Dutch the Diver: or, A Man's Mistake. Fenn George Manville
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he expected, the fly stopped at the gate; a man in a cloak got out, went hastily up the path, knocked softly at the door, and was admitted on the instant.
Dutch paused, hesitating as to what he should do. Should he follow and enter? No, he decided that he would stay there, and stop them as they came out, for the fly was waiting.
Where would Hester be now? he asked himself, with the dimly-seen house seeming to swim before him; and the answer came as if hissed into his ear by some mocking fiend —
“In her bedroom, getting something for her flight.”
Half-a-dozen steps over the soft grass took him where he could see the window, and of course there was a light there, and then —
The blood seemed to rush to his brain, a horrible sense of choking came upon him, and he groaned as he staggered back, for there, plainly enough seen, was the figure of Hester, her hair hanging loose as she lay back over the arm of a man, who was half-leading, half-carrying her towards the door.
All this in shadow was sharply cost upon the blind, and with a groan of mingled rage and misery Dutch rushed towards the house, but only to totter and fall heavily, for it was as though a sharp blow had been dealt him, and for some time he lay there passive and ignorant of what passed around.
He recovered at length, and lay trying to think – to call to mind what this meant. Why was he lying there on the wet grass, with this strange deathly feeling of sickness upon him?
Then all came back with a rush, and he rose to his feet to see that the light was still in the bedroom, but the shadows were gone.
With a cry of horror he ran to the gate, but the carriage was not there, and he stood listening.
Yes, there was the sound of wheels dying away. No, they had stopped, and he was about to rush off in pursuit when a hasty step coming in his direction stayed him, for he knew it well, and, drawing back, he let the Cuban pass him, then followed him softly as he stole round the house, going on tiptoe towards the dining-room window, where Dutch caught him by the shoulder.
“Ah,” he said, laughing, “so our gallant Englishman is on the watch, is he? Does the jealous trembler think I would steal his wife?”
“Dog!” hissed Dutch, catching him by the throat, “what are you doing here?”
“What is that to you, fool!” exclaimed the Cuban, flashing into rage. “Loose me, you madman, or you shall repent it. Curse you, you are strong.”
Blind to everything but his maddening passion, kept back now for so many days, and absorbed by the feeling that he could now wreak his vengeance upon the man who had wrecked his home, Dutch savagely tightened his hold upon his adversary, who, though a strong man, bent like a reed before him. It was no time for reason to suggest that he might be wrong; the idea had possession of the young man’s soul that he was stopping an intended flight, and he drove the Cuban backwards, and had nearly forced him across a garden seat when Lauré, writhing like an eel, got partly free.
“Curse your English brute strength!” he muttered, and getting his arm from his cloak, he struck Dutch full on the temple with some weapon, and the young man fell once more prone on the grass.
Story 1-Chapter VIII.
Breaking the Contract
Five days had passed since the encounter in the garden, and Dutch Pugh had not been back to his home. He had lain for some time stunned from the blow he had received, and then risen half-dazed, and in a wretched, dejected way made for the town, where, letting himself into the office, he had thrown himself upon the floor, and slept heavily till morning, to the great surprise of the clerks, who found him there when they came.
With an intense desire to hide his anguish from everyone, he had given out that he had fallen asleep after being many hours at work, and no notice was taken of his soiled clothes. Then, with the truth gradually oozing out, that no flight had been intended, but that for some reason, so Mr Parkley said, Señor Lauré had gone back to his hotel, Dutch worked on, superintending till the vessel was ready for sea.
The stores and machinery were complete for the purpose, and the passengers were on board. Moreover, a brother of Mr Parkley had been invited to assist in the business during the chief partner’s absence, and together Mr Parkley and Dutch walked down to the dock.
“We had a sort of hint from Bessy Studwick that you haven’t been home for some days, Pugh,” said Mr Parkley.
“Don’t talk about it, please.”
“Well, I won’t much,” said Mr Parkley, “for I guess a great deal. It was all my fault, Dutch, my dear boy. I had no business to have proposed such a thing, and, believe me, if I had known what a scoundrel the fellow was, I would never have entered into this project with him.”
“Pray say no more,” exclaimed Dutch.
“I must, my dear boy, I must, for I want to clear myself. You see the preparation for this trip means five thousand pounds, and I cannot throw the matter over; the loss is too heavy, or else I would.”
“Oh, no, it is impossible,” exclaimed Dutch.
“If I had known my man sooner, I would have seen him at Hanover before I would have had anything to do with him. But look here, my dear Pugh, I couldn’t help hearing a great deal about your domestic trouble. Haven’t you been wronging the little woman?”
“If you have any respect or feeling for me, Mr Parkley, say no more.”
“All right, my dear fellow,” said the other, with a sigh, “I will not; only act like a sensible man in all things – home and business. Heigho, I really wish I was not going, but the idea of these hidden treasures sets me on fire.”
Mr Parkley forgot all his hesitation as they stepped on board and saw how – in spite of the bustle and confusion consequent upon receiving late supplies of fresh meat and vegetables – ship-shape and excellent were Captain Studwick’s arrangements. John Studwick was on board, seated upon a wicker chair, and his sister beside him; Mr Meldon, the young doctor, was leaning over the bulwarks, with a very tall, thin young man, the naturalist friend; the sailors were busy lowering bales and arranging coops and hens; and all was ready for the start – in fact, the dockmen were ready to warp the schooner out, and after a short run behind a tug down the harbour, they would have the open Channel before them.
There was a goodly concourse of people about the wharves, for the object of the schooner’s trip had somehow gained wind, and while some expressed interest and curiosity in the voyage, others laughingly called it a fool’s errand.
“Has anybody seen Señor Lorry?” said Mr Parkley at last.
“I had a note from him,” said Captain Studwick, “He said he would be down here punctually at twelve. Has his luggage come, Oakum?”
“None on it, sir,” said the rough old sailor, pulling his forelock.
“That’s strange,” said the captain. “When did you see him, Parkley?”
“Last night, and he said he would be aboard in the morning, and glad of it, for he was sick of England.”
“Twelve o’clock now,” said the captain. “Well, the tide serves; I must give the word for getting out of dock. He must have a longer row for being late. He’s sure to come, of course.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr Parkley; but he glanced uneasily at Dutch, as if he did not feel sure.
“Ready there,” cried the captain. “Now, my lads, be handy – cast off those ropes for’ard. Oh, here he is. Hold hard there.”
“But where’s his luggage?” said Mr Parkley.
“Oh, behind the crowd,” said the captain. “Come along, sir, we were going without you.”
“Indeed!” said the Cuban, with a smile. “I doubt that. Where would you go?”
“Where Mr Parkley told me,” said the captain. “Give me the order. I’ll find the place. Let’s see, Mr Pugh, we are to send you back in the tug, I suppose.”
Dutch