Part 48 (1/2)
”Tom's property. He has had it for years.”
”And he gave it to you? Doesn't he care for it?”
”Don't know. It's just a thing.”
”But it has a meaning as between you and him. Is that so?”
”Yes. It has. He will know what it means.”
”What does it mean?”
”I am too much his friend not to hold my tongue.”
”What! To me!”
”And who are you?” was Jorgenson's unexpected remark. ”He has told you too much already.”
”Perhaps he has,” whispered Mrs. Travers, as if to herself. ”And you want that ring to be taken to him?” she asked, in a louder tone.
”Yes. At once. For his good.”
”Are you certain it is for his good? Why can't you. . . .”
She checked herself. That man was hopeless. He would never tell anything and there was no means of compelling him. He was invulnerable, unapproachable. . . . He was dead.
”Just give it to him,” mumbled Jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixed idea. ”Just slip it quietly into his hand. He will understand.”
”What is it? Advice, warning, signal for action?”
”It may be anything,” uttered Jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in a mollified tone. ”It's meant for his good.”
”Oh, if I only could trust that man!” mused Mrs. Travers, half aloud.
Jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for an expression of sympathy. But he remained silent.
”Really, this is most extraordinary!” cried Mrs. Travers, suddenly aroused. ”Why did you come to me? Why should it be my task? Why should you want me specially to take it to him?”
”I will tell you why,” said Jorgenson's blank voice. ”It's because there is no one on board this hulk that can hope to get alive inside that stockade. This morning you told me yourself that you were ready to die--for Tom--or with Tom. Well, risk it then. You are the only one that has half a chance to get through--and Tom, maybe, is waiting.”
”The only one,” repeated Mrs. Travers with an abrupt movement forward and an extended hand before which Jorgenson stepped back a pace. ”Risk it! Certainly! Where's that mysterious ring?”
”I have got it in my pocket,” said Jorgenson, readily; yet nearly half a minute elapsed before Mrs. Travers felt the characteristic shape being pressed into her half-open palm. ”Don't let anybody see it,” Jorgenson admonished her in a murmur. ”Hide it somewhere about you. Why not hang it round your neck?”
Mrs. Travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. ”Yes, that will do,” she murmured, hastily. ”I'll be back in a moment. Get everything ready.” With those words she disappeared inside the deckhouse and presently threads of light appeared in the interstices of the boards.
Mrs. Travers had lighted a candle in there. She was busy hanging that ring round her neck. She was going. Yes--taking the risk for Tom's sake.
”n.o.body can resist that man,” Jorgenson muttered to himself with increasing moroseness. ”_I_ couldn't.”
IV
Jorgenson, after seeing the canoe leave the s.h.i.+p's side, ceased to live intellectually. There was no need for more thinking, for any display of mental ingenuity. He had done with it all. All his notions were perfectly fixed and he could go over them in the same ghostly way in which he haunted the deck of the Emma. At the sight of the ring Lingard would return to Ha.s.sim and Immada, now captives, too, though Jorgenson certainly did not think them in any serious danger. What had happened really was that Tengga was now holding hostages, and those Jorgenson looked upon as Lingard's own people. They were his. He had gone in with them deep, very deep. They had a hold and a claim on King Tom just as many years ago people of that very race had had a hold and a claim on him, Jorgenson. Only Tom was a much bigger man. A very big man.
Nevertheless, Jorgenson didn't see why he should escape his own fate--Jorgenson's fate--to be absorbed, captured, made their own either in failure or in success. It was an unavoidable fatality and Jorgenson felt certain that the ring would compel Lingard to face it without flinching. What he really wanted Lingard to do was to cease to take the slightest interest in those whites--who were the sort of people that left no footprints.