As he reached the door an idea came to him, so simple that he wonderedthat it had not occurred to him before. It was, perhaps, an echo of hisconversation with Steve.
He would get Ruth to come away with him to the shack in the Connecticutwoods. As he dwelt on the idea the heat of the day seemed to becomeless oppressive and his heart leaped. How cool and pleasant it would beout there! They would take Bill with them and live the simple lifeagain, in the country this time instead of in town. Perhaps out there,far away from the over-crowded city, he and Ruth would be able to cometo an understanding and bridge over that ghastly gulf.
As for his work, he could do that as well in the woods as in New York.
And, anyhow, he had earned a vacation. For days Mr. Penway had beenhinting that the time had arrived for a folding of the hands.
Mr. Penway's views on New York and its record humidity were strong andcrisply expressed. His idea, he told Kirk, was that some sport with aheart should loan him a couple of hundred bucks and let him beat it tothe seashore before he melted.
In the drawing-room Ruth was playing the piano softly, as she had doneso often at the studio. Kirk went to her and kissed her. A markedcoolness in her reception of the kiss increased the feeling ofnervousness which he had felt at the sight of her. It came back to himthat they had parted that afternoon, for the first time, on definitelyhostile terms.
He decided to ignore the fact. Something told him that Ruth had notforgotten, but it might be that cheerfulness now would blot out theresentment of past irritability.
But in his embarrassment he was more than cheerful. As Steve had beenon the occasion of his visit to old John Bannister, he was breezy,breezy with an effort that was as painful to Ruth as it was to himself,breezy with a horrible musical comedy breeziness.
He could have adopted no more fatal tone with Ruth at that moment. Allthe afternoon she had been a complicated tangle of fretted nerves. Herquarrel with Kirk, Bailey's visit, a conscience that would not lie downand go to sleep at her orders, but insisted on running riot--all thesethings had unfitted her to bear up amiably under sudden, self-consciousbreeziness.
And the heat of the day, charged now with the oppressiveness oflong-overdue thunder, completed her mood. When Kirk came in and beganto speak, the softest notes of the human voice would have jarred uponher. And Kirk, in his nervousness, was almost shouting.
His voice rang through the room, and Ruth winced away from it like astricken thing. From out of the hell of nerves and heat and interferingbrothers there materialized itself, as she sat there, a very vividhatred of Kirk.
Kirk, meanwhile, uneasy, but a little guessing at the fury behindRuth's calm face, was expounding his great scheme, his panacea for allthe ills of domestic misunderstandings and parted lives.
"Ruth, old girl."Ruth shuddered.
"Ruth, old girl, I've had a bully good idea. It's getting too warm foranything in New York. Did you ever feel anything like it is to-day? Whyshouldn't you and I pop down to the shack and camp out there for a weekor so? And we would take Bill with us. Just we three, with somebody todo the cooking. It would be great. What do you say?"What Ruth said languidly was: "It's quite impossible."It was damping; but Kirk felt that at all costs he must refuse to bedamped. He clutched at his cheerfulness and held it.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Would you swear that you have not seen Vassalaro for a week
"Would you swear that you have not seen Vassalaro for a week?""Certainly," smiled the Greek.
"That you did not in fact see him last night," persisted T. X.,"and interview him on the station platform at Lewes, that you didnot after leaving him continue on your way to London and then turnyour car and return to the neighbourhood of Beston Tracey?"The Greek was white to the lips, but not a muscle of his facemoved.
"Will you also swear," continued T. X. inexorably, "that you didnot stand at the corner of what is known as Mitre's Lot andre-enter a gate near to the side where your car was, and that youdid not watch the whole tragedy?""I'd swear to that," Kara's voice was strained and cracked.
"Would you also swear as to the hour of your arrival in London?""Somewhere in the region of ten or eleven," said the Greek.
T. X. smiled.
"Would you swear that you did not go through Guilford at half-pasttwelve and pull up to replenish your petrol?"The Greek had now recovered his self-possession and rose.
"You are a very clever man, Mr. Meredith - I think that is yourname?""That is my name," said T. X. calmly. "There has been, no needfor me to change it as often as you have found the necessity."He saw the fire blazing in the other's eyes and knew that his shothad gone home.
"I am afraid I must go," said Kara. "I came here intending to seeMrs. Lexman, and I had no idea that I should meet a policeman.""My dear Mr. Kara," said T. X.,rising and lighting a cigarette,"you will go through life enduring that unhappy experience.""What do you mean?""Just what I say. You will always be expecting to meet oneperson, and meeting another, and unless you are very fortunateindeed, that other will always be a policeman."His eyes twinkled for he had recovered from the gust of angerwhich had swept through him.
"There are two pieces of evidence I require to save Mr. Lexmanfrom very serious trouble," he said, "the first of these is theletter which was burnt, as you know.""Yes," said Kara.
T. X. leant across the desk.
"How did you know" he snapped.
"Somebody told me, I don't know who it was.""That's not true," replied T. X.; "nobody knows except myself andMrs. Lexman.""But my dear good fellow," said Kara, pulling on his gloves, "youhave already asked me whether I didn't burn the letter.""I said envelope," said T. X.,with a little laugh.
"And you were going to say something about the other clue?""The other is the revolver," said T. X.
"Mr. Lexman's revolver!" drawled the Greek.
"That we have," said T. X. shortly. "What we want is the weaponwhich the Greek had when he threatened Mr. Lexman.""There, I'm afraid I cannot help you."Kara walked to the door and T. X. followed.
"I think I will see Mrs. Lexman.""I think not," said T. X.
The other turned with a sneer.
"Have you arrested her, too?" he asked.
"Pull yourself together!" said T. X. coarsely. He escorted Karato his waiting limousine.
"You have a new chauffeur to-night, I observe," he said.
Kara towering with rage stepped daintily into the car.
"If you are writing to the other you might give him my love," saidT. X.,"and make most tender enquiries after his mother. Iparticularly ask this.
"That you did not in fact see him last night," persisted T. X.,"and interview him on the station platform at Lewes, that you didnot after leaving him continue on your way to London and then turnyour car and return to the neighbourhood of Beston Tracey?"The Greek was white to the lips, but not a muscle of his facemoved.
"Will you also swear," continued T. X. inexorably, "that you didnot stand at the corner of what is known as Mitre's Lot andre-enter a gate near to the side where your car was, and that youdid not watch the whole tragedy?""I'd swear to that," Kara's voice was strained and cracked.
"Would you also swear as to the hour of your arrival in London?""Somewhere in the region of ten or eleven," said the Greek.
T. X. smiled.
"Would you swear that you did not go through Guilford at half-pasttwelve and pull up to replenish your petrol?"The Greek had now recovered his self-possession and rose.
"You are a very clever man, Mr. Meredith - I think that is yourname?""That is my name," said T. X. calmly. "There has been, no needfor me to change it as often as you have found the necessity."He saw the fire blazing in the other's eyes and knew that his shothad gone home.
"I am afraid I must go," said Kara. "I came here intending to seeMrs. Lexman, and I had no idea that I should meet a policeman.""My dear Mr. Kara," said T. X.,rising and lighting a cigarette,"you will go through life enduring that unhappy experience.""What do you mean?""Just what I say. You will always be expecting to meet oneperson, and meeting another, and unless you are very fortunateindeed, that other will always be a policeman."His eyes twinkled for he had recovered from the gust of angerwhich had swept through him.
"There are two pieces of evidence I require to save Mr. Lexmanfrom very serious trouble," he said, "the first of these is theletter which was burnt, as you know.""Yes," said Kara.
T. X. leant across the desk.
"How did you know" he snapped.
"Somebody told me, I don't know who it was.""That's not true," replied T. X.; "nobody knows except myself andMrs. Lexman.""But my dear good fellow," said Kara, pulling on his gloves, "youhave already asked me whether I didn't burn the letter.""I said envelope," said T. X.,with a little laugh.
"And you were going to say something about the other clue?""The other is the revolver," said T. X.
"Mr. Lexman's revolver!" drawled the Greek.
"That we have," said T. X. shortly. "What we want is the weaponwhich the Greek had when he threatened Mr. Lexman.""There, I'm afraid I cannot help you."Kara walked to the door and T. X. followed.
"I think I will see Mrs. Lexman.""I think not," said T. X.
The other turned with a sneer.
"Have you arrested her, too?" he asked.
"Pull yourself together!" said T. X. coarsely. He escorted Karato his waiting limousine.
"You have a new chauffeur to-night, I observe," he said.
Kara towering with rage stepped daintily into the car.
"If you are writing to the other you might give him my love," saidT. X.,"and make most tender enquiries after his mother. Iparticularly ask this.
Chapter 285 The Wolf and the Lion A WOLF
Chapter 285 The Wolf and the Lion
A WOLF, having stolen a lamb from a fold, was carrying him off to his lair. A Lion met him in the path, and seizing the lamb, took it from him. Standing at a safe distance, the Wolf exclaimed, “You have unrighteously taken that which was mine from me!” To which the Lion jeeringly replied, “It was righteously yours, eh? The gift of a friend?’
Chapter 286 The Dog and the Oyster
A DOG, used to eating eggs, saw an Oyster and, opening his mouth to its widest extent, swallowed it down with the utmost relish, supposing it to be an egg. Soon afterwards suffering great pain in his stomach, he said, “I deserve all this torment, for my folly in thinking that everything round must be an egg.”
They who act without sufficient thought, will often fall into unsuspected danger.
Chapter 287 The Ant and the Dove
AN ANT went to the bank of a river to quench its thirst, and being carried away by the rush of the stream, was on the point of drowning. A Dove sitting on a tree overhanging the water plucked a leaf and let it fall into the stream close to her. The Ant climbed onto it and floated in safety to the bank. Shortly afterwards a birdcatcher came and stood under the tree, and laid his lime-twigs for the Dove, which sat in the branches. The Ant, perceiving his design, stung him in the foot. In pain the birdcatcher threw down the twigs, and the noise made the Dove take wing.
Chapter 288 The Partridge and the Fowler
A FOWLER caught a Partridge and was about to kill it. The Partridge earnestly begged him to spare his life, saying, “Pray, master, permit me to live and I will entice many Partridges to you in recompense for your mercy to me.” The Fowler replied, “I shall now with less scruple take your life, because you are willing to save it at the cost of betraying your friends and relations.”
Chapter 289 The Flea and the Man
A MAN, very much annoyed with a Flea, caught him at last, and said, “Who are you who dare to feed on my limbs, and to cost me so much trouble in catching you?’ The Flea replied, “O my dear sir, pray spare my life, and destroy me not, for I cannot possibly do you much harm.” The Man, laughing, replied, “Now you shall certainly die by mine own hands, for no evil, whether it be small or large, ought to be tolerated.”
Chapter 290 The Thieves and the Cock
SOME THIEVES broke into a house and found nothing but a Cock, whom they stole, and got off as fast as they could. Upon arriving at home they prepared to kill the Cock, who thus pleaded for his life: “Pray spare me; I am very serviceable to men. I wake them up in the night to their work.” “That is the very reason why we must the more kill you,” they replied; “for when you wake your neighbors, you entirely put an end to our business.”
The safeguards of virtue are hateful to those with evil intentions.
Chapter 291 The Dog and the Cook
A RICH MAN gave a great feast, to which he invited many friends and acquaintances. His Dog availed himself of the occasion to invite a stranger Dog, a friend of his, saying, “My master gives a feast, and there is always much food remaining; come and sup with me tonight.” The Dog thus invited went at the hour appointed, and seeing the preparations for so grand an entertainment, said in the joy of his heart, “How glad I am that I came! I do not often get such a chance as this. I will take care and eat enough to last me both today and tomorrow.” While he was congratulating himself and wagging his tail to convey his pleasure to his friend, the Cook saw him moving about among his dishes and, seizing him by his fore and hind paws, bundled him without ceremony out of the window. He fell with force upon the ground and limped away, howling dreadfully. His yelling soon attracted other street dogs, who came up to him and inquired how he had enjoyed his supper. He replied, “Why, to tell you the truth, I drank so much wine that I remember nothing. I do not know how I got out of the house.”
A WOLF, having stolen a lamb from a fold, was carrying him off to his lair. A Lion met him in the path, and seizing the lamb, took it from him. Standing at a safe distance, the Wolf exclaimed, “You have unrighteously taken that which was mine from me!” To which the Lion jeeringly replied, “It was righteously yours, eh? The gift of a friend?’
Chapter 286 The Dog and the Oyster
A DOG, used to eating eggs, saw an Oyster and, opening his mouth to its widest extent, swallowed it down with the utmost relish, supposing it to be an egg. Soon afterwards suffering great pain in his stomach, he said, “I deserve all this torment, for my folly in thinking that everything round must be an egg.”
They who act without sufficient thought, will often fall into unsuspected danger.
Chapter 287 The Ant and the Dove
AN ANT went to the bank of a river to quench its thirst, and being carried away by the rush of the stream, was on the point of drowning. A Dove sitting on a tree overhanging the water plucked a leaf and let it fall into the stream close to her. The Ant climbed onto it and floated in safety to the bank. Shortly afterwards a birdcatcher came and stood under the tree, and laid his lime-twigs for the Dove, which sat in the branches. The Ant, perceiving his design, stung him in the foot. In pain the birdcatcher threw down the twigs, and the noise made the Dove take wing.
Chapter 288 The Partridge and the Fowler
A FOWLER caught a Partridge and was about to kill it. The Partridge earnestly begged him to spare his life, saying, “Pray, master, permit me to live and I will entice many Partridges to you in recompense for your mercy to me.” The Fowler replied, “I shall now with less scruple take your life, because you are willing to save it at the cost of betraying your friends and relations.”
Chapter 289 The Flea and the Man
A MAN, very much annoyed with a Flea, caught him at last, and said, “Who are you who dare to feed on my limbs, and to cost me so much trouble in catching you?’ The Flea replied, “O my dear sir, pray spare my life, and destroy me not, for I cannot possibly do you much harm.” The Man, laughing, replied, “Now you shall certainly die by mine own hands, for no evil, whether it be small or large, ought to be tolerated.”
Chapter 290 The Thieves and the Cock
SOME THIEVES broke into a house and found nothing but a Cock, whom they stole, and got off as fast as they could. Upon arriving at home they prepared to kill the Cock, who thus pleaded for his life: “Pray spare me; I am very serviceable to men. I wake them up in the night to their work.” “That is the very reason why we must the more kill you,” they replied; “for when you wake your neighbors, you entirely put an end to our business.”
The safeguards of virtue are hateful to those with evil intentions.
Chapter 291 The Dog and the Cook
A RICH MAN gave a great feast, to which he invited many friends and acquaintances. His Dog availed himself of the occasion to invite a stranger Dog, a friend of his, saying, “My master gives a feast, and there is always much food remaining; come and sup with me tonight.” The Dog thus invited went at the hour appointed, and seeing the preparations for so grand an entertainment, said in the joy of his heart, “How glad I am that I came! I do not often get such a chance as this. I will take care and eat enough to last me both today and tomorrow.” While he was congratulating himself and wagging his tail to convey his pleasure to his friend, the Cook saw him moving about among his dishes and, seizing him by his fore and hind paws, bundled him without ceremony out of the window. He fell with force upon the ground and limped away, howling dreadfully. His yelling soon attracted other street dogs, who came up to him and inquired how he had enjoyed his supper. He replied, “Why, to tell you the truth, I drank so much wine that I remember nothing. I do not know how I got out of the house.”
To this day I am not quite certain whether it was the name of any human habitation
To this day I am not quite certain whether it was the name of any human habitation, a lonely caserio with a half-effaced carving of a coat of arms over its door, or of some hamlet at the dead end of a ravine with a stony slope at the back. It might have been a hill for all I know or perhaps a stream. A wood, or perhaps a combination of all these: just a bit of the earth’s surface. Once I asked her where exactly it was situated and she answered, waving her hand cavalierly at the dead wall of the room: “Oh, over there.” I thought that this was all that I was going to hear but she added moodily, “I used to take my goats there, a dozen or so of them, for the day. From after my uncle had said his Mass till the ringing of the evening bell.”
I saw suddenly the lonely spot, sketched for me some time ago by a few words from Mr. Blunt, populated by the agile, bearded beasts with cynical heads, and a little misty figure dark in the sunlight with a halo of dishevelled rust-coloured hair about its head.
The epithet of rust-coloured comes from her. It was really tawny. Once or twice in my hearing she had referred to “my rust-coloured hair” with laughing vexation. Even then it was unruly, abhorring the restraints of civilization, and often in the heat of a dispute getting into the eyes of Madame de Lastaola, the possessor of coveted art treasures, the heiress of Henry Allegre. She proceeded in a reminiscent mood, with a faint flash of gaiety all over her face, except her dark blue eyes that moved so seldom out of their fixed scrutiny of things invisible to other human beings.
“The goats were very good. We clambered amongst the stones together. They beat me at that game. I used to catch my hair in the bushes.”
“Your rust-coloured hair,” I whispered.
“Yes, it was always this colour. And I used to leave bits of my frock on thorns here and there. It was pretty thin, I can tell you. There wasn’t much at that time between my skin and the blue of the sky. My legs were as sunburnt as my face; but really I didn’t tan very much. I had plenty of freckles though. There were no looking-glasses in the Presbytery but uncle had a piece not bigger than my two hands for his shaving. One Sunday I crept into his room and had a peep at myself. And wasn’t I startled to see my own eyes looking at me! But it was fascinating, too. I was about eleven years old then, and I was very friendly with the goats, and I was as shrill as a cicada and as slender as a match. Heavens! When I overhear myself speaking sometimes, or look at my limbs, it doesn’t seem to be possible. And yet it is the same one. I do remember every single goat. They were very clever. Goats are no trouble really; they don’t scatter much. Mine never did even if I had to hide myself out of their sight for ever so long.”
It was but natural to ask her why she wanted to hide, and she uttered vaguely what was rather a comment on my question:
“It was like fate.” But I chose to take it otherwise, teasingly, because we were often like a pair of children.
“Oh, really,” I said, “you talk like a pagan. What could you know of fate at that time? What was it like? Did it come down from Heaven?”
I saw suddenly the lonely spot, sketched for me some time ago by a few words from Mr. Blunt, populated by the agile, bearded beasts with cynical heads, and a little misty figure dark in the sunlight with a halo of dishevelled rust-coloured hair about its head.
The epithet of rust-coloured comes from her. It was really tawny. Once or twice in my hearing she had referred to “my rust-coloured hair” with laughing vexation. Even then it was unruly, abhorring the restraints of civilization, and often in the heat of a dispute getting into the eyes of Madame de Lastaola, the possessor of coveted art treasures, the heiress of Henry Allegre. She proceeded in a reminiscent mood, with a faint flash of gaiety all over her face, except her dark blue eyes that moved so seldom out of their fixed scrutiny of things invisible to other human beings.
“The goats were very good. We clambered amongst the stones together. They beat me at that game. I used to catch my hair in the bushes.”
“Your rust-coloured hair,” I whispered.
“Yes, it was always this colour. And I used to leave bits of my frock on thorns here and there. It was pretty thin, I can tell you. There wasn’t much at that time between my skin and the blue of the sky. My legs were as sunburnt as my face; but really I didn’t tan very much. I had plenty of freckles though. There were no looking-glasses in the Presbytery but uncle had a piece not bigger than my two hands for his shaving. One Sunday I crept into his room and had a peep at myself. And wasn’t I startled to see my own eyes looking at me! But it was fascinating, too. I was about eleven years old then, and I was very friendly with the goats, and I was as shrill as a cicada and as slender as a match. Heavens! When I overhear myself speaking sometimes, or look at my limbs, it doesn’t seem to be possible. And yet it is the same one. I do remember every single goat. They were very clever. Goats are no trouble really; they don’t scatter much. Mine never did even if I had to hide myself out of their sight for ever so long.”
It was but natural to ask her why she wanted to hide, and she uttered vaguely what was rather a comment on my question:
“It was like fate.” But I chose to take it otherwise, teasingly, because we were often like a pair of children.
“Oh, really,” I said, “you talk like a pagan. What could you know of fate at that time? What was it like? Did it come down from Heaven?”
Friday, November 2, 2012
The white man says
"The white man says," said the interpreter, "that if he is sure you are a good man he will give you presents. Now," said the interpreter carefully, "as I am the only man who can speak for you, let us make arrangements. You shall give me one-third of all he offers. Then will I persuade him to continue giving, since he is the father of mad people."
"And you," said Bosambo briefly, "are the father of liars."
He made a sign to his guard, and they seized upon the unfortunate interpreter and led him forth. Cuthbert, in a sweat of fear, pulled a revolver.
"Master," said Bosambo loftily, "you no make um fuss. Dis dam' nigger, he no good; he make you speak bad t'ings. I speak um English proper. You sit down, we talk um."
So Cuthbert sat down in the village of Ochori, and for three days there was a great giving of presents, and signing of concessions. Bosambo conceded the Ochori country--that was a small thing. He granted forest rights of the Isisi, he sold the Akasava, he bartered away the Lulungo territories and the "native products thereof"--I quote from the written document now preserved at the Colonial Office and bearing the scrawled signature of Bosambo--and he added, as a lordly afterthought, the Ikeli district.
"What about river rights?" asked the delighted Cuthbert.
"What will you give um?" demanded Bosambo cautiously.
"Forty English pounds?" suggested Cuthbert.
"I take um," said Bosambo.
It was a remarkably simple business; a more knowledgeable man than Cuthbert would have been scared by the easiness of his success, but Cuthbert was too satisfied with himself to be scared at anything.
It is said that his leave-taking with Bosambo was of an affecting character, that Bosambo wept and embraced his benefactor's feet.
Be that as it may, his "concessions" in his pocket, Cuthbert began his coastward journey, still avoiding Sanders.
He came to Etebi and found a deputy-commissioner, who received him with open arms. Here Cuthbert stayed a week.
Mr. Torrington at the time was tremendously busy with a scheme for stamping out sleeping sickness. Until then, Cuthbert was under the impression that it was a pleasant disease, the principal symptom of which was a painless coma. Fascinated, he extended his stay to a fortnight, seeing many dreadful sights, for Torrington had established a sort of amateur clinic, and a hundred cases a day came to him for treatment.
"And it comes from the bite of a tsetse fly?" said Cuthbert. "Show me a tsetse."
Torrington obliged him, and when the other saw the little black insect he went white to the lips.
"My God!" he whispered, "I've been bitten by that!"
"It doesn't follow----" began Torrington; but Cuthbert was blundering and stumbling in wild fear to his carriers' camp.
"Get your loads!" he yelled. "Out of this cursed country we get as quick as we can!"
Torrington, with philosophical calm, endeavoured to reassure him, but he was not to be appeased.
He left Etebi that night and camped in the forest. Three days later he reached a mission station, where he complained of headaches and pains in the neck (he had not attended Torrington's clinics in vain). The missionary, judging from the man's haggard appearance and general incoherence that he had an attack of malaria, advised him to rest for a few days; but Cuthbert was all a-fret to reach the coast. Twenty miles from the mission, Cuthbert sent his carriers back, and said he would cover the last hundred miles of the journey alone.
"And you," said Bosambo briefly, "are the father of liars."
He made a sign to his guard, and they seized upon the unfortunate interpreter and led him forth. Cuthbert, in a sweat of fear, pulled a revolver.
"Master," said Bosambo loftily, "you no make um fuss. Dis dam' nigger, he no good; he make you speak bad t'ings. I speak um English proper. You sit down, we talk um."
So Cuthbert sat down in the village of Ochori, and for three days there was a great giving of presents, and signing of concessions. Bosambo conceded the Ochori country--that was a small thing. He granted forest rights of the Isisi, he sold the Akasava, he bartered away the Lulungo territories and the "native products thereof"--I quote from the written document now preserved at the Colonial Office and bearing the scrawled signature of Bosambo--and he added, as a lordly afterthought, the Ikeli district.
"What about river rights?" asked the delighted Cuthbert.
"What will you give um?" demanded Bosambo cautiously.
"Forty English pounds?" suggested Cuthbert.
"I take um," said Bosambo.
It was a remarkably simple business; a more knowledgeable man than Cuthbert would have been scared by the easiness of his success, but Cuthbert was too satisfied with himself to be scared at anything.
It is said that his leave-taking with Bosambo was of an affecting character, that Bosambo wept and embraced his benefactor's feet.
Be that as it may, his "concessions" in his pocket, Cuthbert began his coastward journey, still avoiding Sanders.
He came to Etebi and found a deputy-commissioner, who received him with open arms. Here Cuthbert stayed a week.
Mr. Torrington at the time was tremendously busy with a scheme for stamping out sleeping sickness. Until then, Cuthbert was under the impression that it was a pleasant disease, the principal symptom of which was a painless coma. Fascinated, he extended his stay to a fortnight, seeing many dreadful sights, for Torrington had established a sort of amateur clinic, and a hundred cases a day came to him for treatment.
"And it comes from the bite of a tsetse fly?" said Cuthbert. "Show me a tsetse."
Torrington obliged him, and when the other saw the little black insect he went white to the lips.
"My God!" he whispered, "I've been bitten by that!"
"It doesn't follow----" began Torrington; but Cuthbert was blundering and stumbling in wild fear to his carriers' camp.
"Get your loads!" he yelled. "Out of this cursed country we get as quick as we can!"
Torrington, with philosophical calm, endeavoured to reassure him, but he was not to be appeased.
He left Etebi that night and camped in the forest. Three days later he reached a mission station, where he complained of headaches and pains in the neck (he had not attended Torrington's clinics in vain). The missionary, judging from the man's haggard appearance and general incoherence that he had an attack of malaria, advised him to rest for a few days; but Cuthbert was all a-fret to reach the coast. Twenty miles from the mission, Cuthbert sent his carriers back, and said he would cover the last hundred miles of the journey alone.
As Sylvius Hogg had predicted
As Sylvius Hogg had predicted, the letter from Help, Junior, reached Dal on the morning of the thirteenth. Joel started out before daylight to meet the postman, and it was he who brought the letter into the large hall where the professor was sitting with Dame Hansen and her daughter.
There was a moment's silence. Hulda, who was as pale as death, was unable to utter a word so violent was the throbbing of her heart, but she seized the hand of her brother, who was equally agitated, and held it tightly.
Sylvius Hogg opened the letter and read it aloud.
To his great regret the missive contained only some very vague information; and the professor was unable to conceal his disappointment from the young people who listened to the letter with tears in their eyes.
The "Viking" had left Saint-Pierre-Miquelon on the date mentioned in Ole Kamp's last letter. This fact had been established by the reports received from other vessels which had reached Bergen since the "Viking's" departure from Newfoundland. These vessels had seen nothing of the missing ship on their homeward voyage, but they had encountered very bad weather in the neighborhood of Iceland. Still they had managed to weather the gales; so it was possible that the "Viking" had been equally fortunate, and had merely been delayed somewhere, or had put into some port for repairs. The "Viking" was a stanch craft, very substantially built, and commanded by Captain Frikel, of Hammersfest, a thoroughly competent officer. Still, this delay was alarming, and if it continued much longer there would be good reason to fear that the "Viking" had gone down with all on board.
The writer regretted that he had no better news to give the young Hansens, and spoke of Ole Kamp in the most complimentary terms. He concluded his letter by assuring the professor of his sincere friendship, and that of his family, and by promising to send him without delay any intelligence that might be received at any Norwegian port, in relation to the "Viking."
Poor Hulda sunk half fainting into a chair while Sylvius Hogg was reading this letter, and she was sobbing violently when he concluded its perusal.
Joel, with his arms folded tightly upon his breast, listened in silence, without daring to glance at his sister.
Dame Hansen, as soon as the reading was concluded, went up to her room. She seemed to have been expecting the blow.
The professor beckoned Hulda and her brother to his side. He wanted to talk with them calmly and sensibly on the subject, and he expressed a confidence that was singular, to say the least, after Help, Junior's letter. They had no reason to despair. Were there not countless examples of protracted delays while navigating the seas that lie between Norway and Newfoundland? Yes, unquestionably. And was not the "Viking" a strong craft, well officered, and manned by an excellent crew, and consequently in a much better condition than many of the vessels that had come safely into port? Most assuredly.
"So let us continue to hope," he added, "and wait. If the 'Viking' had been wrecked between Iceland and Newfoundland the numerous vessels that follow the same route to reach Europe would certainly have seen some trace of the disaster. But no, not a single floating plank or spar did they meet on the whole of this route, which is so much frequented at the conclusion of the fishing season. Still, we must take measures to secure information of a more positive nature. If we receive no further news of the 'Viking' during the coming week, nor any letter from Ole, I shall return to Christiania and ask the Naval Department to make careful inquiries, and I feel sure that the result will prove eminently satisfactory to all concerned."
There was a moment's silence. Hulda, who was as pale as death, was unable to utter a word so violent was the throbbing of her heart, but she seized the hand of her brother, who was equally agitated, and held it tightly.
Sylvius Hogg opened the letter and read it aloud.
To his great regret the missive contained only some very vague information; and the professor was unable to conceal his disappointment from the young people who listened to the letter with tears in their eyes.
The "Viking" had left Saint-Pierre-Miquelon on the date mentioned in Ole Kamp's last letter. This fact had been established by the reports received from other vessels which had reached Bergen since the "Viking's" departure from Newfoundland. These vessels had seen nothing of the missing ship on their homeward voyage, but they had encountered very bad weather in the neighborhood of Iceland. Still they had managed to weather the gales; so it was possible that the "Viking" had been equally fortunate, and had merely been delayed somewhere, or had put into some port for repairs. The "Viking" was a stanch craft, very substantially built, and commanded by Captain Frikel, of Hammersfest, a thoroughly competent officer. Still, this delay was alarming, and if it continued much longer there would be good reason to fear that the "Viking" had gone down with all on board.
The writer regretted that he had no better news to give the young Hansens, and spoke of Ole Kamp in the most complimentary terms. He concluded his letter by assuring the professor of his sincere friendship, and that of his family, and by promising to send him without delay any intelligence that might be received at any Norwegian port, in relation to the "Viking."
Poor Hulda sunk half fainting into a chair while Sylvius Hogg was reading this letter, and she was sobbing violently when he concluded its perusal.
Joel, with his arms folded tightly upon his breast, listened in silence, without daring to glance at his sister.
Dame Hansen, as soon as the reading was concluded, went up to her room. She seemed to have been expecting the blow.
The professor beckoned Hulda and her brother to his side. He wanted to talk with them calmly and sensibly on the subject, and he expressed a confidence that was singular, to say the least, after Help, Junior's letter. They had no reason to despair. Were there not countless examples of protracted delays while navigating the seas that lie between Norway and Newfoundland? Yes, unquestionably. And was not the "Viking" a strong craft, well officered, and manned by an excellent crew, and consequently in a much better condition than many of the vessels that had come safely into port? Most assuredly.
"So let us continue to hope," he added, "and wait. If the 'Viking' had been wrecked between Iceland and Newfoundland the numerous vessels that follow the same route to reach Europe would certainly have seen some trace of the disaster. But no, not a single floating plank or spar did they meet on the whole of this route, which is so much frequented at the conclusion of the fishing season. Still, we must take measures to secure information of a more positive nature. If we receive no further news of the 'Viking' during the coming week, nor any letter from Ole, I shall return to Christiania and ask the Naval Department to make careful inquiries, and I feel sure that the result will prove eminently satisfactory to all concerned."
Jasper Cole nodded
Jasper Cole nodded.
"I am perfectly aware that he was murdered by your friend, Mr. Merrill," he said.
"I suggest," said Saul Arthur Mann calmly, "that you know the murderer, and you know the murderer was _not_ Frank Merrill."
Jasper made no reply, and a faint smile flickered for a second at the corner of his mouth, but he gave no other sign of his inward feelings.
"And the other point you wish to raise?" he asked.
"The other is a more delicate subject, since it involves a lady," said the little man. "You are about to be married to Miss Nuttall."
Jasper Cole nodded.
"You have obtained an extraordinary influence over the lady in this past few months."
"I hope so," said the other cheerfully.
"It is an influence which might have been brought about by normal methods, but it is also one," Saul Arthur leaned over and tapped the table emphatically with each word, "which might be secured by a very clever chemist who had found a way of sapping the will of his victim."
"By the administration of drugs?" asked Jasper.
"By the administration of drugs," repeated Saul Arthur Mann.
Jasper Cole smiled.
"I should like to know the drug," he said. "One would make a fortune, to say nothing of benefiting humanity to an extraordinary degree by its employment. For example, I might give you a dose and you would tell me all that you know; I am told that your knowledge is fairly extensive," he bantered. "Surely you, Mr. Mann, with your remarkable collection of information on all subjects under the sun, do not suggest that such a drug exists?"
"On the contrary," said "The Man Who Knew" in triumph, "it is known and is employed. It was known as long ago as the days of the Borgias. It was employed in France in the days of Louis XVI. It has been, to some extent, rediscovered and used in lunatic asylums to quiet dangerous patients."
He saw the interest deepen in the other's eyes.
"I have never heard of that," said Jasper slowly; "the only drug that is employed for that purpose is, as far as I know, bromide of potassium."
Mr. Mann produced a slip of paper, and read off a list of names, mostly of mental institutions in the United States of America and in Germany.
"Oh, that drug!" said Jasper Cole contemptuously. "I know the use to which that is put. There was an article on the subject in the _British Medical Journal_ three months ago. It is a modified kind of 'twilight sleep'--hyocine and morphia. I'm afraid, Mr. Mann," he went on, "you have come on a fruitless errand, and, speaking as a humble student of science, I may suggest without offense that your theories are wholly fantastic."
"Then I will put another suggestion to you, Mr. Cole," said the little man without resentment, "and to me this constitutes the chief reason why you should not marry the lady whose confidence I enjoy and who, I feel sure, will be influenced by my advice."
"And what is that?" asked Jasper.
"It affects your own character, and it is in consequence a very embarrassing matter for me to discuss," said the little man.
Again the other favored him with that inscrutable smile of his.
"I am perfectly aware that he was murdered by your friend, Mr. Merrill," he said.
"I suggest," said Saul Arthur Mann calmly, "that you know the murderer, and you know the murderer was _not_ Frank Merrill."
Jasper made no reply, and a faint smile flickered for a second at the corner of his mouth, but he gave no other sign of his inward feelings.
"And the other point you wish to raise?" he asked.
"The other is a more delicate subject, since it involves a lady," said the little man. "You are about to be married to Miss Nuttall."
Jasper Cole nodded.
"You have obtained an extraordinary influence over the lady in this past few months."
"I hope so," said the other cheerfully.
"It is an influence which might have been brought about by normal methods, but it is also one," Saul Arthur leaned over and tapped the table emphatically with each word, "which might be secured by a very clever chemist who had found a way of sapping the will of his victim."
"By the administration of drugs?" asked Jasper.
"By the administration of drugs," repeated Saul Arthur Mann.
Jasper Cole smiled.
"I should like to know the drug," he said. "One would make a fortune, to say nothing of benefiting humanity to an extraordinary degree by its employment. For example, I might give you a dose and you would tell me all that you know; I am told that your knowledge is fairly extensive," he bantered. "Surely you, Mr. Mann, with your remarkable collection of information on all subjects under the sun, do not suggest that such a drug exists?"
"On the contrary," said "The Man Who Knew" in triumph, "it is known and is employed. It was known as long ago as the days of the Borgias. It was employed in France in the days of Louis XVI. It has been, to some extent, rediscovered and used in lunatic asylums to quiet dangerous patients."
He saw the interest deepen in the other's eyes.
"I have never heard of that," said Jasper slowly; "the only drug that is employed for that purpose is, as far as I know, bromide of potassium."
Mr. Mann produced a slip of paper, and read off a list of names, mostly of mental institutions in the United States of America and in Germany.
"Oh, that drug!" said Jasper Cole contemptuously. "I know the use to which that is put. There was an article on the subject in the _British Medical Journal_ three months ago. It is a modified kind of 'twilight sleep'--hyocine and morphia. I'm afraid, Mr. Mann," he went on, "you have come on a fruitless errand, and, speaking as a humble student of science, I may suggest without offense that your theories are wholly fantastic."
"Then I will put another suggestion to you, Mr. Cole," said the little man without resentment, "and to me this constitutes the chief reason why you should not marry the lady whose confidence I enjoy and who, I feel sure, will be influenced by my advice."
"And what is that?" asked Jasper.
"It affects your own character, and it is in consequence a very embarrassing matter for me to discuss," said the little man.
Again the other favored him with that inscrutable smile of his.
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