Wyndham's Pal

"You mean their leaders know?" said Mabel. "They would lose their power when the white men came?"

Wyndham said nothing for a moment and Marston imagined he was getting impatient. Then Flora gave him a puzzled glance and he smiled.

"Did the fellow you thought the Bat look very powerful, Bob?" he asked.

"In a way, he did not," said Marston. "He was a dirty, ragged old impostor – and yet I don't know. Perhaps it was his grin, but you got a hint that he was a bigger man than he looked. There was something about him – "

"Something Mephistophelian?" Wyndham suggested with a twinkle.

"But Mephistopheles was rather a gentleman," Flora remarked.

"That's it! You have given me the clew I was feeling for," said Marston. "You felt the old fellow might have been a gentleman long since and had degenerated. Now I come to think of it, his confounded grin was ironical; as if he knew your point of view and laughed at it. In fact, I imagine he laughed at himself; at his claim to be a magician and the tricks he used. A cynical brute, perhaps, but he was not a fool."

"Aren't you getting romantic, Bob?" Flora asked.

Marston said nothing. He had seen Wyndham's frown and imagined he had had enough. For a few moments Mabel studied both. She saw Bob wanted to talk about something else, but she did not mean to help him yet. His portrait of the old mulatto had given her ground for thought. For one thing, it had disturbed Wyndham, and she wondered why. She was not deceived when Wyndham laughed.

"As a rule, Bob is not romantic, but he was ill before he left the lagoon and fever excites one's imagination. We'll let it go. Did you shift the ballast they stowed forward of Red Rose's mast, Bob?"

"I did. We moved half a ton of iron and she trims much better with it aft," Marston replied.

Then they talked about the yacht until Mabel got up and took them to the drawing-room. She was curious, but in the meantime did not think her curiosity would be satisfied. Bob knew no more than he had told and it was plain that Wyndham meant to use reserve.

CHAPTER V

WYNDHAM CHANGES HIS PLAN

There was no wind, the sun was hot, and the reflection of Red Rose's mast and rigging trembled on the shining sea. She rode at anchor in a quiet bay, near the woods that rolled down to the smooth white boulders. Dark firs checkered the fresh green of the beeches and the bronzy yellow of the new oak leaves. The tide flowed smoothly past the yacht, and across the strait a lonely cloud threw a soft blue shadow on the scarred face of a lofty crag. Now and then the echoes of a blasting shot rolled among the hills. Flora sat in the yacht's cockpit. She wore a pale yellow dress that harmonized with her brown eyes and hair. Wyndham lay on the counter, smoking a cigarette, and when she thought he did not see her Flora gave him a careful glance. After a few days at sea, Harry's face was getting brown and he was losing his jaded look, but he was thin and she did not like the way his mouth was set. He had been working hard for some time, and now he had taken a holiday the strain he had borne did not relax. Flora did not altogether understand this, because things were going well with Wyndhams'.

She looked up the strait. Not far off an old castle stood upon a lawn where a long green point ran out, and the spot had romantic memories for her. She had promised to marry Harry on the lawn, one summer night when the yacht's lanterns twinkled in the roadstead and colored fires burned on the castle walls. Wyndham lifted his head, and smiled when he saw where she was looking.

"It is not very long since, scarcely twelve months, but much has happened in the meantime," he said.

"How did you know – ?" Flora asked and blushed.

"Your thoughts were in your eyes; gentle thoughts. It looks as if you were not disillusioned yet!"

"I'm not," said Flora, firmly. "For all that, I don't know if I like you when you're cynical."

"It's a relapse, or perhaps a reaction. Living up to your standard is a bit of a strain now and then."

"Would you sooner I lowered the standard?"

"Not at all," said Wyndham, with a twinkle. "Keep it as high as you can for yourself, so long as you are willing to make some allowances for me."

"That's a man's point of view," Flora remarked. "However, on the whole, you're very good. I really don't get many jars."

She studied him and mused. Harry was all, or very nearly all, she had thought, and she was happy. Sometimes, perhaps, she wished he would give her a little more of his confidence, about the office for example. The control of the extending business was not easy; she saw he had cares he did not talk about. He was a handsome man and she approved the fastidious neatness of his white yachting clothes, but he looked fine-drawn. Flora rather liked this half-ascetic look; Harry had no gross passions to draw him away from her, although she sometimes feared she had a rival in his ambition. He was ambitious and did not tell her much about his plans.

She looked about. Near the point, a little varnished boat shone in the strong light. Bob had taken Mabel for a row in the dinghy.

"I'm sorry for them," she remarked.

"Sorry for whom?" said Wyndham, and turned his head. "Oh, yes; it's hard for Bob! Mabel, no doubt, gets some satisfaction from feeling she's doing what she ought. I, myself, don't know if she ought or not, but this doesn't matter so long as Bob's persuaded. Well, I suppose she's worth waiting for and Bob is patient."

"You are not patient," Flora rejoined. "You refused to wait."

Wyndham gave her a twinkling smile. "No; I hadn't Bob's advantages. I seized my chance, and made a plunge. So, I think, did you!"

"After all, I wasn't very rash. I knew you better than my friends; but I'll own to feeling proud because they're all satisfied. You were not very long persuading them."

"It cost me something," said Wyndham quietly. "However, we'll let it go. I mean to have a lazy day and brace up for our climbing trip in the morning. I sent a message that we would need a car."

Flora nodded and glanced at a peak that rose behind the hills across the sparkling strait. She was a mountaineer and sometimes wondered whether she liked best the high rocks or the sea. Then she turned and noted a long plume of smoke that rolled across the woods.

"The early boat from town," she said.

A steamer swung round the point and headed for the yacht, piling the oily water in a wave at her bows. The thud of her paddles nearly drowned the music of the band on board, and confused echoes rang among the trees. A group of passengers forward sang lustily and a row leaned against the rail.

"She'll pass pretty close," said Wyndham. "I wonder whether anybody we know is on board."

Flora picked up the glasses and Wyndham, resting on his elbow, turned his head. The steamer drove on, a feather of foam shooting up her stem, and Wyndham languidly studied the faces of the passengers. Then, when she was level with the yacht, he moved abruptly, for a short, thin man with a yellow face sat on a bench, looking at Red Rose.

"Do you see somebody? Shall I give you the glasses?" Flora asked.

"No," said Wyndham, sharply. "Hold fast! Look out for her wash!"

Flora seized the coaming and the white wave from the steamer's paddles lifted the yacht. Red Rose plunged violently and when she steadied, the passenger boat was slowing near the pier. Flora put down the glasses and turned to Wyndham. She had seen the little man on the bench and imagined Harry was studying him. The fellow looked like a foreigner and she did not like his face. Yet it was strange his being on board the steamer had annoyed Harry. She thought it had annoyed him, although the need to warn her about the wash perhaps accounted for the sharpness of his voice.

"I saw all I wanted," Wyndham resumed, with a touch of grimness. "I thought you might drop the glasses when the wave struck us. If I wasn't lazy, I'd send a complaint to the office about their driving their boats full speed across a yacht anchorage. Has the splash hurt your dress?"

Flora looked down and shook the sparkling drops from the thin material.

"This stuff won't spoil. A dress that will spoil is no use for yachting; I've been to sea before."

Soon afterwards the others returned. They had promised to lunch with Chisholm at the hotel where Flora and Mabel had a room, but by and by Wyndham remarked:

"I feel rather dull and think I won't go ashore. Perhaps you had better stay, Bob, and we'll fit the new rigging screws. The others look as if the hooks might draw in a hard breeze."

"Stay if you like," said Flora. "You have come for a holiday. Are you sure you feel equal to our climb in the morning?"

Wyndham hesitated. "I'd hate to disappoint you, but I am lazy. I found the scramble up the big gully hard enough the last time I went along the ridge, and I hadn't been to Africa then. After close work in an office, three thousand feet and some awkward rock climbing is a stiff pull."

Flora looked at the others. Harry was tired and rather slack, and she wanted to indulge him. It was something of a relief when Marston played up.

"We came for a cruise, not to climb hills," he said. "Let's stop and go fishing in the dinghy."

"There aren't many fish and digging bait's a bother," Wyndham replied. "I've a better plan. The wind will turn east at sunset and there is a moon. Suppose we run down the coast to Carmeltown and see the Irish boats finish their cross-channel race?"

The others agreed and in the evening Red Rose left the anchorage. It was getting dark when they hoisted sail, but Marston, who occupied with the halyards, thought he heard a distant shout. Looking round, he saw a dinghy near the point.

"Is that somebody hailing us?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said Wyndham. "There are other boats about. But be careful; you've got the topsail yard foul of the lift."

Marston pulled the yard clear, and dropping down the channel through the sands, they stole out to sea. A light east wind blew behind them, the water sparkled as the moon rose, and shadowy woods and dark hills opened out and faded on their port side. The night was warm, the sea ran in long undulations, wrinkled by the breeze. In the distance one heard surf break upon the reefs, and now and then a steamer with throbbing engines went by. Wyndham lounged at the tiller, Marston and Mabel sat under the booby hatch and talked quietly, while Flora, in the cockpit sang a song. Red Rose, lurching gently with all sail set, headed for the west.

"Harry's plan is good," Flora remarked when she finished her song. "There are two grand things, the sea and the mountains; but, on a night like this, I like the sea best."

"Then you ought to be happy and I hope you are," rejoined Mabel. "The trouble about dividing your affection between two objects is, when you get one you feel you want the other."

"That is so now and then," Flora agreed. "When you can't have both, you are forced to choose and choosing's generally hard."

"You let Harry choose for you. Perhaps it's a good plan, but I don't know if I'll use it much with Bob."

Flora laughed and thought Mabel's remark was justified. It looked as if Harry had meant to leave the strait, although he had said nothing about this until the passenger boat arrived. Anyhow, it did not matter. She was glad to indulge him and it was a splendid night for a sail. Flora was happy and began to sing again.

The wind freshened as they crossed a rock-fringed bay where a famous emigrant ship went down. Sparkling ripples flecked the swell, which presently began to roll in short angry waves. The rigging hummed, a foaming wake ran astern, and a white ridge stood up about Red Rose's bows. After a time, Marston and the paid hand set a smaller jib and hauled down the topsail, and when they had finished Bob stood on deck looking about. The sea ahead was white and Red Rose rolled hard when the rising combers picked her up. Astern, the dinghy sheered about and lifted half her length out of the water when she felt the strain on the rope. Once or twice she surged forward on a wave, as if she were going to leap on board. Marston had seen enough and jumped into the cockpit.

"It's freshening up," he said. "The tide will be running strong round Carmel when we get there and the sea breaks awkwardly in the race. If you're going on, we'll heave down a reef and pull the dinghy on deck."

Wyndham looked at his watch. "I don't know if I'm going on or not. The flood's running now and there are two nasty races before we reach Carmel. Suppose we make for Porth Gwynedd? I don't see much use in getting wet."

"The Porth's an awkward harbor to enter in the dark," Marston remarked thoughtfully.

"I know the way," said Wyndham. "Mrs. Evans will give the girls a room; we have got her up late at night before. Ask them what they think?"

Flora and Mabel agreed, Wyndham changed his course, and the dark hills they were following got nearer. By and by Marston hauled down the staysail and stood on the deck forward, studying the forbidding coast Wyndham steered for.

A narrow strip of gloom, piercing the hills, indicated a valley, and at its end a dim red light blinked. One could see no entrance. Shadowy rocks dropped to the water, and a line of foam marked the course of the tide across a reef. A white belt of surf glimmered without a break at the foot of the cliffs.

Wyndham, however, did not hesitate and Flora glanced at him with quiet confidence. The moonlight touched his face and she liked his calm. One could trust Harry when there was a strain; she was proud of his pluck and steady nerve. Besides, he looked strangely handsome and virile as he controlled the plunging yacht.

When the white turmoil on the reef was close ahead she saw a break in the rocks. The gap was dark and very narrow; spouting foam played about its mouth. Wyndham signed to the fisher lad at the mainsheet, blocks rattled, and Red Rose, swerving, listed over until her lee deck was in the foam. Showers of spray blew across her, she was sailing very fast, and Flora knew she would soon be broken on the rocks if Wyndham missed the harbor mouth.

They drove past the reef, the long boom lurched across, and Red Rose rolled violently. Dark rocks towered above her mast and the sails thrashed and filled in the conflicting gusts, but the water got smooth and the harbor opened up. Presently Marston jumped to the foot of the mast and the peak of the mainsail swung down.

"Starboard!" he shouted. "Look out for the perch!"

Flora looked under the sail and saw a tall post with iron stays running from it into the water. She wondered whether the flapping canvas hid it from Wyndham, because he was slow to move the helm.

"Starboard it is," he answered after a moment or two, leaning hard on the tiller as he pushed it across.

There was a heavy shock, something cracked and broke, and a thick iron bar ground against the yacht's side. She slowed but did not stop and when she forged ahead again Marston leaped forward.

"Bobstay's gone and bowsprit's broken at the cap!" he shouted.

"Down sail! Ready with the anchor," said Wyndham quietly.

Marston dropped the anchor under the bows, running chain rattled, and Red Rose stopped. They pulled up the half-swamped dinghy and when they had thrown out the water Marston took a rope to a pier. Wyndham went forward and occupied himself with the wreck at the bows until Marston returned.

"We'll need a new bowsprit and she's drawn the stay-bolt on the stem," he said. "I think that's all, but it will keep us here two or three days. Perhaps you had better see if you can wake Mrs. Evans before we land the girls."

Marston pulled up the harbor and returning after a time said Mrs. Evans was getting a room ready. Flora and Mabel got on board the dinghy and when Marston rowed them to the steps Mabel remarked: "I suppose Harry couldn't see the perch?"

"He could hear me shout," said Marston. "I made noise enough. If he'd shoved his helm over, instead of looking for the perch, we'd have gone past. I don't quite understand it, because Harry's not often slow. However, a new bowsprit doesn't cost much; the only trouble is, we'll have to stay while somebody makes it."

Flora said nothing, although she was somewhat puzzled. On the whole, she imagined Harry had not looked for the perch; the sail was in his way. He was slow to move the helm and she thought this strange. All the same, it was not important, and she talked to Mabel about the Welsh landlady as they went to the inn.

CHAPTER VI

PETERS RENEWS HIS OFFER

Red Rose remained in port for a week. Wyndham needed a stay and fastenings for the new bowsprit, and although the Welsh ship-chandler could supply him with galvanized iron articles he sent to Southampton for copper. Marston thought this curious, but Harry was fastidious about the boat and for use in salt water copper was better than iron. The party, however, was not bored. Porth Gwynedd, with its small slate houses standing between the clear, green water and the quarries that scarred the face of a hill, was picturesque. The breeze was light and warm, and sunshine sparkled on the sea. They went fishing, swam about a sheltered cove, and climbed the rocks. Wyndham's mood was cheerful and Flora was content. She thought Harry was recovering from the strain; a rest was all he needed and she was glad she had persuaded him to make the cruise.

When the new bowsprit was fitted they set off again along the coast and stopped at another rock-bound port. A summer hotel stood by a cove outside the little town, and a day or two after their arrival Marston and Wyndham lounged on the terrace by the water at the end of the lawn. The spot was sheltered by a tall cliff, and a thick shrubbery ran between the grass and terrace. Flora and Mabel occupied a bench in a nook cut out of the thick foliage. The sun was hot, and all was very quiet but for the drowsy splash of water on the rocks and the intermittent rustle of leaves.

"I like this spot," said Flora. "I have enjoyed the cruise. There's something about the sea that soothes one."

"Do you need soothing?" Mabel asked.

Flora smiled, a rather thoughtful smile. "Not in a way. I've good grounds for being satisfied; but I had begun to get disturbed about Harry. He works too hard. No doubt he's forced to bother about his business, but he looked thin and was sometimes moody."

"He has done too much," Mabel agreed. "Bob tells me things are going remarkably well for Wyndhams'. All the same, I expect it has cost Harry some effort."

"Harry does not grudge the effort," said Flora. "I grudge it for him. It was mainly for my sake he went abroad and overtaxed his strength in an unhealthy climate in order to make Wyndhams' prosperous." She stopped and looked up, knitting her brows. "Here is the little man I saw on board the steamer! I wonder what he wants."

Mabel studied the man who crossed the lawn. She remembered that she had seen him at Flora's wedding. His face was yellow and wrinkled, and although he wore light summer clothes made in the latest English fashion there was something foreign about him. He went towards the shrubbery with quick resolute steps.

"It's Peters, somebody Bob and Harry met abroad," Mabel remarked. "No doubt he's looking for them; they're on the terrace not far off."

"It's strange, but I feel I'd sooner he hadn't come," said Flora with a frown.

The man vanished behind the shrubs and a few moments afterwards Wyndham, lighting a cigarette on the terrace, dropped the match.

"Peters!" he exclaimed.

"Hallo!" said Marston, who turned and gave the newcomer an unfriendly glance. "We didn't expect you."

Peters sat down on a bench. "All the same, I have followed you along the coast for a week. Felt I needed a change after my adventures with the exploring party, which I dare say you heard about. Business was slack, and I had a dispute with my employers. I resolved to give up my post, caught a Royal Mail boat, and here I am."

"I don't see why you followed us," said Marston, coldly.

"Then I must explain. Some time since, I suggested your giving me a partnership. The plan has some extra advantages now."

"The advantages are not very obvious," Marston rejoined.

"Let me state them," said Peters, coolly. "The back country behind the lagoon is disturbed; there are indications that the negroes and half-breeds mean to rebel and Ramon Larrinaga is resolved to put them down. It's possible he may do so, but I doubt."

"I don't know if this is much of an argument for our extending our business in the neighborhood. But why do you doubt Don Ramon's ability to keep order?"

"It's an argument for your putting a man who knows the country in control. If a rebellion breaks out, there will be opportunities for business such as one seldom gets; that is, if the situation's cleverly handled. But we'll let this go in the meantime. Larrinaga has a cunning antagonist who is much stronger than he thinks."

"You mean the Bat?"

Peters nodded. "I expect you have heard about the black Napoleon who founded a negro state in the Antilles? Well, it's not impossible the Bat will make himself as powerful as the other."

"Ridiculous!" said Marston. "Such things can't be done again; the times have changed."

"I wonder whether Wyndham thinks it ridiculous. He's better informed than you," Peters said meaningly.

Marston turned to Wyndham, but he said nothing. His face was set and he looked as if he tried to brace himself.

"You had an example of the Bat's power not long since," Peters went on. "My exploring companions were poisoned, but not before the tropical diseases man had made some interesting discoveries. Although the swamp-belt is unhealthy, malarial fever is not so common as some people think. In fact, it does not account for all the fatal sickness."

"Yet strangers die from fever and among the half-breeds the mortality is large."

"That is so," Peters agreed. "All the same, my notion is, it's better to study Obeah than medicine, and, if you want to enjoy good health, cultivate the friendship of the Bat. He knows how to get rid of people he disapproves."

"The brute ought to be shot! However, I don't see what this has got to do with our giving you a share in our business."

"I think your partner sees," said Peters, meaningly, and Wyndham advanced a few steps with his fist clenched. His eyes shone and the veins on his forehead swelled; but when Marston thought he would seize the other he stopped a yard or two off.

"How much do you know?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Nearly all, I think," Peters replied, and turned to Marston. "The Bat is clever and knows how to use the natural products of the swamps. In fact, I imagine some of his discoveries would surprise our doctors. He cannot, however, make all he needs, and somebody has supplied him with arms and cartridges, besides chemicals and drugs in use in civilized countries. It's sometimes an advantage to cure your friends as well as destroy your antagonists, and the power of an up-to-date Obeah man is not altogether founded on magic."

"Who has supplied him?" Marston asked, with strange and horrible misgivings.

Peters smiled. "You were very dull for some time, but I think you begin to see. Well, I suppose you can comfort yourself with the reflection that when you shared the profit you didn't know how it was earned."

Marston turned and struggled for control when he saw Wyndham's face. The sweat stood on the latter's forehead and he shrank from his comrade's glance.

"Is this true, Harry?" Marston asked. "Have we been backing that devilish mulatto?"

"You know now," said Wyndham, with forced quietness. "It looks as if you had got a nasty knock. I'd hoped you would not find out."

Marston tried to pull himself together. He must be calm, but calm was hard. Peters gave him a mocking smile.

"There's something yet. The Bat is not a mulatto."

"Not a mulatto?" said Marston dully. "What is he then?"

"A white man. If you're not satisfied, ask your partner. He knows him best."

"Who is the Bat, Harry?"

"Rupert Wyndham," Wyndham answered and turned his head.

For a moment or two Marston said nothing, and then his lethargy vanished. Horror gave way to fury and he clenched his hand as he turned to Peters.