by Frank Savile
CHAPTER XXII
THE PRISON
"What is to be the end?" asked Claire, suddenly, wearily. "What is to bethe end?"
Aylmer looked up from his pallet on the floor--looked at thegirl--looked at the walls of bare masonry--looked at the shaft ofsunlight which slanted through the barred window. For eight and fortyhours he had lain there, shamming, shamming, shamming. For three daysprevious to his being brought to that place, he had lain as motionlessin the lazaret of the _Santa Margarita_.
Conceive it--you who walk abroad as you list! Nearly a week of inaction,when all the time your blood is coursing healthily in your veins, yourfeet itch for the road, and your wrath, above all, is suffering acontinual fever for which no remedy is presently available.
The picture, however, had its other side. Could he, in any othercircumstances, have advanced so far in intimacy with his companion?When, in the ordinary intercourse of uneventful life, would the barrierwhich she had raised against him have been flung down? Where else thanin this island prison of Salicudi would he have seen the glorious visionof hope over that barrier's crumbling walls? Dwelling on these matters,he was able to answer her pessimism with a genuine smile.
"When I first met you I told myself that I should have to play a waitinggame," he said. "Well, it is proving itself so, literally."
She flushed faintly.
"You must forgive me," she sighed. "We women are not taught to wait. Andin America we are allowed to be petulant, you know." She smiled. "YouBritishers have more sense of discipline. But an end? Surely youyourself must want to see one? How long are you to lie there, paralyzedfor action?"
He was silent for a moment, and his eyes were shadowed.
"It is I who must ask forgiveness," he said at last. "Perhaps--I hardlyrealized what it is--for you."
A throb of compunction stung her. She gave a little cry of protest.
"For me? It is a thousand times worse for you. I have liberty, in asense. They let me walk abroad, even, at times--I am not interferedwith--I can look out to sea and--and hope. I have you to lean on. Butyou? You lie within these four walls and think, and think. Your onlysupport is within yourself. And I am a drag upon you."
And then she turned her face from the sudden passion in his eyes.
"Claire!" he said. "Claire!"
She did not answer in words. She made a little gesture which seemed toplead for forbearance, for a postponement to an inevitable but fardistant morrow. She rose and walked to the window.
"There is a ship passing now," she reported. "Half a mile from land. Ican see her flag--the Union Jack. A Newcastle collier, I expect, by herbulk and her grime. I suppose there are a score of unwashed deck handsand heavers in her forecastle who would sweep this island bare of thehuman vermin who infest it if we could let them know our need, if wecould signal--wave--act! Act? But to go on waiting? To have not so muchas a plan?"
He rose cautiously.
"There is no one in sight?" he asked.
She looked right and left, keenly suspicious.
"No," she said, at last. "I watched Luigi back to the houses after heleft our food. He and half a dozen more are at the landing place. Two orthree are on board the felucca, working her with sweeps into the shelterof the little breakwater. Mr. Miller? He is sitting on a boulder,watching--and like us, I suppose--waiting. What are we all doing butthat? Fate is to be the arbiter for all of us. We can offer nointerference."
He came up beside her, keeping in the shadow and peering cautiouslybetween the bars. His glance was directed at the _Santa Margarita_ asthe toilers at the sweeps slowly worked her to her moorings.
"They are making it the more difficult for us," he said slowly. "Whileshe lay out there in the open, she represented the weapon with which wemight have defeated Fate, if Fate is against us. Inside the breakwaterthe edge of the weapon is blunt. Did Fate read my thoughts?"
She looked at him anxiously.
"You have had a plan?" she asked. "You have not been leaving all tochance?"
"Wind--that is all I asked," he said. "A storm, a moonless night, and alittle luck. If I could have got on board the felucca with you and cuther from her moorings, we would have played a deal with Fate then. Wewould have enlisted her on our side, to take us where she willed."
Her eyes grew vivid with hope and with anxiety.
"But to get on board? We are locked in at night, bolted. And those dogsof theirs are loose."
"That is it--they are loose," he said. "A few handfuls of food saved andwe can attract them to the window, and they will be quiet enough whenthey are fed. It is merely a question of the getting out."
"And how?"
He pointed to a corner of the unmorticed wall.
"Their bars are sound enough, their bolts are out of reach of ourtampering. But the building itself? Its foundations date from the daysof Augustus, as likely as not. At night, while you slept, I tried itsstability, course by course. It was in that corner that I found the weakspot. The lower stone I can remove at will. The one above it will fallwhen the support of the first is removed. And I put pressure enough onto the outer stones to know that a strong effort will thrust them away.The road is open, when we choose to take it."
She clapped her hands softly. Her face glowed.
"Why not now?" she cried. "Why not choose the passing of a ship and thensignal--as you signalled to the torpedo boat?"
He shook his head.
"A warship is one thing," he objected, "a merchant ship another. Weshould be poising our all on the intelligence of a look-out-man whowould be scanning the water, not the land, or of a third officer whomight not know the code international."
She sighed.
"So we wait," she said despondently.
"So we wait," he agreed. "But not for long." He was looking westward atthe sky.
"You see something?" she said quickly. "What?"
"Wind clouds," he answered. "Cirrus. Fate may be making her preparationsfor to-night."
"To-night?" She repeated the word faintly, incredulously. "I wonder,"she said slowly. "I wonder if, after all my yearning for action, Ishall--be brave when it really comes to--to-night?"
He looked down at her.
"And I?" he said. "Have I as good a chance as you to show courage?"
"You?" she answered wonderingly. "You are a man."
"Yes," he answered. "I am a man. And you, a woman, are dependent on meand I am taking you into perils that I can only guess at, dangers thatlie absolutely in the hands of chance. For which of us is it easiest tobe brave, you or me?"
Her eyes dropped from his.
"What do you hint?" she temporized. "For me--why should it be easier forme? The--the cases are equal, are they not?"
"No," he said quietly. "No, Claire. And you know that they are not. Notbecause you are a woman, but because you are _the_ woman; because youare you--and I--am myself--and love you!"
And this time there was a note in his voice which she had not recognizedbefore, vibrant, unrestrained, passionate. The thrill of it pulsedthrough her; she felt it in her nerves, her very veins. She flinchedfrom it, she gave a tiny pant; the womanly instinct of evasion made herdraw back from him a startled pace.
"Isn't that the truth?" he asked, his voice hoarse with its intensity."Isn't it easy to be brave for oneself alone--easier than to be bravefor another?"
She stood looking at him, strangely, doubtfully, the shadow of dumbentreaty in her eyes. But in her heart other shadows were fading todisclose realities hitherto faintly suspected and half defined. Was thisthe true meaning of the fear which had suddenly been born in the momentof hope? Was it for his sake she paused upon the threshold of danger?The protective instinct which she had recognized in herself withwonder--had that grown into something more? Was it death with him orlife without him that she pictured as the worst that Fate could give?
The silence grew in tension but she could not break it. What was onlythen revealing itself to her--could she reveal it to him? She drew backanother pace, she held o
ut her hand as if she warded off the inevitable.
"I cannot tell," she said weakly. "But--but I think I could be brave formyself--alone."
He made an exclamation, his arms went out to possess her, his eyesshone--
"No!" she cried passionately. "No! Is it fair, is it right to takeadvantage of our position; is it honorable?"
And then she regretted her words in the very speaking of them. Thepassion faded from his face, a shadow veiled his eyes, he made a gestureof contrition. And she? With feminine inconsistency she opened her lipsto undo what she had done, to make her victory defeat.
Again Fate intervened. Aylmer whispered warningly, slipped across theflags, and stretched himself upon the pallet. One look through thebarred window explained his action. A hundred yards away a couple offigures were advancing towards the building. She recognized Landon andin his companion, Miller, talking vehemently.
She left the window and waited, sitting on the rough stool which wasplaced at the pallet foot.
A minute later the sound of bolts withdrawn and a key in a lock echoedunder the stone arch. Landon entered alone, debonair, smiling, but witheyes which were ominous of intention.
He looked down at the pallet.
"Our sufferer--our patient? Do we perceive no signs of progress?"
There was danger in his voice; she read it unmistakably.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"He is no different," she said apathetically. "He has spoken, once ortwice. I see no change."
"That is the misfortune of it all," said Landon. "You see no change. Canyour nursing be at fault--not from want of care, let me say at once, butfrom want of knowledge? Must we call in further advice in consultation?"
His face was white and haggard below the soiled bandage which crossedhis forehead. The sharpness of his jaw, his sunken cheeks, made of hissmile a very evil thing. She flinched before it.
"I cannot tell," she answered wearily.
"His movements, now?" grinned Landon. "Do they give no indication of hiscondition? Has he no conscious interests?"
The eyes below the bandage glittered and fear stabbed her suddenly. Werethey betrayed?
She shook her head.
"You see for yourself," she answered, and made a gesture towards themotionless form on the pallet.
Landon laughed.
"No, I do not see," he said. "I am not a physician. I cannot walk to abedside and deliver sentences of death or reprieves to life like themiracle mongers of Harley Street. Unconsciousness? How is it diagnosed?Sometimes by actual experiment _in corpore vile_, is it not?" He leanedover the bed. His hand slipped into a pocket and reappeared holding anopen penknife. He thrust it suddenly into Aylmer's arm.
She gave a cry of indignation; she seized his hand and dragged him back.
He laughed savagely and tried to fling her off. She threw her wholeweight upon his wrist, clinging to it.
And then he laughed again, with malignant enjoyment. He changed histactics. He no longer evaded her grip. He jerked her towards him. Andthis time the penknife point found a new sheath. Deliberately he stabbedit against her shoulder and--held it there!
She shrieked.
There was a stirring from the pallet bed. With a mighty leap Aylmer wason his feet! His face was convulsed; his eyes were lightnings.
For the third time Landon laughed, triumphantly. In the same motion hereleased his prisoner and sent her spinning against Aylmer'soutstretched arm. He himself was at the door and outside it, slammingit, locking it, flinging home bolt after bolt before the two inside hadrecovered from the sudden shock. A moment later he reappeared at thewindow.
"Well, my early convalescent!" he mocked. "Have you no thanks for such asudden recovery? And you, sister-in-law, for such a lesson in thehealing art? Think of the efforts wasted on that malingerer. Aren't youblushing for the ease with which you were deceived?"
And then the twinkle of wicked laughter faded from his eyes. He drewnear the window bars and glowered down at them evilly.
"Or are you blushing for yourself, you wanton!" he cried. "You whodeceived me into leaving you with him as a nurse, and knew that heneeded none. A little paragraph with hints--or more than hints, thetruth--about such a matter, and where do you stand? Are there societyrags in London and New York ready to accept that sort of matter? Yes,virtuous cousin and sister-in-law, I think there are, I think thereare!"
Neither of them flinched. They looked at him fixedly and, in the girl'scase, almost wonderingly. And Landon read the message of her incredulitywith a chuckle of enjoyment.
"I keep on presenting surprises to you, do I not?" he grinned. "Myversatility, the quickness with which I seize new points of humorimpresses you?"
For a moment she was silent. And then, as if a force beyond her controlforced her to speak, she answered him.
"I did not believe in the possibility of there being a thing as vile asyourself," she said. "I did not think God allowed such as you to live!"
The satyr-like grin broadened across his haggard cheeks. He leered downat them.
"I revel in it!" he answered. "By the Lord! Till you've tried absolutelyunrestrained wickedness, till you've thrown off every sort of control,till you're one with the devil and proud of it, you don't know whatenjoyment is!" His eyes glowed; he smote his fist ecstatically on thestones. "It's great!" he cried. "Great!"
A gray figure came suddenly into view behind him. Miller's face showedwhite against the shadow of the dusk which was heralding its coming bythe deepening azure of the sea and sky. And his glance seemed to hold asignificance which the prisoners were meant to read, but for which theyhad no clue.
Landon heard him and wheeled.
He surveyed him slowly and then he laughed.
"I'm beyond you now, teacher!" he derided. "I used to admire you--thecallousness, the relentlessness--which you could put into a job! But I'mway up above you. Decency had to be part of your stock-in-trade."
He laughed again, his harsh, cackling merriment, and there was a note init which struck a new chord of fear in Claire's heart. It was inhuman,unintelligent, this laughter. It fell poignantly, horribly on the ear.
"To-morrow--_manana_!" chuckled Landon. "I'm coming back with all myfriends. We'll give hours of daylight to the job and, by God! we'll makea good one! Think it over; give it your attention through the night! Myterms, every word of them or--well, try and guess the persuasions I'lluse. Meditate on them; paint them up in your imaginations and thenyou'll fall short! And as for restraints, remember that in my particularcase there isn't such a thing, not one!"
He stood staring down at them through a moment of leeringself-satisfaction, and then slowly, reluctantly, turned away. He tookMiller's arm and drew him insistently down the path. His evil laughtercame back to them shrill upon the evening breeze.
Inside their prison the two turned and confronted each other. ThenAylmer spoke.
"He has defied God, and the judgment of God has fallen on him. He isinsane--that is evident! Insane with malice, with his surrender to thedevil and all his works."
Her lips were parched. She whispered.
"And to-morrow?" she questioned, thickly. "To-morrow--we shall have tosurrender, too. To him?"
He clenched his fists.
"No!" he said. "No! Not while Fate has given us to-night--to-night!"