Chapter XVII
TWO MEN AND A BOY
There was a lamp on the table. The fire was lighted in the grate; thetable was drawn close up in front of it. The couch was beside thetable, and on it a man reclined full length. The head was turnedtowards Bertie, so that he only had a back view of the person lyingdown. He could see that he had brown hair, worn rather long, and thathe was smoking a cigar, and that was all he could see.
By the table, standing so that his face was turned towards Bertie, wasanother man--evidently the impetuous speaker. He was about the middleheight, slight, yet sinewy, with coal-black hair cut very short, and adark olive skin, his face being concealed by neither moustache norbeard. He was holding something in his hands, something which he eyedwith ravenous eyes. From his position Bertie was not able to perceivewhat this something was, but he could see that the table was litteredwith other articles, and that a roll of paper and two boxes of apeculiar shape lay open on the floor.
The dark man was holding the something in his hands in a variety ofpositions, so that he might get the full effect from different pointsof view.
"Did you ever see such stones?"
"They are not bad, considering. Their value consists in their number,my dear friend. Separate stones of better quality can be found."
"How much do you say we shall get for it?"
"That remains to be seen. If you ask me how much it cost I should say,probably, altogether, twenty thousand pounds."
Twenty thousand pounds! The dark man was holding in his hand somethingwhich cost twenty thousand pounds. Curiosity was too much for Bertie'sdiscretion. The magnitude of the sum had so startling an effect on hisbump of inquisitiveness that before he knew it he was trying his bestto see what surprising thing it was which had cost twenty thousandpounds. Half-unconsciously he quitted the security of the bed, andstanding in his shirt bare-legged on the floor he strained his eyes tosee.
Just then the dark man moved into such a position that the unexpectedspectator was yet unable to see what it was he held. It wasaggravating, but what followed was rather more aggravating still.
"Fancy wearing a thing like that! I wonder how I should look withtwenty thousand pounds worth of diamonds round my neck."
He put his hand up to his neck, clasping round it what seemed toBertie a line of glittering light. Then he turned, probably with theintention of studying the effect in the looking-glass, and, turning,he saw Bertie.
For a moment there was silence--silence so complete that you couldhave heard much fainter sounds than the fall of the proverbial pin.The man was apparently thunderstruck, as well he might be. He staredat the figure in the shirt as though it were that of one risen fromthe dead. As for Bertie, his feet seemed glued to the floor, and histongue to the roof of his mouth. It suddenly dawned upon him that itwould have perhaps been better if he had stayed in bed.
The man was the first to regain his self-possession. It was to be avery long time indeed before Bertie was to be again master of his.
"What the something are you?"
At the sound of his companion's voice, the man on the sofa sprang tohis feet as though he had been shot. He gave one quick glance; then,snatching up a revolver which lay upon the table, he fired at thefrightened boy.
"Rosenheim!"
At the very moment of pulling the trigger the dark man struck up hisarm, so that the bullet was buried in the ceiling. But the effect uponBertie was just as though it had penetrated his heart--he fell like alog.
"He's only a boy. You've shot him."
"I have not shot him. That I will do in a minute or two."
When Bertie recovered from his swoon the dark man was bending overhim. His companion was sitting in a chair regarding him with cold,staring eyes--a long, thin man, with a slight moustache and beard, anda peculiarly cruel cast of countenance.
The dark man was the first to address him.
"So you've come too, have you? Perhaps it's a pity, after all. It'llonly prolong your misery. Now stand up, put your hands behind yourback, and look me in the face."
Bertie did as he was bid, feeling very weak and tottering on his feet.The dark man was perched on the edge of the table, holding a revolverin his hand. His companion, the long, thin man who sat in the chair,held a revolver too. Bertie felt that his position was not anagreeable one. Of one thing he was conscious, that the table wascleared of its contents, and that the roll of paper and boxes which hehad noticed on the floor had disappeared.
The dark man commenced the cross-examination, handling his revolver ina way which was peculiarly unpleasant, as though it were a toy whichhe was anxious to have a little practice with.
"Look me in the face."
Bertie did as he was bid as best he could, though he found itdifficult to meet the keen black eyes.
"He needn't look me in the face, or I'll put five shots inside ofhim."
This was from the long, thin man. Bertie was careful not to show theslightest symptom of a desire to turn that way. The dark man went on.
"Do you know what truth is? If you don't it'll be a pity, because ifyou tell me so much as the millionth part of a lie I'll empty myrevolver into you where you stand."
As if to emphasize this genial threat the dark man pointed hisrevolver point-blank at his head.
"I'm on that line. I'll empty mine inside him too."
Bertie was conscious that the long, thin man was following hiscompanion's lead. A couple of revolvers were being pointed at himwithin three feet of his head. He felt more anxious to tell the truth,even though under difficulties, than he had ever been in all his life.
"What's your name?"
"Bertie Bailey."
"What are you doing here?"
"I--I don't know!"
Bertie very certainly didn't. If he could only have undreamt hisdreams about the Land of Golden Dreams how happy had he been.
"Oh, you don't know. Who brought you here?"
"Freddy."
"Freddy? Do you mean Faking Fred?"
"If you please, sir, I--I don't know. The old woman called himFreddy."
"Oh, the old woman had a finger in the pie, had she? I'll have afinger in her pie before I've done, and Freddy's too. So you've beensleeping in my bed?"
"Please, sir, I--I didn't know it was your bed."
"Turn round to me."
As this command came from the long, thin man--he had apparentlychanged his mind about being looked in the face--Bertie turned withthe celerity with which a teetotum turns.
"Where do you live?"
"At Upton, sir."
"A couple of revolvers were being pointed at him."]
_A Hero of Romance_.] [_Page_ 238.
"Where's that?"
"In Berkshire."
"You're not a thief?"
"No--o, sir."
In his present society Bertie positively felt ashamed to own it. Heperhaps felt that these gentlemen might resent it as a slight upontheir profession.
"Have you run away from home?"
"Ye--es, sir."
"What for?"
"Fu--fun, sir."
"A good thing to run away for."
Bertie felt that it was a bad thing just then, especially if this sortof thing might be looked upon in the light of fun.
"What's your father?"
"A doctor, sir."
"So you're the son of Dr. Bailey, of Upton, in Berkshire?"
"Ye--es, sir."
"Turn round again!--sharp!"
No one could have turned round sharper than Bertie did then. The darkman took up the questioning.
"How long have you been awake?"
"I--I don't know, sir."
"Did you hear what we were talking about?"
"Ye--es, sir."
"What did you hear?"
"I--I don't know."
"That won't do. Out with it! What did you hear?"
The revolver was brought on a level with Bertie
's face. With his eyesapparently doing their best to investigate the contents of the barrelhe endeavoured to describe what he had heard.
"I--I heard about the Countess of Ferndale's jewels, and--and aboutfifty thousand pounds."
"Oh! you did, did you? And what did you hear about the Countess ofFerndale's jewels?"
"I heard that you had--stolen them."
"Is that so? You seem to be gifted with uncommonly good hearing,Master Bailey. What else did you hear? Go on."
"I--I heard that they were insured for fifty thousand pounds, and--andthat--that you'd stolen the policy."
"Dear me! What a remarkably fine ear this boy must have! Go on, youngman!"
Bertie was painfully conscious that these compliments upon his hearingwere not to be taken as they were spoken. He earnestly wished that hishearing had not been quite so good, but with that revolver staring himin the face he felt that perhaps it was better on the whole he shouldgo on. Yet the next confession was made with an effort. He felt thathis audience would not receive it well.
"I--I--I heard that if--if you were ta--taken you--you would getpe--penal servitude for life."
There was an ominous silence. The words had had exactly the effect hehad intuitively expected. It was the long, thin man who spoke.
"Oh! you heard that if we were caught we should get penal servitudefor life? And it didn't occur to you that you might help to catch us,eh?"
"No-o, sir."
"It wouldn't. Now wouldn't it occur to you that such a thing as areward might perhaps be offered, which it might perhaps be worth yourwhile to handle, eh? That such a trifle as five or ten thousandpounds, in the shape of a reward, might come in useful, eh?"
Bertie did not answer. He could not have answered for his life. Thefellow's tone seemed to freeze his blood. The dark man put a question.
"Did you hear any names mentioned?"
"Yes, sir."
"What name did you hear mentioned?"
"I heard you call this gentleman Rosenheim, sir."
In an instant a hand was round his neck, which grasped him as thoughit were made of steel. There was a sudden twist, and Mr. Rosenheim hadflung the lad upon his back. The grasp tightened; he began to choke.If Mr. Rosenheim had been allowed to work his own sweet will it wouldhave been over with him there and then. But the dark man interfered.
"What's the use of killing him?"
The answer was hissed rather than spoken.
"I'll tell you what's the use; it is I who will put him away, not hewho will put me away, eh?"
"Leave him alone for a minute; I want to speak to you. It's anuisance, but I don't think it's so bad as you think. Anyhow, I don'tsee how we're going to gain anything by killing the boy--at least, notin here."
There was a meaning conveyed in the speaker's last few words which Mr.Rosenheim seemed to understand. They looked at each other for amoment, eye to eye. Then Mr. Rosenheim, standing up, loosed his graspon Bertie's throat, and the lad was free to breathe again.
"Get up; walk to the end of the room, put your hands behind your back,shut your eyes, and stand with your face to the wall. I'm going tocover you with my revolver, and if you move it'll be for the very lasttime of asking, for I'll shoot you as dead as mutton. Sharp's theword!"
Sharp was the word. Bewildered, half-stunned, panic-stricken as hewas, Bertie had still sense enough to know that he had no alternativebut to do as he was bid. The dark man meant what he said, and theyouthful admirer of Dick Turpin knew it. The ever-ready revolvercovered him as he walked quickly down the room, and took up theignominious position he was ordered to. Hands behind his back, eyesshut, and his face against the wall! It was worse than standing in thecorner at Mecklemburg House Collegiate School, and only little boyshad been sent into the corner there.
How long he remained standing there he never knew. It seemed to himhours. But time goes slowly when we stand with our hands behind, eyesshut, face to the wall, and know that a revolver is taking deliberateaim at us behind our backs. A minute becomes an hour, and we feel thatold age will overtake us prematurely if we stand there long. They saythat when a man is drowning his whole life passes in a moment beforehis eyes. As Bailey stood with his face against the wall he feltsomething of that feeling too, and if ever there was a veritable Landof Golden Dreams his home at Upton was that land then. If he couldonly stand again within the shadow of his mother's door, ah, what adifferent young gentleman he would be!
Certainly, Mr. Rosenheim and his friend took their time. What theysaid Bertie could not hear, strain his ears how he might. The sound oftheir subdued whispering added to the terror of the situation. Whatmight they not be resolving? For all he knew, they might be bothexamining their revolvers with a view of taking alternate pops at him.The idea was torture. As the moments passed and still no sign was madehis imagination entered into details. There was a movement behind him.He fancied they were taking their positions. Silence again. He waitedfor the shooting to begin. He wondered where the first shot would hithim. Somewhere, he fancied, about the region of the left knee. Thatwould probably bring him to the ground, and the second and third shotswould hit him where he fell--probably in the side. The fourth andfifth shots would miss, but the sixth would carry away his nose, whilethe seventh would finish his career. Promiscuous shooting would ensue,the details of which would have no interest for him, but for someoccult reason he decided that they would not cease firing until theyhad put inside him about a couple of pounds of lead.
In the midst of these agreeable speculations it was a relief to hearthe dark man's voice.
"Turn round!"
Bertie turned round, with surprising velocity.
"Where are your clothes?"
"I think they're on the bed, sir."
"Put them on! Sharp's the word!"
Sharp always was the word. Bertie had done some quick things indressing before to-day, but never anything quite so quick as that. Mr.Rosenheim was sitting in the arm-chair, still fondling his revolver,eyeing Bertie with a most uncomfortable pair of eyes. When Bertiefound that in his haste he was putting on his trousers hind sideforemost Mr. Rosenheim gave a start. Bertie gave one too, a coldshiver went down his back, and the time in which he reversed thegarment and got inside his breeches was perhaps the best on record.
The dark man meanwhile was brushing his hat, putting on his overcoat,and apparently preparing himself for a journey. There was a Gladstonebag on the table. Into this he put several articles which he took fromthe chest of drawers. Bertie had completed his own costume for somelittle time before either spoke.
It was Mr. Rosenheim who addressed him first.
"Come here!"
Bertie went with remarkable celerity. "For a doctor's son, my friend,you are not too well dressed, eh?"
Bertie hung his head; he was conscious of the defects in his attire.The dark man flung him a clothes-brush.
"Brush yourself, and make yourself presentable. There's a jug andbasin behind that curtain; wash yourself and brush your hair."
Bertie did as he was bid; never had he been so docile.
It was the most uncomfortable toilet he had ever made. When he hadcarefully soaped his face all over, and was about to wash it offagain, there was a report. A shot whistled through the air and burieditself in the wall about a foot above his head. He dropped as thoughit had struck him, and all but repeated his former swoon.
"You can get up, my friend. It is only a little practice I am having."
Bertie got up, but the pleasure of that wash was destroyed for him.Mr. Rosenheim's ideas of revolver practice were so peculiar that hewas in momentary terror of his aiming at an imaginary bull's-eye inthe centre of his back.
"How long are you going to be? Come here and let me have a look atyou."
Though only half-dried, the soap-suds still remaining in the cornersof his eyes, Bertie obeyed the dark man's order and stood in front ofhim. That gentleman still held the too-familiar revolver in his hand.It had long been the secret longing of Bertie's soul to posse
ss one ofhis own; henceforward he would hate the sight of the too-agile arm forevermore.
"You don't look like a doctor's son. Own up you lied."
"I--I didn't, sir."
"A pretty sort of doctor's son you look! Has your father any money?"
A wild idea entered Bertie's brain. He remembered how Mr. and Mrs.Jenkins had risen to the bait.
"Ye--yes, sir; he's very rich. He'd give a thousand pounds to get meback again."
But this time the bait failed, and signally.
"Oh, he would, would he? Then he must be about the most remarkablefool of a father I ever came across. Don't you try to stuff your liesdown my throat, my joker, because I'm a liar myself, and know thesmell. You listen to me. You'd better; because if you don't listen toevery word, and stick it inside your head, it'll be a case ofshooting, though I'm hung for you five minutes after. Do you hear?"
"Ye--yes, sir."
"My name's Captain Loftus. Do you hear that?"
"Ye--yes, sir."
"And I'm your uncle--your Uncle Tom. Do you hear that? I'm your UncleTom."
"Ye--yes, sir."
"Don't say 'sir,' say 'Uncle Tom.'"
"Ye--yes, Un--Uncle Tom."
"And don't you stutter and stammer; there's no stuttering andstammering about this."
"This" was the revolver which "Uncle Tom" pointed in his playful wayat his nephew.
"And you've been a bad boy, and you've run away from your poor mother,and I'm going to take you back again. You understand?"
"Ye--yes, sir--I mean, Uncle Tom."
"Mind you do mean 'Uncle Tom,' and don't let us have any fooling aboutit. Do you hear? Don't let's have any fooling about it."
"No--o, Uncle Tom."
How devoutly he hoped that what his "uncle" said was true, and that hewas going to be taken back to his mother. But the hope was shatteredby the words which followed.
"Now just you listen to me. I've got half a dozen more words to say,and they're the pick of the lot. I'm going to take you with me. You'llbe all right so long as you keep your mouth shut; but if you speak aword without permission from me, or if you hint anyhow at the pleasantlittle conversation we've had here, I'll shoot you on the spot. Yousee, I'm going to put my revolver into the inside pocket of my coat;it will be always there, and always ready for you, and mind you don'tforget it."
Bertie was not likely to forget it. He watched the captain placing theweapon in a convenient inner pocket of his overcoat with an interesttoo deep for words. Mr. Rosenheim added an agreeable little remark ofhis own.
"You understand, my friend? You are to dismiss from your mind anylittle ideas you may have had about the Countess of Ferndale's jewels,or your uncle, Captain Tom Loftus, will practise a little revolvershooting upon you, eh, my friend?"
And Mr. Rosenheim covered the lad with his own revolver. There wassuch an absolutely diabolical grin upon the gentleman's face thatBertie felt as though his blood had congealed in his veins. Therevolver might go off at any moment, and this time it would be a caseof hitting. Bertie was persuaded that one more of Mr. Rosenheim'slittle practice shots would be quite enough for him.
The change from Mr. Rosenheim to Captain Loftus was actually a relief.
"Are you ready?"
"Ye--yes, sir!"
"_Sir?_"
The "sir" was shouted in a voice of thunder, and the captain's handmoved towards the inner pocket of his coat.
"Un--Uncle Tom, I mean."
"And you better mean it too, and say it, or you'll never say anotherword. Put your hat on. Catch hold of that Gladstone."
Bertie put his hat on, and took the bag. The captain turned to Mr.Rosenheim.
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye, my friend; I wish you a pleasant journey, and your nephewtoo."
The captain put his own hat on, took Bertie's hand, led him out of theroom, and almost before the lad knew it they were standing in thestreet. Bertie thanked his stars that at least Mr. Rosenheim was leftbehind.