Cursed be the treasure
a jersey and a pair of breeches, on the understanding that I should
return that night and receive my own clothes back again. I remember
feeling a touch of shame at the untidy ill-fitting gear I had been
obliged to borrow, but there was no alternative, for I couldn't wait
for my own things to dry. So I set off, making tracks across country
for Sunset Towers.
It was a longer journey than I had anticipated; but I obtained a lift
here and there, and before the sun had set I had crept into the grounds
from the back, and was scouting for a clear run in. For now that I was
at the old haunt again my fear of the officers returned upon me.
For a while I lay low watching and listening, hoping that chance would
send Jenny my way. I was sentimental enough to wonder whether she would
instinctively divine my presence. I half expected her to come creeping
to me with my name on her lips. But either fate was very perverse or
Jenny's instinct very dull; for she didn't come. So it was for me to go
to her.
I ran across the bare space which divided me from the ruins, and was
soon in among shelter again, climbing and threading my way through
the tumble-down stonework to the main part of the building. I entered
through the archway at the top of the main stairs, for I found the
boarding loose as though some one had been there before me. But perhaps
it had never been properly replaced since it had been opened for
Worthing. I couldn't remember. I didn't stay to question the matter.
I was so near now to my goal that all my mind was concentrated on the
coming meeting. Jenny would be there, a room or two away, or perhaps
just downstairs at her supper. I listened, but couldn't hear a sound.
I decided I would break in upon her assuming her to be in her room. If
she were downstairs after all I would hide and wait for her.
I crept across the landing to her room and laid my hand on the
door-knob. It creaked, and I thought I heard a movement within. I
listened, but all was still again. But I dared not enter at once,
for the thought of what awaited me on the other side made my heart
leap stupidly. I could almost see Jenny standing there with wide eyes
waiting for the door to open. I was obliged to stand still to recover
my composure, for my brain seemed to reel and I felt half choked with
excitement, deafened by the beating of my heart. Why the meeting with
Jenny should throw me into such an unnerved trembling, I didn't know;
for I wasn't old enough to analyse my emotions. But there I stood,
fluttering like a rag, with all the strength ebbed out of my muscles,
and knowing full well that if I tried to speak I should merely stammer
like a booby. Also I was painfully aware of my disreputable clothes.
It was the sound of some one moving downstairs that decided me to risk
my appearance and enter. I turned the handle and put my head round
the door. To my amazement the room was empty. I was both relieved and
disappointed. For though the sight of Jenny there would have left me
merely gaping and grinning inanely, yet I knew now I should have to
prepare myself for the ordeal all over again. I went in and sat down
on a chair, and looked about the room. It was strangely empty. Usually
there were clothes lying here and there, for Jenny wasn't the tidiest
of mortals. And besides there used to be all sorts of odds and ends
and gimcracks that I couldn't name dotted about the walls and shelves,
and their absence now left a gap in the place. I went to the bed and
pulled aside the curtain. The clothes and mattress were rolled up into
a bundle. Evidently no one was expected to sleep there that night. I
looked blankly around me, feeling bitterly dejected, and knowing, in
spite of silly arguments that kept rising to the contrary, that Jenny
wasn't there at all. She had gone away. I began to notice other signs
of abandonment. The dust lay thickly everywhere. There were odds and
ends of paper lying untidily about the floor as though drawers and
cupboards had been turned out. As indeed they had been; for when I
examined them they were empty.
I sat down on the bed, disheartened and disconsolate. I didn't realize
till this moment how keenly I had been looking forward to seeing Jenny.
And the stupid trembling left me, and I felt limp with dejection. Again
I was alone in the world. And with the sense of loneliness came back in
a flood of anguish the memory of my father's death. I was too utterly
broken to weep even. I just sat there looking dully before me, saying
to myself, "Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!..."
Then I felt a surge of anger against her. Why had she gone away? Gone
away without even leaving me a message! Perhaps she had left a message!
With quickened feelings I sprang up and gazed about the room, then
started turning out all the drawers. Before I had merely glanced idly
at them. But though I hunted high and low there was no trace of any
message. I even examined the dusty shelves, wondering whether she had
thought to write on them with her finger, till it occurred to me that
the dust had gathered after she had left. Then I thought there might be
a note for me downstairs, or even in my own bedroom.
I turned to the door, but again I heard a noise; and I hesitated. There
was somebody on the landing. Instinct told me it was my enemy, for who
else should be prowling round the place when the inmates had gone?
For a moment my thought was to fling open the door and hurl myself
upon him. I gripped my knife in angry hate, and my hand was on the
knob. But the spasm of fury passed, and I felt limp and unnerved again.
Somehow I knew the creature was waiting for me outside the door. All
was very still but I seemed to feel a presence there just behind the
panels. He must be standing motionless, listening, holding his breath,
even as I was doing myself; and only that inch of woodwork divided us.
But I hadn't the courage to open the door and put all to the hazard.
The evening was growing dusky; already the room was full of hovering
shadows. If only it had been daylight, I told myself; but all the while
I knew I was a coward. Yet I couldn't stiffen my resolution. Indeed the
blow of Jenny's absence with no word of where I was to find her had
reduced me to a stupid self-pity, and I had no spirit left for fight.
I slunk quietly away, treading with an infinitude of caution; and
reaching the window I raised it as noiselessly as I could. Luckily
enough it yielded easily to my hands, sliding up quietly without a
creak. Every moment I dreaded to see the door flung open, and my enemy
upon me. But I kept my knife in my teeth, ready; and always my eyes
were turned towards the door.
At length the window was raised, and with a great breath of relief I
slipped out and over the edge, clinging to the ivy. And then as my face
dipped below the sill I saw the message I had been hunting for. A card
was wedged into a crack in the stonework; dirty it is true, and torn,
but bearing across it in uneven straggling capitals my own name, though
the last letter was missing as the card had been torn away in a ragged
slant as though some one had snatched at it in haste only ripping off a
corner.
Carefully, though I was still in an agony of fear, I loosened the card,
and climbing down to earth I turned it over without waiting to hide.
And there I saw written, "Tommy, come to me. Our house is...."
But the precious fragment that alone was of value to me had gone.
I stood gazing at the dirty card with the untidy writing, turning it
over and over, wondering what it meant. Why had Jenny hung out this
summons for me, and then torn off the heart of the message? "Tommy,
come to me." I read that again and again, mechanically, till I seemed
to hear the high imperious voice speaking the summons. And with the
feeling of Jenny's nearness I realized how like her it was to put the
message outside her window, as though she knew I should climb in that
way. I reproached myself for not having done so. If I had done so I
might have found the card intact.
That set me thinking instead of sentimentalizing. Who had torn off that
precious corner? At first I had thought that Jenny must have done so
in some sudden changing whim. But now I said it couldn't have been
Jenny. Then who?... With a start I remembered having heard a movement
in the room as I had stood outside the door foolishly talking down my
thumping heart, too shy to face her. Suppose I had but repeated the
manœuvre which my enemy had played on me? Suppose he too, hearing my
hand on the knob, had climbed out through the window, and seeing the
message there had snatched at it, in too great a hurry to release it
carefully, and so had stolen just the fragment that I needed? It was
possible. I flushed hotly at the possibility, for the explanation
commended itself to me. And then the full meaning of the thing flooded
in upon me. It wasn't my enemy. I must have been stupid ever to have
supposed it could have been. It was the Captain's enemy. He was hunting
for him. And now he would have the clue he wanted.
All fear was forgotten now. I was up the ivy again; and leaping to
the door I flung it wide. The landing was empty. With my knife in my
hand I rushed into room after room, then down the stairs, hunting
everywhere. And assuredly I should have stabbed anyone that had come
in my path without staying to see who he might be. But the whole place
was deserted. Only the hollow echoing of my feet rang from chamber to
chamber, sounding strangely dismal in the gathering twilight. So at
last I gave up the search. Standing still there in the great empty
hall the abandonment of the place was like a watchful presence as of
some listening thing, so that I turned about expecting to see eyes
upon me in the shadowy corners. At last I grew really frightened at
I know not what, and ran into the open. When I turned to look back
the huge house was standing up black against the sunset as I had seen
it that evening when hand in hand my father and I had first passed
beneath its portals. And still it seemed to be rapt in some dark and
evil meditation, gazing in upon itself as though concealing an ugly
mystery which it dared not divulge. And I, knowing something of the
haunting horror within its walls, and believing that even now an enemy
was lurking there, felt an overshadowing dread at my heart as though
an immense black bird had covered me with its wings. Then I heard a
low sighing that swelled into a moan; and it seemed that the mighty
creature were shaken with a sorrow it couldn't ease, crying to be rid
of a sickness that was poisoning it to the soul. I clapped my hands to
my ears and fled into the darkening night.
It wasn't till I was deep among the heather that I realized I was
famishingly hungry. I would have turned back, if I had had the courage,
to see if there were any stale leavings in the larder. But I couldn't
face the prospect of entering again that lonely dark mansion which
seemed more menacing in its desolation than if I had been certain that
an enemy was lurking for me there knife in hand. So I tightened my belt
and lay down to sleep, and over my head the stars came out, sparkling
like flakes of the driven surge in the splendour of the moon. So the
night slipped over me and the morning came. With it I was up again,
tightening my belt by another hole to kennel in the wolves of hunger
that were gnawing so remorselessly within me.
However, I soon struck upon a cart-track, and reaching a farmstead was
able to appease my appetite, and so set forth once more, strengthened
and invigorated. When clear of Rancey Bridge, for the fear of the
officers still made me cautious, I hit out for the main road, obtaining
a lift here and there on the way. But it was well towards evening
before I heard the washing of the sea, and at last set foot upon the
shore.