Johnstone of the Border

CHAPTER XX
THE WHAMMEL BOAT

Whitney nodded agreement. They had sailed from the burnfoot three days before, and after standing out to sea on the ebb, had returned to the outer end of the channel in the dark as soon as they could stem the slackening stream. Then, landing in the dinghy, they hung about the wreck until the advancing tide drove them back. They had done this for two nights, without seeing anything suspicious, and they could now abandon the search, because as the time of high-water approached six o'clock the tides did not run out far enough to enable anybody to reach the wreck from land.

Striking across the flats, they stopped on the edge of a hollow running through the highest part. The mist was driving nearer before a cold wind, and the moon was dim, but they could see for some distance toward the west across the level stretch of sand. Nothing broke its smooth expanse, but the sound of the sea had grown louder and the wild fowl noisier.

After a few moments, Andrew struck into the hollow and began to follow it up. The sand was softer here, though there were spears of ice on the muddy pools; but the men's figures no longer cut against the sky, and Whitney knew the need for caution. The gutter got deeper as they went on, until they could not see beyond its banks, and soon it began to wind off to one side. When Andrew stopped at the turning, a wild cry that was like a hoarse laugh came out of the dark.

"What's that?" Whitney asked.

"A black-backed gull," said Andrew thoughtfully. "They're suspicious brutes and a nuisance when you're trying to crawl up to a flock of duck. In fact, it often looks as if they laughed because you'd lost your shot."

"Do you think something has disturbed the bird?"

"We'll know in a minute."

A mournful wail that ended in a quavering tremolo fell from the air as the harsh laughter died away.

"That's a curlew going over," Andrew said.

Then a shrill screaming broke out; and Andrew turned toward the bank and began to climb out of the hollow.

"Oyster-catchers now; they're all off," he said.

When they reached the level, Whitney looked round quickly. The haze was crawling close up in long, low-lying belts, but it had not reached them yet, and as his eyes turned seaward he saw a black triangle projecting above the edge of the flats.

"A lugsail, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes; a whammel boat."

Andrew seized Whitney's arm and, moving back a few steps, dropped upon his knees and dragged his companion down. Whitney understood the reason when he saw a faint, dark figure on the bank some distance off.

"After all, it may be a fisherman," he said.

"It's possible, but I don't know what he's doing here, and we'll follow up the gutter until we're abreast of the wreck. The fog will come down thick before we reach her."

"I don't know that I'm fond of fog," Whitney replied. "However, if you think you can find the dinghy—"

Moving back into the bed of the channel, they went on as fast as possible. They were out of sight, but the winding hollow lengthened the distance. It got darker as they splashed among the pools; and when at last Andrew thought they had gone far enough and they climbed the bank, everything was hidden by drifting fog. Whitney was frankly uneasy. Andrew knew the sands well, but, for all that, it would not be difficult to lose their way, and they had purposely left no light on board the yacht. Still, it was unthinkable that they should turn back when the man they had been trying to mark down seemed almost in their hands. Banishing his misgivings, he plunged into the clammy mist, following closely behind Andrew.

The birds had gone; nothing broke the silence, and there was nothing to be seen. Whitney imagined that Andrew was going straight, but this was not certain, and he recognized that the man they hoped to surprise might have turned back. Andrew went a few yards in front, a dim, ghostly figure in the fog, but it was a relief to see that he showed no hesitation. Though they tried to move quietly, they made some noise. Where the bank was hard their footsteps rang through the haze, now and then shells crunched beneath their boots, and there were spots where they splashed through half-frozen mud.

At last they saw the blurred outline of the wreck.

"Go straight on and then wait until I creep up on the other side," Andrew whispered.

They separated, and Whitney braced himself for a struggle as he moved softly forward. The man would no doubt be armed, but he must not get away until they learned who he was. Whitney set his lips as he neared the wreck. Andrew's footsteps had died away, and there was something that daunted him in the look of the dark mass of timber; but he went on, and presently stopped at the edge of a pool beside the vessel. He did not think anybody had left her as he approached. The man must be on board; but he must wait until Andrew came up. There was no sound but the drip of water and the wail of the cold wind; it was eerie and depressing to stand there in the fog; but at last he heard a cautious step and knew that his comrade had reached the opposite side of the hulk.

"Go ahead," he said softly; and scrambled up with a feeling of relief that the waiting was over.

He heard Andrew's heavy boots rasp upon the planks; but he reached the forecastle hatch first, and his nerves tingled as he dropped through it in the dark. He came down safely; but he did not hear the clatter of feet among the timbers he had expected. While he felt about, for fear an unseen enemy might seize him at a disadvantage, Andrew sprang down and the light of an electric torch flashed round the hold. It showed broken timbers, sand, and glistening pools; but that was all. They had wasted their efforts; nobody was there. Andrew moved about, holding up the torch, and then extinguished it as he came back to the spot beneath the hatch.

"Well," he said, "we're no farther forward."

"Could the fellow have seen us and slipped away?"

"Not on my side. The fog wasn't very thick, and I could see the wreck. I suppose you kept a good lookout?"

"Of course. Perhaps he saw us when we noticed him on the bank."

"It's possible, but not likely. We had only just left the gutter, and he was going the other way."

Andrew was silent for a minute.

"It would help us," he said "if we knew whether he could carry a wireless apparatus across the sands. I don't think it could be hidden on board."

"It might be buried outside in a watertight box. Shall we go dig?"

"No; we'd be seen from the shore, and a good glass would show what we were doing. In the dark we would have to use a lantern."

"That's so," Whitney agreed. "Well, as there's nothing doing here, let's get back."

They reached the dinghy before the tide flowed round her, and shortly afterward got on board the Rowan. The fog was thick and the wind blowing against them down the Firth, but Andrew decided to hoist no sail when they hove the anchor.

"It's early yet to find deep water, and I can steer her with an oar," he said. "We'll let the tide take her up."

He sounded now and then as the current carried her away, and Whitney wondered whether it would strand them on a thinly covered bank. Andrew had no guide except the depth and the hoarse murmur the stream made as it rippled across the shoals.

Suddenly Andrew began to scull vigorously.

"Not much water; I think we're too near the middle sand," he said.

The next minute the boat stopped with a jar and listed down on her side while the ripples splashed angrily against her planks. Whitney seized the boat-hook to push her off, but Andrew stopped him.

"She'll soon float, and the tide's not running very fast."

They sat in the cockpit to wait, and the noise the current made as it swirled round her died away. She was not quite afloat, however, and Whitney was picking up the boathook when a flicker of light shone through the fog. He raised his hand in warning to Andrew, and both saw the faint gleam go out.

Then a splashing sound grew louder, and a dim gray object drove toward them. Whitney knew it was a lugsail boat beating up the Firth, and he saw that she would pass at a few yards' distance if she stood on. So far, he did not think they had been seen, for the Rowan's hull was low, and she had no sail set. While he waited in suspense he heard the splash of an oar as somebody sounded.

"No' quite a fathom. Doon helm, Jock," said a hoarse voice.

There was a flutter of canvas, and the boat, swinging round, vanished on the other tack.

"What are we going to do?" Whitney asked.

"Anchor as soon as they're far enough off not to hear our chain."

Andrew sculled the Rowan into the channel, and presently dropped the anchor. When she brought up, he went below and lighted the lamp.

"They didn't see us, but I won't want to follow them up the Firth," he explained. "Their boat can cross the flats before we can, and when we landed they'd all have gone. Besides, it might look suspicious if we came up soon afterward. I think we'll wait for daylight."

Whitney put the kettle on the stove and lighted his pipe.

"Well," he said, "I guess it's puzzling, but there's certainly something going on, and it may be something that will mean the loss of another big liner. I expect you see that it ought to be stopped at once."

"Yes," said Andrew firmly. "I mean to stop it."

Whitney nodded and thought for a few moments.

"So far," he contended, "we haven't scored much; it looks as if the opposition were pretty smart. The point you have to answer is this—suppose they do some serious damage before we can stop them?"

"You mean that in trying to keep the thing in my own hands I take a dangerous risk?"

"Yes; but I can't tell you what you ought to do. You're awkwardly fixed."

Andrew leaned back on the locker and grappled with a problem that had troubled him much of late. He was quietly proud of the Johnstones' traditions; and the honor of the family, which had long stood high, was threatened. It was painful to admit that a traitor was making use of Appleyard; but, had there been no other obstacle, Andrew would not have hesitated about denouncing him. The trouble was that if he did so, Elsie must suffer with her guilty relative. To keep silent might enable the plotter to carry out designs which Andrew with his limited powers could not thwart, and his duty to the State was obvious.

He did not want to shirk that duty; he was willing to bear any personal loss, and even bring discredit upon Appleyard, but it did not seem his duty to involve the girl he loved. Elsie had done no wrong, but she was Staffer's niece, and that would be enough to condemn her. Besides, he might be mistaken, and it was unthinkable that he should bring suspicion upon Appleyard until his last doubts had vanished. If Staffer were proved guilty, nobody would believe that Mrs. Woodhouse and Dick were free from blame. And yet Andrew saw that his country must not be left unprotected from the plots of its enemies.

He set his lips as he tried to balance contending claims, using arguments on both sides that had led him into a maze before; and each time he was forced back upon the decision he had already made. Something must be risked, and in the meanwhile he would follow up his clues alone; it would be time enough to warn the authorities when he had found out what was to be feared.

His face was tense as he turned to Whitney.

"I think we'll have to work out this thing in our own way; but as the tides won't suit for the next few days, we'll take a run north along the Eskdale road."

"Very well, if you think that's somehow in the plot," Whitney agreed. "It's possible you're right about the other matter. You'd put the load on the proper shoulders if you warned your authorities, but if they didn't get to work very quietly, they'd scare the fellows off before they found out much. The trail's certainly not plain, but I guess we can follow it without showing what we're after."

"See if the anchor's holding," said Andrew. "I'm going to lie down."

He lowered his folding cot, but the flood tide had covered the flats, and the yacht was rolling gently on the swell it brought in before he went to sleep.

Farther up the narrowing Firth the wind was faint, and Elsie, lying awake toward high-water, heard the murmur of the sea. It throbbed in a deep monotone through the stillness that brooded over the fog-wrapped countryside. Elsie listened to it for a time, wondering what Andrew was doing as she glanced at the obscurity outside her window, for the Firth was dangerous to navigate in thick weather. He had promised to return the next day, and she wanted him back at Appleyard. She felt safer when Andrew was about. He was not clever, but he was practical, and one could trust him to do the right thing in a difficulty.

Elsie was glad to remember this, because she had difficulties to contend with. Dick had been restless and depressed, and his occasional efforts at rather boisterous gaiety had emphasized his general moodiness. He was obviously not well; but Elsie thought this did not account for everything. Then her mother had been quieter than usual, and her manner seemed to indicate secret anxiety.

Elsie felt that things were going very wrong at Appleyard. Something mysterious and sinister threatened the household, but she could not combat the danger, because she did not know what it was. Even now, when every one was probably asleep, she had an instinctive feeling that there was mischief on foot. She told herself that she was highly strung and imaginative, but her uneasiness would not be banished. Anyway, she could not sleep. Seeing that the fire had not quite gone out, she got up, finally, and, putting on her slippers and kimono, lighted a small reading lamp. She drew a thick curtain across the window, and then opened a book; but she found that her thoughts would dwell on Andrew, somewhere out in the fog.

With a gesture of impatience, Elsie closed the book and threw it down. It had not made her sleepy, and the room was getting cold, but she did not want to go back to bed and lie awake. Sitting still, she mused and listened. The wind always moaned round Appleyard, and when the nights were still one could hear the hoarse murmur of the Solway tide. Then there were the mysterious sounds that occur in old houses: creaking floors, boards cracking, and now and then the rattle of a door. Elsie was used to these noises, but for no obvious reason her senses were alert.

Suddenly she sat upright. Somewhere downstairs a door was being opened cautiously. Her clock showed that it was just half-past two.

CHAPTER XXI
THE LOST PAPER

Leaning over the banister, she heard a low voice in the darkness and it gave her a strange, disturbing thrill. She could catch no words, but the accent reminded her of Munich. Then a ray of light flickered about the hall, and Elsie shrank back, her heart beating fast, as the beam ran up the wall. Some one was using an electric torch. She began to feel that she was in danger; but the light stopped and streamed back again, leaving her in the shadow. After that it flashed round and fell upon two men near the door. They had made no noise, and there was something startling in the way their figures sprang out of the gloom. Both were dressed in oilskins and rubber sea-boots.

One was Williamson; the other a stranger, who in spite of his dress, did not look like a fisherman. He had blue eyes and a stiff, red mustache; but he vanished as the light traveled past him to rest on the door of the library, which opened out of the hall. Then, though Elsie heard no sound, she knew the men had gone in. What was more, she knew that Staffer carried the torch. This was the most disturbing thing; and she leaned upon the banister while she tried to think.

She had frankly distrusted Williamson, feeling that he threatened Dick, and she knew now that she had never really trusted Staffer. He had treated her well; but she imagined this was for her mother's sake; and instead of affection she felt a curious, half-instinctive antagonism for him. After all, she had really not been his guest, but Dick's; Appleyard, which she had come to love, belonged to the Johnstones and not to her uncle. She felt that its peace was threatened; and she determined to find out what the men were doing.

Moving noiselessly, she crept down to the hall, and as she reached it a faint but steady light streamed out of the library door. This was not the torch; Staffer had lighted one of the lamps. For a few moments she stopped and hesitated, trying to master her fears. She knew that she must not be discovered; though it was not Williamson but her uncle she dreaded most. This, however, was not all of her trouble: the stranger's accent had awakened a flood of disturbing memories. She had been kindly treated in Munich, where she had learned her mother's native tongue, and the sound of it had stirred strong, deep-rooted feelings. The man with the red mustache had a look of command, in spite of his rough clothes. She knew the stamp, for she had seen it on officers whose wives had, for a time, been her friends. Some were men she had admired; but now they were her country's enemies.

That was the trouble: one could not belong to two nations, and she was Scotch. Appleyard was her home, and Dick and Andrew, although not her kin, were dearer than any one except her mother; yet her mother's blood was in her veins, and she felt it stirring now. But this must not be allowed. She was her father's daughter, too, and belonged by adoption to the Johnstones. She had accepted their traditions, and now she must side with the men she loved; she felt that they were hers.

Having reached this decision, she realized that she must find a hiding-place from which she could see into the library. She crept across the hall, feeling her way to a tall, old clock that stood against the wall. Its oak case did not project far, but by standing straight behind it she would be in the gloom, and the half-opened hall-door would help to conceal her.

Leaning forward from the corner, she found her view commanded the end of the library table, where Staffer sat beside a shaded lamp, with some documents spread out in front of him. The men bent over the table, examining the papers with eager attention.

For a few moments no one spoke, and then the stranger with the red mustache said something which Elsie did not catch.

"Yes," Staffer returned gruffly, "Rankine is an obstacle, but he doesn't interfere with my part of the business."

Elsie could not hear what followed; but Williamson and the stranger spoke in quiet, earnest tones that suggested that what they had to say was important. Being accustomed to Staffer's voice, she could more easily catch his remarks. Presently he stopped the stranger with an impatient movement of his hand.

"No; you must get into the habit of calling him Sanders!"

The man's face was hidden, but Elsie thought his pose stiffened as if he resented Staffer's tone. This seemed to indicate that he was a man of rank, which something in his bearing had already hinted.

"Well," he said in English, speaking a trifle louder, "if he is watched, as he suspects, you may have some trouble in getting his instructions. To visit him in Edinburgh might lead—"

Elsie could not hear the rest, but she could see Staffer's smile as he answered:

"We have a suitable messenger." He turned to Williamson. "Nobody would suspect Dick, and he'd be safe, because he'd have no idea of what he was doing. He's going up with me in the car to-morrow."

"I'm not sure—" Williamson began; but they had gradually ceased to lower their voices, and Staffer stopped him with a warning sign.

Elsie caught her breath as Staffer suddenly turned in his chair; but he was only looking for a map which was buried beneath the other papers. When he opened it, he spoke quietly, and the others listened with close attention. At first Elsie could not catch a word; but as their caution lessened with their intense interest, an occasional word or phrase reached her.

Williamson entered the hall first, and as he pushed the door back the light touched the clock. Its tall case was shallow, and when Williamson turned partly round Elsie's heart beat fast. He went on, however, and the stranger followed, putting the papers Staffer had given him into a pocket under his oilskin coat. He wore thick woolen gloves, but perhaps his hands were cold, for an envelope dropped out at the bottom of the oilskin. It fell a foot or two from where Elsie stood, and she thought she could not escape discovery if he stooped to pick it up; but the next moment the library went suddenly dark. The man passed on, and Staffer flashed on the electric torch as he came out, but its light did not fall near the corner. He extinguished it when the men reached the house door, and Elsie stood very still with tingling nerves.

She had escaped, but the envelope lay on the floor, and she felt that Appleyard was threatened by some plot in which Dick was to be involved. Both must be protected; she must get the paper. Its loss would no doubt embarrass the conspirators, and would probably not be discovered for some time, but she must be quick. Their footsteps were almost noiseless, but she heard them go down the steps. Stooping swiftly, she drew her hand across the floor, found the envelope and thrust it inside her kimono. Then she darted across to the stairs, and when she reached the landing she stopped to listen. It was possible that the stranger might feel if he had all the papers before he left.

No sound reached her, and she breathed a sigh of relief; but she forgot that the others had moved silently, and a flash of light swept up the stairs and struck her face. She was dazzled and alarmed; but with an effort she kept her self-control. It would be dangerous to be seen trying to steal away, but if she remained, looking down over the banisters, her presence might be accounted for.

"Who's there?" she asked in a sharp voice.

For a moment or two the light rested on her face, and she was glad to remember that she would not be expected to look composed.

Staffer laughed as he turned the beam on Williamson.

"Our friend and I," he answered. "I'm sorry we startled you. Perhaps I'd better get a candle."

He looked cool. That was comforting, for it suggested that he did not know she had been in the hall; but she thought it wiser to wait a minute. Staffer struck a match; then he put out the torch and gave the lighted candle to Williamson.

"If you don't want supper, we may as well go upstairs. The room you generally use is ready."

Elsie imagined that Williamson had not meant to stay, but he came up in front of Staffer, carrying the candle. She noted that he wore rubber knee-boots and that Staffer had only his stockings on his feet. When they reached the landing, Williamson looked rather keenly at her, but his face was inscrutable. She could not be sure that he had not seen her behind the clock; and Staffer's attitude might be intended to hide some plan for her embarrassment. But she must keep cool.

"I think we could find Mr. Williamson some cold meat if he is hungry," she said.

"He'd rather have sleep," Staffer answered. "He meant to stay at Langholm, so as to get home early to-morrow; but you can never rely on a motorcycle." He turned to Williamson. "How far did you have to walk when it broke down?"

"Four or five miles, after I'd spent some time trying to put it right," Williamson answered, and made his excuses for disturbing them; but Elsie thought he was taking Staffer's cue, and she knew that they were both watching her. For all that, she smiled as she replied with conventional politeness.

"Well," resumed Staffer, "it's getting cold, and I'll look after Williamson. If you hear a door open another time, you'd better call me instead of going down." He paused a moment, and there was a slight change in his tone. "We know your pluck, but I can't allow you to run a risk."

Elsie turned away with keen relief, and on reaching her room she locked the door before she took out the envelope. The name Thorkelsen was written across it. That suggested a Norwegian or a Dane, and was not what she had expected, but she sat for a time with the envelope in her hand. She had no doubt that it contained some dangerous secret. A plausible excuse had been made for Williamson's visit; but she had noticed his clothes, and deck-boots, which were not what one generally wore when motor-cycling. Then, why had the man in oilskins come to Appleyard when he might have expected every one to be asleep? It looked as if her uncle had a part, and a leading part, in some plot in which Williamson was engaged; but she could not reason the matter out. Now that the strain had gone, she suddenly felt limp.

With an effort she roused herself and threw the envelope into the fire. She could not betray her uncle, to whom she owed much; but he should not lead Dick into trouble, and Appleyard must not be used by her country's enemies. The situation, however, was embarrassing, and she felt that she could not ask Andrew's help. She longed to do so, because she instinctively turned to him when she was in a difficulty, and he had never failed her. But it was impossible now. She must wait and trust to finding some way of baffling the conspirators without staining the family honor.

At last she went to bed, and presently fell asleep; but she got up early in the morning and found Dick outside, watching Watson clean the car.

"Are you going to Edinburgh to-day?" she asked, as they turned back to the house.

"Yes," said Dick. "A bit of a change is bracing."

"But Andrew and Mr. Whitney are coming back."

"I suppose that means you don't want me to go; can't trust me up in town?" Dick said lightly.

"It isn't that." Elsie hesitated. "I imagine they want to make some use of you."

Dick gave her a curious glance.

"I suppose you mean Williamson does?"

"No," said Elsie, with a touch of color in her face; "I mean both."

"Ah!" Dick looked at her keenly for a moment. "You're generally frank, Elsie; open as the sunshine, in fact; and I'm not clever at hiding what I think. Suppose you tell me what you really do mean?"

"I can't, Dick; but I want you to be careful in Edinburgh, for my sake."

"Very well. I'll promise that; and I think I can manage not to let others see I've had a hint. It's a funny thing, but although I am a bit of a fool, I really have more sense than people imagine."

Elsie was puzzled by his manner. The hardness in his tone was not like Dick; but she let the matter drop.

"Who is Rankine? Do you know him?" she asked.

"Yes; he's a friend of Whitney's people, a navy officer. Struck me as a remarkably good type."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. Somewhere between here and Ireland, surveying for charts."

"Perhaps Mr. Whitney will bring him to Appleyard when his ship's in port."

"I'll ask him to, if you like. But I don't know you as a plotter. What's the scheme?"

"I can't tell you," Elsie answered with a careless smile. "You'll have to trust me, Dick."

"That's easy," he said in a different tone. "Anybody who knew you well would trust you with his life."

Elsie gave him a quick, affectionate glance, and they went into the house.

CHAPTER XXII
STAFFER'S MESSENGER

"Be back in half an hour," he said.

It was a fine morning with bright sunshine and a keen east wind, and Dick walked along carelessly, looking at the shops. At one he bought some gloves for Mrs. Woodhouse, and at another some delicate, quilled chrysanthemums caught his eye. He bought a larger bunch than he could conveniently hold, imagining that they might please Elsie, and farther on he purchased an enameled locket.

With a box of gloves sticking awkwardly out of his pocket, and a wrapped-up jewel case dangling by a loop from a finger of the hand with which he clutched the great bunch of chrysanthemums, Dick entered the hotel. None of the pages or porters asked him what he wanted when he strode through the entrance hall; for his twinkling smile and easy manner banished suspicion. There were very few people who ever distrusted Dick. Staffer had chosen his messenger well.

Dick found Sanders reading a letter in his room, and thought the fellow had been surprised when he entered unannounced. The paper in his hand was crumpled, as if he had meant to put it out of sight, but he turned to Dick with a quiet movement. His face was expressionless, but his glance was very keen.

"Perhaps I ought to apologize for breaking in on you like this," Dick said.

"It's not quite usual," Sanders replied. "The general custom is to send in a card."

"Well, I was told to go straight up; and as I was thinking of something else, I'm afraid I forgot to knock."

"I'm afraid you did," returned Sanders. "Who told you to come up?"

"Staffer. I understand you have a message for him. We're just starting home."

"Ah!" Sanders' voice was quiet, but Dick imagined that he felt some surprise. "You will excuse my remarking that, as a rule, one likes to know something about a messenger."

"Of course; I forgot." Dick took out the cigarette-case. "Staffer is my step-father, and he said you'd know this."

"Then you're Mr. Johnstone of Appleyard?"

Dick nodded and felt that he was being quietly studied. It was obvious that Sanders knew something about him.

"How long have you been in Edinburgh?" he asked, and looked thoughtful when Dick told him.

"Well, I have no message for Mr. Staffer. As a matter of fact, I was expecting some news from him, and have not received it. You might tell him so."

"I see; you can't reply to a message you didn't get. But I'll send him round when I reach the garage, if you like—and there's the telephone."

"You seem to understand the situation," Sanders smiled. "I won't trouble Mr. Staffer, as it is not important. Will you come down and smoke a cigarette?"

"No, thanks. Staffer's waiting," Dick said.

Sanders picked up the cigarette-case, which he had left on the table.

"This is Mr. Staffer's, and perhaps you had better return it as soon as you see him. The thing is valuable."

Dick left the hotel, but took out the case and examined it as he walked back up the street. It was heavily gilded inside, and he thought the engraving round the small gold crest remarkably good. The case was beautifully made, and must have been expensive; but he suspected that this did not altogether account for Sanders' warning him to take care of it. Dick's face grew thoughtful as he remembered the crumpled letter, which the man had not had time to thrust into his pocket. Then, it was strange that he had been unwilling to use the telephone; and, when one came to think of it, Staffer could have avoided some delay by ringing him up. Moreover, Elsie had told him that he might be made use of in Edinburgh.

As he remembered this, Dick smiled. After all, he was not so simple as he looked, and people who misunderstood his character sometimes suffered for their mistake. His mind was occupied as he went on to the garage, where he found the car waiting at the door with Williamson inside. They had not brought Watson, and when Dick appeared Staffer started the engine.

"I suppose you saw Sanders," he said carelessly.

"Yes," replied Dick. "Hope I haven't kept you; I wasn't with him long."

"Jump up," Staffer said, as he threw in the clutch, and the big car rolled away down the street.

The traffic was thick when they crossed the railway bridge, and Staffer was forced to drive cautiously; and when they ran between tall houses along the narrow highway out of the town, there seemed to be an unusual number of carts about and tramcars on the line. It was not until they were speeding past the last of the small villas on the outskirts that Staffer could relax his watchfulness, and then he did not speak to Dick. Staffer and Sanders had given him to understand that the message was of no importance, and Dick knew that Staffer would accordingly show no haste to ask about it.

They ran under a lofty railway viaduct and through a colliery village; then the road led upward across open country toward a high, blue ridge that rose between them and the south. As the car sped on, the careful cultivation that marks the Lothian levels became less evident. There were fewer broad belts of stubble, and the dark-green turnip fields were left behind; no copses and patches of woodland lined the winding road. Rushy pastures rolled away from it, the hedgerows were made of ragged, wind-stunted thorns, which presently gave place to dry stone dykes. Round hilltops began to rise above the high table-land where the white bent-grass grew, and a keen wind from the North Sea stung their faces as they climbed the last ascent. Here Dick's eyes swept the landscape.

The Forth had dwindled to a thin, glittering streak, Edinburgh was hidden by a haze of smoke, and the Craigs and Arthur's seat were fading into the background of the highland hills. Ahead, across the divide, a long, gently sloping hollow opened up where Gala Water wound among the fields and woods. The road, however, ran straight along the hillside, which gradually rose above it, while the valley melted through deepening shades of gray into a gulf of blue shadow. As the car rushed down the incline a faint white line was drawn across the distance, and Dick, glancing at his watch, imagined it was an Edinburgh express.

Then Staffer turned to him.

"By the way, what about the message Sanders gave you?"

"Oh," said Dick, "he didn't give it to me."

Staffer looked round as far as he was able, but dared not neglect his driving, and so missed Dick's grin.

"But you saw him!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, yes; but he had nothing to say. He didn't know what you wanted, because he hadn't heard from you. Anyway, that's what I understood."

The car had swung toward the edge of the road, and Staffer was occupied by the wheel for the next few moments, but Dick imagined that he and Williamson exchanged glances.

"Can you remember his exact remarks?" Staffer asked when he could turn again.

"I'm afraid not. Still, I think he expected you to send him something that hadn't come."

Staffer said nothing more, but Williamson put his hand into his pocket, and took out what appeared to be a time-table. A thin spire with a few white houses below it now stood out from the hillside two or three miles away, but Dick thought Williamson would not get out there. It would look significant after hearing his report, and he could get a train to Edinburgh farther on. Staffer said something that Dick could not hear, and the car raced through the village without slackening speed.

For a time the road ran southward beside the sparkling stream, and then wound round wide curves where woods rolled down the hollows of the hills, until, as they turned a corner, Galashield's factory chimneys rose about the waterside, and a haze of smoke floated across the valley. Staffer reduced speed as they ran in among the houses, and drove very slowly when they reached a sharp bend near the station.

"I want some oil," he said. "We'll stop here and get a tin."

He pulled up in front of a big red hotel, and they went into the smoking-room.

Williamson walked over to the fire.

"It's a cold day for driving, and I don't think I'll go any farther," he remarked. "I want a few things that I can buy in the town, and I'll go on by the afternoon train."

"As you like," said Staffer. "Your place is off our way."

When Williamson left them, Dick turned to Staffer.

"I wonder if you would lend me a pound or two?" he asked.

"I might take the risk; but why do you want it?"

"Well," Dick said apologetically, "it's difficult to bring much money back when you go to Edinburgh; and if you don't mind I'll stop here. If Andrew and Whitney aren't in the neighborhood, I'll come on by train, but I expect to find them at Melrose or Abbotsford. You see, I felt rather shabby about leaving on the day they were coming home."

Staffer did not object, but Dick thought his compliance was accounted for by the whistle of a stopping train that was then starting for Edinburgh.

"Andrew has eccentric tastes, but, allowing for that, it's hard to see what satisfaction he and his American friend can get from cruising about the Galloway coast in winter," Staffer said.

"They're fond of a shot at the black geese."

"They can get snipe and partridges at Appleyard without much trouble."

"They can," Dick agreed, smiling; "that partly accounts for it. If you knew Andrew as I do, you'd understand why he prefers the geese. Anything he can get easily, doesn't appeal to him. No doubt, it's a matter of temperament, but I imagine he goes punting after geese because it's a remarkably good way of getting cold and wet."

"Then it's only the shooting that takes him along the coast."

"Of course. I can't think of anything else. Can you?"

"No," Staffer said with a quick laugh. "But I'll admit that I don't understand your cousin's type of character."

They left the hotel soon afterward, but Dick's face grew thoughtful when Staffer drove off in the car. He had known for some time that Williamson derived an advantage from exploiting his extravagance, but he had not minded this. Of late, however, Williamson had left him alone, but Dick did not think this was because Staffer had interfered on his behalf. He had admired and trusted his step-father, who had always treated him indulgently; and he now retained some liking for him, though he was beginning to know him better.

Leaving the town he took the road to Abbotsford lost in gloomy thought; but presently he braced himself to ponder the line he ought now to take. After all, he was the heir to Appleyard, and although he had recklessly ignored his responsibilities, he loved the old house. Now, all was not well there: something mysterious was going on. Dick held Williamson mainly accountable for this, but it looked as if Staffer had a part in the plot. This complicated things, because Staffer was his step-father and Elsie's uncle, and Dick cherished the honor of his house.

He looked up as he heard the hoot of a motor horn, and his tense face relaxed into a smile. Andrew, in the side-car of Whitney's bicycle, waved his hand and Dick's troubles began to vanish. One could rely on Andrew, who, after all, was a much better Johnstone than himself. Somehow, Andrew would stand between them and whatever threatened the honor of Appleyard.

CHAPTER XXIII
AN EVENING AT APPLEYARD

"Well, perhaps that's its proper place. But I expect it will emerge from obscurity when it's wanted."

"We must hope so," Staffer returned. "No doubt, your commanders are waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entry on the scene; but one imagines that ambitious young officers must find being kept in the background rather galling."

Andrew caught Whitney's glance and understood it as a warning not to speak. It had been blowing hard for the past week and he thought of the great battleships rolling until it was scarcely possible to keep a footing on their stripped decks, while anxious men slept beside the guns and bitter seas foamed across the ponderous, low-sided hulls. It would be worse on the swift destroyers, driving, half submerged, through the gale and trembling when the combers struck them, until their thin steel skin and beams racked and bent with the strain. No man could really keep a lookout in the blinding clouds of spray, and their decks would be swept from end to end with icy water. Rankine knew this, but he smiled tranquilly as he turned to Staffer.

"Oh, I don't think they mind—so long as they feel they're useful!"

"Is that what you feel?"

"Something of the kind. Surveying's not the work one would prefer, just now, but it's necessary. The banks and channels shift and our commerce must go on."

"There have been interruptions," Staffer said dryly.

Andrew felt puzzled. Staffer's manners were generally good; but now, while there was nothing offensive in his tone, he had gone farther than was altogether tactful. It looked as if he wanted to sting the young navy officer into an indignant protest, though Andrew could not see what he expected to gain. Rankine, however, agreed with Staffer.

"That's so; and it's possible we may hear of another interruption or two. Our men will do their best; but, while our cruisers are pretty active, they can't be everywhere at once."

The newspaper was brought in and Staffer handed it to Dick.

"You can read it to us. I can't see very well where I am."

Dick took the thin sheet.

"Nothing of importance on the western front; a trench or two carried, another lost."

He stopped with an exclamation, and the others leaned forward eagerly.

"What is it, Dick?" Elsie asked in a hushed voice.

"They've sunk another ship in the North Channel—a wheat ship from Canada!"

"Read it!" Andrew said tensely.

Dick gave a quick look at Staffer before beginning; but Staffer at that instant was lighting a cigar, so his face was masked.