Jacob's Ladder Part 36

"Here," he said, "do you feel like giving a tenner for a whisky and soda?"

"I'm not thirsty, thanks," Jacob replied, collecting his supper.

"These will make an excellent meal for me."

"He's a little wonder," Montague muttered.

"Nothing to be done with him to-night," Hartwell growled. "Let's leave the little blighter."

Jacob slept amazingly well. He was awakened by the sound of a soft and insistent whistle below. He sprang up and looked through the aperture.

The wind had dropped in the night. Eastwards were long bars of amber and mauve, piercing the faint mist. Below, Lady Mary scarcely rocked in her boat.

"Well, dear guest," she called up, "how was the spare-room bed?"

"Hard," he admitted. "Never mind, I've slept like a top."

"Listen," she continued. "It's such a wonderful morning that I've brought you quite a stock. No one comes in the room, do they?"

"They daren't," Jacob answered tersely.

"I'm sending you up some nails and string. What you can't eat or drink now, you can let hang down. And listen. I'm sending you something else up. Don't use it unless they get brutal."

"They're waiting for me to lose strength!" Jacob chuckled. "I never felt so fit in my life. How high is it from this window?"

"Thirty feet."

"Why shouldn't I make a dive for it?" he suggested.

"Because there are sunken rocks everywhere around," she replied. "I couldn't get here myself unless I knew the way. Now, then, get ready."

One by one, a flask of coffee, two packets of sandwiches, a small box of nails and some string reached him, and last of all a small revolver, fully charged.

"Got everything?" she asked.

"Rather!" he answered. "How is your hospitable father?"

"A little impatient," she answered. "He is going to sell you a couple of thousand acres of moor and a tumble-down manse for thirty thousand pounds."

"Is he?" Jacob asked. "Shall I be able to wear kilts and have a bagpipe man?"

"There are no feudal rights," she told him. "Besides, I don't think you'd look well in kilts."

"Well, there isn't going to be any thirty thousand pounds," Jacob declared.

She took out her oars.

"I hope some day you'll make up to me for all this," she said. "I seem to spend the whole of my time looking after you."

"If it weren't for that fellow Maurice!" Jacob called after her, as she disappeared.

They left him alone that day until after luncheon, and Jacob began to find the time hang heavily upon his hands. There was very little to watch except the wheeling seagulls, now and then a distant steamer, and the waves breaking upon the crag-strewn sh.o.r.e. Through the landward aperture, the great house all through the long, sunny morning seemed somnolent, almost deserted, but towards luncheon time a motor-car arrived from the direction of the station, containing a single pa.s.senger. About half an hour later three men came down the shingle, stepped into the boat and paddled across towards the tower,--Montague, Hartwell, and a brawny, thickset companion dressed in a rather loud black-and-white check suit and a cap of the same material. Jacob sat facing the door with his hand behind his back.

Some slices of bread and a bottle of water were pushed through the grating, as before. Then Montague's face appeared, sleek and smiling, with a new glitter of malevolence in the beady eyes.

"What about luncheon to-day, Jacob?" he demanded. "A small chicken pie and a cold sirloin of beef, eh, with lettuce and tomato salad, and half a stilton to follow. A gla.s.s or two of port with the cheese, if you fancy it."

Jacob shook his head.

"I've done better than that," he replied. "I've had _pate-de-foie-gras_ sandwiches and a pint of champagne. I wish you fellows wouldn't disturb my after-luncheon nap. I'd much rather you looked in about tea time."

Hartwell dragged his companion to one side and pressed his own clean-shaven, pudgy face against the bars.

"Say, Jacob Pratt," he began, "just put that bluff away for a moment, if you can. I want a word with you."

"There is nothing to prevent it," Jacob a.s.sured him. "I am an earnest listener."

"You fancy yourself some as a boxer, don't you?" queried Hartwell.

"You ought to know what I can do," Jacob answered, with a reminiscent smile.

Hartwell's face darkened.

"Curse you, you little pup!" he muttered. "Anyways," he went on, "you won't be quite so flip with your tongue in half an hour's time. We've a gentleman here from Glasgow come down to amuse you. Like to have a look at him?"

The door was opened and closed again. The man in the black-and-white check suit entered. Seen at close quarters, he turned out to be a very fine specimen of the bull-necked, sandy-haired prize fighter. He came about a yard into the place and stood grinning at Jacob.

"Like an introduction?" Hartwell continued. "Shake hands with the Glasgow Daisy, then--Mr. Jacob Pratt."

Jacob looked the newcomer up and down.

"To what am I indebted," he asked, "for this unexpected pleasure?"

The Glasgow Daisy grinned again, until his face seemed all freckles and flashing white teeth.

"Guv'nor," he announced, "I've got to give you a hiding, but I'd never have taken the job on if I'd known you were a bantam weight. Better come on and get it over. I shan't do more than knock you about a bit."

"I don't think you'll even do that," Jacob replied, without moving.

The man solemnly took off his coat, unfastened his collar and tie and turned up his shirt sleeves as though he meant business.

"Come on, guv'nor," he invited, making a feint in Jacob's direction.

"I won't hurt you more than I can help."

Jacob withdrew his right hand from behind his back, and the little revolver which he was holding flashed in a glint of sunshine.

"I'll give you till I count ten to get outside," he said.

The man promptly abandoned his sparring position and turned towards the grating.

"'Ere," he called out truculently, "see that, guv'nor?"