Pharos and I stood leaning against the bulwarks, gazing at the land. For
my part I must confess that there was a feeling in my heart that was not
unlike that of a disgraced son who enters his home by stealth after a
long absence. And yet it would be impossible to tell you how my heart
warmed to it. Times out of number I had thought of my return to England,
and had pictured Valerie standing by my side upon the deck of the
steamer, watching the land loom up, and thinking of the happiness that
was to be our portion in the days to come. Now Valerie and I were
certainly nearing England together; Pharos, however, was with us, and
while we were in his power happiness was, to all intents and purposes,
unknown to us.
"What do you propose doing when you get ashore?" I inquired of my
companion, more for the sake of breaking the silence than for any desire
I had for the information.
"That will very much depend upon circumstances," he replied, still
without looking at me. "Our main object must be to reach London as
quickly as possible." Then, changing his tone, he turned to me.
"Forrester, my dear fellow," he said, almost sorrowfully, "you cannot
think how I regret our little disagreement of this morning. I am afraid,
while I am touchy, you are headstrong; and, in consequence, we
misunderstand each other. I cannot, of course, tell what you think of
me in your heart, but I venture to believe that if you knew everything,
you would be the first to own that you have wronged me. Bad as I may be,
I am not quite what you would make me out. If I were, do you think,
knowing your antagonism as I do, I should have kept you so long with me?
You have doubted me from the beginning; in fact, as you will remember,
you once went so far as to accuse me of the crime of murder. You
afterwards acknowledged your mistake--in handsome terms, I will own; but
to counterbalance such frankness, you later on accused me of drugging
you in Cairo. This was another fallacy, as you yourself will, I am sure,
admit. In Prague you ran away from me, taking my ward with you, a very
curious proceeding, regarded in whatever light you choose to look at it.
What was your object? Why, to reach England. Well, as soon as I knew
that, I again showed my desire to help you. As a proof of that, are we
not now on board this ship, and is not that the coast of England over
yonder?"
I admitted that it was. But I was not at all prepared to subscribe to
his generous suggestion that he had only undertaken the voyage for my
sake.
"That, however, is not all," he continued, still in the same tone. "As I
think I told you in Prague, I am aware that you entertain a sincere
affection for my ward. Many men in my position would doubtless have
refused their consent to your betrothal, if for no other reason, because
of your behaviour to myself. I am, however, cast in a different mould.
If you will only play fair by me, you will find that I will do so to
you. I like you, as I have so often said, and, though I am doubtless a
little hasty in my temper, there is nothing I would not do to help you,
either in your heart, your ambition, or your love. And I can assure you
my help is not to be despised. If it is fame you seek, you have surely
seen enough of me to know that I can give it to you. If it is domestic
happiness, who can do so much for you as I?"
"I hope, Monsieur Pharos," I answered, in as dignified a manner as I
could assume, "that I appreciate your very kind remarks at their proper
value, and also the generous manner in which you have offered to forget
and forgive such offences as I have committed against yourself. You
must, however, pardon me if I fail to realise the drift of your remarks.
There have been times during the last six weeks when you have uttered
the most extraordinary threats against myself. Naturally, I have no
desire to quarrel with you; but, remembering what has passed between us,
I am compelled to show myself a little sceptical of your promises."
He glanced sharply at me, but was wise enough to say nothing. A moment
later, making the excuse that he must discover where the mate intended
to bring up, he left me and went forward to the bridge.
I was still thinking of my conversation with Pharos, and considering
whether I had been wise in letting him see my cards, when a little hand
stole into mine, and I found Valerie beside me.
"I could not remain below," she said, "when we were nearing England. I
knew the effect the land would have upon you, and I wanted to be with
you."
I then gave her an account of the interview I had had with Pharos, and
of all he had said to me and I to him. She listened attentively enough,
but I could see that she was far from being impressed.
"Do not trust him," she said. "Surely you know him well enough by this
time not to do so. You may be very sure he has some reason for saying
this, otherwise he would not trouble himself to speak about it."
"I shall not trust him," I replied. "You need have no fear of that. My
experience of him has taught me that it is in such moments as these that
he is most dangerous. When he is in one of his bad humours, one is on
the alert and prepared for anything he may do or say; but when he
repents and appears so anxious to be friendly, one scarcely knows how to
take him. Suspicion is lulled to sleep for the moment, there is a
feeling of security, and it is then the mischief is accomplished."
"We will watch him together," she continued; "but, whether he is
friendly or otherwise, we will not trust him even for a moment."
So close were we by this time to the shore, and so still was the night,
that we could even hear the wavelets breaking upon the beach. Then the
screw of the steamer ceased to revolve, and when it was quite still
Pharos and the second mate descended from the bridge and joined us.
"This has been a bad business, a very bad business," the mate was
saying. "The skipper, the chief engineer, the steward, and three of the
hands all dead, and no port to put into for assistance. I wish I was
going ashore like you."
We shook hands with him in turn, and then descended the ladder to the
boat alongside. The thought of the mate's position on board that
plague-stricken vessel may possibly have accounted for the silence in
which we pushed off and headed for the shore; at any rate, not a word
was spoken. The sea was as calm as a mill-pond, and for the reason that
the night was dark, and we were all dressed in sombre colours, while the
boat chosen for the work of landing us was painted a deep black, it was
scarcely likely our presence would be detected. Be that as it may, no
coastguard greeted us on our arrival. Therefore, as soon as the boat was
aground, we made our way into the bows, and with the assistance of the
sailors reached the beach. Pharos rewarded the men, and remained
standing beside the water until he had seen them safely embarked on
their return journey to the steamer. Then, without a word to us, he
turned himself about, crossed the beach, and carrying his beloved monkey
in his arms, began slowly to ascend the steep path which led to the high
land on which the village was situated. We did not, however, venture to
approach the place itself.
The remembrance of that strange night often returns to me now. In my
mind's eye I can see the squat figure of Pharos tramping on ahead,
Valerie following a few steps behind him, and myself bringing up the
rear, and all this with the brilliant stars overhead, the lights of the
village showing dimly across the sandhills to our right, and the
continuous murmur of the sea behind us.
For upwards of an hour we tramped on in this fashion, and in that time
scarcely covered a distance of four miles. Had it occurred at the
commencement of our acquaintance I should not have been able to
understand how Pharos, considering his age and infirm appearance, could
have accomplished even so much. Since then, however, I had been
permitted so many opportunities of noting the enormous strength and
vitality contained in his meagre frame that I was past any feeling of
wonderment. Valerie it was who caused me most anxiety. Only two days
before she had been stricken by the plague; yesterday she was still
confined to her cabin. Now here she was, subjected to intense excitement
and no small amount of physical exertion. Pharos must have had the same
thought in his mind, for more than once he stopped and inquired if she
felt capable of proceeding, and on one occasion he poured out for her
from a flask he carried in his pocket a small cupful of some fluid he
had doubtless brought with him for that purpose. At last the welcome
sight of a railway line came into view. It crossed the road, and as soon
as we saw it we stopped and took counsel together. The question for us
to consider was whether it would be wiser to continue our walk along the
high road, on the chance of its bringing us to a station, or whether we
should clamber up the embankment to the railway line itself, and follow
that along in the hope of achieving the same result. On the one side
there was the likelihood of our having to go a long way round, and on
the other the suspicion that might possibly be aroused in the minds of
the railway officials should we make an appearance at the station in
such an unorthodox fashion. Eventually, however, we decided for the
railway line. Accordingly we mounted the stile beside the arch, and
having clambered up the embankment to the footpath beside the permanent
way, resumed our march, one behind the other as before. We had not,
however, as it turned out, very much further to go, for on emerging from
the cutting, which began at a short distance from the arch just referred
to, we saw before us a glimmering light, emanating, so we discovered
later, from the signal-box on the further side of the station. I could
not help wondering how Pharos would explain our presence at such an
hour, but I knew him well enough by this time to feel sure that he would
be able to do so, not only to his own, but to everybody else's
satisfaction. The place itself proved to be a primitive roadside affair,
with a small galvanised shelter for passengers, and a cottage at the
further end, which we set down rightly enough as the residence of the
stationmaster. The only lights to be seen were an oil-lamp above the
cottage door, and another in the waiting-room. No sign of any official
could be discovered.
"We must now find out," said Pharos, "at what time the next train leaves
for civilisation. Even in such a hole as this they must surely have a
time-table."
So saying, he went into the shelter before described and turned up the
lamp. His guess proved to be correct, for a number of notices were
pasted upon the wall.
"Did you happen to see the name of the station as you came along the
platform?" he inquired of me as he knelt upon the seat and ran his eye
along the printed sheets.
"I did not," I replied; "but I will very soon find out."
Leaving them, I made my way along the platform toward the cottage. Here
on a board suspended upon the fence was the name "Tebworth" in large
letters. I returned and informed Pharos, who immediately placed his
skinny finger upon the placard before him.
"Tebworth," he said. "Here it is. The next train for Norwich leaves at
2.48. What is the time now?"
I consulted my watch.
"Ten minutes to two," I replied. "Roughly speaking, we have an hour to
wait."
"We are lucky in not having longer," Pharos replied. "It is a piece of
good fortune to get a train at all at such an early hour."
With that he seated himself in a corner and closed his eyes as if
preparatory to slumber. I suppose I must have dozed off after a while,
for I have no remembrance of anything further until I was awakened by
hearing the steps of a man on the platform outside, and his voice
calling to a certain Joel, whoever he might be, to know if there were
any news of the train for which we were waiting.
Before the other had time to answer Pharos had risen and gone out. The
exclamation of surprise, to say nothing of the look of astonishment upon
the stationmaster's face--for the badge upon his cap told me it was
he--when he found Pharos standing before him, was comical in the
extreme.
"Good evening," said the latter in his most urbane manner, "or rather,
since it is getting on for three o'clock, I suppose I should say 'Good
morning.' Is you train likely to be late, do you think?"
"I don't fancy so, sir," the man replied. "She always runs up to time."
Then, unable to contain the curiosity our presence on his platform at
such an hour occasioned him, he continued, "No offence, I hope, sir, but
we don't have many passengers of your kind by it as a general rule. It's
full early for ladies and gentlemen Tebworth way to be travelling about
the country."
"Very likely," said Pharos, with more than his usual sweetness; "but you
see, my friend, our case is peculiar. We have a poor lady with us whom
we are anxious to get up to London as quickly as possible. The
excitement of travelling by day would be too much for her, so we choose
the quiet of the early morning. Of course you understand."
Pharos tapped his forehead in a significant manner, and his intelligence
being thus complimented, the man glanced into the shelter, and seeing
Valerie seated there with a sad expression upon her face, turned to
Pharos and said--
"When the train comes in, sir, you leave it to me, and I'll see if I
can't find you a carriage which you can have to yourselves right
through. You'll be in Norwich at three-twenty."
We followed him along the platform to the booking-office, and Pharos had
scarcely taken the tickets before the whistle of the train, sounding as
it entered the cutting by which we had reached the station, warned us to
prepare for departure.
"Ah, here she is, running well up to time!" said the stationmaster.
"Now, sir, you come with me."
Pharos beckoned us to follow; the other opened the door of a first-class
coach. We all got in. Pharos slipped a sovereign into the man's hand;
the train started, and a minute later we were safely out of Tebworth and
on the road once more. Our arrival in Norwich was punctual almost to the
moment, and within twenty minutes of our arrival there we had changed
trains and were speeding toward London at a rate of fifty miles an hour.
From Norwich, as from Tebworth, we were fortunate enough to have a
carriage to ourselves, and during the journey I found occasion to
discuss with Pharos the question as to what he thought of doing when we
reached town. In my own mind I had made sure that as soon as we got
there he would take Valerie away to the house he had occupied on the
occasion of his last visit, while I should return to my own studio.
This, however, I discovered was by no means what he intended.
"I could not hear of it, my dear Forrester," he said emphatically. "Is
it possible that you can imagine, after all we have been through
together, I should permit you to leave me? No! no! Such a thing is not
to be thought of for an instant. I appreciate your company, even though
you told me so plainly last evening that you do not believe it. You are
also about to become the husband of my ward, and for that reason alone I
have no desire to lose sight of you in the short time that is left me. I
arranged with my agents before I left London in June, and I heard from
them in Cairo that they had found a suitable residence for me in a
fashionable locality. Valerie and I do not require very much room, and
if you will take up your abode with us--that is to say, of course, until
you are married--I assure you we shall both be delighted. What do you
say, my dear?"
I saw Valerie's face brighten on hearing that we were not destined to be
separated, and that decided me. However, for the reason that I did not
for an instant believe in his expressions of friendship, I was not going
to appear too anxious to accept his proposal. There was something behind
it all that I did not know, and before I pledged myself I desired to
find out what that something was.
"I do not know what to say," I answered, as soon as I had come to the
conclusion that for the moment it would be better to appear to have
forgotten and forgiven the past. "I have trespassed too much upon your
hospitality already."
"You have not trespassed upon it at all," he answered. "I have derived
great pleasure from your society, and I shall be still more pleased if
you can see your way to fall in with my plan."
Thereupon I withdrew my refusal, and promised to take up my residence
with him at least until the arrangements should be made for our wedding.
As it turned out, my astonishment on hearing that he had taken a London
house was not the only surprise in store for me, for on reaching
Liverpool Street, who should come forward to meet us but the same
peculiar footman who had ridden beside the coachman on that memorable
return journey from Pompeii. He was dressed in the same dark and
unpretentious livery he had worn then, and while he greeted his master,
mistress, and myself with the most obsequious respect, did not betray
the least sign of either pleasure or astonishment. Having ascertained
that we had brought no luggage with us, he led us from the platform to
the yard outside, where we found a fine landau awaiting us, drawn by a
pair of jet-black horses, and driven by the same coachman I had seen in
Naples on the occasion referred to above. Having helped Valerie to
enter, and as soon as I had installed myself with my back to the horses,
Pharos said something in an undertone to the footman, and then took his
place opposite me. The door was immediately closed and we drove out of
the yard.
We soon left the City behind and proceeded along Victoria Street, and so
by way of Grosvenor Place to Park Lane, where we drew up before a house
at which, in the days when it had been the residence of the famous Lord
Tollingtower, I had been a constant visitor.
"I presume, since we have stopped here, that this must be the place,"
said Pharos, gazing up at it.
"Do you mean that this is the house you have taken?" I asked in
astonishment, for it was one of the finest residences in London.
"I mean that this is the house that my agents have taken for me," Pharos
replied. "Personally I know nothing whatsoever about it."
"But surely you do not take a place without making some inquiries about
it?" I continued.
"Why not?" he inquired. "I have servants whom I can trust, and they know
that it is more than their lives are worth to deceive me. Strangely
enough, however, it is recalled to my mind that this house and I do
happen to be acquainted. The late owner was a personal friend. As a
matter of fact, I stayed with him throughout his last illness and was
with him when he died."
You may be sure I pricked up my ears on hearing this, for, as everyone
knew, the later Lord Tollingtower had reached the end of his
extraordinary career under circumstances that had created rather a
sensation at the time. Something, however, warned me to ask no
questions.
"Let us alight," said Pharos, and when the footman had opened the door
we accordingly did so.
On entering the house I was surprised to find that considerable
architectural changes had been made in it. Nor was my wonderment
destined to cease there, for when I was shown to the bedroom which had
been prepared for me, there, awaiting me at the foot of the bed, was the
luggage I had left at the hotel in Prague, and which I had made up my
mind I had lost sight of for ever. Here, at least, was evidence to prove
that Pharos had never intended that I should leave him.