ZERO
A half truth, some one has said, is the greatest of lies: perhaps there
is nothing more staggering to the intelligence than a half discovery--a
discovery which solves one problem only to propound another.
"My old uncle, for a certainty," said Pratt. "He has been bald as long
as I can remember him: lost his hair in the wilds of Africa, I believe.
Years ago his man stuffed me up with the tale that a lion clawed his
tresses out by the roots. Lucky he didn't marry, or his wife might have
plagued him about wearing a wig, like Mother Rogers. That's the mystery
of the signal solved, then."
"Is it?" said Armstrong. "No signal was ever shown from the window of
that top room; that I'd swear. The light we saw to-night was the merest
streak: came through a slit certainly not more than a quarter of an inch
wide."
"But hang it all!--there's the poor old chap a prisoner: who else would
signal for help?"
"I thought you suggested Molly Rogers," remarked Warrender.
"I've given that up. Didn't Rogers say she knows nothing about signals?
But that doesn't matter. The point is that those foreign blackguards
have him under lock and key while they're committing a criminal offence
on his premises. I shouldn't wonder if it killed him, or made him clean
potty. He's over sixty, and solitary confinement----"
"I say, it's very late," Armstrong interrupted. "We've none of us had
much sleep lately. Let's see what's to be done and then get all the
rest we can before morning. I foresee a thick time to-morrow."
"We must set old Crawshay moving," said Pratt. "No doubt he's hand in
glove with the Chief Constable."
"We talked about Crawshay before," rejoined Armstrong. "The affair is
complicated now. We've got your uncle's safety to consider. You may be
sure that those ruffians won't stick at trifles, and if any action is
taken against them publicly it's quite on the cards that they'd put a
bullet into the old man. I'm inclined to think it's up to us."
"What do you mean?" asked Warrender.
"We know the subterranean entrance to the tower. Can't we get in and
release him ourselves? He'd be valuable outside as a witness."
"But, my dear chap, if the prisoner disappeared the foreigners would
know the game was up," said Warrender. "They'd clear off before they
could be caught."
"Look here, old man, he's my uncle," said Pratt earnestly. "The poor
old boy has been cooped up there goodness knows how long. He's over
sixty, accustomed to an active life: imagine what it means to him. It's
just the sort of thing to send him to a lunatic asylum for the rest of
his days. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't make some effort to get
him out of it. If you put it to me, I say I don't care a hang whether
the forgers are caught or not. The personal matter quite outweighs any
other. If we go interviewing magistrates and constables we'll lose
precious time: you know what officials are. The thing is, to rescue my
old uncle without a moment's delay, and let the rest take its chances."
Pratt's unwonted gravity had its effect upon his companions.
"Shall we try it?" asked Warrender, turning to Armstrong.
"I'm game," was the ready reply. "It's risky: no good blinking that.
We are three to six or seven, if we include Rush; and there's not the
least doubt they're armed. Fellows like that always carry automatics.
We've got cudgels! We can't fight 'em; our only chance is to get in
when there are few of them about."
"That's during the morning," said Warrender. "You remember that Gradoff
has twice gone off in the car, and that morning we went up all the men
were at the house."
"Except Rush," added Armstrong, "and that ugly fellow we weren't
introduced to."
"Well, then, I tell you what," said Pratt. "I'll go into the village in
the morning and find out whether the car has left as usual. We want
some eggs, and some spirit for the stove. I'll get that at Blevins's,
and see if I can pump a little information out of him or his assistant.
If Gradoff and the chauffeur are away the odds against us will be
reduced, and with luck we might get into the tower in their absence.
What do you say?"
"There seems nothing better," said Warrender. "Let us turn in and get
four or five hours' sleep."
Soon after breakfast next morning Pratt went off alone in the dinghy.
"By the way," Warrender said as he was pulling away, "bring an ounce of
pepper, and a large tin of sardines. We can't bother about cooking
to-day, and sardines want a little condiment."
"A packet of mustard, too," called Armstrong. "There's none for
to-morrow's bacon."
"Righto," shouted Pratt. "I shan't be long."
Arrived at the village, he made his purchases at the little provision
shop, thrust them into his pocket, and went on to the general dealer's
for a can of spirit. As he approached, he heard a high-pitched, angry
voice from the depths of the yard at the side of the shop.
"You go at vunce, at vunce, I say. Ve hire your car; vat is ze goot?
Always it break down, one, two, tree times. It is too much."
"Ay, and you owe me too much already," replied Blevins gruffly.
Pratt halted, straining his ears towards the altercation.
"You pay up: that's what I say," Blevins went on. "You've had my car a
week or more, and over-drive, that's what you do. And not a penny piece
have you paid."
"But zat is all right," expostulated the foreigner. "Mr. Gradoff he pay
at end of ze month. He say so; vell, you vait all right. You have--vat
you call it?--a bike; it is ten mile, but vat is zat? You go quick."
[Illustration: "'BUT ZAT IS ALL RIGHT.'"]
"And you think I'm going to ride twenty mile for a commutator. Not me.
What do you want the car for, anyway? Driving in and out nigh every
day, scorching along fit to bust up any machine. What's your game? Do
'ee take me for a fool? You're up to some hanky-panky while your
master's away. Think I didn't know that all along? Nice goings on! A
pretty tale the village 'll have to tell him when he gets back! Spending
his money like I don't know what. Spending, says I; running up bills,
that's what it is. You pay up, and you shall have a commutator. I don't
need to ride no bikes to fetch it: I've got it on the spot; only I'll
see your money first."
The men had begun to walk up the yard. Pratt slipped into the shop.
Evidently the car would not be used to-day, he thought, if Blevins
remained obdurate. Evidently, also, Blevins was suspicious of the
doings at the Red House, though it was clear that he had no well-defined
idea of what those doings were, or any knowledge of Mr. Pratt's
whereabouts. He went past the shop, still bickering with the Italian.
Pratt had a free field.
His former acquaintance, the youthful assistant, came forward to attend
to him.
"Good-morning," said Pratt, genially. "It seems quite an age since I
saw you. I've often thought of that pleasant little conversation we
had. But I'm in rather a hurry to-day. I want some methylated spirit:
that's what you call it, isn't it?--the stuff that burns with a blue
flame. Rummy how often blue comes into business affairs, don't you
think? Last time I was here I wanted blue tacks, I remember. By the
way, I suppose your friend, the gardener at the Red House, hasn't bought
any more tacks?"
"No friend o' mine," growled the youth.
"Indeed! It's a pity not to be friends. Friendship oils the machinery
of life, don't you know. Still, I am sure it's not your fault. Why
doesn't he reciprocate the amiable sentiments you cherish towards him?"
The youth gave Pratt a puzzled stare. "I don't know nothing about
that," he said slowly. "All I do know is, I hate furriners, I do so.
Fair cruel they be. Why, the feller comed in here not a hour ago and
wanted six foot of iron chain--to chain up a dog. 'Twas cruelty to
animals, and so I told 'un."
"Perhaps the dog feels the heat and gets snappy."
"But the thickness of it! Look 'ee here, sir; here's the chain I cut.
'Tis thick enough to hold a mad bull. Do 'ee call that a chain for a
dog? He wouldn't have a little small chain, as was proper."
"Well, after all, you haven't seen the dog. It may be a whopper of a
brute. Give him the benefit of the doubt. You'll feel better now
you've told me."
He paid for the can of spirit and left the shop. Blevins and the
chauffeur were a little way up the road, still quarrelling. Forgetting
the eggs that were part of his commission, Pratt hastened back to the
ferry, and found that his friends had just arrived in the motor-boat.
"We saw Rush pulling down stream," said Warrender, "and hurried up to
meet you and save time. He's one less. Any news of the car?"
"It appears to have broken down," replied Pratt, going on to relate what
he had heard. "Pity Gradoff won't be away. But the Italian is still
squabbling with Blevins, and if we look sharp we may get into the tower
before he returns to the house. That will make them two short."
He had placed on the deck the can of spirit and the tin of sardines
while he was speaking, then tied the dinghy astern and jumped aboard.
"Rush wasn't going to the island?" he asked.
"We watched him row past it," said Warrender. "He's probably off to his
hut. Let's hope that the other fellows are at the house and not at the
tower."
"It's 'over the top' now," remarked Armstrong, as the boat sidled away
from the landing-stage.