Book 2. The Chase - Night 9. The Hunt Is Up

________________________________________________
_ BOOK II. THE CHASE
NIGHT THE NINTH. THE HUNT IS UP

Well, I thought it over, and talked it over with Jimmy, and decided that, much as I loved Jack Foe, he'd have to be more explicit with me before I undertook this stewardship. You will say that, this being the only decent decision open, I might have done without the thinking and the talking. . . . And that's true enough. But, you see, I had lived with Jack pretty long and pretty close, and this was the first time I'd ever taken a miss with him. If anyone for the past ten or fifteen years had suggested to me, concerning Jack Foe, that a day might come when I shouldn't know where to find him, I--well, I should have lost my temper. It was inconceivable, even now. I told myself that, though he had expressly given me leave to invite Jimmy to the breakfast, he had taken a fit of reticence in Jimmy's presence and had shied off; that I should get more out of him when we were alone together. . . . Is that good English, by the way? Can two persons be alone? . . . Thank you, Polkinghorne--of course they can when they're real friends.

But that speculation wouldn't work, either: for again at Prince's, and again at Jack's invitation, we were to be a party of three. . . . I tell you of these doubts because through them, and (you may say) by way of them, it came to me--my first inkling that something was wrong with the man.

Anyway, as it turned out, Jimmy and I might have spared ourselves the discussion: for when we reached Prince's the head-waiter (an old friend) brought me a letter. It had been delivered by District Messenger almost two hours before. It ran--Here it is: I have all the documents but one, and I've sent home for that.

"Dear Roddy,--Sorry to do a shirk: but circumstances oblige me to take the boat-train, 9.45, ex Victoria. I have locked up the flat. The porter has the keys, with instructions to lend to nobody but you or the landlord.

"Address, for some little while, quite uncertain. I drew out a fair sum in circular notes and cash; enough to keep me solvent for some weeks. So you need not worry about the money.

"You needn't fash your consciences over the Plan, either. I'll tell you about it in my next, written from the first place when I find leisure. I'll unfold--no, the word insults its beautiful simplicity. Apologies to Jimmy. Tell him to buy a copy-book and write in it _Experiment is better than Observation_.

"So long! A great peace has fallen on me, Roddy. 'I am one with my kind,' like the convalescent gentleman in _Maud_. 'I embrace the purpose of--whatever Higher Power set Farrell going--'and the doom assigned.'

"Farrell is going strong. Yoicks!--Yours ever,"

"J.F."

I handed the letter across to Jimmy, and set myself to order, thoughtfully, something to eat.

"Well, what do you say to it?" I asked as Jimmy finished his perusal.

"I say," pronounced Jimmy in unfaltering voice, "that the crisis demands a gin-and-vermouth, at once, and that the vermouth should be of the Italian variety."

"Waiter!" I called.

"Nay," said Jimmy, "hear me out. I say further--did you mention a rump-steak underdone?"

"You did," said I.

"And with oysters on the top?"

"It's where they usually go," I pleaded. "I didn't specify. One takes a lot of these little things for granted."

"Then I say further that, this being one of those occasions on which no time should be lost, you will reach for that collection of _hors d'oeuvre_ on the table behind you, and lift your voice for a bottle of Graves to follow the vermouth and quickly, but not so as to gall its kibe. . . . And I say last of all," he wound up reflectively, helping himself to two stuffed olives and a _hareng sauer_, "that the Professor is running a grave risk, and I wouldn't be in his shoes at this moment."

"You think--" I began nervously.

"Never did such a thing in my life," said Jimmy. "I _know_. He's in one of those beastly Restaurant Cars."

Silence descended on Foe for two months and more. Then I received this long letter:--

Grand Hotel, Paris,
May 27th.

"My dear Roddy,--The hunt is up. I took some time getting a move on it: but to-night Farrell has the real spirit of the chase upon him, and is in his room at this moment, packing surreptitiously with intent to give me the slip.

"You will have gathered from a glance at the above address that Farrell is with me; or rather, that I am with Farrell. I give him full scope with his tastes. It is part of the Plan. But to-night--knowing that he had gone to his room to pack surreptitiously, and that his berth in the _Wagon-lit_ is booked for to-morrow night at the Gare d'Orleans--I gave myself what the housemaids call an evening-out. This is Paris, Roddy, in the time of the chestnut bloom. A full moon has been performing above the chestnuts. Beneath their boughs the municipality had hung a thousand reflections of it in the form of Chinese lanterns shaped and coloured like great oranges. The band at the _Ambassadeurs_--a band of artists and, as I should judge, conducted by somebody who couldn't forget that he had once been a gentleman--saw the moon rise and at once were stricken with Midsummer madness. It had been recklessly, defiantly, blatantly exploiting its collective shame on two-steps and coon song,--shouting its _de profundis_, each degenerate soul bucking up its lost fellow with a challenge to go one better and mock at its hell--when of a sudden, as I say, the moon rose, and the conductor caught up his stick, and the whole damned crew floated off on _The Magic Flute_. . . . It wasn't on the programme. It just happened, and no one paid them the smallest attention. . . . But there it was: ten minutes of ecstasy.

"They ceased upon the night: and the next news was that after five minutes' interval they were chained again and conscientiously throwing vim into _Boum-Poump_ with the standardised five thumps of jollity on the kettledrum.

"So the champak odours failed--What is champak? Have the Germans synthetised it yet?--and I awoke from dreams of thee. I walked back by way of the Quais--by the river:"

Dissolute man!
Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can.

"But I have played for safety and am writing this with the aid of a whisky-and-Perrier to hope that it finds you well as it leaves me at present.

"I dare say it struck you as a poorish kind of trick--my inviting you to Prince's and leaving you to pay for the repast. The reason of my sudden bolt was a sudden report that Farrell intended to start at once for a holiday on the Continent of Europe--that he had been to Cook's and bought himself a circular ticket for the Riviera--Paris, Toulon, Cannes, Nice, etc.--on to Genoa, Paris by Mt. Cenis--that sort of thing. I should tell you that, being chin-deep in winding up my affairs, I had employed a man to watch his movements. Shadowing Farrell is a soft option, even now, when he's painfully learning the rudiments of flight: four months ago he had not even a nascent terror to make him suspicious. Oh, never fear but I'll educate him, dull as he is! Remember your _Ancient Mariner_, Roddy? Here are two passages purposely set wide apart by the author, that I'll put together for you to choose between 'em,--"

(1) As who, pursued with yell and blow,
Still treads the shadow of his--Foe,
And forward bends his head. . . .

(2) Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

"You may urge that Coleridge--a lazy man and a forgetful--is just repeating himself. But there's a shade of difference; and I'll undertake to deliver back Farrell in whichever condition you prefer; or even to split the shade. But you must give me time.

"As it was, I risked nothing in paying an ordinary professional. Farrell walked into the office, and my man followed him. Farrell took some time discussing his route with the clerk. My man borrowed the use of a telephone-box, left the door open and rang me up. By the time he was put through he had heard all he needed. So he closed the door, and reported. I instructed him, of course, to buy me a similar ticket. 'And,' said my man, 'he is inquiring which is the best hotel at Monte Carlo, and it seems he hardly knows any French." 'Right,' said I. 'Come along at once and collect your fee, for I haven't any time to spare.'

"I thought it possible that Farrell might break his journey to dally with the gaieties of Paris. But he didn't. I found out easily enough at Cook's Office there that he had booked a sleeper and gone straight through. So I went to the Opera, listened to _Rigoletto_, idled most of the next day in the old haunts, and took the usual Sud-Express, with a sleeper, from the Gare de Lyons.

"No: I lie. You can't call it idling when you sit--say in the Bois, on any chance bench anywhere--seeing nothing, letting the carriages go by like an idle show of phenomena, but with your whole soul thrilling to a new idea, drinking it in, pushing out new fibres which grow as they suck in more of it through small new ducts, with a ripple and again a choke and yet again a gurgle, which you orchestrate into a sound of deep waters combining as you draw them home. . . . Oh, yes--you may laugh: but I know now what conception is: what Shakespeare felt like when he sat one night, in a garden, and the great plot of _Othello_ came teeming. . . .

"Please bear one thing in mind, my dear Roddy, You are never, now or hereafter, to pity me. _Qualis artifex_. . . . I used to smile to myself in a cocksure youthful way when great men hinted in great books that one had to make burnt-sacrifice of the eye's delight, the heart's desire; the lust of the flesh, the pride of the intellect; see them all consumed to a handful of dust, and trample out even the last spark of that, before the true phoenix sprang; that only when half-gods go the gods arrive. But it's true, Roddy! It's true!

"I won't grow dithyrambic--not just yet. I was so sure of my man that it seemed quite worth while to tumble out at Avignon--a place I had never inspected--and fool away another spell among Roman remains, and Petrarch and the rival Popes, and the opening scenes of the Revolution, and just thinking--thinking.

"So I reached Monte Carlo next day, a little after noon; took a bath and a siesta; sauntered into the Casino there, a good forty-eight hours behind time; and caught my man, sitting.

"Are you superstitious, Roddy? Of course you are: and so are all of us who pretend that we are not. . . . Monte Carlo is the hell of a hole. I had never seen it before: but as I went into the Casino, all of a sudden I had a queer recollection--of a breakfast-party at Cambridge in young La Touche's rooms, in King's (he was killed in the South African War), and of his saying solemnly as we lit cigarettes that he'd had a dream overnight. He dreamed that he walked into the Casino at Monte Carlo, went straight to the first table on the left, put down a five-franc piece on Number 17, and came out a winner of prodigious sums.

"Well, we are all humbugs about superstition. I don't believe there's a man existent--that's to say, a tolerable man, a fellow who isn't a prig--who doesn't touch posts, or count his steps on the pavement, or choose what tie he'll wear on certain days, or give way to some such human weakness when he's alone. We so-called 'men of science' are, I truly believe, the worst of the lot. You can't get rid of one fetish but you have instantly the impulse to kneel to another . . .

"Anyhow, there was my man sitting, and the number 17 almost straight before him, a little in front of his right arm; and this recollection came to me; and I leaned over his shoulder and laid a five-franc piece on the number.

"It won. I piled my winnings on the original stake, _plus_ all my loose cash; and Number 17 won again.

"That's all. You know my old theory that every scientific man should have a sense of mystery--it's more useful to him than to most of his fellows. Anyway I'd tried my luck on Bob La Touche's long bygone dream.

"Several pairs of eyes began to regard me with interest: and the croupier, as he pushed my spoil across, spared me a glance inscrutable but scrutinising. I make no doubt that had I helped to make up the next game, quite a number of the punters would have backed my infant fortune. But I didn't. Farrell had slewed about in his chair for to look up at the newcomer: and at sight of his dropped jaw, as he recognised me, I smiled, gathered up my wealth and walked out.

"I took a seat in the Casino garden, overlooking the sea. 'Sort of thing,' I found myself murmuring, 'might happen once in a blue moon,' and with that was aware that a sort of blue moonlight was indeed bathing the garden, though the moon's reflection lay yellow enough across the still Mediterranean. [Here, for description, turn up Matt. Arnold's _A Southern Night_: possibly still copyrighted.]

"Farrell came out. He spotted me at once; for to help the moon, as well as to dispel the heavy scent of the gaming-room, I was lighting a cigar. He took a couple of turns on the terrace and halted in front of me. His manner was nervous.

"'Excuse me, Professor--' he began.

"'Excuse me, Mr. Farrell,' I corrected him; 'I am a Professor no longer. You may call me Doctor Foe, if you like. . . . Did Number 17 win a third time?'

"'I--I fancy not," he stammered. 'To tell the truth, your sudden appearance here, when I supposed you to be in London--and at Monte Carlo, of all places--But perhaps you are a devotee of the fickle goddess? Men of learning,' he floundered on, 'find relaxation--complete change of interest. Darwin--the great Darwin--used to read novels: the worse the novel, the better he liked it--or so I've heard.'

"'As it happens,' said I, 'this is my first visit to Monte Carlo.'

"'Indeed?' He brightened and became yet more fatuous. 'Then we may call it a coincidence, eh?--a veritable coincidence. When I saw you--But first of all, let me congratulate you on your luck.'

"'Thank you,' I said. 'I will make a note that your first impulse on encountering me was to congratulate me on my luck.'

"This seemed to puzzle him for a moment. Then, 'Oh, I see what you mean,' he said. 'But we're coming to that. . . . You gave me a fair turn just now, you did, turning up so unexpected. But (says I) this makes an opportunity that I ought to have made for myself before leaving London. Yes, I ought. . . . But I want to say to you now, Dr. Foe--as between man and man--that I made a mistake. I was misled--that's the long and short of it. I never stirred up that crowd, Doctor, to make the mess they did of your--your premises. But so far as any unguarded words of mine may have set things going in my absence--well, I'm sorry. A man can't say fairer than that, can he? . . . And I've suffered for it, too,' he added; 'if that's any consolation to you.'

"'Suffered, have you?' I asked.

"'What, haven't you heard?' He was surprised.--Yes, Roddy, genuinely. 'Well, now I won't say it was all owing to that little affair at the Silversmiths' College. . . . There were other--er--circumstances. In fact there was what-you-might-call a combination of circumstances. The upshot of which was that I had a safe seat and took a bad toss out of it. No, I don't harbour no feelings against you, Doctor Foe. I'm a sociable, easy-going sort of fellow, and not above owning up to a mistake when I've made one. . . . I stung you up again just now, wishing you joy of your luck: meaning no more than your winnings at the tables. Not being touchy myself, I dessay it comes easy to advise a man not to be touchy. But what I say is, we're both down on our luck for the time, and we're both here to forget it. So why not be sociable?'

"'Suppose on the contrary, Mr. Farrell,' I suggested, 'that I am here to remember. What then?'

"'Then I'd say--No, you interrupted me somewhere when I was going to make myself clear. You won't mind what I'm going to say? . . . Well, then, I gather those asses did some pretty considerable damage to your scientific 'plant'--is that so? . . . Well, again, feeling a sort of responsibility in this business, I want to say that if it'll set things on their legs again, five or six thousand pounds won't break Peter Farrell.'

"I didn't strangle him, Roddy. It was the perilous moment: but I sat it out like a statue, and then I knew myself a match for this business. I didn't strangle him, even though he provoked me by adding, 'Yes, and now we're met, out here, you can be useful to me in a lot of little ways. Know French, don't you? Well, I don't, and we'll throw that in. . . . What I mean is, What d'ye say to our joining forces? I'm fed up with these Cook's men. They do their best, I don't deny. But this business of the lingo is a stiffer fence than I bargained for. Now, with a fellow-countryman to swap talk; _and_ a gentleman, and one that can patter to the waiters and at the railway stations--What do you say to it, Doctor? Shall we let bygones be bygones?'

"I did not strangle him, Roddy, even for that. I sat pretty still for a while, pretending to consider.

"'It's odd, Mr. Farrell,' said I after a bit, 'that you should invite me to be your companion. You'll always remember that you invited me?'

"''Course I shall,' said he. 'Let's be sociable--that's my offer.'

"I threw away my cigar. 'Provided you make no suggestion beyond it, I accept,' said I. 'We will take this trip together. Do you mean to stay long at Monte Carlo?'

"'Pretty place,' said Farrell. 'Been up to La Turbie? No, of course; you've only just arrived. Well, I can recommend it-- funny little railway takes you up, and the view from the top is a knock-out. But I'm your man, wherever you'll do the personally-conducting. I'm not wedded to this place. Only came here because I understood it was fast, and I wanted to see.'

"'Where's your hotel?' I asked.

"'Grand Hotel, next door,' he answered. 'What' yours?'

"'The same,' said I. 'We'll meet at _dejeuner_--same table. Twelve noon, if that suits.'

"'I don't know if you're wedded to this place--' said he.

"'Not one little bit,' I answered.

"'Inside there, for instance?'

"'You saw,' said I. 'I came out because I disliked the smell.'

"'And there's that pigeon-shooting. Goes on all day. I hate taking life--even if I could--'

"'You've once before,' said I, 'suspected me of being careless about the sufferings of animals; and you've, apologised. Shall we call it off? I don't shoot pigeons anyway.'

"'Me either,' Farrell agreed heartily. 'I'm here for fresh air and exercise. Don't mind confessing to you I've no great fancy for this place. Man told me at dayjooney this morning he'd just come in from sitting under the palms before the Casino entrance. . . . All of a sudden a young fellow walked out and shot himself there, point-blank. Man who told me doesn't take any interest in play--over from Mentone for the day, just to see things.--Well, this young fellow, as I say, shot himself--put revolver to his forehead--there on the steps. And by George, sir, he was mopped up and into a sack within twenty seconds! One porter ready with sack, another to help, third with sponge to mop steps--stage clear almost before you could rub your eyes. . . . I just tell it to you as it was told to me, and by a man pretty far gone in consumption, so that you'd say he'd be cautious about lying.'

"I lit another cigar. 'With so priceless a fool as this,' I said to myself, 'you must not be in a hurry, John Foe.' Aloud I said, 'I've no passion either, for this place. I wanted to see it, and I've seen it. I'll knock in at your room at eight o'clock, if that will suit you, and we'll discuss plans. For my part, I had a mind to go back to Cannes and start for a ramble among the Esterel.'"

"To be brief, we struck the bargain and--incredible as you may find it--have been running in double harness ever since. . . . I couldn't have believed it myself, in prediction: but here it is--_and until a few hours ago Farrell never guessed_.

"No: that is wrong. He never guessed at all. I told him.

"It came to me, after the first week, as habitually as daily bread. We put in a couple of days at Mentone, another couple at Nice; then for a fortnight we made Cannes our centre, with a trip up to Grasse and several long tramps among the mountains. After that came St. Tropez, Costebello, Toulon, Marseilles, Montpellier--with excursions to Aigues-Mortes, the Pont du Gard and the rest of it. From Montpellier we turned right about on our tracks; took Cannes again, Antibes; drove along the whole Corniche in a two-horse barouche. There was a sort of compact that we'd do the whole Riviera--French and Italian--as thoroughly as tourists can do it; and we did--from Montpellier to Bordighera, from Bordighera to Genoa. And he never guessed.

"I had two bad moments; by which I mean moments of unscientific impatience, sudden unworthy impulses to kill him and get rid of the job. Unscientific, unworthy--unsportsmanlike--to kill your priceless fish before he has even felt the hook!

"The second bad moment I overcame (I am proud to report) of my own strength of will. It happened at a bend of the Corniche, when our driver pulled up on the edge of a really nasty precipice and invited us to admire the view. It being the hour for _dejeuner_, we haled our basket out of the carriage, and spread our meal on the parapet. Farrell sat perched there with his back to the sea, and made unpleasant noises, gnawing at a chicken-bone. I wanted to see how he'd fall backwards and watch him strike the beach. . . .

"Well, I was glad when the impulse was conquered and I had proved my self-control: because the previous temptation had been a close call, and I believe it would have bowled me out but for a special interposition of--Providence.

"We were following up a path in the Esterel: a little gorge of a path cut by some torrent long since dried. The track had steep sides--fifteen to twenty feet--right and left, and was so narrow that we took it single file. I was leading.

"Now, on our way westward out of Cannes, that morning, we had passed the golf-links, and Farrell had been talking golf ever since. I don't know why golf-talk should have such power to infuriate those who despise that game. But so it is, Roddy.

"I had the weapon in my pocket. I had my fingers on it as I trudged along, and was saying to myself, 'Why not here? In the name of common sense, why not here? Why not here and now?'-- when a leveret, that had somehow bungled its footing on the high bank above, came tumbling down, not three yards ahead of us. The poor little brute picked itself up, half-stunned, caught sight of us, and made a bolt up the path ahead. From this side to that it darted, trying to climb and escape; but again and again the bank beat it, and from each spring it toppled back; and we followed relentlessly.

"At the end of two hundred yards it gave in. It just lay down in the path like a thing already dead and waited for what we should choose to do.

"I picked it up. I showed it to Farrell, keeping my fingers on the faint little heart.

"'They say,' said I, 'it's lucky when a hare pops out in your path. What do you think?'

"'Worth carrying home?' said Farrell. 'I'm partial to hare. But he's a bit undersized for Leadenhall Market'--and the fool laughed.

"'We'll let him go,' said I.

"'I guess he's too far scared to crawl,' he suggested doubtfully.

"'Turn about and watch,' said I. 'It may have escaped your memory that you once accused me of being cruel to animals. Turn about, and watch. Don't move.'

"I undid the three upper buttons of my waistcoat, stowed the little fellow down inside, against my shirt, leaving his head free, so that I could stroke his ears and brainpan. I let Farrell see this, stepped past him, and walked slowly back down the path. At the end of twenty paces I lifted the little beast out, set him on the ground, and walked on. He shook his ears twice, then lopped after me like a dog, at a slow canter. At the point where he had tumbled I collected him again by the ears, lifted him, climbed the bank and restored him to his thicket, into which he vanished with a flick of his white scut.

"Then I went back very slowly to Farrell. 'Curious things, animals,' said I. 'If you don't mind, we won't talk any more golf to-day.'" _

Read next: Book 2. The Chase: Night 10. Pilgrimage Of Hate

Read previous: Book 2. The Chase: Night 8. Vendetta

Table of content of Foe-Farrell: A Romance


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book