Tom tiddlers island, p.10
Tom Tiddler's Island, page 10
Colin turned round and examined them.
“Electric torches, right enough, by the look of them. Not moving about, though. Seem as if they were fixed to point somewhere in this direction. It’s all heather up there. Rum, that. Must be some of the Heather Lodge people playing about, unless it’s Northfleet amusing himself by waking up his bird friends.”
He stared at the lights, trying to distinguish something in the surrounding darkness; but there was nothing detectable. Jean soon lost interest in the phenomenon.
“Colin, do you think it’s quite safe for Mr. Northfleet to go down alone into these passages under Wester Voe? From what you said about them, it seems a bit risky for him, doesn’t it? Suppose he had an accident, or lost his way?”
“He’s finished down there,” Colin explained, reassuringly. “He told me this afternoon that he’s got the whole affair mapped now, so he won’t be going down again. By the way, he’s worked out the run of the passage, and it seems it goes up to Heather Lodge. The bricked-up bit must be somewhere under the Heather Lodge cellars, if they have any. He took the corresponding bearings aboveground, and that’s where they led him, apparently.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s bricked up, then. You know, Colin, I don’t like these people at Heather Lodge—except Hazel, of course.”
“They don’t bother us, anyhow,” Colin pointed out.
“That’s true,” Jean admitted. “Still . . . I rather wish they weren’t there, Colin. There’s something funny about Heather Lodge. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve got a sort of feeling that there’s something queer.”
Colin was not a little vexed to find that all his precautions for Jean’s peace of mind seemed to have come to nothing.
“Hazel been saying anything to make you feel like that?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Oh, no,” Jean declared emphatically. “It’s just that I’m a nervous little beast, Colin; and I don’t quite like the notion of armed men, and big dogs, and so on, over there at Heather Lodge. Hazel’s explanation sounds a bit thin, when I think over it. She believes it herself. She’s got a sort of contempt for that uncle of hers. But—well, somehow, it doesn’t sound good enough, does it, Colin?”
“She knows old Arrow, and you don’t,” Colin pointed out. “If it satisfies her, it ought to be good enough for you, shouldn’t it?”
Much to his relief, Jean’s attention was diverted before she could press the matter further.
“What’s that, Colin?” she exclaimed. “H’sh! Listen!”
Out of the depths of the dusk came a slow throbbing; then a dim grey shape loomed up and drew nearer over the smooth waters. Soon it passed them at a distance: a small yacht under bare poles, feeling its way cautiously down the channel into the bay. Dimly they could see the man at the wheel, and a second figure which seemed to be kneeling on the deck, busy with some task or other.
“Visitors?” said Colin, in some surprise. “Looks about a fifteen tonner. Auxiliary motor, evidently. And they mean to stay the night, it seems,” he added, as the splash of the anchor and the rattle of the chain came to them across the water.
Struck by an idea, he glanced up at the two lights on the headland. Almost at the roar of the anchor-chain they were extinguished, having evidently served their purpose. Whoever the strangers were, they had friends at Heather Lodge; for the lights must have been placed as sailing-marks and had been dowsed as soon as they had filled their purpose. That meant a prearranged visit, Colin reflected without carrying his inferences further.
“I wonder who——” Jean began, inquisitively. Then a twitch on her line diverted her mind. “I’ve got another, Colin!”
She began to pull in her line. Colin detached the fish, peered closely as it in the semi-darkness, and then, without more ado, pitched it overboard again.
“What was it, Colin?”
“A dog-fish,” Colin announced in a disgusted tone. “That’s one thing I won’t eat, even to please you. Time to chuck it, now, dear.”
“I suppose it is,” Jean admitted, reluctantly. “Well, I haven’t done badly for a beginner. We’ll come out again to-morrow night, Colin.”
“H’m!” Colin protested. “Am I supposed to be taking up a fish diet, or what? And next time it’ll most likely be lythe.”
“What are lythe?”
“Pollack’s another name for ’em. A bit like cod. You can have my share of all you catch. If fish is what you want, what about a lobster salad? Or you might go crab-hunting among the rocks and pick up a partan or two. Tastier than mackerel. More exciting to catch ’em, too, with the chance of a good nip thrown in.”
“You can have the nips for your share,” Jean rejoined. “If you’re so keen on crabs, catch them yourself. I hate the look of them when they’re alive.”
She changed the subject in her next words :
“I wonder who these people are in the yacht. Hazel didn’t know they were coming to-night. She didn’t say anything about them to me, at any rate; and if she’d known they were coming I’m sure she’d have told me.”
Colin made no comment on this, but busied himself with starting the motor.
“That yacht’s anchored almost bang in the fairway,” he pointed out, after a long scrutiny in the dim light. “Makes it awkward to get in to the pier, confound ’em! We’ll have to go in gently so as not to scrape our paint against ’em.” He took the tiller, let the clutch in, and throttled down until the little motor-boat was moving as slowly as possible. He had a good knowledge of the channel from daylight trips, but this was his first attempt at a night-passage and he meant to take no chances. As he drew nearer, he found the position more difficult than he had guessed from a distance. The yachtsmen, either ignorant or inconsiderate, had anchored their vessel in the end of the channel, where the fairway was at its narrowest; and in the deepened dusk this made the passage too tricky for Colin’s comfort, since he was still a raw hand with the motor-boat.
“If they’re going to stay on Ruffa, we’ll need to get them to shift out of that,” he grumbled to Jean in an undertone. “Twenty yards farther on they’d have just as good holding-ground and they’d be in nobody’s way. I’ll give ’em a hint as we pass.”
He took out the clutch and let the boat run forward under its own way. As he passed the yacht’s counter, he saw above him two dim figures on her deck. One of them, kneeling, seemed to be throwing some powder into the water, handful by handful. Colin got the impression that he was emptying a sack piecemeal. Other small sacks, like ballast-bags, lay beside him on the deck. The second man, put on the alert by the noise of the exhaust, stared intently at the motor-boat as it forged alongside.
Colin stooped forward to throttle down the engine still further, so as to quiet the exhaust while he was speaking. As he did so, a flashlight shone over him; Jean gave a faint cry; and he looked up to face a heavy pistol which covered him from hardly a couple of yards range.
“Au large!” said the man behind the pistol, keeping his flash-lamp fixed blindingly on Colin’s face. Then, realising that Colin was bewildered, he repeated the order in English. “Sheer off, you! And quicker than that!”
The second man rose to his feet in a leisurely fashion and produced an equally ugly pistol from his coat-pocket. As he did so, he seemed to catch sight of Jean, who had been hidden from him before. He whispered something to his companion, who nodded rather doubtfully.
“Is that Mademoiselle Arrow?” the first man demanded.
Colin’s indignation had now swamped his stupefaction.
“What d’you mean by this?” he exclaimed. “What——”
His interrogator seemed to grow suddenly more menacing.
“ ’Ands up!” he ordered tersely.
Colin guessed from the tone that these people meant to stand no nonsense; so, shaking with suppressed anger, he obeyed perforce. Nice figure he was cutting before Jean, he reflected furiously. And who were these fellows? Foreigners, from the accent, like the Heather Lodge guards.
The spokesman on the deck turned to Jean.
“You are not Miss Arrow? No?”
Jean had some difficulty in finding her voice.
“No,” she confirmed at last, rather huskily. “Our name’s Trent. We’re living at Wester Voe—that house up yonder. Miss Arrow’s a friend of mine. She lives at Heather Lodge, over there.”
The two men on deck consulted together in whispers. Colin, who was no linguist, could not follow their rapid interchange; but the result, at least, was satisfactory. The weapons were lowered, though not pocketed, and the spokesman turned again to Jean. His voice took on a certain underbred oiliness which Colin liked as little as the earlier truculence.
“We make you most ’umble apologies, madame. We ’ave evidently made a very foolish mistake, for which we ask your pardon. You will overlook it, hein? Your sudden appearance out of the dark—very startling; and we did not see that a lady was in the boat. But that is all right now, hein? You overlook it.” He paused for a moment as though to collect his thoughts. “My nerves are . . . out of order a little. I ’ave been ill, recently, you understand? I am all on edge. And your intrusion gave me a surprise. Yes, that is it. It gave me a start. You would pity me, I know, if you could understand. But that is all right now, hein? You will not be angry with a sick man.”
Colin had dropped his hands at the first words of apology.
“Damned liar,” was his internal comment on the explanation. “He’s no more neurasthenic than I am. Can’t have a row before Jean, though. Least said, soonest mended.”
He put his hand on the yacht’s hull and pushed off gently.
“If you’re staying here, may I point out that your yacht’s almost blocking the fairway here?” he said in a tone which betrayed his suppressed anger clearly enough. “If you shift her twenty yards on, you’ll be in nobody’s way.”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” the spokesman acquiesced eagerly. “We are extremely sorry to give trouble. We shall move, as soon as there is light to see. I hope that will do? And we are sorry, we are very sorry indeed, that this unfortunate little mistake has occurred. You will overlook it, as between gentlemen, hein? An awkward contretemps which we much regret, I assure you.”
“Oh, let it go at that,” Colin interrupted impatiently.
He let in his clutch, and the little motor-boat purred on past the yacht. Colin leaned over and touched Jean’s arm, to find her trembling.
“What a start they gave me,” she said with a poor attempt at a laugh. “And what extraordinary people, Colin! I really thought at first that they meant to shoot, and I was in a perfect panic about you. That’s really why I’m trembling like this. I’m all right now. It’s just the after-effects. But who can these people be, Colin? They know about the Arrows. But they don’t know the channel well, so they haven’t been here often; and they don’t know much about Ruffa or they’d have guessed who we were. That we were from Wester Voe, at any rate. That’s plain. I’m not sure I like it, Colin. I don’t like it one bit. Can you make head or tail of it?”
A dark object loomed up suddenly ahead and Colin twitched the helm to avoid it. They swept past a small rowing-boat—the Heather Lodge pleasure-craft, Colin guessed—with one man rowing and a second figure in the stem. Evidently it was making for the yacht. Jean gave a violent start as they just escaped disaster, and Colin pressed her arm reassuringly.
“Narrow shave, that” he grunted crossly. “Another time old Arrow goes visiting his friends I hope he’ll show a light. I’m getting a bit fed-up with that lot, I’ll admit.”
Shutting the throttle, he allowed the motorboat to run gently in towards the steps. As they came into the lee a man’s figure on the top of the jetty showed up in clear outline against the paleness of the sky. Colin’s nerves had not been shaken by his late experiences, but his temper had been badly frayed.
“Who’s there?” he demanded aggressively.
The figure stooped over the edge and peered at the motor-boat.
“Sh!” it said in a vehement whisper. Then in a low voice it added. “That you, Trent? I’m Northfleet. It’s all right, only I’d rather you didn’t shout my name just now. Is Mrs. Trent there? I hope I didn’t startle you.”
“Not half so much as these swine on the yacht, there,” Colin explained, disjointedly. “Stuck a pop-gun about a foot long in my face just now. Gave Jean the start of her life. Bit thick, what? Of all the nerve . . . Pretty doings, what? Some of the old Arrow’s pals, I gather. I’m going to interview that bird before many hours are over. Won’t stand this kind of going-on, not from the Grand Mogul.”
Northfleet ran down the steps and helped Jean to land. Colin followed them up the stair after making the boat fast; and the three stood at the end of the jetty looking out towards where the yacht lay in the darkness.
“Not even a riding-light showing,” Colin growled. “Gang of tinkers afloat.”
Northfleet seemed to have gathered something from Colin’s jerky explanation, but now he asked for a fuller account. When he had listened to it without comment, he turned to Jean.
“It must have given you a bad jar, Mrs. Trent. I expect you’re feeling a bit nervy—most people would, after that sort of experience. There’s one thing I ought to say, and you can take it as being just the plain truth. All this affair”—he waved his hand towards the yacht—“has nothing to do with you and Mr. Trent. You can take my word for it that you needn’t expect anything more of the sort. These fellows mistook you for somebody else. That I can guess. You mustn’t let it worry you in the slightest, please. So far as you’re concerned the whole business was a pure accident which won’t occur again. And another thing: Miss Arrow isn’t in any way mixed up in the affair. I think I ought to make that clear.”
“That’s all very well,” Colin declared bluntly, “but it leaves us much where we were. What’s all this monkeying that’s going on? What’s at the back of it all, exactly?”
“I wish I knew,” Northfleet replied, with a touch of irritation which somehow gave the effect of sincerity.
Colin considered for a moment or two. This mystery-mongering—as he regarded it—exasperated him after his recent experiences. Northfleet evidently knew something, and Colin wanted to know it too. On the other hand, he flinched from an attempt to force Northfleet’s confidence while Jean was there. Whatever lay behind those mysterious manoeuvres, it seemed advisable that he himself should get the full story from Northfleet and then supply Jean with a suitably expurgated version, something which would hold water and yet not alarm her further. After the shock she had she might very well insist on leaving Ruffa at a moment’s notice; and, for many reasons, Colin had no wish for that. The first essential was to discover if possible how the land actually lay and Northfleet was the only possible source of information.
“Care to come up to Wester Voe with us now?” Colin inquired.
If he could keep Northfleet there until Jean went to bed, then he might be able to extract something.
“I’m afraid I can’t come at this moment,” Northfleet said, after a brief pause for consideration. “I’ve something I must do. But if I may drop in on you, later on in the evening——”
“Right!” Colin agreed. “Come as soon as you can, will you? We’ll go up there now. Come along, Jean.”
They left Northfleet on the pier, staring out into the night in the direction of the yacht.
Colin expected an awkward interview with Jean when they reached Wester Voe; but, rather to his surprise, she seemed much less disturbed than he had anticipated.
“Do you understand all this business, Colin?” she began. “I can’t make head or tail of it. Why should these men threaten us with pistols just because we came alongside? It’s like an American gangster film, it is, really, Colin. Of course, Mr. Northfleet’s quite right; they mistook us for somebody else. You saw how polite they turned when they found out their mistake.”
“Positively greasy,” Colin agreed heartily. “For two pins that fellow would have wept on my shoulder, by the sound of him.”
“Well, anyhow, it was plain enough that they meant no harm to us, wasn’t it? And Mr. Northfleet said the same.”
“Oh, so he’s the last word in oracles, is he?” Colin inquired, as though none too well pleased by this.
A little opposition at this stage, he thought, would confirm Jean in her attitude, which was the very one he wanted her to adopt.
“Jealous, Colin?” she asked, teasingly. “No, it’s just that he somehow gives me a feeling that one can depend on him and that he wouldn’t let one down.”
“Strong, silent man, and all that? I know. Heard ’em often on the talkies.”
“Really, Colin, one would think you’d some sort of down on him, by the way you talk. You haven’t, have you? Because I like him, and I hope you won’t drop him when we get back to town.”
“Good Lord, no! I’ve got nothing against him,” Colin protested, fearing that he had overdone his effect. “And what are we going to do now. Wireless? Or just sit here?”
Jean considered for a moment.
“I’ve got a lot of letters that I ought to write,” she said doubtfully. “I hate wasting any of the daylight on that. Would you mind, Colin, if I wrote some of them now? You could amuse yourself with the wireless, couldn’t you? And you’ll let me know when Mr. Northfleet comes in?”
“Answers to inquiries,” said Colin, “No. 1, ‘No.’ To No. 2, ‘Yes.’ To No. 3, ditto. You write ’em in here and I’ll let the wireless loose in the lounge.”
Then, as he was leaving the room, a fresh thought struck him and he turned back.
“Bit stuffy, this evening. I’m going into the garden to smoke a pipe. If you want me, just call through the window. I won’t go far away.” Jean made no objection to this, and Colin wandered out of doors, congratulating himself on a neat stroke of diplomacy which would enable him to intercept and question Northfleet before they interrupted Jean in her correspondence.
His visitor kept him waiting rather longer than he had expected; but when he appeared Colin was able to attract his attention quietly and lead him off down one of the paths just out of earshot of the drawing-room windows.
