Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 54
Against his will, Colin at last recognised the hopelessness of waiting where he was. At Wester Voe he might be of some use; here he was serving no purpose. Reluctantly he turned away and ran’ along the path towards the house. As he did so, from ahead of him there came down the wind a sound which made him pull up in his tracks and strain his ears. Then, almost immediately, a second followed: an unmistakable pistol-crack. And, close upon it, clear in a lull of the wind, the scream of a girl in sheer terror.
Colin in a subterranean passage was one person; Colin above ground and in an emergency was a very different creature. He dashed off again in the direction of the cry, forcing his passage through the wind-blown heather, his mind filled with only one idea: to reach Wester Voe and protect Jean from whatever might be threatening her. That shrill, inarticulate cry had carried no personality with it, only horror and dismay; but he knew it for Jean’s voice, and at its message his throat thickened with anger and apprehension. Whoever had drawn that cry from her would have to pay for it to the full, if Colin could manage it.
He broke out of the heather-path and was crossing the narrow belt of grass between it and the lupin field when an urgent voice made him pause in his stride.
“Pull up, you fool!” it said. “They’ve got me. You can’t do anything. Wait!”
Colin halted in his tracks. Now that memory had time to work, he recognised Wenlock’s intonation, though the voice was changed by pain.
“Lie down! Quick! Don’t let them see you.”
Colin obeyed involuntarily, and crept on hands and knees in the direction of the detective.
“What is it?” he demanded. “I can’t wait. I must get to the house. My wife’s there. I heard her crying out.”
“Get under cover,” Wenlock ordered. “Have you got a gun in your pocket? . . . No? Then you can’t do anything. They shot me on sight and they’d pick you off too, if you let them know you’re here.”
“Who?”
“Your split-lipped friend. He’s back again, with a gang like himself. I blundered right into them on my errand of mercy”—even through the pain Colin recognised the irony of the tone—“and your acquaintance pulled his gun on me instanter. It got me in the shoulder. We’ll have to get out of this. They’ll be hunting for us in two ticks, I guess, though I tried to pretend they’d done for me with the second shot.
“Sorry,” said Colin, wholly ignoring Wenlock’s advice. “You’d have to look after yourself just now. I’ve got my wife to look after. And there’s another girl there, too.”
“Have some sense,” the detective pleaded, in an exasperated whisper. “They’ll shoot you as soon as they see you. What better will your wife be for that? Reinforcements are what we need, and you must beat them up. I can’t, in this state. It’s the only chance, I tell you. The people at Heather Lodge have pistols. Get help from there.”
The cold common sense of this overcame Colin’s resistance, but only after a struggle. The thought of Jean at the mercy of these scoundrels —whoever they were—dominated his mind and impelled him to choose direct methods; but reason, in the end, forced him to see that Wenlock’s plan was the only one possible. Without fire-arms, he was helpless; and except for the Heather Lodge armoury Ruff a held no weapons outside the Wester Voe gun-room.
The detective sat up with a groan of pain.
“We’ll need to get out of here at once. You crawl ahead and I’ll try to follow. If I drop out, then go ahead yourself. Don’t bother about me.”
For a time they crept from cover to cover until at last they reached a safe distance among the heather.
“Who are these fellows?” the detective demanded. “Can you make it out?”
“Nipasgal,” said Colin curtly, after a moment’s thought.
“Nipasgal?” Wenlock repeated uncomprehendingly. Then apparently he recalled Colin’s narrative of events. “Oh, you mean the people who were mentioned in that cipher wireless? The gang Leven was on the look-out for? Likely enough. All the more chance of recruiting the Heather Lodge lot to help you, then. You’d better hurry off there now, Mr. Trent. There isn’t any time to waste. I’ll follow as best I can. I seem to have lost a lot of blood and can’t keep up with you. Go now.”
Colin needed no further orders. He was burning to do something active. He wanted to feel that he was really moving to Jean’s help, instead of standing by inactive and impotent. That terror-stricken cry lingered in his ears and filled him with the gravest fears. With a last reluctant glance at Wester Voe, he turned his back and set off through the rain and dusk, making for Heather Lodge. Even if the people there denied him their assistance, they could hardly refuse him a pistol. That would give him at least a sporting chance when he returned to Wester Voe; for return he must—and soon—if Jean was to be rescued from the hands of these scoundrels.
Then, as he sped along, a fresh thought occurred to him. Northfleet’s position in the scheme of things was still obscure. If he were hand in glove with the Nipasgal lot—as Colin had once suspected—then the soundest plan would be to enlist his help at once. He could hardly refuse it, and his influence might do the trick. If, on the other hand, he had no