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FOE-FARRELL
FOE-FARRELL
BY
(Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch)
LONDON: 48 PALL MALL
W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.
GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND
Copyright 1918
To
ANY ONE
who supposes
that he has a worse
Enemy
THAN
Himself
CONTENTS
BOOK I— INGREDIENTS
PAG3
PROLOGUE . .... 3
NIGHT the first — John Foe .... 19
night the second— The Meeting at the Baths . 36
night the third — The Grand Research . . 51
night the fourth — Adventure of the Police
Station ....... 66
night the fifth — Adventure of the 'Catalafina . 82
night the sixth — Adventure of the Picture-
drome ..... .99
night the seventh — 21i e Outrage . . .121
BOOK II -THE CHASE
night the eighth— Vendetta .
night the ninth — The Hunt is Up .
night the tenth — Pilgrimage of Hate
night the eleventh — Science of the Chase
night the twelfth — The 'Emania
night the thirteenth — Escape
139
150
168
180
202
216
CONTEXTS
BOOK III— THE RETRIEVE
PAGH
night the fourteenth — San Ramon . . 235
NIGHT THE FIFTEENTH — RedivivUS . • .253
night the sixteenth — Captain Macnaughten • 268
NIGHT THE SEVENTEENTH — No. 2 Boat . • 286
night the eighteenth — 'And so they came to the
Island . . / 302
night the nineteenth — The Castaways . . 3*8
night the twentieth — One Man Escapes . 33 2
BOOK IV— THE COUNTERCHASE
night the twenty-first — The Yellow Dog . 355
night the twenty-second — The Second Man
Escapes 3^7
night the twenty-third — Counter chase . 3^3
night the twenty-fourth — Constantia . . 395
night the twenty-fifth— The Paying of the
Score 4° 6
epilogue 421
Book. 1
INGREDIENTS
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Emerson : Brahma
The best kind of revenge is not to become
like him.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus
PROLOGUE
Otway told this story in a dug-out which served
for officers' mess of a field-battery somewhere
near the Aisne : but it has nothing to do with
the War. He told it in snatches, night by night,
after the manner of Scheherazade in the Arabian
Nights Entertainments, and as a rule to an auditory
of two. Here is a full list of
Persons of the Dialogue
Narrator
Major Sir
Roderick Otway,
Brt., M.C.,
R.F.A.
Audience and Interlocutors
Lieut. John Pol-
kinghorne
R.F.A.
\ of the
Battery
Sec. Lieut. Samuel
Barham, M.C.
Sec. Lieut. Percy
Yarrell-Smith
Sec. Lieut. Noel Williams,
R.F.A., attached for in-
struction.
But military duties usually restricted the
audience to two at a time, though there were three
on the night when Barham (Sammy) set his CO.
going with a paragraph from an old newspaper.
The captain — one Mclnnes, promoted from the
3
* ff * *
•4 : . : v ' ' ; f : .FOE-FARRELL
ranks — attended one seance only. He dwelt down
at the wagon-lines along with the Veterinary
Officer, and brought up the ammunition most
nights, vanishing back in the small hours like
a ghost before cock-crow.
The battery lay somewhat wide to the right
of its fellows in the brigade; in a saucer-shaped
hollow on the hill-side, well screened with scrub.
Roughly it curved back from the straight lip
overlooking the slope, in a three-fifths segment of
a circle; and the officers' mess made a short arc in
it, some way in rear of the guns. You descended,
by steps, cut in the soil and well pounded,
into a dwelling rather commodious than large :
for Otway — who knew about yachts — had taken
a fancy to construct it nautical-wise, with lockers
that served for seats at a narrow saloon table,
sleeping-bunks excavated along the sides, and
air-holes like cabin top-lights, cunningly curtained
by night, under the shell-proof cover.
' It cost us a week/ he wrote home to his sister,
' to get the place to my mind. Since then we have
been adding fancy touches almost daily, and now
the other batteries froth with envy. You see, it
had to be contrived, like the poet's chest of
drawers,
A double debt to pay :
Doss-house by night and bag-of-tricks by day,
And here we have lived now, shooting and sleep-
ing (very little sleeping) for five solid weeks. All
PROLOGUE 5
leave being off, I have fallen into this way of life,
almost without a thought that there ever had
been, or could be, another, and feel as if my
destiny were to go on at it for ever and ever. And
this at thirty-five, Sally !
' It must be ever so much worse for the young-
sters, one would say. Anyway I have had ten
good years that they are missing . . . Cambridge,
Henley, Lord's; Ascot, and home-to-tidy, and
afterwards the little Mercedes, and you and I
rolling in to Princes and the theatre, whilst good
old Bob is for the House, to take his exercise
walking the lobbies; clean linen after the bath,
and my own sister beside me — she that always knew
how to dress — and the summer evening over
Hyde Park Corner and the Green Park. . . . No,
I mustn't go on. It is verboten even to think of a
white shirt until the Bosch hangs out the tail of
his.
' My youngsters are missing all this, I tell myself.
Yet they are a cheerful crowd, and keep smiling
on their Papa. The worst is, a kind of paralysis
seems to have smitten our home mails and general
transport for close upon a fortnight. No letters,
no parcels — but one case of wine, six weeks over-
due, with half the bottles in shards : no news-
papers. This last specially afflicts young Sammy
Barham, who is a glutton for the halfpenny press :
which again is odd, because his comments on it
are vitriolic.
'Xo books — that's the very worst. Our mess
6 FOE-FARRELL
library went astray in the last move : no great
loss perhaps except for the Irish R.M., which I
was reading for the nth time. The only relic
that survives, and follows us everywhere like an
intelligent hound, is a novel of Scottish sentiment,
entitled But and Ben. The heroine wears (p. 2)
a dress of " some soft white clinging material "
— which may account for it. Young Y-Smith,
who professes to have read the work from cover
to cover, asserts that this material clings to her
throughout : but I doubt the thoroughness of his
perusal since he explained to us that " Ben ,;
and " But " were the play-names of the lad and
his lassie. . . . For our personal libraries we
possess : —
R.O. — A hulking big copy of the International
Code of Signals : a putrid bad book, of
which I am preparing, in odd moments,
a recension, to submit to the Board of
Trade. Y-Smith borrows this off me
now and then, to learn up the flags
at the beginning. He gloats on crude
colours.
Polkinghorne — A Bible, which I borrow,
sometimes for private study, sometimes
(you understand?) for professional pur-
poses. It contains a Book of Common
Prayer as well as the Apocrypha. P. (a
Cornishman, something of a mystic, two
years my senior and full of mining ex-
periences in Nevada and S. America)
PROLOGUE 7
always finds a difficulty in parting with
this, his one book. He is deep in it, this
moment, at the far end of the table.
Sammy Barham, so far as any one can dis-
cover, has never read a book in his life
nor wanted .to. He was educated at
Harrow. Lacking the Daily Mail, he is
miserable just now, poor boy ! I almost
forgave the Code upon discovering that
his initials, S.B., spell, for a distress
signal, " Can you lend (or give) me a
newspaper? "
Yarrell-Smith reads Penny Dreadfuls. He
owns four, and was kind enough, the
other day, to lend me one : but it's a
trifle too artless even for my artless mind.
Young Williams — a promising puppy sent up
to me to be walked — reads nothing at all.
He brought two packs of Patience cards
and a Todhunter's Euclid; the one to
rest, the other to stimulate, his mind;
and I've commandeered the Euclid. A
great writer, Sally ! He's not juicy, and
he don't palpitate, but he's an angel for
style. " Therefore the triangle DBC is
equal to the triangle ABC " — pause and
count three — " the less to the greater "
— pause — " which is absurd." Neat
and demure : and you're constantly
coming on little things like that. " Two
straight lines cannot enclose a space " —
8 FOE-FARRELL
so broad and convincing, when once
pointed out! — and why is it not in The
Soldier's Pocket-Book under " Staff
Axioms "?
'When you make up the next parcel, stick in a
few of the unlikeliest books. I don't want Paley's
Evidences of Christianity : I tackled that for my
Little-Go, and, besides, we have plenty of 'em
out here : but books about Ireland, and the Near
East, and local government, and farm-labourers'
wages, and the future life, and all that sort of
thing.
'Two nights ago, Polkinghorne got going on our
chances in another world. Polkinghorne is a
thoughtful man in his way, rising forty — don't
know his religion. I had an idea somehow
that he was interested in such things. But
to my astonishment the boys took him up and
were off in full cry. It appeared that each one
had been nursing his own thoughts on the subject.
The trouble was, none of us knew very much
about it '
Otway, writing beneath the hurricane-lamp,
had reached this point in his letter when young
Barham exclaimed to the world at large : —
'Hallo! here's a tall story!'
The CO. looked up. So did Polkinghorne, from
his Bible. Sammy held a torn sheet of news-
paper.
'Don't keep it to yourself, my son,' said Otway,
PROLOGUE g
laying down his pen and leaning back, so that his
face passed out of the inner circle of the lamp-
light.
Sammy bent forward, pushed the paper nearer
to this pool of light, smoothed it and read : —
' " Thames-side Mystery.
' " A Coroner's jury at C -, a ' village' on
the south bank of the Thames, not a hundred
miles below Gravesend— — " '
'Seems a lot of mystery about it already,'
observed Polkinghorne. 'Don't they give the
name of the village?'
'No; they just call it "C ," and, what's
more, they put " village " into inverted commas.
Don't know why : but there's a hint at the end.'
'Proceed.'
Sammy proceeded.
" was engaged yesterday in holding
inquest on the body of an unknown man, found
lying at highwater mark in a creek some way
below the village. A local constable had dis-
covered the body : but neither the officer who
attended nor the river police could afford any
clue to the deceased's identity. Medical evi-
dence proved that death was due to drowning,
although the corpse had not been long immersed :
but a sensation was caused when the evidence
further disclosed that it bore an incised wound
F.F. B
io FOE-FARRELL
over the left breast, in itself sufficient to cause
death had not suffocation quickly supervened.
'"The body was fuither described, in the
police evidence, as that of a middle-aged man,
presumably a gentleman. It was clad in a
black 'evening dress' suit, and two pearl studs
of some value remained in the limp shirt-front;
from which, however, a third and fellow stud
was missing. The Police Inspector — who aske:l
for an open verdict, pending further inquiry —
added that the linen, and the clothing generally,
bore no mark leading to identification. Further,
if a crime had been committed, the motive had
not been robbery. The trousers-pockets con-
tained a sovereign, and eighteen shillings in
silver. In the waistcoat was a gold watch
(which had stopped at 10.55), wrtn a chain and
a sovereign-purse containing two sovereigns
and a half-sovereign : in the left-hand breast
pocket of the dinner-jacket a handkerchief,
unmarked : in the right-hand pocket a bundle
of notes and a worn bean-shaped case for a
pair of eye-glasses. The glasses were missing. The
Police had carefully dried the notes and separated
them. They were nine £1 notes; all numbered,
of course. Beyond this and the number on the
watch there was nothing to afford a clue." '
Here Barham paused for a glance up at the
roof of the dug-out, as two explosions sounded
pretty near at hand. 'Huns saying good-njjght,
PROLOGUE ii
he interpolated. 'Can't have spotted us. Nothing
doing aloft these three days.'
Polkinghorne looked across the light at the
CO., who sat unaccountably silent, his face in-
scrutable in the penumbra. Taking silence for
'yes,' Polkinghorne arose and put his head outside
for a look around.
'Queer story, you'll admit, sir?' put in Sammy
Barham during this pause. 'Shall I go on, or
wait for the rollicking Polky to hear it out? — for
the queerest part is to come.'
'I know,' said Otway, after some two or three
seconds' silence.
'Eh? . . . But it's just here, sir, the thing of
a sudden gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser '
Polkinghorne came back. 'Nerves,' he reported.
'They're potting all over the place. . . . Here,
Sammy, pass over that scrap of paper if you've
finished reading. I want to hear the end.'
'It hasn't any,' said Otway from the shadow.
'But, sir, when I was just warning you '
'Dashed good beginning, anyway/ said Polking-
horne; something like Our Mutual Friend.'
'Who's he?' asked Sammy.
' Ingenuous youth, continue/ Otway commanded.
'Polky wants to hear the rest of the paragraph,
and so do 1/
'It goes on just like a detective story/ promised
Sammy. 'Just you listen to this : —
'"An incident which may eventually throw
I2 FOE-FARRELL
some light on the mystery interrupted the
Coroner's summing up and caused something
of a sensation. This was the appearance of an
individual, evidently labouring under strong
excitement, who, having thrust his way past
the police, advanced to the Coroner's table
and demanded to have sight of the body. The
man's gestures were wild, and on being asked
his name he answered incoherently. His manner
seriously affected one of the jury, who swooned
and had to be removed from Court.
' " While restoratives were being applied at the
Plume of Feathers Inn (adjacent to the building
in which the inquest was held), the Coroner
held consultation with Police and Foreman of
the Jury, and eventually adjourned for a second
inspection of the body, the stranger accom-
panying them. From this inspection, as from
the first, representatives of the Press were
excluded.
'"Returning to Court at the expiration of
forty minutes — by which time the absent juror
had recovered sufficiently to take his seat —
the Coroner directed an open verdict to be
entered, and the inquiry closed.
'"The intrusive visitor did not re-appear.
We understand that he was found to be suffering
from acute mental derangement and is at present
under medical treatment as well as under
supervision of the police, who are closely watch-
ing the case. They preserve great reticence
PROLOGUE 13
on the whole subject and very rightly so in
these days, considering the number of enemy
plotters in our midst and that the neighbourhood
of C in particular is known to be infested
with their activities."'
'Is that all?' asked Polkinghorne.
'That's all; and about enough, I should say,
for this Penny Reading.'
'When did it happen?'
1 Can't tell. The top of the sheet's torn off.'
Barham pushed the paper across. 'By the look,
it's a bit of an old Daily Chronicle. I found it
wrapping one of my old riding boots, that I
haven't worn since I took to a sedentary life.
Higgs must have picked it up at our last move '
'Do you want the date? ' put in Otway. ' If so,
it was in January last — January the 18th, to be
exact.'
'But '
'I mean the date of the inquest. The paper
would be next morning's— Wednesday the 19th.'
Otway went on in a curious level voice, as though
spelling the information for them out of the
lamplight on the table.
Barham stared. 'But ' he began again—
'but how, sir?'
Polkinghorne, who also had stared for a moment,
broke in with a laugh. 'The CO. is pulling your
leg, Sammy. He tore off the top of your paper-
it was lying around all this morning— noted the
i 4 FOE-FARRELL
date and thought he might safely make a pipe-
spill.'
'That won't do/ retorted Barham, still searching
Otway's face on which there seemed to rest a
double shadow. 'For when I turned it out of my
valise this morning I carefully looked for the date
— I'll swear I did — and it was missing.'
'Then you tore the thing in unpacking, and
the CO. picked up the scrap you overlooked.
Isn't that the explanation, sir?'
'No,' said Otway after a pause, still as if he
spoke under control of a muted pedal. He checked
himself, apparently on the point of telling more;
but the pause grew into a long silence.'
Barham tried back. 'January, you said, sir?
. . . and now we're close upon the end of
October '
He could get nothing out of the C.O.'s eyes,
which were bent on the table; and little enough
could he read in his face, save that it was sombre
with thought and at the same time abstracted to
a degree that gave the boy a sudden uncanny
feeling. It was like watching a man in the travail
of second sight, and all the queerer because he
had never seen an expression even remotely
resembling it on the face of this hero of his, of
whose praise he filled his home-letters — 'One of
the best : never flurried : and, what's more, you
never catch him off his game by any chance.'
Otway's jaw twitched once, very slightly. He
put out a hand to pick up his pen and resume
PROLOGUE 15
writing; but in the act fell back into the brown
study, the trance, the rapt gaze at a knot in the
woodwork of the table. His hand rested for a
moment by the ink-pot around which his fingers
felt, like a blind man's softly making sure of its
outline and shape. He withdrew it to his tunic-
pocket, pulled out pipe and tobacco-pouch and
began to fill. . . .
At this point came in young Yarrell-Smith.
Young Yarrell-Smith wore a useful cloak — French
cavalry pattern — of black mackintosh, with a
hood. It dripped and shone in the lamplight.
'Beastly night/ he announced to the company
in general and turned to report to Otway, who
had sat up alert on the instant.
'Yes,' quoted Otway,
' thou comest from thy voyage —
Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair.
That's Matthew Arnold, if the information conveys
anything to you. Everything quiet ? '
'Quite quiet, sir, for the last twenty minutes;
and the Captain just come in and unloading. No
accidents, though they very nearly met their
match, five hundred yards down the road.'
'We heard,' said Polkinghorne.
'I tucked the Infant into his little O.P., and
left him comfy. He won't see anything there
to-night.'
'He'll think he does,' said Sammy Barham
with conviction.
16 FOE-FARRELL
'The Infant is quite a good Infant,' Otway
observed; and then, sinking his voice a tone,
'Lord, if at his age I'd had his sense of responsi-
bility
Barham noted the change of tone, though he
could not catch the words. Again he threw a
quick look towards his senior. Something was
wrong with him, something unaccountable. . . .
Yarrell-Smith noted nothing. ' Well, he won't see
anything to-night, sir; and if Sammy will pull
himself together and pity the sorrows of a poor
young man whose trembling knees '
'Sorry,' said Sammy, turning to the locker and
fishing forth a bottle.
' I'll tell you why,' Yarrell-Smith went
on as the tot was rilled. 'First place, the Bosch
has finished hating us for to-night and gone to
by-by. Secondly, it's starting to sleet — and that
vicious, a man can't see five yards in front of
him.'
'I love my love with a B. because he's Boschy,'
said Sammy lightly : ' I'll take him to Berlin —
or say, Bapaume to begin with — and feed him on
Substitutes. ... Do you know that parlour-game,
Yarrell dear? Are you a performer at Musical
Chairs? Were you by any chance brought up
on a book called What Shall We Do Now? The
fact is ' Sammy, who could be irreverent, but
so as never to offend, stole a look at Otway —
'we're a trifle hipped in the old log cabin. I
started a guessing-competition just now, and our
PROLOGUE 17
Commanding Officer won't play. Turn up the
reference, Polky — Ecclesiastes something-or-other.
It runs : " We are become as a skittle-alley in a
garden of cucumbers, for as much as our centurion
will not play with us."'
Otway laughed. 'And it goes on that the grass-
hopper is a burden. . . . But Y.-S. has given you
the name, just now.'
'I, sir?' Yarrell-Smith gazed, in the more
astonishment to find that Otway, after his laugh,
reaching up to trim the lamp, looked strangely
serious. ' I'm blest if I understand a word of all
this. . . . What name, sir?'
'Hate,' said Otway, dropping back into his chair
and drawing at his pipe. 'But you're warm ; as
they say in the nursery-game. Try " Foe," if
you prefer it.'
' Oh, I see ! ' protested Yarrell-Smith, after a
bewildered look around. 'You've all agreed to
be funny with a poor orphan that has just come
in from the cold.'
Barham paid no heed to this. ' " Foe " might be
the name of a man. It's unusual. . . . But what
was the Johnny called who wrote Robinson
Crusoe} '
'It was the name of a man/ answered Otway.
'This man?' Barham tapped his finger on the
newspaper.
Otway nodded.
'The man the inquest was held on?'
'That— or the other.' Otway looked around
18 FOE-FARRELL
at them queerly. 'I think the other. But upon
my soul I won't swear.'
'The other? You mean the stranger — the man
who interrupted '
At this point Yarrell-Smith sank upon a locker.
'I beg your pardon, all of you,' he moaned help-
lessly; 'but if there's such a thing about as First
Aid '
'Sammy had better read you this thing he's
unearthed,' said Polkinghorne kindly.
Barham picked up the newspaper.
'No, you don't,' Otway commanded. 'Put it
down. ... If you fellows don't mind listening,
I'll tell you the story. It's about Hate; real Hate,
too; not the Bosch variety.
NIGHT THE FIRST
JOHN FOE
John Foe and I entered Rugby together at fourteen,
and shared a study for a year and a term. Pretty
soon he climbed out of my reach and finally reached
the Sixth. I never got beyond the Lower Fifth,
having no brains to mention. Cricket happened
to be my strong point; and when you're in the
Eleven you can keep on fairly level terms with a
push man in the Sixth. So he and I were friends —
'Jack' and 'Roddy' to one another — all the way
up. We went through the school together and
went up to Cambridge together.
He was a whale at Chemistry (otherwise Stinks),
and took a Tancred Scholarship at Caius. I had
beaten the examiners in Little-go at second shot,
and went up in the same term, to Trinity; where
I played what is called the flannelled fool at cricket
— an old-fashioned game which I will describe to
you one of these days '
'Cricket? But I thought you rowed, sir?' put in
Yarr ell-Smith. Yes, surely '
' Husk I tread softly,' Bar ham interrupted. 'Our
Major won't mind your not knowing he was a double
Blue — don't stare at him like that; it's rude. But he
will not like it forgotten that he once knocked up
19
20 FOE-FARRELL
a century, for England v. Australia. . . . You'll
forgive our young friend, sir; he left school early,
when the war broke out.'
Otway looked across at Yarrell-Smith with a twinkle.
'I took up rowing in my second year' he explained
modestly, 'to enlarge my mind. And this story, my
good Sammy, is not about me — though I come into it
incidentally because by a pure fluke I happened to
set it going. All the autobiography that's wanted for
our present purpose is that I went up to Trinity
College, Cambridge, in the footsteps (among others)
of Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton, and — well, you
see the result. May I go on ? '
But although they were listening, Otway did not
at once go on. Sammy had spoken in his usual light
way and yet with something of a pang in his voice,
and something of a transient cloud still rested on the
boy's face. Otway noted it, and understood. When
the war broke out, Sammy had been on the point of
going up to Oxford. . . .
Before the cloudlet passed, Otway had a vision
behind it, though the vision came from his own brain,
out of his own memory — a vision of green turf and of
boys in white on it, a small regiment set orderly against
a background of English elms, and moving orderly,
intent on the game of games.
O thou, that dear and happy Isle,
The garden of the world erstwhile. . . .
Unhappy ! shall we never more
That sweet militia restore? —
JOHN FOE 21
Snatches of an old parody floated in his brain with
the vision — a parody of Walt Whitman —
Far off a gray-brown thrush warbling in hedge or
in marsh;
Down there in the blossoming bushes, my brother,
what is that you are saying? . . .
The perfect feel of a 'fourer' ! . . .
The jubilant cry from the flowering thorn to the
flowerless willow, 'smite, smite, smite/
(Flowerless willow no more but every run a late-
shed perfect bloom.)
The fierce chant of my demon brother issuing forth
against the demon bowler, 'hit him, hit him,
hit him.'
The thousand melodious cracks, delicious cracks,
the responsive echoes of my comrades and the
hundred thence-resulting runs, passionately
yearned for, never, never again to be forgotten.
Overhead meanwhile the splendid silent sun, blend-
ing all, fusing all, bathing all in floods of soft
ecstatic perspiration.
Otway lifted his stare from the rough table.
They have skinned the turf off Trinity cricket-
ground. . . . Such turf, too ! I wonder who bought
it, and what he paid for it. . . . They have turned
the field into a big Base Hospital — all tin sheds,
like a great kraal of scientific Kaffirs. Which
reminds me . . .
22 FOE-FARRELL
Foe read medicine. Caius, you must know, is
a great college for training doctors, and in the way
of scholarships and prizes he annexed most of the
mugs on the board. All the same I want you to
understand that he wasn't a pot-hunter. I don't
quite know how to explain. . . . His father had
died while he was at Rugby, leaving him a com-
petence; but he certainly was not over-burdened
with money. Of that I am sure. . . . Can't say
why. He never talked of his private affairs, even
with me, though we were friends, 'Jack' and
' Roddy ' to each other still, and inhabited lodgings
together in Jesus Lane. He owed money to no one.
Unsociable habit, I used to call it; destructive of
confidence between man and man.
But he was no pot-hunter. I think — I am sure
— that so long as he kept upsides with money he
rather despised it. He had a handsome face —
rather curiously like the pictures you see of Dante
— and his mind answered to it, up to a point.
Fastidious is the word, . . . gave you the im-
pression he had attached himself to Natural Science
much as an old Florentine attached himself to
theology or to classics, with a kind of cold passion.
The queerest thing about him was that any-
thing like 'intellectual society,' as they call it,
bored him stiff. Now you may believe it or not,
but I've always had a kind of crawling reverence
for things of the mind, and for men who go in for
'em. You can't think the amount of poetry, for
instance, I've read in my time, just wondering
JOHN FOE 23
how the devil it was done. But it's no use; it
never was any use, even in those days. No man
of the kind I wanted to worship could ever take me
seriously. I remember once being introduced
to a poet whose stuff I knew by heart, almost
every line of it, and when I blurted out some silly
enthusiasm — sort of thing a well-meaning Philistine
does say, don't you know? — he put the lid down
on me with 'Now, that's most interesting. I've
often wondered if what I write appealed to one of
your — er — interests, and if so, how.'
Well that's where I always felt Foe could help.
And yet he didn't help very much. He read a
heap of poetry — on the sly, as it were; and one
night I coaxed him off to a talk about Browning.
His language on the way home was three-parts
blasphemy.
Am I making him at all clear to you? He kept
his intellect in a cage all to itself, so to speak. . . .
What's more — and you'll see the point of this
by-and-by — he liked to keep his few friends in
separate cages. I won't say he was jealous : but
if he liked A and B, it was odds he'd be uneasy at
A's liking B, or at any rate getting to like him
intimately.
This secretiveness had its value, to be sure. It
gave you a sense of being privileged by his friend-
ship. . . . Or, no; that's too priggish for my
meaning. Foe wasn't a bit of a prig. It was only
because he had, on his record already, so much
brains that the ordinary man who met him in my
24 FOE-FARRELL
rooms was disposed to wonder how he could be so
good a fellow. Get into your minds, please, that he
was a good fellow, and that no one doubted it; of
the sort that listens and doesn't speak out of his turn.
He had a great capacity for silence; and it's
queer to me — since I've thought over it — what a
large share of our friendship consisted in just sitting
up into the small hours and smoking, and saying
next to nothing. / talked, no doubt : Foe didn't.
I shall go on calling him Foe. He was Jack to me,
always; but Foe suits better with the story; and
besides . . well, I suppose there's always some-
thing in friendship that one chooses to keep in
a cage. . . . The only cage-mate that Jack — I
mean Foe — ever allowed me was Jimmy Caldecott,
and that happened after we had both moved to
London.
He — Foe — had taken a first-class in the Tripos,
of course; and a fellowship on top of that. But
he did not stay up at Cambridge. He put in the
next few years at different London hospitals,
published some papers on the nervous system
of animals, got appointed Professor of Animal
Morphology, in the South London University
College (the Silversmith's College) and might wake
up any morning to find himself a Fellow of the
Royal Society. He was already — I am talking of
1907, when the tale starts — a Corresponding Member
of three or four learned Societies in Europe and
the U.S.A., and had put a couple of honorary
doctorates to his account besides his Cambridge D.Sc.
JOHN FOE 25
As for me, I had rooms at first in Jermyn Street,
then chambers in the Inner Temple — my father,
who had been Chairman of Quarter Sessions, hold-
ing the opinion that I ought to read for the Bar,
that I might be better qualified in due time to deal
out local justice down in Warwickshire. I read a
little, played cricket a good deal, stuck out three or
four London Seasons, travelled a bit, shot a bit in
East Africa (Oh, I forgot to say I'd put in a year
in the South African War); climbed a bit, in
Switzerland, and afterwards in the Himalayas;
come home to write a paper for the Geographical
Society; got bitten with Socialism and certain
Fabian notions, and put in some time with an
East-End Settlement besides attending many
crowded and unsavoury public meetings to urge
what was vaguely known as Betterment. When I
took courage and made a clean breast of my new
opinions to my father, the old man answered very
composedly that he too had been a Radical in his
time, and had come out of it all right. ... By all
means let me go on with my spouting : capital
practice for public life : hoped I should take my
place one of these days in the County Council at
home : wouldn't even mind seeing me in Parlia-
ment, etc. — all with the wise calm of one who has
passed his six-score years and ten, found the world
good, made it a little better, hunted his own harriers
and learnt, long since, every way in w r hich hares
run. So I returned and somehow found myself
pledged to compete as a Progressive for the next
f.f. c
26 FOE-FARRELL
London County Council — for a constituency down
Bethnal Green way. In all this, you see, my orbit
and Foe's wouldn't often intersect. But we dined
together on birthdays and other occasions. One year
I took him down to the Derby, on the ground that
it was part of a liberal education. In the paddock
he nodded at a horse in blinkers and said, 'What's
the matter with that fellow?' 'St Amant,' said I,
and began to explain why Hayhoe had put blinkers
on him. 'Where does he stand in the betting?'
asked Foe. 'Why, man,' said I, 'at 5 to 1. You
can't risk good money on a horse of that temper.
I've put mine on the French horse over there —
Gouvernant — easy favourite — 7 to 4 on.' 'Oh,'
said he, in a silly sort of way, ' I thought St Amant
might be your French horse — it's a French name
isn't it? . . . As for your Gouvernant, I advise
you to run for your life and hedge : the animal is
workir^ up for a stage flight. A touch more and
he's dished before the flag drops. Now, whether
the blinkers have done it or not, that St Amant
is firm as a rock.' 'How the devil ' I began.
'That's a fine horse, too, over yonder,' he said,
pointing one out with his umbrella. ' John o' Gaunt/
said I: 'rn.n second to St Amant for the Guineas,
and second to Henry the First in the Newmarket,
with St Amant third. The running has been all
in-and-out, this season. But how the devil you
spotted him, when I didn't know you could tell a
horse's head from his stern ' 'I don't profess
to much more,' said Foe; 'but it's my job to read
JOHN FOE 27
an animal's eye, and what he's fit for by the quiver
under his skin. Now, I'd only a glimpse of St
Amant's eye, across his blinkers, and your John o*
Gaunt is a stout one — inclined, you tell me, to run
in second place. But if your money's on Gouver-
nant, hurry while there's time and set it right.
If you've thirty seconds to spare when you've done
that,' he added, 'you may put up a tenner for me
on St Amant — but don't bother. Your book may
want some arranging.'
The way he said it impressed me, and I fairly
shinned back to the Ring. I hadn't made my book
on any reasoned conviction, you understand; for
the horses had been playing at cat's-cradle all along,
and as I went it broke on me that, after all, my
faith in Gouvernant mainly rested on my knowing
less of him than of the others — that I was really
going with the crowd. But really I was running to
back a superstition — my belief in Foe, who knew
nothing about horse-racing and cared less.
Well, the race was run that year in a thunderstorm
— a drencher; and if Foe was right, I guess that
finished Gouvernant, who never looked like a
winner. St Amant romped home, with John o'
Gaunt second, in the place he could be trusted for.
Thanks to Foe I had saved myself more than a pony
in three strenuous minutes, and he pocketed his
few sovereigns and smiled.
That also was the day — June 1st, 1904 — 'Glori-
ous First of June' as Jimmy Collingwood called
it — that Foe first made Jimmy's acquaintance.
28 FOE-FARRELL
Young Collingwood was a neighbour of mine, down
in the country; an artless, irresponsible, engaging
youth, of powerful build and as pretty an oarsman
and as neat a waterman as you could watch. Eton
and B.N.C. Oxford were his nursing mothers. His
friends (including the dons) at this latter house of
learning knew him as the Malefactor; it being a
tradition that he poisoned an aunt or a grandparent
annually, towards the close of May. He was
attending the obsequies of one that afternoon on
the edge of the hill, in a hansom, with a plate of
foie gras on his knees and a bottle of champagne
between his ankles. His cabby reclined on the
turf with a bottle of Bass and the remains of a
pigeon pie. His horse had its head in a nose-bag.
' Hallo, Jimmy ! ' I hailed, pausing before the
pastoral scene. 'Funeral bake-meats?'
' Hallo ! ' Jimmy answered, and shook his head very
solemnly. 'Sister-in-law this time. It had to be.'
' Sister-in-law ! Why, you haven't one ! '
'Course not/ said Jimmy. 'That's the whole
trouble. Ain't I breaking it to you gently? . . .
Case of angina pectoris, if you know what that
means. It sounds like a pick-me-up — " try Angos-
tura bitters to keep up your Pecker." But it
isn't. Angina — long i; I know because I tried
it on the Dean with a short one and he corrected
me. He said that angma might be forgiven, for
once, in a young man bereaved and labouring under
strong emotion, but that if I apprehended its
running in the family I had better get the quantity
JOHN FOE 29
right. He also remarked rather pointedly that he
hoped his memory was at fault and that my poor
brother hadn't really lost his deceased wife's sister.'
'Do you know where bad boys go? ' I asked him.
'Silly question,' said Jimmy, with his mouth full
oifoie gras. 'Why, to the Derby, of course. Have
something to eat.'
I told him that we had lunched, introduced him
to Foe as the Malefactor, and invited him to come
back and dine with us at Princes before catching
the late train for Oxford. He answered that fate
always smiled on him at these funerals, paid off
his cabby, and joined us.
Our dinner that evening was a brilliant success;
and we left it to drive to Paddington to see the
boy off. He had dropped a few pounds over the
Derby but made the most of it up by a plunge on
the last race : ' and what with your standing me a
dinner, I'm all up on the day's working and that
cheerful I could kiss the guard.' He wasn't in the
least drunk, either; but explained to me very
lucidly., on my taxing him with his real offence —
cutting Oxford for a day when, the Eights being
a short week off, he should have been in strict
training — that all the strength of the B.N.C. boat
that year lying on stroke side (he rowed at 'six'),
one might look on a Peche Melba and a Corona
almost in the light of a prescription. 'Friend of
my youth,' he added — addressing me, 'and' —
addressing Foe — prop, sole prop, of my declining
years — as you love me, be cruel to be kind and
30 FOE-FARRELL
restrain me when I show a disposition to kiss yon
bearded guard.'
As the tail of the train swung out of the station
Foe said meditatively, 'I like that boy.' . . . And
so it w r as. That autumn, when Jimmy Collingwood,
having achieved a pass degree — 'by means,' as he
put it, 'only known to myself — came up to share
my chambers and read for the Bar, he and Foe
struck up a warm affection. For once, moreover,
Foe broke his habit of keeping his friends in
separate cages. He was too busy a man to join
us often; but when we met we were the Three
Musketeers.
My father died in the Autumn of 1906; and this
kept me down in the country until the New Year;
although he had left his affairs as straight as a
balance-sheet. Death duties and other things.
. . . His account-books, note-books, filed references
and dockets; his diaries kept, for years back, with
records of rents and tithe-charges, of farms duly
visited and crops examined field by field; appraise-
ments of growing timber, memoranda for new
plantings, queer charitable jottings about his
tenants, their families, prospects, and ways to
help them; all this tally, kept under God's eye by
one who had never suffered man to interfere with
him, gave my Radicalism a pretty severe jerk.
You see, here, worked out admirably in practice,
was the rural side of that very landlordism which
I had been denouncing up and down the East-End.
JOHN FOE 31
The difference was plain enough, of course; but
when you worked down to principle, it became for
me a pretty delicate difference to explain. I was
pledged, however, to return to London after Christ-
mas and run (as Jimmy Collingwood put it) for
those Bethnal Green Stakes: and in due time — that's
to say, about the middle of January — up I came.
I won't bore you with my political campaign.
One day in the middle of it Jimmy said, ' To-night's
a night off, and we're dining with Jack Foe down
in Chelsea. Eight o'clock : no theatre afterwards :
'no band, no promenade, no nozzing.' We've
arranged between us to give your poor tired brain
a rest.'
'When you do happen to be thoughtful,' said I,
'you might give me a little longer warning. As it
is, I made a half-promise yesterday, to speak for
that man of ours, Farrell, across the water.'
'No, you don't,' said Jimmy. 'Who's Farrell?
Friend of yours ? '
'Tottenham Court Road,' I said. 'Only met
him yesterday.'
'What? Peter Farrell's Hire System? . . . And
you met him there, in the Tottenham Court Road
— by appointment, I suppose, with a coy carnation
in your buttonhole. "A bad young baronet, un-
married, intellectual, with a craving for human
sympathy, on the Hire System " '
'Don't be an ass, Jimmy,' said I. 'He's a Pro-
gressive, and they tell me his seat's dicky.'
'They mostly are in the Tottenham Court Road/
32 FOE-FARRELL
said Jimmy. 'But if you've made half a promise,
I was a week ahead of you with a whole one. We
dine with Jack Foe.'
The night was a beast. Foe's flat, high up on a
block overlooking the Chelsea embankment, fairly
rocked under squalls of a cross-river wind. He
had moved into these new quarters while I was
down in Warwickshire, and the man who put in
the windows had scamped his job. The sashes
rattled diabolically. Now that's just the sort of
thing he'd have asked me to see to before he in-
stalled himself, if I had been up at the time : or,
rather, I should have seen to it without being
asked. That kind of noise never affected him : he
could just withdraw himself into his work and
forget it. But different noises get on different
men's nerves, and, next to the scratching of a slate-
pencil, a window on the rattle or the distant slam-
slam of a door left ajar makes me craziest. You'd
think a man out here would get accustomed to
anything in the way of racket. Not a bit of it !
Home on leave those particular sounds rasp me
as badly as ever. . . . Moreover I have rather an
eye for scamped carpentry: learned it off my father,
going about the property with him. His own eye
was a hawk's for loose fences, loose slates, badly-
hung gates, even a broken sash-cord.
Foe's notions of furnishing, too, had always
been bleak. He had hung his few pictures in the
wrong places, and askew at that. He understood
JOHN FOE 33
dining, though, and no doubt the dinner was good,
though I gave very little attention to it.
' Otty's hipped to-night/ said Collingwood, over the
coffee. ' Politics are all he can talk in these days
Wake up. Otty, and don't sit thinking out a speech.'
I woke up. ' I don't need to think out a speech/
said I. 'After a fortnight's campaigning a fellow
can make speeches in his sleep/
'That's just what you're doing; and my fear is,
you'll stand up presently and make one in ours.'
'I'm sorry, Jack/ I apologised. 'Fact is, I'm
worried by a half-promise I made to your man
Farrell, over the river '
'My man Farrell?' says Foe. 'Farrell? . . .
Farrell? . . . Never heard of him. Who's Farrell? '
'Never heard of him? . . . Why, Farrell's
our candidate over there ! . . . Your candidate;
because, if elected, he'll represent you; because
your College and — if you choose to narrow it down
— your own laboratories and lecture-rooms — will
belong to his constituency. The rates on your
buildings, the trams that bring your poorer students,
the public money that pays their scholarships '
'My dear Roddy/ he broke in. 'You know that
I never could get up an interest in politics. As for
local politics '
That fired me up at once. ' Pretty silly sneer, that !
Doesn't there lurk, somewhere down in your con-
sciousness, some sense of belonging to the first city
in the world? . . . Oh, yes, you use it, fast enough,
whenever you go back to Cambridge and play the
34 FOE-FARRELL
condescending metropolitan in Combination Room.
There, seventy minutes from Liverpool Street,
you pose — yes, pose, Jack — as the urbane man,
Horatius Flaccus life-size; whereas your job as a
citizen is confined to cursing the rates, swearing
if a pit in the wood pavement jolts you on the way
home from the theatre, supposing it's somebody's
business, supposing there's graft in it, and talking
superciliously of Glasgow and Birmingham, pro-
vincial towns, while you can't help to cheapen the
price of a cabbage in Covent Garden ! '
'Dear Roddy,' Foe answered — very tolerantly,
I'll admit — 'you'll get elected, to a dead certainty.'
'Oh, I'm all right,' said I, cooling down. 'Wish
I could be so sure of your man Farrell, across the
bridge.'
'Farrell?'
'That's his name. . . . Think you'll be able to
remember it ? '
Here Jimmy dropped the ash of his cigar into
his coffee-cup and chipped in judiciously.
'Otty has the right of it, Professor — though we
shall have to cure him of his platform style. Some-
body has to look after this country and look after
London; and if you despise the fellows who run
the show, then it's up to you, my intellectuals, to
come in and do the business better. But you
won't. It bores you. " Oh, go away — can't you
see I'm busy? I've got a malignant growth here,
potted in a glass bottle with a diet of sterilised fat
and an occasional whisky-and-soda, and we're
JOHN FOE
to
sitting around until the joker develops D.T. He's
an empyema, from South America, fully-grown
male '"
' Heavens alive ! *
1 1 dare say I haven't the exact name/ coniessed
Jimmy. ' Fact is, I happened on it in the dictionary
when I was turning up " Empiricist in a bit of a
hurry. Some Moderate fellow down at Bethnal
Green had called Otty in one of his speeches " an
ignorant empiricist "; so naturally I had to look
up the word. I'd a hope it meant something con-
nected with Empire-building, and then Otty could
have scored off him. But apparently it doesn't.'
' Are you sure ? ' asks Foe.
' Well, I used the dictionary they keep at Boodles,
not having one of my own. If you tell me it's not
up-to-date, I'll write something sarcastic in the
Complaint-Book.'
Foe dropped the end of his cigar into the ash-
tray and pushed back his chair. 'Well, said he,
'it's about time we got into our coats, eh? '
'My dear fellow ' I began. 'You don't tell
us ' I began again.
He understood, of course. What he said was,
'The late Mr Gladstone, they tell me, used to
address Queen Victoria as if she were a public
meeting. She complained that she didn't like it
. . . and anyway, if you two can't help it, I can't
help the acoustic defects of this flat. . . . Some
more brandy ? You'd better. It's a beast of a night ;
but your faithful dog shall bear you company.'
NIGHT THE SECOND
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS
Foe's man, after whistling ten minutes or so for a
taxi, returned upstairs, powdered with sleet. There
wasn't, he said, so much as a four-wheeler crawling
in the street. We went down and waited in the
hall while he whistled again.
'Where is this show of yours being held?' Foe
asked, after a bit.
' In the Baths/ I told him, 'just across the bridge.
Yes, actually in the great Swimming Bath. . . .
You needn't be afraid, though. They drain it.'
'I don't care if they omitted that precaution,'
said he. 'This is an adventure, and I'm for taking
it in the proper spirit. Let's walk.'
He pushed back the catch of the lock. The door
burst open, hurling him back against the wall, as
his man came flying through, fairly projected into
our arms by the pressure of wind in the porch.
'Make up the fire, put out the whisky, and go to
bed,' Foe bawled at him. 'Eh? . . . Yes, that's
all right; I have my latch-key.'
I couldn't have expostulated if I'd wanted to.
The wind filled my mouth. We butted out after
him into the gale, Jimmy turning in the doorway
to let out a skirling war-whoop — 'just to brace up
36
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 37
the flat-dwellers,' he explained afterwards. ' I
wanted to tell 'em that St George was for Merry
England, but there wasn't time.'
We didn't say much on the way. The wind
took care of that. On the bridge we had to claw
the parapet to pull ourselves along; and just as
we won to the portico of the Baths there came a
squall that knocked us all sideways. Foe and
Jimmy cast their arms about one pillar, I clung to
another; and the policeman, who at that moment
shot his lantern upon us from his shelter in the
doorway, pardonably mistook our condition. He
advised us — as a friend, if he might say so — to go
home quietly.
'But there's a public meeting inside,' said I.
'There might be, or there might not be,' he
allowed. 'It's a thin one anyway. You'll get no
fun out of it.'
'And I am due to make a speech there,' I went
on. 'That's to say, they want me to propose or
second a vote of thanks or something of the sort.'
'If I was you, sir,' advised the constable, kind-
ness itself, ' I wouldn't, however much they wanted
it.'
I gave him my card. He held it close under the
ray of his bull's-eye and altered his manner with a
jerk. 'Begging your pardon, Sir Roderick '
'Not at all,' I asured him. 'Most natural mistake
in the world. If there's a side entrance, now, near
the platform '
He led us up a gusty by-street and tapped for
38 FOE-FARRELL
us on the side door. It was opened at once, though
cautiously, by a little frock-coated man ornamented
with a large blue-and-white favour. After an
instant's parley he received us obsequiously, and
the constable pocketed our blessing.
'Of course,' he said by way of Good-night, 'I
knew from the first I was dealing with gentlemen.
I made no mistake about that.'
The little steward admitted us to a sort of lobby
or improvised cloak-room stowed somewhere beneath
the platform. While helping us off with our coats
he told us that the audience was satisfactory
'considering the weather/ 'A night like this isn't
calculated to fetch out doubtfuls.'
'It has fetched out one, anyhow,' said I. 'This
is Professor Foe, of your University College.'
'Greatly honoured, sir, I am sure!' The little
man bowed to Foe, and turned again to me : ' Your
friends, Sir Roderick, will accompany you on the
platform, of course. Shall we go in at once? Or
— at this moment Mr Jenkinson is up. He has
been speaking for twenty minutes.'
' and has just started his peroration,' said
I; for though it came muffled through the boarding,
I had recognised Mr Jenkinson's voice, and the
oration to which in other parts of London I had
already listened twice. I could time it. 'There's
no hurry,' I said. 'Jenkinson — good man, Jenkin-
son — has finished with the tram-service statistics,
and will now for a brief two minutes lift the whole
question on to a higher plane. Then he'll sit
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 39
down, and that's where we'll slip in, covered by the
thunder of applause.'
He divided a grin between us and a couple of
assistants who had been hanging up our coats and
now came forward.
'To tell you the truth, Sir Roderick, our candi-
date wants strengthening a bit, for platform purposes;
though they tell me he's improving steadily. The
kinder of you to come, sir, and help us. As for
Jenkinson, he's the popular pet over here, as a
speaker or when he comes across to play at the
Oval. As a cricketer yourself, Sir Roderick, you'll
know what Jenkinson does with his summer ? '
'Certainly,' said I. 'Being on the Committee of
the M.C.C. '
'You don't mean to say that it's Jenko?'
Jimmy chipped in. 'You don't tell me it's our
long left and left-handed Jenko, that has bowled
me at the nets a hundred times? — alas, poor Jenko ! '
'Why, of course it is,' said I. 'Didn't you know?
. . . How the deuce else do you suppose that a
cricket pro. supports himself daring the winter?'
' I'd never thought of that,' said Jimmy. ' One half
of the world never knows how the other half lives.'
'Well,' said I, 'that's Jenkinson's winter occupa-
tion — public oratory — advocacy of social and muni-
cipal reform — mostly on Fabian lines. The man's
honest, mind you. . . . But he's finishing. . . .
Come along ! Are you for the platform, Jack ? '
' Not if I can sit somewhere at your feet and look
up at you,' said Foe. 'I'm not at all certain that
4 o FOE-FARRELL
I approve of your candidate, either, or his political
platform '
'Our Mr Farrell, Professor? Oh, surely! '
the little steward expostulated; 'But maybe you've
never made Mr Farrell's acquaintance, sir?'
'Never set eyes on him, to my knowledge,' Foe
assured him.
'Then, Professor — if I may make bold to say so
— it's impossible to disapprove of Mr Farrell. He's
a bit what-you-might-call opportunist in his views;
but, for the gentleman himself, he wouldn't hurt
a fly — n ot a headache in a hogshead of him, as the
saying goes. . . . Certainly, Sir Roderick, if you're
ready. .. . Mr Byles, here, will conduct . the
Professor to a chair close under the platform. We
usually keep a few front seats vacant, for friends
and — er — eventualities. '
'I'm an eventuality,' said Foe.
'You'll be one of us, sir, before you've finished,
never fear !' the little steward promised genially.
We entered amid salvoes of applause, again and
again renewed. It was none of our earning nor
intended for us. Jenkinson (I was afterwards told)
had varied his peroration with a local allusion very
cleverly introduced. They probably knew him
(he said) — those, at any rate, who happened to
live near Kennington probably knew him — for one
who earned his living by a form of sport, by a mere
game, if they preferred so to call it. (Cheers.) He
was not there to defend himself, still less to defend
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 41
cricket. (Hear, hear.) He would only say that
cricket was a game which demanded some skill
and — especially when one bowled at the Oval
(loud cheers) against Surrey (cheers loud and pro-
longed) — often some endurance. (Laughter.) He
would add that cricket was a thoroughly English
game. (Renewed cheers.) 'Why do I mention
cricket to-night, sir?' — Jenkinson swung round
and demanded it of the Chairman, who hadn't a
notion. 'I mention it, sir, because players have
sometimes said to me, " Jenkinson, I wonder you
always seem to enjoy yourself at the Oval." " Why
not? " says I; " the crowd's friendly and the pitch
perfect." " That's just it," they say; " perfect
to break a bowler's heart." " Never you mind," I
answers : " Tom Jenkinson, when he gets into
Surrey, isn't out for averages."' (Can't you hear
the cheers at that?) '" He's out for fine art and a
long day at it in pleasant surroundings : and," I
winds up, " if you reckon I sometimes take a while,
down there, to bowl a man out, just you wait till I
come down and help to bowl a man in ! " Your
servant, Mr Farrell ! '
Neat, eh? Well, we made our entrance right on
top of it : and though the great Bath was no more
than three-parts full, you couldn't see a vacant
seat, the audience rocked so.
Now I must tell you a queer thing. . . . You
know what it feels like when you're talking away
easily, maybe laughing, and all of a sudden the
Bosch puts in one that you feel means business?
f.f. d
42 FOE-FARRELL
Something in the sound of the devil makes you
scatter. . . . Well, I can't explain it, but through
the noise of the stamping, hand-clapping, cheering,
all of a sudden and without rhyme or reason, I
seemed to hear the shriek of something distant,
sinister, menacing. . . . Oh, I'm not an imagina-
tive fellow. Very likely it was a note set up by
the wind outside. I can't even swear that I heard
it; sort of took it down my spine. Shrill it was for
a moment — something between a child's wail and
the hiss of a snake — and, the next moment, not
shrill at all, but dull and heavy, like the flap of a
great wing beating the air, heavy with evil. . . .
Yes, that was the sense of it — heavy with evil. I
pulled up with a shiver. The Chairman was on his
feet, waiting for the applause to cease, ready to
announce the next speaker. The little steward
touched him by the arm; he wheeled about and
shook my hand effusively as I was introduced.
' Delighted ! Flattered ! ' he said, and shook me
by the hand. The shiver went out of me : but it
took something out of me at the same time. I had
a most curious feeling of depression as I found my
place. ... I looked about for Foe, and spotted
him. They had given him a chair close under the
platform, a little to my right. He had taken his
seat and was scanning the platform attentively.
The arc-light shone down on his face, and showed
it white, bewildered, a trifle strained. . . . But
this may have been no more than my fancy.
The Chairman asked for silence. He was a
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 43
bald-headed small man of no particular points and
(as Jimmy whispered) seemed to feel his position
acutely. He said that, whatever their personal
differences, they would all agree that Mr Jenkinson's
speech had uplifted them above ordinary politics.
He had felt himself— speaking not as their Chair-
man but as a private individual — or, in other words,
as a man — uplifted into a higher plane, and he
would now call upon their respected candidate, Mr
Farrell, to address the meeting.
Mr Farrell stepped forward. I must try to tell
you what Mr Farrell looked like, because it belongs
to the story. . . . You'll find that it becomes
pretty important.
He was of medium height and carried a belly.
Later on, when I came to know him, I heard him
refer to it as his 'figure' and say that exercise was
good for it. I don't know about that : but he
certainly was given exercise to reduce it, later
on. . . . He could not have been ashamed of it
either, just yet : for it was clothed in front with
sealskin and festooned with two loops of gold chain.
Two or three locks of hair, cultivated to a great
length and plastered by means of pomade across
his cranium concealed a certain poverty of under-
growth thereabouts; while a pair of whiskers,
sandy in colour and stiff in texture, and a clean-
shaven upper lip and chin, threw out a challenge
that Mr Peter Farrell could grow hair if and where
he chose. His eyes bulged like gooseberries. They
were colourless, and lustreless in comparison with
44 FOE-FARRELL
the diamond pin in his neckcloth. His frock-coat
and pepper-and-salt trousers were of superfine
material and flashy cut. They fitted him like a
skin in all the wrong places. Get it into your
heads — Here was a prosperous reach-me-down
person of the sort you will find on any political
platform, standing for Parliament or seconding a
vote of thanks.
He was not in the least bumptious. He began very
nervously with a carefully-prepared Shakesperean
quotation — "'I am no orator as Brutus is,"' in
compliment to Jenkinson. Then he gave me a lift.
He said that my presence there was a proof, if proof
were needed, of the solidarity — he would repeat
the word — of the solidarity existing in the Pro-
gressive ranks. He was sure — he might even say,
confident— that this graceful act on the part of the
right honourable baronet (as he chose to call me)
would give the lie to certain reports — hints, rather
— emanating from certain quarters which called
themselves newspapers. He would not soil his
mouth by giving them their true name, which was
Rags. ' We are all solid here,' announced Mr Farrell,
and was answered with applause.
After this spirited opening he consulted a sheaf
of notes, and was straightway mired in a plough-
land of tramway finance and sticky statistics.
After ten minutes of this he turned a furrow, so
to speak, and zig-zagged off into Education 'Pro-
vided' and 'Non-Provided,' lunging and floundering
with the Church Catechism and the Rate- Book
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 45
until I dare say his audience mistook the two for
one single composition.
'Poor old Jack ! ' I thought. 'This will be boring
him stiff.' . . . And with that I sat up of a sudden,
listening. Sure as fate I heard the damned thing
coming . . . coming . . .
'This brings me,' said Mr Farrell, 'to the subject
of Grants — Grants from the Imperial Exchequer
and Special Grants from the London County Council
to certain University Colleges, of which you have
one in your midst ' It was at this point that
I sat up.
' I may claim,' went on Mr Farrell, 'to be no foe
of Higher Education. I am all for the advancement
of Science. In my own way of business I have
frequently had occasion to consult scientific experts,
and have derived benefit — practical benefit — from
their advice. I freely own it. What's more, ladies
and gentlemen, I am all for Research, provided
you keep it within limits.
'What do I mean by limits? ... I have here,
in my hand, ladies and gentlemen, a document.
It is signed by a number of influential persons,
including several ladies of title. This document
alleges — er — certain practices going on in a certain
University College not five hundred yards from
where I stand at this moment; and it asks me what
I think of them, and if public money — your money
and mine — should be voted to encourage that and
similar forms of research '
' Great Scott ! ' groaned Jimmy, and touched my
46 FOE-FARRELL
arm. ' Otty, look at the Professor's face ! To think
we '
' I have also/ pursued Mr Farrell, ' a supplemen-
tary paper, extensively signed in the constituency,
supporting the document mentioned and asking
for a Public Enquiry; asking me if I am willing to
press for a Royal Commission. It was put into my
hands as I entered the hall; but I have no hesitation
whatever in answering that question.
'A certain Professor is mentioned — I have not
the pleasure of his acquaintance — and a certain —
er ' Mr Farrell consulted his papers — 'Labora-
tory of Physiological Research. I made my own
way in the world. But I am a n'Englishman, I
hope; and when such a document as this, influen-
tially signed, is put into my hands and an answer
demanded of me, what sort of answer do I give?
The answer I give, ladies and gentlemen, is that I
keep a spaniel at home, though not for sporting
purposes, and still less for purposes of Physiological
Research ' — Every time the ass came to these two
words he made elaborate pretence of consulting
his papers.
'Nine times out of ten this dumb friend and
dependent of mine greets me in the hall as I reach
home after a hard day's business, wagging his tail
in a way almost more than human. And when I
think of me going home to-night, with this document
— signed, as I say, by persons of title and supported
by this influential body of rate-payers— and look
into his dumb eyes and think it might happen to
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS 47
my Dash to be laid on a board in the interests of
this so-called Research, and there vivisected alive,
then I say '
'It's a lie!'
Foe was on his legs, and he fairly shouted it.
Shell-shock ? Phut ! — It exploded right at our
feet below the platform. Farrell came staggering
back, right on top of us; but the reason may have
been partly that Jimmy had reached forward, too
late, and gripped his coat-tails. Of course the
man's offence was unpardonable; but I could
hardly recognise Jack's face, so drawn it was and
twisted in white-hot hate.
There was silence while you might count five,
perhaps. The audience, taken right aback for
that space, had begun to rise and crane forward.
' Who is it ? ' — you could almost hear the question
starting to run.
Then again, for a few seconds, things happened
just as they do happen in rowdy public meetings.
While the Chairman thumped the table, Farrell
wrenched his coat-tails from Jimmy's grip and
stepped to the edge of the platform.
' Who are you ? ' he demanded. There was a queer
throaty sound in his voice; yet he held himself
(I thought) in fair control.
'My name is Foe,' came the answer. Jack was
still on his feet, his face ashen, his eyes blazing
behind his glasses. I had known him all these
years and never guessed him capable of such a
white rage. But the words came very slowly
48 FOE-FARRELL
and deliberately. 'My name is Foe. I am the
Professor with whom, just now, you said you hadn't
the pleasure to be acquainted '
' Throw him out ! ' called a voice from one of the
back rows.
I had expected that; had, as you might say,
been waiting for it. What caught me unprepared
was its instant effect on Mr Farrell.
He raised a fist and shook it. He fairly capered.
' Yes, throw him out ! Throw him out ! ' He
choked, splattered and let it out almost in a scream.
I leaned forward for a sideways sight of his face.
'Gad ! he's going to have a fit and tumble off
the platform. Stand by, Otty.' Jimmy, reaching
out a hand again for Mr Farrell's coat-tails, spoke
the warning close in my ear, for by this time twenty
or thirty voices had taken up the cry, 'Throw him
out ! ' the Chairman was hammering like mad for
Order, and there was an ugly shuffle of feet at the
far end of the hall.
' Throw him out ! Throw him out ! ' Farrell kept
screaming above the hubbub. ' How would he treat
a dog? '
'The man's demented,' said I — and with that I
heard a bench or a chair go crack like a revolver-
shot. It might have been a shot starting a sprint;
for close on top of it about a dozen fellows leapt
out into the gangway, while three or four charged
forward through the audience, where the women
had already started to scream.
There was nothing for it but prompt action.
THE MEETING AT THE BATHS
-"
Jimmy and I swung ourselves down over the front
of the platform. This gave us a fair star: oi the
aowd, but it didn't give us any time to argue with
Foe, who still stood glaring up at Farrell, :
to put in another retort as soon as he could get a
hearing. Of the danger rushing down on him eith c
he wasn't aware or he cared nothing for it. Jimmy
caught him by the waist, and grinned intelligently
as I pointed to the emergency exit around the
corner of the platform.
'Right-0 ' Hold the cur*: . ide for me. . . .
Along you come, Professor ! Be a good child ar. I
don't kick nursy . . .'
'Take him home,' said I. 'Policeman will help
if there's a row outside.'
Then I dropped the curtain on them and faced
about. The audience by this time were standing
on t aches and chairs, but of com first j
ith the who had reached the end of
the ga: . and were coming on under the I e of
the platform. They looked ugly at first, but the
job turned out to be a soft or. -.
'You wanted him turned out,' said I, 'and we've
obliged you. Rather neatly, eh? — You can't say
no to that.'
I want to laugh, and by the mercy
of Heaven some one did — some one back in the
third or fourth row. In five seconds or so quite a
lot of people were laughing and applaudi:.
'Now stand where you are,' said I, catching
hold of this advantage; 'and one of you give me a
5 o FOE-FARRELL
leg up to the platform. I'm going to propose a
vote of thanks. . . . Won't keep you standing
long. But please don't go back to your seats;
because some of the women are frightened. '
Well, they gave me a leg up, and somebody
above gave me a hand, and there I was, none the
worse, on the platform.
Farrell had collapsed in his seat by the Chairman's
table and sat with his face in his hands. The Chair-
man was paralytic. So I did the only thing that
seemed possible : started to propose a vote of
thanks. Pretty fair rubbish I must have started
with, too : but by-and-by I slipped into my own
election speech and after that it was pretty plain
sailing. You see, when a man runs for candidate,
he begins by preparing half a dozen speeches; but
by the time he's half through he has them pretty
well boiled down into one, and he can speak that
one in his sleep. After ten minutes or so I forgot
that I was moving a vote of thanks to somebody
and moved a vote of confidence instead — confidence
in Mr Farrell.
Nobody minded. Two or three speakers followed
me and moved and seconded all sorts of things at
random. We were all in a hopeless muddle, and
all quite good-humoured about it; and we wound up
by singing God Save the King I v
NIGHT THE THIRD
THE GRAND RESEARCH
The little Chairman followed me into the lobby
and thanked me effusively, while a couple of
stewards helped me into my great-coat. He threw
a meaning glance over his shoulder at Farrell, who
stood in a corner nervously winding and unwinding
a long silk comforter about his neck and throat.
He seemed to be muttering, saying something over
to himself. His face twitched— it was still red and
congested— and he kept his eyes on the floor. He
had not spoken to either of us since the meeting
dissolved. Very likely he did not see us.
'A bit rattled/ I suggested quietly.
'You may bet on that, Sir Roderick.' The
steward, who was turning up my coat-collar, said
this almost in my ear. ' You don't think, now '
He did not finish the sentence, and I faced about
on him for the rest of it. He tapped his forehead
gently.
' Oh, nonsense ! ' said I. ' He's not broken to
public life and he doesn't ruffle well, that's all; and,
after all, it isn't every man who enjoys being called
a liar to his face and before some hundreds of
people.'
'His face, sir,' the steward persisted. 'That's it;
51
52 FOE-FARRELL
you've given me the word. Did you see his face?
No, of course you didn't, for you were sitting side-
ways to him — and so was you, Mr Chairman, sir.
But I was standing by the main door when it
happened, and had him in full view, and — Well ! '
he wound up.
'Well?' said I.
He dropped his voice to a whisper almost. 'It
frightened me, sir. ... I think it must have
frightened a good few of the audience, and that's
what held the rush back and gave you and the
other gentleman time. You wouldn't think, to
look at his face now' — with a glance across at
Farrell, who was sending out to inquire if his car
had arrived, and looking at his watch (for, you'll
understand, the meeting had broken up early in
spite of my oratorical effort) — ' you wouldn't believe,
Sir Roderick, that there was anything deep in the
man. Nor perhaps there isn't. It didn't seem to
me, just for half a minute, that it was Mr Farrell
inside Mr Farrell's clothes and looking out of his
eyes.
'Then who, in the world?' I asked.
The steward gave himself a shake. 'Speak low,
sir, and don't turn round. ... I was a fool to
mention his name — folks always hear their own
names quicker than anything else. He's looking
our way, suspicious-like. . . . Now if I was to say
" Satan," or if I was to say that he was a party
possessed. — Well, anyway, Sir Roderick, I wish
we had some one else for a candidate, and I don't
THE GRAND RESEARCH 53
see myself happy, these next few days, working
on Committee for him.'
'Well, you have the advantage of me,' said I.
' You saw him full-face, whereas I had to study him
from the rear. From the rear he looked funny
enough. . . . But look here,' I went on; 'if there
were any slate loose on the man's roof, as you're
hinting, you may bet that a great Furnishing
Company in Tottenham Court Road wouldn't be
taking any risks with him as Chairman of Directors.'
'All I can say, sir,' he muttered, shaking his head,
'is that I don't like it. And, anyway, he isn't a
gentleman.'
The Chairman had left us to say good-night to
Mr Farrell, whose car was just then announced.
I went across, too, to shake hands and wish him
good luck on polling-day. As our eyes met he
started, came out of the torpor in which he had
been gazing about him, and bowed to me in best
shop- walker fashion.
' Ah, Sir Roderick ! ' he said, not very coherently.
'You must excuse me — remiss, very. Owe you
many thanks, sir — not only for coming — great
honour But saved very awkward situation.
Overwrought, sir — that's what I'm suffering from
— overstrain : not used to this sort of thing. . . .
My God, I am tired ... all of a sudden, too; so
tired you can't think. . . . Can I have the pleasure
of driving you a part of the way, Sir Roderick ? '
'Thank you, Mr Farrell,' said I. 'But you're for
Wimbledon, I believe, and I'm for Chelsea. Fact
5 4 FOE-FARRELL
is' — I ventured it on an impulse — 'I'm going to
call on that friend of mine, Professor Foe, who so
unhappily interrupted you to-night, and tell him
that he made a fool of himself.' I watched his eyes.
They were merely dull— heavy. 'You did provoke
him, you know, Mr Farrell,' I went on : ' I'm morally
certain he is guiltless ot the practices alleged in
that document of yours; and, if I can persuade him
to receive you in his laboratory and show you his
work and his methods '
By George, I had called back that look into Mr
Farrell's gooseberry eyes ! This time it lasted for
about two seconds.
'Meet him? — him? Your pardon, Sir Roderick.*
He brushed his hand over his eyes, but they were
dull again. . . . 'No, thank you' — he turned to
the Chairman—' It's only two steps to the car; I
don't want any one's arm. . . . Well, yes, I'm
obliged to you. Queer, how tired I feel. . .
Good-night, gentlemen ! '
The car purred and glided away. 'I feel a bit
uneasy about our Candidate,' said the Chairman
as we watched the rear-light turn the corner. ' He's
had a shock. . . . Well, we live in stirring times,
and one more evening's over ! '
' But it isn't ! ' I cried out on a sudden thought.
' Man, we've forgotten the reporters ! If they've
left the building the whole town will be red before
we're well out of our beauty-sleep.'
We made a plunge back for the hall and, as luck
THE GRAND RESEARCH 55
would have it, found three of the four reporters
at the table. The early close had left them ahead
of time, and two were copying out their shorthand
while the third was engaged on a pithy paragraph
or two under the headline of 'Stormy Proceedings
— A Professor Ejected. What happens to Dogs
in the Silversmiths' College?'
I won't say how we prevailed with the Fourth
Estate, except that it wasn't by bribery. The man
writing the Pithy Pars did some cricket reporting
at Lords during the summer — some of the best, too.
I was taking bread out of his mouth, and knew it.
But it had to be done, and it was done, as a favour
between gentlemen. He saw to the others. . . .
God help those people who run down Cricket !
I knocked in at Foe's flat well on the virtuous
side of midnight. Jimmy was in charge of the
patient. Foe had got into an old Caius blazer and
sat very far back in a wicker chair — lolled, in
fact, on his shoulder-pins, sucking at a pipe and
brooding.
'Give me a whisky-and-soda,' said I. 'If ever
a man has earned it ! '
'I somehow knew you'd turn up,' said Jimmy,
mixing. 'Not a scratch? Tell us/
So I told. I didn't tell all, of course. I left out
all the business in the lobby, what the steward had
said, what Farrell had said, and my traffic with the
reporters. I humped myself on my display of
oratory.
56 FOE-FARRELL
I must have thrown this — necessarily thrown
it — somewhat out of proportion.
Jimmy said, ' Rats ! I know all about Caesar's
funeral, and you couldn't do it. You can't come it
over us with your spellbound audience. What
you've done is you've kept the bridge ever since
the proud Professor and I started back, and, when
they cut it behind you, you swam the river.'
'Have it which way you like,' said I, dropping
into a chair. 'Now tell me how you two have
been getting along.'
'Our motto,' said Jimmy, 'has been Plain Living
and High Thinking. We have fleeted the time in
earnest discourse. It began on the way home with
the Professor asking me some innocent question
concerning what he called the " Science " of Ju-
Jitsu. I told him that it w r as of Japanese origin,
as its name implied, and further that he did wrong
to call it a Science; it was really an Art. I engaged
that I could prove this to him in thirty seconds,
but said I would wait until we reached home, lest
he might be trying his discovery on the Police.
This led to a discussion on the Art of Self-Defence,
in the course of which he let fall the incredible
remark that he had never been inside the National
Sporting Club.'
'Give him time,' said I. 'Jack's a methodical
worker, as every man of science should be. He'll
come to it; but, so far, his researches have been
confined to the lower animals.'
Jimmy looked puzzled. 'Eh? . . Oh, you
THE GRAND RESEARCH 57
mean politicians. Well, it occurred to me that if
he meant to attend any more political meetings,
there was no time to be lost. So '
'But I don't,' Jack growled.
Jimmy corrected himself. 'Perhaps we'd better
say, then, that I thought it well he should know
the difference between some public gatherings and
others. So we've been talking about the N.S.C.
and the Professor is under promise to visit it with
me, one night, and see how an argument ought to
be conducted.'
I lit a pipe and looked at Foe over the match.
'Jack,' said I, 'a holiday for you is indicated. With
Jimmy's leave I'm going to speak seriously for a
moment. . . . Down in the country, among other
jobs, I have to sit on an Asylum Committee : and
from the start I've been struck by the number of
officials in charge of lunatics who seem, after some
while at it, to go a bit dotty themselves. Doctors,
male attendants — it doesn't seem to affect the
women so much — even chaplains — after a time I
wouldn't give more than short odds on the com-
plete sanity of any of 'em. W T hy, even our Chair-
man ... I must tell you about our Chairman. . . .
He's old, and you may put it down to senile decay.
Before we discharge a patient, or let him out as
harmless, it's our custom to have him up before
the Committee with a relative who undertakes to
be answerable for him. Well, our Chairman, of late,
can't be trusted to tell t'other from which : and
it's pretty painful when he starts on the vacant-
f.f. E
5 8 FOE-FARRELL
looking patient and says, pointing a finger at the
astonished relative, " You see, Mr So-and-so, the
apparent condition of this poor creature. It is
with some hesitation that we have given this case
the benefit of the doubt; and we cannot hand him
over unless satisfied that you feel your responsibility
to be a grave one."'
Foe got up, smiling dourly, knocked out his pipe,
and chose a fresh one from the mantelpiece. ' You'll
make quite a good story of that, Roddy,' he said,
'with a little practice. But, as I don't work among
lunatics, what's the bearing of it?'
'You're working,' said I, '—for years now you've
been working and overworking — on these wretched
animals, and neglecting the society of your fellow-
men. You pore over animals, you probe into
animals, you're always thinking about animals;
which amounts to consorting with animals — at
their worst, too. ... I tell you, Jack, it won't
do. I've had my doubts for some time, but
to-night I'm sure of it. If you go on as you're
going, there'll be a smash, my boy.'
I was half afraid he would fly out on me. But
he lit his pipe thoughtfully, dropped the match
into the fire, and watched it burn out before he
answered.
'And I'm to consort with my fellow men, eh? —
with the sort you led me among to-night?' He
laughed harshly, with a not ill-humoured snort.
'Is that your prescription? Thank you, I prefer
my bad beasts.'
THE GRAND RESEARCH 59
'No, I said. 'After to-night it's not my prescrip-
tion. I'll give you another. I know your work, and
that your heart's in it. But ease down this term
as far as the lecture-list allows, and then at Easter
come with Jimmy and me to Wastdale and let me
teach your infant footsteps how to mountaineer.
There's nothing like a stiff climb and a summit for
purging a man's mind. . . . I've come to like
mountains ever so much better than big game.
They are the authentic gods, high and clean; they're
above desecration; the more you assail them the
more you are theirs. . . . Now there's always a
kind of lust, a kind of taint, about big-game
hunting. No harm to a man if he's in full health
— but beastliness, and menagerie smell, if he's not.'
'Mountains!' scoffs he.
'You needn't despise them,' said I. 'They're
apt to be heavenly, just before Easter, with the
snow on 'em; and Mickledore or Gable or the
Pillar from Ennerdale will easily afford you forty-
four ways of breaking your neck. ... If you're
good and can do a little trick I have in mind on
Scawfell I'll reward you by bringing you home
past a farm where they keep a couple of savage
sheep-dogs. For a good conduct prize, I have a
friend up there — a farming clergyman — who will
teach you words of cheer by introducing you to a bull
that can't pass the Board of Trade test because
he's like Lady Macbeth's hand— however you
babble to him in a green field he makes the green
one red. But these shall be special treats, you
60 FOE-FARRELL
understand, held in reserve. Most days you'll just
climb till you're tired, and your dinner shall be
mutton for three weeks on end. . . . Now, don't
interrupt. I may seem to be on the oratorical lay
to-night, but God knows I'm in earnest. If I wasn't,
I shouldn't have spoken out like this before Jimmy,
who's your friend and will back me up.'
'I might,' said Jimmy judiciously, 'if I under-
stood what you meant by all this chat about savage
animals. What is it, at all? Does the Professor
keep a menagerie? And, if so, why haven't I been
invited?'
'Why, don't you know?' I asked.
'Know what?' asked Jimmy, leaning back and
sucking at his pipe. 'Whatever it is, I probably
don't : that's what a Public School and University
education did for me. As I seem to remember
one Farrell's remarking in the dim and distant
past, for my part I never indulged in Physiological
Research — I made my own way in the world . . .'
He murmured it dreamily, and then sat up
with a start. 'Lord's sake!' he cried out. 'You
don't tell me that Farrell . . . that the Professor
actually '
'Don't be a fool,' I interrupted. 'Of course, Jack
doesn't. Jack, tell him about the Grand Research.
Enlighten his ignorance, that's a good fellow.'
'Enlighten him yourself, if you want to. You'll
tell it all wrong : but I'm tired,' declared Foe.
'Well, then,' said I, 'it's this way, dear James. . . .
You behold seated opposite to you on the right of
THE GRAND RESEARCH 61
the fireplace, and smoking the beast of a briar pipe
with the modesty of true genius, a Scientific Man—
a Savant, shall I say?— of European reputation. It
isn't quite European just yet : but it's going to be,
which is better.'
'I always prophesied it,' said Jimmy. 'What's
it going to be for ? '
'Listen,' said I. 'Having received (as you assure
us) a liberal education, either at Eton or B.N.C..
you probably made acquaintance with that beauti-
ful poem by Dr Isaac Watts beginning—
" Let dogs delight to bark and bite "
Continue the quotation, with brief notes on any
obscurities.'
'Certainly/ said Jimmy.
" Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
Tis manners so to do "
No, that sounds a bit off.
" Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For 'tis their nature toe."
'Good boy!' said I. 'Now, that's where Dr
Watts ' "
'Don't interrupt,' said Jimmy. ' It isn't manners
so to do, when I'm just getting into my stride—
62 FOE-FARRELL
" But children you should never let
Such angry passions rise :
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes . . ."
Please, I don't know any more/
'Nor need you,' I assured him, 'for, according
to Jack, it's completely out of date.'
1 'M'yes ! ' Jimmy agreed. ' But he won't get a
European reputation by discovering that. They
don't tear each other's eyes at the N.S.C., even —
it's against the rules. Come and see for yourself,
Professor.'
'Angry passions,' I went on patiently; 'envy,
hatred, and malice — especially hatred — are Jack's
special lay; the Grand Research we call it. Take
simple anger, for instance. What is it makes a
man angry?'
'Lots of things. . . . Being called a liar, for one.'
Foe took the mischief in the boy's eye, and let
out a laugh. ' I can't be angry with you, anyway.
Go on, Roddy. You're doing it quite well so far,
though I'm almost too sleepy to listen.'
'It isn't as simple as you think,' I pursued
seriously (but glad enough in my heart to have
heard Jack laugh — he wasn't given to laughter at
any time). 'All sorts of things happen inside you;
all sorts of mechanisms start working : nerves and
muscles, of course, but even in the blood-vessels
there's a change of the corpuscles as per order —
you put an insult into the slot and they do the
THE GRAND RESEARCH 63
rest The levers of the machine— the brakes,
clutches and the rest are in the forebrain : that's
where you change gear when you want to struggle
with suppressed emotion, run her slow or let her
all out : and that's what Jack means to do with
us before he has finished. Does he want us to love
or to hate?— He'll press a button and we shall do
the rest, automatically. He will call on a Foreign
Minister or an ambassador and make or avert a
European War. He will dictate '
'He's telling you the most atrocious rubbish,
cut in Foe, addressing Jimmy.
' I am suiting this explanation to the infant mind,
said I 'and Til trouble you not to interrupt. . . .
You niay or may not have heard, my dear child,
either at Eton or Oxford, that the bram has two
hemispheres ' .
'Just like the globe,' said Jimmy bnghtly.
'Aptly observed,' I congratulated him: 'though
that is perhaps no more than a coincidence. Taking
the illustration, however, if we can only eliminate
the Monroe Doctrine and work the clutch between
these tw0 _jack, you are reaching for the poker.
Don't fire, Colonel : I'll come down. . . . Revert-
ing then, to the forebrain, you have doubtless
observed that in man it is enormously larger than
in the lower animals, as in our arrogance we call
them '
'I hadn't,' said Jimmy.
' It's a fact, nevertheless/ said I. * I assure you. . . .
Well Jack, so far, has dealt only with the lower
f
]
64 FOE-FARRELL
animals. I don't say the lowest. I doubt if he
can do much with an oyster who has been crossed
in love. But by George ! you should watch him
whispering to a horse ! or, if you want something
showier, see him walk into a lion's cage with the
tamer.'
' I say, Professor ! Have you really ? ' I
knew Jimmy would sit up at this point.
'Of course he has,' said I. 'It began on a trip
we took together in Uganda, just after leaving
Cambridge. I was after lions : Jack's game was
the mosquito and other bugs. One day — oh, well,
Jack, we'll keep that story for another occasion. . . .
The long and short was, he found he had a gift —
uncanny to me — of dealing with animals in a rage,
and raising or lowering their angry passions at
will. He switched off bugs, their cause and cure,
and on to this new track. He started experimenting,
made observations, took records. He's been at it now
— how many years, Jack? He'll play on a dog-
fight better than you can on a penny-whistle : as
soon as he chooses they're sitting one on each side
of the gramophone, listening to Their Master's
Voice. Vivisection? — Farrell's an ass. The only
inhuman thing I've ever known Jack do was to
domesticate a wild-cat and restore her to the
woods unprotected by her natural amenities. These
people hear a shindy going on in the laboratory
in Street, and conclude that he's holding the
wrong sort of tea-party. Now, if he'd had an
ounce of practical wisdom to-night, he'd have
THE GRAND RESEARCH 65
arisen quietly, invited Farrell to drop in at 4.30
to-morrow, arranged a moderate dog-fight, and
given that upholsterer ten minutes of glorious
life. Farrell '
'I'm going to turn you both out,' said Foe,
getting up suddenly. 'Help yourself to another
whisky-and-soda, Roddy. . . . I'm so beaten with
sleep it's odds against getting off my boots.' As a
fact, too, his face was weary-white. He turned
to Jimmy, however, with a ghost of a smile.
'Roddy has been talking a deal of nonsense. But
if you really care to inspect my little show, come
around some morning. . . . Let me see — to-day's
Wednesday. Saturday is my slack morning
What d'you say to breakfasting here on Saturday,
nine o'clock? and we'll walk over at half-past ten
or thereabouts. I keep a yellow dog there that
will go through some tricks for you. . . . Right?
Then so long ! . . . You can come along, too
Roddy, if you'll behave yourself.'
NIGHT THE FOURTH
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION
I opened my newspaper next morning in no little
anxiety. I ought rather to say 'my newspapers' :
for the L.C.C. campaign was raging at its height,
and a candidate cannot afford to neglect in the
morning any nasty thing that any nasty fellow has
written overnight.
Jephson — yes, he's the same good Jephson who
wouldn't exchange my button-stick for a Field-
Marshal's baton — Jephson brought in my morning
tea and laid across the foot of my bed a bundle of
newspapers as thick as a bolster.
I sat up, reached for them and began to read
almost as soon as he switched on the light. I was
honestly nervous.
I took the hostile papers first, of course. Pretty
soon it began to dawn on my grateful soul that all
was right with the world. The reporters had stood
shoulder to shoulder. Two or three headlines
gave me a shake, 'brisk scenes across the
WATER,' 'MR FARRELL SPEAKS OUT,' ' AN INTERRUP-
TER ejected.' One headline in particular gave
me qualms — 'what's wrong with silversmiths'
COLLEGE? PUBLIC ENDOWMENT WITHOUT PUBLIC
CONTROL : MR FARRELL PUTS SOME SEARCHING
questions.' But it had all been toned down in
66
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 67
the letterpress and came to very little. The re-
porters, using their own discretion, had used such
phrases as 'an interrupter, apparently labouring
under some excitement/ 'At this point a gentleman
in the front row caused a diversion by challenging
. . . The audience were in no mood, however,' 'Here
an auditor protested warmly. It was understood
that he had some official connection with the
institution referred to by the candidate,' and so on.
I hugged myself over my success. To be sure,
the vague impression derivable was that the 'scene'
had its origin in strong drink. But the name of
Professor Foe nowhere appeared. Greatest blessing
of all, there was no leading article, no pithy para-
graph even. I arose and shaved blithely. Across
the stairhead I could hear Jimmy shouting music-
hall ditties — his custom in his bath. Yes, all was
right with the world.
Nothing happened that day, except that I inter-
viewed my agent after breakfast, worked like a
nigger until nightfall, canvassing slums; got back
to the Bath Club, had a swim, dined, and returned
to my constituency for the night's public meeting
Arduous work : but what you might call superero-
gatory. I could have shot my opponent sitting, and
he knew it. My rascal of an agent knew it too, but
he was an honest man in his way — and that's politics.
Next morning, same procedure on Jephson's
part : similar bolster of papers, neatly folded and
laid across the foot of my bed. This time I poured
myself a cup of tea and reached for them lazily.
68 FOE-FARRELL
The Times was topmost. Jephson always laid
The Times topmost.
Five minutes later . . . But listen to this —
(To-night before resuming his story Otway had
laid on the table beside him a small but bulging letter-
case, from the contents of which he now selected a
newspaper cutting.)
Public Endowment of Research
To the Editor of The Times : —
Sir,
A Memorial, influentially signed by a number
of ladies and gentlemen variously eminent in
Society, Politics, Literature and Art but united
in their friendship for the dumb creation, was
recently addressed to the Principal of the
South London (' Silversmiths') University College,
situated in the constituency for which I am
offering myself as representative in the next
London County Council. In this Memorial the
Principal was invited to ease the public mind
with respect to rumours (widely prevalent) con-
cerning certain practices in the laboratories
under his charge, either by denying them or
inviting a public inquiry. I was not aware of
this document — to which I should have been
happy to add my signature — until last night,
when a copy of it was put into my hands, with
an additional list of signatures by more than a
hundred local residents. This morning I have
had an opportunity to peruse the answer sent
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 69
by the Principal (Sir Elkin Travers) to the
Hon. Secretary of the Memorialists.
I cannot consider this answer satisfactory.
Sir Elkin is content to meet the allegation with
a flat denial, and rejects the reasonable request
for a public inquiry in language none too cour-
teous. Unfortunately a body of testimony by
residents in the close vicinity of the College, as
to the noises and outcries heard proceeding
from the laboratories from time to time, if not
in direct conflict with the denial, at least suggests
that, with the growing numbers of his professors
and students, Sir Elkin cannot know what is
going on, at all times, in every department of the
Institution : while his peremptory rejection of an
investigation which he might have welcomed as an
opportunity for allaying public suspicion will be far
from having that effect. If all is well inside his
laboratories, why should Sir Elkin fear the light ?
May I point out that considerable sums of
public money are spent on these University
Colleges, and even, indirectly, in promoting the
very researches incriminated by the Memorialists.
We should insist on knowing what we are pa}ang
for and whether it is consistent with the con-
sciences of those among us who look upon dumb
animals as the friends and servants of man.
I am, Sir, Your obedient servant,
P. FARRELL.
The Acacias, Wimbledon,
Thursday, March 7, 1907.
70 FOE-FARRELL
I dressed and breakfasted in some haste. I heard
Jimmy splashing and carolling in his tub, and for
one moment had a mind to knock in and read him
the letter, which worried me. But I didn't. . . .
It really wasn't Jimmy's business. ... Good Lord !
if I'd only acted on that one little impulse, which
seemed at the time not to matter two straws !
I took a taxi to Chelsea, carting the newspapers
with me and rooting Farrell's truffles out of a
dozen or so on the way. It was just as bad as I
feared. The man had used a type-copier and
snowed his screed all over Fleet Street. There
were one or two small leaders, too, and editorial
notes : nasty ones.
I caught Foe on his very doorstep. ' Hallo ! '
said he. 'What's wrong? . . . Looks as if you
were suddenly reduced to selling newspapers. I'm
not buying any, my good man.'
'You'll come upstairs and read a few, anyway,'
said I; and took him upstairs and showed him The
Times. He frowned as he read Farrell's letter. I
expected him to break out into strong language
at least. But he finished his reading and tossed
the paper on to the table with no more than a short
laugh — a rather grim short laugh.
'Silly little bounder,' was his comment.
'You didn't treat him quite so apathetically,
the night before last,' said I. 'It might be better
for you if you had. Look, here's the Morning Post,
Standard, Daily News, Mail, Chronicle, Express. . . .
He has plastered it into them all.'
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 71
'I don't read newspapers,' was his answer.
'Other people do,' was mine; for I was nettled a
bit. ' Here are some of the editors asking questions
already, and I'll bet the evening papers will be
like dogs about a bone. This man may be a damned
fool, but he's dangerous : that's to say he has
started mischief.'
'Oh, surely — not dangerous?' Foe queried, with
an odd lift of his eyebrows.
' If I were you, at all events, I'd go straight and
consult your man — what's his name? Travers? —
at once. My taxi is waiting, and I'll run you across
in time to interview him before you start your
morning's work. Did he show you his answer to
these precious Memorialists before he posted it ? '
For the moment Foe ignored my question.
'Dangerous?' he repeated in a musing, questioning
way. ' Do you really think ... I beg your pardon,
Roddy ... Eh? You were asking about Travers.
Yes, he showed me his answer. Very good answer,
I thought. It just told them to mind their own
business.'
'Did he say that, in so many words? ' I asked.
'Let me think. ... So far as I remember he
put it rather neatly. . . . Yes, he wrote that he
was not prepared to worry his staff with vague
charges, or to invite an inquiry on the strength
of representations which — so far as he could attach
a meaning to them — meant what was false. But he
added that if the Memorialists would kindly put
these charges into writing, defining the practices
72 FOE-FARRELL
complained of, and naming the persons accused,
they should be dealt with in the proper way which
(he understood) the law provided.'
'Capital,' said I. 'Your Principal is no fool.
Go off straight and consult him. Take these papers
— the whole bundle '
Foe took them up and pushed them into the
pockets of his great-coat.
' You think he's dangerous ? ' he asked again, in
an absent-minded way.
'Eh? . . Oh, you're talking of Farrell?' said
I. 'Farrell's a fool, and fools are always dangerous.'
Thereupon Jack Foe did and said that which I
had afterwards some cause to remember. He
passed his hand over his forehead, much as a man
might brush away a cobweb flung across his evening
walk between hedges. 'That man makes me tired,'
he said; 'extraordinarily tired. For two nights
I've been trying not to dream about him. It was
very good of you to come, Roddy. You shall run
me over in your taxi and I'll speak to Travers. If
the man is a fool '
' — A dangerous fool,' I corrected.
'Coward, too, I should judge. Yes, certainly,
I'll speak to Travers.'
I put down Foe at the gates of his College and
speeded home. Jimmy had breakfasted and gone
forth to take the air. I sat down to open my letters
and answer them. In the middle of this my
agent arrived. We lunched together and spent the
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 73
afternoon canvassing. This lasted until dinner, for
which I returned to my Club. Thence a taxi took
me East again to Bethnal Green for a meeting:.
The importance of these details is that they kept
me from having word with Jimmy, or seeing fur or
feather of him, for more than twenty-four hours.
Nor did I find him in my chambers when I got
home, soon after eleven. He was a youth of many
engagements. So I mixed myself a drink and
whiled away three-quarters of an hour with a
solitary pipe and the bundle of evening papers set
out for me by Jephson, who lived out with his
wife and family and retired to domestic joys at
9-3°-
The evening papers had let down the Silver-
smiths' College pretty easily on the whole. But
one of them — an opposition rag which specialised
in the politics, especially gutter politics, of South
London and was owned by a ring of contractors —
had come out with a virulent attack, headed
'Vivisection in Our Midst.' The article set me
hoping that Travers was a strong man and would
use the law of libel : it deserved the horsewhip.
It left a taste in the mouth that required a second
whisky-and-apollinaris before I sought my bed,
sleepily promising myself that I would call on
Farrell in the morning, however inconvenient it
might be, and help to put an end to this nonsense.
... I would, if the worst came to the worst, even
drag the fool to Jack's laboratory and convince
him of his folly.
74 FOE-FARRELL
And this promise, as will be seen, I carried out
to the very last letter.
A rapping on my bedroom door fetched me out
of my beauty sleep. I started up in bed and
switched on the electric light.
' That you, Jimmy ? ' I called. ' Come in, you ass,
and say what you want. If it's the corkscrew "
'If you please, Sir Roderick — sorry to disturb
you ' said a voice outside which I recognised
as the night-porter's.
'Smithers?' I called. 'What's wrong? . . .
Open the door, man. ... Is the place on fire?
The door opened and showed me Smithers with
a tall policeman looming behind him.
' Hallo ! ' said I, sitting up straighter and rubbing
my eyes.
'Constable, sir,' explained Smithers, 'with a
message for you. Says he must see you personally.'
The constable spoke while I stared at him, my
eyes blinking under the bed-light. 'It's a dream,'
I was telling myself. 'Silly kind of dream '
'Gentleman in the Ensor Street Police Court,
sir. Requires bail till to-morrow — till ten thirty
this morning, I should have said. Gave your name
for surety.' The constable announced this in a
firm bass voice, respectful but business-like. 'Said
he was a friend of yours.'
'What's his name?' I demanded.
'Gave the name of James Collingwood, sir —
and this same address.'
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 75
I gasped. 'Jimmy?— Oh, I beg your pardon,
Constable ! — What has Mr Collingwood been
doing ? '
'He's charged, sir,' the constable answered care-
fully, 'with resisting the police in the execution of
their duty.'
'What duty?'
' There was another gent took up, sir : and I
may say, between ourselves, as your friend, sir,
put up a bit of a fight for him. Very nimble with
his fistes he was, sir, or so I heard it mentioned.
I wasn't myself mixed up in the affair. But from
the faces on them as brought him in I should say,
strikly between ourselves, he's lucky the word
isn't assault — even aggeravated. But the Inspec-
tor took the report . . . and the Inspector, if I
may so say, knows a gentleman when he sees one.'
'Was he ' I began, and corrected myself.
'Was Mr Collingwood drunk? — strictly between
ourselves, as you put it.'
'No, sir.' The honest man gave his verdict
slowly. ' I shan't be called for evidence : but I
seen him and talked with him. Sober and bright,
sir; and, when I left, in the best of sperrits. But
I wouldn't say as how he hadn't been more than
happy earlier in the evening.'
'Thank you, Constable,' said I. 'You'll find a
decanter, a syphon, and a glass set out for the
prodigal's return, all on the table in the next room.
Possibly you'll discover what to do with them
while I dress. Smithers, turn on the light out
76 FOE-FARRELL
there, and get me a taxi if you can. For I suppose,'
said I to the constable, 'this means that I've to
turn out and go with you?'
'I am afraid so, sir, and thanking you kindly.
But as for the taxi, I came in one and took the
liberty to keep it waiting — at this hour.'
'Very thoughtful of you/ said I, with a look at
my watch. The time was 12.50.
'Not at all, sir. Mr Collingwood turned out the
loose change in his pocket and told me not to spare
expense. Here it is, sir — one pound, seventeen —
and I'd be glad if you took it and paid the whole
fare at the end of the run.'
'Good,' said I, amused. 'Jimmy is obviously
sober. I never knew him drunk — really drunk — for
that matter.' I had my legs out of bed by this
time, and the constable was bashfully withdrawing,
Smithers having turned on the lights in the outer
room. 'Stop a moment,' I commanded. 'You
may not believe it, but I'm a child at this game.
How much money shall I have to take? ... I
don't know that I have more than a tenner loose
about me — unless I can raise something off Smithers.'
The constable relaxed his face into a smile, or
something approaching one. 'There is no money
needed — not at this hour of the night. Your
recognisances, Sir Roderick — for a fiver or so, if
you ask me. But ' and here he hesitated.
'Well?'
' There's the other gentleman, sir. Mr Collingwood
did mention '
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 77
'Oh, did he?' I cut in. 'It was silly, maybe, to
have forgotten him all this time — I'm a sound
sleeper; and even when awake my mind moves
slowly. But who the Hades is this other gentleman ? '
'When arrested, sir, he gave his name as Martin
Frobisher,' said the constable with just a tremor of
the eyelids, ' and his address as North West Passage;
he wouldn't say more definitely. At the station
he asked leave to correct this, and said that his
real name was Martin Luther, a foreigner, but
naturalised for years, and we should find his papers
at the Reform Club, SAW
' I don't seem to have met either of these Martins
—or not in life,' I said thoughtfully.
'Well, sir, if you ask me,' he agreed, 'I should
be surprised if you had; for between ourselves, as it
were, I don't believe he's either of his alleged
Martins. And the Station don't think much of his
names and addresses.'
'Does he want to be bailed out, too? ' I asked.
'He didn't ask it. He weren't in no condition,
sir — as you might put it — when I left. But Mr
Collingwood, he says to me (I took a note, sir, of
the very words he used) ' — the man pulled out a
notebook from his breast-pocket, and held it forward
under the light — "'You go to Sir Roderick," he
says, " and tell him from me that the prodigal is
returned bearing his calf with him."' The con-
stable read it out carefully, word by word. 'I
don't know what it means, sir; but that was this
message, and he said it twice over.'
7 S FOE-FARRELL
'There seems to be more in this than meets the
eye,' said I, pondering the riddle.
'You wouldn't say so, sir, if you'd seen Hagan's,'
said he, retiring with the last word and, at the
last, with an open grin.
I was dressed in ten minutes or so, and we sped
to Ensor Street. There I found my young reprobate
sober and cheerful and unabashed.
'Sorry to give you this trouble, old man,' was
his greeting 'Sort of thing that happens when a
fellow gets mixed up in politics.'
'You shall tell me all about it,' said I, 'when
we've gone through the little formalities of
release. . . . What have I to sign?' I asked the
sergeant who played escort.
'Oh, but wait a moment,' put in Jimmy.
'There's another bird. The animals came in two
by two — eh, Sergeant Noah? I say, Otty, you'll
be in a fearful way when you see him. But 1
couldn't help it — upon my soul I couldn't : and
you'll have to be kind to him.'
' Who is it ? ' I demanded.
' It's Well, he gave the name of Martin
Luther. But you judge for yourself. Sergeant
Bostock — or are you Wombwell? — take Sir Haroun
Alraschid to the next cage and show him the Great
Reformer.'
To the next cell I was led in a state of expectancy
that indeed justified his allusion to the Arabian
Nights. And the door opened and the light shone
— upon Mr Peter Farrell !
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 79
It was a swollen eye that Mr Farrell upturned
to us from his low bed, and a swollen and bloodied
lip that babbled contrition along with appeals to
be 'got out of this' and lamentations for the day
he was born; and as on that day so on this a mother
had found it hard to recognise him. He wore
goodly but disorganised raiment; a fur-lined great-
coat, evening dress beneath it; but the tie was
missing, the shirt-collar had burst from its stud.,
the shirt-front showed blood-stains, dirty finger-
marks, smears of mud. Mud caked his coat, its
fur : apparently he had been rolling in mud. But
the worst was that he wept.
He wept copiously. Was it the late Mr Gladstone
who invented the phrase ' Reformation in a Flood ' ?
Anyhow, it kept crossing and re-crossing my mind
absurdly as I surveyed this wreck that had called
itself Martin Luther. All the wine in him had
turned to tears of repentance, and he was pretty
nauseous. I told him to stand up.
'This — er — gentleman,' said I to the police-
sergeant, 'is called Farrell — Mr Peter Farrell. He
lives/ I said, as the address at the foot of The
Times letter came to my memory, ' at the Acacias,
Wimbledon.'
The sergeant nodded slowly. 'That's right, sir.
I knew him well enough. Attended a meeting of
his only last Saturday — on duty, that's to say.'
We smiled. 'He's not precisely a friend of mine,'
said I. 'But we have met in public life, and I'll be
answerable for him. We must get him out of this/
80 FOE-FARRELL
'There's no difficulty, sir, since we have the
address. There was no card or letter in his pocket,
and he said he came from Wittenburg through the
Gates of Hell. I looked him up in the Directory
and the address is as you state. . . . But to tell
you the truth, sir, I didn't ring up his telephone
number, thinking as a nap might bring him round
a bit. . . . We keep a taxi or two on call for these
little jobs, and I'll get a driver that can be trusted.
I'll call up Sam Hicks. There was a latch-key in
the gentleman's pocket, and Sam Hicks is capable
of steering a case like this to bed and leaving the
summons pinned on his dressing-gown for a re-
minder. . . . But perhaps you'll call around for
him to-morrow morning, sir, and bring him ? '
'I'll be damned if I do,' said I. 'He must take
his risks and I'll risk the bail. . . . Look here ! '
— I took Mr Farrell by the collar and my fingers
touched mud. ' Pah ! ' said I. ' Can't we clean
him up a bit before consigning him? . . . Look
here, Farrell ! I'm sending you home. Do you
understand? And you're to return here on peril
of your life at ten o'clock. Do you understand ? '
'I understand, Sir Roderick,' sobbed Farrell.
'Angels must have sent you, Sir Roderick. . . .
I have unfortunately mislaid my glasses and some-
thing seems to be obscuring the sight of my left
eye. But I recognise your kindly voice, Sir Roderick.
The events of the past few hours are something of
a blank to me at present : but may I take the
liberty of wringing my deliverer by the hand ? '
ADVENTURE OF THE POLICE STATION 81
'Certainly not/ said I. 'Sit up and attend.
Have you a wife? Sit up, I say. Will Mrs Farrell
by any chance be sitting up ? '
' I thank God,' answered Mr Farrell fervently,
' I am a widower. It is the one bright spot. Could
my poor Maria look down from where she is, and
see me at this moment '
'It is a slice of luck,' I agreed. 'Well, you're in
the devil of a mess, and you've goosed yourself
besides losing a promising seat for the party. What
on earth — but we'll talk of that to-morrow. You
must turn up, please, and see it out. I don't know
what defence, if any, you can put up : but by
to-morrow you'll have a damnatory eye that will
spoil the most ingenious. My advice is, don't make
any. Cut losses, and face the music. This is a
queer country; but the Press, which has been
ragging you for weeks, will deal tenderly with you
as a drunk and incapable.'
' But the scandal, Sir Roderick ! ' he moaned.
'There won't be any,' said I. You've lost the
seat : that's all. . . . Now stay quiet while I sign
a paper or two.'
Jimmy (redeemed) and I together packed Mr
Farrell into his taxi. Mr Samuel Hicks, driver
and expert, threw an eye over him as we helped
him in and wrapped him in rugs. ' There's going
to be no trouble with this fare,' said Mr Hicks, as
he pocketed his payment-in-advance. 'Nigh upon
two o'clock in the morning and no more trouble
than a lamb in cold storage.'
NIGHT THE FIFTH
ADVENTURE OF THE ' CATALAFINA ' !
MR JAMES COLLINGWOOD'S NARRATIVE
'Well now,' I asked, as my taxi bore us homeward,
' what have you to say about all this ? '
'I say,' answered Jimmy with sententiousness,
after a pause, 'that you should never take three
glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.'
'I don't,' said I.
'Nor do I,' said Jimmy. ' I took five, on Farrell's
three . . . eight glasses to the bottle. It was a
Christian act, because I saw that he was exceeding.
But he insisted on ordering two bottles : so it was
all thrown away.'
' What was thrown away ? '
'The Christian act. ... I say, Otty,' he re-
proached me, 'wake up ! You're not attending.'
'On the contrary,' I assured him, 'I am waiting
with some patience for the explanation you owe
me. After dragging me out of bed at one o'clock
in the morning, it's natural, perhaps, you should
assume me to be half-asleep '
Jimmy broke in with a chuckle. ' Poor old Otty !
You've been most awfully decent over this.'
'Cut that short,' I admonished him. 'I am
waiting for the story : and you provide the requisite
82
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA' 83
lightness of touch; but the trouble is, you don't
seem able to provide anything else.'
'Don't be stern, Otty,' he entreated. 'It is past
pardon, I know, and to-morrow — later in the
morning, I should say — you'll find that the defendant
feels his position acutely. Honour bright, I'll do
you credit in the dock. . . . Wish I was as sure of
Farrell. But, as for the story, as I am a sober man,
I don't know where to begin. There's a wicked
uncle mixed up in it, and a wicked nephew and a
taxi, and a lady with a reticule, and a picture palace,
and a water-pipe, and heaps upon heaps of police-
men — they're the worst mixed up of the lot '
'Begin at the beginning,' I commanded. 'That
is, unless you'd rather defer the whole story for the
magistrate's ear.'
'The whole story?' He chuckled. 'I'd like to
see the Beak's face. . . . No, I couldn't possibly.
My good Otty, how many people d'you reckon it
would compromise ? '
'You've compromised Farrell pretty thoroughly,
anyhow,' said I grimly : 'and you've compromised
the cause in which I happen to be interested. Has
it occurred to you, my considerate young friend,
that Farrell has receded to 1000 to 1 in the betting ?
— that, in short, you've lost us the seat?'
'I compromise Farrell?' — Jimmy sat up and
exclaimed it indignantly. I lose you his silly
seat ? . . . Rats ! The little bounder compro-
mised himself ! He's been doing it freely — doing
it since ten o'clock — two crowded hours of glorious
84 FOE-FARRELL
life . . . 'stonishing, Otty, what a variegated ass
a man can make of himself nowadays in two short
hours, with the help of a taxi and if he wastes no
time. When I think of our simple grandfathers
playing at Bloods, wrenching off door-knockers. . . .
Oh, yes — but you're waiting for the story. Well,
it happened like this, —
'Farrell called on you this morning, soon after
breakfast-time, and found me breakfasting. He
was in something of a perspiration. It appeared
that he'd fired off a letter to The Times directed
against our dear Professor; and, having fired it,
had learnt from somebody that the Professor was
a close friend of ours. He had come around to
make the peace with you, if he could — he's a funny
little snob. But you had flown.'
'I had gone off,' said I, 'to catch Jack Foe and
warn him that the letter was dangerous/
'Think so? Well, you'd left The Times lying on
the floor, and he picked it up and read his com-
position to me while I dallied with the bacon. It
seemed to me pretty fair tosh, and I told him so.
I promised that if his second thoughts about it
coincided with my first ones, I would pass them
on together to you when I saw you next, and added
that I had trouble to adapt my hours to political
candidates, they were such early risers. That, you
might say, verged on a hint : but he didn't take it.
He hung about, standing on one leg and then on
the other, protesting that he would put things right.
I hate people who stand on one leg when you're
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFIXA' 85
breakfasting, don't you? ... So I gave him a
cigar, and he smoked it whilst I went on eating.
He said it was a first-class cigar and asked me
where I dealt. I said truthfully that it was one of
yours, and falsely that you bought them in Leaden-
hall Market off a man caUed Huggins. I gave him
the address, which he took down with a gold pencil
in his pocket-book. ... I said they were probably
smuggled, and (as I expected) he winked at me
and said he rather gathered so from the address.
He also said that he knew a good thing wherever he
saw it, that you were his bo ideal of a British
baronet, and " that we had very cosy quarters.
This led him on to discourse of his wife, and how
lonely he felt since losing her— she had been a
martyr to sciatica. But there was much to be
said for a bachelor existence, after all. It was so
free. His wife had never, in the early days, whole-
heartedly taken to his men friends : for which he
couldn't" altogether blame her— they weren't many
of 'em drawing-room company. A good few of
them, too, had gone down in the world while he
had been going up. He instanced some of these,
but I didn't recollect having met any of 'em. There
were others he'd lost sight of. He named these
too _ g0 od old Bill This and Charley That and a
Frank Somebody who sang a wonderful tenor in
his day and would bring tears to your eyes the way
he gave you Annie Laurie when half-drunk : but
again I couldn't recall that any of them had been
pa^ed down to me. " You see, Mr Collingwood,"
86 FOE-FARRELL
he said, " when one keeps a Httle house down at
Wimbledon, these things have a way of dropping
out as time goes on." " Just like the teeth," said
I. He thought over this for a while, and then
laughed — oh, he laughed quite a lot — and declared
I was a humorist. He hadn't heard anything
so quick, not for a long while. " Mr Collingwood,"
he said, " I'm a lonely man with it all. I don't
mind owning to you that I've taken up these here
politics partly for distraction. It used to be different
when me and Maria could stick it out over a game
of b6zique. She used to make me dress for dinner,
always. We had a billiard-room, too : but that
didn't work so well. I could never bring her up
to my standard of play, not within forty in a
hundred, by reason that she'd use the rest for
almost every stroke. She had a sense of humour,
had Maria : you'd have got along with her, Mr
Collingwood, and she'd have got along with you.
You'd have struck sparks. One evening I asked
her, 'Maria, why are you so fond of the jigger?'
'Because of my rigger,' says she, pat as you please.
Now, wasn't that humorous, eh? She meant,
of course, that being of the buxom sort in later
life — and it carried her off in the end " Why,
hallo ! ' Jimmy exclaimed. ' Are we home already ? '
' We have arrived at the Temple, E.C./said I gently,
'but scarcely yet at the beginning of the story.'
He resumed it in our chambers, while I operated
on the hearth with a firelighter.
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA' S 7
'Well/ said Jimmy, smoking, 'to cut a long
story short'— and I grunted my thanks— 'he told
me he was a lonely man, but that he knew a thing
or two yet. Had I by any chance made acquain-
tance with the Catalafina, in Soho? ' Oh, come ! "
said I bashfully, " who is she? " " It's a restarong,"
said he : " Italian : where the cook does things
you can't guess what they're made of. Just as
well, perhaps." But the results, he undertook to
say, were excellent.'
'Do I see one?' I asked.
'No, you don't,' answered Jimmy, sipping his
whisky-and-soda. 'That's just it, if you'll let me
proceed. ... He said that they kept some mar-
vellous Lagrima Christi— if I liked Lagrima Christi.
For his part, it always soured on his stomach.
But we could send out for a bottle of fizz—
I'm using his expression, Otty '
'I trust so,' said I.
'He called it that. He said he would take it
as an honour if I'd join him in a little supper
this very evening at the Catalafina. He had a
meeting at 7.30, at which he would do his best to
soften down this letter of his in The Times; he
would get it over by 9.30. Could we meet (say)
on the steps of the Empire at ten o'clock? He
would hurry thither straight from the Baths,
report progress— for me to set your mind at rest
—and afterwards take me off to this damned
eating-house. I should never find it by myself
he assured me. He was right there; but I'm not,
88 FOE-FARRELL
anxious to try. My hope is that it, or the manage-
ment, won't find me. . . . Well, weakly — and
partly for your sake, Otty — I consented. He said,
by the way, he would be greatly honoured if I'd
persuade you to come along too. " It's Bohemian,"
he said; " if Sir Roderick will overlook it." '" You
told me it was Italian," said I : " but never mind.
Sir Roderick, as it happens, is a bit of a Bohemian
himself and is dining to-night with a club of them
— the Lost Dogs, if you've ever heard of that
Society." I saved you, anyway. You may put it
that I flung myself into the breach. They found you,
but it was literally over my prostrate body . . .
and here we are.'
'Is that the story?' said I.
Jimmy leaned back on his shoulder-blades in
the arm-chair. ' It is the preliminary canter,' he
announced. 'Now we're off, and you watch me
getting into my stride, —
'Farrell turned up, on time. He was somewhat
agitated, and I suspect — yes, in the light of later
events I strongly suspect — he had picked up a
drink somewhere on the way. I got into his taxi,
and we swung up Rupert Street, and out of Rupert
Street into what the novelists, when they haven't
a handy map or the energy to use it, describe as a
labyrinth leading to questionable purlieus. I am
content to leave it at purlieus. The driver, as it
seemed to me, had as foggy a notion as I of what,
without infringing Messrs Swan & Edgar's lingerie
copyright, we'll call the Catalafina's whereabouts.
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA' 89
Farrell spent two-thirds of the passage with his
head out of window. I don't mean to convey
that he was sea-sick : and he certainly wasn't
drunk, or approaching it. He kept his head
out to shout directions. He was pardonably
excited — maybe a bit nervous in a channel that
seemed to be buoyed all the way with pawnbrokers'
signs. But he brought us through. We alighted
at the entrance of the Catalafina; Farrell paid the
driver, and I advised him to find his way back
before daylight overtook him.
' I will not attempt to describe the interior of the
Catalafina. Farrell saved me that trouble on the
threshold. " Twenty years or so," he said, pausing
and inhaling garlic, " often makes a difference in
these places. One mustn't expect this to be quite
what it used to be." . . . Well, I hadn't, of course,
and I dare say it wasn't. It had sand on the floor,
and spittoons. It was crowded, between the spit-
toons, with little cast-iron tables, covered with
dirty table-cloths spread upon American cloth
and garnished with artificial flowers and napkins
of Japanese paper. Farrell called them " serviettes."
He also said he felt " peckish." I — well, I had
taken the precaution of dining at Boodle's, and
responded that I was rather for the bucket than
the manger. He considered this for some time
and then laughed so loudly that all the anarchists
in the room looked up as if one of their bombs had
gone off by mistake. . . . Oh, I omitted to mention
that all the space left unoccupied by cigarette-
F.F. G
90 FOE-FARRELL
smoke and the smell of garlic was crowded with
anarchists, all dressed for the part. They wore
black ties with loose ends, fed with their hats on,
and read Italian newspapers — like a musical comedy.
The waiters looked like stage-anarchists, too; but
you could easily tell them from the others because
they went about in their shirt-sleeves.
'Farrell caught the eye of one of these bandits,
who came along with a great neuter cat rubbing
against his legs. Farrell began with two jocose
remarks which didn't quite hit the mark he in-
tended them for. " Hallo, Jovanny ! " he said
pretty loudly, " I don't seem to remember your
face, and yet it's familiar somehow." — Whereat
Giovanni, or whatever his name was, flung a look
over his shoulder that was equal to an alarm, and
all the anarchists looked up uneasily too — for
Farrell's voice carries, as you may have observed
He followed this up by smiling at me over the
carte du jour and observing in a jovial stentorian
voice that he felt like a man returned from exile.
Fifteen years — and it must be fifteen years — is a
long stretch. ..." Oh, damn your Italian," said
Farrell suddenly, dropping the card. " In the
old days we used to make orders on our fingers,
in the dumb alphabet, and risk what came."
'By this time he had Giovanni, and several
anarchists at the nearer tables, properly scared.
But he picked up the card again and went on,
innocent as a judge, " We used to have a code in
those days. For instance, you crooked one finger
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA' 91
over your nose and that meant 'sea-urchins.' "
" Why? " I asked. " That was the code," Farrell
explained. " They used to have a speciality in
sea-urchins, straight from the Mediterranean. You
rubbed a soupsong of garlic into them with three
drops of paprika. . . . Now what do you say to
sea-urchins? "
'"Nothing, as a rule," said I. "Safer with
oysters, isn't it? They don't explode." I dropped
this out just to try its effect on the waiter, and he
blanched. One or two of our convives began to clear.
'Farrell ordered two dozen of oysters, to start
with, and sent a runner out for — no, Otty, I won't
say it again — for two bottles of Perrier-Jouet;
two bottles and '96, mark you. On hearing this
command about a dozen habitues of the Catalafina
arose hastily, drained their glasses and vanished.
'Farrell perceived it not. He had picked up the
card again and was ordering some infernal broth
made of mussels and I-don't-know-what. " What
do you say to follow? " he asked me.
'"Something light," I suggested. "Liver of
blaspheming Jew, for choice : it sounds like another
speciality of this kitchen."
'In the interval before the wine was brought
Farrell gave me a short account of the meeting he
had just left : and he didn't lighten the atmosphere
of suspicion around us by suddenly sinking his
voice to a kind of conspirator's whisper. The meeting
[it appeared) had been lively, and more than lively.
Our small incursion — or the Professor's, rather—
9 2 FOE-FARRELL
had been a fool to it. For the Professor's loyal
pupils, stung by that letter in The Times, had
organised a counter-demonstration. " Their be-
haviour," Farrell reported, " was unbridled. They
would hardly allow me a hearing. I give you my
WO rd — an( i I w ish Sir Roderick to know it — I was
prepared to tell them that information had come
to me which put a different complexion on the
whole case. I was even prepared to tell them that,
while I should ever insist on the South London
University College and all similar institutions
being subject to a more public control with an
increased representation of local ratepayers on
their governing bodies, I was confident that in this
particular case the charge had been too hasty. . . .
I have the notes of my speech in my great-coat
pocket; I'll give them to you later and beg you as
a favour to show them to Sir Roderick. But what
was the use, when they started booing me because
I wore evening dress? "
'"Why did you? " I asked.
1 " Because, as I tried to explain, I had another
engagement to keep immediately after the Meeting
— a Conversatsiony, as I put it to them."
"'Then perhaps," said I, "they took exception
to some details of the costume — for instance, your
wearing a silk handkerchief, and crimson at that,
tucked in between your shirt-front and your white
waistcoat."
'"Is that wrong?" Farrell asked anxiously.
" Maria used to insist on it. She said it looked
ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA 93
neglijay. ... But I suppose fashions alter in
these little details." He stood up, removed the
handkerchief, and stowed it in a tail-pocket.
'"That's better," said I.
'" I'm not above taking a hint," said he, " from
one as knows. It'll be harder to get at. . . . But
I don't believe, if you'll excuse me, that any one
of these students, as they call themselves, ever
wore an evening suit in his life — unless 'twas a
hired one. No, sir; they came prepared for mischief.
They meant to wreck the Meeting, and had brought
along bags of cayenne pepper, and pots of chemicals
to stink us out. They opened one — phew ! And
I have another, captured from them, in the pocket
of my great-coat on the rack, there. I'll show it
to you by-and-by. Luckily our stewards had
wind, early in the afternoon, that some such game
was afoot, and had posted a body of bruisers con-
veniently, here and there, about the hall. So in
the end they were thrown out, one by one — yes,
sir, ignominiously. It don't add to one's respect
for public life, though."
'At this point the wine made its appearance,
and — if you'll believe me — it was genuine: Perrier-
Jouet, '96. A little while on the ice might have
improved it, but we gave it no time. The oysters
arrived too; but they were tired, I think. Some-
thing was wrong with them, anyhow. . . . Then —
as I seem to remember having told you — Farrell
put down three glasses of champagne on an empty
stomach.'
94 FOE-FARRELL
'You did mention it/ said I; 'somewhere in the
dim and distant past.'
'For my part/ went on Jimmy seriously, 'my
potations were moderate. After trying the first
oyster, I was sober enough to let the others alone.
Then came on the alleged mussel-soup. I tried it
and laid down my spoon. . . . Do you happen
to know, Otty, which develops the quicker —
typhoid or ptomaine? and if they are, by any
chance, mutually exclusive? Farrell will like to
know.
'He swallowed it all. But when he had done he
looked me full in the eyes and said in a loud, un-
faltering voice, " This restarong is no longer what
it was."
'" The champagne is, and better," I consoled him.
'" Well, what do you say now," he asked, " to a
pig's trotter farced with pimento? That sounds
appetising, at any rate."
'I think it was at this point, accurately, that I
began to suspect him of having exceeded or of being
on the verge of excess. But the suspicion no sooner
crossed my mind than he set it at rest by getting
up and walking across the room to his great-coat,
on the rack by the door. His gait was perfectly
steady. He drew certain articles from the pockets,
returned with them, and laid them on the table :
a cigar-case, a mysterious round box of white
metal — sort of box you buy " Blanco " in — and
another round object concealed in a crushed paper-
bag. He opened the first.
ADVENTURE OF THE CATALAFIXA' 95
'" Have a cigar," he invited me. " They smoke
between the courses in this place — proper thing to
do."
'"Sanitary precaution," I suggested. "I'll be
content with a cigarette for the present. What
are your other disinfectants? "
'He laughed, very suddenly and violently.
" Disinfectants? " he chortled; " that's a good
'un ! They're exhibits, my dear sir — pardon-
liberty-calling-you-Dear-sir. Stewards collected a
dozen, these infernal machines '
1 " There's no need to shout," said I. No, Otty
I was sober. . . . But I looked around and it
struck me that the faces at the near tables were
bright, and white, and curiously distinct in the
cigarette-smoke.
'"I am not shouting," Farrell protested: but
he was, and at that moment. " Disinfectants ?
That box, there — there's a bottle inside — sul-
phuretted hydrogen. T'other joker's a firework
of sorts. I brought 'em along for evidence. . . .
Wha's that? " He jerked himself bolt upright,
staring at a dish the waiter held under his nose.'
'" It's the tete dc veau en spaghetti you ordered,
sir," said Giovanni.
' " Did I? I don't remember it. Do you remember
my ordering tait-de-whatever it calls itself? " he
asked me earnestly.
'Well, I couldn't, and I said so.
'"If I did," commanded Farrell, " take it away
and let me forget it. This place is not what it
96 FOE-FARRELL
was. . . . Take it away, you Corsican Brother,
and bring me the bill ! Look here," said he as
Giovanni departed. " We'll get out of this and
try something better. What do you say to looking
in at the Ritz? " He lit his cigar and poured out
more champagne.
'" As you like," said I. " Let's get out of this
anyway. For my part, I've had enough."
'"Well, / haven't," said he, and fixed a stare
on me. " Oh, I see what you mean. I'm drunk. . . .
It's no use your pretending," he caught me up
argumentatively. " I've taken too much t'drink.
Tiring day. Hope you're not a prude? "
'" Well then," I confessed, " it did strike me you
were punishing the other fellow a bit too fast in
the opening rounds. But you walked over to your
corner, just now, steady as a soldier "
' " P'culiarity of mine," he explained. "Ought
t'have warned you. Takes me in head, long before
legs. Do you a sprint down the street — even
money — when we're outside. . . . Wha's this ?
Oh, the bill. . . . Thought it was more spaghetti.
. . . Yes, I know. . . . Custom of house . . . pay
the signora in the brass cage. My dear sir, if you'll
'scuse fam'liarity '
'"Right," said I, as he dived a hand into his
pocket and fetched out a fistful of coin. " Here's
half-a-crown for Giovanni — he will now run along
and poison somebody else. This being your show,
I further abstract two sovereigns for the bill. I
shall, I perceive, have to hand you ninepence in
.ADVENTURE OF THE 'CATALAFINA* 97
cash with the receipt. . . . But since you are
intoxicated and I am what in any less sepulchral
caravanserai might be described as merry, let us
order our retreat with military precision. First
then I fetch you yonder magnificent garment which
has been drawing revolutionary hatred upon us
ever since we entered . . .'
'" It was a present from Maria," he said, as I
helped him into it. " Her last. She said it was a
real sable."
'" She spoke truthfully," I assured him. " Now
gather up these light articles and steer for the
door as accurately as you can, while I gather up
my inexpensive paletot and pay at the desk."
'"If I had my way with this blasted restarong,"
he observed with sudden venom, " I'd raze it to
the ground ! "
'I walked over to the desk. I was right in sup-
posing that ninepence was the sum I should receive
from the Esmeralda behind the brass barrier. But
her eyes were bright and interrogated me : the
brass trellis between us shone also with an un-
natural lustre : I was dealing with another man's
money, and it seemed incumbent on me to count
the change twice, with care.
'While I was thus engaged, Farrell went past
me for the door with the shuffle and hard breathing
of an elephant pursued by a forest fire.
'" Hurry ! " he gasped.
"'What is it?" I demanded, catching him up
on the fifth stair.
9 8 FOE-FARRELL
' He panted. " I couldn't help it. . . . Sodom
and Gomorrah . . . basaltic, I've heard . . . we'd
better run !"
'"What the devil have you done?" I asked,
close to his ear.
'"Opened that stink-pot," Farrell answered,
taking two steps at a time. He gained the pave-
ment and paused, turning on me.
'" Lucky they can't afford to keep a commission-
aire. — How long do these things take, as a rule,
before going off? "
'"What things? " I asked.
'" Maroons, don't you call 'em? " said he, feeling
in a foolish sort of way at his breast-pocket, as if
for his pince-nez. " I got the slow-match going
with the end of my cigar, careless-like. How long
do they take as a rule? "
'Well, a handsome detonation below-stairs
answered him upon that instant.
'Farrell clutched my arm, and we ran.'
NIGHT THE SIXTH
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME
'Farrell could sprint,' continued Jimmy. 'You
may have noticed that a lot of these round-bellied
men have quite a good turn of speed for a short
course. In spite of his fur coat he led by a yard or
two : but this was partly because I hung back a
little, on the chance of having to fight a rear-guard
action.
' I could hear no shouts or footsteps in our wake,
and this struck me as strange at the time. On
second thoughts, however, I dare say the manage-
ment and frequenters of the Catalafma have more
than a bowing acquaintance with infernal machines.
A daisy by the river's brim ... to them a simple
maroon would be nothing to write home about, nor
the sort of incident to justify telephoning for an
inquisitive police. By the mercy of Heaven, too,
we encountered no member of the Force in our
flight. I suppose that constables are rare in Soho.
' Farrell led for a couple of blocks as an American
writer would put it ; dived down a side-street
to the right; sped like an arrow for a couple of
hundred yards; then darted around another turning,
again to the right. I put on a spurt and caught
him by his fur collar. " Look here," I said, " I
don't hear any one in chase. We are the wicked
99
ioo FOE-FARRELL
fleeing, whom no man pursueth. I don't quite
understand why. May be sulphuretted hydrogen's
their favourite perfume. They don't use it in their
bath, because . . . well, never mind. What I
have to talk at this moment is mathematics. I
don't know how you reason it out; but to me it's
demonstrable that if we keep turning to the right
like this we shall find ourselves back at the door
of your infernal Catalafina. Inevitably," I said,
nodding at him in a way calculated to convince.
'" Allow me," he answered, and promptly wrung
my hand. " I ought t'have warned you — I always
run in circles, this condish'n. Bad habit : never
could break myself. 'Scuse me; haven't been drunk
for years." He pulled himself up and eyed me
earnestly. " Wha's your suggest'n under shirkum-
stanches? Retrace steps? "
' " As I figure it out," said I, sweet and reasonable,
" that also would lead us back to the Catalafina."
' " Quite so," he agreed, nodding back as I nodded.
" Case hopelesh, then. No posh'ble way out."
' " Well, I don't know," said I. " If we go straight
on until we find a turning to the left. . . . And
look here," I put in, grabbing him again, for he
was starting to run. " Since there's no one in
chase apparently, I suggest that we walk. It looks
better, if we meet a constable : though there seems
to be none about ... so far."
Scand'lous ! " said Farrell.
What's scandalous? " I asked.
Lax'ty Metr'pl't'n P'lice." He took me by a
€ it
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 101
buttonhole, finger and thumb. " Dish — district
notorious. One-worst-Lond'n. Dish — damn the
word — distr'ck like this, anything might happen
any moment. Mus' speak about it. . . . You
just wait till I'm on County Counshle."
'I took him by the arm and steered him. I did
it beautifully, though it's undeniable that I had
taken wine to excess. I did it so beautifully that
we met not a living soul — or if we did, Otty, I
failed to remark it. ... I don't suppose it was
really happening as I felt it was happening. I just
tell how it felt. . . . Farrell and I were ranging
arm-in-arm through a quarter that had mysteriously
hushed and hidden itself at our approach. There
were pianos tinkhng from upper stories : there
were muffled choruses with banjo or guitar accom-
paniments humming up from the bowels of the
earth : there were chinks of light between blinds,
under doorways, down areas. There was even a
flare of light, now and again, blaring to gramophone
accompaniment across the street from a gin-palace
or a corner public. But the glass of these places
of entertainment was all opaque, and there were no
loungers on the kerb in front of any. ... I held
Farrell tightly beneath the elbow, and steered
through this enchanted purlieu.
'"S'pose you know where you're heading?"
said Farrell after a while.
'"On these occasions," said I, "one steers by
the pole-star."
'" Where is it? " he demanded.
102 FOE-FARRELL
'" At this moment, so far as I can judge," I
assured him, "it is shining accurately on the back
of your neck."
'Of a sudden we found ourselves at the head of
a pavement lined with the red stern-lights of a rank
of cabs and taxis. I had not the vaguest notion of
its name : but the street was obviously one of
those curious ones, unsuspected, and probably non-
existent by day, in which lurk the vehicles that
can't be discovered when it's raining and you want
to get home from a theatre. " Glow-worms ! "
announced Farrell.
' I tightened my grip under his funny-bone, and
hailed the first vehicle. It was a hansom. " En-
gaged? " I asked.
'" All depends where you're going, sir," said the
cabby.
"' Wimbledon," shouted Farrell, and broke away
from me. " Wimbledon for pleasure and the simple
life ! . . . You'll excuse me " he dodged
towards the back of the cab : " on these occasions
— always make a point take number."
'" It's all right," I spoke up to the cabman.
" My friend means the Ritz. I'm taking him there.'
"■' I shouldn't, if I was you," said the man sourly;
" not unless he's an American."
' " He is," said I, " and from Texas. I am charged
to deliver him at the Ritz, where all will be ex-
plained:" and I dashed around to the rear of the
cab, collared Farrell, and hoicked him inboard. . . .
'The cab was no sooner under way and steering
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 103
west-by-south than Farrell clutched hold of me
and burst into tears on my shoulder. It appeared,
as I coaxed it from him, that his mind had cast
back, and he was lamenting the dearth of policemen
in Soho.
'The hole above us opened, and the cabman
spoke down.
' " Are you sure you meant the Ritz, sir — really? '
"'I don't want to compromise you," said I.
" Drop us at the head of St James's Street."
'He did so; took his fee, and hesitated for a
moment before turning his horse. " Sure you can
manage the gentleman, sir? " he asked.
"' Sure, thank you," said I, and he drove away
slowly. I steered Farrell into the shelter of the
Ritz's portico, facing Piccadilly.'
'They draw the blinds now (put in Otway) under
the Lighting Order : but in those days the Ritz was
given — / wont say to advertising its opulence — but to
allowing a glimpse of real comfort to the itinerant
millionaire. Jimmy resumes : —
'"Now, look here," said I, indicating the show
inside : "I wasn't hungry to start with : and I
suggest we've both inhaled enough garlic to put us
off the manger for a fortnight. As for the bucket,
you've exceeded already, and I have taken more
than is going to be good for me — a subtle difference
which I won't pause here and now to explain. It's
a kindly suggestion of yours," said I; " but I put
it to you that it's time for good little Progressives
104 FOE-FARRELL
to be in their beds, and you'll just take a taxi from
the rank on the slope, trundle home to Wimbledon
and go by-bye."
'Farrell wasn't listening. He had his shoulders
planted against a pillar of the portico, and had
fallen into a brown study, staring in upon the giddy
throng.
'" When we look," said he slowly, like an orator
in a dream — " when we are privileged to contem-
plate, as we are at this moment, such a spectacle
of the idle Ritz — excuse me, the idle Rich — and
their goings on, and countless poor folk in the East
End with nothing but a herring — if that — between
them and to-morrow's sunrise — well, I don't know
how it strikes you, but to me it is an Object Lesson.
You'll excuse me, Mr I haven't the pleasure
to remember your name at this moment. I connect
it with my Maria's two pianners — something between
the Broadwood and the Collard & Collard — you'll
excuse me, but putting myself in the place of the
angel Gabriel, merely for the sake of argument,
this is the sort of way it would take me ! "
'Before I could jump for him, Otty, he lifted his
hand and flung something — I don't know what it
was, for a certainty, but I believe it was the
' Blanco ' tin of sulphuretted hydrogen, that he had
been nursing all the way from the Catalafina. . . .
At any rate the missile hit. There was an agreeable
crash of plate glass, and we ran for our lives.
'You know the long rank of taxis on the slope
of Piccadilly. We pelted for it. Before an
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 105
alarm whistle sounded I had gained the fifth in the
row. The drivers were all gathered in their shelter,
probably discussing politics. I made for a car,
cried to Farrell to jump in, hoicked up the work?
like mad, and made a spring for the seat and the
steering-gear. Amid the alarm whistles sounding
from the Ritz I seemed to catch a shrill scream
close behind me, and looked around to make sure
that my man was inside. The door slammed-to,
and I steered out for a fair roadway.
There was a certain amount of outcry in the
rear. But I opened-out down the slope and soon
had it well astern. We sailed past Hyde Park
Corner, down Knightsbridge, and cut along Bromp-
ton Road into Fulham Road, and rounded into
King's Road, cutting the kerb a trifle too fine.
Speed rather than direction being my object for the
moment, Otty, I rejoiced in a clear thoroughfare
and let her rip for Putney Bridge. There was a
communication tube in the taxi, and for some while
it had been whistling in my ear, with calls and out-
cries in high falsetto interjected between the blasts.
" Funny dog's ventriloquising," thought I, and
paid no further attention to the noises. Our pace
was such, I couldn'* be distracted from the steer-
ing. ... I was quite sober by this time : sober,
but considerably exhilarated.
'My spirit soared as we took the bridge with a
rush, cleared the High Street and breasted Putney
Hill for the Heath. The night was clear, with a
southerly breeze. The stars shone, and I seemed
F.F. H
106 FOE-FARRELL
to inhale all the scents of a limitless prairie, wafted
past the wind-screen from the heath and the stretch
of Wimbledon Common beyond. . . . Why should
I miss anything of this glorious chance? Why
should I tamely deliver Farrell at a house the
name of which I had forgotten, the situation of
which was unknown to me, the domestics of which,
when I found it by painful inquiry, would probably
receive me with cold suspicion, as a misleader of
middle-age? In fine, why should I not strike the
Common and roam there, letting the good car
have her head while Farrell slept himself sober.
A line or two of the late Robert Browning's waltzed
in my head : —
" What if we still ride on, we two?
— Ride, ride together, for ever ride."
'I brought the car gently to a halt on the edge
of the heath, under the stars, climbed out, and
opened the door briskly.
'"Look here, Farrell," I announced. " Fve a
notion "
'" Then it's more than / have, of the way you're
treating a lady ! ' answered a voice; and out
stepped a figure in skirts ! By George, Otty, you
might have knocked me down with a — with a
feather boa : which was just what this apparition
seemed preparing to do. I had brought the taxi
to rest close under a gas-lamp, and in the light of
it she confronted me, slightly swaying the hand
which grasped the boa.
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 107
'" Good Lord ! ma'am," I gasped, " how in the
world . . . ? "
'" That's what I want to know," said she, with
more show of menace. " What is your game, young
man? Abduction? "
'" I swear to you, ma'am," I stammered, " that
my intentions would be strictly honourable if I
happened to have any. ... I may be more in-
toxicated than I felt up to a moment ago. . . .
But let us, at all events, keep our heads. It seems
the only way out of this predicament, that we keep
strictly in touch with reality. Very well, then. . . .
You entered this vehicle, a middle-aged gentleman
something more than three sheets in the wind. You
emerge from it apparently sober and of the opposite
sex. If any explanation be necessary," I wound
up hardily, " I imagine it to be due to me, who
have driven you thus far under a false impression
— and, I may add, at no little risk to the trans-
pontine traffic."
'"Look here!" said this astonishing female.
" I don't know how it's happened, but I believe I
am addressing a gentleman "
'" I hope so," said I, as she paused.
'"Well, then," she demanded, smoothing her
skirts and seating herself on the edge of the grass,
under the lamplight. " The question is, what do
you propose to do ? I place myself in your hands,
unreservedly."
' I managed to murmur that she did me honour.
" But with your leave, ma'am," said I. " we'll
io8 FOE-FARRELL
defer that point for a moment while you tell me
how on earth you have managed to change places
with my friend, whom with my own eyes I saw
enter this vehicle. It must have been a lightning
change anyhow : for all the way from Piccadilly I
have been priding myself on our speed."
'"Change places?" she exclaimed. "Change
places? I'm a respectable married woman, young
sir : and as such I'd ask you what else was due to
myself when he sat down on my lap without even
being interjuiced? "
' I made a step to the door of the taxi, but turned
and came back. " He's inside, then? " I asked.
'"Of course he's inside," she retorted. " What
d'you take me for? A body-snatcher? Inside he
is, and snoring like a pig. Wake him up and ask him
if I've be'aved short of a lady from the first."
'"He's incapable of it, ma'am," said I. "Or,
rather, I should say, you are incapable of it. By
which I mean that my friend is incapable of —
er — involving you otherwise than innocently in a
situation of which — er — you are both incapable,
respectively. Appearances may be against us "
'"Look here," she chipped in. "Have you
been drinking too? "
'"A little," I admitted. "But you may trust
me to be discreet. How this responsibility comes
to be mine, I can't guess : but it is urgent that I
restore you to your home, or at any rate find you a
decent lodging for the night. Where is your home ? '
I asked.
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 109
'" Walsall," said she. " And I wish I had never
left it ! "
' " Well, ma'am," said I, " I won't be so ungallant
as to echo that regret. But, speaking for the
moment as a taxi-driver, I put it that Walsall is a
tidy distance. Were you, by some process that
passes my guessing, on your way to Walsall when
we, as it seems, intercepted you in Piccadilly? '
'" Not at all," she answered. " On the contrary,
I was wanting to get to Shorncliff Camp."
' I mused. " From W T alsall ? . . . They must
have opened a new route lately."
'" It's this way," she told me. " My husband's
a sergeant in the Royal Artillery. He's stationed
at Shorncliff : and I was to meet him there to-night,
travelling through London. When I got to London,
what with the shops and staring at Buckingham
Palace, and one thing and another, I missed the
last train down. So, happening to find myself by
a line of taxis I had a mind to ask what the fare might
be down to Shorncliff and tell the man that my
husband was expecting me and would pay at the
other end. I was that tired, I got into the handiest
taxi — that looked smart and comfortable, with a
little lamp inside and a nice bunch of artificial
flowers made up to look like my Christian name
And what do you think that is? Guess."
'"I'm hopeless with plants, ma'am,' said I,
looking hard at the taxi. " Might it be Daisy? '
'"No, it ain't," said she. "There now, you'll
take a long time guessing, at that rate. It's
no FOE-FARRELL
Petunia. . . . Well then, as I was saying, I got in
and sat back in the cushions, waiting for the
Shofer, if that's how you pronounce it; and I reckon
I must have closed my eyes, for the next thing I
remember was this friend of yours sitting plump
in my lap without so much as asking leave. Before
I could recover myself we were off. And now, I
put it to you as a gentleman, What's to become of
me? For, as perhaps I ought to warn you, my
husband's a terror when he's roused."
'"He's at Shorncliff. We won't rouse him
to-night," I assured her. " It's funny," I went on,
" how often the simplest explanation will "
But I left that sentence unfinished. " Have you
any relatives in London? " I asked brightly.
' She hesitated, but at length confessed she had a
sister resident in Pimlico.
'"Ah!" said I. "She married beneath her,
perhaps?
'Mrs Petunia looked at me suspiciously in the
lamplight. " How did you guess that? " she asked.
'"Simplicity itself, ma'am," I answered. "She
could hardly have done less. And from Eaton
Square to Pimlico, what is it but a step? . . .
Or, you may put it down to a brain- wave. Yes,
ma'am. And I'm going to have another."
' I stepped to the door of the taxi, threw it open,
and shouted to Farrell to tumble out.
'" Wha's matter? " he asked sleepily. " Where
are we? "
'" We're on the edge of Putney Heath," said I.
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME in
"' Ri' ! " said he in a murmur. " You're true
friend. First turning to the left and keep straight
on. Second gate on Common pasht pillar-box."
' I haled him forth. " Look here," said I. " Pull
yourself together. I find that we've, in our inno-
cence, abducted this lady, who happened to be
resting in the taxi when you jumped in."
'Farrell, making a mental effort, blinked hard.
" That accounts for it," said he. " Thought I felt
something wrong when I sat down."
'"That being so," I went on, "you will agree
that our first duty, as we are chivalrous men, is to
restore her to her relatives."
'"B'all means," he agreed heartily. " R'shtore
her. Why not? "
' As it happens, she has a sister living in Pimlico."
' " They all " he began : but I was on the watch
and fielded the ball smartly.
'"And you, unless I'm mistaken," said I, "are
a member of the National Liberal Club? "
'"We all " he began again, and checked
himself to gaze on me with admiration. " Shay
that again," he demanded.
' " You are a member of the National Liberal
Club? " I repeated.
' " I am," he owned; " but I couldn' pr'nounce
it just at this moment, not for a tenner. An' you've
said it twice ! Tha's what I call carryin' liquor
like a gentleman : or else you've studied voice-
producsh'n. Wish I'd studied voice-producsh'n,
your age. Usheful, County Council."
ii2 FOE-FARRELL
"'County Council!" put in the lady sharply.
" Don't tell me!"
'"He's but a candidate at present, ma'am," I
explained.
'She eyed us both suspiciously. " No kid, is it? "
she asked. "You ain't a dress-clothes detective?
What ? . . . Then, as between a lady and a gentle-
man, why haven't you introduced him ? It's usual."
'" So it is, ma'am. Forgive me, this is Mr Peter
Farrell. Mr Fanell, the — the Lady Petunia."
'" And very delicately you done it, young man."
The Lady Petunia bowed amiably. " This ain't
no — this isn't — no time nor place for taking
advantages and compromising." She pitched her
voice higher and addressed Farrell. " I'm pleased
to make your acquaintance, if I caught your
name correctly. Mr Farrell? — and of the National
Liberal Club? The address is sufficient, sir. It
carries its own recommendation — though I had
hoped for the Constitutional."
'" It's still harder to pronounce, ma'am," I
assured her. " That is my friend's only reason."
'"It was you that started my-ladying me," she
claimed. " Why don't you keep it up? I like it."
'"My dear Lady Petunia," said I, "as you so
well put it, the National Liberal Club carries its
own recommendation. What's more,, it's going
to be the saving of us."
'" I don't see connecshun," objected Farrell.
"They don't admit "
'"They'll admit you" I said; "and that's
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 113
where you'll sleep to-night. The night porter will
hunt out a pair of pyjamas and escort you up the
lift. Oh, he's used to it. He gets politicians from
Bradford and such places dropping in at all hours.
Don't try the marble staircase — it's winding and
slippery at the edge. . . . And don't stand gaping at
me in that helpless fashion, but get a move on your
intelligence. . . . We're dealing with a lady in
distress, and that's our first consideration. Now I
can't take you on to Wimbledon, however willing
to be shut of you : first, because it would take
time, and next because I'm not sure how much
petrol's left in the machine. So back we turn for
the lights of merry London. We deposit the Lady
Petunia at — what's the address, ma'am? "
'"Never you mind," said she helpfully. "Put
me down somewhere near the end of Vauxhall
Bridge, and I find my way."
'"Spoken like an angel," said I. "And then,
Farrell, you're for the National Liberal Club. The
servants there are not known to me, but I'll bet on
their asking fewer questions than I should have to
answer your housekeeper."
' I think Farrell was about to demand time for
consideration. But the Lady Petunia gripped him
by the arm. " Loveadove ! " she exclaimed.
" There's a copper coming down the road ! ' We
bundled him back into the taxi. " It's a real
copper, too," she warned me as she sprang in at
his heels. " Spark her up, and hurry ! — I can tell
the sound of their boots at fifty yards."
ii4 FOE-FARRELL
'Well, Otty, I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris
and she She was right. The policeman came
up and drew to a halt as, without an indecent show
of haste, I dropped into the driver's seat, started
up and slewed the wheel round.
'"Anything wrong? " he asked.
'" There was," said I. " Over-succulence in the
bivalves : but she'll work home, I think."
'I pipped him Good-night, and we sailed down
the hill in some style. Sharp to the right, and
by-and-by I opened a common on my right — Wands-
worth? Clapham? — Don't ask me. I named it
Clapham. " To your tents, Clapham ! " I shouted
as I went : but the warning was superfluous. As
the poet — wasn't it Wordsworth? — remarked on
a famous occasion, Dear God ! the very houses
seemed asleep. . . .
' It must have been five or six minutes later that
our petrol gave out and my trusted taxi came
gently to a halt in the middle of the roadway. I
climbed out, opened the door and explained. " Step
out, quick," said I, " and make down this street
to the left. We must tangle the track a bit, with
this piece of evidence behind us."
'The Lady Petunia considerately took Farrell's
arm. " Why, he can walk ! " she announced. " I'm
all ri' ! " Farrell assured her. " You may be yet,"
she answered, " if you keep your head shut." Farrell
asked me if I considered that a ladylike expression.
To this she retorted that she couldn't bear for any
one to speak crossly to her : it broke her heart.
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 115
' " Capital ! " said I. '* Voices a tone lower,
please — but keep it up, and you're husband and
wife, returning from an evening at the theatre.
Taxi broken down — wife peevish at having to
walk remaining distance. Keep it up, and I'll
undertake to steer you past half the police in
London."
'Well, I steered them past two, and without a
question. Not one of us knew our bearings, but we
were making excellent weather of it, and at length
came out of the by-streets upon a fine broad
thoroughfare with an arc-lamp at the corner.
'I stared up at the building on my left, against
which the lamp shone. There was no street-sign
at the angle, and an inscription in large gilt letters
on the facade was not very helpful — ROYAL
SOUTH LONDON PICTUREDROME— yet to
some extent reassuring. We were at any rate lost
in London; and not in Byzantium, as we might have
deduced from other architectural details.
'" And yet I am not wholly sure," said I. " We
will ask the next policeman. Picturedrome now —
barbaric union of West and East. — Surely the
word must be somewhere in Gibbon. Ever met it
in Gibbon, Farrell? "
'" No, I haven't," he answered testily. " Never
was in Gibbon, to my knowledge. Where is it ? . . .
But I'll tell you what ! " he wound up, fierce and
sudden; " I've met with too many policemen
to-night; avenushe, we've been passin'. Seems to
me neighb'rhood infested. Not like Soho. 'Nequal
n6 FOE-FARRELL
dishtribush'n bobbies. 'Nequal dishtribush'n
everything. Cursh — curse — modern shivilzash'n —
damn ! "
'" Our taxi," I mused, " may have been a magic
one. We are in a dream, and the Lady Petunia is
part of it. She may vanish at any moment "
'But Petunia had turned about for a glance
along the street behind us. Instead of vanishing,
she clawed my arm sharply, suppressed a squeal, and
pointed. . . . Fifty yards away stood a taxi, and
two policemen beside it, flashing their lanterns over
it and into its interior.
'Between two flashes I recognised it. . . . It
was mine, my Arab taxi, my beautiful, my own. . . .
Farrell's fatal propensity for steering to the right
had fetched us around, almost full circle.
'There she stood, with her mute appealing head-
lights. "Wha's matter?" asked Farrell. "Oh,
I say — Oh, come ! More of 'em? "
' I dragged him and Petunia back into the shadow
under the side-wall of the Picturedrome, and leaned
back against the edifice while I mopped my brow.
My shoulder-blade encountered the sharp edge of a
rainwater pipe. A bright and glorious inspiration
took hold of me. Farrell had made all the running,
so far : it was time for me to assert my manhood.
"'Wait here," I whispered, "and all will be
well. In three minutes "
'" Here, I say ! " interposed the Lady Petunia.
" You're not going to do a bilk? "
'" Dear lady," I answered, " for at least twenty
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 117
minutes you have been complaining, and pardon-
ably, that my friend and I have enjoyed the pleasure
of your company yet repaid it with no form of
entertainment. I fear we cannot offer you Grand
Opera. But if your taste inclines to the Movies "
'" Get along, you silly," she rebuked me. " Ain't
you sober enough to see the place is closed? "
'" If I were sure it wouldn't be used as evidence
against me," I answered gallantly, " I should say
that Love laughs at Locksmiths. Here, take my
overcoat; my watch also — as evidence of good
faith and because it gets in one's way, climbing. . . .
Wait by this door, which (you can see) is an Emer- '
gency Exit, and within five minutes you shall be
reposing in a plush seat and admitting that the
finish crowns the work."
'Well, at this hour, Otty, I won't dwell on my
contribution to the evening's pleasure. Besides,
it was nothing to boast of. I was a member of the
Oxford Alpine Club, you know : and the water-pipe
offered no difficulties. The stucco was in poor
condition — I should say that it hardens more easily
in Byzantium — but for difficulty there was nothing
comparable with New College Chapel, or the friable
masonry and the dome of the Radcliffe.
'I let myself down through a skylight into the
bowels of the place : found, with the help of matches,
the operating box and the gallery, switched on the
lights, and shinned down a pillar to the stall-.
After that, to open the Emergency Exit and
n8 FOE-FARRELL
admit my audience was what the detective stories
call the work of a moment. I re-closed the
door carefully, and climbed back to manipulate
the lantern.
'I had helped to work one of these shows once,
at a Sunday School treat — or a Primrose Fete —
forget which — down in the country. It's quite
simple when you have the hang of it. ... I made
a mull with the first reel : got it upside down; and
Petunia from somewhere deep under the gallery,
called up " Gar'n ! " It was a Panorama of Pekin,
anyway, and dull enough whichever way you
took it.
'After that we fairly spun through "The Cow-
puncher's Stunt " — a train-robbery — " The Missing
Million," and a man tumbling out of the top-storey
of Flat- Iron buildings, New York. He went down,
storey after storey, to the motto of " Keep on
Moving," and just before he hit the ground he began
to tumble up again. On his way up he smacked
all the faces looking out at the windows — I often
wonder, Otty, how they get people to do these
things : but I suppose the risk's taken into account
in the pay.
'Farrell took a great fancy to 'Keep on Moving.'
Up to this we had been snug as fleas in a blanket;
but now he started to make such a noise, encoring,
that I had to step down to the gallery and lean
over it and request Petunia to take the cover
off the piano and play something, if she could, to
deaden the outcries. " Something domestic on the
ADVENTURE OF THE PICTUREDROME 119
loud pedal/' I suggested. " Create an impression
that we're holding a rehearsal after hours."
'She came forward, looked up, and said that I
reminded her of Romeo and Juliet upside down.
'" Of course ! " I explained. " We're in Pekin.
Get to the piano, quick."
'" I've forgotten my scales," she answered back,
between Farrell's calls of " 'Core ! 'Core ! "—
" Will it do if I sit on the keys? "
'She went to the instrument. " Often, and con
espressione ! " I shouted; " and back-pedal for all
you are worth ! " Then I climbed down and
collared Farrell, for the police had begun to hammer
on the door. I grabbed for his head : but it must
have been by the collar I caught him — that being
where he wore most fur. . . . There was a stairway
between the stalls and the gallery. I whirled him
up it, and leaned over the gallery rail, calling to
Petunia. She had dragged off the piano-cover
and was rolling herself up in it. . . . Then, as the
police crashed in, I switched off the lights.
' Somehow or another I hauled Farrell up and on
to the flat roof. " Now," said I, after prospecting
a bit in a hurry, " the great point is to keep cool.
You follow me over this parapet, lower yourself,
and drop on to the next roof. It's a matter of
sixteen feet at most, and then we'll find a water-
pipe."
'But he wouldn't. He said that he suffered from
giddiness on a height and had done so from the age
of sixteen, but that he was game for any number
120 FOE-FARRELL
of policemen. He'd seen too many policemen, and
wanted to reduce the number. I left him clawing
at a chimney-pot, and — well, I told you the stucco
was brittle, and you saw the state of his clothes.
I think he must have got out a brick or two and
put up a fight.
'For my part, I slid three-quarters of the way
down a pipe, lost my grip somehow and tumbled
sock upon the serried ranks of a brutal and licentious
constabulary. They broke my fall, and afterwards
I did my best. But, as Farrell had justly com-
plained, there were too many of them. So now you
know/ Jimmy wound up with a yawn.
'What about the Lady Petunia?' I asked.
' Oh ! ' He woke up with a start and laughed :
' I forgot — and it's the cream, too. . . . The
police who grabbed me had been hastily summoned
by whistle. They rushed me up two side streets
and towards a convenient taxi. It was convenient :
it was stationary. ... It was my own, own taxi,
still sitting. One constable shouted for its driver;
another had almost pushed me in when he started to
apologise to somebody inside. It was Petunia,
wrapped in slumber. She must have slipped out
by the Emergency Exit and taken action with
great presence of mind. I don't know if they
managed to wake her up, or what happened to her.'
Jimmy yawned again. 'What's the time, Otty?
It must be any hour of the morning. . . . I don't
know. She forgot to return my watch.'
NIGHT THE SEVENTH
THE OUTRAGE
Jephson awoke me at 7.30, as usual. But I dozed
for another half an hour and should have dropped
asleep again had it not been that some little thing
— I could not put a name to the worry — kept
teasing my brain; some piece of grit in the machine.
An engagement forgotten? an engagement to be
kept? — Nothing very important. . . .
Then I remembered, jumped out of bed, and
knocked in at Jimmy's room. I expected to find
him stretched in heavy slumber. But no : he stood
before his dressing-table, tubbed, shaven, half-
clothed, and looking as fresh as paint.
' Hallo ! ' said he. ' Anything wrong ? '
'Just occurred to me,' said I, 'this is the morning
you were due to breakfast with Jack. 'Thought
I'd remind you, in case you might want to telephone
and put him off.'
'If I remember,' said Jimmy thoughtfully, rum-
maging in a drawer, ' this Jack's other name is Foe.
If it were Ketch, I'd be obliged to you for ringing
him up with that message. . . . It's all right.
Plenty of time. Breakfast and conversation with
the learned prepared for me right on my way to the
Seat of Justice. Providence — and you can call it
f.f. 121 I
122 FOE-FARRELL
no less — couldn't have ordered it better. Here,
help me to choose. — What's the neatest thing in
ties when a man's going to feel his position acutely ? '
Upon this I observed that his infamous way of life
seemed to leave more impression upon his friends than
on himself ; and stalked back to my bedchamber.
'Ingrate!' he shouted after me. 'When you've
seen Farrell ! '
So I breakfasted alone, read the papers (which
reported that Mr Farrell's meeting overnight had
been 'accompanied by scenes of considerable dis-
order'), dealt with some correspondence, and in due
time was taxi'd to Ensor Street. There I found
Jimmy on the penitents' bench, full of sparkling
interest in the proceedings of the court and in the
line — a long and variegated one — of his fellow-
indictables. Farrell sat beside him, sprucely
dressed but woebegone. He wore a sort of lamp-
shade, of a green colour, over his eyes, and (as
Jimmy put it) 'looked the part — Prodigal Son
among the Charlottes.' By some connivance — on
some faked pretence, I make no doubt, that I was his
legal adviser — the police allowed Jimmy to cross over
and consult me. He informed me that the Professor
had put him up an excellent breakfast of grilled
sole and devilled kidneys, and had afterwards
shown him round the laboratory. 'Wonderful
man, the Professor ! But you should see that dog
of his he calls Billy — hairy little yellow beast that
flies into rages like a mad thing, and then at a word
THE OUTRAGE 123
crawls on its belly. Sort of beast that dies on his
master's grave in the children's books, like any
human creature.'
The charge was not called on the list until 12.30
or thereabouts. . . . They say that in England
there's one law for the rich and another for the
poor. I don't know about that : but there's one
for the bright and young and another for the middle-
aged and sulky. The police had already let Jimmy
down lightly on the charge sheet : they showed
further leniency at the hearing. Even the constable
who faced the Bench with an eye like a damnatory
potato contrived to suggest that he would have
left it outside if he could — so benevolently, so
appreciatively he made it twinkle as he gave his
evidence. Jimmy tried to take the blame; but the
Magistrate, without relaxing his face, fined him
two pounds and mulcted Farrell in five. He added
some scathing remarks upon old men who led
their juniors astray and called themselves Martin
Luther when they were nothing of the sort. I
wondered if he knew that he was admonishing a
candidate for County Council honours. I had
a notion that he did. His address lasted half a
minute or less, and during it he kept his gaze
implacably fixed on the culprit : but by the
working of his under-jaw and of the muscles below
it I seemed to surmise — shall we say — a certain
process of deglutition.
Their fines paid, Jimmy — staunch to the last —
124 FOE-FARRELL
brought Farrell forth to me, who waited outside
by the doorstep.
'Look here, Otty; he's in trouble '
'Of his own making, by all accounts/ I put in
sternly.
Farrell began to stutter. 'A most untoward —
er — incident, Sir Roderick — most untoward! Com-
promising, I fear?'
'You've lost us the seat, that's all,' I told him.
'Oh, I trust not — I trust not!' he protested.
'Might the reporters be — er '
'Squared?' I suggested.
' Induced — yes, induced — to omit the — er —
personal reference ? '
'Like the Scarlet Mr E's,' suggested Jimmy,
'or the Scarlet Pimpernel — rather a good name for
you, Farrell. Better than Martin Luther, anyway.
The Scarlet Pimpernel, or Two in a Taxi, Not to
Mention the Lady. Or — wait a bit— Peter and
Petunia, or Marooned in Soho. Reader, do you
know the Catalafma? If not, let me '
'Jimmy,' I commanded, 'don't make an ass of
yourself. ... As for you, Mr Farrell, let me
remind you of a pretty wise saying of somebody's
— that influence is jolly useful until you have used
it. If I remember, I strained my little stock of it
with these reporters two nights ago.'
'I wouldn't jib at expense,' Sir Roderick,' he
whimpered.
'Don't kick him, Otty,' Jimmy implored. 'He's
down. And listen to me, Farrell,' he went on,
THE OUTRAGE 125
swinging about. 'You can't help it : it's the Hire
System working out through the pores. You don't
perspire, what you think you're perspiring, though
you're doing it freely enough. . . . Now, Otty—
for my sake — if you don't mind !'
'Well then, Mr Farrell,' said I, 'I'm ready to do
this much for you.— We'll find a taxi here and now
for the Whips' Offices and take their advice. Having
taken it, I am willing to drive straight back to
your Committee Rooms with the Head Office's
decision.'
The man's nerves were anywhere. He clung to
me for counsel — for mere company — as he would
have clung to anybody.
So we found a taxi and climbed in, all three.
But I did not reach the Whips' Office that day.
There was a hold-up as we neared the bridge,
and we came to a dead stop. I set it down to some
ordinary block of traffic, and with a touch of annoy-
ance : for Farrell by this time was arguing himself
out as a victim of circumstances, and with a feeble-
ness of sophistry that tried the patience.
I remember saying 'The long and short of it is,
you've made a fool of yourself. . . . Why on earth
can't this fellow get a move on?' — As though he
had heard me, just then the driver slewed about
and shot us back a queer half-humorous glance
through the glass screen.
Jimmy, lolling crossways on one of the little
let-down seats with his leg across the other, caught
126 FOE-FARRELL
the glance, sprang up and thrust his head out at
the window.
' Hallo ! ' said he. ' Suffragettes ? Dog-fight ? . .
Pretty good riot, anyhow,' — and the next moment
he was out on the roadway. I craned up for a look
through the screen, and stepped out in his wake.
Some thirty yards ahead of us, close by the gates
of the South London College, a dense crowd blocked
the thoroughfare. It was a curiously quiet crowd,
but it swayed violently under some pressure in the
centre, and broke as we watched, letting through a
small body of police with half a dozen men and
youths in firm custody.
My wits gave a leap, and my heart sank on the
instant. I stepped to the taxi door and commanded
Farrell to tumble out.
'Here's more of your mess-work, unless I'm
mistaken,' said I.
'Mine?' He looked at me with a dazed face.
' Mine ? ' he quavered. ' Oh, but what has happened ?
. . . There would seem to be some conspiracy . . .'
'Yes, you interfering ass. Out with you, quick !
and we'll talk later.' I turned my shoulder on him
as I handed the driver his fare. 'Now follow and
keep close to me.'
I stepped forward to meet the Sergeant in charge
of the convoy. He would have put me aside.
'Sorry, sir, but you must tell your man to take
you round by the next bridge. Traffic closed here
— half an hour, maybe.' Then he caught sight of
Farrell behind my shoulder, recognised him, and
THE OUTRAGE 127
called his party to a halt. 'Excuse me/ he said,
with a fine official manner committing him to no
approval of us, 'but is this the Candidate? . . .
Well, you've come prompt, sir, but scarcely prompt
enough. Situation's in hand, so to speak. Still
you might be useful, getting the crowd to clear off
peaceable.' He pondered for a couple of seconds.
'Yes, I'll step back with you to the gate, sirs, and
pass you in. You, Wright son,' he spoke up to a
second in command, 'take over this little lot and
deliver them: it's all clear ahead. Get back as
fast as you can. . . . Now, sirs, if you'll follow
me _there's no danger— the half of 'em no more
than sightseers.'
'Just a word, Sergeant,' said I, catching up his
stride. ' I want to know how this started and how
far it has gone.'
He glanced at me sideways. 'Not on oath, sir,
nor official, eh ? : what isn't hearsay is opinion, if
you understand. Far as I make it out— but we was
caught on the hop, more by ill luck than ill man-
agement—it started with an open-air meetin' right
yonder, at the corner of the Park. Y'our friend--
that is to say Mr Farrell, if I make no mistake '
'Yes, he's Mr Farrell all right. Go on.'
'Well, he was billed to attend, sir; but he didn't
turn up.'
'He had another engagement,' I put in.
'Well, and I did hear some word, too, to
that effect,' allowed the Sergeant, with another
professional glance, subdolent but correct. 'But, as
128 FOE-FARRELL
reported to me, his absence was unfortunate. One
or two of the wrong sort got hold of the mob, and
there was a rush for the College gates. . . . Which
the two or three constables did their best and
'phoned me up.'
'Much damage?' I asked.
'Can't say, sir. I was given post at the gates,
where for ten minutes my fellows was kept pretty
busy bashing 'em and throwing 'em out. You see,
it being Saturday, most of the students had gone
home, and the porter was took of a heap and ran. . . .
Or that's how it was reported. And whiles we
was thus occupied, word came out that the game
was over without need to call reinforcements,
if we could hold the gate. We answered back
sayin' if that was all we was doing it comfortably.
Whereupon they began to hand us out the arrests,
with word that some outbuildings had been wrecked
and a considerable deal of glass broken. Lavatories,
as I gathered.'
'Laboratories,' I suggested.
'Very like,' the Sergeant agreed; 'if you put it
so. It struck me as sounding like the sort of place
where you wash your hands. . . . We was pretty
busy just then, or up to that moment; but from
information that reached me, they was trying to
wreck some part of the science buildings.'
'One more question,' said I — for by this time we
had reached the edge of the crowd. ' Do you happen
to know if Professor Foe was in the building at the
time?'
THE OUTRAGE 129
'He was not, sir. He had locked up for the day
and gone home to his private house. They fetched
him by 'phone. ... I know, sir, having received
instructions to pass him in : which I did, under
escort. You needn't be anxious about him, if he's
a friend of yours.'
But I was.
The crowd, as the Sergeant had promised, was
curious rather than vicious; much the sort of
crowd that the King's coach will fetch out, or a big
fire; and from this I augured hopefully (correctly,
too, as it proved) that the actual rioters had been
little more than a handful, excited by Saturday's
beer and park-oratory. . . . The average Londoner
takes very little truck in municipal politics, as I'd
been deploring for a fortnight on public platforms.
It takes you all your time to get one in ten of him
to attend a public meeting : he's cynical and sits
with his back to the ring where a few earnest men
and women, and a number of cranks, are putting
it up against the Vested Interests and the Press.
As we came up, some few recognised Farrell,
and raised a cheer. ... I dare say that helped :
but anyhow the Sergeant worked us through with
great skill, here and there addressing a man good-
naturedly and advising him to go home and take his
wages to the missus, because the fun was over and soon
there might be pickpockets about. In thirty seconds
or so we had reached the gate and were admitted.
The porter's lodge had escaped lightly. A
trampled flower-bed, flowerless at this season, and
i 3 o FOE-FARRELL
a few broken window panes, were all the evidence
that the rioters had passed. A little farther on
where the broad carriage-way, that ran straight
to the College portico, threw out branches right
and left to the Natural Science Buildings, a number
of ornamental shrubs had been mutilated, a few
of the smaller uprooted. Foe's laboratory lay to
the left, and we were about to take this bend when
a tall man came striding across to us from the right;
a short way ahead of two others, one round and
pursy and of clerical aspect, the other an official
in the Silversmiths' uniform. The tall man I
guessed at once to be the Principal, returning from
a survey of the damage done : and I waited while
he approached. He wore an angry frown, and his
eyes interrogated us pretty sharply.
'Sir Elkin Travers?' I asked.
'At your service, sir, if you are sent to help in
this business?' Sir Elkin's eyes passed on this
question to the Police Sergeant and reverted to me.
'From Whitehall?' he asked.
'No, sir,' I answered. 'My name is Otway—
Sir Roderick Otway; and our only excuse for being
here is that two of us are close friends of Professor
Foe. Indeed, sir, for myself, let me say that I
have for many years been his closest friend, and I
am anxious about him.'
'You have need to be, I fear,' said Sir Elkin,
speaking slowly. ' I was going back to him at this
moment. Will you come with me. . . . This, by
the way, is Mr Michelmore, our College Bursar/
THE OUTRAGE 131
'With your leave, gentleman/ put in the Sergeant,
Til be going back now. They've collared most
of the ringleaders; but by the sound of it they're
beating the shrubberies for the stray birds . . .'
'Certainly, Sergeant — certainly. . . . Your men
have been most prompt.' Sir Elkin dismissed him,
and again bent his attention on us. 'You are all
friends of the Professor's?' he asked.
'Two of us,' said I. 'This third is Mr Farrell,
who has come to express his sincere regret.'
The Principal's eyes, which had been softening,
hardened again suddenly with anger and suspicion.
What must that ass Farrell do but hold out his
hand effusively ? ' Pleased to make your acquain-
tance, Sir Elkin,' he began. 'Assure you— innocent
—slightest intention— quite without my approval
outrage— deplorable — last thing in the world '
He stammered, wagging a hand at vacancy ; for
the hand it reached to grasp had swiftly withdrawn
itself behind Sir Elkin's back, and remained there.
'We will discuss your innocence later on, sir.
Be very sure you will be given occasion to establish
it, if you can.' Sir Elkin's glare, under his iron-
gray eyebrows, promised No Quarter. 'Since you
have pushed your way in with these gentlemen,
it may interest you to follow us and see the results
of your ignorant incitement.'
He shook Farrell off— as it were— with a hunching
movement of the shoulder, and turned to me.
'Come, sir,' he said, courteously enough. 'I
warn you it is a tragedy.'
132 FOE-FARRELL
'But my friend is unhurt?' I asked anxiously
'The Sergeant told me '
'Doctor Foe had left the building — whether
fortunately or unfortunately you shall judge — half
an hour before the mob arrived. Saturday is, for
lecturing, a dies non with him, though he often
spends the whole day here at his work/ Sir
Elkin paused. 'By the \\&y, did I catch your
name aright, just now? You are Sir Roderick
Otway? . . . Then I ought to have thanked you,
before this. It was you who sent me a message
yesterday. Foe himself made light of it '
'I wish I had come with him/ said I, with some-
thing like a groan.
'I wish to Heaven you had/ he agreed very
seriously. 'For I have a confession to make. . . .
I was a fool. I contented myself with warning a
few of the teaching staff to be on their guard, and
with setting an extra round of night-watchers. But
I neglected to see to it that Foe removed his papers
to the College strong-room. I did suggest it; but
when he pointed out that it would involve an
afternoon's work at least, and went on to grumble
that it would probably cost him a month to re-
sort them — that he hated all meddling with his
records '
' My God ! ' I cried. ' You don't tell me his records
— eight years' close work, as I know '
'Eight years,' repeated the Principal in grave
echo as my words failed. 'Eight years' work:
that would have cost a few hours to secure — a
THE OUTRAGE 133
week, perhaps, to rearrange; and in twenty minutes
or so ' He broke off. 'You see that smoke?'
he asked. 'Over there by the two tall Welling-
tonias ? . . . There, sir, goes up the last trace of
those eight years of our friend's devotion. Patience
amounting to genius, loyalty to truth for truth's
sake so absolute that one careless moment is
dishonour, records calculated to a hair, tested,
retested, worked over, brooded over — there's what
in twenty minutes your Hun and your Goth can
make of it in this world ! '
J But, sir,' I broke in, 'books and packed paper
don't burn in that way ! Foe's Regent-Park notes
alone ran to thirty-two letter-cases when I saw
them last. He brought home two bullock-trunks
from Uganda, stuffed solid '
Sir Elkin wheeled about sharply. 'Mr Farrell,'
said he, 'you had a letter in yesterday's Times.'
'If it had crossed my mind, Sir Elkin,' pleaded
Farrell with a wagging movement of his whole
body, propitiatory, such as dogs make when they
see the whip. 'I do assure you '
'I seem to recollect,' interrupted Sir Elkin,
1 your saying that considerable sums of public money
were spent on our laboratories. The grant allocated
to this College for research was so munificent that,
after building a physiological laboratory with a
small lecture-theatre, we had to house the professor
himself in a match-boarded room covered with
corrugated iron. Between them' — he turned to
me in swift explanation — ' they made a furnace. . . .
134 FOE-FARRELL
Yes, Mr Farrell, and you asked why, if all is well
inside my laboratories, I should fear the light.
You would insist on knowing what you were paying
for. . . . Well, here is the answer, sir — if it meet
your demand.'
In the clearing where Jack's laboratory stood
surrounded by turf and a ring of conifers, a dozen
firemen were busy coiling and packing lengths of
hose. The fire had been beaten; its last gasp was
out; and the main building stood, smoke-stained,
water-stained, with gaping sockets for windows,
but with its roof apparently intact. The trees were
scorched to leeward, and the turf was a trampled
morass. Charred benches and desks, broken bottles,
retorts, and glass cases, bestrewed it. But of Jack's
sanctum — of the room in which I had been allowed
to sit while he worked, because, as he put it, 'I
made no noise with my pipe' — nothing remained
save a mound of ashes and a few sheets of iron
roofing, buckled and contorted. A thin wisp of
smoke coiled up from the ruin.
'Jack!' I called.
'Let's try the theatre,' Sir Elkin suggested.
'I left him there.'
We went in.
The rostrum Jack used for his lectures was low,
flat-topped and semicircular, with a high raised
desk in the middle. Being isolated, it had escaped
the fire; as may be it had proved too cumbrous for
removal.
THE OUTRAGE 135
Anyhow, there it was; and Jack stood beside it
busy with something he was laying out on the flat
desk-top. It looked like some sort of jigsaw puzzle
that he was piecing together very carefully, very —
what's the word? — meticulously. He had a small
heap of oddments on his left, and a silk handkerchief
in his right hand. His game was, he picked out an
oddment from the heap, polished it, fitted it more
or less into the silly puzzle and stepped back to eye
it. He looked up, annoyed-like, as if we were
breaking in on a delicate experiment.
'Drop that, Foe!' Sir Elkin commanded, sharp
and harsh, but with a human tremble in his voice.
His nails clawed into my arm. 'It's his dog,' he
whispered me, 'or what's left. The poor brute
held the door, they say . . . sprang at their throats
right and left ... till some one brained him and
they threw his carcass into the fire. . . . Drop it,
Foe — that's a good fellow ! '
Jack stayed himself, stared at us dully, and put
down the handkerchief after dusting the bench
with it.
' Is that you, you fellows ? ' he asked, with a smile
playing about his mouth and twisting it. 'Good
of you, Roddy — though almost too late for the
fun ! Jimmy, too? . . . They've made a bit of a
mess here, eh ? . . . Ah, and there's Mr Farrell !
Will somebody introduce Mr Farrell? . . . Good-
morning, sir ! We'll — we'll talk this little matter
over — you and I — later.'
Book II
THE CHASE
F.F. K
NIGHT THE EIGHTH
VENDETTA
'My dear Roddy, — Don't come around: and for
God's sake don't send Jimmy. The word is "No
sympathy, by request." You will understand.
' I shall call on you at 9 o'clock on Tuesday. Have
breakfast ready, for I shall be hungry as a hunter.
'Don't fash yourself, either, with fears that I am
" unhinged " by this business. I am just off to
Paddington— thence for the Thames— shan't say
where : but it's a backwater, where I propose to
think things out. I shall have thought them out,
quite definitely, by Tuesday.
'I believe you keep a few bottles of the audit ale.
Tell Jephson to open one for a stirrup-cup. You
can invite Jimmy.— 'Yours truly,
'J. F.
'PS.— I don't know, and can't guess, how you
came to tumble in so promptly on the heels of that
riot. But you have always been a cherub sitting
up aloft and keeping watch over— Poor Jack.
u say it. I reckon I've
caught the accent — eh? — by the quick way you
looked up. ... I hadn't much school and never
went to College : but I've studied you, Doctor,
and I'll improve."
' " Well, then," said I, nettled and less inclined
to spare him, " I'm sorry to contradict you, Mr
Farrell, but you are never going to miss my com-
pany — never, until your life's end."
' "What d'ye mean?" he blurted : and I suppose
there was something in my look that made him
edge off an inch or two on the rustic seat.
' "Simply this," I answered. 'Ten or a dozen
weeks ago you made yourself the instrument to
destroy something twenty times more valuable
than yourself. I am not speaking of what you
killed in me, nor of the years of application, the
records, measurements, analyses which you hoofed
into nothing with no more thought than a splay
coon's for an ant-heap. Nor will I trouble you
with any tale of the personal hopes I had built on
them, for you to murder. The gods suffer men of
i 7 8 FOE-FARRELL
your calibre to exist, and they must know why.
But I tell you this, though you may find it even
harder to understand. Science has her altars, and
her priests. I was one, serving an altar which you
defiled. And by God, Peter Farrell, upholsterer,
the priest will pursue."
' He drew back to the end of the seat and fairly
wilted. His terror had no more dignity than a
sheep's. He cast an eye about for help. There
was none. " You're mad !" he quavered. ' If we
were in England now What is it you're
threatening? "
' " Nothing that you could take hold of, to swear
information against me," I answered, " even if you
were in England now — now that April's here.
Or is it May? I shall probably end by killing you;
but I have tested my forbearance, and now know
that it will happen at my own time, place, and
convenient opportunity. That's a threat, eh? Well,
there's no hurry about it, and you couldn't do
anything with it, even at home in merry England.
You couldn't put up a case that you go in bodily
fear of me — as you're beginning to do — when I
can call Caffyn ('Clever fellow, Caffyn !') to witness
that only last night you desired no end to our
acquaintance. Besides, my acquaintance is all I
propose to inflict on you, just yet."
'He jumped up, and faced me. He was thoroughly
scared, and no less thoroughly puzzled. To do him
justice, he had pluck enough, too, to be pretty angry.
' " I don't know what you mean ! " he broke out.
PILGRIMAGE OF HATE 179
" I don't know what you're driving at, mad or
not. . . . The moment we crossed one another
I hated you — Yes, damn you, first impressions
are truest after all ! Later, I was weak enough,
thinking I'd injured you, to — to " He broke
down feebly. "What sort of devil are you?"
he demanded, mopping his forehead. " You can't
hurt me, I say. What is it you threaten? "
' " Only this," said I. " You have been a married
man for a number of years, and therefore can
probably appreciate better than I what it means.
But you know my feeling for you, as I know yours
towards me. . . . Well, I propose to be your
companion in this world and until death do us
part. . . . You may dodge, but I shall be faithful;
you may slip, run, elude, but I shall quest. But
your shadow I am going to be, Mr Farrell; and
ever, when you have hit a place in the sun, it shall
be to start and find me — a faithful hound at your
side. I have put the fear on you, I see. Waking
or sleeping you shall never put that fear off. . . .
And now," said I, rising and tapping another
cigarette on my case, " let me steer you back to
the railway-station. You will prefer to dine alone
to-night and think at your plans. I shall be thinking
out mine at the Ambassadeurs."
' So that's how it happened, Roddy. You might
post me £100 to the Grand Hotel, Biarritz : for
I'm running short. The hunt is up, and he's break-
ing for South. 'J. F.'
NIGHT THE ELEVENTH
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE
I'm an imperfect Christian : but I read Jack's
long letter three times over, and at each reading
I liked it the less. Before posting an answer I
handed the thing to Jimmy; who spent a morning
over it, helping himself — a sure sign of a troubled
spirit — to tobacco indifferently from his own jar
and mine. When nothing troubled him — that is
to say, as a rule — he invariably used mine. I left
him ruminating; went out, did some business,
and met him again at our usual luncheon-table at
the Bath Club.
'I believe, said Jimmy reflectively at luncheon,
'that my way with Farrell was the better, after
all. . . . You'll admit that it did the trick, and
without causing any offence to anybody. Well, if
you ask me how to deal with the Professor, I'll be
equally practical. Starve him off.'
' No good,' said I. * If I cut off supply, he'll
only come back, demand his money and be off
on the trail again. Indeed, he may turn up in
these rooms to-morrow : for it's ten to one, on my
reckoning, that Farrell will pretty soon break back
for home.'
'All the easier, then,' said Jimmy. 'Save you
180
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 181
the trouble of writing a letter. When he comes
for his money, tell him you're freezing on to it.'
'But, man alive! it's Jack's money. You
wouldn't have me thieve, would you? ... As
for the letter, I've written it : in fact you may say
that I've written two, or, rather, assisted at their
composition. Here is one of them, in copy. It
explains the other, which is a half-sheet of in-
structions now in my lawyer's possession. I shall
have to write a third presently, explaining to
Jack—- — '
'I don't like letter- writing,' interrupted Jimmy,
' and I shun solicitors. Which is anticipatory
vengeance : as soon as I'm called, and in practice,
they'll be active enough in shunning me. Otty,
you need a nurse. What the devil do you want
with consulting solicitors, when you can have my
advice, legal or illegal, gratis? '
'Listen to this,' said I: —
' Thistleton Chambers,
1 29a Essex Street, Strand, W.C.,
'May 12th, 1907.
'Dear Sir, — Our client, Sir Roderick Otway,
Brt., has to-day transferred to our account the
sum of £6,500 (six thousand, five hundred
pounds), representing a sum received by
him from you, to be administered on conditions
which, after reconsidering them, he finds himself
unable to accept.
■ Sir Roderick instructs us that you will draw
182 FOE-FARRELL
on us at your convenience for any sum or sums
under this cover. This, of course, pending
notification of your wish that we should transfer
the account elsewhere.
'Acting on our client's further instructions,
we hereby enclose in registered envelope circular
notes value £100. Kindly acknowledge receipt
and oblige
' Yours faithfully,
'B. Norgate,
'for Wiseman and Norgate,
' To ' Solicitors.
'J. Foe, Esq., D.Sc,
' Grand Hotel,
' Biarritz.'
Jimmy looked me straight, and asked, 'Is that
letter posted?'
'It is,' I answered. 'I told Norgate that, as a
matter of honour, Jack's letter ought to be answered
promptly. That's why I lost no time this morning.
Not being quite certain of the earliest post to
France, he made sure by sending off the office-boy
straight to St Martin's-le Grand.'
'Then no taxi will avail us,' groaned Jimmy,
'and I must call for a liqueur brandy instead. . . .
Oh, Otty — you must forgive the old feud : but
why did your parents send you to Cambridge?
Mine sent me to a place where I had at least to
sweat up forty pages or so of a fellow called Plato.
Not being able to translate him, I got him more or
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 183
less by heart. Here's the argument, then. . . .
Supposing a friend makes a deposit with you,
that's a debt, eh? Of course it is. But suppose
it's a deposit of arms, or of money to buy arms,
and he comes to you and asks for it when he's not
in his right senses, and you know he's not, and
he'll — like as not — play the devil with that deposit,
if you restore it. What then?'
1 If I thought that Farrell was in danger,' I mused;
'that's to say, in any immediate danger '
1 Rats ! ' said Jimmy contemptuously. ' Farrell's
a third party. Why drag in a third party? The
Professor's your friend; and he's made a deposit
with you : and you don't need to think of any one
but him. For he's mad. . . . Now, come along
to the smoking-room, where I've ordered them to
take the coffee, and where I'll give you ten minutes
to pull up your socks and do a bit of thinking.'
'Maybe you're right, Jimmy,' said I as we lit
our cigarettes. ' And if so, it's pretty ghastly. . .
He's had enough to put him off his hinge. But
somehow I can't bring myself No, hang it !
I've always looked on Jack as the sanest man I've
ever known. If he has a failing it's for working
everything out by cold reason.'
'Just what he's doing at this moment,' answered
Jimmy dryly. 'If you don't like the word " mad "
I'll take it back and substitute " balmy," or any-
thing you like. Madness is a relative term; and I
should have thought that what you call working-
184 FOE -FARRELL
every thing-out-by-cold-reason was a form of it.
I know jolly well that if I felt myself taken that
way I should go to a doctor about it. And if you're
going to practise it on the subject just now before
the committee, I shall leave the chair and this
meeting breaks up in disorder.'
'The point is/ said I, 'that the letter has gone/
'What address? ' he asked, pouring out the coffee.
'Biarritz, Grand Hotel Why surely you
read it?' — I stared at him, but he was looking
down on the cups. Then of a sudden I understood.
'Jimmy,' I said humbly, 'I've been an ass.'
'Ah,' said he, 'I'm glad you see it in that light.
. . . The afternoon mail has gone : but there's the
night boat. You can't telegraph, unfortunately.
In his state of mind you mustn't warn him. You
must catch him sitting.'
'Look here,' I proposed. 'It will be a nuisance
for you, Jimmy — it will probably bore you stiff.
But if you'll only come along with me . . .'
'The implied compliment is noted and accepted/
said Jimmy gravely. 'The invitation must be
declined, with thanks, though. Your mind is
working better already. A few hours holiday off
the L.C.C., and you'll find yourself the man you
were. But the gear wants oiling. ... Do you
remember your betting me ten to one this morning,
in a lucid interval, that Farrell would break for
home? Well, I didn't take you up. I don't mind
owning that, after you'd left, and after some
thought, I told Jephson to pack both suit-cases.
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 185
But that lawyer, with his infernal notion of despatch
in business, will have put money in the Professor's
pocket some hours before you reach Biarritz.
Money's his means of pursuit : and it's well on the
cards that you'll find both your birds flown. You
are going to Biarritz, Otty, for your sins — like
Napoleon III. and other eminent persons before
you : and you'll have, unlike the historical character
just named, to go alone for your sins. For on your
ten-to-one odds that Farrell breaks for home it's
obvious that I remain and keep goal. Now what you
have to do is to make for the bank and get out
some money, while I take a swim in the tank here.
After that,' added Jimmy, relapsing into frivolity,
' I'll look up the Trades' Directory for a respectable
firm dealing in strait-waistcoats/
Well, there is no need to tell of my chase to
Biarritz ; for I arrived there only to be baulked.
The porter who entered my name in elegant script,
with many flourishes, in the Hotel Visitors' Book,
informed me that the English Doctor had departed
— it was four hours ago — to catch the night express
for Paris. Here was the entry— 'Dr J. Foe, Chelsea,
London.' He had left no other address. 'Had he
a companion?' No none. He had passed his
time in solitary rambles : but on this, the last day,
he had spent some time in writing furiously, up to
the moment of departure.
The porter moved away to clear the letter-box,
which stood pretty near the end of the table. I
FF. N
186 FOE -FARRELL
examined the register. Farrell's name was not
among the entries.
They had assigned me my room, and I was about
to take the lift and inspect, when I heard the porter
say to himself, ' Tiens, c'est drole, maintenant.' He
had the bundle of cleared letters in his hand and
held out one. It was addressed to me in Jack's
handwriting.
I pounced for it. 'C'est a moi — Ceci s'expliquera,
sans donte.' The porter hesitated. 'Une lettre
timbree — c'est conlre les regies, sinon contre la lot . . .
mats paisque c'est pour monsieur, apparement '
A ten-franc piece did the rest. I took the letter
up to my chamber where I opened it and read —
[FOE to OTWAY]
'Grand Hotel, Biarritz.
'Dear Roddy, — I am obliged to you by receipt
of your silly lawyer's letter enclosing £100; though
what kind of salve it can spread on your conscience
to commission a fellow called Norgate to do what
you won't do at first hand I fail to perceive. How-
ever, have it your own way. I have an enemy who,
with a little training, won't give me time to worry
about my friends.
' Farrell is improving. It was difficult at first to
get a move on a man of his stupidity, and I could
only work on his one sensitive nerve, which is
cowardice. He has imagination enough to be
terrified of that which hides and doesn't declare
itself whether for good or evil.
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 187
' My own early experiments have, I admit, been
amateurish. But I shall acquire skill, and the
appetite shall learn refinements, to keep it in health.
I don't think it was bad sport, on the whole, to
open with low comedy. It tickled me, anyhow,
to watch Farrell emerge from a sort of bathing-
machine upon the plage, moderately nude and
quite unsuspicious — having given me that artful
slip in Paris — and, approaching the machine from
the rear, to insert his shirt-collar, with my card,
into his left-hand shoe.
« That was the first card I left on him. He was
putting up at the Albion — I had no need to search;
for the local paper, of course, prints a Visitors'
List which it collects from the hotels, and there my
gentleman was, under his own name. (Oh, we're
in the simple stages of the process as yet, and he
hasn't yet had recourse to so much as an alias.)
But I didn't call on him at the Albion.
' I have since learnt from him that the discovery
of my card in the bathing-machine shook him up
— well, pretty much as the footprint on the sand
shook up Robinson Crusoe. But there's a difference,
as he'll learn, between being shaken and being
scared into fits. At all events, he didn't bolt : for
I kept out of sight and molested him no more that
day. Next morning he took courage and started
off for the golf-links, which lie out to the north,
beyond the lighthouse. He was enjoying his liberty,
you understand : for I had made him carry his
clubs about and up and down the Riviera, but
188 FOE-FARRELL
never allowed him to play. That was a part of
our understanding. Also he may have had some
hazy notion that, golf being to me as holy water to
the Devil, he'd be safe out there, within a charmed
circle.
' (There's something in it, too, Roddy. And I've
half a mind, of he doesn't wake up and improve,
to offer him a handicap. He shall be safe, all the
world over, when he can find a golf-course for
sanctuary, and shall play his little game while I
wait for him and
sit on a stile
And continue to smile.
. . I wonder what sort of a hell it would be, going
round and round on endless rounds of golf — with
a real Colonel Bogey sitting on the stile and watch-
ing. . . . But I make no promises, no offers, just
now.)
' He tells me that at the Club House he found a
Golf Major of sorts — or, as he puts it, "a compatriot,
a military gentleman, retired, with a remarkable
knowledge of India " — and seduced him into playing
a round. I should gather that Farrell plays an
indifferent game. At all events, the Golf Major
was averse from a second round, and retiring to a
table in the Club veranda allowed Farrell to call
for — catch hold of your French, Roddy — " Deux
bieres, complet." The waiter understood it to mean
liquid refreshment and not a double funeral. . . .
Over the drink the Golf Major, who had known
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 189
Biarritz for twenty years, explained the difference
between its old and its new golf-course, and in-
formed Farrell that in the old one there had used
to be the most sporting hole anywhere — for a
beginner. You drove slap across a chasm of the
sea : if you didn't land your ball neatly you were
in the devil of a hole, and if you foozled you saw
your ball dropping down, down, to the beach and
the Atlantic. " Too expensive for duffers alto-
gether, especially when the price of balls rose.
Only the caddies thrived on it, at the risk of their
neck. . . . After this tiffin we'll stroll over and
have a look at it."
' So thither they strolled, and by-and-by started
to amuse themselves with pot-shot drives from the
old tee. The Major whacked his ball across to a
neat he time after time. Farrell muffed and foozled,
wasting his substance in riotous slogging. The
height of the cliff, maybe, dizzied his head.
' In this way I suppose he expended all his am-
munition. At any rate there came a pause, and a
small Basque boy in a blue beret began to descend
the slope very cautiously, searching for lost balls
in the scree. At the foot of the gully, where it
funnelled to a sheer drop, I stepped from under my
shelter and met the youngster, holding out a golf-
ball. "Here is one more," said I. — "Where are the
two gentlemen gone? " He told me that they had
gone back to the Club House. " Then here is a
franc for you," said I, "and here is a card which
you will take with the ball and my compliments to
igo FOE-FARRELL
the gentleman who cannot play golf so well as the
other gentleman."
' The lad grinned. We climbed the cliff together,
and I saw him speed off to the Club House.
' I had thus left two cards on Farrell, and it was
now his turn to call : which he duly did, and next
day; not, however, at the Grand Hotel, but at a
far more romantic place of entertainment.
' If you don't know this place — and I do not
commend it to you for entertainment towards the
close of the English season — let me tell you that,
walking south from the town by paths that
lead around the curves of the foreshore, you
quickly lose Biarritz and find yourself in a
deserted and melancholy country, — a sort of
blasted heath that belongs to a fairy-tale. The
great military road for Spain runs hidden, pretty
wide on your left, among the lower foothills of the
Pyrenees : and from it these foothills undulate
down and drop over little cliffs to form a moorland
with patches of salt marish. In spring, they tell me,
the ground is all gay with scarlet anemones in
sheets; but, when I took the path, their glory was
over and but a few late flowers lingered. I happen,
however, to like flowers for their scent more than
for their colour : and the whole of this moor was a
spilth of scent from bushes of the purple Daphne —
its full flowering time over, but its scent lingering
ghostily on the salt wind from the sea. And the
sea was forlorn as it always is in this inner bight
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 191
of the Bay of Biscay, where no ships have any
business and your whole traffic is a fishing-boat or
two, or a thread of smoke out on the horizon. You
are alone between sea and mountains; and all
along the strip that separates them, while the sky
is spring, the land and the sense of it are autumn.
' Now I don't know the history of it, but can only
guess that once on a time some enterprising specu-
lator, fired by the sudden Third-Empire blaze of
Biarritz, conceived the project of starting a rival
watering-place, here to the South : and that they
were to make its beginning with a colossal Hotel.
At any rate, here, rounding a desolate point of the
foreshore, I came upon a long desolate beach, and
a long desolate building, magnificent of facade,
new and yet ruinated, fronting the Bay with a
hundred empty eye-sockets.
' It broke on the view with a shock. It made me
glance over my shoulder to make sure of the real
Biarritz not far behind. But three or four spits
of land shut off that human, if vulgar, resort.
Between me and the Pyrenees this immense ghastly
sarcophagus of misdirected enterprise possessed
the landscape, and I approached it. Yes, Roddy,
Dauntless the slughorn to my lips I set,
And blew. Childe Roland to the Dark
Tower came.
The horrible place turned out to be a mask — as I
hope the Dark Tower did, after all, for Childe
Roland. But it was a horrible mask. It had been
192 FOE-FARRELL
started on foundations of good stone, with true
French lordliness : but it parodied — or, rather, it
satirised — the ambitious French tendency to impose
architecture upon nature. Behind the facade,
through which the wind whistled, all was an ■ un-
roofed mass of rusted girders and joists; a skeleton
framework about which I climbed — the first and
last guest — conning and guessing where suites of
rooms had been planned, to be adorned with Louis
Seize furniture, for a host of fellow-guests that had
never come and now would never arrive to make
merry. I clambered along a girder, off which my
heels scaled the rust in long flakes, and thrust my
head through one of the great empty windows to
take in the view.
' — Which was indeed magnificent. But my eye
switched from it to a mean little human figure,
moving along the foreshore with a gait which,
even at a goodish distance, I recognised for Farrell's.
It looked like a beetle creeping, nearing, across
the flats and hummocks. But it was Farrell.
' He halted at some distance, as I had halted;
arrested, as I had been arrested, at sight of the incon-
gruous great structure, planted here. He drew close,
cast a sort of questioning glance seaward, very
deliberately drew a pair of field-glasses from a case
slung over his shoulder, and focused them on the
building, lifting them slowly.
' I had drawn back behind my window-jamb, yet
so as to watch him. As he tilted the glasses upward,
I leaned out.
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 193
1 He stood for a moment or two, motionless.
Then his hands sank, with the glasses clutched in
them. He walked slowly away. When he judged
himself hidden by a spit of the shore — but my
window overlooked it — he broke into a run.
' I note that he is already beginning to reduce
his figure.
• I returned the call that same evening. I dropped
in on him as he took his seat to dine solus at the
Albion. The dining-room, I should tell you, was
fairly full. Usual sort of people : sort of English
people you see at tables-d'hote and nowhere else in
the world, with an end-of-season preponderance
of females who stay to look after the British chaplain
a little longer than he needs, or to gratify some
obscure puritan pride in seeing everybody out, or
because there's a bargain to be squeezed with the
management to the last ounce, or peradventure
because they've planned a series of cheap visits at
home for our beautiful English summer and one
or two of the Idle Rich have remembered to be less
idle than they were last year, and more restive.
' To do him credit — and it makes me hopeful for
him — Farrell has a certain instinct of self-preserva-
tion. Let us never forget that he is a widower.
Amid these Amazons he had fenced a bachelor
table. I walked up to it straight and said, with a
glance around, " Farrell, you're lonely."
' He passed a hand over his forehad and murmured,
" Oh, for God's sake— don't drive me like this . . ."
i 9 4 FOE-FARRELL
* " Nonsense," said I. " Forget it, man. Look
around you and say if there's one of these spinsters
you'd rather have for companion. Don't raise
your voice. You started in admirable key. . . .
Let's keep to it and understand one another. I'm
dining with you. If you like, we'll toss up later
for who pays : but I'm dining with you. I promise
not to hurt you to-night, if that helps conviviality."
' " It does," said he in a queer way. " Let's talk."
' " Well then," said I confidentially. " You're a
solid man. You've made your way in the world,
and I support the sort of success you've won implies
some grit. . . . What makes you afraid of me,
Farrell? "
He drank some wine and stared down on the
table-cloth, knitting his brows. " Well," he
answered, " I might tell you it's because you're
mad."
' " That's nonsense," I assured him.
' " Oh, is it? " said he. " I'd like to be sure it is."
' " My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,"
I quoted. " Feel it, Farrell."
' I stretched out my wrist. He started back as
though it had been a snake.
'"On the whole you're right," said I, drawing
back my hand slowly, watching his eyes. " If
they saw you feeling my pulse the ladies around
us would at once solve the doubt they have dis-
cussed in the drawing-room. All table-d'hote ladies
speculate concerning their fellow-guests in the
hotel. . . . Thirty pairs of eyes were on the point
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 195
of detecting you for a fashionable physician, and
by this time to-morrow thirty ladies travelling in
search of health would have found means to make
your acquaintance and pump you for medical
advice on the cheap. . . . Yes, Farrell, you have
a lively instinct of self-preservation. I will note
it. . . . Now tell me. — When I walked in just
now, that same instinct prompted you to get up
and run; to run as you did along the foreshore
this afternoon. What restrained you? "
1 " Why, hang it all," he blurted with a look
around ; "a fellow couldn't very well show up
like that before all these ladies ! "
'He meant it too, Roddy. It came out with a
flush, plump and honest.
■ It makes the chase more interesting. But I am
annoyed with myself over the miscalculation. . . .
I could have sworn he was a coward in grain. I
had marked all the stigmata. . . . And behold
he can show fight ! — at any rate in presence of the
other sex. . . . Can something have happened to
him, think you, since our talk at Versailles? Is
it possible that I am educating the man?
' On top of this complicating discovery I made a
simplifying one.
' You know that I have a knack with animals, in
the way of handling their passions. I've never
tried it on humans : for I've never laid down any
basis of knowledge, and I've always detested
empiricism. That study, as you remember, was to
come.
196 FOE-FARRELL
1 Well, I'll write farther about it some day. . .
But I believe I have something like this power over
Farrell. ... I put out a feeler or two — to change
metaphors, I waved a hand gently over the lyre,
scarcely touching the strings; and it certainly
struck me that they responded. You will under-
stand that a table-d'hote was no place for pushing
the experiment. And there were one or two men
in the smoking-room when we sought it.
1 Farrell found himself ; talked, after a while,
quite well and easily. In the smoking-room he
told me a good deal about his early life : all
bourgeois stuff, of course, but recounted in the manner
that belongs to it, and quite worth listening to.
' He never wilted once, until I got up to go and
drank what remained of my whisky-and-seltzer
" to our next merry meeting." He followed me
out to the hotel doorway to say Good-night. We
did not shake hands.
'There are indications that he will travel back
north to-night. He has left for Pau, to play golf.
At Dax this evening — mark my words — a solitary
traveller may be observed furtively stealing on
board the night express for Paris. He will be
observed : but he won't be a solitary traveller.
' Your lawyer's letter — as I started by remarking
— has arrived opportunely. If Farrell, as I suspect,
intends to go through to London, I may reach
you almost as soon as this letter, and shall add a
piece of my mind for a postscript. — Yours,
'J.F.'
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 197
I slept the night at Biarritz and started back
early next morning for London.
I found Jimmy recumbent in what he called his
Young Oxford Student's Reading Chair, alone with
the racing news in the evening papers.
'Hallo T he greeted me. 'I rather expected you
just about now. Let's go and dine somewhere.'
'Has Jack turned up here?' I asked.
"Course he has: Farrell too— Farrell first by
a short head. Rather a good idea, my stopping
at home to keep goal. Hard lines on you, though;
all that journey for nothing ... If it's any con-
solation, the Professor was much affected when I
told him of all the trouble you were taking, out of
pure friendship, to fit him with a strait-waistcoat.
" Good old Roddv ! " he said.'
'No he didn't,' I interrupted. 'And if he did,
we'll cut that out. Tell me what happened.'
'He said he had posted a letter to you from
Biarritz : that it ought to have arrived by this
time. I told him it hadn't, and it hasn't. If it
had I warn you I should have opened it.'
'That's all right,' I said. 'I extracted it from
the post-box at Biarritz, and have it here. You
shall read it by-and-by. Go on.'
'Well, in rnv opinion, the Professor's pulling
vour leg— or he and Farrell between 'em. If cither's
mad, it's Farrell; or else— which I'm inclined to
suspect— Farrell' s a born actor.'
'Now see here,' I threatened, 'I've travelled
some thousands of miles : I've spent two mghts
198 FOE-FARRELL
in the train and one in a French bedstead haunted
by mosquitoes : I've had the beast of a crossing,
and I'm in the worst possible temper. Will you,
please, tell me exactly what has happened ? '
'You shall have the details over dinner/' he
promised affably. 'For you've omitted the one
observation that's relevant — your stomach is crying
aloud for a meal The Cafe Royal is prescribed.'
'Not until I've had a tub and dressed myself.
The dust of coal-brick '
'That's all right, again. ... I admonished
Jephson. You'll find the bath spread and your
clothes laid out in your bedder, and in five minutes
or so Jephson will bring hot water in a lordly can.
I, too, will dress. . . . But meantime, here are
the outlines : —
'Farrell knocked in early this morning. He was
agitated and he perspired. He wished to see you
at once. I pointed out that it was impossible and,
as they say in examinations, gave reasons for my
answer. Hearing it, he showed a disposition to
shake at the knees and cling to the furniture.
When he went on to discover that I might do in your
place, and the furniture's place, and started clinging
to me — well, I struck. I pointed out that he was
apparently sound in wind and limb, inquired if he
owed money, and having his assurance to the
contrary, suggested that he should pull himself
together and copy the Village Blacksmith.
'While we were arguing it, the Professor butted
in. I'll do him the justice to say he wasn't
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 199
perspiring. But he, too, was in the devil of a
hurry to interview you. So I had to play band as
before.
'The position was really rather funny. There,
by the door, was the Professor, asking questions
hard, and seemingly unaware that Farrell was
anywhere in the room. Here was I, playing faithful
Gelert life-size, but pretty warily, covering Farrell
— who, for aught I knew, had gone to earth under
the sofa. I couldn't hear him breathing — and he's
pretty stertorous, as a rule.
'I kept a pretty straight eye on the Professor,
somehow, and told him the facts — that you had
sent the money (" Yes, I know," said he : "I got
it before leaving Biarritz ") : that you had actually
gone to that health-resort in search of him. (" Good
God ! " said he. " That's like old Roddy "—or
some words to that effect. You wouldn't let me
repeat 'em, just now ) Then he started telling me
about this letter he'd posted at Biarritz, and that
it should have arrived, by rights. " Well, it hasn't,"
said I, feeling pretty inhospitable for not asking
him to sit down and have a drink. . . . But, you
see, I wasn't certain he wouldn't sit down some-
where on top of Farrell. ..." Think he'll be
home to-night?" asks the Professor. "That's
what I'm allowing, in the circumstances," said I.
" — But you owe him some apology, you know,
because you've led him the devil of a dance."
" Don't I realise that ! " says he, like a man worried
and much affected. " We'll call around to-night,
200 FOE-FARRELL
on the chance of his turning up to forgive us.
Come along, Farrell ! " says he.
'I whipped about; and there was Farrell, seated
in that chair of yours, bolt upright, smirking as
foolish as a wet-nurse at a christening ! I couldn't
have believed my eyes. . . . But there it was —
and after what I'd been listening to, five minutes
before !
'As I'm describing it, it staggered me — and the
more when the Professor, looking past me, said,
" If you're ready, Farrell? " and Farrell stood up,
smiling and ready, and moved to join him. But I
kept what face I could.
'"You're going to look in again, you two? " I
asked. The Professor said " Yes, on the chance
that Roddy may turn up"; and he looked at
Farrell; and Farrell blinked and said, " Yes, we
owe him an explanation, of course."
' " Well," said I, " you'll be lucky if he don't throw
you both downstairs for a pair of knockabout
artists astray. I've a sense of humour that can
stretch some distance, and with the permission
of our kind friends in front this matinee performance
will be repeated to-night, when Otty's sense of
humour will gape for it, no doubt, after being
stretched to the Pyrenees and back."
'The Professor motioned Farrell out to the
staircase. Then he came forward to me and said,
pretty low and serious, " You're a good boy, Jimmy.
You're so good a boy that I want you to keep out
of this. If Roddy turns up to-night, tell him that
SCIENCE OF THE CHASE 201
my man's for Wimbledon, safe and sound. On
second thoughts, we won't bother a tired man,
to-night, with any excuses or apologies. By to
morrow he will probably have had my letter, and
will understand. He may or may not decide to
show it to you. I hope he won't. I hope you'll
let us see him alone to-morrow. Good-bye."
' — Now what do you make of that ? ' demanded
Jimmy helplessly.
'I make it out to be no jest, but pretty serious/
said I. ' But luckily Farrell's located at Wimbledon.
Where's Jack?' I asked.
'Don't know,' answered Jimmy.
'I'm tired enough for this night, anyhow,' said
I. 'And here's Jephson. — 'Evening, Jephson.'
Jephson came in with a can in one hand and in
the other a tray with a telegram upon it.
'Good-evening, Sir Roderick! Glad to see you
safe home, sir,' said Jephson. 'Telegram just
delivered at the Lodge for Mr Colling wood.'
' For me ? ' said Jimmy. ' I've backed nothing
to-day. Been too busy.'
He tore open the envelope, read the message,
and after a pause handed it to me, whistling softly.
It had been handed in at the Docks Station,
Liverpool, and it ran —
♦
'Tell O. that F. and I sail to-night New York
s.s. Emanta.
' Foe.'
F.F.
NIGHT THE TWELFTH
THE 'EMANIA'
I am going to spin the next stretch of this yarn —
and maybe the next after it — in my own way
You will wonder how I happened by certain scraps
of information : but you will understand before we
come to the end.
It comes mainly from later report, but partly
from documents which I have been too busy, of
late, to sift. Here they are, all mixed : and I
choose one only out of the heap — and that a passage
which doesn't help the actual story much, though
it may help the understanding of it. It occurs in a
letter of Foe's written at sea and posted from New
York—
'She had been reading a magazine, borrowed
from the ship's library, and when she left me, she
left it lying beside her deck-chair. The wind
ruffled its pages and threatened to tear them : so
I picked the thing up, and was about to close it,
and to stow it behind her cushion, when a story-
title caught my eye and agreeably whetted my
curiosity. It was " The Head-Hunter. "
' I don't care greatly for short stories. Fiction
as a rule bores me in inverse proportion to its
202
THE 'EMANIA' 203
length — which seems a paradox and liable to be
reduced to the absurd by any moderately expert
logician. Yet you will find it experimentally true
of five readers out of six. . . . Moreover the yarn
had little or nothing to do with real head-hunting
— professional head-hunting — except in its pre-
amble. I soon glanced at the end, and had no
further use for the story.
' But I turned my attention back to the preamble
and re-read it twice. The fellow, an American,
has a queer cocky irregular style : but he can write
when he chooses : and in one shot he so fairly hit
me between wind and water that I had to steal
the book, carry it down to my cabin and copy out
the passage for your benefit. . . . Yes, for yours :
because it conveys something I've been wanting
you to understand about this chase of mine, some-
thing I couldn't have put into words though I'd
tried for a month. I enclose it herewith. . . .
' When I had finished my copying, I took the
thing back, meaning to slip it under Miss Denistoun's
cushion. But she had returned to her chair, and
so I was caught red-handed. "So it was you? '
said she. " What have you been doing with my
magazine?" "Skimming it," said I — which was
true enough, literally, but I didn't manage it very
well. " Did you find anything to interest you
specially? " she asked. "Well, yes," I admitted;
" I picked it up and lit on something that promised
well : but the story came to nothing." She gave me
a glance and I felt sure she had spotted my
204 FOE-FARRELL
awkwardness and was going to pursue the catechism.
But she didn't. To my relief she harked back to
our previous talk. At tea-time, however, she re-
membered to take the magazine away with her. . .
It has not yet been returned to store. . . .
(ENCLOSURE)
' "Particularly during my stay in Mindinao had I
been fascinated and attracted by that delightfully
original tribe of heathen known as the head-hunters.
Those grim, flinty, relentless little men, never seen,
but chilling the warmest noonday by the subtle terror
of their concealed presence, paralleling the trail of
their prey through unmapped forests, across perilous
mountain-tops, adown bottomless chasms, into un-
inhabitable jungles, always near, with the inevitable
hand of death uplifted, betraying their pursuits only
by such signs as a beast or a bird or a gliding serpent
might make — a twig crackling in the awful sweat-
soaked night, a drench of dew showering from the
screening foliage of a giant tree, a whisper at even
from the rushes of a water-level — a hint of death for
every mile and every hour — they amused me greatly,
those little fellows of one idea.'"
You observe that a lady has come into the story
at last, as she was bound to do. (You will hear of
another and a very different one by-and-by.) It
is not my fault that she enters it so late — I tell of
things as they occurred — though a clever writer
THE EMANIA' 205
would have dragged her in long before this. I wish
to God I hadn't to bring her into it at all. I
slipped out her surname just now. . . .
It was through being a friend of mine that she
comes into it. Constantia Denistoun and I had
ridden ponies, tickled for trout, birds-nested,
tumbled off trees, out of duck-punts, through
forbidden ice, and into every form of juvenile
disgrace, together as boy and girl. Her father and
mine had been college friends, and (I believe) had
both fallen in love with my mother, at a College
ball, and my father won— but all on an under-
standing of honourable combat. Denistoun set
out to travel, quite in the traditional way of the
Rejected One. He was a Yorkshire squire with
plenty of money, and could afford the prescribed
cure. He travelled as far as to Virginia, U.S.A.,
where he halted, and wooed and won the heiress of
a wide estate of cotton and tobacco and a great
Palladian house, all devastated and ruined by the
War, in which her father had fallen, one of Lee's
pet leaders of cavalry. . . . Yes, I know it sounds
like a tale out of Ouida : but such things happen,
and this thing happened. . . . Denistoun scaled
the twenty steps of the Ionic portico, cleft his way
through the cobwebs and briers that were living
and dying for Dixie, kicked over the grand piano
that Dinah's duster still reverentially spared, and
carried off the enchanted Princess across the seas
to Yorkshire : where in due course she bore him a
daughter, Constantia, and, some years later, a
206 FOE-FARRELL
son who eventually came into the property but
doesn't come into the story.
In the meantime it had happened that / saw the
light. . . . My mother died, a year later : and
after seven years of widowhood my father married
again. My sister Sally — the recipient of those
long letters you see me inditing o' nights — is my
step-sister, and an adored one at that.
There you have the family history, or enough
of it. The old friendship between my father and
Squire Denistoun had never been broken ; and
now that death had taken away the last excuse for
a rivalry which had been felt but to be renounced,
Constantia and I — unconscious brats — shared
holidays, as it chanced at my home or hers, in
nefarious poaching beside Avon or in gallops
between her northern moors and the sea.
That is all, or almost all. I have to add that,
having fallen into most scrapes with her, I ended
by proposing one in which she gently but decisively
declined to share the risk. ... I am inclined to
think that, having been so frank with her, and so
frequent, in confidences about others to whom my
heart was lost, she may have missed the bloom
on the recital. . . . But there it was; and that's
that, as they say.
I accused her at the time of a priggish, unnatural
craving for things of the intellect. All my excuse
was that at a certain time of her life she took a
sudden turn for reading and setting queer new values
on things. But she was always a sportswoman, a
THE 'EMANIA' 207
woman of the open air, and — here's the point —
always knowledgeable with animals and always
beloved by them, but always (as it seemed to me)
inclined to be severe and disciplinary. To a lean
pack she was Diana; they fawned behind her for
no pay but hope of her word to let slip. But she
would beat them off the piled platter, and from a
fed lap-dog she could scarcely restrain her hands.
If you think this hasn't to do with the story, I can
only assure you that it has.
One thing more — She had met Foe; for the
first time at a luncheon-party in my rooms at
Cambridge, in May Week; a second time, it may
be, at a May Week ball — but that wouldn't count,
for she danced divinely and Foe couldn't compete
for nuts. She may have met him once or twice
afterwards, in London. It's not likely.
Anyhow (as she has told me since) she recognised
him at once when he turned up on the Emania.
She and her mother were bound out to visit
some friends at Washington, thence to fare South
and stay a while with a cousin who held the old
homestead in which her mother retained some sort
of dower share.
Thus she recognised Foe as soon as he appeared
on deck.
But he did not appear on deck until the Emania
was well out from Oueenstown; having made sure
that Farrell didn't bolt there. The two — need I
tell it? — had not taken passage in collusion.
Farrell was escaping, Foe on his trail. But Foe
208 FOE-FARRELL
had no idea of any dramatic surprise on board.
Having made sure of his man, he just took a remnant
first-class berth at the last moment, turned in, and
went to sleep.
In all their commerce (you will have begun to
remark) Foe and Farrell were apt to yield, at
intervals, to an abandonment of weariness, but
so that they alternated, the exhaustion of one
seeming ever to double the other's fever. Foe
sought his bunk and lay there like a log. Farrell,
after the first shock of reading his pursuer's name
in the Passengers' Book — where it sprang to his
eyes fair and square — fell to haunting the passage-
way, low down in the vessel, on which one dread-
ful door refused to open. His terror of it so pre-
occupied him that he forgot to feel sea-sick. But
the steward of those nether regions marked him,
by the electric lamps, as a lurking passenger to be
watched; and wondered who, at that depth in the
ship, could be carrying valuables to tempt a middle-
aged gentleman who (if looks were any guide)
ought to be up and losing money to the regular
card-sharpers.
It was not until the second day out, and pretty
late in the afternoon, that Foe emerged from his
cabin, neatly dressed and hale. (Unlike some
Professors I have known, Jack kept his clothes
brushed and his hair cut.) As he opened his door
his ear caught a slight shuffling sound; whereupon
he smiled and stepped quickly down the passage
to the turn of the companion way.
THE 'EMANIA' 209
'No hurry, Farrell!' he called; and Farrell,
arrested, turned slowly about on the stair. 'Man,
you're like the swain in Thackeray —
Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot
Ofttimes I hover —
Solicitous, were you?— thought I might be sea-sick?'
'I was wondering,' Farrell stammered. 'Seeing
that you didn't turn up at meals '
(Here I must read you a queer remark from the
letter in which Jack reported this encounter. Here's
the extract : —
'Do you know, Roddy, that silly simple answer
gave me half a fright for a moment, or a fright for half
a moment — I forget which. . . . What I had to
remember then was my discovery that I had my second
keyboard in reserve and could pull certain stops out
of him at will. . . . But seriously, I wouldn't,
without that power, back myself in this experiment
against a man who obstinately persisted in forgiving.
It came on me with a flash — and I offer this tribute
to the Christian religion.')
Foe's answer was, ' Very kind of you. As a fact,
I have been subsisting on hard biscuit and weak
whisky-and-water : though I'm an excellent sailor,
as they say. . . . It's a diet that suits me when
I'm working hard.'
'Working?' exclaimed Farrell. 'What? Head-
210 FOE-FARRELL
work, d'you mean? . . . Doctor, this is the best
news you could have told me. If only I could
know that you were picking up your interests —
getting back to yourself '
Foe took him by the arm. 'It's no good, un-
fortunately,' he answered. 'Come up on deck,
and I'll tell you.'
On deck he repeated, 'It's no good. I've been
hard at it, working on my memory, trying to
sketch out a kind of monograph — summary of
conclusions — salvage from the wreck. But it
won't do. It was an edifice to be built up on data,
bit by bit, like an atoll . . . Ever seen a coral
reef, by the way? We'll inspect one — many perhaps
— on our travels. ... I'd burn in the pit rather
than smatter out popular guess-work. Yes, all per-
sonal pride apart, I couldn't do it. But however
baldly I set down conclusions, they've all rested on
data, they've all grown up on data, and I haven't
the data. ... I wrote out half a dozen pages and
then asked myself, " What would yon say if a man
came along professing to have made this discovery ?
You'd demand his evidence, and you'd be right.
Of course you'd be right. And if he didn't produce
it, you'd call him a quack. Right again." . . .
From the personal point of view, to be sure, I might
take this sorry way out — print my conclusions,
and anticipate the demand for evidence by throwing
myself overboard. . . In the dim and distant
future some fellow might strike the lost path, take
the pains that I've taken, work out the theory,
THE 'EMANIA' 211
yes, and (it's even possible) be generous enough
to add that, by some freak of guessing, in the year
1907, a certain Dr John Foe, of whom nothing further
is known, did, in unscientific fashion, hit on the
truth, or a part of the truth. Oh, damn ! Why
should I burn in the pit, or throw myself overboard,
or go down to the shades for a quack, because a thing
like you has crawled out of the Tottenham Court
Road. ... Eh? Well, I won't, anyhow: and so
you see how it is, and how it's going to be.'
Farrell leaned against the rail, and held to a
boat's davit, while his gaze wandered vaguely
out over the Atlantic as if it would capture some
wireless message. ('I knew how it would be,'
adds Foe in his letter reporting this talk. ' He was
going to try the forgive-and-forget with me : but
by this time I was sure of myself.')
'Listen to me, Doctor,' Farrell began. 'Listen
to me, for God's pity! I didn't get off at Queens-
town, though I knew you were on board '
'No use if you had/ put in Foe. 'You don't
think I had overlooked that possibility, do you?'
'Well, I didn't, anyway,' was the answer. 'And
I'll tell you why. Honest I will. . . . We're both here
and bound for America, ain't we? And, from what
I've heard, there's no such expensive, bright, up-to-
date laboratories— if that's the way to pronounce
it_as you'll find in the States, in every walk of
Science. Now, I never meant you an injury,
Doctor; but I did you one— that I freely own. . . .
What I say is, if money can make any amends,
212 FOE-FARRELL
and if there's an outfit for science to be found in
the States to your mind, why, I'll improve on it,
sir. And I'm not saying it, as you might suppose,
under any threat, but because I've been thinking
it out and I mean it. I'm a childless man '
Foe cut him short here. 'My only trouble with
you, Farrell,' said he, 'is that you may reach your
grave without understanding. If I thought that
wasn't preventible somehow, it would save me
trouble to wring your neck here and now and throw
you overboard. As it is '
But, as it was, along the deck just then came
Constantia Denistoun, with her mother leaning on
her arm and a maid following. She recognised
Foe and halted.
'Why, good Heavens ! . . . and I'd no idea
that you were on the Emania,' said she. 'Mother,
this is Mr Foe — Roddy's friend, you know. . . .
Or ought I to call you Doctor, or Professor, or
what? . . . You weren't anything of that sort
anyhow, when we met — how many years ago? at
Cambridge.'
— That, or to that effect . . . Constantia told
me afterwards that she didn't remember throwing
more than a glance at Farrell, whom she took,
very pardonably, to be a chance acquaintance
from the smoking-room, picked up as such acquain-
tances are picked up on ship-board. And Farrell
stood back a couple of paces. To do him justice,
he was in no wise a thruster.
'It's odd,' she went on, 'that we haven't run
THE 'EMANIA' 213
across one another until this moment. What's your
business, over yonder? if that's not a rude question.'
'It's a natural one, anyhow,' Foe answered.
'My business? Well, it has been suggested to me
that a trip in the States, to see what they're doing
in the way of scientific outfit and, maybe, get hints
for a new laboratory, might not be waste of time.'
'Yes, I know; I've heard,' she said softly. 'It's
splendid to find you taking it like this . . . picking
up the pieces, eh? ... I wonder if— she hesi-
tated— 'if I might ask you some questions?
Just as much as you choose to tell : but something
to put into a letter to our Roddy, you know. Any
news of you will be honey to him. . . . You'll be
writing from New York, of course. But one man
doesn't tell another that he's looking brave and
well; and yet that's often what the other may be
most wanting to know.'
Foe was touched (so he's told me). He said
some ordinary thing that tried to show he was
grateful, and Constantia and her mother passed
on. He had not introduced Farrell.
Constantia told me most of the rest, some months
later, pouring tea for me in her flat. There is not
much in it. She said that she had taken very
little account of Jack's companion; had just
reckoned him up for a chance idler in his company
' a sort of super-commercial traveller ' ; so she de-
scribed him; 'not at all bad-looking though.'
She went on to tell that she had been mildly
214 FOE-FARRELL
surprised to see them at dinner, seated together;
further surprised and even intrigued, to see them
at breakfast together, next morning.
'Later,' said she, 'I asked him, "Who's your
friend that you didn't introduce yesterday? "
"Well," said Dr Foe, "I didn't introduce him
because I thought you mightn't like it. He's
rather an outsider. His name's Farrell." " Farrell,"
I said—" But isn't that— wasn't he ? " " Yes,
he is, and he was," Dr Foe told me very gravely.
" That's just it." I couldn't help asking how,
after what had happened, they came to be travel-
ling in company. " That's the funny part of it,"
was the answer; " he's trying to make some kind
of — well, of a reparation." I thought better of
Dr Foe, Roddy. ... It seems so mean, somehow,
that after what you've told me, Dr Foe should be
— what shall I say? — accepting this reparation
from a man who happens to be rich ! '
Constantia repeated this, in effect, some two or
three nights later. We had danced through a waltz
together and agreed to sit out another. We sat
it out, under a palm. It was somewhere in the
immediate neighbourhood of Queen's Gate, and a
fashionable band, tired of modernist tunes, was
throbbing out the old Wiener Blat. ... If Con-
stantia remembered that sacred tune, she gave no
sign of it.
'I thought better — somehow — of your friend,'
said Constantia.
THE 'EMANIA' 215
I gave her a sort of guessing look. 'You may
take it from me, Con/ I said, 'that the trouble's
not there. I'm worried about Jack. I haven't
heard from him for months. But he's not of that
make, whatever he is/
'Are you sure?' she asked. 'I feel that I like to
know. If you are right, why were he and this Mr
Farrell such close friends?'
'Farrell's pretty impossible, I agree,' said I.
Constantia opened her fan and snapped it.
'Impossible?' said she. 'Well, I don't know. . . .
Dr Foe introduced him, later on . . . and what do
you think Mamma said? She said that she had
supposed them at first sight to be relatives. There
was a trick about the eyes and the corner of the
brow. . . . You are quite sure/ she added irrele-
vantly, 'that Dr — that your friend — would be
above ?'
'I swear to you, Con,' I assured her. 'I know
Jack Foe inside and out.'
She had opened her fan again very deliberately;
and as deliberately she closed it.
'No man ever knew that of a man,' she said;
'nor no woman either. . . . You're a rotter,
Roddy — but you're rather a dear.'
NIGHT THE THIRTEENTH
ESCAPE
Somewhere in the bustle of landing and scrimmage
past the Customs, Miss Denistoun lost sight of
the two travellers; and with that, for a time, she
goes out of the story.
You may almost put it that for a time they do
the same. At all events for the next few weeks
the record keeps a very slight hold on them and
their doings. Jack knew, you see, that — though
not a disapproving sort, as a rule, and in those
days (though you children will hardly believe it)
inclined to like my friends the better for doing what
they jolly well pleased — I barred this vendetta-game
of his, and would have called him off if I could.
Folk were a bit more squeamish, if you remember,
in those dear old pre-War days.
But please note this, for it is a part of his story.
Jack wrote seldom, having a sense that I didn't
want to hear. When he did write, however, he
was liable at any time to break away from the
light, half-jesting, half-defiant tone which he had
purposely chosen to cover our disagreement, and
to give me a sentence or two, or even a page, of
cold-blooded confession. It may have been that
his purpose, at that point, suddenly absorbed him,
216
ESCAPE 217
sucked him under. It may have been that his
fixed idea had begun to spread like a disease of his
other sensibilities, hardening and deadening the
tissue, so that he did this kind of thing uncon-
sciously. It may have been both. You shall judge
before we have finished.
I will give you just one specimen. It occurs in
the very first letter addressed from America. He
and Farrell had spent five days in New York :—
'I am going to ease the chain— to run it out
several lengths, in fact. I shall still keep pretty
close in attendance on the patient, but my pro-
fessional visits will be rarer. A new and more
strenuous course of treatment requires these
holidays, if his nerves are not to break down under
it.
'The suggestion, after all, came from him, and I
am merely improving on it. . . . This continent
has started a small heat-wave — the first for the
summer. Now Farrell, who perspires freely, tells
me that he doesn't mind any amount of heat, so
that it isn't accompanied by noise : but noise and
heat combined drive him crazy. I had myself
noted that while the tall buildings here excited
no curiosity in him, he acted as the veriest rubber-
neck under the clang and roar of the overhead
trains; and the din of Broadway, he confessed,
gave him vertigo after the soft tide of traffic that
moves broad and full— " strong without rage,
without o'erflowing full "—down Tottenham Court
f.f. p
218 FOE-FARRELL
Road, embanked with antique furniture or colour-
able imitations.
'He made this confession to me in the entr'acte
of a silly vaudeville, to witness which we had been
carried by an elevator some sixteen storeys and
landed on a roof crowded with palms and funny
people behaving like millionaires. In the entr'acte
the band sank its blare suddenly to a sort of " Home,
Sweet Home " adagio, and after a minute of it
Farrell put up a hand, covering his eyes, and I saw
the tears welling — yes, positively — between his
fingers. He's sentimental, of course.
' I asked what was the matter? He turned me a
face like poor Susan's when at the thrush's song
she beheld
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury
glide
And a river flow on through the vale of
Cheapside.
He said pitiably that he wanted — that he wanted
very much — to go home; and gave as his reason
that New York was too noisy for him. ... A
sudden notion took me at this. " If that's the
trouble," I answered, " one voice in this city shall
cease its small contribution to the din. . . . We
will try," I said, " the sedative of silence."
'For three days now I have been applying this
treatment. At breakfast, luncheon, dinner; in
the street, at the theatre; I sit or walk with him,
saying never a word, silent as a shadow. He desires
ESCAPE 219
nothing so little, I need not tell you. In the infernal
din of this town he looks at me and would sell his
soul for the sound of an English voice — even his
worst enemy's. It is torture, and he will break
down if I don't give him a holiday. The curious
part of it is that, under this twist of the screw, he
has apparently found some resource of pluck. He
doesn't entreat, though it is killing him with quite
curious rapidity. I must give him a holiday to-
morrow.'
I piece it out from later letters that from New
York they harked out and harked back, to and
from various excursions — quite ordinary ones. I
might, if it were worth while, construct the itinerary;
but it would take a lot of useless labour and yield
nothing of importance. If Farrell, under this
careful slackness of pursuit, had made a bolt for
Texas or Alaska, the chronicle just here might be
worth reciting. But he didn't, and it isn't.
Buffalo — Long Island — Newport — and, in one of
Jack's letters, Chicago for farthest West— occur
in a miz-maze fashion. It is obvious to me that
during these months Farrell, kept on the run, ran
like a hare (and a pretty tame one); that twice or
thrice he headed back for New York, and was
headed off.
I passed over each letter, as it came, to Jimmy.
It was over some later letter, pretty much like the
one I've just read to you, that Jimmy, frowning
thoughtfully, put the sudden question, 'I say,
220 FOE-FARRELL
Otty, are we fond enough of him to start on another
wild-goose chase? — to America this time, and
together.'
'Jack's my best friend, of course,' I answered
after a moment. 'You don't tell me ' and
here I broke off, for he was eyeing me queerly.
'The Professor is, or was, a pretty good friend
of mine,' said he. 'But you hesitated a moment.
Why ? . . . Oh, you needn't answer : 111 tell
you. When I asked, " Are you so fond of him? "
for a moment — just for a flash — you hadn't Jack
Foe in your mind, but Farrell.'
'Well, that's true,' I owned. 'I'm pretty angry
with Jack: he's playing it outside the touch-line,
in my opinion. Except that I detest cruelty,
Farrell's nothing to me, of course.'
' I wonder,' Jimmy mused. ' Sometimes, when I'm
thinking over this affair — but let us confine our-
selves to the Professor. He's in some danger, if
you think that worth the journey. They shoot
pretty quick in the States, and they don't value
human life a bit as we value it in England : or so
I've always heard. If it's true — and it would be
rather interesting to run across and find this out
for oneself — one of these days Farrell will be pushed
outside his touch-line — outside the British con-
ventions in which he lives and moves and has his
poor being — and a second later the Professor will
get six pellets of lead pumped into him.'
'Oh, as for that,' said I, 'Jack must look after
himself, as he's well able to. When a man takes
ESCAPE 221
to head-hunting, it's no job for his friends to save
him risks.'
'Glad you look at it so,' said Jimmy. Then, so
far as the Professor's concerned, it's from himself
we're not protecting him, just now?'
' Or from the self which is not himself,' I suggested.
'That's better,' Jimmy agreed, and again fell
a-musing. 'Sometimes I think we might get closer
to it yet . . . But he did not supply the definition.
After half-a-minute's brooding he woke up, as it
were, with a start. ' Could you sail this next week?
he asked.
Well we sailed, five days later; and there is no
need to say more of this trip than that it panned
out a fiasco worse than my first. At New York
we beat up the police; and, later on, worried
Mulberry Street and the great detective service
for which the city is famous. Police and detectives
availed us nothing. I knew that by the same mail
which brought his latest letter to me, Foe had
drawn £600 on Norgate; and Norgate had des-
patched the money without delay, five days ahead of
us The address was a hotel at the fashionable
end of Third Avenue. There we found their names
on the register. Plain sailing enough. Farrell
had left, as we calculated (the detectives helping
us) on the day the money presumably arrived, and
at 'about six in the evening; Foe some fifteen or
sixteen hours later. And, with that, we were up
against a wall. Not a trace could be discovered
222 FOE-FARRELL
of either from the moment he had walked out of
the hotel. Farrell, having paid his bill, had walked
out, carrying a small handbag (or " grip," as the
porter termed it), leaving a portmanteau behind,
with word that he would return next day and
fetch it. We were allowed to examine the port-
manteau. It contained some shirts and collars
and two suits of clothes, but no clue whatever —
not a scrap of paper in any of the pockets. Foe
had departed leisurably next morning, with his
slight baggage.
Our detective (to do him justice) did his best to
earn his money. He carefully traced out and
documented the movements of the two travellers
from one to another of the various addresses I was
able to supply : and he handed in a report which,
attested not only his caligraphy but a high degree
of professional zeal. It corresponded with every-
thing I knew already and decorated it with details
which could only have been accumulated by
conscientious research. They tallied with — they
corroborated — they substantiated — they touched
up — the bald facts we already knew. But they did
not advance us one foot beyond the portals of the
Flaxman Building Hotel, out of which Farrell and
Foe had walked, at fifteen hours' interval, and
walked straight into vacancy.
In short, Jimmy and I sailed for home, a fort-
night later, utterly beaten.
Now I'm telling the story in my own way. A
ESCAPE
223
novelist, who knew how to work it, would (I'm
pretty sure) keep up the mystery just about here.
But I'm going to put in what happened, though I
didn't hear about it until two years later.
What happened was that, one evening, Jack
drove Farrell too far, and over a trifle. Without
knowing it, too, he had been teaching Farrell to
learn cunning. They were back in New York and
(it seems almost too silly to repeat) seated in a restau-
rant, ordering dinner. Jack held the carte du jour :
the waiter was at his elbow; Farrell sat opposite,
waiting. For some twenty-four hours — that is,
since their return to New York City — Jack had
chosen to be talkative. Farrell was even encouraged
to hope that he had broken the spell of his hatred,
and that the next boat for England might carry
them home in company and forgiving. Just then
the devil put it into Jack to resume his torture.
He laid down the card and sat silent, the waiter
still at his elbow. 'Well, what shall it be?' asked
Farrell, a trifle faintly. Jack, like Br'er Wolf,
kept on saying nothing. The waiter looked about
him, and fetched back his attention politely. What
shall it be ? ' Farrell repeated. Then, as Jack
stared quietly at the table, not answering, 'Go and
attend to the next table,' said he to the man. 'You
can come back in three minutes.' The waiter went.
'Now,' said Farrell, laying down the napkin he had
unfolded, ' are you going to speak ? '
Foe picked up the card again and studied it.
'Yes or no, damn you?' demanded Farrell.
224 FOE-FARRELL
'Here and now I'll have an end to this monkeying
— Yes, or no ? ' he cried explosively.
Foe pointed a finger at the chair from which
Farrell had sprung up.
' I won't ! ' protested Farrell, and wrenched
himself away. 'Here's the end of it, and I'm shut
of you !'
He dragged himself to the door. Foe, still
studying the card through his glasses, did not even
trouble to throw a glance after him. Once in the
street, Farrell felt his chain broken : he hailed a
cab, and was driven off to his hotel. There he
packed, paid his bill, and vanished with his grip
into the night, leaving his portmanteau behind
with a word that he would return for it.
Foe had taught him cunning.
He bethought him of Renton, an old foreman of
his; a highly intelligent fellow, who had come out
to New York, some years before, to better himself,
and had so far succeeded that he now controlled
and practically owned a mammoth furnishing
emporium — The Home Circle Store — in Twenty-
Third Street. Farrell was pretty sure of the address;
because Renton, who had long since taken out his
papers of naturalisation, regularly remembered
his old employer on Thanksgiving Day and sent
him a report of his prosperity, mixed up with no
little sentiment. To this Farrell had for some
years responded with a note of his good wishes,
cordial, but brief and businesslike. Of late, how-
ever, this acknowledgment, though still punctual,
ESCAPE 225
had tended to express itself in the form of a
Christmas-card.
Farrell confirmed his recollection of the address
by checking it in the City Directory, and paid a call
on the Home Circle Store next afternoon, while
Foe was enjoying a siesta in that state of
lassitude which (as I've told you) almost always
in one or both of the men followed their crises of
animosity.
Renton was unaffectedly glad to see Farrell.
'Well, Mr Farrell,' he said, as they shook hands,
'well, sir ! If this isn't a sight for sore eyes ! And
— when I've been meaning, every fall, to step
across home and see your luck — to think that it
should be you first dropping in upon me ! ' He
rushed Farrell up and down elevators, over floor
after floor of his great establishment, perspiring
(for the afternoon was hot), swelling with hospitality
and pardonable pride. 'And when we've done, sir,
I must take you to my little place up town and
make you acquainted with Mrs Renton. She's
not by any means the least part of my luck, sir.
She'll be all over it when I present you, having so
often heard tell You've aged, Mr Farrell !
And yet, in a way, you haven't. . . . You were
putting on waist when I saw you last, and now
you're what-one-might-call in good condition —
almost thin. Yes, sir, I heard about your poor
lady ... I wrote about it, if you remember.
Sudden, as I understand ? . . . But if you look
at it in one way, that's often for the best : and
226 FOE -FARRELL
in the midst of life You'll be taking dinner
with us. That's understood.'
'Look here, Ned,' Farrell interrupted. 'It's
done me good to shake by the hand and see you
so flourishing. But I've looked you up because —
well, because I'm in a tight place, and I wonder if
you could anyways help.'
' Eh ? ' Renton pulled up and looked at him
shrewdly. 'What's wrong? Nothing to do with
the old firm, now, surely? ... I get the London
Times sent over, and your last Shareholders'
Meeting was a perfect Hallelujah Chorus. Why,
you're quoted '
Now you'll know Farrell, by this time, for a man
of his class — and a pretty good class it is, in England,
when all's said and done; for a man of the sort
that resents a suspicion on his business about as
quickly as he'd resent one on his private and domestic
honour — perhaps even a trifle more smartly. His
business, in short, is the first home and hearth of
his honour. So Farrell cut in, very quick and
hot —
' If my business were only twice as solid as yours,
Ned Renton, I might be worrying you about it. . . .
There, don't take me amiss ! . . . I've come to
trouble you about myself. Fact is, I'm in a hole.
There's a man after me; and I want you to get me
out of this place pretty quick and without drawing
any attention more than you can avoid.'
'O-oh !' said Renton, rubbing his chin and look-
ing serious. 'And what about the lady?'
ESCAPE 227
'There's no woman in this,' Farrell assured him.
'No, Xed; nor the trace of one.'
'That's curious,' said Renton, still reflective.
'You being a widower, I thought, maybe. . . .
But as between friends, you'll understand, I'm
not asking.'
Til tell you the gist of it later/ said Farrell.
' It started over politics.'
'So? . . . We've a way with that trouble over
here,' said Renton. 'Now you mention it, I'd read
in the London Times that you were running for
municipal government, and then somehow you
seemed to fade out. ... I wondered why. . .
Is that part of the story?'
Farrell answered that it was. They were seated
in Renton's private office, and Renton picked up
a small square block of wood from his desk. It
looked like a paper-weight.
'I've a certain amount of — well, we'll call it
influence — hereabouts, if any man happens to be
troubling you,' he suggested musingly, and glanced
at Farrell. 'But you're not taking it that way, I see.'
Farrell nodded.
'You just want to be cleared out. . . . That's
all right. You shall tell me all about it later, boss
— any time that suits you.' He handed the paper-
weight across to Farrell. 'Ever come across that
kind of wood?' he asked.
Farrell examined it. 'Never,' he answered. 'It
looks like mahogany — if 'tweren't for the colour.
Dyed, is it ? '
228 FOE-FARRELL
'Not a bit. I could show you with a chisel in
two minutes. . . . But you're right. Mahogany
it is, and cuts like mahogany. ... I keep a high-
class warehouse of stuff lower down in the town,
and there I'll show you a log of it, seven-by-four.
It's from Costa Rica. Would you care to pros-
pect? ... I don't mind sharing secrets with the
old firm, as you always dealt with me honourably
and we're both growing old enough to remember
old kindness.'
'I'd make a holiday of it,' said Farrell heartily,
fingering the wood. 'Comes from Costa Rica,
eh?'
'There's not much of it going, even there,' said
Renton. 'Not enough, I'm afraid, to start a
fashionable craze. It was brought to me, as a
sample, by an enterprising skipper from Puerto
Moin, and I was going to send back a man with
him, to prospect. . . . But it's not detracting
from his character to say that he can't tell
mahogany from walnut with his finger-tips in the
dark — as you could, boss. If it's a holiday you
want, with a trifle of high cabinet-science thrown
in, what about taking his place?'
' It's the loveliest stuff,' said Farrell, rapt, finger-
ing the wood delicately.
'Well, now, that makes me feel good, having my
old master's word for it, that taught me all I know.
Look at it sideways and catch the tints under the
light. " Opaline mahogany " we'll call it. Come
down-town with me, and I'll show you the balk
ESCAPE 229
of it. It don't grow big. . . . What about
cash ? '
'I've a plenty for the present,' Farrell assured
him. 'Clearing's my only difficulty.'
'You trust to me, and I'll oblige,' said his old
employe.
Farrell went back to his hotel that evening,
paid his bill and walked out with his grip. At
Renton's warehouse in the lower town he changed
his dress for a workman's; was conveyed to the
Quay by Renton, who shipped him aboard the lime-
tramp. She carried him down to Puerto Limon;
where the skipper took a holiday, and the pair struck
farther down the coast on mule-back for a hundred
miles or so, and then inland for the Mosquito
village hard by which they were to find the grove
of this mysterious purple hardwood. They found
it — as Farrell had agreed with Renton in expecting
— to be no forest, scarcely even a grove, but a mere
patch, and the timber a ' sport ' though an ex-
ceedingly beautiful one. On their return to Limon
Farrell wrote out a careful report. The wood was
priceless. It deserved a new genius to design a
new style of inlay for it. Given that, with the very
pink of artists among cabinet-makers and a know-
ledgeable man to put the furniture on the market,
a reasonable fortune was to be made. With skill
it could be propagated : but for two generations
and longer it must depend on its rarity. He added
some suggestions for propagating it and wound up,
230 FOE-FARRELL
'Turn these over, for what they are worth, to some
one who understands this climate and is botanist
as well as nursery-man. It won't profit you or me,
Ned; and we've no children. Mr Weekes has,
though ' — Weekes was the skipper — ' and his grand-
children ought to have something to inherit. I'd
hate to die and think that such stuff was being
lost to the trade. But for the standing timber,
anyway, there's only one word. Buy. Yours
gratefully, P. Farrell.'
When his report was written and signed, he
handed it to Weekes. 'We can mail this, if you
approve/ he said.
Weekes read it over and approved the document.
'But I don't approve mailing it/ he assured Farrell.
'No, sirree : your boss has a name for playing
straight, but we won't give him all that time and
temptation. We'll go back and hand him this
together — for you come into it, I guess, on some
floor or other.'
'No,' said Farrell. 'The report's as good as it
promises; but I'm out of this job. The only favour
you can do me is to help me shift down this coast
— as far as Colon, for instance. And I owe it to
Renton, of course, to mail this letter. With your
knowledge of the boats and trains, you can get to
New York along with it or even ahead of it.'
'That's all very well, so far as it goes/ said
Weekes, thoughtfully; 'and I see your point.
But again, what about you ? '
'Ah, to be sure,' answered Farrell, pondering in
ESCAPE 231
his turn. 'There's the risk of leaving me behind
to chip in on you both. Well. . . . You don't
run any whalers from this port, do you? '
'Whalers?' Captain Weekes opened his eyes.
'I understand,' Farrell explained, 'that they
keep out at sea for a considerable time. . . . No,
and it wouldn't help your confidence if I told you
that there's a man in New York— an Englishman
like myself— hunting me for my life. . . . But
see here. Of your knowledge find me a southward
bound vessel that, once out, certainly won't make
port for a fortnight. We'll mail this report from
the Quay, and you can put me on board at the
last moment, watch me waving farewells from the
offing, and then hurry north as soon as you please/
Well, this, or something like it, was agreed
upon; and here Farrell sails out of the story for
ten months, a passenger on the schooner Garcia,
bound for Colon.
Book III
THE RETRIEVE
F.F.
NIGHT THE FOURTEENTH
SAN RAMON
I have never set eyes on the village of San Ramon,
but I have heard it described by two men — by one
of them in great detail — and their descriptions
tally.
It is a village or townlet of two hundred houses
or so. It lies about a third of the way down the
coast of Peru, close over the sea. It has no harbour :
a population of half-breeds — mestizos? Is that
the word? — sprinkled with whitish cosmopolitans,
and here and there a real white man. But these
last, though they wear shoes and keep up among
themselves a pretence to be the aristocracy of the
place, have really resigned life for this anticipatory
Paradise where they grow gray on remittance
money, eating the lotus, drinking smoked Scotch
in the hotel veranda, swapping stories, and —
since they know one another all too well in this
drowsy decline of their day — feebly and falsely
pretending to one another what gallant knowing
fellows they had been in its morning. As for their
shoes, token of their caste, they usually wear them
unlaced by day and not infrequently sleep in them
at night. With the exception of Engelbaum, who
keeps the hotel, the white citizens are unmarried.
235
236 FOE-FARRELL
With the exception of Frau Engelbaum— aged
sixty and stout at that — there are no white ladies
in San Ramon.
And yet San Ramon is a Paradise. A tall moun-
tain backs it. The Pacific kisses its feet. A spring
bursting from the mountain, about four thousand
feet up, has cut a gorge down which it tumbles in
cascades to the beach and the salt water. Where
the source leaps from the rock the vegetation
begins, as you would expect. It widens and grows
more luxuriant all the way down. The stream
comes to a forty-foot waterfall between sheer rock
curtained with creepers, then it hurries down
through plantations of banana, past San Ramon,
which perches where it can, house by house, on
shelves hidden in greenery. Then it takes another
great leap into a basin it has hollowed for itself
in the steep-to beach.
We have come down by nature's route. Now
we'll climb back by man's. A sort of stairway,
broad-stepped, made of pebbles and pounded
earth, mounts in fairly well engineered zig-zags
to the plateau above the lower fall, and in a straighter
flight beside the gorge to the hotel which is the
topmost building of San Ramon. Above that it
becomes a gully curved by torrential rains; above
that, zig-zags again as a mule-track up to a pass
in the mountains — and thereafter God knows where.
Connecting the lower zig-zags (I need scarcely
say) are short-cuts or slides made by the brown-
footed children, who plunge down almost as steeply
SAN RAMON *37
and quickly as the stream itself when the fort-
nightly fruit-steamer blows her siren beyond the
There is no harbour, you understand. The small
steamer-by name the P.M. Diaz-drops anchor
a short mile out in a half-protected roadstead,
and discharges what she has to discharge, or lades
what she has to lade, by boats Her ladings during
the banana-harvest are feverish, tumultuous,
vociferous. Her ladings during the sleepy remainder
of the year comprise canned meats, Scotch whisky,
illustrated magazines, and plantation inspectors.
It was almost twelve months to a day— I am
trying to tell the story to-night as a novelist would
tell it, but without going beyond the material
supplied to me-It was almost twelve months
from the day Foe left the portico of the Flaxman
Building Hotel, New York, that he stepped ashore
on the beach below San Ramon and resigned his
light suit-case to a herd of bare-legged boys who
offered to carry it up to the hotel, but seemed
likelier to dismember it on the way and share up
the shreds. They took him, as a matter of course,
for a plantation inspector, arrived in the off-season.
He was the only passenger landed from theP.M.
Diaz, which had dropped anchor comfortably, in
perfect weather, but would sail in the morning.
A lkht land-breeze blew off the mountains : but it
passed over a mile of water before rippling the sea.
which, inshore, lay as glass. The sunset from the
238 FOE-FARRELL
Pacific lit up San Ramon above him, all terraced
and embowered.
Halted there, gazing up and taking stock of this
Paradise before scaling it, Foe could not be aware,
though he might have guessed, that half a hundred
embrasures in the climbing foliage hid field-glasses
and telescopes of which he was the one and common
focus. Up at the hotel, one idler said to another,
'Will it be Morgansen this time, d'you think?'
The other passed on the question to Engelbaum,
who was so far the master of his guests that he
had lazily commandeered the large telescope on
the galleria, and without gainsay. 'If it's old
Morgansen,' the second man added, 'we might
trot some way down the hill to wish him well.
The day's cooling in.'
'It's not Morgansen,' announced Engelbaum. 'A
new man — thinnish — Oh, yes, but an inspector.
You can tell these scientific men by their
cut.'
'Hope they haven't sacked old Morgansen,'
said the first idler. 'He's been a bit of a scandal,
these three years. But he knows about bananas
more'n a banana would own to, even with a
blush.'
Halfway over the hill, on a packing-case in a
bare veranda, sat a man who for three months
had avoided the hotel and these loungers, and
been given up by all of them (by some enviously)
as a lost friend. A woman reclined — good old
SAN RAMON 239
novelists' word — in a sort of deck-chair three
paces away. The windows of the house stood
wide, and showed rooms within carpetless, matless,
swept if not garnished, with other packing-cases
stacked about and labelled. There was even a
label on the chair in which the woman reclined :
but her skirt hid it.
When the whistle of the fruit-steamer had first
sounded, out beyond the Point, and almost before
the alert young population of San Ramon could
tear down the pathway beside the bungalow's
discreet garden, she had risen with a catch of the
breath, taken up a pair of field-glasses and scanned
the offing.
'It is she beyond a doubt,' she had announced.
' What other could it be ? ' the man had answered,
pretty lazily. 'And that being so '
Said the woman — I am trying to tell this in
correct fashion — 'Why are you so dull? — who,
w r hen the boat used to call, w r ould snatch up the
glasses and be no company for any one until you
had counted everything she discharged.'
Farrell — oh ! by the way it's about time I told
you that the man was Farrell. Farrell looked at
the woman. Farrell said, —
No, the devil ! I can't tell it the professional
way, after all. There's the woman. Well, the
woman was young, and fair to see, dark, well-bred,
with a tinge of lemon, and descended pretty straight
from the Incas — 'instead of which' she preferred
to call herself Mrs M'Kay or M'Kie, having been
240 FOE-FARRELL
caught and married in an unguarded moment by
some one who had arrived in San Ramon to push
a new brand of whisky and stayed to push it the
wrong way. Since M'Kie's death — or M'Kay's —
whichever it was — new-comers had to choose between
Engelbaum's, on the summit, and the lady, an
heiress in a small way, who played the guitar,
halfway down the hill, but frowned on the
drinking-habit.
Farrell, you will perceive, had chosen the better
way, and had become a voluntary exile from Engel-
baum's in consequence. That, or the exercise of
running, had done him a power of good. Just
now he was bronzed, spare, even inclining to gaunt-
ness. Twelve months before, he had shortened
his whiskers, as a first step to disguise. Since
then, and to please this woman, he had grown a
beard which he kept short and trimmed to a point,
naval fashion. It was straw-coloured, went well
with his bronzed complexion and improved his
appearance very considerably. It may be that
this growth had encouraged the hair on his scalp or
stimulated it by rivalry to renewed effort : more
likely the play of sunshine and sea-breeze had done
the trick between them; but anyhow Farrell now
possessed a light mat of silky yellowish hair on the
top of his head — as the nigger song has it, in the
place where the wool ought to grow. Shoes, blue
dungaree trousers and a striped shirt were his
clothing — the shirt opened at the throat and to
the second button, disclosing a V of naked chest
SAX RAMON 241
as healthily tanned as his face. His face had
thinned too. His eyes no longer bulged. They
had receded well under the pent of his brow and,
in receding, taken colour from its shadow.
'I am not dull, Santa,' said Farrell. 'I am only
content and — well, a little bit regretful, and —
well yes, again, the least bit lazy. But what does
it matter? Ylario has gone down to the beach.
He will send off word to the skipper that all this
truck will be ready on the foreshore by five-thirty
to-morrow. In good weather he never weighs
before seven, and the weather is settled.'
The woman, at one word of his, had turned and
set down her glasses.
' Regretful ? ' She echoed it as a question, and
followed it up with a question. 'At what are you
staring so hard ? '
He lifted his eyes and met hers very steadify,
earnestly. 'At your shape, Santa,' was his answer.
'When your back is turned, I am always looking
at you so.'
'Regretfully?' she asked, mocking.
'As for the regret, you know what it is and must
be. How can a man feel it different, when we leave
this place to-morrow? Don't women feel that
way towards places where they have been happy ? '
She picked up the glasses again and set them
with her gaze seaward before answering. Thus the
shadow of her hands screened any emotion — if
emotion there were — on her face.
242 FOE-FARRELL
'I have not been happy here, all the time,' she
answered softly, readjusting the glass, or pretending
to. 'Not by any means. San Ramon to me is
a hole. . . . Yes,' she went on deliberately, 'I
know well what you are going to say. I have you :
but I want something more — something I have
always wanted and, it seems to me, every woman
always wants — something beyond the sky-line.
In Sydney, now '
'You'll find there's a sky-line waiting for you at
Sydney,' said Farrell; 'as like to this one as two
peas — and just as impossible to get beyond' —
which mayn't seem very good grammar, but is
how he said it. ' Now to me a sky-line's a sky-line
— just something to have you standing against.'
'You shall have a kiss for that, caballero — in a
moment,' she purred, and slanted the binoculars
down to bear on the beach. 'Only one passenger,'
she announced.
'Usual inspector, no doubt,' said Farrell, rolling
a cigarette.
'Ye-es— by the look of him. ... Oh, there's
Ylario, all right, talking to the boatman! . . .
He must be a stranger, I think — by the way
he's staring up at the town.'
'Ylario was bred and born here; of uncertain
parents, to be sure '
She laughed. 'Foolish! ... I meant the
inspector, of course.'
'What's he like?' asked Farrell. 'Report.'
She lowered the glass, twisted the screw of it
SAN RAMON 243
idly, and returned to her hammock-chair, beside
which she set it down on the veranda floor.
'Now I'll make a confession to you,' she said,
picking up her guitar and throwing her body back
in the chair. 'I love you,' she said. 'When you
are close, and alone with me, my heart feels as if
it could melt into yours. . . . No, don't get up :
you shall have your kiss, in good time. But when
y 0U — w hat shall I say? — when you all-white men
are at all far off, or when many of you are together,
I cannot well distinguish. ... Ah, pardon me,
beloved ! Haven't you had that trouble with
people of other races than your own— among a
crowd of Japanese, say? And the shepherds on the
mountains behind here — have you not wondered
how they can know every sheep in a flock of many
hundred ? '
Farrell was on his feet by this time, and in some-
thing of a passion. ' Am I, then,' he stammered out,
'—am I, then, so like any of the others, up at
Engelbaum's ? '
'Calm yourself, O beloved,' said Santa, brushing
her finger-nails, gipsy-wise and soft as butterflies,
over the strings of her guitar. ' Calm yourself, and
hearken. You are all the world to me, and you
know it. Yet there is something— something I
could explain to you better, maybe, if I knew
English better . . . and yet I am not sure. . . .
Let me try, however. ... It always seems ^ to
me with you English, you Americans, you white-
skinned men— with all the ones I have known—
244 FOE-FARRELL
that the fault is not all mine when I find you alike
just at first; that every one of you ought to be a
man quite different from all other men; that you,
of your race — yes, every one — were meant for
something you have missed — were meant to be-^ —
Oh, what is the word?'
'"Distinguished?"' suggested Farrell, standing
up. 'I never was that, Santa — though, back in
England, at one time, I had a notion to make
some sort of a mark.'
Santa let the neck of the guitar fall back against
her breast and clasped her hands suddenly. 'Yes,
that is it; — to make your mark ! Every woman
who loves a man wants him to make his mark
somehow, somewhere. ... I cannot tell you why:
but it is so.'
Farrell took a turn on the veranda. 'My dear,'
he said tenderly, coming back and halting before
her, ' do you realise that I am fifty years old ? '
She pressed her palms over her eyes. 'You
keep telling me that, and it hurts! Besides, you
grow younger every day . . . and — and I cannot
bear to hear you say it!' She lowered her hands
and smiled up, but through tears.
'The men who find their way to San Ramon
from my country or from the States,' he went on,
picking up the binoculars absently while his eyes
sought the sky-line, 'do not come in any hope Of
making their mark — not even plantation-inspectors.'
Farrell tumbled with the screw, adjusting the
focus. ' If that is why we are going to Sydney '
SAN RAMON 245
'Whatever happens,' declared Santa, 'I will
love you better anywhere than in San Ramon:
and I have loved you well enough here ! The men
who come to San Ramon — pah ! this for them ! '
She thrummed an air — La Camisa della Lola —
on the guitar and broke off with another small
sound of scorn from her throat. ' Thai's what suits
them, and what all of them are worth!'
She brushed the strings again : and if Farrell
made any sound at all, the buzz of them covered it.
He had brought the glasses to bear on the beach.
Santa started to thrum on the lower strings.
Farrell swung about suddenly, set the glasses
down, and walked back into the dismantled house.
Now so far I have evidence for all I'm telling
you. From this point for thirty seconds or so,
I am going to guess what happened. Santa went
on thrumming. She heard his footsteps on the
bare floor as he went through the echoing, dis-
mantled room behind her. She heard them on the
brick of the broad passage which separated the
living-rooms of the bungalow from its bed-
chambers. She heard him lift the latch of the
outer door. She heard the outer door shut behind
him. Then she waited for his footsteps to sound
again on the sunken pathway which ran downhill
beside her patch of garden, hidden by the cactus
fence — or rather, deep below it. 'He is standing
on the doorstep,' she said to herself, 'lighting a
cigarette'; and then, 'but he is a long while about
it. This is strange.' Still as her ear caught no
246 FOE-FARRELL
sound of him, Santa sprang up and slipped, guitar
in hand, to the outer door — the fence being too
tall for her to over-pry, and moreover prickly. She
opened the door and peeped out. There was no
one down the pathway. There was no one up the
pathway, which here, for some fifty or sixty yards,
climbed straight, full in view. 'And what on earth
has become of him?' wondered Santa. 'He did
not go down — I should have heard him. But why
should he go up? He has broken with those
drinkers at Engelbaum's. . . . Besides, it is unbe-
lievable that, in this short time, he should have
vanished. . . .'
So much for guesswork. Now I come back to the
story as it was afterwards related to me.
Santa, standing there in the porch, guitar in hand
and leaning forward over the rail which guarded
a long flight of stone steps, heard a footfall on the
road below — an ascending footfall. For a moment
she mistook it for Farrell's : she believed she
could distinguish Farrell's from any other man's :
and so for a moment she stood mystified.
Then a man hove in view around the corner
. . . not Farrell, but the newly-landed stranger she
had spied through her binoculars — the presumed
Inspector. His eyes were lifted as he calculated
the new gradient ahead of him, and thus on the
instant he caught sight of Santa aloft in the porch-
way. Something held Santa's feet.
'Many pardons, senora,' said the Stranger, halting
SAN RAMON 247
a little before he came abreast of the stairway and
lifting his hat. 'But can you tell me if this path
leads to the Hotel?'
Now Santa was confused and a little abashed —
it may have been because in her haste she had
forgotten to drape her head in her mantilla— a rite
proper to be observed by Peruvian ladies
before showing themselves out-of-doors. But she
could not help smiling : the question being so
absurd.
'Seeing, senor, that there can be no other,' she
answered, with a small wave of the hand out and
towards the gorge down which the river cascaded
always so loudly that they both had unconsciously
raised the pitch of their voices.
From the pathway above came the sound of
stray stones dislodged under a heavy plunging
tread; and there was Farrell striding down, with
his hands in his trousers' pockets.
In the right pocket he carried a revolver, which
he had picked up on his way through the house.
His forefinger felt about its trigger.
He had recognised Foe through the glass. He
had pelted up the path in the old sweating terror,
making for the mountain as if driven, to call on it
to cover him.
Close by Engelbaum's gate he overtook three
small boys contending around a suit-case: the
point being that all three could not demand reward
for carrying so light a burden. If the owner were
248 FOE-FARRELL
a fool, or generously inclined (which amounted
to the same thing), two of the three might put in
a colourable claim for services rendered.
In white countries one boy rights with another.
In San Ramon as many as fifteen can fight indis-
criminately, and the vanquished are weeded out
by gradual process. Farrell shook the urchins
apart, driving them for a moment from the suit-
case as one would drive three wasps off a honey-
pot. ... It lay at his feet. Yes, he'd have recog-
nised it anywhere, even without help of the half-
effaced 'J. F.' painted on its canvas cover. It
was a far-travelled piece of luggage, and much-
enduring — What are those adjectives by which
Homer is always calling Ulysses? ... It bore
many labels. One, with 'Southampton' upon it,
was apparently pretty recent . . . and another
with 'Waterloo.'
He turned the case over while the boys eyed
him, keeping their distance. His brain worked
more and more clearly. . . . Foe had returned to
England, then, to pick up the trail. But how had
he struck it? . . . There was only one way. . . .
He had, of course, been obliged to send letters
home from time to time — letters to his firm, to
his bankers for money — instructions to pay his
housekeeper — possibly a score of letters in all.
Foe must have obtained possession of one and
spotted the postmark on the Peruvian stamp. . . .
Of a sudden he realised his cowardice; and
flushed, with shame and manhood together, there
SAN RAMON 249
in the pathway. . . . This thing was no longer a
duel. Three were in it now, and the third was
Santa. . . . The old scare had caught him, sur-
prised him, and he had run from recollected habit.
... It had been base. . . . Why, of course,
Santa made all the difference! He must go back
to protect Santa.
At the thought of her he felt a second flush of
shame sweep up in him, quite different from the
first and quite horrible. The tide of it scorched
his face as if flaying it. And so— if you'll under-
stand—in the very moment of knowing himself
twice vulnerable— no, ten times as vulnerable—
this Farrell, loving this woman, became a man :
and three small ragamuffins stood about him and
witnessed the outward process.
The outward process ended in his fishing out
three dineros from his trouser pocket and bestowing
one on each of them— twopence-halfpenny or
thereabouts is a godsend to a juvenile in San
Ramon. 'There, little fools !' he said. 'Take the
stranger's bag along and don't quarrel any more.
There is nothing in this world so silly as
quarrelling. '
With that he went back down the hill, and so
came on Foe and on Santa, talking down to Foe
from the balcony porch.
'Hallo, old man!' said Farrell, looking Foe
straight in the eyes : and 'Hallo !' answered Foe,
looking Farrell straight in the eyes. Santa, gazing
f.f. R
250 FOE-FARRELL
down from the rail, thought it strange that they
did not shake hands, as Britons and Americans
do when they meet.
'I found three rascals/ said Farrell easily, 'scrap-
ping for the honour of delivering a suit-case' at
Engelbaum's hotel— a suit-case that I recognised.
I rescued it, and it is now safe in the porch. . . .
Oh, by the way, though you seem to have made
acquaintance, let me do the formal and introduce
you to my wife. Santa, this is Doctor Foe, an old
fellow-traveller.'
Foe gave him one glance, shrewd and steady,
before looking aloft and again raising his hat. The
thrust did not penetrate Farrell's defence.
'It's awkward,' said Farrell, 'that we can't
even offer you a bed. We're all packed up,
ready to sail by the steamer to-morrow. Mrs
Farrell and I in fact are shifting quarters. . . .
Staying ? '
'No,' said Foe imperturbably. ' I shall be sailing
to-morrow, too. . . . I just heard of this place,
and thought I'd like to have a look at it before
going on. . . . Shouldn't think of troubling you.'
'Curious, how small the world is,' went on Farrell
in a level voice. 'You won't mind my talking a
bit in the old manner? ... It sort of puts us
back at the old ease, eh? . . . Well then, we
can't offer to put you up. But if you don't mind
a packing-case for a chair and another for a table
— eh, Santa ? '
'We shall be charmed,' said Santa.
SAN RAMON 251
'You understand that it will be a picnic,' added
Farrell.
'My good sir!' protested Foe.
'Yes? ... It will be better than Engelbaum's,
any way. I don't mind promising,' said Farrell.
'We will talk over old times, and Santa shall play
her guitar to us.'
That is how the two men met.
The P.M. Diaz plied no farther than Callao.
From Callao the Farrells, with their furniture, and
Foe in company, worked down by coasters to
Valparaiso.
Does any one of you remember the mystery of
the Euroias ? which regularly for about four months
occupied from an inch-and-a-half to four inches
space in the newspapers. In 1909 . . . pretty
late in the year. She happened to be the first
ship of a new line started between Valparaiso and
Sydney, and her owners had so well boomed the
adventure in the press that, when she began to be
reported as overdue, the public woke up and she
became as interesting as a lost dog. She was of
9000 tons, new, Clyde-built, well-found, and carried
a mixed cargo, with about twenty passengers. Two
vessels reported having passed her, about three
hundred miles out. After that she had become as
a ship that had never been.
In his casual way— for I must remind you that
he and I had lost all trace of Foe and Farrell
252 FOE-FARRELL
in New York — Jimmy lit on the next item of
news.
Long before the Eurotas was posted as 'missing/
the newspapers published a list of her passengers.
Jimmy, seizing on this, ran his eye down it, and let
out the sort of cry with which he greets all news,
good, bad, or indifferent.
' I say, Otty ! — here it is, and what do you make
of it? — " The s.s. Eurotas. . . . List of Passengers.
" Mr and Mrs P. Farrell, San Ramon, Peru.
Professor J. Foe, of London. . . ."'
And after that there was silence for four years.
The bell at Lloyd's never rang to announce the
arrival of the Eurotas. By Christmas her under-
writers were paying up, and the newspapers had
lost interest in her fate.
NIGHT THE FIFTEENTH
REDIVIVUS
About seven weeks later Norgate called on me
with evidence that settled the last doubt : a letter
from Foe, written from Valparaiso. It was brief
enough. It merely announced that he was on the
eve of sailing for Sydney and wished to have credit
for £600 opened with the Bank of New South
Wales. 'I have booked a berth on the Eurotas,' it
concluded; 'and go aboard to-night. She's a new
ship, owned by a new line, of which you may or
may not have heard— the " Southern Cross Line."
We hear enough about it in this town, the Company
having contrived to fall foul of the dock labour
here. I don't know the rights or wrongs of it, but
some sort of boycott is threatened. However, this
sort of dispute usually gets itself settled at the last
moment; and anyhow I shall get to Sydney by
some means or other. So you may safely mail
there. No need to cable. I have plenty of money
for immediate purposes.'
'What had I best do? ' asked Norgate. 'Lloyd s
are about giving the Eurotas up.'
'Cable out and make sure,' said I. 'If he calls
at the Bank, he calls; and if he doesn't, there are
no bones broken. Something has gone wrong with
253
254 FOE-FARRELL
the ship; and in the mix-up he may easily have
lost his ready cash and be landed at Sydney with-
out a cent/
I should have told you that, about a fortnight
before this, Jimmy had solved, or partially solved,
the puzzle of that entry 'Mr and Mrs P. FarrelT
on the passenger-list. Jimmy had found a good
girl, and as pretty almost as she was good, and
yet imprudent enough to consent to marry him.
This had the effect of rendering him at once and
surprisingly prudent. As the poet puts it, ' he
had found out a flat for his fair,' and as he himself
put it, 'We have heard the chimes at midnight,
Master Shallow : but beshrew me, we never thought
of making my bank-manager one of the party, to
break him in to our ways; the consequence being
that Elinor's maid will have to stick a bedroom-
suite priced five-pounds-ten, while the other
domestics, unless dividends improve, sleep (poor
souls, insecurely) upon bedsteads liable to be
spirited from under them at any moment by a Hire
System that knows no bowels. . . . By George ! '
sighed Jimmy. 'If we hadn't let Farrell slip
through our fingers! Do you know, Otty, I've
an idea,' he announced. ' Why shouldn't I take
the Tottenham Court Road to-morrow, visit Farrell's
old place of business, and kill two birds with one
stone ? '
'It sounds a sporting proposition,' I agreed,
'though sketchily presented.'
REDIVIVUS 255
'Adumbrated,' suggested Jimmy. 'That's a
good word. I found it in yesterday's Observer.'
' 'Adumbrated, then,' said I. 'The Tottenham
Court Road '
'—And two birds with one stone. No moors
for me this year : I'm back on the simple life and
the catapult. . . . You just wait.'
There really is no resisting Jimmy, nor ever will
be He went up the Tottenham Court Road next
day walked into Farrell's late place of business
and demanded to see the General Manager; and
—if you'll believe it— that dignitary was fetched
amid a hush of awe. 'I dropped in,' explained
Jimmy, 'to see one of those cheap bedroom suites
you advertise, in pickled walnut— or is it matron
glacil— suitable for a house-parlourmaid. The
fact is, I'm going to get married— well, you've
guessed that— otherwise, of course. I shouldn't be
here. . My intended wife— she's a Devonshire
lady by the way— from near Honiton. Anything
wrong about Honiton? . . No? I beg your
pardon— I thought you smiled. . . . Well, as I
was about to explain, my intended wife, coming
as she does from near Honiton— that's where
they make the lace— likes her servants to be
comfortable: at least, so she says. Your late
Managing Director, had he lived ' Here Jimmy
made a pause.
'You knew our Mr Farrell, sir? ' asked the present
Managing Director, sympathetically.
'He honoured me with his acquaintance. If he
256 FOE-FARRELL
had lived/ said Jimmy . . . 'But there ! ... By
the way . . . that second marriage of his — wasn't
it rather sudden? I understood him to be a con-
firmed widower/
'We know nothing about it, sir : nothing bey6nd
what he conveyed in a letter to our Vice-Chairman.
In fact, sir, during the last year or so of his life,
when Mr Farrell took his strange fancy for foreign
parts, it seemed to us — well, it seemed to us that,
in his strange condition of mind, anything might
happen. To this day, sir, we haven't what you
might call any certitude of his demise. It is not,
up to this moment, legally proven — as they say.
Our last letter from him was dated from far up the
coast — from a place called San Ramon, which I
understand to be in Peru. In it he announced
that he was married again, and to a lady (as we
gathered) of Peruvian descent. He added that he
had never, previously to the time of writing or
thereabouts, known complete happiness.'
Jimmy brought back this information, having,
on top of it, acquired a bedroom suite of painted
deal. 'And there/ said he, 'the matter must rest.
Foe's gone, and Farrell's gone. Both decent, in their
way; and both, but for foolish temper, alive now
and hearty.'
So it seemed to be, and the book to be closed. I
mourned for Jack, yet not as I should have mourned
for him a year or two before. Jimmy married and
left me, and soon after I moved from our old
REDIVIVUS 257
quarters in the Temple to my old rooms in Jermyn
Street.
Four years passed : and then, one fine morning,
my door opened, and John Foe called me by name.
'Hallo, Roddy! How goes it?'
I jumped up, in a pretty bad scare. It was the
voice that did it : for, my door making an angle
with the window, and the day being sunny, he
stood there against a strong light — sort of silhouette
effect, as you might put it. And there was a some-
thing about him, thus gloomed — but we'll talk of
that by-and-by. The voice was Jack Foe's, and
none other.
'It's all right,' he went on easily. 'Pull yourself
together. ... It is the Ancient Mariner come home,
but you needn't imitate the Pilot and fall down
in a fit. . . . Where's the Pilot's Boy, by the way
— young Jimmy Collingwood? You still keep
Jephson, I see. ... I happened on Jephson at
your street-door, just returned from posting a letter.
Jephson performed the holy Hermit very creditably :
he raised his eyes and almost sat down on the door-
step and prayed where he did sit. " Doctor Foe ! "
said Jephson. " Good Lord, send I may never — ! "
— which amounts to a prayer, eh? ... He let me
in with his latchkey, and I told him I'd run up
unannounced. . . . Well ? '
He came forward. In the old days Jack and I
never shook hands; nor did we now. He set down
hat, gloves, and umbrella carelessly on my knee-hole
258 FOE-FARRELL
table and dropped into a chair with a long-
drawn sigh. 'Reminds one — eh? — of the famous
stage-direction in The Rovers — Several soldiers
cross the stage wearily, as if returning from the Thirty
Years* War. . . . Well ? What are you still
staring at ? . . . Oh, I perceive ! It's my clothes.
. . . Yes ; I should inform you that they are
expensive, and the nearest compromise a Valpar-
aiso tailor and I could reach in realising our several
ideas of a Harley Street doctor. I am going to
open a practice in that neighbourhood, and thought
I would lose no time. The hat and umbrella over
there are all right, if you'll give yourself the trouble
to examine them. I bought them on the way
along.'
He was right, in a way, about his clothes. (I
believe I have already mentioned that Jack had
always dressed himself carefully and in good form.)
His frock-coat had a fullness of skirt, and his trousers
a bluish aggressive tint, that I couldn't pass for
metropolitan. His boots were worse — of some
wrong sort of patent leather. But they ought
not to have altered the man as I felt that he was
altered. . . . Yes, cheapened and coarsened, in some
indefinable way. His hair had thinned and showed
a bald patch: not a large patch: still, there it was.
His shape had been rather noticeably slim. I
won't say that it had grown pursy, but it had run
to seed somehow. Least of all I liked the change
in his eyes, which bulged somewhat, showing an
unhealthy white glitter. I set down this glitter
REDIVIVUS 259
as due to long weeks at sea : but the explanation
couldn't quite satisfy me. When a lost friend
returns as it were from the grave — from shipwreck,
at any rate, and uncharted travel — you look to
find him gaunt, brown, leathery, hollow of cheek
and eye, eh? Foe's appearance didn't answer to
this conception . . . not one little bit.
'Then you didn't sail in the Eurotas, after all?'
said I, finding speech. ' We saw your name on the
list. 1
'Oh, yes, I did,' he interrupted. 'And, by the
way, we shall have to talk about her — or, rather,
about what I ought to do. . . . Yes, I know what
you'll be advising. " Go straight to Lloyd's,"
no doubt.'
' Man alive,' said I, ' why not ? If you were aboard
of her — and if, as you tell me, you fetched some-
how to Sydney — why in God's name hasn't Lloyd's
heard of it months ago? There are such things
as cables. . . . Unless, to be sure, you have a
reason ? '
'I have and I haven't,' said Jack. 'My turning-
up doesn't hurt any one, does it? The Eurotas
went down, sure enough : and / didn't scuttle
her, if that's what you suspect.'
'Please don't be an ass, Jack,' I pleaded.
'Well, I don't see,' he continued, ruminating,
' — I don't see any way but to go to Lloyd's and
tell them about it. Yet equally I don't see what
good it can do. The underwriters have paid up,
eh?'
26o FOE-FARRELL
'More than three years ago/ I told him.
'Well, then ... I was perfectly well prepared
to answer any questions at Valparaiso. I landed
in my own name. I went back to the same hotel.
And " Foe " is not the most common of names,
especially when you write " Doctor " before it. . . .
No, I'm wrong. Farrell had entered our names on
the register, and had entered mine as " Professor."
On my return I wrote it " John Foe, M.D." But
anyway, not a soul in the hotel recognised me. . . .
I think my looks must have altered, somehow. . . .
So I let it go. I dare say you won't understand,
not knowing the kind of experiences I've been
through, nor the number of 'em. But you may
understand that after a goodish while as a cast-
away I was tired beyond the point of answering
more than I should happen to be asked. ... So I
gave Valparaiso a silent blessing, and came home
by the first ship, to consult you and Colling wood.
What — let me repeat — have you done with
Collingwood ? '
'Jimmy?' said I. 'He's married, a year since,
and is already the father of a bouncing boy. I
acted as his best man, by request. He has a delight-
ful and tiny wife who keeps him in order, which
he passes on to the County of Warwickshire as
Justice of the Peace and Coram. . . . But about
the Eurotas?' I persisted. 'I don't think you
quite realise. There were passengers on board :
and for months '
'Of course there were passengers,' Foe agreed.
REDIVIVUS 261
'It won't help their relatives (will it?) to know for
certain what they pretty well know already. As I
hinted to Norgate in my last letter, there was a
labour crisis on when we sailed. Some aggrieved
blackguard on the dock, acting on his own or
under command of his " Union," shovelled half a
dozen bombs in with the coal. Simple process.
Between seven hundred and a thousand miles out,
this particular batch of coal was reached and
shovelled into the forward furnaces. I counted
four explosions. Two of them blew her bows to
pieces, and she sank by the head and was gone in
twenty minutes.
'Must I tell it, when I am home and dying to
ask questions?— Oh, very well, then. ... I shall
be perfectly truthful so far as the history goes;
but I warn you that at a certain point you won't
like it, and you'll go on to like it less. You and I
have been friends, Roddy, and you naturally suppose
that I've come straight to you, as my first friend,
to be welcomed and to ask for counsel. But you
suppose wrong. I am come asking neither for
advice, nor for a sympathy— which I know I shan't
get.'
'My dear Jack ' I began to protest.
'Oh, be quiet,' said he, 'and let me do the talking!
I've had no one to talk to, these five months around
the Horn, but a Norwegian skipper, a first mate
of the same country, a fellow-passenger shipped off
as a dipsomaniac for a cure (we lost him some-
where in the worst of it— I've an idea he let himself
262 FOE-FARRELL
be swept overboard), and a mixed crew that I
helped to cure of beri-beri at St Helena. So I want
to do the talking, with your leave.
' — And I want to say this first, foremost, once
and for all. I am come simply to tell you. I under-
stand the devil of a lot about hatred by this time
— more than you will ever begin to guess. But
you taught me, anyhow, this much about friend-
ship, that I couldn't bear to go along with you
without your knowing every atom of the truth.
That means, we're going to be clean cuts, when
I've done. . . . You'll loathe the tale. But,
damn it, you shall respect me for this, that I cut
clean, for old sake's sake, and wiped up the account,
before we parted as strangers and I started life
afresh.'
'All this is pretty mysterious, Jack,' said I.
'You know that, for all the hurt he'd done you,
I shied out of helping your pursuit of Farrell. . . .
Tell me, what happened to Farrell ? Went down
in the Eurotas, I guess, and so squared accounts.
That's what you mean — eh? — by your clean cut
and starting life afresh? ... If so, for your sake
I'm glad of it.'
'He didn't go down in the Eurotas,' Foe answered
gravely : ' As a matter of fact I dragged him on
board one of the boats with my own hands.'
' What ? ' said I. ' Farrell another survivor ? '
'Upon my word,' he answered, lighting a cigar-
ette, ' I can't swear to Farrell's being alive or dead.
Probably he's dead; but anyway I've no further
REDIVIVUS 263
use for him, and that's where the clean cut comes
in. I had to quit hold of him because a woman
beat me. . . . Now sit quiet and listen.
FOE'S NARRATIVE
'Did you know that Farrell had married? . . .
Yes, at San Ramon, a little portless place some
way down the coast of Peru. The woman was a
Peruvian and owned a banana-strip there, left to
her by her first husband, a drunkard, in part-
compensation for having ill-used and beaten her. ^
'When I ran Farrell to earth there, after he'd
given me the slip for twelve months and more, this
woman had married him and almost made a new
man of him. In another month or so I don't doubt
she'd have converted him into man enough to tell
her all the truth, and let her deliver him.
'As it was, he passed me off for his friend— the
ass! I shipped with them, and we worked down
the coast, by fruit-ship and sloop, to Valparaiso,
intending for Sydney. . . . Now at this point I
might easily make myself out a calculating villain.
Farrell was enamoured to feebleness, and to make
love to his Santa was an opportunity cast into my
lap by the gods. . . . But actually, before I could
even meditate this simple villainy, I had fallen
in love with her because I couldn't help it.
'Now I had never been in love before, and I
took the disease pretty severely. And I should
264 FOE-FARRELL
say that I took it rather curiously : but you shall
judge, for I'll set out the credit side of the account
just as plainly as the other.
' I hated the man, as you know : I loved the
woman, as I've told you. But — here's the puzzle
— strange to say, at that time, and for a long while,
these two passions did not conflict or even contend
at all, as neither did they help. I couldn't hate
Farrell any worse than I did already. If I'd hated
him just a little less, I might have killed him, to
get him out of the way. But I give you my word,
I never thought of shortening the chase in that
way. Farrell, you may say, had become necessary
to me : by this time I couldn't think of living
without him. . . . Now I know what's crossing
your mind. I might have piled up the torture on
Farrell, and at the same time have played on that
other passion, by setting myself to debauch Santa.
No, I'm not complaining. You shall have as bad
to condemn before I've done, so you needn't apolo-
gise. But, as it happens, I wasn't that sort of
blackguard. Moreover, it wouldn't have worked,
anyhow. Santa was as good as her name
' No, damn it ! I will clean myself of that. . . .
You'll understand that I loved the woman, and
— well, in the old days, as you'll do me the justice
to remember, I hated men who played loose among
women. As for " making love " to Santa — oh, I
can't explain to you, who never saw her, how utterly
that was beyond question on either side. . . .
Almost white she was, with the blood of the Incas
REDIVIVUS 265
in her — blood of Castile, too, belike — and yet all of
a woman, with funny rustic ways that turned at
any moment to royal. . . . And she loved Farrell
— my God !
' I wonder now if she guessed — guessed at the time,
I mean. They say that women always guess;
which in these matters is as good as knowing. . . .
But I'm holding up my story.
'The Eurotas went down in something like 36,
south latitude, longitude 105^- west. That's as
near as I make it : that is to say, some three or four
hundred miles from any known land save Easter
Island, which lay well away north and to windward,
for we were down where the main winds set between
W. and N. That's as close as I can give it to you.
In seafaring matters I leave seamen to their own
job, and don't worry about reckonings and day's
runs. It's their business to take me, mine to trust
their skill. You will own, Roddy, that if fools
had only kept their noses out of my job in life, I
shouldn't be having to tell you this story.
'Anyhow, Macnaughten — that was the skipper's
name — took all the ship's instruments with him on
board his own boat, which was the last to quit.
'He was a good man, and I couldn't but admire
his behaviour, first and last. The Eurotas went
down within half an hour of the first explosion;
which had surprised us passengers on deck as we
were chatting and watching the sunset. The sea
was calm as a pond, with a bank of cloud to
f.f. s
266 FOE-FARRELL
northward, all edged with gold on its western
fringes.
'I think this calm, resting over sea and sky,
may have helped us through the catastrophe.
The only irritation I felt was at the slowness of it
all, between the moment we knew we were lost
and the moment when the vessel went down. Yet
every moment between was used to a nicety, almost
as if Captain Macnaughten had been preparing
for the test. He commanded us, crew and pas-
sengers alike. Four stokers had been killed below :
another and the engineer officer badly hurt. These
two were fetched up while some of us lowered the
accommodation-ladder, and others swung out the
boats on the davits. These two sick men were
carried down to the first of the three boats launched.
Four women passengers followed; three married,
one a spinster. The three husbands were ordered
down after them.
'The Eurotas, as I've told you, was a new ship,
well found to the last life-buoy. The directors
of the Company had lunched on board before she
sailed and drunk to her health, having seen that
everything answered to advertisement. The boats
were staunch, newly painted and smart : the
crew as well-picked a lot as the Board could find.
So far as I can recall those hurrying minutes, I
remember them as being almost intolerably slow.
I cannot say how many of them it took before
we realised for a certainty that the ship was going
down. But I know that as, by order, I went down
REDIVIVUS 267
the ladder to the second boat, I had a sense of
irritation at the long time it was taking and the
methodical way the skipper was getting out stores
and water-breakers and having them hefted down.
' Another thing I must tell you. As I went down
the ladder— the ship's bows already beginning to
dip steeply — I had a sense of being in no time at all,
but in eternity. There around us, spread and
placid, stretched the emptiest waste of the Pacific,
with God's sun deserting the sky above it, sinking
almost as fast as the ship was sinking.
' Santa had wrapped her mantilla over her head.
She went down the ladder before me, following
Farrell. Our boat was white-painted on thwarts
and stern-sheets. ... I was keeping my foot-
hold with difficulty, loaded with a water-breaker.
'A man took it from me, all in silence. There
was a great silence hanging, as it seemed, about
those last moments.
'We pushed off a little way. The third and last
boat was lowered down, and we saw the last half-
dozen, with the captain at their heels, tumbling
down in a stampede.
'The Eurotas took her plunge just as we heard
them unhook from the davit-blocks.
NIGHT THE SIXTEENTH
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN
(Foes Narrative Continued)
'I once read a novel called One Traveller Returns.
That's all I remember of it— the title.
'Well, I am that traveller : and if ever I write
down the story of the Eurotas, and in particular
of what was suffered on board her boat No. 2, I
have no doubt that nine readers out of ten will
forget the details just as soon and just as com-
pletely. There is a horrible sameness about these
narratives, Roddy; and the truer they are (as I've
proved) the nearer they resemble one another.
Monotonous they are, these drawn-out agonies —
as the sea itself upon which they are enacted.
From time to time you sit up half-awake out of
your stupor, and then you know that something
is going to happen, and also that it is something
you've read about somewhere, something that
you've lived through (or so it seems) in dreams,
or in a previous existence. You hardly know which ;
and you don't care, much. It's going to be horrible,
you know : it's going to be all the more horrible,
in its way, for being conventional. You want to get
268
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 269
it over and pass on to the next stereotyped night-
mare. That's the feeling.
'So I'm going to confine my tale pretty closely
to myself and what pulled me through. . . . But
before I get to this I must tell you of two shocks
that fell on me before I came to it, and seemed to
promise that the books were all wrong and not
half vivid enough. I dare say that quite a number
of survivors have tried to paint the sense of loneli-
ness that swooped on them in the first few seconds
after their ship had slid down. But I'll swear I
had read nothing to prepare me for it. . . . It's
not a ship — it's a continent — that vanishes. The
little hole it has made in the water calls to the
whole ocean to cover it, and the ocean widens out
its horizon by ten times all around, at once pouring
in and spreading itself to isolate you ten times
farther from help. . . . Nobody who hasn't been
through this and felt it for himself can understand
how promptly and easily— without help of quenching
their thirst in salt water— men go mad, in open
boats, at sea.
'But I believe the shock of loneliness at sunrise
was even more hideous. One is prepared for it, in
a way; otherwise it would, I am sure, be far more
hideous. Santa confessed to me, on the second
day, that she had felt— and, she believed, could
feel— nothing more dreadful. As she put it, " You
see, my friend, when the sky lightens at length,
you have assurance of God, and that God is help.
Then, when He sends up no help, but a great staring
270 FOE-FARRELL
sun to watch your misery, hour by hour, God turns
to devil and you only long for night — when, at
least, the dew falls."
'Between sunset and sunrise, however, I was
kept fairly busy. For the Eurotas had scarcely
been twenty minutes under water, and night had
barely fallen, before the captain's boat ranged up
to us. She carried a lantern in her bows, and I
had found one and was lighting it after his example.
' " Names on board!" he demanded. We gave them
through Grimalson, the second mate, who was in
charge. He said no more for about half a minute,
during which time no doubt he was running through
the list in his head. Then, " That's all right," he
announced cheerily. " You'll set watches Mr
Grimalson, and keep her in easy hail. The weather
will certainly hold fine for a bit, and early to-mor-
row I'll be alongside again with instructions.
Plumb south our course lies, for the present. I'll
tell you why, later. You have a sail? "
'"Ay, sir," answered Grimalson.
'" Right. But don't hoist it unless I signal. . . .
Yes, yes, not a draught at present. But if a breeze
should get up, don't hoist sail without instructions.
We keep together — that's the main point. Just pull
along easy — I'll set the pace — and keep in my
wake, course due south. Those that aren't pulling
will act wise to trust in God and get some sleep. . . .
Is that Doctor Foe there forra'd, with the lantern ? '
'"Ay, sir," I answered up.
'"Then as soon as you've fixed it, sir, I'll ask
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 271
vou to iump aboard and along with us for to-night.
I've poor Jock Abercrombie here— fetched him
and Sanson out of No. 1 boat "-These were
the two injured men: Abercrombie, our Cruel
Engineer, by far the worst burnt-'' I doubt if
he'll last till morning: but we've been friends
from boys, Jock and me, and if you can do aught,
sir to make his passing easier "
'' I asked him to wait while I fetched my medicme-
chest and was transhipped with it into the captain's
boat' They had laid Abercrombie in the stern-
sheets, with the stoker Swainson beside him
Abercrombie's plight was hopeless; flesh of chest
and arms all red-raw from the scorching, and the
man palpably dying from shock
•" I had him into my boat, sir," Macnaughten
explained gravely, " because we'd shipped the
ladies-all but Mrs Farrell-in No. One, and I
don't want 'em to be distressed more than necessary.
A man can't think of everything all in five
minutes, but I got him out of it, soon as I could.
There's no hope, think you? '
•"Between you and me, none," said I, sinking
mv voice. , . ., ,
•" That's what I reckoned," said the skipper, with
iust a nod of his head. He had taken the tiller
and sent all the crew, saving four men rowing
forward whilst I examined the patients. Jock
wouldn't be one to let out a groan if he knew there
were women by to be scared by it. . • AE».
Doctor, if he's dying, I'd like to be handy by, if
272 FOE-FARRELL
you understand. I got him this berth. We were
friends, always.' '
* I found some cotton wool and a tin of vaseline,
and coated the poor man's hurts as well as I could.
Then, as he still groaned, though more feebly, I
got out my phial of morphia and a needle. As I
held the bottle against a sort of binnacle-light by
which Macnaughten sat steering, I caught his eyes
staring down on me, quiet and solemn. I tell you,
that man was a man, Roddy.
' " Yes, I know, Doctor," he said quietly. " You're
calculating how much there is of it, and how you
may have to use it before we're through. . . .
What about Swainson? "
'"He'll pull around," said I. "The vaseline
will ease three-fourths of his trouble within ten
minutes."
'" Keep your voice low," said the skipper, "as
I'm keeping mine." He bent forward, pretending
to consult the compass. " I've sent all these fellows
forward, though they put her down by the head
so that it's like steering a monkey by the tail. . . .
Now I reckon that you'll be wishful to go back
to-morrow, or as soon as may be, and join your
party. That's so? "
'"That's so," said I, as I finished the injection
and turned to deal with the stoker.
'" Well, I'd like to have you here aboard," said
the skipper. " But so's best. We want some
brains in No. 2 boat; and, between ourselves,
Grimalson hasn't the brains of a hare. He's a
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 273
second-cousin- twice-removed of one of our directors.
He's no seaman at all; and his navigation's all a
pretence. ... I suppose, now, you can't navigate?"
'" Good Lord, no, sir!" said I. " I just under-
stand the principles of it — that's all."
'"It's a damned sight more than Grimalson
understands, I'll bet," responded Captain Mac-
naughten, studying the binnacle and speaking as
though we were discussing the weather and the
crops. " You may push your finger into that man
anywhere, he's that soft and boggy— no better'n
slush — and pink. . . . Don't you despise a pink-
coloured man? Still, I want you to understand,
Doctor, that he's the superior officer on Number 2,
for the time being."
"'I understand," said I, looking up from my
business of unguenting the stoker, who was not
badly burnt.
'"But if Grimalson should turn rotten. . . .
Well, now, I've had an eye on you, sir, and I judge
I can share off on you a bit of trouble I wouldn't
share off on most. . . . You must know as well as
I do that the chance is pretty thin for us all, even
if this weather holds. I reckon there's no nearer
land than Easter Island, four hundred good miles
norr'ard, and a beat in light winds. . . . I've
heard too much about long beats in open boats —
heard enough to make the flesh creep. Anyways, I'm
responsible. I've turned it over in my head : and
I'm giving orders — you take me? We're not
steering for any land at all. We're steering the
274 FOE-FARRELL
shortest way, due south — what wind there is
drawing behind us — on the chance to hit in with
the way of traffic — Sydney ships making round the
Horn. . . . You'll not argue that, I hope? " he
demanded.
'" On the contrary, sir," I agreed, " I just know
enough to be sure that you are doing the wisest
thing."
'Nobody but God can be sure," said he, and
sat musing. " Well, I take the responsibility
God has seen fit to lay on me of a sudden. You
won't hear me speak of this again : but you're
an educated man, and you've nerve as well as
brains — I marked ye by the head of the ladder,
when the first boat was getting out. I reckoned
you for one that doesn't speak out of his turn;
and it came over me, just now, that I'd like one
such man, and him a gentleman, to bear in mind
that if I set my face pretty hard in the time that's
ahead of us, it won't mean that I ain't feeling
things at the back of it."
'"Thank you, Captain Macnaughten," said I,
pretty earnestly. " The best I can answer is the
simplest — that you're doing me much honour."
"' That's all right," he said lightly : " all right
and understood. One man often helps another
in funny little ways in this funny old world." After
a pause he went on yet more lightly and cheerfully,
" Well — and I've noticed you've a trick of begin-
ning your sentences on that word 'well': it's a habit
of mine too, they tell me — as the ladies say ashore,
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 275
we're going to be worse before we are better, so
we'll call those fellows aft a bit and ease the steer-
ing. . . . Stay a minute, though, before I call to
them. ... A clever man like you ought to be able
to pick up a bit of navigation in a few lessons.
While our boats keep together (as, please God,
they will to the end) it wouldn't be a bad notion
if you dropped alongside just before midday for a
morning call, and I'll learn you how to handle a
sextant and prick down a reckoning. . . . It'll
be sociable, too. . . . Yes, I'll signal the time
to you : but, to be ready for it, you might set your
watch by my chronometer here. ... I wonder,
now," he inquired oddly, "if you've forgot to
wind yours up to-night? "
'Well, Roddy, it's the truth that I had forgotten.
I looked at him, pretty foolish, and with that we
both laughed— yes, there and then, a sort of laugh,
low and quiet, like well-water bubbling."
"' Now I'll tell you," said the skipper, " I caught
myself winding up mine the moment after the
ship went down. . . . that's funny, eh? Five
minutes to nine was the hour. ... I'd hooked
the old timepiece out of my fob, and there I was,
winding, for all the world as if ashore and going
to bed. ... See here — three turns of the winch
and she's chock-a-block again, if you ever ! . . .
And, come to think, I may as well correct her by
the chronometer, too."
'So we solemnly set our watches together, there
by the binnacle light. A queer fancy took me that
276 FOE-FARRELL
the act was a sort of ritual, not devised by either
of us — a setting and sealing of friendship. . . .
Ought a fellow, Roddy, shipwrecked in the South
Pacific, to complain while he has these three stand-
by's — a woman to love, a man to admire, and a
man to hate?
'The engineer died just before dawn. Indeed,
the day broke of a sudden as I finished straightening
his body and wrapping it for burial; and I looked
up in the new light, and around me, to take in
that second gush of loneliness of which I told
you. ... It was appalling. It swept in on me
from the whole enormous circumference of empty
waters, and I fairly cowered from it over the corpse
I had been tending.
' I never had that sensation again, or in anything
like that degree, during the whole voyage; and I
shall presently tell you why. But it was Mac-
naughten who taught me my first deliverance. . . .
I knelt there, huddled, not daring to turn my face
up for a second look and expose my cowardice.
I seemed to be drowning in the deep of deeps, and
fragments of the first chapter of Genesis swirled
past me like straws — And the earth was without
form and void. . . . And the Spirit of God moved
upon the face of the waters. And God saw the light,
that it was good — but here it was, and it was not
good. And God said, Let there be a firmament in
the midst of the waters — but there was no firmament.
And God divided the waters . . . and the gathering
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 277
together of the waters called he Seas : and God saw
that it was good — oh, my God ! And God said Let
the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto
one place, and let dry land appear : and it was so—
But it wasn't!
'Captain Macnaughten's voice spoke through
this misery of mine quite matter-of-factly and
simply, dispersing it like so much morning mist.
'" Signal the other boats to pull close," he com-
manded. " Some one tell me where the Bible and
Prayer-Book were stowed. I saw them handed
down, with my own eyes." Then to me : " These
things— packed as we are . . . the sooner over,
the better, and the less they'll prey on any one's
mind." He looked down. " Jock would have
liked it so, I reckon."
'The other two boats were called close. The
summons was explained, and the burial service
decently read. " It don't seem altogether a lively
beginning," said he to me at the close— and the
water was scarce dry on his cheek that had run down
suddenly as he read out / heard a voice from heaven,
saying—' But," he added, " it'll sober 'em down
to what they'll have to face. . . . And now we'll
sober 'em up with some cheerfuller business no less
practical."
'The boats having gathered close for this
ceremony, he commanded them to stay so while
the crews cooked breakfast. " I saw the coffee
handed down into No. 1," he announced. ' Fetch
it out, you ! . . . And, after breakfast, I'll overhaul
278 FOE-FARRELL
all three boats and see that each has her share
fairly apportioned."
'I tell you, Roddy, that this Macnaughten, who
aboard the Eurotas had been an ordinary skipper
conning his ship, and nowise hearty or communi-
cative, of a sudden proved himself as great as any
man I've read of in history. . . . You may smile
if you will. But here was a man abandoned by
Heaven in the waste of the South Pacific, with
all his prospects blasted and all the hopes built
on the Eurotas line (in which, I learned, he had
piled his money) ; with a wife at home, moreover,
and a daughter. Yet for the seven days we kept
company he stood up to duty, fathered us all,
never showed sick or sorry. He had a fairish
baritone voice, and it was he that started us singing
to fill up the endless time. How does it go? —
Thus sang they in an English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note —
God ! I can hear his voice now, trolling Nancy Lee
back across the waters, defying them, until the
night quenched it.
' Through these seven days, regularly and towards
noon, he signalled and I went aboard No. 3 for
a lesson in navigation. It was the third day that,
returning, I found Grimalson didn't stomach these
visits. Grimalson was a mean man, and incompetent;
the sort that knows he's not trusted, knows there's
good reason for it, and resents it all the time. I
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 279
thought him just a sulky brute, and noted that
on some excuse or other it was always inconvenient
to be close up with No. 3 boat as it drew
towards midday and my time (as he put it, growl-
ing) for "taking the Old Man's temperature."
He was misguided enough, on the fourth day, to
let off a part of this rather feeble joke upon the
captain himself, and found his bearings pretty
smartly. He had so managed things that at ten
minutes to noon it became pretty clear I must
miss my appointment. AU three boats carried
sail now : the weather being perfect, with a nor'-
westerly breeze, light but steady : and the three
were running before it pretty well abreast like
three tiny butterflies on the waste of water— for I
should tell you that all three were twenty-four
footers, built to one whale-boat model on the same
moulds, and carried small Bermuda, or leg-of-
mutton sails, cut to one pattern— when Grimalson
took it into his head that our down-haul should be
tautened in, cursed the man who was doing his
best to execute a silly order, ran forward, and so
messed matters that the sail had to be three-parts
lowered and re-set. It was quite deliberately
done, as even a landsman could see ; and it lost us
a couple of hundred yards off the captain's boat,
sailing to starboard of us.
'Things were scarcely right with us before
Macnaughten had brought his boat about close to
wind and came ranging alongside. He had his
watch in his hand.
280 FOE-FARRELL
'"Mr Grimalson," he demanded, "why were
you fooling with that sail, just now? "
'" She wasn't setting proper," explained Grimal-
son; "and I told Jarvis to take a swig on the
downhaul. He got messed up in the slack
somehow, and "
'" Before you go any further," — the captain cut
him short — " I may just tell you that your sail
was setting perfectly, and that I saw the whole
business through my glass. . . . Hasn't Doctor
Foe told you that I require him, while this weather
holds, to be on board this boat regularly at ten
minutes to noon, to take observations? "
'"Observations?" grumbled the second mate.
" I thought observations to be a seaman's job. I
reckoned that what doctors and suchlike took
was temperatures, and five minutes up or down
wouldn't put any one out."
'"I'm sorry," answered Macnaughten, very
quiet, after a moment's thought, — " I am very
sorry to tell you before your crew and passengers
what, with a ship under me, I should have called
you aft and below to hear in private. But if you
ever use that tone with me again, Mr Grimalson,
I shall take your temperature with my revolver.
And if you dare to disobey my smallest order, as
you deliberately did just now, I shall transfer you
to this boat and clap you in irons. For it seems
to me I have to explain to you what the others, —
crew and passengers alike — know by the light of
common sense : that until God's mercy delivers
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 281
us my least word is the Ten Commandments
rolled into one, we being where a hand's turn is
either a hair's-breadth or broad as the Pacific. . . .
Now cast off, and set your behaviour by Number
One boat, where Mr Ingpen has come up to wind
and is waiting for us. ... A cable's length on the
port, and level with us — that's the order, and
you'll watch it until I give the next. You have
lost us twenty minutes. Happen that might turn
out the hair's-breadth I was speaking of — the
difference between life and death — and the whole
Pacific ain't wider."
'We were down in latitudes where the current
sets south-easterly, and this was helping us all
the time. But on the sixth and seventh days,
although the wind held fair and light and steady,
a considerable swell had been following us, warning
of trouble somewhere to northward; and on the
eighth night it overtook us.
'It was — not to speak irreverently — in itself
ten times more trouble than ten thousand Grim-
alsons could have raised; a tearing gale of wind
which, all of a sudden, converted the oily summits
of the swell into bursting white waves. I don't
suppose the height from trough to summit actually
increased as it did to view, but in twenty minutes,
and with night shutting down the lid on us, each
successive wave astern seemed to grow taller by
feet. The rain appeared to have no effect in flatten-
ing their caps, though it came down with a weight
f.f. T
282 FOE-FARRELL
that knocked half the breath out of our bodies,
and with a roar above which it was hard to hear
an order shouted. We could spy the other boats'
lanterns but at long intervals, partly because of
this downpouring curtain and partly, I suppose,
because when we topped up over a crest they would
nine times out of ten be hidden in a trough, dipping
or rising.
'We carried, by Captain Macnaughten's orders,
a hurricane lamp on our fore-stay. Some one had
lit a second amidships, where we huddled in oil-
skins and under tarpaulins like a congregation of
eels. . . . Jarvis, our best seaman, had the tiller.
He sat, all hunched, crouching forward over a
third small lamp — the binnacle lamp with which
our boat, like the others, was providentially fitted.
The rain, however, beat on its glass in such sheets
that he could not possibly have read the compass
card floating by the wick. Nor — I am sure — was
he trying to read it. He just sat and steered by
the feel of the seas as they lurched ahead and
sank abaft. The lamplight glowed up on his
cheek-bones, but was lost under the pent of his
sou'-wester, which had a sort of crease or channel
in its fore-flap, that shed down the rain in a flood.
Though we lay, we passengers, on the bottom
boards we could see nothing of his face, so far
forward he bent.
'Then Grimalson lost his head. He was seated
at Jarvis's shoulder in the stern sheets, with a
hefty seaman (Prout by name) on his other hand
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 283
tending the sheet — the both of 'em starboard of
Jarvis. Of a sudden he started up, reached forward,
snatched the midships light, and held it aloft against
the wall of a tremendous sea arching astern. At
sight of it the fool lost all his remaining nerve,
and yelled to the two seamen forward to lash a
couple of oars to the painter and cast overboard.
"If we ran another hundred yards, we were lost:
there was no hope but to fetch around head-to-sea
and ride side to it."
' — Which, after some seven or eight sickening
minutes, we did. He was master, and Jarvis put
down the helm and obeyed. Twice we were heaved,
tilted and slid sideways down, like folks perched
on the window-sills of a falling house. Then she
came fair about and rode to it, every crest flinging
more or less of spray over us, hour after hour. . . .
'But I must tell you one thing. From time to
time we were roused up in the darkness, to bale.
Our work performed, we three passengers — Santa
and Farrell and I — would creep under the tar-
pauling anew, out of the drumming rain, and coil
there to sleep. . . . Ay, and once in the pitch
blackness under, she mistaking, reached two arms
around my neck and with a long sigh, dead-beat,
Santa sank asleep. That was all. . . . Farrell
lay as he had tumbled, like a log across my ankles.
... I held her, crooked by my elbow against
my side, her head drowsed on my shoulder, her
body pulsing against mine. I am telling you all,
and I tell you that I did not dare to kiss her. Lying
284 FOE-FARRELL
awake, with Farrell across my feet, I held her to
me, feeling her breathe.
'At hint of dawn Jarvis, who had been watching
the seas the night through, barked us out of cover.
The rain had ceased, the gale had swept south-
ward as fast as it had come. The sea heaved almost
as steeply as ever, but the toppling waves no longer
flung any spray over us, or any to mention.
'Day broke, and the after-swell still tumbled
us heavily : but nowhere within the great ring of
horizon did it heave one of the other boats into
sight. The sea smoothed itself down with a quite
wonderful rapidity, and still its great surface was
a blank.
1 1 cannot somehow believe that so able a handler
of his boat as I knew Captain Macnaughten to be
allowed himself to be swamped in that gale. His
orders had been to carry on and only heave-to
upon signal. Jarvis — who (as I have said) could
sail our boat running by the feel of her, maintained
that we had never been in the worst of danger,
that the skipper could sail a boat for ten to his
own one, that he had just held on, in his straight
way, upon the orders he had given, and left us at
the back of the horizon while we fenced seas under
Grimalson's orders.
'Since nothing apparently has been heard since
of those other boats, I shall go on hoping that Jarvis
was wrong, and that Captain Macnaughten's boat
CAPTAIN MACNAUGHTEN 285
and Mr Ingpen's, in one way or another, met with
a short sharp end in that gale.
'But if they did last it out and over the horizon
to drag it out and die and never be reported to
Lloyds, then I, who know the sort of things they
must have suffered, assure you, who have read
them accurately reported in books, that whenever
or wherever Captain James Macnaughten perished,
the Recording Angel has him entered for a seaman
and a gentleman.
NIGHT THE SEVENTEENTH
NO. 2 BOAT
(Foe's Narrative Continued)
'One must use ugly words for ugly things.
'Grimalson, staring — as we all stared — over the
blank sea, vomited the natural man within him in
some fourteen or fifteen words for which he was
never forgiven by any of us.
'"Gone, by Gosh! And that bloody old fool
was teaching me to handle a boat! "
'All heard it. Not a soul spoke. I glanced at
Jarvis in time to catch the twitch of his mouth —
one of those twitches I used to study in angry dogs,
and snapshot and measure : but he continued to
gaze across the waters. After half a minute or so
he glanced at me, looked seaward again, and
observed quietly. " It don't seem probable they
would run mast-down in the time. And yet I
don't know : 'twas blowing powerful fresh just
after midnight. Hull-down, a boat might easily
be; and supposing sail lowered, what's a boat's
mast better to pick up than a needle in a bottle o'
hay? — let be they might be dismasted. There was
weather enough. And No. i carried a bamboo —
which is never to be trusted, if you ask me."
286
NO. 2 BOAT 287
-'Who the devil's asking you?' demanded
Grimalson.
'"Nobody, sir," the seaman answered, respect-
fully, but without turning his head. "Words
spoken in a li'l boat like this be for anybody's
hearin'; and anybody's heard or no, accordin' as
they choose."
'"Well then," Grimalson retorted, 'I happen
to be boss here aboard, and I don't choose^ So
drop you that, prompt, and start baling her."
' " One moment, Mr Grimalson " I began. But
he took me up quicker than he had taken Jarvis.
'"Dear me, now!" he snarled in a foolish
sarcastic way! "And who may this be that
I have the honour of addressing ?— Captain
Macnaughten's ghost? or his next-of-kin, belike?
Or may be his deputy understudy ?— with your
One moment, please} . . . You sit down on that
thwart there, and don't you dare open your face
again until I give you leave. . . . That was the
old fool's way with me— hey? And now you
recognise it." tt
'" I do," said I, pulling out my revolver. You
may quit fumbling in your pocket, for it's wringing
wet and these cartridges are dry, as I have assured
myself. . . . You sit down on that thwart, and
don't you dare open your face until I give you
leave to get up and wash it. That's your trick of
speech, and maybe you recognise it."
'As I covered him, Jarvis touched my elbow.
" I beg your pardon, sir, but you're a gentleman
288 FOE-FARRELL
and a passenger, and Mr Grimalson's our senior
officer, when all's said, and in command. . . .
I'm not talkin' about the rights of it nor the wrongs
of it," Jar vis went on, as I still held the revolver
levelled : " but 'tis flat mutiny you're committing;
and me and my mates'll have to range up on the
side of order. Whereby you'll be no match for
us. . . . Oh, sir," he pleaded, " let up with quarrel-
ling, and let's all die decent, if we must, when the
time comes — and with a lady in the boat ! "
'"Thank you, Jarvis," said I, and lowering
my revolver drew out the cartridges pretty de-
liberately. " I beg your pardon, Mr Grimalson.
I shall not, on any provocation, interfere with
you again. But before you start baling the boat,
I'll ask you to note that the third water-breaker
is stove, and it was the only full one. Saltish this
water may be, but nine-tenths of it is honest rain
from heaven."
'" My God, sir, and it's truth ! " verified one of
the seamen who had scrambled forward. The
full breaker had jerked loose from its lashings
and lay awash under the bowman's thwart: worse
— it had loosed the other two, and these, floating
light, had washed away overboard and gone out
of ken.
'Grimalson stood up, slightly dazed. In the
rock of the boat he seemed to be shifting his weight
deliberately from foot to foot.
'" Why didn't one of you report? " he shouted,
in a fury at which I smiled; it being so senseless
NO. 2 BOAT 289
and at the same time so cunning, as a ruse to let
him arise with dignity from the thwart. " Why
didn't somebody report ? " he repeated in an
absurd official manner, quite as though he had
been a station-master interrogating a group of
porters on the whereabouts of a missing parcel.
'"Well, sir," I answered as politely as possible;
" it was I that first found the casks were loose,
and by the accident that the rim of the full one
struck me pretty sharply, in the night, between
the shoulder-blades. I got it trigged up, as you
see, before it ran amuck to do further damage. In
securing it I found that it had lost its bung and
was almost empty : but that hardly seemed worth
mentioning, with such a flood of rainwater washing
around. There was nothing to be done at the
moment; the breaker in a way was refilling itself,
as soon as I had it jammed, by the water washing
over it; and, after a bit, judging it full or nearly
full, I ripped off a corner of my oily and made a sort
of bung, as you see."
'All this had, in fact, cost me some labour, and
I related it, no doubt, a bit too complacently.
Worse, I rounded it up by saying, " The captain,
sir, was more anxious about the water than any-
thing, as he told me yesterday."
'At this his temper boiled over — yet not (as I
could see) until he had flung a glance at Jarvis
and the crew, to make sure they were submissive
still to the old habit of discipline. " Macnaughten
was always full of wisdom," he sneered; " —so
290 FOE-FARRELL
full that he's dead of it! . . . And so you didn't
think it worth mentioning? "
'Do you know, Roddy, I didn't think the fool
worth any further attention. . . . One can't
really hate two men at one time ... at any rate,
I can't. It's too fatiguing. There sat Farrell,
three feet away, looking dazed, as he'd looked
ever since the Eurotas went under. As for this
Grimalson, I didn't reckon him worth powder and
shot. I knew that he would bluster before the
men, to save his face, and then climb down To
secure the water on board was such an obvious
measure that, bluster as he might, he couldn't
miss coming to it finally. ... I heard Jarvis
explaining that an empty pork-tub, with a tar-
paulin inside of it, would hold quite a deal of the
rainwater washing above the bottom-boards. I
took no more trouble than to turn my back on
Grimalson, who was arguing that all this water
was mucking the dry provisions.
' " They're pretty well mucked already, sir, by
the looks of 'em," answered Jarvis : "all but the
canned meats, and few enough they are. Five
cans, as I counted the last stowage."
'" Oh, very well, then," came the order which I
had known to be inevitable. " Run a tarpauling
inside of that cask — and bale, you, Prout and
Martinez! "
' And so, behind my back and almost as I shrugged
my shoulders — so, within twenty minutes of the
sunrise that told us we were eight human beings
NO. 2 BOAT 291
isolated from all help but that which we could
afford to one another — in a casual, unpremedi-
tated stroke the curse fell on us.
'The seaman Martinez, kneeling in water, was
asking, rather helplessly, for some one to pass
him a baler or invent one — our regulation clipper
having gone overboard in the gale. It was a silly,
useless question : but Grimalson, already rattled,
swung round upon a man he knew to be weak.
"Damn me!" cried he in a gust of rage, "if
I can't teach it to doctors, I'll teach seamen who
gives orders here ! " and snatching out a marling -
spike from a sheath in his belt, hurled it full at
the seaman's head.
'The act was brutal enough in itself; for the
iron, though a light one, was full heavy enough,
flung with that force, to lay a man out. It did
worse : for Martinez, instead of ducking his head,
made a spring to his feet, putting out his hands
much as if fielding a cricket-ball. The marling-
spike, miss-aimed, struck the thwart in front of
him, turned point up with the ricochet, and plunged
into his thigh. As I splashed forward to his help,
blood came creeping, staining the water around
my ankles. The steel point had pierced slant-
wise through his femoral artery.
'Well, I was quick : and Santa was quick, too
— teaiing in strips the damp pillow-case on which
her head rested of nights when it wasn't resting
against Farrell's shoulder. (But not this night,
I thought as I worked — not this blessed night
292 FOE-FARRELL
just passed ! ) With the pillow-case and the very
spike that had done the mischief I made a good
firm tourniquet and saved Martinez's life for the
time.
' But he had lost a lot of blood. All the drinking
water awash in the boat was foul with it, and this
bloodied flood was running, as the boat rocked, in
and out among our small bags of pork and ship-
bread. My job ended, I looked aft. Farrell was
leaning over the gunwale in uncontrollable nausea.
The face of Prout at the tiller, was dogged but in-
expressive. Grimalson stood like a man dazed.
'"Will he live? " he asked, his eyes meeting
mine. " Of course I never intended "
'" It wasn't a very pretty thing to do, was it? '
I answered quietly.
'"Well, this settles it," said he, staring down
at the water. " We must clean out this filthy
mess and overhaul the stores."
'"And then? " I asked.
'"Oh, it'll rain," said he, affecting confidence.
" It rained for a hundred last night, didn't it?
We've run south of the dry latitudes and soon
we'll be getting more rain than we've any use for.
There's the small keg of rum, too . . . Great
thing as we're situated," the fool continued, " is
to keep every one in heart. And anyway I don't
stomach water with blood in it — specially Dago
blood. . . . Jarvis and Webster, fall to baling :
and you, Prout, hand us over the tiller and dig
out something for breakfast."
NO. 2 BOAT 293
'I had found a plug of tobacco in my pocket
and seated myself to slice it : and as I cut it upon
my palm, my eyes fell on Farrell's yet-heaving
shoulders. ... Of a sudden then it came upon
me that, even with the luck we'd carried, men
can't go through seven days and eight nights in
an open boat and emerge quite sane. Macnaughten
had put up a gallant, a magnificent pretence.
" The Old Man's Penny Readings," as Grimalson
had dubbed those evenings when the boats had
closed up and the crews sang Moody and Sankey
or My Mary — "The Old Man's Penny Readings, or
Pea-nuts on the Pacific" — had been just as grandly
simple as anything in the Gospel. No: that's wrong
— they had come straight out of the Gospel, a last
chapter of it the skipper had found floating and
recovered, and would carry up, a proud passport
to his God.
'But Macnaughten was gone, and with him the
whole lovely illusion. He had kept us in a nursery,
separated from hell by a half-inch plank; and
here we were all beasts, consigned to ravening and
to die of unsatisfied bestial wants — yes, and com-
manded by a monkey-man who chattered of keeping
every one in heart ! He !
'So there it was. I told you, Roddy, that it all
happened like a nightmare — or, if you prefer it,
a composite photograph — of any dozen stories
you can recall. Here are the facts; and I will try
to give them succinctly, as in a police-report.
294 FOE-FARRELL
' We were eight in the boat : —
'Grimalson, in command.
Davis 1 A ^
p YA.B. seamen.
Webster ) ~ , .
tit f - f Ordinary seamen.
Farrell ]
Santa [passengers.
and I J
'Our victuals were: — 4 lb. of pork (about) and
7 lb. of ship-bread, all messed with blood : 3 cans
of potted meat, 2 of preserved fruit, one tin of
sardines : for liquid, half a gallon of rum and,
in the breaker, about 3 pints of water.
' We were, as we calculated, four hundred miles at
least from any known land, and we had no chart
on board : we might be within a hundred miles
of the fringe of traffic.
'The sea was calm : the wind came in inter-
mittent light draughts from the north. The sky
was a great burning-glass, holding no hint of rain.
1 Now from the very beginning — from the moment
we left the ship — I knew that, if we were to perish
of hunger or thirst before sighting help, I should
be the last survivor. No; you needn't stare :
it's perfectly simple. ... I doubt if I ever told
you that in the old days, when experimenting
with the animals, I found that my will — or brain-
power, if you prefer the term — worked torpidly
NO. 2 BOAT 295
for a while after meals, although, as you know,
I was never what they call a hearty feeder. So I
took to cutting down my rations. Then of course
I discovered that this w r as all right enough up to
a point, beyond which the stomach's craving made
the brain irritable and impatient. So for a long
time I let it go at that, and ate pretty frugally at
fairly long stretches . . . until one day, in some
book about Indian fakirs, I picked up a hint that
if this interval of exhaustion were passed — if I
stuck it out — my will might pick up its second
wind, so to speak, and work more strongly than
ever. I was curious enough, anyway, to give it a
trial or two. The results didn't amount to much :
but I did discover that I had a rather exceptional
capacity for fasting, and promised myself to practise
it further, from time to time, as an experiment
on my own vile body.
'But now we'll come to something more im-
portant. In the matter of thirst I had persevered :
being, as you may remember, hot-foot upon rabies
just then and the salivary glands. . . . Well, in
the matter of thirst, I trained myself to do my
three days easy without swallowing a drop. That
last night you invited yourself to dinner — the night
I first met Farrell, by the way — you unknowingly
ended a four days' experiment. I told Jimmy
Collingwood about it, the morning he breakfasted
with me. . . .'
['I remember Jimmy's telling me something
about it, in the taxi,' I put in. 'He said you were
296 FOE-FARRELL
either the saviour or the curse of society — he wasn't
clear which : wouldn't commit himself until he'd
read your forthcoming treatise on Thirst, Its Cause
and Cure. He added that you were mistaken if
you thought the topic non-controversial.']
'He needn't be afraid. . . . Farrell smashed
me up for good as a benefactor of my species.
... I shall put up a brass plate in Harley Street
and end my days as a pottering empiricist —
Remember Jimmy's trouble with that word? —
alleviating particular complaints for cash. If it
hadn't been for Farrell — well, just you remember
that when I stand up for judgment! . . .
'Anyhow, that infernal boat gave me all the
personal experiment I wanted. ... I promised
not to tell you all about it. . . . Martinez went
first, of course, being weak as water. He died
muttering for water. Grimalson came next . . .
two days later.
'But I shall go on telling you about myself.
Physically I suffered very little, mentally a good
deal at sight of the others' torments — but only
from time to time. By the fourth day (the eleventh
after the Eurotas went down) we were all more or
less mad, I reckon. But my lunacy took the form
of lightheadedness with a strange, almost per-
sistent, sense of exaltation. I kept my strength
so much better than they that almost uncon-
sciously they left most of the trimming and steering
in my hands. And I sat and steered as a god, in a
world blank of all but miserable happenings. I
NO. 2 BOAT 297
looked on Santa, and she was the woman I loved
but should never enjoy. I looked on Farrell : and
he was here, brought here by me. What worse
woe could possibly he in store for him than this
agony over which I presided it was impossible to
tell and hard indeed to imagine. But I did not
want him to die. On the contrary, it was for him
that I searched the horizon, that a ship might
rescue us and he might live. I would see to the
rest!
'They say that living with an enemy in a con-
finement such as ours, makes you hate him worse
and worse. ... It wasn't so with me. My hate,
by this time, was set and annealed, so to speak;
quite cold, and almost judicial. I had no more
jealousy than Jove. The air that, to the others,
quivered so damnably, so insufferably around the
boat under a sky without shade, swam around me
like incense. ... As for Farrell, his eyes watched
mine like a dog's.
'Oh, yes, we went through it all! I'll have to
tell you about Grimalson (as shortly as possible,
though), because Farrell gets mixed up in it, here-
abouts. Even in their suffering, the three seamen
— Jarvis, Prout, and Webster— had nursed poor
Martinez almost tenderly; and I suppose amid
their mutterings forward, they had hatched out
their form of protest. And it was fit for comic
opera— ghastly comic opera— if you can imagine
Lucifer sitting in the stalls.
'Noon of the third day it was— I count from
f.f. v
298 FOE-FARRELL
the time of our losing the other two boats. We
had lowered Martinez overboard about an hour
before, and the seamen should have been preparing
our diminutive ration. (Salt pork boiled in sea-
water, if you can imagine it, Roddy !) I was
steering: Santa sat a foot away, staring over the
waters, sometimes bringing her attention back to
a line which Grimalson had cast overboard, trying
for a fish. Grimalson lounged on the after-thwart
— facing me, as you might say, and with his back
to the men, but lolling sideways over the gunwale.
He felt the line with his left hand. Close by his
right lay a useless gaff. He had exhausted our
third and last tin of sardines for bait, without
effect, and — what was worse — had drained the
oil down his throat impudently, without an offer
to share it. Also he had been drinking salt water
— and I had not troubled to restrain him. Farrell
I could hate, but this man was naught. Farrell
lay on the bottom-boards at my feet, breathing
stertorously, with his head in what shade Santa's
gown and the side-sheets together afforded. But
this fool seemed intent on baiting the Pacific with
a plummet, a hook, and a lump of salt pork.
'As if this wasn't enough of grisly opera, of a
sudden, in my light-headedness I saw the three
men stand up, join hands solemnly in a sort of
cat's cradle fashion, and advance aft, for all the
world like a comic trio, with the after thwart for
footlights. They came to a halt, close behind
Grimalson, and— even as though I had ordered
XO. 2 BOAT 299
a burlesque — Jarvis cleared his parched throat
painfully, very formally, and spoke across to me.
You must picture the three, if you will, still holding
hands while he spoke.
'"Doctor Foe, sir," said Jarvis oratorically,
" me and my mates, not knowing the law, but
being wishful to behave conformable as British
seamen, have cast it up together. And we allow
'tis no mutiny, being situated as we are, to say
as this Martinez was a shipmate, when all's said
and done, though a Dago, and Mr Grimalson,
meaning no disrespect, done him to death by
bloody murder. Which, consequently, attaching
no blame, we three, as loyal British seamen, two
A.B. and one ordinary, and giving our opinion for
what it is worth, hold that Mr Grimalson was
probably off his chump when he done it, and hasn't
behaved subsequently in a way to inspire confidence
in a crew left as we are. Whereby, Doctor Foe,
not having pen and ink handy to make a round
robin of it, we hereby respectfully depose Mr Grim-
alson, and request of you to take over command
of this craft, trusting you to be a gentleman and
being well aware of the consequences and ready
to face 'em. The others having said Amen, we'll
consider the matter finished. "
'There's farce somewhere in every tragedy,
Roddy. Here, against the glare on the Pacific, it
challenged all doom, broad and unashamed. I
need hardly tell you that Grimalson, at the opening
of this harangue, had dropped his fishing-line,
300 FOE-FARRELL
clutched his gaff, and whirled about furiously.
But he faced three determined men, and Webster's
loose hand played with a revolver. Twice or thrice
Grimalson essayed to interrupt; but Jarvis was a
man with a prepared speech : and, backed by
Webster's free hand, he delivered it straight out at
me to the last word over Grimalson's shoulder.
'Then, as he concluded, there ensued the beast-
liest scene of all. Grimalson, from facing these
three slow, determined men, took a swift turn
right about and struck at me with the gaff. They
clutched at him and he faced about again, drop-
ping the gaff, springing to the thwart and hitting
right and left. Webster sprang also to the thwart
and landed him a stunner on the point of the
jaw which sent him overboard from the rocking
boat.
'Now Webster was, in ordinary life, a religious
man, and a Methodist. At sight of what he had
done he ran to the boat's side, making ineffectual
grabs to recover the body, which floated for a
moment or two, with the senseless hand afloat or
spread on the waters, as if in ghastly benediction.
And then, as I put up helm, as if hauled down on
a line, the trunk and head disappeared from view
and a bloody smear came up, oozing and spreading.
Jarvis called out that he had seen a shark's fin.
'I did not see it, being occupied in rounding up
the boat to recover the body : doing this, too,
with my left hand, in no small pain. For Grim-
alson's stroke with the gaff had lacerated my right
NO. 2 BOAT 301
fore-arm, tearing away a strip of my rolled-up
shirt-sleeve.
'And then. ... My God, Roddy ! — Farrell,
who had roused himself up at the scrimmage, had
his mouth fastened on my arm, mad with thirst,
sucking the blood ! Oh, you have to go through
these things to understand! . . . And I said I
wouldn't tell. ... I beat at him; but it was
Santa who pushed him off.
'Webster had sunk, sobbing, with his face on his
hands that gripped the gunwale. We were all
mad. I held out my bleeding fore-arm to Santa,
who was tearing a bandage for it.
'"Your husband has drunk, " I said.
'"Ah, pity!" said she, softly, taking the first
deft turn of the bandage. " Must you, too, be a
beast? "
'Jarvis, meanwhile, like a man dulled to all
tragedy, had gone to the boat's side and was hauling
in Grimalson's futile line. He brought up the
sinker.
'"God help us all! — there's hope yet!" he
barked through his parched throat, and held up
the sinker all clothed about and clogged with
greenish-brown shore-weed.
NIGHT THE EIGHTEENTH
'and so they came to the island. . . .'
(Foe's Narrative Continued)
'That night, as I was steering, I heard a sound
as of a bucket dipped over the bows. Needless to
say, we had hoisted no lantern on the forestay
since the night the other boats had deserted us
or gone down. To help a vessel to pick us up on
that expanse of water it would have been about
as useful as the tail of a glow-worm — and moreover
the crew had drunk all the oil.
' I had the sheet well out and was running under
a light, lazy night-waft of breeze. A thin moon
was setting somewhere behind my right shoulder,
and the glimmer of it played on the canvas. . . .
I had supposed all the others to be sunk in merciful
sleep, when Webster stood up and, staggering
forward, ducked under the foot of the sail, which
at once hid him from me. . . . When I heard the
plunk of a bucket — as I supposed — it suggested
at the worst that here was another fool dosing
himself mad on sea-water; and, as values counted
by this time, it was not worth while to awake four
other souls to consciousness and misery for the
sake of preventing him. . , . And then the man's
302
• AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 303
face went swimming past me, upturned to the
moonlight, momentarily sinking as I grabbed at
his beard which floated up like seaweed. ... I
grabbed, and missed. God knows what I should
have done had my fingers tangled themselves in
that beard, to get a clutch on it.
'He had slipped himself overboard, to drown
quietly. . . . And we were now five, and Prout
was plainly a dying man. (I'd have you note,
Roddy, the order in which the men on board went;
for it rather curiously backs up my theory that
there's ever so much more vitality in what ^ we
call brains than in what we call physique. Martinez
was a weakling, of poor breed : Grimalson, big as
bull's beef, had a brain rotten as a pear : Webster, a
docile fellow, was strong as Hercules and surprisingly
stupid. These were gone, in their order. The two
A.B.'s, Jams and Prout— canny men, resourceful,
full of seamanship— survived, and we three pas-
sengers. What kept Farrell going, and saved his
reason, was a great capacity for sleep. He slept
all the night and most of the day; and though by
consequence he helped us little or nothing, seemed
(as he declared himself to be) constantly dog-tired.
His momentary ferocity, when he fastened on my
bleeding forearm, had been a gust only, and after
it he sank deeper and deeper into drowsiness. As
for Santa— frankly, I don't know. They tell us
that women sleep more lightly than men, and can
endure suffering far more patiently— which some
explain by saying that their nerves are less sensitive
304 FOE-FARRELL
to pain, and (I suppose therefore) to pleasure.
But I don't know : I have never studied the
subject. She sat very quiet, sometimes for hours
together, without stirring; but she took very little
actual sleep.
'The end of Jarvis and Prout was one of those
inhuman, ghastly farces which, as I've said, break
the spell of a sudden and are worse than the tragedy
itself. They had struck up a quaint, almost canine
friendship — Yes, that's the word, though I can't
stop to explain what I mean by it more than by
saying that they would sit together by the hour,
like two dogs before a fire. The odd thing about
it was that they had twice been shipwrecked before
on the coast; and had come through the double
experience respecting one another as capable
seamen but forming no attachment until — But
it's ludicrous past guessing. On the second day
in the boat it was discovered by a chance word
that they had a common acquaintance in 'Frisco :
and he wasn't much of a friend either. I never
heard his name right and full, and I doubt if
they knew it. They called him Uncle Tibe, and I
gathered from their earlier conversations that he
was a Jewish dealer in marine stores and money-
lending; of mature years; and afflicted with a
chronic and most Christian thirst, which he allevi-
ated by methods derived from the earliest patriarchs
of his race. Of these his favourite was to attach
himself to some young seaman with money in his
pocket and, having insinuated concurrently the
'AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 305
undoubted truths that he possessed great wealth
but was averse to spending it (even on Scotch
" smokes,") to insinuate further that the victim
had to an extraordinary degree crept into the
affections of a childless old man, — yea, might hope
indeed, by attentions which in practice worked
out to ordering whisky and adding " Make it two,"
to inherit his real and personal estate.
' Silly as you like ! — But the discovery that each
had been hoaxed by Uncle Tibe, and the com-
parison of their foolish experiences, with reported
tales of the dupes yet more heavily befooled and
bled, caught and bound these men in fellowship.
They had both met with some queer ones in their
travels, and they compared notes : but they always
came back to this superlative old fraud. After
long wise and disconnected talk about the set of
the wind, or the rates of pay on various lines, or
stowage, or freights, or rigs, or currents, or the
characters of various skippers and mates, or the
liveliness or sulkiness or homeliness or fickleness
of this or that kind of cargo, they would revert
extra-professionally to Uncle Tibe : of whom the
old stories would be repeated over and over, with
long pauses, chuckles, slow appreciations — " Ay,
Tibe ! ... He was a none-such, if you like ! "
'Will you believe me that, in the end, these two
honest fellows murdered each other over this more-
than-half-mythical Tibe ? No, you can't guess what
it's like, towards the finish. They sat side by side
on the mid-thwart, fishing over either gunwale —
3 o6 FOE-FARRELL
or leaning over, pretending. They were almost
too weak- to haul in a fish over four pounds had
they caught one, and for two days their throats
had been parched so that speech came with diffi-
culty. Of a sudden Jar vis let out " Tibe ! " with
a sort of ghostly cackle, and Prout cackled " Tibe ! '
in an echo even thinner. . . . And, with that
Jarvis stood up and started raving of what he would
do when the money came to him, as he allowed it
would, after all. Mighty queer ways of spending
wealth he mentioned, too, before Prout was up and,
yelling at him for a thief and supplanter, drove at
his throat with a knife. He missed : but the next
instant, these two found friends, whose friendship
had fenced us others off almost as strangers, were
wallowing and knifing one another on the bottom-
boards, — all over the visionary legacy of a Jew,
thousands of miles away, whose picking of their
pockets had been their common reminiscence and
their standing joke through days of horror. And
political economists used to tell us that money
is a medium and symbol of exchange !
'Well, after that we were three in the boat, and
I was the only one strong enough to heft the bodies
overboard. If they could only have held on to
their wits for another twenty-four hours, or even
for twelve !
'When I had done this work, and redded up the
boat, I looked rather anxiously at Santa, who had
been watching me : for I feared the effect this
•AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND' 307
scene of shambles might have upon her. She sat,
with Farrell's head resting against her knee, and
still gazed unmoved. . . . Then I knew why.
She had passed beyond these vain phenomena.
Her eyes saw them and saw them not. . . . She
was dying.
'Yet she sat erect. She even smiled, very faintly,
and made a feeble motion of the hand towards her
guitar-case, which I had lifted out of the reach of
the blood and set on the seat at a little distance
from her. Then I understood that she had seen,
after all. . . . For I must tell you that, in the early
days, Santa's playing and singing had brought
great cheer to the crews, and our boat was envied
for carrying this music. But there had come a
day when Jarvis and Prout sent aft very respect-
fully to beg that there might be no more of it, for
it dragged across their raw nerves : and from that
hour the guitar had lain in its case. It could be
set free now.
' I took it out, and she half held out her arms
for it, as a mother might for her newly-born
child. . . . But she would never play on it again.
The strings were all loose but one, and that one
broken. She had no strength, and I no skill, to
re- tune the thing.
' But she thanked me in a sort of throaty whisper,
and sat for a while letting the neck of the guitar
lie against her shoulder, while her left hand went
up to clasp it and ringer it in the old way.
And her right hand lifted itself once or twice
308 FOE-FARRELL
towards the sounding-hole, but dropped back to
her lap.
'"You are very good to me," she said, after some
seconds, still in the same whisper. " Why is it
that you hate Pete so? " Then, as I did not answer,
she went on, " I am dying, I think. It would be
quite safe to tell me, now."
'" When two men love one woman " I began.
But she shook her head, and her eyes accused me.
Santa had very beautiful eyes, and in this agony
they were perhaps deeper in colour and more
beautiful than ever. But they had changed, some-
how. ... I cannot explain it but they recalled
another pair of eyes . . . another woman's. . . .
Whose? ... I don't know! My mother's, maybe.
She died, you know, when I was quite a small
boy. . . . Anyway, these eyes quite suddenly
looked at me out of the past — out of my memory,
as it were. They were Santa's and yet they were
not Santa's. . . .
'"Ah," said she, "do not lie to me, now! It
hurts so ! "
'" Well, then," I told her, " your husband once,
back in the past, did me a very great wrong. It
— well, it wrecked the work of my life, and I have
never forgiven it. Now let us talk no more about
it."
' A look of relief, almost a happy look, dawned
on her face. " I knew it was not about me ! For
I saw your two faces when you met on the hill,
under my porch way. ... Do you know that, at
'AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 309
moments, you are very much alike? . . . Oh, in
general, of course, there is no likeness at all. . . .
But at certain moments. . . . And it was so
when you met, there on the hill : I had to look
from one to the other. It was plain in that instant
that you hated one another — yes, and it might
have been for a long time . . . ages and ages.
But it could not have been about me, for you had
not set eyes on me but within the minute. ... I
am glad, anyway, that it is not for my sake that
you hate."
'Her words came in faint, hurrying wafts, much
as for days the wind had been ruffling after us.
The sunset struck slantwise across her cheek and
hung entangled in the blown tress that drooped
low by her right temple. I tell you, Roddy, that
if the old gods and goddesses in our school-
books ever turned out to be mortal after all, she
was one, and thus looked, and spoke as she
died. . . .
'"I understand well enough," she went on,
" the small things over which women quarrel. . . .
Though they all seem very far away just now, I
was a woman and could be jealous over any of them.
But I never understood why men quarrelled, except
for me, of course. . . . Was it over your work, do
you tell me? "
'"Surely," said I, "a man's work "
'" Yes. I know that it is so," she answered me
with a small sigh. " Do you know that, far back,
I come down from the Incas ? and I dare say they
310 FOE-FARRELL
thought less of work than of other things. . . .
It is all thanks to your working that we three are
alive, now. ... I understand a little why men
so much value their work. ... But yet I do not
understand why they drop their work to quarrel
as they do. I understand it no better than the
righting of dogs." She paused on that last word,
and then, as though it had put new life into her,
she sat erect and opened her eyes wider upon the
horizon as she put the amazing question, " Was
it over a dog that you two hated? "
' It staggered me : but I caught at the first
explanation. " Oh, I see," said I. " Your husband
has been telling you? "
'She didn't answer this at once. ... At length,
and as though my voice had taken long in reaching
her, far out on the ocean where her gaze rested —
" No," said she, " Pete has told me nothing. . . .
I never asked. . . . But if it is true, ay de mil
then that which I behold is not true."
'"Of what are you speaking? " I asked.
'" I saw an island," she answered, as one in a
dream: "and again I see it. It has two sharp
peaks and one that would seem to be cut short.
Lawns of green climb up to the peaks between
forests. There is a ring of surf all about the shore
. . . but the boat has found a passage through
. . . and you and Pete are landing . . . and —
strangest ! — there is a dog leaping about on the
shore to welcome you."
'I was silent, not caring to break in upon her
' AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 311
happy delirium. " But I am not there/' she
whispered, almost in a moan. " Why should a
dog be there and not I? " Still getting no word
from me, she turned her eyes full on mine and
repeated the question imperatively, almost indig-
nantly. " Why should it be a dog? — and not /,
over whom you never hated? "
'" Santa," said I, " if there were such an island
as you see-
' " But there is" she interrupted quick as thought.
" There is, and it is near, though I shall not see it,
except from the boat."
'"Say, then, that there is such an island "
said I. It was just possible : for during the last
two days we had sighted many sea-birds.
'"And near — quite near," she insisted. "It
has groves of coco-trees, and streams tumbling
down the rocks — streams on which no boat can
row with men cursing in them and fighting with
knives."
' "Then you shall land on that island, beloved!"
said I, " and we will live on it, and love "
'"Ah, I know what you mean! You mean
as they love in heaven? Yes." And she added
quite simply. " I have had great trouble with
men."
'" Not exactly as in heaven," said I, and took
out from a breast-pocket under my jumper a small
flask of yellow Chartreuse, which I had snatched up
among other small belongings from my state-room
locker ten minutes before the Eur of as went down.
3 i2 FOE-FARRELL
I had nursed it with a very jealous purpose. . . .
Farrell should not slip through my fingers by
dying, while I could yet force a stimulant down his
throat, to linger him out. . . . It was a tiny
" sample " flask, and had been pressed on my
acceptance, as a small flourish of trade, by a German
wine-dealer in Valparaiso. . . . And here at the
crisis, with Farrell dying at my feet, on an instant
I renounced my purpose.
"'Drink this," I commanded Santa, "and you
shall live some hours yet. And then, if there be
an island "
1 She caught at it with a delighted cry, her hands
suddenly vitalised. The guitar slid down from her
lap. She drew out the glass stopper, holding the
flask up a moment to the setting sun and letting
it blaze through the liquid. Then swiftly, as I
made sure she would carry it to her lips, she bent
over Farrell and whispered some soft word of the
night that pierced his stupor so that he stirred and
lolled his head around. . . . Yes, and for a farewell
kiss — which I watched without jealousy. . . .
'But as their mouths drew apart, and before his
swollen lips could close again, she had slipped the
mouth of the flask between them and the cordial
was pouring down his throat. . . .
' She had defeated me. . . . I watched her without
uttering a word. Farrell let out a guttural sort
of ah-h ! and sat up somewhat higher against her
knee, opening his chest and breathing in new life
as the Chartreuse coursed through his veins. Santa
* AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 313
turned the flask upside-down, and handed it to
me.
'" I have won!" she said softly. "Men at the
last are — what is the word ? — magnanimous, mostly:
and that is why a woman can usually win in the
end."
"'You have thrown away," said I, "so much
of life as I gave you, renouncing much. You have
sacrificed yourself."
'"That was my share of the price, my friend.
Now continue to be great, as for these many days
you have been good. There is a bad pain about
my heart. With that other small bottle of yours,
and with that needle I have seen you use. . . .
You will? Ah, how much better it is to be friends
than enemies, when the world — even this little
shrinking world — is so wide yet — so wide "
'So I took her wrist and, she scarcely wincing,
injected the last drop of my morphia : yes, Roddy,
and kissed the spot like any poor fool, she not
resisting! . . . Her last words were that I should
lay the guitar back again on her lap. . . . Oh,
damn it, man ! it was everything your damned
sneerer would choose to call it. . . . But I tell
you I held my ear close to her breast for hours;
and in my lightheadedness I heard the muted music
lulling her, and in and out of her breathing, when
she was long past speech — and above the stertorous
snoring of my enemy laid at her feet — I heard
distant waves breaking in a low chime to some
words of a verse I had once quoted to her on a
f.f. X
314 FOE-FARRELL
night when her song had made the crews sorrowful
for a while before lifting their hearts again to make
them merry — music to ripple, ripple,
-ripple in my hearing
Like waves upon a lonely beach, where no
craft anchoreth;
That I may steep my soul therein, and
craving naught, nor fearing,
Drift on through slumber to a dream, and
through a dream to death.
'My ear was close to her breast, listening,
as the last breath went out with a flutter . . .
and Santa was dead, having conquered me — con-
quered me far beyond my guessing; but up to the
moment having subdued me so effectively that
my sole kiss of her had been taken, kneeling, upon
the wrist, as one kisses faith to a sovereign, and
had never been returned. Through the night I
held her wrist until it was cold.
'Towards dawn, and just at that moment when
a watcher's spirits are at their lowest, Farrell
stirred, stretched out his legs, drew them up again,
and asked how things were? . . . For his part
(he added, sitting up weakly), he felt a different
man.
'"It behoves you to be," said I with some stern-
ness. " Take the tiller and — yes, you may hold
on to it with some firmness. Your wife is dead."
'" Santa ! " he gasped. " Oh, my God ! " and
* AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 315
cast himself upon her body, seemly bestowed as I
could serve it.
' " Get off of it," I shouted, " before I brain you ! "
I held the very gaff with which Grimalson had torn
my arm. He had plucked the tiller from the rudder-
head, and with these two weapons in our right
hands we faced one another, each with his left
feeling for the revolver he carried.
'Then Farrell, who stood facing the bows, shot
out his right as if jabbing at me with the stick, a
foot short of my shoulder. The action was, as a
stroke, so idiotic that, although it might so easily
have meant death to me, I turned half-about to
where the stick pointed, as the helmless boat yawed.
'And there, above the low-lying wisps of morning
fog, stood three peaks : two sharp and the third
blunted : and, below the fog, ran a thin white ribbon
of breaking water !
' We had run down upon it so close in those hours
of darkness that the beat of the surf had, as I now
recognised, confused itself into Santa's last breath-
ings : so close that, as the sun took swift mastery
of the mist and dissolved it, disclosing, below the
peaks, the variegated greenery of lawn and forest
pouring down to the seamed cliffs and pouring
over them to the very beaches in tapestries of vines
and creepers, we were almost in the ring of the
surf : and it came as a shock to me that the lazy
sw r ell on which we had so long lifted and dropped,
heeding it least among many threats, could beat on
this islet so terrifically.
3 i6 FOE-FARRELL
'The sight so vanquished Farrell that he yielded
the stick over to me, obedient as a child. I thrust
it back in its socket, hauled sheet and fetched her
up close to the wind outside the surges. . . .
Without a word said, he turned to pointing out
this and that inlet between the reefs where there
seemed a chance to slip through.
' For two miles at least we fended off in this way,
until we came to the base of the hill which, from
seaward, had appeared so curiously truncated.
As we opened its steep-to sides, they rounded
gradually into a high curve at the sky-line, and,
at the base, into a foreshore of tumbled rock through
which ran a cleft with still water protected by
sheer rocks — a narrow slit, but worth risking
with the wind to drive us straight through. So I
upped helm on the heave of a comber, and drove
her for it, the walls of rock so close on either hand
that twice the end of our short boom brushed
them before Farrell, who held the sheet, could
avoid touching. . . . And then, rushed by a heave
of the swell through this gorge, we were shot into
a round lake of the bluest water I ever set eyes
on; a lakelet, rather; calm as a pond except by
the entrance, where the waves, broken and spent,
spread themselves in long ripples that melted and
were gone.
'You know Lulworth Cove? Well, imagine
Lulworth, with a narrower entrance, its water
blue as a sapphire shot with amethystine violet,
its cliffs taller, steeper, hung with matted creeper
* AND SO THEY CAME TO THE ISLAND ' 317
and, high aloft, holding the heaven in a three-part
circle almost as regular as you could draw with a
pair of compasses. We were floating in the cup
of a dead volcano, broken on the seaward side;
and broken many hundreds of years ago— for on
our starboard hand, by the edge of the rent, swept
down a slope of turf, cropped by the gales, green
as an English park; with a thread of a stream
dropping to a small wilderness of ferns, and, through
this, to plash upon a miniature beach of pink sand,
on the edge of which the sea scarcely lapped. Sea-
birds of many kinds circled and squawked overhead.
Yet it was not our boat that had frightened them.
'They had risen in alarm at the sound of barking,
high up the slope. A dog came leaping down it,
tore through the fern, and, as our boat drew to
shore, raced to and fro by the water's edge, barking
wildly in an ecstasy of welcome. A yellow dog,
Roddy— a largish yellow dog— and, as I live by
food, the living image of my murdered Billy !
NIGHT THE NINETEENTH
THE CASTAWAYS
(Foes Narrative Continued)
'A miracle? Well, I had always supposed poor
Billy to be a mongrel of such infinite variety of
descent that the world might never hope to behold
his like. But, after all, the strains even of dogs
are limited in number; and what Nature has pro-
duced she can reproduce.
'But the apparition, just there, and at that
moment, was a miracle to me. I sat staring at it
even when the boat's stem took the beach gently,
and it was Farrell who first crawled over her side
to land. His knees shook, and the dog, leaping
against him, nearly bowled him over. Then the
sight of water seemed to galvanise his legs, and
he tottered frantically up the small foreshore to
the cascade, beside which he fell and drank, letting
the spray drench his head, neck, and shoulders.
The animal had gone with him, gambolling and
barking, and now ran to and fro and leapt over
his body three or four times, still barking. All
his welcome was for Farrell. To me, as I followed,
staggering, the animal paid no heed at all, until he
saw me drawing close, when he suddenly turned
318
THE CASTAWAYS 319
about, showed his teeth and started to growl. His
tail stiffened, the hairs on his chine bristled up, and
I believe in another moment he would have flown
at me.
'Partly of knowledge, however, and partly of
weakness, I checked this. My feet had no sooner
felt firm ground than I found myself weak as a year-
old child. The strength of will that had held me
up through that awful voyage — and it was awful,
Roddy — went draining out of me, and the last of
my bodily strength with it, like grain through a
hole in a sack. As the dog bristled up, I fell forward
on hands and knees, laughing hysterically, and
the dog winced back as if before a whip, and
cringed. . . . You know, I dare say, that no dog
will ever attack a man who falls forward like that,
or crouches as if to sit, and laughs} ... So I
dropped from this posture right prone by the edge
of the basin hollowed by the little waterfall, and
drank my fill.
'What next do you guess we did? . . . We
rolled over on the sand under the shade of the
cliff, and slept. . . .
'We slept for three mortal hours. I've no doubt
we should have slept oblivious for another three,
had not the making tide aroused me with its cool
wash around my ankles. The sun, too, was stealing
our resting-place from us, or the comfort of it, cutting
away the cliffs shadow as it neared the meridian.
. . . The boat, utterly neglected by us, had floated
up, broadside on, with the quiet tide, almost to
320 FOE-FARRELL
our feet. The dog sat on his haunches, waiting and
watching for one or other of us to give sign of life.
'I roused up Farrell. . . . My first thought
was for Santa's body, laid within the boat on the
bottom-boards. " Are we man enough, between
us, to lift her out? " I asked. " Or shall we moor
the boat and climb for help? . . . There are
certainly people on this island, since this dog must
have a master somewhere."
'"She is a light weight," said Farrell simply.
" Let us try. . . . Her soul forgive me for leaving
her, even so long as I have, in that horrible boat!"
' So, weak as we were, we managed to lift Santa's
body ashore and carry it up the few yards of sand
beyond what we judged to be a faint tide-mark,
close under the ferns. . . . After this we fetched
ashore the tool-chest and some loose articles that
we judged to be necessary — such as the cooking-
pot, binoculars, and a spare coil or two of rope
and a ship's mallet; and Farrell searched the
undercliff for sea-birds' eggs, whilst I gave the
boat a cleansing with baler and sponge, redded
her up after a fashion, and finally moored her off
with a shore-line, some twenty yards out on the
placid water. While thus occupied, my mind
was wondering what kind of people inhabited
this island, and why they kept such poor watch.
We had run in openly in daylight, and yet it would
seem that only this dog had spied us.
' If they were savages, why, then, I had only
my revolver with a fair number of cartridges. . . .
THE CASTAWAYS 321
Some of my stock I had blazed away during the
last two days in vain attempts upon the life of the
sea-birds that ever wheeled out of fair range.
The tool-chest, indeed, contained a shot-gun, or
the parts of one : but I had never pieced them
together, for the simple reason that all the cart-
ridges belonging to it had, through Grimalson's
careless stowage, been soaked and spoilt during
the night of the gale. . . . Somehow, I could not
mentally connect savages with the ownership of
this dog. But the day wore on, and still no one
hailed us from the cliffs or the green slope.
'Now I must tell you that the boat's locker yet
held a chunk or two — less than a pound — of brined
pork, hard as wood and salt as the Dead Sea, that
none of the crew at the last had a thought to boil
in the sea water, which only made it more intoler-
able. None of us, indeed, after a trial, had been
able to get a morsel past our swollen tonsils. But
I had a boxful of matches in my trouser pocket,
half-emptied : and, as it turned out, Farrell
had preserved another. So in this most vital
necessary we were well supplied. Therefore, when
Farrell, with the dog at his heels, came back
along the shore, holding up two cray-fish that
he had taken in a rock-pool at the turn of the
tide, I tossed the gobbets of pork overboard to
desecrate the clear depth. Indeed, apart from
fish and fowl, I had seen as we neared the island
that we had no fear of starving : for an abundance
of cocos and palms grew all around the ridge of
322 FOE-FARRELL
the crater and had but to be climbed for as soon
as we found strength. The tool-chest contained a
saw and a hatchet.
'It also contained an engineering-tool, part
pick, part digger. I handed it to Farrell, and he
understood. " But first," said I, " let's make a
fire and fill the pot. There's a plenty of small
dead wood everywhere, and we're too weak just
yet to heave this gear any distance up the slope
before sunset. We'd best light a fire here; and
when we have it started, I'll mount the slope some
little way where I see a plenty of limes growing.
I may go some way farther, to prospect. The
smoke of the fire ought to attract the attention
of these very careless islanders; and if they turn
out to be unfriendly, well, I have my revolver and
you'll have ample warning to clear off to the boat."
'"Savages?" muttered Farrell. "I never
thought of that. ... Go you up, if you will, and
take the dog for company. You can leave me to
light the fire, and — 'tisn't a request I've dared to
make to you since God knows when — but if you've
any pity anywhere in your bowels, just now I'd
like to be alone."
'" I haven't," said I : " but I have some sense
in my head, and I'm going to prospect. I'll leave
you at anchor here for an hour or so."
'I whistled to the dog, and the dog, after long
hesitation and having been thrice shoo'd in my
wake by Farrell, followed. But he hung some
twenty yards behind, and showed no sign of desire
THE CASTAWAYS 323
to lead me to the people to whom he belonged.
By-and-by he came to a dead halt and, for all my
whistling and calling, broke back for the beach
again and disappeared at a gallop. . . .
'I held my ascent, still beside the downward-
pouring stream, and on my way noted fruit-
bearing trees in plenty. I reached a point where
the volcanic hill ran down landward in rounded
ridges, and crossed two or three of these: but no
sign of human habitation could I discern.
'When I descended again to the beach, with the
lap of my jumper full of limes and wild grapes, it
was to find the dog stretched beside a sizable
fire and Farrell busy nailing together some lengths
of long timber. I had heard the sound of his
hammer from halfway down the slope.
'"Good Lord, man!" said I, staring. For he
had pulled in the boat and sawn almost the whole
of the port-side out of her. " You have cut us off
now, whatever happens ! "
'"You don't imagine/' said he, "that I'd ever
set foot in that blasted boat again? "
'What is more, he had cut a couple of cloths
out of the sail, for a winding-sheet. . . . But the
pot was near to boiling; and after we had supped
on the crayfish and the fruit, he fell to work again,
nailing together a rough coffin. He explained
that he had served his time in quite a humble way
before embarking in business, on borrowed capital,
as a tradesman. Then, under the risen moon, by
the scarcely audible plash of the beach, he told
324 FOE-FARRELL
me quite a lot about himself and his early days,
as he fashioned a coffin for the woman into whose
arms I had driven him, as I had driven him
with her corpse to this lost isle.
'In the midst of it I said, " You know, I suppose,
that she saved your life? "
'He checked his hammer midway in a stroke,
and stared at me, the moonlight white on his face.
'"You know," I repeated, "that she gave her
life to save yours? " and I told him how. At the
end of the tale, if ever hatred shone in a man's
eyes, it shone in Farrell's; and yet there was
incredulity in them too.
'"What!" he gasped. "And you let her do
it, there in front of you, when with a turn of the
hand — O my God ! " he broke off. " I've thought
at times you must be the Devil himself, you Foe :
but I never reckoned you for as bad as all that!
The wonder to me is I don't kill you where you sit."
He clenched the hammer, and twice again he
called on his God. The dog growled.
'"Steady!" said I, showing him the revolver.
" Steady, and sit down. You can't kill me, my
good man, unless you do it in my sleep — against
which I'll take precautions. So you may quit
wondering on that score. . . . And I can't kill
you; for you're too precious — doubly precious
now, having been bought with that price. ... Sit
down, I tell you, and order that infernal dog to be
quiet : else I'll pump some lead into him and,
dog against dog, you may count it quits."
THE CASTAWAYS 325
"Quits? " he echoed.
'"In the matter of two yellow dogs only : and
I have given up keeping pets, having you. . . .
Now listen : Did you ever guess that I loved your
wife? "
' It took him like a blow between the eyes. " No,
I didn't," he answered slowly, and then with a
sudden rush of malignity, " I wonder it didn't
occur to you, then — I wonder you didn't try to —
to— -tamper with her."
"'You would," said I. " It's the sort of man
you are, you Farrell. The next thing, you'll be
capable of wondering if I didn't. . . . Pah ! and
you call me Satan ! " I spat. " Now, take hold
on your fool head and think. For her sake I grant
you ease of that suspicion, though in dealing with
you it would be priceless to me. Think what a
peck of torture I'm letting run to waste, as that
waterfall yonder runs to waste in its basin. But
it wouldn't be true. Your wife was an angel.
Drink that comfort — drink it into every cranny
of your soul. . . . And now hold your head again.
I loved Santa, I tell you."
'"You let her die," he muttered sullenly.
'"Think, you fool — think!" I commanded.
" If she had lived, you would have died, and she
would be sitting where you are sitting at this
moment, and I here, and the moon swimming
above us two — Would you have had it so? '
'" My God ! " he blurted, wiping the back of a
hand across his eyes. "This is too much forme. . . ."
326 FOE-FARRELL
'I stood and picked up the engineering tool.
" For me, too," said I, "it is enough. . . . Now
come and choose the spot, and I will fall to my
part of the work."
'But to this he demurred, saying vaguely that
he was upset; that the spot for the grave must
be chosen with care and by daylight; that he
must first finish the coffin, and then take some
rest. There would be time enough after we had
breakfasted.
'I believed that I understood. ... He wished
to wash and wind the body. So at dawn — by
which time the coffin was ready — I told him that
he should be alone for a couple of hours, and went
up the hill again in the first light, to prospect.
Again I tried to whistle the dog after me : but this
time he refused even to budge.
' I climbed no farther than before ; that is, a little
beyond the ridge. For it gave upon a wide un-
dulating valley to the slopes of the second crater,
which again partly overlapped the cone of the
third or highest. To descend and cross this first
vale would cost from two to three hours' hard
walking, and my design was merely to con the
prospect for sign of those inhabitants to whom
the dog must belong. For he was little more
than a puppy in age. Also, though lean, he was
not at all emaciated : but the traces of rabbit-
dung on the slopes told that a deserted dog might
manage to sustain life here. Also it promised that
the island was inhabited, and by white men, for
THE CASTAWAYS 327
rabbits are not indigenous anywhere in the South
Pacific. They must be brought.
'I studied the hollow and searched it with my
binoculars for some while : but without picking
up any trace of mankind. Far below me a sizable
stream here showed itself through the tropical
vegetation as it hurried down to a hidden cove.
The wide ocean spread southward to my right.
Of how far the island might stretch beyond the
taller and more distant cone I could make no guess.
' A desire for sleep came upon me, and I stretched
myself in the shade of a bush under the lee of the
ridge. After an hour's nap I rose and descended
again to the beach.
'Farrell sat by the fire, cooking breakfast, the
dog watching him. There was no coffin, nor any
sign of a grave, and the tide was making. He had
made haste to bury Santa during my absence. . . .
He said not a word about it, and I did not question
him. But he had played me this trick. Henceforth
I felt no further pity.
'You may remember my saying, Roddy, when I
first started to tell you about Santa, that it was
impossible for me to hate Farrell w r orse than I did.
Well, I thought so at the time. But now on the
island I was to find myself mistaken, and this
trick of his set me off hating him in a new and quite
different w r ay.
'I believe now, looking back, that this was the
real beginning of Santa's revenge; or the first
328 FOE-FARRELL
evident sign of its working; unless you count the
behaviour of the dog — of which I will say more
presently. At any rate I had no longer that cool
godlike sense of mastery over the man which had
sustained me in the boat. It may sound incredible:
but whereas, cooped in that narrow shell of boards,
I had found his presence gratifying, here on an
island of wide prospects, where we could have
parcelled out a kingdom apiece and lived by the
year without sight of one another, I found it irri-
tating and at times even intolerably so. He had
found power, through her dead body, to give me
a grievance against him, when I had supposed
him too low and myself too high for anything to
affect me that he could do. . . . It is always a
mistake, Roddy, to falter once in an experiment.
It is disloyalty in a man of science to renounce
one at any point. Now, I had renounced, in
handing Santa the flask; and again I had faltered,
in a moment of generosity when I left him beside
her corpse. . . . And of that act of generosity —
and of delicacy, too, by the way — this thief had
taken advantage.
'Oh, yes — I know what you will be wanting to
say — that the man was her husband, hang it
all ! ... I answer that he had been her husband
and my darling's flesh I had resigned to him, as
was meet and right. . . . But if you'll under-
stand — if you've ever read what the Gospel quite
truly says about marriage, to take it in — the man
had no tyrant's monopoly beyond the grave. She
THE CASTAWAYS 329
was mine now — his, too, if he would — but mine
also by right of my great love for her.
'You see, I am shaking, even as I speak of it.
I had this grievance, and it festered and raised
the whole temperature of my hate. . . . And this
wasn't the worst, either. The worst was a sense
that, lying somewhere with closed eyes under the
ebb and flow of the tide, my beloved was working
against me, watchfully, by unguessable ways, and
weakening me. There was this dog, for example.
. . . Yes, that had been the first token. How had
it passed from me — this power over animals that
had used to be exerted so easily?
'But I had not lost my power over Farrell,
although there were times when I mistrusted it.
His eyes had given me the first warning, when I
returned that morning and found myself tricked.
They were half-timorous but also half-defiant,
and wholly sly. It disconcerted him that I made
no comment on his silence and asked no questions.
'On the fifth morning — by which time we had
picked up enough strength to attempt a day's
exploration of the west side of the island, and
within an hour of the time fixed for our start, he
found me fitting and nailing a short cross-plank
to the boat's mast.
'" Hallo ! " said he. " What job are you spoiling
there? I'm the carpenter of this partv, or believed
I was."
'"And I'm the captain," said I; "and duly
F.F. y
330 FOE-FARRELL
appointed — though I have no witness but you to
the fact — if you choose to he about it. . . . I'm
doing a job which you have neglected : fixing a
Cross for Santa. It will be a comfort, as we fare
inland, to know she has a Christian mark over
her grave. . . . You have the bearings accurate
no doubt," said I, lifting the heavy cross and, as
I stooped to shoulder it, picking up the ship's
mallet, which lay at my feet. " Will it be here —
or here? " I asked, choosing the spot and prodding
the sharpened foot of the cross into the sand. . . .
His face blanched. "You accursed fooll" said I,
" do you suppose I haven't, these four days, been
watching you and the dog? " — and, as I said it,
the point of the mast struck upon timber. " Come
and help me to drive it deep," I commanded. " If
we can work it down within reach of mallet, three
taps will drive it so that it will stand firm above
such tides as reach this anchorage of hers."
' He came down the beach heavily and we heaved
our strength together, driving the cross down by
the coffin's head. " The mallet is handy by you,"
said I. " Pick it up and use it while I hold steady."
' This work done, without another word between
us, we returned, picked up axe, saw, and a wallet
to collect any specimens of fruit we might find
on our way, and, still without a word, breasted
the hill side by side, the dog running ahead of us.
'We got no farther that day than to the stream
which ran between our hill and the second volcano,
the edge of which — like that of our own broken
THE CASTAWAYS 331
and truncated one, ran down steeply to the western
shore. The wood beside the stream grew so thick,
interlaced with tendrils of tropical plants, that
we were forced to turn aside and make for the
coast in hope to find a crossing.
'We descended into the sound of the beating
surf before we found one : and there an impish
fancy took me. I had been losing grip on Farrell,
and despite my small triumph of that morning'
I felt a sudden desire to test him. Pretending
that my purpose was only to cross and report, I
waded the stream and dodged upward through the
undergrowth; recrossed it, about a hundred yards
above, crawled another yard and again recrossed,
all to baffle the hound's scent, since from Farrell
I could have hidden by this time securely enough.
In a very few minutes I heard his voice hallooing
to me, and then the dog's yelp began to chime in
with it. By-and-by the beast, well baffled, was
baying hard through the undergrowth between
me and the surf.
'After a while of this play I crept out and strolled
easily back to my first ford, my hands in my
pockets.
"'What the devil's up with your beast?" ]
asked, wading across to the bank on which Farrell
stood.
' His face was white. " My God ! " he said. " I
thought, for a while, we had lost you ! "
'Then I knew that he dared not be alone, and
that I had him, whatever happened.'
NIGHT THE TWENTIETH
ONE MAN ESCAPES
Before continuing Foe's story, I should warn
you not to be surprised that hereabouts it takes on
a somewhat different tone. I am trying to give
you the tale as he told it : and so much of it as
related to Santa, he told bravely and frankly,
here and there with a thrill somewhere deep beneath
his voice, and exaltation on his face. He was, in
short, the Jack Foe of old days, opening out his
heart to me; and all the more the same because
he was different. By this I mean that never in
life had I heard him speak in just that way, simply
because never in life had he brought me this kind
of emotion, to confess it; but, granted the woman
and the love, here (I felt) was the old Jack opening
his heart to me. It rejuvenated his whole figure,
too, and, in a way, ennobled it. I forgot — or
rather, I no longer saw — the change in him which
had given me that secondary shock when he walked
into the room.
I cannot tell you the precise point at which his
tone altered, and grew hard, defiant, careless and
— now and then at its worst — even flippant. But
it was here or hereabouts, and you will guess the
reason towards the end.
332
ONE MAN ESCAPES 333
Another thing I must mention. You have
already guessed that the tale was not told at one
sitting. Between the start and the point where I
broke off last night, we had lunched, taken a stroll
Piccadilly-wards, done some shopping, and chatted
on the way about various friends and what had
happened to them in this while— Jack questioning,
of course, while I did almost all the talking. It
was in the emptying Park, as we sat and watched
the carriages go by, that he told me of Santa's
burial and what followed it, so far as you have
heard. I broke off last time at the point where
he broke off, stood up, and said he would tell me
the end of it all over dinner at the Cafe Royal, where
we had called, on the way, to reserve our old table.
I saw afterwards why he had arranged it so :
as you will see. But for the present it only needs
remembering that what follows was told in a
brilliant, rather noisy room — at an isolated table,
but with a throng of diners all around us.
I had ordered wild duck as part of the dinner :
and when it came to be served he looked hard at
his plate, and, without lifting his eyes, slid from
casual talk into his narrative again : —
[Foe's Narrative Concluded]
'Wild duck ? good ! Yes, we used to have
wild duck on the island. . . . There were lagoons
on the east side, fairly teaming with them, and
we fixed up a decoy. I don't pretend that we fixed
334 FOE-FARRELL
up an orange salad like this, with curacoa : but
in the beginning we practised with limes, and
later on I invented one of sliced bananas, with a
sort of spirit I brewed from the fruit. Also we
found bait in the pools, not so much unlike the
whitebait we've been eating — I used to frizzle it
in palm oil. And once I achieved turtle soup. . . .
He was the only fellow that, in two years, we ever
managed to collar and lay on his back; and the
soup, after all was no great success. But turtle's
eggs. ... I can tell you all about turtle's eggs.
That dog had a nose for them like a pig's for
truffles.
'Don't be afraid, Roddy. In this sophisticated
den of high living and moderate thinking I'm not
going to give you the Swiss Family Robinson;
though I could double no trumps and risk it on
the author of that yarn — whoever he may have
been — if he had only dealt from a single pack,
which he didn't. Farrell and I didn't build a house
in a tree, because we didn't need to; and we didn't
ride on emus, because we didn't want to, and
moreover there weren't any. But we did pretty
well there for two years, Roddy : and could say
as Gonzalo — was it Gonzalo? — said of another
island, that here was everything advantageous
to life. And we found the means to live, too.
'I may say that I took the role of Mrs Beeton:
hunted for fruits, fished, told Farrell, (of my small
botanical knowledge), what to eat, drink, and avoid,
and attended to the high cuisine. Farrell, reverting
ONE MAN ESCAPES 335
to his old journeyman skill, sawed planks and
knocked up a hut. When one hut became in-
tolerable for the pair of us — for in all that time
we never ceased hating — he knocked a second
and better one for my habitation. He was my
hewer of wood and drawer of water. Also it was
he who — since I professed no eagerness to get
away — did the conventional thing that castaways
do : erected a flag-staff, and hauled piles of brush-
wood up to the topmost lip of our volcano, for a
bonfire to be lit if any ship should be sighted, lest
it might pass in the night. I had resigned the
binoculars to him, but he never brought report
of a sail.
'On two points — which served us again and
again for furious quarrels — the fool was quite
obstinate. He would not budge from our first
encampment — that is to say, out of sight of Santa's
grave; and he flatly refused to fit new planks to
the ruinated boat which now lay, a thing of ribs,
high and dry as we had hauled her close underneath
the fern-brake beside the cascade. Again and
again I pointed out to him that, patched up, she
would serve me for fishing. To this he answered,
truly enough, that we had a plenty of fish in the
rock-pools and a plenty of oysters on the shore.
Then I urged that, if we sighted a ship — though it
didn't matter to me — we might need a boat to
get out to her. He retorted that, though it mattered
to him, he would never set foot again in that cursed
craft or help me to set foot in her. Finally, one
336 FOE-FARRELL
day when I was absent on an expedition after
food, he broke her remains to shreds.
'Upon this we had an insane quarrel — the more
insane because it all turned on my dwelling on the
detriment to his chances for escape and his reminding
me of my indifference. We argued like two babies.
But I had now another grievance : though it was
the devil to me to be falling back on grievances.
'I still held the whip-hand over him in this —
I could always thong him by a threat to part
company and live by myself on the east side of
the island. He mortally feared to be left, even
with the dog for company.
'The dog remained a mystery. Although, as
time went on, we explored the island pretty
thoroughly, we never found his owner, nor any
sign of human habitation. The conies which bred
and multiplied on the hills were our only assurance
that man had ever landed here before us — that
is, until we discovered the strange boat : and it was
through the dog that we discovered it.
'During the first three months we made no
lengthy excursions, being occupied in cutting and
sawing timber for the two living-huts and a store -
hut; in making a small net (this was my task), and
in sun-drying the fish I caught in it — for, knowing
little about these latitudes, I feared that at any
moment the heavenly weather might break, and
we be held prisoners by torrential rains, traces
of which I read in some of the seaward-running
OXE MAN ESCAPES 337
gullies. Also Farrell refused to budge until he
had built his bonfire. When this was done we had
another pretty fierce quarrel because, tired of
waiting, I took a humour to punish him by making
him wait in his turn while I did some tailoring. . . .
No : we didn't dress in goatskins. There were
no goats. But I had visions of piecing up a rabbit-
skin coat and, in the meantime, of cutting up the
boat's sail into drawers and jumpers, our clothes
by this time being worse than a disgrace. But I
believe that I held out chiefly to annoy him; and,
having annoyed him sufficiently, I gave way to
his final argument — that our boots were wearing
out fast and, if we didn't make the expedition at
once, likely enough we never should.
' So we started on what proved to be a two days'
tramp, and thereby came pretty near to wrecking
ourselves.
' The third cone, which — in that clear atmosphere
— seemed to stand close behind the second, turned
out to be separated from it by a good five miles
as the crow flies. But on the north-western shore
the sea had breached the reefs and swept in to form
a salt lagoon in the great hollow, so that we had
to fetch a circuit of at least seven miles to the
southward, avoiding a tangle of forest in which
the lagoon ended, and clambering along a volcanic
ridge with the sea often sheer on our right. It
was in this lagoon, by the way, that we afterwards
learned to take our wild duck, scores of which
paddled about quite tamely on its surface, their
338 FOE-FARRELL
tameness promising poorly for human hospitality
on the farther side of the hill.
'We gained the side of the great cone at length
and, rounding it, beheld all the northern part of
the island spread at our feet — in form a narrow
strip of land curving around a delicious bay and
ending in a small pinnacle of high tumbled cliff
and wood. Quite obviously this bay was the one
anchorage in the island for any ship of burden;
and no ship could have asked for a better : for it
made almost three parts of a circle, and, while not
completely land-locked, held recesses in which
any gale might be ridden out.
'Here, if anywhere, as I told Farrell, we should
come upon human life or the traces of it : here, if
anywhere, if vessel ever made this island, to water,
she would drop hook. " Fools we have been, to
waste months pitching camp on the other side,
when this is the place of places, and this hill gives
the citadel prospect of all ! "
'Farrell sat down on a rock and broke into
curses. " Damn you," he moaned, " for bringing
me so far ! I wish I had never seen it. Wasn't it
comfortable enough where we were? . . . And
now I can't go back ! "
'I had taken the binoculars and, engaged with
the view, for a moment paid no heed. I was
accustomed to his explosions of fury, as he to mine.
But, turning about for a while, I saw that he had
unlaced his left boot and was holding it out. . . .
The sole had broken loose in our scramble
ONE MAN ESCAPES 339
over the tufa rocks, and hung parted from its
upper.
'" That's bad," said I. " Well, I stuck a ship's
needle in the tool-bag here before we started —
you never think of anything ! When we get
down to the shore we'll see what can be done :
that is, if we don't find a cobbler."
'"Cobbler? you funny ass! " he began.
'" Look here," — I stopped him. " If you won't
attend to me, attend to Rover. What's up with
that dog of yours? "—for the dog which had been
following all day pretty obediently, except for a
wild dash down to the lagoon to scatter the wild
duck, had of a sudden picked up bearings and was
running forward, halting, returning, wagging his
tail, running forward again, turning, asking dumbly
to be understood, in the way all dogs have who
invite you to follow a trail.
'"Here's business," said I, and hurried after
him, leaving Farrell to limp down the hill-side in
our wake. For once the dog recognised me as more
intelligent or, at any rate, prompter than his master,
and gave his whole attention to me. ... I
tumbled down the hill after him in a haste that
fairly set my temples throbbing. Once sure of me,
he played no more at backwards-and-forwards,
but bounded down the slope towards the innermost
southern corner of the bay, where a grove of coco-
trees almost overhung the beach. A curtain of
creepers bunched over the low cliff at their feet
and into this he plunged and disappeared.
340 FOE-FARRELL
'But his barking still led me on; and presently,
as I avoided the undergrowth and creepers to
follow the foreshore, sounded back to me across
a low spit of rock. I climbed this and came all
unexpectedly upon a diminutive creek.
' It was really but a fissure between the rocks,
with deep water between them and an abrupt,
dolls'-house-beach of sand and shells above it,
terminating in a flat, overhanging ledge. And on
this ledge rested a white-painted boat, high and
dry ! From the stern-sheets the dog barked at
me joyously, wagging his tail, with his fore-feet on
the edge of the stern-board.
' I ran to it. Within the stern-board, in cut
letters from which the cheap paint had scaled, w T as
a name plain to read — Two Brothers. Two paddles
lay in her, neatly disposed : a short mast and sail
tightly wrapped and traced up in its cordage; her
rudder, with tiller-stick, two rusty rowlocks of gal-
vanised iron, and a tin baler, all trimly bestowed
under the stern-sheets — and that was her inventory,
save a peg of iron ballast, much rusted. How long
she had rested there, clean and tidied, half protected
from the sun's rays, there was no guessing. But
her seams gaped so that I could push my little
finger some way between her st rakes. She had no
anchor; and her painter had been cut short at the
ring, sharply. Only the knot remained.
'I was examining this when Farrell overtook
me. He came over the rocks, limping; halted;
and let out a cry at sight of the boat. Then, as
ONE MAN ESCAPES 341
by chance, he peered down into the cleft at his
feet, into the fathom-deep water past which I had
run; and let out a sharper cry, commanding me
to him.
' Down in the transparent water, inert but seeming
to move as the ripple ran over it, lay the body of
a man, face-down, with a trail of weed awash over
its shoulders. Peering down through the weed,
I saw that a cord knotted about its right ankle
ended in another peg of ballast, three-parts covered
by the prismatic sand.
'" My God l M said Farrell, and shivered.
'" Well, he's no use to us, even if we do fish him
up," said I, pretty grimly. " Here's the dog's
owner, and that's as far as we get. Since a dog —
even so intelligent a pup as Rover here — can't
very well attach a weight to his master's ankle
and cast him overboard— let alone pulling his boat
above high water and stowing sail — we'll conclude
that this fellow deliberately made away with
himself. As I make it out, the dog, left to himself,
struck pretty frantically for the high ground. Lost
dogs— and lost children, for that matter— always
make up hill, dark or daylight. I suppose it's
the primitive instinct to search for a view. . . .
But anyway, here's a boat. She's unseaworthy,
as she lies : but her timbers look sound enough if
we can staunch her, and the first thing is to get
her down to the water and see how fast she fills.
We've a baler, to cope with the leak . . . and
when we have her more or less staunch, here's the
342 FOE-FARRELL
way around to our camp. Hurry up your wits ! "
I added sharply.
'" If we launch her here," he twittered, "she'll
settle down on that ! "
' " Then run," said I, " and, with all the knowledge
you ever picked up in Tottenham Court Road,
fetch every grass and fibre you can collect, to stuff
her seams. I'll do the sailing while the wind's fair
offshore, as it is at present. When it heads us,
I'll do the pulling. Man alive ! think of your
burst boot ! For my part, I'm willing enough
to stay here as anywhere : or you can stay, and
I'll start back for camp, and we'll share this
island like two kings, you keeping this imperial
anchorage.'
'But of course this had him beaten. He helped
me launch the boat and ran to collect stuffing for
her seams, while I sat in her and baled, baled,
baled. ... It was pretty eerie to sit there alone
— for the dog had gone with Farrell — righting the
water, and feel her settling, if for five minutes I
gave up the struggle, down nearer and nearer
upon the shoulders of that drowned corpse with
the hidden face. By sunset Farrell returned with an
armful of sun-dried fibre. We hauled the boat
high again and he began caulking her lower seams,
that already had started to close.
' " She'll keep afloat now for a few hundred yards,"
he announced after a while. " Let's launch her
again and run her round the point and beach her.
I left a bundle of bark there that, early to-morrow,
ONE MAN ESCAPES 343
we'll cut in strips and tack over the seams, and
she'll do fine to carry us home."
'" Home? " echoed I grimly.
"'You know what I mean, you blighter!' he
snarled. " Oh, for God's sake, no— we mustn't
start bickering alongside of that ! " He forced his
eyes to look down again at the corpse, and shuddered.
" The tide's going down, too."
'" It won't go down far enough to uncover him:
and that you ought to have sense to know,"
said I.
'" But the farther it goes down the nearer he'll
come up, or seem to," he argued.
'"Well, night's coming on, and you won't see
him," I suggested, playing on his nerves.
"D'you think I'll sit here in the dark, along-
side of— oh, hurry, you devil ! Hurry ! '
'I chuckled at this. It came into my mind to
refuse, and declare I would sit out the night here
by the boat. I knew that the shore beyond, though
it curved for two good miles, would not be wide
enough to contain his agony through the night
hours. . . . But I had pushed him far enough
for the time. So we launched the boat again and
paddled her around and beached her on shelving
sand : and soon after, night fell.
'Farrell slept poorly. Three or four times I
heard him start up, to pace to and fro under the
starlight : and each time the dog awoke and
trotted with him. . . .
'But he was up, brisk and early, with dawn;
344 FOE-FARRELL
and he made quite a good job of tacking bark over
the boat's seams, while I sat and cobbled up his
boot with sailmaker's needle and twine. He made,
indeed, and though swift with the work, so good
a job that, inspecting the boat when he had done,
I judged she would stand the strain of sailing —
whereas I had looked forward to a grilling pull in
a craft that leaked like a basket.
'At a quarter to ten, by my watch, we pushed
off, stepped mast and hoisted sail — a small balance-
lug. We carried a brisk offshore wind — a soldier's
wind — which southerned as the day w r ore on, and
again flew and broke off-shore as we neared home.
I steered : Farrell, for the most part, dozed after
his labours. He had not, I may say, one single
faculty of a seaman in his whole make-up. He
could mend a boat or make an imitation Sheraton
wardrobe; but, when the both w r ere made, he'd
have sailed the one about as w r ell as the other.
'He dozed uneasily, with many twitchings.
Once he woke up and said, " I thank God he lay
so as w r e couldn't see his face. Would it have been
swollen much, think you? . . . Bleached, I make
no doubt. ..."
'" What about worse? " I answered. " I noticed
a crab or tw 7 o."
'He put up his hands to his face. "How the
devil can you talk so ! " he stammered.
'" It w r as you who started questions," said I.
'"Suicide, you think?" he asked, after half-
an-hour's silence, during which his mind had plainly
ONE MAN ESCAPES 345
been tugging away from the horrible subject only
to find it irresistible.
" All pointed to it," I answered. " As for the
motive, we can only guess."
'Where's the guesswork?" he demanded
fiercely. " Cast here, in this awful loneliness "
I saw him look around on sea and cliff with a shiver.
'" He had the dog," said I. " You find Rover
here a companion, don't you? I had a notion,
Farrell, that you were fond of dogs. ... I used
to be."
'We downed sail hereabouts, and pulled in for
the cleft and the anchorage we called home. The
sea under the smoothing land-wind ran through
the passage as calmly as through a miller's leat :
and I will own it was happier to be by that shore
where my cross still stood over Santa than by the
other, where that other body lay, face-down, with
the weight whipped to its ankle.
'"Wonder who he was?" said Farrell late
that evening, as we parted to go to our quarters.
" A missionary, I shouldn't be surprised."
'"If so," said I, "he tumbled on a sinecure.
Since your mind runs on him and you want to
sleep, make it out that he was a bishop, and mistook
it for the Athenaeum."
'I'm coming to the end, Roddy; and you shall
have it sharp and quick, as it happened. ... As
I've said, we stuck it out on that island for two
years, and a little over, hating one another as
f.f. z
346 FOE-FARRELL
two lonely men will come to hate, on island or
lighthouse, even when they don't start on a sworn
enmity. Oh, you must have been through it to
understand ! . . . We even quarrelled — and came
almost to blows — over the day of the month;
though God knows what it helped either to be right
or wrong, and, as it happened, we were both wrong
by a fortnight or so.
'And then Farrell took ill.
'It was a kind of fever he caught while duck-
snaring in the lagoon. He'd start off there for a
long day with his dog, the two practising cleverness
at the sport. I always felt somehow that, when
his grief came, it would come through the dog. . . .
Well, he took a fever which I couldn't well diagnose,
to say whether it was rheumatic or malarial. It
ran to sweats and it ran to dry skin with shivering-
fits, the deuce of a temperature, and wild delirium.
'I nursed him, of course, and doctored him,
keeping the fever at bay as well as I could with
decoctions of bark — quassia for the most part —
and fresh juice of limes. But it was the vigour
of his frame that pulled him through — as I believe
all the skill in London could not have availed to
do in the days of his prosperity when he was fat
and fleshy. Hard life on the island had thinned
him down and tautened and toughened him so
that I wondered sometimes, washing his body, if
this was indeed the man with whom I had vowed
my quarrel.
ONE MAN ESCAPES 347
'His ravings in delirium, however, left no doubt
on that score ! I tell you I had to listen to some
fairly obscene descriptions of myself and his feelings
for me — all in the best Houndsditch. . . . Yet
here again was a queer thing — again and again
this gutter-flow would check itself, drop its Cockney
as if down a sink, and, bubbling up again, start
flowing to the language of an educated man. . . .
The first time this happened it gave me a shock,
less by the abruptness of the break than by its
sudden assault upon my memory. All insensibly,
and unmarked by me, Farrell's accent and way
of speech had been nearing those of decent folk.
They were by no means perfect, but they had
amazingly improved. . . . Now, when his delirium
plunged him back to Houndsditch, though it gave
me a jerk, I could account for'it as reversion to an
old habit that had been put off before ever we met.
What beat me was, that his second style, accent
and choice of words — though still fluent in cursing
— far surpassed in purity any speech I had heard
from him in health.
'And there was something else about it. . . .
While the gutter ran Houndsditch, the man was a
cur, cowering and yelping out terror under strokes
of a whip-lash. When it shifted accent, he lost
all this and started to threaten. Something like
this it would run : " Gawd ! Oh, Gawd, he's after
me again. . . . See his rosy eyes follerin' like
rosy naphthas. . . . Oh, Gawd, hide me from this
blighter. . . . Look here, damn you ! I trouble
348 FOE-FARRELL
you to know who's master here. You will halt
where you are, you Foe, and not wag a tail until I
give you leave. That's better! Now, if you will
kindly state your business at that distance I'll
state mine. ... Is that all ? Quite so : and now
you'll listen to me, and maybe reconsider your-
self ..." That, or something like that, is the way
it would go.
' I had a sense all the while, Roddy, that he was
almost slipping through my fingers, and I fairly
dug in my nails to hold him to life. On that point
my conscience is clear, anyhow. No man ever
had a doctor to battle harder for him, or a more
devoted nurse.
' Well, I pulled him through, and nursed him to
convalescence. I thought I knew something of
the peevishness of convalescents : but Farrell
beat anything I had ever seen, or heard, or read of.
By this time I was worn weak as a rat with night-
watching and day-watching : but of this he made
no account whatever. He started by using his
greater weakness for strength, and he went on to
dissemble his growing strength, hiding it, in-
creasing it, still trading it as weakness upon my
exhaustion. He came back to life with a permanent
sneering smile, and a trick of wearing it for hours
at a stretch as he leaned back on the cushions I
had painfully made for him of plaited flax and
stuffed with aromatic leaves, daily renewed. . . .
Yes, Roddy, as a doctor I played full professional
service on him, and piled it up with every extra
ONE MAN ESCAPES 349
kindness one castaway man could render another.
. . . And the devil, as he recovered, lay watching
me, under half-closed eyes, with never a sign of
gratitude, but, for all my reward, this shifty sneer.
'There came a day when his new insolence broke
out with his old hate. " You Foe," said he, " I
reckon you're priding yourself on your bedside
manner, eh? ... I can't keep much account of
time, lying here. But, when I get about again,
I'll have things in this camp a bit more ship-shape,
I promise you. . . . I've been thinking it out,
lying here : and my conclusion is, you're too much
of the boss without doing your job. . . . How
long is it since you've strolled up to the look-out ? '
'"About a fortnight," said I.
'"And that's a pretty sort of watch, eh? " he
continued irritably : " — when you know that I
never missed a day. ... I tell you, Foe, that,
after this, we'll have to come to a reckoning. One
or other has to be master on this island, and it
isn't going to be you ! "
1 1 went up the hill obediently with the binoculars.
I went up thoughtfully. . . .
'I came back some fifty minutes later, and said,
" You're too weak to walk; too weak even to
crawl."
'"What's the use to tell me that? " he asked,
still keeping his air of insolence. " Drop your
bedside manner, and present your report."
'" I will," said I. " One of us two has to be
350 FOE-FARRELL
master on this island? So you said, and you shall
be he ; sole master, Farrell, with your damned
dog. . . . There's a schooner at this moment
making an offing from the anchorage where, as
I've always told you, we'd been wiser to pitch our
camp. I guess she put in to water, and I've missed
her whilst I was busy curing your body. . . .
Well, better late than never! She's hauling to
north'ard, well wide : so you'll understand I'm
in something of a hurry. . . . You're on the way
to recovery, Farrell, and this makes twice that
I've saved your life : but as yet you can neither
walk nor crawl, and I give you joy of your bonfire,
up yonder. In five minutes I push off, alone."
'He raised himself slowly, staring, and fell forward
grovelling, attempting vainly to catch me by the
ankles.
"'You won't — you can't! Oh, for God's pity
say you don't mean it! Say it's a joke, and I'll
forgive you, though it's a cruel one." Then, as I
broke away for the door — " Have mercy on me,
Foe — have mercy and don't leave me ! I can't
do without you ! '
'These were his last words that I heard as I
plunged down the sand and pulled in the boat's
shoreline hand over-fist. I had just time to jump
in and thrust off before the dog came bounding
after me, barking furiously. The brute was puzzled,
but knew something to be wrong. He even swam
a few strokes, but turned back as I hit at him with
ONE MAN ESCAPES 351
a paddle. He made around the curve of the shore,
still barking. But I had sculled through the narrows
of the passage before he could reach it. I had a
sight, over my shoulder, of Farrell, who had crawled
to the doorway : and with that I was through
the strait and sculling for open water, while the
baffled dog raced to and fro on the spits and ledges
astern, pausing only to bark after me as though
he would cough his heart out.
'In the open water I hoisted sail, with the wind
dead aft, and soon, beyond the point, caught sight
of the schooner. After running out almost three
miles, she had hauled close to the wind and was
now heading almost due north. . . . She could
not miss me, and yet I had made almost two miles
before she got her head-sheets to windward and
stood by for me.
' As I drew close, a thin-faced man with a pointed
beard hailed me from her after-deck.
'" Ahoy, there! And who might you be, mis-
taking the Pacific for Broadway, New York? "
'" I'm from the island," I answered.
'"What ship's boat is that you've gotten hold
of ? " he bawled.
'"The Two Brothers."
Lordy ! I thought I reckernised her. . . .
Then you're old Buck Vliet's missionary, that he
marooned." . . . Shall I go on, Roddy?'
I dropped my cigar into the ash-tray. 'You
may stop at that,' I answered, unable (that's the
352 FOE-FARRELL
queer part of it) to lift my eyes and look him in the
face, although I knew very well that he was leaning
back in his chair, eyeing me steadily, challenging
the verdict. 'Yes/ said I, slowly turning the cigar-
stump around in its ash, ' I'm sorry, Jack . . . but
I don't want to hear any more.'
'I knew you would take it so,' said Jack quietly,
with a sort of sigh.
'Well,' said I, 'how else? Of course I know
you'd had a damnable provocation, to start with.
And I'm no man to judge you, not having been
through the like or the beginnings of it. . . . You
were rescued, for here you are. That's enough.
But — damn it all ! — you left the man ! '
' — And the dog. While we are about it, don't
let us forget the dog,' said Jack wearily. 'Shall
we toss who pays the bill ? Here — waiter ! '
We parted under the porch-cover, in the traffic
of Regent Street. I have told you that, in our best
of days, Jack and I never shook hands, meeting
or parting. It saved awkwardness now.
Book IV
THE COUNTERCHASE
NIGHT THE TWENTY-FIRST
THE YELLOW DOG
About two months later — to be accurate, it was
seven weeks and two days — my flat in Jermyn
Street was honoured with a totally unexpected
call by Constantia Denistoun. Constantia has a
way of committing improprieties with all the
aplomb of innocence. She just walked upstairs
and walked into the room where Jephson and I
were packing gun-cases.
' Hallo ! ' said she. ' You seem to be in a mess here.'
'Please sit down/ said I, removing a sporting
rifle and a bundle of cotton-waste from the best
arm-chair.
'What is the matter?' she asked, arching her
brows as she surveyed the general disorder.
'We're packing,' said I.
'It may surprise you to hear it,' said she, taking
the seat, 'but so I had guessed. 'What is it?
Preparing for the pheasants, or for Quarter Day?'
'Neither/ I answered. 'I'm going to South
America, that's all. ... . That will do for the
present, Jephson. You may get Miss Denistoun
a cup of tea/
'Sudden?' she asked, when Jephson had with-
drawn.
355
356 FOE-FARRELL
'Well,' I admitted, 'I booked my passage only
two days ago, but I've had the notion in my mind
for some time.'
'Alligators, is it? or climbing, this time? Or
just general exploring?'
'You may call it exploring, though I may have
a shy at the Andes on the way. These fits come
upon me at intervals, Constantia, as you know,
ever since you determined to be unkind.'
'Don't be absurd, Roddy,' she commanded,
tracing out a pattern of the carpet with the point
of her sunshade. The tracing took some time. At
length she desisted, and looked up, resting her arms on
her knees. 'Roddy, I'm engaged to be married.'
A bowl stood on the table, full of late tea-roses
sent up from Warwickshire. ... As the blow fell
I turned about, and slowly selected the best bloom.
'I hope,' said I, 'the fortunate man, whoever
he is, doesn't object to your calling around on us
poor bachelors and breaking the news. However,
Jimmy Collingwood is up, with his wife, and will
be coming around from his hotel in a few minutes.
He'll do for a chaperon. Meanwhile' — I held out
the rose — 'I wish you all happiness from tha
bottom of my heart. . . . When is it to be? —
and shall I be in time with an alligator for a
wedding present?'
'Now that's rather prettily offered,' said Con-
stantia, half-extending her hand to take the flower,
her eyes shining with just the trace of tears. 'But
you and I are a pair of humbugs, Roddy. To
THE YELLOW DOG 357
begin with you— I don't believe there are any such
things as alligators on that island.'
'What island?' I stammered, and my fingers
gave a small, involuntary jerk at the rose's stem
as hers closed upon it.
' The island about which you wrote that queer short
note to— to Dr Foe— two days ago, asking if he could
supply you as nearly as possible with its bearings.'
'Are you telling me ?' I began.
She nodded, searching my face. 'Yes, your old
friend is the man; and that's where / come in as a
humbug. The reason of this call is that I want to
know why you two, who used to be devoted, are
no longer friends.'
'Good Lord !' I exclaimed, not loudly, but more
or less to myself. 'You must forgive my lighting
a cigar, Constantia. ... My mind works slowly.'
While lighting it I made a miserable attempt to
fob her off and gain time. 'When an old friend
cuts in and carries off '
'That's nonsense,' she interrupted sharply; 'and
you know it ; and you ought to know that I know it.'
'Well, then,' I protested rather feebly, hating
to hurt' her, 'you must allow that his behaviour
to that man Farrell was a bit beyond the limit.
Of course, if you can forgive it— well, I don't
know. It's odious to me to be talking like this
about the man to whom you're attached— the man
I used to worship. And for me, who still would
lose a hand, cheerfully, now as ever, to spare you
pain! . . . My dear girl, let's talk of something else.'
358 FOE-FARRELL
'No, we will not/ said Constantia firmly. 'I
came to talk about this, and I will. ... Of course
I know it was wrong of Jack to pursue Mr Farrell
as he did. You remember my telling you I was
worried, that day we talked about him after my
return from the States? At that time I imagined
he was allowing himself for a bribe to be friends
again with this man, and it distressed me; because
— well, women have their code, you know, as well
as men, and — and I may confess to you now that,
even at that time, I had begun to take an
interest '
1 1 see,' said I dully, resting my arm along the
chimney-piece and staring down into the grate,
where Jephson had lit a small fire: for the day,
though bright, was chilly.
'You assured me, you remember, that Jack was
above any such meanness; and so far you relieved
me, for I saw you were telling the truth. But,'
she continued, ' I saw also that it wasn't the whole
truth: that you were hiding something. So I
went away puzzled. Afterwards, I got the truth
out of Jimmy Collingwood.'
'Well?' I prompted her, as she paused.
'Well, it was shocking of Jack, I admit. But,
after all, this Mr Farrell had ruined his life, and
— of course I don't quite understand men and
their code — but isn't it a trifle uncharitable of
3'ou, Roddy, not to allow that the shock may have
unhinged his mind for a time? . . . No, I'm
playing the humbug in my turn, and I'll own up.
THE YELLOW DOG 359
It was wicked, if you will : but it was great in its
way, and determined . . . and women, you know,
always fall slaves to that sort of thing. It was
straightforward, too : Jimmy said Jack had given
his man fair warning. Jimmy — but you know that
boy's way — gave me the impression that he didn't
condemn Jack's craze as unsportsmanlike : merely
for being, as he put it, a thought bloodthirstier
than any line of sport he himself felt any inclination
to follow. " But I'm no judge, Con/' he added —
I remember his words — " for the simple reason
that I never had a career to be ruined." . . . Well,
for the rest, Jack says he came straight to you as
soon as he set foot back in England, and told you
the whole story. — That's so, I guess?' Constantia,
in her agitation, relapsed into her mother's idiom.
I nodded, bending my head still lower over the
high chimney-shelf, still staring down into the fire.
1 Then you know/ she said ; ' and I do call it rather
dull of you, Roddy — not to say insensate — and
unlike you, anyway. . . . When, at the end, he
turned and behaved so finely, nursing this man
through his last illness. . . .'
I tell you, it was lucky that I still kept my face
turned sideways, still staring down on the fire. . . .
It took me like a mental nausea, and all my thought
for the moment was to hold steady under it. I
felt my fingers gripping hard on the ledge and
holding to it, as the waves went over my poor
brain. Through the surge of them confusedly I
360 FOE-FARRELL
heard her voice pleading : and yet her voice was
calm, well under control. It must have been the
waves in my own head that broke her speech into
short sentences.
'You were his friend ... his best friend' . . .
mine, too, Roddy. You took it so well, just now
. . . I do want '
What in the world could I say? How lift and
turn my face to her? How answer? . . . And
yet within a second or two I must lift my face and
make some answer. Her voice was already trailing
off plaintively. I heard her catch her breath
And then — thank God — I heard a brisk, happy
footstep in the outer passage, and Jimmy burst
into the room with his accustomed whoop.
• Ahoy, within ! How goes it with Gulliver ? '
He broke off, staring, and let out another joyous
whoop, upon which chimed the merry rattle of
tea-things, as Jephson followed close on his heels
with a tray. ' Eh ? No — but it is ! In the words
of the Bard, What ho, Constantia ! ' He threw
his bright top-hat across the room, hooked his
umbrella over his left arm, and ran forward with both
hands held out. ' Oh, Con ! this is good ! Give me a
kiss, with Otty's leave — a real good nursery kiss ! '
'There!' agreed Constantia. 'And now sit
down and be a good boy. Where's Lettice?'
' Shopping in Knightsbridge : and the nurse
walking the infant up and down, more or less
parallel, just inside the Park, that he may watch
the wheels go round. ... I broke away. Shouldn't
THE YELLOW DOG 361
be surprised if Lettice taxi'd around here presently.
I hinted at tea, and she knows where to find me.
... Oh, by George, yes ! Lettice always knows
where I am, somehow. Meanwhile, here's your
good staid chaperon.' He dropped into a chair.
'Otty, you're looking serious. What were you
talking about, you two?'
'Well, it's like this,' said I, after a glance at her;
Xonstantia's going to be married, to Jack Foe.'
He had started up at my first words, to con-
gratulate her. As I dropped out the last three,
with admirable presence of mind—' When in doubt,'
apply cake,' said he hoarsely, cramming a large
piece into his mouth to stifle his emotion.
'I am not in doubt,' said Constantia serenely;
'and I suppose that is why you help yourself as
first aid, before offering me some bread and butter
while Roddy pours the tea. Thank you,' she
added, as he whipped about with an apology.
'Don't speak with your mouth full : it's rude.
And now listen to me. Roddy, here, is off for
South America, he tells me. Two days ago he
wrote to Jack, asking for the latitude and longi-
tude, as near as might be, of a certain island. Jack
showed me the letter. . . . You know about this?'
she asked Jimmy, shooting out the question of a
sudden.
I ^interrupted it. 'Jimmy knows about it,' said
I. 'No one else.'
She looked at us calmly, taking stock of us.
'Very well,' she said; 'and Jack has told me the
F - F - 2 A
362 FOE-FARRELL
whole story too, of course. I didn't know till this
moment that Jimmy knew : but I'm so glad he
does, for it makes us all four-square. Now, when
first Jack got your letter, Roddy, he was for sending
the information in six words on a post card, as
being all that was due to an old friend that had
so misjudged him. But I persuaded him, and '
The outer door slammed upon the word, and a
brisk footstep sounded in the passage. I recognised
it at once. So did Constantia.
' — And here he is ! ' exclaimed Constantia,
without rising. ' — come, as it happens, to have
it out with the pair of you. . . . Hallo, Jack ! '
I am bound to say that my first look at Jack
Foe gave me a start, as he too started at sight of
Jimmy, whose presence, of course, he had not
expected. He was pale in comparison with the
tan of two months back : but at every other point
he was wonderfully set up and improved. It was
Constantia 's doing, belike : but he had become
again in appearance the Jack Foe of old times —
a trifle more seamed in the face but with a straight-
ness and uprightness of carriage that rejuvenated
him. His clothes, too. were of the old cut, modestly
distinguished.
'Collingwood too?' said he, nodding easily.
'That's better than I looked for. . . . You have
told them ? ' he asked Constantia with a frank
look of understanding. Then his eyes wandered,
naturally, over the disorder in the room.
'Roddy is packing,' said Constantia.
THE YELLOW DOG 363
'For South America/ said I.
'And after that? Yes, you needn't tell/ he
went on with an ease which I could only admire.
1 It's the island, of course — I had your note and was
going to answer it, but Miss Denistoun — Constantia
— insisted that I should call around and tell you.
The latitude is '
'One moment/ interrupted Jimmy. 'You let
the door slam behind you, Professor : and your
dog is protesting.'
' My dog ? ' Foe turned about, as Jimmy stepped
to the passage. 'What are you talking about,
Collingwood? I don't own such a thing.'
' I'll be damned if there isn't one snuffling at
that outer door,' said Jimmy, and went quickly
out into the passage.
I heard the lock click back and, upon the noise,
a scuffle and gallop of a four-footed beast : and, with
that, a great yellow dog burst in at the doorway
of the room, took a leap forward, crouched, and
slowly stiffened itself up with its legs, its back
hunched and bristling. There it stood, letting
out its voice in a growl that sounded almost like
a groan of satisfied desire.
'Great Scott!' exclaimed Jimmy, following. 'If
this isn't your Billy, Professor, come to life ! '
And I, too, cast a quick glance over my shoulder
at Foe — against whom the hound evidently
stiffened, as a pointer at its game. Foe, white as
a sheet, was leaning back, his shoulders propped
against the edge of the mantel-shelf.
364 FOE-FARRELL
'He is not my dog,' he gasped out. 'Take him
away: he's dangerous!'
'Looks so, anyway,' said Jimmy calmly. 'Well,
if he's not your dog, here's his owner to claim him.'
— And into the room, staring around on us,
walked Farrell.
For the moment I stared at him as at a total
stranger. It was only when, almost ignoring the
rest of us, he took a step forward, pointing a finger
at one man — it was only when I turned about
and saw Foe's face — that the truth broke on me
— and then, at first, as a wild surmise, and no more.
Even when I wheeled about again and stared at
the man, full belief came slowly : for this Farrell
was thin, wiry, gaunt; sun-tanned, with sunken eyes
and a slight stoop; wearing the clothes of a gentle-
man and, when at length he spoke, using the accent
of a gentleman. . . . But this came later.
For some seconds he said nothing : he stood
and pointed. I glanced at Constantia, preparing to
spring between her and I knew not what.
Constantia, leaning forward a little in her chair,
with lips slightly parted, had, after the first glance,
no eyes for the intruder, whom (I feel sure) she
had not yet recognised. Her eyes were fixed on
Jack, at whom the finger pointed : and her hand
slid along the arm of her chair and gripped it,
helping her to rise and spring to his side. Jimmy's
face I did not see. He had come to a halt in the
doorway.
THE YELLOW DOG 365
' You hound f
'Roddy! Catch him — oh, help!'
It was Constantia's call ringing through the.
room. I sprang about just in time to give support
as Jack fell into our interlacing arms, and to take
the most of his weight as we lowered him flat on
the hearth-rug in a dead faint.
'Call off your damned dog, sir, whoever you
are ! ' shouted Jimmy, running forward to help
us. 'We'll talk to you in a moment.'
I heard Farrell call ' Rover ! Rover ! ' and the
dog must have come to heel instantly. For as I
knelt, occupied in loosing Jack's collar, of a sudden
a complete hush fell on the room. Jimmy had run
for the water-bottle. 'Don't ring — don't fetch
Jephson!' I had commanded. 'Fetch water from
my bedroom. When I looked up to take the bottle,
Farrell still stood implacable before the doorway.
Constantia also looked up. 'Who is this gentle-
man ? ' she demanded.
'My name is Farrell,' answered the figure by
the doorway. 'Miss Denistoun may remember a
fellow-passenger of some years ago, on the E mania.'
I heard the catch of her breath as she knelt by
me, staring at him. I heard Jimmy's muttered
' My God ! ' My arm was reaching to catch Con-
stantia if she should drop backward.
But she pulled herself together with a long sob
— I felt it shuddering through her, so close she
knelt by me. Again silence fell on the room.
Jimmy had fetched my bath-sponge along with
366 FOE-FARRELL
the bottle. I poured water upon it and bathed
Jack's temples, watching his eyelids. After a
while they fluttered a little. I felt over his heart.
'He is coming round/ I announced: 'but we'll
let him he here for a little, before lifting him on
to the couch.
'One question first,' commanded Constantia.
'Answer me, you two. ... Is this — is this thing
true, Roddy? Did he leave — this man — on the
island?'
For the moment I could put up no better delay
— as neither could Jimmy — than to call ' hush ! '
and pretend to listen to Jack's faintly recovering
heart-beat. But Farrell heard, and answered, —
'It's true, Miss Denistoun. ... I had no notion
to find him here; still less to find you and distress
you. I came to Sir Roderick. But the dog here was
wiser, lie knew the scent on the stairs, and raced
in ahead. . . . I am sorry to say it, Miss Denistoun:
but that blackguard yonder took ship and left me
solitary, — to die, for aught he knew. Let him
come-to, and then we'll talk.'
Constantia rose. Slowly she picked up her
gloves and sunshade. 'No, we will not talk,' she
said, after a pause. 'That talk is for you four
men. I — I have no wish to see him recover.'
As she said it, she very slowly detached from
her breast-knot the rose which had carried my
felicitation, and laid it on the table : and, with
that, she walked out, Farrell drawing aside to
make way for her.
NIGHT THE TWENTY-SECOND
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES
Now that exit of Constant's, I must tell you, had
an instant and very remarkable effect upon Farrell,
though she swept by him without perceiving it.
A moment before he had stood barring the
doorway, his legs planted wide, his eyes fierce, his
chest panting as he waited for his enemy to come
back to life, his mouth working and twisting with
impatience to let forth its flood of denunciation.
As Constantia walked to the door he not only
drew back a foot to let her pass. He drew his
whole body back, bowed for all the world like any
shop-walker letting out a customer, even thrust
out a hand, as by remembered instinct and as if
to pull open an imaginary swing-door for a depart-
ing customer of rank. In short, for a moment the
man reverted to his past— to Farrell of the Totten-
ham Court Road. ... Nor was this all. As she
went by him he slewed about to follow her with
his eyes, kicking aside the dog that hampered
him, crouching against his legs : and still his gaze
followed her, to the outer door.
Not until she had closed the outer door behind her
did he face about on the room again; and still it
was as if all the wind had been shaken, of a sudden,
367
368 FOE-FARRELL
out of his sails. His next words, moreover — strange
as they were — would have established his identity
with Farrell even had any doubt lingered in us.
'Funny thing/ said he, addressing us vaguely,
'how like blood tells, even down to a look in the
eyes. I was husband to a woman once, thousands
of miles from here and foreign of race : but she
came of kings, though far away back, and Miss
Denistoun, Sir Roderick, she reminded me, just
then '
'Look here, Mr Farrell,' I broke in; 'with your
leave we won't discuss Miss Denistoun, here or
anywhere — as, with your leave, we'll cut all further
conversation until Dr Foe is fit for it, which at
this moment he pretty obviously is not. It may
help your silence if I tell you that the lady who
has just left is, or was, engaged to marry him/
'Christ! ... And she knows?' He stared, less
at us than at the four walls about him.
'She does not,' said I : 'or did not, until a few
minutes ago.'
' But yon knew ! ' — Wrath again filled Farrell's
sails. 'You knew — and you allowed it. . . . And
you call yourselves gentlemen, I suppose ! '
'If you take that tone with either of us for an
instant longer/ I answered, after a pause, 'you
shall be thrown out of that door, and your dog
shall follow through the window. If you prefer
to stand quite still and hold your tongue — will
you? — why, then, you are welcome to the infor-
mation that I only heard of this engagement less
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 369
than an hour ago, and Mr Collingwood less than
ten minutes before you entered/
'But you knew that other thing,' Farrell insisted.
'Yes, I knew,' said I : 'and for the simple reason
that Dr Foe told it all to me. And Mr Collingwood
knows, for I told it to him. We two have kept
the secret.'
'And,' sneered Farrell, 'you still keep being his
friends ! '
'No,' I answered; 'as a matter of fact, we do
not. But you have taken that tone again with me
in spite of my warning, and I shall now throw you
downstairs. . . . You are an ill-used man, I believe,
though not by me : and for that reason, if you
come back — say at ten to-morrow morning —
and apologise, you will find me sympathetic. But
just now I am going to throw you out.'
'You may if you can,' retorted Farrell, eyeing
my advance warily. 'I've spoilt this marrying, I
guess : and that's the first long chalk crossed off
a long tally/
I was about to grip with him when Jimmy called
sharply that there were to be no blows — Foe wanted
to speak.
Foe had recovered under the brandy and lay
over on his side, facing us, panting a little from
the dose — of which Jimmy had been liberal.
'Have it out, Roddy,' he gasped, 'here and now.
I'm strong enough to get it over, and — and he
can't tell you any worse than you both know, of
my free telling — and I don't want to trouble either
370 FOE-FARRELL
of you again. Let him have it out,' implored Foe,
between his sharp intakes of breath.
'I am glad you excepted me* burst out Farrell.
' You'll trouble me again fast enough : or, rather,
I'll trouble you — to the end of your dirty life. Are
you shamming sick, there, you Foe?'
'You know that he is not,' said Jimmy, holding
back my arm. 'Tell your story, and clear.'
' My story ? ' echoed Farrell in a bewildered way.
'What's my story more than what you know, it
seems? What's my story more than that, after
sharing hell for days in an open boat, and solitude
on that awful island, this man left me — choosing
when I was sick and sorry: left me to hell and
solitude together — left me to it, cold-blooded, when
I was too weak to crawl — left me, in his cursed
grudge, when he could have saved two as easy as
one? Has he told you that, gentlemen?'
'He told me quite faithfully,' said I. 'We—
Mr Collingwood and I — both know it.'
'Ay,' Farrell retorted, 'but neither you nor your
Mr Collingwood, when you say that, understands
a bit what it means . . .' He broke off, searching
for some words to convey the remembered agony
to our brains that had no capacity (he felt) even to
imagine it.
'No,' came a dull voice from the couch — start-
ling us, dull though it was. 'Only you and I,
Farrell, understand what it means. Tell them
just the facts, as I told the facts, and no more.
Tell them, and me, how you escaped.'
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 371
'By the same ship as you did, if you wish to
know — the I'll Away schooner, Captain Jefferson
Hales. And I'll tell you something even more
surprising. — Your ill-luck started the very hour
you left me and Rover to die like two dogs together.
When you stepped aboard the I'll Away, you
stepped aboard as a lost missionary. You had
your own bad reasons for not wanting to tell too
much : and Hales had his own very good reasons
for not putting too many questions. To start
with, he didn't like missionaries as a class, or their
conversation : and I gather that his crew likewise
didn't take much track in them; neither in the
species nor in you as a specimen : least of all in
you as a specimen. I'm sorry for it, too, in a way :
because, at first, I pictured them asking you to
put up a prayer, and pictured your face and feel-
ings as you knelt down to oblige. Well, that was
one of the pretty fancies that ought to come true
but don't manage to, in this world. As for the
next, there's no saying. You passed yourself for
a missionary, and if Satan has humour enough to
accept you on that ticket, a pretty figure you'll
make, putting up false prayers in hell. . . . Any-
how 7 , you didn't make friends on board that
schooner — eh ? '
'I did not,' Foe answered listlessly.
'You weren't over comfortable with that crowd
when you changed me for it ? '
'I was not, if that's any comfort to you.'
Farrell grinned. 'Of course it's a comfort to me.
372 FOE-FARRELL
They sent you to Coventry more or less ; and I'll
tell you the reason, if you don't know it. There
was a whisper going round the ship forward. . . .
One of the hands — it being a clear day — had heard
a dog barking from the shore. Another fancied
that he had. Then a third called to mind having
heard somewhere — he couldn't remember the
public, or even the port — that when old Buck
Vliet marooned his missionary he'd left a dog
with him in compassion. ... I should tell you
two gentlemen that the yarn about Vliet and' how
he caught a missionary by mistake, and how he'd
short-circuited him somewhere in a holy terror,
was a kind of legend all along the coast and around
the Eastern islands. I dare say it crossed to the
Atlantic in time : for again it was the kind of story
that starts by being funny and gets funnier as each
man chooses to improve on it. . . . All I can say is,
that if the body you and I, Foe, looked down upon,
that afternoon, belonged to Vliet 's missionary, I
don't want to hear any more fun about it. . . .
So you see, gentlemen, this God-forsaken lot, down
in the I'll Away's fo'c'sle, patched it up amongst
them that this man, in his hurry, had deserted his
dog. Now, as I shall tell you, if they had reasoned,
they'd have known that the dog wouldn't starve,
anyway. But they didn't reason. They were a
God-forsaken lot — mostly broken men, pliers
about the islands — and it just went against
their instinct that any one should forsake so
much as a dog. If they'd known you had forsaken
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 373
a man, you Foe, they'd have tarred and burnt
you.
' — Captain Hales, as it happened, hadn't caught
the barking or any faint echo of it : the reason
being that he was hard of hearing, although in the
rest of his senses sharper than all his crew rolled
together, and in wits or at a bargain a match for
any trader between Chile and Palmerston. Also
I have heard it rumoured that he had run a bit
wild in his youth, found himself within the law or
outside of it (I forget which), and come down to
the South Pacific for the good of his health. But
that was many years ago. He was now a middle-
aged man, and had learnt enough about these
waters to call you a fool if you suggested by way
of flattery that what he didn't know about them
wasn't worth knowing.
'—Something, at any rate, in his past had turned
him into a silent, brooding man, seldom coming
out of his thoughts until it came to a bargain,
when he woke up like a giant from sleep. His
deafness helped to fasten this silent habit deeper
upon him. Also he was touchy about his deafness :
didn't like at any time to be reminded of it; and
was apt to fly into a sudden rage if any one brought
up a reminder, even by a chance hint. And that,
belike, was the main reason why he alone on board
— barring yourself, Foe— never heard tell of this
barking which he had missed to hear with his own
ears.
1 — And now for one thing more, Foe — and it'll
374 FOE-FARRELL
make you squirm by-and-by ! Like most deaf men
he was a bit suspicious : and looking at you side-
ways as you came on board — what with one thing
and another, not liking missionaries as a line in
trade, and, in particular, mistrusting the cut of your
jib, he thought things over a bit and altered his
helm.
* — I'll explain. You see, you not only came aboard
looking what you are, but you came aboard fairly
slimed over, in addition, with all that had ever
been told or guessed against Buck Vliet's missionary.
The stories didn't agree about his sect : but they
agreed that Vliet, though a ruffian, hadn't marooned
the man just for fun — that he must have been a
hard case somehow. The stories might vary con-
cerning Vliet's reasons : but they agreed that the
man hadn't come to it by sheer over-prayerfulness:
and the conclusion was — reasonable or unreason-
able — that you, Foe, must have been a bad potato
somehow, or at best a severe trial, if so hardened
a stomach as Vliet's hadn't been able to keep you
down. Worse ; he guessed you for a spy.
1 — Here, Sir Roderick and Mr Collingwood, I
must tell you that Vliet and Hales, as masters in
this knock-about off-island trade, had grown to be
rival kings in their way, and Hales in his brooding
fashion as jealous as fire. From all I've heard,
Vliet hadn't the ambition to be properly jealous :
all he objected to was his business being cut.
' — Vliet was an old man — a regular hoary sinner,
who kept his trade secrets by a very simple method.
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 375
He stocked his crews entirely with lads of his own
begetting. White, black, or chocolate, he didn't
care how many wives he carried to sea, or how
much of a family wash he carried in the shrouds
on a fine day. He ran his trade on secrecy and
close family limitations. He had no range. His
joy was to have a corner unknown to a soul else in
the world. Fat, lazy, wicked, and sly — that was
Vliet. He belonged to the old school.
' — Now, for years, Hales — of the new school, and
challenger — had been chasing after a rumour that
chased after Vliet from port to port — a rumour
that Vliet drew on an uncharted island, in those
latitudes, known only to himself and to so much
of his progeny as the old Solomon didn't mistrust
enough to lose overboard. . . . Well, the belief at
Valparaiso is that old Buck Vliet, with his schooner
— on which he grudged a penny for repairs — had
found an ocean grave at last, somewhere. The
guess is that he overdid the Two Brothers in the
end, being careless of warnings, with a top-hamper
of wives. There is also a legend — likely invented to
account for the name of his schooner — that he
left all his money to a twin brother in business in
Salt Lake City, and that the brother and his brother's
wives have fitted out a new schooner to hunt for
the island's whereabouts.
' — Listen, you Foe ! While I was lying sick, and
you neglecting the look-out, Hales made oar island,
and anchored in the bay. While I was lying sick,
and you neglecting the look-out, Hales made our
376 FOE-FARRELL
island, that had been his dream for years; landed
there, or on the far side, took its bearings to a hair,
of course, and went ashore with a party to prospect.
What do you say to that?'
'I say/ answered Foe, still languidly, shifting
his head a little on the cushion, 'that I always told
you we were on the wrong side of the island, and
that you would never listen.'
'They landed, anyway/ pursued Farrell; 'and
for a whole day, after watering, they explored.
They never got over the crest that looked down
on our camp.'
'And if they had they would never have seen us/
said Foe, responding like a man in a dream. ' You
had chosen the site too cleverly; the fern-brake
would have hidden us, any way. Let that pass/
'But there was the bonfire and the look-out,
both unattended/
'Oh, if we're to start re-arguing arguments that
kept us tired for about three years/ answered Foe,
'you built the bonfire on the wrong slope, as I
always told you.'
'We won't quarrel about that, since here we are,'
Farrell retorted with a savage grin. 'So I'll drop
it and get on with the story. And the next thing
to be mentioned in the story, Foe, is that for a clever
man, you're about the biggest fool alive. You
have no end of knowledge in you, which I admired
on the island. The way you found all kinds of
plants and things and turned them to account,
and explained to me how traders and practical
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 377
chemists could make fortunes out of them — why,
it was wonderful. But it wasn't so wonderful to
me as that, with all this knowledge, you'd never
turned it to account, so to speak, when, with a
third of it, at your age, I'd have been a millionaire.
And the ways and manners of a gentleman you
had, too ; which I could easier set about copying
— as I did. It won't bring you much comfort to
know that, half the time, I was sucking education
out of you, grinning inwardly and thinking, " Now,
my fine hater, the more you're taking the superior
line with me, the more I'm your pupil all the time;
the more you're giving me what I'll find priceless,
one of these days, if ever we get back upon London
pavements." In the blindness of your hatred you
never guessed that Peter Farrell, all through life,
might have had a long way with him — a way of
looking ahead — and all to better himself. You
never guessed that, all the time, I was letting you
teach me.
' — But in practical matters — in all that counts
first with a business man — I saw pretty early that
you were little better than a fool. Yet I couldn't
have believed you or any man such a fool as you
showed yourself on the I'll Away : and even you
couldn't have missed sensing it but for one thing —
you couldn't dare return to the island.
' — A place so rich as that, unknown, uncharted !
— reeking with copra, not to mention other wealth
— fairly asking to be sold and turned over to a
government, to a syndicate, to develop it ! Man !
f.f. 2 B
378 FOE-FARRELL
you and Hales had a million safe between yon
when you boarded the schooner; and I can see
Hales's mind at work when he spotted your boat
and sized up the share he was losing by your turn-
ing up. The marvel to me is, he didn't turn you
a blind eye. But Hales is a humane man. He
did time in his youth, but he's not the sort that
you are, Foe — the sort that could leave a man to
die solitary and forsaken. Belike, too, the prize
was so great in his grasp that he didn't care how
much, in reason, might run through his fingers.
' — Listen! When you sighted him, he had made
a careful offing of the southern reefs, and had
hauled up close to his wind. Where do you suppose
he was bound? He was fetching up to beat back
to Valparaiso. Being Yankee born and not a
stocking-banker like old Buck Vliet, he was all
for Valparaiso with an island to sell to the Chilian
Government, and a concession and a syndicate
fair in view. This cargo of beads, cheap guns,
sham jewellery, canned meats, and rum, that he
had aboard for the islands, would keep : the rum
would even be improved by a little Christian delay.
But, if he sank it all, all was nothing to the secret
he carried.
' — And then you hove on his view, for partner :
and he took you in. ... I hope you'll remember
him gratefully after this, Foe. He chose to sight
you — and he hadn't heard the dog. If he had, it
wasn't in him to guess that you had left any better
than a dog behind.
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 379
' — Then you fairly flummoxed him. Missionary
though you were, he'd accepted you as prospective
shareholder. It wasn't for him to guess that you
dared not go back.
' — He's told me that, accepting you, for a day and
a half he held on his course, close-hauled. Is that
so? But he was suspicious, as deaf men are. He
took a notion that you — you, keeping mum as a
cat, having to pass for somebody else and avoid
questions — were just lying low, meaning to slip
cable at Valparaiso and hurry in with a prior
claim. I am sorry to say it, Foe : but altogether
you did not create a good impression on board
the I'll Away. To the crew you were an object of
dark suspicion. To the skipper j^ou were either
a close knave, meaning to trick him, or an in-
credible idiot. After a while, and almost against
hope, he determined to try you for an idiot. He
ordered his helm up, and watched you. You did
not protest. He put his helm farther and farther
up, and headed for the Marquesas. Still you
offered no objection. So he landed you — on
Nukuheva ; if I remember. And from Nukuheva,
somehow, I guess, you got a slant out of your
missionary labours to Sydney or else 'twas
back to Valparaiso — I haven't tracked it : but
from one or other you picked up some sort of a
passage home. Anyway, lost men as the I'll Away's
crew might be, they were glad enough, having
traded you for nothing, to up-sail and lose you
out of their sight. . . . And this man I find you
380 FOE-FARRELL
two gentlemen treating as your friend, whom the
scum of the earth (as you would call them) abhorred !
And you know, whilst those poor men only
guessed 1' .
'Stay a moment, Farrell,' interposed Jimmy.
'Sorry to interrupt . . . but will you kindly take
a look around this room. Not entirely a neat
apartment, eh? A few odd cases and cabin trunks
lying around? . . . You and Sir Roderick were
almost at blows just now. But if you're curious
to know the reason of all this mess, it is that, when
you paid us this timely call, he was packing to
search for you.'
'So?' Farrell drew back, regarding me, and
the upper lids of his eyes went up till they were
almost hidden by his brows. 'So?' he said slowly.
'But why?'
'Put it at a whim,' I said sharply, 'and get on
with your tale. ... If you interrupt again, Jimmy,
I'll strangle you, or attempt to. You may have
observed that I'm ready to fight anybody, this
afternoon.'
Farrell looked at me earnestly. 'I see what you
would be driving at, sir,' said he, becoming the
humble tradesman again. 'And I admire. But,
by God, sir ! ' he broke out, 'it won't do ! It shan't
do ! No man is going to shoulder that man's sin,
to rob me of him ! '
'Get down from that horse,' said I. 'You can
mount him again, if you choose, later on;, but,
first, finish the story.'
THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES 381
'All very well,' said Farrell, 'to put it in that
dictatorial way, when you've taken the heart out
of a man. . . . Well, Hales headed back for
Valparaiso, scarce believing his luck. There he
interviewed the ministry, got a provisional con-
cession, and started out for the island again, to
make good — and found another inhabitant alive
and kicking.
' — He behaved just as well as before, and better
— for I was frank with him and knowledgeable.
He couldn't understand missionaries, real or sham :
but he understood a square deal, and didn't charge
interest on bowels of mercy. His only grumble
was, " I'll put you on your honour. Tell me, please,
there's no more of vou hereabouts. It's a Ions:
passage to and fro : and if you're a man, you'll see
that I'm almost as crowded as you are lonesome.
Don't start me beating all this brush for skunks ! "
' — He sailed me back to Valparaiso, after we had
spent three days prospecting the property together.
At Lima I left him to fight out details with the
Minister of the Interior — who, for some mysterious
reason, turned out to be the person charged with
trafficking for an islet three hundred miles from
any interior — while I trained north and, crossing
the Isthmus, sailed north for New York. The only
man I knew in the whole Western Hemisphere
was a friend of mine there, Renton by name, and
I made for Renton, to raise capital.
' — I found that he could walk into Wall Street,
and, arm-in-arm with me, raise the money easily.
382 FOE-FARRELL
Moreover I found that he had stored some twelve
thousand dollars for me as my share of an invest-
ment I'd helped him to in Costa Rica. Some day,
gentlemen, I'll tell you of this little episode, if
you care to hear about it. It was a deal in a queer
sort of mahogany he had asked me to inspect.
' — But to return to the island, and wind up. Hales
found me there, alive and hearty, Foe. For why?
Because I had found a purpose in me — to wait
and, when time came, to hunt you to the ends of
the earth. It's my turn now. You've taught me,
and I'll improve on your teaching. You've bought
a practice, I've learnt; and now I learn that you've
fixed up to marry this Miss Denistoun.
' — Don't I know why? . . . Didn't I see that
look in her eyes as she walked past me, just now?
' — Yes. . . . Santa's look. ... No secrets between
you and me. But, by God, you shan't ! I'll save
her from that. Sooner than she shall be wife of
yours, I'll marry her myself ! '
'Mr Farrell,' said I, 'you have learnt much and
learnt it sorely : but you haven't learnt enough.
Pick up your hat, take your dog with you, and
walk out/
'That's right enough,' said he; 'and I'm going.
I'm only half a gentleman yet, and my feelings
get the better of me in the wrong way. But you'll
never rob me of that fellow, and so I promise you
two and him. . . . Come along, Rover 1 '
NIGHT THE TWENTY-THIRD
COUNTERCHASE
I went to the South Pacific, after all.
Farrell called on me, next day, and before I
could countermand my passage. He came, as he
said, to offer me his deep apologies. ' I grant you,
Sir Roderick, that I behaved ill to you and Mr
Collingwood, and specially to Miss Denistoun.
I had no business to drag her into the talk. . . .
But I'm only a learner in the ways gentlemen
behave. It doesn't come to me by nature, as it
comes to luckier ones, whose parents and grand-
parents have bred it into the bone. You may
put it that I've hair on my hoof and have to shave
it carefully. What taking trouble can do I can
make it do, and don't count the time wasted.
But it's the unexpected that catches out a man
like me. . . . You see, I came up thinking to find
you alone : and I was so keen to see you, I paid
no attention to the dog, queerly as he was behaving.
I thought, maybe, he'd smelt a cat. There weren't
any cats on the island, or aboard the I'll Away,
or the cars, or the Oceanic. . . . And then I burst
in after the hound, as soon as I realised that he
meant mischief of some sort; and, of a sudden,
there was Foe face to face with me, and you others
383
384 FOE-FAJRRELL
treating him friendly as friendly. Was it any
wonder that, coming on him like that and after
hunting him more than half the world across, I let
myself go? 1
'Well, first of all,' I answered coldly, 'you' may
disabuse your mind of any notion that Mr Colling-
wood and I were chatting with Doctor Foe in the
way you suspect. As a matter of fact, after you
left, we told him what we were trying to avoid
telling him in Miss Denistoun's presence at the
moment when you broke in — that, through
his treatment of you, he had forfeited our
friendship.'
'Had he come to hear that?' asked Farrell, —
' if it's a fair question.'
'It's a perfectly fair question,' said I, 'and the
answer is that he had not. He had come to
give me in person some information for which I
had written to him. . . . Can you guess ? It was the
precise latitude and longitude of your island. . . .
And now, question for question. You hadn't
tracked him here, for you have just said that
your finding him in this room took you fairly by
surprise.'
'Almost knocked me over,' Farrell agreed.
'Then what had been your purpose in calling
on me?' I asked, ' — if that, too, is a fair question.'
'Well, I'll admit I was calling, in part, to get
his address or discover his whereabouts. But that
wasn't my only reason. My real reason and fore-
most — But before I tell it, Sir Roderick, will you
CQUNTERCHASE 3$ 5
answer me yet another question? Was it true,
what Mr Collingwood said ? — that you were actually
packing to search for me ? '
'Mr Collingwood,' I answered, somewhat em-
barrassed, 'certainly would not have said it if it
hadn't been true.'
'Well, it fairly beat me,' said Farrcll, staring.
' And it beats me again, now you confirm it. Search-
ing for me} — Why? You couldn't have guessed
there was money in it.'
'It may sound strange to you, sir,' said I pretty
icily; 'but I took that fancy into my head neither
for your beaux yeux nor for profit. Moreover, if
you don't understand without my help, I'll be
shot if I can provide you with an explanation
that won't strike you as wildly foolish. . . . Plow-
ever, if you must know, the thought of a fellow-
creature marooned on that island, and of the bare
chance that he might yet be alive to be rescued,
had been preying on my mind ever since I heard
Foe's tale, and parted with his friendship on
account of it. Also it may appear extravagant,
but through that old friendship I felt a sort of
personal responsibility, as if Jack had left his
trespass in my keeping. . . . But why discuss all
this? You're back, safe and sound, and the trip
is off. When Jephson has finished unpacking,
he'll step over to Cockspur Street and pay forfeit
for the two berths.'
'Two berths?'
'Jephson was going with me. I fancy he
386 FOE-FARRELL
looked forward to the adventure, and is a trifle
disappointed this morning.'
Farrell nodded to show that he understood.
Yet he seemed to be considering something else,
and kept his eyes fixed on me in a queer way. ■
'Sir Roderick/ he said, after a pause, 'your
arrangements are all made for this voyage?'
'Oh, yes,' said I. 'Your turning up like this is
quite a small nuisance in its way. I'd arranged
with my lawyers, arranged with my bankers, let
my flat here furnished from the first of next month
(that's the worst), taken out letters and passport,
made my will, stored my few bits of spare plate.
Last week I spent down in Warwickshire, clewing
up the loose tackle, holding heart-to-heart con-
versations with Collingwood and my steward.
Collingwood's my neighbour down there, you
know, and will help to look after things.'
Farrell considered all this, slowly. 'Excuse me,
Sir Roderick,' said he, 'but is there no chance of
your going back to your intention and re-packing?'
'Why on earth should I?' was my very natural
question.
'Why, it's like this, sir,' said Farrell, ' — and now
I'll come to the real reason that brought me yester-
day. My real reason was a matter of business. . . .
You may remember my felling you that, in New
York, I'd consulted Renton, an old friend of mine,
about raising the capital to take over and develop
Santa Santissima, as we've agreed to call the
island; and that Renton had no difficulty to raise
COUNTERCHASE 387
the money. What I didn't tell you — not thinking
it wise before company — was that from the first
I'd stipulated — with Hales as well as with Renton
— that half the shares should be held in Great
Britain. Hales didn't care, as he put it, where in
thunder the money came from, so long as it was
good. Renton — as being British-born, though
naturalised — made no objection and only one
condition, that the syndicate should be a small
one. If I could get half the capital raised quietly
in England by one or two persons, why, so much
the better. He could raise the other half without
calling on Wall Street or starting so much as an
echo. . . . Now, I don't mind telling you, Sir
Roderick, that I had you in mind all the while.
That island is a gold mine : the copra alone there
represents whole fortunes running to waste : and
even if old Buck Vliet still sails the waters — which
I doubt, for the Two Brothers hasn't been spoken
or sighted within these four years, and he wasn't
provisioned for whaling — still, the concession papers
are made out in Hales's name and mine, and the
duplicate documents stored. ... All I can say is, that
I'm ready to put my own little pile upon it, to the
last guinea. And I thought of you from the first;
you having done me a good turn more than once,
or tried to. Yes, sir : but the best of all would be
your going out and making sure for yourself. You,
that was preparing to go that distance to find a
lost man — I say, sir, it would be heavenly if
you went and found a fortune instead. I've
388 FOE-FARRELL
arranged a cable to Hales, and the I'll Away will
be waiting for you at Valparaiso. But in case he
should miss — which he won't — here are papers for
you : bearings of the island, sketch-map, copy of
bond of agreement with him, copy of agreement
with Renton. All these I was bringing to put
into your hand yesterday. But, my God ! Sir
Roderick, now that I've heard what I've heard —
that you were preparing to search the South Pacific
for me, and for no worse reason than that a poor
devil was cast away there, I'd ask you on my
knees to sleep in the berth you've booked and travel
to better purpose.'
It has occurred to me since — and more than
once or twice — that although the man and his
offer were honest, he had a secondary purpose all
this while : to get me out of the way lest I should
embarrass his pursuit of Foe and his other scheme
of which I am to tell.
But, on the whole reckoning, I incline to think
the man was perfectly sincere, and even eager to do
me this kindness; which — as things turned out —
was really an extravagant one, on the monetary
calculation.
At any rate, after studying his face for a while,
I called Jephson out from my bedroom and told
him that I had changed my mind : we would sail,
after all, and he might start re-packing at once.
Jephson fairly beamed.
'But there's one thing I'd like to say/ put in
COUNTERCHASE 389
Farrell, while it was obvious that this order over-
whelmed him with joy. 'I want to have it clear
between us that, joyful as I am at your acceptance,
and grateful as I am for your seeing things in this
light, it doesn't in any way compromise my dealing
with Foe.'
'If you take my advice,' said I, 'you'll drop
Foe, and all this silly business of hatred. He has
tried it on you, and up to a certain point it answered.
You played him — I'll grant you, unknowingly —
a perfectly damnable trick. Don't smear your
soul with any flattering unction, Mr Farrell. You
wrecked his life; and, in return, he set himself to
wreck yours. Up to that point I can understand,
though it all seems to me infernally silly. But in
his monomania he went just that step too far, and
has exchanged thereby the upper hand. You
have the cards now : yet I warn you against play-
ing them. For, as sure as I sit here, I warn you
that in the act of destroying him you will destroy
yourself. I look back on his miserable pursuit, and
I prophesy the end of yours.'
'Well, it has taken me through fires of hell,'
said he; 'but I wouldn't have missed it. I'm the
man now, and he's the coward.'
'Quite so, 5 said I. 'Then be thankful and drop
it. Do you want to retrieve his soul as he has
found yours ? '
Farrell mused over this for a while. 'I can't
explain it to you,' he said. 'I can't explain it to
myself. But that man and I simply can't give
390 FOE-FARRELL
one another up. As I woke it in him, so he wakes
in me something that I can't be without, having
once known it. It seems to be a necessary part
of myself.'
'There are a great many " Can'ts " in that
confession — for a strong man,' was my comment;
'and a trifle too much " myself " for a man who has
found himself. But you remember that meeting
at the Baths, when you and Jack Foe first made
acquaintance? Of course you do. Well, there
was a little man seated in the hall, fronting you,
and he read the explanation and gave it to me
later, as he helped me on with my coat. I made
no account of it at the time : but he said that he'd
seen another man looking out of your eyes, for a
moment, and it gave him a scunner.'
Again Farrell pondered. 'I dare say he was
right, too,' he said thoughtfully. 'When two men
are made for one another, I guess their souls — if
that's not too good a word — must exchange flesh
and clothing now and then, so that for the moment
there's a puzzle to separate t'other from which.
. . . Has Foe told you about her — about
Santa?'
'He has,' said I.
'Yet he can't have told you all : for he doesn't
know it all — about Renton, for instance, and how
I did that bolt from him to Costa Rica, and from
Costa Rica to San Ramon. You must hear all
about that, if you will : because, when you've
inspected the island for yourself, your next business
COUNTERCHASE 391
will be with Renton, and I want you to understand
the man you will be dealing with/
Thereupon he told me : and that is how I was
able, the other night, to relate what happened in
Costa Rica and at San Ramon.
One of these days, when you're fairly rested,
you shall have a full, dull, true, and particular
account of the voyage upon which I started, next
day, with Jephson, as per schedule : with a detailed
description of Santa Island, or Santa Santissima
(to give it its full name). But this story isn't
about me : it concerns Foe and Farrell : and
therefore it's enough to say here, that I reached
Valparaiso and found Captain Jeff Hales waiting
for me with his schooner fresh from dock, and
fleet : that he and I took to one another in the
inside of ten minutes; that our voyage, first and
last, went like a yachting cruise; that we made the
island and spent something more than two months
on it, prospecting, mapping, choosing the sites
for our factories that were to be, even planning
a light tramway to cart their produce down to the
grand north-eastern bay which (as Foe had warned
me) proved to be the only anchorage. But Santa's
cross was there, standing yet on the small beach
where the castaways had landed, and no doubt it
stands yet. No storm ever seriously troubles the
water within that lovely protected hollow.
Returning to Valparaiso, I travelled north by
steamer, by rail, by steamer and rail again, to
392 FOE-FARRELL
New York, hunted up Renton, and found that
my luck held; that I was dealing with a man as
honest as Hales and keen as either of us. With
half a dozen cable messages, to and from Farrell
in London, we had everything fixed, and our
company as good as a going concern, when the
Chilian Government interposed a long, vexatious
delay which, at one point, appeared to hint at an
intention to repudiate the bargain.
Back I travelled; this time with Renton in
company, and Renton mad as fire. It all turned
out to be a bungle by some clerk that had taken
to drink and forgetfulness; but it cost us a month
or two before the government of Senor Orrego,
having no case, decided to do us justice without
troubling the Courts. Renton and I returned in
triumph through the grilling heats of July, and
reached New York to find the papers announcing
this war for a certainty : whereupon, without
unpacking, I pelted for home.
From Southampton I made for London, and had
two short interviews with Farrell amid the rush
Df rejoining the H. A. C, collecting kit, and the
rest of it. Our talk was entirely about business,
and was conducted at the National Liberal Club —
the hostelry to which I had addressed all my letters
and cables. I gathered that he used it almost as a
permanent residence, having sold or given up his
house at Wimbledon. He said nothing of Foe,
and I forbore to ask questions.
From the H. A. C, in the general catch-as-catch-
COUNTERCHASE 393
can of those early weeks of the war, I found myself
on one and the same day pushed into a temporary
Commission in the R. F. A., commanded down to
Warwickshire to recruit for it ; and met at my
lodge-gate with a telegram ordering me off to Preston
to collect a draft there and report its delivery at
Aldershot. Funny sort of home-coming for a man
returning after two years' absence ! But there
it was. I had just time by smart driving to catch
the next down train at our local station : so,
without even a glimpse of the ancestral roof, I
put the dog-cart about and posted back.
For the next week or so, as Jimmy put it of his
own very similar experience (he had joined up
in the Special Reserve as a gunner three years
before the war), I didn't spend a night out of my
train. Then came a morning — I had rolled up
with my latest draft, from Berwick at 4.30 a.m.
— when the Colonel sent for me to come to the
orderly room some ten minutes before he opened
business, and then and there asked me if it was
to my liking to come out to France with the
division then moving, on the ammunition column
of his brigade.
I walked back to the R. F. A. mess, picked up a
newspaper in the ante-room, and dropped into a
chair. My heart was beating like a girl's at her
first ball. 'France' — 'France' — the very 'r' in
that glorious word kept beating in my ears with
the roll of a side-drum. I gripped the Times,
steadied myself down to master the short little
F.F. 2C
394 FOE-FARRELL
paragraph on which my eyes had been fixed, un-
seeing, for a couple of minutes, and found myself
staring at this announcement : —
'A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly
take place, between Peter Farrell, Esq., of 15a
The Albany, and Constantia, only daughter of
the late George Wellesley Denistoun, Esq., J. P.,
D.L., of Framnel in the West Riding of York-
shire, and of Mrs Denistoun of 105 Upper Brook
Street, W.'
NIGHT THE TWENTY-FOURTH
CONSTANTLY
The drumming in my ears died suddenly out to
silence, and then started afresh more violently than
ever, and more sharply, for the long pinging of an
electric bell shrilled through it. The pinging ceased
sharply: the drumming continued; and I looked up to
see the mess sergeant standing over me, at attention.
'Telephone call for you, sir.'
I went to the instrument like a man in a dream.
Something suddenly gone wrong with Sally's
healthy first-born? Jimmy starting for France
and ringing me up for farewell? Farrell — damn
Farrell ! — to talk business ? Jephson, with word
that he had achieved the urgent desire of his heart
and been passed as a gunner, to join me, quo fas
et gloria ducuntl These four only, to my know-
ledge, had my probable address.
'Hallo?' I called.
' Hallo ! ' came the answer sharp and prompt,
in a woman's voice which I recognised at once for
Constantia's. 'Is that you, Roddy?'
'Yes — Roddy, all right,' I spoke back, mastering
my voice.
'Have you seen -?' Her voice trailed off.
'D'you mean the announcement? Yes, two
395
396 FOE-FARRELL
minutes ago. Is it congratulations you're ringing
up in this hurry?
' Roddy dear, don't be a beast ! ' the voice im-
plored. 'I'm in a horrible hole, and I think, only
you can help me. Is it possible for you to get
leave, and come? Mamma asks me to say that
there's a room here, and — and we want you ! '
'As it happens,' returned I, 'there'll be no
trouble about getting leave. We're to start —
report says — at the end of the week, and I must
be sent up to collect a few service odds-and-ends.
As for sleeping, I'll ring up Jephson, and if he's
already conscripted, I can doss at the Club. All
that is easy. But tell me, what is the matter?'
'Oh! I can't here.' Constantia's voice thrilled
on the wire. ' It's pretty awful. I never gave him
leave — never ! '
' You're getting pretty incoherent,' said I.
'We'll have it out when we meet. Dinner? . . .
No, I shall pick up a meal on the train. . . . Mustn't
expect me before 8.30; I have to put a draft through
and see them off. Odd jobs, besides. . . . These
are strenuous times.'
' Roddy, you're an angel ! '
'Not a bit,' said I; 'and I warn you not to expect
me in that capacity. You'll observe that I haven't
congratulated you yet.' I put this in rather
savagely.
'You're also rather a brute/ answered the voice.
'But you'll come?'
'Please God,' said I.
CONSTANTLY 397
'Thank God V answered she; and I hung up the
receiver.
Well, in my jubilation I had forgotten to ask
for leave to run up and get kit. But leave was no
sooner asked for than given. From Victoria that
evening I taxi'd straight to Jermyn Street, where
I found Jephson, warned by telegram, elate at
the prospect of soldiering. I was able, after a talk
with my Colonel, to inform him that he had also
a prospect of coming along as my servant, and this
lifted him to the seventh heaven. Then I went
out, picked up a dinner at Arthur's, and walked
on to Upper Brook Street.
In those days London had not started to shroud
its lamps. One stood a few paces short of the
porch of Number 105; and as I turned into Brook
Street I saw a man come hastily down the steps,
and enter a taxi anchored there. The butler
followed and closed the door upon him. The night
had begun to drizzle, and there was a sough of
sou 'westerly wind in the air. I turned up the
collar of my service overcoat and, as the taxi
passed, walked pretty briskly forward and inter-
cepted Mrs Denistoun's butler, who, after a stare
at the retreating vehicle, had reascended the steps
and was about to close the door. Recognising me
by the light of the porch lamp, he opened the door
wide, and full upon the figure of Constantia, standing
in the hallway. She gave a little gasp and came
to me, holding out her hand.
398 FOE-FARRELL
'You were always as good as your word, Roddy.
Come into the library. Where are you sleeping,
by the way?'
'In my flat,' said I. 'Jephson will not be called
up for a day or two. He has a fire lit, and will sit
up for me.
'He may have to sit up late,' replied Constantia.
'Mamma will be down presently. . . . There has
been something of a scene, and she is upset. You
saw Mr Farrell go away, just now? You must
have passed him, almost at the door.'
'I did,' said I, 'though I don't know if he recog-
nised me. Child, what is the matter?'
'Child?' echoed Constantia. 'It does me good
to be called that, for that's exactly how I am
feeling. ... He had no right — no right ' and
there she broke off
'Do you mean,' said I, 'that he put that an-
nouncement in the Times having no right to do it ? '
'I dare say,' moaned Constantia, waving her
arms feebly, pathetically, 'he understood more
than I meant him to.'
'Let us be practical, please,' said I, becoming
extremely stern. 'Have you, or have you not,
engaged yourself to marry Farrell?'
'Certainly I have not,' she answered with
vivacity. 'He asked me, and I — well, I played
for time.'
I couldn't repress a small groan at this : or,
rather, it was half a groan and half a sigh of relief.
'Has he spoken to your mother?'
CONSTANTLY 399
'No/
'Does your mother know about it?'
'Yes. I told her.'
'Does she approve of this announcement in the
papers ? Has she sanctioned it ? '
'Of course she does not — of course she has
not. . . . Roddy, sit down and don't ask so many
questions all of a heap. Sit down and light your
pipe, and pass me a cigarette. Furnilove will
bring in some whisky for you by-and-by.'
'Thank you, Constantia; but I don't feel like
staying. I've always maintained — oh, damnation ! '
I broke off.
'What have you always maintained, Roddy?
Sit down and tell it. Are you not here because I
sent for you? And didn't I send for you because
I am in trouble? We are in a tangle, I tell you, and
I'm asking you, on my knees, to untwist it. So
light your pipe and, before we begin, tell me — What
is it you have always maintained?'
'I have always maintained,' I answered slowly,
even more stern than before, 'that no woman can
be safely trusted to know a cad from a gentleman.
If the cad can flourish a trifle of worldly success
in front of her, or if he's a mere adventurer and
flashes himself on her boldly enough, or, if she
has persuaded herself to pity him, she's just
fascinated, and you can't trust her judgment ten
yards. There ! . . . I've burnt my boats.'
Constantia sat for some while pondering this,
breathing out the smoke of her cigarette,
400 FOE-FARRELL
gazing into the fire under the shade of a hand-
screen.
Til tell you another thing, Roddy,' she said at
length; 'and it's as true and truer. No woman
thinks worse of a man for burning his boats. . . .
But it isn't quite worldly success to be wrecked
and left desolate on an island three hundred miles
from anywhere. It all started (as you hinted) with
my pitying him and admiring his strength of will
after the awful experience he had tholed.'
'He left you just now? I saw him drive away ;
and his infernal dog with him.'
1 Yes : there had been a pretty bad scene. I
was furious, and Mamma was so much upset that
I doubt if she'll be fit to talk to-night. But it's
a blessed relief to her, now that she knows you
are anchored here for a while, to protect us, and
that, at the worst, we can ring up Jermyn Street.'
'Why,' I exclaimed, 'what the devil is there to
protect you from ? '
'Jack — Mr Foe, that is — has been watching
this house for days. He haunts the pavement
opposite, all the hours he is off duty. Mamma is
sure that he means evil, and I wish I was sure
that he didn't. He has gone under, Roddy. It is
awful to look out, as Furnilove draws the blinds,
and see that figure there stationed, reproaching us
— yet for what harm that we have done him? He
is even ragged. ... I should not be surprised to
hear he was starving. Yet what can we do ? '
'Tell me his address/ said I.
CONSTANTLY 401
She hesitated. 'Why should you suppose that
I know his address ? ' she asked, shading her face.
But I took her up bluntly. 'I am sorry,' I said,
' to be discharging apophthegms upon you to-night :
but you must hear just one other. Every woman
follows and traces a man who has once laid his
heart on her altar. I am sorry, Con, to call up an
instance from so far back in the past : but you
knew where to 'phone even for me, this morning.
... So own up, child, and tell me, where is Foe ? '
4 1 believe,' she answered after a while, the hand-
screen hiding her face, 'he has found work in one
of these emergency hospitals they are putting up.
. . . It's at a place called Casterville Gardens, down
by Gravesend. When first he started watching
this house, he was in rags; but for the last fortnight
he has worn khaki, and it improves his appearance
wonderfully. . . . Besides, when a man is in the
army, you have the comfort to know that, at least,
he isn't starving.'
'Was it so bad as that?' I asked. 'Well, and
now about Farrell?'
'Ah!' said she, 'when you saw him get into
that taxi, I had dismissed him. He was going — or
said he was going — straight to Printing House Square
to get that abominable paragraph contradicted.
I told him that he was to return to-night and bring
me his assurance that it was contradicted — either
that, or never to enter this house again. . . . And
now, Roddy, as he may be late — as I would only
be content with his seeing the Editor in person —
402 FOE-FARRELL
and as editors, I understand, come down late to
their work — suppose you mix yourself a whisky-
and-soda : for here is Furnilove with the glasses.
. . . Furnilove ! keep the latch up for an hour or so,
and the door on the chain. Mr Farrell may be
calling late with a particular message. Do not
admit him beyond the hall, but come and report
to me here. Sir Roderick will receive him in the
hall and take the message.'
'Yes, miss/ said the obedient Furnilove.
'That is all.' Constantia pondered. — 'Except
that you may tell the housemaid not to worry
about the room for Sir Roderick. He will not
sleep here, after all. And you may send Henriette
up with word to Mamma that all is right and Sir
Roderick stays only to receive Mr Farrell 's message.
He will probably be going at once on receipt of it,
and then you can lock up. The others can go to bed
when they choose.'
'Very good, miss,' said Furnilove, and withdrew.
'And now,' said Constantia, 'since he is late,
keep me amused. Tell me all about the island.'
So I told her this and that of my voyaging; and
the time drew on until the clock on the mantel-
piece chimed a half-hour. It was one-thirty.
' The dickens ! ' said I, pulling out my own watch
and consulting it. 'Farrell is a long time at
Printing House Square. In my belief, Con, he
won't be returning.'
Just at that moment the front door bell pealed
loudly.
CONSTANTIA 403
We stood up together. We heard Furnilove
padding towards the door, and we both moved
out into the passage as he slid up the latch and
unhooked the chain. Constantia, in her eagerness,
had pressed a little ahead of me.
A man rushed in, disregarding Furnilove,
shouldering him aside — a man in a furred overcoat.
Expecting Farrell, for the moment I mistook him
for Farrell. Even when above the fur collar I
caught the sight of common khaki, for another
moment I took him for Farrell. But he ran for
Constantia, stretching out his arms as if to embrace
her; and as he stretched them, under the hall
light, I saw that one of his hands was bleeding.
I had enough presence of mind to spring in front
of her and ward him off. It was Foe.
'It's all right,' he gasped, staring at me. 'No
need to make a fuss. ... I have killed him.'
And with that, still staring at me horribly, he sank
slowly and collapsed in a huddle at my feet, raving
out incoherent words.
Furnilove behaved admirably. Having assured
himself that Miss Constantia was safe, and that I
had the intruder under control, he went smartly
to the telephone. . . . Amid Foe's ravings I heard
him ringing up the exchange and, after a pause,
summoning the doctor.
'We had better have the spare room prepared
again, after all,' said Constantia. 'We can't turn
him out, in this state. . . . And there's a dressing-
404 FOE-FARRELL
room, Roddy, next door, if you can put up with
it. . . . But what has happened, God knows.'
'God knows,' said I. 'But he's a lunatic, unless
I'm mistaken. We'll hear what the doctor says.
. . . But he shan't sleep here, to trouble you. . . .
Furnilove, whistle up and have a taxi ready. . . .'
'Oh, what is he saying?' moaned Constantia
as the body on the floor still twisted as if burrowing
to hide itself, now muttering and again shouting
in a voice that reverberated along the passage,
' Kill him ! Damn that dog !— kill him ! '
I knelt on the body and held it still. It was the
body of my best friend, and I knelt on it, almost
throttling him.
' One can't ring up a lunatic asylum, at this hour oi
the morning,' I found myself gasping. ' He's for my
flat, to-night, if your doctor will take charge of
him with me.' And with that I looked up and
caught sight of Constantia's mother at the head
of the staircase.
'It's all right, Mrs Denistoun,' said I, glancing
up. 'It's my friend, Jack Foe — my friend that
was. With the doctor's leave I'll get him back
presently to Jermyn Street, where Jephson and I
will look after him for the night. . . . Jephson
used to worship him, and will wait on him as a
slave.'
And with that — as it seemed amid the blasts of
Furnilove's whistle in the porchway and the toot-
toot of a taxi, answering it — a quiet man stood
above my shoulder. It was the doctor : and
CONSTANTLY 405
Furnilove had been so explicit on the 'phone that
the doctor — whose name I learnt afterwards to
be Tredgold — almost by magic whipped out a small
bottle from his pocket.
'Water,' said he, after a look at the patient,
' and a tumbler, quick ! '
Furnilove dashed into the library and returned
with both.
'Bromide,' said Dr Tredgold. 'Let him take it
down and then hold his head steady for a few
minutes. . . . Right ! . . . Now the question is,
where to bestow him? I can't answer for him when
the dose wears off : but it's no case to leave with
two ladies.'
'There's a taxi, doctor,' said I, 'if we can get
him into it. I have a flat in Jermyn Street, and a
trustworthy manservant. I suggest that he'll do
there for the night.'
'Right,' said Dr Tredgold again; 'and the sooner
the better. I'll come with you, when I've bound
up this wound on his hand. It's a nasty one. . . .
It looks to me — Yes, and it is, too ! '
'What is it?' I asked.
'A dog-bite.'
'So that was what he killed!' thought I, and
aloud I said. ' Thank God ! '
' Eh ? ' said the doctor. ' A dog-bite's a queer
thing to thank God for.'
' It might have been worse,' I answered.
' H'm: well it's bad enough,' Dr Tredgold replied,
busy with his bandaging.
NIGHT THE TWENTY-FIFTH
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE
Next evening, my leave being up, I returned to
Aldershot. Dr Tredgold had called around early,
and after overhauling his patient and dressing the
hand, had assured me there was no cause for anxiety.
The fever had gone down, and this allowed us to
tackle the main mischief, which was malnutrition.
In short, Jack was starving.
'Your man makes an excellent nurse,' said the
doctor. ' I'll tell him to go slow at first, with beef-
tea and milk, and to-morrow he can start the works
up with a dose of champagne. But I'll drop in
to-morrow, to make sure. The wound? — Oh, it's
a dog-bite, safe enough, and a rather badly lacerated
one. But we cauterised it in time last night, and
it shows no " anger," as the sa}dng is. Has he told
you how he came by it ? '
'No,' said I. 'He has been lying in this lethargy
ever since you left him. He wakes up and takes
his medicine from Jephson, and then drops back
into a doze. I thought it best not to worry him.'
' Quite right, too. . . . And I'll not ask questions,
either, beyond putting it that he's a friend of yours,
gone under, and you're playing the Samaritan.
. . . Well, you can go back to duty, and Jephson
406
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 407
and I will see this through. It's queer, too. ... I
seem to have seen his face somewhere. . . . But
what's queerer is that he isn't dead. He must have
had some practice at fasting, poor fellow. I should
say that his stomach hadn't known food for a
week.'
I duly 'phoned the doctor's report to Constantia.
To Jephson my last words were, 'Write daily.
When Dr Foe can sit out, dress him in any old
suit, shirt, and underwear. I don't see myself out
of this khaki for a long time ahead. He will be
fit again long before Monday week, when you're
to join up : and when he is able to walk, there's an
envelope for him in the top right-hand drawer of
my writing-table.
Jephson wrote twice to report that Dr Foe was
'going on favourably,' and on the third day, that
he had even dressed himself and taken a walk.
He had been away four hours and more — 'which
caused me much anxiety,' added Jephson.
But on the fourth day, on the eve of our starting
for Rouen, I got the following letter, in Jack's own
handwriting : —
'My dear Roddy, — I shall use the old name,
since it is the last time I shall address you; and
you, starting for France, will have no time to
reach me and say that it is forbidden.
'I have killed Farrell. It was a stupid and a
sorry ending. At the last it was even quite brutal
— bestially different from anything I had imagined
408 FOE-FARRELL
— and I had imagined many ways — while I had
control of the show.
'I have gone through madness. That again was
part of the bestiality I had not reckoned with. . . .
And unless I take steps I shall soon be back in
worse bestiality, worse madness. But I am taking
steps. . . . And in the meantime, when you read this
you are to be sure that it is written by a man
perfectly sane.
' It is nothing that I have killed Farrell. I could
have killed him, as he could have killed me, at
any time. I still think that, while the pursuit lay
with me, my methods were the more delicate, and
that I should never have goaded him to strike as
he goaded me.
'But I will grant that his methods were effective
enough : and along one line I should have allowed
them to be original, if I didn't know that he had
picked up the hint of it on the I'll Away. It was
rumour that had cursed me there, and he started
to work upon rumour. I had put up a plate in
Harley Street, as you know, upon the dregs of my
capital. This meant a certain bluff upon credit.
If my reputation lasted me out six months, all
would be well. He divined this and struck at it.
To do him justice, I suppose that if he had walked
up brutally to the Medical Association and given
them his story, I would have been struck off the
Register. He worked more subtly than that.
Indefinable reports started up, spread and followed
me. Out of the skies a net of suspicion descended
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 409
between me and my quite reputable past. For
no reason given, my fellow-practitioners began to
shun me.
'I had a bad case, and no money to carry it
through. I have heard, Roddy, that he let you
into the secret of the island and that you are like
to prosper on it : and I wish you well. But I, who
brought him to it, lingering him to land — I,
but for whose treasured flask he would never have
lived to see Santa Island — could set up no claim
on any of that wealth.
'I had deserved this. It was all quite right,
and I make no complaint. But I had to throw up
Harley Street, and for two years I steadily sank.
In the end I came to know worse hunger than I
was prepared for. Though you won't have me at
any price, I think you would pity if I told you of
some of the holes to which I have crept to sleep.
' I suppose — and now I think of it, I might have
borrowed some comfort from the thought — I suppose
that all the while, being rich, Farrell had hired
eyes to watch me. It is certain that he ran across
me — always at night, and always in evening dress.
Once, on the Embankment, as I was coiling on a
bench, he came down from the Savoy and along,
bringing his dog for a walk. The dog scented me
and growled; but I lay outstiff, pretending to sleep.
' Even when it came to a Salvation Army shelter,
we were disturbed by a company of the benevolent;
Farrell one of them, in a furred coat with an
astrachan collar. He saw me stretched there with
f.f. 2 D
410 FOE-FARRELL
closed eyes, and said that one half of the world
never knows how the other half lives.
'It was going like that with me when the War
broke out. Then — broken, beaten, and in rags —
I put all pride in my pocket, walked across the
bridge to Silversmiths' College, rang in on Travers,
and demanded a job.
'Travers was shocked. ... I could see also
that he was suspicious. Rumour had been at him,
too. Finding him less than frank, I turned more
than proud : and, his back being up and his con-
science uneasy, he did what I could have pardoned
in a weaker man; lost his temper, to excuse himself
in his own eyes for treating me unjustly. He had
scarcely spoken six words before I detected the
slime of Farrell's trail. The man had managed
to sow rumours, somehow, within the gates of
Silversmiths' College, of all places ! — rumours that
had nothing to do with the island, but suggested
that, after all (there being no smoke without fire),
there had been dubious and uncleanly experiments
in the laboratory during my professorship. I
believe that this, when I came to think it over,
started my recovery : yes, my recovery. For it
showed me that Farrell was deteriorating, and,
renewing a little of my old contempt for the man,
raised me by so much above the abject fear of
him into which I had sunk. From that moment
hope was renewed in me, and I nursed it. So
long as he worked on the truth he had me at his
mercy : playing with falsehood in this fashion,
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 411
he was vulnerable, might come to be mortally
vulnerable if I watched and waited, and then I
should regain the lost mastery, dearer to me than life.
'For the moment, however, Travers claimed
all the scorn I carried inside me for use. He hinted
that the College had suffered by the scandal of
the riot : which no doubt was true to some extent,
but not true enough to hide a lie or to cover a
meditated betrayal. He said that he had always
looked a little askance on my researches, and
particularly upon my demonstrations; that they
were doubtless astonishing, but had lain, to his
taste, a little too near the border-line of quackery.
— Yes, Roddy, he said the word, and it did not
choke him. On the whole and speaking as a friend
(yes, he used that word, too), he must express a
hope that I would not press to renew my connection
with the Silversmiths' College. It would pain
him inexpressibly, remembering old times, to be
forced to give me a direct refusal. . . . But was
there anything else he could do for me?
'That, Roddy was the valley of the shadow of
my death, and I had no rod or staff to comfort me.
'I did not answer him in words. I gave him a
look, and walked out.
'My purpose had been to apply for temporary
work, to relieve some younger teacher who wished
to enlist for medical work at the front. Had you
been in London, Roddy, I'd have pocketed shame
and come to you, and borrowed the price of a suit
of clothes; inside of which — and may be with
4 i2 FOE-FARRELL
your support — I might have walked up boldly
for a commission in the R.A.M.C. — for there was
nothing definite against me : only I was ruined,
and my old credentials, set against my present
squalor, were so comparatively splendid as to
raise instant suspicion of drink and disgrace. But
it was part of my just punishment that when I
most needed help you should be far abroad searching
for the very island on which I had shipwrecked all.
' Finally I found work as a dresser in one of those
temporary hospitals which sprang up everywhere
in such hurry as the streams of wounded began
to pour back from France. Ours was pitched in
a derelict pleasure-ground on the right bank of
Thames some way below Greenwich. ... I don't
suppose you ever visited Casterville Gardens :
as neither had I until I entered them to do stretcher-
drill, tend moaning men, and carry bloody slops
in the overgrown alleys that wound among its
tawdry, abandoned glories. It had a half -rotted
pier of its own, upon which, in Victorian days,
the penny steam-boats had discharged many
thousands of crowds of pleasure-seekers. The
gardens occupied the semicircle of an old quarry,
on which the decorative landscape gardener had
fallen to work with gusto, planting it with conifers
and stucco statues in winding walks that landed
you straight from the sightless wisdom of Socrates
and Milton, or the equally sightless allurement
of Venus, shielding her breasts, upon a skittle-
alley, a band-stand, a dancing saloon, or a bar at
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 413
which stood, for contrast, another Venus, not
eyeless, dispensing beer. The conifers, flourishing
there, have grown to magnificent height. The
effect of rain upon the statues has not been so
happy, and I have set my pail down to pick a
snail off the saddle-nose of Socrates and meditate
and wonder what he would have thought of it all.
'The dancing saloon — still advertising itself as
" Baronial Hall " — had been converted into a
main ward, holding forty beds. It was there
that Farrell found me at work, that night. He
had interviewed the Adjutant — as we called
the harassed secretary who, brayed daily between
the upper and nether millstones of official instruc-
tions and " voluntary effort," never left his desk
nor dared to wander abroad for fresh air — the
gardens having been specially laid out to trick
the absent-minded and induce them to lose their
way. Farrell had simply told the Adjutant that
he wished to see me on urgent personal business.
The Adjutant could not hesitate before a presence
that might, in its dress-clothes and sable-lined
overcoat, have stood among the statues outside
for personified Opulence.
'"Very good," said he. "Oh, yes, certainly.
I will send for the man. . . . Your business is
private, you say? ... I am very sorry : we are
all at sixes and sevens here, with every office
crowded. But there's an empty saloon — one of
those absurdities with which the management in
old days sought to tickle the public taste. They
414 FOE-FARRELL
are going to turn it into a ward in a couple of days,
and that's why we have left it unoccupied. If
that will do, and you'll come with me, we'll see
if the electric light functions. I believe the fitters
were at work there this afternoon."
'That, as Farrell told me ten minutes later,
was how it happened. For me, when answering the
message that a stranger had called to see me on
urgent business, I walked as directed, across the
matted moonlit lawn to this building which I had
never visited before — and when, pushing the door
wide, I saw Farrell standing under the electric
lamps, with his dog beside him — I fell back a pace
and half- turned to run for it.
'For he was alone, yet not alone : a hundred
Farrells stood there. No, a battalion, and all of
them Farrells ! And a battalion of dogs !
'I stepped back from the ledge of the threshold.
Above the doorway an inscription in faded gilt
letters shone out against the moon — " Versailles
GALLERY OF MIRRORS. ADMISSION 3D."
'Then I understood. This absurd and ghastly
apartment was lined, all around its walls, with
mirrors, in panels separated only by thin gilt
edgings. Dust lay thick on the floor; cobwebs
hung from the ceiling in festoons; there was not
a stick of furniture in the place. But a battalion
of Farrells stood in it, and there entered to it, and
stood, under the new electric fittings, a battalion
of Foes.
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 415
' FarrelTs aspect was grave. His eyebrows went up
at the choke of half -insane laughter with which
I greeted him. " Foe, my man/' said he, eyeing
my khaki. " So you have come to this, have you? "
' He said it pompously, with a fine air of patron-
age, and I stifled a second laugh, hugging it inside
my ribs : for now I felt that the time would not
be long — that, at long last, he would pass me over
the cards. "We both seem to have come to this,
don't we ? " I answered with a shrug and a glance
around.
' " I have run down here, " he went on, still
betrayed back to his old Tottenham Court Road
manner " because I have an announcement to make
to you. . . . Have you read your Times to-day? "
' He was priceless. Oh, he was falling to me —
falling to me like a ripe peach ! He held out a
scrap of paper.
' " Do I look like a man that takes in the Times?"
I purred " — at twopence a day, and the price
likely to go up, they tell me. . . . But I can guess
your news, for I've watched the house. . . . You've
come all this way to tell me that you're going to
marry Constantia Denistoun. . . . Well? '
1 " You have been watching the house? " asked he,
staring, as it took him aback.
"'Of course I have. . . . And she didn't tell
you? . . . Gad ! if she didn't tell you, she isn't
yours yet, and I've a doubt if she's ever like to
be. Did she give you leave to put in that announce-
ment? "
4i6 FOE-FARRELL
'Farrell cleared his throat. Before he could
answer I had chipped in — " No, you liar ! I hate
men who clear their throats before speaking. It
was an old trick of yours, of which I believed
myself to have cured you at some pains. ... So
you have played over ardent, and there has been
a row, and you have come down here to take it
out of me. . . . Man, you thought you would :
but I have you beaten at last; for I see you — as
she will see you — dissolving back into the cad
you always were."
"'I am going to marry her," Farrell persisted.
" Let that eat into your soul."
'"It has eaten," said I, "these weeks ago,
just as far as ever it will get; and that's as far as
a rat can gnaw into a marlinspike. . . . Come
out of this into fresh air," said I with another
look round on our images repeated in the mirrors.
" There are too many Farrells and Foes here.
When I ran the game, at Versailles that afternoon,
it had a certain dignity. . . . But, you ! . . .
Your primal curse, Farrell, reasserts itself at length.
I have done my best with you, but you reproduce
it in tawdriness. Out of the Tottenham Court
Road you came : and back to your vomit you go."
'" I am going to marry Miss Denistoun," he
repeated dully. " I felt sure it would interest you
to know." He was losing grip.
'"Oh, yes," said I. "Whistle your dog, and
let's get out of this for a walk by the river. . . .
There's too many of us in this room, and we're all
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 417
too cheap. . . . Damn it ! I believe I could forgive
you for anything but for lowering our hate to
this ! "
'We went out past the sentry, and walked down
by the sullen river's edge, the dog padding behind
us.
"'You have been provocative," said Farrell,
after a while, checking himself by an afterthought
in the act of clearing his throat. " Considering
our relative positions, I am rather surprised at
your daring to take this line. . . . But you used
a word just now. It was 'forgive.' I came not
only to say that I am going to marry Miss Denistoun,
but to propose that henceforth the account is
closed between us. You must tell yourself that I
have won ; and, having won, I bear no further malice.
I would even make some reparation on the shrine
of my affection for Miss Denistoun. She would
esteem it, I feel sure, as a tribute. . . . Dear me,
how fast we are walking ! . . . You'll excuse me
if I stop and take off this coat. ... In the old
days, as a working-man, more than half my time
I walked without a coat, and an overcoat to this
day always sets up a perspiration. . . . Well now,
shall we shake hands at the end of it all and cry
quits? . . . Say the word, and I'll go one better.
They've formed the syndicate for that island of
ours. What do you say to a thousand shares,
and to coming in on the Board? "
' He was on the river side of me, quite close to the
418 FOE-FARRELL
brink. I had been playing for some minutes with
the knife in my pocket; and as I leapt on him and
drove it in over the breast, he fell straight back-
wards. All the end of Farrell was a gasp, a sharp
cry, and a splash.
' And both cry and splash were drowned instantly
by the raging yelp of the dog as he sprang for me.
I fisted him off by his throat and he fastened his
teeth in my right hand, tearing the flesh down as
I slipped the knife into my left hand. Then with
my left I jabbed sideways under his ribs, and his
bite relaxed, and he dropped.
'The embankment was steep. I ran down a
little way and came to a disused landing-stage —
four or five planks on rotting piles. Kneeling
there, I lowered my bleeding hand, to bathe it.
... As I knelt the body of Farrell came floating
down-stream and was borne in towards me by
the eddy. It lodged against the piles, chest upper-
most, its white, wide-open eyes turned up to the
moon.
' — And I stared down on it, Roddy, crouching
there. And I swear to God it was not Farrell' s face
but my own that I stared into.
'Yes ... for I stared and stared at it — there,
plain, looking up far beyond me, sightless — until
a swirl of the tide washed it clear; and, as it passed
out into darkness, it seemed to be sinking slowly,
slowly.
'I dragged myself away and ran back to the
dead dog. Farrell's overcoat lay close beside it,
THE PAYING OF THE SCORE 419
and his hat— which had fallen short of the edge
of the embankment as he pitched backwards.
' I picked up the coat, put it on, and felt in its
pockets. They were empty, but for a railway
ticket. I picked up the hat, and smiled to find
that it fitted me. Lastly I stooped, lifted the
dog's corpse and flung it over to follow its master.
All accounts thus closed, I stepped out for the station
and caught the last train for Charing Cross.
'You know the rest.
'I borrowed your clothes, yesterday, and went
down to the inquest. They admitted me to see
the body, on my pretence that I had missed a
relative and might be able to identify it. Farrell
had gone back to his old features; death had
made up its mind to hide the secret after all. . . .
I am afraid that, having overtaxed my strength, I
broke down on the revulsion, and may have given
myself away.
'But it doesn't matter. That dog has done for
me. Your Dr Tredgold is a good fellow and has
nursed me very prettily back from starvation.
But I happen, as you know, to have studied canine
virus with some attention, and I have an objection
to rivalling some effects of it that I have witnessed.
Before you receive this, I shall be dead. I shall
not trouble your hospitable roof, and I am sorry
to trouble Jephson. But the searchers may find
my body in Bushey Park.
'So long !— and, on the whole, so best. ... I find,
having lost Farrell, that / cannot do without him.
4 2o FOE-FARRELL
' You have been endlessly good to me. Remember
me as I was once on a time, and so I shall always
be — Yours,
'Jack/
That is the end of the tale [concluded Otway],
except for this —
Twelve months later, being on leave and wanting
to clear up the mystery of the newspaper report,
I took a train down to C , past Gravesend,
made inquiries of the police, and finally hunted up
the juryman who had shown so much emotion at
the inquest. I found a little whiskered grocer,
weighing out margarine in a shed that was half
shop, half canteen. All I extracted from him was
this—
'Yes, to be sure, sir, I remember it perfectly.
I only wish I didn't : for I dream of it at night :
and, being a widower, I can't confide the trouble.
The fact is, I must suffer from nerves and — what do
they call 'em, sir? — hallucinations — yes, that's the
word. But I was fresh from inspecting the body,
and when that person broke in, wearing a face
like the corpse's twin-brother, well, it knocked
me clean out. Of course, it must have been a
hallucination : none of the others saw the least
resemblance — as they've told me since. But at the
moment, I'd have wagered my life . . .'
EPILOGUE
'Yes, that is the story/ said Otway, sorting back
the documents into his despatch-case.
'Is it quite all the story, sir?' asked Polking-
horne breaking the silence that followed its close.
Otway frowned, re-sorted the last three or four
papers, laid them in the case and closed it with a
couple of snaps. b
'That's all,' he answered, 'that exists for publi-
cation That is, unless you want a moral. I can
give you that, all right : and if you have any use
for it you may apply it to this blasted War. As I
see it, the more you beat Fritz by becoming like
him, the more he has won. You may ride through
his gates under an Arch of Triumph; but if he or
his ghost sits on your saddle-bow, what's the use?
You have demeaned yourself to him; you cannot
shake him off, for his claws hook in you, and through
the farther gate of Judgment you ride on insepar-
ables condemned.
'—And, oh, by the bye ! I am taking my leave
next Wednesday. Sammy has been nosing sus-
piciously, these five days, around a wine-case which
on the 22nd he shall have the honour of opening.
It contains, if our friend the Transport Officer
hasn't been beforehand with you, some Pommery
421
422 EPILOGUE
1900 ; with which you are to do your best. For
it turns out that, with luck, I am to be married
on that day. No flowers, by special request/
Otway re-opened the despatch-case and again
made sure of his last two exhibits, which he had
not exhibited. The first was a note, folded three-
corner- wise, which ran: —
'Dear Roddy — Your last word to me was
that you had no patience with people so clever
that they lacked sense to come out of the rain.
Well, I am willing to learn that silly skill, if you
remain willing to teach me. — Yours,
'Constantly.'
The second of these exhibits, not exhibited, was
a creased envelope containing the shredded petals
of a rose.
Glasgow: w. collins sons and co. ltd.
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW
•
AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS
WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN
THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY
WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH
DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY
OVERDUE.
9 1938
MAY 10 1938
LD 21-95m-7,'37
y
3 980 96 "TV
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
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