The Mystery of the Green Ray - William le Queux (ebook reader .txt) 📗

“and in that case he is probably quite safe. I daresay he’s gone to look for our friend von What’s-his name’s yacht or his house at Loch Duich.”

Dennis clutched at the opportunity this theory gave him to allay her fears, and declared that it was ridiculous of him not to have thought of it before, and he gave Myra his arm to the house. But he was not at all satisfied with it, and, as it turned out afterwards, Myra was not very confident about it either. Dennis knew me well enough to know that I should never have set out with the deliberate intention of stopping away overnight without leaving some more definite message for my fiancée. However, their thoughts were speedily diverted, for they had hardly reached the house before a strange man made his way towards them through the heather.

“Mr. Ewart, sir?” he asked.

“Do you wish to speak to Mr. Ewart?” Dennis asked cautiously.

“I have a parcel and a message for him from Mr. Garnesk,” said the stranger, a young man, who might have been anything by profession.

“Oh, indeed,” said Dennis, his suspicions aroused at once. Garnesk, he knew, had only arrived in Glasgow the night before.

“I see you are wondering how I got here and why I came down the hill, instead of up a road of some sort,” said the youth with a smile.

“Frankly, I was,” Dennis admitted.

“Then, perhaps, I had better explain who I am and how I come to be here. My name is McKenzie. I am employed by Welton and Delaunay, the Glasgow opticians, makers of the ‘Weldel’ telescopes and binoculars. Mr. Garnesk has a good deal to do with our firm in the matter of designs for special glasses to withstand furnace heat, for ironworkers, etc. He arrived at the works last night in a car, and, after consulting with the manager, they kept a lot of us at work all night on a new design of spectacles.

“I was sent with this parcel in the early hours of the morning. There was no passenger train, but Mr. Garnesk got me a military pass on a fish train, and here I am. I was to deliver the parcel to Mr. Ewart, or, failing him, to Miss McLeod. When I saw this lady with the—er—the shade over her eyes I thought you were probably Mr. Ewart, sir.”

“I’m not, as a matter of fact,” said Dennis. “But where have you come from, and why didn’t you come up the path?”

“Mr. Garnesk gave me instructions, sir, which I read to the boatman who brought me here. Mr. Garnesk said I would find several fishermen at Mallaig who had motor-boats, and would bring me across. He also gave me this paper, and told me on no account to deviate from the directions he gave.”

Dennis held out his hand for the paper. He glanced through it, and then read it to Myra.

“Take a motor-boat from Mallaig to Invermalluch Lodge,” he read. “Tell the man to cross the top of Loch Hourn as if he were going to Glenelg, but when he gets well round the point he is to double back, and land you as near as he can to the house, but to keep on the far side of the point. You are on no account to be taken to the landing-stage at the lodge. When you arrive at the lodge insist on seeing Mr. Ewart, or Miss McLeod personally, if Mr. Ewart is not there. Then rejoin your motor-boat, and go on to Glenelg. Wait there for the first boat that will take you to Mallaig, and come back by the train. Do not return to Mallaig by motor-boat.”

“Those are very elaborate instructions, Mr. Burnham,” said Myra. “It would seem that Mr. Garnesk is very suspicious about something.”

“Evidently,” Dennis agreed. “You’d better let Miss McLeod have that parcel,” he added to McKenzie. The youth handed him the parcel, and at Myra’s suggestion Dennis opened it. Topmost among its contents was a letter addressed to me. Dennis tore it open and read it.

“Miss McLeod is to wear a pair of these glasses until I see her again. She will be able to see through them fairly well, but she must not remove them. The consequences might be fatal. The three other pairs are for you and Burnham, and one extra in case of accidents. It will also come in handy if you take Hilderman into your confidence. Wear these glasses when you are in any danger of coming in contact with the green ray. I have an idea that they will act as a decided protection. I also enclose one Colt automatic pistol and cartridges, the only one I could get in the middle of the night. If you decide to ask Hilderman’s help tell him everything. I am sure he will be very useful to you. Keep your courage up, old man! The best to you all. In haste.—H.G.”

“We’re certainly learning something,” said Dennis, as he finished. “Obviously Garnesk is very suspicious of somebody, but it’s not Hilderman. He writes as if he were pretty sure of himself. Probably he has proved his theory about Hilderman being a Government detective.”

“I have a message for Mr. Ewart, sir,” the messenger interrupted.

“You had better tell it me,” Dennis suggested.

“I’d rather Miss McLeod asked me,” McKenzie demurred. “Those were Mr. Garnesk’s instructions. He said ‘failing Mr. Ewart, insist on seeing Miss McLeod.’”

“Very well,” laughed Myra. “I quite appreciate your point. May I know the message?”

“Mr. Ewart was to take no notice whatever of anything Mr. Garnesk said in his letter about Mr. Hilderman. He was on no account to trust Mr. Hilderman, but to be very careful not to let him see he was suspected. The gentlemen were always to wear their glasses whenever they were in sight of the hut above—Glas.—above Mr. Hilderman’s house.”

“Whew!” Dennis whistled. “But why didn’t he——? Oh, I see. He was afraid the letter might fall into Hilderman’s hands.”

“I wonder where Ron can have got to?” Myra mused wistfully.

“We’re very much obliged to you for all the trouble you have taken, Mr. McKenzie,” said Dennis. “You’ve done very well indeed.”

“Oh, Mr. Garnesk also said that Miss McLeod was to put on her glasses by the red light.”

“Yes; that’s important,” Dennis agreed. “We’ll go up to the house now, shall we, Miss McLeod?”

“Yes,” said Myra, “and Mr. McKenzie must come and have a meal and a rest, as I’m sure he needs both after his journey. I’ll send Angus to look after the boatman.” So the three strolled up to the lodge.

“By the way,” said Dennis, “of course it’s all right, and you’ve carried out your instructions to the letter, but how can you be sure this is Miss McLeod, and how do you know I’m not Hilderman?”

“Mr. Garnesk described everybody I should be likely to meet,” McKenzie replied, “including Mr. Hilderman and Mr. Fuller. I know you are Mr. Ewart’s friend because you have a small white scar above your left eyebrow. So, being with you, and wearing a shade and an Indian bangle, I thought I was safe in concluding the lady was Miss McLeod.”

“Garnesk doesn’t seem to miss much!” Dennis laughed.

“He made me repeat his descriptions about twenty times,” said McKenzie, “so I felt pretty sure of myself.”

When they got up to the lodge, and the messenger’s requirements had been administered to, Dennis unpacked the parcel. The spectacles proved to be something like motor goggles; they fitted closely over the nose and forehead, and entirely excluded all light except that which could be seen through the glass. The only curious thing about them was the glass itself. Instead of being white, or even blue, it was red, and the surface was scratched diagonally in minute parallel lines. Myra and Dennis hurried upstairs, and lighted the lamp in the dark-room. When the girl came down again she declared that she could see beautifully. Everything was red, of course, but she could see quite distinctly.

“Have you any idea why these glasses are ruled in lines like this?” Dennis asked McKenzie.

“I couldn’t say for certain, sir,” the youth replied. “But I should think it was because Mr. Garnesk thought the glasses would be so near the eye as to be ineffective. In photography, for instance, you can’t print either bromide or printing-out paper in a red light. But if you coat a red glass with emulsion, and make an exposure on it, you can print the negative in the usual way. I don’t know why it is.”

“Perhaps there is no space for a ray to form,” Myra suggested.

“You must tell Mr. Garnesk how deeply grateful we all are to him,” said Dennis. “I’ll give you a letter to take back to him. It has been a wonderfully quick bit of work!”

“I should think he has got some hundreds of the glasses finished by this time,” said McKenzie, “and he has already asked for an estimate for fifty thousand of them.”

“Whatever for?” Myra exclaimed.

“I couldn’t say at all, but Mr. Garnesk probably has it all mapped out. He always knows what he’s about.”

A couple of hours later McKenzie left for Glenelg, with ample time to catch his boat, and the others sat down to lunch. Myra was delighted that she could see, even though everything was red. Just as they had finished lunch a telegram was delivered to Dennis. It was handed in at Mallaig, and it read: “Don’t worry about me. May be away for a few days.—Ewart.”

“Oh, good!” exclaimed Dennis. “A wire from Ron. He’s all right. ‘Don’t worry about me. May be away for a few days.’ Sent from Mallaig. He may have got something he feels he must tell Garnesk about, and has gone to Glasgow.”

“I expect that’s it,” Myra agreed. “I’m glad he’s wired. I do hope he’ll write from wherever he is to-night. Do you think I shall get a letter in the morning?”

“Certain to,” Dennis vowed, laying the telegram on the mantelpiece. “He’s sure to write, however busy he is.”

Though Myra was disappointed that there was no personal message for her, she tried to believe that everything was all right. Dennis went on what he called coastguard duty, and watched the sea and shores with the untiring loyalty of a faithful dog. That night, after dinner, he went out to keep an eye on things, and left Myra with her father. She has told me since that she felt miserable that I had not wired to her, and went to fetch my telegram in order to get what comfort she could from my message to Dennis. She held the telegram under the light, and read it through. The words were: “May be away for a few days.—Ewart.” She made out the faint pencil writing slowly through the red glass. She read it twice through, and then suddenly collapsed into an armchair in the horror of swift realisation. “Ewart!” she whispered, “Ewart! He would never sign a telegram to Mr. Burnham in that way. If Ronnie didn’t send that wire, who did?”

In a moment she jumped to her feet. She must act, and act quickly.

She ran into the den, and picked up the revolver and cartridges which Garnesk had sent, and which she had put carefully away until I should come and claim them. She loaded the revolver, and tucked it in the pocket of the Burberry coat which she slipped on in the hall. Then she tore down to the landing-stage, and made straight for Glasnabinnie in the Jenny Spinner. She had got about half a mile when Dennis, coming up to the top of the cliff on his self-imposed coastguard duties, saw her and recognised her through his binoculars.

He ran down to the landing-stage, putting on his red glasses as he went. His