"Bain't opening time yet," called a voice from above. Mrs. Rogers's head appeared at an open window. "Oh, beg pardon; 'tis you, sir. We have to be that careful; Constable Hardstone be always on the prowl.

You'll find Rogers in the garden, sir--through that little gate. And if so be you find he haven't got his hair on, I beseech 'ee to mind him of it; he's that careless of his brains, and I know they'll be broiled some day."

The innkeeper, with his wig awry, was pinching out his tomatoes. He smiled when Warrender told him of the projected removal of the camp.

"'Tis what I expected--ay, and all the village likewise," he said.

"We find the island a trifle inconvenient, you know," said Warrender, in pursuance of the understanding he had come to with his companions that their real reason should not at present be disclosed.

"Ay sure, that's what we all said. The neighbours wondered how long you'd stand it."

"Stand what?" asked Warrender, wondering whether any whispers of the truth had got abroad.

"Why, them sperits. Flesh and blood you can deal with, but when it comes to sperits they're bound to get the better of you, give 'em time.

You can't get hold of 'em no way. Smite 'em, you might as well smite the wind. I've been here and there about the world in my time, and I tell 'ee I wouldn't spend a night on that island not if you doubled my pension."

"Well, we did hear some very queer sounds last night. Of course, it was very windy. I expected rain to-day, but it has cleared up. By the way, are there any coastguards about here?"

"There's Lloyd's signal station away at the point yonder. I go over now and again for a crack and a smoke with an old messmate of mine."

"How far is it?"

"Four mile or so. You go past Mr. Crawshay's, then sheer off to the left and get into the old coastguard track over the cliffs."

"I'll take a walk out there some day. We haven't seen much of the neighbourhood yet. There's no signal station in the village, of course."

"No; we're too far from the sea. Have 'ee heard what they're saying about Mr. Pratt, sir?"

"What's that?"

"Ah, poor gentleman. 'Tis feared he've gone a-lost, or been swallered by lions, or summat. 'Tis the end of many a poor traveller."

"Why do they fear that? Is there any news?"

"No; that's where 'tis; there be no news at all. 'Tis five weeks since he went off, not a soul knowing, as his way is; and Susan Barter up at post office was saying only yesterday that there's not been a single line from him to any o' they people at the house. 'Tis never been knowed afore. As a rule there's a letter from Paris, or Ma.r.s.eilles, or Brindisi--ay, from places farther away; but this time not a line. He'll be missed in the parish, sir, if so be he've gone aloft, like poor Tom Bowling."

Rogers proceeded to relate anecdotes of his landlord--instances of his peppery outbursts and splenetic quarrels with his county neighbours, but more of kindly deeds and un.o.btrusive generosity among his poorer tenants.

"And your friend be his nephew, to be sure!" he added. "Well, don't worrit the poor young gent yet awhile. No news is good news; maybe there'll be word of him one of these days. Susan Barter is sure to tell us."

Presently Pratt returned, laden with sundry parcels. The boys took leave of Rogers, and by half-past twelve were back in camp. Armstrong had nothing to report. He declined at first to make one of the tea-party, but when the spin of a coin elected him against Pratt, he yielded to Warrender's argument that it would appear discourteous if only one of them accepted the invitation. Promptly at half-past four the two, wearing grey flannels for the occasion, entered the grounds of Mr. Crawshay's house, and were met on the drive by the owner himself.

"Glad to see you, my lads," he said, heartily. "You've something to tell me? I guessed it. Now, not a word before the ladies. I haven't told them anything of your troubles; best not to disturb them, you know.

We'll have a talk in private, after tea."

The consequence was that presently Armstrong found himself left in the company of Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter, while Warrender was taken by Mr. Crawshay to his study.

It had been decided that nothing should be said to the old gentleman about the visit to the Red House, the mysterious doings of Rush at sea, or the strange light Pratt had seen among the trees. Determined as the lads were to probe the mystery to the bottom, they felt that their purpose might be defeated by any premature activity on the part of the county magistrate. Accordingly, when Mr. Crawshay and Warrender were seated in deep armchairs facing each other, and the former said, "Now, my lad, what is the latest news?" Warrender simply related the incident of the midnight visit to the camp, concluding--

"And so, sir, we have decided to accept your offer of a camping-place on your land, not merely to escape these annoyances--we should rather like to hold our ground in regard to them--but because we think we should stand a better chance of discovering what really is going on."

"Ah, what does that mean? There's more in it than appears?"

"If you don't mind, sir, I won't tell you details now; but we have found out one or two facts that have given rise to certain suspicions. By removing from the island we feel that we shall be better able to put them to the test, and when our information is complete we will lay it before you."

"Well, I won't press you. Many a rogue has escaped justice because the case against him has been badly prepared. Tell me all in your own time.

Now as to your camp. There's a little natural dock in my bank of the river. I'll put on my gardener and odd man to make a small clearing for you. It's too late to-day; the men knock off at five--eight hours' day, you know. But you can bring your boat up the river, and put up for the night with me."

"Thank you, sir; but we have a little errand at the signal station before we go back--it might be rather late before we could get everything packed up. I think we had better wait till the morning."

"Very well. You may have fresh light on the matter then. I shall expect all three to lunch to-morrow. On my land you won't need to guard your camp."

Taking leave a little later, the boys walked across the cliffs to the signal station. On inquiry from the man in charge they learnt that the steamer seen late on the previous evening was the _Katarina_, from Helsingfors for New York.

"Did you notice a small boat pull out to her?" asked Armstrong.

"Rush's boat," replied the man. "It didn't pull out to her; 'twas out before she came in sight. Rush has some lobster pots out there. He's a well-known character in these parts."

They thanked their informant, and retraced their steps.

"She was a Russian boat," remarked Armstrong. "No secret about her name or course. All the same--a Russian newspaper, a Russian secretary at the Red House, Russian petrol cans, a Russian steamer. Queer coincidences, at the least."

It was nearly eight o'clock when they regained the camp. Pratt was humming "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls" to the accompaniment of his banjo.

"And how is the fair lady of the punctured tyre?" he asked. "Did she deplore my absence?"

"She did say something about 'that amusing Mr. Pratt,'" Armstrong replied. "I like her mother."

"We're all going up to lunch to-morrow," said Warrender, and explained the arrangements made.

"Then, as it's our last night on this island of spooks, I vote that Armstrong and I go to the ruins and track that weird sound," said Pratt.

"The wind is high; we'll have time before dark."

Armstrong and he set off. The breeze was blowing in the same direction, and almost as strongly, as on the night before, but no moaning met their ears. Arriving at the cottage, they heard the characteristic whistle and hiss of wind playing about the eaves, but not the tuneful, mellow note that had reminded Pratt of an organ pipe. They searched around the base of the walls for a recently fallen chimney-pot. There was none.

"Extraordinary!" said Pratt. "No wonder the rustics are jumpy. Of course, there must be some simple explanation--some slight change of direction in the wind, I expect. If you've ever tried to play the penny whistle you'll know that you can't always get a note, when you're a beginner. We've had our walk for nothing."

They were half-way back to the camp; dusk was just merging into darkness, when the organ-note, riding, as it were, upon the rustle of the leaves, struck upon their ears.

"By George!" exclaimed Pratt. "One would think the spook was just waiting for the dark. Come back. This is an acoustical phenomenon worth writing about to some scientific rag."

They hurried back to the ruins, and sprang up the staircase. Pratt tracked the sound, as before, to the partially unroofed room on the west side. Armstrong tried to climb up the jagged brickwork of the outer wall, but found the footing too insecure to persevere. Baffled, they stood for a while listening.

"It's no good," said Armstrong at last. "It's a job for daylight.

Besides, it's of no importance; we've got more interesting mysteries to fathom."

"True, old matter-of-fact. You haven't a disinterested pa.s.sion for science. Well, I'll show you where I saw the light from last night."

They went into the other room, and looked across the river into the darkness, faintly patterned by the nearer trees. Suddenly, high up, a glow appeared, shone for a second, disappeared, recurred. They watched in silence. Presently Armstrong spoke.