by Miles Burton
“I’m going for a walk, Newport,” he explained. “Put me ashore in the dinghy, and then come back to the yacht and keep a look out. I shall be back by noon, at the latest.”
Once ashore, Merrion started to trudge back along the beach towards the mouth of the Elder. This time he had provided himself with field glasses, and it was not necessary for him to approach the dune so closely. He found a convenient spot some distance off, and settled himself down to watch.
He had not long to wait. At about a quarter to nine Hollesley and Thorburn arrived and set up the range-finder. Half an hour later La Lys hove in sight, crossed Vane Sand, and fired a gun as she did so. The range-finder was dismounted, and Hollesley and his assistant disappeared.
“Well, that’s that!” said Merrion to himself. “We shan’t be troubled with those fellows again for another ten days, thank goodness. And that will be May Eve, when things are likely to get lively in the village. There’s nothing to prevent us lying quietly in the lagoon till then, if we want to.”
He walked back to the bay where Alisette lay anchored. Newport saw him coming and picked him up in the dinghy.
“We’ll have a spot of lunch first,” said Merrion as he stepped on board. “Then we’ll heave up the hook and go back to the lagoon for the night. Did you see anybody about while I was away?”
“No, sir,” replied Newport. “A craft of sorts came in towards the coast, and then turned southwards, but she was too far off for me to see what she was. I haven’t seen anything else, sir.”
After lunch they set sail and weighed anchor. A gentle breeze was blowing, and Merrion, enjoying the opportunity for a sail, stood out to sea. The tide was falling rapidly, and the banks were beginning to show their heads above water. In the distance could be seen Vane Sand, wet and glistening in the sunlight.
Having run out for a short distance, Merrion went about and put the yacht’s head for the mouth of the river. He had scarcely done so when Newport, who was forward, hailed him. “There’s a yacht of sorts coming out of the river, sir!” he said.
“Is there, by jove!” replied Merrion. “Come aft and take the helm while I have a look at her.”
He dived into the cabin and produced a telescope, which he focused on the distant craft. He recognised her at once as Hollesley’s five-tonner. “Damn the man!” he exclaimed. “What the devil is he playing at now? Put her about again, Newport. I don’t want that fellow to see who we are.”
Alisette stood away from the river once more, while the two men on board her watched with interest the evolutions of the five-tonner. She steered straight for Vane Sand, and just as she seemed about to run aground, let go her anchor. Two figures then got into the dinghy and landed on the sand itself.
“It’s Hollesley and that blasted butler of his again!” exclaimed Merrion irritably. “What the devil are they going to do on that infernal sandbank? Have a picnic, or what?”
“Maybe they’ve gone to look for cockles, sir,” replied Newport. “There’s always plenty of them on these sands as dry out at low water. I remember once running aground on the Maplin, and getting a bucketful in less than half an hour.”
“Just the sort of damn silly thing Hollesley would do,” grumbled Merrion. “I believe you’re right, Newport. They’re both walking over the sand bending down as if they were looking for something. Take the field glasses and watch them.”
Newport obeyed. “Aye, that’s right, sir,” he replied. “They’re looking for cockles, sure enough. Doesn’t look as if they’d seen any yet, though. Ah, the chap on the left has found one, sir!”
As Newport spoke Hollesley bent down and picked up something from the surface of the sand. Whatever it was, he had some trouble in lifting it, and Thorburn ran to his assistance. Merrion, watching through his telescope, uttered an exclamation of amazement.
“By jove, Newport, that’s a hell of a cockle!” he shouted. “Why, man, it’s as big as a decent-sized suit-case, and it’s as much as one of them can do to carry it. And they’re taking it back to the dinghy, too. Now what the dickens do you make of that?”
Chapter XVI
“It looks as if they were satisfied with what they’ve found, sir,” remarked Newport. “They’re pushing off again in the dinghy, by the look of it. Yes, there they go, sir.”
Merrion, watching through his telescope, saw Hollesley and Thorburn row back to the yacht. They weighed anchor and, starting the engine, steered a course for the mouth of the river, into which they disappeared.
Not until the intervening land had hidden them did Merrion close his telescope and lay it carefully aside. “Can you beat it, Newport?” he asked. “Do you remember Lieutenant Hollesley in the days when we were at Dover? He commanded a M.L. when we knew him.”
“Aye, sir, I remember him well,” replied Newport. “There was a yarn about at the time that he tried to ram a buoy or something. That’s him, isn’t it, sir? With all respect, sir, the chaps what served under him used to say he was a bit batty, sir.”
“Oh, they said that, did they?” observed Merrion. “Well, I shouldn’t wonder if they were right. Anyhow, his actions seem to point that way. I don’t mind telling you, Newport, that one of those fellows we’ve just seen treasure hunting on Vane Sand was Hollesley himself.”
“Was he, now, sir!” exclaimed Newport. “And who was the other chap, if I may make so bold as to ask, sir?”
“A most efficient butler of the name of Thorburn,” replied Merrion. “Keep her away a bit, I don’t want to make the river until I’m sure those fellows are out of the way. Talking of Thorburn, it might be worth while for you to make his acquaintance. He’d be able to give you some useful tips about handling plates without making the infernal clatter you seem to find necessary. But that can wait. You don’t happen to know anything more about Lieutenant Hollesley, do you?”
“I never met him again after we left the patrol, sir,” said Newport. “But I did hear that they gave him some sort of shore job in Belgium after Jerry cleared out. I believe he was there for the best part of a year after the armistice, sir.”
“You’re a regular mine of gossip, Newport!” exclaimed Merrion. “How did you learn that, may I ask?”
“I happened to run across a chap I knew who was out there with him, sir,” replied Newport complacently.
“By jove, I believe that’s the clue!” muttered Merrion. “Here, I want to think this out. We’ll get the mainsail off her, and then make slowly for the river under headsails and mizzen. That ought to give those fellows plenty of time to get out of the way before we reach the anchorage.”
The mainsail having been duly stowed, Merrion retired to the cabin, where he made himself comfortable on one of the sofas. Newport’s remark about Hollesley having spent a year in Belgium after the armistice had given him the rudiments of an idea. It was already evident that there was some agreement between him and the people on board La Lys. The firing of the gun as a signal, which, since Merrion had witnessed it twice under exactly similar circumstances, could not be a coincidence, was sufficient to prove this. La Lys was a Belgian boat. Was it not possible that at least the germ of this agreement had originated during Hollesley’s stay in that country?
After what he had seen, Merrion had no longer any doubts as to the meaning of the signal or of Hollesley’s observations with the range-finder. He had been quite correct in his assumption that Hollesley’s actions were for the purpose of determining the exact position of La Lys when the gun was fired on board. But the signal had not been made to indicate the taking of a sounding. It had been made to show that something had been dropped overboard.
“It’s one of the neatest dodges I ever struck!” murmured Merrion. “It looks to me as if Hollesley wasn’t half so batty as some of us imagined. He wants to get something from Belgium without attracting the attention of inquisitive people at the port of arrival in this country. He makes an arrangement with the sk
ipper of La Lys, which is so beautifully simple that there is not the slightest danger in it. The skipper of La Lys procures this something for him and sets out from Ghent, taking care to time his passage so that he arrives off this coast at high water. Then, with his light draught, he quite naturally takes a short cut to Gippingford across Vane Sand. Then, when he’s right over the top of the sand, he drops the something overboard, and fires a gun to show that he has done so.
“Meanwhile, Hollesley and Thorburn have fixed the exact position where the thing was dropped. They plot the point on the chart and so, at low water, when Vane Sand is uncovered, they know within a few yards where to look for it. All they’ve got to do is to go out and pick it up, as we’ve just seen. That’s all right, but I don’t see that it helps me much. If it concerns anybody, it concerns the customs people. It certainly doesn’t throw any light upon the practice of witchcraft at High Eldersham, or, for that matter, upon the murder of Whitehead.”
He went on deck, and found that they were approaching the entrance. There was no sign of Hollesley’s five-tonner, which had presumably proceeded up the river. It was between four and five o’clock, and the flood tide was running strongly. They sailed up to their usual anchorage and let go.
“A little tea, I think,” remarked Merrion, when everything had been stowed. “You’d better give us a pretty substantial one, Newport. It may be some time before we get another meal. I’ve another expedition to make this evening.”
Tea having been disposed of, Merrion called Newport aft into the cockpit. “Have you forgotten the art of rowing a dinghy without splashing or rattling the oars in the rowlocks?” he asked.
“I think not, sir,” replied Newport. “I’ve had practice enough at it in my time.”
“Well, let’s see what sort of a shape you can make of it. I’d use a couple of dish cloths, if I were you.”
Newport ran forward and fetched the dish cloths, which he wrapped round the rowlocks of the dinghy. Then stepping into the little boat, he rowed round the yacht. Merrion watched his performance with an approving smile.
“That’ll do,” he said. “Make the dinghy fast and come aboard again. You can leave the rowlocks as they are. Now look here. I want to explore the upper reaches of the river without attracting attention. High water this evening is at ten minutes to ten. It’ll be dark by half-past eight, and there’s no moon. If we start then, we shall carry the flood for an hour and a quarter, quite long enough for us to get as far as I want to. Then, when I’ve seen what I want to, we can drop down quietly on the ebb till we get back here. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, sir,” replied Newport. “Shall I—er—put a gun in the dinghy, sir?”
“A gun! What on earth for? Didn’t I say that I didn’t want to attract attention? Oh, I see what you mean. No, we aren’t going poaching, you old reprobate. You can leave the gun behind, this time.”
Everything favoured Merrion’s scheme. As the sun set a bank of clouds rolled slowly up from the westward, and a light drizzle began to fall, and by half-past eight it was impossible from where Alisette lay to see even the outline of the dunes against the sky. At a word from Merrion, Newport extinguished the light in the cabin, and locked the door, putting the key in his pocket. Even in the unlikely event of anybody boarding the yacht in their absence, they would be unable to get below. Then, taking great care to avoid making a noise, the two men took their places in the dinghy and started off.
Newport had barely taken a few strokes when the outline of the yacht faded into the darkness. For all either of them could see, they might have been floating in the centre of the North Sea, instead of on the narrow waters of the lagoon. Merrion had provided himself with a luminous pocket compass, which he held in his hand, and with the aid of this he directed Newport in cautious whispers.
They made not a sound as they proceeded up the river, Newport, aided by some sixth sense, keeping the boat in the centre of the channel. The shores on either side of them were invisible; only now and then some tall tree growing near the bank floated past them, a vague and indefinable shadow. Newport rowed with slow and careful strokes, hardly more than sufficient to keep the boat on her course. The incoming tide was sufficient to carry her gently up the river.
Half an hour after they started, Merrion, from his seat in the stern, saw a light ahead and, as they drew abreast of it, he whispered a caution to Newport. From the position of the light, he guessed that it proceeded from one of the upper windows of Elder House. At Merrion’s warning, Newport ceased rowing, and the two men peered intently ahead into the night. The moorings of Hollesley’s five-tonner lay off the house, and it was possible that somebody might be on board her. In any case it would not do to bump into her. Newport saw her first, right ahead. He gave a quick stroke of his oars, and the dinghy drifted past. The two men in her held their breath, but there was no sign of life on board the yacht, and slowly she drifted astern and was lost to sight.
The next landmark on shore was the Hall, and Merrion gazed eagerly in the direction in which he judged the house to be. Perhaps the quest upon which he was engaged would not have been sufficient in itself to induce him to throw up everything and undertake a yachting cruise so early in the season. He had never admitted it, even to himself, but he had known within the last few days that the true reason for chartering Alisette and taking up an anchorage at the mouth of the River Elder had been the hope that he might see Mavis again. He was haunted by the vision of her, he seemed to hear, even now in the stillness of the night, the elusive sound of her voice. Of course, there was no likelihood of her being on the river now. But even the sight of a light in the tall windows of the Hall would have been as a token of her presence.
But the dinghy drifted past without Merrion’s eyes being vouchsafed even this slight comfort. The trees in the park, now budding into leaf, were a screen between the house and the river. He fancied that he could make out the low squat shape of the speed-boat moored close under the bank, but even of this he could not be certain. And then, as Newport took to his oars and they rounded a bend, a few scattered lights, like some straggling constellation, heralded their approach to the village.
This was the most ticklish part of their journey. Merrion whispered to Newport to keep right over under the far bank, so close that he could feel the mud with his left-hand oar. But it seemed to Merrion’s anxious eyes that the night grew less dark as they approached the half-ruined wharf, that any one standing upon it must infallibly catch sight of them as they drifted past. A ray of light from some cottage window was reflected in the dark water; it seemed to Merrion to shine with the intensity of a powerful searchlight. Every moment he expected to hear a gruff hail from the shore, and he nearly started out of his seat as, without warning, the church clock chimed half-past nine. The lights drew abreast, and then receded. Not until they had passed out of sight round the next bend did Merrion venture to breathe freely.
By now the flood was almost spent, and there was very little current in the river. Newport rowed more strongly, and the boat pursued her way among the upper reaches. They were unknown to Merrion, and he was obliged to trust to luck, keeping as near as he could judge in the centre of the channel. Newport felt his way with the oars, heading off as soon as one or the other touched the mud. At last, when Merrion estimated that they were about a mile, or rather more, above the village, he fancied that he could see a black patch against the sky. This must be the clump of trees he sought.
It took them a long time to reach them. At this point the river split up into narrow channels, a maze in which they were lost for many minutes, trying one promising creek after another, only to find that it contained insufficient water over the soft and yielding mud to float the dinghy. At last they found the right one, and Newport ran the nose of the boat ashore, right under the branches of one of the outlying trees.
Merrion stepped ashore. “Stop here and keep a look out,” he whispered. “If you see or hear any
thing, give a low whistle. I shan’t be many yards away.”
It was impenetrably dark beneath the trees, and Merrion walked forward with cautious steps and outstretched arms. When he was sure that he was well hidden, he took an electric torch from his pocket and, holding it on a level with his knees, directed its rays upon the ground. With this light to guide him, he progressed about sixty paces, until he came to a stretch of smooth and level turf, set in the centre of the coppice.
He explored this with considerable care. It seemed to be roughly circular, with a diameter of rather more than a hundred feet. In the centre was a burnt patch, upon which lay a few ashes and charred pieces of wood. Having looked very carefully at this, Merrion crossed the open space to its boundary, which was formed by the trees and a mass of rough brushwood growing among them. Making his way slowly round he came upon two tall trees growing some five yards apart, their interlaced branches forming a canopy above his head. And half-way between the two trunks stood a huge stone, which had at one time been roughly hewn. The top of the stone was hollowed like a saucer, and into this depression Merrion cast the rays of his torch. Beneath a layer of fallen leaves and pieces of bark the surface of the stone showed smooth and worn. But upon it were spots of candle grease, and between them dark stains as of dried blood.
This told Merrion all he wished to know. The stone was undoubtedly the altar behind which officiated the devil, the mysterious president of the coven. A glance at the sides of the stone confirmed this. It was carved with strange figures, the obscure symbols of an almost forgotten rite. A sudden horror seized him, the malign influence of this ill-omened grove. He hastened away from the open space, and plunged once more among the trees, making for where it seemed that the undergrowth was thickest.
Here for a while he searched until he found what he wanted, a patch of low-growing shrubs not very far from the water’s edge. He reconnoitred this very carefully and then returned to the boat counting his steps and noting their direction as shown by the compass. Then, with a sigh of relief, he stepped on board.