XXII
A DISCOVERY
I must confess that it was with a strange feeling that I took my seat inthe little village schoolroom that night. I had been born and educatedin a Christian country, and yet I had never been to a prayer-meeting inmy life. As I have previously said, until I came to St. Issey, I hadnot, except for a wedding, entered a Church for years, and here was I,an avowed agnostic, who had little faith in God and none in a futurelife, obeying the Vicar's call to prayer.
I was startled to find, on looking round the room, that not only Mrs.Lethbridge and Isabella, but also Josiah Lethbridge had come. Theirfaces formed a curious contrast. Mrs. Lethbridge looked proud, almosttriumphant, in spite of the marks of the sorrow which were plainly to beseen on her face. I noticed, too, that after the meeting commenced sheentered heartily into the singing of the hymns.
Her daughter's face, on the other hand, was not easy to describe. In onesense she looked callous, bored, indifferent; in another, there was anexpression of amazement, bewilderment, which I could not explain. Butshe made no sign of any sort. She sang none of the hymns, neither didshe bow her head during prayer. As for Josiah Lethbridge, his faceremained stern and immovable during the whole of the meeting.
Some one spoke of him afterwards as looking like a "graven image." Yearsbefore, I was told, Josiah Lethbridge used to pray in theprayer-meetings at the Wesleyan Chapel; but he had ceased doing so for along time, although he had never severed his connection with the Churchand had rigidly maintained his observance of the outward form ofreligion. More than once I wondered why he was there, for he must haveseen the curious eyes that were cast upon him. Of course every one hadheard of Hugh Lethbridge's death. Every one knew, too, that the fatherhad driven his son from home because he had joined the Army, and becausehe had married the girl he loved. Besides all this, it was common talkthat John Treleaven's daughter Mary had never been bidden to the greathouse at Trecarrel. The gossips had talked about it freely, and manyremarks, not complimentary to Hugh's father, had passed. Still he wasthere, his face as stern as ever, his eyes keenly alert to all that tookplace.
Just before the meeting commenced we were somewhat surprised to see notonly the Vicar, but the Wesleyan minister ascend the platform together.The Vicar explained this circumstance at the commencement of theproceedings. He repeated what he had said the previous night, anddescribed how the Church and the Chapel had for years been regarded asopposing camps.
"My dear friends," said the Vicar quietly, "I have been a Churchman allmy life, and shall remain one until my death; but the troubles throughwhich we are passing have taught me to see many things. I suppose weshall never see eye to eye, but we are all believers in the same God andin the same Saviour. More than that, we are all English people. Ladsfrom the Church are fighting at the front, side by side with the ladsfrom the Chapel. They are all fighting for a common cause. We all haveour sorrows, too, and I have been led to see how foolish I have been inbeing so exclusive. Yes, God has taught me many lessons. That is whythis morning I drove to Mr. Bendle's house. He is the minister of thecircuit of which St. Issey Wesleyan Chapel is a part. We talkedtogether, prayed together, and he has come here to-night to help me inthis meeting."
I cannot say that I was much impressed by what took place, and yet in away I was. I had no convictions of my own, but I could not helprealizing the convictions of others. Somehow reality was taking theplace of unreality. Most of the praying was done by the Chapel people,as none of the people from the Church had been taught to pray in public.Indeed, only one Churchman, with the exception of the Vicar, took partin the meeting, and that was the Squire. I will not try to reproduce hisprayer. It was very unconventional, and yet the fact of this man takingpart in such a meeting was significant of much. I noticed, too, that theSquire was as nervous as a child.
When the meeting was over, Mr. Treherne took hold of my arm.
"Wait for me, will you, Erskine? I want to speak to Trelaske a minute,and then I am going to drive you up to your place."
The room was nearly empty at this time, and no one but myself sawIsabella Lethbridge come towards me.
"Mr. Erskine, you do not understand, and because you do not understandyou are hard and unsympathetic," she said.
She gave me no chance of replying, and I was left wondering as to themeaning of her words.
The next morning the newspapers were again full of accounts of the workof the German submarines. Three trading vessels had been sunk, and manylives lost. This reminded me of the determination to which I had come onthe previous Sunday night, and directly after breakfast I madepreparations for carrying out my plans. If there was any truth in oldFather Abraham's warnings, however, it was necessary for me to becareful, so I made a point of reconnoitring the coast before taking anydefinite action.
I dressed myself as if for walking, and arming myself with a walkingstick, and putting the revolver, which Simpson had persuaded me tocarry, in my hip pocket, I went to the highest point of the cliff. Itwas one of those dull days when a thick mist enveloped everything, andalthough this mist, unlike a London fog, did not entirely hide the view,it shut out everything except what lay in the near distance.
I had scarcely reached the summit of the headland when I heard a cry ofpain. With some difficulty I located it, and after investigationdiscovered a poor little mongrel dog, lying wounded. The creature lookedpiteously up at me as I approached, as if to solicit my aid. Onexamining it more closely I found that it had received what seemed likea wound from a pistol or a rifle, but of this I was not sure. I did notthink it was mortally wounded, although it bled freely. I had never seenthe dog before, nor could I imagine who could be its master.
"Poor little chap," I said, as I patted its head. It gave a slight yelp,as if in recognition of my act of kindness. "Simpson has always beenwanting me to keep a dog," I reflected. "I wonder if this little thingwould live if I took it home and cared for it?"
For a moment the incident, slight as it was, drove from my mind thepurpose I had in view. I was preparing to carry it back when I heard thesound of voices. Immediately the dog gave a cry of fear and pain.Perhaps it shrank from my endeavors to carry it. I placed it upon theground, reflecting that I would return to the house and obtain Simpson'sassistance, but at that moment a man and a woman came within my view. Iremembered in a moment that they were the people who had spoken to me,as I sat basking in the sunlight, a few days before.
"Ah, what have you there?" said the man.
"I have only just found it," I replied. "I came out for a walk, andheard the poor little thing moaning."
"The little wretch has been poaching, I expect, and somebody'sgamekeeper has shot it."
"I should not think that likely," was my reply. "This is common landhere, and no one, as far as I know, has attempted to preserve it. Theonly man who owns a gamekeeper in the immediate district is SquireTreherne, and his woods are at least two miles away."
The man looked at the dog, as I thought, indifferently, while the womanshuddered at the sight of blood.
"Have you any idea whose it is?" he asked.
"Not the slightest," I replied.
"I should let him stay, if I were you," said the man. "He is anugly-looking beast, and I should judge that his teeth are poisonous.There is no trusting that kind of dog, they will bite even those who tryto help them."
All this time the poor little thing was whining and whimperingpiteously.
"I shall take it back to the house," I said. "I am afraid it is badlywounded, but I should like to save its life if I could."
"Even if you do, you will never win a prize at the shows," said the man,with a laugh. "I hate those mongrel dogs. By the way," he went on, "isnot this a bad morning for you to be out? You look very ill, and havethe appearance of a man who ought to be in bed."
To this I made no reply. To say the least of it, I regarded it as animpertinence for the man to make any remark at all on my appearance. Iknew nothing of him, and beyond the occasions I have mentioned I hadnever
met him.
"You are a hard-hearted brute," said the lady, speaking to her brother."I think it awfully kind of you, sir, to take so much interest in thepoor little thing."
"Excuse me for asking," said the man, "but since I have met you I haveoften wondered at you living alone at that little hut." His mannerappeared to invite confidence.
"I expect I am somewhat of a hermit," I replied.
"But whatever induced you to live in such a place? Are you not afraid oftramps and that sort of thing?" and he nodded towards my little house.
"Tramps!" I replied. "I have not seen a tramp since I have been inCornwall."
"Well, different people, different tastes!" and he laughed as he spoke."But if I were you I should not live in such a lonely spot as that forwhatever might be given me. Even in Cornwall it is possible to disposeof people, and you would be fair prey to any strolling vagabond."
"He might be wanting to frighten me," I said to myself. "I wonder whathis purpose is?" and I could not help connecting him with old FatherAbraham.
"Rather bad news of the war again," he went on, as if desiring to changethe subject.
"As to that," I replied, "I thought it was rather good news, except forwhat the German submarines are doing."
"Yes, yes, the submarines, they are very bad."
"What brutes the Germans are," chimed in the woman. "They make me feeljust murderous. Oh, I wish I were a man that I might join the Army."
All the time the poor little creature was whimpering as if in pain.
"Let me throw it over the cliff," said the man, "and put it out of itsmisery."
"No," I replied, "I am going to take it back to the house."
"Yes, yes, do," said the woman. "May I help you? I am awfully fond ofdogs. I have kept them all my life and know a good deal about them. Ihave saved two that the veterinary surgeons had given up."
I picked the little creature up carefully, and was wending my way backto the cottage when the woman rushed to my side.
"You will let me help you, won't you?" she said. "I am so sorry for thepoor little thing."
Badly as I wanted to refuse her help, it was impossible to decline awoman's proffered kindness, and a few minutes later both the man and thewoman had accompanied me to my little house, and I stood watching her,as with deft fingers she washed the poor little dog's wounds.
"There!" she said when she had finished. "I think he will be better now.May I ask your servant to get me a basin of clean water so that I canwash my hands?"
As I have said in describing our last meeting, she was one of thehandsomest women I had ever seen, and I quickly discovered that she wasmore than ordinarily intelligent. How it was I do not know, because I amnot quick to form acquaintances, but in a few minutes I had orderedSimpson to bring refreshments, and was talking with them freely. Theytold me that they were staying at a furnished house near St. Eia, thatthey had been staying there for some months and intended remaininginstead of returning to London.
"I hate London," said the woman, "and I love the quiet peacefulness ofthis neighborhood. Besides, I do not think it is safe to live in London.The Germans intend to raid London, and they will throw bombs all overthe city. No one will be safe."
This led to a general conversation about the war, and about the crueltyand baseness of the Germans in attacking defenseless ships and murderingwomen and children. In spite of myself, too, I found that I wassubjected to a kind of cross-examination, and yet no one listening couldhave detected a question which could have in the slightest degree beenregarded as suspicious, but here my lawyer's training came to my aid,and I was careful to drop no hint of any suspicions I might entertain.
When they had gone I heaved a sigh of relief, although, truth to tell,the woman's presence had fascinated me. I wondered who she was, andcould not help asking myself if there was not some motive behind thatwhich appeared on the surface, actuating them to find their way into mylittle cottage.
"Simpson," I said, when they had gone, "what did you think of thosepeople?"
"I think they are a very nice lady and gentleman," he said. "The ladyherself was very charming."
"You liked her, did you?" I said.
"I always say, sir, that when a dumb animal takes to a person there isnothing much wrong with that person. Now that little dog, sir, wasafraid of his life of the man, but did you see how grateful he was tothe lady? And no wonder, sir! She treated him as if he were aChristian."
"Which way have they gone, Simpson?"
"They went towards St. Eia, sir."
I hesitated a second. I did not like to take Simpson into my confidence,neither was I pleased at the thought that I had been discussing myvisitors with him; still, he was an old servant, and, as I havefrequently said, I regarded him more in the light of a friend than aservant.
"Simpson," I said, "just follow them, will you, and see where they goand what they do."
"Yes, sir," he said, but I could see that he was astonished at myrequest.
Half an hour later he returned.
"Please, sir," he said, "they went along the St. Eia footpath, and thenturned off as if they meant to go to Chy-an-Wheal."
Of course there was nothing suspicious in this, and yet my mind was notat ease. I had never been a man given to morbid fancies, and had alwaysbeen too much a materialist to pay attention to people who profess tobelieve in premonitions; and yet my meeting with this man and woman hadagain stirred a thousand fancies in my mind, while the little creaturesleeping on the rug seemed in some way to cause vague fears to come intomy mind. Perhaps this was because of the state of my health. It seemedto me that my life, humdrum and commonplace though it might appear, wassurrounded by mystery. I had vague intuitions which had no basis ofreason.
After a time I rose and went out. I wanted to shake off the feelingswhich possessed me. A few minutes later I was scrambling down thecliff-side, hidden by the thick scrub of bushes. Presently I had a viewof the whole of the little bay, which seemed absolutely deserted. I wasfar from fit to undertake what I had planned to do, but I could notresist the impulse which possessed me. I descended farther, and soon Iwas at the foot of the cliffs, looking eagerly around me. I found my wayinto the cave, but there was nothing suspicious there. Evidently no onehad visited it since the last high tide. The sandy floor was untrodden;there were no marks of any one having been there. I crept out again, butstill no one was visible.
"What a fool I am," I said to myself. "I am like a nervous childfollowing a will-o'-the-wisp of my own fancies."
Still, what I had seen and heard could not be without meaning. I couldhave sworn to the fact that I had heard people at this very spot only afew hours before. I had heard a man say, "Is that the lot?" and some onehad given him an indistinct reply. Of course this might have meantnothing, and yet I was sure it had. Again I examined the rocks inch byinch, but my search was altogether unrewarded. I passed the littlefissure which led to the cave again, and this time I saw what I hadnever seen before. In an obscure corner, not far from the entrance, wasanother fissure. It was very narrow, but still wide enough for a man tosqueeze his body through. I wondered why I had never seen it before, buton reexamining it I realized that it was so curiously formed, that anyone with only a match to illuminate the cave could easily miss it. Isqueezed myself through the fissure, and found myself in a cave farlarger than the first.
In an instant the mystery of the last few months became plain to me. Thenew cave was as perfect a hiding-place as could possibly be found.Altogether there must have been some hundreds of cans of petrol placedthere. This petrol was by different makers. Evidently it had been boughtin comparatively small quantities at various places, and had beenbrought there to be ready for use as necessity arose.
I understood now the meaning of the words I had heard only a littlewhile before.
"Is that the lot?"
What the speaker meant was evident. He had brought a consignment ofpetrol to this lonely spot, and his words referred to what I saw aroundme.
I realized also the significance of what Father Abraham had said to meduring his midnight visit. Evidently he knew what the cave containedwhen he said that I was standing on a powder magazine. According to mycalculations it was almost immediately under my little wooden hut. WhenI had asked him whether he spoke figuratively or literally, he hadreplied, "Both."
I remembered, too, the article I had seen in the London newspaper. Thewriter of this article had asked where the Germans had been able toobtain the petrol which enabled them to do their devilish work by meansof submarines. Now it was plain. This cave, curiously hidden in therocky cliff in a quiet, far-away spot on the Cornish coast, suited theirpurpose admirably. I myself had visited the outer cave on more than oneoccasion and yet had not discovered it. How many lives, I wondered, hadbeen lost by the stuff which had been stored in this place! I called tomind the times when I had seen phantom-like boats coming round theheadland. I remembered how I had puzzled as to what they might mean. Nowall was plain; this rocky cliff, although far away from the centre ofoperations, was important beyond words. Evidently those who had beenengaged in this work had cleverly avoided the coast watchers. Quietlyand unsuspectingly they had brought cargo after cargo, and when thesubmarines had need of petrol they had been able to supply them.
All this flashed through my mind in a second, then the match by means ofwhich I had made my discovery went out. I realized the awful danger bywhich I was surrounded; doubtless all these cans were carefully sealed,yet I knew that one spark might ignite this highly combustible fluid,and I should be burnt to death. But that was the smallest part of mydanger. I knew that the men who were engaged in this work would stop atnothing; that the spies who had sought out this lonely cave would beready to do anything in order to keep a secret.
A hundred wild fancies surged through my brain. I saw now why FatherAbraham had been driven from his hut. What his connections with theGermans were I had no idea, but evidently he had been regarded asdangerous to their plans. That, doubtless, was the reason why the oldman had warned me. His words came flashing back to my mind, and revealedto me the fact that I had been under constant surveillance. Then Ithought of the man and woman who had lately visited me. What was themeaning of their interest in me? Were they what they pretended, or hadthey some sinister motive in asking me questions?
My discovery made the necessity of action imperative. But what could Ido? Here was I, a poor invalid, and, if Dr. Rhomboid was right, I hadonly a few weeks longer to live. I had, as it seemed to me, only keptmyself alive by my strong will power and determination that I would notyield to death. But what could I do? I had by this time learnt somethingof the police officials in the neighborhood, and I knew how utterlyincapable they were of dealing with the matter. I was acquainted withsome magistrates in the district, but I feared to go to them; a man likeSquire Treherne would be utterly incapable of dealing with such adelicate situation. I knew that in his blunt, straightforward, honestway he would muddle everything. It is true I might write to the WarOffice or to the Admiralty, but, rightly or wrongly, I did not form ahigh estimate of their way of doing things; and yet I could see nothingelse for it. Even now I might be watched. Even now German agents mightbe waiting outside the cave to pounce upon me.
I lit another match, and saw something which had hitherto escaped mynotice. It was a slip of paper. I snatched at it eagerly and carefullyread it, my heart beating wildly all the time.
The light again went out.
How long I remained there in the darkness I do not know, but it seemedto me as though I lived years in a few minutes.
A wild scheme flashed through my brain. I would deal with this matteralone! I could not fight for my country, but I would serve it in my ownway.
I listened intently, but could hear nothing save the dull monotone ofthe waves outside. No whispering voices reached me. The darkness of thecave seemed to intensify the silence. I crept into the outer cave andagain listened; still all was silent. Then I made my way into thedaylight, taking every precaution before doing so. No, as far as I couldtell no curious eyes were watching me. I was alone.
The Passion for Life Page 22