That afternoon they boarded the yacht, and Katherine renewed her
acquaintance with Jimmy Foote. Maas was also introduced to her, and
paid her the usual compliments upon her engagement. Later she explored
the yacht from stem to stern, expressing her delight at the
completeness of every detail. The pleasure she derived from it,
however, was as nothing compared with that of her lover, who never for
one instant left her side.
"Some day," he said, as they stood together upon the bridge, looking at
the harbour and watching the variety of shipping around them, "this
vessel will be your own property. You will have to invite whoever you
like to stay on board her with you. Do you think you will ever let me
come?" He looked into her face, expecting to find a smile there; but,
to his astonishment, he discovered that her eyes were filled with
tears. "Why, my darling," he cried, "what does this mean? What is the
reason of these tears?"
She brushed them hastily away, and tried to appear unconcerned. "I was
thinking of all your goodness to me," she replied. "Oh, Jack! I don't
know how I can ever repay it."
"I don't want you to repay it," he retorted. "You have done enough
already. Have you not honoured me, dear, above all living men? Are
you not going to be my wife?"
"That is no return," she answered, shaking her head. "If you give a
starving man food, do you think it kind of him to eat it? I had
nothing, and you are giving me all. Does the fact that I take it help
me to repay it?"
What he said in reply to this does not come within the scope of a
chronicler's duty to record. Let it suffice that, when he went below
with her, he might very well have been described as the happiest man in
Japan. The history of the following fortnight could be easily written
in two words, "love and pleasure." From morning till night they were
together, seeing everything, exploring the temples, the country
tea-houses, spending small fortunes with the curio dealers, and
learning to love each other more and more every day. In fact, there
was only one cloud in their sky, and that was the question of what was
to be done with Maas. Up to that time, that gentleman had shown no
sort of inclination to separate himself from the party. Browne could
not very well ask him to leave, and yet he had the best of reasons for
not wanting him to go on with them. What was to be done? He worried
himself almost into a fever to know what he should do. Then, almost at
the last minute, Maas settled the question for them, not in an
altogether unexpected fashion. Finding his host alone in the verandah
of the hotel one evening, he asked outright, without pretence of
beating about the bush, whether he might, as an old friend, continue to
burden them with his society. Browne found himself placed in a most
awkward position. Though he did not want him, he had known Maas for so
many years, and they had always been on such a footing of intimacy
together, that he felt he could do nothing but consent. He accordingly
did so, though with scarcely the same amount of grace, that usually
characterized his hospitality. Jimmy Foote, however, expressed himself
more freely.
"Look here, Jack, old man," said the latter to Browne, when he was
informed what had taken place, "you know as well as I do that Maas and
I were never the greatest of friends. I tell you this because I don't
want you to think I am saying, behind his back, what I would not say to
his face. At the same time, I _do_ think that you ought to have told
him straight out that he couldn't come."
"How on earth could I do that?" asked Browne. "Besides being
exceedingly rude, it would have given the whole show away. What
possible sort of excuse could I have made for not wanting him on board?"
"I don't know what sort of excuse you could have made," replied Jimmy;
"all I know is that you ought to have made it. You have other people
besides yourself to consider in the matter."
The deed was done, however, and could not be undone. For this reason,
when the yacht said good-bye to the lovely harbour of Yokohama, and
Treaty Point was astern, Maas stood upon the deck watching it fade away
and drop below the sea-line.
"And now that we are on our way again, my dear Browne," said Maas when
the others had gone below, "what is our destination?"
"Of our ultimate destination I am not yet quite certain," answered
Browne, who was anxious to gain time to think before he committed
himself. "But at first we are going north to have a look at the Sea of
Okhotsk. My _fiancee's_ father has been residing on an island there
for many years, and it is our intention to pick him up and to bring him
home, in order that he may be present at our wedding."
"In other words," put in Maas, "you are conniving at the escape of a
Russian convict from Saghalien. Is that so?"
Browne uttered a cry that was partly one of astonishment, and partly
one of terror. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright. This
was the second time, since they had been on board the yacht, that Maas
had played him this sort of trick, and he did not want to be taken in
again. Was the other really aware of what they were going to do, or
was this, as on the previous occasion, a shot fired at random?
"My dear fellow," he began, as unconcernedly as his excitement would
permit, "what on earth do you mean? Help a Russian convict to escape?
Surely you must have taken leave of your senses."
"Look here," said Maas with unusual emphasis, "what is the use of your
attempting to keep a secret? Nature never intended you for a
conspirator. You may not have guessed it, but I have seen for some
considerable time past, long before we left Europe in fact, that there
was trouble in the wind. Otherwise, why do you think I should have
accompanied you to the East, so many thousand weary miles from Paris
and civilization?"
"Because your health was bad," Browne replied. "At least, that is what
you said yourself. Was that not so?"
"My health is as good as your own," the other answered. "No, Browne, I
invented that excuse because I wanted to come with you; because I had
some sort of notion of what you were about to do."
"But, even supposing it should be so, how could you have known it?"
"I will tell you. Do you remember the night at the Amphitryon Club
when you told me that you were thinking of taking a trip to the Farther
East?"
Browne admitted that he did remember it.
"Well, I happened to know who the lady was to whom you were paying such
marked attention. I happened to mention her name one day to an old
friend, who immediately replied, 'I know the young lady in question;
she is the daughter of the famous Polowski, the Nihilist, who was sent
to Siberia, and who is now confined upon the island of Saghalien.'
Then you spoke of your yachting voyage to the Farther East, and I put
two and two together, and resolved that, happen what might, I would see
you through the business. You see how candid I am with you."
"And do you mean to say that you knew all the time what I was going to
do?"
"All the time," said Maas. "Did not I give you a hint at breakfast on
the morning following our joining the yacht at Southampton? I am your
friend, Browne; and, as your friend, I want to be allowed to stand by
you in your hour of danger. For it is dangerous work you are engaged
upon, as I suppose you know."
"And do you really mean that you are going to help me to get this man
out of his place of captivity?" inquired Browne, putting on one side
the other's reference to their friendship.
"If you are going to do it, I'm certainly going to stand by you," Maas
replied. "That's why I am here."
"And all the time I was wishing you at Hanover, because I thought, that
if you knew, you would disapprove."
"It only goes to show how little we know our true friends," continued
Maas. "If you feel that you can trust me now, do not let us have any
more half-measures. Let me be with you hand and glove, or put me
ashore somewhere, and get me out of the way. I don't want to push
myself in where I am not wanted."
Browne was genuinely touched. "My dear old fellow," he answered,
putting his hand on Maas's shoulder, "I must confess I feel as if I had
treated you very badly. If you are really disposed to help me, I shall
be only too glad of your assistance. It's a big job, and a hideously
risky one. I don't know what on earth I shall do if we fail."
Then, in the innocence of his heart, Browne told him as much of their
arrangements as he had revealed to Jimmy Foote. Maas expressed his
sympathy, and forthwith propounded several schemes for getting the
unhappy man to a place of safety, when they had got him on board the
yacht. He went so far as to offer to land on the island, and to make
his way into the interior in the hope of being able to render some
assistance should it be necessary.
"Well, you know your own business best," said Jimmy Foote to Browne,
when the latter had informed him of the discovery he had made. "But I
can't say that I altogether like the arrangement. If he had guessed
our secret, why didn't he let us know that he knew it? It seems to me
that there is a little bit of underhand work somewhere."
"I think you are misjudging him," returned Browne; "upon my word I do.
Of one thing there can be no sort of doubt, and that is, that whatever
he may have known, he is most anxious to help."
"Is he?" exclaimed Jimmy, in a tone that showed that he was still more
than a little sceptical concerning Maas's good intentions. "I don't
set up to be much of a prophet; but I am willing to go so far as to
offer to lay a hundred pounds to a halfpenny, that we shall find he has
been hoodwinking us somewhere before we've done."
Jimmy spoke with such unusual gravity that Browne looked at him in
surprise. "Oh, you may look," answered Jimmy; "but you won't stare
away what I think. Browne, old man," he continued, "you and I were at
school together; we have been pals for a very long time; and I'm not
going to see you, just when you're booked to settle down happily with
your wife, and become a respectable member of society, upset and spoil
everything by a foolish action."
"Thank you, Jimmy," said Browne. "I know you mean well by me; but, at
the same time, you must not let your liking for me make you unjust to
other people. Maas has proved himself my friend, and I should be mean
indeed if I ventured to doubt him."
"All right," replied Jimmy; "go your way. I'll say no more."
That evening Browne realized his long-felt wish. He and Katherine
promenaded the deck together, as the yacht sped on its way, across the
seas, towards their goal, and talked for hours together of their hopes
and aspirations. When at last she and Madame Bernstein bade the
gentlemen good-night, the latter adjourned to the smoking-room to
discuss their plan of action. Maas had been evidently thinking the
matter over, for he was prepared with one or two new suggestions, which
struck the company as being eminently satisfactory. So sincere was he,
and so anxious to be of service, that when at last they bade each other
good-night, and he had retired below, Jimmy turned to Browne, who was
standing beside the bulwark, and said:--
"Jack, old boy, I believe, after all, that I've done that man an
injustice. I _do_ think now that he is really anxious to do what he
can."
"I'm glad indeed to hear you say so," Browne rejoined; "for I'm sure he
is most anxious to be of use. Forgive me if I was a bit sharp to you
this afternoon. I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you for all
your kindness."
"Fiddlesticks!" muttered Jimmy. "There's no talk of kindness between
us."
Fourteen days after leaving Yokohama, and a little before sunset, those
on board the yacht caught their first glimpse of the Russian island, of
which they had come in search. At first it was scarcely discernible;
then, little by little, it grew larger, until its steep and abrupt
rocks could be distinctly seen, with a far-away line of distant
mountain-peaks, stretching to the northward.
Katharine, Madame Bernstein, and the three young men were upon the
bridge at the time. Browne, who held his sweetheart's hand, could feel
her trembling. Madame Bernstein appeared by far the most excited of
the group. Advanced though the time of year was, the air was bitterly
cold. But, for once in a way, the Yezo Strait, usually so foggy, was
now devoid even of a vestige of vapour. The season was a late one, and
for some hours they had been passing packs of drift ice; but as they
closed up on the land it could be seen lying in thick stacks along the
shore.
"That is Cape Siretoko," said Browne. "It is the most southerly point
of Saghalien."