Cursed be the treasure
loathsome horror as though I had been physically sick.
It was a relief to see at last the first light of the morning whitening
at the chinks of the door. It wasn't long before I was into my clothes
and out on deck, sluicing off the fumes of the ugly dreams which seemed
to cling about me like a perspiration.
Then I looked out across the water, and identified the little boat
still swaying on the foamless waves. In it I knew were those dead men,
with sightless eyes wide open under their masks, gazing up at the still
grey sky. It seemed of a sudden a terrible thing that they had been
left to lie alone there all through the night, growing stiff and cold,
and with the blood drying and thickening about their clothes and skin.
As I gazed across the water it was as if I could see them; on their
faces was a look of reproach as though I had done a cruel thing.
I couldn't bear the thought of it. I turned away to find Dirk,
surprised that he hadn't slipped quietly out to sea during the night.
But I was more surprised to learn he had already gone ashore, and
wasn't expected to return till evening. He had left instruction,
however, that I wasn't to leave the ship.
So there I was, imprisoned for a wearying day, with the vision ever
before me of what I had done. I longed to be away from it all. Not
that I was afraid that the murder would be traced to me. Somehow such
an eventuality didn't occur to me; I was so weighed down with the
sickening sense of blood-guiltiness which seemed to cling about me like
a dripping garment, a garment soaked in blood, that I had no thought to
give to any other fear than the one at my own conscience. I began to
understand why a murderer should go mad.
As in the night I tried to cheer myself with the consolation that
I would soon be with Jenny again. I told myself I had struck the
blow for her. I hadn't been guilty of murder; rather I had been the
instrument in the hands of justice and retribution. But always at
my heart was that paralysing shadow which numbed me from confident
thinking. I knew I had done a horrible thing, and there would be a
cloud over my life to the end of my days. The sunshine would never be
so bright for me again. In the beautiful breaking of the dawn there
would always be something of the redness of blood. The glory of the
sea would be less buoyant and splendid, for there would be a subduing
sense of tragedy in the swelling and subsiding of the waves. And Jenny
too!... When I thought of her now a spring and a freshness seemed to
have gone out of my heart. Bitterly I said that the Shadow of Fear was
over me more deeply and darkly now that the evil thing was killed.
Yet all this, I tried to persuade myself, was a silly fantasy, due to
the chafing inaction of an idle day after the excitement of such a
night. Once out upon the open seas I should be myself again.
Then I noticed a boat put out from shore, and make for that other boat
where the dead men lay. Eagerly I watched it, wondering what it meant.
On the shore a crowd had gathered, and was fast increasing. Some one
had given notice of the killing. Again I looked at the boat as it rowed
out from the land. In it were three men; officers, to judge by their
uniform. They soon reached their destination, and for a long while
seemed to be examining the corpses. But at length they hauled in the
anchor and towed the deadly freight back to the shore, where I soon
lost the party in the crowd.
I was all the more anxious now for Dirk's return. It seemed foolish
delaying here; some incriminating evidence might lead to our being
suspected. It wasn't till this moment that I realized that there was
any danger threatening us from the law.
So with added anxiety to wear down my spirit I waited through that
harrowing day. At length with the evening Dirk returned, and gave
orders for sailing with the dawn.
He called for me before I went below, and closing the door of the cabin
said, "Wull, Tommy, I've paid my debt at last."
I thought for a moment, and answered, "Yes, you said you would save my
life some day."
"An' it seems I've done it, kiddy," he replied, and shook my hand.
I was too full of doubts and questionings to be moved by the
sentimental aspect of the affair. I merely said, "Thank you, Dirk," and
went on, "But why don't you sail quick?"
"Mustn't seem to be running away," he answered, biting at his quid and
commencing to chew. "They might get thinking things."
"What do they think?" I asked.
"Mighty little," he answered. "Don't seem to have no sort of a scent.
At any rate, kiddy, we're free of it. We can clear out all straight and
easy to-morrow. But it's lost me a day again."
"Has he gone?" I asked.
He stopped in his chewing and spat viciously.
"Slipped clean through my fingers, blast him!" he replied.
He clenched his fist in the way I knew, and his face grew dark and
ugly. "But I'll haul him in short," he added. "The v'yage an't over
yet."
After a pause I said, "How was it you found me?"
"Dunno quite," he told me. "Some one pushed up against me an' said
'There's Tommy in that boat there. They'll kill him.' I couldn't see
the cove what said it; he'd slipped clear away. An' for a bit I
thought it were a gag to have me. But I reckons it out that if you were
there I must see you clear again. So I dips in an' swims quietly up,
an' that's all about it."
I knew it must have been Picardino who had sent Dirk to the rescue. I
had told him of Dirk, and doubtless he could have easily identified
him. But that meant he must have been following me after I left him.
Had he any premonition that I might be attacked? Or was it just kindly
shepherding, or even mere luck? I mentioned nothing of this to Dirk,
for I wished first to unravel the mystery for myself.
I said good night, and trotted off to my bunk. I slept soundly enough
that night, and with the morning was eagerly at work unfurling the
sails and trimming the ship for sea.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A REVELATION
It was still early in the summer when I stood at last before the
Captain's house in London, with the knocker raised in my hand, but half
fearing to strike from bashfulness; for a new access of shyness flooded
my heart at the prospect of seeing Jenny. Something of the hesitation
that had delayed me at Sunset Towers when I had stood fingering the
handle of her door possessed me now. Twice I laid the knocker silently
back, and paced up and down before the dark straight slice of a house,
as it seemed to me, looking eagerly up at the windows, hoping Jenny
might see me and let me in. But she didn't see me; or if she did she
made no sign. So perforce I took the knocker in hand once more, and
followed a feeble tap with a couple of sounding blows which echoed
thunderingly down the street. Then I stood waiting with ill-suppressed
excitement for the door to open.
Presently there were light steps within, and the door opened. A servant
girl stood before me eyeing me dubiously. I was taken aback, for
ignorant of city manners, and not considering that Jenny knew nothing
of my presence there, I had expected to see my little playmate herself.
So I blurted out, "Jenny!" and quickly tried to cover my mistake by
saying, "I want to see Jenny."
"You wish to see Miss Jenny Field?" the maid enquired with smug
politeness, to my complete confusion.
"Yes," I said. "Tell her."
But she stood facing me doubtfully, and asked, "And what name, please?"
Then indeed I drew myself up, conscious of the dignity of my lawful
appellation, and emboldened by the smart new suit I had first taken the
precaution to obtain, and pronounced grandly, "Thomas Garth Playden, of
the brig _Revenge_."
At that I was admitted, and bidden to wait in the hall. The maid
disappeared. Then suddenly there was a glad cry; a door flew open,
and the maid was unceremoniously thrust aside. Before me stood a slim
little figure that I knew at once, though now there was a band of deep
red ribbon restraining the disorderly locks, and the dark eyes had lost
their fierceness but glowed with an intensity of ardour that seemed to
burn into me like the light from the deep heart of a sunset.
"Tommy!" she cried, with hands outstretched to me.
If it hadn't been for that wretched maid huddled so amazedly against
the wall, with wide eyes open and mouth agape at this unladylike
behaviour, I should have flung my arms about my little sweetheart, and
so boldly leapt that line which is so difficult to cross. But I merely
took the outstretched hands in mine, still furtively eyeing the maid,
and said feebly enough, "I've come."
The glow faded from Jenny's eyes. Looking demurely away from me she
said, "Yes."
Then the girl did recover her wits and took herself off. But the chance
had slipped away, and when I would have put my arms about Jenny's
shoulders she gently released herself, and politely invited me to come
and see papa.
As I entered the drawing-room I managed to whisper, "Jenny, I've killed
him."
She started, and would have held me back, but the Captain had seen me,
and called out a hearty, "Tommy, boy, come along in."
I only felt a keen squeeze at my hand. Jenny had understood.
So the vision of my home-coming wasn't realized in all the wonderful
colours in which I had painted it in my imagination. But still, there
was Jenny before me; and while the Captain chatted, questioning me of
my experiences, comparing notes of foreign towns and ways, and storms
and adventures at sea, I watched the slim little girl who had grown
wonderfully tall and slender in the passage of a single year. Indeed
I didn't quite know whether it was the same Jenny I had played and
quarreled with only a twelvemonth ago. It wasn't so much that she had
grown; rather she seemed to have settled to a subdued seriousness not
quite in keeping with the Jenny of my games and squabbles. I couldn't
hear her saying now, "I hate you," as she had used to do. And yet a
gesture here and there, and the tone of her voice when she threw in a
quick word, touched at memories of the past, linking up this grave-eyed
girl with the child of the year before.
As the evening wore away I had quite accepted the change in her, and
the thought did just come to me that she too must have been surveying
me with something of the same enquiry. I wondered whether she was as
satisfied with the new Tommy as I was with the new Jenny. For though
at first the change in her had taken me aback, I soon realized I was
more head over heels in love with the charming girl who sat there at
her father's feet, solemnly resting her eyes on mine, and now and again
broadening her lips in a wonderful smile, than ever I had been with the
bright vivid tempestuous little creature I had known at Sunset Towers.
For now there seemed to be a depth and reserve behind those eyes,
whereas before their glitter had told of a wonderful keen life, it is
true, but one that played merely on the surface of things.
I had little leisure to notice the Captain. He was extraordinarily
kind, even boisterous, in his welcome. He asked but little of my
truancy from Sunset Towers, and spoke chiefly of my doings at sea. He
showed nothing of the dark fear that had used to overshadow his face
even in his most genial moments. I wondered whether somehow he had
heard of his enemy's death, though not knowing who had rid him of his
tormentor. But I said nothing of the matter. With the memory of that
dark evening when I had parted with him last I was cautious how I spoke
of dangerous things. And in any case it would keep. Moreover, the
thought of it only came to me in fitful starts, for my heart was with
the daughter, not the father.
When I rose to go he seemed surprised. "What? How?" he exclaimed,