Читать книгу The Secret of the Barbican and Other Stories - J. S. Fletcher - Страница 11

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Normanstowe possessed the family temper. He forgot where he was, and he snarled angrily.

“Don’t talk damned rot!” he said, snappily.

The warder shook his head.

“Beg pardon, my lord, but I felt sure I knew your lordship from the very first,” he said. “It was the—the birthmark, my lord. When your lordship was—beg pardon for mentioning it—stripped.”

Then Normanstowe remembered the birthmark, and felt inclined to kick himself for having forgotten it. It was a birthmark that ran in the family—a definite strawberry mark, and Normanstowe had always affirmed that it meant that he was some day to get two steps in the peerage, and be a duke. But how should this man know he had it?

He suddenly dashed his sacking and his needle on the floor of his cell.

“Who the devil are you?” he demanded. “Why do you come and interfere in this way? You’re exceeding your duties, my man!”

The warder made signs which besought hushed conversation.

“Beg your pardon, I’m sure, my lord, but—the birth-mark! Your lordship doesn’t remember me—I was in your troop, my lord, during the war. Doesn’t your lordship remember that awful hot day when we all bathed in the Orange River, near Bethulie? I saw the birthmark then. My name’s Copper, my lord—ex-Trooper Copper.”

Normanstowe resignedly picked up his work. That had got to be done, at any rate.

“Oh, all right, Copper,” he said. “Sorry I spoke sharply. Thought I knew you, too, only I couldn’t place you. Well, what do you want, Copper—I mean, sir?”

For he suddenly remembered what he was, and that it was his duty to address warders with respect.

“Sir—of course,” he repeated. “I’d forgotten, of course, Copper—I mean, sir.”

“Just so, my lord,” said Copper. “Er—I’m a bit mixed, my lord.”

“So am I,” said Normanstowe, stitching away at his sack.

Copper looked all round him, as if he sought inspiration.

“To see you here!” he murmured. “Sewing sacks!”

“Seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?” replied Normanstowe. “Ups and downs of life, you know. What’s that scrap of newspaper?”

Copper brightened. He handed the scrap over.

“That’s just it, my lord,” he whispered. “That’s what I came for. Read it.”

Normanstowe read. What he read was just what he would have expected to read had newspapers come in his way. It was an excited announcement of his own disappearance. Half the world seemed to be searching for him. Also, three thousand pounds were being offered for news of him.

“That’s Wrigge!” he muttered to himself. “He might have made it five. Well, Copper,” he said aloud, “you see I’m at your mercy. Between ourselves, this is all because of a bet. I thought I should be safe here. But I never foresaw that anyone who could recognize that birth-mark would be here!”

“But—but the life, my lord!” exclaimed Copper.

“It is quiet, certainly,” said Normanstowe. “I like it. It’s a rest cure.”

“And this grub, my lord!”

“Plain—very, Copper. But wholesome and regular—and there were times in South Africa, Copper—when——”

“Yes, I know,” said Copper. “I’ve not forgotten, my lord. Well, this is a rum go. And your lordship really means to stick it out?”

“I mean to stick it out, Copper, and I shall stick it out, unless——”

But the warder suddenly opened the door of the cell, poked his head out into the corridor, looked up and down, withdrew his body after his head, and vanished as rapidly as he had come. Normanstowe sighed.

“An entirely unforeseen contingency,” he murmured.

Two days later Copper again appeared, bearing a second scrap of newspaper.

“The reward’s gone up to five thousand pounds now,” he whispered. Then his face became gloomy. “Five thousand pounds is an awful lot of money,” he said.

Normanstowe laid down his needle.

“Copper,” he said, “let’s talk business. As our opportunities are limited, let us be business-like. I don’t want to leave this peaceful retreat until my time is up. Now, then, can’t I square you to hold your tongue?”

Copper flushed.

“I—I shouldn’t like to do anything low, my lord,” he said. “I wouldn’t give your lordship away for anything. I’m sure. But five thousand——”

“I stand to win ten thousand if I’m not found for a month,” said Normanstowe. “You hold your tongue and I’ll set you up for life. Look here, do you think there’s anybody else in this hole who might recognize me? Has anybody any suspicion?”

Copper shook his head with decision. No, he was certain there was no suspicion and no danger. If it hadn’t been for the birth-mark——

“All right,” said the prisoner. “Now we come to business.” He cocked a shrewd and whimsical eye at Copper, and the warder began to fidget under its inspection. “What’s your idea, Copper?” he asked.

Copper suddenly grew bold and found his tongue.

“To get a better job than this,” he answered promptly and firmly.

“What, for instance?” asked Normanstowe.

“Well, I’d like to go back to South Africa with money in my pocket,” replied Copper. “I could make a fortune out there, if I’d capital.”

“You shall have it,” replied the prisoner. “Only keep your mouth shut until my time is up, and I’ll see to you. Anything else, Copper?”

The warder rubbed his chin and smiled.

“Well,” he said, half coyly, “there is a little of something else. The fact is, I’ve always had a sort of desire to see a bit of high life, just to—to see what it’s really like, my lord. If your lordship could give me a taste of it, now——”

Normanstowe laid down his needle and his sack, and after staring at the warder, laughed, as loudly as he dared.

“Social ambitions, eh, Copper?” he said. Then he looked the man over. “You’re an uncommonly good-looking chap, too,” he continued. “You look much more like a peer of the realm than I do. All right—before you depart for South Africa I’ll show you round a bit. And now go away, Copper, and let me get on with my daily task. There was one thing that I learnt in my soldiering days, Copper, and that was to obey orders. And while I’m here I mean to do my duty like a man. Well, that’s settled. Hold your tongue, and hand in your notice, or resignation, or whatever it is.”

So the warder went away and the prisoner resumed his stitching as if his life depended on it.