Jewel Mysteries from a Dealer's Note Book Page 5

  THE ACCURSED GEMS.

  The accursed gems lie sedately in the lowest drawer of my strong room,shining from a couple of dozen of prim leather cases, with a light whichis full of strange memories. I call them accursed because I cannot sellthem; yet there are those with other histories, stones about which thefancy of romance has sported, and the strong hand of tragedy has touchedwith an indelible brand. It may be that the impulse of sentiment,working deep down in the heart of the ostensibly commercial character,forbids me to cry some of these wares in the market-place with anyvigor; it may be that the play of chance moves the mind of thejewel-buyer to a prejudice against them. In any case, they lie in mysafe unhonored and unsung--and, lacking that which Sewell called the"precious balsam" of reputation, are merely so much carbon or mineralmatter giving light to iron walls which give no light again.

  For the stones which have no history I am not an apologist. Some day,those excellent people who now decry them in every salon where jewelsare discussed, will give up the hope of attempting to buy them cheaply;and I shall make my profit. Everything comes to him who _can_ wait, andI am not in a hurry. As to the others, which have been the pivots ofromance or serious story, they may well lie as they are while they servemy memory in the jotting down of some of these mysteries.

  And that they do serve it I have no measure of doubt. Here, forinstance, is a little bag of pearls and diamonds. It contains a blackpearl from Koepang, so rich in silvery lustre, and so perfect in shape,that it should be worth eight hundred pounds in any market in Europe; acouple of pink pearls from the Bahamas, of fine orient yet pear-shaped,and therefore less valuable as fashion dictates; five old Braziliandiamonds averaging two carats each; a number of smaller diamonds forfinish; and two great white pearls, which I find at the very bottom ofthe bag. Those stones were bought by the late Lord Maclaren a monthbefore the date announced for his marriage with the Hon. Christine King.He had intended them as his gift to her, a handsome and sufficient gift,it must be admitted, yet so did fickle fortune work that his verygenerosity was the indirect cause of a commotion in the week of thewedding, and of as pretty a social scandal as society has known for adecade.

  The matter was hushed up of course. For six weeks, as a wag said, it wasa nine days' wonder. Aged ladies discussed it from every point of view,but could make nothing of it. The Society papers lacked enoughinformation to lie about it. The principal actors held their tongues,and in due time the West forgot, for a new scandal arose, and the courtssupplied the craving for the doubtful, which is a part of politeeducation nowadays. Yet I do not think that I make a boastful claim, inasserting that I alone, beyond those immediately concerned, becamepossessed of full knowledge of the occurrence. It was to me first of allthat Lord Maclaren related the history of it, and, despite my advice tothe contrary, laid it upon me that I should tell none in his lifetime.He is dead now, and the publication of the story will throw a light uponmuch that is well worth investigating. It may also help me to sell thepearls, which is infinitely more important, as any unprejudiced personwill admit.

  Here then is the story. I had a visit from the chief actor in it towardsthe end of June in the year 1890. He came to tell me that he was to bemarried quietly in the middle of the following month to the Hon.Christine King, the very beautiful sister of Lord Cantiliffe. She wasthen staying at the old family place at St. Peter's, in Kent; and shewished to avoid a public wedding in view of the recent death of hersister, whose beauty was no less remarkable than her own. Maclaren'svisit was but the prelude to the purchase of a present, and the businesswas made the easier since he had the simplest notions as to hisrequirements. He had recently come from America--without a wife_mirabile dictu_--and there had seen a curious anchor bracelet. Thewristband of this bauble was formed of a plain gold cable, the anchoritself of pearls and diamonds; the shackle consisted of a small circleof brilliants; the shaft had a pink pearl at either end; the shank had ablack pearl at the foot of it, and the flukes were of white pearls withsmall diamonds round them. I found it to be rather a vulgar ornament;but his heart was set on having it, and it chanced that I had the verypearls necessary. I told him that I would make him a model, and send itdown to his hotel at Ramsgate within a week; and that, if he thenthought the jewel to be over showy, we could refashion it. He left muchpleased, returning by the Granville express to Kent; and within the weekhe had the model; and I received his instructions to proceed with thework.

  It is necessary, I think, to say a word here about this curiouscharacter. At the time I knew him, Maclaren was a man in his fortiethyear, though he looked older. He was once vulgarly described in a clubsmoking-room as being "all hair and teeth," like a buzzard; and his bestfriend could not have ranked him with the handsome. Yet the women likedhim--perhaps because it was a tradition that he made love to everypretty girl in town; and it was surprising beyond belief that he reachedhis fortieth year, and remained single. When he went to America in 1888the whole of the prophets gave him six months of celibacy; but hecheated them, and returned without a wife. True, a copy of an Americansociety paper was passed round the club, where the men learnt withsurprise that New York had believed this elderly Don Juan to be engagedto Evelyn Lenox, "the lady of the unlimited dollars," as youngBarisbroke of the Bachelors' called her; and had been very indignantwhen he took passage by the _Teutonic_, and left her people to face thetitters of a triumphant rivalry. But for all that he was not married,and could afford to laugh at the malignant scribes who made couplets ofhis supposed amatory adventures in Boston; and dedicated sonnets ofapology, "_pro amore mea_," to E---- L---- and the marrying mothers ofNew York generally. Such a man cared little for the threats of thisyoung lady's brother, or for the common rumor that she was the mostdashing girl in New York city, and would make things unpleasant for him.He had twenty thousand a year, and for _fiancee_ one of the prettiestroses in the whole garden of Kent. What harm then could a broker'sdaughter, three thousand miles away, do to him? or how mar hishappiness?

  But I am anticipating, and must hark back to the anchor with the flukesof pearl. I sent the model down on Wednesday; on the Friday morning Ireceived the order to proceed with the work. Early on the followingMonday, as I read my paper in a cab on the way to Bond Street, I saw atremendous headline which announced the "sudden and mysteriousdisappearance of Lord Maclaren." The report said that he had left hishotel on the Saturday afternoon to walk, as the supposition went, to St.Peters. But he had never reached Lord Cantiliffe's house; and althoughsearch had been made by the police and by special coastguard parties, notrace of him had been found. I need scarcely say that the murder theorywas set up at once. Clever men from town came down to wag their headswith stupid men from Canterbury, and to discuss the "only possibletheory," of which there were a dozen or more. The police arrested allthe drunken men within a radius of ten miles, and looked for bloodstainson their coats. The Hon. Christine King was spoken of as "distracted,"which was possible; and the family of the missing nobleman as "plungedinto the most profound grief." Nor, as an eloquent special reporter inhis best mood explained, was this supposed tragedy made less painful bythe knowledge that the unhappy victim of accident or of murder was tohave been married within the month.

  For a whole week the press had no other topic; the police telegraphed toall the capitals; a reward of a thousand pounds was offered forknowledge of Lord Maclaren, "last seen upon the East Cliff at Ramsgateat three o'clock on the afternoon of Saturday, the fifth of July." Ahundred tongues gave you the exact details of an imagined assassination;ten times that number--and these tongues chiefly feminine--told you thathe had shirked the marriage upon its very threshold. But the mysteryremained unexplained--and as the day for the wedding drew near, theexcitement amongst a section of society rose to fever heat. Had the bodybeen found? Had the detectives a clue? Were the strange hints--implyingthat the missing man had quarrelled with his _fiancee's_ brother, andthrown a glass of wine in his face; that he had a wife in Algiers; thathe was married a year ago at Cyprus; that he was bankrupt--merely thefable of malicious tongues, or had they that germ of truth from which sovast a disease of scandal can grow? I made no pretence to answer thequestions--but they interested me, and I watched for the development ofthe story with the keenness of a hardened novel reader.

  The day fixed for the wedding now drew near; and when the bridegroom didnot appear, the vulgar, who do not believe scandals though they like tohear them, declared that the murder theory was true beyond question. Therest said that he was either bankrupt or bigamist--and having consoledthemselves with the reflection, they let the matter go. It is likelythat I should have done the same had I not enjoyed a solution of themystery, which came to me unsought and accidentally. On a day near tothat fixed for the wedding I was at Victoria Station about eight o'clockin the evening when I ran full upon the missing nobleman; and for somewhile stood speechless with astonishment at the sight of him. His beardwas longer than ever, recalling the traditions of Killingworthe or ofJohann Mayo; his Dundreary whiskers were shaggy and unkempt; he was verypale in the face, and wore a little yachting cap and a blue serge suitwhich begarbed him ridiculously. He had no luggage with him, not even avalise; and his first remark was given in the voice of a man afraid, andin a measure broken.

  "Ah, Sutton, that's you, is it?" he cried. "I'm glad to see you, byJove; have you such a thing as half-a-crown in your pocket?"

  I offered him half-a-sovereign, still saying nothing; but he continuedrapidly,--

  "You've heard all about it, of course--what are they saying here now? Dothey think I'm a dead man, eh?--but I won't face them yet. Upon mylife, I dare not see a soul. Come with me to an hotel; there's a goodfellow--but let's have a cognac first; I'm shivering like a child with afever."

  I gave him some brandy at a bar, and after that we took a fou
r-wheeledcab--he insisting on the privacy--and drove to a private hotel inCecil-street, Strand. They did not know him there, and I engaged a roomfor him and ordered dinner, taking these things upon myself, since hewas as helpless as a babe. After the meal he seemed somewhat better, andI telegraphed to Ramsgate for his man, though it was impossible that thefellow could be with him until the following morning. In the meantime Ifound myself doing valet's work for him--but I had his story; andalthough it was not until some months later that another supplied someof the missing links in it, he telling me the barest outline, I will setit down here plainly as a narrative, and without any of those "says I's"and "says he's," which were the particular abomination of Defoe, as theyhave been of many since his day.

  The complete explanation of this mystery was one, I think, to astonishmost people. It was so utterly unlooked for, that I was led at the firsthearing to believe the narrator insane. He told me that at three o'clockon the afternoon of July 5th, he had left his hotel on the East Cliff atRamsgate--the day being glorious, and a full sun playing upon theChannel and many ships--and had determined to walk over to St. Peters,where his _fiancee_ expected him to a tennis party. With this intention,he struck along the cliff towards Broadstairs, but had gone only a fewpaces, when a seaman stopped him, and touching his hat respectfully,said that he had a message for him.

  "Well, my man, what is it?" Maclaren asked--I had the dialogue from theseaman himself--being in a hurry as those who walk the ways of loveusually are.

  "My respects to your honor," replied the fellow, "but the ketch_Bowery_, moored off the pier-head, 'ud be glad to see your honor ifconvenient, and if not, maybe to-morrow?"

  "What the devil does the man mean?" cried his lordship, but the seamanplucking up courage continued,--

  "An old friend of your honor's for sure he is, my guv'ner, AbrahamBurrow, what you had the acquaintance of in New York city."

  "Well, and why can't he come ashore? I remember the man perfectly--Ihave every cause to"--a true remark, since Abraham Burrow then owed thespeaker some two thousand pounds; and had shown no unprincipled desireto pay it.

  "The fact is, my lordship," replied the seaman, whose vocabulary wasAmerican and strange, "the fact is he's tidy sick, on his beam ends, Iguess with brounchitis; and he won't be detaining you not as long as abosun's whistle if you go aboard, and be easin' of him."

  Now, although this comparatively juvenile lover was in a mighty hurry toget to St. Peter's, there was yet a powerful financial motive to sendhim to the ship. He had done business with this Abraham Burrow inAmerica; the man had--we won't say swindled--but been smart enough thereto relieve him of a couple of thousand pounds. To hope for the recoveryof such a sum seemed as childish as a sigh for the moon. Maclaren hadnot seen Burrow for twelve months, and did not know a moment before thismeeting whether he was alive or dead. Yet here he was in a yacht offRamsgate harbor, desiring to see his creditor, and to see himimmediately. The latter reflected that such a visit would not occupyhalf an hour of his time, that it might lead to the recovery of somepart of his money, that he could make his excuses to the pretty girlawaiting him--in short, he went with the seaman; and in a quarter of anhour he stepped on board an exceeding well-kept yacht, which lay beyondthe buoy over against the East Pier; and all his trouble began.

  The craft, as I have said, was ketch rigged, and must have been ofseventy tons or more. There was a good square saloon aft, and a coupleof tiny cabins, the one amidships, the other at the poop. When LordMaclaren went aboard, three seamen and a boy were the occupants of thedeck; but a King Charles spaniel barked at the top of the companion; anda steward came presently and asked the visitor to go below. He descendedto the saloon at this; but the sick man, they told him, lay in the forecabin; and thither he followed his very obsequious guide.

  I had the account of this episode and of much that follows from twosources, one a man I met in New York last summer, the other, the victimof the singularly American conspiracy. Lord Maclaren's account wassimple--"As there's a heaven above me, Sutton," said he, "I'd no soonerput my foot in the hole when the door was slammed behind me, and boltedlike a prison gate." The American said, "I guess the old boy had hardlywalked right in, before they'd hitched up the latch, and he was shoutingglory. Then the skipper let the foresail go--for the ketch was onlylyin'-to, and in ten minutes he was standing out down the Channel. Butyou never heard such a noise as there was below in all your days. Talkabout a sheet and pillow-case party in an insane asylum, that's no wordfor it."

  The fact that the "illustrious nobleman," as the penny society paperscalled him, was trapped admitted of no question. He realized it himselfin a few moments, and sat down to wonder, "who and why the devil, etc.,"in five languages. I need scarcely say that the thing was an utter andinexplicable mystery to him. He thought at first that robbery was themotive, for he had the model of the bracelet upon him; and as he satalone in the cabin, he really feared personal violence. He told me thathe waited to see the door open, and a villain enter, armed with Colt orknuckleduster, after the traditional Adelphian mood; but a couple ofhours passed and no one came, and after that the only interruption tohis meditation was the steward's knock upon the cabin door, and hispolite desire to know "Will my lord take tea?" "My lord" told him tocarry his tea to a latitude where high temperatures prevail; and afterthat, continued to kick lustily at the door, and to make originalobservations upon the owner of the yacht, and upon her crew, until thelight failed. Yet no one heeded him; and when it was dark the roll ofthe yacht to the seas made him sure that they stood well out, and werebeating with a stiff breeze.

  Unto this point, temper had dominated him; but now a quiet yet very deepalarm took its place. He began to ask himself more seriously if hisposition were not one of great danger, if he had not to face somemysterious but very daring enemy--even if he were like to come out ofthe adventure with his life. Yet his mind could not bring to hisrecollection any deed that had merited vindictive anger on the part ofanother; nor was he a blamable man as the world goes. He paid hisdebts--every three years; he was amongst the governors of fivefashionable charities, and the only scandalous case which concerned himwas arranged between the lawyers on the eve of its coming into court.The matrons told you that he was "a dear delightful rogue"; the men saidthat he was "a cunning old dog"; and between them agreed that he hadread the commandments at least. Possibly, however, those hours ofsolitude in the cabin compelled him to think rather of his vices than ofhis virtues--and it may be that the fear was so much the more real ashis shortcomings were secret. Be that as it may, he assured me that hehad never suffered so much as he did during that strange imprisonment,and that he cried almost with delight when the door of the cabin opened,and he saw the table of the saloon set for dinner, and light fallingupon it from a handsome lamp below the skylight. During one deliciousmoment he thought himself the victim of a well-meaning practicaljoker--the next his limbs were limp as cloth, and he sank upon acushioned seat with a groan which must have been heard by the men above.

  This scene has been so faithfully described to me that I can see it asclearly as though I myself stood amongst the players. On the one hand, apretty little American girl, with hands clasped and malicious laughterabout her rosy mouth; on the other, a shrinking, craven, abject shadowof a man, cowering upon the cushions of a sofa, in blank astonishment,and hiding his view of her with bony fingers. At a glance you would havesaid that the girl was not twenty--but she was twenty-three, the pictureof youth, with the color of the sea-health upon her cheeks, the spray ofthe sea-foam glistening in her rich brown hair. She had upon her head alittle hat of straw poised daintily; her dress was of white serge with ascarf of yacht-club colors at the throat; but her feet were the tiniestin the world, and the brown shoes which hid them not unfit for anartist's model. And as she stood laughing at the man who had become herguest upon the yacht, her attitude would have made the fortune of halfthe painters in Hampstead. The two faced each other thus silently for afew minutes, but she was the first to speak, her voice overflowing withrippling laughter.

  "Well," she said, "I call this real good of you, my lord, to come on myyacht--when you were just off to the other girl--and your wedding'sfixed for the eighteenth of July. My word, you're the kindest-heartedman in Europe."

  He looked up at her, some shame marked in his eyes, and he said,--

  "Evelyn, I--I--never thought it was you!"

  "Then how pleased you must be. Oh, I'm right glad, I tell you; I'm justas pleased as you are. To think that we've never met since you leftN'York in such a flurry that you hadn't time even to send me a line--butof course you men are so busy and so smart that girls don't count, and Iknew you were just dying to see me, and I sent the boat off saying itwas old Burrow--how you love Burrow!--and here you are, my word!"

  She spoke laboring under a heavy excitement, so that her sentencesflowed over one another. But he could scarce find a coherent word, andbegan to tremble as she went on,--

  "You'll stay awhile, of course, and--why, you're as pale as spectres, Iguess. Now if you look like that I shall begin to think that we're notthe old friends we were in N'York a year ago, and walk right upstairs toArthur. You remember my brother Arthur, of course you do. He was yourparticular friend, wasn't he?--but how you boys quarrel. They reallytold me two months ago in the city that Arthur was going in the shootingbusiness with you. Fancy that now, and at your age."

  This sentence revealed what was lacking in the character of the girl; itshowed that malicious, if rather low and vulgar, cunning which promptedthe whole of this adventure; and it betrayed a revenge which was worthyof a Frenchwoman. Maclaren had but to hear the harsh ring of the voiceto know that the girl who had threatened him months ago in New York hadmet her opportunity, and that she would use it to the last possibility.Every
word that she uttered with such meaning vehemence cut him like aknife; his hair glistened with the drops of perspiration upon it; hisright hand was passed over his forehead as though some heat wastormenting his brain. And as her voice rose shrilly, only to bemodulated to the pretence of suavity again, he blurted out,--

  "Evelyn, what are you going to do?"

  "I--my dear Lord Maclaren--I am entirely in your hands; you are myguest, I reckon, and even in America we have some idea of what thatmeans. Now, would you like to play cards after dinner, or shall we havea little music?"

  The steward entered the cabin at this moment, and the conversation beinginterrupted, Maclaren chanced to see that the companion was free. A wildidea of appealing to the captain of the yacht came to him, and he made asudden move to mount the ladder. He had but taken a couple of steps,however, when a lusty young fellow, perhaps of twenty-five years of age,barred the passage, and pushed him with some roughness into the cabinagain. The man closed the long, panelled door behind him; and thenaddressed the unwilling guest.

  "Ah, Maclaren, so that's you--devilish good of you to come aboard, Imust say."

  The newcomer was Evelyn Lenox's brother, the owner of the ketch_Bowery_. He acted his part in the comedy with more skill than hissister, having less personal interest in it; indeed, amusement seemedrather to hold him than earnestness. It was perfectly clear to Maclaren,however, that he would stand no nonsense; and seeing that a furtherexhibition of feeling would not help him one jot, the unhappy prisonersuccumbed. When the dinner was put upon the table, he found himselfsitting down to it mechanically, and as one in a dream. It was anexcellent meal to come from a galley; and it was made more appetizing bythe wit and sparkle of the girl who presided, and who acted her _role_to such perfection. She seemed to have forgotten her anger, and cloakedher malice with consummate art. She was a well-schooled flirt--and hervictim consoled himself with the thought, "They will put me ashore inthe morning, and I can make a tale." By ten o'clock he found himselflaughing over a glass of whisky and soda. By eleven he was dreaming thathe stood at the altar in the church of St. Peter's and that two brideswalked up the aisle together.

  * * * * *

  The next picture that I have to show you of Maclaren is one which I amable to sketch from a full report of certain events happening on theevening of his wedding day. The yacht lay becalmed some way out in thebay of the Somme; the sea had the luster of a mirror, golden with aflawless sheen of brilliant light which carried the dark shadows ofsmack-hulls and flapping lug-sails. There was hardly a capful of wind,scarce an intermittent breath of breeze from the land; and the crew ofthe _Bowery_ lay about the deck smoking with righteous vigor, as theynetted or stitched, or indulged in those seemingly useless occupationswhich are the delight of sailors. Often however, they stayed their workto listen to the rise and fall of sounds in the saloon aft; and once,when Maclaren's voice was heard almost in a scream, one of them,squirting his tobacco juice over the bulwarks, made the sapient remark,"Well, the old cove's dander is riz now, anyway."

  The scene below was played vigorously. Evelyn Lenox sat upon the sofa,her arms resting upon the cabin table, her bright face positively alightwith triumph. Maclaren stood before her with clenched hands and gnashingteeth. Arthur, the brother, was smoking a pipe and pretending to read anewspaper, leaving the conversation to his guest, who had no lack ofwords.

  "Good God, Evelyn," he said, "you cannot mean to keep me here anylonger--to-morrow's my wedding day!"

  She answered him very slowly.

  "How interesting! I remember the time, not so long ago, when my weddingday was fixed--and postponed."

  He did not heed the rebuke, but continued cravenly,--

  "You do not seem to understand that your brother and yourself haveperpetrated upon me an outrage which will make you detested in everycountry in Europe. Great Heaven! the whole town will laugh at me. Ishan't have a friend in the place; I shall be cut at every club, as I'ma living man."

  The girl listened to him, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of it."Did you never stop to think," said she, "when you left America, likethe coward you were, that people would laugh at me, too, and I shouldnever be able to look my friends in the face again? Why, even in thenewspapers they held me up to ridicule when my heart was breaking. Youspeak of suffering; well, I have suffered."

  Her mood changed, as the mood of women does--suddenly. The feminineinstinct warred against the actress, and prevailed. She began to weephysterically, burying her head in her arms; and a painful silence fellon the man. He seemed to wait for her to speak; but when she did so,anger had succeeded, and she rose from her place and stamped her foot,while rage seemed to vibrate in her nerves.

  "Why do I waste my time on you?" she cried; "you who are not worth anhonest thought. Pshaw! 'Lord Maclaren, illustrious nobleman and greatsportsman'"--she was quoting from an American paper--"go and tell themthat for ten days you have humbled yourself to me, and have begged mypity on your knees. Go and tell them that my crew have held their sideswhen the parts have been changed, and you have been the woman. Oh, theyshall know, don't mistake that; your wife shall read it on her weddingtour. I will send it to her myself, I, who have brought the laugh to myside now, scion of a noble house. Go, and take the recollection of yourpicnic here as the best present I can give to you."

  I was told that Maclaren looked at her for some moments in profoundastonishment when she pointed to the cabin door. Then, without a word,he went on deck, to find the yacht's boat manned and waiting for him. Hesaid himself that many emotions filled him as he stepped off theyacht--anger at the outrage, desire for revenge, but chiefly theemotions of the thought, was there time to reach St. Peter's for thewedding ceremony? He did not doubt that lies would save him from theAmerican woman, if things so happened that he could reach England by themorning of the next day. But could he? Where was he? Where was he to beput ashore? He asked the men at the oars these questions in a breath,standing up for one moment as the boat pushed off to shake his fist atthe yacht, and cry, "D--n you all!" But the answer that he got did notreassure him. He was to be put ashore, the seaman said, at Crotoy, thelittle town on a tongue of land in the bay of the Somme. There was asteamer thence once a day to Saint Valery, from which point he couldreach Boulogne by rail. He realized in a moment that all his hopedepended on catching the steamer. If she had not sailed, he would arriveat Boulogne before sunset, and, if need were, could get across by thenight mail and a special train from Folkestone. But if she had sailed!This possibility he dared not contemplate.

  The men were now rowing rapidly towards the shore, whose sandy dunes andflat outlines were becoming marked above the sea-line. The yacht lay farout, drifting on a glassy mirror of water; the sun was sinking withgreat play of yellow and red fire in the arc of the west. Maclaren hadthen, however, no thought for Nature's pictures, or for seascapes. Oneburning anxiety alone troubled him--had the steamer sailed? He offeredthe men ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds if they would catch her.The remark of one of them that she left on the top of the tide begot inhim a mad eagerness to learn the hour of high-water; but none of thosewith him could remember it. He found himself swaying his body in rhythmwith the oars as coxswains do; or standing up to look at the whitehouses shorewards. Another half-hour's rowing brought him a sight of thepier; he shouted out with a laugh that might have come from a jackalwhen he saw that the steamer was moored against it, and that smoke waspouring heavily from her funnels.

  "Men," he said, "if you catch that boat, I'll give you two hundred andfifty pounds!" and later on their lethargy moved him to such disjointedexclamations as "For the love of heaven, get on to it!" "Now, then, alittle stronger--fine fellows, all of you--a marriage depends uponthis." "I'll give you a gold watch apiece, as I'm alive." "By----, she'smoving--no, she isn't, there's time yet, if you'll put your backs on toit--time, time--oh, Lord, what a crawl, what a cursed crawl!"

  If one had peered into the faces of the yachtsmen critically, one mighthave detected the ripples of smirks about their lips; but Maclaren couldnot take his eyes away from the steamer, and the import of thesuppressed amusement was lost upon him. The little town of Crotoy, withthe garish _etablissement des bains_, the picturesque church, and thetime-wrecked ramparts escarped by the ceaseless play of currents, wasthen not half a mile away; but a bell was ringing on the pier, and therewas all the hurry and the press known in "one packet" or "one train"towns. Those who had much to do did it slowly, that they might enjoyleisure to blow whistles or to shout; those who had little atoned bygreat displays of ineffective activity. Some ran wildly to and fro nearthe steamer; others bawled incomprehensible ejaculations, and incited,both those who were to leave by the ship, and those who were not, tohurry, or they would be late. Presently the little passenger steamerwhistled with a hoarse and lowing shriek, and cast foam behind herwheels. Maclaren observed the motion, and cried out as a man in pain,waving his arms wildly. Those on shore mistook as much as they could seeof his surprising signals for a parting salute to the vessel; and sheleft ten minutes after her time--without him.

  He was hot from the battle of excitement, rivulets of perspirationtrickling upon his face; but he had breath to curse the crew of theyacht's boat for five minutes when he stepped ashore; and the request ofthe coxswain to drink his health stirred up uncounted gifts foroath-making within him. In a quarter of an hour he was raving about thetown of Crotoy, threatening to do himself injury if a boat were notforthcoming to carry him to St. Valery, whence he could get train toBoulogne. But the day was nigh gone, and the local seamen were at theirhomes. Few cared for his commission, and the man who took it ultimatelyset him down just twenty minutes after the last train had left.

  * * * * *

  The accounts gi
ven in the society papers for the abandonment of thewedding between Lord Maclaren and the Hon. Christine King were many. Thetrue one is found in the simple statement that his lordship did notreach England until the evening of the day which had been fixed for theceremony. So the presents were returned--and I kept the pearls whichwere to have made the famous anchor bracelet. And when I think thematter over, I cannot wonder at Maclaren's hatred of them, or of hiswish that I should burn them.

  "Sutton," he said, "I was more than a fool. I ought to have rememberedthat Evelyn Lenox was with me when I saw the piece of stuff similar tothat I wanted you to make. Why, I got the very notion of it from her,and it was only when one of your idiots let a society journalist knowwhat you were doing for me that she heard of the marriage, and of mybeing at Ramsgate."

  But the rest of his remarks were purely personal.

  THE WATCH AND THE SCIMITAR.