No Man's Island

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER XVIII

  ZERO

  A half truth, some one has said, is the greatest of lies: perhaps thereis nothing more staggering to the intelligence than a half discovery--adiscovery which solves one problem only to propound another.

  "My old uncle, for a certainty," said Pratt. "He has been bald as longas I can remember him: lost his hair in the wilds of Africa, I believe.Years ago his man stuffed me up with the tale that a lion clawed histresses out by the roots. Lucky he didn't marry, or his wife might haveplagued him about wearing a wig, like Mother Rogers. That's the mysteryof the signal solved, then."

  "Is it?" said Armstrong. "No signal was ever shown from the window ofthat top room; that I'd swear. The light we saw to-night was the mereststreak: came through a slit certainly not more than a quarter of an inchwide."

  "But hang it all!--there's the poor old chap a prisoner: who else wouldsignal for help?"

  "I thought you suggested Molly Rogers," remarked Warrender.

  "I've given that up. Didn't Rogers say she knows nothing about signals?But that doesn't matter. The point is that those foreign blackguardshave him under lock and key while they're committing a criminal offenceon his premises. I shouldn't wonder if it killed him, or made him cleanpotty. He's over sixty, and solitary confinement----"

  "I say, it's very late," Armstrong interrupted. "We've none of us hadmuch sleep lately. Let's see what's to be done and then get all therest we can before morning. I foresee a thick time to-morrow."

  "We must set old Crawshay moving," said Pratt. "No doubt he's hand inglove with the Chief Constable."

  "We talked about Crawshay before," rejoined Armstrong. "The affair iscomplicated now. We've got your uncle's safety to consider. You may besure that those ruffians won't stick at trifles, and if any action istaken against them publicly it's quite on the cards that they'd put abullet into the old man. I'm inclined to think it's up to us."

  "What do you mean?" asked Warrender.

  "We know the subterranean entrance to the tower. Can't we get in andrelease him ourselves? He'd be valuable outside as a witness."

  "But, my dear chap, if the prisoner disappeared the foreigners wouldknow the game was up," said Warrender. "They'd clear off before theycould be caught."

  "Look here, old man, he's my uncle," said Pratt earnestly. "The poorold boy has been cooped up there goodness knows how long. He's oversixty, accustomed to an active life: imagine what it means to him. It'sjust the sort of thing to send him to a lunatic asylum for the rest ofhis days. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't make some effort to gethim out of it. If you put it to me, I say I don't care a hang whetherthe forgers are caught or not. The personal matter quite outweighs anyother. If we go interviewing magistrates and constables we'll loseprecious time: you know what officials are. The thing is, to rescue myold uncle without a moment's delay, and let the rest take its chances."

  Pratt's unwonted gravity had its effect upon his companions.

  "Shall we try it?" asked Warrender, turning to Armstrong.

  "I'm game," was the ready reply. "It's risky: no good blinking that.We are three to six or seven, if we include Rush; and there's not theleast doubt they're armed. Fellows like that always carry automatics.We've got cudgels! We can't fight 'em; our only chance is to get inwhen there are few of them about."

  "That's during the morning," said Warrender. "You remember that Gradoffhas twice gone off in the car, and that morning we went up all the menwere at the house."

  "Except Rush," added Armstrong, "and that ugly fellow we weren'tintroduced to."

  "Well, then, I tell you what," said Pratt. "I'll go into the village inthe morning and find out whether the car has left as usual. We wantsome eggs, and some spirit for the stove. I'll get that at Blevins's,and see if I can pump a little information out of him or his assistant.If Gradoff and the chauffeur are away the odds against us will bereduced, and with luck we might get into the tower in their absence.What do you say?"

  "There seems nothing better," said Warrender. "Let us turn in and getfour or five hours' sleep."

  Soon after breakfast next morning Pratt went off alone in the dinghy.

  "By the way," Warrender said as he was pulling away, "bring an ounce ofpepper, and a large tin of sardines. We can't bother about cookingto-day, and sardines want a little condiment."

  "A packet of mustard, too," called Armstrong. "There's none forto-morrow's bacon."

  "Righto," shouted Pratt. "I shan't be long."

  Arrived at the village, he made his purchases at the little provisionshop, thrust them into his pocket, and went on to the general dealer'sfor a can of spirit. As he approached, he heard a high-pitched, angryvoice from the depths of the yard at the side of the shop.

  "You go at vunce, at vunce, I say. Ve hire your car; vat is ze goot?Always it break down, one, two, tree times. It is too much."

  "Ay, and you owe me too much already," replied Blevins gruffly.

  Pratt halted, straining his ears towards the altercation.

  "You pay up: that's what I say," Blevins went on. "You've had my car aweek or more, and over-drive, that's what you do. And not a penny piecehave you paid."

  "But zat is all right," expostulated the foreigner. "Mr. Gradoff he payat end of ze month. He say so; vell, you vait all right. You have--vatyou call it?--a bike; it is ten mile, but vat is zat? You go quick."

  "'BUT ZAT IS ALL RIGHT.'"]

  "And you think I'm going to ride twenty mile for a commutator. Not me.What do you want the car for, anyway? Driving in and out nigh everyday, scorching along fit to bust up any machine. What's your game? Do'ee take me for a fool? You're up to some hanky-panky while yourmaster's away. Think I didn't know that all along? Nice goings on! Apretty tale the village 'll have to tell him when he gets back! Spendinghis money like I don't know what. Spending, says I; running up bills,that's what it is. You pay up, and you shall have a commutator. I don'tneed to ride no bikes to fetch it: I've got it on the spot; only I'llsee your money first."

  The men had begun to walk up the yard. Pratt slipped into the shop.Evidently the car would not be used to-day, he thought, if Blevinsremained obdurate. Evidently, also, Blevins was suspicious of thedoings at the Red House, though it was clear that he had no well-definedidea of what those doings were, or any knowledge of Mr. Pratt'swhereabouts. He went past the shop, still bickering with the Italian.Pratt had a free field.

  His former acquaintance, the youthful assistant, came forward to attendto him.

  "Good-morning," said Pratt, genially. "It seems quite an age since Isaw you. I've often thought of that pleasant little conversation wehad. But I'm in rather a hurry to-day. I want some methylated spirit:that's what you call it, isn't it?--the stuff that burns with a blueflame. Rummy how often blue comes into business affairs, don't youthink? Last time I was here I wanted blue tacks, I remember. By theway, I suppose your friend, the gardener at the Red House, hasn't boughtany more tacks?"

  "No friend o' mine," growled the youth.

  "Indeed! It's a pity not to be friends. Friendship oils the machineryof life, don't you know. Still, I am sure it's not your fault. Whydoesn't he reciprocate the amiable sentiments you cherish towards him?"

  The youth gave Pratt a puzzled stare. "I don't know nothing aboutthat," he said slowly. "All I do know is, I hate furriners, I do so.Fair cruel they be. Why, the feller comed in here not a hour ago andwanted six foot of iron chain--to chain up a dog. 'Twas cruelty toanimals, and so I told 'un."

  "Perhaps the dog feels the heat and gets snappy."

  "But the thickness of it! Look 'ee here, sir; here's the chain I cut.'Tis thick enough to hold a mad bull. Do 'ee call that a chain for adog? He wouldn't have a little small chain, as was proper."

  "Well, after all, you haven't seen the dog. It may be a whopper of abrute. Give him the benefit of the doubt. You'll feel better nowyou've told me."

  He
paid for the can of spirit and left the shop. Blevins and thechauffeur were a little way up the road, still quarrelling. Forgettingthe eggs that were part of his commission, Pratt hastened back to theferry, and found that his friends had just arrived in the motor-boat.

  "We saw Rush pulling down stream," said Warrender, "and hurried up tomeet you and save time. He's one less. Any news of the car?"

  "It appears to have broken down," replied Pratt, going on to relate whathe had heard. "Pity Gradoff won't be away. But the Italian is stillsquabbling with Blevins, and if we look sharp we may get into the towerbefore he returns to the house. That will make them two short."

  He had placed on the deck the can of spirit and the tin of sardineswhile he was speaking, then tied the dinghy astern and jumped aboard.

  "Rush wasn't going to the island?" he asked.

  "We watched him row past it," said Warrender. "He's probably off to hishut. Let's hope that the other fellows are at the house and not at thetower."

  "It's 'over the top' now," remarked Armstrong, as the boat sidled awayfrom the landing-stage.