Читать книгу The Clue at Skeleton Rocks - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 3

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Out of the thin mist they rose, gaunt and spectral. In the last rays, of a feeble sunset the green, slimy surface of the rocks still glistened from their recent emergence out of the sea. It was ebb tide and an hour of triumph at the reef—the hour of revelation, for here it was that the mighty ocean yielded her driftage sooner or later. And on this ominously still spring evening it was the wrecked schooner, Sister Ann, whose bones were now laid bare on that sea-swept graveyard.

The fated ship rested at an angle which brought her port side under water. Forlorn and forsaken, she seemed to quiver as each onslaught of the sea swept past her and dashed itself into a silver foam upon the reef. Suddenly two gulls rose out of her tattered rigging and, screaming noisily, flew in a straight line to the lighthouse, whose concrete structure emerged from its rocky base and towered against the gray sky not a half-mile distant.

Hal looked over the port rail of the lighthouse tender, Cactus, and glanced thoughtfully at the wrecked schooner lying against the reef. Suddenly his deep blue eyes traveled swiftly past the partly submerged rocks and rested on the lighthouse.

“Did you say that this Sister Ann was wrecked here on a clear, calm night and so close to the light?” he asked without turning his head.

Hal’s uncle, Denis Keen, was standing just behind him. So also was the skipper of the lighthouse tender, Captain Dell, who was at the moment thoughtfully puffing on a corncob pipe.

“My report read that way, Hal,” said Denis. “That’s why I’ve been sent here; that is, it’s partly the reason.” He was silent for a moment, then added: “So far, Captain Dell has been able to confirm all about the weather that night.”

“Two nights ago, wasn’t it?” Hal asked without having taken his glance from the silent lighthouse.

“Two nights ago, so ’twas,” said the captain, waving his pipe eloquently. “A calm night an’ as smooth a sea as I’ve seen in these waters fer twenty year. Fur as the boss could find out the light wuz a’right. But then it might o’ been late at night when folks were sleepin’ an’ no boats a-passin’.”

“Your boss is the Service representative down in Portsmouth, isn’t he, Captain Dell?” asked Denis politely.

“That’s him, Mr. Keen, sir,” the captain answered smiling. “A just an’ conscientious man he is too. Allus aimin’ ter keep the lighthouse service up ter snuff an’ yer can’t blame him fer bein’ fussy; it’s his job. Just let a light be out anywheres ’long this coast an’ if he ain’t a-knowin’ ’bout it no longer than ten minutes afterward, there’s somethin’ wrong in Denmark. But that night the Sister Ann was wrecked, everything was reported ship-shape in Portsmouth. Barrowe says he wuz at his post like I told you. Why, when the folks in Rocky Cliff went to bed they said they never saw the light burnin’ so fine an’ bright. That’s why it’s a mystery.”

“Then it’s a mystery in more ways than one, Captain Dell,” said Denis Keen edging up to the rail beside his nephew and glancing idly down upon the dancing waves. “The Sister Ann, so the Service in Washington suspects, was none other than the old smuggling vessel, Isle of Tortuga. She carried opium—ever hear about her?”

“Nope,” said Captain Dell shaking his gray head vehemently, “I never heerd tell o’ her. Who was her master, eh?”

“Captain Bill Doak—a scamp and a scoundrel,” said Denis Keen emphatically.

“Ain’t never heerd tell o’ him neither,” said the skipper placidly.

“I’ve been unfortunate in hearing too much about him and yet never seeing him. I’ve been itching to get him for the government for these past ten years. He’s as much a mystery as this poor Sister Ann out there. We’ve never been able to get hold of a good description of him even. Elusive as a fox. He’s never been tied up with an honest job in his life, I guess. Doak’s name is synonymous with shady transactions always. So if this Sister Ann turns out to be the old Isle of Tortuga, then Captain Bill Doak was master.”

“Wa’al, in that case yer huntin’ fer him would be over, Mr. Keen,” said the captain decisively. “All hands were lost, fur as I’ve heerd. Yer Captain Doak must be swappin’ shady jobs with ole Davey Jones by now, eh?”

“Looks that way,” Denis answered, staring across at the wreck. “What did Barrowe say about it, anyway?”

“The talk is that Barrowe says he didn’ see nothin’ nor hear nothin’ unusual that night. He just acted dazed sorta, the boss gave out. But that wouldn’ be outa the ord’n’ry considerin’ that Barrowe’s partner, Bill Hollins, committed suicide that same night. When Barrowe come down frum the tower at sunrise next mornin’ he found a note frum Hollins sayin’ that he wuz goin’ ter jump off the Rocks down ter Davey Jones’ locker. He said he wuz jes’ tired o’ livin’.”

“No wonder this poor Barrowe acted dazed!” Denis Keen declared. “Who wouldn’t feel dazed! Imagine finding that your partner and sole companion was a suicide out in this dismal solitude!”

“My imagination quails at the very thought of it,” said Hal seriously. “Golly, I shouldn’t think poor old Barrowe would have much heart to tend the light again.”

“Wa’al, he felt pretty cut up, I reckon,” said the captain. “But like all lightkeepers, Barrowe tends the light jes’ like he eats an’ sleeps. It’s a habit. He’s a queer, quiet sorta duck, Barrowe is. Never wastes words an’ goes ’round like he’s allus broodin’ over somethin’. Thar’s talk that his father went out uv his head ’fore he died so mebbe thar’s a taint in the family. Anyways, Barrowe an’ a brother wuz born an’ brought up in a lighthouse off the Pacific Coast so another reason mebbe is that the lonesomeness o’ lighthouse livin’ is sorta bred in him, eh? One thing I do know, though, this brother o’ Barrowe’s wuz a bad one an’ in a quarrel once he hit Barrowe on the skull an’ cracked it. Barrowe said himself he wuz never the same after thet, ’cause he almos’ died. But he wouldn’ say a word agin’ his brother ’ceptin’ that the feller ran away ter sea an’ it wuz good riddance ter him. Wa’al, Mr. Keen, sir, this ain’t helpin’ yer ’bout the Sister Ann, eh? We’re a-goin’ ter anchor here fer the night an’ transfer supplies ter Skeleton Rocks fust thing in the mornin’. Yer kin go over ter the wreck now if yer want or wait till good light in the mornin’.”

“Frankly, I prefer to look at her in the morning light. Think she’ll stay fast?” Denis asked, nodding toward the wreck.

“She’ll stay fast till we git a storm,” said the captain, while his twinkling blue eyes swept the heavens. “We’ll have a calm till tomorrow noon, I reckon. This mist’ll stay fer a while an’ keep the storm away.”

He chuckled and walked toward the pilot house. A moment later they could hear his deep, resonant voice calling out orders. The clang of the anchor could be heard aft and soon the sturdy craft slowed down and stopped.

“Well,” said Denis Keen with a mild smile, “are you glad that you fell in with my plans to come up here aboard a lighthouse tender?”

“Gosh, Unk, I’m always glad when I fall in with your plans,” Hal answered, a radiant smile lighting his handsome, though freckled, countenance. He gave his well-shaped head a determined shake, which threw back into place an errant lock of red-curling hair. “They most always turn out bigger than you expect them too, but this time . . . well, there won’t be much to do after tomorrow morning when you find out whether or not this Sister Ann is the old schooner, Isle of Tortuga, huh?”

“I’ll have plenty to do, Hal. That’s certain no matter if the Sister Ann turns out to be just her poor wrecked self. My job is to hunt down Bill Doak dead or alive. The Department gets rather uneasy about him when they hear no news of him in a couple of months’ time. Opium keeps coming in from mysterious sources. But to get back to yourself, how about going over to the lighthouse in the morning when the supplies go? We won’t be at the wreck very long.”

“All right, Unk. That’s a suggestion. It would even be a better suggestion if you had added that I could stay my Easter vacation there. I’m out of ideas right now as to how I’m going to spend it.”

“Wa’al, if yer feel yer’d like ter stay at the Rocks, I reckon I kin speak fer my boss an’ tell yer ter stay!” said Captain Dell, rejoining them. “Yer’ll be doin’ the Service a big favor ’cause they like ter have somebuddy what kin help Barrowe out in case of emergency. Thar’s a half-wit young man by the name o’ Dillie Rawson what Hollins befriended since he wuz a lad. He ain’t got nobody, so he’ll stay on thar, I reckon. But he ain’t no help ter Barrowe much. Jes’ able ter do small chores an’ the like. The boss ain’t got a man avail’ble ter take pore Hollins’ place fer two weeks an’ the reserve man busted one uv his legs jes’ as he wuz gittin’ started ter come up here. So if yer willin’ ter stay, I’ll send word ter the boss now an’ it’ll give him some peace till the steady man can come.”

“Boy, that’s great, Captain Dell!” Hal said, enthusiastically. “I’ll be glad to do the Service a favor. Tell your boss in Portsmouth that I don’t know a thing about lighthouses, but I’ll do what I can!”

“Yer a bright young man,” smiled the captain, “so yer’ll learn frum Barrowe what’s ter be done, quick enough. An’ talkin’ o’ Barrowe, thar goes the light on right now.”

Hal grasped the rail, instinctively, and felt a queer sort of shiver run up and down his spine. That first flash of the great light at Skeleton Rocks had an almost awesome effect upon him and he couldn’t tell why. The gray sky had not yet so much as a suggestion of a shadow anywhere—the western horizon was still glowing faintly so that the light’s rays seemed not so very bright in contrast as yet, and still he had a stunned sort of feeling about the whole thing.

The reef, the mystery of the wrecked Sister Ann,—none of these things seemed to interest him. His whole mind was centered on the graceful concrete tower in the distance, and as the powerful light grew stronger in the waning day he found himself being drawn to it irresistibly. It was a hunch, of course, one of his frequent hunches, and what it meant he had no way of knowing. In point of fact, he was certain of only one thing, and that was that Skeleton Rocks did not attract him because of any pleasant aspect. Six miles from the nearest human habitation, it was wind-swept and wave-swept and fraught with the mystery of the sea. And then but a few days back, there was old Bill Hollins, a suicide in the rocky caverns of the ocean. Was it that tragedy that drew him?

He was to know the answer to that question in less than twenty-four hours.