CHAPTER XVII
A DISCOVERY
The March wind died down during the night, so that, when the dawn came, the whole neighbourhood was enveloped in one of the many exhalations which are constantly arising from the Marshes hard by. And, all through the day, there was still an absence of breeze, so that the fog and mist remained hanging like a pall over the locality, and shrouding everything from observation which was more than a few yards distant.
"You see," said Granger, as now he and Bufton made their way on foot early, and not waiting for the afternoon-on foot, because thus attention would be less likely to be attracted-"how fortune favours us. A better day it would be impossible to desire. Until the victims are near at hand, close to where the boat will be alongside the shore, all will be invisible. Yet not that it matters much, for down where that will lie none ever come after dark, and not many by daylight."
They neared now an inn which, in the days of George II., and those of his successor-at this time so close at hand-stood in the Marshes. It was a low-roofed, one-storied place; whitewashed so that, it was said, vessels coming up the river might discern it as a landmark; and it was used for more than one nefarious practice. For smuggling purposes it was not particularly well adapted, since, by the time vessels had got so far up as to be off it in the river, they had little enough in them which had escaped the revenue officers; yet, even then, they occasionally had something to dispose of. Sometimes it was a small barrel of spirits inside a larger one, the space between the two being filled up with fresh water, whereby, if tapped, the latter fluid alone ran out, leaving that which was more valuable intact in its case; sometimes, too, bottles of cheap common wine on which a small duty had been paid, but which, below the first and second layers, contained things far more valuable and subject to a higher duty, such as Mechlin, Brussels, Valenciennes, and Château Thierry lace stuffed into them; and also other matters. There was not, however, as has been said, much to be done in this way, the place being so far inland and twenty miles from the sea as the crow flies, and it was more in the traffic of human beings than aught else that the landlord of the "Red Rover" made his money. For many a man had been taken off drunk from his house (who had come into it perfectly sober, and meaning only to have "one half-pint" before continuing his journey) to some ship lying hard by; many a girl and woman now slaving their hearts out in the colonies had been inveigled into the inn by pretended lovers and sold in the same way. Thus the landlord had done a roaring trade, and still did one-or would have done if men had been forthcoming-by supplying sailors to His Majesty's fleet; while, to add as well to his income, the fellow was under the rose a fence of the worst description, and over and over again the proceeds of successful housebreaking in the surrounding counties-proceeds such as silver salvers, coffee-pots, and antique tankards-had, after lying in his vaults or being buried in his fumier at the back of the house for some time, gone to grace the sideboards of Carolina or Virginia planters.
"Here," said Granger, "you can rest at your ease until night comes. The house is of none too good repute, yet 'twill serve your purpose. Also, the landlord is away. I protest we are a strange people in this England of ours! Vagabond as the man is, he is now serving on a jury at Chelmsford, where it should be strange if he does not help to try many of his own kidney. Strange, too, 'twill be if, some day, he is not tried himself."
"What will you do?" asked Bufton, when they had been shown into a private parlour, a fire had been lighted, and something brought to warm them, he ignoring Granger's description of the landlord's present occupation. "You must help me, you know; I rely on you."
"Have I ever failed?" Granger asked, with a fierce glance-a glance of assumed fierceness. "And-as to what I have to do! Why, man, countless things. First, to warn the master of the schooner that he must be ready to drop down the river at any time after six this evening. Next, to get the letter delivered, and also to see that the women set out. That is, unless now, even at the last, you resolve to spare them."
"Spare them!" repeated Bufton contemptuously, fiercely. "Let us not talk folly."
"So be it, since you are resolute. Well! I must away. Now, keep close and snug; but quit not this room. No questions will be asked: though, should any arise, you are a gentleman, a planter, taking passage to Delaware. That will suffice."
"You think of everything! Granger, at my mother's death you shall be paid in full-"
"No matter for that now. Evilly as you once treated me, I know that I shall be paid in full," the other said, hoping, even as he did so, that he had not emphasised his words too strongly.
"I will sleep, and eat, and drink," said Bufton; "thus the time will pass. And I did not sleep very well last night; to-night, when all is accomplished, I shall rest. I shall be content."
"Doubtless! I hope so." With which words Granger turned and left the other. Yet, as he reached the door he uttered another word or two-
"The master of the Nederland will expect that fifty guineas," he said, "if-if-Anne is-to-well! to fling herself overboard. You understand?"
"Ay, I understand. And I have them here," touching his breast pocket. "When will he desire to receive them?"
"As they go on board, as they are taken on board. To-night, when I return, hand them to me. Then, since you will scarce desire to appear too prominently, I will give them to the man in the boat."
"I have a vizard mask," whispered Bufton.
"So, too, have I. Yet I may not need it. Now, till to-night, farewell."
After which Granger went away, leaving Bufton to his reflections.
He went away, that is to say, so far as to descend the stairs with the intention of at once departing for Blackwall, there to have an interview with Anne. For, although the girl had told him that he must contrive to inveigle Bufton into the neighbourhood of where the schooner was lying without any assistance from her, he still hoped that such assistance might be obtained. Otherwise, he knew that Bufton would depart from the "Red Rover" by the time night had come, and the last chance would then indeed be gone. Nothing, he knew also, would have drawn the man to the Marshes but the hope of wreaking his vengeance on his wife and on-through Ariadne-Sir Geoffrey Barry.
Granger paused now, however, to take a glass of spirits before setting out to walk the two other miles of his journey, and, indeed, the atmosphere which prevailed outside would have justified any one on those Marshes in doing so, on such a day as this. For the raw, damp mist had by now turned into a thicker, more raw and clammy fog, so that one could scarcely see thirty yards ahead, while, in the house itself, it seemed to be creeping along the passages and into rooms, and up the flight of stairs which led to the next and only floor above.
"If it continues like this," Granger muttered to himself, as now he pushed open the door of a bar-parlour, and went into the room, "it will serve our-my purpose. That is, if at night one can see at all."
The bar was attended by a slatternly-looking girl, the one who had lit the fire in the sitting-room above and served Granger and Bufton with what they had called for; though, because it was early in the morning, she had no customers to draw for. Whereupon, after giving Granger the drink he desired, she locked up the bottles and glasses in their cupboard and went away, leaving him alone. Alone, and as was ever the case when he found himself so, meditating deeply on the past. Yet now-and he was surprised at the feelings which had taken possession of him-on this morning of all others-when his last act of revenge was close at hand and Bufton was about to pay for the ruin he had brought upon him-now it almost seemed as if he had grown listless in his desire for that vengeance; as if he scarcely cared to go on with what he had hitherto pursued with such eagerness and tenacity.
"What is it?" he asked himself, as he stood with the glass in his hand, looking over the red blind of a window in the bar-parlour which gave on to the passage; a window at which the landlord sometimes passed hours in the observation of those who entered and quitted his house-"what is it that is influencing me, slackening my desires?" And, being no student of ethics, he was not altogether able to tell himself how often listlessness comes, accompanied by a cessation of desire, when, at last, that which we have striven for so hard is within our grasp; is to be had for the taking. Nevertheless, he continued his musings, saying again, "What is it? Am I forgetting my hatred of the man above, forgetting all my vows of retaliation because I am growing well-to-do and am making money fast by my loathsome calling? Is that possible-or does the passion for revenge die out at last, as every other passion we possess dies in time? Shall I spare him now, at the last moment? Or tell him to-night that the plot he imagines I have concocted has failed-and-let him go free? Shall I do that, or must I force myself to think of my dead mother again, of my lost love, thereby to spur myself on to finish what I have begun?"
Meditating thus, Lewis Granger was at his best; his worst-which was what Fate and a scoundrel had made him-was away falling into the background. He was at his best! and that best was triumphing, was triumphant. He became resolved; to-night Bufton should be told that nothing could be done, that neither Ariadne nor Anne could come, that their trick had failed since the Mignonne had returned. Thus the man himself should be spared. Bufton should go free and his own vengeance sleep for ever. Truly Granger was at his best!
Deciding thus, determined that even now-at once-he would return to the room above and tell its occupant that this had happened, he was about to turn away from the window through which he was still glancing heedlessly as he ruminated, when he saw a man enter the passage, and, after looking round and about the place in a cautious manner, proceed, with an evident attempt to avoid observation if possible, towards the foot of the stairs.
"Where have I seen that fellow before?" he thought, even as he edged himself to the blind so that, thereby, he Could follow the newcomer's movements along the passage. "Where? I know him, have seen him lately. That bulldog-looking form and those earrings are familiar to me!"
Then, in a moment, he recalled who the man was. He remembered that he was the mate of the Nederland, and that he had observed him at work on the deck of the schooner, and giving orders to the sailors as to the bestowal of casks and bales in the hold only a day or so ago when he had visited the master.
Not knowing, or scarcely knowing, why this man's presence here should surprise him, or why, indeed, he should feel any surprise at all, except at the stealthy, cautious way in which he skulked along the passage in so surreptitious a manner-since the "Red Rover" was the only place of call on this side of the river for some mile or so-he determined to see where the man was going. Whereon, opening the door of the bar-parlour as quietly as might be, he looked out into the passage and was in time to observe the back of the mate vanishing round the landing of the stairs.
"Strange," he thought to himself; "strange. What business can he have up there? He is not, cannot be, living ashore in the house; who then can he desire to see, or what desire to do?"
While, as he so thought, he heard a slight rap given on a door above and a voice call out, "Who is it?"
The voice of Bufton.
Then, standing at the foot of the stairs, but sheltered from observation overhead by the dirty ceiling beneath the landing floor-sheltered too from observation by the fog that now filled the house-Granger heard the door of the room Bufton was in opened, and a whispered question and answer. After which the door was closed to again, and he heard no more. The visitor had been admitted.
"So," Granger said to himself, "I am not to have it all my own way, it would seem. The good Bufton has evidently two strings to his bow. Yet how in Heaven's name has he done it! How has he formed an intimacy with any one on board the schooner? Later, perhaps, I shall know, as well as his reason for doing so. At least let me try for the means of knowing as soon as possible."
The means he took were to proceed at once up the stairs himself, doing so very quietly and as stealthily as he who had gone before him had done; and then, when on the unclean stone passage, he went quietly past the door of the room where the men were until he came to another door next to it.
"This may do," he said. "I think it may. I have slept in most of these rooms when my affairs required my presence here. And if I remember aright-nay! as I know it is, there are communicating doors between these two rooms. I should indeed learn something."
With every precaution that it was possible to take, he opened now the door of the second room, seeing at once as he did so that it had not been let nor occupied overnight; then he shut it, and, finding the key within, locked it. After which, sitting down upon the bedside, he drew off his shoes and laid them on the bed.
"If no one comes to this room for a quarter of an hour," he thought, "as no one is likely to come, since it requires no attention, I ought to hear all I desire."
Upon which he crept quietly to the communicating door, and listened to the conversation that was already being carried on upon the other side of it.
CHAPTER XVIII
RUSE CONTRE RUSE
"If it could be done," Granger heard Bufton say, those being the first words he caught, "it would ease me for ever. He is a weight upon my existence, and I would pay you well. Have you thought of it since we met two days ago across the water at Charlton?"
"Across the water! At Charlton! So," muttered Granger, "that is it. While I supposed my friend was in London, he has been on the other side planning his own schemes. And who is the man who is a weight upon his existence? Who? Can I guess? Perhaps!"
"Yes, I have thought of it," he heard the voice of the mate reply, and he knew at once that the owner of that voice was neither Englishman nor English colonist, in spite of his speaking the tongue well. Perhaps, instead, a Swede or Salzburger, such as the colony of Georgia was much peopled with. "Yes, I have thought of it. Very much I have. But it is hard. You see he is a friend of the master's. He sells him many men and women. The master knows him well."
"So do I," Granger whispered. "So do I know him well. I know the man who is a weight on your existence, Bufton!" And, even as he thus mused, his hand dropped into the pocket by his side and touched the butt of a pistol in it. Though at the same time he muttered between his teeth, "Not yet. Let me hear more.
"That would not matter," Bufton said now, his voice low, but still distinct enough to be heard by the listener in the next room. "Would not matter much. He would lie in the 'tween decks during the voyage-is't not so? And if he did not, what matter-when once you are at sea?"
"He would come back," the mate said, "in two-three-four-months. What good that?"
"He might," said Bufton, "throw himself overboard in despair. I have-heard-of such-things-happening-on dark nights. Such things are done-will-perhaps be done by others; by one of the women you will take to-night. If-he-did do so-if you brought me the news when you visit England again, there would be a purse for you."
"Devil," whispered Granger on the other side of the door. "Devil incarnate, you have learnt your lesson well." And again he felt for the pistol, withdrawing, however, his hand quickly, in fear that his passion would overmaster him and cause him to precipitate matters.
"Oh yes! he might," the mate replied, with a deep gurgling laugh. "He might. Such things are done-"
"Have happened," interposed Bufton.
"Yes. Oh yes! Have happened. It could be done-could 'happen.' But that is not all. The master will see him brought on board. He sees all before they go below."
"He will be masked. We have provided ourselves with them, so that the women shall not know us. He will be masked as well as I. And, in the fog and the darkness of the night, how can the skipper recognise him? Turn him face downwards, too, and say that he is drunk. None will know that he has been stunned instead."
The white-faced listener on the other side of the door-white-faced not from fear, but from passion-muttered nothing now. Instead, he nodded his head reflectively, as though conning weighty matters; but still he never took his ear from the door.
"That might pass," the mate said, "that might pass. Only how to get him?"
"This way. Listen. The women come first-"
"Do they? thought Granger.
"Then, when they are secured and sent to the boat (the sailors who go with them saying that a man is also being brought from the spot two or three hundred yards away), I will start to follow, bidding him come after me when he has discharged the carriage. Therefore, your men will know whom to take. It will be the second man."
"The second man," repeated the mate.
And Granger also repeated (but to himself), "The second man."
"Ay, the second man. Both being masked."
"We can attempt it," the sailor said now. "But though we shall doubtless get him on board and down below, I would be sworn the master will discover all when we are at sea. He will inspect his live-stock, and then-"
"Then," said Bufton, "there will be the accident which will follow-the casting of himself into the sea in despair. Will there not, my friend?"
"Perhaps," the other answered, in a voice that sounded like a dubious one. "But-but-these things-"
"Are worth money. True. Yet listen. He will have a bag of fifty guineas on him which I shall have handed over to him for another purpose."
"Fifty guineas!"
"Ay. And when you return to England another fifty for you, if he-has-fallen overboard. Also still another fifty-"
"Another fifty! Making a hundred!"
"Making a hundred, if a woman on board that ship has also-by accident-or through despair-fallen over. A woman calling herself Anne Bufton."
"Why! That is your name!"
"Calling herself by my name. You understand?"
"Yes. I understand. And about the money too. Fifty guineas in the man's pocket; a hundred more when I return if-if-these accidents, or suicides, have happened. And it will be the second man."
"The second man. Masked."
"Shake hands," said the mate, and Granger heard a smart clasp given, or rather the contact of their hands when brought together. The compact was made.
"And I had faltered in my purpose," Granger whispered to himself, "had resolved to spare this man. To bury the past!"
He drew on his shoes again now, feeling sure that the interview in the next room was concluded, or almost concluded; and knowing that he must be gone either before the mate came forth or wait until he had departed. Yet, while he was doing so he still heard the others talking-his ears having grown accustomed by now (as well as quickened) to catch their words easily. He heard Bufton ask-
"How long-if they, the woman calling herself by my name, and this man who is my evil genius, do not kill themselves at sea-how long are they bound for in the colonies?"
"Four years," the mate replied. "Four years. The planters will not have them for longer now. They say they are worn out by then. And so indeed they are. By the climate, by labour, and by hard usage."
"Do they use them hardly, then?"
"Often, though not always. Yet they do not spare them much. I have seen a redemptioner at death's-point digging the grave he was soon to fill, so that his owner should get the last piece of work out of him that he would ever obtain. But now people begin to talk, to curse the King here for letting such things be. There is a man out there who says King George should have nests of rattlesnakes sent him in return for the convicts and 'kids' that are sent over to the colonies."
Bufton muttered something in reply to this which Granger could not catch, but a moment later he did hear him say, "Well, one more sup before you go. The bottle is not empty," and his words were followed a moment later by the sound of glasses clinking.
"This is my time," the latter thought. "I must go. There is much to do ere night." Whereon, unlocking the door gently, he stole out into the damp and reeking corridor, and through the fog that had penetrated into all the house, and so away downstairs and out into the Marshes.
He knew the road and could have found it blindfolded in spite of all the gloom that was around him, and he sped along it as fast as he could go without running. For now it was all-important, vital, that he should see Anne; that he should get her to help him, as he had helped her in the scheme of vengeance which had formed the first and least important part of his own plot. To help him in what, this morning, he had decided to abandon. But now-now-he swore to himself-he would never abandon it; to-night it should be brought to completion.
"The second man," he muttered as he went along, and once or twice he laughed aloud even as he so muttered "the second man." But beyond those words he said little else.
Arrived at the Brunswick Stairs, he scribbled a note to Anne, which he sent off to the Mignonne by a waterman, and then retreated from the raw fog and damp into a tavern where he was well known, when, ordering a private room, to which he gave orders she should be shown at once, he sat awaiting her coming.
"She will do it," he told himself again and again. "She will do it, I know. And thus we win at last."
Presently Anne arrived, anxious to hear what had happened, and if anything had arisen to, in any way, circumvent their doing that which they had decided on. Though, if she had been nervous as to whether some impediment might have cropped up to prevent the fulfilment of their schemes, that nervousness vanished as Granger told her almost in a whisper-for even in this private room he was cautious as to how he used his voice-of the conversation he had overheard at the "Red Rover." And, when he came to the description of how "the second man" – who was himself-was to be betrayed into an ambuscade, and, whispering even lower still, said something else to her, her bright eyes glistened, and she laughed wickedly.
"Oh! Granger," she said, "I protest you are a schemer, a plotter. Next, you must try the theatre-"
"Mock not," he said; "be serious. To-night ends all our woes. And, as to theatres, where are your clothes? That apparel in which you figured when you played-"
"Alas!" she said, "all are at Fanshawe Manor, locked up by my mother in her old sea-chest. She would have burnt them in her rage, had I not begged them off."
He thought a moment, evidently pondering deeply, then she saw his face brighten, and he said he could contrive very well, only she must come to his house with him.
"You are a fine, upstanding girl," he said, "and as tall as I am, I being none too lofty myself. Come with me at once, will you, Anne?"
"Ay," she answered, "or go to-well-no matter where-to do this thing. For God's sake, let us not fail. I think ever of my little murdered sister, not of myself."
"Nor I of myself. But of others slain through his cursed machinations. And to-day, this very day, when I would have let all sink into oblivion, when I would have buried the past, he was again scheming to ruin me once and for all. My girl, we will not fail. Come, Anne."
As they went along she told him, however, that what they had to do must be accomplished as early in the evening as possible, so that she should get back to the frigate to be with Ariadne.
"For," she said, "I do think-nay, am very positive, that my mistress will be alone this night. Granger," she continued, "Sir Geoffrey means to take a boarding-party down to that schooner and capture some of her live cargo. The sailors heard him say that it would be at midnight."
"That," Granger answered, "would ruin all. Yet I doubt his being in time. The boat will be ashore for the 'victims'-for you, Anne, and for your mistress, and for the 'man'-for me, it seems now" – and he smiled wanly-"as soon after nightfall as may be. Yet," he asked, "why this sudden determination?"
"A tender came from the Admiralty this morning. The fleet is to sail almost at once, in a few days, for Minorca, and Sir Edward Hawke requires more men. If Sir Geoffrey boards the schooner, or catches her, he will take all the able-bodied men he can obtain."
"Some-I, for instance, if I get knocked on the head-will not be very able-bodied," he said, with a quick glance at the girl.
"Not if the blow should kill," she replied, with another glance equally as significant.
They reached the house now, and, since time was pressing, he took her into a room, and, when there, bade her cast her eyes around and see if she could find that which was necessary. While the girl, glancing into the cupboards and at pegs on which hung various garments, put her hand first on a long cloak-a boat-cloak, much frayed and worn-and then on a slouching, sombrero hat, that would, hang well over the features of the wearer; a hat vastly different from the stiff, felt, three-cornered ones of the day.
"I have seen you wear these," she said, looking at him.
"Ay, you have. And so have others, too." Whereon, with a hurried reiteration of some directions which he had already given her, he went away, telling the old woman that the lady above was not to be disturbed, and was to be provided with a meal when she required it.
Two or three hours later, he burst into the room where Bufton sat-he having passed the interval in a visit to the Nederland, and in warning the captain that he was to be ready to depart the moment his victim was on board, and in telling him, too, that there would be no female captives since his plot had fallen through-burst in, and, without any premeditation, said-
"Bufton, we are undone. I doubt much if the women can come. The Mignonne is back, she has passed up the river in this accursed fog."
"Not come!" Bufton exclaimed. "Not come. What, then, is to be done?"
"Hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst. How can they come, if Sir Geoffrey is back? They will know the letter was a lie, a concoction."
"What to do? What to do now?" almost whined Bufton, his hand to chin.
"There is but one thing to do! They might have got away before he moored-have been on their road. The frigate could not be seen till she was close to her anchorage. We must go to the spot where they were to be attacked, and wait their coming."
"Ah!" exclaimed Bufton, and, try as he might, could not prevent a look of exultation from appearing on his face. "Yes, we must do that."
While Granger, seeing that look-what was there he would not have seen on the features of the man he had watched like a lynx for so long? – said-
"Yet, 'tis a pity, too. Not to have one victim-not one!"
"Ay, not one," Bufton repeated aloud, though to himself he said, "All the same, there will be one. And one that must be made sure of!"