XXVI
MIDNIGHT
Again I take up my pen to continue the narrative commenced long monthsago. Since I last looked at these pages, wonderful things have happened,so wonderful that I do not expect to be believed; but I will set themdown nevertheless, and I will record them exactly as they took place.
In order to do this I must go back to that May evening in the year 1915,when, as it seemed to me, I had come to the end of my life. As I haveset down in these pages, I had, as I believed, made a discovery whichseemed of importance to the nation, and pierced a mystery which had beenbaffling our Government. Events have proved that I was not wrong in mysurmises, and that I had become of importance to the nation's welfare.As I said, I had placed my little wireless apparatus on what seemed tome a suitable place for receiving messages.
That I took every precaution in placing it may be imagined; I knew fromthe conversation I had heard between John Liddicoat and the woman whoacted with him that I was a suspect, and that they had taken everyprecaution against me. I knew, too, if my suspicions were correct, andthose suspicions almost amounted to a positive certainty, that I wasconstantly watched, and that I had, more by chance than by cleverness ofmy own, kept John Liddicoat in the dark.
It was a little after six o'clock in the evening, as near as I canremember, when I returned to my cottage after having visited my wirelessapparatus, and made sure that no messages were being received. I hadbarely entered my room when Squire Treherne paid me a visit. I cannotsay that I was glad to see him, much as I had grown to like him, for Ifelt that I was on the eve of great events and was impatient atinterruption. Yet I knew he had not come without reason, and I could nottell him that his visit was untimely.
As I have said before, I treated Simpson more as a friend than as aservant, and while I had not in any degree taken him into my confidence,he knew of, and had become interested in, my little wireless apparatus.Indeed, he had rejoiced in my hobby, because he believed it took my mindaway from unpleasant things. Moreover, he had proved himself, especiallyduring the past few weeks, an exceedingly sensible fellow, and one whowas able to keep his own counsel. Seeing Squire Treherne, therefore, Itold Simpson to station himself in a spot from which he could not beobserved, to keep a sharp lookout on my little instrument, and to warnme if any one should come near, and especially to take care that no oneshould learn of its location.
Having taken this precaution, I went back to Mr. Treherne, who, judgingfrom his countenance, had important things to tell me.
"I hope you are well, Erskine," said the old man kindly, at the sametime looking anxiously into my face.
"As well as I shall ever be," was my reply. "Do I look ill?"
"No, I can't say you do, but you look strange. Nothing the matter, Ihope?" And again he looked at me anxiously.
"It is good of you to come and see me," was my response.
"Not a bit of it! Not a bit of it!" and his reply was eager. "The truthis, I want a chat with you. I have told them at home to put off dinneruntil eight o'clock in the hope that I may persuade you to come backwith me. I have a trap close by."
I shook my head.
"I am afraid I am not up to it, Squire. But I hope you have no badnews?"
"Oh no, no bad news at all; quite the other way. But I say, my lad, Idon't like the idea of your being alone here night after night, withonly your man to look after you. You really don't look well. Come andpay me a week's visit, will you? I feel it would do you good."
"You are awfully kind, Squire, but do you know I am a good deal of ahermit. I have come to love this lonely life of mine, and every one isso kind that I don't feel as though I lived amongst strangers."
"That's right, that's right; but promise me you will come back with me."
"Not to-night, Squire; I really can't."
"Well, then, come over to-morrow. Come and spend a week with me; weshould all love to have you."
"We will talk about that after I have heard your news," I said; "for Iam sure you have news. What is it?"
"I don't know why I want to tell you, but I feel as though I must.Josiah Lethbridge has been converted."
"Converted! What do you mean?"
"The age of miracles is not past;" and the Squire laughed as he spoke."You know what my opinion of Lethbridge has been; you know, too, that heis regarded as a kind of Shylock. I told you about our quarrel, didn'tI?"
"Yes, I remember perfectly."
"I hate war;" and he spoke as though he wanted to change the subject. "Ican't sleep of a night when I think of all the misery, all the agony itis causing. I know that we as a nation could do nothing but what we havedone; but when I remember people like poor Searle, and the hundreds andthousands all over the land whose hearts are broken, I feel like goingmad. It is simply hellish, man! Not that we can stop it. We must go onand on, no matter what it costs us, until war is made impossible for thefuture. No, Kaiserism, militarism must be crushed, destroyed forever!Still I feel, Erskine, that there is a tremendous alchemy in war. It isbrutal, but it is purifying. It is hellish, but God uses it, andover-rules it for His own purposes."
"I hope you are right," was my reply. "But what is your particularreason for saying this now?"
"It is Lethbridge. You know what a hard man he is, don't you? You haveheard how he has got people into his grip, and ground them to powder?You have been told how, like a spider, he has attracted them into hisweb and imprisoned them? I don't say that, in a way, he has not been ajust man. He has never done anything that has violated the law. But hehas been cruel and merciless. He has demanded his pound of flesh to thefiftieth part of an ounce. He has never forgiven an injury, and hasalways been impatient of any one's will but his own. But there, Ineedn't enlarge on that; you have heard, you know."
"I have heard a good many stories," I replied, "but as a lawyer I alwaysdeduct about seventy per cent. from the total. You see, people are givento exaggerate."
"Yes, yes, that may be. But Lethbridge was as hard as nails, as cruel asdeath; that is why the wonder of it comes to me now."
"The wonder of what?" I asked.
The Squire hesitated a few seconds, and then went on: "He got me intohis meshes. Doubtless I was foolish, in fact I know I was. I speculated,and then, although I was bitten, I speculated again. I don't sayLethbridge encouraged me; but he made me feel that things would be sureto come out right. They didn't, and I had to mortgage my estate. I hatedgoing to a bank for money, and Lethbridge helped me out. Little bylittle he got the upper hand of me, until--well, for the last few yearsI have been like a toad under a harrow. You can understand the position.I never thought I should tell you this, in fact I have always kept mytroubles to myself. All the same, I have been mad at the thought thatthe estate which has been in my family for I don't know how manygenerations should be handed over to a man like Lethbridge."
I was silent, for there seemed nothing to say.
"This morning," went on the Squire, "he came to see me. At first I methis advances coldly, for although he has had me in his power I havealways held up my head. To my unspeakable astonishment, he came with aproposal which will enable me to be my own man again in five years. Justthink of it, Erskine! I feel as though an awful weight were lifted frommy back."
"Why did he do it?" I asked.
"That brings me back to what we were talking about. There is somewondrous alchemy in war. It may debase some, but others it humbles andennobles. He said he had had a talk with you, and you had made him feelthat his son had died a hero, and was a martyr to his faith. In short,Hugh's death has changed Lethbridge--shaken him to the very depths ofhis life--revolutionized him. It seems that he has had further messagesabout Hugh. From what I can understand, Hugh gave his life for hisenemy. At the risk of his own life he rescued a German officer, and waskilled while he was in the act of doing his glorious deed. The messagedoes not seem very clear, but that is the meaning of it. The thinghappened in the night-time, and the soldiers who told Hugh's Colonelwere not altogether sure of the details, but th
is they all insist on:young Lethbridge was a hero; he might have saved himself, but wouldn't;he rescued an enemy at the risk of his own life, and then paid thepenalty of his action."
I gave a long quivering sigh. I could not help being sad at such asplendid life being cut off in the middle.
"Yes, yes," went on the Squire. "Hugh was a splendid boy. It seems awfulthat we shall never see him again--at least, this side of the grave. Butthat lad's not dead, Erskine. A boy who could do a deed like that couldnever die. He had eternal life in him. Anyhow, Josiah Lethbridge is notthe same man. You should have seen the look of pride, and more thanpride, in his eyes as he told me about it. And what he has done for me,he has done because he says he believes Hugh would have him do it. 'Myboy is speaking to me from heaven,' he said; 'that's why I am doingit.'"
The Squire dashed a tear from his eyes as he spoke.
"Would to God I had a son like him! I tell you, Erskine, I would nothave minded losing my estate so much if I knew that he was coming intoit. But there, I have told you what I came to tell you. I thought youwould like to know. It is a miracle, nothing less than a miracle. He hasmade me ashamed of myself. Here have I for years been going aroundthinking hard thoughts and saying hard things about Josiah Lethbridge,and now I feel as though I had been a mean, contemptible sneak. I havescorned him because he is a Dissenter, I have said hard things aboutpeople who are not of my way of thinking. I say, God Almighty is givingus a shaking up, and showing us what blind fools we have been. As thoughHe cares what Church we belong to, what place of worship we attend, andwhat form of prayer we say! I don't read the Bible much, Erskine, butthere is a passage which has been running in my mind all the way overhere: 'What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, to lovemercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?' That goes to the heart ofthings, doesn't it? All the rest is trimmings, trimmings. But there, Imust be getting back. Now, won't you come with me?"
"I can't to-night, anyhow," I said.
"Well, to-morrow; promise you will come over then. You will add to myhappiness, my boy. You will really!"
The Squire's proposal put a thought into my mind which had not occurredto me before. I had determined on another plan, but our conversation hadsuggested a better one.
"I will come over to-morrow for a week, provided I am able, on conditionthat you do something for me," I said.
"Of course I will do anything for you, my boy. But what is it?"
"Do you know Colonel Laycock?"
"Perfectly well. I dined at his mess the other night."
"You are on good terms with him?"
"Of course I am. Why?"
"I am going to ask you to do a strange thing, Squire," I said. "I havegot a scheme in my mind. I am not going to tell you what it is. I amafraid--I am afraid to tell any one. Why, I don't know; but it is afact. It is possible that to-night I shall send you a message--possiblethat I shall ask you to do something which will not appeal to yourjudgment. But I want you to do it. Will you?"
"But what is it, my dear fellow?"
"I cannot tell you; I want you to trust me. I believe big things aremoving, and if you will, I am sure you can help me to accomplish what Ihave in my mind. If the thing comes off, I will write down detailedinstructions, and I want you to act on those instructions. You are amagistrate, and therefore have considerable authority."
"Magistrate!" he said. "Is it something to do with law, then?"
"It is, and it isn't," I said. "The message may not come to-night, maynot come till to-morrow night or the next; but when it comes, I want youto act on it. Will you?"
"Then will you come and spend a week with me?"
"If I can."
"I never like acting in the dark, Erskine, but you are a cautiousfellow, and I trust you implicitly. Yes, I will do it; but for the lifeof me I can't see what you are driving at."
"Maybe it will end in nothing," I said, "in which case nothing will bedone. But I'll tell you this: if my plans bear fruit, as I think theywill, then--then--you will be glad you trusted in me. I am not askingyou to compromise yourself in any way; all the same, I tell you this: itseems to me a matter of life and death."
For a few seconds the old man looked at me as if he doubted my sanity,then he gripped my hand.
"I trust you completely, Erskine, and I will do what you ask. But I mustgo now. Good-night, my boy. God bless you!"
Directly he had gone I went out to relieve Simpson, and on visiting mywireless apparatus, I found that no message had come through. For thenext two hours I was on tenter-hooks. My mind was filled with a thousanddoubts. Fears of all sorts haunted me. What if my little apparatus werenot powerful enough? What if I had misunderstood the whole situation?Everything seemed shadowy and unreal. I doubted myself, I doubtedeverything. That little apparatus which I had prepared to receivemessages seemed as valueless as the toy of a child. How could messagesmove across great spaces and affect the little instrument which I hadmanipulated with such care? How could I expect to frustrate the plans ofpeople who were skilled in plotting, and who had been plotting foryears? Were not all my hopes and beliefs as baseless as the stuff ofwhich dreams are made? What could a man with the Angel of Death flyingover him expect to do under such circumstances?
Still I held on to my faith. Foolish as it might seem, I believed thatmy reasoning was sound, that I had discovered the truth, and that bycarrying out my plans I might save hundreds of lives.
It was now dark; the moon, which was on the wane, would not rise tillfar past midnight. Although the night was windless it was cloudy. Thisfact made everything so dark that I did not dread watchful eyes.
Nine o'clock, half-past nine, ten o'clock, yet my little instrument wassilent. Had I misunderstood what John Liddicoat had said? Was I mistakenwhen I heard him tell the woman that he must expect another message thenext night? I was in an agony of suspense. Then my heart gave a greatleap--the little instrument began to move, while I, with fast beatingheart, wrote quickly.
Ten minutes later I had locked myself in my little room and was eagerlystudying the slip of paper before me. I knew that the message, whateverit might be, had emanated from a spot within a comparatively limitedradius, for the simple reason that my apparatus was not of sufficientcapacity to receive long-distance messages.
It is impossible for me to convey on paper the state of my mind as Iread the words which had been transmitted. My excitement was tensebeyond words. I felt my heart beating wildly; I scarce dared to breathe.
And yet the message looked innocent enough. It was simply this: "Onehour after midnight to-night. Completeness essential."
That was all; there were no explanations by which any one who was not inthe plot could gain any information. It might be received by a score ofwireless stations, and any one ignorant of what I knew would be none thewiser. It gave no clue even to the most subtle mind whereby action couldbe taken. It might be read by any one with perfect safety. No Governmentofficial, whatever his position, could understand it. Neither would hesee any importance in it. The words were innocence itself, and yet, as Ibelieved, they meant the safety or the destruction of perhaps hundredsof lives. So innocent did they seem that it appeared like madness totake action, but remembering what I had seen and heard, connectingincident with incident, and placing link to link as I did, my chain ofreasoning seemed flawless. If I were wrong in my conclusions, I shouldnot only be an object of ridicule, I might indeed be placing myselfunder menace of the law.
Still I decided to act. Rapidly I wrote a letter to Squire Treherne,giving him the minutest details of what I wished him to do. My brain, Iremember, was clear, and I was very careful to insist on all sorts ofprecautions. This done, I summoned Simpson to me.
"Simpson," I said, "I want you to take this to Squire Treherneimmediately; it is a matter of great importance. It may be that you willbe in danger on the way; but that must be risked. You must speak to noone. Take the footpath through the fields, and don't delay an instant."
Simpson looked at me steadily as though he do
ubted my sanity, butevidently there was something in my eyes which told him how much inearnest I was.
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," he said, and then he hesitated.
"What is it, Simpson?"
"You will be here all alone, sir."
"I can't help that; I shall be all right. Do as I tell you."
"Shall I find you here when I get back, sir?" he asked.
"No, Simpson, I was going to mention that. You will not find me herewhen you get back. But take no notice of that; wait here until a quarterpast one."
"Quarter past one, sir! What, an hour and a quarter past midnight?"
"Wait here until a quarter past one," I repeated, "and then, if I do notappear, make your way down to the copse, by the footpath, to the beach.You know the cave which is almost immediately beneath the house; gostraight to the mouth of the cave and look for me."
Again Simpson looked at me as though he doubted my sanity, but, like thewell-bred servant he was, he made no reply but "Yes, sir; thank you,sir."
A minute later I heard Simpson leaving the house.
I felt that the air was laden with tragic events. It was now past eleveno'clock, and I had two hours in which to wait, but I could not stayindoors. Strange as it may seem, I felt no weakness, while the maladyfrom which I suffered gave me no pain at all. I was still buoyed up bythe same strange, unnatural strength. I crept towards my little wirelessapparatus, but there was no further message. I remained in the neardistance for some time, waiting and watching; once or twice I thought Iheard a rustling among the bushes, but I was not sure. Although I had noreason for my suspicion, I believed that some one was near me, thatfurtive eyes were watching me; but I had no tangible reason forbelieving this. At midnight I went back to the house again; Simpson hadnot returned. The little dog I had rescued a few days before came andsniffed at my feet, wagging his tail as he did so. Evidently the poorlittle wretch was rapidly recovering from his wound; indeed he seemedquite well. I put on an overcoat and prepared to go out. The dog stillwagged his tail, as though he thought he was going to accompany me.
"No," I said to him, "you must not come."
Whereupon he began to whimper piteously. I left the house, locking thedoor, but I had not gone more than a few steps before I stopped. The doghad begun to howl. "This will never do," I reflected. "I will let himcome with me, he can do no harm." I opened the door again, whereupon thelittle brute rushed to me and capered with joy. "Be quiet," I said. "Ifyou follow me you must make no noise."
He seemed to understand, for he followed closely at my heels, making nosound as I carefully made my way through the undergrowth. When I hadpassed through the copse I stopped and listened; at first I thought Iheard a rustling sound behind me, but evidently I was mistaken, for allwas as silent as death. The night was still dark, although here andthere between the clouds I saw stars twinkling; not a breath of windstirred, and no sound reached me save the soughing of the waves. Somemiles out at sea I saw the revolving light of the Dead Man's RockLighthouse. My descent to the beach was precipitous and somewhatdangerous, but I knew the pathway, and noiselessly made my way down, thedog keeping close to me all the time. A few minutes later I had reachedthe beach, and again I listened. My eyes had become sufficientlyaccustomed to the darkness to see that the dog was also listening. Onceor twice he gave a slight whimper, but at a whispered command he wassilent.
I found my way to the shelter of a rock close to the fissure by whichthe outer cave was entered. Creeping into the hollow of the rock, I tooka little electric lamp from my pocket, and in its light saw that it wasnearly half-past twelve. Minutes at that time seemed to me an eternity.Again I passed through all sorts of doubt, and more than once calledmyself a madman who had followed a will-o'-the-wisp of a wild fancy.Still I held fast to my resolution. From my hiding-place I could see thefissure which led to the cave. At least it would be difficult for anyone to approach it without my seeing him. All the time the little dogsat close by my side with eyes and ears alert. I think he understood thecondition of my mind.
Minute after minute passed slowly by, and there was neither sound norsight that gave me warning of any one's approach. I looked anxiously tothe right and to the left, seeking in vain to pierce the darkness of thenight; but nothing happened; I was alone and in silence.
I think I must have fallen into a kind of waking dream, for, as itseemed to me, some moments passed when I had no consciousness of mysurroundings. Then suddenly the dog at my feet gave a savage yelp. Itwas well he did so, for I saw two forms close by me, both of whichseemed to be in the act of pouncing upon me.
I have read somewhere of a man who, when facing a great crisis, feltthat he lived a lifetime in a few seconds. I realized now that this canbe true. Within a few seconds of the time when the dog yelped, the wholepanorama of the past twelve months, and all the details of thatpanorama, flashed before my eyes. It came to me with a vividness which Ihad never realized before. That I was indeed at the heart of a schemewhereon depended the lives of many people; that these tins of petrolwere intended for German submarines; that this little cove had been usedas a storehouse for the fuel whereby the Germans had been able to dotheir fiendish work; that in some way unknown to the authorities,hundreds of cans of this spirit had been stored there from time to time,and then, as they were needed, taken to those deadly monsters whichoperated beneath the sea; and that I had, partly by chance, partly byreasoning, but more by intuition, got at the heart of it all. I felt,too, that on me depended the failure or success of the German scheme. Bysome means or other Liddicoat, or one of his minions, had discovered orsuspected what I had done.
It was one of those moments, so tense, so weighted with vital issues,that the human body and the human mind are made capable of what inordinary circumstances would be impossible. Without waiting a second,without giving time to think, and yet feeling all the while that I wasacting upon reason rather than upon impulse, I leapt upon what seemed tome the form of a man, and was instantly engaged in a deadly struggle.Even now that struggle does not seem to me real. It is like the memoryof a dream rather than something which actually took place. But that itdid take place I have tremendous proof. I do not remember making anynoise of any sort, but I do remember the deathly grip which was laidupon me and the fight which I knew was to the death. I cannot explainwhy, but life never was so dear to me as at that moment. I felt, too, asthough Dr. Rhomboid had been somehow mistaken in his diagnosis; thatlife was strong in me, but that passion was swallowed up in a greaterpassion, a nobler passion--it was to render service to my country, tosave the lives of my fellow-countrymen.
Even while I struggled I saw what the success of my plans meant; whattheir failure meant. I remember, too, that I wondered why the secondperson I had seen took no part in the struggle; why, although there weretwo who prepared to attack me, only one fought me. Yet such was thecase; it was man to man. Who the man was I was not sure, although I hada dim consciousness that I was fighting with the man Liddicoat; neitherhad I any clear conception as to the meaning of that deadly struggle;all the same, I knew that I must struggle till I had mastered him. I didnot remember the precautions I had taken or the agencies I had set onfoot; everything was swallowed up in the one thought--I must master theman who I was sure meant to kill me.
How long the encounter lasted I have not the remotest idea; indeed, as Ithink of it now, I was robbed of all human personality. I was simplyFate, and as Fate I must accomplish my purpose, heedless of everything.
I fancied that I was gaining the upper hand of him; fancied, too, thatothers were coming upon the scene of action; but of this I was not sure,for a great darkness came upon me suddenly, and I knew nothing more.
The Passion for Life Page 26