CHAPTER XIVI FIND MYSELF A CONSPIRATOR
HARRY McNAB and two of his ’Varsity friends took a car and went off to Dr. Firth’s immediately after breakfast next morning. They returned some hours later, much disgruntled.
“We thought you would be black-tracking all day,” the girls greeted them. “Have you caught the burglars already?”
“There’ll be mighty little catching done, if you ask me,” was Harry’s reply. “The black trackers can’t come: they’re busy on that murder case up in the Mallee, and can’t be spared for a mere robbery. Dr. Firth’s very disgusted. Of course the police are bobbing about everywhere, but I don’t believe they’ll do any good. There are two Melbourne men down as well—detectives.”
“Very disappointing people,” put in Dicky Atherton. “Not a bit like sleuth-hounds in appearance. I expected to see something of the keen, strong, silent type, like Sherlock Holmes, but they’re more like retired undertakers.”
“And is there no clue to the burglars?” Mrs. McNab asked. I had seen the flash of utter relief in her eyes when she heard that the black trackers were not to come. She was looking better, but was evidently very tired.
“Not an earthly clue! The jewels and the burglars seem to have vanished into thin air.”
“You can be jolly certain that they vanished into a high-powered car,” remarked Mr. Atherton. “Burglars, as careful in their choice of valuables as these people were, don’t do things in a haphazard way: I’ll bet the whole thing was the work of an experienced gang, and that they were all snug in Melbourne, with their loot, before daylight yesterday. Well, it’s a good thing that his loss doesn’t trouble Dr. Firth as far as his pocket goes. But he’s awfully annoyed at being bested—not that he admits that he’s beaten yet, by a long way.”
“No,” said Harry. “I fancy that Dr. Firth will keep his teeth into the matter for quite a while. And it wouldn’t be jam for the thief if he caught him. As Dicky says, it’s the old chap’s pride that seems most deeply hurt.”
So we gathered from Dr. Firth himself when he came over, later in the day.
“The things were going to the Museum, in any case,” he remarked. “So far as that goes, I am no worse off. But it is intensely annoying that, for the sake of a handful of jewels, poor old Michael’s treasures are deprived of all their value as specimens. He was tremendously proud of them, and I feel as though I had failed in my trust as their custodian.” He gave a little dry laugh. “I believe I feel it more because I really didn’t care a hang for the things—a good horse or a good dog appeals to me far more than all Michael’s hideous rarities.”
“And what about the things that are left?” Mrs. McNab asked.
“I take no more chances. A man from the Museum is coming down to-morrow to oversee the packing of everything, and in a few days I hope the whole lot will be gone—I shall send them all down to Melbourne by motor-van, with the Museum man mounting guard over them.”
“No need for that,” put in Judy. “All you have to do is to put in a lion or so, and drape a few pythons round the van! Nobody will go near them then!”
“Wouldn’t they look gorgeous, going through Melbourne like that!” Jack exclaimed.
“They would create a mild sensation in Collins Street,” Dr. Firth agreed. “I’ll suggest it to the Museum official. Meanwhile, I have two detectives about the house, both looking very wise and filling little black notebooks with remarks on the situation. Do you know, I have the queerest certainty that those jewels are not far off? The detectives scoff at the notion, but it remains, all the same.”
“You have nothing to support the idea?” Mrs. McNab asked.
“Nothing whatever—it’s just a feeling. I suppose Michael would say that his queer old jewels have a certain uncanny power of suggesting their whereabouts!”
“What’s that mean?” queried Jack.
“Means they’re magic, silly, so’s they can tell you where they are,” responded Judy.
“Hur!” said Jack. “Be a jolly sight better, then, if they said it straight out! Wouldn’t the thieves get a shock if the jewels took to yelling ‘Here I am!’ whenever they tried to hide them!”
“It would be a great advantage to me,” Dr. Firth said, laughing. “You two might keep your ears well open, in your joyous wanderings—they say that magic still lingers where there are children. An old fogy like myself would have no chance of hearing my lost property bleat.”
“Is there a reward?” demanded the practical Jack.
“There is—I’ve offered £500, already, for the conviction of the thief. If you get the jewels without the robber the reward will be less, so you might as well make a thorough job of it.”
“I could do with £500,” said Jack solemnly. “I awfully want a yacht all of my own!”
“You’re a nasty little grab-all,” stated his sister. “People don’t take rewards from friends, do they, Mother?”
“Certainly not.”
“Oh well, the fun of getting them would be worth it,” said Jack, though with some regret. “But you know jolly well you’d like that yacht yourself, Ju. Anyhow, I vote we start hunting now. May we, Mother?”
“I suppose so,” she said—“if you don’t go into very wild places. No, you are not to go, Miss Earle.” She put a restraining hand on mine as I made a movement to rise. “They cannot get into much harm, and you know that you did not sleep well. Be home in good time, children.”
“Right-oh!—we’ll go and get the ponies, Jack!” They raced off together.
Dr. Firth looked keenly at us both.
“I must say that neither of you look as fresh as you might,” he observed. “I suppose you have been worrying over this wretched robbery. You did not sit up on guard, did you?”
“Oh no!” Mrs. McNab replied hastily. “Harry suggested doing so, but it seemed foolish and he gave up the idea. I am really not at all alarmed about The Towers—we are such a large party, with several active young men: a thief would meet with a warm reception here.”
“I think so, too. Still, if you should feel in the least nervous I would send one of my men over here at night.”
This well-meant suggestion caused us both acute anxiety. The very last thing we desired was a guardian for The Towers at night. Mrs. McNab was so emphatic in declining the proposal that Dr. Firth looked at her curiously.
“Well—just as you please. But if you are not worried, I should like to see you looking rather more like yourself. Is the work going badly?”
Poor Mrs. McNab leaped at the suggestion.
“Very badly,” she said, with a wintry smile. “There are so many interruptions—so much to think of throughout the day. I never can expect really free time during the holidays; although Miss Earle does everything in her power to spare me, and never spares herself.” She patted my hand. “I do not know how much magic is in your jewels, Dr. Firth, but my good fairy was certainly at work when she sent me this kind girl.”
Dr. Firth beamed on us.
“I’m delighted to hear you say so,” he said. “One would not expect anything but kindness from Denis Earle’s daughter. My luck was even better than yours, for you have her only for the holidays: I am not going to lose her again, if I can help it!”
“I should be very sorry to think our friendship would end with the holidays,” said Mrs. McNab. “Indeed, after all the young people have gone away I should like to keep you here awhile, my dear, for a thorough rest—with nothing to do but lie about and read, or drive the car, or bathe. It would be dull, but I think it would be good for you.”
“You’re awfully kind, Mrs. McNab,” I said. “But there’s school—and Madame Carr. Think of the waiting twelve-year-olds to whom I teach deportment!”
“Hang the twelve-year-olds!” said Dr. Firth explosively.
I felt inclined to agree with him. For me, school and Madame Carr were only a fortnight away, and the prospect was a grim one. To see Colin and Madge again would be sheer delight, of course; but apart from those beloved ones I hated the very idea of leaving the country. My time at The Towers had been by no means all joy. Still, I had managed my job—that was some satisfaction; and I had made good friends, and had found Dr. Firth. And there were my dear little Judy and Jack. It was no small thing to be a Fellow-Member of the Band. I had yet to learn how big a thing it could be.
“I don’t suppose the twelve-year-olds will be any more pleased to see me than I shall be to meet them again,” I said, smiling at Dr. Firth’s outburst. “Still, they are not bad youngsters, on the whole, and I feel so well now that I’ll be able to tackle them in earnest. I was losing my grip before the holidays, and they were fully aware of it.”
Dr. Firth said nothing, but he still looked explosive. It was Mrs. McNab who answered.
“I hope that if they ever tire you out again you will remember that you have a home at The Towers, my dear. And then I shall try to give you a time without any worries—only peace.”
Poor soul—she looked as though she needed the peace herself. I was trying to reply fittingly when Bella appeared with the tea-tray and provided a welcome interruption. It was terribly embarrassing to have speeches made at one.
The next few days went by uneventfully. Judy and Jack scoured the country every day, returning in disgust at their lack of success in finding the jewels, but always ready to go out again. We saw nothing of Dr. Firth’s detectives. It was hinted that they had a clue, a possession which Harry declared no self-respecting detective to be without; but whatever it was, it seemed to lead them nowhere, and the belief grew in the neighbourhood that the robbers had made good their escape, and were not likely to trouble the Wootong district again. The girls ceased to lock their doors at night; the Melbourne papers, which had given a good deal of space to the burglary, dropped the subject in favour of something more interesting. Only Dr. Firth still held to his idea that his jewels were not far off. But as nobody agreed with him, he said little, remarking that a man who had no foundation for his opinions was wiser if he kept them to himself. He was very busy over the packing of his remaining curios; load after load of stuffed animals left his house, to the unconcealed joy of his servants, who declared—Julia reported to me—that the place was becoming one in which a self-respecting girl could move about at night without her hair rising erect upon her head. “An’ that’s more than one can say of this place, miss,” added Julia gloomily. “There’s more than poor dead beasts is in it at The Towers!”
Mrs. McNab and I paid another visit to the Island on the fourth night, taking a fresh supply of food. We found our refugee in a distinctly bad temper, loneliness and lack of tobacco being his principal grievances. He became rather more cheerful when we supplied the latter need, but muttered angrily when he learned that no letter had yet been received from his friend in Adelaide. “A man can’t stay on this beastly rock for ever!” I heard him say. “I’ll be in a pretty fix if Transom slips me up, after all.”
“You do not think he will, Ronald?” Mrs. McNab’s voice was sharp with anxiety.
“Oh, I don’t know. He seemed anxious enough to get me in with him, if I could raise a little money—but he could easily find somebody with more than I shall have. I’ll believe in him when I hear from him—and the letter should have come before now. For goodness’ sake come back as soon as you can, Marie; waiting in suspense in this hole is enough to send a man out of his mind!” He stood glowering at us as we left the Island. To my relief, he had not spoken to me at all.
I think that the doubt he put into Mrs. McNab’s mind about the friend in Adelaide was the last straw that broke down her endurance. She had made very certain of the prospect of help from this man, Transom: Mr. Hull had never spoken of him, she told me, as if there were any chance that his offer would not hold good. I did not believe it now: I felt sure that Mr. Hull had only tried to worry her by expressing a doubt that he did not really feel. It was one of his pleasant little ways, that he liked to work on her feelings by dwelling on dangers, both real and imaginary: she had told me this herself, and I ventured to remind her of it now. But she shook her head.
“I do not know. He can be very cruel, but I hardly think he would be so bitter as that. It may have been that his talk of Transom and America was only a trick to induce me to raise the money—and I have raised all that I can. But if Transom fails, whatever can we do? He has been my only hope. Ronald cannot leave Australia without a passport—he dares not try to get one himself, even under a false name. And nowhere in Australia is he safe.”
There was not much that I could say to comfort her. She gripped the rail of the launch, staring out to sea as we ran smoothly homeward: seeing, I knew, all that might lie before her: bringing her brother back by stealth to his old hiding-place in the Tower rooms, to enter again upon the dreary life of concealment and deception, with the ever-present risk of discovery, and of disgrace for them all. It was a bitter prospect. She looked ten years older when she said good night to me after we got back to the house. As I listened to her dragging footsteps, going wearily up the stairs, once more I longed very heartily for a strong man to deal with Mr. Ronald Hull.
It was not a surprise to me when Julia brought me word next morning that Mrs. McNab was ill.
“I dunno is it a fever she have on her,” said the handmaiden. “She do be all trembly-like, an’ as white as a hound’s tooth. Sorra a bit has she seen of her bed lasht night; I’d say she was fearin’ that if she tried to climb that small little ladder to her room it’s fallin’ back she’d have been. A rug on the sofy is all the comfort she’s afther having.”
“Well, she can’t stay there,” I said. “Miss Carrick left yesterday, Julia: we can bring Mrs. McNab down to her room.”
“ ’Twould be as good for her,” agreed Julia. “ ’Tis all ready, miss; as warrm as it is, I’ll clap a hot bottle between the sheets, the way she wouldn’t feel the chill. Let you go up to her now, for the poor soul’s unaisy till she sees you. Herself sets terrible store by you these days.”
There was no doubt that Mrs. McNab was ill—her appearance bore out all Julia’s description. She tried to make as little of it as possible, declaring that she was used to such attacks, and that a day in bed was all she needed; she had taken the necessary medicine, and utterly refused to see a doctor. But she did not resist being taken down to the vacant room near mine, and leaned heavily upon me as I helped her down the stairs. I was thankful when I saw her safely in bed.
“Don’t trouble about me,” she said weakly. “My head aches badly: I am better alone. It will pass off after a time. But you must bring the letters to me as soon as the post-bag comes from Wootong—promise me, Miss Earle.”
I promised, seeing that nothing else would keep her quiet. But when the mail arrived, the bundle of letters, which she turned over with shaking fingers, did not contain the one for which she longed.
“There is nothing from Transom,” she declared tragically. “I am afraid Ronald’s fear is only too well-founded.” She turned her face to the wall with a smothered groan.
It was the longest day that I had spent in The Towers. There was scarcely anything that I could do for my patient—she had no wishes, and would take hardly any nourishment. Beryl paid her a casual visit, and then left her to my care—Mother was like this occasionally, she said, and wanted only to be let alone until she was better. Harry was more concerned, but accepted philosophically the view that he could do nothing in the sick-room and would be of more practical use if he kept the house quiet by taking every one out: and presently all the party went off for an excursion, and with the throb of the departing motors The Towers settled down to silence. Judy and Jack had gone treasure-hunting again, taking their lunch with them. There was nothing for me to do but sit in my room, going often to steal a quiet look at my patient, who generally lay with closed eyes, her face grey against the white linen of the pillow.
She roused a little towards evening, and permitted me to take her temperature, which I found far too high for my peace of mind, though the thermometer’s reading did not trouble Mrs. McNab.
“Oh yes—it is often like that,” she said. “Give me some more of the medicine: it will be better in the morning.” She smiled feebly at my anxious face. “There is really no need for alarm, so far as I am concerned. The worst feature is that these attacks leave me so terribly weak: I am a wreck for days after one. And I have no time to be a wreck just now.”
This was so true than any comment on my part was needless; I could only beg her not to worry, which I felt to be a singularly stupid remark. She took a little nourishment, and soon afterwards fell into a heavy sleep, from which she did not stir until after midnight. Then she woke and smiled at me, and asked the time.
“And you still up!” she said reproachfully. “You must go to bed at once, Miss Earle. I am better, and there is no need whatever for you to sit up any longer.”
She was evidently better, and the temperature, though not yet normal, had gone down. I made her take a little chicken-broth and shook up her pillows, putting on cool, fresh covers.
“That is so nice!” she said, as her hot face touched their coolness. “Now I am going to sleep again, and you must do the same. I can ring if I want anything—but indeed I shall want nothing. Run off to bed at once, or I shall have to get up to make you go!”
I gave in, seeing that she was really worried about my being up, though I was not at all sleepy. Nevertheless, once I was in bed I slept like a log, and did not waken until I found Julia by my side with tea in the morning. She beamed cheerfully at me.
“Let you take your tay in peace, now,” she said. “The misthress is betther: she’s afther drinkin’ a cup, an’ she towld me to tell you to take your time, for she’s needin’ nothin’.”
“Is she really better, Julia?” I asked anxiously.
“She is. There’s great virtue in that quare little glass stick she’s afther suckin’; she med me give it to her, an’ she says it’s made her norrmal. I dunno what is norrmal, but she says she’s cured. The fever’s gone out of her entirely. But she have a strong wakeness on her yet; sure I had to howld the cup when she drank, for there’s no more power in her hand than a baby’s. But that’s nothin’ at all: we’ll have her as well as ever she was in a few days, if only she’ll leave the owld writin’ alone.”
Mrs. McNab greeted me with a smile when I hurried in.
“Ah, I told Julia to make you rest awhile,” she said. Her voice was still faint, but her eyes were clear, and the pain had gone out of them. “I am really better: the attack has passed off, and I have only to get rid of this weakness. But it takes time.”
She was a very meek patient that morning. All her powers were concentrated on getting back her strength: she took nourishment whenever I brought it to her, and tried to keep herself as placid as possible by sheer strength of will. But strength of will, even as great as Mrs. McNab’s, does not work miracles: she was still weak enough to tremble violently when I brought her her letters at twelve o’clock, and when she came to one in a dingy blue envelope her hand shook so that she had to let me open it for her. With a great effort she commanded herself to read it.
“It is from Transom!” she gasped. “Everything is arranged, and he wants Ronald to join him in Adelaide immediately—not to delay an hour longer than he can help!”
The letter fluttered to the ground and I sprang to her side. She had fainted.
CHAPTER XVI SAIL WITH MY BAND
‟IWILL not let you go alone.”
“But I could manage quite well. It will be moonlight, and such a still night. There would be no real difficulty.”
“I will not let you go.”
“But it will be days before you are fit to move. You know you cannot risk the delay: it is your brother’s only chance. You can’t see it wasted.”
“I can—if the price is too great to pay. I will not buy his safety at the risk of a young girl. I will not let you go.”
“Then let me tell your son.”
The white face on the pillow worked pitifully.
“No—anything but that! Harry is so young—and so proud. I cannot let him share the knowledge of disgrace. Life would never again be the same to him. I have tried so hard to keep it to myself—to spare Harry.”
“Ah, let me go!” I said. “It would be so easy—the launch is ready, and the run to Southport would be nothing. Think of it—to have all your anxiety at an end! Say I may go, dear Mrs. McNab.”
We had argued at intervals all the afternoon. At first, after recovering from the fainting-fit into which the arrival of Transom’s letter, urging Ronald Hull to come without delay, had thrown her, Mrs. McNab had declared that she herself would be well enough to go out that night: a manifest absurdity, speedily proved when she tried to walk across the room. She could only totter a few yards, and then was glad to catch at my arm and let me support her to a chair. Again and again she had tried, with no better success. I put her back to bed at last, and gave her a stimulant, angry with myself for having assisted at the folly. And then had begun the argument.
It seemed to me that the only thing to be done was for me to take the launch and convey Ronald Hull to Southport. I didn’t like the idea of doing it alone—who would? But there was no other way, since Mrs. McNab steadfastly refused to tell Harry. A second reading of Transom’s letter showed us that we should have received it a day earlier, and that to reach Adelaide in time Mr. Hull must start that very night. It was now or never; and Mrs. McNab had made up her mind that it must be never.
She turned her weary eyes in my direction now with a hopeless movement.
“I cannot. It is absolutely unthinkable that I could allow it. Even Ronald’s disgrace, sore as it is, would not be as bitter to me as my own conscience if I let you go. We must find some other plan of escape for him. I am too tired to talk any more. Promise me you will not try to go alone, and I will go to sleep.”
I promised, reluctantly, knowing that she had already strained her endurance too far: she had a touch of fever again, and I feared that the next day would find her much worse. She looked relieved, murmuring something I could not catch; then she closed her eyes, and I went quietly out of the room, tasting all the bitterness of failure. I had so built on ridding her of her abominable brother. It was terrible to think that this wonderful chance was to be lost—that when she struggled back to health he would still be a millstone about her neck.
The sound of galloping hoofs came to me as I went out on the front verandah, and I saw Judy and Jack come racing up the drive on their ponies. They waved to me and shouted, but did not stop, tearing on to the stable-yard. I sat down on a garden-seat to await them—and suddenly hope flashed on me like a beacon-light.
Judy and Jack! They were only children, but they were strong and sensible, when they chose: they knew the launch and its engine better than I did, and the sea was their friend and playfellow. They would come, my little Fellow-Members of the Band, and ask no questions that would lead to unpleasant explanations. I could trust them, just as their father had said he could trust them—not to betray a confidence, never to let one down. It wasn’t done, in the Band.
I turned my great idea over and over in my mind while we were at dinner in the schoolroom, and could find no flaw in it. I believed Mrs. McNab would find none, either. To go out on the sea at night was nothing to any McNab: that part of it I dismissed as not worth considering. The chief thing to ponder was the necessity of letting them into at least part of the secret: and there it was their very youth that gave me confidence. Harry, if told, would have demanded every detail: Judy and Jack would be content with what I chose to tell them, and I need tell them nothing that would affect their peace of mind in the future. I looked at my outlaws, unconsciously eating their dinner, with a gratitude that would certainly have amazed them, had they suspected it.
I went in to consult Mrs. McNab when we had finished. Before dinner she had not slept, and I had felt uneasy about her, for she was flushed and hot and restless: but now I found her in a heavy slumber, breathing deeply and regularly. She might remain so for hours, perhaps all night. Why should I tell her at all? Why not let her sleep on, untroubled, while the Band did her work? There was nothing to be gained by waking her. I knew where to find, in the Tower room, the little suit-case that held necessaries she had packed for her brother’s journey, and the money she had procured for him. It had been ready for days, in case of a hurried summons. I had only to take it, and go.
Slowly I went back to the schoolroom. The children were reading, their mother’s illness making them unusually quiet; they glanced up at me, and grinned in a friendly fashion. I sat down on the table and looked at them.
“Do you remember,” I asked, “what you told me your father used to say when he told you a secret?”
“Rather!” said Judy. “He always says, ‘Kids, this is confidential.’ Why?”
“Because I’m saying it now,” I said. “I have something to tell you, and—‘Kids, it is confidential.’ Is it all right?”
“O-oh, Miss Earle, you’ve got a secret! ’Course it’s all right. Isn’t it, Jack?”
“Cross-our-hearts,” said Jack solemnly. “Shall we swear a Hearty Oath?”
“Your word is good enough for me,” I answered. “But it has to be a very solemn word, because this is a big secret, and it isn’t even mine.”
“We’ll never tell,” Judy said. “Jack and I never tell anything, you know. Father understands that. Oh, Miss Earle, go on, or I’ll bust!”
“You two have got to help me to-night,” I said. “You have the biggest job that has ever come into your lives. And then you have to keep quiet about it for ever and ever.”
“Andever!” said Judy. “Quick, Miss Earle!”
“I can’t tell you all the details, because they are not mine to tell,” I said. “But your mother has a friend who is hiding from some people who want to find him—why they want him is no business of ours. We will call this friend Mr. Smith. He is living on Shepherd’s Island.”
“On Shepherd’s Island! In the old hut? Miss Earle, what a gorgeous thrill!”
“That isn’t half the thrill there is,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “Mr. Smith wants to go to Southport—it is very important that he should go there to-night. Your mother and I were going to take him there, in the small launch.”
“You and Mother! Nobody else knowing anything at all?”
“Not a soul.”
“Do you mean you two were going out late to take him? All the way to Southport? Why, it’s twenty miles!”
“Yes—to everything,” I said. “But your mother has gone and got ill, and she can’t come. That is worrying her dreadfully, because she knows Mr. Smith must be at Southport this very night. I wanted to go alone, but she would not let me. And all through dinner I have been wondering if my Fellow-Members of the Band would help me.”
“Any mortal thing!” declared Judy. “What can we do?”
“You can run a launch as well as I can—or better.”
“You mean——!” Light dawned on their eager faces. “You mean, you’d take us to Southport?”
“I mean that you two should come to help me take Mr. Smith to Southport. It has become a job for the Band.”
“It’s too wonderful to be true!” said Judy solemnly. “Oh, Miss Earle, you darling! When do we start?”
“I think we might slip out about nine o’clock——”
“Just when we ought to be going to bed!” said Jack, with a blissful chuckle.
“We had meant to go later, when every one was in bed—but I am very anxious to get back before your mother wakes. She is fast asleep now. If your brother or sister should come up after nine and find everything in darkness they will think we are all in bed. It seems to me the safest plan.”
“I suppose I’m really awake!” Judy remarked. “It would be too awful to wake up and find I had only dreamed it! Pinch me, kid, will you—Ouch!”—as Jack promptly complied. “Yes, I’m awake, all right. Miss Earle, d’you mean that no one but you and Mother knows Mr. Smith is on Shepherd’s Island?”
“No one.”
“How did he get there?”
“We took him one night some time ago.”
“What does he live on?”
“We gave him food. And he catches fish.”
“Where was he before?”
“Oh—different places.” The cross-examination was growing too searching. “Judy, I don’t want you to ask me questions, dear.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Earle,” was the quick response.
“It isn’t my secret, but your mother’s. I am telling you without her leave, and she may be worried when she knows. I want you to promise to ask no questions—to try not to be curious, even though it’s hard, about what really doesn’t concern you two or me. We are only acting as agents, and it isn’t our business. And don’t ask your mother anything when she is better. It is a matter to be silent about—on the honour of the Band.”
“Cross-our-hearts!” they said in chorus—a touch of awe on their young faces.
“That’s all right, then. Just look upon it that you’re doing a good turn and helping a lame dog over a stile—and, of course, one doesn’t talk of that sort of thing afterwards.”
“Rather not!” Jack said. “We’re never to speak of it again, ’cept when we three are together.”
“And very little then,” I said. “I’m going to forget all about it from the minute I come home to-night.”
“I don’t s’pose we could do that, because it’s the biggest adventure we’ve ever had in the world, and we’re awfully obliged to you for giving it to us—aren’t we, Ju? But it’s a deadly secret for ever and ever. Will Mr. Smith know who we are?”
“He may. But he is rather down on his luck, and I don’t think he will want to talk.”
“Well, goodness knows we don’t want to worry the poor beggar!” remarked Jack, in masculine sympathy. “Can I be engine-man, Miss Earle?”
“Yes, please. And will you steer, Judy?”
“Don’t you want to? Oh, I’d love to—and then it’ll be all our expedition and you’ll just be the Admiral and not do any work!” Judy hugged me in her ecstasy. “We know Southport quite well, you see—we’ve often been there in the launch, so we can do it all ourselves.” Joy overcame her: she jumped up and pranced round the room wildly.
“Judy, you villain, be quiet, or I won’t let you be even a cabin-boy,” I said, laughing. “You have got to be absolutely steady and silent—both of you. Now go on with your reading while I get ready.”
I peeped at Mrs. McNab, who was still sleeping heavily; and then ran up to her study, the key of which was in my care. The suit-case was on the table: I glanced inside it, to make sure that the money was there. Yes, it was all safe—a neat package of crisp bank-notes, tucked into a stout envelope among the clothes. Locking the study, I carried the suit-case down to my room, and found a long coat, into the pocket of which I slipped an electric torch, with a dark veil to tie over my hair. Then I scribbled on a half-sheet of notepaper: “Gone with Judy and Jack—please don’t worry,” and put it on a little tray with nourishment: a glass of milk and one of barley-water, with a saucer of chicken jelly. Mrs. McNab did not stir as I put the tray on the table beside her bed.
“Please go on sleeping,” I whispered. “I’ll take great care of your babies.” There was no sound but her heavy breathing, and I tiptoed out. I found Judy and Jack returning ecstatically from arranging dummy figures in their beds. We extinguished all the lights in our part of the house, and in a few moments we were hurrying across the paddock. It was barely nine o’clock.
There was no doubt that the presence of my two outlaws gave our expedition the air of a joyous adventure. Mrs. McNab and I had come in fear and trembling, seeing danger in every shadow; but with Judy and Jack I raced merrily down to the shore, and we stowed ourselves in the launch and pushed off with much ridiculous pomp and ceremony, as befitted a lordly Admiral with a crew sworn to be faithful. To the children it was simply a colossal lark, spiced with a glorious touch of mystery; it was easy enough to take their view of it and share their delight, until Shepherd’s Island suddenly showed before us. Then we ran in silently, and I got out and went up the slope for a little way, giving the signal of three low whistles—at which I could feel the new thrill that ran through Judy and Jack. Three whistles—and a hunted man in the dark! And to think that we, who shared this wonder, had a week ago played at pirates, like children, with gulls for foes!
Ronald Hull came running down with long strides.
“Is that you, Marie?” he breathed. “Have you heard from Transom?”
“Mrs. McNab is ill,” I told him curtly. “She has sent me in her place. The letter came this morning, and we are ready to take you to Southport, now.”
“We! Whom have you told?”
“Nobody. I have Judy and Jack with me, to help with the boat, but they do not know who you are. It was the only way: you have to be in Adelaide as quickly as possible.”
“But have you the money? I can’t go without it.”
“I have everything, and here is Transom’s letter: you are to get out at Mount Lofty, outside Adelaide, where he will meet you with a car. Is there anything you want to ask me?—because I do not want you to talk before the children. Your voice is so like their mother’s that it might make them suspicious. And please keep your hat pulled down well over your face.”
“You’re free enough with your orders,” he said with a sneer. “However, I suppose I am in your hands. Where is the money?”
“In the launch, in your suit-case. Do you want to get anything from the hut?”
“Yes—my hat and a few things. Get into the boat; I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He ran back, and I went down to the shore, where Judy and Jack waited in a solemn silence. But the launch seemed to quiver with their ecstasy!
We carried no light as yet—the moon gave us sufficient to steer by, though clouds hid it now and then. I was glad that a bank had drifted across its broad face just as Ronald Hull came down, in a long mackintosh, with a soft hat pulled over his eyes. He took his place on the bow, and we edged away for the last time from Shepherd’s Island.
Never was there a more silent voyage. Not a word fell between us as we ran the long miles along the coast, passing, one after another, the lights of little villages. The sky grew more and more overcast, and the air warmer, with little puffs of hot wind now and then. Had I been less centred on getting to Southport and seeing the last of my passenger, I might have been anxious about the weather; but I could only think of the blessed certainty that soon he would be gone, and hug myself with joy when I remembered the news I should have in the morning for Mrs. McNab. Judy’s hand was light on the tiller: Jack crouched over the engine, a queer, gnome-like figure, in the shadow. Ahead, the sinister figure sat on the bow, his back to us, smoking. I wondered what his feelings were, with freedom opening before him: and hardened my heart anew as I recollected that he had made no inquiry whatever about Mrs. McNab’s illness. Truly, it was a meritorious act, to rid a family of Mr. Ronald Hull.
“There’s Southport!” Judy said softly.
The lights of a town showed ahead, scattered and dim, with a few standing apart that marked the pier. We ran in gently, slowing the engine. No one was to be seen as we crept alongside the pier, looking for the steps at its side. The launch scraped them presently, and Mr. Hull steadied her and sprang ashore, while I handed up his possessions.
“Thanks,” he said, in a low voice. “Good night.”
“Good night—and good luck!” I had to say that, because I was representing Mrs. McNab. But I fear that, so long as he got clear of Australia, I did not care in the least whatever might happen to Mrs. McNab’s brother. I only hoped fervently that we might never see him again. It is years ago now, but he still gives me unpleasant dreams.
We headed for home joyfully, dodging anchored fishing-boats until we were out in the open and could go full speed ahead. Nothing mattered to us now: we had dropped our dangerous cargo, and not one of us cared who heard our engine as Jack opened the throttle and the launch shot over the oily sea. Judy was the first to speak.
“I did want to see his face, so’s I could make him into a real hero,” she said regretfully. “You can’t make a hero very well out of a mackintosh and a felt hat!”
“I don’t see why you can’t,” I told her, laughing. “It makes it all the more beautifully mysterious, like the Man in the Iron Mask. But you are to wash him out of your memory as soon as you can, and only remember that the Band had a gorgeous and exciting midnight voyage. As a matter of fact, this isn’t a motor-launch at all: it’s theGolden Hind, and I’m Drake, and you are my faithful captains!”
“And there’s a Spaniard ahead!” quoth Jack ferociously. “Up, Guards, and at ’em!”
A hot puff of wind went by; and a dash of spray fell on board. I glanced round, to see a dark line of clouds across the sky.
“There may or may not be Spaniards ahead, but there’s rain and wind behind,” I said. “Get all you can out of her, Jack—I don’t want to take you two home like drowned rats.”
“P’f!” Judy ejaculated. “What’s rain to us jolly mariners!”
We were to have an opportunity of seeing that. The clouds spread rapidly, and the wind rose. We were yet five miles from home when the moon was blotted out, and almost simultaneously the rain came down, in gusty squalls that deepened to a steady downpour. I took the tiller from Judy, who sat peering forward, picking up one shore-light after another as we raced the leaping seas. They were staunch comrades, my Fellow-Members: they sat as unconcernedly as if they were at dinner, efficient and cheerful, while I wondered what I should have done had I come alone, as I had wished. At intervals they apologized to me for the unpleasant nature of their weather, and hoped I was not getting very wet.
“We’ll have to turn and run back against it pretty soon, if it doesn’t clear,” Judy remarked. “It won’t do to get among the islands in this darkness.”
“It’s going to clear,” Jack said, scanning the horizon wisely.
“Well, you just slow down,” returned his sister. “I’d hate to hit an island at this pace!”
Jack grunted, and slowed down—and grunted again as a wave hit us squarely, deluging us with a rush of black water, just as the cover slammed down on the engine. That was the last effort of the squall: it lifted and blew away over the sea, and the moon came out and sailed majestically through the flying clouds, revealing the fact that we were quite unpleasantly near the islands which Judy would have hated to hit. Nothing troubled us now; we sang a song of triumph in whispers as we danced over the big seas and rounded the headland of Porpoise Bay. There is great solace in a whispered chant of triumph if circumstances prevent a full-throated chorus.
Drenched, but entirely cheerful, my outlaws and I made a burglarious entry into the darkened house. I had taken the precaution of leaving a big Thermos of hot milk, with which I regaled them when I had them snugly tucked into bed, after a brisk rub-down.
“That was heavenly!” said Judy, snuggling into her pillow. “I’ve had the most beautiful night of my life, Miss Earle, and I’ll bless you for it always!”
“Me, too,” echoed Jack sleepily.
“I rather enjoyed it myself,” I said. “Go to sleep, Fellow-Members. I shall certainly tell Colin that if he ever wants two mates in a tight place I can supply him from the Band!”