The Red Derelict

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  "NOBODY OF NOWHERE."

  Had Wagram been a sufferer from weakness of heart it is highly probablethat he would have fallen down dead there and then.

  The shock was sudden and complete. As he stood gazing out through theopen window its full meaning swept over his mind as in a very flash ofblasting flame. He, Wagram of Hilversea, whose intense pride in andlove of his noble inheritance and the almost illimitable opportunity forgood which the position entailed upon him were as the very breath oflife, now learned, all in a moment of time, that he was in realityNobody of Nowhere--that he had not even a name. It seemed as though thevery heavens had fallen upon him, crushing him to the dust.

  "Not a soul need ever be one atom the wiser. It's strictly betweenourselves."

  It was the adventurer's voice that had broken the awful silence. Wagramturned, wearily.

  "You have proof of what you advance, I take it--sufficient andconvincing proof?" he said.

  "Oh yes; abundant. Look at this," exhibiting a marriage certificate ofmany years back. "You can go down and compare notes with the originalparish register; it isn't a very long journey from here. Besides, yourfather will bear out what I say."

  Again the old man nodded feebly. He seemed incapable of speech.

  Wagram took the certificate and examined it earnestly. It was from theregister of a parish in a small county town. Then he handed it back.

  "What have you received as hush-money over this business?" he said.

  "Not a farthing until to-day. But the Squire has been very liberal, andhas behaved like a thorough gentleman. You may rely upon it that noword will ever pass my lips."

  "May I see the cheque?"

  "Certainly."

  Develin Hunt produced the cheque, intending to keep a firm hold of itwhile the other scanned its contents; but, marvellous to relate, heactually and deliberately placed it in Wagram's outstretched hand. Thelatter looked at it.

  "Twenty-five thousand pounds!" he said. "I suppose you are greatly inneed of money?"

  "Greatly isn't the word for it," answered the adventurer quickly. "I'mstony broke--and the worst of it is, I'm too old to be able to make anymore."

  "Destroy it, Wagram, destroy it!" burst from the old Squire. "He'sbroken his side of the contract already."

  The adventurer was conscious of a tense and anxious moment. He wasfully aware, as we have said above, that the payment could be stopped bywire; still, while he actually held the document itself, he seemed to beholding something substantial. Wagram handed it back unhesitatingly.

  "No, father," he said; "it has been given, and we can't take back agift; and if anyone is the loser it will be me."

  "No, it will not," declared the adventurer with vehemence. "No,certainly not. And--pardon me, Squire, for reminding you that I have_not_ broken my side of the compact. Your son forced the informationfrom me--very unfortunately, but still he did. But nobody else everwill if only you could bring yourselves to believe it. Come. Rememberhow, for all these years, I have kept absolute silence, even toEverard--though I have been seeing him day after day--in fact, for adevilish sight more days than I wanted to. Well, then, why should Ibegin to wag my tongue now?"

  "Only to Everard?" repeated Wagram. "Then you've seen him?"

  "Seen him? Rather! Seen a great deal too much of him. I don't mindadmitting that, if I hadn't been a sight smarter man for my age than hereckoned, I should have had six inches of his knife between my ribs onetime."

  "Where is he?" said Wagram.

  "Ah-h! Now you're asking for some information it wouldn't be a bit goodfor you to have, so I think I'll withhold it in your own interest--purely in your own interest, mind."

  Wagram was about to reply, but did not. The adventurer went on:

  "Don't let this knowledge make any difference to you. I give you myword of honour--though, I daresay, you won't think much of that--thatthis secret shall die with me. You have both treated me handsomely andfairly and squarely in this matter, and, so help me God! I'll do thesame by you. Wagram Wagram, you might have torn up that cheque when Iput it into your hand, as the Squire there advised you, though I know hewas speaking without thought when he did. But it was with the knowledgethat no more honourable man treads this green and blue world thanyourself that I did put it there. Well, then, I swear to you that whatI told the Squire on a former occasion is absolutely true. I have ahankering to end up my days decently and respectably, and, perhaps, inthe long run this will turn out not the least amount of good of all thegood you have done in your time, and I have some sort of inkling whatthat is. Now I'll go, and once more I say you'll never hear of meagain."

  He rose, and, with a bow to both, walked to the door. No attempt wasmade to detain him this time.

  "I'll just see this gentleman out, father," said Wagram. "I won't be amoment." The Squire nodded.

  But Wagram had something further in his mind than merely seeing anexceedingly unwelcome visitor off the premises. He made a commonplaceremark or two until they were clear of the house; then, once fairly inthe avenue, where the ground was open around, and no chance of beingoverheard, he said again:

  "Where is he? Where is my brother?"

  The adventurer's answer was the same.

  "You had better not know," he said.

  "But--I must."

  "But--why? Have you gained anything by being too curious before?Didn't I warn you to leave it alone--that there might be things it werebetter that you should not know? This is another of them. Leave italone, I say. `Where ignorance is bliss,' you know. Well, in this caseit is, believe me."

  "That is impossible. What sort of ease of mind, let alone happiness,could ever travel my way again while every moment of my life was spentin the consciousness that I was keeping somebody else out of hisrights?"

  "His rights! Good Lord! His rights! Now, do you really mean to tellme that you would abdicate, would turn over all this"--with a sweep ofthe hand around--"to Butcher Ned--er--I mean Everard? Why, to beginwith, it would kill your father."

  "No; because he could have no rights here--at least not in the sense wemean--during my father's lifetime. After that, well--"

  "After that--well, you would put him in here--would install him inpossession. Good Lord! Wagram Wagram, I can only suppose you don'tknow your--er--brother one little bit."

  "Not lately, of course. But that doesn't touch the principle of thething anyhow."

  "Not touch the principle of the thing, eh? Have you reflected whatwould be the result of putting Everard in possession here? No; ofcourse, you haven't. Well, then, you may take it from me that hell letloose would be a merry little joke compared with Hilversea six monthsafter that sucking lamb had got his finger on it. I tell you it wouldbe a by-word for--well, for everything that you, and all decent people,would rather it were not."

  "Have you some grudge against him?" said Wagram.

  "Grudge? No; not an atom of a grudge. But, honestly, I'd be sorry--more than sorry--to see him in your place. I haven't any grudge againsthim; but--I _know_ him, and I don't think you do."

  "Possibly not. But if he is all you imply, all the more reason forfinding him out. No one is utterly irreclaimable, you know."

  "Pardon me. I don't I would say I know the exact contrary; only that isa point on which we should certainly disagree. And the first instance Ishould cite in proof of that contrary would be your half-brother. Now,this time be advised by me--you would not before--and leave Everard--well, exactly wherever he may happen to be."

  "No; I cannot do that. We had thought him dead, having heard nothing ofhim for years. Now we know he is alive it is--well, my duty to findhim, in view of his future rights and great responsibilities. Now, MrHunt you owned just now that you had been well treated by us, so I putit to you to make some little return; therefore tell me where Everard isto be found."

  "The return you mention is to bury what I know as surely as if I weredead, and tha
t you seem determined to prevent me from doing."

  "No. Nothing need be known of--of--the other matter any the more. ButEverard must be restored to his rights."

  The adventurer stood stock still and stared at Wagram. His experiencehad been wide and diverse, yet here was a man who stood clean outsideit. Why, he must be mad; yet as his puzzled glance took in the tall,straight form and the strong, thoroughbred face, still showing traces ofthe recent shock, he shook his head, puzzled, and decided that the manwas as sane as himself, only clean outside his own experience.

  "Look here," he said shortly, "supposing in refusing you thisinformation I am trying to protect myself against myself--oh, not fromEverard, don't think that. He couldn't harm me; the boot, if anything,is rather on the other foot. Now, I've made a compact with you and yourfather, and I mean to keep it, but I've made no compact with Everard.Yet, I'm only human, and what if you let him in here and I felt moved totake advantage of it? I have a considerable hold over him, remember,and might easily be tempted to turn it to account."

  "In that case you `might easily be tempted' to turn this other knowledgeto further account as regards ourselves," said Wagram, with a dry, wansmile.

  "No, no; the cases are entirely different," rejoined the adventurerquickly, and with some vehemence. "Look here. Like yourself, I, too,have a son, of about the same age as yours. Well, it is for him--tokeep him as far apart as the poles from becoming what Everard and I, andothers, have been--that I am so urgently in need of this money. Now Ican do it, and if I could have done it without your forcing this secretfrom me Heaven knows I would have been far more glad."

  Wagram softened. "It could not be helped," he said wearily. "And now,in return, tell me where to find my brother. I don't say I am going torush up to him with the good news--for him--all at once; but he must befound."

  The adventurer stood for a moment or two in silence.

  "Well, then," he said at last, "since you are so death on finding him,this is the best--or the worst--I can do for you. Go to LourencoMarques and make a few inquiries there--not from the police, of course.Then, if that's no good, work over the Lebombo into Swaziland, and getinto touch with some of the tougher samples of white traders there--andthere are some tough ones. Then go to work delicately and carefully toobtain tidings of Butcher Ned--that's how he's known in those parts--never mind why, as I told the Squire just now. Only be very careful howyou work your inquiries, for he'll be engaged on the most ticklish andinfernally risky game in the gun-running and general information linefor the benefit of the Transvaal Government, unless he's changed hismind since I saw him last, and I don't think he has. And, honestly, Ihope you won't succeed in finding him, in which case even your scruples,I should think, would be set at rest. And, perhaps, you won't, for Icertainly can't give you any information that's more explicit; and it'smore than a year old, for I took a look in on the West Coast on my wayback from that part, and it lasted me a year."

  "Thanks," said Wagram, again with that dry, wan smile, as he made a noteor two in a pocket-book.

  "Now I will go," said Develin Hunt, "and my best wish is that you willbe unsuccessful in your search."

  Then he paused, and a strange look--almost a wistful look--came over hishard, bronzed face.

  "Look here, Wagram Wagram," he blurted out, "I've done you a devilishill turn, but I needn't have done that if you hadn't been so infernallypersistent. I still hope nothing will come of it; but, hang it all, Iwant to tell you before I go that I've never seen a man like you in allmy experience, and it isn't small. I'm going to ask you a greatfavour--no, not money this time--and I know you're going to refuse it.I want to ask you to let me shake hands with you."

  Instinctively Wagram started, partly with astonishment. This man, as hehad said, had indeed done him an ill turn. He had, by a word, deprivedhim of his possessions and of his very name. He had come as ablackmailer, and had obtained his blackmail--his price. He hadspoiled--nay, ruined--his very life. And yet, and yet, but for thegrace of God he himself might have been such as he, was the reflectionthat ran swiftly through his mind. Who was he to set himself up injudgment?

  "No. You will not?" said the other, noting his hesitation. "Of course,I ought to have known."

  "But I will," said Wagram, putting forth his hand.

  The adventurer clasped it in a strong, hard grip. Then without anotherword he turned and strode away down the avenue at a most astonishingpace for one of his apparent years.