FIRE!
About eleven o'clock next morning Warrender and Pratt landed from the
motor-boat at the ferry, and, inquiring of the ferryman the way to Mr.
Crawshay's house, struck up the hilly road that ran westward from the
right bank of the river. Mr. Crawshay, it was true, had invited them to
make straight for the house across the fields; but they had decided that
it would be more becoming, on this first visit, to observe the customary
forms.
The house stood amid well-kept grounds, about as far west of the river
as Mr. Pratt's was in the opposite direction.
The apple-cheeked maid-servant who answered their ring announced that
her master was out, and would not return till the afternoon.
Disappointed, they were leaving when Lilian Crawshay, who had recognised
Warrender's voice as she descended the stairs, called to them.
"You wanted to see my father, Mr. Warrender?" she asked, as they turned
back.
"Yes; I'm sorry he's out, but we'll call again this afternoon."
"What a pity, when you have so far to go! Can't I give him a message?
Won't you come in and see Mother?"
"It's very good of you, but we have some shopping to do in the village,
or Armstrong will get no lunch. It will be no trouble to come again. We
get up and down very quickly in the motor-boat."
"Well, then come up in time for tea. Father will be home then; he has
only gone on some stupid business of quarter-sessions. And bring Mr.
Armstrong with you. Mother was greatly interested in the 'Three
Musketeers.'"
"Thank you very much."
"Good-bye, then, for the present. Tea is at half-past four."
"Why didn't you tell her we can't all come?" said Pratt, as they walked
away.
"Because it's clear that the old man hasn't said anything about our
affairs, and I couldn't anticipate him with explanations. We'll toss
for the odd man."
On returning to the ferry Pratt went on to the village to make some
necessary purchases, leaving Warrender to forestall gossip by informing
Rogers of their change of plan. Warrender rapped on the door.
"Bain't opening time yet," called a voice from above. Mrs. Rogers's
head appeared at an open window. "Oh, beg pardon; 'tis you, sir. We
have to be that careful; Constable Hardstone be always on the prowl.
You'll find Rogers in the garden, sir--through that little gate. And if
so be you find he haven't got his hair on, I beseech 'ee to mind him of
it; he's that careless of his brains, and I know they'll be broiled some
day."
The innkeeper, with his wig awry, was pinching out his tomatoes. He
smiled when Warrender told him of the projected removal of the camp.
"'Tis what I expected--ay, and all the village likewise," he said.
"We find the island a trifle inconvenient, you know," said Warrender, in
pursuance of the understanding he had come to with his companions that
their real reason should not at present be disclosed.
"Ay sure, that's what we all said. The neighbours wondered how long
you'd stand it."
"Stand what?" asked Warrender, wondering whether any whispers of the
truth had got abroad.
"Why, them sperits. Flesh and blood you can deal with, but when it
comes to sperits they're bound to get the better of you, give 'em time.
You can't get hold of 'em no way. Smite 'em, you might as well smite
the wind. I've been here and there about the world in my time, and I
tell 'ee I wouldn't spend a night on that island not if you doubled my
pension."
"Well, we did hear some very queer sounds last night. Of course, it was
very windy. I expected rain to-day, but it has cleared up. By the way,
are there any coastguards about here?"
"There's Lloyd's signal station away at the point yonder. I go over now
and again for a crack and a smoke with an old messmate of mine."
"How far is it?"
"Four mile or so. You go past Mr. Crawshay's, then sheer off to the
left and get into the old coastguard track over the cliffs."
"I'll take a walk out there some day. We haven't seen much of the
neighbourhood yet. There's no signal station in the village, of course."
"No; we're too far from the sea. Have 'ee heard what they're saying
about Mr. Pratt, sir?"
"What's that?"
"Ah, poor gentleman. 'Tis feared he've gone a-lost, or been swallered
by lions, or summat. 'Tis the end of many a poor traveller."
"Why do they fear that? Is there any news?"
"No; that's where 'tis; there be no news at all. 'Tis five weeks since
he went off, not a soul knowing, as his way is; and Susan Barter up at
post office was saying only yesterday that there's not been a single
line from him to any o' they people at the house. 'Tis never been
knowed afore. As a rule there's a letter from Paris, or Marseilles, or
Brindisi--ay, from places farther away; but this time not a line. He'll
be missed in the parish, sir, if so be he've gone aloft, like poor Tom
Bowling."
Rogers proceeded to relate anecdotes of his landlord--instances of his
peppery outbursts and splenetic quarrels with his county neighbours, but
more of kindly deeds and unobtrusive generosity among his poorer
tenants.
"And your friend be his nephew, to be sure!" he added. "Well, don't
worrit the poor young gent yet awhile. No news is good news; maybe
there'll be word of him one of these days. Susan Barter is sure to tell
us."
Presently Pratt returned, laden with sundry parcels. The boys took
leave of Rogers, and by half-past twelve were back in camp. Armstrong
had nothing to report. He declined at first to make one of the
tea-party, but when the spin of a coin elected him against Pratt, he
yielded to Warrender's argument that it would appear discourteous if
only one of them accepted the invitation. Promptly at half-past four
the two, wearing grey flannels for the occasion, entered the grounds of
Mr. Crawshay's house, and were met on the drive by the owner himself.
"Glad to see you, my lads," he said, heartily. "You've something to tell
me? I guessed it. Now, not a word before the ladies. I haven't told
them anything of your troubles; best not to disturb them, you know.
We'll have a talk in private, after tea."
The consequence was that presently Armstrong found himself left in the
company of Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter, while Warrender was taken by
Mr. Crawshay to his study.
It had been decided that nothing should be said to the old gentleman
about the visit to the Red House, the mysterious doings of Rush at sea,
or the strange light Pratt had seen among the trees. Determined as the
lads were to probe the mystery to the bottom, they felt that their
purpose might be defeated by any premature activity on the part of the
county magistrate. Accordingly, when Mr. Crawshay and Warrender were
seated in deep armchairs facing each other, and the former said, "Now,
my lad, what is the latest news?" Warrender simply related the incident
of the midnight visit to the camp, concluding--
"And so, sir, we have decided to accept your offer of a camping-place on
your land, not merely to escape these annoyances--we should rather like
to hold our ground in regard to them--but because we think we should
stand a better chance of discovering what really is going on."
"Ah, what does that mean? There's more in it than appears?"
"If you don't mind, sir, I won't tell you details now; but we have found
out one or two facts that have given rise to certain suspicions. By
removing from the island we feel that we shall be better able to put
them to the test, and when our information is complete we will lay it
before you."
"Well, I won't press you. Many a rogue has escaped justice because the
case against him has been badly prepared. Tell me all in your own time.
Now as to your camp. There's a little natural dock in my bank of the
river. I'll put on my gardener and odd man to make a small clearing for
you. It's too late to-day; the men knock off at five--eight hours' day,
you know. But you can bring your boat up the river, and put up for the
night with me."
"Thank you, sir; but we have a little errand at the signal station
before we go back--it might be rather late before we could get
everything packed up. I think we had better wait till the morning."
"Very well. You may have fresh light on the matter then. I shall
expect all three to lunch to-morrow. On my land you won't need to guard
your camp."
Taking leave a little later, the boys walked across the cliffs to the
signal station. On inquiry from the man in charge they learnt that the
steamer seen late on the previous evening was the _Katarina_, from
Helsingfors for New York.
"Did you notice a small boat pull out to her?" asked Armstrong.
"Rush's boat," replied the man. "It didn't pull out to her; 'twas out
before she came in sight. Rush has some lobster pots out there. He's a
well-known character in these parts."
They thanked their informant, and retraced their steps.
"She was a Russian boat," remarked Armstrong. "No secret about her name
or course. All the same--a Russian newspaper, a Russian secretary at the
Red House, Russian petrol cans, a Russian steamer. Queer coincidences,
at the least."
It was nearly eight o'clock when they regained the camp. Pratt was
humming "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls" to the accompaniment of
his banjo.
"And how is the fair lady of the punctured tyre?" he asked. "Did she
deplore my absence?"
"She did say something about 'that amusing Mr. Pratt,'" Armstrong
replied. "I like her mother."
"We're all going up to lunch to-morrow," said Warrender, and explained
the arrangements made.
"Then, as it's our last night on this island of spooks, I vote that
Armstrong and I go to the ruins and track that weird sound," said Pratt.
"The wind is high; we'll have time before dark."
Armstrong and he set off. The breeze was blowing in the same direction,
and almost as strongly, as on the night before, but no moaning met their
ears. Arriving at the cottage, they heard the characteristic whistle
and hiss of wind playing about the eaves, but not the tuneful, mellow
note that had reminded Pratt of an organ pipe. They searched around the
base of the walls for a recently fallen chimney-pot. There was none.
"Extraordinary!" said Pratt. "No wonder the rustics are jumpy. Of
course, there must be some simple explanation--some slight change of
direction in the wind, I expect. If you've ever tried to play the penny
whistle you'll know that you can't always get a note, when you're a
beginner. We've had our walk for nothing."
They were half-way back to the camp; dusk was just merging into
darkness, when the organ-note, riding, as it were, upon the rustle of
the leaves, struck upon their ears.
"By George!" exclaimed Pratt. "One would think the spook was just
waiting for the dark. Come back. This is an acoustical phenomenon worth
writing about to some scientific rag."
They hurried back to the ruins, and sprang up the staircase. Pratt
tracked the sound, as before, to the partially unroofed room on the west
side. Armstrong tried to climb up the jagged brickwork of the outer
wall, but found the footing too insecure to persevere. Baffled, they
stood for a while listening.
"It's no good," said Armstrong at last. "It's a job for daylight.
Besides, it's of no importance; we've got more interesting mysteries to
fathom."
"True, old matter-of-fact. You haven't a disinterested passion for
science. Well, I'll show you where I saw the light from last night."
They went into the other room, and looked across the river into the
darkness, faintly patterned by the nearer trees. Suddenly, high up, a
glow appeared, shone for a second, disappeared, recurred. They watched
in silence. Presently Armstrong spoke.
"They're certainly signals. Keep your eye on them; count them."
There was a period of complete darkness; it seemed that the signalling
had ceased. Then the glow peered over the tree-tops again; it was
repeated at regular intervals, at first short, then longer, then short
again.
"It's like Morse," said Armstrong. "Did you count?"
"Nine times."
"In groups of three?"
"Four, three, and two, I thought."
"So did I. Well, if it's Morse, that spells VGI. What on earth does
that mean?"
"Goodness knows. It's stopped. Wonder if it'll start again?"
A minute or two passed. Again the glow appeared, at intervals as
before. Again they counted its appearances.
"Nine times. Three groups of three--longs and shorts. I make that
ROD."
"Well, that's a word, at any rate; and the chef's name, by gum! But
what about VGI?"
"Perhaps I was mistaken. We'll wait for the next."
But though they remained some ten minutes at the window the glow
appeared no more.
"A dashed fruitless expedition!" exclaimed Pratt, as they descended the
stairs. "They used to divide science into sound, light, and heat.
We're flummoxed by sound and light; it only wants heat to biff us
altogether."
Before many hours had passed they had reason to remember that almost
prophetic utterance of Pratt's. It was his turn again to take the
middle watch, and at eleven-forty Armstrong wakened him.
"Hang you, Jack!" he cried. "I was dreaming I was blowing fire-balloons
out of an organ pipe, and I wanted to see the end of it. All serene?"
"Not a mouse stirring."
"Well, the air doesn't bite shrewdly. I cap your quotation, you see.
It's a warm sou'wester. Can you hear that sound?"
"Just faintly. I say, I believe I understand that signal. I've been
thinking it over. I've had no particular practice in reading signals;
perhaps the fellow signalling is a novice, too. In that case one or
other of us might easily make a mistake. It's clear he made three
letters each time; I fancy they weren't either VGI or ROD."
"What then?"
"S.O.S."
"What-ho! The signal of distress at sea. But, I say, this is on land,
old man."
"Yes; but I take it that it's a signal for help that any one knowing
Morse might make."
"But who wants help? In my uncle's grounds? Wait a jiff. It was in the
direction of the house. I have it! What a pudding-head I am! Of
course, Rod's wife. You remember she tried to signal to you and Phil.
She's in trouble. She's being ill-treated, or something. She's calling
for help. We're to be knights-errant--Perseus rescuing Andromeda----"
"Oh, shut up! Is it likely that an innkeeper's sister would know
Morse?"
"Mark my words, I'm right. A woman knows everything she wants to. Turn
in, old chap. I wanted something to keep me awake, and I'll cogitate a
plan for rescuing Molly Andromeda from the jaws of the Minotaur."
Pratt, however, found that cogitation was an ineffectual preventive
against drowsiness. Three disturbed nights in succession was an
experience unknown to him heretofore. He paced about for a little, sat
down and lit a cigarette, dozed over it, started up and walked again.
Once more he sat down, ruminated, nodded--and presently awoke, sniffing.
What was that smell of burning? He looked on the ground, where the
half-smoked cigarette lay. It was dead. He got up. The smell was in
the air. He took a few steps, looking around. His eye caught a flicker
of flame to windward--two, three flickers some yards apart. For a
moment his drowsy intelligence failed to respond to his senses; for a
moment only. Then he shouted--
"Hi, you fellows! Fire! Fire!"
Already the flickers had been whipped by the wind into a wall of flame,
advancing with a hiss and low roar from the thicket across the little
clearing. The heat of the last few days had dried the grass, which,
though much trampled around the tent, was still long. The fire swept
over it like a ruddy tide. Smoke surged across the open space; twigs
and leaves crackled in the surrounding thicket. When Armstrong and
Warrender, awakened by the shouts, the reck, the roar and crackle,
tumbled out in their pyjamas, they choked and spluttered and fell back
before the intolerable heat and smother.
It was only too clear that the camp was doomed. There was not time to
lower the tent. They rescued what they could. Armstrong dashed into
the tent, and returned dragging the three Gladstones that held their
clothes. Pratt caught up a petrol can and his banjo; Warrender secured
his razor-case and sponge-bag. Driven by the remorseless flames, they
retreated hurriedly towards the river, working round to the right until
they arrived at a spot on the bank that lay out of the course of the
wind. There they stood, coughing, watching the scene, fascinated.
Springing from the south-west, the fire raced across the island, like a
giant cutting with blazing scythe a path through the tough undergrowth.
There was nothing to stay its advance. The low flames danced beneath the
trees, red goblins in a dust of smoke, twigs and branches crackling, the
sappy wood adding rather to the smother than to the blaze.
"Sound, light, and heat!" murmured Pratt. "What a magnificent
spectacle!"
"We've paid pretty dearly for our tickets!" said Armstrong, morosely.
"And some one shall pay pretty dearly before I've done with them!" cried
Warrender. "We're homeless. We'd better run up to the Ferry Inn, and
get Rogers to bed us."
"We'll be the talk of the village for a hundred years," said Pratt.
"We'll pass into legend; future ages will tell of the three magicians
who exorcised the spooks of No Man's Island with fire."
"Come and help shove off the boat," said Warrender. "We've still got
that, thank goodness!"
The fire had burnt itself out at the north-east of the island by the
time the boat passed. At the ferry was assembled a crowd of the
natives. Rogers was in the act of setting off in Fisherman Drew's boat,
along with Blevins, Hardstone, the village constable, and one or two
more.
"Praise be!" exclaimed the innkeeper, as the motor-boat ran alongside
the stage. "I was afeared as you young gentlemen might be cinders."
"We're only smoked at present, dry-cured," said Pratt. "Saved our
bacon, you see."
"I want to know summat about this," said the constable. "I'll have to
make a report. If so be you set fire to that there island, with the
terrible destruction of growing trees, I won't say but 'twill be brought
in arson, and that's five years' penal. Which one of you was it chucked
down the match?"
"My dear good man," said Pratt, blandly, "we're only too anxious to give
every assistance to the officer of the law; but, as you see, we're in a
great state of nervous agitation. D'you think Shadrach, Meshach, and
Abednego were in a condition to answer questions after their experience
of the fiery furnace? Abed we go, if Mr. Rogers will oblige us. Come
up in the morning, constable; you're all losing your beauty sleep. In
the morning we'll swear affidavits, or whatever it is you want. To-night
we're too tired even to swear. Good-night."