CHAPTER XXVI
Once more Hamel descended from the little train, and, turning awayfrom St. David's Hall, made his way across the marshes, seawards. Thesunshine of the last few days had departed. The twilight was made gloomyby a floating veil of white mist, which hung about in wet patches.Hamel turned up his coat collar as he walked and shivered a little. Thethought of his solitary night and uncomfortable surroundings, afterall the luxury of St. David's Hall, was scarcely inspiring. Yet, onthe whole, he was splendidly cheerful. The glamour of a host of newsensations was upon him. There was a new love of living in his heart.He forgot the cold east wind which blew in his face, bringing with itlittle puffs of damp grey mist. He forgot the cheerlessness which he wasabout to face, the lonely night before him. For the first time in hislife a woman reigned in his thoughts.
It was not until he actually reached the very side of the Tower that hecame back to earth. As he opened the door, he found a surprise in storefor him. A fire was burning in the sitting-room, smoke was ascendingfrom the kitchen chimney. The little round table was laid with a whitecloth. There was a faint odour of cooking from the back premises. Hislamp was lit, there were logs hissing and crackling upon the fire. Ashe stood there looking wonderingly about him, the door from the back wasopened. Hannah Cox came quietly into the room.
"What time would you like your dinner, sir?" she enquired.
Hamel stared at her.
"Why, are you going to keep house for me, Mrs. Cox?" he asked.
"If you please, sir. I heard that you had been in the village, lookingfor some one. I am sorry that I was away. There is no one else who wouldcome to you."
"So I discovered," he remarked, a little grimly.
"No one else," she went on, "would come to you because of Mr. Fentolin.He does not wish to have you here. They love him so much in the villagethat he had only to breathe the word. It was enough."
"Yet you are here," he reminded her.
"I do not count," she answered. "I am outside all these things."
Hamel gave a little sigh of satisfaction.
"Well, I am glad you could come, anyhow. If you have something fordinner, I should like it in about half an hour."
He climbed the narrow stairs which led to his bedroom. To his surprise,there were many things there for his comfort which he had forgotten toorder--clean bed-linen, towels, even a curtain upon the window.
"Where did you get all the linen up-stairs from, Mrs. Cox?" he askedher, when he descended. "The room was almost empty yesterday, and Iforgot nearly all the things I meant to bring home from Norwich."
"Mrs. Seymour Fentolin sent down a hamper for you," the woman replied,"with a message from Mr. Fentolin. He said that nothing among theoddments left by your father had been preserved, but that you werewelcome to anything you desired, if you would let them know at theHall."
"It is very kind of both of them," Hamel said thoughtfully.
The woman stood still for a moment, looking at him. Then she drew a stepnearer.
"Has Mr. Fentolin given you the key of the shed?" she asked, veryquietly.
Hamel shook his head.
"We don't need the place, do we?"
"He did not give you the key?" she persisted.
"Mr. Fentolin said that he had some things in there which he wished tokeep locked up," he explained.
She remained thoughtful for several moments. Then she turned away.
"No," she said, "it was not likely he would not give you that key!"
Hamel dined simply but comfortably. Mrs. Cox cleared away the things,brought him his coffee, and appeared a few minutes later, her shawlwrapped around her, ready for departure.
"I shall be here at seven o'clock in the morning, sir," she announced.
Hamel was a little startled. He withdrew the pip from his mouth andlooked at her.
"Why, of course," he remarked. "I'd forgotten. There is no place for youto stay here."
"I shall go back to my brother's." she said.
Hamel put some money upon the table.
"Please get anything that is necessary," he directed. "I shall leave youto do the housekeeping for a few days."
"Shall you be staying here long, sir?" she asked.
"I am not sure," he replied.
"I do not suppose," she said, "that you will stay for very long. I shallget only the things that you require from day to day. Good night, sir."
She left the room. Hamel looked after her for a moment with a frown. Insome indescribable way, the woman half impressed, half irritated him.She had always the air of keeping something in the background. Hefollowed her out on to the little ridge of beach, a few minutes aftershe had left. The mist was still drifting about. Only a few yards awaythe sea rolled in, filling the air with dull thunder. The marshland washalf obscured. St. David's Hall was invisible, but like strangely-hunglanterns in an empty space he saw the line of lights from the greathouse gleam through the obscurity. There was no sound save the sound ofthe sea. He shivered slightly. It was like an empty land, this.
Then, moved by some instinct of curiosity, he made his way round tothe closed door of the boat-house, only to find it, as he had expected,locked. He shook it slightly, without result. Then he strolled roundto the back, entered his own little abode by the kitchen, and tried theother door which led into the boat-house. It was not only locked, buta staple had been put in, and it was fastened with a padlock of curiousdesign which he did not remember to have seen there before. Again, halfunconsciously, he listened, and again he found the silence oppressive.He went back to his room, brought out some of the books which it hadbeen his intention to study, and sat and read over the fire.
At ten o'clock he went to bed. As he threw open his window beforeundressing, it seemed to him that he could catch the sound of voicesfrom the sea. He listened intently. A grey pall hung everywhere. Tothe left, with strange indistinctness, almost like something humanstruggling to assert itself, came the fitful flash from the light atthe entrance to the tidal way. Once more he strained his ears. This timethere was no doubt about it. He heard the sound of fishermen's voices.He heard one of them say distinctly:
"Hard aport, Dave lad! That's Fentolin's light. Keep her out a bit.Steady, lad!"
Through a rift in the mist, he caught a glimpse of the brown sail of afishing-boat, dangerously near the land. He watched it alter its courseslightly and pass on. Then again there was silence. He undressed slowlyand went to bed.
Later on he woke with a start and sat up in bed, listening intently,listening for he knew not what. Except for the backward scream ofthe pebbles, dragged down every few seconds by the receding waves, anunbroken silence seemed to prevail. He struck a match and looked at hiswatch. It was exactly three o'clock. He got out of bed. He was a manin perfect health, ignorant of the meaning of nerves, a man of provedcourage. Yet he was conscious that his pulses were beating with absurdrapidity. A new feeling seemed to possess him. He could almost havedeclared that he was afraid. What sound had awakened him? He had noidea, yet he seemed to have a distinct and absolute conviction thatit had been a real sound and no dream. He drew aside the curtains andlooked out of the window. The mist now seemed to have become almost afog, to have closed in upon sea and land. There was nothing whateverto be seen. As he stood there for a moment, listening, his face becamemoist with the drifting vapour. Suddenly upon the beach he saw what atfirst he imagined must be an optical illusion--a long shaft of light,invisible in itself except that it seemed to slightly change the densityof the mist. He threw on an overcoat over his pyjamas, thrust on hisslippers, and taking up his own electric torch, hastily descended thestairs. He opened the front door and stepped out on to the beach. Hestood in the very place where the light had seemed to be, and lookedinland. There was no sign of any human person, not a sound except thefalling of the sea upon the pebbly beach. He raised his voice and calledout. Somehow or other, speech seemed to be a relief.
"Hullo!"
There was no response. He tried again.
"I
s any one there?"
Still no answer. He watched the veiled light from the harbour appear anddisappear. It threw no shadow of illumination upon the spot to whichhe had gazed from his window. One window at St. David's Hall wasilluminated. The rest of the place was wrapped now in darkness. Hewalked up to the boat-house. The door was still locked. There was nosign that any one had been there. Reluctantly at last he re-entered theTower and made his way up-stairs.
"Confound that fellow Kinsley!" he muttered, as he threw off hisovercoat. "All his silly suggestions and melodramatic ideas have givenme a fit of nerves. I am going to bed, and I am going to sleep. Thatcouldn't have been a light I saw at all. I couldn't have heard anything.I am going to sleep."
The Vanished Messenger Page 26