The Red Rat's Daughter Part 18

"By Jove! so would you," said Browne, "if you'd got on your mind what I have on mine. It seems to me I've got to find some jolly good friend who'll see me through as delicate a bit of business as ever I heard of in my life. That's why I telephoned to you."

"Very complimentary of you, I'm sure," said Jimmy. "But I think you know you can rely on me. Come, out with it! What is the matter? Is it a breach of promise case, or divorce, or what is it?"

"Look here, old man, before we go any farther," said Browne, with great impressiveness, "I want to ask you not to joke on it. It may seem humorous to other people, but I a.s.sure you it's life and death to me."

There was a little silence that might have lasted a minute; then Jimmy took his friend's arm. "I'm sorry," said he; "only give me a decent chance and I'm sure to make a fool of myself. I had no idea it was such a serious matter with you. Now then, what is it? Tell me everything from beginning to end."

"I will," said Browne. "But I ought to tell you first that I am not supposed to say anything about it. The secret, while it is mine in a sense, concerns another person more vitally. If I were the only one in it I shouldn't care a bit; but I have to think of others before myself.

You may remember that one night--it seems as if it were years ago, though in reality it is only a few weeks--you and I were walking down Regent Street together. You told me you had seen a picture in a shop window that you wanted to show me."

"I remember the incident perfectly," said Jimmy, but this time without a smile. "It was a very foggy night, and you first kept me waiting half an hour outside the shop, and then acted like a lunatic afterwards."

"Well," said Browne, without replying to his friend's comments upon his behaviour on that occasion, "you may remember that the night following you dined with me at Lallemand's, and met two ladies."

"Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch," said Jimmy. "I remember. What next?"

Browne paused and looked a trifle sheepish before he replied, "Well, look here, old man; that girl, Miss Petrovitch, is going to be my wife." He looked nervously at Jimmy as if he expected an explosion.

"I could have told you that long ago," said Jimmy, with imperturbable gravity. "And, by Jove! I'll go further and say that I don't think you could do better. As far as I could tell, she seemed an awfully nice girl, and I should think she would make you just the sort of wife you want."

"Thank you," said Browne, more pleased with Jimmy than he had ever been before.

"But that only brings me to the beginning of what I have to say," he continued. "Now I want you, before we go any further, to give me your word as a friend that, whatever I may say to you, you will not reveal to any one else. You cannot think how important it is, both to her and to me."

"I will give you that promise willingly," said Jimmy. "You can tell me whatever you like, without any fear that I shall divulge it."

"Your promise is all I want," said Browne. Then, speaking very slowly, and as earnestly as he knew how, he continued: "The truth of the matter is that that girl is by birth a Russian. Her father had the misfortune to get into trouble over an attempt upon the Czar's life."

"A Nihilist, I suppose?" said Jimmy.

Browne nodded. "Well, the attempt was discovered, and Katherine's father was arrested and sent to Siberia, condemned to imprisonment for life. He was there for many years, but later on he was drafted to the island of Saghalien, on the eastern coast of Siberia, where he now is."

Jimmy nodded. "After that?"

"Well, on the morning of the second day after that dinner at Lallemand's, Miss Petrovitch and Madame Bernstein left for Paris, on some important business, which I now believe to have been connected with the man who was exiled. I followed her, met her, and eventually proposed to her. Like the trump she is, she did her best to make me see that for me to love her was out of the question. Thinking only of me, she tried to put me off by telling me how impossible it all was.

But instead of doing what she hoped, it only served to show me what a n.o.ble nature the girl possessed."

"She is not rich, I suppose?" asked Jimmy.

"She has not a halfpenny more than three hundred a year a.s.sured to her," the other replied; "and she shares that with Madame Bernstein."

"And yet she was willing to give up a hundred and twenty thousand a year, and the position she would have in English society as your wife?"

"She was," said Browne.

"Then all I can say, is," said Jimmy, with considerable conviction, "she must be one in a million. But I interrupted you; I'm sorry. Go on."

"Well," continued Browne, "to make a long story short, she finished by telling me the sad story of her life. Of course she said that she could not possibly marry me, being the daughter of a convict. Then she went on to add that news had lately come to her--how I cannot say--that her father is dying. It seems that he has been in failing health for some years; and at last the terrible climate, the roughness of the living, and the knowledge that he was hopelessly cut off for the rest of his existence from all he held dear in the world, has resulted in a complete collapse. To hope to obtain a pardon from the Russian Government would be worse than futile. All that remains is to get him away."

"But, surely, my dear old Browne," said Jimmy, who had listened aghast, "it cannot be possible that you dream of a.s.sisting in the escape of a Russian convict from Saghalien?"

"That is exactly what I _do_ think," replied Browne, with unusual earnestness. "Come what may, if it costs me all I am worth in the world, I am going to get the man out of that h.e.l.l on earth. Try to think, my dear fellow, how you would feel if you were in that girl's place. Her father, the man whom she has been brought up to believe has been sacrificed for his country's good, is dying. She declares it is her duty to be with him. How can I let her do that?"

"I admit it is impossible."

"Well, what remains? Either she must go to him, or he must come to her."

"In plain words, she wants you to risk your good name, all you have in the world, your happiness, your very life indeed, in order to get a fanatic out of the trouble he has brought upon himself."

"You can put it how you like," said Browne; "but that is practically what it means. But remember she is the woman who is to be my wife. If I lose her, what would life be worth to me?"

This was the crucial part of the interview. For the first time it struck Browne that he was figuring before his friend in rather a selfish light.

"I wanted to see you," he began, "in order to find out whether you would care to accompany me to the Farther East. Remember, I don't want you to pledge anything. All that I ask of you is to say straight out whether you would care to come or not. I shall sail in the yacht on Monday next for j.a.pan. We shall touch at Hong-kong _en route_, where I am to have an interview with a man who, I believe, has brought off one or two of these little affairs before. He will tell me what I am to do, and may possibly do it for me. After that we proceed to j.a.pan, where we are to pick up Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch. From that moment we shall act as circ.u.mstances dictate."

"And now I want you to tell me one thing," said Jimmy; "what is your reason for wanting me to accompany you?"

"I will tell you," said Browne. "I want you to come with me, because I am anxious to have one man on board, a friend, in whom I can place implicit confidence. Of course Mason will be there; but, as he will have charge of the boat, he would be comparatively useless to me. To tell the truth, Jimmy, it will make me easier to know that there is some one else on board the boat, who will take care of Miss Petrovitch, in the event of anything happening to me."

"And how long do you propose to be away from England?" his friend inquired.

"Well, that is a very difficult question to answer," said Browne. "We may be away three months, possibly we may be six. But you may rest a.s.sured of one thing; we shall not be absent longer from England than is absolutely necessary."

"And when do you want an answer from me," said Jimmy.

"As soon as you can let me have one," Browne replied. "Surely it should not take you long to make up your mind?"

"You don't know my family," he answered. "They say I can never make up my mind at all. Will it do if I let you know by seven o'clock to-night? I could arrange it by then."

"That would suit me admirably," said Browne. "You don't think any the worse of me, old chap, for asking so much of you, do you?"

"Angry with you?" answered the other. "Why should I be? You're offering me a jolly good holiday, in excellent company; and what's more, you are adding a spice of danger too, which will make it doubly enjoyable. The only question is whether I can get away."

"At any rate, I'll give you until to-night to make up your mind. I shall expect to hear from you before seven o'clock."

"You shall hear from me without fail," said Jimmy; "and, if by any chance I can't manage it, you will understand--won't you?--that it is not for any want of feeling for yourself."

"I know that, of course," said Browne; and thereupon the two young men shook hands.

A few moments later Browne bade him good-bye, and, calling a hansom, drove back to his own house. As soon as he had lunched he wrote to Katherine to tell her how things were proceeding. The afternoon was spent in the purchase of various articles which he intended to take with him. For this reason it was not until after six o'clock that he returned to his own house. When he did, the butler brought him a note upon a salver. He opened it, and found, as he expected, that it was from Jimmy.

"Dear old man," it ran, "I am coming with you, happen what may.--Always your friend, J. FOOTE."

"That is another step upon the ladder," said Browne.