Part 20 (1/2)

”We can't leave it at that,” d.i.c.k objected, and added with a forced grin: ”Besides, you might have to wait some time.”

”Then what do you propose?”

d.i.c.k wished his head were clearer, for he was getting dizzy.

”I thought you might see Craven and arrange the thing with him. Of course, he's holding a good lot of my paper, but he gets good interest.”

Williamson produced a fountain pen and a sheet of paper.

”Very well. As it happens, I expect to meet him to-morrow.”

It struck d.i.c.k that the man was suspiciously prompt; indeed he seemed to have been waiting for the request.

d.i.c.k suddenly felt as if he were suffocating; he could not breathe, and his dizziness was turning to blackness. He threw up the window and leaned his head on the sill, gasping once or twice. It was a dark night and the express was traveling fast. Its lights sped smoothly along the black hedgerows beside the line and flashed across water lying on swampy fields. Blurred trees raced past, twinkling points were suddenly p.r.i.c.ked in the obscurity a mile away and then rushed back and vanished, and a faint glimmer flickered in the sky ahead.

d.i.c.k thought this marked Rugby, and sitting back again, he tried to pull himself together.

”I'll make it enough to cover everything and put us straight,” he said as he took the pen.

He found writing difficult, for the bracing effect of the cold wind was wearing off, but the note was written and Williamson carefully put it into his pocket-book before looking at his watch.

”We're due in a few minutes,” he said. ”Will you get down and have a drink? You don't look very fit.”

”No,” d.i.c.k answered. ”If I'd had fewer drinks in town I'd probably feel better now.”

The speed began to slacken and Williamson collected his belongings.

d.i.c.k handed him his coat as the train stopped, but did not shake hands with him. Somehow he felt he would rather not. After a careless good-by, Williamson jumped down, and d.i.c.k sat in a corner, struggling against the faintness that was overcoming him. He would feel better when the train started, but he must be alone; he could not have people looking at him while he felt as he did.

n.o.body else got in; he heard the guard's whistle and then the engine begin to pant. There was a jerk and the lights on the platform drifted past; but his head was reeling and he could not get his breath.

Falling away from the corner, he made a half-conscious effort to keep on the seat, and for some time afterward he remembered nothing.

He was roused by a rattle that swelled into a roar; and, getting up shakily, he saw the lights of a station flash past. There were other lights all around, running back into the distance in rows, while the red glow of fires that streamed above the roofs seemed to indicate a manufacturing town. d.i.c.k noted this vacantly, for he felt weak and cold. They must be in Lancas.h.i.+re, and he had lain in a dead faint for a long time. With difficulty he pulled up the window and got back to his corner.

”If this kind of thing happens often, the fellows who hold my notes will get a painful shock,” he thought, with a wry smile, and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER XIII

THE WRECK

Pale moonlight trembled across the foaming sea and faded again as the _Rowan_, rolling hard, bore up for the Solway. Whitney held the helm, his lips set and his brows knitted, for with the savage wind astern the yacht was hard to steer. The small storm-jib ran water as it swung above the seas, and the black, close-reefed mainsail lurched to and fro, lifting its heavy boom high above Whitney's head, at the risk of carrying away the mast if he let it jibe across. Andrew stood in the c.o.c.kpit, with the spray rattling like shot on his oilskins, his night gla.s.ses steadied on the cabin top as he searched the sea ahead. He saw enough to daunt a stranger to the firth.

The hills along the western sh.o.r.e were indicated by a vague blackness devoid of outline, but Andrew could distinguish a belt of broken water that stretched across his course and faded into the gloom. The backs of the seas were toward him and he noted how their crests were cut off by the wind as they curled against the tide, which was running down the firth. In some places their length and regularity indicated depth of water, but, for the most part, they boiled in frothy confusion across the shoals. A steady beam of light stretched out from the sh.o.r.e, but this was not much guide to the intricate channel through the sands. While he watched, the moon came out, and as its light widened, smooth, bright patches became visible amidst the turmoil.

These were the tops of the banks that the tide was leaving.

Andrew put down the gla.s.ses and, stooping under the cabin hatch, lighted his pipe.

”It's rather late to try for Rough Firth, but I'm not sure I could find the Barbara Deep if we let her run. If we missed it and went ash.o.r.e, she'd soon break up.”