CHAPTER XVIII

ZERO

A half truth, some one has said, is the greatest of lies: perhaps there is nothing more staggering to the intelligence than a half discovery--a discovery which solves one problem only to propound another.

"My old uncle, for a certainty," said Pratt. "He has been bald as long as I can remember him: lost his hair in the wilds of Africa, I believe. Years ago his man stuffed me up with the tale that a lion clawed his tresses out by the roots. Lucky he didn't marry, or his wife might have plagued him about wearing a wig, like Mother Rogers. That's the mystery of the signal solved, then."

"Is it?" said Armstrong. "No signal was ever shown from the window of that top room; that I'd swear. The light we saw to-night was the merest streak: came through a slit certainly not more than a quarter of an inch wide."

"But hang it all!--there's the poor old chap a prisoner: who else would signal for help?"

"I thought you suggested Molly Rogers," remarked Warrender.

"I've given that up. Didn't Rogers say she knows nothing about signals? But that doesn't matter. The point is that those foreign blackguards have him under lock and key while they're committing a criminal offence on his premises. I shouldn't wonder if it killed him, or made him clean potty. He's over sixty, and solitary confinement----"

"I say, it's very late," Armstrong interrupted. "We've none of us had much sleep lately. Let's see what's to be done and then get all the rest we can before morning. I foresee a thick time to-morrow."

"We must set old Crawshay moving," said Pratt. "No doubt he's hand in glove with the Chief Constable."

"We talked about Crawshay before," rejoined Armstrong. "The affair is complicated now. We've got your uncle's safety to consider. You may be sure that those ruffians won't stick at trifles, and if any action is taken against them publicly it's quite on the cards that they'd put a bullet into the old man. I'm inclined to think it's up to us."

"What do you mean?" asked Warrender.

"We know the subterranean entrance to the tower. Can't we get in and release him ourselves? He'd be valuable outside as a witness."

"But, my dear chap, if the prisoner disappeared the foreigners would know the game was up," said Warrender. "They'd clear off before they could be caught."

"Look here, old man, he's my uncle," said Pratt earnestly. "The poor old boy has been cooped up there goodness knows how long. He's over sixty, accustomed to an active life: imagine what it means to him. It's just the sort of thing to send him to a lunatic asylum for the rest of his days. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't make some effort to get him out of it. If you put it to me, I say I don't care a hang whether the forgers are caught or not. The personal matter quite outweighs any other. If we go interviewing magistrates and constables we'll lose precious time: you know what officials are. The thing is, to rescue my old uncle without a moment's delay, and let the rest take its chances."

Pratt's unwonted gravity had its effect upon his companions.

"Shall we try it?" asked Warrender, turning to Armstrong.

"I'm game," was the ready reply. "It's risky: no good blinking that. We are three to six or seven, if we include Rush; and there's not the least doubt they're armed. Fellows like that always carry automatics. We've got cudgels! We can't fight 'em; our only chance is to get in when there are few of them about."

"That's during the morning," said Warrender. "You remember that Gradoff has twice gone off in the car, and that morning we went up all the men were at the house."

"Except Rush," added Armstrong, "and that ugly fellow we weren't introduced to."

"Well, then, I tell you what," said Pratt. "I'll go into the village in the morning and find out whether the car has left as usual. We want some eggs, and some spirit for the stove. I'll get that at Blevins's, and see if I can pump a little information out of him or his assistant. If Gradoff and the chauffeur are away the odds against us will be reduced, and with luck we might get into the tower in their absence. What do you say?"

"There seems nothing better," said Warrender. "Let us turn in and get four or five hours' sleep."

Soon after breakfast next morning Pratt went off alone in the dinghy.

"By the way," Warrender said as he was pulling away, "bring an ounce of pepper, and a large tin of sardines. We can't bother about cooking to-day, and sardines want a little condiment."

"A packet of mustard, too," called Armstrong. "There's none for to-morrow's bacon."

"Righto," shouted Pratt. "I shan't be long."

Arrived at the village, he made his purchases at the little provision shop, thrust them into his pocket, and went on to the general dealer's for a can of spirit. As he approached, he heard a high-pitched, angry voice from the depths of the yard at the side of the shop.

"You go at vunce, at vunce, I say. Ve hire your car; vat is ze goot? Always it break down, one, two, tree times. It is too much."

"Ay, and you owe me too much already," replied Blevins gruffly.

Pratt halted, straining his ears towards the altercation.

"You pay up: that's what I say," Blevins went on. "You've had my car a week or more, and over-drive, that's what you do. And not a penny piece have you paid."

"But zat is all right," expostulated the foreigner. "Mr. Gradoff he pay at end of ze month. He say so; vell, you vait all right. You have--vat you call it?--a bike; it is ten mile, but vat is zat? You go quick."

"And you think I'm going to ride twenty mile for a commutator. Not me. What do you want the car for, anyway? Driving in and out nigh every day, scorching along fit to bust up any machine. What's your game? Do 'ee take me for a fool? You're up to some hanky-panky while your master's away. Think I didn't know that all along? Nice goings on! A pretty tale the village 'll have to tell him when he gets back! Spending his money like I don't know what. Spending, says I; running up bills, that's what it is. You pay up, and you shall have a commutator. I don't need to ride no bikes to fetch it: I've got it on the spot; only I'll see your money first."

The men had begun to walk up the yard. Pratt slipped into the shop. Evidently the car would not be used to-day, he thought, if Blevins remained obdurate. Evidently, also, Blevins was suspicious of the doings at the Red House, though it was clear that he had no well-defined idea of what those doings were, or any knowledge of Mr. Pratt's whereabouts. He went past the shop, still bickering with the Italian. Pratt had a free field.

His former acquaintance, the youthful assistant, came forward to attend to him.

"Good-morning," said Pratt, genially. "It seems quite an age since I saw you. I've often thought of that pleasant little conversation we had. But I'm in rather a hurry to-day. I want some methylated spirit: that's what you call it, isn't it?--the stuff that burns with a blue flame. Rummy how often blue comes into business affairs, don't you think? Last time I was here I wanted blue tacks, I remember. By the way, I suppose your friend, the gardener at the Red House, hasn't bought any more tacks?"

"No friend o' mine," growled the youth.

"Indeed! It's a pity not to be friends. Friendship oils the machinery of life, don't you know. Still, I am sure it's not your fault. Why doesn't he reciprocate the amiable sentiments you cherish towards him?"

The youth gave Pratt a puzzled stare. "I don't know nothing about that," he said slowly. "All I do know is, I hate furriners, I do so. Fair cruel they be. Why, the feller comed in here not a hour ago and wanted six foot of iron chain--to chain up a dog. 'Twas cruelty to animals, and so I told 'un."

"Perhaps the dog feels the heat and gets snappy."

"But the thickness of it! Look 'ee here, sir; here's the chain I cut. 'Tis thick enough to hold a mad bull. Do 'ee call that a chain for a dog? He wouldn't have a little small chain, as was proper."

"Well, after all, you haven't seen the dog. It may be a whopper of a brute. Give him the benefit of the doubt. You'll feel better now you've told me."

He paid for the can of spirit and left the shop. Blevins and the chauffeur were a little way up the road, still quarrelling. Forgetting the eggs that were part of his commission, Pratt hastened back to the ferry, and found that his friends had just arrived in the motor-boat.

"We saw Rush pulling down stream," said Warrender, "and hurried up to meet you and save time. He's one less. Any news of the car?"

"It appears to have broken down," replied Pratt, going on to relate what he had heard. "Pity Gradoff won't be away. But the Italian is still squabbling with Blevins, and if we look sharp we may get into the tower before he returns to the house. That will make them two short."

He had placed on the deck the can of spirit and the tin of sardines while he was speaking, then tied the dinghy astern and jumped aboard.

"Rush wasn't going to the island?" he asked.

"We watched him row past it," said Warrender. "He's probably off to his hut. Let's hope that the other fellows are at the house and not at the tower."

"It's 'over the top' now," remarked Armstrong, as the boat sidled away from the landing-stage.