BETTY MACIVOR'S POSTAL SERVICE
It was with a feeling of intense relief that Hermione, Iza Marsh, and
Frank Daneham heard the retreating hum of the car as, ten minutes
later, Richard Bessington took his departure. They parted on
friendly terms, each conscious that they were withholding some
knowledge of vital importance from the other; each sure that they
were justified in so doing.
"I can but report to the police our failure so far," Bessington had
said. "But I will tell Mackay that you people here are going on with
your investigations into that signalling, and if you want me, I shall
be only too glad to come over. I have finished the search on my own
account, but only for the moment," he added, with a meaning glance at
Hermione. "For our bargain still holds good, doesn't it?"
"Yes," she replied gravely. "I am not afraid," she added.
"Nor am I," was the reply.
And so they parted, Bessington to return eventually to the Glen to
think out what would be his best plan of action, while the three
others were left with a sense of freedom from a menace which none of
them could actually define.
"I wonder if that man is the most unmitigated liar on earth or if I
beat him by a short head," was Iza's first comment, as the three
returned to the smoking-room--the most comfortable room in the
house--where they proposed to hold a short conference before dinner.
"What do you mean, darling?" asked Hermione, who was tired and
dispirited, and racked by a haunting fear that even should they
succeed in finding her husband, they might also find that Bessington
was right in his surmise and she was wrong.
"Well, I'll tell you," replied the other, cheerfully. "It's a bit of
good news and you both look as if you wanted bucking up. I kept it,
too, until that man had gone, and that was some task, I assure you,
as I was bursting with it. But I was afraid that if I told you
before he had gone, you might by a look or even a hesitating manner
give the show away, and Dick Bessington is as cute as a C.I.D. man.
The fact is, my dears, that I have discovered that Betty MacIvor is
the guilty party, and I know the means by which she sends her
warnings."
"No? Marshy! Not really?" Hermione's voice, which a moment before
had been listless and sad, was suddenly full of tense excitement.
Frank Daneham uttered an ejaculation of surprise.
"Good Lord! Do you mean this?"
"I do, bless you. It's a good stunt, too. She sends them by carrier
pigeon. She's got two brace and a half shut up in a fowl-house."
"Oh, Marshy! And we never thought of that!" cried Hermione.
"Exactly. I thought of telephones, but not pigeons and in looking
for wires I found the birds. So all we have to do now is to tackle
her, and you, Hermione, have got to do it."
"By Jove!" cried Frank. "Well done you! Fancy Bessington and I
never thinking of that. Of course, the thing's easy. There must be
someone living not too far off from here--one of the receivers of the
smuggled goods, possibly a well-known tradesman, otherwise eminently
respectable and respected among his fellow-men and an ardent
supporter of law and order. He gets the message, sends the
advertisement to the papers and along come the rest of the gang
either with more goods or else to take off the returning smuggler.
Easy enough indeed. But why should Hermione be the one to tackle the
old girl?"
"Because she'll be able to get at the soft side of her," was the
reply, "and she's got a strong card to play."
"I know what you mean," said Hermione, with an unwonted sparkle in
her eyes and speaking openly on the subject on which, until then, she
had maintained a marked silence. "She has no idea that I am
Dominic's wife. After all, who thinks of me as anyone but the
wealthy widow, Rodenberg? Yes, I'll do it. Anything to get him
here! To know--once and for all. Oh! It seems too wonderful to be
true."
"It's true, all right, my dear," said her buxom friend. "And the
sooner you see her the better, before the police get more suspicious
and send a Government boat along."
Hermione glanced at the clock.
"Betty will have gone home by now, so I'll put my things on and go to
her cottage. It will be better in any case to see her there."
So once more a lonely figure started out upon a lonely walk, and this
time the knock upon the door was neither perfunctory, nor did it
remain unanswered.
Old Betty appeared in the doorway, and seeing who her visitor was,
smiled a welcome, and asked her to come in.
"Whiles I'm hoping there's naething wrong at the hoose, my leddie,"
she said, as Hermione, feeling suddenly troubled and anxious,
followed her in. What if she denied it? What if, after all, Iza had
been mistaken and it was not Betty who sent the messages?
"No, it's not for that I have come," was the reply. "I came to see
you, Betty, to--to talk to you." The two went into the tiny kitchen
which smelt strongly of peat, and was clean and tidy. "I want--"
said Hermione, hesitating, "to tell you something that I have not
told you before. Something that I have kept a secret--because it
hurt me to speak of it."
While she spoke the old woman stood watching her intently, her
deep-set, sunken eyes brightly expectant, but with never a trace of
fear in them.
"Will you no' be seated, my leddie?" she said.
"No, I'd sooner stand, Betty." She took the plunge. "Listen, did
you know that I had been married twice? But, of course, you did,
didn't you?"
"Nay. I kenned naething aboot your leddyship's former life," was the
reply.
"Well, it's about that that I have come to tell you," went on
Hermione, "and to talk about the Ardens."
"Aye, dearie me." The old hands went up in a gesture of sorrow.
"'Tis a sad tale that. They were guid folk were the Ardens of
Ardenmore."
"You knew that their son was married, didn't you?"
"Aye, to be sure. I heeard tell of a marriage before he ganged oot
to his death. But, 'twas in London that it happened, and when the
family were awa' in London we heeard naething of them until they
returned. And soon after that word came of his death, puir laddie."
"Would you like to know the name of his wife?" asked Hermione.
"Nay, what matter now that he is deid these nine year. Belike she is
married again, as most of the wummon did when their menfolk were
kilt."
"It's true, she did marry again," said Hermione. "She married a
wealthy old man, knowing that she would inherit his wealth and so be
able to buy back Ardenmore, which was the place that Dominic Arden,
her first husband, loved more than anything else in the world. And,
Betty, listen--she did buy it back, and it belongs to her, and she is
telling you about it now--Dominic's wife."
With a shrill cry the woman started back, staring at Hermione as
though at a ghost.
"You!" she cried. "You!"
"Yes, I. I am Dominic Arden's wife, and I love him just as I loved
him when he went out to fight for his country. And--oh, Betty! I
have mourned his death for nine long years, and now I want him to
come back; so I have come to you to beg you to send for him. For you
know that he is alive, don't you?" And with that she stretched out
her arms to the old woman in mute appeal.
Betty MacIvor made no movement towards her. She still stood there
staring blankly at the beautiful woman before her, and ages seemed to
pass before she spoke again.
"Me?" she cried, in a high, shrill voice. "And is it that you are
asking me to send for him? The laddie who has been deid these nine
years? Surely your leddieship is no' richt--surely--"
"Oh, Betty! Don't be afraid of me. You can trust me to keep your
secret," cried Hermione. "I'll never give you away. You have sent
messages before, by carrier pigeon, and you can send them again."
And at that suddenly the old woman tottered backwards and caught
unsteadily at a chair for support.
Instantly Hermione's arm was about her and she lowered her gently
into a chair.
"There. Sit still for a moment. And, above all, don't be
frightened. Your secret is mine, Betty, and you and I are going to
work together."
"The pollis?" gasped the old woman, hoarsely, and looked fearfully
towards the door. "If they are aboot and hear ye--"
"They are not about. They know nothing. It is only we at the house
who know and we are all your friends. Tell me, Betty, am I right?
Is he alive? Oh, for God's sake, tell me."
"Aye, he's alive, puir laddie, he's alive," said Betty, and at that
Hermione's reserve gave away completely. She sank into a chair, and
leaning forward, burst into uncontrollable weeping.
It was the old woman now who put an arm about her, crooning to her,
crying at times herself, talking incoherently, but with a new
tenderness in her voice, for Hermione, during the short time in which
she had been among them, had made herself well liked by the people on
the estate.
"And I didna' ken that you were his wife. Aye me, puir laddie, he
was ower here the once, juist before you came, but as the pollis were
there I couldna' get to see him, not to speak to, mind you. I saw
him only from a distance, for he dursn't be seen here. And when he
and his foreign friend had gone, I found that the pictures and the
books in his aul room were awa' too. So I kenned what had happened
and I held my tongue."
"Oh, Betty!" cried Hermione, and catching the gnarled hand she held
it fast. "To think that he was here on the very day I came, and I
not to have known it! To have even heard him go--for I heard their
boat--oh, it was hard indeed," she choked back a sob. "But go on,
please. Tell me everything."
"There is naething much to tell," she replied. "A year agone, while
the aul hoose lay empty, a boat came one nicht into the bay and a
foreign gentleman came to this cottage and tould me that young Mr.
Dominic was alive and living in France with him, and that he had come
to ask my help in an enterprise that he and the young master were
wishful to do, but that he couldna' come himself to ask me. The
foreigner was a nice-spoken laddie, with a smile nae doot and an eye
for the lassies, and I took to him and agreed to help, though nae
doot it was against the law. But there's naething I wouldna' do for
my young master, lawfu' or no. So when danger is aboot I send a
carrier pigeon with a message to a gentleman, of whose name and
address I ken naething. He brocht the birrds in a machine and left
them, and the foreign gentleman he pays me for my trouble."
Hermione was on her feet now, listening eagerly to every word the old
woman was saying, though one fact alone was dominant in her mind--the
fact that her husband was alive. Why--why--had he not come to
her--written to her? Was Dick Bessington right after all? No, she
couldn't believe it.
"Did the Frenchman say nothing about him--about Mr. Arden?" she asked
eagerly. "Did he speak of him? Where he was? If he was well?"
"Aye, he tould me he was well and that he lived with him at his hoose
in France. But he said naething mair, nor yet of his reason for
biding awa' frae here, except that it was na' safe for him to return."
"But he'll come if you send a message," urged Hermione.
The old woman shook her head. "I think not," she said. "His friend,
aye, he'll come for sure, and if you see him you can send a message
to your man."
"Where is that friend now, do you know?"
"Nay. I ken naething. But he'll be on this side of the Channel.
For when he returns after his journeying south with whatever it is
that he brings ower here, the boat is in the bay to meet him, and he
signals with a licht on the top of the tower, and his men come and
fetch him awa'. But I've seen no licht, and ken weel that his
machine was hearrd on the Ardenmore road going south some few nichts
sine. 'Twas Mistress Mackenzie who tould me, for she's a puir body
that can do naething but sit and watch the doings of ither folk and
crack with her neighbours."
"Do you know where he keeps his car when he returns?" asked Hermione,
but again the other shook her head.
"'Tis a secret that there's no finding. The young master, he knew it
and tould his friend. I'm thinking it bides here somewhere in a cave
in the rocks."
"Very well." Hermione's voice was decided. "There's only one thing
to be done now, Betty. We must send a message to this Frenchman and
get him here at once. The police are doing nothing at present, but
later they may again put men on to watch the tower, so we must act
quickly. Are you willing to send a message, Betty?"
"Aye, that I am, this very evening I'll send a birrd wi' it, and
'twill be in the papers in twa days and nae doot but the man will
come on the following day. If you will leave it to me, my leddy,
I'll see to it the noo."
"What will you say?"
"Juist the twa worrds 'All clear'. 'Twill bring him; and the men on
the boat, wherever they be, will scan the papers daily and see it and
be there to tak' him back to France. Oh aye, 'tis simple eneuch."
So simple indeed, that when, half an hour later, Frank Daneham and
Iza heard of it, they both in their heart of hearts felt that it was
too simple, too easy. But not for the world would either of them
dream of saying so to the radiant Hermione. Though the story she had
to tell them on her return from the cottage was the death-knell to
Frank Daneham's hopes--if, that is, he ever had any--he showed
nothing of what he felt, only intense joy at her own happiness
coupled with the personal joy he experienced in knowing at last that
the boy whom he had loved as a youngster and had mourned as dead, was
actually, and in truth, alive.
"And if he can't come back, at least I can go to him," she said to
Iza Marsh, when they were alone for a moment.
"Poor child. I only hope nothing will happen to prevent it," was her
silent comment, which was, after all, merely an echo of Frank's own
thoughts.
They had, as a matter of fact, all three omitted one factor which was
of paramount importance, and this was that those who, with evil
intent, resort to lies and deceptions in order to cover their tracks,
usually count upon those they are seeking to outwit as doing the same
thing themselves. The maxim which Richard Bessington invariably
followed, namely--that to do evil that good might follow was in most
cases justifiable, was not, however, followed by those he was trying
to outwit. There was no thought of evil in what they were doing and,
in consequence, they thought no evil of Bessington; believed, in
fact, that he had indeed discovered nothing.
He, on the other hand, with the guilty knowledge that he had lied to
gain his own ends--which he knew to be evil--judged the others as he
judged himself. He did not, in fact, believe that Iza Marsh had
discovered nothing. In the few moments' conversation he had had
before taking his departure, and in which she admitted having gone to
see Betty and finding nothing suspicious, his alert mind had jumped
to the conclusion that she was lying, as he himself had lied.
Undoubtedly, she had gone there, but she had found something.
Therefore, when he drove away down the avenue and out into the road,
instead of bidding the man get back to the Glen as fast as he could,
he bade him drive slowly until he came to the entrance to the farm,
and there he told him to draw up by the side of the road and wait for
him. Then he walked up the steep incline to the door of the rambling
old building and knocked.
A large man, wearing muddy boots and with a pipe in his hand,
answered the summons.
"Good evening," said Bessington, in his suavest manner, "you are
Mr.--er Mr.--"
"Mackenzie is my name," was the short reply.
"Ah yes, to be sure. I have just come from Ardenmore, and was asked
to give a message to a woman called Betty MacIvor, and I'm not quite
sure where she lives. I was told, but have got wrong in the
direction somehow. If you would be so good as to tell me I should be
exceedingly obliged. I believe it is somewhere near here where she
lives?"
"Aye, to be sure. Betty MacIvor bides in yonder wee cottage, but
half a mile fra' here," was the reply, and he pointed as he spoke
across the moor towards the sea. "But there's no road for a machine,
only a wee path across the fields fra' here, though there's a better
fra' the Hoose. If you'll walk through yonder wood and across the
burrn, you'll see the cottage on the brow of the hill, and then 'tis
but a matter of ten minutes' walk."
"Thanks. I'm much obliged to you," replied Bessington, and returning
to the car, he took his field-glasses, which he had flung on to the
seat thinking they might be useful in his investigations, and telling
the driver once more to wait for him, he started out upon his walk.
It was rough going and took him longer than he thought and when,
finally, he reached the edge of the wood and looked across at the
other hill where a tiny cottage appeared in the clear light but a
stone's throw away, it was to see the tall slim figure of Hermione
walking quickly up to the door.
He smiled as he saw her, though in a way it altered and spoiled all
his plans. For he could not interview the old woman while she had
such a visitor in the house, and if he waited until she had gone, it
might make him late for his return journey.
Wait, however, he would. He could at least spare half an hour, and
so, sitting down on a fallen log, he took out his glasses and began
his self-imposed vigil.
Twenty minutes later Hermione appeared at the door and walked
hurriedly towards her home. At the same moment he saw the figure of
another woman emerge at the back of the house, go down the garden to
what appeared to be a hen-house, and disappear behind it. But she
was not long out of sight, and reappeared almost immediately holding
something in her hand. It was not difficult to see through the
powerful lenses that the object was a pigeon.
With the bird in her hand she once more entered the house, and after
a few minutes, during which Bessington wondered if he should go and
see her or turn back to the car--fearing to be late for dinner at the
Glen--he saw her come out once more, hold the bird high up in the
air, and then, with a toss of her arm, let it fly. It circled once,
twice, thrice, and then like a shot from a gun was away, flying due
south.
"So that's that," observed Bessington, with a grim smile, as he rose
to his feet and hurried back to the car.