by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XII
EVELYN HAS UNEXPECTED VISITORS
On a moonlit night in January, Evelyn Dane was sitting in the verandaof the big English-looking hotel which has brought more than a hintof Brighton to the sea front of Las Palmas, Gran Canaria. A dance wasin progress within, and the jingle of a polka mixed curiously withthe continuous roar of a heavy surf. But Evelyn was in no mood fordancing. While she was dressing for dinner that evening the boom of agun from the harbor announced the arrival of a foreign warship. Soonafterward she learned the ship's name, and from that moment she wason the tip-toe of expectation, for the captain of H. M. second-classcruiser _Valiant_ supplied the one remaining link between her presentembittered life and the rose-colored romance of a day at Plymouth.
Two months earlier, Captain Mortimer came to her in Funchal, Madeira,with a message that thrilled her with hope. The Foreign Office hadrequested him, he said, to forward any information she could give whichmight help to explain why Captain Warden should vanish so mysteriouslyat Rabat.
The inquiry was a private one. She must mention it to none, but it wasdeemed so important by the authorities in Whitehall that the _Valiant_was sent specially to Madeira to make it. There was not much that shecould tell him. Her sole knowledge of Rabat was gleaned from DomenicoGarcia's message. She remembered the text with sufficient accuracy--butwhat a queer jumble of fact and fable it sounded! Even she herself,though she had actually seen the carved gourd bobbing about in theSolent, fancied now that the tattooed parchment supplied a far-fetchedexcuse for Warden's disappearance.
Nevertheless, the sailor's words had driven some of the hardness outof her heart. She was beginning to think that Mrs. Laing's story wastrue--that Warden was really her rival's promised husband--that hehad not dared even to write again when he knew that Rosamund was atLockmerig. But when this courtly officer assured her that CaptainWarden had undoubtedly sailed for West Africa two days after the_Sans Souci_ quitted the lock, she realized that, in some respects,her doubts were unwarranted. It was amazing that her lover had notannounced his departure, but the ways of Governments are strange, andhis fall from grace was by no means so great as she had been forcedto believe. And then her tiny bit of blue sky was darkened by a newcloud. Although the captain of the _Valiant_, out of sheer kindliness,concealed the sinister outcome of Warden's visit to the Morocco town,his very reticence induced anxiety. He was greatly interested inGarcia's allusion to Hassan's Tower, listened carefully to Evelyn'sstory of the gourd, and, before departing, asked her to let him knowat Lagos if she left Madeira. That was all. She had been eight weeksin Las Palmas without ever a word of her lover. The gloom in her souldeepened ever, until the clamor of the cruiser's salute awoke theechoes.
Hence, Evelyn was one of the few people in the capital city of theCanary Islands who could supply a reason for the presence of the_Valiant_ other than the need of fresh supplies of a vessel on theWest African station. Nor was she wrong in the assumption that CaptainMortimer might call on her without delay. She had been seated not manyminutes in the veranda, and had successfully held at bay only two ofthe half-dozen Spanish officers who wished to dance with her, when thesailor himself approached, and lifted his cap with a pleasant smile.
"You remember me, Miss Dane?" he began.
"Yes. I knew the _Valiant_ had arrived, and I felt so sure you wouldlook me up that I have refused all invitations to the ballroom."
An expression of surprise flitted across the man's frank face.Evidently, he had placed Evelyn in another and higher category than theflippant young ladies who dominate the winter society of Madeira andGran Canaria. To his thinking, when last he interviewed her, Warden,the man to whom she was engaged, was undoubtedly dead. By this time,even a heedless girl might have suspected the truth, and he was notprepared to find Warden's sweetheart so obviously indifferent to hisfate as to plunge into all the gaiety of the Las Palmas season.
He knew nothing of the agony of suspense, the poison of doubt, theself-humiliation and passionate despair of those dreary weeks, nor didhe appreciate her position in the Baumgartner household. But he washurt, and his manner proved it. Men who are called on at times to facedeath in their country's service like to believe that their women-folkare eager for news of them. So Mortimer was disappointed in Evelyn.
"I fear I shall be regarded as an intruder by some of the younggentlemen I see pirouetting inside," he said. "But I shall notdetain you long. I promised to let you know if any further news wasforthcoming as to Captain Warden's whereabouts. When we met at FunchalI feared the worst. Now I have good reason to believe he is alive."
She leaped to her feet. Her cheeks blanched, but those blue eyes ofhers blazed with sudden fire.
"You have heard of him? You know where he is?" she gasped, all a-quiverwith excitement.
The sailor was mystified. Nevertheless, her manifest interest almostbrought back the sympathetic note to his voice--almost, but not quite,and she was aware of the altered tone.
"You are asking too much," he said with a little laugh. "Africa doesnot yield her secrets so readily, I assure you. Still, I have a rathercomplicated yarn for you. Shall we sit here, or would you care fora stroll in the garden? I take it we are less likely to be disturbedthere."
Now it was Evelyn's turn to be puzzled.
It was no disloyalty to the memory of one who once had been her lover,but the absolute necessity of chaperoning Beryl Baumgartner during hermother's indisposition that made dancing a possibility that night.
"The garden by all means," she agreed, trying hard to restrain heragitation. So they walked among the dusty palms and oleanders, andCaptain Mortimer told her something of the strange doings of the BlueMan of El Hamra.
When the _Valiant_ paid her second visit to Rabat, the Bey wasinclined to be communicative. As a matter of fact, the news of theNila Moullah's disastrous fight with the Evil One spread so rapidlythat it reached the seaboard within a fortnight, whereas the prophet'sjourney in the reverse direction took three weeks. Other items filteredthrough the Atlas passes, and finally there came a man who was actuallyin Lektawa at the time of the dread combat. He it was who first gavedefinite assurance that Warden lived. When the new ruler of thatdisturbed city had slain every individual overtly opposed to him, andthe remaining inhabitants were meditating on the divine right of kings,it occurred to someone that the Nazarene and Beni Kalli were missing.A caravan from Bel Abbas reported that a European in Arab clothing,accompanied by a Hausa soldier and a negress, had ridden in therefrom the north, and was recruiting a kafila to go on to Taudeni andTimbuktu. The Frank had plenty of gold-dust in quills, both he and theHausa were well armed, he spoke Arabic like a native, and claimed tobe the special prot?g? of the Blue Man of El Hamra, who had carriedbenevolence to the point of giving him his own particular wrap of bluecotton, which was exhibited to the faithful, not so much for worship,but as a guarantee of good faith.
It was noticed, too, that the knife used by Satan in destroying theNila Moullah resembled one that was wont to hang at the girdle of hissuccessor, so the deduction was reasonable, provided the deducer weresufficiently far away from Lektawa, that the flight of the Christianand his accomplices had something in common with the moullah's deathand the establishment of the new r?gime.
This, and more, the Bey of Rabat discreetly told to the captain ofthe warship. It was clear enough, in some senses, but it left Evelyngreatly bewildered.
"These names of people and places are so much Greek to me," she cried."What is the outcome of it all? Is Captain Warden marching acrossAfrica?"
Mortimer was prepared for that question. He unfolded a map, and theypored over it together. Small as the type was in which many of thetowns were shown, the bright moonlight would have permitted the namesto be read. But that was unnecessary. The sailor knew exactly where topoint while he explained matters.
"Here is Rabat," he said, "and here, beyond the mountain chain,Lektawa. Now, there appears to be little doubt that Captain Warden wasthe European encountered at Bel Abba
s, and I am inclined to believethe north-bound caravan's account of his proceedings there. A long waysouth, at the very verge of a tremendous stretch of desert, we come toTimbuktu. The obvious inference is that he adopted the Sahara route assafer than the journey across Morocco, and headed that way in order toreach Nigeria, the place where his duty lies."
"Can he do it? Dare I even hope that he will pass unharmed throughthousands of miles of wild country inhabited only by savages?"
Her voice broke, and the sailor saw that her eyes were filled withtears. More perplexed than ever, he tried to dispel her foreboding,though none knew better than he the perils Warden would have toencounter.
"Steady, Miss Dane," he said cheerily. "He jumped the worst fence whenhe got away from Lektawa with money and supplies. The fact that he madeBel Abbas vouches for his ability to take the rest of the trip, and hewill be on the Niger River long before he reaches the thousand-milelimit. Once there, he is practically in British territory. To putit plainly, two months ago I didn't think his chance of being aliveamounted to a row of beans, whereas to-day I am confident he will pullthrough."
"So you did not tell me everything at Funchal? Are you keeping back theless pleasing facts now?"
"No. On my honor, I have given you the whole budget."
"When will it be known whether or not--he has--arrived in Nigeria?"
"Ah, that depends on so many circumstances. It is six hundred milesfrom Bel Abbas to the Niger, and--there may be difficulties. May I askyou a personal question, Miss Dane? Are you Captain Warden's fianc?e?"
"I--I thought so," sobbed Evelyn.
"You thought so? Didn't you know?"
There was a moment of tense silence. Then Evelyn swept the tears fromher eyes with a splendid confidence. The moonbeams spread a silveryriband across the dark Atlantic toward the horizon. Beyond that magicpath lay Africa, and her heart had bridged the void ere she answered.
"Yes," she said proudly. "I know! Never again shall doubt find room inmy mind. Oh, Captain Mortimer, if only I might tell you what I havesuffered during these horrible months, when never a word came from him,and another woman lost no opportunity of taunting me with the lie thatshe was his promised wife!"
"You are speaking of Mrs. Laing, I suppose?"
For an instant Evelyn did not appreciate the significance of thatmarvelously accurate guess. Then she turned and looked at him inwonderment.
"Why do you mention her?" she cried, almost hysterically.
The sailor smiled, though his face showed some degree of confusion.
"I have done it now, so I may as well make a clean breast of it. But,mind you, I am revealing official secrets, so please forget what I amtelling you. Mrs. Laing went to the Foreign Office, and claimed to beengaged to Warden. For some reason--perhaps some one there had seen_you_--she was not believed, and that is why I was sent to you atFunchal. At any rate, they seem to know all about you in Whitehall."
"But only yesterday Mrs. Laing pretended that Arthur--that CaptainWarden had written to her, saying he was engaged on a secret missionfor the Government."
"You can take it from me he did nothing of the sort. Outside thedepartment, no one knew where he had gone or what he was doing. He evenpassed under an alias on board the _Water Witch_. There--I didn't meanto tell you that. I am but a poor diplomatist, I fear. And that remindsme: I must hark back to my errand. Why has Mrs. Laing come here?"
Evelyn lifted her head defiantly. Mortimer had blundered into the worstpossible line of inquiry.
"She has told me repeatedly that she is in Las Palmas in order to meetCaptain Warden when he returns from the Oku territory."
The man glanced around to be sure they were not overheard.
"That, at least, is untrue, because he is not there. Owing to hisabsence, another deputy commissioner is appointed. I expect Mrs.Laing's talkativeness does not extend to her relations with MiguelFiguero?"
"Ah, how I loathe that man! He--pestered me with his attentions atHamburg, and Trouville, and Arcachon, and Biarritz. He was either onboard the yacht or visited us at each port of call. But it is only fairto admit," she added, "that he seemed rather to avoid Mrs. Laing."
"I have reason to believe that they are acting in collusion," saidMortimer dryly. "How long do you remain on the island, Miss Dane?"
"There was some talk the other day of our return."
"What, all of you?"
"Yes. Mrs. Baumgartner wishes to pass the spring in the Riviera, andher husband says he has important business at Frankfort in February, sohe will leave us at Nice while he attends to it."
"Do you go in the yacht?"
"I suppose so. She is there--in the harbor."
"Yes. The _Sans Souci_ does not travel far without my knowledge. Youchanged your crew at Hamburg, I believe?"
"Yes, all our Englishmen were sent home. Mr. Baumgartner said thatGermans were cheaper and more obedient."
"What was your opinion of the new crew?"
"I didn't like them at first, as I had to bother my wits in talkingGerman if I wished to speak to any of them, but they are a verysuperior set of men."
"You carry a good many hands for a small vessel?"
"Well, yes. Even I thought that."
"Did you ship a large quantity of heavy stores at Hamburg?"
"I don't know. We were in a hotel there five or six days, and nevervisited the yacht during that time."
"Of course, Miss Dane, if you should be asked why I called, we areold friends, eh? I hope I may claim that privilege apart from otherconsiderations?"
"You have been most kind, Captain Mortimer. I cannot tell you what aload of care you have taken from me. Now, I must go to the ballroom andsee that none of those romantic Spaniards has run off with my charge."
"Who is that?" he inquired.
"Beryl Baumgartner. I am her companion, you know. Though I am onlythree years older than Beryl, I am credited with so much more gravitythat her mother trusts her to me absolutely."
"Is Mrs. Laing there?"
"She was dancing with the Commandante when I came out."
He laughed.
"I shall probably see you again to-morrow evening," he said. "Some ofmy officers will be ashore, and I may be dining here."
He took his leave with a cordiality that was in marked contrast to hisearlier frigid manner, but Evelyn had long since forgotten her surpriseat his momentary curtness.
The extraordinary tidings of Warden's adventures in Morocco absorbedher mind to the exclusion of all else. She wanted to study a map, tofollow his wanderings in spirit, to weave fantasies about his trackacross the desert with all the ardor of reawakened love. How could sheever have doubted him? She was brave enough to flout Rosamund Laing'sfirst attempt to undermine her trust--why had she yielded to the strainduring these later days of weary waiting? She was sure it was not sowith her lover. Some time, quite soon, there would be a letter or acablegram announcing his safe arrival at some weirdly named Britishstation in Northern Nigeria. She must learn the map of West Africa byheart. Perhaps her friend, Captain Mortimer, might tell her from whattown she might expect to receive the earliest news.
But Evelyn's humble light-heartedness was destined not to survive thenext ten minutes. Looking in at the ballroom, she saw Beryl waltzingwith a Canario fruit-grower, a youthful Spaniard of immense wealth whoowned a large part of the island. While crossing the hall with intentto find the manager, and get the loan of an atlas, she almost ran intothe arms of Lord Fairholme, who was standing there, talking to Mrs.Laing.
"By gad, Miss Dane, it's just like bein' in Lochmerig," he cried. "Herewe are again, you know--the same old circus. Couldn't stand the Britishclimate, so I fled here, per Spanish packet, as the Post Office says."
"I am delighted to see you again," she began, but Mrs. Laing broke inbreathlessly.
"They've just finished that waltz, Lord Fairholme. Shall we make up aset for the Lancers?"
"Well--er--no," he said lamely. "You see, I'm not dancing just now."
R
osamund flushed with annoyance. Her rudeness to Evelyn had caused herto forget Fairholme's bereavement.
"Pray forgive me," she cried. "How thoughtless I was! Who was the manyou were conversing with so deeply in the garden, Miss Dane?"
"A friend, an officer on board one of the ships in the harbor. Are youmaking a long stay in Las Palmas, Lord Fairholme?"
The good-natured little peer was conscious that the two women were atdaggers drawn, and the younger one could evidently match her senior incontemptuous indifference.
"Dunno yet," he grinned. "It depends on how Mrs. Laing and you treatme. Judgin' by the giddy throng in the ballroom, I'm afraid I shallfigure again in the 'also ran' class."
"Miss Dane is free. I can vouch for that," laughed Rosamund.
But Evelyn's answering smile was more genuine.
"Mrs. Laing's statements are invariably inaccurate where I amconcerned," she said. "If your matrimonial choice rests between herand me, Lord Fairholme, it is only fair that I should tell you I havepromised to marry Captain Arthur Warden, of the Nigeria Protectorate,when next he returns to England."
"Captain Arthur Warden!" gasped the earl, who, despite his habitual airof buffoonery, could remember some things exceedingly well.
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Er--not exactly. I've heard his name."
Rosamund, scarcely prepared for this turning of the tables, instantlyrecalled the unpleasant fact that Billy Thring was by her side in thehall at Lochmerig when she purloined Evelyn's letter. He looked ather now fixedly, as the color in her face rose and fell with telltaleconfusion. For once, she was unable to force a retort. She almostfeared that Fairholme would blurt forth some reference to the letter.
"I was under a different impression," she managed to say. "But I amsure our private affairs are not of vital interest to Lord Fairholme."
"Where is old I. D. B.?" put in the man, anxious to restore harmony."Shootin' wild duck by moonlight, eh, what?"
Evelyn resumed her quest of the manager. She had not failed to noticeRosamund Laing's unaccountable embarrassment, but she attributed it totheir personal feud, and imagined that her rival was furiously annoyedby her outspokenness. It was fortunate, in some respects, that theincident was fresh in her mind. She was soon to be enlightened.
She borrowed an atlas, and was studying the ominously vague detailsof the interior of Northwest Africa, when a maid-servant came to herroom. With some difficulty, for Evelyn knew very little Spanish, thegirl made her understand that _un muchado Ingles_ wished to see her.An English boy! Who could it be at that hour? The few English childrenvisiting the island were in bed long since, or ought to be, if theywere not. Closing the atlas, she followed the _criada_ downstairs. Inthe doorway, trying to make out the English of a gigantic hall-porter,was a sturdy youth dressed in sailor fashion. She recognized him atthe first glance, but some instinct warned her not to cry aloud herastonishment.
Hurrying forward, she caught him by the arm.
"Chris!" she whispered, "is it really you?"
His chubby face creased with joy at the sight of her.
"Yes, miss, it's me right enough," he said. "Can you come with me tofather? He's orfly anxious ter see yer, miss."
"Where is he?"
"Out there in the road, miss, standin' orf an' on till I heave insight. He wouldn't show up at the hotel, miss, 'cause 'is wooden legsort o' makes folk stare at 'im, an' he don't want too many people terknow 'e kem 'ere to find you."
"Came to find me--all the way from England? Who sent him?"
They were in the roadway now, and walking fast in the direction of thealameda, or public gardens, where a military band plays each eveningfor the inhabitants of Las Palmas.
"Bless yer 'eart, miss, we've done a lot more'n come from England,"said Chris. "We've followed yer to Scotland, an' Germany, an' France,an' Madeira. But father'll tell you all about it. My eye, wasn't' epleased w'en our steamer rounded the mole an' 'e sighted the _SanSowsy_. 'Lord love a duck, Chris,' sez 'e, 'there she is at last. Oo'llsay now that Peter Evans 'asn't done as he was tole'!"
Evelyn, in her excitement, still held the boy's arm. He felt that shewas trembling, though her voice was calm.
"Chris," she repeated, "who sent you?"
"Cap'n Warden, miss. But there! It's dad's yarn. You must 'ave it from'im, from chapter one to finis."
Though on the brink of tears--for she was overwrought--the girl couldnot help smiling.
"You are becoming quite literary," she said.
"That's the way I read a book if it's any good, miss,--a book like 'TheScalp Hunters' or 'Nick of the Woods'--every word, from beginnin' toend. There 'e is--that's father--on the seat under the tree. I s'pose'e's tired. It was a long tramp through the dust from the quay."
Peter received her joyously.
"Sink me!" he cried, "but it's a cure for sore eyes ter see you atlast, miss. It _is_ you, isn't it?"
He was not content until he had looked her full in the face in themoonlight.
"You're a bit thinner," he commented. "People can say wot they like,but Ole England's hard to beat for fresh air an' sound vittals. Chrisan' me would ha' starved on that tub of a mail-boat if we 'adn't palledin with the Scotch engineer, who med 'em cook some plain food. Hello!You're bin cryin'? Now, wot the----"
"Peter," said Evelyn brokenly, "for Heaven's sake, if you have news ofCaptain Warden tell me what it is."
The ex-pilot produced a frayed and soiled parcel from a pocket.
"There you are, miss," he cried triumphantly. "I've done it! 'Find MissDane, no matter wot it costs'--them's my sailin' orders from the cap'n.'Deliver this letter into Miss Dane's own 'ands.' Right again!--asper code! Now, miss, if I was you, I'd just open that there envelopean' see wot 'e sez. Then, mebbe, I can fill in a bit. I tole 'im I'dfind you within a month, but I couldn't! Nobody could unless he was abird, an' a jolly good flier at that. W'y, I've follered you prettywell round the compass. An' my godfather!--'aven't you covered up yertracks!"
The first thing Evelyn's trembling fingers withdrew from the packagewas the jeweler's case containing the ring. When the diamonds flashedin the moonlight she uttered a choking cry and her lips trembledpitifully. So this was Arthur Warden's answer to Rosamund Laing'sjibes! Without hesitation, without waiting to read a word of the manypages of manuscript that accompanied it, she slipped it on to theengagement finger of her left hand. It did not fit. It was far toolarge. But what did that matter? Its glories might await her scrutinyanother time. Just then she wanted to assure herself that she hadgone back to her allegiance before she was vouchsafed a syllable ofexplanation. It was humility, not pride, that governed her action.
Peter, however, did not regard the glittering ring with suchself-effacement. His prominent eyes bulged with surprise, and hegripped his son's shoulder emphatically.
"Tell you wot, Chris," he whispered hoarsely. "If we'd ha' known wotwas in that billy-doo we'd not ha' slep' so sound o' nights!"
"Not while we was in furrin parts, father."
"Not in any parts, me lad. Them sort o' sparks'll get you a knife underyour ribs anywhere. Now, if I was Miss Dane, I'd turn it into money,quick. But she won't, mark my words. She'll just twiddle it round, an'shove in a hairpin w'en there's a chandelier handy, an' lean on 'erelbow w'en the light shines on the port bow--all to make the otherwimmen green with envy."
Though Evelyn was deep in her letter--though her brows were knitted andher little hands clenched as the full measure of Rosamund's perfidy wasrevealed to her, she could not help overhearing Peter's stage aside.For a second her eyes were raised from the stupefying record, and theyblazed with a light that surpassed the fire in the diamonds.
"You are right, Peter," she cried, and her voice sounded shrilly in herown ears. "One woman, at least, shall see my ring, even though envywere to kill her."
