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The boys glanced sharply at the place where the water flowed, but there was nothing now but a feeble trickle, not likely to excite attention.
"Oh, there you are, Master Scarlett! Well, how many have you caught?"
"Not one, Nat," cried Fred, sharply.
"You don't put your lines in the right places, lads. Where are they now?"
"Not going to tell you," replied Fred, sharply. "There, hear that?
Didn't some one call?"
"No," cried Nat; "I didn't hear n.o.body. Show me where your lines are laid. Aren't put any down here, have you?"
"No; it wouldn't be any use."
"I should think not. Why, if you hooked an eel, he'd run in and out among the dead wood and roots till your lines would be all tangled together, and you'd lose them."
"Will you come and show us a good place, then, Nat?" said Fred, for Scarlett was a little puzzled as to what was going on.
"Yes; I'll show you," said the gardener, who, like most of his cla.s.s, was as much interested in the chance of a little fishing as the boys themselves. So, swinging himself into the boat, he took the oars, and, to the great relief of the two lads, rowed right away towards where a little rivulet entered the lake.
"Glad I saw what you were both going to do," continued Nat. "Only waste of time muddling in there among the wood. You might catch a few perch or an old carp, but that would be about all."
Ten minutes later he ceased rowing in front of the mouth of the rivulet.
"There," he said; "set your lines about here, and you'll catch as many as you want, and--breakfast-time. Let's get ash.o.r.e."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE COLONEL'S MESSAGE.
No farther visit was paid to the pa.s.sage that day; but the next, in the afternoon, the boys made their way down toward the lake, and met Nat, who approached them with rather a mysterious look on his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Scarlett.
"Ah, that's what I want to know, sir. You didn't hear it, of course, because you were out in the boat."
"Hear what?"
"Oh, I don't know, sir," said the gardener, mysteriously. "I've just come from the kitchen, where the servants was talking about it."
"About what?"
"It, sir, it; I don't know what it is. I told 'em it was howls, but I don't think it was. Still, if you tell maid-servants as there's something wrong in the house, they'll either go out of the house or out of their skins."
"Do you know what you are talking about, Nat?"
"Yes, sir. Course I do."
"Well, then, just be a little plain, and don't go smothering your words up as if they were seeds that you'd put in to come up in a month. Now, then, what is it?"
"You needn't be quite so chuff with a man, Master Scarlett--a man as is trying to do his duty."
"Well, go on, then."
"I will, sir. I went into the kitchen, and the women was all talking about it. Her ladyship's maid was the one who heard it, yes'day morning, before breakfast."
"Heard what?"
"Groans, sir, and cries."
"Where?"
"That's what they can't make out. All she could say was that it sounded close to the best bedroom, and it was as if somebody was crying for help in a weak voice, and then shouting, 'Red--red!' which they think means blood."
"Stuff and rubbish, Nat!" cried Fred, hastily.
"That's what I said to them, sir."
"Then go and tell them so again," cried Fred. "Come along, Scar; I want a run."
He hurried his companion away, and they went off down to the lake, leaving Nat staring after them before going slowly away toward the garden, muttering to himself--
"It's all very well," he said; "but it couldn't be howls."
"What made you hurry away so?" cried Scarlett, as they walked on, and he came to a stop. "Let's go back and speak to my father. Something may be wrong. How do we know? Nat--"
Fred burst out laughing.
"Why, don't you see?"
"No: what do you mean?"
"Didn't you tell me you were afraid to shout yesterday because your voice went echoing along the pa.s.sage?"
"Yes."
"Well, what did you call?"
"Fred--Fred!"
"Well, wouldn't that sound to any one who heard it like, 'Red--red'?"
"Of course," cried Scarlett, laughing. "I never thought of that."
"Now, then, which way shall we go? Straight to the mouth where the water ran, or to the hole in the wood?"
"To the hole;" and, after taking the trouble to make quite a circuit, so as to be sure of avoiding observation, they entered the little wood, made their way to the prostrate oak, and found that the bottom of the hole was dry.
"There!" cried Scarlett, "I was right."