CHAPTER II--THE COMING OF AMOS
After that morning, throughout the summer months when I was at school,there was seldom a Saturday or a Wednesday afternoon when I was not tobe seen hastening eastward along the beach to see John Bannister and tolisten to his talk.
During those days I learned much of him, of his travels and adventures;but there were certain matters upon which he would never speak in anydetail. He would never tell me, for instance, the full story of how hehad come by the great scar upon his face--a disfigurement so pronouncedas to be at once pathetic and repulsive, which had aroused my boyishcuriosity from the first. Had it not been for that scar, Bannisterwould have been a handsome man, as indeed he was when the left side ofhis face was to be seen in profile. He had deep-set steel-grey eyesthat looked clean through you, and the forehead of a thinker; his hair,in those bygone days, was black, no more than touched with white uponthe temples and about the ears, and his moustache the longest I haveever seen. Though there was never a man, I should suppose, who had lessof vanity in his composition, I think he grew it thus to hide in partthe record of the terrible wound that had extended from his right ear tothe corner of his mouth--a scar that was always rough and white, thoughhis face was burnt by the sun to the colour of tan.
"I came by that," he once said to me in answer to my question, "in whatmight be called an honest cause. A thousand miles from nowhere, wherethere is neither Law nor Right nor Wrong nor Justice, one--who may ormay not have learned the Lord's Prayer at his mother's knee--would haveput to death some score of helpless human creatures, slaughtered themlike sheep."
"Why?" I asked.
"Why," said he, "there are but few motives that sway the evil that liesin all men, and of these greed of gold is first. And this man of whom Ispeak was a great force of evil, and is so still, for I never doubt thathe is yet alive. For gold he would have murdered those who had neverwronged him, who had indeed shown him nothing but kindness andhospitality. Fate decreed that this man's path and mine should cross;and because I stood between him and an ill-gotten fortune, I was strucka coward's blow. You would never guess the weapon, Dick, that gave memy beauty mark for life?"
He paused as if waiting for an answer, though I had none to give.
"Well, then," he continued, "it was a sceptre--the golden sceptre of abygone dynasty of monarchs, ended four hundred years ago--kings of nonaked savages, but emperors, rulers over an ancient civilisation thathas crumbled to the dust, of a people who were cultured in their ownway, industrious and great. It is something, we may imagine, to carrythrough life the scar that was given by the symbol of such authority andpower."
"And where was this?" I asked.
"Where the mountains overtop the clouds," he answered, "where one maysee the last of the sunset beyond the valleys of Peru, and the dawnrises from the dark forests of the Upper Amazon, in which, Dick, thereare secrets that no man yet has ever lived to learn."
"It was the sceptre of the _Incas_!" I exclaimed; for I had read as aholiday task _The Conquest of Peru_.
"The very same that was hidden from Pizarro," he made answer, "togetherwith all the gold of Huaraz and Cuzco."
"And who was the man who struck you?" I demanded.
"When I tell you that his name is Amos Baverstock," said Bannister,"that he hails from the same west-country town as I do--and that isTiverton in Devon--and that that man to this day counts himself as mygreatest enemy, I tell you more than I should."
And though I tried my utmost, I could get from him nothing more. Areticent man by nature, he was yet from the beginning prodigal of speechwith me. With the exception of this great Peruvian adventure--which, Icould tell from his demeanour, he ranked as the one outstanding episodein all his life--he would answer all my questions. I thought thisstrange; and there was an even stranger thing about him--and I was soonto learn that the two were linked together. Though he had to someextent confided in myself, he forbade me to speak of him to myschoolfellows. He told me he was well content to have found a friend ina boy after his own heart, much the same sort of lad as the JohnBannister who had bathed in the Exe, and, barefooted, raced other boysupon the river bank; but, were the knowledge of his presence upon thatlonely shore to become the common property of a clamouring, crowdedschool, his seclusion would be lost, his peace of mind disturbed, hishaven of rest and solitude converted into a kind of monkey-house--forthat is what he called it.
I gave my word, and kept it; and yet, I could not but think of things.And it occurred to me that John Bannister lived as he did for otherreasons than solely to enjoy the fruits of solitude. Not that hehimself had ever told me anything that was not the truth: he had,indeed, sojourned for so many years in the wild places of the world thathe had forgotten much concerning the ways of civilisation and could beshy--as he was before my mother--like an overgrown yokel who stands, capin hand, first on one foot and then upon the other. He wanted more thansolitude, he wanted secrecy. For more reasons than one I should haveguessed it; but I was but a boy, and looked not for motives or forcauses. I was content to take the man as he was: a hero in my eyes, whohad risked his life a thousand times, who had done great deeds and seenstrange sights and wondrous places that I had only dreamed of.
And now I come, at last, to the beginning of my story: a blazing morningin the August sun, when our friendship was four months old, when thewheels of chance began to move, and those forces were set in motion thatwhirled me away, when still a schoolboy, from sunny, sleepy Sussex, tobe a wayfarer with grim Death himself in dark, tropic lowlands, or amidthe very clouds.
It being holiday-time, and I having no thought in my head than whatpertained to my hero, I set forth earlier than usual, and took thestraight cut across the fields, instead of following the shore. Thisled me to a group of sand-hills, not half a mile from where Bannisterhad pitched his camp; and amid these I stumbled upon three men, seated,heads together, in the shadow of a gorse bush.
I cannot for the life of me explain why I did it--never before or sincehave I played the eavesdropper of my own free choice--but the moment Iset eyes upon a hunchback, with a clean, wrinkled face and two smalleyes as black as boot-buttons, down I dropped on all fours, like a manshot, and crept silently and swiftly to the cover of a clump ofreed-like grass.
I think the sight of the man frightened me. He had the cruellest face Ihad ever seen; and there was cunning in it, too. Also, there was asuggestion of merriness, of latent mirth, about him--patent in theshining, bead-like eyes--that caused me instantly to shudder. Have youever considered the eyes of a half-grown pig, as something apart fromthe glistening, inquisitive, joyful, and highly entertaining quadrupedthat a young pig happens invariably to be? They are wicked and gleeful,defiant and pitiless, those little, twinkling eyes. They are morefearful than those of a snake, because they are more alive and equallysoulless. Well, then, such eyes had this man: eyes at once mercilessand mischievous. And so it was, I must suppose, that I hid myself amidthe grass.
And then one of those who were with him used these very words; and whenI heard them, it was as if I was deprived of the power to breathe.
"I wish I were a hundred miles from here, I can tell you that. He's notlikely to forget that it was you, Amos Baverstock, that trapped him andleft him for dead, and that it was I who struck the blow."
I lay in the long grass, close as a hare, my heart pumping within melike an engine. I had heard and seen enough already to know that myfriend was in danger. I had a sense of some calamity impending, but notime just then to guess at the meaning of it all; for I must listen tothe quiet, cold voice of Amos Baverstock--the hunchback with the pigeyes and a long, thin nose like a weasel.
"You were right enough in London," said he, "when I told you I hadtracked him down, as I swore to you both I should."
"Maybe," said the other, "I forgot, for the moment, what he was. Iwould sooner face a tiger."
He was a rough-looking man, with a red, untidy beard, and there wassomething about him of the sailor.<
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"Tut, man," said Amos; "you make a mountain of a molehill! I do notpropose to set about this matter like a fool. He's lying yonder like anold dog-fox in his earth, and we'll send a terrier in to fetch him out."
"Me!" cried the red-bearded man, horror-stricken at the thought.
But, before Amos Baverstock could answer, the third man spoke for thefirst time; and my attention being thereby attracted towards him, I wasat once astonished at everything about his individuality: his voice, hispersonal appearance, the words he used, his very attitude ofcarelessness and ease.
"_Cave tibi cane muto._"
That is what he drawled, and though I was then a schoolboy who hadstruggled through the dull prose of Caesar to the loftier realms ofVirgil, I must confess that fear had so deprived me of my wits that Iunderstood no word, except the first.
The speaker lay flat upon his back, with his hands folded behind hishead, and his face exposed to the sun--like a tripper who would go backto London nicely tanned. I observed that he had taken off his coat androlled it into a pillow, and that the shirt he wore was of the softest,flimsiest silk.
He was dressed like a fop in the height of the fashion of that day,wearing a white tie, with a great gold pin in it, a well-curledmoustache and those short side-whiskers which were then the vogue. Hehad light-blue eyes and fair, curly hair, and had it not been for theside-whiskers, would have looked much younger than he was. Everythingabout him suggested that he was--or should have been--a gentleman ofmeans and leisure.
"_Cave tibi cane muto_," he repeated, more slowly than before. And thistime I had the sense to understand it: "Beware of the silent dog."
"Just so," said Amos. "We will tempt the dog with a bone. Trust to me,you dolt," he cried, turning sharp upon the man with the red beard, whowas sitting with a scowl upon his face and his legs crossed like aHindoo. "Ask yourself, have I ever yet sent you on a wild-goose chase?Am I one to take unnecessary risks?"
"Then, shoot him, take what we want, and have done with it," growled theother.
"Friend Joshua," said Amos, "we are some eight thousand miles fromChimborazo, and probably not two miles from a police-station. We wantno questions asked, no hue and cry. That would ruin everything."
"There's something in that," admitted the red-bearded man, whose namewas evidently Joshua.
Amos chuckled.
"This is no baby's game," said he. "Bannister fears neither man, wildbeast nor devil. No more am I afraid of him. I have tricked him once,and I can trick him again. Were I to get within arm's length of him, itis true, as like as not he would wring my precious neck; and the sameapplies to you, friend Joshua; for he will not have forgotten that itwas you who struck him down at the end of the passage that leads fromCahazaxa's Tomb. But Mr. Forsyth here, he has never set eyes on in allhis life."
"In other words," cut in the young man with the side-whiskers, stillstretched at full length upon the ground--"in other words, I myself amthe bone to be presented to the silent, dangerous dog. A pleasantprospect--but I acquiesce. Having gone into this business, I amprepared to take what comes."
Though he had spoken with a shade more animation than before, he hadneither moved an inch nor troubled even to open his eyes. A calmcustomer, in very truth, was Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, as I was afterwards tolearn, something to my cost--a man with more manners than morals, whowas never afraid and never surprised, and who smelt of the vile pomadewith which he plastered his moustache.
"Sir," said Baverstock, "you are the very man for me. I promise youthat, if we pull this business through, we shall wade knee-deep ingold."
"I want gold to spend and not to paddle in," said Forsyth. "Giveorders, Mr. Wisdom; I am here solely to obey."
Amos produced a long and very black cigar, bit the end off and began tochew, making his face all wrinkles. I thought that he would light it,but he did no such thing. He would look at it with one eye half closed,use it much as a musical director wields his baton to punctuate hiswords, and then chew again, until the brown juice was streaming from thecorners of his mouth.
"Go to John Bannister this morning," said he. "Go to him now, if youlike. He doesn't know you from Adam. Pretend you're just an idle,inquisitive holiday-maker who has dropped across him by chance; get intoconversation with him, ask him foolish questions; and then, withoutadvertisement, just--drop that across his head."
As he said this, he threw across to Mr. Forsyth some kind of weightedimplement, such as a house-breaker might have in his possession. It wasabout the size and shape of a belaying-pin, and attached to the thin endwas a leather strap to secure it to the wrist.
"Sounds simple enough," drawled Forsyth. "However, for the sake ofargument, suppose I fail. I understand from what you both tell me, hehas the strength of two ordinary men."
"Six," growled the red-bearded fellow, who seemed to me to be adiscontented rascal.
"Strike hard and without warning," said Amos. "In case of mishap, Trustand I will be at hand to help you."
I thought, at the time, that Trust was another man--a fourth party inthis vile conspiracy; for I did not then know that the name of thered-bearded man--as great a rogue as Amos himself, if not a tenth asclever--was Joshua Trust, who had served before the mast in the RoyalNavy, to be tried by court-martial for a felony and afterwardsdischarged.
Mr. Forsyth, in the meantime, picked up the bludgeon and toyed with itin his hand.
"A useful tool," he observed. "Convenient to carry, and--I shouldsay--effective to use. To be candid, I'm a little afraid of it. ThoughI have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Bannister, I should be sorry--formy own sake as well as his--to deprive him of his life."
"You need not be afraid of that," laughed Amos. "Had his skull beenthinner than a bullock's, it would have been broken years ago. We wanthim senseless, when we can bind him hand and foot, and help ourselves tothe very thing we want. He has got it somewhere, sure enough; and had Ito search the world for it, I would find it in the end."
And then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together; and I have neverseen in all my life an expression of such malignant glee.
"Once it is ours," he cried, "across the Western Ocean! Nothing standsbetween us three and fortune. Gold!" he almost shrieked, "I tell you,it is there knee-deep in a cavern as large as a cathedral: goldenornaments and vessels, bars and rings and bracelets. You shall haveyour fair share, Mr. Forsyth; for all's square between us, and, Iconfess, we could not very well move in this business without you.Joshua here will tell you, though I may be an ill man to cross in moreways than one, I never yet went back upon my friends. You've come intothis affair to help us, and I'll not forget it."
"Dear me, no!" drawled Forsyth. "I join you for my own ultimate gain. Irecognise that I am blessed with as little conscience as yourselves, andsee profit in the matter. I know nothing of this fellow Bannister, andcare still less. Besides, I have, I suppose, a natural taste for suchan adventure as you propose. I am heartily tired of this drearycountry, with its railways, gas-pipes and antimacassars. I would, in aword, stake all I have upon an only venture, to die soon or rich--I carelittle which it be."
And thereupon he yawned, placing the tips of his fingers before hismouth in a manner exceedingly affected.
They talked then for a while of other things; and all the time I wasseeking an opportunity to escape, to hasten to my friend to warn him ofhis danger; and yet, though I was well screened from view of AmosBaverstock and his companions, it was some time before I could find thecourage to bestir myself. I feared that they might hear me; and thevery sight of Amos had instilled within me a sense of dread whichreturns to me even to this day whenever I think of the man.
I lay in the long grass like a wounded bird: it was as if I had not thepower to move. My thoughts were running riot--Bannister to beshamefully assaulted, something stolen, and I kept repeating to myselfthe magic phrase, "Gold knee-deep in a cavern large as a cathedral."
There was something about all this of the kind of
adventures I had oftenimagined; I had thought that I would revel in the prospect of suchdangerous escapades; and here was I, scared out of my wits, tooterrified to move, my heart beating violently, as if I were out ofbreath from running.
Indeed, it was only the thought that Amos Baverstock or one of theothers would get up to go, and then discover me, that made me shift fromwhere I had been hiding; and no sooner was I out of earshot than I setoff running as if pursued by fifty fiends. I never ran so fast beforeor since. Over the sand-hills, stumbling amidst the shingle, breakingmy way through gorse and hedgerow, I came at last to John Bannister'scabin, lying in a hollow by the sea.
"Mr. Bannister!" I cried. "Mr. Bannister! Something dreadful is aboutto happen!"
I was, I suppose, half blinded by my running; or I had not the sense tolook about me. I stood before the opening of the cabin, wringing myhands and crying out like a fool:
"Mr. Bannister! Mr. Bannister! Come quickly!"
I had for answer neither the sight of his great strength nor thefamiliar sound of his voice, but just the wash of the sea at high tidebeyond the ridge where the buckthorn grew, a great rhythmical, breathingsound, as if a giant were slumbering.
I was more afraid than ever when I realised that he was not there, andit might take time to find him; for, befogged as my wits were, I knewwell enough that the occasion was one that would admit of no delay.
I ran straight to the beach, and looked to the eastward and westward.For a moment I had hoped to find him, for he would sometimes bathe inthe sea at that hour of the day; but a glance or so was enough to tellme I should not find him there.
I wandered for a while somewhat aimlessly amongst the shrubberies thatcrowned the margin of the sand-hills and the shingle, and then returnedto the cabin. As things happened, I must have done so in the nick oftime; for, when I had searched in odd corners, as if looking for ahidden thimble, instead of a man of six-foot-four, I went to thethreshold, and looking out beyond the gorse, beheld the tall figure ofMr. Gilbert Forsyth, strolling towards me, swinging in his hand hissilver-mounted Malacca cane.
I did not know whether or not he had seen me. It was sufficient for themoment that I had no way of escape. The cabin--as I have said--had beenbuilt in a hollow, and to cross the ridge that encompassed it wouldbring me into full view of Mr. Forsyth.
On the other hand, I could think of nowhere to hide. I stood for amoment irresolute, with clenched fists, cudgelling my brains and wishingthat I was anywhere else upon the wide face of the earth. Then I hearda footstep on the shingle without, and as I drew back into the shade ofthe hut, I saw the man's shadow cast upon the threshold.
I looked about me in a wild and silly way, and then without a thoughtdived under the great fur sleeping-bag that lay ruffled against thewall.
Forsyth entered. I could not see him, but I could hear him moving toand fro, and once he even trod upon my foot. Then I heard his voice,raised in a kind of drawling sing-song, as if he called to someone at adistance.
"Come on," he sang. "The way's clear. The dog's out of his kennel."
A full minute may have elapsed. On such occasions, time counts for nextto nothing. But, presently, I was aware that, besides myself, therewere three persons in that small place, and one of them was AmosBaverstock.
"Here's our chance," said he. "Joshua, keep watch from without. He maynot be far away, and it would be a rough-and-tumble business if hecaught us in the act. And now, sir, help me to find the map. The thingmust be somewhere in this hut, unless he carries it always on hisperson."
And at those words was I made to realise that, as sure as I had beenchristened Richard Treadgold in the little church at Middleton, I haddone a foolish thing and was like to be made to pay for it.
For Amos Baverstock was come to search for a certain map, thesignificance of which I then, of course, knew nothing. Whether or nothe would find this map was a question of itself; but there was no sortof a question within the bounds of probability that he could look forlong and fail to discover _me_. And then, in truth, the fat would be inthe fire.