Читать книгу Wadsworth Camp Mysteries - Charles Wadsworth Camp - Страница 11

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Miller had no doubts from the first. He called with a queer catch in his voice :

“Jake!”

But Jake did not answer. The tortured posture cried out the reason.

Miller put his hand unsteadily on Morgan’s shoulder.

“Go ahead,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s see. Let’s do—”

“Do” Morgan echoed. “There’s nothing to do. He’s dead. Here—”

His voice broke off. He stepped forward haltingly. They reached the body and stared down at it with eyes that sought hope hopelessly.

There was no doubt as to the cause of death. The left trouser leg was drawn up. Two holes showed above the ankle. It was easy to reconstruct the tragedy.

Jake had heard enough about rattlesnakes since he had been on Captain’s Island to snatch at his only chance. So, instead of attempting to run to the coquina house or the plantation, he had evidently sat down in this jungle which had so justly terrified him and done his best to fasten a tourniquet above the wound. His torn handkerchief and a broken stick showed how hard he had tried. He had never risen again. Perhaps it was too late when his repeated experiments had failed, or, perhaps, his terror had held him prisoner. At any rate there they found him, doubtless within a few feet of where the snake had struck.

Anderson’s words of two nights ago when he had spoken of his fancy of the snakes rushed back to Miller.

“Lately we’ve feared they were growing daring, were getting ready to strike.”

And there also came back to Miller Anderson’s fear that the death of Molly’s pet had been a warning from the snakes.

A snake had struck and death had followed, yet. Miller told himself, there could be no possible connection between that tragedy and the alleged supernatural manifestations which had so torn the nerves of his friends. Morgan’s first words, however, reached him with a sense of shock.

“In this path! By heavens, it isn’t safe. It was here, just about here, that Mrs. Anderson’s cat was struck the other day. We didn’t think enough of that. We haven’t been careful enough.”

Morgan controlled himself with an effort.

“Poor devil! And this will hit the Andersons hard—all of us—”

As he stood, looking down at Jake, Miller thought he noticed something peculiar. He didn’t care to appear fanciful, nor did he wish to give Morgan the impression that his own nerves were running away with him. Moreover, he made up his mind he would have plenty of time to convince himself when Jake had been carried to the house. He spoke of that to Morgan.

“Yes, yes,” Morgan agreed.

He glanced at his watch.

“I wish Anderson was back. Maybe we’d better wait until then.”

“Yes,” Miller said, “and is there anything we ought to do—some formality? I don’t know much about such things, but it seems to me—”

“By all means. It’s a coroner’s case,” Morgan answered. “We must avoid getting tangled up in any unfamiliar red tape.”

Miller nodded.

“We’re practically certain to run against a country official who’ll probably use all the ceremony possible to impress us with his importance. But what can we do? I suppose Sandport—”

“It’s only a collection of fishermen’s huts,” Morgan answered, “but I believe the coroner for this coast section has his headquarters there. I guess it’s best to notify him.”

He turned away.

“This is hard to grasp.”

“It has to be grasped,” Miller said firmly. “It’s getting late. What we have to do should be done at once.”

“You’re right,” Morgan answered. “It’s the safest scheme. I’ll send my man to Sandport to report the case and bring back the coroner. If he hurries they ought to return a little after dark. Then he can authorise the removal. Besides Anderson ought to be back by that time.”

“If he only comes!” Miller muttered. “There’s a possibility he won’t, you know. Anyhow, go ahead. I’ll stay here with Jake until the errand’s done, until we’ve satisfied all the pitiful formalities.”

He paused. He bit his lip.

“But there’s Mrs. Anderson. Confound it! Why isn’t Anderson here? She must be told. If neither Jake nor I shows up as I arranged with her, she’ll be frantic with anxiety. If you don’t mind you’d better tell your man to stop and give her the facts.”

“It won’t do,” Morgan said. “One of us must take that task, unpleasant as it is. I’ll try to do it myself. I’ll hurry on to the plantation and get my man off, then I’ll go to the coquina house and do the best I can.”

Morgan started up the path, but after he had taken a few steps he turned back.

“You don’t mind staying here? It won’t be long.”

Miller shook his head, and Morgan went on. The forest closed behind him and hid his hurrying figure.

Miller lighted his pipe, but the smoke seemed to thicken the heavy atmosphere. Instead of soothing it irritated his nerves. After a moment he let the pipe go out. So this was the end of his joyous and determined plans to call at the plantation and force, if possible, another interview with the ” queer” girl! He frowned. It seemed that there was always something arising to limit his knowledge of her to that mystifying encounter on the beach.

In a few minutes Morgan appeared with his man. He had evidently explained the situation, for the fellow’s face was white and frightened, and he went by almost at a run with averted head.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Morgan said as he went on to the shore and his disquieting task at the coquina house.

Alone again, Miller settled himself to wait and watch. The light was already failing in that thick vegetation. For some moments he paced up and down, glancing at Jake, dead in this unspeakable way. But that peculiar impression he had received troubled him. He made up his mind, coroner or no coroner, to satisfy himself immediately. He approached the body on tiptoe. He knelt beside it. He leaned over. He even raised one of the wrists to examine the under side. His impression had not been pure fancy. The skin of the wrists appeared to have been bruised. He could detect what might have been abrasions. But it was all very little. As he arose and pondered, the picture Anderson had drawn of the tongue-tied, powerful fisherman, outlined against the coloured sky, came into his mind and lingered. Yet he had not even seen the man himself, and that picture was unquestionably the expression of the hatred Anderson had formed for him. Anyway these slight marks might merely be testimony of some escapade, some accident, several days old; for that matter, mute reminders of Jake’s struggles to fasten the tourniquet above the wound. But the feeling of the place crept into Miller’s material brain. While the light continued to fail he resumed his pacing.

Morgan was back in half an hour. He was breathing hard as though he had come quickly through the darkening path. He carried Anderson’s shot gun. He handed it to Miller.

“I thought it might be some company,” he explained, “because I—”

“And Mrs. Anderson?” Miller asked.

Morgan waved his hand in a helpless gesture.

“If her nerves hadn’t been in such a state anyway!” he said. “I did the best I could, but it was hard—hard. I offered to stay with her, but she preferred to be alone until her husband came. She said it would only be a few minutes. If he’s coming, it will.”

“The boat might be late,” Miller said.

“We’ll hope that’s it. You’re sure you don’t mind waiting here for the coroner, because I ought to be at the plantation. You see—”

He paused. Miller wondered if it was the girl who was calling him back. Morgan cleared his throat and verified his guess.

“My daughter is alone there, except for the cook. I am not in the habit—I suppose I ought to go back.”

“Certainly,” Miller said. “I’m right as can be here until the others arrive.”

“Come for me if you need me,” Morgan directed. “And tell the Andersons they’d better run on over and spend the night at the plantation. It won’t be very pleasant for them in the coquina house after this. If they’ve any scruples about leaving tell them to keep my man to help in any way he can. “

Miller thanked him absent-mindedly. Since Morgan had introduced the subject himself, here was an exceptional chance to speak of the girl, to lift, perhaps, the veil from her uncommon and fascinating personality. He crushed down the desire to speak. He couldn’t do it under these circumstances. So, reluctantly, he saw Morgan go.

It was nearly dark now. He was glad Morgan had brought the gun. He liked the feel of the sleek barrels as he carried it cradled under his arm.

The dusk deepened. Infernally the minutes lengthened. The night had an oily quality. He could almost feel it slipping down, thickly, chokingly. Pretty soon he couldn’t see the path. Jake’s body, which had grown dimmer and dimmer, was no longer before his eyes. The branches were so thick that he couldn’t be sure the stars were shining. Once or twice he stumbled, and he stood still, not daring to move for fear of leaving the path to flounder helplessly in that thicket whose revolting life had already done for one of them.

He heard rustling sounds increasing about him. He was practically certain that they were leaves whispering in the breeze, yet that feeling of the snakes, of which Anderson had spoken, came to him in all its force. It was easy to fancy these rustling sounds were made by snakes circling him and slowly closing their circle. It was difficult for him to argue reasonably as he stood by black night in the heavy repellent atmosphere of that forest, in a place he knew was avoided for two things : the supernatural and poisonous snakes. Jake’s invisible body testified how deservedly. Those sly noises, such as snakes might make, grew everywhere about him. And he was defenceless, to all purposes a blind man, unable to avoid the creeping horror.

He realised now the state of mind into which the island had thrown Anderson and Molly. He held his nerves in leash by a severe effort of the will. He lost all track of time. It seemed to him that midnight must have come and gone before he saw a lantern waving through the jungle.

“Here they are,” he thought. “I’m not sorry this is ended.”

But it was Molly, bravely strangling her terror, coming through the forest alone.

“Molly!” he called. “What’s the matter?”

She started to run. She had almost reached him when he saw her go down. He heard the tinkling of the lantern chimney as it shattered. He put out his hands against the darkness rushing in again. He stumbled towards her. He found her. He got his arms around her and lifted her up. She was half laughing, half crying—laughing hysterically from her accident and her relief at finding him, and crying because of her grief and her fear.

Anderson, she said, must have missed his boat for he had not returned. Morgan’s man had come back from Sandport alone. The coroner had refused to follow until morning. He had made no comprehensible excuse. Evidently he shared the general, ignorant fear of Captain’s Island. Even duty had failed to drag him there after dark.

Miller groaned.

“Where is Morgan’s man?” he asked.

Molly shivered.

“The coroner must have frightened him. Or else he had some experience on the road from the end of the island of which he won’t speak. When he got to the coquina house he refused to leave even to return to the plantation. Instead he was sitting cowed and shaking, over a blazing fire he’s built in our kitchen. Jim, this is dreadful! I can’t realise. Where—?”

But Miller reached out and found her arm. He grasped it.

“No, Molly, that would be foolish. It is dreadful, as you say. But we must face the facts and be sensible. You and Andy must not let this weigh on you. K you can’t rise above it you’ll have to leave Captain’s Island.”

“Feeling as we do! We can’t.”

“Then,” he said determinedly, “you can not brood over Jake.”

He felt her aim tremble.

“When it’s our fault!”

“That’s nonsense. Now listen, Molly. You must go right back to the coquina house. It’s hard luck you broke the lantern, but you can follow the path.”

The muscles of her arm tautened. She drew closer to him.

“And spend the night there alone, except for that frightened man! Jim, anyway, I came with the lantern, but I can’t—I can’t go through that path alone now, without light. Don’t ask it.”

Miller was in a quandary. He shrank from the only way out.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“It was nine o’clock when I left the house.”

Six or seven hours to daylight! He knew there was no chance of relief from Morgan. When his man failed to return to the plantation he would naturally conclude that everything had been attended to, and that the Andersons had acted on his suggestion and kept him for the night. There was no other course. Miller decided, indefensible as it was, that it would be wiser to leave Jake to the things that prowl by night than to keep Molly during those long hours in that piece of forest. When he proposed it, however, Molly refused even to consider the plan.

“Jake’s been faithful to Andy and me for a good many years. If we had let him go back to New York, instead of forcing him to stay here against his will, he would be alive now. No, Jim, we can be faithful to Jake for a few hours no matter what it costs. I’ll stay, Jim. I’ll watch with you. Don’t say anything more.”

Miller knew that argument was useless. So they stayed and suffered through the night. More than once Miller was tempted to fire his gun in the hope that Morgan might hear and come to them. It wasn’t merely that they could see nothing, that Jake’s body lay so near, even that those stealthy noises such as snakes might make caused their flesh to creep. It was something else; something which, Molly said, you felt in that piece of forest more than anywhere else on the island—felt, and loathed, and couldn’t analyse.