CHAPTER IX
HOBKIN'S HOLE
Copplestone carried the queer-looking missive into his privatesitting-room and carefully examined it, back and front, before slittingit open. The envelope was of the cheapest kind, the big splotch of redwax at the flap had been pressed into flatness by the summary method offorcing a coarse-grained thumb upon it; the address was inscribed inill-formed characters only too evidently made with difficulty by a badpen, which seemed to have been dipped into watery ink at every third orfourth letter. And it read thus:--
"THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN STAYING AT 'THE ADMIRAL'--PRIVATE"
The envelope contained nothing but a scrap of paper obviously torn from apenny cash book. No ink had been used in transcribing the two or threelines which were scrawled across this scrap--the vehicle this time was anindelible pencil, which the writer appeared to have moistened with histongue every now and then, some letters being thicker and darker thanothers. The message, if mysterious, was straightforward enough. "_Sir,"_it ran, "_if so be as you'd like to have a bit of news from one as hasit, take a walk through Hobkin's Hole tomorrow morning and look out forYours truly--Him as writes this_."
Like most very young men Copplestone on arriving at what he calledmanhood (by which he meant the age of twenty-one years), had drawn up forhimself a code of ethics, wherein he had mentally scheduled certainthings to be done and certain things not to be done. One of the thingswhich he had firmly resolved never to do was to take any notice of ananonymous letter. Here was an anonymous letter, and with it a conflictbetween his principles and his inclinations. In five minutes he learntthat cut-and-dried codes are no good when the hard facts of every-daylife have to be faced and that expediency is a factor in human existencewhich has its moral values. In plain English, he made up his mind tovisit Hobkin's Hole next morning and find out who the unknowncorrespondent was.
He was half tempted to go round to the cottage and show the queer scrawlto Audrey Greyle, of whom, having passed six delightful hours in hercompany--he was beginning to think much more than was good for him,unless he intended to begin thinking of her always. But he was stillyoung enough to have a spice of bashfulness about him, and he did notwant to seem too pushing or forward. Again, it seemed to him that theanonymous letter conveyed, in some subtle fashion, a hint that it was tobe regarded as sacred and secret, and Copplestone had a strong sense ofhonour. He knew that Mrs. Wooler was femininely curious to hear all aboutthat letter, but he took care not to mention it to her. Instead hequietly consulted an ordnance map of the district which hung framed andglazed in the hall of the inn, and discovering that Hobkin's Hole wasmarked on it as being something or other a mile or two out of Scarhavenon the inland side, he set out in its direction next morning afterbreakfast, without a word to anyone as to where he was going. And that hemight not be entirely defenceless he carried Peter Chatfield's oakenstaff with him--that would certainly serve to crack any ordinary skull,if need arose for measure of defence.
The road which Copplestone followed out of the village soon turned offinto the heart of the moorlands that lay, rising and falling in irregularundulations, between the sea and the hills. He was quickly out of sightof Scarhaven, and in the midst of a solitude. All round him stretchedwide expanses of heather and gorse, broken up by great masses of rock:from a rise in the road he looked about him and saw no sign of a humanhabitation and heard nothing but the rush of the wind across the moorsand the plaintive cry of the sea-birds flapping their way to thecultivated land beyond the barrier of hills. And from that point he sawno sign of any fall or depression in the landscape to suggest the placewhich he sought. But at the next turn he found himself at the mouth of anarrow ravine, which cut deep into the heart of the hill, and was darkand sombre enough to seem a likely place for secret meetings, if fornothing more serious and sinister. It wound away from a little bridgewhich carried the road over a brawling stream; along the side of thatstream were faint indications of a path which might have been made byhuman feet, but was more likely to have been trodden out by the mountainsheep. This path was quickly obscured by dwarf oaks and alder bushes,which completely roofed in the narrow valley, and about everything hung asuggestion of solitude that would have caused any timid or suspicioussoul to have turned back. But Copplestone was neither timid norsuspicious, and he was already intensely curious about this adventure;wherefore, grasping Peter Chatfield's oaken cudgel firmly in his righthand, he jumped over the bridge and followed the narrow path into thegloom of the trees.
He soon found that the valley resolved itself into a narrow and rockydefile. The stream, level at first, soon came tumbling down amongst hugeboulders; the path disappeared; out of the oaks and alder high cliffs oflimestones began to lift themselves. The morning was unusually dark andgrey, even for October, and as leaves, brown and sere though they were,still clustered thickly on the trees, Copplestone quickly found himselfin a gloom that would have made a nervous person frightened. He alsofound that his forward progress became increasingly difficult. At thefoot of a tall cliff which suddenly rose up before him he was obliged topause; on that side of the stream it seemed impossible to go further. Butas he hesitated, peering here and there under the branches of the dwarfoaks, he heard a voice, so suddenly, that he started in spite of himself.
"Guv'nor!"
Copplestone looked around and saw nothing. Then came a low laugh, as ifthe unseen person was enjoying his perplexity.
"Look overhead, guv'nor," said the voice. "Look aloft!"
Copplestone glanced upward, and saw a man's head and face, framed in ascreen of bushes which grew on a shelf of the limestone cliff. The headwas crowned by a much worn fur cap; the face, very brown and seamed andwrinkled, was ornamented by a short, well-blackened clay pipe, from thebowl of which a wisp of blue smoke curled upward. And as he grewaccustomed to the gloom he was aware of a pair of shrewd, twinkling eyes,and a set of very white teeth which gleamed like an animal's.
"Hullo!" said Copplestone. "Come out of that!"
The white teeth showed themselves still more; their owner laughed again.
"You come up, guv'nor," he said. "There's a natural staircase round thecorner. Come up and make yourself at home. I've a nice little parlourhere, and a matter of refreshment in it, too."
"Not till you show yourself," answered Copplestone. "I want to see whatI'm dealing with. Come out, now!"
The unseen laughed again, moved away from his screen, and presentlyshowed himself on the edge of the shelf of rock. And Copplestone foundhimself staring at a queer figure of a man--an under-sized,quaint-looking fellow, clad in dirty velveteens, a once red waistcoat,and leather breeches and gaiters, a sort of compound between a poacher, agame-keeper, and an ostler. But quainter than figure or garments was theman's face--a gnarled, weather-beaten, sea-and-wind stained face, which,in Copplestone's opinion, was honest enough and not without abundanttraces of a sense of humour.
Copplestone at once trusted that face. He swung himself up by the nooksand crannies of the rock, and joined the man on his ledge.
"Well?" he said. "You're the chap who sent me that letter? Why?"
"Come this way, guv'nor," replied the brown-faced one. "Well talk morecomfortable, like, in my parlour. Here you are!"
He led Copplestone along the ridge behind the bushes, and presentlyrevealed a cave in the face of the overhanging limestone, mostly natural,but partly due to artifice, wherein were rude seats, covered over withold sacking, a box or two which evidently served for pantry and larder,and a shelf on which stood a wicker-covered bottle in company with a rowof bottles of ale.
The lord of this retreat waved a hospitable hand towards his cellar.
"You'll not refuse a poor man's hospitality, guv'nor?" he said politely."I can give you a clean glass, and if you'll try a drop of rum, there'sfresh water from the stream to mix it with--good as you'll find inEngland. Or, maybe, it being the forepart of the day, you'd prefer ale,now? Say the word!"
"A bottle of ale, then, thank you," responded Copplestone, who saw t
hathe had to deal with an original, and did not wish to appearstand-offish. "And whom am I going to drink with, may I ask?"
The man carefully drew the cork of a bottle, poured out its contents withthe discrimination of a bartender, handed the glass to his visitor with abow, helped himself to a measure of rum, and bowed again as he drank.
"My best respects to you, guv'nor," he said. "Glad to see you in Hobkin'sHole Castle--that's here. Queer place for gentlemen to meet in, ain't it?Who are you talking to, says you? My name, guv'-nor--well-knownhereabouts--is Zachary Spurge!"
"You sent me that note last night?" asked Copplestone, taking a seat andfilling his pipe. "How did you get it there--unseen?"
"Got a cousin as is odd-job man at the 'Admiral's Arms,'" repliedSpurge. "He slipped it in for me. You may ha' seen him there,guv'nor--chap with one eye, and queer-looking, but to be trusted. As Iam!--down to the ground."
"And what do you want to see me about?" inquired Copplestone. "What'sthis bit of news you've got to tell?"
Zachary Spurge thrust a hand inside his velveteen jacket and drew out amuch folded and creased paper, which, on being unwrapped, proved to bethe bill which offered a reward for the finding of Bassett Oliver. Heheld it up before his visitor.
"This!" he said. "A thousand pound is a vast lot o' money, guv'nor! Now,if I was to tell something as I knows of, what chances should I have ofgetting that there money?"
"That depends," replied Copplestone. "The reward is to be given to--butyou see the plain wording of it. Can you give information of that sort?"
"I can give a certain piece of information, guv'nor," said Spurge."Whether it'll lead to the finding of that there gentleman or not I can'tsay. But something I do know--certain sure!"
Copplestone reflected awhile.
"Ill tell you what, Spurge," he said. "I'll promise you this much. If youcan give any information I'll give you my word that--whether what you cantell is worth much or little--you shall be well paid. That do?"
"That'll do, guv'nor," responded Spurge. "I take your word as betweengentlemen! Well, now, it's this here--you see me as I am, here in acave, like one o' them old eremites that used to be in the ancient days.Why am I here! 'Cause just now it ain't quite convenient for me to showmy face in Scarhaven. I'm wanted for poaching, guv'nor--that's the fact!This here is a safe retreat. If I was tracked here, I could make my wayout at the back of this hole--there's a passage here--before anybodycould climb that rock. However, nobody suspects I'm here. Theythink--that is, that old devil Chatfield and the police--they think I'moff to sea. However, here I am--and last Sunday afternoon as ever was, Iwas in Scarhaven! In the wood I was, guv'nor, at the back of the Keep.Never mind what for--I was there. And at precisely ten minutes to threeo'clock I saw Bassett Oliver."
"How did you know him?" demanded Copplestone.
"Cause I've had many a sixpenn'orth of him at both Northborough andNorcaster," answered Spurge. "Seen him a dozen times, I have, and knewhim well enough, even if I'd only viewed him from the the-ayter gallery.Well, he come along up the path from the south quay. He passed within adozen yards of me, and went up to the door in the wall of the ruins,right opposite where I was lying doggo amongst some bushes. He poked thedoor with the point of his stick--it was ajar, that door, and it wentopen. And so he walks in--and disappears. Guv'nor!--I reckon that'ud bethe last time as he was seen alive!--unless--unless--"
"Unless--what?" asked Copplestone eagerly.
"Unless one other man saw him," replied Spurge solemnly. "For there wasanother man there, guv'nor. Squire Greyle!"
Copplestone looked hard at Spurge; Spurge returned the stare, and noddedtwo or three times.
"Gospel truth!" he said. "I kept where I was--I'd reasons of my own. Maybe eight minutes or so--certainly not ten--after Bassett Oliver walked inthere, Squire Greyle walked out. In a hurry, guv'nor. He come out quick.He looked a bit queer. Dazed, like. You know how quick a man can think,guv'nor, under certain circumstances? I thought quicker'n lightning. Isays to myself 'Squire's seen somebody or something he hadn't no tastefor!' Why, you could read it on his face! plain as print. It was there!"
"Well?" said Copplestone. "And then?"
"Then," continued Spurge. "Then he stood for just a second or two,looking right and left, up and down. There wasn't a soul insight--nobody! But--he slunk off--sneaked off--same as a fox sneaks awayfrom a farm-yard. He went down the side of the curtain-wall that shuts inthe ruins, taking as much cover as ever he could find--at the end of thewall, he popped into the wood that stands between the ruins and hishouse. And then, of course, I lost all sight of him."
"And--Mr. Oliver?" said Copplestone. "Did you see him again?"
Spurge took a pull at his rum and water, and relighted his pipe.
"I did not," he answered. "I was there until a quarter-past three--then Iwent away. And no Oliver had come out o' that door when I left."