A FRIEND IN NEED
When Frank Daneham got into his sleeper at Euston Station, Henry
Addison was standing on the platform seeing him off.
"If it had not been that my wife's been by her lonesome all these
months while I was away in the wilds, I'd have come with you and
begged the hospitality of your lovely lady Hermione," he said with a
smile; "as it is, I'm a fixture here, and can only beg for frequent
letters."
"Right, old man, you shall hear anything that happens. Of course, I
know nothing. Only got that wire asking me to go to her at
once--that she was in trouble and needed me and so, of course, that
was enough for me. I just wired for a day's grace to put my house--I
mean my studio--in order, and here I am, going into goodness knows
what. For you can take it from me that if Hermione says there is
trouble, then trouble there is, and she is far too unselfish to drag
me away from my work unless there is good cause for so doing. But
for the life of me I can't imagine what it is, unless my queer dreams
or imaginings have come true and she has found traces of young Arden."
"But would she call that trouble?"
"It would, of course, depend on what the traces are," was the reply.
"Halloa! There's that confounded bore Alec Crosby, and he spots me.
Do you know him?"
"Not I, who is he?"
"He and his brother made a cart-load of money in the War, tinned
stuffs or something: pushers, and got in with people. The brother's
not a bad sort; straight, I believe; both bounders and this one a
bore."
As he finished speaking a rather stout, florid-faced man in light
tweeds came towards them, stopped at sight of Daneham, and came up to
the window. His tweed cap was pushed into a voluminous pocket, and
the fair, rather curly hair was blowing about in a slight evening
breeze. He grinned as he leant across the open window.
"You off salmon fishing, too?" he inquired.
"N-no--that is yes, of course. Where are you going?" Daneham's
manner was not cordial, but the other appeared not to notice it and
continued to grin vacuously.
"Stayin' with my brother, John. He's got a tidy little place not
many miles from Locharbie, and about twenty miles from Ardenmore.
You know Ardenmore? Place the rich widow Rodenberg bought lately.
Never heard such a rummy go in my life. What a woman of her sort
wants to go and buy a rotten old tumbledown barn of a place for like
Ardenmore, beats me hollow. Not got a telephone even. Burn candles
and live on grass. Must have gone dotty."
"I don't think so. Besides, she is a friend of mine, and I happen to
be going up to stay with her."
The grin on the other's face died for a second, but reappeared again
almost directly.
"Oh, sorry. No offence, mate. I was only speaking the mind and
airing the views of the plain man in the street. There's no
accounting for tastes, never was, never will be--as the waiter said
when he--Ah! There's my luggage. Thought the porter had pinched it,
he, he!" he chuckled inanely. "Well, so long. We shall be quite a
lively party up at the Glen. Lots of old pals going, among 'em old
Dick Bessington. Know him, don't you? Everyone knows Dick
Bessington, smartest looking fellow in town."
"Oh, so he's going, is he?" asked Frank Daneham, surprised out of his
usual boredom into asking a question of this man.
"'Tis yourself that sez it, me bhoy. He's going, and going to stay.
Friend of old John's. Can't say he fills me with any degree of
enthusiasm, myself. A bit sticky, heavy in hand on occasion. Comes
the blinkin' colonel over a feller at times. Forgets he's left the
service--which was the rottenest thing he ever did, by the way, and
that's that, and it's his funeral and not mine. However, as there's
no war on just now, it don't matter really, I suppose. Finest
revolver shot in Europe; too, I wonder he lets his talent go rusty
living here, and don't go out to the U.S.A. for a bit of practice.
He--he! Well, time goes and I see the folk busy scrambling into
their little nests. So good-bye, see you at our next changing place.
And in the meantime to dine--to drink, and then to sleep." And with
a wave of his stick he walked dawn the platform.
"Damnation take the fellow!" said Daneham. "What's he going there
for?"
"Who, Crosby?"
"No, Bessington."
"Well, I suppose salmon fishing, too."
"No, no. I mean--well, you know Hermione told me before she went
north that he had promised to leave her alone for a month, and now it
appears he is going to stay twenty miles away from her."
Addison smiled.
"You've got a bee in your bonnet, old man," he said. "If he does go
and stay twenty miles off, it doesn't necessarily mean that he is
going to molest the lady. What's the idea? Do you think
he's--well--not playing straight?"
"I don't know what to think, I don't like Dick Bessington, never have
liked him, and as I told you, I always have that feeling that he
suspects me of knowing something more of the Arden affair than I have
owned to. Perhaps it's my bad conscience. Anyway, if he distrusts
me, all I can say is that the distrust is mutual. Ah! We're off.
Well, good-bye, old chap. I'll write you if anything awkward
happens, and I suppose I can count on you if I want a pal's help?"
"To the death," was the reply, as the thin, rather weather-beaten
killer of big game wrung his departing friend's hand. Then he turned
and walked down the empty platform, and Frank Daneham flung himself
on his comfortable seat and fell to thinking again.
What did she want him for? What could have happened? It was only on
the day after her arrival that she had sent for him. Surely nothing
very serious could have occurred in that short time. And yet it was
possible and, in consequence, he was anxious and worried. One thing
only had he not confided to his friend, Addison, and that was the
fact that his feeling for Hermione Rodenberg was far more than simple
friendship. He had loved her--hopelessly as he knew--ever since he
had known her, and no one save himself knew his secret. Not for the
world would he have let her see what he felt, though often he had
wondered if she guessed. If she had she showed no sign but always
treated him as a dear friend in whom she had absolute trust and
confidence. She knew there was nothing he would not do for her
whatever it might cost him, and he knew that she was aware of this
and was glad to feel that she had no scruples in making use of him
whenever she needed him. It was an unspoken, understood compact
between them. And he liked to be made use of by her and was happiest
when she needed him.
And now he was hurrying on a journey of over seven hundred miles to
answer her call for aid, and he had not the slightest idea for what
she wanted him, only that she did want him, and that was
all-sufficient.
Over twenty-four hours later he got out of the local train at
Ardenmore station and found her waiting on the platform.
"Ah, my dear good friend." Hermione held out both hands which were
seized in a warm clasp. "How good of you to come, and I feel such a
brute for dragging you away from your beloved London and your work.
But what was I to do?"
"Nothing but what you have done," he replied. "Are you alone?
Driving yourself?"
"Yes, quite alone. I thought I could tell you all about it on our
way home. The grizzly porter has put your luggage in, so we can go."
"Now," said Frank Daneham, as the car started on its twenty mile
journey, "tell me all about it. I know it must be serious or you
wouldn't have sent for me."
"It is," she replied, and told him, from the very beginning, when her
secretary had hinted at the rumour of smuggling, on to the visit of
Inspector Mackay.
He listened intently to her story without speaking, and then: "And
you discovered something--after he went?"
"Yes, at about eleven o'clock, from my bedroom window I saw a red
light from the top of the tower, followed by a green one and then red
again, so I dressed and----"
"Good God! You don't tell me that you went out there by yourself?"
exclaimed Daneham in horrified tones.
"No, Marshy heard me and insisted on going with me. She even took
her revolver."
"And a deuced sensible thing to do, too. Why! My dear girl! It was
sheer madness for you to have gone at all. What on earth possessed
you? Even if there were smugglers at work, what business was it of
yours? Especially when such grave danger was attached to it."
"Well, as it happens it was my business," she replied gravely. "You
see, I haven't told you everything yet. I only wanted first to make
it clear that there was something odd going on at the tower. And
though actually I saw nothing when we got there, I heard the sound of
a motor-engine out at sea, a boat, I thought, taking whoever was
there out to a ship, or probably a large motor-boat, for later I
heard that, too, going away."
"Yes, yes. I realize all that, my dear," cried Daneham. "But tell
me what possessed you to go there at all? What motive had you in
feeling so much interest, that you would run a grave risk of that
sort? I confess it's beyond me at present."
"Well, you see, the inspector found something when he was searching
the place," she replied, slowly. "It gave me a dreadful shock when
he showed it to me for it was a bit of paper on which was written a
date, and the date was Monday, December the 3rd, 1917. Now do you
see why I had to go when I saw that light?"
The man sitting beside her could not have prevented the violent start
he gave as he heard her statement any more than he could help the
ejaculation that fell from his lips.
"Good God!" And then silence, while both stared with unseeing eyes
at the grey road before them, neither daring to speak, both fearing
least they should say too much if they did.
It was the man who spoke first, and his voice was dry and husky.
"Poor girl. Poor little woman." And there was that in the voice
which told Hermione at last what she had secretly feared and now knew
for a certainty. And her heart ached for him and marvelled, too, at
the wonderful self-restraint, which had kept his love for her a
secret until now. The next instant she had turned her head, and for
a moment smiled bravely into his working face.
"And so you, too, have believed what I have begun to believe?" she
said.
Silence again, while he chose his words.
"If I said yes to that," he began, "I should convict myself of a
grave crime in not having told you of my belief before you married
Rodenberg. But I cannot truthfully say that I did, not at least
until lately--for some utterly unaccountable reason. And even now,
after what you have told me, reason and common sense tell me that
such an idea is impossible, and that this written date--extraordinary
coincidence though it may be--has nothing to do with poor Dominic
Arden. Yet I understand how you must feel about it, and knowing this
now, I can't conceive of your doing anything else except what you did
in going out to investigate that night. It must have been an
appalling shock for you, little woman."
"And it wasn't only that," she went on. "You see, before all this
happened, I had gone into the turret room at the house--the one he
used as his den--and I missed the pictures from the walls, and his
favourite books from their shelves. They were all there down in the
inventory, for Mr. Bray showed it to me, and I knew that the old
Ardens had let everything go when they sold the house. They kept
nothing even of his, and you know I was ill for so long and had no
chance to ask for them for myself. And it was an added joy to me to
think that I was buying them all back, and a great shock when I found
them gone that evening."
"Yes, I see that. And you account for it, how?"
"Well, I thought that if that paper meant anything connected with
him, then it was possible that he had been here and taken those
things away, knowing that the house was sold again and he might not
have another chance."
"It's possible of course, but--" Daneham shook his head. "Can you
for one moment believe that he would--granted that he is alive--risk
life and liberty, to say nothing of chucking his honour to the winds,
to embark in a lawless, criminal enterprise, such as smuggling? My
dear girl, the thing's impossible."
"Oh, but I disagree with you there," she cried. "I do believe that
he would do that, and worse if he felt completely up against it. I
mean, for instance, if he heard I had married and misconstrued my
motives."
"But Hermione, my dear, it is nine years since he went out of our
lives. Surely he had time to try and get into touch with you had he
wanted to. And seeing that he did not, surely he can't feel
aggrieved if you--thinking him actually dead--chose to marry again."
"Oh, yes, I know all that, but how do you know all the circumstances?
Look how Fate treated me. For a whole year I was dead to the world.
Later, I had to look out for the means to live. Then Lady Maude took
me with her over the world. In all that time he may have come to
find me. Who knows what may have happened? And so it may be with
him."
Daneham shook his head.
"No," he said. "With him it was quite different. When he left me
that night he gave me definitely to understand, and also to convey to
you, that he was dead, dead to you and to everyone. That meant that,
whatever happened, he would never return to his old life, never bring
those he loved into his own troubles. In a way he was right, for
time heals and it was best for you to think of him really dead than
to imagine what might happen did he return again and meet his
punishment. No, my dear, that message was a message to you, telling
you that you were free to live your own life, and had no more concern
with him. He would not, therefore, feel any anger or bitterness at
your marrying again, of that I am sure. I am equally sure that he
would not take part in a criminal smuggling adventure."
"There I disagree, though I admit that you are probably right in the
rest. I believe that the devil that is in him would just glory in
doing something unlawful of that kind. Who knows what he may have
been doing in all these years? Besides, I can't look upon smuggling
as a crime, somehow. It seems to me quite permissible to try and
outwit the law, if the law puts such heavy taxes on things as to
almost strangle trade. I should just glory in doing it myself."
Daneham laughed.
"How like a woman," he said. "I often wonder what odd twist in their
reasoning powers it is which can make them frown at one sort of
crime--theft, let us say--and smile at another--equally reprehensible
in the eyes of the law--smuggling. Look, for instance, how many
otherwise reputable females have been caught by the Customs officers
actually smuggling on their own account, and who are, I feel sure
extremely indignant at being hauled up and heavily fined, and not in
the least ashamed of being caught in committing a felony. No, my
dear, it won't do. Smuggling is theft of what is lawfully due to the
Government, there are no two ways about it. And if Dominic is alive
and is embarking on such an enterprise, then he has changed very much
from the lad who walked out that night to meet his fate, and who
renounced what he held more dear than life itself, because it would
be best for her in the end. No, no. I have too much faith in the
dear fellow to believe that, and since I can only give that as my
verdict, then I think we must put away all thoughts of him in
connection with this affair, and look upon that scrap of paper as
sheer coincidence, and the vanishing of the pictures and books as a
mistake on the part of whoever it was who drew up that inventory."
"No," said Hermione, decidedly. "Old Betty said they were here and
that she didn't know who had taken them or how they had gone. And
remember that Mr. Bray saw them, too."
"Well, then, let us leave it for the moment and look into this
smuggling business, apart from any connection with poor old Dominic.
How could anyone know of that tower and apparently of some secret
place of concealment? For from your account, the smugglers must
actually have been there when the inspector spent the night at the
tower."
"Exactly. How could anyone know who was not told or shown by the one
person who knew, and that was Dominic? He was the only one who knew
of it. Don't you see?"
"Yes, I see that, but let us leave it for the moment. Now here
again, how could they know when to come? I mean, know when the house
was empty or the field clear? They couldn't know unless someone
here--that is, actually on the premises--was giving secret
information. Do you suppose then that they have all cleared out, or
is one of them left behind? Or--which is probably more likely--is
there someone living here who is in league with them?"
"That we shall have to find out," she replied. "At present there is
a policeman on the watch, and, of course, since they have
gone--frightened away by the inspector I suppose--he'll have his
watch for nothing."
"Exactly. Well, we can see as to that. We might, in fact, set a
trap. That is, get the police fellow off the place, and then see if
they return. If they do we shall know that they are helped by some
one in the place."
"Unless one of them is still in the tower," suggested Hermione, but
to this Daneham disagreed.
"No, no. That's not possible. He would have to eat and drink and
could not possibly come out if a watcher was actually in the tower.
I think for the present, my dear, our best plan is to eliminate all
thought of Dominic from our minds and treat the matter as a common
criminal enterprise by a set of smugglers who will have to be trapped
and punished. I am extraordinarily glad that you have sent for me,
because I shall enjoy the excitement of it immensely, my only fear
being that the fellows are scared off for good and all. I wonder, by
the way, how they get the goods away after landing them."
"In a car. I believe one has been seen going along the Ardenmore
road and apparently vanishing into space."
"In that case the car may be there now," said Daneham gravely, "but
where on earth do they keep it? Well, that is for us to investigate.
I suppose you told nothing of your night's experience to the
inspector?"
"Nothing. I simply couldn't."
"I see, and for the time, until we know more, I don't see how you
can, but it looks rather like being accessories after the fact,
doesn't it? However, there it is, and now for a bit of news from me,
which I must tell you because you ought to know. I hear that Dick
Bessington is going to stay at the Crosby's place about twenty miles
from here."
The car swerved suddenly.
"Oh!" cried Hermione. "Why is he going there?"
"Presumably for salmon fishing." But she shook her head.
"I don't believe that. Somehow, I had a sort of odd feeling that he
would follow me in spite of what he said, and--do you know, Frank,
that I am rather afraid of him?"
"Afraid? Nonsense. Why afraid?"
"I can't explain. It's all mixed up with Dominic and
his--Bessington's--connection with it. And--and--Oh, sometimes I
feel that something dreadful is going to happen, and that Dick
Bessington will have something to do with it. Don't laugh at me,
Frank."
But he was very far from laughing, for that, in very much the same
words, was what he feared himself, though he would have died sooner
than tell her so.