The Kang-He Vase/Chapter 15

upset the tea-things and the table in the dart that I made for that window. The suddenness of my rush there checked the scream on Pepita’s lips; she twisted sharply round in her chair, and I knew that she was just in time to see, too. But quick as I was, the face had gone by the time I reached the casement; in what I could see of the narrow space between me and the blank wall opposite, there was nothing. I slewed round again to Pepita, who had half-risen from the table, staring.

“You saw?” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you?”

“I saw!” she answered. “That brown-faced man at the Grange—looking in! Oh, Ben!—what was he wanting?”

“To see what he could!” said I. “Spying round! Pepita!—you can bet your life that chap’s on the hunt for Uncle Joseph! That’s it!—sure as fate!”

“Shall you tell them?” she asked, nodding at the door.

But I had already thought of that. I began to see chances, excellent chances, arising out of this episode.

“Not one word!” said I. “We’ll keep that to ourselves. I’m not afraid of Mandhu Khan—Miss Ellingham says he’s a very faithful and dependable servant. Do you know what I think?—I think that Mandhu Khan is on the track of Uncle Joseph. They’re awfully clever, these chaps, I’m told—see things that we don’t, and are skilled in tracing people, and I should say Mandhu Khan has taken up the search for his mistress’s stolen property, and he’s got an idea that Uncle Joseph Krevin has got it, and is lying doggo here at the Shooting Star. So he comes and peeps in at the window! See?”

“Do you think he’ll tell—tell people at Middlebourne, I mean—that he’s seen us, Ben?” she asked.

“Sure and certain, Pepita!” I declared. “Lucky thing for us that he came peeping round! Of course, he’ll tell! But look here!—if these chaps come back, as they’re sure to when they’ve meditated, as Uncle Joseph styled it, not a word about that face at the window! We’ll keep that to ourselves. And for anything we know, there may be others round about—Cherry, for instance. One thing’s certain, anyhow—if that Hindu chap knows that Uncle Joseph is in this house he’ll hang on to it and him like glue—bet your stars!”

My assurances seemed to revive Pepita’s spirits—though, to do her full justice, she had never shown anything but steady resolve to go through with things—and we sat down again and finished our tea, each of us keeping an eye on the window. However, we saw no more of Mandhu Khan’s brown face and big eyes. Nothing happened; the evening wore on; nobody came; it looked as if we were condemned to imprisonment for the night. And at last, after many nods and yawns, Pepita began to show signs of weariness.

“Ben!” she said suddenly. “I’m sleepy—it’s long past my bed-time. I can’t keep awake!—can’t! What shall we do, Ben?”

“You must lie down and go to sleep,” I declared, firmly. “Nothing else for it! And you can be sure of this—I shan’t sleep! I’ll keep watch. Come on now!—you’re quite safe, and you’ll be asleep in two minutes.”

She hesitated a while, then, with a smile of utter sleepiness, she went over to the bed in the corner and lay down. As for me, I dragged a big chair right in front of the door and took my place in it.

“Good-night, now, Pepita!” I said, in very grandfatherly fashion. “Don’t worry—and go to sleep! I shouldn’t wonder if we find the door open in the morning—it’s my opinion these chaps will make themselves scarce in the night.”

She made no answer for a time: then she spoke, in a whisper.

“Won’t you kiss me good night, Ben?” she said. “I’d feel safer, I think, if you did—somehow!”

I went over and kissed her and she lifted her arms and put them round my neck.

“I’m your girl now, aren’t I, Ben?” she whispered. “Oh, Ben!—if they come back, don’t go running any risks! I know you’re as brave as a lion, but”

At that very minute we heard the bolt withdrawn outside, and I started away from her, and she jumped hastily from the bed, with a startled exclamation.

“They’re here now!” she said. “Ben!—be careful!”

The key turned; the door opened. And there stood Getch. He was in sea-going clothes and sea-boots and had an oil-skin hat pulled close over his face.

“Now, my lad,” he said in a domineering tone that roused my temper, “come on!—and the girl, too! Follow me—or walk in front. Lively, now!”

“No!” I said, motioning Pepita to keep behind me. “Not till I know where we’re going!”

He came a step or two into the room, and he left the door wide.

“Look here, young fellow-my-lad!” he said in a lower voice and more insolent tone. “You just listen to me! You ain’t dealing with Joe Krevin at this minute, though you’ll see plenty of him presently—you’re dealing with me! You and the girl come on at once, and do as you’re told, or I’ll put you through it in a fashion you won’t like, and carry the girl off whether she likes it or not! D’ye hear that—and d’ye see this?” he went on, raising his right arm and hand. “If I give you one real good ’un with that, my lad, you’ll drop off to a sort of sleep that’ll keep you quiet enough for a good while—and you’ll wonder if an earthquake hit you when you wake! Now, come on!”

I felt Pepita’s hand on my arm and knew what its pressure meant.

“Where?” I asked. “Is it safe—for her?”

“Don’t you ask questions, my young cockeril!” he sneered. “You heard what your uncle said before he left you. No harm to either as long as you do what you’re told. And damned soft stuff to give you, in my opinion!—if I’d had my way I’d ha’ wrung your young neck and chucked you in the tideway hours ago. March, now!”

He stood aside in the doorway, and motioned us into the passage. We went—silently. It was dark there, but Getch picked up a lantern which had been standing on the floor, with its face turned to the wall, and presently guided us forward, through what seemed to be a labyrinth of cellars and windings until at last I saw a grey aperture in front and felt a breath of sea air blowing towards us. And suddenly he turned out his light, and, passing through an open doorway, we found ourselves on a narrow quay at the side of the river and saw dimly perceptible things in the shine of stars and faint gleam of a waning moon.

And the first thing was a boat, at our feet, and in it a cloaked and much obscured figure, big and bulky, sitting in the stern, surrounded by what seemed to be a number of bundles, boxes, or packages. Uncle Joseph, no doubt!—but the next instant we heard his voice, in a faint whisper.

“Give the young lady this here coat,” he said. “It’ll protect her!—and as for you, Benjamin, you must make shift with one o’ these rugs—the night’s not so cold as all that, and we aren’t facing a long voyage. Help her in, Benjamin!”

But with the coat in my hands which he flung to me I made a last appeal.

“Look here!” I said. “I don’t mind what happens to me, but you surely aren’t going to carry off a young girl, at night, in this way? Just think”

“We’ve been doing a deal o’ thinking, Benjamin,” he interrupted, in a whisper. “Me and Mr. Getch has thought and thought—and we’re a-doing what we consider best and kindest for all parties. There’s no harm’ll come to the young lady, Benjamin, while she’s in my charge, nor to you, neither, if you behave yourself—at worst, it’s only a bit of temp’ry inconvenience. So be a good lad, and behave friendly!”

“But” I began.

Getch cut short what I was going to say by unceremoniously thrusting me headlong into the boat, whither Pepita hastened to follow me, before he could lay hands on her. He jumped in himself then and seized the oars; a few strokes from his powerful arms and we were out in the river and heading for the bar at its mouth and the open sea beyond. And I judged then that it was now very late at night, for as the little town became dimly visible there was not a light to be seen in any of its windows. As for the house we had just left, it stood black and forbidding against the chalk cliffs beyond. Nobody said anything for a while. Uncle Joseph remained at the tiller, humped up like a bale of goods; Pepita and I, side by side, and holding each other’s hands, cowered near him, amidst the packages: Getch was busy with his oars. He was a powerful hand at that job; within a few minutes he had us over the bar and out into the sea; he made still better progress there, for the dark waters were calm as a millpond. And once outside the bar and well off the land, I looked about me, especially in front, in the endeavour to fix our destination. My idea, at first, was that they were going off to some ship, but I gave that up at once, for the visibility was good and as far as I could see there was no ship anywhere in sight—certainly not one with her necessary lights burning. For a time I was doubtful, but when Uncle Joseph continued to steer us straight ahead of the river mouth, I knew at last where we were going. And that was Melsie Island.

I began to get a clearer notion of the situation when I had decided on that. Melsie was a small island which, as near as I could reckon, lay right opposite the rocks and caves of Fliman’s End, at a distance of from two and a half to three miles. It was about three-quarters of a mile in length, and half-a-mile wide; a wild, rocky, barren place, over the outer edges of which one could see the waves dashing in bad weather, and on which nobody lived. And it was seldom that anybody ever went to it from the mainland; there was nothing to go for. I had been on it once, when I was out with Tom Scripture in his boat; he had put into one of its coves for some reason or other and I and his son had raced over the grim rocks and deserted stretches of sand while he remained on the beach. But once upon a time folks had lived on the island—monks, in the old, far-off days. There had been a famous religious house there—Melsie Abbey; you could see the ruins of it from our creek, and I, of course, had explored them when I was roaming about with Tom Scripture’s boy. They were considerable, but they consisted chiefly of roofless walls and fallen masses of masonry; still, there was one part which, I had noticed on my inspection, was still in very fair preservation and could easily have been made habitable, and that was the main tower, which the last Abbot of Melsie had only just finished building when he and his brethren were turned adrift on the world. And now, as I thought over my recollections of it, I knew that Melsie Abbey and its surroundings would afford fine chances for a man who wanted to hide himself, and I had no doubt whatever that we were bound thither.

In this surmise I was correct enough. After he had pulled a mile or so from the mouth of the river, Getch stepped a mast and set a small sail, and there being a nice breeze blowing from land, we bowled merrily away in the direction of the island, and before long saw its dark bulk showing ahead. All this time our two captors preserved a strict and gloomy silence; indeed, they neither exchanged a word between themselves nor spoke to us until we were close on our destination. Then Getch made some remark to Uncle Joseph about trying the old landing-place, and after commanding me to give a hand with the sail, he took the tiller himself and steered the boat into a sort of passage between high black rocks, finally bringing us alongside a quay which I have no doubt had been artificially fashioned in the monastic days for the convenience of the inhabitants.

It was quiet enough on that island; there was, indeed, a sense of death like quietness on it, and I think that both Pepita and myself stepped ashore feeling as if we were about to be immured in a tomb. But Getch gave us no time for these or any other thoughts; now that we were landed, he seemed to assert himself as chief authority and began to order us all about, Uncle Joseph included. We had to help in unloading the boat, and then in carrying the various packages, and, just as I had expected, Getch directed us to take them up to the tower in the ruins; we made two or three journeys before we had cleared everything. They were not heavy packages—I guessed, and rightly, that they contained food and drink. But there were also plenty of rugs, cushions, old coats, and the like; Uncle Joseph carried most of these, and when we had got up the last of the parcels he flung an armful towards me.

“You must just do what you can to make the young lady a bit of a nest, Benjamin,” he said in his suavest tones. “It’s not what you might call a boo-dwaw, this, but we must make the best of circumstances, and, fortunately, the night’s warm and this here chamber is dry. And in the morning we’ll see what we can do to make ourselves a bit more comfortable.”

We were in a lower room of the tower, and Getch had lighted a lantern, by the light of which, small as its gleam was in that cavernous space, we could see to do things. I made a couch for Pepita in the cleanest corner I could find, and persuaded her to lie down. And I’ll say this for Uncle Joseph—he was kindly and considerate enough to her, suggesting that she might like something to eat and ordering me to see what I could find for her. But Pepita wanted nothing—except that I should stay near her. And stay near her I did, making shift as well as I could with a couple of horse-rugs, and I was thankful that within a few minutes she was fast asleep. I, myself, would gladly have slept, for very weariness, but I was too anxious and uneasy. Somehow, I felt that we had little to fear from Uncle Joseph, who, however deep and villainous he might be, did not seem inclined to cruelty, but I had no such assurance about Getch, who, I felt sure, would have no compunction about wringing our necks to save his own. And sitting near Pepita’s improvised couch, with my back to the wall, I watched him, wondering all the time if we were going to be under his surveillance, and for how long. There was no sign of his going away then. He had so disposed the lantern that its light could not penetrate through any aperture in the walls, of which, to be sure, there were not many and what there were lay high above our heads, and he and Uncle Joseph sat near it, talking in low tones. Getch had opened a bottle of spirits and broached a cask of water; I watched them drinking and smoking for some time. They were very quiet and quite orderly; from their attitude and behaviour they might have been discussing some peaceful domestic question. And suddenly, without knowing that I was on the verge of it, I dropped headlong into the abyss of sleep. When I woke again, just as suddenly, there was no sign of Getch. The morning sun was shining through the leadless window-places high up in the eastern wall, and I heard the crying of sea-birds and chatter of choughs, hovering around the parapet of the tower. Pepita was still fast asleep in her corner; her face, rosy-pink, half-buried in the crook of her arm; her breath coming softly and regularly. And over in his corner, half-buried in rugs and wrappings, his big bulk propped up against the angle of the wall, Uncle Joseph was asleep, too—asleep and snoring gently. His hands were clasped across his stomach; his mouth was half-open. And there, near him, was the lantern, extinguished, and the spirit-bottle, and the empty glasses—but no Getch.

I got quietly to my feet, stiff and aching from the hardness of my couch, and looked about me. In the gloom of the night I had not been able to get any very accurate idea of the exact nature of the things we had brought up from the boat. But I now saw that, whatever the reason of this flight to the island might be, Uncle Joseph was well provisioned. There was a great deal of canned stuff, meats, fruits; there was bread sufficient to last for several days; there were two cases of bottled beer and half-a-dozen bottles of spirits; it occasioned me a good deal of disquietude to see all this, for it seemed to argue that we might be kept in captivity for some time. Nor was I much comforted when I also saw tea, coffee, and sugar, and found a couple of square tins filled with cakes—these doubtless would be welcome to Pepita, but they, too, foreshadowed a longer residence on that island than I desired.

But it was something to be free of Getch. Relieved of his presence, I might possibly circumvent Uncle Joseph and contrive to signal some passing vessel. Unfortunately, as I knew from lifelong experience of that coast, vessels scarcely ever came near Melsie Island—still, there might be a chance. I went out to have a look round. And anxious to be absolutely certain about Getch, I first directed my steps to the landing place amongst the rocks, to see if his boat was still there. It wasn’t—and I knew then that he had gone in the night, and that we three had the island to ourselves.