Chapter VIII: The Message in the Papers

An uneventful ten days passed slowly by and found Hermione and her two friends as far off knowing the truth of matters--either regarding the smugglers or their connection with the tower--as they were before. The watching police officer had made his headquarters in the tower room, and, being a dour, sour-tempered man, had refused admittance to anyone save the relief, who came every three days to add to his store of food, and take his place for a spell of twenty-four hours' leave. He expressed his conviction that to stay there at all was a waste of time, that the tale of smuggling was bunkum, and that if there was any going on at all it would be farther south, and not so far from the French coast, which supposition appeared to be justified, for soon after a gang was caught in the act a hundred and fifty miles south, and hauled off to summary justice.

Exasperated, at length, at being kept out of the very spot where Hermione and her friend wanted to investigate, Frank Daneham motored over to Locharbie and interviewed the inspector.

"Look here," he said, after first of all explaining how he came to be there and to know all the facts up to date. "I think it only fair to you to tell you that you are doing no good by keeping that man on the watch as you are doing. I am firmly convinced that secret information is forthcoming from some individual on the premises, and that as soon as the coast is clear, and not until--or very soon after, your friends, the smugglers, will appear again, and if so, we who are on the spot and unsuspected by them, can send you word and you will have a chance to catch them."

The inspector eyed his visitor for a moment in silence, seeming to ponder over what he had heard.

"Ah, so that's what you are thinking, sir, are you?" he said, at last. "Weel, I'm nae sae sure but what you may be richt. I've thought so mesel'. But I suppose you'll be having no idea as to who will be giving the inforrmation?"

"How can I? I don't even know if it is a fact. It is only theory after all, but I thought it worth while trying out and seeing what comes of it. At any rate, it can do no harm, and surely anything is better than letting that fellow eat his head off in that god-forsaken tower. And so I thought the best thing I could do was to come over and see you about it."

"And I'm verra gratefu' to you, sir. But, as a matter of fact, Headquarters have juist sent worrd to recall him, as they think the gang that has been caught furrther south is the one that has been here, and there'll be no need to watch any mair. All the same, I'm glad you came, for you may be richt in your supposeetion. There is still that queer piece of paper I found on the beach that has to be accounted for, and I canna' help thinking that something's going to occur connected with it. The young leddie seemed sair taken abeck when she read it."

"Well, as a matter of fact," said Daneham, thinking that the truth was best in this case, "the date on that bit of paper had a very sad significance for her, and the coincidence of finding it like that gave her a nasty shock."

"Ah, I see," replied the inspector, who saw just exactly nothing, but who thought there might be quite a lot to see if he knew just where to look. He was, however, quite willing to give--so he expressed it to himself--this gentleman and the young leddie their heads for a time, and leave the place unwatched. If anything happened after that he would know who to watch in future. At present his policy was to appear open and confiding and ready to talk.

"I was ower at the Glen, Mr. Crosby's place," he went on, "a day or so ago, on a matter of beesiness, and the gentleman there was verra interested in the matter of the smuggling. One gentleman in parteecular, Colonel Bessington, whom I had met before seemed to be muckle keen on hearing all I had to tell."

"Oh!" Daneham gave an imperceptible start. "And--er--did you--I mean--what exactly did you--that is, I suppose--you told him all about your own experiences?"

"I did, sir, juist the whole beesiness, and I told him aboot the scrap of paper."

"Did you?" said Daneham, and swore under his breath. What a damned gossiping fellow this fool policeman was. There could be no possible doubt as to the construction Bessington would put upon that date. Connected, too, as it was, with Ardenmore, it would not be difficult for one, already suspicious, to suspect what he, Frank Daneham, and Hermione were beginning to believe was a fact.... Why on earth couldn't the inspector fellow have kept his mouth shut about it? It was not as though he could learn anything from that quarter. Though what, after all, he argued later, could Bessington do about it? And what, finally, was there to bother about, seeing that the whole idea was utterly preposterous and impossible?

He returned to Ardenmore to find Iza Marsh in violent argument with the new head gardener, concerning the matter of trees and Hermione's orders.

"Well, anyhow, whether things will grow or won't grow, Mrs. Rodenberg won't have them cut down, so that's that. And there you are back again, Frank. If you want Hermione you'll find her at the tower, where she went as soon as we heard that the police person with the crab-apple face and vinegar temper had taken himself off. It was a bit of impertinence to have put him there at all in my opinion."

"I'll go and find her then," said Daneham, and after taking the car round to the garage, he set off along the path which led to the tower, and in less than fifteen minutes was striding up the grassy patch to the tower door.

It stood wide open, and inside the room he found Hermione sitting on the chair, apparently in deep thought. She rose quickly as he came in and asked eager questions, to which her friend gave guarded replies; at least, in the matter of the part Bessington had played in the affair, and seemed in all probability to go on playing. He avoided telling her that the inspector had mentioned that scrap of paper.

"So our troubles are over for the moment, and now we can concentrate on investigating this place, and trying to find out where the deuce those beggars hid themselves."

"I simply can't imagine," replied Hermione, with a hopeless gesture. "I have looked everywhere. Under this floor there is a tiny space with joists and then solid rock, for I took up a loose board where I suppose the inspector had looked when he was here. The walls can hide nothing, for they are only fifteen inches thick, except at the side where the clock is, and there comes solid rock again, for that side of the tower is actually built into the rock. I really have come to the conclusion that the hiding-place is not in the tower at all. It must be in the woods."

"How about the clock itself?" asked the other, eyeing it critically. "Didn't poor old Dominic tell you that there was a secret attached to it?"

"Yes, he did. But what can it be? It doesn't go--at least, now. You can move all the hands round and nothing happens. Look." She opened the glass front and pointed. "There are numbers all round up to a hundred, and four hands which fold over each other, for some reason or other; economy of space I suppose. Then comes that dial with the names of the months, and another with numbers up to thirty-one. In that smaller dial there are the days, then a sort of barometer, and a disc for the moon, and yet nothing is in working order."

"But it must have worked at one time," replied Daneham, "and perhaps that was the secret Dominic discovered--how to get it going. In fact, that is what it must have been, and it wouldn't help us even if we succeeded in finding out. No, my dear, I believe you are right and that there is some secret place close by in the woods. So, let's take a walk and do a bit of investigating. You have done all you can here. Can we get across the river that runs through the wood, do you know, or not?"

"I doubt it, for there has been quite a lot of rain lately. But in any case I am sure there is nothing on the other side, for the road runs parallel with it for some way, and no one would choose a hiding-place near a road, and that, too, ends--as I have discovered, in a field. Perhaps there is something in that, for why make a road which ends nowhere, and if it went on would end in the sea?"

"Perhaps it originally went to this old tower," suggested Daneham, and she nodded.

"Yes, I never thought of that. Of course, it must have done."

They closed the tower door and started off for the pine forest, on a path which in places was rocky and very hard going. They found the old road nearly grass-grown, and beside it the broad River Ard, which eventually emptied itself into the sea, not far from the tower. Then they followed its course which wound through the woods, finally disappearing beneath a mass of rocks, through which was a natural tunnel, about the height of a medium-sized man, and, gurgling apparently underground for about thirty or forty yards, appeared again on the far side of the rocks, descended in a short cascade, and thence to the sea.

"Nothing doin' here," commented Frank Daneham, in a disappointed voice. "Let's go back along the road and see what happens. The smuggling crowd are supposed to use the road to convey their goods by car, and I don't see how they can do it. Personally, I am beginning to doubt the whole thing."

"You wouldn't say so if you had seen those lights."

"Someone playing tricks to try and frighten you," he suggested.

"What about the motor-boat I heard?"

"Well, still someone fooling about. Having got hold of the smuggling story, anyone owning a boat of that description would find it easy."

"You may be right, of course," she admitted.

They continued their walk along the winding road, which finally left the river to pursue its course alone, and, turning off sharply, joined the Ardenmore road at about a quarter of a mile from the entrance gates to the house.

"I suggest tea, my dear, and your Irish cook's hot scones. I believe it's a myth, after all."

"Well, we shall see. If, as you say, someone is supplying them with information from here, then we shall soon see the light from that tower again. But then how--if the smugglers are in France--could anyone give information to them?"

"An advertisement in the papers would meet the occasion," replied Daneham. "And that, as a matter of fact, though I sez it meself, is the brightest idea we've had yet. We'll proceed forthwith to watch the agony columns."

And as it happened, on the following day there were several advertisements that might fit the case, but one in particular which attracted Iza Marsh, who was as keen on the subject as the other two.

"Listen to this one," she said eagerly. "It sounds rather the style of thing one might expect--'All clear. Come again.'"

"Sounds likely," admitted Daneham, sipping his after-luncheon coffee and frowning. "But who the deuce can it be?"

"Well, it can't be the new gardeners," said Hermione. "And it can't be any of the servants. It could only be some of the farm-hands, and somehow--from the look of them--they don't appear to have the sense or the ability to do it. I can't imagine that it is anyone here. And then, after all, that advertisement may not be for that reason at all."

But whether in answer to that particular advertisement or not, the fact was that, three nights later, Hermione, lying reading in bed, and happening to take her eyes from the pages for a second, had, the next instant, flung the book down beside her, extinguished the reading-lamp and, looking towards the open uncurtained window, become aware of a sudden tingling sensation in her scalp as, away through the opening in the pine wood, and clear as she had seen it once before, there shone high above, and seemingly suspended in the sky, a vivid green light, which, even as she watched, flickered and went out, leaving her wondering if she had ever really seen it at all.

The next instant, also as once before, she had flung on her things and run down the passage, only this time towards the room in which Frank Daneham slept.

She rapped loudly at the door.

"Frank! May I come in?" There was no answer. She called and knocked again, but still no reply. Then, with a feeling of intense uneasiness, she opened the door and crossed over to the bed. It was empty, and had not been slept in. And yet he had gone up to his room over two hours ago, for at that moment she heard the clock in the hall strike two.