The Black Box 19
"Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he.
I nodded sternly.
"Ah, and what then?" he mumbled, stroking his beard as though unable to
collect his thoughts. "Look you, friend, my orders are to keep the door
’gainst all intruders. Yet an your business be in truth with---- Ah,
by my soul, friend, yes--that’s it--the password of the night; what is
it? Give it quickly, and pass on."
At first I felt inclined to turn and flee for it while yet there was a
chance, not knowing whom the drunken lout might bring about my ears; but
second thoughts constrained me to go boldly through with it, for verily
I was in that state which cares not what may happen. Therefore I said:
"I do not know the password of the night."
"What’s that?" roared he. "Business with godly chaplain and don’t know
password? Ho! ho! now, if that be not pretty!"
With that he put his arms akimbo and burst into a roaring laugh, so that
for a moment I had half a mind to knock him down and stride across his
barrel of a body. But cautiousness prevailed.
"Pretty enough, but true," said I. "For, look you, I have been away on
very urgent business of the chaplain’s since yesternight, and have but
just returned here. Prithee, what is the password, friend?" I added
quickly.
Perhaps it was the very brazenness of such a question that threw the
muddled fellow off his guard; at any rate, he lurched towards me, and
whispered underneath his ale-soaked breath:
"’Tis Zion, friend--Zion--mark you, Zion. Make sure on’t, for it may
serve thee well enough ere night be ended."
Little knowing how prophetic were those latter words, he drew aside;
then, as I would have passed him by, he plucked me by the sleeve, and,
with a knowing wink, said:
"A favour, friend, a favour. Speak well of one John Coram to his
reverence, for verily my zeal is most abounding. Hark!" he added,
raising a shaking hand as a great shout reached us from the street.
"Doth not the Lord’s cause prosper mightily? Yea, I trow it doth
indeed. And what am I, John Coram, to be spoken well of to his
reverence? Friend, it might seem to thee that I am overfull of ale, but
’tis not so; nay, I vow I never touch the stuff. ’Tis burning zeal
which fills me, nothing else. Zeal, I say, zeal! zeal!"
Nodding heavily, he staggered over to a bench, and crashing down
thereon, sat staring in amazement at his jack boots.
But having got thus far I craved some information.
"Where is the Duke?" I asked.
The fellow waved his hand and said:
"He sits in yon great room receiving followers."
"And is the chaplain with him?"
"Aye, verily, why not? Our godly chaplain is the friend of kings, and
nigh as full of zeal as me, John Coram. Ho! ho! methinks that’s good;
ah, passing good be that. Ho! ho!"
I waited till his roaring laugh had sunk into a rumble, then fired a
random shot.
"Did’st ever meet a man called Tubal Ammon?"
John Coram tapped his steel-cap, shook his head, and answered:
"Never heard that name; but say, what be he like?"
"A tall, thin, bony fellow; legs like broomsticks; face like parchment;
eyes like slits; and short-cropped hair that grows straight up like
grass. Moreover, he----"
"Stop!" broke in Coram, who had been following me with wondering eyes
and gaping mouth. "What did you call him?"
"Tubal Ammon."
"Ah, then, it cannot be the same, and yet ’tis very like the man I met
five years agone. His name was Israel Stark. ’Twas said that he had
been a preacher of the Word, though when I knew him he was more a
breaker of it, though, to be sure, he had some store of Latin ever ready
on his tongue. Yet, for all that, he was the swiftest runner that I
ever came across. Moreover, he could climb a tree like any squirrel.
Aye, right well I mind me how I once did see him go clean up a----"
"Stay," I put in eagerly, "’tis the same man sure enough, in spite of
names."
"What! hast thou met him too, then, friend?" asked Coram.
"Yes, I have met him too," I answered grimly.
"When?"
"Not many hours ago."
"And where?"
"Not very far from here."
John Coram rose up slowly from his seat, and so stood staring at me for
a moment in a hungry fashion; then said he:
"I would with all my heart it had been me instead of you, friend; for
with these hands of mine I would have wrung his wicked skinny neck."
"Ah, so you have a grudge against him, eh?" I asked, as carelessly as
wellnigh throttling eagerness would let me.
"A grudge!" growled Coram. "Aye, friend, that doth not name the tithe
of it. I would account it heaven itself to kill the fellow; for,
verily, there’s not a blacker villain on God’s earth than Israel Stark,
and well I know it."
"Ah, and how so?"
"Why, hearken. He came to me in sore distress--half-starved--a thing of
skin and bones. He told me tales of savages and shipwrecks. I listened
to those tales, had pity on him, took him in, fed, clothed him. And in
the end he robbed me vilely; moreover, would have murdered me had not a
friend come in the nick of time and saved my life. That friend he slew,
and so escaped."
"Ah, then, we are one," said I.
"What mean you?" asked John Coram wonderingly. "Hath he injured thee as
well, then?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"No matter. We are one, I say, and this our meeting may be fortunate
for both of us. Listen! I would give you five gold pieces if you could
find this Stark or Ammon for me so that I might kill him."
"What!" gasped Coram. "Five--gold--pieces--to do that which I would
gladly do for nothing! But say, friend, if you met this fellow but a
few hours back, hast now no sort of knowledge where he is?"
"No, none."
"Nor is that any cause for marvel," rejoined Coram; "for verily the
fellow is a thing of darkness, passing like a shadow--well I know ’tis
so. But count on me, friend, count on me; for if this mischief-worker
still be in these parts, and catchable, he shall be caught. But stay,
how shall I let thee know? Where shall I find thee, friend, in case of
news?"
I paused a moment, looking fixedly at Coram. Could I trust the fellow?
Yes, methought I could. "You will find me at The Havering," I said, "a
house out yonder on the Uplime road. ’Tis a well-known place, and
anyone will guide you thither."
"The Havering, The Havering," murmured Coram slowly, like one who conned
a lesson. "Yes, methinks I’ve got that. And now for thy name, friend?"
Again I paused to scan his face; for verily the whole thing struck me as
a most uncanny echo of that fateful meeting by the roadside less than a
week before. But now, for all his bloodshot eyes and ale-marked face,
it seemed as though I stood before a lusty, honest fellow. Moreover,
when I came to think on it, a risk the more or less was of but small
account, for who could suffer now except myself? Therefore:
"Fane--Michael Fane," I answered.
"Fane!" muttered Coram, with a thoughtful stroking of his beard. "Fane!
That sounds familiar. Where did I hear it, now? Ah, I have it! ’Twas
yesternight, as I kept guard in yonder street, I heard two fellows
muttering round a corner. Their voices were so low that I could make
little of the conversation, but more than once I caught the words ’Black
Box’ and ’Fane’. I tried to creep a little closer, but they heard me,
and, coming out, slunk off."
"Ha! so? And could you see them? Didst make out who they were?" I
asked, scarce able to prevent my hands from clutching him.
"Nay, for the moon was hid, the night full dark, and they passed by upon
the other side. But they were friends--not foes--of that I am assured,
for when I challenged them they gave the password of the night."
"You could make nothing of them, then?"
"Nay, naught; save that both were tall, and one--him nearest to me--wore
a long black cloak."
"And did you mark which road they went?"
"Aye, verily, I followed them a little way, and saw them hurrying off
towards the sea. But, say, why show you so much interest in this
matter? Truly, they used thy name, but that doth count for little,
being friends. Stay, though," he added quickly, "hast lost anything--a
box, for instance?"
"No," I answered slowly. "I have lost my father."
John Coram eyed me for a moment in a startled fashion.
"Not killed?" said he at last.
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기