The Passion for Life

by Joseph Hocking

  XVIII

  FATHER ABRAHAM

  "If I were you, I should leave this house."

  "May I ask why?"

  "Because your life is in danger. Yes, I see you smile, but I know; Ihave reason to know."

  "No," I replied, "my life is in no danger at all. I gather you arethinking of murder. I happen to be a lawyer, and have studied criminalcases for the last ten years, and I can never remember a murder to havetaken place without some grave motive for it. No one has a sufficientmotive to kill me. As far as I know, I haven't an enemy in the world, mydeath would benefit no one, and there is no reason why any would-bemurderer would endanger his life by killing me."

  The old man looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye. He seemed toregard me as an interesting specimen of humanity.

  "You are talking in the dark, my young friend," he said.

  "No," I replied. "I am not talking in the dark, I am talking commonsense. If I possessed a secret which was dangerous to any one, if I hadit in my power to hurt any one, if I had money which some one desired,if some one hated me very much, if I had done any one any great injury,if I had stolen some young fellow's sweetheart, I could believe theremight be truth in your words; but I have done none of these things. Ihave lived the most commonplace, humdrum life imaginable, and I haven'tan enemy in the world. More than that, circumstances have made itunnecessary for any one to kill me. My death will come in a perfectlynatural way in a very short time."

  "What do you mean by that last sentence?"

  "Just as I told you. If you do not believe me, I beg you to refer to Dr.Rhomboid, R-H-O-M-B-O-I-D, of Harley Street, London."

  "I see. But you are a cool one!"

  "I have no reason to be other than cool."

  "You say you are a lawyer, but there is no need for you to tell methat."

  "Still," I said, "I am interested in what you say. You have taken thetrouble to come here at midnight, when every one else is asleep, and youtell me my life is in danger. I cannot believe that in the slightestdegree; but the bump of curiosity, as the phrenologists say, is largelydeveloped in my cranium. Tell me why you came."

  "I have found out all about you that there is to know," he said betweenthe puffs of his cigar.

  "That didn't take you long," I replied.

  Again there was a silence between us, during which he watched my faceclosely.

  "Let me tell you this, my young friend. A man with sharp eyes, as yoursare, and a brain quick to think, as yours is, is always in danger whilea certain class of people exist."

  "What class of people?"

  He ignored my question entirely.

  "You said just now," he remarked, "that the bump of curiosity in yourcranium is largely developed."

  "Very largely indeed."

  "What is your interest in this coast? Why have you been seen creepingalong the beach examining the cliffs?"

  "Put it down to curiosity."

  "Exactly! Curiosity. And let me tell you this, my young friend, that ifyour curiosity should be rewarded, you will be a dead man withintwenty-four hours. You might, instead of living here in a perfectlydefenseless way, surround yourself by a thousand safeguards; you mighthave as many sentries as the Kaiser himself, but your life would not beworth a pin's purchase."

  "And a pin will not purchase much," I retorted.

  "Exactly! That is why I tell you to leave here."

  "You evidently know what you are talking about," I replied, "or at leastyou think you do. You will have noticed that I have not asked you anyquestions about yourself. There has seemed to be no reason why Ishould."

  "Why? What do you know about me?"

  "Practically nothing," I replied. "I am no Sherlock Holmes, and even ifI were, I have not had sufficient energy to satisfy my curiosity; still,I can give you a rough outline of who and what you are. You built thislittle hut here, built it with care and intelligence, for which I amvery grateful. You had as your man Friday, an idiot who went by the nameof Fever Lurgy. You lived here like a hermit for years, and were amystery to every one. Still, people did not trouble much about you, as agood many unconventional people live along the coast. I find that abouta mile farther on from here, in another little bay, several artists havebuilt little huts similar to this. One or two writing fellows also livelonely lives on this Cornish coast. You became known as Father Abraham;you showed yourself to practically no one; then, suddenly you left.There were signs of violence in the little room where you slept, andwhere I now sleep, and it was given out that you were the victim of foulplay, that possibly you were murdered. Evidently, however, you were not.As a consequence, there was a good amount of honest sympathy wasted."

  The old man laughed. Evidently I had amused him.

  "As a lawyer," I went on, "I have discovered that everything may beresolved into a matter of motive. You must have a motive for doing this.Your past life must be interesting! You tell me that I am in danger ofbeing murdered. I do not believe it a bit. At the same time, there is aconnection between your past life and your reason for telling me thisdoleful news."

  "I like a man with a clear brain," he chuckled. "I like a man who cananalyze, who can deduce, who has studied the laws of synthesis. You werea student of Socrates, weren't you, years ago? You loved the Socraticmethod of reasoning?"

  "Your deductions are from insufficient data," I remarked. "But that isby the way. Seeing you have taken the trouble to pay me this visit,would you mind telling me what has caused you to prophesy such evilthings about me?"

  "I do not prophesy, I warn. More than that"--again he looked at mekeenly--"your report concerning your health and your declaration of Dr.Rhomboid's verdict on you doesn't justify you in not heeding my warning.Even although a thousand doctors pronounce the death sentence on you,you can still hope that they are mistaken; and you long to live, youhate the thought of death."

  I reflected a moment. Somehow the old man's presence and his quickintelligence had made me think rapidly.

  "Do you know," he went on, "that there is a great deal of reason for theforeigners' opinion concerning John Bull's brains? Mind you, John Bullis a cleverer man than he is thought to be; all the same, they havetheir reason for their opinions."

  "What might their opinions be?" I asked.

  He laughed quietly, and again looked at me keenly.

  "You, now. You are a clever man, you have had a lawyer's training, youare given to observe, to analyze, to synthesize, but you have theEnglishman's fault."

  "And that?" I asked.

  "You always try to find out the thing which is lying a long way off fromyou. You never observe the thing which is close by."

  "You speak in a detached way," I replied. "You speak of Englishmen inthe third person. Why do you do that? You are an Englishman?"

  "How do you know that?" he asked.

  "Instead of answering that," I replied, "I will tell you something else.You have spent a good deal of time in Germany."

  I was startled by the change which came over his face. I had evidentlymade him fear.

  "Why do you say that?" he cried.

  "There is such a thing as intuition as well as deduction," I replied."Intuition and deduction act and react one upon the other. But, afterall, you didn't come here because you were interested in mentalgymnastics. You say I am in danger in this place; you have warned me toleave it. Why do you say this to me?"

  "Ah, there is the English side of your character coming out! Will younot do as I tell you without my giving you a reason?"

  "No," I replied.

  "Then your own blood be upon your head. I warn you; I can do no more. Itell you you are in danger. You as a lawyer ought to know that a cleverman, an observant man, even although he may know nothing of what isgoing on around him, can be a constant menace to those who work insecret. Now do you follow me?"

  "Yes," I replied, "I follow you, but because you will not tell meplainly what is in your mind, you have aroused my curiosity; more thanthat, you have aroused the John Bull in me. I am too ne
ar death to beintimidated by what you tell me. As a consequence, you have made me moredetermined than ever to stay here, unless," I added, "you have decidedto come back and live here, and drive me from this little hut, which, inspite of myself, I have come to love."

  "Ah, you like it!" he said. "It is comfortable, is it not? The sea viewsare wonderful, the silence of the night is a revelation; but leave it,my young friend, leave it!"

  "I have told you I shall not leave it," I replied, "until I havesufficient reason for doing so."

  "But you can do no good by remaining here; if you could, I would nothinder you from your madness. But can't you realize, man, that Englandis at war? Now then, cannot you understand?"

  "Oh yes," I replied. "I have had that in my mind for some time. Irealized it when I told you that you had lived a long time in Germany."

  "How did you guess that?"

  "Oh, for one thing, while you speak English with an English accent, theconstruction of your sentences suggests a close acquaintance with Germanliterature. You mentioned the Kaiser just now when you spoke of beingguarded, and a look of fear came into your eyes when I said I knew ofyour connection with Germany."

  He grasped the arms of his chair as I spoke, and looked at me withoutspeaking, but I saw that I had touched him--saw too that there werethoughts in his mind which he dared not utter.

  "You are afraid of some one," I went on. "Who, I don't know; possibly Ishall not be able to find out; but you are. In spite of the kindlinessof your nature, there is a horrible fear in your heart. Forces are atwork in your life which I at present cannot understand. Look here, areyou a paid tool of the German Government?"

  "God forbid!" he cried. "No, no, God forbid; but--but----Look here, Mr.Erskine, have you discovered anything?"

  "Nothing. I wish I had."

  "Let me tell you this, then. You are watched, constantly watched, andthe moment you do discover anything----" He shrugged his shoulders byway of concluding his sentence. "Every man has his own secrets," he wenton; "as you say, motives govern lives. They guide our actions, controlour words."

  "If I am watched day and night," I said, "I must be a person of someimportance; but more than that, you must be in danger in coming here."

  "I fight the devil with his own weapons," was his reply. "I meet cunningwith cunning, plot with plot, mystery with mystery. To be forewarned isto be fore-armed, and I have taken every precaution; but I cannot tellyou what I know--that is why I beseech you to leave here. You, a poorinvalid, weak as a rabbit, with one foot in the grave, can do nothing;yet your very presence is a menace. Therefore leave the neighborhood, orif you must stay in the neighborhood, go into the village away fromhere."

  "I should not be in danger if I went into the village, then?" I asked.

  "Go into the village," he repeated. "There are lodgings there, simpleperhaps, but clean, which would suit you just as well as this."

  "No," I replied, "no place will suit me quite as well as this."

  "Then your blood be upon your own head; I am sorry. I like you; Iwatched you directly after you came here. I discovered all that therewas to be known about you. Leave the place, man, and give it out that itis haunted."

  "Do you realize," I said, "that you have put yourself in danger, too? Ido not mean from those enemies who are unknown to me, but from othersources. I happen to know three magistrates in this district. If I wereto tell them what you have told me to-night, I could have you arrestedas a dangerous character. I have a servant, too, who is in a room closeby. Possibly he has heard every word which has passed between us."

  He laughed like a man amused.

  "No, Mr. Erskine," he said, "there is not the slightest danger of that.Your servant is asleep. Bah, do you think I don't know? Do you think Iam such a fool as that? As for telling the magistrates, you could not doit."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because you are you. Do you think I did not estimate the kind of man Iam speaking to before I said what I have said? But I am sorry. I must begoing now."

  He put on his heavy ulster as he spoke, buttoned it closely round histhroat, and pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his forehead.

  "If you discover anything," he said,--"I am saying this as an offchance, ay, a chance in a million,--leave this place as soon as you havediscovered it, and send a telegram to me."

  "Where?" I asked.

  "Send it to John Adams, Chigwheal Post Office."

  "And you will tell me nothing more than that?"

  "I came here to warn, not to inform."

  As he spoke I heard a sound outside, something like the cry of asea-bird; it was a human voice.

  "Good-night," he said, holding out his hand. "I am truly sorry, but Ihave done my best."

  I unlocked the door, and he passed out into the darkness. I listenedintently, and heard the rustling of the bushes. A minute later, therewas a murmur of voices, and I knew that Fever Lurgy was near.

  After having closed the door and carefully locked it, I sat for a longtime thinking.

  Part of the little success I had had in the law was owing to aremarkably retentive memory. I have sometimes thought that my memory ispeculiar to myself. I do not quite know how to describe it. I havelistened to a conversation which has interested me, and I have listenedto evidence in court which has been of importance, and for three or fourdays I have remembered it in its minutest detail, and could repeat itword for word. At the end of three or four days, however, the detailshave passed from me completely, although I have retained the broadoutlines of what I have heard. Now as I sat, the conversation which hadtaken place, every word, every look, every gesture of old Father Abrahamwas clear before my mind.

  That the old man was sincere I did not doubt. He evidently believed thatI was in danger. I was sure, too, that he had had some connections withGermany, and that his fears were connected with the war. But I doubtedhis judgment. I was not sure that he was altogether sane. He wasobsessed with thoughts which had no objective reality, at least so Ifancied, and yet his warning was grave. Not that I intended to heed it:I had not much to hope for in life; but danger or no danger, I meant toget to the bottom of what he had said. Evidently this hut was closelyconnected with his thoughts. Evidently, too, it had been under hisobservation ever since he had left it.

  I reflected on all I had said to him, and was pleased that I had toldhim nothing of what I had discovered. Remembering all that had takenplace in the country during the last few months, I determined to usewhatever faculties I might possess in order to discover how I might be amenace to the enemy. If I could discover that, I should be able to helpmy own country.

  When I awoke the following morning, I realized how truly Father Abrahamhad read my character. I could not make up my mind, even although I hadtried, to tell any one that the old man was still alive, and that hisactions were at least suspicious. For one thing, I did not believe thathe was an enemy to our country; for another, I had my doubts whether anygood could result in making a search for him.

  That he was in hiding in some place in the district I did not doubt.Chigwheal was about nine miles from St. Issey, and he evidently livednear enough to that village to receive postal communications; but wherehe lived, or what disguises he might assume, I had not the slightestidea. That he was a man with a quick brain and of great resource I hadno doubt whatever, and I felt sure he would know how to defend himselfin case of danger. In addition to that, too, I felt that I should beacting against the interests which had been born in my heart, if Idisclosed his possible whereabouts. I knew instinctively that he waskindly disposed towards me, and to tell of what had occurred wouldpossibly hinder me from the course of action I had decided upon. Addedto all this was a kind of secretiveness which hindered me from makingknown his visit to me.

  As may be imagined, I had plenty of food for thought. It was evidentthat his interest in me was no new thing. Months had now elapsed sinceFever Lurgy had given me the same warning. Doubtless the poorthick-witted lad was but a messenger from this mysterious old man. Icarefully
thought over every sentence he had uttered, and weighed theirpossible meanings.

  My danger, if danger there was, lay not in the fact that any oneharbored evil thoughts concerning me, but that I lived in this littlehut. Evidently the hut itself occupied a position of advantage. It wasat the centre of some operation. The old man had built it for somepurpose, and then, for reasons unknown to me, had left it. I called tomind the fact that immediately after my arrival I had seen figures inthe near distance who looked as if they might be watching my actions;but why? It was well known that I had no purpose in coming to Cornwallsave to find a healthy spot where I might conserve my poor feeble lifeas long as possible.

  One thing, however, Father Abraham had done for me. He had set me on myguard. I had for some months now taken an intelligent interest in whatwas going on, and had read the papers carefully. Like all other Britishpeople, too, my eyes had been opened to what militarism had done forGermany, and to the depths of meanness and baseness to which they wereprepared to sink, in order to carry out their purposes. As I have saidpreviously, I had visited Germany on more than one occasion. I alsounderstood the language and could speak it and read it fluently. Whilein Germany I had talked with professors in the universities and officersin their army. I was aware, too, of their mastery of detail and of theirthorough preparedness for everything they undertook. What I could notunderstand was how I, living in this obscure corner of the country,could be in a position of advantage, and how I could be a menace to mycountry's enemies.

  I did not know then, neither did I dream, how my eyes were to be opened.