CHAPTER XVI
WATERMARKS
As they began to retrace their steps through the tunnel, Armstrongsaid--
"If we count our paces we shall have some sort of an idea where we'vebeen to. We know the tunnel runs pretty nearly due east from the ruins,and there must be a building at the end. It seems to me it's a choicebetween the Red House and that old tower. There's no other."
"True. Well, we'll both count. Bet you we don't agree."
"People never do agree when the count is a long one. Besides, we can'tkeep step in the dark, unless we left-right all the way, and I'm hangedif I do that!"
They started. Suddenly Warrender stopped.
"I say, we shall look pretty green if some one has discovered that opentrap in our absence--Rush, for example."
"Frightful mugs, the two of us. We ought to have closed it. But it'sstill very early in the morning. Let's hope Rush isn't up with thelark. Hang it. I've forgotten how many steps I'd counted. What do youmake it?"
"Fifty-eight. Concentrate your mind, my son."
"I'll start at fifty-nine, then. Don't you think we might venture on alight now?"
"Not for anything. The tunnel's straight, and if you've ever been in astraight railway tunnel you'll know a light can be seen for miles.Better be on the safe side."
They completed the course in darkness.
"Well, what's your total?" asked Warrender.
"Two hundred and eighty-three."
"Mine's two hundred and ninety-one. Not so bad."
On emerging into the cellar, they replaced the flagstone and made surethat the hand-grips were turned as they had found them. Then theymounted to the upper floor of the cottage.
"I want to discover how that moaning is caused," said Armstrong.
"But it means shinning up to the roof," said Warrender. "It's broaddaylight now. You might be seen."
"So I might. Well, let's take a look over Ambrose Pratt's grounds."
They went into the eastern room. The tower, a little south of thehouse, appeared to be slightly the nearer to them, but, ignorant as theywere of the exact length of their paces, they agreed that the end of thetunnel might lie beneath either of the buildings.
Going then into the room facing south, they started back from thewindow. Rush was tramping along the weedy path leading to the southernend of the island.
"Lucky I didn't climb!" murmured Armstrong.
They watched the man. He seemed to be a little suspicious, stoppingevery now and again to listen and look round. Presently he disappearedinto the thicket.
"Safe to go now?" asked Armstrong.
"Let's wait a bit."
Warrender kept his eyes fixed on the stretch of river which was visibleover the low trees southward. After a while he saw a small boat movingslowly down stream.
"All right now," he remarked. "I dare say he's been spying out on ourcamp from the north end. Hope he hasn't missed us."
"Or found our pram! Come on, I want my breakfast."
They stepped out of the cottage, regained the western shore, discoveredthe pram where they had concealed it, and, having crossed the riverunobserved, so far as they knew, laid the craft in its formerhiding-place, and returned to camp. Pratt was busy at the paraffinstove.
"What ho!" he exclaimed. "One must feed, even when pain and anguishwring the brow. I made sure the spooks or some one had got you, andafter fortifying myself with bacon and eggs I was going up to ask oldCrawshay whether an inquest would be necessary. You look very muchwashed out. Been on the tiles?"
"I'll wring your neck if you don't hand over that frying-pan," saidArmstrong.
"Thy necessity is greater than mine. As you know, I'd lick PhilipSidney or any other old paladin in chivalry. Eat, drink, and be merry.There's enough coffee brewed for us all. Make a fair division of thebacon and eggs between you, and I'll fry some more in a brace of shakes.I say, I am jolly glad to see you! I've had the deuce of a time!"
"More pin-pricks?" asked Warrender.
"No. But I'm blessed--or cursed--with a very vivid imagination, as youare aware. I stayed up till daybreak, expecting you back every minute,and when you didn't come I got in a regular stew, saw you tumble fromthe roof, and your members all disjected over the garden--horrid sight!Saw you knocked on the head, trussed and gagged in the cellar; boatedoff to France; growing white-haired in a dungeon like that fellow in theBastille--you know, finger nails a yard long--mice and rats and toads.Toads were the last straw, I saw 'em hopping about, and----"
"That bacon done?" said Armstrong. "How many bottles of ginger-beer didyou drink?"
"I am not drunk, most noble Festus. But I say, what _did_ happen?"
"I'd have told you already," said Warrender, "only I couldn't get a wordin."
"That's the reward of patience! I only twaddled, you juggins, to giveyou a chance to feed. You did both look awfully done up. The hue ofhealth is returning now. Fire away, then!"
Warrender, between the mouthfuls, related the experiences of the night,Pratt showing unusual self-restraint as a listener.
"My poor old uncle!" he exclaimed at the conclusion of the story. "Hecan't be convicted as an accessory, can he?"
"Of course not," replied Warrender. "No one could hold him responsiblefor what his foreign crew are doing in his absence. It's a pity youdon't know where he's gone. A cable or a Marconigram would bring himhome post-haste."
"I might, perhaps, ask Gradoff for his last address."
"The less we have to do with Gradoff the better, until we have got tothe bottom of the business. Just run down to the boat, will you, andbring up our map."
The scale of the map was two inches to the mile. A moment's examinationproved that the tower, marked on the map, lay within a radius ofone-eighth of a mile from the island.
"There isn't much doubt that the far end of the tunnel is under thetower," said Warrender. "The house is a trifle beyond. Didn't you everhear of the smugglers' passage, Percy?"
"Never. All I know about it is the tradition that some one was starvedin the tower centuries ago. My sister and I used to play in it as kids;it was a mere ruin then; no roof, no boarding on the windows."
"I wonder if a local guide-book would give any information?" saidArmstrong.
"Good idea! We'll see presently," said Pratt.
"But we're not studying antiquities," Warrender remarked. "Theessential point is, what are those beggars using the place for now?What are they doing with those bales of paper? Come into the tent, andI'll show you the specimen I bagged."
Within the shelter of the tent he unfolded the sheet, and the othersbent over it curiously, fingering it.
"It has a sort of parchmenty feel, and it's much too thick for cigarettepaper," said Pratt. "Is there a watermark?" He held it up to thesunlight.
"Jiminy!" he exclaimed. Whipping out his pocket-book he took a poundnote, and held it beside the larger sheet. "Look here! The watermark'salmost, but not quite, the same. A dashed clever imitation. Here arethe words, 'One pound,' crowns, diagonal hatchings--everything. Thebeggars are forging Bradburys."
The sinister discovery almost robbed the others of breath. There couldbe little room for doubt. Such paper, so marked, could be used for onlyone purpose. A flood of light was poured on all the mysterious eventsof the past week. The paper was brought from abroad, and landed as arule on the island in preference to the coast, to avoid the risk ofinterference by coastguards; also, no doubt, for greater ease oftransport. Rush was employed because he was a well-known figure in theneighbourhood, and could go up and down the river in his boat withoutawakening suspicion. He might or might not know the contents of thebales; what was clear was that the printing of the notes must be doneeither in the tower or in Mr. Pratt's house. The foreigners had enteredhis service with no other end in view than their criminal work.Gradoff, the head of the gang, had probably known in advance of Mr.Pratt's intention to
travel, and had astutely seized the opportunity ofcarrying on his operations in this remote spot, on the premises of aneccentric gentleman who was something of a recluse, and prone to quarrelwith his neighbours.
"They're clever blackguards," said Pratt. "No wonder the island ishaunted! And I say, Molly Rod's peculiar actions the other day areexplained. She has found out what's going on, and being a decentEnglishwoman, wants to stop it, husband or no husband. You may say whatyou like, Jack; I'm certain it is she who makes those signals, and, ofcourse, my poor old uncle is absolutely ignorant of everything. He'llbe in a terrific bait when he knows."
"What's our next move to be?" asked Warrender. "Inform the police?"
"Certainly not that fellow who yarned about arson the other night," saidArmstrong. "It's a matter for the Chief Constable."
"Or Mr. Crawshay? He's a magistrate," suggested Pratt.
"And an impetuous old hothead," rejoined Armstrong.
"Plenty of common sense, though," said Warrender. "You remember, hesaid a good case is often lost through being ill prepared? Well, we'vestill only suspicion to go on. There's no earthly doubt about it, ofcourse; but wouldn't it be best to catch the forgers in the act beforewe call in the law?"
"It means loss of time," said Armstrong.
"That doesn't matter to us. You see, if we set the authorities at worknow, they might send a bobby to the house to make inquiries, and giveclever scoundrels like those a chance to get away. But if we can go tothem and say definitely, 'An international gang of forgers is printingnotes in the Red House, and here's one of the forgeries,' the matterbecomes much more important, and they'd take steps to secure the wholecrowd without the possibility of failure. To my mind we'd better keepeverything a dead secret until we've got positive proof."
"I concur with my learned brother," said Pratt. "Besides, we've got sofar with it that I own I should hate to see it taken out of our hands.Furthermore and finally, it's good sport, and a ripping holidayadventure."
"That's the best argument of the lot," said Armstrong. "The only soundone. I confess I'd like to get into the tower, and see them at it."
"We'll go through the tunnel again to-night," said Warrender. "If wecan't find an entry that way, we'll try the outside."
"I make a third to-night," said Pratt.
"We must leave some one in camp, if only for appearance's sake," saidWarrender. "I think Armstrong and I had better go again, as we know thecourse. Hope you don't mind. Your turn will come, Percy."
"Well, I'd like to feel myself a martyr, but unluckily I've got acertain amount of common sense, and I can't help admitting you're right.Hadn't you better take a snooze, then?"
"I intend to," said Armstrong. "We'll sleep till lunch; this afternoonwe'll go to the village and get a guide-book. We want some more bacon,too."
"And I'll start preparing our case," said Pratt. "We'd better have it inwriting, so I'll draw up an account of our discoveries so far.Shouldn't wonder if it becomes a classic document in the archives ofScotland Yard."
After lunch Armstrong and Warrender set off up the river in the dinghyfor the sake of exercise. They made various purchases in the village,and obtained a small guide-book at the post office. It contained a fewlines about the tower, which Warrender read aloud as they returned tothe ferry: "In the grounds of the Red House are the remains of a squaretower, believed to date from the troublous times of King Stephen. Thereis a tradition that in the thirteenth century a certain baron wasincarcerated there by an ancestor of the present owner, and starved todeath. At one time open to the public, since tourists cut theirinitials in the oaken beams it has been closed to sightseers."
"Not a word about smugglers, you see," remarked Warrender. "The secretwas evidently very well kept."
Rogers happened to be cleaning his windows as they passed, and theyturned to have a chat with him. Warrender discreetly led theconversation to the subject of the tower.
"Ay, 'tis the only old ancient curiosity we've got in these parts," saidthe innkeeper. "I know the place, though I haven't been there since Iwas a nipper, thirty odd years ago. Us youngsters used to like to climbthe winding stairs; 'twas open in those days. Had no roof then. Mr.Pratt a few years back did some restoring, as they call it; put on aflat roof. My friend Saunders, his old butler, told me the top room wasused as a sort of museum; Mr. Pratt kept there a whole lot ofcuriosities he'd collected in his travels. I mind as how my neighbourParsons, the builder, was affronted because the building job was done bya firm from Dartmouth, and so far as I know none of the village folkhave been inside the place since. Mr. Pratt was very particular afterhe'd rigged up his museum; wouldn't let anybody in except his specialcronies; and 'tis always locked up when he's away, so if you young gentshad an idea of visiting it, I'm afeard you'll be disappointed."
"We should certainly have liked to see the museum," said Warrender."There's nothing else very interesting, apparently. But no doubt thecuriosities are valuable, and Mr. Pratt is quite right to lock up theplace. Have you seen your sister, by the way?"
"Not a sign of her. She've deserted us quite. She won't even see HeneryDrew's milkman, I suppose becos Henery fought her husband's friend,Jensen. I call it downright silly, but there, who'd be so bold as tosay what a woman'll do next? There's my missus----"
"Now, Joe," called Mrs. Rogers from within, "get on with they winders,my man. There's all the pewters to shine afore opening time."
Rogers gave the boys his usual rueful smile, and they went on their way.Rowing with their faces up stream, they did not notice until they pulledin to the landing-place above the camp that the motor-boat no longer layat her moorings.
"Have those beggars let her drift again?" said Warrender, angrily."Pratt!" he called.
There was no answer. They looked down the river. The boat was not insight. Hurrying to the tent, with the expectation of finding Prattasleep there, they discovered that it was untenanted.
"What the dickens!" exclaimed Warrender. "Surely he hasn't gone larkingwith the boat? He always prided himself on knowing nothing about herworking!"
"Seems to me they've run off with him and the boat too," said Armstrong."Where's his banjo, by the way?"
It was neither in the tent nor on the chair outside, where Prattsometimes left it.
They looked blankly at each other for a moment, then Warrenderexclaimed--
"Come on! This is serious! I can't believe he's kidnapped. What's theuse of that? Let us row down--perhaps he hasn't gone far."
They ran to the bank, sprang into the dinghy, and sculled rapidly downstream, every now and then turning their heads to scan the river, thebanks, the island, for a sign of the motor-boat. They had almost reachedthe mouth when Armstrong suddenly cried--
"Listen! Isn't that a banjo?"
They shipped oars. Faintly on the breeze from seaward came the strainsof "Three Blind Mice." A few strokes brought the rowers round theslight bend. Looking out to sea they descried, about half a mile away,the motor-boat, stationary, lapped by white-crested wavelets.
"By George! He's picked up some girls," exclaimed Armstrong.
There were certainly two parasols, a pink and a blue, at the stern ofthe boat.
"The young dog!" cried Warrender. "And got them stranded on a sandbank.But 'Three Blind Mice!' He's a rummy idea of entertaining girls."
The sound of the banjo ceased. "Ahoy!" came from the boat, and the twoparasols were agitated. The scullers pulled on.
"Heavens! It's Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter," said Warrender, afterglancing over his shoulder. Armstrong grinned.
"Twig?" he said. "Master Percy has been showing off."
"Silly young ass! Jolly lucky he hasn't wrecked 'em! I shall have totalk to him."
They rowed almost up to the boat, keeping clear of the sandbank.
"Hullo, old sports," said Pratt. "Really, Phil, you ought to carry achart--an up-to-date one, you know, that would show all the coral reefsand other traps for the hapless nav
igator. The Admiralty ought to mark'em with buoys or lightships or something, but you can never expectanything from the Government. There's no danger, of course. I assuredthe ladies that they needn't be the least bit nervous or frightened, butit's annoying to be pulled up when you don't want to be. I'm sure a'bus conductor must get frightfully annoyed when the old 'bus isspanking along and somebody wants to get in or out. I dare say you'venoticed it, Mrs. Crawshay; the conductor is so ratty at beinginterrupted that he simply won't see the umbrella you're waving at himfrom the kerb. Mrs. Crawshay and Miss Crawshay were kind enough to pay acall on us at the camp this afternoon. It was just after you had gone,and as it was far too early for tea, I thought it would beinteresting--what they call a treat, you know"--Pratt's impetuous tonguehad fairly run away with his _savoir faire_--"to take the ladies for aspin, especially as they had never been in a motor-boat before. Ipromised faithfully to bring them back to tea; you got some meringuesand things, of course--and I have a distinct grudge against fate formaking me out to be not a man of my word. There's no armour against----"
"Oh, Mr. Pratt, please!" Lilian Crawshay implored. "Mr. Warrender, canyou get us off?"
"I have given up all hope of tea," said Mrs. Crawshay, good-temperedly."We have friends coming to dinner, and Mr. Pratt tells me that we mustwait till the tide turns. Will that be long?"
"Three hours or so, I'm afraid," replied Warrender.
"Dear, dear! We shall be very late, Lilian," said Mrs. Crawshay.
"Can't you tug us off?" asked the girl.
"I'm sorry to say we haven't a hawser. But I think we could pull thedinghy near enough for you to get into it, if Mrs. Crawshay wouldventure?"
"I'll venture anything rather than wait here three hours," said thelady, "though Mr. Pratt has been most kind. I have really quite enjoyedit, but three hours more, you know----"
"It would be rather awful!" said Warrender, with a glance at Pratt, whohaving succeeded in his object, to prevent certain disclosures, wasmopping his brow in the background. Now, however, he came forward.
"That's right, Phil," he said. "No nearer, or you'll run aground too."
He leapt overboard, and stood up to his knees in water. "I'll hold theboat's nose, Mrs. Crawshay. Or perhaps I might take you in my armsand----" "Bless the boy! You're getting your feet wet. No, no! I don'tthink you shall take me in your arms."
"Or try pick-a-back? Or shall I make myself into a gangway for you towalk over? I'd stand perfectly firm."
"If you would give me a hand! Lilian, my dear, jump in first. Then youcan each give me a hand, and I shall manage very nicely. Dear me! Whatan adventure for an old woman!"
"Not at all," said Pratt. "I mean----"
"I am sure you do," said Mrs. Crawshay, interrupting. "Will you take myparasol?"
Pratt meekly relieved her of the parasol, then turned to help the girlinto the dinghy. Lilian, however, sprang in without his aid, andbetween them the two boys assisted the mother, who gave a sigh of reliefas she sank down upon the thwart.
"BETWEEN THEM THE TWO BOYS ASSISTED THE MOTHER"]
"We'll come back for you presently, Pratt," said Warrender, stiffly."Don't attempt to run up, mind."
"Good-bye, Mr. Pratt," said Mrs. Crawshay. "And thank you so much. Whenyou come up to dinner, be sure to bring your banjo."
The two boys pulled off, Pratt climbing back into the motor-boat.
"What a clever, amusing person Mr. Pratt is," said Mrs. Crawshay toArmstrong, facing her. "So ready! And an excellent performer on thebanjo! We could never be dull in his company. He talked most amusingly,then sang us song after song. Don't you think 'Two Eyes of Blue' verypretty, Mr.----"
"Rather sentimental, isn't it?" said Armstrong, blushing.
"All his songs are sentimental. He was playing a very funny tune,though, when you came round the bend. I was sure his voice was gettingtired, and asked him just to play. The tune was quite unknown to me,but I thought it very cheering."
Meanwhile, at the other end of the boat, Lilian had been givingexplanations to Warrender.
"He intended just to bring us to the mouth of the river, but seemed tohave some difficulty in turning round. I think he said he wanted moresea-room. At any rate, he ran out to sea, and then we stuck on thatwretched sandbank. He talked and sang to amuse us; he has quite apleasant voice, but his songs are dreadfully sentimental, aren't they?"
"Frightful tosh!" returned Warrender.
"Well, it was very good of him, especially when he must have been muchannoyed at the mishap, which, of course, wasn't his fault."
"No, of course not," said Warrender.
"You speak as if you thought it was."
"Oh, no. Any one might run on a hidden sandbank. But the fact is----"
"Yes?"
"You see, he was in charge of the camp."
"You mean he oughtn't to have come at all?"
"Naturally he thought it would please you and Mrs. Crawshay, but----"
"Oh!"
The girl said no more.
"She thought I was jealous, or huffy, or something," Warrender confidedto Armstrong later. "I wonder what she'd have said if I'd told her thatthe idiot had never run a motor-boat before?"
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