Читать книгу The Broken Trail - Harold Bindloss - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE SIGNAL
A shower rolled up the valley, and Emerson, plowing through drenched meadowsweet, steered for a broken wall under the trees by the quiet road. The afternoon was sultry, and thunder rumbled in the hills. Emerson's long fishing-stockings and nailed brogues embarrassed him, and although he had floundered about the stony river since lunch he had caught but two or three small trout.
In the meantime, he had had enough. Under the spreading beech the ground was clear of undergrowth and the wall was dry. Resting his back against the stones, he lighted his pipe and looked about. Behind the tangled grass and meadowsweet, swallows skimmed a calm river-pool. Overhead big drops splashed on trembling leaves, and where the thick branches opened he saw the moor's broken, purple ridge. Although the flies were numerous, Garnet was content to smoke and muse.
He had thought to start for Edinburgh and he must do so soon, but in summer Copshope was a charming spot, and Anne Harden was a remarkably attractive girl. Perhaps for her brother's sake, she was kind; in Scotland the word carried a significance it did not in Canada. To some extent, Anne was frankly modern, but Emerson sensed a touch of the old Borderers' fire and pride. In fact, he imagined Anne Harden's blood was red. All the same, for him to dwell upon her charm was foolish.
Mrs. Harden puzzled him. He thought her talents were domestic and she was satisfied to rule her husband's house. Her rule was firm; the servants were model servants, and on Sundays were sent off to the Established Church, although it entailed a frugal lunch and cold dinner. Mrs. Harden was a stanch Presbyterian and used the capitals. Her friends were sober and locally important; Emerson thought some dull. Perhaps it was strange, but he felt her conventional propriety was rather exaggerated. Somehow he wondered whether Mrs. Harden was always like that.
There was another queer thing: Harden indulged his wife and it looked as if she got all she wanted, but Emerson did not think her happy. A sort of nervous moodiness seemed to imply that she bore some strain, and since Emerson thought Anne was puzzled, it looked as if the strain were recent. He did not imagine she bothered about Keith. Keith had stated he was not much at Copshope, and after all he was not her son. Well, it had nothing to do with Garnet, and he would soon be gone.
He turned his head. The rain had not stopped and a walking tourist came along the road. Copshope was not on the beaten track, but in summer holiday-makers invaded the lonely hills. The fellow was young, and obviously a city man, for his skin was white and his knickerbockers and shooting-coat were new. Emerson thought him much like other British excursionists who sometimes disturbed his fishing. Pulling off his rucksack, the stranger sat down on the wall and lighted a cigarette.
"The showers are heavy and the afternoon is hot," he said. "However, when I left King's Cross the fug in town was worse."
Emerson had not heard the word before and he said nothing. The other gave him a careless glance and resumed: "Perhaps you don't know London; but sometimes Montreal is pretty hot."
"That is so," Emerson agreed, and studied the other.
The fellow was not a Canadian, and Garnet meditated about his surmising that he knew Montreal. His fishing-stockings were Harden's and his clothes were made by a Glasgow tailor.
"Were you at Montreal?" he inquired.
"For two or three days, in August, and I had enough. Then I joined a Canadian friend on the Taminisqua. A noble trout river, but when we were out we got more mosquito bites than fish."
Emerson remarked that the fellow shifted the accent from the proper syllable, which, if he had camped by the river, was perhaps strange.
"I believe the Taminisqua trout are good," he said, placing the accent where the tourist placed it.
"Big yellow fish, two or three pounds weight. Perhaps you know my pal, Johnny Oakshot? Taminisqua Johnny! He boasts about his river."
As a rule, a Canadian talks about gray trout: in Scotland, yellow implies the red-spotted, freshwater kind. The tourist was not a Scot, and it looked as if he had an object for using the river's name. Emerson imagined he rather stressed the word, and although he did not know Oakshot, his curiosity was excited and he was willing to give him a lead.
"On our side, he's Taminisqua Jake."
"Why, of course," said the tourist carelessly. "I suppose you are stopping at the house across the fields?"
Emerson thought it rather obvious. One saw Copshope in the trees, and he was fishing where strangers dared not fish; a notice by the road warned off trespassers. When one wears wading-stockings and thick brogues one does not walk far. Yet he saw the other wanted to know.
"Yes," he said. "I am at Copshope. I may not stop for long."
The tourist got up. The shower was passing, but for a few moments he hesitated.
"Well, I must shove on for Greensyke Inn. If you'd like to see Johnny Oakshot, he might be at Hexham. I'm Tom Basset, and I've got a room at the inn for a day or two."
Emerson let him go and lighted a fresh pipe. He did not want to see Oakshot, but he pondered.
It looked as if the fellow's talking about Oakshot and the Taminisqua was an experiment, perhaps a signal. But if that were so, who did Basset think he was? Keith was at Winnipeg, and if the men who robbed the bank had sent across a confederate, he would not fix the rendezvous in the Border hills. For all that, Basset had stated he would be at the Greensyke Inn for a few days, and it looked as if he meant to indicate that Emerson would find him there if he were wanted. On the whole, his doing so implied that Keith was, after all, the gang's accomplice, and although the supposition was ridiculous, Emerson resolved he would say nothing to Harden. After a time he admitted that he was baffled. Basset was perhaps but a tourist who wanted to boast about his fishing in Canada, and Garnet put up his rod and took a field path to Copshope.
Harden was on the terrace, and Emerson, joining him, presently inquired:
"What is a fug, sir?"
"Close heat; perhaps stuffiness is the colloquial word," Harden replied, smiling. "The term is not Scottish, but when an English public schoolboy warmed up his study I believe he talked about a fug. In some circles, to use the slang of our famous schools is rather fashionable."
"Then if one did not know the word, it would indicate that one had not gone to a first-class English school? In fact, it might indicate that one was a foreigner?"
"On the whole, I think it might do so," Harden agreed.
Soon afterwards a shower drove them from the terrace and Garnet found Anne in a corner of the library. She signed him to stop and indicated a big leather chair. Rain beat the windows, the house was drearily quiet, and Garnet saw she was willing to talk. He knew her keenness and imagined that one could trust her pluck. Moreover, in a sense she was his confederate and he did not want to bother Harden. The old fellow already had enough trouble.
"When you came in you frowned," she said.
"I was trying to weigh something and found the proposition tough. Maybe you can help."
"Then you think I may solve a puzzle that baffles you?"
"It's possible," Garnet agreed with a laugh, and narrated his meeting the tourist.
For a few moments Anne said nothing. When she smiled her smile was attractive, but Emerson liked to see her knit her brows and concentrate. Her glance got fixed and her eyes shone softly, as a river-pool shines in the shade; her mouth got firm and her pressed lips curved in a charming bow. Although she was young and keen, her habit was to ponder, but when she saw her line Emerson imagined she would not stop for obstacles.
"I think Basset's talking about the river and his friend was a signal," she remarked. "You see, he had experimented and found out you were Canadian."
"But why did he signal?"
"The bank thieves have perhaps confederates in this country. Did not Keith think some of the bonds might be negotiated at London and in France? If they meant to risk it, somebody must carry the documents across."
"Suppose somebody did so? The gang would not reckon on the messenger's going to Copshope. They would fix it to meet him at Southampton or Liverpool. Besides, he'd have come across some time since."
Anne looked up, rather sharply, as if she were disturbed.
"It is very strange, and I am glad Father does not know. You see, if Keith had taken the bonds——"
"We know, and Mr. Harden knows, he did not!" Garnet rejoined. "Then had Keith undertaken a job like that, he certainly would not have stopped at your house. He is not the sort to entangle his relations and he dared not have faced you. But there's no use in talking. The thing's absurd!"
"All the same, you must say nothing to Father and Madam. He is embarrassed and anxious, and I think she is ill. At all events, when he is not about she is nervous and moody. Well, if I thought I could help Keith, I would not stop for old-fashioned scruples. Suppose we take it for granted Basset did signal you? He would feel he must use some caution; and you did not play up. It's possible he'll wait and try another time. If he does so, what are you going to do about it?"
Emerson smiled and looked about. He saw old massive oak and rows of books about sport and agriculture. The big leather chairs were comfortable; the dark table-top was marked, as if it had some time carried glasses of hot liquor. Old sporting prints occupied one wall. The spacious room was not at all austere; one felt it was rather used by country sportsmen than by scholars. In fact, all at Copshope struck a note of tranquil and rather conventional calm.
"I expect we're romantic," Emerson replied. "Somehow one feels that nothing strange and disturbing ought to touch a house like yours. At Copshope one cannot be theatrical."
"But we are disturbed," said Anne, and gave him a searching glance. "Keith is not romantic, but he might have gone to jail. In the circumstances, your soberness is perhaps an embarrassment."
"For example?"
"If Basset looks you up again, it might indicate he's satisfied you are the man he thought to meet. At all events, it would imply he's willing to run some risk and, so to speak, to bet on the chance. Are you willing?"
Garnet colored and his eyes sparkled.
"You are pretty frank, Miss Harden, but I guess you ought to know. If I see a plan to vindicate my pal, why I'll bet all I've got."
"Ah," said Anne, "now you are very nice, and you mustn't be afraid I'll think you theatrical. Perhaps some Scots are cautious, but the Borderers are another sort. However, let's be practical. Suppose Basset leaves you alone?"
"Then I guess I'll wait. If he reckons he's mistaken, he'll pull out. When I plunge ahead, I like to see where I go."
Anne laughed, a frank, girlish laugh. Emerson's look was alert and ominously resolute. When she gave the signal, she imagined he would front the plunge.
"You stick to your rules, but when you do start I expect your progress will be fast," she said. "But perhaps we are extravagant and Basset is, after all, a tourist. In a day or two I think we'll find out. Let's talk about something else."
