My sudden interruption might have been fatal, for Dirk in his surprise loosened his hold, and his antagonist nearly slipped free, and stooping had his fingers within an inch of the fallen knife. But Dirk recovered in time; and now that his enemy's sting had been drawn he crushed him tight in his tremendous arms, and had leisure holding him so to question my strange conduct; for I was still dancing madly about him, a naked figure save for my belt, crying, "Let him go! Let me kill him!"
"Steady, lad," said Dirk slowly, while the little fellow in his arms writhed unavailingly, darting from his eyes such a fury of malignant passion that his very gaze seemed poisonous. And I looking upon him recognized that evil face I had three times seen.
"He killed my father," I cried to Dirk.
"Can't fathom that, kid," said Dirk. "It's the King's Man."
"But I know," I shouted. "I saw the marks on his hand."
"I too," said Dirk. But I knew he was referring to the mark of the fire. Still excitedly urging Dirk to let me have the killing of the fellow I yet had space in my mind for the thought that I knew now where the mark of the fire had come from. It was from that night in the blazing hut where my father had burnt his hand. Evidently the old witch hadn't crawled free without a trace of the flames. All that part of the story was instantaneously clear to me. The fellow had betrayed the smugglers, as my father had said, so as to cast suspicion on him; and had laid a snare for him by informing the smugglers that they would know their betrayer by the mark of the fire on his hand. But the sign that was to have betrayed my father had merely served to lead his enemy into his own trap.
All this was a mere flash of thought. I didn't cease crying to Dirk, "I tell you; look at his right hand; inside. There's the marks of the nails."
Dirk pressed at the clenched fist, and slowly the fingers opened, revealing those two jagged tell-tale scars. I opened out my own hand beside that of my enemy's for Dirk to see, for he knew the story of that chase across the sands.
"Yus," he said at length, "you're right, kiddy. It's the same cove we've been after all the time. But I dessay you'd better let me have the settling of him."
"No, no," I cried, for my thirst for vengeance, so easily allayed, was whipped into a madness at the actual sight of my father's murderer.
Dirk still delayed, gripping the fellow in his huge embrace, while I continued to cry, "Let me, Dirk, let me. I can fight him. I'll kill him."
All this while the look in the man's eyes was altogether incomprehensible. For Dirk he had nothing but the evillest hatred I had ever seen on any face; yet for me he had a look almost of tenderness. But his countenance was so shifting in its expression that it wasn't the same for half a minute together. In my frenzy I noticed little of this at the time, except that it seemed to me that he felt some kind of wicked gratitude for my appeal to Dirk to spare him so that I might settle my own account of blood. I guessed he spied a loophole of safety, as he would only have a boy to fight. This imagined slight which I sensed in his contempt for me angered me the more, till I fevered for his blood.
Eventually my clamouring prevailed upon Dirk, though I could see he was unwilling to let me risk myself in fight against the fellow. But as he said, "You've more to pay than I have, Tommy. You have first claim."
I picked up the man's knife and springing back as Dirk released him tossed it to him. He caught it by the handle in true fashion. Then naked as I was I faced him, and we circled round one another with eyes fixed blazingly to each other's eyes. Dirk stood aside, but ready to leap in if the fellow showed signs of attempting to escape. And indeed I think that was his purpose. For at first he didn't try to aim a blow at me; and once I saw his eyes turn for the fraction of a second to where the cliff dropped sheer from his feet. I believe he would have plunged and swum for it, but I drove in swiftly and gashed him down the arm. I heard Dirk's "Bravo!" but I knew I had done foolishly to wound and not to kill, for the fellow's anger was sharpened, and I saw the glow of hate in his eyes flash on me for a second as I had seen it burn against Dirk. Moreover, he began to press me, and I had to give ground. Twice he lunged in, but I caught his wrist in time and sprang away. And in my turn I feinted and struck, but he was too quick for me. I began to feel he was a master of knife-work such as I had never seen before. My father had been quick in our mock battles, and Dirk had shown me something of what could be done in agility and parrying and swift counterfeit. But this lithe, swarthy creature, who circled stealthily about me and sprang in and away with the lightness of a cat, was far nimbler and subtler than either Dirk or my father. I found myself breathing heavily as he leapt in and closed with me, and bounded back and in again before I had well recovered from the first assault. He kept me dancing to right and left and backwards and forwards without a moment's pause, till the upshot of the fight became at first sadly uncertain and then terribly sure. I knew that sooner or later he must slip past my guard; and since that first mistake of his I hadn't once touched him. Gradually I lost the power of reasoning the situation. At first I had been alert enough, judging for the spring in, watching for the attack; but now I found myself mechanically dodging and parrying, till at last I wondered what possessed him not to drive in and settle the unequal combat. He seemed to be merely playing with me, for I knew that my life was in his hands. Was he afraid of Dirk's vengeance if he should kill me? And then dully the thought came to me that he was waiting for the double chance, at one moment to strike and to escape. That meant he must drive me to the edge of the platform, where with a blow he might finish me and leap into the pool below. But I was determined to thwart him. I steered away to the rise of the cliff, but immediately he wedged me away from it, and I knew my surmise was correct. I felt desperate. Gradually he was forcing me to the edge, and I knew that once there he wouldn't delay the fatal stroke. Then with the fear of death upon me I suddenly grew strong again, calm even. I remembered Jenny, and said I would not die. I knew just what I would do. I gave ground, and he came stepping after me, his eyes glowing with assurance of victory; then trusting to his confidence to slacken his caution, and even quivering my lip in a semblance of fear, I leapt in, and pretending to stumble dropped my knife as he gripped my wrist, but catching it in my left hand struck sideways as Dirk had taught me, and felt my blade jab at his ribs as it sank into his breast.
For a moment I thought my end had come. His knife was brandished high over my head, and I had no hand free to stay the impending blow. But the arm above me faltered and fell limp. The knife slipped and rattled to my feet. It bounced on the rock, rolled, and fell away over the edge to splash far down beneath me in the water.
The man collapsed, a huddled bundle. But as he fell he rested his eyes on mine in such a piteous and reproachful look that I started back half conscience-stricken at my deed, and with all the hate ebbed out of my heart.
So he lay, and with one ugly choke of blood was dead.
Dirk stepped up and slapped me on the back, and said, "Wull, you've robbed me of my vengeance, kiddy. I wish to God he had another life. He wouldn't slip out of it with a little prick like this." And he spurned the blood-soaked corpse with his foot.
"Don't, Dirk, don't!" I cried in horror. He stepped back looking amazedly at me, and saying, "Wull, strike me, Tommy! What's the game now, eh? Aren't you satisfied?" Then I think seeing the agony in my face he added, "Come Tommy, you've played fair. Thank the Almighty for staking on your side, an' me for teaching you the trick, an' yourself for learning it all so pat an' neat." But his words were lost on me; for I was gazing on the dead man's face, where death was busy smoothing out the evil lines of hate, till the lips grew gentle and the glazing eyes almost merry as though the fellow were amused at the contemplation of some hidden irony underlying the tragedy.
Dirk was repeating, "It wasn't the prick of a knife he'd a got from me. Six hours. Six hours!..." I knew of what he was thinking, and dimly realized that although his blood was upon my hands I had saved the poor wretch from a terrible fate.
And then I gave a cry, and stooped over the body, gazing deep into the eyes; for the face was the face of Picardino.
Picardino! And then, of course, I could read so many things clearly which before had been covered in shadow. It was Picardino who had set fire to the Snow Man. It was Dirk who had been on his track and had frightened him in the night when my father had returned and whistled to me. It was Picardino who had seen my father rush into the burning building, and had heard my cry of "Daddy, dad-dee!" as I ran up through the crowd. He had kept the scene in his memory and had planned the ruse that had trapped my father at last. It was Picardino too who had drawn both Dirk and Worthing to Naples. It wasn't luck merely that had brought about the fatal error. For it was outside Picardino's lodging that Worthing's uncle had been waiting for his quarry, and had found me instead. And yet I couldn't help the thought that it was Picardino who would have sheltered me after he had killed my father, and who had brought me Jenny's message, so that in my gratitude I had even embraced him. My father he had hated to the death, but me he had loved; of that I felt certain. Perhaps that was why he had been so unwilling to strike. Perhaps even at the end it had paralysed the blow which might so easily have fallen on my unprotected heart. Picardino!
I gazed at him in a mist of sadness and wonder, till the face seemed to change again. Indeed in life as he had gazed from Dirk to me I had noticed its shifting mobility of expression, and in death it seemed to be settling back through all its stages from the hate that had last inspired it to whatever might have been its ruling emotion in life. Now the amusement was yielding to a calm and serene content. And of a sudden it was no longer the face of Picardino, but the face of Abou that stared up at me. In spite of all absence of that mighty beard which had veiled the living Abou, I knew him now as he lay dead. Dimly I remembered how Dirk had said that the fellow had more shapes than a cloud and more voices than the wind.
Abou! And now the shadow lifted further. The whole mystery lay bare to me, except indeed the motive which had driven him to kill my father. For now I knew how it was that Dirk had made that mistake at Sunset Towers. It was Abou he had been stalking that night. It was Abou who had been crouched in the darkness of the archway beside me. It was Abou who in the person of Picardino had told of the haunted house, hoping that my father would be led into the trap, thinking the mysterious mansion a good hiding-place. It might even have been Abou who impersonated the landlord; and it was certainly he who knew the secret of the passage, and whose reflection in the mirror I had fired at that night. It was Abou, too, who had deceived even Jenny, when as Picardino he had promised to find me and deliver her message. It was Abou who had taken the manuscript to Sunset Towers where Worthing or his uncle had found it. Indeed it must have been one of them I had heard that evening in Jenny's room. Worthing must have guessed something of the bond that united the Captain's story with my father's, and with the clue I had given him of the opening of the secret passage he had been able to search for the connecting link at Sunset Towers. Either he or his uncle; which, I should never know. But the card with the Captain's address had been discovered, and so they had been able to trace Abou in London. And lastly I remembered it was Abou who had asked to be sent back to his own people, because of the persecution of Dirk, I assumed; and it was in pursuit of him that we had sailed away to the East. But in his amazing intuition he had felt his master needed him again, and he had turned back on his journey; and it was his trail we had followed to such a tragic end at Naples. Yes, it was all quite clear except for the motive. Again I told myself that Abou loved me, though he had hated my father. It was he who had been the go-between when Jenny and I had quarrelled; it was he who had smoothed over the angry passages by his calm voice and gentle manner. And I had killed him! Yet it was some consolation to know that at least I had saved him from a death far more horrible than the one I had dealt him. Abou! Picardino! They had both loved me, and I could have loved them well, had not this thwart and evil destiny set us as enemies against each other.
How long I would have stayed there linking up the story, I don't know. I suppose Dirk stood silently by in deference to my obvious grief at the work of my hands; and perhaps something of the strange transformation in the face of the dead man held him, too, in a wonder of conjecture. But at last his patience was exhausted. Supposing, as I imagine, that a strong command was what was needed to put backbone into my collapsed will, he said sharply, "You put on that gear of yours, and tramp. I know the best hole for this." He nodded down at the corpse, and jerked his thumb at the pool below. I knew he meant to hide the body in Drift-Wood Cavern, and the knowledge hurt me.
"No," I cried.
He faced me sternly, and I hung my head. Indeed I knew there was no other way unless I wished to swing. So I began mechanically pulling on my clothes, while Dirk shouldered the dead man and set off down the cliff.
When I was dressed I wiped my knife in the earth. Drawing my various weapons, my pistol, my stiletto, and the knife I had just cleaned, I looked mournfully at them, knowing full well how I delighted in them, yet hating the use to which I had so far put them. I stuffed them back into my belt in disgust, and climbed up the cliff to the Dolphin.
I walked slowly, though I was famishing with hunger, and felt the need of a stiff glass of spirits. My mind was in a tumult, still questioning the dark affair. The course of things was clear; but the motive? Abou, I said, was merely his master's shadow. Somehow I knew that what he had done must have been for the Captain, not for himself. For the Captain he had changed from a suave and gracious minister of comfort to the semblance of that hateful old witch, and had ruthlessly sacrificed, not my father only, but the unoffending smugglers, in his zeal to serve his master. Well, he had expiated his sacrifice and his sin. And yet what had the Captain to do with it? Why had he set Abou to kill my father? And how would it affect my love for Jenny? Now not only was Worthing's blood between us, but my father's blood as well. What was my part to be? Must I take another step forward, wade deeper into the river of blood, and kill the Captain? But that I knew I could never do. Yet why had he killed my father?
It was a sudden illumination that gave me the last link I needed. I remembered the story I had deciphered in the tunnel under the earth only an hour ago. An hour ago? It seemed an age! I remembered, too, the tale Worthing's uncle had told me that night beneath the stars: the tale of the Captain and his brothers. Captain Field--Commander Meadows! The disguise was so ludicrously thin that I even laughed aloud when the two names met and mingled in my mind. In that cave of accursed gold was buried the Captain's deadly secret, the secret that had tortured him through life, the secret of his murdered comrades, of his murdered brother. He dared not let another meddle with the thing. The thought of prying eyes in that dark place of crime and death was like a madness in his blood; a madness I could well conceive, for I had heard my father tell so often the story of the Mad Captain, and among his papers was that other yarn which told of the ruthless hunting of the treasure-seeker by one who had no cause to hate him except that he feared the exposing of the secret that had poisoned all his life. Had my father guessed the motive of his relentless persecution, I asked myself; or was it but a fancy that had made him write that yarn? That was something I would never know.
My thoughts were in a strange tangle when I arrived at the Dolphin, and even my emotions were clashing conflictingly in my soul. On the one hand I saw the cruel and useless murder of my father as a thing crying for revenge. But again so steeped with repetition had I been in the agonies of the Mad Captain that I felt he couldn't have done otherwise than he did. The anguish in his soul had goaded him on to a cruelty he hadn't contemplated. Perhaps even some cause I didn't know had made him commit that first dreadful crime of imprisoning his comrades in the cave and leaving them there to perish so miserably. Again I thought how strange it was that history had repeated itself. The first crime the priest had told of was the same as the last I had read that day. The circle was complete, as though the curse had worked itself to a consummation; and I was determined that it should end now once for all. I would burn all traces of the clue to the treasure cave. I wouldn't touch a penny of the evil gold if it should come my way. And come my way I thought it might, as I knew the Captain was fond of me. And puzzling out his fondness I thought at first it was merely that he had been desirous to make amends; but later I felt sure he had come to like me for my own sake. Well, what my course was to be I couldn't say. Was a further expiation required? If so, I vowed some other hand than mine should strike the blow.
At that I thought of Worthing who would have uncompromisingly declared that blood must atone for blood. Was that the reason, I asked myself, why my father's murder had sunk into insignificance with him? Had he come on the trail of a greater crime? Was it for that he had hunted down Abou, as he thought, promising him life if he would tell the secret of the entrance? It wasn't gold he was after; that I felt sure of. Was it justice?
With these questions tumultuously buzzing in my mind I reached the Dolphin, wearily climbed the stairs, and opened the door of my room. Facing me as I entered was the Captain himself. Without realizing what I was doing I exclaimed:
"Commander Meadows!" In a frightened whisper I added, "Of the Tiger."
