The Passion for Life Part 37

"Since you are so kind," he said, "I will sit down. Ah, that is a good cigar you have been smoking."

"Yes," I replied. "Won't you have one?" and I pushed him the box.

He lit the cigar with a steady hand, and seemed to be enjoying it, but I noticed that he gave me several quick, searching glances.

I was beginning to enjoy what seemed like an adventure. Although my strength had ebbed away considerably during the past few months, my nerves were still steady, and I saw no reason for being afraid. I knew that Simpson was within call, knew too that, at his oft-repeated request, I had obtained a revolver, which was within easy reach. But I had no thought of using it. The man's visit was evidently of a friendly nature, and I believed he had something of importance to tell me.

XVIII

FATHER ABRAHAM

"If I were you, I should leave this house."

"May I ask why?"

"Because your life is in danger. Yes, I see you smile, but I know; I have reason to know."

"No," I replied, "my life is in no danger at all. I gather you are thinking of murder. I happen to be a lawyer, and have studied criminal cases for the last ten years, and I can never remember a murder to have taken place without some grave motive for it. No one has a sufficient motive to kill me. As far as I know, I haven't an enemy in the world, my death would benefit no one, and there is no reason why any would-be murderer would endanger his life by killing me."

The old man looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye. He seemed to regard me as an interesting specimen of humanity.

"You are talking in the dark, my young friend," he said.

"No," I replied. "I am not talking in the dark, I am talking common sense. If I possessed a secret which was dangerous to any one, if I had it in my power to hurt any one, if I had money which some one desired, if some one hated me very much, if I had done any one any great injury, if I had stolen some young fellow's sweetheart, I could believe there might be truth in your words; but I have done none of these things. I have lived the most commonplace, humdrum life imaginable, and I haven't an enemy in the world. More than that, circ.u.mstances have made it unnecessary for any one to kill me. My death will come in a perfectly natural way in a very short time."

"What do you mean by that last sentence?"

"Just as I told you. If you do not believe me, I beg you to refer to Dr.

Rhomboid, R-H-O-M-B-O-I-D, of Harley Street, London."

"I see. But you are a cool one!"

"I have no reason to be other than cool."

"You say you are a lawyer, but there is no need for you to tell me that."

"Still," I said, "I am interested in what you say. You have taken the trouble to come here at midnight, when every one else is asleep, and you tell me my life is in danger. I cannot believe that in the slightest degree; but the b.u.mp of curiosity, as the phrenologists say, is largely developed in my cranium. Tell me why you came."

"I have found out all about you that there is to know," he said between the puffs of his cigar.

"That didn't take you long," I replied.

Again there was a silence between us, during which he watched my face closely.

"Let me tell you this, my young friend. A man with sharp eyes, as yours are, and a brain quick to think, as yours is, is always in danger while a certain cla.s.s of people exist."

"What cla.s.s of people?"

He ignored my question entirely.

"You said just now," he remarked, "that the b.u.mp of curiosity in your cranium is largely developed."

"Very largely indeed."

"What is your interest in this coast? Why have you been seen creeping along the beach examining the cliffs?"

"Put it down to curiosity."

"Exactly! Curiosity. And let me tell you this, my young friend, that if your curiosity should be rewarded, you will be a dead man within twenty-four hours. You might, instead of living here in a perfectly defenseless way, surround yourself by a thousand safeguards; you might have as many sentries as the Kaiser himself, but your life would not be worth a pin's purchase."

"And a pin will not purchase much," I retorted.

"Exactly! That is why I tell you to leave here."

"You evidently know what you are talking about," I replied, "or at least you think you do. You will have noticed that I have not asked you any questions about yourself. There has seemed to be no reason why I should."

"Why? What do you know about me?"

"Practically nothing," I replied. "I am no Sherlock Holmes, and even if I were, I have not had sufficient energy to satisfy my curiosity; still, I can give you a rough outline of who and what you are. You built this little hut here, built it with care and intelligence, for which I am very grateful. You had as your man Friday, an idiot who went by the name of Fever Lurgy. You lived here like a hermit for years, and were a mystery to every one. Still, people did not trouble much about you, as a good many unconventional people live along the coast. I find that about a mile farther on from here, in another little bay, several artists have built little huts similar to this. One or two writing fellows also live lonely lives on this Cornish coast. You became known as Father Abraham; you showed yourself to practically no one; then, suddenly you left.

There were signs of violence in the little room where you slept, and where I now sleep, and it was given out that you were the victim of foul play, that possibly you were murdered. Evidently, however, you were not.

As a consequence, there was a good amount of honest sympathy wasted."

The old man laughed. Evidently I had amused him.

"As a lawyer," I went on, "I have discovered that everything may be resolved into a matter of motive. You must have a motive for doing this.

Your past life must be interesting! You tell me that I am in danger of being murdered. I do not believe it a bit. At the same time, there is a connection between your past life and your reason for telling me this doleful news."

"I like a man with a clear brain," he chuckled. "I like a man who can a.n.a.lyze, who can deduce, who has studied the laws of synthesis. You were a student of Socrates, weren't you, years ago? You loved the Socratic method of reasoning?"

"Your deductions are from insufficient data," I remarked. "But that is by the way. Seeing you have taken the trouble to pay me this visit, would you mind telling me what has caused you to prophesy such evil things about me?"

"I do not prophesy, I warn. More than that"--again he looked at me keenly--"your report concerning your health and your declaration of Dr.

Rhomboid's verdict on you doesn't justify you in not heeding my warning.

Even although a thousand doctors p.r.o.nounce the death sentence on you, you can still hope that they are mistaken; and you long to live, you hate the thought of death."

I reflected a moment. Somehow the old man's presence and his quick intelligence had made me think rapidly.

"Do you know," he went on, "that there is a great deal of reason for the foreigners' opinion concerning John Bull's brains? Mind you, John Bull is a cleverer man than he is thought to be; all the same, they have their reason for their opinions."

"What might their opinions be?" I asked.

He laughed quietly, and again looked at me keenly.

"You, now. You are a clever man, you have had a lawyer's training, you are given to observe, to a.n.a.lyze, to synthesize, but you have the Englishman's fault."