XV
THE MORNING AFTER
Dick reached Iris Lodge before the other two whom he had left at theball. This was fortunate, not only because he had the latchkey in hispocket, but since it obviated crooked answers to awkward questions: theywould, of course, suppose that he had gone straight home from theBristos'.
He went quietly up to his room, changed his coat, and filled his pipe.In searching for matches on the dressing-table, however, he came acrosssomething which caused him to forget his pipe for the moment; a packetof letters in an elastic band, displaying immediately below the band athin, folded collection of newspaper cuttings. They were the extractsFlint had given him, referring to the capture and subsequent escape ofSundown the bushranger. He had found no time to read them before goingout, and now--well, now he would read them with added interest, that wasall.
Yet he stood still with the papers in his hand, trying to realise allthat he had seen, and heard, and said since midnight; trying not toseparate in his mind the vaguely suspected rogue of yesterday and thenotorious villain unmasked this morning; trying, on the other hand, toreconcile the Sundown of his remembrance--still more of hisimagination--with the Miles of his acquaintance, to fuse twoinconsistent ideas, to weld unsympathetic metals.
Standing thus, with all other sensations yielding to bewilderment, Dickwas recalled to himself by hearing voices and footsteps below hiswindow. Fanny and Maurice had returned; he must go down and let them in,and then--the cuttings!
"Why, how long have you been in?" was Fanny's first question; she hadtoo much tact to ask him why he had left.
"Oh, a long time," Dick replied. "I didn't feel quite all right," headded, a shade nearer the truth; "but--but I thought it would onlybother you."
"How could you think that? If you had only told me," said Fanny, withhonest trouble in her voice, "you shouldn't have come alone."
"Then I'm glad I gave you the slip." Dick manufactured a laugh. "But,indeed, I'm all right now--right as the mail, honour bright!"
"But why didn't you go to bed when you got home?" his sister pursued.
"The key!" explained Maurice laconically, turning out the hall gas as hespoke.
They stole up-stairs in the pale chill light that fell in bars throughthe blind of the landing window.
Fanny laid her hand softly on Dick's shoulder.
"It was wretched after you went," she whispered sympathetically. "Do youknow that--that--" timorously--"Alice went up-stairs and never came downagain?"
"Did no one else disappear?" asked Dick, bending his head to read hissister's eyes.
Fanny hung her head. Mr. Miles had been missed by all; but noone--except the Colonel--had remarked Dick's absence in her hearing.When she had found Alice nearly fainting, and taken her to her maid, shehad seen, indeed, that her friend was sorely distressed about something;but the friendship between them was not close enough for the seeking ofconfidences on either side; and, as the cause of so many sighs andtears, she had thought naturally, because she wished so to think, of herown brother. Now it seemed that perhaps, after all, Mr. Miles--whom shedetested--had been the object of compassion. And Fanny had nothing tosay.
"Good night," said Dick, quietly kissing her.
The next moment she heard the key turn in his door.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, lit his pipe, and withdrew thecuttings from the indiarubber band. There was not much to read, afterall; only three paragraphs, of which two were telegraphic, andconsequently brief. In no case was either name or date of the newspaperattached; but in the short paragraphs Dick seemed to recognise the typeof the "Australasian," while there was internal evidence that the longerone emanated from a Queensland organ. After glancing rapidly at allthree, he arranged them in an order that proved to be chronologicallycorrect.
The first paragraph (telegraphic: headed "Brisbane, Friday,") statedthat, on the afternoon of the day before, the branch of the AustralianJoint-Stock Bank at Mount Clarence had been entered by two bushrangers,one of whom declared that he was Sundown, the New South Wales outlaw.That after "bailing up" everybody in the establishment, and shutting upthe bank--which, as it was then closing-time, was effected withoutraising the suspicions of the township--the bushrangers had ridden away,taking with them about five hundred ounces of gold and a considerablesum in cheques and notes. That, at two o'clock the following morning,the bushrangers had been captured asleep under a gunyah, twelve milesfrom Mount Clarence, "through the rare sagacity of Sergeant Dogherty,"and that Sundown's mate, a man named Benjamin Hickey, had beensubsequently shot dead by the police on attempting to escape. "Theredoubtable Ned Ryan, alias Sundown," the paragraph concluded, "gave notrouble on the way to Mount Clarence, whence he will be forwarded toRockhampton without delay; but the gold has not yet been recovered,having evidently been 'planted' by the outlaws before camping for thenight."
Dick believed that he had seen this identical paragraph in the "Argus"of February 13th, the day on which the Hesper sailed from Hobson's Bay.
The second cutting seemed to be part--perhaps the greater part--of anarticle from a Queensland pen, written in the first blush of triumphfollowing the announcement of Sundown's capture. From it Dick learned somuch concerning Ned Ryan that had never before come to his knowledge,that it is here reproduced word for word:
"Edward Ryan, or 'Sundown,' is declared by our informant to be a man ofpleasing countenance, about six feet three inches high and thirty-sevenyears of age. He is a native of Victoria, where his parents resided formany years. Some six years ago--being then a horse-dealer ofquestionable repute--he married the daughter of a well-to-do farmer inthe Ovens district (Vic.). But for some time past--since, indeed, ashort time after his outlawry--he is said to have ceased allcommunication with his wife. About four years and a half ago, a warrantwas taken out against Edward Ryan for some roguery connected with ahorse. He, however, managed to escape across the Murray into New SouthWales. A few weeks later his career of desperate crime--which has nowhappily ended as above detailed--was commenced in the partnership of twokindred spirits. One of these, Benjamin Hickey, has met with a summaryfate, but one strictly in accordance with his deserts, as alreadydescribed. The third of the band, however, who is believed by the policeto be a Tasmanian 'old hand,' lost sight of for many years, was turnedadrift some time ago by Sundown, on account, it is said, of his extremebloodthirstiness. This statement receives colour from the fact thatSundown, since his capture, has declared that neither he nor Hickey everspilt blood with their own hands; so that if this is true, not only themurder of Youl, the storekeeper near Menindie, on the Darling--whichcrime rendered the name of Sundown infamous at the commencement--but thegrievous wounding of Constable O'Flynn, two years later, may be freelyascribed to the murderous hand of the miscreant that is still at large.However this may be, we have, in Sundown, succeeded in running to eartha freebooter equal in daring, impudence, and cunning generalship to themost formidable of the highwaymen who were the terror of the sistercolonies in the early days. The credit of this brilliant capture,however, rests entirely with this colony. Indeed, it is to be hoped thatwe shall hereafter be able to boast that it was reserved to the youngestcolony to add the finishing touch to the extermination of the Australianbandit. And as the bushrangers had been but a few months in Queensland,whereas their depredations in the neighbouring colony extended over asmany years, it will be seen that on the whole the exploit of our policecompares not unfavourably with the New South Wales method of doingbusiness."
After this, the effect of the last extract was at least startling. Thewords in this case were few, and cruelly to the point. They simply toldof the escape of the prisoner Ryan during a violent dust-storm thatenveloped the township of Mount Clarence, and afterwards renderedtracking (when the bird was discovered to have flown) most difficult. Nodetails of the escape were given, but the message ended with theconfident assurance (which read humourously now) that the re-capture ofSundown, alive or dead,
could be but a matter of hours.
There was a curious smile upon Dick's face as he folded up the cuttings."I wonder how on earth he did it?" he asked himself as he slowly knockedthe ashes from his pipe.
The sunlight was peeping in where it could through blind and curtains.Dick raised the first, drew back the second, and stood in the broadlight of day. Then, throwing up the sash, he plunged head and shouldersinto the fresh, fragrant morning air. The effect upon him was magical.His forehead seemed pressed by a cool, soothing hand; his throat drankdown a deep draught of wizard's wine; he caught at his breath, as thoughactually splashing in the dewy air, and yet in a very little while theman's baser nature asserted itself. Dick yawned, not once or twice, butrepeatedly; then he shivered and shut the window. Five minutes later thelively sparrows--if they took more than a passing interest in theirearly guest, as they should, since such very early guests were rareamong them--the sprightly sparrows that visited the window-ledge mighthave seen for themselves that he was sound, sound asleep.
For some hours this sleep was profound, until, in fact, Dick began todream. Then, indeed, he was soon awake, but not before his soul had beenpoisoned by a very vivid and full vision. This dream was not strangeunder the circumstances, but it was plausible, disturbing, and lessbizarre than most--in fact, terribly realistic. He had gone toGraysbrooke and found Miles--Sundown the bushranger--still there. Atonce and openly he had denounced the villain, shown him in his truecolours, and at once he had been disbelieved--laughed at by the enemy,pitied by his friends, treated as the victim of a delusion. With Miles'smocking defiant laugh in his ears, Dick awoke.
It was the dread, the chance of something like this actually happening,that hurried him to Graysbrooke with unbroken fast. He found ColonelBristo plainly worried, yet glad to see him, eager to tell him what wasthe matter.
"We have lost our guest."
Dick felt the blood rushing back to his face at the words.
"Miles has gone," the Colonel pursued in a tone of annoyance; "gone thismorning--a summons to Australia, he fears--a thing he had never dreamtof until last night."
"Dear me!" said Dick, with surprise that was partly genuine. For hisplan had worked out better--he had been followed more strictly to theletter than he could have dared to hope; the misgivings of the last hourwere turned to supreme satisfaction.
"Yes," sighed the soldier, "it was most unexpected. And I need not tellyou how disappointed we all are."
Dick murmured that he was sure of it, with all the awkwardness of anhonest tongue driven into hypocrisy.
"For my own part, I feel confoundedly put out about it. I shall be asdull as ditch-water for days. As for the ladies, they'll miss himhorribly."
Dick's reply was monosyllabic, and its tone fell distinctly short ofsympathy.
"He was such a good fellow!"
The Colonel said this regretfully, and waited for some echo. But Dickcould have said nothing without the whole truth bursting out, so hemerely asked:
"When did he go?"
"About nine--as soon as he could pack up his things, in fact. Alice wasnot down to say good-bye to him."
Dick's eyes glittered.
"He will be back to say it, though?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, I fear not; he will probably have to start at once; at least, sohis agent told him--the fellow who came down last night, and robbed usof him for half the evening. By-the-bye, we missed you too; did you gohome?"
"Yes." Dick faltered a little.
"Have you and Alice been quarrelling?" asked Alice's father abruptly.
Dick answered simply that they had. Colonel Bristo silently paced thecarpet. When he spoke again it was to revert to the subject of Miles.
"Yes, I am sorry enough to lose him; for we had become great friends,intimate friends, and we understood one another thoroughly, he and I.But the worst of it is, we shan't have him with us in Yorkshire. What aman for the moors! And how he would have enjoyed it! But there; it's nouse talking; we're all disappointed, and there's an end of it."
The Colonel laid his hand on Dick's shoulder, and added:
"You won't disappoint us, my boy?"
"For the moors, sir?"
"Why, of course."
"I cannot go--I am very sorry"--hastily--"but----"
"Nonsense, Dick!"
"I really cannot--I cannot, indeed," with lame repetition.
"And why?" asked Colonel Bristo, mildly. "Why--when you promised usweeks ago?"
Dick raised his eyes from the ground, and the answer was given andunderstood without words; yet he felt impelled to speak. He began in alow voice, nervously:
"Without disrespect, sir, I think I may beg of you not to insist on anexplanation--either from me, or from--anyone else. It could do no good.It might do--I mean it might cause--additional pain. You have guessedthe reason? Yes, you see it clearly--you understand. And--and you seemsorry. Don't let it trouble you, sir. There are lots better than I." Hepaused, then added uncertainly: "Colonel Bristo, you have been more, farmore, than kind and good to me. If you treated me like a son before itwas time--well--well, it will all be a pleasant memory to--to take awaywith me."
"Away?"
"Yes, away; back to Australia," said Dick, expressing his newest thoughtas though it were his oldest. "Before you get back from the north, Ishall probably be on my way."
"Don't do that, Dick--don't do that," said Colonel Bristo, with somefeeling.
Personal liking for Dick apart, it was not a pleasant reflection thathis daughter had jilted the man who had come from Australia to marryher, and was sending him back there.
Dick answered him sadly.
"It can't be helped, sir. It is all over. It is decent that I shouldgo."
"I don't understand 'em--never understood 'em," muttered the old manvaguely, and half to himself. "Still, there is no one but Dick, I dareswear; who should there be but Dick?"
Dick stepped forward, as though to push the scales from the eyes of thisunseeing man; but he checked his impulse, and cried huskily, holding thethin hand in his own great strong one:
"Good-bye, Colonel Bristo. God bless you, sir! Good-bye!"
And the young man was gone.