Chapter XVI: Betty Macivor's Postal Service

It was with a feeling of intense relief that Hermione, Iza Marsh, and Frank Daneham heard the retreating hum of the car as, ten minutes later, Richard Bessington took his departure. They parted on friendly terms, each conscious that they were withholding some knowledge of vital importance from the other; each sure that they were justified in so doing.

"I can but report to the police our failure so far," Bessington had said. "But I will tell Mackay that you people here are going on with your investigations into that signalling, and if you want me, I shall be only too glad to come over. I have finished the search on my own account, but only for the moment," he added, with a meaning glance at Hermione. "For our bargain still holds good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she replied gravely. "I am not afraid," she added.

"Nor am I," was the reply.

And so they parted, Bessington to return eventually to the Glen to think out what would be his best plan of action, while the three others were left with a sense of freedom from a menace which none of them could actually define.

"I wonder if that man is the most unmitigated liar on earth or if I beat him by a short head," was Iza's first comment, as the three returned to the smoking-room--the most comfortable room in the house--where they proposed to hold a short conference before dinner.

"What do you mean, darling?" asked Hermione, who was tired and dispirited, and racked by a haunting fear that even should they succeed in finding her husband, they might also find that Bessington was right in his surmise and she was wrong.

"Well, I'll tell you," replied the other, cheerfully. "It's a bit of good news and you both look as if you wanted bucking up. I kept it, too, until that man had gone, and that was some task, I assure you, as I was bursting with it. But I was afraid that if I told you before he had gone, you might by a look or even a hesitating manner give the show away, and Dick Bessington is as cute as a C.I.D. man. The fact is, my dears, that I have discovered that Betty MacIvor is the guilty party, and I know the means by which she sends her warnings."

"No? Marshy! Not really?" Hermione's voice, which a moment before had been listless and sad, was suddenly full of tense excitement. Frank Daneham uttered an ejaculation of surprise.

"Good Lord! Do you mean this?"

"I do, bless you. It's a good stunt, too. She sends them by carrier pigeon. She's got two brace and a half shut up in a fowl-house."

"Oh, Marshy! And we never thought of that!" cried Hermione.

"Exactly. I thought of telephones, but not pigeons and in looking for wires I found the birds. So all we have to do now is to tackle her, and you, Hermione, have got to do it."

"By Jove!" cried Frank. "Well done you! Fancy Bessington and I never thinking of that. Of course, the thing's easy. There must be someone living not too far off from here--one of the receivers of the smuggled goods, possibly a well-known tradesman, otherwise eminently respectable and respected among his fellow-men and an ardent supporter of law and order. He gets the message, sends the advertisement to the papers and along come the rest of the gang either with more goods or else to take off the returning smuggler. Easy enough indeed. But why should Hermione be the one to tackle the old girl?"

"Because she'll be able to get at the soft side of her," was the reply, "and she's got a strong card to play."

"I know what you mean," said Hermione, with an unwonted sparkle in her eyes and speaking openly on the subject on which, until then, she had maintained a marked silence. "She has no idea that I am Dominic's wife. After all, who thinks of me as anyone but the wealthy widow, Rodenberg? Yes, I'll do it. Anything to get him here! To know--once and for all. Oh! It seems too wonderful to be true."

"It's true, all right, my dear," said her buxom friend. "And the sooner you see her the better, before the police get more suspicious and send a Government boat along."

Hermione glanced at the clock.

"Betty will have gone home by now, so I'll put my things on and go to her cottage. It will be better in any case to see her there."

So once more a lonely figure started out upon a lonely walk, and this time the knock upon the door was neither perfunctory, nor did it remain unanswered.

Old Betty appeared in the doorway, and seeing who her visitor was, smiled a welcome, and asked her to come in.

"Whiles I'm hoping there's naething wrong at the hoose, my leddie," she said, as Hermione, feeling suddenly troubled and anxious, followed her in. What if she denied it? What if, after all, Iza had been mistaken and it was not Betty who sent the messages?

"No, it's not for that I have come," was the reply. "I came to see you, Betty, to--to talk to you." The two went into the tiny kitchen which smelt strongly of peat, and was clean and tidy. "I want--" said Hermione, hesitating, "to tell you something that I have not told you before. Something that I have kept a secret--because it hurt me to speak of it."

While she spoke the old woman stood watching her intently, her deep-set, sunken eyes brightly expectant, but with never a trace of fear in them.

"Will you no' be seated, my leddie?" she said.

"No, I'd sooner stand, Betty." She took the plunge. "Listen, did you know that I had been married twice? But, of course, you did, didn't you?"

"Nay. I kenned naething aboot your leddyship's former life," was the reply.

"Well, it's about that that I have come to tell you," went on Hermione, "and to talk about the Ardens."

"Aye, dearie me." The old hands went up in a gesture of sorrow. "'Tis a sad tale that. They were guid folk were the Ardens of Ardenmore."

"You knew that their son was married, didn't you?"

"Aye, to be sure. I heeard tell of a marriage before he ganged oot to his death. But, 'twas in London that it happened, and when the family were awa' in London we heeard naething of them until they returned. And soon after that word came of his death, puir laddie."

"Would you like to know the name of his wife?" asked Hermione.

"Nay, what matter now that he is deid these nine year. Belike she is married again, as most of the wummon did when their menfolk were kilt."

"It's true, she did marry again," said Hermione. "She married a wealthy old man, knowing that she would inherit his wealth and so be able to buy back Ardenmore, which was the place that Dominic Arden, her first husband, loved more than anything else in the world. And, Betty, listen--she did buy it back, and it belongs to her, and she is telling you about it now--Dominic's wife."

With a shrill cry the woman started back, staring at Hermione as though at a ghost.

"You!" she cried. "You!"

"Yes, I. I am Dominic Arden's wife, and I love him just as I loved him when he went out to fight for his country. And--oh, Betty! I have mourned his death for nine long years, and now I want him to come back; so I have come to you to beg you to send for him. For you know that he is alive, don't you?" And with that she stretched out her arms to the old woman in mute appeal.

Betty MacIvor made no movement towards her. She still stood there staring blankly at the beautiful woman before her, and ages seemed to pass before she spoke again.

"Me?" she cried, in a high, shrill voice. "And is it that you are asking me to send for him? The laddie who has been deid these nine years? Surely your leddieship is no' richt--surely--"

"Oh, Betty! Don't be afraid of me. You can trust me to keep your secret," cried Hermione. "I'll never give you away. You have sent messages before, by carrier pigeon, and you can send them again."

And at that suddenly the old woman tottered backwards and caught unsteadily at a chair for support.

Instantly Hermione's arm was about her and she lowered her gently into a chair.

"There. Sit still for a moment. And, above all, don't be frightened. Your secret is mine, Betty, and you and I are going to work together."

"The pollis?" gasped the old woman, hoarsely, and looked fearfully towards the door. "If they are aboot and hear ye--"

"They are not about. They know nothing. It is only we at the house who know and we are all your friends. Tell me, Betty, am I right? Is he alive? Oh, for God's sake, tell me."

"Aye, he's alive, puir laddie, he's alive," said Betty, and at that Hermione's reserve gave away completely. She sank into a chair, and leaning forward, burst into uncontrollable weeping.

It was the old woman now who put an arm about her, crooning to her, crying at times herself, talking incoherently, but with a new tenderness in her voice, for Hermione, during the short time in which she had been among them, had made herself well liked by the people on the estate.

"And I didna' ken that you were his wife. Aye me, puir laddie, he was ower here the once, juist before you came, but as the pollis were there I couldna' get to see him, not to speak to, mind you. I saw him only from a distance, for he dursn't be seen here. And when he and his foreign friend had gone, I found that the pictures and the books in his aul room were awa' too. So I kenned what had happened and I held my tongue."

"Oh, Betty!" cried Hermione, and catching the gnarled hand she held it fast. "To think that he was here on the very day I came, and I not to have known it! To have even heard him go--for I heard their boat--oh, it was hard indeed," she choked back a sob. "But go on, please. Tell me everything."

"There is naething much to tell," she replied. "A year agone, while the aul hoose lay empty, a boat came one nicht into the bay and a foreign gentleman came to this cottage and tould me that young Mr. Dominic was alive and living in France with him, and that he had come to ask my help in an enterprise that he and the young master were wishful to do, but that he couldna' come himself to ask me. The foreigner was a nice-spoken laddie, with a smile nae doot and an eye for the lassies, and I took to him and agreed to help, though nae doot it was against the law. But there's naething I wouldna' do for my young master, lawfu' or no. So when danger is aboot I send a carrier pigeon with a message to a gentleman, of whose name and address I ken naething. He brocht the birrds in a machine and left them, and the foreign gentleman he pays me for my trouble."

Hermione was on her feet now, listening eagerly to every word the old woman was saying, though one fact alone was dominant in her mind--the fact that her husband was alive. Why--why--had he not come to her--written to her? Was Dick Bessington right after all? No, she couldn't believe it.

"Did the Frenchman say nothing about him--about Mr. Arden?" she asked eagerly. "Did he speak of him? Where he was? If he was well?"

"Aye, he tould me he was well and that he lived with him at his hoose in France. But he said naething mair, nor yet of his reason for biding awa' frae here, except that it was na' safe for him to return."

"But he'll come if you send a message," urged Hermione.

The old woman shook her head. "I think not," she said. "His friend, aye, he'll come for sure, and if you see him you can send a message to your man."

"Where is that friend now, do you know?"

"Nay. I ken naething. But he'll be on this side of the Channel. For when he returns after his journeying south with whatever it is that he brings ower here, the boat is in the bay to meet him, and he signals with a licht on the top of the tower, and his men come and fetch him awa'. But I've seen no licht, and ken weel that his machine was hearrd on the Ardenmore road going south some few nichts sine. 'Twas Mistress Mackenzie who tould me, for she's a puir body that can do naething but sit and watch the doings of ither folk and crack with her neighbours."

"Do you know where he keeps his car when he returns?" asked Hermione, but again the other shook her head.

"'Tis a secret that there's no finding. The young master, he knew it and tould his friend. I'm thinking it bides here somewhere in a cave in the rocks."

"Very well." Hermione's voice was decided. "There's only one thing to be done now, Betty. We must send a message to this Frenchman and get him here at once. The police are doing nothing at present, but later they may again put men on to watch the tower, so we must act quickly. Are you willing to send a message, Betty?"

"Aye, that I am, this very evening I'll send a birrd wi' it, and 'twill be in the papers in twa days and nae doot but the man will come on the following day. If you will leave it to me, my leddy, I'll see to it the noo."

"What will you say?"

"Juist the twa worrds 'All clear'. 'Twill bring him; and the men on the boat, wherever they be, will scan the papers daily and see it and be there to tak' him back to France. Oh aye, 'tis simple eneuch."

So simple indeed, that when, half an hour later, Frank Daneham and Iza heard of it, they both in their heart of hearts felt that it was too simple, too easy. But not for the world would either of them dream of saying so to the radiant Hermione. Though the story she had to tell them on her return from the cottage was the death-knell to Frank Daneham's hopes--if, that is, he ever had any--he showed nothing of what he felt, only intense joy at her own happiness coupled with the personal joy he experienced in knowing at last that the boy whom he had loved as a youngster and had mourned as dead, was actually, and in truth, alive.

"And if he can't come back, at least I can go to him," she said to Iza Marsh, when they were alone for a moment.

"Poor child. I only hope nothing will happen to prevent it," was her silent comment, which was, after all, merely an echo of Frank's own thoughts.

They had, as a matter of fact, all three omitted one factor which was of paramount importance, and this was that those who, with evil intent, resort to lies and deceptions in order to cover their tracks, usually count upon those they are seeking to outwit as doing the same thing themselves. The maxim which Richard Bessington invariably followed, namely--that to do evil that good might follow was in most cases justifiable, was not, however, followed by those he was trying to outwit. There was no thought of evil in what they were doing and, in consequence, they thought no evil of Bessington; believed, in fact, that he had indeed discovered nothing.

He, on the other hand, with the guilty knowledge that he had lied to gain his own ends--which he knew to be evil--judged the others as he judged himself. He did not, in fact, believe that Iza Marsh had discovered nothing. In the few moments' conversation he had had before taking his departure, and in which she admitted having gone to see Betty and finding nothing suspicious, his alert mind had jumped to the conclusion that she was lying, as he himself had lied. Undoubtedly, she had gone there, but she had found something.

Therefore, when he drove away down the avenue and out into the road, instead of bidding the man get back to the Glen as fast as he could, he bade him drive slowly until he came to the entrance to the farm, and there he told him to draw up by the side of the road and wait for him. Then he walked up the steep incline to the door of the rambling old building and knocked.

A large man, wearing muddy boots and with a pipe in his hand, answered the summons.

"Good evening," said Bessington, in his suavest manner, "you are Mr.--er Mr.--"

"Mackenzie is my name," was the short reply.

"Ah yes, to be sure. I have just come from Ardenmore, and was asked to give a message to a woman called Betty MacIvor, and I'm not quite sure where she lives. I was told, but have got wrong in the direction somehow. If you would be so good as to tell me I should be exceedingly obliged. I believe it is somewhere near here where she lives?"

"Aye, to be sure. Betty MacIvor bides in yonder wee cottage, but half a mile fra' here," was the reply, and he pointed as he spoke across the moor towards the sea. "But there's no road for a machine, only a wee path across the fields fra' here, though there's a better fra' the Hoose. If you'll walk through yonder wood and across the burrn, you'll see the cottage on the brow of the hill, and then 'tis but a matter of ten minutes' walk."

"Thanks. I'm much obliged to you," replied Bessington, and returning to the car, he took his field-glasses, which he had flung on to the seat thinking they might be useful in his investigations, and telling the driver once more to wait for him, he started out upon his walk.

It was rough going and took him longer than he thought and when, finally, he reached the edge of the wood and looked across at the other hill where a tiny cottage appeared in the clear light but a stone's throw away, it was to see the tall slim figure of Hermione walking quickly up to the door.

He smiled as he saw her, though in a way it altered and spoiled all his plans. For he could not interview the old woman while she had such a visitor in the house, and if he waited until she had gone, it might make him late for his return journey.

Wait, however, he would. He could at least spare half an hour, and so, sitting down on a fallen log, he took out his glasses and began his self-imposed vigil.

Twenty minutes later Hermione appeared at the door and walked hurriedly towards her home. At the same moment he saw the figure of another woman emerge at the back of the house, go down the garden to what appeared to be a hen-house, and disappear behind it. But she was not long out of sight, and reappeared almost immediately holding something in her hand. It was not difficult to see through the powerful lenses that the object was a pigeon.

With the bird in her hand she once more entered the house, and after a few minutes, during which Bessington wondered if he should go and see her or turn back to the car--fearing to be late for dinner at the Glen--he saw her come out once more, hold the bird high up in the air, and then, with a toss of her arm, let it fly. It circled once, twice, thrice, and then like a shot from a gun was away, flying due south.

"So that's that," observed Bessington, with a grim smile, as he rose to his feet and hurried back to the car.