Part 12 (1/2)
Here, had the Commandant been a readier man, he might have answered with a compliment, and a truthful one. For indeed it was a very beautiful face that the lantern showed him, and--here was the strange part of the business--it had been growing younger since she stepped off the s.h.i.+p, and somehow it must have contrived, in spite of the darkness, to convey a hint of its rejuvenescence, for the word ”young” had slipped from him quite involuntarily.
But, after all, there is nothing so subtle as simplicity, and, after all, the Commandant managed to imply that she must be a witch.
”Then, my dear young lady,” he replied, ”since you have spirited these females into my quarters, I can only ask you to go and spirit them away again.”
She shook her head.
”What! You won't?... Very well, then, I must deal with them, while you go off with the lantern and search for Mrs. Treacher.”
”You are a brave man,” said she; ”and--and I think--by the look of them--you are going to have great fun.”
The Commandant stood for a moment rubbing his chin and staring after the lantern, as it vanished in the fog. With a shake of the shoulders he pulled himself together, marched into the Barracks, and boldly opened the door.
”Miss Gabriel!”
”Major Vigoureux!”
”Certainly, ma'am--these being my own quarters, unless--” He paused and gazed around, as if to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him.
”Yes, yes--and at this time of night. As I was just saying to Charlotte here, 'Think what a terrible construction one might put on it!'”
The Commandant lifted his eyebrows. (”I behaved like a brute,” he confessed afterwards, ”but the woman, a few hours before, had shown no mercy to me.”) ”Indeed, ma'am?” said he. ”A construction? Then you must invent one for me, please, since I can think of none.”
”We have had the most terrible experience, sir--the most terrible fright! You have seen Mrs. Treacher?”
”Has anything happened to Mrs. Treacher?”
”No--but it all came about through the fog----”
”--and my husband deserting me,” put in Mrs. Pope.
The Commandant pa.s.sed a hand across his brow. The gesture seemed to express perplexity; in truth it covered amus.e.m.e.nt and a kind of fearful joy in his newly-found talent for dissimulation.
”My dear Mrs. Pope,” he answered, his voice faltering a little, ”You don't mean to tell me that your excellent husband----”
”Of course she doesn't,” snapped Miss Gabriel. ”She means to say that the gentlemen were escorting us home, but, meeting the coastguard with the news of this terrible wreck----”
”A wreck, ma'am?”
”Why, G.o.d bless the man! Don't you know? Haven't you heard the guns going?... But of course you have. Mrs. Treacher told me you were down helping with the boats--you and her husband and Archelaus, though what help you three supposed yourselves capable of giving,” wound up Miss Gabriel, reverting for a moment to her customary manner, ”I don't pretend to guess.”
”As for that,” the Commandant answered gravely, ”I am happy to tell you there has been no wreck. True, a vessel in distress--a large liner--had found herself among the h.e.l.l-deeps, of all abominably awkward places.
But by the mercy of Heaven she managed to extricate herself, and has dropped anchor, not half an hour ago, in the Roads.”
Miss Gabriel stared. ”The h.e.l.l-deeps ... and at anchor in the Roads?”
she repeated stupidly. ”Oh, will someone kindly tell me whether I am standing on my head or my heels! A large liner?--the thing's impossible! And in a fog that thick you couldn't see your hand before your face!”
”Are you quite sure, ladies,” asked the Commandant, still gravely, ”that you are not exaggerating the thickness of the fog, somewhat?”
”What?” Miss Gabriel took him up, like an echo. ”When we started for home and found we were half-way up Garrison Hill, and all the time convinced we were at Old Town, in the churchyard!”