The Spy in Black Part 11

The clergyman stopped.

"Yes, sir," said he, "it is fine weather."

His manner was polite, but not very hearty, the laird thought.

However, he was not easily damped, and proceeded to contribute several more observations, chiefly regarding the weather prospects, and tending to become rapidly humorous. And then he remembered his appointment in the smoking-room.

"Well," said he, "good day to you! I must be moving, I'm afraid."

"Good day," said the stranger courteously, and moved off promptly as he spoke.

"I wonder who will that minister be?" said Mr Craigie to himself as he strolled back. "It's funny I never saw the man before. And I wonder, too, where he was going?"

And then it occurred to him as an odd circ.u.mstance that the minister had started to go back again, not to continue as he had been walking.

"That's a funny thing," he thought.

He had hardly got back to his smoking-room when Miss Holland appeared, dressed to go out, in hat and tweed coat, and dragging, of all things, her brown suit-case. It seemed to be heavily laden.

She smiled at him confidentially, as one fellow-conspirator at another.

"Do you mind giving me a hand with this?" said she.

"Hullo!" cried the laird. "What's this--an elopement? Can you not wait till I pack my things too? The minister's in no hurry. I've just been speaking to him."

It struck him that Miss Holland took his jest rather seriously.

"The minister?" said she in rather an odd voice. "You've spoken to him?"

"He was only asking if I had got the licence," winked Mr Craigie.

The curious look pa.s.sed from her face, and she laughed as pleasantly as he could wish.

"I'll take the bag myself," said the laird. "Oh, it's no weight for me. I used to be rather a dab at throwing the hammer in my day. But where am I to take it?"

"I'll show you," said she.

So out they set, Mr Craigie carrying the suit-case, and Miss Holland in the most delightful humour beside him. He felt he could have carried it for a very long way. She led him through the garden and out into a side lane between the wall and a hedge.

"Just put it down here," she said. "And now I want you to come back for something else, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" said the laird gallantly. "Not me! But I'm wondering what you are driving at."

She only smiled, but from her merry eye he felt sure that some very brilliant jest was afoot, and he joked away pleasantly as they returned to the house.

"Now," she said, "do you mind waiting in the smoking-room for ten minutes or so?"

She went out, and Mr Craigie waited, mystified but happy. He waited for ten minutes; he waited for twenty, he waited for half an hour, and still there was no sign of the fascinating Miss Holland. And then he sent a servant to look for her. Her report gave Mr Craigie the strongest sensation that had stirred that good-natured humourist for many a day. Miss Holland was not in her room, and no more, apparently, were her belongings. The toilette table was stripped, the wardrobe was empty; in fact, the only sign of her was her trunk, strapped and locked.

Moving with exceptional velocity, Mr Craigie made straight for the lane beyond the garden. The brown suit-case had disappeared.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" murmured the baffled humourist.

Very slowly and soberly he returned to the house, lit a fresh pipe, and steadied his nerves with a gla.s.s of grog. When Mrs Craigie returned, she found him sufficiently revived to jest again, though in a minor key.

"To think of the girl having the impudence to make me carry her luggage out of the house for her!" said he. "Gad, but it was a clever dodge to get clear with no one suspecting her! Well, anyhow, my reputation is safe again at last, Selina."

"Your reputation!" replied Mrs Craigie in a withering voice. "For what? Not for common-sense anyhow!"

"You're fl.u.s.tered, my dear," said the laird easily. "It's a habit women get into terrible easy. You should learn a lesson from Miss Eileen Holland. Dashed if I ever met a cooler hand in my life!"

"And what do you mean to do about it?" demanded his wife.

"Do?" asked Mr Craigie, mildly surprised. "Well, we might leave the pantry window open at night, so that she can get in again if she's wanting to; or----"

"It's your duty to inform the authorities, Richard!"

"Duty?" repeated the laird, still more surprised. "Fancy me starting to do my duty at my time of life!"

"Anyhow," cried Mrs Craigie, "we've still got her trunk!"

"Ah," said Mr Craigie, happily at last, "so we have! Well, that's all right then."

And with a benign expression the philosopher contentedly lit another pipe.

PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED

I.

THE MEETING.

As the dusk rapidly thickened and I lay in the heather waiting for the signal, I gave myself one last bit of good advice. Of "him" I was to meet, I had received officially a pretty accurate description, and unofficially heard one or two curious stories. I had also, of course, had my exact relationship to him officially defined. I was to be under his orders, generally speaking; but in purely naval matters, or at least on matters of naval detail, my judgment would be accepted by him.

My last word of advice to myself simply was to be perfectly firm on any such point, and permit no scheme to be set afoot, however tempting, unless it was thoroughly practical from the naval point of view.

From the rim of my hollow there on the hillside I could see several of the farms below me, as well as the manse, and I noted one little sign of British efficiency--no glimmer of light shown from any of their windows. At sea a light or two twinkled intermittently, and a searchlight was playing, though fortunately not in my direction.

Otherwise land and water were alike plunged in darkness. And then at last one single window of the manse glowed red for an instant. A few seconds pa.s.sed, and it shone red again. Finally it showed a brighter yellow light twice in swift succession.

I rose and very carefully led my cycle over the heather down to the road, and then, still pushing it, walked quickly down the steep hill to where the side road turned off. There was not a sound save my footfall as I approached the house. A dark ma.s.s loomed in front of me, which I saw in a moment to be a garden wall with a few of the low wind-bent island trees showing above it. This side road led right up to an iron gate in the wall, and just as I got close enough to distinguish the bars, I heard a gentle creak and saw them begin to swing open. Beyond, the trees overarched the drive, and the darkness was profound. I had pa.s.sed between the gate-posts before I saw or heard anything more. And then a quiet voice spoke.

"It is a dark night," it said in perfect English.

"Dark as pitch," I answered.