There, close ahead of them was the little Titmouse, sailing merrily down the middle of the river.
“Look out, Tom!” they shouted. “Look out! Hullabaloos! The Margoletta! They’ll be here in two minutes.… And nowhere to hide!”
*
Tom, in the Titmouse was very much enjoying himself. He had seen the twins, when he stopped at Horning on the way up. Everything was settled and they were to join the Teasel early tomorrow morning and come for a two-day voyage. They would have to be home on the third day for the first of the championship races, but by that time, Tom thought, he and those two strangers ought to be able to manage the Teasel, with the Admiral to lend a hand if need be. He had made a fast passage of it, from Horning to Wroxham, by rowing wherever he had not got a fair wind. At Wroxham, the first man he had seen was the man whose business it was to look after the batteries in the boats belonging to the firm that owned the Teasel. Not a moment had been wasted, and while the man went off in a punt with the old battery, Tom had hurried to the enormous village store and worked through the Admiral’s shopping list, and then ate the sandwiches his mother had given him for his dinner while sitting on the cabin roof of a business wherry, Sir Garnet, and talking to Jim Wooddall, her skipper. He had forgotten all about outlawry and Hullabaloos. He was thinking of the voyage to the south, and Jim Wooddall was telling him how to make the passage through Yarmouth easy even for a little boat by waiting for dead low water before trying to go down through the bridges. Several times while they were talking, Jim Wooddall looked up at a notice that had been nailed that morning on the wall of the old granary where the wherry was lying. Tom never saw it, and Jim Wooddall said nothing about it, though he stepped ashore and read it again, after the man had come back with the new battery, and Tom had said “Good-bye” and was sailing away down Wroxham Reach. If Tom wasn’t going to speak of it, Jim Wooddall wasn’t. He could put two and two together as well as any man. He had heard of questions asked by that young Bill from Horning about the people in the Margoletta. He had just come back from a voyage to Potter Heigham, where another small boy had asked him if he had seen the Margoletta anywhere about. He read that notice again, and looked at the disappearing Titmouse. Well, of one thing Jim was certain, and that was that if Tom had had anything to do with it, the other people were probably to blame. Foreigners anyway and not pleasant folk. Jim had been in Wroxham when there was that trouble about the Margoletta keeping the people in the inns awake all night. And if they were not to blame? Well, Jim Wooddall was Norfolk too. “If a Norfolk boy done it,” he said to himself, “those chaps can cover the place with paper before anybody give him away.” He was not in the least surprised, some time later, when Joe came panting down to the riverside on a bicycle, and asked anxiously for Tom, to find, after Joe had hurried off again, that the notice had vanished from the wall.
By that time Tom was far down the river. He had used his oars through the reaches most sheltered by the trees, had slipped out into Wroxham Broad and found a grand wind there, had slipped into the river again by the southern entry, and was sailing merrily along, thinking only of his little ship, when, suddenly, just as he was coming to a sharp bend in the river, a rowing boat shot into sight, and he recognised Port and Starboard, whom he had left at home in Horning, pulling at their oars as if they were rowing in a race.
“Hullo!” he called.
The next moment they were both shouting at him. “Look out! … Hullabaloos! … Here in two minutes.… Nowhere to hide!…” Whatever was the matter with them? And then he heard it, too, the droning roar of an engine, and some tremendous voice shouting a comic song along the quiet river.
He knew now. He looked quickly up and down the river. No. They were right. There was nowhere he could stow the Titmouse. Too late. The noise was close upon them. And that thing could move at such a pace.
“Turn round!” he shouted to the twins.
He leapt forward and loosed his halyard. Yard and sail came toppling down.
“Quick! Catch my painter.”
He coiled it and threw it aboard. Port made it fast in a moment. Backing water and pulling, they had the rowing boat heading downstream.
“Don’t row fast,” he said, unshipping his tiller and lugging his rudder aboard. “Nearly forgot that,” he said to himself. “Slowly now. Not in a hurry. And don’t look at them!” He threw himself down and burrowed in under the untidy sail. The next moment the big cruiser was round the bend, bearing down on them, towering above them.… That man with field-glasses, standing like a figurehead above her bows, may or may not have been looking for a boy with a criminal, sinister face who had gone up the river. On that reach there was nobody but two small girls, paddling slowly downstream, towing an empty sailing boat. It was amusing to see how violently the mast of the little empty boat swung from side to side, as the big cruiser roared past and left those two small girls splashing and tossing in its wash.
HULLABALOOS!
*
Time went slowly on at Horning.
Joe propped his bicycle against the fence, and spent the time putting new whippings on the ends of the Death and Glory’s frayed ropes.
Dick was watching a pair of water-hens that kept going in and out of a dyke almost opposite the staithe. He could do no good to Tom, so why not watch water-hens?
Dorothea was seeing picture after picture of failure or success. In some the twins were in time to warn the outlaw, and all three of them hid somewhere in the reeds and watched the enemy go by. In others they were too late, and the Hullabaloos met Tom all unsuspecting and had him at their mercy. That was the worst of it. When things went well, it was the outlaw, the romantic figure of a tale, who escaped triumphantly; but when things went wrong it was just Tom himself who was captured, Tom, the skipper of the Teasel and the Titmouse. Tom, who was teaching them how to sail. And Tom’s misfortunes were far harder to bear than those of any hero of a story. Dorothea was doing her best to think of what could be done, in a practical way, to save him.
“I reckon they got him,” said Joe at last. “I’ll be taking the old bike back to Bill’s.” They saw him go slowly off, wheeling the bicycle, without the heart to ride it, off the staithe and round the corner into the village street.
“If they’ve got him we’ll have to get help,” said Dorothea. “It’s dragging in the natives, but I can’t help it. We must do it. And Port and Starboard’s father is a lawyer. Come on, Dick.”
“Those water-hens have got a nest in there,” said Dick, “in behind those boats. They must be jolly tame, with people passing all the time, and all that hammering in the boat-sheds.”
Dorothea stared at him. She never could get accustomed to Dick’s way of letting his mind get filled up by anything he was looking at, no matter what else might be going on.
“We’ve got to go and tell Mrs. Dudgeon about Tom,” said Dorothea.… “Tom!” She almost shouted at him.
“It’s the best thing to do,” said Dick and then went quietly on. “He’s sure to know about that nest, right in the village.”
It was no good trying to change Dick, and Dorothea said no more. They got into the Teasel’s dinghy again, and pushed off from the staithe. Dick took both oars and rowed down past the village, while Dorothea tried to think how best to break the news to Mrs. Dudgeon. Mrs. Dudgeon had been so sure that all was well. Of course she had known nothing about those notices. And now she would have to be told. There was no way out of it. For Mrs. Dudgeon would have to be the one to tell the doctor and Mr. Farland. Those two would surely be able to do something for the captured Tom.
They rowed down the river as far as the doctor’s house, with the golden bream still swimming so merrily over the gable, knowing nothing of the sorrow that was coming. But there was no one on the lawn. That made things more difficult. Dorothea did not like having to go to the door and ask. Supposing Mrs. Dudgeon was out, and the doctor, too, she hardly knew what she ought to do in the way of explaining what had happened to anybody else.
&n
bsp; “She may be round at the back,” she said. “Let’s row into the dyke and look.”
Dick was thinking about his rowing now, and made a pretty good job of turning in, though the stream carried him down quicker than he had expected. But, with a bit of a struggle, and a pull on a willow branch that was luckily hanging just handy, he worked the dinghy into the dyke. They had never been in there before, but had heard much about the Coot Club stronghold from Tom and the twins and the three small Coots.
They landed and tied up the dinghy. No one seemed to be about. There was the old Dreadnought, still rather muddy after her adventure as a submarine. There was the drawbridge. There was the shed where Tom carpentered and the Coot Club held their meetings. The door of the shed was open. There, hanging up, was the Bird Protection Society’s map of the river. Dorothea held her breath. It was dreadful to see these things and to know that the outlaw, after all, had fallen into the hands of his enemies.
“If only we’d been a little quicker,” she said.
“He’s marked that water-hen’s nest opposite the staithe,” said Dick, looking at the map. “It’s No. 27. I thought he’d be sure to know about it.”
“I’ll just have to go and ring the bell,” said Dorothea.
They left the shed and went round the corner of the house towards the river. A pleasant voice called from above them.
“I’m coming down in a minute.”
Dorothea looked gratefully up, and there was Mrs. Dudgeon at one of the upper windows. That was all right. No need to explain to a stranger. Mrs. Dudgeon was probably tucking up the baby, after taking him in from the garden. It was only four o’clock, but already not so warm as it had been. And now Mrs. Dudgeon was coming down. The moment had come when the bad news had to be broken to her.
“What shall I tell her?” said Dorothea desperately.
“Just tell her they’ve got him,” said Dick. “She’ll know what to do.”
There were steps on the gravel path under the windows and Mrs. Dudgeon came round the house. One look at Dorothea’s face was enough to tell her that something was wrong.
“Did you want to see me about anything?” she asked kindly, glancing up at the open window above her. “We won’t talk here. I want him to get a little sleep. Let’s go and sit down by the river.”
But they did not sit down.
Just as they came to the green garden seat, Dick called out, “Here they are!”
And there were Port and Starboard rowing down the river, towing the little Titmouse astern.
“Oh! Oh!” cried Mrs. Dudgeon. “What has happened to Tom?”
“They’ve got him,” said Dorothea wretchedly. She was on the very edge of tears. “They’ve got him. We were too late. I knew we would be. And now they’ve got him.…” She saw Tom a prisoner, in chains probably, locked up, anyhow … bread and water … the captive outlaw … Tom!
But Mrs. Dudgeon was seeing something far worse. There was Tom’s boat, a halyard flapping loose about the mast, Tom’s boat, towed by the twins … towed.… But where was Tom? … Those dreadful squalls over the marshes.… Small boats do capsize so easily.… He could swim.… Water-weeds.… Cramp.… No one could ever be sure.… “Nell, Bess,” she cried out to the rowers. “What is it? Where is he?”
And then Dick, Dorothea and Mrs. Dudgeon saw the loose bundle of sail move in the towed Titmouse. A hump rose in the canvas. The yard, one end of which was resting across the gunwale, lifted. Tom grinned at them from underneath it and then made a dreadful face that meant “Keep quiet!” The hump in the sail shrank down. The Titmouse looked as empty as before.
“Gee whizz!”
Dorothea turned in time to see a small boy leap joyfully high into the air and disappear round the corner of the house. Joe, too, had thought there was nothing to be done but to get help from the grown-up world. He had come, like Dorothea, to tell Mrs. Dudgeon what had happened. There was no need of that now, and Joe was gone like a flash.
Port and Starboard showed no sign of stopping. Port chuckled, but only for a moment. With grave, serious faces, they rowed steadily on down the river.
Mrs. Dudgeon had turned quite white, but now she laughed, partly at herself for ever having thought that something might be wrong.
“So that’s all right,” she said. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”
But like Joe, Dick and Dorothea had now nothing to tell.
“It was just a mistake,” said Dorothea. “We thought something had happened and it hasn’t.”
“So did I,” said Mrs. Dudgeon, and laughed again.
She walked back to the dyke with them, and said she hoped they would have a good voyage in the Teasel up to Horsey Mere. She steadied the dingy for them as they got in, and then gave them a good push off. A minute later they were out of the dyke and rowing downstream after the others.
Port and Starboard were rowing down towards the Ferry as if the whole day was before them and they had nothing to do. Dorothea, who felt it was her turn at the oars, had no difficulty in catching them up.
“What happened? What happened?” she asked.
“You’ll hear about it later,” said Starboard. “Don’t look as if you were in a hurry. And don’t look so excited.”
“And don’t keep looking at the Titmouse,” said Port. “We’re towing her down empty. Tom’s idea. They may have left someone on the watch down here. And if they think he hasn’t come back, then tomorrow, in the Teasel, he’ll get clean away.”
“Tom says we’re to look as miserable as we can,” said Starboard. “Look out. Better drop astern. Don’t get mixed up with our oars.”
It was a melancholy procession that passed the Ferry. First there was the Farland rowing boat, with Port and Starboard grimly rowing. Then, at the end of her painter came the Titmouse, all untidy, looking indeed as if she had lost her master and owner. And then came the Teasel’s little dinghy, with Dick looking simply puzzled and Dorothea trying not to lift her oars too high out of the water and at the same time doing her best to remember to look as if she were going to a funeral.
A largish boy leaning on the white railing of the Ferry watched the procession with a good deal of pleasure.
“So they got him,” he said. “Serve him right!” and then, almost as if he knew that he had let slip rather more than he meant, turned away and walked off with his hands in his pockets, not looking back.
“Now what did he know about it?” said Starboard.
“That’s the boy who was talking to the Hullabaloos when they stopped here,” said Dorothea.
“That’s George Owdon,” said Port.
“He must have told them himself that Tom had gone up the river.”
“I wonder if they gave him the reward,” said Dorothea.
“They’ll want it back if they did,” said Port.
Round the bend below the Ferry Inn, out of sight from any of the houses, the twins stopped rowing. Tom bobbed up again in the Titmouse and leaned over her stern to hang her rudder on its pintles. He shipped the tiller, and hoisted the sail. The Titmouse was herself again. The twins threw him his painter aboard, and turned their boat round.
“But aren’t you coming to the Teasel?” asked Dorothea.
“Can’t,” said Starboard. “Tom’ll tell you all about it.”
“We’ve got to get home now. The A.P.’ll be back any minute and wondering whether we’ve forgotten. There’s that party on and we’ve got to get into pretties and pour out for everybody. ‘Two lumps or one?’ You know.… We’ll be early in the morning. Jolly lucky you people had learnt to row. Nothing could have saved him if you hadn’t done what you did, or if you’d been one minute later. They’d have been right on the top of him before he could do anything. Specially if that beast George had told them what to look for.…”
“Hop in,” said Tom suddenly. “You’ll have done about enough rowing for today. It’s a fair wind and we’ll tow that dinghy easily.”
Almost before Port and Starboard were out of sight,
Tom had his passengers aboard, Titmouse was sailing, and the dinghy, only a couple of feet shorter than Titmouse, was towing astern.
“Of course, the dinghy does rather take her speed off,” said Tom. “You really want a bigger boat if you’re going to tow a dinghy. You’ll see tomorrow, when we get sail on the Teasel … she’ll tow Titmouse herself like nothing at all.…” He stopped suddenly with a sort of groan, and went on, “If that beast has told them to look for Titmouse, it’s no good my coming at all. I’ll just have to stay hid in the dyke at home till they’ve gone … or till the end of the holidays.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE TITMOUSE DISGUISED
THE new battery was in its place and Dick had spent happy minutes carefully connecting up the wires. It was almost dazzling to look into the cabin of the Teasel. Nobody would have guessed that under those bright and cheerful lamps there was talk of giving up the voyage to the south altogether.
“It’s like this,” said Tom. “That beast George must have told the Hullabaloos to look for me in the Titmouse or he would never have been so sure they’d got me when he saw the twins towing her down the river. It’s no good my coming with you. The only thing to do is to slip home and stay hid in the dyke.”
“But if you don’t come how can the Admiral get to Beccles?” said Dorothea, who thought of the voyage to the south as if its sole object was to take Mrs. Barrable back to her childhood’s home.
“The twins,” began Tom.
“They can’t get away for long enough,” said Dorothea.
“And where is Dick to sleep tomorrow night?” said the Admiral. “There’s only room for four in the Teasel. We’ll even have to give up the voyage to Horsey.”
“I’ll lend you Titmouse for that,” said Tom. “It won’t matter so long as I’m not in her … and I shan’t be able to use her anyhow.”
“Rubbish,” said the Admiral. “Why, in another ten days you’ll be back at school and not able to sail at all. Now listen to me. First of all, you’ve promised to skipper the Teasel.…”