CHAPTER VIII
In the morning Gregory awoke after a wonderfully sound sleep. It wasstill very early. There was a delightful pearly light in the sky,visible through his open porthole. The glitter of the barely risen sunlay faint upon the ocean. He remained for a few minutes, breathingquietly, trying to recall the events of the night before. They came backto him with a shock, followed by an immense sense of relief. Heremembered what he had done without a thought of regret. He had castaway the fruits of his enterprise, the possibility of wealth, and he wasfull of rejoicing. In those few seconds of glad thought, the worldseemed a different place, wealth, after all, but a trifling part of itsjoys, youth and love suddenly great and wonderful things. A clearerlight seemed to be pouring in upon some possible future, a newatmosphere of happiness encircling him. He sprang out of bed. He wouldhave an early bath and send a note round to Claire. She must forgive.She must understand. She must realise the sacrifice he had made. Then,as he reached for his dressing gown, he felt as though he were turned tostone. Up on its accustomed place, its eyes meeting his, its lipsmocking him, was the Image. He stood looking at it, for once genuinelyterrified. Then he pressed the bell feverishly, and stood there with histhumb upon the knob until Perkins came running in.
"Where the hell did that come from?" he demanded, pointing to the Image.
Perkins smiled with the air of one who imparts good tidings.
"The bos'un sent it up early this morning, sir," he explained. "It wasin one of the lower boats, swung out from the main deck--gone rightthrough the canvas but there isn't a scratch on it."
Gregory drew on his dressing gown and staggered out on to the deck. Hewalked up and down for an hour and a half, fighting a distinct anddefinite battle, and with every step he took it seemed to him that hebecame saner. His waking idea took shape, gave him encouragement andlife. With his craving for what it might have to give abandoned, thepower of the Image, too, for evil, must decline. He wanted those jewelsno longer. He was ready to face life and all its possibilities from anew standard. He went down to his bath, visited the barber, and dressedbefore any of the passengers were astir. Then he made his way into thewriting room and drew paper and ink towards him. He wrote fluently, andwithout hesitation. All that he wished to say seemed so clear:
These few lines, dear, bring my prayer to you for pardon. The doctor talks of nerves. Well, I never suffered from them, and I would as soon believe in the supernatural. I believe that there is evil in my treasure. Last night, in a fit of self-disgust, I tried to throw it overboard, but it was caught by one of the canvas-covered boats on the lower deck and when I awoke this morning it was back in its accustomed place. If your answer to this note is what I pray for, it will be overboard before we meet, and overboard in such a place that it will sink to the bottom of the sea.
Will you marry me, Claire, as soon as we reach England, and my father and your uncle can meet and give their consent? I don't pretend that I am a particularly desirable person, but I am, at any rate, not too bad to realise that you are the dearest and sweetest thing I have ever met, or to fail in keeping my word when I promise that you shall never regret it if you say "yes." I haven't a great deal to offer you, beyond my love, but that I offer to you, not in the spirit of last night in the shadow of that accursed Image, but earnestly, and faithfully, and eternally.
Please send me just a line. The black Buddha waits to know his fate, and I mine.
GREGORY.
Perkins took the note, and after his departure Gregory climbed to theupper deck and stood there leaning over the rail, forgetting even tosmoke, watching the sun mount a little higher and spread its gleams alittle farther across the ocean, watching the blue haze of coming heatblot out the clearness of the horizon, waiting with an eagerness utterlyunfamiliar, with a sense of having suddenly changed personalities withsome simpler and stronger being. At last the head and shoulders ofPerkins appeared, coming up the ladder.
"Your breakfast is in your room, sir," he announced, as he handed overthe note he was carrying.
Gregory made no reply. He was looking at the handwriting upon theenvelope; rather faint and delicate, not too legible. For a moment ortwo he turned the note over. He absolutely feared to open it. A wave ofpessimism had seized him. Then he suddenly tore the envelope across andread:
DEAR MR. BALLASTON,
I am so sorry but I cannot say "yes." I appreciate your letter and I try to sympathise with what lies behind it, but, to be quite honest, I cannot just now believe in you. I do not myself believe in the supernatural, nor can I bring myself to believe in the superstition of which you speak. I can, therefore, only think of you as one whom I was beginning to like very much indeed, but who has disappointed me bitterly.
I am sorry, but that is how I feel, and it is useless for me to pretend otherwise. If you wish to be kind, please keep away. It is foolish, of course, but you see I am a little lonely here, and, after what has happened, I shall feel so much happier not to find myself alone with you again.
CLAIRE ENDACOTT.
Gregory read the letter twice, then sent it fluttering away in littlewhite fragments, watching them fall like snowflakes upon the sea.Afterwards he descended to his stateroom. He sat on his camp stool,stirred his coffee, and looked across at the Image. Then, with his lefthand, he kissed his fingers to it.
"I give you best, my friend," he groaned. "Count me your disciple."
Gregory was on deck even before his accustomed time. He showed unusualinterest in the ship's run and greeted Claire, when she appeared verylate and looking pale and tired, with the casualness of a steameracquaintance. He talked lightly with Mrs. Hichens, exchanged remarkswith his other fellow passengers, and, notwithstanding the slight air ofaloofness which was habitual to him, he took a prominent part in thesports of the day. He conducted an auction pool with success and herefused no man's invitation to drink. At night, though, when the dancingstarted, he obstinately refused to leave the smoking room, pleaded aweak ankle and confessed to an inordinate thirst. The doctor came in andsat beside him.
"More trouble?" he asked quietly.
Gregory shrugged his shoulders.
"No particular trouble," he replied. "I'm rather fed up with dancing,besides which I have worn through the soles of my only pair of patentshoes."
"Is Miss Endacott in a similar predicament?" the doctor enquired. "I seethat she is not on deck."
"Miss Endacott is probably reading one of Paley's sermons to Mrs.Hichens," he answered a little sarcastically. "I wonder why the devilsome one doesn't look after your libraries on board ship, Doctor. Thereare no less than eleven different volumes of sermons there. No doubt yougot them cheap, but who wants them, especially on a voyage where one issupposed to send one's morals overland."
The doctor rose to his feet.
"There is nothing I can do for you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Gregory replied. "Have a drink."
The doctor shook his head.
"I am in earnest," he persisted. "I am still at your disposal. If youwant a sleeping draught, I'm your man, or an ambassador--well, I'm here.Otherwise----"
"It happens to be otherwise," Gregory declared, a little brutally.
* * * * *
"Perkins," Gregory Ballaston asked, sitting up in his bunk a fewmornings later, and gazing distastefully at his tea, "was I very drunklast night?"
"No more than usual, sir," was the man's somewhat gloomy answer. "Thechief steward in the second class sent for me and I brought you upmyself."
Gregory sighed.
"Bad, Perkins--bad!" he admitted. "I ought not to have gone there atall. Was I--er--misbehaving more than usual?"
"You seemed to be making a little free with the young women down there,if I might say s
o, sir," Perkins replied.
Gregory poured himself out some tea.
"Well, it was the last night, anyhow," he said, with an air of relief."I am landing at Marseilles."
"I have packed most of your things, sir," the man announced. "I expectthey'll bustle the overland passengers off the ship as quickly aspossible. We're a good many hours late as it is, and the train will bewaiting."
"I am going the other way," Gregory confided. "I have a strange feeling,Perkins, that I am likely to win at Monte Carlo. I have been there twicebefore and lost pretty well all I possessed at the moment. This time Ifeel like winning. Anyway, I am going to try my luck."
"When shall I be able to finish your packing, sir?"
"Whenever you like and as soon as you like. I don't care for this ship,Perkins. You're a good fellow and you've looked after me very well, butI don't like the rest of them any more than they like me. You wouldn'tsay that I was a popular person on board, would you, Perkins?"
The man made no reply for a moment. He was occupied thrusting the treesinto some evening slippers.
"If I might make so bold, sir," he said at last, "you have only yourselfto thank for what people think. You have acted queerly more than once,sir."
"A fact," Gregory murmured; "a damnable fact!"
"And I don't hold," the man went on, "with this sitting in the smokingroom, taking a drink with anybody who comes along, and going down to thesecond class, when there's plenty of your own sort on board, sir."
"You're a sound fellow, Perkins," Gregory admitted, as he swung out ofhis bunk. "Is my bath ready?"
"Waiting, sir."
"And, Perkins," Gregory continued, as he struggled into his dressinggown, "some time this morning I want you to bring me some packing clothand get the carpenter to find you a box. I can't take my Image aboutlike that. I'm going to send it home to my father--a little souvenir ofmy visit to China. I think it might brighten up the household."
"I'll fetch you the packing cloth and box, sir, with pleasure," Perkinsassented, looking up at the Image dubiously, "but if it belonged to me Iknow what I should do with it."
Gregory paused enquiringly. The steward was still looking over the railof the bunk with an expression of disgust.
"I should chuck it overboard and have done with it, sir."
"But it is valuable," Gregory expostulated, swinging his towel; "worth alot of money, Perkins. No one knows quite how much but it's worth agreat deal of money."
"'Tain't for its looks, anyway," the man muttered.
Gregory went through his usual morning routine--his bath, the swim, thegymnasium and the coiffeur. Afterwards he made a leisurely toilet in hisstateroom, slipped out on to the deck at a moment when it was almostdeserted, and walked across to the smoking room with swift footsteps,lithe and graceful, notwithstanding the debauch of the night before,carefully dressed as usual, his eyes as bright as ever, no sign of evilliving in his clear complexion. Yet, for all his presentability, no oneknew better than he that he had gradually become the most unpopularperson upon the ship. The captain had taken to looking the other waywhen he passed. The doctor's nod was of the curtest. Mrs. Hichens neverpretended not to cut him. Claire alone, on the few occasions when theypassed or met face to face, bowed gravely, sometimes even exchanged aword of greeting. She still spent the time on deck as usual, but alwayswith Mrs. Hichens by her side. One or two of the women with whom he hadexchanged a few civilities still looked wistfully for him when thedancing began--his grass widow had indeed boldly attempted to waylay himone evening on his return from the dining saloon. Gregory, however, liedwith cynical impudence, declared that he had sprained his ankle andwould not dance again for the rest of the voyage, and then promptlywalked alone for an hour through the summer darkness on the upper deck.On another occasion an enterprising young woman, whose courage wasgreater than her discretion, sought him out in the smoking room andtried to gain his confidence. She rejoined her friends after a verybrief absence, a little ruffled. Gregory's politeness was icy, but onone point he seemed to have made up his mind: He was ready to gamblewith any one, to drink with any one, but so far as the women wereconcerned--the women of his own quarter of the ship--he avoided themwith a finality which admitted of no advances. He played cards allthrough the long summer days and moonlit, Mediterranean nights, forstakes much higher than the ship's officers approved of, but he neverapproached the dancing spaces or entered the music room where the ladiescongregated. Rumour went about that he had been sent to Coventry, and,as was natural, on an Eastern liner, there were no end of scandalousstories. One of them, and a name, he happened to overhear, and he gavethe smoking room something to gossip about for the rest of the day. Herose from his seat and approached the little group.
"May I ask your name, sir?" he enquired of the man who had told thestory; a large man, well under medium age, but puffy and loud-voiced.
"Why, you surely may," was the prompt reply. "Richard Thomson. We'veplayed cards together more than once."
"Well, Mr. Thomson," Gregory said, "I have to tell you that I dislikethe mention of ladies' names in a smoking room. I dislike it so much,especially when allied with scandalous fiction, that I am going to throwyou out on to the deck."
The man tried bluster, but he fared the worse for it. He picked himselfup, sprawling, from somewhere near the rails, and spent his morningtrying to interview various officers of the ship. The purser at last wascommissioned to approach Gregory.
"I have a complaint, Mr. Ballaston," he announced, a little stiffly,"from Mr. Thomson. He asserts that you used violence to him in thesmoking room."
"Quite correct," was the deliberate reply. "I don't like him. I shallprobably throw him out again if he comes in."
"An affair of this sort is not to be treated so lightly, sir," thepurser declared. "I must request some sort of an explanation or elsethat you apologise to Mr. Thomson."
Gregory considered for a moment.
"Very well," he said, "I will offer you this much of an explanation. Iheard Mr. Thomson make use of the name of a young lady in the smokingroom. He coupled her name with a story, which, although it may not havereflected any positive discredit upon her, was yet untrue. I object tothe use of ladies' names in a smoking room, and I did what I should havedone at any time in my life, and what I should do again this afternoonand again to-morrow if necessary--I threw him out. As to apologising tohim--I will fight him with one hand or standing on one leg, or I willshoot at him and let him shoot at me from any mark he likes, or give himwhat is termed 'satisfaction', in any such manner as he can suggest, butsooner than apologise I would throw him overboard first and spend therest of the voyage in irons myself if necessary."
The purser's face relaxed.
"I will report your explanation to the captain, Mr. Ballaston," hepromised.
Nothing more was heard of the matter. Thomson somewhat ostentatiouslyplayed bridge out on deck with his friends, and Gregory, suddenly sickof his smoking-room companions, invaded the ship's library and abjuredcards. He drew a great sigh of relief when at last, amidst the screamingof tugs and a strange silence in the engine room, they were brought into Marseilles docks. He lingered about for an hour after the gangwayswere down, hoping to be the last to leave the ship. In the customs shed,however, when he made his belated appearance there, he came face to facewith Claire and Mrs. Hichens. The latter ignored him; Claire held outher hand.
"Good-by, Mr. Ballaston," she said.
Gregory was taken aback. He could not refuse her hand, but he could findno words. Mrs. Hichens walked on. They were for a moment alone together.
"I am very sorry," she continued, "that I had to answer your letter as Ifelt. I am trying to forget all that is disagreeable in our friendship,and remember only how thoroughly we enjoyed the first part of thevoyage. Will you please do the same--and good-by!"
She was gone with a friendly little nod before he could gasp out anymore than a muttered monosyllable. For a moment he almost followed her.Then he realised a certain finality
about that gesture and turned away.Before he had finished with the customs the Paris train had left. Hestood for a while at the barrier, looking after it almost wistfully, histhoughts travelling homeward. It was late spring now. There would be ascent of violets in the air, cowslips coming up in the meadows,honeysuckle in the hedges, and sweeter than anything, the wild rosesmaking their faint appearance. He thought of the rambling, statelygardens at the Hall, the odour of the late hyacinths, the warmth of thesun on the day when the gardeners opened the potting sheds and broughtout the geraniums. He could hear the lazy humming of the mowingmachines, the soft splash of water from the fountain on one of theterraced lawns. It was a very beautiful home there, waiting for him;poverty-stricken, perhaps, a little silent, a long way aloof from thethrob and thrill of life, the will-o'-the-wisp of happiness which he hadpursued so tirelessly, which he was in quest of again, even now. Then hehad a sudden vision of Claire, and of showing her the house, thegardens, the park, the woods beyond, the peace of it, the softly flowingwaters of the trout stream, the hum of insects. He had a vision ofClaire too, seated at the carriage window, looking out, perhaps herselfnot wholly happy, perhaps even at that moment with a tear in those stilltender eyes. The sweetness of her, the sweetness which he had terrified,the childishness which that accursed Image would have had him disturb!It was like a black cloud upon his mind and thoughts. Then a raucousvoice in his ear:
"Il faut vous depecher d'enregistrer vos bagages pour Monte Carlo,monsieur. Le Rapide arrive."
His fit of dreaming passed, and he came back to the world of smalleveryday things, went through the tiresome formality of registering hisluggage, found a place in an empty compartment, dozed and dreamed alittle more, and finally was dragged behind a screaming locomotive intothe curiously unimpressive station of Monte Carlo, the hills behindglittering with lights, the long sea front curving away into Italy. Heshook himself and, descending, made his way to the hotel, bathed andchanged and sat down to write a few momentous lines home:
Hotel de Paris, Monte Carlo.
MY DEAR FATHER,
I have come here from Marseilles for a few days, perhaps longer--it depends upon the luck. Meanwhile you will receive from Tilbury, soon after the ship docks, the Image we got away with. You won't like it. If I were to tell you how I loathed it you would think I was mad, but from the practical point of view everything that I heard in China confirms your story. In either this Image or the other one, which, alas, fell into the hands of a firm called Johnson and Company who have branches nearly everywhere in the East, are packed the whole of the treasures of the Yun-Tse Temple. Have an expert examine it, but don't do anything about breaking it up until I return. There are reasons against this.
I suppose everything is as usual--no money, heavier taxation, plenty of debts, and Uncle Henry denying himself even a new suit of clothes. I hope Madame progresses, and that her new doctor will be able to work the great miracle. Here is an amazing coincidence, of which you will hear more before you see me. In the last letter I wrote you I told you about my adventure on the Yun-Tse River and Wu Ling, the Chinese trader who rescued me. Well, Wu Ling is a member of the firm of Johnson and Company, the great Eastern merchants, and one of his partners is Ralph Endacott, who used to have a Chair at Oxford, a great Oriental scholar, and--as you perhaps know--Madame's brother. He has a very delightful niece whom I saw something of on the voyage home. He himself is winding up his affairs and coming to England shortly. They have some idea, I believe, of taking a house in Norfolk. Endacott himself is a somewhat austere person who looked upon my enterprise with a good deal of disfavour, and myself, I am afraid, with more. The niece, however, is perfectly charming.
Well, I shall be home for the summer. I got through all right without a scratch, as you know, but for the first time in my life I think I have a touch of nerves. The shadow of our elms ought to help. I'll write again as soon as I have decided when to come home.
Thanks for your last letter. I don't think you need send any money. If I want it I'll wire.
Ever yours, GREGORY.
Gregory dined alone, receiving the warm welcome of the maitres d'hotelwith whom he was acquainted, and the other supernumeraries of the greathotel. Afterwards he went across and took out his cards of admission tothe Casino, flung a few counters on one of the outside tables in the"Kitchen" and, losing them, came out, called in at the office of theSporting Club for his ticket and presently mounted the front stairs,prepared for such serious gambling as he could afford. There wassomething almost allegorical in the wide opening of the doors as heentered. He seemed engulfed once more into the world of pleasurableadventure. Only for the first time the whole thrill of it was wanting.The tables themselves he eyed with all his old appetite, as he countedhis money and planned his campaign. His inherited love of gambling wasundeniable. The green cloth, the patter of the cards, the call of thecroupiers, the rattling of the roulette ball, each had theirfascination. It was the other things of which he seemed to have suddenlytired, which somehow, in a moment of presentiment as he looked throughone of the great windows towards the moon, hanging down over theharbour, he knew would never appeal to him in quite the same way again.The following morning he supplemented his letter home by a telegram:
To Sir Bertram Ballaston, Baronet, Ballaston Hall, Norfolk, England.
Don't send any money have won hundred milles very bored going Rome with Carruthers to-night shall return within a month.
GREGORY.
END OF BOOK ONE
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BOOK TWO
Stolen Idols Page 8
