THE REAVER'S GLEN
Zachary Spurge, presently ushered in by Gilling, who carefully closed
the door behind himself and his companion, looked as if his recent
lodging had been of an even rougher nature than that in which
Copplestone had found him at their first meeting. The rough horseman's
cloak in which he was buttoned to the edge of a red neckerchief and a
stubbly chin was liberally ornamented with bits of straw, scraps of
furze and other odds and ends picked up in woods and hedge-rows. Spurge,
indeed, bore unmistakable evidence of having slept out in wild places
for some nights and his general atmosphere was little more respectable
than that of a scarecrow. But he grinned cheerfully at Copplestone--and
then frowned at Vickers.
"I didn't count for to meet no lawyers, gentlemen," he said, pausing on
the outer boundaries of the parlour, "I ain't a-goin' to talk before
'em, neither!"
"He's a grudge against me--I've had to appear against him once or twice,"
whispered Vickers to Copplestone. "You'd better soothe him down--I want
to know what he's got to tell."
"It's all right, Spurge," said Copplestone. "Come--Mr. Vickers is on our
side this time; he's one of us. You can say anything you like before
him--or Mr. Gilling either. We're all in it. Pull your chair up--here,
alongside of me, and tell us what you've been doing."
"Well, of course, if you puts it that way, Mr. Copplestone," replied
Spurge, coming to the table a little doubtfully. "Though I hadn't meant
to tell nobody but you what I've got to tell. However, I can see that
things is in such a pretty pass that this here ain't no one-man job--it's
a job as'll want a lot o' men! And I daresay lawyers and such-like is as
useful men in that way as you can lay hands on--no offence to you, Mr.
Vickers, only you see I've had experience o' your sort before. But if you
are taking a hand in this here--well, all right. But now, gentlemen," he
continued dropping into a chair at the table and laying his fur cap on
its polished surface, "afore ever I says a word, d'ye think that I could
be provided with a cup o' hot coffee, or tea, with a stiff dose o' rum in
it? I'm that cold and starved--ah, if you'd been where I been this last
twelve hours or so, you'd be perished."
The sleepy waiter was summoned to attend to Spurge's wants--until they
were satisfied the poacher sat staring fixedly at his cap and
occasionally shaking his head. But after a first hearty gulp of strongly
fortified coffee the colour came back into his face, he sighed with
relief, and signalled to the three watchful young men to draw their
chairs close to his.
"Ah!" he said, setting down his cup. "And nobody never wanted aught more
badly than I wanted that! And now then--the door being shut on us quite
safe, ain't it, gentlemen?--no eavesdroppers?--well, this here it is. I
don't know what you've been a-doing of these last few days, nor what may
have happened to each and all--but I've news. Serious news--as I reckons
it to be. Of--Chatfield!"
Copplestone kicked Vickers under the table and gave him a look.
"Chatfield again!" he murmured. "Well, go on, Spurge."
"There's a lot to go on with, too, guv'nor," said Spurge, after taking
another evidently welcome drink. "And I'll try to put it all in order, as
it were--same as if I was in a witness-box," he added, with a sly glance
at Vickers. "You remember that day of the inquest on the actor gentleman,
guv'nor? Well, of course, when I went to give evidence at Scarhaven, at
that there inquest, I never expected but what the police 'ud collar me at
the end of it. However, I didn't mean that they should, if I could help
it, so I watched things pretty close, intending to slip off when I saw a
chance. Well, now, you'll bear in mind that there was a bit of a dust-up
when the thing was over--some on 'em cheering the Squire and some on 'em
grousing about the verdict, and between one and t'other I popped out and
off, and you yourself saw me making for the moors. Of course, me, knowing
them moors back o' Scarhaven as I do, it was easy work to make myself
scarce on 'em in ten minutes--not all the police north o' the Tees could
ha' found me a quarter of an hour after I'd hooked it out o' that
schoolroom! Well, but the thing then was--where to go next? 'Twasn't no
good going to Hobkin's Hole again--now that them chaps knew I was in the
neighbourhood they'd soon ha' smoked me out o' there. Once I thought of
making for Norcaster here, and going into hiding down by the docks--I've
one or two harbours o' refuge there. But I had reasons for wishing to
stop in my own country--for a bit at any rate. And so, after reckoning
things up, I made for a spot as Mr. Vickers there'll know by name of the
Reaver's Glen."
"Good place, too, for hiding," remarked Vickers with a nod.
"Best place on this coast--seashore and inland," said Spurge. "And as you
two London gentlemen doesn't know it, I'll tell you about it. If you was
to go out o' Scarhaven harbour and turn north, you'd sail along our coast
line up here to the mouth of Norcaster Bay and you'd think there was
never an inlet between 'em. But there is. About half-way between
Scarhaven and Norcaster there's a very narrow opening in the cliffs that
you'd never notice unless you were close in shore, and inside that
opening there's a cove that's big enough to take a thousand-ton
vessel--aye, and half-a-dozen of 'em! It was a favourite place for
smugglers in the old days, and they call it Darkman's Dene to this day in
memory of a famous old smuggler that used it a good deal. Well, now, at
the land end of that cove there's a narrow valley that runs up to the
moorland and the hills, full o' rocks and crags and precipices and such
like--something o' the same sort as Hobkin's Hole but a deal wilder, and
that's known as the Reaver's Glen, because in other days the
cattle-lifters used to bring their stolen goods, cattle and sheep, down
there where they could pen 'em in, as it were. There's piles o' places in
that glen where a man can hide--I picked out one right at the top, at the
edge of the moors, where there's the ruins of an old peel tower. I could
get shelter in that old tower, and at the same time slip out of it if
need be into one of fifty likely hiding places amongst the rocks. I got
into touch with my cousin Jim Spurge--the one-eyed chap at the
'Admiral's Arms,' Mr. Copplestone, that night--and I got in a supply of
meat and drink, and there I was. And--as things turned out, Chatfield had
got his eye on the very same spot!"
Spurge paused for a minute, and picking out a match from a stand which
stood on the table, began to trace imaginary lines on the mahogany.
"This is how things is there," he said, inviting his companions'
attention. "Here, like, is where this peel tower stands--that's a thick
wood as comes close up to its walls--that there is a road as crosses the
moors and the wood about, maybe, a hundred yards or so behind the tower
on the land side. Now, there, one afternoon as I was in that there tower,
a-reading of a newspaper that Jim had brought me the night before, I
hears wheels on that moorland road, and I looked out through a convenient
loophole, and who should I see but Peter Chatfield in that old pony trap
of his. He was coming along from the direction of Scarhaven, and when he
got abreast of the tower he pulled up, got out, left his pony to crop the
grass and came strolling over in my direction. Of course, I wasn't
afraid of him--there's so many ways in and out of that old peel as there
is out of a rabbit-warren--besides, I felt certain he was there on some
job of his own. Well, he comes up to the edge of the glen, and he looks
into it and round it, and up and down at the tower, and he wanders about
the heaps of fallen masonry that there is there, and finally he puts
thumbs in his armhole and went slowly back to his trap. 'But you'll be
coming back, my old swindler!' says I to myself. 'You'll be back again I
doubt not at all!' And back he did come--that very night. Oh, yes!"
"Alone?" asked Copplestone.
"A-lone!" replied Spurge. "It had got to be dark, and I was thinking of
going to sleep, having nought else to do and not expecting cousin Jim
that night, when I heard the sound of horses' feet and of wheels. So I
cleared out of my hole to where I could see better. Of course, it was
Chatfield--same old trap and pony--but this time he came from Norcaster
way. Well, he gets out, just where he'd got out before, and he leads the
pony and trap across the moor to close by the tower. I could tell by the
way that trap went over the grass that there was some sort of a load in
it and it wouldn't have surprised me, gentlemen, if the old reptile had
brought a dead body out of it. After a bit, I hear him taking something
out, something which he bumped down on the ground with a thump--I counted
nine o' them thumps. And then after a bit I heard him begin a moving of
some of the loose masonry what lies in such heaps at the foot o' the peel
tower--dark though it was there was light enough in the sky for him to
see to do that. But after he'd been at it some time, puffing and groaning
and grunting, he evidently wanted to see better, and he suddenly flashed
a light on things from one o' them electric torches. And then I see--me
being not so many yards away from him--nine small white wood boxes, all
clamped with metal bands, lying in a row on the grass, and I see, too,
that Chatfield had been making a place for 'em amongst the stones.
Yes--that was it--nine small white wood boxes--so small, considering,
that I wondered what made 'em so heavy."
Copplestone favoured Vickers with another quiet kick. They were,
without doubt, hearing the story of the hidden gold, and it was
becoming exciting.
"Well," continued Spurge. "Into the place he'd cleared out them boxes
went, and once they were all in he heaped the stones over 'em as natural
as they were before, and he kicked a lot o' small loose stones round
about and over the place where he'd been standing. And then the old
sinner let out a great groan as if something troubled him, and he fetched
a bottle out of his pocket and took a good pull at whatever was in it,
after which, gentlemen, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and
groaned again. He'd had his bit of light on all that time, but he doused
it then, and after that he led the old pony away across the bit of moor
to the road, and presently in he gets and drives slowly away towards
Scarhaven. And so there was I, d'ye see, Mr. Copplestone, left, as it
were, sold guardian of--what?"
The three young men exchanged glances with each other while Spurge
refreshed himself with his fortified coffee, and their eyes asked similar
questions.
"Ah!" observed Copplestone at last. "You don't know what, Spurge? You
haven't examined one of those boxes?"
Spurge set his cup down and gave his questioner a knowing look.
"I'll tell you my line o' conduct, guv'nor," he said. "So certain sure
have I been that something 'ud come o' this business of hiding them boxes
and that something valuable is in 'em that I've taken partiklar care ever
since Chatfield planted 'em there that night never to set foot within a
dozen yards of 'em. Why? 'Cause I know he'll ha' left footprints of his
own there, and them footprints may be useful. No, sir!--them boxes has
been guarded careful ever since Chatfield placed 'em where he did.
For--Chatfield's never been back!"
"Never back, eh?" said Copplestone, winking at the other two.
"Never been back--self nor spirit, substance nor shadow!--since that
night," replied Spurge. "Unless, indeed, he's been back since four
o'clock this morning, when I left there. However, if he's been 'twixt
then and now, my cousin Jim Spurge, he was there. Jim's been helping me
to watch. When I first came in here to see if I could hear anything about
you--Jim having told me that some London gentlemen was up here again--I
left him in charge. And there he is now. And now you know all I can tell
you, gentlemen, and as I understand there's some mystery about Chatfield
and that he's disappeared, happen you'll know how to put two and two
together. And if I'm of any use--"
"Spurge," said Gilling. "How far is it to this Reaver's Glen--or, rather
to that peel tower?"
"Matter of eight or nine miles, guv'nor, over the moors," replied Spurge.
"How did you come in then?" asked Gilling.
"Cousin Jim Spurge's bike--down in the stable-yard, now," answered
Spurge. "Did it comfortable in under the hour."
"I think we ought to go out there--some of us," said Gilling. "We
ought--"
At that moment the door opened and Sir Cresswell Oliver came in, holding
a bit of flimsy paper in his hand. He glanced at Spurge and then beckoned
the three young men to join him.
"I've had a wireless message from the North Sea--and it puzzles me," he
said. "One of our ships up there has had news of what is surely the
_Pike_ from a fishing vessel. She was seen late yesterday afternoon going
due east--due east, mind you! If that was she--and I'm sure of it!--our
quarry's escaping us."