The Narrow Corner (19 page)

“A man of leisure,” he murmured to himself. “By God, I might almost pass for a gentleman.”

Presently Fred Blake strolled along the road, nodded and joined him.

“You haven’t received a cable, have you?” he asked.

“No, that’s the last thing I expect.”

“I was in the post-office a minute ago. The man asked me if my name was Saunders.”

“That’s funny. No one has the least notion I’m here; nor do I know anyone in the world who wants to communicate with me urgently enough to waste money on a telegram.”

But a surprise was in store for him. Barely an hour had passed when a youth rode up to the hotel on a bicycle and the manager shortly afterwards came out with him on to the verandah and asked Dr. Saunders to sign for a cable that had just arrived for him.

“What an extraordinary thing,” he cried. “Old Kim Ching is the only man who can even suspect that I’m here.”

But when he opened the cablegram he was more astonished still.

“That’s a damned idiotic thing,” he said. “It’s in code. Who in God’s name can have done such a silly thing as that? How can I be expected to make head or tail of it?”

“May I have a look?” asked Fred. “If it’s one of the well-known codes I might be able to tell you. One’s sure to be able to get all the usual code-books here.”

The doctor handed him the slip of paper. It was a numeral code. The words, or phrases, were represented by groups of numbers and the termination of each group was clearly indicated by a zero.

“The commercial codes use made-up words,” said Fred.

“I know as much as that.”

“I’ve made rather a study of codes. Been a hobby of mine. D’you mind if I have a shot at deciphering it?”

“Not a bit.”

“They say it’s only a question of time before you can find the secret of any code. There’s one fellow in the British service, they say, who can solve the most complicated code anyone can invent in twenty-four hours.”

“Go right ahead.”

“I’ll go inside. I must have pens and paper.”

Dr. Saunders suddenly remembered. He reached out.

“Let me just see that cable again.”

Fred handed it to him and he looked for the place of despatch. Melbourne. He did not give it back.

“Is it for you by any chance?”

Fred hesitated for an instant. Then he smiled. When he wanted to cajole anyone he could be very ingratiating.

“Well, it is, as a matter of fact.”

“Why did you have it addressed to me?”

“Well, I thought that me living on the
Fenton
and all that, perhaps they wouldn’t deliver it, or they might want proof of identity or something. I thought it would save a lot of trouble if I had it sent to you.”

“You’ve got your nerve with you.”

“I knew you were a sport.”

“And that little realistic detail about your being asked at the post-office if your name was Saunders?”

“Pure invention, old man,” Fred answered airily.

Dr. Saunders chuckled.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to make head or tail of it and torn it up?”

“I knew it couldn’t arrive till to-day. They only got the address yesterday.”

“Who’s they?”

“The people who sent the cable,” replied Fred, with a smile.

“Then it’s not entirely for the pleasure of my society
that you have been giving me your company this morning?”

“Not entirely.”

The doctor gave him back the flimsy.

“You’ve got the cheek of the devil. Take it. I suppose you’ve got the key in your pocket.”

“In my head.”

He went into the hotel. Dr. Saunders began to read again. But he read with divided attention. He could not entirely dismiss from his head the incident that had just occurred. It amused him not a little and he wondered again what was the mystery in which the boy was involved. He was discreet. He had never so much as dropped a hint upon which an agile intelligence might work. There was nothing to go upon. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. After all the matter was no business of his. He sought to dissipate his baffled curiosity by pretending to himself that he didn’t care a damn and made a resolute effort to attend to what he was reading. But after an interval Fred came back on to the verandah.

“Have a drink, doctor,” he said.

His eyes were shining, his face was flushed, but at the same time he bore an air of some bewilderment. He was excited. He wanted to burst out laughing, but since he could give no reason for hilarity plainly was trying to control himself.

“Had good news?” asked the doctor.

Suddenly Fred could restrain himself no longer. He burst into a peal of laughter.

“As good as all that?”

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad. It’s awfully funny. I wish I could tell you. It’s strange. It makes me feel rather queer. I don’t quite know what to make of it. I must have a bit of time to get used to it. I don’t quite know if I’m standing on my head or on my heels.”

Dr. Saunders looked at him reflectively. The boy seemed to have gained vitality. There had always been something hang-dog in his expression that took away from his unusual good looks. Now he looked candid and open. You would have thought a load had been lifted from his shoulders. The drinks came.

“I want you to drink to the memory of a deceased friend of mine,” he said, seizing his glass.

“By name?”

“Smith.”

He emptied the glass in a draught.

“I must ask Erik if we can’t go somewhere this afternoon. I feel like walking my legs off. A bit of exercise would do me good.”

“When are you sailing?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like it here. I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit. I wish you could have seen the view from the top of that volcano Erik and I went up yesterday.
Pretty, I can tell you. The world’s not a bad old place, is it?”

A buggy drawn by a small shabby horse came trundling shakily down the road, raising a cloud of dust, and stopped at the hotel. Louise was driving and her father sat by her side. He got out and walked up the steps. He had in his hand a flat brown-paper parcel.

“I forgot to give you the manuscripts last night that I promised to let you see, so I’ve brought them down.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Frith untied the string and disclosed a small pile of typewritten sheets.

“Of course, I want an absolutely candid opinion.” He gave the doctor a doubtful look. “If you have nothing very much to do at the moment I might read you a few pages myself. I always think poetry should be read aloud and it’s only the author who can do justice to it.”

The doctor sighed. He was weak. He could think of no excuse that would turn Frith from his purpose.

“D’you think your daughter ought to wait in the sun?” he hazarded.

“Oh, she has things to do. She can go upon her errands and come back for me.”

“Would you like me to go with her, sir?” said Fred Blake. “I’ve got nothing to do.”

“I think she’d be very glad.”

He went down and spoke to Louise. The doctor saw her look at him gravely, then smile a little and say something. She was wearing this morning a dress of white cotton and a large straw hat of native make. Under it her face had a golden coolness. Fred swung himself up beside her and she drove off.

“I’d like to read you the third canto,” said Frith. “It has a lyrical quality that suits me. I think it’s about the best thing I’ve done. Do you know Portuguese?”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s a pity. It’s almost a word for word translation. It would have amused you to see how closely I’ve managed to reproduce the rhythm and music, the feeling, in fact, everything that makes it a great poem. Of course you won’t hesitate to criticise, I’m only too willing to listen to anything you have to say, but I have no doubt in my own mind that this is the definitive translation. I can’t honestly believe that it will ever be superseded.”

He began to read. His voice had a pleasing quality. The poem was in
ottava rima
, and Frith laid an emphasis on the metre that was not ineffective. Dr. Saunders listened attentively. The version seemed fluent and easy, but he could not be sure how much this was due to the measured and stately elocution. Frith’s delivery was dramatic, but he put the drama into the sound, rather than the sense, so that the meaning of what he
read tended to escape you. He stressed the rhyme so that it reminded Dr. Saunders of a slow train jogging over an ill-laid rail and his body felt a slight jolt as the expected sound at regular intervals fell upon his ear. He found his attention wandering. The rich, monotonous voice hammered on and he began to feel a little drowsy. He stared hard at the reader, but his eyes closed involuntarily; he opened them with a slight effort and frowned with the violence of his concentration. He gave a start, for his head fell suddenly towards his chest, and he realised that for a moment he had dozed. Frith read of gallant deeds and the great men that had made Portugal an empire. His voice rose when he read of high heroical things and trembled and fell when he read of death and untoward fate. Suddenly Dr. Saunders was conscious of silence. He opened his eyes. Frith was no longer there. Fred Blake was sitting in front of him, a roguish smile on his handsome face.

“Had a nice nap?”

“I haven’t been asleep.”

“You’ve been snoring your head off.”

“Where’s Frith?”

“He’s gone. We came back in the buggy and they’ve gone home to dinner. He said I wasn’t to disturb you.”

“I know what’s wrong with him now,” said the doctor. “He had a dream and it’s come true. What
gives an ideal beauty is that it’s unattainable. The gods laugh when men get what they want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Fred. “You’re half asleep still.”

“Let’s have a glass of beer. That at all events is real.”

R
OUND
about ten o’clock that night the doctor and Captain Nichols were playing piquet in the sitting-room of the hotel. They had been driven indoors by the flying ants which the lamp on the verandah attracted. Erik Christessen came in.

“Where have you been all day?” asked the doctor.

“I had to visit a plantation we’ve got over at the other end of the island. I thought I’d be back earlier, but the manager’s just had a son and he was giving a feast. I had to stay for it.”

“Fred was looking for you. He wanted to go for a walk.”

“I wish I’d known. I’d have taken him with me.” He threw himself into a chair and called for beer. “I’ve had the best part of ten miles to walk and then we had to row back half-way round the island.”

“Like to play
chouette?
” asked the skipper, giving him his sharp, foxy look.

“No, I’m tired. Where’s Fred?”

“Courtin’, I expect.”

“Not much chance of that here,” said Erik, good-naturedly.

“Don’t you be too sure. Good-lookin’ young fellow, you know. The girls fall for ’im. At Merauke I ’ad a rare job keepin’ ’em away from ’im. Between you and me and the gate-post I should ’ave said ’e clicked good and proper last night.”

“Who with?”

“That girl up there.”

“Louise?”

Erik smiled. The idea was quite preposterous to him.

“Well, I don’t know. She come and ’ad a look at the boat with ’im this mornin’. And I know ’e dolled ’imself up somethin’ fierce to-night. Shaved ’imself. Brushed ’is ’air. Put on a clean suit. I ask ’im what it was all about and ’e tell me to mind me own bloody business.”

“Frith was down here this morning,” said Dr. Saunders. “It may be he asked Fred to go and have supper there again to-night.”

“He ’ad supper on the
Fenton
,” said Nichols.

He dealt the cards. The players went on with their game. Erik smoking a big Dutch cigar watched them and sipped his beer. Now and again the skipper gave
him that sidelong glance of his in which there was something so unpleasant that it sent a shiver down your spine. His little close-set eyes glittered with malicious amusement. After a while Erik looked at his watch.

“I’ll go down to the
Fenton
. Maybe Fred’d like to come fishing with me to-morrow morning.”

“You won’t find ’im,” said the skipper.

“Why not? He wouldn’t be at Swan’s as late as this.”

“Don’t you be too sure.”

“They go to bed at ten and it’s past eleven now.”

“Maybe ’e’s gone to bed, too.”

“Rot.”

“Well, if you ask me I think that girl looked as though she knew a thing or two. It wouldn’t surprise me if they was comfortably tucked up together at this very minute. And very nice too. I wish I was in ’is place.”

Erik was standing up. With his great height he towered over the two men seated at the table. His face grew pale, and he clenched his fists. For a moment it looked as though he would hit the skipper. He gave an inarticulate cry of rage. The skipper looked up at him and grinned. Dr. Saunders could not but see that he was not in the least frightened. A blow from that great fist would certainly have knocked him out. He was a mean skunk, but he had pluck. The doctor saw with what a tremendous effort Erik controlled himself.

“It’s not a bad plan to judge others by oneself,” he said, his voice trembling, “but not if one’s a mangy cur.”

“ ’ave I said anythin’ to offend you?” asked the skipper. “I didn’t know the lady was a friend of yours.”

Erik stared at him for a moment. His face showed the disgust he felt for the man, and his withering contempt. He turned on his heel and walked heavily out of the hotel.

“Wanting to commit suicide, skipper?” asked the doctor dryly.

“I known a lot of them big fellows. Sentimental, that’s what they are. Never ’it a chap smaller than yourself. Their minds don’t work quick, you know. A bit stupid, generally.”

The doctor chuckled. It diverted him to think of that rascal making shrewd use of the decent feelings of others to go his crooked, nasty way.

“You took a risk. If he hadn’t had himself well in hand he might have hit you before he knew what he was doing.”

“What was ’e upset about? Sweet on the girl ’imself?”

Dr. Saunders thought it unnecessary to tell him that Erik was engaged to Louise Frith.

“There are men who object to hearing their girl friends spoken of in that way,” he answered.