CHAPTER XX
SIR GILES and Langton went back to the lane and set about the task of hunting for the gold which had been scattered. They found the bag at once and in a corner of it a couple of dozen coins. The rest were strewed about among the mud, the pools, the running water, and the loose stones. The wind tore across the island in violent gusts. The rain beat furiously upon them. The candle which Langton had put in his pocket was lighted and promptly extinguished. Sir Giles made a kind of shelter for it with his coat and tried to keep it burning. He succeeded for a minute or two. Then a gust of wind whirled over the coat and the candle was blown out again.
"Let's give it up," said Langton. "Let's go back and get another load."
"I will not give it up. Do you suppose I'm going to leave a small fortune lying in this lane when I might have it for the gathering? Go back to the hut and try if you can find any kind of a lantern."
Langton searched in vain, for old O'Flaherty owned no lantern. He returned to report his ill-success.
"I'll go down to the yacht," said Sir Giles, "and get one of her lamps. You wait for me here and pick up what you can in the meanwhile."
But Langton had no taste for crawling about on his hands and knees feeling for coins in mud and water. He was chilled and dispirited. When Sir Giles left him he stumbled back into the hut, wrung the water out of his coat, and waited in shelter. In about three-quarters of an hour Sir Giles returned with the Aureole's riding light in his hand. The search began again. After half an hour's hard work the bag was nearly filled, and, carrying it between them, the two men set out for the Aureole.
"Two more trips will be enough," said Sir Giles. "If we haven't got it all we shall have to leave the rest behind us. Thank the gods, the rain is stopping. The wind will go down now. If it doesn't, Langton, you may say your prayers. We'd never fetch Ballymoy or anywhere else in this gale."
Meldon lay in his ditch. The ropes with which he was bound began to cut into his flesh. He was more bruised than ever. But he found a real satisfaction in picturing to himself Sir Giles as he searched for the coins in the dark. He was determined to try and free himself. A few efforts convinced him that he could do nothing with the ropes on his arms and legs. The gag seemed more hopeful It was a woollen scarf. It was forced between his teeth, pulled tight front behind so as to drag his lips out into a kind of grin and knotted firmly at the back of his neck. He tried to gnaw it through with his teeth, but only succeeded in biting the insides of his cheeks until they bled. He wriggled along the ditch and got the side of his head against a stone with a sharp edge. He worked his head up and down, rubbing the woollen gag against the stone. He hoped in this way to wear the stuff through. The work was tedious and painful. But he persevered and in the end reaped his reward. The last strands of the wool parted. His mouth was free.
He looked round him and took stock of his position. At first he could see nothing but the stone wall, the grassy side of the ditch, and the sky. He noticed that it was beginning to get light. The rain had ceased. The clouds were being blown apart. Meldon guessed that it must be nearly three o'clock. He remembered that Sir Giles intended to lower him into the Poll-na-phuca as soon as there was light enough. He had no intention of being buried alive there if he could help it. He set to work to writhe and wriggle himself out of the ditch. He found himself at last in the field below O'Flaherty's house. He had a clear view of the bay and saw Sir Giles rowing out to the Aureole. The light increased and he noticed with great satisfaction that there was a heavy sea running outside the bay. He reflected that it would be totally impossible for the Aureole to leave her sheltered anchorage. But the wind was falling. In a couple of hours a venturous man might attempt to run for the mainland with three or four reefs tied down in his sail.
Sir Giles and Langton left the yacht again and pulled for the pier. Meldon decided that they must still have another load of treasure to ship. They had, as he calculated, an hour and a half's work before them. He saw below him, two fields off, the house in which Mary Kate and her parents lived. He made up his mind that he must get near enough to waken somebody in it before Sir Giles came to him again. There was only one possible way of getting there. He must roll down the hill.
He made up his mind to act at once. Having the use of his mouth he shouted a word of encouragement to Thomas O'Flaherty before he started:—
"Hullo! Thomas O'Flaherty Pat! Hullo! I expect you're gagged and tied somewhere and can't answer. But I've got the beastly thing worked out of my mouth and I'm going to get the better of those two blackguards yet. It'll all depend on my being able to get hold of Mary Kate. Goodbye. I'll see that this business pans out all right in the end."
The field in which he lay sloped even more steeply than most fields in the island. At the bottom of it was a wall and in the middle of the wall a gap. Beyond the gap was another steep field and at the bottom of it was the house. Meldon aimed for the gap. He congratulated himself that Higginbotham's philanthropic plans for the bettering of the islanders' system of land tenure had not yet been carried out. In the fences that were to be erected there would not be gaps and no man could roll over a six-foot Congested Districts Board bank.
He wriggled himself into position and started rolling down the hill. He advanced rapidly for a few yards and then came to a dead stop, lying up and down the hill. He wriggled again, rolled again, and was again brought up short by the impossibility of keeping his body parallel to the slope of the hill. Still he advanced and at length actually arrived at the gap. He lay still, giddy and breathless. He saw Sir Giles and Langton go into the hut. He started, as soon as he could, to roll across the second field. There were four bullocks in it which were lying together in a group when Meldon rolled suddenly among them. They were startled, struggled to their feet and galloped off in four different directions. After a while curiosity conquered their terror. They returned cautiously and slowly, sniffing and pawing, starting now and then in fresh alarm. Convinced at last that Meldon was harmless they gathered close round him and eyed him with wonder. He lay quite still because he could see Sir Giles and Langton coming out of the hut and suspected that they would search for him. He realised that the cattle hid him effectually.
Having lowered O'Flaherty into the cave Sir Giles and Langton went to the ditch in which they had left Meldon. They were surprised to find that he had disappeared.
"Can he have got loose?" said Langton nervously.
"If he'd got so much as his tongue loose," said Sir Giles, "he'd have raised the hell of a row by this time. That fellow would no more keep quiet than a corn-crake would stop making the vile row it does make in the middle of the night. He can't have gone far. We must look for him."
"No. Let's get out of this at once. The people will be awake and about soon."
"We ought to have been off two hours ago," said Sir Giles. "Only for that cursed parson we would have been. First we had to waste the time dragging him out of the hut, and then his infernal practical jokes cost us another hour and a half. We'll have to leave him now and chance it. We can only hope he's lying dead somewhere."
Meldon watched them tramp down the bohireen and realised that he was safe. He understood also that he had very little time to spare. In half an hour Sir Giles would be on board the yacht again.
"He'll have to tie down three reefs," said Meldon to the nearest bullock, "if he doesn't want to be drowned. And that'll take him some time with nobody but Langton to help him."
The remark caused the bullocks to edge away a little. Meldon started rolling again towards the cottage. Now and then as he drew nearer to it he shouted. At length, when he had got within about twenty yards of it the door opened and Mary Kate peered out Meldon shouted to her:—
"Mary Kate! I say, Mary Kate! come here as quick as you can."
The child approached him cautiously. Like the bullocks, she had never before seen anything exactly like Meldon as he lay in the field.
"Mary Kate," he said, in tones meant to be reassuring, "do you go to bed in your clothes?"
The question was reasonable. The child was dressed just as usual in her red petticoat and flannel bodice.
"I do not," said Mary Kate. "I dressed myself when I heard the shouts of you."
"Very well, then. Go and get a knife."
"A knife, is it?"
"It is," said Meldon. "A knife."
"What sort of a knife?"
"Any sort of a knife you like, from a scythe down to a lancet, will do. In fact, I dare say we could manage with your mother's scissors. But run now and get something that will cut."
Mary Kate went back into the house and returned with a sickle.
"My da will be wanting the scythe to-day," she said, "but if this will do you, you can have the loan of it."
"I don't want the loan of it. I want you to cut the rope that's round my arms, and be quick about it."
"The Lord save us and help us! Is it tied you are? Who's after doing the like of that to you?"
"I am tied. But if you'd stop standing there staring like a stuck pig, and come over here with the sickle, I'd soon be loose."
Mary Kate approached him grinning.
"Don't grin," said Meldon. "I've said that to you before. Look here, Mary Kate, I've been cracking you up all over the island the last three days for one of the most intelligent children I ever met. It was only last night I offered your grandfather to marry you if he liked. But I'll not marry you. And I'll never say another good word for you, and what's more I'll take the half-crown and the three sixpences away from you unless you come here and cut the rope."
"You couldn't," said Mary Kate.
But the threat produced its effect on her. She stopped grinning and began sawing at the rope. The sickle was blunt but Mary Kate worked vigorously. One strand after another parted. Meldon got his arms free.
"Give me the sickle," he said.
His hands were numb and he was obliged to rub them up and down against his legs before he could take a firm grip of it. At last he managed to hold it, and set to work at the rope that bound his ankles.
"Mary Kate," he said, "go back to your da. Is he in bed?"
"He might, then."
"Well, if he is, get him out and tell him to go up to the Poll-na-phuca with a rope and a ladder, and he'll find your grandda at the bottom of it if he isn't dead."
"The Lord save us! They've took him at the latter end."
"Don't," said Meldon, "get any rotten idea about fairies into your head. This isn't a fairy matter at all. Tell your father that if he doesn't go at once the old man will be dead, and as sure as ever he is I'll have your father hanged for murdering him. Do you understand me now?"
"I do," said Mary Kate.
Meldon found it difficult to stand, and was only able to totter down towards the pier. He saw Sir Giles and Langton reach the Aureole and board her. He quickened his pace as much as his numbed, stiff limbs would allow. He watched the mainsail being hoisted, and noticed that the gaff was pulled little more than three-quarters way up the mast.
"Thank God!" he muttered, "they see that they must tie down some reefs. I'll do them yet."
He reached the pier. Realising that the water was still rough, he turned from the Major's punt and went along the beach to Jamesy O'Flaherty's curragh. He launched it and took the oars. There was no need for him to row. The wind drifted him rapidly from the shore. Sir Giles and Langton were tying down reef-points in the flapping mainsail of the Aureole and did not see him. He headed the curragh for the Granuaile and climbed on to the steamer's deck. Everybody on board was asleep. As the readiest way of attracting attention Meldon began to ring the bell which hung amidships and to shout "Fire!" at the top of his voice.
A couple of sailors ran on deck and stood staring at him. Others followed them and began to ask questions. Meldon continued shouting "Fire!" and ringing the bell. He saw that Sir Giles had stopped tying reef-points and was hoisting the sail as quickly as he could. The Chief Secretary emerged in his pyjamas. Father Mulcrone followed him in a white cotton night-shirt and a pair of trousers.
"What's on fire?" said Mr. Willoughby.
"Nothing," said Meldon. "I wanted to wake you up, that's all. Send a boat at once and stop that yacht sailing."
"Why?"
Meldon's mind worked quickly. He realised that long before he could tell the story of the treasure and reply to all the questions which would necessarily be asked, Sir Giles would have got off. Already he could see that the Aureole's jib was being hoisted.
"Never mind why," he said. "Do it."
"I can't possibly," said Mr. Willoughby, "send a boat to capture a gentleman's yacht without rhyme or reason. It would, I imagine, amount to an act of piracy on the high seas. I'd do a good deal for you, Mr. Meldon; but, after all, I have to recollect that I am Chief Secretary for Ireland. Just fancy—the House of Commons—the newspapers"
Meldon turned without listening to the end of the apology. He appealed to the crew of the Granuaile.
"Will any of you lower a boat and come with me?"
The men hung back, some grinning, some open-mouthed in blank astonishment. One glance at them convinced Meldon of the hopelessness of his appeal. He looked round him and caught sight of Father Mulcrone.
"Come along, Father Mulcrone. You're the only man in the whole crowd. Hop into the curragh as quick as you can."
"Give me time to tuck my night-shirt into my trousers and I'm with you," said the priest.
He crossed the deck and dropped into the curragh. Meldon followed him. Mr. Willoughby peered over the bulwarks of the Granuaile.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Wait! Hold on!"
The curragh shot out from the steamer's side.
"It's no good," said Mr. Willoughby, "they're off. I have always heard that the clergy did queer things here in the West of Ireland, but I'm hanged if the other fellows don't seem as anxious to get off as the priest and the parson are to catch them."
Sir Giles and Langton, one at each side of the winch in the bow of the Aureole, were working with frenzied vigour to get the anchor up.
"He can't cut the cable," said Meldon to the priest. "Thank God, it's chain; the only thing on board the Aureole that isn't absolutely rotten."
"Pull away," said Father Mulcrone. "She's over her anchor now. He'll have it off the bottom in a minute."
Meldon pulled hard.
"He has it," said the priest. "Now he's hauling the jib across her to get her head round. Shove the stern of the curragh in, and I'll grab her before she gets way on."
The Aureole's head paid slowly round and the mainsail began to draw. In obedience to a violent tug at the oars the curragh spun round and her stern struck the yacht amidships. Father Mulcrone gripped the weather bulwarks with both hands. The curragh swung alongside and was dragged stern first through the water as the yacht gathered way. Sir Giles left the tiller, sprang across the deck and began hammering at the priest's hands with his clenched fists.
"Let go," he yelled; "let go."
He stood up and kicked at the priest's hands. Then he trampled on them, still yelling, "Let go." Father Mulcrone held on. Sir Giles kicked at his face, holding on to the weather runner to preserve his balance.
"Let go or I'll brain you."
Father Mulcrone held on. He was not the kind of man who lets go. Mr. Willoughby had discovered this about him when dealing with the question of seed potatoes for Inishmore. Meldon scrambled on board the yacht. He came on Sir Giles from behind, seized him by the shoulders, swung him round, rushed him across the sharply sloping deck, and flung him overboard.
"Let go now," he shouted to Father Mulcrone, "and pick up the fellow I've pitched into the sea. He may be able to swim or he may not. In any case you'd better look after him. I'll manage the other man and the yacht."
Langton sat dazed and helpless in the cockpit, holding the end of the mainsheet in his hand. Meldon snatched it from him and seized the tiller.
"Loose the jib sheet," he shouted, "and let me get her sailing."
Langton did not stir. Meldon dropped the tiller, ran forward and loosened the sheet himself. Then he got the yacht under command and set her racing to windward across the bay.
"If you stir hand or foot," he said to Langton, "I'll pitch you into the sea. I don't believe you can swim, whatever Sir Giles can do. Ready about now, and mind yourself."
The yacht swung round and flew off on the new tack. The half-reefed mainsail bellied ridiculously. The water rushed green along the deck and foamed over the coaming of the cockpit. Meldon, a light of triumph on his face, stood up and looked round him.
Father Mulcrone had Sir Giles in tow behind the curragh and was pulling for the shore. It is difficult to get a swimmer into any small boat. It is totally impossible to get one into a canvas curragh. The priest had gone as near rescuing Sir Giles as was possible under the circumstances. A boat was lowered hastily from the Granuaile and the Chief Secretary, still in his pyjamas, got into her. She was pulled towards the curragh. A small group of islanders, men and women, stood on the end of the pier. Major Kent was awake and watched the exciting scene from the deck of the Spindrift. The Aureole ran under her lee. Meldon threw his boat up into the wind and hailed the Major.
"Hullo! Everything's all right. I've got the treasure safe here. I always said I would and I have. I'll send Father Mulcrone off for you as soon as he's done rescuing Sir Giles."
The Granuaile's boat reached the curragh. Sir Giles, spluttering sea-water and curses, was hauled on board. Meldon, having got the Aureole on the third tack, flew past them and shouted—
"I say, Father Mulcrone, just put back to the Spindrift and bring Major Kent ashore. It's a pity for him to be missing all the fun."
A little group of men came down the hill towards the pier. Among them, supported by his son-in-law and a nephew, was old Thomas O'Flaherty Pat. In front of him, dancing with delight and excitement, her hair blown wild with the wind, went Mary Kate.
Meldon's tacks became shorter as he neared the land. The men on the pier cheered him each time he passed them. He waved his hand in response, and, when that seemed an inadequate acknowledgment of the enthusiasm, took Langton's cap and waved it. The Granuaile's boat reached the pier and was greeted with more cheers. The people of Inishgowlan, not yet aware of what had happened, were ready to cheer anybody. The Chief Secretary, stepping daintily, for he was barefooted, went on shore. Sir Giles, dripping and dismal, followed him. Meldon made his last tack and beached the Aureole close alongside the pier. The islanders and the men from the Granuaile's boat ran to him with offers of help. Meldon gripped Langton by the collar of the coat and lifted him over the side of the yacht into the water.
"Take him," he said, "and stand him up on the pier beside the other blackguard."
He stepped over the side himself.
"I expect the boat has a hole in her," he said to three of the men who still waited. "You had better get the anchor on shore and make it fast. If she goes adrift on us now, she'll sink."
He waded ashore, went to the pier and greeted Mr. Willoughby.
"Sorry I hustled you this morning," he said. "It seemed the only thing to do at the time."
"I don't mind being hustled in the least," said Mr. Willoughby. "Living the kind of quiet, monotonous life a Chief Secretary does live, I'm sure a hustle now and then is good for me."
"It's very kind of you to say so. Sure you don't mind coming ashore in your pyjamas?"
"Not a bit. I rather enjoy it for a change. But I'd greatly like to know what this is all about."
"I never," said Meldon, "saw pyjamas just that particular shade of pink before. Where do you get them?"
"They're Irish manufacture, if that's what you're driving at. I daren't wear anything else even at night. But you haven't told me yet"
"Oh, that's a long story."
"I'm sure it must be. Perhaps you'd rather put off telling it till after breakfast?"
"Not at all," said Meldon. "It's not so long as that. Oh, here's Father Mulcrone. Didn't you get the Major?"
"He wouldn't come ashore," said Father Mulcrone. "He didn't seem to care about meeting the Chief Secretary."
"Oh, the geological survey, I suppose," said Meldon. "That's all over and done with; isn't it, Mr. Willoughby?"
"Quite," said Mr. Willoughby. "It lies buried in a remote past. Things move so rapidly on this island that the affairs of yesterday are prehistoric before we are dressed this morning. Besides, a geological survey is nothing compared to the—the pragmatist method by which you roused us from our berths. Why did you give us the idea that something was on fire?"
"Because I wanted you to prevent Sir Giles Buckley from sailing off in the Aureole."
"I gathered that from the way you spoke at the time. But please tell me why you wanted to stop him."
Meldon glanced at the dripping Sir Giles. He was most unwilling to tell the story of the gold which lay in the Aureoles cabin. He wondered whether Sir Giles could be counted on to back up a version of the morning's adventure in which no mention of the treasure appeared.
"You may not know that that boat"—he indicated the Aureole with his thumb—"is rotten. Everything in her is rotten except the anchor chain."
"Yes?" said Mr. Willoughby.
"Well," said Meldon, "that explains what you want to know, doesn't it?"
"Not quite. I'm stupid, I suppose; but as a matter of fact it doesn't explain anything to me."
"Don't you see that if Sir Giles had gone to sea in a rotten boat with the wind that's blowing to-day, he'd have been drowned to a certainty?"
"Oh," said Mr. Willoughby, "you wanted to save him from drowning."
"Him and his friend."
"But, as well as I could make out, you flung him into the sea."
"Quite so," said Meldon. "There wasn't anything else to do. Was there, Father Mulcrone?"
"There was not," said the priest. "The man was dancing on my knuckles and trying to kick my face."
"I suppose he must have very much wanted to be drowned," said Mr. Willoughby.
"Well, I wouldn't go as far as that," said Meldon. "But there's no use taking up these speculative questions. Where's Higginbotham?"
"He must be asleep still," said Mr. Willoughby.
"Dear me," said Meldon; "that's a pity now. Higginbotham is just the man who might have helped to clear things up."
"I don't know if it interests any of you"—it was Sir Giles Buckley who spoke—"but you're listening to a pack of damned lies."
"I wish," said Meldon, "that you'd try and break yourself of that habit of swearing, Sir Giles. I think I've mentioned it to you before."
"Of course," said Mr. Willoughby, "it's no business of mine. Still, I should like very much to understand what all this fuss has been about. Perhaps, Father Mulcrone, you may be able to throw a little light on it."
"Not a bit," said the priest. "All I know is that the gentleman there who seems to be catching his death of cold"
"So am I, for that matter," said Mr. Willoughby.
"I see," said the priest, "that the men have come up from your boat, Mr. Meldon. They seem rather angry about something. Old Thomas O'Flaherty is talking to them hot and strong and he's pointing this way. Perhaps we'd better go somewhere else before entering on an explanation."
"Right," said Meldon. "Higginbotham's tin house is handy. Let's go there. It would do Higginbotham good to be made to get out of bed."
"I should prefer the Granuaile myself," said Mr. Willoughby. "I'd like to get into a suit of clothes."
"Right," said Meldon. "It's all the same to me. In fact, of the two I rather prefer the Granuaile. I don't expect Higginbotham could rise to much in the way of breakfast for this party. We'd better take Sir Giles and Langton with us. Those fellows at the other end of the pier are looking rather nasty, and I happen to know that I'm not the man they want to kill."
"It can't be me," said Mr. Willoughby.
"It is not you," said Meldon. "Nor it's not Father Mulcrone. It's Sir Giles. That's the reason I said we ought to take him with us. But before we start I think you should make the men a speech, Mr. Willoughby. It might quiet them down."
"A speech! Good gracious! What about?"
"Oh, anything. The University question, or the intentions of the Government about the land, or Devolution. Yes, Devolution would be the proper thing. It would turn their minds away from Sir Giles and Langton. Try them with Devolution."
"Get into the boat," said Mr. Willoughby. "I can't stand on this pier and make a speech in my pyjamas."
"No? Perhaps not. Well, you have a go at them, Father Mulcrone. You won't? I suppose we'd better not turn on Sir Giles. He might make them more irritable. I'll have to do it myself, though I must say it's rather hard on me. I'm the one of the party who has worked hardest during the night. I can't tell you how trying it is to have to roll about in the dark with your hands and feet tied."
The Chief Secretary and Father Mulcrone remonstrated with him vigorously. He yielded to them so far as to forbear making a speech, but he insisted on having a word in private with Mary Kate.
Taking the child out of earshot, he said to her—
"Mary Kate, go you to your grandda and tell him this from me: If there's anything that belongs to him in that yacht let him get it out of her and away with it before we come on shore again. Do you understand me now?"
Mary Kate nodded, grinning. Meldon joined Mr. Willoughby and Father Mulcrone in the Granuaile's boat. Sir Giles and Langton eyed the men who were standing in a group at the far end of the pier and then followed Meldon.
"You're right to come with us," said Meldon. "Old Thomas O'Flaherty is looking uncommon wicked, and you can't altogether blame him. He's working the rest of them up. I don't think that Inishgowlan will be exactly a safe island for you to picnic on, Sir Giles; not for a few weeks anyhow."
"I'm becoming more and more curious," said Mr. Willoughby. "I want a key to the mysteries which surround me. I'm a little anxious, too. If ever we get back to civilisation we may find ourselves in a police-court. Don't mix me up in anything criminal if you can help it, Mr. Meldon. Consider my position as Chief Secretary."
"You're pledged," said Father Mulcrone with a grin, "to the preservation of law and order in Ireland."
"It's all right," said Meldon. "I'll keep your name out of the business as far as I can. Father Mulcrone and I will take whatever blame there is."
"I won't take any blame," said the priest. "I know nothing about what's going on, either good or bad."
"You'll have to," said Meldon, "whether you like it or not. It's your parish, so of course you're responsible if anything goes wrong."