THE WHAMMEL BOAT
Thin fog drifted down the Firth when, with Whitney's help, Andrew
pulled the dinghy up the bank and then stopped to look about. It was
nine o'clock in the evening when they left the _Rowan_ at anchor in
the channel a hundred yards away, and he knew the tide was beginning
to flow, which meant that he had an hour and a half in which to reach
and return from the wreck. Everything was obscured to the east, but to
the west the sky was clear, and a thin, bright moon shone in a patch
of dusky blue. The sand felt harder than usual, for the night air was
frosty, but the melancholy calling of the wild fowl told that the salt
ooze in the gutters was still unfrozen. There was no other sound
except the ripple of the current across the shoals.
"I suppose we'll let up for a bit if we see nobody to-night," Whitney
suggested.
"Yes," said Andrew; "the tide's getting late."
Whitney nodded agreement. They had sailed from the burnfoot three days
before, and after standing out to sea on the ebb, had returned to the
outer end of the channel in the dark as soon as they could stem the
slackening stream. Then, landing in the dinghy, they hung about the
wreck until the advancing tide drove them back. They had done this for
two nights, without seeing anything suspicious, and they could now
abandon the search, because as the time of high-water approached six
o'clock the tides did not run out far enough to enable anybody to
reach the wreck from land.
Striking across the flats, they stopped on the edge of a hollow
running through the highest part. The mist was driving nearer before a
cold wind, and the moon was dim, but they could see for some distance
toward the west across the level stretch of sand. Nothing broke its
smooth expanse, but the sound of the sea had grown louder and the wild
fowl noisier.
After a few moments, Andrew struck into the hollow and began to follow
it up. The sand was softer here, though there were spears of ice on
the muddy pools; but the men's figures no longer cut against the sky,
and Whitney knew the need for caution. The gutter got deeper as they
went on, until they could not see beyond its banks, and soon it began
to wind off to one side. When Andrew stopped at the turning, a wild
cry that was like a hoarse laugh came out of the dark.
"What's that?" Whitney asked.
"A black-backed gull," said Andrew thoughtfully. "They're suspicious
brutes and a nuisance when you're trying to crawl up to a flock of
duck. In fact, it often looks as if they laughed because you'd lost
your shot."
"Do you think something has disturbed the bird?"
"We'll know in a minute."
A mournful wail that ended in a quavering tremolo fell from the air as
the harsh laughter died away.
"That's a curlew going over," Andrew said.
Then a shrill screaming broke out; and Andrew turned toward the bank
and began to climb out of the hollow.
"Oyster-catchers now; they're all off," he said.
When they reached the level, Whitney looked round quickly. The haze
was crawling close up in long, low-lying belts, but it had not reached
them yet, and as his eyes turned seaward he saw a black triangle
projecting above the edge of the flats.
"A lugsail, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes; a whammel boat."
Andrew seized Whitney's arm and, moving back a few steps, dropped upon
his knees and dragged his companion down. Whitney understood the
reason when he saw a faint, dark figure on the bank some distance off.
"After all, it may be a fisherman," he said.
"It's possible, but I don't know what he's doing here, and we'll
follow up the gutter until we're abreast of the wreck. The fog will
come down thick before we reach her."
"I don't know that I'm fond of fog," Whitney replied. "However, if you
think you can find the dinghy--"
Moving back into the bed of the channel, they went on as fast as
possible. They were out of sight, but the winding hollow lengthened
the distance. It got darker as they splashed among the pools; and when
at last Andrew thought they had gone far enough and they climbed the
bank, everything was hidden by drifting fog. Whitney was frankly
uneasy. Andrew knew the sands well, but, for all that, it would not be
difficult to lose their way, and they had purposely left no light on
board the yacht. Still, it was unthinkable that they should turn back
when the man they had been trying to mark down seemed almost in their
hands. Banishing his misgivings, he plunged into the clammy mist,
following closely behind Andrew.
The birds had gone; nothing broke the silence, and there was nothing
to be seen. Whitney imagined that Andrew was going straight, but this
was not certain, and he recognized that the man they hoped to surprise
might have turned back. Andrew went a few yards in front, a dim,
ghostly figure in the fog, but it was a relief to see that he showed
no hesitation. Though they tried to move quietly, they made some
noise. Where the bank was hard their footsteps rang through the haze,
now and then shells crunched beneath their boots, and there were spots
where they splashed through half-frozen mud.
At last they saw the blurred outline of the wreck.
"Go straight on and then wait until I creep up on the other side,"
Andrew whispered.
They separated, and Whitney braced himself for a struggle as he moved
softly forward. The man would no doubt be armed, but he must not get
away until they learned who he was. Whitney set his lips as he neared
the wreck. Andrew's footsteps had died away, and there was something
that daunted him in the look of the dark mass of timber; but he went
on, and presently stopped at the edge of a pool beside the vessel. He
did not think anybody had left her as he approached. The man must be
on board; but he must wait until Andrew came up. There was no sound
but the drip of water and the wail of the cold wind; it was eerie and
depressing to stand there in the fog; but at last he heard a cautious
step and knew that his comrade had reached the opposite side of the
hulk.
"Go ahead," he said softly; and scrambled up with a feeling of relief
that the waiting was over.
He heard Andrew's heavy boots rasp upon the planks; but he reached the
forecastle hatch first, and his nerves tingled as he dropped through
it in the dark. He came down safely; but he did not hear the clatter
of feet among the timbers he had expected. While he felt about, for
fear an unseen enemy might seize him at a disadvantage, Andrew sprang
down and the light of an electric torch flashed round the hold. It
showed broken timbers, sand, and glistening pools; but that was all.
They had wasted their efforts; nobody was there. Andrew moved about,
holding up the torch, and then extinguished it as he came back to the
spot beneath the hatch.
"Well," he said, "we're no farther forward."
"Could the fellow have seen us and slipped away?"
"Not on my side. The fog wasn't very thick, and I could see the wreck.
I suppose you kept a good lookout?"
"Of course. Perhaps he saw us when we noticed him on the bank."
"It's possible, but not likely. We had only just left the gutter, and
he was going the other way."
Andrew was silent for a minute.
"It would help us," he said "if we knew whether he could carry a
wireless apparatus across the sands. I don't think it could be hidden
on board."
"It might be buried outside in a watertight box. Shall we go dig?"
"No; we'd be seen from the shore, and a good glass would show what we
were doing. In the dark we would have to use a lantern."
"That's so," Whitney agreed. "Well, as there's nothing doing here,
let's get back."
They reached the dinghy before the tide flowed round her, and shortly
afterward got on board the _Rowan_. The fog was thick and the wind
blowing against them down the Firth, but Andrew decided to hoist no
sail when they hove the anchor.
"It's early yet to find deep water, and I can steer her with an oar,"
he said. "We'll let the tide take her up."
He sounded now and then as the current carried her away, and Whitney
wondered whether it would strand them on a thinly covered bank. Andrew
had no guide except the depth and the hoarse murmur the stream made as
it rippled across the shoals.
Suddenly Andrew began to scull vigorously.
"Not much water; I think we're too near the middle sand," he said.
The next minute the boat stopped with a jar and listed down on her
side while the ripples splashed angrily against her planks. Whitney
seized the boat-hook to push her off, but Andrew stopped him.
"She'll soon float, and the tide's not running very fast."
They sat in the cockpit to wait, and the noise the current made as it
swirled round her died away. She was not quite afloat, however, and
Whitney was picking up the boathook when a flicker of light shone
through the fog. He raised his hand in warning to Andrew, and both saw
the faint gleam go out.
Then a splashing sound grew louder, and a dim gray object drove toward
them. Whitney knew it was a lugsail boat beating up the Firth, and he
saw that she would pass at a few yards' distance if she stood on. So
far, he did not think they had been seen, for the _Rowan's_ hull was
low, and she had no sail set. While he waited in suspense he heard the
splash of an oar as somebody sounded.
"No' quite a fathom. Doon helm, Jock," said a hoarse voice.
There was a flutter of canvas, and the boat, swinging round, vanished
on the other tack.
"What are we going to do?" Whitney asked.
"Anchor as soon as they're far enough off not to hear our chain."
Andrew sculled the _Rowan_ into the channel, and presently dropped the
anchor. When she brought up, he went below and lighted the lamp.
"They didn't see us, but I won't want to follow them up the Firth," he
explained. "Their boat can cross the flats before we can, and when we
landed they'd all have gone. Besides, it might look suspicious if we
came up soon afterward. I think we'll wait for daylight."
Whitney put the kettle on the stove and lighted his pipe.
"Well," he said, "I guess it's puzzling, but there's certainly
something going on, and it may be something that will mean the loss of
another big liner. I expect you see that it ought to be stopped at
once."
"Yes," said Andrew firmly. "I mean to stop it."
Whitney nodded and thought for a few moments.
"So far," he contended, "we haven't scored much; it looks as if the
opposition were pretty smart. The point you have to answer is
this--suppose they do some serious damage before we can stop them?"
"You mean that in trying to keep the thing in my own hands I take a
dangerous risk?"
"Yes; but I can't tell you what you ought to do. You're awkwardly
fixed."
Andrew leaned back on the locker and grappled with a problem that had
troubled him much of late. He was quietly proud of the Johnstones'
traditions; and the honor of the family, which had long stood high,
was threatened. It was painful to admit that a traitor was making use
of Appleyard; but, had there been no other obstacle, Andrew would not
have hesitated about denouncing him. The trouble was that if he did
so, Elsie must suffer with her guilty relative. To keep silent might
enable the plotter to carry out designs which Andrew with his limited
powers could not thwart, and his duty to the State was obvious.
He did not want to shirk that duty; he was willing to bear any
personal loss, and even bring discredit upon Appleyard, but it did not
seem his duty to involve the girl he loved. Elsie had done no wrong,
but she was Staffer's niece, and that would be enough to condemn her.
Besides, he might be mistaken, and it was unthinkable that he should
bring suspicion upon Appleyard until his last doubts had vanished. If
Staffer were proved guilty, nobody would believe that Mrs. Woodhouse
and Dick were free from blame. And yet Andrew saw that his country
must not be left unprotected from the plots of its enemies.
He set his lips as he tried to balance contending claims, using
arguments on both sides that had led him into a maze before; and each
time he was forced back upon the decision he had already made.
Something must be risked, and in the meanwhile he would follow up his
clues alone; it would be time enough to warn the authorities when he
had found out what was to be feared.
His face was tense as he turned to Whitney.
"I think we'll have to work out this thing in our own way; but as the
tides won't suit for the next few days, we'll take a run north along
the Eskdale road."
"Very well, if you think that's somehow in the plot," Whitney agreed.
"It's possible you're right about the other matter. You'd put the load
on the proper shoulders if you warned your authorities, but if they
didn't get to work very quietly, they'd scare the fellows off before
they found out much. The trail's certainly not plain, but I guess we
can follow it without showing what we're after."
"See if the anchor's holding," said Andrew. "I'm going to lie down."
He lowered his folding cot, but the flood tide had covered the flats,
and the yacht was rolling gently on the swell it brought in before he
went to sleep.
Farther up the narrowing Firth the wind was faint, and Elsie, lying
awake toward high-water, heard the murmur of the sea. It throbbed in a
deep monotone through the stillness that brooded over the fog-wrapped
countryside. Elsie listened to it for a time, wondering what Andrew
was doing as she glanced at the obscurity outside her window, for the
Firth was dangerous to navigate in thick weather. He had promised to
return the next day, and she wanted him back at Appleyard. She felt
safer when Andrew was about. He was not clever, but he was practical,
and one could trust him to do the right thing in a difficulty.
Elsie was glad to remember this, because she had difficulties to
contend with. Dick had been restless and depressed, and his occasional
efforts at rather boisterous gaiety had emphasized his general
moodiness. He was obviously not well; but Elsie thought this did not
account for everything. Then her mother had been quieter than usual,
and her manner seemed to indicate secret anxiety.
Elsie felt that things were going very wrong at Appleyard. Something
mysterious and sinister threatened the household, but she could not
combat the danger, because she did not know what it was. Even now,
when every one was probably asleep, she had an instinctive feeling
that there was mischief on foot. She told herself that she was highly
strung and imaginative, but her uneasiness would not be banished.
Anyway, she could not sleep. Seeing that the fire had not quite gone
out, she got up, finally, and, putting on her slippers and kimono,
lighted a small reading lamp. She drew a thick curtain across the
window, and then opened a book; but she found that her thoughts would
dwell on Andrew, somewhere out in the fog.
With a gesture of impatience, Elsie closed the book and threw it down.
It had not made her sleepy, and the room was getting cold, but she did
not want to go back to bed and lie awake. Sitting still, she mused and
listened. The wind always moaned round Appleyard, and when the nights
were still one could hear the hoarse murmur of the Solway tide. Then
there were the mysterious sounds that occur in old houses: creaking
floors, boards cracking, and now and then the rattle of a door. Elsie
was used to these noises, but for no obvious reason her senses were
alert.
Suddenly she sat upright. Somewhere downstairs a door was being opened
cautiously. Her clock showed that it was just half-past two.