Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 68

had grown years older, and there was a suggestion of numbness even in his attitude, as though he had received a stunning shock from which he was only beginning to recover. Colin, recalling the levity with which he had treated the matter of Hazel and Jean, was quick to infer that this new uneasiness was due to something touching him personally. But Leven’s affairs had only the most transitory interest for Colin at that juncture. He dismissed them almost at once from his mind.

Again and again he went down to the mouth of the tunnel and strained his ears for the least whisper of sound. Common sense told him all the while that nothing could reach him from Wester Voe. The numberless reflections from the walls of the labyrinth would deaden any noise. But still he persisted, with growing anxiety as the time passed without bringing Northfleet’s return.

At last, almost despairing, he ensconced himself in the bedroom upstairs. From there he could at least see the light shining in the girls’ window and give himself the illusion that in some way he was not altogether cut off from Jean. From time to time he put his binoculars to his eyes and gazed at the tiny yellow patch in in the hope of catching a glimpse of his wife’s figure moving within the room.

Suddenly his attention was riveted by a swift flickering of the reading-lamp which Hazel used as a transmitter. As he deciphered the message, he felt a chill running down his spine :

“Shooting downstairs. What’s happening? Quick. Answer.”

Then it recommenced again: “Shooting. What is it? Shooting. What is it? . . .” repeated and repeated in frantic efforts to attract attention.

Colin fumbled with the unlit lamp on the floor, keeping his eye on the window in the vain hope of being able to see something without the binoculars. Never had a lamp seemed more difficult to kindle quickly. And as he bungled with the thing in his haste the direst visions thronged through his mind. Northfleet had been detected. And now the gang of scoundrels would want revenge. Colin had a pretty good idea where they would look for it, and he turned icy at the thought.

The lamp was ready in a second or two, though it seemed an age to Colin. He went to the mirror and signalled, holding up his binoculars with his free hand. The answer did not relieve his mind much:

“Still safe. Shooting stopped. Sounds of breaking into somewhere. Who’s sending? Are you safe?”

To evade the issue, he signalled: “Colin sending.” But the next flickers of the light demanded: “Is Cyril safe?” and Colin could get no further news until that imperious question was answered. He sought for a phrase to reassure the girls; but he had no skill in lying, and was driven to signal: “Gone out. Book soon.” Then, as an afterthought, he added: “Tell you whenever he returns”

Hazel added one or two additional facts to his knowledge. The noise below in the hall had died down, he learned, and no one had come near the girls’ room. With that mite of comfort he broke off communication lest his flashes should be observed.

He went down to the sitting-room, where he gave the detective an outline of affairs. Leven took no notice of him, but seemed deep in very uncomfortable thoughts of his own.

Colin found it impossible to sit inactive at this juncture. He wandered outside the house, returned to the upper window, fidgeted here and there, with both his mind and his body a prey to futile restlessness. At last he made up his mind to adventure into the tunnel, at least as far as the beginning of the labyrinth. Northfleet might be in need of assistance; it was safe to go there, so long as he kept out of the maze; and anything was better than this aimless time-killing.

In the old Chief’s room he found the bundle of rockets which Northfleet had secured; and at first the sight of them raised Colin’s spirits. Here, in the last resort, was a means of opening up communication with the mainland. But what had become of Northfleet?

He was puzzling over this when steps sounded faintly in the distance. Careless in his anxiety, Colin stepped out into the passage; and to his immense relief he saw the chemist coming hurriedly along the tunnel from the labyrinth. Colin gave vent to an exclamation of joy. Northfleet, however, seemed to have no time for felicitations, and his first words took Colin by surprise.

“What’s the weather like upstairs?”

“Wind’s almost died away. It’s raining heavily.”

“Thank the Lord!” said Northfleet, with more earnestness than seemed called for by the subject. “Come along, Trent. Help me with these rockets.”

As they tramped along the tunnel with their bundles, Northfleet gave Colin a concise account of his own adventures; after which Colin summarised Hazel’s message.

“You’d better go up at once and tell them you’re back,” he suggested, as they clambered through the gap in the wall. “I’ll bring up the rockets and wait for you in the hall,” he added tactfully.

It would hardly be playing the game to read off the messages between Hazel and Northfleet just then, he felt.

In a few minutes Northfleet rejoined him in the hall.

“They’re all right so far. No one’s gone near them. I’ve told them to stay quiet now, no matter what happens.”

He pulled a note-book from his pocket: the rocket-code, Colin saw. Northfleet studied it for a moment or two, then put it down on the hall table.

“No good. Just as I thought.”

“No good? Why?” Colin asked, rather aghast.

“We don’t want to send for a doctor, or a nurse, or a packet of matches, or anything of that sort. These are the things in the code. Naturally, there’s no signal meaning: ‘Send someone to knock out a few gunmen.’ If we ask the Stornadale people to send a boat, the men in the boat will be unarmed, won’t they? And our friends would