Читать книгу The Lonely Church - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

Table of Contents

It was not the first time Baker had looked down the muzzle of a pistol, as in the great waste lands, men are quick-tempered and handy with what they playfully call their “persuaders.” Such a training instructs a man in the reading of faces, since sudden death may result from the momentary mood of his opponent. A glance assured Eric that Luke Tyler, as he called himself, was a bully, which by interpretation means a coward. Having failed to master Eric with his hands, Tyler now attempted intimidation. But why he should behave thus on the mere mention of a woman’s name, Baker could not understand.

However Eric was quick to see that his only safety lay in coolness. Tyler was too great a coward to fire, and his production of the revolver was in the bombastic vein. Still the weapon was pointed at Eric’s head, and in a moment of passion, even against the true desire of the man who held it, a catastrophe might take place. With a laugh Baker stood his ground, and looked Mr. Tyler steadily in the eye. Thus holding him he spoke.

“That cock won’t fight,” said Baker with a metaphor adapted to the comprehension of his enemy; “what’s your game?”

“I’m going to stretch you a corpse,” snarled Tyler.

“Oh, no you aren’t, unless you want to be hanged.”

Luke lowered the pistol, for he grew weary of pointing it at a man who showed no signs of the white feather.

“I wouldn’t be hanged for a killing of you, mister,” he said insolently, “who’d know if I bored a hole in you, and chucked you into the river with a bloomin’ stone round that—adjective, adjective—neck of yours.”

“Mother Mandarin would.”

Mr. Tyler thrust the revolver into his pocket.

“Not ’cause I ain’t agin’ to, for I might yet,” he explained; “but I don’t know Mother what’s-her-name, I don’t.”

“Mandarin,” said Eric, carefully repeating the name. “She lives in the village, and you’re devilish afraid of her, my man.”

“I ain’t,” growled Luke, and confirmed his denial with an oath.

“Ah, then, you do know her?”

“I know an old rat as hunts these banks,” snarled Tyler; “but whether her name’s Mandarin or Chiner oranges ain’t nothin’ to do with me.”

“If you shot me, it would have lots to do with you, Mr. Tyler. Mother Mandarin knows that I am here. If she heard the shot, and my friends could not find me, it’s as like as not that she would tell the police and then you’d be in a fine hole, Captain Starlight.”

Tyler started. “Why do you call me by that bloomin’ name?” he asked.

“Why do you use colonial terms?” bantered Eric. “Did you find Australia too hot for you?”

“I was never in Australy.”

“Oh, yes, you were—perhaps you belonged to the Kelly gang.” Eric took out his pipe and loaded it carefully. “Tell me all about it.”

“I tell you I don’t know what you’re jolly well talking of, mister—whatever your beastly name is. I was never out of England.”

“Like the man in Robert Browning’s poem,” laughed Baker. “Got a light, Captain Starlight?”

Luke began to grin, and handed a box of matches. “Well you are a plucked un,” he said approvingly.

“And you’re a silly ass who plays to the gallery.”

“What’s that?” asked Tyler looking puzzled.

“Humph. You’re not a dweller in the cities,” said Eric, “else you would know the saying. Passed your life in the bush probably.”

“I’ve been here man and boy for fifty years,” explained the man in a most unnecessary manner, and looking uneasily at Eric.

“Oh no, you haven’t. You went to Australia to be educated. There you learned to say ‘Bail up!’ though I didn’t know there were bush-rangers now-a-days. And I’m not a native of Melbourne, Captain Starlight, so you can’t call me a cornstalk.”

“This,” said Tyler addressing the sky, “is bloomin’ loonatice.”

Eric laughed and glanced at the box of matches before handing it back. “So you were in Moncaster to-day?” he said.

Bad language from Tyler. “How did you know that?” he roared.

“Box of matches quite full. Name of Moncaster tobacconist on the box,” he tossed it lightly across the water to Luke. “It’s as easy as falling off a log when you explain. Well I must be going. I don’t know what you mean by your fear of Mother Mandarin, or by beating Pansey because she did not deliver the letter—”

“That’s none of your business,” growled Luke, growing savage.

“Nor,” continued Baker imperturbably, “nor do I know who you expect to meet in the church.”

“No one. I tell you, no one.”

“Oh, yes you do. The person to whom the letter was addressed. Pansey delivered it, didn’t you, Pansey?” He added this for the benefit of a pretty pair of ears that showed themselves to be listening at a window in the side of the barge.

“I tell you what,” said Tyler solemnly, “I believe you’re the devil.”

“You know him better than I apparently,” said Eric shifting his knapsack. “I’m sorry you trace a likeness, though we have the authority of Shakespeare that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. I suppose you have seen him in Mother Mandarin’s company when His Majesty keeps his festivals in yonder church.”

“Oh cuss you, go home,” grumbled Luke, who seemed particularly annoyed by these constant references to the church.

“I’m going—to Moncaster.”

“To Moncaster,” repeated Tyler, scratching his bullet head, “and you know the way no doubt?”

“No. I’m a stranger in these parts. But I daresay I’ll find the road. What’s this place called?”

“Old Dexleigh. New Dexleigh’s three miles further on, and Moncaster’s ten or thereabouts.”

“And why is Old Dexleigh deserted?”

“I dunno. It was deserted when I come here.”

“Oh, I thought you lived here these fifty years man and boy,” mimicked Eric enjoying the growing exasperation of the big man.

“See here,” shouted Luke, “you’re a born devil, you are. Git out or I’ll brain you.”

“Will you use your pistol or your fist?” asked Eric cheerfully.

Luke growled again like an unfed bear, “I could lay you out with one hand, cuss you.”

“Why didn’t you. Am I to admire your magnanimity.”

“Don’t cuss at me you bloomin’ dandy,” said Luke rubbing his great hands, and viciously added, “I’d like to smash you.”

“Come along then. If you talk so much about smashing me, I shall begin to disbelieve you.”

Tyler looked at the trim slim figure of the young man, and declined the invitation. Eric’s bright eye, and Eric’s dexterous fists, and Eric’s calm insolence embarrassed the bully. He changed his tone. “You’re a funny gent you are,” he said with an attempt at jocularity, “but you don’t know everything.”

“No. Not even why you fear Mother Mandarin.”

“I don’t fear the bloomin’ old pig,” snapped Tyler, then seeing he had betrayed his acquaintance with the woman, he added quickly, “What I mean is, that you don’t know the way to Moncaster. Night’s coming on and you may go astray.”

“I may,” said Baker, wondering at this sudden solicitude.

“Then I tell you what, sir. Pansey shall guide you to the cross-roads, two mile from here. You can’t go wrong then.”

“That’s very good of Pansey. I shall be delighted, and Pansey will be the richer by half a sovereign.”

“Lord, and you only guv me half a crown.”

“Never mind, I’ve no doubt you’ll steal the gold from your daughter when she comes back.”

“That he won’t,” said Pansey suddenly appearing with an alacrity which showed she had been listening. “I want a new dress, and new boots. Look at me in these rags. A handsome girl like me.”

“You could have got the lot out of that Merston cove,” said her respectable papa, and the girl flushed angrily.

“Don’t mention names,” she said, her eyes blazing. “Come Mr.—”

“Mr. Nobody,” said Eric serenely.

“Here’s mysteries,” grumbled the bargee.

“You have yours. Why should I not have mine. Good-bye Mr. Tyler, I hope we’ll meet again. I should love to give you another black eye.”

“You ain’t guv me but a scratch,” roared the exasperated brute.

“Ah that’s your pride,” flung back Eric already half way down the lane. “Wait till you see your eye tomorrow. It will be as black as your soul, my good man. What are you laughing at, Pansey?”

The girl who was tripping lightly by his side looked at him with an arch face. “Father was never spoken to like that before.”

“Of course not. That’s why father is such a bully. Do you mind my smoking, Pansey?”

“I don’t mind anything you do,” admitted Miss Tyler sharply.

“Quite right. Live and let live, my purple Pansey, freaked with jet hair,” replied Baker serenely.

“Don’t call names,” she flashed out in a rage.

“Milton never called anyone names,” said her companion, “and I but misquoted him.

Pansey looked curiously at him. “You ain’t mad,” she said half to herself, “for you’re too sharp. And you ain’t a fool, for you’re too handy with your fists. But you’re a queer gentleman.”

“I am a man, take me for all in all, which is another misquotation, my modest flower,” said Eric as they trudged along. “How far are the cross roads?”

“Two miles. You follow this path, and it leads you to them. Take the left hand one, and you fetch Moncaster.”

“In that case I need not take you further.”

They were just clear of the village when Eric made this remark. He really did not want to give the girl the trouble of walking back in the darkness, and had no other motive in saying what he did. But she seemed to attach a double meaning to his speech, and looked suspiciously at him. “I shan’t leave you till you are at the roads.”

This speech made Eric suspicious on his side. Why did she and Luke wish to get rid of him? Why did they deny knowing Mother Mandarin whom they apparently did know, and of whom they were obviously afraid? Eric was of a curious turn of mind, and fond of adventures. He at once made up his mind to learn what was at the bottom of these mysteries. As a preliminary, he began to pump Pansey. But he could get no more out of her than he had got from Mother Mandarin. She talked generally, but gave no information. Yet when they came to the cross-roads, and he placed the half sovereign in her hand, she seemed moved.

“You’re a good sort,” she said in a much more civil tone than she had hitherto adopted. “And I should be sorry to see you get into a row, that I should.”

“There’s no danger of my getting into a row I hope.”

“Not if you keep away from old Dexleigh.”

“And from that ruined church?” he asked half jestingly.

The girl’s face altered. He could see the change in the fast falling twilight. “Father’s a dangerous man,” she said with a note of alarm in her voice. “Don’t cross his path again,” and with a nod she fled swiftly into the gathering shadows, leaving Eric under the sign-post, much astonished.

Of course the warning made him only the more eager to learn the truth whatever it might be. Sitting down on a heap of stones, he thought out the situation. “In spite of their lies,” soliloquised Baker, “they know Mother Mandarin, and Mother Mandarin knows my name. Someone is to meet Luke Tyler at the ruined church, and I am warned by his very pretty daughter not to cross her father’s path. It would seem therefore that father is up to mischief, and that he is afraid lest I should find him out. That civility of sending Pansey as my guide was not without an ulterior motive.” He sprang to his feet. “On the whole I think I’ll go back. But I haven’t got my Derringer with me,” he thought regretfully, “and that Tyler is a rough customer.”

Eric was on a walking tour, intending to reach Moncaster on his legs instead of going by rail. But in sober England he had never expected to meet with any adventures. Therefore his revolver was snugly lying in his trunk. He thought his fists and his knowledge of how to use them were quite enough protection on the road. But Mr. Tyler evidently was—as Pansey stated—a dangerous man, and having been in the colonies, used his weapon oftener than was advisable. In Baker’s place many a man would have been daunted. To go unarmed on a darkish night, into a place he knew nothing whatsoever about, and into the company of a man, of whom he knew sufficient to be aware that he would not stick at murder if necessary to further his ends whatever they might be, was enough to make the stoutest heart beat quicker. But Eric was one of those men whose spirits rose at the approach of danger. As a rule, during his rare visits to the old country, he found things sufficiently dull. Therefore he hailed this unusual experience with joy, and without a thought of the hidden danger he was incurring, he turned on his tracks.

The man was accustomed to find his way in unknown countries, and had a mechanical habit of noting landmarks. Even in the waning light, and while engaged in conversing with Pansey, he had kept his eyes on the neighbourhood he was traversing. Thus, he knew how to get back to the village; and avoiding the path in case the too suspicious Pansey might be watching, he struck across the wilderness of ling and heather, guided by a low hill behind which he knew lay Old Dexleigh. The sun was gone, but the moon was up and bright—too bright, as Eric thought. With the unerring instinct of an explorer, he made a bee line for the place whence he had started. At the oddity of the situation, and the thought of danger, his spirits rose. From this circumstance it may be guessed that Mr. Baker was a bachelor, as a married man would have thought of his wife before risking his life as Eric assuredly was doing. He might have thought of his friend Ferris impatiently waiting his coming. But the adventure was too tempting to be given up, and in spite of friendship and hunger, Eric was determined to see it through.

By going in a direct line, and by making unusual speed, he soon reached the ruined village. The moon cast strange shadows amidst the ruined houses, and the place was as still as the graveyard. The way being grass-grown, Baker’s boots made little or no noise as he stole forward to the church. It was in the church he intended to hide, as there this mysterious meeting was to take place. Probably what he overheard would not interest him much. On the other hand, if Luke Tyler was plotting rascality, he might be able to thwart his very shady plans.

Across the village green Eric passed, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. He saw a faint light in one of the cottages, and guessed that therein Mother Mandarin had her den. He was minded to see what she was doing, but fearing lest he should be espied before getting under cover, he hastened to enter the church. He crushed through the weedy jungle which was around the building and came to the principal door. It was choked with brambles, and apparently there was no admittance. But this obstacle was nothing to Baker. He climbed in at a broken window, and found himself in almost complete darkness. However, the moonlight flooded certain portions of aisles and chancel, so Baker had small difficulty in finding his way. He walked to the ruined altar, and found that a portion of this wall had fallen away on one side. Here was a convenient nook into which he could squeeze himself, and Eric with the skill of an old campaigner was soon comfortably bestowed.

“Now,” thought the adventurer. “I’m ready to overhear, and to interfere should I see cause,” and he fell to regretting his revolver. The interior of the church looked weird, bestreaked as it was with white moonlight and the blackest of shadows. A plantation of weeds and small bushes flourished within the walls, and the wind rushing through these made a rustling sound. A portion of the roof had fallen in, and through the gap, Eric could see the starry sky, and the far-reaching radiance of the hidden moon. Occasionally an owl would hoot, and constantly the bats flitted amongst the arches. At the foot of the chancel-steps, where the rood-screen had formerly stood, the pavement was intact, and made a small clearing in the wilderness of weeds. Through the broken tracery of the great west window Eric saw the waving branches of elm-trees, and a glimpse of distant hills. Although the night was somewhat chilly, as was natural in early spring, Eric sheltered from the cutting wind found himself sufficiently warm. Moreover, the prospect of adventure heated his blood, and made him careless of the cold.

But tough as he was, the long tramp, and the cosy nook were too much for his desire to keep awake. He closed his eyes for a moment, and sleep took immediate possession of him. Thus it was that he lost the major part of a conversation that took place between two persons who stood on the clear space of the pavement, not a stone throw away. The murmur of their voices blended with Baker’s dreams, but when one man becoming excited raised his voice, and clinched his assertions with strange oaths, Eric woke with a start. Accustomed to these sudden rousings, his brain was at once on the alert to receive and retain impressions. He leaned cautiously forward to see who were speaking.

In the faint moonlight, for the sky was now cloudy and the brightness of the moon was softened, he saw a tall and a short man standing close together. From his bulk and height and voice and oaths, Eric guessed that one man was his respectable friend Luke Tyler. The other was apparently stout and not very tall. He wore a loose cloak, and a cap with flaps was pulled over his face. Baker could not see his expression, but he was struck by the noble quality of his voice. It was rich, voluminous, deep and resonant, and he spoke in a refined and educated manner. What the two were talking about he could not comprehend, having lost the beginning of the conversation, but he gradually came to understand a trifle.

“You are sure it will be safe?” asked the man in the cloak.

“Safe as the bank,” replied Tyler, although he used a more emphatic comparison, “you bring him here and he won’t trouble you again.”

“No murder mind,” said the other hastily. “I only wish him to be kept out of my sight for a year. After that he can come to life again for all I care.”

“Oh I ain’t so fond of putting my neck in a noose if it comes to that,” growled Tyler. “He’ll be all right. But what’s to be my share for adoin’ of this to the Harding cove.”

“We have discussed that. I’ll give you what I said, but only after six months. I won’t have the money till then.”

“And if the Harding cove’s friends make trouble?”

“That’s where you earn your money. My name must not appear.”

Tyler nodded. “It won’t, if you pays up regular. I’ll draw the Harding cove here, and drop him into the vault. There he’ll stay for a year and then be let out.”

“Where is the vault?” asked the other.

“No you don’t. My business is my business, and I ain’t going to give the show away. All you’ve got to think of is that the Harding cove is safe and sound. He’s in Moncaster now?”

“Yes. How will you lure him here?”

“Oh I know what I’m going to do, so don’t you make mistakes. The plan’s in my head as clear as clear. The Harding cove’s safe, if the tin is likewise.”

“You shall be paid.”

“Ah! I always said you was a gent, Mr—”

“No names,” said the man in the cloak hastily.

“Oh we’re safe here.”

“That old woman—”

“I’ll cut her throat if she interferes,” said Tyler savagely, “but there ain’t no call for that. She’ll never find the vault. And no one else ever comes to this place.”

“Did you tell your daughter anything?”

“No. She’s—well it ain’t your business. But all she knows is that she had to give the letter asking you to come here, and she don’t know a bloomin’ thing else. Now that’s all square you’d best get back to Moncaster. In a week?”

“In a week!” said the other man moving away.

“It’s as good as done. In a week the Harding cove—” Tyler laughed.

They left the church, going down the ruined aisle and out by a side door. Eric pondered as to what could be the meaning of this conversation which hinted at danger to a person whom Tyler termed “the Harding cove.” At last he decided what the rascality was.

“Kidnapping,” said Eric. “H’m! I’ll take a hand in this game.”