The Passion for Life

by Joseph Hocking

  XXIII

  A CLUE TO THE MYSTERY

  I seemed to have a fresh lease of life as I clambered up the rocky clifftowards my hut. I had no sense of weariness or weakness at all; it mightseem as though all my fears had been groundless, and that Dr. Rhomboidhad been utterly mistaken.

  I expect this was because of the great excitement under which I labored.Every nerve in my body was in tension; at that moment nothing seemedimpossible to me. My mind, I remember, seemed as vigorous as my body,and I felt as though I was walking on air. The possibilities of what Ihad discovered might mean putting an end to one of the greatest dangerswhich had been threatening our country. From what I could judge, thismight be one of the principal store places of petrol. I realized, as Ihad never realized before, the cleverness of the German mind. No one, Iimagined, would think of this out-of-the-way district as a possiblecentre of their operations. Naturally the whole of the East Coast fromDover to the extreme North of Scotland would be watched with thegreatest care; but who would have thought they would choose thisout-of-the-way spot on the North of Cornwall? It might seem as thoughProvidence had led me thither.

  More than once on my way to the house did I stop and look eagerly aroundme, but I was always assured that no one watched me, and that I wasutterly alone; besides, I could not have chosen a more perfect day formy investigation. Although it was now near noon and the weather showedsigns of breaking, a thick damp mist still enveloped the wholecountryside, thus making observation from a distance almost impossible.

  "Everything all right, sir?" asked Simpson, as I entered the house.

  "What should be wrong?" was my reply.

  "Nothing, sir, only you might have seen a ghost; you look terriblystrange and excited, sir."

  I laughed aloud.

  "I have not felt so well for months, Simpson."

  He looked at me dubiously, I thought, and seemed anything but satisfied.

  "Are you ready for your lunch, sir?"

  "Lunch?" I replied. "Haven't I had lunch?"

  Making my way into my little bedroom, I caught a glimpse of my face. Ihardly recognized myself! Pale as I had always been since my illness, mypallor had been nothing to the white, drawn, haggard face which I saw inthe glass. But for the wild glitter in my eyes, it might have been theface of a dead man, and yet every particle of my being seemed instinctwith life.

  After pretending to eat some of the lunch which Simpson had prepared forme, an unusual languor crept over me, and throwing myself on the couch,I quickly fell asleep.

  I was awakened by a sound of voices at the door, and I started upquickly. As far as I could judge, I suffered no evil results from theexcitement through which I had passed. Whatever had caused me unnaturalstrength, its influence had not yet departed.

  "Simpson," I said, "whom have you got there?"

  "I beg your pardon, sir, but I have just told Mr. Lethbridge that hecould not see you. I did not think you looked well, sir."

  "Show Mr. Lethbridge in. I am perfectly all right."

  "I am afraid I should not have called," said Mr. Lethbridge, as heentered the room. "You do not look well."

  "I am better than I have been for months," was my answer. "Sit down,won't you?"

  He gave me a quick, searching glance, and then took the chair to which Ihad pointed. There were marks of suffering in his face. Although he wascalm and collected and showed no signs of emotion whatever, I thought Isaw in his eyes a strange, haunted look.

  "I am afraid I did not receive you very cordially yesterday," he saidpresently. "You see it--it was the shock."

  "Of course it was," was my answer. "I understand how you must befeeling."

  "Do you?" he replied wearily. "I don't."

  "Don't what?" I asked.

  "Understand. I understand nothing. I am bewildered. I am in hell."

  He spoke very quietly although his voice was strained and somewhathoarse.

  "You didn't sleep last night," I suggested.

  "No," he replied, with a sigh, "I didn't sleep. I suppose I am regardedas a hard man, Mr. Erskine?"

  To this I made no reply. I knew he was passing through a terribleexperience, and, strange as it may seem, I wanted to do nothing tolighten his burden.

  "I don't know why I have come to you at all," he went on. "You are acomparative stranger to me--indeed, a few months ago I did not know ofyour existence--and yet something drew me here. I suppose it is becauseyou were fond of him."

  "I loved him almost like a brother," was my reply. "If I had been hisfather, I should be a proud man."

  He looked at me steadily for a few minutes in silence.

  "I have learnt one thing anyhow," he said at length.

  "What is that?"

  "That one cannot destroy the ties of blood. Yes! Yes! I know I haddisinherited him; driven him from home; told him he was no longer a sonof mine. Yes! told him that I had put him outside my life. But it was alie! I had not! I could not! Oh, the tragedy of it!"

  "Yes, tragedy in a way," I said.

  "Oh, the tragedy of it!" he repeated. "No, it is not death that makesthe tragedy, it is something else. I can't understand it. Mr. Erskine, Iam a just man."

  At this I was silent. I could not for the life of me assent to hiswords.

  "Yes, I am a just man," he repeated. "That is, I have tried to be just.I did what was right, too; he ought to have obeyed me. I was his father,and it is the duty of a son to obey a father; besides, I had doneeverything for him. I sent him to one of the best public schools inEngland. After that I sent him to the University. I had great plans forhim. But he disappointed me. He married the girl I told him he must notmarry; he did that which I forbade him to do; therefore I was right indriving him from the house. But it was all of no use; he was my sonstill."

  "Of course he was," I said.

  "Ah, yes! but there is the tragedy of it. He has died feeling that hewas not my son, remembering what I said to him. That is the tragedy! Oh,how God Almighty must be laughing at me!"

  "Not if there is a God," I replied.

  "Why, don't you believe in God?" he burst forth almost angrily.

  "I don't know," I replied. "But if there is a God, He pities you."

  He started to his feet and paced the little room while I stood watchinghim.

  "God! how I loved that boy," he broke out, "and he didn't know it!"

  "Yes," I said, "that is the tragedy. That is the unforgivable sin."

  "Go on," he said. "Say what you want to say."

  "Hugh was hungering for your love, just hungering for it; but he didn'tbelieve you cared for him. You ask me to speak plainly, Mr. Lethbridge,and so, at the risk of offending you, I am going to do so. You had yourhard-and-fast ideas about life; you worshipped success, position, power,and money; you wanted Hugh to conform to your iron rules and laws, andbecause he was a live, human boy you tried to crush him."

  "Yes! yes! I know." He spoke almost eagerly. "But even now I cannot feelright about it. After all, war is murder. How can I, a Christian man, abeliever in the teaching of the founder of Methodism, believe that myson was anything but murdered? After all, is not a soldier a paidmurderer? I think if I could only get that right in my mind I should behappier. Look here! Do you honestly believe that Hugh did right?"

  "I don't believe; I am sure," was my reply.

  "Ah! but you don't believe in Christian teaching. You told me months agothat you were an agnostic. Legalized murder cannot be right."

  "Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "supposing there lived in this neighborhood aband of men without moral sense, without honor, without truth; men towhom you could not appeal because their standards of life were utterlyopposed to yours. And suppose that by rapine, cruelty, and murder theysought to rule this district, to rob people of their homes, to outrageeverything sacred in life. What do you think it would be your duty todo?"

  "Yes! yes! I see what you mean. But are the Germans like that? Aren'tthey as good and as honorable as we are?"

  "Listen!" I said. "I have just been r
eading some German books andreviews, and this is what some of the leading men in Germany have latelysaid. Mark you, they are not men in the street. They express thethoughts which dominate the population of Germany. Here is one by aleading General: 'We have been called Barbarians; we are, and we areproud of it. Whatever acts will help us, we shall commit them, no matterwhat the world may say. Germany stands as the Supreme Arbiter of her ownactions, and however the world may rave at our cruelty and ouratrocities, our devilry, we shall commit these deeds, we shall rejoicein them, and we shall be proud of them.'"

  "Who said that?" he asked.

  "A leading General in the German Army," I replied.

  "Here is another statement by a renowned Doctor of Philosophy and aneducationist: 'Children in our schools and the youths of ouruniversities must be taught a new doctrine, the Doctrine of Hatred. Theymust be educated to hate as a duty; it must form a new subject in ourcurriculum of education, "And now abideth Faith, Hope, and Hatred, andthe greatest of these is Hatred."'"

  "You don't mean to say that any man taught that?" he asked.

  "Here is the article in a German book," I replied.

  "My God!" he said.

  "Here is another statement," I went on, "by perhaps the leadingjournalist in the German Empire: 'Our might shall create new laws.Germany has nothing to do with what other nations may think of us.Germany is a law unto herself. The might of her armies gives her theright to override all laws and protests. In the future, in all thetemples, the priests of all the gods shall sing praises to the God ofWar.'"

  He looked at me steadily without speaking.

  "Hugh gave his life to kill that," I said. "Is not that a Christianthing to do?"

  He sat, I should think, for five minutes without speaking a word, whileI watched him. Then he rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  "Thank you," he said, "thank you. My God! what a fool I have been."

  He left the house without speaking another word.

  I went to the door and watched him as he made his way along the footpaththrough the copse. I saw that the mists had now passed away and that thesun was shining brightly. Strange as it may seem, I did not at thatmoment realize the inwardness of my conversation with Josiah Lethbridge;I only reflected upon the fact that although he was a magistrate I hadsaid nothing to him concerning my discovery of that morning. He at leastwas a keen, capable man, he could act wisely and promptly; yet I had notuttered a word. But after all I had done right; the problem he wasfacing was different from mine, and he would be in no way in a fitcondition to help me. Besides, I had made up my mind to carry out my ownplans.

  No one else came to see me that day, and during the remainder of theafternoon and evening I remained alone, thinking of what I ought to do.I still felt strong and capable. I suffered no pain, neither did anysense of weariness oppress me.

  "That little dog, sir," said Simpson, coming into the room about sunset.

  "Yes, Simpson? What of it?"

  "It is a lot better, sir. The wound was not a bad one at all, and now heis getting quite frolicsome."

  The dog had followed Simpson into the room and was sniffing at my legsin a friendly way.

  "Poor old chap," I said, patting his head; "you are not very beautifulcertainly, but you look as though you had faithful eyes."

  He gave a pleased yelp and licked my hand; after this he lay down on therug and composed himself to sleep.

  "Evidently he has adopted us, Simpson," I said.

  "Yes, sir. He makes himself quite at home."

  "Simpson," I said, "you have the name and address of that man and womanwho came to see me this morning?"

  "Yes, sir, here's the card: Mr. John Liddicoat. There's the name of thehouse, sir."

  "Do you know where it is, Simpson?"

  "Yes, sir; it is a house just behind Treveen Tor. It is a biggish house,sir, but lonely."

  That night when Simpson had gone to bed, I left my hut quietly and mademy way along the cliff footpath towards Treveen Tor, which stands at theback of the little town of St. Eia.

  I still felt well and strong, no suggestion of my malady troubled me. Icould not help wondering at this, as I walked briskly along, and yet inmy heart of hearts I knew that my abnormal strength was but a transientthing; I knew I was buoyed up by excitement, and that presently I shouldsuffer a terrible relapse. That was why I was eager to do what I had todo quickly. As I skirted the little town of St. Eia I saw that thelights were nearly all out. I looked at my watch, and found that it waseleven o'clock, and the people had nearly all gone to bed. It was awonderful night of stars, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The moonhad not yet risen, but I knew it was due to rise before midnight. Duringthe whole of my journey I had not met a single person. The night, savefor the roar of the waves, was still as death.

  Leaving the cliff footpath, I struck across the country towards TreveenTor, and went around the base of the hill towards the spot where Mr.John Liddicoat's house stood.

  Had any one asked me the reason for going there, I should have beenunable to have given them a satisfactory reply. But in my own heart Iwas satisfied. I had carefully thought out the whole series of events,linking incident with incident and word with word; and although I had nodefinite hopes as to the result of my nocturnal journey, I felt surethat by taking it I should at least clear my ground.

  Presently I saw the house plainly; it was, as Simpson had said, situatedin a lonely spot, and only approached by a lonely lane from the St. Eiaside and the footpath by which I had come. The house itself was incomplete darkness; not a glimmer of light shone from any of the windows.I saw that it was surrounded by a garden, perhaps half an acre inextent. This garden was, as far as I could judge, altogetheruncultivated. The fence around the garden was low, and scarcely anyvegetation hid my view. The district around here was almost treeless.The land on which the house was built was, in the main, hard tocultivate. I saw, however, that two stunted trees grew at some littledistance from the house.

  I waited about a quarter of an hour without making any attempt to climbover the fence. I reflected that if my suspicions were correct, I mustuse every precaution. At the end of a quarter of an hour I creptcautiously over the fence and made my way towards the house.

  Still all was dark. I carefully examined the ground around the twostunted trees I have mentioned, and presently I caught sight ofsomething which set my heart beating violently. I was on the point ofmaking a closer examination of what I had already seen, when a ray oflight shone from one of the windows and I could hear the sound ofvoices. Again looking around me eagerly, I saw what looked like a largeclump of rhododendron bushes. These offered me not only a hiding-place,but a post of observation. I had scarcely crept between the leaves whenthe door of John Liddicoat's house opened and two people came out. Theywere the man and the woman whom I had seen that morning.

  Almost at the same time the moon rose behind a distant hill, and a fewminutes later the garden was flooded with its silvery light.

  "Have you got it all?" It was a woman who spoke.

  "Yes, all except ..." and I could not catch the last word.

  "You bring it, will you?"

  They made their way towards the stunted trees, where they dropped thethings they had brought. Then the man left the woman and appeared alittle later bearing a light ladder.

  I saw the man place his ladder against the tree and mount it, carryingsomething with him, what it was I could not tell. The moon had now risenhigh enough to enable me to see more plainly and to show me that the twoworked swiftly and dexterously, as though they were accustomed to theirwork. Presently they had evidently finished, for they stood still andwaited for something.

  "I do not expect we shall get anything to-night." It was the woman whospoke.

  "There is no knowing," replied the man; "besides, we have our orders. Itis a calm night, too."

  "What time is it?" asked the woman.

  "Close on midnight," was the reply. "Anyhow, we must wait here untilhalf-past twelve; if nothin
g comes by that time we shall hear nothinguntil to-morrow night. My word, if that fool of a fellow who lives inthe hut on the cliff only knew! For my own part, I am not sure he doesnot suspect."

  "What makes you think so?"

  "I thought he was very guarded this morning," replied the man, "and Imust use every means to make certain; if we bungle this we shall be in abad way. Anyhow, he is closely watched night and day."

  After this there was silence, save that I thought I heard a faintclicking noise. The minutes dragged heavily. It seemed as though nothingwere going to happen. The moon rose higher and higher, revealing theoutlines of the man and woman still more plainly, and presently I sawthat their waiting had been rewarded. There was a clear repetition ofthe sounds I had heard previously. Then the woman said, "Have you gotit?"

  "Yes," replied the man; "we will take it in, and then our work for thenight is done."

  A few minutes later the man climbed the ladder again; evidently he wasdetaching something he had placed on the trees.

  I waited and watched perhaps for another ten minutes, and then they wentback into the house which had remained in darkness all the time.