deven367/babylm-100M-gutenberg · Datasets at Hugging Face

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safe enough.”
He gave a laugh and threw back his head. His hearers looked at him, and
Mr. Wade alone understood his thoughts. For the banker had dealt with
money-makers all his life and knew that to many men, money is a god,
and the mere possession of it dearer to them than life itself.
“If you stay here, in my room upstairs,” said Cornish, “I will go down
to the works now. And this evening I will try and get you away from The
Hague--and from Europe.”
“And I will go to the Villa des Dunes again,” added Dorothy, “and pack
your things.”
Marguerite had risen also, and was moving towards the steps.
“Where are you going?” asked her father.
“To the Villa des Dunes,” she replied; and, turning to Dorothy, added,
“I shall take some clothes and stay with you there until things
straighten themselves out a bit.”
“Why?”
“Because I cannot let you go there alone.”
“Why not?” asked Dorothy.
“Because--I am not that sort,” said Marguerite; and, turning, she
ascended the iron steps.
CHAPTER XXXII.
ROUND THE CORNER.
“Les heureux ne rient pas; ils sourient.”
Soon after Mr. Wade and Cornish had quitted their carriage, on that
which is known as the New Scheveningen Road, and were walking across
the dunes to the malgamite works, they met a policeman running towards
them.
“It is,” he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries--“it is the
English Chemical Works on the dunes, which have caught fire. I am
hurrying to the Artillery Station to telegraph for the fire-engines;
but it will be useless. It will all be over in half an hour--by this
wind and after so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies.”
And the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the
sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts.
Then, with a hurried salutation, he ran on.
Cornish and Mr. Wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the
banker was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. Before they had gone
far they perceived another man coming across the Dunes towards The
Hague. As he approached, Cornish recognized the man known as Uncle Ben.
He was shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly
belongings in a canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. The recognition
was apparently mutual; for Uncle Ben deviated from his path to come and
speak to them.
“It's me, mister,” he said to Cornish, not disrespectfully. “And I
don't mind tellin' yer that I'm makin' myself scarce. That place is
gettin' a bit too hot for me. They're just pullin' it down and makin' a
bonfire of it. And if you or Mr. Roden goes there, they'll just take
and chuck yer on top of it--and that's God's truth. They're a rough lot
some of them, and they don't distinguish 'tween you and Mr. Roden like
as I do. Soddim and Gomorrer, I say. Soddim and Gomorrer! There won't
be nothin' left of yer in half an hour.” And he turned and shook a
dirty fist towards the rising smoke, which was all that remained of the
malgamite works. He hurried on a few paces, then stopped and laid down
his bag. He ran back, calling out “Mister!” as he neared Cornish and
Mr. Wade. “I don't mind tellin' yer,” he said to Cornish, with a
ludicrous precautionary look round the deserted dunes to make sure that
he would not be overheard; for he was sober, and consequently
stupid--“I don't mind tellin' yer--seein' as I'm makin' myself scarce,
and for the sake o' Miss Roden, who has always been a good friend to
me--as there's a hundred and twenty of 'em looking for Mr. Roden at this
minute, meanin' to twist his neck; and what's worse, there's
others--men of dedication like myself--who has gone to the
murder, or something. And they'll get it too, with the story they've got
to tell, and them poor devils planted thick as taters in the cheap corner
of the cemetery. I've warned yer, mister.” Uncle Ben expectorated with
much emphasis, looked towards the malgamite works with a dubious shake
of the head, and went on his way, muttering, “Soddim and Gomorrer.”
His hearers walked on over the sand-hills towards the smoke, of which
the pungent odour, still faintly suggestive of sealing-wax, reached
their nostrils. At the top of a high dune, surmounted with considerable
difficulty, Mr. Wade stopped. Cornish stood beside him, and from that
point of vantage they saw the last of the malgamite works. Amid the
flames and smoke the forms of men flitted hither and thither, adding
fuel to the fire.
“They are, at all events, doing the business thoroughly,” said the
banker. “And there is nothing to be gained by our disturbing them at
it--and a good deal to be lost--namely, our lives. They are not burning
the cottages, I see; only the factory. There is nothing heroic about
me, Tony. Let us go back.”
But Mr. Wade returned to The Hague alone; for Cornish had matters of
importance requiring his attention. It was now doubly necessary to get
Roden safely away from Holland, and with the necessity increased the
difficulty. For Holland is a small country, well watched, highly
civilized. Cornish knew that it would be next to impossible for Roden
to leave the country by rail or road. There remained, therefore, the
sea. Cornish had, during his sojourn at the humble Swan at
Scheveningen, made certain friends there. And it was to the old village
under the dunes, little known to visitors, and a place apart from the
fashionable bathing resort, that he went in his difficulty. He spent
nearly the whole day in these narrow streets; indeed, he lunched at the
Swan in company of a seafaring gentleman clad in soft blue flannel, and
addicted to the mediaeval coiffure still affected in certain parts of
Zeeland.
From this quiet retreat Cornish also wrote a note to Dorothy at the
Villa des Dunes, informing her of Roden's new danger, and warning her
not to attempt to communicate with her brother, or even send him his
baggage. In the afternoon Cornish made a few purchases, which he duly
packed in a sailor's kit-bag, and at nightfall Roden arrived on foot.
The weather was squally, as it often is in August on these coasts;
indeed, the summer seemed to have come to an end before its time.

safe enough.”

He gave a laugh and threw back his head. His hearers looked at him, and

Mr. Wade alone understood his thoughts. For the banker had dealt with

money-makers all his life and knew that to many men, money is a god,

and the mere possession of it dearer to them than life itself.

“If you stay here, in my room upstairs,” said Cornish, “I will go down

to the works now. And this evening I will try and get you away from The

Hague--and from Europe.”

“And I will go to the Villa des Dunes again,” added Dorothy, “and pack

your things.”

Marguerite had risen also, and was moving towards the steps.

“Where are you going?” asked her father.

“To the Villa des Dunes,” she replied; and, turning to Dorothy, added,

“I shall take some clothes and stay with you there until things

straighten themselves out a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot let you go there alone.”

“Why not?” asked Dorothy.

“Because--I am not that sort,” said Marguerite; and, turning, she

ascended the iron steps.

CHAPTER XXXII.

ROUND THE CORNER.

“Les heureux ne rient pas; ils sourient.”

Soon after Mr. Wade and Cornish had quitted their carriage, on that

which is known as the New Scheveningen Road, and were walking across

the dunes to the malgamite works, they met a policeman running towards

them.

“It is,” he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries--“it is the

English Chemical Works on the dunes, which have caught fire. I am

hurrying to the Artillery Station to telegraph for the fire-engines;

but it will be useless. It will all be over in half an hour--by this

wind and after so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies.”

And the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the

sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts.

Then, with a hurried salutation, he ran on.

Cornish and Mr. Wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the

banker was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. Before they had gone

far they perceived another man coming across the Dunes towards The

Hague. As he approached, Cornish recognized the man known as Uncle Ben.

He was shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly

belongings in a canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. The recognition

was apparently mutual; for Uncle Ben deviated from his path to come and

speak to them.

“It's me, mister,” he said to Cornish, not disrespectfully. “And I

don't mind tellin' yer that I'm makin' myself scarce. That place is

gettin' a bit too hot for me. They're just pullin' it down and makin' a

bonfire of it. And if you or Mr. Roden goes there, they'll just take

and chuck yer on top of it--and that's God's truth. They're a rough lot

some of them, and they don't distinguish 'tween you and Mr. Roden like

as I do. Soddim and Gomorrer, I say. Soddim and Gomorrer! There won't

be nothin' left of yer in half an hour.” And he turned and shook a

dirty fist towards the rising smoke, which was all that remained of the

malgamite works. He hurried on a few paces, then stopped and laid down

his bag. He ran back, calling out “Mister!” as he neared Cornish and

Mr. Wade. “I don't mind tellin' yer,” he said to Cornish, with a

ludicrous precautionary look round the deserted dunes to make sure that

he would not be overheard; for he was sober, and consequently

stupid--“I don't mind tellin' yer--seein' as I'm makin' myself scarce,

and for the sake o' Miss Roden, who has always been a good friend to

me--as there's a hundred and twenty of 'em looking for Mr. Roden at this

minute, meanin' to twist his neck; and what's worse, there's

others--men of dedication like myself--who has gone to the

murder, or something. And they'll get it too, with the story they've got

to tell, and them poor devils planted thick as taters in the cheap corner

of the cemetery. I've warned yer, mister.” Uncle Ben expectorated with

much emphasis, looked towards the malgamite works with a dubious shake

of the head, and went on his way, muttering, “Soddim and Gomorrer.”

His hearers walked on over the sand-hills towards the smoke, of which

the pungent odour, still faintly suggestive of sealing-wax, reached

their nostrils. At the top of a high dune, surmounted with considerable

difficulty, Mr. Wade stopped. Cornish stood beside him, and from that

point of vantage they saw the last of the malgamite works. Amid the

flames and smoke the forms of men flitted hither and thither, adding

fuel to the fire.

“They are, at all events, doing the business thoroughly,” said the

banker. “And there is nothing to be gained by our disturbing them at

it--and a good deal to be lost--namely, our lives. They are not burning

the cottages, I see; only the factory. There is nothing heroic about

me, Tony. Let us go back.”

But Mr. Wade returned to The Hague alone; for Cornish had matters of

importance requiring his attention. It was now doubly necessary to get

Roden safely away from Holland, and with the necessity increased the

difficulty. For Holland is a small country, well watched, highly

civilized. Cornish knew that it would be next to impossible for Roden

to leave the country by rail or road. There remained, therefore, the

sea. Cornish had, during his sojourn at the humble Swan at

Scheveningen, made certain friends there. And it was to the old village

under the dunes, little known to visitors, and a place apart from the

fashionable bathing resort, that he went in his difficulty. He spent

nearly the whole day in these narrow streets; indeed, he lunched at the

Swan in company of a seafaring gentleman clad in soft blue flannel, and

addicted to the mediaeval coiffure still affected in certain parts of

Zeeland.

From this quiet retreat Cornish also wrote a note to Dorothy at the

Villa des Dunes, informing her of Roden's new danger, and warning her

not to attempt to communicate with her brother, or even send him his

baggage. In the afternoon Cornish made a few purchases, which he duly

packed in a sailor's kit-bag, and at nightfall Roden arrived on foot.

The weather was squally, as it often is in August on these coasts;

indeed, the summer seemed to have come to an end before its time.