"Bless my soul!"

"Pratt draws the long bow, sir," said Warrender, thinking it time to intervene.

"And hits the bull's-eye every time," Pratt rejoined. "You can't deny that twenty yards away the gra.s.s is simply bristling with tin-tacks."

"The fact is, sir," said Warrender, "that some one is trying to annoy us. Yesterday morning our motor-boat was set adrift, and in the night some one showered a lot of tin-tacks round our tent. The motive seems to be the wish to drive us away. And Pratt thinks that his uncle gave instructions to the men at the house to prevent camping either on his ground or on the island. They've chosen a very annoying way of going about it."

"Outrageous! Scandalous!" cried Mr. Crawshay. "He has no rights on the island. It's criminal. I'm a magistrate, and I'll issue you a warrant against the ruffians."

"The difficulty is that we haven't caught any one in the act," Warrender pursued. "I believe that warrants can't be anonymous. We've seen a fellow named Rush hanging about----"

"A notorious gaol-bird. I've had my eye on him."

"But the tacks were bought at Blevins's shop by my uncle's gardener,"

said Pratt. "I pumped that out this morning. I dare say we could find out the man's name."

"But it's no crime to buy tin-tacks," said Warrender. "We don't know who actually scattered them. Indeed, we've no evidence at all; only inferences."

"Nothing to act on, certainly," said Mr. Crawshay. "It seems to me you had better cross the river, and camp on my ground after all; or, better still, come to the house; I've plenty of room."

"It's jolly good of you, sir," said Warrender, "but it goes against the grain to knuckle under. We'd like to catch the fellows, and find out, if we can, what their game really is. I don't think even Pratt believes his uncle is responsible, even indirectly."

"Not responsible for his actions, unfit to plead, to be detained during His Majesty's pleasure," said Pratt. "We talked it over, and decided to stick it, sir. It's a matter of pride with me. I'm thinking of taking up criminal investigation as a profession."

"Indeed!"

"He's just cackling, sir," said Armstrong, impelled to utterance at last.

"I suspected as much. Well, you've made up your minds, I see. I understand. At your age I should have done the same. If you want any help, you've only to row across the river. My house is about half a mile through the woods and across a field. You must come up one day in any case, and have lunch or dinner with me, and discuss the situation. And, by the way, if you're fond of shooting, my coverts are positively overstocked. I can provide guns, and you're welcome to 'em."

"Many thanks indeed, sir," said Warrender.

"And you'll keep me informed? I'll take action the moment you have evidence. It's atrocious."

They escorted him to his boat, gave him a shove off, and watched him until he was out of sight. Returning to the tent, Pratt remarked--

"D. Crawshay seems to be a dashed good sort after all."

CHAPTER VIII

PIN-p.r.i.c.kS

Late that afternoon, Warrender and Pratt started for a spin in the dinghy to the mouth of the river, intending to return on the tide. In accordance with their newly formed plan, Armstrong remained on guard in the camp.

Just before the scullers gained the river mouth they overtook a weather-beaten old fisherman leisurely rowing his heavy tub out to sea.

Pratt gave him a cheery hail as they came abreast of him, and learning, in answer to a question, that he was proceeding to inspect his lobster pots nearly a mile out, they asked if they might accompany him.

"Ay sure, I've nothing against it," said the old man.

"Nor against us, I hope," rejoined Pratt, smiling.

"Not as I knows on."

"Then we're friends already. I always make friends in two seconds and a half, and being, like Caesar, constant as the northern star, I stick like a limpet. You can't shake me off."

"Same as a lobster when he gets a grip."

"Ah! you know more about lobsters than I do. Is that a lobster pot on the beach there?"

He indicated a low wooden hut, standing a little above high-water mark, on the sh.o.r.e curving away to the east.

"You be a joker, sir," said the fisher, his native taciturnity thawed.

"That be a fisherman's hut. Fisherman, says I, but 'tis little fishing as goes on hereabouts nowadays. I mind the time when there was a tidy little fleet in these waters, but that was long ago. There was good harbourage in those days, but the sea have cast up a bar across the mouth of the river; we're going over it now; and it makes the pa.s.sage dangerous for a boat of any draught. One or two old gaffers like me goes out now and again, but 'tis not what it was in my young days."

"That hut looks a bit dilapidated--is it yours?"

"No, it belongs to Mr. Pratt, up along at the house."

"You don't say so! I dare say you'll be surprised to hear it, but it wouldn't be fair to you to keep it a secret; Mr. Pratt is my uncle."

"Do 'ee tell me that, now?"

"But I hope you won't think any the worse of me. It's not my fault--I'm sure you'll admit that."

"Think the worse of 'ee! I reckon 'tis t'other way about. He be my landlord, and a rare good 'un; never raised my rent all the thirty years I've knowed 'un. We thinks a rare lot of 'un in village."

"I say, do you mean that?"

"What for not? He never gives us no trouble, and if you can say that of the landlord as owns best part o' the village, you may reckon there ain't much wrong with 'un. Not but what he've a bit of a temper, and can't abide being put upon; but treat him fair, and he'll treat you fair. Ay, and more. That there hut, now. It do belong to him, but I doubt he's never been richer for any rent paid him for't."

"Who rents it, then?"

"Uses it, I'd say. Nick Rush never paid no rent, that I'd swear."

"Siren Rush again, Phil," said Pratt, in an undertone, to Warrender. "I thought Rush was a poacher," he added, to the fisherman.

The old man made no reply. Pratt guessed that for some reason or other he was unwilling to commit himself.

"My uncle, as you say, can't stand being put upon," he went on. "Which makes it the more surprising that he should allow a rascal like Rush to use his hut rent free. I wonder he doesn't turn him out."

"He did, a year or two back," said the fisherman, tersely.

"That was when Rush went to gaol for poaching, of course?" said Pratt, with the air of one who was well acquainted with the circ.u.mstances. "I should have done the same myself. No one would be hard on a poor fellow who kept straight, but when Mr. Crawshay had to sentence him for poaching, that was the last straw. But how is it that he has been allowed to come back? Has he turned over a new leaf?"

"The hut was empty for a year or two, and was falling to pieces,"