BACK TO ENGLAND
We started for England the next night, second class, and travelled right
through, as I stood the journey better than any of us expected. After we
crossed the frontier, I doubt if any of our fellow travellers, or any
one else, for the matter of that, had the least suspicion that I was a
prisoner being taken back to stand my trial on the gravest of all
charges, and not merely an invalid, assiduously tended by my two
companions. I didn't even realize the fact myself at the time,--or at
least I only realized it now and then.
"Well, Mr. Wynn, you've looked your last on Russia, and jolly glad I
should be if I were you," Freeman remarked cheerfully when we were in
the train again, on the way to Konigsberg.
"Looked my last,--what do you mean?" Even as I spoke I remembered why he
was in charge of me, and laughed.
"Oh, I suppose you think you're going to hang me on this preposterous
murder charge."
He was upset that I should imagine him guilty of such a breach of what
he called professional etiquette, as, it seemed, any reference to my
present position would have been.
"I meant that, if you wanted to go back, you wouldn't be allowed to.
They've fired you out, and won't have you again at any price," he
explained stiffly.
"Oh, won't they? I guess they will if I want to go. Look here, Freeman,
I bet you twenty dollars, say five pounds English, that I'll be back in
Russia within six months from this date,--that is, if I think fit,--and
that they'll admit me all right. You'd have to trust me, for I can't
deposit the stakes at present; I will when we get back to England. Is it
a deal?"
His answer was enigmatic, and I took it as complimentary.
"Well, you are a cough-drop!" he exclaimed. "No, I can't take the
bet,--'twouldn't be professional; though I'd like to know, without
prejudice, as the lawyers say, why on earth you should want to go back.
I should have thought you'd had quite enough of it."
I could not tell him the real reason,--that, if I lived, I should never
rest till I had at least learned the fate of Anne Pendennis.
"There's a fascination about it," I explained. "They're back in the
middle ages there; and you never know what's going to happen next, to
yourself or any one else."
"Well, I'm--blessed! You'd go back just for that!"
"Why, certainly," I assented.
There were several things I'd have liked to ask him, but I did not
choose to; for I guessed he would not have answered me. One was whether
he had traced the old Russian whose coming had been the beginning of all
the trouble, so far as I was concerned, anyway; and how he knew that a
woman--a red-haired woman as he had said--had been in Cassavetti's rooms
the night he was murdered.
If that woman were Anne--as in my heart I knew she must have been,
though I wouldn't allow myself to acknowledge it--he must have
discovered further evidence that cleared her, or he would certainly have
been prosecuting a search for her, instead of arresting me.
However, I hoped to get some light on the mystery either when my case
came before the magistrate, or between then and the trial, supposing I
was committed for trial.
It was when we were nearing Dover, about three o'clock on a heavenly
summer morning, that I began to understand my position. We were all on
deck,--I lying at full length on a bench, with plenty of cushions about
me, and a rug over me.
"Well, we're nearly in," Freeman remarked cheerfully. "Another five
minutes will do it. Feel pretty fit?"
"Splendid," I answered, swinging my feet off the bench, and sitting up.
"That's all right. Here, take Harris's arm--so. I sha'n't worry about
your left arm; this will do the trick."
"This" meant that a handcuff was snapped round my right wrist, and its
fellow, connected with it by a chain, round Harris's left.
I shivered involuntarily at the touch of the steel, at the sensation of
being a prisoner in reality,--fettered!
"I say, that isn't necessary," I remonstrated, rather unsteadily. "You
must know that I shall make no attempt to escape."
"Yes, I know that, but we must do things decently and in order," he
answered soothingly, as one would speak to a fractious child. "That's
quite comfortable, isn't it? You'd have had to lean on one of us anyhow,
being an invalid. There, the rug over your shoulder--so; not a soul will
notice it, and we'd go ashore last; we've a compartment reserved on the
train, of course."
I dare say he was right, and that none of the many passengers noticed
anything amiss; but I felt as if every one must be staring at me,--a
handcuffed felon. The "bracelet" didn't hurt me at all, like those that
had been forced on my swollen wrists in the Russian prison, and that had
added considerably to the tortures I endured; but somehow it seemed
morally harder to bear,--as a slight but deliberate insult from one who
has been a friend hurts more than any amount of injury inflicted by an
avowed enemy.
They were both as kind and considerate as ever during the last stage of
our journey. From Dover to Charing Cross, Harris, I know, sat in a most
cramped and uncomfortable position all the way, so that I should rest as
easily as possible; but in some subtle manner our relationship had
changed. I had, of course, been their prisoner all along, but the fact
only came home to me now.
From Charing Cross we went in a cab to the prison, through the sunny
streets, so quiet at this early hour.
"Cheer up," counselled Freeman, as I shook hands with him and Harris,
from whom I was now, of course, unshackled. "You'll come before the
magistrate to-morrow or next day; depends on what the doctor says. He'll
see you directly. You'll want to communicate with your friends at once,
of course, and start arranging about your defence. I can send a wire, or
telephone to any one on my way home if you like."
He really was an astonishing good sort, though he had been implacable on
the handcuff question.
I thanked him, and gave him Jim Cayley's name and address and telephone
number.
"All right; I'll let Mr. Cayley know as soon as possible," he said,
jotting the details in his note-book. "What about Lord Southbourne?"
"I'll send word to him later."
I felt distinctly guilty with respect to Southbourne. I ought, of
course, to have communicated with him--or rather have got Freeman to do
so--as soon as I began to pull round; but somehow I'd put off the
unpleasant duty. I had disobeyed his express instructions, as poor
Carson had done; and the disobedience had brought its own punishment to
me, as to Carson, though in a different way; but Southbourne would
account that as nothing. He would probably ignore me; or if he did not
do that, his interest would be strictly impersonal,--limited to the
amount of effective copy I could turn out as a result of my experiences.
Therefore I was considerably surprised when, some hours afterwards,
instead of Jim Cayley, whom I was expecting every moment, Lord
Southbourne himself was brought up to the cell,--one of those kept for
prisoners on remand, a small bare room, but comfortable enough, and
representing the acme of luxury in comparison with the crowded den in
which I had been thrown in Petersburg.
Lord Southbourne's heavy, clean-shaven face was impassive as ever, and
he greeted me with a casual nod.
"Hello, Wynn, you've been in the wars, eh? I've seen Freeman. He says
you were just about at the last gasp when he got hold of you, and is
pluming himself no end on having brought you through so well."
"So he ought!" I conceded cordially. "He's a jolly good sort, and it
would have been all up with me in another few hours. Though how on earth
he could fix on me as Cassavetti's murderer, I can't imagine. It's a
fool business, anyhow."
"H'm--yes, I suppose so," drawled Southbourne, in that exasperatingly
deliberate way of his. "But I think you must blame--or thank--me for
that!"