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A short, fun mystery set between Australia and England. Great book.
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A BID FOR FORTUNE
DR. NIKOLA'S VENDETTA
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
WHAT BEFEL ME THERE
LONDON
I VISIT MY RELATIONS
I SAVE AN IMPORTANT LIFE
MYSTERY
I MEET DR. NIKOLA AGAIN
PORT SAID, AND WHAT BEFEL US THERE
OUR IMPRISONMENT AND ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE
DR. NIKOLA PERMITS US A FREE PASSAGE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
PART I
DR. NIKOLA
The manager of the new Imperial Restaurant on the Thames Embankment went
into his luxurious private office and shut the door. Having done so, he first scratched his chin reflectively, and then took a letter from the drawer in which it
had reposed for more than two months and perused it carefully. Though he was
not aware of it, this was the thirtieth time he had read it since breakfast that morning. And yet he was not a whit nearer understanding it than he had been at
the beginning. He turned it over and scrutinized the back, where not a sign of writing was to be seen; he held it up to the window, as if he might hope to discover something from the water-mark; but there was nothing in either of these
places of a nature calculated to set his troubled mind at rest. Then he took a magnificent repeater watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the dial; the
hands stood at half-past seven. He immediately threw the letter on the table, and
as he did so his anxiety found relief in words.
"It's really the most extraordinary affair I ever had to do with," he remarked.
"And as I've been in the business just three-and-thirty years at eleven a.m. next
Monday morning, I ought to know something about it. I only hope I've done
right, that's all."
As he spoke, the chief bookkeeper, who had the treble advantage of being tall, pretty, and just eight-and-twenty years of age, entered the room. She noticed the
open letter and the look upon her chief's face, and her curiosity was
proportionately excited.
"You seem worried, Mr. McPherson," she said tenderly, as she put down the papers she had brought in for his signature.
"You have just hit it, Miss O'Sullivan," he answered, pushing them farther on to the table. "I am worried about many things, but particularly about this letter."
He handed the epistle to her, and she, being desirous of impressing him with her
business capabilities, read it with ostentatious care. But it was noticeable that when she reached the signature she too turned back to the beginning, and then deliberately read it over again. The manager rose, crossed to the mantelpiece,
and rang for the head waiter. Having relieved his feelings in this way, he seated himself again at his writing-table, put on his glasses, and stared at his
companion, while waiting for her to speak.
"It's very funny," she said. "Very funny indeed!"
"It's the most extraordinary communication I have ever received," he replied with conviction. "You see it is written from Cuyaba, Brazil. The date is three months ago to a day. Now I have taken the trouble to find out where and what
Cuyaba is."
He made this confession with an air of conscious pride, and having done so, laid
himself back in his chair, stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and looked at his fair subordinate for approval. Nor was he destined to be disappointed. He was a bachelor in possession of a snug income, and she,
besides being pretty, was a lady with a keen eye to the main chance.
"And where is Cuyaba?" she asked humbly.
"Cuyaba," he replied, rolling his tongue with considerable relish round his unconscious mispronunciation of the name, "is a town almost on the western or
Bolivian border of Brazil. It is of moderate size, is situated on the banks of the
river Cuyaba, and is considerably connected with the famous Brazilian Diamond
Fields."
"And does the writer of this letter live there?"
"I cannot say. He writes from there—that is enough for us."
"And he orders dinner for four—here, in a private room overlooking the river, three months ahead—punctually at eight o'clock, gives you a list of the things he
wants, and even arranges the decoration of the table. Says he has never seen either of his three friends before; that one of them hails from (here she consulted
the letter again) Hang-chow, another from Bloemfontein, while the third resides,
at present, in England. Each one is to present an ordinary visiting card with a red
dot on it to the porter in the hall, and to be shown to the room at once. I don't understand it at all."
The manager paused for a moment, and then said deliberately,—"Hang-chow is
in China, Bloemfontein is in South Africa."
"What a wonderful man you are, to be sure, Mr. McPherson! I never can think
how you manage to carry so much in your head."
There spoke the true woman. And it was a move in the right direction, for the manager was susceptible to her gentle influence, as she had occasion to know.
At this juncture the head waiter appeared upon the scene, and took up a position
just inside the doorway, as if he were afraid of injuring the carpet by coming farther.
"Is No. 22 ready, Williams?"
"Quite ready, sir. The wine is on the ice, and cook tells me he'll be ready to dish punctual to the moment."
"The letter says, 'no electric light; candles with red shades.' Have you put on those shades I got this morning?"
"Just seen it done this very minute, sir."
"And let me see, there was one other thing." He took the letter from the chief bookkeeper's hand and glanced at it. "Ah, yes, a porcelain saucer, and a small jug of new milk upon the mantelpiece. An extraordinary request, but has it been attended to?"
"I put it there myself, sir."
"Who wait?"
"Jones, Edmunds, Brooks, and Tomkins."
"Very good. Then I think that will do. Stay! You had better tell the hall porter to look out for three gentlemen presenting plain visiting cards with a little red spot
on them. Let Brooks wait in the hall, and when they arrive tell him to show them
straight up to the room."
"It shall be done, sir."
The head waiter left the room, and the manager stretched himself in his chair, yawned by way of showing his importance, and then said solemnly,—
"I don't believe they'll any of them turn up; but if they do, this Dr. Nikola, whoever he may be, won't be able to find fault with my arrangements."
Then, leaving the dusty high road of Business, he and his companion wandered
in the shady bridle-paths of Love—to the end that when the chief bookkeeper returned to her own department she had forgotten the strange dinner party about
to take place upstairs, and was busily engaged upon a calculation as to how she
would look in white satin and orange blossoms, and, that settled, fell to
wondering whether it was true, as Miss Joyce, a subordinate, had been heard to
declare, that the manager had once shown himself partial to a certain widow with
reputed savings and a share in an extensive egg and dairy business.
At ten minutes to eight precisely a hansom drew up at the steps of the hotel. As
soon as it stopped, an undersized gentleman, with a clean shaven countenance, a
canonical corporation, and bow legs, dressed in a decidedly clerical garb,
alighted. He paid and discharged his cabman, and then took from his ticket
pocket an ordinary white visiting card, which he presented to the gold-laced individual who had opened the apron. The latter, having noted the red spot, called a waiter, and the reverend gentleman was immediately escorted upstairs.
Hardly had the attendant time to return to his station in the hall, before a second
cab made its appearance, closely followed by a third. Out of the second jumped a
tall, active, well-built man of about thirty years of age. He was dressed in evening dress of the latest fashion, and to conceal it from the vulgar gaze, wore a
large Inverness cape of heavy texture. He also in his turn handed a white card to
the porter, and, having done so, proceeded into the hall, followed by the
occupant of the last cab, who had closely copied his example. This individual was also in evening dress, but it was of a different stamp. It was old-fashioned
and had seen much use. The wearer, too, was taller than the ordinary run of men,
while it was noticeable that his hair was snow-white, and that his face was deeply pitted with smallpox. After disposing of their hats and coats in an ante-room, they reached room No. 22, where they found the gentleman in clerical
costume pacing impatiently up and down.
Left alone, the tallest of the trio, who for want of a better title we may call the
Best Dressed Man, took out his watch, and having glanced at it, looked at his companions. "Gentlemen," he said, with a slight American accent, "it is three minutes to eight o'clock. My name is Eastover!"
"I'm glad to hear it, for I'm most uncommonly hungry," said the next tallest, whom I have already described as being so marked by disease. "My name is Prendergast!"
"We only wait for our friend and host," remarked the clerical gentleman, as if he
felt he ought to take a share in the conversation, and then, as an afterthought, he continued, "My name is Baxter!"
They shook hands all round with marked cordiality, seated themselves again, and
took it in turns to examine the clock.
"Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting our host before?" asked Mr. Baxter of Mr. Prendergast.
"Never," replied that gentleman, with a shake of his head. "Perhaps Mr. Eastover has been more fortunate?"
"Not I," was the brief rejoinder. "I've had to do with him off and on for longer than I care to reckon, but I've never set eyes on him up to date."
"And where may he have been the first time you heard from him?"
"In Nashville, Tennessee," said Eastover. "After that, Tahupapa, New Zealand; after that, Papeete, in the Society Islands; then Pekin, China. And you?"
"First time, Brussels; second, Monte Video; third, Mandalay, and then the Gold
Coast, Africa. It's your turn, Mr. Baxter."
The clergyman glanced at the timepiece. It was exactly eight o'clock. "First time, Cabul, Afghanistan; second, Nijni Novgorod, Russia; third, Wilcannia, Darling
River, Australia; fourth, Valparaiso, Chili; fifth, Nagasaki, Japan."
"He is evidently a great traveller and a most mysterious person."
"He is more than that," said Eastover with conviction; "he is late for dinner!"
Prendergast looked at his watch.
"That clock is two minutes fast. Hark, there goes Big Ben! Eight exactly."
As he spoke the door was thrown open and a voice announced "Dr. Nikola."
The three men sprang to their feet simultaneously, with exclamations of
astonishment, as the man they had been discussing made his appearance.
It would take more time than I can spare the subject to give you an adequate and
inclusive description of the person who entered the room at that moment. In stature he was slightly above the ordinary, his shoulders were broad, his limbs perfectly shaped and plainly muscular, but very slim. His head, which was
magnificently set upon his shoulders, was adorned with a profusion of glossy black hair; his face was destitute of beard or moustache, and was of oval shape
and handsome moulding; while his skin was of a dark olive hue, a colour which
harmonized well with his piercing black eyes and pearly teeth. His hands and feet were small, and the greatest dandy must have admitted that he was
irreproachably dressed, with a neatness that bordered on the puritanical. In age he might have been anything from eight-and-twenty to forty; in reality he was thirty-three. He advanced into the room and walked with out-stretched hand
directly across to where Eastover was standing by the fireplace.
"Mr. Eastover, I feel certain," he said, fixing his glittering eyes upon the man he addressed, and allowing a curious smile to play upon his face.
"That is my name, Dr. Nikola," the other answered with evident surprise. "But how on earth can you distinguish me from your other guests?"
"Ah! it would surprise you if you knew. And Mr. Prendergast, and Mr. Baxter.
This is delightful; I hope I am not late. We had a collision in the Channel this morning, and I was almost afraid I might not be up to time. Dinner seems ready;
shall we sit down to it?" They seated themselves, and the meal commenced. The
Imperial Restaurant has earned an enviable reputation for doing things well, and
the dinner that night did not in any way detract from its lustre. But, delightful as
it all was, it was noticeable that the three guests paid more attention to their host
than to his excellent menu. As they had said before his arrival, they had all had dealings with him for several years, but what those dealings were they were careful not to describe. It was more than possible that they hardly liked to remember them themselves.
When coffee had been served and the servants had withdrawn, Dr. Nikola rose from the table, and went across to the massive sideboard. On it stood a basket of
very curious shape and workmanship. This he opened, and as he did so, to the astonishment of his guests, an enormous cat, as black as his master's coat, leaped
out on to the floor. The reason for the saucer and jug of milk became evident.
Seating himself at the table again, the host followed the example of his guests and lit a cigar, blowing a cloud of smoke luxuriously through his delicately chiselled nostrils. His eyes wandered round the cornice of the room, took in the
pictures and decorations, and then came down to meet the faces of his
companions. As they did so, the black cat, having finished its meal, sprang on to
his shoulder to crouch there, watching the three men through the curling smoke
drift with its green blinking, fiendish eyes. Dr. Nikola smiled as he noticed the effect the animal had upon his guests.
"Now shall we get to business?" he said briskly.
The others almost simultaneously knocked the ashes off their cigars and brought
themselves to attention. Dr. Nikola's dainty, languid manner seemed to drop from
him like a cloak, his eyes brightened, and his voice, when he spoke, was clean
cut as chiselled silver.
"You are doubtless anxious to be informed why I summoned you from all parts
of the globe to meet me here to-night? And it is very natural you should be. But
then, from what you know of me, you should not be surprised at anything I do."
His voice dropped back into its old tone of gentle languor. He drew in a great breath of smoke and then sent it slowly out from his lips again. His eyes were half closed, and he drummed with one finger on the table edge. The cat looked
through the smoke at the three men, and it seemed to them that he grew every moment larger and more ferocious. Presently his owner took him from his perch,
and seating him on his knee fell to stroking his fur, from head to tail, with his long slim fingers. It was as if he were drawing inspiration for some deadly mischief from the uncanny beast.
"To preface what I have to say to you, let me tell you that this is by far the most important business for which I have ever required your help. (Three slow strokes
down the centre of the back, and one round each ear.) When it first came into my
mind I was at a loss who to trust in the matter. I thought of Vendon, but I found
Vendon was dead. I thought of Brownlow, but Brownlow was no longer faithful.
(Two strokes down the back and two on the throat.) Then bit by bit I
remembered you. I was in Brazil at the time. So I sent for you. You came. So far
so good."
He rose, and crossed over to the fireplace. As he went the cat crawled back to its
original position on his shoulder. Then his voice changed once more to its former
business-like tone.
"I am not going to tell you very much about it. But from what I do tell you, you
will be able to gather a great deal and imagine the rest. To begin with, there is a
man living in this world to-day who has done me a great and lasting injury. What
that injury is is no concern of yours. You would not understand if I told you. So
we'll leave that out of the question. He is immensely rich. His cheque for
£300,000 would be honoured by his bank at any minute. Obviously he is a power. He has had reason to know that I am pitting my wits against his, and he
flatters himself that so far he has got the better of me. That is because I am drawing him on. I am maturing a plan which will make him a poor and a very
miserable man at one and the same time. If that scheme succeeds, and I am satisfied with the way you three men have performed the parts I shall call on you
to play in it, I shall pay to each of you the sum of £10,000. If it doesn't succeed,
then you will each receive a thousand and your expenses. Do you follow me?"
It was evident from their faces that they hung upon his every word.
"But, remember, I demand from you your whole and entire labour. While you are
serving me you are mine body and soul. I know you are trustworthy. I have had
good proof that you are—pardon the expression—unscrupulous, and I flatter
myself you are silent. What is more, I shall tell you nothing beyond what is necessary for the carrying out of my scheme, so that you could not betray me if
you would. Now for my plans!"
He sat down again and took a paper from his pocket. Having perused it, he turned to Eastover.
"You will leave at once—that is to say, by the boat on Wednesday—for Sydney.
You will book your passage to-morrow morning, first thing, and join her in
Plymouth. You will meet me to-morrow evening at an address I will send you, and receive your final instructions. Good-night."
Seeing that he was expected to go, Eastover rose, shook hands, and left the room
without a word. He was too astonished to hesitate or to say anything.
Nikola took another letter from his pocket and turned to Prendergast. " You will go down to Dover to-night, cross to Paris to-morrow morning, and leave this letter personally at the address you will find written on it. On Thursday, at half-past two precisely, you will deliver me an answer in the porch at Charing Cross.
You will find sufficient money in that envelope to pay all your expenses. Now go!"
"At half-past two you shall have your answer. Good-night."
"Good-night."
When Prendergast had left the room, Dr. Nikola lit another cigar and turned his
attentions to Mr. Baxter.
"Six months ago, Mr. Baxter, I found for you a situation as tutor to the young Marquis of Beckenham. You still hold it, I suppose?"
"I do."
"Is the father well disposed towards you?"
"In every way. I have done my best to ingratiate myself with him. That was one
of your instructions."
"Yes, yes! But I was not certain that you would succeed. If the old man is anything like what he was when I last met him he must still be a difficult person
to deal with. Does the boy like you?"
"I hope so."
"Have you brought me his photograph as I directed?"
"I have. Here it is."
Baxter took a photograph from his pocket and handed it across the table.
"Good. You have done very well, Mr. Baxter. I am pleased with you. To-morrow
morning you will go back to Yorkshire——"
"I beg your pardon, Bournemouth. His Grace owns a house near Bournemouth,
which he occupies during the summer months."
"Very well—then to-morrow morning you will go back to Bournemouth and
continue to ingratiate yourself with father and son. You will also begin to implant in the boy's mind a desire for travel. Don't let him become aware that his
desire has its source in you—but do not fail to foster it all you can. I will communicate with you further in a day or two. Now go."
Baxter in his turn left the room. The door closed. Dr. Nikola picked up the photograph and studied it.
"The likeness is unmistakable—or it ought to be. My friend, my very dear friend, Wetherell, my toils are closing on you. My arrangements are perfecting themselves admirably. Presently, when all is complete, I shall press the lever, the
machinery will be set in motion, and you will find yourself being slowly but surely ground into powder. Then you will hand over what I want, and be sorry
you thought fit to baulk Dr. Nikola!"
He rang the bell and ordered his bill. This duty discharged, he placed the cat back in its prison, shut the lid, descended with the basket to the hall, and called a
hansom. The porter inquired to what address he should order the cabman to
drive. Dr. Nikola did not reply for a moment, then he said, as if he had been thinking something out: "The Green Sailor public-house, East India Dock Road."
I DETERMINE TO TAKE A HOLIDAY.—SYDNEY, AND
First and foremost, my name, age, description, and occupation, as they say in the
Police Gazette. Richard Hatteras, at your service, commonly called Dick, of Thursday Island, North Queensland, pearler, copra merchant, bêche-de-mer and
tortoiseshell dealer, and South Sea trader generally. Eight-and-twenty years of age, neither particularly good-looking nor, if some people are to be believed, particularly amiable, six feet two in my stockings, and forty-six inches round the
chest; strong as a Hakodate wrestler, and perfectly willing at any moment to pay
ten pounds sterling to the man who can put me on my back.
And big shame to me if I were not so strong, considering the free, open-air, devil-may-care life I've led. Why, I was doing man's work at an age when most
boys are wondering when they're going to be taken out of knickerbockers. I'd been half round the world before I was fifteen, and had been wrecked twice and
marooned once before my beard showed signs of sprouting. My father was an
Englishman, not very much profit to himself, so he used to say, but of a kindly
disposition, and the best husband to my mother, during their short married life,
that any woman could possibly have desired. She, poor soul, died of fever in the
Philippines the year I was born, and he went to the bottom in the schooner Helen
of Troy, a degree west of the Line Islands, within six months of her decease; struck the tail end of a cyclone, it was thought, and went down, lock, stock, and
barrel, leaving only one man to tell the tale. So I lost father and mother in the same twelve months, and that being so, when I put my cabbage-tree on my head
it covered, as far as I knew, all my family in the world.
Any way you look at it, it's calculated to give you a turn; at fifteen years of age,
to know that there's not a living soul on the face of God's globe that you can take
by the hand and call relation. That old saying about "blood being thicker than water" is a pretty true one, I reckon: friends may be kind—they were so to me—
but after all they're not the same thing, nor can they be, as your own kith and kin.
However, I had to look my trouble in the face, and stand up to it as a man should, and I suppose this kept me from brooding over my loss as much as I
should otherwise have done. At any rate, ten days after the news reached me, I had shipped aboard the Little Emily, trading schooner, for Papeete, booked for five years among the islands, where I was to learn to water copra, to cook my balances, and to lay the foundation of the strange adventures that I am going to
tell you about.
After my time expired and I had served my Trading Company on half the
mudbanks of the Pacific, I returned to Australia and went up inside the Great Barrier Reef to Somerset—the pearling station that had just come into existence
on Cape York. They were good days there then, before all the new-fangled laws
that now regulate the pearling trade had come into force; days when a man could
do almost as he liked among the islands in those seas. I don't know how other folk liked it, but the life just suited me—so much so that when Somerset proved
inconvenient and the settlement shifted across to Thursday, I went with it, and,
what was more to the point, with money enough at my back to fit myself out with a brand-new lugger and full crew, so that I could go pearling on my own account.
For many years I went at it head down, and this brings me up to four years ago,
when I was a grown man, the owner of a house, two luggers, and as good a diving plant as any man could wish to possess. What was more, just before this I
had put some money into a mining concern on the mainland, which had, contrary
to most ventures of the sort, turned up trumps, giving me as my share the nice
round sum of £5,000. With all this wealth at my back, and having been in
harness for a greater number of years on end than I cared to count, I made up my
mind to take a holiday and go home to England to see the place where my father
was born, and had lived his early life (I found the name of it written in the fly-
leaf of an old Latin book he left me), and to have a look at a country I'd heard so
much about, but never thought to set my foot upon.
Accordingly I packed my traps, let my house, sold my luggers and gear,
intending to buy new ones when I returned, said good-bye to my friends and shipmates, and set off to join an Orient liner in Sydney. You will see from this
that I intended doing the thing in style! And why not? I'd got more money to my
hand to play with than most of the swells who patronize the first saloon; I had
earned it honestly, and was resolved to enjoy myself with it to the top of my bent.
I reached Sydney a week before the boat was advertised to sail, but I didn't fret
much about that. There's plenty to see and do in such a big place, and when a
man's been shut away from theatres and amusements for years at a stretch, he can put in his time pretty well looking about him. All the same, not knowing a
soul in the place, I must confess there were moments when I did think regretfully
of the little island hidden away up north under the wing of New Guinea, of the
luggers dancing to the breeze in the harbour, and the warm welcome that always
awaited me among my friends in the saloons. Take my word for it, there's
something in even being a leader on a small island. Anyway, it's better than being a deadbeat in a big city like Sydney, where nobody knows you, and your
next-door neighbour wouldn't miss you if he never saw or heard of you again.
I used to think of these things as I marched about the streets looking in at shop
windows, or took excursions up and down the harbour. There's no place like
Sydney Harbour in the wide, wide world for beauty, and before I'd been there a
week I was familiar with every part of it. Still, it would have been more enjoyable, as I hinted just now, if I had had a friend to tour about with me; and
by the same token I'm doing one man an injustice.
There was one fellow, I remember, who did offer to show me round: I fell across him in a saloon in George Street. He was tall and handsome, and as spic and span as a new pin till you came to look under the surface. When he entered the
bar he winked at the girl who was serving me, and as soon as I'd finished my drink asked me to take another with him. Seeing what his little game was, and
wanting to teach him a lesson, I lured him on by consenting. I drank with him,
and then he drank with me.
"Been long in Sydney?" he inquired casually, as he stroked his fair moustache.
"Just come in," was my reply.
"Don't you find it dull work going about alone?" he inquired. "I shall never forget my first week of it."
"You're about right," I answered. "It is dull! I don't know a soul, bar my banker and lawyer."
"Dear me!" (more curling of the moustache). "If I can be of any service to you while you're here, I hope you'll command me. I believe we're both Englishmen,
eh?"
"It's very good of you," I replied modestly, affecting to be overcome by his condescension. "I'm just off to lunch. I am staying at the Quebec. Is it far enough
for a hansom?" As he was about to answer, a lawyer, with whom I had done a little business the day before, walked into the room. I turned to my patronising
friend and said, "Will you excuse me for one moment? I want to speak to this gentleman."
He was still all graciousness.
"I'll call a hansom and wait for you in it."
When he had left the saloon I spoke to the new arrival. He had noticed the man I
had been talking to, and was kind enough to warn me against him.
"That man," he said, "bears a very bad reputation. He makes it his trade to meet new arrivals from England—weak-brained young pigeons with money. He
shows them round Sydney, and plucks them so clean that, when they leave his hands, in nine cases out of ten, they haven't a feather left to fly with. You ought
not, with your experience of rough customers, to be taken in by him."
"Nor am I," I replied. "I am going to teach him a lesson. Come with me."
Arm in arm we walked into the street, watched by Mr. Hawk from his seat in the
cab. When we got there we stood for a moment chatting, and then strolled
together down the pavement. Next moment I heard the cab coming along after
us, and my friend hailing me in his silkiest tones; but though I looked him full in
the face I pretended not to know him. Seeing this he drove past us—pulled up a
little farther down and sprang out to wait for me.
"I was almost afraid I had missed you," he began, as we came up with him.
"Perhaps as it is such a fine day you would rather walk than ride?"
"I beg your pardon," I answered. "I'm really afraid you have the advantage of me."
"But you have asked me to lunch with you at the Quebec. You told me to call a hansom."
"Pardon me again! but you are really mistaken. I said I was going to lunch at the
Quebec, and asked you if it was far enough to be worth while taking a hansom.
That is your hansom, not mine. If you don't require it any longer, I should advise
you to pay the man and let him go."
"You are a swindler, sir. I refuse to pay the cabman. It is your hansom."
I took a step closer to my fine gentleman, and, looking him full in the face, said as quietly as possible, for I didn't want all the street to hear:
"Mr. Dorunda Dodson, let this be a lesson to you. Perhaps you'll think twice next time before you try your little games on me!"
He stepped back as if he had been shot, hesitated a moment, and then jumped into his cab and drove off in the opposite direction. When he had gone I looked
at my astonished companion.
"Well, now," he ejaculated at last, "how on earth did you manage that?"
"Very easily," I replied. "I happened to remember having met that gentleman up in our part of the world when he was in a very awkward position—very
awkward. By his action just now I should say that he has not forgotten the circumstance any more than I have."
That was the first of the only two adventures of any importance I met with during my stay in New South Wales. And there's not much in that, I fancy I can
hear you saying. Well, that may be so, I don't deny it, but it was nevertheless through that that I became mixed up with the folk who figure in this book, and
indeed it was to that very circumstance, and that alone, I owe my connection with the queer story I have set myself to tell. And this is how it came about.
Three days before the steamer sailed, and about four o'clock in the afternoon, I
chanced to be walking down Castlereagh Street, wondering what on earth I
should do with myself until dinner-time, when I saw approaching me the very man whose discomfiture I have just described. Being probably occupied
planning the plucking of some unfortunate new chum, he did not see me. And as
I had no desire to meet him again, after what had passed between us, I crossed
the road and meandered off in a different direction, eventually finding myself located on a seat in the Domain, lighting a cigarette and looking down over a broad expanse of harbour.
One thought led to another, and so I sat on and on long after dusk had fallen, never stirring until a circumstance occurred on a neighbouring path that attracted
my attention. A young and well-dressed lady was pursuing her way in my
direction, evidently intending to leave the park by the entrance I had used to come into it. But unfortunately for her, at the junction of two paths to my right,
three of Sydney's typical larrikins were engaged in earnest conversation. They had observed the girl coming towards them, and were evidently preparing some
plan for accosting her. When she was only about fifty yards away, two of them walked to a distance, leaving the third and biggest ruffian to waylay her. He did
so, but without success; she passed him and continued her walk at increased speed.
The man thereupon quickened his pace, and, secure in the knowledge that he
was unobserved, again accosted her. Again she tried to escape him, but this time
he would not leave her. What was worse, his two friends were now blocking the
path in front. She looked to right and left, and was evidently uncertain what to
do. Then, seeing escape was hopeless, she stopped, took out her purse, and gave
it to the man who had first spoken to her. Thinking this was going too far, I jumped up and went quickly across the turf towards them. My footsteps made no
sound on the soft grass, and as they were too much occupied in examining what
she had given them, they did not notice my approach.
"You scoundrels!" I said, when I had come up with them. "What do you mean by stopping this lady? Let her go instantly; and you, my friend, just hand over that
purse."
The man addressed looked at me as if he were taking my measure, and were
wondering what sort of chance he'd have against me in a fight. But I suppose my
height must have rather scared him, for he changed his tone and began to whine.
"I haven't got the lady's purse, s'help me, I ain't! I was only a asking of 'er the time!"
"Hand over that purse!" I said sternly, approaching a step nearer to him.
One of the others here intervened,—"Let's stowch 'im, Dog! There ain't a copper
in sight!"
With that they began to close upon me. But, as the saying goes, "I'd been there
before." I'd not been knocking about the rough side of the world for fifteen years without learning how to take care of myself. When they had had about enough of
it, which was most likely more than they had bargained for, I took the purse and
went to where the innocent cause of it all was standing. She was looking very white and scared, but she plucked up sufficient courage to thank me prettily.
I can see her now, standing there looking into my face with big tears in her pretty
blue eyes. She was a girl of about twenty-one or two years of age—tall, but slenderly built, with a sweet oval face, bright brown hair, and the most beautiful
eyes I have ever seen in my life. She was dressed in some dark green material, wore a fawn jacket, and, because the afternoon was cold, had a boa of marten fur
round her neck. I can remember also that her hat was of some flimsy make, with
lace and glittering spear points in it, and that the whole structure was surmounted
by two bows, one of black ribbon, the other of salmon pink.
"Oh, how can I thank you?" she began, when I had come up with her. "But for your appearance I don't know what those men might not have done to me."
"I was very glad that I was there to help you," I replied, looking into her face with more admiration for its warm young beauty than perhaps I ought to have shown. "Here is your purse. I hope you will find its contents safe. At the same
time will you let me give you a little piece of advice. From what I have seen this
afternoon this is evidently not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in
alone and after dark. I don't think I would risk it again if I were you."
She looked at me for a moment and then said:
"You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for my misfortune. I met a friend and walked across the green with her; I was on my way back to my
carriage—which is waiting for me outside—when I met those men. However, I
can promise you that it will not happen again. I am leaving Sydney in a day or
two."
Somehow, when I heard that, I began to feel glad I was booked to leave the place
too. But of course I didn't tell her so.
"May I see you safely to your carriage?" I said at last. "Those fellows may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you."
Her courage must have come back to her, for she looked up into my face with a
smile.
"I don't think they will be rude to me again, after the lesson you have given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful."
Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the kerb, and towards this she
made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in. But before she did
so she turned to me and stretched out her little hand.
"Will you tell me your name, that I may know to whom I am indebted?"
"My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres Straits. I am staying at the Quebec."
"Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall always be grateful to you for
your gallantry!"
This was attaching too much importance to such a simple action, and I was about
to tell her so, when she spoke again: "I think I ought to let you know who I am.
My name is Wetherell, and my father is the Colonial Secretary. I'm sure he will