Page 16 of The Crack of Doom


  CHAPTER XVI.

  L5000 TO DETAIN THE SHIP.

  Brande was asleep when I entered his cabin. His writing-table wascovered with scraps of paper on which he had been scribbling. My namewas on every scrap, preceded or followed by an unfinished sentence,thus: "Marcel is thinking-- When I was ill, Marcel thought-- Marcelmeans to--" All these I gathered up carefully and put in my pocket. ThenI inoculated him with as strong a solution of the drug I was using onhim as was compatible with the safety of his life. Immediate dangerbeing thus averted, I determined to run no similar risk again.

  For many days after this our voyage was monotonous. The deadly secretshared by Edith Metford and myself drew us gradually nearer to eachother as time passed. She understood me, or, at least, gave me theimpression that she understood me. Little by little that capricious moodwhich I have heretofore described changed into one of enduringsympathy. With one trivial exception, this lasted until the end. But forher help my mind would hardly have stood the strain of events which werenow at hand, whose livid shadows were projected in the rising fire ofBrande's relentless eyes.

  Brande appeared to lose interest gradually in his ship's company. Hebecame daily more and more absorbed in his own thoughts. Natalie wasever gentle, even tender. But I chafed at the impalpable barrier whichwas always between us. Sometimes I thought that she would willingly haveranged herself on my side. Some hidden power held her back. As to theothers, I began to like the boy Halley. He was lovable, if not athletic.His devotion to Natalie, which never waned, did not now trouble me. Itwas only a friendship, and I welcomed it. Had it been anything more, itwas not likely that he would have prevailed against the will of a manwho had done murder for his mistress. We steamed through the MalayArchipelago, steering north, south, east, west, as if at haphazard,until only the navigating officers and the director of the Society knewhow our course lay. We were searching for an island about the bearingsof which, it transpired, some mistake had been made. I do not knowwhether the great laureate ever sailed these seas. But I know that hisglorious islands of flowers and islands of fruit, with all theirluscious imagery, were here eclipsed by our own islands of foliage. Thelong lagoons, the deep blue bays, the glittering parti-coloured fishthat swam in visible shoals deep down amidst the submerged coral grovesover which we passed, the rich-toned sea-weeds and brilliant anemones,the yellow strands and the steep cliffs, the riotous foliage that sweptdown from the sky to the blue of the sea; all these natural beautiesseemed to cry to me with living voices--to me bound on a cruise ofuniversal death.

  After a long spell of apparently aimless but glorious steaming, a smallisland was sighted on our port bow. The _Esmeralda_ was steered directlyfor it, and we dropped anchor in a deep natural harbour on its southernshore. Preparations for landing had been going on during the day, andeverything was ready for quitting the ship.

  It was here that my first opportunity for making use of the gold I hadbrought with me occurred. Anderson was called up by Brande, who madehim a short complimentary speech, and finished it by ordering hisofficer to return to England, where further instructions would be givenhim. This order was received in respectful silence. Captain Anderson hadbeen too liberally treated to demur if the _Esmeralda_ had been orderedto the South Pole.

  Brande went below for a few minutes, and as soon as he had disappeared Iwent forward to Anderson and hailed him nervously, for there was not amoment to spare.

  "Anderson," I said hurriedly, "you must have noticed that Mr. Brande isan eccentric--"

  "Pardon me, sir; it is not my business to comment upon my owner."

  "I did not ask you to comment upon him, sir," I said sharply. "It is Iwho shall comment upon him, and it is for you to say whether you willundertake to earn my money by waiting in this harbour till I am ready tosail back with you to England."

  "Have you anything more to say, sir?" Anderson asked stiffly.

  "I presume I have said enough."

  "If you have nothing more to say I must ask you to leave the bridge,and if it were not that you are leaving the ship this moment, I wouldcaution you not to be impertinent to me again."

  He blew his whistle, and a steward ran forward.

  "Johnson, see Mr. Marcel's luggage over the side at once." To me he saidshortly: "Quit my ship, sir."

  This trivial show of temper, which, indeed, had been provoked by my ownhasty speech, turned my impatience into fury.

  "Before I quit your ship," I said, with emphasis, "I will tell you howyou yourself will quit it. You will do so between two policemen if youland in England, and between two marines if you think of keeping on thehigh seas. Before we started, I sent a detailed statement of this ship,the nature of this nefarious voyage, and the names of the passengers--oras many as I knew--to a friend who will put it in proper hands ifanything befalls me. Go back without me and explain the loss of thatFrench fishing fleet which was sunk the very night we sailed. It is anawkward coincidence to be explained by a man who returns from an unknownvoyage having lost his entire list of passengers. You cannot be awareof what this man Brande intends, or you would at least stand by us aslong as your own safety permitted. In any case you cannot safely returnwithout us."

  Anderson, after reflecting for a moment, apologised for his peremptorywords, and agreed to stand by night and day, with fires banked, until I,and all whom I could prevail upon to return with me, got back to hisvessel. There was no danger of his running short of coal. A ship thatwas practically an ocean liner in coal ballast would be a considerabletime in burning out her own cargo. But he insisted on a large moneypayment in advance. I had foolishly mentioned that I had a little overL5000 in gold. This he claimed on the plea that "in duty to himself"--afavourite phrase of his--he could not accept less. But I think his senseof duty was limited only by the fact that I had hardly another penny inthe world. Under the circumstances he might have waived allremuneration. As he was firm, and as I had no time to haggle, I agreedto give him the money. Our bargain was only completed when Brandereturned to the deck.

  It was strange that on an island like that on which we were landingthere should be a regular army of natives waiting to assist us with ourbaggage, and the saddled horses which were in readiness were out ofplace in a primeval wilderness. An Englishman came forward, and,saluting Brande, said all was ready for the start to the hills. Thisexplained the puzzle. An advance agent had made everything comfortable.For Brande, his sister, and Miss Metford the best appointed horses wereselected. I, as physician to the chief, had one. The main body had tomake the journey on foot, which they did by very easy stages, owing tothe heat and the primitive track which formed the only road. Theirjourney was not very long--perhaps ten miles in a direct line.

  Mounted as we were, it was often necessary to stoop to escape the densemasses of parasitic growth which hung in green festoons from everybranch of the trees on either side. Under this thick shade all theriotous vegetation of the tropics had fought for life and struggled forlight and air till the wealth of their luxuriant death had carpeted theunderwood with a thick deposit of steaming foliage. As we ascended theheight, every mile in distance brought changes in the botanicalgrowths, which might have passed unnoticed by the ordinary observer orignorant pioneer. All were noted and commented on by Brande, whose eyewas still as keen as his brain had once been brilliant. His usual staiddemeanour changed suddenly. He romped ahead of us like a schoolboy outfor a holiday. Unlike a schoolboy, however, he was always seeking newitems of knowledge and conveying them to us with unaffected pleasure. Hewas more like a master who had found new ground and new material for hisclass. Natalie gave herself up like him to this enjoyment of the moment.Edith Metford and I partly caught the glamour of their infectiousgood-humour. But with both of us it was tempered by the knowledge ofwhat was in store.

  When we arrived at our destination we dismounted, at Brande's request,and tied our horses to convenient branches. He went forward, and,pushing aside the underwood with both hands, motioned to us to followhim till he stopped on a ledge of rock which
overtopped a hollow in themountain. The gorge below was the most beautiful glade I ever lookedupon.

  It was a paradise of foliage. Here and there a fallen tree had formed apicturesque bridge over the mountain stream which meandered through it.Far down below there was a waterfall, where gorgeous tree-ferns rose innatural bowers, while others further still leant over the lotus-coveredstream, their giant leaves trailing in the slow-moving current. Tangledmasses of bracken rioted in wild abundance over a velvety green sod,overshadowed by waving magnolias. Through the trees bright-plumagedbirds were flitting from branch to branch in songless flight, flashingtheir brilliant colours through the sunny leaves. In places the watersplashed over moss-grown rocks into deep pools. Every drifting spray ofcloud threw over the dell a new light, deepening the shadows under thegreat ferns.

  It was here in this glorious fairyland; here upon this island, wherebefore us no white foot had ever trod; whose nameless people representedthe simplest types of human existence, that Herbert Brande was to puthis devilish experiment to the proof. I marvelled that he should haveselected so fair a spot for so terrible a purpose. But the papers whichI found later amongst the man's effects on the _Esmeralda_ explain muchthat was then incomprehensible to me.

  Our camp was quickly formed, and our life was outwardly as happy as ifwe had been an ordinary company of tourists. I say outwardly, because,while we walked and climbed and collected specimens of botanical orgeological interest, there remained that latent dread which alwaysfollowed us, and dominated the most frivolous of our people, on all ofwhom a new solemnity had fallen. For myself, the fact that the hour oftrial for my own experiment was daily drawing closer and moreinevitable, was sufficient to account for my constant and extremeanxiety.

  Brande joined none of our excursions. He was always at work in hisimprovised laboratory. The boxes of material which had been brought fromthe ship nearly filled it from floor to roof, and from the speed withwhich these were emptied, it was evident that their contents had beensystematised before shipment. In place of the varied collection ofsubstances there grew up within the room a cone of compound matter inwhich all were blended. This cone was smaller, Brande admitted, thanwhat he had intended. The supply of subordinate fulminates, thoughseveral times greater than what was required, proved to be considerablyshort. But as he had allowed himself a large margin--everything beingon a scale far exceeding the minimum which his calculations had pointedto as sufficient--this deficiency did not cause him more than atemporary annoyance. So he worked on.

  When we had been three weeks on the island I found the suspense greaterthan I could bear. The crisis was at hand, and my heart failed me. Idetermined to make a last appeal to Natalie, to fly with me to the ship.Edith Metford would accompany us. The rest might take the risk to whichthey had consented.

  I found Natalie standing on the high rock whence the most lovely view ofthe dell could be obtained, and as I approached her silently she was notaware of my presence until I laid my hand on her shoulder.

  "Natalie," I said wistfully, for the girl's eyes were full of tears, "doyou mind if I withdraw now from this enterprise, in which I cannot be ofthe slightest use, and of which I most heartily disapprove?"

  "The Society would not allow you to withdraw. You cannot do so withoutits permission, and hope to live within a thousand miles of it," sheanswered gravely.

  "I should not care to live within ten thousand miles of it. I should tryto get and keep the earth's diameter between myself and it."

  She looked up with an expression of such pain that my heart smote me."How about me? I cannot live without you now," she said softly.

  "Don't live without me. Come with me. Get rid of this infamousassociation of lunatics, whose object they themselves cannot reallyappreciate, and whose means are murder--"

  But there she stopped me. "My brother could find me out at the uttermostends of the earth if I forsook him, and you know I do not mean toforsake him. For yourself--do not try to desert. It would make nodifference. Do not believe that any consideration would cause mewillingly to give you a moment's pain, or that I should shrink fromsacrificing myself to save you." With one of her small white hands shegently pressed my head towards her. Her lips touched my forehead, andshe whispered: "Do not leave me. It will soon be over now. I--I--needyou."

  As I was returning dejected after my fruitless appeal to Natalie, I metEdith Metford, to whom I had unhappily mentioned my proposal for anescape.

  "Is it arranged? When do we start?" she asked eagerly.

  "It is not arranged, and we do not start," I answered in despair.

  "You told me you would go with her or without her," she criedpassionately. "It is shameful--unmanly."

  "It is certainly both if I really said what you tell me. I was notmyself at the moment, and my tongue must have slandered me. I stay tothe end. But you will go. Captain Anderson will receive you--"

  "How am I to be certain of that?"

  "I paid him for your passage, and have his receipt."

  "And you really think I would go and leave--leave--"

  "Natalie? I think you would be perfectly justified."

  At this the girl stamped her foot passionately on the ground and burstinto tears. Nor would she permit any of the slight caresses I offered.I thought her old caprices were returning. She flung my arm rudely fromher and left me bewildered.

 
Robert Cromie's Novels