CHAPTER XXII
THE SCARLET PATCH
It seemed to me that everybody in Middlebourne was down there on the beach; certainly all the people most concerned with Pepita and myself were there—Keziah, Captain Marigold, Cherry, Veller, Miss Ellingham, with Bryce at her heels and Carsie not far away. Tom Scripture and his lad, and perhaps more interesting and significant than any of them, just then at any rate, Major Cottam and his two bloodhounds. And there were all the fishermen in the place; they, under Tom Scripture’s directions, were fitting out a big boat by the light of glaring naptha lamps. But they, like all the rest, crowded around us as we tumbled out of Perrin’s trap, and for some minutes they all talked together, pouring out questions innumerable and confusing us beyond chance of intelligent reply. I turned hopelessly from one to another, and Miss Ellingham, who had the trick of commanding attention, raised her voice.
“Let the lad speak!” she exclaimed. “How can he get in a word if you’re all crowding on him in that way! Where have you been, Ben, you and Pepita?—and where have you sprung from now?”
I looked from the eager faces about me into the darkness beyond and pointed in the direction of our recent prison.
“We’ve come from Melsie Island!” I said. “Got away through the kindness of a man who came near it with his steamer this afternoon. We were kidnapped at the Shooting Star by Getch and Krevin” (I wasn’t going to call him Uncle Joseph any longer, after the events of that day!) “and carried off to the island two nights ago. And listen, because you must do something—quick! Getch is dead!—murdered!—and Krevin’s somewhere on the island still, and he’s armed. And Mandhu Khan’s there, too—I believe he’s after Krevin, or Krevin’s after him—I don’t know which, but I guess there’ll be more murder if you don’t get across there, though very likely there’s been more murder done already. And your vase is there, Miss Ellingham, and your Indian images, and they’re all smashed to pieces, and I’ve collected the pieces and hidden them. And that’s all—except to add that I think some of you might have come across there to search for us before now!—you don’t know what we’ve gone through!”
I threw some indignation and bitterness into those last words, and I got a murmur of sympathetic assent from the fringe of the crowd, and a backing-up from one of the fishermen, who turned looks of contempt on the principals.
“What did I tell ’ee?” he vociferated triumphantly. “Didn’t I say as how they med be found across to Melsie Island?—didn’t I say ’twas a likely spot?—and didn’t ye all turn up your noses at the notion, and say there was nothen there to goo for? Didn’t I”
But Cherry had got hold of my elbow and was drawing me aside, and Captain Marigold had got Pepita away and was questioning her.
“Why did those two kidnap you, Ben?” asked Cherry. “Put it in a word or two—we must get a straight line about things!”
“Because we dropped on Krevin at the Shooting Star,” I answered. “Tracked him there! Then, of course, they locked us up, and afterwards, at night, they carried us off to the island—that’s why!”
“And the stolen things?—the vase and the images?—they had them?” he suggested.
“Krevin had them—has had them all along,” I said. “They went to the island, he and Getch, so they could get away with them. But Krevin’s had an accident with them to-day—fell over a wall, and smashed the lot. Still, the pieces are there. Hidden—by me. And there’s some mystery about those images, and it’s my belief Mandhu Khan is there because of it.”
“He didn’t go with you?—he’s not in league with Krevin?” he asked.
“He didn’t come there with us—I don’t know what his relations are with Krevin,” I replied. “I believe he’s tracking Krevin. I think he’s a boat somewhere on the island, and he’ll probably get off in it, if you aren’t quick across. Why were you starting out now?”
“We got a message, not long since, from an airman,” he answered. “He’d flown along the coast line this afternoon, to Calmouth, and in passing Melsie Island he saw two figures waving to him”
“That was Pepita and me,” I said.
“Evidently! And after landing at Calmouth he read the account of your disappearance in the Kingshaven evening papers, so he put two and two together and telephoned to the police here,” continued Cherry. “But now—you say Getch is dead?—murdered! Who murdered him?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” I exclaimed. “I’m fed up with that sort of thing and getting callous about it! Either Krevin or Mandhu Khan murdered him—early this morning, I think. And I guess that by this time either Krevin’ll have settled the Hindu, or the Hindu’ll have settled him—and you’d better get off there if you want to do things!”
“We’re going at once,” he said, “and you’ll come with us, of course. Major Cottam’s going to take his bloodhounds. Now listen—is there anything there, any garments, belongings, or so on, of Krevin’s or Mandhu Khan’s that he can put the hounds on to?”
“There are some things of Krevin’s, and some rugs he lay on, in an old tower there,” I answered, remembering that these things had been untouched by the fire. “I don’t know of anything belonging to Mandhu Khan.”
He muttered something about Krevin being the man he wanted, and went off to Major Cottam. Miss Ellingham, who, with Carsie and Keziah, had been listening to the conversation between us, turned on me.
“What did you really see of Mandhu Khan, Ben?” she asked anxiously. “I can’t think that he’s associated with all this murder business! Tell me!”
I told her all I knew of the Hindu. And what I told her seemed to relieve her a good deal. She nodded at Carsie.
“I think I begin to see through it!—as regards Mandhu Khan,” she said. “If Carsie had only told me that he once saw Mandhu Khan worshipping those images”
“Bowing and scraping before them, ma’am, he most certainly was,” interrupted Carsie, respectfully. “Same as if they were live things, ma’am!—made me feel uncomfortable to see him!”
“Yes, well, if I’d known that, I should have either given them to him, outright, or removed them,” continued Miss Ellingham. “I daresay Mandhu Khan recognised them as sacred things, and I feel sure that having found out, somehow, that Krevin had stolen them, or become possessed of them, he’s tracked Krevin in order to regain them. They’re certainly of no intrinsic value—as the Kang-he vase is.”
I thought of the curious cavities in the broken images—and kept my tongue quiet, on that point. But on another I spoke.
“Do you know where you got those images, Miss Ellingham?” I asked.
“Oh, yes!” she answered, readily—and carelessly. “They were given me, like lots of things I have, by a patient of mine, in India. They’d once belonged to some great Indian prince—rajah or Maharajah. But I’m sure they’re of no value in themselves—it’s a superstitious reverence that Mandhu Khan has for them.”
Cherry called me just then: the boat and its crew were ready. As I started forward to join them, Keziah, wonderfully silent for her up to that point, gripped my elbow.
“Here’s your best overcoat, Ben,” she whispered. “When I heard they were going to seek for you, I brought it down. And Ben!—there’s a packet of sandwiches in one pocket and a drop of good port wine in a bottle in another—and Ben, if you come across him over there, tell him from me that if he ever dares to darken our door again”
She shook her head, as if mere words were insufficient to express her feelings as regards Uncle Joseph, and I, leaving Pepita in charge of her father, after having openly kissed her right in front of Bryce Ellingham (which episode afforded me huge satisfaction and delight) hastened into the boat: a moment later, we were shoved off by a score of brawny fellows, who doubtless wished they were going with us. But we had a quite sufficient force—Veller and his sergeant, Cherry, Major Cottam and his hounds, Tom Scripture, and three or four fishermen, one of whom was a man whose small boat had disappeared the previous night, and who was anxious to see if it had been stolen by Mandhu Khan, who, of course, must have had some means of crossing over to the island.
I got Cherry into a corner of the stern, away from the rest, when we were fairly under way, and told him more than I had told before, and especially about my discovery of the broken articles.
“Miss Ellingham,” I remarked, “said just now that those Indian images aren’t of any value in themselves, and that Mandhu Khan has only gone after them because they’re probably sacred objects to him. But how does she know that? Perhaps they’re of more value than she thinks? Anyway, there’s one feature about both that’s queer—at least, I thought so. They’re not hollow, but in each, now that they’re broken, there’s a cavity. It’s as if the cavities had held some small objects. And I’m sure from what I saw that while one of the images had been broken when Krevin fell over the wall, on his bag, the other had been deliberately cut in two with a knife! It’s softish stuff those images are made of.”
“Odd!” murmured Cherry. “How big are these cavities?”
“Big enough to hold—well, say a thrush’s egg,” I replied. “Smoothed out, too. I’m certain they’ve held something or other. But you’ll see for yourself when we reach the island—I hid the bag, where I can lay hands on it, any time.”
It was nearing midnight when Tom Scripture and his mates brought us up on the north beach—not very far away from the old landing-stage at which, forty-eight hours before, Pepita and I had arrived with Getch and Krevin. Once ashore, we held a conference, in which I, as the one man of knowledge and experience, figured pretty prominently. I pointed out to the rest that as far as I knew, Krevin and the Hindu were still on the island; that Krevin was certainly, and Mandhu Khan probably, in possession of firearms, and that each, if still bent on mischief, was in a position to hold us at a disadvantage while the darkness lasted. Eventually we decided to do nothing in the way of search until dawn broke—but in the meantime, leaving a couple of armed fishermen in charge of the boat, I took my companions to the rocks by which Getch’s dead body lay, and stood by while some of them examined it. I had said nothing to Cherry about the gold which had once been in Getch’s pockets, and I was not going to—it had served an excellent purpose, that gold, and the fact of its existence was going to be a secret for ever between me and the friendly skipper. And nobody asked any questions as to whether, at my first discovery of him, I had found anything on Getch: the only observation made about him was one by Major Cottam, who had had experience of India and the East in his time, and remarked to Cherry that Getch’s death wound looked to him as if it had been made with some particular sort of knife carried by a certain tribe or sect of Hindus.
Cherry was puzzled about Mandhu Khan, and as he and I sat on the beach, a little apart from the others, waiting for the dawn, he made me tell him, over again, about the coming of the Hindu to the window of our prison at the Shooting Star, and about my first knowledge of his presence on the island.
“I daresay there’s a good deal in Miss Ellingham’s notion that Mandhu Khan has been after those images because of a superstitious reverence for them,” he remarked. “But that doesn’t explain everything. If Mandhu Khan killed Getch—which seems uncommonly likely—was it because he thought Getch might have the images on him?”
“Can’t think of any other reason,” I answered. “Nor of any other for his tracking Krevin—as he certainly was doing.”
“And you think it was Mandhu Khan who made Getch’s boat useless?” he asked.
“Who else?” I said with conviction. “Getch wouldn’t make a hole in his own boat! And Krevin wouldn’t, either—he might have wanted it. It must have been Mandhu Khan’s work, that—and he must have a boat himself, at the far end of the island—how else would he get here or get away again?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt he stole a boat from Middlebourne last night,” said Cherry. “One disappeared, anyway, and he must have got it.”
“And he’s probably away again in it, by this time,” I said. “There was nothing to stop him!”
“Except Krevin!” he remarked. “Don’t forget Krevin! You say Krevin had an automatic pistol on him? However—we’ll get those bloodhounds to work, soon as it’s light.”
The dawn came at last—right across the expanse of grey water that stretched between us and the mainland, north-east of the island. And as the first gleams of morning increased in strength above the edge of the island hills we stirred into action, going up to the tower first, in order to put the bloodhounds on the scent of Uncle Joseph Krevin. I was weary enough as the result of my adventure during what was practically a continuous stretch of three nights and days, but I confess I felt a thrill of excitement at the notion of a man-hunt. And when, the hounds having been introduced to certain articles of Krevin’s ownership, still remaining in the tower, they made a line out-door again and towards the ruins of the old abbey, I woke up to the joyful possibility of seeing the hypocritical old villain tracked down by these creatures, whose big, solemn-looking heads, red eyes, and formidable bulk would, I know, strike terror to his heart.
The hounds went slowly, but with sure readiness, across the spaces amongst the masses of fallen masonry and through the ruins until they came to the gap in the wall above the moat whereat I had made my discovery the previous afternoon. They went over that, and into the dip below, across that, after a little hesitancy, and then into the covert beyond. And having heard from Major Cottam that it is in the nature of these uncanny animals to work slowly, and feeling sure that we should not lose touch with them, I drew Cherry back when the others went on, and led him to the spot whereat I had secreted the old bag. And there, being by ourselves, I took out the pieces of the Kang-he vase and the broken images and laid them on the bank before him. He paid no attention to the remains of the vase, beyond to remark that he supposed they could be put together again, but he looked long and carefully at the other things.
“Those holes look as if they’d been made on purpose, Ben,” he remarked thoughtfully. “It isn’t as if they were caused by a sudden cooling of the figures when they were fashioned. Seems to me as if there’d been something in these holes—as if the images were merely, well, shall we say receptacles for the something? But this much is evident—that particular figure has been broken accidentally, no doubt, when the vase was, but this hasn’t! This has been cut in two, partly, at any rate, with a strong knife—not over keen-edged.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “The marks are plain.”
“Well, and that helps us to reconstruct things,” he continued. “Let’s put it this way—to get out of the way of the Hindu, Krevin takes his bag, containing the Kang-he vase and the two images, and sets off from the tower. Getting over the wall of this moat, he has a fall, and, being a clumsily built man, comes down on his bag, and smashes its contents. He opens the bag, to ascertain the extent of the damage, and he finds that the vase is broken, and one of the images—one, mind you, not the other! But in a cavity in the one that’s broken he finds something that he never expected to find—something rare—something valuable—and he immediately partly cuts, partly breaks open, the other image, and finds—probably its counterpart! What it is, what these things are, we don’t know, but they satisfy him so much that he pockets them, chucks the broken vase, the images, and the bag aside as of no further interest or value to him, and goes on his way! Now let’s see if the hounds are still on his track!”
We went up through the covert. When we emerged on the other side, hounds and men were still going steadily ahead. They were half-way across the moorland by that time, progressing towards the cliffs that overlooked the south beach: we went after them.
“This is the very way by which I saw the Hindu go yesterday afternoon,” I remarked, as we crossed the undulating surface. “He was good to follow. He’d got English clothes on, but he was wearing his turban, and it has a good-sized patch of bright scarlet in it.”
“Scarlet’s a very noticeable colour,” said Cherry, nodding. “You can see it a mile off! I’ve often thought what asses they were in the old days to make soldiers wear”
He suddenly paused, clutching my arm and pointing to something in a deep gully on our right. And, following the direction of his fingers, I saw the very thing we were talking about—a patch of scarlet, bright and glowing, in the heather, thirty yards away. Without another word, but exchanging significant glances, we crept gently and slowly towards this scarlet patch. We moved, but it was motionless. And suddenly Cherry moved more quickly, and I after him, and presently we found ourselves standing by the Hindu, who lay on his back, his hands clutching at his breast, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes, open but glazed, staring straight upwards at the morning sky.