I MEET DR. NIKOLA AGAIN
It is strange with what ease, rapidity, and apparent unconsciousness the
average man jumps from crisis to crisis in that strange medley he is
accustomed so flippantly to call His Life. It was so in my case. For two
days after my return from Bournemouth I was completely immersed in the
toils of Hatton Garden, had no thought above the sale of pearls and the
fluctuations in the price of shell; yet, notwithstanding all this, the
afternoon of the third day found me kicking my heels on the pavement of
Trafalgar Square, my mind quite made up, my passage booked, and my
ticket for Australia stowed away in my waistcoat pocket.
As I stood there the grim, stone faces of the lions above me were
somehow seen obscurely, Nelson's monument was equally unregarded, for my
thoughts were far away with my mind's eye, following an ocean
mail-steamer as she threaded her tortuous way between the Heads and
along the placid waters of Sydney Harbour.
So wrapped up was I in the folds of this agreeable reverie, that when I
felt a heavy hand upon my shoulder and heard a masculine voice say
joyfully in my ear, "Dick Hatteras, or I'm a Dutchman," I started as if
I had been shot.
Brief as was the time given me for reflection, it was long enough for
that voice to conjure up a complete scene in my mind. The last time I
had heard it was on the bridge of the steamer _Yarraman_, lying in the
land-locked harbour of Cairns, on the Eastern Queensland coast; a
canoeful of darkies were jabbering alongside, and a cargo of bananas was
being shipped aboard.
I turned and held out my hand. "Jim Percival!" I cried, with as much
pleasure as astonishment. "How on earth does it come about that you are
here?"
"Arrived three days ago," the good-looking young fellow replied. "We're
lying in the River just off the West India Docks. The old man kept us at
it like galley slaves till I began to think we should never get the
cargo out. Been up to the office this morning, coming back saw you
standing here looking as if you were thinking of something ten thousand
miles away. I tell you I nearly jumped out of my skin with astonishment,
thought there couldn't be two men with the same face and build, so
smacked you on the back, discovered I was right, and here we are. Now
spin your yarn. But stay, let's first find a more convenient place than
this."
We strolled down the Strand together, and at last had the good fortune
to discover a "house of call" that met with even his critical approval.
Here I narrated as much of my doings since we had last met, as I thought
would satisfy his curiosity. My meeting with that mysterious individual
at the French restaurant and my suspicions of Baxter particularly amused
him.
"What a rum beggar you are, to be sure!" was his disconcerting criticism
when I had finished. "What earthly reason have you for thinking that
this chap, Baxter, has any designs upon your young swell, Beckenham, or
whatever his name may be?"
"What makes you stand by to shorten sail, when you see a suspicious look
about the sky? Instinct, isn't it?"
"That's a poor way out of the argument."
"Well, at any rate, time will show how far I'm right or wrong; though I
don't suppose I shall hear any more of the affair, as I return to
Australia in the _Saratoga_ on Friday next."
"And what are you going to do now?"
"I haven't the remotest idea. My business is completed, and I'm just
kicking my heels in idleness till Friday comes and it is time for me to
set off."
"Then I have it. You'll just come along down to the docks with me; I'm
due back at the old hooker at five sharp. You'll dine with us--pot luck,
of course. Your old friend Riley is still chief officer; I'm second;
young Cleary, whom you remember as apprentice, is now third; and, if I'm
not very much mistaken, we'll find old Donald Maclean aboard too,
tinkering away at his beloved engines. I don't believe that fellow could
take a holiday away from his thrust blocks and piston rods if he were
paid to. We'll have a palaver about old times, and I'll put you ashore
myself when you want to go. There, what do you say?"
"I'm your man," said I, jumping at his offer with an alacrity which must
have been flattering to him.
The truth was, I was delighted to have secured some sort of
companionship, for London, despite its multitudinous places of
amusement, and its five millions of inhabitants, is but a dismal
caravanserai to be left alone in. Moreover, the _Yarraman_'s officers
and I were old friends, and, if the truth must be told, my heart yearned
for the sight of a ship and a talk about days gone by.
Accordingly, we made our way to the docks.
The _Yarraman_, travel-stained, and bearing on her weather-beaten plates
evidences of the continuous tramp-like life she had led, lay well out in
the stream. Having chartered a waterman, we were put on board, and I had
the satisfaction of renewing my acquaintance with the chief officer,
Riley, at the yawning mouth of the for'ard hatch. The whilom apprentice,
Cleary, now raised to the dignity of third officer, grinned a welcome to
me from among the disordered raffle of the fo'c's'le head, while that
excellent artificer, Maclean, oil-can and spanner in hand, greeted me
affectionately in Gaelic from the entrance to the engine-room. The
skipper was ashore, so I seated myself on the steps leading to the
hurricane deck, and felt at home immediately.
Upon the circumstances attending that reunion there is no necessity for
me to dwell. Suffice it that we dined in the deserted saloon, and
adjourned later to my friend Percival's cabin in the alley way just
for'ard of the engine-room, where several bottles of Scotch whisky, a
strange collection of glass ware, and an assortment of excellent cigars,
were produced. Percival and Cleary, being the juniors, ensconced
themselves on the top bunk; Maclean (who had been induced to abandon his
machinery in honour of our meeting) was given the washhand-stand. Riley
took the cushioned locker in the corner, while I, as their guest, was
permitted the luxury of a canvas-backed deck chair, the initials on the
back of which were not those of its present owner. At first the
conversation was circumscribed, and embraced Plimsoll, the attractions
of London, and the decline in the price of freight; but, as the contents
of the second bottle waned, speech became more unfettered, and the talk
drifted into channels and latitudes widely different. Circumstances
connected with bygone days were recalled; the faces of friends long
hidden in the mists of time were brought again to mind; anecdotes
illustrative of various types of maritime character succeeded to each
other in brisk succession, till Maclean, without warning, finding his
voice, burst into incongruous melody. One song suggested another; a
banjo was produced, and tuned to the noise of clinking glasses; and
every moment the atmosphere grew thicker.
How long this concert would have lasted I cannot say, but I remember,
after the third repetition of the chorus of the sea-chanty that might
have been heard a mile away, glancing at my watch and discovering to my
astonishment that it was past ten o'clock. Then rising to my feet I
resisted all temptations to stay the night, and reminded my friend
Percival of his promise to put me ashore again. He was true to his word,
and five minutes later we were shoving off from the ship's side amid the
valedictions of my hosts. I have a recollection to this day of the face
of the chief engineer gazing sadly down upon me from the bulwarks, while
his quavering voice asserted the fact, in dolorous tones, that
"Aft hae I rov'd by bonny Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine."
With this amorous farewell still ringing in my ears I landed at
Limehouse Pier, and bidding my friend good-bye betook myself by the
circuitous route of Emmett and Ropemaker Streets and Church Row to that
aristocratic thoroughfare known as the East India Dock Road.
The night was dark and a thick rain was falling, presenting the
mean-looking houses, muddy road, and foot-stained pavements in an aspect
that was even more depressing than was usual to them. Despite the
inclemency of the weather and the lateness of the hour, however, the
street was crowded; blackguard men and foul-mouthed women, such a class
as I had never in all my experience of rough folk encountered before,
jostled each other on the pavements with scant ceremony; costermongers
cried their wares, small boys dashed in and out of the crowd at top
speed, and flaring gin palaces took in and threw out continuous streams
of victims.
For some minutes I stood watching this melancholy picture, contrasting
it with others in my mind. Then turning to my left hand I pursued my way
in the direction I imagined the Stepney railway station to lie. It was
not pleasant walking, but I was interested in the life about me--the
people, the shops, the costermongers' barrows, and I might even say the
public-houses.
I had not made my way more than a hundred yards along the street when an
incident occurred that was destined to bring with it a train of highly
important circumstances. As I crossed the entrance to a small side
street, the door of an ill-looking tavern was suddenly thrust open and
the body of a man was propelled from it, with a considerable amount of
violence, directly into my arms. Having no desire to act as his support
I pushed him from me, and as I did so glanced at the door through which
he had come. Upon the glass was a picture, presumably nautical, and
under it this legend, "The Green Sailor." In a flash Bournemouth post
office rose before my mind's eye, the startled face of Baxter on the
door-step, the swinging pencil on the telegraph stand, and the imprint
of the mysterious message addressed to "Nikola, _Green Sailor Hotel_,
East India Dock Road." So complete was my astonishment that at first I
could do nothing but stand stupidly staring at it, then my curiosity
asserted itself and, seeking the private entrance, I stepped inside. A
short passage conducted me to a small and evil-smelling room abutting on
the bar. On the popular side of the counter the place was crowded; in
the chamber where I found myself I was the sole customer. A small table
stood in the centre, and round this two or three chairs were ranged,
while several pugnacious prints lent an air of decoration to the walls.
On the other side, to the left of that through which I had entered, a
curtained doorway hinted at a similar room beyond. A small but
heavily-built man, whom I rightly judged to be the landlord, was busily
engaged with an assistant, dispensing liquor at the counter, but when I
rapped upon the table he forsook his customers, and came to learn my
wishes. I called for a glass of whisky, and seated myself at the table
preparatory to commencing my inquiries as to the existence of Baxter's
mysterious friend. But at the moment that I was putting my first
question the door behind the half-drawn curtain, which must have been
insecurely fastened, opened about an inch, and a voice greeted my ears
that brought me up all standing with surprise. _It was the voice of
Baxter himself._
"I assure you," he was saying, "it was desperate work from beginning to
end, and I was never so relieved in my life as when I discovered that he
had really come to say good-bye."
At this juncture one of them must have realized that the door was open,
for I heard some one rise from his chair and come towards it. Acting
under the influence of a curiosity, which was as baneful to himself as
it was fortunate for me, before closing it he opened the door wider and
looked into the room where I sat. It was Baxter, and if I live to be an
hundred I shall not forget the expression on his face as his eyes fell
upon me.
"Mr. Hatteras!" he gasped, clutching at the wall.
Resolved to take him at a disadvantage, I rushed towards him and shook
him warmly by the hand, at the same time noticing that he had discarded
his clerical costume. It was too late now for him to pretend that he did
not know me, and as I had taken the precaution to place my foot against
it, it was equally impossible for him to shut the door. Seeing this he
felt compelled to surrender, and I will do him the justice to admit that
he did it with as good a grace as possible.
"Mr. Baxter," I said, "this is the last place I should have expected to
meet you in. May I come in and sit down?"
Without giving him time to reply I entered the room, resolved to see who
his companion might be. Of course, in my own mind I had quite settled
that it was the person to whom he had telegraphed from Bournemouth--in
other words Nikola. But who was Nikola? And had I ever seen him before?
My curiosity was destined to be satisfied, and in a most unexpected
fashion. For there, sitting at the table, a half-smoked cigarette
between his fingers, and his face turned towards me, was the man whom I
had seen playing chess in the restaurant, the man who had told me my
name by the cards in my pocket, and the man who had warned me in such a
mysterious fashion about my sweetheart's departure. He was Baxter's
correspondent! He was Nikola!
Whatever my surprise may have been, he was not in the least
disconcerted, but rose calmly from his seat and proffered me his hand,
saying as he did so:
"Good-evening, Mr. Hatteras. I am delighted to see you, and still more
pleased to learn that you and my worthy old friend, Baxter, have met
before. Won't you sit down?"
I seated myself on a chair at the further end of the table; Baxter
meanwhile looked from one to the other of us as if uncertain whether to
go or stay. Presently, however, he seemed to make up his mind, and
advancing towards Nikola, said, with an earnestness that I could see was
assumed for the purpose of putting me off the scent:
"And so I cannot induce you, Dr. Nikola, to fit out an expedition for
the work I have named?"
"If I had five thousand pounds to throw away," replied Nikola, "I might
think of it, Mr. Baxter, but as I haven't you must understand that it is
impossible." Then seeing that the other was anxious to be going, he
continued, "Must you be off? then good-night."
Baxter shook hands with us both with laboured cordiality, and having
done so slunk from the room. When the door closed upon him Nikola turned
to me.
"There must be some fascination about a missionary's life after all," he
said. "My old tutor, Baxter, as you are aware, has a comfortable
position with the young Marquis of Beckenham, which, if he conducts
himself properly, may lead to something really worth having in the
future, and yet here he is anxious to surrender it in order to go back
to his work in New Guinea, to his hard life, insufficient food, and
almost certain death."
"He was in New Guinea then?"
"Five years--so he tells me."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely!"
"Then all I can say is that, in spite of his cloth, Mr. Baxter does not
always tell the truth."
"I am sorry you should think that. Pray what reason have you for saying
so?"
"Simply because in a conversation I had with him at Bournemouth he
deliberately informed me that he had never been near New Guinea in his
life."
"You must have misunderstood him. However, that has nothing to do with
us. Let us turn to a pleasanter subject."
He rang the bell, and the landlord having answered it, ordered more
refreshment. When it arrived he lit another cigarette, and leaning back
in his chair glanced at me through half-closed eyes.
Then occurred one of the most curious and weird circumstances connected
with this meeting. Hardly had he laid himself back in his chair before I
heard a faint scratching against the table leg, and next moment an
enormous cat, black as the Pit of Tophet, sprang with a bound upon the
table and stood there steadfastly regarding me, its eyes flashing and
its back arched. I have seen cats without number, Chinese, Persian,
Manx, the Australian wild cat, and the English tabby, but never in the
whole course of my existence such another as that owned by Dr. Nikola.
When it had regarded me with its evil eyes for nearly a minute, it
stepped daintily across to its master, and rubbed itself backwards and
forwards against his arm, then to my astonishment it clambered up on to
his shoulder and again gave me the benefit of its fixed attention. Dr.
Nikola must have observed the amazement depicted in my face, for he
smiled in a curious fashion, and coaxing the beast down into his lap
fell to stroking its fur with his long, white fingers. It was as uncanny
a performance as ever I had the privilege of witnessing.
"And so, Mr. Hatteras," he said slowly, "you are thinking of leaving
us?"
"I am," I replied, with a little start of natural astonishment. "But how
did you know it?"
"After the conjuring tricks--we agreed to call them conjuring tricks, I
think--I showed you a week or two ago, I wonder that you should ask such
a question. You have the ticket in your pocket even now."
All the time he had been speaking his extraordinary eyes had never left
my face; they seemed to be reading my very soul, and his cat ably
seconded his efforts.
"By the way, I should like to ask you a few questions about those self
same conjuring tricks," I said. "Do you know you gave me a most peculiar
warning?"
"I am very glad to hear it; I hope you profited by it."
"It cost me a good deal of uneasiness, if that's any consolation to you.
I want to know how you did it?"
"My fame as a wizard would soon evaporate if I revealed my methods," he
answered, still looking steadfastly at me. "However, I will give you
another exhibition of my powers. In fact, another warning. Have you
confidence enough in me to accept it?"
"I'll wait and see what it is first," I replied cautiously, trying to
remove my eyes from his.
"Well, my warning to you is this--you intend to sail in the _Saratoga_
for Australia on Friday next, don't you? Well, then, don't go; as you
love your life, don't go!"
"Good gracious! and why on earth not?" I cried.
He stared fixedly at me for more than half a minute before he answered.
There was no escaping those dreadful eyes, and the regular sweep of
those long white fingers on the cat's black fur seemed to send a cold
shiver right down my spine. Bit by bit I began to feel a curious
sensation of dizziness creeping over me.
"Because you will _not_ go. You cannot go. I forbid you to go."
I roused myself with an effort, and sprang to my feet, crying as I did
so:
"And what right have _you_ to forbid me to do anything? I'll go on
Friday, come what may. And I'd like to see the man who will prevent me."
Though he must have realized that his attempt to hypnotize me (for
attempt it certainly was) had proved a failure, he was not in the least
disconcerted.
"My dear fellow," he murmured gently, knocking off the ash of his
cigarette against the table edge as he did so, "no one is seeking to
prevent you. I gave you, at your own request--you will do me the justice
to admit that--a little piece of advice. If you do not care to follow
it, that is your concern, not mine; but pray do not blame me. Must you
really go now? Then good-night, and good-bye, for I don't suppose I
shall see you this side of the Line again."
I took his proffered hand, and wished him good-night. Having done so, I
left the house, heartily glad to have said good-bye to the only man in
my life whom I have really feared.
When in the train, on my way back to town, I came to review the meeting
in the _Green Sailor_, I found myself face to face with a series of
problems very difficult to work out. How had Nikola first learned my
name? How had he heard of the Wetherells? Was he the mysterious person
his meeting with whom had driven Wetherell out of England? Why had
Baxter telegraphed to him that "the train was laid"? Was I the new
danger that had arisen? How had Baxter come to be at the _Green Sailor_,
in non-clerical costume? Why had he been so disturbed at my entry? Why
had Nikola invented such a lame excuse to account for his presence
there? Why had he warned me not to sail in the _Saratoga_? and, above
all, why had he resorted to hypnotism to secure his ends?
I asked myself these questions, but one by one I failed to answer them
to my satisfaction. Whatever other conclusion I might have come to,
however, one thing at least was certain: that was, that my original
supposition was a correct one. There was a tremendous mystery somewhere.
Whether or not I was to lose my interest in it after Friday remained to
be seen.
It was nearly twelve o'clock by the time I entered my hotel; but late as
it was I found time to examine the letter rack. It contained two
envelopes bearing my name, and taking them out I carried them with me to
my room. One, to my delight, bore the postmark of Port Said, and was
addressed in my sweetheart's handwriting. You may guess how eagerly I
tore it open, and with what avidity I devoured its contents. From it I
gathered that they had arrived at the entrance of the Suez Canal safely;
that her father had recovered his spirits more and more with every mile
that separated him from Europe. He was now almost himself again, she
said, but still refused with characteristic determination to entertain
the smallest notion of myself as a son-in-law. But Phyllis herself did
not despair of being able to talk him round. Then came a paragraph which
struck me as being so peculiar as to warrant my reproducing it here:
"The passengers, what we have seen of them, appear to be, with one
exception, a nice enough set of people. That exception, however, is
intolerable; his name is Prendergast, and his personal appearance is as
objectionable as his behaviour is extraordinary; his hair is snow-white,
and his face is deeply pitted with smallpox. This is, of course, not his
fault, but it seems somehow to aggravate the distaste I have for him.
Unfortunately we were thrown into his company in Naples, and since then
the creature has so far presumed upon that introduction, that he
scarcely leaves me alone for a moment. Papa does not seem to mind him so
much, but I thank goodness that, as he leaves the boat in Port Said, the
rest of the voyage will be performed without him."
The remainder of the letter had no concern for any one but myself, so I
do not give it. Having read it I folded it up and put it in my pocket,
feeling that if I had been on board the boat I should in all probability
have allowed Mr. Prendergast to understand that his attentions were
distasteful and not in the least required. If I could only have foreseen
that within a fortnight I was to be enjoying the doubtful pleasure of
that very gentleman's society, under circumstances as important as life
and death, I don't doubt I should have thought still more strongly on
the subject.
The handwriting of the second envelope was bold, full of character, but
quite unknown to me. I opened it with a little feeling of curiosity, and
glanced at the signature, "Beckenham." It ran as follows:--
"West Cliff, Bournemouth,
"Tuesday Evening.
"MY DEAR MR. HATTERAS,
"I have great and wonderful news to tell you! This week has proved
an extraordinarily eventful one for me, for what do you think? My
father has suddenly decided that I shall travel. All the details
have been settled in a great hurry. You will understand this when I
tell you that Mr. Baxter and I sail for Sydney in the steamship
_Saratoga_ next week. My father telegraphed to Mr. Baxter, who is
in London, to book our passages and to choose our cabins this
morning. I can only say that my greatest wish is that you were
coming with us. Is it so impossible? Cannot you make your
arrangements fit in? We shall travel overland to Naples and join
the boat there. This is Mr. Baxter's proposition, and you may be
sure, considering what I shall see _en route_, I have no objection
to urge against it. Our tour will be an extensive one. We visit
Australia and New Zealand, go thence to Honolulu, thence to San
Francisco, returning, across the United States, _via_ Canada, to
Liverpool.
"You may imagine how excited I am at the prospect, and as I feel
that I owe a great measure of my good fortune to you, I want to be
the first to acquaint you of it.
"Yours ever sincerely,
"BECKENHAM."
I read the letter through a second time, and then sat down on my bed to
think it out. One thing was self-evident. I knew now how Nikola had
become aware that I was going to sail in the mail boat on Friday; Baxter
had seen my name in the passenger list, and had informed him.
I undressed and went to bed, but not to sleep. I had a problem to work
out, and a more than usually difficult one it was. Here was the young
Marquis of Beckenham, I told myself, only son of his father, heir to a
great name and enormous estates, induced to travel by my
representations. There was a conspiracy afoot in which, I could not help
feeling certain, the young man was in some way involved. And yet I had
no right to be certain about it after all, for my suspicions at best
were only conjectures. Now the question was whether I ought to warn the
Duke or not? If I did I might be frightening him without cause, and
might stop his son's journey; and if I did not, and things went
wrong--well, in that case, I should be the innocent means of bringing a
great and lasting sorrow upon his house. Hour after hour I turned this
question over and over in my mind, uncertain how to act. The clocks
chimed their monotonous round, the noises died down and rose again in
the streets, and daylight found me only just come to a decision. I would
_not_ tell them; but at the same time I would make doubly sure that I
sailed aboard that ship myself, and that throughout the voyage I was by
the young man's side to guard him from ill.
Breakfast time came, and I rose from my bed wearied with thought. Even a
bath failed to restore my spirits. I went downstairs and, crossing the
hall again, examined the rack. Another letter awaited me. I passed into
the dining-room and, seating myself at my table, ordered breakfast.
Having done so, I turned to my correspondence. Fate seemed to pursue me.
On this occasion the letter was from the lad's father, the Duke of
Glenbarth himself, and ran as follows:--
"Sandridge Castle, Bournemouth,
"Wednesday.
"DEAR MR. HATTERAS,
"My son tells me he has acquainted you with the news of his
departure for Australia next week. I don't doubt this will cause
you some little surprise; but it has been brought about by a
curious combination of circumstances. Two days ago I received a
letter from my old friend, the Earl of Amberley, who, as you know,
has for the past few years been Governor of the colony of New South
Wales, telling me that his term of office will expire in four
months. Though he has not seen my boy since the latter was two
years old, I am anxious that he should be at the head of affairs
when he visits the colony. Hence this haste. I should have liked
nothing better than to have accompanied him myself, but business of
the utmost importance detains me in England. I am, however, sending
Mr. Baxter with him, with powerful credentials, and if it should be
in your power to do anything to assist them you will be adding
materially to the debt of gratitude I already owe you.
"Believe me, my dear Mr. Hatteras, to be,
"Very truly yours,
"GLENBARTH."
My breakfast finished, I answered both these letters, informed my
friends of my contemplated departure by the same steamer, and promised
that I would do all that lay in my power to ensure both the young
traveller's pleasure and his safety. For the rest of the morning I was
occupied inditing a letter to my sweetheart, informing her of my return
to the Colonies, and telling her all my adventures since her departure.
The afternoon was spent in saying good-bye to the few business friends I
had made in London, and in the evening I went for the last time to a
theatre.
Five minutes to eleven o'clock next morning found me at Waterloo sitting
in a first-class compartment of the West of England express, bound for
Plymouth and Australia. Though the platform was crowded to excess I had
the carriage so far to myself, and was about to congratulate myself on
my good fortune, when a porter appeared on the scene, and deposited a
bag in the opposite corner. A moment later, and just as the train was in
motion, a man jumped in the carriage, tipped the servant, and then
placed a basket upon the rack. The train was half-way out of the station
before he turned round, and my suspicions were confirmed. _It was Dr.
Nikola!_
Though he must have known who his companion was, he affected great
surprise. "Mr. Hatteras," he cried, "I think this is the most
extraordinary coincidence I have ever experienced in my life."
"Why so?" I asked. "You knew I was going to Plymouth to-day, and one
moment's reflection must have told you, that as my boat sails at eight,
I would be certain to take the morning express, which lands me there at
five. Should I be indiscreet if I asked where you may be going?"
"Like yourself, I am also visiting Plymouth," he answered, taking the
basket, before mentioned, down from the rack, and drawing a French novel
from his coat pocket. "I expect an old Indian friend home by the mail
boat that arrives to-night. I am going down to meet him."
I felt relieved to hear that he was not thinking of sailing in the
_Saratoga_, and after a few polite commonplaces, we both lapsed into
silence. I was too suspicious, and he was too wary, to appear over
friendly. Clapham, Wimbledon, Surbiton, came and went. Weybridge and
Woking flashed by at lightning speed, and even Basingstoke was reached
before we spoke again. That station behind us, Dr. Nikola took the
basket before mentioned on his knee, and opened it. When he had done so,
the same enormous black cat, whose acquaintance I had made in the East
India Dock Road, stepped proudly forth. In the daylight the brute looked
even larger and certainly fiercer than before. I felt I should have
liked nothing better than to have taken it by the tail and hurled it out
of the window. Nikola, on the other hand, seemed to entertain for it the
most extraordinary affection.
Now such was this marvellous man's power of fascination that by the time
we reached Andover Junction his conversation had roused me quite out of
myself, had made me forget my previous distrust of him, and enabled me
to tell myself that this railway journey was one of the most enjoyable I
had ever undertaken.
In Salisbury we took luncheon baskets on board, with, two bottles of
champagne, for which my companion, in spite of my vigorous protest,
would insist upon paying.
As the train rolled along the charming valley, in which lie the
miniature towns of Wilton, Dinton, and Tisbury, we pledged each other in
right good fellowship, and by the time Exeter was reached were friendly
enough to have journeyed round the world together.
Exeter behind us, I began to feel drowsy, and presently was fast asleep.
I remember no more of that ill-fated journey; nor, indeed, have I any
recollection of anything at all, until I woke up in Room No. 37 of the
_Ship and Vulture Hotel_ in Plymouth.
The sunshine was streaming in through the slats of the Venetian blinds,
and a portly gentleman, with a rosy face, and grey hair, was standing by
my bedside, holding my wrist in his hand, and calmly scrutinizing me. A
nurse in hospital dress stood beside him.
"I think he'll do now," he said to her as he rubbed his plump hands
together; "but I'll look round in the course of the afternoon."
"One moment," I said feebly, for I found I was too weak to speak above a
whisper. "Would you mind telling me where I am, and what is the matter
with me?"
"I should very much like to be able to do so," was the doctor's reply.
"My opinion is, if you want me to be candid, that you have been drugged
and well-nigh poisoned by a remarkably clever chemist. But what the drug
and poison were, and who administered it to you, and the motive for
doing so, is more than I can tell you. From what I can learn from the
hotel proprietors, you were brought here from the railway station in a
cab last night by a gentleman who happened to find you in the carriage
in which you travelled down from London. You were in such a curious
condition that I was sent for and this nurse procured. Now you know all
about it."
"What day did you say this is?"
"Saturday, to be sure."
"Saturday!" I cried. "You don't mean that! Then, by Jove, I've missed
the _Saratoga_ after all. Here, let me get up! And tell them downstairs
to send for the Inspector of Police. I have got to get to the bottom of
this."
I sat up in bed, but was only too glad to lie down. I looked at the
doctor.
"How long before you can have me fit to travel?"
"Give yourself three days' rest and quiet," he replied, "and we'll see
what we can do."
"Three days? And two days and a half to cross the Continent, that's five
and a half--say six days. Good! I'll catch the boat in Naples, and then,
Dr. Nikola, if you're aboard, as I suspect, I advise you to look out."