CHAPTER XVIn which Hughie takes ActionIt has been said, even in this story, that important situations often arise from ridiculously small happenings. Everybody knows it so well that one apologizes for such a stale reflection.However, in the present instance the thing that led up to the very small happening was tea at Fuchsia Cottage, to which all four were invited, and all four went. The Little Pilgrim's teas were "things of beauty, and joys for ever", the pleasure never palled, because she had particular scones, buns, cakes and jams that other people knew not of, and her table decorations were as original as they were lovely. She held a theory that people ought to eat a great deal at tea, which was delightful when it fell in with the idea of the guests. There was no "company" about it, from first to last it was sheer satisfaction.This day was no exception to the rule, and for reasons that can be well understood the young Romillys positively jumped at the invitation. It would be freedom from the atmosphere that seemed to spoil everything at the Bell House.True to Adrian's suggestion, Mrs. Romilly had ignored the mystery of the diamond brooch. She treated Pamela as always--or tried to. But she was pale and absent in manner, and it was a daily stab to poor Pam to look up suddenly and find her mother's eyes watching her with a sort of appeal in their blue depths. Pamela on her part was obviously unhappy, her small face was smaller still, and her grey-blue eyes looked darker. In spite of the heroic efforts of the elder pair, who pulled the business of life along like a pair of well-matched horses, it was not the same perfectly happy life that it had been in the spring and always before in the memory of the children.Miss Lasarge saw there was something the matter, but the Romilly family had the sense to wash its own linen at home. No one in the house "confided" woes outside. Also, Miss Lasarge had, at the time, considerable anxiety on her own shoulders, which she kept to herself, of course; the sympathy being no less for everybody.So she asked them to tea, and they came. And the party was one of the most perfect she had ever invented, with rose petals in all shades of pink making a pattern round the delightful dishes. Tongues were loosened by the sense of festivity, even Hughie talked; everybody talked, except Pamela, who looked tired.They stayed until after six o'clock, and then the Little Pilgrim walked down to the gate with them. Outside in the road they stood talking over the gate, as people do loath to go. Adrian was talking about the yawl, he and Christobel laughing over some of the adventures."We go out most days," he said.Miss Lasarge looked towards the west and the clear sky over the sea."It is promising for to-morrow?" she asked; her gaze wandered to the white wall over the road, that high glass-topped wall that enclosed Woodrising."Oh, rather!""Don't you think you are very lucky?" She asked this question suddenly of Addie, in the soft hesitating tone natural to her."Lucky, I should think so! It's awfully jolly of Sir Marmaduke to let us haveMessenger.""I was thinking of something bigger than that--I mean,wider--than just a yacht. It's thefreedom, Adrian. Of the sea, of the shore, of the woods--that's what I meant. You see, there are prisoners.""Oh, notnow, Little Pilgrim," Christobel expostulated, "we've got them all home, thank God, by this time.""Ours! Oh, yes, I hope we have, I believe we have; but I was thinking----""Miss Anne, please don't ask us to feel--well, sentimental--about German prisoners," said Adrian in rather a hard voice; he was digging a hole in the road with his stick, as a vent for his feelings, "they've had a good time in England.""Oh no, dear, it was something quite different that was in my mind, I assure you. Only, what one feels is--value freedom--it is so wonderful really.""Expect it is, one jolly well takes it for granted though, doesn't one, Crow?" Adrian strongly objected to strenuous remarks, whatever the subject. "Well, Miss Anne, thanks awfully, we've had a ripping time, your party was simply top-hole. Think of Crow and me enjoying freedom. Oh, by the way, it's 'the freedom of the seas', isn't it? Early to-morrow, all being well, we want to go to Salterne.""For the day, or what?" asked Miss Lesarge, smiling."For the day," agreed Crow. "As usual, Addie wants his hair cut, and the only man he approves of is in Union Street. We anchor the yawl and come back late; the tides have come round by now, to a nice useful arrangement. Miss Anne, you know Mother doesn't mind now if we sleep on board, as long as we are inside the estuary. That gives us a grand long time to do things."All this was said in the road, you will remember. Adrian and Christobel possessed clear voices that carried; they did not modulate them to any great extent; lastly the white wall was only the width of the road from this conversation.Neither Pamela nor Hughie spoke, yet they two realized with a sort of shock what the meaning was behind Miss Anne's little eager protest about "prisoners". She knew, she must know! She was just thinking out loud her own gentle pity for the girl behind the white wall. Pamela saw it so on the instant, and with a flash of memory recalled the large dull old-fashioned drawing-room at Woodrising, and the girl sitting alone, trying to be interested in a book. And she can climb, thought Pam suddenly, perhaps she was used to mountains; why not? Anyway, she must be accustomed to great possessions, to woods and parks, to great estates! A new view of the case brightened Pamela's mind. Miss Anne was looking at her, their eyes met and the girl smiled, then turned pink, and looked away."I wonder!" thought the Little Pilgrim.Pam was wondering also. Hughie had made up his mind, undoubtedly Miss Anne knew about the girl; that was interesting, but Hughie's estimate of the situation was not like his sister's; there was no sentiment, and no pity in it. He was purely practical. "She might have to stop inside Woodrising," he thought, "then it would be different. But she tells lies and comes out on the sly; she steals things and lets Pam bear the blame. Miss Lasarge doesn't know."So he looked at Miss Lasarge with a shrewd pitying gaze as he lifted his cap for good-night, and made no remark on the way home.The evening was uneventful, and a voyage to Salterne was planned for next day as Adrian suggested. Pamela was asked to go and said she would; Hughie refused, he had his own scheme.Then the household went to bed, and to sleep, but let it be understood that the small matter, namely that little talk outside Miss Anne's gate, had set in motion a far more important event, which was yet to happen.Hughie slept with his window open, of course; he was a very light sleeper, indeed he said he could hear the crabs' toes clatter as they ran out of one pool into another. This statement might have been exaggerated, but the fact remains that he could hear most things; therefore, when he woke up in the night he realized that a noise from outside had been the cause. He lay still and listened for sounds in the house.All was still; also all was dark, because the moon did not rise till early morning, and at present was giving her best moonshine in the day-time.Hughie waited with a sense of growing alertness, and presently slid out of bed, climbed on the window-seat, and looked towards the bay. Soft, velvety darkness, ripple of water, and faint reflected shine on the sea, was all he heard and saw."Tiresome!" considered Hughie, not reassured by all this peace. He felt trouble afoot.Motionless he sat, as some small wild thing of the jungle; motionless, but alive in every muscle.From the bay came a sudden knock of wood on wood, just the noise a person recognizes who understands boats and would never mistake it for anything else."Dinghy," thought the Midget, and, without more ado, he slid from his seat and put on some clothes that would not be conspicuous; so careful was he, indeed, that he got out stockings, articles he hated in summer; but bare white legs show in the dark. Presently he was complete. Serge knickers and sweater, blue stockings and sandshoes. Then he opened his door and looked out. No sound, a pitch dark, silent house.Hughie's mind was intent on the garden door. The big front door was bolted and barred and would make a noise if opened. The back door possessed a terribly stiff key that turned with a shriek. Jeepy would not have it oiled; she would not have it touched for mysterious reasons of her own connected with the possible bad conduct of Patty Ingles! It was a far-fetched idea, but it kept the key rusty, so that was no good. There remained the children's door, as it had always been called, the door into the garden, just beyond Pamela's window. It would not do for her to hear. Hughie wanted to do this business entirely off his own bat, so to speak, and of all things he did not wish to have "people making a row", so he hoped the door would not betray him.As it happened, poor Pam was sleeping rather heavily. She had had many restless nights, but something in those words of Miss Anne's had made a difference. Things were not so hopelessly unjust; she did not feel so ill-used quite. So she slept soundly, and Hughie, moving like Sherlock Holmes and "Raffles" rolled into one, as only he could, got out of the house without a creak or a scratch, closed the door, and found himself on the end terrace under Pam's window close to the sea-wall.Every stone being familiar, he went straight from there along the grass border of the walk, guiding himself by the wall. Once he stopped and listened intently, when he heard that little bump again--it was a slightly grinding bump at irregular intervals. Hughie knew now what it was--the dinghy against the rocks. It might mean that the little boat had got loose and was being shifted this way and that by the tide. There was nothing exciting about that, of course, but Hughie was convinced that something more was being enacted--there was human agency at work.He came to the end of the wall, went through the gate, round, and then down towards the rocks. Now here was necessity for careful going, because of the darkness, and he wished heartily he had stayed to get the little electric torch that stood on the library writing-table. However, knowing the bay by heart made it easier, and every minute his eyes were more used to the dark.The sand felt cool and hard; there was plenty of it, because the tide was just starting to rise steadily and creep into the pools. Hughie knew this must be so, of course--partly because he understood tides, but particularly in this instance owing to Adrian's plan for the morning.They were to start early for Salterne, while there was still enough of the tide to take them. It could not have been long since the tide turned; he tried to calculate, and succeeded in realizing that the faint greyness that lay in the night was not "moon", but morning coming. And that was what made a chill, fresher than a night wind.Presently he found the dinghy, and felt all over her with understanding hands. The sculls were there--rolling a little, improperly placed. She was broadside on to the beach, heaving up a little on the wash."She simplyneverwent down by herself," decided Hughie, and thought over the matter deeply.Her normal position was a good way up the shore. In stormy weather well above high-water mark--but last night in a comfortable position for loading a basket and oddments--on the sand, with her little anchor fixed between two rocks. The anchor had been lifted and was put in the bows. The dinghy could not have done that to herself! No need to argue; the question was answered.Someonehad taken the boat out, and sent her adrift! When you come to think of it, this was an odd thing to happen in the night--more than odd in Bell Bay. Almost unbelievable, because you might leave anything about and all your doors and windows open in such a garden of friends as the valley.The conclusion Hughie came to was that no native of Bell Bay had done it. He had little doubt who was the offender, and stood still considering his next move.Whyshould Pam's double want to go out aboard the yawl at such an hour? Crow having said nothing at all to anyone about her suspicions with regard to meddling in the saloon; of course Hughie knew nothing about that, and the idea came to him in all its startling freshness. However, having convinced his reason, he quickly decided on the next action."I'd better go and find her," said Hughie to himself in the low murmur with which he held "doll" conversations.As the tide was rising he had small difficulty in pushing the dinghy down; she was the lightest make, varnished--a first-rate little craft with the power of standing much more than her slight appearance suggested. A very fortunate thing, as it proved afterwards.The little boy got in, balanced himself in the stern to lighten the bows, and pushed off deftly; then he sat down, took the sculls, and looked about him into the dark. The sculls, small as they were, were too big for his hands, but he was strong and amazingly tenacious--he never gave up what his heart was set on."She can't get away," he murmured again, and, as the idea took his fancy, he gave a sudden little wriggle of amusement.Then he sculled out to theMessengerwith very short light strokes, wonderfully noiseless. He went into the thick of the dark, thick because the mistiness of dawn was there--it was what people called "the darkest hour before the dawn", starless, moonless, softly thick. Having gone a short distance, Hughie turned the dinghy round gently by rowing one oar, and, having got his craft stern first, he began to push steadily with both sculls. He knew he would soon find the yawl--but all in a moment, and he must be prepared not to bump.To his quick ear came a sound; he stopped and listened. It was water--rippling against an obstacle--the incoming tide driving past the bows of the yacht. He had not far to go, becauseMessengerwas pulling the length of her chain cables inshore--a very different position from the one she would have held in a strong ebb, as she lay then almost under the shadow of the Bell Ridge point, the height to the north of the cove.Hughie pushed his craft cleverly up to the counter, shipped his sculls, and gripped the stern rail as he stood up. It was neatly done. He pushed the dinghy a little farther, holding on till he got the bows in position, then he bent the towing rope--the painter--on to the rail, and climbed up. Being there he made sure of the painter--he never left things to chance like Adrian did, and he possessed in a remarkable degree the quick neatness of the born sailor's handling of things.Having finished, he stood still and looked about.The deck showed white. The mainsail was not stowed, but just let down and lightly lashed, ready to haul up quickly in the morning: there was nothing to hurt it but dew--dew was everywhere and the footing slippery. As he stood looking along the shadowy white outline against which the mast rose oddly black, and the rigging seemed like black spiders' web, Hughie again wished he had the torch. Then an idea struck him entirely to his taste. It was better certainly to be in the dark, especially as he knew where the matches were kept. All was well.He stepped off the counter down into the well and looked at the companion doors--open half-way. Hughie gave a cursory examination to that, and then went along the deck to find out the state of the fore-hatch. That was lifted sideways an inch or two--Adrian had slipped a marline-spike under the edge of it to insure a draught. Without question this had not been touched. She was inside, and she had entered by the companion.Hughie crept back along the side of the deck-house roof, let himself down, and took a seat on the companion steps. He wanted to listen, also he was reviewing the position and the probabilities. What would this girl do? He had never been at close quarters, or even near her, but when one is only seven and small, without being a coward it is reasonable to calculate chances of warfare with a person double that age and strong.Hughie considered the black, silent interior that showed through the opening, then he murmured in the faintest whisper--under cover of the tide-rush rippling against the bows."If she kills me she'll be hung." It was a comforting thought to have British law on his side. Sir Marmaduke would see justice done undoubtedly, in spite of his mysterious dealings with the stranger. "She's his prisoner," thought Hughie, which seemed simple enough.He was as noiseless as a cat, and as wiry--he slipped through the gap into the darkness within and proceeded on all fours. In his mind was a certain small and neat lantern belonging to Adrian--it was plated, and fitted with a bit of candle in such a way that nothing disturbed its flame. He proposed to light this, and the thought occurred that some day, when this business came out, he would ask Addie to give it to him--when he went back to school. Surely the labourer was worthy of some sort of hire, and that lantern would add extraordinary joy to "the cave" in dull winter days to come.Thinking all these matters over, Hughie achieved a noiseless passage through the saloon into the store pantry. He reasoned that the girl was more likely to be in the fore-cabin--as a more remote hiding place; at the same time she might easily be asleep on one of the saloon bunks; these formed cushioned seats in the day-time, and, when the lids were lifted, hammocks within, for which the cushions were used. She could not know about that, so she would lie down on the outside, and it made him tingle to realize that she might be within a few inches of him. He reached the pantry, amidships, without hearing or seeing anything, and there sat down again, his back against the partition, to listen and locate her whereabouts if possible before he betrayed himself by lighting the lantern.The silence was profound; he could hear the water rippling along the hull underneath. Then he thought it might be wise to creep through into the fore-cabin; to that end he felt along the shelf for the admired lantern, could not find it, and realized that Adrian might have moved it; he could not find the matches either. It was tiresome, for he began to want light, and time was getting on without tangible results. Then the faint greyness along one side of the raised fore-hatch reminded him that he could mount the steps of the little ladder, push the hatch aside, and see better, without much trouble. It was still dark outside, but that was nothing to the profounder dark inside, where the only means of seeing at all was through the thick ground glass, double, along the top of the saloon above deck.He went through into the fore-cabin, found the steps, mounted softly, and pushed the heavy hatch by inches from the deep rim over which it fitted. He had to put out all his strength, but he made very little sound.CHAPTER XVIA Duel before DawnWhen Hughie had shoved the hatch far enough aside to allow his head and shoulders to pass, he went up one step higher and looked out. It was lighter. He could distinguish things on the deck for what they were, and see the water. He had hardly realized that, when he also realized something else.A figure was standing on the counter holding to the little mizzen-mast, and pulling in the dinghy.There was not a doubt of it. There she was. She must have been in the saloon when he passed in the dark. She had bided her time, slipped out and up the companion while he was shifting the hatch.Hughie was exasperated; at the same time he generously admired her quickness of resource. She must not be allowed to succeed all the same. He squeezed up through the opening, got his woolly sweater caught on the big hook that clinched the fastening outside, released himself, losing valuable seconds, was on his feet and speeding along the deck in a few more--just too late!He saw the slim dark figure descend into the dinghy with a reckless spring, and the boat drifted away as he reached the counter. It was an odd, shadowy drama, played out in the thick haze of dawn from which the night darkness was gradually peeling."Come back!" ordered Hughie with decision.The girl was putting the sculls into the rowlocks quite deliberately; she knew she was safe, or, let it more truly be said, thought she was safe. The boat was rocking softly on a smooth heave, and going shorewards all the time.The girl appeared to be surprised at Hughie, for she fingered the sculls in an uncertain manner while she gazed back at the small active figure poised onMessenger'sgraceful stern."You will stay there now," she said, with an emphasis on the last word. She spoke rather low, but there was a triumphant ring in the tone."Why?" asked Hughie, watching her, and rather attracted by her voice, because of the measured way of speaking."Because I shall not fetch you.""How unkind!" said Hughie drily.The girl in the dinghy did not quite like his tone. She expected a complete surrender and an anxious appeal. She thought she heard a very low chuckle, which was odd."You have no right to follow me," she said, playing with the oars; "it is very ill manners.""What about you trespassing?" retorted Hughie. "I suppose you know I can give you in charge. You may have stolen any amount.""How dare you!" this fiercely."Stealing off yachts is awfully common, you know," went on Hughie; "that's why people keep them locked. We don't lock up theMessenger, because Bell Bay people are honest--I mean they always have been up till now."The girl appeared not to hear; she was looking over her shoulder towards the shore to which she was drifting. Her mind was turning over rapidly what course to adopt. Would it be wiser to take this child off and make friends with him, or to go home and leave the affair to chance? The latter impulse prevailed, solely because she was angry at being stopped in her intention, and the desire to vent her spite was very strong. She would leave him just as he was for the others to find, and they could think what they liked.She began to row; then stopped, for Hughie spoke again."It's awfully silly of you to take the boat, because then everybody knows," he commented. "Come back; what's the good of being an idiot?""You are a rude little child," said the Countess angrily. "Now I shall punish you; you shall stay there."Hughie laughed. Then, to her utter amazement, he made a clean dive from the counter, hands over head, heels up, cutting the water with hardly a splash, and presently came up only a couple of yards astern of the dinghy. Then he shook the water out of his eyes and said blandly:"I told you you were an idiot--now I think you are a full-sized one. You'd much better have come back when I told you."He turned over on his back, and splashed mocking heels at her, then started off homeward; and when the Countess pulled the boat inshore he was there first, and, running in, seized the painter."Get out, Madam," he requested, "and help pull the boat up; you are too heavy for me to drag, and the tide's coming up pretty fast."[image]"GET OUT, MADAM."His tone was absolutely polite, at the same time the Countess had seldom felt less happy. He was so small, and so good-tempered over it all! She certainly felt rather like a "full-sized idiot"!The dinghy was secured, Hughie fixing the anchor between two rocks.The whole valley was wrapped in thick grey haze, but there was no light. The east being behind the high Downs made morning late in Bell Bay.The Countess looked on at Hughie's efforts; then she said, almost against her will:"You are very wet.""Well, one is when one's been in the sea; you can't help it."The girl coloured, but she pursued amicable tactics."I hope you will not catch cold.""Oh, thanks," said Hughie, and he looked at her so expressively that she could not fail to remember it was her fault that he was wet."You'd better come through our garden," he went on; "it's shorter. I expect you know the way all right.""I did not pass through your grounds," said the Countess quickly; "I came along the road," she pointed in the direction of Crown Hill lodge."How do you get out of Woodrising without the people knowing?" asked Hughie, as they climbed the beach among the rocks."You have no business to ask," said the Countess haughtily.Hughie looked at her sideways."I think you are awfully funny; you'd amuse anybody," he declared thoughtfully."Amuse--I!""Yes, there you go again. You do such ridiculous things, and when people can't help smiling you cut up rough. You look like Pam on the outside--except your face," went on Hughie critically; "but you aren't a patch on Pam really--she's a sport.""'Sport', how? Does she shoot then? I can shoot," said the Countess sharply. It was plain she did not wish to be thought inferior to Pamela."Can you, oh--that's all right. No, I meant Pam was awfully decent; she plays the game always.""You English think of games and nothing else," said the Countess scornfully. "My father had a little gun made for me, and I could kill when I was--oh--as small as you.""I'm seven," said Hughie, "and a good bit of eight as well."There was a pause as they passed through the gate on to the terrace walk; the house was visible now, looking large and sleeping, with its shuttered eyes."We'd better walk on the grass, because of gravel noises," advised Hughie. "I shouldn't make it, but you do. And look here, it's no use you trying to get on the yawl again, because she'll be locked up.""Why?""I shall tell Addie to lock her. He'll see the dinghy has been shifted; he's simply bound to."Now this was obvious. The girl could not deny it, and an angry light made her brown eyes look reddish as she turned a quick glance on the boy. She checked speech though.Hughie looked back at her curiously."What did you want to do?" he asked.It appeared that she considered whether to answer or not, and then took the resolution to say something anyway."I wanted to go somewhere.""Where?""It does not matter. Anywhere. Salterne, or what is another place--Peterock. I am sick and weary of this place--I wish to see a new one. Surely there is no harm in that?"She said this innocently enough, but in her eyes lay a something that was not so honest as her words."Why don't you ask Sir Marmaduke?" asked Hughie. "He'd let you go to Salterne or Peterock with Mrs. Chipman in the car. Why shouldn't he?""He would not; it is verboten (forbidden)," said the Countess sharply."It's what?" asked Hughie, frowning; he half recognized the sound of the German word, for he had heard Miss Chance helping Christobel with German holiday tasks."Nothing," answered the Countess quickly.They had crossed in front of the sleeping windows, along the turf edge of the lawn borders. Hughie avoided a straight crossing, because the track on the grey wet spread of grass would be apparent to the whole house. Along the narrow border he scrubbed it out as they went, walking behind his charge for that purpose.When they came to the front door end of the house, and the drive, he told the girl to hurry, and hurried himself--always on the turf edge, this time to avoid the noise of footsteps on the gravel."You see," he explained, "those open windows up above the front door are Addie's and Crow's. We are only in view about two seconds, but you never know."The Countess asked why they couldn't go out by the kitchen garden door. It seemed that she knew the geography of Bell House grounds."We can't get out. Old Hennery Doe takes the keys away when he goes, and let's himself back when he comes in the morning at half-past six. He doesn't hold with eight-hour days--he calls it 'silly muck'," said Hughie, adding sagely, "so do I--what's the sense of stopping just because it's eight hours, when the fruit is rotting and mice eat the peas. Look at my father--his work is never done. Nobody can stop in the Navy and the Army--how could they? Fancy if the battleships did that sort of thing!" the scorn conveyed by Hughie's tone was indescribable, and let it be said that on this point the Countess was entirely in sympathy.Hughie opened the gate for her, and, being bare-headed, made a little gesture of salute as she passed through."I hope you will not catch cold," said the girl; her tone was patronizing, and Hughie recognized it--a sentence culled from Mrs. Jeeps' conversation came aptly to his mind."If you will be advised by me, you will remain in your own garden," said he gravely; "and thank you for your good wishes."This ended the interview. Hughie shut the gate with care, murmuring as he did so: "We prefer your absence to your company," again Mrs. Jeep--and then he started off running at top speed down the turn to the stables and backyard, round the house and in at the garden door. That he locked inside. Then he pulled off his soaked shoes and stockings on the mat--rubbing stone-cold feet energetically to dry them well--sped along the passage, up the back-stairs, and away down to his own room, leaving no mark or faintest trace with his bare feet. Arrived "at home", he dragged off the wet garments--knickers and woolly sweater, not even a vest in addition--bundled the things up and put them with the stockings under his bed--as the shoes were always wet, more or less, they did not count; then he rubbed himself energetically with a rough towel, assumed the striped pyjamas, dived into bed, and was asleep within three minutes.For Hughie the episode was successfully closed. For some others it had just begun.It was said that when the two entered the drive from the terrace walk, Hughie hurried the pace in order to get his charge out of range of Adrian's and Christobel's windows. There was just about a minute in which that curve of the drive was in full view from the house. There were surely a thousand chances to one that the pair would not be seen at such an hour--not much after four o'clock in the morning. But as it happened, Adrian had waked--perhaps some odd instinct of doings on board the yawl had pricked him--the thousandth chance was against Hughie, and Adrian got up at that instant to look at the weather and see what sort of day was going to favour his project. His plan the night before had been a seven o'clock start and breakfast on board. It would be heavenly in the early morning, and nearly three hours tide to Salterne river would be theirs. He wanted to be off at half-past six, but Mrs. Jeep was firm about seven--she "didn't hold" with depriving people of their rest, she said. So seven it was to be--and Adrian, on the alert at 4.20, saw something that surprised him so immensely that he was nailed to the floor, gazing.The disappearing figures of Pamela and Hughie just rounding the curve of the drive towards the big gates. Hughie bare-headed--otherwise as usual. Pamela just as usual.Dawn was piercing the "darkest hour", and the pair were fairly distinct in the mist. Distinct enough to remove all doubt as to who they were. Adrian gazed as they went out of sight, gazed at the empty drive; then he leaned from his casement and listened. No sound but here and there a faint "tweet" from a tentative bird, asking if it was time to get up.Three or four minutes passed, then Adrian opened his door, hurried down to Christobel's room and knocked--once--twice--no answer; she was asleep; he went in."Is that you, Keziah?" murmured Crow--sleepily: "is it five?""I say, Crow," said Adrian in an energizing whisper, "wake up for any sake. I've seen about the rummest thing you ever heard of.""Oh," Christobel answered thickly, "what a pity.""Pity! How do you mean?""Because I want to go to sleep--it's rather early, isn't it?""It's soon after four; but look here, Crow, this isn't a false alarm--or a mare's nest--it's simplythemost amazing eye-opener.""Oh, is it?" Christobel roused herself to look at her excited brother; from long experience she felt sure that he would not be quiet till he had got the news "off his chest". She raised herself a little on the pillow and tried to be interested. "Go on," she said; "what is it?""Well, what do you say to Pam and Hughie walking up the drive to the front gate.""Oh, Addie--what rot! Four in the morning!""My good girl, I stared at them till my eyes nearly dropped on the window-seat. I just happened to wake, and went to see what sort of a day it seemed--the window was open--there they were.""Why didn't you hear them on the gravel first?" asked Crow in an unbelieving tone; she realized that here was another attack on Pam, only this time Hughie was included. She refused to believe a word on the spot; she made up her mind against this tale.Adrian said the two walked on the grass-edge border--Pamela first, Hughie following; they did not seem to be talking, they went fast."Why didn't you call?" asked Crow."I was simply knocked out of time. I just stared, and they were gone round the turn. Then I came to you.""Hum," Christobel sniffed sceptically; "how were they dressed?""I told you--I don't know, I'm sure--same as usual--the kid no hat. I said so. Look here, Crow--what are we to do?" this in an urgent tone."Do? Oh, nothing; what could we do? Go to sleep again till we have to get up.""I must say, Crow, you are most awfully casual," said Adrian in an offended voice. "The thing's about as strong as it can be, and you won't move. Pamela has been behaving like a lunatic for weeks, and now she is taking her walks abroad at four in the morning and dragging the kid with her.""Well, you see, Addie, I don't admit that Pam has been doing anything different from ordinary," argued Crow in her sober, level way. "I don't believe it, and you can't make me. As forthis. I think the mist has deceived you."Adrian rose indignantly from his seat on the bed foot."Of course if you're going to----""Stop a minute, Addie. Here, give me my dressing-gown." She sat up and put her arms in the sleeves, talking as she did so. "How long did you say it was--you've only been here a few minutes--they were goingout, not coming in. Well, it's perfectly simple. I'll go and see; if they were walking away up the drive ten minutes ago at the outside, they can't be in bed now."Christobel flitted away like a shadow, down the long corridor, round into the cross passage at the end, and stopped outside Pamela's door. She heard the sound of regular breathing in the stillness, and went in. There was Pam, sound asleep. Christobel's experienced eye ran over the neatly-folded garments on a chair, the blouse hung deftly over the bed foot, sleeves inside out. The room was neat and in order."Absurd," muttered Crow with emphasis.Pamela stirred, turned over, and started up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes."What--what is it, Crow; am I late? Is it half-past six?""Oh no, half-past four. Don't worry--I just came to look out of your window----" Crow suited action to the excuse, lamely made, for she was not used to excuses."It's going to be fine, Pam; there's a mist----" she laughed softly with a little sense of triumph, and slipped out of the room.Pamela vaguely wondered, but it was obvious that her sister was "not cross"--Christobel seldom was; she meant there was a very sympathetic atmosphere, which was true.Crow went on and peeped in at Hughie. A small heap in the bed, the top of a sleek head, and absolute slumber, with the room just as usual.She fled back down the passage and arrived in her own room rather inclined to giggle."Both in bed, both sound asleep, not foxing, but simplysound. I woke Pam; she was perfectly foggy, and wanted to know if it was time to get ready. When I said 'no' she was practically asleep before I came away.""I suppose they bolted back," said Adrian, though he was plainly surprised."Bolted! My dear Addie! Pam's clothes were all as neat as a Chinese puzzle, her shoes put together, her blouse hanging out to air! Hughie's room was the same--you know how tidy those two are; they beat us hollow. It's not a scrap of use reasoning that they could have done all that in the time, because it isn't possible, especially as you say they were going away, not coming in! After all, Addie, one must be reasonable."Adrian was reasonable. He went off in silence. He saw the force of what his sister said, but he had the evidence of his eyesight against it. The whole thing was staggering. It was part of the strange and complicated way that life had been behaving for weeks.After that he slept fitfully, being worried, and at half-past six left the house to get things ready on the yawl, leaving the girls dressing. Pamela had come along the passage to Crow with a beaming face and her lovely hair like a bronze shawl over her shoulders; she wanted Christobel to plait her tail as Keziah was busy packing a basket. Adrian saw his sister, and was bound to admit she looked like a guiltless person who had slept soundly.She said Hughie was asleep; as he was not going there was no need to wake him.Crow was dressed and putting one short pin in a nice little close hat, when she heard Adrian come back. He came into her room, hardly waiting for the answer to his knock, shut the door, and leaned his back against it.Christobel, instantly aware of something new, turned round; her brother was breathing rather fast, and there were sparks in his hazel eyes."Something is up, Crow--no question.""Why--what?""Oh, the dinghy has been used--she's full of gravel and footmarks--sculls messed up--anchor shifted--painter wet and muddled up--whole thing anyhow, and up in a new place, not where I put her."Christobel exclaimed softly; Adrian went on:"Someone's been on board the yawl. The fore-hatch is hauled off! there are any amount of wet footmarks and gravel prints inside, on deck, especially on the counter. The companion door is wide open. Besides that, one of the bunks, the one you use, was all untidy--all the cushions were on that side--and sort of messed up. Once before I had a dim idea someone had been on board----""So had I," murmured Crow softly."You never said so.""Well, I thought I was mistaken. It was so unlikely.""It's obvious," said Adrian drily, "that very unlikely things are the order of the day. In fact, it's just as well not to say 'all things are possible'. Also there's no use in pretending Penberthy or Fraser would do it, because it's out of their line altogether. Somebody has been on board who doesn't understand boats--I mean, that's my impression.""Then it can't be Pam," interrupted Christobel hastilyAdrian saw the argument in her mind."Don't ask me--don't say 'can't be', anyway. I feel inclined to say 'I'm mad, you're mad, we're all mad' like the cat in Alice. Anyway, it'll take me an hour to clean up.""Oh, Addie, what about Salterne?""Never mind, we'll go to Peterock instead; tide's A1 for Peterock after nine o'clock."
CHAPTER XV
In which Hughie takes Action
It has been said, even in this story, that important situations often arise from ridiculously small happenings. Everybody knows it so well that one apologizes for such a stale reflection.
However, in the present instance the thing that led up to the very small happening was tea at Fuchsia Cottage, to which all four were invited, and all four went. The Little Pilgrim's teas were "things of beauty, and joys for ever", the pleasure never palled, because she had particular scones, buns, cakes and jams that other people knew not of, and her table decorations were as original as they were lovely. She held a theory that people ought to eat a great deal at tea, which was delightful when it fell in with the idea of the guests. There was no "company" about it, from first to last it was sheer satisfaction.
This day was no exception to the rule, and for reasons that can be well understood the young Romillys positively jumped at the invitation. It would be freedom from the atmosphere that seemed to spoil everything at the Bell House.
True to Adrian's suggestion, Mrs. Romilly had ignored the mystery of the diamond brooch. She treated Pamela as always--or tried to. But she was pale and absent in manner, and it was a daily stab to poor Pam to look up suddenly and find her mother's eyes watching her with a sort of appeal in their blue depths. Pamela on her part was obviously unhappy, her small face was smaller still, and her grey-blue eyes looked darker. In spite of the heroic efforts of the elder pair, who pulled the business of life along like a pair of well-matched horses, it was not the same perfectly happy life that it had been in the spring and always before in the memory of the children.
Miss Lasarge saw there was something the matter, but the Romilly family had the sense to wash its own linen at home. No one in the house "confided" woes outside. Also, Miss Lasarge had, at the time, considerable anxiety on her own shoulders, which she kept to herself, of course; the sympathy being no less for everybody.
So she asked them to tea, and they came. And the party was one of the most perfect she had ever invented, with rose petals in all shades of pink making a pattern round the delightful dishes. Tongues were loosened by the sense of festivity, even Hughie talked; everybody talked, except Pamela, who looked tired.
They stayed until after six o'clock, and then the Little Pilgrim walked down to the gate with them. Outside in the road they stood talking over the gate, as people do loath to go. Adrian was talking about the yawl, he and Christobel laughing over some of the adventures.
"We go out most days," he said.
Miss Lasarge looked towards the west and the clear sky over the sea.
"It is promising for to-morrow?" she asked; her gaze wandered to the white wall over the road, that high glass-topped wall that enclosed Woodrising.
"Oh, rather!"
"Don't you think you are very lucky?" She asked this question suddenly of Addie, in the soft hesitating tone natural to her.
"Lucky, I should think so! It's awfully jolly of Sir Marmaduke to let us haveMessenger."
"I was thinking of something bigger than that--I mean,wider--than just a yacht. It's thefreedom, Adrian. Of the sea, of the shore, of the woods--that's what I meant. You see, there are prisoners."
"Oh, notnow, Little Pilgrim," Christobel expostulated, "we've got them all home, thank God, by this time."
"Ours! Oh, yes, I hope we have, I believe we have; but I was thinking----"
"Miss Anne, please don't ask us to feel--well, sentimental--about German prisoners," said Adrian in rather a hard voice; he was digging a hole in the road with his stick, as a vent for his feelings, "they've had a good time in England."
"Oh no, dear, it was something quite different that was in my mind, I assure you. Only, what one feels is--value freedom--it is so wonderful really."
"Expect it is, one jolly well takes it for granted though, doesn't one, Crow?" Adrian strongly objected to strenuous remarks, whatever the subject. "Well, Miss Anne, thanks awfully, we've had a ripping time, your party was simply top-hole. Think of Crow and me enjoying freedom. Oh, by the way, it's 'the freedom of the seas', isn't it? Early to-morrow, all being well, we want to go to Salterne."
"For the day, or what?" asked Miss Lesarge, smiling.
"For the day," agreed Crow. "As usual, Addie wants his hair cut, and the only man he approves of is in Union Street. We anchor the yawl and come back late; the tides have come round by now, to a nice useful arrangement. Miss Anne, you know Mother doesn't mind now if we sleep on board, as long as we are inside the estuary. That gives us a grand long time to do things."
All this was said in the road, you will remember. Adrian and Christobel possessed clear voices that carried; they did not modulate them to any great extent; lastly the white wall was only the width of the road from this conversation.
Neither Pamela nor Hughie spoke, yet they two realized with a sort of shock what the meaning was behind Miss Anne's little eager protest about "prisoners". She knew, she must know! She was just thinking out loud her own gentle pity for the girl behind the white wall. Pamela saw it so on the instant, and with a flash of memory recalled the large dull old-fashioned drawing-room at Woodrising, and the girl sitting alone, trying to be interested in a book. And she can climb, thought Pam suddenly, perhaps she was used to mountains; why not? Anyway, she must be accustomed to great possessions, to woods and parks, to great estates! A new view of the case brightened Pamela's mind. Miss Anne was looking at her, their eyes met and the girl smiled, then turned pink, and looked away.
"I wonder!" thought the Little Pilgrim.
Pam was wondering also. Hughie had made up his mind, undoubtedly Miss Anne knew about the girl; that was interesting, but Hughie's estimate of the situation was not like his sister's; there was no sentiment, and no pity in it. He was purely practical. "She might have to stop inside Woodrising," he thought, "then it would be different. But she tells lies and comes out on the sly; she steals things and lets Pam bear the blame. Miss Lasarge doesn't know."
So he looked at Miss Lasarge with a shrewd pitying gaze as he lifted his cap for good-night, and made no remark on the way home.
The evening was uneventful, and a voyage to Salterne was planned for next day as Adrian suggested. Pamela was asked to go and said she would; Hughie refused, he had his own scheme.
Then the household went to bed, and to sleep, but let it be understood that the small matter, namely that little talk outside Miss Anne's gate, had set in motion a far more important event, which was yet to happen.
Hughie slept with his window open, of course; he was a very light sleeper, indeed he said he could hear the crabs' toes clatter as they ran out of one pool into another. This statement might have been exaggerated, but the fact remains that he could hear most things; therefore, when he woke up in the night he realized that a noise from outside had been the cause. He lay still and listened for sounds in the house.
All was still; also all was dark, because the moon did not rise till early morning, and at present was giving her best moonshine in the day-time.
Hughie waited with a sense of growing alertness, and presently slid out of bed, climbed on the window-seat, and looked towards the bay. Soft, velvety darkness, ripple of water, and faint reflected shine on the sea, was all he heard and saw.
"Tiresome!" considered Hughie, not reassured by all this peace. He felt trouble afoot.
Motionless he sat, as some small wild thing of the jungle; motionless, but alive in every muscle.
From the bay came a sudden knock of wood on wood, just the noise a person recognizes who understands boats and would never mistake it for anything else.
"Dinghy," thought the Midget, and, without more ado, he slid from his seat and put on some clothes that would not be conspicuous; so careful was he, indeed, that he got out stockings, articles he hated in summer; but bare white legs show in the dark. Presently he was complete. Serge knickers and sweater, blue stockings and sandshoes. Then he opened his door and looked out. No sound, a pitch dark, silent house.
Hughie's mind was intent on the garden door. The big front door was bolted and barred and would make a noise if opened. The back door possessed a terribly stiff key that turned with a shriek. Jeepy would not have it oiled; she would not have it touched for mysterious reasons of her own connected with the possible bad conduct of Patty Ingles! It was a far-fetched idea, but it kept the key rusty, so that was no good. There remained the children's door, as it had always been called, the door into the garden, just beyond Pamela's window. It would not do for her to hear. Hughie wanted to do this business entirely off his own bat, so to speak, and of all things he did not wish to have "people making a row", so he hoped the door would not betray him.
As it happened, poor Pam was sleeping rather heavily. She had had many restless nights, but something in those words of Miss Anne's had made a difference. Things were not so hopelessly unjust; she did not feel so ill-used quite. So she slept soundly, and Hughie, moving like Sherlock Holmes and "Raffles" rolled into one, as only he could, got out of the house without a creak or a scratch, closed the door, and found himself on the end terrace under Pam's window close to the sea-wall.
Every stone being familiar, he went straight from there along the grass border of the walk, guiding himself by the wall. Once he stopped and listened intently, when he heard that little bump again--it was a slightly grinding bump at irregular intervals. Hughie knew now what it was--the dinghy against the rocks. It might mean that the little boat had got loose and was being shifted this way and that by the tide. There was nothing exciting about that, of course, but Hughie was convinced that something more was being enacted--there was human agency at work.
He came to the end of the wall, went through the gate, round, and then down towards the rocks. Now here was necessity for careful going, because of the darkness, and he wished heartily he had stayed to get the little electric torch that stood on the library writing-table. However, knowing the bay by heart made it easier, and every minute his eyes were more used to the dark.
The sand felt cool and hard; there was plenty of it, because the tide was just starting to rise steadily and creep into the pools. Hughie knew this must be so, of course--partly because he understood tides, but particularly in this instance owing to Adrian's plan for the morning.
They were to start early for Salterne, while there was still enough of the tide to take them. It could not have been long since the tide turned; he tried to calculate, and succeeded in realizing that the faint greyness that lay in the night was not "moon", but morning coming. And that was what made a chill, fresher than a night wind.
Presently he found the dinghy, and felt all over her with understanding hands. The sculls were there--rolling a little, improperly placed. She was broadside on to the beach, heaving up a little on the wash.
"She simplyneverwent down by herself," decided Hughie, and thought over the matter deeply.
Her normal position was a good way up the shore. In stormy weather well above high-water mark--but last night in a comfortable position for loading a basket and oddments--on the sand, with her little anchor fixed between two rocks. The anchor had been lifted and was put in the bows. The dinghy could not have done that to herself! No need to argue; the question was answered.
Someonehad taken the boat out, and sent her adrift! When you come to think of it, this was an odd thing to happen in the night--more than odd in Bell Bay. Almost unbelievable, because you might leave anything about and all your doors and windows open in such a garden of friends as the valley.
The conclusion Hughie came to was that no native of Bell Bay had done it. He had little doubt who was the offender, and stood still considering his next move.
Whyshould Pam's double want to go out aboard the yawl at such an hour? Crow having said nothing at all to anyone about her suspicions with regard to meddling in the saloon; of course Hughie knew nothing about that, and the idea came to him in all its startling freshness. However, having convinced his reason, he quickly decided on the next action.
"I'd better go and find her," said Hughie to himself in the low murmur with which he held "doll" conversations.
As the tide was rising he had small difficulty in pushing the dinghy down; she was the lightest make, varnished--a first-rate little craft with the power of standing much more than her slight appearance suggested. A very fortunate thing, as it proved afterwards.
The little boy got in, balanced himself in the stern to lighten the bows, and pushed off deftly; then he sat down, took the sculls, and looked about him into the dark. The sculls, small as they were, were too big for his hands, but he was strong and amazingly tenacious--he never gave up what his heart was set on.
"She can't get away," he murmured again, and, as the idea took his fancy, he gave a sudden little wriggle of amusement.
Then he sculled out to theMessengerwith very short light strokes, wonderfully noiseless. He went into the thick of the dark, thick because the mistiness of dawn was there--it was what people called "the darkest hour before the dawn", starless, moonless, softly thick. Having gone a short distance, Hughie turned the dinghy round gently by rowing one oar, and, having got his craft stern first, he began to push steadily with both sculls. He knew he would soon find the yawl--but all in a moment, and he must be prepared not to bump.
To his quick ear came a sound; he stopped and listened. It was water--rippling against an obstacle--the incoming tide driving past the bows of the yacht. He had not far to go, becauseMessengerwas pulling the length of her chain cables inshore--a very different position from the one she would have held in a strong ebb, as she lay then almost under the shadow of the Bell Ridge point, the height to the north of the cove.
Hughie pushed his craft cleverly up to the counter, shipped his sculls, and gripped the stern rail as he stood up. It was neatly done. He pushed the dinghy a little farther, holding on till he got the bows in position, then he bent the towing rope--the painter--on to the rail, and climbed up. Being there he made sure of the painter--he never left things to chance like Adrian did, and he possessed in a remarkable degree the quick neatness of the born sailor's handling of things.
Having finished, he stood still and looked about.
The deck showed white. The mainsail was not stowed, but just let down and lightly lashed, ready to haul up quickly in the morning: there was nothing to hurt it but dew--dew was everywhere and the footing slippery. As he stood looking along the shadowy white outline against which the mast rose oddly black, and the rigging seemed like black spiders' web, Hughie again wished he had the torch. Then an idea struck him entirely to his taste. It was better certainly to be in the dark, especially as he knew where the matches were kept. All was well.
He stepped off the counter down into the well and looked at the companion doors--open half-way. Hughie gave a cursory examination to that, and then went along the deck to find out the state of the fore-hatch. That was lifted sideways an inch or two--Adrian had slipped a marline-spike under the edge of it to insure a draught. Without question this had not been touched. She was inside, and she had entered by the companion.
Hughie crept back along the side of the deck-house roof, let himself down, and took a seat on the companion steps. He wanted to listen, also he was reviewing the position and the probabilities. What would this girl do? He had never been at close quarters, or even near her, but when one is only seven and small, without being a coward it is reasonable to calculate chances of warfare with a person double that age and strong.
Hughie considered the black, silent interior that showed through the opening, then he murmured in the faintest whisper--under cover of the tide-rush rippling against the bows.
"If she kills me she'll be hung." It was a comforting thought to have British law on his side. Sir Marmaduke would see justice done undoubtedly, in spite of his mysterious dealings with the stranger. "She's his prisoner," thought Hughie, which seemed simple enough.
He was as noiseless as a cat, and as wiry--he slipped through the gap into the darkness within and proceeded on all fours. In his mind was a certain small and neat lantern belonging to Adrian--it was plated, and fitted with a bit of candle in such a way that nothing disturbed its flame. He proposed to light this, and the thought occurred that some day, when this business came out, he would ask Addie to give it to him--when he went back to school. Surely the labourer was worthy of some sort of hire, and that lantern would add extraordinary joy to "the cave" in dull winter days to come.
Thinking all these matters over, Hughie achieved a noiseless passage through the saloon into the store pantry. He reasoned that the girl was more likely to be in the fore-cabin--as a more remote hiding place; at the same time she might easily be asleep on one of the saloon bunks; these formed cushioned seats in the day-time, and, when the lids were lifted, hammocks within, for which the cushions were used. She could not know about that, so she would lie down on the outside, and it made him tingle to realize that she might be within a few inches of him. He reached the pantry, amidships, without hearing or seeing anything, and there sat down again, his back against the partition, to listen and locate her whereabouts if possible before he betrayed himself by lighting the lantern.
The silence was profound; he could hear the water rippling along the hull underneath. Then he thought it might be wise to creep through into the fore-cabin; to that end he felt along the shelf for the admired lantern, could not find it, and realized that Adrian might have moved it; he could not find the matches either. It was tiresome, for he began to want light, and time was getting on without tangible results. Then the faint greyness along one side of the raised fore-hatch reminded him that he could mount the steps of the little ladder, push the hatch aside, and see better, without much trouble. It was still dark outside, but that was nothing to the profounder dark inside, where the only means of seeing at all was through the thick ground glass, double, along the top of the saloon above deck.
He went through into the fore-cabin, found the steps, mounted softly, and pushed the heavy hatch by inches from the deep rim over which it fitted. He had to put out all his strength, but he made very little sound.
CHAPTER XVI
A Duel before Dawn
When Hughie had shoved the hatch far enough aside to allow his head and shoulders to pass, he went up one step higher and looked out. It was lighter. He could distinguish things on the deck for what they were, and see the water. He had hardly realized that, when he also realized something else.
A figure was standing on the counter holding to the little mizzen-mast, and pulling in the dinghy.
There was not a doubt of it. There she was. She must have been in the saloon when he passed in the dark. She had bided her time, slipped out and up the companion while he was shifting the hatch.
Hughie was exasperated; at the same time he generously admired her quickness of resource. She must not be allowed to succeed all the same. He squeezed up through the opening, got his woolly sweater caught on the big hook that clinched the fastening outside, released himself, losing valuable seconds, was on his feet and speeding along the deck in a few more--just too late!
He saw the slim dark figure descend into the dinghy with a reckless spring, and the boat drifted away as he reached the counter. It was an odd, shadowy drama, played out in the thick haze of dawn from which the night darkness was gradually peeling.
"Come back!" ordered Hughie with decision.
The girl was putting the sculls into the rowlocks quite deliberately; she knew she was safe, or, let it more truly be said, thought she was safe. The boat was rocking softly on a smooth heave, and going shorewards all the time.
The girl appeared to be surprised at Hughie, for she fingered the sculls in an uncertain manner while she gazed back at the small active figure poised onMessenger'sgraceful stern.
"You will stay there now," she said, with an emphasis on the last word. She spoke rather low, but there was a triumphant ring in the tone.
"Why?" asked Hughie, watching her, and rather attracted by her voice, because of the measured way of speaking.
"Because I shall not fetch you."
"How unkind!" said Hughie drily.
The girl in the dinghy did not quite like his tone. She expected a complete surrender and an anxious appeal. She thought she heard a very low chuckle, which was odd.
"You have no right to follow me," she said, playing with the oars; "it is very ill manners."
"What about you trespassing?" retorted Hughie. "I suppose you know I can give you in charge. You may have stolen any amount."
"How dare you!" this fiercely.
"Stealing off yachts is awfully common, you know," went on Hughie; "that's why people keep them locked. We don't lock up theMessenger, because Bell Bay people are honest--I mean they always have been up till now."
The girl appeared not to hear; she was looking over her shoulder towards the shore to which she was drifting. Her mind was turning over rapidly what course to adopt. Would it be wiser to take this child off and make friends with him, or to go home and leave the affair to chance? The latter impulse prevailed, solely because she was angry at being stopped in her intention, and the desire to vent her spite was very strong. She would leave him just as he was for the others to find, and they could think what they liked.
She began to row; then stopped, for Hughie spoke again.
"It's awfully silly of you to take the boat, because then everybody knows," he commented. "Come back; what's the good of being an idiot?"
"You are a rude little child," said the Countess angrily. "Now I shall punish you; you shall stay there."
Hughie laughed. Then, to her utter amazement, he made a clean dive from the counter, hands over head, heels up, cutting the water with hardly a splash, and presently came up only a couple of yards astern of the dinghy. Then he shook the water out of his eyes and said blandly:
"I told you you were an idiot--now I think you are a full-sized one. You'd much better have come back when I told you."
He turned over on his back, and splashed mocking heels at her, then started off homeward; and when the Countess pulled the boat inshore he was there first, and, running in, seized the painter.
"Get out, Madam," he requested, "and help pull the boat up; you are too heavy for me to drag, and the tide's coming up pretty fast."
[image]"GET OUT, MADAM."
[image]
[image]
"GET OUT, MADAM."
His tone was absolutely polite, at the same time the Countess had seldom felt less happy. He was so small, and so good-tempered over it all! She certainly felt rather like a "full-sized idiot"!
The dinghy was secured, Hughie fixing the anchor between two rocks.
The whole valley was wrapped in thick grey haze, but there was no light. The east being behind the high Downs made morning late in Bell Bay.
The Countess looked on at Hughie's efforts; then she said, almost against her will:
"You are very wet."
"Well, one is when one's been in the sea; you can't help it."
The girl coloured, but she pursued amicable tactics.
"I hope you will not catch cold."
"Oh, thanks," said Hughie, and he looked at her so expressively that she could not fail to remember it was her fault that he was wet.
"You'd better come through our garden," he went on; "it's shorter. I expect you know the way all right."
"I did not pass through your grounds," said the Countess quickly; "I came along the road," she pointed in the direction of Crown Hill lodge.
"How do you get out of Woodrising without the people knowing?" asked Hughie, as they climbed the beach among the rocks.
"You have no business to ask," said the Countess haughtily.
Hughie looked at her sideways.
"I think you are awfully funny; you'd amuse anybody," he declared thoughtfully.
"Amuse--I!"
"Yes, there you go again. You do such ridiculous things, and when people can't help smiling you cut up rough. You look like Pam on the outside--except your face," went on Hughie critically; "but you aren't a patch on Pam really--she's a sport."
"'Sport', how? Does she shoot then? I can shoot," said the Countess sharply. It was plain she did not wish to be thought inferior to Pamela.
"Can you, oh--that's all right. No, I meant Pam was awfully decent; she plays the game always."
"You English think of games and nothing else," said the Countess scornfully. "My father had a little gun made for me, and I could kill when I was--oh--as small as you."
"I'm seven," said Hughie, "and a good bit of eight as well."
There was a pause as they passed through the gate on to the terrace walk; the house was visible now, looking large and sleeping, with its shuttered eyes.
"We'd better walk on the grass, because of gravel noises," advised Hughie. "I shouldn't make it, but you do. And look here, it's no use you trying to get on the yawl again, because she'll be locked up."
"Why?"
"I shall tell Addie to lock her. He'll see the dinghy has been shifted; he's simply bound to."
Now this was obvious. The girl could not deny it, and an angry light made her brown eyes look reddish as she turned a quick glance on the boy. She checked speech though.
Hughie looked back at her curiously.
"What did you want to do?" he asked.
It appeared that she considered whether to answer or not, and then took the resolution to say something anyway.
"I wanted to go somewhere."
"Where?"
"It does not matter. Anywhere. Salterne, or what is another place--Peterock. I am sick and weary of this place--I wish to see a new one. Surely there is no harm in that?"
She said this innocently enough, but in her eyes lay a something that was not so honest as her words.
"Why don't you ask Sir Marmaduke?" asked Hughie. "He'd let you go to Salterne or Peterock with Mrs. Chipman in the car. Why shouldn't he?"
"He would not; it is verboten (forbidden)," said the Countess sharply.
"It's what?" asked Hughie, frowning; he half recognized the sound of the German word, for he had heard Miss Chance helping Christobel with German holiday tasks.
"Nothing," answered the Countess quickly.
They had crossed in front of the sleeping windows, along the turf edge of the lawn borders. Hughie avoided a straight crossing, because the track on the grey wet spread of grass would be apparent to the whole house. Along the narrow border he scrubbed it out as they went, walking behind his charge for that purpose.
When they came to the front door end of the house, and the drive, he told the girl to hurry, and hurried himself--always on the turf edge, this time to avoid the noise of footsteps on the gravel.
"You see," he explained, "those open windows up above the front door are Addie's and Crow's. We are only in view about two seconds, but you never know."
The Countess asked why they couldn't go out by the kitchen garden door. It seemed that she knew the geography of Bell House grounds.
"We can't get out. Old Hennery Doe takes the keys away when he goes, and let's himself back when he comes in the morning at half-past six. He doesn't hold with eight-hour days--he calls it 'silly muck'," said Hughie, adding sagely, "so do I--what's the sense of stopping just because it's eight hours, when the fruit is rotting and mice eat the peas. Look at my father--his work is never done. Nobody can stop in the Navy and the Army--how could they? Fancy if the battleships did that sort of thing!" the scorn conveyed by Hughie's tone was indescribable, and let it be said that on this point the Countess was entirely in sympathy.
Hughie opened the gate for her, and, being bare-headed, made a little gesture of salute as she passed through.
"I hope you will not catch cold," said the girl; her tone was patronizing, and Hughie recognized it--a sentence culled from Mrs. Jeeps' conversation came aptly to his mind.
"If you will be advised by me, you will remain in your own garden," said he gravely; "and thank you for your good wishes."
This ended the interview. Hughie shut the gate with care, murmuring as he did so: "We prefer your absence to your company," again Mrs. Jeep--and then he started off running at top speed down the turn to the stables and backyard, round the house and in at the garden door. That he locked inside. Then he pulled off his soaked shoes and stockings on the mat--rubbing stone-cold feet energetically to dry them well--sped along the passage, up the back-stairs, and away down to his own room, leaving no mark or faintest trace with his bare feet. Arrived "at home", he dragged off the wet garments--knickers and woolly sweater, not even a vest in addition--bundled the things up and put them with the stockings under his bed--as the shoes were always wet, more or less, they did not count; then he rubbed himself energetically with a rough towel, assumed the striped pyjamas, dived into bed, and was asleep within three minutes.
For Hughie the episode was successfully closed. For some others it had just begun.
It was said that when the two entered the drive from the terrace walk, Hughie hurried the pace in order to get his charge out of range of Adrian's and Christobel's windows. There was just about a minute in which that curve of the drive was in full view from the house. There were surely a thousand chances to one that the pair would not be seen at such an hour--not much after four o'clock in the morning. But as it happened, Adrian had waked--perhaps some odd instinct of doings on board the yawl had pricked him--the thousandth chance was against Hughie, and Adrian got up at that instant to look at the weather and see what sort of day was going to favour his project. His plan the night before had been a seven o'clock start and breakfast on board. It would be heavenly in the early morning, and nearly three hours tide to Salterne river would be theirs. He wanted to be off at half-past six, but Mrs. Jeep was firm about seven--she "didn't hold" with depriving people of their rest, she said. So seven it was to be--and Adrian, on the alert at 4.20, saw something that surprised him so immensely that he was nailed to the floor, gazing.
The disappearing figures of Pamela and Hughie just rounding the curve of the drive towards the big gates. Hughie bare-headed--otherwise as usual. Pamela just as usual.
Dawn was piercing the "darkest hour", and the pair were fairly distinct in the mist. Distinct enough to remove all doubt as to who they were. Adrian gazed as they went out of sight, gazed at the empty drive; then he leaned from his casement and listened. No sound but here and there a faint "tweet" from a tentative bird, asking if it was time to get up.
Three or four minutes passed, then Adrian opened his door, hurried down to Christobel's room and knocked--once--twice--no answer; she was asleep; he went in.
"Is that you, Keziah?" murmured Crow--sleepily: "is it five?"
"I say, Crow," said Adrian in an energizing whisper, "wake up for any sake. I've seen about the rummest thing you ever heard of."
"Oh," Christobel answered thickly, "what a pity."
"Pity! How do you mean?"
"Because I want to go to sleep--it's rather early, isn't it?"
"It's soon after four; but look here, Crow, this isn't a false alarm--or a mare's nest--it's simplythemost amazing eye-opener."
"Oh, is it?" Christobel roused herself to look at her excited brother; from long experience she felt sure that he would not be quiet till he had got the news "off his chest". She raised herself a little on the pillow and tried to be interested. "Go on," she said; "what is it?"
"Well, what do you say to Pam and Hughie walking up the drive to the front gate."
"Oh, Addie--what rot! Four in the morning!"
"My good girl, I stared at them till my eyes nearly dropped on the window-seat. I just happened to wake, and went to see what sort of a day it seemed--the window was open--there they were."
"Why didn't you hear them on the gravel first?" asked Crow in an unbelieving tone; she realized that here was another attack on Pam, only this time Hughie was included. She refused to believe a word on the spot; she made up her mind against this tale.
Adrian said the two walked on the grass-edge border--Pamela first, Hughie following; they did not seem to be talking, they went fast.
"Why didn't you call?" asked Crow.
"I was simply knocked out of time. I just stared, and they were gone round the turn. Then I came to you."
"Hum," Christobel sniffed sceptically; "how were they dressed?"
"I told you--I don't know, I'm sure--same as usual--the kid no hat. I said so. Look here, Crow--what are we to do?" this in an urgent tone.
"Do? Oh, nothing; what could we do? Go to sleep again till we have to get up."
"I must say, Crow, you are most awfully casual," said Adrian in an offended voice. "The thing's about as strong as it can be, and you won't move. Pamela has been behaving like a lunatic for weeks, and now she is taking her walks abroad at four in the morning and dragging the kid with her."
"Well, you see, Addie, I don't admit that Pam has been doing anything different from ordinary," argued Crow in her sober, level way. "I don't believe it, and you can't make me. As forthis. I think the mist has deceived you."
Adrian rose indignantly from his seat on the bed foot.
"Of course if you're going to----"
"Stop a minute, Addie. Here, give me my dressing-gown." She sat up and put her arms in the sleeves, talking as she did so. "How long did you say it was--you've only been here a few minutes--they were goingout, not coming in. Well, it's perfectly simple. I'll go and see; if they were walking away up the drive ten minutes ago at the outside, they can't be in bed now."
Christobel flitted away like a shadow, down the long corridor, round into the cross passage at the end, and stopped outside Pamela's door. She heard the sound of regular breathing in the stillness, and went in. There was Pam, sound asleep. Christobel's experienced eye ran over the neatly-folded garments on a chair, the blouse hung deftly over the bed foot, sleeves inside out. The room was neat and in order.
"Absurd," muttered Crow with emphasis.
Pamela stirred, turned over, and started up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes.
"What--what is it, Crow; am I late? Is it half-past six?"
"Oh no, half-past four. Don't worry--I just came to look out of your window----" Crow suited action to the excuse, lamely made, for she was not used to excuses.
"It's going to be fine, Pam; there's a mist----" she laughed softly with a little sense of triumph, and slipped out of the room.
Pamela vaguely wondered, but it was obvious that her sister was "not cross"--Christobel seldom was; she meant there was a very sympathetic atmosphere, which was true.
Crow went on and peeped in at Hughie. A small heap in the bed, the top of a sleek head, and absolute slumber, with the room just as usual.
She fled back down the passage and arrived in her own room rather inclined to giggle.
"Both in bed, both sound asleep, not foxing, but simplysound. I woke Pam; she was perfectly foggy, and wanted to know if it was time to get ready. When I said 'no' she was practically asleep before I came away."
"I suppose they bolted back," said Adrian, though he was plainly surprised.
"Bolted! My dear Addie! Pam's clothes were all as neat as a Chinese puzzle, her shoes put together, her blouse hanging out to air! Hughie's room was the same--you know how tidy those two are; they beat us hollow. It's not a scrap of use reasoning that they could have done all that in the time, because it isn't possible, especially as you say they were going away, not coming in! After all, Addie, one must be reasonable."
Adrian was reasonable. He went off in silence. He saw the force of what his sister said, but he had the evidence of his eyesight against it. The whole thing was staggering. It was part of the strange and complicated way that life had been behaving for weeks.
After that he slept fitfully, being worried, and at half-past six left the house to get things ready on the yawl, leaving the girls dressing. Pamela had come along the passage to Crow with a beaming face and her lovely hair like a bronze shawl over her shoulders; she wanted Christobel to plait her tail as Keziah was busy packing a basket. Adrian saw his sister, and was bound to admit she looked like a guiltless person who had slept soundly.
She said Hughie was asleep; as he was not going there was no need to wake him.
Crow was dressed and putting one short pin in a nice little close hat, when she heard Adrian come back. He came into her room, hardly waiting for the answer to his knock, shut the door, and leaned his back against it.
Christobel, instantly aware of something new, turned round; her brother was breathing rather fast, and there were sparks in his hazel eyes.
"Something is up, Crow--no question."
"Why--what?"
"Oh, the dinghy has been used--she's full of gravel and footmarks--sculls messed up--anchor shifted--painter wet and muddled up--whole thing anyhow, and up in a new place, not where I put her."
Christobel exclaimed softly; Adrian went on:
"Someone's been on board the yawl. The fore-hatch is hauled off! there are any amount of wet footmarks and gravel prints inside, on deck, especially on the counter. The companion door is wide open. Besides that, one of the bunks, the one you use, was all untidy--all the cushions were on that side--and sort of messed up. Once before I had a dim idea someone had been on board----"
"So had I," murmured Crow softly.
"You never said so."
"Well, I thought I was mistaken. It was so unlikely."
"It's obvious," said Adrian drily, "that very unlikely things are the order of the day. In fact, it's just as well not to say 'all things are possible'. Also there's no use in pretending Penberthy or Fraser would do it, because it's out of their line altogether. Somebody has been on board who doesn't understand boats--I mean, that's my impression."
"Then it can't be Pam," interrupted Christobel hastily
Adrian saw the argument in her mind.
"Don't ask me--don't say 'can't be', anyway. I feel inclined to say 'I'm mad, you're mad, we're all mad' like the cat in Alice. Anyway, it'll take me an hour to clean up."
"Oh, Addie, what about Salterne?"
"Never mind, we'll go to Peterock instead; tide's A1 for Peterock after nine o'clock."