“So you came to Faloo?”
“Not then. It was not fear, but disgust, that drove me to Faloo. I settled my little account with the law. They gave me a year in the second division, and it was considered that I had been let off lightly. When I came out, I found of course that I had been turned out of my profession. Two stories were confidently believed about me, and both were false. The first was that I had conspired with the woman to kill the man—that had been distinctly disproved, but it made no difference. The second was equally false but less easy to disprove. It was the corollary that the knowing young-man-of-the-world always puts to such a case—that the woman had been my mistress. The only reason why I was not turned out of my clubs was because I had forestalled them by resigning. Some old friends cut me, but I had expected that. The old friends who did not cut me were more difficult to bear—I could not stand the duffer who failed to hide that he was proudly conscious of being merciful. I happened to hear from one of these men that a desk-waiter at one of my old clubs had cut and run with a deal of the club’s money. I remembered that waiter, and in many ways he wasn’t a bad chap—he’s our head-waiter at the Exiles’ Club to-day. I hunted out his wife, thinking she might need some help. I saw her through a bad illness and gave her money, and she was grateful. She told me about Faloo, and I decided that moment to come here. The good people wouldn’t have me, so I thought I’d try the wicked. I’ve been here ever since—and, by God, I’ve suffered less from the sins of Faloo than I did from the virtues of my own country. It’s over now. The exiles must leave this place, of course, and they know it. They are probably making their plans now. The only plan I’ve got is never to set foot in England again—never, never!”
It was in vain that Lechworthy argued. He did not pretend to condone what the doctor had done. But he pointed out that after all it was done under circumstances which would arouse some sympathy. The punishment, apart from the legal punishment, had been slanderous, vindictive and shameful; it might, if it were put before the public in the proper light, produce a strong reaction in the doctor’s favour. He might be reinstated in his profession.
“Lechworthy,” said Pryce, with rather grim good-humour, “when I was a little boy I did not like to have my head patted. And nowadays I don’t think I should like to be defended and excused; it doesn’t seem to me to be the treatment for a grown-up man.”
“You’re too proud, doctor,” said Lechworthy. “Think of my position. If I’d never come here you could have gone on undisturbed. I must go on with the King’s great scheme. I’ve put my hand to the plough and I can’t look back. The saving of a race is a grand thing, and I feel called to do my utmost to help. It’s work almost comparable to the work of Wilberforce, whose name I bear. But if it succeeds, then I drive you from the island which you have made your refuge, and scatter the men whom you have made your friends.”
“You may make your mind easy, Lechworthy. I’ve thought the thing over at length now, and I don’t take quite the view that I did at first. There are too many people in England to-day who know of Faloo, therefore, sooner or later, the police would get to know of it. Faloo may be an independent nation having no extradition or other treaties, but in practice that would not amount to a row of beans. You do these poor devils who have been my companions for the last few years no disservice; if you put them on the run again, you at anyrate give them a good start. You do me no disservice either, for I’ve grown pretty restless of late and pretty sick of things. I shall be glad to start wandering again.”
“Then there’s one thing you must let me do. When Hilda and I reach Tahiti we must part from the Snowflake. We’ve got fond of her, and we don’t want to sell her. We’d sooner a friend had her. You can well afford to keep her. I shall send her back to Faloo, doctor, and in future she will be yours. You will start your wanderings in her.”
Pryce reflected a moment. “Very well,” he said. “I shall sail in the boat I meant to sink, but I don’t know that it matters. Thank you very much, Lechworthy. I shall be glad to take the Snowflake and to let you be disproportionately generous to me.”
They shook hands on it.
The meeting of the committee of the Exiles’ Club had been fixed for the following day, but Pryce decided after all not to be present at it. He wrote a short note to Sweetling telling him that he would agree with any arrangements made for winding up the club, and that there was no further news. He added that a general meeting would of course be called and all the members informed.