Island Gold/Chapter 22

unpleasant scene of violence, mein liebes Fräulein,” he remarked, dabbing his forehead with a red handkerchief, “which might so easily have been avoided. But, when men take passion instead of reason for guide—was wollen Sie? The war destroyed logical thinking. To-day it is rare to find any one capable of taking a perfectly dispassionate view of life. Ja wohl!...”

Marjorie wondered vaguely what he meant. His manner was ingratiating; but she was conscious that he was watching her closely to mark the effect of his words.

“We Germans lost the war. Therefore, a man like your friend Okewood believes that everywhere and in all circumstances the German must be in a state of inferiority. How short-sighted, meine Gnädige! And what a blemish this want of logic signifies in an otherwise remarkable character! To go no farther afield in search of an illustration than this delightful island—war or no war, the fact remains that the strength of my little party puts the Herr Major in an inferiority of thirteen to one. How much wiser on his part it would have been to have recognized this fact yesterday! Let us hope that you will not be so ill-advised as to ignore it! You take my meaning? How quick you are!...”

For a minute his thick fingers drummed on the blanket thrown across him.

“Your Herr father has gone to fetch the yacht, nicht wahr?”

“It is no use asking me,” replied Marjorie. “I have not seen my father since I landed on the island...”

“So, so!” placidly observed Grundt, “another question for friend Okewood presently. But perhaps you can tell me what has become of Herr Okewood? Where exactly did you leave him?”

Marjorie was thinking desperately. It was merely a matter of time, probably only of minutes now, she reflected, before I should be captured and dragged out of the cave. But some instinct prompted her, as she told me afterwards, to give no information about me until she had actually seen me once more in Grundt's power. So she simply shrugged her shoulders.

“I trust that this gesture does not imply,” said Clubfoot, “that you do not know where you left Major Okewood, for that would be acting a lie. And lying, meine Gnädige, will do you no good in your present predicament. You must not take advantage of our good nature, o, nein! Do not forget that on a desert island man is apt to sink back into his primitive state...”

His voice was gentle and caressing; but the implication in his words was horrible.

“You come to us unbidden. You throw yourself upon our chivalry. Ja! that is all very well. But have you made sure that the conventions of civilized life obtain in this little island republic of which I am president? Hein, hein, had you thought of that? But won't you please sit down?”

“I prefer to stand,” replied the girl shortly.

“You make me do discredit to our old German courtesy, liebes Fräulein. I cannot sit while you remain standing. And in this hot sun... bitte!”

With his spadelike hand he smoothed out a place on the grass under the shade of his tree. Dully, almost against her will, Marjorie sank down.

A gleam awoke in the cripple's eyes as he pawed the girl's bare arm.

“Listen!” he said, lowering his voice confidentially and leaning towards her. “The Spaniards of my party come without exception from the lowest scum of the Central American seaboard. Their table talk is enlivened with anecdotes of their—shall we say—conquests?—which fill even me with disgust and dismay. And my Germans—yes, I, a good German, must admit it—they, too, have forgotten something of the conventions of civilized life. For five years or more they have been outlaws, dirty Boches, the rejected of mankind—they who are of that race”—his voice rang triumphant, but then trembled and broke—“Gott! that is the salt of the earth!”

For an instant he seemed to be genuinely moved. Bitter memories kindled a spark of anger in his fierce dark eyes. But the mood passed swiftly, and his voice was gentle, his manner sleek as before, when he resumed:

“You make it difficult, very difficult for me. You come here, a delicate, fair young maid, and you expect to live unscathed in a camp of rough men; for I do not conceal from you the fact, Miss Garth, that unless your father is reasonable, you may be with us for many days...”

He broke off suggestively. The girl dared not look at him for fear of the thought unspoken she might read in his leering eyes.

“Would you be surprised to learn—it is always best to be frank, nicht wahr?—that it will require an armed guard to keep these men away from you at night?...”

At that Marjorie revolted. She sprang to her feet and walked away, sickened at the picture he had suggested to her by every word. Grundt made no attempt to follow her.

“I am sure you will be reasonable,” he murmured.

A man burst turbulently into the hollow. It was von Hagel. He was smeared all over with grey dust and his heavy boots showed white gashes where the rocks had cut them. He was pale and the livid weal across his right cheek seemed to distort his features.

“Well?” said Grundt sternly.

The young man made a helpless gesture of the hands. Slowly Clubfoot sat up erect and a heavy scowl drew his eyebrows together. One could almost see the young German quake as he stood before his leader, dumb, confused, aimlessly moving his hands. At last he faltered out:

“He is not there!”

A convulsion of anger seemed to shake the huge cripple. The close-shaven hair of his scalp moved, his heavy nostrils twitched, as solidly, viciously, his great jowl set.

“Not there!” he ejaculated hoarsely, his voice strangling with anger. “What do you mean 'not there'? Black Pablo's orders were to bring him down to me. Why has he not done so?—Himmel-kreuzdonnerwetter!”—his hairy hands beat on his knee with rage—“why don't you answer me?”

“We ... we ... gained the top shelf unobserved,” stammered out von Hagel. “It was deserted. There is only one cave—with a clear drop down. The steps appear to have quite recently broken away. Pablo, Schröder, and I went with torches—they let us down with ropes. We came to a lower chamber where some native dead are buried. At the end was the narrow air-slit through which the girl escaped...”

“And the Engländer was not there, you say?”

“No!”

“Schafskopf! He was never there!”

“We saw him enter it. Besides, we found burnt matches on the ground and the ashes of his pipe...”

“Then he went out by the air-hole...”

“It is too narrow. Ramon, who is slightly built, could not get through...”

“And there is no other cave?”

“No!”

“Evidently he left by the way he entered and escaped under the noses of your sentries...”

“Impossible, Herr Doktor! By the way he went in, without ropes both ascent and descent are out of the question. And since early morning the path, which is the only means of access to the cliff, has been guarded...”

Shaking with ague, Clubfoot was struggling to regain his self-control.

“Erlauben Sie!” he said in a voice half-suffocated with rage, “let us get this right. I do not admit miracles. We know that the Engländer and the girl took refuge in this cave. Gut! The girl, we know, came out through the air-hole. Where is, then, the man?”

Von Hagel looked at Marjorie.

“Why not ask the girl?” he suggested.

“You've heard what he said,” screamed Clubfoot, whipping round and shaking his finger at Marjorie; “where did you leave this man?”

Then Marjorie told them she had left me in the cave.

“Sehen Sie?” roared Clubfoot. “He's escaped under your very snouts, Schweinhunde that you are! He's in that cave yet! Get out of my sight, you dog! And send Black Pablo here! Tell him he has to reckon with me now! And, by God, if I have to go to him myself...”

Von Hagel had turned and fled. The cripple had risen to his knees. The perspiration poured off his face as, with trembling limbs, he vainly strove to overcome the weakness that mastered him while he mouthed and mumbled a stream of threats.

Then from the sea a gun spoke, a single report that broke the brooding silence of the island and went echoing and clanging among the tall, grave rocks. Clubfoot's babble ceased on the instant. He desisted from his attempt to rise to his feet and remained immobile save for the trembling of his great torso. Slowly he turned bis head and looked at Marjorie, who, transfixed with fear, was watching him.

Thus I found them as, a moment later, I stepped into the hollow.

“Sit down, Grundt!” I said.