Part 8 (1/2)
”Aye, aye, ma'am,” he answered and altered their course for the open sea.
He had turned at Jenny Pendean's voice and shown Mark a brown, bright, clean-shorn face of great beauty. It was of cla.s.sical contour, but lacked the soulless perfection of the Greek ideal. The Italian's black eyes were brilliant and showed intelligence.
”Giuseppe Doria has a wonderful story about himself,” continued Mrs.
Pendean. ”Uncle Ben tells me that he claims descent from a very ancient family and is the last of the Dorias of--I forget--some place near Ventimiglia. My uncle thinks the world of him; but I hope he is as trustworthy and as honest in character as he is handsome in person.”
”He certainly might be well born. There is distinction, quality, and breeding about his appearance.”
”He is clever, too--an all-round sort of man, like most sailors.”
Brendon admired the varied charms of the Dartmouth coast, the bluffs and green headlands, the rich, red sandstone cliffs, and pearly precipices of limestone that rose above the tranquil waters.
The boat turned west presently, pa.s.sed a panorama of cliffs and little bays with sandy beaches, and anon skirted higher and sterner precipices, which leaped six hundred feet aloft.
Perched among them like a bird's nest stood a small house with windows that blinked out over the Channel. It rose to a tower room in the midst, and before the front there stretched a plateau whereon stood a flagstaff and spar, from the point of which fluttered a red ensign. Behind the house opened a narrow coomb and descended a road to the dwelling. Cliffs beetled round about it and the summer waves broke idly below and strung the land with a necklace of pearl. Far beneath the habitation, just above high-tide level, a strip of s.h.i.+ngle spread, and above it a sea cave had been turned into a boathouse. Hither came Brendon and his companion.
The motor launch slowed down and presently grounded her bow on the pebbles. Then Doria stopped the engine, flung a gangway stage ash.o.r.e, and stood by to hand Jenny Pendean and the detective to the beach. The place appeared to have no exit; but, behind a ledge of rock, stairs carved in the stone wound upward, guarded by an iron handrail. Jenny led the way and Mark followed her until two hundred steps were climbed and they stood on the terrace above. It was fifty yards long and covered with sea gravel. Two little bra.s.s cannon thrust their muzzles over the parapet to seaward and the central s.p.a.ce of gra.s.s about the flagpole was neatly surrounded with a decoration of scallop sh.e.l.ls.
”Could anybody but an old sailor have created this place?” asked Brendon.
A middle-aged man with a telescope under his arm came along the terrace to greet them. Bendigo Redmayne was square and solid with the cut of the sea about him. His uncovered head blazed with flaming, close-clipped hair and he wore also a short, red beard and whiskers growing grizzled. But his long upper lip was shaved. He had a weather-beaten face--ruddy and deepening to purple about the cheek bones--with eyebrows, rough as bent gra.s.s, over deep-set, sulky eyes of reddish brown. His mouth was underhung, giving him a pugnacious and bad-tempered appearance. Nor did his looks appear to libel the old sailor. To Brendon, at any rate, he showed at first no very great consideration.
”You've come I see,” he said, shaking hands. ”No news?”
”None, Mr. Redmayne.”
”Well, well! To think Scotland Yard can't find a poor soul that's gone off his rocker!”
”You might have helped us to do so,” said Mark shortly, ”if it's true that you've had a letter from your brother.”
”I'm doing it, ain't I? It's here for you.”
”You've lost two days.”
Bendigo Redmayne grunted.
”Come in and see the letter,” he said. ”I never thought you'd fail.
It's all very terrible indeed and I'm d.a.m.ned if I understand anything about it. But one fact is clear: my brother wrote this letter and he wrote it from Plymouth; and since he hasn't been reported from Plymouth, I feel very little doubt the thing he wanted to happen has happened.”
Then he turned to his niece.
”We'll have a cup of tea in half an hour, Jenny. Meantime I'll take Mr. Brendon up to the tower room along with me.”
Mrs. Pendean disappeared into the house and Mark followed her with the sailor.
They pa.s.sed through a square hall full of various foreign curiosities collected by the owner. Then they ascended into a large, octagonal chamber, like the lantern of a lighthouse, which surmounted the dwelling.
”My lookout,” explained Mr. Redmayne. ”In foul weather I spend all my time up here and with yonder strong, three-inch telescope I can pick up what's doing at sea. A bunk in the corner, you see. I often sleep up here, too.”