THE TORN SCRAP OF PAPER
THE TORN SCRAP OF PAPER
THE HALF OF AN OLD PAPER
THE HALF OF AN OLD PAPER
That evening Mrs. Frost made a particular request for music. Poor Dan, impatient to be alone with Tom and show him the torn scrap of paper that he had found that afternoon was forced to bring out his fiddle and accompany the Marquis. Tom, for first part, was more concerned with his own relations with Nancy than with the mysterious possibilities of the previous night. The poignant notes of the violin set his pulses to beating in tune with the throbbing of the music and transported him again into the realms of youthful dreams. They were quaint plaintive songs of old France that the Marquis chose to play that evening, folk tunes of the Vendée, love songs of olden time.
From where he sat in the shadow Tom got a full view of Nancy seated on the oaken setlle near the fire. Her brows were drawn a little in deep thought, her lips for the most part compressed, though ever and anon relaxing at some gentler thought. Her hands were clasped, her head was bent a little, but her body was held straight and tense. Her eyes, dark and lustrous in the light of the flaming logs, always fixed upon the musician, not once wandering in his direction.
What was the influence, the fascination that strange old Frenchman seemed to exert? It seemed to Tom impossible that there could be a secret which she felt necessary to hide from them, her lifelong friends. But apart from what he knew had taken place the night before as he looked back over the past month, he was conscious that there had been a change in Nancy, a change that mystified him. It was the danger in this change, he told himself, that had awakened in him the knowledge of his love.
But then as he looked across at her so lovely, in the firelight, he felt again the thrill as when first he had taken her hand that afternoon. In that moment all the dreams, the vague longings of his boyhood had found their reality.
Suddenly, while he was thinking thus, the Marquis laid his violin upon his knees. "Ah,ma jeunnesse!" he exclaimed in a dramatic whisper, "et maintenant—et maintenant!"
For a moment no one spoke or stirred. They looked at him curiously as they always did when he brought his playing to an end in such fashion. Then he rose. "Bon soir, madame; bon soir, messieurs; bon soir, mademoiselle"
Tom saw his little faded blue eyes meet Nancy's with a look of swift significance. Then he bowed with a flourish that included them all.
"A thousand thanks, Monsieur le Marquis," murmured Mrs. Frost, "how much pleasure you give us!"
They all rose then, as the Marquis smiled his appreciation and withdrew.
"Give me your arm, Dan," the old lady said. "It must be past my bedtime. Come, Nancy."
"Yes, mother." The girl rose wearily, stopping a moment at the mantelpiece to snuff the candles there. Tom seized his opportunity, and was by her side. She started, as she realized him near her.
"Nance, Nance, I must have a word with you," he exclaimed in a tense whisper, "don't go!"
"Nance, come," called Mrs. Frost from the hall.
"Yes, Mother, I am coming ... I must go, Tom. Don't delay me. You know how Mother is ..."
"What difference will it make if you wait a moment? Good Lord! Nance, I have been trying all evening to get a word with you, and you have not so much as given me a glance. Don't go—please don't go! Oh, Nancy dear,—I love you so!"
He seized her hands and kissed them passionately. "Nance, Nance ... please ..." His arms were about her.
"Tom, you make it so hard ... Remember, you promised me ... No word of love until I can think, until I have time to know ... Please, Tom, let me go."
"I can't let you go. Oh sweetheart dear."
"Tom, we musn't—Dan, Mother! ..."
Unheeding her protest, he put his arms around her. An instant he felt her yield, then quickly thrusting him aside, she ran from the room, leaving him standing alone there, trembling with excitement, chagrin, happiness, alarm.
In a moment his friend returned and Tom pulled himself together. "Come on," said Dan, "I have a lot to tell you."
"Did you find anything this afternoon?" exclaimed Pembroke.
"Sh! for heaven's sake be careful. Don't talk here. Let's go upstairs."
A few minutes later they were closeted in Dan's chamber. The curtains were tightly drawn and a heavy quilt was hung over the door. Good Lord! thought Tom, could it be possible that these precautions in part at least were taken against Nancy. The world seemed to have turned upside down for him in the last twenty-four hours.
"Aren't we going to keep watch to-night?" he asked.
"Yes, but later. They are just getting to bed—or pretending to. Look here, this may throw light on the mystery. I found this paper in a secret cubby-hole in the old cabinet in the Oak Parlour. Draw a chair up to the table so that you can see."
"The cabinet," he continued, as he took the paper out of his strong-box and began to unfold it, "was brought from some old manor house in England. It has four little secret cubby-holes, opened by hidden springs, that Mother says were probably used by the Roman Catholics to hide pages of their mass-books during the days of persecution. She remembered fortunately a little about them. They were all empty but one, and in that I found this torn scrap of paper."
He handed the yellowed bit of writing to Tom, who flattened it out on the table before him.
"Why it's written in French," Pembroke exclaimed, as he bent over to examine it.
"Yes, I know it is," said Dan. "I can't make head or tail of it. Besides it seems to be only a part of a note or letter. I could hardly wait to give you a chance at it. You can make something of it, can't you?"
"I don't know—I guess I can. It's hard to read the handwriting. The thing's torn in two—haven't you the rest of it?"
"No, I tell you; that's all I could find; that's all, I am sure, that can be in the cabinet now. My theory is that the old marquis has somehow come across the other half and is still looking for this. God only knows who hid it there.
"How the deuce could the Marquis know about it. Ah! look—it's signed somebody, somethingde Boisdhyver—'ançois—that's short for François, I guess. Evidently 't wasn't the Marquis himself. Wonder what it means?"
For goodness' sake, try to read it."
"Wait. Get that old French dictionary out of the bookcase downstairs, will you? I'll see if I can translate."
Dan crept softly out, leaving Tom bent over the paper. Again he smoothed it out carefully on the table, bringing the two candles nearer, and tried to puzzle out the faint fine handwriting.
"I can make out some of it," he remarked to Dan, when his friend returned with the dictionary. "Let me have that thing; there are a few words I don't know at all, but I'll write out as good a translation as I can."
While Tom was busy with the dictionary, Dan placed writing materials to his hand, and sat down to wait as patiently as he could. His curiosity was intensified by Pembroke's occasional exclamations and the absorption with which he bent over the task.
"There!" Tom exclaimed after half-an-hour's labour, "that's the best I can do with it. You see the original note was evidently torn into two or three strips and we have only got the righthand one, so we don't get a single complete sentence—, but what we have is mighty suggestive. Listen—This is what it says: Make great efforts ... gap ... glorious, I am about to leave' ... gap ... 'to offer my' ... gap ... 'that I should not return' ... gap ... 'directions' ... gap ... 'this paper which I tear' ... gap ... 'the explanation' ... something missing ... 'to discover' ... that's the end of a sentence. The next one begins, 'This treasure' ... than another gap ... 'jewels and money' ... 'secret chamber' ... 'one can enter' ... something gone here ... 'by thesalon de chene'—that's the Oak Parlour, I suppose ... something missing again ... 'by a spring' ... 'hand of the lady in the picture' ... 'chimney on the north side of the' ... 'side a panel which reveals' ... 'one will find the directions' ... more missing ... 'of the treasure in a golden chest' ... That's the end of it. And, as I said before it is signed,—'ançois de Boisdhyver.' There, you can read it. That's the best I can make of it."
Dan bent over his friend's translation. "Whoever wrote it was about to leave here to offer something to somebody, and if he did not return, apparently he is giving directions, in this paper, which he tears in to two or three parts, how to discover—a treasure?—jewels and money, I guess,—that he is about to hide or has hidden in a secret chamber, which is entered in some way from the Oak Parlour—? ... pushes a spring,—Something to do with the hand of the lady in the picture, near the chimney on the north side of the room ... then a panel which reveals ...where? ... the directions will be found, for getting the treasure, in a golden chest in the secret chamber? How's that for a version? I reckon the other half doesn't tell as much ...'ançois de Boisdhyver!—That can't be the Marquis, for none of his names end 'ançois; do they? Let's see, what are they?—Marie, Anne, Timélon, Armand ... Tom,"—and Dan faced his friend excitedly,—"that old devil is after treasure! Who the deuce is 'ançois de Boisdhyver, and how did he come to leave money in the Oak Parlour? Hanged if I believe there's any secret chamber! By gad, man, if I didn't hurt when I pinch myself, I'd think I was asleep and dreaming. What do you make of it?"
"Pretty much what you do. Somebody sometime,—a good many years ago, concealed some valuables here in the Inn. It must be some one who is connected with our marquis, for the last names are the same. These are directions, or half the directions, for finding it. The Marquis knows enough about it to have been hunting for this paper. Who the devil is the Marquis?"
"The Lord knows. But how does Nance come in?"
"Blamed if I can see; wish I could! This accounts for the Marquis's mysterious investigations, anyway. Probably he's no right to the paper. Maybe he isn't a Boisdhyver at all. I'll be damned if I can understand how he has got Nance to league with him."
"And now what the deuce are we going to do about it?" asked Dan.
"Hunt for the treasure ourselves, eh?"
"Well, why not? but to do that we've got to get rid of the Marquis. He'll be suspicious if we begin to poke about the north wing. Hanged if I wouldn't like to have it all out with him!"
"Yes, but we'd better think and talk it over before we decide to do anything. We can watch them. We'll watch to-night any way, and plan something definite to-morrow."
"I tell you one thing, Tom, I am going to make Mother tell me all she knows about Nancy. Perhaps she is mixed up in some way with all this. But it's time to keep watch now. We'll put out the candles and I'll watch for the first two hours. If you go to sleep, I'll wake you up to take the next turn. How about it?"
"Hang sleep!" Tom replied.
"All right, but we must blow out the light. Lucky it's clear. Let's whisper after this."
Tom threw himself on the bed, while Dan sat near the window and kept his eyes fixed on the door of the bowling-alley. They talked for some time in low tones, but eventually Tom fell asleep. Dan waked him at twelve for his vigil, and he in turn was wakened at two. During the third watch they both succumbed to weariness.
Tow awoke with a start about four, and sprang to the window. The moon was sinking low in the western sky, but its light still flooded the deserted courtyard beneath. He heard the patter of a horse's hoofs on the road beyond and the crunching of the snow beneath the runners of a sleigh. Well, he thought, as he rubbed his eyes, it was too near morning for anything to happen, so he turned in and was soon asleep, as though no difficult problems were puzzling his mind and heart and no mysteries were being enacted around him.
A DISAPPEARANCE
A DISAPPEARANCE
When Dan came downstairs in the morning Mrs. Frost called him to the door of her bedroom. "What on earth is the matter with Nancy?" she exclaimed; "I have been waiting for her the past hour. No one has been near me since Deborah came in to lay the fire. Call the girl Danny; I want to get up."
"All right, mother. She has probably overslept; she had a long walk yesterday."
"But that is no excuse for sleeping till this time of day. Tell her to hurry."
"It is only seven, mother."
"Yes, Danny, dear, but I mean to breakfast with you all this morning if I ever succeed in getting dressed."
Dan crossed the hall and knocked at Nancy's door. There was no response. He knocked again, then opened the door and looked within. Nancy was not there, and her bed had not been slept in.
He went back to his mother. "Nancy is not in her room," he said. "She has probably gone out for a walk. I'll go and look for her."
He went to the kitchens to enquire of the maids, but they had not seen their young mistress since the night before.
"Spec she's taken dem dogs a walkin'," said black Deborah unconcernedly. "Miss Nance she like de early morn' 'fore de sun come up."
Dan went out to the stables. The setters came rushing out, bounding and barking joyously about him.
"Have you seen Miss Nancy this morning, Jess?" he asked.
"No, Mister Dan, ain't seen her this mornin'. Be n't she in the house?"
"She doesn't seem to be. Take a look down the road, and call after her, will you? Down, Boy; down, Girl!" he cried to the dogs.
Dan began to be thoroughly alarmed. If Nancy had gone out, the dogs would certainly have followed her. She must be within!
He went back into the house, and searched room after room, but no trace of her was to be found. He returned at last to his mother's chamber.
"I can't find Nancy," he said. "She must have gone off somewhere."
"Gone off! why, she must have left very early then. I have been awake these two hours—since daylight—; I would have heard every sound."
"Well, she isn't about now, Mother. She will be back by breakfast time, I don't doubt. Just stay abed this morning, I will send her to you as soon as she comes."
"I shall have to, I suppose. Really, Dan, it is extraordinary how neglectful of me that child can sometimes be. She knew—"
"Mother, don't find fault with her. She is devoted to you, and you know it."
"I daresay she is. Of course she is, and I am devoted to her. Where would she be, I wonder, if it hadn't been for me? Good heavens! Dan, can anything have happened to her?"
"No, no—of course not,—nothing."
"Search the house, boy; she may be lying some place in a faint. She isn't strong—I have always been worried—"
"Don't get excited, Mother. We will wait until breakfast time. If she doesn't turn up then, you may be sure I shall find her."
He looked at his watch. It was already nearly eight o'clock, so he decided to say nothing to Pembroke until after breakfast. He found the Marquis and Tom chatting before the fire in the bar.
"Shall we have breakfast?" said Dan. "Mother will not be in this morning."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Marquis, as they took their seats at table, "that is a disappointment. And shall we not wait for Mademoiselle Nancy?"
"My sister has stepped out, monsieur; she may be late. Shall I give you some coffee?"
"If you please—. We have another of these so beautiful days, eh? This so glorious weather, these moonlight nights, this snow—C'est merveilleux. Last night I sat myself for a long time in my window. Ahla nuit—the moon past its full, say you not?—the sea superbly dark, superbly blue, the wonderful white country! As I sat there, messieurs, a sight too beautiful greeted my eyes. A ship, with three great sails, appeared out on the sea and sailed as a bird up the river to our little cove,Voila, mes amis"—he waved his hand toward the eastern windows—"She is anchored at our feet."
The two young men looked in the direction in which the marquis pointed, and to their astonishment they saw, riding securely at her moorings in the cove, a large sailing vessel. She was a three-masted schooner of perhaps fifteen hundred tons, a larger ship than they had seen at anchor in the Strathsey for many a year.
"By all that's good!" exclaimed Tom, "that is exactly the sort of ship my father used to have in the West Indie trade, a dozen or fifteen years ago. What is she? I wonder; and why is she anchored here instead of in the Port?"
The Marquis shrugged his shoulders. "That I can tell you not, my friend; but I am happy that she is anchored there for the hours of beauty she has already given to me. On this strange coast of yours one so rarely sees a sail."
"No, they go too far to the south... But what is she?" asked Dan. "We must find out." He went to the cupboard, and got out his marine glass and took a long look at the stranger.
"What do you make her out?" asked Tom.
"There are men on deck, some swabbing out the roundhouse. One of them is lolling at the wheel. She flies the British flag."
"Do you, perhaps, make out the name?" asked the Marquis.
"I don't know—yes," Dan replied, twisting the lens to suit his eyes better and spelling out the letters, "S,O,U,T,H,E,R,N,C,R—theSouthern Cross. By Jingo, Tom, we'll have to go down to the beach and have a look at her."
Tom took the glasses; turning them over presently to the Marquis. "She is a good fine boat, eh?" exclaimed M. de Boisdhyver, as he applied his eye to the end of the glass.
"She certainly is," said Dan.
They sat down at length and resumed their breakfast. The ship had diverted Tom's attention for the moment from the fact that Nancy had not appeared.
"Where is Nance, Dan?" he asked at length, striving to conceal his impatience.
"I don't know," Dan replied. "I think she has gone over to see Mrs. Meath and stayed for breakfast."
"Madame Meath—?" enquired the Marquis.
"At the House on the Dunes," Dan answered, a trifle sharply.
"A long walk for Mademoiselle on a cold morning," commented Monsieur Boisdhyver, as he sipped his coffee.
In a few moments Dan rose. "Going to the Port to-day, Tom?"
"Not till later, any way; I am going down to the beach to have a look at that ship."
"Wait a little, and I'll go with you," He turned to the door and motioned Tom to follow him.
Outside he took his friend's arm and drew him close. "Tom, something's up; Nancy's not here."
"Nancy's not here;" exclaimed Pembroke. "What do you mean? Where is she?"
"To tell the truth, I don't know where she is; her bed has not been slept in. I thought at first she had gone for a walk with the dogs as she does sometimes, but Boy and Girl are both in the barn. It's half-past eight now, and she ought to be back,"
"Good Lord! man, have you searched the house?"
"I've been over it from garret to cellar."
"And you can't find her?"
"Not a sign of her."
"Have you been through the north wing?"
"Yes, all over it. I have been in every room in the house, boy. Nance isn't there. You heard nothing in the night, did you?"
"Nothing."
"When did you go to sleep?"
"Perhaps about half-past three. Come to think of it, I awoke at four with a start, for I heard a sleigh on the Port Road. After that I went to bed."
"The sleigh hadn't been at the Inn?"
"It couldn't have been—I'd have heard of it if it had; you see it woke me up just going along the road."
"I don't suppose we need worry. But it is queer—none of the servants have seen her since last night."
"My God, what can have happened to her?" cried Tom.
"Sh, boy! We have nothing to go on, but I wager that old French devil knows more than he will tell."
"Then, we'll choke it out of him."
"No, no, don't be a fool! She may be back any minute. I'll get the sleigh and go over to the House on the Dunes. In the meanwhile don't show that you are anxious! I'll be back inside of an hour, and we can have a look at the ship. If Nance isn't with Mrs. Meath, why I am sure I'll find her here. Let's not worry till we have to."
Tom assented to this proposition somewhat unwillingly. Despite his friend's reassuring words, he did not feel that Nancy would be found at the House on the Dunes or that she would immediately return. He remembered her telling him of her desire to go away. He remembered how strangely she had received the declaration of his love, and he feared almost as much that she had fled from him, as that the Marquis, weird and evil as he began to think him, had any hand in her disappearance.
After Dan's departure in the sleigh, Tom wandered about restlessly. When half an hour passed and Frost did not return, he went out to look down the road and see if he were coming. The white open country was still and empty, and the only sign of life was the great three-masted ship riding at anchor in the cove, with seamen lolling about her deck.
As Tom stood under the Red Oak, the Marquis stepped out of the front door. He was wrapped in his great coat, about to take his morning walk up and down the gallery.
"Why so pensive, Monsieur Pembroke? Is it that you are moved by the beauty of the scene—, the land so white, the sea so blue, and theSouthern Crossshining as it were in a northern sky!"
Tom grunted a scarcely civil reply, and turning away to avoid further conversation, strolled down the avenue of maples toward the road.
Monsieur de Boisdhyver raised his eyebrows slightly, and began his walk. By and by, still more impatient, Pembroke walked back toward the house. If Dan did not return soon, he determined he would go after him. As he came up to the gallery again the Marquis paused and spoke to him. "And Mademoiselle, she has not returned?" he asked.
"No!" Pembroke replied sharply. "She has gone to the House on the Dunes and her brother has driven over to fetch her."
"Ah! pardon," exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver; "I did not know... But it is cold for me, Monsieur Pembroke; I seek the fire."
Tom did not reply. The Marquis went inside, and presently Tom could see him standing at the window, the marine glass in his hands, sweeping the countryside.
Pembroke passed an anxious morning. Ten o'clock came; half-past; eleven struck. Nancy had not appeared, or was there a sign of Dan. Unable to be patient longer, he set out on the Port Road to meet his friend.
GREEN LIGHTS
GREEN LIGHTS
The smoke was curling from the chimneys of the House on the Dunes as Dan drove up the long marsh road from the beach. He had half convinced himself that Nancy would be there, and he hoped that she herself would answer his knock. When at length the door was opened it was not by Nancy nor by Mrs. Meath, but by a stranger whom he had never seen before.
"Yes?" a pleasant voice questioned, but giving an accent to the monosyllable that made Dan think instantly of France.
He found himself facing a charming woman, her bright blue eyes looking into his with a smile that instantly attracted him. She was well-dressed, with a different air from the women he knew. And she was undeniably pretty—of that Dan was convinced, and the conviction overwhelmed him with shyness. He stood awkward and ill-at-ease; for the moment forgetting his errand. "I suppose," he stammered, "—I beg your pardon—but I suppose you are Mrs. Heath's new boarder,—Mrs. Fountain?"
"Yes," replied the strange lady with an amused smile, "that is what I imagine that I am called. My name is Madame de La Fontaine. And you—?"
"I?—Oh, yes—of course—I am Dan Frost from the Inn over yonder. I came to see Mrs. Meath to ask if my sister Nancy is here."
"Alas!" replied Madame de La Fontaine, "poor Mrs. Meath she this morning is quite unwell. She is in her room, so that I am afraid you cannot see her. But, I may tell you, there is no one else here, just myself and my servants."
"You have not seen or heard anything then of my sister, Nancy Frost?" repeated Dan.
"Nancy Frost?—your sister?—No, monsieur. I am arrived only last night and have seen no one."
"I had hoped my sister would be here. I am sorry about Mrs. Meath; perhaps I can be of some service. If you should need me at any time, I can almost always be found at the Inn at the Red Oak."
"The Inn at the Red Oak?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine, "and is that near by?"
"It is about a mile and a half by the road," Frost replied, "but you can see it plainly from the doorstep here."
The foreign lady stepped out in the crisp February air. "Can you point it out to me? I may need your assistance some time."
"You see the woods and the oak at the edge of them," said Dan, pointing across the Dunes. "That great tree is the Red Oak, the rambling old building beneath it is the Inn."
"Ah! one can see quite plainly from one house to the other, is it not so?"
"Quite," Dan replied.
"Thank you, monsieur. I trust there will be no need for assistance. But it makes one glad to know where are neighbours, especially—" she added, "while poor Mrs. Meath is ill."
As she spoke she turned to the door with the air of dismissing him, but on second thoughts she faced him again. "I wonder, Mr. Frost, will you do me a favour?"
"I shall be delighted," Dan exclaimed.
"My luggage arrived last night," said Madame de La Fontaine, "upon the ship that is at anchor in the bay. They are to bring my boxes ashore. But before that I desire to give directions to the captain at the beach, and I cannot well do so by my servant. Will you be kind enough to walk with me and show me the way?"
Dan forgot about Nancy in his eagerness to assure this unusually attractive lady that he was at her disposal. She disappeared within, and he heard her give some quick, sharp directions in French to a maid. Then in a moment she reappeared on the little porch, bonneted and wrapped for a walk in the cold.
As they set out across the Dunes, she kept up a rapid fire of questions that might have seemed inquisitive to one more accustomed to the world than Dan. He found himself in the course of that quarter of an hour talking quite freely with the charming stranger.
"No, I did not make the journey from France in theSouthern Cross," she replied to one of his interrogations, "that would have been uncomfortable, I fear. But she brings over my boxes. She is arrived somewhat sooner than I was promised."
"Do you expect to signal her from the beach?"
"But yes."
"How will they know who you are?"
"Oh, they have instructions. You must think all this curious!" she commented with a smile. "You must think me an odd person."
The possible oddness of Madame de La Fontaine made less impression upon Dan than did her charm. He was conversing easily with a very lovely woman, and all else was forgotten in that agreeable sensation.
As they emerged from the Dunes upon the little beach of the Cove, Dan observed on the deck of theSouthern Crossa sailor watching them through a glass. Madame de La Fontaine drew her handkerchief from beneath her cloak and waved it toward the ship.
"This is the signal," she explained, "that they were instructed to look out for. If I am not mistaken Captain Bonhomme will come to the shore for my directions. You speak French, monsieur?"
"Not at all," Dan replied.
"Ah!" sighed the lady, "you lose a great deal."
"I might have learned some this winter," said Dan; "for we have had a French gentleman as our guest at the Inn."
"Indeed! And who, may I ask, is your French gentleman?"
"His name is the Marquis de Boisdhyver. Do you, by any chance, know him?"
"The Marquis de Boisdhyver?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine. "I know the name certainly; it is an old family with us, monsieur. But I do not recall that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting any one who bore it... But see! they are lowering the boat."
They were now at the edge of the surf. Madame de La Fontaine again waved a hand in the direction of the clipper. Dan saw a small boat alongside her, into which several sailors and an officer, as it seemed, were clambering over the rail. They pushed off, and began to row vigorously for the shore.
The French lady stood watching them intently. Within a few moments the little boat was beached, the officer sprang out, advanced to Madame de La Fontaine, and saluted. She exchanged sentences with him in French of which Dan understood nothing. Then the seaman touched his cap, got into his small boat, and gave orders to push off.
"He understands no English," remarked Madame de La Fontaine. "I gave directions about my boxes. We may return now, monsieur; or doubtless I am able to find my way back alone."
"Oh no," exclaimed Dan gallantly, "I will go with you."
The lady smiled graciously. As they walked back across the Dunes, she kept up a lively conversation, no longer asking him questions, nor, he observed, giving him the opportunity to ask any.
At the door of the House on the Dunes she dismissed him finally. "I am but too grateful, Monsieur, for your kindness. I hope that we shall meet again while I dwell in your beautiful country. In the meantime, I trust you will find your sister."
Dan flushed, how could he have forgotten Nancy! Taking the hand that his new acquaintance offered, he hurried away. He met Tom on the Port Road about half a mile from the Inn and was truly worried to find that Nancy had not returned; he explained briefly his own delay in his expedition with the strange lady to the beach.
"It is certainly odd, though perhaps not so odd as stupid, that they should have anchored in the Cove just to disembark one woman's boxes. It would have been much simpler to go to the Port, as every well-bred skipper does, and had the French woman's stuff carted out. At any rate, we'll go down this afternoon and have a look at her."
By the time they reached the Inn it was noon, and still there was no word of Nancy. The dinner was a silent one, as the Marquis tactfully did not disturb his companions' preoccupation, and Mrs. Frost, who was unusually nervous, did not appear.
After the meal the two young men started for the beach. At Tom's suggestion they got a little dory from the boathouse and rowed out to the clipper. The wind had shifted to the southeast, but still there was not enough of a sea to give them any trouble; and in a few minutes they were under the bows ofThe Southern Cross. Dan hailed a seaman who was leaning over the gunwale and watching them with idle curiosity. If the man replied in French, it was in a variety of that tongue that Tom's limited attainments did not understand, and, annoyed by the incomprehensible replies, he asked for "le captaine". At length,—possibly attracted by the altercation at the bows,—the authoritative-looking person who had come ashore in the morning in response to Madame de La Fontaine's signal, now appeared at the gunwale and glanced below at the two young men in the dory. His expression betrayed no sign that he recognized Frost. Indeed he vouchsafed no syllable of reply to the questions Dan asked in English or to those that Tom ventured to phrase in Dr. Watson's French.
He was not, they thought, an attractive person; his countenance was swarthy, his eyes were black his hair was black, his heavy jaw was shadowed by an enormous black mustachio. A kerchief of brilliant red tied about his throat gave him the appearance of the matador in a Spanish bullfight rather than the officer of an English merchantman. He glanced at the dory occasionally, shook his head silently in response to the requests to go aboard, and at length when that did not serve to put an end to them, he shrugged his shoulders and disappeared. The seaman continued to lean over the gunwale and spat nonchalantly as though that were the measure of their appreciation of this unasked-for visit.
"I move we skip up the rope," said Tom, "and explain ourselves at close quarters."
"Thanks, no," replied Dan. "Either of those two amiable gentlemen looks capable and willing of pitching us overboard. The water is too cold for bathing."
"Very well," said Tom, "I will yield to your sober judgment for the moment; but I propose to see the inside of that ship sooner or later unless she weighs anchor in the hour and sails away. But we ought to be getting to town to make enquiries about Nancy. For Heavens' sake, Dan, where do you suppose she can be?"
They rowed back to the beach, stowed the dory in the boathouse, and set out in the sleigh for Monday Port. Diligent enquiry there, in likely and unlikely places, proved fruitless. It was nightfall when they returned to the Inn.
They were greeted by the Marquis in the bar. "Mademoiselle Nancy, she has not been found?"
"No," said Dan. "I take it from your question that she has not come home yet either."
"She is not come, no. Perhaps she stays at the House on the Dunes?"
"I do not know," Dan answered tartly. "I expect her every moment, but it is idle to conceal from you, Monsieur, that we are much concerned as to her absence."
The Marquis grew sympathetic,—optimistically sympathetic. Tom clutched at his re-assuring words, but Dan was even more irritated by the silence that Monsieur de Boisdhyver had maintained throughout the day.
Directly after supper Dan went into his mother's parlour, leaving the others to their own devices. The Marquis settled himself near the fire and was soon absorbed in reading an old folio; Tom wandered restlessly about, now up and down the long bar, now in the corridors, now on the gallery and in the court without.
The night, after the bright day, had set in raw and cold; a damp breeze blew from the southwest, and gave promise both of wind and rain. From his position under the Red Oak, Tom could see the red and green lights ofThe Southern Crossat her moorings in the Cove below, and across the Neck the lighted windows of the House on the Dunes. Over all else the night had cast its black damp mantle.
As he stood watching, deeply anxious for the welfare of the girl he loved, he noticed a new light appear in one of the upper windows of the House on the Dunes—not yellow as is the light of candles, but green like the light on the port side of the clipper in the Cove. Had he not seen the lights from the other windows he could have thought it was another ship on the ocean side of the Neck.
He looked for a long time at the tiny spark in the distance, wondering what whim had induced Mrs. Meath to shade her candles with so deep a green. As he strolled back toward the Inn, he glanced through the windows of the bar where the Marquis still read by the fireside. Suddenly the old gentleman, as Tom curiously watched him, laid his book down on the table and rose from his chair. He looked about the room and then advanced to the window. Tom instinctively slipped behind the trunk of the great oak. Monsieur de Boisdhyver stood for several moments peering into the darkness. Then he turned away and crossed the room to the door into the front hall. It flashed through Tom's mind that possibly the Marquis had started on another of his mysterious tours. He ran down again into the court far enough from the house to command a view of the entire facade, and watched curiously, particularly the north wing. All was dark, save for the lights below.
Suddenly he saw the flicker of a candle in one of the windows, not of the north wing, but of the south. A moment's glance, and he made sure that it was the room occupied as a sleeping apartment by Monsieur de Boisdhyver.
The Marquis was standing by the window, with his face pressed close to the pane, peering out into the night. He still held the candle in his hand. To Dan's surprise, he placed it carefully on the broad window-sill, and drew down the dark shade to within a foot of the sill, blotting out all save a narrow band of light. Then the Marquis disappeared for several moments into the interior of the room. Dan was about to turn back into the house, when again Monsieur de Boisdhyver came to the window. He did not raise the shade, but inserted between the windowpane and the candle a strip of dark green paper. It was translucent and had the effect of sending a beam of green light southward, across the meadows and the dunes, to meet—Tom suddenly realized—the rays of the green light from the House on the Dunes.
Was it a signal being exchanged, and between whom? The coincidence of green lights from the Inn and the House on the Dunes, at the same moment, was too marked to be without significance. To what end was the Marquis de Boisdhyver exchanging mysterious signals with some one in that lonely farmhouse, and what did they mean?
Tom repressed his agitation and remained for some time watching the two green lights that glowed toward one another over the dark landscape.
Suddenly the light in the House on the Dunes was extinguished; then, momentarily it shone again, but quickly went out and left the great sweep of dunes in darkness. Two minutes later the same thing took place in the window of the south chamber of the Inn. The light flashed and was gone, flashed again and shone no more.
Tom went in, by a rear entrance, to the bar. The Marquis was seated by a table, absorbed in reading. He started as Tom entered. "Still no word of Mademoiselle?" he piped.
"Still no word, monsieur," Pembroke answered laconically. He also seated himself in the candle light and took up the last issue of thePort News.
"Do you know what has become of Dan?" Pembroke asked presently.
"Monsieur Frost he has been closeted with madame his mother for the past half-hour. You have no further plans for seeking Mademoiselle? For myself, I grow alarmed."
"I know nothing but what you know, monsieur. Nancy has not returned. There has been no word of her. We shall have to wait." With tremendous effort to conceal his agitation and annoyance, Tom resumed his reading.
Monsieur de Boisdhyver glanced at him for a moment with a little air of interrogation, then shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned again to his French paper.