The attorney and Carew left the court, the former volubly indignant at
the miscarriage of justice, the latter moody and thoughtful.
"And now," cried the Hollander, "here we are at the best cafe in
Rotterdam. Come in, and let us wash out the taste of crime with some
beer."
They sat down at one of the little round tables, and two tall glasses
foaming at the brim were placed before them.
"They have all the English papers here," said the advocate. "I will ask
the waiter to bring you one."
Carew looked round the room, and suddenly his face paled, for he saw
sitting at a table at some distance off a fellow-countryman, whom he
recognised as a tobacconist in Fleet Street, a man who, no doubt, knew
Carew's name and profession well, for the solicitor had often made
purchases at his shop.
Carew did not lose his presence of mind. The man was reading the
_Times_, and had, in all probability, not yet observed him.
"Mynheer Hoogendyk," he said, "I am sorry that I must leave you now. I
hope you will excuse me. I have an engagement, and in your agreeable
company I had forgotten all about it."
"You flatter me, sir," replied the advocate with a bow. "I trust that
you will honour me by dining with me to-morrow at eight, your English
hour, I believe, for that repast. My wife speaks English well, and will
be delighted to see you."
"I accept your invitation with the greatest pleasure, mynheer."
Then they rose to go, and Carew contrived to keep his lively companion
between him and the man from Fleet Street as they walked out of the
cafe.
The solicitor felt ill at ease until he had left behind this bright and
crowded portion of the city, and was once again in the region of the
gloomy and malodorous slums where the yacht was lying.
He saw how necessary it was that he should leave Rotterdam the next day
if possible. It was no place for him. His recognition by some one or
other must occur sooner or later if he stayed here. So, having dined in
a dingy little hostelry on the quay opposite to the yacht, he visited
some of the least-frequented streets, and purchased the few necessaries
for the cruise which he had not already procured. He came across a
fisherman on the canal who was willing to sell him a small, clumsy boat
which could serve him as dinghy. After some bargaining in pantomime--for
neither understood the other's tongue--Carew secured this for the sum of
three pounds.
Passing an apothecary's shop, it occurred to him that it would be well
to take some of the more necessary medicines with him, seeing that he
might be some months at sea without calling at any port. He entered the
shop and proceeded to draw up a list of his requirements, to which, as
an afterthought, he added some drugs in less common use.
"These last are poisons," said the chemist in broken English. "I cannot
supply you with these unless you are a doctor."
Carew, with bold invention, explained that he was the captain of a
vessel, and as such was the ship's doctor, and had a right to any drugs
he might choose to ask for; and he produced his Admiralty warrant in
proof of his statement.
The man was puzzled, perused the warrant without understanding it, and
at last, reluctantly waiving his scruples, gave the solicitor all that
he required.
His vessel was now completely fitted out; nothing was wanting but a
crew, and here a difficulty presented itself. He felt that it was highly
important that no one in Rotterdam should know that he was sailing for
Buenos Ayres, else the report that so small a yacht was about to
undertake so long a voyage would spread rapidly, and would soon appear
in the English papers. He wished it to be supposed that he was merely
taking a few weeks' cruise in Dutch waters.
But then, how would his men take it were he only to divulge his
destination to them when they were well out at sea? The probability was
that they would refuse to obey his orders, and insist upon returning.
Professional sailors are not fond of ocean voyages in tiny craft.
Evidently his only plan was to prowl about the docks that night, select
with care three likely-looking men for his purpose,--men without wives
or ties of any sort,--bring them on board the yacht, offer them good
pay, and at the last moment tell them where he was bound for. Then, if
they still consented to accompany him, he would sail away at once,
allowing them no opportunity of gossiping with their friends on shore.
Willem, he knew, was not the man for him. The honest Dutchman must be
discharged at once on some pretext or other.
Carew sat on deck, pipe in mouth, meditating on these matters. He was
alone on the yacht, for Willem had gone off on leave for a few hours to
visit some of his relatives.
The sun was setting into a bank of rosy vapour that promised a
continuance of fine weather. The hot day was closing with a sultry eve.
On that quiet canal, and on the narrow quay beneath the lofty houses,
there was no sound or sign of life. It was almost as if he were in the
midst of some dead and long since deserted city.
But of a sudden the peacefulness of that mediaeval scene was rudely
disturbed. First was heard a confused noise in the distance, as of angry
human voices and the trampling of many wooden shoes. Louder, nearer was
the sound, and then Carew perceived a man rush out upon the quay from a
narrow alley, some hundred yards away, that led towards the principal
docks. The man, who seemed frantic with terror, stood still for one
brief moment, looked quickly around him, as if uncertain whither to
hurry next: whether to plunge into the canal, or run along the quay to
left or right.
Then arose a loud yell of many voices behind him, as of hounds that at
last have caught a view of the hunted creature; and the man, hearing it,
darted off again at full speed along the canal bank in the direction of
the yacht.
Immediately afterwards there poured out of the alley a crowd of nearly a
hundred men, women, and children, mostly of the lowest orders; denizens
of the slums, though some were of a more respectable class; a crowd of
Hollanders who had lost all their native phlegm for the nonce; a crowd
gesticulating, howling, execrating, thirsting for the blood of the man
they were pursuing; mad and fierce as a mob of Paris in revolutionary
days when an aristocrat was scented by the sovereign people.
The wretched man was hatless; his coat and half his shirt had been torn
from his back; the blood was trickling down his face from the wounds on
his head where the stones that had been hurled at him had hit.
On he came, running wildly before them, his face livid, his mouth open,
his teeth set, eyes starting from his head with mortal terror, panting
as if his heart must burst, ready to fall with exhaustion, but still
hurrying on for his dear life's sake.
When he was close to the yacht his strength failed him; he stretched out
his arms wildly, and staggered. With a yell of triumph the cruel crowd
was on him. A man struck him over the head with a stick. Then, with one
last despairing effort, he threw himself from the quay on to the yacht's
deck, and fell a helpless mass at Carew's feet, clutching him by the
legs, as if to implore his protection, but unable to speak or move.
His pursuers stood on the quay above, muttering angrily to each other,
but hesitated a moment or so before they ventured to board the yacht,
each waiting for someone else to lead the way.
Those few moments saved the hunted man.
"Below there!" cried Carew, pointing to the cabin. "Quick, man, or you
will be lost."
Seeing that the poor wretch was too exhausted to rise by himself, he
seized him by the arm, thrust him down the cabin hatchway, closed the
cover over him, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. It was all
done in a few seconds, and then the solicitor turned round and stood
calmly facing the mob.
The people had not realised at first that Carew was about to rob them of
their victim. Now that they did so, a howl of rage burst from them, and
some shouted to him, what were evidently commands to give the man up to
them, and menaces of what they would do if he refused, though he could
not understand the words.
One man began to clamber down to the yacht; but Carew seized his leg and
threw him on the quay again, not over-gently. "Silence!" the solicitor
called out, leaping back on the hatchway; and the Dutchmen, impressed by
the Englishman's resolute bearing, paused and listened to what he had to
say.
"Does anyone here understand English?" he asked.
As might be expected from a crowd in a Dutch city, several men cried
out, "Yes, Englishman; yes, we know English."
"Then, what is all this disturbance about? Are you all mad?"
"We want dat man," replied a surly voice.
"You can't have him."
"Den ve vill take him."
"Oh, will you?" Carew drew from his pocket Allen's revolver, which he
always carried about with him now. "Look you here, my friends; I don't
want a row, but if any man tries to come on board my vessel without my
permission I will shoot him."
They were awed by the quiet determination of his manner, and felt that
he would carry out his words.
"Does you know who you has down dere below?" asked the man who had
spoken before.
"I don't know, and I don't care; but he is not going to be murdered by
you cowards on board my vessel. If he has committed some crime, call the
police. I will deliver him over to them only."
The passions of the mob had now cooled down considerably, and the men
began to light their pipes, and looked once more the staid Dutchmen they
naturally were.
At this juncture five or six of the sturdy Rotterdam police arrived on
the spot, and commenced to disperse the crowd so effectually that in a
few minutes not a soul was left on the quay.
One of the policemen, who understood a little English, came on board the
yacht and inquired from Carew how the disturbance had commenced.
Carew told him all that had occurred.
"I should like to see the man," said the officer.
They entered the cabin, and there, sitting in the corner of the bunk,
trembling, haggard, his face still quite white, save where it was
smeared with blood, was the French sailor who had that day been tried
for murder on the high seas, and been acquitted.
"I thought so," said the policeman. "It is the accused, Baptiste Liais.
His case caused great excitement. The people are very bitter against
him, for they all believe he was guilty. He is not safe in Rotterdam. We
must find a way of getting him out of the country."
"You can leave him here for the present," said Carew. "I will see that
the poor wretch is safe for the night."
"It is very generous of you, sir," exclaimed the astonished policeman;
"but I think it is very unwise of you"--
"I am not afraid of him," interrupted Carew, in peremptory tones. "Leave
him with me."
The officer shrugged his shoulders. He had always been taught to believe
that Englishmen were eccentric creatures; so he went away and told his
comrades that the owner of the yacht was a splendid specimen of the mad
island race, and Carew and the Frenchman were left alone in the cabin
facing one another.