Cursed Be the Treasure 12Part II · The Way of a Friend
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Cursed Be the Treasure 12
Part II · The Way of a Friend
DrakeEnglish
I soon found that life had changed for me. I was under an authority now, rigorous and uncompromising, which didn't seem to understand in the least the natural instincts for freedom and self-expression of a half-wild boy like me. Already before the new term opened I had had two days' experience of the school cells, where I was shut up in solitude and darkness for some offence against the regulations, which I suppose was serious enough to the minds of the pedants who imprisoned me, but which to me seemed merely the natural corollary of my whole upbringing. And of course I was soon dispossessed of my knife; but learning caution I managed to keep my pistol safely hidden. It was Staggers who robbed me of my knife, for he remembered it from of old; and it was he too who brought me my stale crust and mug of water, three times a day while I was in the cells.
I wasn't in very good spirits when Worthing returned, but his steady companionship soon restored me to something of my usual cheerfulness. I clung to him for a while with a sort of yearning affection because of the loneliness of my heart now that my father had left me and this strange narrow life had closed about me like a prison wall. And yet our friendship wasn't all milk and honey. For Worthing, with a passion I suppose of setting me in the right path as he conceived it, lectured me and scolded me, sometimes stinging me to the soul with his cold rebukes, till at times I broke from him impatiently, and in desperation turned to the wilder of my companions where I was sure to find an appreciative welcome. And then would follow some escapade, the more daring and risky share of it always falling to my lot, which would lead to a further encounter with authority and the inevitable flogging, and perhaps another day or two in the cells. And at these times Worthing stood silently by with no look of compassion; nor in my confinement did he attempt to break through to bring me any comfort, as I knew I should have done were he in my case. And when I was released he had such an air of passing it all over, as though I had committed some personal offence against himself which he had forgiven, that it was difficult sometimes not to upbraid him for his callous indifference.
Once I remember he turned on me with a passion not usual with him, and said, "I suppose when you've made an unmitigated ass of yourself you want me to weep over you and stroke you and pet you like a baby! I tell you if you think that's what it means to be a friend, you'd better find some one else; that's all."
"Why, Worthing!" I exclaimed, trying to appease him; for he seemed almost on the verge of tears; an unprecedented thing, the mere possibility of which dismayed me.
"Look here, Tommy," he cried, "let's thrash this thing out once for all. If you think it doesn't hurt me to see you--to see you--"
"Flogged," I said, helping him out.
"Well, you said it," he cried, "I didn't," as though the mere mention of such a commonplace event were something terrible to him. He went on, still in the strange excited way which I couldn't understand: "If you think it doesn't hurt me; if you think I like it," he emphasized the word almost spitefully, "then you're just one of those blind shallow fools who think every emotion must be written large across the face. In my profession, Tommy, the face is a mask, not an index."
I could have laughed at the fine sense of self-importance which rang through the remark, but I only took his arm affectionately, and would have said something to mollify him, but he shook me off with, "I haven't finished yet," and continued: "I want you to understand me, Tommy; that's all. I tell you I think you a silly little fool the way you're going on; and just because you're my friend I can't think you're any better than you are. Also I can't help being fond of you; and that's what makes it so infernally hard for me to look on and see you behaving as you do. But if my friendship's to be worth anything at all, it won't be by pandering to your folly. That would simply make it a fawning piece of flattery which would do you more harm than good. And now you know."
He flung away from me, and left me gazing after him in amazement; for usually he was so reserved, so controlled, that I couldn't understand this uncustomary passion. His eyes were moist as he turned away, and his whole face quivering. But when we next met he was the same severe little figure as before, neat, commanding, uncompromising; but I thought I could feel beneath the mask something human stirring there in the shadow.
I was constantly suffering from remorse of conscience for some unkindness to my friend; for on the one hand my vanity was stirred by the evident admiration which my daring aroused among my fellows, and on the other hand I was constantly meeting with some stiff rebuke from Worthing, usually in the flush of success after some adventure; and the result was that my tongue too often proved a traitor to my real affection for him. I did my best to make it up by extra confidences as tokens of my repentance. Whether I overstepped the mark of prudence I don't know; but in any case if at times I thought I had done so, I felt reassured by my knowledge of his secrecy and reserve; a confidence to him was a sacred thing. And so it was that he learnt of my dealings with the smugglers, for I thought they had no concern with the central secret of my father's life, whatever that might be. But I didn't mention Drift-Wood Cavern, though I told all I knew of Ebb-Tide Cave and the Smugglers' Tunnel, for these were open secrets now and lay exposed to all. Also I remember I confided to him how my father always took me to the Dolphin for the summer. And as the spring was very near now, if indeed it wasn't already with us, I said my father would surely reappear some day and take me away.
But to all my confidences Worthing returned but little. He rather sniffed at my talk of smugglers. They were creatures outside the law; his natural enemies. All he told me was that he would soon be going to his uncle in London to study law. His father lived in York, but there was no opening in the provinces, Worthing informed me in his grown-up manner, for a fellow with real brains.
We paid several visits to Sunset Towers; for though my father was away, I thought it was only for a while, and I still looked upon the house as my own, and without scruple used to take what chums I chose for a scramble and a game there. But I was wise enough to keep my own counsel about the ghost and the skeleton. I didn't even tell Worthing of the strange visitation which had sent my father fleeing from the place. But we were both very much concerned to find the secret passage where I had lost my way and had gripped the skeleton by the hand. Again and again we came to the corner where Worthing had found me, but the wall continued to confront us, grim and unyielding, refusing to give up its secret.
I remember how I admired the business-like way in which Worthing set about his investigations. For my part, I gave the reins to my imagination. If a place seemed shadowy and mysterious I promptly concluded that it hid some secret door or stairway; but Worthing would point out how impossible that was by the mere configuration of the building. For he took careful measurements and made elaborate plans, till after some weeks every known corner of the huge straggling house lay clearly in its right place and proportion. And then it was obvious where the mystery was concealed by the spaces that lay blank and unexplored though according to the plan built in. In fact we could almost trace the path of the passage we were in search of; and that to me explained the mystery of that last night which my father and I had spent there. For the passage wound away from the corner where Worthing had found me, though of course on the other side of the wall, up a flight of stairs, into a chamber high up in the roof, and then down again by a twisting stairway, it must have been, by the side of the great chimney in our bedroom. And there it ended.
It wasn't long before we were examining the oak wardrobe; though still I said nothing of the ghost that had appeared there.
It was most tantalizing to know so much, yet to be baffled by a secret of the entrance. For tap and shake and scrutinize as we would, we learnt nothing. The wall remained stolidly dumb, and the wardrobe was firm and sound except for one worm-eaten panel in the side against the chimney. But though this looked suspicious, yet it gave no clue to the quest we were on.
Once I suggested knocking a hole through the wall; but Worthing pointed out that that would destroy the secrecy of the thing. So we persisted in our investigations whenever we were able to slip away for an afternoon.
There was one curious thing that puzzled us. We knew there was a hidden room high up in the house, and we knew where it was, though of course we couldn't reach it. But as far as we could see there was no window to it. Worthing suggested there must be a window somewhere in the roof, so one day we climbed up to search for it. And there we found that by clever planning and building the room still guarded its secret, except for the over-curious who were willing to risk a fall which would mean a broken neck for sure. For we discovered that the great chimney-stack above the bedroom my father and I had used was much larger than necessity warranted, and was supplied along one side with a complete row of false pots. It was built almost foursquare, and it didn't need much astuteness to surmise that if we could only scale it we should find enclosed between its walls the window we were seeking. But it was too high to scale. However, having pushed our examination so far we weren't to be turned back merely by a risk; so we determined next time to bring ropes and grappling hooks, and climb the barrier.
Even Worthing couldn't quite conceal his excitement as we set forth one Saturday well equipped for the last phase, as we hoped it would be, of our search. Indeed, if anything could move my self-possessed friend to any show of excitement it was to feel himself on the clue of some mystery. And I suppose it was this lawyer's instinct precociously developed in him which always made him side with authority against rebellion.
But we were to be sadly disappointed; for arriving at the house we were met by the ferrety little landlord who soon packed us about our business, having first eloquently expressed his opinion of prowling urchins, not to mention house-breakers and thieves, and threatening to let them know at the school of our goings-on. Worthing looked at me amazed, and I turned to the landlord with, "But this is my father's house!" Evidently this was an unfortunate speech, for he burst out at me with a tirade which I couldn't quite follow, but the drift of it seemed to be that my father had quitted the place most unjustifiably. The sore point, I guessed, was that it was no easy matter to find a tenant, and so he bore a grudge against my father for having remained so short a time.
We turned away, for my part feeling very disconsolate, especially as now my fears seemed confirmed that my father had really left me, and hadn't merely vanished for a season. Worthing was very quiet, and I didn't break into his silence, for my mind was filled with doubt and concern for my father; and the new light thrown on his disappearance sent a sudden pain of longing to my heart. I felt very lonely and deserted, and I knew that above all things I wanted to see my father again. But spring was well advanced, and I told myself the summer would bring him. And as we walked back to the school I looked this way and that wondering if he were already lurking near at hand, waiting for a chance to speak with me. I listened, thinking at times I could hear a faint whistling from far away, but all the while I knew it was merely my own fancy shaping the sound. Still I assured myself he would be wanting me soon; and there would come a sign. Though what the sign would be I couldn't imagine. I only knew that I must be continually on the alert to catch what slightest hint he would send me, be it ever so subtle or obscure. If he wanted me I mustn't fail him; I must keep my wits bright and ready for the signal that would come.
But no signal came that day; and my thoughts were suddenly whipped back to the present and the actual by Worthing saying bitterly, "So that's what you've been making of me!"
I didn't understand, and said so; realizing as I turned to look concernedly into his face that he was white with anger.
"House-breaker! That's it!" he exclaimed.
"Why, Worthing!" I cried, not knowing what to say.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked fiercely.
"Tell you?"
"That your father had gone."
"Why, I didn't know."
"Didn't know?"
"Honestly I didn't know. I thought he was coming back."
"Oh, well, then," was all he replied as we entered the gates.
But I could understand something of what his feelings must be. He to be ranked among the law-breakers!
My conscience was made of different stuff, and for me the search had by no means ended.
