"Ye--yes, sir."

"My name's Captain Loftus. Do you hear that?"

"Ye--yes, sir."

"And I'm your uncle--your Uncle Tom. Do you hear that? I'm your Uncle Tom."

"Ye--yes, sir."

"Don't say 'sir,' say 'Uncle Tom.'"

"Ye--yes, Un--Uncle Tom."

"And don't you stutter and stammer; there's no stuttering and stammering about this."

"This" was the revolver which "Uncle Tom" pointed in his playful way at his nephew.

"And you've been a bad boy, and you've run away from your poor mother, and I'm going to take you back again. You understand?"

"Ye--yes, sir--I mean, Uncle Tom."

"Mind you do mean 'Uncle Tom,' and don't let us have any fooling about it. Do you hear? Don't let's have any fooling about it."

"No--o, Uncle Tom."

How devoutly he hoped that what his "uncle" said was true, and that he was going to be taken back to his mother. But the hope was shattered by the words which followed.

"Now just you listen to me. I've got half a dozen more words to say, and they're the pick of the lot. I'm going to take you with me. You'll be all right so long as you keep your mouth shut; but if you speak a word without permission from me, or if you hint anyhow at the pleasant little conversation we've had here, I'll shoot you on the spot. You see, I'm going to put my revolver into the inside pocket of my coat; it will be always there, and always ready for you, and mind you don't forget it."

Bertie was not likely to forget it. He watched the captain placing the weapon in a convenient inner pocket of his overcoat with an interest too deep for words. Mr. Rosenheim added an agreeable little remark of his own.

"You understand, my friend? You are to dismiss from your mind any little ideas you may have had about the Countess of Ferndale's jewels, or your uncle, Captain Tom Loftus, will practise a little revolver shooting upon you, eh, my friend?"

And Mr. Rosenheim covered the lad with his own revolver. There was such an absolutely diabolical grin upon the gentleman's face that Bertie felt as though his blood had congealed in his veins. The revolver might go off at any moment, and this time it would be a case of hitting. Bertie was persuaded that one more of Mr. Rosenheim's little practice shots would be quite enough for him.

The change from Mr. Rosenheim to Captain Loftus was actually a relief.

"Are you ready?"

"Ye--yes, sir!"

"_Sir?_"

The "sir" was shouted in a voice of thunder, and the captain's hand moved towards the inner pocket of his coat.

"Un--Uncle Tom, I mean."

"And you better mean it too, and say it, or you'll never say another word. Put your hat on. Catch hold of that Gladstone."

Bertie put his hat on, and took the bag. The captain turned to Mr.

Rosenheim.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye, my friend; I wish you a pleasant journey, and your nephew too."

The captain put his own hat on, took Bertie's hand, led him out of the room, and almost before the lad knew it they were standing in the street. Bertie thanked his stars that at least Mr. Rosenheim was left behind.

Chapter XVIII

THE BOAT-TRAIN

They did not leave the house by the same mysterious door by which Freddy had entered, but by one which brought them at once into a busy street. Vehicles were pa.s.sing to and fro, and they had not gone many steps before the captain--to give him the t.i.tle which he had not improbably himself affixed to his name--called a hansom. Bertie got in. The captain directed the driver where to drive in an undertone, seated himself beside his "nephew," and they were off.

During the drive not a word was spoken. Where they were going Bertie had not the faintest notion; he felt pretty certain that he was not really being taken home. His head was in a whirl; he was in such awe of his companion that he scarcely dared to move, far less to use his eyes in an endeavour to see where they were going. The cab almost immediately turned into a busy thoroughfare. The hubbub of the traffic and the confusion of the crowded streets completed the lad's bewilderment, making it seem to him as though they were journeying through pandemonium. The busy thoroughfare into which the cabman turned was, in fact, the Strand--the Strand at what is not the least busy hour of the day, when the people are crowding into the theatres.

The cabman took another turn into comparative quiet, and in another minute they were whirling over Waterloo Bridge, along Waterloo Bridge Road, into the huge terminus of the South-Western Railway. A porter came forward to help them to alight, but the captain, dismissing him, took his bag with one hand, and taking Bertie's own hand in the other, stepped on to the platform of the station.

He had only taken a few steps when, pulling up, he spoke to Bailey in low, quick, significant tones.

"Look here, my lad; I don't want to haul you about as though I'd got you in custody, and I don't mean to let you get out of my sight. I'm going to loose your hand, and let you walk alone. Carry this bag, and stick as close to me as wax, or----"

A significant tap against the pocket which contained the revolver served to complete the sentence. Bertie needed no explanation in words; the action was as full of meaning as any eloquence of speech could possibly have been.

The hansom had put them down at the departure platform of the main-line trains. The captain looked at the station clock as they came in, and Bertie, following the direction of the other's eye, saw that it was a quarter-past nine. The station was full of people; porters and pa.s.sengers were hurrying hither and thither, mountains of baggage were pa.s.sing to and fro.

The captain turned into the booking-office, Bertie sticking close to his side. Some wild idea of making a dash for freedom did enter his mind, but to be dismissed as soon as it entered. What could he do? He was fully persuaded that if he were to make the slightest sign of attempting to escape, his companion would shoot him on the spot. But even if he did not proceed to quite such extreme lengths, what then?

To have attempted to take to actual flight, and to have run for it, would have been absurd. He would have been caught in an instant. His only hope lay in an appeal to those around him. But what sort of appeal could he have made? If he had suddenly shouted, "This man has stolen the Countess of Ferndale's jewels, worth fifty thousand pounds!" no doubt he would have created a sensation. But the revolver!

Bertie was quite persuaded that before he would have had time to have made his a.s.sertion good the captain would have put his threat into execution, and killed him like a cat, even though, to use that gentleman's own words, he had had to hang for it five minutes afterwards.

No; it seemed to him that the only course open to him was to obey the captain's instructions.

There was a crowd round the ticket-office, at sight of which the captain put the lad in front of him, and his hand upon his shoulder, holding him tight by means of the free use of an uncomfortable amount of pressure. Under these circ.u.mstances he could scarcely ask for tickets without the lad hearing what it was he asked for--as in fact he did.

"Two first for Jersey."

Two first-cla.s.s tickets for Jersey! The tickets were stamped and paid for, and they were out of the crowd again. It was some satisfaction to know where it was they were going, but not much. He was too evidently not being taken home again. Jersey and Upton were a good many miles apart.

The captain went up and down the train with the apparent intention of discovering a compartment which they might have for themselves. But if that was his intention he sought in vain. The tourist season had apparently set in early, and on this particular night the train was crowded. They finally found seats in a compartment in which there were already two pa.s.sengers, and into which there quickly came two more. It was a smoking carriage; and as the other pa.s.sengers were already smoking, and the captain lit a cigar as soon as he entered, the atmosphere soon became nice and fresh for Bertie. Five smoking pa.s.sengers in a first-cla.s.s compartment do not make things exactly pleasant for a non-smoking sixth. The captain took a corner seat; Bertie sat on the middle seat next to him, right in the centre of the smoke.

They started. All the pa.s.sengers, with the exception of the captain and Bertie, had books or papers. For a time silence reigned. The pa.s.sengers read, the captain thought, the lad lamented. If the train had only been speeding towards Slough instead of Jersey! It may be mentioned that at this point of the expedition Bertie was not even aware where Jersey was, and was not even conscious that to reach it from London one had to cross the sea.

As they pa.s.sed Woking the silence was broken for a moment. A tall, thin, severe-looking gentleman, with side whiskers, and a sealskin cap tied over his ears, having finished with the _Globe_, handed it to the captain.

"Have you seen the _Globe_?"