The Riddle of the Sands Part 20

'I wish to Heaven we had never come in here,' he said, in a hard voice; 'it comes of landing _ever_.' (I couldn't help smiling at this, but he wasn't looking at me.) 'Here we are, given away, moved on, taken in charge, arranged for like Cook's tourists. I couldn't follow your game--too infernally deep for me, but--'That stung me.

'Look here,' I said, 'I did my best. It was you that muddled it. Why did you harp on ducks?'

'We could have got out of that. Why did you harp on everything idiotic--your letter, the Foreign office, the 'Kormoran', the wreck, the--?'

'You're utterly unreasonable. Didn't you see what traps there were? I was driven the way I went. We started unprepared, and we're jolly well out of it.'

Davies drove on blindly. 'It was bad enough telling all about the channels and exploring--'

'Why, you agreed to that yourself!'

'I gave in to you. We can't explore any more now'.

'There's the wreck, though.'

'Oh, hang the wreck! It's all a blind, or he wouldn't have made so much of it. There are all these channels to be--'

'Oh, hang the channels! I know we wanted a free hand, but we've got to go to Norderney some time, and if Dollmann's away--'

'Why did you harp on Miss Dollmann?' said Davies.

We had worked round, through idle recrimination, to the real point of departure. I knew Davies was not himself, and would not return to himself till the heart of the matter was reached.

'Look here,' I said, 'you brought me out here to help you, because, as you say, I was clever, talked German, and--liked yachting (I couldn't resist adding this). But directly you really _want_ me you turn round and go for me.'

'Oh, I didn't mean all that, really,' said Davies; 'I'm sorry--I was worried.'

'I know; but it's your own fault. You haven't been fair with me.

There's a complication in this business that you've never talked about. I've never pressed you because I thought you would confide in me. You--'

'I know I haven't,' said Davies.

'Well, you see the result. Our hand was forced. To have said nothing about Dollmann was folly--to have said he tried to wreck you was equal folly. The story we agreed on was the best and safest, and you told it splendidly. But for two reasons I had to harp on the daughter--one because your manner when they were mentioned was so confused as to imperil our whole position. Two, because your story, though the safest, was, at the best, suspicious. Even on your own showing Dollmann treated you badly--discourteously, say: though you pretended not to have seen it. You want a motive to neutralize that, and induce you to revisit him in a friendly way. I supplied it, or rather I only encouraged von Bruning to supply it.'

'Why revisit him, after all?' said Davies.

'Oh, come--'

'But don't you see what a hideous fix you've put me in? How caddish I feel about it?'

I did see, and I felt a cad myself, as his full distress came home to me. But I felt, too, that, whosesoever the fault, we had drifted into a ridiculous situation, and were like characters in one of those tiresome plays where misunderstandings are manufactured and so carefully sustained that the audience are too bored to wait for the _denouement._ You can do that on the stage; but we wanted our _denouement._

'I'm very sorry,' I said, 'but I wish you had told me all about it.

Won't you now? Just the bare, matter-of-fact truth. I hate sentiment, and so do you.'

'I find it very difficult to tell people things,' said Davies, 'things like this.' I waited. 'I did like her--very much.' Our eyes met for a second, in which all was said that need be said, as between two of our phlegmatic race. 'And she's--separate from him. That was the reason of all my indecisions.' he hurried on. 'I only told you half at Schlei. I know I ought to have been open, and asked your advice. But I let it slide. I've been hoping all along that we might find what we want and win the game without coming to close quarters again.'

I no longer wondered at his devotion to the channel theory, since, built on conviction, it was thus doubly fortified.

'Yet you always knew what might happen,' I said. 'At Schlei you spoke of "settling with" Dollmann.'

'I know. When I thought of him I was mad. I made myself forget the other part.'

'Which recurred at Brunsb.u.t.tel?' I thought of the news we had there.

'Yes.'

'Davies, we must have no more secrets. I'm going to speak out. Are you sure you've not misunderstood her? You say--and I'm willing to a.s.sume it--that Dollmann's a traitor and a murderer.'

'Oh, hang the murder part!' said Davies, impatiently. 'What does _that_ matter?'

'Well, traitor. Very good; but in that case I suspect his daughter.

No! let me go on. She was useful, to say the least. She encouraged you--you've told me that--to make that pa.s.sage with them.'

'Stop, Carruthers,' said Davies, firmly. 'I know you mean kindly; but it's no use. I believe in her.'

I thought for a moment.

'In that case,' I said, 'I've something to propose. When we get out of this place let's sail straight away to England.' '(There, Commander von Bruning,' I thought, 'you never can say I neglected your advice.')

'No!' exclaimed Davies, starting up and facing me. 'I'm hanged if we will. Think what's at stake. Think of that traitor--plotting with Germans. My G.o.d!'

'Very good,' I said. 'I'm with you for going on. But let's face facts. We _must_ scotch Dollmann. We can't do so without hurting _her_.'

'Can't we _possibly_?'

'Of course not; be sensible, man. Face that. Next point; it's absurd to hope that we need not revisit them--it's ten to one that we must, if we're to succeed. His attempt on you is the whole foundation of our suspicions. And we don't even know for certain who he _is_ yet.

We're committed, I know, to going straight to Norderney now; but even if we weren't, should we do any good by exploring and prying? It's very doubtful. We know we're watched, if not suspected, and that disposes of nine-tenths of our power. The channels? Yes, but is it likely they'll let us learn them by heart, if they're of such vital importance, even if we are thought to be _bona fide_ yachtsmen? And, seriously, apart from their value in war, which I don't deny, are they at the root of this business? But we'll talk about that in a moment. The point now is, what shall we do if we meet the Dollmanns?'

Beads of sweat stood on Davies's brow. I felt like a torturer, but it could not be helped. 'Tax him with having wrecked you? Our quest would be at an end! We must be friendly. You must tell the story you told to-day, and chance his believing it. If he does, so much the better; if he doesn't, he won't dare say so, and we still have chances. We gain time, and have a tremendous hold on him--_if_ we're friendly.' Davies winced. I gave another turn to the screw. 'Friendly with them _both,_ of course. You were before, you know; you liked her very much--you must seem to still.'

'Oh, stop your infernal logic.'

'Shall we chuck it and go to England?' I asked again, as an inquisitor might say, 'Have you had enough?' No answer. I went on: 'To make it easier, you _do_ like her still.' I had roused my victim at last.

'What the devil do you mean, Carruthers? That I'm to trade on my liking for her--on her innocence, to--good G.o.d! what _do_ you mean?'

'No, no, not that. I'm not such a cad, or such a fool, or so ignorant of you. If she knows nothing of her father's character and likes you--and you like her--and you are what you are--oh Heavens! man, face it, realize it! But what I mean is this: is she, _can_ she be, what you think? Imagine his position if we're right about him; the vilest creature on G.o.d's earth--a disgraceful past to have been driven to this--in the pay of Germany. I want to spare you misery.' I was going to add: 'And if you're on your guard, to increase our chances.' But the utter futility of such suggestions silenced me.

What a plan I had foreshadowed! An enticing plan and a fair one, too, as against such adversaries; turning this baffling cross-current to advantage as many a time we had worked eddies of an adverse tide in these difficult seas. But Davies was Davies, and there was an end of it; his faith and simplicity shamed me. And the pity of it, the cruelty of it, was that his very qualities were his last torture, raising to the acutest pitch the conflict between love and patriotism. Remember that the latter was his dominant life-motive, and that here and now was his chance--if you would gauge the bitterness of that conflict.

It was in its last throes now. His elbows were on the table, and his twitching hands pressed on his forehead. He took them away.

'Of course we must go on. It can't be helped, that's all.'

'And you believe in her?'

'I'll remember what you've said. There may be some way out. And--I'd rather not talk about that any more. What about the wreck?'