The Firm of Girdlestone

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  A MIDNIGHT CRUISE.

  If ever two men were completely cowed and broken down those two were theAfrican merchants and his son. Wet, torn, and soiled, they stillstruggled on in their aimless flight, crashing through hedges andclambering over obstacles, with the one idea in their frenzied minds ofleaving miles between them and that fair accusing face. Exhausted andpanting they still battled through the darkness and the storm, untilthey saw the gleam of the surge and heard the crash of the great wavesupon the beach. Then they stopped amid the sand and the shingle.The moon was shining down now in all its calm splendour, illuminatingthe great tossing ocean and the long dark sweep of the Hampshire coast.By its light the two men looked at one another, such a look as two lostsouls might have exchanged when they heard the gates of hell first clangbehind them.

  Who could have recognized them now as the respected trader of FenchurchStreet and his fastidious son. Their clothes were tattered, their facessplashed with mud and scarred by brambles and thorns, the elder man hadlost his hat, and his silvery hair blew out in a confused tangle behindhim. Even more noticeable, however, than the change in their attire wasthe alteration in their expression. Both had the same startled, furtivelook of apprehension, like beasts of prey who hear the baying of thehounds in the distance. Their quivering hands and gasping breathbetrayed their exhaustion, yet they glanced around them nervously, asthough the least sound would send them off once more upon their wildcareer.

  "You devil!" Ezra cried at last, in a harsh, choking voice, taking astep towards his father with a gesture as though he would have struckhim. "You have brought us to this with your canting and scheming andplotting. What are we to do now--eh? Answer me that!" He caught theold man by the coat and shook him violently.

  Girdlestone's face was all drawn, as though he were threatened with afit, and his eyes were glassy and vacant. The moonlight glittered inthem and played over his contorted features. "Did you see her?" hewhispered with trembling lips. "Did you see her?"

  "Yes, I saw her," the other answered brusquely; "and I saw thatinfernal fellow from London, and the major, and God knows how many morebehind her. A nice hornets' nest to bring about one's ears."

  "It was her spirit," said his father in the same awe-struck voice."The spirit of John Harston's murdered daughter."

  "It was the girl herself," said Ezra. He had been panic-stricken at themoment, but had had time during their flight to realize the situation."We have made a pretty botch of the whole thing."

  "The girl herself!" cried Girdlestone in bewilderment. "For Heaven'ssake, don't mock me! Who was it that we carried through the wood andlaid upon the rails?"

  "Who was it? Why that jealous jade, Rebecca Taylforth, of course, whomust have read my note and come out in the other's cloak and hat to hearwhat I had to say to her. The cursed fool!"

  "The wrong woman!" Girdlestone muttered with the same vacant look uponhis face. "All for nothing, then--for nothing!"

  "Don't stand mumbling to yourself there," cried Ezra, catching hisfather's arm and half dragging him along the beach. "Don't youunderstand that there's a hue and cry out after you, and that we'll behung if we are taken. Wake up and exert yourself. The gallows would bea nice end to all your preaching and praying, wouldn't it?"

  They hurried along together down the beach, ploughing their way throughthe loose shingle and tripping over the great mats of seaweed which hadbeen cast up in the recent gale. The wind was still so great that theyhad to lower their heads and to put their shoulders against it, whilethe salt spray caused their eyes to smart and tingled on their lips.

  "Where are you taking me, my son?" asked the old man once.

  "To the only chance we have of safety. Come on, and ask no questions."

  Through the murkiness of the night they saw a single light flickeringdimly ahead of them. This was evidently the goal at which Ezra wasaiming. As they toiled on it grew larger and brighter, until itresolved itself into the glare of a lamp shining through a smalldiamond-paned window. Girdlestone recognized the place now. It was thehut of a fisherman named Sampson, who lived a mile or more from Claxton.He remembered having his attention attracted to the place by the curiousnature of the building, which was constructed out of the remnants of aNorwegian barque stranded some years before. The thatch which coveredit and the windows and door cut in the sides gave it a curiously hybridappearance, and made it an object of interest to sightseers in thoseparts. Sampson was the owner of a fair-sized fishing-boat, which heworked with his eldest son, and which was said to yield him a decentlivelihood.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Girdlestone, as his son made his wayto the door.

  "Don't look like a ghost," Ezra answered in an angry whisper."We're all safe, if we are only cool."

  "I am better now. You can trust me."

  "Keep a smiling face, then," said Ezra, and knocked loudly at the doorof the hut. The occupants had not heard their approach owing to thestorm, but the instant that the young merchant struck the door there wasa buzz of conversation and the sharp barking of a dog. Then came a dullthud and the barking ceased, from which Ezra concluded that some one hadhurled a boot at the animal.

  "We hain't no bait," cried a gruff voice.

  "Can I see Mr. Sampson?" asked Ezra.

  "I tell 'ee we hain't no bait," roared the voice in a more irritabletone.

  "We don't want bait. We want a word of talk," said Ezra.

  As he spoke, the door flew open, and a burly middle-aged man, in a redshirt, appeared, with a face which was almost the same colour as hisgarment. "We hain't got no--" he was beginning, when he suddenlyrecognized his visitors and broke short off, staring at them with asmuch surprise as it is possible for human features to express.

  "Well, if it ain't the genelman from the Priory!" he exclaimed at last,with a whistle, which seemed to be his way of letting off theastonishment which would otherwise remain bottled up in his system.

  "We want a minute's talk with you, Mr. Sampson," said Ezra.

  "Surely, sir--sure-ly!" the fisherman cried, bustling indoors andrubbing the top of two stools with his sleeve. "Coom in! 'Ere, Jarge,pull the seats up for the genelmen."

  At this summons, a lanky, big-boned hobbledehoy, in sea boots, pushedthe stools up towards the fire, on which a log of wood was blazingcheerily. The two Girdlestones sat warming themselves, while thefisherman and his son surveyed them silently with open eyes and mouth,as though they were a pair of strange zoological curiosities cast up bythe gale.

  "Keep doon, Sammy!" the fisherman said hoarsely to a great collie dogwho was licking at Girdlestone's hands. "What be he a suckin' at?Why, sure, sir, there be blood on your hands."

  "My father scratched himself," said Ezra promptly.

  "His hat has blown away too, and we lost our way in the dark, so we'rerather in a mess."

  "Why, so you be!" Sampson cried, eyeing them up and down. "I thought,when I heard you, as it was they folk from Claxton as comes 'ere forbait whenever they be short. That's nigh about the only visitors weever gets here; bean't it, Jarge?"

  George, thus appealed to, made no articulate reply, but he opened hisgreat mouth and laughed vociferously.

  "We've come for something which will pay you better than that," saidEzra. "You remember my meeting you two or three Saturdays ago, andspeaking to you about your house and your boat and one thing oranother?"

  The fisherman nodded.

  "You said something then about your boat being a good sea-going craft,and that it was as roomy as many a yacht. I think I told you that Imight give it a try some day."

  The fisherman nodded again. His wondering eyes were still surveying hisvisitors, dwelling on every rent in their clothes or stain on theirpersons.

  "My father and I want to get down the coast as far as the Downs. Now wethought that we might just as well give your boat a turn and have yourson and yourself to work it. I suppose she is fit to go that distance?"

  "Fit!
whoy she be fit to go to 'Meriky! The Downs ain't more'n hunderand twenty mile. With a good breeze she would do it in a day.By to-morrow afternoon we'd be ready to make a start if the windslackens."

  "To-morrow afternoon! We must be there by that time. We want you tostart to-night."

  The seaman looked round at his son, and the boy burst out laughing onceagain.

  "It 'ud be a rum start for a vyage at this time o' night, with half agale from the sou'-west. I never heard tell o' sich a thing!"

  "Look here," said Ezra, bending forward and emphasizing his words withhis uplifted hand, "we've set our minds on going, and we don't mindpaying for the fancy. The sooner we start the better pleased we shallbe. Name your price. If you won't take us, there are many in Claxtonthat will."

  "Well, it be a cruel bad night to be sure," the fisherman answered."Like as not we'd get the boat knocked about, an' maybe have her riggin'damaged. We've been a-fresh paintin' of her too, and that would bespoiled. It's a powerful long way, and then there's the gettin' back.It means the loss of two or three days' work, and there's plenty of fishon the coast now, and a good market for them."

  "Would thirty pounds pay you?" asked Ezra.

  The sum was considerably more than the fisherman would have ventured toask. The very magnificence of it, however, encouraged him to hope thatmore might be forthcoming.

  "Five-and-thirty wouldn't pay me for the loss and trouble," he said;"forbye the damage to the boat."

  "Say forty, then," said Ezra. "It's rather much to pay for a freak ofthis sort, but we won't haggle over a pound or two."

  The old seaman scratched his head as though uncertain whether to takethis blessing which the gods had sent or to hold out for more.

  Ezra solved the matter by springing to his feet. "Come on to Claxton,father," he cried. "We'll get what we want there."

  "Steady, sir, steady!" the fisherman said hastily. "I didn't say as Iwasn't good for the job. I'm ready to start for the sum you names.Hurry up, Jarge, and get the tackle ready."

  The sea-booted youth began to bustle about at this summons, bearingthings out into the darkness and running back for more with an alacritywhich one would hardly have suspected from his uncouth appearance.

  "Can I wash my hands?" asked Girdlestone. There were several crimsonstains where he had held the body of the murdered girl. It appearedthat Burt's bludgeon was not such a bloodless weapon after all.

  "There's water, sir, in that bucket. Maybe you would like a bit o'plaster to bind up the cut?"

  "It's not bad enough for that," said the merchant hastily.

  "I'll leave you here," the fisherman remarked. "There's much to be donedown theer. You'll have poor feedin' I'm afraid; biscuits and water andbully beef."

  "Never mind that. Hurry up all you can." The man tramped away down tothe beach, and Ezra remained with his father in the hut. The old manwashed his hands very carefully, and poured the stained water awayoutside the door.

  "How are you going to pay this man?" he asked.

  "I have some money sewed up in my waistcoat," Ezra answered. "I wasn'tsuch a fool as not to know that a crash might come at any moment. I wasdetermined that all should not go to the creditors."

  "How much have you?"

  "What's that to you?" Ezra asked angrily. "You mind your own affairs.The money's mine, since I have saved it. It's quite enough if I spendpart of it in helping you away."

  "I don't dispute it, my boy," the old merchant said meekly. "It's ablessing that you had the foresight to secure it. Are you thinking ofmaking for France now?"

  "France! Pshaw, man, the telegraph would have set every gendarme on thecoast on the look-out. No, no, that would be a poor hope of safety!"

  "Where then?"

  "Where is the fisherman?" asked Ezra suspiciously, peering out from thedoor into the darkness. "No one must know our destination. We'll pickup Migg's ship, the _Black Eagle_, in the Downs. She was to have gonedown the Thames to-day, and to lie at Gravesend, and then to work roundto the Downs, where she will be to-morrow. It will be a Sunday, so nonews can get about. If we get away with him they will lose all trace ofus. We'll get him to land up upon the Spanish coast. I think it willfairly puzzle the police. No doubt they are watching every station onthe line by this time. I wonder what has become of Burt?"

  "I trust that they will hang him," John Girdlestone cried, with a gleamof his old energy. "If he had taken the ordinary precaution of makingsure who the girl was, this would never have occurred."

  "Don't throw the blame on him," said Ezra bitterly. "Who was it whokept us all up to it whenever we wished to back out? If it had not beenfor you, who would have thought of it?"

  "I acted for the best," cried the old man, throwing his hands up with apiteous gesture. "You should be the last to upbraid me. It was thedream of leaving you rich and honoured which drove me on. I wasprepared to do anything for that end."

  "You have always excellent intentions," his son said callously."They have a queer way of showing themselves, however. Look out, here'sSampson!"

  As he spoke they heard the crunching of the fisherman's heavy boots onthe shingle, and he looked in, with his ruddy face all shining with thesalt water.

  "We're all ready now, sirs," he said. "Jarge and I will get into ouroil duds, and then we can lock up the shop. It'll have to take care ofitself until we come back."

  The two gentlemen walked down to the edge of the sea. There was alittle dinghy there, and the boat was anchored a couple of hundred yardsoff. They could just make out the loom of her through the darkness, andsee her shadowy spars, dipping, rising, and falling with the wash of thewaves. To right and left spread the long white line of thundering foam,as though the ocean were some great beast of prey which was gnashing itsglistening teeth at them. The gale had partially died away, but therestill came fitful gusts from the south-west, and the thick cloudsoverhead were sweeping in a majestic procession across the sky, andfalling like a dark cataract over the horizon, showing that up there atleast there was no lull in the tempest. It was bitterly cold, and bothmen buttoned up their coats and slapped their hands against each otherto preserve their warmth.

  After some little delay, Sampson and his son came down from the hut witha lantern in each of their hands. They had locked the door behind them,which showed that they were ready for a final start. By the lightswhich they carried it could be seen that they were dressed in yellowsuits of oilskin and sou'wester hats, as if prepared for a wet night.

  "You ain't half dressed for a cruise of this kind," Sampson said."You'll be nigh soaked through, I fear."

  "That's our look-out," answered Ezra. "Let us get off."

  "Step in, sir, and we'll get in after."

  The dinghy was shoved off into the surf, and the two seamen clambered inafter. Ezra and his father sat in the sheets, while the others rowed.The sea was running very high--so high that when the dinghy lay in thetrough of a wave they could see neither the boat for which they weresteering nor the shore which they had left--nothing indeed but the blackline of hissing water above their heads. At times they would go upuntil they hung on the crest of a great roller and saw the dark valleysgaping beyond into which they were forthwith precipitated. Sometimes,when they were high upon a wave, the fishing-boat would be between theseas, and then there would be nothing of her visible except the upperportion of her mast. It was only a couple of hundred yards, but seemeda long journey to the shivering fugitives.

  "Stand by with the boat-hook!" Sampson cried at last. The dark outlineof the boat was looming immediately above them.

  "All right, father."

  The dinghy was held alongside, and the two gentlemen scrambled aboard asbest they could, followed by their companions.

  "Have you the painter, Jarge?"

  "Ay, ay."

  "Make it fast aft then!"

  The lad fastened the rope which held the dinghy to a stanchion besidethe tiller. Then he and his father proceeded to hoist the for
esail soas to get the boat's head round.

  "She'll do now," Sampson cried. "Give us a hand here, sir, if you don'tmind."

  Ezra caught hold of the rope which was handed him and pulled for sometime. It was a relief to him to have something, however small, whichwould distract his mind from the events of the night.

  "That will do, sir," the skipper cried, and, leaning over the bows, heseized the anchor which Ezra had hauled up, and tumbled it with a crashon the deck.

  "Now, Jarge, with three reefs in her we might give her the mains'le."

  With much pulling at ropes and with many strange nautical cries thefather and the son, aided by their passengers, succeeded in raising thegreat brown sail. The little vessel lay over under the pressure of thewind until her lee bulwark was flush with the water, and the deck lay atsuch an angle that it was only by holding on to the weather riggingthat the two gentlemen could retain their footing. The wild wavesswirled and foamed round her bows, and beat at her quarter and beneathher counter, but the little boat rose gallantly to them, and shot awaythrough the storm, running due eastward.

  "It ain't much of a cabin," Sampson said apologetically. "Such as itis, you'll find it down there."

  "Thank you," answered Ezra; "we'll stay on deck at present. When oughtwe to get to the Downs?"

  "At this rate we'll be there by to-morrow afternoon."

  "Thank you."

  The fisherman and his boy took turn and turn, one steering and the otherkeeping a look-out forward and trimming the sails. The two passengerscrouched huddled together against the weather rail. They were each toooccupied with thought to have time for speech. Suddenly, after passingClaxton and rounding the point, they came in full sight of the Priory,every window of which was blazing with light. They could see darkfigures passing to and fro against the glare.

  "Look there," Girdlestone whispered.

  "Ay, the police have not taken long," his son answered.John Girdlestone was silent for some time. Then he suddenly dropped hisface upon his hands, and sobbed hoarsely for the first and last time inhis career.

  "I am thinking of Monday in Fenchurch Street," he said. "My God! isthis the end of a life of hard work! Oh, my business, my business, thatI built up myself! It will break my heart!"

  And so through the long cold winter's night they sat together while theboat ploughed its way down the English Channel. Who shall say whattheir thoughts were as they stared with pale, rigid faces into thedarkness, while their minds, perhaps, peered even more cheerlessly intothe dismal obscurity which lay over their future. Better be thelifeless wreck whom they have carried up to the Priory, than be torn asthese men are torn, by the demons of fear and remorse and grief, andcrushed down by the weight of a sin-stained and irrevocable past.