WHITE FANGS
Henson took his weary way in the direction of Brighton. He had but a few
pounds he could call his own, and not nearly enough to get away from the
country, and at any moment he might be arrested. He was afraid to go back
to his lodgings for fear of Merritt. That Merritt would kill him if he
got the chance he felt certain. And Merritt was one of those dogged,
patient types who can wait any time for the gratification of their
vengeance.
Merritt was pretty certain to be hanging about for his opportunity. On
the whole the best thing would be to walk straight to the Central
Brighton Station and take the first train in the morning to town. There
he could see Gates--who as yet knew nothing--and from him it would be
possible to borrow a hundred or two, and then get away. And there were
others besides Gates.
Henson trudged away for a mile or so over the downs. Then he came down
from the summit of the castle he was building with a rude shock to earth
again. A shadow seemed to rise from the ground, a heavy clutch was on his
shoulder, and a hoarse voice was in his ear.
"Got you!" the voice said. "I knew they'd kick you out yonder, and I
guessed you'd sneak home across the downs. And I've fairly copped you!"
Henson's knees knocked together. Physically he was a far stronger and
bigger man than Merritt, but he was taken unawares, and his nerves had
been sadly shaken of late.
Merritt forced him backwards until he lay on the turf with his antagonist
kneeling on his chest. He dared not struggle, he dared not exert himself.
Presently he might get a chance, and if he did it would go hard with
James Merritt.
"What are you going to do?" he gasped.
Merritt drew a big, jagged stone towards him with one foot.
"I'm going to bash your brains out with this," he said, hoarsely. His
eyes were gleaming, and in the dim light his mouth was set like a steel
trap. "I'm going to have a little chat with you first, and then down this
comes on the top of your skull, and it'll smash you like a bloomin'
eggshell. Your time's come, Henson. Say your prayers."
"I can't," Henson whined. "And what have I done?"
Merritt rocked heavily on the other's breastbone, almost stifling him.
"Wot?" he said, scoffingly. The pleasing mixture of gin and fog in his
throat rendered him more hideously hoarse than usual. "Not make up a
prayer! And you a regular dab at all that game! Why, I've seen the women
snivellin' like babies when you've been ladlin' it out. Heavens, what a
chap you would be on the patter! How you would kid the chaplain!"
"Merritt, you're crushing the life out of me."
Merritt ceased his rocking for a moment, and the laughter died out of his
gleaming eyes.
"I don't want to be prematoor," he said. "Yes, you'd make a lovely
chaplain's pet, but I can't spare you. I'm going to smash that 'ere wily
brain of yours, so as it won't be useful any more. I'll teach you to put
the narks on to a poor chap like myself."
"Merritt, I swear to you that I never--"
"You can swear till you're black in the face, and you can keep on
swearing till you're lily-white again, and then it won't be any good. You
gave me away to Taylor because you were afraid I should do you harm at
Littimer Castle. That Daisy Bell of a girl there told me so."
Henson groaned. It was not the least part of his humiliation that a mere
girl got the better of him in this way. And what on earth had she known
of Reuben Taylor? But the fact remained that she had known, and that she
had warned Merritt of his danger. It was the one unpardonable crime in
Henson's decalogue, the one thing Merritt could not forgive.
Henson's time was come. He did not need anyone to tell him that. Unless
something in the nature of a miracle happened, he was a dead man in a few
moments; and life had never seemed quite so sweet as it tasted at the
present time.
"You gave me away for no reason at all," Merritt went on. "I'm a pretty
bad lot, but I never rounded on a pal yet, and never shall. More than one
of them have served me bad, but I always let them go their own way, and
I've been a good and faithful servant to you--"
"It was not you," Henson gurgled, "that I wrote that letter about, but--"
"Chuck it," Merritt said, furiously. "Tell me any more of your lies and
I'll smash your jaw in for you. It _was_ me. I spotted Scotter in Moreton
Wells within a day or two. And Mr. Scotter had come for me. And I got
past Bronson in Brighton by the skin of my teeth. I turned into your
lodgings under his very eyes almost. Before this time to-morrow I shall
be arrested. But I'm going to have my vengeance first."
The last words came with intense deliberation. There was no mistaking
their significance. Henson deemed it wise to try another tack.
"I was wrong," he said, humbly. "I am very, very sorry; I lost my nerve
and got frightened, Merritt. But there is time yet. You always make more
money with me than with anybody else. And I'm going abroad presently."
"Oh, you're going abroad, are you?" Merritt said, slowly. "Going to
travel in a Pullman car and put up at all the Courts of Europe. And I'm
coming as chief secretary to the Grand Panjandrum himself. Sound an
alluring kind of programme."
"I'll give you a hundred pounds to get away with if you will--"
"Got a hundred pounds of my own in my pocket at the present moment," was
the unexpected reply. "As you gave me away, consequently I gave you away
to his lordship, and he planked down a hundred canaries like the swell
that he is. So I don't want your company or your money. And I'm going to
finish you right away."
The big stone was poised over Henson's head. He could see the jagged
part, and in imagination feel it go smashing into his brain. The time for
action had come. He snatched at Merritt's right arm and drew the knotted
fingers down. The next instant and he had bitten Merritt's thumb to the
bone. With a cry of rage and pain the stone was dropped. Henson snatched
it up and fairly lifted Merritt off his chest with a blow under the chin.
Merritt rolled over on the grass, and Henson was on his feet in an
instant. The great stone went down perilously near to Merritt's head.
Still snarling and frothing from the pain Merritt stumbled to his feet
and dashed a blow blindly at the other.
In point of size and strength there was only one in it. Had Henson stood
up to his opponent on equal terms there could only have been one issue.
But his nerves were shattered, he was nothing like the man he had been
two months ago. At the first onslaught he turned and fled towards the
town, leaving Merritt standing there in blank amazement.
"Frightened of me," he muttered. "But this ain't the way it's going
to finish."
He darted off in hot pursuit; he raced across a rising shoulder of the
hill and cut off Henson's retreat. The latter turned and scurried back in
the direction of Long-dean Grange, with Merritt hot on his heels. He
could not shake the latter off.
Merritt was plodding doggedly on, pretty sure of his game. He was hard as
nails, whereas good living and a deal of drinking, quite in a gentlemanly
way, had told heavily on Henson. Unless help came unexpectedly Henson was
still in dire peril. There was just a chance that a villager might be
about; but Longdean was more or less a primitive place, and most of the
houses there had been in darkness for hours.
His foot slipped, he stumbled, and Merritt, with a whoop of triumph, was
nearly upon him. But it was only a stagger, and he was soon going again.
Still, Merritt was close behind him; Henson could almost feel his hot
breath on his neck. And he was breathing heavily and distressfully
himself, whilst he could hear how steadily Merritt's lungs were working.
He could see the lights of Longdean Grange below him; but they seemed a
long way off, whilst that steady pursuit behind had something relentless
and nerve-destroying about it.
They were pounding through the village now. Henson gave vent to one cry
of distress, but nothing came of it but the mocking echo of his own voice
from a distant belt of trees. Merritt shot out a short, sneering laugh.
He had not expected flagrant cowardice like this. He made a sudden spurt
forward and caught Henson by the tail of his coat.
With a howl of fear the latter tore himself away, and Merritt reeled
backwards. He came down heavily over a big stone, and at the same moment
Henson trod on a hedge-stake. He grabbed it up and half turned upon his
foe. But the sight of Merritt's grim face was too much for him, and he
turned and resumed his flight once more.
He yelled again as he reached the lodge-gates, but the only response was
the barking and howling of the dogs in the thick underwood beyond. There
was no help for it. Doubtless the deaf old lodge-keeper had been in bed
hours ago. Even the dogs were preferable to Merritt. Henson scrambled
headlong over the wall and crashed through the thickets beyond.
Merritt pulled up, panting with his exertion.
"Gone to cover," he muttered. "I don't fancy I'll follow. The dogs there
might have a weakness for tearing my throat out and Henson will keep,
I'll just hang about here till daylight and wait for my gentleman. And
I'll follow him to the end of the earth."
Meanwhile Henson blundered on blindly, fully under the impression that
Merritt was still upon his trail. One of the hounds, a puppy three parts
grown, rose and playfully pulled at his coat. It was sheer play, but at
the same time it was a terrible handicap, and in his fear Henson lost all
his horror of the dogs.
"Loose, you brute," he panted. "Let go, I say. Very well, take that!"
He paused and brought the heavy stake down full on the dog's muzzle.
There was a snarling scream of pain, and the big pup sprang for his
assailant. An old, grey hound came up and seemed to take in the situation
at a glance. With a deep growl he bounded at Henson and caught him by the
throat. Before the ponderous impact of that fine free spring Henson went
down heavily to the ground.
"Help!" he gurgled. "Help! help! help!"
The worrying teeth had been firmly fixed, the ponderous weight pressed
all the breath from Henson's distressed lungs. He gurgled once again,
gave a little shuddering sigh, and the world dwindled to a thick sheet of
blinding darkness.