The Red Derelict Part 48

"I say, Jack, d'you ever hear anything of the missis now?" went on Haldane in the cordial-old-comrade tone. "I must have seen her since you did, for I was pa.s.sing through Kimberley only half-a-dozen years back, and she was throwing out fire and slaughter against you as hard as ever."

Wagram, taking this in with all his ears, felt that an immense weight had lifted. Haldane had known this man's former wife, had seen her quite lately. She was probably alive still.

"Oh, she's got nothing to complain of," returned the adventurer testily.

"I've never kept her short."

"Of course not. But, you know, women are the devil for grievances, and she was always swearing that, as your lawful wife, her place was with you."

"I'd have murdered her long ago if it had been," was the weary reply.

"I shunted her to save her life and my neck. Women are the very devil, Haldane. I can't think why the blazes they were ever invented."

"Oh, you're not alone in that opinion, old man," laughed the other.

"But, look here, when is Foss going to get you up again?"

"Never. He swears I'll be a stiff before morning, and for once I believe him--though these quacks are the most infernal set of humbugs, as a rule. Now, Haldane, do me a favour, like a good chap, and skip downstairs for a little while. I want to hold a bit of an _indaba_ with Wagram alone."

"Right. So long, then."

There was a moment or two of silence after the door had closed on Haldane. Then Hunt said:

"Well, you heard all that?"

"Yes; it is true, then?"

"Every word of it. I'm glad you heard, because it'll save me the trouble of going over it all again."

"Then you obtained thirty thousand pounds out of us under false pretences?"

"That's one way of putting it, but I suppose it's the correct one. The thing was a gamble; but, hang it, I didn't think the money side would have bothered you over-much, Wagram. Why, as I said before, it's only like a half-crown to you. Haldane and I have brought off bigger things than that in the old Kimberley days."

Wagram stiffened.

"Do you mean to tell me, then, that Haldane was a.s.sociated with you in blackmailing? Because, if so, you had better tell it in his presence."

"No--no--no. Of course, I don't mean anything of the sort. Haldane is as straight and square a chap as ever walked. This affair was off my own. I couldn't resist it when I stumbled against Butcher Ned, and he put me up to who he was, and used to talk about his people too. Lord!

how he used to hate you--you, especially. I'd have been sorry for you if he'd ever got the chance of squinting at you for a moment from behind the sighting of a rifle or pistol. By the way, you never found him, did you?"

"No. But before we talk further will you make a statement as to this first marriage of yours? Haldane is a magistrate, and you might make it before him."

"I would willingly, but it isn't in the least necessary. The whole thing is entirely between ourselves so far, and you can easily verify the facts."

"I have verified them already. Do you know this?" And he held up the tin case.

"Oh, good Lord! Yes; I ought to. And you have opened it and gone into the contents? Well, then, Wagram, it isn't like you making an unnecessary fuss. You've got all you want in there already."

"Meaning the certificate. Here it is."

"That's right. You can burn the other things. And now, where on earth did you pick up that box?"

Wagram told him, also hurriedly, about his intervening adventures. The dying man's face underwent some curious changes--not the least curious being that which pa.s.sed over it on beholding the skeleton pistol.

"Rum thing that you should have stumbled on to that hooker not once but twice," he said. "But, good Lord! life for me has been made up of even rummier things than that, and now I've got to the end of it. Yes; I know that pistol. That bright half-brother of yours plugged a hole into me with it that'll last till my dying day--which, by the way, has come.

And I?--well, I planted a mark on him that'll last till his."

He checked himself suddenly, with a queer look.

"What was the story of the Red Derelict?" said Wagram, after a pause.

"Better leave that alone--except that it was a story of red murder and piracy such as you'd think only existed in books. And now, Wagram," he went on, "I've been yarning a lot more than any man in my state ought to yarn, and I'm feeling tired. You'd never guess what brought me down here this time. It wasn't to fleece you again--no, no. Fact is, I heard you were back, and I was curious to see you again and hear how you had got on. And I have. You shook hands with me once; I'd be glad if you'd do it again."

But Wagram's hand did not come forward, nor did he move.

"That was when I thought your story a true one," he said. "On your own showing you have heaped dishonour upon my family, and I can testify that you hastened my father's end. It is not in human nature to forgive that--at any rate, all at once."

"Later than 'all at once' will be too late, and by refusing your forgiveness to a dying man you will be denying your own creed."

He smiled as he watched the struggle going on within the other. Then Wagram slowly put forth his hand.

"For any injury to me I forgive you freely," he said. "For the rest I will try to. Good-bye."

"And you will succeed. Good-bye, Wagram. You will never regret this.

And ask Haldane to come up for a minute. I should like to bid him good-bye for the sake of old times."

Wagram bent his head and left the room, and at a word from him Haldane went up.

"This is a bad lookout, Jack," he began in his downright way. "No chance, I suppose, old chap?"

"No; none."

"You wouldn't like, I suppose--er--to see a parson--er--or anyone in that line?"

"No--no. I've no use for any parson. The last sight of a man like Wagram's a sight better than any parson. Has he told you about his adventures and the Red Derelict, eh?"

"Yes; and they sounded so jolly tall that, if anybody but Wagram had told me, I shouldn't have believed half of them."

"But they're true, all the same. I could take you to the very place.

And the white man who put him through all that lively time was no other than the chump he was looking for--his half-brother, Butcher Ned, as we used to call him--otherwise Everard Wagram."

"Good Lord!"

"Fact. But I wasn't going to tell him that, neither must you--d'you hear?--neither must you. Because if you do nothing'll prevent him from starting right away to put himself in the power of that infernal cut-throat again--under the pretence of trying to reclaim him. Reclaim Butcher Ned!"

There was a world of expression in the dying adventurer's weakening voice over these last words. He went on:

"Wagram would never have got out of that camp alive if he hadn't got out when he did. Don't you see, that's why Ned wanted to make him bring his boy out there. Then he'd have done for the pair, and come and set up here at Hilversea. He would, sure as eggs. So never let on about it."

"All right, I won't." And after a little more talk the old comrades bade each other good-bye.