Freda fancied that the long-drawn breath which escaped her as she
recognised the man must attract his attention. But he was too intent
upon the enjoyment of the strong spirit, which he kept pouring from a
huge stone bottle into a cracked tumbler, to have eyes or ears for the
little eavesdropper in the corner. A horrible idea flashed into her
mind as she crouched again in her hiding-place: Was this grinning
creature, with the hideous face of an ape, the father she had waited
to know so long? A shiver of horror ran through her as she remembered
how this would tally with the facts she knew: with the dread in which
her father was held, with her belief that he was in hiding about the
house, and with the airs of proprietorship which this man was
assuming.
Even as these unwelcome thoughts pressed into her mind, the man got
up, and confirming her fears by his tone of authority, stamped upon
the floor and called down the opening in a loud voice:
“Hallo! Anybody there yet? Kelk! Harrison!”
There was no answer, and he walked up and down, swearing to himself
impatiently. Presently a muffled sound came from below, and he called
out again.
“Aye, aye, sir,” said a hoarse voice.
“Is that you, Braim?” asked the man above.
“Aye, sir.”
“Anybody else with you?”
“Theer be fower on us, sir.”
“All right. Close up, and I’ll be down with you in a minute.”
There were sounds now in the cellar below of several men moving about
and talking in low tones. Then the man above moved back a step or two
from the opening in the floor; and Freda, whose curiosity had grown
stronger than her caution, peeped out far enough to see him take from
a shelf a small revolver, which he secreted about his person. Then he
lowered the rope-ladder, let himself down into the cellar by it, and
immediately threw it up again so deftly that it landed safely on the
floor he had left. Freda heard a chorus of demands for “soomat to warm
them,” and by the sounds which followed she could soon tell that
drinking had begun. Being now able to lift her head without fear, she
could make out a good deal of their talk, although the strong dialect
in which all but the leader spoke often puzzled her. As the talk went
on and the drink went round, the men seemed to get more and more
excited; but just as they had done at the “Barley Mow,” they lowered
their voices as they grew warm in discussion, until Freda, whose
interest and curiosity had become deeply excited, crept softly out of
her hiding-place, and crawling to the opening in the floor, listened
with her head only just out of the men’s sight.
They were talking about some person against whom they had a grudge,
using oaths and threats which, although strange and new to Freda,
shocked her by their coarseness. At last her curiosity to see them
grew so great that she was impelled to glance down stealthily at the
group below. The men were seated at a rough deal table, over which
they leaned and sprawled, with their heads close together, in eager
converse. It was some moments before she got a view of any of the
faces; at last, however, two of them raised their heads a little, and
she instantly recognised one as a little wrinkled, oldish-looking man,
who wore rings in his ears and walked with the cat-like tread of one
accustomed to go barefoot, whom she had seen at the “Barley Mow.”
“Ah tell ye,” he was now saying, “it’s’ t’ same now as were at t’
‘Barley Mow’ on t’ neght when train was snawed oop. Barnaby Ugthorpe
fund him aht, and tawd me abaht it hissen.”
Freda forgot to draw back; her breath came with difficulty: this man
against whom they were using such hideous threats must be her friend,
John Thurley. From this moment, every word they uttered assumed for
her a terrible significance.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt your information is right enough,” said the leader,
who used fewer words than the rest, “the question is whether he hasn’t
found out too much for it to be any good interfering with him. You
see, he’s been about the neighbourhood some time now, keeping very
quiet, and he may have picked up and sent off to London enough
information to do for all the lot of us; in that case a bullet or two
through his hide would only increase the unpleasantness of our
position.”
“Aye, aye, Captain, but Ah’ve kep’ a eye upon him, to see what he were
up to. A pal of mine done that business for me, an’ as fur as we mak’
aht, he hasn’t done mooch correspondering, an’ nothing
suspicious-loike. Ah’ve a pal in t’ poast-office, as Ah have moast
pleaces, an’ ye can tak’ my word for’t.”
“An’ now we’ve fahnd him aht spying at us from t’ scaur, as we did
yesterneght, Ah seay it’s high toime as a stop wur put to his goings
on, an’ it’s not loike ye, Capt’n, to seay neay to that.”
“I don’t say nay to that,” said the little withered man, with an ugly
grin on his face. “You know me better. But no good ever comes of using
violent means until you’ve tried all others. I’ll be on the scaur
myself to-night and watch.”
Freda stared down at the group, fascinated with horror. There was a
brutal callousness of look and tone in these men which made her feel
as if she were watching a cageful of wild beasts. Every line of their
weather-beaten faces, dimly as she saw them by the light of two
flaring tallow candles, seemed to her to be eloquent of the risks and
dangers of a hardening and brutalising life. And the face which looked
the most repulsive of all was that of the leader. Was he her father?
The girl prayed that it might not be true. Although his speech was so
much more correct than that of the rest as to mark him as belonging to
a higher class, his voice was coarse and thick, and his manner furtive
and restless. Even the faint twinkle of humour which was visible in
the eyes of the wizened informer, James Braim, was absent from those
of his chief. Those few words, in which he said that he would watch on
the scaur that night, filled Freda with more anxiety for John
Thurley’s safety than all the coarse threats and menacing gestures of
the other three men.
“Goin’ to unload to-night, Capt’n?” asked one man.
The leader nodded.
“Must. Here’s three nights we’ve wasted hanging about, on account of
the scare about this spy, whoever he is. So to-night you’ll get to
work, and I’ll keep the lookout, and if anybody’s fool enough to be
loafing about where he’s not wanted when he ought to be in bed, why,
he can’t in fairness complain if he gets--sent home.”
He paused significantly before the last two words, and a low murmur of
appreciation and amusement went round the group. Then the talk was
carried on in short whispers, and Freda was presently seized with the
fancy that some of the questions and answers exchanged referred to
her. For the men talked about some woman, and all the questions were
directed to the repulsive-looking leader, who after some minutes rose,
with a remark a little louder than the previous talk.
“She won’t interfere with any of us much longer, at any rate. We can’t
afford to keep spies in the camp. Now, lads, it’s time for business.
Get off to the yacht, and to business as fast as you can. I’ll be down
on the scaur in less than half an hour.”
The men pushed back their seats without delay, Kelk alone venturing on
a grumbling word of remonstrance. And then, still watching closely
from above, Freda saw a very strange occurrence. The bare, ill-lighted
cellar grew empty of all except the leader as if by magic, the men
seeming to disappear into the bowels of the earth. As she looked,
bending her head lower and lower with straining eyes to spy out the
reason of this, Freda involuntarily drew a long breath of amazement.
The solitary man left in the cellar looked up, as he was in the act of
filling his own glass once more from the stone jar. The girl drew back
with a cry, for a look of intense malignity passed over the man’s
wrinkled face.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed very quietly, blinking up at her, “so it’s you,
is it? Playing the spy as usual?”
He muttered an oath below his breath, and came close under the opening
in the floor.
“Just throw down that rope,” he continued peremptorily.
“What rope?” asked Freda, trembling.
“Come, you know well enough. You haven’t got eyes in your head for
nothing.” He paused, but Freda remained motionless. “Now then,” he
added with a sudden access of anger and a stamp of his foot on the
stone floor, “throw down the rope-ladder I came down by. Do you
understand that?”
But Freda only attempted to get away. Excited by anger and drink, the
man took from his belt a revolver, which he pointed up at her. This
action, strangely enough, checked Freda’s impulse to retreat. She
looked down at him straightforwardly and fearlessly, eye to eye.
“Do you think you can make me obey you by shooting me?” she asked
simply.
“I think you are a d----d ungrateful little chit,” answered the man
sullenly. But he lowered the weapon in his hand.
“Ungrateful!” faltered Freda, the great fear rising again in her
heart. “Ungrateful!” she repeated. “Then you are--are you--my father?”
“Of course I am,” he answered sullenly. “Pretty filial instincts you
seem to have!”
Freda was overwhelmed. For a few moments she sat transfixed, looking
down on this newly-found parent with undisguised horror.
“Well, aren’t you going to obey me?” repeated he with rather less
ferocity of tone.
“Yes,” whispered Freda hoarsely.
She drew back a step or two from the opening in the floor, and began
to grope about with cold, clammy fingers for the rope-ladder. At last
she found it and threw it down.
If she had not been so benumbed with amazement and grief at this
discovery, she would have been frightened by the savage exclamation
with which the man set his foot on the ladder. As it was, she heard
nothing, saw nothing until she suddenly felt herself pulled up by the
arm. Dragged to her feet against her will, paralysed with alarm, she
turned to see the grinning, withered face held close to hers, full of
spite and malignity.
“Now,” said he, “I’m going to give you a lesson for your
disobedience.”
With a shudder and a low cry, Freda struggled with him, avoiding the
meeting with his eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Don’t. I wish to remember my
obedience, my duty. I can’t if you treat me like a dog.”
He gave a short, rasping laugh.
“I sha’n’t do that,” he said. “I respect a dog.”
At the brutal words and tone, Freda, by a sudden movement, wrenched
herself free for an instant, and looked him steadily in the face.
“Now,” she said, “I know that you have been deceiving me. You are not
my father!”
“We’ll see about that. Come here.”
He seized her by the right wrist, giving it such a violent twist that
she cried out with pain. “Now if you struggle any more or cry out,
I’ll just give you a broken arm to match your broken leg.”
He gave her arm another wrench to prove that his threat was not an
idle one, and the girl with difficulty suppressed a moan. Just as he
gripped her arm more tightly to inflict further punishment for this
insubordination, a change came quite suddenly over his face; he
dropped her arm at once, and sliding over the floor as stealthily and
rapidly as a cat, he ran down the rope-ladder, and disappeared from
view just as his four subordinates had done.
Freda was bewildered, and not one whit relieved at his disappearance.
It only seemed to augur some fresh misfortune. As she stood where he
had left her, dazed, miserable, still nursing her arm for the pain,
she heard another step behind her. Her endurance had been tried too
much; she could not face a fresh enemy, as she believed the newcomer
to be. Putting her hands before her face, she turned and stepped
backwards, away from him, murmuring broken entreaties, interrupted by
sobs. As she retreated, she felt that the intruder was pursuing her,
and fled faster and faster.
“Stop, child, stop,” cried at last a voice she knew. At the same
moment she felt that she had gone a step too far, and was falling
through the opening in the floor. But even as she felt this, strong
arms were thrown round her, and she found herself in a warm clasp of
kindliness. Opening her eyes, she saw who her preserver was, saw too
that his eyes were full of tenderness.
“Crispin! Crispin!” she cried.
But the next moment, with a wild shriek, she flung her arms round his
neck in a passionate embrace.
“No, no, not Crispin, you are not really Crispin! You--are--_my
father!_” she sobbed out with a burst of hysterical tears and
laughter.