Chapter XIII: I Go Adventuring

IT was lucky for us that all the house-party were tired that night. Dancing was often kept up at The Towers until long after midnight; but on this occasion the strenuous day in the bush had had its effect, so that a move was made towards bed soon after half-past ten. One strong soul cheerily suggested finishing up with a bathing excursion to the beach—and never knew what malevolent brain-waves I wafted towards him from my nook near the schoolroom door. Fortunately, Dicky Atherton poured cold water upon the idea.

“Don’t be a lunatic, Billy,” he remarked. “If you haven’t had enough, I guess the rest of us have. Go and bathe by yourself, if you want to.” At which “Billy” yawned mightily, and said that bathing alone was a poor game, and he guessed he’d go to bed, too. They all trooped upstairs, and I noticed that several locks clicked as the doors were shut. Evidently the girls had not forgotten the chance of the burglar. I wondered what would have been their sensations had they known that we were preparing to convey the suspected burglar out of the house!

I waited until ten minutes after the last light had gone out. The house was wrapped in deep silence as I stole up the stairs to the Tower rooms.

Mrs. McNab was waiting for me on the landing.

“Come in,” she whispered. “We are all ready.”

Ronald Hull sat smoking in her study. Something of the sneering coldness was gone from his face.

“You seem to be a most energetic planner,” he greeted me. “It was a lucky chance that brought you in here this evening, though at the time I must admit that I thought it a precious unlucky one. Are you sure you can run the boat?”

“Quite sure,” I told him coldly. I couldn’t bear his face or his manner: he repelled me as a snake repels. It was difficult even to be civil to him.

There were many parcels and packages on the floor, ready for carrying. Mr. Hull was still dressed like Mrs. McNab, but he carried a pile of men’s clothing over his arm.

“Well, we might as well make a start, if you think it’s safe,” he said. “This stuff will need more than one trip.”

It needed three, since Mrs. McNab could carry very little. Laden like camels, we crept down the kitchen stairs, across the crunching gravel of the yard, and over the paddock, stowing our burdens in the launch that lay beside the little jetty. Backwards and forwards we went, almost running on the return journeys to the house: the dread of detection suddenly heavy upon us, so that every clump of tea-tree seemed to contain the lurking shadow of a watching man. Just as we were leaving the yard on our last trip, Mr. Hull well ahead with the heaviest burdens, a window at the rear of the house was suddenly flung up. Mrs. McNab and I stopped, petrified with fear. A voice shrilled out, that was unmistakably the product of the County Cork: a voice in which wrath struggled valiantly with nervousness:

“Who’s there? Tell me now, or I’ll loose the dogs on ye!”

“Answer her quickly!” I whispered.

“It is I, Julia,” said Mrs. McNab in icy tones. They were really the only accents she could command, for she was shaking with dread; but they must have sounded sufficiently awe-inspiring to Julia, who ejaculated, “Howly Ann, ’tis the misthress!” and slammed down her window. We took to our heels and fled after Mr. Hull.

At the shore we lost no time, Julia’s outcry might easily have aroused the house, and for all we knew we might be followed already; so we hurried Mr. Hull into the launch, not daring to risk delay while he changed his clothes, which could just as well be done at the Island. He grumbled a little, saying that he was sick and tired of living in women’s garments; at which Mrs. McNab fixed him with a glance that, even in the moonlight, must have been daunting, for he broke off in the middle of a remark, and only muttered under his breath—Mrs. McNab took the tiller, and I switched on the engine. And it would not start!

The minutes went by while I tinkered with every gadget I could find in that abominable box of machinery. Mrs. McNab—how I loved her for it!—sat absolutely silent, betraying no sign of impatience; but presently her brother grew restive, and demanded angrily, “Won’t she start?”—a query that seemed to me so singularly futile that I deigned no answer. I tried everything that I could think of, and still no response came from that very engine which had purred so happily on our piratical expedition a few hours before. Ronald Hull broke out rudely at last.

“I might have known as much! What fools we were, Marie, to believe in a self-satisfied school-girl! We might as well unpack the boat and go back—we can’t sit here until daylight comes and somebody finds us!”

“Oh, hold your tongue, Ronald!” Mrs. McNab said wearily. “We are doing our best for you. And let me assure you that, whatever happens, you are not going back to my house.”

He subsided at that, with an ill-tempered grunt. And then, I don’t know in the least what I did—possibly my wrath communicated itself to the spanner I was using—but the engine suddenly began to spit, and then to purr. I heaved a sigh of relief, echoed by Mrs. McNab; and in a moment we were slipping away from the jetty and heading towards the opening of the bay. I took the tiller from Mrs. McNab, and in silence we shot across the moonlit water.

Having recovered from its fit of bad temper, the engine decided to behave beautifully. Its even throb was music in my ears. It was a still and perfect night, a night of moonbeams and starshine and peace, in which the load of anxiety and evil that we carried seemed to have no part. Beyond the headland, when we turned westward, the sea rose in long, gentle swells on which we rocked lazily as the launch sped onwards. Every tiny island was a dim place of mysterious beauty. No sound reached us, save, now and then, a seabird’s cry. None of us spoke. Ronald Hull lit a cigarette and sprawled across the bow, looking ahead: beside me, his sister leaned back, and on her white face was the beginning of peace. So we travelled across the gleaming water, until Shepherd’s Island loomed ahead, and I slowed down the engine, looking for the opening to the tiny bay where we must land. Soon it came into view. I ran the launch carefully beside the shelf of rock, and Ronald Hull sprang out with a rope.

We made fast, and landed. One after another Mr. Hull passed out the packages, until the launch was empty.

“You’d better go ahead with the lighter things,” he said. “I’ll change in the boat. Is it safe to show a light to guide me to this hut of yours?”

“I do not think it would be wise,” Mrs. McNab answered. “But you cannot miss it—it is only a stone’s-throw away. Whistle softly when you are ready, and we will come back.”

We left him, and went up the slope with what we could carry. Mrs. McNab had brought a lantern, but, even had we dared to use it, we did not need it; although the moon was thinking of setting, the night was wonderfully clear and bright. We opened the sagging door of the hut to its fullest width and put in our bundles—I wondered if Mrs. McNab was as much afraid of spiders in the dark interior as I was, or if her mind rose superior to such earthly considerations. Personally, I cannot imagine any circumstances in which the thought of a spider in the dark will have lost its power to give me chills down the back.

A low whistle came to us as we descended the slope, and we reached the shore to find Mr. Hull arrayed in his own garments, and looking decidedly more cheerful.

“Thank goodness for my own kit!” he remarked. “Your clothes have been very useful, my dear Marie, but skirts are ‘the burden of an honour unto which I was not born,’ and I’m uncommonly glad to see the last of them. We’d better get this stuff up as soon as possible; you two must hurry away.”

We loaded ourselves again, and returned to the hut. Our passenger was not excited by its aspect.

“Pretty dingy sort of hole!” he remarked, peering into the darkness within. “Thank goodness it’s a warm night: I’ll roll up in my blankets under a tree. There are probably several varieties of things that creep and crawl inside that shanty.”

“You will remember to keep out of sight of the mainland in daylight, Ronald?”

“Oh yes—I’ll be careful,” he answered lightly.

“I hope you will. You should conceal everything in the morning, as soon as it is light—there are rocks and hollows all over the island—you will have no difficulty in stowing everything away. Do remember that there will be many watchful eyes along the coast during the next few days: you cannot be too cautious.”

“Well, you’ve done all you can for the present, so you needn’t worry,” her brother replied. “If they get me now it will be plain John Smith they will get, who does not know of even the existence of such a place as The Towers, or such a family as that of McNab! When may I expect to see you again?”

“We will come in three or four nights—it is impossible for me to say exactly when I can get away unnoticed. By that time there may be news from Adelaide about your future movements. You will have to listen for the beat of the engine—we will try not to be later than ten o’clock.”

“Right,” he said. “Whistle three times when you stop, so that I may know for certain that it is your engine and not a police-boat’s. I suppose you can whistle, Miss Earle?—you look as if you could!”

“I suppose you can carry up the remainder of these things?” I gave back icily. “It is quite time I got Mrs. McNab home—she is tired out.”

“Let us go,” Mrs. McNab said hastily. I believe she knew that I hungered to throw things at him. “Remember, by the way, Ronald, that if bad weather comes we may be prevented from taking out the launch—you had better husband your provisions. We will do the best that we can for you.”

“You’ve certainly done that always, Marie,” he admitted ungraciously. “I’ve no doubt you’re deeply thankful to be rid of your Old Man of the Sea for a time. Well, I hope it will be for good in a few days—I promise I won’t come back again if once I get to America.”

I was already in the launch, starting the engine. Mrs. McNab took her place, and Mr. Hull cast off the rope.

“Good night,” he said. Mrs. McNab answered him, but I pretended to be deeply occupied with the engine, and said nothing. We slid away gently from the rock, and in a moment the Island was only a dim blur behind us.

I believe we both enjoyed the voyage home, although scarcely a word was spoken. Mrs. McNab relaxed limply into her corner of the seat, smoking so slowly that twice she let her cigarette go out, when she would flick it away into the water and light a fresh one—she managed wonderfully with her one hand. As for me, I could have purred as contentedly as did the engine. It was good to be without that evil presence in the launch; better still to think that The Towers that night would be free from its blight. I liked to think how welcome would be the solitude of her eyrie in the tower to the tired woman beside me. Whatever the future might hold for Mrs. McNab and her brother, I firmly believed that we had done a good job in transferring him to Shepherd’s Island, where his unpleasant temper would be restricted to gannets and gulls. It gave me serene pleasure to think how dull he would be. When Mrs. McNab recollected presently, with an exclamation of annoyance, that she had omitted to pack for him a good supply of tobacco, I fear I chuckled inwardly. I had small sympathy for Mr. Ronald Hull.

We swung round into Porpoise Bay and ran across to the jetty, slowing down to lessen the sound of the engine, and watching keenly ahead in case anyone should be prowling on the shore.

But there was no one: all was dark and silent, save for the waves lapping gently against the jetty piles. I made the launch fast, while Mrs. McNab gathered up her brother’s discarded dress, and, hurrying across the paddock, we gained the house unseen, and felt our way up the dark kitchen stairs.

Mrs. McNab came into my room, closing the door as I switched on the light. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears.

“You are a very brave girl, my dear,” she said. “I shall sleep to-night in the nearest approach to peace that I have known for a long while, and it is thanks to you. A month ago you were a stranger to me, and yet to-night you have done me a service I could not ask from my own son.”

I mumbled something idiotic. Nothing that evening, unless it were the time when the engine would not start, had been so terrible as this!

“You do not want to be thanked, I know,” she went on. “And, indeed, I have no words to thank you. But I hope that you will never think hardly of me for having allowed you to shoulder my burden—I know I should not have done it, but it was growing too heavy for me. You came to me like an angel of help. I hope you will always let me be your friend.” She stooped and kissed me, and then, like Julia’s “grey ghost,” she was gone.