Poison Island

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

  CHAPTER XIV.

  HOW I BROKE OUT THE BED ENSIGN.

  We were seated in council in the little parlour of Minden Cottage--Miss Belcher, Miss Plinlimmon, Mr. Jack Rogers, Mr. Goodfellow, andI. Mr. Goodfellow had been included at Miss Belcher's particularrequest. Constable Hosken had been despatched to search theplantation thoroughly and to report. Two other constables hadarrived, and were coping, in front and rear of the cottage, with asteady if straggling incursion of visitors from the near villages andhamlets of St. Germans, Hessenford, Bake, and Catchfrench, drawn byreports of a second murder to come and stand and gaze at thepremises. The report among them (as I learned afterwards) ran that asecond body--alleged by some to be mine, by others to be Ann thecook's--had been discovered lying in its own blood in the attic; butthe marvel was how the report could have spread at all, since MissBelcher had sworn the two woodmen to secrecy. Whoever spread itcould have known very little, for the sightseers wasted all theircuriosity on the house and concerned themselves not at all with theplantation.

  From the plantation Miss Belcher had led me straight to the house,and there in the darkened parlour I had told my story, corroboratedhere and there by Mr. Goodfellow. In the intervals of my narrativeMiss Belcher insisted on my swallowing great spoonfuls of hotbread-and-milk, against which--faint though I was and famished--mygorge rose. Also the ordeal of gulping it under four pairs of eyeswas not a light one. But Miss Belcher insisted, and Miss Belcherstood no nonsense.

  I told them of my acquaintance with Captain Coffin; how he hadinvited me to his lodgings and promised me wealth; of his studyingnavigation, of his reference to the island and the treasure hidden onit, and of the one occasion when he vouchsafed me a glimpse of thechart; of the French prisoner, Aaron Glass, and how we escaped fromhim, and of the plan we arranged together at the old windmill; howCaptain Danny had taken boat to board the St. Mawes packet; how theman Glass had followed; how I had visited the lodgings, and of theconfusion I found there. I described the ex-prisoner's appearanceand clothing in detail, and here I had Mr. Goodfellow to confirm meunder cross-examination.

  "An' the cap'n," said he, "was afraid of him. I give you my word,ladies and gentlemen, I never saw a man worse scared in my life.Put up his hands, he did, an' fairly screeched, an' bolted out o' thedoor with his arm linked in the lad's."

  Three or four times in the course of my narrative I happened tothrust my hands into my breeches-pocket, and was reminded of the goldeyeglass concealed there. I had managed very artfully to keepCaptain Branscome entirely out of the story, but twice underexamination I was forced to mention him--and each time, curiouslyenough, in answer to a question of Miss Belcher's.

  "You are sure this Captain Coffin showed the chart to no one butyourself?" she asked.

  "I am pretty sure, ma'am."

  "There was always a tale about Falmouth that Cap'n Danny had struck aburied treasure," said Mr. Goodfellow. "'Twas a joke in the publics,and with the street boys; but I never heard tell till now that anyone took it serious."

  "He was learning navigation," mused Miss Belcher. "What was the nameof his teacher?"

  "A Captain Branscome, ma'am. He's a teacher at Stimcoe's."

  "Lives in the house, does he?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "A _Captain_ Branscome, you say?"

  "Yes, ma'am. He's a retired packet captain, and lame of one leg.Every one in Falmouth knows Captain Branscome."

  "H'm! Wouldn't this Captain Branscome wonder a little that a man ofyour friend's age, and (we'll say) a bit wrong in his head, shouldwant to learn navigation?"

  "He might, ma'am."

  "He certainly would," snapped Miss Belcher. "And wouldn't thisCaptain Branscome know it was perfectly useless to teach such a man?"

  "I dare say he would, ma'am," I answered, guiltily recalling CaptainBranscome's own words to me on this subject.

  "Then why did he take the man's money, eh? Well, go on with yourstory."

  I breathed more easily for a while, but by-and-by, when I came totell of the discussion by the old windmill, I felt her eyes upon meagain.

  "Wait a moment. Captain Coffin gave you a key, and this key was toopen the corner cupboard in his lodgings. Wasn't it rather foolishof him to send you, seeing that this Aaron Glass had seen you in hiscompany, and would recognize you if he were watching the premises,which was just what you both feared?"

  "He didn't count on me to go," I admitted; "at least, not firstalong."

  "On whom, then?"

  "On Captain Branscome, ma'am."

  "Oh! Did he send you with that message to Captain Branscome?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Then why didn't you tell us so? Well, when you took the message,what did Captain Branscome say? And why didn't he go?"

  "He was not at home, ma'am. Mr. Stimcoe had given us a holiday inhonour of the prisoners."

  "I see. So Captain Branscome was off on an outing? When did hereturn?"

  "I didn't see him that evening, ma'am."

  "That's not an answer to my question. I asked, When did he return?"

  "Not until yesterday afternoon."

  I had to think before giving this answer, so long a stretch of timeseemed to lie between me and yesterday afternoon.

  "Where had he been spending his holiday meanwhile?"

  "He didn't tell me, ma'am."

  "At all events, he didn't turn up for school next day, nor the nextagain, until the afternoon. Queer sort of academy, Stimcoe's.Did Mr. Stimcoe make any remark on his under-teacher's absence?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "The school went on just as usual?"

  "No-o, ma'am "--I hesitated--"not quite just as usual. Mr. Stimcoewas unwell."

  "Drunk?"

  "My dear Miss Belcher!" put in the scandalized Plinny. "A scholar,and such a gentleman!"

  "Fiddlestick-end!" snapped the unconscionable lady, not removing hereyes from mine. "Was this man Stimcoe drunk, eh? No; I beg yourpardon," she corrected herself. "I oughtn't to be asking a boy totell tales out of school. 'Thou shalt not say anything to get anotherfellow into trouble'--that's the first and last commandment--eh,Harry Brooks? But, my good soul"--she turned on Plinny--"if 'drunkand incapable' isn't written over the whole of that seminary, you maycall me a Dutchwoman!"

  "There's a point or so clear enough," she announced, after a pause,when I had finished my story.

  "We must placard the whole country with a description of thatprisoner chap Glass," said Mr. Jack Rogers; "and I'd best be off toFalmouth and get the bills printed at once."

  "Indeed?" said Miss Belcher, dryly. "And pray how are you proposingto describe him?"

  "Why, as for that, I should have thought Harry's description here,backed up by Mr. Goodfellow's, was enough to lay a trail upon anyman. My dear Lydia, a fellow roaming the country in a red coat,drill trousers, and a japanned hat!"

  "It would obviously excite remark: so obviously that the likelihoodmight even occur to the man himself."

  Mr. Rogers looked crestfallen for a moment.

  "You suggest that by this time he has changed his rig?"

  "I suggest, rather, that he started by changing it, say, as far backas St. Mawes. Some one must ride to St. Mawes at once and makeinquiries." Miss Belcher drummed her fingers on the table."But the man," she said thoughtfully, "will have reached Plymouthlong before this."

  "You don't think it possible he went back the same way he came?"

  "In a world, Jack, where you find yourself a magistrate, all thingsare possible. But I don't think it at all likely."

  "It's a rum story altogether," mused Mr. Rogers. "A couple ofmurders in this part of the world, and mixed up with an island fullof treasure! Why, damme, 'tis almost like Shakespeare!"

  "For my part," observed Miss Plinlimmon, with great simplicity,"though sometimes accused of leaning unduly toward the romantic, Ishould be inclined to set down this story of Captain Coffin's tohallucination, or even to stigmatize it as what I believe is calledin nau
tical parlance 'a yarn.'"

  "And small blame to you, my dear!" agreed Miss Belcher; "only, yousee, when folks go about killing one another, the hallucinationbegins to look disastrously as if there were something in it."

  "Yet I still fail to see," urged Plinny, "why our dear Major shouldhave fallen a victim."

  "It's plain as a pikestaff, if you'll excuse me," Mr. Rogers answeredher. "This Coffin carried the chart on him, meaning to deliver itinto the Major's keeping. He came here, entered the garden by theside-gate, found the Major in the summer-house, told his story,handed over the chart, and was making his way back to the high-roadthrough the plantation, when he came full on this man Aaron Glass,who had tracked him all the way from St. Mawes. Glass fell on him,murdered him, rifled his pockets, and, finding nothing--but havingsome hint, perhaps--pursued his way to the garden here. There in thesummer-house he found the Major, who meanwhile had fetched hiscashbox from the house and locked the chart up in it. What followed,any one can guess."

  "Not a bad theory, Jack!" murmured Miss Belcher, still drummingsoftly on the table. "Indeed, 'tis the only explanation, but for oneor two things against it."

  "For instance?"

  "For instance, I don't see why the Major should want to go to thehouse and bring back his cashbox to the garden. Surely the simplething was to take the paper, or whatever it was, straight to thehouse, lock it up, and leave the cashbox in its usual place? I don'tsee, either, what that box was doing, later on, in the brook below mylodge-gate; for, by every chance that I can reckon, the murderer--supposing him to be this man Glass--would have pushed on in haste forPlymouth, whereas my lodge-gate lies half a mile in the oppositedirection."

  "Are those all your objections?" asked Mr. Rogers. "Because, if so,I must say they don't amount to much."

  "They don't amount to much," Miss Belcher agreed, "but they don't, onthe other hand, quite cover all my doubts. However, there's lessdoubt, luckily, about the next step to be taken. You send Hosken orsome one to Torpoint Ferry to inquire what strangers have crossed forPlymouth during these forty-eight hours. You meanwhile borrow myroan filly--your own mare is dead-beat--clap her in the tilbury, andoff you go to St. Mawes, and find out how this man Glass got hold ofa change of clothes. Take Mr. Goodfellow with you, and while you areplaying detective at St. Mawes, he can cross over to Falmouth andfetch along the corner cupboard. Harry has the key, and we'll openit here and read what the captain has to say in this famous roll ofpaper. It won't do more than tantalize us, I very much fear, seeingthat the chart has disappeared, and likely enough for ever."

  But it had not.

  It so happened that while I stood by my father's bedside that morningI had noticed a flag, rolled in a bundle and laid upon the chest ofdrawers beside his dressing-table. I concluded at once that Plinnyhad fetched it from the summer-house to spread over his coffin.

  Women know nothing about flags. This one was a red ensign, in thosedays a purely naval flag, carried (since Trafalgar) by the highestrank of admirals. Ashore, any one could hoist it, but the flag tocover a soldier's body was the flag of Union.

  This had crossed my mind when I caught sight of the red ensign on thechest of drawers; and again in the summer-house, as I lifted the lidof the flag-locker and noted the finger-marks in the dust upon it, Iguessed that Plinny had visited it with pious purpose, and,woman-like, chosen the first flag handy. I had meant to repair hermistake, and again had forgotten my intention.

  Mr. Jack Rogers had driven off for St. Mawes, with Mr. Goodfellow inthe tilbury beside him. Constable Hosken was on his way to Torpoint.Miss Belcher had withdrawn to her great house, after insisting that Imust be fed once more and packed straight off to bed; and fed I dulywas, and tucked between sheets, to sleep, exhausted, very nearly theround of the clock.

  Footsteps awoke me--footsteps on the landing outside my bedroom.I sat up, guessing at once that they were the footsteps of thecarpenter and his men, arrived in the dawn with the shell of myfather's coffin. Almost at once I remembered the red ensign, and,waiting until the footsteps withdrew, stole across, half dressed, tomy father's room to change it. The faint rays of dawn drifted inthrough the closed blinds. The coffin-shell lay the length of thebed, and in it his body. The carpenter's men had left it uncovered.In the dim light, no doubt, they had overlooked the flag, which Ifelt for and found. Tucking it under my arm, I closed the door andtiptoed downstairs, let myself out at the back, and stole out to thesummer-house.

  There was light enough within to help me in selecting the Union flagfrom the half-dozen within the locker. I was about to stow the redensign in its place when I bethought me that, day being so near, Imight as well bend a flag upon the flagstaff halliards and half-mastit.

  So, with the Union flag under one arm, I carried out the red ensign,bent it carefully, still in a roll, and hoisted it to the truck.In half-masting a flag, you first hoist it in a bundle to themasthead, break it out there, and thence lower it to the position atwhich you make fast.

  I felt the flag's toggle jam chock-a-block against the truck of thestaff, and gave a tug, shaking out the flag to the still morningbreeze. A second later something thudded on the turf close at myfeet.

  I stared at it; but the halliards were in my hand, and before pickingit up I must wait and make them fast on the cleat. Still I stared atit, there where it lay on the dim turf.

  And still I stared at it. Either I was dreaming yet, or this--thisthing that had fallen from heaven--was the oilskin bag that hadwrapped Captain Coffin's chart.

  I stooped to pick it up. At that instant the side-gate rattled, andwith a start I faced, in the half light--Captain Branscome.