Wyndham's Pal

"You know now," said Wyndham, with forced quietness. "It looks as if you had got a nasty knock. I'd hoped you would not find out."

Marston tried to pull himself together. He must be calm, but calm was hard. Peters gave him a mocking smile.

"There's something yet. The Bat is not a mulatto."

"Not a mulatto?" said Marston dully. "What is he then?"

"A white man. If you're not satisfied, ask your partner. He knows him best."

"Who is the Bat, Harry?"

"Rupert Wyndham," Wyndham answered and turned his head.

For a moment or two Marston said nothing, and then his lethargy vanished. Horror gave way to fury and he clenched his hand as he turned to Peters.

"You have shot your bolt and missed," he said. "You're a cunning brute, but all the same a fool. Now get off, or I'll throw you over the wall."

Peters hesitated. His surprise was plain, and Wyndham's tense face softened to a grim smile. Peters had not reckoned on Bob. The latter advanced upon him threateningly.

"Did you think you could blackmail us?" he resumed with a hoarse laugh. "That we'd take you for a partner in order to keep you silent while we got rich? The thing's ridiculous! Now you begin to understand this, aren't you going?"

Peters said nothing and went. His mistake was obvious; he might have forced Wyndham to accept his terms, but he had misjudged Marston. When he had gone, Marston sat down, rather limply, and there was silence for a few minutes.

"Well?" said Wyndham at length.

Marston looked up. "I have got a knock, but the thing's done and there's no use in calling myself a careless fool. For all that, I ought to have seen what was going on; I'm a partner in the house."

"And if you had seen?" Wyndham asked.

"I'd have stopped the business and brought you away."

"It's possible. You're a resolute fellow, Bob. But what are you going to do about it now?"

"Put things straight; as far as money can put them straight," said Marston, quietly. "The cost doesn't matter. It's lucky I am rich."

"Then you don't mean to break the partnership and give me up?"

"Certainly not," said Marston in a surprised voice. "We are partners for good and bad, and Mabel is Flora's friend. When we started for Africa, she told me my job was to stand by you."

Wyndham laughed, a bitter laugh. "It looks as if I didn't cheat Mabel when I cheated all the rest. But you had better let me go before your staunchness costs you too much."

"I'm going to stick to you," Marston declared. "I undertook the job; there's no more to be said." He paused and resumed quietly: "How did you get into Rupert Wyndham's power?"

Wyndham's grimness vanished. He looked embarrassed and moved. "You're a very good sort, Bob. I don't know if I did get into his power; anyhow, not at first. I rather think ambition carried me away. You have not known poverty; I doubt if you'll understand."

"I'll try," said Marston, and Wyndham went on:

"The house was bankrupt when I got control, and I was in love with Flora. Perhaps you think it was dishonorable to tell her so. Well, I haven't your scruples and we Wyndhams like a risk. The worst was, I let her run a risk she didn't know. We met the Bat at the lagoon and he showed me how I could get rich. He knew me; I didn't know him at the beginning. Can't you see the situation? I'd won the girl I loved, but I must support my wife. I couldn't force her to bear hardship because she loved me, and, for her sake, I must satisfy her friends. Well, I saw and seized my chance, and almost before I knew I'd gone so far I could not draw back."

"Did you want to draw back?" Marston asked.

Wyndham gave him a curious smile. "You're cleverer than people think, Bob. Sometimes I was sorry I had begun, but I imagine I would not have stopped if I could. I meant to get rich; to give Flora a high place, and – though the statement looks ironical – to justify myself. Well, I went on until bad luck sent Peters to pull me up."

Marston pondered for a moment or two. "Now I understand why the witches in Macbeth made me think about the Bat; they tempted him with lying promises. But I'm not much of a philosopher and we have the Bat to reckon on. Peters doesn't count."

"Doesn't he count?" Wyndham asked.

"Not at all," said Marston. "When he told me his secret, he lost the power to bully you. The fellow's a fool; he thought me greedy."

"But he can tell others, Larrinaga, for example."

"That's not important," said Marston quietly. "We don't want to earn more money by helping the Bat. We're going to put things straight, and if Larrinaga's government has a just claim on us, we must pay."

"After all, the Bat's my uncle," Wyndham remarked.

"Yes," said Marston. "It complicates things. We must go out again and get him away."

"Get him away? The man is powerful. I doubt if the government can put him down."

"For all that we're going to try."

"You're an obstinate fellow, Bob. We'll talk about it again. There is somebody else Peters might tell."

"Flora? He'll be too late. You must tell her now."

For a moment or two Wyndham's mouth set firm and the sweat stood on his forehead. Then he said quietly, "It will be a hard job, desperately hard; all the same, I suppose it can't be put off. Rupert Wyndham and the powers he stands for have cheated me, but I must pay."

Marston made a sign of agreement. "When you have paid, you're free, and can begin again."

Then he turned and saw Flora in the narrow path between the bushes. Her face was white, but her eyes were gentle when she looked at him. "Thank you, Bob! We owe you much," she said.

Marston pulled himself together and gave her a friendly smile. Then he touched Wyndham's arm, as if to encourage him, and left them alone.

CHAPTER VII

WYNDHAM PLEADS GUILTY

When Marston had gone Flora sat down on the bench. She was pale and trembled. Wyndham, looking very grim, leaned against the wall. They were quiet for a moment or two, and then he asked:

"How much did you hear?"

"I heard enough," said Flora, with an effort for calm. "I don't understand it all, but I must understand. I heard Bob's voice, sharp and angry, and came to see if you were quarreling with the strange little man. Then I stopped where the shrubs are thick. Perhaps I oughtn't – "

"It doesn't matter," Wyndham replied. "Bob urged that you must be told and I think I meant to tell you anyhow. When one is found out, it's better to plead guilty. Well, what do you want to know?"

Flora turned her head. His stern coldness hurt. She thought he feared her judgment would be merciless. Harry did not know her yet.

"Well?" he said again.