XIV
THE STRONG-BOX
Her initial rush carried Eleanor well round the front of the building.Then, as suddenly as she had started off, she stopped, common-sensereasserting itself to assure her that there was nothing to be gained byrunning until exhausted; her enemy was not pursuing her. It was evidentthat she was to be left to her own devices as long as they did not impelher to attempt an escape--as long as she made herself supple to hiswill.
She stood for a long minute, very erect, head up and shoulders back,eyes closed and lips taut, her hands close-clenched at her sides. Thendrawing a long breath, she relaxed and, with a quiet composure admirablyself-enforced, moved on, setting herself to explore and consider hersurroundings.
The abandoned hotel faced the south, overlooking the greater breadth ofLong Island Sound. In its era of prosperity, the land in front of it tothe water's edge, and indeed for a considerable space on all sides hadbeen clear--laid out, no doubt, in grassy lawns, croquet grounds andtennis courts; but in the long years of its desuetude these had revertedto the primitive character of the main portion of the island, to atangle of undergrowth and shrubbery sprinkled with scrub-oak and stuntedpines. In one spot only, a meagre kitchen-garden was under cultivation.
Southward, at the shore, a row of weather-beaten and ramshacklebath-houses stood beside the rotting remnants of a long dock whosepiles, bereft of their platform of planks, ran out into the water in adreary double rank.
Westward, a patch of woodland--progenitor by every characteristic of thetangle in the one-time clearing--shut off that extremity of the islandwhere it ran out into a sandy point. Eastward lay an extensive acreageof low, rounded sand dunes, held together by rank beach-grass andbordered by a broad, slowly shelving beach of sand and pebbles. To thenorth, at the back of the hotel, stretched a waste of low ground finallymerging into a small salt-marsh. Across this wandered a thin plank walkon stilts which, over the clear water beyond the marsh, became a ricketylanding-stage. At some distance out from the latter a long, slender,slate-coloured motor-boat rode at its moorings, a rowboat swinging fromits stern. In the larger craft Eleanor could see the head and shouldersof a man bending over the engine--undoubtedly Mr. Ephraim Clover. Whileshe watched him, he straightened up and, going to the stern of themotor-boat, began to pull the dory in by its painter. Having brought italongside, he transshipped himself awkwardly, then began to drive thedory in to the dock. Eleanor remarked the fact that he stood up to thetask, propelling the boat by means of a single oar, thrusting it intothe water until it struck bottom and then putting his weight upon it.The water was evidently quite shallow; even where the motor-boat laymoored, the oar disappeared no more than half its length.
Presently, having gained the landing-stage, the man clambered upon it,threw a couple of half-hitches in the painter round one of the stakes,shouldered the oars and began to shamble toward the hotel: a tall,ungainly figure blackly silhouetted against the steel-blue sky ofevening.
Eleanor waited where she was, near the beginning of the plank walk, toget a better look at him. In time he passed her, with a shy nod andsidelong glance. He seemed to be well past middle-age, of no pretensionswhatever to physical loveliness and (she would have said) incurably lazyand stupid: his face dull and heavy, his whole carriage eloquent of anature of sluggish shiftlessness.
He disappeared round the house, and a moment later she heard Mrs. Cloverharanguing him in a shrill voice of impatience little resembling thetone she had employed with the girl.
For an instant Eleanor dreamed wildly of running down to the dock,throwing herself into the rowboat and casting it off to drift whither itwould. But the folly of this was too readily apparent; even if she mightbe sure that the tide would carry her away from the island, the waterwas so shallow that a man could wade out to the motor-boat, climb intoit and run her down with discouraging ease. As for the motor-boat--shehadn't the least idea of the art of running a motor; and besides, shewould be overhauled before she could get to it; for she made no doubtwhatever that she was being very closely watched, and would be until themen had left the island. After that ... a vista of days of grindingloneliness and hopeless despair opened out before her disheartenedmental vision.
She resumed her aimless tour of inspection, little caring whither shewandered so long as it was far from the house, as far as possiblefrom ... _him_.
Sensibly the desolate spirit of the spot saturated her mood. No casethat she had ever heard of seemed to her so desperate as that of thelonely, helpless girl marooned upon this wave-bound patch of earth andsand, cut off from all means of communication with her kind, her destinyat the disposal of the maleficent wretch who called himself her father,her sole companions two alleged criminals whose depravity, if what shehad heard were true, was subordinate only to his.
She could have wept, but wouldn't; the emotion that oppressed her wasnot one that tears would soothe, her plight not one that tears couldmend.
Her sole comfort resided in the fact that she was apparently to be letalone, free to wander at will within the boundaries of the island.
Sunset found her on a little sandy hillock at the western end of WreckIsland--sitting with her chin in her hands, and gazing seawards witheyes in which rebellion smouldered. She would not give in, would notabandon hope and accept the situation at its face value, asirremediable. Upon this was she firmly determined: the night was not topass unmarked by some manner of attempt to escape or summon aid. Sheeven found herself willing to consider arson as a last resort: the hotelafire would make a famous torch to bring assistance from the mainland.Only ... she shrank from the attempt, her soul curdling with thesinister menace of vitriol.
The day was dying in soft airs that swept the face of the waters with atouch so light as to be barely perceptible. With sundown fell starkcalm; the Sound became a perfect mirror for the sombre conflagration inthe west. The slightest sounds reverberated afar through the still,moveless void. She could hear Mrs. Clover stridently counselling herEphraim at the house, the quarter of a mile away. Later, she heard thehollow tramp of two pair of feet, one heavy and one light, on theplank-walk; the creak of rowlocks with the dip and splash of oars; and,after a little pause, the sudden, sharp, explosive rattle of a motorexhaust, as rapid, loud and staccato as the barking of a Gatling, yetquickly hushed----almost as soon as it shattered the silences, muffledto a thick and steady drumming.
Eleanor rose and turned to look northward. The wood-lot hid from hersight both dock and mooring--and all but the gables of the hotel, aswell--but she soon espied the motor-boat standing away on a straightcourse for the mainland: driven at a speed that seemed to her nearlyincredible, a smother of foam at its stern, long purple ripples wideningaway from the jet of white water at the stem, a smooth, high swell ofdark water pursuing as if it meant to catch up and overwhelm the boatand its occupants. These latter occupied the extremes of the littlevessel: Ephraim astern, beside the motor; the slighter figure at thewheel in the bows.
Slowly the girl took her path back to the hotel, watching the boat drawaway, straight and swift of flight as an arrow, momentarily dwindlingand losing definite form against the deepening blue-black surface of theSound....
Weary and despondent, she ascended the pair of steps to the kitchenporch. Mrs. Clover was busy within, washing the supper dishes. Shecalled out a cheery greeting, to which Eleanor responded briefly butwith as pleasant a tone as she could muster. She could not but distrusther companion and gaoler, could not but fear that something vile andterrible lurked beneath that good-natured semblance: else why need thewoman have become _his_ creature?
"You ain't hungry again?"
"No," said Eleanor, lingering on the porch, reluctant to enter.
"Lonely?"
"No...."
"You needn't be; your pa'll be home by three o'clock, he says."
Eleanor said nothing. Abruptly a thought had entered her mind, bringinghope; something she had almost forgotten had recurred with tremendoussignificance.
"Tired? I'll g
o fix up your room soon 's I'm done here, if you want tolay down again."
"No; I'm in no hurry. I--I think I'll go for another little walk roundthe island."
"Help yourself," the woman called after her heartily; "I'll be busy forabout half an hour, and then we can take our chairs out on the porch andwatch the moon come up and have a real good, old-fashioned gossip...."
Eleanor lost the sound of her voice as she turned swiftly back round thehouse. Then she stopped, catching her breath with delight. It wastrue--splendidly true! The rowboat had been left behind.
It rode about twenty yards out from the end of the dock, made fast tothe motor-boat mooring. The oars were in it; Ephraim had left themcarelessly disposed, their blades projecting a little beyond the stern.And the water was so shallow at the mooring that the man had been ableto pole in with a single oar, immersing it but half its length! An oar,she surmised, was six feet long; that argued an extreme depth of waterof three feet--say at the worst three and a half. Surely she might dareto wade out, unmoor the boat and climb in--if but opportunity weregranted her!
But her heart sank as she considered the odds against any such attempt.If only the night were to be dark; if only Mrs. Clover were not to waitup for her husband and her employer; if only the woman were not hersuperior physically, so strong that Eleanor would be like a child in herhands; if only there were not that awful threat of vitriol ...!
Nevertheless, in the face of these frightful deterrents, she steeled herresolution. Whatever the consequences, she owed it to herself to bevigilant for her chance. She promised herself to be wakeful andwatchful: possibly Mrs. Clover might nap while sitting up; and the girlhad two avenues by which to leave the house: either through the kitchen,or by the front door to the disused portion of the hotel. She need onlysteal noiselessly along the corridor from her bedroom door and down thebroad main staircase and--the front door was not even locked. Sheremembered distinctly that _he_ had simply pulled it to. Still, it wouldbe well to make certain he had not gone back later to lock it.
Strolling idly, with a casual air of utter ennui--assumed for thebenefit of her gaoler in event she should become inquisitive--Eleanorwent round the eastern end of the building to the front. Here a broadveranda ran from wing to wing; its rotting weather-eaten floor fenced inby a dilapidated railing save where steps led up to the front door; itsroof caved in at one spot, wearing a sorry look of baldness in otherswhere whole tiers of shingles had fallen away.
Cautiously Eleanor mounted the rickety steps and crossed to the doors.To her delight, they opened readily to a turn of the knob. She stood fora trifle, hesitant, peering into the hallway now dark with eveningshadow; then curiosity overbore her reluctance. There was nothing tofear; the voice of Mrs. Clover singing over her dishpan in the kitchencame clearly through the ground-floor corridor, advertising plainly herpreoccupation. And Eleanor wanted desperately to know what it was thatthe man had hidden in the socket of the newel-post.
Shutting the door she felt her way step by step to the foot of thestaircase. Happily the floor was sound: no creaking betrayed herprogress--there would be none when in the dead of night she would breakfor freedom.
Mrs. Clover continued to sing contentedly.
Eleanor removed the knob of the post and looked down into the socket. Itwas dark in there; she could see nothing; so she inserted her hand andgroped until her fingers closed upon a thick rough bar of metal.Removing this, she found she held a cumbersome old-fashioned iron key ofcurious design.
It puzzled her a little until she recalled the clang of metal that hadprefaced the man's appearance in the hall that afternoon. This then, sheinferred, would be the key to his private cache--the secret spot wherehe hid his loot between forays.
Mrs. Clover stopped singing suddenly, and the girl in panic returned thekey to its hiding place, the knob to its socket.
But it had been a false alarm. In another moment the woman's voice wasagain upraised.
Eleanor considered, staring about her. He had come into sight frombeneath the staircase. She reconnoitred stealthily in that direction,and discovered a portion of the hall fenced off by a railing andcounter: evidently the erstwhile hotel office. A door stood open behindthe counter. With some slight qualms she passed into the enclosure andthen through the door.
She found herself in a small, stuffy, dark room. Its single window,looking northwards, was closely shuttered on the outside; only a feebletwilight filtered through the slanted slats. But there was light enoughfor Eleanor to recognise the contours and masses of a flat-topped deskwith two pedestals of drawers, a revolving chair with cane seat andback, a brown paper-pulp cuspidor of generous proportions and--a huge,solid, antiquated iron safe: a "strong-box" of the last century's middledecades, substantial as a rock, tremendously heavy, contemptuouslyinnocent of any such innovations as combination-dials, time-locks andthe like. A single keyhole, almost large enough to admit a child's hand,and certainly calculated to admit the key in the newel-post,demonstrated that this safe depended for the security of its contentsupon nothing more than its massive construction and unwieldy lock. Itdemonstrated something more: that its owner based his confidence uponits isolation and the loyalty of his employees, or else had satisfiedhimself through practical experiment that one safe was as good asanother, ancient or modern, when subjected to the test of modern methodsof burglary.
And (Eleanor was sure) the Cadogan collar was there; unless, of course,the man had taken it away with him; which didn't seem likely, all thingsconsidered. A great part of the immense value of the necklace resided inits perfection, in its integrity; as a whole it would be an exceedinglydifficult thing to dispose of until long after the furore aroused by itsdisappearance had died down; broken up, its marvellously matched pearlsseparated and sold one by one, it would not realise a third of itsworth.
And the girl would have known the truth in five minutes more (she was,in fact, already moving back toward the newel-post) had not Mrs. Cloverchosen that moment to leave the kitchen and tramp noisily down thecorridor.
What her business might be in that part of the house Eleanor could notimagine--unless it were connected with herself, unless she had heardsome sound and was coming to investigate.
In panic terror, Eleanor turned back into the little room and croucheddown behind the safe, making herself as small as possible, actuallyholding her breath for fear it would betray her.
Nearer came that steady, unhurried tread, and nearer. The girl thoughther heart would burst with its burden of suspense. She was obliged togasp for breath, and the noise of it rang as loudly and hoarsely in herhearing as the exhaust of a steam-engine. She pressed a handkerchiefagainst her trembling lips.
Directly to the counter came the footsteps, and paused. There was thethump of something being placed upon the shelf. Then deliberately thewoman turned and marched back to her quarters.
In time the girl managed to regain enough control of her nerves toenable her to rise and creep out through the office enclosure to thehall. Mrs. Clover had resumed her chanting in the kitchen; but Eleanorwas in no mood to run further chances just then. She needed to get away,to find time to compose herself thoroughly. Pausing only long enough tosee for herself what the woman had deposited on the counter (it was acommon oil lamp, newly filled and trimmed, with a box of matches besideit: preparations, presumably, against the home-coming of the master witha fresh consignment of booty) she flitted swiftly to and through thedoor, closed it and ran down the steps to the honest, kindly earth.
Here she was safe. None suspected her adventure or her discovery. Shequieted from her excitement, and for a long time paced slowly to andfro, pondering ways and means.
The fire ebbed from the heart of the western sky; twilight mergedimperceptibly into a night extraordinarily clear and luminous with thegentle radiance of a wonderful pageant of stars. The calm held unbroken.The barking of a dog on the mainland carried, thin but sharp, across thewaters. On the Sound, lights moved sedately east and west: red lightsand green and white lancing
the waters with long quivering blades. Attimes the girl heard voices of men talking at a great distance. Once apassenger steamer crept out of the west, seeming to quicken its pace asit drew abreast the island, then swept on and away like a floatingpalace of fairy lamps. As it passed, the strains of its string orchestrasounded softly clear through the night. Other steamers followed--half adozen in a widely spaced procession. But no boat came near Wreck Island.If one had, Eleanor could almost have found courage to call for help....
In due time Mrs. Clover hunted her up, bringing a lantern to guide herheavy footsteps.
"Lands sakes!" she cried, catching sight of the girl. "Wherever have youbeen all this time?"
"Just walking up and down," said Eleanor quietly.
"Thank goodness I found you," the woman panted. "Give me quite a turn,you did. _I_ didn't know but what you might be trying some foolish ideaabout leaving us, like your pa said you might. One never knows when totrust you nervous prostrationists, or what you'll be up to next."
Eleanor glanced at her sharply, wondering if by any chance the woman'smind could be as guileless as her words or the bland and childishsimplicity of her eyes in the lantern-light.
"Wish you'd come up on the stoop and keep me company," continued Mrs.Clover; "I'm plumb tired of sitting round all alone. Moon'll be upbefore long; it's a purty sight, shining on the water."
"Thank you," said Eleanor; "I'm afraid I'm too tired. It must be laterthan I thought. If you don't mind I'll go to my room."
"Oh, please yourself," said the woman, disappointment lending her tonean unpleasant edge. "You'll find it hot and stuffy up there, though. Ifyou can't get comfortable, come down-stairs; I'll be up till the bossgets home."
"Very well," said Eleanor.
She said good night to Mrs. Clover on the kitchen porch and going to herroom, threw herself upon the bed, dressed as she was.
For some time the woman down-stairs rocked slowly on the porch, hummingsonorously. The sound was infinitely soothing. Eleanor had somedifficulty in keeping awake, and only managed to do so by dint ofcontinually exciting her imagination with thoughts of the Cadogan collarin the safe, the key in the newel-post, the dory swinging at itsmoorings in water little more than waist deep....
In spite of all this, she did as the slow hours lagged drift into ahalf-waking nap. How long it lasted she couldn't guess when she wakened;but it had not been too long; a glance at the dial of her wrist-watchin a slant of moonlight through the window reassured her as to theflight of time. It was nearly midnight; she had three hours left, threehours leeway before the return of her persecutor.
She lay without moving, listening attentively. The house was anythingbut still; ghosts of forgotten footsteps haunted all its stairs andcorridors; but the girl could hear no sound ascribable to human agency.Mrs. Clover no longer sang, her rocking-chair no longer creaked.
With infinite precautions she got up and slipped out of the room. Oncein the hallway she did hear a noise of which she easily guessed thesource; and the choiring of angels could have been no more sweet in herhearing: Mrs. Clover was snoring.
Kneeling at the head of the staircase and bending over, with an armround the banister for support, she could see a portion of the kitchen.And what she saw only confirmed the testimony of the snores. The womanhad moved indoors to read; an oil lamp stood by her shoulder, on thetable; her chair was well tilted, her head resting against its back; anold magazine lay open on her lap; her chin had fallen; from her mouthissued dissonant chords of contentment.
Eleanor drew back, rose and felt her way to the long corridor. Down thisshe stole as silently as any ghost, wholly indifferent to the eerieinfluences of the desolate place, spectrally illuminated as it was withfaded chequers of moonlight falling through dingy windows, alive as itwas with the groans and complaints of uneasy planks and timbers and the_frou-frou_, like that of silken skirts, of rats and mice scuttlingbetween its flimsy walls. These counted for nothing to her; but all hersoul hung on the continuance of that noise of snoring in the kitchen;and time and again she paused and listened, breathless, until sure itwas holding on without interruption.
Gaining at length the head of the stairs, she picked her way down verygently, her heart thumping madly as the burden of her weight wrung fromeach individual step its personal protest, loud enough (she felt) towake the dead in their graves; but not loud enough, it seemed, todisturb the slumbers of the excellent, if untrustworthy, Mrs. Clover.
At length she had gained the newel-post and abstracted the key. Theforetaste of success was sweet. Pausing only long enough to unlatch thefront door, for escape in emergency, she darted through the hall, behindthe counter, into the little room.
And still Mrs. Clover slept aloud.
Kneeling, Eleanor fitted the key to the lock. Happily, it was well oiledand in excellent working order. The tumblers gave to the insistence ofthe wards with the softest of dull clicks. She grasped the handle, andthe heavy door swung wide without a murmur.
And then she paused, at a loss. It was densely dark in the little room,and she required to be able to see what she was about, if she were topick out the Cadogan collar.
It was risky, a hazardous chance, but she determined to run it. The lampthat Mrs. Clover had left for her employer was too convenient to berejected. Eleanor brought it into the room, carefully shut the door toprevent the light being visible from the hall, should Mrs. Clover wakeand miss her, placed the lamp on the floor before the safe and lightedit.
As its soft illumination disclosed the interior of the antiquatedstrong-box, the girl uttered a low cry of dismay. To pick out what shesought from that accumulation (even if it were really there) would bethe work of hours--barring a most happy and unlikely stroke of fortune.
The interior of the safe was divided into some twelve pigeon-holes, allclosely packed with parcels of various sizes--brown-paper parcels,neatly wrapped and tied with cord, each as neatly labelled in ink withan indecipherable hieroglyphic: presumably a means of identification toone intimate with the code.
She turned in time to see the door open and the face andfigure of her father
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But Eleanor possessed no means of telling one package from another; theywere all so similar to one another in everything save size, in whichthey differed only slightly, hardly materially.
None the less, having dared so much, she wasn't of the stuff to give upthe attempt without at least a little effort to find what she sought.And impulsively she selected the first package that fell under her hand,with nervous fingers unwrapped it and--found herself admiring anextremely handsome diamond brooch.
As if it had been a handful of pebbles, she cast it from her to blazedespised upon the mean plank flooring, and selected another package.
It contained rings--three gold rings set with solitaire diamonds. Theyshared the fate of the brooch.
The next packet held a watch. This, too, she dropped contemptuously,hurrying on.
She had no method, other than to take the uppermost packets from eachpigeonhole, on the theory that the necklace had been one of the lastarticles entrusted to the safe. And that there was some sense in thismethod was demonstrated when she opened the ninth package--or possiblythe twelfth: she was too busy and excited to keep any sort of count.
This last packet, however, revealed the Cadogan collar.
With a little, thankful sigh the girl secreted the thing in the bosom ofher dress and prepared to rise.
Behind her a board creaked and the doorlatch clicked. Stillsitting--heart in her mouth, breath at a standstill, blood chilling withfright--she turned in time to see the door open and the face and figureof her father as he stood looking down at her, his eyes blinking in theglare of light that painted a gleam along the polished barrel of theweapon in his hand.