9. MR. LEDBETTER'S VACATION
My friend, Mr. Ledbetter, is a round-faced little man, whose naturalmildness of eye is gigantically exaggerated when you catch the beamthrough his glasses, and whose deep, deliberate voice irritatesirritable people. A certain elaborate clearness of enunciation has comewith him to his present vicarage from his scholastic days, an elaborateclearness of enunciation and a certain nervous determination to be firmand correct upon all issues, important and unimportant alike. He is asacerdotalist and a chess player, and suspected by many of the secretpractice of the higher mathematics--creditable rather than interestingthings. His conversation is copious and given much to needless detail.By many, indeed, his intercourse is condemned, to put it plainly, as"boring," and such have even done me the compliment to wonder why Icountenance him. But, on the other hand, there is a large factionwho marvel at his countenancing such a dishevelled, discreditableacquaintance as myself. Few appear to regard our friendship withequanimity. But that is because they do not know of the link that bindsus, of my amiable connection via Jamaica with Mr. Ledbetter's past.
About that past he displays an anxious modesty. "I do not KNOW what Ishould do if it became known," he says; and repeats, impressively, "I donot know WHAT I should do." As a matter of fact, I doubt if he would doanything except get very red about the ears. But that will appearlater; nor will I tell here of our first encounter, since, as a generalrule--though I am prone to break it--the end of a story should comeafter, rather than before, the beginning. And the beginning of the storygoes a long way back; indeed, it is now nearly twenty years sinceFate, by a series of complicated and startling manoeuvres, brought Mr.Ledbetter, so to speak, into my hands.
In those days I was living in Jamaica, and Mr. Ledbetter was aschoolmaster in England. He was in orders, and already recognisably thesame man that he is to-day: the same rotundity of visage, the same orsimilar glasses, and the same faint shadow of surprise in his restingexpression. He was, of course, dishevelled when I saw him, and hiscollar less of a collar than a wet bandage, and that may have helped tobridge the natural gulf between us--but of that, as I say, later.
The business began at Hithergate-on-Sea, and simultaneously with Mr.Ledbetter's summer vacation. Thither he came for a greatly needed rest,with a bright brown portmanteau marked "F. W. L.", a new white-and-blackstraw hat, and two pairs of white flannel trousers. He was naturallyexhilarated at his release from school--for he was not very fond of theboys he taught. After dinner he fell into a discussion with a talkativeperson established in the boarding-house to which, acting on the adviceof his aunt, he had resorted. This talkative person was the onlyother man in the house. Their discussion concerned the melancholydisappearance of wonder and adventure in these latter days, theprevalence of globe-trotting, the abolition of distance by steam andelectricity, the vulgarity of advertisement, the degradation of menby civilisation, and many such things. Particularly was the talkativeperson eloquent on the decay of human courage through security, asecurity Mr. Ledbetter rather thoughtlessly joined him in deploring. Mr.Ledbetter, in the first delight of emancipation from "duty," and beinganxious, perhaps, to establish a reputation for manly conviviality,partook, rather more freely than was advisable, of the excellent whiskythe talkative person produced. But he did not become intoxicated, heinsists.
He was simply eloquent beyond his sober wont, and with the finer edgegone from his judgment. And after that long talk of the brave old daysthat were past forever, he went out into moonlit Hithergate--alone andup the cliff road where the villas cluster together.
He had bewailed, and now as he walked up the silent road he stillbewailed, the fate that had called him to such an uneventful life asa pedagogue's. What a prosaic existence he led, so stagnant, socolourless! Secure, methodical, year in year out, what call was therefor bravery? He thought enviously of those roving, mediaeval days, sonear and so remote, of quests and spies and condottieri and many a riskyblade-drawing business. And suddenly came a doubt, a strange doubt,springing out of some chance thought of tortures, and destructivealtogether of the position he had assumed that evening.
Was he--Mr. Ledbetter--really, after all, so brave as he assumed? Wouldhe really be so pleased to have railways, policemen, and security vanishsuddenly from the earth?
The talkative man had spoken enviously of crime. "The burglar," he said,"is the only true adventurer left on earth. Think of his single-handedfight against the whole civilised world!" And Mr. Ledbetter had echoedhis envy. "They DO have some fun out of life," Mr. Ledbetter had said."And about the only people who do. Just think how it must feel to wirea lawn!" And he had laughed wickedly. Now, in this franker intimacy ofself-communion he found himself instituting a comparison between hisown brand of courage and that of the habitual criminal. He tried tomeet these insidious questionings with blank assertion. "I could do allthat," said Mr. Ledbetter. "I long to do all that. Only I do not giveway to my criminal impulses. My moral courage restrains me." But hedoubted even while he told himself these things.
Mr. Ledbetter passed a large villa standing by itself. Convenientlysituated above a quiet, practicable balcony was a window, gaping black,wide open. At the time he scarcely marked it, but the picture of it camewith him, wove into his thoughts. He figured himself climbing up thatbalcony, crouching--plunging into that dark, mysterious interior. "Bah!You would not dare," said the Spirit of Doubt. "My duty to my fellow-menforbids," said Mr. Ledbetter's self-respect.
It was nearly eleven, and the little seaside town was already verystill. The whole world slumbered under the moonlight. Only one warmoblong of window-blind far down the road spoke of waking life. He turnedand came back slowly towards the villa of the open window. He stood fora time outside the gate, a battlefield of motives. "Let us put thingsto the test," said Doubt. "For the satisfaction of these intolerabledoubts, show that you dare go into that house. Commit a burglary inblank. That, at any rate, is no crime." Very softly he opened andshut the gate and slipped into the shadow of the shrubbery. "This isfoolish," said Mr. Ledbetter's caution. "I expected that," said Doubt.His heart was beating fast, but he was certainly not afraid. He was NOTafraid. He remained in that shadow for some considerable time.
The ascent of the balcony, it was evident, would have to be done in arush, for it was all in clear moonlight, and visible from the gate intothe avenue. A trellis thinly set with young, ambitious climbing rosesmade the ascent ridiculously easy. There, in that black shadow by thestone vase of flowers, one might crouch and take a closer view of thisgaping breach in the domestic defences, the open window. For a whileMr. Ledbetter was as still as the night, and then that insidious whiskytipped the balance. He dashed forward. He went up the trellis withquick, convulsive movements, swung his legs over the parapet of thebalcony, and dropped panting in the shadow even as he had designed. Hewas trembling violently, short of breath, and his heart pumped noisily,but his mood was exultation. He could have shouted to find he was solittle afraid.
A happy line that he had learnt from Wills's "Mephistopheles" came intohis mind as he crouched there. "I feel like a cat on the tiles," hewhispered to himself. It was far better than he had expected--thisadventurous exhilaration. He was sorry for all poor men to whom burglarywas unknown. Nothing happened. He was quite safe. And he was acting inthe bravest manner!
And now for the window, to make the burglary complete! Must he daredo that? Its position above the front door defined it as a landing orpassage, and there were no looking-glasses or any bedroom signs aboutit, or any other window on the first floor, to suggest the possibilityof a sleeper within. For a time he listened under the ledge, then raisedhis eyes above the sill and peered in. Close at hand, on a pedestal,and a little startling at first, was a nearly life-size gesticulatingbronze. He ducked, and after some time he peered again. Beyond was abroad landing, faintly gleaming; a flimsy fabric of bead curtain, veryblack and sharp, against a further window; a broad staircase, plunginginto a gulf of darkness below; and another ascending to the secondfloor. He glan
ced behind him, but the stillness of the night wasunbroken. "Crime," he whispered, "crime," and scrambled softly andswiftly over the sill into the house. His feet fell noiselessly on a matof skin. He was a burglar indeed!
He crouched for a time, all ears and peering eyes. Outside was ascampering and rustling, and for a moment he repented of his enterprise.A short "miaow," a spitting, and a rush into silence, spoke reassuringlyof cats. His courage grew. He stood up. Every one was abed, it seemed.So easy is it to commit a burglary, if one is so minded. He was glad hehad put it to the test. He determined to take some petty trophy, just toprove his freedom from any abject fear of the law, and depart the way hehad come.
He peered about him, and suddenly the critical spirit arose again.Burglars did far more than such mere elementary entrance as this: theywent into rooms, they forced safes. Well--he was not afraid. He couldnot force safes, because that would be a stupid want of considerationfor his hosts. But he would go into rooms--he would go upstairs. More:he told himself that he was perfectly secure; an empty house could notbe more reassuringly still. He had to clench his hands, nevertheless,and summon all his resolution before he began very softly to ascend thedim staircase, pausing for several seconds between each step. Above wasa square landing with one open and several closed doors; and all thehouse was still. For a moment he stood wondering what would happen ifsome sleeper woke suddenly and emerged. The open door showed a moonlitbedroom, the coverlet white and undisturbed. Into this room he crept inthree interminable minutes and took a piece of soap for his plunder--histrophy. He turned to descend even more softly than he had ascended. Itwas as easy as--
Hist!...
Footsteps! On the gravel outside the house--and then the noise of alatchkey, the yawn and bang of a door, and the spitting of a match inthe hall below. Mr. Ledbetter stood petrified by the sudden discoveryof the folly upon which he had come. "How on earth am I to get out ofthis?" said Mr. Ledbetter.
The hall grew bright with a candle flame, some heavy object bumpedagainst the umbrella-stand, and feet were ascending the staircase. In aflash Mr. Ledbetter realised that his retreat was closed. He stood fora moment, a pitiful figure of penitent confusion. "My goodness! Whata FOOL I have been!" he whispered, and then darted swiftly across theshadowy landing into the empty bedroom from which he had just come.He stood listening--quivering. The footsteps reached the first-floorlanding.
Horrible thought! This was possibly the latecomer's room! Not a momentwas to be lost! Mr. Ledbetter stooped beside the bed, thanked Heaven fora valance, and crawled within its protection not ten seconds too soon.He became motionless on hands and knees. The advancing candle-lightappeared through the thinner stitches of the fabric, the shadows ranwildly about, and became rigid as the candle was put down.
"Lord, what a day!" said the newcomer, blowing noisily, and it seemed hedeposited some heavy burthen on what Mr. Ledbetter, judging by the feet,decided to be a writing-table. The unseen then went to the door andlocked it, examined the fastenings of the windows carefully and pulleddown the blinds, and returning sat down upon the bed with startlingponderosity.
"WHAT a day!" he said. "Good Lord!" and blew again, and Mr. Ledbetterinclined to believe that the person was mopping his face. His boots weregood stout boots; the shadows of his legs upon the valance suggesteda formidable stoutness of aspect. After a time he removed some uppergarments--a coat and waistcoat, Mr. Ledbetter inferred--and castingthem over the rail of the bed remained breathing less noisily, and as itseemed cooling from a considerable temperature. At intervals he mutteredto himself, and once he laughed softly. And Mr. Ledbetter muttered tohimself, but he did not laugh. "Of all the foolish things," said Mr.Ledbetter. "What on earth am I to do now?"
His outlook was necessarily limited. The minute apertures between thestitches of the fabric of the valance admitted a certain amount oflight, but permitted no peeping. The shadows upon this curtain, savefor those sharply defined legs, were enigmatical, and intermingledconfusingly with the florid patterning of the chintz. Beneath theedge of the valance a strip of carpet was visible, and, by cautiouslydepressing his eye, Mr. Ledbetter found that this strip broadened untilthe whole area of the floor came into view. The carpet was a luxuriousone, the room spacious, and, to judge by the castors and so forth of thefurniture, well equipped.
What he should do he found it difficult to imagine. To wait until thisperson had gone to bed, and then, when he seemed to be sleeping, tocreep to the door, unlock it, and bolt headlong for that balcony seemedthe only possible thing to do. Would it be possible to jump from thebalcony? The danger of it! When he thought of the chances against him,Mr. Ledbetter despaired. He was within an ace of thrusting forth hishead beside the gentleman's legs, coughing if necessary to attract hisattention, and then, smiling, apologising and explaining his unfortunateintrusion by a few well-chosen sentences. But he found these sentenceshard to choose. "No doubt, sir, my appearance is peculiar," or, "Itrust, sir, you will pardon my somewhat ambiguous appearance frombeneath you," was about as much as he could get.
Grave possibilities forced themselves on his attention. Suppose they didnot believe him, what would they do to him? Would his unblemishedhigh character count for nothing? Technically he was a burglar, beyonddispute. Following out this train of thought, he was composing a lucidapology for "this technical crime I have committed," to be deliveredbefore sentence in the dock, when the stout gentleman got up andbegan walking about the room. He locked and unlocked drawers, and Mr.Ledbetter had a transient hope that he might be undressing. But, no! Heseated himself at the writing-table, and began to write and then tear updocuments. Presently the smell of burning cream-laid paper mingled withthe odour of cigars in Mr. Ledbetter's nostrils.
"The position I had assumed," said Mr. Ledbetter when he told me ofthese things, "was in many respects an ill-advised one. A transverse barbeneath the bed depressed my head unduly, and threw a disproportionateshare of my weight upon my hands. After a time, I experienced what iscalled, I believe, a crick in the neck. The pressure of my hands on thecoarsely-stitched carpet speedily became painful. My knees, too, werepainful, my trousers being drawn tightly over them. At that time I worerather higher collars than I do now--two and a half inches, in fact--andI discovered what I had not remarked before, that the edge of the oneI wore was frayed slightly under the chin. But much worse than thesethings was an itching of my face, which I could only relieve by violentgrimacing--I tried to raise my hand, but the rustle of the sleevealarmed me. After a time I had to desist from this relief also,because--happily in time--I discovered that my facial contortions wereshifting my glasses down my nose. Their fall would, of course, haveexposed me, and as it was they came to rest in an oblique position ofby no means stable equilibrium. In addition I had a slight cold, and anintermittent desire to sneeze or sniff caused me inconvenience. Infact, quite apart from the extreme anxiety of my position, my physicaldiscomfort became in a short time very considerable indeed. But I had tostay there motionless, nevertheless."
After an interminable time, there began a chinking sound. This deepenedinto a rhythm: chink, chink, chink--twenty-five chinks--a rap on thewriting-table, and a grunt from the owner of the stout legs. It dawnedupon Mr. Ledbetter that this chinking was the chinking of gold. Hebecame incredulously curious as it went on. His curiosity grew. Already,if that was the case, this extraordinary man must have counted somehundreds of pounds. At last Mr. Ledbetter could resist it no longer,and he began very cautiously to fold his arms and lower his head to thelevel of the floor, in the hope of peeping under the valance. He movedhis feet, and one made a slight scraping on the floor. Suddenly thechinking ceased. Mr. Ledbetter became rigid. After a while the chinkingwas resumed. Then it ceased again, and everything was still, except Mr.Ledbetter's heart--that organ seemed to him to be beating like a drum.
The stillness continued. Mr. Ledbetter's head was now on the floor, andhe could see the stout legs as far as the shins. They were quite still.The feet were resting on the toes and drawn back, as it seem
ed, underthe chair of the owner. Everything was quite still, everything continuedstill. A wild hope came to Mr. Ledbetter that the unknown was in a fitor suddenly dead, with his head upon the writing-table....
The stillness continued. What had happened? The desire to peep becameirresistible. Very cautiously Mr. Ledbetter shifted his hand forward,projected a pioneer finger, and began to lift the valance immediatelynext his eye. Nothing broke the stillness. He saw now the stranger'sknees, saw the back of the writing-table, and then--he was staring atthe barrel of a heavy revolver pointed over the writing-table at hishead.
"Come out of that, you scoundrel!" said the voice of the stout gentlemanin a tone of quiet concentration. "Come out. This side, and now. None ofyour hanky-panky--come right out, now."
Mr. Ledbetter came right out, a little reluctantly perhaps, but withoutany hanky-panky, and at once, even as he was told.
"Kneel," said the stout gentleman, "and hold up your hands."
The valance dropped again behind Mr. Ledbetter, and he rose fromall-fours and held up his hands. "Dressed like a parson," said the stoutgentleman. "I'm blest if he isn't! A little chap, too! You SCOUNDREL!What the deuce possessed you to come here to-night? What the deucepossessed you to get under my bed?"
He did not appear to require an answer, but proceeded at once to severalvery objectionable remarks upon Mr. Ledbetter's personal appearance. Hewas not a very big man, but he looked strong to Mr. Ledbetter: he was asstout as his legs had promised, he had rather delicately-chiselled smallfeatures distributed over a considerable area of whitish face, and quitea number of chins. And the note of his voice had a sort of whisperingundertone.
"What the deuce, I say, possessed you to get under my bed?"
Mr. Ledbetter, by an effort, smiled a wan propitiatory smile. Hecoughed. "I can quite understand--" he said.
"Why! What on earth? It's SOAP! No!--you scoundrel. Don't you move thathand."
"It's soap," said Mr. Ledbetter. "From your washstand. No doubt it--"
"Don't talk," said the stout man. "I see it's soap. Of all incrediblethings."
"If I might explain--"
"Don't explain. It's sure to be a lie, and there's no time forexplanations. What was I going to ask you? Ah! Have you any mates?"
"In a few minutes, if you--"
"Have you any mates? Curse you. If you start any soapy palaver I'llshoot. Have you any mates?"
"No," said Mr. Ledbetter.
"I suppose it's a lie," said the stout man. "But you'll pay for it ifit is. Why the deuce didn't you floor me when I came upstairs? You won'tget a chance to now, anyhow. Fancy getting under the bed! I reckon it'sa fair cop, anyhow, so far as you are concerned."
"I don't see how I could prove an alibi," remarked Mr. Ledbetter, tryingto show by his conversation that he was an educated man. There was apause. Mr. Ledbetter perceived that on a chair beside his captor was alarge black bag on a heap of crumpled papers, and that there were tornand burnt papers on the table. And in front of these, and arrangedmethodically along the edge were rows and rows of little yellowrouleaux--a hundred times more gold than Mr. Ledbetter had seen in allhis life before. The light of two candles, in silver candlesticks, fellupon these. The pause continued. "It is rather fatiguing holding up myhands like this," said Mr. Ledbetter, with a deprecatory smile.
"That's all right," said the fat man. "But what to do with you I don'texactly know."
"I know my position is ambiguous."
"Lord!" said the fat man, "ambiguous! And goes about with his ownsoap, and wears a thundering great clerical collar. You ARE a bloomingburglar, you are--if ever there was one!"
"To be strictly accurate," said Mr. Ledbetter, and suddenly his glassesslipped off and clattered against his vest buttons.
The fat man changed countenance, a flash of savage resolution crossedhis face, and something in the revolver clicked. He put his other handto the weapon. And then he looked at Mr. Ledbetter, and his eye wentdown to the dropped pince-nez.
"Full-cock now, anyhow," said the fat man, after a pause, and his breathseemed to catch. "But I'll tell you, you've never been so near deathbefore. Lord! I'M almost glad. If it hadn't been that the revolverwasn'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 alittle 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--alittle game I've got on is bust. That won't do. If I tie you up andleave you again, the thing may be out to-morrow. Tomorrow's Sunday, andMonday's Bank Holiday--I've counted on three clear days. Shootingyou's murder--and hanging; and besides, it will bust the whole bloomingkernooze. 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. Thereisn't time. If you start off jawing again, I'll shoot right in yourstomach. 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 forconcealed arms. And look here! When I tell you to do a thing, don'tstart off at a gabble--do it brisk."
And with many elaborate precautions, and always pointing the pistol atMr. Ledbetter's head, the stout man stood him up and searched him forweapons. "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, youdon't! Shut up, now."
So soon as the issue was decided, the stout man made Mr. Ledbetter takeoff his coat and roll up his shirt-sleeves, and, with the revolver atone ear, proceed with the packing his appearance had interrupted. Fromthe stout man's point of view that was evidently the only possiblearrangement, for if he had packed, he would have had to put downthe revolver. So that even the gold on the table was handled by Mr.Ledbetter. This nocturnal packing was peculiar. The stout man's idea wasevidently to distribute the weight of the gold as unostentatiouslyas possible through his luggage. It was by no means an inconsiderableweight. There was, Mr. Ledbetter says, altogether nearly L18,000 in goldin the black bag and on the table. There were also many little rollsof L5 bank-notes. Each rouleau of L25 was wrapped by Mr. Ledbetterin paper. These rouleaux were then put neatly in cigar boxes anddistributed between a travelling trunk, a Gladstone bag, and a hatbox.About L600 went in a tobacco tin in a dressing-bag. L10 in gold and anumber of L5 notes the stout man pocketed. Occasionally he objurgatedMr. Ledbetter's clumsiness, and urged him to hurry, and several times heappealed to Mr. Ledbetter's watch for information.
Mr. Ledbetter strapped the trunk and bag, and returned the stout manthe keys. It was then ten minutes to twelve, and until the stroke ofmidnight the stout man made him sit on the Gladstone bag, while he satat a reasonably safe distance on the trunk and held the revolver handyand waited. He appeared to be now in a less aggressive mood, and havingwatched 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 itwill be long-winded from your face, and I am much too old a liar to beinterested 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 mightpass 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 arenot the man to burgle. You are, if I may say it--the thing will havebeen pointed out to you before--a coward."
"Do you know," said Mr. Ledbetter, trying to get a final opening, "itwas 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 ow
n part, Iembezzle. Yes; I embezzle. What do you think a man could be doing withall this gold but that? Ah! Listen! Midnight!... Ten. Eleven. Twelve.There is something very impressive to me in that slow beating of thehours. Time--space; what mysteries they are! What mysteries.... It'stime for us to be moving. Stand up!"
And then kindly, but firmly, he induced Mr. Ledbetter to sling thedressing bag over his back by a string across his chest, to shoulder thetrunk, and, overruling a gasping protest, to take the Gladstone bag inhis disengaged hand. So encumbered, Mr. Ledbetter struggled perilouslydownstairs. The stout gentleman followed with an overcoat, the hatbox,and the revolver, making derogatory remarks about Mr. Ledbetter'sstrength, and assisting him at the turnings of the stairs.
"The back door," he directed, and Mr. Ledbetter staggered through aconservatory, leaving a wake of smashed flower-pots behind him. "Nevermind the crockery," said the stout man; "it's good for trade. We waithere 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 stoutgentleman, 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 tothe back door and instructed to open it. A fair-haired man in yachtingcostume entered. At the sight of Mr. Ledbetter he started violently andclapped his hand behind him. Then he saw the stout man. "Bingham!" hecried, "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 atfirst, 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 stillbowing Mr. Ledbetter's shoulders. The man in the yachting costume walkedin front with the Gladstone bag and a pistol; then came Mr. Ledbetterlike Atlas; Mr. Bingham followed with the hat-box, coat, and revolver asbefore. The house was one of those that have their gardens right up tothe cliff. At the cliff was a steep wooden stairway, descending to abathing tent dimly visible on the beach. Below was a boat pulled up, anda silent little man with a black face stood beside it. "A few moments'explanation," said Mr. Ledbetter; "I can assure you--" Somebody kickedhim, and he said no more.
They made him wade to the boat, carrying the trunk, they pulled himaboard by the shoulders and hair, they called him no better name than"scoundrel" and "burglar" all that night. But they spoke in undertonesso that the general public was happily unaware of his ignominy. Theyhauled him aboard a yacht manned by strange, unsympathetic Orientals,and partly they thrust him and partly he fell down a gangway into anoisome, dark place, where he was to remain many days--how many he doesnot know, because he lost count among other things when he was seasick.They fed him on biscuits and incomprehensible words; they gave him waterto drink mixed with unwished-for rum. And there were cockroacheswhere they put him, night and day there were cockroaches, and in thenight-time there were rats. The Orientals emptied his pockets and tookhis watch--but Mr. Bingham, being appealed to, took that himself.And five or six times the five Lascars--if they were Lascars--and theChinaman and the negro who constituted the crew, fished him out andtook him aft to Bingham and his friend to play cribbage and euchre andthree-anded whist, and to listen to their stories and boastings in aninterested manner.
Then these principals would talk to him as men talk to those who havelived a life of crime. Explanations they would never permit, though theymade it abundantly clear to him that he was the rummiest burglar theyhad ever set eyes on. They said as much again and again. The fair manwas 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 ofspace 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 dosome such intervening thing. After his third failure, the fair man gotquite to look for this opening, and whenever Mr. Ledbetter began afterthat, he would roar with laughter and hit him violently on the back."Same old start, same old story; good old burglar!" the fair-haired manwould say.
So Mr. Ledbetter suffered for many days, twenty perhaps; and one eveninghe was taken, together with some tinned provisions, over the side andput ashore on a rocky little island with a spring. Mr. Bingham came inthe boat with him, giving him good advice all the way, and waving hislast 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'mglad you are beginning to see it. In choosing a profession a man muststudy 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 havegot 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 tooadventurous--too versatile. Practically I have thrown it over. I do notsuppose 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 mefor respectability. I know you better than I did, and now I do not evenrecommend forgery. Go back to respectable courses, my man. YOUR layis the philanthropic lay--that is your lay. With that voice--theAssociation for the Promotion of Snivelling among the Young--somethingin that line. You think it over.
"The island we are approaching has no name apparently--at least, thereis none on the chart. You might think out a name for it while you arethere--while you are thinking about all these things. It has quitedrinkable water, I understand. It is one of the Grenadines--one of theWindward 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 amwiser. This one at least is for you. Sooner or later some simple nativewill come along and take you off. Say what you like about us then--abuseus, if you like--we shan't care a solitary Grenadine! And here--hereis half a sovereign's worth of silver. Do not waste that in foolishdissipation when you return to civilisation. Properly used, it may giveyou 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 foolishthoughts. Properly used, it may be a turning-point in your career. Wasteneither money nor time. You will die rich. I'm sorry, but I must ask youto carry your tucker to land in your arms. No; it's not deep. Cursethat 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 hadcomplained that adventure was dead--sitting beside his cans of food,his chin resting upon his drawn-up knees, staring through his glasses indismal mildness over the shining, vacant sea.
He was picked up in the course of three days by a negro fishermanand taken to St. Vincent's, and from St. Vincent's he got, by theexpenditure of his last coins, to Kingston, in Jamaica. And there hemight have foundered. Even nowadays he is not a man of affairs, and thenhe was a singularly helpless person. He had not the remotest idea whathe ought to do. The only thing he seems to have done was to visit allthe ministers of religion he could find in the place to borrow a passagehome. But he was much too dirty and incoherent--and his story fartoo incredible for them. I met him quite by chance. It was close uponsunset, and I was walking out after my siesta on the road to Dunn'sBattery, when I met him--I was rather bored, and with a whole eveningon my hands--luckily for him. He was trudging dismally tow
ards thetown. His woebegone face and the quasi-clerical cut of his dust-stained,filthy costume caught my humour. Our eyes met. He hesitated. "Sir," hesaid, with a catching of the breath, "could you spare a few minutes forwhat I fear will seem an incredible story?"
"Incredible!" I said.
"Quite," he answered eagerly. "No one will believe it, alter it though Imay. Yet I can assure you, sir--"
He stopped hopelessly. The man's tone tickled me. He seemed an oddcharacter. "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 theway to a low place I knew, where such a costume as his was unlikely togive offence. And there--with certain omissions which he subsequentlysupplied--I got his story. At first I was incredulous, but as the winewarmed him, and the faint suggestion of cringing which his misfortuneshad added to his manner disappeared, I began to believe. At last, I wasso 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 myJamaica banker. And that done, I took him shopping for underwearand such like equipments of a gentleman at large. Presently came theverified reference. His astonishing story was true. I will not amplifyour subsequent proceedings. He started for England in three days' time.
"I do not know how I can possibly thank you enough," began the letter hewrote me from England, "for all your kindness to a total stranger," andproceeded for some time in a similar strain. "Had it not been for yourgenerous assistance, I could certainly never have returned in time forthe resumption of my scholastic duties, and my few minutes of recklessfolly would, perhaps, have proved my ruin. As it is, I am entangled ina tissue of lies and evasions, of the most complicated sort, to accountfor my sunburnt appearance and my whereabouts. I have rather carelesslytold two or three different stories, not realising the trouble thiswould mean for me in the end. The truth I dare not tell. I haveconsulted a number of law-books in the British Museum, and there isnot the slightest doubt that I have connived at and abetted and aided afelony. That scoundrel Bingham was the Hithergate bank manager, I find,and guilty of the most flagrant embezzlement. Please, please burn thisletter when read--I trust you implicitly. The worst of it is, neither myaunt nor her friend who kept the boarding-house at which I was stayingseem altogether to believe a guarded statement I have made thempractically of what actually happened. They suspect me of somediscreditable adventure, but what sort of discreditable adventure theysuspect me of, I do not know. My aunt says she would forgive me if Itold her everything. I have--I have told her MORE than everything, andstill she is not satisfied. It would never do to let them know the truthof the case, of course, and so I represent myself as having been waylaidand gagged upon the beach. My aunt wants to know WHY they waylaid andgagged me, why they took me away in their yacht. I do not know. Canyou suggest any reason? I can think of nothing. If, when you wrote, youcould write on TWO sheets so that I could show her one, and on that oneif you could show clearly that I really WAS in Jamaica this summer,and had come there by being removed from a ship, it would be of greatservice to me. It would certainly add to the load of my obligationto you--a load that I fear I can never fully repay. Although ifgratitude..." And so forth. At the end he repeated his request for me toburn the letter.
So the remarkable story of Mr. Ledbetter's Vacation ends. That breachwith his aunt was not of long duration. The old lady had forgiven himbefore she died.