"Jim!" cried Harry.
So astonished was he that he reeled backward as though he had been
struck.
"My poor, old friend," said Harry. "I have searched for you everywhere,
and had almost given up hope of finding you. I don’t know what led my
footsteps to the bridge."
At that Jim Braid burst into tears.
"It was the work of God," said he.
Harry said nothing, but pressed Jim’s arm. At the bottom of
Northumberland Avenue he hailed a taxi, and the driver looked somewhat
astonished when this ragged pauper got into the cab and seated himself
at the side of his well-dressed companion.
Harry had rooms in Davies Street, where he thrust Jim into an arm-chair
before the fire, upon which he heaped more coals. Braid, leaning
forward, held out his hands before the cheerful blaze. As Harry looked
at him, a great feeling of pity arose in his heart. The boy looked so
miserable and wretched that he appeared barely to cling to life.
Harry would not allow him to speak, until he had eaten a meal. Braid
fell upon his food like a wolf. He had had absolutely nothing to eat
for two days.
It is not wise to feed a starving man to repletion. But perhaps in
Braid’s case this made little or no difference, since the boy was on the
verge of double pneumonia. Within twenty-four hours he was in a raging
fever, and for days afterwards the doctor despaired of saving his life.
Starvation, cold, dirt, to say nothing of his wound, had done their
work; but a strong heart and youth pulled him through.
It was nearly three months afterwards, when the spring was well
advanced, that one afternoon the two friends talked the whole matter
out.
Harry looked at Jim Braid and smiled.
"You’re a different fellow now," said he. "It was a near thing though.
One night the doctor gave you up. He actually left the house believing
you were dead."
Jim tried to thank his benefactor, but his heart was too full to speak.
"Come," said Harry, "tell me what has happened since you left Friar’s
Court."
"There is nothing to tell," said the other. "I tramped to London,
sometimes sleeping in the open air, sometimes—when the weather was
bad—lodging at wayside inns. At first, I was glad to get here. In a
great city like this I felt I could not be recognized and pointed out as
a thief. Oh," he burst forth, "you know that I am innocent!"
"I was always sure of it," said Harry. "I can’t think how my uncle can
believe you guilty."
"Everything was against me," said Jim. "That man, to shield himself,
laid a trap for me from which I could not escape. Had I known why he
went to the bungalow that night, my story might have been believed."
"I know why he went," said Harry. "I am sure of it. It was to steal
the Sunstone."
"The Sunstone!" said Braid. "What’s that?"
"It is a very valuable relic that originally came from Persia. No one
knows of its value but my uncle, von Hardenberg, and myself. There can
be no doubt that my cousin took it."
Jim Braid sighed.
"I could not prove my innocence," said he.
"Jim, old friend," said Harry, "I promise you shall not remain under
this cloud for the rest of your life. I know my cousin to be guilty; I
will not rest until I have proved him to be so. He has the Sunstone in
his possession, and I intend to do my best to recover it!"
"You will not succeed," said the other, shaking his head.
"Why not?"
"Because he left England weeks ago."
"Left England!" echoed the other.
"Yes. He went away with a man called Peter Klein and a native who wore
a turban. They took the boat train from Charing Cross. It was I who
carried their boxes on to the taxi. They were going to Old Calabar."
"The West Coast!" cried Harry, jumping to his feet.
Braid was as mystified as ever. Before he knew what was happening,
Harry had seized him by the shoulders, and was shaking him as a terrier
shakes a rat.
"Don’t you see," cried Urquhart, "your innocence is practically proved
already. If they have not got the Sunstone, why should they want to go
to Africa? They are after the treasure of which the Sunstone is the
key. I don’t know who the native is, but he is probably some
interpreter or guide whom they have hired for the journey. Jim, when my
uncle hears of this, I promise you he will take a very different view of
the question."
"Then," said Braid, "has this Sunstone got something to do with Africa?"
"Everything!" exclaimed the other. "Here, in Europe, it is valueless;
but in certain caves which are situated upon the watershed on the
southern side of the Sahara, the thing is worth thousands of pounds.
To-morrow morning I will return to my uncle, to Friar’s Court, and tell
him what you have told me. I will ask him to allow me to follow von
Hardenberg to the West Coast, to keep upon his tracks, to run him to
ground and accuse him to his face. You will come with me. My uncle
will supply us with funds. He would be willing to spend his entire
fortune in order to recover the Sunstone."
Harry was so excited that he could scarcely talk coherently. He paced
up and down the little sitting-room—three steps this way and three
steps that—and every now and again laid his hands upon Jim Braid and
shook him violently to emphasize his words.
When Jim awoke the following morning, he was informed that Mr. Urquhart
had left early to go back to Friar’s Court. He had promised to return
the following day. In the meantime, Harry had given instructions that
his landlady was to look after his guest. If he wanted anything, he had
only to ring the bell.
On the afternoon of the second day Harry returned to London.
"My uncle," he explained, "is inclined to withdraw his verdict, though
he will not say openly that he has been guilty of a great injustice. In
any case he intends to do everything in his power to get the Sunstone
back. He has given me leave to fit out an expedition. Preparations,
however, will take some little time. I am to be supplied with letters
of introduction to several influential persons on the West Coast. He
even said he would come with us himself, were it not that his strength
is failing, and he feels he is getting old. Jim, there’s hope yet, my
lad. You and I together will see this matter through."
Braid held out his hand.
"I can’t thank you sufficiently, sir," said he, "for what you have done!
You have saved my life twice, and now you mean to save my reputation."
"Don’t speak of it," said Harry. "You and I have a great task in front
of us; we must stick to each other through thick and thin. I am
impatient to be off."
And he had more need of his patience than he thought; for, before they
could start upon their journey, war descended upon Europe like a
thunderbolt, finding England wholly unprepared.
It was not so with the Germans. Peter Klein and birds of a like feather
had been employed for years in every country liable to prove hostile to
the Fatherland. Germany had for long intended war, and these
rascals—paid in proportion to the information they obtained—were
living by the score under the protection of the British flag, within
sound of Big Ben, in every colony, dependency, and dominion. Moreover,
it has since been proved that the great German Empire did not scruple to
employ even her consular and diplomatic servants either as spies
themselves or as agents for the purpose of engaging and rewarding
informers.
Small wonder, when preparations had been so complete, that Germany had
the whip hand at the start, that Belgium, Poland, and Serbia were
overrun, and Paris herself saved only at the eleventh hour.
During those early, anxious days, Harry Urquhart was in two minds what
to do. He was wishful to serve his country, and could without
difficulty have secured a commission within a few weeks of the
declaration of war. Braid was also willing to enlist. On talking the
matter out, however, with Mr. Langton, it was decided that the quest of
the Sunstone was as patriotic a cause as any man could wish for; since,
if von Hardenberg succeeded in reaching the Caves of Zoroaster, the
wealth that they contained would ultimately find its way to the
Fatherland.
But, since there was fighting both in Togoland and the Cameroons, their
departure had to be postponed whilst Mr. Langton obtained permission
from the War Office authorities for his two protégés to visit the West
African scene of operations. All this took time; and it was not until
the beginning of October that young Urquhart and Jim Braid found
themselves sitting together in a first-class railway compartment on
their way to Southampton.
A few hours afterwards, on a dark windy night, they were on board a ship
that rolled and pitched upon its way to Ushant. The Lizard light
flashed good-bye from England, and the dark sea, as they knew quite
well, contained hidden dangers in the shape of submarines and mines, but
the quest of the Sunstone had begun.