“I shall certainly sail to-morrow,” I said, “and I do not consider it worth my while to change my quarters. If you attempt to interfere with me in any way, I shall simply report you to a friend of mine as an importer of hashish——”
“For God’s sake, hush!” he exclaimed. “Do not shout that word.”
“I have nothing to fear,” I assured him. “I do not mind who hears me say it. When I came here I did not know what the vile stuff was. By a coincidence I learned all about it, and I determined to stop your vile trade. I have acted accordingly. You may believe that or not; it does not matter what you believe. I made my friends remove your poison and theirs—it was not mine. It will never be sold. I shall see it destroyed. If you are wronged you can take what action you please. But I warn you, Mr. Van Ermengen, you will not get a penny out of me except by process of law. Now, if I am incommoded in any way while I remain here, I know what to do. I have nothing more to say, and I shall be glad if you will have my bill ready for me in good time in the morning.”
“You will hear more of this,” said Van Ermengen as I left his office. I thought it was rather a feeble remark, but I feared greatly that I should hear more of it, and that Jakoub would be the medium through which I should hear.
It was a relief when Brogden rang me up and asked me to spend the afternoon and dine with him at the Yacht Club. I forgot all my troubles while I held the tiller of his two-and-a-half rater.
Although we spent the afternoon and evening together, there was no more said about the hashish business. I understood that he must be at a loss and would avoid reference to it, and I had no longer any reason to question him.
Brogden saw me off at the dock the next morning.
I greatly dislike being “seen off,” but after all his kindness I could not tell him so. Thus it was that I, who had so strangely and unintentionally stumbled into Egypt, left the land of sunshine and mystery like any respectable and most commonplace traveller.
The low line of yellow sandhills we had been so long approaching a few days ago soon sank below the horizon as the great steamer rushed seawards, and in spite of the sorrow that had come upon me there, I felt a certain sadness at seeing the land fade from sight. I felt that there in these few days I had had more of a man’s part in the world than in all the other days of my life. I knew that what I had done there would offend many consciences more conventional than mine. A legal phrase cropped up in my mind, and I believed that I had “compounded a misdemeanour.” I had certainly sailed “close to the wind.” But I believed that I had saved my brother from irretrievable disaster. I had done what I could to break up a nefarious conspiracy, and though I now saw things that might have been better done, I looked my conscience in the face and was not ashamed.
That evening just at sunset I saw a sail ahead of us. It looked small and insignificant in the distance, but a great hope came over me that it might be the Astarte. As we overhauled her she altered her course so that we should pass closer to her, and I saw the leg-o’-mutton sails, the long high bows and the bowsprit with its head-sails “like a skein of geese.” I found myself close to one of the ship’s officers as I leaned on the taffrail watching her.