suddenly, as he met Fenton's gaze and once more
permitted his thoughts to dwell on all the proposal embraced. Since
Fenton refused to be worried concerning himself and the girl who
supplied the motive for the trip, then why should he consider it
further? Elaine was, in fact, swiftly fading from his reflections.
All his nature yearned towards the tropic seas. All his overwrought
frame and substance ached for the long, lazy days of indolence, rest,
and recuperation that alone could restore him to himself. He had
always longed for precisely this excursion to the far-off edge of the
sphere. His faculties leaped to the new-made possibility of a contact
with the ancient world, heretofore so wholly inaccessible.
Already new color had come to his face and a new blaze of fire to his
eyes. Privations and toil, those two unsparing allies that had made
such inroads on his health and strength, seemed fading harmlessly away.
The prospect was far too alluring to be resisted. There was no good
reason in the world for refusing this favor to a friend.
The brightness of face that had ever made him so lovable, came
unbidden, there in the glow.
"I suppose I'll have to go," he presently admitted, "if it's only to
win your girl."
"Shake," said Fenton; and they shook.