Part 50 (1/2)

”They came to the door once. What did you hear?” she asked in a whisper.

”_The wreck. About three hours. There before high water!_ It wasn't Staffer's voice.”

Elsie pressed her arm, and, listening eagerly, they heard a stealthy footstep in the pa.s.sage. Then the handle of Elsie's door shook, as if it had been touched, and there was silence.

They waited for a few minutes while Elsie thought quickly. The situation, though still obscure, was getting clearer. Andrew was interfering with something it was necessary that Williamson should do, and Staffer had told his visitor that he could stop him as he liked, but must make sure. There had been something horribly threatening in his laugh as he said that Andrew and Whitney knew too much. The visitor was to do what he had undertaken, about low water, near a wreck.

The question was: _What had he undertaken?_

”What is that?” Madge whispered, turning to the open window.

A faint throbbing came out of the dark. It was some distance off, but Elsie recognized it as a motor running down the valley.

”It's the man going to Annan,” she said. ”Listen while I explain--”

Her conclusions grew clearer and more logical as she put them into words, and she got up resolutely when she had finished.

”We can do nothing more; d.i.c.k must help us now.”

Stealing down the pa.s.sage, she entered his room and shook him gently.

He awoke, and she put her hand on his face to check the exclamation she half expected.

”It's Elsie; you mustn't make a noise,” she whispered. ”Do you know anything about a wreck?”

”I know where it is,” he answered drowsily.

”Andrew's there to-night, isn't he?”

”It's possible,” said d.i.c.k, lifting himself on his elbow. ”Why do you ask?”

She told him what she had overheard, and he was silent for a moment, though she knew that he was now wide awake.

”Andrew must be warned,” he said; ”and the other fellow's got a start.

I couldn't get the car out without bringing Staffer down, and Whitney's motorcycle is at the Burnfoot. I'll have to take my bicycle.”

Elsie noted that he had shown no surprise, which was curious, and that he was very cool. Then she remembered that he had not been looking well for some days.

”Can't you get a fisherman to go?” she suggested. ”You could give him a guarded message or a note.”

d.i.c.k smiled.

”I'll have to take a fisherman, but I'm going. Andrew's a very good sort and I owe him something.” His tone changed strangely. ”Will you give me a kiss, Elsie? You haven't done so since we were kiddies--but I'd like you to.”

Elsie stooped and kissed his cheek and he put his hand on hers.

”Thank you, dear. Now you'll have to go. I must start as soon as possible.”

She left him, wondering at something unusual in his manner; and five minutes afterward d.i.c.k crept down the back stairs. When he wheeled out his bicycle, the lamp would not burn and he had no time to look for fresh carbide. It was difficult to keep on the drive, and he feared that Staffer might hear the crash if he ran into the border and fell, but he avoided this, and opened the gate at the lodge without wakening its occupants.

The valley was dark, the road wet, and d.i.c.k could scarcely see the clipped hedgerows. Indeed, at first, he ran on to the gra.s.s, but by degrees his eyes got used to the gloom and he let the bicycle coast down a long hill. It gave him a good start, but when he came to the bottom, the hill in front was steep, and he knew a stern effort would be needed, as he changed to the low gear. He was distressed and panting hard when he was half-way up, and as he forced the cranks round, the tires slipped and skidded in the mud. The trees that stretched their bare branches overhead kept the road soft, but it seemed to him that they also shut out the air. He could not breathe in the thick gloom beneath them, and his heart was throbbing painfully.