The Guinea Stamp

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Hastily, he unfolded the paper, reading its brief message by the light of his lamp. As usual, the text had been made up of words cut from a printed page, and stuck on to a sheet of plain paper.

  “Go as soon as possible to Babbacombe,” he read. “Show your pass to the blacksmith there. You will be told what to do.”

  His mouth twisted grimly. There was an ominous ring about the last sentence. He read the words again, then pocketed the paper, and replaced the box on the shelf, after relocking it.

  He did not linger, then, but returned to the boat. He climbed in, and bent his back to the oars, taking a southerly course. It was some time later that he fetched up in a cove farther down the coast. This was larger than Kerswell Cove, and could be approached from the land by those who did not mind a steep descent down the cliff face, and a stiff scramble over rough, jagged rocks to reach the beach. Possibly in the summer months there may have been those who would have made the attempt, but at this season, the place was deserted.

  Captain Jackson beached his boat behind one of the jutting rocks, and covered it carefully with a length of tarred canvas. Then he began the tricky ascent to the top of the cliffs.

  A while later, panting a little, he crouched on the sparse grass above the cove. He surveyed the surrounding country carefully through a pair of perspective glasses. Satisfied at last that not a soul was in sight, he rose, and, keeping to the cliff edge, walked along it some distance until he espied a rough track. This he took, following it for almost a mile, until it dipped down to lead into another tiny cove, which lay in the hollow between one cliff and another. Here there were signs of habitation; two or three rude huts could be observed on the rough ground beyond the shingly beach. He raised his glasses, and scrutinized these buildings carefully as he approached them.

  They were constructed chiefly of timber, and appeared to be derelict, one of them at least being roofless. He drew closer; putting away the perspective glasses, and keeping one hand ready on his knife. The first hut to which he came was a mere shell. Nevertheless, he was not prepared to take any chances. Having approached cautiously to the opening where, no doubt, a door had once stood, he peered tentatively inside. There was nothing at all to be seen other than a heap of rubble and miscellaneous rubbish on the floor.

  Satisfied that he was leaving no lurking enemy here at his back, he made the same cautious approach to the second hut. This stood a little further back, at some distance removed from the first, and was obviously in much better condition. Before he could reach it, however, the figure of a man emerged, and stood motionless outside the building, as though awaiting his arrival.

  Captain Jackson’s muscles tautened warningly, but he continued to approach with his habitual light step, poised for instant action, if need be. His hand rested upon the hilt of his knife.

  At a distance of five yards from the hut, he relaxed. He had recognized the figure waiting at the door, and it was that of the man whom he had expected and hoped to meet here.

  They nodded wordlessly to each other in greeting, and wasted no time in entering the hut. Inside were three other men, who evidently had lately been playing cards. A fourth was sleeping heavily on a pile of sacking at one corner, and never stirred. The rest looked up eagerly at Jackson’s entrance.

  “He’s been on reconnaissance most of the night,” explained Jackson’s companion, with a nod at the recumbent form in the corner. “What news, Captain?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” parried Jackson.

  “Precious little,” replied the first man, with a rueful shrug.

  “They keep very close at Randall’s Farm, and even at night always have a man on sentry go—so it’s impossible to get near the house. We’ve tried various ruses for keeping the sentry out of the way for a bit, but so far without success. To overpower him is, of course, out of the question—we must not show our hand, or the alarm would be raised, and the birds would Jackson nodded. “There must be a way,” he said, thoughtfully. “We’ll put our heads together over that presently. Has anyone so far been observed to visit this farm?”

  “No one of note,” was the regretful reply. “Certainly no one who could be supposed to be their leader. The ‘brandy’ arrived some weeks since, as no doubt you were informed by Number Three—and they’ve had a quantity of timber delivered there by night on several occasions.”

  “Timber!” Jackson started. “Did you say timber?”

  “Why, yes,” replied the other, looking at him in surprise. “Can you see any particular significance in that? Damned if I can!”

  “Perhaps,” said Jackson, frowning. He paused a moment, and when he spoke again, it was with an undertone of excitement. “What do you think of this, gentlemen?” he asked. “I believe I have the answer to our problem!”

  The other men came to their feet, and gathered eagerly about him.

  “The deuce you have!” exclaimed one of them.

  “What is it?” asked the ringleader. “It will be worth something not to be working all the time in the dark!”

  “I make no doubt that Number Three passed on to you the information that he had acquired from the other source?” asked Jackson. “You already know about the boat which they have constructed on similar lines to Fulton’s Nautilus?”

  “What of that?” asked one, but the ringleader eyed Jackson thoughtfully, saying nothing for the moment.

  “Do you think they’re doing something of the kind out at the farm, then?” asked another, doubtfully.

  “Not that, but the other half of it,” said Jackson, somewhat cryptically. “It’s my belief, gentlemen, that they are constructing a number of torpedoes at Randall’s Farm!”

  There was a stunned silence for a moment or two. Then the leader nodded slowly.

  “You may be right,” he said. “Indeed, I begin to see your trend, and think it very likely. With a boat capable of submarine travel, and those damned infernals of Robert Fulton’s, they are all set for an attack by water! But what is their target? Can you answer that, Captain?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  “I can think of nothing hereabouts,” he answered, in a puzzled tone. “Perhaps one of you others has some notion?”

  “Unless they want to blow up the quay at one of the fishing ports,” suggested one man, diffidently.

  Jackson considered this for a moment in silence.

  “Possible,” he decided slowly. “Though how it can benefit them is not easy to see, unless that is only part of a larger scheme Naturally, it would throw a scare into the neighbourhood concerned, but do you really suppose that such a motive would be weighty enough to justify the great expense and risk of discovery which their exploit must have entailed?”

  The rest thought this over, and could not but have the same doubts.

  “If perchance they were to destroy some of the fishing vessels,” went on Jackson, “it might have a more adverse effect upon the morale of the people hereabouts; but even that could—”

  He broke off. It was evident from his expression that a momentous idea had occurred to him.

  “Well?” asked the leader, seeing how it was.

  “Suppose their target is not yet available?” asked Jackson, gravely.

  “You mean—”

  Jackson nodded. “They know—and we know—that sooner or later, the Fleet must put into Torbay. At this time of year, with frequent bad weather in the Channel, they may be expected any day. I’m willing to lay you any odds, gentlemen, that the Navy’s the target for which all these elaborate preparations are being made!”

  “Damned if I don’t think you’re right!” exclaimed the leader.

  The rest echoed him, their faces grave and concerned.

  “What shall we do, then?” asked one. “Have these people placed under arrest, and blow their infernals sky high?”

  “And let their chief go free?” asked Jackson. “We have no lead to him as yet, remember. All our watching of the rest has not given us a single clue to his identity.
No, if we have conjectured aright, they can do no harm at present. The Fleet is still out there, guarding the Channel, and as you know, they cannot take their submarine vessel so far! It is capable of covering only very short distances, owing to the fact that it has to be propelled by hand. There can be no danger until the Fleet puts in: and that may give us just the interval we require to find this man.”

  A short and heated debate followed this speech; but in the end the verdict was unanimous.

  “And now I have something to tell you which may perhaps help us to that end,” continued Jackson. “I have today picked up this message. You may like to see it.”

  He handed over the paper which he had taken from the box in the Cove. His companions scrutinized it carefully.

  “Sounds deuced like a trap to me,” said one.

  “Almost sure to be,” agreed another. “You won’t go, Captain?”

  “I am of your opinion,” conceded Jackson. “Nevertheless, I believe I must go.”

  There was a general outcry at this.

  “What, put your head voluntarily into a noose?” asked the leader, incredulously. “Good God, you must be mad, man!”

  “I see no other way of coming to grips with my man,” returned Jackson.

  “But even this may bring you no nearer to him,” expostulated one of the others. “It’s my belief that the smith will have a bullet waiting for you, and that will be the end of the matter.”

  “You may be right. But there is just a possibility that I am still trusted by them, and that they wish to allot me some part in this affair. If it should be so, I obviously cannot afford to miss such a chance.”

  One of the men let out an oath. “You are willing to hazard your life on odds like that?” he asked. “Number Six is right, you know; you are indeed mad, and should be shut up in Bedlam with the best of ‘em! You can never hope to return alive from that smithy!”

  “If it is their purpose to kill me, they can find easier ways than this,” replied the Captain, nothing daunted.

  “I’m not so certain of that,” demurred the leader. “Unless they make an appointment of this sort, they have no means of coming at you, have they?”

  “It is known that I visit Kerswell Cove in the first se’nnight of every month, however,” pointed out Jackson.

  “Tell me, my dear chap, would you choose to lurk in that cave for seven days, with the sea washing into it at every high tide? I think not.”

  Jackson grinned. “There is the cliff,” he said, without conviction. “But I think you have proved your point, Number Five. There is not a shred of cover in the vicinity, and they have no means of knowing on which of the seven days I may arrive. Very well, then, they may have made this appointment with the object of putting a period to my existence.”

  “And so?” asked Number Five, challengingly.

  “And so we must make a plan,” replied Jackson. “I never had the slightest intention of walking blindly into any trap of theirs, I can tell you! I have it in mind that there may be a way to discover just what kind of a reception they have in store for me at Babbacombe. That will mean delaying my visit there for a day or two. Listen, and give me the benefit of your invaluable opinions.”

  They put their heads together.

  FOURTEEN - Miss Feniton’s Suspicions are Verified

  Mr. Cholcombe had been two days absent from Shalbeare House when Lady Feniton came into the morning room where Joanna and Kitty were sitting alone after breakfast. She looked flustered, a thing unusual with her.

  “Such a to-do!” she began. “Here’s your grandfather almost beside himself with rage, Joanna, over what he terms a most outrageous act of vandalism!”

  Joanna looked up in amazement, while Kitty Lodge could not help staring at her hostess.

  “Grandpapa vexed?” asked Joanna, incredulously. “Pray, ma’am, whatever can have happened to put him into a taking? He is in general the most placid person of my acquaintance!”

  “You should see him at the moment,” recommended her grandmother, “and you would not say so! And all over a book, too! Mind you, I think it a great deal too bad of whoever is responsible; but it is only one of those stupid travel books, after all—nothing of the least value!”

  “But what exactly has happened?” persisted Miss Feniton. “Can it be—can someone possibly have torn up one of my grandfather’s books, then? I cannot imagine who would do such a thing!”

  “It has not exactly been torn,” said Lady Feniton. “Only a piece cut out of it, neatly, as if with scissors. Indeed, I defy anyone to notice it, unless they should happen to be paying particular attention to the text—and who would be likely to, with a book of that kind? No one but your grandfather, I’ll be bound!”

  Joanna’s heart missed a beat. “Do I understand you to say that it is simply one page of the book which has been mutilated?” she asked.

  “Not even one whole page!” exclaimed Lady Feniton. “A single word is what has put Feniton in such a bother! Why, whatever is amiss, Joanna? Do not tell me that you are to fall into a taking over the stupid affair, too!”

  These words caused Kitty to eye her friend sharply. She was just in time to catch Joanna’s quickly controlled look of concern.

  “Is there anything wrong, Jo?” she asked, curiously.

  “Only that I cannot at all understand the whole silly affair,” replied Miss Feniton, lightly. “Has Grandpapa made any effort to discover who is responsible for the outrage, ma’am?”

  “You may be sure that he has! Never have I seen him bestir himself so over any matter in my recollection! He is even now questioning all the servants in turn. I came away, for I cannot waste half the morning in such a foolish commotion! For all we can know, it may have been done many years since—perhaps, even, Geoffrey may—but, there, I do not really credit such a notion!”

  “Possibly Mr. Cholcombe may have done it when he was on a visit here as a boy,” suggested Kitty, with a mischievous look in Joanna’s direction.

  “Mm!” Lady Feniton considered this for a moment in silence.

  “I doubt if there would be enough devilment in such an action to appeal to the boy that he was in those days,” she said, at last. “In any event, it’s of no consequence that I can see. The thing is done, and no one a mite the worse for it, except for your grandfather’s choler.”

  She swept out of the room, leaving Kitty and Joanna sharing an amused glance.

  “What a silly trick!” said Kitty. “Do you suppose. someone can have meant to spite Sir Walter, Jo?”

  Joanna shook her head, hesitating to reply. She was saved the necessity of thinking of something to say by the sudden entrance of three other members of their party. It was evident from the expressions on their faces that they had something of special interest to impart.

  “Here is the most splendid news!” exclaimed Georgina Masterman, radiant in a morning gown of white muslin trimmed with blue ribbons and lace. “They tell me that there are five or six men-of-war at anchor in the Bay!”

  “If it is true,” said Guy Dorlais, “I must go down and take a look. If it should chance to be some of Cornwallis’s lot, many of them are known to me, and I should not like to miss the opportunity of renewing our acquaintance. What do you say, Masterman? Shall we step down to the quay, presently?”

  “I should like it extremely,” replied Captain Masterman, in an apologetic tone, “but for the fact that I am engaged to accompany my sister to Totnes today. We must leave soon after luncheon, Georgina,” he added, turning to her with a smile.

  She did not return it. “But, William, surely there can be no occasion to leave today! I am promised to the Radletts for any time during the rest of the week—there is nothing definite—tomorrow, or the day after, will suit me just as well. There is no need of haste.”

  He looked a trifle put out, but soon overcame the emotion.

  “I believe that it must be today,” he said, with quiet insistence. “I am sorry, Georgie, but I really must look in on Colonel Kellaway
to see if there is anything he wishes me to be doing. I have had a long spell of leave, you know.”

  “Oh, you and your stupid playing at soldiers!” she said, with a petulant shrug. “As though they may not manage very well without you!”

  This waspish speech caused Joanna to look at Masterman with a hint of sympathy.

  “I am afraid I must insist,” he said, in a different tone. “Perhaps you had best start your packing now, my dear sister.”

  Somewhat to the surprise of everyone present, Miss Masterman raised no further objection, and very soon left the room to do as her brother suggested. Guy Dorlais repeated his intention of going down to the quay. He did not request Kitty to accompany him, and she tried not to look as if she had expected such an invitation.

  When Captain Masterman left the room in order to see about transport for himself and his sister, Guy accompanied him. After sitting still for a moment, moodily gazing into the fire, Kitty sprang suddenly to her feet.

  “I am going to walk for a little in the shrubbery, Jo,” she announced with a flurried air.

  “Should you like me to come, too?” asked her friend, starting from her chair.

  “No—no, thank you,” said Kitty, hurriedly. “The fact is, Joanna, I wish to be alone for a space. I—I want to think.”

  Miss Feniton gave her a compassionate look. “I understand, my dear. But be sure and wrap up warmly, for the wind is very keen today, and we must not have you taking cold.”

  The tears came suddenly to Kitty’s eyes.

  “You—you are so good, Jo!” she stammered, incoherently, and made a dash from the room.

  Joanna made as if to follow her, but subsided into her chair again. It was of no use for her to try and advise Kitty. Her friend must come to terms with herself. Besides, she had another idea in mind, though for a time she struggled to resist it. It offended all her notions of propriety, but she was almost certain that this was one time when what was proper must yield to what was necessary. She reflected that if the man Jackson had been available, she could have left such an unpleasant undertaking in his hands. There was no saying where he might be, and meanwhile she was the only person on the spot. She must act, little as she liked it.