CHAPTER XIV
IN WHICH PETER TORTUE EXPLAINS HIS INTERVENTION ON MY BEHALF
As will be readily understood, when I woke up the next morning I wassensible at once of a great relief. My anxieties and misadventures oflast night were well paid for after all. I could look at my swollenwrists and say that without any hesitation, the watchers had departedfrom their watching, and what if they had carried away the King ofPortugal's great jewelled cross? Helen Mayle had no need of it,indeed, her great regret now was that she could not get rid of whatshe had; and as for Cullen, to tell the truth, I did not care a snapof the fingers whether he found a fortune or must set to work to makeone. Other men had been compelled to do it--better men too, deuce takehim! We were well quit of George Glen and his gang, though the priceof the quittance was heavy. I would get up at once, run across toMerchant's Point, and tell Helen Mayle---- My plans came to a suddenstop. Tell Helen Mayle precisely what? That Adam Mayle's grave hadbeen rifled?
I lay staring up at the ceiling as I debated that question, andsuddenly it slipped from my mind. That grave had been rifled before,and quite recently. I was as certain of that in the sober light of themorning as I had been during the excitement of last night. Why? It wasnot for the chart of the treasure, since the chart had been left. Andby whom? So after all, here was I, who had waked up in the best ofspirits too, with the world grown comfortable, confronted withquestions as perplexing as a man could wish for. It was, as CullenMayle had said, at the inn near Axminster, most discouraging. And Iturned over in bed and tried to go to sleep, that I might drive themfrom my mind. I should have succeeded too, but just as I was in a dozethere came a loud rapping at the door, and Dick Parmiter danced intothe room.
"They are gone, Mr. Berkeley," he cried.
"I know," I grumbled; "I saw them go," and stretched out my arms andyawned.
"Why, you have hurt your wrist," Dick exclaimed.
"No," said I, "it was George Glen's shake of the hand."
"They are gone," repeated Dick, gleefully, "all of them except PeterTortue."
"What's that?" I cried, sitting up in the bed.
"All of them except Peter Tortue."
"To be sure," said I, scratching my head.
Now what in the world had Peter Tortue remained behind for? For noharm, that was evident, since I owed my life to his good offices lastnight. I was to remember that it was he who saved me. I was, then, tomake some return. But what return?
I threw my pillow at Parmiter's head.
"Deuce take you, Dicky! My bed was not such a plaguey restful placebefore that it needed you to rumple it further. Well, since I mayn'tsleep late i' the morning like a gentleman, I'll get up."
I tried to put together some sort of plausible explanation which wouldserve for Helen Mayle while I was dressing. But I could not hit uponone, and besides Parmiter made such a to-do over brushing my clothesthis morning that that alone was enough to drive all reasoning out ofone's head.
"Dick," said I as he handed me my coat, "you have had, if my memoryserves me, some experience of womenfolk."
Dick nodded his head in a mournful fashion.
"Mother!" said he.
"Precisely," said I. "Now, here's a delicate question. Do you alwaystell womenfolk the truth?"
"No," said he, stoutly.
"Do you tell them--shall we say quibbles,--then?"
"Quibbles?" said Dick, opening his mouth.
"It is not a fruit, Dicky," said I, "so you need not keep it open. Byquibbles I mean lies. Do you tell your womenfolk lies, when the truthis not good for them to know?"
"No," said Dick, as steadily as before, "for they finds you out."
"Precisely," I agreed. "But since you neither tell the truth nor telllies, what in the world do you do?"
"Well," answered Dick, "I say that it's a secret which mother isn't toknow for a couple of days."
"I see. And when the couple of days has gone?
"Then mother has forgotten all about the secret."
I reflected for a moment or two.
"Dick."
"Yes."
"Did you ever try that plan with Miss Helen?"
"No," said he, shaking his head.
"I will," said I, airily, "or something like it."
"Something like it would be best," said Dick.
The story which I told to Helen was not after all very like it. Isaid:
"The watchers have gone and gone for ever. They were here not for anyrevenge, but for their profit. There was a treasure in St. Helen'swhich Cullen Mayle was to show them the way to--if they could catchhim and force him. They had some claim to it--I showed them the way."
"You?" she exclaimed. "How?"
"That I cannot tell you," said I. "I would beg you not to ask, but tolet my silence content you. I could not tell you the truth and I donot think that I could invent a story to suit the occasion which wouldnot ring false. The consequence is the one thing which concerns us,and there is no doubt of it. The watchers did not watch for anopportunity of revenge and they are gone."
"Very well," she said. "I was right after all, you see. The handstretched out of the dark has done this service. For it is your doingthat they are gone?"
I did not answer and she laughed a little and continued, "But I willnot ask you. I will make shift to be content with your silence. DidDick Parmiter come with you this morning?"
"Yes," I answered with a laugh, "but he was not with me last night."
Helen laughed again.
"Ah," she cried! "So it was your doing, and I have not asked you."Then she grew serious of a sudden. "But since they are gone"--sheexclaimed, in a minute, her whole face alight with her thought--"sincethey are gone, Cullen may come and come in safety."
"Oh! yes, Cullen may come," I answered, perhaps a trifle roughly."Cullen will be safe and may come. Indeed, I wonder that he was nothere before this. He stole my horse upon the road and yet could notreach here first. I trudged a-foot, Cullen bestrode my horse and yetTresco still pines for him. It is very strange unless he has a keennose for danger."
My behaviour very likely was not the politest imaginable, but thenHelen's was no better. For although she displayed no anger at my roughwords--I should not have cared a scrape of her wheezy fiddle if shehad, but she did not, she merely laughed in my face with everyappearance of enjoyment. I drew myself up very stiff. Here were allthe limits of courtesy clearly over-stepped, but I at all events wouldnot follow her example, nor allow her one glimpse of any exasperationwhich I might properly feel.
"Shall I go out and search for him in the highways and hedges?" Iasked with severity.
"It would be magnanimous," said she biting her lip, and then hermanner changed. "He rode your horse," she cried, "and yet he hasfallen behind. He will be hurt then! Some accident has befallen him!"
"Or he has wagered my horse at some roadside inn and lost! It was agood horse, too."
She caught hold of my arm in some agitation.
"Oh! be serious!" she prayed.
"Serious quotha!" said I, drawing away from her hand with muchdignity. "Let me assure you, madam, that the loss of a horse is avery serious affair, that the stealing of a horse is a very seriousaffair----"
"Well, well, I will buy it from you, saddle and stirrup and all," sheinterrupted.
"Madam," said I, when I could get my speech. "There is no more to besaid."
"Heaven be praised!" said she. "And now it may be, you will condescendto listen to me. What am I to do? Suppose that he is hurt! Supposethat he is in trouble! Suppose that he still waits for my answer tohis message! Suppose in a word that he does not come! What can I do?He may go hungering for a meal."
I did not think the contingency probable, but Helen was now speakingwith so much sincerity of distress that I could not say as much.
"Unless he comes to Tresco I am powerless. It is true I havebequeathed everything to him, but then I am young," she said, with amost melanchol
y look in her big dark eyes. "Neither am I sickly."
"I will go back along the road and search for him," and this I spokewith sincerity. She looked at me curiously.
"Will you do that?" she asked in a doubtful voice, as though she didnot know whether to be pleased or sorry.
"Yes," said I, and a servant knocked at the door, and told me Parmiterwished to speak with me. I found the lad on the steps of the porch,and we walked down to the beach.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The Frenchman," said he, with a frightened air.
"Peter Tortue?"
"Yes."
I led him further along the beach lest any of the windows of the houseshould be open towards us, and any one by the open window.
"Where is he?"
Dick pointed up the hill.
"At the shed?" I asked.
"Yes. He was lying in wait on the hillside, and ran down when he sawthat I was alone. He stays in the shed for you, and you are to go tohim alone."
"Amongst the dead sailor-men?" said I, with a laugh. But the wordswere little short of blasphemy to Dick Parmiter. "Well, I was therelast night, and no harm came to me."
"You were there last night?" cried Dick. "Then you will not go?"
"But I will," said I. "I am curious to hear what Tortue has to say tome. You may take my word for it, Dick, there's no harm in PeterTortue. I shall be back within the hour. Hush! not a word of this!"for I saw Helen Mayle coming from the house towards us. I told herthat I was called away, and would return.
"Do you take Dick with you?" she asked, with too much indifference.She held a big hat of straw by the ribbons and swung it to and fro.She did that also with too much indifference.
"No," said I, "I leave him behind. Make of him what you can. He cannottell what he does not know."
The sum of Dick's knowledge, I thought, amounted to no more thanthis--that I had last night visited the shed, in spite of the deadsailor-men. I forgot for the moment that he was in my bedroom when Irose that morning.
The door of the shed was fastened on the inside; I rapped with myknuckles, and Tortue's voice asked who was there. When I told him, heunbarred the door.
"There is no one behind you?" said he, peering over my shoulder.
"Nay! Do you fear that I have brought the constables to take you? Youmay live in Tresco till you die if you will. What! Should I betrayyou, whose life you saved only last night?"
Peter opened the door wide.
"A night!" said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. "One can forgetmore than that in a night, if one is so minded."
I followed him into the shed. Here and there, through the chinks inthe boards, a gleam of light slipped through. Outside it was noonday,within it was a sombre evening. I passed through the door of thepartition into the inner room. The rafters above were lost indarkness, and before my eyes were accustomed to the gloom I stumbledover a slab of stone which had been lifted from its place in thefloor. I turned to Tortue, who was just behind me, and he nodded inanswer to my unspoken question. The spade and the pick had stood inthat corner to the left, and this slab of stone had been removed inreadiness. The darkness of the shed struck cold upon me all at once,as I thought of why that slab had been removed. I looked about me muchas a man may look about his bedroom the day after he has been savedfrom his grave by the surgeon's knife. Everything stands as it didyesterday--this chair in this corner, that table just upon thatpattern of the carpet, but it is all very strange and unfamiliar. Itwas against that board in the partition that I leaned my back; theresat George Glen with his evil smile, here Tortue polished his knife.
"Let us go out into the sunlight, for God's sake!" said I, and my footstruck against a piece of iron, which went tinkling across the stonefloor. I picked it up. "They are gone," said I, with a shiver, "andthere's an end of them. But this shed is a nightmarish sort of placefor me. For God's sake, let us get into the sun!"
"Yes, they are gone," said Tortue, "but they would have stayed if theydared, if I hadn't set you free, for they went without the cross."
I was still holding that piece of iron in my hand. By the feel of it,it was a key, and I slipped it into my pocket quite unconsciously, forTortue's words took me aback with surprise.
"Without the jewelled cross? But you had the plan," said I, as Istepped into the open. "I heard you describe the spot--three chains ina line east of the east window in the south aisle of the church."
"There was no trace of the cross."
"It was true then!" I exclaimed. "I was sure of it, even after Roperhad found the stick and the plan. It was true--that grave had beenrifled before."
"Why should the plan have been put back, then?"
"God knows! I don't."
"Besides, if the grave had been rifled, the spot of ground on St.Helen's Island had not. There had been no spade at work there."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes."
"And you followed out the directions?"
"To the letter. Three chains east by the compass of the eastern windowin the south aisle of St. Helen's Church, and four feet deep! We dugfive and six feet deep. There was nothing, nor had the ground beendisturbed."
"I cannot understand it. Why should Adam Mayle have been at such painsto hide the plan? Was it a grim joke to be played on Cullen?"
There was no means of answering the problem, and I set it aside.
"After all, they are gone," said I. "That is the main thing."
"All except me," said Tortue.
"Yes. Why have you stayed?"
Tortue threw himself on the ground and chewed at a stalk of grass.
"I saved your life last night," said he.
"I know. Why did you do it? Why did you cover my mistakes in thatshed? Why did you cut the rope?"
"Because you could serve my turn. The cross!" he exclaimed, with aflourish. "I do not want the cross." He looked at me steadily for aninstant with his shrewd eyes. "I want a man to nail on the cross, andyou can help me to him. Where is Cullen Mayle?"
The words startled me all the more because there was no violence inthe voice which spoke them--only a cold, deliberate resolution. I wasnevermore thankful for the gift of ignorance than upon this occasion.I could assure him quite honestly,
"I do not know."
"But last night you knew."
"I spoke of many things last night of which I had no knowledge--thecross, the plan----"
"You knew where the plan was. Flesh! but you knew that!"
"I guessed."
"Guess, then, where Cullen Mayle is, and I'll be content."
"I have no hint to prompt a guess." Tortue gave no sign of anger at myanswer. He sat upon the grass, and looked with a certain sadness atthe shed.
"It does not, after all, take much more than a night to forget," saidhe.
"I am telling you the truth, Tortue," said I, earnestly. "I do notknow. I never met Cullen Mayle but once, and that was at a roadsideinn. He stole my horse upon that occasion, so that I have no reason tobear him any goodwill."
"But because of him you came down to Tresco?" said Tortue quickly.
"No."
Tortue looked at me doubtfully. Then he looked at the house, and
"Ah! It was because of the girl."
"No! No!" I answered vehemently. I could not explain to him why I hadcome, and fortunately he did not ask for an explanation. He justnodded his head, and stood up without another word.
"I do not forget," said I pointing to the shed. "And if you should bein any need----" But I got no further in my offer of help; for heturned upon me suddenly, and anger at last had got the upper hand withhim.
"Money, is it not?" he cried, staring down at me with his eyes ablaze."Ay, that's the way with gentlefolk! You would give me as much as aguinea no doubt--a whole round gold guinea. Yes, I am in need," andwith a violent movement he clasped his hands together. "Virgin Mary,but I am in need of Cullen Mayle, and you offer me a guinea!" and thenhunching his shoulders he strode off over the hill.
; So Helen Mayle's instinct was right. Out of the five men there was onewho waited for Cullen's coming with another object than to secure thediamond cross. Would he continue to wait? I could not doubt that hewould, when I thought upon his last vehement burst of passion. Tortuewould wait upon Tresco, until, if Cullen did not come himself, someword of Cullen's whereabouts dropped upon his ear. It was stillurgent, therefore, that Cullen Mayle should be warned, and if I was togo away in search of him, Helen must be warned too.
I walked back again towards Merchant's Point with this ill news heavyupon my mind, and as I came over the lip of the hollow, I saw Helenwaiting by the gate in the palisade. She saw me at the same moment,and came up towards me at a run.
"Is there more ill-news?" I asked myself. "Or has Cullen Maylereturned?" and I ran quickly down to her.
"Has he come?" I asked, for she came to a stop in front of me with herface white and scared.
"Who?" said she absently, as she looked me over.
"Cullen Mayle," I answered.
"Oh, Cullen," she said, and it struck me as curious that this was thefirst time I had heard her speak his name with indifference.
"Because he must not show himself here. There is a reason! There is adanger still!"
"A danger," she said, in a loud cry, and then "Oh! I shall neverforgive myself!"
"For what?"
She caught hold of my arm.
"See?" she said. "Your coat-sleeve is frayed. It was a rope did thatlast night. No use to deny it. Dick told me. He saw that a rope toohad seared your wrists. Tell me! What happened last night? I mustknow!"
"You promised not to ask," said I, moving away from her.
"Well, I break my promise," said she. "But I must know," and sheturned and kept pace with me, down the hill, through the house intothe garden. During that time she pleaded for an answer in an extremeagitation, and I confess that her agitation was a sweet flattery tome. I was inclined to make the most of it, for I could not tell howshe would regard the story of my night's adventures. It was I afterall who caused old Adam Mayle's bones to be disturbed; and Iunderstood that it was really on that account that I had shrunk fromtelling her. She had a right to know, no doubt. Besides there was thisnew predicament of Tortue's stay. I determined to make a clean breastof the matter. She listened very quietly without an exclamation or ashudder; only her face lost even the little colour which it had, and alook of horror widened in her eyes. I told her of my capture on thehillside, of Tortue's intervention, of the Cross and the stick in thecoffin. I drew a breath and described that scene in the Abbey grounds,and how I escaped; and still she said no word and gave no sign. I toldher of their futile search upon St. Helen's, and how I had witnessedtheir departure from the top of the Castle Down. Still she walked bymy side silent, and wrapped in horror. I faltered through this lastincident of Tortue's stay and came to a lame finish, amongst the treesat the end of the garden. We turned and walked the length of thegarden to the house.
"I know," I said. "When I guessed the stick held the plan, I shouldhave held my tongue. But I did not think of that. It was not easy tothink at all just at that time, and I must needs be quick. They spokeof attacking the house, and I dreaded that.... I should not have beenable to give you any warning.... I should not have been able to giveyou any help ... for, you see, the slab of stone was already removedin the shed."
"Oh, don't!" she cried out, and pressed her hands to her temples. "Ishall never forgive myself. Think! A week ago you and I werestrangers. It cannot be right that you should go in deadly perilbecause of me."
"Madam," said I, greatly relieved, "you make too much of a thing of nogreat consequence. I hope to wear my life lightly."
"Always?" said she quickly, as she stopped and looked at me.
I stopped, too, and looked at her.
"I think so," said I, but without the same confidence. "Always."
She had a disconcerting habit of laughing when there was no occasionwhatever for laughter. She fell into that habit now, and I hastened torecall her to Tortue's embarrassing presence on the island.
"Of course," said I, "a word to the Governor at Star Castle and we arerid of him. But he stood between me and my death, and he trusts to mysilence."
"We must keep that silence," she answered.
"Yet he waits for Cullen Mayle, and--it will not be well if those twomen meet."
"Why does he wait? Do you know that, too?"
I did not know, as I told her, though I had my opinion, of which I didnot tell her.
"The great comfort is this. Tortue did not make one upon thatexpedition to the Sierra Leone River, but his son did. Tortue onlyfell in with George Glen and his gang at an ale-house in Wapping, and_after_--that is the point--after Glen had lost track of Cullen Mayle.Tortue, therefore, has never seen Cullen, does not know him. We havean advantage there. So should he come to Tresco, while I go back alongthe road to search for him, you must make your profit of thatadvantage."
She stopped again.
"You will go, then?"
"Why, yes."
She shook her head, reflectively.
"It is not right," she said.
"I am going chiefly," said I, "because I wish to recover my horse."
She always laughed when I mentioned that horse, and her laughteralways made me angry.
"Do you doubt I have a horse?" I asked. "Or rather _had_ a horse?Because Cullen Mayle stole it, stole it deliberately from under mynose--a very valuable horse which I prized even beyond its value--andhe stole it."
The girl was in no way impressed by my wrath, and she said,pleasantly:
"I am glad you said that. I am glad to know that with it all, you aremean like other men."
"Madam," I returned, "when Cullen Mayle stole my horse, and rode awayupon it, he put out his tongue at me. I made no answer. Nor do I makeany answer to the remark which you have this moment addressed to me."
"Oh, sir!" said she, "here are fine words, and here's a curtsey tomatch them;" and spreading out her frock with each hand, she sankelaborately to the very ground.
We walked for some while longer in the garden, without speech, and thegirl's impertinence gradually slipped out of my mind. The sea murmuredlazily upon the other side of the hedge, and I had full in view St.Helen's Island and the ruined church upon its summit. The south aisleof the church pointed towards the house, and through the tracery of arude window I could see the sky.
"I wonder who in the world can have visited the Abbey burial-groundand rifled that grave?"
The question perplexed me more and more, and I wondered whether Helencould throw light upon it. So I asked her, but she bent her brows in afrown, and in a little she answered:
"No, I can think of no one."
I held out my hand to her. "This is good-bye," said I.
"You go to-day?" she asked, but did not take my hand.
"Yes, if I can find a ship to take me. I go to St. Helen's first. CanI borrow your boat; Dick will bring it back. I want to see that eastwindow in the aisle."
A few more words were said, and I promised to return, whether I foundCullen Mayle or not. And I did return, but sooner than I expected, forI returned that afternoon.