CHAPTER XVIII
MY PERPLEXITIES ARE EXPLAINED
There is no need for me to tell at any length the conversation thatpassed between the three of us that night. Cullen Mayle spoke franklyof his journey to the Sierra Leone River.
"Mr. Berkeley," he said, "already knows so much, that I doubt it wouldnot be of any avail to practise mysteries with him. And besides thereis no need, for, if I mistake not, Mr. Berkeley can keep a secret aswell as any man."
He spoke very politely, but with a keen eye on me to notice whether Ishould show any confusion or change colour. But I made as though Iattached no significance to his words beyond mere urbanity. He told ushow he made his passage to the Guinea Coast as a sailor before themast, and then fell in with George Glen. It seemed prudent tocounterfeit a friendly opinion that the cross would be enough for all.But when they discovered the cross was gone from its hiding place, hetook the first occasion to give them the slip.
"For I had no doubt that my father had been beforehand," said he. "HadI possessed more wisdom, I might have known as much when I heard himfrom my bed refuse his assistance to George Glen, and so saved myselfan arduous and a perilous adventure. For my father, was he never sorich, was not the man to turn his back on the King of Portugal'scross."
Of his father, Cullen spoke with good nature and a certain hint ofcontempt; and he told us much which he had learned from George Glen."He went by the name of Kennedy," said Cullen, "but they called him'Crackers' for the most part. He was not on the _Royal Fortune_ at thetime when Roberts was killed, so that he was never taken prisoner withthe rest, nor did he creep out of Cape Corse Castle like George Glen."
"Then he was never tried or condemned," said Helen, who plainly foundsome relief in that thought.
"No!" answered Cullen, with a chuckle. "But why? He playedrob-thief--a good game, but it requires a skilled player. I wouldnever have believed Adam had the skill. Roberts put him in command ofa sloop called the _Ranger_, which he had taken in the harbour ofBahia, and when he put out to sea on that course which brought himinto conjunction with the _Swallow_, he left the _Ranger_ behind inWhydah Bay. And what does Adam do but haul up his anchor as soon asRoberts was out of sight, and, being well content with his earnings,make sail for Maryland, where the company was disbanded. I would I hadknown that on the day we quarrelled. Body o' me, but I would have madethe old man quiver. Well, Adam came home to England, settled atBristol, where he married, and would no doubt have remained there tillhis death, had he not fallen in with one of his old comrades on thequay. That frightened him, so he come across to Tresco, thinking to besafe. And safe he was for twenty years, until George Glen nosed himout."
Thereupon, Cullen, from relating his adventures, turned to questionsasking for word of this man and that whom he had known before he wentaway. These questions of course he put to Helen, and not once did helet slip a single allusion to the meeting he had had with her in theshed on Castle Down. For that silence on his part I was well prepared;the man was versed in secrecy. But Helen showed a readiness no whitinferior; she never hesitated, never caught a word back. They spoketogether as though the last occasion when they had met was the night,now four years and a half ago, when Adam Mayle stood at the head ofthe stairs and drove his son from the house. One thing in particular Ilearned from her, the negro had died a month ago.
It was my turn when the gossip of the islands had been exhausted, andI had to tell over again of my capture by Glen and the manner of myescape. I omitted, however, all mention of an earlier visitant to theAbbey burial grounds, and it was to this omission that I owed aconfirmation of my conviction that Cullen Mayle was the visitant. Forwhen I came to relate how George Glen and his band sailed away towardsFrance without the cross, he said:
"If I could find that cross, I might perhaps think I had some right toit. It is yours, Helen, to be sure, by law, and----"
She interrupted him, as she was sure to do, with a statement that thecross and everything else was for him to dispose of as he thought fit.But he was magnanimous to a degree.
"The cross, Helen, nothing but the cross, if I can find it. I have athought which may help me to it. 'Three chains east of the east windowin south aisle of St. Helen's Church.' Those were the words, I think."
"Yes," said I.
"And Glen measured the distance correctly?"
"To an inch."
"Well, what if--it is a mere guess, but a likely one, I presume tothink,--what if the chains were Cornish chains? There would be adifference of a good many feet, a difference of which George Glenwould be unaware. You see I trust you, Mr. Berkeley. I fancy that Ican find that cross upon St. Helen's Island."
"I have no doubt you will," said I.
Cullen rose from his chair.
"It grows late, Helen," said he, "and I have kept you from your sleepwith my gossiping." He turned to me. "But, Mr. Berkeley, you perhapswill join me in a pipe and a glass of rum? My father had a good storeof rum, which in those days I despised, but I have learnt the tastefor it."
His proposal suited very well with my determination to keep a watchthat night over Helen's safety, and I readily agreed.
"You will sleep in your old room, Cullen," she said, "and you, Mr.Berkeley, in the room next to it;" and that arrangement suited me verywell. Helen wished us both good-night, and left us together.
We went up into Mayle's cabin and Cullen mixed the rum, which I onlysipped. So it was not the rum. I cannot, in fact, remember at allfeeling any drowsiness or desire to sleep. I think if I had felt thatdesire coming over me I should have shaken it off; it would havewarned me to keep wide awake. But I was not sensible of it at all; andI remember very vividly the last thing of which I was conscious. Thatwas Cullen Mayle's great silver watch which he held by a ribbon andtwirled this way and that as he chatted to me. He spun it with greatquickness, so that it flashed in the light of the candle like amirror, and at once held and tired the eyes. I was conscious of this,I say, and of nothing more until gradually I understood that some onewas shaking me by the shoulders and rousing me from sleep. I opened myeyes and saw that it was Helen Mayle who had disturbed me.
It took me a little time to collect my wits. I should have fallenasleep again had she not hindered me; but at last I was sufficientlyroused to realise that I was still in the cabin, but that Cullen Maylehad gone. A throb of anger at my weakness in so letting him steal amarch quickened me and left me wide awake. Helen Mayle was however inthe room, plainly then she had suffered no harm by my negligence. Shewas at this moment listening with her ear close to the door, so that Icould not see her face.
"What has happened?" I asked, and she flung up her hand with animperative gesture to be silent.
After listening for a minute or so longer she turned towards me, andthe aspect of her face filled me with terror.
"In God's name what has happened, Helen?" I whispered. For never haveI seen such a face, so horror-stricken--no, and I pray that I nevermay again, though the face be a stranger's and not one of which Icarried an impression in my heart.
Yet she spoke with a natural voice.
"You took so long to wake!" said she.
"What o'clock is it?" I asked.
"Three. Three of the morning; but speak low, or rather listen! Listen,and while you listen look at me, so that I may know." She seatedherself on a chair close to mine, and leant forward, speaking in awhisper. "On the night of the sixth of October I went to the shed onCastle Down and had word with Cullen Mayle. Returning I passed you,brushed against you. So much you have maintained before. But listen,listen! That night you climbed into Cullen's bedroom and fell asleep,and you woke up in the dark middle of the night."
"Stop! stop!" I whispered, and seized her hands in mine. Horror wasupon me now, and a hand of ice crushing down my heart. I did notreason or argue at that moment. I knew--her face told me--she had beenafter all ignorant of what she had done that night. "Stop; not a wordmore--there is no truth in it."
"T
hen there is truth in it," she answered, "for you know what I havenot yet told you. It is true, then--your waking up--the silk noose! MyGod! my God!" and all the while she spoke in a hushed whisper, whichmade her words ten times more horrible, and sat motionless as stone.There was not even a tremor in the hands I held; they lay like ice inmine.
"How do you know?" I said. "But I would have spared you this! You didnot know, and I doubted you. Of course--of course you did not know.Good God! Why could not this secret have lain hid in me? I would havespared you the knowledge of it. I would have carried it down safe withme into my grave."
Her face hardened as I spoke. She looked down and saw that I held herhands; she plucked them free.
"You would have kept the secret safe," she said, steadily. "You liar!You told it this night to Cullen Mayle."
Her words struck me like a blow in the face. I leaned back in mychair. She kept her eyes upon my face.
"I--told it--to Cullen Mayle?" I repeated.
She nodded her head.
"To-night?"
"Here in this room. My door was open. I overheard."
"I did not know I told him," I exclaimed; and she laughed horribly andleaned back in the chair.
All at once I understood, and the comprehension wrapped me in horror.The horror passed from me to her, though as yet she did notunderstand. She looked as though the world yawned wide beneath herfeet. "Oh!" she moaned, and, "Hush!" said I, and I leaned forwardtowards her. "I did not know, just as you did not know that you wentto the shed on Castle Down, that you brushed against me as youreturned,--just as you did not know of what happened thereafter."
She put her hands to her head and shivered.
"Just as you did not know that four years ago when Cullen Mayle wasturned from the door, he bade you follow him, and you obeyed," Icontinued. "This is Cullen Mayle's work--devil's work. He spun hiswatch to dazzle you four years ago; he did the same to-night, and mademe tell him why his plan miscarried. Plan!" and at last I understood.I rose to my feet; she did the same. "Yes, plan! You told him you hadbequeathed everything to him. He knew that tonight when I met him atSt. Mary's. How did he know it unless you told him on Castle Down?He bade you go home, enter his room, where no one would hear you,and--don't you see? Helen! Helen!"
I took her in my arms, and she put her hands upon my shoulders andclung to them.
"I have heard of such things in London," said I. "Some men have thispower to send you to sleep and make you speak or forget at theirpleasure; and some have more power than this, for they can make you dowhen you have waked up what they have bidden you to do while youslept, and afterwards forget the act;" and suddenly Helen started awayfrom me, and raised her finger.
We both stood and listened.
"I can hear nothing," I whispered.
She looked over her shoulder to the door. I motioned her not to move.I walked noiselessly to the door, and noiselessly turned the handle. Iopened the door for the space of an inch; all was quiet in the house.
"Yet I heard a voice," she said, and the next moment I heard it too.
The candles were alight. I crossed the room and squashed them with thepalm of my hand. I was not a moment too soon, for even as I did so Iheard the click of a door handle, and then a creak of the hinges, anda little afterwards--footsteps.
A hand crept into mine; we waited in the darkness, holding our breath.The footsteps came down the passage to the door behind which we stoodand passed on. I expected that they would be going towards the room inwhich Helen slept. I waited for them to cease that I might follow andcatch Cullen Mayle, damned by some bright proof in his hand of amurderous intention. But they did not cease; they kept on and on.Surely he must have reached the room. At last the footsteps ceased. Iopened the door cautiously and heard beneath me in the hall a key turnin a lock.
A great hope sprang up in me. Suppose that since his plan had failed,and since Tortue waited for him on Tresco, he had given up! Supposethat he was leaving secretly, and for good and all! If thatsupposition could be true! I prayed that it might be true, and as ifin answer to my prayer I saw below me where the hall door should be athin slip of twilight. This slip broadened and broadened. The murmurof the waves became a roar. The door was opening--no, now it wasshutting again; the twilight narrowed to a slip and disappearedaltogether.
"Listen," said I, and we heard footsteps on the stone tiles of theporch.
"Oh, he is gone!" said Helen, in an indescribable accent of relief.
"Yes, gone," said I. "See, the door of his room is open."
I ran down the passage and entered the room. Helen followed closebehind me.
"He is gone," I repeated. The words sounded too pleasant to be true. Iapproached the bed and flung aside the curtains. I stooped forwardover the bed.
"Helen," I cried, and aloud, "out of the room! Quick! Quick!"
For the words _were_ too pleasant to be true. I flung up my arm tokeep her back. But I was too late. She had already seen. She hadapproached the bed, and in the dim twilight she had seen. She uttereda piercing scream, and fell against me in a dead swoon.
For the man who had descended the stairs and unlocked the door was notCullen Mayle.
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