The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wyndham's Pal, by Harold Bindloss This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Wyndham's Pal Author: Harold Bindloss Release Date: April 2, 2012 [EBook #39349] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WYNDHAM'S PAL *** Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net It looked as if the Mulatto knew this. Page 82 Wyndhams Pal. It looked as if the Mulatto knew this. Page 82 Wyndhams Pal. WYNDHAM'S PAL BY HAROLD BINDLOSS AUTHOR OF "The Buccaneer Farmer," "The Girl from Keller's," "Brandon of the Engineers," etc. decorative element WITH FRONTISPIECE A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND UNDER THE TITLE "WYNDHAM'S PARTNER" ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN U. S. A. CONTENTS PART I—THE LURE OF AMBITION CHAPTER PAGE I The Commodore's Cup 3 II Moonlight and Glamour 14 III Chisholm's Persuasion 26 IV The Man Who Vanished 35 V The Tornado 45 VI The Middle Passage 54 VII The Tow 64 VIII The Lagoon 74 IX Don Felix's Revolt 85 X Marston Uses His Power 97 XI Marston Goes to Sea 107 PART II—WYNDHAM CLAIMS HIS REWARD I Mabel Ponders 121 II Mabel's Pearls 131 III Peters' Offer 142 IV The Lost Explorers 152 V Wyndham Changes His Plan 161 VI Peters Renews His Offer 171 VII Wyndham Pleads Guilty 180 VIII Up Hill 190 PART III--REPARATION I Wyndham Pays Duty 203 II Marston Gets a Warning 213 III Wyndham Tries Persuasion 223 IV Wyndham Finds a Clew 232 V Don Luis' Breakfast Party 242 VI A Sail in the Dark 251 VII The Tug 260 VIII At the Mission 271 IX Columbine Steals Away 280 X The Bat Owns Defeat 288 XI The Bat's Exit 299 XII The Fresh Start 308 WYNDHAM'S PAL PART I THE LURE OF AMBITION CHAPTER I [Pg 3] THE COMMODORE'S CUP The breeze had dropped as the tide ebbed, and Red Rose plunged languidly across the shining swell. Faint mist obscured the horizon and the yachts engaged in the fifty-mile race had vanished, although Wyndham thought he had not long since distinguished a sail in the distance. He was curious about this because if he had seen canvas it was Deva's, and her skipper had probably seen Red Rose. The rest of the fleet was scattered about to the north. Wyndham had noted their positions carefully before the haze rolled up. He wanted to win and meant to leave nothing to chance. In the meantime, the yacht crept slowly through the sparkling water, close-hauled to a light wind that Wyndham knew would not last. Her canvas, tapering in a tall white pyramid, swayed with a regular heave against the sky. In her shadow, the sea was a cool, luminous green, but the sun was hot and Wyndham had taken off his coat. He wore a white jersey, blue trousers, and very neat white shoes. His age was twenty-six, his figure was thin but athletic, and the molding of his face was good. On the whole, he was a handsome man and was generally marked by a careless, twinkling smile. The smile, however, was to some extent deceptive, and at times his blue eyes were hard. Wyndham was popular; he had a way of inspiring confidence, and knew and used his talent. Marston, who sat on the yacht's coaming, splicing a rope, trusted Wyndham far. Marston's round face was burned red and generally wore a look of tranquil good-humor; his mouth was large and his eyes were calm. People thought him dull and he was not clever, but Wyndham knew his comrade's stability. Although Bob was honest and trustful, he was firm. It was characteristic that the splice he slowly made was very neat. Their paid hand was occupied at the clanking pump, for Red Rose had shipped some water while the breeze was fresh. This was not remarkable, since the boat was small, but Wyndham knew, though Marston did not, that a quantity of water had come in between her working planks. She was old and needed repairs Wyndham could not afford. For all that, he hoped to win the Commodore's cup. He had particular grounds for wanting the cup, and Wyndham's habit was to get what he wanted. "I think the splice will stand," Marston said, throwing down the rope. "Your work does stand," Wyndham remarked. "Oh, well," said Marston, deprecatingly, "I'm slow, but I like a good job. Saves time in the end, because you needn't do the thing again." "You're a philosopher, Bob. My plan is generally hit or miss. But can you see Deva?" Marston searched the horizon. The gently heaving sea was empty and Red Rose alone in a misty circle three or four miles across. Except for a few razor-bills, nothing but the ripple she trailed broke the reflection of the calm sky. Then his glance, traveling north, stopped and fixed on something faintly distinguishable against the thin mist. "No," he said, "I don't see her. Thought I did some time since but she's faded. What's that in the distance on our starboard bow?" "It's hard to tell. Might be a big black-backed gull resting on the water. The misty light magnifies things." "Shall I get the glasses?" "Not unless you want them. They're under the stuff we stowed away in the locker aft. If Charley has finished pumping, you might help him get out the spinnaker. We'll have the wind fair when the flood begins to run." Marston and the fisher-lad vanished down the forecastle hatch, and Wyndham studied the distant object. He did not yet need the sail the others had gone for, but he was afraid of Charley's keen eyes. A buoy indicating a shoal was not far off and the sailing directions for the race stated that all marks of this kind must be kept on the port hand, but Wyndham knew the coast and imagined the tide was still ebbing in a neighboring river mouth. The main stream ran north and would carry the boats off their course, but near the shore another stream ran west across some wide shoals. If he could steer Red Rose into this current, it would help her on while her rivals, farther off the land, drifted back. When the others came up with the sail Wyndham wondered whether Marston would ask for the chart, but he did not. The object they had seen had vanished, for although the wind was light the boat slowly forged ahead. The color of the smooth undulations indicated that the depth got less. "Looks as if we were near West Hodden sand," Marston remarked. "They had a dispute at the committee about keeping us outside the bank. Makes a longer run, but some of the deep boats might have touched bottom if they'd tried to cross at low-water. Anyhow, it doesn't matter, so long as we all keep out." Wyndham nodded and began to talk about something else. "I hope we'll get fine weather, because I need bracing up. When you have not much money, business is a grind and I'm rather young to carry the responsibilities of the house. Things might have been easier, had Jim Wyndham not died two or three days after he fell ill." Marston knew something about this. Wyndham Brothers was a small old-fashioned firm and Harry had recently taken [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] control on his uncle's sudden death. James Wyndham was extravagant and Marston imagined he had left his affairs involved. Marston had no occupation and all the money he needed. Moreover, he was Harry's friend. "Well," he said, "if you're short of capital, I think some could be got. Sound investments don't pay much, and now and then I feel I'd like a venture." "You're a good sort, Bob. For all that, you had better leave business alone, because you would get robbed. Of course, if I saw a safe and profitable speculation, I might let you join, but just now I'm occupied trying to put things straight. Some are badly tangled. I used to think I could carve my way to fortune if I got a chance, but so far it's been my luck to use broken tools." Marston thought this was so. Harry was a good shot and racing skipper, but he had never had a first-class gun or boat. Still, he used the make-shifts well and sometimes beat better men. "Yours is a pretty old house, isn't it?" Marston remarked. "Wyndhams' was founded in the days of the slavers and privateers and has traded in West Africa and South America ever since. The house was famous, but its decline began when steamers knocked out the sailing ships. We stuck to the old vessels and own one or two small schooners yet, though they're only used for collecting cargo at beaches steamboats do not touch. Some of the documents I've recently studied tell a romantic tale. The Wyndhams were all adventurers and a number did not die in bed. One or two vanished abroad. As perhaps you know, my uncle Rupert did." "I heard something about this," said Marston. "What happened?" "Nobody knows. He left the West Indian factory; sailed off in a canoe and was not seen again. Books and money were in order and his health was pretty good. There was no explanation; he vanished, that's all. I saw him once in England and thought him a sober business man. One got no hint of wildness, but the house's records indicate a vein of romantic extravagance in my ancestors. For all that, my father was a quiet country parson and I have felt nothing of the kind." Marston pondered. He knew Harry Wyndham rather well and had noted, in moments of excitement and strain, a curious recklessness that was perhaps not altogether normal. For example, there was the race when Red Rose and another yacht met close-hauled. Red Rose was on the port tack, and the rule was she must give way, but, until the last minute, Harry sat unmoved at the tiller. Marston remembered the piled-up foam about the plunging hulls as the yachts converged, the slanted pyramids of sail that looked as if they must shock, and the horrible tension he had felt. Then, when collision was imminent, Wyndham gave the other room and afterwards laughed. "I was tempted to find out how it would feel if we rammed her," he confessed. This, however, was some time since, and Marston did not dwell on the incident. His temperament was essentially normal. "No sign of a breeze from the east yet," he said. "All the same, it will come," Wyndham rejoined. Marston looked about. The sun was getting low and it was nearly calm. Now and then the topsail flapped and the mainsail hung slack. Blocks rattled as the heavy boom jerked about. The swell was smooth and in color a curious shining green, as if the light were reflected through it from beneath. It looked as if they were crossing a big sand, but Marston did not sound. Harry knew the coast, and the sailing directions required them to keep outside the shoals. In the distance a steamer's smoke trailed across the sky; one heard her engines beat with a monotonous rhythm. In front, the mist was melting and vague gray hills were faintly distinguishable. The yacht's deck was damp, but for the rolling she hardly moved. "We had better get some food," said Marston. "I'll light the stove." He went to the cabin and when, after the rude meal, they lounged and smoked, the mist suddenly rolled away. Long hills, with woods among their folds, ran back on the port hand; in the distance, a big black headland cut against the sunset. The water astern was hazy and dotted by sails. It was now a glassy calm. "We're nearer the coast than I reckoned, but the ebb has given us a big lift," Marston observed. "The rest are a long way back, although I think they're moving." "They've got the breeze and will bring it up," said Wyndham. "Hoist the spinnaker." For the next few minutes Marston and the paid hand were occupied with the big triangular sail, which extended from the masthead to the end of a boom they thrust over the boat's side. A British yacht's spinnaker is not fitted with a gaff. At first the spinnaker hung slack, but presently lifted in gentle curves; then the water splashed against the planks and Red Rose began to move. She gathered speed. There was a humming noise astern, mast and rigging creaked, and foam leaped at the bows. It got cold, white ripples streaked the sea, and the wake ran back in a foaming wedge. The spinnaker swelled like a balloon and, with the tall mainsail on the other side, dwarfed the speeding hull. [Pg 7] [Pg 8] [Pg 9] The sun dipped, the dark sea stood up in ridges above Red Rose's rail, spray began to fly, and one heard the rush of wind and groaning of spars. The boat yawed about and steering needed skill, since, if Wyndham let her swerve, spinnaker or mainsail would swing across and mast or boom would go. For all that, he risked a glance over his shoulder now and then. Some of the boats were coming up; they were bigger craft and gave Red Rose time by the handicap. She, however, gave time to others, and must save it in order to win. Wyndham let go while the sea got rough, for the flood tide now ran against the freshening wind. While he swayed with the tiller she plunged and rolled about, lifting her bows out of boiling foam and sometimes burying them deep. Water flowed across her deck and presently began to splash beneath the cockpit floor, and Charley started the clanking pump. A full moon had risen and two big boats, with canvas that cut black against the silver light, were getting near. "I think we'll save our time," Wyndham said. Marston looked at the high topsail and bending spinnaker boom. He would have liked to haul the topsail down, but his comrade's voice had a strange gay note that he had heard before. Harry meant to carry on; he would drive the boat until something broke. Then Marston looked ahead. The big promontory was not far off and moonlight touched the towering crags. The sea was all white, for the current, setting strongly round the head, ran in angry combers against the wind. "We are going to get wet in the tide-race," he said. "You might find slacker water if you edged her off a bit." "And sail a longer course?" Wyndham rejoined. "We give Deva four minutes and she's not far astern." Marston acquiesced. After all, his business was to obey. "Oh, well," he said, "Charley and I had better get out on the booms." He beckoned the paid hand and they crawled along the deck. Red Rose rolled savagely and main boom and spinnaker boom tossed their ends aloft. The spars must be kept down, lest they swing across, and Marston, clasping the varnished pole with arms and legs, crawled out as far as he dared. Sometimes he swung high above the combers that rushed past below; and sometimes swung down until his body was wet by the foam. He could hold on if Harry kept her straight, but if she swerved much the big sails would lurch across and he and Charley would hardly escape with broken bones. He looked aft. Wyndham's figure cut against the light; it was tense and his head was motionless, as if his glance was fixed. Marston knew he meant to bring Red Rose in on her time allowance or sail her under. They drew round the head and reeled across a bay. A row of lights began to blink and two colored lanterns tossed. Marston saw the lights for a few moments when the spinnaker soared away from the boom. The race was nearly over, for the colored lights marked the flag-boat, anchored off the long iron pier. The committee had not given the yachts much room; perhaps they thought of their comfort and anchored the steamer near the beach so she would not roll about. Smart work would be needed to shorten sail before they struck the pier. A shadow touched the spinnaker and Marston looked astern. A swaying pyramid of canvas shut out the moon and foam leaped about a plunging hull. Ptarmigan had crept up and would go past, but she was large and allowed Red Rose some time. Marston could not remember how much she allowed; all he could do was to hold on, for his arms ached and his head began to swim. A few minutes would finish the race, and he wondered dully what would happen then. There were, perhaps, two hundred yards between the flag-boat and the pier; they ought to haul down the spinnaker now, but Harry would carry on. He saw Ptarmigan's topsail tilt downwards and dark figures run about her deck. Her spinnaker collapsed like a torn balloon, but Red Rose leaped on, pressed by straining sail. Then there was a flash, and the report of a gun rolled among the crags ahead. They drove into the smoke, speeding side by side with Ptarmigan, and the flash of another gun pierced the dark. Marston, crawling in-board, dropped into the cockpit as the flag-boat swept astern, and for the next few minutes he was desperately occupied. The spinnaker went into the sea, the topsail thrashed half-way up the mast, and Red Rose listed until the water was deep on her lee deck. A white sea swept her forward as they hauled down the staysail; and then, coming round, she plunged head to wind, a few yards from the dark ironwork of the pier. Wyndham came to help and soon afterwards they brought her to a safe anchorage. While they stowed the sails a gig crossed the bows and somebody shouted: "Well done, Red Rose! You're first by three minutes on handicap time." Wyndham put on his jacket and lighted a cigarette. "Not bad for a boat I bought because she was outclassed. Sometimes I wonder what I could do if I had proper tools," he said. Then he laughed. "Anyhow, we had better start the pump." CHAPTER II MOONLIGHT AND GLAMOUR [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] [Pg 14] Rockets leaped up from the old castle on the narrow flat between the woods and the strait. Colored fires burned behind the loopholes in the ruined walls, and an admiring crowd occupied the lawn that slanted to the water. The night was calm and when the band stopped the voices of a choir, singing old part-songs on the pier, carried well. There was a smell of drying seaweed, and the yachts' anchor-lights burned steadily in rows that wavered with the eddying tide. The last race was over and the townsfolk had given the crews a feast before the fleet dispersed. Marston sat on a broken wall, talking to Deva's owner about the race along the coast. Elliot was a friend of Marston's. Chisholm, the commodore's young son, stood close by, smoking a cigarette. "You beat us handsomely and Wyndham deserves the cup for his pluck in carrying on when we were forced to lower our topsail," Elliot admitted. "Still something was due to luck; you got the last of the stream along the shore when the tide running down the river carried the rest of us back." "Wyndham has a talent for that kind of thing," said Marston. "Sometimes you feel he, so to speak, thinks like a fish. He doesn't need to calculate when the tide will turn and where he'll find slack water. He knows." "Wyndham has a talent for getting what he wants," Chisholm interposed. "Deva ought to have beaten Red Rose." "Aren't you rather young to judge?" Marston asked, with a touch of dryness. "Oh, well," said the lad, "I like a man who loses now and then. You can understand that kind of fellow." Elliot frowned. He could take a beating; but he was curious and looked at Marston thoughtfully. "I suppose you didn't see the Knoll buoy?" "We did not," Marston replied. "There was something on the water in the haze, but it was too small for the buoy. Wyndham thought it a gull, a big black-back; his sight is pretty good." "How did the thing bear?" Marston hesitated, because he saw where the question led, but he was honest. "Nearly ahead; a point or two to starboard. Anyhow, it vanished, although, as we didn't change our course, we must have passed the spot rather close," he replied, forgetting that he was below when the object vanished. "Then it was a gull," Elliot agreed, but Chisholm was not satisfied. "Elliot's a sportsman; I don't know if I am or not, because I was on board Deva and feel hurt we didn't get the cup. Wyndham's a smart skipper, but his luck's too good. One's inclined to doubt a man who always gets a prize. My notion is, it isn't altogether due to skill. Besides, I think the commodore would have liked Elliot to win the cup." "You're not a tactful lad and perhaps you're not in very good form just now," Elliot remarked. "We'll go along and hear the band." They went off and Marston lighted his pipe. He was rather angry with young Chisholm, because he was persuaded Wyndham had not seen the buoy. Harry was not the man to win a race by a shabby trick; Marston trusted his friends. In the meantime, Wyndham and Flora Chisholm occupied a bench in a quiet corner of the castle wall. Now and then a colored fire blazed up on the battlements and red reflections flickered about the crowded lawn, but there were dark intervals when they saw the water sparkle and the black hills across the strait. When the band stopped, one heard the soft splash of the tide, and the choir singing old Welsh airs. Flora was young and felt the glamour of the calm moonlight night. Moreover, there was something strangely romantic about Wyndham. He was handsome and marked by a dashing recklessness that rather carried one away. Flora liked his pluck and bold seamanship. Her father was an old navy man and the yacht club commodore, and she had inherited his love for the sea. She had watched the finish of the race from the flag-boat, and had seen Red Rose reel past, horribly pressed by sail. Fine skill and steady nerve were needed to bring the old boat in first. Perhaps this was not important, but it was typical of Harry Wyndham; he ran risks and laughed. It was bracing to know him and flattering to feel that he was drawn to her. Yet Flora had some doubts; after all, she had not known Wyndham long and he had drawbacks. He was poor, some of her friends distrusted him, and Chisholm had given hints—he approved Jim Elliot, and Flora thought Jim loved her. When Wyndham was away she hesitated and wondered whether she was rash; when he was near she thrilled and caution vanished. Presently she roused herself and began to talk. Wyndham got a hint of strain and his heart beat. He imagined Flora was vaguely alarmed by his power to move her, but she did not go away. Although her fresh beauty had first attracted him, he soon saw she had qualities that strengthened her charm; she was proud, with a clean pride, honest, and plucky. All the same, he was poor; his people were known for their romantic extravagance and a touch of moral laxity. The business of which he had recently taken control languished and had not been very scrupulously carried on. Yet Wyndham was not daunted, and his love for the girl was sincere. [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] "Things will look different to-morrow when the boats have gone and the little town goes to sleep again," he said. "I feel doleful. The holiday's nearly over and soon after sunrise there'll be nothing left but a happy memory." "Then you make an early start?" "At half ebb; three or four o'clock. One wishes the night would last. Nights like this are not numerous." "You ought to be satisfied. You won the cup." "I meant to win. For one thing, you wished me luck." Flora blushed and wondered whether he could see her face. "After all, that was not much help," she said. "My wishing you luck wouldn't alter the wind and tide." "It gave me an object and a stimulus. We are a curious lot and much depends on our mood. When one's braced enough, obstacles don't count. One runs risks and wins." Flora was fastidious and got a faint jar. Yet she knew he was not a boaster; he did what he said. Besides, she was flattered. "You are stopping for a few days, with the Commodore?" he resumed. Flora said she was and he frowned. "I must go. I ought not to have taken the holiday, but the temptation was strong. Now I must make up for the lost time." "Your new business keeps you occupied?" "Yes; it claims all my thought, though now and then I deny the claim. The sea pulls and a boat's a fascinating toy; but a time comes when one must put one's toys away." "For all that, you came to the regattas and won the cup." Wyndham smiled and, for the moon was bright, Flora noted the reckless sparkle in his eyes. "You know why I came and why I won the cup," he said. "Perhaps I'm vain, but I wanted you to see I could beat the others whose toys are all that occupy them. I have not their luck, and my object for coming drives me back to town. If I'm to realize my ambitions, I have got to work." "Then you are ambitious?" Flora remarked and looked away. "Very," he replied quietly. "I know my drawbacks and they must be removed. I have inherited the responsibilities of an embarrassed house. My job's to repair its credit, wipe out debts, and make Wyndhams' respected, as it was respected once. A big job, but the ambition behind it gives me driving force." He paused and gave her a steady look. "Your father's friends are merchants and shipowners. You know I have much to build up and something to live down." Flora was quiet for a moment or two. She had heard her friends talk about Wyndhams' and it was plain that they thought the new head of the house something of an adventurer. For all that, she was moved. She liked his frankness and his resolution. Looking about, she saw Marston and a girl she knew cross the lawn, and was tempted to join them. Had it not been for the glamour of the moonlight and sparkling sea, she might have gone. "I wish you luck again!" she said quietly. "Ah," he said, "that will carry me far! Farther than you think, perhaps, because I am going away." Flora moved abruptly and he saw she was disturbed. "Where are you going? Will you stop long?" she asked, and Wyndham knew his chance had come. Her friends might blame him, but he meant to use his power. "To begin with, I'm going to West Africa, and then to South and Central America. We have an old schooner in the Guinea coast and I expect to sail her across. She can creep into lagoons and call at beaches the steamers do not touch. Somebody must pull the house's vanishing trade together and I am the head." "But it's a long ocean passage and an unhealthy coast," Flora remarked, with a note of strain in her voice. Altogether she tried to be calm. "All the same, I must go, and go soon," Wyndham replied. He stopped because he knew he had said enough, and Flora pondered. She would miss him much and his going forced her to front a crisis she would sooner have put off. She knew he loved her and he had a strange fascination; he stood for romance and adventure, but she was fastidiously honest and now and then he jarred. She felt vaguely that there was something about him she did not like. In the meantime, Marston and his companion came by again. The girl was a friend of Flora's, but she passed without a [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] glance and Flora knew she disapproved. Somehow she wished her lover was like Bob Marston. Bob had no fascination; indeed, he was rather dull, but he was frank and honest and one trusted him. She knew she ought to join him and Mabel; there was danger in stopping, but she did not go. Harry would sail at daybreak and she would be lonely afterwards. Marston and the girl went on, the music stopped, and Flora heard the drowsy splash of the tide. The moonlight sparkled on the strait and she felt a strange longing to be rash. One missed much unless one had pluck. Then Wyndham put his hand on her arm and gave her a long ardent look. "I am going away," he said. "I must go. For your sake, I must try to mend my damaged inheritance. Will you marry me when I come back?" Flora hesitated until he put his arm round her and her doubts vanished. Romance conquered and passion swept her away. She yielded when he drew her to him, and gave back his kiss. Then he let her go as people came towards them and they crossed the lawn. "My dear!" he said triumphantly. "I can conquer all my difficulties now and make your friends approve. You have given me a power I never had; I feel I can't be stopped." His eyes were very bright and he lifted his head. He looked unconquerable and his confidence was flattering. Flora's doubts had gone. He was her acknowledged lover and she was very staunch. "I must see your father when he gets back to town," Wyndham said presently. "The committee will keep him until too late to-night." "Yes," said Flora with faint misgivings, "you must see him soon." Wyndham's eyes twinkled. "It's possible he will get a jolt. I'll own I was half afraid; but I fear nothing now." "He loves me," Flora answered with a quiet look, and Wyndham said nothing, but pressed her arm. They left the castle grounds for the quiet beach, and in the meantime Mabel Hilliard and Marston leaned against the rails on the pier. For a time the girl watched the water foam among the pillars and then looked up. "Why didn't you speak to Wyndham?" she asked. Marston smiled. "I think the reason was plain; Harry didn't want us. Why didn't you speak to Flora?" Mabel made a sign of impatience. "I wanted to, but this would have been different. Flora wouldn't have suspected you were meddling." "I see," said Marston. "I'm known to be dull; but I'm not so dull that I miss your meaning. Well, you know Harry Wyndham's my friend." They were lovers who used no reserve, and Mabel did not hesitate. "Flora's my friend," she said. "Do you always trust Wyndham?" "If I didn't trust him, he wouldn't be my friend." "In some ways, you're very nice, Bob. But I'm afraid. Flora's attracted by Wyndham. I wish she were not." "Why? Don't you like Harry?" "It's rather that I love Flora. She's sincere and proud. She's fastidious; I think I mean she's scrupulously honorable." "Then you imply that Harry is not?" Marston asked, with a touch of sternness. "No, I don't altogether imply this; but I feel he is not the man for Flora." "Well," said Marston quietly, "I have known Harry long. He's clever and generous; he has pluck and when strain comes is his best. I know what some folks think about him, and Harry knows his handicap. The Wyndhams were rather a wild lot, the family business was drifting on the rocks, and the character of its recent head was not good. All this is a load for Harry, but he'll run straight, and I feel my job is to help him out." Mabel was not much comforted, but she gave him a smile. "If he is going to marry Flora, I want you to help him," she replied. They went off and some time afterwards Wyndham came along the pier. The fireworks were over and the crowd had gone, but a group of men stood about some steps that led to a narrow stage where the yachts' boats were moored. The tide ran fast, foaming against the iron pillars, but the promenade above threw a dark shadow on the water. Wyndham stopped at the steps and tried to see if Red Rose's dinghy was tied among the rest. It was too dark; all he could distinguish was a row of boats that swung about. Then young Chisholm pushed past. "The weed on the steps is slippery and I'm not going down. A yachtsman jumps into a punt," he said. [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] A yacht's punt is small and generally unstable, and to jump on board needs skill. Marston came up and seized Chisholm's shoulder. "Don't be a fool, Jack!" he said. "It's six or seven feet. If you don't capsize her, you'll go through the bottom." "Think I can't jump six feet?" the lad exclaimed, and Wyndham imagined he had drunk some wine at the committee supper. "Anyhow, I'll try." He shook off Marston's hand and leaped. His dark figure vanished and there was a splash below. Marston and the others climbed down the steps, but Wyndham jumped. He went under water and knew the risk he ran when he came up; he had known when he made the plunge. The tide swept him past the boats and broke angrily among the ironwork. One might get entangled and pulled down, and if a punt came to help, she would probably capsize when the current drove her against a brace. For a moment or two he drifted, and then saw something dark wash about in a wedge of foam. It was Chisholm, clinging to an iron and trying to keep his head above water. "Let go! I'll pick you up on the other side," shouted Wyndham, and the current swept them under a beam. Then he grasped the lad's shoulder and steered him between two pillars. The splash of oars indicated that a boat was pulling round the pier. Wyndham's arm struck a cross-bar and next moment something caught his leg, but he went clear and, dragging Chisholm with him, drifted into the moonlight. He felt safe now; all they need do was to wait until the boat arrived. They were a hundred yards from the pier when she came up and Marston leaned over the bow. "Let me have him," he said. "Back her and sit steady, Tom." Wyndham knew he could trust Bob and let Chisholm go. Marston dragged him on board and then balanced the boat while Wyndham lifted himself over the stern. Chisholm did not seem much the worse, for he began to squeeze the water from his clothes and laughed. "Trouble was, the punt I jumped for wasn't there," he said. "Imagine I owe you something, Wyndham. The other fellows couldn't have got me while I stuck to the brace, and if I'd let go, I'd have gone under the irons." "That's all right!" Wyndham remarked. "You'll look before you jump another time." They put Chisholm on board a steam yacht and when they reached Red Rose Marston said, "It was lucky for Jack you were about. We couldn't have got in between the braces with the punt." "It was a stroke of luck for both of us," Wyndham replied with a laugh. CHAPTER III CHISHOLM'S PERSUASION Commodore Chisholm sat in his smoking-room and knitted his brows while Wyndham talked. The room was small and plainly furnished and the books on the shelves were all about the sea; narratives of old explorers' voyages, works on naval tactics, and yacht registers. Wyndham spoke fast and with marked eagerness, and when he was moved he had a strange power of persuasion, but now and then Chisholm frowned. Although he knew he must give way, he hesitated. There was something romantic and, so to speak, exotic, about Wyndham, and Chisholm liked sober English calm. For all that, he loved his daughter, whom he had long indulged, and knew her mind. He had only two children, Jack and Flora, and his wife was dead. Chisholm had loved her well and married rather late. It was for her sake and because his pay was small he left the navy and took a post in the service of a public navigation board. Although he held his navy rank he was generally given his yachting title, the "Commodore." He was scrupulously just, frank, and rather slow; a man at whom his friends sometimes smiled but always trusted. Now he frankly wished his daughter had chosen another lover. It was not that he disliked the fellow; he knew his family history and what business men thought about Wyndham Brothers. Still, it looked as if Flora was satisfied. "You ask me rather a hard thing," he remarked when Wyndham stopped. "However, if Flora agrees, I suppose I cannot refuse. It's obvious I owe you much." "You mean my pulling Jack out of the water? I don't want to urge this. It was really nothing, and the lad swims well." "There is some risk in trying to swim through a net of iron rods when a four-knot current runs through the holes; as I expect you knew when you plunged. Besides, it's plain Jack was excited and a little off his balance. The others went for a punt; you saw the real danger and steered him through." [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] Wyndham imagined Chisholm was struggling with his prejudices and trying to be just. He had a generous vein and the Commodore's honesty moved him. "My strongest argument is that I love Flora," he declared. "It counts for much," said Chisholm, who felt his sincerity. "Still, there are other matters one must talk about." "That is so, sir," Wyndham agreed. "Well, I know I'm asking much and I'm handicapped. I'm poor; when I took the family business I took a load of debt and some distrust. We're not a conventional lot; we have long been reckless and adventurous." He stopped for a moment, and then, while Chisholm approved his frankness, went on: "All the same, I'm young; the house's fortunes can be mended and its credit made good, and I have an object for putting my heart into the job. It will be something of a struggle, sir, but I've got a fighting chance, and with Flora's help I feel I'm going to win." "How do you propose to mend the house's fortunes?" Chisholm asked. "For a start, I've planned to visit our factories abroad, study our trade on the spot, and turn out incompetent agents. I'll begin in West Africa and then cross to the Caribbean. I expect to use our trading schooner." Chisholm looked up, rather quickly, and Wyndham saw his interest was roused. When one talked about boats the Commodore was keen, and Wyndham's voyage was, so to speak, safe ground. "It's a long run," Chisholm remarked. "The slavers' road, sir," said Wyndham, who meant to lead him on. "A slow beat against the Guinea current until one clears the windward ports and works up to the Pambier; and then a fast reach across open water in the North-East Trades. The early adventurers used smaller boats than mine." "They pushed off from the Azores and Canaries, north of your track, and carried the North-Easter farther across. If you get to leeward, you'll strike the equatorial calms. But what about your boat?" "She's an old ninety-ton yacht, the Columbine, and was rather famous once." "Columbine?" said Chisholm, who took down a yacht register. "Here she is! Good builders, men who stuck to oak and teak. But she's thirty years old." Wyndham smiled. The Commodore was getting keen; he was as enthusiastic as a boy when he talked about the sea. "I understand she's pretty sound and I must use the tools I've got. Her draught is light. We can cross river bars and get into shallow lagoons. Our factories stand by the mangrove creeks the slavers haunted. Wyndhams' were slavers long since." "An old house!" said Chisholm. "Your folks were pioneers. There's something in a long record; habits and characteristics go with the blood of an old stock." "Sometimes that has drawbacks, sir," Wyndham remarked. Chisholm did not follow him and Wyndham saw he was musing about the romance of the sea. "But what about your crew?" the Commodore asked. "I expect to keep the Liberian Krooboys now on board. A half-tamed, reckless lot, but every Krooboy's a sailor." "I know; fine stuff, but needs management," Chisholm agreed. "I was on patrol along the Guinea coast—a long time since. Blazing sun, roaring bars, steaming mangrove swamps, and sickness. For all that, there's a fascination you get nowhere else, unless it's on the Caribbean and coast of Brazil. The world's alike on the lines of latitude and man's morals follow the parallels." He paused with a dreamy look and then resumed: "I'm getting old and have my duty; but if I could, I'd go with you." For a time they talked about the voyage, and then, with a half-embarrassed smile, Chisholm pulled himself up. "I'm forgetting. There are things I ought to ask——" Wyndham told him how much money he had, and when Chisholm looked thoughtful, went on: "I don't expect your consent to our marrying yet. It's not long since I took control of the business and much depends on the arrangements I hope to make at our factories. Things will look better when I come back." "It's possible. But you do not know." "I really do know, sir," Wyndham declared. "You can make my ability to put things straight a stipulation, if you like. I'm willing to be tested. I feel I can't fail." Chisholm studied him for a moment or two. Wyndham's eyes sparkled; he looked strangely forceful and resolute, and Chisholm thought he understood why Flora had been carried away. The fellow was handsome and romantic. Besides, he was a fine sailor, and Chisholm knew his pluck. [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] "Very well," he said. "We'll let it go like that. The wedding must wait until you come back, but I wish you luck." Wyndham thanked him and when he went off Chisholm pondered. Perhaps he had agreed rather weakly; he had meant to be firmer, but Wyndham had led him to talk about his voyage. Anyhow, the fellow had charm. It was hard to refuse him and Chisholm had seen he was sincere. By and by he got up and lighted his pipe. The thing was done with and he had given his consent. Somehow he had been persuaded and after all if Flora was satisfied—— Chisholm had not stipulated that nobody should be told and Flora's friends had much to talk about. Mabel Hilliard was disturbed, and when Marston came to her mother's house one evening took him to the garden. "Bob," she said, "I suppose you know Wyndham is going to marry Flora?" "I do know," said Marston. "In fact, I approve. Flora is nearly the nicest girl I've met. However, I imagine you're not satisfied." "I am not. Flora has been my friend since we were children. I am very fond of her and think she is quite the nicest girl you have met." "Bar one!" Marston interposed. Mabel smiled. "Oh, well, I expect your judgment's biased, Bob. But let me go on, although it's rather awkward ground. Wyndham has charm, he's picturesque; something of the gentleman-adventurer type. I think that's what I mean." "But you don't like the type? I thought it appealed to a girl's imagination. Anyhow, although we're getting conventionalized, there are gentlemen-adventurers and we have jobs for them yet." "I am not romantic," Mabel replied, with a twinkling glance. "I like sober men, even if they're sometimes slow; men who keep a promise but don't protest much. One doesn't want to be dazzled. A steady light is enough." Marston was silent for a moment or two. Mabel's trust moved him and he was half embarrassed. Then he said: "There's a remark of yours I can't let go. No ground you think you ought to venture on is awkward to us. Very well. You don't approve Harry's marrying Flora, but what line d'you want me to take? I can't give him up and you're not going to give up your friend. It wouldn't be like you." "I want you to stick to him closer than before. Flora and he may need us both. One feels that Wyndham's unstable, and you make good ballast, Bob." "Well, I suppose I'm heavy enough and you have given me an easy job. It's curious, but not long since I told Harry I'd see him out if he wanted help and yesterday he hinted he'd like a partner for his voyage South. In a way, of course, I don't want to go." Mabel hid her disturbance and mused. She was modern and sometimes frivolous, but she was very staunch and loved two people well. She did not want Bob to go and yet she thought he ought. Mabel had an instinctive distrust for Wyndham, although she liked him. She felt that with his temperament he would run risks in the South and he must be protected, for Flora's sake. Flora had promised to marry Wyndham and Mabel knew she would keep her word. Well, sober, honest Bob, who was really cleverer than people thought, was the man to take care of him. "If Wyndham urges it, I must let you go," she said. Marston gave her a steady glance, and nodded. "I understand. Of course, I think your notion's ridiculous. Harry doesn't need a fellow like me, but you mean well. Although, in one way, I'd frankly like the trip, in another I'd much sooner stay." "I know," said Mabel. "You're a dear, Bob." Then she got up, smiling, and advanced to meet Chisholm and Flora, who came up the garden path. Wyndham urged Marston to go with him, and a week or two afterwards Flora and Mabel stood on the deck of a paddle tug crossing a busy river mouth. The day was dull and a haze of smoke from two towns hung about the long rows of warehouses and massive river walls. Out in the stream, a small steamer with a black funnel and a row of white deckhouses moved seawards with the tide. The figures grouped along her rail got indistinct, but Flora's eyes were fixed upon two that stood away from the rest, until they faded. Then the African boat vanished behind the towering hull of an anchored liner. Flora turned and lowered her veil, for her eyes were wet. Chisholm was on board the tug, but he was some distance off. Mabel was near, and her look was strained. "In a way, it's only a long yachting trip," the latter remarked. "No," said Flora; "we both know it is not. It's a rash adventure; Harry is going South, as his people all have gone, and some did not come back." "Of course he'll come back! Travel's safe and easy now. They'll have no adventures, except perhaps, at sea." [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] "I'm not afraid of the sea," Flora said in a quiet voice. "It's the tropic coast; the big muddy rivers that get lost in the forest, and the dark lagoons among the mangrove swamps. The country's insidious; its influence is strong." Mabel forced a smile. She thought Flora was not disturbed about the physical dangers, such as fever and shipwreck. It looked as if she knew her lover. "Anyhow, Bob is going with Harry, and Bob is not romantic," she remarked. "In fact, he's the steadiest, most matter-of- fact man I know. Nothing excites Bob much. It's very hard to carry him away." Flora gave her a grateful look. Since she must not criticize Harry, they could not be altogether frank, but she saw Mabel understood. The men they loved had very different temperaments, and Bob would be a useful counterbalance. He was sober and practical: one could trust him. It was hard to own that, in a sense, she could not trust Harry. He was rash, and Flora did not like the stories about the Wyndhams who had not come back. However, Bob was going, and she imagined she owed Mabel much. "I like Bob," she said. "I expect it cost you something to send him with Harry." "He wanted to go." Flora put her hand in the other's arm. "But you might have stopped him." "He's Harry's friend," said Mabel. "I am yours. After all, that counts for something, but we won't talk about it now. Your promising to marry Harry has drawn us closer. It's an extra tie, because all Bob's friends are mine." The tug's whistle shrieked as she swung across the tide to the landing stage and Flora looked down the river. In the distance, where granite walls and warehouses got small and indistinct, the African boat melted into the smoke and mist. Flora felt strangely forlorn and half afraid. CHAPTER IV THE MAN WHO VANISHED Moonlight glittered on the West African river and it was very hot; the air was heavy, humid, and tainted by miasmatic vapors. Inside the lonely factory, moisture dripped from the beams and the big bare room that opened on the veranda smelt of mildew. Across the river, tangled mangroves loomed through drifting mist that hid the banks of mud about their long, arched roots. Wyndham's schooner, Columbine, rode in midstream, her tall masts and the graceful sweep of her rail cutting black against the silver light. Somebody on board was singing a Kroo paddling song with a strange monotonous air. In the distance one heard the rumble of heavy surf. The factory was old and ruinous and the agent's hair was going white. He sat opposite Wyndham, at the end of a table about which documents were scattered; a cocktail jug and some glasses occupied the middle. Ellams was haggard and his skin was a jaundiced yellow. Marston lounged in a deck chair, with the perspiration running down his face, and smoked a cigarette. "I think I have told you all you want to know, and I'm willing to give up my post," Ellams remarked. "Indeed, I'm beginning to feel I'm too old for the job. Few white men have lived as long in the fever swamps; as a rule an agent's run was very short when I first came out. We didn't bother about mosquitoes then. The tropical-diseases people hadn't discovered the mischievous habits of anopheles." "You were here with my uncle, I think?" said Wyndham. "I was with him for a year or two," Ellams answered, in a reminiscent tone. "A strange man, in some ways! I expect it's long since you saw him?" "He came to England when I was a boy." Ellams smiled. "When I saw you cross the compound, I thought Rupert Wyndham had come back. Wait a moment; I have his portrait." He brought a faded and mildewed photograph. Wyndham studied it, without speaking, and then gave it to Marston, who made a little gesture of surprise. He imagined Rupert Wyndham was about his comrade's age when the portrait was taken, and the likeness was strange. There was in both faces a hint of recklessness and unrest, although the hint was plainer in the portrait. It indicated that Rupert would venture much and take paths sober men did not tread. Somehow it disturbed Marston. "I suppose you know he vanished in the West Indies?" Wyndham remarked. [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] "Yes," said Ellams quietly. "I half expected something like this——" "Ah!" said Wyndham. "Well, we've done with business for to-night. Tell me about my uncle." Ellams drained his glass and Marston noted that his hand shook. The man had obviously suffered much from ague and fever. "Rupert Wyndham was here before me," Ellams began. "Procter was agent when he arrived and Procter had got some native habits. That's a risk men who indulge their curiosity run in Africa. There's danger of forgetting one is white. I imagine it was unlucky Rupert began with Procter; his was a strange, adventurous temperament——" "I'm told I have some of Rupert's characteristics," Wyndham remarked. "But go on." "When your uncle came out, there was no rule but the negro headman's. British authority stopped a few miles from the outpost stockade, and traders made their own laws; they lived and drank hard. In some ways, things are not very different yet. We kill mosquitoes and dig drains, but Africa doesn't change. "Well, Procter had gone the way some white men go, and when he died your uncle got a jar. Rupert had only known England and he was young, but I don't mean he was daunted....