AN EVENING AT APPLEYARD
Rankine had got a few days' leave and was spending it at Appleyard. He
sat beside Elsie in a corner of the billiard-room, where the party had
gathered after dinner. He had arrived during the afternoon, and Andrew
was not altogether pleased to see him, although he liked the man.
Elsie had suggested that Dick should invite him, and had added that he
might as well come when Madge Whitney was there. Since Elsie had not
seen Rankine until he arrived, Andrew wondered what she meant; but he
admitted that she generally had a reason for what she did.
Nobody had been playing billiards or wanted to begin. Elsie and Mrs.
Woodhouse were knitting and the others were talking quietly, while
they waited for the evening newspaper.
Presently Staffer made a remark about the Navy, and Madge Whitney
looked at Rankine with a smile.
"Don't you feel that you must answer that?"
"I don't know that I can," Rankine answered good-naturedly. "To some
extent, Mr. Staffer's right. The Navy certainly occupies the
background of the stage, just now."
"It strikes me as being out of sight altogether," Staffer said.
"Well, perhaps that's its proper place. But I expect it will emerge
from obscurity when it's wanted."
"We must hope so," Staffer returned. "No doubt, your commanders are
waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entry on the scene;
but one imagines that ambitious young officers must find being kept in
the background rather galling."
Andrew caught Whitney's glance and understood it as a warning not to
speak. It had been blowing hard for the past week and he thought of
the great battleships rolling until it was scarcely possible to keep a
footing on their stripped decks, while anxious men slept beside the
guns and bitter seas foamed across the ponderous, low-sided hulls. It
would be worse on the swift destroyers, driving, half submerged,
through the gale and trembling when the combers struck them, until
their thin steel skin and beams racked and bent with the strain. No
man could really keep a lookout in the blinding clouds of spray, and
their decks would be swept from end to end with icy water. Rankine
knew this, but he smiled tranquilly as he turned to Staffer.
"Oh, I don't think they mind--so long as they feel they're useful!"
"Is that what you feel?"
"Something of the kind. Surveying's not the work one would prefer,
just now, but it's necessary. The banks and channels shift and our
commerce must go on."
"There have been interruptions," Staffer said dryly.
Andrew felt puzzled. Staffer's manners were generally good; but now,
while there was nothing offensive in his tone, he had gone farther
than was altogether tactful. It looked as if he wanted to sting the
young navy officer into an indignant protest, though Andrew could not
see what he expected to gain. Rankine, however, agreed with Staffer.
"That's so; and it's possible we may hear of another interruption or
two. Our men will do their best; but, while our cruisers are pretty
active, they can't be everywhere at once."
The newspaper was brought in and Staffer handed it to Dick.
"You can read it to us. I can't see very well where I am."
Dick took the thin sheet.
"Nothing of importance on the western front; a trench or two carried,
another lost."
He stopped with an exclamation, and the others leaned forward eagerly.
"What is it, Dick?" Elsie asked in a hushed voice.
"They've sunk another ship in the North Channel--a wheat ship from
Canada!"
"Read it!" Andrew said tensely.
Dick gave a quick look at Staffer before beginning; but Staffer at
that instant was lighting a cigar, so his face was masked.
"A telegram from Londonderry reports that the British
cargo steamer _Meridian_ with grain from Canada was
beached in a sinking state near Greencastle last
night. Full particulars have not yet been received,
but a violent shock was felt when the vessel was off
Malin Head and soon afterward she began to settle
down. The water rose rapidly in two of her holds, but
the bulkheads stood the strain and the captain was
able to reach the mouth of Lough Foyle. Whether she
struck a mine or was torpedoed is not at present
known, but some light is thrown on the subject by the
crew of the _Concord's_ experience. The latter, a
steamer of 6,000 tons, bound from Montreal to Glasgow,
passed Tory Island yesterday, steering east. A high,
confused sea was running, and it was getting dark when
she was abreast of Portrush, where the lookout forward
reported a submarine.
"The captain immediately altered his course, and the
vessel, which was rolling wildly, listed over as she
obeyed her helm. The lookout, running across the
forecastle, after he hailed the bridge, as if to see
the submarine better, was thrown down the ladder and
picked up, unconscious, on the iron deck. The captain
steamed out to sea and returned an hour or two
afterward nearer the Kintyre side. The injured seaman
had not recovered consciousness when he was landed in
the Clyde."
There was silence for a few moments when Dick put down the newspaper.
Andrew's face was hard, for Rankine had given him a meaning glance;
Elsie was very quiet, but she was lightly flushed.
"I suppose it wouldn't be difficult to recognize a submarine?" she
asked presently.
"No," said Rankine; "not if it were at the surface. One might,
however, mistake a spar or batten, floating upright, for a periscope."
No one followed up his explanation, but the party seemed to find the
pause trying.
"They burn gasolene, don't they?" Madge asked.
"Either that or oil when they're running on the surface. The engines
are driven by electricity when they're submerged."
"Can they carry much gasolene?"
"Not very much," Rankine answered, guardedly.
"Can they carry enough to take them from Germany and back?" Madge
persisted.
"I believe some can do so; but they wouldn't have much to spare, and
they'd run a serious risk if they remained any time as far away from
their base as the North Channel."
"You must see that the point's important," said Elsie.
"Its importance is obvious," Rankine agreed.
"If the boat couldn't carry enough fuel, she'd have to get some while
she was out on a trip?"
There was another long pause and then Mrs. Woodhouse spoke.
"You must mean somewhere in Scotland," she said.
"Disagreeable conclusion, isn't it? But we don't know yet that it was
a submarine," Rankine answered.
"But suppose there _should_ be an enemy submarine in the North Channel
that hadn't much fuel left, how could she renew her supply?" Staffer
asked.
Rankine seemed unwilling to talk about the subject, but he smiled.
"Oh," he said, "it's hard to tell. One could form plausible theories,
but they'd probably be wrong. Perhaps we'd better leave the matter to
the people whose business it is."
He began to talk about something else, and the curious tension that
all had felt gradually slackened. Soon afterward, a servant announced
that Mackellar had arrived. Staffer had been expecting him, and when
he left the room Madge and Dick went to the drawing-room with Elsie
and Mrs. Woodhouse, and Rankine found himself alone with Andrew and
Whitney.
"Have you made any progress with your investigations?" he asked.
"No," Andrew answered quietly; "nothing very marked."
"And you are still resolved to keep them in your own hands, after the
news we got to-night?"
"Do you know that the loss of the cargo boat has any connection with
the matter?"
"No; but it looks suspicious," Rankine answered, with a touch of
grimness. "If I did know, my course would be clear."
"So would mine," said Andrew. "We found some matches and a candle on
board the wreck, and followed a man across Criffell to the beach
abreast of her--or rather we followed his tracks. Then we saw another
fellow on the sands at night; but that's all I have to tell."
"Could you see either of the men clearly?"
"No. I didn't see the first at all; and the other was some distance
off, and a thick fog was coming on."
"That means it was impossible for you to recognize him."
"Quite," Andrew said firmly. "Besides, I didn't expect to recognize
him; there was nothing to indicate it was anybody I'd ever met. Have
you learned anything?"
Rankine smiled.
"I've examined the wreck and dug up the sand, besides watching the
flats for several nights. The place might be used for a wireless
installation, but, lying in a hollow, with hills on both sides, it's
not particularly suitable." He paused and looked at Andrew. "That had
some influence with me."
Andrew thought Rankine meant that if he felt certain that messages
were sent from the wreck, he would have brought some pressure to bear
on him.
"How did you get there?" he asked.
"We ran in behind Ross Island when it was too rough for surveying, and
afterward brought up near Abbey Head. You get some shelter there so
long as the wind's not south."
"But it's a long way from Abbey Head to the wreck," Whitney
interposed.
"I shipped a steam launch at Belfast."
"And went to the wreck and back at night? Wasn't it blowing hard?"
"Hard enough," smiled Rankine. "We had some trouble to keep the fire
from being swamped, but she's a powerful boat and has a good big pump.
Then we traveled most of the distance shortly before and after
low-water, when the sea was not so bad; but I'll confess that I
couldn't have found my way among the shoals except for Mr. Johnstone's
directions. We made three trips and got back before daylight without
noting anything suspicious."
They looked at him in surprise. A steam launch voyage along that
dangerous coast on a wild winter night was a bold undertaking,
particularly when one must cross surf-swept sands with only a few feet
of water under the boat. And Rankine had safely accomplished it
thrice.
"What about the digging?" Whitney asked. "Mightn't it alarm our man?"
"The surf would level the sand in a tide," Andrew said; and turned to
Rankine. "What do you think of doing now?"
"I don't know, but I'm afraid I can't stay here as long as I expected.
The steamer's in Loch Ryan. We went in to make some repairs after a
hammering we got. Now, perhaps we had better join the others."
Andrew left them in the drawing-room and found Mackellar alone in the
library.
"I'll have finished with these in a few minutes," he remarked,
indicating the papers before him. "Mr. Staffer's accounts don't give
much trouble. He's a man o' parts."
"Yes," agreed Andrew; "the estate is managed well."
"We must give him all the credit he deserves, but there's another
matter I'm anxious about. We have not got to the bottom o' your
cousin's debts."
Andrew frowned.
"Do you mean that Williamson has got hold of him again?"
"No; I'm thinking he's out of the game, and the borrowed money's none
o' his. But Dick has incurred some fresh liabilities. Here's a bit
statement; ye can study it."
Andrew felt disturbed, but he waited until Mackellar put the papers
into his pocket.
"I can't see how Dick has spent so much money; but how did he get it?"
"On notes that will mature when he's twenty-one. I found the man who
cashed them, but he parted with the paper, and I canno' tell who holds
it now."
"I've no doubt you tried to find out."
Mackellar's eyes twinkled.
"Ye may take that for granted. If there had been a weak spot in the
man's affairs, I'd have made him tell."
There was silence for a minute. Andrew suspected that it was Staffer;
but he did not think it was time to speak, and he knew that Mackellar
would take him into his confidence when he saw fit.
"The fellow who really made the loan has some courage," he said
presently.
"I'm thinking he kens the Johnstone character. Dick would no' disown
his debts on the ground that he was under age; nor would ye, if your
cousin died before he inherited."
"No," said Andrew. "Dick's debts must be met; but I would pay what he
borrowed with reasonable interest, and nothing more."
"Ye're a true Johnstone," Mackellar remarked, with dry approval. "My
opinion is that the lender's no' expecting ye to inherit."
"Well, it's most unlikely, and I'm glad it is so. I suppose you have
nothing more to say, but you'll tell me when I can help."
"I will," Mackellar promised.
Andrew did not feel inclined to join the others. He strolled into the
hall, and found Elsie sitting in a corner with her knitting.
"I stole away to finish this belt," she said. "It's the last of a
dozen I promised to let the committee have to-morrow."
"You keep your promises," Andrew replied. "It must be a comfort to
feel you're useful, because somebody in the snow and mud will be glad
of that warm belt. I begin to wish I'd been taught to knit."
Elsie gave him a sympathetic glance, for there was a hint of
bitterness in his tone.
"What is troubling you to-night, Andrew?" she asked gently.
"It is rather hard to explain; a general sense of futility, I think,"
he answered with a smile. "Did you ever feel that you had come up
against a dead wall that you could neither break through nor get
over?"
"Yes; I know the feeling well. There is so much that ought to be done
and it seems impossible. But what did you want to do?"
Andrew stood beside the hearth, silently watching her for a minute.
Her face was quiet but faintly troubled, and although she was looking
at the fire and not her knitting, the needles flashed steadily through
the wool. Elsie had beautiful hands, but they were capable and strong,
and it was not often that she allowed her feelings to interfere with
her work.
"To tell what you meant to do and couldn't sounds pretty weak, but I
had two objects when I came home," he said. "I wanted to help Dick and
keep him out of trouble; but the proper kind of help needs tact, and I
haven't much. Besides, there's something peculiarly elusive about
Dick; you think you have him, so to speak, in a corner, and the next
moment he slips away from you. Sometimes I suspect he's a good deal
more clever than we imagine."
Elsie nodded.
"Yes; I know what you mean. But you're a very good friend of his and
it wouldn't be like you to give him up."
"I don't mean to give him up; but just now it looks as if I could get
no farther. That's the trouble."
"You mean part of it," said Elsie quietly. "What was your other
object?"
Andrew hesitated.
"It was rather vague, but I thought I might somehow be useful--to the
country. I'm lame and can't enlist; I can't give much money; but I
might, perhaps, help to watch the coast. Then there was the Eskdale
road. You know my hobby."
Elsie stopped her knitting and gave him a steady look.
"And after a time, you thought you saw a way to be of use. You found
out something?"
"Yes," he said in a disturbed voice. "Still, it looked as if I
couldn't go on with the thing. Some of the clues broke off and those I
tried to follow led me into difficulties. You can't act on faint
suspicion: it might lead to unnecessary complications."
"One must take a risk now and then," Elsie answered. "I mean, do one's
duty and face the consequences."
Andrew did not reply and she picked up her knitting.
"Well, peace must come, sometime," she said. "Have you thought what
you will do then?"
"Yes; if I could see Dick starting well as the owner of Appleyard,
and, better still, safely married, I'd go away again."
"What do you mean by 'safely married'?"
"I think you know. He's such a good sort, and a girl who understood
him and was patient with his failings would soon help him to get rid
of them. She'd make the most of his good points, and Dick has
talents--"
"Are there girls like that?"
"Yes," said Andrew, firmly; "I am quite sure that I know one."
Elsie gave him a curious glance.
"But you're only thinking of Dick. What about yourself?"
"Oh," he said with a brave effort to be cheerful, "I don't count for
much. I've no money and no particular ability beyond being able to
sail a boat. Still, I have the sea and I'm fond of wandering. It's a
pretty good old world, after all, and if you keep an open mind, you
make friends wherever you go."
"But it must hurt to leave the old ones."
"Yes," he agreed with a hint of strain; "it hurts very much. But you
never leave them altogether. Things change, of course, but you can
come back if you are wanted."
He left her rather abruptly, and Elsie dropped her work and sat
looking into the fire, a curious, gentle smile on her face. Andrew was
true to the core; he would never seek his own advantage when it
conflicted with his loyalty to his friends. Now he was willing to
sacrifice himself for Dick; though perhaps his poverty influenced him,
too. Still, he should see--Elsie resolutely picked up her knitting.
She must not indulge in disturbing thoughts like these--and the belts
must be finished. Shivering men, worn with stern fighting in Flanders,
needed them.