The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 28

gripped the inspector by the arm as he heard that cry.

"There you are!" he said. "Found! That's Mr. Linthwaite's voice. Now, then—how to get to him? What is this island? Do people go across to it?"

"There's a hut on it that's used for wild-fowl shooting," answered Crabbe. "And there ought to be a punt somewhere about here. This is a queer business, Mr. Brixey," he went on as they began to search the bank of the lake. "How on earth does this poor gentleman come to be there?"

"Never mind that," exclaimed Brixey. "He'll tell us all that later. Coming!" he shouted as the cry for help came again. "Wave one of those lanterns to let him know he's heard," he continued, turning to the knot of police, who were turning the lights of their bull's-eye lamps on the reeds and sedges in an endeavour to find the punt. "Where is this boat you're talking about?"

One of the policemen, a little in advance, suddenly stopped and turned his light on the still water at the edge of the lake.

"There it is, sir!" he said. "And scuttled, too! That's no use."

The other men gathered round, turning their lamps on the foundered punt, which lay a foot or so beneath the surface.

"That's been done on purpose!" remarked Crabbe. "I see what it's been. Whoever took Mr. Linthwaite across to that island came back alone and scuttled that punt, so that it couldn't be used in a hurry. And I don't know where there's another boat!"

The man who had run down to the police station with the news came forward. "Jim Pybus has a bit of a boat down at his garden steps, Mr. Crabbe," he said. "’Tain't much of a size, but he goes about this here water in it, fishing."

"Come on! Where is it?" urged Brixey.

The man led them along the side of the lake to a point where one or two isolated cottages stood on the shore, and at the foot of some stone steps showed his companions a tiny skiff tied up to a post.

By dint of shouting beneath his window its owner was brought down. He regarded the posse of men with sleepy wonder, and shook his head.

"Ain't fit for no more than two to be in that there vessel!" he said. "I don't go out with no more than one in she, any times, 'Tain't safe, nohow, for more. Can't take all of 'ee across, there,"

"Let him go by himself," said Brixey. "Look here, my man. There’s a gentleman stranded across there on that island. Go and fetch him. Bring him safe over, and there's a sovereign for you."

"All right, master—hoping he ain't a very heavy 'un," said the man. "Ain't crippled, nor nothing, is he?"

"I don't know what state he's in," answered Brixey. "Get across there and find out, anyway."

"The boat-owner got into his tiny craft and pulled away into the gloom, and the company on the bank stood casting their lights in his direction until he vanished. Crabbe took off his cap and wiped his forehead.

"This beats all!" he said in an undertone to Brixey, "Never heard the like of it! Who can have put him over there? Those Lees, now—they can't have done that themselves. Who's been in at it?"

"You'll hear more presently, Inspector," answered Brixey. "Unless I’m mistaken you'll hear still more to-morrow, and I sincerely hope you'll have the pleasure of making some arrests. But I'm a bit doubtful on that point, unless"

"There's a light on the island now!" interrupted one of the policemen. "Gentleman's struck a match, I think."

A tiny spark of blue flame glimmered for a second or two far off across the water. It died out, and was presently succeeded by another. The captive was evidently showing his whereabouts to the man in the boat.

And in a few minutes more the watchers on the bank heard the splash of the returning oars and voices from the boat—that of the boatman low and monosyllabic, that of his passenger high-pitched and loquacious.

"That's my uncle!" said Brixey, with a sigh of relief, "He's all right! I know that from his voice. Well, that's a consolation, anyhow!"

Mr. Linthwaite, sitting very uncomfortably in the stern of the tiny boat, and gripping the timbers on either side of him, was something of a picture as he came into the glare of the policemen's lamps. A somewhat prim, precise, and old-fashioned-looking gentleman, his outward appearance was now rendered odd and even amusing by the fact that he wore an ordinary blanket pinned about his shoulders and had a cheap cloth cap, two sizes too small for him, perched on the crown of his head.

He wore pince-nez on the bridge of his high, inquisitive nose; the black ribbon attached to them dangling gracefully across his blanket. He stared wonderingly around the ring of faces on the bank, and as Brixey stepped forward to give him a helping hand his wonder found vent in an exclamation.

"Bless my soul!" he said, as his nephew pulled him. through the reeds and set him on the bank. "You here? Dear me! Most extraordinary. I fear your arrangements have been upset, eh? This is not—not accidental?"

Brixey slapped the blanketed shoulders.

"I've been here looking for you ever since last Thursday," he answered. "The whole place has been turned upside down for you. You're going to cost me five hundred pounds! Where have you been?"

Mr. Linthwaite removed his pince-nez, and waved them in the direction whence he had just been ferried.

"Since a little while after dark this evening," he remarked calmly, "marooned—I think that is the correct term?—marooned on a small island, across there.

"I wish I'd had one of these lamps with me. I found some ancient stones on that island on which, I am sure, are inscriptions. But I only had one box of matches—growing low, too.

"So you are really here?" he continued, glancing almost dubiously at his nephew. "Didn’t you receive my wire last week? I expected to join you at Winchester."

"Look here!" broke in Brixey. "Who put you on that island to-night? Never mind me—we'll talk about that later. Come now—who was it?"

Mr. Linthwaite resumed his glasses and looked speculatively round the ring of interested faces. "Um!" he said. "An inspector of police, I perceive; also several constables. Ah! I think we will defer explanations until Shall we adjourn to the 'Mitre’? Perhaps the inspector will accompany us? The fact is, a little refreshment will not do me any harm."

Brixey slipped a sovereign into the hand of the boatman, another into that of the man who had first heard Mr. Linthwaite’s cry for help. The procession set forth, Brixey and Crabbe going first with the recent captive behind them; the constables following, highly diverted by their view of Mr. Linthwaite from the rear.

At the police station they fell out. The three in front marched on in silence until they came to the 'Mitre.' Not until they were in the private sitting-room did Mr. Linthwaite remove his blanket and his cap. That done, he glanced significantly at his nephew.

"On this occasion, Dick" he said solemnly, "I think—whisky!"

Instead of ringing the bell, Brixey went round to the bar parlour in person. Brackett sat by the hearth reading the evening paper, in which he was so absorbed that he did not hear Brixey’s footstep until his guest clapped him on the shoulder.

"Got him!" said Brixey triumphantly. "He’s in the little parlour. Come in, and bring a decanter of your best whisky with you."

Brackett got up with marvellous alacrity for a man of his age. He stared at Brixey open-eyed.

"You don’t mean to say Mr. Linthwaite’s found!" he exclaimed. "Bless me! There’s a most amazing theory about his disappearance in that paper!"

"I'll consider it later," laughed Brixey. "He’s here, and he’s all right, though a bit shivery."

Brackett gazed wonderingly on his elder guest as he carried decanter and glasses into the parlour, and his hand trembled as he put it in Mr. Linthwaite’s outstretched palm.

"I was never so glad to see anything in my life, gentlemen!" he said fervently as he glanced from uncle to nephew. "Never! I—I hope you’re no worse, sir?"

"Except for a slight and merely temporary feeling of chilliness, my good sir, I am, I believe, no worse," answered the returned captive. "I have eaten, and drunk, and smoked, and read—very profitably—and written—also profitably—and I am quite well.

"A little more exercise, perhaps? The fact is, until to-night, I have had none—not even that allowed to prisoners of the usual brand," he added, with a sly glance at Crabbe. "I wasn’t even allowed out of my cell!" "Then you have been locked up, sir?" suggested Brackett. "Dear me!"

Brixey touched the landlord's elbow and pointed to the table.

"Give us each a drink," he commanded. He presently handed a glass to his uncle, and, giving him a meaning look, nodded in Crabbe’s direction.

"I think you had better tell us something," he said suggestively. "This is, or ought to be, a police job, and the inspector there is waiting for information."

Linthwaite took a pull at his glass, and, dropping into an easy chair, looked round and shook his head.

"I should be very glad," he said dryly, "if somebody could give me some information! I don’t know what any of you know, but I do know that since Tuesday afternoon I have been a prisoner under the most extraordinary and mystifying circumstances."

"You don't know why you were imprisoned?" exclaimed Brixey. "Come, now, is that in the nature of a legal quibble, or are we to take it in a literal sense?"

"Take it as you please, my dear lad," replied Linthwaite. "I merely repeat what I have said. All I know is that since last Tuesday I have been imprisoned, that three particular persons acted, as my gaolers, that they released me to-night—by marooning me on that island—and that I am here! But"

Brixey interrupted his uncle with some impatience. "This is important!" he said. "Just tell us! Was it Mesham who locked you up in that tower at the Priory? Did he cause it? Was he there? Have you seen, him?"

Linthwaite shook his head as if puzzled by these questions.

"Mesham?" he answered. "Mesham? Ah, you mean—yes, I know the man you mean. But no, I have never seen him since I left him outside the Priory at noon last Tuesday morning—never!"