The Riddle of the Sands | Page 8

it gets cold enough' . . . cold and yachting seemed to be a
gratuitously monstrous union. His pals had left him; why? 'Not the
"yachting" brand'; and why not? As to the size, comfort, and crew of
the yacht--all cheerfully ignored; so many maddening blanks. And, by
the way, why in Heaven's name 'a prismatic compass'? I fingered a few

magazines, played a game of fifty with a friendly old fogey, too
importunate to be worth the labour of resisting, and went back to my
chambers to bed, ignorant that a friendly Providence had come to my
rescue; and, indeed, rather resenting any clumsy attempt at such
friendliness.

2 The 'Dulcibella'
THAT two days later I should be found pacing the deck of the Flushing
steamer with a ticket for Hamburg in my pocket may seem a strange
result, yet not so strange if you have divined my state of mind. You will
guess, at any rate, that I was armed with the conviction that I was doing
an act of obscure penance, rumours of which might call attention to my
lot and perhaps awaken remorse in the right quarter, while it left me
free to enjoy myself unobtrusively in the remote event of enjoyment
being possible.
The fact was that, at breakfast on the morning after the arrival of the
letter, I had still found that inexplicable lightening which I mentioned
before, and strong enough to warrant a revival of the pros and cons. An
important pro which I had not thought of before was that after all it was
a good-natured piece of unselfishness to join Davies; for he had spoken
of the want of a pal, and seemed honestly to be in need of me. I almost
clutched at this consideration. It was an admirable excuse, when I
reached my office that day, for a resigned study of the Continental
Bradshaw, and an order to Carter to unroll a great creaking wall-map of
Germany and find me Flensburg. The latter labour I might have saved
him, but it was good for Carter to have something to do; and his patient
ignorance was amusing. With most of the map and what it suggested I
was tolerably familiar, for I had not wasted my year in Germany,
whatever I had done or not done since. Its people, history, progress, and
future had interested me intensely, and I had still friends in Dresden
and Berlin. Flensburg recalled the Danish war of '64, and by the time
Carter's researches had ended in success I had forgotten the task set him,
and was wondering whether the prospect of seeing something of that
lovely region of Schleswig-Holstein, _[See Map A]_ as I knew from

hearsay that it was, was at all to be set against such an uncomfortable
way of seeing it, with the season so late, the company so unattractive,
and all the other drawbacks which I counted and treasured as proofs of
my desperate condition, if I were to go. It needed little to decide me,
and I think K--'s arrival from Switzerland, offensively sunburnt, was
the finishing touch. His greeting was 'Hullo, Carruthers, you here?
Thought you had got away long ago. Lucky devil, though, to be going
now, just in time for the best driving and the early pheasants. The heat's
been shocking out there. Carter, bring me a Bradshaw'--(an
extraordinary book, Bradshaw, turned to from habit, even when least
wanted, as men fondle guns and rods in the close season).
By lunch-time the weight of indecision had been removed, and I found
myself entrusting Carter with a telegram to Davies, P.O., Flensburg.
'Thanks; expect me 9.34 p.m. 26th'; which produced, three hours later,
a reply: 'Delighted; please bring a No. 3 Rippingille stove'--a
perplexing and ominous direction, which somehow chilled me in spite
of its subject matter.
Indeed, my resolution was continually faltering. It faltered when I
turned out my gun in the evening and thought of the grouse it ought to
have accounted for. It faltered again when I contemplated the
miscellaneous list of commissions, sown broadcast through Davies's
letter, to fulfil which seemed to make me a willing tool where my
chosen _rôle_ was that of an embittered exile, or at least a
condescending ally. However, I faced the commissions manfully, after
leaving the office.
At Lancaster's I inquired for his gun, was received coolly, and had to
pay a heavy bill, which it seemed to have incurred, before it was
handed over. Having ordered the gun and No. 4's to be sent to my
chambers, I bought the Raven mixture with that peculiar sense of injury
which the prospect of smuggling in another's behalf always entails; and
wondered where in the world Carey and Neilson's was, a firm which
Davies spoke of as though it