Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (573 page)

“On! on!” shouted Ezra, whose passion was increased by the sight of the thieves. “Not a foot back.”

“He may have broken his neck,” grumbled the sergeant, drawing his revolver. “Have your pistol ready, sir. We shall be up with them in a few minutes, and they may show fight.”

They were up with them rather sooner than the policeman expected. Farintosh, finding that speed was of no avail, and that the numbers of his pursuers was now reduced to two, had recourse to strategy. There was a sharp turn in the road a hundred yards ahead, and on reaching it the three flung themselves off their horses and lay down behind cover. As Ezra and the sergeant, the grey horse and the bay, came thundering round the curve, there was a fierce splutter of pistol shots from amongst the bushes, and the grey sank down upon its knees with a sobbing moan, struck mortally in the head. Ezra sprang to his feet and rushed at the ambuscade, while the sergeant, who had been grazed on the cheek by the first volley, jumped from his horse and followed him. Burt and Farintosh met them foot to foot with all the Saxon gallantry which underlies the Saxon brutality. Burt stabbed at the sergeant and struck him through the muscle of the neck. Farintosh fired at the policeman, and was himself shot down by Ezra. Burt, seeing his companion fall, sprang past his two assailants with a vicious side blow at the merchant, and throwing himself upon the sergeant’s horse, regardless of a bullet from the latter’s revolver, he galloped away, and was speedily out of range. As to Williams, from the beginning of the skirmish he had lain face downwards upon the ground, twisting his thin limbs about in an agony of fear, and howling for mercy.

“He’s gone!” Ezra said ruefully, gazing after the fugitive. “We have nothing to go after him with.”

“I’m well-nigh gone myself,” said the policeman, mopping up the blood from his stab, which was more painful than dangerous. “He has given me a nasty prod.”

“Never mind, my friend, you shall not be the loser. Get up, you little viper!” — this to Williams, who was still writhing himself into the most extraordinary attitudes.

“Oh, please, Mr. Girdlestone,” he cried, clutching at Ezra’s boots with his long thin fingers, “it wasn’t me that hit you. It was Mr. Burt. I had nothing to do with robbing you either. That was Mr. Farintosh. I wouldn’t have gone with him, only I knew that he was a clergyman, so I expected no harm. I am surprised at you, Mr. Farintosh, I really am. I’m very glad that Mr. Girdlestone has shot you.”

The ex-parson was sitting with his back against a gnarled stump, which gave him some support. He had his hand to his chest, and as he breathed a ghastly whistling sound came from the wound, and spirts of blood rushed from his mouth. His glazed eyes were fixed upon the man who had shot him, and a curious smile played about his thin lips.

“Come here, Mr. Girdlestone,” he croaked; “come here.”

Ezra strode over to him with a face as inexorable as fate.

“You’ve done for me,” said Farintosh faintly. “It’s a queer end for the best man of his year at Trinity — master of arts, sir, and Jacksonian prizeman. Not much worth now, is it? Who’d have thought then that I should have died like a dog in this wilderness? What’s the odds how a man dies though. If I’d kept myself straight I should have gone off a few years later in a feather bed as the Dean of St. Patrick’s may be. What will that matter? I’ve enjoyed myself” — the dying man’s eyes glistened at the thought of past dissipations. “If I had my time to do over again,” he continued, “I’d enjoy myself the same way. I’m not penitent, sir. No death-bed snivelling about me, or short cuts into heaven. That’s not what I wanted to say though. I have a choking in the throat, but I dare say you can hear what I am driving at. You met a man riding towards Jacobsdal, did you not?”

Ezra nodded sullenly.

“You didn’t speak to him? Too busy trying to catch yours truly, eh? Will you have your stones back, for they are in the bag by my side, but they’ll not be very much good to you. The little spec won’t come off this time. You don’t know what the news was that the man was bringing?”

A vague feeling of impending misfortune stole over Ezra. He shook his head.

“His news was,” said Farintosh, leaning up upon his hand, “that fresh diamond fields have been discovered at Jagersfontein, in the Orange Free State. So Russia, or no Russia, stones will not rise. Ha! ha! will not rise. Look at his face! It’s whiter than mine. Ha! ha! ha!” With the laugh upon his lips, a great flow of blood stopped the clergyman’s utterance, and he rolled slowly over upon his side, a dead man.

CHAPTER XXIII
.

A MOMENTOUS RESOLUTION
.

During the months which Ezra Girdlestone had spent in Africa the affairs of the firm in Fenchurch Street had been exceedingly prosperous. Trade upon the coast had been brisker than usual, and three of the company’s ships had come in at short intervals with excellent cargoes. Among these was the Black Eagle which, to the astonishment of Captain Hamilton Miggs and the disgust of his employer, had weathered a severe gale in the Channel, and had arrived safe and sound once more. This run of luck, supplemented by the business capacity of the old merchant and the indomitable energy of young Dimsdale, made the concern look so flourishing that the former felt more than ever convinced that if he could but stave off the immediate danger things would soon right themselves. Hence he read with delight the letters from Africa, in which his son narrated the success of the conspiracy and the manner in which the miners had been hoodwinked. The old man’s figure grew straighter and his step more firm as the conviction grew upon him that the company would soon return once again to its former condition of affluence.

It may be imagined, therefore, that when the rumours of a bona fide diamond find in the Orange Free State came to his ears John Girdlestone was much agitated and distressed. On the same day that he saw the announcement in the papers he received a letter from his son announcing the failure of their enterprise. After narrating the robbery, the pursuit, the death of Farintosh, and the announcement of the new discovery, it gave an account of his subsequent movements.

“There was no doubt about the truth of the scoundrel’s words,” he said, “for when we went to the nearest farm to get some food and have the sergeant’s wound dressed we found that every one was talking about it. There was a chap there who had just come from the State and knew all about it. After hearing the details from him I saw that there was no doubt of the genuineness of the thing.

“The police rode back to Jacobsdal with Williams, and I promised to come after them; but when I came to think it over it didn’t seem good enough. The fact of my having so many diamonds would set every tongue wagging, and, again, the sergeant had heard what Farintosh said to me, so it was very possible that I might have the whole district about my ears. As it was, I had the stones and all my money in the bag. I wrote back to the hotel, therefore, telling the landlord to send on my traps to Cape Town by mail, and promising to settle my bill with him when I received them. I then bought a horse and came straight south. I shall take the first steamer and be with you within a few days of your receiving this.

“As to our speculation, it is, of course, all up. Even when the Russian business proves to be a hoax, the price of stones will remain very low on account of these new fields. It is possible that we may sell our lot at some small profit but it won’t be the royal road to a fortune that you prophesied, nor will it help the firm out of the rut into which you have shoved it. My only regret in leaving Africa like this is that that vermin Williams will have no one to prosecute him. My head is almost well now.”

This letter was a rude shock to the African merchant. Within a week of the receipt of it his son Ezra, gloomy and travel-stained, walked into the sanctum at Fenchurch Street and confirmed all the evil tidings by word of mouth. The old man was of too tough a fibre to break down completely, but his bony hands closed convulsively upon the arms of the chair, and a cold perspiration broke out upon his wrinkled forehead as he listened to such details as his son vouchsafed to afford him.

“You have your stones all safe, though?” he stammered out at last.

“They are in my box, at home,” said Ezra, gloomy and morose, leaning against the white marble mantelpiece. “The Lord knows what they are worth! We’ll be lucky if we clear as much as they cost and a margin for my expenses and Langworthy’s. A broken head is all that I have got from your fine scheme.”

“Who could foresee such a thing?” the old man said plaintively. He might have added Major Clutterbuck’s thousand pounds as another item to be cleared, but he thought it as well to keep silent upon the point.

“Any fool could foresee the possibility of it,” quoth Ezra brusquely.

“The fall in prices is sure to be permanent, then?” the old man asked.

“It will last for some years, any way,” Ezra answered. “The Jagersfontein gravel is very rich, and there seems to be plenty of it.”

“And within a few months we must repay both capital and interest. We are ruined!” The old merchant spoke in a broken voice, and his head sank upon his breast. “When that day comes,” he continued, “the firm which has been for thirty years above reproach, and a model to the whole City, will be proclaimed as a bankrupt concern. Worse still, it will be shown to have been kept afloat for years by means which will be deemed fraudulent. I tell you, my dear son, that if any means could be devised which would avert this — any means — I should not hesitate to adopt them. I am a frail old man, and I feel that the short balance of my life would be a small thing for me to give in return for the assurance that the work which I have built up should not be altogether thrown away.”

“Your life cannot affect the matter one way or the other unless it were more heavily insured than it is,” Ezra said callously, though somewhat moved by his father’s intensity of manner. “Perhaps there is some way out of the wood yet,” he added, in a more cheerful tone.

“It’s so paying, so prosperous — that’s what goes to my heart. If it had ruined itself it would be easier to bear it, but it is sacrificed to outside speculations — my wretched, wretched speculations. That is what makes it so hard.” He touched the bell, and Gilray answered the summons. “Listen to this, Ezra. What was our turn over last month, Gilray?”

“Fifteen thousand pounds, sir,” said the little clerk, bobbing up and down like a buoy in a gale in his delight at seeing the junior partner once again.

“And the expenses?”

“Nine thousand three hundred. Uncommon brown you look, Mr. Ezra, to be sure, uncommon brown and well. I hopes as you enjoyed yourself in Africa, sir, and was too much for them Hottenpots and Boars.” With this profound ethnological remark Mr. Gilray bobbed himself out of the room and went back radiantly to his ink-stained desk.

“Look at that,” the old man said, when the click of the outer door showed that the clerk was out of ear-shot. “Over five thousand profit in a month. Is it not terrible that such a business should go to ruin? What a fortune it would have been for you!”

“By heavens, it must be saved!” cried Ezra, with meditative brows and hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets. “There is that girl’s money. Could we not get the temporary use of it.”

“Impossible!” his father answered with a sigh. “It is so tied up in the will that she cannot sign it away herself until she comes of age. There is no way of touching it except by her marriage — or by her death.”

“Then we must have it by the only means open to us.”

“And that is?”

“I must marry her.”

“You will?”

“I shall. Here is my hand on it.”

“Then we are saved,” cried the old man, throwing up his tremulous hands.

“Girdlestone & Son will weather the storm yet.”

“But Girdlestone becomes a sleeping partner,” said Ezra. “It’s for my own sake I do it and not for yours,” with which frank remark he drew his hat down over his brows and set off for Eccleston Square.

CHAPTER XXIV
.

A DANGEROUS PROMISE
.

During Ezra Girdlestone’s absence in Africa our heroine’s life had been even less eventful than of old. There was a consistency about the merchant’s establishment which was characteristic of the man. The house itself was austere and gloomy, and every separate room, in spite of profuse expenditure and gorgeous furniture, had the same air of discomfort. The servants too, were, with one single exception, from the hard-visaged housekeeper to the Calvinistic footman, a depressing and melancholy race. The only departure from this general rule was Kate’s own maid, Rebecca Taylforth, a loudly-dressed, dark-eyed, coarse-voiced young woman, who raised up her voice and wept when Ezra departed for Africa. This damsel’s presence was most disagreeable to Kate, and, indeed, to John Girdlestone also, who only retained her on account of his son’s strong views upon the subject, and out of fear of an explosion which might wreck all his plans.

The old merchant was Kate’s only companion during this period, and their conversation was usually limited to a conventional inquiry at breakfast time as to each other’s health. On his return from the City in the evening Girdlestone was always in a moody humour, and would eat his dinner hastily and in silence. After dinner he was in the habit of reading methodically the various financial articles in the day’s papers, which would occupy him until bedtime. Occasionally his companion would read these aloud to him, and such was the monotony of her uneventful life that she found herself becoming insensibly interested in the fluctuations of Grand Trunk scrip or Ohio and Delaware shares. The papers once exhausted, a bell was rung to summon the domestics, and when all were assembled the merchant, in a hard metallic voice, read through the lesson for the day and the evening prayers. On grand occasions he supplemented this by a short address, in the course of which he would pelt his frightened audience with hard jagged texts until he had reduced them to a fitting state of spiritual misery. No wonder that, under the influence of such an existence, the roses began to fade from his ward’s cheeks, and her youthful heart to grow sad and heavy.

One daily tonic there was, however, which never deserted her. Strictly as Girdlestone guarded her, and jealously as he fenced her off from the outer world, he was unable to prevent this one little ray of light penetrating her prison. With an eye to the future he had so placed her that it seemed to him to be impossible that any sympathy could reach her from the outside world. Visits and visitors were alike forbidden to her. On no consideration was she to venture out alone. In spite of all his precautions, however, love has many arts and wiles which defy all opposition, and which can outplot the deepest of plotters.

Eccleston Square was by no means in a direct line between Kensington and the City, yet morning and evening, as sure as the clock pointed to half-past nine and to quarter to six, Tom would stride through the old-fashioned square and past the grim house, whose grimness was softened to his eyes through its association with the bright dream of his life. It was but the momentary glance of a sweet face at the upper window and a single wave of a white hand, but it sent him on with a fresh heart and courage, and it broke the dull monotony of her dreary life.

Occasionally, as we have seen, he even managed to find his way into the interior of this ogre’s castle, in which his fair princess was immured. John Girdlestone put an end to this by ordering that business messages should never under any circumstances be conveyed to his private residence. Nothing daunted, however, the lovers soon devised another means of surmounting the barrier which divided them.

The centre of the square was taken up by a garden, rectangular and uninviting, fenced round with high forbidding walls which shut out all intruders and gave the place a resemblance to the exercise ground of a prison. Within the rails were clumps of bushes, and here and there a few despondent trees drooped their heads as though mourning over the uncongenial site in which they had been planted. Among these trees and bushes there were scattered seats, and the whole estate was at the disposal of the inhabitants of Eccleston Square, and was dignified by the name of the Eccleston Gardens. This was the only spot in which Kate was trusted without the surveillance of a footman, and it was therefore a favourite haunt of hers, where she would read or work for hours under the shelter of the scanty foliage.

Hence it came about that one day, as Thomas Dimsdale was making his way Cityward at a rather earlier hour than was customary with him, he missed the usual apparition at the window. Looking round blankly in search of some explanation of this absence, he perceived in the garden a pretty white bonnet which glinted among the leaves, and on closer inspection a pair of bright eyes, which surveyed him merrily from underneath it. The gate was open, and in less time than it takes to tell it the sacrilegious feet of the young man had invaded the sacred domains devoted to the sole use and behoof of the Ecclestonians. It may be imagined that he was somewhat late at the office that morning and on many subsequent mornings, until the clerks began to think that their new employer was losing the enthusiasm for business which had possessed him.

Tom frequently begged permission to inform Mr. Girdlestone of his engagement, but Kate was inflexible upon that point. The fact is, that she knew her guardian’s character very much better than her lover did, and remembering his frequent exhortations upon the subject of the vanity and wickedness of such things, she feared the effects of his anger when he learned the truth. In a year or so she would be of age and her own mistress, but at present she was entirely in his power. Why should she subject herself to the certainty of constant harshness and unkindness which would await her? Had her guardian really fulfilled the functions of a father towards her he would have a right to be informed, but as it was she felt that she owed him no such duty. She therefore made up her mind that he should know nothing of the matter; but the fates unfortunately willed otherwise.

It chanced that one morning the interview between the lovers had lasted rather longer than usual, and had been concluded by Kate’s returning to the house, while Tom remained sitting upon the garden seat lost in such a reverie as affects men in his position. While thus pleasantly employed, his thoughts were suddenly recalled to earth by the appearance of a dark shadow on the gravel in front of him, and looking up he saw the senior partner standing a short distance away and regarding him with anything but an amiable expression upon his face. He had himself been having a morning stroll in the garden, and had overseen the whole of the recent interview without the preoccupied lovers being aware of his presence.

“Are you coming to the office?” he asked sternly. “If so, we can go together.”

Tom rose and followed him out of the gardens without a word. He knew from the other’s expression that all was known to him, and in his heart he was not sorry. His only fear was that the old man’s anger might fall upon his ward and this he determined to prevent. They walked side by side as far as the station in complete silence, but on reaching Fenchurch Street Girdlestone asked his young partner to step into his private sanctum.

“Now, sir,” he said, as he closed the door behind him “I think that I have a right to inquire what the meaning may be of the scene of which I was an involuntary witness this morning?”

“It means,” Tom answered firmly but gently, “that I am engaged to Miss

Harston, and have been for some time.”

“Oh, indeed,” Girdlestone answered coldly, sitting down at his desk and turning over the pile of letters.

“At my request,” said Tom, “our engagement was kept from your knowledge. I had reason to believe that you objected to early engagements, and I feared that ours might be disagreeable to you.” I trust that the recording angel will not register a very black mark against our friend for this, the one and only falsehood that ever passed his lips.

During the long silent walk the merchant had been revolving in his mind what course he should pursue, and he had come to the conclusion that it was more easy to guide this impetuous stream of youth than to attempt to stem it. He did not realise the strength of the tie that bound these two young people together, and imagined that with judgment and patience it might yet be snapped. It was, therefore, with as good an imitation of geniality as his angular visage would permit of that he answered his companion’s confession.

“You can hardly wonder at my being surprised,” he said. “Such a thing never entered my mind for a moment. You would have done better to have confided in me before.”

“I must ask your pardon for not having done so.”

“As far as you are concerned,” said John Girdlestone affably, “I believe you to be hard-working and right-principled. Your conduct since you have joined the firm has been everything which I could desire.”

Tom bowed his acknowledgments, much pleased by this preamble.

“With regard to my ward,” continued the senior partner, speaking very slowly and evidently weighing his words, “I could not wish her to have a better husband. In considering such a question I have, however, as you may imagine, to consult above everything else the wishes of my dead friend, Mr. John Harston, the father of the young lady to whom you say that you are engaged. A trust has been reposed in me, and that trust must, of course, be fulfilled to the letter.”

“Certainly,” said Tom, wondering in his own mind how he could ever have brought himself for one moment to think evil of this kindly and righteous old man.

“It was one of Mr. Harston’s most clearly expressed wishes that no words or even thoughts of such matters should be allowed to come in his daughter’s way until she had attained maturity, by which he meant the age of one-and-twenty.”

“But he could not foresee the circumstances,” Tom pleaded. “I am sure that a year or so will make no difference in her sentiments in this matter.”

“My duty is to carry out his instructions to the letter. I won’t say, however,” continued Mr. Girdlestone, “that circumstances might not arise which might induce me to shorten this probationary period. If my further acquaintance with you confirms the high impression which I now have of your commercial ability, that, of course, would have weight with me; and, again, if I find Miss Harston’s mind is made up upon the point, that also would influence my judgment.”

“And what are we to do in the mean time?” asked the junior partner anxiously.

“In the mean time neither you nor your people must write to her, or speak to her, or hold any communication with her whatever. If I find you or them doing so, I shall be compelled in justice to Mr. Harston’s last request to send her to some establishment abroad where she shall be entirely out of your way. My mind is irrevocably made up upon that point. It is not a matter of personal inclination, but of conscience.”

“And how long is this to last?” cried Tom.

“It will depend upon yourselves. If you prove yourself to be a man of honour in this matter, I may be inclined to sanction your addresses. In the mean time you must give me your word to let it rest, and neither to attempt to speak to Miss Harston, nor to see her, nor to allow your parents to communicate with her. The last condition may seem to you to be hard, but, in my eyes, it is a very important one. Unless you can bring yourself to promise all this, my duty will compel me to remove my ward entirely out of your reach, a course which would be painful to her and inconvenient to myself.”

“But I must let her know of this arrangement. I must tell her that you hold out hopes to us on condition that we keep apart for a time.”

“It would be cruel not to allow you to do that,” Girdlestone answered. “You may send her one letter, but remember there shall be no reply to it.”

“Thank you, sir; thank you!” Tom cried fervently. “I have something to live for now. This separation will but make our hearts grow fonder. What change can time make in either of us?”

“Quite so,” said John Girdlestone, with a smile. “Remember there must be no more walking through the square. You must remain absolutely apart if you wish to gain my consent.”

“It is hard, very, very hard. But I will promise to do it. What would

I not promise which would lead to our earlier union?”

“That is settled then. In the mean time, I should be obliged if you would go down to the docks and look after the loading of the transferable corrugated iron houses for New Calabar.”

“All right, sir, and thank you for your kindness,” said Tom, bowing himself out. He hardly knew whether to be pleased or grieved over the result of his interview; but, on the whole, satisfaction prevailed, since at the worst it was but to wait for a year or so, while there seemed to be some hopes of gaining the guardian’s consent before that. On the other hand, he had pledged himself to separate from Kate; but that would, he reflected, only make their re-union the sweeter.

All the morning he was engaged in superintending the stowing of great slabs of iron in the capacious hold of the Maid of Athens. When the hour of luncheon arrived no thought of food was in the lad’s head, but, burying himself in the back parlour of a little Blackwall public-house, he called for pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to indite a letter to his sweetheart. Never was so much love and comfort and advice and hope compressed into the limits of four sheets of paper or contained in the narrow boundary of a single envelope. Tom read it over after he had finished, and felt that it feebly expressed his thoughts; but, then, what lover ever yet did succeed in getting his thoughts satisfactorily represented upon paper. Having posted this effusion, in which he had carefully explained the conditions imposed upon him, Tom felt considerably more light-hearted, and returned with renewed vigour to the loading of the corrugated iron. He would hardly have felt so satisfied had he seen John Girdlestone receiving that same letter from the hands of the footman, and reading it afterwards in the privacy of his bedroom with a sardonic smile upon his face. Still less contented would he have been had he beheld the merchant tearing it into small fragments and making a bonfire of it in his capacious grate. Next morning Kate looked in vain out of the accustomed window, and was sore at heart when no tall figure appeared in sight and no friendly hand waved a morning salutation.