CHAPTER TWENTY.
A FORCED HAND.
"Now then, old josser, where are you coming to? have you bought thewhole room or only half, eh?"
The time was the middle of the morning, the place the saloon bar of theGolden Crown in Bassingham, and the speaker Bob Calmour, who had beenindulging in more John Walker than was good for him, incidentally at theexpense of an opportune friend. The man thus unceremoniouslyexpostulated with was a tallish man with a weather-beaten face and awhite beard, who had committed the grave indiscretion of being therewhat time the unsteady Bob had lurched backward, thus cannoning againsthim. We have seen him twice before for a short space--once at HilverseaCourt and once in Hilversea park.
"See here, young man," was the answer, drily given, "I think it's timeyou went home."
"See here, old cock, when I want to know what you _think_ I'll ask; tillthen I'll trouble you to keep it to yourself."
And the tone was particularly aggressive and insulting.
"If you don't keep a civil tongue in your head I shall be under thenecessity of starting you on the first homeward stage by firing you intothe street," said the stranger with the most provoking tranquillity.
That white beard proved Bob's undoing. He associated it with age, andage with decrepitude.
"Will you?" he yelped. "You couldn't do it--no, nor three of you."
"Not, eh?" said the stranger; and then Bob Calmour hardly knew what hadhappened, except that some irresistible force had got him by the scruffof the neck and was propelling him rapidly towards the swing doors. Thelatter swung, and Bob shot down the steps outside, and would have fallenbang on his nose but that he cannoned into a passing stranger just intime.
"Here! Hi! Hold up! Why the devil don't you look where you're going,you silly young ass!" cried the latter angrily as he collared him. Allthe swagger and bounce had evaporated from the luckless Bob. Thewhimpered apology died away into a sort of yelp of terror, and his pastyface went ashy white as he realised that he had run bang into no lessformidable a person than Haldane. And in the hand of the latter was ariding-crop. Visions of the ghastly thrashing he had deserved at thatindividual's hands, and would certainly receive, finished him off, andhe dropped limply on to the pavement in a sitting posture, halffainting.
"Awfully sorry, sir," he was just able to whine; "but I've beenviolently assaulted by a ruffian in there, and--er--couldn't see whereI--I--was going."
Haldane looked at him with a sort of good-natured contempt, seeingbefore him just an ordinary raffish young pup who had probably gotquarrelsome in his cups and come off worst.
"Well, you'd better go away home," he said shortly, and passed on,leaving the unspeakable Bob to pick himself up with feelings akin tothose of a criminal reprieved on the very drop itself, then as onecondemned afresh as he saw Wagram cross the road and join Haldane. Thetwo stood talking together, then, turning, they looked at him. Ofcourse, Wagram was giving him away, decided the terror-stricken Bob,whose every instinct now was flight--headlong flight; wherefore, havingshuffled rapidly round a friendly corner, he sprinted for cover all heknew, nor stopped till he found himself, panting, within the--for oncewelcome because protective--offices of Pownall and Skreet. Nor did hemore than half hear the acrid jobation to which Pownall, who had seenhim arrive, treated him by reason of having taken so long about thebusiness upon which he had been sent out.
Here again came in the strange, mysterious workings of Fate--orProvidence. Had the African adventurer been a little more roused to ireit is conceivable that, not content with throwing the offensive Bob intothe street, he might even have kicked him along a section of the same,which, of course, would have befallen exactly what time Haldane waspassing. In which event the whole course of this history might havebeen changed; in fact, we will go as far as to say that it certainlywould have been. And it has been recorded that Haldane seldom came toBassingham.
"Hope I haven't been the means of spoiling custom," said Develin Huntpleasantly as he returned to where he had been standing, "because, ifso, I hope that all here will put a name to theirs and join me by doingsomething to make up for it."
"Oh, that's all right, Mr Hunt," said the landlord, who, attracted bythe scuffle, short as it was, had come in. "Not much `custom' aboutthat young waster."
"Who is he?"
"Young Calmour, a clerk at Pownall and Skreet's. I only wonder theyhaven't given him the sack long ago."
"I must say he brought it upon himself," said the man who had been"standing" him. "Bob can be pretty abusive when he's got anything onboard. Mine? Oh, thanks; another Scotch, I think. Here's luck."
The landlord's answer had given Develin Hunt food for thought, not forastonishment; he had seen too many queer phases of life to be astonishedat anything. So this egregious young pup stood in the relationship ofbrother to the exceedingly pretty and even refined-looking girl he hadseen with Wagram and his party in Hilversea park some Sundays ago! Itseemed hardly credible, but then, as we have said, he was astonished atnothing.
He had not spent all the intervening time in Bassingham, where at theGolden Crown he was very popular, and instrumental in an increase ofcustom; for he was open-handed in setting up "rounds," and could tellstrange, wild stories of strange, wild lands and stranger, wilderpeople, and this led to an increasing roll up of the good citizens ofBassingham of an evening. But he had not as yet made acquaintance withold Calmour, for the very good reason that that worthy had transferredhis custom elsewhere, from motives that may be readily divined.
Now, although Haldane had not seen Develin Hunt the latter had seenHaldane. It was a mere glimpse snatched between the swing doors as theylet out the obnoxious Bob; but in the school which had afforded theAfrican adventurer his life training a mere glimpse to him was as goodas half-an-hour's scrutiny to most men, and to this one and his plans itnow made all the difference in the world.
"Who was the man I shot that young pup against?" he said. "Tallish man,sunburnt face, and riding-gaiters?"
"Squire Haldane, worse luck!" answered the landlord.
"Why `worse luck'?"
"He's a magistrate. He don't often show up in Bassingham, and now, whenhe does, get's nearly knocked down by a chump fired out of my bar in themiddle of the morning. Maybe he'll have a word to say, when licensingday comes round, that I keep my house rowdy."
"Shouldn't think he'd do that, Smith, he looks too much of a sportsman.I'll bet drinks all round that man has been in countries where firinganyone out doesn't constitute the liveliest side of a bar worry."
"I won't take you, then, because he has," replied Smith. "But what madeyou think so?"
"Quite simple. He never got painted that colour by any sun that onlyshone over the British Isles."
"Here, I say, sir, excuse me," struck in the young man who had broughtin Bob, "you're not Sherlock Holmes, are you?"
"No. Who's he?"
"Who's he? Never heard of Sherlock Holmes?"
"Now you're trying to get at me, young man. I suppose you're going toanswer he was a chap who'd forgotten that everybody's glass had beenempty too long. All right. Set 'em up again, Smith, for all hands."
There was a big laugh at this, and three persons started in to explainat once.
"Come to think of it, I had heard of the party, but I'd forgotten," saidHunt with his usual easy good humour. "But about this one, the one wewere talking about--where did you say he'd been, Smith?"
"Squire Haldane? Oh, everywhere. Mostly in South Africa, I believe.He lives out Fulkston way--a goodish step from here."
Assimilating this piece of information, which, from the point of view ofhis purposes, was satisfactory, the adventurer easily and imperceptiblyswitched the conversation on to other matters, and shortly retired tohis own quarters.
He sat down to think. He had made an important discovery that day--important to the last degree. Haldane in the neighbourhood, and aresident at that! Heavens! what a near thing it had been that they hadnot run ri
ght into each other! The adventurer's hard face grew quitemoist at the thought of it, and of what a volcano he had been sittingover during his sojournings in Bassingham the last few weeks. Thisdiscovery had clean altered his plans, and now in their altered stage hemust proceed to put them into operation without a moment of unnecessarydelay.
And yet throughout that day, until after dark, Develin Hunt neverventured outside the doors of the Golden Crown.
The Red Derelict Page 20