A WILD RIDE
Elsie went to sleep at last, but her rest was broken and once or twice
she awoke with a start. She was uneasy and highly strung, but she
heard nothing unusual. The wind moaned about the house and the splash
of the little burn rose from the glen. Staffer had gone out before
dinner and as he had not come back when she went to bed, she did not
think any stranger would visit Appleyard. Telling herself that she
must not indulge in nerves, she went to sleep again. Some time later,
when lying half awake, she heard a soft rattle; and her heart beat
fast, for she knew that the handle of her door was being gently
turned. She was glad that she had locked it, though this was the first
time she had ever done so.
The sound stopped, a board in the passage creaked, and as the shock of
alarm began to pass, Elsie guessed that it was Staffer trying to make
sure that she was in her room. This implied that he was going
downstairs to meet some one; but she waited until she got calmer,
wondering if, after all, she had been mistaken. Staffer could not have
returned until late, and it was strange he had allowed his visitor to
risk coming to the house when he might be out. She tried to believe he
had not done so; but when she heard a faint tap on the other door,
which opened into Madge's room, there was no longer any doubt.
Nerving herself for a painful effort, she got up and hastily put on
some clothes. Then she went into the other room and saw Madge's
shadowy figure standing by the window.
"You heard it?" Madge whispered. "Somebody's gone down. Do you know
who it is?"
"Yes. . . . It is my uncle."
Madge put out her hand in the darkness and squeezed Elsie's cold
little fingers sympathetically.
"You have to choose between him and Andrew, dear," she said.
"Yes," Elsie agreed in a strange, toneless way.
"Then we must find out what's going on. My brother's on board the
_Rowan_ too, you must remember--and there's the survey ship. I was
thinking of them all and I couldn't sleep."
"Are you ready to come down?" Elsie asked.
Madge shivered as she opened the door. It was very dark and cold in
the passage, and she shrank from the adventure; but she followed
Elsie, when the girl quietly locked the door, taking out the key.
Elsie had better cause to hesitate than Madge, but her resolution was
fixed. Andrew might be threatened and that was enough. She loved him,
and he loved her, though he had tried to hide it. He was hers, and,
with a woman's deep-rooted instincts, she was ready to fight for him.
The choice she had made was no longer hard. Her uncle had now no claim
on her; he was her lover's enemy. For the time, all complexities had
vanished; Elsie was driven by primitive impulses. She would protect
Andrew as a mother protects her child.
As they approached the top of the stairs, she put out her hand and
stopped Madge.
"Not this way," she whispered. "Follow me close. We'll go down by the
back."
They turned into a passage that led through the servants' part of the
house. It was dark and narrow, but Elsie moved down the middle and
Madge kept behind her. When they reached a small, back landing, Elsie
guided her to a hole in the floor, and, putting down her foot
cautiously, Madge felt a step. They were newel stairs and the stone
struck cold through her stockings as she tried to find the broader
side. When she reached level ground, she crept forward behind Elsie,
across a large empty space which seemed to be the kitchen. The next
moment Madge struck something that jarred noisily on the floor, and
she and Elsie stopped with frightened gasps. The sound seemed to echo
through the house.
They waited, listening with tingling nerves, but all was silent, and
they crept on until they came to a closed door. Elsie, putting both
hands on the knob, turned it cautiously. The latch clicked and they
stopped again; but heard nothing. The gloom in front was impenetrable,
but a draught of cold air touched their faces and Madge thought they
were looking into the hall. After a few moments, she heard a sound
that suggested a chair being moved, and then a half-distinguishable
murmur. It seemed to come from somewhere near by.
"They're in the drawing-room. Wait here," Elsie whispered; and the
next moment Madge was alone.
It was very cold and the darkness was daunting, but she tried to brace
herself. Her brother was engaged in dangerous work, and the secret
conference that was being held in the room across the hall might
threaten him. Then, Rankine had some part in the business. She felt a
thrill that brought the blood to her face and gave her courage as she
determined that no harm should come to him.
The murmur in the drawing-room grew louder, and Madge wondered if she
could get nearer to it. Advancing cautiously into the hall, she tried
to remember where the furniture was; but her outstretched hand struck
something that rattled, and she stopped, alarmed. She had been on the
point of knocking down a vase, and it was plain to her that further
progress would involve risk. Elsie had some plan, and a noise would
spoil it. Madge went back to her post and waited there in the
darkness, highly strung and shivering.
Elsie, in the meantime, had left the house and crept round it on the
grass until she reached a greenhouse built against one side of the
drawing-room. The door was open, as she had expected, and, feeling for
the edge of a flower-stand, she followed it up until she could crouch
down beside the steps leading to a French window. It was closed but
not latched, for when she ran her fingers along the joint, she felt an
aperture; but she dared not try to pull it open. Still, she could see
in. The lamps had not been lighted, but an electric torch lay on the
table and threw a ring of light on the opposite wall, two or three
feet from the ground. The rest of the room was in darkness, but a dim
illumination which spread beyond the bright beam showed two figures
faintly.
The men sat at the table. Elsie could not hear what they said; for
their voices were low and they spoke in curt sentences. As soon as
they had finished their business, one of them would get up and go, and
she might not be able to steal away in time; besides, another man
might come in by the door behind her. She must risk trying to open the
window. She got her fingernails into the crack; but the hinges began
to grate, and she let her hand drop. The voices, however, were now a
trifle more distinct and she recognized one as her uncle's. Only a
word or two was audible here and there, and she could not connect them
with what she missed; but, after a time, she heard Staffer say:
"All falls through unless Williamson gets into touch. . . ."
"He must . . . should be there now . . . low water," said the other
man.
Elsie missed Staffer's answer, but soon she caught:
"Andrew Johnstone and the American. . . ."
"Must be stopped . . . know too much . . . No scruples . . . can't
hesitate."
Staffer laughed; and Elsie shuddered at his half-heard voice.
"I don't . . . do what you like . . . But make sure . . . know too
much . . . both dangerous."
Elsie shrank down as Staffer rose and the light traveled along the
wall, but the men crossed the floor and she heard a cupboard being
opened. They were now near the hall door and she missed what they
said; but she had heard enough and must escape before the stranger
left by the window.
Stealing out of the greenhouse, she ran back, with her brain busily at
work. Madge was waiting where she had left her. Together they crept up
the back stairs and into Madge's room.
Elsie was very calm when at last she felt it safe to speak.
"They came to the door once. What did you hear?" she asked in a
whisper.
"_The wreck. About three hours. There before high water!_ It wasn't
Staffer's voice."
Elsie pressed her arm, and, listening eagerly, they heard a stealthy
footstep in the passage. Then the handle of Elsie's door shook, as if
it had been touched, and there was silence.
They waited for a few minutes while Elsie thought quickly. The
situation, though still obscure, was getting clearer. Andrew was
interfering with something it was necessary that Williamson should do,
and Staffer had told his visitor that he could stop him as he liked,
but must make sure. There had been something horribly threatening in
his laugh as he said that Andrew and Whitney knew too much. The
visitor was to do what he had undertaken, about low water, near a
wreck.
The question was: _What had he undertaken?_
"What is that?" Madge whispered, turning to the open window.
A faint throbbing came out of the dark. It was some distance off, but
Elsie recognized it as a motor running down the valley.
"It's the man going to Annan," she said. "Listen while I explain--"
Her conclusions grew clearer and more logical as she put them into
words, and she got up resolutely when she had finished.
"We can do nothing more; Dick must help us now."
Stealing down the passage, she entered his room and shook him gently.
He awoke, and she put her hand on his face to check the exclamation
she half expected.
"It's Elsie; you mustn't make a noise," she whispered. "Do you know
anything about a wreck?"
"I know where it is," he answered drowsily.
"Andrew's there to-night, isn't he?"
"It's possible," said Dick, lifting himself on his elbow. "Why do you
ask?"
She told him what she had overheard, and he was silent for a moment,
though she knew that he was now wide awake.
"Andrew must be warned," he said; "and the other fellow's got a start.
I couldn't get the car out without bringing Staffer down, and
Whitney's motorcycle is at the Burnfoot. I'll have to take my
bicycle."
Elsie noted that he had shown no surprise, which was curious, and that
he was very cool. Then she remembered that he had not been looking
well for some days.
"Can't you get a fisherman to go?" she suggested. "You could give him
a guarded message or a note."
Dick smiled.
"I'll have to take a fisherman, but I'm going. Andrew's a very good
sort and I owe him something." His tone changed strangely. "Will you
give me a kiss, Elsie? You haven't done so since we were kiddies--but
I'd like you to."
Elsie stooped and kissed his cheek and he put his hand on hers.
"Thank you, dear. Now you'll have to go. I must start as soon as
possible."
She left him, wondering at something unusual in his manner; and five
minutes afterward Dick crept down the back stairs. When he wheeled out
his bicycle, the lamp would not burn and he had no time to look for
fresh carbide. It was difficult to keep on the drive, and he feared
that Staffer might hear the crash if he ran into the border and fell,
but he avoided this, and opened the gate at the lodge without wakening
its occupants.
The valley was dark, the road wet, and Dick could scarcely see the
clipped hedgerows. Indeed, at first, he ran on to the grass, but by
degrees his eyes got used to the gloom and he let the bicycle coast
down a long hill. It gave him a good start, but when he came to the
bottom, the hill in front was steep, and he knew a stern effort would
be needed, as he changed to the low gear. He was distressed and
panting hard when he was half-way up, and as he forced the cranks
round, the tires slipped and skidded in the mud. The trees that
stretched their bare branches overhead kept the road soft, but it
seemed to him that they also shut out the air. He could not breathe in
the thick gloom beneath them, and his heart was throbbing painfully.
This was the kind of thing he had been especially warned against; but
he could not stop. The wind was light, and, allowing for some loss of
time in waking a fisherman and getting his boat away, it would be past
low-water when they approached the wreck. Remembering what had
happened the night the lamp went out, Dick saw that Andrew's danger
would begin when the flood-tide raced across the sands.
The breeze met him in the face when the road turned toward the coast
at the summit of the hill. He found it refreshing, but it threatened
to increase his labor and the mud got worse as he ran down to the
seaboard plain. Light mist thickened the gloom and the bicycle skidded
badly when he struck the boggy strip along the half-seen hedgerows.
Still he toiled on, while the perspiration dripped from his forehead
and he got dizzy. The exertion he was making was not sufficient cause
for this, but he had paid for rashly running upstairs at a Lockerbie
hotel a few days before. Something the doctor had warned him of had
happened, and he had not recovered from it yet. For all that, he must
reach the lower end of the channel before the tide began to flow.
He knew the road well, but he could not distinguish where he was, and
was half afraid he had taken a wrong turning, until a few faint lights
shone out ahead. These must mark the outskirts of Annan. Five minutes
later he ran down the main street. The houses were dark, and he had
some trouble to find the narrow lane that turned off to the waterside.
There were no lights here, but the road was paved, and when he passed
under a railway bridge tall black buildings rose between him and the
river. A sour smell came from the wet mud-banks behind them, and the
splash of running water warned him that the tide was falling fast. He
must lose no time if he meant to get away before the boats were left
aground.
He passed a silent factory and a long, shadowy mill; a schooner's
masts rose out of the gloom, and he was in the open. When the road
stopped near a wharf-shed, Dick pushed the bicycle through a gap in a
hedge and across a field, until he reached a very muddy lane. He would
rather have left the machine; but time did not permit; and for the
next five minutes he jolted furiously among the pools and ruts.
Somehow, he saved himself from falling, and jumped down when a dark
row of houses, on rising ground, cut against the sky. Throwing the
bicycle against a fence, he climbed the hill, breathing hard, while
his head swam and he felt the heavy thumping of his heart.
When he knocked at the door, a man came down and took him into a
small, plainly furnished room. He was a big fellow, with keen blue
eyes, and a brown face covered with fine wrinkles.
"Noo ye can tell me what ye want," he said.
Dick gave him a rather inadequate explanation, and the fisherman
looked thoughtful.
"Weel," he said, "I dinna' understand it athegither, but it's enough
if ye think Mr. Andrew's in trouble." He paused for a moment, as if
pondering, and then resumed: "The big shrimp-boat would take us doon
faster, but she draws four feet and we'd want a punt to get ashore.
I'm thinking we'll take the whammeler. She's a smart bit craft and we
could pull her if there was need."
He gave Dick a bundle of black oilskins.
"Pit these on. Ye'll need them."
Dick thought this probable, for he was wearing only his thin, ordinary
clothes.
"Thanks," he said, as he got into the oilskins, which were softer and
more pliable than any he had seen in shops. "You see, I left in rather
a hurry."
"I ken. An' noo we'll start."
His curtness was reassuring, for Dick knew his countrymen. The
fellow's immediate business was to take him to the wreck, and he would
fix his mind on doing so. It was obvious that there was something
mysterious about their errand, but although the Scot is as curious as
other people, he seldom asks unnecessary questions when there is work
to be done. His habit is to concentrate upon the main issue.
They left the house, and a few minutes later crept along a slippery
plank to a boat lying against a timber framework on which nets were
dried. She was sharp at both ends, half-decked, and about twenty feet
long; with a short, thick mast. Now that the tide had ebbed, the river
mouth was about a dozen yards across, and a row of larger craft,
sheering to and fro in the eddies, nearly filled the channel. Behind
these, a cluster of white buildings and a low promontory loomed out of
the dark. On the opposite side, a high gravel bank seemed to close the
narrow entrance.
"Lowse the stern-mooring!" said the fisherman; and there was a harsh
rattle of chain as the boat slid out into the stream.
He threw an oar into the sculling notch and they drifted away,
slipping between the trawl-boats that rose out of the gloom and
vanished astern. A minute later, the stream boiled noisily along the
gravel bank, the white buildings faded, and they were swept into the
darkness that brooded over the Firth. The fisherman hoisted a small,
black lugsail and jib, and took the tiller as the boat listed gently
down to a biting wind.
"Maybe ye'll find it warmer in the for'ad den," he said. "Ye can light
the bit stove and set the kettle on."
Dick was shivering, and he was glad to crawl through a hatch into a
narrow dark hole, where he lay down, after feeling for and lighting
the stove. There was no room between floor and deck-beams to sit
comfortably, but an old sail and some ropes made a couch on which he
could rest. He felt shaky, and an unpleasant faintness threatened to
overcome him.
He heard the water splash against the planks and felt the boat list.
That was comforting, because he thought it was fourteen miles to the
wreck. Still, the ebb would run nearly four miles an hour, there was
some wind, and the whammel boats sailed fast. If his companion could
keep her off the ground as the banks dried and the channel narrowed,
they ought to arrive by low-water.