Johnstone of the Border

As she thought of Andrew, her face grew gentle and she smiled. She knew his worth and his limitations, and loved him for both. He had his suspicions, too, and would follow where they led. Andrew was not the man to shirk a painful duty, but she could not openly help him yet. That might come, and in the meanwhile she would at least put no obstacle in his way. Still, if her fears were justified, the situation was daunting and she might need all her courage.

As she neared the lodge, she saw a man loitering in the shadow.

"Are you waiting for somebody, Jock?" she asked.

Marshall, the fisherman, turned and looked at her thoughtfully.

"Weel," he said, "they telt me Mr. Andrew's no' at home."

"Did you want to see him about the yacht?"

"It wasna' that, a'thegither."

"No?"

"Ye see, I've missed him twice and I'm for Stranraer the morn. We're gaun west to try the herring fishing."

"And you wanted to tell Mr. Johnstone something before you left? Can I give him a message when he comes back?"

Marshall hesitated.

"Weel," he said, "ye can tell him that the Nance cam' up the Firth the night before he started for Edinbro'; that's a while ago, ye mind. Last night she cam' up again, wi' the same crew; the Edinbro' man I telt him o', anither wha keeps a trawl boat doon the Colvend shore, and yin who has a reid mustache."

Elsie started, and then wondered whether she had betrayed her surprise.

"I'll try to remember. I suppose this is for Mr. Johnstone alone?"

"Just that," said Marshall. "I'm thinking it would be better that ye telt naebody else."

He moved off, and Elsie, looking round a moment afterward, saw that he had vanished. It was nearly dark among the trees, but she knew that she could have seen him had he kept on the road; besides, his heavy, tacketed boots would have made some noise, and she had heard nothing. Then she saw a figure coming from the lodge and her brain acted quickly, because she recognized Staffer.

Marshall had hinted it was important that his message should be kept secret; and fishermen had good sight. He must have noticed Staffer before she did, and did not want to be seen talking to her. Then she remembered that the night before Andrew started for Edinburgh was when Williamson and the man with the red mustache had entered the house. The stranger had come up the Firth in one of the salmon boats shortly before his visit to Appleyard, and had been there again without her seeing him.

She felt a thrill that was half apprehension and half excitement as she went on slowly. The lodge was about a hundred yards away when she met Staffer.

"There's something I want to ask you," he said. "Have you any reason to doubt the honesty of our servants?"

Elsie saw at once where his question led, and tried to nerve herself. He was a clever man and she was young and inexperienced.

"No," she said; "I have none; and Mother's quite satisfied with them. Why do you ask?"

"You'll remember the night Williamson arrived rather late. He lost a paper in an envelope, and it looks as if somebody in the house had picked it up."

"Have you inquired about it?" Elsie asked, remembering that it was the man with the red mustache who had dropped the envelope.

"No," Staffer said carelessly; "I didn't want to make the thing look more important than it was, and I thought the envelope might turn up."

"But it must be of some consequence, or you wouldn't bother about it now."

"That's obviously true. It has become important since we lost it. It gave us some particulars that we find we can't remember."

Staffer gave her a scrutinizing look.

"It was dropped in the house," he said slowly. "Somebody must have found it."

Elsie wondered whether he suspected her. He had seen her looking down from the landing and might not have been satisfied that she had come to see who was in the house; the men had been careful to make no noise.

Staffer frowned when she did not answer.

"If the thing doesn't turn up," he declared, "I'll dismiss everybody about the place! We can't have people round us whom it's impossible to trust."

"None of the servants found it," Elsie said with forced quietness.

"You seem strangely sure of it!"

Elsie hesitated. She could not allow innocent people to suffer for what she had done; but the matter had greater issues. Though much was dark, it was clear that she and Andrew were on one side, and Staffer and his friends on the other. Andrew could be trusted, but Staffer could not. For all that, she felt the tie of kinship and could not act treacherously to him.

"I am sure," she said slowly, "because I found the envelope myself."

Although the light was bad, she saw his face change, and she grew suddenly afraid. There was a fury in his eyes that made her quail; but he kept his self-control.

"So you were downstairs that night!"

"Yes," she said, and waited with tingling nerves, though she thought the worst was past. For a moment or two she had, perhaps, been in danger.

"What did you do with the thing?" he asked harshly. "Did you give it to Andrew Johnstone?"

"Why do you think I did that?"

Staffer saw he had blundered by hinting that the paper related to matters which might concern Andrew.

"Never mind; answer me!"

"I burned it at once, without opening it."

He looked at her as if he found this impossible to believe.

"It is quite true," she said with forced calm.

"But why? You steal a letter belonging to my guest, which you must have thought important, and then burn it unread. Do you expect me to understand your action? The thing seems purposeless."

"It isn't easy to explain, but I must try," she answered, nerving herself for an effort.

"That's obvious."

She hesitated a moment and then spoke bravely.

"I knew that something not right was going on at Appleyard."

"Ah! Did you know what it was?"

Elsie made a negative sign.

"I really didn't want to know; but I believed that the letter was dangerous. If I had read it, I might have felt forced to tell what I found out; so I put it straight into the fire."

"Knowing that its loss might embarrass Williamson or me!"

"Yes," she said; "I thought of that. But I felt it would be safer for us all if I burned the paper."

"I suppose you understand that what you have admitted must make a difference? You have set yourself deliberately against me."

"If I had meant to injure you, I would have kept the letter; but I won't urge this. If Appleyard were yours, I would go away at once, but it is Dick's and he could not get on without my mother."

"Then you mean to stay and continue spying on my guests!"

"So long as no harm comes to Dick or Andrew, I shall leave you and your friends alone."

Staffer laughed.

"I'm afraid you're letting your imagination run away with you. What harm could come to either of them through me? But we'll say no more about it, just now."

He left her at the door and she went to her room and threw herself down on her couch, feeling rather limp, for the strain had told on her. Besides, her suspicions now were no longer vague. She had found a clue and she began to see where it led. Andrew was obviously watching the mouth of the Firth, while Rankine had some mysterious business farther west. Marshall thought it well that Andrew should know that the man with the red mustache had come from the suspected neighborhood late at night, in a salmon boat. The man had been at Appleyard, where he dropped an important letter; and Williamson and Staffer were in league with him. From all this it looked as if their business were treasonable.

This filled her with alarm, but she was glad she had told Staffer that she found the envelope. After all, he was her uncle and to have kept silence would have been treacherous; but the struggle between family obligations and her duty to the State got keener. It was unthinkable that she should spy upon a kinsman to whom she owed much; but would she not, in a sense, be an accomplice if she allowed him and the others to carry on their plots? This question, however, was dismissed for a time. There were other points to think about.

Did Staffer imagine she was in Andrew's confidence and secretly helping him; and had he believed her statement that she had destroyed the letter? If not, she was, perhaps, in some danger, because his laughing remark about her imagination had not been convincing. But, after all, what could he do? She could hardly be kidnapped and smuggled out of the country; and it was, of course, absurd to think of his attempting anything worse.

After a while she began to see her way. She would not watch her uncle, but if chance brought her clear proof that he was helping her country's enemies, she would see that he was stopped. This was a compromise that she suspected could hardly be justified; but the next decision was easier, because it had to do with those she loved. If Staffer or his friends plotted any harm to Dick or Andrew, she would remorselessly use every weapon she had against him.

Then she roused herself and bathed her face and hands, for she had felt some physical strain while she thrashed out the painful matter. She would need calm and courage to meet Staffer as if nothing had happened, so that her mother might not suspect trouble. The part she had chosen was difficult, but she must play it out. When she went in to dinner she did not know whether she was relieved or not by Staffer's smile, but he talked to her with the suave good-humor he generally showed.

Two days after Elsie's talk with Jock Marshall, Andrew and Whitney were sitting in a Melrose hotel, when a postcard from Stranraer was brought to Andrew. There was a tarry fingermark at the bottom, alongside of the straggling signature, J. Marshall, Andrew read it aloud:

"As I'm away at the fishing, it might be weel if ye cam' home and lookit after the boat. Miss Elsie will give ye a bit message. I would not leave her until the tides get low."

Whitney smiled.

"You Scots are a remarkably cautious and capable lot," he said. "I can imagine the wrinkled old image writing this, with a wooden face and a chuckle inside. The meaning of the last sentence is cleverly ambiguous. I suppose the boat is quite all right?"

"Of course; no tide could hurt her."

"It's plain then that Marshall thinks you're wanted on Miss Woodhouse's account. I can have the motorcycle ready in five minutes, and if we pull out now we can be home soon after dark. Will you tell Dick?"

"No. We'll put him on the train, if there is one. Get that railway guide."

Whitney opened it.

"If you mean to see him off, you'll have to wait an hour; and, on the whole, I think you'd better. He seems to have made a number of acquaintances in the bar. Anyway, with this light frost, the roads will be good and hard."

Dick showed some unwillingness to leave the town, but Andrew was firm and put him on the train. When it started, he joined Whitney, who was waiting with the motorcycle.

The light was getting dim as they ran down the long dip to Hawick, though pale saffron, barred with leaden gray, shone above the western hills. When they swept down the last hill, frosty mist hung about the woolen mills in the hollow, and Whitney throttled his engine as they jolted past glimmering lights and half-seen houses.

"It doesn't look very cheerful for a fifty-mile run, but I suppose you want to get on," he remarked.

"Yes," said Andrew. "I hope Dick won't miss the train at one of the junctions, but he'll be all right if he reaches Carlisle. He can't well get into trouble at the place we stay at there."

The mist melted into the keen brightness of a frosty night as they climbed beside Teviot to the snow-sprinkled moors. Whitney's eyes were watering and his hands numb as they crossed the high watershed.

"We haven't lost much time, so far, but I suppose I'd better let her go her best," he said. "There oughtn't to be much traffic on the road."

Andrew nodded and pulled the rug tighter round him as the motorcycle leaped forward down the hill. He was eager to get back, for he felt anxious. It was not for nothing that Marshall had warned him that he was wanted.

There was moonlight in the shallow depression that led down from the summit, but soon the hilltops rose higher and they plunged into a dark glen. A glimmer of light flashed up to meet them, and as the side-car, rocking wildly, raced past the Mosspaul hotel, Andrew remembered what had happened there a few months previously. He had seen since then that Dick had not been in much danger when Staffer's car swerved; the risk of being struck down had been run by him only. Well, that did not matter much. If any one was threatened now, it was neither himself nor Dick, and it was horrible to feel that Elsie might be in some danger. Whitney was driving recklessly fast, but Andrew frowned impatiently as he watched the hillsides unfold out of the dark and rush by while the throbbing of the engine filled the narrow glen.

They swung out at Ewes doors, leaning over hard as the car took the curve with an inch or two between the wheel and the drop to the burn. Then the widening valley grew bright again and they raced up and down rolling hillsides, past scattered farms and white cothouses, until the lights of Langholm stretched across the hollow. Whitney slowed his engine here, but they narrowly escaped the wall, as they took the bridge below the town, and then sped on again furiously through the woods that line the brawling Esk.

Appleyard was reached in time for dinner, and Andrew was relieved to find that Staffer was not at home. Everything was as usual; it was difficult to imagine any cause for alarm; and he wondered whether he had been needlessly disturbed. After dinner, Mrs. Woodhouse took Whitney into the drawing-room and Andrew found Elsie knitting in a corner of the hall.

She looked up with a smile when he sat down near her.

"Haven't you come home earlier than you planned?" she asked.

Andrew studied her face. It was quiet and undisturbed, but he suspected a thoughtfulness that she meant to hide.

"Yes," he said. "I got a postcard from Marshall. He's at Stranraer and seemed to think I ought to look after the boat."

"The boat? But it's fine weather. Isn't she quite safe?"

"Oh, the tides are pretty high and run up the gutter fast."

Elsie counted her stitches, and then gave him a quiet look.

"Dick was with you," she said; "so it couldn't have been on his account that you came back."

Andrew smiled.

"That's obvious."

Elsie was silent for a moment, while a faint touch of color crept into her face. His explanation about the boat had not deceived her, and she had noted his searching glance when he first came in. Marshall must have been hiding near by when she was talking to Staffer, and have given Andrew a hint. It was for her sake he had hurried back. She knew that he had hurried, because she had tactfully led Whitney into making some admissions about their speed. She hardly thought she had been in actual danger; but she knew that she was quite safe now, and her heart went out to the man who had come to help. If only she could confide in him! But it was impossible. His very loyalty to her made her feel more strongly that she could not betray her uncle and bring disgrace upon her mother.

"Marshall gave me a message for you," she said. "I'll deliver it as nearly as I can."

She watched him as she repeated the fisherman's words. Andrew was a bad actor and she was not misled by his clumsy indifference. It looked as if he knew that the man with the red mustache had dealings with Williamson and Staffer.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm afraid we'll have to go west again, before long."

Elsie put down her knitting.

"You'll be careful, Andrew. I want you to keep out of danger."

His heart beat fast, for he saw that she was anxious about him. Elsie knew something and would be sorry if he got hurt; but he must not alarm her or show where his suspicions led.

"Of course I will," he answered cheerfully. "As a matter of fact, I'm not running much risk."

"I'd rather you didn't think so; it leads to carelessness. You won't be rash?"

"Certainly not. Tell me why you are anxious."

Elsie hesitated, and the color in her face grew deeper.

"Somehow, I seem to feel that trouble is hanging over us, and" – her voice dropped to a caress – "I want to have you near."

Andrew caught his breath.

"Elsie," Mrs. Woodhouse interrupted, "I think Mr. Whitney would like to have some music."

CHAPTER XXVI

TIGHTENING THE MESHES

Andrew spent a week at Appleyard, without noticing anything that caused him uneasiness; and then he got a letter from Rankine asking him to meet him in the pool behind the Ross, near Kirkcudbright. He did not want to go; but he thought that he could get back in three or four days; and Staffer was to be away from home. Besides, Dick would be there to take care of Elsie.

Sailing at high-tide, with a keen east wind blowing down the Firth, he found water across the sands to the mouth of the Nith, where he left the boat and drove to Dumfries. Here, he and Whitney called upon Mackellar and were taken into his private office.

"I have some news that may surprise ye," the banker said. "Dick's principal creditor is his step-father. Here's a list o' his obligations, though I'm no' sure it's complete."

"Ah!" exclaimed Andrew, "I don't know whether I'm surprised or not, but I begin to see a light." He frowned, as he noted the figures. "It won't be an easy matter to pay this off; the estate will feel the strain for some time. But how has the young idiot got rid of the money?"

"Betting."

"But he doesn't go to many races, and turf accountants wouldn't deal with a boy under age."

"Verra true," Mackellar agreed dryly. "Dick would get somebody else to put the money on for him – or at least that's no doubt what he thought he did. Williamson, or one o' his friends, would be willing."

"Why do you say it's what Dick thought?"

"I have my doubts whether his go-between made the bets at all. Where was the need? The fellow had only to take the money when Dick lost."

"But Dick's not a fool! He wouldn't back the wrong horse every time. He reads the sporting papers and I suppose their forecasts are right now and then."

Mackellar smiled.

"If he's no' a fool, he's near it. A tip anybody can buy for a penny is no' of much account; but it's flattering to feel ye ken the secrets o' the inside ring. Staffer's friends would see he had that satisfaction. In other words, they'd tell him how he ought to bet with them, and, although they'd let him win at times, I imagine they found it a profitable game."

"It must be stopped!" said Andrew.

"Just so; but ye would prefer it to be stopped quietly. There's another thing I learned, and ye put me on the track when ye told me what Dick said about his being insured. A policy has been taken out for a large sum."

Andrew made an abrupt movement, and Whitney looked puzzled.

"That's pretty hard to understand. His is not the kind of life they'd take except at a big premium."

"It gave me something to think about and I have no' come to the bottom o' it yet. It's possible the insurance was effected some time ago, before Dick's weakness had developed. His parents were sound and it was long before we suspected there was anything wrong with him. However, I had an interview with the company's local agent and afterward with the Edinburgh manager."

"What did you learn?" Andrew asked.

"Nothing much. In fact, I'm thinking I met my match; the heads o' that office are men o' some ability, and I had no good ground for interference. For a' that, they know something and if it was offered the bank in the way o' business, I would not make a big advance against the policy."

"In whose favor is it drawn?" Whitney asked.

"I canno' tell ye; they were verra reserved gentlemen, but the name would no' be Staffer's, though the transaction would be ultimately to his benefit. Mr. Staffer's a man o' retiring habits."

Andrew was silent for a minute and then looked up.

"I see now that I have suspected something like this from the beginning," he said. "What are we to do?"

Mackellar's face hardened.

"I think we'll see Mr. Staffer and tell him what we know. It's possible he'll fight, but that's no' what I would expect. I'm most concerned about Dick's attitude. We canno' do much if he's against us."

"Dick has been rather a puzzle lately. I'll be away for a few days, but we'll interview Staffer as soon as I'm back."

Mackellar said that he expected to call at Appleyard shortly, and would make an appointment then; and Andrew and Whitney drove back to the yacht. Getting under way at once, they sailed down-channel with the last of the ebb between wastes of drying sand; and dusk found them slowly forging out to sea against the incoming flood. They met Rankine where he had arranged, and, carrying out his instructions, sailed east again. One evening late they landed from the dinghy at the mouth of the buoyed gutter. It was near low-water and the tide had run far out. Fine rain was falling and it was very dark, but as they waded ashore through the fringe of splashing ripples, an indistinct figure appeared at the edge of the bank.

"Is that you, Jock?" Andrew called; and Marshall came up.

"I startit when yere letter came and Mistress Wilson at the wee shop in the clachan has taen me in," he said.

"Did you keep the letter?"

"Na," said Marshall; "I pit it in the fire."

Andrew nodded.

"Then I suppose you understand what you are to do."

"I'm to try the net-fishing for flounders and keep my een open, though it's no' just the season the flatfish come up on the banks. They telt me, at the clachan, there were verra few to be had; but I allooed they couldna' be scarcer than Loch Ryan herring."

"He's got it right," Whitney laughed. "Come along and take your net. You'll have to carry it up the bank; the dinghy's loaded deep and the tide's still running out."

When they had dragged the net ashore, Marshall lighted a lantern and examined it carefully. Whitney, picking up the light, turned it on the fisherman's wrinkled face and was not surprised to see a twinkle in his eyes.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

"It's gran' gear, but maybe, a bit heavy for flounders. I wouldna' say but the heid-rope would haud a shark."

"It's better to be on the safe side," Whitney said with a laugh. "When you set a net you can't tell what you're going to catch. That's why we brought you some iron pipes for the posts. Now you'd better show us where you want the net put up."

They went back and pushed off the dinghy while Marshall plodded up the bank abreast of them with the net on his shoulder. At a bend of the narrowing channel he hailed them.

"She'll do here – though I dinna' ken aboot the fishery board," he said, when they landed and gave him the iron posts. "Ye're no allooed to stop a through-running watter."

"I'll be responsible for that," Andrew told him.

"Then it would be a kind o' pity to leave yon gutter open," suggested Marshall, turning to Whitney. "A flounder-net in a runway only fishes on the ebb. Ye haul her up to the heid-rope when the fish come in with the flood, and let her doon when high-watter's past. Then a' that's gone by her canna' get back. Onyway, yon's the usual plan, but she'd maybe fish better here if we keepit her doon with lead and pulled her up afterwards wi' a heid-rope tackle."

"I was going to suggest something of the kind," Andrew said. "You'll want a boat, but there are two or three old punts on the beach. Hire whichever you like and I'll be accountable. But what about the trawler fellow who keeps the boat at the point?"

"They telt me he's awa' doon west."

"Good. You can begin to put up your stakes, using the pipe. We have another job to look after, but we'll come back when it's done."

Whitney shoved the dinghy off and they paddled up the channel. It was very dark and the rain made the obscurity worse, but Andrew searched one bank carefully as the dinghy crept along its edge. Everything was quiet, for there seemed to be no birds about, but they could hear the thud of Marshall's hammer as he drove in the pipes. Whitney, sitting aft, felt damp and cold as the water trickled down his oilskins.