|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 25
That night Cara tossed sleeplessly on her bed; she was sorry she
had ever spoken of Marco to Jarman. It was unnecessary now;
perhaps he disbelieved her and thought she loved Marco; perhaps
that was the reason of his strange and abrupt leave-taking that
afternoon. She longed for the next day, she could tell him
everything now.
Towards morning she slept fitfully, but was awakened by the sound
of voices on the sands outside the hut. Its flimsy structure,
already warped by the fierce day-long sun, allowed her through
chinks and crevices not only to recognize the voices of the
detectives, but to hear distinctly what they said. Suddenly the
name of Jarman struck upon her ear. She sat upright in bed,
breathless.
"Are you sure it's the same man?" asked a second voice.
"Perfectly," answered the first. "He was tracked to 'Frisco, but
disappeared the day he landed. We knew from our agents that he
never left the bay. And when we found that somebody answering his
description got the post of telegraph operator out here, we knew
that we had spotted our man and the L250 sterling offered for his
capture."
"But that was five months ago. Why didn't you take him then?"
"Couldn't! For we couldn't hold him without the extradition papers
from Australia. We sent for 'em; they're due to-day or to-morrow
on the mail steamer."
"But he might have got away at any time?"
"He couldn't without our knowing it. Don't you see? Every time
the signals went up, we in San Francisco knew he was at his post.
We had him safe, out here on these sandhills, as if he'd been under
lock and key in 'Frisco. He was his own keeper, and reported to
us."
"But since you're here and expect the papers to-morrow, why don't
you 'cop' him now?"
"Because there isn't a judge in San Francisco that would hold him a
moment unless he had those extradition papers before him. He'd be
discharged, and escape."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"As soon as the steamer is signaled in 'Frisco, we'll board her in
the bay, get the papers, and drop down upon him."
"I see; and as HE'S the signal man, the darned fool"--
"Will give the signal himself."
The laugh that followed was so cruel that the young girl shuddered.
But the next moment she slipped from the bed, erect, pale, and
determined.
The voices seemed gradually to retreat. She dressed herself
hurriedly, and passed noiselessly through the room of her still
sleeping parent, and passed out. A gray fog was lifting slowly
over the sands and sea, and the police boat was gone. She no
longer hesitated, but ran quickly in the direction of Jarman's
cabin. As she ran, her mind seemed to be swept clear of all
illusion and fancy; she saw plainly everything that had happened;
she knew the mystery of Jarman's presence here,--the secret of his
life,--the dreadful cruelty of her remark to him,--the man that she
knew now she loved. The sun was painting the black arms of the
semaphore as she toiled over the last stretch of sand and knocked
loudly at the door. There was no reply. She knocked again; the
cabin was silent. Had he already fled?--and without seeing her and
knowing all! She tried the handle of the door; it yielded; she
stepped boldly into the room, with his name upon her lips. He was
lying fully dressed upon his couch. She ran eagerly to his side
and stopped. It needed only a single glance at his congested face,
his lips parted with his heavy breath, to see that the man was
hopelessly, helplessly drunk!
Yet even then, without knowing that it was her thoughtless speech
which had driven him to seek this foolish oblivion of remorse and
sorrow, she saw only his HELPLESSNESS. She tried in vain to rouse
him; he only muttered a few incoherent words and sank back again.
She looked despairingly around. Something must be done; the
steamer might be visible at any moment. Ah, yes,--the telescope!
She seized it and swept the horizon. There was a faint streak of
haze against the line of sea and sky, abreast the Golden Gate. He
had once told her what it meant. It WAS the steamer! A sudden
thought leaped into her clear and active brain. If the police boat
should chance to see that haze too, and saw no warning signal from
the semaphore, they would suspect something. That signal must be
made, BUT NOT THE RIGHT ONE! She remembered quickly how he had
explained to her the difference between the signals for a coasting
steamer and the one that brought the mails. At that distance the
police boat could not detect whether the semaphore's arms were
extended to perfect right angles for the mail steamer, or if the
left arm slightly deflected for a coasting steamer. She ran out to
the windlass and seized the crank. For a moment it defied her
strength; she redoubled her efforts: it began to creak and groan,
the great arms were slowly uplifted, and the signal made.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|