The Dark Mill Stream

CHAPTER I.—THE TRADER FROM HOICHOW.-3

“But do you mean to say there is a leper colony in this country?” asked Hardacre aghast.

“Certainly! Indeed there are several of them, but this one of which I am speaking is the best. Now could you afford six guineas a week?”

The trader could hardly find his voice. “For how long?” he asked hoarsely.

The doctor shook his head. “That I can’t say. It might be for some time.” He nodded. “So we shall have to wait until you are lepra bacillus free before you can mix with the world again.”

He repeated his question. “Can you run to six guineas a week?” A thought struck him and he turned to pull open one of the drawers of his desk. “Ah, wait a moment! I have a photograph of the place somewhere here and it may help you to make up your mind, for you will see the surroundings are well worth the money.”

His search gave Hardacre time to think and his face puckered up into an ugly scowl as he thought furiously and hard. Damn, he had fallen into a trap and this doctor was going to hand him over to a leprosorium, bound hand and foot! But he wasn’t going to have it. Blast it, he wouldn’t! He would hide away somewhere on his own and give himself the treatment the doctor was prescribing! Hell, but he mustn’t let the doctor know! He must pretend to agree with him and cut off quick!

He forced a smile as the doctor, finding the photograph, handed it across. “See, it’s quite a nice place, well-appointed and as comfortable as a hotel. Now, what do you say? You must decide quickly, for you must go somewhere straightaway. We can’t have you left as a possible course of infection to others an hour longer than can be helped.”

Hardacre nodded. “All right, I’ll go there,” he said. “I can at any rate manage it for two or three years and then hope for the best.”

“That’s the spirit,” exclaimed the doctor. “That gives you the best chance of keeping it under. Now, I’ll ring up the Health people and they’ll pick you up this afternoon. I’ll arrange it for, say, three o’clock. They’ll put you up somewhere to-night and have you motored down into Wales to-morrow.” He wrote rapidly at his desk. “Now here is the prescription for the iodide of potassium, and you must start taking it at once.” He rose briskly to his feet. “And that’s all now. I’m very pressed for time. I’m off to Scotland directly after lunch for a consultation.” He smiled. “I shan’t be seeing you again, and my fee is seven guineas.” Then, seeing what he took for a look of astonishment upon the trader’s face, he added: “That includes the laboratory fee for making a culture of the bacilli.”

Hardacre cursed under his breath. Seven guineas! It was an extortion! It was barefaced robbery! Why, that morning he hadn’t been with him much more than ten minutes!

He paid over the money, noticing with some resentment that the doctor handled the notes gingerly and put them at once into an envelope by themselves. Also, to his annoyance, he ushered him out of the consulting room without offering to shake hands.

In the depths of depression at the doctor’s verdict the ex-trader made his way into the hall, but yet another, and an almost greater shock this time, was to come to him, for, as the street door was opened by the nurse attendant for him to pass out, he came face to face with a young fellow who had just arrived on the doorstep, and to his consternation recognized him as a man he had known on Hainan Island. God, it was young Burton from the British Consulate at Hoichow!

The young fellow did not seem to notice Hardacre at first and addressed himself smilingly to the butler. “If my uncle is very busy, Nurse,” he said, “I won’t stop. I’ll come another——” but happening to glance in Hardacre’s direction, the words froze on his lips and he stared as if he could not believe his eyes.

Hardacre had gone a sickly colour, but his face was expressionless and he looked straight before him as if he had not recognized the young man. With no hurry he passed out into the street. His legs, however, were shaking under him and he was trembling in his fright. What a most damnable piece of bad luck! And this Burton was the doctor’s nephew, too! It couldn’t be worse, for of course he would tell him everything and the police would be upon his track at once!

Turning into the first public house he came to, two stiff brandies did a lot towards steadying both his limbs and his nerves, and he began to take a much more hopeful view of the situation. After all, young Burton might not be quite certain he had recognized him, but, if he had, what was there to back up his word to convince anybody else? The police were not likely to start upon an extensive search without having something definite to go upon. Anyhow, extradition was always a lengthy business and, besides, the Hoichow authorities might not be willing to move in the matter. After all, the man who had been killed had been a European and not a Chinese and that would certainly not incline them to disturb themselves unduly.

Also, there was do doubt they had connived at his escape, or it would not have been managed so easily, and any searching inquiries would certainly bring to light that bribing had been going on. The £500 he had paid would not have gone to only minor officials. Undoubtedly someone high up had had his whack out of it too. No, he had plenty of time to get away and hide, if he did not panic and lose his head.

His thoughts reverted to the doctor and he sneered contemptuously that he had deceived him all right. The fool was certain he was going to allow himself to be segregated without any protest, and he was equally as certain he was not. Long before three o’clock he would have started for where no Health Authorities would find him. It was only just after noon now and so he had a good three hours to get clear.

As it happened, however, the trader was very much mistaken about his having kept his real intentions from Dr. Monk. On the contrary the latter was highly suspicious that his patient was not intending to accept segregation so readily as he had tried to make out, for, when searching in the drawer for the photograph he had shown Hardacre, he had chanced to glance up for a moment and in doing so had caught a fleeting glimpse of the trader’s face reflected in a mirror on the wall. Hardacre was scowling sullenly, with something of the terror, the doctor thought, of a trapped animal. Then, when the doctor had turned round again with the photo in his hand, Hardacre’s expression was as quiet and resigned as before. The sudden change in the expression had given the doctor a warning.

Accordingly, the moment his patient had left the consulting room, the doctor phoned up the chief medical officer of the Port of London, and told him all that had taken place.

“And I’m more than half inclined to think,” he concluded, “that he’ll try to make a breakaway. He looks just that type of man, accustomed to having his own way and impatient of all restraint. So, I think you’d better pick him up as soon as you possibly can. Good-bye, I can’t stop. I’ve got to catch the one-thirty from Euston and I’ve a lot to see to before that. I’ve a consultation in Edinburgh to-night.”

All unaware of the danger threatening him, Hardacre made his way back to the coffee tavern, intending to pack his suitcase and leave the place at once. The appetizing odour of roast pork, however, assailed his nostrils directly he walked into the place, and he decided to have dinner first. Strangely enough, he was now quite hungry, and he felt very pleased with himself at the way he was starting to stand up to his misfortune.

He made a good meal and was quite leisurely about it. Indeed, it was well after one o’clock when he made his way into the place to get his bill from the girl at the desk. Two men who had come in quietly through the street door, however, reached the desk just before him and, standing behind them, to his horror he heard the name he had given to the doctor mentioned.

“We want to speak to Mr. Henson,” said one of the men. “Is he at dinner or will you give us the number of his room?”

“Henson!” exclaimed the girl. She shook her head. “There is no Mr. Henson staying here.”

“Oh, but there is,” protested the man. “We are quite sure of it. We were to meet him here. We have an appointment.”

The girl shook her head. “There’s a mistake somewhere. There’s no one of that name staying here.” She pushed a big book across the counter. “Here’s the register. Look for yourself.”

A very short survey of the book brought a frown to the man’s face, and he turned to his companion and whispered: “He’s diddled us as the doctor thought he would. He gave him a wrong address.” He turned back to the girl and asked sharply: “Anyone come to stay here lately who’d got a fair bit of luggage with him, as if he’d just arrived from abroad?”

The girl shook her head. “People with much luggage don’t usually come here,” she said with a smile, and Hardacre was devoutly thankful he had left his two big leather trunks in the cloakroom at St. Pancras Station.

“Well, phone up and get his description,” growled the other man to his companion. “He may be staying here but under another name,” and the first man at once walked over to the telephone cabinet and shut himself in.

Hardacre had heard everything and, controlling himself with an effort, sank weakly into a chair. The second man, waiting for the result of the phone call, moved over across the hall and, seating himself, took out a cigarette and commenced to smoke. Then, his eyes happening to fall upon the trader, he proceeded to stare hard and frowningly at him.

“The devil,” muttered Hardacre in dreadful consternation, “he sees I’m brown and look like someone from the tropics! He’s suspicious!”

And certainly the man did seem suspicious, for he kept his eyes fixed on the trader. An idea, however, coming into Hardacre’s mind, he pulled himself together with another effort and, rising leisurely to his feet, moved back to the desk.

“Give me a couple of your prospectuses, Miss,” he said quietly and, upon her complying at once with his request, he strolled over with them in his hand to the man who was continuing to regard him so intently.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said with a polite bow, “but will you accept these little tariff cards of ours. You might, perhaps, be able to recommend us to your friends.” He smiled pleasantly. “I am Mr. Benson, the proprietor of the coffee tavern.”

Instantly the frowning expression upon the man’s face relaxed. “Certainly,” he said, “and I’ll give them to anyone I think they may interest.” He lowered his voice mysteriously. “But I say, Mr. Benson, are you sure you’ve not had a man here lately who looks as if he’d just come from abroad? I mean a man who’s been living in equatorial Africa.”

Hardacre considered. “Not lately,” he replied with a shake of his head, “at least not within the last few weeks.” He winked knowingly. “Police work, is it?”

“Not at present,” said the man. He nodded. “But it might turn out to be.”