The Luck of the Irish/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
THAT night William Grogan went down into hell and remained there for ten days, every hour of which was a day in itself.
The captain was dreadfully sorry, but he could not turn back. Once the Ajax set her forefoot toward the open sea, she had to go on. She was like fate: nothing could swerve her from her course save an act of God. Who first laid down this immutable sea-law that a ship must never turn back? No one seems to know. If a fire breaks out in the hold, they fight it ; they send out calls for help; but they do not turn back, save in rare instances; they keep plowing on.
"God knows I'm sorry, lad; but we dropped our pilot two hours back, and I could not turn around if I wanted to. If what you say is true, there's only one thing to do. Send a wireless to the American consul-general, state all the facts, and have patience."
"Patience? My God! and she left all her money with me!"
"You write the wireless and I'll sign it," said the captain, gently. This young chap's misery went to his heart. "The consul-general will watch out for her. She'll report there the moment she learns she's missed the boat."
"Can't I make you understand? She's been abducted! Haven't I told you the whole story?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't turn back. Write your wireless. Tell the consul-general to notify the police. If your fears have any real grounds, the police dragnet will bring out the facts. Keep your head. Lots of people miss boats, and nothing serious happens. Besides, I've traveled too many seas not to know a gentleman when I see him. You've misjudged this man Camden."
"Hell! didn't he fool me for weeks? Can't you speak the first ship going west and let me tranship?" William begged.
"I could do that; but we'll meet no steamer going west. We'll make Hong-Kong on Wednesday morning, though, and you can pick up the German-Lloyder which is scheduled to leave that same night. A matter of ten days, and you'll be in Singapore yourself."
"Ten days! She may be dead or … or worse! My God, or worse! They'll be off with her in that yacht!"
"Mention it in the wireless. Come, I'll go with you. I'll do everything I humanly can for you, except turn back."
"Poor, love-lorn devil!" thought the captain. The girl was all right. Men weren't such fools as to pursue in this fashion. Still, it was natural that, being deeply in love, William should imagine all these horrible calamities. The girl was probably at this moment comfortably arranging her affairs at Raffles, or was at the cable office, awaiting the message she knew would come.
The long wireless was despatched, and around nine o'clock came the reply. It stated briefly that the consul-general had seen nothing of Miss Warren (for William had given Ruth's real name), that there was no yacht named Elsa in the harbor, that no one by the name of Colburton or Camden was registered at any of the hotels, that the police machinery had been set in motion, and that as soon as the consul-general heard of Miss Warren's whereabouts a wire would be sent.
"Can't you see now?" cried William. "She hasn't turned up; they can't find her. I tell you she's been abducted!"
The wireless had dissipated a good deal of the captain's confidence. "But white men!"
"Haven't I been hammering at you that only their skins are white? But, by Heaven! they'll be whiter when I meet up with them, damn them!"
"Not so loud, not so loud!" warned the captain. "Buck up! There's only one thing you can do, Mr. Grogan, and that's to wait. Make up your mind to that. And don't let the ship see how you take it."
"A lot I care what they think!" said William.
So he settled down to wait, and joined that body of miserables who are individually designated Tantalus and Prometheus, only it was time the gods dangled before his eyes, while the eagle tore at his heart.
All night William wandered up and down the decks. But for the ability to ease the pressure by sighs, his heart must have cracked. Whether his eyes were open or closed, he could not shut out the infernal picture. No matter where he looked into the night, he saw her terrified face, he heard her cries, saw her outstretched hands. He saw the man laugh as she struggled in his arms, her hair down, her dress torn at the throat. … She was calling, and he could not go to her!
If only he had warned her about Camden! He had let her walk straight into the trap. It was all his fault. He should have told her; and all the time he had believed he was saving her needless worry! He had lived straight, he had lived clean, he had acted honorably all his life; and yet God could shoot this bolt into his heart, mercilessly! He could not understand it. It wasn't a square deal.
Round and round the deck-houses he walked, mile after mile. He was unconscious of time or place. Every half-hour he visited the wireless man; but there was always the same answer to his inquiries—nothing. By and by he began to see her as day by day he had seen her, his school-teacher! She was reading or sewing or chatting, and once she was lying in his arms, drenched, her hair blowing into his face, her heart beating against his. And there she was, back yonder, calling, calling; and he couldn't go to her!
Each step he took said, "Hurry, hurry!" Would dawn never come? Hurry, hurry! Never had the Ajax moved so slowly through the water. When the gray east became suddenly slashed with crimson and gold, when the Oriental sun burst over the horizon, it did not mean to him that another day was come; it signified that he was a little nearer, just a little nearer.
He did not sleep ten hours during the voyage around to Hong-Kong. The doctor secretly drugged him, fearful that he might develop brain fever. The drug served to deaden his mind for a little while, but the doctor could not get him off his feet. He walked without sense of locomotion, mechanically, and, like a sleep-walker, continually bumped into passing objects. When he wasn't walking he was bending over the cutwater. He never saw the flying-fish, the porpoise, or the brilliant phosphorescence at night. He saw only so much water being left behind.
Once a day a wireless was received. It consisted invariably of two words—"No information."
Of course the gist of the story became ship's talk; but they were all very kind, and they encouraged him whenever they had a chance. But the kindest thing they did was to leave him alone. The children followed him about dumbly; he no longer knew how to play with them.
If a woman mysteriously disappears, rarely is she given the benefit of a doubt. The majority of those who knew her are first to dip into the black paint. It is not a question of charity or meanness—simply that it is human nature to judge and condemn whenever the defendant is absent from court. Ruth had been carrying on a secret intrigue with Camden and had run away with him. It was all very simple; but nobody must tell that poor distracted Irishman; the only kindness they could offer him was to let him find out the truth for himself.
No Apache Indian, in his most diabolical frenzy, ever conceived tortures equal to those William planned to mete out to Colburton and Camden. He drove nails into their hands and feet; crucified them; he put out their eyes and let them go; he tied them together and threw fangless cobras into the room and watched them go mad from terror; he buried them in the sand and put food and water beside them and stayed by until they died; he drove them naked into one of those terrible ant-hills; or he broke their legs and arms with his bare hands and disfigured them.
Perhaps it was all very horrible and primitive, but its true significance might bear investigation. No man is worthy the name of manhood who would not plan such reprisals under such conditions. There are certain evils for which men do not go into court for their remedies. Nature demands that they shall take the law into their own hands and be accountable to God alone.
The thought of burying his two hands into the flesh of those men did much toward keeping William's mental balance from toppling. The doctor followed him about a good deal, but never attempted to calm or soothe him when he burst forth into these frenzied flights. The doctor was wise, and he had a fairly good idea of the hell William was passing through. The night before arriving at Hong-Kong he spoke decidedly to the captain, who had gone over to the majority with his opinion.
"On my soul, I believe Grogan has the right of it. I can spot a good woman when I see one."
"We all believe we're able to do that," said the captain, dryly.
"Well, you and I have jogged up and down these seas long enough to know that in the East men do things they would not dream of doing over in the West. There's something in the damned lazy, good-for-nothing air that puts a sag in the moral fiber. Camden, I know, was a periodical champagne drunkard. I helped jack him up one morning. You know what booze does over here. Well, I hope to God the Irishman finds him; and, more than that, I'd give a year's pay to be sitting in a front seat."
The captain smoked on, offering no comment.
"The psychology of love is the most interesting thing I know of. The lad has never breathed a word to the girl," continued the doctor. "Felt that he wasn't good enough for her. Oh, he's told me everything by degrees. Used to watch her go past his cellar window, and never saw her face until she came aboard. And he's going through this hell not because he has any hope of winning her—which isn't likely if you've taken the trouble to watch her as I have—but because he's got to go through it. The girl's a genius at the piano." The captain nodded. "Now, people who have real genius don't give a hang what the neighbors say. If there had been anything between her and Camden, she'd have made no bones about it. She'd have taken her luggage, told Grogan frankly, and walked off the ship. You and the others can believe what you like; I'm for Grogan's way of thinking. There's been a low deal somewhere. And I've a feeling that the Irishman is going to meet up with the rogues."
William had a hundred and fifty dollars when he landed in Hong-Kong. The Ajax's purser had bought in the remainder of William's ticket. It was not obligatory; it was merely an act of kindness. There wasn't a man or woman on board—the meddling missioner having dropped out at Calcutta—who wasn't in sympathy with this deep-freckled, blue-eyed, red-headed Irishman, and who was not sorry to see him depart.
He had his luggage and Ruth's transhipped to the German boat, which sailed for Singapore after sundown. He choked as he saw the cheerful lights of the Ajax sink below the horizon. It was possible that he would never again set eyes upon that good old ship, and only by the merest chance would any of the tourists cross his path again. He was all alone. And Ruth might be dead … or worse!
He was traveling second-class, and at nine he went down to his stuffy cabin astern. He sat on the edge of his bunk and fingered the Greek hand-bag he had bought for Ruth in Athens. Next he laid out the balance of his money; it was not much.
Suddenly he sprang to his feet, drew a hand across his forehead, and sat down again, very sick and very limp. He had forgotten to go for his letter of credit! And no cable would bring it to him, since he had given orders to surrender it only to himself in person. He guessed God had really forsaken him. To face he knew not what labors with less than seventy dollars, when every move would require money, and still more money! He had had nearly a whole day, and like a fool he had wandered up and down the water-front to pass the time.
He did not brood overlong. The thing was done, and it was useless to rail over his forgetfuless. He was weak and stale. The mental worry had visibly worn him down in the flesh. Being without money, he would have to have new blood. So he set to work methodically, eating a good deal of meat and exercising faithfully in the gymnasium.
He got into Singapore in the morning, and went at once to the consulate. Nothing had been heard of Miss Warren. The yacht Elsa had not put in an appearance. (No one had thought to look for the yacht over back of the island, near Rharu, on the mainland. From that point to Singapore was a matter of twenty-odd minutes by rail.) The consul-general was a little skeptical regarding William's tale, but he offered all the aid he had in his power. He suggested that he personally write Hong-Kong the circumstances, and, if that did not bring the letter of credit, to cable Leipzig, the home office of the bankers. Until that question was settled definitely he would act as banker to Mr. Grogan up to the sum of two hundred dollars.
Fortified in this manner, William sallied forth blindly. He went to all the hotels and questioned everybody, even the Chinese boys, but without success. The spinsters had seen Camden, so the yacht must be in hiding somewhere. (Neither he nor the police thought to extend their inquiries to the officers' club.) William searched the bars and billiard-rooms, still unsuccessfully. But the gods were pulling him out of Tartarus and the eagle was about to soar aloft.
At half past nine that first night he went into the open cafe of Raffles Hotel and saw Camden, seated before a bottle of wine. William stood perfectly still. He wanted all vertigo out of his head before he acted. Presently he saw Camden take a soiled chamois bag from an inside pocket, open the neck and peer into it. William recognized that chamois bag. Camden set the bag on the table and tilted the champagne-bottle.
William walked over, swept the chamois bag into his own pocket, and sat down.
The bottle slipped from Camden's hand and smashed upon the stone flooring. The wine seethed and ran about his feet.
"Camden, there's murder in me to-night. I don't want to kill you. Write down where she is and write it straight, for if you don't I'll kill you. There won't be any jiu-jitsu to-night. Write it down." William pushed a slip of paper and a pencil across the table. "Give it to me straight. I'm not afraid of anything or anybody to-night."
Camden was actually hypnotized. Slowly he wrote across the face of the slip of paper. Grogan!
As William reached for the address, Camden awoke to the realization that he had been hypnotized. He picked up his glass, ostensibly to drink; instead, with a deft turn of the wrist he dashed the wine toward William's eyes, hoping to retrieve the chamois bag and escape.
But William was abnormally alert. He anticipated the movement, ducked in time, and before Camden's arm had reached the full stretch of the treacherous fling William struck. The blow hit Camden squarely in the face, and he crumpled up and lay quietly in the puddle of wine.
William caught up the address. He gazed about coolly. At one end of the veranda were some ladies and gentlemen chatting over late coffee. None of them moved; they were obeying the Oriental axiom—keep out of the other man's muddle if you can. William stirred Camden with his foot and the man rolled over on his back.
"I guess you won't be pretty to look at for a long time to come," was William's sole comment.
And now for the jackal's master! He walked hurriedly toward the street. He did not bother to engage a rickshaw. He knew the way, even if a bit hazily. Malay Street, where the Scarlet Woman plied her ancient business! Malay Street! God! and they had locked her up in one of those hell-holes—white men! The street with the big numbers painted on Chinese lanterns!—Malay Street! And only a short time before they had all driven through it on a lark!
He broke into a run, zigzagging in and out of the crowds, up this street and down that, through the quaint Chinese quarters, until he finally came out into the sinister thoroughfare.
It required but a moment or two to locate the house. If Camden had lied he would go back and kill him. He rushed into the hallway. The front doors are rarely locked in this street. A gross-bodied woman opposed him with a snarl, demanding what he meant by such conduct. He caught her by the shoulders and swung her around brutally.
"Listen to me! What room is she in, the young woman they forced in here about ten days ago? No lies, or I'll break your neck. Give me the room!" He shook her violently. Her head wabbled like a manikin's.
"Twelve!" The word shot out of her mouth in a kind of gurgle.
William flung her against the wall and sprang up the stairs. The air was vile with the smell of cheap whisky and cigarettes. From the parlor came the pan-like tinkle of a mechanical piano. He reached the upper floor and stooped before the first door. It was number ten. Two doors farther on he stooped again and cautiously tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it and stepped into the room noiselessly.
He saw a strange tableau. Rutn was standing behind the bed, her hair down as he had seen those dreadful nights on board the Ajax. One of her sleeves was gone, and there were drab bruises on the golden skin. Her lips were bleeding slightly. Not far from the bed stood Colburton. He had a smile on his face; it had frozen there. Down both cheeks were livid welts, the marks of fingernails. The girl had evidently given a good account of herself.
"Has … has he hurt you, sister?" asked William, his tongue hot and dry against his palate.
"Not very much. But I think God has sent you … along in time."
William turned upon the man with the frozen smile.