The Kang-He Vase/Chapter 19

this to be an exchange of signals between somebody—presumably Uncle Joseph—on the shore and the people on the ketch, and anxious though I was to get back to Pepita, I stayed where I was, conscious of the importance of watching. I could see everything very well from my boulder; there was first an undulating piece of heather-clad, rocky ground on which I had traced the Hindu by his scarlet patch; then the edge-line of the cliffs; beyond that, in perspective, lay a good, wide piece of white sand terminating in the deep blue of the placid sea. I fully expected to see Uncle Joseph’s substantial figure appear on this stretch of sand: I felt quite certain that it was he who had fired his automatic pistol as a signal to the steamer, that he was ready to be taken off the island. But no such figure appeared. And that of the Hindu vanished. Five—ten—twenty minutes went by—perhaps thirty—and I saw nothing of what I had expected to see. And suddenly, in the covert of fir behind me, I heard the coo, coo, coo-coo of a wood-pigeon … once, twice.

That, at any rate, was what most folk would have called it. But I knew, well enough, that no wood-pigeon was there. That was Pepita; it was one of her accomplishments to imitate the wood-pigeon’s note: another was to whistle like a blackbird. I ran back to the shelter of the trees; there she was, hidden in a screen of undergrowth, her eyes eager and appealing.

“I couldn’t wait any longer, Ben!” she whispered. “It was awful, being there all alone! And I’ve been very careful, coming along. And I know something’s happening—what were you watching, from behind that rock?”

We were safe enough up there, and there was no possibility of being observed from the shore: I beckoned her to come out of the covert and join me on the bit of open ground.

“Did you hear a gun fired half an hour ago?” I asked her. “You did!—well, it was fired from the deck of that vessel out there—I saw the puff of smoke. And that was in response to a shot which, I’m certain, came from Uncle Joseph’s pistol. He’s down there, somewhere. I guess they’ll send a boat to take the old scoundrel off! He’s done us, Pepita, and left us! He must have known that that steamer was coming here to-day, but he’s taken good care that we shan’t get away in it. However, he’ll find there’s the devil to settle accounts with before he can get away himself!—or else I’m vastly mistaken!”

“How, Ben?” she asked.

I pointed down-hill to the spot at which I had last seen the scarlet patch.

“Mandhu Khan’s down there!” I answered. “I watched him all the way from the tower. He’s disappeared now, but he’s there, or around there, right enough, and I reckon he’ll give Uncle Joseph a nasty five minutes if he comes across him. Mandhu Khan means business, Pepita, though what on earth he’s after I can’t make out. But he’s set the tower on fire, and I suppose all the stores of eatables and drinkables are burned to cinder by this time. So we’re without food!”

“There’s some left in that cave we were sitting in,” she said. “And surely somebody will come to seek us, Ben, if we put a light to our bonfire: they’re sure to see it at Middlebourne!”

“Yes, but the devil of that is that these people will see it, too,” I answered, nodding at the steamer. “And if they’re friends of Uncle Joseph and Getch, they’re no companions for us! And Mandhu Khan will see it, as well—and Mandhu Khan may have his reasons for wanting to silence me as effectually as, I’m sure, he silenced Getch last night; so we’re in a fix, then!”

“Don’t!” she said, with a little shudder. “What have you done that he should”

“I don’t know what Getch had done, either, that Mandhu Khan should—do what he did!” I retorted. “But it’s no use bothering one’s brains about that!—the thing at present is—what’s going to happen on the beach there? There’s that vessel, whatever she may be, and wherever from, and wherever to—and somewhere about the shore is Uncle Joseph, and somewhere near him is the Hindu—and I wish we could see the lot at closer quarters … if we could do so in safety!”

We crossed over to the big boulder, and, leaning across the top, continued to watch. Some time passed; nothing happened. Then Pepita, sharper-eyed than I was, made a little sound and touched my arm.

“Ben!” she whispered. “Look!—there’s a boat coming ashore!”

And, before I saw it, she added, “One—two—three men in it.”

I had been giving more attention to the land than to the sea; I wanted to make out the whereabouts of Uncle Joseph and of the prowling Hindu, who, I knew well enough, was stalking him. But I followed Pepita’s pointing finger and saw the boat—as she said, there were three men in it, two rowing, the third steering. They were making for a point immediately in front of the cliffs from which I had heard the first shot ring out, and, pulling rapidly, they were not long before they ran their craft into shallow water. They jumped out then, and drew it up on the smooth sand; evidently they were going to wait for an expected passenger. Two of the men sat down on the thwarts and began to smoke; the third man, who carried some long, slender dark object in the crook of his arm, stood by, staring up and along the cliffs. Every moment I expected to see Uncle Joseph’s unwieldy form go down to them, and I think Pepita had some idea of what was in my thoughts, for she suddenly spoke.

“Ben!” she said. “If your uncle goes off with those men, we shall be left! And that brown man will still be on the island! Wouldn’t it be better to run down there and make them take us off, too?”

“Make is a good word!” said I, more ruefully than scornfully. “You can’t make people do what they’re resolved they won’t do, Pepita!—unless you’ve got the whip hand of them, and I’m afraid I haven’t, even with this pistol in my pocket: there are too many of ’em down there for me to tackle. The fact is, Uncle Joseph has slipped us—cheated us, damn him!—he doesn’t want us to be taken off, yet awhile. It’s his own safety he’s thinking about—he doesn’t care a hang about ours! And yet”

“What?” she asked, as I paused, laughing grimly at a notion that was in my mind. “Why do you laugh?”

“I’m laughing because I’m wondering if Mandhu Khan is holding up Uncle Joseph somewhere down there!” I answered. “You see, he doesn’t go down to those fellows—they’re still hanging about, waiting, and evidently watching. For all that Uncle Joseph has an automatic on him, he’s an arrant coward, and maybe he’s hidden somewhere amongst the rocks or cliffs, sweating with fear, because the Hindu’s between him and his means of escape! I hope he is!—I hope”

“One of the men’s going up the beach,” she said, interrupting me. “Perhaps it’s to meet somebody.”

This was the man who carried something in the crook of his arm. He had left his companions and was strolling towards the cliffs. Presently the line of the headlands hid him from us. We watched for some time, expecting him to re-appear, in company with Uncle Joseph. But there was no such re-appearance. And evidently the men at the boat did not expect one—just then, at any rate. One of them stretched himself on the sands in the shadow of the boat, and seemed to settle into sleep: the other got into the boat itself and curled up in the stern. And of the man who had dropped out of sight under the cliffs we saw no more, nor did we see any sign of human presence on the headlands, nor a gleam of the scarlet patch in the rough, broken moorland between them and ourselves.

The cliffs and the beach below were at least three-quarters of a mile from the boulder behind which we were keeping watch, and as all the live folk we knew to be on the island were down there, it struck me that now was the time to take a look at the tower and see what was going on, and if the fire had burnt itself out and done much damage. We drew back cautiously to the shelter of the covert, and made our way through it and across the heather on the other side to the old ruins. There were still thin wisps of smoke circling out of the embrasures of the tower, and the jackdaws were still chattering excitedly above its parapet, but I saw at once that the worst of the fire was well over and that no appreciable damage had been done to the stout old walls. And before ever we reached the doorway, now freed of the timber which Uncle Joseph and I had so laboriously piled within it, I began to get another notion, which was that I had been mistaken, perhaps, in setting down Mandhu Khan as the incendiary. It now seemed to me that it was more in keeping with my cunning old kinsman’s line of action than with the Hindu’s; possibly, knowing that the steamer was due that afternoon, he had set a light to the place before leaving it, so that Pepita and I should have no food, and might, ere help came to us (for it was long odds against any search party coming to Melsie Island) utterly starve to death. And when I reached the doorway and looked in at the blackened cavity of the basement wherein we had passed the first stages of our imprisonment, I was practically convinced of Uncle Joseph’s guilt, and cursed him more willingly than ever. For the fire had only half done its work, after all, when seen at close quarters, and there was clear evidence of intentional arson. The various boxes and casks, all of light wood, which we had brought from the Shooting Star had been dragged together in a heap; whatever was readily combustible about the place had been piled above them; the timbers which we had used as a defence for the doorway had been arranged on top. And reckoning up the situation as nearly as I could, I came to the conclusion that when the Hindu arrived at the tower on his second visit—overlooked by me from the edge of the covert above—Uncle Joseph was still there, hidden in some cranny or dark corner (there were no end of both), and that when Mandhu Khan went up the stairway, prospecting, he hastily fired his pile and cleared out, making his escape through the bushes on the side which I could not see.

As I stood there in the doorway, staring at the blackened mass, about which the grey smoke still crept fitfully, I hastily thought over various puzzling features of the recent developments in this affair. Who killed Getch? Did the man who killed Getch also smash up Getch’s boat? Or was Getch killed by one man, and the boat stove in by another? In any case, what was the object in rendering the boat unfit for use? Was it to trap Getch and Uncle Joseph?—to keep them prisoners on the island? If so, then I could think of no one responsible for the boat-smashing but Mandhu Khan: he, too, I felt sure, had knifed Getch. It seemed to me—my wits were certainly something moythered, with one thing and another, but still sufficiently clear to put two and two together—that Mandhu Khan had followed Getch to the island, laid in wait for him, probably during the night, and murdered him, and had afterwards smashed the boat so that Uncle Joseph couldn’t escape in it. What precise object Mandhu Khan had in view in doing all this I could not exactly determine—probably it was the recovery of the Kang-he vase. But the train of thought led to one point—Mandhu Khan, having come to the island, must have come in a boat, and as he was still on the island that boat must be somewhere about. Now, supposing … I drew Pepita away from the tower amongst the trees and shrubs north of the ruins, and wagged a forefinger at her.

“Look here, Pepita!” said I. “You listen! We’re going to escape!”

She made a little clicking sound with her tongue, it denoted joyful surprise. But her eyes were incredulous.

“Oh, Ben, don’t I jolly well wish we could!” she exclaimed. “But how?”

“What I really mean, of course, is that we’re going to try to escape,” I continued. “We may succeed—and we mayn’t. But we can try. Listen!—somewhere or other that Hindu chap must have a boat. Probably it’s at the west end of the island—he doubtless landed there, because I believe there’s a deepish channel runs past the spit of land at that end, and he’d most likely come along that channel. Now we know where he is just now!”

“But do we?” she asked, sceptically.

“Dead certain! He’s after Uncle Joseph, on the other side. Bet your boots he’ll not take his eyes off him, once he’s spotted him! My notion is that Uncle Joseph is in some hole or other down there, and that Mandhu Khan is watching him, as a terrier watches a rat-hole. While Mandhu Khan is busy is the time to steal his boat! Now look here!—let’s get back to the ridge, up above there. That covert of fir that we were in just now runs nearly the whole length of the island. We’ll get into it again, and you’ll take one side of it and I’ll take the other. We must use the utmost caution in going along, keeping a wary outlook, and taking our time until we get to the far end. Then, if we’ve seen nobody and heard nothing, we must risk a drop down to the shore and see if we can discover the boat—there must be a boat! And if there is—as of course there is!—and Mandhu Khan’s anywhere about—well, I shall have to use this pistol! We must get away, Pepita!”

I saw that the idea of force upset her nerves again, and she shook her head and gave me a wistful look.

“I don’t mind the first part of the plan a bit, Ben,” she answered. “I’ve done that sort of thing for fun, and I can do it in earnest. But I don’t want it to lead to any more—murder! Don’t get into any position”

“We’ll get into no position unless I know it’s safe,” I assured her. “Haven’t I got you to consider?—first of all! But we must do what we can—we’ve next to no food, and we’re much too near desperate men. Let’s try what I propose—however, before we do that, let’s have a glance across at the mainland, to see if there’s any sign of help coming from that way—I guess there won’t be, though!” I added, bitterly. “They don’t seem to have thought of Melsie Island!”

“Why haven’t they?” she asked. “Right in front of them, and only three miles away!”

“That’s just it!” I said. “It’s because it’s right under their very noses, and close to, that they never have thought of it! And yet—how close we are—and how far off!”

We had gone forward to the edge of the trees on the north side of the island, and there, on the further edge of the three miles of sea lay the shore on which we so much desired to set our feet again. It looked so very near in the afternoon light!—we could see a score of familiar objects—hills, woods, spires, roofs. But between us and the mainland there was not a single sail to be seen; not one dark speck betokening the presence of a fishing or a pleasure boat—we were as much alone and cut off from help as ever.

We were turning away, feeling very sad and downcast, when a low droning sound struck my ear, and looking up I saw an aeroplane, its canvas shining in the sun, coming along from the eastward. It was flying due west, and at a great height, and I judged it to be following a line that would carry it about half-way between us and the mainland, and though I thought it highly improbable that its occupant could see two such insignificant specks as ourselves, I resolved on trying to attract his attention.

“Come out in the open and wave, Pepita!” I shouted, careless for the moment as to whether anybody was near or not. “Throw your arms about!—dance!—kick!—do anything! If only that chap would see us and come down, or tell what he’s seen when he lands”

We did all we could to attract the airman’s notice, waving arms, handkerchiefs, boughs of trees, gesticulating frenziedly, frantically. But he made no response; his machine droned along and disappeared in the west, and presently we turned back into the undergrowth—to do what we could for ourselves.

“Yet he may have seen us, after all,” said Pepita. “We don’t know!”

“No reliance on that!” said I. “Now we’re going to try for that boat! If we find it, then it shall go hard if we don’t get away in it. Skinned eyes and sharpened ears, Pepita! that’s the ticket!”

In order to reach the covert on the summit of the ridge we had to re-cross the ruins of the old abbey. And as we picked our way through them, amongst beds of nettles and thistles and rank grass and unchecked growth, I suddenly became aware of a mass of newly-fallen masonry broken from a low wall on my left hand. Newly-fallen! I instantly stepped up to it and looked over. There was a broad ditch or dry moat on the other side; a pile of grey stones, recently dislodged, had fallen into it. And there amongst these stones I saw Uncle Joseph’s old bag, and shavings such as I had seen in the fish-bag in our best bedchamber, and some broken pieces of white china, and I knew, before ever I climbed down to examine them more closely, that here were the shattered fragments of Miss Ellingham’s Kang-he vase!