Dead Men Tell No Tales, E. W. Hornung [early readers .txt] 📗

coming; and perhaps for an instant would be tossing in my hen-coop; then back once more. And I swear that my physical and mental torments, here in my bed, would have been incomparably greater than anything I had endured on the sea, but for the saving grace of one sweet thought. She lived! She lived! And the God who had taken care o me, a castaway, would surely deliver her also from the hands of murderers and thieves. But not through me—I lay weak and helpless—and my tears ran again and yet again as I felt myself growing hourly weaker.

I remember what a bright fine day it was, with the grand open country all smiles beneath a clear, almost frosty sky, once when I got up on tip-toe and peeped out. A keen wind whistled about the cottage; I felt it on my feet as I stood; but never have I known a more perfect and invigorating autumn day. And there I must lie, with the manhood ebbing Out of me, the manhood that I needed so for the night! I crept back into bed. I swore that I would sleep. Yet there I lay, listening sometimes to that vile woman's tread below; sometimes to mysterious whispers, between whom I neither knew nor cared; anon to my watch ticking by my side, to the heart beating in my body, hour after hour—hour after hour. I prayed as I have seldom prayed. I wept as I have never wept. I railed and blasphemed—not with my lips, because the woman must think I was asleep—but so much the more viciously in my heart.

Suddenly it turned dark. There were no gradations—not even a tropical twilight. One minute I aw the sun upon the blind; the next—thank God! Oh, thank God! No light broke any longer through the blind; just a faint and narrow glimmer stole between it and the casement; and the light that had been bright golden was palest silver now.

It was the moon. I had been in dreamless sleep for hours.

The joy of that discovery! The transport of waking to it, and waking refreshed! The swift and sudden miracle that it seemed! I shall never, never forget it, still less the sickening thrill of fear which was cruelly quick to follow upon my joy. The cottage was still as the tomb. What if I had slept too long!

With trembling hand I found my watch.

Luckily I had wound it in the early morning. I now carried it to the window, drew back the blind, and held it in the moonlight. It was not quite ten o'clock. And yet the cottage was so still—so still.

I stole to the door, opened it by cautious degrees, and saw the reflection of a light below. Still not a sound could I hear, save the rapid drawing of my own breath, and the startled beating of my own heart.

I now felt certain that the Braithwaites were out, and dressed hastily, making as little noise as possible, and still hearing absolutely none from below. Then, feeling faint with hunger, though a new being after my sleep, I remembered a packet of sandwiches which I had not opened on my journey north. These I transferred from my travelling-bag (where they had lain forgotten to my jacket pocket), before drawing down the blind, leaving the room on tip-toe, and very gently fastening the door behind me. On the stairs, too, I trod with the utmost caution, feeling the wall with my left hand (my right was full), lest by any chance I might be mistaken in supposing I had the cottage to myself. In spite of my caution there came a creak at every step. And to my sudden horror I heard a chair move in the kitchen below.

My heart and I stood still together. But my right hand tightened on stout wood, my right forefinger trembled against thin steel. The sound was not repeated. And at length I continued on my way down, my teeth set, an excuse on my lips, but determination in every fibre of my frame.

A shadow lay across the kitchen floor; it was that of the deaf mute, as he stood on a chair before the fire, supporting himself on the chimney piece with one puny arm, while he reached overhead with the other. I stood by for an instant, glorying in the thought that he could not hear me; the next, I saw what it was he was reaching up for—a bell-mouthed blunderbuss—and I knew the little devil for the impostor that he was.

“You touch it,” said I, “and you'll drop dead on that hearth.”

He pretended not to hear me, but he heard the click of the splendid spring which Messrs. Deane and Adams had put into that early revolver of theirs, and he could not have come down much quicker with my bullet in his spine.

“Now, then,” I said, “what the devil do you mean by shamming deaf and dumb?”

“I niver said I was owt o' t' sort,” he whimpered, cowering behind the chair in a sullen ague.

“But you acted it, and I've a jolly good mind to shoot you dead!” (Remember, I was so weak myself that I thought my arm would break from presenting my five chambers and my ten-inch barrel; otherwise I should be sorry to relate how I bullied that mouse of a man.) “I may let you off,” I continued, “if you answer questions. Where's your wife?”

“Eh, she'll be back directly!” said Braithwaite, with some tact; but his look was too cunning to give the warning weight. “I've a bullet to spare for her,” said I, cheerfully; “now, then, where is she?”

“Gone wi' the oothers, for owt I knaw.”

“And where are the others gone?”

“Where they allus go, ower to t' say.”

“Over to the sea, eh? We're getting on! What takes them there?”

“That's more than I can tell you, sir,” said Braithwaite, with so much emphasis and so little reluctance as to convince me that for once at least he had spoken the truth. There was even a spice of malice in his tone. I began to see possibilities in the little beast.

“Well,” I said, “you're a nice lot! I don't know what your game is, and don't want to. I've had enough of you without that. I'm off to-night.”

“Before they get back?” asked Braithwaite, plainly in doubt about his duty, and yet as plainly relieved to learn the extent of my intention.

“Certainly,” said I; “why not? I'm not particularly anxious to see your wife again, and you may ask Mr. Rattray from me why the devil he led me to suppose you were deaf and dumb? Or, if you like, you needn't say anything at all about it,” I added, seeing his thin jaw fall; “tell him I never found you out, but just felt well enough to go, and went. When do you expect them back?”

“It won't be yet a bit,” said he.

“Good! Now look here. What would you say to these?” And I showed him a couple of sovereigns: I longed to offer him twenty, but feared to excite his suspicions. “These are yours if you have a conveyance at the end of the lane—the lane we came up the night before last—in an hour's time.”

His dull eyes glistened; but a tremor took him from top to toe, and he shook his head.