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The Spider and the Fly. Garvice Charles
Читать онлайн.Название The Spider and the Fly
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Автор произведения Garvice Charles
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
"It is," replies the other, with quiet coolness.
The grating of the file stops for a moment.
"I thought so! S'help me, if I didn't! Might a humble pal, as has always stood by you, captain, ask what the move is? It 'u'd pass the time away and keep the shivers off. There's a curse in the very air o' this place that cramps a man's heart and a'most chokes him. Tell us the plot, captain. I'm yourn, and you know it."
The captain looks into the darkness before him in silence for a moment; then, speaking in the whisper above which their voices had never for a moment been raised, he says:
"I'll tell you, Jem, as we swim together, as you say. We must, taking all things into consideration, and so – Jem, give me your hand."
The man he called Jem feels about in the darkness until his hard-grimed hand is clasped in the softer one of his companion, and waits silently.
"I'm going to take your oath," says the captain, coolly. "Swear that you'll follow me faithfully – as, to give you your due, you always have done – right to the end of what is to come. Swear it, Jem, and I'll open up the game. You'll keep your oath, I know, because I'll swear at the same time that this hand of mine shall wring your neck if you break it. You swear?"
"I swear, captain!" replies Jem, hoarsely. "I've never played you false yet, captain. Would it pay me to do it now after this little bout? Would it pay me, I asks yer?"
"No; now nor ever. Come closer; these cursed cliffs seem to me to have ears. Keep a look out all round. I'm watching for the lights of the fishing yawls."
"All right, captain," replies the other, eagerly. "Go on, if it's only for talking's sake," and he shivers under the strain of long-sustained fear and excitement.
"You're right, Jem, I have a game on the board already. It wouldn't be me if I hadn't. It's a good game, too, and worth playing. Better than the last, which landed us here – not so risky, either. Did I ever tell you where I came from? No? Well, it isn't likely, when I come to think of it. I am not one of the communicative sort. What do you say to India – to Madras? I am a captain, Jem, by something more than courtesy. Captain Murpoint's a good enough name and title, and they're my real ones. They'll do again, too."
For a moment he relapses into silence, his eyes scanning the sea before. Then he takes up the thread again, in a tone rather of soliloquy than communication; but his companion, though apparently forgotten, listens eagerly.
"Five years ago I was the most popular man in Madras. You cannot understand all that short sentence means, my friend; no matter. I was a rich man – as men went – and could count friends by the score. If there had been fewer friends and less whist I might not have been here; who knows? No one, and no one cares; not even I myself. Madras! I see it now. Bah! A high-flown description of the presidency would be lost on you, Jem, and it is a rule of mine to waste nothing. At Madras, among the host of friends, some of whom plundered me, and some of whom I had the extreme happiness to plunder, was one, the best and bravest of the lot, John Mildmay – "
"John Mildmay," repeats the man, Jem, to show his companion that he is listening carefully.
"John Mildmay, a merchant, a prince among merchants, with a fortune in England, India – and I know not where else also. He was a fine fellow, but simple – simple as a schoolgirl, and too bountifully supplied with those awkward incumbrances called feelings. We were bosom friends. I borrowed his money, and he loved me too well to remind me of the debt – you understand that, Jem – that is something within your comprehension."
Jem chuckles with hoarse enjoyment.
"He made me his confidant – told me everything of his own affairs and a great deal of other people's. He had a daughter. I remember her name – Violet. Beautiful, he said she was; but that goes for nothing. I'll be bound, my friend, that you would have called a bantam of your own, though it copied every one of your extremely plain features, a swan. The mother was dead, there was only one relation of any consequence – an aunt, and Jack Mildmay loved this little girl better than he did me – and that's saying a good deal. One night – when we were sitting in the veranda of his mansion on the hills, watching the Brahmins at their prayers, he declared his intention of making me the sole guardian of this girl. He prayed me – if anything happened to him – to be a second father to her, or at least a brother, considering that he was so much older than I. I swore – readily enough – that I'd watch over her like a guardian angel, and, after drawing tears from him by my fervid eloquence, delicately borrowed a hundred pounds. Poor Jack! we never saw each other again. A special messenger arrived that night with news from England. His business – an enormous one – required his presence to tide over an emergency, and with a hasty handshake, he left me, reminding me of my promise, and declaring his intention to draw up on parchment the declaration of his wishes as to my guardianship over his daughter.
"'Good-by, old fellow,' he said. 'It's a long journey; but I feel safe. I've written about you in every letter to my little darling; I shall be able to tell her now what a grand guardian she'll have. Good-by, and Heaven bless you!'
"Jem, my friend, don't believe the good people of this world when they talk of a special providence for honest men; Jack Mildmay was drowned on that homeward voyage, and I, Captain Howard Murpoint, was left to live and rot in a convict station.
"Yes, the ship went down, and soon after Captain Howard Murpoint went down likewise. I got tired of the army; that's the mild way of putting it, though if the truth must be spoken, the army got tired of me – or rather my wonderful luck at cards. You know my little trick with the ace? Enough. It suited me to cut the military life. How was I to do it? A fool would have deserted and got shot. I, not being a fool, managed differently. There was a slight skirmish on the frontier one moonlight night. My men were cut to pieces like packthread. I, by a miracle, escaped. Walking over the corpse-strewn field, one of those happy thoughts which are the inspiration of knaves, struck me. My corporal, a good fellow, had fallen at his post. I knew it was my corporal by his accoutrements, his face and features had been obliterated by a cannon ball. Supposing, was my thought, that Captain Howard Murpoint's regimentals were upon that poor fellow, then every one would say that the said Captain Murpoint had fallen with glory and honor, and that the missing corporal had either been carried away by the Sepoys or deserted.
"Jem, my friend, I lost not a moment, but there and then exchanged clothes with the corpse, threw a cloak over my new corporal's regimentals and started for the coast.
"I reached Paris – unfortunately for the Parisians. When Paris grew too hot I gracefully fluttered to my native land. My native land for eighteen months proved as rich a harvest as a man of talent could wish.
"During those eighteen months I cleared – no matter – it is all gone, swallowed up in that fiasco. Idiot that I was to descend to the level of such poor vermin as you! What could I expect? Were these hands made for burglary, were these brains? Bah! this is wasting time. Some sweet friends of yours persuaded me to change my line, and I came to grief; dragging you in for revenge's sake. Plain truth, you see, Jem. I scorn to tell a falsehood – when there is nothing to be got by it. Transportation for life! It was a hard sentence, and I wished when I heard it, and a hundred times since, that they had not balked Jack Ketch. I wished it every day till a week ago.
"What changed me? A mere bagatelle. A newspaper. A year-old newspaper, which that lout of a warder had dropped from his pocket. I snatched it up and hid it in my bosom. It would lighten many a hateful hour in that horrible cell. I opened it next morning, and the first words my eyes rested on were:
"'Grand Fête at Mildmay Park, Penruddie. – On the occasion of Miss Mildmay's sixteenth birthday a large party of personal friends and the tenants of the Mildmay estate was gathered at the Park, where most extensive preparations have been for some time in progress to insure success for the various festivities. In the morning the numerous gayly dressed visitors gave themselves with a zest to the enjoyment of archery, boating and the subtleties of croquet. In the evening the grand hall – which was decorated by Owen Jones – was opened for a ball to which invitations to the number of two hundred had been issued. It is needless to say that