CHAPTER XXXI
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
The revelation that Paul had heard in the sick-room overwhelmed him. Itwas not till he was in the open air that he realized what it all meant.The foreign spy, for whom his father had sacrificed his life--the manwho, in turn, had tried to steal from him the packet which had beenentrusted to him by Mr. Moncrief--Hibbert's father! Was he standing onhis head or his heels?
Again he could feel the night wind on his face as he galloped along theroad to Redmead; again he saw himself confronted by Zuker and hisconfederate; again he felt himself rising in the saddle and bringingdown his whip on the man's face; again he felt the thrill of joy thatleapt through his veins as he escaped from the clutches of his pursuers,and bounded once more along the road; and then--then that feeling ofdespair when Falcon suddenly sank to the ground, and he found that thenoble horse was dying. This man, the man for whom his father had died,the man who had so relentlessly pursued him on the road to Redmead, theman who had caused the death of Falcon--this man of all men Hibbert'sfather, the father of the boy whom he had watched over and protectedever since he came to Garside, the father of the boy he had loved as abrother, and whom he had risked his own life to save, even as his fatherhad risked his life to save the life of Zuker so long ago!
It was indeed staggering. No wonder he hastened into the fresh air.Spiders seemed spinning webs about his brain. He could neither see northink clearly.
"Where am I standing?" he asked himself, and simple as the question was,it was not so simple to answer, for the world seemed suddenlytopsy-turvy.
Gradually the night air swept away the cobwebs, and he began to seethings in a clearer light. This man Zuker was a spy still; nothing hadchanged since the day he had been found in his father's cabin, exceptperhaps that he had grown more daring. A spy! What did that mean? Itmeant that he was a menace to honest people, a danger to England, adanger to the peace and weal of the country which had given Paulbirth--the country for which so many of his relatives had given theirlives, the country which he loved. There could be no quarter for such aman. The longer he was at large the greater the danger.
"He's in my power completely. A word from me will send him to prison,"Paul said to himself. "To prison he shall go this very night."
Full of this determination, Paul turned to the gate. It was a couple ofmiles to the police-station, but what of that? He would soon cover thedistance, and be back again at Garside. So he started on his journeywith a run. He had not gone far, however, before a still, small voicebegan to whisper plaintively in his ear. It was the voice ofHibbert--the pleading, pathetic voice that had become so dear to him.
"Paul, Paul! Are you forgetting the promise you made to me so soon? Wasit for this I told you my secret? Reveal my story to the police, and youwill kill me--kill me, as surely as though you were to thrust a knife inmy breast."
That was what the voice seemed saying to him. Paul pulled himself upwith a jerk. What was he about to do? Betray Hibbert, the poor boy whohad entrusted him with his secret! Betray Hibbert, who had clung to himand loved him through good report and evil, who had never shrunk fromhim when one by one the boys at Garside had shrunk from him as from aleper! God help him! What was he about to do?
He was about to turn back when that other voice whispered to him: "Yourcountry first and foremost. You have a higher duty than the duty youowe to Hibbert--the duty to your country. Besides, this boy's fatherbetrayed your father. Why should you shrink from betraying him? Eye foreye, tooth for tooth. Pay back the debt that has been owing so long."
Paul hastened on again, but again he paused as another voice--a voicethat was full of wondrous and sublime melody--sounded in his ear:"Vengeance is mine, I will repay."
It seemed to him as he stood there in the moonlight, the stillness sogreat and solemn that he could hear his heart throb, that God hadspoken. The danger to his country was not so great that it called uponhim to give up the secret which had been entrusted in confidence to hiskeeping.
He could not be true to himself or his country by being false toHibbert!
He would wait. Hibbert would get better. If the danger became real, hewould lay bare his breast to Hibbert as Hibbert had laid bare his breastto him. He would tell him, fairly and honestly, why he could no longerkeep his secret; then Hibbert would be able to warn his father, and hewould be able to flee from the country he had sought to betray.
Paul felt easier when he had come to this decision. It seemed to himthat he had divided his secret with God, and that he was now acting asHe would have counselled him.
And surely His hand had been in it from the first--from the hour whenhe, Paul, had been shielded from his pursuers in his ride to Redmead tothe hour which had brought the son of his pursuer to a sick bed, andinduced him to pour his strange confession in his ear. Nay, could notthe hand of God be seen in it still farther back, from the very hourwhen, at the risk of his own life, Paul's father had sacrificed his ownlife for the life of his enemy? Even at that time the hand of Providencemust have been at work weaving the strange events which were stillunfolding themselves.
Paul was on the point of turning back as these thoughts flitted throughhis mind when the sound of a footstep caused him to draw back hastilyinto the shadow of the hedge. Scarcely had he done so than a tall, leanfigure, with head thrust forward, passed quickly by. It was Mr. Weevil.
"Where is he off to, I wonder?" thought Paul.
The master had been so concentrated in his thoughts that he had nosuspicion as to who was in hiding by the roadside. Paul's memory at oncewent back to the last part of Hibbert's story--the part which he hadalmost lost sight of in the overwhelming interest of the first part. Mr.Weevil was Hibbert's uncle--Zuker's brother-in-law.
Were they in league together? Paul's glance followed Mr. Weevil alongthe road. An overmastering desire seized him, a desire that he could notresist. Instinctively, as one in a dream, he followed in the footstepsof the master. Presently they reached Cranstead Common. Instead ofturning in the direction of the sand-pits, the battle-ground of theBedes and the Garsiders, Mr. Weevil turned to the left--to that part ofit which was more thickly wooded--where there were trees andfurze-bushes and bramble in wild profusion.
"Where on earth can he be going?" Paul asked himself wonderingly.
Well might he ask, for it was scarcely possible to imagine a wilder ormore solitary spot. It led to no habitation, none at least that Paul wasaware of, and he was pretty familiar with the common.
"He can't be on a visit to any one, unless it be the pixies, orcreatures of that sort," thought Paul. "P'raps he's thinking out somescientific problem, and finds this wild part the best place to do itin."
He paused for an instant. What was the use of going farther? He was on awildgoose chase, but still the overmastering impulse which had led himto follow Mr. Weevil held him in its grip and would not let him turnback. So he went on in close pursuit of the shadowy figure in front ofhim.
"Why, he'll be getting to the river presently. Perhaps that is what heis making for?" thought Paul as the master plunged deeper into thethicket.
The river skirted the far side of the common, and it was precisely inthat direction Mr. Weevil was travelling. He had never once looked tothe right or left, so absorbed had he been in his thoughts, but now hesuddenly paused and looked back.
Paul had just time to hide himself in the friendly shelter of a tree. Hestood there for an instant, then peeped out from his hiding-place. Hecaught one glimpse of Mr. Weevil, and then, to his amazement, hedisappeared from view as completely as though the earth had opened andswallowed him up.
Paul rubbed his eyes. What was the meaning of it! Where had the masterdisappeared to? Had he been following some phantom, or had Mr. Weevilreally sunk through the ground? Paul advanced to the spot. There wasapparently nothing there but bushes. Again and again he pondered on thestrange disappearance of the master and was unable to account for it.
"Well, if that isn't one of the strangest things I've ev
er seen," saidhe to himself. "Mr. Weevil was there a minute since, as large as lifeand twice as natural. Now he's gone."
A feeling of awe stole over Paul. Mr. Weevil had always seemed a strangebeing, a man quite by himself, and different from ordinary beings. Hadhis dealings with science taught him some dark secret by which he couldmake himself invisible? But Paul quickly dismissed this wild idea fromhis mind. The days of miracles were past. Whatever Mr. Weevil'sknowledge of science, it did not lend itself to feats of magic worthy ofthe genii in the enchanted realms of _The Arabian Nights_.
None the less, where was he? What had become of him? Paul examined thebushes as closely as the darkness would permit, but could find no traceof the master. He stood still and listened. Save for a light breeze thatwas moving gently among the trees, there was no sound. It was as quietas the grave.
"My word! That's one of the greatest mysteries I've ever struck,"thought Paul. He withdrew a pace or two, and took up his positionbeneath a decayed elm. Possibly Mr. Weevil might make his reappearancein the same mysterious way in which he had disappeared. He waited a fewminutes, but his patience was not rewarded. Nothing happened.
Paul began to fear that he might be locked out unless he hastened back,so he reluctantly retraced his footsteps, determined to visit the spotat the earliest opportunity.
He got back to Garside without mishap or incident, but when he lay downto rest that night it was not to sleep. He could not help wondering whathad become of Mr. Weevil, and whether he had spent a night on CransteadCommon. He was still thinking when the school clock chimed the hour ofmidnight. About five minutes later he heard a quiet footstep in thecorridor.
"That's Mr. Weevil," he said to himself. "I am quite sure. I could swearto his footsteps anywhere."
He listened till they disappeared in the corridor, then he turned on hispillow, and tried to sleep. But he did not succeed for a long time. Theevents of that night had banished sleep.
The next day Mr. Weevil was at his post as usual, and closely as Paulwatched him he could see nothing unusual in his demeanour. He was asgrave as ever--the eyes opened and closed in the same manner, mostwakeful when they seemed most sleepful; and he was as prompt anddiligent as ever in the discharge of his duties in the school.
"Was it all a dream?" Paul asked himself, as his mind went back to whathad happened on the previous night.
As that afternoon was a half-holiday, he had some idea of paying asecond visit to the spot, and continuing his examination of it. But heremembered that there was a still more important duty before him. He hadpledged himself in the presence of Sedgefield and his companions that hewould get back the school flag, and that once again they would see itflying from its old place on the turret.
So far, he had done nothing to redeem his pledge. Those Third Formfellows who had cheered him so lustily would think there was no meaningin his words, that his boast was an empty one. The time had come for himto do something to make good his promise.
He would begin to carry out his plan that very afternoon.
The Hero of Garside School Page 32