"I might take the risk; but why do you want it?"

"Well," d.i.c.k said apologetically, "it's difficult to bring much money back when you go to Edinburgh; and if you don't mind I'll stop here.

If Andrew and Whitney aren't in the neighborhood, I'll come on by train, but I expect to find them at Melrose or Abbotsford. You see, I felt rather shabby about leaving on the day they were coming home."

Staffer did not object, but d.i.c.k thought his compliance was accounted for by the whistle of a stopping train that was then starting for Edinburgh.

"Andrew has eccentric tastes, but, allowing for that, it's hard to see what satisfaction he and his American friend can get from cruising about the Galloway coast in winter," Staffer said.

"They're fond of a shot at the black geese."

"They can get snipe and partridges at Appleyard without much trouble."

"They can," d.i.c.k agreed, smiling; "that partly accounts for it. If you knew Andrew as I do, you'd understand why he prefers the geese.

Anything he can get easily, doesn't appeal to him. No doubt, it's a matter of temperament, but I imagine he goes punting after geese because it's a remarkably good way of getting cold and wet."

"Then it's only the shooting that takes him along the coast."

"Of course. I can't think of anything else. Can you?"

"No," Staffer said with a quick laugh. "But I'll admit that I don't understand your cousin's type of character."

They left the hotel soon afterward, but d.i.c.k's face grew thoughtful when Staffer drove off in the car. He had known for some time that Williamson derived an advantage from exploiting his extravagance, but he had not minded this. Of late, however, Williamson had left him alone, but d.i.c.k did not think this was because Staffer had interfered on his behalf. He had admired and trusted his step-father, who had always treated him indulgently; and he now retained some liking for him, though he was beginning to know him better.

Leaving the town he took the road to Abbotsford lost in gloomy thought; but presently he braced himself to ponder the line he ought now to take. After all, he was the heir to Appleyard, and although he had recklessly ignored his responsibilities, he loved the old house.

Now, all was not well there: something mysterious was going on. d.i.c.k held Williamson mainly accountable for this, but it looked as if Staffer had a part in the plot. This complicated things, because Staffer was his step-father and Elsie's uncle, and d.i.c.k cherished the honor of his house.

He looked up as he heard the hoot of a motor horn, and his tense face relaxed into a smile. Andrew, in the side-car of Whitney's bicycle, waved his hand and d.i.c.k's troubles began to vanish. One could rely on Andrew, who, after all, was a much better Johnstone than himself.

Somehow, Andrew would stand between them and whatever threatened the honor of Appleyard.

CHAPTER XXIII

AN EVENING AT APPLEYARD

Rankine had got a few days' leave and was spending it at Appleyard. He sat beside Elsie in a corner of the billiard-room, where the party had gathered after dinner. He had arrived during the afternoon, and Andrew was not altogether pleased to see him, although he liked the man.

Elsie had suggested that d.i.c.k should invite him, and had added that he might as well come when Madge Whitney was there. Since Elsie had not seen Rankine until he arrived, Andrew wondered what she meant; but he admitted that she generally had a reason for what she did.

n.o.body had been playing billiards or wanted to begin. Elsie and Mrs.

Woodhouse were knitting and the others were talking quietly, while they waited for the evening newspaper.

Presently Staffer made a remark about the Navy, and Madge Whitney looked at Rankine with a smile.

"Don't you feel that you must answer that?"

"I don't know that I can," Rankine answered good-naturedly. "To some extent, Mr. Staffer's right. The Navy certainly occupies the background of the stage, just now."

"It strikes me as being out of sight altogether," Staffer said.

"Well, perhaps that's its proper place. But I expect it will emerge from obscurity when it's wanted."

"We must hope so," Staffer returned. "No doubt, your commanders are waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entry on the scene; but one imagines that ambitious young officers must find being kept in the background rather galling."

Andrew caught Whitney's glance and understood it as a warning not to speak. It had been blowing hard for the past week and he thought of the great battleships rolling until it was scarcely possible to keep a footing on their stripped decks, while anxious men slept beside the guns and bitter seas foamed across the ponderous, low-sided hulls. It would be worse on the swift destroyers, driving, half submerged, through the gale and trembling when the combers struck them, until their thin steel skin and beams racked and bent with the strain. No man could really keep a lookout in the blinding clouds of spray, and their decks would be swept from end to end with icy water. Rankine knew this, but he smiled tranquilly as he turned to Staffer.

"Oh, I don't think they mind--so long as they feel they're useful!"

"Is that what you feel?"

"Something of the kind. Surveying's not the work one would prefer, just now, but it's necessary. The banks and channels shift and our commerce must go on."

"There have been interruptions," Staffer said dryly.

Andrew felt puzzled. Staffer's manners were generally good; but now, while there was nothing offensive in his tone, he had gone farther than was altogether tactful. It looked as if he wanted to sting the young navy officer into an indignant protest, though Andrew could not see what he expected to gain. Rankine, however, agreed with Staffer.

"That's so; and it's possible we may hear of another interruption or two. Our men will do their best; but, while our cruisers are pretty active, they can't be everywhere at once."

The newspaper was brought in and Staffer handed it to d.i.c.k.

"You can read it to us. I can't see very well where I am."

d.i.c.k took the thin sheet.

"Nothing of importance on the western front; a trench or two carried, another lost."

He stopped with an exclamation, and the others leaned forward eagerly.

"What is it, d.i.c.k?" Elsie asked in a hushed voice.

"They've sunk another ship in the North Channel--a wheat ship from Canada!"

"Read it!" Andrew said tensely.

d.i.c.k gave a quick look at Staffer before beginning; but Staffer at that instant was lighting a cigar, so his face was masked.

"A telegram from Londonderry reports that the British cargo steamer _Meridian_ with grain from Canada was beached in a sinking state near Greencastle last night. Full particulars have not yet been received, but a violent shock was felt when the vessel was off Malin Head and soon afterward she began to settle down. The water rose rapidly in two of her holds, but the bulkheads stood the strain and the captain was able to reach the mouth of Lough Foyle. Whether she struck a mine or was torpedoed is not at present known, but some light is thrown on the subject by the crew of the _Concord's_ experience. The latter, a steamer of 6,000 tons, bound from Montreal to Glasgow, pa.s.sed Tory Island yesterday, steering east. A high, confused sea was running, and it was getting dark when she was abreast of Portrush, where the lookout forward reported a submarine.

"The captain immediately altered his course, and the vessel, which was rolling wildly, listed over as she obeyed her helm. The lookout, running across the forecastle, after he hailed the bridge, as if to see the submarine better, was thrown down the ladder and picked up, unconscious, on the iron deck. The captain steamed out to sea and returned an hour or two afterward nearer the Kintyre side. The injured seaman had not recovered consciousness when he was landed in the Clyde."

There was silence for a few moments when d.i.c.k put down the newspaper.

Andrew's face was hard, for Rankine had given him a meaning glance; Elsie was very quiet, but she was lightly flushed.

"I suppose it wouldn't be difficult to recognize a submarine?" she asked presently.

"No," said Rankine; "not if it were at the surface. One might, however, mistake a spar or batten, floating upright, for a periscope."