“Right! I see where he is, thank you,” it said.
“Jack Whiteclett!” I said to myself.
It was always pleasant to see Jack, but at that moment a bore to be disturbed. Little did I guess how thorough and final that disturbance was going to be.
He appeared in the open door of my shelter, keen eyes, blue serge, three rings, and all complete. I expected a jibe at my beard, but evidently I struck him too sorry an object for mirth.
“Well, old chap,” said he, “you’ve earned a rest and I’m glad to see you’re taking it.”
This from Jack was subtley flattering and I did my best to look the wounded hero.
“Where did they get you?” he asked.
“In my beard,” said I, “left side of the jaw. Also right ankle and a souvenir under the ribs.”
“Lame?”
“Still a little, but improving.”
“The beard is quite becoming,” he observed.
“Look at it well then while you have the chance for they say they’ll let me shave it in a week.”
“You’re well on the mend then?”
“Thank the Lord.”
“Then I needn’t give you any more sympathy. Congratulations instead.”
“On getting a bit of Blighty?”
“On getting a bit of ribbon.”
I opened my eyes, for this was the first I had heard of it.
“It isn’t out yet,” said he, “but I believe it’s to be your doom. Somebody has presumably bribed someone at the Admiralty. Uncle Francis tipped me the wink. You’ve evidently quite made your peace there, Roger, so congratulations again.”
This hint of a decoration was gratifying enough, and to hear, on top of it, his assurance that my dear old uncle had really opened his heart again nearly upset me disgracefully. I was evidently still a little weaker than I realised. However, Jack was tact itself and the talk turned to everyday matters.
He had been sitting beside me for some little time discussing the war, the world, and the devil, before it began to strike me as quite remarkably kind, even for so good a fellow as Jack Whiteclett, to come so far out of his way to look me up. His own wife was at Portsmouth last I heard of her, all his other interests were in London, and yet here he was looking up a cousin in a hospital a couple of hundred miles away from either place.
“By the way, how long have you got?” I asked.
“A week.”
I sat up in my deck chair.
“Only a week! I say this is extraordinarily good of you to come down here and see me.”
“Oh, I wanted to see how heroes bear their wounds,” he smiled, but I felt certain there was something more left unsaid.
“Jack, old chap, what’s up? I see in your eye there’s something else.”
He hesitated a moment and then said,
“There was, but I’m not going to bother you with it now. I didn’t know how fit you might be.”
Naturally I made him go on.
“Would it worry you if I were to yarn a little about that adventure of yours in Ransay?” he asked.
“Worry me! I’ve been thinking of little else since I came to this restful place. In fact I’ve been finishing off a full, true, and particular account of the adventure. Any further news?”
His mouth grew compressed and a frown settled over his eyes.
“Nothing definite, except that the infernal island has been worrying me a lot lately. You were quite right, Roger, and I withdraw my last doubt with many apologies. Something is very far wrong in that place. Submarines have been seen for certain two or three times, and signals on shore, and the devil knows all what. But we can’t find a clue or a trace of anything to lay our hands on!”
“And all this is since O’Brien left?”
He nodded.
“Yes. If he were in it you were quite right in suspecting a gang. If he wasn’t, then the fellow, or fellows, are still there. I am quite certain now, Roger, that you were absolutely right. Someone is actually living in that comparatively small island, and working a lot of mischief, and we haven’t even the foggiest notion who to suspect.”
“Have you applied to Mr. Bolton?” I asked a little maliciously.
“Damn Mr. Bolton! The fellow botched the whole business. He lost the scent while it was still warm, and now it’s as cold as mutton and one has to begin all over again! I wanted badly to have a yarn with you about it, Roger. You may have some ideas. Bolton had none and I have none.”
“Are you allowed to tell me exactly what has been seen?”
“I am not allowed, but I can tell you, if you won’t repeat anything.”
And so I may not go into particulars in this narrative. However, that makes no difference, for beyond indicating that the northwest end, out by the Scollays’ farm, and the barren uninhabited tip of the island beyond, was the danger zone, these particulars gave no clue and suggested no fresh idea. Of course they naturally suggested people living in that vicinity, and yet this was far from inevitable because that coast was the best for the enemy’s purpose, and his friend or friends on shore might come some considerable distance to get in touch with him. In fact, it would be a pretty obvious precaution to live as far from the scene of actual operations as possible; though equally obviously it would be a less convenient arrangement.
As for the precautions which Whiteclett was able to take, all that I am permitted to say about them is that, instead of the amateur coast patrol arrangement in vogue when I was there, a few men from a certain unit were put on to the job instead. But my cousin had no control over this, and as he alone realised—in fact, could realise—the peculiar danger on this particular island. The number of
