Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks - Bracebridge Hemyng (10 ebook reader .txt) 📗

the housekeeper, in reply to Deering's inquiry, "and I haven't any news of him since goodness knows when."

"You don't mean that?" said Deering, aghast.

"Indeed, but I do, and I hope that you're not going to misbelieve me like that Captain Robinson, that calls here every——"

"What?" ejaculated Deering. "Avast there. Captain Robinson, did you say?"

"Yes."

"Do you know him?"

"I can't very well be off knowing him, seeing as he's here about twice a day, and I know he never wished my poor master no good."

"What makes you think that?" asked Joe Deering.

"Master used always to try to avoid seeing him, poor old gentleman," replied the housekeeper.

"Why do you call him 'poor old gentleman?'"

"Because I know he suffered dreadfully, and I think he was worried by that Robinson into doing something dreadful."

"How dreadful?"

Joe Deering's curiosity was excited now by the housekeeper's manner, and he pressed her for further information.

"That Captain Robinson worrited him to a skeleton, sir," she answered; "he was always here nag, nag, nagging night and day. At last my poor master bolted, sir."

"Bolted!"

"Ran away."

"Where to?"

"I don't know; but he bolted from here, and from Captain Robinson."

"But Mr. Murray was surely not in fear of Captain Robinson?"

"Indeed, he was. Captain Robinson knew something about my poor master that oughtn't to be known, so it was said, and he was always trying to force Mr. Murray to give him money."

"The deuce he was!" said Captain Deering. "This throws a new light on the scoundrel and his cursed good-natured-looking figure-head."

"A deceitful beast!" said the housekeeper, warmly. "You would have thought that he couldn't hurt a worm to look at him, and yet I do believe that he's drove poor Mr. Murray to make away with himself."

"You don't think that?"

"What else can I think? He hasn't been seen or heard or for months and months. But if I wasn't so heavy at heart over that, sir, I could laugh for joy to see that beast of a Captain Robinson's disappointment every time he comes."

"So he comes often?" said Joe Deering, eagerly.

"Every day; sometimes twice a day," was the reply.

Deering thought this information over quietly.

"Would you like to serve him out?" he asked presently.

"Who?"

"Captain Robinson," responded Deering.

"That I should, indeed," said the housekeeper, eagerly; "only show me how to do it."

"I will."

Joe Deering did.

He made himself known to the woman, and convinced her that he had ample reason for wishing to repay the grudge.

And they plotted together to wreak a well-merited vengeance upon that falsely jovial Captain Robinson.

The nature of that vengeance you will learn if you have patience to wait till the next chapter.

CHAPTER XCIX.

HOW CAPTAIN ROBINSON CAME TO APPLY HIS LEECH AGAIN—WHAT CAME OF IT—THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD—A FEARSOME SIGHT—THE TRAITOR'S TERROR—JOE DEERING WIPES OFF AN OLD SCORE.

Captain Robinson was more jovial than ever.

His honest-looking, ruddy face was beaming with smiles, and he appeared as hearty as the most honest, upright and plain-sailing fellow in the world.

Captain Robinson was like most sailors in one respect; he was remarkably superstitious.

Instinctive presage of good luck to-day put him in rare spirits, as he made his customary call.

"I feel as if I was going to land him to-day," muttered the jovial captain to himself.

And his face was actually beaming with smiles, as his hand rested on the knocker.

"Oh, good, morning, Mrs. Wilmot," he said, heartily; "how are you this bright morning, Mrs. Wilmot?"

"Better, thank you, Captain Robinson," returned the housekeeper, giving him an odd glance.

"That's hearty. Why, you are looking more yourself."

"Better in health, because better in spirits," said the housekeeper, insidiously.

The captain pricked up his ears at this.

"Any better news by chance, Mrs. Wilmot?" said he.

"Ah, that there is indeed," said she.

"About the master?" asked he.

"That's it," said she.

"You don't mean to say that he's coming home again?"

"I don't mean to say that he's coming," said the housekeeper, with wondrous significance.

"Why, whatever are you driving at?" he said.

"I'm not a-driving at nothing, Captain Robinson—leastways, not that I am aware of. All I know is, that Mr. Murray ain't likely to be coming home, for he ain't in a position to come home, seeing as——"

She paused.

"What?"

"Guess what."

"Hang it all, I can't."

"You must."

She laughed outright, and clapped her hands in regular kitten-like joy.

"What on earth do you mean, Mrs. Wilmot? I hate such palavering and beating about the bush. If he's coming home, say so; if he ain't coming home, tell me where I can see him, or where he's hiding."

"Why, he can't be coming home when——"

Here she stopped short in the most aggravating manner in the world.

The jovial captain grew black and threatening.

He was just going to burst out into a noisy fit of abusive language, when she stopped him short with a remark which quite startled him.

"There, there, what an impatient man you are, surely, Captain Robinson. Go up stairs and see for yourself why he ain't coming home."

The captain could only infer one thing from her words.

Murray was back.

Yes, he was not coming home, because he had already come.

This explained the housekeeper's joyous spirits, which seemed to bubble over in her.

"She's a nice old gal," said Robinson to himself, as he mounted the stairs, "and I'll stand her a trifle after I have applied my leech to her master again. Ha, ha, ha!"

The jovial captain laughed at the quaint conceit.

He rarely enjoyed the prospect of once more gloating over the miserable Murray writhing under the moral pressure.

"I'll make him bleed handsome for keeping away so long," thought this jovial mariner. "I wonder how he'll enjoy the leech after such a long while?"

His hand rested upon the handle of the door.

What a startler it would be for Mr. Murray.

"I'll knock," thought the jovial Captain Robinson; "he'll think it's Mother Wilmot again. Such larks!"

He knocked.

"Come in."

How changed the voice sounded.

"He's caught cold," thought the practical joker.

He opened the door.

Closed it carefully behind him to guard against intrusion.

Then he turn and faced—Joe Deering!

Jovial Captain Robinson stood aghast.

The sight of his old friend literally petrified him.

Deering stood facing the jovial scoundrel, his hands leaning on the table.

Not a muscle of his face moved.

A cold, settled expression was in his eyes.

So fixed, so steady, that they might have been set in the head of a dead man.

The jovial Robinson was tongue-tied for a time.

"Joe!"

This monosyllable he faltered after a long while, and after a very big effort.

But Joe Deering said never a word in reply, nor did he move a muscle.

"Joe."

Deering stared at him with the same fixed, glassy eyes, until Jovial Captain Robinson had a hideous idea flash across him.

Was it really a living man there?

He fastened a fixed, fascinating look upon the figure of the friend he had so villainously betrayed, and retreating a step, groped about behind him, for the handle of the door.

At last he got hold of it, and turned it.

"Stop!"

Deering had spoken, and with a jerk the jovial Captain Robinson turned round.

"Joe!" he gasped, again, "did you speak?"

Now Joe Deering saw by the traitor's pallid cheeks, and frightened look, what was passing in his mind.

So he was at no pains to destroy the illusion.

"I did. Your ears did not deceive you."

"I thought not," faltered Captain Robinson, plucking up in a faint degree, however.

"You marvel to see the ocean give up its dead," began Joe Deering, in a hollow voice.

Jovial Captain Robinson sank against the door for support, while a delicate green tint spread itself over his face.

We have said that he was a superstitious man.

This huge lump of humanity—nay, rather of inhumanity—was worse than a schoolgirl in point of courage.

The very word ghost frightened him, if he saw it in print.

He was sure that Joe Deering was dead.

Certain was he that Joe Deering had been decoyed into that floating coffin, and sent to a watery grave by himself.

Here then was the betrayed man's ghost come to reproach him with his crime.

The strong man turned heart-sick, and was like to faint.

Joe Deering looked at the fear-stricken traitor in silence.

He enjoyed his terror keenly indeed.

No feeling of pity at the abject terror of the wretched man crossed him.

For his thoughts went back to those fearful days and nights they passed on board the doomed "Albatross."

Jovial Captain Robinson had been pitiless before, and the sufferings gone through in that terrible time had hardened Joe Deering's kind heart.

A genial, generous and soft-hearted fellow as a rule, he could not pardon this infamous wretch who had lured him into such a trap, even while professing the most affectionate friendship for him.

No!

This was Joe Deering's chance—his long looked-for opportunity, and no weak emotion should spoil the revenge which he had waited for so patiently.

Jovial Captain Robinson essayed to speak.

In a faint, faltering voice, he managed to pronounce Joe Deering's name.

"Well, murderer!" returned Joe Deering; "what is it you want?"

"I want you to shake hands with me, Joe," responded the other, almost inaudibly.

"Assassin!"

"I—I—I don't mean you any harm," gasped jovial Captain Robinson.

"Liar!" thundered Joe Deering; "you dare make that statement, hovering as you do, between life and death!"

"No, no, no, no!" shrieked the jovial captain; "not that, Joe, not that."

"Yes, I say; for you are not long for this world."

"You are not sent to tell me that, Joe," said Robinson, his voice dying away in spite of a desperate effort to make it audible.

"I am."

"Ugh!"

And with a half groan, half grunt, he sank upon the ground prostrate.

Before his senses had fairly fled, Joe Deering strode over to him, and delivered him a heavy kick behind.

This brought him round in a wonderful way.

He knew that it was a material foot that had given that kick, and the conviction was a marvellous relief to him.

He scrambled up.

As he got to his feet, Joe Deering fixed him by the throat, and shook him.

"You plotted to accomplish my murder," he said, "but now my turn's come, Robinson, and I mean to punish you."

Jovial Captain Robinson was a coward, an arrant cur, yet he infinitely preferred having to tackle flesh and blood, to battling with a ghost.

He turned upon his assailant.

But Deering was not to be denied.

Before the jovial captain could do any thing to help himself, Joe Deering hammered his face into a jelly.

Half dazed, stunned, and blinded, Robinson fought it out, and struggling fiercely, he shook himself free.

And then he fled like a beaten cur from the house.

Joe Deering did not attempt to follow him.

"There," he said, calmly enough, considering what had gone before, "that's done. Thank goodness it's off my mind. Mr. Murray must have my next attention."

He little thought that the wretched shipowner had already paid the penalty of his crimes.

Jovial Captain Robinson was never the same man again.

Whether it was the physical or the mental punishment he had had, we cannot possibly determine, but certain it is that something broke him up from that day, and he lingered on a miserable life of two years or more, and died in abject want.

CHAPTER C.

A DOSE OF PALM OIL.

Having settled the hash of jovial Captain Robinson, we now proceed to the pleasant task of measuring out justice to others.

Messieurs Murray and Chivey are the persons we mean.

Those gentlemen, having taken such excellent precautions to cut off young Jack Harkaway's communications with the outer world, fancied themselves tolerably safe.

Yet every now and then Murray's nerves were shaken as he thought of the vindictive Lenoir.

What had become of that dangerous individual?

The police had gone to the spot where Murray told them he had left the coiner senseless, and there they certainly found traces of a severe struggle, but Lenoir had disappeared.

The peasant also had done his duty as a French citizen by reporting the affair to the first gendarme he met on his road.

But though Marseilles was thoroughly searched, no trace of the man could be found, either in the town or the surrounding rural districts.

"There's one consolation, guv'nor," observed Chivey, "he won't dare show his ugly mug in Marseilles any more, so you're safe enough here."

"He's desperate enough for any thing."

"It's galleys for life if he's collared, and he knows it well enough."

"Galleys!—ugh!"

And