THE days which followed were all very much alike, and all equally delightful. But there was one great event in the next week which must not be forgotten, and that was the supper on the shore. It was arranged to take place on Mab’s birthday, which fell upon the Wednesday of that week. Great were the preparations for that supper! The young people climbed up the steep, wooded hill collecting dry pieces of wood and numbers of fir cones, which they piled in a great heap on the shingle.
Then, when the eventful day arrived, there was much excitement over the arrangements for the evening’s repast. The Sinclair boys got up early, went out shooting with Rupert Norris, and brought back a couple of rabbits as their contribution to the supper. They would accept no help in skinning or cleaning them, for the whole entertainment was to be prepared by the young people themselves.
As soon as it began to grow dark the great fire was lighted, and the girls, armed with frying pans, saucepans, and kettles, were soon busily at work. They boiled potatoes, fried sausages, poached eggs, stewed mushrooms, and made rounds of buttered toast. But the rabbits formed the chef d’oeuvre of their culinary performances. These were cooked entirely by Val and Dick Sinclair, who carefully seasoned the gravy, added an onion, parsley, and other herbs, mace, pepper, and all manner of condiments, to make their dish savory and tempting.
The elder people came down to see them, and were persuaded to taste some of the dishes. But long after they had gone home the younger ones sat round the cheerful blaze.
‘Mab’s birthday only comes once a year,’ said Don; ‘so we must make the most of it, and let it last as long as we can.’
They had quite a concert as they sat round the fire that night—one merry song after another, followed by grand choruses in which the whole party joined.
Suddenly Doris laid her hand on Forester’s arm—
‘Look, there are those two horrid men!’ she whispered.
The doctor looked up quickly, and could just distinguish two figures, standing at some little distance from the fire, and evidently watching all that was going on.
Val saw them too, and said: ‘I vote we make a move; the fire’s dying down, and there is old Sly-boots staring at us.’
‘Who in the world is Sly-boots?’ asked Jack, who had seen no one.
‘Oh, that’s the name Dick has given to that so-called artist’s bosom friend. Come along! Let’s pack up; I hate to be stared at, especially by him.’
‘Do you see much of that artist?’ asked the doctor, as he walked up the hill with the Sinclairs.
‘See him! Why, he haunts the place! I detest him,’ said Dick. ‘When we climb about amongst the ruins we’re sure to come upon either him or Sly-boots. They keep well out of old Norris’ sight, though. I often see them hiding in dark corners when they think he’s on the trot.’
‘Have you seen any of the artist’s pictures?’
‘No, I haven’t; and I don’t believe there are any to see,’ said Dick. ‘He scribbles away in a book, but I don’t think there’s much drawing about it.’
‘What are they after at the Castle? That’s what I want to know,’ said Forester.
‘What are they after?’
‘Yes, I’m certain they are up to some mischief. Just you fellows keep an eye on them, will you? I don’t like to say much to the Castle folks, though I’m sure the old man does not care to have them lounging about the place. But Rupert seems to think it’s all right, so there they remain, and I don’t want to alarm the Norrises without cause. Who sleeps in the room I slept in?’
‘Which was that?’
‘The one with a big four-post bed in it.’
‘Oh, dad and mother sleep there; we’re in the back bedrooms. Have you been into them?’
‘Yes, once; Mr. Norris took me. Who sleeps in that queer room that looks on the farmyard, with the turret in the corner of it?’
‘Dick and Billy sleep there,’ said Val. ‘I’m in the one that looks out the same way as the courtyard gate.’
‘No ghosts in the Castle, I suppose?’ said Forester.
‘Not that I know of,’ said Val, laughing. ‘Dick and Billy say they hear noises, but I expect it’s only the horses in the stable.’
‘What kind of noises?’
‘Oh, footsteps, and people stealing about. It’s all rubbish, though! They’re as nervous as girls.’
‘We’re not nervous,’ said Dick indignantly; ‘but I want to know what those noises are? I’ll find out one fine day; you see if I don’t.’
‘Or one wet night,’ suggested Val. ‘Well, don’t wake me, that’s all.’
Forester told them that he quite believed what Dick had said, for when he slept in the Castle he had been awakened by footsteps both nights, and they had sounded to him as if they were close to the room in which he was, and he fancied they came from the turret which was between the two bedrooms. He advised them to ask Mr. Norris about it.
‘So I did,’ said Dick; ‘but he wouldn’t listen. He said no footsteps ever went about his house at night, and he wanted me to believe it was rats I heard. As if I couldn’t tell the difference between the sound of the scuttling of rats, and of people going up and downstairs!’
‘What did Rupert say?’
‘Oh, Rupert only laughed and said it was a ghost. But I’ll find out some day: I’ve got a clue, and I’m working it out by degrees.’
Forester was more convinced than ever that something mysterious was going on in the Castle, and he only hoped that Dick would soon be successful in discovering what it was.
He did not linger on at the Castle, though the old man was at the door and pressed him to go in; but a tremendous wind had risen, and he was afraid that he might find his tent lying fiat on the ground. However, to his great joy, it was all right when he came up to it, and he went carefully round tightening the cords and hammering in the tent pegs, in preparation for the night of storm which seemed to be before him.
Forester went to bed, but for some time found it impossible to sleep. The wind was blowing directly from the sea; it howled across the moorland; it shrieked amongst the trees of the wood; it whistled through the hedge under the shelter of which he had encamped; it made the tent pole creak, and the curtains flap, and the ropes strain. It sounded as if all the spirits of evil were let loose, to wreck their vengeance on any who might come in their way.
But the doctor was tired and sleepy, and after a time even the wind, noisy and angry and tumultuous though it was, failed to keep him awake. He was roused, however, by another sound, which startled him more than the wild fury of the elements. It was the sound of a voice close to the canvas walls of his tent.
‘Doctor, doctor,’ said the voice.
Forester sprang up, and at first could not remember where he was. Was he in his flat at West Kensington, and was this his good old housekeeper, Mrs. Timmis, who had come to tell him that the night bell had rung, and that some patient had sent for him?
Again came the call: ‘Doctor, I say, doctor.’
No, that was not the mild, gentle voice of his old housekeeper; it was the coarse, rough voice of a man. And he was not in his comfortable bedroom in West Kensington, but in a bare tent out on the lonely moor.
‘Doctor! Wake up, will you? Doctor, I say!’
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Forester in an angry voice.
A terrible gust of wind, coming at that moment, drowned the answer.
‘Who are you; and what are you doing here at this time of night?’
‘Doctor,’ said the voice, and again came words Forester could not distinguish. He got out of bed and lighted his lamp. Then he put his revolver within reach and shouted through the canvas:
‘What do you want?’
There was a slight lull in the storm, and he could hear the answer now.
‘Doctor, I say: I want you to come and see my old dad; he’s pegging out fast.’
‘Why do you come to me?’ said Forester. ‘Go for your own doctor.’
‘Haven’t got one. There isn’t one here.’
‘No doctor?’
‘No, none at all under a matter of five miles or more, and he’s pegging out fast.’
‘Wait a minute,’ shouted Forester, as the wind once more returned in fury; ‘I can’t hear you. Come inside, and be quick about it or we shall have the tent down.’
Forester unfastened the tent door, and his night visitor slipped inside. He eyed him carefully as the light of the lamp fell upon him, and was glad that his revolver was close at hand. The visitor was a short, thick man, with a red, bloated face, an unkempt beard, and small rat-like eyes. He wore an old sealskin cap, a rough pilot coat, dirty corduroy trousers, and long fisherman’s boots. He had a short clay pipe in his mouth, and he kept it there when he entered the tent.
‘Now then,’ said Forester, ‘tell me what you mean by coming and disturbing me at this time of night.’
‘Beg pardon, sir,’ said the man, more civilly; ‘but the old man’s pegging out, and somebody has got to come and see him, else if anything happens we shall have to have an inkwitch, and I don’t want none of them there inkwitches at our house!’
‘Again, I say, why don’t you fetch the nearest doctor?’
‘How can I go a night this like?’ said the man indignantly; ‘and how can I leave the old chap alone? He’ll be dead by the time I get back.’
‘Well, get a neighbor to sit with him till you return.’
‘Haven’t got no neighbors,’ growled the man; ‘and don’t want no neighbors neither. We don’t belong to these ‘ere parts, and there ain’t any house anywhere near. Besides, if I go for yon doctor over there, the old man will be gone long afore he gets here, and we’ll have to have that inkwitch.’
‘Now look here,’ said Forester, ‘what good can I do your father, even if I come with you? I’ve no medicine to give him, and none of my instruments with me. I can only just look at him, and what good on earth will that do?’
‘Come, anyhow, and see,’ urged the man— ‘maybe there’s something you can do if you try, and anyhow, it’ll save that there inkwitch.’
Forester did not like to refuse, though he did not at all relish the idea of a midnight walk with this rascally looking individual. Rogue and villain were written all over his face, and the prospect of going out with him into the darkness was anything but inviting. But the doctor was a most conscientious man, and he never shrank from any duty, however unpleasant; so he told the man that, if he would wait outside for a few moments whilst he dressed, he would come with him to see his father.
He hastily put on his clothes, lighted his lantern, and slipped the revolver into the breast pocket of his coat. Then he went outside, and found his rough and unpromising-looking guide lying on the ground and smoking, on the most sheltered side of the tent. He jumped up when he saw the doctor and led the way, but did not vouchsafe a single word of thanks.
It was a terribly dark night, there was not a star to be seen; the wild wind was bringing up heavy clouds from the sea, and they had not gone far when the rain began to fall in torrents. Where they were going Forester had no idea. The man seemed to be taking him in an opposite direction to that in which the Castle lay, and across the open moorland.
The doctor had difficulty in making his way through the furze bushes which grew very thickly on that part of the common. Then they seemed to him to be passing down a long and very narrow lane. The light in his lantern burnt dimly, but he could just discern high hedges on either side, and a heavy muddy road in which were great cart ruts and large pools of water.
On they plodded over the heavy ground, their feet sinking deeply into the mud. Now a stile had to be crossed, and his guide led the way across an open field. The wind and the rain were so terrific here that for some time they made little or no progress. Forester took care that his guide walked in front of him, so that by the light of his lantern he could keep him well in view. To what was he leading him? he wondered. Was it a dastardly plot to rob or perhaps to murder him? Or was it a real case of need?
They had been walking on for about half an hour, not speaking a word to each other, for the noise of the wind was so great that conversation was impossible. They had climbed several stiles, walked across fields of stubble or short grass, and had tramped through more than one muddy lane, when Forester began to be conscious that the rocky path on which they were walking was going steeply downhill.
‘Are we nearly there?’ he shouted to the man in front.
‘Yes, not far now,’ he called back; ‘come along, doctor.’
Forester was following him more slowly. What would he see when their goal was reached? Soon after this he heard the noise of waves beating upon the rocks—they were drawing very close to the sea.
‘Here we are,’ said his guide at length, as he lifted the latch of a small gate and led the way into a garden.
And now Forester could see a light shining from the window of a little cottage close at hand. His guide opened the door, and he followed him into a small, low kitchen. Rough beams ran along the ceiling and were covered with smoke and cobwebs; a table with a few dirty cups and plates on it stood in the middle of the room. There was very little furniture of any kind; two or three broken chairs, an old horsehair sofa, and a wooden stool were all that the cottage contained, with the exception of a low wooden bedstead drawn up to the fire, on which, half sitting, half lying, was an old man with long grey hair. His eyes were closed, and he was apparently unconscious. Forester went up to him, felt his pulse, and listened to his breathing.
‘Has he any pain?’ he asked.
‘Awful; he’s had it most of three days.’
‘Where?’
The man pointed to the old man’s chest: ‘Catched him like, when he breathed,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you get a doctor?’
‘Don’t know,’ said the man shortly; ‘didn’t think it was anything serious, as you may say. Old dad often has bad turns.’
‘What made you come for me then?’
‘Well, he began shaking, and then he turned deadly like, and said as how he was a-going to die; and then he began to breathe short, and I thought maybe he was; and then after that he never spoke again.’
‘But why did you come to me? What do you know about me? How could you tell I was a doctor?’
‘Saw you come t’other night on the ‘bus, and helped to carry your traps into the post office. There was a luggage tag on one of ‘em, and it said, Dr. Forester. Says I, “You’ve come to these ‘ere parts to camp out, Dr. Forester; that’s what you’ve come to do. I wonder where you’re a-going to pitch this ‘ere tent.” Next day I went across the moor yonder, and saw you and old Maxie a-putting of it up.’
‘Now listen,’ said Forester. ‘Your father’s very ill, very ill indeed. He has inflammation of the lungs, as far as I can make out, but I can’t examine him properly. I’ve no stethoscope with me. You must go and get a doctor immediately. He’s unconscious now, but it’s only a bad faint caused by the pain; he’ll be able to speak again presently.’
Even as he said this the old man opened his eyes and began to groan as if in great agony.
‘Are ye better, dad?’ said the man.
‘No, Dan, no better—no better at all. I can’t last much longer, I think.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’ said Forester, in the kind, pleasant voice in which he always spoke to his patients. ‘When the doctor comes we will see what is the matter with you, and what we can do for you.’
‘Who are you?’ said the old man, looking at him for the first time.
‘He’s yon doctor in the tent,’ said Dan— ‘him as I told you about; but he hasn’t got any of his tools here, so he can’t do much good—so he says.’
‘No, I can’t; therefore you must go for the nearest doctor at once,’ said Forester firmly. ‘Now then, can’t you get someone to stay with the old man?’
‘No; there’s nobody anywhere near,’ he answered moodily.
‘Well then, I’ll stay, if you can get no one else. Go at once, and mind you are quick about it.’
The man put on his fur cap, pulled it over his eyes, and, somewhat reluctantly and without a word of thanks to Forester for his kindness, prepared to go.
But before he left the, room he went to a cupboard in the corner, took out a bottle of whisky, poured some into a glass, and drank it almost raw.
‘Have any, governor?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Forester; ‘I never touch stuff like that, and it would be better for you if you never took any.’
Then the man went to the bed, bent over his old father, and whispered something in his ear. Forester thought he caught the words, ‘Don’t blab about what don’t concern you’; but the whisper was so low that he could not be certain that this was what was said.
The next minute Dan went out into the darkness, and closed the door behind him.