“I suppose so. I’m not likely to tell any one. I don’t talk much; and I should only get into fresh trouble if I talked of this.”
“Yes. You’re quiet and shrewd. I’ve watched you a long time. Your life here is a dog’s life. You are ticketed as the man—who was found out. Now there’s very little risk in this; practically none. For if the thing fails I don’t think the law can touch you. Of course your reputation would be gone; but then you’ve damaged that already, and he doesn’t forget it, any more than you do, does he?”
“Naturally he does not.”
“If it succeeds, and I think it will, then I will give you enough of the proceeds to give you a real “fresh start” in America. My name will never appear; it will never be traced who paid you the money; you will simply reserve a sum agreed on between us. That’s tempting to you, isn’t it? It means freedom, and a clean record in another country. That’s tempting?”
“I think so. Will you give me twenty-four hours to think it over?”
“As long as you like in moderation.”
“It’s only that I feel rather played out and tired, that’s all. I funk at anything that is fresh; anything that needs thought and smartness.”
“Ask for a holiday; rest and think it over.”
So the man asked for a holiday, and was granted forty-eight hours; not more, because there was haste to produce the world-compelling pamphlet. He thought he would walk five miles to the forest, and live two days and nights in solitude under the open sky. He started in the dark, with a knapsack strapped to his shoulders. It was dawn when he reached the forest, and crossed a stretch of heath, whence the sea could be smelt, salt and pungent; and the island, too, could be seen, lying, indigo-blue, in the clear distance.
It was a very clear dawn, as clear as crystal, and sights and sounds and smells had a bell-like clean-cut purity that struck the soul at first hand, so that one hardly realised the perception of them came by way of the body. There was a winding ribbon-like road, which crossed the heath after it crept out of the thick forest, and along it a red-painted mailcart went. Behind the cart ran an old dog, lured neither to the right nor to the left in his steady following. The cart clattered over a railless wooden bridge which crossed a slow stream in which watergrasses waved; there were two moor-fowl swimming on it, and its banks were shining with water forget-me-nots.