Chapter VI: A Friend in Need

When Frank Daneham got into his sleeper at Euston Station, Henry Addison was standing on the platform seeing him off.

"If it had not been that my wife's been by her lonesome all these months while I was away in the wilds, I'd have come with you and begged the hospitality of your lovely lady Hermione," he said with a smile; "as it is, I'm a fixture here, and can only beg for frequent letters."

"Right, old man, you shall hear anything that happens. Of course, I know nothing. Only got that wire asking me to go to her at once--that she was in trouble and needed me and so, of course, that was enough for me. I just wired for a day's grace to put my house--I mean my studio--in order, and here I am, going into goodness knows what. For you can take it from me that if Hermione says there is trouble, then trouble there is, and she is far too unselfish to drag me away from my work unless there is good cause for so doing. But for the life of me I can't imagine what it is, unless my queer dreams or imaginings have come true and she has found traces of young Arden."

"But would she call that trouble?"

"It would, of course, depend on what the traces are," was the reply. "Halloa! There's that confounded bore Alec Crosby, and he spots me. Do you know him?"

"Not I, who is he?"

"He and his brother made a cart-load of money in the War, tinned stuffs or something: pushers, and got in with people. The brother's not a bad sort; straight, I believe; both bounders and this one a bore."

As he finished speaking a rather stout, florid-faced man in light tweeds came towards them, stopped at sight of Daneham, and came up to the window. His tweed cap was pushed into a voluminous pocket, and the fair, rather curly hair was blowing about in a slight evening breeze. He grinned as he leant across the open window.

"You off salmon fishing, too?" he inquired.

"N-no--that is yes, of course. Where are you going?" Daneham's manner was not cordial, but the other appeared not to notice it and continued to grin vacuously.

"Stayin' with my brother, John. He's got a tidy little place not many miles from Locharbie, and about twenty miles from Ardenmore. You know Ardenmore? Place the rich widow Rodenberg bought lately. Never heard such a rummy go in my life. What a woman of her sort wants to go and buy a rotten old tumbledown barn of a place for like Ardenmore, beats me hollow. Not got a telephone even. Burn candles and live on grass. Must have gone dotty."

"I don't think so. Besides, she is a friend of mine, and I happen to be going up to stay with her."

The grin on the other's face died for a second, but reappeared again almost directly.

"Oh, sorry. No offence, mate. I was only speaking the mind and airing the views of the plain man in the street. There's no accounting for tastes, never was, never will be--as the waiter said when he--Ah! There's my luggage. Thought the porter had pinched it, he, he!" he chuckled inanely. "Well, so long. We shall be quite a lively party up at the Glen. Lots of old pals going, among 'em old Dick Bessington. Know him, don't you? Everyone knows Dick Bessington, smartest looking fellow in town."

"Oh, so he's going, is he?" asked Frank Daneham, surprised out of his usual boredom into asking a question of this man.

"'Tis yourself that sez it, me bhoy. He's going, and going to stay. Friend of old John's. Can't say he fills me with any degree of enthusiasm, myself. A bit sticky, heavy in hand on occasion. Comes the blinkin' colonel over a feller at times. Forgets he's left the service--which was the rottenest thing he ever did, by the way, and that's that, and it's his funeral and not mine. However, as there's no war on just now, it don't matter really, I suppose. Finest revolver shot in Europe; too, I wonder he lets his talent go rusty living here, and don't go out to the U.S.A. for a bit of practice. He--he! Well, time goes and I see the folk busy scrambling into their little nests. So good-bye, see you at our next changing place. And in the meantime to dine--to drink, and then to sleep." And with a wave of his stick he walked dawn the platform.

"Damnation take the fellow!" said Daneham. "What's he going there for?"

"Who, Crosby?"

"No, Bessington."

"Well, I suppose salmon fishing, too."

"No, no. I mean--well, you know Hermione told me before she went north that he had promised to leave her alone for a month, and now it appears he is going to stay twenty miles away from her."

Addison smiled.

"You've got a bee in your bonnet, old man," he said. "If he does go and stay twenty miles off, it doesn't necessarily mean that he is going to molest the lady. What's the idea? Do you think he's--well--not playing straight?"

"I don't know what to think, I don't like Dick Bessington, never have liked him, and as I told you, I always have that feeling that he suspects me of knowing something more of the Arden affair than I have owned to. Perhaps it's my bad conscience. Anyway, if he distrusts me, all I can say is that the distrust is mutual. Ah! We're off. Well, good-bye, old chap. I'll write you if anything awkward happens, and I suppose I can count on you if I want a pal's help?"

"To the death," was the reply, as the thin, rather weather-beaten killer of big game wrung his departing friend's hand. Then he turned and walked down the empty platform, and Frank Daneham flung himself on his comfortable seat and fell to thinking again.

What did she want him for? What could have happened? It was only on the day after her arrival that she had sent for him. Surely nothing very serious could have occurred in that short time. And yet it was possible and, in consequence, he was anxious and worried. One thing only had he not confided to his friend, Addison, and that was the fact that his feeling for Hermione Rodenberg was far more than simple friendship. He had loved her--hopelessly as he knew--ever since he had known her, and no one save himself knew his secret. Not for the world would he have let her see what he felt, though often he had wondered if she guessed. If she had she showed no sign but always treated him as a dear friend in whom she had absolute trust and confidence. She knew there was nothing he would not do for her whatever it might cost him, and he knew that she was aware of this and was glad to feel that she had no scruples in making use of him whenever she needed him. It was an unspoken, understood compact between them. And he liked to be made use of by her and was happiest when she needed him.

And now he was hurrying on a journey of over seven hundred miles to answer her call for aid, and he had not the slightest idea for what she wanted him, only that she did want him, and that was all-sufficient.

Over twenty-four hours later he got out of the local train at Ardenmore station and found her waiting on the platform.

"Ah, my dear good friend." Hermione held out both hands which were seized in a warm clasp. "How good of you to come, and I feel such a brute for dragging you away from your beloved London and your work. But what was I to do?"

"Nothing but what you have done," he replied. "Are you alone? Driving yourself?"

"Yes, quite alone. I thought I could tell you all about it on our way home. The grizzly porter has put your luggage in, so we can go."

"Now," said Frank Daneham, as the car started on its twenty mile journey, "tell me all about it. I know it must be serious or you wouldn't have sent for me."

"It is," she replied, and told him, from the very beginning, when her secretary had hinted at the rumour of smuggling, on to the visit of Inspector Mackay.

He listened intently to her story without speaking, and then: "And you discovered something--after he went?"

"Yes, at about eleven o'clock, from my bedroom window I saw a red light from the top of the tower, followed by a green one and then red again, so I dressed and----"

"Good God! You don't tell me that you went out there by yourself?" exclaimed Daneham in horrified tones.

"No, Marshy heard me and insisted on going with me. She even took her revolver."

"And a deuced sensible thing to do, too. Why! My dear girl! It was sheer madness for you to have gone at all. What on earth possessed you? Even if there were smugglers at work, what business was it of yours? Especially when such grave danger was attached to it."

"Well, as it happens it was my business," she replied gravely. "You see, I haven't told you everything yet. I only wanted first to make it clear that there was something odd going on at the tower. And though actually I saw nothing when we got there, I heard the sound of a motor-engine out at sea, a boat, I thought, taking whoever was there out to a ship, or probably a large motor-boat, for later I heard that, too, going away."

"Yes, yes. I realize all that, my dear," cried Daneham. "But tell me what possessed you to go there at all? What motive had you in feeling so much interest, that you would run a grave risk of that sort? I confess it's beyond me at present."

"Well, you see, the inspector found something when he was searching the place," she replied, slowly. "It gave me a dreadful shock when he showed it to me for it was a bit of paper on which was written a date, and the date was Monday, December the 3rd, 1917. Now do you see why I had to go when I saw that light?"

The man sitting beside her could not have prevented the violent start he gave as he heard her statement any more than he could help the ejaculation that fell from his lips.

"Good God!" And then silence, while both stared with unseeing eyes at the grey road before them, neither daring to speak, both fearing least they should say too much if they did.

It was the man who spoke first, and his voice was dry and husky.

"Poor girl. Poor little woman." And there was that in the voice which told Hermione at last what she had secretly feared and now knew for a certainty. And her heart ached for him and marvelled, too, at the wonderful self-restraint, which had kept his love for her a secret until now. The next instant she had turned her head, and for a moment smiled bravely into his working face.

"And so you, too, have believed what I have begun to believe?" she said.

Silence again, while he chose his words.

"If I said yes to that," he began, "I should convict myself of a grave crime in not having told you of my belief before you married Rodenberg. But I cannot truthfully say that I did, not at least until lately--for some utterly unaccountable reason. And even now, after what you have told me, reason and common sense tell me that such an idea is impossible, and that this written date--extraordinary coincidence though it may be--has nothing to do with poor Dominic Arden. Yet I understand how you must feel about it, and knowing this now, I can't conceive of your doing anything else except what you did in going out to investigate that night. It must have been an appalling shock for you, little woman."

"And it wasn't only that," she went on. "You see, before all this happened, I had gone into the turret room at the house--the one he used as his den--and I missed the pictures from the walls, and his favourite books from their shelves. They were all there down in the inventory, for Mr. Bray showed it to me, and I knew that the old Ardens had let everything go when they sold the house. They kept nothing even of his, and you know I was ill for so long and had no chance to ask for them for myself. And it was an added joy to me to think that I was buying them all back, and a great shock when I found them gone that evening."

"Yes, I see that. And you account for it, how?"

"Well, I thought that if that paper meant anything connected with him, then it was possible that he had been here and taken those things away, knowing that the house was sold again and he might not have another chance."

"It's possible of course, but--" Daneham shook his head. "Can you for one moment believe that he would--granted that he is alive--risk life and liberty, to say nothing of chucking his honour to the winds, to embark in a lawless, criminal enterprise, such as smuggling? My dear girl, the thing's impossible."

"Oh, but I disagree with you there," she cried. "I do believe that he would do that, and worse if he felt completely up against it. I mean, for instance, if he heard I had married and misconstrued my motives."

"But Hermione, my dear, it is nine years since he went out of our lives. Surely he had time to try and get into touch with you had he wanted to. And seeing that he did not, surely he can't feel aggrieved if you--thinking him actually dead--chose to marry again."

"Oh, yes, I know all that, but how do you know all the circumstances? Look how Fate treated me. For a whole year I was dead to the world. Later, I had to look out for the means to live. Then Lady Maude took me with her over the world. In all that time he may have come to find me. Who knows what may have happened? And so it may be with him."

Daneham shook his head.

"No," he said. "With him it was quite different. When he left me that night he gave me definitely to understand, and also to convey to you, that he was dead, dead to you and to everyone. That meant that, whatever happened, he would never return to his old life, never bring those he loved into his own troubles. In a way he was right, for time heals and it was best for you to think of him really dead than to imagine what might happen did he return again and meet his punishment. No, my dear, that message was a message to you, telling you that you were free to live your own life, and had no more concern with him. He would not, therefore, feel any anger or bitterness at your marrying again, of that I am sure. I am equally sure that he would not take part in a criminal smuggling adventure."

"There I disagree, though I admit that you are probably right in the rest. I believe that the devil that is in him would just glory in doing something unlawful of that kind. Who knows what he may have been doing in all these years? Besides, I can't look upon smuggling as a crime, somehow. It seems to me quite permissible to try and outwit the law, if the law puts such heavy taxes on things as to almost strangle trade. I should just glory in doing it myself."

Daneham laughed.

"How like a woman," he said. "I often wonder what odd twist in their reasoning powers it is which can make them frown at one sort of crime--theft, let us say--and smile at another--equally reprehensible in the eyes of the law--smuggling. Look, for instance, how many otherwise reputable females have been caught by the Customs officers actually smuggling on their own account, and who are, I feel sure extremely indignant at being hauled up and heavily fined, and not in the least ashamed of being caught in committing a felony. No, my dear, it won't do. Smuggling is theft of what is lawfully due to the Government, there are no two ways about it. And if Dominic is alive and is embarking on such an enterprise, then he has changed very much from the lad who walked out that night to meet his fate, and who renounced what he held more dear than life itself, because it would be best for her in the end. No, no. I have too much faith in the dear fellow to believe that, and since I can only give that as my verdict, then I think we must put away all thoughts of him in connection with this affair, and look upon that scrap of paper as sheer coincidence, and the vanishing of the pictures and books as a mistake on the part of whoever it was who drew up that inventory."

"No," said Hermione, decidedly. "Old Betty said they were here and that she didn't know who had taken them or how they had gone. And remember that Mr. Bray saw them, too."

"Well, then, let us leave it for the moment and look into this smuggling business, apart from any connection with poor old Dominic. How could anyone know of that tower and apparently of some secret place of concealment? For from your account, the smugglers must actually have been there when the inspector spent the night at the tower."

"Exactly. How could anyone know who was not told or shown by the one person who knew, and that was Dominic? He was the only one who knew of it. Don't you see?"

"Yes, I see that, but let us leave it for the moment. Now here again, how could they know when to come? I mean, know when the house was empty or the field clear? They couldn't know unless someone here--that is, actually on the premises--was giving secret information. Do you suppose then that they have all cleared out, or is one of them left behind? Or--which is probably more likely--is there someone living here who is in league with them?"

"That we shall have to find out," she replied. "At present there is a policeman on the watch, and, of course, since they have gone--frightened away by the inspector I suppose--he'll have his watch for nothing."

"Exactly. Well, we can see as to that. We might, in fact, set a trap. That is, get the police fellow off the place, and then see if they return. If they do we shall know that they are helped by some one in the place."

"Unless one of them is still in the tower," suggested Hermione, but to this Daneham disagreed.

"No, no. That's not possible. He would have to eat and drink and could not possibly come out if a watcher was actually in the tower. I think for the present, my dear, our best plan is to eliminate all thought of Dominic from our minds and treat the matter as a common criminal enterprise by a set of smugglers who will have to be trapped and punished. I am extraordinarily glad that you have sent for me, because I shall enjoy the excitement of it immensely, my only fear being that the fellows are scared off for good and all. I wonder, by the way, how they get the goods away after landing them."

"In a car. I believe one has been seen going along the Ardenmore road and apparently vanishing into space."

"In that case the car may be there now," said Daneham gravely, "but where on earth do they keep it? Well, that is for us to investigate. I suppose you told nothing of your night's experience to the inspector?"

"Nothing. I simply couldn't."

"I see, and for the time, until we know more, I don't see how you can, but it looks rather like being accessories after the fact, doesn't it? However, there it is, and now for a bit of news from me, which I must tell you because you ought to know. I hear that Dick Bessington is going to stay at the Crosby's place about twenty miles from here."

The car swerved suddenly.

"Oh!" cried Hermione. "Why is he going there?"

"Presumably for salmon fishing." But she shook her head.

"I don't believe that. Somehow, I had a sort of odd feeling that he would follow me in spite of what he said, and--do you know, Frank, that I am rather afraid of him?"

"Afraid? Nonsense. Why afraid?"

"I can't explain. It's all mixed up with Dominic and his--Bessington's--connection with it. And--and--Oh, sometimes I feel that something dreadful is going to happen, and that Dick Bessington will have something to do with it. Don't laugh at me, Frank."

But he was very far from laughing, for that, in very much the same words, was what he feared himself, though he would have died sooner than tell her so.