CHAPTER XIII

FIRE!

About eleven o'clock next morning Warrender and Pratt landed from the motor-boat at the ferry, and, inquiring of the ferryman the way to Mr. Crawshay's house, struck up the hilly road that ran westward from the right bank of the river. Mr. Crawshay, it was true, had invited them to make straight for the house across the fields; but they had decided that it would be more becoming, on this first visit, to observe the customary forms.

The house stood amid well-kept grounds, about as far west of the river as Mr. Pratt's was in the opposite direction.

The apple-cheeked maid-servant who answered their ring announced that her master was out, and would not return till the afternoon. Disappointed, they were leaving when Lilian Crawshay, who had recognised Warrender's voice as she descended the stairs, called to them.

"You wanted to see my father, Mr. Warrender?" she asked, as they turned back.

"Yes; I'm sorry he's out, but we'll call again this afternoon."

"What a pity, when you have so far to go! Can't I give him a message? Won't you come in and see Mother?"

"It's very good of you, but we have some shopping to do in the village, or Armstrong will get no lunch. It will be no trouble to come again. We get up and down very quickly in the motor-boat."

"Well, then come up in time for tea. Father will be home then; he has only gone on some stupid business of quarter-sessions. And bring Mr. Armstrong with you. Mother was greatly interested in the 'Three Musketeers.'"

"Thank you very much."

"Good-bye, then, for the present. Tea is at half-past four."

"Why didn't you tell her we can't all come?" said Pratt, as they walked away.

"Because it's clear that the old man hasn't said anything about our affairs, and I couldn't anticipate him with explanations. We'll toss for the odd man."

On returning to the ferry Pratt went on to the village to make some necessary purchases, leaving Warrender to forestall gossip by informing Rogers of their change of plan. Warrender rapped on the door.

"Bain't opening time yet," called a voice from above. Mrs. Rogers's head appeared at an open window. "Oh, beg pardon; 'tis you, sir. We have to be that careful; Constable Hardstone be always on the prowl. You'll find Rogers in the garden, sir--through that little gate. And if so be you find he haven't got his hair on, I beseech 'ee to mind him of it; he's that careless of his brains, and I know they'll be broiled some day."

The innkeeper, with his wig awry, was pinching out his tomatoes. He smiled when Warrender told him of the projected removal of the camp.

"'Tis what I expected--ay, and all the village likewise," he said.

"We find the island a trifle inconvenient, you know," said Warrender, in pursuance of the understanding he had come to with his companions that their real reason should not at present be disclosed.

"Ay sure, that's what we all said. The neighbours wondered how long you'd stand it."

"Stand what?" asked Warrender, wondering whether any whispers of the truth had got abroad.

"Why, them sperits. Flesh and blood you can deal with, but when it comes to sperits they're bound to get the better of you, give 'em time. You can't get hold of 'em no way. Smite 'em, you might as well smite the wind. I've been here and there about the world in my time, and I tell 'ee I wouldn't spend a night on that island not if you doubled my pension."

"Well, we did hear some very queer sounds last night. Of course, it was very windy. I expected rain to-day, but it has cleared up. By the way, are there any coastguards about here?"

"There's Lloyd's signal station away at the point yonder. I go over now and again for a crack and a smoke with an old messmate of mine."

"How far is it?"

"Four mile or so. You go past Mr. Crawshay's, then sheer off to the left and get into the old coastguard track over the cliffs."

"I'll take a walk out there some day. We haven't seen much of the neighbourhood yet. There's no signal station in the village, of course."

"No; we're too far from the sea. Have 'ee heard what they're saying about Mr. Pratt, sir?"

"What's that?"

"Ah, poor gentleman. 'Tis feared he've gone a-lost, or been swallered by lions, or summat. 'Tis the end of many a poor traveller."

"Why do they fear that? Is there any news?"

"No; that's where 'tis; there be no news at all. 'Tis five weeks since he went off, not a soul knowing, as his way is; and Susan Barter up at post office was saying only yesterday that there's not been a single line from him to any o' they people at the house. 'Tis never been knowed afore. As a rule there's a letter from Paris, or Marseilles, or Brindisi--ay, from places farther away; but this time not a line. He'll be missed in the parish, sir, if so be he've gone aloft, like poor Tom Bowling."

Rogers proceeded to relate anecdotes of his landlord--instances of his peppery outbursts and splenetic quarrels with his county neighbours, but more of kindly deeds and unobtrusive generosity among his poorer tenants.

"And your friend be his nephew, to be sure!" he added. "Well, don't worrit the poor young gent yet awhile. No news is good news; maybe there'll be word of him one of these days. Susan Barter is sure to tell us."

Presently Pratt returned, laden with sundry parcels. The boys took leave of Rogers, and by half-past twelve were back in camp. Armstrong had nothing to report. He declined at first to make one of the tea-party, but when the spin of a coin elected him against Pratt, he yielded to Warrender's argument that it would appear discourteous if only one of them accepted the invitation. Promptly at half-past four the two, wearing grey flannels for the occasion, entered the grounds of Mr. Crawshay's house, and were met on the drive by the owner himself.

"Glad to see you, my lads," he said, heartily. "You've something to tell me? I guessed it. Now, not a word before the ladies. I haven't told them anything of your troubles; best not to disturb them, you know. We'll have a talk in private, after tea."

The consequence was that presently Armstrong found himself left in the company of Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter, while Warrender was taken by Mr. Crawshay to his study.

It had been decided that nothing should be said to the old gentleman about the visit to the Red House, the mysterious doings of Rush at sea, or the strange light Pratt had seen among the trees. Determined as the lads were to probe the mystery to the bottom, they felt that their purpose might be defeated by any premature activity on the part of the county magistrate. Accordingly, when Mr. Crawshay and Warrender were seated in deep armchairs facing each other, and the former said, "Now, my lad, what is the latest news?" Warrender simply related the incident of the midnight visit to the camp, concluding--

"And so, sir, we have decided to accept your offer of a camping-place on your land, not merely to escape these annoyances--we should rather like to hold our ground in regard to them--but because we think we should stand a better chance of discovering what really is going on."

"Ah, what does that mean? There's more in it than appears?"

"If you don't mind, sir, I won't tell you details now; but we have found out one or two facts that have given rise to certain suspicions. By removing from the island we feel that we shall be better able to put them to the test, and when our information is complete we will lay it before you."

"Well, I won't press you. Many a rogue has escaped justice because the case against him has been badly prepared. Tell me all in your own time. Now as to your camp. There's a little natural dock in my bank of the river. I'll put on my gardener and odd man to make a small clearing for you. It's too late to-day; the men knock off at five--eight hours' day, you know. But you can bring your boat up the river, and put up for the night with me."

"Thank you, sir; but we have a little errand at the signal station before we go back--it might be rather late before we could get everything packed up. I think we had better wait till the morning."

"Very well. You may have fresh light on the matter then. I shall expect all three to lunch to-morrow. On my land you won't need to guard your camp."

Taking leave a little later, the boys walked across the cliffs to the signal station. On inquiry from the man in charge they learnt that the steamer seen late on the previous evening was the _Katarina_, from Helsingfors for New York.

"Did you notice a small boat pull out to her?" asked Armstrong.

"Rush's boat," replied the man. "It didn't pull out to her; 'twas out before she came in sight. Rush has some lobster pots out there. He's a well-known character in these parts."

They thanked their informant, and retraced their steps.

"She was a Russian boat," remarked Armstrong. "No secret about her name or course. All the same--a Russian newspaper, a Russian secretary at the Red House, Russian petrol cans, a Russian steamer. Queer coincidences, at the least."

It was nearly eight o'clock when they regained the camp. Pratt was humming "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls" to the accompaniment of his banjo.

"And how is the fair lady of the punctured tyre?" he asked. "Did she deplore my absence?"

"She did say something about 'that amusing Mr. Pratt,'" Armstrong replied. "I like her mother."

"We're all going up to lunch to-morrow," said Warrender, and explained the arrangements made.

"Then, as it's our last night on this island of spooks, I vote that Armstrong and I go to the ruins and track that weird sound," said Pratt. "The wind is high; we'll have time before dark."

Armstrong and he set off. The breeze was blowing in the same direction, and almost as strongly, as on the night before, but no moaning met their ears. Arriving at the cottage, they heard the characteristic whistle and hiss of wind playing about the eaves, but not the tuneful, mellow note that had reminded Pratt of an organ pipe. They searched around the base of the walls for a recently fallen chimney-pot. There was none.

"Extraordinary!" said Pratt. "No wonder the rustics are jumpy. Of course, there must be some simple explanation--some slight change of direction in the wind, I expect. If you've ever tried to play the penny whistle you'll know that you can't always get a note, when you're a beginner. We've had our walk for nothing."

They were half-way back to the camp; dusk was just merging into darkness, when the organ-note, riding, as it were, upon the rustle of the leaves, struck upon their ears.

"By George!" exclaimed Pratt. "One would think the spook was just waiting for the dark. Come back. This is an acoustical phenomenon worth writing about to some scientific rag."

They hurried back to the ruins, and sprang up the staircase. Pratt tracked the sound, as before, to the partially unroofed room on the west side. Armstrong tried to climb up the jagged brickwork of the outer wall, but found the footing too insecure to persevere. Baffled, they stood for a while listening.

"It's no good," said Armstrong at last. "It's a job for daylight. Besides, it's of no importance; we've got more interesting mysteries to fathom."

"True, old matter-of-fact. You haven't a disinterested passion for science. Well, I'll show you where I saw the light from last night."

They went into the other room, and looked across the river into the darkness, faintly patterned by the nearer trees. Suddenly, high up, a glow appeared, shone for a second, disappeared, recurred. They watched in silence. Presently Armstrong spoke.

"They're certainly signals. Keep your eye on them; count them."

There was a period of complete darkness; it seemed that the signalling had ceased. Then the glow peered over the tree-tops again; it was repeated at regular intervals, at first short, then longer, then short again.

"It's like Morse," said Armstrong. "Did you count?"

"Nine times."

"In groups of three?"

"Four, three, and two, I thought."

"So did I. Well, if it's Morse, that spells VGI. What on earth does that mean?"

"Goodness knows. It's stopped. Wonder if it'll start again?"

A minute or two passed. Again the glow appeared, at intervals as before. Again they counted its appearances.

"Nine times. Three groups of three--longs and shorts. I make that ROD."

"Well, that's a word, at any rate; and the chef's name, by gum! But what about VGI?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken. We'll wait for the next."

But though they remained some ten minutes at the window the glow appeared no more.

"A dashed fruitless expedition!" exclaimed Pratt, as they descended the stairs. "They used to divide science into sound, light, and heat. We're flummoxed by sound and light; it only wants heat to biff us altogether."

Before many hours had passed they had reason to remember that almost prophetic utterance of Pratt's. It was his turn again to take the middle watch, and at eleven-forty Armstrong wakened him.

"Hang you, Jack!" he cried. "I was dreaming I was blowing fire-balloons out of an organ pipe, and I wanted to see the end of it. All serene?"

"Not a mouse stirring."

"Well, the air doesn't bite shrewdly. I cap your quotation, you see. It's a warm sou'wester. Can you hear that sound?"

"Just faintly. I say, I believe I understand that signal. I've been thinking it over. I've had no particular practice in reading signals; perhaps the fellow signalling is a novice, too. In that case one or other of us might easily make a mistake. It's clear he made three letters each time; I fancy they weren't either VGI or ROD."

"What then?"

"S.O.S."

"What-ho! The signal of distress at sea. But, I say, this is on land, old man."

"Yes; but I take it that it's a signal for help that any one knowing Morse might make."

"But who wants help? In my uncle's grounds? Wait a jiff. It was in the direction of the house. I have it! What a pudding-head I am! Of course, Rod's wife. You remember she tried to signal to you and Phil. She's in trouble. She's being ill-treated, or something. She's calling for help. We're to be knights-errant--Perseus rescuing Andromeda----"

"Oh, shut up! Is it likely that an innkeeper's sister would know Morse?"

"Mark my words, I'm right. A woman knows everything she wants to. Turn in, old chap. I wanted something to keep me awake, and I'll cogitate a plan for rescuing Molly Andromeda from the jaws of the Minotaur."

Pratt, however, found that cogitation was an ineffectual preventive against drowsiness. Three disturbed nights in succession was an experience unknown to him heretofore. He paced about for a little, sat down and lit a cigarette, dozed over it, started up and walked again. Once more he sat down, ruminated, nodded--and presently awoke, sniffing. What was that smell of burning? He looked on the ground, where the half-smoked cigarette lay. It was dead. He got up. The smell was in the air. He took a few steps, looking around. His eye caught a flicker of flame to windward--two, three flickers some yards apart. For a moment his drowsy intelligence failed to respond to his senses; for a moment only. Then he shouted--

"Hi, you fellows! Fire! Fire!"

Already the flickers had been whipped by the wind into a wall of flame, advancing with a hiss and low roar from the thicket across the little clearing. The heat of the last few days had dried the grass, which, though much trampled around the tent, was still long. The fire swept over it like a ruddy tide. Smoke surged across the open space; twigs and leaves crackled in the surrounding thicket. When Armstrong and Warrender, awakened by the shouts, the reck, the roar and crackle, tumbled out in their pyjamas, they choked and spluttered and fell back before the intolerable heat and smother.

It was only too clear that the camp was doomed. There was not time to lower the tent. They rescued what they could. Armstrong dashed into the tent, and returned dragging the three Gladstones that held their clothes. Pratt caught up a petrol can and his banjo; Warrender secured his razor-case and sponge-bag. Driven by the remorseless flames, they retreated hurriedly towards the river, working round to the right until they arrived at a spot on the bank that lay out of the course of the wind. There they stood, coughing, watching the scene, fascinated. Springing from the south-west, the fire raced across the island, like a giant cutting with blazing scythe a path through the tough undergrowth. There was nothing to stay its advance. The low flames danced beneath the trees, red goblins in a dust of smoke, twigs and branches crackling, the sappy wood adding rather to the smother than to the blaze.

"Sound, light, and heat!" murmured Pratt. "What a magnificent spectacle!"

"We've paid pretty dearly for our tickets!" said Armstrong, morosely.

"And some one shall pay pretty dearly before I've done with them!" cried Warrender. "We're homeless. We'd better run up to the Ferry Inn, and get Rogers to bed us."

"We'll be the talk of the village for a hundred years," said Pratt. "We'll pass into legend; future ages will tell of the three magicians who exorcised the spooks of No Man's Island with fire."

"Come and help shove off the boat," said Warrender. "We've still got that, thank goodness!"

The fire had burnt itself out at the north-east of the island by the time the boat passed. At the ferry was assembled a crowd of the natives. Rogers was in the act of setting off in Fisherman Drew's boat, along with Blevins, Hardstone, the village constable, and one or two more.

"Praise be!" exclaimed the innkeeper, as the motor-boat ran alongside the stage. "I was afeared as you young gentlemen might be cinders."

"We're only smoked at present, dry-cured," said Pratt. "Saved our bacon, you see."

"I want to know summat about this," said the constable. "I'll have to make a report. If so be you set fire to that there island, with the terrible destruction of growing trees, I won't say but 'twill be brought in arson, and that's five years' penal. Which one of you was it chucked down the match?"

"My dear good man," said Pratt, blandly, "we're only too anxious to give every assistance to the officer of the law; but, as you see, we're in a great state of nervous agitation. D'you think Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were in a condition to answer questions after their experience of the fiery furnace? Abed we go, if Mr. Rogers will oblige us. Come up in the morning, constable; you're all losing your beauty sleep. In the morning we'll swear affidavits, or whatever it is you want. To-night we're too tired even to swear. Good-night."