CHAPTER X.
FORCE--A REMEDY.
"Get me out of this, I am stifled--ill," Miss Metford said, in a lowvoice to me.
As we were hurrying from the room, Brande and his sister, who had joinedhim, met us. The fire had died out of his eyes. His voice had returnedto its ordinary key. His demeanour was imperturbable, sphinx-like. Imurmured some words about the eloquence of the lecture, but interruptedmyself when I observed his complete indifference to my remarks, andsaid,
"Neither praise nor blame seems to affect you, Brande."
"Certainly not," he answered calmly. "You forget that there is nothingdeserving of either praise or blame."
I knew I could not argue with him, so we passed on. Outside, I offeredto find a cab for Miss Metford, and to my surprise she allowed me to doso. Her self-assertive manner was visibly modified. She made no pretenceof resenting this slight attention, as was usual with her in similarcases. Indeed, she asked me to accompany her as far as our ways laytogether. But I felt that my society at the time could hardly proveenlivening. I excused myself by saying candidly that I wished to bealone.
My own company soon became unendurable. In despair I turned into a musichall. The contrast between my mental excitement and the inanities of thestage was too acute, so this resource speedily failed me. Then I betookmyself to the streets again. Here I remembered a letter Brande had putinto my hand as I left the hall. It was short, and the tone was evenmore peremptory than his usual arrogance. It directed me to meet themembers of the Society at Charing Cross station at two o'clock on thefollowing day. No information was given, save that we were all going ona long journey; that I must set my affairs in such order that my absencewould not cause any trouble, and the letter ended, "Our experiments arenow complete. Our plans are matured. Do not fail to attend."
"Fail to attend!" I muttered. "If I am not the most abject coward on theearth I will attend--with every available policeman in London." Thepent-up wrath and impotence of many days found voice at last. "Yes,Brande," I shouted aloud, "I will attend, and you shall be sorry forhaving invited me."
"But I will not be sorry," said Natalie Brande, touching my arm.
"You here!" I exclaimed, in great surprise, for it was fully an hoursince I left the hall, and my movements had been at haphazard sincethen.
"Yes, I have followed you for your own sake. Are you really going todraw back now?"
"I must."
"Then I must go on alone."
"You will not go on alone. You will remain, and your friends shall go onwithout you--go to prison without you, I mean."
"Poor boy," she said softly, to herself. "I wonder if I would havethought as I think now if I had known him sooner? I suppose I shouldhave been as other women, and their fools' paradise would have beenmine--for a little while."
The absolute hopelessness in her voice pierced my heart. I pleadedpassionately with her to give up her brother and all the maniacs whofollowed him. For the time I forgot utterly that the girl, by her ownconfession, was already with them in sympathy as well as in deed.
She said to me: "I cannot hold back now. And you? You know you arepowerless to interfere. If you will not come with me, I must go alone.But you may remain. I have prevailed on Herbert and Grey to permitthat."
"Never," I answered. "Where you go, I go."
"It is not really necessary. In the end it will make no difference. Andremember, you still think me guilty."
"Even so, I am going with you--guilty."
Now this seemed to me a very ordinary speech, for who would have heldback, thinking her innocent? But Natalie stopped suddenly, and, lookingme in the face, said, almost with a sob:
"Arthur, I sometimes wish I had known you sooner. I might have beendifferent." She was silent for a moment. Then she said piteously to me:"You will not fail me to-morrow?"
"No, I will not fail you to-morrow," I answered.
She pressed my hand gratefully, and left me without any explanation asto her movements in the meantime.
I hurried to my hotel to set my affairs in order before joining Brande'sexpedition. The time was short for this. Fortunately there was not muchto do. By midnight I had my arrangements nearly complete. At the time,the greater part of my money was lying at call in a London bank. This Idetermined to draw in gold the next day. I also had at my banker's somescrip, and I knew I could raise money on that. My personal effects andthe mementos of my travels, which lay about my rooms in great confusion,must remain where they were. As to the few friends who still remained tome, I did not write to them. I could not well describe a project ofwhich I knew nothing, save that it was being carried out by dangerouslunatics, or, at least, by men who were dangerous, whether their madnesswas real or assumed. Nor could I think of any reasonable excuse forleaving England after so long an absence without a personal visit tothem. It was best, then, to disappear without a word. Having finished mydispositions, I changed my coat for a dressing-gown and sat down by thewindow, which I threw open, for the summer night was warm. I sat long,and did not leave my chair until the morning sun was shining on my face.
When I got to Charing Cross next day, a group of fifty or sixty peoplewere standing apart from the general crowd and conversing withanimation. Almost the whole strength of the Society was assembled to seea few of us off, I thought. In fact, they were all going. About a dozenwomen were in the party, and they were dressed in the most extravagantrational costumes. Edith Metford was amongst them. I drew her aside, andapologised for not having called to wish her farewell; but she stoppedme.
"Oh, it's all right; I am going too. Don't look so frightened."
This was more than I could tolerate. She was far too good a girl to beallowed to walk blindfold into the pit I had digged for myself with fullknowledge. I said imperatively:
"Miss Metford, you shall not go. I warned you more than once--and warnedyou, I firmly believe, at the risk of my life--against these people. Youhave disregarded the advice which it may yet cost me dear to have givenyou."
"To tell you the truth," she said candidly, "I would not go an inch ifit were not for yourself. I can't trust you with them. You'd get intomischief. I don't mean with Natalie Brande, but the others; I don't likethem. So I am coming to look after you."
"Then I shall speak to Brande."
"That would be useless. I joined the Society this morning."
This she said seriously, and without anything of the spirit of bravadowhich was one of her faults. That ended our dispute. We exchanged ameaning look as our party took their seats. There was now, at any rate,one human being in the Society to whom I could speak my mind.
We travelled by special train. Our ultimate destination was a fishingvillage on the southern coast, near Brande's residence. Here we found asteam yacht of about a thousand tons lying in the harbour with steam up.
The vessel was a beautiful model. Her lines promised great speed, butthe comfort of her passengers had been no less considered by her builderwhen he gave her so much beam and so high a freeboard. The ship'sfurniture was the finest I had ever seen, and I had crossed every greatocean in the world. The library, especially, was more suggestive of aroom in the British Museum than the batch of books usually carried atsea. But I have no mind to enter on a detailed description of abeautiful pleasure ship while my story waits. I only mention the generalcondition of the vessel in evidence of the fact which now struck me forthe first time--Brande must have unlimited money. His mode of life inLondon and in the country, notwithstanding his pleasant house, was inthe simplest style. From the moment we entered his special train atCharing Cross, he flung money about him with wanton recklessness.
As we made our way through the crowd which was hanging about the quay,an unpleasant incident occurred. Miss Brande, with Halley andRockingham, became separated from Miss Metford and myself and went on infront of us. We five had formed a sub-section of the main body, and werekeeping to ourselves when the unavoidable separation took place. Aslight scream in front caused Miss Metford and myself to hurry
forward.We found the others surrounded by a gang of drunken sailors, who hadstopped them. A red-bearded giant, frenzied with drink, had seizedNatalie in his arms. His abettor, a swarthy Italian, had drawn hisknife, and menaced Halley and Rockingham. The rest of the band lookedon, and cheered their chiefs. Halley was white to the lips; Rockinghamwas perfectly calm, or, perhaps, indifferent. He called for a policeman.Neither interfered. I did not blame Rockingham; he was a man of theworld, so nothing manly could be expected of him. But Halley's cowardicedisgusted me.
I rushed forward and caught the Italian from behind, for his knife wasdangerous. Seizing him by the collar and waist, I swung him twice, andthen flung him from me with all my strength. He spun round two or threetimes, and then collided with a stack of timber. His head struck a beam,and he fell in his tracks without a word. The red-haired giant instantlyreleased Natalie and put up his hands. The man's attitude showed that heknew nothing of defence. I swept his guard aside, and struck himviolently on the neck close to the ear. I was a trained boxer; but I hadnever before struck a blow in earnest, or in such earnest, and I hardlyknew my own strength. The man went down with a grunt like a pole-axedox, and lay where he fell. To a drunken sailor lad, who seemed anxiousto be included in this matter, I dealt a stinging smack on the facewith my open hand that satisfied him straightway. The others did notmolest me. Turning from the crowd, I found Edith Metford looking at mewith blazing eyes.
"Superb! Marcel, I am proud of you!" she cried.
"Oh! Edith, how can you say that?" Natalie Brande exclaimed, stilltrembling. "Such dreadful violence! The poor men knew no better."
"Poor fiddlesticks! It is well for you that Marcel is a man of violence.He's worth a dozen sheep like--"
"Like whom, Miss Metford?" Rockingham asked, glaring at her so viciouslythat I interposed with a hasty entreaty that all should hurry to theship. I did not trust the man.
Miss Metford was not so easily suppressed. She said leisurely, "I meantto say like you, and this over-nervous but otherwise admirable boy. Ifyou think 'sheep' derogatory, pray make it 'goats.'"
I hurried them on board. Brande welcomed us at the gangway. The vesselwas his own, so he was as much at home on the ship as in his countryhouse. I had an important letter to write, and very little time for thetask. It was not finished a moment too soon, for the moment the lastpassenger and the last bale of luggage was on board, the captain'stelegraph rang from the bridge, and the _Esmeralda_ steamed out to sea.My letter, however, was safe on shore. The land was low down upon thehorizon before the long summer twilight deepened slowly into night. Thenone by one the shadowy cliffs grew dim, dark, and disappeared. We saw nomore of England until after many days of gradually culminating horror.The very night which was our first at sea did not pass without a strangeadventure, which happened, indeed, by an innocent oversight.