CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE ISLAND'S OWNER
"Who are you, and what do you want?" asked Reginald, confronting the intruder; while, as he spoke, he observed that the coarse and scanty clothes in which he was clad were drenched with more water than even the heavens could have poured on him.
He was a man of great bulk, young as himself, and with a mass of reddish-yellow hair that hung about his face, matted and dishevelled from the wet in which it was soaked; and as he advanced into the room the water dripped off him on to the floor.
"Want!" he replied, "want! What should a man want in his own house but rest and comfort after a storm? Master, this is my house! I had best ask what you want here? And at night-alone with my sister."
Yet he did not pause for an answer, but going up to where that sister lay back in the swoon that had overcome her, he shook her roughly by the shoulder and called out-
"Come, get over your fit. I have bad news for you."
"Be a little more gentle with her!" Reginald exclaimed. "We can bring her to in a better manner than that;" and as he spoke he went to the spirit flask he had brought up from the yacht, and moistened her lips with some of the whisky, and bathed her forehead with water from one of the calabashes.
"What the devil is the matter with the girl?" asked her brother. "She has never been used to indulging in such weaknesses-what does it mean?"
"It means," the other replied, "that the storm has frightened her."
"Bah! she has seen plenty of them since she was born. We are used to storms here."
"And also," Reginald went on, "she saw a man-you-outside, listening to us. She saw your hand on the blind and your face through the slats, but did not recognise you. It is not strange that she should be frightened."
But by this time Barbara was coming round-she opened her eyes as her brother spoke, then closed them again, as though the sight of him was horrible to her, and shivered a little. But, after a moment, she opened them once more, and, fixing them on him, said-
"You have come back. Where is father?"
"He is dead," he said, using no tone of regret as he spoke, and, indeed, speaking as he might have done of the death of some stranger. "He is dead not an hour ago. The storm drove us here, brought us home. But as we reached the shore, for we could not get round to the creek, the breakers flung our boat over, and us out of it. I was fortunate enough to scramble on land, but the old man had no such luck. He was carried out to sea again, and I saw no more of him."
Barbara had burst into tears at the first intimation of her father's death, and now she wept silently, her brother sitting regarding her calmly while he sipped at Reginald's flask as though it were his own! – and the latter felt his whole heart go out to her in sympathy. Yet-how could he comfort her? The one whose place it was to do that was now by her side, but being a rough, uncouth brute, as it was easy to see he was, he neither offered to do so, nor, it seemed probable, would he have done aught but mock at any kind words Reginald might speak.
"Father! Father!" the girl sobbed. "Oh, father! And I have been looking forward so much to your return-hoping so much from it. Thinking how happy we might be."
Her brother-who seemed to consider that, after having told her of old Alderly's death, no further remark on the subject was necessary, and who, if he knew what sympathy meant, certainly did not consider it needful to exhibit any-had by now turned his back to them and, going to a cupboard, was busily engaged in foraging in it. Reginald had seen Barbara take food out of this cupboard ere this, both for him and for herself-food consisting of dried goat's flesh, cheese and other simple things-and therefore he was not surprised at the man doing so now. But he was somewhat surprised at hearing Barbara, while her brother's back was turned, whisper to him-
"Say nothing at present about the Key."
He nodded, willing to take his line of action from her in anything she might suggest in the circumstances which had now arisen; yet he felt that his silence would make his presence there still more inexplicable But, also, his trust was so firm in the girl that without hesitation he determined to do as he was bidden.
Presently her brother turned away from the cupboard, coming towards them again and bearing in one hand a piece of coarse bread and, in the other, a scrap of meat he had found.
"Been here long keeping Barbara company?" he asked, while his twinkling eyes-how unlike hers! Reginald thought-glistened maliciously. "We don't often get visitors here."
"Indeed," Reginald replied; "I have heard differently. I was told in Tortola that curiosity about the strange history of your island brought many people here. And, having a little yacht which I have hired and being a sailor myself, I ventured to pay a visit."
"Sailor, eh? What line? American and-but, there, it's easy enough to see you're a Britisher. What is it? Royal Mail, eh?"
"I am in the Royal Navy. A lieutenant. And my name's Crafer."
"Crafer, eh? and in the Royal Navy? I don't think much of the Royal Navy myself. A damned sight too condescending in their ways, as a rule, are the gentlemen in your line-that is, when they take any notice of you at all. Well, if you're going to stay I hope you're not like that. And my name's Alderly-Joseph Alderly. That's good enough for me."
"I certainly did hope to stay a little longer. I am on leave and like cruising about."
"Your boat's in the river, you say?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you live in it instead of in this house, then? Or at Tortola, where there is a hotel? In some of the islands hereabouts my sister would get a bad name if it was known she was entertaining young English officers all alone."
At his words Reginald sprang to his feet, Barbara also rising, her hazel eyes, that were usually so soft and innocent, flashing indignant glances at her brutal brother.
"You don't know, you don't understand," she began; "if you did you would behave differently. Mr. Crafer has come-" But Reginald was speaking also.
"Mr. Joseph Alderly," he said, "this is the first night I have ever stayed in your house as late as this. I should not be here now were it not for the storm. However, I will trespass upon your hospitality no longer. Miss Alderly, I wish you 'Good-night.'" He touched her hand as he spoke-not knowing what her glance meant to convey, yet feeling sure that there must be much she would have said to him if she had had but the opportunity-and then he turned on his heel, passed through the jalousie, and so out on to the verandah.
The storm was ceasing as he went forth, the clouds were rolling away to the south; around him there were the odours of all the tropical flowers, their perfume increased threefold by the rain. He knew the path so well now from having traversed it many times backwards and forwards from the Pompeia, that it took him very little time even in the dark to reach the bank of the river, to unmoor the dinghy, and to get on board the craft. Then, lighting his pipe, he sat himself down in his little cabin to meditate on what this fresh incident-the arrival of Joseph Alderly-might mean.
"I should know better what to think," he mused, "if I only knew how long he had been behind the blind. The brute may have been there for sufficient time to have heard all the last instructions of old Nicholas about finding the treasure which I read out. Or he may have heard only enough to give him an inkling that I know where the treasure is. Let me see," and he put his hand in his pocket and drew forth his forerunner's narrative.
"Yes," he muttered, as he turned over the leaves, "yes, I had got far enough-having reached the rescue of Nicholas by the Virgin Prize-for him to have heard all if he was there. If he was there; that's it. Only-was he? or did he come later when there was nothing more to be overheard than the description of Nicholas leaving the island?"
Again he pondered, turning the arrival of Alderly over in his mind, and then he remembered how the jalousies had rattled at a time when the wind had lulled, though he had taken little heed of the fact beyond glancing up from the papers. Yet, as he racked his mind to recall what they had been saying, or he reading, at the moment, he remembered the words he had uttered-
"There is nothing to tell you now but the burying of the treasure in the spot where it lies and where we will dig it up."
These had been his words, or very similar ones. If Alderly had been there then-if he had arrived on the verandah by the time they were uttered-he knew all. He had heard the middle Key mentioned, he had heard how the measurements were to be taken, he knew as much as Reginald and Barbara knew. But-had he been there? was it his hand that shook the blind, or was it some light gust of air, a last breath of the storm? That was the question.
Still, independent of this-indeed, far beyond the thought of the treasure, which he had definitely decided he would take no portion of, since it was not, could not be, his by any right-his mind was troubled. Troubled about Barbara and her being alone with the savage creature who was her brother-"Heavens!" he thought, "that they should be the same flesh and blood!" – troubled to think of what form his brutality might take towards her if he suspected that she knew where all the long-sought wealth was hidden away.
"But," he said to himself, as he still sat on smoking, "no harm shall come to her if I can prevent it-if I can! nay, as I will. He may order me out of these moorings since the whole island is his-well, let him. If he does, I will find out Nicholas's cove and anchor myself there-or, better still, I will go and lie off the middle Key. And, by the powers! if he does know that the treasure is there and begins to dig for it, not a penny, not a brass farthing shall he take away without my being by to see that he shares fair and fair alike with his sister. He seems capable, from what I have seen of him and she has told me, of taking the whole lot off to Aspinwall or Porto Rico and losing it in one of his loathsome gambling dens, while he leaves her here alone!"
He went on deck of his little craft as he made these reflections, and, more from sailor-like habit than aught else-since no one ever came into the river-he trimmed his lights and arranged them for the night, and then went to his cabin and turned in. But before he did so, he cast a glance up to where Barbara's home was, and saw that on the slight eminence there twinkled the rays of the lamp through the now opened windows. All was well, therefore, for this night.
Yet he could not sleep. He could not rest for thinking of the girl up there with no one but that brutal kinsman for a companion; with no one to help her if he in his violence should attempt to injure her-a thing he would be very likely to do if he questioned her about aught he might have overheard, and she refused to satisfy him.
At last this feeling got too strong for him-so strong that he determined to go and see if all was well with her. Therefore, ashore he went again, and, making his way up quietly through the glade and the little wood, he came within sight and earshot of the hut. And there he soon found that, no matter how fierce and cruel a nature Alderly's was, he at least meant no harm to the girl herself.
She, he could see from the close proximity to the hut which he had attained, was lying asleep upon a low couch on which he had often sat, a couch covered with Osnaburgh cloth and some skins. Alderly was sitting at the table, drinking and smoking and occasionally singing. He had evidently found some liquor of his own-probably stowed away by him ere setting out on his various cruises-and was pouring it out pretty rapidly into the mug he drank from.
"Heavens!" exclaimed Reginald. "How the past repeats itself! Here stand I, a Crafer, watching an Alderly in his cups, even as, two hundred years ago, my relative stood here watching this man's. And he sings there as he drinks, even as his rascally forerunner sang, too-the one when his father has not been dead many hours, the other when he had murdered a man! And Barbara, – well, there is Barbara in place of the fancied Barbara the other conjured up. It is the past all over again, in the very same place, almost the very same hour at night. Let us hope that, as all came well with Nicholas afterwards, so it may with me. And with Barbara, too. Yes, with Barbara, too."
Whereon, seeing that all was well for the present at any rate, he moved silently away and so regained his boat.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
JOSEPH ALDERLY
In the morning, when he woke and went on to the deck of his little craft, he saw Barbara standing on the river's brink-evidently waiting for him to be stirring. Therefore, he at once got into his dinghy and went ashore to her.
"What is he doing now?" he asked, as he took her hand and noticed for the first time the absence of the splendid flush of health upon her face that was generally there. This morning she had dark purple rings under her eyes-as though she had not slept or had been weeping.
"He is asleep now," she said, "after sitting up drinking, singing, and muttering to himself till nearly daybreak. Oh, Mr. Crafer!" she broke off, "what is to be done?"
"What does he know?" asked Reginald in return. "Did he hear any of the story I read to you? How long had he been at the window before you noticed him?"
"I cannot tell. Yet I think he suspects. Before I went to sleep he asked me what brought you here, and whether you were hunting for the treasure, and also what that paper was you were reading to me?"
"And what did you tell him?"
"I would not tell a lie, therefore I said it was an account of the island, written by a connection of yours who had been here long ago." "And then?"
"And then he said he would like to see it. He said he was sure you would show it to him."
"Was he! I am sure I shall do nothing of the kind. Yet I do not know," and Reginald broke off to meditate. Following which he went on again. "But he must see it after all. Barbara, the treasure is his and yours. He must be told."
"No, no," she said. "It is not his-it is yours-yours-yours. Oh! it would be wicked, shocking, to think that you, the only person in the world to whom the chance came of finding out where it is hidden, should not be entitled to it, or at least to half of it. And think, too, of the journey you have made, the expense you have been put to, the trouble you have taken. And all for nothing; to get nothing in return."
"I have got something in return," he said. "Your friendship! Have I not, Barbara?"
"Yes," the girl whispered, or almost whispered, while to her cheeks there came back the rose-blush he loved so much to see. "Yes. But what is that in comparison to what you ought to have?"
"Everything," he replied earnestly. "Everything. Far more, perhaps, to me than you think. But now is scarcely the time to tell you how dear that friendship is. Instead, let us think of what is best to be done."
"At present," she replied, "I am sure the best thing is to keep the secret. If he knew it was there he would get it up somehow-and, I think, he would go away with it. Then you would get nothing."
"But I want nothing."
"I don't care," she replied. "I am determined you shall have half. Oh! promise me, promise me you will tell him nothing unless he agrees to give you half."
At first he again refused, and still again, but at last he agreed to her request, or at least so far consented that he said he would make a proposal to her brother. He would suggest that, on his being willing to divide whatever they should find into three parts-one for Alderly, one for Barbara, and one for him-he would inform him where he thought the treasure was buried. But that he would take no more than a third he was quite resolved, he told her.
"It will be useless," she said, "useless to do that! He will never consent to my having a third; if he did he would take it away from me directly afterwards."
"Would he!" exclaimed Reginald. "Would he! I would see about that."
"At any rate, he would try to do so. Therefore, it would be far better for you to insist on one half. By taking one third you would only get a lesser share, while he would get more."
At last, therefore, Reginald determined he would go and see her brother and, as he said, sound him. Only he was resolved on one thing. Alderly should neither see Nicholas's manuscript nor be told the exact spot where the buried treasure was until they had come to some terms.
"And, remember," he said to her, "if I get one half from him, you take from me what represents one third." To which again the girl protested she would never consent.
After this they parted, she going back to the hut, and he saying he would follow later, since they resolved it would be best to keep the knowledge of their having met that morning from her brother.
When, however, Reginald himself arrived at Alderly's house he found that person gone from it and Barbara alone-standing on the verandah and evidently watching for his coming.
"He has gone down to the shore," she said, "to see if he can find anything of poor father's body. At least that is what he says he has gone for, as well as to see if his boat is capable of being repaired. Alas! I fear he thinks more of the boat than of father's death."
"If he thinks so much of the boat," Reginald remarked, "it scarcely looks as if he has much idea of there being a large treasure to his hand. However, I will go and see him. Where did he come ashore last night?"
"Very near to the Keys," she answered. "Indeed, close by."
So Reginald made his way across the island to that spot, and, when he had descended the crags and reached the small piece of beach there, he saw Alderly engaged in inspecting the wrecked craft which had brought him safely back to his island overnight. It had been at its best but a poor crazy thing-a rough-built cutter of about the same size as the Pompeia, but very different as regards its fittings and accommodation. It was open-decked, with a wretched cabin aft into which those in her might creep for rest and shelter, and with another one forward-but these were all there was to protect them.
"She is badly injured," Reginald said, after having wished Alderly good-morning and received a surly kind of grunt in reply. "I am afraid there is not much to be done to her."
"Mister," said Alderly, suddenly desisting from his inspection, and turning round on the other man without taking any notice of his remark, "I am glad you came here this morning. You and I have got to have some talk together, and we can't do it better than here."
"Certainly," replied Reginald. "What would you like us to talk about?"
"It ain't what I'd like to talk about, but what I am a-going to talk about as you've got to hear. Now, look you here. I ain't no scholar like Barb over there-she was sent to school because the old man was a fool-and I'm a plain man. I've had to earn my living rough-very rough-and p'raps I'm a bit rough myself. But I'm straight-there ain't no man in the islands straighter nor what I am."
"Being so straight, perhaps you will go on with what you have to say. Meanwhile, Mr. Alderly, let me be equally straight with you. Your manner is offensive, and, as you say, 'very rough.' Therefore, I may as well tell you that it doesn't intimidate me. We are both sailors, only I happen to have been in a position of command, while your rank, I gather, has been always more or less of a subordinate one. So, if you'll kindly remember that I expect civility, we shall get along very well together."
Alderly glanced at him, perhaps calculating the strength of the thews and sinews of so finely built a young man; then he said-
"This is my island, you know, mister, and all that's in it."
"Precisely. And you mean that I am in it. Well, so I am. Only, you understand, I can very soon get out of it. The sea isn't yours as well."
"Suppose I wasn't to let you go! Suppose I stopped up the mouth of the river where your craft is a-lying! Then you'd be in it still."
"Yes," said Reginald, "so I should. Only, all the same, I should go when I pleased. I am not a baby-but, there, this is absurd. Say what you want to say."
"Well, I will. What was that paper you was a-reading to my sister in my house last night?"
"A little history of this island, which a forerunner of mine happened to visit some two centuries ago."
"Two cent'ries ago! Oh! It didn't happen to say anything about the treasure old Simon Alderly had stowed away here, did it?"
"Since you ask me so directly, and as it is your business, I will reply at once. It did."
For a moment Alderly's face was a sight to see. First the brown of his face turned to a deeper hue, then the colour receded, leaving him almost livid, then slowly the natural colour returned again, and he said, huskily-
"It did, eh? So I thought, though I don't know why the wench, Barb, told me a lie."
"Are you sure she did tell you a lie? I don't think your sister seems a person of that sort."
"Never mind my sister. Tell me about the treasure-my treasure. I am the heir, you know; I am the only Alderly left after two cent'ries hunting for it-you was right about them cent'ries, mister. Two it was. Where is that treasure? Go on, tell me."
"I have not quite made up my mind about doing that," said Reginald. "It remains for me to decide whether I shall do so just yet."
"It remains for you to decide whether you will tell me where my property is! It does, does it? And what else? – what do it remain for me to do?" and he advanced so close to Reginald and looked so threatening, both from his angry glances and his great height and build, that many a man might have been cowed. But not such a man as Reginald Crafer!
"What do it remain for me to do-eh?" he asked again. "To kill you, p'raps."
Reginald's laugh rang out so loud at this that it might have been heard on the Keys outside-the Keys whereon the treasure was. And it made Alderly's fury even greater than before.
"I could kill you, mister, easy, if I wanted to. And no one would never know of it except Barb. And if she knowed of it, why, I'd kill her too. Anyhow, I mean to have my fortune."
"As to killing," said Reginald, "I don't quite agree with you. You seem to me a powerful kind of a person, without much knowledge, however, of using that power." Here Alderly stamped with fury. "Therefore, you are not so very terrible. However, about your fortune. To begin with, are you quite sure it is yours?"
"Why! whose else is it if it ain't mine?" the bully asked, stupidly now. "Ain't this island mine now father's dead?"
"You say it is, though I am sure I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not. It might be as much your sister's as yours." Alderly burst out laughing, scornfully this time; but Reginald went on. "Your father might have left a will, you know, leaving her a portion of it, or, indeed, the whole, if he didn't approve of your general behaviour."
Alderly laughed again-though now he looked rather white, the other thought; and then he said emphatically: -
"Father didn't leave no papers. So I'm the heir. Girls don't count, I'm told." All of which-both laughter, pallor, and remarks-led Reginald to form a suspicion that whatever papers the elder Alderly might have left had been destroyed.
"I think they do," said Reginald, "and certainly Miss Alderly counts in my opinion. For, if eventually I decide to tell you where your treasure is, she will have to have her portion."
"She will have her portion," said Alderly decidedly, "which will be that I shall look after her. And I suppose you'll want a portion, too."
"Yes, rather," the other replied, remembering that he had promised to make no stipulations about Barbara. So he corrected himself now, and said, "Of course I suppose you will look after her. Well, remembering that, I shall want one half."
"One half!" exclaimed Alderly, almost shouting out the words in his excitement. "One half! My God! One half of all that treasure! Just for coming here to tell me where it is! Why! you must be mad, Mr. Crafer, or whatever you call yourself. Mad! Mad! Why! sooner than do that I'd fetch a hundred o' my pals and mates from all around, from the islands and up from Aspinwall and Colon, and dig the whole place up till we found it. One half!"
"And dig the whole place up!" repeated Reginald. "Just so. Only, you know that when your ancestress, the first Barbara, and her son came here they found the treasure had been removed from the place where Simon left it, and none have ever been able to find it since. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," muttered Alderly, "it is, damn you!"
"Very well. You don't own all the islands round, of which there are some scores, inhabited and uninhabited. And, presuming that the treasure in question has been moved to one of these-and there is no one knows whether it has or not but myself" (he determined not to bring Barbara in further than was necessary) – "what good would all the digging of you and your 'pals and mates' do in this place, Mr. Alderly?"
To which the other could only answer by a muttered curse.