The Watchers Part 11

"He had a strange upbringing in this house. There is much to excuse him in the eyes of any one. And for myself I cannot forget that all which people say is mine, is more rightly his."

She spoke very gently about Cullen, as I had indeed expected that she would, but with sufficient firmness to prove to me that it was not worth while to continue upon this strain.

"And the negro?" I asked. "He has not spoken?"

For answer she led me up the stairs, and into a room which opened upon the landing. The negro lay in bed and asleep. The flesh had shrivelled off his bones, his face was thin and peaked, and plainly his days were numbered. Helen leaned over the bed, spoke to him and pressed upon his shoulder. The negro opened his eyes. Never in my life had I seen anything so melancholy as their expression. The conviction of his helplessness was written upon them and I think too an appeal for forgiveness that he had not discharged his mission.

"Speak to him," said Helen. "Perhaps a stranger's voice may rouse him if only to speak two words."

I spoke to him as she bade me; a look of intelligence came into the negro's face; I put a question to him.

"Why does George Glen watch for Cullen Mayle?"--and before I had completed the sentence his eyelids closed languidly over his eyes and he was asleep. I looked at him as he lay there, an emaciated motionless figure, the white bedclothes against his ebony skin, and as I thought of his long travels ending so purposelessly in this captivity of sleep, I was filled with a great pity. Helen uttered a moan, she turned towards me wringing her hands.

"And there's our secret," she cried, "the secret which we must know and which this poor negro burns to tell and it's locked up within him!

Bolts and bars," she burst out, "what puny things they seem! One can break bolts, one can sever bars, but a secret buried within a man, how shall one unearth it?"

It just occurred to me that she stopped with unusual abruptness, but I was looking at the negro, I was still occupied with pity.

"Heaven send my journey does not end so vainly as his," I said solemnly. I turned to Helen and I saw that she was staring at me with a great astonishment, and concern for which I could not account.

"I have a conjecture to tell you of," said I, "I do not know that it is of value."

"Let us go downstairs," she replied, "and you shall tell me," but she spoke slowly as though she was puzzled with some other matter. As we went downstairs I heard d.i.c.k Parmiter's voice and could understand the words he said. I stopped.

"Where is d.i.c.k?"

"Most likely in the kitchen."

When we were come to the foot of the stairs I asked where the kitchen was?

"At the end of that pa.s.sage across the hall," she answered.

Upon that I called d.i.c.k. I heard a door open and shut, and d.i.c.k came into the hall.

"The kitchen door was closed," said I, "I do not know but what my conjecture may have some value after all."

Helen Mayle walked into the parlour, d.i.c.k followed her. As I crossed the hall my coat caught on the back of a chair. Whilst I was disengaging my coat, I noticed that an end of the white scarf was hanging from my pocket and that the initials "H. M." were embroidered upon it. I recollected then how Helen Mayle had abruptly ended her outcry concerning the bolts and bars, and how she had looked at me and how she had spoken. Had she noticed the scarf? I thrust it back into my pocket and took care that the flap of the pocket should hide it completely. Then I, too, went into the parlour. But as I entered the room I saw then Helen's eyes went at once to my pocket. She had, then, noticed the scarf. It seemed, however, that she was no longer perplexed as to how I came by it. But, on the other hand, it was my turn to be perplexed. For, as she raised her eyes from my pocket, our glances crossed. It was evident to her that I had detected her look and understood it. Yet she smiled--without any embarra.s.sment; it was as though she thought I had stolen her scarf for a favour and she forgave the theft. And then she blushed. That, however, she was very ready to do upon all occasions.

CHAPTER IX

TELLS OF A STAIN UPON A WHITE FROCK, AND A LOST KEY

Helen drew a chair to the table and waited with her hands folded before her.

"d.i.c.k," said I, turning to the lad, who stood just within the door, "that oath of yours."

"I have broken it already," said he.

"There was never priest in the world who would refuse to absolve you.

The virtue of it lies in the forswearing. Now!" and I turned to Helen.

"But I must speak frankly," I premised.

She nodded her a.s.sent.

"Very well. I can make a consecutive sort of story, but I may well be at fault, for my knowledge is scanty, and if I am in error over the facts, I beg you. Miss Mayle, to correct me. Old Mr. Mayle's talk ran continually about his wild doings on the Guinea coast, in Africa.

There can be no doubt that he spent some considerable portion of his life there, and that he managed to sc.r.a.pe together a sufficient fortune. It is likely, therefore, that he was engaged in the slave trade, and, to be quite frank, Miss Helen, from what I have gathered of his manner and style, I am not indisposed to think that he found an occasional diversion from that pursuit in a little opportune piracy."

I made the suggestion with some diffidence, for the old man, whatever his sins, had saved her life, and shown her much affection, of which, moreover, at his death he had given her very tangible proofs. It was necessary for me, however, to say it, for I had nothing but suspicion to go upon, and I looked to her in some way, either by words or manner, to confirm or confute my suspicions. And it seemed to me that she confirmed it, for she simply pressed the palms of her hands to her forehead, and said quietly,

"You are very frank."

"There is no other way but frankness, believe me," I returned. "Now let us come to that Sunday, four years ago, when Cullen Mayle sat in the stocks and George Glen came to Tresco. It was you who took George Glen to St. Mary's Church," I turned to d.i.c.k Parmiter.

"Yes." said he. "I was kicking my heels in the sand, close to our cottage, when he came ash.o.r.e in a boat. He was most anxious to speak with Mr. Mayle."

"So you carried him across to St. Mary's, and he told you, I think, that he had been quartermaster with Adam Mayle at Whydah, on the Guinea coast?"

"Yes."

"Did he name the s.h.i.+p by any chance?"

"No."

"He did once, whilst we were at supper," interrupted Helen, "and I remember the name very well, for my father turned upon him fiercely when he spoke it, and Mr. Glen immediately said that he was mistaken and subst.i.tuted another name, which I have forgotten. The first name was the _Royal Fortune_."

"The _Royal Fortune_," said I, thoughtfully. The name in a measure was familiar to me; it seemed familiar too in precisely this connection with the Guinea coast. But I could not be sure. I was anxious to discover George Glen's business with Adam Mayle, and very likely my anxiety misled me into imagining clues where there were none. I put the name away in my mind and went on with my conjecture.

"Now on that Sunday George Glen met Adam Mayle in the churchyard, you, Miss Mayle, and Lieutenant Clutterbuck were of the party. Together you sailed across to Tresco. So that George Glen could have had no private word with Mr. Mayle."

"No," Helen Mayle agreed. "There was no opportunity."

"Nor was there an opportunity all that afternoon and evening, until Cullen left the house."

"But after Cullen had gone," said she, "they had their opportunity and made use of it. I left them together in my father's room.

"The room fitted up as a cabin, where every word they spoke could be heard though the door was shut and the eavesdropper need not even trouble to lay his ear to the keyhole."

"Yes, that is true," said Helen. "But the servants were in bed, and there was no one to hear."

At that d.i.c.k gave a start and a jump, and I cried:

"But there was some one to hear. Tell your story, d.i.c.k!" and d.i.c.k told how Cullen Mayle had climbed through the window, and how some hours after he had waked him up and sworn him to secrecy.

"Now, do you see?" I continued. "Why should Cullen Mayle have sworn d.i.c.k here to silence unless he had discovered some sort of secret which might prove of value to himself, unless he had overhead George Glen talking to Adam Mayle? And there's this besides. Where has Cullen Mayle been these last two years? I can tell you that."