The Best Wadsworth Camp Mysteries. Charles Wadsworth Camp
explained the situation.
“And I stayed at the house and slept peacefully,” Morgan said with regret. “Why didn’t you run up and get me to help out? I thought when my man didn’t return—”
“What was the use of disturbing you?” Miller asked.
“Only,” Morgan answered,” because two might be better than one for an all night watch here—particularly under the circumstances. Some action ought to be taken against that coroner. It was his business to answer the call.”
Miller laughed a little.
“After spending the night alone in this piece of woods I’m not so sure there isn’t something to be said in his defence. It’s odd how a little loneliness, a little darkness, and the thought of death will make the poise of the strongest of us topple.”
“It’s this rotten patch of woods,” Morgan muttered. “I’m proud of my poise, but I wonder if I would have pulled through such a night as fresh as you.”
“Surely,” Miller said. “One suffers temporarily, then the reaction comes, and you almost want to try it again to prove what a fool you’ve been.”
But as he spoke Miller knew he did not want to try it again.
“I was on my way to the coquina house,” Morgan said. “But you’d better let me relieve you until the others come.”
“Thanks,” Miller answered. “I suppose I ought to report to my man. He was expecting me on the boat for dinner last night. I’ve no doubt he thinks the spooks have carried me off and turned me into a spook myself.”
He handed Morgan the gun, and went down the path, keeping his eyes open for signs of snakes. That was one element of danger on the island whose existence he was willing to admit
As he stepped from the woods the sight of the Dart filled him with a sense of unreality. It was, however, the very real nature of the picture which gave birth to this not altogether comfortable impression.
He paused on the shore and stared, a little bewildered, while his eyes accustomed themselves to the glamour of an unclouded sun above reflecting water that was glass-like. After the heavy shadows of the forest path it seemed a miracle such light should exist at all.
The Dart appeared to be suspended in the midst of this dazzling spectacle’ Beyond her the dunes had the effect of a mirage. The usually mournful and insistent pounding of the breakers had fallen to an indifferent drone.
Miller closed his eyes. What he had seen struck him with a sense of shame after his experience in the forest. For a moment he felt physically ill. He bent his mind to the conquest of his weakness. He recalled Tony. He could fancy the native’s frame of mind. After all, he owed Tony the release of that fear. So he opened his eyes again. But there was no one on the deck of the Dart, yet, under the circumstances, he could not imagine Tony waiting below.
He glanced along the beach and saw the dingy. Then Tony, since he had not passed through the forest, must be at the coquina house, unless, indeed, he had yielded to his panic and left the island altogether.
He turned and looked at the fisherman’s craft. It floated, filthy and uncared-for. No one was to be seen, nor did its deck disclose any record of recent activity. It lay in the still water like an abandoned hulk. It conveyed the air of tragedy that invariably clings to a wreck when the destroying storm has fled before calm and sunshine. Why, Miller asked himself, should this be so? Why did the fisherman fail persistently to show himself?
As he walked slowly towards the coquina house he completed the conquest of his disagreeable sensations. There would be work to-day requiring a clear head and strength. With Morgan he would have to divide the responsibility of Molly and the dead until Anderson returned.
If only there was some way to communicate with Anderson! Unquestionably he would not return until evening when the little boat would come down to Sandport from Martinsburg. It was another reminder of their isolation, of their helplessness.
When he stepped into the clearing Miller saw Tony and Morgan’s man standing in front of the coquina house. The sight of Tony was a tonic for Miller. It helped rout the last of his uneasy thoughts. For Tony’s face was white. As Morgan’s man talked to him he glanced repeatedly over his shoulder. He raised his hands once or twice. They shook.
Miller accepted it as a matter for pride that the man should have remained on the island in this state of fear without his master’s restraining influence.
The other, Miller saw, was in no better case.
His eyes, too, had evidently been strangers to sleep last night. Miller did not need to hear any words. The subject of their conversation was confessed by their faces.
“Well, Tony!” Miller called.
Like a flash Tony turned and ran to him, and Morgan’s man sidled forward as if, even by daylight, he craved company in this place.
“You spent the night on the Dart?” Miller asked.
Tony nodded. The gesture in which he spread his arms was eloquent of the torture of those hours when he had been doubtful of Miller’s fate.
“Then you know everything,” Miller said. “This fellow’s told you.”
Again Tony nodded.
“I couldn’t wait. I came here. I didn’t know where else—”
“Your solicitude is pleasing, Tony. You see I’m quite myself still—altogether material.”
He glanced at Morgan’s man.
“And you passed your entire night here?”
The man looked away.
“Yes,” he muttered.
“May I ask why?”
Shame flashed across the fellow’s face. His voice was little more than a whisper.
“It’s easy to ask,” he said.
“Therefore I ask.”
The red deepened.
“I had come from the end of the island already, and the path through the woods—it was too dark. It was better to stay there.”
He pointed towards the house.
“Although that was empty, and I ain’t anxious to try it again.”
The flush faded. He spoke with more confidence now. Evidently he felt his plainly confessed terror was justified.
“When you ask like that all I can say is you haven’t tried it yourself.”
“But,” Miller said, “I spent the night in that piece of forest you were afraid to cross. Nothing happened to me. What are you talking about?”
The man shook.
“I don’t see how you did it,” he whispered. “I don’t see how you did it.”
Miller laughed shortly.
“Come! That’s enough. Tony’s growing nervous. You’ve forgotten the sun’s shining now. I must have a little commonsense from both of you. No word of the coroner yet?”
Tony pointed at the house.
“He came five minutes ago,” Morgan’s man answered. “Inside with Mrs. Anderson.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Miller snapped, annoyed at the delay.
He hurried to the house and entered the damp, unhealthy hall. As the door closed behind him his ugly thoughts of last night rushed back. Without any other provocation than the air one breathed here he could imagine Molly and Anderson hating this house.
A voice came to him from the diningroom. Immediately it aroused a disagreeable sensation. It reached Miller raspingly. Its nasal tone was almost belligerent. A sob from Molly brought it to a pause.