Читать книгу In the Secret Sea - William Edward Cule - Страница 8

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A man came out of the house and stood near the open door. He had not seen us—we knew that from his movements, which were slow and unconcerned; and at the moment we could not see his face, for he was looking down towards the water and the ship. He was a seaman of some kind, and wore a closely buttoned reefer coat, something after the style of a naval petty officer; but instead of the peaked cap which usually goes with the uniform, he had the round cap of the ordinary sailor.

We were not surprised to see him, for the presence of the house and the ship must mean the presence of men; but even then it struck me that there was something curious about the matter. All was so quiet and still; and here stood one solitary man in the stillness, looking out upon it all. My excitement somehow died down, and I had nothing to say. My bewilderment died also, to be replaced by another feeling still less pleasant. I was glad, yet afraid, when Oliver spoke.

“Let’s hail him!” he whispered.

I had no voice, so he did it himself; but it was a rather hoarse and feeble “Ahoy!” that floated down the hill to the solitary man below. But it reached him, and he turned to see where it came from.

There was still the same unconcern in his movements—no suggestion of haste or wonder; and when he had seen us he made no sign but simply stood and gazed. Yes, it was certainly curious and a trifle chilling. Oliver felt it too, for he said suddenly:

“Let’s go down.”

Of course! It was so obviously the thing to do that I gave a little laugh. Then we ran and slid down the slippery hill together, and over the stretch of clinkers and stones beyond; and we did not stop until we were face to face with the stranger.

As we came nearer we saw that he was an old man, sixty years of age at least. Yes, quite a veteran of a sailor, with grizzled beard, and grey hair beneath the cap, and a grey, weather-beaten face. But it was the eyes that were noteworthy, for they looked upon us entirely without surprise. Neither our sudden appearance, nor our queer and draggled condition, seemed to be anything to be wondered at. He simply stood and looked at us, just as if he waited to hear why we had hailed him. It was an extraordinary attitude, and even Oliver was taken aback.

“Hullo!” he said lamely.

The old man looked him up and down; and as he looked I felt that I could read the spirit of his glance. Surely, there was doubt, suspicion, even resentment and hostility in those faded grey eyes and that knitted brow. And when the old man spoke, his words were almost as mysterious as his manner.

“An’ how did you come?” he asked.

Oliver pulled himself together—indeed, he seemed to try to shake himself free from some unpleasant influence.

“We fell into a pit,” he said; “on the top of the cliffs. But we fell into water, and when we got out of it we found our way here along an old water-course.”

The old man’s eyes left us for a moment to glance at the road by which we had come. He seemed to weigh the story critically.

“I know the water,” he said slowly. “It’s the end of that underground tunnel. I’ve been there. But I never saw any pit.”

“We had to swim a good way,” said Oliver. “Quite ten minutes.”

Again the old man seemed to weigh the statement.

“You’re wet, anyway,” he said. “The thing’s a bit of a change, too. I’ve had many people here, but they’ve never come through that tunnel before. I never knew there was a way through.”

His words were as puzzling as his manner. Oliver became a little impatient.

“Our ship is the John Duncan of Cardiff,” he said crisply. “She is lying in Sandy Bay for repairs. What is your vessel called?”

“She is called the Plynlimmon,” answered the old man quite simply. “You will see her name on her bows.”

We glanced from the man to his ship. He was mysterious, and the ship was uncannily silent and still. Uncanny, too, was the whole atmosphere of the place, shut in on every side by those enormous cliffs. Oliver became irritated, and frowned.

“Well,” he said bluntly, “isn’t there anyone else about? Could we get a loan of some clothes, and have something to eat?”

The old man seemed to rouse himself to the duties of the moment and the situation. “There’s plenty of clothes on board,” he said. “You’re just about the build of our chief engineer, and this young fellow is about the same weight and height as our second engineer. Their quarters are on the lower deck, amidships—cabins ten and eleven. Go you aboard and fit yourself up with anything you want.”

That was distinctly better. “But what will they say?” cried Oliver, bewildered. “Aren’t they on board?”

The old man shook his head. “No,” he said, “they’re not on board. They’re gone on an expedition across the island. They’re all gone—that’s why it’s so quiet here. I’m left in charge. But what I’ve told you is just what the Master would tell you if he was here. So it’s all right.”

Now we began to see light, and it made an enormous difference; but why couldn’t the old fellow have said all that before, instead of keeping us there in suspense and bewilderment? Oliver looked at me, and I smiled back at him; and at once the face of affairs was entirely altered. The atmosphere of the place was explained away, and even the curious conduct of the old man began to seem a bit reasonable. He was a cranky old seaman, left behind, no doubt, because he was too old to go with the rest; and at first he had been presuming a little upon his office.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” asked Oliver cheerfully.

And he answered simply but positively: “Quite sure.” Then he pointed down to the beach to show us a tiny landing-stage built firmly of planks. And at the stage lay a small dinghy.

“You won’t want me to take you,” he said. “I’m a bit tired to-day, and there’s no need, either. You take the dinghy. She’s quite sound. And don’t be afraid to pick anything you may need. It will be all right. I’ll answer for that.”

There was evidently nothing more to be said, and, with a murmur of thanks, Oliver led the way down to the boat. She was indeed in excellent order, and the old man stood watching as we stepped in and took our seats. Oliver took the oar to scull her over the fifty feet or so that separated the ship from the beach; but even as we started our hospitable old gentleman did a rather curious thing. He marched slowly up the beach without once looking back, and when he reached the bungalow he went inside and closed the door behind him. No, he did more than close the door—he locked it, for the distance was so little and the air was so still that I heard the key turn. Oliver heard it also and gave a queer little smile.

“Well, he’s a cranky old chap, and no mistake!” he said; and then we both forgot the old fellow and turned our attention to the things before us.

These were very interesting matters. There was a handsome accommodation ladder on the ship’s side, some four feet wide and beautifully carpeted. That was something to start with, and it gave a fair indication of the rest; for in the next ten minutes, feeling that the old man’s attitude as well as his words had given us the right, we took a rapid survey of the Plynlimmon from stem to stern—of course without entering any closed doors, and even when doors were open before us, without laying a finger upon anything that could be called private. From the first, however, we saw what the accommodation ladder had suggested—namely, that the Plynlimmon was not and never had been a cargo-boat. She was a well-appointed steam yacht of some two thousand tons, fitted with every requisite for comfort and efficiency, every appliance and invention that could make a voyage pleasant and enjoyable. Even the crew’s quarters—well, I thought of the old John Duncan and smiled.

“This becomes more and more interesting,” said Oliver in a hushed voice, as we looked into a large saloon which seemed to be partly a gentleman’s study and library, partly a sitting and smoking room. “There are quite a thousand books on those shelves. I think we might have a look at them.”

We examined one or two, but they did not greatly appeal to us. The volumes were in a special binding, with a coat-of-arms on the side, but the series I got hold of was called Transactions of the Geological Society, while Oliver hit on several volumes of Notes and Queries. “Quite old ones, too,” he said. “I fancy the owner must be a student of science, to say the least of it. But here are some magazines.”

The magazines were lying in a rack, and he picked up two or three and turned them over. For a moment after that he was silent, but as I was still examining the library I did not notice the expression upon his face. He was about to say something, but checked himself abruptly; and directly afterwards he laid the magazines down and led the way into the next room.

That was evidently the Captain’s cabin. It was handsomely furnished in mahogany and velvet, and as sumptuous an abode as any man might desire. Oliver glanced quickly round, and then went over to a large writing-table which had three shelves of books behind it. Stooping over the table he examined some of the titles of the books, which were mostly works of reference. He took down several of them and opened them, still in silence; and then he took from the lowest shelf a black, leather-covered volume of foolscap size which had the single word “Log,” in gold, on the back.

I was greatly interested but a little surprised; for though his action was natural in one way, seeing that he was himself a ship’s officer, it seemed a little intrusive also. After all, a Captain’s log is the Captain’s private record. But Oliver opened the book and examined several pages; then he called me.

“Just look at this, Frank,” he said.

I looked. It was apparently the last written page of the log, and I could not see it all because his finger covered one of the entries; but the items he pointed to were certainly interesting; they formed the heading to the page.

Log of the Steam Yacht Plynlimmon of Cardigan.

Owner: The Right Honourable the Earl of Barmouth.

Captain: Thomas Vaynor Powell, R.N.R.

First Officer: James Williams.

Voyage:

I did not read more—indeed, the position of Oliver’s hand obscured the other details. Suddenly he closed the book and replaced it.

“Now we know a little,” he said. “The Plynlimmon came here for some scientific purpose, the Earl of Barmouth being the owner of that learned library next door. For the rest, I think we will interview the caretaker again—after we have got into our new clothes. Frank, my boy, we have almost forgotten the purpose of our visit. First, then, numbers ten and eleven on the lower deck; then, I suggest, a bath in those elegant enamelled baths. You can have the Earl’s, and I will take the Captain’s. I want to wash away all taste and trace of the Great Pit. What do you say?”

“I say ‘Yes,’ ” I replied at once. “I’m with you—or at least I’ll be next door! A bath will be just the thing.”

Accordingly we sought and found the engineers’ cabins, which were quite as hospitable to our needs as the old sailor had promised. Everything about us was in apple-pie order, and it did not take us long to find in those well-stocked lockers the very things we wanted. I selected a woollen shirt and socks, a strong pair of blue serge trousers, a knitted jersey and a reefer coat, bearing everything in triumph to the Earl’s bathroom. While I enjoyed a thorough cleansing, I heard Oliver undergoing the same process three or four yards away, and did my best to get finished first. In this I was successful, and was awaiting him in the corridor when he came out, all fresh and new, but with a gravity of countenance that gave me quite a shock.

“Why, what’s the matter?” I cried. “You’re as solemn as an owl.”

He smiled. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “Now I think we’ll go back for that interview. There’s a lot of things I want to know yet. And we’ll take our wet clothes with us in the hope of getting them dried.”

We descended that splendid ladder and made our way back to the beach. By this time dusk was creeping over the tremendous cliffs which surrounded that inland sea. It was so eerie and solemn, so gloomy and so majestic, that I was impressed against my will and gave a little shudder. That stillness was so great, so intense, that every slightest sound seemed to be a crime. Oliver’s tones were hushed and low as he spoke.

“That is the big cliff face,” he said, pointing. “From the distance of two miles it would be hard to see the cavern-like opening by which the Plynlimmon entered. You can see the entrance from this side—that great archway. I imagine that the Earl of Barmouth found it by accident, perhaps when he was examining the coast in a small boat. He found the passage navigable, and so came in. If all’s well, we’ll get out that way in the morning, before the John Duncan sails—it’s too late to try any adventures to-night. Besides, there’s that interview.”

He fell silent again. “Well,” I said, in the same hushed tones, as we touched the little landing-stage and tied the dinghy up. “Well, I said the other day that there were no adventures to be had nowadays by going to sea—nothing but hard tack and hard work. But it strikes me that we’ve found a very remarkable adventure on this island.”

“Yes,” said Oliver grimly. “And it’s going to turn out more remarkable still. But that’s to be seen. But there’s one peculiar coincidence, Frank. You remember the bound volumes you looked at in the Earl’s library?”

“Yes—you mean the Geological Magazine?”

“Just so. The Earl was, I guess, a learned man with a special interest in geology. That’s all right. But the American ship in Sandy Bay has come to this island for scientific purposes; and the learned Professor on board is also a geologist.”

“That’s so,” I said, puzzled. “But what about it?”

“I don’t quite know—in fact, I haven’t the slightest idea yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.”