Chapter VI: Challenged

REFERRING to the back of an envelope on which he had jotted down the times of the trains, Dacres found upon alighting at Brockenhurst junction that he had three-quarters of an hour to wait. Since he did not feel inclined to cool his heels on the station platform he made up his mind to take a stroll through the village, have tea, and thus turn the interval of waiting to good account.

The air was cool, the dense foliage afforded a pleasant shelter from the slanting though powerful rays of the sun, and Dacres began to feel quite easy in his mind.

"By George!" he ejaculated. "That airship seems to interest me far more than my forthcoming interview with the governor. I wonder if she has been sighted again. I'll get an evening paper at the bookstall when I return to the station. How jolly fine the forest scenery is. Now I am not surprised that the pater came down to this part of the country if the scenery around Cranbury House is anything like this."

A plain but substantial tea filled Dacres' cup of contentment to the brim. English bread, fresh country butter, and watercress, after the fare obtainable on board the "Royal Oak" in the Tropics, combined to make the most appetizing meal he had tasted for months past. It reminded him of the saying of an old chief boatswain on returning to England after a two years' arduous commission mostly in the Persian Gulf.

"Bless you, sir," said the warrant officer emphatically. "Directly I set foot ashore at Portsmouth I'll order a prime beefsteak and a tankard--not a glass, mind you--of ale."

Two months later the chief bo's'un retired with the rank of lieutenant, and forthwith settled down in the country. One of his first acts was to hire a man to stand outside his bedroom window every evening from ten to eleven, his duty being to throw buckets of water against the panes.

"Couldn't get to sleep unless I heard the sea breaking against the scuttles," he explained.

Dacres wondered whether the call of the sea would come back to him with such vividness. Perhaps; but up to the present he felt no such overwhelming desire. It was just possible that he had not yet had time to realize his position.

In the midst of his meditation the traveller remembered that he had to catch a train.

Pulling out his watch he found that he had fifteen minutes to get to the station and, since he did the outward journey in ten minutes, it was an easy jaunt back to the junction.

"Where are you for?" asked a porter as Dacres arrived on the practically deserted platform.

"Holmsley."

"Your train's just gone, sir," announced the railway employee with the air of a man who has imparted a joyful surprise.

"But----" Dacres pulled out the envelope. "I thought it went at seven-four."

"Did till this month, sir," was the unconcerned reply. "Now it leaves here at six-fifty-six. Next train at eight-two."

"They must have had an old time-table in that restaurant," muttered Dacres disgustedly. "I was a bit of an ass not to make sure, and a doubly confounded idiot not to have asked when I arrived here. However, can't be helped. 'What's done can't be undone,' as the landlubber remarked when he tied a slippery hitch in his hammock lashing and found himself sprawling on the mess-deck ten seconds later. This time I keep watch here, I don't mean to be let down a second time."

When a fast train bringing the evening papers from London stopped at the station Dacres hurried to buy a copy. The news as far as the airship was concerned was woefully disappointing. She had not been sighted anywhere in Great Britain or Ireland.

There was one item of news that interested him, however. It was a wireless message from Cape Columbia, announcing that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men of the British Arctic Expedition had started on their dash for the North Pole.

"Plucky chap!" ejaculated Dacres. "I hope he'll pull it off all right. It's a jolly risky business, though. Never fancied that kind of job myself, but Cardyke was always keen on Polar work. I remember how he used to devour Scott's and Shackleton's works when he was at Osborne. All the same, I wonder they don't make a dash for the Pole in an up-to-date dirigible, instead of tramping all those hundreds of miles. I'd volunteer for a Polar airship expedition like a shot."

The loud ringing of an electric bell warned Dacres that his train was signalled. Folding the paper and placing it in his pocket he rose from his seat and waited for the train to run into the station.

The last stage of his journey was a short one and he chided himself for not having walked. The sun had just dipped behind the heather-clad hills as Dacres alighted, while already the evening mists were rising from the shallow valleys.

A typical country porter took the tickets of the three passengers who left the train, and in response to Dacres' inquiry as to the direction of Cranbury House, scratched his head in obvious perplexity.

"Garge, du 'ee knaw whur be Cranbury 'Ouse?" he sung out to a shock-headed youth who was struggling with a truck on the opposite platform.

"Yes," was the reply. "A matter of a couple o' mile t'other side o' Wilverley Post."

After a lengthy and complex explanation of how to reach Wilverley Post, Dacres found himself almost as much enlightened as before.

"Can I get a motor or a cab?" he asked.

"Naw, zur; not onless you'm ordered 'em. There be a bus, only it doänt meet this train."

Dacres was not a man to be daunted by difficulties. Emerging from the station he swung along the road, breathing in the pure moorland air, determined by hook or by crook to reach his destination with the least possible delay.

The road was quite deserted. Not even a motorist passed, otherwise he would have boldly asked the favour of a lift. Overhead a deep buzzing caused him to look upwards. Two aviators, making towards Bournemouth, glided swiftly through the gathering gloom. In this part of the country, Dacres reflected, there were more men in the air than on the highway.

Presently he reached a signpost at the junction of four cross roads. By this time there was just sufficient light for him to decipher the directions. Lyndhurst--he did not want to go there; Ringwood--equally undesirable, as were the other places mentioned.

"I suppose this is Wilverley Post," he thought. "Here I must bring up and wait till some one comes along. That ought to be fairly soon. What a deserted-looking spot, though. However," he added optimistically, "it might be a jolly sight worse. For instance, it might be raining hard and blowing half a gale. Ha! Here's a cart coming along."

In response to a hail the driver pulled up, but he was quite at a loss to give the desired information. He had lived at Ringwood all his life, and had never heard of Cranbury House.

Ten minutes later a large motor-car came swinging along. The chauffeur obligingly stopped, but was likewise unable to state the locality of Colonel Dacres' property.

"If it were this way, sir, I would give you a lift with pleasure," added the man, "but ten chances to one it would only be taking you farther out of your way. If you like, though, I'll run you down to Christchurch and you can put up there for the night, sir."

"Thanks all the same, I want particularly to get to Cranbury House to-night," said Dacres.

With a civil good-night the chauffeur sped on his way, while Dacres prepared to resume his vigil by the gaunt signpost.

Presently his ready ear detected the sounds of footsteps plodding methodically along the hard tarred road. Out of the darkness loomed the shape of a powerfully-built man, bending under a load of faggots.

"Cranbury House, zur? Sure I knaws 'ut well. If 'tweer light enow oi could show you the chimbleys, over yonder. Du 'ee taäk this path an' 'twill bring ee right agin the gates of t'ouse. It'll be a matter of a couple o' miles. If ye like, zur, I'll come along wi' ee," said the man, setting his load down by the roadside.

"I won't trouble you, thanks," replied Dacres, bestowing a shilling upon the man. "It's a fairly easy path, I hope?"

"Yes, zur, 's long as you keep to un. There be some bad bogs close on hand. Why, only t'other evenin' old Bill Jarvis as lives down Goatspen Plain wur a-comin'----"

But Dacres was not at all anxious to hear of the nocturnal adventures of the said Bill Jarvis.

"I'll keep to the path all right," he said. "About two miles, eh? Thank you and good night."

The path, showing grey in the misty starlight, was barely wide enough for two persons to walk abreast. On either hand were clumps of furze and heather, that at places encroached to such an extent that the sharp spikes tingled the pedestrian's calves. Here and there the footway, worn by the action of rain and the passing of cattle, was several feet below the surface of the surrounding ground. It was far from level, for all around the country seemed composed of a series of hillocks, all divided by wreaths of mist.

For ten minutes Dacres walked on at a rapid rate till he was suddenly brought up by the bifurcation of the path. So acute was the angle between the two ways and so alike in width that he stood stock still in deep perplexity. His informant had made no mention of the forked paths.

"Perhaps they reunite farther on," muttered Dacres. "It looks like a case of pay your money and take your choice. Why not toss for it? Heads the right hand, tails the left."

He spun the coin. He missed it and it fell dully upon the sandy ground. Three matches he struck before he discovered it standing upright in the soft earth.

"Ah! That bears out my theory. The ways meet again. Anyway, I'll take the right hand one."

He had not gone very far when, with a rush and a swish amidst the heather, four black objects darted across his path, within an ace of capsizing him altogether.

"Pigs," he exclaimed. "Fancy those beasts roaming about in this deserted spot. I wonder if there's a cottage handy?"

A hundred yards further on the path was joined on the left hand by another, which apparently confirmed his suggestion that it was the reunion of the two forked routes. With this reassuring discovery he redoubled his efforts until he found that the path was growing narrower and eventually broke off in three fairly diverging directions.

Taking his bearings by means of the Pole Star Dacres chose the path that followed the direction he had hitherto pursued. Down and down into a wide yet shallow valley it plunged, till once more it split into two ways. To add to the perplexity of the situation both of them bore away to the right and in quite a different direction from that which he supposed to be the proper one.

Dacres brought "all standing." Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. He could easily imagine himself to be "bushed" in the Australian wilds as far as the presence of human beings was concerned.

Again he glanced upwards to ascertain his bearings, but in the hollow the mists were considerably denser and rose high above the ground. The stars were completely blotted out.

"I'll take the left hand path this time," he muttered impatiently, for his peace of mind was now considerably ruffled by the vexatious delays that he had experienced. "It's bound to lead somewhere, so here goes."

But before he had covered a hundred paces he found that his progress was impeded by a brook that trickled over the now ill-defined track. On either hand the ground was marshy and, bearing in mind the incompleted narrative of Bill Jarvis's experience, he acted warily.

"It won't be the first time that I've entered the paternal dwelling with muddy boots," he reflected as he waded through the shallow stream, prodding the bed of the brook with his stick at each step.

When, at length, he negotiated the twenty feet of water he found to his intense disgust that there were no signs of the path being resumed. Evidently that track was made by cattle for the purpose of going to the stream to drink.

Away on the left rose a rounded hill crowned with a gaunt tree, the outlines of which were curiously distorted by the layers of mist.

"Here goes!" he exclaimed desperately. "I'll make for that hill. Perhaps it will be clearer up there, and I may be able to strike a fresh path."

Forcing his way through the heather, dodging aggressive clumps of gorse, and slipping on the loose sandy soil, Dacres reached the summit of the knoll. Here he was no better off, for the sky was still overcast, while as far as he could see in the dim light the surrounding country was enshrouded in mist. In vain he attempted to retrace his steps, till sinking ankle deep in marshy ground warned him that he was not only lost but in danger of being trapped in a bog.

"Ahoy!" he shouted in stentorian tones.

His hail was quickly answered by another "ahoy."

"That's good," he exclaimed. "There's a sailor somewhere about. I've heard that pensioners frequently settle down in these out of the way wilds."

"Ahoy! Where are you?" he hailed again.

"Where are you?" came the voice.

"Hang it all," said Dacres dejectedly. "It's only an echo. I am merely wasting precious breath. If only there were a breeze I could keep a fairly straight course. Luck's quite out this trip."

Striking a match and glancing at his watch Dacres discovered that it was a quarter to ten.

"No use stopping here," he decided. "I'll plug away and trust to find another path. Wish I'd accepted that fellow's offer and got him to pilot me through this wilderness. That's the result of being so beastly independent."

On and on he went, dodging between the thick masses of furze. An hour later he had a shrewd suspicion that he was describing a large circle, for one peculiar-shaped tree struck him as being familiar; yet no longed-for path rewarded his perseverance.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed as a tiny speck of light leapt up at some distance ahead of him. "Now there's a chance of finding out where I am."

Recklessly he plunged through the undergrowth, his eyes fixed upon the friendly gleam that came from the midst of a deep shadow. Suddenly the light vanished, but the shadow resolved itself into a dense clump of trees extending right and left like a huge wall till lost in the night mist.

Now he could hear voices: men talking rapidly and earnestly, while the clatter of a metal object falling upon hard ground raised a sharp reproof.

"Midnight motor repairs," thought Dacres. "A broken-down car, perhaps. Then, these trees are by the side of the high road. Ha!"

Further progress was impeded by a barbed wire fence upon which he blundered with disastrous results to his trousers and coat sleeves. The pain caused by one of the spikes cutting his wrist made him utter an exclamation of annoyance.

Simultaneously a bell began to tinkle faintly. The men's voices ceased.

Dacres paid scant heed to these ominous warnings. His one desire was to get into touch with human beings once more. Standing upon the lowermost wire and holding upon the one above, he wriggled adroitly through the fence, then hurried through the wood, half expecting to find himself upon the road.

But no highway rewarded his efforts. Pine trunk after pine trunk he passed until it began to occur to him that he was in danger of being lost in a wood, which was as undesirable as being adrift in the midst of a foggy moorland.

He paused. All was quiet.

"I'll give a shout," he thought, but before he could raise his voice there was a sudden scuffling to the right and left of him and a deep voice exclaimed:--

"Collar him, lads. He's one of them."