Part 21

The clergyman arrived primed with war news and plans. In his opinion the Allies had only just to go there and move up there, and pinch Germany in one place and nip her in another, and Poof! it was over. Just a little dash. Nothing more.

"If Napoleon O'Toole," murmured Darby--"oh, thank you, Gheena, I could get my own, really."

It was part of the hurt to have Gheena wait upon him, to see her jump lightly for hot cakes, a fresh cup of tea.

"Much better let me ... the table's miles away. Mum always entrenches over there."

Mrs. Freyne poured out nervously, asking everyone's advice as to sugar and cream, and confusing matters greatly by taking the last person's unswervingly until she asked someone else's.

Dearest George, sneezing gloomily, had no words even to offer upon the English advance. He did think the submarines would be nasty; the sea was so beastly chilly, but land tactics had ceased to interest him, and he only grunted.

They had just finished tea when Stafford drove to the door and sent in for Mr. Freyne, saying he was going to Cortra on business.

"He motors such a lot," said Mrs. Weston softly--"at night and all times; that car is a fifty sixty, and almost silent. He looked excited or worried."

Gheena did not answer, she was watching the sea.

"Gheena, you did not come on anything to-day?" Mrs. Weston put an arm round Gheena, bent down to speak to her, kissing the soft cheek.

"Only a severe chill," said Gheena, growing red.

Basil Stafford slipped away. He looked worn out, his eyes haggard, as though from lack of sleep. With another heavy sigh Gheena Freyne peered seawards.

In the drawing-room, Darby and Psyche left alone, drew near to the fire.

"When you are married----" began Psyche.

"When!" said Darby. "Does it strike you, sprite, that I should marry a girl who scarcely thinks of me, and that it would take a great deal of love to make anyone forget my leg and my scars?"

Psyche replied very sharply that she did not think so at all, and poked the fire until it collapsed in ruins.

"Didn't I tell Mrs. Malone to co*nn*fine them?" rose Phil's voice outside. "Thim haythin Germans of Faverolly's, an' into the spring beds agin with them. I'll hunt thim, Ma'am." Further yells and shoos from Phil, with some comments added to the effect that thim beds wasn't Mongs or Pars, and advice to make in for thimselves before Crabbit turned them into sossidges.

Psyche went to the window.

"Crabbit has removed several tails," she said, "and there is no place like Ireland. I never want to live out of it."

"No?" said Darby absently.

The elusive sunshine next day sent Gheena bathing, off to her favourite pools, where she dived under the rocks and came up a little blue. It was a treat at first. The vigorous young life seemed a thing apart from Darby's. Yet it was Gheena who was content, and Darby Dillon who looked drearily at the vista of the future. He feared the sudden thunderclap of his fortune--the nugget of gold which he had dreamt of and come upon unexpectedly was too heavy to lift, too valuable for him to hold.

"Some day," he said to Gheena, "we'll be blasting that rock to get you out, Gheena. You'll never come up. Will you drive with me this afternoon up the hills to see about returning my hounds?"

"I? Oh, take Psyche. I am going for a row," Gheena stammered a little. "I should be so cold after a swim, Darby, in the car."

Basil Stafford watched her start for her row in the newly-painted, half-dry boat which Phil had spent a day at. He stood pondering as she shot out on the gay ripple of the sea and up the harbour. As cautiously as he could, he started along the cliffs, taking cover behind friendly gorse, bending inland at times, his mind occupied by possible orders which he must give to the coastguards.

Gheena, rowing easily, saw the figure on the cliffs, knew it too well, a dull fog of misery creeping between her and the sunshine. What was he watching for?

She made the boat secure at Girtnamurragh, told the men to leave it, and made an ostensible survey of the garden which spades and forks were rending ruthlessly. The old straggling border had been put to rights, shrubs were being clipped. Dearest George, sneezing with complete lack of spirit, stood superintending the renovations, and shivering at the chill airs off the sea.

"You could even shut those out if the air inside the house wasn't like a tombstone," he remarked, looking limply at Gheena.

"But Gheena is in no hurry, Dearest," replied Mrs. Freyne, "and the fishermen are sure to steal the vegetables if we're not here. Don't you think they might?"

Gheena grinned softly, kissed her mother, and asked for a drive home; she was tired. It was opportunity sent to her. The watcher on the cliff thought it a completely natural thing when he saw her go by in the motor. The boat was now ready close to the cave.

Phil was made fellow-conspirator, pledged to see that the small car was placed at night in an outhouse beyond the yard gate ready to drive.

That night Gheena slipped from her side door, poor Crabbit left behind, but only walked to the harbour and rowed out a little then. The vast loneliness of the sea at night frightened her; she wanted to get out to it--to the eerie laps and gurgles among the rocks, the white gleam of the waves' caps, the voices of the night. Lying still, she saw a boat shoot past--some of the fishermen making for the village--then left the boat and was stealing home when someone rose out of the dimness and spoke to her.

"Gheena--Miss Freyne--you must not do it! What are you doing out like this, and war time?"

"And what are you doing out like this in war time?" retorted Gheena, an uncertain note in her voice.

Stafford caught her by the shoulders, holding her.

"I ask you, I pray you, not to come out," he said. "I'll ask Darby to say..."

"Darby will only say what I want him to," observed Gheena; "that's what Darby is there for."

"A man has some right over his future wife," said Stafford slowly.

Miss Freyne murmured several indistinct beginnings of remarks, and left them all unfinished rather nervously.

"Poor old Darby!" she said amiably at last.

Mr. Stafford returned gloomily that Darby was one of the best. If Miss Freyne meant to marry her intended----

"But ... of course." Then Gheena's voice died again. She was acutely conscious of a struggle with tears as hands gripped hers for a second.

"You must keep off the rocks at night," said Stafford. "For a reason. Promise, I beg it of you."

"If you will keep off them" was what Miss Freyne muttered in a strangled voice. "I ... ask you to." She ran away.

"Hang," remarked Stafford savagely.

A few days later Mr. Keefe got his commission, and left at a few hours' notice, wildly excited. He was now Captain Keefe in a well-known regiment, and his mind was taken up by Sam Browne belts and revolvers. So quickly did he go that his farewell even to Mrs. Weston was a brief one, though he had just time to hint that he now thought if he survived he might ask anyone to marry him. He was replaced by a rather elderly man, whom the police seemed to regard with awed respect.

Gheena had almost broken down when she had talked to Stafford, but her resolution was only deepened. She must see, and see alone the face of the man who had arranged to put petrol in those caves!

For several nights the two-seater slipped unheard down the back avenue and along a narrow by-lane to the Dower House, where it was left hidden near some bushes until Gheena crept to her boat. She grew used to rowing out alone in the chill darkness in her short skirt and a thick coat, until one night, in a murky warmth, she rowed right out opposite the cave, and thought that she heard voices on the shore--voices subdued and muffled. Creeping in, Gheena saw someone on the shore--a dark, indefinite figure on the very edge of the sea. Next moment her heart throbbed suddenly, for even in the darkness she believed that she knew it. And she rowed desperately out. It felt safer at sea; she did not want to be sure. After this violent spurt she let the boat drift, lying in the trough of the swell; it would be time enough to pull when she heard the waves on the rocks. She drifted quickly. Lying there, she was almost invisible, and Gheena Freyne's heart leaped and missed a beat, a chill horror of certainty creeping up her spine as, quite naturally, the periscope of a submarine nosed up quite close to her, and a long thing like a whale showed in the dim light.

It might be an English submarine. It might.... Gheena sat as a bird before an able-bodied snake, completely afraid to do anything, because just then very low and cautious murmurs commenced to discuss matters in German, and a laughing gull called. Also, it seemed to Gheena, with a German accent.

One man said that he trusted that the Irish pig would be out in a moment, and a second, subservient but decided, trusted so, as if he did not, then, owing to the sudden unforeseen accidents, they were completely powerless to get away. This voice appeared to regret the blasphemous language of the Herr Captain, but repeated its statement decorously.

"As none of these pigs of fools ever keep a look-out," remarked a third voice, which was young and pleasant, "just do the laughing gull again, Max."

The excellent imitation of the laughing gull was repeated; it now became evident from the conversation, that it should have been answered by a whistle from the cliffs. Then as Gheena began to paddle away, noiselessly she hoped, someone exclaimed blasphemously. She heard the quick splash of a swimmer in the water, and with so much to be afraid of that she forgot fear, she heard the scuffle of a man climbing into the boat.

"If you scream or make a sound," said someone in excellent English, "I..."

Gheena said she supposed then that she had better not, and that she was only out amusing herself, and would like to go home.

But the answer to this was to find herself moving as in a dream on to the back of the steel whale, with everyone buzzing round her in undertones.

The captain asked her if she understood German, to which she said "No" hurriedly, believing it might be useful to pretend ignorance. She again asked politely to be allowed to go home.

From the ensuing whispers she gathered that she was not likely to be allowed to. Someone argued that it would not matter, and the voice of the engineer said if they could not get away it certainly would not, and Gheena found herself being propelled down into an atmosphere reeking of oil, where light was permissible.

Here a stout senior officer positively gloated at her capture. It appeared that he was even a minor admiral, whose varied manoeuvres had run the "U" boat out of fuel. He sat at a small table and glowered, while Gheena, not at all sure that she was awake, was conscious of glances of rapt admiration from the senior lieutenant, the owner of the pleasant voice ... so Gheena stood closer to him.

"Good evening; I want to go home," said Gheena in French, why she hardly knew. Someone had told her to address herself to the head admiral.

Having addressed some abusive remarks to her in German and seen these received blankly, they decided that the strange woman did not, owing to usual lack of _Kultur_ of her race, understand any language but her own and French.

The question of the petrol appeared to be pressing. There were even low-voiced fears concerning treachery, and Gheena gathered that it was even possible that a boat must be sent to try to discover a certain cave if they were not signalled by--Gheena could not catch the name.

"We sent word by wireless," she heard, "to him.... It has always been right...."

Gheena went very white. Who had they sent word to?

The inferior admiral grunted fiercely, and motioned to Gheena to sit down. She did so, closer than ever to the lieutenant who looked good-natured. She was told she was to answer questions.

"In England," said the admiral, "I suppose you are all now so terrified, you only come out in the dark; that is why a young Fraeulein boats alone at night!"

Gheena nodded thoughtfully, but she said that it was not England exactly; in fact it was Ireland. She said it dreamily because she was sure she was asleep.

"Tell me"--the admiral opened a pocket-book--"what do they say of our Zeppelins in stricken London?"

"Zeppelins!" Gheena raised her head. "Oh, yes ... the recruiting balloons, of course," she said thoughtfully.

The stout officer grew purple so slowly that it was quite interesting to watch him--a purple which straddled gradually across his big nose and lost itself in his beard.

"The ... _Himmel_ ... ball ... oons," he said heavily. "Balloons!" At this point the senior lieutenant developed a nasty cough and had some trouble with it.

"Yes, the things got up to get more recruits," said Gheena sweetly, flickering a glance at the lieutenant. "I believe some people really believe they are German, sent by the Socialists who are against the war; but we all think here they're only for recruiting. Some always come when we're short of men."

"They who strike the terror, the death-shower! Girl, you rave!" The admiral got up and glared.

"But I was really in England once, Commander, when balloons did come," said Gheena, "and all the stories of misery are invented just for a purpose. You tell your poor cross Kaiser when you go back...."

The admiral sat down again, and his big mouth opened slowly, showing discoloured teeth; a muffled voice somewhere in the background wondered anxiously when the boat would come.

"You see, in England we are never afraid," said Gheena carelessly, but she felt a singing in her ears then when the admiral said something about when she got to Germany.

"You are not going to take me back there," she whispered. Gheena Freyne realized her folly. She would be imprisoned, questioned. She would be a girl alone and friendless. "You have no right to," she said hotly. "I've uncles who are generals, and you've no right. Let me go!"

If--the commander, who was lantern-jawed, cleared his throat--if the gracious Fraeulein would answer a few questions intelligently, she might perhaps be landed somewhere on her own coast; they had no desire to be harsh. Every nerve in Gheena's body thumped almost painfully. She feared, above all things on earth now, the thought of going down in this close atmosphere and being taken away a prisoner. Basil Stafford had been right, it was dangerous out alone.

"Your spy," she said unevenly ... "the man ... I know him...."

The commander then said she must certainly be taken along and imprisoned, and, still as in a dream, Gheena realized the folly of this last remark, for the admiral, fading rusty brown again, said something about troublesome prisoners and made unpleasant allusions in German to the bottom of the sea.

Meantime the night was passing. The engineer sent for, suggested that they should sink and someone row in to see what had happened. He thought, in fact, that the Herr Lieutenant knew the cave.

She must escape. Gheena thought she felt the boat sinking. She grew suddenly cunning. With a quick stagger she caught at the impressionable lieutenant and muttered, "Air! air! air!"

"A breath of air--all right," whispered Gheena, reeling.

It was the lieutenant who persuaded them to let her be taken on deck for a moment. He would see to her not screaming. Gheena was helped up very tenderly, and left for a minute to herself, gripping the rail.

"I've English friends; I'll look after you," the lieutenant whispered, and went for brandy. The time was enough to allow her to slip her arms out of the coat and unfasten her skirt; she had knickerbockers underneath.

When the perturbed Germans grunted gruffly and discussed their difficulty, Gheena sprang.

She dived very prettily to the accompaniment of muffled bad language, and as she came up, heard hoarse whispers concerning immediate death if she did not return.

The threats were nothing, but the sound of a splash made the girl shudder. They dared not show a light or fire a shot, but a strong swimmer would catch her easily. She dived again and swam under water until her bursting lungs seemed to crack, then shot up, treading water, to see the long whale still close to her and hear a man swimming, but not in her direction. Down again and again, until she felt too far away to be caught. Then lightly she struck out for land, and just as she did a shrill whistle sounded from the shore.

But cold, fright and those underwater swims had tired Gheena out. She swam less and less vigorously, swam until her arms seemed lead and every stroke brought a panting, wheezing breath. Then for the first time Gheena cried out, a feeble cry for help as her lips tasted salt and she nearly sank. It was answered by a splash of oars and a boat shooting out close to her.

The face which she had dreaded to see was outlined for a moment by the flash of an electric torch. Gheena felt warm hands hurriedly pull her into the boat, and as she crouched, completely exhausted, Basil Stafford's voice said "I told you not to" in tones of annoyed remonstrance.

Some outer covering was wrapped round Gheena, whose teeth had begun to chatter. Her resentment at the lack of sympathy due to her blended with a dull sorrow which was stronger than the resentment.

Looking up, Miss Freyne chattered out that she had been nearly drowned, and wished it had been completely.

"If you will go out alone--" Stafford's oars were making no sound in the water. "And your boat?"

"That's somewhere near it. You're not--going to take me out again to it?" said Gheena excitedly. "I won't go! I won't go to Germany!" And she sat up. "I must tell ... they're waiting for the oil. I must tell! Oh, why--why did you?" said Miss Freyne, breaking down into unrestrained sobs. "Oh, why is it you, and why did you?"

She stopped sobbing, because it is difficult to cry comfortably when someone grips your shoulders and actually shakes you. Gheena knew that a face which she felt sure was an angry one was close to hers, and a hoarse whisper was demanding information. She gave it brokenly; she sat back with a gasp as the noiseless oars shot the boat through the water, and she could hear Stafford muttering to himself excitedly.

"Don't cry out, do you hear?" he whispered. "Not a sound, or I'll..."

Miss Freyne snapped out "Shoot me, I suppose," with rancorous dignity and as clearly as chattering teeth would allow.

"To come here ... to eat our food ... with--with us ... and give oil to that Father Christmas!" were the indistinct words which reached Basil Stafford, who was breathing heavily. The boat bumped rather sharply against the shore.

"Don't speak," said Stafford grimly, "or it's Germany for you. This way.... Don't you dare to speak."

The path in the dark might have been anywhere. Waiting for the first opportunity to slip away, Gheena was propelled along it. She heard voices, a door opened, and next minute she was in a big room, with shutters shut closely and a small fire burning in the grate.

Then Gheena, recovering, demanded liberty, for it was the drawing-room at Gurtnamurragh, and these traitors were using it to hide in her house.

Stafford's hands fell heavily on her shoulders; his eyes were very sad, but determined.

"It is all your own fault, and you will stay here until I come for you," he said coldly. "You can't get out, I'm going to nail the shutters. There are blankets in the corner and I'll stoke up the fire. Perhaps the blanket first."

Gheena put one on hastily, conscious of her costume.

The fury of Gheena's wrath left him unmoved. To be left there alone while the submarine was fed, to be treated in this fashion! She said several things about it all.

"You are, of course, quite sure that I was going out to her?" said Stafford, as he drove big nails home.

"I was afraid. I went alone because I was half sure." Gheena checked herself. "I found out your cave days ago ... and I've watched." She began to cry again.

He came close to her. Something lit up his eyes.

"You came out alone--because you were sure you would find me. That was why you went alone; and having found me, you must tell--you would have told--or would you?"

"England first," said Gheena, her voice mixing pride and broken dreariness. "But..."

"Then you won't!" he snapped out quite cheerfully, banging the door.

But he came back with water for the kettle, and pointed out that there was tea in the basket near the fire.

Then he left again. Gheena heard the muffled voices and silence fell. She was far too angry to be frightened.

Wrapping herself as thoroughly as possible in a blanket, she put the kettle on, piled up the fire and stamped wrathfully.

The events of the night now felt to her as though she had been through an evil dream which could not be real--a submarine close in--waiting for petrol--and all their suspicions realized. Basil Stafford was that vile but necessary thing, a spy.

"As I actually met him going out to it," said Gheena wearily--"actually met him--there is no mistake now."

Gheena did not cry out. Patriotism fought with something which for a time worsted it completely. Then, rousing herself, she cooed dolefully, listening to the echo of the cry ringing through the empty house.

Inspiration came to her. The iron fastenings of the old shutters, if the wood could be burnt round them, might be wrenched free. Gheena seized a small piece of broken iron paling which someone had used as a poker and stuck it into the glowing heat.

In a very short time she had burnt quite a good sized hole, and the room was acrid with the smell of charred wood. Someone had left a candle on the table. Gheena lighted it to peer at her work. Having seen with dismay that it would take another half-hour before she could even hope to move the bar, Gheena swung round to see Stafford's face thrust into the room.

"Lights!" he said bitterly. "I might have known I could not trust you."

Gheena repeated the word "trust" rather blankly, and gathered her blanket round her.

"Lights--here," he said again. "Of course, nothing may happen, but that's not your fault, is it?" He seized the candle.

The door banged. This language from a detected criminal had bereft Gheena of speech.

She put the poker back slowly, to start in real fear, for, as if conjured up by the speck of light, voices sounded, rang in anger, bare and almost animal-like in its sound, and came the paff-paff of revolver shots--then silence--then voices again.

"Safe and sound we has him, an' I near to be shot"--this was the voice of Thomas Hassett, one of the coastguards--"safe and sound with the stroke Ned Murphy drew on him."

Ned Murphy was the village sergeant.

Gheena adjusted her blanket and took out the poker absently, her face very white.

They--had caught Basil Stafford--other people were on the watch. It was all over now.

Paff-paff--more shots, the noise of running feet, a yell of someone in pain.

"God save us! the arrum is hanging on ye, Misther Stafford," said a sympathetic voice; "an' who could belt away for the docther as quick as ye could yerself in ye're cyar?"

"They to come along to the wrong sphot, when ye were afther bringin' in Miss Gheena, an' we only three. Will I run a taste ov rope around the cross one, sir? He is lively."

"I tell you I---- Put it down, Mr. Stafford." Gheena heard the Professor's voice, as in English, with no trace of German accent, he entreated someone not to be an idiot. The door was flung open. Two coastguards tenderly helped in a man who crumbled and tottered between them. With a gasp of terror Gheena recognized the polite lieutenant, and her first thought was that she wished he had not seen her in a blanket.