Front matter (continued 4)

So that here we were with our object attained, or attained so far as it was possible to attain it, and with another week or so on our hands to be spent on this island before the steamer could be expected to return and fetch us away. What was to be done, and how should the time be spent?

There was fishing, and there was wandering about with our shot guns, in hopes of picking up a few grouse or other game which might be met with in the moorland and woods which covered the island. But the elder made a tempting suggestion which we caught at, though we did not anticipate much result from his idea.

There were three wolves on the island, he said, half-starved and rather savage. They lived here because they could not return to the mainland, whence they had come in the days of ice, last February or March. If we liked to pay for a sheep, he would kill one and lay it down as a decoy. On the third night, if we passed the hours of darkness in a tree over the spot, we should probably have an opportunity of shooting the brutes, and a good thing too; and it was in consideration of this fact that the elder would let us have a sheep for a merely nominal sum—fifteen roubles.

We agreed to pay this sum, so the sheep fell a victim, and was laid to rest not in but upon the earth beneath a tree.

Meanwhile the wounded Kuzmá was about to sail for the mainland in order to bring up his bandaged arm in testimony against James Strong, and the question arose whether Jack and I were not bound to accompany him in order to do what we could to ensure a fair trial to a fellow-countryman in distress.

He had done his best to murder us more than once, true. He had also foully done to death his own cousin, the younger Clutterbuck; and he had only failed to shoot down three innocent Russian peasants because one of the three had had the cleverness to knock him on the head before his purpose was half accomplished.

Yet, for all his crimes, we felt compunction about allowing him to pass, friendless and helpless, into the hands of those who are ever ready, as Englishmen (who know nothing about it) invariably believe, to draft their victims away to Siberia whether guilty or innocent. He deserved "Siberia," whatever that name may imply, as thoroughly as any rascal; but, somehow, though neither of us would have moved a finger to save his neck had it been in danger at the hands of an English hangman, yet we felt inexplicably averse to permitting Russians to have the twisting of it.

Why this was so I do not attempt to explain—it is a psychological problem which I leave to other heads to solve; all I know, is that it was only the sturdy good sense of Jack Henderson that prevented me from stepping on board his fishing-lugger with Kuzmá, and another peasant, and sailing away to Narva to make a quixotic fool of myself in defence of the indefensible James Strong.

CHAPTER XXXII

WE RECEIVE A TERRIBLE SHOCK

As it was, we contented ourselves with sending a letter to the British Consul there (supposing that there existed such a functionary), exhorting him to use his influence to obtain a fair trial for the rogue called James Strong, and to see that he was not sent to Siberia without good and sufficient cause shown.

"Great Jupiter!" said Jack, when he had read over my letter. "Why, man, we have evidence enough to send the fellow to Siberia, or to the next world for that matter, half a dozen times over!"

So we had, of course.

"And I'll tell you what, Peter!" continued Jack, "it will serve us well right, when we've got the rascal out of his scrape by our confounded meddling, if he turns up just in time to snatch the treasure out of your fingers at the very last minute. What'll you do if he shows up at Streatham and claims the right to dig with you, neck and neck for the last lap?"

"Oh, come," I said, "that's quite a different thing! I should let him hang in England, fast enough, but it's unpleasant to think of Russians stringing the poor beggar up far away from friends and country!"

Doubtless Jack agreed with me, for he took no steps to prevent the despatch of my letter. But it has since struck me that it is, after all, very doubtful whether the proximity of "friends and country" would have comforted Strong much if he had had the rope round his neck, even an English rope.

What with fishing all day and sitting shivering in pine trees all night (like a couple of frozen-out sedge-warblers, as Jack picturesquely expressed it), we contrived to pass away the time for the best part of a week, and then Kuzmá arrived, having prepared for us a surprise which for absolute breathless unexpectedness undoubtedly broke the record in so far as my own limited experience went, or Henderson's either!

Michail came running up to the moor where Jack and I were busily engaged in trying to induce a covey of grouse to allow us within range of our guns, and imparted the exciting information that Kuzmá's boat was in sight.

At the news Jack and I gladly conceded the honours of war to our covey of grouse and hastened down to the shore to see Kuzmá's boat, for it had come to this, that we were so very hard up for excitement on this island that we would have gone miles to see anything or nothing.

"There are three men on board," said Jack, as the boat came nearer, running straight for the shore before a fresh breeze. "I suppose they've brought a police officer along to make inquiries on the spot."

"I hope he won't ask us to go to Narva as witnesses!" I laughed. "That would be a bad look-out for poor Strong, Jack, eh?"

Jack was gazing at the boat as it neared the land; I gazed too, watching the jolly little craft cut the water into an endless V as it flew scudding towards us, as though rejoiced at the prospect of getting home.

"Peter," said Jack presently, "look at the fellow in the bows; he's got his head round this way. If I were not absolutely certain that such a thing were impossible, I should say it was James Strong."

"What?" I shrieked, "which? where?" I stared at the man; it was Strong, there could not be a doubt of it—there was no mistaking his face, even at this distance.

"Good gracious! Jack, what are we to do?" I said, trembling at the knees like any coward. "Heaven help us, what will happen now?" I added. My nerve seemed to have taken to itself wings at the sight of James Strong!

"Why, what's the matter, man?" said Jack. "It's a mystery to me how the fellow happens to be in that boat, but you may take your oath that he's pretty harmless as far as we are concerned; he won't catch us napping again, if we have to watch him all day and night till the steamer comes!"

I recovered presently, and called myself many evil names for yielding to a craven instinct at sight of this ill-omened person. I was not really afraid of the fellow; it was the unexpected that upset me—it always does.

As a matter of fact, there was little to be afraid of in the wretched man. It was not the James Strong whom we had known in Africa that landed among us that afternoon in Hogland. It was a poor, broken-spirited, hopeless creature that raised his arms with a cry of despair at seeing us, and hid his face and trembled and refused to leave the boat when Kuzmá and others beached it and ran it, with him still seated in the bows, up the shore. I felt quite sorry for the terrified wretch.

"Well, James Strong," said Jack, "this is an unexpected meeting, after all that has passed! How come you here, pray?"

"I didn't expect to find you on the island," said Strong. "Oh, curse my luck!" he added, in a wailing tone which changed into one of sudden ferocity as his eye fell upon Jack, who was laughing at him.

"Yes, it is poor luck for you, I admit," said the latter, "but, if it is any comfort for you to know it, you would have been too late in any case, for we have got all there was to find."

"I don't believe a word of it," said Strong.

"And what's more," continued Jack, ignoring Strong's remark, "the elder had it all the while, and would have given it to you if you hadn't shot at him. So you see what comes of evil temper, James Strong. Now, if you had not shot poor Clutterbuck, and tried to murder my friend and me, you might have followed us to England, and perhaps, even yet, have robbed us of our possessions. As it is, you see, if you come to England you will certainly hang!"

James Strong swore one of his vile oaths and spluttered there was no proof. Who was going to believe our lies? It was much more probable that we had shot Clutterbuck than he, and any jury of Englishmen would see that the whole yarn was a foul conspiracy. Then he changed his tone and whimpered, and said he had passed a miserable fortnight in the Russian prison in Narva, and beseeched us, if we were men and Englishmen, to help him escape to England and thence anywhere we pleased. The Narva police would be after him by to-morrow for a certainty, even if these Russian fiends did not carry him back and deliver him up.

"Tell us your story, with as few lies as you can put into it," said Jack, "and we'll think what's best to be done with you."

CHAPTER XXXIII

HOW STRONG ESCAPED FROM PRISON

"You're such an infernal blackguard, you see, Strong," continued Jack, with engaging candour, "that one must be very careful in dealing with a man like yourself. It seems to me that it's Siberia or the gibbet, my friend; and upon my word, I don't quite know which to advise in your best interests. Tell us what happened at Narva."

James Strong was considerably cowed by his experiences, and obeyed without further demur. Undoubtedly, his tale was full of untruth, but as he gave it to us I will pass it on to the reader. We were able to learn a truer version subsequently.

Strong declared that he had been taken to Narva by the fishermen, having been bound by them while still unconscious from the effects of a blow on the head from Gavril's staff. At Narva he was thrust into a miserable prison or police cell, where he was interrogated by persons who could not understand him, nor he them. A Swedish interpreter was brought, and Strong was knocked about and bullied because he protested that he could understand Swedish no better than Russian. He repeated the word "English" in hopes that an English interpreter would be produced, but none appeared. He was half starved and atrociously bullied by Russian policemen, and so the time passed until the witness Kuzmá came to give evidence against him. At the trial the English Consul came and spoke for him (this was in consequence of our letter, no doubt), but he was taken back to his cell, the Consul informing him that he could do nothing to save him from the consequences of his violence. He would probably be convicted of attempted murder and deported to Siberia.

That night was celebrated, Strong explained, some Russian church holiday, and everyone was drunk or half drunk. He succeeded in escaping from the wooden building in which he was confined, and in finding his way down by the river to the port, securing a small boat, which proved to be rotten and to leak vilely, in which he put out to sea; he hoped to get away and finally return somehow to Hogland, where he might even yet find the treasure before we arrived, and escape with it on the first steamer that passed.

"You can't blame me for that," interposed Strong at this point. "I had as much right to the treasure as you, if I could find it first."

"Oh, quite so, Strong," said Jack. "We don't always approve of some of your methods—as, for instance, of your attempts to remove us out of the way, us and poor Clutterbuck—but we never denied your right to compete. Proceed. Whom did you murder, and how, in order to escape from your cell?"

"You never give me a chance, curse you!" said Strong, looking livid with rage. "I have never killed a human creature. Clutterbuck fell down a nullah and broke his neck. I shot wide of you on purpose—it was necessary to frighten you off—and these fellows too. Did I murder one of them or one of you?"

"What about my leg, Strong? you infernal lying blackguard!" I said.

"I was bound to keep you back how I could," he cried hotly; "I am sorry I hurt you, but that's not murder, and you know it."

"I know it was meant to be," I said.

"It was not," he cried; "I fired wide on purpose. One doesn't hit a man in the leg if one means killing."

"Oh, come, Strong; you are a poor shot, you know, at the best!" said Jack. "We don't forget Graciosa! Go on with your story."

"Oh, curse Graciosa, and you too!" said Strong surlily, and not another word could we get out of him at this time.

But Kuzmá told us the rest of it—that is to say, from the point at which Strong left off—though we only heard the true version of his escape from Narva at a later date, and from another source.

Kuzmá returning to Hogland in his fishing-boat, had seen in the distance, when about an hour out from Narva, a small craft occupied by one man, who seemed to be in difficulties, since he shouted and gesticulated.

As Kuzmá and his companion consulted whether to head for the small boat in order to offer assistance, they suddenly observed that the vessel had disappeared. Sailing up to the place where it had sunk they had come upon a man swimming, whom they did not recognise for Strong until they had pulled him on board.

When they did recognise him, said Kuzmá, they were for pitching him back into the sea; but Strong had a knife, and looked so dangerous, that they thought it wiser to bring him along, which they did. They knew nothing of his escape or anything else, excepting that they fully intended to make a little money out of the job, presently, by restoring him to the authorities, and claiming a gratuity.

Had they known more, they would probably have smashed in his head with an oar, and pitched him back into the gulf. Cash rewards are very, very pleasant things; but under some circumstances Kuzmá would have felt even greater satisfaction in smashing a head than in earning money by preserving it whole for others to smash!

On the following day we might fairly begin to look out for the return of our good steamship the Thomas Wilcox, and it became necessary to settle something as to James Strong and his fate.

The Russians, Kuzmá and his friends, being aggrieved parties, and also interested in a pecuniary way in returning the prisoner to his bonds, were naturally all for conveying him back to Narva under strong escort; but this James Strong besought us with tears and piteous entreaties at all hazards to disallow. He would assuredly be sent to Siberia or starved or flogged to death, he protested; nothing could save him. "For the love of Heaven," he begged us, "let me sail with you from this accursed place."

"But I can't, we can't do it, as honest men!" said Jack, in some perplexity for the wretched fellow. "Don't you see, man, that if you set foot in England we are bound to denounce you?"

"Then land me at Copenhagen," said Strong, "or anywhere."

"But you'll take the first steamer on to Hull, and the difficulties will all begin again," said I.

"I won't—I swear it!" he cried. "I'll sign anything you like."

Jack and I held a consultation over this knotty question. No doubt it will be said that our duty was obviously either to abandon the miscreant to these poor fellows, whom he had deeply aggrieved, and who would restore him into the hands of those who would try him; or else to take him to England ourselves, and arraign him there.

And yet, stern and judicial reader of these lines, we felt that either course would be equally repugnant to us. We could not allow these Russians to have their will of the fellow; how did we know that they would not knock him on the head, without trial, so soon as we were afloat? As for taking him to England and accusing him of murder, fully as we believed him guilty, we were without absolute proof, and the work of establishing a case against him was not an enterprise we cared to undertake.

In the end we decided to buy the man off from these islanders for the sum of one hundred roubles, which they gladly accepted, and to allow him to accompany us as far as Copenhagen, where he should land. In consideration, therefore, of a signed statement from him that he was guiltless of the murder of Clutterbuck, who, he solemnly declared, had fallen in fair fight during a struggle for the revolver, which had exploded and killed Clutterbuck on the spot; in consideration, I say, of a declaration to this effect, Jack and I both undertook to leave Strong unmolested so long as he did not cross our path in England. So sure as he ever came near us again, for good or ill, he should be denounced by us without further compunction.

CHAPTER XXXIV

EXIT STRONG

We did not altogether believe Strong's story even then; I believe it now still less, in the light of subsequent information bearing upon his conduct at Narva. Taking him all in all, I daresay, and indeed I hope, that I shall never look upon the like of James Strong again; for I do not suppose the earth contains many such callous and sanguinary rascals as he, and it would be more than my share of ill luck to come across two such scoundrels in the course of one lifetime.

I will not dwell upon his "gratitude" and joy when our decision was communicated to him. He had knelt weeping before us, praying aloud and blubbering while we had the matter in consideration, and when the thing was decided he—well, it was a sickly exhibition, and, of course, his gratitude was only sham. He would have stabbed either of us in the back any minute, for a five-pound note.

Thus, when the good ship Thomas Wilcox arrived off the island next morning early, we took leave of our gentle but avaricious elder and his friends, and left the island without much regret, and James Strong went with us.

"Well," said kind and hearty Captain Edwards, shaking each of us warmly by the hand, "found your coal?"

As for me, I had completely forgotten our coal-mining enterprise, and was foolishly taken aback by the remark. But Jack, as usual, was "all there."

"There is certainly coal in the island," he said; "but I don't think it will prove to exist in paying quantities."

I don't think it will either; for, so far as I know, the only coals to be found in the place are the few ashes shot out by steamers passing the island near enough for their siftings to be washed ashore.

"Ah, that's a pity!" said Edwards; "I was looking forward to be a director, one day! So your trip's been a failure?"

"Well, not altogether," said Jack, grave as a judge; "we've enjoyed some good fishing, and haven't had a bad time altogether."

We paid Strong's passage to Copenhagen, and landed him there. Not wishing to enter into particulars as to his story, we gave out that he had come to the island a month ago, viâ Helsingfors, upon much the same errand as ourselves; and if Captain Edwards was surprised to hear that there had been three fools instead of two in the matter, he was too polite to say so. But after Strong had, to our relief, finally departed, and we were once more in full sail for England, we received a piece of news from Captain Edwards which gave us what is commonly called "a turn," and we were glad at first that we had not received it but a few hours earlier. We had just seen Strong off, and were sitting and talking in the dining-saloon, discussing various matters, when Edwards suddenly startled us by saying—

"Nice pranks a countryman of ours has been playing at Narva!"

"What—Strong?" I blurted in my foolishness. Jack coughed as though choking over his glass of sherry.

"How your mind is running upon Strong, Peter!" he said. "At Narva this was, Captain Edwards said; didn't you, captain?"

"Yes, at Narva," said Edwards, suspecting nothing; "it's a place not so very far from Hogland, on the Esthonian shore. The fellow was a sailor apparently, and had behaved violently towards other sailors, Russians—I don't know the history of it; but he was placed in 'quod' for his misdeeds. Well, what does the fellow do one night, finding that most people about the lock-up were drunk by reason of a church holiday (it's a sin to be sober on a church holiday, you must know, in Russia); what does he do but set fire to the place, stick a knife into one policeman, brain another with a stool, and escape in the confusion down to the water, where he gets to sea in a leaky boat, and goes Heaven knows where?—probably to the bottom, for the boat is described as a totally impossible craft."

"Do you mean to say, captain, that the two men he attacked are actually dead—murdered?" I asked, feeling that I was paler than I ought to be to hear of these excesses in a stranger.

"Why, certainly," said the captain; "he appears to have run amuck entirely; and I should say that if he went to the bottom he did a deuced wise thing, for if they catch him there'll be a bad quarter of an hour for him; on that you may bet your pile."

"Anyone burnt?" said Jack. He too looked somewhat appalled by these revelations.

"Most probably—I only saw a telegram, mind you, in the French paper, the Journal de St. Petersbourg. There must have been a number of drunken people about the place,—bah! it isn't a pretty story. Upon my word, you have both gone quite pale over it. Pass the sherry, Mr. Henderson—help yourself and your friend; you both look to require it."

Talking over this horrible story with Jack, afterwards, we agreed that if we had known of this before leaving Hogland, we could not possibly, in conscience, have allowed the fellow to escape. We must have sent him back to Narva. It was lucky indeed that Kuzmá had known nothing of it, having simply picked the man up in mid-sea!

"What should we have done if Captain Edwards had told us this story while Strong was still on board?" I asked.

"Nothing," said Jack. "What would have been the use? It would have been very awkward for Edwards; and besides, rogue as Strong is, I don't think I should hand the poor wretch back to Russian judges any the easier after this. Heaven only knows what would happen to him!"

At all events, it was a matter to be thankful for that we were at length happily quit of this nightmare, and, as we hoped, for ever.

As we hoped, yes. But it's a delusive thing, this bubble "Hope," and very given to bursting!

It was during lunch that Captain Edwards had told Jack and me all about the Narva business, and it was while sitting and smoking a pipe in my cabin an hour later that it suddenly occurred to me—I don't know why—to have a look at old Clutterbuck's last letter and the daub which was supposed to be a reproduction of his features upon canvas.

I did not suspect anything. On the contrary, it never for one moment occurred to me that anything could have happened to the things. They were useless to anyone but myself, unless it were Strong; but that thoroughly cowed individual would never have dared possess himself of them—why should he? It was impossible for him to show himself in England, for he would know that we should have no mercy if he were deliberately to disobey orders and risk his neck in this way.

I suppose I wanted to have a peep at the things—my stock in trade, such as it was; just as one enjoys taking out one's money, from time to time, and counting it, in the mere pleasure of possession. I can think of no other reason why I should have gone to my portmanteau to have a look at that foolish old letter and that unspeakable caricature. At anyrate I went.

The portmanteau was unlocked, and strapped only on one side, because of the nuisance of hunting up keys and unfastening buckles when at sea. Dressing in a cabin with a rocking floor beneath one's feet is an extremely disagreeable process, and I am always unwilling to add to the necessary time to be expended in the operation by fastening up bags and portmanteaus.

Let them lie open, day and night—there are no thieves to come picking and stealing at the first-class passengers' end of the ship! That is what had been my idea in the matter, an idea supported by the reflection that I had nothing worth stealing. But when I went to the portmanteau and found that both letter and picture had totally disappeared, I realised, not for the first time, that Mr. James Strong was an individual whose craftiness should not be measured with the ordinary tape-yard applicable to the shrewdness of others. He required a measure all to himself. He had got the better of us again!

CHAPTER XXXV

MORE CHECKS

I rushed upstairs to Jack, who had gone on deck.

"Jack," I cried, almost shouting in my excitement,—"he's done us again!—he's got the things! Heaven only knows what he means to do with them, but he's got them and—and we haven't!" I concluded lamely.

"What do you mean, man?" said Jack. "Who's got what?"

"Why, Strong—Strong again! Don't you understand?—he's stolen the letter and the picture too, and Heaven only knows where he's gone with them."

It was now Jack's turn to be moved.

"Impossible!" he exclaimed; "he would never dare; why—man alive!—he knows well enough he must swing if he sets foot in England, and what use are the things to him anywhere else?" Jack rose and strode about the deck.

"He might have done it out of spite, though," he added next minute; "very likely he was determined that if he couldn't have the money, at all events we shouldn't have it either. Are you sure they are gone?"

"Come and see for yourself," I said; and together we hurried down again, through the saloon and into my cabin.

Here we turned out every single article that my portmanteau contained; we searched every corner of the tiny room in case the things should have been mislaid; but we found nothing, and finally, in desperation, we called up the steward and cross-questioned him as to whether anyone could possibly have entered the cabin, either by day or night, without being seen by him or by his sub.

But neither did the steward know anything of the lost articles, nor would he admit that anyone could or would have entered the saloon without his being aware of the fact.

"Why, my pantry's at the foot of the stairs," he said, "and if I'm not in it Arthur is, and the stewardess is generally knocking around about here too; how's anyone going to pass the lot of us without someone knowing of it? Besides, we don't keep no thieves aboard this ship," he concluded, with displeasure. "No one but me and Arthur's been in this 'ere cabin since you came aboard at Hogland, and that's a fact!"

"No, you're wrong there, steward!" I said, "for that Russian sailor Michail came in to close the portholes last night, and woke me; what's more, he said you sent him."

The steward admitted that this suddenly recollected circumstance was correct. He had forgotten it, he explained. Michail had come to him at about two in the morning, and had asked whether he should close the passengers' windows, as the wind seemed to be rising and the portholes might ship a sea or two presently. "If you suspect him, or me, or any of us, all you have to do is to examine our things," the steward ended.

But we disclaimed any such desire. We would like to see Michail, however, and as soon as possible; for if the things were not forthcoming, we must—as Jack expressed it—"get out at Elsinore, and walk!"

So Michail came up for examination.

Did he often volunteer for the duty of closing portholes at night? we asked.

Michail said he did it sometimes; he generally offered to do it because he liked the job; the passengers now and then gave him a small gratuity. On this occasion, Michail added, the gentlemen had given him nothing, but it was not too late should they desire to repair the omission.

"Wait a minute, Michail," said Jack. "The time has not yet arrived to speak of gratuities. What about this portmanteau, here? Have you seen it before?"

"Often," said Michail; "it is the very one I carried ashore on Hogland, for the gentleman with red hair." (My hair is not red, it is a warm yellow; Michail meant me, nevertheless, for Jack's locks are raven black.)

"Yes; but have you been a-fishing in it lately—just an innocent search, you know, for something of interest; not a burglary of course."

Michael started back in horror and surprise. "Do the barins take me for a thief?" he asked with some indignation.

"That was the idea," said Jack, quite coolly. "But you may have been acting for another—for that other Englishman, for instance, Strong."

"Which Englishman is that?" asked Michail innocently; "one of the sailors?"

"The Narva man; you know well enough!" said Jack.

Michail crossed himself very devoutly. "Barin!" he said; "as if I would act with that skoteena!" (rascal)

"Come, Michail," continued Jack, "will ten roubles do it?"

"There is nothing to tell of myself," said Michail reflectively; "but for the sum of money mentioned, I might possibly be induced to tell you something that I heard him say to one of our men in the fo'c'sle."

"Well," I said, "go on Michail. It sounds promising. When did he say it, and what did he say?"

"It was yesterday," replied Michail; "you two were walking on deck, and I saw him point to you and say those two passengers had the worst tempers of any two men he'd ever seen; they go mad angry every two or three days, he said, and tear around, playing Old Harry with everything. Very likely they'll want to be landed in the middle of the North Sea, and they'll paint everything red till they're allowed, too; and I shan't be there to see the fun, he said, for I shall have been put ashore at Copenhagen."

"What did he mean by that? You're romancing, Michail!" said Jack severely.

Michail replied that he would scorn to tell us anything but the plain truth, though he was always glad to tell that—for a consideration.

"Well, you've earned nothing yet, my friend; the ten roubles remain with me, so far. You'd better remember a little more if you want the money."

"That was all the skoteena himself said," Michael continued; "but if the barins desire it, I will tell them what some of those in the fo'c'sle thought about it."

"Go on," said Jack; "what did they say?"

"They said—when the skoteena had told us about your tempers and what you would do in the North Sea after he had gone—that he wouldn't say a thing like that unless he had a reason for it; and probably the reason was that he had got hold of some of your property, and you'd find out about it in a day or two and go mad with rage, and want to be landed wherever was nearest so as to go after him."

"Oh, that was it, was it?" said Jack.

Michail received his ten roubles, and Jack drew me aside.

"I'll tell you what it is, Peter, old chap; Michail's right. Whether he said it because he has a guilty conscience, and wants us off the ship; or whether Strong really used the expression he attributes to him, one thing's certain—we must land."

"Where can we?—anywhere here along the Danish coast? By George! if we catch him again, Jack, he shan't escape us, eh?"

"He should swing if it depended upon me, now, and I could prove anything," said Jack grimly. "But come and interview Captain Edwards, and see if he'll stop the ship and land us." Captain Edwards was upon the bridge with the pilot, whom we had shipped at Copenhagen.

"Of course," Jack added, as we caught sight of the jolly-looking, weather-beaten Dane standing beside our own skipper—"the pilot! We'll ask Edwards to let us go ashore in his boat, with him; that'll probably be Elsinore. Confound it all, though, we shall be six hours behind him at Copenhagen!"

"But why, what's up, what's happened?" asked bewildered Captain Edwards, when we had made known to him the nature of our request; "has the other fellow bolted with the money-bags?"

We explained that this was just about the state of the case; the man had robbed us, and we must land and be after him.

"Are you quite sure it was he?" continued Edwards; "it would be funny if you went after this fellow and left the real culprit, plus your property, on board!"

But we explained that there was no reasonable doubt as to this. The only person now on the ship who might possibly have had a hand in it was Michail, and we begged the captain to keep an open eye on this rascal, and even have him watched on landing in Hull. It was possible that he might have in his possession a picture belonging to us, and of some value.

"What! a work of art?" laughed Edwards. "May I ask how you came to be travelling about and landing and prospecting on Hogland in company with a valuable work of art?"

Well, we thought it best—and probably the shorter way as well—to tell the skipper all about it, and we did so. Now that Strong was out of our hands we need not scruple to conceal the fact that he was perhaps the greatest rascal unhung, and that he and the hero of the Narva exploit were one and the same person.

Captain Edwards was naturally somewhat excited.

"The scoundrel ought to have been sent back to Narva," he said, "not brought on here and set free. You deserve what's happened for setting such a monster loose upon society. It's not fair dealing towards your kind, young men, upon my soul it isn't; you may take that from an older man than yourselves. However, please God you'll catch him yet. You must land with the pilot, of course; that'll be at Elsinore, in half an hour's time. You'd better get your traps ready."

We went down to prepare for our departure. In the cabin a thought occurred to me. What if Michail and Strong were in direct collusion, and had agreed upon a base of action such as this: that Michail should convey to us, just as he had done, by innuendo, that Strong had stolen our property, in order that we might be induced to land at Elsinore and hurry back after him by train to Copenhagen; that meanwhile Strong should have caught the first train to Elsinore, and—having "done" the distance by land much faster than we should have accomplished it by water—be waiting at Elsinore or beyond it, knocking around in a small boat all ready to be picked up at dusk by his friend Michail. In that case he would have left the property on board, and would simply continue his journey to Hull, and land there in two days and a half, or three days, while we were still hunting him, goodness knows where, all over the Continent, perhaps!

"Well," said Jack, "if that is the plan, Master Strong will find himself in the wrong box. I don't believe he could get taken on board out of a small boat without stopping the ship, or the captain or mate knowing something of it; but if he did, Edwards knows all about him now, and he'd be as safe here as in Newgate, pro tem. Let him come, by all means; the arrangement would be all right for us even though we did lose a few days travelling about the Continent."

Nevertheless we warned Captain Edwards that it was just possible Strong might turn up again beyond Elsinore and demand to be taken aboard, or perhaps be assisted by Michail in making a secret reappearance.

"Not he!" said Edwards; "he wouldn't risk it—don't you make any mistake! I only wish he would. It would be putting his head in a bag with a vengeance!"

I think I ought to make an apology, at this point, to the memory of the astute Mr. James Strong. I ought never to have imagined him capable of so crude an enterprise as that which my fancy accused him of undertaking.

CHAPTER XXXVI

WE FIND AN OLD FRIEND

The ugly castle of Elsinore was in sight when we came on deck, and a few minutes later the pilot's own little craft, splendidly sailed by his mate and a boy, came alongside, and without asking us to stop for her, made fast to us and raced along in our company.

After a hasty farewell with Captain Edwards, and a whispered injunction under all circumstances to keep a good look-out upon Michail, we threw our portmanteaus into the arms of the astonished Dane below, and followed the pilot down the steps swung over the side of the ship for our accommodation.

Though the pilot lived at a village at some little distance from Elsinore, he kindly agreed to convey us to the railway station at the latter town, and with a fair wind we soon made the jetty close to the very spot from which the trains start. Here, having paid off our gallant boatmen, we jumped ashore and hurried with all speed to the station, to find that we had just missed one train and that we could not now catch another for an hour and more. This was tantalising and vexatious; but at least we were ashore and in full chase after our quarry, and that was a source of some comfort to us.

Together we paced up and down the platform of Elsinore Station. We tried to converse. I asked Jack what he thought would be Hamlet's opinion of the state of affairs if he were to "come down" and see a railway station within a stone's-throw of his capital castle of Elsinore.

Jack replied that all depended upon whether Strong should have been lucky in catching his train; if one had started from Copenhagen soon after he landed there, then his advantage over us would be very great, and probably our best way would be to let him go, and hurry back to England, ourselves, by land.

Presently, standing at a spot whence he commanded a good view of the castle, Jack observed that if Hamlet's father's ghost ever walked upon the parapet of the great ugly building nowadays, he must be as active as a cat, for there would be a lot of climbing to do, there being a kind of miniature turret at every few yards which the ghost would have to negotiate if he desired to get along.

To which I replied, in a contemplative fashion, that in any case we knew well enough without the paper where we had to dig for the money, and the only thing that really mattered was the picture. The question was, did we absolutely require the daub to help us find the treasure, or not? At anyrate, Strong knew too much to come fooling around in England. He must know that we would nab him at once. There was no fear of Strong himself turning up. From all of which it will be gathered that our conversation was a little mixed. However, the train started at last, and we left Elsinore behind us.

At Copenhagen many inquiries had to be made, and at first we were somewhat helpless; for though the language sounded sufficiently like English to make it additionally annoying that we could not understand it, yet neither we nor those with whom we attempted to converse could make head or tail of that which we or they respectively tried to convey. At the station we could do nothing towards making our wishes known, and at length we determined to visit the nearest hotel and engage an interpreter, if such a person existed.

Here we were lucky, for we found the very man, and to him we confided our need, namely, to get upon the track of an individual who landed from an English steamer, and had, presumably, gone on by the first train elsewhere.

"But where?" asked our commissionaire; and to this question we had, of course, no reply.

"We must begin at the beginning, and go down first to the landing-stage," said our friend.

Now this was annoying, because the journey would be a loss of time; but it was obviously the correct course, and we took it. We must begin our inquiries from the spot at which he first touched land.

Down at the wharf our Dane interviewed several boatmen, all of whom had seen the Thomas Wilcox arrive and depart, and all of whom agreed that a passenger had landed and had engaged a conveyance and driven away.

"To the station, of course," said I. "Why do we wait? This is all a waste of precious time!"

"Which station?" asked our Dane grimly; and, when I had no reply to make, he added, "That is what we have come for to find out."

It seemed, however, that the point was a most difficult one to establish, and that we should be obliged to drive to each station in turn, thereby wasting more time, until there wandered upon the scene, presently, a Danish youth who said he had taken the passenger's bag out of the boat and put it into the carriage. The passenger was a German, he said.

"How do you know that?" asked Jack, through the interpreter.

"Because he wanted to get to Kiel," said the boy; "he knew no Danish, and could only hold up his finger to the driver and say, 'Skielskor, for Kiel!'"

This was good enough for us. We drove rapidly towards the station, feeling that we were about to make a real start at last.

The clerk at the booking-office remembered the man we wanted. He had hurried into the station and said, in an interrogative manner, "Skielskor?" and when the clerk had replied that it was all right, if he meant that he required a ticket for that place, he had repeated, "Kiel—Bremen?" Whereupon the clerk, seeing that conversation would be difficult, had tentatively offered two tickets, one to Skielskor, and the other through to Kiel; of which he had selected and paid for the latter. He had left just an hour ago.

"Can't we get to Kiel direct by water, quicker than by land to Skielskor, and thence across?" asked Jack. "If there should be a steamer going just about now, we might possibly cut him off at Kiel."

Fortune favoured us quite handsomely this time.

Hastening back to the waterside we actually found a Kiel steamer about to depart; that is, a large steamer lay in mid-channel, having arrived since we were down here half an hour before; she had stopped to put down passengers, just as the Thomas Wilcox did, and would proceed almost immediately.

We signalled her to take us on board, and left without a moment's delay.

"Great Scott, Jack!" I exclaimed; "Strong will have the luck of the evil one himself if he reaches Kiel before us now; this is splendid!"

We ascertained that, all being well, we should reach our destination considerably before Strong could do so, he travelling by land and then by small steamer to Kiel, even though he should catch one just about to start. Under these circumstances the jubilation which we felt was most justifiable, and over a capital dinner we spoke with delight of the joy in store for us, when we should stand on the landing-stage waiting for the arrival of the little Skielskor steamer, and see the countenance of Mr. James Strong change when he caught sight of us there.

"Will he have a fit, think you, Jack?" I asked in glee.

Jack said he thought it quite likely; it would appear so uncanny to the wretched chap, and so utterly unexpected. "I should certainly have a fit under similar circumstances," he added.

We went to bed with the conviction that fortune was treating us kindly this time, and that to-morrow had consolations for us in expiation for the shocks and disappointments of to-day.

But these rascally to-morrows never perform exactly what is expected of them. Our programme was all of the colour of the rose, and justifiably so; but certain circumstances marred the order of events, and things fell out differently.

Now our steamer, the Peter der Grosse, had come from Cronstadt, just as our own Thomas Wilcox had, and in Russia at this time the cholera was having one of those periodical innings which it enjoys at regular or irregular intervals in that country. And when we arrived at Kiel and requested to be landed as quickly as might be, we were met by the stunning statement that this would be impossible until the quarantine officer should have come on board and passed us.

"How long will that be?" we asked, and were informed that it might be a couple of hours and might be twelve.

"They are very particular here," said the captain, "and are as likely as not to leave us half a day or so, just to give the germs a chance, in case they should require this much extra time to develop."

As a matter of fact, the quarantine officer did not visit us until nearly evening, we having arrived before midday. Just before his arrival I had noticed a little Danish steamer creep into harbour, and through the captain's glasses I distinguished, or thought to distinguish, the words "Helma—Skielskor."

"Jack," I said, "look at the little craft just running into harbour—here, take the glasses."

Jack took them and had a long steady gaze at the small steamer.

"You're quite right," he said presently (I had expressed no opinion whatever!); "he's just done it; that must be his boat; there's no question of it!"

Then Jack muttered an expressive word between his teeth, and I another.

Then I looked at Jack and he at me, and—having nothing better or wiser to do, I suppose—we both burst into a roar of laughter.

It was sickening to see the fellow just gliding out of our very hands; but at the same time it was really very funny.

"Never mind," said Jack. "We'll be after him directly, and we know he's going viâ Bremen. Perhaps we may catch the same train yet."

But we were not destined to reap this crop of good fortune. The quarantine officers came on board and examined carefully every creature in the ship. This occupied a couple of hours. Fortunately for us, we were able to prove that we had joined the steamer at Copenhagen; still more so, we were not asked for passports, otherwise the fact would have been revealed that we too had come from Russia, and we, like the rest of the passengers, would have been delayed in quarantine for twenty-four or forty-eight hours, or whatever the term may have been.

As it was, we were allowed to land, though the rest were detained; and without a moment's delay we made for the station, calling on the way at the jetty, at which lay, sluggishly steaming, the little Skielskor steamer which had arrived a short while since.

We inquired of the captain, as best we could, as to the passengers he had brought over. Was there an Englishman? we asked; and we described our friend Strong. The captain who—excellent man!—spoke English, replied that most certainly there had been an Englishman among his passengers, a charming, cheery sort of person, who had laughed and drunk Swedish punch all the way, and told capital stories. He was a generous kind of a man too, and had stood drinks all round. He had also made him, the skipper, a little present which he declared to be of some value, though it could not be said to have the appearance of much intrinsic worth, so far as he, the skipper, was able to judge!

"Oh," said Jack, not greatly interested; "and what was that?"

"The picture of an old man—Dutch School; after Gerard Dow, so he said," laughed the skipper. "You can see it, if you like; you may be a judge of these things. Lord knows why he gave it me—drunk, I suppose!"

CHAPTER XXXVII

MR. STRONG MAKES AN EFFECTIVE REAPPEARANCE

This communication was as exciting as it was utterly unexpected. We entreated the skipper, as calmly as we could, to produce his work of art. He did so. It was the portrait, of course.

And we to talk of ill-luck! Why, supposing the thing to be really of any value to us, it was a stroke of the most magnificent good fortune to have found it in this way! I realised this fact as the skipper brought the ugly thing out, and—with a laugh—placed it on the table before us.

"There," he said; "a beauty, isn't it? If it's by Gerard Dow, why, I don't think much of Gerard Dow, and that's the truth. Any offers?" he added, with another laugh.

"Ten shillings!" said Jack, laughing also. "It isn't Gerard Dow, nor yet after him; but I collect these old Dutch daubs, and I'll take it off your hands for a half sovereign."

"That and a drink round," said the skipper.

And ten minutes later we were driving in a German droshky to the station, having our newly-recovered treasure in tow.

It mattered little, now, whether we caught Strong or not. As a matter of fact he would be more of an embarrassment than anything else. What should we do with him if we caught him?

At anyrate, however, we would shadow him and see what he intended to do. If his destination should prove to be England, then matters would be different and it would be our duty to follow and arrest him.

"We can't prove anything," I said.

"We shall have to try," replied Jack. "A rogue like him can't be allowed to prowl about England free." This was, of course, perfectly true.

"Why did the chap steal the portrait, only to chuck it away again?" I said presently, as we drove along. "Simply to annoy us, or prevent us finding the treasure, even though he daren't go and dig for it at Streatham himself?"

"That's the idea, I should think," said Jack; "that if he can't have it, you shan't!"

Upon reaching the station we found that Mr. Strong was, at anyrate, not to be caught in Kiel. The Bremen train had left just an hour ago, with him in it. There would be another in fifty minutes.

"Gad, Peter, we are in the race, at anyrate, after all!" said Jack, with a guffaw; "if we have any luck in the trains we may catch him yet."

"Let's find out how long he'll have to wait at Hamburg for the Bremen train," I suggested.

We did so, and found to our annoyance that our train reached Hamburg just ten minutes after Strong's was timed to leave that station for Bremen. There would be another one, however, in an hour or less, and a quicker one than his; so that we might get him at Bremen, It would depend upon what should be his next destination.

"It doesn't much matter," I reflected. "If we don't catch him at Bremen we'd better just see where he's gone to and then set off for Streatham, viâ Hanover and Flushing, as quickly as possible. Are you very keen to see him, Jack?"

"It depends," said Jack. "I should dearly like to see him, just once more, in a dark lane and without witness or revolvers, but with a pair of football boots upon my feet. That would be very sweet indeed. At a crowded station, one might get in a little comforting language; but kicking would be out of the question, and therefore the case would not really be met. However, it would be nice just to see his face, when he sees ours, and to tell him one or two things about himself."

So we took train for Bremen viâ Hamburg, and at this latter place we found, to our amusement, that our train, though starting after Strong's, who had already gone on, ran into Bremen a short while before the other; ours being an express.

"Gad, Peter, this is splendid!" cried old Jack, rubbing his hands with delight.

It really was; it was splendid! Destiny was playing a strong game in our favour; there was no doubt about it.

We should thus have the ecstatic pleasure of meeting Mr. Strong upon the platform, and of observing his expression of delight upon seeing us waiting for him.

It was at some little station outside Bremen, and about five miles from that city, that we overtook Strong's train, which, no doubt, was waiting there in order to allow the express to go by.

We did not know it was Strong's train, of course. We discovered the fact in this way—

I was reading, Jack was looking out of the window. Suddenly he startled me with an exclamation. He was staring, all eyes, through the glass, which was closed on account of the dustiness of the German railways.

"What is it?" I inquired. I looked out, but saw nothing very startling or unusual; a train lay alongside of ours, and Jack was staring, as it appeared, into one of the carriages.

"What is it?" I repeated.

"Hush!" said Jack. "Don't make a row, but just look in there—the compartment exactly opposite this one. Don't speak too loud or you may awake the dear kind soul."

I looked, and first my heart gave a great jump; then, almost immediately, I was attacked by the most violent desire to laugh aloud, and I sank back in my place and heaved about, stuffing my handkerchief into my mouth to prevent an outburst of noise therefrom.

For it was Strong himself, alone in a carriage, and fast asleep—the pretty innocent—not dreaming of the possibility of enemies at hand! Happy; at peace with all the world; slumbering upon his second-class cushions in all the guileless confidence of a weary child. It was too beautiful for words.

Almost immediately our train started with a sudden jerk, and spoiled our contemplation of the sweet picture before us. But in marring one it gave us another—a mere lightning flash of a picture, this last, certainly; but one which I would not have missed for untold sums, and the memory of which is even now a constant delight to me whenever conjured up by the wizard Imagination.

The movement of our train caused Strong to open his eyes languidly and to raise them towards the cause of his awakening.

At the same instant he caught sight of Jack's face and then of mine, and a more sudden and startled rushing of a sleepy intelligence into full and disgusted wakefulness I have never beheld. Strong's eyes went from languid and fishy expressionlessness into swiftly alternating phases representing surprise, disgust, rage and terror; they seemed to start from his head and to grow, visibly, to about twice their normal size. It was a noteworthy and unforgettable spectacle; it was beautiful. As we passed out of his scope of vision, we saw the fellow start from his seat as though to put his head out of the window and follow us away with his eyes.

"Did you ever see the like of that?" exclaimed Jack, subsiding into his seat and beginning to roar with laughter.

"I never did!" I concurred. "The only thing is," I added, "the rascal will get out, now, and not come on to Bremen."

"That doesn't matter a bit," said Jack; "let him; it will save us trouble; we don't want him now, for we have the picture, which is all he took from us barring Clutterbuck's letter, of which we each have a couple of copies, besides one apiece by heart."

"He may come on to England after us," I said. Jack laughed.

"I don't believe it. He wouldn't dare. This last fright would put him off even if he had contemplated it. As a matter of fact, I don't believe he ever meant digging. He wouldn't have given away the picture if he had, for he could scarcely have failed to suppose that it has something to do with the treasure finding, though I'm bound to say I, for one, can't imagine what!"

"Then why did he steal it from us?" I exclaimed.

"Malice, my dear chap; pure, unadulterated malice and devilment; the rascal wouldn't be happy unless he were playing Old Nick upon someone or other." I daresay Jack was perfectly right.

We waited at Bremen Station, however, for the arrival of Strong's train, in case he should be in it, and—as it happened—we should have saved ourselves both time and vexation of spirit if we had gone on and left him.

Strong was in the train. He came out as bold as brass, and showed no fear or surprise when he met us upon the platform. He even wished us good-evening, and asked us how we came to be here and not on board the Thomas Wilcox, in the middle of the North Sea.

"Well, you're a darned cool hand, Strong, I must say!" said Jack. "What about the work of art, and the other things?"

"What work of art?" he asked, positively without a blush.

"Clutterbuck's picture—you know quite well what we mean," I said. "You stole it out of our cabin."

"I never went near your blamed cabin," he said; "you'd better prove what you say. You're too jolly fond of accusing innocent people, you two bounders. If I had you in a quiet place I'd make you swallow all those infernal lies about me that you invented on Hogland."

"Oh, that's your line is it, Strong?" said Jack "You're going to figure as the injured innocent, are you? All right, my man; you're safe here in Germany, but don't you show yourself in England."

"You cannot prove anything, curse you!" cried Strong, "and you know it."

"Very well; quite likely; at the same time, think twice before crossing the Channel; we may have a little evidence up our sleeve that you don't know of."

Strong uttered one of his oaths, which need not be repeated.

"You deny stealing the picture, then?" continued Jack.

"I may have it and I may not," said Strong, too angry now to care what he said. "At anyrate, it seems you haven't."

"Never judge by appearances, Strong," said Jack; "we have it, all right, such as it is. Pity to allow a work of art by G. Dow to remain in the hands of a man who can't even recognise the beauty of it. Your friend sold the keepsake you gave him—unkind of him, wasn't it?" Strong winced.

"You have the luck of the devil," he snarled. "What's your game? You can't touch me, here; you know that. Michail took the picture; I didn't want the infernal thing—he took it in revenge for your kicking him on the island—there! You're welcome to it; it's as like my darned uncle as two peas, I'm sick when I look at it. It may help you to find the treasure, though how in perdition it's going to do it beats me. If you want my opinion, there isn't any treasure—at least, not for you or me. The blamed old miser played a trick on us all; it's rotting somewhere, like him; and no one'll ever dig up the money any more than his carcass. The whole thing's blamed, bally rot, and we've all been a parcel of silly idiots; that's my opinion—take it or leave it."

"We'll leave it, thanks, Strong," said Jack; "and we'll leave you too, if you'll excuse us. Good-night, my man; you'd better keep this side of the Channel, that's our opinion, take or leave it."

Strong darted a look of anger at Jack, and turned on his heel with an oath. He slunk out of the station and disappeared in the dusk outside.

We were in two minds whether to follow and keep him in sight, or let him be. But we decided to let him go, since he did not appear to have any intention of molesting us further.

So we sought out a hotel near the station and engaged a room together, for it would be just as well to double our chance of hearing Strong should he, by any chance, resolve to make another attempt to deprive us of the picture, or otherwise rob us, and somehow force an entry into the room.

As it happened, we were disturbed before we were an hour older; but not by Strong.

A very unexpected and exasperating thing happened—comical too, after a fashion, especially after the event.

We were seated over our supper in the coffee-room of our hotel, when a scared-looking waiter informed us that both the English Herren were wanted downstairs.

"By whom?" we asked in some surprise.

"By the police," said the man; "should he invite them upstairs, or would we step below into the entrance hall?"

Jack and I looked at one another. What did this mean?

"We will come down," said Jack; and to the great hall below we descended. Here an astonishing spectacle greeted our eyes: a group of policemen in uniform; a man in civilian garb, presumably an interpreter; and—Mr. James Strong!

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ARRESTED

"Yes," observed Mr. Strong, upon our appearance, "these are the very men. Tell the police, Mr. Interpreter, that these persons have robbed me; the robbery was effected while en route from Russia; they are, I believe, in possession of a work of art belonging to myself; their luggage had better be searched."

I was absolutely speechless with surprise. This was certainly the most audacious act I had ever heard of. I did not know whether to be more furious or amused.

Jack apparently decided in favour of fury. "You infernal rascal, Strong!"—he began, but Strong said something to the interpreter, who signed to the police, who promptly laid hold of Jack and me. It was too ridiculous.

"Strong, you"—Jack began again, and—"Gad, Strong, if I don't"—began I; but our policemen would not have us speak, and marched us up to our room, Strong and the interpreter following, bidding us in curt military fashion hold our tongues. It was a ridiculous position. I have laughed over the memory of it scores of times; I even felt inclined to laugh then. What could Strong's motive be in acting in this way? He could not want the picture, or he would never have given it to the skipper at Kiel. Had he thought better of it, and determined, if possible, to get us locked up here for a few days while he hurried away to Streatham to dig without us?

He couldn't, surely! Why, we could prove our right to the work of art by telegraphing to Kiel, and, if necessary, producing the skipper to witness to our purchase. Besides, he would have to prove his right to the thing before they could justly deliver it over to him.

It must be an act of spite, then, conceived in the simple desire to score one against us.

Of course the picture was found in my portmanteau. Equally, of course, we protested that it was our own, while Strong declared that we had stolen it from him during the voyage to Copenhagen. No less was it to be expected that upon seeing the work of art, both policemen and interpreters smiled grimly, and that one of them observed—

"Was ist aber Dass für ein Teufelskopf!"

In the end, the police took possession of the disputed picture, but allowed us to remain in peace at the hotel. This was, however, Saturday night, so that the examination into the matter of ownership which, we were informed, it would be necessary to hold, could not be brought into court before Monday.

This was very unfortunate, for if Strong should really have devised this little interlude with the sole desire to gain time, in order to reach the treasure-ground in Streatham a day or two before us, he had certainly gained his end.

It was in vain that we assured our captors that we could easily prove our title to the work of art by simply telegraphing to Kiel, to the man from whom we purchased it.

"That will be very good evidence on Monday, supposing that the seller appears in person," said the police. "Meanwhile, we will take care of the work of art, and on Monday you shall speak, and your friend here shall speak, and the plaintiff shall speak, and then we shall see to whom the beautiful picture belongs."

"This gentleman will not wait to hear the case argued," said Jack, indicating Strong; "he will be in England by Monday!"

"Then he will lose the picture," said the man, shrugging his shoulders. "Whoever remains alone to claim it, to him we shall consider that it rightfully belongs."

"You're a nice, audacious blackguard, Strong, I will say!" muttered Jack to our friend, as—accompanied by his little band of interpreter and police, with the picture—Strong left the room; "I warn you, you'd better be out of Streatham by Tuesday, for by all that's certain, we shall have no mercy if we catch you on our side of the water!"

"Don't fret," said Strong; "I shall have the cash by that time, and you may catch me when you can find me."

"Do you really mean to dig, Strong?" I said. "I wish you'd take advice and keep away; we don't want to be the cause of your hanging, but we shall be forced to give you up if we catch you in England; you must know that."

"Well, catch me there, curse you!" said Strong rudely. "You'll have to be a darned sight sharper than you've been yet, either of you, before you touch either me or the money! That's my last word."

"Well, we are off by the next train," said Jack (to my surprise); "so you'll not get the start you expect. You don't suppose we're going to wait for that ridiculous picture, do you?"

Strong looked foxily at Jack for a second or two; but he said nothing, and followed the others from the room.

"Lord!" said Jack, when they had gone, "I don't know whether to laugh or cry; what a mysterious, incomprehensible, snake of a beast it is! What's his game? One thing is clear, either it hasn't struck him (which is improbable), or he has decided against believing, that the picture has anything to do with finding the money."

"So have you, apparently," I said; "for you told him that we were not going to wait for it."

"That was bluff, man; don't you understand? It was said to frighten him from going on by the first train to Streatham; because, don't you see, if he thinks that we are going at once, why, he can't."

"Do you think he's still after the treasure?" I asked.

"That's what I can't make out," replied Jack; "it would be a fearful risk for him to be about the place when we are there too, he knows that well enough; yet I can't help thinking that he has not abandoned all hope of the money. He's such a snake, that's the mischief of it; who's to know what his game is? At anyrate, we must wait and get the picture. It may and may not have a bearing on the search, but we won't risk anything."

"What if he waits too, and claims it?"

"That is not at all likely; he doesn't want the picture. I should say he'll be up at the station for the next Flushing train, and if he doesn't see us there, he'll go on. Perhaps we'd better show up at the station in order to prevent his departure."

We agreed to do this, and having found out that a Flushing train started early on Sunday morning, we both drove to the station, great-coated as though for travelling, and stood about near the train as though intending to board it at any moment.

Carefully we scrutinised the faces of all who passed and repassed us, about to travel by the express, but we did not see Strong. He had not thought good to journey to England, then; probably Jack's hint that we were intending to travel by the first opportunity had deterred him. Presently, after much bell-ringing and whistling, and loud-voiced invitations, from stentorian German throats, to take our seats, the train slowly began to move forward.

"Well, that's all right," said Jack; "he isn't in there, anyhow."

"Good-morning, gentlemen both," said someone leaning out of a carriage window—the last carriage—just as we were about to turn and depart. "Wish me luck with my digging, won't you? Forty-eight hours' start ought to do me, eh? Well, ta-ta; take care of the picture—it's a beauty, it is!"

Strong bawled out the last sentence or two at the top of his voice from far away down the platform, to the surprise of a few porters and loiterers who gazed at us suspiciously. Jack shook his fist in Strong's direction, a civility which was replied to by that individual by a grimace, and a gesture of the hands—as the train passed round a curve and out of sight—which might have been intended to signify digging, and might not.

Jack burst out laughing; I did not feel mirthful.

"It's all very well," I said, "but I don't like it. He has forty-eight hours' start of us. He may find the treasure in that time, by some fluke."

"He's been too clever for us, Peter, and that's the plain truth," laughed Jack. "Mind you, I don't think he'll find the money, and maybe he doesn't intend to try; but we have been badly scored off, and there's no denying the fact. We must hope it is only spite. I daresay it's that."

But on Monday morning when we turned up at the police court to claim our work of art, the police, finding that Strong had departed without waiting for the case to be heard, exclaimed—"Lieber Gott im Himmel! you were then right!" upon which the interpreter added that he supposed the other Englishman had not waited for the original because the copy which he possessed of it, and which he had shown him, the interpreter, was probably sufficient for him.

"Had he a copy?" asked Jack quickly.

"Certainly," said the man; "a very exact one. Done, he told me, by a clever sailor on the ship which brought him from Russia. He had it painted as a precaution, he said, lest certain persons should steal the original for their own purposes."

The police allowed us to take away our work of art, however, without further difficulties.

"Gad," said Jack, as we left the court, "my opinion of that chap's cuteness strengthens every day! he has intended, all along, to have another dig for the treasure. He expected to gain a day by being set down at Copenhagen; he gave away this picture simply because he didn't require it, having got safely away with the other; this may be only the copy."

"It looks like our old friend," I said moodily; "but one can't tell. Anyhow, we've lost, Jack; it's very sickening after all we've been through"—

"Nonsense, man! the battle isn't lost until it's won. Do you suppose Strong is going to win right off, in a day and a half? Why, there's a fortnight's hard digging in a garden of that size! Don't lose heart so easily, Peter, it doesn't become you."

It was all very well, I thought, for Jack to be sanguine and spirited. He had nothing hanging upon the issue of this matter, excepting the sporting desire to win, and the friendly wish that I—as his chum—should succeed. To me success was absolutely everything!

We caught a train on the Monday evening, and reached Flushing in due course; but the weather was so terribly stormy that the steamers were not running.

This circumstance put the coping-stone to my disgust and depression. It was too bad—too utterly unfortunate. The delay would cost us another twenty-four hours, every second of which time was a clear profit to Strong.

When the weather moderated, and the steamer was advertised to start in the evening, we found that an immense number of passengers had assembled to make the crossing. We obtained berths with difficulty, and at some additional expense. At supper I asked the steward whether his steamer was always crowded in this way.

"Oh dear, no, sir," said my friend; "most of these passengers have been waiting two days and more. We haven't run since the gale began—Sunday night." A moment later, the significance of this statement suddenly occurred to me.

"Why, Jack!" I exclaimed, "then"—

"Yes," said Jack. "Either he's on board now, or else he has seen us, and remained behind on shore; at anyrate there's been no digging done at Streatham."

"Thank God!" I exclaimed. "I was a brute to rave about bad luck, Jack, before I knew."

"Yes," said Jack, smiling; "the winds and waves and all the elements seem to have fought on our side this time, old man! It strikes me we are going to win yet."

At Queenborough Station, in the morning, we scrutinised every passenger that landed from the Princess Clementine. There were many pale, sea-sick, travel-worn people that came ashore to take train to London; but we were both certain that Strong was not among them. Neither did he alight at Victoria. There was no doubt about it; for once Strong's cleverness had been over-trumped by the forces of nature!

CHAPTER XXXIX

DIGGING AGAIN

Jack was determined to see me through with my treasure hunting, now—as we hoped—at its last stage, and came with me to Streatham without even a flying visit to his Gloucestershire home; which was good of old Jack.

Arrived at Streatham, we put up at the best hotel we could find, and lost no time in walking down to old Clutterbuck's house in the lower town. The place looked gloomy and forbidding, and we rang at the garden gate—the only entrance—with a feeling that our trouble was not quite over yet, and that in all probability the old man would have exerted his eccentric ingenuity to the uttermost in order to make the last stage of our search at least as difficult and toilsome as any, in spite of the seemingly simple instructions of the letter, which were merely to go and dig in his own garden at Streatham, and find what we should find.

As a matter of fact, we encountered one difficulty before getting farther than the garden gate—the outside of it, I mean; for an old caretaker answered the ring, and, opening the door an inch or two, but without removing the chain which secured it, peeped out and asked us what we wanted.

I said that we had authority from its late master to take possession of the house and garden.

The old fellow produced from his pocket an envelope, from which he drew a scrap of paper.

"Is your name William Clutterbuck?" he asked.

"He's dead," I replied.

"James Strong?" he continued.

"Oh, hang it, no! not that blackguard," said Jack. "It's all right, old gentleman; this is Mr. Clutterbuck's heir."

The old caretaker took no notice of this remark.

"Charles Strong?" he continued, unmoved.

"He's dead too," I said.

"Ellis?" said the old fellow, doubling up his paper and preparing to return the envelope into his pocket.

"No," said I, "but"—

"Then you don't come in here," concluded the man, banging the door in our faces and double-locking it.

The old caretaker's arbitrary action nonplussed me for the moment.

"But my name is down in the will together with those you have read out," I cried through the panels. Jack stood and laughed. I heard the old man stumping towards the house. I shrieked out a repetition of my last appeal. He paused and spoke. An errand boy stopped to look on, and whistled "D'isy, D'isy, give me your answer do," so loudly that I could scarcely hear the reply.

"No, it ain't," shouted the old fellow back again. "For I copied these down from it myself, and there wasn't another. And what's more, this 'ere door don't git opened to no one else but these four, and if yer wants to git into the garden, yer'll 'ave to climb the wall and see what yer'll git from the dawg. He's loose in here—speak, Ginger!"

Ginger spoke, and the utterance was certainly alarming. Ginger's voice was a deep bass, and it seemed to say—unless my imagination gave it a meaning which it did not really possess—that it was as well for those outside that there was a wall between them and Ginger. It was ridiculous; but it was extremely aggravating also.

"But my name was added afterwards," I pleaded, while Ginger barked and Jack laughed, and the errand boy, interested, stopped whistling to hear the reply. This was not encouraging.

"Garn!" said the rude old man; "I know what I knows; you go and git yer 'air cut, and come back and show me the will."

"I can do that easily enough," I shouted, "and the lawyer who drew it up too, so you'd better save trouble and let me in at once."

"You find me a lawyer and a will as gives more than four names, and in you may walk," said the heroic caretaker; "and till then you can take yourself off or do the other thing—but out you stay!"

This was evidently the ultimatum, for the old fellow could be heard stumping up towards the house. The dog Ginger remained and continued his observations in the same tone until we retired. The errand boy remembered an engagement and departed, disappointed with us, no doubt. We ought, of course, to have scaled that wall and been eaten by Ginger in order adequately to perform our duty to that errand boy; but we had other views, and went and called on the lawyer, Steggins.

That good fellow was sincerely glad to see me, I believe, and to hear that I was the successful competitor up to this point. We told him—in skeleton form—of our adventures, promising him a detailed account if he would dine with us at the hotel, which he gladly undertook to do. Then we told him of our difficulties with the old caretaker, who had received his instructions, evidently, before my name had been added to the will. Steggins laughed.

"What, old Baines?" he said. "I'll soon put that right; we are old friends, he and I. But I'm afraid this other gentleman, Mr.——er"—

"Henderson," interposed that worthy.

"Mr. Henderson cannot take any part with yourself in the digging operations; the instructions are so clear that only the successful competitor is to be allowed in the house or garden until the treasure has been found. Otherwise, you see, all the rest might have remained at home, and still have been in at the death, so to speak. They might simply wait till the report went about that you were busy digging in the garden, and would then come and take a hand on equal terms with you, who had had all the trouble."

This seemed true. It was annoying, however, that I was not to have the benefit of Jack's help in my last dig. As I told Jack, I had particularly wished him to have half the work of digging.

"And half the fun of being worried by Ginger!" added Jack; "thanks awfully, Peter. It will be rather fun to stand outside and hear you 'Good-dogging' Ginger, and presently your squalls when he lays hold of you!"

"Ginger's all right," laughed Steggins. "He's almost as old as his master, and hasn't a tooth in his head; besides, he's the friendliest of animals, and wouldn't injure a baby."

"His voice doesn't sound like it," I said. "Jack grew quite pale when he heard it." Jack shinned me under the table for this, I am sorry to say. He is a vindictive and un-Christian-like person, is Jack, when his pride is touched.

"Ginger's voice is his fortune," said Steggins; "it always has been; he's the finest dog for the other side of a wall that ever I saw."

I may say that presently, when Steggins had taken me down and introduced me to Baines and Ginger as the bonâ fide heir-at-law, I found that Ginger was quite as benevolent a being as Steggins had described him. He was a St. Bernard, of enormous size and the very mildest of manners, and his voice was a complete fraud, for whereas it threatened gore and thunder, its real purport and intent were nothing more shocking than small beer or milk and water. For all he knew, I might have been a murderous desperado, but he took to me at sight, like David to Jonathan.

Old Baines, too, was polite enough on his own side of the wall, and showed me over the house and garden. He was surprised when I asked for spades, but produced one nevertheless; however, when he had watched me turn over the first few sods of turf, he retired muttering into the house, and I could see plainly enough that the new proprietor was, in his opinion, about to prove a disappointing master, inasmuch as he was harmlessly but hopelessly mad.

The garden measured sixty-three yards by forty-eight, and on that first morning of my solitary digging I ardently wished, with all my heart, that it had been one-quarter the size. For to dig up a garden of this area, and dig it deeply too, as the latest instructions suggested, and all by oneself, was a task involving more trouble than is agreeable, or ever has been, to the present scribe, who is no lover of monotonous drudgery.

There were a few trees here and there, but not a flower-bed in the place; the whole area was roughly covered with turf upon which coarse grass had been allowed to grow throughout the summer, which grass I was obliged to mow down with a scythe before I could proceed in any comfort with my digging.

Jack did not desert me, though he might not assist me on my own side of the wall. He remained at the hotel, where I lunched and dined with him daily; and during these meals we consulted upon my labours and the direction these should take; and sometimes Jack would come and carry on a conversation from the top of the wall, upon which he climbed when none were by to see. Ginger used to look up and wag his tail affectionately upon the stranger appearing in that unorthodox fashion within the domains he was kept to watch over. If Jack had been a burglar, Ginger could not have looked up more lovingly at him as he sat on the wall and gave the dog bits of biscuit.

Several days passed, and the late Mr. Clutterbuck's garden now resembled a ploughed field; but never a glint of gold had I struck yet, nor a glimmer of diamonds, nor the pale crisp delight of a bank-note or cheque.

Mr. Baines knew nothing, he protested, about anything whatsoever; he merely thought me a madman, and considered it the safer way to leave me entirely alone. I questioned him, now and again, as to whether he had ever observed the late lamented, whom he had served as factotum in life, employed in digging or in taking measurements in the garden; but to all these inquiries Mr. Baines gave answers courteously but plainly pointing to one and the same conclusion—namely, that though old Clutterbuck had been undoubtedly a "skinflint" (as he picturesquely described the parsimonious character of the deceased), yet he had always shown himself a sane skinflint, and therefore unlike the gentleman who now took his place as master of the establishment. By which Mr. Baines meant to infer that old Clutterbuck neither took measurements nor dug in the garden, and that I—who did both—must therefore be mad. He did not say so in as many words, but he made it pretty clear that this was his meaning.

There was no assistance to be got out of old Baines.

CHAPTER XL

JACK PROVES HIMSELF A GENIUS

After all, it was only natural that "the testator," desiring to give his heirs as much trouble as possible, should scarcely confide his secret to one who would probably reveal it, afterwards, to the first that offered him half a crown for the information.

At the end of the fourth day I was very tired and rather depressed. I had measured the garden from end to end and across, and dug down at every spot where, according to carefully thought out calculations, stretched strings would cross one another; I tried every dodge I could think of or that Jack could suggest. I gazed a dozen times at the old portrait, and could suck no inspiration from it; indeed, as regards that work of art, I had quite decided ere this that the thing was no more than a sickly joke on the part of its grim old original. I took Clutterbuck's age and measured it out in feet, and dug at the end of the seventy-first, and in inches, and diagonally in yards, starting each from the house, and the two first from the centre. I pulled up the old stump of a cut-down tree and looked inside the hole it left behind. I think I really tried nearly every device that the mind of man could conceive, but nothing had as yet come of my labours excepting fatigue and depression and stiffness.

Then, one day, on returning to the hotel, weary and cross by reason of repeated failure, I found Jack studying the portrait of old Clutterbuck, which annoyed me still more; for I was angry with the miser and his detestable expedients for keeping his money out of the hands of honest persons who had worked for it and fairly earned it.

"Look here, Peter," said Jack, smiling, "here's fun for you; see what I have found on the back of this work of art—read it for yourself!" He passed the portrait over to me.

I took it with, I am afraid, a growl of ill-temper, and read the words he had pointed out to me. They were written very faintly and in pencil on the back of the portrait, at a spot where the paper had become loose under the beading, and ran as follows—it was a doggerel rhyme, and this fact annoyed me still more in my ridiculously furious state of mind at the moment:—

"If you'd save yourself some trouble,

Dig at three foot six, and double!"

"What does it mean?" said Jack.

"Oh, take the confounded thing and chuck it into the fire!" I said sulkily.

"Well, but what does it mean, if it means anything?" Jack insisted. "You've got to take tips if you can get them, you know; so make the most of this, though it does seem to convey a rather unpleasant meaning. As I understand it, you have to dig to a depth of seven feet—that is, double three foot six, and"—

"What!" said I hotly, "dig over the whole garden to a depth of seven feet? I'll see the old skinflint"—

"Don't swear," said Jack, though I had not sworn; "but keep cool and help me to think this matter out. Now look here: he said, 'Dig at seven feet in order to save yourself trouble,' or words to that effect. Now, I can't help thinking he meant this for a tip; for if it meant that you were to dig over the whole garden to a depth of seven feet, what trouble would you save yourself by doing that? What the old boy meant was, find the right spot, and then dig down seven feet."

"Yes," I said, laughing mockingly and throwing the portrait on the table, "find the right spot; that's just the crux! If you'll kindly find the spot for me, I'll dig to any depth you like—sink an artesian well, if you please; but where the dickens is the spot?"

"You are angry and disinclined to speak like a sensible creature," said Jack. "Have your dinner, and then perhaps you'll be in a fit mood to listen to an idea which has struck me."

This rather sobered me.

"Have you really an idea?" I asked, flushing.

"Yes," said Jack, "I have; but I'm not going to tell you till you've dined. A full man is a less dangerous being than an empty one; you might fall upon me and rend me now, if you thought my idea absurd, as you very likely may."

Entreaties broke like little waves upon the shingle of Jack's obstinacy. I said I was sorry for being rude and angry; I begged to hear his last new idea. Jack's only reply was—

"Dinner's at eight; you'd better change those digging clothes and make yourself look like a decent Christian, if you can."

Jack was perfectly right. Dinner made a wonderful difference in the view I took of things in general; it always does. After dinner, armed with his pipe, sitting over an early fire in our private sitting-room, Jack dismounted from his high horse and admitted me into his confidence.

"I daresay you won't think anything of it," he said; "but it was the portrait of old Clutterbuck that set me dreaming."

"What!" I said, jumping to my feet and seizing a dessert knife, "you don't mean to say, after all my digging, that the money's hidden in it?"

"Why, man, no! I never thought of that," said Jack. "However, open the back carefully and see, if you like."

I did so; I ripped the back off and looked in the space between it and the canvas upon which the odious caricature was painted. An earwig ran out, but there was no treasure. I threw the thing back upon the table, and the knife with it.

"Don't fret," said Jack; "that's not what I meant at all. What I did mean is this: do you suppose that any sane man—and you cannot say that old Clutterbuck was anything else—would any man who was not insane take the trouble to carry a picture to the Gulf of Finland and bury it there for his heirs to find—an odious misrepresentation of his features too—unless there were some object to gain by so doing? In a word, what I can't understand is how both you and I should hitherto have accepted the ridiculous fact without suspicion."

"But we did suspect," I cried. "We said at the time that the thing was about as idiotic as it could be; but when one's right to benefit by a will depends on the sanity of the testator, one doesn't like to air one's opinion that he was mad, even though one may think so."

"Depend upon it, the old boy was no madder than you or I," said Jack gravely. "I am beginning to think that he was very sane indeed, and that he has managed the whole of this business with consummate skill—always bearing in mind his expressed desire to make his heirs sweat for their money. Now listen here. I have been thinking while you did your hard labour in the garden, and I am now perfectly convinced that the old fox did not bury his precious piece of rubbish because he valued it or thought his heir would. Quite the contrary. He knew that it was extremely likely that his heir—probably James Strong, as he supposed at the time—would chuck the portrait in the fire with a curse at the memory of the original. And why, think you, did he take the trouble to have this picture painted and to bury it and solemnly bequeath it to his heir if he suspected that the finder would burn it?"

"It beats me," said I. "Go on."

"Because he knew that the portrait was indispensable, or nearly so, to the finding of the treasure," said Jack mysteriously. "See here. He hates Strong and the rest, and knows they hate him. Therefore he makes his portrait indispensable in the hope that they will destroy it, and with it their chance of finding his money."

"Very well," said I, "let us admit all that; but how can the portrait be indispensable to, or have any connection with, the finding of the hidden treasure?"

"That's what we have to learn," said Jack; "but I have evolved a theory on that point also."

I laughed.

"Upon my life, Jack, it's too funny," I said. "You are as ingenious as Machiavelli himself; but how are you going to connect that awful daub with the buried treasure? You can't do it; I defy you!"

"Well, I'll tell you, anyhow; it may be as ridiculous as you suppose, and it may not," said Jack. "You see the eyes of the awful personage in the picture: look here, I hold the portrait thus. Now get in front of the thing and try if you can find a place where the eyes focus you; you'll have to lie down on the carpet."