A Gamble with Life Part 24

Muller adjusted his _pince-nez_ and watched his companion while he read.

Rufus summoned to his aid all the resolution he possessed and preserved a perfectly impa.s.sive face.

"Well?" Muller questioned, when Rufus had got to the bottom of the slip.

"It's a little disconcerting," was the answer. "But I shall not fling up the sponge yet."

"But he has got hold of your idea!"

"Not exactly."

"At any rate he has got uncomfortably near to it."

"He has got nearer than I like, I admit. But the greater part of what he claims is mere bluff."

"But his objective and yours are precisely the same?"

"No, not precisely. I go much farther than he does, as Stephenson went farther than Watt."

"That is in your application of the principle. But is not the principle the same?"

"It is similar, though not identical. I have gone all over the ground he is travelling now."

"And in another month he may be all over your ground."

"There is danger, of course, but I think still I shall get in first."

"I hope you may. But I confess when I tumbled across that article this morning it made me feel mightily uncomfortable."

"It is a little upsetting, no doubt."

"You see, he must have secured himself pretty well, or he would not have permitted so much of the scheme to get into print. Don't you see it largely discounts anyone else who comes after, though he may have something better."

"Yes, I admit the force of all you say," Rufus answered slowly. "But my game is not up yet."

"I hope not, indeed. I should regard it as nothing short of a calamity were you to fail."

"If the worst comes to the worst it will have to be faced, that is all.

In any case, you will not suffer loss."

"There you are mistaken. You are my friend. And friends are not so plentiful that one can contemplate the disappearance of even one of them with equanimity."

"That may be true. But mercifully, the dead are soon forgotten. You will soon get used to my absence."

"I sincerely hope the occasion will not arise," Muller said, speaking slowly and gravely. "Indeed, as I said before, I should regard your failure as a calamity. Still, there is no getting over the fact that what you regarded as impossible less than six months ago has come very definitely within the realm of possibility."

"Yes," Rufus said, with some hesitation. "I am bound to admit that the chance of failure seems less remote than it did."

"I am sorry to have to discuss this matter with you again," Muller went on, after a pause. "I can a.s.sure you it is almost as painful to me as it must be to you. Still business is business, and I have to think of my own position. If I were a rich man, I would not mention the matter--upon my soul, I wouldn't."

"I thought you had no soul," Rufus said, with a pathetic smile.

"Oh, don't joke over mere figures of speech," Muller said, staring into the fire. "I tell you I feel terribly upset."

"But my cause is not lost yet," Rufus said with forced cheerfulness.

"No, it may not be. But, on the other hand, it may be. If your compet.i.tor has gone so far, he may during the next week or month go all the rest of the distance."

"I must take my chance of that."

"The point with me is--supposing the worst comes to the worst, have you anything on which you can raise a loan? I hate the thought of your slipping out of life in the flower of your youth."

"Look here, Muller," Rufus said, summoning to his aid all his strength and resolution. "We discussed this matter at the beginning. I counted the cost and took the risk. If the worst comes to the worst I am not going to show the white feather."

"I do not doubt your courage for a moment," Muller said. "But I want to point out that it will take a little time to realise your estate. I presume you have made your will."

Rufus went to a drawer and took out a large envelope which he pa.s.sed on to his companion.

Muller opened the envelope and drew out the paper slowly. Then he adjusted his _pince-nez_, and began to read. "Yes," he said, after a long pause, "this is quite in order--quite."

"And in case I am driven to take my departure," Rufus said, in a hard, even voice, "I will give you sufficient time to wind up my small estate before the end of next year."

"You think there is no other way of meeting the case?" Muller questioned.

"In case my scheme fails there is no other way," Rufus answered. "Now let us not discuss the matter again. I understand your anxiety. I should be a bit anxious if I were in your place. But you have my word of honour. Let that be enough."

"It is enough, my boy--it is enough!" Muller said, gus.h.i.+ngly.

"Meanwhile we need not count upon failure until forced to do so. I shall not fail if effort and determination can avert it."

When Muller had gone, Rufus sat for a long time staring into the dying fire. Then he picked up the newspaper cutting, and read through the article very carefully a second time.

"No, he has not got my idea quite," he muttered, "but he has come uncomfortably near to it."

Then he drew a long breath and shut his teeth tightly. Life had grown a more precious thing of late, and hope had taken new shapes and forms.

Moreover, the possibility of a conscious existence beyond the shadow of death had been looming larger and larger for months past, and with that possibility other possibilities had come into view. What if the consequences of conduct followed men into the unseen? What if sin should separate a soul from the soul it loved? What if this life were a trust for which we should be held responsible? What if suicide should be as heinous a crime as murder? What if dying by one's own hand should stain the soul with deeper dishonour than any broken vow or unfulfilled promise? He drew away his eyes from the fire and shuddered slightly as these thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind. In whatever direction he turned his thoughts he was faced with possibilities that, to say the least, were not a little disconcerting.

"If I had only known six months ago what I know now," he reflected, "I should not have put my head into this noose with so light a heart. I should have been content to have gone on with my work as time-keeper at the mine. But I was impatient for success, and quite certain that death was the end of all things."

Then across the frosty air the parish clock fixed high in the church tower struck the hour of eleven.

Rufus counted the strokes as they vibrated solemnly through the night.

"Do the dead ever hear, I wonder," he said to himself, and he shuddered again.

Then his thoughts turned to the book that he had been reading earlier in the evening and he began to repeat almost unconsciously one of the stanzas that Madeline had marked:

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark, And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark.

And though from out the bounds of time and s.p.a.ce The floods may bear me far, I hope----