Chapter XVI: I Find a Lucky Sixpence

AS soon as I was in dry things I slipped into Mrs. McNab’s room, my heart thumping. All through our voyage I had pictured her waking up and needing me: perhaps alarming the household, perhaps thrown into anxiety by reading my note. There were a dozen unpleasant possibilities, and I had explored them all.

But luck had held for me throughout that evening. She lay just as I had left her hours before, breathing deeply and regularly: the tray was untouched beside her, the note in its original fold. I pocketed it thankfully and went to bed—to wake with a start in the early dawn.

I threw on a dressing-gown and went across to Mrs. McNab’s room. She was lying awake and greeted me with a smile.

“You should not be up so early,” she said. “No, I am quite comfortable and better, and I have taken some jelly. And I feel cheerful, though I do not know why. I went to sleep so miserable, but a comforting dream came to me: a dream in which I saw Ronald, safe and happy and good. Is it not curious that I should have such a happy dream, just when all our plans for him are ruined!”

“I don’t know,” I said, and smiled at her “I think it was a sensible dream, sent as a warning.”

“I would like to think so,” she said wistfully. “But everything is so dark and uncertain now, and I do not know how to plan.”

I suppose I grinned idiotically, for suddenly her face changed. She looked at me keenly, rising on her elbow.

“Miss Earle, you have something to tell me! You—you did not break your promise to me!”

“I did not,” I said. “To go alone was what I promised not to do, and I didn’t go alone. I took Judy and Jack with me, bless their dear hearts: they think we were assisting a gentleman named—possibly—Smith, and they asked no questions, and will ask none in the future. Thanks to the darkness they never saw his face. And we landed your brother at Southport before midnight, dear Mrs. McNab, and his money and everything. There wasn’t a hitch, and he’s well on his way to the Adelaide line, I hope.”

For a full minute she lay and looked at me without speaking. Then she suddenly put her face into the pillow and broke into a passion of sobs.

“Oh!” I uttered, horribly alarmed. “Oh, please don’t. Mrs. McNab, dear! I shouldn’t have told you in such a hurry, but you guessed so quickly that something had happened.” Dismally I felt that I had been a failure, and I nearly howled, myself. “I—I thought you’d be glad!”

She put out her hand to me, as if groping, her face still hidden. I held the hot hand tightly while the sobs grew less, and she struggled to command herself.

“Glad!” she said presently. “Glad! When a burden of misery is suddenly lifted glad is such a poor little word! My dear—my dear—what am I to say to you?”

“Why, nothing at all,” I said, greatly relieved. “It was the very easiest little job, thanks to Judy and Jack. I had scarcely to do anything: they ran the launch, and I was a mere passenger. They were hugely delighted at the adventure.”

“But will they say nothing?”

“They will not say a word, even to you. I have told them it is not a matter to be discussed; that the man on the Island was a friend we were helping, and that he wanted to get to Southport last night. I can trust Judy and Jack—when they have given their word nothing on earth can shake it. They understood that the matter was confided to them on condition that they should keep silent and ask no questions, and they are very proud of being trusted.”

She drew a long breath.

“Sit down, and tell me everything that happened,” she begged. “Every little detail.”

I did so, touching very lightly on the rough journey home—hoping that she would not ask me if her brother had sent her any message. Probably she knew that a gentleman of Ronald Hull’s type would have no thought for anyone but his precious self, for I had no awkward questions to dodge.

“It was all so simple and straightforward that there really is very little to tell,” I finished. “I asked Mr. Hull not to speak in the boat, so that there would be no risk of the children’s recognizing his voice: and I was so anxious to get back in case you needed me, that we didn’t lose a moment. It was just a pleasure-trip. You don’t mind that I took the children? Indeed, I meant to ask you, but you had gone to sleep before I could do it.”

“I don’t mind anything,” she said. “There is no room in my heart for anything but the utmost relief and gratitude; how could there be when my burden is rolled away?” And she clung to my hand, and said a great many things I couldn’t write down in cold blood—it made me feel an utter fool to listen to them. I only know I was very thankful when she stopped.

“Now, you are to go back to bed at once,” she said. “Do not worry about me any more: you shall see how quickly I can get better now.” And indeed, she looked almost like a girl, her cheeks flushed, and a light of happiness in her eyes. “Julia can do anything for me—she is very kind. I should be really glad if you would spend all day in bed.”

One does not do such things if one is a governess-head-companion with buffering thrown in as a side-line. But I did sleep like a log until the dressing-gong boomed, and Judy and Jack pounded on my door begging me to go down for a swim. It gave one a thrill to run across the paddock as we had run the night before: to see the launch rocking lazily by the pier. Bence was busy in her. Jack scampered over to speak to him, dived in from the pier-head, and swam round to meet us, with his face one broad grin of impish joy.

“Bence is as wild as a meat-axe!” he said cheerfully. “Says it’s no good cleaning out the launch every day when people ’liberately pour water into her at night! She really is awfully messy: that last big sea we shipped put gallons and gallons of water into her.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said it was a jolly shame,” Jack chuckled. “’Tis, too—poor old Bencey! I say, Miss Earle, haven’t you got anyone for us to go out and rescue to-night?” He turned head-over-heels in the water, dived underneath Judy, and pulled her under by the leg. I left them arguing the matter out below the surface.

There was no holding my Fellow-Members of the Band that day. Their night adventure had left them wild with excitement; they rioted like mad things until I decided that exercise was the only possible treatment, packed up a billy and sandwiches, and took them out for a long day in the bush, leaving Mrs. McNab to the care of Julia, who liked nothing better than to have some one ill enough to be fussed over. Miles from home we came upon Dr. Firth, walking slowly through the scrub with his big Airedale at his heels. He looked gloomy enough before he saw us, but his face lit up when Judy and Jack hailed him joyfully.

“I was just deciding that treasure-hunting was a poor sort of game,” he said. “This is about the tenth attempt I’ve made at scientific detective-work: I try to put myself in the position of a burglar leaving my house with his loot, desirous of avoiding all roads and tracks, and of finding a safe hiding-place until excited policemen have calmed down sufficiently to make it safe for him to get away. With this profound idea in our minds Sandy and I strike out across country and look for tracks!”

“I say—that’s a jolly game!” cried Judy.

“It is quite a jolly game,” he agreed. “Sandy entirely approves of it. It has given us a great deal of fresh air and exercise, and our health has benefited enormously—you can see for yourself how well Sandy looks!” He pulled the Airedale’s ears. “But so far as finding the jewels goes, it doesn’t seem to lead anywhere. That doesn’t trouble Sandy, but it is hurtful to my pride. It would give me unbounded pleasure to be able to flourish my property before those two superior detectives, remarking airily, ‘I told you so!’”

“I think you need help,” Judy told him kindly. “Say we go with you and lend a hand?”

“Say I go with you, and forget all about the wretched old jewels,” he responded. “I think it would do me good to have the cheerful society of you three merry people for a day. I don’t seem to have had a moment free from the worry of them for the last week. By the way, my detectives have a fresh thrill; they went out boating before breakfast, and landed on Shepherd’s Island.”

Jack jumped, and Judy favoured him with a threatening glare.

“What’s up, Jack?” inquired Dr. Firth.

“Trod on a stick,” mumbled Jack, his face the colour of a beetroot. I felt that mine resembled it, and could only hope that Dr. Firth would put it down to sunburn.

But Judy did not turn a hair.

“What did they land for?” she inquired politely. “A picnic?”

“I think life is all a picnic to those two plump and worthy men,” Dr. Firth responded. “I suppose they landed as a measure of exploration. They came back in some excitement, though, to breakfast—nothing makes my two sleuth-hounds forget their meals. A man has been camping in the old hut, they say: they found blankets there. Indeed, for all they know, he is still on the Island.”

“But I suppose anyone may camp there?” I asked. “It isn’t private property.”

“Of course—dozens of people may use it, for all I know. However, the detectives have made up their minds that he is their man, and off they went after breakfast, to explore it thoroughly. I only hope they won’t arrest some perfectly innocent holiday-maker and bring me his scalp!”

I did not dare to look at the children. They fell behind, affecting to examine a plant, and I heard smothered shrieks of glee. For myself, I found it difficult to listen to what my companion was saying: my brain was all a-whirl. If we had not gone last night——! And then I fell to wondering if anything that might be found on Shepherd’s Island would bear marks that would be incriminating. The blankets, I knew, were plain Army grey ones; the food-tins, even if discovered, were only such as might be bought at any good store, and I knew Mrs. McNab had always ordered them from Melbourne. Ronald Hull would have hidden them carelessly: there was no hope that they would not be found by the detectives. Well, I could only hope that Mrs. McNab’s prudence had guarded against supplying evidence. She had had long enough to practise prudence, poor soul.

We camped beside a little creek, boiled the billy, and shared our lunch with Dr. Firth; fortunately, I had learned that it was wise to provide amply for Judy and Jack’s appetites, and there were plenty of sandwiches. Then Sandy dashed into the bush, to appear presently in triumph with a rabbit, which he laid at his master’s feet. The sight of the little, limp body filled Judy and Jack with ambition to fish for yabbies, and Dr. Firth skilfully dissected a leg for each, while they tied strings to tea-tree sticks. Then they sat, supremely happy, on the bank, dangling their grisly baits, and drew up numbers of the hideous little fresh-water crayfish, which they stowed in the billy, with a view to supper. I had uneasy visions of Mrs. Winter’s probable comments on the addition to her larder.

Dr. Firth and I sat under a tree, listening to their ecstatic yells, and talked. It was always easy to talk to him: each time we met seemed to show me more clearly what a friend I had found. Always he wanted to hear more and more of Colin and Madge, and of our life since we had lost Father; he knew all about the little Prahran flat, about Madge’s music and her examination successes, and about Colin’s dearness to us both. We laughed over our amateur housekeeping and over Colin’s droll stories of his office—Colin had always made a joke of it, though Madge and I knew well enough how sorely he hated it. And then the talk would swing back to Father, and he would tell me stories of the youth they had spent together, until I felt that I knew Father better than I had ever done before, and had even greater cause for pride than I had dreamed of. The future, that had been so drab to us, seemed quite different now. Hardship and work there must be, of course, but not the loneliness that had walled us round since Father had gone away.

We had been so deeply engrossed that we had not noticed that the children had tired of fishing and had disappeared, leaving their rods on the bank beside the billy that was half full of squirming captives. I looked at my watch when we discovered their absence, and came back with a start to the realization of my duties.

“We ought to be making a move homeward,” I said. “I don’t want Mrs. McNab to be worried about us.”

“Oh, they won’t be far off,” Dr. Firth said.

He sent a long coo-ee ringing through the scrub. A faint answering sound came, and following it, we went along the creek bank, to be greeted presently by the spectacle of Judy and Jack perched in a tree that partly overhung the water. Jack was feeling his way along a dead bough towards a hole that might or might not contain a parrot’s nest. I cried out in alarm at sight of him, for the branch was rickety, and the ground below did not invite a fall—it was strewn with loose rocks, some of which had tumbled bodily into the creek.

“Do be careful, Jack!” I called. “That branch isn’t safe.”

“P’f! It’s as safe as houses!” said Jack airily. “Don’t bother a chap, Miss Earle—women are always fussy. I only want to get to this good old nest, and then I’ll——”

There was a splintering crack and the branch sagged down suddenly. Jack clung to it for a moment while I ran towards him wildly; then he fell, as I made an ineffectual attempt to catch him. It failed, but it broke his fall. We went down to the ground together. A loose rock on the edge gave under us, and we rolled down the bank amid a scatter of stones and loose earth, ending with our feet in the creek.

We were both up in a moment, laughing. Dr. Firth’s alarmed face peered over the bracken-fringed bank above us.

“Anyone hurt?”

“Nothing but a few scratches,” I answered. “But we seem to have brought down half the bank—it’s a regular avalanche. I don’t believe we can get up there, Jack.”

“Oh, can’t we!” Jack uttered. “Bet you I can. I’ll go ahead, Miss Earle, ’n’ then I can pull you up.”

“You needn’t trouble,” I thanked him. “I prefer a place where it’s a little cleaner. Not that that matters much, since we rolled down!” I looked ruefully at my earth-stained frock.

“Well, I’ll show you!” said Jack sturdily.

He scrambled up, sending down showers of small stones and loose soil, while I watched him, half expecting him to come sliding back to my feet. Just as he neared the top, my eye caught sight of a tiny object half hidden in our miniature avalanche—something that shone faintly. I stooped forward and picked up a bright sixpence.

“Take care, Jack—you are dropping your money,” I called.

“Me?” inquired Jack, from the top. “Not me—I never had any. What’s the use of bringing money out in the bush? Did you find any?”

“I found sixpence,” I answered. “That’s good luck for me, at all events. I wonder how it came here.”

“Might be more lying about,” suggested Jack. “Have a look.”

I glanced up at him, laughing.

“If I find a silver-mine, I’ll buy you that yacht you were talking about. What did you say her tonnage——?”

Something made me break off suddenly. There was a little recess in the bank, just under his laughing face: a recess only revealed since we had sent the rock that guarded it crashing down the bank. Something glimmered in it faintly. I went up the broken bank even more quickly than Jack had done, while the others sent a fire of laughing questions at me. Putting my hand into the recess I drew out—an old tobacco-tin.

“Whatever have you got there, Doris?” Dr. Firth asked.

“Somebody’s ’baccy,” I answered, laughing, scrambling up over the edge. “I suppose some poor old swagman has made a _cache_ here. I must put it back.”

“You might look at it first,” he said quietly. But there was something in his voice that made me glance at his face. I sat down on the ground and got the lid open.

There was not tobacco inside, but moss—old soft moss, tightly rammed down. It might well have contained a fisherman’s worms, but at the moment I didn’t think of that, or I might not have acted as I did. I shook it all out, with a jerk, into my lap. Dr. Firth caught his breath in a gasp and the children gave a shout.

There was more than moss. Hidden among it were things that glittered and sparkled in the sunlight—rough-cut rubies and emeralds and sapphires, and softly-gleaming turquoises that bore the scratches of the tool that had hewn them hurriedly from their setting. They twinkled at us, lying among the soft bronze-green of the moss: Dr. Firth’s stolen jewels! I sat and stared at them stupidly.

“You said they were magic!” shrilled Judy delightedly. “Oh, well done you, Miss Earle!”

“There should be more,” said Dr. Firth quietly. “Pack them up again, Doris, and let us see where you found them.”

We went over the edge in a body. There were two other little tobacco-tins in my hole, packed in the same way, stowed well under a rock. Half of it had broken away, and even then, only the smallest corner of the first tin had been visible—but for the lucky avalanche that Jack and I had brought down no one would ever have found that hiding-place, even if it had been years before the thief came back to remove his booty.

“I wouldn’t have seen it at all if he had left the paper wrapping on the tin,” I said. “It was the little gleam of metal that caught my eye.”

“That was a small detail of extra carefulness,” Dr. Firth said. “People have been tracked down before now by leaving something of which the purchase could be traced. He was a careful burglar, bless him!”

“He wasn’t so smart when he dropped his sixpence!” exulted Jack. “It was the sixpence that started you looking, Miss Earle.”

“It was. I was just turning away to look for a better place to get up when I saw it half under a stone.”

“You ought to keep that sixpence for luck,” said Judy solemnly. “Oh, Dr. Firth, are you going back to wave the jewels at the detectives? Do let us come too! I’d love to see their faces!”

“I shan’t be in too much of a hurry,” he said, smiling. “It might be as well to see what their new clue amounts to. Possibly there is something suspicious about that Shepherd’s Island camper, after all.”

My heart gave a sudden sick leap. What if there were?—if it had indeed been Ronald Hull who had hidden the jewels under the bank, trusting to luck some day to come back and retrieve them! What if his willingness to go to Adelaide were only a blind?—if he meant not to leave Australia at all, but only to get out of immediate danger here? I thought of poor Mrs. McNab’s face that morning, ten years younger in her utter relief and thankfulness, and I shivered to think that her misery might not be over yet.

“We’ll keep the matter to ourselves for a day or two, at any rate,” Dr. Firth was saying. “You won’t say a word, children?”

“Cross-our-hearts!” said Judy and Jack in chorus.

“That’s all right. I’ll see what the detectives have to say; and meanwhile I’ll put a man of my own to watch this place, in case the man who planted those jewels comes back. Keep out of this part of the bush, you two, until I see you again.”

They promised, wide-eyed. Life was indeed full of glory this week for little Judy and Jack McNab.

“But you won’t wave them at the detectives without us?”

“Cross-my-heart!” said he solemnly. “I’ll bring you and Miss Earle over, and you shall do the waving yourself, and see the sleuth-hounds collapse before you! And now, if you are ready, I think we’d better get home. I shall feel easier in my mind when these three tobacco-tins are locked away in my safe.”