Not in vain had the green woodpecker given out its warning note. As
Jack Wingate predicted from it, soon after came a downpour of rain. It
was raining as Captain Ryecroft returned to his hotel, as at intervals
throughout that day; and now on the succeeding night it is again
sluicing down as from a shower bath. The river is in full flood, its
hundreds of affluents from Plinlimmon downward, having each contributed
its quota, till Vaga, usually so pure, limpid, and tranquil, rolls on in
vast turbulent volume, muddy and maddened. There is a strong wind as
well, whose gusts now and then, striking the water's surface, lash it
into furrows with white frothy crests.
On the Wye this night there would be danger for any boat badly manned or
unskilfully steered. And yet a boat is about to embark upon it; one
which throughout the afternoon has been lying moored in a little branch
stream that runs in opposite the lands of Llangorren, a tributary
supplied by the dingle in which stands the dwelling of Richard Dempsey.
It is the same near whose mouth the poacher and the priest were seen by
Gwen Wynn and Eleanor Lees on the day of their remarkable adventure with
the forest roughs. And almost in the same spot is the craft now spoken
of; no coracle, however, but a regular pair-oared boat of a kind in
common use among Wye watermen.
It is lying with bow to the bank, its painter attached to a tree, whose
branches extend over it. During the day no one has been near it, and it
is not likely that any one has observed it. Some little distance up the
brook, and drawn well in under the spreading boughs, that almost
touching the water, darkly shadow the surface, it is not visible from
the rivers channel: while, along the edge of the rivulet, there is no
thoroughfare, nor path of any kind. No more a landing-place where boat
is accustomed to put in or remain at moorings. That now there has
evidently been brought thither for some temporary purpose.
Not till after the going down of the sun is this declared. Then, just
as the purple of twilight is changing to the inky blackness of night,
and another dash of rain clatters on the already saturated foliage three
men are seen moving among the trees that grow thick along the
streamlet's edge. They seem not to mind it, although pouring down in
torrents; for they have come through the dell, as from Dempsey's house,
and are going in the direction of the boat, where there is no shelter.
But if they regard not getting wet,--something they do regard; else why
should they observe such caution in their movements, and talk in subdued
voices? All the more strange this, in a place where there is so little
likelihood of their being overheard, or encountering any one to take
note of their proceedings.
It is only between two of them that conversation is carried on; the
third walking far in advance, beyond earshot of speech in the ordinary
tone; besides, the noise of the tempest would hinder his hearing them.
Therefore, it cannot be on his account they converse guardedly. More
likely their constraint is due to the solemnity of the subject; for
solemn it is, as their words show.
"They'll be sure to find the body in a day or two. Possibly to-morrow,
or if not, very soon. A good deal will depend on the state of the
river. If this flood continue and the water remain discoloured as now,
it may be several days before they light on it. No matter when; your
course is clear, Monsieur Murdock."
"But what do you advise my doing, _Pere_? I'd like you to lend me your
counsel--give me minute directions about everything."
"In the first place, then, you must show yourself on the other side of
the water, and take an active part in the search. Such a near relative,
as you are, 'twould appear strange if you didn't. All the world may not
be aware of the little tiff--rather prolonged though--that's been
between you. And if it were, your keeping away on such an occasion
would give cause for greater scandal. Spite so rancorous! that of
itself should excite curious thoughts--suspicions. Naturally enough. A
man, whose own cousin is mysteriously missing, not caring to know what
has become of her! And when knowing--when `Found drowned,' as she will
be--not to show either sympathy or sorrow! _Ma foi_! they might mob you
if you didn't!"
"That's true enough," grunts Murdock, thinking of the respect in which
his cousin is held, and her great popularity throughout the
neighbourhood.
"You advise my going over to Llangorren?"
"Decidedly, I do. Present yourself there to-morrow, without fail. You
may make the hour reasonably late; saying that the sinister intelligence
has only just reached you at Glyngog--out of the way as it is. You'll
find plenty of people at the Court on your arrival. From what I've
learnt this afternoon, through my informant resident there, they'll be
hot upon the search to-morrow. It would have been more earnest to-day,
but for that quaint old creature with her romantic notions; the latest
of them, as Clarisse tell me, that Mademoiselle had run away with the
Hussar! But it appears a letter has reached the Court in his
handwriting, which put a different construction on the affair; proving
to them it could be no elopement--at least with him. Under these
circumstances, then, to-morrow morning, soon as the sun is up, there'll
be a hue and cry all over the country; so loud you couldn't fail to
hear, and will be expected to have a voice in it. To do that
effectually you must show yourself at Llangorren, and in good time."
"There's sense in what you say. You're a very Solomon, Father Rogier.
I'll be there, trust me. Is there anything else you think of."
The Jesuit is for a time silent, apparently in deep thought. It is a
ticklish game the two are playing, and needs careful consideration, with
cautious action.
"Yes," he at length answers. "There are a good many other things, I
think of. But they depend upon circumstances not yet developed by which
you will have to be guided. And you must guide yourself, M'sieu, as you
best can. It will be quite four days, if not more, ere I can get back.
They may even find the body to-morrow--if they should think of employing
drags, or other searching apparatus. Still, I fancy, 'twill be some
time before they come to a final belief in her being drowned. Don't
you, on any account suggest it. And should there be such search,
endeavour, in a quiet way, to have it conducted in any direction but the
right one. The longer before fishing the thing up, the better it will
be for our purposes: you comprehend?"
"I do."
"When found, as it must be in time, you will know how to show becoming
grief; and, if opportunity offer, you may throw out a hint, having
reference to _Le Capitaine Ryecroft_. His having gone away from his
hotel this morning, no one knows why or whither--decamping in such haste
too--that will be sure to fix suspicion upon him--possibly have him
pursued and arrested as the murderer of Miss Wynn! Odd succession of
events, is it not?"
"It is indeed."
"Seems as if the very Fates were in a conspiracy to favour our design.
If we fail now, 'twill be our own fault. And that reminds me there
should be no waste of time--must not. One hour of this darkness may be
worth an age--or at all events ten thousand pounds per annum. _Allons!
vite-vite_?"
He steps briskly onward, drawing his caped cloak closer to protect him
from the rain, now running in rivers down the drooping branches of the
trees.
Murdock follows; and the two, delayed by a dialogue of such grave
character, draw closer to the third who had gone ahead. They do not
overtake him, however, till after he has reached the boat, and therein
deposited a bundle he has been bearing--of weight sufficient to make him
stagger, where the ground was rough and uneven. It is a package of
irregular oblong shape, and such size, that laid along the boat's bottom
timbers it occupies most part of the space forward of the mid-thwart.
Seeing that he who has thus disposed of it, is Coracle Dick, one might
believe it poached salmon, or land game now in season in the act of
being transported to some receiver of such commodities. But the words
spoken by the priest as he comes up forbid this belief: they are an
interrogatory:--
"Well, _mon bracconier_; have you stowed my luggage?"
"It's in the boat, Father Rogier."
"And all ready for starting?"
"The minute your reverence steps in."
"So, well! And now, M'sieu," he adds, turning to Murdock, and again
speaking in undertone, "if you play _your_ part skilfully, on return I
may find you in a fair way of getting installed as the Lord of
Llangorren. Till then, adieu!"
Saying which he steps over the boat's side, and takes seat in its stern.
Shoved off by sinewy arms, it goes brushing out from under the branches,
and is rapidly drifted down towards the river.
Lewin Murdock is left standing on the brook's edge, free to go what way
he wishes.
Soon he starts off, not on return to the empty domicile of the poacher,
nor yet direct to his own home: but first to the Welsh Harp--there to
gather the gossip of the day, and learn whether the startling tale, soon
to be told, has yet reached Rugg's Ferry.
Volume Two, Chapter XVII.