The Story of Charles Strange. Vol. 3 (of 3). Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ down the narrow pavement on the opposite side of the way, in the purposeless manner that a hopeless man favours, I approached the book-stall. A sailor was standing before it, his head bent over the volumes. Every pulse within me went up to fever heat: for there was that in him that reminded me of Tom Heriot.

      I crossed quietly to the stall, stood side by side with him, and took up a handful of penny dreadfuls. Yes, it was he—Tom Heriot.

      "Tom," I cried softly. "Tom!"

      I felt the start he gave. But he did not move hand or foot; only his eyes turned to scan me.

      "Tom," I whispered again, apparently intent upon a grand picture of a castle in flames, and a gentleman miraculously escaping with a lady from an attic window. "Tom, don't you know me?"

      "For goodness' sake don't speak to me, Charley!" he breathed in answer, the words barely audible. "Go away, for the love of heaven! I've been a prisoner here for the last three minutes. That policeman yonder would know me, and I dare not turn. His name's Wren."

      Three doors off, a policeman was standing at the edge of the pavement, facing the shops, as if waiting to pounce upon someone he was expecting to pass. Even as Tom spoke, he wheeled round to the right, and marched up the street. Tom as quickly disappeared to the left, leaving a few words in my ear.

      "I'll wait for you at the other end, Charley; it is darker there than here. Don't follow me immediately."

      So I remained where I was, still bending an enraptured gaze upon the burning castle and the gallant knight and damsel escaping from it at their peril.

      "Betsy says the account comes to seven shillings, Mr. Strange."

      The address gave me almost as great a thrill as the sight of Tom had done. It came from the man Lee, now emerging from his shop. Involuntarily I pulled my hat lower upon my brow. He looked up and down the street.

      "Oh, I beg pardon—thought Mr. Strange was standing here," he said. And then I saw my error. He had not spoken to me, but to Tom Heriot. My gaze was still fascinated by the flaming picture.

      "Anything you'd like this evening, sir?"

      "I'll take this sheet—half a dozen of them," I said, putting down sixpence.

      "Thank you, sir. A fine night."

      "Yes, very. Were you speaking to the sailor who stood here?" I added carelessly "He went off in that direction, I think," pointing to the one opposite to that Tom had taken.

      "Yes," answered the man; "'twas Mr. Strange. He had asked me to look how much his score was for tobacco. I dare say he'll be back presently. Captain Strange, by rights," added Lee chattily.

      "Oh! Captain of a vessel?"

      "Of his own vessel—a yacht. Not but what he has been about the world in vessels of all sorts, he tells us; one voyage before the mast, the next right up next to the skipper. But for them ups and downs where, as he says, would sailors find their experience?"

      "Very true. Well, this is all I want just now. Good-evening."

      "Good-evening, sir," replied Caleb Lee.

      The end of the street to which Tom had pointed was destitute of shops; the houses were small and poor; consequently, it was tolerably dark. Tom was sauntering along, smoking a short pipe.

      "Is there any place at hand where we can have a few words together in tolerable security?" I asked.

      "Come along," briefly responded Tom. "You walk on the other side of the street, old fellow; keep me in view."

      It was good advice, and I took it. He increased his pace to a brisk walk, and presently turned down a narrow passage, which brought him to a sort of small, triangular green, planted with shrubs and trees. I followed, and we sat down on one of the benches.

      "Are you quite mad, Tom?"

      "Not mad a bit," laughed Tom. "I say, Charley, did you come to that book-stall to look after me?"

      "Ay. And it's about the tenth time I have been there."

      "How the dickens did you find me out?"

      "Chance one evening took Leah into the neighbourhood, and she happened to see you. I had feared you might be in England."

      "You had heard of the wreck of the Vengeance, I suppose; and that a few of us had escaped. Good old Leah! Did I give her a fright?"

      We were sitting side by side. Tom had put his pipe out, lest the light should catch the sight of any passing stragglers. We spoke in whispers. It was, perhaps, as safe a place as could be found; nevertheless, I sat upon thorns.

      Not so Tom. By the few signs that might be gathered—his light voice, his gay laugh, his careless manner—Tom felt as happy and secure as if he had been attending one of her Majesty's levées, in the full glory of scarlet coat and flashing sword-blade.

      "Do you know, Tom, you have half killed me with terror and apprehension? How could you be so reckless as to come back to London?"

      "Because the old ship brought me," lightly returned Tom.

      "I suppose a vessel picked you up—and the comrades who escaped with you?"

      "It picked two of us up. The other three died."

      "What, in the boat?"

      He nodded. "In the open boat at sea."

      "How did you manage to escape? I thought convicts were too well looked after."

      "So they are, under ordinary circumstances. Shipwrecks form the exception. I'll give you the history, Charley."

      "Make it brief, then. I am upon thorns."

      Tom laughed, and began:

      "We were started on that blessed voyage, a cargo of men in irons, and for some time made a fair passage, and thought we must be nearing the other side. Such a crew, that cargo, Charles! Such an awful lot! Villainous wretches, who wore their guilt on their faces, and suffered their deserts; half demons, most of them. A few amongst them were no doubt like me, innocent enough; wrongfully accused and condemned–"

      "But go on with the narrative, Tom."

      "I swear I was innocent," he cried, with emotion, heedless of my interruption. "I was wickedly careless, I admit that, but the guilt was another's, not mine. When I put those bills into circulation, Charles, I knew no more they were forged than you did. Don't you believe me?"

      "I do believe you. I have believed you throughout."

      "And if the trial had not been hurried on I think it could have been proved. It was hurried on, Charles, and when it was on it was hurried over. I am suffering unjustly."

      "Yes, Tom. But won't you go on with your story?"

      "Where was I? Oh, about the voyage and the shipwreck. After getting out of the south-east trades, we had a fortnight's light winds and calms, and then got into a steady westerly wind, before which we ran quietly for some days. One dark night, it was the fifteenth of November, and thick, drizzling weather, the wind about north-west, we had turned in and were in our first sleep, when a tremendous uproar arose on deck; the watch shouting and tramping, the officers' СКАЧАТЬ