A FALSE ALARM
Heavy rains lashed the windows at Appleyard and a wild west wind
buffeted the house. Between the gusts one could hear the wail of
storm-tossed trees and the distant roar of the flood tide foaming
across the Solway sands. It was, however, warm and bright within the
thick granite walls, and Andrew lounged in a corner of the
billiard-room after dinner, watching Elsie knit. She was making a
soldier's woolen belt, and he noted the precise neatness of the work.
Elsie was conscientious in all she did, but he thought this view of
the matter did not go far enough. The care with which she linked up
the stitches was deepened by love.
"It will be a lucky man who gets the belt," he remarked. "We must hope
he isn't by any chance one of our enemies."
Elsie looked up with a smile.
"After all, I wouldn't mind that very much, so long as he needed it.
It must be dreadful to lie out, cold and hungry, in the snow."
"It is," said Andrew. "I've done something of the kind. Of course
you're right; but ordinary people would rather help their own side,
particularly when the other seems to be singularly unchivalrous."
He stopped as he saw a tinge of color creep into her face; but she
quietly met his apologetic glance.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt. I do remember sometimes, that, in a
sense, I belong to the other side."
"You can't help that, and you're Scottish to the backbone in all that
matters."
Elsie's eyes twinkled.
"You're not making it much better, but perhaps you'd lose something if
you were not so frank. One distrusts people who always say the proper
thing."
Andrew glanced at a well-dressed, handsome man who was playing
billiards with Dick. He came to Appleyard for a day or two now and
then, and had been there when Andrew arrived from Canada.
"Does that mean you don't quite trust Williamson? I've sometimes
wondered whether it's his right name."
Elsie looked thoughtful and answered with some hesitation:
"I don't think it is. He hasn't a trace of foreign accent and his ways
are ours, but I can't help feeling that he does not belong to us. Then
I've noticed that he never talks to Mother much. But of course it's
only changing his name that matters, not where he was born. Our
enemies are not all treacherous and cruel. You have seen the portraits
Mother has of her own people, and three or four were soldiers. They
have kind, true faces. I think they were men with an unusual sense of
duty."
"You see what's best in everybody," Andrew replied. "But if there are
good fellows on the other side, why do they behave like savages?"
"Ah!" said Elsie, and was silent for a few moments.
Andrew glanced at his cousin, who had soon recovered from his fall.
He was now chalking his cue, and his eyes had an excited glitter. A
syphon and a whisky bottle stood on a table near by, and Andrew
wondered whether Elsie had noticed that Dick's glass was full again.
"I'll beat you if I can make that cannon," Dick was saying.
"Half a sovereign you don't; but you had better not take me,"
Williamson replied. "It would need a professional's stroke."
Andrew surmised that they were not playing for mere amusement.
"You can't do it, Dick!" Whitney said; and his tone was restraining,
while Andrew imagined that Williamson's was meant to be provocative.
Dick raised his glass and put it down again half empty before he
poised his cue.
"Watch me!"
He made the cannon; but something in his hot face suggested that it
had been a nervous strain, and he turned to the table at once to
refill his glass.
"Now," he said, "I think the game is mine."
His play was clever, but Andrew, watching closely, imagined that
Williamson was not doing quite his best. It was difficult to say what
gave him the impression, but he was a judge of matters that needed
accurate judgment and steadiness of hand. Williamson was cool and
skilful, but he missed a cannon he ought to have made, and there was a
break he bungled. It looked as if he did not want to win. That was
curious, for Andrew did not think he felt any hesitation about taking
Dick's money.
Dick reached out for his glass without turning round, and Whitney,
standing behind him, neatly struck the bottle with his elbow in
stepping back. It rolled across the table, upsetting the glass, and
fell upon the floor.
"I'm sorry," he apologized simply.
Dick regarded him with an ironical grin. "I'll have to ring for
another," he said.
Andrew wondered how much Elsie understood; and he was not deceived by
her unchanged expression. Elsie was quick and did not always show her
feelings.
"You made some brilliant strokes, but your play's a bit erratic,"
Williamson said to Dick. "It might be worth your while to study some
of the good professionals. That reminds me, there's an interesting
semi-private match next Thursday, and I've friends at the club."
He mentioned two players whom Andrew had heard of, and the door opened
while he added something about the match. Andrew was watching his
cousin and did not look up, and it was a few moments later when he saw
that Staffer had come in.
"I've been suggesting that Dick should come to town to-morrow,"
Williamson said. "I can show him some good billiards."
"I can't stop him, although I imagine he'd better stay at home,"
Staffer answered with a smile. "As he has been warned to keep regular
hours and that sort of thing, it's possible that the excursion might
not be good for him. Dick's rather too keen a sportsman."
Andrew could find no obvious fault with Staffer's reply. On the
surface, it was tactful; but something in his manner made it inciting
instead of deterrent.
"You arranged to take us snipe-shooting on Wednesday," he reminded his
cousin.
"So I did," Dick admitted. "Still, we could fix another day. We might
get a woodcock if we waited a bit."
"I'm keen on snipe," Whitney interposed. "Besides, we're going down
the coast again at the end of the week."
Staffer gave him a quick glance and Dick seemed to hesitate.
"That makes a difference; but you could go without me. I'm not a crack
shot."
"You know all about snipe, and where to find a cock," Andrew insisted.
"They ought to be here now and it's a long time since I bagged one."
"Oh, well!" said Dick. "You mustn't be disappointed, and we'll try to
show Whitney the best sport we can."
Elsie looked at Andrew and he saw that she was grateful; but Staffer
came across to where he sat.
"I met Marshall, the salmon fisher, in Annan, and he mentioned that
they had run the Burnfoot boats up this afternoon," he said. "There
was a big surf last high-water, and he asked if you had been down to
the yacht. It looked as if he thought you ought to go."
Andrew turned to Whitney.
"Is the motorcycle all right, Jim?"
"Take the car," suggested Staffer. "Watson won't have housed her yet."
They started in three or four minutes; but it was not the _Rowan_ that
Andrew thought about as the big car throbbed at full speed through the
dark. He had kept Dick at Appleyard, and Williamson would be gone
to-morrow, which was something to the good, because Dick was apt to
get out of hand when the man was there. Andrew thought he made rash
bets with him, and he certainly drank more than usual. It was his duty
to look after Dick; but it was getting harder to do so for Elsie's
sake, and at times when he thought of his task in this light he had to
master a feeling of bitterness. Dick was not good enough for Elsie.
Still, if she really loved him, she would be able to keep him
straight. He knew the protective tenderness she felt for him. This
might be different from the love she could give a lover; but Andrew
would not follow up that line of thought. It might lead to false hopes
and to shabby conduct of which he would always be ashamed.
It was near high-water when they left the car at the end of a miry
road and struggled across a common to the beach. The roar of the sea
filled the air and driving sand stung their faces, but they carried
the dinghy down and, wading out some distance through the surf, got on
board. After a few minutes' hard pulling they reached the yacht, and
Andrew looked about while he felt the cable.
"The anchor's holding, but perhaps we'd better take the kedge farther
out," he said.
It cost them half an hour's hard work; for they had to follow up the
heavy warp while angry, broken waves splashed into the dinghy; and
then, after tearing the anchor out of the sand, they had to row some
distance against the drag of the rope. At last, however, Andrew was
satisfied.
"I'm not sure all that was necessary, but it was wiser to make things
safe," he said, when they carried the dinghy up on the shore.
Whitney did not answer, and as they passed a sod cabin on the common a
man came out.
"Is that you, Jock?" Andrew asked. "It's a wild night, and when Mr.
Staffer told me what you said I thought I'd come down to see how the
boat was riding."
"It's wild enough," agreed the fisherman; and Whitney recognized him
as the man who had come on board on the morning after their arrival.
"What was it Mr. Staffer said?"
"I can't remember exactly, but I understood you thought the boat might
drag."
"Weel, I wouldna' say that was impossible, but ye hae good ground
tackle."
Whitney looked hard at him, but he could not see the Scot's face well.
"And Mr. Staffer sent ye off in his car to see if she was a' right?"
Marshall chuckled.
"I don't know that he sent us. He said we could use the car."
"He's a thoughtful man, but I wouldna' say Watson would be
pleased--he'd be wanting to wash her. Onyway, ye needna' fash about
the boat. I'll be here until the tide rins doon and if onything needs
doing, I'll see til it."
"Thanks," said Andrew. "Do you know if one of the whammel boats has
gone west?"
"Yin's gone; I dinna ken where. A shooting man frae Edinbro' bought
Tarn Grahame's _Nance_. Him and another took her off soon after ye
came."
"How do you know he was an Edinburgh man?"
"There was a Waverley label on his portmanteau and he didna' speak
like us. Still, I alloo it might have been Inverness."
"And the man who was with him?"
"Ye canna' tell where a man comes frae when he keeps his mouth shut,
but he was a sailor by the way he handilt the gear."
Andrew asked no more questions, and they went back to the car. When
they reached Appleyard Dick met them in the hall.
"I've found a way of letting you have your shooting," he said in an
apologetic tone. "Young Ross will go with you. There isn't a snipe in
the mosses he doesn't know about. If there's any sport to be had,
he'll see you get it."
"I suppose this means you're going with Williamson?"
"I really want to go, if you don't mind very much. I may be back
before you leave and you'll only be away a week."
"That's so," said Andrew, "Well, you'd better bear in mind what the
doctor told you."
He moved on, frowning, and presently found Elsie in the drawing-room.
"I did my best, but Dick's going with Williamson," he said. "You
didn't want him to?"
"No," she answered frankly, but with some embarrassment. "Of course,
there's no obvious reason for our interfering."
"That was my difficulty. Dick will soon be master here. I'm only his
guest, and Williamson is a friend of Staffer's. Nobody knows anything
against the man."
"And yet--" Elsie stopped.
"I'm vexed? You can take it that I don't like to be beaten,
particularly by my youthful cousin," Andrew answered with a smile,
wishing to allay her uneasiness.
Staffer and Mrs. Woodhouse came in then; and when the party broke up
for the night, Whitney went with Andrew to his room.
"I guess you noticed the coincidences that happened this evening," he
said, sitting on the broad window-seat and lighting a cigarette.
"I feel rather annoyed by Dick, if that is what you mean," Andrew
replied in a discouraging tone.
Whitney smiled.
"Not altogether that. One,"--enumerating them on his fingers--"you try
to stop his going with the fellow and just about put it over. Two,
Staffer mentions the boat and rushes us off in his car. Three,
Marshall says the boat's all right and hints Staffer may have mistaken
his remarks. Four, we return and find that Dick has changed his plans.
Five,--"
"Oh, I'll admit that Staffer is a clever fellow," Andrew interrupted.
"I've known that for some time."
"I've an idea that Mackellar's on his trail; and--well, if you need
me, I'm ready. You're playing a straight game, and I want you to win.
It would be a fine thing for you to save Dick; and Elsie expects it of
you. Then, Staffer knows he's up against you. Keep it at that; it's
quite enough for the present."
"You mean there's something else going on?" Andrew said in a curiously
quiet voice.
"Of course! But you want to let Staffer think you're only fighting him
for your cousin. He can understand that and won't suspect you of
guessing he's engaged in another game. I'll play up to you as much as
I can. Staffer doesn't take much stock in me."
"But what object can he have?"
"Can't say," Whitney answered non-committally. "But he may be forced
to show his hand. Well, I'll get along to bed."
Dick started for London with Williamson the next morning; and he let
himself go when he got there. With his companion's help, he spent
several days and the greater part of several nights in exciting
amusements and adventures. It was not often the sparkling cup of
pleasure was held out to him full, and he drained it to the dregs. As
one result of this, he did not feel quite up to the mark; but Dick was
something of a philosopher and knew that one cannot get anything
without payment. Besides, if quietness was good for him, it was to be
had in abundance at Appleyard.
For all that, when he left Euston at midnight, a reaction had begun,
and he wondered whether he had made the pace too hot. On reflection,
however, he suspected that it had rather been made for him and he had
tactfully been encouraged to fall into his companion's stride. Well,
he had had a glorious time; but he wished his head did not ache so
badly and he could get rid of the unpleasant, shaky feeling that
troubled him, because there was some business he must talk over with
Williamson before they reached Rugby.
"We had better get things settled now," he said. "Your friend,
Marsden, has my note for thirty pounds, but you paid the other
fellows, as well as for that supper, and the hotel bill. How much am I
in?"
Williamson took out his notebook, and Dick got a shock.
"Forty pounds in an evening!" he exclaimed. "I knew I was going it,
but this is a bit of a facer. With all the other things, it's a pretty
hot pace; especially as I have just half a sovereign left."
"You needn't be disturbed about it. Your promise is good enough; I can
wait."
"We can't leave it at that," Dick objected, and added with a forced
grin: "Besides, you might have to wait some time."
"Then what do you propose?"
Dick wished his head were clearer, for he was getting dizzy.
"I thought you might see Craven and arrange the thing with him. Of
course, he's holding a good lot of my paper, but he gets good
interest."
Williamson produced a fountain pen and a sheet of paper.
"Very well. As it happens, I expect to meet him to-morrow."
It struck Dick that the man was suspiciously prompt; indeed he seemed
to have been waiting for the request.
Dick suddenly felt as if he were suffocating; he could not breathe,
and his dizziness was turning to blackness. He threw up the window and
leaned his head on the sill, gasping once or twice. It was a dark
night and the express was traveling fast. Its lights sped smoothly
along the black hedgerows beside the line and flashed across water
lying on swampy fields. Blurred trees raced past, twinkling points
were suddenly pricked in the obscurity a mile away and then rushed
back and vanished, and a faint glimmer flickered in the sky ahead.
Dick thought this marked Rugby, and sitting back again, he tried to
pull himself together.
"I'll make it enough to cover everything and put us straight," he said
as he took the pen.
He found writing difficult, for the bracing effect of the cold wind
was wearing off, but the note was written and Williamson carefully put
it into his pocket-book before looking at his watch.
"We're due in a few minutes," he said. "Will you get down and have a
drink? You don't look very fit."
"No," Dick answered. "If I'd had fewer drinks in town I'd probably
feel better now."
The speed began to slacken and Williamson collected his belongings.
Dick handed him his coat as the train stopped, but did not shake hands
with him. Somehow he felt he would rather not. After a careless
good-by, Williamson jumped down, and Dick sat in a corner, struggling
against the faintness that was overcoming him. He would feel better
when the train started, but he must be alone; he could not have people
looking at him while he felt as he did.
Nobody else got in; he heard the guard's whistle and then the engine
begin to pant. There was a jerk and the lights on the platform drifted
past; but his head was reeling and he could not get his breath.
Falling away from the corner, he made a half-conscious effort to keep
on the seat, and for some time afterward he remembered nothing.
He was roused by a rattle that swelled into a roar; and, getting up
shakily, he saw the lights of a station flash past. There were other
lights all around, running back into the distance in rows, while the
red glow of fires that streamed above the roofs seemed to indicate a
manufacturing town. Dick noted this vacantly, for he felt weak and
cold. They must be in Lancashire, and he had lain in a dead faint for
a long time. With difficulty he pulled up the window and got back to
his corner.
"If this kind of thing happens often, the fellows who hold my notes
will get a painful shock," he thought, with a wry smile, and closed
his eyes.