[_There breaks in at this point an extract from the life-history ofMr. N. C. Pether, which bears upon the main narrative. It is told byhimself._]
CHAPTER XV.
CAMARADERIE.
... Again I distinguished the Belgian drummer's steps coming aft alongthe deck planks. "They are all so sick below," said he, "that I couldendure it no longer." He sat down on the saloon skylight beside me."You see that low hummocky island we are coming to, out yonder on theport hand? Cabrera, monsieur, where they say Hannibal was born, andwhere they hope and expect M. Blanc's successors will find aresting-place for their tables when France and Italy hound them out ofMonte Carlo. I was over in Cabrera the other day. I ran across in thelittle packet from Palma. There's a lovely harbour there--almost asgood as the one at Mahon; and the place holds two hundred people, whoare planting vines and building fortifications. My faith, it will be aheavy change if they make that into the fashionable gambling hell ofEurope.
"You are regarding the island--you see its contours; now shut youreyes.
"'_Messieurs faites vo' jeu._'--There's the big fast Steamer thathas just run over from Marseille in ten hours with a full passengerlist of French, English, Russians, and Americans. Few have braved thesea-trip just to idle about the _casino_ as they used to do nearMonaco. These are men and women who have come for hard business at thetables, and who for the most part expect to break or be broke.
"There is a gorgeous hotel awaiting them at the head of the harbour,where they dress and dine, and then out they go, down the avenues ofrustling date-palms (which bear electric lamps amongst their ochrefruit-clusters), and so on, to the most sumptuous building in theworld, the new Cabreran _casino_.
"It differs hugely from the old temple of chance on the edge of theContinent--that _enfer sur terre_ set amid a _paradis_. Thereis no ornate concert-room here, or theatre or opera house. There is noteven a _salon_ for gossip and smoke and exercise. The whole is oneenormous _salle de jeu_, and the clink of gold against yellow goldis the only instrumental music. The cartwheel five-franc piece isnowhere permissible now, and at the _rouge et noir_ tableshundred-franc notes are the smallest stake. There is a change ineverything except in the croupiers and the chefs, and the actual tablesand machinery over which they preside. Even the atmosphere is new. Theold dry heat is no more. In its place is a moist warmth, heavy with thescent of heliotrope and tuba roses. It seems as if one of the scentfactories at Hyeres had staved its vats somewhere close at hand. Changeeverywhere. Mesdemoiselles les cocottes----But I weary m'sieu' with mytwaddle. '_Rien ne va plus._' The farce is over.
"Regard that brown promontory yonder, the easternmost horn of PalmaBay. With permission take my _lunette_. So; now you cannot fail tosee. A ship of the Romans laden with pottery struck there in time past,filled, and went down in deep water. The fishermen often bring up intheir nets unbroken pieces from her cargo, crocks and pipkins identicalin shape and texture with those the islanders use to-day. Ah, m'sieu',but they are ignorant, these Mallorcans, and happy in their ignorance.Food is so easily gained that none need starve; they have the bestclimate imaginable, free from the sirocco which plagues Algeria, andfrom the mistral which kills one on the Riviera; they are too indolentto meddle with politics; they live in a lotus-land of beauty and ease.We should despise them, monsieur, but I fear many of us will envy theirlot."
The _Antiguo Mahones_ was threading her way through a fleet ofsmall fishing-boats, as I could tell by the reduced speed, the hootingof the siren, and the constant and prolonged rattle of the steeringrods. Soon she would bring up to the quay in Palma harbour. Why shouldI not get ashore there and work out the hard problem that was engagingme?
So far I had made no scheme of ultimate route. The meeting at the Mahonhotel with that cheery _chevalier d'industrie_ Haigh, and theknowledge that that more robust brigand, his blustering, heavy-fistedpartner Cospatric, was close at hand, had given me little leisure toplan far ahead. All my time was occupied in thinking how to fool theone and keep out of sight of the other till I could make escape fromtheir immediate vicinage.
But having once cleared from the island, it seemed to me that allprobable danger of our future meeting was passed; at any rate, Mallorcawould be the most unlikely spot to run foul of them in. So when thecommercial traveller had turned away to look after his own affairsagain, I got hold of Sadi, and told him to pull our traps together andpay up what we owed.
Sadi turned and set about fulfilling the order without a question. Thatis the best of Sadi. He never wants to know the why or wherefore ofanything. Within limits he is the perfection of a servant for a mansuch as me.
I had trusted Sadi with many things, and so far he had never failed me.I felt sure that he liked me, which was more than I would have said forany other member of the human race. But all the same, if he had seen itworth his while to rob or betray, I'd a pretty strong notion that bloodinstinct would prove too strong, and he'd do it. You see, Sadi's motherwas half Arab, half Portuguese; his father was all Portuguese--jail-birdPortuguese; his youth had been spent in Marquez, which is on DelagoaBay; and these things do not breed immaculate honesty calculated tostand every strain.
I may have wronged Sadi. As I say, he never failed me. But I felt thatthere might reasonably be a limit to his faithfulness, and to let himhave the solving of that inscription which I carried about my personlocked in a fleckless photographic plate might very well haveoutstepped that limit. It would have been a heavy test on anarchbishop's honesty.
So I did not intend to employ Sadi about this matter except as a lastresort. I wished to let this, the most valuable secret the worldcontained, be known to no one except myself, if it could be socontrived. I desired to get it stored within my brain alone, and thento destroy the only other trace of it that was existent.
Yet labouring under my peculiar disadvantage, the task appeared ahopelessly impossible one.
As I went down the gang-plank and ranged up against Sadi's elbow,walking with him past the wine casks and other litter on Palma quay, itseemed to me that after all I should have to accept the risk andrecruit this companion's aid. But such a decision was far too momentousto be hurriedly jumped at. The Recipe was safely locked in theyellow-green film. To most of the world its very existence was unknown,and I did not think that either Haigh or Weems or Cospatric would everguess the manner in which it had been carried off and transferred to aninvisible shape. Yes, the dark slide and its contents seemed safe in mypossession, and as we entered the sacking-floored carriage that was totake us up to our _Fonda_, I registered a resolve concerning it._Pace_ accidents, I would cudgel my own resources for one entireyear before I gave in and sought external aid.
At the Fonda de Mallorca I took, in Spanish fashion, a three-roomedsuite, and for one entire day did not move out of their whitewashedfastnesses.
I sat thinking, thinking, and thinking, and felt my brain grow dullerwith every effort.
"This will not do," I told myself. "I am used to fresh air, andsunshine, and the sound of voices, and I must live amongst all these asusual if I am to puzzle out this riddle. The answer, the key, if itcomes at all, will arrive in a snap and a sudden, and won't be got atby tedious pondering in an uncomfortable hermitage."
So the next morning I spent on the roof chatting with a girl who washanging out clothes to dry on the roof adjoining, sniffing the scent ofthe oranges which came from a roof-garden across the street, toastingmyself under the hot sun, and getting fanned by the sweet sea-air thatpoured up over the housetops from the curved bay beyond.
A bell clanged below, and I went down the steps to luncheon. Thelandlord, according to his wont with strangers who were entered as_Senor_ and not as _Don_, intended that I should join thedrummers' mess; but I was in no particular mood for that racy assemblyjust then, and bade Sadi take me to the dining-room at the other end ofthe house, where I sat down amongst garrison officers, proprietors comein from the country, and members of that bachelor fraternity whichlived at the club opposite, and had their two principal daily
mealshere. They all knew one another, and had their well-worn cycle ofconversation. They were tolerably cultured men, who rose superior topatois, and spoke pure and beautiful Castilian.
No one addressed me, and I did not open my mouth for speech. Probablyit never dawned upon them that I understood a word of their tongue. WeAnglo-Saxons abroad have not a reputation for being polyglot, and Inever advertise my own small linguistic attainments unless speciallycalled upon to do so. I do not care particularly for the trouble oftalking myself, and one scores sometimes by a taste for silence. I maderather a good point that way once in a certain Genovese _caffe_.
When that _desayuno_ had progressed as far as cold pickled tunny,which came as a fourth course, we had an addition to the party. Therewas a light pattering of feet along the tiles to the doorway, and Ifelt the men around me bow--as they bowed to each newcomer. I joinedthem in the salute, and heard with surprise, as the fresh arrival wentround by the table-head, the rustle of skirts--of tweed skirts, or elseof rough serge, I could not be certain which.
She took a seat opposite to me. The waiter placed before her a basin ofsoup. It was a Mallorquin soup, which consisted for the most part ofslices of bread and a few slips of greens soaked in a very thin stock,with an egg broken over the whole so that the boiling mixture poachedit lightly. Also there was a little oil added--native rancid oil. Thissounds very nasty, but like the taste for olives, if a taste for thatsoup is once developed, it fascinates. Myself, I like this soup. Thewoman opposite did not. She told the waiter to take it away, naming itby its proper Mallorquin name.
"The _arte de cocina_ of our island is not for every one's palate,I fear, senora," observed one of the men beside her. "It is not everyforeigner who takes to it like your countryman _vis-a-vis_."
Till then I had been uncertain of her nationality, though I had had mysuspicions of it, for the Anglo-Saxon walk differs from the gait of thesouthern nations; but on this slender introduction we dropped intoconversation, and spoke in English of those desultory matters which onedoes chat upon to a casual hotel acquaintance.
We others had ended our meal before she was midway, and the Spaniardshad finished their cigarettes and coffee before she rose.
"You say, sir," said she, when she pushed the dish of burnt almondsfinally away and rolled her napkin into its ring--"you say, sir, thatyou are staying here some time. So am I. It is my happiness to know theisland well. If I can be of any use to you, command me. I see, withregret, that you are blind."
I'm afraid I frowned angrily. She had touched me on my only sore point."Madame," I said, "I congratulate you on your clear-sightedness. Iflatter myself that I conceal my blindness from most people. I dare laya heavy wager that none of the others who have been sitting round thistable has so much as guessed at it."
"I had--that is, I knew some one intimately, sir, whose eyesight hadbeen destroyed. So you see I naturally noticed trifles about you whichwould escape others. But you may trust me not to mention a word aboutit. _Adios, senor, y diez mil perdons._"
She rose and bowed. I did the same. I was angry with the woman and yetattracted by her, and at the same time ashamed of being so. I supposethese three conflicting emotions combined to make me careless. Anyway,the next thing that happened was that I, who never stumbled, foundmyself blundering over a rush-seated chair, and sweeping twodessert-plates from the table as I clutched out to preserve my balance.The waiter, who was in the room, rapped out a good round obscene oathof surprise. Nothing but the woman's action could have prevented hisdiscovering my infirmity. She laughed amusedly, and said in Spanish,"Why, senor, one might think you were blind. You should look to yourpath even when you are very polite." And then she drew near me at thecorner of the table, and rested her elbow against mine as skilfully andunobtrusively as Sadi himself could have done it.
"You see, I know better than to grip you by the arm," she said,dropping into English again.
"You have a skill and tact that not one in a million possesses. I amdeeply grateful." We were at the foot of the stone stairs. I had myhand on the slim iron rail.
"You will be able to get back to your rooms now?"
"Perfectly."
"Then again buenas."
"Adios. But shall I not see you again?"
She laughed quietly. "Whenever you please, sir. I shall probably bestaying in this hotel for some time yet."
"Would you," I began, and felt myself to flush as I spoke, though nonovice at chatting with most kinds of women--"are you in a hurry, thatis? Would you come out into the _patio_ down the passage yonderand sit awhile? We shall find some hammock chairs, and if the glare offthose tall white walls hurts you, there is an awning to pull down."
She assented very gracefully, and we sat there for a couple of hours,afterwards strolling out past the great amber-coloured cathedral, andon to the walls, whilst the sun sank into the water beyond the littlelateen-sailed fishing-boats that dotted the bay. With clever,unobtrusive tact she made herself my eyes. Into her talk she infusedthe tale of the quick and the still things we passed in our stroll,never entering into pointed descriptions, but rather mentioning them inher chat as though they were of interest to herself alone.
And afterwards, in the evening, she was kind enough to come to a box Ihad secured at the opera-house--a building which is almost equal to LaScala--and I had the delight of _seeing_ Balfe's "The Talisman"acted, as well as of listening to the music.
She was a woman of perfect self-reliance. She had seen men and womenand places. She knew well how the restrictions of society were ruled,but she was quite capable of mapping out her own line of conduct tosuit her own ideas. At least I deduced as much, though we exchanged nosingle word upon the subject. There had arisen between us a_camaraderie_ that for me was delightful. Sadi was good, but hiscompanionship had its limits. She was all Sadi was, and more. It wouldbe a poor compliment to say she was everything a male comrade could be.She was woman through it all. She was thoughtful, bright, amusing,resourceful.
Yet we never verged beyond the bounds of mere _camaraderie_, nordo I think that either of us wished to do so.