THE MATCHBOX
The dead leaves were driving round Appleyard before a boisterous wind
that lashed the granite walls with bitter rain. A fire had been
lighted in the drawing-room, and Staffer sat talking to his sister.
Mrs. Woodhouse was a quiet woman, generally content to remain in the
background; and the influence she exercised at Appleyard was, as a
rule, negative. She rarely claimed authority, even over her daughter,
or openly interfered, but the things she disapproved of were seldom
done. Now her usually placid face was firm.
The drawing-room door was open, and she watched Williamson, who stood
near Elsie in the hall. His pose was gracefully easy as he smiled at a
remark of the girl's. He looked suave and well-bred, but Mrs.
Woodhouse's expression hardened.
"Will that man be here long?" she asked, when Williamson and Elsie
moved away.
Staffer gave her a quick glance. It was desirable that his relations
with Williamson should be cordial, but of late his guest had shown
some reserve. It was so slight that Staffer, knowing of no cause for
their disagreement, felt it instinctively rather than noticed it by
any particular sign. For all that, something had come between them,
and he wondered whether his sister was to blame for this.
"It looks as if you didn't wish him to stay," he said.
"I don't. His society is not good for Dick."
Staffer smiled, though he was puzzled. On his last visit Williamson
had rather avoided Dick.
"He can't do him much harm; and, after all, it does not look as if
Dick would marry Elsie, as we once thought was possible."
"No; Elsie will not marry him, and I would not wish it, if she were
willing."
Staffer was somewhat surprised.
"Then why need you bother about him?" he said. "If he indulges in
foolish extravagances, it's his affair."
She looked at Staffer with a listless expression.
"I don't think you would understand; but I do not want him to come to
harm."
"Well, there's something else to talk about. It won't be long before
Dick is his own master, and we must leave Appleyard. This will make a
big difference, because our means are small and Elsie has been taught
no profession. What will she do then, unless she marries somebody?"
"I do not know," Mrs. Woodhouse answered in a placid tone.
Staffer mastered his impatience, for his sister sometimes baffled him,
and there was a matter of importance about which he wished to sound
her.
"I'm sorry you seem to have a prejudice against Williamson. Is it only
on Dick's account?"
"No; I feel that he may bring trouble to us all. We were happier
before his visits began. There is a difference now at Appleyard, and I
don't like mystery. Why does he call himself Williamson?"
"Ah! You imagine it is not his name?"
"I have known for some time that it is not."
Staffer felt disturbed. His sister had been shrewder than he expected,
and he wondered whether anybody else shared her suspicions; but her
statement gave him the lead he wanted.
"Well," he said, "I dare say you can see that to use his proper name
just now might make things unpleasant for him."
"He did not use it when he first came here, and nobody would have
minded it then."
"I'm not certain; these Scots are prejudiced against foreigners; but
it's hard to see why you should dislike the man because he is one of
us." He paused and looked at her reproachfully. "Have you forgotten
the people you belong to, Gretchen, and where you were born?"
Mrs. Woodhouse's face was troubled, but there was a hint of firmness
in her voice as she answered.
"I have not forgotten. But when I married I knew I must choose between
my country and my husband's; one could not belong to both. I chose
his; his people became mine. He was a good man--I think there are not
many like him--and I was happy. When he died, I tried to bring up his
daughter as he would have her."
"You succeeded. Elsie is a Scot," Staffer remarked with a sneer.
Something in her face warned him that his sister was not to be moved.
It was seldom she had shown him her deeper feelings, but she had a
mother's heart, against which he could not prevail. She might have
made him a useful if not altogether conscious ally, but that idea must
be dropped. He had been beaten by a fundamental quality in human
nature; and he was half afraid he had said too much.
"Well," he added, "I'll be content if you treat Williamson as you
would any other guest. You needn't go beyond this, if you'd rather
not."
She turned and gave him a steady glance.
"I wish you had nothing to do with him, Arnold--I feel he's dangerous.
But I will be polite to him, so long as he does not harm Dick."
"That's all I want," said Staffer, turning away.
He entered the billiard-room where the others had gathered. Elsie was
knitting, Dick and Andrew were playing, and Williamson stood looking
on. Staffer thought this strange, because Andrew did not play well,
and Williamson had generally engaged Dick in a game for a stake.
"Making stockings now!" Staffer said to Elsie. "Whom is this lot for?"
"The Border regiment."
"The men who're lucky enough to get them ought to feel flattered,"
Williamson interposed.
"The brave soldiers are entitled to the best we can send them," Elsie
said staunchly.
Williamson carelessly examined the work.
"This is very neat. Knitting's an essentially Scottish accomplishment.
It's useful, which no doubt appeals to a race of utilitarian
character."
"That's why I like it," Elsie declared. "I am Scottish in all my
habits and feelings, you know."
Whitney thought there was something defiant in her voice, but he could
not tell whether Williamson noticed it.
When the game was finished, Whitney took out a cigarette and walked
to a match-holder, which he knew was empty.
"Will you give me a light?" he asked Williamson.
"Certainly," said Williamson, producing a well-made gun-metal case,
which he immediately returned to his pocket. "I think I used the last
there, but I have a box somewhere."
He handed Whitney an ordinary card box containing pine matches.
"Thank you."
As Whitney returned the box he noticed that Andrew was watching them.
Then he glanced quickly at Elsie, but she was quietly knitting, with
her eyes on the stitches.
A few minutes afterward a servant brought in the afternoon edition of
a Glasgow newspaper. Staffer glanced at the front page and then sat
down near one of the lamps. There was a certain deliberation in his
movements that Whitney noticed, though he admitted that he might not
have done so had not the matchbox incident roused him to suspicious
vigilance. He thought Staffer was waiting for something, and in a
moment or two Williamson left Dick and turned toward him.
Then Staffer folded back the newspaper.
"The A. & P. liner _Centaur_ has gone down in the North Channel," he
announced calmly.
Whitney started, Dick abruptly put down his cue, and Andrew's face
grew hard.
"Do you mean that she was blown up?" Elsie asked with a note of horror
in her voice.
"It looks so; but there's not much news yet."
Staffer began to read:
"The captain of the Clyde coaster _Gannet_ reports
that when he was off the Skerries near dark one of the
big A. & P. liners passed him at some distance to the
north. It was blowing fresh, and hazy, but when the
vessel was almost out of sight he noticed a dense
cloud of smoke. He ran to the box on the bridge-rail,
where he kept his glasses, but when he got them out
the liner had disappeared. He steered for the spot
where he had last seen her, but it was dark when he
reached it, and after steaming about for some time,
and seeing nothing but a quantity of wreckage, he made
for Rathlin and megaphoned the lighthouse-keepers
before proceeding. An unconfirmed report from Larne
states that a fishing craft passed a steamer's
lifeboat, but lost her in the dark. The _Centaur_, a
large and nearly new steamer, left Montreal with wheat
and a number of passengers eight days ago."
Nobody spoke for a minute after he put down the newspaper, and Whitney
lighted a cigarette to cover his excitement. The news was startling,
but he thought it did not take Staffer or Williamson by surprise.
There was something curious in their expression. Andrew's face,
however, had grown very stern; and Elsie's was angrily flushed.
"This is not war, but murder!" she exclaimed. "The men who blow up
unarmed vessels ought to be severely punished."
"When you catch them," Staffer answered. "I expect that it will prove
difficult; and I'm afraid we must be prepared for some nasty knocks."
"It's rather exasperating to be hit hard where you flatter yourself
you're secure against attack," Williamson remarked. "The Admiralty
must have thought the North Channel safe."
"It _is_ except against treachery," Elsie declared. "Don't you think
so, Andrew?"
"I do," said Andrew quietly. "It's narrow and commanded by lighthouses
and coastguard stations; though perhaps, in a way, its narrowness is a
danger. But we must see that this kind of thing doesn't happen again."
"How would you try to prevent it?" Staffer asked, with a calmness that
was somewhat overdone.
Whitney gave Andrew a careless glance, and was relieved to note that
his grim look had vanished. Andrew's views on this subject would be
worth having, but it was obvious that he did not mean to state them.
"I'm not a navy officer," he answered and turned to Elsie. "One feels
that it won't bear talking about."
"Yes," she agreed, with a flash in her eyes. "There's no use in giving
way to rage when one is hurt. The best one can do after a treacherous
blow is to keep very quiet and wait until the time comes to strike
back."
"There's a true Scot!" laughed Staffer. "You're a stubborn,
unemotional race. I wouldn't like to fall into your hands if I'd
wronged your friends."
"The Scots are just: they repay both injuries and favors."
Then, by general consent, they talked about something else; and after
a time the others went out, and Whitney and Elsie were left alone. He
suspected that she had meant this to happen, but he was surprised by
her first question.
"Have you a bad memory?"
"I like to think that it's as good as my neighbor's."
"Then it's strange you lighted a cigarette with a match from your own
box after asking Mr. Williamson for his."
"Well, by jove!" Whitney exclaimed. "Do you think he noticed it?"
Elsie's eyes twinkled.
"No; he had his back toward you when you began the next cigarette. But
why did you ask for a match when you had some?"
Whitney looked at her frankly.
"I'd rather you didn't press me for an answer," he said.
"Why? Do you mean you wouldn't tell me?"
"Yes. And I shouldn't like to refuse."
Elsie smiled.
"You're not a good plotter. It was easy to catch you out."
"So it seems. But if I'm not as smart as I ought to be, I mean well."
"I don't doubt it, and I have some reason for trusting you. I think
you're a good friend of Dick's and Andrew's; and their friends are
mine."
"Thank you! But Williamson's by way of being a friend of Dick's."
"Oh, no; he only pretends he is. You must know this."
"Suppose we admit it. Don't you think Andrew's able to take care of
his cousin?"
"I'm glad he has your help."
"Perhaps it's more important that he has yours. We're three to one,
and that ought to be enough."
Elsie's face was calm, but she was silent for a moment, and Whitney
thought she was trying to hide some embarrassment.
"Tell me," she said, "was it on Dick's account you asked Williamson
for a match?"
"No; that is, not directly. I can't tell you anything more; but since
we are friends, can you arrange that there are no matches put beside
the bedroom candles?"
"The man is our guest," Elsie said with some hesitation. "Still
perhaps one mustn't be fastidious when--"
"When there's a good deal at stake--Dick's welfare, for one thing."
"Very well," Elsie promised.
An hour later the party broke up. They used oil-lamps at Appleyard,
and at night a row of candles in old-fashioned brass holders were
placed upon a table on the bedroom landing. As a rule, a few
matchboxes were put beside them; but sometimes this was overlooked.
Williamson went upstairs first, and stopped on reaching the table.
"Matches run out here, too!" he said to Whitney, who was close behind
him. "Shall I light your candle?"
Whitney's hand moved toward his pocket, but he remembered in time.
"Thanks!" he answered carelessly. "Perhaps you had better light the
lot."
Williamson took out the gun-metal box and struck a small pine match.
"I filled it up again," he remarked. "I always like to have matches
handy in an old-fashioned house."
"It's a good plan," Whitney agreed, and went away with his candle.
Five minutes later he opened Andrew's door and found him standing by
the window.
"Come in! I'm thinking about that Canadian boat."
"So I expected," Whitney answered meaningly. "But we'll take the other
matter first. Seems to me they're connected."
"The matchbox matter? I don't know whether it was a clever trick or
not, but I'd like to hear your views."
"Well," Whitney laughed, "I'm not so smart as I thought. Elsie soon
tripped me up."
Andrew frowned.
"Then she saw you? She understands?"
"Something. I don't know how much, but I'm free to admit that she's
cleverer than either of us. However, one thing's obvious: Williamson
took care to have a box that would hold a good many matches and keep
them dry. It's curious that he didn't shake it before he said it was
empty. Anyhow, he overdid the thing. If he had given me a thick wax
match like those we found on board the wreck, it wouldn't have proved
much; while his anxiety to show he used the small pine kind strikes me
as significant."
"Elsie must be kept out of all this," Andrew said firmly.
"Then I guess you'll have to keep her out; I'm not up to Miss
Woodhouse's mark. Did you notice Staffer's attempt to learn if you
knew much about the North Channel?"
"Yes; but we'll let that go for the present. The A. & P. boat was
mined or torpedoed. What are we to do?"
Whitney hesitated.
"To begin with," he said, "you must make up your mind right now how
far you are willing to go. You're proud of being a Johnstone, and put
the good name of the family pretty high."
"Yes," answered Andrew slowly; "that is true. These, however, are
personal reasons, and don't come first. You can take it for granted
that I'm ready to go as far as is needful for the good of my country,
regardless of--of any one at Appleyard."
"Then we must try to find Rankine and tell him what we suspect."
"Very well," said Andrew. "We'll sail on the ebb in the morning."
Whitney made a sign of agreement and went away. Andrew had not
hesitated about his decision, but Whitney knew it had cost him
something.