Doctor Nikola (Windsor Magazine, 1896)/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION.
We were no sooner through the gates than we took to our heels and fled down the valley for our very lives. For my own part I was so thankful to be out of that awful place, once more breathing the fresh air of heaven, that I felt as if I could have gone on running for ever. Fortunately it was a pitch dark night with a high wind blowing. The darkness prevented our pursuers from seeing the direction we had taken, while the noise of the wind effectually deadened any sound we might make that would otherwise have betrayed our whereabouts.
For upwards of an hour we sped along the bottom of the valley in this fashion, paying no heed where we went and caring for nothing but to put as big a distance as possible between ourselves and our pursuers. At last I could go no farther, so I stopped and threw myself upon the ground. Nikola immediately came to a standstill, glanced round him and then sat down beside me.
“So much for our visit to the great monastery,” he said as casually as if he were saying good-bye to a chance acquaintance:
“Do you think we have given them the slip?” I queried, looking anxiously up the dark valley through which we had come.
“By no means,” he answered. “Remember we are still hemmed in by the precipices, and at most we cannot be more than five miles from the doors. We shall have to proceed very warily for the next week or so, and to do that we must make the most of every minute of darkness.”
We were both silent for a little while. I was occupied with my own thoughts, Nikola in distributing more comfortably about his person the parchments, etc., he had brought away with him.
“Shall we be going on again,” I asked as soon as I had recovered my wind. “I've no desire to fall into their hands again I can assure you. Which way is it to be now?”
“Straight on,” he answered, springing to his feet. “we must follow the valley down and see where it will bring us out. It would be hopeless to attempt to scale the cliffs.”
Without further talk we set off, not to stop again until we had added another four miles or thereabouts to our flight. By this time it was close upon daybreak, the chilliest, dreariest, grayest dawn in all my experience. With the appearance of the light the wind had somewhat died down, but it still moaned among the rocks and through the high grass in the most dispiriting and uncanny fashion. Half an hour later the sun rose above the opposite cliff, and then Nikola once more called a halt.,
“We must hide ourselves somewhere,” he said, “and travel on again as soon as darkness falls. Look about you for a place where we shall not be likely to be seen.”
For some time it seemed as if we should not be able to discover any such spot, but at last we hit upon the very one, a small enclosure sheltered by big boulders and situated on a sort of little rocky plateau high up the hill-side. To this place of refuge we scrambled, and then with armfuls of grass, which we collected from the immediate neighbourhood, endeavoured to make ourselves as comfortable as possible until night should once more descend upon us. It was not a cheery camp. To make matters worse we were unfortunately quite destitute of food, and already the pangs of hunger were beginning to obtrude themselves upon us.
“If we ever do get back to civilisation,” said Nikola after we had been sitting there some time, “I suppose this business will rank as one of the most daring escapades in your life.”
“I have no desire ever to undertake such another,” I replied truthfully; “this trip has more than satisfied my craving for the adventurous.”
“Wait till you've been settled in a sleepy little English village for a couple of years,” he said with a laugh. “By that time I wouldn't mind wagering you'll be ready for anything that turns up. I wonder what you would think if I told you that, dangerous as this one has been, it is as nothing to another in which I was concerned about six years ago. Then I was occupied in trying to discover”
I am sorry to have to confess that it is beyond my power to narrate what his adventure was, where it occurred, or indeed anything connected with it, for while he was talking I fell into a sound sleep from which I did not wake until nearly three hours later.
When I opened my eyes the sun was still shining brightly, the wind had dropped, and the air was as quiet as the night had been noisy and tempestuous. I looked round for Nikola, but to my surprise he was not occupying the place where he had been sitting when I fell asleep, nor indeed was he inside the enclosure at all. Alarmed lest anything ill might have befallen him I was in the act of going outside in search of him when he reappeared creeping between the rocks upon his hands and knees. I was about to confess my delight at his return, but he signed to me to be silent and a moment later reached my side.
“Keep as still as you can,” he whispered; “they're after us.”
“How close are they?” I asked with a sudden sinking in my heart.
“Not a hundred yards away,” he answered, and as he spoke he bent his head forward to listen.
A moment later I could hear them for myself coming along the valley to our left. Their voices sounded quite plain and distinct, and for this reason I judged that they could not have been more than fifty yards from us. Now came the great question, would they discover us or not? Under the influence of this awful suspense I scarcely breathed. One thing I was firmly resolved upon—if they did find us out I would fight to the last gasp rather than let them capture me and carry me back to that awful monastery. The sweat stood out in great beads upon my forehead as I listened. They were evidently searching among the rocks at the base of the cliff. Not being able to find us there, would they try higher up? Fortune however favoured us. Either they gave us credit for greater speed than we possessed, or they did not notice the hiding-place among the rocks, at any rate they passed on without molesting us. The change from absolute danger to comparative safety was almost overpowering, and even the stoical Nikola heaved a sigh of relief as the sound of their voices died gradually away.
That night, as soon as it was dark, we left our hiding-place and proceeded down the valley, keeping a watchful eye open for any signs of our foes. But our lucky star was still in the ascendant and we saw nothing of them. Towards daylight we left the valley and entered a large basin, if it may be so described, formed by a number of lofty hills. On the bottom of the bowl thus fashioned we could discern the roofs of a considerable village. Halting on a little rocky eminence Nikola looked round him.
“We shall have to find a hiding-place on the hills somewhere hereabouts,” he said, “but before we do that we must have food.”
“And a change of dress,” I answered, for it must be remembered that we were still clad in the monkish robes we had worn when we left the monastery.
“Quite so,” he answered: “first the food and the dress, then the hiding-place.”
Without more ado he signed to me to follow him, and together we left the little hillock and proceeded towards the sleeping village. It was not a large place, nor, from all appearances, a very wealthy one, and contained scarcely more than fifty houses, the majority of which were of the usual Thibetan pattern, that is to say, built of loose stones, roofed with split pine shingles, and as draughty and leaky as it is possible for houses to be. The family reside in one room, the other—for in few cases are there more than two—being occupied by the cows, pigs, dogs, fowls and other domestic animals.
As we approached the first house Nikola bade me remain where I was while he went forward to see what he could procure. For many reasons I did not care very much about this arrangement, but I knew him too well by this time to waste my breath arguing. He left me and crept forward. It was bitterly cold, and while he was absent and I was standing still I felt as if I were being frozen into a solid block of ice. What our altitude could have been I am not in a position, of course, to tell, but if one might judge by the keenness of the frosty air it must have been something pretty considerable.
Nikola was absent for nearly twenty minutes. At last however he returned, bringing with him a quantity of clothing, including two typical Thibetan hats, a couple of thick blankets, and, what was better than all, a quantity of food. The latter consisted of half a dozen coarse cakes, a piece of a peculiar sort of bread and a number of new laid eggs, also a large bowl of milk. In payment he informed me he had left a small gold piece, believing that that would be the most effectual means of silencing the owner's tongue. Seating ourselves in the shelter of a large rock, we set to work and stowed away as much of the food as we could possibly consume. Then dividing the clothing in two bundles we set off across the valley in an easterly direction.
By daylight we had put a considerable distance between us and the village, and were installed in a small cave halfway up a rugged bit of hill. Below us was a small copse of mountain pines and across the valley a cliff, not unlike that down which we had climbed to reach the monastery. We had also discarded our monkish robes and, for greater security, had buried them in a safe place beneath a tree. In our new rig, with the tall felt hats upon our heads, we might very well have passed for typical Thibetans.
Feeling that our present hiding-place was not likely to be discovered we laid ourselves down to sleep. How long we slumbered I cannot say, I only know that for some reason or other I woke in a fright to hear a noise in the valley beneath us. I listened for a few moments to make sure and then shook Nikola, who was still sleeping soundly.
“What is it?” he cried as he sat up. “Why do you wake me?”
“Because we're in danger again,” I answered. “What is that noise in the valley?”
He listened for a moment.
“I can hear nothing,” he said.
Then just as he was about to speak again there came a new sound that brought us both to our feet like lightning. It was the haying of dogs. Now, as we both knew, the only dogs in that district are of the formidable Deggi breed, standing about as high as Shetland ponies, as strong as mastiffs and as fierce as they are powerful. If our enemies were pursuing us with these brutes our case was indeed a hopeless one.
“Get up!” cried Nikola, “They are hunting us down with the dogs. Up the hill for your life!”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than we were racing up the hill like hares. Up and up we went, scrambling from rock to rock and bank to bank till my legs felt as if they could go no further. Though it was but little over a hundred yards from our hiding-place into the wood at the summit it seemed like miles. When we reached it we threw ourselves down exhausted upon a bed of pine needles, but only for a minute, then we were up and on our way again as hard as ever. Through the thicket we dashed, conscious of nothing but a desire to get away from those horrible dogs. The wood was a thick one, but we knew it could offer no possible refuge to us. Every step we took was leaving a record to guide them, and we dared not hesitate or delay a second.
At last we reached the far side of the wood. Here, to our surprise, the country began to slope downwards again into a second valley. From the skirt of the timber where we stood for nearly a mile it was all open, with not a bush or a rock to serve as cover. We were in a pretty fix. We could not wheel round on our pursuers, to turn to either hand would be equally as bad, while to go on would only be to show ourselves in the open, and after that to be run to earth like foxes in the second valley. But there was no time to stop and think, so for good or ill we took to our heels again and set off down the slope. We were not halfway across the open before we heard the dogs breaking cover and the excited shouting of men who had seen us ahead of them and were encouraging the hounds to run us down.
If we had run fast before we literally flew now. The dogs were gaining on us at every stride, and unless something unexpected turned up very soon to save us we could look upon ourselves in the light of men as good as dead. Only fifty yards now separated us from the cover that bounded the moor, if I may so describe it, on the other side. If the worst came to the worst, and we could reach the timber at the bottom, there would be nothing for it but to climb a tree there and sell our lives as dearly as possible with our revolvers.
Putting on a final spurt we gained the wood and plunged into the undergrowth. The nearest dog—there were three of these gigantic brutes—was scarcely twenty yards behind us. Suddenly Nikola, who was a yard or so ahead, stopped as if shot, threw up his arms and fell straight backwards. Seeing him do this I stopped too, but only just in the nick of time. A moment later I should have been over a precipice of some sixty feet into a swift-flowing river that ran below. By the time I realised this the first dog was upon us. Nikola lifted his hand and, as coolly as if he were picking off a pigeon, shot him dead. The second fell to my share; the third proved more troublesome. Seeing the fate of his companions he stopped short and crouched among the bushes growling savagely.
“Kill him!” cried Nikola with one of the only signs of excitement I had ever known him show. I fired again but must have missed him for he rushed in at me, and had I not thrown up my arm would have seized me by the throat. Then Nikola fired—I felt the bullet whiz past my ear—and before I could think the great beast had fallen back upon the ground and was twisting and twining in his death agony.
“Quick!” cried Nikola springing to his feet once more. “There's not a moment to be lost. Throw the dogs into the stream.”
Without wasting time we set to work, and in less than half a minute all three animals had disappeared into the river. As the last went over the side we heard the foremost of our pursuers enter the wood. Another moment and we should have been too late.
“There's nothing for it,” cried Nikola, “but for us to follow the dogs' example. They'll hunt about wondering which way the brutes have gone, and by that time we ought to be some distance down stream.”
“Come on then,” I said, and without more deliberation took a header from where I stood. It was a nasty dive, but not so unpleasant as our position would have been upon the bank. Nikola followed me, and before our enemies could have gained the river side we had swept round the bend and were out of their sight.
But though we had for the moment given them the slip our position was still by no means enviable. The water was like ice and the current ran like a mill sluice, while the depth could not have been much under fifty feet, though I could only judge this by the shelving of the banks.
For nearly ten minutes we swam on side by side in silence. The voices of our pursuers grew more and more faint until we lost them altogether. The horror of that swim could scarcely be over-estimated. The icy coldness of the water was eating into the very marrow of my bones, and every moment I expected to feel an attack of cramp. The stream seemed to be running more and more swiftly. Suddenly Nikola turned his head and shouted, “Make for the bank!”
I endeavoured to do so, but the whole force of the current was against me. Vainly I battled. The stream bore me further and further away till at last I was swept beyond the ford and down between two precipitous banks where landing was impossible. It was then that I realised Nikola's reason for calling to me. Further than a hundred yards ahead I could not see the river at all, only blue sky and white clouds. It could not have come to a standstill, so this sudden break off could have but one meaning—a fall! With incredible swiftness the water bore me on, now spinning me round and round like a teetotum, now carrying me this way now that, but all the time bringing me closer to the abyss.
Another ten yards and I could hear the sullen boom of the falling waters, and as I heard it I saw that the bank of the fall was studded with a fringe of large rocks. If I did not wish to be hurled over I must catch one of these and cling to it with all my strength. Strange to say even in that moment of despair my presence of mind did not desert me. I picked my rock and concentrated all my energies upon the work of reaching it. Fortunately the current helped me, and with hardly an effort on my part I was carried towards it. Throwing up my arms I clutched at it, but the stone was slippery and I missed my hold. I tried again with the same result. Then just as I was on the very brink of the precipice my fingers caught in a projecting ledge and I was able to stay myself. The weight of the water upon my back was enormous, but with the strength of a dozen men I clung on and little by little lifted myself up. I was fighting for dear life, for Gladys, for all that made life worth living, and that gave me superhuman strength. At last I managed to lift myself sufficiently on to the rock to get a purchase with my knees. After that it was all plain sailing, and in less time almost than it takes to tell I was lying stretched out upon the rock safe but more dead than alive.
When I had somewhat recovered my strength I opened my eyes and looked over the edge. Such a sight I never want to see again. Picture a river as wide as the Thames at London Bridge, walled in between two steep banks, pouring its enormous volume of water down into a rocky pool almost half a mile below. The thunder of the fall was deafening, while from the lake at the foot rose a dense mist changing where the sun caught it to every colour of the rainbow. Fascinated by this truly awful picture and the narrowness of my own escape from death I could hardly withdraw my eyes. When I did it was to look across at the right-hand bank. There stood Nikola waving to me. Cheered by his presence I began to cast about me for a means of reaching him, but the prospect was by no means a cheerful one. Several rocks there certainly were, and near the bank they were close enough to each other to enable an active man to jump from one to the other. Unfortunately however between that on which I lay and the next was a yawning gulf of something like eight feet. To reach it seemed an impossibility. I dared not risk the leap, and yet if I did. not what was to become of me? I was just beginning to despair again when I saw Nikola point up stream and disappear.
For something like a quarter of an hour I saw no more of him, then he reappeared a hundred yards or so further up the bank, and as he did so he pointed into mid-stream. I looked and immediately realised his intention. He had discovered a large log and had set it afloat in the hope that it would be of service to me. Closer and closer it came, steering directly for where I knelt. As it came alongside I leant over and, catching at a small branch which decorated it, attempted to drag it athwart the channel. My strength however was uncertain and had the effect of bringing the current to bear on the other end. It immediately wheeled swiftly round, went from me like an express train, and next moment disappeared over the brink into the abyss below, nearly dragging me with it. Once more Nikola signalled to me and disappeared into the wood. Half an hour later another log made its appearance. This time I was more fortunate and managed, with considerable manœuvring and coaxing, to get it jambed by the current between the two rocks.
The most perilous part of the whole enterprise was now about to commence. I had to cross on this frail bridge to the next stone. With my heart in my mouth I crawled over my own rock, and then having given a final look round and tested it as well as I was able, seated myself astraddle of the log. The rush of the water against my legs was tremendous, and I soon found I should have all my time taken up in trying to preserve my balance. But with infinite caution I continued to advance until at last I reached the opposite rock. All the time I had never dared to look over the brink; had I done so I believe my nerve would have deserted me and I should then have lost my balance and perished for good and all.
When the journey was accomplished and I was safely established on the second rock, I rested for a few minutes and then, standing up, measured my distance as carefully as possible and jumped on to the third. The rest was easy, and in a few minutes I was lying quite overcome among the bracken at Nikola's feet. As soon as I was safe my pluck, presence of mind, nerve, or whatever you like to call it, gave way completely and I began to tremble like a little child.
“You have had a narrow escape,” said Nikola. “When I saw that you could not make the bank up yonder I made up my mind it was all over with you. However all's well that ends well, and now we've got to see what we had better do next.”
“What do you advise?” I asked, my teeth chattering in my head like castanets.
“That we find a sheltered spot somewhere hereabouts, light a fire and dry our things, then get down to the river below, construct a raft and travel upon it till we come to a village. There, if possible, we will buy donkeys and, if all goes well, pursue our journey to the coast by another route.”
“But don't you think our enemies will have warned the inhabitants of the villages hereabouts to be on the look-out for us?”
“We must chance that. Now let us find a place to light a fire. You are nearly frozen.”
Half a mile or so farther on we discovered such a spot, lit our fire and dried our things. All this time I was in agony; one moment as cold as ice, the next in a burning fever. Nikola prescribed for me from his medicine-chest, which, with the things he had obtained from the monastery, he still carried with him, and then we lay down to sleep.
From that time forward I have no recollection of anything till I woke to find myself snugly ensconced in a comfortable but simply furnished bedroom. Where I was or how I got there I could no more tell than I could fly I endeavoured to get up and look out of the window, but I found I was too weak to manage it, so I laid myself down again, and as I did so made another startling discovery, my pigtail was gone.
For nearly half an hour I was occupied puzzling this out. Then I heard a footstep in the passage outside, and a moment later a dignified priest entered the room and asked me in French how I felt. I answered that I thought I was much better, though still very weak, and went on to state that I should feel obliged if he would tell me where I was and how I had got there.
“You are in the French mission at Ya-Chow-Fu,” he said. “You were brought here a fortnight ago by an English doctor named Nikola, who, from what we could gather, had found you higher up the river suffering from a severe attack of rheumatic fever.”
“And where is this—this Dr. Nikola now?”
“That I cannot say. He left us a week ago to proceed on a botanising excursion, I believe, further west. When he departed he gave me a sum of money which I am to devote to chartering a boat and coolies to convey you to I-chang, where you will be able to obtain a steamer for Shanghai.”
“And did he not leave any message to say whether I should see him again?”
“I have a note in my pocket for you now.”
Thus reminded, the worthy priest produced a letter which he handed to me. I opened it as soon as he had departed and eagerly scanned its contents. It ran as follows:—
“Dear Bruce,—By the time you receive this I hope you will be on the high road to health again. After your little experiment on the top of the falls you became seriously ill with rheumatic fever. A nice business I had conveying you down stream on a raft, but, as you see, I accomplished it and got you into the French mission at Ya-Chow-Fu safely. I am writing this note to bid you good-bye for the present, as I think it better we should henceforward travel by different routes. I may however run across you in I-chang. One caution before I go—figure for the future as a European, and keep your eyes wide open for treachery. The society has branches everywhere, and by this time I expect they will have been warned. Remember they will be sure to try to get back the things we've taken and to punish us for our intrusion. I thank you for your companionship, and for the loyalty you have extended to me through out our journey. I could have wished for no better companion.—Yours,
That was all.
A week later I bade my hospitable hosts, who had engaged a boat and trustworthy crew for me, good-bye, and set off on my long down-river journey. I reached I-chang, where I was to abandon my boat and engage a passage to Shanghai, safely and without any further adventure.
On learning that there would not be a river steamer leaving until the following day I went ashore, discovered an inn and engaged a room. But though I waited all the evening and as late as I could next day, Nikola did not put in an appearance. At four o'clock I boarded the steamer Kiang-Yung and in due course reached Shanghai.
How thankful I was to again set foot in that place no one will ever know. I could have gone down on my hands and knees and kissed the very ground in gratitude, for was I not back again in civilisation, free to find my sweetheart and, if she were still of the same mind, make her my wife? was my health not thoroughly restored to me I and last but not least, was there not a sum of £20,000 reposing at my bankers in my name? That day I determined to see Barkston and McAndrew, and the next to leave for Tientsin in search of my darling. But I was not destined to take my journey after all.
Calling at the club I inquired for George Barkston. He greeted me in the hall with all the surprise imaginable.
“This is really most wonderful,” he said. “I was only speaking of you this morning and here you turn up like”
“Like a bad penny you were going to say.”
“Not a bit of it. Like the wandering Jew would be more to the point. Now come along with me. I'm going to take you to my bungalow to tiffin.”
“But my dear fellow I”
“I know all about that,” he cried; “but you've just got to come along with me. I've got a bit of news for you.”
Nothing would induce him to tell me what it was. So we chartered 'rickshaws and set off for his residence.
When we reached it I was ordered to wait in the hall while he went in search of his wife. Having made some inquiries he led me to the drawing-room, opened the door and bade me go inside. Though inwardly wondering what all this mystery might mean, I followed his instructions.
A lady was sitting in an easy-chair near the window sewing. On seeing me she rose. That lady was Gladys!
“Wilfred!” she cried, turning quite pale and hardly able to believe her eyes.
“Gladys!” I answered, taking her in my arms and kissing her with all the enthusiasm of a long-parted lover.
“Why did you not let me know you were coming to Shanghai?” she asked when the first transports were over.
“Because I did not know you were here,” I answered.
“But did you not call on Mr. Williams in Tientsin? and did he not give you my letter?”
“I have not been to Tientsin, nor have I seen Mr. Williams. I have come straight down the Yang-tze-Kiang from the west.”
“Oh, I am so glad—so thankful to have you back. We have been separated such a long, long time.”
“And you still love me, Gladys?”
“Can you doubt it, dear? I love you more fondly than ever. Does not the warmth of my greeting now convince you of that?”
“Of course it does. I only wanted to have the assurance from your own dear lips. But now tell me, how do you come to be in Shanghai and in George Barkston's house of all other places?”
“Well that would make too long a story to tell in extenso just now. We must reserve the bulk of it. Suffice it that my brother and sister have been transferred to a new post in Japan, and while they are getting their house in Tokio ready I came down here to stay with Mrs. Barkston, who is an old school friend. I expect them here in about a week's time.”
“And now the most important of all questions. When are we to be married?”
She hung her pretty head and blushed sweetly. I pressed my question, and it was finally agreed that we should refer the matter to her brother-in-law on his arrival the following week.
Now to bring my long story to a close, let me say that we were married three weeks after my return to Shanghai in the English church, and ran across to Japan for our honeymoon. Two days after our arrival in Nagasaki a curious incident occurred that brought in its train a host of unpleasant suspicions. My wife and I had retired to rest for the night, and we were both sleeping soundly when we were awakened by a loud cry of fire. To my horror I discovered that our room was ablaze. I forced the door, and then seizing my wife threw a blanket over her and made a rush with her outside. How the fire had originated no one could tell, but It was fortunate we were roused in time or we should certainly both have lost our lives. As it was, most of our belongings perished in the flames. A kindly Englishman resident in the neighbourhood seeing our plight took pity on us and insisted that we should make use of his house until we decided on our next plans. We remained with him for two days, and it was on that following our arrival at his abode that the second circumstance occurred to cause me uneasiness.
We had been out shopping in the morning and returned just in time for tiffin, which when we arrived, was already on the table. While we were washing our hands before sitting down to it our host's little terrier, who was of a thieving disposition, clambered up on to the table and helped himself. By the time we returned (the owner of the bungalow you must understand lunched at his office and did not come home till evening) he had eaten half the dish and spoiled the rest. We preferred to make our meal off biscuits and butter rather than call the servants and put them to the trouble of cooking more. An hour later the dog was dead, as we should have been had we partaken of the curry. The new cook, who we discovered later was a Chinaman, had meanwhile decamped and could not again be found.
That evening, when returning home in the dusk, a knife was thrown from a window across the street, narrowly grazed my throat and buried itself in the woodwork of the house I was passing at the time. Without more ado I booked two passages aboard a mail steamer and next day set sail with my wife for England.
Arriving in London I took a furnished house in a quiet part of Kensington and settled myself down while I looked about me for a small property in the country.
One day I had been up to town to consult a land agent about a place I had seen advertised, and was walking down the Strand while waiting for an omnibus when I felt a hand placed upon my shoulder. I wheeled round to find myself face to face with Nikola.
“Dr. Nikola!” I cried in complete amazement.
“Yes, Dr. Nikola,” he answered quietly, without any show of emotion. “Are you glad to see me?”
“Very glad indeed,” I replied; “but at first I can hardly believe it. I thought you were still in China.”
“China became too hot to hold me,” he said with a laugh. “But I shall go out there again as soon as this trouble blows over. In the meantime I am off to St. Petersburg to-night. Where are you staying, and how is your wife?”
“I am staying in Kensington,” I replied; “and I am glad to say my wife is in the best of health.”
“I needn't ask if you are happy. Now can you spare me half an hour?”
“With every pleasure.”
“Then come along to Charing Cross; I want to talk to you. This is my hansom.”
He led me to a cab which was waiting alongside the pavement, and when I had seated myself in it, climbed in and took his place beside me.
“This is better than Thibet, is it not?” he said as we drove along.
“Very much better,” I answered with a laugh. “But how wonderful it seems that we should be meeting here in this prosaic fashion after all we have -been through together. There is one thing I have never been able to understand, what became of you after you left me at Ya-Chow-Fu?”
“I went off on another track to divert the attention of the men who were after us.”
“You think we were followed then?”
I am certain of it, worse luck. And what's more they are after us now. I have had six several attempts made upon my life in the last three months. But they have not managed to catch me yet. Why you will hardly believe it, but there are two Chinamen following us down the Strand even now. That was partly why I picked you up.”
“The devil! then my suspicions were correct after all. The hotel we stayed at in Nagasaki was fired the first night we were in it, a dish of curry intended for us was poisoned two days later, while I was nearly stuck with a knife two days after that again. Yesterday I saw a Chinaman near our house in Kensington, but I may have been mistaken in his intentions.”
“What was he like? Was he dressed in English rig? and had he half an ear missing?”
“You are describing the man exactly.”
“Quong Ma. Then look out. If that gentleman has his eye upon you I should advise you to leave. He's a beggar to stick, and when he gets an opportunity he'll strike. Be advised by me, take time by the forelock and clear out of England while you have the chance. They want the things we took and they want revenge. To get both they'll follow us to the ends of the earth.”
“And now one very important question: have the things you took proved of sufficient value to repay you for all your trouble and expense?”
“Of more than sufficient value. In less than a year I shall enlighten this old country I think in a way it will not forget.”
As he said this we rattled into the station-yard and a minute or so later were standing alongside the continental express. Time was almost up and intending passengers were warned to take their seats. Nikola saw his baggage placed in the van and then returned to me and held out his hand.
“Good-bye, Bruce,” he said. “We shall probably never meet again. You served me well and I wish you every happiness. One last word of caution, Beware of that fellow with half an ear, and don't give him a chance to strike.”
I shook hands with him, the guard fluttered his flag, the engine whistled and the train steamed out of the station. I waved my hand in token of good-bye, and since then I have never heard or seen anything of Dr. Nikola.
When the last carriage of the train was out of sight I went into the station-yard intending to take a cab, but as I was about to call one up a man pushed passed me and appropriated it. To my horror it was the Chinaman with half an ear.
Waiting until he had left the station-yard I made my way to the Underground railway and took a train for Earl's Court, thence I drove home as fast as I could go. On the threshold my servant greeted me with the information that a Chinese beggar had called at the house asking to see me. I waited to hear no more but packed my things, and within a couple of hours my wife and I had left London for a tiny country town in the Midlands. Here at least we thought we should be safe; but as it turned out we were no more secure there than in London or Nagasaki, for that week the hotel in which we stayed caught fire in the middle of the night and we only just managed to escape with our lives.
Next day we migrated to a still smaller place near Torquay. We had not been there a month however before a most daring burglary was committed in my rooms in broad daylight, and when my wife and I returned from an excursion to a neighbouring village it was to find our trunks rifled and our things strewn all about our rooms. The most extraordinary part of the affair however was the fact that nothing, save a small Chinese knife, was missing.
The county police were soon to the fore, but the only suspicious character they could think of was a certain Celestial with half an ear who had been observed prowling about the hamlet the day previous; even he could not be discovered when they searched for him.
On hearing that last piece of news I had a consultation with my wife, told her my whole story and asked her advice.
As a result we left the hotel, much to the chagrin of the proprietor, that night, and departed for Southampton, where we shipped for New York the following day. Judge of our feelings on reading in an afternoon paper previous to sailing that the occupants of our bed had been found in the morning with their throats cut from ear to ear.
In New York things became even more dangerous than in England, and four distinct attempts were made upon my life. We accordingly crossed the continent to San Francisco, only to leave it in a hurry four days later.
Where we are now, my dear Craigie, as I said in my Introduction, I cannot even tell you. Let it suffice that, though we have been here six months, we have seen no more of the half-eared Chinaman, or indeed any of his sinister race. We live our own lives, and we are as happy as any two mortals in similar circumstances can expect to be. I love and honour my wife above all living women, and if for that reason alone I shall never regret the circumstances that brought about my meeting with that extraordinary individual, Dr. Nikola.
Now, old friend, you know my story. It's an extraordinary one, isn't it? Goodbye.
THE END.