Читать книгу The Scarlet Woman - Joseph Hocking - Страница 9

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Norman lancaster began to dress rapidly, and on looking at his watch he found that it was after ten o’clock.

“It is easy to understand what’s up,” he thought, as he listened to the angry voices. “Our friend from Limerick has realised his difficulties, and this pair of Irishmen are making it warm for him.”

“What can I do to serve you, gentlemen?” he said aloud as he opened the door.

The three men, who had been his companions the previous night, came in, two of them blustering and vehement, the third pale to the lips.

“This fellow states that an unfair advantage was taken of him last night,” said one of the burly Irishmen presently. “I appeal to you, you who lost a trifle, whether everything was not fair and above board.”

“I—I have no recollection of losing so—so much, or—or of signing that paper,” said the young fellow tremblingly.

Whereupon many angry words followed, the older men protesting and threatening, the young man feebly declaring that he was ignorant of the obligations under which he lay.

“I do not possess so much money,” he said at length. “I cannot get it. It would ruin me if I were to try.”

“You said that some one by the name of Ritzoom would help you,” said one. “Go to Ritzoom and get it, or we will.”

“Ritzoom! did I mention his name?” he cried, and his voice trembled with evident fear.

“That you did,” was the answer. “I have an idea that I can find out who Ritzoom is, and, by Gad! I will if this matter isn’t squared.”

“Look you,” said Lancaster at length, “you are all strangers to me. I never saw any one of you until yesterday, but I think the affair can be managed. Will you two kindly leave me with this young man for half an hour, and perhaps at the end of that time I shall be able to suggest some amicable arrangement?”

“But you will not leave the hotel?”

Lancaster gave the man a look which evidently made him feel uncomfortable. He stammered something about “not meaning to offend,” and the two walked hurriedly away.

A few moments later the two young men were alone together.

“Can you help me?” said the younger man eagerly. “Can you get me out of this scrape? If you can, I—I, God helping, there’s nothing I will not do for you!”

Lancaster went to the door and fastened it. “I wish to know first why you told me a lie yesterday?” he said.

“A lie!” stammered the other.

“A lie,” repeated Lancaster. “You came over with me yesterday from Holyhead, and yet you told me you came from Limerick. You spoke as though you owned property in that district, whereas you are a priest, and possess no property at all. Evidently you were instructed to dog my footsteps. I saw that by the way you acted. Now tell me the meaning of this? Your name is Father Relly, and, if I mistake not, you are a Jesuit.”

“How—how do you know this?” he stammered, the perspiration standing in thick drops on his forehead.

“I do know it,” replied Lancaster, “and the man who was with you on the boat yesterday is Father Ritzoom.”

Relly sat down on the bed like one stunned.

“Now, mind,” continued Lancaster, “I am no enemy of yours; rather, I am desirous of helping you out of the scrape into which you have got with these countrymen of yours. But before I do so I wish to know your design concerning me. Why did Ritzoom tell you to watch me?”

Relly placed his hand upon his moustache, as if in denial of Lancaster’s statement.

“That moustache is false,” said Lancaster. “Yesterday the lower part of your face was muffled, so I suppose you thought I should not recognise you again. Ritzoom thought so, too, or he would never have sent you to spy upon me. Now be frank with me.”

“I dare not. I dare not,” replied Relly.

“Why?”

“Because I promised, I promised—God help me, I promised!”

Lancaster pitied the young man, but he had a purpose in view. He believed that his acquaintance with Relly would assist him, provided he were careful. It was for this purpose he encouraged his advances the previous evening.

“You are in a sad mess, though,” he suggested.

“I know I am. I was mad. I—I—the breath of freedom, the feeling that I was a man among men for a few hours was too much for me. I was spoken to as a man, and not as a——”

He stopped suddenly, and his lips trembled like those of a boy, while the tears welled up in his eyes.

Lancaster looked at him steadily. Relly’s face was as free from guile as that of a young girl. That he was kind-hearted and true no one could doubt. He was warm-blooded and impulsive, too; strong in his likes and dislikes. Jesuit priest he might be, but no amount of training could make him one at heart. By what means he had been led to take the vows of his order Lancaster knew not, but he knew he was totally unfitted for such a calling.

“Look here, Father Relly,” he said at length, “is this squabble with these men serious? Can they harm you? Do you dread Ritzoom having any knowledge of the matter?”

“He seems to read me like a book,” replied the other, “but—oh, I would rather die than that he should know. Then I must have been drunk! Oh, the disgrace of it, the shame of it!”

Lancaster took his pocket-book from his coat, from which he extracted two Bank of England notes. “There,” he said quietly, “take these to those men, and they will give you that incriminating paper back. Or stay, I’ll go with you.”

Relly took the notes and read them eagerly. “Do you mean it, do you mean it?” he cried.

“Of course I do. There, I’ll be ready to go with you in two minutes.”

The young priest caught Lancaster’s hand with all the fervour of a lover. “Oh, bless you, bless you, my friend,” he cried; “if there is anything I can do to serve you, I——” He stopped confusedly. Perhaps he remembered that he had just refused to tell Lancaster why he had been spying upon him.

“That is all right,” said Lancaster; “now let us go to these men.”

They had not reached the end of the corridor before they came upon the worthy couple. Evidently they were determined not to let Relly leave the hotel before paying the gambling debt. Possibly they had suspicions as to his calling, and believed that their money was safe, even although they had no legal claim to it.

“The drawing-room is empty,” said Lancaster, leading the way to it. The men followed, evidently wondering what the upshot would be.

“Whether you are a pair of sharpers or no, I know not,” said Lancaster quietly, whereupon both began to protest with great vehemence, also to threaten to take proceedings for defamation of character. “Well, you may be honest men,” laughed the young man, “anyhow, here is your money. But remember, if a word concerning this matter goes beyond ourselves I shall take the trouble to find out who and what you are.”

“We are gentlemen,” they protested, “and as gentlemen we should not think of mentioning such a matter. We will take our solemn oath on that.”

“Very well,” replied Lancaster; “as for this I.O.U., it’s done with,” and he threw it in the fire. “I remember your names and your faces. I fancy I have seen you before, but I do not wish to see you again. Good morning.”

A few minutes later he saw them get into a cab and drive away.

“There,” said Lancaster with a yawn, “that’s done with. Now I’ll get some breakfast.”

He did not speak a word to Father Relly, but found his way into the coffee-room, and sat down to his morning meal with a good appetite. He saw the young priest take a seat at another table, but seemingly he took no notice. Presently Lancaster finished his meal and prepared to leave the room. Before he reached the door the young priest had caught his arm.

“I must speak to you alone,” he said earnestly; “I—I cannot allow——” then he stopped confusedly.

Lancaster had expected this. He had been summing up Relly’s character all the morning, and he reckoned upon the young fellow’s impulsive nature.

“Have you a private room which I could have for half an hour?” he said to the hotel manager, who happened to be near.

A few minutes later he was again closeted with the young priest.

“It’s no use, I must tell you,” said Relly. “Promise or no promise, I cannot go on acting a part against one who has been so kind. You have been so generous that you have actually befriended your enemy.”

“Nonsense,” said Lancaster with a smile. “You are not my enemy. You could be the enemy of no man.”

“You think I am a fool,” said the other; “I am, I know I am. All the same, you know I was trying to thwart your purposes.”

“No, you are not a fool. You are simply an honest young fellow. You are totally unfitted for the work imposed upon you. You are too sincere to be a spy or a diplomat, that is all. Therefore you bungled terribly.”

“Yes, yes—that is, do you think so?”

“I am sure of it; what puzzles me is that Ritzoom should have appointed you to an office for which you are entirely unfitted.”

“Let me tell you——” cried the young priest eagerly.

“Tell me nothing,” replied Lancaster. “You will be sorry afterwards. Besides, I think I know all you would say.”

“What do you know?”

“Well, Ritzoom thinks I am engaged in a work which may prove detrimental to the objects of his life. He is not certain, and he appointed you to find out. Ritzoom may be right or wrong in his conjectures concerning me, but I cannot understand how a fellow of his penetration commissioned such a simple, honest, transparent fellow as you as his agent.”

“It was by my desire. Oh, I wanted to show my earnestness for work! It is long years since I lived in the world. I—I have been preparing for my vocation, during which time I have not come into contact with human beings. They have simply been those of my order. I thought my training had fitted me for almost anything. So when Father Ritzoom told me he should like to know what your plans were, I begged to be allowed to find out.”

“And he?”

“He consented.”

Lancaster reflected a minute. He fancied he saw the working of Ritzoom’s brain. He believed that the older priest desired rather to test this young man than to discover anything concerning himself.

“Well, go on,” he said.

“Yes; well, I dressed myself as a man of the world. I recalled to mind the life I lived before—I—I ceased to be a man and became a Jesuit. I became intoxicated. It was glorious to feel as others might feel. For once I felt that watchful eyes no longer rested on me. It is true I was acting a part, but it was the part of a full-lived man. I lived in a new world. I could think, feel, act as others might. It was too much for me. In my desire to appear a man of the world I forgot myself. It is years since I drank spirits, and I forgot the effect it might have on me. I thought you would have no suspicions concerning me if I drank freely. And then—you know what followed.”

“You will have to give a report to Father Ritzoom,” said Lancaster presently.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I cannot tell him.”

Lancaster laughed. “There will be no need,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because he knows.”

“You have not told him?”

“There is no need. Do you think you have not been watched? Ritzoom’s desire to test you was as great as his wish to find out my purpose in coming to Ireland. Moreover, I venture to make a prophecy. You will never be entrusted with this kind of work again.”

“Then what do you think I ought to do?”

“Tell him exactly what has taken place.”

“But——”

“Oh, you need not fear. He will not be surprised. As you say, he reads you like a book, and will be prepared for all contingencies.”

“But—but are you what—what he thinks you are?” asked Relly eagerly.

Lancaster looked at him keenly. “I believe he is more a Jesuit than I imagined, after all,” he thought.

“What does he think I am?” he said aloud.

“I do not know. He told me nothing, except that you were an enemy to our faith. Are you?”

“I am a Protestant,” said Lancaster, “therefore I must be an enemy to your faith.”

The young priest crossed himself. “I will pray for you,” he said.

Lancaster laughed. “Thank you,” he replied.

“Yes, I will pray for you,” he said earnestly; “believing, as you do, you will doubtless think I need to pray for myself. Still, I will pray for you, pray that you may be snatched from the burning. One of your evident goodness and kindness of heart should be. Moreover, if I can help you at any time, I will—oh, so gladly!”

He seemed more calm now and spoke less vehemently.

“Thank you again,” said Lancaster; “but suppose I should desire to claim the fulfilment of your promise, where should I find you?”

He took a card from his pocket. “As far as I know at present, I shall be at that address during the next few weeks.”

Lancaster read the card. On it was printed the name of the college for novices where Jack Gray was immured. Not a muscle of his face moved, however, as he read the card.

“And Father Ritzoom,” he said, “where will he be?”

“I do not know,” said the young priest.

“And now,” said Lancaster, “will you continue to dog my footsteps?”

“No; I shall go back to Father Ritzoom,” was the reply.

Lancaster felt that the young man was changing. He was becoming a priest again. The older man rose to his feet. “You will want to go back to your superior at once, I expect,” he said, “and I will not detain you. Perhaps we shall meet again. I think we shall.”

“I shall be at the college.”

Lancaster laughed.

A few minutes later, the young priest left the hotel, while Lancaster pondered over the way matters had developed.

“Relly is more a Jesuit than I thought,” he said presently, “but he has a heart, and he’s an Irishman. No amount of training can destroy that fact and it may be that my money is not badly invested.”

Meanwhile, Relly found his way to a house which adjoined a Roman Catholic Church, and before long was ushered into a scantily-furnished room. No carpets covered the floors, and the only articles visible there were three chairs, a table, and a small kneeling-desk, over which hung a crucifix.

On one of the chairs, which was drawn close to the table, sat the man with whom Lancaster had travelled the previous day. He was utterly metamorphosed. Instead of the pilot coat, he wore a black soutane, a loose garment which hung around his body like a robe. On his head was the ordinary biretta of an ecclesiastic. He went on writing as Relly entered, although he was evidently aware of his presence.

“Sit down,” he said presently.

The young priest sat down.

A few minutes later he threw down his pen and looked up. “Well?” he said suddenly.

“I have failed, father, grievously failed.”

Ritzoom did not move a muscle of his face or evince any surprise.

“In what way?”

“In every way.”

“Explain.”

“He saw through my disguise. He associated me with you.”

“How do you know?”

“I sat at the same table with him. I said I had just come from Limerick, as suggested by you. When he left the room and had gone into the smoke-room, I asked a waiter to follow him and tell me what he was doing.”

“Yes; well?”

“He was studying an Irish time-table. The waiter said he was looking at the trains on the Limerick line. There is no train from Limerick so late at night.”

“I was at fault,” said Father Ritzoom, after hesitating a few seconds. “Consequently, he was on his guard?”

“Yes.”

The priest wrote a few lines in his notebook, then he fixed his black, piercing eyes on Relly’s face.

“The best of us are liable to failure, my brother,” he said; “but tell me the rest of your experiences.”

The young priest hesitated. He had begun his report by twisting the truth. It was Lancaster who had told him about the trains.

“I found him to be a very clever man,” he said presently. “He knew who you were. He had recognised you.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Quite sure of it.”

“Tell me how?”

“He said he had seen me speaking with Father Ritzoom on the boat.”

Ritzoom continued to look steadily at the younger man, and a smile, half sad, half cynical, played around his mouth. He did not know so much as Relly feared, but he knew a great deal. He seemed to be hesitating as to whether he should question him further, when a knock came at the door, and a boy, who acted as porter, mentioned a name.

“Ah!” he said, “our interview must end here, my brother. As you say, you have not been successful, and yet you have revealed more to me than you think. The fact of his recognising me tells everything. You must change your garments, and get back to your old work. This experience will have added to your education, and, I trust, to your usefulness. I am glad that you have been so frank; always remember that in dealing with me you will do well to be perfectly open.”

There was a curious intonation in his voice, as well as a warning look in his eyes, as he spoke.

“Good-day, my brother; I have an impression that you will meet Norman Lancaster again.” He said this as he walked out of the room. When he had closed the door, and had gone some distance along the corridor, he stopped, as though he would go back again. A second later, however, he went on his way.

“No, I have dealt wisely with the fellow,” he said. “He is not fit for any delicate work; he never will be. His mind is not cast in the necessary mould, and he’s an impulsive Irishman. But I had best let him be; I shall be able to make most use of him in that way. Had he confessed everything I should have had no hold upon him; now, by careful dealing and watching, I think I may——Oh, but he is utterly unfitted for the work of our order! How in the world can the bon Dieu make such fools?”

As for Father Relly, he heaved a deep sigh of relief when his superior had gone.

“After all, I spoke to him not as a confessor, but as a brother priest,” he said, as he went away to another room in order to change his garments.