CHAPTER XII SEE DOUBLE
THE certainty that I possessed an employer with a mind more or less unhinged deepened throughout a long afternoon during which I found it difficult to adapt myself to the varying pursuits of my fellow-Members of the Band. To let Judy and Jack out of my sight would not have been prudent; they were filled with a wild yearning to go burglar-hunting, and, had they been alone, I think no warnings from Dr. Firth would have kept them from the neighbourhood of his house; wherefore I attached myself firmly to them, and tried to show that I was indeed qualified to belong to the illustrious ranks of their limited association. We played at burglars and bushrangers in the scrub—no game without some criminal element would have had the slightest attraction for Judy and Jack that day. I believe I climbed trees; I certainly crawled into hollow logs and miry hollows, to the utter wreck of a clean frock. Finally we decided to be pirates and possessed ourselves of the small motor-launch, in which we attacked and captured several of the small islands of Porpoise Bay, in spite of gallant resistance from the gannets and gulls that inhabited them. It was a bloodthirsty and exciting afternoon, and I should have enjoyed it had it not been for the turmoil of my mind.
I had the usual theoretical dread of anyone insane. But, somewhat to my own surprise, I did not feel at all afraid. Perhaps it was difficult to realize that any danger might be feared from Mrs. McNab, who, dour and grim though she undoubtedly was at times, was always gentle—if one excepted the night when she had so violently beaten Jack, down by the sea. That in itself, looked at in the new light, was like the sudden strength and fury of insanity. But it was only one instance. And, after all, many quite sane people must have wanted at times to spank Jack; Beryl would have said that the desire to do so was a proof of sanity. Apart from that one uncontrollable moment, Mrs. McNab had never been violent: she was only deeply unhappy. And, remembering her haggard face, I could only feel sorry for her. She was not an object of fear—only of pity.
The question of what I ought to do beat backwards and forwards in my brain while I bushranged and pillaged and led my band of cut-throats to the Spanish Main—as represented by Porpoise Bay. One could not go to Beryl and Harry McNab and express doubts as to their parent’s sanity: it did not seem to be the kind of thing expected of governesses. If I wrote to Colin I knew very well that he would appear by the earliest train—even if he had to turn burglar himself to raise the money for the journey: caring not at all for the McNabs or their concerns, but only bent on snatching me from an environment so doubtful. Poor old Colin, who believed me enjoying “rest and change”! The thought brought a short laugh from me, which must have had something grim in it, since Jack, who was at the moment delivering an oration on skulls and cross-bones, evidently accepted it as a tribute to his blood-curdling words, and was inspired to yet higher flights. No, I could not worry Colin, unless it became quite necessary to do so: that was certain. Yet, it seemed to me that something must be done: if my fears were well-founded, I ought not to conceal the matter from every one. Then, with a great throb of relief, I thought of Dr. Firth.
Beyond doubt, he was the person to be told. A doctor, even if he did not practise, would be able to confirm my suspicions or to laugh at them as ridiculous: and he would know what to do. The heavy sense of responsibility lifted from me as I thought of his strong, kind face. I had a wild impulse to escape from the children and make my way to his house immediately; but common sense came to my aid, and I remembered that I had promised Mrs. McNab not to let Judy and Jack out of my sight. Besides, he might not be at home; and if he were, in all probability he would be overwhelmed with business resulting from the burglary, with policemen proffering him documents at short intervals. A little delay could do no harm, I thought, especially if I were very watchful of the children: the other inmates of The Towers could take care of themselves. He was sure to be over within a day or two: very likely to-morrow would bring him, and I could make an opportunity of speaking to him alone. So I tried to put away my anxiety, and to be a good and thorough pirate, as befitted a Member of the Band.
We became sated with bloodshed about six o’clock, and ran the launch home, singing “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest!” with intense feeling. Not one of the Band was fit to be seen, wherefore we sneaked in at the kitchen entrance and made our way up the back stairs, gaining, unobserved, the shelter of the bathroom we so sorely needed. Half an hour later we descended, using the main stairway, a well-scrubbed trio, clad in fresh raiment, so that we looked patronizingly on the picnic party, all of whom presented that part-worn appearance that follows a long day in the bush. They had just returned, and were excitedly discussing the burglary, news of which had just reached them. Several of the girls looked nervous, and declared their intention of sleeping with locked doors and windows—whereat Jack ejaculated “Frowsts!” disgustedly, elevating a nose that was already tilted heavenwards.
“Well, if they come here they’ll get a warm reception,” Dicky Atherton declared. “How about taking it in turns to sit up and watch?”
“Surely that is quite unnecessary, Dicky,” Mrs. McNab said in a hurried voice. “The burglars are probably well out of the district by now; in any case, they would never commit a robbery the very night after they had broken into Dr. Firth’s. You had all better go to bed as usual and forget about them.”
I wondered did any of the others see what was so plain to me—her restless eyes, her hand that clenched and unclenched as she spoke. Surely they must notice her strained and haggard face. But apparently they thought it nothing unusual—Mrs. McNab never was quite like other people, and anyone might be excited over a crime so near at hand. Dicky Atherton laughed as he answered her.
“Well, that is true enough: I should think the beggars would lie quiet for a bit, anyhow, and we should all get pretty sick of sitting up for nothing.”
“We’ll go over to Dr. Firth’s in the morning, shall we, Dick?” said Harry. “I’ve always wanted a chance of seeing black trackers at work.”
“How do they manage?” asked some one. “You let them smell a finger-print, don’t you? And then they put their noses to the ground and never stop until they’ve found the criminal!”
“Something like that,” grinned Harry. “They’re no end clever at picking up a trail from next to no evidence. It would be a lark if they tracked these fellows down to some hiding-place in the bush—I’d like to be in at the death!”
Mrs. McNab looked more troubled than ever.
“I think the whole idea of getting in black trackers is very foolish,” she said. “It will only alarm the district and cause a great deal of unnecessary publicity. The daily papers always make a fuss about a case when they are employed.”
“Yes, they think it’s romantic!” said Dicky. “We’ll have all the Press photographers down, and the place will be overrun with them, taking snapshots. We had all better go about in our best clothes, because if they meet us in a body they will attack us with their cameras, and it would be painful if ‘Mrs. McNab’s house-party at The Towers’ appeared as we’re looking now!”
“I will not have that!” Mrs. McNab exclaimed heatedly. “Harry, I insist that no one shall take photographs here—if you meet any newspaper people you are to discourage them, no matter what they say. To photograph a private house for a newspaper is an unwarrantable impertinence! Do not let there be any mistake about it.”
“Be polite, if you must, Harry, but be plain!” laughed Dicky.
“I’ll be plain, all right,” rejoined Harry. “My boot shall, if necessary, defend the sanctity of our home! What are you getting in such a fuss about, Mother? I don’t for a moment suppose that any newspaper would bother its head about us.”
“Newspapers nowadays would do anything for sensation,” answered his mother gloomily. “And I hate publicity given to one’s private affairs: it is insupportable. They would drag all one’s family history through the mire for the sake of selling a few copies.” Her voice rose angrily. “This robbery is spoiling all our peace! I warned Dr. Firth, but he would not be careful—he might have saved himself if he had listened to me.”
Every one was looking at her now curiously. Harry frowned.
“Oh, what’s the use of bothering your head about it, Mother! It’s not going to spoil my peace—not if I know it: or my dinner either. I’m as hungry as a hunter, and, thank goodness, there’s the dressing-gong! Come along, everybody: I mean to have a jolly good dance to-night, burglar or no burglar!”
The dressing-gong was the signal also for the schoolroom dinner, so I herded the children upstairs, glad to escape from a scene that had had its unpleasant side. Looking out for a moment as I closed the schoolroom door I caught a glimpse of Mrs. McNab coming up the wide staircase. I was glad that she did not see me, for she was uttering incoherent words in a harsh whisper, with a little curious gesture of helplessness. There was a look in her eyes that struck fear into my heart. I longed for to-morrow and for Dr. Firth.
I kept my fellow-pirates with me in the schoolroom that evening. To go down to the drawing-room and be drawn into dancing would have been hateful to me; to my overwrought mind there seemed an air of mystery, almost of tragedy, overhanging the house, and I wanted the children to be where I could watch them all the time. They were sufficiently tired to be willing to remain quietly while I read to them. I remember the book was Newbolt’sHappy Warrior, and when I had finished the story of Bayard we talked of the old ideals of knighthood and chivalry. It was the point I liked best about my outlaws that they were perfectly sound on matters of honour. A lie was to either an unthinkable thing, and they held very definite views about betraying a confidence.
“Father says that’s the one thing a gentleman can’t do,” said Judy, who had no intention of letting the mere accident of sex exclude her from the knightly code. “He says that even when a secret is made public it isn’t the square thing to let on that you knew about it beforehand.”
My father had taught us the same thing. I felt my heart warm towards the absent Mr. McNab.
“Judy and I swore a Hearty Oath about it,” said Jack, who was lying full length on the hearth-rug. “We said, cross-our-hearts we’d never do it. It’s awful tempting, too, sometimes.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Judy agreed. “I’d just love to be able to say, ‘Oh yes, I knew all about that long ago!’ with my nose in the air, very often. But it isn’t done, in the Band. Father’s a Member of the Band, too, you know. He won’t let us swear many Hearty Oaths, ’cause he says they’d get cheap, and they ought to be solemn. But he approved of that one, and he swore it, too.”
“He told us lots of secrets,” Jack said. “ ’Cause he knew jolly well he could trust us not to split.”
“Yes, he said it was good practice for us, even if we were pretty young. He’d say, ‘This is confidential, kids,’ and of course that was all there was about it.” Judy’s eyes were very bright. “Father’s awfully splendid, you know, Miss Earle. He never asked us to promise to be good before he went away——”
“I spec’s he knew that wasn’t a bit of use!” Jack interposed.
“That was why. But he said, ‘You’re awful scamps, but I know I can trust you.’ And we’d just rather die than let him down.”
“Well, that is something to live up to,” I said. “Bayard hadn’t anything better. I think I like being a Member of the Band. Shall we have that meeting in Melbourne when your father comes back, so that Colin can meet him too?”
“You do have the splendidest ideas!” Jack said. They beamed on me; and when I went to tuck them in, later, they hugged me vigorously. My charges were not, as a rule, demonstrative people, and I was fairly dazzled by the honour.
I went back to the schoolroom, and sat down feeling rather at a loose end. Strains of the gramophone were wafted upwards from the drawing-room where the house-party were apparently fox-trotting with an ardour undiminished by either picnics or burglars. I wondered was Mrs. McNab working, or if she were prowling round in the night, a prey to her own disordered and troubled mind. Then I remembered, with a start, that I had not been up to renew the dressings on her injured hand. It was later than I usually went: probably she had been waiting for me, feeling neglected and annoyed. I was annoyed with myself as I ran swiftly up the narrow stairs.
The door of the lower room was partly open: a faint scent of Turkish tobacco drifted out. Since her injury, Mrs. McNab had left it ajar each evening until I had paid my visit: I would hear the lock click as I went back, before I had crossed the landing. Forgetting my customary tap, I hurried in.
The tall figure in the grey gown was standing by the window, looking out upon the moonlit garden far below. She did not turn as I entered and I began my apology nervously.
“I’m afraid I’m late,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. McNab——”
The watching figure wheeled round swiftly. The words died on my lips as I looked: looked at the tall, spare form, the straight shoulders, the close-cropped iron-grey hair: looked most of all at the white, haggard face. It was the face of my employer as I had learned to know it during my four weeks in her house. But—it was not Mrs. McNab!
The moments dragged by as we stood, giving back stare for stare: I, bewildered, terrified, unable to move, the other grim and watchful. I caught my breath in a gasp at last, and a threat came to me like the lash of a whip.
“You will be wise if you make no noise!”
I could not have made a noise if my life had depended upon it. I could only gape and shiver, my eyes glued to the apparition that was, and yet was not, Mrs. McNab. Yet so like was it that I began to think it was my brain that had turned. Height, features, dress, voice—all were the same; and still, the face was the face of a stranger.
Then came quick feet on the stair, a stifled exclamation of dismay behind me, the door slammed—and I was looking at, not one Mrs. McNab, but two! Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood together, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes, utterly bewildered. Then my glance fell on the hands of the first, and in a moment light came to me. I pointed a shaking forefinger at those tell-tale hands.
“Why—you’re a man!” I cried feebly.
The room began to swim round me, so that at one instant the two figures seemed to merge into one, and then divided and became two, four, ten, twenty, long, grey forms, still and silent. Faster and faster they whirled; and then came darkness, and when I opened my eyes I was lying on the big couch, with Mrs. McNab rubbing my hands. Beyond her, the other grey figure sat in her office-chair, smoking: all the time watching me with steady eyes.
“You poor child!” Mrs. McNab said gently.
That was almost too much for me, and I sobbed suddenly. The form in the chair became alert.
“Make her understand she must be quiet, Marie.”
“She will be quiet,” Mrs. McNab said, with a touch of impatience. “Don’t be afraid, my dear Miss Earle: you have nothing to fear. You have only managed to blunder upon a secret, that is all. I know you will give me your word to keep it to yourself.”
“Of course I will,” I managed to stammer. “I am very sorry.”
“So am I—for my stupidity in leaving the door open. I had run down to the bathroom for some hot water, and I forgot the door until I was on my way back. Then it was too late. I would not have had it happen for the world.”
I struggled to a sitting position and faced them. There had been excuse for my collapse, for surely never were man and woman so amazingly alike! Save for the hands, and now, I could see, the feet, no eye could detect any outward difference. The man in the chair gave a short laugh, and rose.
“Well, I’ll leave you, Marie,” he said, in the low, deep voice that was the echo of her own. “You must get through a certain amount of explanation, I suppose—but don’t let your tongue run away with you. This young lady has too recently graduated from the schoolroom to be oppressed with our affairs.” He bent a keen, cold gaze on me. “I trust you are old enough to be able to hold your tongue.”
“I have no wish to do anything else,” I said, mustering what spirit I could; and, somehow, from that moment there was never the slightest confusion in my mind between Mrs. McNab and her duplicate. Like they might be in every feature; but in him there was a cold wickedness akin to that of a snake. I hated him then and afterwards, and he knew it.
“Well, good night,” he said lightly, and vanished up the steps into the upper room. Mrs. McNab and I looked at each other, and there was something in her eyes that made me ache with pity.
“Oh, you are unhappy!” I cried. “I wish I could help you.”
She caught my hand, holding it tightly.
“I am indeed unhappy,” she said. “I will tell you about it—I know I can trust you.”
It was a queer story—the kind of thing that I had thought happened only in romances. The man—Ronald Hull was his name—was her twin-brother: she touched lightly on his career, but I gathered that from his boyhood he had never been anything but an anxiety. Before the death of their parents he had been compelled to leave the bank in which he was a clerk, narrowly escaping prosecution for embezzling bank money. Then he had gone from bad to worse, living on his wits, constantly appealing to her for funds, always on the edge of trouble and disgrace. Her husband had established him in an auctioneer’s firm in New South Wales some years before, and they hoped that they had done with him; but during the previous year he had again contrived to steal a large sum, and this time they could not protect him. He had been arrested, convicted, and sentenced to two years’ imprisonment.
Her voice failed when she told me this. I patted her hand—never had I felt so helpless and so young.
“Don’t you think you have talked enough?” said a cold voice at the opening above our heads. “I warned you to be careful, Marie.”
“Be quiet!” she said angrily. “Do you want your voice to be heard?” She turned to me. “Go down to your room—I will come presently.”
When she came, she was flushed, and there was a light of battle in her eyes.
“He is very angry with me,” she said. “But you must know enough to make you understand. And I am worn out with silence and secrecy.” I put her into a comfortable chair, and she went on with her story.
“We were almost thankful to know he was beyond the possibility of troubling us for two years,” she said. “At least, so we thought; and my husband went away with an easy mind. But two months ago Ronald came here in the middle of the night, saying that I must hide him: he had escaped from jail, and was penniless and in dread of recapture. What could I do? I took him in—Harry and Beryl were away—and hid him in the Tower rooms. It was easy enough: I had for years been in the habit of shutting myself up here, and the place is like a little house in itself. I procured dresses for him, like my own, so that if by chance he were seen he would be mistaken for me—you have seen how remarkable is the resemblance between us. I pretended to be almost always at work, so that meals were sent up here—for him: and laid in a store of biscuits and tinned foods for the times when I had to be downstairs.” She gave a weary little laugh. “One of the minor problems of my life has been the disposing of the empty tins!”
“And what have you lived on?” I demanded.
“Oh, anything. I had a good meal downstairs occasionally. Indeed, I have had no appetite. It has been ceaseless misery; the dread of being found out, the constant concealments and deceptions, the strain of being much with him—for he is no easy companion to live with at close quarters. Lately he has become very irritable, and almost from the first he rebelled against his imprisonment and insisted on going out at night. What I have endured on those nights, waiting here in fear and suspense! Of course, he was always dressed in my clothes; but I knew that sooner or later someone would meet him and speak to him—as you did one night upon the stairs!”
“Then it was he!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad—I never could make out why you looked so cross and brushed past me so rudely!”
“I knew nothing about it until to-day,” she said. “He forgot to tell me. And he encountered Julia, the housemaid, one night downstairs—he was thoroughly frightened that time, and made sure he was found out.”
“And of course—it was he who caught Jack on the shore at night, and thrashed him!” I cried. “He need not have done it: the little chap was only playing.”
“Did the children tell you?”
“I saw it,” I said. “I had followed the children down, to see that they were safe. They have puzzled over your unexpected strength ever since.”
“Ronald told me as a great joke,” she said. “No wonder my poor little Jack was puzzled—I have not punished him in that fashion in his life.”
“As a matter of fact, he said he respected you highly!” I told her, and she smiled a little.
“It might have made a difference in his feelings towards me if he were not a sweet-tempered boy,” she said. “I was very angry with Ronald. Oh, my dear, if you knew what these weeks have been, you would pity me! The constant fear—the terrible uncertainty!” She shuddered. “There have been many times when I have been tempted to send him away and let him take his chance. But I could not do it. After all, though I cannot feel any affection for him now, he was my little brother once—just such a boy as Jack. That is the time I try to remember. And my mother left him to my care.”
Her eyes were suddenly kind and soft. I wondered how I could ever have thought her cold—or mad.
“But how long is it to go on?” I asked. “You can’t keep such a secret for ever.”
“There is a chance of getting him out of Australia,” she said. “He has a friend connected with a ship which will leave Adelaide next week—ten days from now, or thereabouts. It is a cargo-ship only, and this friend has promised to arrange a passport for him and get him on board, if I can get him to Adelaide. We have been trying to work out a plan to go to Southport farther down the coast; from there he could make his way up to the main line and reach Adelaide by train. But now we are afraid to move, for everything is complicated by the robberies in the neighbourhood. With the police on the alert—with those terrible black trackers about!—what can we dare to do? I am at my wits’ end.”
“But they will not come here,” I said. “Dr. Firth’s place is three miles away, and there is nothing to bring the police to The Towers.”
“I do not know,” she said slowly. She was silent, gripping my hand so tightly that it ached. Suddenly she dropped it, sprang up, and began to pace the room, wrapped in thought; and I sat watching her helplessly. The minutes went by while she went back and forth, like a caged animal. Then she came back.
“It has been a relief to tell you,” she said. “I have longed to talk to some one—the thing has been too hard to bear all alone. Listen—I will tell you the worst fear of all.”
“Each the very counterpart of the other, they stoodtogether, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes,utterly bewildered.”The Tower Rooms] [Page 160
“Each the very counterpart of the other, they stoodtogether, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes,utterly bewildered.”The Tower Rooms] [Page 160
CHAPTER XIII HEAR STRANGE CONFIDENCES
BUT when she sat down she did not appear able to speak. Twice she opened her lips, but it seemed that no words would come.
“Don’t tell me unless you want to, Mrs. McNab,” I said, pitying the poor, strained face. “You are just tired out, and I know that your hand is hurting. Do rest quietly on my bed for a little while, and I will dress it.”
To my surprise, she did not resist me. She let me put her on my bed, lying silently, with closed eyes, while I dressed her hand and bandaged it freshly. Then I had a new inspiration.
“Please don’t move,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I ran down to the kitchen and made some strong coffee. Julia was there, sewing. She wanted to relieve me of the task altogether, and insisted on getting the tray ready.
“I’d not say ‘no’ to a cup, meself, miss, if you could spare it,” she said. “This place do be gettin’ on me nerves. There’s the misthress goin’ about all this day lookin’ like a walkin’ ghost—up an’ down the stairs an’ in an’ out like a dog at a fair. Is it for her you’re makin’ the coffee now? But it’ll get cold on you before she comes in.”
I opened my mouth to say that Mrs. McNab was in my room; and then changed my mind suddenly.
“Why do you say that, Julia?”
“Sure I’m afther seein’ her with me two eyes, goin’ out ten minutes ago. Slippin’ along by the back wall she was, in her grey gown, as if she didn’t want to be seen. I was comin’ in from the laundry, an’ me heart rose in me throat at the sight of her—though the dear knows I’ve a right to be used to seein’ her creepin’ round the place. If she’d so much as pass the time of day to one, I’d not think her so queer; but ’tis like a silent grey ghost she is—never a worrd out of her. What with that, an’ the thieves that may pay us a visit anny minute, it’s no right place to be in: I’d take me pay an’ go, if it wasn’t for yourself an’ Mrs. Winter.”
“Oh, you mustn’t do that, Julia,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “When anyone is working as hard as Mrs. McNab she can’t interrupt herself to talk. As for the thieves, I believe they are well out of the district; remember, the police are watching for them everywhere now.”
“Yerra, the polis!” said Julia, with much scorn. “Is it the polis you’d be puttin’ your dependence on, miss? Sure, as Bence says, they’re too busy tryin’ to catch poor motor-drivers to be doin’ anny real worrk. Dr. Firth’s seen the lasht of them jools of his, you mark my words. ’Tis meself was in Ireland when all the fightin’ was goin’, but I never felt as quare an’ lonesome as I do in this place.”
I poured her out a cup of coffee.
“Just drink that and you’ll feel better, Julia,” I said. “I’m not going to be scared of any thieves, and I don’t believe you are, either. I’ll take up a little saucepan: if Mrs. McNab isn’t back I can warm up her coffee on my spirit-lamp when she does come in.”
But I knew, as I carried the tray away, that it was not Mrs. McNab whom Julia had seen slinking by the wall. Ronald Hull must have come down the stairs very softly while we had talked in my room. I wondered what he was doing, out in the night.
Mrs. McNab had not moved, and for a moment I fancied that she was asleep. But she stirred as I came near her, and drank her coffee as though she were thirsty.
“That was very good,” she said, lying back. “You are a very kind child to me: my own daughter does not think of such things. It is a shame to burden you with my troubles.”
I told her not to worry about that. “Indeed,” I said, “I have been more uneasy about you for some days than I am now. Ever since I have seen more of you, in looking after your burnt hand, I knew something was troubling you terribly, and I have been so anxious.”
“Was it so plain?” she sighed heavily. “I have done my best to seem cheery and normal, but it has been hard; and all to-day I have felt almost as if I were going mad. I think and think, until my brain feels as though it were whirling in a circle.”
She lit a cigarette and smoked for a few moments without speaking.
“Oh, I must tell you!” she exclaimed. “Now that I have once spoken I must go on and tell all. Your brain is young and clear, and you may be able to think of a way out.”
“It won’t do any harm to talk it over, at all events,” I said, trying to speak comfortingly. But I felt appallingly young and helpless, and I wished with all my heart that Dr. Firth or Colin could be there.
“It is these robberies,” she said. “I had no peace before they took place—but since then I have been in torment. I ask myself ceaselessly—Who is the thief?And only one answer comes to me.”
Light flashed upon me.
“You don’t think—you surely don’t think—your brother . . . ?”
“I do not know what to think. Nothing like this has ever before occurred in our quiet neighbourhood. And stealing is nothing to him—we have had bitter proof of that. He needs money: I have raised all I can, to give him a fresh start when he gets away, but he grumbles at the amount and says it is not enough. Night after night he goes out, declaring that he must have fresh air and exercise, and I do not know where he goes. I have questioned him, but he only laughs at me. He knows his power over me—that I will not betray him—and he takes the fullest advantage of it.”
With all my heart I yearned for Colin to deal with Mr. Ronald Hull.
Mrs. McNab leaned forward, crushing her cigarette between her fingers.
“And the danger is immediate,” she said. “If any trail brings the police and the black trackers to The Towers or its neighbourhood, they may insist on searching the house. Even if Ronald denied it, I would not feel sure—he has lied so often. I do not know what to do.”
“You would not tell your son?”
“Tell Harry? I could not bear to do it. He is only a boy, and we have managed to keep from him all knowledge of his uncle’s disgrace: it would cast a shadow over his whole life. And I do not see how he could help me. No one can help. If I could get Ronald away to Adelaide at once—but he dares not go until the ship is ready to sail, for in any city he runs a grave risk of recapture. And there is nowhere else that I can hide him. It seems to me that I must get him out of The Towers immediately—but where can he go? Everything has worked against me—even this hand, with its wretched little injury that makes me half helpless. I had planned to take him up the coast myself in the small launch; with his aid I could have run it up to Southport, and hired some man to help me back. But there is no chance of that now.”
“Couldn’t I help?” I asked. “I know a good deal about running the launch.”
She shook her head.
“You are very good. But I could not drag you into it. And, besides, it is not time to go. The next ten days are my great difficulty: I simply must send him away from The Towers. Picture his being found here!—with all this party in the house; the disgrace; the publicity for the boys and girls in my care. Beryl and Harry would never forgive me. It would ruin their lives; Harry could never go back to the University.”
I saw that, and my sense of helplessness increased. To drag young Harry McNab into this tangle, just at the commencement of his manhood, was not to be thought of. I suggested Dr. Firth, but Mrs. McNab recoiled from the idea in horror.
“But he is the very man who has been robbed! He is kind, I know, but he is only human—how could I expect help from him! He would be the first to hand Ronald over to the police.”
And then a bright idea came to me.
“Mrs. McNab—what about Shepherd’s Island?”
“Shepherd’s Island!” she repeated, dully. “I don’t understand. You mean——?”
“To hide your brother. Very few people ever go there now, your son told me: no stock are taken there for grass this year, and the awkward landing keeps picnic parties away. The hut is quite weather-proof: he could be comfortable enough there.”
“I would not care if he were not comfortable,” said Mrs. McNab solemnly. Something in her tone revealed what she had endured at the hands of her refugee. “But—anyone might land there: he would not be secure.”
“But he isn’t secure anywhere. He might be found here at any moment, and then, as you say, all the household would be dragged into it. It would be no worse for him, if he should be caught, to be caught away from The Towers; and in that case no one need know his real name. And he could watch—he would have to watch; if he saw a boat coming he could easily hide among the rocks; they’re full of holes and little caves. We could leave him a good supply of food, and take more over to him at night. And when the news of the ship comes it would be easy to take him off the island and run him down to Southport.”
She stared at me as if I were an angel from heaven.
“You blessed child!” she uttered, “I believe he would indeed be safer there than anywhere. But how would I get him there? I am so useless now.”
I was warming to my idea.
“You and I could take him. I can run the launch with a little help—just what you could give me with your good hand. Dear Mrs. McNab, it’s quite simple! We could take all your tinned foods down to the launch—Mr. Hull could help, of course—with rugs and blankets. He ought to hide everything in the rocks during the day, in case of anyone’s landing on the island. I should think he would welcome the chance of being there, after having been shut up in the Tower rooms for so long. And then you could laugh at policemen and black trackers, even if they came in swarms!”
She drew a long breath.
“It would be like heaven to think he was out of the house!” she said. “Oh, I have been desperate all day! But it is not right—not fair—to bring you into it. What would your brother say?”
I knew very well that Colin would say a good deal, but it did not seem worth while to dwell on that point.
“Colin would help if he were here,” I said. “And as he isn’t it’s right for me to help. I don’t run any risk—but if Mr. Hull is found in The Towers, think of what it means to your four children! And if he is on the island you will be in peace at night, knowing that he is not roaming about.”
“Yes,” she said—“yes! I would not wake each morning in dread of hearing of fresh robberies.”
“Well, you might hear of them, all the same—which would be a sort of comfort to you, because you would know that your suspicions had been wrong. And it would not surprise me if theywereall wrong—surely a man who is already in dread of the police would not deliberately do new things that would bring them on his track! It isn’t common sense!”
“It would be a comfort to think that,” she said. “I have tried to think it. But he is so foolhardy—so difficult to understand! My dear, the more I think of your plan, the more hopeful I feel. Surely on that lonely island he would be safer than he is here!”
“Why, of course he would. And every one in the house would be safer too. Do make up your mind to take him over, Mrs. McNab. Let us go to-night!”
“To-night!” she uttered. “But it is already very late. I—I have not had time to think—to plan.”
“But there really isn’t much to plan. There is moonlight enough to make everything easy: we have only to get the things down to the shore as soon as everyone is in bed. Mr. Hull could change into his own clothes in one of the bathing-boxes when we are ready to start. The launch is all in order; the children and I were running her this afternoon, and there is plenty of petrol. There could not be a better chance. For all we know the black trackers may be here in the morning.”
She shuddered.
“Indeed they may. That possibility has been burning into my mind all day.”
“Well, then, we won’t have anyone here for them to find. Have you much food upstairs?”
“Quite enough for a week, with care, I think,” she said. “He would not starve, at all events: and there is fresh water on the island. He could catch fish, too: if he made a fire among the rocks and cooked fish at night, no one would see the smoke. There would be no difficulty or risk about his being there unless anyone landed.”
“And that risk is less than his being here. Remember, too, even if a picnic party saw him, they would probably think he was a lonely camper and would scarcely notice him. The police are not likely to think of going there—no boats will be missing and thieves could not reach the island without a boat.”
“No,” she agreed. “Well, no course that I can adopt is without danger; but I do believe that your plan holds less risk than any other. If he is captured I cannot help it—at least, I shall have done my best. I will go and tell him; I do not think that he will make any objection.”
I had a moment’s horror after she had gone, for I suddenly remembered that Mr. Hull had gone out—perhaps he was still away, roaming in the bush or on the shore: perhaps—who could say?—visiting some other house as Dr. Firth’s had been visited the night before. Then all my excellent plans would be upset, and we should have to take our chance of what the morrow might bring. But I hardly had time to worry much over this possibility when Mrs. McNab came hurrying back.
“He will go,” she said. “Keep a watch, Miss Earle, and come and tell us when every one has gone to bed.”
CHAPTER XIIII GO ADVENTURING
IT was lucky for us that all the house-party were tired that night. Dancing was often kept up at The Towers until long after midnight; but on this occasion the strenuous day in the bush had had its effect, so that a move was made towards bed soon after half-past ten. One strong soul cheerily suggested finishing up with a bathing excursion to the beach—and never knew what malevolent brain-waves I wafted towards him from my nook near the schoolroom door. Fortunately, Dicky Atherton poured cold water upon the idea.
“Don’t be a lunatic, Billy,” he remarked. “If you haven’t had enough, I guess the rest of us have. Go and bathe by yourself, if you want to.” At which “Billy” yawned mightily, and said that bathing alone was a poor game, and he guessed he’d go to bed, too. They all trooped upstairs, and I noticed that several locks clicked as the doors were shut. Evidently the girls had not forgotten the chance of the burglar. I wondered what would have been their sensations had they known that we were preparing to convey the suspected burglar out of the house!
I waited until ten minutes after the last light had gone out. The house was wrapped in deep silence as I stole up the stairs to the Tower rooms.
Mrs. McNab was waiting for me on the landing.
“Come in,” she whispered. “We are all ready.”
Ronald Hull sat smoking in her study. Something of the sneering coldness was gone from his face.
“You seem to be a most energetic planner,” he greeted me. “It was a lucky chance that brought you in here this evening, though at the time I must admit that I thought it a precious unlucky one. Are you sure you can run the boat?”
“Quite sure,” I told him coldly. I couldn’t bear his face or his manner: he repelled me as a snake repels. It was difficult even to be civil to him.
There were many parcels and packages on the floor, ready for carrying. Mr. Hull was still dressed like Mrs. McNab, but he carried a pile of men’s clothing over his arm.
“Well, we might as well make a start, if you think it’s safe,” he said. “This stuff will need more than one trip.”
It needed three, since Mrs. McNab could carry very little. Laden like camels, we crept down the kitchen stairs, across the crunching gravel of the yard, and over the paddock, stowing our burdens in the launch that lay beside the little jetty. Backwards and forwards we went, almost running on the return journeys to the house: the dread of detection suddenly heavy upon us, so that every clump of tea-tree seemed to contain the lurking shadow of a watching man. Just as we were leaving the yard on our last trip, Mr. Hull well ahead with the heaviest burdens, a window at the rear of the house was suddenly flung up. Mrs. McNab and I stopped, petrified with fear. A voice shrilled out, that was unmistakably the product of the County Cork: a voice in which wrath struggled valiantly with nervousness:
“Who’s there? Tell me now, or I’ll loose the dogs on ye!”
“Answer her quickly!” I whispered.
“It is I, Julia,” said Mrs. McNab in icy tones. They were really the only accents she could command, for she was shaking with dread; but they must have sounded sufficiently awe-inspiring to Julia, who ejaculated, “Howly Ann, ’tis the misthress!” and slammed down her window. We took to our heels and fled after Mr. Hull.
At the shore we lost no time, Julia’s outcry might easily have aroused the house, and for all we knew we might be followed already; so we hurried Mr. Hull into the launch, not daring to risk delay while he changed his clothes, which could just as well be done at the Island. He grumbled a little, saying that he was sick and tired of living in women’s garments; at which Mrs. McNab fixed him with a glance that, even in the moonlight, must have been daunting, for he broke off in the middle of a remark, and only muttered under his breath—Mrs. McNab took the tiller, and I switched on the engine. And it would not start!
The minutes went by while I tinkered with every gadget I could find in that abominable box of machinery. Mrs. McNab—how I loved her for it!—sat absolutely silent, betraying no sign of impatience; but presently her brother grew restive, and demanded angrily, “Won’t she start?”—a query that seemed to me so singularly futile that I deigned no answer. I tried everything that I could think of, and still no response came from that very engine which had purred so happily on our piratical expedition a few hours before. Ronald Hull broke out rudely at last.
“I might have known as much! What fools we were, Marie, to believe in a self-satisfied school-girl! We might as well unpack the boat and go back—we can’t sit here until daylight comes and somebody finds us!”
“Oh, hold your tongue, Ronald!” Mrs. McNab said wearily. “We are doing our best for you. And let me assure you that, whatever happens, you are not going back to my house.”
He subsided at that, with an ill-tempered grunt. And then, I don’t know in the least what I did—possibly my wrath communicated itself to the spanner I was using—but the engine suddenly began to spit, and then to purr. I heaved a sigh of relief, echoed by Mrs. McNab; and in a moment we were slipping away from the jetty and heading towards the opening of the bay. I took the tiller from Mrs. McNab, and in silence we shot across the moonlit water.
Having recovered from its fit of bad temper, the engine decided to behave beautifully. Its even throb was music in my ears. It was a still and perfect night, a night of moonbeams and starshine and peace, in which the load of anxiety and evil that we carried seemed to have no part. Beyond the headland, when we turned westward, the sea rose in long, gentle swells on which we rocked lazily as the launch sped onwards. Every tiny island was a dim place of mysterious beauty. No sound reached us, save, now and then, a seabird’s cry. None of us spoke. Ronald Hull lit a cigarette and sprawled across the bow, looking ahead: beside me, his sister leaned back, and on her white face was the beginning of peace. So we travelled across the gleaming water, until Shepherd’s Island loomed ahead, and I slowed down the engine, looking for the opening to the tiny bay where we must land. Soon it came into view. I ran the launch carefully beside the shelf of rock, and Ronald Hull sprang out with a rope.
We made fast, and landed. One after another Mr. Hull passed out the packages, until the launch was empty.
“You’d better go ahead with the lighter things,” he said. “I’ll change in the boat. Is it safe to show a light to guide me to this hut of yours?”
“I do not think it would be wise,” Mrs. McNab answered. “But you cannot miss it—it is only a stone’s-throw away. Whistle softly when you are ready, and we will come back.”
We left him, and went up the slope with what we could carry. Mrs. McNab had brought a lantern, but, even had we dared to use it, we did not need it; although the moon was thinking of setting, the night was wonderfully clear and bright. We opened the sagging door of the hut to its fullest width and put in our bundles—I wondered if Mrs. McNab was as much afraid of spiders in the dark interior as I was, or if her mind rose superior to such earthly considerations. Personally, I cannot imagine any circumstances in which the thought of a spider in the dark will have lost its power to give me chills down the back.
A low whistle came to us as we descended the slope, and we reached the shore to find Mr. Hull arrayed in his own garments, and looking decidedly more cheerful.
“Thank goodness for my own kit!” he remarked. “Your clothes have been very useful, my dear Marie, but skirts are ‘the burden of an honour unto which I was not born,’ and I’m uncommonly glad to see the last of them. We’d better get this stuff up as soon as possible; you two must hurry away.”
We loaded ourselves again, and returned to the hut. Our passenger was not excited by its aspect.
“Pretty dingy sort of hole!” he remarked, peering into the darkness within. “Thank goodness it’s a warm night: I’ll roll up in my blankets under a tree. There are probably several varieties of things that creep and crawl inside that shanty.”
“You will remember to keep out of sight of the mainland in daylight, Ronald?”
“Oh yes—I’ll be careful,” he answered lightly.
“I hope you will. You should conceal everything in the morning, as soon as it is light—there are rocks and hollows all over the island—you will have no difficulty in stowing everything away. Do remember that there will be many watchful eyes along the coast during the next few days: you cannot be too cautious.”
“Well, you’ve done all you can for the present, so you needn’t worry,” her brother replied. “If they get me now it will be plain John Smith they will get, who does not know of even the existence of such a place as The Towers, or such a family as that of McNab! When may I expect to see you again?”
“We will come in three or four nights—it is impossible for me to say exactly when I can get away unnoticed. By that time there may be news from Adelaide about your future movements. You will have to listen for the beat of the engine—we will try not to be later than ten o’clock.”
“Right,” he said. “Whistle three times when you stop, so that I may know for certain that it is your engine and not a police-boat’s. I suppose you can whistle, Miss Earle?—you look as if you could!”
“I suppose you can carry up the remainder of these things?” I gave back icily. “It is quite time I got Mrs. McNab home—she is tired out.”
“Let us go,” Mrs. McNab said hastily. I believe she knew that I hungered to throw things at him. “Remember, by the way, Ronald, that if bad weather comes we may be prevented from taking out the launch—you had better husband your provisions. We will do the best that we can for you.”
“You’ve certainly done that always, Marie,” he admitted ungraciously. “I’ve no doubt you’re deeply thankful to be rid of your Old Man of the Sea for a time. Well, I hope it will be for good in a few days—I promise I won’t come back again if once I get to America.”
I was already in the launch, starting the engine. Mrs. McNab took her place, and Mr. Hull cast off the rope.
“Good night,” he said. Mrs. McNab answered him, but I pretended to be deeply occupied with the engine, and said nothing. We slid away gently from the rock, and in a moment the Island was only a dim blur behind us.
I believe we both enjoyed the voyage home, although scarcely a word was spoken. Mrs. McNab relaxed limply into her corner of the seat, smoking so slowly that twice she let her cigarette go out, when she would flick it away into the water and light a fresh one—she managed wonderfully with her one hand. As for me, I could have purred as contentedly as did the engine. It was good to be without that evil presence in the launch; better still to think that The Towers that night would be free from its blight. I liked to think how welcome would be the solitude of her eyrie in the tower to the tired woman beside me. Whatever the future might hold for Mrs. McNab and her brother, I firmly believed that we had done a good job in transferring him to Shepherd’s Island, where his unpleasant temper would be restricted to gannets and gulls. It gave me serene pleasure to think how dull he would be. When Mrs. McNab recollected presently, with an exclamation of annoyance, that she had omitted to pack for him a good supply of tobacco, I fear I chuckled inwardly. I had small sympathy for Mr. Ronald Hull.
We swung round into Porpoise Bay and ran across to the jetty, slowing down to lessen the sound of the engine, and watching keenly ahead in case anyone should be prowling on the shore.
But there was no one: all was dark and silent, save for the waves lapping gently against the jetty piles. I made the launch fast, while Mrs. McNab gathered up her brother’s discarded dress, and, hurrying across the paddock, we gained the house unseen, and felt our way up the dark kitchen stairs.
Mrs. McNab came into my room, closing the door as I switched on the light. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears.
“You are a very brave girl, my dear,” she said. “I shall sleep to-night in the nearest approach to peace that I have known for a long while, and it is thanks to you. A month ago you were a stranger to me, and yet to-night you have done me a service I could not ask from my own son.”
I mumbled something idiotic. Nothing that evening, unless it were the time when the engine would not start, had been so terrible as this!
“You do not want to be thanked, I know,” she went on. “And, indeed, I have no words to thank you. But I hope that you will never think hardly of me for having allowed you to shoulder my burden—I know I should not have done it, but it was growing too heavy for me. You came to me like an angel of help. I hope you will always let me be your friend.” She stooped and kissed me, and then, like Julia’s “grey ghost,” she was gone.