XIX. THE FACE
The moon was well up when the small boat in which our young detectivewas seated with Mr. Grey appeared in the bay approaching the so-calledmanufactory of Wellgood. The looked-for light on the waterside was notthere. All was dark except where the windows reflected the light of themoon.
This was a decided disappointment to Sweetwater, if not to Mr. Grey.He had expected to detect signs of life in this quarter, and thisadditional proof of Wellgood's absence from home made it look as if theyhad come out on a fool's errand and might much better have stuck to theroad.
"No promise there," came in a mutter from his lips. "Shall I row in,sir, and try to make a landing?"
"You may row nearer. I should like a closer view. I don't think we shallattract any attention. There are more boats than ours on the water."
Sweetwater was startled. Looking round, he saw a launch, or some suchsmall steamer, riding at anchor not far from the mouth of the bay. Butthat was not all. Between it and them was a rowboat like their own,resting quietly in the wake of the moon.
"I don't like so much company," he muttered. "Something's brewing;something in which we may not want to take a part."
"Very likely," answered Mr. Grey grimly. "But we must not bedeterred--not till I have seen--" the rest Sweetwater did not hear. Mr.Grey seemed to remember himself. "Row nearer," he now bade. "Get underthe shadow of the rocks if you can. If the boat is for him, he will showhimself. Yet I hardly see how he can board from that bank."
It did not look feasible. Nevertheless, they waited and watched withmuch patience for several long minutes. The boat behind them did notadvance, nor was any movement discernible in the direction of themanufactory. Another short period, then suddenly a light flashed froma window high up in the central gable, sparkled for an instant and wasgone. Sweetwater took it for a signal and, with a slight motion of thewrist, began to work his way in toward shore till they lay almost at theedge of the piles.
"Hark!"
It was Sweetwater who spoke.
Both listened, Mr. Grey with his head turned toward the launch andSweetwater with his eye on the cavernous space, sharply outlined bythe piles, which the falling tide now disclosed under each contiguousbuilding. Goods had been directly shipped from these stores in the olddays. This he had learned in the village. How shipped he had not beenable to understand from his previous survey of the building. But hethought he could see now. At low tide, or better, at half-tide, accesscould be got to the floor of the extension and, if this floor helda trap, the mystery would be explainable. So would be the hoveringboat--the signal-light and--yes! this sound overheard of steps on arattling planking.
"I hear nothing," whispered Mr. Grey from the other end. "The boat isstill there, but not a man has dipped an oar."
"They will soon," returned Sweetwater as a smothered sound of clankingiron reached his ears from the hollow spaces before him. "Duck yourhead, sir; I'm going to row in under this portion of the house."
Mr. Grey would have protested and with very good reason. There wasscarcely a space of three feet between them and the boards overhead.But Sweetwater had so immediately suited action to word that he had nochoice.
They were now in utter darkness, and Mr. Grey's thoughts must have beenpeculiar as he crouched over the stern, hardly knowing what to expect orwhether this sudden launch into darkness was for the purpose of flightor pursuit. But enlightenment came soon. The sound of a man's tread inthe building above was every moment becoming more perceptible, and whilewondering, possibly, at his position, Mr. Grey naturally turned his headas nearly as he could in the direction of these sounds, and was staringwith blank eyes into the darkness, when Sweetwater, leaning toward him,whispered:
"Look up! There's a trap. In a minute he'll open it. Mark him, but don'tbreathe a word, and I'll get you out of this all right."
Mr. Grey attempted some answer, but it was lost in the prolonged creakof slowly-moving hinges somewhere over their heads. Spaces, which hadlooked dark, suddenly looked darker; hearing was satisfied, but notthe eye. A man's breath panting with exertion testified to a near-bypresence; but that man was working without a light in a room withshuttered windows, and Mr. Grey probably felt that he knew very littlemore than before, when suddenly, most unexpectedly, to him at least, aface started out of that overhead darkness; a face so white, with everyfeature made so startlingly distinct by the strong light Sweetwater hadthrown upon it, that it seemed the only thing in the world to the twomen beneath. In another moment it had vanished, or rather the lightwhich had revealed it.
"What's that? Are you there?" came down from above in hoarse and nonetoo encouraging tones.
There was none to answer; Sweetwater, with a quick pull on the oars, hadalready shot the boat out of its dangerous harbor.
The Woman in the Alcove Page 19
