CHAPTER XIV

PHILLIPS' DISCOVERY

As soon as his comrades of the "Otters" had embarked on the first

stage of their journey to Wadebridge Station to meet their temporary

Scoutmaster, Jack Phillips sallied forth on his shooting expedition.

He was a crack miniature-rifle shot, but although he understood the

principle of a twelve-bore gun, he was an absolute novice at the task

that had been deputed to him.

A few hundred yards brought him to the fringe of the rabbit

warren--an extensive undulating tract of gorse-covered heath

liberally honeycombed with holes. Pulling a couple of cartridges from

his pocket, Phillips loaded; then, every sense on the alert, he moved

cautiously forward.

Yard after yard he walked at a slow pace, but, although he saw

hundreds of the swiftly moving little animals far beyond range, not

one accommodatingly showed itself to be shot at.

"That's jolly strange," muttered the Scout. "When a crowd of us came

over here there were rabbits running about everywhere; now they keep

a very respectful distance. I wonder if they know a gun when they see

one?"

Phillips halted to straighten his back and to wipe the moisture from

his forehead.

"What's that?" he exclaimed to himself, as the sound of a sharp thud

came from almost under his feet.

He listened intently. The noise was repeated.

"I wonder if there's a cave underneath here?" he thought. "Seems

almost as if there's a man using a pick, only the noise is rather

different."

He knelt down and placed his ear against the ground. A wasp, busy

amongst the gorse, promptly buzzed so close that he jumped hastily to

his feet.

"Bothered if I can understand it," he said to himself. "I'll mention

it to Atherton when he comes back. The Island seems chock full of

mysterious noises. But, there, I shan't get any rabbits if I fool

about here, so here goes."

On and on he went till he neared the cliff on the eastern side of the

Island, but without the chance of a shot.

"The rabbits are not out to-day, that's evident," he muttered.

"Perhaps they will be more in evidence this afternoon. I'll get back

to the camp, for the longer I stay the more the other fellows will

expect me to bring back."

With his gun under his arm, Phillips set off at a steady pace,

following almost the same route that he had taken on his outward

journey.

Half way across the warren, a rabbit suddenly darted out of the furze

bush and tore off as hard as it could away from the lad, at the same

time making a wide curve to the right.

Before Phillips could fully cock his gun and raise it to his shoulder

the rabbit was beyond ordinary range. The Scout took a rapid aim and

pressed the trigger. With a report that, compared with the crack of a

miniature rifle, was like a cannon going off, the gun kicked and sent

the lad spinning. In his excitement he forgot the pain of the blow,

for the rabbit was sprawling on the ground.

"Got one, at any rate," exclaimed Phillips, gleefully.

Placing his gun on the ground with more haste than care the Scout ran

towards his prize; but before he had covered half the distance the

rabbit contrived to regain its feet and crawl down a hole.

"What a nuisance," said the Scout dolefully, and, lying at full

length, he thrust his arm down the hole in the hopes of being able to

secure the wounded animal. He could hear it scuffling only a few feet

away, but it was a case of so near and yet so far: as far as he was

concerned he had lost his trophy.

Rather crestfallen, Phillips returned to the camp, where he found

Farmer Trebarwith surrounded by an attentive audience of the

"Wolves."

"Got anything?" asked Neale. "We heard you firing."

"Of course he's got some," said Hayes. "He's shot so many that he's

had to leave them for us to go out and fetch."

"You jolly well shut up," retorted Phillips. "I knocked one over, and

that's more than you could do, Hayes."

"Where is it, then?" asked his tormentor.

"It slipped down a hole."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Hayes and the two Coventrys.

"That's enough," said Simpson, reprovingly. "I'll bet Phillips did

his best."

"Have you unloaded, young gentleman?" asked the farmer. "Always make

sure you have no cartridges in your gun when you leave the warren.

Bless me I'll tell ye how to knock over the rabbits, if you like."

"You usually take a dog with you, don't you?" asked Phillips.

"Yes, a dog will turn out any rabbit that is lying close. All the

same it isn't necessary. Now, I saw you going through the warren, and

I said to myself, 'Sure he'll be main lucky if he gets a shot.' You

have to stalk 'em. Keep dead against the wind, and have your gun

ready to let fly directly you see a movement in the bushes. You were

going with the wind, and they know your scent. Coming back you walked

too quickly. It was only haphazard-like that you had a shot at one at

all."

"I believe I walked over a cave or something," said Phillips. "I

heard a funny sort of tapping noise."

"Whereabouts?" asked several of the Scouts.

"Right in the middle of the warren."

"Don't you know?" asked the farmer. "That's the rabbits in their

holes giving warning to those in other burrows. They hit the ground

with their hind foot. When you hear that 'tain't much use to stay

there: they won't come out again in a hurry."

"I'll try again," said Phillips, giving a glance at the large iron

pot that stood in a suggestive position close to the fire.

Making a wide detour, he got to leeward of the warren, then

stealthily made his way against the wind. Before he had gone fifty

yards two young rabbits of fair size fell the victims of his gun.

Three minutes later another excellent shot at sixty yards added a

third to the Scout's bag.

"It seems to me that I shall have to send Hayes to fetch them after

all," he mused, as he lifted the three dead rabbits. "They are

heavy."

Phillips waited a little longer to give the denizens of the warren

time to recover from their fright at the discharge of the gun, then

he resumed his stealthy advance. Right ahead were the ruins of the

old oratory. The Scout remembered that there was a fairly open

expanse on the other side where he had often seen the rabbits

frisking in the sunshine.

"I'll take cover in the ruins and see if I cannot get in a

double-barrelled shot," he said to himself, and with that object in

view he crept up the slope on which the ruins stood.

The remains of the chapelry consisted of three roofless walls with

open lancet windows. On the west side the masonry had been removed,

several masses of stone lying in disorder all down the slope. The

walls were destitute of foliage, not even so much as a tendril of ivy

softening the hard effects of the dark grey stone.

Since by entering the building on the west side the Scout would have

to run the risk of being observed, Phillips decided to crawl through

one of the lancet windows, cross the dust-covered floor, and take up

a favourable position at the window looking northward.

The opening was narrow. Phillips just unloaded his gun, passed the

weapon through, and then began to squeeze between the stonework. As

he did so he was surprised to see a portion of the floor almost

underneath that window give an upward motion. The dust rose, and as

the slab fell there was a well-defined trace of the joint in the

stonework.

Again the slab trembled: it was being forced up from beneath.

The Scout took in the situation at a glance. Quickly grasping his

gun, he dragged it through the window and propped it against the

outside wall, so that it could not be seen from within. Then removing

his hat, he peered between two displaced stones, and waited.

He had not long to wait. With a lusty heave the stone rose and

toppled backwards, disclosing a circular cavity of about two feet in

diameter. Out of the hole appeared the head and shoulders of a man.

Placing his hands on the edge of the aperture, the fellow raised

himself clear of the hole and stood blinking in the strong sunlight.

"Golly! It's that chap Tassh. Whatever is his little game," thought

Phillips.

As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the daylight, Tassh replaced

the stone, scattered dust over it, and stole to one of the windows in

the opposite wall to the one behind which the Scout was crouching.

Looking in the direction of the camp, Tassh muttered an inaudible

exclamation, then bending low he crept across the fairly open space

and gained the shelter of the gorge. Here he broke into a run, and

was soon lost to sight as he made off in the direction of the Tea

Caves.

"Atherton was right: that chap's up to mischief, I'll be bound,"

thought Phillips. "Well, it's not much use my following him alone.

He's making for the caves we explored the other day. I'll rout out

Simpson and the 'Wolves,' and we can decide what's to be done."

"I say, Simpson," he exclaimed breathlessly, as he reached the camp,

"I've seen----"

"Yes, seen--but how many did you shoot?" asked the Leader of the

"Wolves." "We're waiting to dress the rabbits in time for our new

Scoutmaster."

"They'll have to wait. I've knocked over three. But, I say, I've made

a discovery. I've just seen Tassh crawl out of a secret tunnel

opening into the old ruins."

At this startling information the "Wolves" were in a state of

excitement. Neale and Fraser proposed following the butler,

surrounding him and peremptorily demanding an explanation of his

suspicious actions--a suggestion that the two Coventrys and Armstrong

backed up for all they were worth.

"No, we must wait till we've spoken to Mr Buckley," said Simpson. "We

have no authority to waylay the man. I'll tell you what we can do:

we'll take possession of the ruins so that he cannot return to the

cave or tunnel, whatever it is, without being seen. Hurry up, you

fellows; get your staves. No shouting, mind. Double."

It did not take the "Wolves" long to reach the ruins.

"Where's the hole, Phillips?" asked several of the lads.

Without replying, Phillips walked across to the concealed stone and

swept away a layer of dirt and dust that Tassh had thrown over it.

"Here you are; help me to heave it up," he said, as soon as the

position of the slab was disclosed. "Why, here's a ring let into the

stone! Now, all together."

Thrusting a staff through the rusty ring, the Scouts gave a combined

heave. The stone came up quite easily.

"I might have known that," remarked Phillips to the Leader of the

"Wolves." "Tassh pushed it up, and he does not look a particularly

strong man. But why is the lid so light in comparison with its size?"

An examination revealed that the lid was deeply hollowed on the under

side, so that its weight was hardly a quarter of what it would have

been had the cavity not existed.

"We must have walked over the stone dozens of times and not noticed

it sounded hollow," said Hayes. "Now what are we going to do,

Simpson?"

"We'll just have a look at this hole or tunnel, whatever it is.

Golly! Atherton's missed something by going off to meet the

Scoutmaster."

"I wonder how deep it is," said Coventry minor, peering into the pit

that yawned at his feet. "There are no steps as far as I can make

out."

"I can see a niche on your side, Coventry," announced Fraser. "It

looks deep enough to get a good foothold."

"Be careful, young Coventry," cautioned Simpson, as the lad sat down

at the edge of the hole, turned face downwards and groped for the

niche.

"I'm used to it," replied Coventry minor, confidently. "Here's

another one. It's quite easy."

Phillips and the remaining "Wolves" watched the Scout make his way

farther and farther down the shaft, till he had descended quite a

dozen of the rough footholds cut into the rock.

"Haven't you got to the bottom yet, Coventry?" Simpson called out,

with a tinge of anxiety in his voice. "You had better come back, and

we'll go to the camp and get some rope and candles."

The Scout instantly began to retrace his footsteps. Possibly owing to

the fact that he had already performed the harder task of descending,

he momentarily allowed his sense of caution to desert him. The

fingers of both hands simultaneously slipped from a lichen-covered

niche. He struggled desperately to recover his hold, and fell.

The lads, gathered round the mouth of the pit, heard a stifled cry

followed by a dull thud, then all was silent.

"Off belts, lads," ordered Leader Simpson.

In a few seconds a leathern rope, twenty feet in length, was made up.

Simpson fastened one end round a staff which was held by four of the

Scouts, and threw the free end down the pit; then, without

hesitation, he grasped the improvised life-line and swung himself

lightly over the edge.

Simpson knew he could trust to these belts. They were not the cheap

shoddy article, but well-made ones of well-seasoned leather. The

buckles, too, were strong and reliable, so that the Leader of the

"Wolves" had good cause to have perfect faith in the rope of belts.

Hand over hand he descended, until he knew that he was literally

almost at the end of his tether. Then, proceeding slowly and

cautiously, and keeping his feet rigid, he continued his downward

course till his hand encountered the buckle joining the two lowermost

belts.

"I must risk it and drop," he thought, finding himself unable to

touch the side of the pit. "It cannot be so much farther to the

bottom."

Relaxing the muscles of his legs in order to bear the shock with the

least risk of broken limbs, Simpson released his hold and dropped--a

distance of less than two feet. With a sigh of relief he drew a box

of matches from his pocket and struck a light.

Lying almost at his feet was the unfortunate Coventry minor. The lad

was senseless and bleeding from a cut just above the left ear.

There was no time to be lost. It was imperative that the luckless

Scout should be brought up to the open air as quickly as possible.

By the aid of another match, Simpson discovered the position of the

line of niches. Then, unfastening the unconscious lad's belt, he

refastened it round his chest just beneath his arm-pits. This done,

the Leader clasped the buckle at the end of his emergency rope to the

ring in Coventry minor's belt.

"Haul up, slowly and steadily!" he shouted.

Ascending by means of the niches, Simpson accompanied his senseless

charge, steadying the lad's body to prevent it swaying against the

rock, till at length to his great relief Neale and Fraser grasped the

rescued Scout and grew him clear of the shaft.

"Is he dead?" asked the unfortunate lad's brother, anxiously.

"No, he's stunned. The sooner we get back to camp and fetch a doctor

the better, Hayes and Armstrong, cut off as fast as you can, take the

small boat and row across to Polkerwyck and fetch Dr. Carraway. Leave

your staves here. Now, 'Wolves,' form a stretcher."

In remarkably quick time the stretcher, formed by means of staves,

belts, and long stalks of bracken, was made, and in broken-step form

the Scouts carried their comrade towards the camp, Phillips walking

by the side to guard against the possibility of the patient falling

off.

Before they had covered half the distance, Phillips perceived his

patrol descending the road to Polkerwyck harbour.

CHAPTER X V

THE EXPLORATION OF THE TUNNEL

BRINGING his binoculars to bear upon the stretcher party of the

"Wolves," Mr Buckley saw that an accident had occurred.

"You look through my glasses, Atherton," said the Scoutmaster.

"You'll know who it is."

Atherton did so. He was half afraid that there had been a shooting

accident, but a glance removed that anxiety. The injured Scout he

recognised as Coventry minor, and since Phillips understood that on

no account was he to be accompanied by anyone else while carrying the

gun, the logical conclusion was that the injured Scout had not

received his hurt by this means.

"There's Hayes at the landing-place," announced Atherton. "He's

calling us up by semaphore. Reply to him, Baker, and I'll read the

message."

Baker stood upon the end of the stone pier so that his dark green

shirt showed up plainly against the white-washed wall behind him.

"Coventry has fallen down a hole. Concussion. Still unconscious.

Fetch doctor," read Atherton.

"Hurry up and bring the doctor along with you, Everest," said Mr

Buckley. "Green and Baker will remain here with one of the boats. How

many have you?"

"Two, sir," replied the Leader. "One is on the Island side."

"Signal to those fellows to bring that boat over, then," continued

the Scoutmaster. "We can then get across and see what's wrong."

While Everest was on his way to Dr Carraway--for the Scouts had made

it a point of finding out where the doctor lived almost as soon as

they arrived at Polkerwyck--the Scoutmaster and the four "Otters"

crossed to the Island. During the passage Hayes and Armstrong told

their comrades what had occurred, and how Phillips had discovered the

butler's hiding-place.

"Hiding-place," repeated Atherton. "Most likely a tunnel

communicating with Polkerwyck House. Didn't Sir Silas say that the

House used to be an old monastic building, and that it was partially

rebuilt on the existing foundations? What puzzles me, though, is why

Tassh did not return by the tunnel on the night of the wreck, since

he evidently came to the Island by that way."

"You've a fine site for a camp here, lads," remarked Mr Buckley, as

the two patrols met. "It is unfortunate, though, that your holiday

should be marred by this accident."

The Scoutmaster knelt by the unconscious Scout.

"Yes, he's had a nasty blow," he said, observing Coventry's skin was

pale and cold, his pulse feeble, and his breathing slow and

punctuated by distressing sighs. "Raise his head a little more; we

ought to place him in a darkened room as soon as possible. In any

case, one of you stand so that the shadow falls across his face."

"There's a small cave down by the landingplace, sir," said Phillips.

"It will not be so far for the doctor to come."

"Very good," assented the Scoutmaster. "Lead on. Steady now,

stretcher-bearers. Mind you don't slip on this steep path."

Carefully little Coventry was carried into the cave, where in the

semi-gloom he was carefully tended by two of his comrades. Mr Buckley

also remained in the cave, awaiting the arrival of the doctor.

The rest of the Scouts returned to the camp, when, under Atherton's

directions, steps were taken to keep Tassh under observation. Three

of the "Wolves" were sent to take cover close to that part of the

cliff overhanging the Tea Caves. A strong party, carefully concealed,

occupied the ruined oratory, in order to cut off the rogue's retreat

by force, if necessary; while between the ruins and the Tea Caves

relays were posted in order to hasten to the assistance of the

outlying Scouts should occasion arise.

It was not long before the doctor arrived on the scene, and was

escorted to the cave where the patient lay.

"You've done excellently, lads," he remarked to the Scouts in

attendance. "He has had a severe blow, but youth and clean living are

in his favour. He'll soon be all right. Meanwhile, keep him here in

the dark until nearly sunset. See that his feet and arms are kept

warm. When the twilight gathers in, you must bring him across to

Polkerwyck. I will make arrangements for him to be nursed at my

house."

"It's awfully good of you, doctor," said Mr Buckley, warmly.

"Nonsense: we're used to it. Every summer I have on an average a

dozen similar cases. Visitors seem to have an insane desire to climb

the cliffs. They are not used to it, they look down, and then the

mischief is done. Well, I cannot do more at present. Give him a

draught of this every hour, and keep him warm, especially when

bringing him across the bay in the boat."

In duty bound Mr Buckley gave information to the police that Tassh

was seen on the Island. At the Scouts' earnest request he did not say

by what means the butler got there, since the lads wished to have the

honour of exploring the tunnel.

Within a very short time Seal Island was invaded. A dozen county

police, drawn from the neighbourhood, nearly the whole of the

detachment from Refuge Point coastguard station, and almost all the

male population of Polkerwyck flocked to the place. Every nook and

cranny was investigated, the caves systematically explored, but

without result. Although nearly thirty people searched the ruined

oratory not one noticed the granite lid covering the pit, in spite of

the fact that the Scouts, with an idea of fair play, took no steps to

conceal the joints in the stone floor with dust.

Tired out with their exertions, the Scouts retired to rest as soon as

Coventry minor had been carried to the doctor's house. Undisturbed by

the noise of the untrained searchers the lads slept soundly, till the

morning revealed Seal Island untenanted save by themselves and a

couple of policemen, who, at the Scoutmaster's suggestion, had

installed themselves in the old oratory to keep a long and fruitless

vigil.

"He's slipped through our fingers, sure enough, sir," remarked one of

the constables. "All night we've been on the alert. No doubt he's

managed to swim across to the mainland when he found we were hard on

his track. We'll be going now, sir, and leave you in peace and

quietness, so to speak. If you see or hear anything, sir, happen you

won't mind sending one of your young chaps to give us the tip?"

As soon as the policemen were well clear of the Island, and the

Scouts had had breakfast, steps were taken to continue the search for

Sir Silas Gwinnear's butler, and also to explore the tunnel which

they had good reason to believe communicated with the mainland.

The latter task was the more enviable. Both patrols wished to

undertake that particular business, and urged their respective claims

till the Scoutmaster had gently and firmly to remind them of their

sense of discipline.

"You cannot all explore the tunnel," he added. "One patrol will be

quite sufficient for that. The other will keep an eye on the camp,

guard the landing-place and the approach to the Tea Caves. I suppose

you have no objection to decide the matter by lots?"

Walking away for a few steps, Mr Buckley gathered a handful of long

grass. From this he selected two blades, one much longer than the

other. These he held in his hand, with an inch of each showing at

equal length.

"Now, Scouts, the one who draws the longest blade represents the

patrol to explore the tunnel. One of the Tenderfoots can draw: that's

right, Scott."

Reggie Scott pulled out one of the blades of grass from the

Scoutmaster's clenched fist. It was the long one.

"Good: the 'Otters' will explore the tunnel. The 'Wolves' will take

up positions I have indicated on this map. It is a very clear map,

Simpson, by the way. You did it excellently. Already by its means I

have quite a comprehensive knowledge of Seal Island."

Carrying ropes, two camp lanterns, and a supply of candles and

matches, the "Otters" made their way to the ruined oratory, where the

stone covering to the pit was soon raised.

"I do not mean to go with you, lads," said the Scoutmaster. "I feel

confident you will get on all right without me. Rope your men,

Atherton; keep one well ahead of the rest in case there is an

accumulation of poisonous gases, which I do not for one moment

suppose is the case. So long as the candles burn brightly there is no

danger on that score."

"Tassh came through all right, sir," remarked Everest. "That was only

yesterday."

"And once, at least, according to all accounts, he was prevented from

returning. So it is evident that at times there is some obstruction.

However, 'Be prepared' and you'll come out on top."

One by one the "Otters" were lowered into the gaping pit, Mr Buckley

letting Tenderfoot Sayers down last of all. This done, he took up his

position at the top of a spiral stone staircase that terminated

abruptly almost on a level with the roofless walls. Here, with only

the upper portion of his face showing above the masonry, he was able

to command a panoramic view of the Island and Seal Bay. Moreover, he

was ready to render assistance should the "Otters" find the tunnel

impracticable and have to return by the same way as they went.

The "Otters" found themselves in the mouth of a passage hewn out of

the solid rock.

[Illustration: "In broken-step form the Scouts carried their comrade

towards the camp."--_Page_ 168.]

It was roughly from five to six feet in height and thirty inches

wide. The floor was ankle deep in dry dust that showed unmistakable

signs of the same person having passed to and fro on several

occasions.

With the candle-light glimmering on the walls the Scouts advanced,

Atherton leading by twenty paces, the rest following at shorter

intervals and linked together by a light yet strong rope. The

progress was slow, for Atherton, cautious lest he should stumble into

a hidden pitfall, systematically sounded the ground with his staff at

every other step.

For nearly three hundred paces the tunnel sloped steeply downwards,

the walls remaining perfectly dry--a circumstance that showed the

passage was still under the Island. Beyond that distance, although

the tunnel was still on the down grade, the roof and walls showed

signs of moisture, while in place of the dry dust the floor was ankle

deep in slime. Overhead a deep muffled roar betokened the fact that

the sea was only separated from the Scouts by a few feet of rock,

through which the sound of the ground-swell was audible.

Suddenly Atherton came to a halt, and held his lantern above his

head.

"Anything wrong?" asked Phillips.

"It's all right here," he announced. "The air is quite fresh. I've

found something: looks like a seat with some carving above it."

On the right-hand side of the tunnel, in a cavity three feet in depth

and extending the whole height of the passage, was a stone bench.

Above the latter were several carvings in relief, all more or less

damaged by the ravages of time and the moisture of the rock.

"Here's a crucifix," said Atherton, pointing to a Cornish cross. "And

there's some inscription underneath. I can't quite make out the

letters, though."

"I can read one word," said Green. "The first letter is supposed to

be a P. The word is 'Pax.'"

"And here's a date: MCCLI--that's 1251," announced Atherton. "This

must be a sort of half-way resting place for the monks who visited

the oratory. If it's not half way it's at the lowest level of the

tunnel, for the gradient is now on the ascent. But let's go on. I

wonder where we shall find ourselves when we come to the end."

"Why, at the end, of course," replied Everest. "Where else did you

expect?"

The forward movement was resumed, Atherton placing the previous

distance between him and the next Scout. At length the rocky walls

began to show less signs of moisture, and the Scouts knew that they

had passed under Seal Bay and were now not far from, if not actually

underneath, the village of Polkerwyck.

"Hulloa, here's some steps," said Atherton in a low voice. "Come

along, you fellows; before we go any farther we must search this

place. It won't do to leave any unexplored places behind us. Green

and Mayne, you come with me, the others can stand by. If I call for

assistance, Everest and Baker can come to our aid. Five of us ought

to be a match for Tassh, if he's hiding here."

"Do you think he is hiding here, Atherton?" asked Tenderfoot Sayers

in a whisper.

"He may be. Since he hasn't been found on the Island he may be lying

low in this place till the coast is clear. We'll soon find out. After

me, Green."

Holding the lantern in his left hand and well away from his body,

Atherton commenced the ascent of a spiral flight of steps. Unlike

those in many old ruins scattered about the country, these steps were

in a good state of preservation, showing that during the flight of

centuries they had been but comparatively little used.

The Leader ascended cautiously. At any moment he might be assailed by

the fugitive from justice. The Scouts were strangers to the place and

therefore at a disadvantage; a trap might be laid for them, while in

addition they were handicapped by having to carry a lantern which

would render them conspicuous to anyone lurking in the darkness. Yet,

in spite of these drawbacks, Atherton and his two companions had

embarked upon an enterprise from which there was no turning back until

the task of exploring the place was completed.

At the twentieth step the Leader discovered that he was level with

the topmost part of the staircase. On all sides was a cavernous space

that was almost all in darkness, save for that portion within the

field of the rays of the lantern.

"What's that?" whispered Green, laying a detaining hand on Atherton's

wrist. "There's some one moving."

"Yes, I can hear footsteps," assented Atherton, as the muffled sounds

of a firm, steady tread came from the dark recesses of the vault-like

room. "They are coming this way. Stand by with your staff, Green.

I'll challenge him."

In spite of his customary coolness, Atherton felt his heart beating

violently.

"Who's there?" he called.

There was no reply. The noise of the footsteps continued as if the

person walking was quite unconcerned at being called upon to explain

who he was.

"Who's there?" repeated the Scout, in a louder voice.

There was silence for a few moments, then the sound of a person

walking was resumed, only, instead of approaching, footsteps were

obviously those of some one retiring.

Atherton waited no longer. Gaining the floor, he raised the lantern

above his head. The comparatively feeble rays gleamed upon a

glittering object standing on the ground close to the wall of the

underground room.

Resisting the temptation to pounce upon and examine the article, the

Scout waited till his companions rejoined him, and then began an

examination of the place. It was circular and barely five yards in

diameter. The roof was domed, the highest part being about ten feet

from the floor. The walls, hewn from the solid rock, were smooth and

uninterrupted by any visible openings communicating with elsewhere.

To all appearances the Scouts had struck a blind alley.

Having thus taken stock of their surroundings, the Scouts discovered

that the glittering object was a massive silver bowl, filled with

forks and spoons of the same precious metal.

"Hidden treasure," gasped Mayne.

"Not much," retorted Green. "Stolen from Sir Silas, that's what it

is. You can see the stuff isn't tarnished, and there's no dust on

it."

"Georgian silver," added Atherton, examining the markings on the

spoons and forks. "It must be some of that rascal Tassh's plunder. We

may find some more here. Ha! What's that?"

A rumble, momentarily growing louder, could be heard, the sound

apparently coming from overhead. Then, waning, it ceased to be

audible.

"A cart--that's what it is, and the sound we heard just before that

was a man walking overhead. It's my belief that the place is

immediately under the only street in Polkerwyck," declared Atherton.

With their staves, the Scouts sounded the walls, floor and ceiling.

There was no trace of any secret openings. The walls were solid

enough; only the distance between the dome and the open air was thin

enough to enable the noise of the traffic to be heard with

comparative distinctness.

"All right up there?" called out Phillips from the foot of the spiral

staircase.

"Yes," replied Atherton. "We'll be with you in a minute."

"What shall we do with this lot?" asked Green, indicating the silver.

"It's jolly heavy."

"We'll take it with us. We can put a few of the forks and spoons in

our pockets and the bowl can be slung from a staff and carried by two

of us. Mind how you carry it, Green."

As soon as the three Scouts returned to their waiting companions, the

silver was distributed for the sake of easier carriage, and the march

of exploration resumed. Presently, instead of continuing the upward

slope, the tunnel dived with considerable abruptness. At the bottom

of the dip there was water on the floor to the depth of six inches,

while from the signs of excessive moisture on the walls and ceiling

it was fairly conclusive that the whole of this portion of the tunnel

had recently been flooded. A slight stream of water was still running

from a fissure in the wall.

"This must be a proper trap in wet weather," said Phillips. "The

water lodges in the dip until it soaks out again. That accounts for

the fact that Tassh was unable to return to Polkerwyck House on the

night of the storm."

"It certainly seems like it," said Green, as he splashed boldly

through the water. "Doesn't it feel cold?"

From this point the tunnel again sloped upwards, in places so steeply

that the incline had to be broken by short flights of steps.

"I reckon we've come quite two miles," said Baker, "and in a fairly

straight direction according to my compass. If I had known----"

The remark was suddenly cut short by a low warning whistle from

Atherton. The rest of the patrol closed upon their Leader, who had

come to a standstill before a blank wall. Right and left were short

passages terminating in spiral flights of steps.

Once more Atherton and his two chosen comrades began their subsidiary

investigations, while the remaining members of the "Otters" remained

at the junction of the two cross-ways.

It was not long before the Leader returned.

"No go," he announced. "There are only eleven stairs and then a

bricked-up wall. By the undisturbed state of the dust on the steps we

know that no one has been there for months at the very least. Come

on, all of you, we'll try our luck with this branch."

Round and round, up and up, went the Scouts. They realised that they

were on the eve of an important discovery, for here there were

undoubted traces of human footsteps. At the fifty-fourth step,

Atherton found farther progress barred by a stone wall, each block

being roughly fifteen inches wide and twelve high, and set in hard,

black cement.

The Scouts looked at each other with feelings akin to dismay. It

seemed hard lines, after traversing the whole length of the

subterranean passage, to find a blank wall.

"I'll tell you what, Atherton," said Green. "It's my opinion that

Tassh, or whoever it is, discovered the tunnel at the Seal Island

end, and, like us, explored it as far as it went. He then had to

retrace his footsteps, and that accounts for the complicated nature

of the trail."

"Yes, that's all very well," replied Atherton. "But how do you

account for the finding of the silver stuff in the underground

chamber?"

"Perhaps Tassh meant to hide it there, or it was too heavy for him to

carry any farther," suggested Mayne, as he rested on the edge of a

step his end of the staff from which the bowl was slung. As he did so

the end of the pole touched the stonework at the side of the

staircase. The slab of granite trembled visibly.

"This part of the wall is quite loose," exclaimed Mayne.

"Steady," whispered Atherton, warningly. "Keep quiet, you fellows."

The Leader felt the face of the granite slab. It was certainly loose,

but the joints of the masonry were not wide enough for his fingers

to obtain a grip.

"Hold my lantern a minute, Phillips," he said. "I'll see what I can

do with my knife. You have matches handy? Good! Now blow out all the

lights."

These orders were promptly carried out. The darkness was darkness

indeed. To the excited lads it seemed to have weight. Even Phillips,

strong-minded as he was, grasped his box of matches tightly, as if he

derived some consolation from the fact that he held a weapon that

could be used to effectually banish the stifling sensation imparted

by the intense darkness.

Scratching lightly with the blade of his knife, Atherton at length

found the joint of the stonework once more. Deftly inserting the

blade, he cautiously prised the block of granite. It gave, then slid

back in its position.

"The stone is pivoted," he whispered. "Where's your hand, Mayne? Put

it here, and when I swing the stone out half an inch try and get a

grip."

The blade bent almost to breaking point. The stone swung outwards.

Mayne, gripping the rough edge, sought to retain a tenacious hold.

"It's slipping," he gasped in low, tense tones. Atherton instantly

drove the blade home till the handle was tightly wedged in the

enlarged orifice. Then, relaxing his hold upon the knife, he aided

Mayne with his wiry fingers.

The block swung stiffly outwards another inch, then with hardly any

resistance it turned, disclosing an aperture sufficiently large for a

man to crawl through.

The sudden rush of daylight blinded the lads, but at length their

eyes grew accustomed to the scene. They found themselves looking into

the room in Polkerwyck House that had been the rascally butler's

quarters. It was not untenanted.

Seated in a canvas deck-chair, with his back turned to the secret

opening, was a man. Only the back portion of his head was visible

above the top rail of the chair.

"It's Tassh," said Atherton to himself.

The question was how the Scouts were to act. To crawl through the

narrow opening one by one and throw themselves upon the culprit was a

business that was not only fraught with danger but well-nigh

impossible to perform without giving the man due warning. Yet to

Atherton it seemed the only way.

Beckoning to Phillips to follow him, the Leader began to edge

carefully through the gap in the stonework. Could he but gain a

footing in the room and await his Second's entrance without alarming

the occupant of the chair, there was a possibility that the rascal,

taken by surprise, might be seized and secured.

The Scout was almost through. One foot was actually on the floor,

when Green accidentally knocked the staff to which the silver bowl

was slung. With a crash and a clatter the heavy metal ornament went

rolling down the spiral stairs, cannoning against the ankles of Scott

and Sayers as it did so.

In a trice the fellow in the chair was on his feet.

"The game's up," he exclaimed. "Come out of that or it will be the

worse for you."

CHAPTER XVI

TRAPPED

ATHERTON stood stock still, his eyes fixed upon the small suggestive

muzzle of a revolver levelled at his head. It was horribly

disconcerting. He was unable to go forward; his movements were

hampered. Nor could he retreat with the possibilities of being shot

at staring him in the face.

The tension was acute whilst it lasted, but the Scout was greatly

relieved to hear the voice of Polglaze, the detective, exclaim:

"In the name of thunder what have you Scouts been up to?"

Atherton hastened to complete the awkward crawl through the opening,

the rest of his companions following.

The detective, with wonderment written on every line of his face,

examined the revolving stonework, patting it with his hands and

testing the cunningly concealed mechanism.

"Well, this beats everything," he exclaimed. "I've been investigating

this room for hours, tried the floor, walls and ceiling, and not a

suspicion of a secret passage did I discover, Yet, from a logical

point of view, there must have been some means of escape other than

by the door, which was locked. How on earth did you fellows find this

out?"

"We walked along a tunnel from Seal Island," explained Atherton. "It

leads to the ruins in the centre of the Island. And we've found some

of the booty, Mr Polglaze."

"You have?" The detective's jaw dropped slightly. Visions of a

substantial reward slipping through his fingers accounted for his

tone of disappointment. "Where?"

"In a side passage out of the main tunnel. There's a large silver

bowl at the bottom of these steps, and each of us have smaller

articles."

One by one the Scouts placed on the table the spoons and forks they

had discovered. Polglaze snatched one up and examined.

"Yes, that's part of Sir Silas' stuff," he announced. "Is that all

you've found?"

"Yes, sir," answered Atherton. "With the bowl, of course."

"Then there's a heap more to be recovered," said the detective. "Tell

me about the tunnel."

Polglaze listened attentively and in silence to the Scout's

narrative.

"You are quite sure you examined every part of the tunnel?" he asked,

when Atherton had finished. "There is no place where Tassh might hide

that you neglected to make sure of?"

"I think not, sir."

"Good. I'll inform Sir Silas."

The detective was certainly jealous of the Scouts' success, but the

news could not be withheld from the baronet. It also opened a fresh

channel for the detective's energies. Since the robber's retreat was

discovered, the ends could be bricked up and no further attention

paid to it. Polglaze would be free to devote his skill to the

tracking of the butler on Seal Island.

Great was the astonishment of Sir Silas to find that the dust-grimed

members of the "Otter" patrol had entered his house by a means

hitherto unknown to him.

"A remarkable thing, Polglaze," he observed. "Now I come to think of

it there is a legend to the effect that Polkerwyck monastery was

connected with the oratory on Seal Island by a subterranean passage.

I regarded it as a myth. You get the same story wherever there are

any old ruins. But what an elaborate piece of work, by Jove!"

Sir Silas had closed the revolving stone. When in position it seemed

exactly like a portion of the solid wall, and opening in the

old-fashioned chimney corner it was rendered still more unnoticeable

by the soot that clung tenaciously to the grate. "You've closed it,

sir," exclaimed Atherton, unable to prevent the baronet's action. "We

don't know how to open it from this side."

"Bless my soul, I am thoughtless!" ejaculated Sir Silas. "See what

you can make of it, Polglaze."

The detective prised the stonework with his penknife, thrust his

shoulder against the unresisting granite, and fumbled for possible

springs, all to no purpose. The sliding door was to all appearances

part and parcel of the wall.

"Now, Atherton, you have a shot at it," suggested Sir Silas.

The Scout did his best, but without result. He was completely

baffled.

"And there's a large silver bowl down there, sir," he remarked, "and

all our lanterns too. I'll tell you what, sir: we must get back to

the Island as quickly as possible, or our Scoutmaster will be

anxious. We'll let him know we're all right, and then some of us will

go through the tunnel again and open the slide from the inside. I

think I know how to do that."

"'In the name of thunder, what have you Scouts been up to?'"--_Page_

189.

"Very good," assented Sir Silas. "Only I hope you won't overtire

yourselves. Polglaze, I wish you to remain here till Atherton

returns. As a temporary measure I mean to have the tunnel sealed up

at both ends before to-night. Later on, when we have laid my rascally

butler by the heels, the place can be thoroughly explored by

competent antiquarians. I have no doubt but that it will prove of

considerable interest to persons making a study of mediaeval

architecture."

Atherton gave the half-salute and retired with his fellow Scouts.

Once clear of the House, they broke into a Scout's pace, and soon

covered the distance between them and Polkerwyck village.

Outside the post-office they were stopped by Farmer Trebarwith, who

was bubbling over with excitement.

"Heard the news, young gentlemen? They du say that Tassh has been

seen in Bodmin, and that he has taken the train to Lunnon with a girt

box--full o' stolen silver I du say. We'm expecting news that he's

been apprehended as soon as he gets to his journey's end."

Atherton thanked the farmer for his information, and, excusing

himself, hastened his patrol into one of Peter Varco's boats, that

the old fisherman obligingly lent them.

"I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you," said Mr

Buckley. "In fact, I was on the point of taking two of the 'Wolves'

with me and following up your trail. They say that Tassh has been

traced to London, eh? Well, I hope it's true, for we shall be able to

carry out our camp routine, which from all accounts has been

subjected to interruptions of various sorts from the first day you

arrived. All right, Atherton, you can go through the tunnel again.

Three of you will be enough, I think. Get back as soon as you can."

The second trip through the subterranean passage was performed with

alacrity, and without incident Atherton and his companions succeeded

in reaching the far end.

"Give a push with the end of your staff, Green," he said, pointing to

a well-defined mark on the stonework where the mechanism had

previously been actuated.

Green pushed his pole, at first gently, then harder. It was all to no

purpose. The sliding stone seemed as immovable as it had done on the

other side.

"That's strange," commented the Leader. "Bring the other lantern here

and let's see if we can find anything."

For a quarter of an hour or more Atherton prodded the stone and

groped for a concealed spring.

"We're done again, I'm afraid," he remarked. "We must retrace our

steps. Blow one of the candles out, Mayne. We've none too much left.

I didn't reckon on this."

"It won't do to be stranded in this hole without a light," agreed

Mayne. "What about the lanterns we left behind us?"

Atherton picked up the two candle-lamps. In one there was less than a

quarter of an inch. In the other there was hardly as much, and what

made matters worse, the Scouts who took spare candles had not handed

them over to their comrades when the latter set out on their second

journey through the tunnel.

"Back as fast as we can," ordered Atherton. "Don't wait to bring that

bowl with us. It will be quite safe here."

Lighted by the glimmer of the solitary candle, the Scouts hastened on

their homeward way.

Presently Green called out:

"I say, Atherton. What's that noise?"

A dull swishing sound came faintly to the ears of the listeners.

"It's like a tap running," remarked Mayne. "Water running into a

bath, for example."

"Foot it as fast as you can," exclaimed Atherton. "It may be all

right, but I fancy the water is pouring into the hollow we noticed

just this side of the place we found the silver bowl."

The three lads broke into a run, guided by the flickering light of

the lantern. Louder and louder grew the sound of the inrush of water.

"Steady," gasped Atherton, as his feet came in contact with the

water. "Wade through it."

He was hoping against hope. His practical eye had already noted that

the water extended far beyond the limits of the little puddle they

had encountered in the lowest level of the dip. This meant that there

might be five feet or more of water in the tunnel, or there might be

sufficient space between the surface and the top of the vaulting to

enable the lads to proceed.

"What's happened, I wonder?" asked Green, who, like the other, was

knee-deep in water.

"Don't worry: keep on," enjoined the Leader. "There's no current,

luckily, but let's hang on to one another in case there's a pitfall.

Keep the spare pieces of candle dry, Mayne, whatever you do. I've put

the matches in my hat."

Waist deep now. The rate of progress was visibly retarded by the

resistance of the water. Peering ahead, Atherton could see that at

less than twenty yards from where he stood the roof of the tunnel met

and dipped below the surface of the newly formed lake.

The Scouts were trapped.

"No go, lads," announced Atherton, in a cheerful tone. "We must get

back to the higher level. It must be raining pretty heavily, and the

water soaks through."

"A jolly good soak, I should say," added Green. "What do you propose

doing now, Atherton?"

"Exercise patience, and have another shot at that revolving stone.

It's merely a question of time and an element of luck. Besides, when

the water begins to subside it will do so pretty rapidly, I expect."

"Why?" asked Green.

"I don't know why, unless the floor of the tunnel is very porous.

Don't you remember that within twenty hours of the time that Tassh

was unable to leave Seal Island he was back again by means of this

passage?"

"That's so," agreed Green, stooping to wring the moisture out of his

shorts. "How's the candle going, Atherton?"

"It will last us a bit," replied the Leader; but he knew that in less

than an hour at the outside their whole supply of candle ends would

be consumed.

"Let's shout altogether," suggested Mayne, after they had returned to

the top of the spiral staircase and had made another unsuccessful

attempt to discover the secret of the mechanism of the revolving

stone.

The Scouts gave a united yell. The echoes rang in their ears, but no

answering sound came from the other side of the baffling granite

wall.

"Look here, you fellows," said Atherton, "it's no use our waiting

here on the off chance of some one opening the door or whatever you

call it, from the inside. One of us ought to stand by and watch for

the water to subside. Who's game?"

"It will mean that one of us will have to be in the dark," observed

Mayne gloomily. "I'm not frightened of the dark, of course, but it's

pretty miserable sticking about by yourself in a pitch-black hole."

"That's so," agreed Green. "I vote we all keep together."

"That won't do for me, lads," said Atherton. "I'll go. You keep

what's left of the candle. When I find the level is sinking I'll

shout and let you know. This tunnel is like a giant voice-tube:

you'll hear me plainly enough."

"Oh, I'll go if you want," said Mayne, somewhat shamefacedly.

"Or I will," added Green.

"You'll jolly well stop here. Take half of these matches. Keep on

trying, and perhaps you'll find the secret of the opening after all."

So saying, Atherton felt his way down the steps, and began his

solitary progress along the tunnel. On and on he went, feeling the

rough wall with his hand and methodically counting the number of

paces he took.

At the five hundred and twentieth step his foot splashed into the

water. The Scout halted, struck a match and examined the rock close

to the surface of the pool. It was fairly dry.

"That means the water is still rising," thought the Leader. "I'll

draw a line in the dust, and look again in five minutes' time, just

to make sure."

Taking a piece of twine from his pocket, Atherton measured off as

near as he could guess a length slightly exceeding a yard. To one end

he attached his knife. Holding the other end in his hand, the Scout

allowed the weighted string to swing.

"A pendulum thirty-nine inches in length swings one every second," he

said to himself. "This ought to be near enough for my purpose."

He waited till the knife had swung three hundred times--it seemed

more like an hour than five minutes,--then, striking another match,

he examined the mark he had made on the ground. It was already on the

point of being covered. The water was still rising.

"Cheerful," he remarked. "After all, there is no danger, it's only

the discomfort, and all true Scouts make light of trivial matters

like this. It's another all-night business: that's my opinion."

"Atherton!" shouted Green, his voice rumbling down the tube-like

passage.

"Hulloa?"

"Our light's gone out. Is the water falling?"

Atherton struck a match.

"I'm sorry to say it isn't," he shouted in reply.

"Then it's no use waiting there. Come back to us. It's mighty cold

and we're precious hungry."

"I can't feed you, Green, and if you're cold jump about a bit and

flap your arms. I'll be with you soon."

After giving this advice, Atherton began to walk along the now

familiar tunnel. Ere he had covered a hundred paces he was surprised

by the sound of a sharp detonation, followed by shouts of alarm on

the part of his two comrades.

"What's up?" hailed Atherton.

The shouting still continued, but the anxious Scout could make

neither head nor tail of what was being said. Presently a strong

current of air, followed by the pungent fumes of powder, drifted down

the tunnel.

Gasping, Atherton tied his scarf over his mouth, and dashed as hard

as he could through the inky darkness, keeping his left hand on the

wall to guide him. Stumbling over the silver bowl at the foot of the

stairs was the first intimation he received of the fact that he had

reached the end of the passage.

Then, as he mounted the spiral stairs, to his utter relief he heard

Mr Buckley's voice calling him by name.

Removing his scarf, Atherton gave a reassuring answer.

"Thank heaven, you're safe!" replied the Scoutmaster, as Atherton

emerged through an irregularly shaped hole that took the place of the

narrow opening into the butler's room.

"And Mayne and Green?"

"They're all right, only a bit shaken up."

In the room, in addition to Mr Buckley, were Sir Silas Gwinnear,

Polglaze the detective, and a gentleman whom Atherton had not seen

before, and who was a mining engineer for one of the neighbouring

"wheals" or mines, and three workmen.

"We knew something was amiss," explained the Scoutmaster. "Soon after

you descended the tunnel for the second time it came on to pour with

rain. Phillips suggested to me the danger of one portion of the

passage being filled with water, and he and I going down found this

to be the case, and that your retreat was cut off, unless you

succeeded in turning the revolving stone.

"Thinking that there was a chance of your not being able to do so,

Phillips and I made our way across the mainland, and on to Polkerwyck

House.

"We found the secret opening still remained fast closed. We hammered

at it, tried crowbars, and did everything to attract your attention.

Green tells me you never heard a sound."

"We made as much row as we could, sir," said Atherton. "The walls

must be practically soundproof."

"I should say they are not soundproof now," continued Mr Buckley. "On

Sir Silas's advice we sent to Polkarnis Mine for some men accustomed

to the use of explosives, and this gentleman--Mr Copperas, the

electrical works' manager--kindly came over to give his technical

assistance."

"Yes, it's a wonder we didn't do more harm," added Mr Copperas.

"Since we heard no sounds from within we naturally concluded that the

three of you were farther along the tunnel. However, all's well that

ends well, and your two chums have been through an experience I never

wish to meet with: standing within a few feet of five pounds of

gun-cotton when it exploded."

"Now, Atherton, we must be making a move," declared the Scoutmaster.

"It will soon be dark, and you've had a couple of very trying days."

"How about the silver bowl, sir?" said the Scout, who had already

noticed the signs of preparations of bricking up the gap. "I'll get

it if you like."

"Don't worry about that, Atherton," interposed Sir Silas. "Get a good

night's rest. You can have a bed here if you wish."

"No, thank you, sir," replied Atherton. "I think I shall sleep pretty

soundly in camp."

"As you like," said the baronet. "I'll see that the bowl is brought

out. Mr Copperas and I have a wish to have a look at this remarkable

tunnel before it is actually sealed."

"Any further news of Tassh, sir?" asked Atherton, as, accompanied by

the five "Otters," the Scoutmaster started at a brisk walk towards

Polkerwyck.

"Nothing, save that the police hope to effect his arrest in London.

As far as we are concerned I think the Scouts have finished with the

business. It will give us a chance to settle down to a less strenuous

holiday."

CHAPTER XVII

THE MYSTERIOUS YACHT

UNTIL over the following Sunday the Scouts of Seal Island "stood

easy." The usual routine was maintained, but operations necessitating

arduous work were temporarily dispensed with. The lads were all more

or less done up. Want of sleep, exposure to the rain, and a surfeit

of excitement tried them to a very great extent; but, thanks to their

physical training, they were soon little the worse for the

experiences they had undergone.

Even Coventry minor's case showed good signs of improvement. He was

still unable to leave the doctor's house, but there was every chance

of his being fit to take part in the camp before the end of a

fortnight.

Early on Tuesday morning, the two patrols started on a boating

excursion. The "Otters," with the Scoutmaster, took Varco's largest

boat, while the "Wolves" embarked in a craft only slightly smaller.

Both boats were provided with masts and sails, the area of the latter

being comparatively small, so that there was little chance of a

catastrophe occurring. Mr Buckley was a skilled and keen boat-sailer,

while Simpson and Fraser of the "Wolves" knew enough about the

management of a small craft under sail to be entrusted with the care

of the one in which their patrol embarked.

After the gale, which had finished with the torrential rain that had

caused the flooding of the subterranean passage, the weather set in

fair, with a very high temperature. The Scouts unanimously voted that

it was simply ripping weather for camping, and the discomforts of the

gale were now almost forgotten.

It was the intention of the Scouts to circumnavigate Seal Island. A

better day could not have been chosen. There was hardly any wind:

what there was was off shore, while--a somewhat unusual

circumstance--the ground-swell was absent.

Past the now familiar Dollar Cove the lads rowed, pausing every now

and then to admire the fantastic outlines of the rugged cliffs.

"Mackerel in the bay," announced Mr Buckley, pointing to a shimmering

light on the surface of the water, about half way across to Beware

Head.

"I wish we had some rag worm for bait," said Jim Sayers. "There are

two lines in the boat, but without bait they might just as well not

be there."

"Don't say that," rejoined the Scoutmaster, laughing. "Let me have a

look at the lines. Ah! they're properly hooked. Sayers, I see an old

tin can under the bow thwart. Give it a rub on the leather of your

oar and pass it to me."

The Tenderfoot did as Mr Buckley suggested. With a pair of pocket

scissors the Scoutmaster cut three spoon-shaped pieces from the now

glittering tin, curved them with his fingers and attached the metal

to the line just in front of the three-barbed hooks.

"Well I never!" ejaculated Sayers. "To think that fish make a meal

out of a chunk of tin."

The lines were paid out, the metal discs jumping erratically under

the resistance of the water.

Three minutes later, Sayers felt a sharp tug on his line.

"A fish!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Haul it slowly and carefully or you'll lose it," cautioned Mr

Buckley. "Yes, Sayers, you've hooked a beauty."

Wildly struggling, a fair-sized mackerel was landed into the boat,

its gills impaled by two barbed hooks. After that the sport was fast

and furious, and before the boats were abreast of Beware Head eleven

fish were lying on the bottom boards of the "Otters'" boat, and nine

fell to the lot of the "Wolves."

"There's a cutter close inshore," observed Phillips, as the boats

rounded North Head.

"She's too close in for safety," added Mayne. "She can't be very far

from the reef where the tramp steamer struck."

"She's anchored," declared Atherton. "I can see the cable. She's a

good distance this side of the reef, nearly opposite the Tea Caves, I

should imagine."

"We'll pull close to her and see if anything's wrong. Perhaps they've

missed the tide, and have anchored close inshore till slack water,"

said Mr Buckley. "Give way 'Wolves'; we'll race you."

The "Wolves" did give way with a will, and being in a lighter and

fairly narrow-beamed boat they outstripped their friendly rivals.

"That will do," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Take it easy now."

The cutter was a yacht of about ten tons. Since she had no name on

her counter, Mr Buckley came to the conclusion that she belonged to a

recognised yacht club in spite of the fact that she flew no burgee.

She was moored with two anchors and cables--an unnecessary business

unless she was to stay over one tide. A dinghy was made fast astern,

and this was the only intimation the Scouts had that there was some

one on board the yacht, for her deck was deserted.

"Yacht ahoy!" hailed the Scoutmaster.

Two disreputable-looking men clad in blue jerseys and dirty canvas

trousers emerged hurriedly from the cabin.

"Wot d'ye want, Capting?" asked the taller of the two, with an

insolent ring in his voice.

"We thought you were brought up too close inshore," said the

Scoutmaster. "Perhaps you're strangers to this part of the coast?"

"I'll chaunce me arm over that, old mate," was the reply. "We're

bloomin' well all right, cocky. When the tide serves we'll sweep the

blinkin' boat rahnd to Padstow if there's no bloomin' wind."

"Give way, lads," ordered the Scoutmaster.

Not a word more was spoken till both boats had put an intervening

headland between them and the cutter and her surly crew.

"They're a churlish set," remarked Mr Buckley. "I wonder what their

little game is, bringing up so close to the Tea Caves?"

"Do you know, sir, I believe--although I am not quite sure--that the

shorter man is one of the fellows who threw Sir Silas over Hungerford

Bridge."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr Buckley, incredulously. "I think so, sir. And

another thing I noticed: those fellows said they would sweep the

yacht to Padstow if there were no wind."

"That's so," agreed the Scoutmaster.

"Then why would they want to row her when there's a motor on board,

sir?"

"A motor--how do you know, Atherton?"

"I noticed the propeller under the water, sir."

"You did? I missed that, then. I was directing my attention to the

stern to see if a name had been painted out. It is quite possible,

since the yacht is a fairly decent one, that those two fellows have

stolen it. Such acts are not uncommon. That also might be an

explanation for their statement that they intended to use their

sweeps. They might be ignorant of how to run a motor."

"Looks fishy, sir," remarked Phillips. "Do you think, since they are

close to the mouth of the Tea Caves, that they have anything to do

with Paul Tassh?"

"The possibility is somewhat remote. Tassh is, according to all

accounts, hiding in London."

"With the bulk of the booty, sir?"

"Well, since you suggest it, there might be something in the wind

between those two surly fellows and Paul Tassh," admitted Mr Buckley.

"I thought we had finished with the business. However, I'll call for

volunteers to patrol the cliffs above the Tea Caves tonight if the

yacht hasn't cleared off in the meantime."

With that the voyage was resumed. At the blowing holes the Scouts

landed, in order to investigate this natural curiosity; but, owing to

an absence of wind and no sea running, the "performance was off," as

Neale expressed it.

The lads thoroughly enjoyed a scamper over the remarkably shaped

rocks, which were only accessible from the sea; and here a

substantial lunch was partaken.

"I wonder what would happen if we stopped up the blowing hole?" asked

Reggie Scott of his churn Sayers, pointing to an orifice in the rock

about three inches in diameter, which was worn perfectly smooth by

the violent up-burst of water.

"I reckon it would go off like a pop-gun the first time the waves

broke under it," replied Sayers. "But what's the use? We shan't be

here to see what happens."

"I'll fill it up, just for fun," said Scott. "Let's see how deep it

is first."

Lying at full length on the flat-topped rock, the Tenderfoot bared

his arm and thrust it down.

"I can't reach anything like far enough, Sayers," he began. "It will

take a lot of filling up----"

His remarks were rudely interrupted by a sudden rush of compressed

air. Before Scott could throw himself clear of the blow-hole he was

drenched to the skin by a torrent of water forced through the

circular hole in the rock.

Sayers yelled with delight, but his mirth was brought to an abrupt

termination by a regular waterspout from another blow-hole close to

where he was standing. Slipping on the weed-covered rock, he subsided

on his back, and while in this ignominious position he was completely

enveloped in the falling spray.

At the first sign of the spout Atherton, Simpson, Phillips, and

Coventry made a hurried dash for the boats. They were only just in

time to prevent them from being dashed broadside on to the beach as

three rollers in quick succession hurled themselves up the rocks.

"It must have been the swell of a steamer," declared Simpson, after

the sea had resumed its placid condition.

"Steamer? I saw none within a mile or so of shore," remarked

Phillips, "and the last one quite a quarter of an hour ago."

"That, no doubt, was the one that caused the three rollers," remarked

Mr Buckley, who had overheard the Scouts. "The swell of a large

steamer, travelling at a fair speed, will be felt five miles off, and

at a considerable time after the ship has passed abreast of that part

of the shore on which the waves break. But come along, lads, we've

seen the blowing holes at work, and some of you have wet shirts in

consequence."

Into their boats the Scouts jumped, and once more the coasting trip

was resumed. Without further incident the lads landed at the cove,

hauled the boats up the slope, and returned to camp for dinner.

CHAPTER XVIII HOT ON THE TRAIL

THE more Atherton thought about one of the crew of the mysterious

yacht the more he became convinced that the fellow was Sir Silas

Gwinnear's assailant.

After dinner, seizing a favourable opportunity, the lad approached

his Scoutmaster on the subject.

"You're falling a victim to the powers of suggestion, I'm afraid,

Atherton," remarked Mr Buckley. "When you first mentioned the matter

to me you said you _thought_ he was the man. Now, after ruminating,

you come to the conclusion that he _must_ be the culprit. Such

definite conclusions based upon flimsy suppositions are dangerous.

Over and over again one reads of cases of persons being wrongly

arrested owing to definite yet mistaken zeal on the part of an

impressionable constable. Now, for example, what do you suggest would

be the best course to adopt? Inform the police?"

"Yes, sir; my idea is that he should not be allowed to slip through

our fingers, so to speak."

"And if the fellow gives a perfectly corroborated statement, and

claims damages for illegal arrest, where would the funds of the troop

go, eh? No, no, Atherton, we must get to work more cautiously. I am

quite in agreement with you that the action of these two men on the

yacht is suspicious, and that they ought to be kept under

observation. All the same, I do not like the idea of so much night

work. Before I took over for Mr Trematon, you had more than one

restless night."

"If it has to be done, sir, it must be," replied Atherton earnestly.

"The other fellows are of the same mind."

"Very well, so long as the yacht remains of the Island we will keep

her under observation. I'll send Simpson and the 'Wolves' out till

sunset, and then the 'Otters' can carry on till morning. Only, mind

you, it is to be distinctly understood that your patrol must rest

this afternoon and also to-morrow morning. Seven hours' sleep in

every twenty-four is essential."

"Very good, sir," said Atherton.

"And," continued Mr Buckley, "I mean to take the night watch with

you. We must find a likely spot whence we can command the approach to

the Tea Caves as well as the yacht. Now tell the 'Otters' to turn in.

No talking, mind. I'll see that Simpson has his instructions, and

then I'll have a nap myself."

Two hundred yards to the south-west of the Tea Caves a rocky headland

afforded all the shelter the Scouts required. The place seemed as if

it had been a Titan's playground, for huge flat boulders, some

weighing more than twenty tons, had been piled up in picturesque and

even grotesque formations. On one group of rocks the Scouts had

bestowed the name of "The Mushrooms," and the designation was not

inapplicable. Three separate columns, composed of discshaped rocks

twelve feet in diameter, rose to the height of twelve feet above the

general ground level. On the summit of these were still broader rocks

with slightly rounded upper surfaces, their edges overlapping the

bases by three to five feet, and two of the top rocks touched each

other; the third was separated from the other by a space of less than

a foot.

On the lee--side of "The Mushrooms" there was sufficient shelter for

the four Scouts of the "Wolves," for Hayes and Tenderfoot Basil

Armstrong were left behind in camp while the "Otters" were resting in

their tent.

The yacht still remained close inshore, in the same position as when

the Scouts had first sighted her. The tide had long since changed,

but the crew had made no attempt to shift her, either by means of the

motor or sweeps.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon the "Wolves" kept on the watch.

The shadows lengthened as the sun sank down in the west; but the two

men on board gave no signs of their presence.

"Anything wrong?" asked Atherton, as the "Otters" came to the relief

of their comrades, Sayers and Scott being left in camp to perform a

like duty to the one Hayes and Armstrong had been detailed to do.

"Not a sign," replied Simpson. "Just our luck. I suppose they'll do

something as soon as it gets dark, and we'll be out of it."

"May not," rejoined Atherton. "Anyway, if anything exciting does

occur we'll rouse you up right enough."

With that the "Wolves" reluctantly betook themselves off, and the

"Otters" carried on the task of watching the mysterious yacht. The

Scouts knew their work well. Even in the gathering twilight they

refrained from showing themselves against the skyline. Each lad, with

a cluster of gorse in his hat to still lessen the risk of detection,

kept well behind cover.

Night fell. There was no moon, but the stars gave sufficient light to

distinguish the outlines of the coast and the grimly silent yacht,

that, two hundred feet below, rocked gently on the bosom of the

ocean.

"It's eleven o'clock and slack tide," said Phillips to his Leader.

"What do you say to this: suppose we get the others to lower us down

the cliffs by the Tea Caves? It's hardly any distance."

"What then?" asked Atherton.

"Well, there being no tide, we could easily swim off to that yacht.

It would be worth doing to find out what those fellows are doing on

board."

"I'm game," agreed Atherton. "But we'll have to mention it to Mr

Buckley."

"Do you think he'll let us go?" asked Phillips, anxiously.

"If he won't there's an end to it," rejoined Atherton, sturdily. "So

here goes, I'll ask."

"A hundred yards from the shore at least," observed the Scoutmaster,

when Atherton made the proposal. "Are you quite sure you can do the

distance there and back?"

"Both Phillips and I hold half-mile certificates, sir," said the

Leader. "If the other fellows will lower us on to the ledge leading

to the Caves, it will be a fairly simple matter to swarm down the

rope to the base of the cliff."

"Very well, then," assented the Scoutmaster. "But, whatever you do,

exercise the greatest caution. Everest and Baker can remain here, the

rest of the available 'Otters' can support you."

"Thank you, sir," replied Atherton, saluting, and without further

delay the work of preparation began.

Green and Mayne were to remain on the top of the cliff above the

ledge leading to the Tea Caves, the Scoutmaster was to descend to the

ledge, make sure that there was no one lurking at the entrance to the

caverns, and to assist the two swimmers during their descent and

ascent to and from the sea.

Noiselessly the little party gained the spot, almost opposite the

anchored yacht. No signs of life were visible from the unlighted

craft. Her outlines could only just be discerned against the dark

surface of the water.

It did not take the Scouts long to discover the holes into which the

staves and crowbars had been driven on the first occasion of their

first exploration of the Tea Caves. The tufts of earth that had been

placed in them to hide the traces of the Scouts' operations were

removed and two stout iron bars deftly inserted.

Giving a final glance round, Mr Buckley made one end of the rope fast

round his body. "Lower away, lads," he exclaimed. "I'm not a heavy

weight, and when one has a groggy arm it puts a stopper on

hand-over-hand work."

As soon as Mr Buckley reached the ledge, Atherton and Phillips

swarmed down. They were now only twenty feet above the sea, and at

that particular spot the irregular shape of the cliffs permitted a

fairly easy descent.

"We'll go with you, sir, as far as the Caves," whispered the Leader,

but the Scoutmaster demurred.

"One can go where three cannot sometimes," he replied. "If there's

any bother I'll whistle for you. I think I can well hold my own till

then."

In five minutes Mr Buckley returned.

"It's all clear, I think," he remarked in an undertone. "The dust

seems undisturbed and there's been no wind to level it. I've covered

my tracks very carefully in case of accidents."

Quickly undressing, Atherton, with a rope tied round his waist, in

case he slipped, made his way down to the water's edge. Casting off

the rope, he waited till Phillips joined him, and as noiselessly as

the little creatures from which the patrol took its name, the two

Scouts slipped into the water.

Not a word was spoken as the lads swam with steady strokes towards

the yacht The sea was quite warm, warmer in fact than the air. Both

Scouts knew how to swim with the least exertion and without making a

splash. They did not hurry, realising that haste in swimming means

loss of strength; so, keeping side by side, they made light work of

their outward journey.

The mysterious yacht was now riding lightly to her anchor. There was

little or no tide; and her cable was, in nautical parlance, "straight

up and down." By a fortunate chance, owing no doubt to the

slovenliness of her crew rather than to their lack of seamanship, the

yacht's bobstay was still hove taut, and this afforded a fine

foothold for the two lads.

Atherton could just manage to grasp the bowsprit. Raising his legs,

he threw his heels over the low bulwark and contrived to draw himself

on deck. He waited, every sense keenly on the alert. All was quiet,

save for a muffled conversation in the cabin.

Assisting Phillips on board, the elder lad led the way aft. Their

bare feet made no sound upon the dew-sodden decks; and, cautiously

picking their way over coils of ropes and avoiding formidable-looking

cleats that would, in the event of hitting them, cause painful

results, the two Scouts came to the closed companion hatch

communicating to the main cabin.

Through a chink in the teak door, Atherton saw that a light was

burning. The scuttles had been covered with a thick material in order

to screen the light within.

It was a remarkable sight that met the Scout's gaze. On the swinging

table was a quantity of silver plate. Sitting on one bunk was one of

the crew, who was apprehensively regarding his companion. Of the

latter Atherton now had no doubts. He was the same red-necked fellow

who had been one of the assailants of Sir Silas Gwinnear. There was

no mistaking the closely cropped iron-grey hair, the rounded though

massive shoulders and back, the long legs and all the other

characteristics the Scout had so carefully noticed. In his hands he

held a sporting rifle, which was pointed in the direction of his

companion.

"Ere, chuck it, Bill. Turn that blessed thing away," remonstrated the

seated man.

"'Tain't loaded, yer blinkin' juggins."

"That's wot yer says, Bill."

"'Struth: don't yer know as well as I does that there ain't a

blinkin' cartridge aboard. All the same it'll come in 'andy-like to

frighten them nippers if they comes a' nosin' abaht 'ere agen."

"They won't. I'll chaunce me arm on that, Bill."

"'Ow d'ye know that? Ain't they properly kippered that old fool

Tassh, till 'e ain't got no mind to call 'is own? If it weren't for

them blessed Scouts we'd a' hid all the blessed swag aboard afore

now. Tassh won't budge till nigh on one in the mornin', as yer

bloomin' well knows, the white-livered swob."

"'E was late last night. Arter three afore 'e gived the signal."

"Ef 'e's blinkin' well late to-night we'll go ashore and rout 'im out

of 'is blessed cave."

"Not this 'ere child, Bill. I ain't got no likin' to wormin' me way

through that 'ole between the two caves. I'll wait in the outer one

if yer likes."

"You'll blessed well do as I tells yer," retorted the latter man,

laying the gun down on the bunk. "Onderstand that. Well, 'ere goes.

I'll 'ave a look on deck, and see if anything's stirrin'. Douse that

glim for a minnit, while I opens the 'atch."

Atherton touched his companion's shoulder. Both lads rose to their

feet and began to make their way for'ard, Phillips treading on one

side of the deck and Atherton on the other, so as to prevent the

craft from heeling. Even the faintest heel would be noticeable to the

two men below, and their suspicions would be instantly aroused.

Phillips lowered himself noiselessly over the bows, but before

Atherton could clamber over the windlass that occupied a portion of

the foredeck, the noise of the hatch being slid back told him that

Bill was in the act of coming on deck.

There was no time to be lost. Atherton hurried to rejoin his comrade,

but his haste led to his undoing. His bare feet slipped on the wet

planks, and the next instant he was sprawling at full length upon the

deck.

"Throughout the rest of the afternoon the Wolves kept on the

watch."--_Page_ 217.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FIRST CAPTURE

ATHERTON'S first impulse was to regain his feet and jump overboard.

By so doing he knew that he would run no personal risks, since Bill

and his companion in crime could not possibly capture him, even if

they went to the length of leaping into the sea dressed as they were,

in their clothes and sea-boots. But, on the other hand, the Scout

realised that, if discovered, the confederates of the rascally butler

would make haste and clear off in the yacht, and the whole chance of

capturing both the rogues and their booty would receive a serious set

back.

With these thoughts flashing through his mind, Atherton pulled

several folds of the staysail over his recumbent form, as,

fortunately for him, the slothful crew had lowered the sail and had

neglected to stow or even secure it. His chief anxiety was that

Phillips, finding that his companion had not followed him, would

climb on board again, or, equally as bad, raise a premature alarm.

Second Phillips was made of the right stuff. Since Atherton had not

called for aid he felt convinced that his Leader was still keeping

Bill under observation. Holding on to the bob-stay, and keeping close

to the bows of the yacht, Phillips waited, chin deep in water, either

till the expected shout for assistance came or else till Atherton got

clear of the mysterious craft.

With many muttered curses the truculent Bill ascended the short

companion-ladder and gained the deck. Pulling back the hatch he

remained by the companion, his gaze directed towards the frowning

cliffs by the Tea Caves.

"Two more cursed hours!" muttered the man, loudly enough for the

Scout to overhear.

"Wot's 'e got to be afraid of I should like to know. Well, any'ow,

to-night'll see the last o' the swag safe aboard."

Atherton felt a quiver of excitement pass through his frame. If the

silver were to be recovered the opportunity was at hand. There was

little time to be lost. To send for the assistance of the local

police and the coastguards might result in the scoundrels "getting

the wind of it."

It must be the Scouts to whom the credit of recovering Sir Silas

Gwinnear's plate must fall.

The seaman was coming for'ard. From his place of concealment,

Atherton could hear his heavy footfall upon the yielding deck. Would

it be possible that the fellow had any suspicions that some one in

addition to his mate was on board?

In any case the Scout realised that he must evade capture. Nearer and

nearer came the man. Atherton prepared to spring from his

hiding-place arid leap into the sea, but to his great relief Bill

turned on his heel and retraced his footsteps.

"He's going to pace the deck for the next hour or so, I suppose,"

thought Atherton. "A nice pickle we are in: Phillips shivering in the

water and I doing ditto under a damp sail."

But Atherton was wrong in his surmise. The fellow took two or three

turns up and down the deck, gave another glance shorewards and then

whispered to his companion to "douse the glim again."

With the utmost satisfaction Atherton heard the seaman push back the

hatch. His heavy sea-boots grated on the brass stair-treads; and

then, with a vicious bang, the hatch was shut once more.

Rising from his place of concealment, Atherton lowered himself into

the water, and the two lads began their shoreward swim; at first in

silence, and then, as soon as a safe distance had been covered, they

conversed in low tones.

"We're in luck, Atherton."

"Yes, if things turn out all right. I wonder what Mr Buckley will

suggest?"

"No doubt he will order the boats to be manned, and we'll have to try

our chances with Bill and his pal. It's fortunate we know his gun

isn't loaded. Here, Phillips, are we heading the right way? I don't

see the place where we climbed down."

"The tide must be setting in by now," replied Phillips. "We're being

swept away to the west'ard. I vote we swim straight for shore and

then keep close to it until we come to the right spot. The tide won't

run so strong inshore."

"You lads have been a long time," remarked Mr Buckley, as the two

Scouts, tired with their exertions, scrambled on to the ledge where

the Scoutmaster had been anxiously awaiting their reappearance.

"It's all right, sir," exclaimed Atherton; "we've found out

something": and as briefly and explicitly as he could the Scout

related what had occurred on board the yacht.

"You're quite right, Atherton," said Mr Buckley, when the Leader had

finished his report. "Something must be done at once. It is now close

on twelve o'clock. You're both dressed? Good. Shin up the rope,

Phillips; it will take three of you to haul me up, I am afraid."

As soon as the Scoutmaster and the two Scouts had reached the summit

of the cliff, a hasty palaver was held and a rough plan of action

decided upon. Green was despatched to the camp to turn out the

"Wolves," who were to double to the place where the Scoutmaster

awaited them.

"That's good, Simpson," said Mr Buckley, as the patrol turned up in

fine fettle. "You left the Tenderfoots in camp? Hayes and Coventry,

take that flashing lamp and call up the coastguard at Refuge Point.

Tell them that there's a yacht lying off the Tea Caves, and that her

crew are going to remove the stolen silver. The rest of us had better

make tracks for the Tea Caves as soon as possible. Since Tassh is

concealed in the inner one--that is what you heard, I believe,

Atherton?--we ought to nab him as he squeezes through the narrow

passage between the two divisions. Now, Scouts, silence is essential

as soon as we gain the ledge."

One by one the "Wolves" descended by means of the rope; then the

Scoutmaster was lowered by the "Otters," who brought up the rear of

the expedition. Treading cautiously, the Scouts crept in single file

towards the rascally butler's lair.

Within the caves all was quiet. If Tassh lay concealed in the

innermost one he gave no sign of his presence. Apparently he had

learnt a certain amount of caution, for all tracks between the mouth

of the cave and the narrow "needle's-eye" communicating with the two

divisions were carefully obliterated.

Without a word being spoken the Scouts took up their allotted

positions: Simpson and the 1st and 2nd class Scouts of his patrol

stationed themselves on either side of the entrance to the inner

cave; Atherton and the available "Otters" hid in a deep recess just

inside the outer entrance; while Mr Buckley remained without in order

to keep the yacht under observation.

Slowly, in utter silence, the hours passed. Although the Scoutmaster

could not see the time by his watch, he felt fairly convinced that it

could not be much past midnight. To the waiting Scouts the period of

waiting seemed interminable.

At length the Scouts pricked up their ears. From the depths of the

inner cave came an uncanny sound. As Simpson afterwards described it,

it was like the armoured body of an enormous crab grating over the

rocks. This was followed by the deep breathing of a man who had been

put to great physical strain. Then came the stealthy footfalls of

some one walking over the dry sand that formed the floor of the cave.

Simpson and the "Wolves" were tingling with excitement.

It was Tassh.

The rascally butler began to crawl through the "needle's eye." Once or

twice he paused, as if scenting danger; then, drawing himself clear,

he regained his feet.

It was as much as the "Wolves" could do to restrain themselves from

falling upon and overpowering their quarry, since the man stood

almost within arm's length of Simpson on the one hand and Neale on

the other. But to do this would be acting prematurely. Unless

otherwise compelled to tackle their man, the Scouts were content to

let him alone until he had lured Bill and his companions ashore. So,

crouching behind the huge boulders that had at some time fallen from

the roof of the cave, the lads watched Tassh stealthily make his way

towards the entrance.

"I wonder if he'll spot Mr Buckley," thought Simpson. But the

Scoutmaster was too wary for that. He had clambered upon a narrow

ledge seven feet above the main path, whence he could command a view

of the cave and the sea as well as the misty starlight would permit.

"Oh, there you are, my fine fellow," muttered Mr Buckley, as Tassh,

looking anxiously along the main ledge that gave access to the caves,

emerged into the open, utterly ignorant of the fact that seven of the

"Otters" were within ten yards of him and that a few inches above his

head the Scoutmaster had him under observation.

Still Tassh hesitated. He even walked a few paces along the ledge,

and scanned the rugged cliffs above his head. At length, drawing a

portable electric lamp from his pocket, he flashed it twice in quick

succession in the direction of the yacht.

This signal was instantly replied to by the light of a match. The

Scoutmaster could see the gleam light up the features of the man

Bill. To guard against causing suspicion the fellow was pretending to

light a pipe, twice closing his fingers over the flickering match in

order to reassure the ex-butler that his message was understood.

Tassh waited no longer. He turned and literally sneaked back to his

den, none of the Scouts attempting to bar his passage.

Another ten minutes passed. There were no further signs of movement

on the yacht. The Scoutmaster began to wonder whether 'Tassh's signal

was intended to mean that he was suspicious about something, to defer

the visit of Bill and his companion in crime until another night.

"I wish they'd hurry up," soliloquised Mr Buckley. "I shouldn't

wonder if the coastguard boat doesn't turn up soon and nab them. It's

a pity. I wish I had told Hayes not to signal quite so soon. The

Scouts will only share the fruits of victory, I am afraid."

Just then came the sound of a splash in the water. The crew of the

yacht had dragged a collapsible boat from the cabin and had launched

it over the side.

The Scoutmaster waited till the boat was fairly close inshore, then,

having made certain that only one man was on board, he silently

slipped from his post of observation and rejoined Atherton and the

"Otters" in the recess by the mouth of the cave.

Grasping Atherton's hand the Scoutmaster, by means of a series of

long and short grips, spelled out a message in Morse.

"Man coming: tackle him on entering cave."

The Leader signified that the message was understood, and passed it

on to Phillips, who in turn communicated it to Green and Mayne.

Before the remaining "Otters" could be informed, the man from the

yacht was heard scaling the cliff between the water's edge and the

ledge.

With a strange sensation in his throat, Atherton braced himself for

the onslaught. He could hear the partially suppressed breathing of

his companions and the rapidly approaching steps of Tassh's nocturnal

visitor. The patch of starlit sky at the mouth of the cave was

darkened by the hulking figure of Bill.

Unhesitatingly the fellow advanced into the cave, then drawing an

electric torch from his pocket he flashed it ahead to guide his

footsteps. The beam of light fell, not upon the sanded floor, but

upon the figure of the Scoutmaster standing full in his path.

With a muttered oath, Bill threw down the canvas bag, hurled his lamp

at Mr Buckley, and turned to seek safety in flight.

Up from their hiding-place the "Otters" ran as one man and threw

themselves upon the rogue. Bill's fist shot out straight at

Atherton's chin, but luckily for the Scout it was light enough for

him to see to parry the blow. Down went Bill, struggling and raving

like a madman, with his six youthful yet active assailants on to him

like a pack of bulldogs.

"Chuck it," growled Bill sullenly, as Atherton applied an arm-lock.

"Chuck it orl you'll break my bloomin' arm. I gives in."

Securely bound hand and foot the prisoner was carried out into the

open. The first phase of the capture of the robbers of Sir Silas

Gwinnear's silver was effected.

"Now, lads!" exclaimed Mr Buckley, "that's number one. 'Wolves'! Keep

watch over the inner cave; we'll rout out Mr Tassh later on. Everest

and Baker stand by the prisoner. The rest of the 'Otters' follow me.

We must board the yacht and capture the remaining member of the

crew."

CHAPTER. XX

A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK

"GIVE me a hand down here, Atherton," exclaimed Mr Buckley. "We can't

wait for a rope this time."

Without mishap the Scouts and the Scoutmaster descended the jagged

cliff by the same path that the luckless Bill had so lately ascended.

Hauled up on a shelving ledge and practically awash by the rising

tide, was the canvas boat. It seemed a flimsy craft to hold five

persons, but reassured by Mr Buckley's word the Scouts embarked.

There were but two oars, and these were short; the boat was deeply

laden, and progress was, in consequence, slow. Before they were

thirty yards from the cliff the Scouts heard the clanking of a

windlass. The sole occupant of the yacht, alarmed at the commotion

ashore, was weighing anchor.

"He means to start the motor and leave his comrades to their fate,"

exclaimed Mr Buckley. "Put your backs into it, lads."

Desperately the fellow worked the windlass, but unfortunately for him

there was good scope of chain out. Ere half of it was inboard, the

canvas boat swept under the yacht's counter and ranged up alongside

his starboard quarter.

"Surrender!" shouted the Scoutmaster.

The man's only reply was to drop the handle of the winch, snatch up

the gun from the deck and present it full at Mr Buckley's head.

"Won't do, my man," exclaimed the Scoutmaster affably. "We know there

isn't a single cartridge on board."

The rascal's jaw dropped with sheer amazement.

"I'll bash in the skull of the first chap who tries to get on deck,"

he replied, swinging the butt end of the weapon above his head.

"Hands up instantly, or I'll fire!" ordered Mr Buckley, sternly. The

pale light glinted on the bright barrel of a sinister-looking object

he held extended in his right hand. Somewhat to the Scoutmaster's

surprise the fellow immediately complied, holding his arms extended

to their fullest extent above his head to show that there was no

deception, while the gun clattered noisily upon the deck.

In a trice Atherton and Phillips were once more upon the yacht.

Without further resistance the fellow allowed them to secure him.

"Take him below," ordered Mr Buckley. "Phillips and Mayne will look

after him all right. Come on, you others, if you want to be in at the

capture of Mr Tassh."

Before pushing off, Mr Buckley called to Phillips to come out of the

cabin.

"Here's my revolver," he said, in a voice loud enough for the

prisoner to overhear. "Put it in your pocket, and don't hesitate to

use it if the fellow gives trouble."

And to the surprise and amazement of the Scouts, the Scoutmaster held

up for inspection--not a dangerous weapon, but one of the brass

rowlocks of the canvas boat.

Phillips rejoined his companion in the task of guarding the prisoner.

They heard the sound of the oars growing fainter and fainter till all

was quiet.

"Look 'ere, you chaps," said the prisoner, breaking the silence, "I

ain't to blame for this 'ere business. 'Swelp me, it was orl Bill's

doin'!"

"The less you say about it the better," remarked Phillips.

"No 'tain't. I mean to turn King's evidence, so the sooner I get's it

off me chest the better, says I. Bill is that silly lubber Tassh's

brother-in-law, that's wot yer don't know, eh? Well, Bill 'ad 'is

knife inter old Gwinnear over the shippin' strike. I knows as 'ow

Bill 'ad a 'and in chuckin' the old josser inter the Thames: that's

gospel truth. An' then 'e cods old Tassh inter sneakin' the silver.

Told 'im 'e 'd 'ave 'arf the proceeds, and Bill and me 'ud share the

rest, and Tassh like a blinkin' fool believed 'im. 'Tis like

this----"

"Yacht ahoy!" came a peremptory hail from without.

Phillips dashed up the companion-ladder, and gained the deck to find

a coastguard gig alongside.

"Hulloa, my lad!" exclaimed the petty officer in charge. "What's the

game? Having a joke with us, eh? Some of you Scouts signalled to us

that some of the thieves were on board with the stolen silver."

"One of them is," replied Phillips. "You're a little too late. He is

a prisoner; the other one is also captured. He's on shore, and if you

hurry up you may have a look in when our fellows collar Mr Tassh."

* * * *

Upon rejoining the "Wolves" the elated "Otters" found their comrades

keeping watch in front of the "needle's-eye." Until their

Scoutmaster's return Simpson would not allow his patrol to enter the

inner cave. Nevertheless there was now no need for absolute silence,

and the lads were able to converse and wile away the otherwise

tedious vigil; nor was there any necessity to do without artificial

light.

"Now, Simpson," said Mr Buckley, "it's the 'Wolves'' turn. You've

plenty of candles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Carry on, then," said the Scoutmaster, dropping into a phrase

reminiscent of his former service in the Royal Navy.

The Leader of the "Wolves" was not a fellow to rush headlong into

danger. He knew that if Tassh had the courage and determination he

could hold the entrance to the inner cave with impunity.

Placing his hat on the end of a staff he thrust it through the narrow

opening. Nothing happened.

"The fellow's missed his opportunity," said Simpson to Neale in a low

tone. "So here goes."

Wriggling through the "needle's-eye," Simpson gained the spacious

vault. He waited, his staff held in readiness to defend himself from

attack, until Neale and Jock Fraser joined him.

Bill's electric torch now served a useful purpose, augmented by the

light of several candles. The rest of the "Wolves" were quickly on the

scene, and in quite a blaze of light the Scouts followed the trail

which in his flight the rascally butler had made no attempt to conceal.

"'Hands up instantly or I'll fire!' ordered Mr. Buckley

sternly."--_Page_ 237.

The tracks led straight to the place where Atherton had previously

found the burnt matches. But in place of the smooth sand there gaped

a deep hole, from which the rays of a lantern were visible.

"Come out, Tassh: the game's up," said Simpson. The only reply was a

hollow mocking laugh, so eerie that the lads scarce believed it came

from a human being. Then came the sound of metal being violently

thrown about, to the accompaniment of disjointed and incoherent

sentences that told their own tale.

"The fellow's quite mad; he's amusing himself with smashing the

silver," exclaimed Fraser. "We must stop him."

Dropping lightly through the hole, the Scout found himself in a small

cave, about twenty feet in length and half that distance in breadth.

Two candle lanterns--one hanging from a hook driven into the roof and

the other standing on the floor--gave sufficient light for Fraser to

see clearly what was going on.

Tassh, seated on the ground with his chin resting on his knee, was

amusing himself by throwing the valuable silver cups against the

farthermost wall, gibbering the while in maniacal delight.

With a bound the Scout stood over the luckless rascal and laid a

detaining hand on his shoulder. The man merely smiled and held up a

chased goblet as if he wished his captor to join in the game.

"He's as mad as a hatter," said Fraser to Simpson and Neale, who had

promptly followed into the thief's lair. "We'll have a job to get him

out of this."

"Come on, Tassh," said Simpson, quietly and firmly. "We've something

to show you. Come along."

The ex-butler turned his head and looked at the Scout in a dazed

manner; then, with a suddenness that almost took Simpson by surprise,

the madman jumped to his feet and flung himself tooth and nail upon

his captors.

In the struggle the lantern on the floor was overset. The candle in

the one hanging from the roof was almost burnt out. In semi-darkness,

deep in the farthermost recesses of the cave, the three lads

struggled with their prisoner, who seemed to possess the strength of

a gorilla.

Twice Simpson was hurled against the wall; Fraser, partly dazed by a

tremendous blow on the forehead, was hardly of use to his companions;

while Neale, his bare knees bleeding from the result of a series of

vicious kicks, was banging grimly and desperately round the madman's

waist.

The situation was indeed serious. The Scouts had bitten off more than

they could chew, yet not one of them raised a shout for help.

For the third time the Leader of the "Wolves" tackled the madman, but

ere he could obtain a hold his feet slipped on the smooth rock.

Tassh's fingers closed on Simpson's throat with a force that

threatened to choke the Scout into insensibility. Simultaneously, by

a back kick, the maniac sent Neale staggering, and well-nigh

breathless, upon the prostrate Fraser. A multitude of lights flashed

before Simpson's eyes . . . then his opponent's grip suddenly

relaxed, and Atherton's voice was heard exclaiming:

"It's all right, Simpson. Pull yourself together, man. I hope I

haven't killed the fellow."

Atherton had arrived in the nick of time. Something had prompted him

to follow Simpson's scanty patrol; he knew by the sounds from the

rogue's lair that a desperate struggle was taking place. He leapt

into the little cave and with his staff struck the violent madman a

stunning blow, causing Tassh to sink inertly to the ground.

As soon as Simpson and Fraser had sufficiently recovered, steps were

taken to get the insensible thief from his den. With a bowline round

his waist, Tassh was hauled out of the hole, carried across the inner

cave and out into the open air.

"We've found the rest of the silver, sir," announced Simpson.

"That's good business," replied Mr Buckley. "It's time we had a rest.

Put those lights out, Green, it must be close on dawn. Why, where is

the yacht?"

In the pale grey light, the sea showed an unbroken expanse of

rippling water. The yacht with Phillips and Mayne had vanished.

* * * *

"I trust that rascal on board hasn't got the better of Phillips and

Mayne," said Mr Buckley.

"So do I, sir," added Atherton. "He must be very smart to get the

better of those two fellows."

"Criminals are usually smart," remarked Green.

"Not necessarily," replied the Scoutmaster. "They are frequently only

clever in comparison with their dupes. But there is Hayes standing on

the cliff."

Hayes and Coventry, having accomplished their task of signalling to

the coastguard, had returned to their post of observation, and had

dutifully remained there during the whole of the night, since the

Scoutmaster had given no further instructions as to what they were to

do.

"Seen anything of the yacht?" shouted Atherton.

"Yes," replied Hayes, "the coastguards towed her away."

"Then Phillips and Mayne are all right," said the Scoutmaster,

thankfully. "Now, lads, let's get our prisoners to the top of the

cliff. The sooner we hand them over to the proper authorities the

better."

In very little time the police arrived from Polkerwyck, and Bill and

the madman, Tassh, were conveyed to the mainland. The Scouts, after a

well-earned meal, were one and all soon sound asleep, never waking

till close upon five in the afternoon, when Sir Silas Gwinnear

crossed over to Seal Island to personally compliment the Scouts on

their success.

"I am afraid, sir," said Mr Buckley, "we have been acting contrary to

Headquarter instructions. Particular emphasis is laid upon the fact

that no Scouts' night operations should go on after eleven-thirty. I

only hope that the exigencies of the case are sufficient excuse for

turning day into night."

"All the same, I do not know how to express my gratitude to the

Scouts," said Sir Silas. "That raises an awkward topic, Mr Buckley.

You know that there is a reward out for the recovery of the silver?"

"Scouts, Sir Silas, do not accept rewards for services rendered: good

turns, we call them."

"So I previously learned," said the baronet, smiling at Atherton.

"All the same, if there is anything I can do . . . I suppose there is

a limit of age for Scouts, Mr Buckley?"

"Once a Scout, always a Scout, sir."

"H'm. Well, perhaps I may be able to have a bit of my own way in the

matter of showing my practical gratitude, Mr Buckley. Meanwhile,

Scouts, I hope for the rest of your stay in Seal Island you will be

able to conform to regular habits and enjoy yourselves far more than

you have up to the present."

"We've had a rattling good time, sir," replied the "Wolves" and the

"Otters" in a chorus that carried conviction.

"I'm glad to hear it," returned Sir Silas. "And, believe me, you have

made me envious of the Scouts of Seal Island."

* * * *

Little more remains to be said. The "Otters" and the "Wolves"

prolonged their stay on Seal Island for three whole weeks beyond the

fortnight originally intended, the extension being due to the fact

that the Scouts had to give evidence at Bodmin Assizes against the

rascal known as Bill.

The fellow was proved to be one of the assailants of Sir Silas

Gwinnear on Hungerford Bridge; and not only was he found guilty of

being concerned in the robbery of the baronet's silver, but an

additional charge, that of stealing a yacht from Avonmouth--the one

the Scouts captured with a quantity of the booty on board--was proved

against him.

His companion got off with six months' hard labour against Bill's

seven years' penal servitude. Tassh, hopelessly insane, was taken to

the county asylum.

Thus the rogues of this story are accounted for.

Collingwood College runs a larger, and equally efficient, troop than

of yore. Mr Trematon, now second master of the school, is still in

command; but we will look in vain for Dick Atherton, Phillips,

Simpson, Neale and others of the young heroes of Seal Island amongst

the crowd of uniformed Scouts.

Atherton is now fourth officer of the Empire Line--a steamship

company largely under Sir Silas Gwinnear's control. Fred Simpson is

likewise in the merchant service, thanks to the Cornish baronet's

patronage. Phillips, Neale and Fraser have accepted good appointments

in Canada, in connection with the wealthy firm of Gwinnear Ltd.;

while every other original member of the "Otters" and "Wolves'"

patrols has to thank Sir Silas for a good start in life.

At all important Headquarter functions, Sir Silas will generally be

found. He is never tired of expressing his high appreciation of the

movement, and seems to take a delight in relating the circumstances

under which his opinion changed, and how he had reason to be proud of

certain members of his firm--the former Scouts of Seal Island.

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Transcriber's Notes:

This book contains a number of misprints.

The following misprints have been corrected:

[anything unforeseen occur] ->

[anything unforeseen occurs]

[the dust-grimmed members] ->

[the dust-grimed members]

[ordered Mr. Bulkley] ->

[ordered Mr. Buckley] (this error occurs twice)

[embarassing] ->

[embarrassing]

[chosing] ->

[choosing]

A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are

not mentioned here.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Scouts of Seal Island, by Percy F. Westerman