AN EXCITING ADVENTURE
Mr Cargrim found a considerable number of people in the coffee-room, and
these, with tankards and glasses before them, were listening to the
conversation of Jentham. Tobacco smoke filled the apartment with a thick
atmosphere of fog, through which the gas-lights flared in a nebulous
fashion, and rendered the air so hot that it was difficult to breathe in
spite of the windows being open. At the head of the long table sat
Jentham, drinking brandy-and-soda, and speaking in his cracked, refined
voice with considerable spirit, his rat-like, quick eyes glittering the
while with alcoholic lustre. He seemed to be considerably under the
influence of drink, and his voice ran up and down from bass to treble as
he became excited in narrating his adventures.
Whether these were true or false Cargrim could not determine; for
although the man trenched again and again on the marvellous, he
certainly seemed to be fully acquainted with what he was talking about,
and related the most wonderful stories in a thoroughly dramatic fashion.
Like Ulysses, he knew men and cities, and appeared to have travelled as
much as that famous globe-trotter. In his narration he passed from China
to Chili, sailed north to the Pole, steamed south to the Horn, described
the paradise of the South Seas, and discoursed about the wild wastes of
snowy Siberia. The capitals of Europe appeared to be as familiar to him
as the chair he was seated in; and the steppes of Russia, the deserts of
Africa, the sheep runs of Australia were all mentioned in turn, as
adventure after adventure fell from his lips. And mixed up with these
geographical accounts were thrilling tales of treasure-hunting, of
escapes from savages, of perilous deeds in the secret places of great
cities; and details of blood, and war, and lust, and hate, all told in a
fiercely dramatic fashion. The man was a tramp, a gipsy, a ragged,
penniless rolling-stone; but in his own way he was a genius. Cargrim
wondered, with all his bravery, and endurance, and resource, that he had
not made his fortune. The eloquent scamp seemed to wonder also.
'For,' said he, striking the table with his fist, 'I have never been
able to hold what I won. I've been a millionaire twice over, but the
gold wouldn't stay; it drifted away, it was swept away, it vanished,
like Macbeth's witches, into thin air. Look at me, you country cabbages!
I've reigned a king amongst savages. A poor sort of king, say you; but a
king's a king, say I; and king I have been. Yet here I am, sitting in a
Beorminster gutter, but I don't stay in it. By ----,' he confirmed his
purpose with an oath, 'not I. I've got my plans laid, and they'll lift
me up to the stars yet.'
'Hev you the money, mister?' inquired a sceptical listener.
'What's that to you?' cried Jentham, and finished his drink. 'Yes, I
have money!' He set down his empty glass with a bang. 'At least I know
where to get it. Bah! you fools, one can get blood out of a stone if one
knows how to go about it. I know! I know! My Tom Tiddler's ground isn't
far from your holy township,' and he began to sing,--
'Southberry Heath's Tom Tiddler's ground,
Gold and silver are there to be found.
It's dropped by the priest, picked up by the knave,
For the one is a coward, the other is brave.
More brandy, waiter; make it stiff, sonny! stiff! stiff! stiff!'
The man's wild speech and rude song were unintelligible to his stupid,
drink-bemused audience; but the keen brain of the schemer lurking near
the door picked up their sense at once. Dr Pendle was the priest who was
to drop the money on Southberry Heath, and Jentham the knave who was to
pick it up. As certainly as though the man had given chapter and verse,
Cargrim understood his enigmatic stave. His mind flashed back to the
memory that Dr Pendle intended to ride over to Southberry in the
morning, across the heath. Without doubt he had agreed to meet there
this man who boasted that he could get blood out of a stone, and the
object of the meeting was to bribe him to silence. But however loosely
Jentham alluded to his intention of picking up gold, he was cunning
enough, with all his excitement, to hold his tongue as to how he could
work such a miracle. Undoubtedly there was a secret between Dr Pendle
and this scamp; but what it might be, Cargrim could by no means guess.
Was Jentham a disreputable relation of the bishop's? Had Dr Pendle
committed a crime in his youth for which he was now being blackmailed?
What could be the nature of the secret which gave this unscrupulous
blackguard a hold on a dignitary of the Church? Cargrim's brain was
quite bewildered by his conjectures.
Hitherto Jentham had been in the blabbing stage of intoxication, but
after another glass of drink he relapsed into a sullen, silent
condition, and with his eyes on the table pulled fiercely at his pipe,
so that his wicked face looked out like that of a devil from amid the
rolling clouds of smoke. His audience waited open-mouthed for more
stories, but as their entertainer seemed too moody to tell them any
more, they began to talk amongst themselves, principally about horses
and dogs. It was now growing late, and the most respectable of the crowd
were moving homeward. Cargrim felt that to keep up the dignity of his
cloth he should depart also; for several looks of surprise were cast in
his direction. But Jentham and his wild speeches fascinated him, and he
lurked in his corner, watching the sullen face of the man until the two
were left the sole occupants of the room. Then Jentham looked up to call
the waiter to bring him a final drink, and his eyes met those of Mr
Cargrim. After a keen glance he suddenly broke into a peal of discordant
laughter, which died away into a savage and menacing growl.
'Hallo!' he grumbled, 'here is the busybody of Beorminster. And what may
you want, Mr Paul Pry?'
'A little civility in the first place, my worthy friend,' said Cargrim,
in silky tones, for he did not relish the insolent tone of the satirical
scamp.
'I am no friend to spies!'
'How dare you speak to me like that, fellow?'
'You call me a fellow and I'll knock your head off,' cried Jentham,
rising with a savage look in his eyes. 'If you aren't a spy why do you
come sneaking round here?'
'I came to see Mrs Mosk,' explained the chaplain, in a mighty dignified
manner, 'but she is asleep, so I could not see her. In passing the door
of this room I heard you relating your adventures, and I naturally
stopped to listen.'
'To hear if I had anything to say about my visit to your bishop, I
suppose?' growled Jentham, unpleasantly. 'I have a great mind to tell
him how you watch me, you infernal devil-dodger!'
'Respect my cloth, sir.'
'Begin by respecting it yourself, d---- you. What would his lordship of
Beorminster say if he knew you were here?'
'His lordship does know.'
Jentham started. 'Perhaps he sent you?' he said, looking doubtful.
'No, he did not,' contradicted Cargrim, who saw that nothing was to be
learned while the man was thus bemused with drink. 'I have told you the
reason of my presence here. And as I am here, I warn you, as a
clergyman, not to drink any more. You have already had more than
enough.'
Jentham was staggered by the boldness of the chaplain, and stared at him
open-mouthed; then recovering his speech, he poured forth such a volley
of vile words at Cargrim that the chaplain stepped to the door and
called the landlord. He felt that it was time for him to assert himself.
'This man is drunk, Mosk,' said he, sharply, 'and if you keep such a
creature on your premises you will get into trouble.'
'Creature yourself!' cried Jentham, advancing towards Cargrim. 'I'll
wring your neck if you use such language to me. I've killed fifty better
men than you in my time. Mosk!' he turned with a snarl on the landlord,
'get me a drink of brandy.'
'I think you've had enough, Mr Jentham,' said the landlord, with a
glance at Cargrim, 'and you know you owe me money.'
'Curse you, what of that?' raved Jentham, stamping. 'Do you think I'll
not pay you?'
'I've not seen the colour of your money lately.'
'You'll see it when I choose. I'll have hundreds of pounds next
week--hundreds;' and he broke out fiercely, 'get me more brandy; don't
mind that devil-dodger.'
'Go to bed,' said Mosk, retiring, 'go to bed.'
Jentham ran after him with an angry cry, so Cargrim, feeling himself
somewhat out of place in this pot-house row, nodded to Mosk and left the
hotel with as much dignity as he could muster. As he went, the burden of
Jentham's last speech--'hundreds of pounds! hundreds of pounds!'--rang
in his ears; and more than ever he desired to examine the bishop's
cheque-book, in order to ascertain the exact sum. The secret, he
thought, must indeed be a precious one when the cost of its preservation
ran into three figures.
When Cargrim emerged into the street it was still filled with people, as
ten o'clock was just chiming from the cathedral tower. The gossipers had
retired within, and lights were gleaming in the upper windows of the
houses; but knots of neighbours still stood about here and there,
talking and laughing loudly. Cargrim strolled slowly down the street
towards the Eastgate, musing over his late experience, and enjoying the
coolness of the night air after the sultry atmosphere of the
coffee-room. The sky was now brilliant with stars, and a silver moon
rolled aloft in the blue arch, shedding down floods of light on the
town, and investing its commonplace aspect with something of romance.
The streets were radiant with the cold, clear lustre; the shadows cast
by the houses lay black as Indian ink on the ground; and the laughter
and noise of the passers-by seemed woefully out of place in this magical
white world.
Cargrim was alive to the beauty of the night, but was too much taken up
with his thoughts to pay much attention to its mingled mystery of shadow
and light. As he took his musing way through the wide streets of the
modern town, he was suddenly brought to a standstill by hearing the
voice of Jentham some distance away. Evidently the man had quarrelled
with the landlord, and had been turned out of the hotel, for he came
rolling along in a lurching, drunken manner, roaring out a wild and
savage ditty, picked up, no doubt, in some land at the back of beyond.
'Oh, I have treked the eight world climes,
And sailed the seven seas:
I've made my pile a hundred times,
And chucked the lot on sprees.
But when my ship comes home, my lads,
Why, curse me, don't I know
The spot that's worth, the blooming earth,
The spot where I shall go.
They call it Callao! for oh, it's Callao.
For on no condition
Is extradition
Allowed in Callao.'
Jentham roared and ranted the fierce old chanty with as much gusto and
noise as though he were camping in the waste lands to which the song
applied, instead of disturbing the peace of a quiet English town. As his
thin form came swinging along in the silver light, men and women drew
back with looks of alarm to let him pass, and Cargrim, not wishing to
have trouble with the drunken bully, slipped into the shadow of a house
until he passed. As usual, there was no policeman visible, and Jentham
went bellowing and storming through the quiet summer night like the
dissolute ruffian he was. He was making for the country in the direction
of the palace, and wondering if he intended to force his way into the
house to threaten Dr Pendle, the chaplain followed immediately behind.
But he was careful to keep out of sight, as Jentham was in just the
excited frame of mind to draw a knife: and Cargrim, knowing his lawless
nature, had little doubt but that he had one concealed in his boot or
trouser belt. The delicate coward shivered at the idea of a
rough-and-tumble encounter with an armed buccaneer.
On went Jentham, swinging his arms with mad gestures, and followed by
the black shadow of the chaplain, until the two were clear of the town.
Then the gipsy turned down a shadowy lane, cut through a footpath, and
when he emerged again into the broad roadway, found himself opposite the
iron gates of the episcopalian park. Here he stopped singing and shook
his fist at them.
'Come out, you devil-dodger!' he bellowed savagely. 'Come out and give
me money, or I'll shame you before the whole town, you clerical
hypocrite.' Then he took a pull at a pocket-flask.
Cargrim listened eagerly in the hope of hearing something definite, and
Jentham gathered himself together for further denunciation of the
bishop, when round the corner tripped two women, towards whom his
drunken attention was at once attracted. With a hoarse chuckle he reeled
towards them.
'Come along m' beauty,' he hiccuped, stretching out his arms, 'here's
your haven. Wine and women! I love them both.'
The women both shrieked, and rushed along the road, pursued by the
ruffian. Just as he laid rude hands on the last one, a young man came
racing along the footpath and swung into the middle of the road. The
next moment Jentham lay sprawling on his back, and the lady assaulted
was clinging to the arm of her preserver.
'Why, it's Mab!' said the young man, in surprise.
'George!' cried Miss Arden, and burst into tears. 'Oh, George!'
'Curse you both!' growled Jentham, rising slowly. 'I'll be even with you
for that blow, my lad.'
'I'll kick you into the next field if you don't clear out,' retorted
George Pendle. 'Did he hurt you, Mab?'
'No! no! but I was afraid. I was at Mrs Tears, and was coming home with
Ellen, when that man jumped on to us. Oh! oh! oh!'
'The villain!' cried Captain Pendle; 'who is he?'
It was at this moment that, all danger being over, Cargrim judged it
judicious to emerge from his retreat. He came forward hurriedly, as
though he had just arrived on the scene.
'What is the matter?' he exclaimed. 'I heard a scream. What, Captain
Pendle! Miss Arden! This is indeed a surprise.'
'Captain Pendle!' cried Jentham. 'The son of the bishop. Curse him!'
George whirled his stick and made a dash at the creature, but was
restrained by Mab, who implored him not to provoke further quarrels.
George took her arm within his own, gave a curt nod to the chaplain,
whom he suspected had seen more of the affray than he chose to admit,
and flung a word to Jentham.
'Clear out, you dog!' he said, 'or I'll hand you over to the police.
Come, Mab, yonder is Ellen waiting for you. We'll join her, and I shall
see you both home.'
Jentham stood looking after the three figures with a scowl. 'You'll hand
me over to the police, George Pendle, will you?' he muttered, loud
enough for Cargrim to overhear. 'Take care I don't do the same thing to
your father,' and like a noisome and dangerous animal he crept back in
the shadow of the hedge and disappeared.
'Aha!' chuckled Cargrim, as he walked towards the park gates, 'it has to
do with the police, then, my lord bishop. So much the better for me, so
much the worse for you.'