Captain Jackson frowned.
“There is all too little to go upon, at present. He must live somewhere in this area, for two reasons. One is that the dispatches have always been concerned with news and maps of this part of the coast: the other, that the agents who are known to us are all stationed in this area, and are of little value unless they can easily be reached. The only contact I have with him is the collection of orders and dispatches from the cove. It is not a locality which lends itself readily to snooping, and in any event, it is many months since I found any orders there when I have called. I must simply wait for something to turn up, I’m afraid.”
“Then I can only wish you speedy success, my boy, and recommend you to be careful. But, from what I chanced to hear in Town, you have other problems—”
He broke off, startled. A thunderous knocking had sounded on the door of the inn.
The two looked at each other in some perturbation.
“Now, who can this be?” said the Captain, softly. “Not, I believe, one of Nobby’s regular customers.”
Almost on the words an alarmed Nobby arrived hotfoot in the room. The knocking continued to grow in volume.
“‘Tis a body of men outside, Cap’n,” he said, in trembling tones. “I caught a glimpse from the upstair winder: too dark to say ‘zackly who they be, but my guess is it’s they Preventives! What’ll I do? I’ll ‘ave to open up to ‘em!”
Captain Jackson nodded.
“Naturally,” he said, calmly. “But there’s no need for alarm. Your secret cellar is safe enough from discovery, and we shall make ourselves scarce in yonder cupboard.”
He nodded towards the wall which separated the parlour from the small coffee room beyond. My lord followed his glance, but could see no sign of any cupboard.
“Well, go on, then, man!” urged the Captain. “Best take that guilty look off your face, too!”
The big man nodded, and turned towards the door. Abruptly, the thunder of knocking ceased, and a loud shout rang through the inn.
“Open in the King’s Name!”
TWO - The Eavesdropper
“That’s our cue!” grinned the Captain, and propelled the other man towards the wall which he had indicated a moment since.
His long, sensitive fingers groped for a second along the panelling. Suddenly, there was a sharp click, and a section swung inwards revealing behind it a large space in which they might easily stand upright. He was about to follow his companion into the cupboard, when he checked with an exclamation of impatience, and turned again into the room.
“I’d forgotten these,” he muttered as he snatched up my lord’s hat and gloves from the table. “And we may as well bring some refreshment along too!”
He thrust the articles hastily into the other man’s hand, and returned for the tray which held their bottle of wine and glasses. This he proceeded to stow away on a shelf at one side of the cupboard.
“Have a care!” protested my lord in a whisper. “You’ll ruin my topper, old fellow!”
“Damn your topper,” was the cheery retort, delivered in an undertone. “Can’t think why you brought it on a jaunt like this, anyway!”
“You could not possibly suppose—” began the statesman, but broke off as the Captain squeezed himself into the cupboard, and shut the door.
The resulting darkness was momentarily overpowering.
“How long do you think it will be necessary to remain here?” asked my lord, doubtfully.
“God knows. Depends how long it takes Nobby to get rid of the Preventives.”
The older man groaned inwardly, and asked himself what exactly a respectable member of His Majesty’s Government was doing in such an unlikely situation. To be crouching in a cupboard in the company of an acknowledged smuggler, hiding from those officers whom he himself had helped to appoint, was suited neither to his style nor his time of life! Then he thought of the man at his side. While he served his country in this particular way, Captain Jackson must always remain on the wrong side of the law. If he were to be taken by the Preventive Officers, not even his friends in high places could count on bringing him off safely. The thought brought beads of perspiration to my lord’s forehead.
“Don’t worry,” the Captain was saying in his ear. “We may stay here indefinitely, for there’s a ventilator in this cupboard. It also makes a useful peephole into the room beyond, and it’s concealed from view in there. The only snag is that sound carries through it, so should anyone come into the coffee room—”
He broke off, as a tiny ray of light pierced the gloom of the cupboard. The next moment, they heard voices in the room beyond. Evidently someone had indeed entered the room, and the light of a lamp was striking thinly through the ventilator.
The voices drew closer. Captain Jackson stood on tiptoe, and peered through the ventilator. He could see no one as yet, for the aperture afforded a view only of that section of the room which was nearest the fireplace. He could hear Nobby’s voice, however, explaining the impossibility of something which his visitors were urging.
“Well, at least the men may have a drink, and warm themselves for a while by the fire in the taproom, I suppose,” came the reply in irritable tones. “Send in a bottle of wine and a bite to eat for this officer and myself. It’s damned cold in here—can’t you offer us a fire?”
“I’ll have the wench kindle one for your honour at once,” said Nobby. “But I dunno about victuals—”
“Do so, and look sharp about it. The men must be better off in the tap than we are here,” was the terse reply.
The listeners heard the shuffling of the big man’s feet as he hastened to obey this command, and just then the visitors moved into Jackson’s line of vision. He saw at once that they were not, as Nobby had feared, Customs men at all, but two officers of the local Volunteers, arrayed in a striking uniform of scarlet with dark blue facings. The younger of the two bore the insignia of a captain: he was a tall, handsome man with very blond hair curling over his head in the fashionable style known as a Brutus. His senior officer was short and stocky with iron grey hair. He carried himself erect, and spoke in short, clipped sentences. He awakened a chord of recollection in Captain Jackson’s mind. He felt that he had certainly met the Colonel before; though where, he could not for the moment remember. It was this circumstance which caused him to remain a little longer at his peep hole.
The door opened again to admit a thin little serving maid in grey homespun, carrying materials for kindling a fire. She set about her task with the energy of a terrier worrying at a rat, and in a short time, the wood burst into flame.
“That’s better!” remarked the Colonel flinging himself into a chair and extending his booted legs towards the blaze. “Give it another go with the bellows, girl!”
But the maid seemed not to attend. The Colonel, nettled, repeated his command in a military voice. She looked round, vaguely, then appeared to comprehend, for she applied the bellows vigorously.
“I think she’s hard of hearing, sir,” explained the captain, who had been watching her keenly. “Come to think of it, she must be, else she would have roused the landlord sooner when we were trying to get into the place.”
“Very likely you’re right,” agreed the Colonel. “That’ll do, girl—I say, that’ll do! Off you go!”
She did not hear the first remark, but at the second, she gathered up her tools and scuttled away like a frightened grey mouse.
“Queer place this,” said the Colonel in a casual tone. “Evidently don’t welcome visitors—wonder how they make a living, stuck down in the river like this, away from trade?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn,” remarked the younger man, with a slow smile, “that the really important part of the ‘The Waterman’s’ business is not conducted in the taproom.”
“Eh?”
The Colonel looked up sharply.
“Of course, you know the place, Masterman. You guided me here, after all, when we were hopelessly lost.”
“I can claim
but small knowledge of it, sir. I have merely noticed it in the distance on the few occasions when I’ve been staying at Teignton Manor. There is a fine view of this stretch of the river from the bedchambers situated at the back of the house.”
“So they put you in a back room, these folk at Teignton Manor—what’s their name?—Ah! yes. Lodge, that’s it. Shabby, b’God, Masterman!”
A shadow crossed Captain Masterman’s face.
“My sister and I are of small account in the world, sir, as you must know,” he said, bitterly.
“Nonsense!” replied the other, hastily. “Miss Masterman’s as handsome as she can stare. And you’re not a bad-looking feller yourself, m’boy! Good family, too!”
“But no money,” said Masterman, in a harsh tone.
“What’s that signify?” asked the Colonel, gruff with embarrassment.
“My dear sir, need you ask? If a man cannot live in the style to which he was born, as far as Society’s concerned he does not exist.”
“Nonsense!” repeated the Colonel. “You’re asked everywhere for twenty miles around Totnes. Tell you what, m’boy, you need a drink. Where is that damned rascal of a landlord all this time?”
Thankful to turn the subject, he rose from his chair and strode to the door, hailing the landlord in stentorian tones which carried all over the house.
“Beg pardon, y’r honour,” panted Nobby, coming up the passage almost at a run. “I’ve brought y’r honour’s wine, but there was a difficulty about the victuals. Will a cold meat pasty be to the liking o’ you gennelmen? ‘Tis all we can lay ‘ands on at present.”
“Then it will have to do, won’t it?” was the impatient reply. “Very well, man, don’t stand there dithering! Bring in that wine, and tell them to fetch the pasty at the double.”
Nobby mumbled some reply which the eavesdropper could not catch, and heavily departed.
“Lunatics, the lot of ‘em!” pronounced the Colonel.
He dropped into his chair again and extended his legs to the rapidly developing blaze, while he signalled to his junior officer to pour the wine. Captain Masterman complied, and presently handed a glass to his Colonel before taking a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. His face was now in full view of the hidden watcher’s eyes.
“Tell you what,” said the Colonel, suddenly. “Not a bad idea if we asked these people Lodge for a bed for the night. No sense in going on to Totnes tonight—men tired, wet through, hungry—far better in the morning.”
“But I thought the landlord said—” began Captain Masterman.
“So he did, but we can bed the men at that inn in the village he was talking of,” was the reply. “What’s its name—‘The Three Fishers’, that’s it. Know Lodge slightly, y’know, but only in the way that one’s acquainted with most people who matter in the county. Still, enough to ask him for a shake-down for the night—matter of patriotism, anyway, ain’t it? At the present time, I mean.”
“I’m sure Sir George will be only too happy,” replied Captain Masterman. “He and his lady are the soul of hospitality.”
“Pretty little gal they’ve got, too,” remarked the Colonel, thoughtfully. “Damned shame she’s to marry a Frenchman!”
“Dorlais can scarcely be accounted a Frenchman nowadays,” replied the junior officer. “He’s been in England since he was a boy, and his sympathies and tastes are entirely English.”
“Don’t know that a Frog can ever change his spots—ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Colonel, overcome by his own wit.
The Captain laughed dutifully, but without conviction.
“Anyway, little Miss Kitty’s wasted on him,” went on his superior officer. “Pity it wasn’t t’other one—her friend.”
“You mean Miss Feniton?” asked Captain Masterman, in a guarded tone.
“I do, indeed! She’s a stuck up piece of goods, if you like!” said the Colonel, with a snort.
“Miss Feniton is perhaps a trifle reserved,” admitted the other man, reluctantly, “but I have never observed the least height in her manner.”
“Reserved! Ice is warm in comparison. Give you my word! But I mustn’t say too much—fancy you’re a little taken in that quarter, yourself.”
A trace of colour showed on Masterman’s high cheekbones.
“Don’t mean to poke my nose in,” the Colonel assured him, soothingly. “None of my business, as I dare say you’ll tell me.”
The hidden watcher’s mouth curved in amusement. It was quite evident that the junior officer knew his business better than to make any such remark.
“My fillies don’t get on with the chit, that’s all,” finished the Colonel. “Easy going girls, too: defy anyone to quarrel with ‘em.”
Captain Masterman said all that was proper concerning the Colonel’s young ladies. The senior officer looked gratified.
“No bamboozling me, though, my dear chap,” he answered, with a shake of his head. “You prefer Miss Iceberg, I can see! Well, no hard feelings, though I don’t think there’s much hope for you, I’m bound to say. Got a suitor already lined up, by what I hear.”
Captain Jackson saw Masterman’s hand tighten on his glass, but the younger officer said nothing.
“That old fool Feniton’s godson, Lord Cholcombe’s son,” continued the Colonel. “The dearest wish of Miss Joanna’s dead parents, according to m’wife.”
Masterman knew that his Colonel’s wife was an inveterate gossip; there was no real harm in the lady, but she had a nose for news, and liked to be first with it.
“Lord Cholcombe,” repeated Masterman, evenly; and Captain Jackson silently paid tribute to the man’s self-control. “I don’t think I am acquainted—”
“Mostly lives in London,” explained the older man. “Haven’t met him myself, but know him by repute, of course. Got a house in Exeter which the son uses from time to time. He’s a rare dandy, by all accounts.”
“Who, sir? Lord Cholcombe?”
“No, the boy. One of these fellers who considers the choosing of a waistcoat matter for a se’enight’s debate—no use for ‘em, myself. Like a man to look well turned out, but no sense in overdoing it!”
Masterman agreed, and offered to refill his superior officer’s glass. The fire was by now blazing merrily. Warmth and the wine had mellowed the Colonel’s mood, and combined to loosen his tongue a little.
“Queer upbringing that filly’s had,” he said reflectively, taking the fresh glass from Masterman’s hand. “Parents died when she was in swaddling clothes, pretty near, and been under old Lady Feniton’s influence ever since, except for a few years when she managed to escape to one of these ladies’ seminaries. The old battle axe stuffs her head full of the pottiest notions, according to m’wife. Talks a deal about remembering her rank, and not marrying beneath her. You’d think Feniton was at least an earl, instead of only a baronet. Disappointed in not having a boy left to carry on the name, shouldn’t wonder. Can sympathize—old family—damn shame Geoffrey being snuffed out suddenly like that, before he could get an heir.”
“It was a coaching accident, wasn’t it?” asked Masterman. “I remember my father speaking of it when I was a boy. In those days, as you know, we lived not far from Shalbeare House.”
Kellaway nodded. “Sad business—both killed instantly. All for the best, though, perhaps, in a way. Old lady never liked the bride—what was her name? Forget now. Anyway, it don’t signify. She always felt that Geoffrey had married beneath him.”
“I believe I remember my father saying she was a clergyman’s daughter.”
“That’s right. Genteel enough, but not the brilliant match Lady Feniton had hoped for. No doubt that’s why the old lady’s so set on the nobility for Miss Joanna.”
“Perhaps it may happen that the young lady will have notions of her own on the subject,” said Masterman, diffidently.
“Eh? Shouldn’t think so: seems tractable enough, in her cold way. Anyway, take a brave girl to stand up to the old lady! She’s one who knows what
she wants, all right!”
Masterman agreed. It was evident to the unseen watcher that he did not like the conversation.
There was a tap on the door of the coffee room, and Nobby entered, escorted by the small serving wench. They bore the remnants of a large meat pasty, some cold ham and sliced bread, together with plates and cutlery. This they proceeded to set before the gentlemen with as much despatch as possible.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Colonel, with satisfaction, as the door closed behind them. “This is more like it! But we mustn’t settle ourselves in too snugly, my boy—more important still, mustn’t let the men do so! If we mean to seek shelter for them in the village, we must give the landlord there plenty of warning. Pity they couldn’t have found a shake-down here, but never met a more unwilling host than this fellow—and, to own the truth, wouldn’t bed a dog here that I was fond of. Wretched hovel!”
While he was talking, both men began to make a determined onslaught on the victuals which had been brought them; in a little while, conversation died away as they gave themselves up to the more important business of eating.
“Dares ay they will have had dinner at Teignton Manor by the time we arrive there,” remarked the Colonel, laying down his knife and fork. “Anyway, best to be prepared! Now if you’ve finished, Masterman, perhaps you’d be good enough to go and round up the men. Must get off without further delay.”
From his vantage point in the cupboard, Captain Jackson watched Masterman rise and move out of sight in the direction of the door. He himself turned away, and silently released the catch which operated the hidden door of the cupboard. He stepped out, motioning to his friend to follow him. My lord obeyed, and Jackson moved the door across until it was almost, but not quite, shut.
“Volunteers, not Preventives, as you may have gathered from the conversation,” he explained rapidly in an undertone. “But equally undesirable from our point of view, as neither of us wishes to be seen, more particularly not in each other’s company. However, thanks to Nobby’s inhospitable attitude, they are about to move off. It’s highly unlikely that they’ll attempt to enter this room, so you may remain here, if you like, while I keep watch from the cupboard.”
The Guinea Stamp Page 3
