"I've ordered dinner for half-past eight," said Aunt Mary, "so don't
be later than eight if you can help it. We shall all be famished by
then."
"We shall be before that," returned Maurice. "The flight's about
half-past six, and it's only half an hour's walk from the marsh."
We were standing in the drive with our guns--he and I and York and
Vane. A slack afternoon, succeeded by an early tea, had followed the
tennis, and now we were just setting out upon our duck-shooting
expedition. Baradell had declined to make one of the party,
presumably preferring the society of his wife.
"We'll make a round through the fields first," said Maurice. "It's
no use getting to the water before six, and we may pick up a few
pheasants and hares if the light's good enough."
I did not wait for instructions, but slipped into a place between
York and Vane. I thought it very unlikely that Maurice would himself
attempt anything in the gun-accident line, but even so, there was no
point in running unnecessary risks. You never know what sudden happy
inspiration may illuminate the mind of an embarrassed heir.
Off we went, the dogs ranging round us, and a couple of nondescript
gentlemen in corduroy trousers bringing up the rear. It relieved my
mind to perceive that neither of them had guns.
This sort of shooting was, of course, quite new to me, but I have too
often been dependent upon my gun for my supper to be likely to miss
anything in the nature of a confiding English bird. Indeed, when
York sang out his congratulations to me for toppling over a
fast-flying pheasant, I began to think that perhaps it would be more
judicious if I restrained my abilities. Except for his money-getting
and love-making talents, I was so confoundedly in the dark as to what
Northcote could do.
About half-past five we arrived at the bank of a long salt-water
creek. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile wide, and protected from
the sea by a strip of land running parallel with the coast. A
desolate sort of spot, very like bits of the Argentine seaboard,
without so much as a cottage or a hut to break the loneliness of the
surrounding marsh. The only object in sight was an old punt, moored
to a stake under the bank.
"We must split up now," said Maurice, turning to the rest of us.
"There are four or five places where you can get a good shot at the
duck as they come over, and this is one of them. What do you say,
Stuart? Would you like to stay here?"
He asked the question with such frank carelessness that for a moment
I wondered whether it was really possible that he was planning my
extinction. Anyhow, I had no intention of refusing. I wanted to see
what was going to happen.
"I'll stay where I am, certainly," I said. "What's the programme?"
He pointed to a small, sandy spit covered with reeds, half-way across
the creek.
"You must punt over to that," he said, "and tie up the boat this
side. About half-past six the duck will come right over you, and if
you're well hidden you ought to get in a couple of good shots at
least."
I nodded approvingly. "Where will you be?" I asked.
He jerked his head toward the right "Oh, we shall be down the coast.
Do you think you know your way to the house?"
"I guess I can find it," I said, smiling. The idea of being "bushed"
on three miles of Sussex mud-flats struck me as a rather entertaining
one.
"Well, then," said Maurice, "p'raps you won't mind finding your own
road back when the flight's over. It will save us coming round this
way again. Don't bother about the duck. If you leave them in the
punt, I'll tell one of the men to come back and bring them up to the
house."
"We'll send him along with a trolly--what?" put in the humorous Vane.
They tramped off, leaving me alone in my glory. For some few minutes
I sat on the bank, watching them walking away down the creek, and
wondering what pleasant surprise Maurice's arrangements might
foreshadow. That there was mischief of some sort on foot I felt
certain, but it was difficult to guess exactly what shape it would
assume. Standing up, I cast a wary eye over my surroundings. As far
as I could see, with the exception of the little island to which
Maurice had directed my attention, and the long strip of land
opposite, there was no cover anywhere sufficiently big to conceal a
rabbit. Of Billy I could see nothing: if he was hanging about in a
boat, it must be round the bend of the coast away to the left, where
the sea wall jutted out into the saltings.
Untying the punt, I stepped in and pushed off towards the island. It
struck me that if the danger lurked there, it would be just as well
to land before the rest of the party were out of hearing. Unless
York and Vane were in the plot, which seemed highly improbable, my
safety would be pretty well assured so long as they were within
reasonable distance.
A few strokes of the paddle brought me to my destination. The
island, though thickly covered, was sufficient to show that I had it
entirely to myself. I tied the punt to a snag on the landward side,
and after one last look round settled myself down to wait for the
duck, or whatever else might turn up.
I had been there for perhaps ten minutes, when from the strip of land
on the farther side of the creek came the weird, melancholy cry of a
curlew. I took my gun and started to rise cautiously to my feet. As
I did so, a sudden inspiration--a veritable flash from the
gods--leaped into my mind. I sank down again and, taking off the
slouch hat I was wearing, placed it on the barrels of my gun. Then,
very slowly and cautiously, I raised it above the reeds.
Bang!
Off spun the hat, with a bullet-hole clean through the middle, and a
violent tingling jar in my arm told me that part of the barrel had
apparently gone with it. I dropped the gun, and without a moment's
hesitation jumped high into the air, crashing down full-length
amongst the reeds.
It was a trick highly popular with the ingenious Indians of Bolivia,
who by this means tempt their guileless and well-pleased opponent to
come within reach of the knife which they invariably carry.
Something of the same purpose was at the back of my mind, and it was
with a grim smile of satisfaction that I discovered that one of my
gun barrels was still undamaged. Lying there, hidden by the thick
vegetation, I quickly extracted the cartridge from the other. Then,
stealthily as a puma, I wriggled my way forward until I reached the
edge of the island. Parting the rushes, I peered cautiously through.
From the strip of land away to my left a small boat was just putting
out into the creek. It contained two men, and even at that distance
I could see that one of them was without doubt the "Eyetalian"
aristocrat whom Billy had stalked on the previous evening. The
other, who carried a rifle in his hand, I put down as my Park Lane
friend.
For a lop-sided sculler, the big chap certainly made his boat travel.
It fairly bounded towards me across the creek, the passenger
crouching in the bows, his gun ready for immediate action. Like
Robert Brace's friend, they were evidently coming to "mak' siccar."
With a gentle smile I cuddled myself back under cover, pushing
forward my gun so that only the extreme point of the barrel protruded
through the reeds. There was no mercy in my heart, though, as a
matter of fact, I felt little personal resentment against either of
my approaching visitors. It was Northcote, not me, that they were
really trying to shoot, and their reasons were probably very
commendable. Nevertheless, it was my intention to plug them both as
accurately as possible so soon as they came within effective range of
my twelve-bore. If there was any subsequent trouble, I had a
bullet-hole through my hat to give evidence in my favour; and after
all, when certain death is in one side of the balance, it's not much
good bothering about the other.
Nearer and nearer they came, the man in the bows peering forward and
searching the island with a keen gaze. I placed another cartridge
ready beside me, and then, levelling my gun straight at his chest,
put my finger on the trigger. It was at that moment that the boat
stopped.
For one moment I thought my trick had been discovered, and I as
nearly as possible loosed off without waiting for any further
developments. Then, just as I was hesitating, there came the
unmistakable crack of a Mauser pistol, and I saw a big splinter fly
up off the side of the boat. With an oath the big fellow swung round
and sculled off furiously down the creek, while his companion,
raising his rifle, blazed back in the direction from whence the
bullet had come.
I can tell you I didn't waste any time. Wriggling back out of my
ambush, I crawled swiftly through the rushes to the farther side of
the island, and there, as I expected, I saw the faithful William. He
had shipped his oars and, kneeling in his boat, was just taking a
careful aim after the retreating pleasure-party.
"Chuck it, Billy!" I sang out.
Down went the pistol, and in another moment, with a triumphant shout,
he was pulling in towards the island.
"Damn it, Jack!" he said, as the boat ran up the bank and he leaped
on shore. "I thought they'd downed you in that time. Look at the
blighters!"
He pointed down the creek, where our late assailants were travelling
away from us with a vigour which would have done credit to a
championship pair at Henley. Then, sitting down on the bank, he
burst into a roar of laughter.
"Oh, great!" he gasped, when he had sufficiently recovered. "Jack,
my son, you're all right when it comes to gunning. You had me on as
clean as a whistle. I'd have sworn they'd got you."
"If you hadn't come cruising around in that fashion, Billy," I said,
"I should have got them. You've saved me from the horrid sin of
shedding blood."
"I could have pipped them all right myself," he protested. "That
Dago with the gun couldn't shoot for sour apples. How did it all
come about?"
As briefly as possible I put him in possession of the facts. "It was
a plant," I finished: "there's no doubt about it now. I should have
been found shot, if I'd ever been found at all. Mr. Guarez and his
pal would have cleared out, and Maurice, with a beautiful fat alibi
to keep him out of trouble, would have stepped into the family
property. It's a wicked world, William."
"You're right," said Billy, shaking his head; "but fortunately it
makes a bloomer sometimes. I saw the whole thing. I'd tied my boat
to the sea wall round the point there, and crawled up on to the top.
I watched you punt over to the island and I was just coming along to
keep you company when that misbegotten skunk let drive. I thought
you were a goner, Jack! You did that stunt so devilish well it took
me in completely."
"I hope you felt sorry," I said,
"Sorry!" laughed Billy. "I was in a black rage, I can tell you. If
you hadn't popped up like a Jack-in-the-box, I'd have filled those
two Dagoes fuller of lead than a racing yacht."
"I'm glad you didn't, Billy," I answered. "I'm looking forward to
doing something in that line myself." Then I looked at my watch.
"It's half-past six," I added. "That's the time the duck were due to
arrive. I'm afraid we've frightened them!"
"I reckon we have," said Billy. "If I was a duck, I should steer
clear of this place for a fortnight. You'd better come round with me
to the point, and then we'll cut across land to Woodford and have a
drink. You can be back at the house by eight."
"Good!" I said. "If I'm a bit late, it will keep Master Maurice
guessing. He isn't likely to have seen his pals, so it will be a
pleasant little surprise for him when I roll up safe and sound."
Leaving the punt where it was (I was not in the mood to save
Maurice's keepers any superfluous trouble), we pushed off in Billy's
boat, and sculled rapidly up the creek. There was no sign anywhere
of our late friends, but a faint sound of shots down the coast told
us that the rest of my party were apparently busy with the duck.
"I wonder if Maurice is shooting straight," I said, with a chuckle.
"He must have heard our little fusillade, and I suppose he thinks the
whole thing over by now. Rather trying for the nerves, coming into a
fortune all of a sudden!"
"It will be a lot more trying coming out of it," retorted Billy.
"I'd give a fiver to see his face when you walk in."
We left the boat at a small landing-stage the other side of the
point, and making our way across the fields, came into Woodford over
the railway line. I spent about half an hour with Billy at the
Plough, drank a couple of sherries and bitters, and talked over our
future campaign.
"There's nothing like leading trumps," I said. "I shall tell them
straight out when I get back that someone tried to shoot me. I want
to hear Maurice's explanation."
Billy nodded. "That's the right game," he answered. "If you lie
low, he'll know that you suspect him. Play the hand for all it's
worth, and see what happens."
"I mean to," I said briskly. "I shall even go so far as to tell him
that I have a witness in the shape of a kind tourist staying at the
Plough, who happened to be out shooting. Perhaps he'll come and see
you, Billy!"
"I hope so," said Billy; "I know so few English gentlemen!" Then he
chuckled in characteristic fashion. "Meanwhile," he added, "I'm
going to do a bit more scouting. I don't know whether your pals will
clear out after this little 'fox pass,' but I mean to have a squint
round the Hollies to-night and see what's going on. I don't approve
of 'Eyetalian' noblemen waltzing around with rifles. They want
watching."
"And washing too," I said, "from the glimpse I had of them." Then I
got up. "I must be off now," I added, "or I shall be late for the
resurrection."
Billy came with me as far as the door. "Shall I meet you somewhere
to-morrow?" he asked, "or can you manage to look in here?"
I reflected a moment. "I'll come round in the afternoon," I said.
"I'll tell them I want to see how the repairs to the car are getting
on."
Feeling pleasantly elated at the thought of the surprise in store for
Maurice, I struck out along the road to Ashton at my most brisk pace.
I had covered about three-quarters of the distance, and was just
turning the corner where I had met Billy before breakfast, when I
noticed ahead of me a small boy with a rather dirty face lounging
against the bank. As I came up, he straightened himself, looked at
me keenly, and stepped out into the road.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but are you Mr. Northcote?"
"That's right, my son," I replied.
Putting his hand in his pocket, he produced a well-thumbed envelope.
"Lady asked me to give you this, sir."
I took the letter and opened it. By the rapidly fading light I could
just see to read the contents--
"If you put any value on your life, you will leave Ashton
immediately. Guarez and the others have followed you down, and your
cousin is in league with them. It is my fault, so I take this last
chance of warning you. I can do no more. If you are indeed wrongly
accused, I pray God that you will escape while there is yet time.
Destroy this letter. M.S."
"Where did you get this?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Lady told me not to tell."
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out five shillings. "Look
here, my son," I said, "I'll give you that if you'll answer my
question."
He shook his head sturdily. "I promised the lady, guv'nor."
I put back the money, feeling rather ashamed. "Tommy," I said,
"you're a good boy. How did you know I was Mr. Northcote?"
"Lady described yer, guv'nor. Said yer was a big gent with a brown
face."
"Did she!" said I, laughing. Then I paused a moment, thinking
rapidly. "Will you take a note back for me?" I asked. "The lady
didn't say you weren't to do that, did she?"
He shook his head.
"Very well," I said; "you do it, and I'll give you ten shillings."
The magnitude of the sum fairly staggered him.
"'Arf a quid!" he gasped.
"The terms are synonymous, Tommy," I said, producing the coin. "Here
you are."
He clutched it tightly in his little brown paw, and while he was
recovering from the shock I tore out a page from my pocket-book and
wrote my message--
"Will you meet me to-morrow at three o'clock at the Plough at
Woodford, or else leave a note for me there, saying where I can see
you?
"STUART NORTHCOTE."
This I folded up and handed to the boy. "There you are," I said.
"Give that to the lady as soon as you can."
His sudden access of fortune seemed to have paralysed his tongue, for
he contented himself with another nod, and then darted off up the
road as fast as his legs would carry him.
I waited until he was out of sight, and then I lifted up Mercia's
melodramatic little warning and kissed it. If it had come a trifle
late, it was none the less welcome--and as for its wording, well, it
was good enough for me. My heart was filled with a kind of wild
triumph, for surely the fact of her trying to save me was sufficient
proof that she had believed my word in the face of all evidence to
the contrary.
If I could only see her to-morrow, I would leave her in no doubt as
to my feelings. I longed to clear up the whole infernal mystery, but
my oath to Northcote rose like a wall between me and my desire. In
love as I was, I couldn't bring myself to betray his secret until the
accursed three weeks had run their span.
Tearing up the note into tiny fragments, I scattered them judiciously
to the breezes, and, continuing my way, turned in at the side gate.
It was now quite dusk, and even if anyone had been watching, I doubt
if they would have seen me approaching across the lawn.
As it was, I got right up to the terrace without being spotted. The
French window, which led into the smoking-room, was open, and,
keeping away from the light which streamed out in a great golden
beam, I advanced cautiously until I was within a couple of paces.
Then I heard Maurice's voice. "It's a most extraordinary thing," he
was saying. "The punt was tied up to the island, according to
George, and yet there wasn't a sign of him anywhere."
I smiled softly.
"I hope to God he hasn't fallen into the creek," said York's voice
anxiously. "We'd better all turn out, hadn't we, and have a good
hunt, before we tell the women?"
"That will be best," said Maurice. "I really am uncommonly anxious
about him."
I stepped in quietly over the threshold. "In that case, Maurice," I
said, "let me hasten to relieve your feelings."