A Desperate Voyage Part 24

Yes, it was indeed Allen, though pale and thin, as if he had but just recovered from a sudden illness, that Carew saw before him. And now this strange being, who had fallen into such depths of crime, and who yet loathed crime so intensely, behaved in the manner that might have been expected from him. The better man declared himself at last. On beholding this accuser, who had risen thus suddenly from the dead, he displayed no guilty terror. On the contrary, an expression of great relief, of joy, almost of triumph, lit up his face, and the lines of care faded away from it.

They all watched him with wonder.

Then he spoke quietly, in tones that carried conviction. No one could doubt but that the words were from his heart.

"Yes, I am Henry Carew. I am guilty of all that I am accused of, and of more, and worse things. But I am glad, indeed glad--and little gladness has been my lot of late--to see you, Arthur Allen, standing there alive before me. There is one less crime on my soul. Yes, I am now happy; happier than I deserve to be. I am quite ready to pay the penalty of my sins."

There was a n.o.bility in his countenance as he stood up erect, with none of the shrinking criminal about him. He felt as if he were out of the world already; he was free from petty fears now.

Then the consul, impressed by the man's manner, said, in an almost respectful tone, "It is better that you should go on board the English steamer at once. I have arranged everything."

The detective whispered something into the consul's ear, and then slipped out of the room quietly.

Carew looked through the window at the fair tropical world without. He could see the busy quay, with its green trees waving in the fresh trade wind, and the breakers das.h.i.+ng upon the coral reef. Beyond that, between the blue sea and the blue sky, there loomed a dark ma.s.s. Carew knew that this was the vessel which was to be his prison, lying at anchor in the outer roads. He s.h.i.+vered; then turning to the consul said--

"Grant me one last favour before I go: let me have paper and pen. I wish to write a letter."

The consul hesitated.

"Give it to him," whispered Allen, who had been eyeing Carew intently; and Carew rewarded him with a grateful look.

The writing materials were put on the table. He sat before them with his back to the spectators, and as he held the pen in his right hand, he placed his left elbow upon the table, stooping over it, his face buried in the open palm as if he were meditating deeply what he should write.

And so he remained for quite a minute without writing a word. Once a slight tremor pa.s.sed through his frame. After that he sat quite motionless.

The detective again entered the room, followed by two officers of police.

"Come, sir," he said, "we must go now," and he put his hand lightly on Carew's shoulder.

As the hand touched him, Carew's elbow slipped, his head dropped heavily upon the table, face downwards, and from his left hand, which had been over his mouth, there fell on the table, and rolled slowly across it, a small empty bottle.

He was quite dead! He had found a use at last for the poisonous drug which the Rotterdam chemist had grudgingly sold him.

"The prisoner has slipped away from us," said the detective; "but, after all, I am not sorry for it in a way, for there was good in the man."

And so ended the misspent life of Henry Carew--a man by nature probably no worse than many of the most respectable-seeming among us. But he was morally timid; and such a one, however benevolent be his disposition, however opposed to vice be his inclinations, is the slave of circ.u.mstances, and is quite as likely to develop into a villain as a saint. A weak will is the devil's easiest prey.

Arthur Allen's narrative will be given in his own words:--

"The last thing I remember, after Jim and myself were capsized, is that I was holding on to the dinghy, and that I lashed myself to her with the painter. Poor Jim must have gone down at once. I don't remember seeing him after the boat turned over. The seas must have driven the sense out of me. I came to, days afterwards, in the cabin of a German barque. She had picked me up--still lashed to the dinghy--in an insensible condition. The barque was bound from Hamburg to Rio. My long exposure in the water brought on a serious and tedious illness. I was more dead than alive when I landed at Rio, and was at once taken to the hospital. There the English Consul called to see me, and behaved with great kindness.

When I told him my story, and who I was, he said, 'A man of your name came here with a yacht a short time back--an eccentric man, for he only stopped two days here and was off again; so I did not see him.' I asked what the name of the yacht was. 'The _Petrel_,' he replied. Then, of course, the whole truth dawned upon me, and I satisfied the consul that someone had stolen my yacht and had a.s.sumed my name. The consul then advanced to me the money I required. I was still lying in the hospital when the news came to Rio that the _Petrel_ had been lost at sea, and that her crew had found a derelict, and sailed her into Pernambuco. In spite of the doctor's warnings, I left the hospital, and hurried here at once. I was awaiting an extradition warrant from England, when Mr.

Norton antic.i.p.ated my own action, and arrived with a warrant that had been obtained on account of former felonies committed by Carew."

The true story of the French barque and her crew was never known.

Baptiste and the two Spaniards took alarm and disappeared from Pernambuco. Not that they were in danger, for they were not implicated in the felonies which had been brought home to Carew. But the guilty wretches knew not what would be discovered next, they so completely distrusted each other, each knowing that he himself would readily betray his comrades, either for a price or to secure his own safety.

What ultimately happened to these three villains I do not know. Baptiste being a criminal of the educated, cunning, and cowardly-cautious order, possibly enriched himself by iniquity for many years more, and, escaping his deserts in this world, may yet have died in his old age, a respected citizen in his native land.

The other two more vulgar scoundrels were no doubt hanged, or stabbed in a brawl, or despatched in some such summary fas.h.i.+on sooner or later--a penalty for their crimes which seems light indeed to men of this brutal stamp, who consider a violent death as the most desirable and indeed only legitimate termination to existence.

THE END

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A GIRL OF GRIT

CHAPTER I

MY AMERICAN MILLIONS

It was the middle of the night (as I thought) when Savory--my man, my landlord, valet, and general factotum--came in and woke me. He gave me a letter, saying simply, "The gentleman's a-waiting, sir," and I read it twice, without understanding it in the very least.

Could it be a hoax? To satisfy myself, I sat up in bed, rubbed my astonished and still half-sleepy eyes, and read it again. It ran as follows:--

"101, LINCOLN'S INN, _July 11, 189-_.

"GRAY & QUINLAN, Solicitors.

"DEAR SIR,--It is our pleasing duty to inform you, at the request of our New York agents, Messrs. Smiddy & Dann, of 57, Chambers Street, New York City, that they have now definitely and conclusively established your claim as the sole surviving relative and general heir-at-law of their late esteemed client, Mr. Aretas M'Faught, of Church Place and Fifth Avenue, New York.

"As the amount of your inheritance is very considerable, and is estimated approximately at between fourteen and fifteen millions of dollars, say three millions of sterling money, we have thought it right to apprise you of your good fortune without delay. Our Mr.

Richard Quinlan will hand you this letter in person, and will be pleased to take your instructions.--We are, sir, your obedient servants,

"GRAY & QUINLAN."

"CAPTAIN WILLIAM ARETAS WOOD, D.S.O., 21, Clarges Street, Piccadilly."

"Here, Savory! who brought this? Do you say he is waiting? I'll see him in half a minute;" and, sluicing my head in cold water, I put on a favourite old dressing-gown, and pa.s.sed into the next room, followed by Roy, my precious golden collie, who began at once to sniff suspiciously at my visitor's legs.

I found there a prim little old-young gentleman, who scanned me curiously through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. Although, no doubt, greatly surprised,--for he did not quite expect to see an arch-millionaire in an old ulster with a ragged collar of catskin, with damp, unkempt locks, and unshorn chin at that time of day,--he addressed me with much formality and respect.

"I must apologise for this intrusion, Captain Wood--you _are_ Captain Wood?"

"Undoubtedly."