按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
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 thi