'But Colonel Moran—' she wailed, beating her little fist.
'I’ll see to him, never fear. Now, Selly, all is going to be well, d’you see? Absolutely well—and you don’t have to worry your pretty head over it, you understand me?' I took her hand and put my arm round her shoulders and rubbed my old whiskers against her brow, as I’d done since she was a baby, and she wept on my shoulder. 'Now— you dry your eyes, and let’s see your best smile
– no, your best one, I said—there, that’s my princess.' I wiped a tear from her cheek, and she flung her arms round my ancient neck.
'Oh, gramps—you are the dearest grandpapa! I know you will make it right!' She sniffed in my ear. 'Perhaps … after all, if you offered him more money … he is such a greedy, odious person. But you will find a way, won’t you?'
That, of course, remained to be seen, and when I’d packed her off to bed, and sent word round to her fond parents' house that she’d be staying the night with us, I sought enlightenment in brandy. I find it helps. Moran, thinks I to myself; evil, lecherous skunk. I thought of that shifty eye and wicked mouth—aye, he fitted the part he’d written for himself. Trying to ruin virginity, was he—and my little Selly’s at that, damn him. Well, now, if I was in his shoes (as I had been, of course) what would make me forego my dirty designs? Threats of violence?—well, they’d have worked on me, but they wouldn’t on Moran, that was certain. He was all cold steel and courage, that one; I’d seen him. Money, then? Aye, I could have been bought off—I had been, in the past. So—Flashy’s bank account was in for another rough shaking. Well, if needs must, so be it—I couldn’t see any other way.
Not that I was resigned to tamely paying up, you understand; if I could find a way of foiling the swine I’d do it, but I plied my wits through a bottle and a half by next afternoon, without striking paydirt. However, until I saw Moran himself, there was nothing to be done, so I sought out his direction by discreet inquiry, and early evening found me round at his rooms, off Bond Street, sending in my card. I was ushered up, and there was the man himself, very much at his ease, in a most luxuriously fitted den, all leather and good panels and big game trophies on the walls. Chinese carpet, too, rot him; his price wasn’t going to be a cheap one.
'Well, well,' says he, setting his back to the mantel, very lean and cool. 'I half-expected you’d be round, if not quite so soon.'
'All right, Moran,' says I, giving him my damn-you stare, and keeping my tile on. 'What’s the game?'
'Game, my dear chap? The only game I’m interested in is big game, what? Reminds me—have you seen that rubbish in The Times sporting columns—review of some book on shikar'?' He sauntered forward to his desk, and picked up a paper. 'Here we are—`No beast, perhaps, is more dangerous than the buffalo.' What tosh, don’t you agree? Why, what buffalo that ever walked could compare with a wounded leopard, eh? Or a tiger, if it comes to that. But maybe you’ve another opinion?' He gave a short laugh, and the blue eyes slipped quickly over me. 'What d’ye think of my collection, by the way? Only the best of it here, of course—rather fine, though. That ibex head, for example, and the snow leopard beside the window—'
'My only interest in your collection,' I growled, 'is that it isn’t going to contain my grand-daughter.'
'No?' says he, lightly. 'Thought she’d look rather well, mounted—wouldn’t you think? Don’t do anything foolish,' he added sharply, as I started to plough forward, snarling at his filthy insolence. 'You’re past the age when you can lift your stick to anyone—not that you could ever have lifted it to me.'
My rage was almost choking me as I glared at him, standing so easy behind his desk, mocking me.
'Listen, you foul kite,' says I. 'You’ll drop this vile … affront you’ve put on my girl, or by God it’ll be the worse for you! I’ll make this town too hot for you, so help me, I will! You think I’m helpless, do you? You’ll find out other —'
'Drop it, you old fool,' snaps he. 'D’you think you can bluster at me? Think back to Isan’lwana and ask yourself if I’m the man to be brow-beaten. Yes—that makes you think twice!'
He was right there; I stood seething helplessly.
'Damn you! All right, then,' for I knew it had to come to this, 'what’s your price?'
He laughed aloud. 'Money? Are you seriously trying to buy me off? You’ve a poorer opinion of Miss Selina’s charms than I’d have thought possible in a rake of your experience.'
'Blast your lousy tongue—how much?'
He took a cigar from his pocket, lit it coolly while I boiled with anger, and blew out the match.
'You haven’t got that much money,' he drawled. 'Not—' he blew smoke across the desk at me '—if you were Moss Abrahams in person. Oh, don’t think it wouldn’t give me great pleasure to beggar you—it would. But I’ll enjoy your plump little grand-daughter even more—oh, so much more! She’d be very much my meat in any circumstances—but the fact that she’s yours—' he poked his cigar at me, grinning '—oh, that makes her a prize indeed!'
This was beyond all understanding. I gaped at the man, dumfounded.
'What the devil d’you mean? That she’s my grandchild—what has that to do with it, in God’s name? What have I ever done to you? I don’t even know you, hardly—and you saved my skin in Zululand, didn’t you?'
'Aye,' says he. 'If I’d only known, though—who you were! Remember, I told you at Rorke’s Drift? But I didn’t know—by God, if I had, you’d never have come over the Buffalo alive!' And for once the eyes were steady, glaring hate at me. I couldn’t fathom it.
'What the blazes are you talking about? Good God above, man, what the devil have you got against me? I’ve never injured you—or if you think I have, I swear I don’t know about it! What is it, damn you?' He said not a word. 'And whatever it is, what’s my Selina to do with anything? Why should you want to harm her, you bastard? An innocent—dear God, have you no decency? And I? What have I done -? '
'You don’t know, do you?' says he, softly. 'You truly don’t. But then—how should you? How would you remember—out of all the vile things you’ve done—why should you remember … me?'
This was beyond comprehension; I wondered was the fellow a lunatic. But mad or not, there was that in his baleful stare that terrified me—for Selly as much as for myself.
'Shall I remind you?' says he, and his voice grated like gravel. 'You think we met for the first time in Zululand, do you?' He shook his head. 'Oh, no, Flashman. Cast your mind back … forty-five years. A long time, eh? D’you remember an African slave-ship, called the Balliol College, trading into the Dahomey coast? A ship commanded by a human devil called John Charity Spring, M.A.? A ship on which you, Flashman, served as super- cargo? D’you remember?'
Did I not? I’d never forget it.
'But … but what has that to do with—you? Why, you can only have been a child in those days—'
'Aye—a child!' he roared, suddenly, crashing his fist on the desk. 'A child of fourteen—that’s what I was!' His face was crimson, working with fury, but he mastered himself and went on, in a rasping whisper:
'You remember an expedition upriver—to the village of King Gezo, who sold niggers to Spring? You remember that death-house, built of skulls, and the human sacrifices, and those savage Amazon women who were Gezo’s bodyguard? D’you remember? Oh, yes, I see that you do. And d’you remember the bargain that monster Spring struck with that monster Gezo—half a dozen Amazon women to be sold into slavery in exchange for a case of Adams revolvers which you—' his finger stabbed out at me '—demonstrated for that black fiend?'
As clear as day I could see it—the hideous Gezo leaping up and down on his stool, slobbering in excitement, with those great black fighting-women ranged by his throne; I could feel the Adams kicking in my fist as I blew holes in the skull wall for his edification.
'Six women in exchange for a case of revolvers and—what else?' Moran’s face was terrible to see. 'What turned the scale in that infamous bargain—d’you recall? Again, I see you do.' His voice was barely audible. 'Gezo demanded that Spring’s cabin-boy be left with him—as a slave. And Spring, and you, and the rest of that hell-ship’s crew—you agreed, and left the child behind.' He straightened up from the desk. 'I was that boy.'
It was beyond belief. It couldn’t be true, not for a minute … but even as the denial sprang to my lips, my wits were telling me that no one—no one on earth, could have known the details of that shameful transaction of Spring’s, unless he’d been there. And yet…
'But that’s moonshine!' I cried. 'Why, I remember that boy—a snivelling little Cockney guttersnipe with a cross-eye … nothing like you! And, damnation, you were educated at Eton—I looked you up in Who’s Who!'
'Quite true,' says he. 'And like many a public school boy before me—and many since—I ran away … don’t tell me you never drove some panic-stricken little fag to do the same at Rugby. Oh, yes, I ran—and thought it would be a fine thing to go for a ship’s boy, and seek my fortune. I was a good enough actor, even then, to fake a Whitechapel whine—the genteel Captain Spring would never have shipped a little gentleman as cabin-boy, now
