THE WORLD WAR COLLECTION OF H. C. MCNEILE (SAPPER). Sapper
for the moment, he preferred not to say. Sufficient for it to be known if and when it was successful. So he told himself; and wild horses would not have wrung from him the admission that that was not the real reason for his reticence.
Some men, when they are walking hand in hand with the possibility of an agonising death, might not be averse to a little publicity; to Reggie Dacres the idea was abhorrent. The thought that success would cause untold thousands to rise and call him blessed had nothing to do with it; he could only visualise queues of newspaper reporters.
On this particular morning he felt singularly disinclined for work. When the slim figure of a girl, running over the sand with the sunlight glinting in her hair, insists on running over the paper you're trying to write on, the result is often the same. And at length, with a grunt of half-amused annoyance, he pushed back his chair and strolled into the garden.
For a while he leant over the gate, smoking a pipe and staring down the lane that led to the main road. And unconsciously the contrast struck him—the safe, sweet beauty of his present surroundings; the dangerous, exotic loveliness of the places in which most of his life had been spent, where death from a hundred causes lay in wait for the unwary.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed as the figure of a girl came into sight. She was a long way off, but not too far for him to recognise her. And once again he gave his little grunt of amusement and annoyance blended as he realised his pulse had quickened. But his face was quite impassive as she came abreast of him. "No worse for the swim, I hope," he remarked with a smile.
"Good Lord! no," laughed Sydney. "I do it every morning. What are you supposed to be doing?"
"Leaning over a gate," he answered politely.
"But how terribly naughty of you! I thought you spent the day battling with all sorts of abstruse problems."
"One's sins always find one out, don't they?" he said gravely. "But how do you know I'm not battling with one now?"
"You look altogether too peaceful," she answered. "Your teeth aren't gritting together and your fists aren't clenched. Are you really doing research work?"
Reggie Dacres nodded. "That's the idea."
"And it is a dead secret?"
"Not exactly," he smiled. "But, personally, I never believe in talking about things until I pull them off. You look such a fool, don't you, if you start gassing and then fail? For instance, do you see that bottle?" He pulled out from his pocket a small bottle with a distinctive red label on it. "Now, this is strictly between you and me. If I were to say that the stuff in there is going to be the means of saving millions of lives, and then, when it was put to the test, all it did was to produce nettle-rash, I should feel a pretty drivelling ass."
"Do you really think it will?" said Sydney a little breathlessly.
"I hope so." he answered. "But I'm not sure yet. That's a secret." he laughed. "Even from you." He slipped the bottle back in his pocket. "Don't pass it on, will you?" he continued. "I've come here for peace and quiet, and—"
He broke off abruptly, staring over her shoulder down the lane. "My heavens, look at that dog!"
The girl swung round. "It's Jacko, my terrier. He's a bit off colour; I'm just taking him to the vet."
But the man was paying no attention to her. Motionless, he stood there watching the dog, and suddenly Sydney felt a hand like a steel vice close on her arm. "Inside the gate, please, at once." Dacres's voice, sharp and peremptory, made her stare at him in amazement. "If this wasn't England, I should be certain. Tell me—has that dog been bitten lately? Had a fight or anything?"
"He has, as a matter of fact," said the girl coolly. "What on earth is the matter with you? You look quite frightened."
There was a hint of amused scorn in her voice, but the man took no notice. "What did he fight?"
The girl laughed openly. "What do you think? An elephant? He fought another dog, belonging to one of the fishermen, if you want to know."
"Do you know anything about the other dog's history?"
The terrier was coming nearer; shambling slowly along—head lolling, and snapping every now and then at the air.
"It's a dog he's had for months. It came ashore with some shipwrecked people last winter." She heard him draw in his breath shortly, and with a shrug of her shoulders she opened the gate. "Come, Jacko."
The terrier was close to her, and at the sound of her voice it sat down suddenly and gave a hoarse, strident bark, mouth open, head thrown back. A hideous sound, and one which to the man gave proof absolute.
"Don't touch that dog! Don't touch that dog, I tell you!"
"Do you suppose I'm afraid of Jacko?" cried the girl scornfully. "Good old man! Is he coming to the vet. then?"
And before the man could move she bent down and picked up the terrier in her arms. So utterly unexpected was the action that for a moment he stood still. The dog was licking her hands, was on the point of licking her face before the power of movement came to him.
What happened then was rapid. In one stride he was beside her. His two hands shot out, gripping the dog by the collar. He wrenched it from her arms, and then he turned his back on her. Speechlessly she watched him; saw a sudden heave of his powerful shoulders; and the next moment the body of the terrier was lying on the ground at his feet.
He turned round—his face grim and set. "Come into the house at once, please. I must examine you immediately for any cuts on your hand."
It was then that full realisation came to her. He'd killed Jacko; he'd killed Jacko before her very eyes. Dimly she knew he'd said something; he might as well have spoken in Arabic for all the effect that the words had had on her. The blood was pounding in her head; her eyes were blazing. The feeling of stunned incredulity that this impossible thing could have happened was replaced by such wild passionate anger that, for the moment, Sydney Marsham was mad. She saw his face through a haze of red; had she possessed the means she would have killed him where he stood.
Instead she sprang at him like a tigress; saw him recoil instinctively as she struck. "You brute! You devil! You beast!"
She stood there gasping, wondering hazily why the blood was flowing from a deep cut on his cheek-bone. Between them lay the dead body of the terrier, and suddenly something snapped in her brain. She burst into a wild storm of sobs and knelt down beside it.
"Jacko! Jacko!"
Once again those two strong hands shot out, gripping her by each arm. "Come into the house at once." came a voice full of quiet authority. "I will fix up that poor little fellow later."
For a moment or two she struggled furiously then quite suddenly she stood stock still. "You murderer!" she said calmly.
"Quite," he answered with equal calmness. "Will you come, or am I to take you?"
"You're to take your vile hands off me."
"The instant you promise to come I assure you I will," he returned grimly.
"I promise."
In silence she followed him into the house, and he opened a door leading out of the hall. "In here, please."
She found herself in a laboratory, and still in a half-dazed condition she watched him light a burner on the bench. Methodically he selected a thin piece of glass, from the end of which there stuck out a wire; and in a few seconds the wire was glowing white hot.
"Come here at once."
He took her hand and examined it. It was still wet from the dog's mouth, and, taking down a bottle from one of the shelves, he poured some of the contents on to a swab of cotton-wool.
"This will sting when it touches that scratch." he remarked. "And I'm afraid I've got to hurt you even more in a moment."
"It seems your favourite form of amusement," she said icily.
"Yes, I do it for fun." His voice was expressionless. "Now, stand by, please;