Roden's Corner Part 42

"He was a clever man," commented Mr. Wade, shutting up his gold pencil case and putting it in the pocket of his comfortable waistcoat. "But clever men are rarely happy----"

"And clever women--never," added Marguerite--that shrewd seeker after the last word.

While they were still speaking, Percy Roden came hurriedly down the steps. He was pale and tired, but his eye had a light of resolution in it. He held his head up, and looked at Cornish with a steady glance.

It seemed that the vague danger which he had antic.i.p.ated so nervously had come at last, and that he stood like a man in the presence of it.

"It is all up," he said. "They have found the books; they have understood them; and they are wrecking the place."

"They are quite welcome to do that," said Cornish. Mr. Wade, who was always business-like, had reopened his writing-case when he saw Roden, and now came forward to hand him a written paper.

"That is a copy," he said, "of the telegram we have sent to Creil. He can come here and select what men he wants--the steady ones and the skilled workmen. With each man we will hand him a cheque in trust. The others can take their money--and go."

"And drink themselves to death as expeditiously as they think fit,"

added Cornish, the philanthropist--the fashionable drawing-room champion of the ma.s.ses.

"I got back here through the Wood," said Percy Roden, who was still breathless, as if he had been hurrying. "One of them, a Swede, came to warn me. They are looking for me in the town--a hundred and twenty of them, and not one who cares that"--he paused, and gave a snap of the fingers--"for his life or the law. Both railway stations are watched, and all the steam-boat stations on the ca.n.a.ls; they will kill me if they catch me."

His eyes wavered, for there is nothing more terrifying than the avowed hostility of a ma.s.s of men, and no law grimmer than lynch-law. Yet he held up his head with a sort of pride in his danger--some touch of that subtle sense of personal distinction which seems to reach the heart of the victim of an accident, or of a prisoner in the dock.

"If I had not met that Swede I should have gone on to the works, and they would have pulled me to pieces there," continued Roden. "I do not know how I am to get away from The Hague, or where I shall be safe in the whole world; but the money is at Hamburg and Antwerp. The money is safe enough."

He gave a laugh and threw back his head. His hearers looked at him, and Mr. Wade alone understood his thoughts. For the banker had dealt with money-makers all his life and knew that to many men, money is a G.o.d, and the mere possession of it dearer to them than life itself.

"If you stay here, in my room upstairs," said Cornish, "I will go down to the works now. And this evening I will try and get you away from The Hague--and from Europe."

"And I will go to the Villa des Dunes again," added Dorothy, "and pack your things."

Marguerite had risen also, and was moving towards the steps.

"Where are you going?" asked her father.

"To the Villa des Dunes," she replied; and, turning to Dorothy, added, "I shall take some clothes and stay with you there until things straighten themselves out a bit."

"Why?"

"Because I cannot let you go there alone."

"Why not?" asked Dorothy.

"Because--I am not that sort," said Marguerite; and, turning, she ascended the iron steps.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

ROUND THE CORNER.

"Les heureux ne rient pas; ils sourient."

Soon after Mr. Wade and Cornish had quitted their carriage, on that which is known as the New Scheveningen Road, and were walking across the dunes to the malgamite works, they met a policeman running towards them.

"It is," he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries--"it is the English Chemical Works on the dunes, which have caught fire. I am hurrying to the Artillery Station to telegraph for the fire-engines; but it will be useless. It will all be over in half an hour--by this wind and after so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies."

And the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts.

Then, with a hurried salutation, he ran on.

Cornish and Mr. Wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the banker was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. Before they had gone far they perceived another man coming across the Dunes towards The Hague. As he approached, Cornish recognized the man known as Uncle Ben.

He was shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly belongings in a canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. The recognition was apparently mutual; for Uncle Ben deviated from his path to come and speak to them.

"It's me, mister," he said to Cornish, not disrespectfully. "And I don't mind tellin' yer that I'm makin' myself scarce. That place is gettin' a bit too hot for me. They're just pullin' it down and makin' a bonfire of it. And if you or Mr. Roden goes there, they'll just take and chuck yer on top of it--and that's G.o.d's truth. They're a rough lot some of them, and they don't distinguish 'tween you and Mr. Roden like as I do. Soddim and Gomorrer, I say. Soddim and Gomorrer! There won't be nothin' left of yer in half an hour." And he turned and shook a dirty fist towards the rising smoke, which was all that remained of the malgamite works. He hurried on a few paces, then stopped and laid down his bag. He ran back, calling out "Mister!" as he neared Cornish and Mr. Wade. "I don't mind tellin' yer," he said to Cornish, with a ludicrous precautionary look round the deserted dunes to make sure that he would not be overheard; for he was sober, and consequently stupid--"I don't mind tellin' yer--seein' as I'm makin' myself scarce, and for the sake o' Miss Roden, who has always been a good friend to me--as there's a hundred and twenty of 'em looking for Mr. Roden at this minute, meanin' to twist his neck; and what's worse, there's others--men of dedication like myself--who has gone to the murder, or something. And they'll get it too, with the story they've got to tell, and them poor devils planted thick as taters in the cheap corner of the cemetery. I've warned yer, mister." Uncle Ben expectorated with much emphasis, looked towards the malgamite works with a dubious shake of the head, and went on his way, muttering, "Soddim and Gomorrer."

His hearers walked on over the sand-hills towards the smoke, of which the pungent odour, still faintly suggestive of sealing-wax, reached their nostrils. At the top of a high dune, surmounted with considerable difficulty, Mr. Wade stopped. Cornish stood beside him, and from that point of vantage they saw the last of the malgamite works. Amid the flames and smoke the forms of men flitted hither and thither, adding fuel to the fire.

"They are, at all events, doing the business thoroughly," said the banker. "And there is nothing to be gained by our disturbing them at it--and a good deal to be lost--namely, our lives. They are not burning the cottages, I see; only the factory. There is nothing heroic about me, Tony. Let us go back."

But Mr. Wade returned to The Hague alone; for Cornish had matters of importance requiring his attention. It was now doubly necessary to get Roden safely away from Holland, and with the necessity increased the difficulty. For Holland is a small country, well watched, highly civilized. Cornish knew that it would be next to impossible for Roden to leave the country by rail or road. There remained, therefore, the sea. Cornish had, during his sojourn at the humble Swan at Scheveningen, made certain friends there. And it was to the old village under the dunes, little known to visitors, and a place apart from the fashionable bathing resort, that he went in his difficulty. He spent nearly the whole day in these narrow streets; indeed, he lunched at the Swan in company of a seafaring gentleman clad in soft blue flannel, and addicted to the mediaeval coiffure still affected in certain parts of Zeeland.

From this quiet retreat Cornish also wrote a note to Dorothy at the Villa des Dunes, informing her of Roden's new danger, and warning her not to attempt to communicate with her brother, or even send him his baggage. In the afternoon Cornish made a few purchases, which he duly packed in a sailor's kit-bag, and at nightfall Roden arrived on foot.

The weather was squally, as it often is in August on these coasts; indeed, the summer seemed to have come to an end before its time.

"It is raining like the deuce," said Roden, "and I am wet through, though I came under the trees of the Oude Weg."

He spoke with his usual suggestion of a grievance, which made Cornish answer him rather curtly--"We shall be wetter before we get on board."

It was raining when they quitted the modest Swan, and hurried through the spa.r.s.ely lighted, winding streets. Cornish had borrowed two oil-skin coats and caps, which at once disguised them and protected them from the rain. Any pa.s.ser-by would have taken them for a couple of fishermen going about their business. But there were few in the streets.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" asked Roden, suddenly.

"To avoid a scandal," replied Cornish, truthfully enough; for he had been brought up in a world where the longevity of scandal is fully understood.

The wide stretch of sand was entirely deserted when they emerged from the narrow streets and gained the summit of the sea-wall. A thunderstorm was growling in the distance, and every moment a flash of thin summer lightning shimmered on the horizon. The wind was strong, as it nearly always is here, and shallow white surf stretched seaward across the flats. The sea roared continuously without that rise and fall of the breakers which marks a deeper coast, and from the face of the water there arose a filmy mist--part foam, part phosph.o.r.escence.

As Roden and Cornish pa.s.sed the little lighthouse, two policemen emerged from the shadow of the wall, and watched them, half suspiciously. "Good evening," said one of them.

"Good evening," answered Cornish, mimicking the sing-song accent of the Scheveningen streets.

They walked on in silence.

"Whew!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Roden, when the danger seemed to be past, and they could breathe again.

They went down a flight of steps to the beach, and stumbled across the soft sand towards the sea. One or two boats were lying out in the surf--heavy Dutch fishing-boats, known technically as "pinks,"

flat-bottomed, round-prowed, keel less, heavy and ungainly vessels, but strong as wood and iron and workmanship could make them. Some seemed to be afloat, others b.u.mped heavily and continuously; while a few lay stolidly on the ground with the waves breaking right over them as over rocks.

The noise of the sea was so great that Cornish touched his companion's arm, and pointed, without speaking, to one of the vessels where a light twinkled feebly through the spray breaking over her. It seemed to be the only vessel preparing to go to sea on the high tide, and, in truth, the weather looked anything but encouraging.

"How are we going to get on board?" shouted Roden, amid the roar of the waves.

"Walk," answered Cornish, and he led the way into the sea.