A WARNING
Staffer and Williamson sat in the library at Appleyard. It was getting
late, and the rest of the household were in bed. Williamson had gone
to his room with the others, but afterward had crept down again
quietly. He had arrived that evening, but had found it difficult to
get any private conversation with his host without making his wish to
do so rather marked; for he imagined that Miss Woodhouse was watching
him; and Whitney was constantly about. Now, however, he had said all
he thought needful, and he wondered why Staffer did not let him go.
The library was spacious and was lighted only by a shaded lamp on a
table near them. The polished floor gleamed like ice in the
illuminated circle, but everything outside this was dim, and Staffer's
face was in the shadow. The fire in the big hearth had sunk, and a
pale-blue flame that gave no light played about the embers of the
hardwood logs. The room was very quiet and getting cold.
"You'll be in town next week," Staffer said. "Can you find a good
excuse for taking Dick? A boxing or billiard match, for example."
"I don't know of anything of the kind."
"Then you surprise me. You belong to one or two smart sporting clubs."
"Sporting events are not popular just now."
"There's always something going on; and if it's semi-private, so much
the better. When one is as young as Dick, a little mystery is
inciting, and it's flattering to feel oneself a privileged person."
"No doubt. For all that, I haven't heard of any attractive fixture;
and if I invented one that didn't come off, it would make the game
obvious, even to Dick."
"I suppose this means you don't want to take him," Staffer suggested.
"Let's be frank."
"Then you are anxious that he should go?"
"For one thing, it looks as if you had rather held Dick off lately.
This is against our plans. Then, if Dick's away, Andrew and his
American friend will leave. It would be safer not to have them about."
"Your last reason's good; in fact, it's better than the other,"
Williamson said dryly. "I'm going to take no further part in
exploiting Dick."
Staffer frowned.
"That resolve will cost you something. What has led you to make it?"
"The thing is getting dangerous. We can't afford to run an unnecessary
risk, you know."
"That's true, but I don't see where the danger lies."
Williamson pondered. He had acted as Staffer's tool in leading Dick
into extravagance; but Staffer had not been straight with him.
Besides, if he now explained that Mackellar was suspicious, it would
look as if he had turned against his confederate and tried to make
terms with the bank agent.
"Dick has friends who would carefully investigate matters if he had to
admit his debts, and they might find out enough to cause us trouble.
Then, we're engaged in another business of first importance that
can't be neglected while we make plans for our private benefit. If we
fail, the consequences would be unpleasant--to say the least."
Staffer laughed. Williamson wished he could see his face, for his
amusement had a hint of a threat.
"Remarkably unpleasant! As it happens, you haven't met with much
success of late. Another man whom I needn't mention brought off the
last big stroke."
"It was not my fault; things have been dead against me, as you know."
"So it seems! But our employers expect results, not excuses." Staffer
paused and resumed: "As you have been unlucky, I thought you might
find some advantage in helping me with Dick."
Williamson saw that Staffer's remarks were connected. He was being
warned, and asked to think over his refusal; but he stood his ground.
"The advantage doesn't counterbalance the danger," he said.
"Well, I suppose that is for you to decide. Perhaps you are wise in
concentrating on your particular business. Our employers are liberal
when they're served well, but not as a rule indulgent when a post is
unsatisfactorily filled."
Williamson was silent for a moment. Staffer was, in a sense, his
superior officer; but for all that, he was expected to use his
judgment, and he foresaw danger for both if he meddled with Dick.
Still, Staffer was powerful and had given him a significant hint.
"I don't think our employers have much to complain of," Williamson
said; "and we must try to work together as far as possible."
"Just so," Staffer answered, getting up.
They separated apparently on good terms; but they were conscious of
mutual distrust.
The next morning Whitney, after trying to get into range of a flock of
curlew feeding among the sands, threw his gun upon his shoulder and
set out for the _Rowan_. The sun was bright and the breeze fresh, and
after opening the skylights to ventilate the boat, he went below to
see if their blankets were damp. While he was busy he heard a foot on
deck, and Marshall, the fisherman, came down the ladder. He visited
the yacht now and then; and Whitney at once got out the whisky bottle.
"Help yourself, but you'll excuse my not joining you," he said. "It's
rather early in the morning, and I reckon my nerves aren't as good as
yours."
Marshall poured out a liberal portion and regarded him with a twinkle.
"I'm thinking they canna' be bad since ye're shipmate with Mr. Andrew.
He's no' the man I'd sail with if I was fleyt o' the sea."
"Well, he _is_ pretty daring; but he's cautious, too, and knows
exactly what he's doing. That makes a difference."
"Ay," agreed Marshall; "Andrew Johnstone's a by-ordinar' good seaman;
but ye may run a risk ye canna' see. Tide-rips and sudden blows are
bad, but they're no' the only dangers."
Whitney lighted a cigarette. It was plain that the old fellow had a
warm liking for Andrew, and Whitney imagined he meant to give him a
hint of some kind.
"I wish you'd tell me what you mean," he said. "You want to remember
that I'm an American and not used to dark remarks. In fact, it's more
or less my habit to say what I think."
"Ye'll find it expensive whiles," Marshall rejoined with a chuckle.
"Onyway, ye're a friend o' Mr. Johnstone's?"
"I believe so. It's a sure thing that I like him."
"Then he'll maybe need ye. It's no' an easy job he has. Yon two at
Appleyard are kittle-cattle, and would be better for watching."
"Why don't you tell me what they're after?"
"For yea thing, I dinna ken, but I'm certain it's naething good."
Whitney made a gesture of resignation.
"This is a pretty hard country for a stranger to get along in. You're
such a blamed cautious people that nobody can guess what you think.
Why don't you give my partner or Dick a hint, if you believe there's
something wrong?"
"There's aye a rizzon," Marshall replied with a grin. "Mr. Andrew
mightna' believe me, and Mr. Dick would let it oot to Staffer. It's
no' wise to offend the gentry, mair particularly your landlord, when a
salmon noo and then comes by accident into your flounder net or ye
chance upon a hare sitting ower close in her form."
"But Dick would not be hard on you, and he'll be your landlord soon."
"That's no' what Mr. Staffer's thinking," said Marshall meaningly.
Whitney gave him a steady glance, knitting his brows.
"My partner will get Appleyard if Dick dies."
"Ay, that's supposed to be the way o' it; but Mr. Dick has debts that
would have to be paid. Then Mr. Staffer's acting baillie for the
estate, and it wouldna' suit him weel to see Mr. Andrew get it."
"You mean he's a dangerous man?"
"Ye should ken. I'm thinking ye're intelligent, and ye're Mr. Andrew's
friend."
"I suppose that's a compliment, and I must try to deserve it," Whitney
smiled.
Marshall poured out another drink and then went away, leaving Whitney
in a thoughtful mood.
The old fellow's remarks were not clear, but two points appeared: he
thought Andrew was running some personal risk, and that Staffer might
put an obstacle in the way of his inheriting Appleyard. It was
difficult to see how Staffer could do so, even if he could take
advantage of Dick's extravagance in such a way as to give him a claim
on the estate; but suppose Andrew did not live to demand his rights?
Whitney remembered that his comrade had been in grave danger when the
gray car swerved in the glen, and again when the light went out on
Mersehead sands. That Dick shared the danger on both occasions might,
of course, be coincidence; but it might have a very sinister meaning.
Whitney felt disturbed about it; but he decided that as his suspicions
might be unfounded and the matter was delicate, he would not warn his
friends, and must be satisfied with keeping a keen watch on Staffer.
One morning shortly after this Williamson picked his way across the
moss at the foot of Criffell as day was breaking. He was tired and
hungry, but, even at the risk of missing his breakfast, he did not
want to arrive at Dumfries too soon. Dawn was late now and he must
not give the hotel people cause to wonder why he had set out long
before it was light.
The black mass of the mountain rose between him and the east with a
flush of pink above its sloping shoulder; the rolling country to the
west was shadowy, and dry tufts of wild cotton glimmered a ghostly
white among the dark-peat-hags. There had been light frost for a few
days, but it had gone, and a raw wind blew in Williamson's face. The
ground was getting soft, the rushes he brushed through were beaded
with moisture, and now and then half-thawed ice crackled beneath his
wet boots. Still, as he did not wish to loiter about Dumfries, he went
on leisurely.
When he got over the fence, he found the loaning softer than he
expected, and on reaching the cothouse he decided that it would not be
safe to ride the motorcycle. The machine, however, was light, and he
was glad of a chance to warm himself by pushing it to the main road.
There was nobody in the wet fields, but the light was getting clear,
and a thin streak of smoke rose from the farm among the trees.
Everything looked gray and cold and desolate, but as Williamson
splashed into a pool a jolt of the bicycle warned him that he had
better fix his attention on the ruts.
While he did so, he noticed a sinuous line running to meet him. At
first he supposed it was the track he had made in going down the lane;
then he thought it looked rather deep, and with sudden suspicion he
placed the back wheel of his bicycle beside it. The pattern the tire
left in the mud was different, and now he saw another line run out
from the grass. This seemed to indicate the track of a side-car, and
Williamson, leaning his wheel against the wall, followed the marks
back over the ground he had traversed.
They led him to a gap in the dyke, and after taking down the pole that
closed it, he traced them to a peat-stack. They were lighter here,
which showed that the men had dismounted. He knew that it would take
some trouble to push a heavy motorcycle with a car attached over the
soft ground; but this had been done, and the machine dragged close
behind the stack. After examining the ground carefully, Williamson
returned to the loaning and made his way to the highroad as fast as
possible. It was now important that nobody should see him coming from
the moss.
Reaching the road, where he would excite no curiosity, he sat down in
the shelter of a bank and lighted a cigarette, for he had received a
decided shock. Some one had driven a motorcycle down the loaning, but
had not gone to the farm. This was strange; and it was significant
that the man had taken a good deal of trouble to hide the machine,
which suggested that he must have meant to leave it for some time, and
wished to prevent its being seen. There was nothing on the moss to
repay a visit, and the owner of a motorcycle would have no reason for
taking a short cut across the mountain on foot, when he could drive
round as soon by road. That there was probably another man in the
side-car made the puzzle worse; and Williamson's face hardened as he
admitted the possibility of their having tried to follow him.
Looking back at the rugged fellside anxiously, he saw that as he
crossed its summit he would have been visible against the sky, though
any one coming up could not be seen against the dark heath. It was
unfortunate that he had not looked back as he went down the other
side, or hidden behind a boulder and waited; but he had no ground for
believing that anybody knew of his journeys across the hill.
He was engaged in a dangerous business, and the consequences would be
serious if the military authorities found him out; but this was not
the worst he feared. They might be baffled; but Staffer had hinted
that his employers were not satisfied, and it was a dangerous thing to
disappoint them. Their rewards were liberal, but their servants must
perform their task. Williamson shivered as he remembered what he had
heard about the fate of one or two who had not succeeded in this.
Cowering behind the bank, while the cold wind whistled past, he
carefully thought out the situation. He saw that he had to face one of
two dangers. Either he had by some carelessness excited suspicion, and
was being watched, or he was distrusted by his friends. In the latter
case, flight to America was the only means of escape, because he knew
enough to make his employers uneasy, and if they failed in one plan to
put him out of the way, they would try another. He would certainly not
be left free to save himself by telling what he knew. But if he had
only the British authorities to fear, there was less cause for alarm.
They could be thrown off the track; indeed, this must be done, for he
dare not now abandon the work he had undertaken.
Williamson was getting very cold, and a searching drizzle had begun to
fall; but he scarcely noticed it as he sat weighing the arguments for
and against each supposition. Eventually, he decided that he must
blame some incautiousness of his own, and he began to wonder whose
suspicions he had aroused. Whitney had a motorcycle, and its tires
would leave just such a mark as he had noticed; but this did not prove
much, because the make was in common use. The American was shrewd and
was a friend of Andrew's; but while both were antagonistic Williamson
thought they opposed him only on Dick's account. Well, he had promised
to leave Dick alone. That ought to satisfy them; and if he were very
careful he would be able to elude any other enemies.
Feeling that his scare had been needless, he set off for Dumfries;
although he had not yet reached an explanation of the motorcycle
tracks.