IN BRACK'S COTTAGE
Brack's was a humble abode not far from the inner harbor. He lived
there with his mother. The old woman idolized him; he was a very good
son. She attended to their small wants and kept the house scrupulously
clean.
"I've brought a mate, mother," said Brack as he entered with his
companion.
"He's welcome, my boy." She always called him her boy, and somehow it
did not sound strange.
"Come in, don't be afraid," said Brack.
The man stepped into the small room, looking round suspiciously. Why
had Brack brought him here, had he any particular reasons for doing
so, reasons that would benefit himself?
Brack gathered something of what was passing in his mind and
whispered, "You'll be quite safe here, sit down."
They had a fish supper; to the stranger it was the most wonderful meal
he had partaken of for some years. He ate greedily, he could not help
it, but Brack, watching him, knew he was a well-bred man.
The old lady asked no questions, she never questioned what her son
did; she bade them good-night and went to her room. It was then Brack
learned something of the man he had brought to his home; and the tale
harrowed his feelings, froze the marrow in his bones, horrified him;
he shuddered as he imagined what this highly cultured man must have
suffered.
They talked until the small hours of the morning, Brack considering
what he should do, how to get his companion away from Torquay?
Suddenly he said, "Do yer mind telling me yer name? I'd like to know
it in case I hear of yer in the world sometimes. You'll be far away
from here, but I'd like to have something to remember yer by and I
reckon yer name's the best thing."
The man was startled; again the suspicious look came into his eyes.
Would it ever be entirely absent, that haunted gaze; it was pitiable.
"I don't want it if you don't care to give it to me."
"I beg your pardon. You deserve my entire confidence. You are running
grave risk for my sake, an unknown man, a stranger, worse--an escaped
prisoner from Dartmoor."
"Never mind the risk; we'll not trouble about that," said Brack.
"Do you know what the consequences would be if it were known you had
hidden me?"
"I don't know and I don't care," said Brack.
"Think of your mother."
Brack laughed as he said: "She'll glory in what I've done when I tell
her; she's Bill out there."
"I forgot; that makes all the difference. And he's innocent."
"Like you."
"How do you know I am innocent?"
"Yer face tells me. I'd trust a man like you anywhere and anyhow."
"If ever I come into my own again, if ever my innocence is proved,
I'll see to you and your mother for life, and I'll promise to do all I
can for Bill, your brother."
Brack's face glowed.
"Damn me but you're a man!" he said and seized his hand. "I forgot,
I'm a fool," he added, as the man winced. The pain from Brack's honest
grip was intense.
"I will tell you my name. You may have heard it before--we receive
news sometimes--my brother is a famous rider. You are a bit of a
sportsman?"
"I am," said Brack. "I've had a tip for the races here, for the
double, and I've got ten bob to put on; the gentleman who's goin' to
ride gave it me. He says to me as I left the yacht--I'd rowed him out
there--he says, 'Here, Brack, there's half a sov. for you. Back The
Rascal for the double.' And I mean to."
"The Rascal?"
"That's the name of the horse--funny, isn't it?"
"Who was the gentleman?"
"The owner of the _Sea-mew_, the yacht lying at anchor in the bay."
"The yacht with such beautiful lines, painted white? I just saw her as
I came along by the wall before I met you, my good friend."
"That's her. She's not big but she's a gem. She's been here several
times."
"And who is the owner?"
"The same as rides Mr. Langford's horses at the races."
"But you have not told me who he is."
"Ain't I? No more I have! It's Mr. Picton Woodridge."
The man stared at Brack; he seemed on the point of falling off his
chair.
"Picton Woodridge," he said in a hoarse voice.
"Yes; have you met him in days gone by?" asked Brack.
"He is my younger brother," said the man. "I am Hector Woodridge."
It was Brack's turn to stare now. This man he had brought to his home
Picton Woodridge's brother? Was it possible? This was indeed a
strange chance! He peered into his companion's face, trying to trace a
resemblance, and found one.
"Yes," he said, "you're like him, or you were once."
Hector Woodridge sighed.
"Once," he said; "it all seems such a long while ago."
"I remember, I recollect now," said Brack. "I wonder it did not strike
me afore. Yer a Yorkshire family. I know, at Haverton. I was a boatman
at Scarborough when it happened. I always said you were innocent; I
call to mind the trial well. Yer Mr. Hector Woodridge, thank God for
that; I see a way out of it all. You must bide here and I'll pick the
night when I can get you away."
"Get me away!" exclaimed Hector. "How, where shall I go?"
"Leave that to me. There's a man on the watch here. His name's Carl
Hackler. He's from Dartmoor, and he's prowling around here on the
lookout--has been for a week or more."
"I don't remember his name," said Hector.
"Likely enough not; there's plenty of 'em there as you'd never see,
but he's seen you, and he'd recognize you. I've fooled him once and I
think he knows it; I'll have a stiff job to do it again; but I will do
it, and you'll get clear away."
"What is your plan?"
Brack hesitated; he wondered if Hector Woodridge would care to go
on board the _Sea-mew_, whether he would be afraid to implicate his
brother. He decided it would be better for his purpose not to say what
his plan was until he had his man safe in his boat on the way to the
yacht.
"I'll tell you that when the time's ripe. You'd best turn in and have
some sleep; you look as though you could do with it."
"I can. Where shall I go?"
"In there," said Brack, pointing to a small room.
"It is your room."
"Never mind me. Go in and rest."
Hector was dead beat. He opened the door, he was so exhausted he fell
fast asleep before he had time to undress.
Brack sat ruminating until an early hour. This discovery that his
guest was Hector Woodridge stunned him, he could not comprehend it.
He recollected all about the celebrated trial which resulted in Hector
Woodridge being condemned to death for the murder of the husband
of the woman he had become entangled with. All Yorkshire signed
the petition for a reprieve and the sentence was commuted to penal
servitude for life. He remembered how the shock killed Admiral
Woodridge, Hector's father.
Brack went to the old black horse-hair sofa and lay down. He was soon
asleep, dreaming in a few minutes, strange dreams in which convicts,
Dartmoor, the _Sea-mew_, The Rascal, Carl Hackler, and divers and
other persons and places were mixed up in the most extraordinary
manner.
A knocking at the door roused Brack.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, yawned, struggled to his feet. He had
his sailor clothes on.
Another knock.
"Comin'. Don't be in such a hurry. Leave the milk can, yer fool."
Another knock.
"Must be deaf. Drat the lad, what's he wakin' an honest man up at this
hour for?"
He went to the door, unlocked it, pulled back the bolt, opened it, and
found Carl Hackler standing before him.
As Brack said afterward: "I wish I could 'ave pushed him into the
harbor, me a'top of him."
"'Morning, Brack. I want a boat; can you come quick?" said Carl.
Brack's relief was so great that he gave a loud, startling laugh.
"What the deuce is the matter with you? Have you suddenly gone mad?"
"Sane as you are, Mister Hackler," said Brack. "Maybe a bit saner at
times."
"I believe you fooled me about that man being rowed out to the tramp.
Anyhow the tramp's here, put back for something I suppose, and I'm
going to board her before she leaves again, and question the skipper.
I particularly want you to row me out because I mean to tell him who
gave me the information while you are alongside," said Hackler.
"Now I call that nice of you," said Brack. "Here I gives you the best
tip I can and you want to get me into trouble if it's correct. I did
my best for yer, Mr. Hackler, on my honor."
"Will you row me out?" said Hackler impatiently.
"What's it worth?"
"Five shillings."
"I'll be with you in a minute," said Brack. "I'll just tell mother."
"Let her know her little boy is going out in good company," said
Hackler.
"I'll tell her who I'm goin' with, then she can judge for herself,
whether the company's good or bad," replied Brack.
Hackler laughed as he said: "You're a smart chap, Brack."
"Am I? Then perhaps you can find me a job out your way."
"Better where you are," said Hackler, with what sounded very much like
a sigh.
Brack went into his mother's room. She was awake.
"What is it, lad?" she asked.
"Hush, mother! I'm goin' out with Hackler in my boat. He's the man
from Dartmoor, on the lookout for the escaped prisoner. I'm rowin' him
out to the tramp; she's put back again."
She smiled; she knew all about it.
"Tell him not to stir out of that room until I comes home. He'll sleep
a good while. He must not come out, not even in here--you understand,
mother?"
"Yes, but who is he?"
"He's the man Hackler's after; the man who strangled the bloodhound.
He knows our Bill. He's a gentleman; he'll do what he can for him when
he's proved his innocence. He is----"
"Come on, Brack; don't be all day," called Hackler.
"I'll see to him, lad, never fear; he's safe with me," said his
mother.
"Comin'," said Brack as he went out and joined him.