Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

“No, I won’t deny it,” was the careless answer. “I hadn’t thought to be on my guard. But I can swim.”

“Don’t you know there is a border of big blocks of stone there? It would have been a horrible death…. And now, will the signore do what I ask him and return to his inn, which is a much safer place than this platform?”

“Safety is not a great inducement; and I don’t believe for a moment you ever thought of attacking me in a treacherous manner.”

“Well,” the tall shadowy figure crowned by the shape of the strange cap admitted reluctantly. “Well, since you put it in those words, signore, I did not.”

“You see! I believe you are a fine fellow. But as it is, I am under no sort of obligation to listen to you.”

“You are crafty,” burst out the other violently. “It’s in the blood. How is one to deal with people like you?”

“You could try to drive me off,” suggested the other.

There was no answer for a time, then the tall figure muttered reflectively to itself:

“After all—he’s an Englishman.”

“I don’t think myself invincible on that account,” observed Cosmo calmly.

“I know. I have fought against English soldiers in Buenos Ayres. I was only thinking that, to give the devil his due, men of your nation don’t consort with spies or love tyranny either…. Tell me, is it true that you have only been two hours in this town?”

“Perfectly true.”

“And yet all the tyrants of the world are your allies,” the shadowy man pursued his train of thought half aloud.

The no less shadowy traveller remarked quietly into the gathering night:

“You don’t know who my friends are.”

“I don’t, but I think you are not likely to go with a tale to the Austrian spies or consort with the Piedmontese sbirri . As to the priests who are poking their noses everywhere, I….”

“I don’t know a single soul in Italy,” interrupted the other.

“But you will soon. People like you make acquaintances everywhere. But it’s idle talk with strangers that I fear. Can I trust you as an Englishman not to talk of what you may see?”

“You may. I can’t imagine what unlawful thing you are about to commit here. I am dying from curiosity. Can it be that you are really some sort of sorcerer? Go on! Trace your magic circle, if that is your business, and call up the spirits of the dead.”

A low grunt was the only answer to this speech uttered in a tone between jest and earnest. Cosmo watched from the breech of his gun with intense interest the movements of the man who objected so strongly to his presence, but who now seemed to pay no attention to him at all. They were not the movements of a magician, in so far that they certainly had nothing to do with the tracing of circles. The figure had stepped over to the seaward face of the tower, and seemed to be pulling endless things out of the breast–pocket of his jacket. The young Englishman got down from the breech of the gun, without ceasing to peer in a fascinated way, and moved closer step by step, till he threw himself back with an exclamation of astonishment. “By heavens! the fellow is going to fish.” …Cosmo remained mute with surprise for a good many seconds and then burst out loudly:

“Is this what you displayed all this secrecy for? This is the worst hoax I ever … ”

“Come nearer, signore, but take care not to tangle all my twine with your feet…. Do you see this box?”

The heads of the two men had come together confidentially, and the young traveller made out a cylindrical object which was in fact a round tin box. His companion thrust it into his hand with the request, “Hold it for me a moment, signore,” and then Cosmo had the opportunity to ascertain that the lid of it was hermetically sealed. The man in the strange cap dived into the pocket of his breeches for flint and steel. The Englishman beheld with surprise his lately inimical companion squeeze himself between the massive tube of the piece of ordnance and the wall of stone, and wriggle outwards into the depth of the thick embrasure till nothing of him remained visible but his black stockings and the soles of his heavy shoes.

After a time his voice came deadened along the thickness of the wall:

“Will you hand me the box now, signore?”

Cosmo, enlisted in these mysterious proceedings, the nature of which was becoming clear enough to him, obeyed at once and approaching the embrasure thrust the box in at the full length of his arm till it came in contact with the ready hand of the man who was lying flat on his stomach with his head projecting beyond the wall of the tower. His groping hand found and snatched away the box. The twine was attached to the box, and at once its length laid on the platform began to run out till the very end disappeared. Then the man lying prone within the thickness of the gun embrasure lay still as death and the young traveller strained his ears in the absolute silence to catch the slightest sound at the foot of the tower. But all he could hear was the faint sound of some distant clock striking somewhere in the town. He waited a little longer, then in the cautious tone of a willing accomplice murmured within the opening:

“Got a bite yet?”

The answer came hardly audible:

“No. But this is the very hour.”

Cosmo felt his interest growing. And yet the facts in themselves were not very exciting, but all this had the complexion and the charm of an unexpected adventure, heightened by its mystery, playing itself out before that old town towering like a carved hill decorated with lights that began to appear quickly on the sombre and colossal mass of that lofty shore. The last gleam had died out in the west. The harbour was dark except for the lantern at the stern of the British ship of the line. The man in the embrasure made a slight movement. Cosmo became more alert, but apparently nothing happened. There was no murmur of voices, splash of water, or sign of the slightest stir all round the tower. Suddenly the man in the embrasure began to wriggle back on to the platform and in a very few moments stood up to his full height, facing his unexpected helper.

“She has come and gone,” he said. “Did you hear anything, signore?”

“Not a sound. She might have been the ghost of a boat—for you are alluding to a boat, are you not?”

“Si. And I hope that if any eye on shore had made her out, it had taken her for only a ghost. Of course, that English vessel of war rows guard at night. But it isn’t to look out for ghosts.”

“I should think not. Ghosts are of no account. Could there be anything more futile than the ghost of a boat?”

“You are one of the strong–minded, signore. Ghosts are the concern of the ignorant—yet who knows? But it does sound funny to talk of the ghost of a boat, a thing of brute matter. For wouldn’t a ghost be a thing of spirit, a man’s soul itself made restless by grief, or love, or remorse, or anger? Such are the stories that one hears. But the old hermit of the plain, of whom I spoke, assured me that the dead are too glad to be done with life to make trouble on earth.”

“You and your hermit!” exclaimed Cosmo in a boyish and marvelling tone. “I suppose it is no use me asking you what I have been just helping you in?”

“A little smuggling operation, signore. Surely, signore, England has custom–houses, and therefore must have smugglers too.”

“One has heard of them, of course. But I wouldn’t mind a bet that there is not one of them that resembles you. Neither do I believe that they deal with packages as small as the one you lowered into that ghostly boat. You saw her, of course. There was a boat.”

“There was somebody to cut the string, as you see, signore. Look, here is all that twine, all of it but a little piece. It may have been a man swimming in the dark water. A man with a soul, fit to make a ghost of …let us call him a ghost, signore.”