VANDERDECKEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 542, 20 December 1928, Page 5

VANDERDECKEN

♦ By

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.

CHAPTER XXXV.—'*CANDON." George and Tommie were the only oues on that deck beside himself, but Tommie did not laugh. She heaved a deep breath and stood with her hands °n the rail and her eyes fixed on the wreck. “She is,” said George, ‘‘Look at her Paint. J,*rd, this is lovely, that blighter has piled her.” ‘And got off in the boat,” said Hank. “The boat's gone, they’d have easy lowered her over the starboard side.” “What you going to do?” asked the other. ‘‘Shall we board her?” “Sure,” said Hank. “Roust out Jake an d get ready to drop the hook if we (, au find anchorage. Get the lead ready. George ran to the fo’c’sle and roused °ut Jake, who came on deck rubbing bis eyes. ‘‘Why, there’s the —old Jack, cried he. “Piled!” He clapped his hand on

his thigh, then fetched the lead at the order of Hank, and hove it. Forty fathoms, rocky bottom, was the resul. Then as they came slowly up the deck shoaled. “Get ready with an anchor,” cried Hank. He brought the Heart along till they were almost abreast of the wreck and at a safe distance, then, in thirty fathoms, the anchor was dropped. and the Heart swung slowly to her moorings. The dinghy was lowered and Hank and George got in. Yes, iet was the Wear Jack right enough, lying there like a stricken thing, the gentle list bringing her starboard rail to within a few feet of the blue lapping swell. Gaffs brought down on the booms, booms unsupported by the topping lifts, boat gone, she made a picture of desolation and abandonment unforgettable, seen there aaginst the grim grey background of the rock. “Well, he’s made a masterpiece of it,” said Hank as they tied on and scrambled on f>oard. “He sure has.” They were turning aft along the slanting deck when up through the cabin hatch came the head and shoulders of a man, a man rubbing sleep from his eyes—it was Candon.

Candon deserted by the Chinks just as he had deserted his companions on the beach. “It’s the blighter,” cried Hank. Candon as startled as themselves, wild-eyed, and just roused from profound sleep, standing now on deck staring at Hank, took the insult right in his teeth. He drew back a bit, glanced over, saw the Heart and turned to George. “What’s this?” said Candon. “Where have you come from?” “Where you left us stranded on that beach,” replied George. “Where you left us when you bunked with the ship and the boodle.” Candon’s face blazed up for a second. Then he got a clutch on himself and seemed to bottle his pride and his anger. He folded his arms and stared at the deck planking without speaking. He rocked slightly as he stood, as though unsure of his balance. He seemed to have no sense of shame, caught and confronted with his deed he did not seem to be even searching for excuses, there was a frown on his brow and his lips were compressed. Suddenly he spoke. “Well,’’ said Candon, “you’ve given me a name, what more have you to say?” “Nothing,” said George. Candon turned, spat viciously over the rail and laughed, an odious, sneering laugh that raised the bristles on Hank. “It’s easy to laugh,” said Hank, “hut it’s no laughing matter to us. We’ve lost the Wear Jack, we’ve lost the

boodle, we’ve lost our time, and we’ve been played a damn dirty trick, about as dirty as the trick the Chinks seem to have played on you.” Candon was not laughing now. He had turned to the starboard rail and was standing, looking at the Heart. Tommie on the deck was clearly visible. She was looking at the Wear Jack, then she turned away and went below, as though to escape from the sight of him. Candon gripped the rail tighter and heaved a deep breath. He turned to the others. “So I’ve played you a dirty trick,” said Candon. “Well, if I hadn’t you'd have suspected me all the same, you’d never have said to yourselves maybe he didn’t, let’s ask him —” “Ask him,” said Hank. “What’s the use, but I ask you now —Did you take that boat and go off to the Wear Jack for those automatics, leaving us there on that beach without pistols or means of fighting if the Mexicans came ?” “I did,” said Candon, a curious light in his blue eyes. “Did you sail off and leave us there?” “I did.” “Well, then, there’s no use talking.” “Not a bit,” said George. “You finished?” asked Candon. “Yep.” “Well, then, that’s Pat McGinnis's boat, he’s been down to the bay, must have been or you wouldn’t have collared it; what you done with him?”

“That’s nothing to you,” said Hank. “A minute,” said Georg§. “We’ve left him and his men there and we collared his boat, but we played the game he forced on us, and we played it straight.” “So you say,” said Candon. “How’m 1 to know?” “You suspect us!” fired Hank. “And why not? You suspected me, tlig whole three of you jumped on me like this directly you came on board, never asked a question, not you, because you weren’t true friends; hadn’t the makin’s of friendship id you, never asked for reasons.” Hank flushed. “Good Lord!” said he, “you mean to say you had a reason for leaving us like that?” “No, I hadn’t,” replied the other, “hut that’s nothing, it’s nothing if I’m the biggest blackguard on earth, as I intend to be, for what’s the good ol being honest v-nen you’re wrote down a rogue out of hand the first traverse that seems suspicious—even if you are a rogue. Why, God bless my soul, them diamonds, you wouldn’t trust them on the beach with me, you must take and shove them aboard the Jack.” “I never thought of you,” said Hank. “1 was thinking of the Mexicans coming down on us.” “Maybe,” said Candon, “so you say, but how’m I to know?” He spoke with extraordinary bitterness. To George the whole thing w’as beyond words, the evidence of a mentality bordering on the insane. Here was a man guilty of the betrayal of his companions, guilty of leaving them

marooned on a hostile beach, yet, not only unashamed but highly indignant that they should have suspected him and declared them guilty off hand. It was true there was something in what he said, they had -aken his action as the action of a rogue almost from the first go off, but they could not have done otherwise. He was determined to put this poim right. “Look here, ’ he said, "we might have thought you put oft for some reason other than making away with that hoodie, if you hadn’t said you were going to leave us.” “I said I was going to stick in Mexico,” replied Candon. “But there’s no use in talking any more. Question is what to do now. 1 can’t stick here and I don’t want to go on to Heart, unless I berth fo’ward and help to work the ship. You can put me ashore somewhere.” “You’ll have to berth with Jake,’ said Hank. “He’s tltte chap that was on the quay that night we put off and gave the show away to McGinnis.” “He’ll do,” said Candon. “I reckon he’s good enough for me.” “Well, you’d better get your things, then,” said George. They went down into the cabin one after the other, Candon leading. The first things that struck Hank’s eye were the automatic pistols lying on the tray shelf where he had seen them last. Hank went to his bunk, where he had hid the diamonds. The parcel was gone. “I suppose the Chinks rook the boodle as well as the boat,” said he. “That’s so,” replied Candon.

“Seems to me you did not make much of a fight seeing you had those pistols.” “I didn’t make any fight at all. Hank sniffed. George said nothing. They were busy now collecting their property. The Chinks had touched nothing but the diamonds. Hadn’t time, most likely, to think of anything but escape from the wreck, and the chance of being found by some ship on the vessel they had helped Candon to run away with. “What made you show them the diamonds?” asked Hank, as he stuffed Tommie’s possessions into a bag. “1 didn’t,” said Candon. “Then who told them?” “The chap who brought them on board.” “That was me. I said nothing.” He remembered how Tommie had put the things on, and how the two Chinks had seen her. They had rowed him off with the package, and might have given the news to the others. However, it didn’t matter much, and he was inclined for no more talk with B.C. Pelt he had lowered himself already by speaking on the matter at all to the blighter. Then they put the dunnage on deck, and transhipped it in two journeys to the Heart. Tommie was on deck again when Candon came on board. She just nodded to him, and then turned to help getting the things down to the cabin. Candon’s lot went into the foc'sle. Then he, Jake, and George set on to the windlass, getting the anchor chain in. It was the queerest and weirdest

business, for B.C. showed neither shame nor irritation nor anger. A tremendous placidity seemed to have fallen upon him, almost a mild cheerfulness. He worked away and spoke to no one. He might have been an absolute stranger, a new hand just signed on. When the Heart was under way. Hank and George picked watches. Hank had first call, and picked Jake. George said nothing. Candon had fallen to him automatically. Then Candon went down into the foc’sle to arrange his things and see after his bunk, and with Hank at the wheel the schooner lay again on her old course, the far-off crying of the gulls beyond Santander rock following them like the voice of mockery. (To be continued.)