[image]"THEY LIFTED THE BUNDLES OF GEAR AND CARRIED THEM INTO THE HUT."After disposing of their gear in the hut, they returned to the boat. The stranger, a big man, came up again alone, bent under a bulky package, to which a string of petrol tins was attached. "Smugglers, by jiminy!" thought Armstrong. The package appeared to be encased in tarpaulin. The man halted at the door of the hut, let down his load, detached the cans, and waited. In a few seconds Rush joined him, helped him to hoist the package to his back, and bade him a gruff "Good-night." The man marched heavily up the beach to the east, towards a narrow rift in the cliff. Rush took the cans into the hut, shut and locked the door, and, with his hands in his pockets, moved slowly down towards his boat. Fearing that as he rowed back he might discover the dinghy in the cove, Armstrong hurried quietly away, shoved off, and had turned into the river when he heard the splash of Rush's oars. Pulling quickly but steadily, he was out of sight by the time Rush reached the mouth, and when he arrived at the camping-place guessed that he and Warrender could cross to the western shore of the island before Rush rowed past.Such was the story Armstrong quietly told his companions as they sat on their chairs before the tent."Smugglers!" ejaculated Pratt, lowering his voice as if instinctively. "I thought the smuggling days were over long ago. D'you think Rush does a roaring trade in Dutch tobacco, and finds the foreign gang at the house good customers? Tobacco weighs light for its bulk. How big was the bundle, Jack?""Two or three feet square, I think," replied Armstrong. "But tobacco is light, as you say. I fancy this was something else, for Rush had to help the other fellow lift it.""And he took it eastward up the cliff?""Yes, in the direction that would lead to your uncle's house, unless I'm out in my bearings.""Well, I'm hanged! Won't my old uncle rave when he hears what his pet foreign domestics are up to in his absence! He's a terrible stickler for law and order, not the kind of man to wink at smuggling, as the county folk used to do in days of yore. That explains the light I saw.""What light?" asked the others."I wended my way to the ruins to hear the spooks groan. They groan jolly well--a mellow note, mostly on B flat, I fancy, though it sometimes shrieks up a chromatic scale to what you may call vanishing point. Of course, it's caused by the wind, but what surprises me is how the wind can fetch such a musical tone out of a chimney-pot. It must be a tube of some sort, and what else could it be but a chimney-pot? I tried to find it, but that required an acrobatic feat too difficult for a man of my avoirdupois.""But the light?" asked Warrender."Oh yes, I was forgetting! I was looking over towards my uncle's place when I saw a reddish sort of glow, just about the level of the tree-tops. It came and went, and presently it dawned upon my usually alert intelligence that it stood a good deal upon the order of its comings and goings; in fact, that it was a signal. It must have been just about the time that tramp steamer came in sight.""But why on earth should anybody at the house, even if they are customers of Rush's, signal to the smuggling steamer?" asked Armstrong. "There aren't any revenue officers about here, and if there were any about the coast the people at the house wouldn't know anything about them.""My dear chap, there are wheels within wheels," said Pratt, oracularly. "You have two contemporaneous phenomena--jolly good phrase, that!--the signal light, and the accosting of a tramp steamer by a poacher and a burglar. That's circumstantial evidence good enough for me.""Well, drop theories, and come to practice," said Warrender. "Whatever the game is, we're going to find it out. It's time for us to take the offensive. These fellows have stalked us; it's now for us to stalk them. I vote we leave the island, and accept old Crawshay's offer. The enemy will chortle at having succeeded in driving us away, and will very likely be off his guard. Then we'll chip in.""Just so; we'llreculer pour mieux sauter--you recognise the phrase, as your Gradoff would say? Your suggestion smiles to me, Phil. We carry it unanimously, and we'll strike camp the morn's morn. I say, listen!"The wind had increased in force, and there came from the direction of the ruins the musical moan which Warrender, alone of the three, had not yet heard."'The horns of Elfland faintly blowing,'" quoted Pratt. "Really, it seems a pity, after all, to leave a spot which one can imagine the haunt of fairies, the seat of an enchanted palace, the----""Don't start the sentimental strain!" Armstrong interposed. "Suppose your horns of Elfland are a signal, too?""Jehoshaphat! What a synthetic mind you have, old bird! I shouldn't be surprised if---- But no! it won't wash. A signal that depended on the wind wouldn't be any good. Leave me some of my illusions, Jack. Let me revel in my romantic imaginings. Call it Roland's horn, appealing vainly for succour when the paladin was fighting fearful odds in the pass of Roncesvaux.""I think you'd better turn in, old man," said Warrender. "It's your last watch to-night. We none of us got much sleep last night, and that crack on the head----""I'm cracked. All right--wake me at two-twenty."He withdrew into the tent. His companions, tired though they were, resolved to keep each other company, and patrol the neighbourhood of the camp till it was time to awaken Pratt. Hour after hour passed. Nothing disturbed them. The wind increased to the force of half a gale, and the sound from the ruins persisted with scarcely a variation of pitch. When two-twenty came they agreed to let Pratt sleep on, and kept vigil until the eastern sky was streaked with dawn."D'you hear the sound?" asked Warrender, suddenly."No; it's stopped. But the wind is higher than ever," Armstrong replied."That's queer. The wind is in the same direction, too. Darkness and light oughtn't to make any difference.""Perhaps it has blown the old chimney-pot clean off the roof. I'll go down and have a look presently. I'm dog-tired. We might take a couple of hours' sleep now, don't you think?"CHAPTER XIIIFIRE!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 theKatarina, 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."CHAPTER XIVA CIRCULAR TOURFatigued though they were, the boys lay long awake in the room Mrs. Rogers provided for them, discussing the situation into which they had been thrown by the fire, and their plans for the future. They had saved next to nothing but their clothes. If they were to start another camp a new tent--almost a complete new outfit--would be necessary. Pratt suggested that they should accept Mr. Crawshay's offer and take up their abode with him until the mystery of the island had been solved; but this idea was opposed by the others, Armstrong in particular pointing out that they would stand a better chance of success if they remained more closely in touch with their former encampment."We must do our best to throw the beggars off the scent," he said. "If we rig up barbed wire round our new camp, they'll imagine we're merely on the defensive, and the longer we keep up that illusion, the better.""I agree," said Warrender. "There can't be the slightest doubt now that something is going on on the island that they'll stick at nothing to prevent our discovering. We've got to make them believe we can't see farther than the ends of our noses, so we must keep quiet, pretend we think the fire was caused by our cigarettes--anything to put them off their guard. But, of course, we must take the first opportunity of making another search in the ruins. It's as plain as a pikestaff that that moaning sound is artificial; that is to say, they've got some sort of an instrument rigged up that catches the wind just when they wish, and only then. And that signal must have something to do with their schemes; I'm inclined to think you're mistaken, Armstrong, and it's not S.O.S. at all.""Perhaps," replied Armstrong."I stick to it that Molly Rogers or Rod is in distress," said Pratt. "Rogers was a seaman, and there's nothing unlikely in his sister knowing something of Morse. I had a passion for ciphers at one time, and my sister Joan was very keen on it, I can tell you. Anyway, we'll ask Rogers in the morning."They got up to a late breakfast. Rogers brought them their bacon and eggs, and they were struck by a peculiarity in his appearance."I say, Rogers, what's happened to your beautiful auburn locks?" asked Pratt.The innkeeper looked profoundly depressed."I begged and prayed the missus, but 'twas no good," he answered. "She will have me wear a nightcap at night, and my hair by day, no matter how hot it be. I said as every one will laugh at me, and she said as health comes afore feelings.""A very wise woman. Still, as a mere matter of scientific curiosity, we'd like to know how that brown became apple-green."Rogers snatched off his wig and held it out with a gesture of indignation."'Tis a trick of some blessed young scug in the village, and if I catch him I'll give him all the colours of the rainbow. I did but set my hair on a pea-stick while I was digging yesterday, the missus being out for the day. I own I forgot it, and when, come night, I thought I'd better put it on, bless me if I could find it. Half an hour after I'd closed the door the missus came home. 'Here's a parcel on the doorstep,' says she, and then she undoes it, and gives a shriek. 'You wicked man!' says she: 'you've done it just to rile me.' As if the cussed thing warn't bad enough brown, for one to want it green! Of course I telled her as how I'd put it down and missed it, and she went on like one o'clock, said I'd have to wear it, green or blue, and I'd better stand out in the first shower of rain and see if it'd wash clean, and 'twould be a lesson to me. Don't you never go bald, young gentlemen: 'tis the way to break up a happy home.""Hard luck, Rogers," said Pratt. "But the colour will soon wear off. You'll be piebald for a bit, I dare say--sort of mottled, you know; but nobody will think the worse of you. I say, you and your sister were great pals, weren't you?""Till the missus come along, sir.""And no doubt you taught her how to splice ropes and reef sails, and make signals, and all that?""There you're wrong, sir. The lass don't know more than a babby about such things; and as for signals, I don't know nothing about 'em myself."Pratt looked crestfallen."One theory exploded," remarked Armstrong."Did 'ee signal for help last night?" asked Rogers."Well, we----" Pratt began, but Warrender interrupted him."No, we hadn't time," he said. "The fire came on us too suddenly. By the way, we shall have to buy some new things. I suppose Blevins can provide us with a tent?""Surely, sir; he've most everything somewhere about. I always thought no good 'ud come of camping on that island. There's a fate in it.""How long has it had this ill name?" asked Armstrong."Not so long, sir. You see, nobody bothered much about it after the old man died years ago. It didn't belong to no one, seemingly; there was nothing to take any of the folk there; and 'twasn't till a month or two ago that they began to talk of sperits. Nick Rush came in all of a tremble one night--he'd been away for a bit--and said he was setting a snare there when he heard most horrible groanings and moanings. He took some of the folk along, and they heard 'em too, and ever since then the village have give it a wide berth. You're well out of it, that's what I say. Not as ghosts carry matches, though; I reckon 'twas one of you young gentlemen a-smoking as did the mischief.""A lesson to us, Rogers," said Pratt, gravely. "Smoking is a very bad habit, according to our masters at school--who all smoke like furnaces--they ought to know."They had hardly finished breakfast when Mr. Crawshay drove down to the ferry in a light trap, crossing on foot."It's true, then," he said, as he entered the parlour. "I knew nothing about it until an hour ago. A lighted match, they say."Pratt got up and closed the door."Let them say, sir. We were burnt out.""You don't say so! Upon my word, it's time something was done. Have you lost much?""Almost everything but our clothes.""Scandalous! Then you'll come up to the house?""We'd rather keep to our arrangement, sir," said Warrender. "It will give us a better chance of running the fellows to earth. We think of making a thorough search on the island. The difficulty is that we can't do it by daylight; we are sure to be watched, at any rate for a day or two. There's another difficulty. They're sure to keep their eye on our motor-boat and dinghy; it will be too risky to use them. Of course, we could swim the river, but it would be a bit of a nuisance.""I can help you there. You had better not use my skiff, but I've an old Norwegian pram in one of my outhouses----""A what, sir?" asked Pratt."A pram--a sort of abbreviated punt. At one time I used it for fishing on the river. It's small and very light; two of you could carry it. You had better fetch it yourselves; my men might talk in the village. I have set them clearing a camping-place for you, by the way. It's about half-way between here and the island. But I can't lend you a tent."Warrender explained that he proposed to buy one of the general dealer."Very well," said Mr. Crawshay. "I shall expect you to lunch. We'll talk over things then more at leisure."While Warrender went off to do the necessary shopping, Armstrong and Pratt, in the dinghy, set out for their new camping-place. It lay on the shore of a little natural bay some fifteen yards deep and about half that width. Mr. Crawshay's gardeners had already mown the long grass and lopped some of the lower branches of overhanging trees. A ten minutes' walk through the wood and across fields brought the two boys to the house, where Mr. Crawshay had already arrived. Having seen that none of his men were about, the old gentleman led them to the outhouse in which he kept his pram; and by the time that Warrender, conveying his purchases in the motor-boat, reached the new encampment, the others had carried the odd little craft across the fields, and found a secure hiding-place for it in the wood a little distance from the bay, almost opposite to the north end of the island, near a spot convenient for landing under cover of the trees. With it Mr. Crawshay had lent them a couple of light oars.After erecting their new tent--a sorry specimen compared with the one that had been destroyed--they went up to the house for lunch, discussed their plans with Mr. Crawshay privately in his study, and returned to fence the camp with barbed wire and get things in order. So far there had been no sign of the enemy; but in the course of the afternoon Armstrong climbed a tree from which, unobserved himself, he could obtain a view of the opposite bank of the river, and discovered without surprise that a spy was lurking among the bushes. No doubt all their ostensible proceedings had been watched, and they congratulated themselves on the illusion of mere defensiveness which their business-like activity must have created.During the remainder of the day they were careful not to depart from their usual procedure. They had an early supper; when they had cleared away and washed up, they placed three oddly assorted and shabby deck-chairs, purchased from Blevins, in front of the tent, and while Armstrong and Warrender read newspapers, Pratt warbled sentimental ditties to the accompaniment of his banjo.Just before dark Pratt and Armstrong went into the tent to go to bed, while Warrender perambulated the camp armed with a thick club. The spin of a coin had decided that he should remain on guard while the others paid a nocturnal visit to the island.About midnight, when it was quite dark, the two raiders crept out of the tent, and striking inland for a little, made their roundabout way to the spot where the pram was hidden. Reconnoitring carefully, to assure themselves that their movements had not been followed, they lifted the pram, lowered it gently into the water, and pushed off, floating on the tide near the bank, and steering with one oar in the stern. They struck the shore of the island about midway, seized a projecting branch, and drawing their craft into the bank, pulled it up among the reeds at the edge. Then they started to cross the island.It was pitch-dark in the thicket. Spreading roots and trailing brambles tripped their feet; their faces were lashed by the foliage as they pushed their way through; thorns caught at their clothes. It was difficult to avoid noise. Twigs snapped underfoot, branches creaked and rustled, and every now and again there was a strident shriek of rent clothing as they tore themselves from the embrace of some clinging bramble. Heedless of the obstacles, hot and weary, they plodded doggedly on, and presently, after making unconscionably slow progress, they emerged upon the bank of the river. The stream looked much wider than they had expected."Whereabouts are we?" whispered Pratt."We've come too far south, I fancy," returned Armstrong.They peered up and down, trying vainly to discover some landmark. They stood listening; there was breeze enough to cause the moaning, but they heard no sound except the rustle of the leaves and the gentle gurgle of the tide. They cast about, taking wary steps up stream and down; hoping in one direction or the other to come upon the wilderness garden.Suddenly Pratt whispered: "I say, this isn't a tidal river, is it?""No; it always flows down," replied Armstrong. "Why?""Because----"And then he stopped."Look here," he murmured to Armstrong behind him.Armstrong looked, and there, at Pratt's feet, was the dark shape of the pram, nestling in its bed of reeds."Hang!" exclaimed Armstrong. "We've been going in a circle.""Just so. Everybody does it!" said Pratt, with a chuckle. "I suspected it when I noticed the way the stream was flowing.""Nothing to chortle about," Armstrong growled. "We've had all our trouble for nothing. Absolutely waste time!""But look how we've enlarged our experience! I think I'd like to be a traveller, like my old uncle. I've read about these circular tours often enough, but never believed in 'em. Why can't one walk straight in the dark?""Ask your grandmother! I'm fed up; scratched all over, too. I'll not try this again without a luminous compass. Let's get back."It was nearly two o'clock before they trudged wearily into camp."Any luck?" asked Warrender, still doing sentry-go.Pratt related what had happened."Well, I'm glad for once I lost the toss," said Warrender, smiling. "We'll certainly get a luminous compass, and I fancy we'd be the better for a few lessons from the Boy Scouts."
[image]"THEY LIFTED THE BUNDLES OF GEAR AND CARRIED THEM INTO THE HUT."
[image]
[image]
"THEY LIFTED THE BUNDLES OF GEAR AND CARRIED THEM INTO THE HUT."
After disposing of their gear in the hut, they returned to the boat. The stranger, a big man, came up again alone, bent under a bulky package, to which a string of petrol tins was attached. "Smugglers, by jiminy!" thought Armstrong. The package appeared to be encased in tarpaulin. The man halted at the door of the hut, let down his load, detached the cans, and waited. In a few seconds Rush joined him, helped him to hoist the package to his back, and bade him a gruff "Good-night." The man marched heavily up the beach to the east, towards a narrow rift in the cliff. Rush took the cans into the hut, shut and locked the door, and, with his hands in his pockets, moved slowly down towards his boat. Fearing that as he rowed back he might discover the dinghy in the cove, Armstrong hurried quietly away, shoved off, and had turned into the river when he heard the splash of Rush's oars. Pulling quickly but steadily, he was out of sight by the time Rush reached the mouth, and when he arrived at the camping-place guessed that he and Warrender could cross to the western shore of the island before Rush rowed past.
Such was the story Armstrong quietly told his companions as they sat on their chairs before the tent.
"Smugglers!" ejaculated Pratt, lowering his voice as if instinctively. "I thought the smuggling days were over long ago. D'you think Rush does a roaring trade in Dutch tobacco, and finds the foreign gang at the house good customers? Tobacco weighs light for its bulk. How big was the bundle, Jack?"
"Two or three feet square, I think," replied Armstrong. "But tobacco is light, as you say. I fancy this was something else, for Rush had to help the other fellow lift it."
"And he took it eastward up the cliff?"
"Yes, in the direction that would lead to your uncle's house, unless I'm out in my bearings."
"Well, I'm hanged! Won't my old uncle rave when he hears what his pet foreign domestics are up to in his absence! He's a terrible stickler for law and order, not the kind of man to wink at smuggling, as the county folk used to do in days of yore. That explains the light I saw."
"What light?" asked the others.
"I wended my way to the ruins to hear the spooks groan. They groan jolly well--a mellow note, mostly on B flat, I fancy, though it sometimes shrieks up a chromatic scale to what you may call vanishing point. Of course, it's caused by the wind, but what surprises me is how the wind can fetch such a musical tone out of a chimney-pot. It must be a tube of some sort, and what else could it be but a chimney-pot? I tried to find it, but that required an acrobatic feat too difficult for a man of my avoirdupois."
"But the light?" asked Warrender.
"Oh yes, I was forgetting! I was looking over towards my uncle's place when I saw a reddish sort of glow, just about the level of the tree-tops. It came and went, and presently it dawned upon my usually alert intelligence that it stood a good deal upon the order of its comings and goings; in fact, that it was a signal. It must have been just about the time that tramp steamer came in sight."
"But why on earth should anybody at the house, even if they are customers of Rush's, signal to the smuggling steamer?" asked Armstrong. "There aren't any revenue officers about here, and if there were any about the coast the people at the house wouldn't know anything about them."
"My dear chap, there are wheels within wheels," said Pratt, oracularly. "You have two contemporaneous phenomena--jolly good phrase, that!--the signal light, and the accosting of a tramp steamer by a poacher and a burglar. That's circumstantial evidence good enough for me."
"Well, drop theories, and come to practice," said Warrender. "Whatever the game is, we're going to find it out. It's time for us to take the offensive. These fellows have stalked us; it's now for us to stalk them. I vote we leave the island, and accept old Crawshay's offer. The enemy will chortle at having succeeded in driving us away, and will very likely be off his guard. Then we'll chip in."
"Just so; we'llreculer pour mieux sauter--you recognise the phrase, as your Gradoff would say? Your suggestion smiles to me, Phil. We carry it unanimously, and we'll strike camp the morn's morn. I say, listen!"
The wind had increased in force, and there came from the direction of the ruins the musical moan which Warrender, alone of the three, had not yet heard.
"'The horns of Elfland faintly blowing,'" quoted Pratt. "Really, it seems a pity, after all, to leave a spot which one can imagine the haunt of fairies, the seat of an enchanted palace, the----"
"Don't start the sentimental strain!" Armstrong interposed. "Suppose your horns of Elfland are a signal, too?"
"Jehoshaphat! What a synthetic mind you have, old bird! I shouldn't be surprised if---- But no! it won't wash. A signal that depended on the wind wouldn't be any good. Leave me some of my illusions, Jack. Let me revel in my romantic imaginings. Call it Roland's horn, appealing vainly for succour when the paladin was fighting fearful odds in the pass of Roncesvaux."
"I think you'd better turn in, old man," said Warrender. "It's your last watch to-night. We none of us got much sleep last night, and that crack on the head----"
"I'm cracked. All right--wake me at two-twenty."
He withdrew into the tent. His companions, tired though they were, resolved to keep each other company, and patrol the neighbourhood of the camp till it was time to awaken Pratt. Hour after hour passed. Nothing disturbed them. The wind increased to the force of half a gale, and the sound from the ruins persisted with scarcely a variation of pitch. When two-twenty came they agreed to let Pratt sleep on, and kept vigil until the eastern sky was streaked with dawn.
"D'you hear the sound?" asked Warrender, suddenly.
"No; it's stopped. But the wind is higher than ever," Armstrong replied.
"That's queer. The wind is in the same direction, too. Darkness and light oughtn't to make any difference."
"Perhaps it has blown the old chimney-pot clean off the roof. I'll go down and have a look presently. I'm dog-tired. We might take a couple of hours' sleep now, don't you think?"
CHAPTER XIII
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 theKatarina, 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."
CHAPTER XIV
A CIRCULAR TOUR
Fatigued though they were, the boys lay long awake in the room Mrs. Rogers provided for them, discussing the situation into which they had been thrown by the fire, and their plans for the future. They had saved next to nothing but their clothes. If they were to start another camp a new tent--almost a complete new outfit--would be necessary. Pratt suggested that they should accept Mr. Crawshay's offer and take up their abode with him until the mystery of the island had been solved; but this idea was opposed by the others, Armstrong in particular pointing out that they would stand a better chance of success if they remained more closely in touch with their former encampment.
"We must do our best to throw the beggars off the scent," he said. "If we rig up barbed wire round our new camp, they'll imagine we're merely on the defensive, and the longer we keep up that illusion, the better."
"I agree," said Warrender. "There can't be the slightest doubt now that something is going on on the island that they'll stick at nothing to prevent our discovering. We've got to make them believe we can't see farther than the ends of our noses, so we must keep quiet, pretend we think the fire was caused by our cigarettes--anything to put them off their guard. But, of course, we must take the first opportunity of making another search in the ruins. It's as plain as a pikestaff that that moaning sound is artificial; that is to say, they've got some sort of an instrument rigged up that catches the wind just when they wish, and only then. And that signal must have something to do with their schemes; I'm inclined to think you're mistaken, Armstrong, and it's not S.O.S. at all."
"Perhaps," replied Armstrong.
"I stick to it that Molly Rogers or Rod is in distress," said Pratt. "Rogers was a seaman, and there's nothing unlikely in his sister knowing something of Morse. I had a passion for ciphers at one time, and my sister Joan was very keen on it, I can tell you. Anyway, we'll ask Rogers in the morning."
They got up to a late breakfast. Rogers brought them their bacon and eggs, and they were struck by a peculiarity in his appearance.
"I say, Rogers, what's happened to your beautiful auburn locks?" asked Pratt.
The innkeeper looked profoundly depressed.
"I begged and prayed the missus, but 'twas no good," he answered. "She will have me wear a nightcap at night, and my hair by day, no matter how hot it be. I said as every one will laugh at me, and she said as health comes afore feelings."
"A very wise woman. Still, as a mere matter of scientific curiosity, we'd like to know how that brown became apple-green."
Rogers snatched off his wig and held it out with a gesture of indignation.
"'Tis a trick of some blessed young scug in the village, and if I catch him I'll give him all the colours of the rainbow. I did but set my hair on a pea-stick while I was digging yesterday, the missus being out for the day. I own I forgot it, and when, come night, I thought I'd better put it on, bless me if I could find it. Half an hour after I'd closed the door the missus came home. 'Here's a parcel on the doorstep,' says she, and then she undoes it, and gives a shriek. 'You wicked man!' says she: 'you've done it just to rile me.' As if the cussed thing warn't bad enough brown, for one to want it green! Of course I telled her as how I'd put it down and missed it, and she went on like one o'clock, said I'd have to wear it, green or blue, and I'd better stand out in the first shower of rain and see if it'd wash clean, and 'twould be a lesson to me. Don't you never go bald, young gentlemen: 'tis the way to break up a happy home."
"Hard luck, Rogers," said Pratt. "But the colour will soon wear off. You'll be piebald for a bit, I dare say--sort of mottled, you know; but nobody will think the worse of you. I say, you and your sister were great pals, weren't you?"
"Till the missus come along, sir."
"And no doubt you taught her how to splice ropes and reef sails, and make signals, and all that?"
"There you're wrong, sir. The lass don't know more than a babby about such things; and as for signals, I don't know nothing about 'em myself."
Pratt looked crestfallen.
"One theory exploded," remarked Armstrong.
"Did 'ee signal for help last night?" asked Rogers.
"Well, we----" Pratt began, but Warrender interrupted him.
"No, we hadn't time," he said. "The fire came on us too suddenly. By the way, we shall have to buy some new things. I suppose Blevins can provide us with a tent?"
"Surely, sir; he've most everything somewhere about. I always thought no good 'ud come of camping on that island. There's a fate in it."
"How long has it had this ill name?" asked Armstrong.
"Not so long, sir. You see, nobody bothered much about it after the old man died years ago. It didn't belong to no one, seemingly; there was nothing to take any of the folk there; and 'twasn't till a month or two ago that they began to talk of sperits. Nick Rush came in all of a tremble one night--he'd been away for a bit--and said he was setting a snare there when he heard most horrible groanings and moanings. He took some of the folk along, and they heard 'em too, and ever since then the village have give it a wide berth. You're well out of it, that's what I say. Not as ghosts carry matches, though; I reckon 'twas one of you young gentlemen a-smoking as did the mischief."
"A lesson to us, Rogers," said Pratt, gravely. "Smoking is a very bad habit, according to our masters at school--who all smoke like furnaces--they ought to know."
They had hardly finished breakfast when Mr. Crawshay drove down to the ferry in a light trap, crossing on foot.
"It's true, then," he said, as he entered the parlour. "I knew nothing about it until an hour ago. A lighted match, they say."
Pratt got up and closed the door.
"Let them say, sir. We were burnt out."
"You don't say so! Upon my word, it's time something was done. Have you lost much?"
"Almost everything but our clothes."
"Scandalous! Then you'll come up to the house?"
"We'd rather keep to our arrangement, sir," said Warrender. "It will give us a better chance of running the fellows to earth. We think of making a thorough search on the island. The difficulty is that we can't do it by daylight; we are sure to be watched, at any rate for a day or two. There's another difficulty. They're sure to keep their eye on our motor-boat and dinghy; it will be too risky to use them. Of course, we could swim the river, but it would be a bit of a nuisance."
"I can help you there. You had better not use my skiff, but I've an old Norwegian pram in one of my outhouses----"
"A what, sir?" asked Pratt.
"A pram--a sort of abbreviated punt. At one time I used it for fishing on the river. It's small and very light; two of you could carry it. You had better fetch it yourselves; my men might talk in the village. I have set them clearing a camping-place for you, by the way. It's about half-way between here and the island. But I can't lend you a tent."
Warrender explained that he proposed to buy one of the general dealer.
"Very well," said Mr. Crawshay. "I shall expect you to lunch. We'll talk over things then more at leisure."
While Warrender went off to do the necessary shopping, Armstrong and Pratt, in the dinghy, set out for their new camping-place. It lay on the shore of a little natural bay some fifteen yards deep and about half that width. Mr. Crawshay's gardeners had already mown the long grass and lopped some of the lower branches of overhanging trees. A ten minutes' walk through the wood and across fields brought the two boys to the house, where Mr. Crawshay had already arrived. Having seen that none of his men were about, the old gentleman led them to the outhouse in which he kept his pram; and by the time that Warrender, conveying his purchases in the motor-boat, reached the new encampment, the others had carried the odd little craft across the fields, and found a secure hiding-place for it in the wood a little distance from the bay, almost opposite to the north end of the island, near a spot convenient for landing under cover of the trees. With it Mr. Crawshay had lent them a couple of light oars.
After erecting their new tent--a sorry specimen compared with the one that had been destroyed--they went up to the house for lunch, discussed their plans with Mr. Crawshay privately in his study, and returned to fence the camp with barbed wire and get things in order. So far there had been no sign of the enemy; but in the course of the afternoon Armstrong climbed a tree from which, unobserved himself, he could obtain a view of the opposite bank of the river, and discovered without surprise that a spy was lurking among the bushes. No doubt all their ostensible proceedings had been watched, and they congratulated themselves on the illusion of mere defensiveness which their business-like activity must have created.
During the remainder of the day they were careful not to depart from their usual procedure. They had an early supper; when they had cleared away and washed up, they placed three oddly assorted and shabby deck-chairs, purchased from Blevins, in front of the tent, and while Armstrong and Warrender read newspapers, Pratt warbled sentimental ditties to the accompaniment of his banjo.
Just before dark Pratt and Armstrong went into the tent to go to bed, while Warrender perambulated the camp armed with a thick club. The spin of a coin had decided that he should remain on guard while the others paid a nocturnal visit to the island.
About midnight, when it was quite dark, the two raiders crept out of the tent, and striking inland for a little, made their roundabout way to the spot where the pram was hidden. Reconnoitring carefully, to assure themselves that their movements had not been followed, they lifted the pram, lowered it gently into the water, and pushed off, floating on the tide near the bank, and steering with one oar in the stern. They struck the shore of the island about midway, seized a projecting branch, and drawing their craft into the bank, pulled it up among the reeds at the edge. Then they started to cross the island.
It was pitch-dark in the thicket. Spreading roots and trailing brambles tripped their feet; their faces were lashed by the foliage as they pushed their way through; thorns caught at their clothes. It was difficult to avoid noise. Twigs snapped underfoot, branches creaked and rustled, and every now and again there was a strident shriek of rent clothing as they tore themselves from the embrace of some clinging bramble. Heedless of the obstacles, hot and weary, they plodded doggedly on, and presently, after making unconscionably slow progress, they emerged upon the bank of the river. The stream looked much wider than they had expected.
"Whereabouts are we?" whispered Pratt.
"We've come too far south, I fancy," returned Armstrong.
They peered up and down, trying vainly to discover some landmark. They stood listening; there was breeze enough to cause the moaning, but they heard no sound except the rustle of the leaves and the gentle gurgle of the tide. They cast about, taking wary steps up stream and down; hoping in one direction or the other to come upon the wilderness garden.
Suddenly Pratt whispered: "I say, this isn't a tidal river, is it?"
"No; it always flows down," replied Armstrong. "Why?"
"Because----"
And then he stopped.
"Look here," he murmured to Armstrong behind him.
Armstrong looked, and there, at Pratt's feet, was the dark shape of the pram, nestling in its bed of reeds.
"Hang!" exclaimed Armstrong. "We've been going in a circle."
"Just so. Everybody does it!" said Pratt, with a chuckle. "I suspected it when I noticed the way the stream was flowing."
"Nothing to chortle about," Armstrong growled. "We've had all our trouble for nothing. Absolutely waste time!"
"But look how we've enlarged our experience! I think I'd like to be a traveller, like my old uncle. I've read about these circular tours often enough, but never believed in 'em. Why can't one walk straight in the dark?"
"Ask your grandmother! I'm fed up; scratched all over, too. I'll not try this again without a luminous compass. Let's get back."
It was nearly two o'clock before they trudged wearily into camp.
"Any luck?" asked Warrender, still doing sentry-go.
Pratt related what had happened.
"Well, I'm glad for once I lost the toss," said Warrender, smiling. "We'll certainly get a luminous compass, and I fancy we'd be the better for a few lessons from the Boy Scouts."