CHAPTER XXII

WORTHING ASKS QUESTIONS

My memory is too blurred for me to write in any kind of consistent

sequence of what followed. I know it was Worthing who found me lying

stunned by the jetty and brought me back to some faint consciousness

of reality as he had done that night at Sunset Towers. But it was as

though the physical blow had numbed my very reason, for everything was

stupidly confused in my mind. Mercifully so, I think; for I hadn't the

sense to realize the desolating calamity that had befallen me. Even

when I stood beside my dead father and gazed at the pallid face with

that dreadful red gash yawning at the throat, I couldn't understand

what had really happened. I think I even laughed as though some one

were playing a clumsy joke, too extravagant to deceive me. And the

sight of the black hollow in the woods where they laid him, tumbling

the earth in upon him, didn't shake me from my leaden lethargy. Yet at

my heart was a dull pain as though a wound were rankling deep within.

I remember too that certain officers appeared, very officious and

inquisitive, and bullied me from my torpor into answering their

stupid questions. Sometimes I replied sulkily, and sometimes as they

questioned me forgot their very presence, wrapped as I was in a cloud

of weary gloom. Then they caught me by the shoulders and shook me,

till I cursed them and answered I knew not what. At length they must

have abandoned the attempt to pump information from such a dry well,

for I was left in peace. But at times I was aware of Worthing's voice

clear and decided speaking up for me when I sat dully pondering some

enquiry which had been demanded of me, utterly failing to understand

its significance or applicability to myself.

Indeed it was Worthing who saved me from insanity. For with that

incomprehensible slow gloom that had settled upon me, the constant

fretting of the officers would have galled me into a savage madness.

What I needed was rest and peace, so that the evil black vapour might

gradually disperse itself from my spirit, and the light of reality grow

clear about me by easy degrees. But the constant questioning puzzled

me, and set me searching in the confusion of my mind for clues and

traces of the inexplicable enigma which seemed to be dodging me through

the dark complexities of my bemused memory. When it baffled me and

I sank into a gloomy stupor, all was well; but sometimes I caught a

glimpse of the evil thing, and that was like a wrench to a broken limb,

an agony that pierced through the vitals like a sword of white fire.

I gasped as though my very soul had been split apart with a wedge of

lightning. But the pain was too terrible to endure, and foolishly I

dropped back into my moping.

Yet I know that all the while I was saying to myself, "He is dead,

dead, dead!" But the knowledge didn't take root in my mind. It was like

a knocking from outside, but I wouldn't open the door. I felt there was

something evil there; and, though within all was dark and dreadful, yet

I wouldn't open to that unknown thing. I only knew it would stand there

and knock till I relented, but stubbornly I refused, and shrank deeper

into the darkness that closed me round.

All this is but a foolish picture of what I suffered. For everything

about me was a kind of weighing chaos where I couldn't reason or

distinguish. Only, as I say, at times a vivid light broke through,

crueller than the shadows that clung about me; for the light was the

light of reality, and reality was more terrible than the spiritual coma

that had stupefied my understanding.

However, the light was bound to triumph in the end. The knocking became

insistent, and I knew I must open the door. And then with the rush

of bitter knowledge upon my naked heart I learnt what it was to have

a friend. Not that Worthing wept over me. Rather it was his severe

strength and calm recognition of actuality that supported me. For in

his presence I accepted the inevitable as a thing not to be questioned,

merely to be endured. It was the contagion of example rather than of

precept, for he never that I remember spoke harshly to me as one must

to the hysterical; it was merely that he faced up to the reality of the

situation, and I caught something of his straight and uncompromising

attitude of soul.

Dirk too nursed me back to sanity in his rough way. Not that I learnt

much philosophy from him; rather it would seem that he tended to

undo the good that Worthing did me. For if Worthing stimulated me to

strength of endurance, Dirk stimulated me to violent rebellion. He took

me with him for long marches across the country, and sometimes for a

tossing at sea; and always the burden of his talk was one of cursing

and vengeance, till in the blackness of my heart I vowed again and

again to track down my father's murderer and kill him without mercy.

And at such times Dirk would encourage me with, "That's the gab, kiddy.

This an't no world for milk-and-water livers. It's red blood that runs

in the heart, my dear, an' that's a stuff that takes some cooling."

But unaccountable as it may seem, the medicine of philosophy and the

medicine of revenge, which might appear to be antidotes, didn't nullify

each other. I felt a stimulation from them both. I suppose it was that

the one taught me to bear and the other taught me to act. But, however

that may be, with the passing of the days I found myself facing the

world again, with a bitter sense of loneliness at my heart, but with no

craven yielding to circumstance.

It wasn't till I had emerged from the shadow that Worthing seriously

set himself to question me on the dark business. And then he was a

hundredfold more exacting than the officers had been. First he made

me go over again and again the ground of the murder and the pursuit,

explaining at every turn just what I had seen and done. And strangely

enough each time I seemed to remember some point which had escaped my

memory before. Though of what use all this exactitude of detail was to

be I couldn't guess. But Worthing was relentless, saying that nothing

however trifling must be passed over as the clue might lie in the most

unexpected place. However, at last he seemed satisfied that nothing

more was to be learnt from the process. But he had reconstructed the

murder with convincing probability of detail. The murderer must have

known of my father's intended visit. Perhaps he had even heard the

song which had warned me of the meeting; or perhaps he had merely

followed him, waiting for a chance to strike. Worthing favoured the

first theory. Then he pointed out the spot where the murderer had

remained concealed till my father should arrive. My father for his

part had sailed down on the schooner we had seen, having arranged

before to be set ashore. He hadn't rowed up the Smuggler's Tunnel as he

didn't know whether the passage was still clear to the woods; the rope

ladder might no longer be there. So not seeing me he had started to

climb the cliffs, intending to make for the _Dolphin_. Then came the

puzzling cry for help. I eagerly explained to Worthing the affair of

the _Snow Man_, and how my father had rushed back into the burning inn

to save me. His enemy must have been on his track even then, and the

incident had given him the idea of a ruse which he hadn't yet tried.

Well, it had succeeded. He had imitated my voice, and my father had

turned, thinking I was below there and in danger. And that was easily

explicable, as I might have been exploring in Drift-Wood Cavern. He

had turned, unarmed of all suspicion in his sudden belief that I was

in peril. And his enemy had caught him off his guard at last, and had

killed him.

The murderer had fled, and I had followed. But the smack towards which

I thought he had been making was still at anchor when Worthing found

me. So then he had had some other retreat in mind. Evidently he knew

the coast well. Actually where he had hidden didn't much matter for he

must have fled the district long before my wits were clear enough to

tell anything of the story. But there was one piece of evidence which

set Worthing questioning me. Across my right hand were two ragged

gashes. How had they come? I laughed at the question for in my blind

pursuit of the murderer I had taken so little heed that it was a wonder

I wasn't gashed and bruised from head to heel. But Worthing wouldn't

leave it at that. I must think where I was most likely to have hurt my

hand. And then it came to me.

"Why," I said, "it was vaulting the jetty."

"Vaulting?" he cried sharply. "You said you jumped it."

I suppose I had done. "Well," I said, "I vaulted over. I saw him vault,

and I followed suit."

Worthing looked at me as though astounded, and then said, "Good God,

Tommy, and you've only just told me that! Come along," he cried, and

raced me off to the spot for a further investigation.

And there on the stump where I had rested my hand were two great rusty

nails sticking out wickedly from the rotten timber. Indeed it looked as

though the gash they had made in the wood had first set it splitting.

Worthing gazed at them, then turned to me and looked at my hand. "Yes,"

he said, "that's it. And yet in your confounded stupidity you wouldn't

have said anything about it!"

To tell the truth I was still rather in a maze at the importance of the

find.

"Can't you see?" cried Worthing, reading my dullness in my vacant

stare. "Don't you realize that he's probably marked in the same way?"

"Ah, of course," I said. "He put his hand there too."

"How wise of you to think of that!" was all he answered. But I believe

I would have thought of it long since had it not been for the cloud

which hadn't yet quite lifted from my spirit.

But Worthing hadn't done with me. For days we strolled the country

round, or sat out on the cliffs, or lay in bed with the candle burning

to the socket, while I told him everything I could remember of my past

life; a hundred times as much as I have written in this book, for I

couldn't distinguish then between the relevant and the irrelevant, and

indeed he didn't wish me to distinguish. If I seemed to be keeping

back some trifling detail he would wrest it relentlessly out of me,

declaring that he must know everything I could possibly remember, to

the very clothes I had ever worn and the very meals I had ever eaten.

At times he listened with his eyes half closed, as though waiting for

some hint which would set him on a clue, or throw light on other parts

of the story which seemed shadowy and inexplicable. And at times he

would start up alertly and tell me to repeat something again, spurring

on my memory with hints and suggestions.

He brushed aside my question as to how the old hag, Bite-in-the-Dark,

had changed into a man; for I had recognized the face of the evil old

woman as the blow caught me between the eyes. "Merely a matter of

clothes," said Worthing. But the mention of the manuscript, when I came

to that part of the narrative, excited him immensely as though he had

hit upon the main trail at last; and my father's poring over the plans,

his explorations of the creeks and pools about the _Dolphin_, and his

story of the accursed treasure that night at Sunset Towers, became the

nucleus of Worthing's enquiries. And indeed I wasn't so lacking in

insight as to be unaware of the significance of all this; it was the

unifying element which should explain the mystery that baffled me. For

in my superstitious way I was inclined to believe it was the working

out of the old curse upon yet another victim. The murderer, be he man

or woman, I regarded as merely an instrument in the hand of that darker

impalpable horror which my father had named Shadow-of-Fear.

But Worthing laughed all such stuff to scorn. He set about hunting

for the manuscript among my father's papers, but it was missing. The

discovery of its loss set him darkly thinking; and one night when we

had been lying silently in bed for a while he suddenly sat up and said:

"It's all so ridiculously simple, Tommy, that I'm afraid there's a

catch in it somewhere."

"Simple?" I exclaimed.

"Look here," he replied, "just let's put together what we actually

know. Firstly, it's obvious your father was after that 'unhallowed

gold' as you call it. Secondly, the manuscript with the plan is

missing. There's evidence enough to piece out the whole story, except

the actual identity of the murderer. It's just that somebody else was

after that gold as well. He wanted the plan, and he's got it. If we

hang about here long enough we shall either be put out of the way or,

if we're clever enough to preserve our skins, we shall see the fellow

come back and in turn start hunting for the treasure."

It seemed absurdly clear as Worthing expounded it, but it didn't

satisfy me. Yet I couldn't explain to Worthing why it didn't satisfy

me, for it was merely that in my heart I felt there was something

darker and more mysterious than mere greed of gold that had laid my

father low. The story of the curse had got into my blood. Indeed it

had become a familiar strand woven into all my dreams and colouring my

very outlook on life. And this was but natural considering the fear

and mystery which had shadowed my short but eventful career, till the

unseen world had become as real to me as the seen.

Worthing continued, "How we are to find the murderer is another matter."

"Need we find him?" I asked, forgetting the fine vows I was used to

make when in Dirk's company. For my mind was brooding on the horror and

inexplicability of it all, and I thought it might be as well to wash my

hands of the unholy affair.

"The law demands it," was Worthing's characteristic reply. And he

explained what evidence we had and what clues we might follow. There

was the probable mark on the man's hand. Then too he must have been in

the neighbourhood of the _Snow Man_ when my father rushed back into

the fire. Probably he had been the cause of the fire itself. Again,

he had very likely been at Rancey Bridge when my father had sung the

verse bidding me to the tryst on the first of May. Then there was the

affair of the King's Man. My father himself had suggested that that was

a trick of his enemy's to put false blame upon him, and so bring down

the vengeance of the smugglers on his head. So Worthing went on; and if

the strange fear at my heart hadn't cried halt to the enquiry I should

have delighted in tracing the mystery and connecting it link by link.

But I couldn't throw off the feeling of awe which paralyzed my wits and

dulled my enthusiasm for revenge. In spite of the crying wound in my

heart I couldn't whip myself up into the mood for retaliation.

Meanwhile Dirk had been hanging idly round the _Dolphin_, his brig

lying out to sea, for he had taken it into his head to father me now

that I was left a homeless waif to face the world alone. He kept urging

me to join him on his vessel and learn the sailor's craft, and to tell

the truth I was only too anxious to go, for the call of the sea set my

blood dancing. But I couldn't leave Worthing, not at any rate until

I had satisfied his curiosity. And even when I thought he must know

my story by heart, with all my wanderings from as far back as I could

remember, and all the secrets I had discovered around the coast and

even at Sunset Towers, when I thought he knew all this yet I couldn't

bring myself to part from him unless he wished me to. For I knew I

owed him a debt I could never hope to repay. So I was torn between two

desires: on the one hand Dirk and the romance of the sea called me to

be away on the wonderful summer waters, and on the other hand Worthing

and a sense of gratitude held me back on land.

I wondered how it would all end, for I was still too stupid from the

effects of the shock I had sustained to be master of my will. But the

knot untied itself. For one morning Worthing came to me and said he

was off to London. He had learnt all he could at this end of the trail;

now he must go and establish himself in his uncle's graces, and didn't

doubt but that he would have leisure and opportunity to work at the

mystery and eventually unravel it. His uncle, he knew, would lend him

every help, for the case promised to be one of intense interest in the

annals of crime.

This method of regarding the tragedy made me wince, but I answered

cheerily that I was ready to accompany him.

"But you're going to sea," he said.

"To sea?" I repeated.

"Look here, Tommy," he answered, "what you need is a thorough change.

You haven't got over the shock yet. You'll have a bad time of it before

you can face your life steadily. Well, you go off with Dirk while the

summer lasts, and then meet me in London. You see," he added, "I shall

be able to put your affairs straight in the meantime."

I didn't understand him. "My affairs?" I queried.

"Tommy," he said, taking me by the arm, "I've pumped you dry during the

last few weeks, but you haven't asked me a question; so I must speak

without being asked, that's all. You remember I was following you down

the cliff when you set off in chase of your father's murderer. Well,

when I came up your dad was still living."

I felt a gush of tears at my eyes, but I dashed them away and said,

"Yes?"

"His last thought was for you, Tommy. He gave me a packet which he

had in his coat, and I found another in his knapsack in the boat; he

didn't intend that you should miss it. He gave it to me and asked me to

see the matter straight. I think he had some sort of confidence in my

knowledge of this kind of thing. Of course I promised."

"But what is it?" I asked, trying to control my shaky voice. For the

picture of my murdered father was vividly before me, and I began to

realize as I hadn't yet done how bitter was my loss.

"There seems to be a fortune," Worthing continued. "There's a London

firm has charge of the gold, for it isn't banked. A bank, you see, is a

clue for anyone hunting you. Your dad didn't mean to leave more traces

than he could help."

I thought bitterly that all his caution had been of no avail at the end.

I grasped Worthing's hand and said, "I don't know what it all means.

You'll see to it, won't you?"

He said he had already pledged his word to do so.

So we spent that day together, and the next morning Worthing set off

for London, first writing out for me exact instructions where I was to

meet him. Then we tramped to the nearest stage; and I saw him mount the

coach and drive away on his mission.

I walked back slowly to the _Dolphin_, my mind growing clearer.

Worthing had said I should have a bad time before I learnt to face

life steadily; and already with my clearing vision I began to see how

desolate the world had become.

PART III

DIRK STORMAWAY

CHAPTER XXIII

DIRK TAKES ME IN HAND

For a few days my troubles were forgotten, for immediately on my return

to the _Dolphin_ Dirk marched me away to the shore. At Ebb-Tide Pool we

found his boat in waiting, and it was only a matter of a few strokes of

the oar before we were aboard his brig, the _Revenge_.

As we drew alongside he jerked his head up to the name.

"Used to be the _Sailor's Lass_," he said.

The anchor was hauled in, and the dream of my life began. I was like a

mad thing on board there. I couldn't grow weary questioning the hands

on the use of this and that, though they probably grew weary answering

me. For the most part they were kindly enough, though they dashed my

enthusiasm somewhat by their oaths and scolding. But they seldom laid

hands on me. It may have been that they were afraid to do so knowing

me under the protection of Dirk, a master to daunt the boldest. But I

think too I was popular on my own account. I was hardy and bold, and

could swarm a back-stay as easily as run up the ratlines. Also I was

willing and eager to take my share of the work, and so relieved the

lazier ones of many a climb aloft. And my precocity with the knife

and pistol amused them, and I could talk of strange things when we

lounged about the galley in the dog-watches which appealed to their

sailor-sense of the mysterious.

For a few days the world was an enchanted playground. The sky was a

serene blue, with here and there lazy woolly clouds floating over us

like argosies from fairyland. The wind was steady enough to swell

the sails without rolling us boisterously amid toppling waves. And

the water cutting away from the bows in a gush of leaping white, and

foaming out in a double wake to either side; the slapping of the waves

against the vessel, and spurting up in little fountains to the deck;

the long racing lines of the rollers, glittering with innumerable

greens and blues, and in the evening catching the colours of the west

and flaming suddenly into orange and red and purple; the mist on the

sea's face in the morning, like a white veil filmy and shifting and

translucent, and gleaming like cloudy mother-of-pearl as the sun

strengthened and shot it through with colour, to furl it up like a

banner of gauze till it melted and left the skyline clear, so that once

again to the sweep of the horizon were the dancing waters and the wide

free kingdom of the air; all these things which were the wonder and

beauty of the sea caught at my heart like a passion, till I thought I

should like to live for ever amid this inconstant wavering mystery,

this intangible fluctuant loveliness, which teased my spirit like a

thirst and fired it like a wine.

But this has little to do with my story, though I should like to dilate

on the joy of it all. For even when the sky clouded and the storm

caught us, the thunder rolling ponderously overhead like a caravan of

the giants, and the lightning stabbing at us out of the black heavens,

ripping the clouds across in savage jagged gashes, I still exulted,

being ignorant, and fighting on the high unsteady yards with the stiff

kicking sails thought that life was a wonderful game.

But with familiarity, though I never lost my enthusiasm, I had leisure

to return upon myself and take measure of the calamity which had

befallen me. The fumes had cleared from my mind by now, and I began

to understand that I should never see my father again. "He is dead,

dead, dead!" was no longer an ominous knocking from without; it was

a sorrow that had come to live with me for ever. My father, who had

been my whole world to me! He had gone. And I had been longing to

see him, counting the days, in an agony when the misadventure of the

officers and the later misadventure at Sunset Towers had threatened to

hold us apart. And yet, so malignant was the fate that had dogged us,

it was at the very moment of reunion that the blow had been struck.

It was an added pain to know that I hadn't even heard the last words

of his love. They had been spoken to another, while I, blind in my

rage, had forgotten him and left him to lie there, not even staying to

staunch his wound. I had leisure to think of all this, and it was agony

unspeakable while the mood lasted; but with the first of the morning,

for it was usually at night-time that the dark humour caught me, I was

out on deck and glorying in the shifting splendours of the dawn; for I

was still a boy, eager, romantic and leaping to the call of beauty with

an ardent and I think a poetic nature.

So the days passed.

I took no heed of where we were steering. At this time Dirk gave

me a free hand, not attempting so soon to break me in to the stern

discipline of the sea, consequently I wasn't called upon to take note

of our course. So I was surprised one day when dropping anchor off

shore Dirk lowered a boat, and getting in said to me, "Wull, you'd

better keep close, kiddy. If they catch you hereabouts they mightn't be

kind to you."

I looked questionably at the land, and asked, "Why, where are we?"

"Ho," he laughed, "you're a fine sailor, Tommy, my lad. I'd a thought

you'd a known the Rancey."

"The Rancey!" I exclaimed.

And sure enough there was the channel running into the land. But I had

never been as far as the mouth before.

A sudden desire set my heart thumping. I had hardly given a thought

to Jenny during the whole of the voyage. But I knew now by the uneasy

catching of my breath that a strange longing for her had suddenly

possessed me.

"Dirk," I cried, "take me with you."

"Orders!" he said sharply. "You stay here."

"Dirk," I cried again coaxingly.

He merely looked at me, and I knew I mustn't argue with him. So I

watched him lower away with a couple of hands and row off to shore.

The thought of Jenny set my heart strangely working. Though I knew well

I badly wanted to see her, yet there was a shrinking uneasiness at my

heart as though I were half afraid. The prospect of facing Jenny again

seemed more like an ordeal than a pleasure. Yet I wanted her, and was

tempted to put all to the hazard, dive in and swim to shore, and go and

find her. It wasn't so much the fear of disobeying Dirk that made me

hesitate as the knowledge that I hadn't yet accomplished my mission,

indeed didn't seem to have made the first step in its accomplishment. I

was ashamed to go to Jenny and say I had done exactly nothing, and in

fact didn't know what to do.

However, the desire to see her grew intense. Perhaps she would forgive

me when I told her of my father's death. And at that thought I felt a

longing for sympathy, so that the tears came to my eyes and I blubbered

like a girl. But I couldn't restrain the shaking sobs, and crept

into hiding so that I shouldn't be seen. All I knew was that I was

lonely and miserable, and I wanted Jenny to comfort me. But the only

consolation I had was the golden guinea she had given me. I pierced

it, and threading it with a piece of twine hung it about my neck like a

charm.

I waited for Dirk to return, intending to ask him again to let me go

ashore. But he didn't return, and the evening grew dark, and the sun

set over the land. So I crept into my bunk, and still sniffing a little

curled myself up and went to sleep. But with the morning Dirk was still

away. And then I suddenly knew why he had vanished, and cursed myself

for a fool for not having guessed before. He was on the track of the

King's Man. Probably he would be away some days. In any case if he

captured the fellow it would have to be at night-time. I would be safe

for the day then. I gobbled down some breakfast and taking my knife,

but leaving my pistol behind, I slipped on deck and waited for a chance

to drop overboard unobserved.

It wasn't long before the chance came. The men were resting, as there

was little work to do while the ship lay at anchor. The lookout wasn't

paying too much heed to his job. I was over the side, sliding down

the anchor chain, without a soul being any the wiser. And soon I was

ashore, and making for a fisherman's hut changed my wet clothes for

a jersey and a pair of breeches, on the understanding that I should

return that night and receive my own clothes back again. I remember

feeling a touch of shame at the untidy ill-fitting gear I had been

obliged to borrow, but there was no alternative, for I couldn't wait

for my own things to dry. So I set off, making tracks across country

for Sunset Towers.

It was a longer journey than I had anticipated; but I obtained a lift

here and there, and before the sun had set I had crept into the grounds

from the back, and was scouting for a clear run in. For now that I was

at the old haunt again my fear of the officers returned upon me.

For a while I lay low watching and listening, hoping that chance would

send Jenny my way. I was sentimental enough to wonder whether she would

instinctively divine my presence. I half expected her to come creeping

to me with my name on her lips. But either fate was very perverse or

Jenny's instinct very dull; for she didn't come. So it was for me to go

to her.

I ran across the bare space which divided me from the ruins, and was

soon in among shelter again, climbing and threading my way through

the tumble-down stonework to the main part of the building. I entered

through the archway at the top of the main stairs, for I found the

boarding loose as though some one had been there before me. But perhaps

it had never been properly replaced since it had been opened for

Worthing. I couldn't remember. I didn't stay to question the matter.

I was so near now to my goal that all my mind was concentrated on the

coming meeting. Jenny would be there, a room or two away, or perhaps

just downstairs at her supper. I listened, but couldn't hear a sound.

I decided I would break in upon her assuming her to be in her room. If

she were downstairs after all I would hide and wait for her.

I crept across the landing to her room and laid my hand on the

door-knob. It creaked, and I thought I heard a movement within. I

listened, but all was still again. But I dared not enter at once,

for the thought of what awaited me on the other side made my heart

leap stupidly. I could almost see Jenny standing there with wide eyes

waiting for the door to open. I was obliged to stand still to recover

my composure, for my brain seemed to reel and I felt half choked with

excitement, deafened by the beating of my heart. Why the meeting with

Jenny should throw me into such an unnerved trembling, I didn't know;

for I wasn't old enough to analyse my emotions. But there I stood,

fluttering like a rag, with all the strength ebbed out of my muscles,

and knowing full well that if I tried to speak I should merely stammer

like a booby. Also I was painfully aware of my disreputable clothes.

It was the sound of some one moving downstairs that decided me to risk

my appearance and enter. I turned the handle and put my head round

the door. To my amazement the room was empty. I was both relieved and

disappointed. For though the sight of Jenny there would have left me

merely gaping and grinning inanely, yet I knew now I should have to

prepare myself for the ordeal all over again. I went in and sat down

on a chair, and looked about the room. It was strangely empty. Usually

there were clothes lying here and there, for Jenny wasn't the tidiest

of mortals. And besides there used to be all sorts of odds and ends

and gimcracks that I couldn't name dotted about the walls and shelves,

and their absence now left a gap in the place. I went to the bed and

pulled aside the curtain. The clothes and mattress were rolled up into

a bundle. Evidently no one was expected to sleep there that night. I

looked blankly around me, feeling bitterly dejected, and knowing, in

spite of silly arguments that kept rising to the contrary, that Jenny

wasn't there at all. She had gone away. I began to notice other signs

of abandonment. The dust lay thickly everywhere. There were odds and

ends of paper lying untidily about the floor as though drawers and

cupboards had been turned out. As indeed they had been; for when I

examined them they were empty.

I sat down on the bed, disheartened and disconsolate. I didn't realize

till this moment how keenly I had been looking forward to seeing Jenny.

And the stupid trembling left me, and I felt limp with dejection. Again

I was alone in the world. And with the sense of loneliness came back in

a flood of anguish the memory of my father's death. I was too utterly

broken to weep even. I just sat there looking dully before me, saying

to myself, "Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!..."

Then I felt a surge of anger against her. Why had she gone away? Gone

away without even leaving me a message! Perhaps she had left a message!

With quickened feelings I sprang up and gazed about the room, then

started turning out all the drawers. Before I had merely glanced idly

at them. But though I hunted high and low there was no trace of any

message. I even examined the dusty shelves, wondering whether she had

thought to write on them with her finger, till it occurred to me that

the dust had gathered after she had left. Then I thought there might be

a note for me downstairs, or even in my own bedroom.

I turned to the door, but again I heard a noise; and I hesitated. There

was somebody on the landing. Instinct told me it was my enemy, for who

else should be prowling round the place when the inmates had gone?

For a moment my thought was to fling open the door and hurl myself

upon him. I gripped my knife in angry hate, and my hand was on the

knob. But the spasm of fury passed, and I felt limp and unnerved again.

Somehow I knew the creature was waiting for me outside the door. All

was very still but I seemed to feel a presence there just behind the

panels. He must be standing motionless, listening, holding his breath,

even as I was doing myself; and only that inch of woodwork divided us.

But I hadn't the courage to open the door and put all to the hazard.

The evening was growing dusky; already the room was full of hovering

shadows. If only it had been daylight, I told myself; but all the while

I knew I was a coward. Yet I couldn't stiffen my resolution. Indeed the

blow of Jenny's absence with no word of where I was to find her had

reduced me to a stupid self-pity, and I had no spirit left for fight.

I slunk quietly away, treading with an infinitude of caution; and

reaching the window I raised it as noiselessly as I could. Luckily

enough it yielded easily to my hands, sliding up quietly without a

creak. Every moment I dreaded to see the door flung open, and my enemy

upon me. But I kept my knife in my teeth, ready; and always my eyes

were turned towards the door.

At length the window was raised, and with a great breath of relief I

slipped out and over the edge, clinging to the ivy. And then as my face

dipped below the sill I saw the message I had been hunting for. A card

was wedged into a crack in the stonework; dirty it is true, and torn,

but bearing across it in uneven straggling capitals my own name, though

the last letter was missing as the card had been torn away in a ragged

slant as though some one had snatched at it in haste only ripping off a

corner.

Carefully, though I was still in an agony of fear, I loosened the card,

and climbing down to earth I turned it over without waiting to hide.

And there I saw written, "Tommy, come to me. Our house is...."

But the precious fragment that alone was of value to me had gone.

I stood gazing at the dirty card with the untidy writing, turning it

over and over, wondering what it meant. Why had Jenny hung out this

summons for me, and then torn off the heart of the message? "Tommy,

come to me." I read that again and again, mechanically, till I seemed

to hear the high imperious voice speaking the summons. And with the

feeling of Jenny's nearness I realized how like her it was to put the

message outside her window, as though she knew I should climb in that

way. I reproached myself for not having done so. If I had done so I

might have found the card intact.

That set me thinking instead of sentimentalizing. Who had torn off that

precious corner? At first I had thought that Jenny must have done so

in some sudden changing whim. But now I said it couldn't have been

Jenny. Then who?... With a start I remembered having heard a movement

in the room as I had stood outside the door foolishly talking down my

thumping heart, too shy to face her. Suppose I had but repeated the

manœuvre which my enemy had played on me? Suppose he too, hearing my

hand on the knob, had climbed out through the window, and seeing the

message there had snatched at it, in too great a hurry to release it

carefully, and so had stolen just the fragment that I needed? It was

possible. I flushed hotly at the possibility, for the explanation

commended itself to me. And then the full meaning of the thing flooded

in upon me. It wasn't my enemy. I must have been stupid ever to have

supposed it could have been. It was the Captain's enemy. He was hunting

for him. And now he would have the clue he wanted.

All fear was forgotten now. I was up the ivy again; and leaping to

the door I flung it wide. The landing was empty. With my knife in my

hand I rushed into room after room, then down the stairs, hunting

everywhere. And assuredly I should have stabbed anyone that had come

in my path without staying to see who he might be. But the whole place

was deserted. Only the hollow echoing of my feet rang from chamber to

chamber, sounding strangely dismal in the gathering twilight. So at

last I gave up the search. Standing still there in the great empty

hall the abandonment of the place was like a watchful presence as of

some listening thing, so that I turned about expecting to see eyes

upon me in the shadowy corners. At last I grew really frightened at

I know not what, and ran into the open. When I turned to look back

the huge house was standing up black against the sunset as I had seen

it that evening when hand in hand my father and I had first passed

beneath its portals. And still it seemed to be rapt in some dark and

evil meditation, gazing in upon itself as though concealing an ugly

mystery which it dared not divulge. And I, knowing something of the

haunting horror within its walls, and believing that even now an enemy

was lurking there, felt an overshadowing dread at my heart as though

an immense black bird had covered me with its wings. Then I heard a

low sighing that swelled into a moan; and it seemed that the mighty

creature were shaken with a sorrow it couldn't ease, crying to be rid

of a sickness that was poisoning it to the soul. I clapped my hands to

my ears and fled into the darkening night.

It wasn't till I was deep among the heather that I realized I was

famishingly hungry. I would have turned back, if I had had the courage,

to see if there were any stale leavings in the larder. But I couldn't

face the prospect of entering again that lonely dark mansion which

seemed more menacing in its desolation than if I had been certain that

an enemy was lurking for me there knife in hand. So I tightened my belt

and lay down to sleep, and over my head the stars came out, sparkling

like flakes of the driven surge in the splendour of the moon. So the

night slipped over me and the morning came. With it I was up again,

tightening my belt by another hole to kennel in the wolves of hunger

that were gnawing so remorselessly within me.

However, I soon struck upon a cart-track, and reaching a farmstead was

able to appease my appetite, and so set forth once more, strengthened

and invigorated. When clear of Rancey Bridge, for the fear of the

officers still made me cautious, I hit out for the main road, obtaining

a lift here and there on the way. But it was well towards evening

before I heard the washing of the sea, and at last set foot upon the

shore.

I broke out on to the open sands without caution, and before I could

retrieve my error I saw Dirk in front of me. I started back into

hiding, but I heard his voice call me sharply. I went slowly up to him,

hanging my head, for he had discovered my truancy, and I feared he

would be bitterly angry with me.

Without a word he gripped me savagely by the arm and strode me down to

his boat where it tossed at anchor at the water's edge.

"My clothes," I said, not wanting to be stranded with the ragged things

I had on.

He said no word, but pushed me forward. And there in the boat lay my

own clothes in a bundle. Then he knew all about my escapade.

I was dismissed to my bunk immediately we arrived on board. I heard

the anchor hauled in, and the sails run up, and felt the wind take the

canvas and swing us out to sea.

I was troubled at Dirk's silence. I expected him to be angry with me,

for I had disobeyed him. I knew too that I should be punished. But he

seemed more than angry, as though I had done him a personal injury.

Well, the morning would bring forth what it might. I was used to living

in the hour, and I was soon asleep, rocked by the swaying of the brave

ship as she rose to the waves and cut through the furrows.

In the morning I was tied to the mast, and had my first taste of the

rope's end. But I knew it was only just, and though the pain was

terrible I bore Dirk no ill will. When I was released he sent for me,

and looking me steadily in the eyes, said, "Wull, Tommy, kid, that's

that. You've lost me a precious day. He's not in this quarter no

longer. I must seek otherwhere. But you've given him a start."

I began to protest my repentance, but he cut in, "You've taken your

gruelling. Here's my hand."

CHAPTER XXIV

THOMAS GARTH PLAYDEN

It was in London itself where I next set foot on land. Dirk marched me

away to a riverside lodging where he seemed well known, and handing

me some money gave me my freedom for the day, but told me to return

without fail every evening at six, for he didn't know when he would

need to be under way again. I promised faithfully not to fail him,

and he merely gave my arm a little extra squeeze as he repeated his

command, knowing quite well, I think, that I had learnt my lesson too

thoroughly to put myself in fault any more.

So I trotted away to find Worthing. But what with the wonder of the new

sights, the strange confusion of the streets, the stupefying hubbub

of the traffic and the crowds, it was a long time before I reached

the city and hunted out the office of Worthing's uncle. And even then

I was afraid to enter. Everything within looked so neat and orderly,

though dismally dark and stuffy, that I became acutely conscious of

my ungainly seafaring apparel, though I was no longer dressed in the

jersey of the fisherman's boy. But about this time I began to be

aware of my own appearance, and felt a confused shame if my clothes

didn't sit well upon me. So I peeped within, and then looked down at

myself, realizing how my wrists stuck out from the short sleeves of

my jacket; and I was ashamed to enter. I slunk away, but presently

coming across a clothier's, after long hesitation and much passing

and repassing of the stall, I at length made the plunge and demanded a

suit of shore-going apparel. That led to a visit to a barber's where

reluctantly I sacrificed my incipient sailor pig-tail which I had begun

to cultivate with romantic zest.

However, all this is rather needless detail. I soon found myself

trimmed up in a costume that satisfied my sense of the elegant and

the decorous, and returning to the office didn't hesitate this time,

but boldly marching in asked if I might see Worthing Bright. I was

shown into a tiny inner room where I saw my friend perched up at a

ridiculously high desk, a quill behind his ear, and busily scanning an

imposing document. In the moment before he turned round I inhaled such

a lungful of musty air smelling of dust and damp and old leather that I

wondered how he could remain there more than five minutes without being

sick.

At the announcement of my name he pivoted round on his stool, and at

the sight of me dropped the document to the desk, and jumped to the

floor. In a trice we were shaking each other by the hand, beaming our

joy at the reunion.

It was lunch-time, so Worthing whisked me away to an ordinary, and over

a savoury pie and a mug of porter we chatted of our doings. At least I

did, for Worthing didn't have much to say for himself, though I managed

to screw from him the story of the way he had rescued me from Rancey

Bridge. He was able to laugh at the affair now, though something of the

indignity he had suffered still seemed to rankle at his pride. But all

I learnt fresh was that being in the confidence of the Doctor he had

discovered where my knife and pistol were kept, and so had been able to

steal them and bring them to me. He added no comment; and the rest I

knew.

He shrugged at the affair, and dismissed it; but he was excited at

my own particular business. However, he soon calmed down to his usual

sedate self-control, and told me something of his progress in the

solution of the mystery. He had been going into the whole affair,

and his uncle was as keen as himself to unravel the thing, and was

absent even then following up the clue; and though he wouldn't give

me particulars he hinted that the matter was taking on a proportion

that promised to make it of unique interest in the history of crime.

"In fact, Tommy," he said, "I'm afraid your dad's very much in the

background. We're after higher game."

All this wasn't of much comfort to me. I felt a little hurt that

Worthing could so far forget my loss in the mere thrill of the legal

triumph that he declared lay before him. But I knew his nature. The

human counted for little, the legal for much. Indeed, apart from his

friendship with me I don't think he had a tie to bind him to humanity.

He had set my own personal affairs in order, I soon found. My father

had left, not a fortune indeed, but a competence which with husbanding

would yield an income sufficient to guarantee independence. So at least

Worthing assured me, though the figures which he set down for me in

orderly columns conveyed exactly nothing to me. I asked him to look

after the whole thing, and to let me have money when I wanted it. As

for me, I intended to study seamanship under Dirk.

At this Worthing frowned slightly as though considering the matter;

then drawing out a document he studied it carefully, and at last said

that he thought that would do. It seemed that my father had stipulated

that I was to apprentice myself to some profession, or, if I preferred,

to continue at school till I was seventeen and then proceed to a

university. But the thought of a scholastic career for a fellow like

myself sent me into a roar of laughter.

I needn't detail all the legal business that had to be transacted.

There were documents to sign of whose contents I was blissfully

ignorant, and lawyers and magistrates to visit; but Worthing steered

me safely through the confusing processes. I remembered how my father

had said that Worthing was the kind of fellow to have for a friend.

Evidently his dying thought turning towards me had been that Worthing

would care for me if he left the whole matter in his hands. The matter

was tangled enough too; for my father had no discoverable relations,

and there seemed some difficulty in proving my identity. His money had

been left in a lump sum at a goldsmith's who knew no more of him than

his face and his signature. When in need of funds my father had called

personally and taken what he wanted from the store. However, at last I

found myself master of the inheritance, and entrusting it to Worthing

was assured that I might count on a yearly income of a few hundred

pounds; for he invested the money for me, and saw the deeds safely

banked in my name.

He also handed me some papers of my father's: fragments of poems and

stories for the most part, which I laid aside to examine at my leisure.

The most curious thing to me was the discovery that I really had a

name. Of course at school I had had an appendage dangling in the rear

of Tommy, but I had paid little heed to it, and cannot now remember

what it was. Now I found I had a real name of my own, and felt

extraordinarily elated at the discovery. I could sign myself Thomas

Garth Playden.

But amazing as this discovery was, it was even more amazing to learn

that my father, who hadn't even had a Christian name that I knew of,

had been Walter Noel Playden, Esq. I couldn't reconcile myself to it.

It seemed so utterly foolish to think of my father otherwise than as

Daddy. He was associated in my mind with everything romantic and

mysterious, and should have been nameless to the end of time. To fix

him with a title like this was to strip him of the glamour that had

always clouded him about like a glory. He was no longer an emanation

from the pages of a wonderful tale, but merely a creature of flesh

and blood who clothed himself like another and fed on bread and meat.

It was indeed the first blow levelled at the illusions that had clung

about my childhood. With a name of my own, and with a father who also

had his individual title, I took my first step out of Fairyland into

the world of men and women.

CHAPTER XXV

JENNY SENDS A MESSAGE

My affairs were hardly settled before I was whirled away to sea again.

One day when I reached my lodging a minute before the stroke of six,

puffing, for I had been running so as not to be late, I found a message

from Dirk bidding me to make haste aboard. I gathered up my few

belongings and ran for the quay, and it wasn't many minutes after my

clambering aboard that the anchor was hauled in and we were under way.

I learnt next day from Dirk that he had just missed his quarry again.

I thought I detected a suggestion of an accusation in his voice, and I

cried out, "Oh, Dirk, I'm so sorry."

"Tush, kid, that business is settled," he said sharply.

But I believed that if it hadn't been for my disobedience on the Rancey

he would have run his man to earth by now. However, it seemed that he

had escaped. He had even left the country, and Dirk couldn't hazard a

guess where he might be bound for.

"Slippery he is," said Dirk. "Knows all the tricks, and a few more

besides. But I'll have him, Tommy, I'll have him."

I don't think I was very enthusiastic for Dirk's success. The matter

left me rather cold. And yet I myself was bound, not on one quest

of vengeance, but on two. There was my pledge to Jenny to fulfill;

though how in the world I was to fulfill it I didn't know. And there

was my father's murderer to hunt down, though Worthing seemed to have

shouldered the responsibility for that.

It was a strange position that often set me fretfully brooding. I was

but a boy, with a nature naturally responding to affection and gaiety

and beauty, yet with the burden of two lives upon me that I was to

track down and destroy. At times I felt that the thing was too absurd.

I was under a delusion. Even my father's death began to grow unreal,

till I wondered whether I hadn't merely dreamed the whole fantastic

thing. I should have been glad enough to have awakened one morning to

find it had all been a nightmare, and that my real life was just this

wonder of sea-beauty about me, as the ship sped on day after day like a

white bird, driving down into the south, with the skies growing bluer

and bluer, till their wealth of colour was like a solemn song at my

heart, very deep and holy.

Indeed, I gave myself up to the delight of this wonderful new world

that was opening around me. I think I was an apt pupil, and Dirk was

pleased enough with my progress; and more pleased with my behaviour, I

believe, for I was able to take my share of duty with the men, though

naturally I was treated with more leniency and consideration. And for

my part I was thankful to Dirk for setting me to labour with the rest,

rather than spoiling me as though I were either too small, or too much

of a gentleman to soil my hands. It wasn't long before I could stow a

royal single-handed, or do my trick at the wheel with the best.

But I mustn't dwell on this, for the brig _Revenge_ was all this while

bearing me away from the real scene of my story. Indeed, the story of

this time is Dirk's rather than mine, though there would be enough to

fill a book if it weren't clean out of the course of my narrative.

Suffice it to say that I grew bigger and stronger and browner. Also

for some months I was strangely subject to moods which puzzled even

myself. For though knowing I was behaving badly I would for days at

a stretch have no word for a soul on board, often scowling at Dirk

himself, when my heart was longing for the rough and kindly converse

that was customary between us. Sometimes too I felt forced against my

will to speak glumly and even angrily, for there seemed to be a stupid

crying at my heart, and I was mortally afraid that a kind word would

set me blubbering. So in self-defence I gave sharp words that sharp

words might be returned. At night when I was curled up in my blankets

I would sometimes cry myself to sleep, cursing myself for a baby,

but unable to restrain my tears. For at times a desolating sense of

loneliness overpowered me; the image of my father would rise before me,

and I would stretch out my arms to him to clasp but a mocking emptiness

of air. And then I would rock myself upon my bunk, that the noise might

cover the sound of my sobbing; and my thoughts would turn to Jenny, and

with the memory of her I would feel vaguely comforted and sink to sleep.

However, these moods were transitory merely, and little by little I

mastered them till gradually they became rare, and at last my spirit

came out into the sunshine. But I have recorded them because I think

they kept alive in me the fluttering purpose to be revenged upon my

own and Jenny's enemy. For it seemed to me that my sufferings were due

to the cloud that had clung about my childhood. The shadow of fear had

left my heart troubled and uncertain, and I felt there would be no real

peace for me till the evil were rotted right out of my life. And with

Jenny it was the same. Her life, too, would be perpetually darkened

unless I could clear her path as well as my own of the gloom that lay

upon it.

But my purpose became chastened from hate or revenge to one of duty,

till I felt that whether I would or not my destiny would call and I

would have to rise and meet it. So I kept my knife sharpened and my

pistol primed, and practised daily at both weapons till hand and eye

were as one thing working in unison.

And the days went by with sun and storm, and I increased in knowledge

of sailor-craft and in love and understanding of the sea.

However, Dirk's quest didn't seem to prosper. Watching his lips at

their continual and ominous chewing it seemed to me that he was

repeating to himself that old vow of his: "I'll follow him to the end

of the world, but I'll have his heart's blood." It seemed to me in my

ignorance that the end of the world couldn't be very far away. For we

passed from port to port always making south, and at length bore off

for the Cape and the stormy eastern seas. I saw the shores of India

and walked the streets of her bazaars, and learnt much of foreign

ports and ways. But always I saw Dirk's face grow darker with the evil

purpose at his heart still baulked and frustrated. I wondered if I,

too, should come to wear such a weight of gloom upon my brow before I

had accomplished my quest. Then unaccountably we bore back upon our

tracks and steered for home, Dirk still hot upon the trail, though what

the clue might be which he was following I couldn't guess, nor did I

greatly care to question. So with the passing of the winter and the

coming of the spring we were back in European waters, and steered one

morning into the bay of Naples.

And here my own story began again, for I came upon Picardino, who had

wandered home to his native land.

I had just made the purchase of a fine stiletto, and was seated in a

tavern sipping wine while I admired the tapering steel, when I heard

a voice suddenly break out into a ripple of song, and immediately I

remembered the minstrel of the _Snow Man_. I slipped the stiletto

under my waist-cloth, and turning cried, "Picardino!"

He actually stopped in his singing, and leaping towards me smothered me

with kisses, chattering his delight in such a race of mingled English

and Italian that I could scarcely follow a word of it, but guessed at

the meaning by the profuse and ardent embraces he treated me to.

It was some while before I could tear myself free. For the first

onslaught over he gazed at me for a moment, and then with a cry of

"Leetle Tommee!" returned to the attack.

Then he whisked me away to another tavern and up a dark flight of

stairs to a little room, evidently his lodging, into which he ushered

me as though I were a duke, bowing for me to enter. At length we were

seated, pledging each other in execrable wine, clinking glasses, and

drinking with faces almost touching. And nothing would satisfy him but

that I must tell my story. Where had I gone that night? What had I been

doing? And so on and so forth.

I told him as much as I thought he should know, merely referring to my

father by saying he was dead.

"Dead! Ahh!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his heart. "Yess, in the

fierr. That sad. And he such an arteest! Yess, how he play upon the

gueetarr! And you desolate, yess. How I see eet." Once more he flung

his arms about me and cried, "Ah, leetle Tommee, how you desolate! You

come with Picardino, yess?"

But I told him I was a sailor; and then he would have the story of my

wanderings. So I told him of Dirk, and how he was caring for me and

training me; though of course I said nothing of the purpose of our

voyage. I hinted that Dirk had been trading, which indeed was true too,

for Dirk had made it part of my education to show me about the booths

and markets of the East, and I had a stock of purchases on board by

which I hoped materially to increase my capital.

Then it was my turn to question Picardino, but so vigorously did he ply

me for more details of my life that it was no easy matter to edge in a

word about himself. However, at length I did manage to say, "Tell me,

Picardino, where did you vanish that night? And who was it chasing you?"

"Ah, Tommee"--he smiled knowingly--"that secret."

Then he leant forward, and whispering very quietly as though the affair

were a profound mystery he said, "Picardino know manee thing. He

travell heer and theer. Ladees they say heem, 'You speak my sweethearrt

thees and that,' and papas they angree. Yess, and eef they catch heem

eet ees no pleasant for Picardino. But he plentee love the ladees. Ah,

the sweet theengs they arre! He geeve much to caree message. Yess, eef

eet were hees blood."

He laid his hands across his heart with a theatrical gesture that

amused me; and yet he seemed earnest enough in his story. The

picture of the little minstrel wandering from hall to hall, carrying

love-messages from sweetheart to sweetheart and evading the wrath of

enraged papas was one that flattered my sense of the romantic.

He continued his story by telling me of all the wiles that the ladies

resorted to in getting their messages through to him, sometimes humming

a song that told its own tale, sometimes tossing him a coin with a

name scratched into it, sometimes speaking to him in the language of

flowers. It was amusing enough, and indeed I found a strange charm in

the sentimental glamour of his amorous adventures. He coloured his

stories with such an impassioned glow of whole-hearted appreciation

that I was carried off my feet, and wished that I too had a message for

him to carry to my sweetheart, or better still one to receive from him

from the lady of my love, imprisoned in a lonely tower by a tyrannous

papa.

However, it seemed that he wasn't always successful. He began to wax

melancholy because occasionally he failed to find some lost or erring

swain and bring him back to his lady-love. Even then he was in search

for more than one faithless truant, and he began to tell me of this and

that disloyal one he was still hunting for. Then of a sudden he broke

off, and looking at me in a strange enquiring way said, "Tommee! Why,

yess, eet was Tommee. But you grown. She say a leetle boy. You beeg as

Picardino; beeger. Ah, yess, I not theenk."

Before I was aware of what he was about he brushed his hand across my

forehead and smoothed back my hair, crying out with delight as he did

so, "Yess, eet ees. The scarr, as she say. Tommee, I have message for

you."

I was thrown into a violent flutter of emotion. It was so unexpected,

so incredible. That we should have been tossed together like this, I

from the East and he from the North, was strange enough in itself;

but that he should have a message for me, a message from Jenny, was a

wonder beyond belief.

"Tell me," I said, hardly able to form the words.

But before he would speak I had to endure his winks and nods and smiles

and sighing innuendoes of "Ah, the leetle boy! But he man of the

worrld! He have sweethearrt! Ah, that ees preetty, yess!"

But at last he told me the story. He had made a second visit to the

"beeg house" on the moors, in spite of his vow never to go near it

again. He shuddered as he mentioned the haunted place. However, this

time he had been civilly welcomed; and by his description of the

Captain with his kind fierce eyes, and of the "leetle gerrl with the

voice of a queen," I knew he wasn't deceiving me. "And the leetle

ladee...."

"Jenny," I cried.

"Jenny," he repeated. "Ah, that ees right. She send message to leetle

boy with scarr under the hairr. I say, 'Where I find heem?' She say,

'Hees name Tommee; you ask.' I shrug shoulderr and take message, for I

no can say no. She so decided leetle gerrl."

I laughed at the picture, for it was so like Jenny. She had sent me

forth on my quest in the same way, without a thought as to how I might

possibly succeed.

Picardino seemed to understand me, for he smiled and said, "Ah, you

know the mannerr, yess. But when she say Tommee I not think of my

Tommee. That foolish of me."

I can't report in full the rigmarole he treated me to. The heart of the

message was that I was to seek out Jenny in London. In London! I must

have been near her then before I had set out on this voyage. She wanted

me. I was to go to her at once. And the precious address was supplied.

At once! That was a year ago. In a dim dismay I wondered whether Jenny

would forgive me for deserting her so long. It seemed difficult to make

excuses to her.

However, she wanted me. I was in a glow of expectation at that. She

wanted me. And I was bound for England now, I believed. I would go

to her without delay. Eagerly I pressed Picardino for fresh details

of my little sweetheart, for I understood now the meaning of all the

strange turbulent shyness of the past year. I was a man of the world,

as Picardino had said. I had learnt something of the ways of men and

women. And I knew that the fermenting uneasiness that the thought of

Jenny had aroused in me meant merely that I loved her.

So with a heart in a maze of wonder and delight I took my leave of

Picardino, even returning his embraces with effusion. So kindly did

I feel towards the world that when I plunged into the darkness of the

night which had caught me unawares I tossed a silver coin to a whining

beggar-woman who was crouching at the tavern door. My generosity seemed

to overwhelm her, for she clutched my hand and kissed it fervently,

and then opening my palm wide to the light of the flaring lamp in the

porch she rattled off into a long list of blessings that awaited me on

my journey through life. But I was in a hurry, for I had overstayed

my time. I wrenched my hand free, for she was gripping it tightly

and studying it intently. As I broke from her I thought she glanced

keenly at me as though there were some fate in store for me which she

didn't care to foretell. But I thought nothing of it and sped on my

way, repeating over and over the address Picardino had given me, and

fingering Jenny's coin beneath my jacket.

I threaded my way through the twisting streets, hardly knowing where

I was wandering. Something of that strange elation I had felt when

waiting for my father seemed to possess my spirit. A wonderful sense of

uplifting lightness buoyed me on and wafted me forward. I was going to

meet my Jenny!

I came out upon the shore, and for a moment gazed to right and left to

take my bearings. But just as I identified the brig _Revenge_ lying

out white and ghostly on the dark waters, I felt a numbing blow at my

head. I didn't altogether lose my senses. I realized I was being bound,

that a great cloth lay tight over my face. But I couldn't summon any

strength to resist my captor. I was hauled away by the shoulders, my

legs trailing in the sand, and soon I found myself being lifted on

board a little rowing-boat where a second figure helped to secure me in

the stern. There I sat trussed up and helpless while the boat was rowed

out into the bay.

CHAPTER XXVI

A STORY UNDER THE STARS

At first I thought I was merely the victim of some common cutthroats

who were after my money. It wasn't a pleasing thought. I felt indignant

rather than afraid; for after the adventures I had passed through it

seemed too stupid to die at the hands of vulgar robbers. And something

of my old outcry against fate rose to my heart.

However, I was soon undeceived. When we had rowed out some way my

captors dropped anchor, and the boat lay idly rising and falling on

the gentle heave of the waters. For some minutes there was a whispered

consultation between the two men, while I had leisure mazedly to admire

the dancing brilliance of the stars high up in the black pool of the

sky; and then with reviving clearness of mind as the effects of the

blow passed off, leaving only a throbbing pain at my head, I turned

my eyes to the men and took stock of the couple. One was a little

fellow; the other though not large was bigger than his companion. They

both wore masks, and in the darkness of the night it was impossible

to distinguish anything of their features. I thought too they could

distinguish little of mine, for the gag over my mouth reached below my

chin and almost up to my eyes, just allowing me to see.

Presently the larger of the two reached forward to me, and seizing my

right hand forced it open; then holding it to the light of a little

lantern that stood in the bottom of the boat he beckoned to the other

fellow and pointed to my palm.

It was then that I realized that this was no mere robbery. For it was

the two ragged scars of the jetty nails that they were so carefully

examining. The little fellow nodded. They trussed me up again with my

hands behind me, and slipped back to their places, sitting side by side

on a thwart facing me. For a while there was silence.

I felt quite easy in mind now, for I knew I had been captured by

mistake. Somehow I had been arrested for my father's murderer. I

thought that the worst that could come of it would be a waste of time;

for sooner or later they were bound to find out who I really was.

I made one desperate struggle to force a cry through my gag, and I

strained violently at my bonds; but it was unavailing. I knew I should

have to wait till the gag was removed, and then I could rectify the

error. Meanwhile I sat quietly, trying to possess my soul in patience.

The bigger man leant forward, and seemed by his attitude to be steadily

gazing at me through his mask. Something in the way in which he turned

his face to me, though I could only see the lower half of it, sent my

mind back to the old beggar-woman who had tried to tell my fortune at

the tavern porch. Then the man began to speak. And though now he spoke

in a clear and precise English, whereas the old woman had gabbled in

a sort of nasal Italian, yet there was something in the pitch and

intonation of the voice which confirmed my surmise. This was none other

than the old beggar-woman herself. Now, of course, it was clear how the

mistake had arisen, especially as the porch had only been dimly lit by

the swinging lamp, and my face was tanned out of recognition by the

southern sun. But it still seemed a strange coincidence that I should

have stumbled right into the trap that had evidently been laid for

another.

"I am going to tell you a story," he said.

I didn't think he would be able to tell me anything I didn't already

know; but there was nothing for it but to sit still and listen, though

I wished mightily he would ungag me and let me reveal my identity; for

it was clear that all this while the real murderer was gaining precious

time.

But the next words sent my mind spinning in a vortex of alarming doubt.

"There were three brothers," the clear voice continued. "The eldest we

will call"--he repeated with emphasis--"we will _call_--Captain Field."

There was a pause; I supposed for the significance of the words to sink

into my mind.

"You see," continued the man, "I intend to convince you that I know

the meaning of those marks upon your hand, and that if you still

have any love for your own skin you will put yourself at my service.

And remember, though walls have ears, the waves have none. We are as

private here as in the grave. However, the story will speak for itself.

We will begin with Captain Field."

I was all attention, straining to sift his words and catch the

underlying significance of it all.

He went on: "There is a certain haunted house on the northern moors

that you and I know well. It was there that the Captain," he stressed

the title with a slight sneer, "first discovered the manuscript which

told of the winning and burying of the accursed treasure. That part of

the story I needn't relate. For proof that I know it, if that is of any

consequence, here is the document itself."

He held out his hand to the little fellow beside him who brought the

document out from under his cloak and gave it to him. He laid it out

before me, slowly turning the pages so that I might satisfy myself that

it was the genuine thing. As I stretched at my bonds to gaze at it I

knew that the horrible doubt that had seized me at the mention of the

Captain's name was the very truth: it was my father's murderer who had

stolen the manuscript that lay before me, and it must be my father's

murderer who now sat facing me telling me this story. So I hadn't been

captured by mistake. Rather the sign that was to have betrayed my enemy

had betrayed me instead. I wondered what the condition would be which

was to save me from these men. I listened with all my attention, hoping

I might discover some missing link in the narrative which would give

me the advantage of them; for I surmised there must be something they

wanted to know which only I could tell. If I were clever enough to find

the weak point in their information I might foil them yet.

The man continued: "You are satisfied, I presume, that this is the

real article. How it has come into my hands you needn't seek to

enquire." I thought I knew that well enough without pondering the

matter. "I say the Captain found this at the haunted house. Where he

found it you probably know. In a certain dark passage of which you

are well aware there is a skeleton chained to a niche in the wall.

How it came there is interesting enough in its way, but here the tale

would be irrelevant. But when the Captain bought the house many years

ago, _bought_ it, you understand, though it seems he prefers to play

the rôle of tenant rather than owner"--that was information to me,

and I busily meditated it while still alertly listening--"when the

Captain bought the house and accidentally discovered the passage I

have mentioned, he found the document here hung about the neck of the

unfortunate man whose bones only remained to tell of the agonies he

had suffered. The Captain was interested in the document. But, when he

first read it and learnt of the treasure which seemed to have borne

such evil fruit as it were before his very eyes, his first thought was

to destroy the thing. Why his intention altered we needn't enquire.

Suffice it to say he took counsel with his two younger brothers, and

they decided to search for the buried gold."

He took breath, and resumed: "A ship was purchased, a crew enrolled,

and the search began. It was successful. Then what happened we needn't

follow in detail. It may be that the treasure was really accursed. Of

the band of twenty who looked upon it and handled it, actually winning

for themselves a fortune to satisfy the avarice of the most grasping,

only three survived. One was the Captain, one his servant, a boy of

seventeen at the time; a foreign boy who loved the Captain as his own

father, and would have shed his last drop of blood, as the saying

is, to serve him." Here the man's voice became unusually impressive

as though wishing to drive his point home. As for me, I knew he was

speaking of Abou. "And the third was the Captain's youngest brother."

He paused and added, "His favourite brother," and continued, "Whether

there had been a quarrel or not we won't seek to enquire. It is enough

to say that the brother escaped with a fatal wound in the neck, but

carrying with him this manuscript." He tapped it with his finger. "He

had been stabbed; and as I say the wound was fatal. But before he died

he succeeded in swimming to land and hiding in a cave, where he was

found by a young lad who tried to staunch his wound, and would have

taken him to shelter. But he died where he lay, having first given the

document to the boy, telling him to preserve it as he valued riches and

happiness.

"What happened to the dead man doesn't concern us. The boy took the

document and learnt its secret. He became a man, and in his turn made

search for the gold. His name, we will say, was Playden--Walter Noel

Playden, to be exact."

Here there was a pause while the eyes of both men seemed fixed on me

in keen scrutiny. For my part I had already summed up the situation

and could have finished the story for them. I had been watching the

smaller of the two, though listening to the other; for there seemed to

me something familiar in the curl of his lips. I tried to connect them

in my mind with the memories I had of the face of my father's murderer,

but wasn't altogether successful. Yet I thought the resemblance was

strong enough, seeing I had never had a clear view of the fellow. I had

only seen him by the leaping firelight, again in the dim glimmer of

the moon, and lastly with my senses failing when he had struck me by

the jetty. And now there were only the stars, the lights from the town

across the water, and the lantern in the boat, to discover him to me;

and even so only the lower part of his face was visible.

The thought in my mind was that this was Bite-in-the-Dark, and the

larger man who seemed to have the matter in hand was Shadow-of-Fear

himself.

He resumed in a lower and more impressive voice:

"So you see there were only two who knew the secret; for we needn't

count the servant. He was merely a part of his master's will. And

then"--again he paused--"Playden was killed. He was _stabbed in the

neck_." He seemed to intend me to understand something particular by

this. "And the manuscript vanished. Here it is."

The conclusion was obvious. He might have said, "Here is the murderer."

Again there was silence for a while, as they fixed me with their

eyes from behind their masks. Then I began to be aware of something

happening behind me. For a little time now there had been a sort of

gentle tugging at my bonds, but I had hardly noticed it as my mind had

been given to the story. But now in the space of silence I grew keenly

conscious of it. There was something furtive in the twitching of the

cords at my wrists, very much as though a rat were gnawing at them.

Indeed for half a minute I wondered whether Providence were coming to

my aid, for I had heard of prisoners being miraculously freed in such a

way. But the hope was too wild to be credited.

Then the man before me began to speak again, and my mind was torn

between his words, which I knew I must follow with all my wits, and

the silent movements behind me which I couldn't understand, but which

vaguely alarmed me by their secrecy and stealth.

"But the manuscript, as you know, is now only half a key. It is old and

torn, and there is a vital portion missing." He turned to the map and

pointed to the spot which had puzzled my father. "Even Playden never

unravelled the mystery though he searched for twenty years."

At that moment I felt a hand touch mine. It was immediately withdrawn.

The hand was cold, and the touch had been but a fractional pressure;

but it was enough. I knew there was somebody there behind me; in the

water it must be, for I was in the very stern of the boat. A horrible

fear caught at my heart. It was bad enough to be held in captivity

with my father's enemy in the lantern-light there before me; but this

subtle, unseen creature, feeling up at me out of the dark water, was a

thing to shake my nerve with a sense of inscrutable forces at work to

undermine me unawares. I could scarcely concentrate my attention on the

vital business in hand. But I must listen perforce, though with half my

mind alert for the movements of that unknown presence at my back.

The voice was speaking again: "You will either supply me with the

missing clue, or"--he spoke with an ominous emphasis--"you will pay the

penalty which the sign on your hand warrants."

Still there was a stealthy jogging at my wrists. Casting desperately in

my mind for what it could mean, and half afraid every moment to feel

a knife in my back, I yet had a thought to give to the words of my

captor. It all seemed clear to me now. Worthing had been right in his

surmise, though he hadn't suspected the connection between my father's

fate and the persecution of the Captain. It was a common enemy, I knew

now, who being himself on the scent of the treasure knew that he needed

both the manuscript which my father had possessed and the clue which

only the Captain could supply, as he had already threaded the maze and

stolen a share of the gold. But I was still in the dark as to how I

could serve the fellow's turn.

He resumed: "You have the choice. Behind you lies the shore and

freedom; before you a sea-voyage and the forfeit at the end of it. I

will give you two minutes to decide. I shall then ungag you and you

will tell me the secret of the entrance. If you refuse you will be your

own executioner."

He took out a heavy watch, and repeated, "I give you two minutes."

I was in an agony. Clearly he thought I knew the secret because I had

lived with the Captain. He seemed to know I had once penetrated to the

secret chamber; probably he presumed I had then learnt the answer to

the riddle. My mind was in a maze. All I could see clearly was that I

was in danger of sharing the fate of that wretched skeleton if I failed

to satisfy the demands of these men. The forfeit.... I shuddered,

remembering my alarming experience in the passage. How was I to

convince this man that I was as ignorant as himself?

Then I held my breath in sudden excitement, for I felt the cord at my

right wrist slip loose. I moved my hand gently, and knew that it was

free. The mystery of that strange presence in the water behind me was

instantly clear. It was a friend. I didn't stop to think who, nor how

he had found me. But some one had been cutting at my bonds, and now I

was free. At least my knife hand was free. Instinctively I looked to my

belt to see if my weapons had been taken from me. They lay, the knife

and the pistol, by the lantern in the bottom of the boat.

"One minute!" said the man.

I remembered I still had my stiletto hidden at my breast. Perhaps

I could draw it before they knew what I was at, and take them by

surprise. That would be easier than stooping for my knife and risking

a blow at my bent neck. I tightened my muscles for a quick grab at the

weapon, and looked across at my two enemies. For some reason I knew

I would strike the smaller man first. He was the one who had had the

actual killing of my father. I saw the spot on his neck where I would

stab. I could almost see the throb of the artery where I meant to

strike.

"Half a minute!" said the man.

Then I felt something hard pushed into my hand. It was the haft of a

knife. I knew then it was Dirk who had come to my rescue.

"Time!"

I hurled myself forward at my father's murderer, and plunged my blade

deep into his throat. He sank limply with a choking gasp, and I fell

on top of him snarling through my gag in an uncontrollable access of

hate and fury. At the same moment there was a splash and a cry, and a

huge figure leapt out of the water and dealt with the other man. I saw

him as he knelt above his victim draw a knife from his breast dripping

dreadfully in the light of the lantern.

In a moment I was free of my bonds. I would have stripped the masks

from the dead men, and looked on the faces of these enemies of mine who

had already tracked my father to his death, and had so nearly sent me

to follow him. But Dirk grasped me and pulled me away. "Back," he said

in a low harsh voice, "we must swim for it." And he was in the water.

I stopped to slip my weapons back into my belt, and stuff the

manuscript in my breast; and was over the side and in the sea, striking

out in the wake of Dirk for the lights of the brig _Revenge_.

CHAPTER XXVII

A NIGHT AND A DAY

As soon as we clambered on board, dripping from our swim, Dirk

dismissed me below without a word except a rough good night. I didn't

know how he had come to play the part he had done in the dark adventure

of the evening, nor did I give the matter much thought, for my mind was

too busy with other aspects of the problem. The feeling that for so

long I had been blindly groping on a forlorn quest, and that now by my

enemies' own move I had suddenly accomplished not only the mission on

which Jenny had sent me, but my own private revenge as well, was like

the falling away of an enormous chain, or the flooding of a prison with

noonday light.

As I lay on my bunk tossing in my excitement I hugged my arms across my

breast and laughed into my blankets. It all seemed so miraculous, so

incredible, as though Providence had planned the move and I had merely

trodden an ordained path, I wondered whether I were indeed especially

cared for and watched over by Heaven. Perhaps my affairs were in the

keeping of a power beyond myself. But the thought was swallowed up in

my exultation. For I was in a glow of excitement and couldn't sleep. I

didn't want to sleep. I wanted to lie awake and let my imagination wing

me away to Jenny and the meeting that was to be; for now I could say to

her, "He is dead; your father need fear no more."

Again and again I pictured the scene to myself in a tumult of rapture.

I wouldn't merely be going to her because she had sent for me. The joy

I had felt when I learnt she wanted me was intensified a hundredfold by

the knowledge that now I had fulfilled the task she had set me to do.

The consideration that I had avenged my father's murder didn't give

me so much satisfaction as the knowledge that I had struck down the

Captain's foe. I think revenge had become merely a shadowy sort of duty

to me, whereas there was a real purpose served in freeing a living man

from a lifelong persecution. It needed the bodily presence of my enemy

to whip up my fury to the pitch of mortal hatred. While he sat there

before me in the boat my fingers had itched for the blow. But now that

the blow had been given I felt no hatred. Indeed I gave little thought

to the fellow at all. My mind was turned homewards to Jenny and the

welcome that awaited me; and the things that lay at my heart to say

made me flush and throb as with a fever.

Between these glowing pictures I tried at times to slip in a question

as to how the affair had come about, but it was too much of a puzzle

for my mind to solve in its state of fervid imagining. All I could

clearly know was that I had been tracked by those two men, and that

somehow Dirk discovering my plight had swum silently up to the boat

as it lay on the dark waters and so had saved me. For the rest, how

they had tracked me, what they thought I knew, I put away for later

consideration. And once again turning my mind to Jenny and all the

wonder that lay ahead, I at last fell into a troubled sleep, broken by

confused visions of mingled rapture and alarm.

For with the wearing of the night a reaction began to set in. Little

by little my dreams turned from pleasing glimpses of Jenny to those

dark, silent bodies lying motionless under the stars. Once I awoke,

thinking that again I was dealing that deadly blow; and the feel of

the knife as it sank with a thud into the fellow's neck was so real

that I thought I had stabbed some one in my sleep. After that the

delusion came again and again with sickening reiteration, till at

length it seemed to be a punishment I was doomed to undergo rather than

the fulfilment of a long-cherished quest. Repeatedly I kept finding

myself being dragged unwillingly to the ordeal. Before me was the

victim, and always he seemed to be mocking me from under his mask, as

though I were the more to be pitied of the two. The fantasy grew upon

me that somehow I was striking at my own heart, till it seemed at times

it was my father I was bidden to kill, and then it was Dirk, and then

it was Jenny herself; at which I would struggle desperately against the

fatality that was forcing me on, and would wake with a terrible dread

upon me. I would try to soothe myself with the pleasanter thoughts

of the days ahead; but the charm had snapped; I couldn't conjure the

desirable vision back into my mind; and again I would tumble off into

a feverish doze to act over and over the horrible deed of the night.

Every detail returned upon me vividly, and even feelings I hadn't been

conscious of at the moment surged back upon me. For always there came

a stealthy fingering at my hand, and then a dagger would be slipped

furtively into my fingers as though the deed I was to do were evil and

accursed. And always I saw the throbbing of the blood at the victim's

throat, horribly intensified. And some one would be counting; and at

the cry of "Time!" I would leap forward, hating the duty to which some

fearful force impelled me, and strike savagely at the spot where the

blood beat. Then with the flesh sucking disgustingly at the blade as I

tugged to draw it free, and with a gush of blood that blinded me as I

toppled forward on to my victim, I would start awake with a sense of

loathsome horror as though I had been physically sick.

It was a relief to see at last the first light of the morning whitening

at the chinks of the door. It wasn't long before I was into my clothes

and out on deck, sluicing off the fumes of the ugly dreams which seemed

to cling about me like a perspiration.

Then I looked out across the water, and identified the little boat

still swaying on the foamless waves. In it I knew were those dead men,

with sightless eyes wide open under their masks, gazing up at the still

grey sky. It seemed of a sudden a terrible thing that they had been

left to lie alone there all through the night, growing stiff and cold,

and with the blood drying and thickening about their clothes and skin.

As I gazed across the water it was as if I could see them; on their

faces was a look of reproach as though I had done a cruel thing.

I couldn't bear the thought of it. I turned away to find Dirk,

surprised that he hadn't slipped quietly out to sea during the night.

But I was more surprised to learn he had already gone ashore, and

wasn't expected to return till evening. He had left instruction,

however, that I wasn't to leave the ship.

So there I was, imprisoned for a wearying day, with the vision ever

before me of what I had done. I longed to be away from it all. Not

that I was afraid that the murder would be traced to me. Somehow such

an eventuality didn't occur to me; I was so weighed down with the

sickening sense of blood-guiltiness which seemed to cling about me like

a dripping garment, a garment soaked in blood, that I had no thought to

give to any other fear than the one at my own conscience. I began to

understand why a murderer should go mad.