Читать книгу Wadsworth Camp Mysteries - Charles Wadsworth Camp - Страница 18

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Miller stared after the oystermen until the marsh grass had hidden everything but the sail which scarcely stirred in the light breeze.

He walked closer then, but the bivouac disclosed no more than it had at first. So he turned and went back through the dunes to the Dart.

What he had seen added materially to his worry. He felt he had made a mistake in urging the girl to return to the sands. It was not safe for her to cross at the upper end of the inlet since these men were so near. She had intimated, however, that the excursion was a common one for her. Perhaps, then, the oystermen never ventured nearer the evil island than their camp. Yet that view would presuppose fear, must definitely remove them as a factor in the situation.

When he had reached the Dart he questioned Tony. The native knew there were a number of oystermen working the banks to the north. Once or twice in the past he had had glimpses of them, but he had never communicated with them intimately. They sold their oysters and what fish they caught, he said, in Sandport.

“They’re not a pleasant looking crew,” Miller said. “What kind of a reputation have they—for instance among the inhabitants of Sandport?”

Tony showed a little surprise.

“Some,” he answered, “have families—friends in Sandport.”

“Then you don’t think there’s anything wrong with these fellows I saw? I must say they looked like pirates.”

Tony shook his head.

“Have you ever heard of any secret organisation among them?”

Tony’s face was impassive. Miller could not be sure his denial was whole-hearted.

“I don’t know.”

At least Miller understood he could get no more satisfaction from Tony, He brought a book from the saloon and stretched himself in the steamer chair.

But he could not read. His dejection annoyed him all the more because it was so at variance with his natural character. Yet, try as he might, he could not throw it off.

Morgan went by towards noon, displaying a string of fish.

“Why don’t you fish, Tony?” Miller asked. “I expect to spend the night on the island with the Andersons. Since you feel as you do there’s no necessity of your coming with me. Row me ashore after luncheon and take the rest of the day and the night to yourself.”

Tony shook his head. -His attitude was intensely disapproving, but, through devotion or the fear of being left alone on the Dart, it was clear that he would share the adventure. Miller did not attempt to reason with him now. Tony had too much on his side.

Shortly after luncheon he went down to his stateroom, threw a few things in a bag, and directed Tony to place it in the dingy. He hesitated for a moment, then took a revolver from a drawer, saw that it was loaded, and slipped it in his pocket.

“Row over to the sphinxes temple,” he said when Tony had cast off. “You’ll agree we can deal with flesh and blood there, and I promised you we’d make him a polite call We owe it to him and to ourselves.”

When they were close he hailed the tub, but the fisherman gave no sign. They circled the hull. Its few portholes were covered with dirty sacking so that they could see nothing of the interior.

“Closer!” Miller said resolutely. “I’m going on board.”

He climbed over the broken rail. He examined the deck. It was empty. There was only one hatch. Miller faced that. His hand on the revolver in his pocket, he called :

“Hallo, below there!”

Aware of something like the reasonless hatred Anderson had described, he kicked and pounded on the hatch. He called again and again.

“If I were certain he’s there I’d break the thing in,” he said to Tony. “There’s something out of the way here.”

He lowered himself to the dingy in a bad temper, and directed Tony to continue to the shore.

“Draw the dingy above high water level, then keep your eye on that boat while I look over the scene of your affair.”

Tony shook his head.

“It’s day,” Miller said. “The snakes are drowsy in sunny places.”

He went up the path, carefully examining the underbrush on either side. About half way to the slave quarters, at the spot where Morgan and he had found Jake’s body, he saw several freshly broken palmetto fronds. That undoubtedly was where Tony had wandered from the path, where he had been held helpless by some compelling, intangible force while the snake had crept near. But there was nothing else; nothing the whole length of the path to give a clue to the nature of this force, nothing if one excepted the hot, damp air that made breathing almost painful.

In this heavy atmosphere Miller’s depression grew. His feeling of helplessness kept pace with it. His nerves jangled. Turning, he harried back to the shore of the inlet.

“Not a thing, not a thing,” he said irritably in reply to Tony’s questioning look.

He pointed at the fisherman’s boat.

“And that fellow—”

Tony shook his head.

The native at his heels, Miller hurried to the coquina house. Anderson and Molly met him at the steps.

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

“Enough,” he answered. He told them of Tony’s experience.

“And there’s something more,” he said. “Altogether it’s put me out of humour with myself. My nerves seem to be on edge this afternoon.”

“You, Jim?” Molly said. “I prayed it wouldn’t get you.”

Miller made an impatient gesture.

“Nothing has me, but I’ve ceased blaming you for staying here. One can’t be beaten by such madness.”

With an effort he forced himself to speak of the girl.

“Andy, there’s one thing—that girl.”

Anderson’s glance questioned him,

“Yes,” Miller said, “I’ve seen her. I want to know all you can tell me about her.”

“You don’t think she had anything to do with last night? ” Molly asked.

“I can’t think that.”

“She is so strange,” Molly sighed.

“I asked you on the Dart, Andy, when you spoke of her as so strange if she was off her head. She is queer, I grant you that—perhaps consciously so. That’s a question. Actually she is as sane as you or I. Now what can you tell me about her?”

“Very little,” Anderson replied, “that can be put into words. Molly, you—”

“It’s so indefinite—the feeling you have about her,” Molly said. ” We’ve never seen her much—scarcely at all lately. Occasionally we’ve spied her running or walking through the forest—always with that curious detached expression on her pretty face. But what to me has seemed hardest to account for is the way she makes you feel when she looks at you out of those big, deep eyes, the way she seems to hold you aloof. But I have never thought she was crazy.”

“I’d stake my life she is” Anderson said. “The girl suffers, and I believe it’s this island that makes her suffer. Perhaps it affects her even more than it does us. She may be more receptive.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Miller answered. “Have you never asked Morgan about her? I tried yesterday and he froze solid.”

“He always does,” Molly said. “I wanted to be friendly with her, but she wouldn’t let me. She made me feel I can’t tell you how ill-at-ease. Then she ran away. I spoke to her father. He let me see it made him very unhappy to talk about her.”

“But why?” Miller cried.

“Because,” Anderson answered, “I think Morgan fears it may be the other thing, or at any rate imagines we suspect it. That would hurt him, anger him,”

“And that’s all you can tell me of her!” Miller said. “It’s how everything appears in this place—elusive, just out of reach. If we could only get our hands on one fact to start a theory that would hold water!”

“I hate to see you this way, Jim,” Molly said gloomily.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get that fact if it’s to be had. Meantime we must deal with something we can’t define, something apparently impossible. But we can’t sit back in our ignorance and say that and risk its running over us. No matter how preposterous it seems to our commonsense we must take the island at its face value. In the first place, I understand you have to hail a boat every time you go to Sandport. There is no boat at the southern end of the island, opposite Sandport?”

Anderson shook his head.

“There ought to be one,” Miller went on. “I’ll send Tony to Sandport to hire a rowboat. We can keep it tied on this side.”

Molly nodded approvingly, but Anderson wanted reasons..

“This business of Tony’s,” Miller answered, “has taught me a lesson. I’ve concluded that stubbornness is a poor relation of discretion. It’s brought you nothing but the loss of—well, your peace of mind. It’s nearly cost me Tony. I acknowledge nothing except that there appears to have been an incomprehensible and fatal force at large in that piece of forest last night and the night Jake died. Because we haven’t been able to get a physical clue to it we can’t afford to sit back and say it doesn’t exist. It’s there. It’s dangerous. Suppose it should spread to this house? You haven’t been able to get any physical clue to the apparently supernatural manifestations of this house either, have you? Suppose the force should grow stronger and sweep the island? It would come from that direction. You could not get to the Dart, but if you had any warning you might escape to a boat and Sandport.”

“It looks like surrender,” Anderson said helplessly.

“Nonsense. I’m no more friendly to the supernatural than I was in Martinsburg. We’re fighting an unseen enemy,’ that’s all. We must skirmish against the only line he indicates to us.”

He called Tony, gave him some money, and sent him to Sandport to hire the boat. For the sake of the others he forced his depression down. He called out with an attempt at cheerfulness :

“Out of our minds with it! It will be dark soon enough. Andy, bring some kind of a table out here and a pack of cards. We’ll try a little three-handed auction, and tonight you’ll open that demonstrative bottle of wine—two if we want them. The supernatural’s as friendly to cheerfulness as the devil to a clergyman.”

“What a blessed change!” Molly said.

“We’ve done what we could for the present. I repeat I’m not friendly to phantoms. My hands itch to get at their throats.”