matters not what he said or how he said it. Here I be and here I
remain, same as I have done all my life long. It's no use you or the
squire trying to make me change my mind, no manner of use, I tell you.
It's in this little room that I'll be when the call comes to go up
higher, and I'll bide here till it reaches me, and not trouble nobody
whiles I wait."
Ben shrugged his shoulders impatiently as he rose to go. "I must see if
I can't make Mr. Field fork out the tin somehow," he muttered. "If I
wait till the house falls down, he may not see the fun of paying so much
for a field that will sooner or later follow suit. It won't be
difficult to find out if the proposal's in black and white, if only I
can get to the inside of that desk."
As Ben issued from the door of the cottage he caught sight of someone
contemplating the scene from the top of the wooden stair which led to
the beach. He drew back into the shelter of the porch to watch the
stranger.
"Seems to me as if that man's figure is familiar to me," he said. "I
wonder where I've seen him before. He appears mighty interested in the
place, the way he's staring so hard at everything. I wish I could get a
better view of his face."
As he spoke, the man apparently finished his survey and commenced to
descend the steps to the shore.
A minute later, Jenkins, the Farncourt footman, walked past the end of
the garden with some towels over his arm. Ben had struck up an
acquaintance with him during one of his not infrequent visits to "The
Bull," and he now hailed him from the door.
"Who's that fellow that's just gone down there?" he asked, pointing his
thumb in the direction of the sea. "A thick-set man with a jerky sort
of walk, looking for all the world as if the whole place belonged to
him."
Jenkins peeped down over the edge of the cliff.
"Why, that's my governor!" he remarked, "old Tommy himself. As it
happens, the whole place does belong to him, barring your little house
here that he can't get."
"Mr. Field!" exclaimed Ben, "Tommy, as you so respectfully call him.
Sounds very natural to me somehow." Suddenly he slapped his hand upon
his thigh. "Tommy Field!" he repeated. "Tommy Field! Of course I
remember now. Made his money in America, didn't he?"
"Piles of it!" ejaculated the footman. "He's called 'the Silver King,'
he's so rich. But I must be off, or I'll get a wigging. He's going to
bathe this evening, and I've got his majesty's towels."
For some time did Ben continue to lean over the garden gate after
Jenkins had left him. Judging from his preoccupied face his meditations
appeared to be profound and perplexing. And so indeed they were.
His thoughts were far away, dwelling upon a scene very different to the
homely English landscape now before him.
A vivid picture was being conjured up in his mind. The roar of a
mountain torrent seemed again to make subdued music in his ears, and he
could almost feel the night breeze which stirred the pine branches, as
they waved in the moonlight over a little wooden house which stood upon
the bank of the stream. Within the hut two men held converse by the
glimmer of an oil lamp suspended from the rough beams of the ceiling.
He seemed to be looking into the cunning, bloodshot eyes of one of the
speakers, as he leant forward to emphasize some remark.
Ben laughed grimly as he recalled the scene, for the features were those
of Field, and in Field's companion he recognized himself.
"It's strange we've not met again since that time," he soliloquized as
he puffed away at his pipe. "Never dreamt he'd get on in the world like
this. Mighty queer he was that night, I remember, though his tongue was
so glib. Rum thing altogether, now I come to think of it!"
For some minutes Ben appeared to be lost in speculations too deep for
words. At last he gave a low chuckle.
"Wonder now if I could work it?" he continued. "Sure enough I've got
precious little to go upon, but if I'm on the right tack and play my
cards well, I may be able to put the screw on somewhere. 'Conscience
makes cowards of us all,' and if there was anything fishy about it,
he'll know, even if I don't! At any rate it's well worth trying."
When Jenkins returned with the towels about half an hour later, Ben
walked back with him a little way upon the road.
"Seeing your master's so rich I suppose he's pestered with letters of
all sorts?" he said, "begging, and such-like?"
"Crowds," replied the footman, "mostly circulars though, enough to light
a bonfire every week."
"Does he ever get threatening letters, do you happen to know?" enquired
Ben, "from socialists for example, who hold it a sin to own more than
your neighbours do."
"Not that I'm aware of," answered Jenkins, "but he doesn't do me the
honour of inviting me to share his correspondence, so you see I've no
means of judging."
It was two days after the above conversation when Jenkins again joined
Ben as he was having his usual glass at the inn.
"It's curious you should have asked me that question about the
socialists," he said, "for I do believe old Field got a warning from one
of them only this morning. He turned green enough for anything when he
read the letter."
"What letter?" enquired Ben, carelessly.
"Well," replied the footman, "I suppose strictly speaking it could
hardly be called one. I happened to be handing him something at the
table, and was standing just at his shoulder when he opened the
envelope, so of course I saw right enough what was in it. It was only
half a sheet of ordinary foolscap, and on it was pinned a piece of blue
paper of rather an unusual shade. There was nothing written on the blue
bit, but on the white was a sentence in large letters a blind man could
have read."
"What was it?" asked Ben. "Anything about cross-bones and skulls?
Generally they begin that way."
"No," answered Jenkins. "These were the words, and very harmless they
seemed to me--just this plain question--
"'WAS IT NOT WRITTEN ON PAPER OF THIS SHADE?'"
"Was that all?" exclaimed Ben, "and yet Field turned green as he read
it!"
"Green as a pea-pod," was the reply. "For a minute he stared at the
words as if he didn't quite take in their meaning, and then he just
crumpled the paper up quick and tossed it right into the fire. A good
shot he made too, so I didn't have the satisfaction of picking it out of
the grate afterwards. He looked up at me sharp, as if wondering could I
have seen anything, but I was gazing straight before me at the big
picture on the opposite wall, like the well-trained footman that I
am--so of course I saw nothing."
"Queer," remarked Ben. "I wonder why he was so put out. It seems to me
that the words were simple enough."
All that day Mr. Field was visibly upset. The mysterious missive of the
morning had evidently got upon his nerves, and he could settle down to
nothing. As the posts came in he scanned them anxiously, taking good
care to open his letters in the privacy of his own room. It was,
however, not till the end of the week that something else happened to
disturb him still further.
"May I undo your parcels, dad?" asked Julius as he sat at breakfast with
his father.
It was a special privilege accorded to the boy, to investigate the
numerous advertisement samples which poured in upon the wealthy owner of
Farncourt. Now it was a bottle of horse-liniment, or a dainty tin
containing some new style of food for pheasants--now a neat box of
super-fine cigarettes, or a packet of some special blend of tea--all
professing to be the very best and cheapest of their kind ever yet put
upon the market. It was an exciting occupation to cut the string and
discover the contents, and Julius never failed to find amusement in the
process.
"Yes, yes," said his father impatiently, in answer to the boy's
question, as he gathered up his letters and went off to the study with
them.
"Look what a very funny advertisement this is," said Julius, a few
minutes later, as he opened the study door. "Neither Jenkins nor I can
understand what it's meant for."
He laid a narrow cardboard box before his father, in which reposed, on
cottonwool, a short wooden penholder, the end of which had been
evidently burnt off, as the blackened stump clearly testified.
"There was only a scrap of paper besides, with one sentence on it,"
continued Julius, as he read out the following words--
"'WAS IT NOT WRITTEN WITH A PEN LIKE THIS?'"
Mr. Field started up and seized the slip from the boy.
"Some wretched joke," he said, but Julius saw that his father's hand
trembled as he spoke. "I'll open my parcels for myself in the future.
It's scandalous that anyone should be subjected to vulgar pranks like
this. I'll inform the police if it goes on, and you can tell Jenkins
so, if it's true what you said about his having seen this silly hoax."
There was only one very small parcel addressed to Mr. Field next
morning, which, being marked "private," excited Jenkins' curiosity to
the uttermost.
This time no one but the owner saw the contents, for the study door was
locked when they were brought into the light of day.
Only an old match-box, with one dead bee carefully enshrined, rewarded
Mr. Field's research, and he was apparently completely puzzled as to the
meaning of the strange consignment.
"I see they've written 'to be continued in our next' on the top of the
box," he said, "so perhaps the answer to the riddle will come
to-morrow."
His supposition was correct, for sure enough a postcard which seemed to
give the clue arrived by the very first mail. In one corner was
scribbled the word "continued," and in large capitals right across the
card were printed the four letters--
"WARE."
"A dead bee yesterday and a communication with 'ware' on it to-day,"
meditated Mr. Field as he scrutinized the handwriting, "that can mean
nothing but 'beware,' I suppose, seeing that the two are intended to
supplement one another. The postmark is London, so there is not much
help in that. I might as well look for a needle in a haystack, as try
to track my correspondent through the post. Who can he be, and what
does he know, I wonder? I'd give a good deal to find out."
His disquietude was not allayed by the receipt a day or so afterwards of
two more little matchboxes, each containing the corpse of another bee.
Hour after hour he mused on the possible explanation.
"Surely it can't be a warning of death," he shuddered. "If so, why
should bees be chosen as a sign? It is more likely that they stand for
letters. Perhaps the initials of the man who sent them."
Suddenly he started as an inspiration seemed to flash into his mind.
"Why, yes, of course that's it," he exclaimed. "I see it all now."
His heart seemed to stand still for a moment, and a cold perspiration
broke out on his forehead. He sank down in his armchair, and covered his
eyes with his hand.
"I wonder how much he knows," he said to himself. "If it's a question
of wanting money I shan't grudge it if only I can stop his mouth. It
won't be long, I expect, before I hear from him again."
A week passed by and the tension on Mr. Field's nerves grew worse and
worse as each day brought no fresh light to bear upon the case. Jenkins
and the chauffeur had both given notice, unable to endure the
unreasonable behaviour of the master of the house.
"Such tantrums as he goes into nowadays I never did see," bewailed the
footman to his chosen cronies in the village. "No wages will ever pay
for what I've had to put up with lately. You'd hardly believe it, but
yesterday he actually threw a plate at me and nearly cut my chin, and
all because there was a little spot of dust upon the rim. Catch me
staying to be murdered because of the carelessness of the kitchenmaid!
Not if I know it!"
It seemed an unfortunate time for Ben Green to select, when he sent up a
note one evening offering to remove his father from his cottage, and to
make arrangements for the sale of the land, if the squire would kindly
let him know in writing the terms of the agreement.
"What impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Field, as he read the demand, "as if I
would bind myself down on paper to anything of the kind. The old man
wouldn't budge when I made him the offer, fair and square, nearly a year
ago now, and I'm not going to renew it to this scamp of a son, who they
tell me has just returned to idle about the place like a vagabond. The
next gale will take the house down on to the beach, and the sea will
soon eat away the rest of their paltry field, so I'm not likely to pay
this ne'er-do-weel a hundred pounds for sitting by to see it go. Once
their little bit of land has disappeared I'll be careful to put
breakwaters along the shore to prevent the waves doing any further
damage to my own property, but the sooner that portion of the cliff
falls over the better for me."
"Old Timothy's son says as he'll be much obliged if you could see him
for a few minutes," said Jenkins, who had stood meekly by during this
tirade. "There's something rather special he wants to say."
"You may send him up then," replied Mr. Field grimly, "and I'll give him
a piece of my mind. I don't think he'll favour me with a second call,
once I've had my say."
"You'll have a gay old time in there," whispered Jenkins as he ushered
Ben into the room. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything."
The footman wondered at the strange smile which stole over Ben's face at
the words. "I expect I'll get on all right," was the reply.
Vainly did Jenkins apply his eye and ear to the keyhole, hoping to catch
something of the interview within, but the apartment was a long one, and
the occupants were at the further end, so he had to retire baffled to
the hall.
It would have edified him could he have seen what was taking place
inside. Mr. Field stood with his back to the fire, ready to let loose
the fury of his wrath upon the intruder, but as Ben advanced, the great
man's countenance suddenly changed. His jaw fell and his eyes glared
like some startled animal when an enemy is near. Ben walked quietly up
to him.
"I suppose I'd better introduce myself as you don't seem exactly to
remember me. At any rate you don't give the warm sort of welcome an old
pal might expect. B. B., Blustering Ben, alias Benjamin Green, at your
service, sir."
*CHAPTER VIII*
*Robin Hood's Lair*
Contrary to Mr. Field's expectations, this was not by any means Ben's
last visit to him. Sometimes he would be absent from the village for a
week at a time, but on his return no long period would elapse before he
presented himself again at Farncourt, and to the surprise of the
household, never failed to gain admittance to their master's presence.
"Oh, I knew him in past days," was Ben's reply in answer to the many
questions which were addressed to him. "Why shouldn't a fellow
sometimes go up to have a chat with an old friend?"
"It's plain enough those conversations don't agree with him then," was
the universal opinion. "He's getting so jumpy and nervous, not half the
man he was a little while ago."
There was certainly something wrong with the Silver King. His double
chin was fast disappearing, and his waistcoat hung in loose folds,
instead of presenting the smooth expanse which had formerly been the
wearer's pride. His temper also did not improve as time went on, but
became shorter and shorter, until at last even his own son grew afraid
of him, and gave him as little of his company as was possible.
"If only I had a better clue I'd drive the nail in harder," said Ben to
himself after one of his periodical absences, "as it is, however, I'm
apparently on the right tack, and if only I can get him to commit
himself a little further by letting out something more definite when
he's speaking to me, I may be able to bring him altogether to his knees.
I could of course make more public enquiries, but unfortunately I've not
got quite a clean sheet myself, and I might perhaps find that I'd made
it hot for Number One as well as for Mr. Thomas Algernon Field.
Besides, I shall probably squeeze a good deal more out of him by working
this little affair on my own hook than by letting someone else poach on
my preserves. Whatever it is that he's done, he's in a blue funk over
it, and would give anything to hush the matter up. I must just go
cautiously to work, and in the meanwhile it's extremely convenient to
have such a handy bank to draw on whenever I choose."
Ben jingled some money between his fingers as he spoke, with evident
satisfaction, and puffed complacently at his cigar.
"I wonder why he was in such a hurry to get me to sign the document that
night," he mused. "If I hadn't been half-seas over I'd have looked at it
closer, but as it is I haven't a notion what it was about, though I
remember well the colour of the paper, and the burnt penholder. He
hints darkly that I have let myself in for something that I'd be sorry
for once I was found out, but I can't help thinking that in that case he
would be in a worse position than me. Anyhow, if we're both in the same
boat it won't be to my advantage if I sink the craft by peaching to the
world. I'd better go on as I'm doing for the present and reap the
harvest I'm enjoying in consequence of his fears. I think I'll walk up
to Farncourt now, and give another twist to the screw. My last week in
town was a roaring one, and the sovereigns flew. It's fine fun to live
like a millionaire every now and then.
"There's one other thing I can't understand," he added, as he wended his
way to the house of his victim. "Why did he look so pleased that same
night when he found the letter in old Wattie's coat as it was hanging on
the wall? He didn't know I was peeping at him when he took it out and
slipped it into his own pocket. I know it was only a few lines the boss
had written to his daughter, for he'd read it over to me that very
afternoon, and I was to post it when I went off next day. It surely
couldn't have had anything to do with the paper I signed? I wish I had
asked about it at the time."
As he passed the lodge gates he met Julius hastening to the village.
The voice of conscience, awakened in the boy's heart by the terrors of
the hours of darkness and the loneliness, had been stilled and silenced
when the morning light arose, and having once overstepped the bounds of
truth and obedience, it was easy to continue along the path of wrong.
Two months had passed since that Sunday's talk. The new tutor from
Oxford had come and gone, peremptorily ordered out of the house by Mr.
Field, who could not brook the superior intellect and independent manner
of the young graduate. Thus the lad was left once more to his own
devices, and few were the days when he found it impossible to arrange a
meeting with his friend at Sea View Cottage. He had almost ceased to
look upon his disobedience as a sin, his only fear being that his father
would find him out at last.
This morning he found Robin in a great state of excitement, brimful of
new ideas and plans. To the unimaginative Julius these continual
surprises were an unmixed delight. He never knew what new role he would
be expected to take up as he joined his comrade in his play. Sometimes
it was a knight in armour, going to rescue a captive princess,
represented perhaps by old Mother Sheppard or Mrs. Power. These, being
supposed to be under the spell of a magician, were naturally unwilling
to accompany their youthful deliverers to the shore. Sometimes he had
to represent a character in a favourite tale, but more often it was
Robin's history lesson which afforded the framework for some entrancing
game.
"I'm so glad you've come, Julius," was the welcoming cry now as he
appeared at the door, "but what a pity your coat is grey. It's
fortunate my old jersey is green, for if I pull it down as low as I can,
it almost covers my knickers, and no one would naturally look at them
first."
"Why shouldn't my coat be grey?" questioned Julius. "It's a very good
colour."
"Because it should be _green_--Lincoln green," exclaimed Robin. "They
all had it. It was their sort of badge."
"What badge?" asked Julius, altogether puzzled by the reply.
"Oh, I forgot you hadn't heard," was Robin's rejoinder. "I've been
reading to-day in my history-book about Robin Hood. He was an outlaw--a
splendid one--who lived in the woods, and he and his followers were
always dressed in green, and had bows and arrows and hunted the king's
deer. I'll be Robin Hood, because of course it's my name, and will you
be one of my merry men, Julius?"
"I don't think an outlaw is a nice kind of man," was the reply. "They
were generally hanged, weren't they?"
"Robin Hood was a _good_ outlaw," responded Robin earnestly. "He used
to do all sorts of kind things to the poor, and they loved him and would
never tell where he was hid."
"My coat has a greenish lining," remarked Julius. "Do you think if I
turned it inside out that it would do?"
"Perhaps it would," answered Robin doubtfully. "I'll ask mother to lend
you her green scarf to tie round your waist, and we'll pretend it's all
that colour."
This weighty matter arranged, the two boys sallied forth to the little
wood which lay at the back of the cottage.
"The first thing to do is to find a cave, or some place to sleep in,"
was the leader's order, "and then we'll have a look at the king's deer."
"I'm sure there aren't any deer here," remarked Julius, "and if there
were, we'd get into a jolly row if we killed them."
"There are lots of rabbits, and they'll do just as well," replied Robin
cheerfully. "Of course we won't kill them really, we'll only
make-believe they are dead."
It was not long before an ideal site was found for the hiding-place of
the merry men.
A high bank had been dug into long ago to obtain gravel, leaving a
hollow of about six feet square. Young saplings and briars had sprung
up all around making an arch of green above the level floor. Robin gave
a shout of triumph when he discovered the spot.
"If we can drag some branches here to make a roof, it will be just like
a real house," he said. "We might make a wall in front with these stones
which are lying about, and only leave one little hole for the door, so
that it will be nice and warm inside, and nobody will be able to see us,
even if they pass quite near."
It took longer than he had calculated to carry out the grand
idea--indeed for a whole week the king's deer were permitted to go
unmolested, Robin Hood and his follower being too busily engaged in
building operations to turn their thoughts to the chase.
It was a proud day when Mrs. Power was invited to inspect the result of
the boys' labours. True, the wall was of such an unstable nature that
their guest had to be well warned not to lean even her hand against it,
in case it should fall. What did it matter that the stone part of it
only attained to about the height of Robin's elbow? The rest of it was
satisfactorily completed by a dilapidated wooden gate perched on the
top, and interwoven with fern and twigs, so as to form an impenetrable
screen from the outer world. An old rug had been suspended by its
corners across the top of the pit, making a grand roof when supplemented
by branches laid in thick layers above. Moss had been laboriously
collected from all parts of the wood wherewith to cover the floor, and
ferns were ingeniously planted in crannies in the sandy walls to make it
look more natural, Julius said.
It was a glorious moment when the kettle at length boiled upon the
camp-fire kindled at the entrance, and still more delightful when Mrs.
Power and the two boys all squeezed inside the hut to enjoy smoked tea
in enamelled mugs, and regale themselves with ginger biscuits and
toffee.
"You told us to get what we liked with the sixpence, mother," explained
Robin, "so Julius chose the toffee, and I took the biscuits."
"It is hardly what I should have selected myself," answered Mrs. Power,
"but if it's what you like, I'm more than satisfied."
"What do you think we ought to call the house?" asked Julius. "Robin
says 'The Outlaw's Castle' would be a good name, but I think it's a very
silly one, as we've no battlements or dungeons, not even a drawbridge."
"Julius wanted to call it 'Farncourt Arbour,'" said Robin
contemptuously, "which would be simply awful."
"What do you say to 'Robin Hood's Lair'?" suggested Mrs. Power. "I
believe that was really the name of one of his retreats."
"It's better than 'Farncourt Arbour,'" responded Robin. "Let us call it
that."
"I wish we had a cupboard for the mugs and the kettle," remarked Julius,
"but perhaps the tramps might find them and take them away. It does seem
a pity we can't sleep here, for I'm sure not a drop of rain would come
through the roof."