Pyramids of snow

by Edith Metcalfe

"You are Mr. Ashley's servant?" he enquired.

"Yes," said Jervis.

"Well, perhaps you can describe him to me; fully, please. I only want to make enquiries in case there has been an accident. You will not be doing him any injury."

So Jervis gave an accurate description of his master, and found several photographs of him to bear the description out. From a study of the wardrobe he saw what clothes were missing, and suggested what Melville might be wearing, and soon the inspector was satisfied.

"You will be very well advised to keep a still tongue in your head," he remarked. "If Mr. Ashley comes back, well and good, but if he doesn't, see that nobody comes into these rooms unless I am with them at the time," and, leaving Jervis dumbfounded, he walked away.

Thus it came about that when the train in which Melville was travelling reached Dover, the police there, as at many another likely spot for leaving England, were in possession of a close description of him, and of instructions not to lose sight of him if they saw him. His actual apprehension might be deferred with safety, it could be accomplished at any moment; but just as it is a mistake to strike too soon when playing a game fish, so it is often one to arrest a man merely upon suspicion when a little delay may justify the event and yet not prejudice its successful performance. Moreover, if Lady Holt's statement were true, the police had made one gross blunder as it was.

But while at Dover the detectives knew what Melville was like, and had a clearly defined course of action in the event of his arriving there and crossing the Channel, Melville had no idea of what they might be like, and reached the end of this first stage in his journey without devising any scheme for his next movements. He was so persuaded that Lavender had betrayed him, and that already a warrant must be out for his arrest, that his heart was broken ere the pursuit was begun. What was the good of thirty pounds to a man for whom the whole world held no sanctuary? Would it not have been wiser to remain in London until he could raise enough money to take him, at any rate, an appreciable distance away? There might be greater difficulty in leaving the country a week hence, but the difficulty would be more worth trying to overcome if afterwards he had money to go on with. Thirty pounds was almost useless. Again he blasphemed against his luck. If the accident had happened twenty-four hours later he might have drawn a considerable sum from Lavender, and even gone abroad. And it was just like his cursed ill-luck that the cabman should be killed outright and Lavender live to speak once more, whereas if the converse had happened he would have been out of danger for ever, and nobody would have been a penny the worse except his brother, whom everyone believed to be guilty, and who might hang with pleasure so far as Melville was concerned.

He got furtively out of the carriage and scanned everybody about him; in each face he fancied he detected the detectives whom he supposed to be waiting for him, and even when he got aboard the packet unobserved, as he believed, he stood cowering on one side, uncertain whether to go below or linger to watch for the hand that surely must be laid upon him soon. His nerve was utterly gone, and the only idea clear in his mind was that if an attempt were made to arrest him ere the packet started, he must jump overboard and endeavour not to relax his grasp upon his Gladstone bag, so that he might be sure of not rising to the surface. That much, at any rate, was certain: he must not be taken alive.

The night was mild, but very dark, and Melville stood forward watching every figure as it came aboard, and finding the really short wait interminably long; but at last the boat began to move away from the pier, and he felt that he had another respite. With a sudden access of terror, however, he saw two men rush to the end of the pier gesticulating wildly, and he waited, feeling absolutely sick, until he saw they were too late and had missed the boat. None the less, it accentuated his fear and stretched his power of endurance to breaking point. In reality, they were two harmless travellers, one an acquaintance of his own, who had tarried too long in the hotel and lost the packet by mere carelessness. But Melville was convinced that they were the men deputed to detain him, and while it was now too late to draw back, it was fatal to go on. They would certainly telegraph to the authorities at Calais, and freedom was his for another bare hour and a half. How should he utilise it?

The coast line was lost in the darkness, and the lights grew smaller and smaller. When the largest of them showed like pin-pricks, Melville sighed and went below. He had something to do before the pin-pricks should appear ahead and grow larger and larger until they fell upon the deck of the boat at Calais. Going into the saloon he opened his bag and sat down upon a couch. Taking a sheet of paper, he wrote a pencil note.