CHAPTER VII
TIN-TACKS
That night, Warrender was unusually wakeful. As a rule he slept assoundly as his companions; but now and then, when he had anything on hismind, he wooed sleep in vain. The strange incidents of the past twodays had affected him more, psychologically, than either of the others.Armstrong, as soon as his doubts were removed, would suffer no moremental disturbance until something fresh, outside his experience, againupset his balance; while Pratt was one of those happy souls to whom lifeitself is a perpetual joy, and events only the changing patterns of akaleidoscope.
Envying the two placid forms stretched on either side of him, Warrenderwas trying to grope his way through the labyrinth of mystery in whichthey seemed to have been caught, when he was surprised by a suddenslight rattling sound upon the tent, like the patter of smallhailstones; it ceased in a second or two. The night had been fine,without any warning of a change of weather; the air was still; it seemedstrange that a storm could have risen so rapidly, without a premonitorywind. His companions had evidently not been awakened. Movingcarefully, so as not to disturb them, he crept across to the flap of thetent, and looked out. The stars glittered in a vault of unbroken blue;the tree-tops were silvered by the sinking moon; not a wisp of cloudstreaked the firmament.
There was no repetition of the sound, and Warrender, thinking that hemust, after all, have been dreaming, returned to his sleeping-bag. Asoften happens in cases of insomnia, the slight exertion of walking hadthe effect of inducing sleep, and he woke no more until morning.
Armstrong, as usual the first to rise, clutched his towel, and salliedforth barefoot for his dip. He had no sooner passed into the open,however, than he uttered what, with some exaggeration Pratt called afiendish yell. Hurrying out to learn the cause of it, the others sawhim standing on one foot and rubbing the sole of the other.
"Which of you blighters dropped a tin-tack here?" he asked.
"Got a puncture, old man?" said Pratt, sympathetically. "Your skin'spretty tough, luckily. Now, if it had been me--ough!"
"'GOT A PUNCTURE, OLD MAN?'"]
He, too, hopped on one foot, and crooked the other leg, his facecontorted for a moment out of its wonted cherubic calm.
"Told you so," he cried, picking a blue tack from between his toes."I'm a very sensitive plant, I can tell you. I see blood. Warrender,I'd have yours if you weren't such a thundering big lout."
"Not guilty," said Warrender, who had prudently stood still. "You hadbetter both come and put your boots on. We haven't any tacks in ouroutfit, so--I say!"
"What do you say?" said Pratt.
"Last night I heard a sound like a sharp shower of rain or hail on thetent. Just wait till I pull my boots on."
In half a minute he was out again, shod, and began to examine the grassaround the tent.
"As I thought," he said. "There's a regular battalion of the beastlythings; another trick of that blackguard Rush, no doubt. He's tryingfrightfulness."
"I'll wring his neck if I catch him," cried Armstrong.
"No, you don't, my son," said Pratt. "The law would say 'neck forneck,' I'm afraid. I shouldn't object to your blacking his eyes. Butwhen you come to think of it, perhaps Rush isn't the culprit after all.We've never seen him on this side of the channel. It may have been theother fellow."
"What's clear is that some one is making a dead set at us," saidWarrender, "and I don't like it. It will mean our moving camp."
"You surely won't let this sort of thing drive you away?" saidArmstrong.
"What's to be done, then? They first monkey with the boat--by Jove!they may have cut her loose again."
"No, I spy her nose," said Pratt. "They believe in variety, evidently.But I quite agree with you. We shall always have to leave one on guard,and that will spoil the trio. Two's company, three's fun. All thesame, the position is so jolly interesting that I shouldn't like to goright away and leave the mystery unsolved--I mean their objection to ourcompany. We haven't had the cold shoulder anywhere else; and here,first old Crawshay, then these unknown--look here, you fellows, I votewe take the job up in earnest, and get to the bottom of it. It willalter the Arcadian simplicity of our holiday, but for my part I'd riskany amount of brain fag over a good jigsaw puzzle like this."
"We'll think it over," said Warrender. "The principal thing is not tolose my boat, and the hundred odd pounds she cost."
On their way down to the river, Pratt espied a greyish object stickingin a bush. Shaking it down, he picked up a broken cardboard box onwhich was printed a description of "Best quality tin-tacks: Britishmade."
"A clue!" he cried. "Sherlock Holmes would have built a whole theory onthis. I don't think I was cut out for diplomacy after all. Criminalinvestigation is my forte. I'll go down to remote posterity as the mostbrilliant detective of this Pratt lost no time in taking a first step inhis new career. At breakfast Warrender suggested that the tent hadbetter be removed from its surrounding of tacks, which were too numerousto be easily collected.
"Very well," said Pratt. "You and Armstrong are the hefty men. Youwon't want my help, so I'll scull the dinghy up to the ferry, and startmy investigations."
"Don't talk too much," said Armstrong.
"My dear chap, speech was given us to conceal thought. There's an art,some ancient said, in concealing art, and I bet I'd say more and tellless than any old Prime Minister that ever lived."
Leaving the dinghy in charge of the ferryman, he smiled a greeting toRogers, the innkeeper, whose jolly face he caught sight of at thewindow, walked on to the village, and entered the general dealer's shop.
"Fine morning," he said to the aproned youth in attendance. "D'youhappen to have any tenpenny nails?"
"We've got some nails three a penny, sir."
"No good at all. You couldn't hang a pirate on one of those, I'm sure.I suppose the tenpenny nail has gone out of fashion, but perhaps youhave some tin-tacks. I dare say they'll do as well."
"Ay, we've got some tin-tacks--two sorts, white and blue."
"Not red?"
"No; I don't know as ever I seed 'em red."
"Well, I particularly wanted red; they don't show their blushes, youknow. If you haven't, you haven't. I'll try blue; they won't look anybluer however hard you hit 'em." The assistant, staring at him like anamazed ox, handed him a box. "Yes," he went on, "now I look at them, Icouldn't wish for better. They're a most admirable shade of blue, andexactly match my Sunday socks. I don't suppose there's much demand for'em; my hosier assured me my socks were a very special line, so, ofcourse, there couldn't be many people wanting tacks of that colour. Idare say you haven't sold a box of these since last season."
"Ah, but we have," said the simple youth, catching at something at lastwithin his comprehension. "Only yesterday one of they furriners up atRed House bought three boxes."
"You don't say so! What an appetite he must have! I suppose it wasthat big fellow who talks through his nose? He wears a red waistcoat,so I dare say he has blue socks."
"It warn't him. He's the groom. 'Twas the gardener chap."
"Of course. What was I thinking of? He wanted them to tack up hisvines. They wouldn't be any good for horse-shoes, and there's noquestion of socks at all. You needn't wrap it up, the box won't catchcold in my pocket. Sixpence ha'penny? Dirt cheap. I think they'reworth quite a guinea a box, but you daren't charge that, of course, orthey would haul you up as profiteers. Thanks so much."
He had noticed that the full box exactly matched the broken one takenfrom the bush.
Elated at the success of his first move, Pratt returned at once to thecamp.
"You're soon back," said Warrender. "Changed your mind again?"
"Not a bit. I'm inclined to think diplomats and detectives are of onekidney. I've been magnificently diplomatic, and I've made a discovery."
"Well?"
"My old uncle's as mad as a hatter!"
&n
bsp; "A family failing," Armstrong remarked. "But what's that to do withit?"
"Why, this, old tomato. He employs a lot of foreigners; that's mad, tobegin with. He goes away, and leaves them in the house withinstructions to sow tin-tacks on No Man's Island. If that isn't starkmadness, I'd like to know what is."
"Hadn't you better tell us plainly what you've been about?" saidWarrender.
"In words of one syllable. I bought a box of tin-tacks. Here it is,and here's the one we found in the bush. You see, they're twins. Theywere bought at the same shop, to wit, the one owned by Samuel Blevins,general dealer and banjoist, I understand. My uncle's gardener boughtthree yesterday. Now, I ask you, would any man's gardener sprinkleinoffensive campers with tin-tacks unless instructed to? It's all asplain as a pikestaff. My mad uncle has a morbid horror of trespassers.He leaves word that they are to be chevied away by means fair orfoul----"
"But No Man's Island isn't his," Warrender interrupted.
"Certainly. That proves his madness. He thinks anybody who gets afooting here has designs on his property. It's a sort of Heligoland.He employs an ex-poacher to guard his own domains, and the foreigners toclear his outpost. Nothing could be plainer."
"Rot!" exclaimed Armstrong.
"Have it your own way. The facts are undeniable. Rush and theforeigners are in league to get rid of us, and they can't have anymotive except their master's interest."
"We don't know that," said Warrender. "Your imagination runs too fast,young man. We don't even know for certain that Rush and the foreignersare working together. All we really know is that some one wants to makethe place too uncomfortable for us. The question is, what shall we do?"
"Stick it," said Armstrong. "It means keeping watch by night; we cantake turns at that. We'll soon find out if----"
"Ahoy, there!" cried a voice from the river.
Unperceived, a skiff had run in under the bank, and its occupant, astout old gentleman in flannels, was stepping ashore.
"Old Crawshay!" murmured Pratt.
They got up to meet their visitor.
"Good-morning, my lads," said he, genially. "Surprised to see me, I daresay. We didn't part on the best of terms, but--well, let's shake handsand forget all about that. My daughter told me that you very kindlycame to her assistance the other day. I'm obliged to you. I'm onlysorry it didn't happen before we--but there, that's wiped up, isn't it?If you knew how I'd been pestered! By the way, one of you is related tomy neighbour across the river, I understand."
"Yes, sir, that's me," said Pratt. "We're not on calling terms,though."
"Neither am I," rejoined Mr. Crawshay, with a smile. "We don't hit ittogether. He's a little----"
"Potty, sir," said Pratt, as the old gentleman caught himself up. "It'sa sore trial to the rest of the family. We were only talking about hisdistressing affliction just before you came. He really ought to be shutup."
"Indeed! I wasn't aware that it was as bad as that. That is certainlyvery distressing."
"A most unusual form of mania, too. I never heard anything like itbefore. Of course, there are people who crab their own country andcountrymen, but it's more talk than anything else. My poor uncle,however, goes so far as to employ foreigners, who stick tin-tacks intopeople."
"Bless my soul!"
"Pratt draws the long bow, sir," said Warrender, thinking it time tointervene.
"And hits the bull's-eye every time," Pratt rejoined. "You can't denythat twenty yards away the grass is simply bristling with tin-tacks."
"The fact is, sir," said Warrender, "that some one is trying to annoyus. Yesterday morning our motor-boat was set adrift, and in the nightsome one showered a lot of tin-tacks round our tent. The motive seemsto be the wish to drive us away. And Pratt thinks that his uncle gaveinstructions to the men at the house to prevent camping either on hisground or on the island. They've chosen a very annoying way of goingabout it."
"Outrageous! Scandalous!" cried Mr. Crawshay. "He has no rights on theisland. It's criminal. I'm a magistrate, and I'll issue you a warrantagainst the ruffians."
"The difficulty is that we haven't caught any one in the act," Warrenderpursued. "I believe that warrants can't be anonymous. We've seen afellow named Rush hanging about----"
"A notorious gaol-bird. I've had my eye on him."
"But the tacks were bought at Blevins's shop by my uncle's gardener,"said Pratt. "I pumped that out this morning. I dare say we could findout the man's name."
"But it's no crime to buy tin-tacks," said Warrender. "We don't knowwho actually scattered them. Indeed, we've no evidence at all; onlyinferences."
"Nothing to act on, certainly," said Mr. Crawshay. "It seems to me youhad better cross the river, and camp on my ground after all; or, betterstill, come to the house; I've plenty of room."
"It's jolly good of you, sir," said Warrender, "but it goes against thegrain to knuckle under. We'd like to catch the fellows, and find out, ifwe can, what their game really is. I don't think even Pratt believeshis uncle is responsible, even indirectly."
"Not responsible for his actions, unfit to plead, to be detained duringHis Majesty's pleasure," said Pratt. "We talked it over, and decided tostick it, sir. It's a matter of pride with me. I'm thinking of takingup criminal investigation as a profession."
"Indeed!"
"He's just cackling, sir," said Armstrong, impelled to utterance atlast.
"I suspected as much. Well, you've made up your minds, I see. Iunderstand. At your age I should have done the same. If you want anyhelp, you've only to row across the river. My house is about half a milethrough the woods and across a field. You must come up one day in anycase, and have lunch or dinner with me, and discuss the situation. And,by the way, if you're fond of shooting, my coverts are positivelyoverstocked. I can provide guns, and you're welcome to 'em."
"Many thanks indeed, sir," said Warrender.
"And you'll keep me informed? I'll take action the moment you haveevidence. It's atrocious."
They escorted him to his boat, gave him a shove off, and watched himuntil he was out of sight. Returning to the tent, Pratt remarked--
"D. Crawshay seems to be a dashed good sort after all."
No Man's Island Page 8
