‘I am grieved to say that we are about to lose the pleasure of your company,’ he observed in his blandest tones. ‘Whatever my regrets may be, I am afraid that I can scarcely expect you to share them; but it is just possible that we may have the felicity of meeting again on some future occasion. In any case, we shall hardly fail to remember each other. Wrap this cloak around you; I trust you will accept it at my hands as a slight souvenir of our acquaintance; and put this flask of cognac in your pocket; you will find the night-air cold on the water.—And now for a few last words of caution.’ His brows contracted and his face seemed to darken a little as he went on: ‘For your own sake, and if you value your future welfare—nay, what do I say, if you value life itself—you will not speak one word to any living being of that which you have seen and heard during the past few hours. Should we find the authorities in London setting on foot certain inquiries, we shall feel assured that any information they may have acquired can only have emanated from you. In that case—— But I feel sure I need not say more, except that I wish you to believe that my warning is intended for your good. And now, cher monsieur, if you are ready.’
I followed him on deck like a man in a dream. I had not noticed till now that the screw of the steamer had ceased to revolve and that we were scarcely moving through the water. The night was bright and starlit. ‘Yonder little vessel—what you English, I believe, call a fishing-smack—will be your home for the next hour or two,’ said M. Legros, pointing to a dark object some little distance away. ‘It will convey you to the nearest port, from which you will readily make your way to London.’ He took my hand and held it with a hearty grip. ‘And now, adieu, and bon voyage.’ Then in a whisper: ‘Remember my warning. In a pocket of the cloak you will find money to defray your expenses to London.’
They were his last words to me. A moment later I was being transferred in a small boat from the steamer to the smack. Even before I got aboard the latter, the steamer was under way again. We could see her lights for a little while after she herself was lost to view, then they, too, were swallowed up in the darkness.
The crew of the smack consisted of three men and a boy. They were a rough but kindly set, and did their best under the circumstances to make me comfortable. I asked them no questions, nor did they ask me any. No doubt, M. Legros had paid them well for the service they had undertaken to perform. Soon after daybreak they put me ashore at Lowestoft, and by noon I found myself in London. I at once took a cab and drove off to my friend Gascoigne’s lodgings, only stopping for a moment by the way to post poor Karavich’s letter. I had an impression, but it may have been groundless, that my movements were watched and followed both at Lowestoft and in London.
I had not been an hour in Gascoigne’s company before I had so far disobeyed M. Legros’ warning as to have told my friend everything. At my age, it could not well have been otherwise; the burden of such a secret was too heavy for my young shoulders to bear. But I had no desire to share it with any one else: once I had told the story to my friend, I felt that I could hold my tongue for ever.
Three days later, in the dusk of evening, Gascoigne and I strolled down the street to a certain house in which Karavich’s note had been addressed. We found the number readily enough. The ground-floor was a baker’s shop with an unmistakable English name on the sign—certainly not the name on Karavich’s letter. In the window was a card inscribed: ‘First and Second Floors to let Unfurnished;’ and sure enough, on looking up we saw four uncurtained windows staring blankly into the dark like so many sightless eyes. We made no inquiry at the shop, but hurried away, feeling as if we had touched the verge of another mystery.
One evening, early in the following spring, I was standing gazing into a jeweller’s window in Bond Street, when a passing stranger halted, apparently with the view of following my example. I was conscious of his presence, but that was all. I did not even glance at him. Suddenly a voice whispered in my ear: ‘Fedor Karavich has escaped; let his enemies beware!’ I turned with a start, but only to see a tall dark-clothed figure striding swiftly away.
Before these lines see the light, twelve thousand miles of ocean will intervene between me and the readers of them. Had it not been so, in all probability the strange experience embodied therein would never have been made public.