Trafford had wandered about in a Heaven-forsaken way from his rooms to the club, and through the park, just missing Norman by a minute or two; possessed1 by that restlessness which insomnia2 by night and brooding over his troubles by day had superinduced. If the porter had been in when Trafford wandered into the club on the second occasion, he would have heard of Norman’s call and inquiry3 for him, and the two men would have met, explanations would have ensued, and some portion of the awful load would have been lifted from Trafford’s mind. But the porter had gone out to meet[263] the young woman to whom he was engaged, and had not transferred Norman’s message to the footman.
Trafford sat in a corner of the smoking-room moodily4 smoking for half an hour; then, as if unable to remain quiet for a longer period, got up and wandered out again. Esmeralda was never absent from his mind for a moment, and as he strode along the deserted5 paths under the trees in the park, he asked himself how he could best begin the search. An advertisement in the papers would be of no avail, even if she saw it; the private detective was not to be thought of for a moment. He did not know where to look for her—and Norman.
He went back to the club, and after smoking another cigar, he had a cab called and told the man to drive to Waterloo, half resolved to take Lilias into his confidence and seek her advice.
As he drove to the station, the cabman opened the trap-door in the roof and thrust down an evening paper.
“Like to see the paper, sir? Holocaust’s won.”
Trafford thanked the man and glanced at the paper absently. And suddenly, amongst the shipping6 advertisements, two words struck through his vacant eye upon his mind. They struck with the force of a revelation. The words were “Australia,” “Melbourne.” The thought of Three Star flashed upon him at once.
It was to Three Star, to her old friends, to the guardian7 of whom she always spoke8 so gratefully and lovingly, that Esmeralda had gone!
He cursed himself for a fool for not having thought of it before, and startled the cabby by jerking up the trap-door, and in a voice that trembled with excitement telling him to drive to the city office of the agents of the shipping company.
It was not the cabman’s business to tell his fare that the office would be closed, and Trafford did not think of the lateness of the hour until he was in front of the shut-up office. He sat and stared at it moodily for a moment or two, then he remembered that another address, at the docks, was given in the advertisement; and he told the cabman to drive there.
He felt that he could not gain much time by posting down at that time of the night; but he could not wait until the morning; he was doing something, commencing to search, at any rate.
When he arrived at the docks he was directed to the “E” side, and found a small crowd of men lingering about with that appearance of reaction which follows close upon extra[264] exertion9 and excitement. He made his way to the agent’s office and found a young man just locking up for the night. He stared at Trafford’s haggard face, and as he listened to the sharp, stern questions as to the next vessel10, at once concluded that Trafford was a criminal escaping from justice.
“If you’d been an hour and a half earlier you could have gone with the ‘Neptune,’” he said, with a smile. “She has only just left the dock. A fine vessel, too; one of our fastest.”
Trafford frowned impatiently.
“When does the next sail?” he asked.
“Thursday morning,” replied the clerk. As he spoke he turned over the passenger’s list mechanically.
“No, you wouldn’t have been able to go by the ‘Neptune,’ though, for she was full up. Her last two berths12 were taken this afternoon.”
“Is there none before Thursday?” asked Trafford, wearily.
“Not from here. The Blue Ball liner leaves Liverpool to-morrow,” said the clerk, reluctantly—his company was the White Ball. “You might catch her; but she’s not a particularly good ship, and not fast; nothing to be compared to ours.”
Trafford leaned against the desk; he was feeling the sinking, exhausted13 sensation which comes from want of food, too many cigars, and much mental travail14, and the clerk eyed him almost sympathetically.
“Pity you weren’t here in the afternoon and secured one of those berths before the gentleman who took them. He’s a lord, I see—Lord Norman Druce.”
Trafford started and gazed at the man fiercely.
“What name did you say?” he demanded so sternly that the young fellow drew back as if he expected a blow.
“There’s the entry; you can see for yourself, sir,” he said, rather sullenly15, and pointing to the book. Trafford looked at it, and for a moment could see nothing; then he read the line, “Lord Norman Druce, two berths. Nos. 128, 129. Paid.”
The blood surged to his face, and he gripped the edge of the desk.
The young man altered his opinion of the gentleman’s character.
“Did—was Lord Druce alone? Was he accompanied by a lady?” Trafford asked in a thick voice.
“Can’t say, sir,” replied the clerk. “The berths were[265] booked with the agent himself. I only came on for the nightwork, and didn’t see the gentleman.”
“Is—is there any one here who did?” asked Trafford. The clerk considered for a moment.
“I’ll go and see; one of the porters or the dock-man might have noticed. Just wait a moment, sir.”
He was gone five minutes, which seemed five years to Trafford, who could not remove his eyes from the significant entry.
“I can’t find out for certain, sir,” said the clerk, upon his return. “There’s always such confusion in starting; but one of our men says he saw a gentleman, a tall, fair man, talking with a lady in the saloon deck, and he fancies they went aboard together; but he couldn’t swear to it.”
Trafford wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Thank you,” he said, as steadily16 as he could. “I have given you a great deal of trouble. One more question. Could I catch that vessel that sails from Liverpool to-morrow?”
The clerk glanced at the office clock.
“Well—you could,” he said, succinctly17.
Trafford thanked him again and went out to the cab. He reeled slightly as the cool air met his face, and he passed his hand over his eyes. There was no doubt now. Since seeing Lady Wyndover he had permitted himself now and again to hope; but there was no doubt now. Norman and Esmeralda had gone back to Three Star, where they had met and learned to love each other.
He stood looking at the cab, his brain whirling. Common sense said: “Let them go; apply for a divorce; forget her.” But he was not in the mood to listen to common sense. He wanted—thirsted—to find them, to confront Norman, to exact the vengeance18 due to him. The blood was coursing through his veins19 like fire. “Follow them—follow them!” something seemed to whisper, to shout, in his ear.
He got into the cab and told the man to drive to Euston—and fast. The man looked at him curiously20.
“Anywhere after that, sir?” he asked. “’Cause I’d get another horse or borrow a steam fire-engine.”
Trafford found that a train started for Liverpool in little more than half an hour, and having dismissed the cab, and filled the cabman with delight by the liberality of his fare, he paced up and down the platform, consumed with a burning impatience21. He thought of Lilias once or twice, but the telegraph offices were closed, and the thought was only transient;[266] his whole being was absorbed in the pursuit which had begun. At the last moment he got a whisky and soda22 and tried to eat a biscuit, but the well-known and detested23 station comestible seemed more sawdust than usual, and he dropped it in disgust.
When he reached Liverpool he drove straight to the docks, and found, with a kind of sardonic24 joy, that he could get a berth11 on board the “Trident,” and that she sailed early in the forenoon. He booked the berth in one of his numerous and seldom-used names, sent a telegram to Lilias and Lady Wyndover saying that he would write, and having purchased an outfit25, went on board.
As the ship left her moorings, he stood looking down the river toward the sea—unlike the other passengers who looked, some tearfully, toward the shore they were leaving—stood and gazed with hot eyes and clinched26 teeth. In his mind he spanned the six weeks—the six dreary27 weeks which must elapse before he came up with the fugitives28, and in fancy he already stood face to face with Norman, the friend who had betrayed and dishonored him.
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1
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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2
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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3
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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4
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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5
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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6
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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7
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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8
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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9
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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10
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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11
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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12
berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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13
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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14
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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19
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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26
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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