A SOFT ANSWER
There was no more sleep that night for any of the party. When Pratt's
bruised head had been bathed and bandaged the three placed their chairs
at the tent entrance, and sat in the still, warm air, discussing the
situation more seriously than they had yet done. They had learnt
definitely from the recent incident that at least two men were concerned
in the campaign of petty annoyance. One of these--the man whose face
Armstrong had seen in the thicket--looked like a foreigner, and
apparently either lived somewhere on the island or had means of reaching
it from the mainland. What more probable than that the second man was
Rush, and that his boat was placed at the foreigner's disposal?
"The more I think of it," said Warrender, "the more likely it seems that
Rush and one of the foreigners are playing some private game of their
own. I haven't a notion what the game is, but I can't believe that
Pratt's uncle left instructions to worry trespassers on an island that
isn't his, or that any decent fellow in his secretary's position would
encourage it."
"That assumes the secretary is a decent fellow," remarked Armstrong.
"Well, why not?" asked Pratt. "A man may be mad without being a fool,
and my old uncle, though he's mad enough to hate English servants,
wouldn't be such a fool as to engage foreigners without inquiring about
their characters."
"That fellow Armstrong knocked down wasn't an attractive specimen," said
Warrender.
"He was drunk," said Pratt. "Some of the most estimable characters--the
most respectable of English butlers, for instance--may now and then take
a drop too much."
"That fellow is a sot," said Armstrong. "It's marked all over him."
"Well, I tell you what I think we had better do," said Warrender. "Go
up to the house, see the secretary, and put the case to him. If he's a
decent fellow, and the man you tripped, Pratt, is one of his crew, he'll
put a stop to this foolery. Will you go up with me to-morrow?"
"Better take Armstrong," Pratt replied. "If my uncle were at home I'd
go and beard him, and jolly well tell him a few things for his good. But
I'd rather not show up in his absence. Besides, I shall have a head
to-morrow, and a swelling the size of a turnip. I feel the growing
pains; I'll be fit for nothing."
"Rough luck!" said Warrender, commiseratingly. "Very well. Jack and I
will go, and I dare say that'll be the end of our troubles."
At nine o'clock next morning Armstrong and Warrender rowed off in the
dinghy; at a quarter to ten they entered the grounds of the Red House.
The paths were weedy, the grass untrimmed, the flower-beds untidy.
"The foreigners don't overwork," remarked Armstrong, as they walked
along the drive towards the house. "The place is a disgrace to the
neighbourhood."
"It certainly looks very much neglected," said Warrender. "The house
might be uninhabited but for that smoke from one of the chimneys, and
the car waiting at the door."
"The same car Pratt and I saw yesterday. It belongs to old Blevins. I
wonder whether they use it for joy-riding, or what? The secretary may
be away, by the bye; yesterday he went off with a trunk."
"A nuisance if he is. But we'll see."
The front of the house faced south-east, and the drive wound from the
gate in a wide arc to the left. The lower windows were shuttered; at
some of those on the upper storey the blinds were drawn; but as the
visitors approached there appeared at a small upper casement on the side
of the house facing them the form of a woman, At first it seemed that
she had not seen them; she stood looking out in an attitude of idle
immobility. They could not distinguish her features through the small
square panes of the casement; she was stout in build, and dressed in the
print of a domestic servant.
Suddenly, as her eyes fell on them, she gave a perceptible start. She
turned her head quickly from the window, as if to see whether any one
was behind her; then raised her hands, apparently to undo the catch.
Next moment she dropped them with a gesture of impatience or despair.
The boys saw her shake her head, and, lifting an arm, make a sweeping
movement with it towards the rear of the house. A moment later she left
the window hurriedly, as a servant might do in answering a call.
"Rummy!" said Warrender. "That's Rogers's sister, I suppose; wife of
the chef, you remember. What did she mean?"
"It looked as if she wanted to open the window and couldn't," returned
Armstrong. "She wanted to speak to us."
"That movement of her arm--was it a warning to us to go away?"
"Too late in any case. That's the secretary coming out; he's seen us."
The dapper little man whom Armstrong had seen on the day before, dressed
as he was then, was hurrying down the steps from the front entrance when
he caught sight of the boys. He stopped short, gave a swift glance
behind him, then descended the remaining steps and came towards them.
His movements were quick, his step was light, and as he drew nearer they
were aware of a very vivid personality, accentuated by dark eyes of
great brilliance, set rather closely together.
"Yes, gentlemen," he said, smiling, "what can I do for you?"
His voice was low and smooth; the intonation, rather than the accent,
alone suggested a foreign origin.
"Can you give us a few minutes alone?" said Warrender.
The chauffeur had just come down the steps, carrying a box, and stood
with it still in his arms, beside the car, looking on with an air of
startled curiosity.
"Certainly," replied the man, "if it is only a question of minutes. As
you see, I am about to drive out, and my time is short. Henrico"--he
addressed the chauffeur--"put the box down and go into the house. Now,
gentlemen."
"You are Mr. Pratt's secretary, I believe," said Warrender, feeling a
little awkwardness in the situation, and wishing that the voluble
banjoist were in the office of spokesman instead of himself.
"Yes. My name is Gradoff--Paul Gradoff."
"Well, Mr. Gradoff, I'm sorry to trouble you, but you may be able to
throw some light on a puzzle that's rather annoying to us."
"Anything I can do----"
"We are camping on the island over there, and ever since our arrival
have been the object of annoying and--I'm afraid I must say--malicious
attacks. We have reason to believe that one of the aggressors is not an
Englishman, and knowing that your staff here is largely foreign, we have
come up to--to----"
"Complain?" suggested Gradoff, as Warrender hesitated.
"Well, rather to ask if you can help us," Warrender went on. "I should
explain that we fell foul of one of your men on the evening of our
arrival, and it occurs to me that he, or one of his mates, may be
retaliating."
"Ah yes; I had heard of that little matter from my man, Jensen," said
Gradoff, suavely. "You could hardly expect him to be amiable, could you?
He was insulted by a yokel, very properly chastised him, and was then
suddenly set upon by one of you young men, and before he could defend
himself was seriously hurt."
"That's nonsense, Mr. Gradoff!" exclaimed Armstrong. "The man dealt a
foul blow, and I stepped in."
"It was you?" rejoined Gradoff, in his suave, smooth tones. "The
version is different: _tot homines tot sententiae_--being students you
will recognise the allusion. It is so very difficult to reconcile
conflicting stories, especially in common brawls. But, come; it is not
like Englishmen to make a fuss about trifles, and Olof Jensen is not the
man to bear malice. If that is the sum of your complaint----"
"But it is not," Warrender broke in, nettled by the Russian's suavity
and his Latin. "We hadn't been twelve hours on the island when our
motor-boat was set adrift----"
"My dear young man, _quandoque dormitat Homerus_--you will correct me if
I do not quote accurately; my schooldays, alas! are a distant past.
Even the most experienced sailors--and I am far from saying I do not
include you among them--may tie a careless knot; make a slip, as you
English say. And the current is strong when swollen by the rain.
Really, my dear sir----"
"At any rate tin-tacks don't rain from heaven. We had a shower of them
over our tent one night, and in the morning----"
"_Latet anguis in herba_! Come, come; you were dreaming. I am told
that in the past the island was a favourite resort of trippers, a class
of people who reprehensibly leave behind them much rubbish--paper bags,
bottles, tin cans; why not tin-tacks?"
Warrender was fuming, irritated by his lack of evidence as well as by
the secretary's manner. He wished that he had ignored the minor
incidents, and confined his statement to the latest.
"We'd no proof--I know that--till last night," he said. "A fellow
tripped over a rope snare we had rigged up. One of us caught him, and
knocked him out; he was clearly a foreigner----"
"And you have him in custody? Ah, now we are getting to something
substantial! He was a foreigner; on the principle _ex pede
Herculem_--you recognise the proverb?--you infer that he belongs to my
staff. And you did not bring him with you for confrontation?"
"He was rescued by----"
"By another foreigner?"
"We don't know who by; he gave my friend a blow from behind."
"That is more serious, truly. But what do you tell me? You are camping
on the island--with permission? No, of course not; is it not No Man's
Island? Well, what is no man's is all men's. What more likely than that
others are camping there also? One of them falls over your rope, and is
knocked out by your friend; your friend is, in turn, knocked out by a
friend of the tripper. It is the _lex talionis_--the term is familiar to
you? That, of course, is only a theory, but I commend it to your
consideration. And now, I take it, I have the sum of your complaints.
I put it to you, do they make a case against my staff?"
"I wasn't making a case against your staff," said Warrender. "I merely
stated the facts."
"But with a bias; yes, with a bias, natural enough to youth and hot
blood. I do not blame you; but you will agree that I am somewhat
concerned for the good name of the men under my charge. Lest you should
still harbour doubts about them, I will summon them. You shall see
them. They number four. There is Jensen, the Swede, whom you,
sir"--turning to Armstrong--"so unhappily misjudged. But you shall see
them all. There is a woman, too, the wife of the chef, an amiable
countrywoman of yours. It is perhaps not necessary to summon her? You
do not suspect her of sowing tin-tacks or falling over your rope?"
He smiled, and without waiting for an answer went to the open house-door
and called his chauffeur, to whom he gave instructions. Meanwhile, the
two boys, chafing under his politeness with its touch of irony,
exchanged looks of silent sympathy.
"The men will be here immediately," said Gradoff, rejoining them. "What
a delightful summer we are having! _Per aestivam liquidam_--you
remember the line? How I envy you your daily browsing on the Classics!
Ah, here come the four suspects! Two, you perceive, are tall; two are
short. I will align them in order of their heights, as they do in your
army, I believe. Halt, men! Stand in line: Jensen at one end, then
Radewski, then Prutti, last of all, Rod. Now, my dear sirs, inspect the
company."
"There's no need," said Warrender. "We've seen them all in or about the
village. None of these is the man you saw, Jack?"
"No," replied Armstrong, shortly.
"But darkness, even moonlight, is deceptive," said Gradoff, in his
suavest manner. "Really, I am concerned to convince you thoroughly; I
should regret your going away harbouring the least particle of
suspicion. I will interrogate them in turn. Jensen, you do not amuse
yourself by sowing tin-tacks on No Man's Island?--Jensen, I may explain,
is Mr. Pratt's horsekeeper, in particular, and handy-man in general.
Well, Jensen?"
"Nope," replied the man, gruffly, eyeing Armstrong with a scowl.
"And you, Radewski?--Radewski is the gardener." The boys recognised him
as the passenger in the car that had collided with the farm-wagon.
"No, of course not," answered the Pole, smiling.
"And now you, Prutti?--the chauffeur, as you see."
"It is silly, stupid; I say ze question----" began the Italian, volubly.
"Yes, yes; but I want no comments. Just say yes or no," Gradoff
interrupted.
"No, zen; I say no. I say ze question----"
"He comes from the south, gentlemen," said Gradoff, deprecatingly.
"Now, Rod, what have you to say?"
"Sacre nom d'un----"
"Now, now. Maximilien Rod is the chef, gentlemen, accustomed to the use
of the diction of the menu. Plain English, Rod, if you please."
"Zen I say zat ze man vat accuse me of so imbecile, so--so--so----"
"Contain yourself, Rod. Yes or no?"
"No, no; not at all--no!"
"Four negatives do not make an affirmative," said Gradoff, turning to
the boys, and smiling with the persistent urbanity they were beginning
to detest. "These are all my staff--with the exception of the excellent
woman, Rod's wife. Would you like to pursue your inquiries?"
"Thank you, it is unnecessary," replied Warrender, in as even and polite
a tone as he was master of.
"Then the men may return to their duties, and I may begin my journey.
May I give you a lift as far as the cross-roads? Or, stay! You are
here very near the river. You may prefer to take a short cut through
the grounds, and avoid the long walk on the dusty road."
"Thank you," said Warrender, ready to accept any suggestion that would
remove him quickly from the presence of Mr. Gradoff; "if some one will
show us the way."
"Certainly. Quite a happy thought," said the Russian. He called to the
chef, the rearmost of the party filing away. "Rod, show these gentlemen
the shortest way to the river; bring them opposite to the island.
Good-morning, gentlemen. I am sorry you have found me a broken reed.
But I do hope your holiday will not be spoilt; I have such keen memories
of my own happy holidays--_liberatio et vacuitas omnis molestiae_: you
remember your Cicero? _Good_-morning."
He sprang into the car, in which the chauffeur was already seated, and
with a smile and a wave of the hand was driven away.