THE COMPLETE JIM MAITLAND SERIES. H. C. McNeile / Sapper
did," I answered. "Who is he?"
Jim smiled a little grimly.
"He is John James Hildebrand, fifteenth Marquis of Sussex, the eldest son of the Duke of Plumpton."
"All that, is he?" I said. "One rather wonders what John James Hildebrand is doing at Bull Mine Creek."
"One does," agreed Jim. "Excessively so."
And with that he swung on his heel, and I saw him no more for some hours. I wrote two or three long overdue letters, and then having nothing better to do, I strolled along the dusty road to the hotel to get a drink. The place was filling up with the crowd who had come in for Christmas, and the first man I saw was One-eyed Mike. He beckoned to me joyously and I went over to his table.
"There's going to be some fun here tonight, boy!" he cried as I sat down. "There's a dude that calls himself Hildebrand wandering around, and the boys are just crazy to know him better. They want to know if he's real."
So the fifteenth Marquis of Sussex had decided not to advertise the fact.
"What's he doing here, Mike?" I asked.
"Come out to look at some property he's got, so he told the boss here. Taken a room, and wants his dinner served upstairs." Mike began to chuckle again. "Look out; here he is."
* * * * *
John James Hildebrand had just entered the room from the other end, and I watched him curiously. There was no doubt that Mike's prophecy was going to be fulfilled; the fun had started already. Following close at his heels came half a dozen miners, all gazing at him in rapt awe and admiration. The baiting of John James had begun in earnest.
He halted by the bar, and the miners instantly came to a standstill.
"Boys," shouted the leader, "let us have silence! Mr. Hildebrand is about to consume some liquid refreshment. And the slightest sound might interfere with Mr. Hildebrand's enjoyment."
A dead silence settled on the room, and I wondered how he was going to take it.
"Quite right," he remarked, with a faint, rather pleasant drawl. "Which is why I don't ask you to join me. Six of you—all drinking— would fairly put the lid on."
The leader roared with laughter, and I grinned gently. Quite obviously John James had the right stuff in him.
"I'm dashed if you drink alone, Mr. Hildebrand," cried the leader, coming up to the counter. "You drink with me right here."
He shouted for a round, and they formed up on each side of John James.
"I'm not so certain that you are going to have your fun, Mike," I remarked, when suddenly he leant forward and stared at the door which had just swung open.
"Holy Moses!" he muttered. "Here's Pete Cornish. I didn't know he was up these parts."
A sudden cessation of conversation took place as the man who had just come in moved up to the bar. As if he had noticed it, and attributed it to his sudden entry, a faint smile hovered round his lips. His face was almost bloodless, and a great red scar across his right cheek emphasised the pallor. But the most noticeable feature of the man's face was a pair of very light blue eyes which seemed to stare unwinkingly from under his big forehead at the object of his scrutiny. He stooped a little, but even with the stoop he measured over six feet. And the depth of his chest betokened his immense strength.
"Steer clear of him, boy," muttered Mike to me. "I haven't seen him for six years, but I guess he hasn't changed. And he's the devil incarnate, is Pete Cornish. I once saw him break a man's back with his hands alone— across his knees. He's spent fifteen years of his life in prison as it is."
But I wasn't paying attention to Mike's reminiscences. I was watching Pete Cornish. He came to a standstill just behind John James, and for a moment or two he stood there in silence. It was the miner who had called for drinks who' first saw him, and he turned round with a somewhat sickly smile.
"Hullo, Pete!" he said, "will you join us?"
"I will," answered Cornish quietly. "And who is your friend?"
"Hildebrand," returned the other. "This is Pete Cornish."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hildebrand," said Cornish. "And what might you be doing? Prospecting?"
"I've come out to see a property of mine," answered Hildebrand briefly.
The blue eyes never left his face for an instant, even when their owner raised his glass to his lips. There was something baleful in their unblinking intensity, something almost terrifying which the quiet voice and general immobility seemed only to enhance. The man never moved; he merely stared until after a while the other fidgeted a little and turned away. And the faintest flicker of a smile appeared on Cornish's lips.
"I seem to recognise your face, Mr. Hildebrand," he remarked as he put down his empty glass. "In fact, I am sure I do. And so, you will drink with me."
It was not a question; it was a statement, and Hildebrand flushed slightly.
"Thank you, no," he answered. "I don't want anything more to drink at present."
"I said, Mr. Hildebrand, that you would drink with me," said the other gently, and it was then I noticed that five of the original six miners who had lined up at the bar had slipped unostentatiously away. Only the leader remained, and he was shuffling his feet.
"The guy is all right, Pete," he muttered awkwardly. "Guess he may not have the head for our whisky."
The blue eyes temporarily transferred their gaze to the last speaker.
"I'm not quite clear how you come into this matter," remarked Cornish. "I wasn't aware that you were even in the picture."
The miner turned and stammered out something, but Cornish simply ignored his existence.
"Now, Mr. Hildebrand, you will drink a little toast with me," he continued, pushing a glass towards him.
"I have already said that I will not have another, thank you," returned the other icily. "I drink when I like, and with whom I like."
He nodded briefly and turned to leave the bar. But before he had taken two steps Cornish had stretched out a hand and caught him by the arm.
"Will you kindly leave go of my arm?" said Hildebrand quietly, though two ugly red spots had appeared on his face.
"When you have drunk my toast, Mr. Hildebrand; not before."
For a moment John James, fifteenth Marquis of Sussex, stood very still. He was no fool, and he knew that if it came to a scrap he might with luck last exactly one second with the man who held his arm. At the same time he came of a stock to whom the meaning of the word fear was unknown.
"And what is your toast?" he asked at length.
"Damnation to the English—especially their aristocracy," answered the other mildly. "Your glass, Mr. Hildebrand."
The Marquis of Sussex smiled faintly, as he took the glass in his right hand. "Do you play cricket, Mr. Cornish?" he asked.
"I do not," returned the other, looking slightly surprised. "Because if you had ever fielded at cover point, you would realise that this is a very good return to the wicket keeper."
It was done in one movement like a flash of light, and the heavy glass broke in pieces on Cornish's face. He staggered back a step with a curse, letting go of the other's arm, and without undue hurry, but also without undue pause, John James Hildebrand left the room. For a moment or two I expected Cornish to rush after him, but he didn't. He stood in the centre of the room wiping the whisky from his face. Then, without a word, he too turned and left the bar by the door which led into the street.
* * * * *
It was the miner by the counter who broke the silence.
"Good for the youngster!" he cried ecstatically. "But, my word, boys! Pete will kill him for that!"
A murmur of assent went round the room,