the man who knew too much-第15部分

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　this　time　with　a　very　buffeted　and　bewildered　air；　perhaps　a　sadder　and　a　wiser　man。

〃What　about　me；　then？〃　he　was　saying。　〃Am　I　cleared？　Am　I　not　going　to　be　cleared？〃

〃I　believe　and　hope；〃　answered　Fisher；　〃that　you　are　not　going　to　be　suspected。　But　you　are　certainly　not　going　to　be　cleared。　There　must　be　no　suspicion　against　him；　and　therefore　no　suspicion　against　you。　Any　suspicion　against　him；　let　alone　such　a　story　against　him；　would　knock　us　endways　from　Malta　to　Mandalay。　He　was　a　hero　as　well　as　a　holy　terror　among　the　Moslems。　Indeed；　you　might　almost　call　him　a　Moslem　hero　in　the　English　service。　Of　course　he　got　on　with　them　partly　because　of　his　own　little　dose　of　Eastern　blood；　he　got　it　from　his　mother；　the　dancer　from　Damascus；　everybody　knows　that。〃

〃Oh；〃　repeated　Boyle；　mechanically；　staring　at　him　with　round　eyes；　〃everybody　knows　that。〃

〃I　dare　say　there　was　a　touch　of　it　in　his　jealousy　and　ferocious　vengeance；〃　went　on　Fisher。　〃But；　for　all　that；　the　crime　would　ruin　us　among　the　Arabs；　all　the　more　because　it　was　something　like　a　crime　against　hospitality。　It's　been　hateful　for　you　and　it's　pretty　horrid　for　me。　But　there　are　some　things　that　damned　well　can't　be　done；　and　while　I'm　alive　that's　one　of　them。〃

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　Boyle；　glancing　at　him　curiously。　〃Why　should　you；　of　all　people；　be　so　passionate　about　it？〃

Horne　Fisher　looked　at　the　young　man　with　a　baffling　expression。

〃I　suppose；〃　he　said；　〃it's　because　I'm　a　Little　Englander。〃

〃I　can　never　make　out　what　you　mean　by　that　sort　of　thing；〃　answered　Boyle；　doubtfully。

〃Do　you　think　England　is　so　little　as　all　that？〃　said　Fisher；　with　a　warmth　in　his　cold　voice；　〃that　it　can't　hold　a　man　across　a　few　thousand　miles。　You　lectured　me　with　a　lot　of　ideal　patriotism；　my　young　friend；　but　it's　practical　patriotism　now　for　you　and　me；　and　with　no　lies　to　help　it。　You　talked　as　if　everything　always　went　right　with　us　all　over　the　world；　in　a　triumphant　crescendo　culminating　in　Hastings。　I　tell　you　everything　has　gone　wrong　with　us　here；　except　Hastings。　He　was　the　one　name　we　had　left　to　conjure　with；　and　that　mustn't　go　as　well；　no；　by　God！　It's　bad　enough　that　a　gang　of　infernal　Jews　should　plant　us　here；　where　there's　no　earthly　English　interest　to　serve；　and　all　hell　beating　up　against　us；　simply　because　Nosey　Zimmern　has　lent　money　to　half　the　Cabinet。　It's　bad　enough　that　an　old　pawnbroker　from　Bagdad　should　make　us　fight　his　battles；　we　can't　fight　with　our　right　hand　cut　off。　Our　one　score　was　Hastings　and　his　victory；　which　was　really　somebody　else's　victory。　Tom　Travers　has　to　suffer；　and　so　have　you。〃

Then；　after　a　moment's　silence；　he　pointed　toward　the　bottomless　well　and　said；　in　a　quieter　tone：

〃I　told　you　that　I　didn't　believe　in　the　philosophy　of　the　Tower　of　Aladdin。　I　don't　believe　in　the　Empire　growing　until　it　reaches　the　sky；　I　don't　believe　in　the　Union　Jack　going　up　and　up　eternally　like　the　Tower。　But　if　you　think　I　am　going　to　let　the　Union　Jack　go　down　and　down　eternally；　like　the　bottomless　well；　down　into　the　blackness　of　the　bottomless　pit；　down　in　defeat　and　derision；　amid　the　jeers　of　the　very　Jews　who　have　sucked　us　dryno　I　won't；　and　that's　flat；　not　if　the　Chancellor　were　blackmailed　by　twenty　millionaires　with　their　gutter　rags；　not　if　the　Prime　Minister　married　twenty　Yankee　Jewesses；　not　if　Woodville　and　Carstairs　had　shares　in　twenty　swindling　mines。　If　the　thing　is　really　tottering；　God　help　it；　it　mustn't　be　we　who　tip　it　over。〃

Boyle　was　regarding　him　with　a　bewilderment　that　was　almost　fear；　and　had　even　a　touch　of　distaste。

〃Somehow；〃　he　said；　〃there　seems　to　be　something　rather　horrid　about　the　things　you　know。〃

〃There　is；〃　replied　Horne　Fisher。　〃I　am　not　at　all　pleased　with　my　small　stock　of　knowledge　and　reflection。　But　as　it　is　partly　responsible　for　your　not　being　hanged；　I　don't　know　that　you　need　complain　of　it。〃

And；　as　if　a　little　ashamed　of　his　first　boast；　he　turned　and　strolled　away　toward　the　bottomless　well。



V。　THE　FAD　OF　THE　FISHERMAN

A　thing　can　sometimes　be　too　extraordinary　to　be　remembered。　If　it　is　clean　out　of　the　course　of　things；　and　has　apparently　no　causes　and　no　consequences；　subsequent　events　do　not　recall　it；　and　it　remains　only　a　subconscious　thing；　to　be　stirred　by　some　accident　long　after。　It　drifts　apart　like　a　forgotten　dream；　and　it　was　in　the　hour　of　many　dreams；　at　daybreak　and　very　soon　after　the　end　of　dark；　that　such　a　strange　sight　was　given　to　a　man　sculling　a　boat　down　a　river　in　the　West　country。　The　man　was　awake；　indeed；　he　considered　himself　rather　wide　awake；　being　the　political　journalist；　Harold　March；　on　his　way　to　interview　various　political　celebrities　in　their　country　seats。　But　the　thing　he　saw　was　so　inconsequent　that　it　might　have　been　imaginary。　It　simply　slipped　past　his　mind　and　was　lost　in　later　and　utterly　different　events；　nor　did　he　even　recover　the　memory　till　he　had　long　afterward　discovered　the　meaning。

Pale　mists　of　morning　lay　on　the　fields　and　the　rushes　along　one　margin　of　the　river；　along　the　other　side　ran　a　wall　of　tawny　brick　almost　overhanging　the　water。　He　had　shipped　his　oars　and　was　drifting　for　a　moment　with　the　stream；　when　he　turned　his　head　and　saw　that　the　monotony　of　the　long　brick　wall　was　broken　by　a　bridge；　rather　an　elegant　eighteenth…century　sort　of　bridge　with　little　columns　of　white　stone　turning　gray。　There　had　been　floods　and　the　river　still　stood　very　high；　with　dwarfish　trees　waist　deep　in　it；　and　rather　a　narrow　arc　of　white　dawn　gleamed　under　the　curve　of　the　bridge。

As　his　own　boat　went　under　the　dark　archway　he　saw　another　boat　coming　toward　him；　rowed　by　a　man　as　solitary　as　himself。　His　posture　prevented　much　being　seen　of　him；　but　as　he　neared　the　bridge　he　stood　up　in　the　boat　and　turned　round。　He　was　already　so　close　to　the　dark　entry；　however；　that　his　whole　figure　was　black　against　the　morning　light；　and　March　could　see　nothing　of　his　face　except　the　end　of　two　long　whiskers　or　mustaches　that　gave　something　sinister　to　the　silhouette；　like　horns　in　the　wrong　place。　Even　these　details　March　would　never　have　noticed　but　for　what　happened　in　the　same　instant。　As　the　man　came　under　the　low　bridge　he　made　a　leap　at　it　and　hung；　with　his　legs　dangling；　letting　the　boat　float　away　from　under　him。　March　had　a　momentary　vision　of　two　black　kicking　legs；　then　of　one　black　kicking　leg；　and　then　of　nothing　except　the　eddying　stream　and　the　long　perspective　of　the　wall。　But　whenever　he　thought　of　it　again；　long　afterward；　when　he　understood　the　story　in　which　it　figured；　it　was　always　fixed　in　that　one　fantastic　shapeas　if　those　wild　legs　were　a　grotesque　graven　ornament　of　the　bridge　itself；　in　the　manner　of　a　gargoyle。　At　the　moment　he　merely　passed；　staring；　down　the　stream。　He　could　see　no　flying　figure　on　the　bridge；　so　it　must　have　already　fled；　but　he　was　half　conscious　of　some　faint　significance　in　the　fact　that　among　the　trees　round　the　bridgehead　opposite　the　wall　he　saw　a　lamp…post；　and；　beside　the　lamp…post；　the　broad　blue　back　of　an　unconscious　policeman。

Even　before　reaching　the　shrine　of　his　political　pilgrimage　he　had　many　other　things　to　think　of　besides　the　odd　incident　of　the　bridge；　for　the　management　of　a　boat　by　a　solitary　man　was　not　always　easy　even　on　such　a　solitary　stream。　And　indeed　it　was　only　by　an　unforeseen　accident　that　he　was　solitary。　The　boat　had　been　purchased　and　the　whole　expedition　planned　in　conjunction　with　a　friend；　who　had　at　the　last　moment　been　forced　to　alter　all　his　arrangements。　Harold　March　was　to　have　traveled　with　his　friend　Horne　Fisher　on　that　inland　voyage　to　Willowood　Place；　where　the　Prime　Minister　was　a　guest　at　the　moment。　More　and　more　people　were　hearing　of　Harold　March；　for　his　striking　political　articles　were　opening　to　him　the　doors　of　larger　and　larger　salons；　but　he　had　never　met　the　Prime　Minister　yet。　Scarcely　anybody　among　the　general　public　had　ever　heard　of　Horne　Fisher；　but　he　had　known　the　Prime　Minister　all　his　life。　For　these　reasons；　had　the　two　taken　the　projected　journey　together；　March　might　have　been　slightly　disposed　to　hasten　it　and　Fisher　vaguely　content　to　lengthen　it　out。　For　Fisher　was　one　of　those　people　who　are　born　knowing　the　Prime　Minister。　The　knowledge　seemed　to　have　no　very　exhilarant　effect；　and　in　his　case　bore　some　resemblance　to　being　born　tired。　But　he　was　distinctly　annoyed　to　receive；　just　as　he　was　doing　a　little　light　packing　of　fishing　tackle　and　cigars　for　the　journey；　a　telegram　from　Willowood　asking　him　to　come　down　at　once　by　train；　as　the　Prime　Minister　had　to　leave　that　night。　Fisher　knew　that　his　friend　the　journalist　could　not　possibly　start　till　the　next　day；　and　he　liked　his　friend　the　journalist；　and　had　looked　forward　to　a　few　days　on　the　river。　He　did　not　particularly　like　or　dislike　the　Prime　Minister；　but　he　intensely　disliked　the　alternative　of　a　few　hours　in　the　train。　Nevertheless；　he　accepted　Prime　Ministers　as　he　accepted　railway　trainsas　part　of　a　system　which　he；　at　least；　was　not　the　revolutionist　sent　on　earth　to　destroy。　So　he　telephoned　to　March；　asking　him；　with　many　apologetic　curses　and　faint　damns；　to　take　the　boat　down　the　river　as　arranged；　that　they　might　meet　at　Willowood　by　the　time　settled；　then　he　went　outside　and　hailed　a　taxicab　to　take　him　to　the　railway　station。　There　he　paused　at　the　bookstall　to　add　to　his　light　luggage　a　number　of　cheap　murder　stories；　which　he　read　with　great　pleasure；　and　without　any　premonition　that　he　was　about　to　walk　into　as　strange　a　story　in　real　life。

A　little　before　sunset　he　arrived；　with　his　light　suitcase　in　hand；　before　the　gate　of　the　long　riverside　gardens　of　Willowood　Place；　one　of　the　smaller　seats　of　Sir　Isaac　Hook；　the　master　of　much　shipping　and　many　newspapers。　He　entered　by　the　gate　giving　on　the　road；　at　the　opposite　side　to　the　river；　but　there　was　a　mixed　quality　in　all　that　watery　landscape　which　perpetually　reminded　a　traveler　that　the　river　was　near。　White　gleams　of　water　would　shine　suddenly　like　swords　or　spears　in　the　green　thickets。　And　even　in　the　garden　itself；　divided　into　courts　and　curtained　with　hedges　and　high　garden　trees；　there　hung　everywhere　in　the　air