CHALLENGED.
REFERRING to the back of an envelope on which he had jotted down the
times of the trains, Dacres found upon alighting at Brockenhurst
junction that he had three-quarters of an hour to wait. Since he did
not feel inclined to cool his heels on the station platform he made
up his mind to take a stroll through the village, have tea, and thus
turn the interval of waiting to good account.
The air was cool, the dense foliage afforded a pleasant shelter from
the slanting though powerful rays of the sun, and Dacres began to
feel quite easy in his mind.
"By George!" he ejaculated. "That airship seems to interest me far
more than my forthcoming interview with the governor. I wonder if she
has been sighted again. I'll get an evening paper at the bookstall
when I return to the station. How jolly fine the forest scenery is.
Now I am not surprised that the pater came down to this part of the
country if the scenery around Cranbury House is anything like this."
A plain but substantial tea filled Dacres' cup of contentment to the
brim. English bread, fresh country butter, and watercress, after the
fare obtainable on board the "Royal Oak" in the Tropics, combined to
make the most appetizing meal he had tasted for months past. It
reminded him of the saying of an old chief boatswain on returning to
England after a two years' arduous commission mostly in the Persian
Gulf.
"Bless you, sir," said the warrant officer emphatically. "Directly I
set foot ashore at Portsmouth I'll order a prime beefsteak and a
tankard--not a glass, mind you--of ale."
Two months later the chief bo's'un retired with the rank of
lieutenant, and forthwith settled down in the country. One of his
first acts was to hire a man to stand outside his bedroom window
every evening from ten to eleven, his duty being to throw buckets of
water against the panes.
"Couldn't get to sleep unless I heard the sea breaking against the
scuttles," he explained.
Dacres wondered whether the call of the sea would come back to him
with such vividness. Perhaps; but up to the present he felt no such
overwhelming desire. It was just possible that he had not yet had
time to realize his position.
In the midst of his meditation the traveller remembered that he had
to catch a train.
Pulling out his watch he found that he had fifteen minutes to get to
the station and, since he did the outward journey in ten minutes, it
was an easy jaunt back to the junction.
"Where are you for?" asked a porter as Dacres arrived on the
practically deserted platform.
"Holmsley."
"Your train's just gone, sir," announced the railway employee with
the air of a man who has imparted a joyful surprise.
"But----" Dacres pulled out the envelope. "I thought it went at
seven-four."
"Did till this month, sir," was the unconcerned reply. "Now it leaves
here at six-fifty-six. Next train at eight-two."
"They must have had an old time-table in that restaurant," muttered
Dacres disgustedly. "I was a bit of an ass not to make sure, and a
doubly confounded idiot not to have asked when I arrived here.
However, can't be helped. 'What's done can't be undone,' as the
landlubber remarked when he tied a slippery hitch in his hammock
lashing and found himself sprawling on the mess-deck ten seconds
later. This time I keep watch here, I don't mean to be let down a
second time."
When a fast train bringing the evening papers from London stopped at
the station Dacres hurried to buy a copy. The news as far as the
airship was concerned was woefully disappointing. She had not been
sighted anywhere in Great Britain or Ireland.
There was one item of news that interested him, however. It was a
wireless message from Cape Columbia, announcing that Lieutenant
Cardyke and four men of the British Arctic Expedition had started on
their dash for the North Pole.
"Plucky chap!" ejaculated Dacres. "I hope he'll pull it off all
right. It's a jolly risky business, though. Never fancied that kind
of job myself, but Cardyke was always keen on Polar work. I remember
how he used to devour Scott's and Shackleton's works when he was at
Osborne. All the same, I wonder they don't make a dash for the Pole
in an up-to-date dirigible, instead of tramping all those hundreds of
miles. I'd volunteer for a Polar airship expedition like a shot."
The loud ringing of an electric bell warned Dacres that his train was
signalled. Folding the paper and placing it in his pocket he rose
from his seat and waited for the train to run into the station.
The last stage of his journey was a short one and he chided himself
for not having walked. The sun had just dipped behind the
heather-clad hills as Dacres alighted, while already the evening
mists were rising from the shallow valleys.
A typical country porter took the tickets of the three passengers who
left the train, and in response to Dacres' inquiry as to the
direction of Cranbury House, scratched his head in obvious
perplexity.
"Garge, du 'ee knaw whur be Cranbury 'Ouse?" he sung out to a
shock-headed youth who was struggling with a truck on the opposite
platform.
"Yes," was the reply. "A matter of a couple o' mile t'other side o'
Wilverley Post."
After a lengthy and complex explanation of how to reach Wilverley
Post, Dacres found himself almost as much enlightened as before.
"Can I get a motor or a cab?" he asked.
"Naw, zur; not onless you'm ordered 'em. There be a bus, only it
doänt meet this train."
Dacres was not a man to be daunted by difficulties. Emerging from the
station he swung along the road, breathing in the pure moorland air,
determined by hook or by crook to reach his destination with the
least possible delay.
The road was quite deserted. Not even a motorist passed, otherwise he
would have boldly asked the favour of a lift. Overhead a deep buzzing
caused him to look upwards. Two aviators, making towards Bournemouth,
glided swiftly through the gathering gloom. In this part of the
country, Dacres reflected, there were more men in the air than on the
highway.
Presently he reached a signpost at the junction of four cross roads.
By this time there was just sufficient light for him to decipher the
directions. Lyndhurst--he did not want to go there; Ringwood--equally
undesirable, as were the other places mentioned.
"I suppose this is Wilverley Post," he thought. "Here I must bring up
and wait till some one comes along. That ought to be fairly soon.
What a deserted-looking spot, though. However," he added
optimistically, "it might be a jolly sight worse. For instance, it
might be raining hard and blowing half a gale. Ha! Here's a cart
coming along."
In response to a hail the driver pulled up, but he was quite at a
loss to give the desired information. He had lived at Ringwood all
his life, and had never heard of Cranbury House.
Ten minutes later a large motor-car came swinging along. The
chauffeur obligingly stopped, but was likewise unable to state the
locality of Colonel Dacres' property.
"If it were this way, sir, I would give you a lift with pleasure,"
added the man, "but ten chances to one it would only be taking you
farther out of your way. If you like, though, I'll run you down to
Christchurch and you can put up there for the night, sir."
"Thanks all the same, I want particularly to get to Cranbury House
to-night," said Dacres.
With a civil good-night the chauffeur sped on his way, while Dacres
prepared to resume his vigil by the gaunt signpost.
Presently his ready ear detected the sounds of footsteps plodding
methodically along the hard tarred road. Out of the darkness loomed
the shape of a powerfully-built man, bending under a load of faggots.
"Cranbury House, zur? Sure I knaws 'ut well. If 'tweer light enow oi
could show you the chimbleys, over yonder. Du 'ee taäk this path an'
'twill bring ee right agin the gates of t'ouse. It'll be a matter of
a couple o' miles. If ye like, zur, I'll come along wi' ee," said the
man, setting his load down by the roadside.
"I won't trouble you, thanks," replied Dacres, bestowing a shilling
upon the man. "It's a fairly easy path, I hope?"
"Yes, zur, 's long as you keep to un. There be some bad bogs close on
hand. Why, only t'other evenin' old Bill Jarvis as lives down
Goatspen Plain wur a-comin'----"
But Dacres was not at all anxious to hear of the nocturnal adventures
of the said Bill Jarvis.
"I'll keep to the path all right," he said. "About two miles, eh?
Thank you and good night."
The path, showing grey in the misty starlight, was barely wide enough
for two persons to walk abreast. On either hand were clumps of furze
and heather, that at places encroached to such an extent that the
sharp spikes tingled the pedestrian's calves. Here and there the
footway, worn by the action of rain and the passing of cattle, was
several feet below the surface of the surrounding ground. It was far
from level, for all around the country seemed composed of a series of
hillocks, all divided by wreaths of mist.
For ten minutes Dacres walked on at a rapid rate till he was suddenly
brought up by the bifurcation of the path. So acute was the angle
between the two ways and so alike in width that he stood stock still
in deep perplexity. His informant had made no mention of the forked
paths.
"Perhaps they reunite farther on," muttered Dacres. "It looks like a
case of pay your money and take your choice. Why not toss for it?
Heads the right hand, tails the left."
He spun the coin. He missed it and it fell dully upon the sandy
ground. Three matches he struck before he discovered it standing
upright in the soft earth.
"Ah! That bears out my theory. The ways meet again. Anyway, I'll take
the right hand one."
He had not gone very far when, with a rush and a swish amidst the
heather, four black objects darted across his path, within an ace of
capsizing him altogether.
"Pigs," he exclaimed. "Fancy those beasts roaming about in this
deserted spot. I wonder if there's a cottage handy?"
A hundred yards further on the path was joined on the left hand by
another, which apparently confirmed his suggestion that it was the
reunion of the two forked routes. With this reassuring discovery he
redoubled his efforts until he found that the path was growing
narrower and eventually broke off in three fairly diverging
directions.
Taking his bearings by means of the Pole Star Dacres chose the path
that followed the direction he had hitherto pursued. Down and down
into a wide yet shallow valley it plunged, till once more it split
into two ways. To add to the perplexity of the situation both of them
bore away to the right and in quite a different direction from that
which he supposed to be the proper one.
Dacres brought "all standing." Not a sound disturbed the stillness of
the night. He could easily imagine himself to be "bushed" in the
Australian wilds as far as the presence of human beings was
concerned.
Again he glanced upwards to ascertain his bearings, but in the hollow
the mists were considerably denser and rose high above the ground.
The stars were completely blotted out.
"I'll take the left hand path this time," he muttered impatiently,
for his peace of mind was now considerably ruffled by the vexatious
delays that he had experienced. "It's bound to lead somewhere, so
here goes."
But before he had covered a hundred paces he found that his progress
was impeded by a brook that trickled over the now ill-defined track.
On either hand the ground was marshy and, bearing in mind the
incompleted narrative of Bill Jarvis's experience, he acted warily.
"It won't be the first time that I've entered the paternal dwelling
with muddy boots," he reflected as he waded through the shallow
stream, prodding the bed of the brook with his stick at each step.
When, at length, he negotiated the twenty feet of water he found to
his intense disgust that there were no signs of the path being
resumed. Evidently that track was made by cattle for the purpose of
going to the stream to drink.
Away on the left rose a rounded hill crowned with a gaunt tree, the
outlines of which were curiously distorted by the layers of mist.
"Here goes!" he exclaimed desperately. "I'll make for that hill.
Perhaps it will be clearer up there, and I may be able to strike a
fresh path."
Forcing his way through the heather, dodging aggressive clumps of
gorse, and slipping on the loose sandy soil, Dacres reached the
summit of the knoll. Here he was no better off, for the sky was still
overcast, while as far as he could see in the dim light the
surrounding country was enshrouded in mist. In vain he attempted to
retrace his steps, till sinking ankle deep in marshy ground warned
him that he was not only lost but in danger of being trapped in a
bog.
"Ahoy!" he shouted in stentorian tones.
His hail was quickly answered by another "ahoy."
"That's good," he exclaimed. "There's a sailor somewhere about. I've
heard that pensioners frequently settle down in these out of the way
wilds."
"Ahoy! Where are you?" he hailed again.
"Where are you?" came the voice.
"Hang it all," said Dacres dejectedly. "It's only an echo. I am
merely wasting precious breath. If only there were a breeze I could
keep a fairly straight course. Luck's quite out this trip."
Striking a match and glancing at his watch Dacres discovered that it
was a quarter to ten.
"No use stopping here," he decided. "I'll plug away and trust to find
another path. Wish I'd accepted that fellow's offer and got him to
pilot me through this wilderness. That's the result of being so
beastly independent."
On and on he went, dodging between the thick masses of furze. An hour
later he had a shrewd suspicion that he was describing a large
circle, for one peculiar-shaped tree struck him as being familiar;
yet no longed-for path rewarded his perseverance.
"Hurrah!" he exclaimed as a tiny speck of light leapt up at some
distance ahead of him. "Now there's a chance of finding out where I
am."
Recklessly he plunged through the undergrowth, his eyes fixed upon
the friendly gleam that came from the midst of a deep shadow.
Suddenly the light vanished, but the shadow resolved itself into a
dense clump of trees extending right and left like a huge wall till
lost in the night mist.
Now he could hear voices: men talking rapidly and earnestly, while
the clatter of a metal object falling upon hard ground raised a sharp
reproof.
"Midnight motor repairs," thought Dacres. "A broken-down car,
perhaps. Then, these trees are by the side of the high road. Ha!"
Further progress was impeded by a barbed wire fence upon which he
blundered with disastrous results to his trousers and coat sleeves.
The pain caused by one of the spikes cutting his wrist made him utter
an exclamation of annoyance.
Simultaneously a bell began to tinkle faintly. The men's voices
ceased.
Dacres paid scant heed to these ominous warnings. His one desire was
to get into touch with human beings once more. Standing upon the
lowermost wire and holding upon the one above, he wriggled adroitly
through the fence, then hurried through the wood, half expecting to
find himself upon the road.
But no highway rewarded his efforts. Pine trunk after pine trunk he
passed until it began to occur to him that he was in danger of being
lost in a wood, which was as undesirable as being adrift in the midst
of a foggy moorland.
He paused. All was quiet.
"I'll give a shout," he thought, but before he could raise his voice
there was a sudden scuffling to the right and left of him and a deep
voice exclaimed:--
"Collar him, lads. He's one of them."