WE DISCOVER TEDDY PARSONS IS LEFT BEHIND—I MAKE UP MY MIND—TO THE RESCUE!—UNMANLY CONDUCT OF THE OTHERS—I GO ALONE—DISGUISE—THE GARDE CHAMPÊTRE

“It’s all over!” I cried to Lucy, as I stumbled in; “we’ve done it beautifully! We’re all safe, without a scratch!”

And then, so overwrought was I with the long tension, I became quite hysterical.

I went off into a fit of laughter, and at last, with the silly, happy tears chasing one another like sheep down my face, I managed to tell her she was free now to go back to Wharton Park with her father and grandmother, that Bob Hines would have his swimming-bath and gymnasium, that the ho-ho-hospitals would all open their closed wards again, and Teddy Parsons breathe freely once more before his fierce old governor, the colonel, at Southport.

“It was my idea!” I cried, “and we’ve done it with the greatest ease—I knew we should!—and we’re all safe; and oh, Lucy! do just come into the saloon and see how much we’ve got. It was my own idea, and the fools all said it was impossible, and just look how simple it’s been, after all! Why, we must have carried off sixty thousand pounds, at least!”

Lucy seemed scarcely to understand what I was talking about; but she saw I was safe, and, feeling the yacht well under weigh, cared for very little else; so she held my hand and soothed and calmed me, and then followed with obedient laughter as I almost dragged her into the saloon.

There, neatly piled under the electric light on the table, lay the linen bags, for all the world like the letter-bags in a mail-train; and there was Brentin, with wet hair and tie all on one side, beginning to empty them and arrange notes and gold in separate heaps. The silver was a little deficient, for we had given the sailors orders more or less to ignore the five-franc pieces.

Of the gallant band, Hines and Forsyth were lying on the sofas with closed eyes, still slightly panting; my sister was looking on, leaning up against one of the pillars, where Miss Rybot, seated at the table, was unfolding the notes with her long, slim fingers, and arranging them in bundles according to their respective values. She was doing it with the greatest coolness, and, for some reason, a rather more haughty air of displeasure than usual.

“Well, Master Vincent,” said Brentin, looking up at me with grim joy, “here we all are, and here is the boodle. Come and help count.”

At that moment in came Masters. It appears he had fallen, getting down off the railway line, and muddied his trousers; he had been changing them, not caring to appear before his young lady with dirty knees.

Hines and Forsyth roused themselves, and, almost in silence, we sat down to count; not a sound but a step or two on deck overhead and the throb of the engines, the luxurious rustle of notes, the pleasing chink of gold.

Suddenly my sister said, “Where’s Mr. Parsons?”

Miss Rybot murmured, “Two hundred and forty-seven thousand-franc notes.”

I looked round the saloon. “Yes, by-the-way, where’s Teddy?”

There was no answer, and Brentin stopped emptying the last bag. “In his cabin, probably,” he said, carelessly.

“No, he’s not,” replied Masters, who shared it with him.

“He came in your boat,” said Brentin, looking across at me, startled.

“Indeed, he didn’t!”

There was dead silence while for a moment we looked in each other’s frightened faces.

Then I got up and left the saloon. Outside I shouted for him; no answer.

I hurried on deck to find the captain; it was still raining hard, and the captain was in his shelter up on the bridge. The light from the binnacle struck up on the resolute face of Joyce at the wheel.

“Captain Evans!”

“Sir!”

“Did you see Mr. Parsons come on board?”

“Can’t say I particularly noticed him, sir.”

“Joyce, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“He wasn’t in our boat, was he?”

“No, sir.”

“Who rowed the second boat?”

“Bramber and Meikle, sir.”

I hurried away and at last found them in the galley with the cook, eating a surreptitious supper, with tin plates on their knees.

“Who came in the boat with you men?” I asked.

“Mr. Brentin, Mr. Masters, Mr. Hines, and Mr. Forsyth,” said Bramber, with his mouth full.

“That’s right!” said Meikle.

“You saw nothing of Mr. Parsons?”

“No, sir; we thought he was with you.”

I stumbled down the companion and almost fell into the saloon. They had stopped counting and looked up at me anxiously. “Well?”

“He’s not on board!”

“Sakes alive!” murmured Brentin. “That’s awkward!—for Mr. Parsons,” he considerately added.

My sister said “Good gracious, Vincent!” while with her silver pencil Miss Rybot began to draw poor Teddy’s insignificant profile on the back of one of the thousand-franc notes.

I took a perturbed turn or two up and down the saloon.

“He can’t have fallen overboard?” ventured Masters.

“How could he, if he didn’t even come off in either of the boats?” some one replied.

There was another pause, and then I asked:

“How closely were you followed?”

“Why, not at all,” said Brentin. “After we loosed off the guns they all ran back.”

“Did anybody see Teddy after we got down the steps?”

Nobody answered. The fact was, I fear, we were all too busy looking after ourselves to look after any one else.

“He may have fallen crossing the line. Did anybody notice whether any one fell?”

Silence again. Then, with vague emphasis, Brentin said:

“Depend upon it, Mr. Parsons is ay gentleman of so much resource that, wherever he is, he may safely be left to extricate himself from embarrassment. Let us resoom the counting.”

I looked at him reproachfully.

“Mr. Brentin, it was agreed we stood by each other, I believe?”

“You were the first to get ahead, sir,” he replied, with what was meant for withering sarcasm, “and be off in the wrong boat.”

“Because I understood we were all safe.”

“So we were. So, no doubt, is Mr. Parsons.”

“And if at this moment he is in the hands of the police?”

The base Brentin shrugged his shoulders.

“Tong pee pour louee,” he said, in New York French. “Gentlemen, let us resoom the counting.”

“No!” I cried, banging the table, “not till we have decided what is to be done.”

Brentin frowned and looked across at me sourly. I couldn’t have believed success would so utterly change a man; but so it often is.

“Good chap, Teddy Parsons,” murmured Forsyth. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not know, sir,” scowled Brentin, “whether you propose to imperil the safety of five gentlemen, three elegant and refined ladies, and—”

“Was it, or was it not, understood we stood by each other?” I cried, impatiently. “See here, you fellows, you can’t be seriously thinking of leaving that poor little snipe in the lurch like this?”

“Parsons never was any particular friend of mine,” growled Hines.

“Besides, I expect he’s all right,” said Masters, evasively. “He knows people over at Mentone; he’ll be off over there, you bet.”

“Don’t you excite yourself, old boy,” murmured Forsyth. “Parsons is one of the cleverest chaps I know. He’ll get out of it all right, you take your oath. Besides, we can scarcely turn back now.”

“Turn back!” snarled Brentin. “This vessel is mine and under my orders. There will be no turning back, except over my dead body; and that’s all there is to it! Come, gentlemen,” he cried, impatiently, “resoom the counting.”

And such was their incredible baseness that they actually began counting again, just as though poor Teddy Parsons had never been born. Only the ladies looked shocked, while Lucy kept her frightened eyes fixed on my face. As for me, my mind was soon made up.

“Well,” I said, resolutely, “if you won’t any of you come, I shall go back alone.”

“What’s the matter with walking on the waters?” sneered Brentin.

“In a few moments,” I continued, “we shall be off Cap Martin. Mr. Brentin, you will be good enough to give orders to have me put ashore there.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” he jeered.

“I shall make my way back to Monte Carlo alone—alone!” I cried, with pathetic emphasis, “and not rest till I have discovered what has become of our poor lost friend.”

“As you please,” said Brentin, sharply; “only if you are caught you mustn’t expect any one of us to come to your rescue. It’s simply sending good money after bad.”

Poor Lucy began to cry as, before leaving the saloon, I turned to them and fired my parting shot. I forget now precisely what it was, but I know it was both dignified and touching; feeling, as I did, rather more sorry for myself than even for poor Teddy. But it had no effect whatever in rousing any of them to accompany me on my perilous journey.

Then I went back to my cabin to change my clothes, for I was still in my smoking-suit with the torn pocket, and, so attired, could scarcely venture ashore. Disguise of some sort was clearly imperative before trusting myself again on the scene of our so recent successful labors.

Now, most providentially, before we left London, Brentin and I had gone off one morning to Clarkson’s, the wig-maker. It was quite possible, we had argued, we might have to fly, more or less closely pursued, and for that unpleasing eventuality had hired half a dozen wigs, among them two gray ones, for what are known, I believe, as “character old men.” I had at the same time bought a pair of gray whiskers, and, with my old regimental theatricals make-up box, packed them away, along with a quiet, elderly suit. I was always intrusted with the old men’s parts in our regimental theatricals, and invariably played them in a dress-coat, frilled shirt, and a bunch of seals with moirÉ antique ribbon, bending myself almost double and rapping with a crook stick in a manner so natural as to deceive even the men of my own company at the back of the hall. So that, unless I overacted, or a whisker came off, I felt pretty sure of not being recognized by comparative strangers.

The quiet elderly suit I rapidly dressed myself in, and with my mackintosh cape, an umbrella, and the make-up box under my arm, went back to the saloon.

I was so offended at their pusillanimity I would look at no one but Brentin, who, with glittering eye and long cigar, was jotting down the amounts of our capture on a piece of paper.

“You have given the necessary orders?” I asked him, coldly.

“Aye, aye, sir!” he sneered. “The yacht is now slowing down.”

Lucy had gone to her cabin with my sister, in great distress, and Miss Rybot was sitting there with arms folded, rubbing her silver pencil between her lips.

“Good-bye, Mr. Blacker,” she said, “and good luck to you. I admire your sense of loyalty. You are the only man among the party!” she was good enough to add.

“Pop, pop!” jeered the irrepressible Brentin.

Arthur Masters turned pale, and from a generous fear of making him feel his inferiority by my presence, I bowed to them all in silence, and went up on deck.

By this time the yacht had stopped, and off the port-beam I could just distinguish the dark woods of Cap Martin looming. It was about half-past eleven, and still slightly raining, though, fortunately, quite warm.

Lucy came running up, and, sobbing, threw her arms round my neck. My sister kissed me affectionately, and said:

“We shall see you at Venice, Vincent dear; take care of yourself!”

And the next minute I was over the side and in the boat. I said never a word the whole time, being, I confess, deeply offended at the light way they all took my heroic resolution, and the assurance they showed in so readily believing (however flattering to my courage and address) it was all bound to be successful.

The men rowed me ashore in silence, bade me a respectful good-night, and I was soon clambering over the stones and up the rough bank. Soon I was in the comparative shelter of the woods, and there, finding the base of a fir-tree tolerably dry, I sat me down to think and wait for morning.

Faintly I heard midnight strike from Monte Carlo, and then, so absorbed in thought and conjecture I grew, I fell asleep. When I woke, it was just getting gray; so I rose, stretched my stiff self, and had a good look about me. I knew tolerably well whereabouts I was; for my sister, Miss Rybot, Masters, and I had one day been over Cap Martin to tea at the hotel, and walked back through the woods, past the Empress Eugenie’s villa, on to the Mentone road, and so home.

We had then noticed, not far from the villa, in the woods, a small sort of ancient decaying gamekeeper’s lodge, painted outside with arabesque in the Italian manner, and faint vanishing mottoes of conviviality and sport; and that I determined to make for, and see if I could there secure facilities for shaving off my mustache, at any rate. Then I proposed to retire into the woods again, and assume my character old man wig and whiskers, and so disguised make my way leisurely back into Monte Carlo, to try and find news of the luckless Teddy. Beyond that, I could devise no plan of any sort, determining to leave all to the hazard of the hour.

I wandered about a good time in the dawn, and at last struck the lodge, soon after seven, when it was growing tolerably light. It was a fine morning, fortunately, though very raw and cold. The lodge door was open, and I peeped in. Probably, in the last century, it had been a luncheon-house for the Grimaldis on their shooting or pleasure expeditions; now it was rapidly decaying, and looked like a neglected summerhouse. No one was to be seen, and so, the foot of a ladder showing to the upper room, I entered and climbed it.

It was a bedroom, and evidently only just left; the bed was tumbled, and there was the faint, fragrant odor of a pipe.

No time was to be lost, so I poured water into the basin (the owner had evidently not washed that morning) and got out my razors. I found a pair of scissors, and clipping myself as close as possible first and then screwing up my courage, for shaving in cold water is horribly painful, and lathering myself well, I set to work.

I hadn’t more than half done when I heard steps outside on the wet gravel; they came into the house, to the foot of the ladder; then they began slowly to climb. There was no help for it, I must go on and trust to luck; so on I went with my shaving, keeping an eye meantime in the glass on the door behind me, so that I might gain some impression of the owner before tackling and conciliating him.

Fortunately, when I was trying for the army, before I failed and went into the militia, I had been for six months with a coach at Dinan, in Brittany, and spoke French well enough for all vulgar purposes; so when the ordinary type of an old soldier, garde champÊtre, head appeared at the head of the ladder, bristling with astonishment, I felt more at home with it than perhaps the ordinary British officer, who has only learned his French at Wren’s or Scoone’s, would have done.

“DÎtes donc!” said the amazed man; “je ne vous gÊne pas?”

“Du tout!” I replied, “entrez.”

“Mais, nom d’un chien!” he cried, coming into the room. “Qu’est ce que vous faites lÀ?”

“Vous voyez, n’est ce pas? Je me rase.”

“Je le vois bien! et aprÈs?”

“AprÈs? Je m’en vais.”

There was a pause while the garde champÊtre came alongside, and surveyed me with folded arms.

Tears were in my eyes, for the process was a torture; but I went on with it heroically and in silence.

At last, “Vous Êtes AmÉricain?” he asked.

“Mais oui. Toute ma vie!”

“C’est bien. J’aime les AmÉricains.”

“Merci! moi aussi!”

The man laughed, and then he went on: “Mais, dÎtes donc! Pourquoi vous rasez-vous ici comme Ça, dans ma chambre, ma propre chambre?”

“C’est que—” I hesitatingly began, and then, with an inspired rush—“voyez vous! Je suis mariÉ, et je crois que ma femme me trompe.”

“Oh, la! la! Et aprÈs?”

“AprÈs? Je vais me dÉguiser et la pincer. C’est dur, n’est ce pas?”

“TrÈs dur!” said the man, looking amused; “mais les femmes sont toujours comme Ça. Elle est AmÉricaine?”

“Anglaise.”

“Je dÉteste les Anglais! Continuez, mon bon monsieur. Je vous laisse.”

“Merci! Dans cinq minutes je descendrai.”

“Ne vous pressez pas, et dÉguisez-vous bien,” he said, and, leaving the room, went half-way down the ladder. Then he turned and put his head into the room again, resting his elbows on the floor.

“DÎtes donc, mon bon monsieur,” he said, evidently at some pains to check his mirth; “avec qui croyez-vous que votre femme vous trompe?”

“Je ne sais pas au juste. Avec un de mes amis, je crois.”

“Le misÉrable!” he cried, theatrically. “Un FranÇais, sans doute?”

“Oui, malheureusement.”

“Oh, la, la! Mais les amis sont comme Ça. C’est trÈs dur, tout de mÊme. Courage! Je vais prÉparer le cafÉ. Au revoir.”

With so sympathetic a garde champÊtre I felt I was in luck, and might as well seize the opportunity for assuming my complete disguise, instead of taking to the woods; so I put on my wig and, with some spirit-gum, stuck on my gray whiskers, lined my face lightly, and, in five minutes, presented myself to the more than ever astonished garde champÊtre as a respectable, well preserved, elderly gentleman of sixty.

“Mais nom d’un chien!” he cried; “c’est parfait! Elle ne vous reconnaÎtra pas; jamais de la vie!”

We sat down and drank the coffee, the best friends in the world; and then, giving him a louis and the box of make-up and razors as a souvenir, I left him with a warm shake of the hand, and went off through the wood to strike the Mentone road back into Monte Carlo.

I hadn’t gone twenty paces before he came running after me to say that if ever I wanted to disguise myself again I was to come to him and use his rooms, and that he would always keep the razors in order for the purpose.

“Mais c’est dur, tout de mÊme,” he added, sympathetically, as I promised.

The last I saw of him, he turned and waved his hand. “Adieu, mon vieux!” he cried. “Bonne chance!”