Chapter X: Part 10

"Poor little chap," I said, as I patted its head. It gave a slight yelp, as if in recognition of my act of kindness. "Simpson has always been wanting me to keep a dog," I reflected. "I wonder if this little thing would live if I took it home and cared for it?"

For a moment the incident, slight as it was, drove from my mind the purpose I had in view. I was preparing to carry it back when I heard the sound of voices. Immediately the dog gave a cry of fear and pain. Perhaps it shrank from my endeavors to carry it. I placed it upon the ground, reflecting that I would return to the house and obtain Simpson's assistance, but at that moment a man and a woman came within my view. I remembered in a moment that they were the people who had spoken to me, as I sat basking in the sunlight, a few days before.

"Ah, what have you there?" said the man.

"I have only just found it," I replied. "I came out for a walk, and heard the poor little thing moaning."

"The little wretch has been poaching, I expect, and somebody's gamekeeper has shot it."

"I should not think that likely," was my reply. "This is common land here, and no one, as far as I know, has attempted to preserve it. The only man who owns a gamekeeper in the immediate district is Squire Treherne, and his woods are at least two miles away."

The man looked at the dog, as I thought, indifferently, while the woman shuddered at the sight of blood.

"Have you any idea whose it is?" he asked.

"Not the slightest," I replied.

"I should let him stay, if I were you," said the man. "He is an ugly-looking beast, and I should judge that his teeth are poisonous. There is no trusting that kind of dog, they will bite even those who try to help them."

All this time the poor little thing was whining and whimpering piteously.

"I shall take it back to the house," I said. "I am afraid it is badly wounded, but I should like to save its life if I could."

"Even if you do, you will never win a prize at the shows," said the man, with a laugh. "I hate those mongrel dogs. By the way," he went on, "is not this a bad morning for you to be out? You look very ill, and have the appearance of a man who ought to be in bed."

To this I made no reply. To say the least of it, I regarded it as an impertinence for the man to make any remark at all on my appearance. I knew nothing of him, and beyond the occasions I have mentioned I had never met him.

"You are a hard-hearted brute," said the lady, speaking to her brother. "I think it awfully kind of you, sir, to take so much interest in the poor little thing."

"Excuse me for asking," said the man, "but since I have met you I have often wondered at you living alone at that little hut." His manner appeared to invite confidence.

"I expect I am somewhat of a hermit," I replied.

"But whatever induced you to live in such a place? Are you not afraid of tramps and that sort of thing?" and he nodded towards my little house.

"Tramps!" I replied. "I have not seen a tramp since I have been in Cornwall."

"Well, different people, different tastes!" and he laughed as he spoke. "But if I were you I should not live in such a lonely spot as that for whatever might be given me. Even in Cornwall it is possible to dispose of people, and you would be fair prey to any strolling vagabond."

"He might be wanting to frighten me," I said to myself. "I wonder what his purpose is?" and I could not help connecting him with old Father Abraham.

"Rather bad news of the war again," he went on, as if desiring to change the subject.

"As to that," I replied, "I thought it was rather good news, except for what the German submarines are doing."

"Yes, yes, the submarines, they are very bad."

"What brutes the Germans are," chimed in the woman. "They make me feel just murderous. Oh, I wish I were a man that I might join the Army."

All the time the poor little creature was whimpering as if in pain.

"Let me throw it over the cliff," said the man, "and put it out of its misery."

"No," I replied, "I am going to take it back to the house."

"Yes, yes, do," said the woman. "May I help you? I am awfully fond of dogs. I have kept them all my life and know a good deal about them. I have saved two that the veterinary surgeons had given up."

I picked the little creature up carefully, and was wending my way back to the cottage when the woman rushed to my side.

"You will let me help you, won't you?" she said. "I am so sorry for the poor little thing."

Badly as I wanted to refuse her help, it was impossible to decline a woman's proffered kindness, and a few minutes later both the man and the woman had accompanied me to my little house, and I stood watching her, as with deft fingers she washed the poor little dog's wounds.

"There!" she said when she had finished. "I think he will be better now. May I ask your servant to get me a basin of clean water so that I can wash my hands?"

As I have said in describing our last meeting, she was one of the handsomest women I had ever seen, and I quickly discovered that she was more than ordinarily intelligent. How it was I do not know, because I am not quick to form acquaintances, but in a few minutes I had ordered Simpson to bring refreshments, and was talking with them freely. They told me that they were staying at a furnished house near St. Eia, that they had been staying there for some months and intended remaining instead of returning to London.

"I hate London," said the woman, "and I love the quiet peacefulness of this neighborhood. Besides, I do not think it is safe to live in London. The Germans intend to raid London, and they will throw bombs all over the city. No one will be safe."

This led to a general conversation about the war, and about the cruelty and baseness of the Germans in attacking defenseless ships and murdering women and children. In spite of myself, too, I found that I was subjected to a kind of cross-examination, and yet no one listening could have detected a question which could have in the slightest degree been regarded as suspicious, but here my lawyer's training came to my aid, and I was careful to drop no hint of any suspicions I might entertain.

When they had gone I heaved a sigh of relief, although, truth to tell, the woman's presence had fascinated me. I wondered who she was, and could not help asking myself if there was not some motive behind that which appeared on the surface, actuating them to find their way into my little cottage.

"Simpson," I said, when they had gone, "what did you think of those people?"

"I think they are a very nice lady and gentleman," he said. "The lady herself was very charming."

"You liked her, did you?" I said.

"I always say, sir, that when a dumb animal takes to a person there is nothing much wrong with that person. Now that little dog, sir, was afraid of his life of the man, but did you see how grateful he was to the lady? And no wonder, sir! She treated him as if he were a Christian."

"Which way have they gone, Simpson?"

"They went towards St. Eia, sir."

I hesitated a second. I did not like to take Simpson into my confidence, neither was I pleased at the thought that I had been discussing my visitors with him; still, he was an old servant, and, as I have frequently said, I regarded him more in the light of a friend than a servant.

"Simpson," I said, "just follow them, will you, and see where they go and what they do."

"Yes, sir," he said, but I could see that he was astonished at my request.

Half an hour later he returned.

"Please, sir," he said, "they went along the St. Eia footpath, and then turned off as if they meant to go to Chy-an-Wheal."

Of course there was nothing suspicious in this, and yet my mind was not at ease. I had never been a man given to morbid fancies, and had always been too much a materialist to pay attention to people who profess to believe in premonitions; and yet my meeting with this man and woman had again stirred a thousand fancies in my mind, while the little creature sleeping on the rug seemed in some way to cause vague fears to come into my mind. Perhaps this was because of the state of my health. It seemed to me that my life, humdrum and commonplace though it might appear, was surrounded by mystery. I had vague intuitions which had no basis of reason.

After a time I rose and went out. I wanted to shake off the feelings which possessed me. A few minutes later I was scrambling down the cliff-side, hidden by the thick scrub of bushes. Presently I had a view of the whole of the little bay, which seemed absolutely deserted. I was far from fit to undertake what I had planned to do, but I could not resist the impulse which possessed me. I descended farther, and soon I was at the foot of the cliffs, looking eagerly around me. I found my way into the cave, but there was nothing suspicious there. Evidently no one had visited it since the last high tide. The sandy floor was untrodden; there were no marks of any one having been there. I crept out again, but still no one was visible.

"What a fool I am," I said to myself. "I am like a nervous child following a will-o'-the-wisp of my own fancies."

Still, what I had seen and heard could not be without meaning. I could have sworn to the fact that I had heard people at this very spot only a few hours before. I had heard a man say, "Is that the lot?" and some one had given him an indistinct reply. Of course this might have meant nothing, and yet I was sure it had. Again I examined the rocks inch by inch, but my search was altogether unrewarded. I passed the little fissure which led to the cave again, and this time I saw what I had never seen before. In an obscure corner, not far from the entrance, was another fissure. It was very narrow, but still wide enough for a man to squeeze his body through. I wondered why I had never seen it before, but on reexamining it I realized that it was so curiously formed, that any one with only a match to illuminate the cave could easily miss it. I squeezed myself through the fissure, and found myself in a cave far larger than the first.

In an instant the mystery of the last few months became plain to me. The new cave was as perfect a hiding-place as could possibly be found. Altogether there must have been some hundreds of cans of petrol placed there. This petrol was by different makers. Evidently it had been bought in comparatively small quantities at various places, and had been brought there to be ready for use as necessity arose.

I understood now the meaning of the words I had heard only a little while before.

"Is that the lot?"

What the speaker meant was evident. He had brought a consignment of petrol to this lonely spot, and his words referred to what I saw around me.

I realized also the significance of what Father Abraham had said to me during his midnight visit. Evidently he knew what the cave contained when he said that I was standing on a powder magazine. According to my calculations it was almost immediately under my little wooden hut. When I had asked him whether he spoke figuratively or literally, he had replied, "Both."

I remembered, too, the article I had seen in the London newspaper. The writer of this article had asked where the Germans had been able to obtain the petrol which enabled them to do their devilish work by means of submarines. Now it was plain. This cave, curiously hidden in the rocky cliff in a quiet, far-away spot on the Cornish coast, suited their purpose admirably. I myself had visited the outer cave on more than one occasion and yet had not discovered it. How many lives, I wondered, had been lost by the stuff which had been stored in this place! I called to mind the times when I had seen phantom-like boats coming round the headland. I remembered how I had puzzled as to what they might mean. Now all was plain; this rocky cliff, although far away from the centre of operations, was important beyond words. Evidently those who had been engaged in this work had cleverly avoided the coast watchers. Quietly and unsuspectingly they had brought cargo after cargo, and when the submarines had need of petrol they had been able to supply them.

All this flashed through my mind in a second, then the match by means of which I had made my discovery went out. I realized the awful danger by which I was surrounded; doubtless all these cans were carefully sealed, yet I knew that one spark might ignite this highly combustible fluid, and I should be burnt to death. But that was the smallest part of my danger. I knew that the men who were engaged in this work would stop at nothing; that the spies who had sought out this lonely cave would be ready to do anything in order to keep a secret.

A hundred wild fancies surged through my brain. I saw now why Father Abraham had been driven from his hut. What his connections with the Germans were I had no idea, but evidently he had been regarded as dangerous to their plans. That, doubtless, was the reason why the old man had warned me. His words came flashing back to my mind, and revealed to me the fact that I had been under constant surveillance. Then I thought of the man and woman who had lately visited me. What was the meaning of their interest in me? Were they what they pretended, or had they some sinister motive in asking me questions?

My discovery made the necessity of action imperative. But what could I do? Here was I, a poor invalid, and, if Dr. Rhomboid was right, I had only a few weeks longer to live. I had, as it seemed to me, only kept myself alive by my strong will power and determination that I would not yield to death. But what could I do? I had by this time learnt something of the police officials in the neighborhood, and I knew how utterly incapable they were of dealing with the matter. I was acquainted with some magistrates in the district, but I feared to go to them; a man like Squire Treherne would be utterly incapable of dealing with such a delicate situation. I knew that in his blunt, straightforward, honest way he would muddle everything. It is true I might write to the War Office or to the Admiralty, but, rightly or wrongly, I did not form a high estimate of their way of doing things; and yet I could see nothing else for it. Even now I might be watched. Even now German agents might be waiting outside the cave to pounce upon me.

I lit another match, and saw something which had hitherto escaped my notice. It was a slip of paper. I snatched at it eagerly and carefully read it, my heart beating wildly all the time.

The light again went out.

How long I remained there in the darkness I do not know, but it seemed to me as though I lived years in a few minutes.

A wild scheme flashed through my brain. I would deal with this matter alone! I could not fight for my country, but I would serve it in my own way.

I listened intently, but could hear nothing save the dull monotone of the waves outside. No whispering voices reached me. The darkness of the cave seemed to intensify the silence. I crept into the outer cave and again listened; still all was silent. Then I made my way into the daylight, taking every precaution before doing so. No, as far as I could tell no curious eyes were watching me. I was alone.

XXIII

A CLUE TO THE MYSTERY

I seemed to have a fresh lease of life as I clambered up the rocky cliff towards my hut. I had no sense of weariness or weakness at all; it might seem as though all my fears had been groundless, and that Dr. Rhomboid had been utterly mistaken.

I expect this was because of the great excitement under which I labored. Every nerve in my body was in tension; at that moment nothing seemed impossible to me. My mind, I remember, seemed as vigorous as my body, and I felt as though I was walking on air. The possibilities of what I had discovered might mean putting an end to one of the greatest dangers which had been threatening our country. From what I could judge, this might be one of the principal store places of petrol. I realized, as I had never realized before, the cleverness of the German mind. No one, I imagined, would think of this out-of-the-way district as a possible centre of their operations. Naturally the whole of the East Coast from Dover to the extreme North of Scotland would be watched with the greatest care; but who would have thought they would choose this out-of-the-way spot on the North of Cornwall? It might seem as though Providence had led me thither.

More than once on my way to the house did I stop and look eagerly around me, but I was always assured that no one watched me, and that I was utterly alone; besides, I could not have chosen a more perfect day for my investigation. Although it was now near noon and the weather showed signs of breaking, a thick damp mist still enveloped the whole countryside, thus making observation from a distance almost impossible.

"Everything all right, sir?" asked Simpson, as I entered the house.

"What should be wrong?" was my reply.

"Nothing, sir, only you might have seen a ghost; you look terribly strange and excited, sir."

I laughed aloud.

"I have not felt so well for months, Simpson."

He looked at me dubiously, I thought, and seemed anything but satisfied.

"Are you ready for your lunch, sir?"

"Lunch?" I replied. "Haven't I had lunch?"

Making my way into my little bedroom, I caught a glimpse of my face. I hardly recognized myself! Pale as I had always been since my illness, my pallor had been nothing to the white, drawn, haggard face which I saw in the glass. But for the wild glitter in my eyes, it might have been the face of a dead man, and yet every particle of my being seemed instinct with life.

After pretending to eat some of the lunch which Simpson had prepared for me, an unusual languor crept over me, and throwing myself on the couch, I quickly fell asleep.

I was awakened by a sound of voices at the door, and I started up quickly. As far as I could judge, I suffered no evil results from the excitement through which I had passed. Whatever had caused me unnatural strength, its influence had not yet departed.

"Simpson," I said, "whom have you got there?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I have just told Mr. Lethbridge that he could not see you. I did not think you looked well, sir."

"Show Mr. Lethbridge in. I am perfectly all right."

"I am afraid I should not have called," said Mr. Lethbridge, as he entered the room. "You do not look well."

"I am better than I have been for months," was my answer. "Sit down, won't you?"

He gave me a quick, searching glance, and then took the chair to which I had pointed. There were marks of suffering in his face. Although he was calm and collected and showed no signs of emotion whatever, I thought I saw in his eyes a strange, haunted look.

"I am afraid I did not receive you very cordially yesterday," he said presently. "You see it--it was the shock."

"Of course it was," was my answer. "I understand how you must be feeling."

"Do you?" he replied wearily. "I don't."

"Don't what?" I asked.

"Understand. I understand nothing. I am bewildered. I am in hell."

He spoke very quietly although his voice was strained and somewhat hoarse.

"You didn't sleep last night," I suggested.

"No," he replied, with a sigh, "I didn't sleep. I suppose I am regarded as a hard man, Mr. Erskine?"

To this I made no reply. I knew he was passing through a terrible experience, and, strange as it may seem, I wanted to do nothing to lighten his burden.

"I don't know why I have come to you at all," he went on. "You are a comparative stranger to me--indeed, a few months ago I did not know of your existence--and yet something drew me here. I suppose it is because you were fond of him."

"I loved him almost like a brother," was my reply. "If I had been his father, I should be a proud man."

He looked at me steadily for a few minutes in silence.

"I have learnt one thing anyhow," he said at length.

"What is that?"

"That one cannot destroy the ties of blood. Yes! Yes! I know I had disinherited him; driven him from home; told him he was no longer a son of mine. Yes! told him that I had put him outside my life. But it was a lie! I had not! I could not! Oh, the tragedy of it!"

"Yes, tragedy in a way," I said.

"Oh, the tragedy of it!" he repeated. "No, it is not death that makes the tragedy, it is something else. I can't understand it. Mr. Erskine, I am a just man."

At this I was silent. I could not for the life of me assent to his words.

"Yes, I am a just man," he repeated. "That is, I have tried to be just. I did what was right, too; he ought to have obeyed me. I was his father, and it is the duty of a son to obey a father; besides, I had done everything for him. I sent him to one of the best public schools in England. After that I sent him to the University. I had great plans for him. But he disappointed me. He married the girl I told him he must not marry; he did that which I forbade him to do; therefore I was right in driving him from the house. But it was all of no use; he was my son still."

"Of course he was," I said.

"Ah, yes! but there is the tragedy of it. He has died feeling that he was not my son, remembering what I said to him. That is the tragedy! Oh, how God Almighty must be laughing at me!"

"Not if there is a God," I replied.

"Why, don't you believe in God?" he burst forth almost angrily.

"I don't know," I replied. "But if there is a God, He pities you."

He started to his feet and paced the little room while I stood watching him.

"God! how I loved that boy," he broke out, "and he didn't know it!"

"Yes," I said, "that is the tragedy. That is the unforgivable sin."

"Go on," he said. "Say what you want to say."

"Hugh was hungering for your love, just hungering for it; but he didn't believe you cared for him. You ask me to speak plainly, Mr. Lethbridge, and so, at the risk of offending you, I am going to do so. You had your hard-and-fast ideas about life; you worshipped success, position, power, and money; you wanted Hugh to conform to your iron rules and laws, and because he was a live, human boy you tried to crush him."

"Yes! yes! I know." He spoke almost eagerly. "But even now I cannot feel right about it. After all, war is murder. How can I, a Christian man, a believer in the teaching of the founder of Methodism, believe that my son was anything but murdered? After all, is not a soldier a paid murderer? I think if I could only get that right in my mind I should be happier. Look here! Do you honestly believe that Hugh did right?"

"I don't believe; I am sure," was my reply.

"Ah! but you don't believe in Christian teaching. You told me months ago that you were an agnostic. Legalized murder cannot be right."

"Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "supposing there lived in this neighborhood a band of men without moral sense, without honor, without truth; men to whom you could not appeal because their standards of life were utterly opposed to yours. And suppose that by rapine, cruelty, and murder they sought to rule this district, to rob people of their homes, to outrage everything sacred in life. What do you think it would be your duty to do?"

"Yes! yes! I see what you mean. But are the Germans like that? Aren't they as good and as honorable as we are?"

"Listen!" I said. "I have just been reading some German books and reviews, and this is what some of the leading men in Germany have lately said. Mark you, they are not men in the street. They express the thoughts which dominate the population of Germany. Here is one by a leading General: 'We have been called Barbarians; we are, and we are proud of it. Whatever acts will help us, we shall commit them, no matter what the world may say. Germany stands as the Supreme Arbiter of her own actions, and however the world may rave at our cruelty and our atrocities, our devilry, we shall commit these deeds, we shall rejoice in them, and we shall be proud of them.'"

"Who said that?" he asked.

"A leading General in the German Army," I replied.

"Here is another statement by a renowned Doctor of Philosophy and an educationist: 'Children in our schools and the youths of our universities must be taught a new doctrine, the Doctrine of Hatred. They must be educated to hate as a duty; it must form a new subject in our curriculum of education, "And now abideth Faith, Hope, and Hatred, and the greatest of these is Hatred."'"

"You don't mean to say that any man taught that?" he asked.

"Here is the article in a German book," I replied.

"My God!" he said.

"Here is another statement," I went on, "by perhaps the leading journalist in the German Empire: 'Our might shall create new laws. Germany has nothing to do with what other nations may think of us. Germany is a law unto herself. The might of her armies gives her the right to override all laws and protests. In the future, in all the temples, the priests of all the gods shall sing praises to the God of War.'"

He looked at me steadily without speaking.

"Hugh gave his life to kill that," I said. "Is not that a Christian thing to do?"

He sat, I should think, for five minutes without speaking a word, while I watched him. Then he rose to his feet and held out his hand.

"Thank you," he said, "thank you. My God! what a fool I have been."

He left the house without speaking another word.

I went to the door and watched him as he made his way along the footpath through the copse. I saw that the mists had now passed away and that the sun was shining brightly. Strange as it may seem, I did not at that moment realize the inwardness of my conversation with Josiah Lethbridge; I only reflected upon the fact that although he was a magistrate I had said nothing to him concerning my discovery of that morning. He at least was a keen, capable man, he could act wisely and promptly; yet I had not uttered a word. But after all I had done right; the problem he was facing was different from mine, and he would be in no way in a fit condition to help me. Besides, I had made up my mind to carry out my own plans.

No one else came to see me that day, and during the remainder of the afternoon and evening I remained alone, thinking of what I ought to do. I still felt strong and capable. I suffered no pain, neither did any sense of weariness oppress me.

"That little dog, sir," said Simpson, coming into the room about sunset.

"Yes, Simpson? What of it?"

"It is a lot better, sir. The wound was not a bad one at all, and now he is getting quite frolicsome."

The dog had followed Simpson into the room and was sniffing at my legs in a friendly way.

"Poor old chap," I said, patting his head; "you are not very beautiful certainly, but you look as though you had faithful eyes."

He gave a pleased yelp and licked my hand; after this he lay down on the rug and composed himself to sleep.

"Evidently he has adopted us, Simpson," I said.

"Yes, sir. He makes himself quite at home."

"Simpson," I said, "you have the name and address of that man and woman who came to see me this morning?"

"Yes, sir, here's the card: Mr. John Liddicoat. There's the name of the house, sir."

"Do you know where it is, Simpson?"

"Yes, sir; it is a house just behind Treveen Tor. It is a biggish house, sir, but lonely."

That night when Simpson had gone to bed, I left my hut quietly and made my way along the cliff footpath towards Treveen Tor, which stands at the back of the little town of St. Eia.

I still felt well and strong, no suggestion of my malady troubled me. I could not help wondering at this, as I walked briskly along, and yet in my heart of hearts I knew that my abnormal strength was but a transient thing; I knew I was buoyed up by excitement, and that presently I should suffer a terrible relapse. That was why I was eager to do what I had to do quickly. As I skirted the little town of St. Eia I saw that the lights were nearly all out. I looked at my watch, and found that it was eleven o'clock, and the people had nearly all gone to bed. It was a wonderful night of stars, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The moon had not yet risen, but I knew it was due to rise before midnight. During the whole of my journey I had not met a single person. The night, save for the roar of the waves, was still as death.

Leaving the cliff footpath, I struck across the country towards Treveen Tor, and went around the base of the hill towards the spot where Mr. John Liddicoat's house stood.

Had any one asked me the reason for going there, I should have been unable to have given them a satisfactory reply. But in my own heart I was satisfied. I had carefully thought out the whole series of events, linking incident with incident and word with word; and although I had no definite hopes as to the result of my nocturnal journey, I felt sure that by taking it I should at least clear my ground.

Presently I saw the house plainly; it was, as Simpson had said, situated in a lonely spot, and only approached by a lonely lane from the St. Eia side and the footpath by which I had come. The house itself was in complete darkness; not a glimmer of light shone from any of the windows. I saw that it was surrounded by a garden, perhaps half an acre in extent. This garden was, as far as I could judge, altogether uncultivated. The fence around the garden was low, and scarcely any vegetation hid my view. The district around here was almost treeless. The land on which the house was built was, in the main, hard to cultivate. I saw, however, that two stunted trees grew at some little distance from the house.

I waited about a quarter of an hour without making any attempt to climb over the fence. I reflected that if my suspicions were correct, I must use every precaution. At the end of a quarter of an hour I crept cautiously over the fence and made my way towards the house.

Still all was dark. I carefully examined the ground around the two stunted trees I have mentioned, and presently I caught sight of something which set my heart beating violently. I was on the point of making a closer examination of what I had already seen, when a ray of light shone from one of the windows and I could hear the sound of voices. Again looking around me eagerly, I saw what looked like a large clump of rhododendron bushes. These offered me not only a hiding-place, but a post of observation. I had scarcely crept between the leaves when the door of John Liddicoat's house opened and two people came out. They were the man and the woman whom I had seen that morning.

Almost at the same time the moon rose behind a distant hill, and a few minutes later the garden was flooded with its silvery light.

"Have you got it all?" It was a woman who spoke.

"Yes, all except ..." and I could not catch the last word.

"You bring it, will you?"

They made their way towards the stunted trees, where they dropped the things they had brought. Then the man left the woman and appeared a little later bearing a light ladder.

I saw the man place his ladder against the tree and mount it, carrying something with him, what it was I could not tell. The moon had now risen high enough to enable me to see more plainly and to show me that the two worked swiftly and dexterously, as though they were accustomed to their work. Presently they had evidently finished, for they stood still and waited for something.

"I do not expect we shall get anything to-night." It was the woman who spoke.

"There is no knowing," replied the man; "besides, we have our orders. It is a calm night, too."

"What time is it?" asked the woman.

"Close on midnight," was the reply. "Anyhow, we must wait here until half-past twelve; if nothing comes by that time we shall hear nothing until to-morrow night. My word, if that fool of a fellow who lives in the hut on the cliff only knew! For my own part, I am not sure he does not suspect."

"What makes you think so?"

"I thought he was very guarded this morning," replied the man, "and I must use every means to make certain; if we bungle this we shall be in a bad way. Anyhow, he is closely watched night and day."

After this there was silence, save that I thought I heard a faint clicking noise. The minutes dragged heavily. It seemed as though nothing were going to happen. The moon rose higher and higher, revealing the outlines of the man and woman still more plainly, and presently I saw that their waiting had been rewarded. There was a clear repetition of the sounds I had heard previously. Then the woman said, "Have you got it?"

"Yes," replied the man; "we will take it in, and then our work for the night is done."

A few minutes later the man climbed the ladder again; evidently he was detaching something he had placed on the trees.

I waited and watched perhaps for another ten minutes, and then they went back into the house which had remained in darkness all the time.

XXIV

PREPARATION

How I got back to my little hut that night I do not know. I have not a distinct remembrance of any incident on the journey, or of any spot that I passed. I was unconscious of all my surroundings; I must have walked two or three miles, being utterly oblivious all the time of where I was.

I felt no sense of weariness, being still upheld by the unnatural strength caused by my excitement. A part of my journey led me to a footpath which skirted the cliff, and for hundreds of yards I walked on the edge of a precipice. But I knew nothing of it.

What I had seen and heard told their own story. My life, which had promised to be so uneventful, proved to be exciting beyond words. I had by some curious chance happened to come upon a spot which was, in some respects, the centre of German operations. What had been a mystery had now become plain to me. The scrap of paper I had found in the little cave had made all sorts of things possible. It had led me to John Liddicoat's house; it had enabled me to understand actions which would have otherwise been enshrouded in mystery. Who John Liddicoat and the woman who called herself his sister were was plain--they were German spies. Whether they were English or German I could not tell. Certainly they spoke the English language as though they had been born and reared on the British Isles; but that they were paid agents of the Kaiser there could be no doubt.

I little thought at the time I had paid my visit to the wireless station at M---- that it would have been fraught with such vital import. It seemed to me as though the hand of Providence had guided me there, and had led me to form an acquaintance with the young fellow who had insisted upon teaching me the secrets of wireless telegraphy. What I had learnt offered me boundless opportunities. The little apparatus, which not long before I had regarded as an interesting plaything, became of vital importance. Vast avenues of action opened themselves up before me; by means of this little apparatus which I had found such interest in constructing, I might do very great things. The man Liddicoat, by means of the two stunted trees in his garden, and the apparatus which he had fixed there, had been enabled to receive messages from the enemy. He had been able to learn when new supplies of petrol were to be brought, and when consignments of this same commodity had to be taken to the German submarines.

Nothing could be more cunningly contrived; the little cove was hidden by huge promontories, which rose up almost perpendicularly on the rock-bound coast. The spot was far away from all centres of population, and was such an unlikely place that no suspicion would be attached to it. Liddicoat was an English name, and a name closely associated with Cornwall. St. Eia was a little town where visitors often came, and thus he would be able to do his work unhindered and unsuspected. Evidently the Germans in their vast preparations had learned of this cave long before the war and had seen its possibilities; what I had discovered was the outcome of a carefully prepared plan. Of course there was much mystery which I had not yet been able to solve. The part which Father Abraham had played was not yet clear to me, and I found myself hazarding all sorts of conjectures, as to why he had built the hut there and why he had left it. But everything resolved itself into one interpretation--the Germans had foreseen this war, they had conjectured the course it would take. They understood the means which would have to be used, and they had made their preparations carefully, scientifically, and with vast forethought.

But what could I do? Evidently I was suspected. Even now, my house was being watched night and day; Father Abraham knew this, and had warned me to leave it. Unseen enemies might strike me down at any moment. And worse than all, although at that time I was buoyed up by an unnatural strength, I was little better than a dead man. I realized that I was opposed to those who were entirely unscrupulous, and who would allow nothing to stand in the way of the accomplishment of their schemes.

Doubtless, my wise course would be to write an exact description of all I had seen and heard and send it to the Government authorities without delay. If, as I suspected, Liddicoat was associated with an unscrupulous set of people, he would not hesitate to end my earthly career. In that case, unless I communicated with the authorities at once, my discoveries would be valueless; and yet with a strange obstinacy I determined that I would not do this. As I have said repeatedly, I was at that time buoyed up by an unnatural strength, and my mind was abnormally active. That is how I account for a determination which, in the light of after events, seems insane. Government authorities would be in an infinitely better position to deal with this combination of circumstances than I. Not only would they have every facility at their disposal, but they would have a vast knowledge of German methods. I, on the other hand, had but few facilities. I was almost entirely ignorant of the means they were constantly using, and I was alone!

Yet I adhered to my determination with that strange obstinacy which characterizes a man who is in an unnatural condition of mind and body. I vowed that I would see this thing through myself; that I would put together all the pieces of this intricate mosaic and bring the guilty persons to justice; then, when I had done my work, I would present it to the Government.

This and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my mind during my midnight journey from John Liddicoat's house to my little hut. I was conscious of no danger, and I am afraid I was heedless as to who might be watching me. I found myself in my little room without realizing that I had opened the door and entered. Almost like a man in a dream I lit my lamp and threw myself in an armchair. I had no thought of sleep, and my mind was still preternaturally active. Then a sense of my utter helplessness possessed me and a great fear filled my heart. I went to the door, opened it slightly, and listened. It was a wonderful night; the moon sailed in a cloudless sky, and I could see the shimmer of the sea far out from land. No sound reached me save the roll of the waves on the sandy beach; not a breath of wind stirred, not a leaf rustled.

Locking and bolting the door, I drew some paper from a drawer and commenced writing. How long I wrote I do not know, but I did not stop until I had penned a fairly comprehensive precis of what I had seen and heard. Why I did this I cannot tell; I only know that I was driven to it by some force which, to me, was inexplicable. This done, I signed the paper, giving the hour and date when I had written it.

I heard Simpson turning in his bed in the little room close by.

"Simpson," I said, going to him, "are you awake?" He yawned drowsily.

"Simpson, are you awake?" I repeated.

"Yes, sir," he said, starting up. "Is anything the matter, sir? Are you well?"

"Quite well, Simpson."

"Is it time to get up, sir?"

"I--I--what time it is I don't know, Simpson, but it is not time to get up."

He looked at me like one afraid.

"Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"Simpson," I said, "I want you to take this paper and put it away in a place of safety. You must not open it unless something happens to me."

"Happens to you, sir? What can happen to you?"

"I don't know--nothing, most likely. But I am giving this to you in case there should. Don't be alarmed. If nothing happens to me, let it lie in a place of safety, and give it to me when I ask for it, but if anything should happen...."

"Yes, sir," he said eagerly, as I hesitated. "If anything should happen, sir?"

"Then--then you will take this to Mr. Josiah Lethbridge!"

"Mr. Josiah Lethbridge, sir?"

"Yes, take it to him immediately. You must not delay a second."

"But what can happen to you, sir?"

"I know of nothing," I replied. "I am only taking a precaution. That is all, Simpson. Good-night."

I held the lamp in my hand as I spoke, while Simpson sat up in his bed staring at me.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but--but----" and then he put his hand under the pillow and took out his watch. "It is half-past three, sir, it won't be long before daylight; and--and haven't you been to bed, sir?"

"Good-night, Simpson," I said, and then found my way into my little room. Five minutes later, I had got into bed, and blown out the lamp. I was still strangely awake, and was again living over my experiences of the night. I heard Simpson groping cautiously around the house, and I knew he was looking at the fastenings of windows and doors.

"I shall have a busy day to-morrow," I said to myself. "I must see that my little wireless apparatus is in good order. I must be careful, too, that I arouse no suspicion in placing it on the spot I have prepared." After this I began to arrange my plans concerning the work I had to do. Then, little by little, things became hazy and indistinct to me. "I am falling asleep," I said to myself. "This is wonderful; I never thought I should sleep to-night."

I seemed to be passing through one world into another, from the world of realities to the world of dreams, and yet the latter was as real to me as the former had been. I had a kind of consciousness that I was asleep, and yet the stuff of which my dreams were made was just as vivid as my experiences of that night.

I was far out at sea, but it was not such a sea as I had ever known. I felt the movement of the waters, and heard the roar of the machinery. But I could see nothing. A great weight seemed to weigh me down. I felt, too, as though I were moving amidst great sea-monsters, the like of which I had never imagined before. I had a difficulty in breathing; it seemed to me as though the air which passed through my lungs was artificial. I had the use of my senses, but those senses seemed to respond to new conditions. I heard, but my hearing was confused; I felt, but with a kind of numb consciousness. I heard sounds of voices, but the voices might have been hundreds of miles away. It was as though I were speaking to some one through a telephone, a long way off. I was in a kind of a room, but it was such a room as I had never seen before. It had neither shape nor dimension. Little by little, that which had been shadowy and unreal became more definite. I saw a table, with three men sitting beside it; in front of them was a chart.

"She will be there on Thursday," said one, placing his hand on a certain spot on the chart. "It's a long distance from here and we shall want more petrol."

"It will be easy for us to get it," said another; "we have everything in training. We must let him know."

As I said, the voices seemed to be hundreds of miles away, as though they were speaking through a long-distance telephone. Yet every word was plain.

I realized at that moment that they were speaking in German, and saw, too, that the men had German faces, and wore German clothes.

I was not in the least surprised or disturbed. It seemed to me as though it were all a part of a prearranged plan. The sense of wonder had altogether departed from me.

"There will be a greater yell than ever about German atrocities," laughed one of the men. "After all, it does seem a devilish thing to attack passenger vessels."

"What has that to do with us? We must obey orders."

"But what good will it do?"

"God in heaven knows, I don't. I suppose the idea is to frighten the people, so that they will sue for peace."

"The English are not to be frightened that way; besides, it won't even touch the British Navy. They are masters on the sea, whatever we may do."

Their voices seemed to become dimmer and dimmer; they still went on talking, but I heard nothing distinctly after that. Indeed, the things by which I was surrounded, which had at first been comparatively clear, now became indistinct and unreal. I felt as though I were losing consciousness, and then everything became dark.

The next thing I can remember was opening my eyes to see Simpson standing by my bed.

"Anything the matter, Simpson?" I inquired.

"No, sir, except that it is ten o'clock, and I didn't know what time you meant to get up, sir."

"Not for a long time yet, Simpson; I am very sleepy and very tired."

Indeed, at that time an unutterable languor possessed me, and I felt as weak as a child. Simpson did not move, but looked at me intently, and I thought I saw fear in his eyes. But I was too tired to care. Then slowly life and vitality came back to me. While I was in a state of languor I remembered nothing of what I had seen in my dream, but little by little everything came back to me, until all was as vivid and as plain as I have tried to set it down here on paper. When I again opened my eyes, I saw Simpson still standing by my bed.

"I am going to get up, Simpson."

"You are sure you are well enough, sir?"

"Well enough! I feel perfectly well."

And I spoke the truth. It seemed to me as though a great black shadow which had paralyzed me, rolled away from my life.

"Prepare breakfast at once, Simpson; I shall be ready in half an hour."

Simpson took a last look at me, and then left the room, with his old formula: "Yes, sir; thank you, sir."

I got up and looked towards the sea. The sun was shining brightly, and the waves were glistening in the sunlight. It was a day to rejoice in. The air was clear and pure.

I moved briskly around the room, feeling no sense of weariness. My long sleep had restored me; my mind, too, was as active as it had been on the previous night. I fell to thinking about my experiences, and philosophizing on what I had seen in my dreams. "The real I," I reflected, "was not lying at all on that bed all last night. My spirit, my thinking self, my understanding self, was hundreds of miles away, where I don't know, but I was not here. I saw what I saw, and heard what I heard, without my body. I had other eyes, other senses. My real self was not a part of my body at all during that time. Therefore I have a self distinct from the body, independent of it. My body is only a machine whereby my real self does its work, therefore the death of the body would not be the death of me."

I took pleasure in ruminating in this way, even although there were at the back of my mind many doubts. The wish was only the father to the thought, and the thought did not carry conviction to my consciousness. It seemed to me that I had intellectually realized something which went to prove the immortality of the soul, but which really proved nothing. I could only be certain of that through some deeper process, something which went down to the very depths of life.

All the same, I found pleasure in it, and I remember humming a tune as I dressed.