by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER XXIII--_First Stop, Hastings_
"Now the question is," said George, as the train rattled along, "whatam I going to do when I get to London?"
"You'll have a nice restful time," said Cattermole.
"I'm not so sure of it," said George, whose respect for the energy andingenuity of Gray and his companions was much greater now than it hadbeen. "Those blood-suckers won't leave me till they've got what they'reafter. I'm a peaceable man, and I don't want to spend the rest of mydays playing follow my leader about the country. I suppose we go toBrunswick Terrace; is that the scheme?"
"No, this is the scheme," said Cattermole; "we get out here. Put yourbandage on."
"Sevenoaks," said George, taking a hurried glance through the window asthey pulled up.
"We break the journey here," said Cattermole, "and put 'em off thescent. You'll have to keep on doing that until you've struck thewonderful idea that is going to leave you in possession of the moneywithout risk."
"Then the sooner I strike it, the better."
Cattermole led his invalid friend into the waiting-room and ordered aporter to fetch a cab. Half a dozen passengers looked onsympathetically as the two men entered the vehicle and the cabmanclosed the door softly.
"You can't dodge those fellows so easily," said George, doubtfully, asthe cab went off at a walking pace. "They'll find out we've come hereand follow us."
"It's all right," said Cattermole. "I took tickets to London, and brokethe journey here because you were too ill to go further. They won'tfind you."
After a slow drive up an interminably long hill the cab stopped beforean inn of countrified appearance where the two men met with a cordialwelcome.
"My friend is an invalid," Cattermole explained, "and we've come herebecause I'm told it's quiet."
The landlord informed him that it was the quietest spot in theneighbourhood. It was especially fortunate too that there were no othervisitors.
"I shall have to leave you for a bit now," said Cattermole, when theyhad done justice to a good hot meal and were safely out of earshot inthe long garden. "Shop'll be going to the dogs if I don't get backto-day."
"How long are you going for?" asked George, anxiously.
"Not long," said Cattermole; "back to-morrow night. In the mean timeyou can think the business over."
Before departing he called the waitress aside and gave her explicitdirections about taking care of the invalid, emphasizing his remarkswith a gift of five shillings.
George sat in the garden and thought the matter over till the dutifulwaitress led him in to tea. Then he sat in the deserted smoking-roomand thought it over again till he was led away to dinner, after whichhe thought it over till bed-time. Secure in his bedroom, with theblinds drawn, he lit a cigar and did the rest of his thinking with hiseyes open.
"Three days of this," he said to his image in the glass, "would aboutdo for me. It's the slowest game I ever took on. I'd sooner be fightingstation-masters and climbing trees. We'll get out of this and trysomething else when Catty comes back."
The attention bestowed upon George by the waitress was quite pathetic.She waited on him at breakfast-time, cut up his bacon and eggs andsugared his coffee to her own taste. Each of these little services wasaccompanied by a cheerful flow of conversation such as people are wontto indulge in for their own gratification when attending sick childrenand babies.
"Come along," she said cheerfully, when breakfast was over; "now we'llgive you a nice seat by the drawing-room fire, because it's cold anddamp outside. There now, isn't that nice and comfortable?" as Georgewas settled in a big armchair with his feet on a stool. Receiving noreply, and expecting none, she poked the fire into a blaze, and thenbrought the cook to look at the visitor. That lady, being of asentimental turn of mind, gazed sorrowfully at George's good-lookingfeatures, and whispered her sympathy to the waitress.
"You can speak out, Mrs. Baily," said the girl; "he can't hear a word."
"Bless my 'eart now," said the cook; "pore young feller! My nephew'Arry was just the same. Reg'lar handsome, and deaf as a brazen image."
"He's blind, too," said the girl; "isn't it a shame?"
"Ah," sighed the cook; "p'raps,"--looking meaningly at the rosyfeatures of the waitress--"p'raps it's as well for some people."
The waitress blushed, and told the cook she was a caution.
"Them chins," said the cook, significantly, taking stock of George'sfeatures, "are a sign of a flirt. Baily had that sort of chin."
"I like brown hair in a man," observed the waitress, sentimentally;"especially with blue eyes."
"I s'pose his are blue?" said the cook.
"How should I know?" said the girl, flushing.
"I adore blue eyes," the cook said curiously; "'ave a look."
"You romantic old thing!" cried the waitress, laughing and approachingGeorge. To obtain a good view of his eyes it was necessary to kneel onthe hearthrug and peer under the green shade. She did so, and theintelligent look that met her was most confusing.
"They're blue, ain't they?" said the cook.
"I--I can't see properly," replied the girl; "I think they're brown."
She took another peep and looked straight into George Early's eyes. Asshe did so George closed one eye in a manner that made the waitressscramble to her feet with a red face.
"Are they brown?" asked the cook.
"I don't know," said the girl, hastily. "I must get on with my work:I'm all behind."
The cook went back to her kitchen very reluctantly, and the waitressbusied herself in clearing the breakfast-table.
* * * * *
It was unfortunate for George Early that the train conveying hisenemies to London should stop for several minutes at Sevenoaks till anexpress had overtaken it and rushed on ahead. During that time, aninteresting conversation between a porter and a local drayman driftedinto the carriage where Gray and his companion sat.
"Young feller, he was," said the porter, "and his head all bandaged anda shade on his eyes. I arst 'im for 'is ticket, and the doctor, 'esays, 'Don't talk to 'im,' 'e says; ''e's deaf, and blind too,' 'esays."
Gray got up, and leaned out of the window.
"Funny thing is," continued the porter, "that when the cab went off, I'eard the two of 'em talking. Now, if 'e was deaf, 'ow----"
The guard's whistle blew suddenly, and the engine hooted.
"Come on," said Gray, quickly, turning to the others; "get out here;we're on their track."
He jumped on to the platform.
"Look here----" began Busby.
"Make up y' mind there," yelled the station-master, getting out oftemper.
Parrott and Busby scrambled out together, and fell over a truck.
"Don't know where you want to go to, some of you, I should think," saidthe station-master.
He slammed the door, and commented volubly on the indecision of peoplewho caused the company's trains to be late, and then blamed it on tothe officials.
"We must find the cabman," said Gray, when they got outside thestation.
The cabman was easily found, and for a small consideration he was ableto recall exactly where he went on the day previous. Armed with thefullest information, the three men made their way to the inn on thehill.
The waitress was just clearing away the breakfast things when theyarrived. George heard the well-known voice of Gray, and started in hischair. A cold perspiration broke out over him, but he remained as thewaitress had left him, resting in the armchair with his feet on astool.
"The gentleman's here," said the girl, ushering the three men intoGeorge's presence; "but he can't hear a word you say, he's stone deaf,and blind too," she added.
"What a pity!" said Gray, in an unfeeling voice.
"You'd better wait till his friend the doctor comes," said the girl."He'll be back this evening."
"Perhaps he'll know me if I speak loudly," said Gray. He walked acrossthe room, and bellowed "George!" into the ear of his lat
e master.
Beyond a slightly perceptible shiver, there was no indication that theman in the chair had heard.
"Take the shade off his eyes," said Busby.
"You musn't," protested the girl; "he----"
But Gray did so, and found George Early with his eyes closed. A shakemade him open them, but, as they looked vacantly at the opposite wall,there was no sign of recognition in them.
"He can't see anything," said the waitress.
"Perhaps he don't want to," said Gray.
"It's a shame to say that," cried the girl, indignantly. "You--youought to be sorry for him."
"So we are," said Gray; "we're all sorry for him. We're old friends ofhis, and we've come to see him. Tell the cook we're going to stay tolunch; we'll all have lunch with our old friend George."
"I can't allow you to be with him here," said the girl, "because he'sleft in my charge, and he must be kept quiet."
"Of course he must," said Gray; "the less you say to him the betterhe'll like it. We'll leave him alone now, but we shan't be far away."
This last was uttered in a tone that the girl considered unnecessarilyloud. Having seen her charge left unmolested, she went off, andconsulted the cook on the question of luncheon.
Gray and his friends had no intention of being outwitted this time, andthey kept a watchful eye on the room where George sat, one of theirnumber having first despatched a telegram to "Caroli, London."
With the prospect of lively proceedings before him, the master ofFairbrothers' kept to his arm-chair by the fire, swearing softly tohimself as he vainly endeavoured to think out a way of escape. Withgood fortune, and the waitress's help, he might manage to keep evenwith his opponents until Cattermole came, but they would not lose sightof him afterwards, he was sure of that.
The luncheon hour passed without further trouble, but no new idea hadpresented itself. Experience had taught Gray and his colleagues toexercise the greatest vigilance with so slippery a customer as theirold employer, and they were careful to do so.
George looked round the old-fashioned room in which he sat, anddeplored the fact that it lacked those useful secret exits soconvenient in old days to a man in a tight corner. Such an aid wouldhave enabled him to vanish cleverly. There was not even a panel or afamily picture to swing generously forward and disclose a yawning hole.
A fanlight of modern construction gaped in one corner, but it wasdoubtful if a grown man could have squeezed himself through this. Itlooked into a small parlour, where the landlord's buxom wife sat andsuperintended the affairs of the household.
Despairing of escape in that direction, George settled himself down ingloomy meditation, evolving all kinds of schemes for outwitting hiswily enemies, every one of which proved unworkable.
His train of thought was in due course interrupted by the sound ofvoices from the next room. Somebody was in conference with thelandlady, and the few words that fell distinctly upon the ears ofGeorge Early drove any further cogitation for the moment clean out ofhis head. He gave his whole attention to the conversation. One of thespeakers was Gray.
"The fact is," George heard that gentleman say, "he isn't quiteright--a bit touched in the upper story. You know what I mean. Wedidn't want to mention it, but I thought it best to let you know thefacts."
"Deary me, now," said the landlady in a hushed voice; "to think o'that. Well, I can sympathize, for, believe me, nobody knows better--andthe gentleman that brought him didn't mention a word----"
"That man," interrupted Gray, "means no good to him. I want to get himaway before they come in contact again. If they meet to-night----"
"He won't be here," said the landlady. "He telegraphed to my good man,saying he couldn't get down till to-morrow."
"Damn!" said George, under his breath.
"As I was saying," she proceeded; "if anybody knows what that troubleis--meaning his head being wrong--if anybody knows, it's my own blessedself. A boy o' mine was just the same, a twin o' that young fellowthere"--evidently indicating somebody in the same room.
"Dreadful affliction!" said Gray. "Sometimes, when I look at--atGeorge, and think of it, it makes me that sorry for him I don't knowwhat to do."
"Ah, I can well believe that! I was the same with little Ernest. Hewouldn't have nobody touch him but me. He knew his own mother.Sometimes I used to say as he wasn't so mad after all."
"Bad thing to have meddlers," said Gray. "That's why I want to get himaway. You see, we're--we're his keepers, and we want to get him backquietly to--to the asylum. Already his mind has been set against us,and if he's left much longer, we shan't get control of him. Now, ifyour husband could lend me a trap, we'd get off almost at once."
"I dare say that could be done."
"Much the best thing for everybody," said Gray, in pleased tones. "Muchthe best."
"Yes," said the landlady, going back to her light-headed son. "Many'sthe time he's sat in that very chair you're a-sitting in now, a-playin'with his little Billy-Gee--his little wooden horse--and a-sayin' 'Ernygood boy,' all the time. Dear little feller; only seven, too. Such aone for names! Moggles, he used to call me. Deary me, to think of it!"
"Very sad," said Gray. "Very sad."
"Yes, indeed, and that's why I always feel for any one like that. Isuppose it's memories."
"They're better off--better off where they are. I dare say it was ablow at the time, but as the years go along----"
"That's true," said the landlady, jumping up to give directions to amaid. "They say time softens the blow. And yet," she added, as Gray gotup to go, "it's nice to really know. My little Erny was lost, and fromthat day to this we never knew if he lived or died. Not but what it'spretty certain he did die, for he wouldn't have lived without me. Well,I suppose I musn't worry you with my troubles. I'll speak to my husbandabout the trap."
George returned to his seat by the fire, and marvelled at the impudenceof Gray in his new _role_ of lunatic attendant.
"It would serve them right if I turned mad for a bit," he saidspitefully, "and did a little damage all round. There's no accountingfor what mad people will do."
He turned this idea over thoughtfully in his mind, wondering if itcouldn't be put to account in some way.
His reflections were disturbed afresh by the sound of the landlady'svoice. This time it came from the hotel hall. Somebody opened the doorof George's room.
"Come in," said the voice of Gray. "He's perfectly harmless. It's a sadcase. He thinks that his eyes are bad, and that he can't talk or hear."
"Deary me!" said the landlady; "and does it take three of you to lookafter him?"
Gray was about to reply, when George started to his feet, and began totremble visibly.
"What is it?" asked the landlady, in a loud whisper.
"Don't be afraid; it's only one of his tricks."
But George had turned towards the landlady, and was holding out hisarms. It was as if a chord in his memory, long dormant, had suddenlybeen struck when he heard her voice.
"He won't hurt you," said Parrott and Busby in one chant.
Then George electrified the landlady. It was simply done. He stoodthere, turned towards her, and spoke.
"Moggles!" he said, in an awful voice.
The landlady gasped. A chord in her memory had been touched, too.
"Moggles!" said George again.
"Don't mind him," said Gray, "he goes off like that sometimes."
"That voice," said the landlady, now beginning to tremble again. "Canit be----"
"Moggles!"
"My boy!" The landlady cried out with a half-shriek. "It must be. Letme see him."
Gray saw through the trick at once, and laughed out loud.
"Don't you be deceived, ma'am," he said, tearing the shade away fromGeorge Early's eyes. "It's a game he's playing. Look at him; that's notyour boy."
George blinked his eyes, and looked as foolish as he could.
"I don't know," said the landlady, excitedly. "He's about the rightsize."
"Erny goo
d boy," said George, smiling vacantly.
The landlady shrieked again. "It is!" she cried, "it is! I'll fetch myhusband."
In the interval, George Early had a rough time with the three men,being threatened and sworn at without mercy.
"It's my move," said George. "Don't you worry."
When the buxom landlady returned with an equally buxom spouse, Georgehad wriggled away from his captors, and was crouching in a corner.
"Want Moggles," he said, in a whining voice.
"There!" cried the landlady turning to her husband, who stood with openmouth, scratching his head. "Did you hear that?"
"It's his play," said Gray. "Come along,"--turning to the others. "We'dbetter see about getting him away."
"Erny good boy," said George.
"There!" cried the landlady again. "Now don't you think I'm right?"
The landlord nodded his head sagely.
"Blamed if I don't, too!"
"Come along," said Gray; "get his hat and coat. We must make a start."
"Stop a bit," said the landlady; "I believe that young man is my ownlong-lost son that I haven't seen since he was seven years old. Didn'tyou hear him call me 'Moggles'?"
Gray laughed again. "That's a trick," he said; "his name is GeorgeEarly. You've made a mistake."
"Erny good boy," said George. "Three bad men take Erny away."
Urged by his wife, the landlord now promptly claimed George as his lostson, and said he should resist any attempt at removal. Gray and hiscolleagues carried on a wordy war, and offered all kinds of proof oftheir own avowals, while George sat and stroked the landlady's hand.
"I declare to you that his name is George Early," said Gray,vehemently.
"Want Billy-Gee," said George.
"That settles it," cried the innkeeper, suddenly. "There's no fraudabout that. He's our boy right enough."
By the time that Caroli arrived George was safely settled in thelandlord's best parlour, undergoing the ordeal of comparison with histwin-brother Albert, a sportive young man, full of strange oaths, andinclined to doubt the genuineness of his newly-found brother. Georgebore his ill nature with good humour, and played the lunatic quitesuccessfully. If he could keep the protection of the landlord and hiswife, he did not doubt that some avenue of escape would open beforelong. Fortunately, the obstreperous Albert was leaving early the nextmorning for a few weeks, and George would have the field to himself.
The four conspirators had engaged rooms in the inn for the night, butGeorge managed to put his newly-found parents on their guard againstany efforts at kidnapping.
"He can sleep in the little room next to Albert, and leave the dooropen," said the fond mother. "And then Albert can lock the door when hegoes off in the morning."
"Thanks," said Albert, sourly.
"He's harmless enough, bless his heart," said the old lady, smiling atGeorge. "It does seem funny that his hair has changed colour."
"Keep your eye on the cash-box," said Albert, "or you'll find thatchange colour before the morning."
George lay in bed with a peaceful smile on his face when the ungraciousAlbert lumbered upstairs; and complacently bore the candle-lightscrutiny which the other bestowed on him for the space of two seconds.
Long after the noises of the house had ceased he lay awake searchinghis brain for the scheme that was to place his enemies _hors decombat_. It was all very well to outwit them for a day or two, butsomething lasting was needed. He could not go on dodging about thecountry in the fashion of the last few days.
As the church clock struck one he got out of bed and peered through thewindow which looked out on the roadway. He had a suspicion that Caroliand his assistants were taking every precaution to prevent his givingthem the slip. Patient observation for half an hour rewarded hiseffort, a man that he recognized as Busby came out of the shadow of agateway opposite, leisurely crossed the road, and disappeared at theside of the inn. Presently he as leisurely returned to the gateway, andwas lost in the gloom.
George got back into bed and pondered while the clock struck two, andafterwards three. Then he got out again and walked to where thelandlady's son lay wrapped in slumber. By his bed stood a clock, on atable. The alarm was set for half-past three. His new brother made itfifteen minutes later. Then having gathered up the slumbering man'sclothes he carried them into his own room, transferred the contents ofthe pockets to his own, and made an exchange of suits; emptyingAlbert's match-box with great care into the water-jug.
When he got back into his bed his own gaudy check clothes lay inAlbert's room.
"He'll be off before it's light," said George, snuggling between thesheets. "It's a chance in a hundred, but I can't afford to missanything."
When the alarm went off there was a noise of yawning and gruntingfollowed by a brief silence. Ten minutes passed, then a footstep bumpedon the floor. By the sounds that followed George reckoned that Albertwas bewailing the loss of his matches. Presently a figure in dishabillewalked to the window of George's room and consulted a clock by a thinstreak of light from an outdoor lamp. It was Albert; and as a result heswore volubly and hurried back to his own room.
A few minutes of hasty toilet interspersed with oaths, and somebodyclattered down the stairs.
"He'll lose that train if he isn't careful," said George to himself."And the wicked fellow hasn't locked my door."
A dull boom of a door closing.
"Now for it," said George, jumping out of bed and peering through thewindow.
He heard the footsteps of the retreating Albert going off at a trot. Asthey died away a man ran across the road, disappeared at the inn side,and reappeared again after an interval. It was Busby, and he startedoff down the road in pursuit of the landlady's son. A few minutes laterand another figure followed him, to be followed shortly by two others.
"Hooray!" said George, as they disappeared. "The suit did it."
Without hesitating, he got into the clothes left behind, wrote a noteto the landlady, and was outside the house in a quarter of an hour.
Acting with due caution, he avoided the high road and reached thestation as the sun burst into a blaze of glory over the trees.
"Four men?" said the porter he consulted. "Yes, and there won't 'arf besome trouble about it, too. Got in when the train was moving. Not ablooming ticket among the lot."
"Scandalous!" said George. "Where did they go to?"
"First stop, Hastings; that's all I knows," said the porter.
"And quite enough, too. What's the next train up?"