A Bid for Fortune, Guy Boothby [easy books to read TXT] 📗

supreme astonishment I found myself again confronted by Mr. Baxter. He was now perfectly calm and greeted me with extraordinary civility.

“Mr. Hatteras, I believe,” he said. “I think I had the pleasure of meeting you on the sands a few days ago. What a beautiful day it is, isn’t it? Are you proceeding this way? Yes? Then perhaps I may be permitted the honour of walking a short distance with you.”

“With pleasure,” I replied. “I am going up the cliff to my hotel, and I shall be glad of your company. I think we met in the telegraph office just now.”

“In the post office, I think. I had occasion to go in there to register a letter.”

His speech struck me as remarkable. My observation was so trivial that it hardly needed an answer, and yet not only did he vouchsafe me one, but he corrected my statement and volunteered a further one on his own account. What reason could he have for wanting to make me understand that he had gone in there to post a letter? What would it have mattered to me if he had been there, as I suggested, to send a telegram?

“Mr. Baxter,” I thought to myself, “I’ve got a sort of conviction that you’re not the man you pretend to be, and what’s more I’d like to bet a shilling to a halfpenny that, if the truth were only known, you’re our mysterious friend Nineveh.”

We walked for some distance in silence. Presently my companion began to talk again⁠—this time, however, in a new strain and perhaps with a little more caution.

“You have been a great traveller, I understand, Mr. Hatteras.”

“A fairly great one, Mr. Baxter. You also, I am told, have seen something of the world.”

“A little⁠—very little.”

“The South Seas, I believe. D’you know Papeete?”

“I have been there.”

“D’you know New Guinea at all?”

“No. I was never near it. I am better acquainted with the Far East⁠—China, Japan, etc.”

Suddenly something, I shall never be able to tell what, prompted me to say:

“And the Andamans?”

The effect on my companion was as sudden as it was extraordinary. For a moment he staggered on the path like a drunken man; his face grew ashen pale, and he had to give utterance to a hoarse choking sound before be could get out a word. Then he said:

“No⁠—no⁠—you are quite mistaken, I assure you. I never knew the Andamans.”

Now, on the Andamans, as all the world knows, are located the Indian penal establishments, and noting his behaviour, I became more and more convinced in my own mind that there was some mystery about Mr. Baxter that had yet to be explained. I had still a trump card to play.

“I’m afraid you are not very well, Mr. Baxter,” I said at length “Perhaps the heat is too much for you, or we are walking too fast? This is my hotel. Won’t you come inside and take a glass of wine or something to revive you?”

He nodded his head eagerly. Large drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and I saw that he was quite unstrung.

“I am not well⁠—not at all well.”

As soon as we reached the smoking-room I rang for two brandies and sodas. When they arrived he drank his off almost at a gulp, and in a few seconds was pretty well himself again.

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Hatteras,” he said. “I think we must have walked up the hill a little too fast for my strength. Now, I must be going back to the town. I find I have forgotten something.” Almost by instinct I guessed his errand. He was going to dispatch another telegram. Resolved to try the effect of one parting shot, I said:

“Perhaps you do not happen to be going near the telegraph office again? If you are, should I be taxing your kindness too much if I asked you to leave a message there for me? I find I have forgotten one.”

He bowed and simply said:

“With much pleasure.”

He pronounced it “pleasure,” and as he said it he licked his lips in his usual self-satisfied fashion. I wondered how he would conduct himself when he saw the message I was going to write.

Taking a form from a table near where I sat, I wrote the following:

John Nicholson, Langham Hotel, London.
The train is laid, but a new danger has arisen. Hatteras.

Blotting it carefully, I gave it into his hands, at the same time asking him to read it, lest my writing should not be decipherable and any question might be asked concerning it. As he read I watched his face intently. Never shall I forget the expression that swept over it. I had scored a complete victory. The shaft went home. But only for an instant. With wonderful alacrity he recovered himself and, shaking me feebly by the hand, bade me goodbye, promising to see that my message was properly delivered.

When he had gone I laid myself back in my chair for a good think. The situation was a peculiar one in every way. If he were up to some devilry I had probably warned him. If not, why had he betrayed himself so openly?

Half an hour later an answer to my first telegram arrived, and, such is the working of Fate, it necessitated my immediate return to London. I had been thinking of going for some days past, but had put it off. Now it was decided for me.

As I did not know whether I should return to Bournemouth again, I determined to call upon the Marquis to bid him goodbye. Accordingly, donning my hat, I set off for the house.

Now if Burke may be believed, the Duke of Glenbarth possesses houses in half the counties of the kingdom; but I am told his seaside residence takes precedence of them all in his affections. Standing well out on the cliffs, it commands a lovely view of the bay⁠—looks toward the Purbeck Hills on the right, and the Isle of Wight and Hengistbury Head on the left. The house itself, as far as I