The Slave of the Lamp Part 33

"Of what subjects did he speak? Of religion, our Order, politics, himself and his captivity?"

"Of none of those."

The Provincial leant back suddenly in his chair, and for some minutes complete silence reigned in the room. He was evidently thinking deeply, and his eyes were fixed upon the open book with inscrutable immobility.

Once he glanced slowly towards Rene Drucquer, who sat with downcast eyes and interlocked fingers. Then he pressed back his elbows and inhaled a deep breath, as if weary of sitting in one position.

"I have met Englishmen," he said speculatively, "of a type similar--I think--to this man. They never spoke of religion, of themselves or of their own opinion; and yet they were not silent men. Upon most subjects they could converse intelligently, and upon some with brilliancy; but these subjects were invariably treated in a strictly general sense. Such men _never_ argue, and never appear to be highly interested in that of which they happen to be speaking.... They make excellent listeners...." Here the speaker stopped for a moment and pa.s.sed his long hand downwards across his eyes as if the light were troubling his sight; in doing so he glanced again towards the Abbe's fingers, which were now quite motionless, the knuckles gleaming like ivory.

"... And one never knows quite how much they remember and how much they forget. Perhaps it is that they hear everything ... and forget nothing.

Is our friend of this type, my son?"

"I think he is."

"It is such men as he who have made that little island what it is. They are difficult subjects; but they are liable to sacrifice their opportunities to a mistaken creed they call honour, and therefore they are not such dangerous enemies as they otherwise might have been."

The Provincial said these words in a lighter manner, almost amounting to pleasantry, and did not appear to notice that the priest moved uneasily in his seat.

"Then," he continued, "you have learnt nothing of importance during the few days you have pa.s.sed with him?"

"Nothing, my father."

"Did he make any attempt to communicate with his friends?"

"He wrote a letter which he requested me to post."

The Provincial leant forward in his chair and took a pen in his right hand, while he extended his left across the table towards his companion.

"I burnt it," said Rene gently.

"Ah! That is a pity. Why did you do that?"

"I had discretion!" replied the young priest, with quiet determination.

The Provincial examined the point of his pen critically, his perfectly formed lips slightly apart.

"Yes," he murmured reflectively. "Yes, of course, you had discretion.

What was in the letter?"

"A few words in English, telling his friends to have no anxiety, and asking them particularly to inst.i.tute no search, as he would return home as soon as he desired to do so."

"Ah! He said that, did he? And the letter was addressed to--"

"Mr. Carew."

"Thank you."

The Provincial made another note in the ma.n.u.script book. Then he read the whole page over carefully and critically. His att.i.tude was like that of a physician about to p.r.o.nounce a diagnosis.

"And," he said reflectively, without looking up, "was there nothing noticeable about him in any way? Nothing characteristic of the man, I mean, and peculiar. How would you describe him, in fact?"

"I should say," replied Rene Drucquer, "that his chief characteristic is energy; but for some reason, during these last two days this seems to have slowly evaporated. His resistance on Wednesday night was very energetic--he dislocated my arm, and reset it later--and when the vessel was in danger he was full of life. Later this peculiar indifference of manner came over him, and hour by hour it has increased in power. It almost seems as if he were anxious to keep away from England just now."

The Provincial raised his long white finger to his upper lip. It was the action of a man who is in the habit of tugging gently at his moustache when in thought, and one would almost have said that the smooth-faced priest had at no very distant period worn that manly ornament. His finger pa.s.sed over the shaded skin with a disagreeable, rasping sound.

"That does not sound very likely," he said slowly. "Have you any tangible reason, to offer in support of this theory?"

"No, my father. But the idea came to me, and so I mention it. It seemed as if this desire came to him upon reflection, after the s.h.i.+p was out of danger, and the indifference was contemporaneous with it."

The Provincial suddenly closed the book and laid aside his pen.

"Thank you, my son!" he said, in smooth, heartless tones, "I will not trouble you any more to-night. You will need food and rest. Good night, my son. You have done well!"

Rene Drucquer rose and gravely pa.s.sed down the long room. Before he reached the door, however, the clear voice of his superior caused him to pause for a moment.

"As you go down to the refectory," he said, "kindly make a request that Mr. Vellacott be sent to me as soon as he is refreshed. I do not want you to see him before I do!"

When the door had closed behind Rene Drucquer the Provincial rose from his seat and slowly paced backwards and forwards from the door to the table. Presently he drew aside the curtain which hid a small recess near the door, wh.o.r.e a simple bed and a small table were concealed. With a brush he smoothed back his sleek hair, and, dipping the ends of his fingers into a basin of water, he wiped them carefully. Thus he prepared to receive Christian Vellacott.

He returned to his chair and seated himself somewhat wearily. Although there were but few papers on the table, he had three hours' hard work before him yet. He leant back, and again, that singular gesture, as if to stroke a moustache that was not there, was noticeable.

"I have a dull presentiment," he muttered reflectively, "that we have made a mistake here. We have gone about it in the wrong way, and if there is blame to be attached to any one, Talma is the man. That temper of his is fatal!"

After a pause he heaved a weary sigh, and stretched his long arms out on either side, enjoying a free and open yawn.

"Ah me!" he sighed, "what an uphill fight this has become, and day by day it grows harder. Day by day we lose power; one hold after another slips from our grasp. Perhaps it means that this vast organisation is effete--perhaps, after all, we are dying of inanition, and yet--yet it should not be, for we have the people still.... Ah! I hear footsteps.

This is our journalistic friend, no doubt. I think he will prove interesting."

A moment later someone knocked softly at the door. There was a slight shuffling of feet, and Christian Vellacott entered the room alone. There was a peculiar dull expression in his eyes, as if he were suffering pain, mental or physical. After glancing at the mirror, the Provincial rose and bowed formally with his hand upon the back of his chair. As the Englishman came forward the Jesuit glanced at his face, and with a polite motion of the hand he said:

"Sir, take the trouble of seating yourself," speaking in French at once, with no apology, as if well aware that his companion knew that language as perfectly as his own.

"Thank you," replied Christian. He drew the chair slightly forward as he seated himself, and fixed his eyes upon the Jesuit's face. Through the entire interview he never removed his gaze, and he noticed that until the last words were spoken those soft, deep eyes were never raised to his.

"I suppose," said the Jesuit at length, almost humbly, "that we are irreconcilable enemies, Mr. Vellacott?"

The manner in which this was spoken did not bear the slightest resemblance to the cold superiority with which Rene Drucquer had been treated.

The Englishman sat with one lean hand resting on the table and watched.

He knew that some reply was expected, but in face of that knowledge he chose to remain silent. It was a case of Greek meeting Greek. The inscrutable Provincial had met a foeman worthy of his steel at last. His strange magnetic influence threw itself vainly against a will as firm as his own, and he felt that his incidental effects, dramatic and conversational, fell flat. Instantly he became interested in Christian Vellacott.

"I need hardly remind a man of your discrimination, Mr. Vellacott," he continued tentatively, "that there are two sides to every question."

The Englishman smiled and moved slightly in his chair, drawing in his feet and leaning forward.

"Implying, I presume," he said lightly, "that in this particular question you are on one side and I upon the other."

"Alas! it seems so."

Vellacott leant back in his chair again and crossed his legs.