The Wheel O' Fortune Part 2

"Pray forgive me if I seem to intrude on your personal affairs," he said; "but, taking your own words, you are--how do you say it-- _schlimm--aux abois_--"

"Hard up. Yes."

"What? You speak German, or is it French?"

"German, a little. I am understandable in French."

"Ah."

Again von Kerber paused. Royson smiled. Had he striven to mislead the other man as to his character he could not have succeeded so admirably.

And the Baron read the smile according to his own diagnosis. He was sure that this well-educated, gentlemanly, yet morose-mannered young Englishman was under a cloud--that he had broken his country's laws, and been broken himself in the process. And von Kerber was searching for men of that stamp. They would do things that others, who pinned their faith to testimonials, certificates, and similar vouchers of repute, might shy at.

"I think you are one to be trusted?" he went on.

"I am glad you think that."

"Yes. I soon make up my mind. And to-day you acted as one man among a thousand. Miss Fenshawe, the lady in the carriage, enlightened me afterwards. I saw only part of your fine behavior. You were quick and fearless. Those are the qualities I seek, but I demand obedience, too, and a still tongue, yes?"

"I would not betray a man who trusted me," said d.i.c.k. "If I disagreed with you I would leave you. I fell out with the son of my last employer, so I left him, a fortnight ago. Yet I have kept my reasons to myself."

The memory of that falling out was yet vivid. He had filled the position of foreign correspondence clerk to an export firm in the city.

One evening, returning late to the office, he surprised the typist, a rather pretty girl, in tears. She blurted out some broken words which led him to interview the young gentleman who represented the budding talent of the house; and the result was lamentable. The senior partner dismissed him next day, telling him he was lucky he had escaped arrest for a murderous a.s.sault, and, as for the girl, she was like the rest of her cla.s.s, anxious only to inveigle a rich young fool into marriage.

The point of view of both father and son was novel to Royson, and their ethics were vile, but he gave the girl, who was sent away at the same time, half of the six pounds he had in his pocket, and wished he had used his fist instead of his open hand on the junior partner's face.

This, of course, had singularly little bearing on his declaration to von Kerber, who metaphorically stuck his talons into that portion of Royson's utterance which interested him. He bent across the table, leaning on his curved fingers, spread apart, like claws.

"Ah," he said slowly. "That is good. You would not betray a man who trusted you. You mean that?"

"I do."

"Very well, then. I offer you the position of second mate on my yacht, the _Aphrodite_. She is a sailing vessel, with auxiliary steam, a seaworthy craft, of two hundred and eighty tons. I pay well, but I ask good service. The salary is 20 per month, all found. The captain, two officers, and fourteen men receive ten per cent of the gross profits of a certain undertaking--the gross profits, remember--divided in proportion to their wages. If successful, your share, small though it sounds, will be large enough to make you a comparatively rich man. Do you accept, yes?"

d.i.c.k Royson felt his heart thumping against his ribs. "Why, of course, I accept," he cried. "But your terms are so generous, to a man without a profession, that I must ask you one thing? Is the affair such as an honest man can take part in?"

"It is. No one can cavil at its honesty. Yet we may encounter difficulties. There may be fighting, not against a government, but to defend our--our gains--from those who would rob us."

"I'm with you, heart and soul," cried Royson, stirred out of his enforced calmness. "Indeed, I am exceedingly obliged to you. I am at a loss to account for my amazing good luck."

The Baron snapped his fingers with a fine air. "Good luck!" he exclaimed. "There is no such thing. A man with intelligence and nerve grasps the opportunity when it presents itself. You took it this morning. You may say that you might not have been given the chance.

Nonsense, my dear Mr. King! Missing that, you would have found another.

Let me tell you that I have created a place for you on the s.h.i.+p's roll.

You took my fancy. I had already secured my crew. They are all Englishmen--stupid fellows, some of them, but trustworthy. You are a trustworthy race, yes?"

"That is our repute. I have met exceptions."

"Oh, as for that, every man has his price. That is why I pay well. Now, I am going out to dine. The _Aphrodite_ sails this week. You. will sign an agreement, yes?"

"Delighted," said d.i.c.k, though bitter experience had taught him that von Kerber's last question might reveal some disagreeable feature hitherto unseen, just as the sting of the scorpion lies in its tail.

The Baron handed him a printed doc.u.ment.

"Read that," he said. "You need have no fear of legal quibbles. It contains nothing unreasonable, but I insist on its observance in letter and spirit."

Certainly, no unfair demand was made by the brief contract which Royson glanced at. He noticed that the _Aphrodite_ was described as "owned by Hiram Fenshawe, Esq., of Chalfount Manor, Dorset, and Emperor's Gate, London, W.," while Baron Franz von Kerber figured as "controller and head of the expedition." The agreement was to hold good for six months, with an option, "vesting solely in the said Baron Franz von Kerber," to extend it, month by month, for another equal period. There were blanks for dates and figures--, and one unusual clause read:

"The undersigned hereby promises not to divulge the vessel's destination or mission, should either, or both, become known to him; not to give any information which may lead to inquiry being made by others as to her destination or mission, and not to make any statement, in any form whatsoever, as to the success or otherwise of the voyage at its conclusion, unless at the request of the said Baron Franz von Kerber. The penalty for any infringement of this clause, of which Baron Franz von Kerber shall be the judge, shall be dismissal, without any indemnity or payment of the special bonus hereinafter recited."

Then followed the salary clause, and a stipulation as to the ten per cent share of the gross profits. The Baron's promises could not have been phrased in more straightforward style.

"Give me a pen," said Royson, placing the paper on a blotting pad.

There was an unconscious masterfulness in his voice and manner which seemed to startle von Kerber. In very truth, the younger man was overjoyed at the astounding turn taken by his fortunes. The restraint he had imposed on himself earlier was gone. He wanted to wring the Baron's hand and hail him as his best friend. Perhaps the other deemed this att.i.tude a trifle too free and easy in view of the relations that would exist between them in the near future.

"You will find a pen on the ink-stand," said he, quietly, stooping, over some papers on a corner of the table. Then he added, apparently as an afterthought:

"Don't forget your name, Mr. King."

The hint brought Royson back to earth. He signed "Richard King," dried the ink carefully, and marveled a little at his re-christening and its sequel.

"When and where shall I report myself for duty, sir?" he asked.

Von Kerber looked up. His tone grew affable again, and d.i.c.k had learnt already that it is a token of weakness when a man insists on his own predominance.

"First let me fill in a date and the amount of your salary." The Baron completed and signed a duplicate. "Get that stamped at Somerset House, in case of accident," he continued, "I might have been killed this very day, you know. One of my servants will witness both doc.u.ments. Before he comes in, put this envelope in your pocket. It contains half of your first month's salary in advance, and you will find in it a card with the address of a firm of clothiers, who will supply your outfit free of charge. Call on them early to-morrow, as the time is short, and you are pretty long, yes? Report yourself to the same people at four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. They will have your baggage ready, and give you full directions. From that moment you are in my service. And now, the order is silence, yes?"

While the Baron was speaking he touched an electric bell. The waxen- faced man-servant appeared, laboriously wrote "William Jenkins" where he was bid, and escorted Royson to the door. The Baron merely nodded when d.i.c.k said "Good night, sir." He had picked up an opera hat and overcoat from a chair, but was bestowing a hasty farewell glance on the Persi-Arabic letter.

A closed carriage and pair of horses were standing in front of the house, and Royson recognized the coachman. It was that same Spong who had groveled in the mud of Buckingham Palace Road nine hours ago. And the man knew him again, for he raised his whip in a deferential salute.

"Not much damage done this morning?" cried d.i.c.k.

"No, sir. I drove 'em home afterwards, broken pole an' all," said Spong.

"That's not the same pair, is it?"

"No, sir. This lot is theayter, the bays is park."

So Mr. Hiram Fenshawe, whoever he was, owned the yacht, and ran at least two fine equipages from his town house. He must be a wealthy man.

Was he the father of that patrician maid whose grat.i.tude had not stood the strain of Royson's gruffness? Or, it might be, her brother, seeing that he was a.s.sociated with von Kerber in some unusual enterprise? What was it? he wondered. "There may be fighting," said von Kerber. d.i.c.k was glad of that. He had taken a solemn vow to his dying mother that he would not become a soldier, and the dear lady died happy in the belief that she had s.n.a.t.c.hed her son from the war-dragon which had bereft her of a husband. The vow lay heavy on the boy's heart daring many a year, for he was a born man-at-arms, but he had kept it, and meant to keep it, though not exactly according to the tenets of William Penn.

Somehow, his mother's beautiful face, wanly exquisite in that unearthly light which foreshadows the merging of time into eternity, rose before him now as he pa.s.sed from the aristocratic dimness of Prince's Gate into the glare and bustle of Knightsbridge. A newsboy rushed along, yelling at the top of his voice. The raucous cry took shape: "Kroojer's reply. Lytest from Sarth Hafricar." That day's papers had spoken of probable war, and Royson wanted to be there. He had dreamed of doing some work for the press, and was a reader and writer in his spare time, while he kept his muscles fit by gymnastics. But those past yearnings were merged in his new calling. He was a sailor now, a filibuster of sorts. The bo's'n's whistle would take the place of the bugle-call.

Would that have pleased his mother? Well, poor soul, she had never imagined that her son would be compelled to chafe his life out at a city desk. The very, air of London had become oppressive; the hurrying crowd was unsympathetic to his new-found joy of living; so, without any well-defined motive, he sought the ample solitude of the park.

Be it noted that he usually went straight from point to point without regard to obstacles. Hence, in his devious wanderings of that remarkable day, he was departing from fixed habit, and, were he a student of astrology, he would a.s.suredly have sought to ascertain what planets were in the ascendant at a quarter-past ten in the morning, and half-past seven in the evening. For he had scarcely reached the quiet gloom of the trees when a man, who had followed him since he quitted von Kerber's house, overtook him and touched his arm.

"Beg pardon," said the stranger, "but are you the gentleman who called on Baron von Kerber half an hour ago?"

"Yes." Taken unawares, d.i.c.k was thrown off his guard for the instant.