Читать книгу The Lonely House - Arthur Gask - Страница 4

Table of Contents

DIRECTLY it was fully dark Larose crept back to his tent, and by the light of a carefully screened oil lamp made ready for an adventure in the night. He was determined to put his suspicions to the test.

He was going to watch the house until the moon rose, for he was sure that after the burning heat of the day someone in the house of darkness would be going again for water to the creek. He changed his boots for a pair of rubber shoes, he buckled a small hunting knife to his belt, and carefully cleaned and oiled the little automatic that was always on his hip.

Half an hour later and he was crouching within a few feet of the door of the black house. It was then just nine o'clock, and, as he knew the moon would not rise until after three, he expected that a long vigil lay before him.

He settled himself close to the wall, and strained his ears to catch the slightest sound within the house. Everything was perfectly still. Not a sound, not a movement to betoken that there were any living creatures near.

An hour passed—two—three, and then suddenly the detective sat bolt upright, and two seconds later had slipped to his hands and knees, and was creeping like a shadow to the nail- studded door. He put his head close down and then—he smiled. He was satisfied. He had smelt the odor of tobacco smoke.

In a quarter of an hour he was back again in his tent and thinking hard.

Certainly he must learn something about the occupants of the black house, but he must alter his tactics now. They must not catch sight of him again; he must make them think he had left for good. He would move his camp directly it got light, and take it away at least a mile, but he himself would return at once, and from quite a different direction would continue to watch, but now unseen.

There were plenty of places where he could find cover, and he could lie even closer to the house than he had been before; then, when those who were hiding saw no more sign of him, they would naturally think that he had gone away and would come out. He would then see what manner of men they were. But he must be careful, he must be very careful, he told himself, for they were probably dangerous men who would not be over squeamish in finding means to make him hold his tongue. If they caught him, all the surroundings of the place were so lonely there would be small chance of discovery if they did away with him by violence. They could throw his body over the cliffs into the sea, and the sharks would see to it that no evidence would ever be forthcoming as to how he had met his end.

Then another thought struck him. Suppose already they were planning to get hold of him and find out his business there! Suppose even now they were out upon his track! For four days they had seen him watching the house, and the uncertainty and anxiety they must have felt would surely have gone a long way to make them willing now to take some risks.

No, no, they could not at any rate be searching for him yet. They could not search among the rocks in the pitch dark, and they would not dare to carry a light. But what about when the moon rose, as it would do between three and four o'clock? They might slip out then and try to find out where he was sleeping, or at any rate secrete themselves in some convenient position, so that when morning came they would be able to take him unawares. They knew from which direction he had always appeared, and by making a detour they might, directly it grew light, become the trackers instead of the tracked.

He smiled grimly to himself. Well, he would sleep away from "home." So he picked up his ground-sheet and, without undressing, made his way to a long flat rock about fifty yards away. No one could get behind him there, he knew, for the rock was at the edge of the cliff, and on the far side there was a sheer drop of a hundred feet and more to the sea below. The cliff jutted out sharply and, high water or low, the waves were always lapping at its base.

He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to one. Good! Then he had just over three hours to sleep, and with his senses trained as they were he could wake as he willed, at four o'clock. He spread his ground-sheet by the side of the rock and, lying down, in five minutes was fast asleep.

He had dropped off quite certain that in the friendly darkness he was secure from all harm and that no danger to him lurked anywhere. Yet such is the uncertainty of life, a big tiger-snake lay coiled under the other side of the rock, and not ten paces away a death-adder was sleeping in a tuft of grass.

Towards morning there was a rustle of movement within the black house and the beam of an electric torch shot across the floor. "Four o'clock," said a low voice, "and the moon is up. I'll unbolt the door and we'll go round by the creek first."

Larose slept heavily and the three hours he had allotted lengthened quickly into five. His senses might certainly be trained, as he had told himself, but he had made no allowance for his recent illness, and Nature now contemptuously ignored the resolutions he had made. It was after six when he awoke and the sun was well up in the sky, and he only woke then because he heard a sound near him, the crunch of a boot upon a stone. Opening his eyes quickly, they nearly froze in his head. A man was standing not five paces from him, leaning over the very rock under which he lay.

The man was holding a pistol in one hand and with the other he was shading his eyes from the sun. The end of a thick iron bar protruded from the pocket of his coat. The man was burly and thickset, and he had a big frowning face and a square jaw. He was unshaven and unkempt. Standing with his head craned forward, he was sweeping his eyes round in every direction. There was, however, something furtive in his movements, as if he were anxious to see and yet not himself be seen. Suddenly, on the instant, the expression of his face changed, his gaze became fixed, his eyes stared and his mouth opened wide.

"He's seen my tent." muttered Larose softly. "Now—something's going to happen," and the detective very gently drew out his own automatic and released the safety catch.

The big man turned round and began to gesticulate wildly. Apparently he was pointing out the direction of the tent to someone lower down the cliff. Then he leant heavily upon the rock and, raising his pistol, appeared to be taking deliberate and careful aim.

"Oh!" whispered the detective, "he's seen my haversack and thinks it's me. He's going to shoot, the devil." But the big man was evidently uncertain what to do. Three times he lifted his pistol and three times he lowered it again to his side. Then he bent down as if he were trying to peer under the flap of the tent.

The detective thought rapidly. The man meant murder without doubt. The wretch was going to shoot on sight. It was no time for squeamishness, and hesitation was a fool's card to play. Any moment the man might turn his eyes and then his pistol would spit out instant death. Larose raised his own pistol and covered him over the heart.

Then suddenly the man made to creep stealthily forward, and he looked down to see where to plant his foot. His eyes met those of Larose, his face grew ghastly, his jaw dropped, his hand—but there was a flash of fire from under the rock, the crash of a pistol at close range, and spinning round with a hoarse cry he fell backward to the edge of the cliff. For perhaps five seconds he lay poised with inches only between him and the drop to the sea, below. Then, a last convulsive shudder shaking him, he turned on his side and suddenly, quicker than the eye could follow, disappeared from view.

Larose sprang to his feet to look over the cliff, but instantly had reason to regret his haste, for three bullets in quick succession splattered on the rock. He threw himself down again and swore deeply at his want of thought. Of course, he ought to have remembered there were two of them, he told himself disgustedly. He had seen the man he had shot beckoning to someone, and without doubt the other wretch was not far away.

The detective's heart pumped like a piston. The position now was menacing to a degree. His second adversary knew exactly where he lay, but he himself had no means of knowing from which particular direction danger threatened, and at any moment the pistol might open fire again.

Instantly the detective made up his mind. At all risks he must move away. He knew the lie of all the rocks upon the cliff, and with caution he ought to be able to work round, so that anyone who was stalking near his tent would be taken in the rear.

Ah—a thought struck him. Better still, he would make for the black house and lie in ambush there. That was the very thing. The man who was after him would sooner or later return down the cliff, and then would meet with a reception that was quite unexpected.

Larose said afterwards that all his life long he would remember the two hours that followed. He had to make a long detour and crawl low upon the ground the whole time. Never once did he dare to rise even to the level of his knees, and very soon his muscles were so sore that he could have cried out with the pain. His eyes were full of dust, the burning sun beat down upon his head, he was saturated with perspiration, and a fierce thirst tortured him.

Over every yard he covered he had to hold his pistol raised ready to fire, and all the time he had to keep on looking backwards, in case he should be sniped from behind. He was in both great physical and great mental distress.

It was a dreadful journey, and a sigh of relief burst from him when finally he had left the rocks behind, and was no longer in a position to be taken unawares.

Then suddenly he smelt something burning, and straight before him he saw faint spirals of smoke coming up from over the other side of the hill.

"Now, what the deuce?" he began, and then he rose abruptly to his feet and raced across the turf to where he could look down over the cliff.

He whistled in astonishment. The black house was on fire. Smoke was pouring out of the window, and he could hear the loud crackle of burning wood.

For a moment the smoke formed a screen, and he could see nothing beyond the house itself. Then a puff of wind came, and the screen suddenly lifted.

A cry of dismay burst from his lips. The boat was no longer by the black house. It was two hundred yards out to sea—there was a man in it, and he was hoisting a sail.

An hour later, and a very tired Larose limped back to where he had left his tent. In appearance he was very subdued.

He had watched the boat until it had become a mere white speck up the gulf, he had searched fruitlessly among the burning embers in the black house, and he had sighed many times as he had thought of all that had happened and what it must mean to him now.

The rest and peace of his holiday had been rudely broken, and he must return at once to his life's work. Crime and evil were calling to him, and it was not in his nature to turn a deaf ear. He had become involved, too, in happenings that were terrible, and it would trouble him all his life long if he could not justify his actions.

He had killed a man of whom he knew nothing at a moment's notice almost, and he must find out why it had been necessary to do it.

What now had been the reason for the deadly purpose of those in hiding in the black house that they must murder him offhand, simply because they had seen him watching in their vicinity? Why had they been hiding there at all? Was not his surmise correct that they were fugitives from the law, and 'wanted' for some dreadful crime?

Ah! But he would find out. He must find out, for his wounded pride insisted that he should. He had cut a poor figure that morning. He had greatly under-estimated the intelligence of those he had been up against, and he had suffered accordingly.

To think that all the time he had been crawling along painfully among the rocks on his stomach that second man had been calmly and contemptuously preparing for his get-away!

With the tide low as it was it must have taken the wretch quite a long while to drag that boat over the sands into the sea, and yet from all appearance he had gone back afterwards with complete assurance to set fire to the house.

The detective gritted his teeth in annoyance, but there was more annoyance for him still when he got back to his camp.

A scene of destruction awaited him.

His haversack had been torn open and all his things strewn about. His binoculars had been crushed viciously into the ground, the lenses and the prisms all broken. His water-bottle had been cut and emptied, the tyres of his bicycle slashed to ribbons, and his boots had been taken away.

"Really, a most thorough workman," sighed Larose when at last he had gauged to the full the extent of his misfortunes, "and most far-seeing, too. Evidently I am to be delayed as long as possible from getting in touch with the police." He nodded his head grimly. "Ah! but it will be a great day for me when I have him in the dock. He's bested me now, but I'll get him presently."