Читать книгу The Veiled Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 6

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Simon recovered consciousness within a very few moments. His first glance was directed shudderingly at Mr. Deen, but to his unspeakable relief his master's face was once more masked. He next perceived beside his couch a small table, on which stood a decanter, a water jug and a glass half filled with spirit.

"Drink, Simon," said Mr. Deen.

Simon sat up, and having swallowed the liquor, he began with nervous energy to excuse himself. "It's all owing to a cursed attack of influenza I had a month or two ago, Mr. Deen. My nerves have been in tatters ever since."

The veiled man nodded. "Beastly thing, influenza," he remarked. "Take some more whisky, Simon."

Simon enjoyed the second glass; he felt better, and the whisky was of an exquisite flavor.

Mr. Deen watched him through the smoke of his cigar. "I hope your are not a drunkard, Simon," he said quietly.

"Oh, no, sir. I may say, sir, that I have never been intoxicated in my life. It is true that I like an occasional glass of good stuff—such as this is—but——"

"Quite so; you are a temperate man, Simon. Follow my advice and always remain so. Drink has ruined many careers as promising even as yours appears to be. I knew a man——" he paused.

"Yes, sir." Simon was still fluttered enough to welcome the idea of a story.

Mr. Deen allowed his head to sink upon the cushion of his head-rest. "He was a highly-gifted gentleman," he continued in a dreamy voice. "Well born, rich, and a scientist of rising reputation. He might have done anything with his life he chose, but his wife eloped with his closest friend, and he took to drink. Two creatures depended upon him; his orphaned nephew, a child of eighteen months, and his son, an infant in arms. He gave them into the care of a stranger, and travelled over the globe, trying to forget the woman he had loved. He failed, but he became a drunkard. In the course of half a dozen years he contrived to squander a fortune. Then he wished to cure himself—too late. His disease had developed into a mania. He tried every expedient known to science, and remained a drunkard. His craving for salvation, however, was so strong that, as a last resort, he took his nephew and his son, and with his last shilling purchased a small coffee plantation on Norfolk Island. Have you ever been there, Simon?"

"No, sir; where is it?"

"It is a small island in the South Pacific Ocean, a thousand miles from land. It is peopled by half-breeds, the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty and South Sea Island savages."

"Indeed, sir."

"Yes, Simon. It is moreover, a British possession and a teetotal colony. The laws that govern the island absolutely prohibit the importation of intoxicating liquors. That circumstance was responsible for the emigration thither of my friend."

Simon began to take an interest in the narrative. "Ah," he exclaimed, "and did he cure himself?"

"Many people thought so, Simon; but you shall judge for yourself. Mr.—ahem—Brown—as I shall call my friend—in order to support himself and his two children, was obliged to work hard in the fields; like a common laborer, indeed, for he had no money with which at first, at all events, to employ assistants. This manner of life did him so much good, that although he was over fifty when the boys reached manhood, and they were well-grown vigorous lads, he was more than their match in physical strength. Ah, Simon, I can shut my eyes and see him now. Such a splendid lovable fellow, Simon, a giant in stature, with a God-like intellect. The boys adored him. He taught one of them all he knew, the other all he would learn. There you have a vignette of each lad." He paused and bent forward. Simon quite unconsciously was sniffing the air like a hound who smells blood.

Mr. Deen smiled behind the veil. "Such a clever little man," he said.

Simon blushed like a schoolgirl and cast down his eyes. "It was you whom he taught all he knew," he muttered.

The veiled man shrugged his shoulders and resumed his story. "One day, about ten years ago, Simon, a ship came to the island, bringing stores from New Zealand to—amongst others—Mr. Brown. The boys were absent from home at the time at different places. They had been possibly sent away on purpose. The one who first returned found Mr. Brown tapping a small keg of French brandy, which he had extracted from a slightly larger cask that should have contained nothing but vinegar. He was very angry at having been discovered; he had not expected either boy for some hours, you see. However, his wrath soon abated, and the pair made friends—over the brandy.

"When the other boy arrived it was past midnight, the house was ablaze from end to end. It was a wooden house, Simon. He heard his cousin shrieking for help. He sprang into the flames and dashed upstairs. What followed he has never since remembered, but three months afterwards he opened his eyes and recognised the people about him. They told him that he had saved his cousin's life by hurling that half-senseless young man out of a window. But ere he could follow, it appears the floor gave way beneath his feet, and he was precipitated into a blazing inferno, from which he was rescued with exceeding difficulty, and not before he had been mutilated so horribly that even during his convalescence his black nurses sickened to attend him.

"Now give me your opinion, Simon. Do you think Mr. Brown could have cured himself?"

"No, sir, I do not. Did he escape?"

"He perished in the fire."

"That settles it."

"Yes, Simon, I agree with you. That settles it."

"And—and—your cousin, sir—is—is he the Earl?"

The veil man sighed. "Yes, he is the Earl. He succeeded to the title—unexpectedly—three months ago. That is why we are going to England. Nothing else could have taken me from Norfolk Island. I—I was almost happy there."

"I wondered why the Earl never drinks," muttered Simon, after a little silence.

"Ah, you noticed that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Providence, Simon, has given you into my hands," said Mr. Deen; "perhaps in answer to my prayers. I am not a religious man, Simon, but wishes are the sincerest forms of prayers, and I have wished for such a man as you for many days."

"Indeed, sir."

"I shall be completely candid with you, Simon. As well as my valet and personal attendant, you must be my spy."

"I—I beg your pardon, sir."

"My eyes and ears abroad, Simon. As I have already informed you, I intend to live like a hermit in the desert, in a wing of my cousin's castle. Nevertheless, there lives in this world a man in whom I take so keen an interest that for the sake of my peace of mind it will be needful to watch his doings closely, unremittingly, and at the same time without exciting his suspicion. Such a service you can render me."

"The Earl!" cried Simon.

"Yes—the Earl."

"Don't you trust him, or—what." The question was wrung from Simon's lips against his will.

"I trust him as I do my own soul," replied the veiled man. "But, then, Simon, I know so little of my own soul that I would be a fool to trust it blindly in strange company."

"I see."

"You flatter yourself, Simon. You are walking in a fog as yet, but attend to me and the mist will lift. My cousin is a man of principle, with nice ideas of honor and a lively sense of gratitude; moreover, he likes me well—we are as brothers. And he has vowed the conduct of his life to a course of my direction."

"Yes, sir."

"But he is a young man, Simon, and also too rich, too handsome, and by nature too indolent——"

"For what, sir."

"To work, Simon, of his own will, now that the threatening shadow of starvation no longer dogs his steps."

"To work," gasped Simon. "Why in Heaven's name should he—work, sir?"

The veiled man sat bolt upright in his chair. "Do you think," he demanded in low deep vibrant tones, "that I shall permit him to become one of that band of listless pleasure-seeking idlers, miscalled the smart set of the aristocracy; that garden of cabbages run to seed whose only useful function in the social scheme is the propagation of their species? Bah!"

"What would you have him to do then, sir?" gasped Simon.

"Employ the talents that Heaven has committed to his care in the best possible interests of humanity. Until three months ago he earned his bread and mine by the sweat of his brow. He has known what it is to want, what even hunger means. By sentiment and training he is a democrat. I intend that he shall champion the democratic cause, and work for the masses as earnestly and steadfastly as if he were still toiling for his daily bread."

Simon half closed his eyes. He was thinking. The veiled man read his thoughts, smiling bitterly, unseen.

"Quite right, Simon," he muttered, half in underbreath. "I have not been altogether candid, yet."

Simon started as if he had been stung. "Eh, eh?" he said.

"It is the other sex that I fear on his account, Simon. English women are beautiful, they say. There were no pretty women on Norfolk Island."

Simon smiled. "Ah! now I understand you, sir," he said.

Mr. Deen arose. "Then I have only to thank God for your intelligence, Simon, and wait—and wait." He repeated the last words very gravely, then he sighed. "You can put me to bed, Simon, now."