Читать книгу The Golden Rock - Glanville Ernest - Страница 7

Frank Hume had some of that tenacity of purpose which had made his uncle a successful hunter and Kaffir trader. He saw plainly enough the quixotic side of the quest to which he was committed, but he was not one of those who ask, “Is it worth while?” and “Where is the good?” if confronted with any undertaking not obviously practical.

The Golden Rock had taken no hold on his imagination. It was no bright spot glowing, like a beacon in a dark night, out of the dim future, but itself merely a dim and shadowy token representing and explaining the duty he owed to the dead man’s whim. He would go to the locality, and then let events shape his career to any rough-and-ready pattern, even to that of the hard life of a hunter. Having made up his mind, he set about his preparations carefully, shaking off his extravagant university habits, and keeping an eye to economy in small things to make the most of his little store of money.

In one important respect he was admirably fitted for a life of hardship. Though of average height, he was uncommonly deep in the chest and broad across the shoulders, and possessed a stock of bone and muscle upon which he could safely depend. His head was well set on, with a marked tilt of the chin that gave him an air of watchfulness, and this aspect was heightened by a pair of steady blue eyes.

Within a week he had settled his affairs and was ready to take the first outward-bound vessel, limiting his choice to a sailing-ship, for time was of no particular object, while money and the saving of it was of first importance. He had even seen the skipper of a four-masted iron clipper with the view of working his passage out, but the skipper had received his overture with an explosion. “No more swab-fisted gentlemen lubbers for me. They’re worse than an old maid with a family of cats, and not so useful. Have a drink?” They had a drink, and the rejected volunteer walked homewards in the evening, stopping on the Embankment to look on the dark river which was soon to carry him down to the salt waters.

As he leant there with his elbows on the granite coping, he heard the sound of oars, and presently made out the blurred outline of a boat, and a streak of white about its bows where the strong tide opposed its rush to the exertions of the labouring oarsmen. There were two of these, and Frank could see that they were not pulling together, while the bow oar was weaker than the stroke. The boat scarcely gained a foot against the tide, but, instead, moved sideways at every savage pull by stroke.

“Put your weight into it, man,” growled stroke.

“I can’t. I’m dead beat,” gasped the other.

“Look out!” shouted Frank, “you’ll be into the steps.”

Stroke looked sharply to the right, threw out a hand to keep the boat off the granite, then, as she was swept back, caught fast hold of an iron ring, while the bow oarsman sighed audibly and set to rubbing his arms.

“You’re a pretty sort of fellow, you are—as soft as butter. What the deuce did you say you could row for?”

“Who can pull against this flood? Look here!” Bow leant over, thrusting his hand into the dark waters, which foamed against the obstruction.

“What are we to do now?”

“Wait till the ebb, I suppose; or get a ferryman to row us.”

“Ferryman be damned. If we wait for the ebb we’ll not get out before daylight.”

Frank went round to the opening in the Embankment, and walked down the steps.

“Can I be of any use?” he said.

“Yes, you can, by taking yourself off,” was the surly rejoinder from stroke.

“Nonsense! Don’t go, sir. Can you row?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t want you to think. I thought I could row until I met this infernal tide.”

“Well, I can row against tide, or with it.”

“Step right in, then.”

“Man, you’re mad!” sharply interposed stroke. The two whispered together for a few minutes, then bow suavely spoke:

“My friend would be glad of your help, but he rather doubts your discretion. We are engaged in no nefarious designs, but at the same time we don’t want to be talked of.”

“I think,” said Frank, with a laugh, “you may trust me, especially as you have already given yourself away. There would be nothing to prevent my calling the attention of a policeman to your condition, you know.”

“Jump in,” said stroke quickly.

Bow crawled aft to take the tiller, and Frank stepped lightly into the boat.

“Take her through the second arch, and then keep over to the Surrey side, when you will shoot us through the end arch of London Bridge, and by the fleet of barges. She lies just beyond.”

“They are evidently making for a ship of some sort,” was Frank’s mental reflection on the reference to “she,” but he was next moment bending to his oar, his eyes fixed on the broad back before him, and his soul bent upon holding his own.

For a moment the boat had swept back with the tide, then as the oars dipped in she stood still to their tug, hung a moment, then crept on with slowly-increasing speed—under Waterloo Bridge, past the railway bridge, then across to the Surrey side, and, with a hard struggle, down under London Bridge and into the Pool, close in the shadow of a number of barges.

“Do you see her?” asked stroke, with a gasp.

“Pull on,” said the cox. “So—steady, stroke—pull, bow—easy.”

The boat scraped alongside a low craft, and cox held on to a rope ladder.

“How do you feel?” asked stroke, turning his head.

“Pretty well baked,” said Frank; “and you?”

“I’m worked to a cast-iron finish. Give me the painter—thanks. Now, up you go.”

Without more ado, Frank climbed up the ladder to a narrow deck, where he stood holding to a light rail. The two men were quickly by his side, one of them securing the boat.

“This way.”

They went forward to a deck-house, and descended a companion-way to a small saloon, where one of them struck a match, and lit a suspended lamp.

“Let’s have a look at you!” and the man who had pulled stroke, standing himself in the shade, threw the light full on Frank’s face, while the second man closed the door and stood with his back to it.

“That will do.”

“Pardon me,” said Frank, stung by this ungracious treatment; “it is my turn now.”

Quickly steadying the lamp, he directed the light on the other’s face, revealing a pair of fierce black eyes, and a face thickly bearded.

“Stop that, or I’ll—” He put his hand to his pocket with a threatening action.

“Leave him alone, Captain. Upon my word, he has served you well in your own coin;” and the other man stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Frank’s shoulder, whereat the latter, finding he was in queer company, stepped back.

“Don’t start, sir; there is nothing to fear.”

“I think there is,” said Frank; “so please keep your distance, or, better still, stand aside, as I should like to get out of this.”

“Of course you would, but—and I hate to tell you after what you have done—we can’t afford to let you go.”

“Afford, that’s not the word. We won’t let you go, mate.”

“I’ll see about that,” shouted Frank, at the same time hurling one man aside, and, seizing the handle, which came off to his furious tug, leaving the door still fast closed. Turning, he hurled the brass knob at the black-bearded man, but it missed the mark, and went with a crash through a glass door beyond.

Next moment he was looking into the dark muzzle of a revolver, held very straight in the brawny hand of the Captain, whose black eyes wore a very ugly look.

“Put that pistol down,” rang out in tones of suppressed passion.

The door stood open, and a tall girl in black swept in.

Her dark eyes, flashing from a face of unusual pallor, dwelt a moment on the three figures, the one huddled on the floor, the others facing each other.

“What does this mean, Captain Pardoe?” she asked haughtily, “and who is this stranger?”

Frank raised his hat. “For my part in this disturbance I heartily apologise, but I must say, and these gentlemen will bear me out, that my intrusion was not of my seeking.”

She inclined her head slightly, then turned to the second man, who had risen, looking uncomfortable at having been found in a humiliating position.

“Since Captain Pardoe cannot speak, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain, Mr Commins.”

“It is this way, Miss Laura!” blurted the Captain; “this young fellow knows too much.”

“Excuse me,” said Frank, “I know nothing except that I helped to row you here, and you wished to detain me.”

“Allow me to explain,” said Mr Commins, interposing with a wave of his hand. “The tide was against us, and I was unequal to the work. This young man kindly offered his help, and we accepted, but thinking it would be inadvisable to let him return, we felt it best to detain him, and if he had not been in such a hurry to put us down as thieves or cut-throats, and to act with unnecessary violence on that supposition, matters could have been amicably settled.”

“At the muzzle of a pistol,” said Frank dryly.

“I think you might have managed without help,” said the young lady coldly. “It is most vexing, and such a beginning bodes ill for the undertaking.”

“You need be under no uneasiness. We can easily detain him.”

“I object,” said Frank hotly.

Captain Pardoe lifted his weapon.

“Give me that pistol, sir,” said the young lady imperiously, and the Captain reluctantly handed it over. “I regret very much that we should place you under restraint, sir; but there are interests at stake more important than considerations of mere personal convenience. I’m afraid you must be our guest for a few days.”

“We can put him ashore at Madeira, Miss Laura,” said the Captain.

“At Madeira,” said Frank, earnestly gazing at the splendid eyes and superb figure of this masterful young lady.

“We will do our best to entertain you in the meanwhile,” she said, with a sudden dazzling smile, “and, perhaps, you will even forgive us for this unmannerly and ungrateful return for your kindness.”

As he caught the dazzle of her smile he determined upon his course, especially as the trip to Madeira would advance him on his voyage.

“I am willing,” he replied, “to take an enforced passage, provided you allow me to get my baggage.”

“That means going ashore?”

“Not necessarily; for upon a note from me to the landlady of my rooms the things would be given up.”

“We have no time to spare, Miss Laura,” said Captain Pardoe.

“It is necessary for me to go ashore,” she answered, “for a few minutes. Where are your rooms?”

“Off the Temple—in York street.”

“I think I will trust you,” she said, giving her hand, which Frank warmly clasped, the spell of her beauty being full upon him.

Within an hour they were all back on the ship, and as Big Ben struck out the hours of midnight the vessel slowly crept down the river.