With Edged Tools Part 34

"Can you go," she said, after a moment's thought, "to St. Paul de Loanda for me?"

The man laughed.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"At once--now?"

"Oh, yes," with a sigh.

Already Jocelyn was writing something on a sheet of paper.

"Take this," she said, "to the telegraph office at St. Paul de Loanda, and send it off at once. Here is money. You understand? I will pay you when you bring back the receipt. If you have been very quick, I will pay you well."

That same evening a second messenger started northward after Maurice Gordon with a letter telling him to come back at once to Loango.

CHAPTER XXIV. NEMESIS

Take heed of still waters.

Despite his a.s.sertion to Lady Cantourne, Guy Oscard stayed on in the gloomy house in Russell Square. He had naturally gone thither on his return from Africa, and during the months that followed he did not find time to think much of his own affairs. Millicent Chyne occupied all his thoughts--all his waking moments. It is marvellous how busily employed an active-minded young lady can keep a man.

In the ill-lighted study rendered famous by the great history which had emanated in the ma.n.u.script therefrom, Guy Oscard had interviewed sundry great commercial experts, and a cheque for forty-eight thousand pounds had been handed to him across the table polished bright by his father's studious elbow. The Simiacine was sold, and the first portion of it spent went to buy a diamond aigrette for the dainty head of Miss Millicent Chyne.

Guy Oscard was in the midst of the London season. His wealth and a certain restricted renown had soon made him popular. He had only to choose his society, and the selection was not difficult. Wherever Millicent Chyne went he went also, and to the lady's credit it must be recorded that no one beyond herself and Guy Oscard had hitherto noticed this fact. Millicent was nothing if not discreet. It was more or less generally known that she was engaged to Jack Meredith, who, although absent on some vaguely romantic quest of a fortune, was not yet forgotten. No word, however, was popularly whispered connecting her name with that of any other swain nearer home. Miss Chyne was too much of a woman of the world to allow that. But, in the meantime, she rather liked diamond aigrettes and the suppressed devotion of Guy Oscard.

It was the evening of a great ball, and Guy Oscard, having received his orders and instructions, was dining alone in Russell Square, when a telegram was handed to him. He opened it and spread the thin paper out upon the table-cloth. A word from that far, wild country, which seemed so much fitter a background to his simple bulk and strength than the cramped ways of London society--a message from the very heart of the dark continent--to him:

"Meredith surrounded and in danger Durnovo false come at once Jocelyn Gordon."

Guy Oscard pushed back his chair and rose at once, as if there were somebody waiting in the hall to see him.

"I do not want any more dinner," he said, "I am going to Africa. Come and help me to pack my things."

He studied Bradshaw and wrote a note to Millicent Chyne. To her he said the same as he had said to the butler, "I am going to Africa."

There was something refres.h.i.+ngly direct and simple about this man. He did not enter into long explanations. He simply bore on in the line he had marked out. He rose from the table and never looked back. His att.i.tude seemed to say, "I am going to Africa; kindly get out of my way."

At three minutes to nine--that is to say, in one hour and a half--Guy Oscard took his seat in the Plymouth express. He had ascertained that a Madeira boat was timed to sail from Dartmouth at eight o'clock that evening. He was preceded by a telegram to Lloyd's agent at Plymouth:

"Have fastest craft available, steam up ready to put to sea to catch the Banyan African steamer four o'clock to-morrow morning. Expense not to be considered."

As the train crept out into the night, the butler of the gloomy house in Russell Square, who had finished the port, and was beginning to feel resigned, received a second shock. This came in the form of a carriage and pair, followed by a ring at the bell.

The man opened the door, and his fellow servitor of an eccentric cla.s.s and generation stepped back on the door-step to let a young lady pa.s.s into the hall.

"Mr. Oscard?" she said curtly.

"Left 'ome, miss," replied the butler, stiffly conscious of walnut-peel on his waistcoat.

"How long ago?"

"A matter of half an hour, miss."

Millicent Chyne, whose face was drawn and white, moved farther into the hall. Seeing the dining-room door ajar, she pa.s.sed into that stately apartment, followed by the butler.

"Mr. Oscard sent me this note," she said, showing a crumpled paper, "saying that he was leaving for Africa to-night. He gives no explanation. Why has he gone to Africa?"

"He received a telegram while he was at dinner, miss," replied the butler, whose knowledge of the world indicated the approach of at least a sovereign. "He rose and threw down his napkin, miss. 'I'm goin' to Africa,' he says. 'Come and help me pack.'"

"Did you see the telegram--by any chance?" asked Miss Chyne.

"Well, miss, I didn't rightly read it."

Millicent had given way to a sudden panic on the receipt of Guy's note.

A telegram calling him to Africa--calling with a voice which he obeyed with such alacrity that he had not paused to finish his dinner--could only mean that some disaster had happened--some disaster to Jack Meredith. And quite suddenly Millicent Chyne's world was emptied of all else but Jack Meredith. For a moment she forgot herself. She ran to the room where Lady Cantourne was affixing the family jewelry on her dress, and, showing the letter, said breathlessly that she must see Guy Oscard at once. Lady Cantourne, wise woman of the world that she was, said nothing. She merely finished her toilet, and, when the carriage was ready, they drove round by Russell Square.

"Who was it from?" asked Millicent.

"From a person named Gordon, miss."

"And what did it say?"

"Well, miss, as I said before, I did not rightly see. But it seems that it said, 'Come at once.' I saw that."

"And what else? Be quick, please."

"I think there was mention of somebody bein' surrounded, miss. Some name like Denver, I think. No! Wait a bit; it wasn't that; it was somebody else."

Finis.h.i.+ng off the port had also meant beginning it, and the worthy butler's mind was not particularly clear.

"Was there any mention of Mr. Oscard's partner, Mr.--eh--Meredith?"

asked Millicent, glancing at the clock.

"Yes, miss, there was that name, but I don't rightly remember in what connection."

"It didn't say that he--" Millicent paused and drew in her breath with a jerk--"was dead, or anything like that?"

"Oh, no, miss."

"Thank you. I--am sorry we missed Mr. Oscard."

She turned and went back to Lady Cantourne, who was sitting in the carriage. And while she was dancing the second extra with the first comer at four o'clock the next morning, Guy Oscard was racing out of Plymouth Sound into the teeth of a fine, driving rain. On the bridge of the trembling tug-boat, by Oscard's side, stood a keen-eyed Channel pilot, who knew the tracks of the steamers up and down Channel as a gamekeeper knows the hare-tracks across a stubble-field. Moreover, the tug-boat caught the big steamer pounding down into the grey of the Atlantic Ocean, and in due time Guy Oscard landed on the beach at Loango.

He had the telegram still in his pocket, and he went, not to Maurice Gordon's office, but to the bungalow.