Sinister Island - Charles Wadsworth Camp (7 ebook reader txt) 📗

MILLER walked across the dunes, elated at first by the fugitive caress, but after a moment his depression returned, heavier than before. He had hoped the interview would lead to some solution of Tony’s adventure, to the unveiling of the entire affair. Yet all it had brought him on that side was the girl’s avowal that she possessed an instinct which warned her when the lurking danger gathered itself menacingly.

He stepped into the dingy and pushed off. Before he had reached the boat Morgan came opposite him.

“Want to fish? ” Morgan called. “I’m going to try my luck at the lower end of the inlet.”

“Haven’t breakfasted,” Miller answered, “Bring your boat over.”

Morgan stopped his engine, pulled at the tiller, and drifted close. Miller studied him reflectively. Why was it that the pleasant little man surrounded his daughter with such cold reserve? Some unhappy family chapter, perhaps? That would also explain her repeated suggestions that nothing could come of their love. Or was the cause to be traced wholly to the girl herself? At any rate this one subject, as the constraint in the cupola yesterday reminded him, altered Morgan’s genial personality completely. Certainly he was good-humoured enough now.

“I see you got back all right last evening. Didn’t see any women in white?”

“That’s what I wished to speak to you about,” Miller answered. “No orthodox ghosts, but something more puzzling.”

Morgan was curious. He asked meaningly:

“In that piece of woods?”

Miller nodded, and told him of Tony’s experience. As he spoke the good humour faded from Morgan’s face. He listened dejectedly.

“What next?” he exclaimed when Miller had finished. “Thank heavens this wasn’t another coroner’s case. Who’ll be the third? See here. Miller, I was really anxious to run you out in my launch last night. I didn’t press the point, because I didn’t want to appear ridiculous. But I don’t feel right about that piece of woods. We’ve had warning enough now. Even before anything happened, as I told you, the Andersons and I preferred to walk it by day. Now here’s the cat bitten there, and Jake, and this unaccountable affair of last night. There’s no answer. What in the name of heaven is wrong?”

“I am going to find out what’s wrong,” Miller answered grimly. “I am going to satisfy myself about that piece of woods before I get through with it.”

“You’re young. Frankly, I’m afraid of it,” Morgan answered.

He sighed.

“If this sort of thing keeps up I suppose sooner or later I’ll have to get out. And the plantation seemed just what we wanted. It’s lonely enough now. Why don’t you come over and spend the night tonight? We can have a game of chess, and I’ll promise to get you to bed early.”

“I’m sorry,” Miller said. “The Andersons have asked me to have dinner and stay with them. Another time.”

“I wish you would,” Morgan urged.

He laughed uncomfortably.

“Here I am crying for company! Well, one can’t always analyse. There is just an unpleasant feeling about the house after dark.”

He started his engine and prepared to swing off.

“Sorry you won’t try your luck with the fishes.”

Miller tried with poor success to make his voice derisive.

“Wraiths are much more tempting game to-day.”

“But scarcely as likely to rise to bait, I’m afraid,” Morgan answered with a frown.

“Speaking of fish,” Miller went on, “reminds me I’ve yet to call on that fisherman over there.”

He turned and gazed at the low hulk, again apparently abandoned. Morgan followed his glance. A troubled look replaced his frown.

“Funny business, that!” he muttered. “What’s he here for, and where is he most of the time?”

“I’d like to know,” Miller said. “The other day you asked me not to judge any of you too harshly until I’d been at the island a reasonable length of time myself. I’m almost ashamed to suspect that my fitness for judgment at all is decidedly in question. Anderson has spoken to me of a ridiculous fancy. He said that fellow seemed no more real than the atmosphere of the island—in fact, was symbolical of the whole thing.”

“Ridiculous, of course,” Morgan answered. “Yet I think I understand what Anderson meant”

“I think I can understand, too,” Miller said. “That’s why I no longer venture to judge.”

Morgan expressed Miller’s fancy of the other day.

“That boat looks like a wreck—a wreck on which somebody has died hard.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Miller replied, “but of course it’s all nonsense. There’s nothing supernatural anywhere—least of all there. But, I must confess, it startles me to have such thoughts at all; to feel, even subconsciously, the impulse to harbor them. Besides, I’ve seen the man,”

“Yet, you know,” Morgan said, “he isn’t often to be seen; and, if Anderson raised the question as to whether anybody had touched him, or heard his voice, or caught him expressing an emotion—Well? What could I say? What could you? You’ve had your eyes on him. That’s all. And how often?”

“Only once,” Miller answered, “yesterday when I was starting through the woods to call on you.”

“I’ve been here a long time,” Morgan said, “yet I’ve seen him scarcely more than you. I’ve called to him. So has Anderson.”

Miller thrust his hands in’ his pockets.

“I hailed him yesterday. No answer. No move.”

“The few times I’ve had a chance to look at him,” Morgan said, “he’s been like that.”

“Anderson told me you’d been aboard.”

“Yes,” Morgan answered,” rather a foolish expedient to lay that mystery. It amounted to nothing. If there had been anybody watching I’d have appeared a fool.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The puzzle of that wreck, the absence of the man, the lack of any sign of him—it all got on my nerves. I’m afraid I lost my temper.”

“One does sometimes experience here a helpless feeling bordering on rage,” Miller agreed. “At any rate I’m going to repeat your experiment this afternoon.”

“You’re going to board him, too?”

“If he doesn’t answer when I hail. Maybe he will though. In spite of what I’ve seen myself and all you and Anderson have told me, I can’t conceive of his not either welcoming or resenting my presence in some positive way.”

“If he isn’t there at all?” Morgan asked.

“No doubt about his being there sometime. And where else, in heaven’s name, would he be?”

“Anyway, don’t take any chances,” Morgan warned.

“I shan’t,” Miller answered. “Besides, Tony will be with me. You see, Morgan, things have come to a point where it’s difficult for me to remain inactive. Tony’s affair last night has brought matters to a head, and I feel something ought to be done.”

Morgan spread his hands.

“I’ve said that for a long time, but what to do!”

Miller laughed.

“Perhaps the fisherman can tell me. I’m sorry to have kept you from your sport so long. Maybe the snappers will be all the hungrier. Good luck.”

Morgan swung away. As he chugged down the inlet he waved his hand cheerily, but Miller saw that his face was still troubled.

Miller stared after him. The fisherman temporarily left his mind, for Morgan’s receding back was a reproach. To be sure he had practically promised the girl not to speak about her to her father, and his reward had been that unexpected and singular caress. Yet, perhaps, it would have been the wiser part to have fulfilled his threat and have had the whole thing out with Morgan. In spite of the man’s attitude yesterday Miller could have nerved himself to that course this morning. And, after all, what could Morgan have said! Was an expression of disapproval to be weighed against the possible advantages of such a step? Beyond displeasure, such as he had exposed in the cupola, Miller felt sure Morgan could have offered no obstacles to the interview. He could have convinced the father of his right to demand a frank discussion of the girl and of her apparent elusive alliance with the atmosphere of Captain’s Island. Sooner or later that interview must take place, unless, indeed, Miller’s boasts were shown to be quite empty and the girl’s morbid prophecies were beyond all doubt accomplished.

Miller could not seriously forecast such a state of affairs. If he lived he would marry the girl. Since the very mystery of Captain’s Island had hurried him to that conviction, certainly he would not let its manifestations intervene.

As he stared after her father he wondered at his determination. While his love had grown the puzzle of the girl’s personality had, instead of diminishing, grown equally with it. She was less tangible, more exceptional than she had been that morning on the beach when the waves had played about her bare feet. “What was this girl that he loved! If it were not for the memory of his blind folly and the one quick caress she had offered of her own will, she would have seemed scarcely more real than the mystery in which apparently she was involved.

Had that caress held a meaning which he had not yet sounded? Had she possibly intended it to convey to him some significant message?

Morgan had disappeared behind the sands at the lower end of the inlet. Miller stirred, shaking his head. Inaction became more and more difficult. There was nothing to draw him to the island until after luncheon, but it occurred to him that he had not yet walked northward through the dunes. It would give him something to do, although he expected nothing in that direction except a glimpse of the marshes where Anderson had said the wild oystermen lived and worked.

“Tony!” he called.

The native came up the ladder and waited by the rail.

“I’m afraid you heard all that Mr. Morgan and I said.”

Tony nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Miller went on. “You slipped my mind. Still it gives you something to which you can look forward—our call on that fisherman after luncheon. We might not receive a gracious welcome. I fancy, Tony, you wouldn’t mind fighting that fellow if he turned nasty, in a way you could thoroughly understand.”

Tony’s grin was sickly.

Miller sighed.

“And he’d be too large for you alone. I’ve never been much of a brawler, but, I don’t know, Tony, it would be really diverting to fight something here you could get your hands on.”

Tony pointed to the end of the island around which they had sailed