I. — I DETERMINE TO TAKE A HOLIDAY—SYDNEY, AND WHAT BEFELL ME THERE
II. — LONDON
III. — I VISIT MY RELATIONS
IV. — I SAVE AN IMPORTANT LIFE
V. — MYSTERY
VI. — I MEET DR NIKOLA AGAIN
VII. — PORT SAID, AND WHAT BEFELL US THERE
VIII. — OUR IMPRISONMENT AND ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE
IX. — DR NIKOLA PERMITS US A FREE PASSAGE
I. — WE REACH AUSTRALIA, AND THE RESULT
II. — ON THE TRAIL
III. — LORD BECKENHAM'S STORY
IV. — FOLLOWING UP A CLUE
V. — THE ISLANDS AND WHAT WE FOUND THERE
VI. — CONCLUSION
PROLOGUE—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 scrutinised 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 watermark; but there was evidently
nothing in either of these places of a nature calculated to set his
troubled mind at rest. Then, though he had a clock upon his
mantelpiece in good working order, 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 to the
placid face of the clock above mentioned. "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 at length, seeing that she was expected to say something.
"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 arm-holes 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 a pretty woman, 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
further.
"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 if an
afterthought had struck him, 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, Chile; 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 harmonised
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 outstretched 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 tonight? 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 gradually
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, and we meet
here. 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 today 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 tomorrow morning, first thing, and join her
in
Plymouth. You will meet me tomorrow 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 tonight, cross to Paris tomorrow 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 Duke, the
lad's father, well disposed towards you?"
"In every way. I have
done my best to ingratiate myself with him. That was one of your
instructions, if you will remember."
"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. Tomorrow 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 mouths."
"Very well—then
tomorrow 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 carefully.
"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. When he had closed the apron, the porter enquired
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. — I DETERMINE TO TAKE A HOLIDAY—SYDNEY, AND WHAT BEFELL ME THERE
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,
beche-de-mer and tortoise-shell 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 in this book.
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 flyleaf 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 have the good
fortune 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 goodbye 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 patronise
the first saloon; I had earned it honestly, and was resolved to
enjoy
myself with it to the top of my bent, and hang the consequences.
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 tight 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 enquired casually, looking at me, and, at the same
time, stroking his fair moustache.
"Just come in,"
was my reply.
"Don't you find it
dull work going about alone?" he enquired. "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, in the town."
"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. For the sake of 'Auld
Lang Syne,' don't you know. 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 on business."
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. Would you like to
see it? Then 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 further 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 for him. By his action just now I should say that he has
not
forgotten the circumstance any more than I have."
"I should rather
think not. Good-day."
We shook hands and parted,
he going on down the street, while I branched off to my hotel.
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; I'll take me davy I was!"
"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 down the path 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, I
should think—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 am 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 think I can promise you that it will not happen again,
as
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 herb, 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 be quite as grateful to you as
I
am. Goodbye."
She seemed to forget that
we had already shaken hands, for she extended her own a second
time.
I took it and tried to say something polite, but she stepped into
her
carriage and shut the door before I could think of anything, and
next
moment she was being whirled away up the street.
Now old fogies and
disappointed spinsters can say what they please about love at first
sight. I'm not a romantic sort of person—far from it—the sort of
life I had hitherto led was not of a nature calculated to foster a
belief in that sort of thing. But if I wasn't over head and ears in
love when I resumed my walk that evening, well, I've never known
what
the passion is.
A daintier, prettier,
sweeter little angel surely never walked the earth than the girl I
had just been permitted the opportunity of rescuing; and from that
moment forward I found my thoughts constantly reverting to her. I
seemed to retain the soft pressure of her fingers in mine for hours
afterwards, and as a proof of the perturbed state of my feelings I
may add that I congratulated myself warmly on having worn that day
my
new and fashionable Sydney suit, instead of the garments in which I
had travelled down from Torres Straits, and which I had hitherto
considered quite good enough for even high days and holidays. That
she herself would remember me for more than an hour never struck me
as being likely.
Next morning I donned my
best suit again, gave myself an extra brush up, and sauntered down
town to see if I could run across her in the streets. What reason I
had for thinking I should is more than I can tell you, but at any
rate I was not destined to be disappointed. Crossing George Street
a
carriage passed me, and in it sat the girl whose fair image had
exercised such an effect upon my mind. That she saw and recognized
me
was evidenced by the gracious bow and smile with which she favoured
me. Then she passed out of sight, and it was a wonder that that
minute didn't see the end of my career, for I stood like one in a
dream looking in the direction in which she had gone, and it was
not
until two hansoms and a brewer's wagon had nearly run me down that
I
realized it would be safer for me to pursue my meditations on the
side walk.
I got back to my hotel by
lunch-time, and during the progress of that meal a brilliant idea
struck me. Supposing I plucked up courage and called? Why not? It
would be only a polite action to enquire if she were any the worse
for her fright. The thought was no sooner born in my brain than I
was
eager to be off. But it was too early for such a formal business,
so
I had to cool my heels in the hall for an hour. Then, hailing a
hansom and enquiring the direction of their residence, I drove off
to
Potts Point. The house was the last in the street—an imposing
mansion standing in well-laid-out grounds. The butler answered my
ring, and in response to my enquiry dashed my hopes to the ground
by
informing me that Miss Wetherell was out.
"She's very busy, you
see, at present, sir. She and the master leave for England on
Friday
in the Orizaba."
"What!" I cried,
almost forgetting myself in my astonishment. "You don't mean to
say that Miss Wetherell goes to England in the Orizaba?"
"I do, sir. And I do
hear she's goin' 'ome to be presented at Court, sir!"
"Ah! Thank you. Will
you give her my card, and say that I hope she is none the worse for
her fright last evening?"
He took the card, and a
substantial tip with it, and I went back to my cab in the seventh
heaven of delight. I was to be shipmates with this lovely creature!
For six weeks or more I should be able to see her every day! It
seemed almost too good to be true. Instinctively I began to make
all
sorts of plans and preparations. Who knew but what—but stay, we
must bring ourselves up here with a round turn, or we shall be
anticipating what's to come.
To make a long story
short—for it must be remembered that what I am telling you is only
the prelude to all the extraordinary things that will have to be
told
later on—the day of sailing came. I went down to the boat on the
morning of her departure, and got my baggage safely stowed away in
my
cabin before the rush set in. My cabin mate was to join the ship in
Adelaide, so for the first few days of the voyage I should be
alone.
About three o'clock we
hove our anchor and steamed slowly down the Bay. It was a perfect
afternoon, and the harbour, with its multitudinous craft of all
nationalities and sizes, the blue water backed by stately hills,
presented a scene the beauty of which would have appealed to the
mind
of the most prosaic. I had been below when the Wetherells arrived
on
board, so the young lady had not yet become aware of my presence.
Whether she would betray any astonishment when she did find out was
beyond my power to tell; at any rate, I know that I was by a long
way
the happiest man aboard the boat that day. However, I was not to be
kept long in suspense. Before we had reached the Heads it was all
settled, and satisfactorily so. I was standing on the promenade
deck,
just abaft the main saloon entrance, watching the panorama spread
out
before me, when I heard a voice I recognised only too well say
behind
me:
"And so goodbye to
you, dear old Sydney. Great things will have happened when I set
eyes
on you again."
Little did she know how
prophetic were her words. As she spoke I turned and confronted her.
For a moment she was overwhelmed with surprise, then, stretching
out
her hand, she said:
"Really, Mr Hatteras,
this is most wonderful. You are the last person I expected to meet
on
board the Orizaba."
"And perhaps," I
replied, "I might with justice say the same of you. It looks as
if we are destined to be fellow-travellers."
She turned to a tall,
white-bearded man beside her.
"Papa, I must
introduce you to Mr Hatteras. You will remember I told you how kind
Mr Hatteras was when those larrikins were rude to me in the
Domain."
"I am sincerely
obliged to you, Mr Hatteras," he said, holding out his hand and
shaking mine heartily. "My daughter did tell me, and I called
yesterday at your hotel to thank you personally, but you were
unfortunately not at home. Are you visiting Europe?"
"Yes; I'm going home
for a short visit to see the place where my father was born."
"Are you then, like
myself, an Australian native? I mean, of course, as you know,
colonial born?" asked Miss Wetherell with a little laugh. The
idea of her calling herself an Australian native in any other
sense!
The very notion seemed preposterous.
"I was born at sea, a
degree and a half south of Mauritius," I answered; "so I
don't exactly know what you would call me. I hope you have
comfortable cabins?"
"Very. We have made
two or three voyages in this boat before, and we always take the
same
places. And now, papa, we must really go and see where poor Miss
Thompson is. We are beginning to feel the swell, and she'll be
wanting to go below. Goodbye for the present, Mr Hatteras."
I raised my cap and
watched her walk away down the deck, balancing herself as if she
had
been accustomed to a heaving plank all her life. Then I turned to
watch the fast receding shore, and to my own thoughts, which were
none of the saddest, I can assure you. For it must be confessed
here,
and why should I deny it? that I was in love from the soles of my
deck shoes to the cap upon my head. But as to the chance that I, a
humble pearler, would stand with one of Sydney's wealthiest and
most
beautiful daughters—why, that's another matter, and one that, for
the present, I was anxious to keep behind me.
Within the week we had
left Adelaide behind us, and four days later Albany was also a
thing
of the past. By the time we had cleared the Lewin we had all
settled
down to our life aboard ship, the bad sailors were beginning to
appear on deck again, and the medium voyagers to make various
excuses
for their absences from meals. One thing was evident, that Miss
Wetherell was the belle of the ship. Everybody paid her attention,
from the skipper down to the humblest deck hand. And this being so,
I
prudently kept out of the way, for I had no desire to be thought to
presume on our previous acquaintance. Whether she noticed this I
cannot tell, but at any rate her manner to me when we did speak was
more cordial than I had any right or reason to expect it would be.
Seeing this, there were not wanting people on board who scoffed and
sneered at the idea of the Colonial Secretary's daughter noticing
so
humble a person as myself, and when it became known what my exact
social position was, I promise you these malicious whisperings did
not cease.
One evening, two or three
days after we had left Colombo behind us, I was standing at the
rails
on the promenade deck a little abaft the smoking-room entrance,
when
Miss Wetherell came up and took her place beside me. She looked
very
dainty and sweet in her evening dress, and I felt, if I had known
her
better, I should have liked to tell her so.
"Mr Hatteras,"
said she, when we had discussed the weather and the sunset, "I
have been thinking lately that you desire to avoid me."
"Heaven forbid! Miss
Wetherell," I hastened to reply. "What on earth can have
put such a notion into your head?"
"All the same, I
believe it to be true. Now, why do you do it?"
"I have not admitted
that I do it. But, perhaps, if I do seem to deny myself the
pleasure
of being with you as much as some other people I could mention, it
is
only because I fail to see what possible enjoyment you can derive
from my society."
"That is a very
pretty speech," she answered, smiling, "but it does not
tell me what I want to know."
"And what is it that
you want to know, my dear young lady?"
"I want to know why
you are so much changed towards me. At first we got on
splendidly—you
used to tell me of your life in Torres Straits, of your trading
ventures in the Southern Seas, and even of your hopes for the
future.
Now, however, all that is changed. It is 'Good-morning, Miss
Wetherell,' 'Good-evening, Miss Wetherell,' and that is all. I must
own I don't like such treatment."
"I must crave your
pardon—but—"
"No, we won't have
any 'buts.' If you want to be forgiven, you must come and talk to
me
as you used to do. You will like the rest of the people I'm sure
when
you get to know them. They are very kind to me."
"And you think I
shall like them for that reason?"
"No, no. How silly
you are! But I do so want you to be friendly."