THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
When she cried ‘Whoa!’
They said Let her go!’
And—”
“Shut up that d—d row, you blithering idiot!”
Mr. Skein closed his jaws with a snap.
“What’s the matter with it?” he asked feebly. “I know I haven’t got much of a voice, but that’s no reason why you should snarl a fellow’s head off.”
“Much of a voice! It’s like the squeak of a hell-cat,” Mr. Hamilton remarked between his teeth. “Turn your rat’s face this way. I’m drunk, and you know it. Now, hark ‘ee. What the hell do you mean by sitting there and asking me questions about my private affairs, eh?”
“I—I didn’t mean any harm,” faltered Skein, with chattering teeth. “I’ve told you all about myself.”
“All about yourself! Yes, and it sounded like a blooming pack of lies,” growled the other. “Bah! what do I care about you and your pettifogging, crawling little life? Sit up, man, and pull yourself together. Don’t crouch there and look at me out of the corners of your eyes, as though I were going to eat you.”
“You’re such an odd fellow, Jim. You’re—”
“Ay, you’ll find I’m odd before you’ve done with me. Pick up that bottle. Is it empty?”
Skein turned it upside down. Not a drop trickled out. Mr. Hamilton expressed his disappointment with a savage growl.
“Open that cupboard.”
Skein obeyed promptly.
“There’s a black bottle there, half full, unless you’ve been guzzling it on the sly. Out with it.”
Skein’s head and shoulders disappeared in the recess. In a moment he produced the bottle and passed it over. Mr. Hamilton handled it for awhile with affection, passing his hands up and down it with affectionate gentleness. Then he raised it to his lips, and held it there while it gurgled seven times. As he set it down he caught his partner’s eye watching him timidly. He held out the bottle to him.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Skein took the bottle, raised it to his lips, and set it down. Mr. Hamilton scowled. He had been listening for the gurgle, and there had been none. Naturally he felt annoyed.
He got up with some difficulty, and seized the bottle with one hand, and the back of his partner’s head with the other.
“Now, drink,” he shouted thickly. “Drink, you puling idiot! No shamming. Down with it like a man.”
With a trembling hand Skein guided the neck of the bottle to his mouth. Instantly it was held there like a vice. The raw, fierce spirit poured down his throat as hot as liquid fire. He coughed, spluttered, yelled. The tears streamed down his cheeks, and he grew purple to the forehead. Then with a mighty laugh Mr. Hamilton withdrew his hand, and, carrying the bottle with him, resumed his seat.
“Hark ‘ee, Christopher,” he said, frowning till his thick eyebrows met, and his eyes glowed underneath them like pieces of live coal. “You know I’m drunk. You’ve shirked the bottle yourself on purpose. You’ve been asking me questions—pumping me, by thunder, just as though I was some commonplace idiot to be turned inside out by a sick-faced insect like you. Perhaps you didn’t mean anything. Better for you that you didn’t. Perhaps I’m suspicious. Dare say I am. I don’t mind telling you this much, you miserable young cub. I’m low down, low down as hell, but I’ve been a gentleman, and an English gentleman, too, and hunted and shot, and had my town place and country place, and seen more of life than you’ve ever heard or read of. And I’m not quite done yet. I’ve got the disposal of a huge estate and a great name in my hand at this very moment. Ha, ha, ha! It’s a fine thing! There’s a man in the old country who trembles and turns pale at the mention of my name. He’s a proud man, too, one of the old sort, but you go to him and tell him that Jim Hu—Hamilton’s outside to have a word with him, and, Lord, how he’d flop!”
Mr. Skein was himself again. His teeth had ceased to chatter, and his bead-like eyes were sparkling. He seemed to have forgotten even his fear.
“Why don’t you bleed him?” he whispered.
Mr. Hamilton laughed softly. It was an evil laugh. Even his admiring partner drew a little further away. It was a laugh which suggested a good many things, but certainly not mirth.
“Ay, why don’t I?” he said. “Well, I’ll tell you, pard. You ain’t a bad little sort, and you wouldn’t try any games on me, I don’t think. I’m a bit hasty with my shooting irons when I’m roused. You remember that, my kid, and if you don’t want daylight letting into your body, keep a still tongue in your ugly head. Now I’ll tell you. I was in England—not very long ago—never mind how long. There are two of them; one don’t know, the other does. I was fixing things up when I got into a row—never mind what sort—it was a hell of a row, though! I had to bolt. Out here a man’s life more or less don’t count. Lord, it’s the sort of place to be jolly in, this is! But I’ve written to those chaps. I’m going to run ‘em up, one against the other. Christopher, my boy, if you were pards with me here,” he clapped his hand upon his chest, “your fortune would be made. But you ain’t, you see.”
Skein was trembling all over, not with fear this time but with excitement. He had distinctly heard the rustle of paper when his partner had struck his chest. It was there, sewn into his coat, very likely. How his heart was beating! Oh, if only he were not such a coward!
“What is it, Jim?” he asked, with quavering voice. “Documents?”
Mr. Hamilton shot a furious glance at his questioner. There was a look in the lean, craven face and hungry, piercing eyes, which did not take his fancy. He was aware that he had talked too much. The fumes of the spirit had worked like fire in his brain. What had he said? Perhaps it would be safer—
He drew out his revolver, and began to examine the priming. He spat on the barrel and polished it, glancing every now and then at his companion, who was almost falling off his seat with terror.
There was an intense silence between the two men, so deep that the faint night sounds from the wood, and the music of the softly flowing river in the valley below, floated in through the open doorway to their ears. Suddenly they both gave a great start. Skein sprang up with a cry of fear. His partner, leaning over, seized him fiercely by the arm.
“Listen, you d—d fool!” he muttered savagely. “If you breathe a word I’ll knock your brains out!”
They listened motionless. A slight rustling sound again broke the deep night hush. What was it? A sudden breeze in the tree-tops, a stray wolf attracted by the light, or the faint rustling of a woman’s gown over the short grass?
“Some one has been lying there listening!” Mr. Hamilton hissed. “Quick!”
He staggered towards the door, the revolver in his hand. Half-way there, he reeled against the wall. The shanty was spinning round. He was blind drunk. He held out the revolver to Skein.
“Take it quick!” he muttered. “Outside! Blaze away!”
Skein snatched it from him, and rushed to the doorway. But he did not even glance out. He turned round and faced his partner. His cheeks were ghastly pale, and his eyes seemed starting from his head.
“Not inside, you blarsted idiot!” yelled Mr. Hamilton. “What the hell are you doing? D—n!”
Two shots rang out, one after the other. Mr. Hamilton, with a fearful oath upon his lips, fell sideways across the floor, with his hand pressed to his side. His partner, throwing down the revolver, leaped through the thick smoke, and knelt over the fallen body. His tongue was protruding between his teeth, and his eyes seemed starting from his head. With shaking fingers he commenced to undo the wounded man’s coat. Before he got to the last button Mr. Hamilton opened his eyes, and he drew back with a shriek.
“You’ve—done for