The Red Rat's Daughter

CHAPTER XIV

Once in the street the old man slipped his arm through that of his companion, and hobbled along beside him. "My dear young friend," he said, when they had been walking for some few minutes, "we are out of the house now, and able to talk sensibly together without fear of making fools of ourselves or of being overheard. First and foremost, tell me this: have you any notion of what you are doing?"

"Of course I am not very well up in it," Browne replied modestly; "but I think I know pretty well."

"Then, let me tell you this, as one who is probably more conversant with the subject than any man living: you know absolutely nothing at all!"

After this facer Browne did not know quite what to say. Herr Sauber stopped and looked at him.

"Has it struck you yet," he said, "that you, a young Englishman, without the least experience in such things, are pitting yourself against all the organization and cunning of the Great Russian Bear?"

"That point has certainly struck me," Browne replied.

"And do you mean to say that, knowing the strength of the enemy you are about to fight, you are not afraid to go on? Well, I must admit I admire your bravery; but I fear it is nearer foolhardiness than pluck. However, since you are determined to go on with it, let me give you a little bit of advice that may be of service to you. I understand you have not long enjoyed the honour of Madame Bernstein's acquaintance?"

Browne stated that this was so, and wondered what was coming next. He was beginning to grow interested in this queer old man, with the sharp eyes, who spoke with such an air of authority.

"Before I go any farther," continued the old gentleman, "permit me to remark that I yield to no one in my admiration for the lady's talent. She is an exceedingly clever woman, whose grasp of European politics is, to say the least of it, remarkable. At the same time, were I in your position, I would be as circumspect as possible in my behaviour towards her. Madame is a charming companion; she is philosophic, and can adapt herself to the most unpleasant circumstances with the readiness of an old campaigner. In matters like the present, however, I regret to say, her tongue runs riot with her, and for that reason alone I consider her little short of dangerous."

This may or may not have been the exact thought Browne had in his own mind. But the woman was Katherine's friend; and, however imprudent she might be, that circumstance alone was sufficient, in a certain sense, to make him loyal to her. Herr Sauber probably read what was passing in his mind, for he threw a glance up at him in his queer sparrow-like way, and, when he had eyed him steadfastly for a few seconds, continued what he had to say with even greater emphasis than before.

"I do not want you to mistake my meaning," he said. "At the same time, I have no desire to see the mission you have taken in hand turn out a failure. I have been acquainted with Madame Bernstein for more years than either she or I would probably care to remember, and it is far from my intention or desire to prejudice your mind against her. At the same time, I have known Katherine's family for a much longer period, and I must study them and their interests before all."

"But what is it of which you desire to warn me?" Browne inquired. "It seems to me that Madame Bernstein is as anxious to assist Katherine's father to escape as any of us."

"I sincerely believe she is," the old man replied. "In spite of the life she has led these twenty years, she still remains a woman, and impetuous. You must see for yourself that, in a matter like the present, you cannot be too careful. Let one little hint reach the Russian Government, and farewell to any chance you may stand of effecting the man's escape."

"But what am I to do to prevent her from giving them a hint?" asked Browne. "She knows as much as I do, and I cannot gag her!"

"But you need not tell her of all your plans," he answered. "Tell Katherine what you please; she has the rare gift of being able to hold her tongue, and wild horses would not drag the secret from her."

"Then, to sum up what you say, I am to take care that, while Katherine and I know everything, Madame Bernstein shall know nothing?"

"I do not say anything of the kind," said Herr Sauber. "I simply tell you what I think, and I leave it to your good sense to act as you think best. You English have a proverb to the effect that the least said is the soonest mended. When the object of your expedition is accomplished, and you are back in safety once more, you will, I hope, be able to come to me and say, 'Herr Sauber, there was no necessity to act upon the advice you gave me'; then I shall be perfectly satisfied."

"I must confess that you have made me a little uneasy," Browne replied. "I have no doubt you are right, however. At any rate, I will be most careful of what I say, and how I act, in her presence. Now, perhaps, you can help me still further, since you declare you are better acquainted with the subject than most people. Being so ignorant, I should be very grateful for a few hints as to how I should set to work." In spite of the old man's boast, Browne thought he had rather got the better of him now. He was soon to be undeceived, however.

"You intend to carry this through yourself, I suppose?" asked his companion. "If I mistake not, I heard you say this evening that you proposed to set sail at once for the Farther East. Is that so?"

"It is quite true," Browne replied. "I leave for London to-morrow afternoon, and immediately upon my arrival there I shall commence my preparations. You will see for yourself, if the man is so ill, there is no time to waste."

"In that case I think I can introduce you to a person who will prove of the utmost assistance to you; a man without whom, indeed, it would be quite impossible for you to succeed in your undertaking."

"That is really very kind of you," said Browne; "and, pray, who is this interesting person, and where shall I find him?"

"His name is Johann Schmidt," said Sauber, "and for some years past he has taken up his residence in Hong-kong. Since we are alone, I may as well inform you that he makes a speciality of these little affairs, though I am not aware that he has done very much in that particular locality in which you are at present most interested. New Caledonia is more in his line. However, I feel sure that that will make little or no difference to him, and I do not think you can do better than pay him a visit when you reach Eastern waters."

"But how am I to broach the subject to him? And how am I to know that he will help me? I cannot very well go to him and say straight out that I am anxious to help a Russian convict to escape from Saghalien."

"I will give you a letter to him," replied Herr Sauber, "and after he has read it you will find that you will have no difficulty in the matter whatsoever. For a sum to be agreed upon between you, he will take the whole matter off your hands, and all you will have to do will be to meet the exile at a spot which will be arranged, and convey him to a place of safety."

"I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Browne. "But will you answer me one more question?"

"I will answer a hundred if they will help you," the other replied. "But what is this particular one?"

"I want to know why you did not tell us all this, when we were discussing the matter at the house just now."

"Because in these matters the safest course is to speak into one ear only. If you will be guided by me you will follow my example. When no one knows what you are going to do, save yourself, it is impossible for any one to forestall or betray you."

By this time they had reached the corner of the Rue Auber. Here the old gentleman stopped and held out his hand.

"At this point our paths separate, I think," he said, "and I have the honour to wish you good-night."

"But what about that address in Hong-kong?" Browne inquired. "As I leave for England to-morrow, it is just possible that I may not see you before I go."

"I will send it to your hotel," Herr Sauber replied. "I know where you are staying. Good-night, my friend, and may you be as successful in the work you are undertaking as you deserve to be."

Browne thanked him for his good wishes, and bade him good-night. Having done so, he resumed his walk alone, with plenty to think about. Why it should have been so he could not tell, but it seemed to him that, since his interview with the old man, from whom he had just parted, the whole aspect of the affair to which he had pledged himself had changed. It is true that he had had his own suspicions of Madame Bernstein from the beginning, but they had been only the vaguest surmises and nothing more. Now they seemed to have increased, not only in number, but in weight; yet, when he came to analyse it all, the whole fabric tumbled to pieces like a house of cards. No charge had been definitely brought against her, and all that was insinuated was that she might possibly be somewhat indiscreet. That she was as anxious as they were to arrange the escape of Katherine's father from the island, upon which he was imprisoned, was a point which admitted of no doubt. Seeing that Katherine was her best friend in the world, it could scarcely have been otherwise. And yet there was a nameless something behind it all that made Browne uneasy and continually distrustful. Try how he would, he could not drive it from his mind; and when he retired to rest, two hours later, it was only to carry it to bed with him, and to lie awake hour after hour endeavouring to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

Immediately after breakfast next morning he made his way to the gardens of the Tuileries. He had arranged on the previous evening to meet Katherine there, and on this occasion she was first at the rendezvous. As soon as she saw him she hastened along the path to meet him. Browne thought he had never seen her more becomingly dressed; her face had a bright colour, and her eyes sparkled like twin diamonds.

"You have good news for me, I can see," she said, when their first greetings were over and they were walking back along the path together. "What have you done?"

"We have advanced one step," he answered. "I have discovered the address of a man who will possibly be of immense assistance to us."

"That is good news indeed," she said. "And where does he live?"

"In Hong-kong," Browne replied, and as he said it he noticed a look of disappointment upon her face.

"Hong-kong?" she replied. "That is such a long way off. I had hoped he would prove to be in London."

"I don't think there is any one in London who would be of much use to us," said Browne, "while there are a good many there who could hinder us. That reminds me, dear, I have something rather important to say to you."

"What is it?" she inquired.

"I want to warn you to be very careful to whom you speak about the work we have in hand, and to be particularly careful of one person."

"Who is that?" she inquired; but there was a subtle intonation in her voice that told Browne that, while she could not, of course, know with any degree of certainty whom he meant, she at least could hazard a very good guess. They had seated themselves by this time on the same seat they had occupied a few days before; and a feeling, that was almost one of shame, came over him when he reflected that, in a certain measure, he owed his present happiness to the woman he was about to decry.

"You must not be offended at what I am going to say to you," he began, meanwhile prodding the turf before him with the point of his umbrella. "The fact of the matter is, I want to warn you to be very careful how much of our plans you reveal to Madame Bernstein. It is just possible you may think I am unjust in saying such a thing. I only hope I am."

"I really think you are," she said. "I don't know why you should have done so, but from the very first you have entertained a dislike for Madame. And yet, I think you must admit she has been a very good friend to both of us."

She seemed so hurt at what he had said that Browne hastened to set himself right with her.

"Believe me, I am not doubting her friendship," he said, "only her discretion. I should never forgive myself if I thought I had put any unjust thoughts against her in your mind. But the fact remains that, not only for your father's safety, but also for our own, it is most essential that no suspicion as to what we are about to do should get abroad."

"You surely do not think that Madame Bernstein would talk about the matter to strangers?" said Katherine, a little indignantly. "You have not been acquainted with her very long, but I think, at least, you ought to know her well enough to feel sure she would not do that."

Browne tried to reassure her on this point, but it was some time before she was mollified. To change the subject, he spoke of Herr Sauber and of the interest he was taking in the matter.

"I see it all," she said; "it was he who instilled these suspicions into your mind. It was unkind of him to do so; and not only that, but unjust. Like yourself, he has never been altogether friendly to her."

Browne found himself placed in somewhat of a dilemma. It was certainly true that the old man had added fresh fuel to his suspicions; yet he had to remember that his dislike for the lady extended farther back, even as far as his first meeting with her at Merok. Therefore, while in justice to himself he had the right to incriminate the old man, he had no desire to confess that he had himself been a doubter from the first. Whether she could read what was passing in his mind or not I cannot say, but she was silent for a few minutes. Then, looking up at him with troubled eyes, she said, "Forgive me; I would not for all the world have you think that I have the least doubt of you. You have been so good to me that I should be worse than ungrateful if I were to do that. Will you make a bargain with me?"

"Before I promise I must know what that bargain is," he said, with a smile. "You have tried to make bargains with me before to which I could not agree."

"This is a very simple one," she said. "I want you to promise me, that you will never tell me anything of what you are going to do in this matter, that I cannot tell Madame Bernstein. Cannot you see, dear, what I mean when I ask that? She is my friend, and she has taken care of me for so many, many years, that I should be indeed a traitor to her, if, while she was so anxious to help me in the work I have undertaken, I were to keep from her even the smallest detail of our plans. If she is to be ignorant, let me be ignorant also." The simple, straightforward nature of the girl was apparent in what she said.

"And yet you wish to know everything of what I do?" he said.

"It is only natural that I should," she answered. "I also wish to be honest with Madame. You will give that promise, will you not, Jack?"

Browne considered for a moment. Embarrassing as the position had been a few moments before, it seemed even more so now. At last he made up his mind.

"Yes," he said very slowly; "since you wish it, I will give you that promise, and I believe I am doing right. You love me, Katherine?"

"Ah, you know that," she replied. "I love and trust you as I could never do another man."

"And you believe that I will do everything that a man can do to bring about the result you desire?"

"I do believe that," she said.

"Then let it all remain in my hands. Let me be responsible for the whole matter, and you shall see what the result will be. As I told you yesterday, dear, if any man can get your father out of the terrible place in which he now is, I will do so."

She tried to answer, but words failed her. Her heart was too full to speak. She could only press his hand in silence.

"When shall I see you again?" Browne inquired, after the short silence which had ensued. "I leave for London this afternoon."

"For London?" she repeated, with a startled look upon her face. "I did not know that you were going so soon."

"There is no time to lose," he answered. "All our arrangements must be made at once. I have as much to do next week as I can possibly manage. I suppose you and Madame have set your hearts on going to the East?"

"I could not let you go alone," she answered; "and not only that, but if you succeed in getting my father away, I must be there to welcome him to freedom."

"In that case you and Madame had better hold yourselves in readiness to start as soon as I give the word."

"We will be ready whenever you wish us to set off," she replied. "You need have no fear of that."

Half an hour later Browne bade her good-bye, and, in less than three hours, he was flying across France as fast as the express could carry him. Reaching Calais, he boarded the boat. It was growing dusk, and for that reason the faces of the passengers were barely distinguishable. Suddenly Browne felt a hand upon his shoulder, and a voice greeted him with, "My dear Browne, this is indeed a pleasurable surprise. I never expected to see you here."

It was Maas.

CHAPTER XV

Why he should have been so surprised at meeting Maas on board the steamer that evening Browne has never been able to understand. The fact, however, remains that he was surprised, and unpleasantly so. The truth of the matter was, he wanted to be alone, to think of Katherine and of the work he had pledged himself to accomplish. Even when one is head over ears in love, however, the common usages of society may claim some moderate share of attention; and, all things considered, civility to one's friends is perhaps the first of these. For this reason Browne paced the deck with Maas, watching the lights of Calais growing smaller each time they turned their faces towards the stern of the vessel. Every turn of the paddle-wheels seemed to be taking Katherine farther and farther from him; and yet, was he not travelling to England on her errand, was he not wearing a ring she had given him upon his finger, and was not the memory of her face continually with him? Maas noticed that he was unusually quiet and preoccupied, and attempted to rally him upon the subject. He was the possessor of a peculiarly ingratiating manner; and, much to his own surprise, Browne found himself, before they had been very long on board, telling him the news, that was destined sorely to trouble the hearts of mothers with marriageable daughters before the next few weeks were out. "I am sure I congratulate you most heartily, my dear fellow," said Maas, with a fine show of enthusiasm. "I have had my suspicions that something of the kind was in the air for some considerable time past; but I did not know that it was quite so near at hand. I trust we shall soon be permitted the honour of making the young lady's acquaintance."

"I am afraid that will not be for some considerable time to come," Browne replied.

"How so?" asked Maas. "What are you going to do?"

"As I told you the other day, I am thinking of leaving England on a rather extended yachting cruise to the Farther East."

"Ah, I remember you did say something about it," Maas continued. "Your fiancée will accompany you, of course?"

Browne scarcely knew what reply to offer to this speech. He had no desire to allow Maas to suspect his secret, and at the same time his conscience would not permit him to tell a deliberate untruth. Suddenly he saw a way out of his difficulty.

"We shall meet in Japan, in all probability," he answered; "but she will not go out with me."

"What a pity!" said Maas, who had suddenly become very interested in what his companion was saying to him. "There is no place like a yacht, I think, at such a time. I do not, of course, speak from experience; I should imagine, however, that the rippling of the water alongside, and the quiet of the deck at night, would be eminently conducive to love-making."

To this speech Browne offered no reply. The train of thought it conjured up was too pleasant, and at the same time too sacred, to be shared with any one else. He was picturing the yacht making her way across a phosphorescent sea, with the brilliant tropical stars shining overhead, and Katherine by his side, the only sound to be heard being the steady pulsation of the screw and the gentle lapping of the water alongside.

At last the lights of Dover were to be distinctly seen ahead. The passage had not been altogether a smooth one, and for this reason the decks did not contain as many passengers as usual. Now, however, the latter were beginning to appear again, getting their luggage together and preparing for going ashore, with that bustle that usually characterises the last ten minutes on board a Channel steamer. Always an amusing and interesting companion, Maas, on this particular occasion, exerted himself to the utmost to please. By the time they reached Charing Cross, Browne had to admit to himself that he had never had a more enjoyable journey. The time had slipped by so quickly and so pleasantly that he had been permitted no opportunity of feeling lonely.