Читать книгу The Secret of the Sands - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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Bastable's eyes shone softly as he turned to his companion. He could see she was in distress. The pleading expression of her face was sufficient to tell him that.

"I hope you won't think this is wrong," she said. "But I have not forgotten. I know your father and mine are bitter enemies, but that is no reason why we should not be friends. It seemed strange that you should come to Oversands to-night of all times, but I see the hand of Providence in it. My brother is in trouble!"

Bastable appeared to hesitate for a moment. "Has he told you this, Miss Vera?" he asked. "Sir Horace does not know——"

"Oh, my father knows nothing. The news only came to me just before dinner. It reached me in the form of a note delivered by a child. Have you seen Dick lately?"

"I have seen a good deal of him in London. I am a barrister, Miss Amory, and belong to the same club as your brother, and more than once I have been in a position to give him some little, well——"

"You have lent him money?" Vera exclaimed. "How odd that Dick should never have mentioned your name in his letters! But I am wasting time. My brother has got into some very serious trouble. He tells me that he dare not show his face at Oversands. Mr. Bastable, is it really as bad as that?"

Bastable looked down into the white, sad face that was turned to his. "I am afraid so," he said, gently. "Dick gave me a hint to that effect a night or two ago. He was anxious that I should advise him. I am inclined to believe that he did not tell me everything, but so far as I could gather it was very bad."

"You mean that that foolish boy has—has disgraced us?"

Bastable was silent for a while. Vera's worst fears were confirmed. "Your brother is very friendly with a lawyer called Bowen," he went on presently. "I fear that Bowen and Dick have been speculating with the property of a client of Bowen's—an old lady who died recently. Her trustees have asked for accounts, and the whole thing must come out. Unless something like twenty thousand pounds is forthcoming in the next few hours it is probable that——"

There was no occasion for Bastable to say more. The thing was as plain as daylight to Vera. Dick was little better than a thief—a criminal flying from justice.

"Oh, this is dreadful," the girl whispered. "It will break my father's heart. But we must save that wretched boy if we can, Mr. Bastable. Have you any scheme——"

"Would it not be as well to find out where he is first?"

"Oh, I had forgotten that!" Vera cried. "Dick is hiding at the Red House. That dreadful place always had a fascination for him. In his letter he says he will be there by ten o'clock to-night, and wants me to meet him. I could not do it—I have as much pluck as most girls—but I simply dare not go. When I came into the library to-night, I was going to tell my father everything. Ought he not to know?"

"Not just now," Bastable said after a pause. "It is possible I may be able to save the situation. I'll go and see Dick for you. I will explain how his address came into my hands. You had better return to the house lest anybody should discover that you have been out."

"How can I thank you for all this kindness?" Vera murmured. "But you will let me know soon? I shall not have a moment's peace so long as that poor boy——"

"I will see you to-morrow?" Bastable suggested. "You must meet me somewhere. I know it is awkward, but in the circumstances it would be imprudent to write. Shall we say to-morrow at midday in the yew avenue?"

"Where we used to meet for one of our stolen expeditions," Vera smiled faintly. "How far off those days appear to be! And to think that you should come back into my life in this fashion. But I must go. Good-night, Mr. Bastable!"

She held out her hands with a sudden impulse that touched Bastable. How sweet and fair and dainty she had grown, to be sure! He had never forgotten his little playmate, though he had not seen her for years. Most of the time she had been at school, and after that quarrel between Sir Horace and his father, Oversands had been a closed place to him. Now she was talking to him as if there were no social gulf between them. Her hands lay in his—he raised one of them to his lips.

"I have always remembered you," he said. "I was glad to help you in the old days, and I will help you now, Miss Vera. If by any possible chance your brother can be saved it shall be done. I have a scheme in my mind, but this is not the time or place to discuss it."

"I must try to be patient till to-morrow," Vera murmured.

"Twelve o'clock to-morrow. I only hope I may bring you good news."

Bastable turned away more or less abruptly and strode down the drive. The full round shield of the silver moon was rising, and his shadow fell on the undergrowth. He had the best part of an hour's walk before him if he wished to reach the Red House near ten o'clock.

He had ample food for thought as he walked along. He was recalling the old days when he and Vera had been children together, she a pretty little thing of seven, he a boy of 12. Then his father had been merely an upper servant of Sir Horace's; but the quarrel followed, and Joseph Bastable was summarily dismissed. There had been some suggestion of dishonesty, but that might have been only idle gossip.

Many things had happened in the past 14 years. In that interval the fortunes of the Amorys had gone back, whilst Joseph Bastable had flourished exceedingly. He had set up in Shoremouth as an agent just at the time when the place had begun to prosper. He had speculated boldly but shrewdly in land, with the result that to-day, as we have said, half the town belonged to him. He had been mainly instrumental in bringing to Shoremouth the joint stock bank that had affected the prosperity of Amory and Sons. He boasted more or less openly that he would bring Sir Horace to his knees and drive him out of Oversands. He had made a gentleman of Ronald—but, then, Ronald was a gentleman in any case.

Joseph Bastable had other ambitions, but these he did not mention in public. He had discussed them with Ronald to the younger man's embarrassment. However, it looked as if fate were about to crystallise these dreams into concrete realities.

The moon was riding high in the blue dome when Ronald left the high ground for the flat marshes by the side of the river. Here it was dreary and desolate to a degree. It seemed almost impossible to believe that the sylvan beauties of Oversands were so near, that within two miles lay the attractive town of Shoremouth.

The tide was out, and the wide range of sands lay bleak and deserted. At certain spots it was possible to cross the river by means of flat rocks that formed stepping-stones, but these depended upon the conditions of the tide, and now and again they were covered with slimy sand and weed that made the passage dangerous. One false step and there was an end of you. The shifting quicksands were capable of sucking down a good-sized boat without leaving a single trace behind.

A hundred yards or so back from the mud and sands stood a house that bore some resemblance to a martello tower. It was a wild and lonely spot, and there were various legends to account for the building of it. It had never been occupied in the recollection of the oldest inhabitant, though it was partially furnished. There had been a rumour lately that Sir Horace had been sounded by a prospective tenant, but he had not confirmed it. The place looked grim and repellent now in the glare of the moon. Ronald approached the building carelessly—he was not in the least afraid of meeting anybody, though it was a spot that most people avoided after dark.

The door yielded as Ronald pushed it; in the dingy sitting-room somebody had been smoking, for the musty atmosphere smelt strongly of tobacco. Very softly Bastable called Dick Amory by name. The call was repeated three times before any reply came. Then a head was cautiously thrust round the doorway from the hall, and Dick Amory entered listlessly. There was an unsteady smile on his weak, handsome face, and the irresolute lips quivered.

"How you frightened me!" he whispered. "I've been sitting in this infernal old kennel till my nerves are all to pieces. How did you manage to find me?"

Bastable proceeded to explain. Amory listened gloomily.

"It's uncommon good of you, old chap," he said. "Well, the mischief is done, and there is no help for it. I expect they have issued a warrant by this time. I should have gone and made a clean breast of it to the old man, but I didn't dare to show myself at Oversands. I'll have to get you to do it for me, Bastable. Don't forget to let me have some cigarettes and whisky to-morrow. I can manage till then. So long as I lie close I'm safe here until the governor can find the money. It will be a bit of a pull for him, especially as things haven't gone very well lately. What a fool I was to let Bowen drag me into this mess! I never had a penny of the money. It's an infernal shame that I should be the one to suffer!"

Amory's voice faded into a whine and something like tears stood in his eyes. It was almost impossible to sympathise with a poor weak creature like this. It was hard to believe that this was a relation of Vera Amory's.

"I should drop that if I were you," Bastable said, sternly. "There is nothing to be gained by self-pity. I have a scheme of sorts, and I want you to follow me carefully. I don't say that I shall be able to save you, but I'm going to have a good try. If——"

Amory grasped the arm of his companion with convulsive force. His face was white and set with ghostly fear. He trembled violently. "Quiet!" he whispered. "There's someone in the house!"

Bastable became rigid at attention. Surely enough somebody was shuffling along the hall towards the door. It seemed to Bastable that he could hear the notes of a tune coming from between half-closed lips. Then the door of the sitting-room opened a little and a hand lay upon the jamb. The hand—long, white, slim, with beautifully-moulded pink nails—stood out clear as a cameo in the white moonlight, and as it came so it vanished.

"Did you see that?" Bastable whispered. "You didn't? It was wonderfully plain. An exquisite slim white hand, with a superb old marquise diamond and ruby ring upon it. I should know that ring again anywhere!"

Amory made no reply for the chattering of his teeth. He managed to find his voice again presently. "Don't move," he whispered. "Don't leave me. Perhaps the fellow has gone away. You never saw any ring; it was pure imagination on your part."