During the few instants that it took Touchtone to quit the dining-saloon and reach the transept into which the state-room opened, a chaos1 of ideas surged in his head. He afterward2 wondered how he could even have thought of so many things in such a hurry. There are at least two ways of being frightened: one, clean out of all your wits, the other by having them tossed about like a whirlpool so that for a time you do not know what idea is uppermost.
He stopped in the dim passageway to “pull himself together.” He guessed it now—the startling truth! Since “Mr. Hilliard” was there aboard the steam-ship it was, in all probability, because he knew that they, Philip Touchtone and Gerald Saxton, were there too. And that meant that kind-hearted Mr. Hilliard, number two, the real Mr. Hilliard, had been wrong. This dogging of two defenseless[103] lads had been for no design of mere3 robbery, but for some sinister4 end. Philip’s heart throbbed5 violently as the surmise6 came that a mysterious enemy was tracking, not simply two boys out of all the summer’s host of traveling ones in general, but Philip Touchtone and Gerald Saxton, in particular. The question was, why were they the objects of his plot, whatever it might be? And was the attack upon Gerald or himself?
He entered the state-room softly. Gerald raised himself on his elbow.
“Is that you, Philip?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Philip answered, sitting down on the edge of the berth7, and trying not to let his voice or manner hint of the trouble of his mind. “How is your head? Do you want any thing?”
“My head is ever so much better,” said Gerald, sinking back luxuriously9. “I should like some ice-water, if you’ll get it, please, before long. I’d better not try to get up to-night, except to undress. Don’t you think you’d like to get to bed soon yourself?”
“Yes,” replied Philip, absently, “very soon.”
He was asking himself whether he would not[104] better go at once to Captain Widgins, who had seemed so friendly to him, and confide10 to him his peculiar11 story and suspicions. But then had he not best know more of the riddle12 before he did? The only way to do that was to turn the state-room into a hiding-place and a castle for Gerald; and as to himself, to walk out boldly and bring events to an issue. He had courage enough for that.
“I’ll get you the ice-water at once,” he exclaimed, starting up, “and I’ll see what sort of a night it is by this time. Then I wont13 have to leave you alone again.”
“All right,” returned Gerald, yawning. “I’m half in a doze14 now; I dare say I’ll be asleep before you get back, but I’d rather not go to bed quite yet. It can’t have cleared much. That fog-whistle is going as hard as it can.”
Philip locked the state-room door as he stepped out—a precaution Gerald was too drowsy15 to mark. He re-entered the main saloon and walked with deliberate slowness about it, while he waited for the ice-water. There seemed to be no signs of the enemy. It was a rather vacant quarter where he found[105] himself at last. A tall figure quickly drew near and stopped before him. Philip raised his eyes. As he expected, it was the foe16.
“Good-evening, Mr. Touchtone,” the man began in his smoothest voice, offering to shake hands, and directing his black eyes full into Philip’s steady ones.
Philip drew himself up, and, paying no heed17 whatever to the hand, responded stiffly, “Good-evening.” He made as if he would have passed on, but then the other stepped directly in his way.
“Pray, don’t be in a hurry,” he said, in a lower tone, with a different note coming into it, that did not surprise Philip. “I think, considering the extraordinary way that you gave me the slip yesterday, and since I have taken passage on this steamer expressly to have the pleasure of a talk with you, I deserve a little of your valuable time, eh?”
Philip flushed at the familiarity of the man’s speech. However, to lose temper would be the foolishest course. Surely this was the very opportunity he sought.
“I’m sorry, but I can give you very little time,” he replied. “And you are mistaken. I[106] hope I shall never have occasion to say any thing to you or to see you again. You certainly know why, as well as I do. Good-night.”
His manner and words did what he boldly undertook. Before there could be a battle, war must be declared.
It was declared. “Mr. Hilliard” leaned forward, and retorted, “Look here, Touchtone! You’d better not make things harder for yourself. I will have a talk with you. It’s what I’m here for. Is Saxton’s boy in your state-room? Well, it makes no difference; I can go there with you, and he can hear all I have to say, for that matter.”
As it happened, “Mr. Hilliard” would have most assuredly preferred not to have Gerald a listener. But he chose to give Philip another idea.
“Or else,” he continued, “do you meet me aft, outside—where the pile of stools is. You know the place. It’s dark there. No one will bother us. Which suits you?”
The waiter was appearing with the ice-water.
“I will meet you outside,” Philip answered. With an undaunted gaze into his foe’s face[107] he added, “I may as well know, sooner or later, what you are hunting us down for in this fashion.”
The other smiled maliciously18.
“I will expect you there in five minutes. If you don’t come I will look you up.”
The waiter who handed Philip his jug19 might have supposed the last sentence just a civil appointment made by one friend with another.
In the state-room, which Philip reached trembling but resolved (and especially resolved on saying nothing to the captain or any body else until after the coming interview), Gerald lay fast asleep, his face turned from the light. He did not hear Philip enter this time.
“Shall I wake him?” questioned he. He set down the water-jug. “No, I wont. The little fellow’s pretty sure to stay like that until I’ve got to the bottom of this row and am back here, ready to make my next move. Heigho! shouldn’t I like to see Mr. Marcy just this minute!”
He bent20 above Gerald. He was sound asleep—safe to stay so, indefinitely. Philip stole out, once more turning the key on Gerald, that no intruder should disturb his calm dreams.[108] “Only a rascal21 with no good to talk about would have chosen such a place!” he could not but think, as he went out from the cabin. The Old Province was progressing very cautiously. The opaque22 fog was like wool around her, although straight up overhead the moon seemed struggling to show herself in a circle of wan8 light. The ocean’s swell23 was much less and the drizzle24 over. But the night bade fair to stay very thick and to give place to a morning like it. Coming from the lighted cabin, Philip stumbled about over the slippery deck. He caught the sound of a repeated whistle rising, falling, and trilling artistically25, that was plainly intended as his guide. “Mr. Hilliard” rose from where he had been lounging along the wet rail.
“Ah,” said he, “you’re here, are you, Touchtone? There seem to be some dry chairs on this heap. Looks as if it was going to stay muggy26, don’t it?”
“I’d like to know your business with me as soon as I can,” replied Philip, determined27 to waste no time, and declining the proffered28 seat. “I’m not here for my own pleasure, nor because you’ve frightened me into coming[109] to listen. I have found out the trick you tried to play on us yesterday. We spent last night with Mr. Hilliard. So don’t try to go on with that.”
Philip was somewhat surprised at his own daring. But those were the words that came, and I have set them down just as he spoke29 them.
“O, indeed,” said the other, throwing his cigar over the rail. “Really, I presumed you must have done that by this time. I’d no intention of ‘going on’ with that business, I promise you. You see, Touchtone, I’ve concluded that you are about as sensible and clear-headed a fellow of your age as ever lived! It will be much better for me to be honest and confidential30 with you than to—well, to try any such little devices as I thought advisable yesterday. To begin, my name isn’t Hilliard, as you know—”
“I should think I did!” ejaculated Philip.
“So you will please call me Mr. Belmont, of New York—John Alexander Belmont, at our mutual31 service. And, by the bye, Touchtone, I must tell you another thing. I knew your father, Reginald Touchtone, pretty well[110] for a good many years. Surprised, eh? Well, it’s a fact. We came together in—in business, before—before he made a fool of himself by pretending to be better than other people.”
At the mention of his father’s name, from the lips of such a man, Philip started violently. Belmont (for such, in deference32 to his request, he will be called henceforth here) had forgotten for an instant his self-control in his anger over some past event. But Philip’s own composure was upset by the sneer34.
“How dare you speak so of my father!” he exclaimed, indignantly. “You can insult me, but you can’t insult him—to my face. I don’t know who you are yet, nor what you have done. But I know that my father never willingly had a word to say to such a man as you. Not he. As for that matter you hint at, he was as innocent in it as—as Gerald Saxton!”
Taken aback at the boy’s honest anger and courage, Belmont uttered an exclamation35. Forgetful of the likelihood of being overheard, he began, excitedly, “Gerald Saxton! Ah, yes, now you’ve brought me to the point! It’s about him I propose to talk to you, you impudent36[111] young scamp. First of all, that boy has got to come at once into my hands.”
“Your hands!” retorted Philip, astonished.
“Yes, mine! I mean to have him, henceforth and forever, if I can! Hear that, please. I’m aboard this steamer on purpose to get him, as you will find out. I shall, inside of precious few hours, let me tell you. He belongs to me.”
Philip was confounded. His notions had been correct. The second of his doubts was answered. Gerald—little Gerald—was the end of some villainous conspiracy37! What could it be for, and how long had it been closing about him?
“That is false, you know,” he replied, facing Belmont in the moonlight. “Gerald Saxton yours? What are you talking of? He is the son of a New York gentleman. You pretended to know his father. He is on his way with me to meet him. You cannot lay a finger on him! Captain Widgins—”
“Captain Widgins!” interrupted Belmont. “Captain Widgins knows all the whole affair just as I have given it to him. So do some other people on board this ship. Captain[112] Widgins has promised to help me whenever it’s necessary. You needn’t expect to cheat him!”
Touchtone’s heart sank. Belmont had been before him. The captain’s conduct at supper was suspicion, not kindness! Yet this man was equal to any lie that might terrify his victim. He remembered that. It gave him comfort.
“To cheat the captain? I don’t believe you have dared to!” he answered. “You can no more prove any thing of the sort than you can prove that you own this boat. I challenge you or any one else! Say what you like, do what you like, you have no business with Gerald Saxton! Do you mean to claim that he is some relation to you? that he isn’t traveling on this steamer with me, by his father’s direction? that I can’t show how it comes to be so, and where we are going? Why,” concluded Touchtone, in rising wrath38, “you will accuse me next of kidnapping him.”
“Exactly,” replied Belmont; “and that, you know, is just what you are about. Now don’t fly out so quickly again, Touchtone. It really won’t clear your ideas, and you will want[113] them clear. Come, didn’t I tell you that I wished to take you into my confidence? I’ll be as good as my word, if you’ll only keep cool. I’ll start again, with a piece of advice—give up to me like a sensible fellow. The game you’ve tried to play is in my hands. You can’t carry it on.”
“Game! I don’t know of any game, unless you’re playing it.”
“Ah, yes; that’s what you ought to say, certainly, until I make you see that it will be worth your while to change your tune39. You’re keen. But you know this is a bad business you’ve undertaken, a very bad business.”
Philip was bewildered by the man’s audacity40. To fling into his face this charge!—to utter such impudent assertions as to Gerald! Belmont went on rapidly.
“You’d better confess yourself caught. I don’t care to talk much of what you have tried to manage. But on the getting possession of that boy, for my own reasons (that I may or may not explain to you)—on that thing, I tell you, once for all, I am determined.” Here his voice had a ring like metal in it.[114] “My plan has been laid. I have consulted the proper authorities. Captain Widgins and several other gentlemen—”
“Do you suppose that they will support such a man as—”
“As they, not you, consider me,” replied Belmont. “Yes, I do. Unluckily for you, my reputation happens to differ—in various quarters. I shall have no trouble. Let me repeat it, you’ll save yourself much by quietly joining with me. I’ll tell you all that is necessary in due time, Touchtone,” he concluded, with a crowning dash of assurance, probably fancying that he had already bewildered Philip into submission41. “The sum total of the affair is, I want possession of that little boy. Don’t try to prevent me! Bring him off the boat to-morrow morning when we stop at Martha’s Vineyard. I promise you I’ll let you understand things then far more fully42 than I can to-night. I’ll fix it all right with the captain, and I’ll say we’ve squared our quarrel. Last, but not least, you will never come across a job that will be so well worth your while. I should think not; that is, if you care for money. And not a hair of the[115] boy’s head shall be hurt, for the world, in any case. Be sure of that.”
Choking with anger at having to listen to such an astounding43 proposal, but gathering44 new certainty that his adversary’s scheme must be a wonderful web of sheer rascality45, Philip did not at once open his mouth. Then he asked, “And if I refuse to act as you advise me—which I think I ought to do, unless I can see more clearly what it means for me—what then?”
Belmont caught at the tone and words.
“Why, if you refuse, I shall at once charge you with this abduction. My right to take Gerald Saxton is another matter. I may or may not go into that. The claim against you is enough. Come, boy—for you are a boy and I a man, prepared to hold his ground against a hundred like you! You shall be in irons in half an hour if you try to play the hero here. Remember, I know you.”
“And you will actually dare to bring such a charge against me here, and at this time of night?” cried Philip, vehemently46. “And you believe you can fight the plain story that Gerald and I can tell? Do your worst! I’m[116] not afraid to face it. In irons? That is talk out of a dime-novel, Mr. Belmont.”
The boy was unnerved and terribly perplexed47; but he was more sure than ever that his enemy’s scheme was hollow, even if he could not tell how far Belmont would support it.
Belmont was beginning to lose his temper because Philip so stood out against any thing like buncombe. His voice became suddenly so hoarse48 with passion that it was hard to believe that it came from the smooth-talking “Mr. Hilliard” of the express-train.
“You young rascal!” he exclaimed, above the sound of the fog-whistle, “what a fool you are making of yourself! One would think you actually were all that you have been pretending. Did Saxton commission you? How? When? Or did Marcy? Did you ever see Saxton? Do you know any thing about Saxton, except from this boy, or the hotel people? Have you so much as a single letter in your pocket to bear you out?”
This unlucky lack already had occurred to Philip. He had allowed his foe artfully to destroy the letter that indirectly49 might have[117] helped him. Still, there would be the telegraph and the mail, if necessary, before long.
“Why, I’ll knock your Saxton or Marcy rigmarole higher than a kite. I know what I am about. O, you are cool, Touchtone, but I am more than your master in this business, and I have right on my side all through.”
Right on his side? After all, how little did Philip know of the history of these Saxtons. But he reminded himself once more of the simple statements of Mr. Marcy and of Gerald, and of the cleverness of Belmont in acting50 a part. Besides, had the latter not betrayed himself with that promise to make Philip’s yielding “worth his while?”
“No,” he replied, determinedly51, “you haven’t right on your side! You are trying to frighten me! Call up the whole ship! I dare you to bring things to the point. I don’t know,” he continued, raising his head and looking up at Belmont, “how well you may have planned to get me into trouble; but I know myself and Gerald, and I can soon prove all that I shall say. Get the captain—any body! I’ll answer all questions people may ask. Shall I go inside and wait? We[118] may as well settle it now,” he added firmly, thinking again of the innocent sleeper52 in the state-room; “the only thing I have to ask is not to let him know any thing till the last minute.”
Thereupon Belmont drew in his breath with an oath. He was defied! Nevertheless, he seemed to have planned his attack strongly enough after all to hold fast by it against Philip’s straightforward53 story. Indeed, Philip even in cooler hours afterward never could decide exactly how far the man might have gone.
“As you please!” he exclaimed. “I will ask Captain Widgins and Mr. Arrowsmith, the mate, to meet us in the cabin. Stay—I give you one more choice! Make up your mind; it is your last chance. I don’t know why I think enough of the fraud you are, to wait a second longer. Will you give in and go ashore54 with the boy and me to-morrow at Martha’s Vineyard?”
Belmont may or may not have expected Philip to yield. But Philip was not called upon to utter the resolute55 “No, I will not!” that was upon his lips. Just as he opened them to speak, the awful shock and thrill of what each at once realized must be some[119] tremendous explosion, far forward on the Old Province, made them reel and catch at one another and the rail for support. The sound was dull and choked, as if it came from the very depths of the great steam-ship. She seemed to stagger like a huge living creature that has all at once been mortally wounded. She ceased to move. Then came outcries, the rushing of feet, and the roar of escaping steam, mingled56 confusedly with the desolate57 scream of the fog-whistle. The latter sounded now like a cry of sudden agony, sent forth33 into the murk and the night.
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1
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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artistically
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muggy
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| adj.闷热的；adv.（天气）闷热而潮湿地；n.（天气）闷热而潮湿 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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conspiracy
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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51
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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52
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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54
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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56
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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