Scarhaven Keep - J. S. Fletcher (phonics reading books TXT) 📗

“I’ve always thought so. Whether Chatfield knew that or not, I don’t know. My own belief is that Chatfield did know. I believe Chatfield was in with them, as the saying is. I think they were all running away with as much of the Scarhaven property as they could lay hands on and that having got it, they bundled Chatfield out and dumped him down here, having no further use for him. And, if that’s the Pike, and they’re returning here, it’s because they want Chatfield!”

Copplestone suddenly recognized that feminine instinct had solved a problem which masculine reason had so far left unsolved.

“By gad!” he exclaimed softly. “Then, if that is so, this is merely another of Chatfield’s games. You don’t believe him?”

“I would think myself within approachable distance of lunacy if I believed a word that Peter Chatfield said,” she answered calmly. “Of course, he is playing a game of his own all through. He shall have his pension⁠—if I have the power to give it⁠—but believe him⁠—oh, no!”

“Let’s follow them,” said Copplestone. “Something’s going to happen⁠—if that is the Pike.”

“Look there, then,” exclaimed Audrey as they began to descend the cliff. “Chatfield’s already uneasy.”

She pointed to the beach below, where Chatfield, now fully overcoated and shawled again, had mounted a ridge of rock, and while gazing intently at the vessel, was exchanging remarks with Vickers, who had evidently said something which had alarmed him. They caught Chatfield’s excited ejaculations as they hurried over the sand.

“Don’t say that, Mr. Vickers!” he was saying imploringly. “For God’s sake, Mr. Vickers, don’t suggest them there sort of thoughts. You make me feel right down poorly, Mr. Vickers, to say such! It’s worse than a bad dream, Mr. Vickers⁠—no, sir, no, surely you’re mistaken!”

“Bet you a fiver to a halfpenny it’s the Pike,” retorted Vickers. “I know her lines. Besides she’s heading straight here. Copplestone!” he cried, turning to the advancing couple. “Do you know, I believe that’s the Pike!”

Copplestone gave Audrey’s elbow a gentle squeeze.

“Look at old Chatfield!” he whispered. “By gad!⁠—look at him. Yes,” he called out loudly, “We know it’s the Pike⁠—we saw that from the top of the cliffs. She’s coming straight in.”

“Oh, yes, it’s the Pike,” exclaimed Audrey. “Aren’t you delighted, Mr. Chatfield.”

The agent suddenly turned his big fat face towards the three young people, with such an expression of craven fear on it that the sardonic jest which Copplestone was about to voice died away on his lips. Chatfield’s creased cheeks and heavy jowl had become white as chalk; great beads of sweat rolled down them; his mouth opened and shut silently, and suddenly, as he raised his hands and wrung them, his knees began to quiver. It was evident that the man was badly, terribly afraid⁠—and as they watched him in amazed wonder his eyes began to search the shore and the cliffs as if he were some hunted animal seeking any hole or cranny in which to hide. A sudden swelling of the light wind brought the steady throb of the oncoming engines to his ears and he turned on Vickers with a look that made the onlookers start.

“For goodness sake, Mr. Vickers!” he said in a queer, strained voice. “For heaven’s sake, let’s get ourselves away! Mr. Vickers⁠—it ain’t safe for none of us. We’d best to run, sir⁠—let’s get to the other side of the island. There’s caves there⁠—places⁠—let’s hide till something comes from the other islands, or till these folks goes away⁠—I tell you it’s dangerous for us to stop here!”

“We’re not afraid, Chatfield,” replied Vickers. “What ails you! Why man, you couldn’t be more afraid if you’d murdered somebody! What do you suppose these people want? You, of course. And you can’t escape⁠—if they want you, they’ll search the island till they get you. You’ve been deceiving us, Chatfield⁠—there’s something you’ve kept back. Now, what is it? What have they come back for?”

“Yes, Mr. Chatfield, what has the Pike come back for?” repeated Audrey, coming nearer. “Come now⁠—hadn’t you better tell?”

“It is the Pike,” remarked Copplestone. “Look there! And they’re going to send in a boat. Better be quick, Chatfield.”

The agent turned an ashen face towards the yacht. She had swung round and come to a halt, and the rattle of a boat being let down came menacingly to the frightened man’s ears. He tittered a deep groan and his eyes again sought the cliffs.

“It’s not a bit of good, Chatfield,” said Vickers. “You can’t get away. Good heavens, man!⁠—what are you so frightened for!”

Chatfield moaned and drew haltingly nearer to the other three, as if he found some comfort in their mere presence.

“It’s the money!” he whispered. “The money as was in the Norcaster Bank⁠—two lots of it. He⁠—the Squire⁠—gave me authority to get out his lot what was standing in his name, you know⁠—and the other⁠—the estate lot⁠—that was standing in mine⁠—some fifty thousand pounds in all, Mr. Vickers. I had it all in gold, packed in sealed chests⁠—and they⁠—those on board there⁠—thought I took them chests aboard the Pike with me. I did take chests, d’ye see⁠—but they’d lead in ’em. The real stuff is hidden⁠—buried⁠—never mind where. And I know what they’ve come back for!⁠—they’ve opened the chests I took on board, and they’ve found there’s naught but lead. And they want me⁠—me!⁠—me! They’ll torture me to make me tell where the real chests, the money is⁠—torture me! Oh, for God’s sake, keep ’em away from me⁠—help me to hide⁠—help me to get away⁠—and I’ll tell Miss Greyle then where the money’s hid, and⁠—oh, Lord, they’re coming! Mr. Vickers⁠—Mr. Vickers⁠—”

He cast himself bodily at Vickers, as if to clutch him, but Vickers stepped agilely aside, and Chatfield fell on the sand, where he lay groaning while the others looked from him to each other.

“Ah!” said Vickers at last. “So that’s it, is it, Chatfield? Trying to cheat everybody all round, eh? I suppose you’d have told Miss Greyle later that these people had collared all that gold⁠—and then