CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FORESTALLED
Travelling all that long summer day, first from the south-west ofEngland to the Midlands, then from the Midlands to the north, Spargoand Breton came late at night to Hawes' Junction, on the border ofYorkshire and Westmoreland, and saw rising all around them in thehalf-darkness the mighty bulks of the great fells which rise amongstthat wild and lonely stretch of land. At that hour of the night andamidst that weird silence, broken only by the murmur of some adjacentwaterfall the scene was impressive and suggestive; it seemed to Spargoas if London were a million miles away, and the rush and bustle ofhuman life a thing of another planet. Here and there in the valleys hesaw a light, but such lights were few and far between; even as helooked some of them twinkled and went out. It was evident that he andBreton were presently to be alone with the night.
"How far?" he asked Breton as they walked away from the station.
"We'd better discuss matters," answered Breton. "The place is in anarrow valley called Fossdale, some six or seven miles away acrossthese fells, and as wild a walk as any lover of such things could wishfor. It's half-past nine now, Spargo: I reckon it will take us a goodtwo and a half hours, if not more, to do it. Now, the question is--Dowe go straight there, or do we put up for the night? There's an innhere at this junction: there's the Moor Cock Inn a mile or so along theroad which we must take before we turn off to the moorland and thefells. It's going to be a black night--look at those masses of blackcloud gathering there!--and possibly a wet one, and we've nowaterproofs. But it's for you to say--I'm game for whatever you like."
"Do you know the way?" asked Spargo.
"I've been the way. In the daytime I could go straight ahead. Iremember all the landmarks. Even in the darkness I believe I can findmy way. But it's rough walking."
"We'll go straight there," said Spargo. "Every minute's precious.But--can we get a mouthful of bread and cheese and a glass of alefirst?"
"Good idea! We'll call in at the 'Moor Cock.' Now then, while we're onthis firm road, step it out lively."
The "Moor Cock" was almost deserted at that hour: there was scarcely asoul in it when the two travellers turned in to its dimly-lightedparlour. The landlord, bringing the desired refreshment, looked hard atBreton.
"Come our way again then, sir?" he remarked with a sudden grin ofrecognition.
"Ah, you remember me?" said Breton.
"I call in mind when you came here with the two old gents last year,"replied the landlord. "I hear they're here again--Tom Summers wascoming across that way this morning, and said he'd seen 'em at thelittle cottage. Going to join 'em, I reckon, sir?"
Breton kicked Spargo under the table.
"Yes, we're going to have a day or two with them," he answered. "Justto get a breath of your moorland air."
"Well, you'll have a roughish walk over there tonight, gentlemen," saidthe landlord. "There's going to be a storm. And it's a stiffish way tomake out at this time o'night."
"Oh, we'll manage," said Breton, nonchalantly. "I know the way, andwe're not afraid of a wet skin."
The landlord laughed, and sitting down on his long settle folded hisarms and scratched his elbows.
"There was a gentleman--London gentleman by his tongue--came in herethis afternoon, and asked the way to Fossdale," he observed. "He'll bethere long since--he'd have daylight for his walk. Happen he's one ofyour party?--he asked where the old gentlemen's little cottage was."
Again Spargo felt his shin kicked and made no sign. "One of theirfriends, perhaps," answered Breton. "What was he like?"
The landlord ruminated. He was not good at description and wasconscious of the fact.
"Well, a darkish, serious-faced gentleman," he said. "Strangerhereabouts, at all events. Wore a grey suit--something like yourfriend's there. Yes--he took some bread and cheese with him when heheard what a long way it was."
"Wise man," remarked Breton. He hastily finished his own bread andcheese, and drank off the rest of his pint of ale. "Come on," he said,"let's be stepping."
Outside, in the almost tangible darkness, Breton clutched Spargo's arm."Who's the man?" he said. "Can you think, Spargo?"
"Can't" answered Spargo. "I was trying to, while that chap was talking.But--it's somebody that's got in before us. Not Rathbury, anyhow--he'snot serious-faced. Heavens, Breton, however are you going to find yourway in this darkness?"
"You'll see presently. We follow the road a little. Then we turn up thefell side there. On the top, if the night clears a bit, we ought to seeGreat Shunnor Fell and Lovely Seat--they're both well over two thousandfeet, and they stand up well. We want to make for a point clear betweenthem. But I warn you, Spargo, it's stiff going!"
"Go ahead!" said Spargo. "It's the first time in my life I ever didanything of this sort, but we're going on if it takes us all night. Icouldn't sleep in any bed now that I've heard there's somebody ahead ofus. Go first, old chap, and I'll follow."
Breton went steadily forward along the road. That was easy work, butwhen he turned off and began to thread his way up the fell-side by whatwas obviously no more than a sheep-track, Spargo's troubles began. Itseemed to him that he was walking as in a nightmare; all that he sawwas magnified and heightened; the darkening sky above; the faintoutlines of the towering hills; the gaunt spectres of fir and pine; thefigure of Breton forging stolidly and surely ahead. Now the ground wassoft and spongy under his feet; now it was stony and rugged; more thanonce he caught an ankle in the wire-like heather and tripped, bruisinghis knees. And in the end he resigned himself to keeping his eye onBreton, outlined against the sky, and following doggedly in hisfootsteps.
"Was there no other way than this?" he asked after a long interval ofsilence. "Do you mean to say those two--Elphick and Cardlestone--wouldtake this way?"
"There is another way--down the valley, by Thwaite Bridge and Hardraw,"answered Breton, "but it's miles and miles round. This is a straightcut across country, and in daylight it's a delightful walk. But atnight--Gad!--here's the rain, Spargo!"
The rain came down as it does in that part of the world, with asuddenness that was as fierce as it was heavy. The whole of the greynight was blotted out; Spargo was only conscious that he stood in avast solitude and was being gradually drowned. But Breton, whose sightwas keener, and who had more knowledge of the situation dragged hiscompanion into the shelter of a group of rocks. He laughed a little asthey huddled closely together.
"This is a different sort of thing to pursuing detective work in FleetStreet, Spargo," he said. "You would come on, you know."
"I'm going on if we go through cataracts and floods," answered Spargo."I might have been induced to stop at the 'Moor Cock' overnight if wehadn't heard of that chap in front. If he's after those two he'ssomebody who knows something. What I can't make out is--who he can be."
"Nor I," said Breton. "I can't think of anybody who knows of thisretreat. But--has it ever struck you, Spargo, that somebody besideyourself may have been investigating?"
"Possible," replied Spargo. "One never knows. I only wish we'd been afew hours earlier. For I wanted to have the first word with those two."
The rain ceased as suddenly as it had come. Just as suddenly theheavens cleared. And going forward to the top of the ridge which theywere then crossing, Breton pointed an arm to something shining far awaybelow them.
"You see that?" he said. "That's a sheet of water lying between us andCotterdale. We leave that on our right hand, climb the fell beyond it,drop down into Cotterdale, cross two more ranges of fell, and come downinto Fossdale under Lovely Seat. There's a good two hours and a halfstiff pull yet, Spargo. Think you can stick it?"
Spargo set his teeth.
"Go on!" he said.
Up hill, down dale, now up to his ankles in peaty ground, now tearinghis shins, now bruising his knees, Spargo, yearning for the Londonlights, the well-paved London streets, the convenient taxi-cab, eventhe humble omnibus, plodded forward after his guide. It seemed to himthat they had walked for ages
and had traversed a whole continent ofmountains and valley when at last Breton, halting on the summit of awind-swept ridge, laid one hand on his companion's shoulder and pointeddownward with the other.
"There!" he said. "There!"
Spargo looked ahead into the night. Far away, at what seemed to him tobe a considerable distance, he saw the faint, very faint glimmer of alight--a mere spark of a light.
"That's the cottage," said Breton, "Late as it is, you see, they're up.And here's the roughest bit of the journey. It'll take me all my timeto find the track across this moor, Spargo, so step carefully afterme--there are bogs and holes hereabouts."
Another hour had gone by ere the two came to the cottage. Sometimes theguiding light had vanished, blotted out by intervening rises in theground; always, when they saw it again, they were slowly drawing nearerto it. And now when they were at last close to it, Spargo realized thathe found himself in one of the loneliest places he had ever beencapable of imagining--so lonely and desolate a spot he had certainlynever seen. In the dim light he could see a narrow, crawling stream,making its way down over rocks and stones from the high ground of GreatShunnor Fell. Opposite to the place at which they stood, on the edge ofthe moorland, a horseshoe like formation of ground was backed by a ringof fir and pine; beneath this protecting fringe of trees stood a smallbuilding of grey stone which looked as if it had been originally builtby some shepherd as a pen for the moorland sheep. It was of no morethan one storey in height, but of some length; a considerable part ofit was hidden by shrubs and brushwood. And from one uncurtained,blindless window the light of a lamp shone boldly into the fadingdarkness without.
Breton pulled up on the edge of the crawling stream.
"We've got to get across there, Spargo," he said. "But as we're alreadysoaked to the knee it doesn't matter about getting another wetting.Have you any idea how long we've been walking?"
"Hours--days--years!" replied Spargo.
"I should say quite four hours," said Breton. "In that case, it's wellpast two o'clock, and the light will be breaking in another hour or so.Now, once across this stream, what shall we do?"
"What have we come to do? Go to the cottage, of course!"
"Wait a bit. No need to startle them. By the fact they've got a light,I take it that they're up. Look there!"
As he spoke, a figure crossed the window passing between it and thelight.
"That's not Elphick, nor yet Cardlestone," said Spargo. "They'remedium-heighted men. That's a tallish man."
"Then it's the man the landlord of the 'Moor Cock' told us about," saidBreton. "Now, look here--I know every inch of this place. When we'reacross let me go up to the cottage, and I'll take an observationthrough that window and see who's inside. Come on."
He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a succession ofboulders made a natural bridge, and bidding him keep quiet, went up thebank to the cottage. Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way pastthe shrubs and undergrowth until he came to a great bush which stoodbetween the lighted window and the projecting porch of the cottage. Helingered in the shadow of this bush but for a short moment; then cameswiftly and noiselessly back to his companion. His hand fell onSpargo's arm with a clutch of nervous excitement.
"Spargo!" he whispered. "Who on earth do you think the other man is?"
The Middle Temple Murder Page 33
