Chapter XXXVII Mr. Strong makes an Effective Reappearance
This communication was as exciting as it was utterly unexpected. We entreated the skipper, as calmly as we could, to produce his work of art. He did so. It was the portrait, of course.
And we to talk of ill-luck! Why, supposing the thing to be really of any value to us, it was a stroke of the most magnificent good fortune to have found it in this way! I realised this fact as the skipper brought the ugly thing out, and—with a laugh—placed it on the table before us.
“There,” he said; “a beauty, isn’t it? If it’s by Gerard Dow, why, I don’t think much of Gerard Dow, and that’s the truth. Any offers?” he added, with another laugh.
“Ten shillings!” said Jack, laughing also. “It isn’t Gerard Dow, nor yet after him; but I collect these old Dutch daubs, and I’ll take it off your hands for a half sovereign.”
“That and a drink round,” said the skipper.
And ten minutes later we were driving in a German droshky to the station, having our newly-recovered treasure in tow.
It mattered little, now, whether we caught Strong or not. As a matter of fact he would be more of an embarrassment than anything else. What should we do with him if we caught him?
At anyrate, however, we would shadow him and see what he intended to do. If his destination should prove to be England, then matters would be different and it would be our duty to follow and arrest him.
“We can’t prove anything,” I said.
“We shall have to try,” replied Jack. “A rogue like him can’t be allowed to prowl about England free.” This was, of course, perfectly true.
“Why did the chap steal the portrait, only to chuck it away again?” I said presently, as we drove along. “Simply to annoy us, or prevent us finding the treasure, even though he daren’t go and dig for it at Streatham himself?”
“That’s the idea, I should think,” said Jack; “that if he can’t have it, you shan’t!”
Upon reaching the station we found that Mr. Strong was, at anyrate, not to be caught in Kiel. The Bremen train had left just an hour ago, with him in it. There would be another in fifty minutes.
“Gad, Peter, we are in the race, at anyrate, after all!” said Jack, with a guffaw; “if we have any luck in the trains we may catch him yet.”
“Let’s find out how long he’ll have to wait at Hamburg for the Bremen train,” I suggested.
We did so, and found to our annoyance that our train reached Hamburg just ten minutes after Strong’s was timed to leave that station for Bremen. There would be another one, however, in an hour or less, and a quicker one than his; so that we might get him at Bremen, It would depend upon what should be his next destination.
“It doesn’t much matter,” I reflected. “If we don’t catch him at Bremen we’d better just see where he’s gone to and then set off for Streatham, viâ Hanover and Flushing, as quickly as possible. Are you very keen to see him, Jack?”
“It depends,” said Jack. “I should dearly like to see him, just once more, in a dark lane and without witness or revolvers, but with a pair of football boots upon my feet. That would be very sweet indeed. At a crowded station, one might get in a little comforting language; but kicking would be out of the question, and therefore the case would not really be met. However, it would be nice just to see his face, when he sees ours, and to tell him one or two things about himself.”
So we took train for Bremen viâ Hamburg, and at this latter place we found, to our amusement, that our train, though starting after Strong’s, who had already gone on, ran into Bremen a short while before the other; ours being an express.
“Gad, Peter, this is splendid!” cried old Jack, rubbing his hands with delight.
It really was; it was splendid! Destiny was playing a strong game in our favour; there was no doubt about it.
We should thus have the ecstatic pleasure of meeting Mr. Strong upon the platform, and of observing his expression of delight upon seeing us waiting for him.
It was at some little station outside Bremen, and about five miles from that city, that we overtook Strong’s train, which, no doubt, was waiting there in order to allow the express to go by.
We did not know it was Strong’s train, of course. We discovered the fact in this way—
I was reading, Jack was looking out of the window. Suddenly he startled me with an exclamation. He was staring, all eyes, through the glass, which was closed on account of the dustiness of the German railways.
“What is it?” I inquired. I looked out, but saw nothing very startling or unusual; a train lay alongside of ours, and Jack was staring, as it appeared, into one of the carriages.
“What is it?” I repeated.
“Hush!” said Jack. “Don’t make a row, but just look in there—the compartment exactly opposite this one. Don’t speak too loud or you may awake the dear kind soul.”
I looked, and first my heart gave a great jump; then, almost immediately, I was attacked by the most violent desire to laugh aloud, and I sank back in my place and heaved about, stuffing my handkerchief into my mouth to prevent an outburst of noise therefrom.
For it was Strong himself, alone in a carriage, and fast asleep—the pretty innocent—not dreaming of the possibility of enemies at hand! Happy; at peace with all the world; slumbering upon his second-class cushions in all the guileless confidence of a weary child. It was too beautiful for words.
Almost immediately our train started with a sudden jerk, and spoiled our contemplation of the sweet picture before us. But in marring one it gave us another—a mere lightning flash of a picture, this last, certainly; but one which I would not have missed for untold sums, and the memory of which is even now a constant delight to me whenever conjured up by the wizard Imagination.
The movement of our train caused Strong to open his eyes languidly and to raise them towards the cause of his awakening.
At the same instant he caught sight of Jack’s face and then of mine, and a more sudden and startled rushing of a sleepy intelligence into full and disgusted wakefulness I have never beheld. Strong’s eyes went from languid and fishy expressionlessness into swiftly alternating phases representing surprise, disgust, rage and terror; they seemed to start from his head and to grow, visibly, to about twice their normal size. It was a noteworthy and unforgettable spectacle; it was beautiful. As we passed out of his scope of vision, we saw the fellow start from his seat as though to put his head out of the window and follow us away with his eyes.
“Did you ever see the like of that?” exclaimed Jack, subsiding into his seat and beginning to roar with laughter.
“I never did!” I concurred. “The only thing is,” I added, “the rascal will get out, now, and not come on to Bremen.”
“That doesn’t matter a bit,” said Jack; “let him; it will save us trouble; we don’t want him now, for we have the picture, which is all he took from us barring Clutterbuck’s letter, of which we each have a couple of copies, besides one apiece by heart.”
“He may come on to England after us,” I said. Jack laughed.
“I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare. This last fright would put him off even if he had contemplated it. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe he ever meant digging. He wouldn’t have given away the picture if he had, for he could scarcely have failed to suppose that it has something to do with the treasure finding, though I’m bound to say I, for one, can’t imagine what!”
“Then why did he steal it from us?” I exclaimed.
“Malice, my dear chap; pure, unadulterated malice and devilment; the rascal wouldn’t be happy unless he were playing Old Nick upon someone or other.” I daresay Jack was perfectly right.
We waited at Bremen Station, however, for the arrival of Strong’s train, in case he should be in it, and—as it happened—we should have saved ourselves both time and vexation of spirit if we had gone on and left him.
Strong was in the train. He came out as bold as brass, and showed no fear or surprise when he met us upon the platform. He even wished us good-evening, and asked us how we came to be here and not on board the Thomas Wilcox, in the middle of the North Sea.
“Well, you’re a darned cool hand, Strong, I must say!” said Jack. “What about the work of art, and the other things?”
“What work of art?” he asked, positively without a blush.
“Clutterbuck’s picture—you know quite well what we mean,” I said. “You stole it out of our cabin.”
“I never went near your blamed cabin,” he said; “you’d better prove what you say. You’re too jolly fond of accusing innocent people, you two bounders. If I had you in a quiet place I’d make you swallow all those infernal lies about me that you invented on Hogland.”
“Oh, that’s your line is it, Strong?” said Jack “You’re going to figure as the injured innocent, are you? All right, my man; you’re safe here in Germany, but don’t you show yourself in England.”
“You cannot prove anything, curse you!” cried Strong, “and you know it.”
“Very well; quite likely; at the same time, think twice before crossing the Channel; we may have a little evidence up our sleeve that you don’t know of.”
Strong uttered one of his oaths, which need not be repeated.
“You deny stealing the picture, then?” continued Jack.
“I may have it and I may not,” said Strong, too angry now to care what he said. “At anyrate, it seems you haven’t.”
“Never judge by appearances, Strong,” said Jack; “we have it, all right, such as it is. Pity to allow a work of art by G. Dow to remain in the hands of a man who can’t even recognise the beauty of it. Your friend sold the keepsake you gave him—unkind of him, wasn’t it?” Strong winced.
“You have the luck of the devil,” he snarled. “What’s your game? You can’t touch me, here; you know that. Michail took the picture; I didn’t want the infernal thing—he took it in revenge for your kicking him on the island—there! You’re welcome to it; it’s as like my darned uncle as two peas, I’m sick when I look at it. It may help you to find the treasure, though how in perdition it’s going to do it beats me. If you want my opinion, there isn’t any treasure—at least, not for you or me. The blamed old miser played a trick on us all; it’s rotting somewhere, like him; and no one’ll ever dig up the money any more than his carcass. The whole thing’s blamed, bally rot, and we’ve all been a parcel of silly idiots; that’s my opinion—take it or leave it.”
“We’ll leave it, thanks, Strong,” said Jack; “and we’ll leave you too, if you’ll excuse us. Good-night, my man; you’d better keep this side of the Channel, that’s our opinion, take or leave it.”
Strong darted a look of anger at Jack, and turned on his heel with an oath. He slunk out of the station and disappeared in the dusk outside.
We were in two minds whether to follow and keep him in sight, or let him be. But we decided to let him go, since he did not appear to have any intention of molesting us further.
So we sought out a hotel near the station and engaged a room together, for it would be just as well to double our chance of hearing Strong should he, by any chance, resolve to make another attempt to deprive us of the picture, or otherwise rob us, and somehow force an entry into the room.
As it happened, we were disturbed before we were an hour older; but not by Strong.
A very unexpected and exasperating thing happened—comical too, after a fashion, especially after the event.
We were seated over our supper in the coffee-room of our hotel, when a scared-looking waiter informed us that both the English Herren were wanted downstairs.
“By whom?” we asked in some surprise.
“By the police,” said the man; “should he invite them upstairs, or would we step below into the entrance hall?”
Jack and I looked at one another. What did this mean?
“We will come down,” said Jack; and to the great hall below we descended. Here an astonishing spectacle greeted our eyes: a group of policemen in uniform; a man in civilian garb, presumably an interpreter; and—Mr. James Strong!