CHAPTER IX
WARDEN BEGINS HIS ODYSSEY
Evelyn's weekly letter from Scotland usually arrived by the mail-boatdue at Ostend about three o'clock in the afternoon. Warden, sittingon the _plage_ among a cosmopolitan crowd that delighted in its ownantics, watched the steamer from Dover picking its way along the coastand into the harbor. He was dining with a friend that evening in one ofthe big hotels on the sea front. He could call for his letters after hehad dressed--meanwhile, he had an hour or more at his disposal, and hewas weary of the frolics of Monsieur, Madame et B?b?, and of a greatmany other people who came under a less domestic category.
To kill time, he strolled into the Casino and drank a cup of thedecoction which Belgians regard as tea. Then he went to the so-calledClub to look at the gamblers. Play did not appeal to him, but he hadjoined the Cercle Priv? because some men he knew went there regularlyfor baccarat. To-day, to dispel the _ennui_ of existence betweenmeals, a German baron was opening banks of five hundred louis each,and losing or winning money with a bored air. He had just closed onebank successfully, and the table was set for another, when a youngAmerican, bright-eyed, clean-shaven, and pallid, stirred the pulses ofboth onlookers and players by crying, "Banco!" Even in Ostend one doesnot often see four hundred pounds won or lost at a single coup. Warden,whose sympathies were against the stolid banker, stood by the side ofthe younger man until the incident was ended.
There was no waiting. The challenger, impassive as a Red Indian, gave abundle of notes to the croupier, who counted them. The baron dealt thetwo tableaux, and his adversary stooped and picked up the first.
"_Huit!_" he said, throwing the cards face upwards on the table. Hetook the second pair.
"_Neuf!_"
An excited buzz of talk rose around the board. With a blas? smile, thebanker showed his cards--two queens.
"_Peste!_" cried a Frenchman, "_toujours on souffre pour les dames!_"
Some few laughed; the German, more phlegmatic than ever, opened apocket-book and started a fresh bank for the same amount, while theAmerican collected his stake and winnings. He was stuffing the notesinto a pocket when he caught Warden's glance.
"That's the easiest way of making two thousand dollars I've everstruck," he said.
"But you stood to lose the same amount," said Warden.
"Why, yes. The only difference between me and the fellow who putsup with this beastly atmosphere every day for a month is that _he_fritters away his money at five or ten dollars a pop, while I hit ormiss at the first time of asking."
"You won't play any more, then?"
"No, sir. Me for the tall timbers with the baron's wad. 'Lucky atcards, unlucky in love,' you know, and I've just heard that my bestgirl has made a date with the other fellow."
He walked away, erect, alert, and self-possessed. Warden strolled to aroulette board.
"I wonder if that is true," he mused.
Instinctively his hand went to his pocket, and he staked a louis on 29,the year of his age. Up came 29, and he won thirty-five louis. He wasso astonished that he bent over the shoulders of a lady seated near thefoot of the table, and began mechanically to draw in the five-hundredfranc note and ten gold pieces that were pushed by a croupier's rakeclose to his own coin.
"But, monsieur," whispered the lady, who was French, and gave slightheed to convention, "certainly you will follow your luck!"
"Why not?" he answered.
Knowing that the maximum on a number was nine louis, he was on thepoint of leaving that amount on 29, when he remembered that Evelyn'sage was twenty. To the surprise of his self-appointed counselor, hetold the croupier to transfer the gold to the new number, while thenote went on the 19-24 _transversale_. Thus, if he lost, he was still alouis to the good, and the American's consoling adage was robbed of itssting.
The roulette whirred round, the marble danced madly across diamonds andslots. Checking its pace, it hopped, hopped, hopped--into 20--and theFrenchwoman nearly became hysterical. Warden received so much moneythat he lost count. As a matter of fact, he had won just forty louisless than the cynic of the baccarat table. He deemed the example of theunknown philosopher too good not to be followed, so he gathered hisgains and stakes, and left the room.
Now, most men would have felt elated at this stroke of luck, butWarden was not. Though it was very pleasant to be richer by nearlythree hundred and seventy pounds, he wished heartily that this suddenoutburst of the gambling mania had found its genesis in some othertopic than the reputed ill fortune of a favored lover. The incidentwas so astounding that he began to search for its portent. For a fewseconds, he saw in his mind's eye an evil leer on the black face hiddenaway in the _Nancy's_ cabin, and it almost gave him a shock when herecalled the fact that both 29 and 20 were black numbers. But the lightand gaiety of the streets soon dispelled these vapors, and he loiteredin front of a jeweler's shop while planning a surprise for his beloved.He had not yet given her a ring. Their tacit engagement was so sudden,and their parting so complete since that never-to-be-forgotten nightat Plymouth, that he now fancied, with a certain humorous dismay, thatEvelyn might long have been anticipating the receipt of some suchtoken. Well, she should own a ring that he could never have affordedbut for the kindly help of the Casino. There was one in the windowmarked "D'Occasion--5,000 frs." It contained three diamonds fit for aqueen's diadem. He wondered whether or not, under the circumstances,one should buy a second-hand ring. Would Evelyn care to wear anarticle, however valuable, that had once belonged to another woman? Atany rate, the stones would require re-setting, and he was not afraid ofbeing swindled in the purchase, because the jeweler evidently regardedthis special bargain as a magnet to draw the eyes of passers-by to hisstock.
Five minutes later, the ring reposed in a case in Warden's pocket, andhe was making for the post-office. But there was no letter from Evelyn.There would have been, were it not locked in Mrs. Laing's writing-case,and Warden was no wizard that he should guess any such development inthe bewildering tumult of events that was even then gathering aroundhim. Nevertheless, the clerk gave him a letter--from the ColonialOffice--asking that he should come to London with the least possibledelay.
Though gratifying to a man eager for recognition in his service, theincidence of the request was annoying. At any other time in his careerhe would have left Ostend by the night mail. Now he resolved to waituntil the morrow's midday service, and thus secure Evelyn's missivebefore his departure. He read between the lines of the brief officialmessage clearly enough. Affairs were growing critical in West Africa.At best, his advice, at worst, his immediate return to duty, wasdemanded. If the latter, by hook or by crook he would contrive to seeEvelyn before he sailed for the south.
He telegraphed his change of plans to Evelyn, telling her to writeto his flat in London, and asking her to wire saying whether or nota letter was _en route_ to Ostend. He bade Peter bring the _Nancy_to Dover and there await orders, and then joined his friend, who wassympathetic when he heard that Warden must leave Ostend next day.
"You'll miss the racing," he said, "and that is a pity, because I knowof one or two good things that would have paid for your holiday."
Warden laughed, and recounted his before-dinner experiences in theCasino.
"By gad!" cried the other, "I wish I'd been there. I know that GermanJohnny--let me see, he has a horse running to-morrow. Here is theprogramme--third race--Baron von Gr?belstein's 'Black Mask.' Eh, what?Oh, that is the gee-gee's name right enough, but it hasn't an earthly."
To cloak his amazement, Warden pretended to be interested in theentries. "Black Mask" was Number Thirteen on the card. He could nothelp smiling.
"I feel rather superstitious to-day," he said. "Will you back thathorse for me?"
"Certainly, dear boy. But you are throwing your money away. It's afifty to one shot."
"I don't mind. It is the Casino's money, anyhow."
"Very well. How much?"
Warden's pocket-book, reduced somewhat in bulk by the visit to thejeweler's, came
in evidence again.
"Fifty louis," he said.
"My dear fellow, it's rank lunacy."
"Believe me, I shall not care tuppence if I lose."
"Oh, all right. Give me your address. I'll send you a telegram aboutfour o'clock to-morrow. You'll never see your fifty any more."
Never before in his life had Warden acted the spendthrift, butany surprise he may have felt at his own recklessness was utterlydissipated when he received Rosamund Laing's letter next morning.Though its tone was studiously gossipy and cheerful, the tidings itcontained were unpleasant enough to lend significance to the American'sdictum. Its innuendoes, whether intentional or otherwise--and Wardenwas suspicious, for he had not forgotten certain traits of Rosamund'scharacter--assumed a sinister aspect when there was neither letter nortelegram from Evelyn.
"My dear Arthur"--wrote this unwelcome correspondent--"I suppose I mayaddress you in that manner after our once close friendship--you willthink that marvels are happening when you hear that I am at Lochmerig.The real marvel is, however, that I should have obtained your address.Last evening Billy Thring--do you know him?--by the way, he is now LordFairholme, since that sad railway smash at Beckminster yesterday--well,Billy Thring spoke of you. He means to cut you out with your littlegoverness friend. I don't blame you a bit, for she is very pretty,but, without telling tales, I would warn you that the man who said thatabsence makes the heart grow fonder was certainly not a connoisseur inwoman's hearts. Naturally, Fairholme flew south this morning, and thatclears off one of your rivals temporarily. Still, there are others. Iam only chaffing, of course, and I suppose you were chiefly amusingyourself at Cowes and elsewhere. _My_ presence here is easily accountedfor--I met the Baumgartners at Madeira last winter; and they invited meto their Scotch shooting. Isn't B. a funny little man? On the islandthey used to call him by his initials, I. D. B.--Illicit Diamond Buyer,you know.
"Now, why did you leave me to fish out your whereabouts by sheeraccident? Naughty! Do write soon, and tell me when I shall see you. Oh,I was nearly forgetting. Recent arrivals included a Herr von Rippenbachand an old acquaintance of yours, Miguel Figuero. Isn't it odd thatthey should come here! And a little bird named Evelyn has whisperedthat the men of Oku are making ju-ju nearer home than the Benu? River.Please keep out of it, for your friends' sake, and especially for thesake of yours ever sincerely, Rosamund."
"P.S. Send a line, and I shall give you more news. R."
There was hardly a word in that innocent-looking note that was not abarbed shaft. Was it believable that Evelyn Dane, the girl whose eyesshone so divinely while he entrusted to her willing ears his hopesand aspirations, should make him the butt of the ninnies gatheredat Lochmerig? Yet, that allusion to the men of Oku inflicted a stabcruel as the thrust of an Oku spear. Who else but Evelyn could haverevealed his interest in the visit of the negroes to England? And whowas this Billy Thring--whose very name suggested inanity? True, Evelynhad mentioned him as one of the house party. "I find the Honorable Onevery amusing," she had said. "He is the clown of our somewhat dullcircus." But there was no suggestion of friendliness other than theordinary civilities of life under the same roof. Again, why had she notwritten, nor answered his telegram? He laid no great stress on theseminor things. They became important only in the light of Rosamund'sstatements.
He read and re-read the letter while crossing the Channel. Before Doverwas reached he had gone through identically the same thought-processas Evelyn herself two days earlier. He found malevolence in every lineof Rosamund's epistle. It was meant to wound. Its airy comment wasdistilled poison, its assumed levity the gall of a jealous woman. Wereit not for her wholly inexplicable and confusing allusion to the Okuchief's mission, he could have cast aside with a scornful laugh her slyhints as to Evelyn's faithlessness. Even then, puzzled and angry thoughhe was, he remained true in his allegiance to his affianced wife.
"Why should there not be some devil's brew where such men as Figueroand Baumgartner foregather?" he asked himself. "It exists, as I wellknow, and Rosamund Laing is just the woman to sip it. I wish now thatI had insisted more firmly on Evelyn's removal from the Baumgartnergang. I was mad not to ask her to marry me at once. We could havemanaged somehow, and she would have borne the separation for a year ormore."
Then it occurred to him that the two hundred pounds' worth of diamondsin his pocket would almost have furnished a country cottage, and, tocrown all, there was the exquisite folly of the bet on a horse that hissporting friend described as a hopeless outsider. His misery was notcomplete till the memory of another jewel intruded itself--a ruby thathad waited two hundred and fifty years for an owner. Certainly, ArthurWarden experienced a most perplexed and soul-tortured journey to London.
He drove straight to his flat. Two telegrams awaited him. One must befrom Evelyn, of course. She had chosen to send a message there, ratherthan risk missing him at Ostend. But he was wrong. The first he openedread: "Baumgartner and everybody else have gone. I am coming to London.Staying at Savoy. Rosamund."
His brain was still confused by this strange substitution of one womanfor another, when his eyes fell on the contents of the second telegram:
"Black Mask won. Took you forties. Congratulations, Dick."
The perplexity in his face attracted the sympathy of the hall porter.
"I 'ope you've had no bad news, sir," said the man.
Warden laughed with a harshness that was not good to hear.
"No," he said, "just the reverse. I backed a horse and he has won, atforty to one."
The hall porter, like most of his class, was a sportsman.
"Lord love a duck!" he cried, "that's the sort you read about butseldom see, sir. Where did he run--at Newmarket?"
"No, at Ostend."
The man's hopes of obtaining good "information" diminished, but he wassupremely interested.
"_Wot_ a price!" he exclaimed. "Did you have much on, sir?"
"Forty pounds."
"Forty pounds! Then you've won sixteen hundred quid!" and each syllablewas a crescendo of admiration.
Warden threw the telegram on the floor. Though the last twenty-fourhours had enriched him by nearly five years' pay, he was in no mood togreet his good fortune as it deserved.
"Yes," he sighed, "I suppose you are right. Unpack my traps, there's agood fellow. I am going out, and I want to change my clothes."
The hall porter obeyed, but he would have choked if speech wereforbidden. He wanted to know the horse's name, how the gentleman hadcome to hear of him, was the money "safe," and other kindred items thatgoaded Warden to hidden frenzy. Yet the forced attention thus demandedwas good for him. He described "Black Mask" as "a Tartar of the Ukrainebreed," and drew such a darksome picture of the precautions taken bythe "stable" to conceal the animal's true form that the man regardedhim as a veritable fount of racing lore.
Such a reputation, once earned, is not easily shaken off. When he wentout, the hall porter and the driver of a hansom were in deep converse.He paid the cabman at the Colonial Office, and his mind was busy withother things when he was brought back to earth again.
"Beg pardon, sir," said cabby, "but would you mind tellin' me the bestthing for the Cup."
"What Cup?" demanded Warden testily.
"The Liverpool Cup, sir."
"Beer, of course."
He escaped. But the cabman took thought. An eminent brewer's horsefigured in the betting lists, so he drove back at once to interview thehall porter. A joint speculation followed, and two men mourned for manya day that they had not begged or borrowed more money wherewith to wina competence on that amazingly lucky tip.
Warden did not expect to find any one at the Colonial Office who wouldattend to him. The hour was nearly seven, and it is a popular theorythat at four o'clock all secretaries and civil servants throw asidethe newspapers and other light literature with which they beguile thetedium of official routine. He meant to report his arrival in London,and learn from a door-keeper what time it would be advisable to callnext day.
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He was hardly prepared, therefore, to be received forthwith by asilver-haired, smooth-spoken gentleman, who asked him to recapitulatethe main points of his conversation with the Under Secretary at theForeign Office.
Somewhat mystified, Warden began his recital. After the first twosentences, the official nodded.
"Thank you, Captain Warden, I need not trouble you further," hesaid. "You see, we are not personally known to each other, and insuch an exceedingly delicate matter as this threatened difficulty inNigeria--wherein knowledge is confined to a very small circle--one hasto be careful that one is speaking to the right man."
"Did you think it possible, then, that some stranger might haveimpersonated me?" demanded Warden, his eyes twinkling at the suggestion.
"Quite possible. I have done it myself twice, the first timesuccessfully, the second to the complete satisfaction of our Ministerabroad, but hardly to my own, as I had two fingers of my left hand shotoff while making a dash for safety."
Certainly, reflected Warden, there were elements in the life ofWhitehall that escaped public notice.
"We have sent for you because you are wanted at once in West Africa,"went on the other. "Letters to and from the Governor of NorthernNigeria have culminated in a cablegram from the Governor asking thatyou should be recalled from furlough. Though you are attached to thesouthern portion of the Protectorate, his Excellency has the highestappreciation of your tact and ability. He thinks you are the man bestfitted to deal with the natives of the disturbed region. It is notproposed that you should return by the ordinary mail service. We assumethat the departure of officers and others for Lagos is closely watchedat the present crisis. A passage has been secured on a coasting steamerfor a mythical personage named Alfred Williams. Initials on baggage orlinen, therefore, cannot cause inquiry. Now, the _Water Witch_ sailsfrom Cardiff by Saturday afternoon's tide, and we would like Mr. AlfredWilliams to go on board that morning."
Warden looked blankly at the speaker. It was then Thursday. It left himlittle more than a day in which to unravel the mystery that envelopedEvelyn and her whereabouts. A bitter rage welled up in his breast, buthe controlled his face, and the official attributed his silence to thesuddenness of his suggested departure.
"I am sorry that your leave should be spoiled in this fashion,"continued the quiet voice. "But it is unavoidable. The thing presses.And I need scarcely tell you that when Government wants a man's serviceit is good for the man."
"I shall be on board the _Water Witch_ on Saturday," said Warden.
Perhaps the lack of enthusiasm in his manner was puzzling, but thesuave official paid no heed.
"And now for your instructions," he said. "The vessel touches at CapeCoast Castle before going on to Lagos. You will be met there by someofficer whom you are acquainted with. He will tell you the exactposition of affairs, and what, if any, developments have taken place inthe meantime. He will also give you the Governor's views as to the wayin which your experience of the natives can best be utilized. I leaveit to you to take the necessary precautions to conceal your movementsand identity, and I am authorized to hand you ?250 to meet any expensesincidental to your mission. Your passage on the _Water Witch_ is paidfor, by the way."
Again the older man failed to understand why the young officer shouldlaugh with the grim humor of one who bids fate do her worst. Certainly,the situation had in it some element of comedy. Gold was being showeredon Warden from the skies--promotion and distinction were thrust uponhim--yet he was miserable as any man in England that day.
"Something on his mind--is it a woman?" mused the shrewd official, andthe time came when he remembered the idle fancy.
In the freedom of the street Warden soon recovered himself. Not evenan all-absorbing passion--rendered more intense by reason of hisself-contained nature--could deprive him of the habit of years. Inthe Colonial Office at the moment lay a letter from the Governor ofSouthern Nigeria commending him in the highest terms for his cooljudgment, resourcefulness, and decision. He showed these qualitiesnow. He hurried to Charing Cross, and despatched three telegrams, oneto Evelyn, begging her to communicate with him instantly, a secondto his friend in Ostend, thanking him for his kindly offices andrequesting that the money should be paid into a named bank, and thethird to the Harbor Master at Dover, asking him to inform Peter Evans,of the pilot-cutter _Nancy_, that he must travel to London by theearliest train after arriving from Ostend.
Then he went to the Savoy.
Rosamund's telegram had been handed in at Lochmerig the previous night.It occurred to Warden that she must have written it about the timehis message to Evelyn was delivered. If so, and it was true that theBaumgartner household had already departed on board the _Sans Souci_,there was an obvious question to be answered.
As he anticipated, Mrs. Laing was in the hotel. In fact, she was aboutto dine in her own room when Warden's card was brought to her. Shehastened to meet him, all smiles and blushes.
"How awfully good of you to come so soon!" she cried. "And at just theright hour! I hate eating alone, but I dislike still more being at atable by myself in a big hotel. You can't have dined. Let us go to thecaf?, and then it doesn't matter about one's toilette."
"I don't wish to disturb your arrangements"--he began, but she was notto be forced into a serious discussion at once.
"Who said anything about disturbance?" she rattled on. "You could nothave met my wishes better if you had guessed them. Now, don't look soglum. It is not my fault that your pretty governess was ready to flirtwith other men, is it? Come and eat, and I shall tell you all about it."
He fell in with her mood. A woman will dare anything when she loves orhates, and he credited Rosamund with excess in both directions. Yetit would be strange, he thought, were she playing some deep game notimmediately discernible, if he did not unravel the tangled skein of herdeceit.
"I got your letter, of course," he said when they were seated.
"Ah, then I guessed correctly. That is why you are disconsolate," shesaid, looking at him frankly.
"It may be. At present I am chiefly curious. How did you obtain myLondon address?"
"Didn't you telegraph it?"
"To Miss Dane--yes."
"You dear man, what would _you_ have done if a telegram were broughtto a remote place in the Highlands for a lady whom you knew was gonegoodness knows where in a yacht?"
"Surely it might have been forwarded to her?"
"Yes, if you or I, or any other reasonable being, were the addressee.But the Baumgartners gave instructions that everything was to be sentto their London house, which is closed, except for a caretaker. Mrs.Baumgartner herself told me they did not expect to be in town under amonth or six weeks."
"Have they vanished into thin air?"
"Something of the kind. They spoke vaguely of a cruise round theShetlands, but I am sure that was meant as a blind. They wouldn't takeFiguero and von Rippenbach as their sailing companions for the mere funof the thing, would they?"
"Did they offer no excuse to their guests?"
"Oh, yes. Billy Thring--sorry, but I must mention him--well, hisbrother's death was the ostensible reason. I don't believe a word ofit. I. D. B. is not the man to break up a pleasant house party becauseone of its members has suffered a bereavement. There is something elsegoing on. I am honestly feminine enough to want to know what it is.I was simply dying of curiosity yesterday when I saw Figuero and thedainty Evelyn in the garden, discussing things with bated breath."
Warden frowned. He could keep a tight rein on his emotions, but thiswas trying him high.
"Would you mind telling me how a man who is dining with a lady can bestexpress polite incredulity at her statements?" he asked.
"Very neat," she retorted, "but in this instance you are the water andI the duck. If you think I am deliberately telling you untruths, whynot choose some less exciting topic? How did you like Ostend? I adoreit. The people amuse me--they are so na?vely shocking, or shocked, asthe case may be. Did you see that fat Frenchman who struts
about in aridiculously tight and glaring bathing suit?"
"Of course you want to talk about Lochmerig," he said quietly. "Now,Mrs. Laing, it will be wiser to speak in plain language. Evelyn Dane ismy promised wife. If possible, I would marry her to-morrow. That is nofigure of speech. If she were here now, and the law permitted, I wouldmarry her within the hour. You know me well enough to believe that oncemy mind is made up I do not change. Well, then, why are you endeavoringto create discord between me and the woman I love?"
Rosamund flushed. She had expected him to say something of the kind,but it was none the less disagreeable in the hearing. The fury thatconvulsed her found a ready outlet in the tears that stood in herbeautiful eyes.
"It is very unkind of you to blame me," she half sobbed. "How could Imake up all these wicked inventions? I had never even heard the girl'sname before I went to Lochmerig. It was her own foolish tongue thatrevealed things--about you--and the men of Oku--and--and--what you sawthat night at Cowes. She is either very wicked or very thoughtless,Arthur. If you are engaged in some secret business for the Government,and she were really true to you, would she ever have spoken of it toBilly--to Lord Fairholme?"
Warden was beaten. He poured out a glass of wine and drank it. He feltthat if he spoke at once his voice might betray the agony of his soul.Ah, if only he might see Evelyn for five precious minutes! Better go toAfrica with his dear idol shattered than carry with him the lingeringtorture of doubt.
"I think you were right when you switched our talk off to Ostend," hemuttered at last. "May I give you a word of advice? Forget what youhave just said. It is a dangerous problem--one not to be settled bywomen's tongues."
So they left it at that, and when they parted, not without atacit understanding that they would meet again at the earliestopportunity--for Warden was obliged to be ambiguous in thatrespect--Rosamund was sure that she had gained some ground in apitiless struggle. Warden was desperately unhappy. That was her secondsuccess. She had won the first move when the _Sans Souci_ carriedEvelyn off the field.
Early next morning Warden went to a shipping office, and the peoplethere advised him to send a reply-paid telegram to the coast-guardstation nearest Lochmerig. He soon received an answer. "The _SansSouci_ sailed Wednesday, 3 P.M. Destination believed Shetlands, butheaded southeast by east."
He passed many hours in writing a full statement of everything that hadtaken place--including copies of Rosamund's letter and telegram, anda literal record of their conversation in the hotel--and enclosed thering and the manuscript in a stout linen envelope. When Peter Evanscame to him in the evening, he gave him the package and fifty pounds,with explicit details as to its safeguarding and the reasons whichgoverned his present decision.
"You are to find Miss Dane, no matter what the cost," he said. "You mayhear of her at her home in Oxfordshire, or at this address, where youhave my permission to open any letters that arrive during my absence.If you run short of money, or are compelled to take an expensivejourney, apply to my bankers. I shall leave full instructions that yourrequirements are to be met when you explain them. The one thing I wantyou to do is to deliver this letter into Miss Dane's own hands."
Peter, somewhat awestricken by Warden's gravity, yet proud of the trustplaced in him, promised obedience.
"Never fear, sir," he said. "If the _Sans Souci_ is afloat on the sevenseas I'll get her bearin's one way or another. Sink me! if I don't findthat gal afore a month, I'll unship my prop, sell the _Nancy_, an' goto the wokkus."
In disposing of his belongings, Warden packed the gourd and theparchment among some heavy clothing which was useless in Africa. Hetold the hall porter exactly which portmanteaus he meant to take withhim, but on arriving at Paddington Station at 4.30 A.M. on a coldmorning, he found the bag containing the gourd and parchment piled withthe rest of his goods on the platform.
He eyed it resentfully, but yielded.
"So you mean to stick to me!" he growled. "You mesmerized that sleepyscoundrel into carrying you downstairs and depositing you on the roofof my cab. Very well. Let us see the adventure through in company."
He was chatting with the skipper of the _Water Witch_ one day while theship's position was being pricked off on the chart.
"You are keeping close in to the Spanish coast, Captain," said thepassenger.
"Not particularly, Mr. Williams," was the reply.
"But I have always been under the impression that vessels bound for theWest Coast headed for the Canaries?"
"So they do, if they're logged for a straight run. It happens thistime, however, that my ole tub has to call in at Rabat and Mogador."
"At Rabat!" repeated Mr. Williams, seemingly staggered at the meremention of the place.
"Yes, funny little hole. Ever bin there?"
"No."
"Well, p'raps you'll go ashore. If you do you'll see the queerestcollection of humans you've ever set eyes on."
Mr. Williams turned and gazed at the horizon.
"I think I'm bewitched," he muttered.
"Wot's that?"
"Odd thing. I've been dreaming of Rabat!"
The captain grinned.
"When you've seen it you'll fancy it's a nightmare," he said.