Twelve Stories and a Dream (18 page)

"Full-cock now, anyhow," said the fat man, after a pause, and his breath
seemed to catch. "But I'll tell you, you've never been so near death
before. Lord! I'M almost glad. If it hadn't been that the revolver
wasn't cocked you'd be lying dead there now."

Mr. Ledbetter said nothing, but he felt that the room was swaying.

"A miss is as good as a mile. It's lucky for both of us it wasn't.
Lord!" He blew noisily. "There's no need for you to go pale-green for a
little thing like that."

"If I can assure you, sir—" said Mr. Ledbetter, with an effort.

"There's only one thing to do. If I call in the police, I'm bust—a
little game I've got on is bust. That won't do. If I tie you up and
leave you again, the thing may be out to-morrow. Tomorrow's Sunday, and
Monday's Bank Holiday—I've counted on three clear days. Shooting
you's murder—and hanging; and besides, it will bust the whole blooming
kernooze. I'm hanged if I can think what to do—I'm hanged if I can."

"Will you permit me—"

"You gas as much as if you were a real parson, I'm blessed if you don't.
Of all the burglars you are the—Well! No!—I WON'T permit you. There
isn't time. If you start off jawing again, I'll shoot right in your
stomach. See? But I know now-I know now! What we're going to do first,
my man, is an examination for concealed arms—an examination for
concealed arms. And look here! When I tell you to do a thing, don't
start off at a gabble—do it brisk."

And with many elaborate precautions, and always pointing the pistol at
Mr. Ledbetter's head, the stout man stood him up and searched him for
weapons. "Why, you ARE a burglar!" he said "You're a perfect amateur.
You haven't even a pistol-pocket in the back of your breeches. No, you
don't! Shut up, now."

So soon as the issue was decided, the stout man made Mr. Ledbetter take
off his coat and roll up his shirt-sleeves, and, with the revolver at
one ear, proceed with the packing his appearance had interrupted. From
the stout man's point of view that was evidently the only possible
arrangement, for if he had packed, he would have had to put down
the revolver. So that even the gold on the table was handled by Mr.
Ledbetter. This nocturnal packing was peculiar. The stout man's idea was
evidently to distribute the weight of the gold as unostentatiously
as possible through his luggage. It was by no means an inconsiderable
weight. There was, Mr. Ledbetter says, altogether nearly £18,000 in gold
in the black bag and on the table. There were also many little rolls
of £5 bank-notes. Each rouleau of £25 was wrapped by Mr. Ledbetter
in paper. These rouleaux were then put neatly in cigar boxes and
distributed between a travelling trunk, a Gladstone bag, and a hatbox.
About £600 went in a tobacco tin in a dressing-bag. £10 in gold and a
number of £5 notes the stout man pocketed. Occasionally he objurgated
Mr. Ledbetter's clumsiness, and urged him to hurry, and several times he
appealed to Mr. Ledbetter's watch for information.

Mr. Ledbetter strapped the trunk and bag, and returned the stout man
the keys. It was then ten minutes to twelve, and until the stroke of
midnight the stout man made him sit on the Gladstone bag, while he sat
at a reasonably safe distance on the trunk and held the revolver handy
and waited. He appeared to be now in a less aggressive mood, and having
watched Mr. Ledbetter for some time, he offered a few remarks.

"From your accent I judge you are a man of some education," he said,
lighting a cigar. "No—DON'T begin that explanation of yours. I know it
will be long-winded from your face, and I am much too old a liar to be
interested in other men's lying. You are, I say, a person of education.
You do well to dress as a curate. Even among educated people you might
pass as a curate."

"I AM a curate," said Mr. Ledbetter, "or, at least—"

"You are trying to be. I know. But you didn't ought to burgle. You are
not the man to burgle. You are, if I may say it—the thing will have
been pointed out to you before—a coward."

"Do you know," said Mr. Ledbetter, trying to get a final opening, "it
was that very question—"

The stout man waved him into silence.

"You waste your education in burglary. You should do one of two things.
Either you should forge or you should embezzle. For my own part, I
embezzle. Yes; I embezzle. What do you think a man could be doing with
all this gold but that? Ah! Listen! Midnight!... Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
There is something very impressive to me in that slow beating of the
hours. Time—space; what mysteries they are! What mysteries.... It's
time for us to be moving. Stand up!"

And then kindly, but firmly, he induced Mr. Ledbetter to sling the
dressing bag over his back by a string across his chest, to shoulder the
trunk, and, overruling a gasping protest, to take the Gladstone bag in
his disengaged hand. So encumbered, Mr. Ledbetter struggled perilously
downstairs. The stout gentleman followed with an overcoat, the hatbox,
and the revolver, making derogatory remarks about Mr. Ledbetter's
strength, and assisting him at the turnings of the stairs.

"The back door," he directed, and Mr. Ledbetter staggered through a
conservatory, leaving a wake of smashed flower-pots behind him. "Never
mind the crockery," said the stout man; "it's good for trade. We wait
here until a quarter past. You can put those things down. You have!"

Mr. Ledbetter collapsed panting on the trunk. "Last night," he gasped,
"I was asleep in my little room, and I no more dreamt—"

"There's no need for you to incriminate yourself," said the stout
gentleman, looking at the lock of the revolver. He began to hum. Mr.
Ledbetter made to speak, and thought better of it.

There presently came the sound of a bell, and Mr. Ledbetter was taken to
the back door and instructed to open it. A fair-haired man in yachting
costume entered. At the sight of Mr. Ledbetter he started violently and
clapped his hand behind him. Then he saw the stout man. "Bingham!" he
cried, "who's this?"

"Only a little philanthropic do of mine—burglar I'm trying to reform.
Caught him under my bed just now. He's all right. He's a frightful ass.
He'll be useful to carry some of our things."

The newcomer seemed inclined to resent Mr. Ledbetter's presence at
first, but the stout man reassured him.

"He's quite alone. There's not a gang in the world would own him.
No!—don't start talking, for goodness' sake."

They went out into the darkness of the garden with the trunk still
bowing Mr. Ledbetter's shoulders. The man in the yachting costume walked
in front with the Gladstone bag and a pistol; then came Mr. Ledbetter
like Atlas; Mr. Bingham followed with the hat-box, coat, and revolver as
before. The house was one of those that have their gardens right up to
the cliff. At the cliff was a steep wooden stairway, descending to a
bathing tent dimly visible on the beach. Below was a boat pulled up, and
a silent little man with a black face stood beside it. "A few moments'
explanation," said Mr. Ledbetter; "I can assure you—" Somebody kicked
him, and he said no more.

They made him wade to the boat, carrying the trunk, they pulled him
aboard by the shoulders and hair, they called him no better name than
"scoundrel" and "burglar" all that night. But they spoke in undertones
so that the general public was happily unaware of his ignominy. They
hauled him aboard a yacht manned by strange, unsympathetic Orientals,
and partly they thrust him and partly he fell down a gangway into a
noisome, dark place, where he was to remain many days—how many he does
not know, because he lost count among other things when he was seasick.
They fed him on biscuits and incomprehensible words; they gave him water
to drink mixed with unwished-for rum. And there were cockroaches
where they put him, night and day there were cockroaches, and in the
night-time there were rats. The Orientals emptied his pockets and took
his watch—but Mr. Bingham, being appealed to, took that himself.
And five or six times the five Lascars—if they were Lascars—and the
Chinaman and the negro who constituted the crew, fished him out and
took him aft to Bingham and his friend to play cribbage and euchre and
three-anded whist, and to listen to their stories and boastings in an
interested manner.

Then these principals would talk to him as men talk to those who have
lived a life of crime. Explanations they would never permit, though they
made it abundantly clear to him that he was the rummiest burglar they
had ever set eyes on. They said as much again and again. The fair man
was of a taciturn disposition and irascible at play; but Mr. Bingham,
now that the evident anxiety of his departure from England was assuaged,
displayed a vein of genial philosophy. He enlarged upon the mystery of
space and time, and quoted Kant and Hegel—or, at least, he said he did.
Several times Mr. Ledbetter got as far as: "My position under your bed,
you know—," but then he always had to cut, or pass the whisky, or do
some such intervening thing. After his third failure, the fair man got
quite to look for this opening, and whenever Mr. Ledbetter began after
that, he would roar with laughter and hit him violently on the back.
"Same old start, same old story; good old burglar!" the fair-haired man
would say.

So Mr. Ledbetter suffered for many days, twenty perhaps; and one evening
he was taken, together with some tinned provisions, over the side and
put ashore on a rocky little island with a spring. Mr. Bingham came in
the boat with him, giving him good advice all the way, and waving his
last attempts at an explanation aside.

"I am really NOT a burglar," said Mr. Ledbetter.

"You never will be," said Mr. Bingham. "You'll never make a burglar. I'm
glad you are beginning to see it. In choosing a profession a man must
study his temperament. If you don't, sooner or later you will fail.
Compare myself, for example. All my life I have been in banks—I have
got on in banks. I have even been a bank manager. But was I happy? No.
Why wasn't I happy? Because it did not suit my temperament. I am too
adventurous—too versatile. Practically I have thrown it over. I do not
suppose I shall ever manage a bank again. They would be glad to get me,
no doubt; but I have learnt the lesson of my temperament—at last....
No! I shall never manage a bank again.

"Now, your temperament unfits you for crime—just as mine unfits me
for respectability. I know you better than I did, and now I do not even
recommend forgery. Go back to respectable courses, my man. YOUR lay
is the philanthropic lay—that is your lay. With that voice—the
Association for the Promotion of Snivelling among the Young—something
in that line. You think it over.

"The island we are approaching has no name apparently—at least, there
is none on the chart. You might think out a name for it while you are
there—while you are thinking about all these things. It has quite
drinkable water, I understand. It is one of the Grenadines—one of the
Windward Islands. Yonder, dim and blue, are others of the Grenadines.
There are quantities of Grenadines, but the majority are out of sight.
I have often wondered what these islands are for—now, you see, I am
wiser. This one at least is for you. Sooner or later some simple native
will come along and take you off. Say what you like about us then—abuse
us, if you like—we shan't care a solitary Grenadine! And here—here
is half a sovereign's worth of silver. Do not waste that in foolish
dissipation when you return to civilisation. Properly used, it may give
you a fresh start in life. And do not—Don't beach her, you beggars,
he can wade!—Do not waste the precious solitude before you in foolish
thoughts. Properly used, it may be a turning-point in your career. Waste
neither money nor time. You will die rich. I'm sorry, but I must ask you
to carry your tucker to land in your arms. No; it's not deep. Curse
that explanation of yours! There's not time. No, no, no! I won't listen.
Overboard you go!"

And the falling night found Mr. Ledbetter—the Mr. Ledbetter who had
complained that adventure was dead—sitting beside his cans of food,
his chin resting upon his drawn-up knees, staring through his glasses in
dismal mildness over the shining, vacant sea.

He was picked up in the course of three days by a negro fisherman
and taken to St. Vincent's, and from St. Vincent's he got, by the
expenditure of his last coins, to Kingston, in Jamaica. And there he
might have foundered. Even nowadays he is not a man of affairs, and then
he was a singularly helpless person. He had not the remotest idea what
he ought to do. The only thing he seems to have done was to visit all
the ministers of religion he could find in the place to borrow a passage
home. But he was much too dirty and incoherent—and his story far
too incredible for them. I met him quite by chance. It was close upon
sunset, and I was walking out after my siesta on the road to Dunn's
Battery, when I met him—I was rather bored, and with a whole evening
on my hands—luckily for him. He was trudging dismally towards the
town. His woebegone face and the quasi-clerical cut of his dust-stained,
filthy costume caught my humour. Our eyes met. He hesitated. "Sir," he
said, with a catching of the breath, "could you spare a few minutes for
what I fear will seem an incredible story?"

"Incredible!" I said.

"Quite," he answered eagerly. "No one will believe it, alter it though I
may. Yet I can assure you, sir—"

He stopped hopelessly. The man's tone tickled me. He seemed an odd
character. "I am," he said, "one of the most unfortunate beings alive."

"Among other things, you haven't dined?" I said, struck with an idea.

"I have not," he said solemnly, "for many days."

"You'll tell it better after that," I said; and without more ado led the
way to a low place I knew, where such a costume as his was unlikely to
give offence. And there—with certain omissions which he subsequently
supplied—I got his story. At first I was incredulous, but as the wine
warmed him, and the faint suggestion of cringing which his misfortunes
had added to his manner disappeared, I began to believe. At last, I was
so far convinced of his sincerity that I got him a bed for the night,
and next day verified the banker's reference he gave me through my
Jamaica banker. And that done, I took him shopping for underwear
and such like equipments of a gentleman at large. Presently came the
verified reference. His astonishing story was true. I will not amplify
our subsequent proceedings. He started for England in three days' time.