The first thing he discovered on coming to himself was that the situation as he slowly remembered it, had been woefully reversed. In other words, he was now lying on his back while his intended victim was sitting upon his chest and grinning at his discomfort.
“So you've decided not to rid the world of yourself as well as of the captain, eh?” asked the survivor of the wreck. “Not that you would have journeyed together, for if ever a sea captain was sure of a berth in heaven, he was, and from the little I have observed of you, I should suggest that hell flames would not be hot enough. I say 'the little' I know of you advisedly, because here's to our longer acquaintance,” and the speaker, producing a silver flask of large proportions, tilted a dram of good brandy down his throat. “No doubt you could do with a drop yourself?”
Merry could, and moved one hand, which in a mysterious way drew the other with it. He glanced at his hands and saw that his wrists were tied very efficiently with rope. He looked at the rope and saw that one end stretched away into the fast receding waves.
“What's the idea?” he grunted. “What did you want to hit me over the head for?”
His captor took another pull at the flask and sighed with satisfaction.
“You hit yourself over the head, my friend,” he replied. “Your skull struck the stone on which you are lying. There's blood on it. Your blood, this time. And here's to our longer acquaintance.”
Merry gazed at the queer figure above him and felt afraid. That repeated sentence of 'longer acquaintance' frightened him. There was something sinister about it. A man does not usually desire longer acquaintance with one who has tried to kill him.
“You asked me what was the idea?” continued the survivor. “I will tell you. Nothing less than a time-honoured objection held by many against being murdered in cold blood. In fact, I will go further and say that I would prefer to be the murderer than the murdered. Despite the morals of the case, make me Cain Rather than Abel. I will also confess that for some time I waited for you to recover in order to murder you. It would have been excusable, you must allow. Self-defence, in fact. It seemed a pity to miss such a unique opportunity. Believe it or not, but do you know I have never stabbed a man to death, and I was tempted to try the feel of it. In the ordinary way my instincts would be against it. There is no elegance in inflicting such a death. Now, to throw a knife at your man is elegant, because you are taking a gentlemanly chance and leaving yourself unarmed. To cross swords to the death is also gentlemanly so long as an elegance is preserved, but to stick a knife in a helpless man as you did to that unfortunate captain merely to steal a belt of money which is now round my waist—no, my friend, no elegance there. So ugly and brutal that you must not think for one moment that I would scruple to serve you the same with your own knife. And by God, I'd have done it and will do it, too, unless you comply with the terms of my toast: 'Here's to our longer acquaintance.'“
“And what are the terms?” growled Merry. “To say nothing about the money belt, I suppose.”
“My terms are first of all obedience,” replied the other. “Open your mouth wider.”
Into his open jaws he poured a few drops of brandy on to the tongue, then took another generous pull of it himself, repeating: “Here's to our longer acquaintance.”
“And now,” he continued, “speak up smart and true. Your name?”
“Merry,” replied the unfortunate.
“A lie to begin with,” said the questioner.
“It's true. My name's Merry. Ask anyone.”
“Your name belies you then. Occupation?”
“Very odd jobs, it seems. Where do you live?”
“Here in Dymchurch. The inn by the great sluice gates. I've a room in the long white cottage that lies alongside, and what's more, I've lived there all my life.”
“And what's more, you'll go on living there all your life,” retorted the stranger, “until such time as it pleases me to send you to the gallows, for if you try to slip your cables without my leave, I'll have the constables on your heels for this night's murder, and get this clear in your head. Just as you have lived here all your life, so am I going to live here the rest of mine, and since I am all for peace and quiet and we are likely to be neighbors, you can take it that I shall keep a weather eye upon you, Mister Merry Murderer.”
“But what are you going to do now?” asked Merry.
“About this murder do you mean? At present, nothing.”
“Until you've got rid of that money belt, eh?” he sneered.
“I see that we must cultivate a mutual understanding, Mister Merry,” returned the other with a smile. “And in order to do so, I would ask you to take a good look at me.”
“I shall not forget you, though I never saw you again,” growled Merry.
“Good,” laughed the stranger, “but I must point out in my own defence that appearances are against me. You see a long-faced gentleman with something of a high forehead, and by this fitful light of the moon you may have noticed a certain rakishness in his appointments. His hat, as he himself can feel, has been cocked, by rough passage, into a disreputable angle. In one hand he fondles a brandy flask, and in the other, which as you see, he now removes from his pocket, is grasping a particularly ugly-looking knife—your knife. If this gentleman, in whom you are so interested, were to stand up, you would realise that he is more than commonly tall, that his arms are long in the reach and his legs, though thin, possessed of a stalking stride, perhaps ungainly, but yet able to cover the ground swiftly and silently. His general slimness is deceptive, so I am sure you will own, for his limbs are framed of living steel. Already he begins to sound an ugly customer, eh? And when we add to this description your knowledge that he is willing to compound with a murderer and keep secret a foul crime, your moral opinion may be further prejudiced against him. But that, Mister Merry, is where you make a grand mistake, for this gentleman, who has got you like the devil, stuck through the gizzard with a white-hot fork and about to toast you to his taste, has, in truth, stricter morals than the average. For example, the belt you mention. It contains seventy-nine gold guineas; I have not counted them, but I take the captain's word for it. I take it also that here in Dymchurch there will be poor widows who could put that money to better use than you. Therefore, I keep it and shall see that they use it. I shall also keep your knife, and woe betide you if I hear that you are possessed of another.”
“Oh, stop talking,” hissed Merry, “and answer yes or no to my question. Are you handing me over to the magistrates or are you not?”
The stranger smiled. “Hand you over to the magistrates? I think even you would not be so stupid as to make such a step necessary. You see, Mr. Merry, I am not without my selfishness and I fail to see why I should wantonly throw away such service as you must pay me. Whether your service will be hard or easy, I cannot tell, but it exists from now on, until you wish me to put a rope around your neck. And make no mistake that should such circumstance arise, I cannot safeguard myself. I assure you that I shall not be blamed when you appear at the Assizes.”
While the stranger was speaking, he could not fail to notice the look of relief which had spread over the wretch's face beneath him, so that he was not surprised at the next question.
“I am a man of few words,” said Merry, “and may be pardoned for not grasping the meaning of a gentleman with such a gift of the gab as yourself. But do I take it then that you force me to serve you and that you are not going to hand me over to the magistrates?”
“My good and murderous friend, it was not the magistrates you tried to murder, but me,” replied the stranger. “I fail to see why I should not take advantage of my own misfortunes. It was to me a grave misfortune to witness the murder of my friend the captain, and it would have been a further mishap if my own quickness had not saved my own poor life. A dead man, swinging is only serviceable to the crows and rooks that nest above the gallows. To see you as a picked corpse is small compensation to me for the shocking reception I sustained at your hands, but as a strong living slave, as one who must willy-nilly do my bidding—why, there is every chance that I shall exact full compensation for your wrong-doing. And I take it that we now see eye to eye and that you agree? Very well. Now, tell me. Does a Cobtree still rule at the Court House here?”
“Aye, Sir Antony Cobtree. He's chief magistrate now.”
“Then Sir Charles is dead, I take it, for he was never the man to retire.”
“That was his trouble. He wouldn't retire even from hunting. Broke his neck after the fox he did.”
“Well, there's a worse way of breaking your neck than that,” replied the stranger with an ominous gesture. “And how long ago was this tragedy?”
“Ten or twelve years,” explained Merry. “Twelve it was, as Doctor Pepper said he'd been here twelve the other day. He's the physician and when Sir Antony took over his father's place of New Hall and was sworn in at the Court House, he let Doctor Pepper come to live at Grove House, where he'll stay till Master Dennis wants a home of his own in Dymchurch.”
“Aye—there's three daughters growin' up and now at last a son born a month or two back.”
“Well, with all respect to the late squire, I rejoice to learn that my old college friend Tony is now the King's Authority upon the Marsh, and the sooner the tide allows us to visit him the better shall I be pleased.”
“But there's no need to wait for the tide,” corrected Merry. “Here's steps up to the sea-wall.”
The stranger pulled the rope attached to Merry's wrists. “But here's my baggage, on the end of this cord. The captain helped me to heave it overboard. It is waterproof, but I was not so sure of it being fireproof. The silver key which you ignored belongs to it. When the water goes out a little further you will wade in and lift it from the sand. You will also carry it to the Court House. It will be your first service.
“And now listen, Mr. Merry, I shall never ask you to do the impossible. Unless it is absolutely necessary, I shall never ask you to do even the difficult, and it may chance that I may never even ask you to do the easy, but whatever, whenever, and wherever I do ask, you will do it—or swing for Mister Ketch. So long as I am sure of your service, you will find me not only a good master but even a good friend, so for your own sake you'd best pocket your pride and make a show of liking me. Understand?”
“Well, I know when I'm beat,” growled Merry. “You've got the best of me at the moment—”
“At the moment?” repeated the stranger savagely. “I've got the best of you for ever, and I'll keep the best of you for ever, for unless I have the best of you, the crows shall have the last of you. And now up on your feet and let us wind in this rope till it's taut. You're wet enough, and so am I, to bid defiance to further wading. But I'm hungry, thirsty and tired, and I dare swear you can say the same and add 'disappointed.' When my sea-chest is safe at New Hall of the Court House, I'll expend one of the captain's guineas on you, for after all, the widows know nothing of their windfall yet, and so can hardly miss it. A guinea will give you the price of a good hot supper, plenty of drink, and treatment for your head, payment against loss of a good knife and give you the means to be generous to your friends besides. Have you any friends? I hardly think so.”
Merry got to his feet with some groaning occasioned by the wound to his head and the black hate in his heart. He followed his new master across the rough boulders to the level beach. He could do nothing else, for the stranger was pulling on the rope that had been so tightly fastened round his wrists, and each tug seemed to accentuate the pain in his head. At the water's edge the stranger stopped and gathered in the slack of the rope.
“The great wave was a help to you,” said the stranger, as soon as the rope was taut. “It carried the chest further than one could have hoped, otherwise, you might have had a long vigil before reaching it. But we must wait even now until the water is only to your waist.”
Merry, being sullen, sombre and suspicious and avoiding speech when possible, gave the impression to most that he was slow in movement and dull in the brain, but this was not so. He could shift when it suited him, and think quickly too. He was thinking quickly now. Never would he be safe while this mysterious stranger lived. And never would a safer opportunity arise than now for killing him. He was the only one in Dymchurch who knew of his safe landing. The beach was deserted, for between them and the villagers was the wreck, and they were waiting to board her from the further side. The stranger dead, Merry would win back the captain's guineas as well as the stranger's money belt, which promised to be the more valuable, and then there was the rope attached to the submerged sea-chest with the silver key around his victim's neck. Such a chance was a gift from the devil himself and he must take it. The thought of a hand to hand fight was dismissed. The stranger had taken his knife and he had experienced cruel proof of his physical strength, and what could he do with his hands tied.
The pain in the back of his skull gave him the likeliest notion. A similar crack on the stranger's head with a heavy stone would knock him out and then he could finish the business with the knife. But in casting about for a likely stone, the devil showed him a handier weapon. This was a broken billet torn by the waves from a wooden breakwater. In size it resembled a belaying pin, and its end was weighted with an iron plate from which protruded a heavily studded clamp bolt.
Covering his movement with a blasphemous oath against an uncomfortable sea-boot, Merry stooped, pretended to adjust the boot in question, and rose up again with the likely weapon in hand and hit it in the fold of his coat. The moment was ripe, for the stranger had not turned round, but was engrossed on the hidden sea-chest, flapping the rope upon the surface of the waves in an endeavor to locate its lie. Merry approached behind his back, slowly and stealthily.
Reasoning that the stranger had not got eyes at the back of his head and was therefore ignorant of his silent advance, he ignored the fact that he was following in his footsteps, and had he known the man he was about to attack a little better, he would have been sure that the 'likely weapon' had not escaped his eye. Indeed, the stranger had expected that Merry would stoop for it, and smiled grimly to himself at the string of oaths against the innocent sea-boot. Although he had not got eyes at the back of his head, his alert instincts told him just exactly when Merry was crossing the danger line, and then changing the rope to his left hand, he whipped Merry's knife from his pocket and balanced it in the palm of his hand, so that the moonlight shone on the blade.
“Nice knife, this of yours, Mister Merry,” he said, without turning round. The glint on the blade and the suspicion of a threat beneath the words made Merry stand still. “Sharp and on the whole well-balanced, though a trifle heavy in the blade to my thinking. But not bad. Oh, no damme, not at all bad.” And as he spoke he sent it spinning up into the air and caught it neatly by the handle. This he did not once, but many times, and at each toss the knife seemed to soar a trifle higher than the last and each time the knife was in the air Merry did some quick thinking and mental timing.
“The devil save us,” laughed Merry, with what affability he could muster. “That's a pretty trick, mister. And where did you come by that?”
“A keen eye and a quick hand,” replied the other pleasantly. “I find there's little one cannot do if you set your mind on it.”
“I calls it wonderful,” said Merry.
“Nonsense,” laughed the stranger. “You must keep your mind on it, naturally. And for a high cast more than ever, for should the blade get you, it would get you with some force.”
“And about how high can you toss it?” asked Merry, scarcely able to conceal the pleasure at his own cleverness.
“In the sunlight I have caught a knife falling from the height of a church steeple,” boasted the stranger.
“I can hardly credit that,” scoffed Merry. “It's easy to brag in the light of the moon about what you do in the sunlight.”
“I'll not be accused of bragging without an attempt at proving my words,” retorted the other, with some annoyance. “As you say, there's moonlight, and it's clear enough. I have been something of a thorn in your flesh so far, Mister Merry, that I feel it would be scurvy of me not to amuse you. I can't promise to judge exactly the height of a steeple, but I'll throw it as high as I can, and your eyes shall judge whether I catch or no.”
The stranger took off his three-cornered hat, much to the satisfaction of Merry, who had not liked the look of it covering his target. The stranger dropped it on to the sand beside the rope and then looking up began to move the knife up and down.
“Keep your eyes skinned on it, Mister Merry,” he enjoined.
“I will,” laughed Merry, coming nearer as though in interest.
“One, two three and UP.” The stranger had crouched and shot up, and away went the knife into the sky. Merry saw it go and then forgot it. He was watching the other's bent-back head. A perfect target.
Gripping the iron-loaded billet with all his strength, he swung it up when the stranger whipped around like lightning and the astonished Merry was driven back with a long blade pricking into his chest.
“Drop that, you dog, or I'll drive this knife out through your back.”
Merry dropped the billet of wood and retreated gibbering with fear from the point of the knife.
“So you thought I was going to follow your knife up to heaven, did you? It never occurred to you that I had another of my own already to send you to hell. I seem destined to upset your plans, Mister Merry.”
“All right,” grunted Merry. “I'm beaten. Let me go and pick up your hat for you, sir.”
The stranger shook his head. “Not yet, Mister Merry, for your knife is sticking in the sand but a yard away from it, and it might tempt you to be foolish again, and I am going to show you just how foolish. Since you interrupted one knife trick, I am about to show you another. You see the post behind you. It is about your height. Put your hat on the top of it.”
Merry sullenly removed his hat and walked towards the breakwater, only too glad to escape from the pricking knife. He put the hat upon the six-foot post.
“Very life-like, upon my soul,” laughed the stranger. “Let me introduce you, Mr. Merry that shall be, to Mister Merry that for the moment is. A man of your perception, Mister Merry that shall be, will realise that this Mister Merry that is has little to recommend him. He is at the best as stubborn as old oak and iron, but the oak is rotting and the iron eaten with rust. His brain beneath his hat is nothing but a seething mass of bravadoes. He is as wooden as an old Aunt Sally at the fair, and yet he has murder in his heart. Twice he has tried to murder me to-night, and he is thinking hard how best to try again. Let me show you how I deal with such a stumpy idiot. Ha!” The stranger made a quick movement.
The knife whistled past the live Merry and stuck deep and quivering in the centre of the post a foot beneath his hat.
“Right through the neck, Mr. Murderer. Right through the neck. Now pluck it out and give it back to me.”
Once more Merry saw a chance, a faint chance, and leaping to take it, he worked the knife with difficulty out of the post. But when he turned he saw that the stranger had retreated and while settling on his hat, was also balancing the other knife which he had picked out of the sand.
“And now,” said he, taking up the slack of the rope and giving it a spin on to Merry's wrist, “drop that knife in the sand in front of you and step in after my chest, for this little diversion has filled up time while the water dropped, and don't fear at being carried out by the tide, for I have the rope as a reins with you as one horse and the chest as the other.”
Merry strode desperately towards the waves and then stopped.
“Is the chest a big one?” he asked.
“Very big, and very heavy,” smiled the stranger.
“Then how do you think I can carry it with my wrists lashed together?” he demanded.
“I don't for one minute. If you will come here, I will free you.”
“Then you'd best pick up your own knife,” advised Merry. “It seems handier for cutting rope.”
“I have been brought up to believe it a crime to cut rope wantonly. I'll untie it.”
Merry watched the stranger's long, sensitive fingers working, and he realised that any man possessing such hands and such penetrating eyes must be someone above the average. In a few seconds his left wrist was free, but the rope's end still held his right firmly.
“I noticed that you are left-handed,” remarked the stranger. “You killed the captain, at least, with your left. And in my own defence I should like you to realise that the first thing I remember after my buffeting on the stones, was the descent of your knife. Had I recovered sooner I should have saved your victim's life.”
“Don't make another speech about it,” growled Merry, striding off into the waves.
He picked up the other section of the rope and, lifting it from the water, waded along it.
