‘One bleat, and you’ll get this in your neck. Now, then, who are you, and what’s the game?’
‘Oo’re
‘Oh, don’t be a fool! The boss sent us,’ said Gascoigne, upon inspiration. ‘Somebody’s mucking it up, and he wants to know why.’
‘Then he’d better ask Mr. Cassius,’ said the man. ‘Mr. Cassius’ orders is as good as
‘Well, you get out of it,’ said Gascoigne, ‘and go and fetch the B’s back. Those orders are countermanded.’
He and O’Hara seized the man and bundled him over the side; then they shoved off, scrambled aboard, put the oars in the rowlocks, and, pleased with the form which the adventure appeared to have taken, rowed out to sea.
The tide was still onshore, but would turn in less than an hour. They had nothing to guide them, but they had a clear idea of the shape of the bay, and, after a brief discussion, they decided to go to the cave. Somewhere off the headland lay the ship which had signalled the boat, but how big she was, and how many men she had on board, and what they were to do if and when they gained the cave, they had not the faintest idea. Gascoigne was happy. Mrs. Bradley had foreseen that his cousin might be attacked at the hotel, and, by sending him down to the beach, she had put that particular experiment out of court.
‘Up the old lady!’ thought Gascoigne.
‘Let’s lie off a bit, and see what happens when those fellows get back and find the boat gone,’ said O’Hara. ‘It can’t be long before that fellow contacts them and lets them know what has happened.’
They lay offshore for forty minutes or so, but no sound came from the beach, and at last they were forced to conclude that the men had not intended to return to the boat, or else that the loss of the boat had brought about an alteration in plan.
‘But they’ll have to signal the ship again, I should think,’ remarked O’Hara; and almost upon these words they saw a signal go up from the beach at the point, as nearly as they could guess it, from which their boat had put off.
‘Three flashes,’ said Gascoigne, dipping his oars (for the tide by this time had turned, and was drifting them farther out to sea and towards the ship) and giving the short shallow strokes which the circumstances seemed to demand. ‘Now, where will they get the answer?’
But no answer came, and the young men deduced from this that the ship was now hidden behind the headland, and must be off a lonely stretch of the coast on the east of the bay.
‘It won’t be healthy, once the day breaks,’ said Gascoigne, his anxieties suddenly returning. ‘What do you think we ought to do?’
‘Capture the ship, like that idiot Jim Hawkins,’ said O’Hara. ‘This is a smuggling gang. There doesn’t seem much doubt about that. The thing is to find out what they are smuggling, if we can. And, further to that, a great light dawns on me.’
‘It will dawn on both of us in about another couple of hours,’ observed Gascoigne. ‘Nevertheless, say on. And pull on your left oar a little. We’re drifting too far and too fast.’
‘I rather think,’ said O’Hara, ‘that Mrs. Bradley is trying to clear this smuggling gang out of the way. They have nothing to do with the murder of my stout party down on the farm, and they’re cluttering up the enquiry. What do you say to that?’
Gascoigne thought it over, and then proceeded to discredit it, and the two young men might have gone on until the morning alternately dipping their oars and discussing this no longer intelligent and barely tenable theory, but that there came a sudden break in their tranquillity. This took the form of their seeing distress signals fired from some point beyond the headland.
‘A Verey light pistol?’ suggested O’Hara. ‘Anyway, someone in trouble.’
‘Rockets, I think,’ said his cousin, as the night was again pierced. ‘It might be from that same ship. If so, I wonder what’s happened? There’s not much of a sea running, and she was a long way out. She must have tried a quick run in, and fouled the rocks.’
‘Out of control, perhaps. Come on, we’d better get to the cave and see whether they’ve started running the stuff, or whether this alters their plans.’
They bent to their oars. It was not much further to the cave, and as they came opposite its entrance they could see a light within its depths. The ship which was signalling for help lay farther over to the west, and was carrying all her navigation lights. She was nowhere near any rocks, and might have been a couple of miles offshore. As they came in sight of her—for her flares lit up her hull sufficiently to allow her to be seen for an instant—she released several more flares in quick succession.
‘I say,’ said O’Hara, as they rested on their oars, ‘I’ve had another hunch. I think those signals may be fakes, and they’re going to run the smuggled stuff when they’ve drawn off the lifeboat, and attracted the attention of the coastguards away from the headland. The lifeboat will be bound to put out, and all attention will be centred on the wreck. There’ll be two ships out there, I’d bet a pound, this one with lights and the other lying closer to the shore and further west—in fact, between this one and the cave. It’s not a bad scheme, and I’d like to foil it.’
‘Then in we go,’ said Gascoigne. ‘This is amazing good fun! Ship your oars. We must quant her in.’
‘There’s only one boathook,’ said O’Hara, ‘so I’ll use an oar as a quant-pole. Good thing we’ve been in before. Oh, no, I forgot. You haven’t, so I’ll give the orders. Go easy, now. We’re almost on to the rocks.’
The mad project of entering the cave in pitch darkness was safely accomplished. Once in, the cousins found themselves in a blackness so unrelieved—for the light at the further end had disappeared—that it was almost a necessity to glance back, as Gascoigne did once or twice, to the almost luminous sea at the mouth of the cave.
‘I’ll use my torch in spurts,’ said O’Hara. ‘That should help us a bit. We must trust to luck nobody sees it. There’s nobody here at present. We’re in luck.’
He switched on his torch and disclosed that they were far enough into the cave for the rocky path to be discerned above the water-line on the port side of their boat. Quanting the boat against the outrunning tide was heavy work, and they were glad to be able to tie up. This they did, to the rock pinnacle for which, for some time, O’Hara groped in vain.
‘Sure proof the cave’s what we think it is,’ murmured Gascoigne. ‘I wish I’d come in with you before. I’d no idea it had been such grand fun. How is she for depth, by the way?’
‘Very nearly aground. We couldn’t get in any further.’
‘Good enough.’ Gascoigne switched off the torch which he had placed on the ground to light the moorings, and put it back into his pocket. ‘Let’s listen a minute.’
But they could still hear nothing but the sound of the sea at the cave-mouth, and they thought it safe to use their torches again as they walked with great caution into the deep interior of the cave.
At last they found that they had penetrated beyond the tide-mark, and, as they began to ascend, there came to their nostrils the smell of petrol from the garage.
‘Off torches!’ whispered O’Hara. ‘We’re almost underneath them. Better take cover whilst we listen.’
He had already become aware of a suitable hiding-place. This had been unexpectedly provided. Since he, Mrs. Bradley and Laura had been inside the cave, three very tall packing-cases had been placed there. A man six feet high could easily take cover behind the smallest without being seen, even if he stood up on tiptoe.
‘Now I wonder what’s in them?’ muttered Gascoigne. ‘And I wonder how soon they’ll be shifted? Any minute now. I suppose—or are they smugglers depending on our boat?’
‘Shut up!’ whispered his cousin, whose sharper ears had caught a sound unconnected with the booming of the sea. ‘I think somebody’s coming down from the garage above. Stand ready!’
Whilst O’Hara and Gascoigne were proving their blood and mettle, Mrs. Bradley’s discreet but equally bold and mettlesome nephew, accompanied by George, Mrs. Bradley’s chauffeur, had come to Slepe Rock, but had failed to contact the Irishmen, who, by this time, were out in the borrowed rowing-boat.
Denis had left the car—to George’s mute regret—in a lane about a mile from the beach, and the two had come on foot to Slepe Rock. The hotel was in darkness, the inhabitants of the cottages asleep, and the road rough, stony and not at all easy to follow.
