The Dancing Druids

Chapter Nineteen

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‘Then the soldier went out and told the people to take up the square stone in the market-place and dig for water underneath.’

Ibid. (The Crows and the Soldier)

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In spite of Gascoigne’s uneasiness on his cousin’s behalf, the long period of waiting made him drowsy, for it was well after midnight when the sound of boots on the shingle attracted O’Hara’s attention.

He touched his cousin, and Gascoigne, who had been more than half asleep, roused himself and they listened. The footsteps approached them and then stopped, and a torch began to flicker like a will o’ the wisp over the shingle.

Then round the point beyond the eastern end of the bay came the masthead light of a vessel. A lamp from the ship winked twice, went out, winked twice and again went out, this time for good, and the masthead light disappeared.

Gascoigne and O’Hara watched and still waited. The torch repeated what was undoubtedly a signal, and then was switched off. No word was spoken, the boots returned by the way they had come, and all was quiet again.

Nothing more happened for about three-quarters of an hour. Then there came the sound of voices muted by distance, and, shortly after that, the sound of oars. A boat was pulled up on to the shingle where the road came almost to the sea, and men began to tramp up the beach.

It was impossible to see them in the darkness. Apparently they knew their way well, for, black though the night was, none of them carried a torch.

The watchers—or, rather, the audience, for there was nothing to see—heard them leave the shingle and step up on to the road, and then there was nothing else to hear but the drag of the tide on the beach.

‘Wonder if anyone is left in charge of the boat?’ O’Hara muttered.

‘It wouldn’t be more than one man,’ replied his cousin, alive to the implications of this question.

‘Scrag him?’

‘I think so. No light indicates no good. And why that signalling?’

‘You’d think the coastguards would spot it.’

‘I should hardly think they would see. It was very discreet. We’d hardly have seen it ourselves if we hadn’t happened to be just where we are. Come on.’

‘He’ll hear us as soon as we move, but never mind.’

‘That’s if anyone’s there. There may not be. Keep by the cliff, and mind how you go. It’s a booby-trap walk in the dark.’

By keeping close to the cliff they found that the shingle was not quite so liable to slide away under their feet. They advanced by inches, testing each step before they took it. No sound came from the boat, and they began to think that it was indeed unoccupied; but as they drew nearer to where the cliff dropped to the road, a voice from the water said softly :

‘Thought you was never flippin’ well comin’. Get a move on! I can’t ruddy well stop here all night.’

‘Sh!’ said Gascoigne, with the loud hiss of a jet of escaping steam. He and O’Hara stepped on to the road and strode towards the edge of the water. ‘Where are you?’ O’Hara demanded, as the gunwale of the boat made a dark mass suddenly before him.

‘ ’Ere!’ said the man in the boat; but he was throttled into silence by O’Hara before he could say any more.

‘Quiet, you!’ murmured Gascoigne into his ear. He pricked the man’s chin with the point of his pocket-knife. ‘One bleat, and you’ll get this in your neck. Now, then, who are you, and what’s the game?’

‘Oo’re you?’ grumbled the man. ‘What’s your game?’

‘Oh, don’t be a fool! The boss sent us,’ said Gascoigne, upon inspiration. ‘Somebody’s mucking it up, and he wants to know why.’

‘Then he’d better ask Mr. Cassius,’ said the man. ‘Mr. Cassius’ orders is as good as his, any day, I reckon. We got to get some young feller as is dossin’ down at the ’otel. He give us the number of his room.’

‘Well, you get out of it,’ said Gascoigne, ‘and go and fetch the B’s back. Those orders are countermanded.’

He and O’Hara seized the man and bundled him over the side; then they shoved off, scrambled aboard, put the oars in the rowlocks, and, pleased with the form which the adventure appeared to have taken, rowed out to sea.

The tide was still onshore, but would turn in less than an hour. They had nothing to guide them, but they had a clear idea of the shape of the bay, and, after a brief discussion, they decided to go to the cave. Somewhere off the headland lay the ship which had signalled the boat, but how big she was, and how many men she had on board, and what they were to do if and when they gained the cave, they had not the faintest idea. Gascoigne was happy. Mrs. Bradley had foreseen that his cousin might be attacked at the hotel, and, by sending him down to the beach, she had put that particular experiment out of court.

‘Up the old lady!’ thought Gascoigne.

‘Let’s lie off a bit, and see what happens when those fellows get back and find the boat gone,’ said O’Hara. ‘It can’t be long before that fellow contacts them and lets them know what has happened.’

They lay offshore for forty minutes or so, but no sound came from the beach, and at last they were forced to conclude that the men had not intended to return to the boat, or else that the loss of the boat had brought about an alteration in plan.

‘But they’ll have to signal the ship again, I should think,’ remarked O’Hara; and almost upon these words they saw a signal go up from the beach at the point, as nearly as they could guess it, from which their boat had put off.

‘Three flashes,’ said Gascoigne, dipping his oars (for the tide by this time had turned, and was drifting them farther out to sea and towards the ship) and giving the short shallow strokes which the circumstances seemed to demand. ‘Now, where will they get the answer?’

But no answer came, and the young men deduced from this that the ship was now hidden behind the headland, and must be off a lonely stretch of the coast on the east of the bay.

‘It won’t be healthy, once the day breaks,’ said Gascoigne, his anxieties suddenly returning. ‘What do you think we ought to do?’

‘Capture the ship, like that idiot Jim Hawkins,’ said O’Hara. ‘This is a smuggling gang. There doesn’t seem much doubt about that. The thing is to find out what they are smuggling, if we can. And, further to that, a great light dawns on me.’

‘It will dawn on both of us in about another couple of hours,’ observed Gascoigne. ‘Nevertheless, say on. And pull on your left oar a little. We’re drifting too far and too fast.’

‘I rather think,’ said O’Hara, ‘that Mrs. Bradley is trying to clear this smuggling gang out of the way. They have nothing to do with the murder of my stout party down on the farm, and they’re cluttering up the enquiry. What do you say to that?’

Gascoigne thought it over, and then proceeded to discredit it, and the two young men might have gone on until the morning alternately dipping their oars and discussing this no longer intelligent and barely tenable theory, but that there came a sudden break in their tranquillity. This took the form of their seeing distress signals fired from some point beyond the headland.

‘A Verey light pistol?’ suggested O’Hara. ‘Anyway, someone in trouble.’

‘Rockets, I think,’ said his cousin, as the night was again pierced. ‘It might be from that same ship. If so, I wonder what’s happened? There’s not much of a sea running, and she was a long way out. She must have tried a quick run in, and fouled the rocks.’

‘Out of control, perhaps. Come on, we’d better get to the cave and see whether they’ve started running the stuff, or whether this alters their plans.’

They bent to their oars. It was not much further to the cave, and as they came opposite its entrance they could see a light within its depths. The ship which was signalling for help lay farther over to the west, and was carrying all her navigation lights. She was nowhere near any rocks, and might have been a couple of miles offshore. As they came in sight of her—for her flares lit up her hull sufficiently to allow her to be seen for an instant—she released several more flares in quick succession.

‘I say,’ said O’Hara, as they rested on their oars, ‘I’ve had another hunch. I think those signals may be fakes, and they’re going to run the smuggled stuff when they’ve drawn off the lifeboat, and attracted the attention of the coastguards away from the headland. The lifeboat will be bound to put out, and all attention will be centred on the wreck. There’ll be two ships out there, I’d bet a pound, this one with lights and the other lying closer to the shore and further west—in fact, between this one and the cave. It’s not a bad scheme, and I’d like to foil it.’

‘Then in we go,’ said Gascoigne. ‘This is amazing good fun! Ship your oars. We must quant her in.’

‘There’s only one boathook,’ said O’Hara, ‘so I’ll use an oar as a quant-pole. Good thing we’ve been in before. Oh, no, I forgot. You haven’t, so I’ll give the orders. Go easy, now. We’re almost on to the rocks.’

The mad project of entering the cave in pitch darkness was safely accomplished. Once in, the cousins found themselves in a blackness so unrelieved—for the light at the further end had disappeared—that it was almost a necessity to glance back, as Gascoigne did once or twice, to the almost luminous sea at the mouth of the cave.

‘I’ll use my torch in spurts,’ said O’Hara. ‘That should help us a bit. We must trust to luck nobody sees it. There’s nobody here at present. We’re in luck.’

He switched on his torch and disclosed that they were far enough into the cave for the rocky path to be discerned above the water-line on the port side of their boat. Quanting the boat against the outrunning tide was heavy work, and they were glad to be able to tie up. This they did, to the rock pinnacle for which, for some time, O’Hara groped in vain.

‘Sure proof the cave’s what we think it is,’ murmured Gascoigne. ‘I wish I’d come in with you before. I’d no idea it had been such grand fun. How is she for depth, by the way?’

‘Very nearly aground. We couldn’t get in any further.’

‘Good enough.’ Gascoigne switched off the torch which he had placed on the ground to light the moorings, and put it back into his pocket. ‘Let’s listen a minute.’

But they could still hear nothing but the sound of the sea at the cave-mouth, and they thought it safe to use their torches again as they walked with great caution into the deep interior of the cave.

At last they found that they had penetrated beyond the tide-mark, and, as they began to ascend, there came to their nostrils the smell of petrol from the garage.

‘Off torches!’ whispered O’Hara. ‘We’re almost underneath them. Better take cover whilst we listen.’

He had already become aware of a suitable hiding-place. This had been unexpectedly provided. Since he, Mrs. Bradley and Laura had been inside the cave, three very tall packing-cases had been placed there. A man six feet high could easily take cover behind the smallest without being seen, even if he stood up on tiptoe.

‘Now I wonder what’s in them?’ muttered Gascoigne. ‘And I wonder how soon they’ll be shifted? Any minute now. I suppose—or are they smugglers depending on our boat?’

‘Shut up!’ whispered his cousin, whose sharper ears had caught a sound unconnected with the booming of the sea. ‘I think somebody’s coming down from the garage above. Stand ready!’

Whilst O’Hara and Gascoigne were proving their blood and mettle, Mrs. Bradley’s discreet but equally bold and mettlesome nephew, accompanied by George, Mrs. Bradley’s chauffeur, had come to Slepe Rock, but had failed to contact the Irishmen, who, by this time, were out in the borrowed rowing-boat.

Denis had left the car—to George’s mute regret—in a lane about a mile from the beach, and the two had come on foot to Slepe Rock. The hotel was in darkness, the inhabitants of the cottages asleep, and the road rough, stony and not at all easy to follow.

‘I can’t see how we get hold of these fellows,’ said Denis. ‘Anyhow, everything seems quiet. What do you suppose my aunt had in her mind?’

‘I don’t think anything definite, sir,’ replied George. ‘If, on the beach, we don’t contact the gentlemen, I should suppose it is up to us to formulate a plan of campaign.’

‘Yes, but who are the enemy, dash it? You can’t campaign without an enemy. Who are the party of the other part?’

‘It passes me to say, sir, but I have my suspicions of that pull-in for coaches a little further up, near the hotel. I take it that madam has told you of our geological expedition?’

‘The cave? Oh, yes. All right, then, George. Look here! Let’s go and break into the place, and see what we can discover. What do you say?’

‘Very good, sir,’ replied the sober man. ‘If I may say so, it would be an anti-traumatic act, and, as such, it would please me greatly.’

‘The war has altered our outlook, don’t you think, George?’ Denis enquired, amused and delighted by the man’s acceptance of the scheme.

‘Not so much altered it as enhanced it, sir, perhaps.’

‘You mean we’re all thugs at heart? It’s very likely, and seems an inspiring thought. Anyway, here we go. Have you any suggestions to offer before we muscle up?’

‘Yes, sir. I think perhaps the indirect method would be the most successful. I will go back to where we left the car, and there, with your permission, I can effect some trifling mishap to the engine. Nothing to hurt, sir, of course. Then we can put on a bold face, knock up the people at the little shack and ask for a garage hand to help us. Even if help is refused, we may get a look at the place. It is better than a direct storming of the beach-head, sir, I think.’

‘Right, George. You go and nobble the car, then, and I’ll have a look round on the beach for those two lads of Irishmen. I wonder where they’ve got to by this time? Might be anywhere. I’ve no idea what their plans were, if any.’

‘From an elementary knowledge of the Irish temperament, sir, I should be inclined to suppose that by this time they are in the thick of whatever is going on. Irishmen are not so much born to trouble, sir, as born to look for it, irrespective of whether the sparks fly upward or not.’

George went back to the car and Denis onward to the beach. Denis was both elated and satisfied ; elated with a sense of adventure all too seldom experienced since the war, and satisfied with the hiding-place which he and George had found for the iron box which had been pulled up out of the circle of standing stones.

The beach, at first glance, seemed deserted. Then he was aware of a groaning noise not very far to his right. He stepped on to the dirty shingle and began to explore. It might be one of the Irishmen in trouble, or it might be one of their victims, he reflected. In view of the groans, he was inclined to the latter view, and so went warily, not knowing whether he might be ambushed as he approached.

‘Where are you?’ he called. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Boss, there was all five of ’em. Five on to one,’ groaned the voice. ‘And me not doing nothing but me plain duty, as anyone but suckers might know.’

‘Are you hurt?’ demanded Denis.

‘Boss, they’ve pretty near done for me, I reckon. I couldn’t ’elp it if the boat was took while I was laid out bleedin’ on the beach!’

‘Nonsense, man!’ said Denis vigorously. ‘Get up, and don’t be a fool!’

It did not surprise him to hear a scrabbling sound on the shingle, followed by the noise of heavy boots beneath whose impact the shingle began to shudder away.

‘Where are you’ boss?‘ asked the voice.

‘Here!’ said Denis, flinging himself suddenly sideways, and not too soon, for a draught past his ear was followed by a tinkle of metal falling on to the stones.

‘You rat!’ he said, leaping forward. The man was taken unawares. Denis was fairly light, but was young and tough. The impact with the shingle as he went to ground with his man sent pins and needles up his arm, but he had made his kill. He got up and the man stayed down.

‘You beauty!’ said Denis. He picked the man’s head up and bounced it on the shingle for luck, and then stared out to sea to where a ship was making signals of distress.

‘Hullo,’ he thought, ‘someone in trouble. I suppose the coastguards will spot the flares, but just in case they don’t…’

He turned, wading over the shingle. It would be necessary to contact George, but the first consideration must be to give the alarm. He raced along the road to the hotel. There was no night-porter, but one of the servants, in his dressing-gown, answered the bell.

Denis cut short his announcement that it was too late to take in travellers, and informed him of the wreck. The man left him standing at the door, and hurried back into the house to arouse the landlord. He was obviously more excited than upset.

It seemed to Denis that he had done what he could for the ship, and that his duty was now to George and the car, and to Mrs. Bradley’s errand. It occurred to him, too, that, if he were quick enough, he might be in time to prevent George from disabling the engine, for it would be easy enough to arouse the whole village, the men at the pull-in included, with the news of a wreck in the bay. From Denis reading he had deduced that such tidings brought every soul in the village on to the beach, if only to salvage the cargo. He was anxious to avoid putting the car out of action unnecessarily, for it was not good tactics, he felt, for George and himself to handicap their chances of escape by nobbling their own transport. He was light on his feet and in good shape. He ran up the road at twelve miles an hour, and caught George before the latter had reached the car.

He gave him the news. George, glad enough to leave the car intact, for she was his pride and joy, returned with him to the pull-in. There was no doubt of the excitement in the small village at the news of the wreck, but when Denis hammered at the door of the shack a light went on, and a fully-dressed man with a smear of white across the sleeve of his dark blue suit, opened up with an oath, and demanded to know what in hell had gone wrong now. Denis was greatly disappointed to find the place still occupied, but he spoke up cheerfully.

‘All right! All right! There’s a ship on the rocks in the bay. Can you go and help?—or tell me whom to send?’

‘Get out, you—!’ said the man, as he slammed the door.

George pulled at Denis’ arm.

‘Come on, sir,’ he said. ‘That fellow has come from the cave. Did you spot the limestone on his sleeve? They’re running the stuff to-night, whatever it is. I should think we could leave ’em to the coastguards. They’ll never get by if boats are all going off to a ship in distress. They’re absolutely sure to be spotted, and smuggling was one thing that madam suspected from here.’

‘I do want to see that inspection-pit in the garage of the pull-in,’ said Denis, with deceptive mildness. ‘Come on, George. Let’s go. Even the wreck may be a put-up job. I wouldn’t put much past the brains of men that my aunt thinks it’s worth while to try and outwit, don’t you know,’

Shaking his head in a middle-aged manner which indicated that he thought the plan ill-advised, George followed him across the yard to where stood the double doors of the garage belonging to the pull-in.

‘Now,’ said Denis, producing a small electric torch, ‘I wonder how much one can see?’ He shone the torch into the crack between the double doors, and tried to squint through the opening.

‘Dash!’ he began; but he stopped at the sound of a whistle.

‘Look out, sir!’ said George. Both shot away from the doors and took cover at the side of the garage. At the same instant a broad shaft of light came across the yard from the shack. A man stood silhouetted against the light as the door was flung open, and the whistle apparently was still at his lips, for he blew it before the man who had opened to Denis’ knock reached out and pulled him inside again. The door of the shack slammed shut, and the yard was in darkness once more.

‘Now’s our chance, sir, I think!’ muttered George. ‘They’ll be out here again in a minute.’ He drew a large file from his pocket, inserted one end between the doors of the garage and gave a sinewy jerk. The doors came open towards him. He and Denis went in, and Denis pulled the doors to.

‘Odd they weren’t padlocked,’ he said.

‘Lends colour to what we think, sir,’ George responded. ‘They get to the cave this way, and back to the shack. The mistress imagined—here’s the inspection pit, you see, sir—that the little cottage which stood here used to have a cellar, and that the cellar was connected with the cave.’

‘Then the cottage itself originally formed part of an inn, I daresay,’ said Denis. ‘A cottage would hardly have a cellar. It’s not as though it’s built on a hill. Come on, George, let’s go down.’ He looked into the empty pit. ‘It’s obvious it’s still a cellar. Look, you can see the steps.’

‘I would suggest, sir,’ said George, ‘that you don’t venture into that rat-trap minus the means of self-defence. Here, sir, catch hold of this spanner. I’ve got my big file for myself. I think… ’

‘Hands up!’ said a voice from the doorway.

‘Jump, sir!’ said George, suiting his own actions to this advice, and disappearing with some suddenness from view.