Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (most inspirational books of all time .TXT) 📕

the rightful owner of Scarhaven, and if I help her to establish her claim, and if I help, too, to recover them valuables that are on the Pike—there's a good sixty to eighty thousand pounds worth of stuff, silver, china, paintings, books, tapestry, on that there craft, Mr. Vickers!—if, I say, I do all that, what will Miss Greyle give me? That's it—in a plain way of speaking."

"I thought it was," said Vickers dryly. "Of course! Very well—you'd better come and talk to Miss Greyle. Come on—now!"

Copplestone and Audrey, having made a breakfast from the box of provisions which Andrius had been good enough to send ashore with them, had climbed to the head of the cliff after Vickers, and they were presently astonished beyond measure to see him returning with Chatfield under outward signs which suggested amity if not friendship. They paused by a convenient nook in the rocks and silently awaited the approach of these two strangely assorted companions. Vickers, coming near, gave them a queer and a knowing look.

"Mr. Chatfield," he said gravely, "has had the night in which to reflect. Mr. Chatfield desires peaceable relations. Mr. Chatfield doesn't see—now, having reflected—why he and Miss Greyle shouldn't be on good terms. Mr. Chatfield desires to discuss these terms. Is that right, Chatfield?"

"Quite right, sir," assented the agent. He had been regarding the couple who faced him benevolently and indulgently, and he now raised his hat to them. "Servant, ma'am," he said with a bow to Audrey. "Servant, sir," he continued, with another bow to Copplestone. "Ah—it's far better to be at peace one with another than to let misunderstandings exist for ever. Mr. Copplestone, sir, you and me's had words in times past—I brush 'em away, sir, like that there—the memory's departed! I desire naught but better feelings. Happen Mr. Vickers'll repeat what's passed between him and me."

Copplestone stood rooted to the spot with amazement while Vickers hastily epitomized the recent conversation; his mouth opened and his speech failed him. But Audrey laughed and looked at Vickers as if Chatfield were a new sort of entertainment.

"What do you say to this, Mr. Vickers?" she asked.

"Well, if you want to know," replied Vickers, "I believe Chatfield when he says that he does not know that the Squire is not the Squire. May seem strange, but I do! As a solicitor, I do."

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Copplestone, finding his tongue.
"You—believe that!"

"I've said so," retorted Vickers.

"Thank you, sir," said Chatfield. "I'm obliged to you. Mr. Copplestone, sir, doesn't yet understand that there's a deal of conundrum in life. He'll know better—some day. He'll know, too, that the poet spoke truthful when he said that things isn't what they seem."

Copplestone turned angrily on Vickers.

"Is this a farce?" he demanded. "Good heavens, man! you know what I told you!"

"Mr. Chatfield has a version," answered Vickers. "Why not hear it?"

"On terms, Mr. Vickers," remarked Chatfield. "On terms, sir."

"What terms?" asked Audrey. "To Mr. Chatfield's personal advantage, of course."

Chatfield, who was still the most unconcerned of the group, seated himself on the rocks and looked at his audience.

"I've said to Mr. Vickers here that if I help Miss Greyle to the estate, I ought to be rewarded—handsome," he said. "Mind you, I don't know that I can, for as I say, I do not know, as a matter of strict fact, that this man as we've called the Squire, isn't the Squire. But recent events—very recent events!—has made me suspicious that he isn't, and happen I can do a good bit—a very good bit—to turning him out. Now, if I help in that there work, will Miss Greyle continue me in my post of estate agent at Scarhaven?"

"Not for any longer than it will take to turn you out of it, Mr. Chatfield," replied Audrey with an energy and promptitude which surprised her companions. "So we need not discuss that. You will never be my agent!"

"Very good, ma'am—that's quite according to my expectations," said Chatfield, meekly. "I was always a misunderstood man. However, this here proposition will perhaps be more welcome. It's always been understood that I was to have a retiring pension of five hundred pounds per annum. The family has always promised it—I've letters to prove it. Will Miss Greyle stand to that if she comes in? I've been a faithful servant for nigh on to fifty years, Mr. Vickers, as all the neighbourhood is aware."

"If I come in, as you call it, you shall have your pension," said Audrey. Chatfield slowly felt in a capacious inner pocket and produced a large notebook and a fountain pen. He passed them to Vickers.

"We'll have that there in writing, signed and witnessed," he said. "Put, if you please, Mr. Vickers, 'I agree that if I come into the Scarhaven estate, Peter Chatfield shall at once be pensioned off with five hundred pounds a year, to be paid quarterly. Same to be properly assured to him for his life.' And then if Miss Greyle'll sign that document, and you gentlemen'll witness it, I shall consider that henceforth I'm in Miss Greyle's service. And," he added, with a significant glance all round, "I shall be a deal more use as a friend nor what I should be as what you might term an enemy—Mr. Vickers knows that."

Vickers held a short consultation with Audrey, the result of which was that the paper was duly signed, Witnessed, and deposited in Chatfield's pocket. And Chatfield nodded his satisfaction.

"All right," he said. "Now then, ma'am, and gentlemen, the next thing is to get away out o' this, and get on the track of them as put us here. We'd better start a big fire out o' this dry stuff—"

"But what about these revelations you were going to make?" said Vickers.
"I understood you were to tell us—"

"Sir," replied Chatfield, "I'll tell and I'll reveal in due course, and in good order. Events, sir, is the thing! Let me get to the nearest telegraph office, and we'll have some events, right smart. Let me attract attention. I've sailed in these seas before. There's steamers goes out of Kirkwall yonder frequent—we must get hold of one. A telegraph office!—that's what I want. I'm a-going to set up a blaze—and I'll set up a blaze elsewhere as soon as I can lay hands on a bundle o' telegraph forms!"

He leisurely took off his shawl and overcoat, laid them on a shelf of rock, and moved away to collect the dry stuff which lay to hand. The three young people exchanged glances.

"What's this new mystery?" asked Audrey.

"All bluff!—some deep game of his own," growled Copplestone. "He's the most consummate old liar I ever—"

"You're wrong this time, old chap!" interrupted Vickers. "He's a bad 'un—but he's on our side now—I'm convinced. It is a game he's playing, and a deep one, and I don't know what it is, but it's for our benefit—Chatfield's simply transferred his interest and influence to us—that's all. For his own purposes, of course. And"—he suddenly paused, gazed seaward, and then jumped to his feet. "Chatfield!" he called quietly. "You needn't light any fire. Here's a steamer!"

CHAPTER XXIII THE YACHT COMES BACK

Chatfield, his arms filled with masses of dried bracken and coarse grass, turned sharply on hearing Vickers's call and stared hard and long in the direction which the young solicitor pointed out. His small, crafty eyes became dilated to their full extent—suddenly they contracted again with a look of cunning satisfaction, and throwing away his burdens he drew out a big many-coloured handkerchief and mopped his high forehead as if the perspiration which burst out were the result of intense mental relief.

"Didn't I know we should be rescued from this here imprisonment!" he cried with unctuous joy. "Thought they'd pinned me here for best part of a week, no doubt, while they could get theirselves quietly away—far away! But it's my experience 'ut them as has served the Lord's never deserted, Mr. Vickers, and if you live as long as—"

"Don't be blasphemous, Chatfield!" said Vickers, curtly. "None of that!
What we'd better think about is the chance of that steamer sighting us.
We'll light that fire, anyway!"

"She's coming straight on for the island," remarked Copplestone, who had been narrowly watching the approaching vessel. "So straight that you'd think she was actually making for it."

"She'll be some craft bound for Kirkwall," said Vickers, pointing northward to the main group of islands. "And in that case she'll probably take this channel on our west; that fire, now! Come on all of you, and let's make as big a smoke as we can get out of this stuff."

The weather being calm and the grass and bracken which they heaped together as dry as tinder, there was little difficulty about raising a thick column of smoke which presently rose high in the sky. But Audrey, turning away from the successful result of their labours, suddenly glanced at Copplestone with a look that challenged an answer to her own thoughts. They were standing a little apart from the others and she lowered her voice.

"I say!" she murmured. "I don't think we need have bothered ourselves to light that fire. That vessel, whatever it is, is making for us. Look!"

Copplestone shaded his eyes and stared out across the sea. The steamer was by that time no more than two or three miles away. But she was coming towards them in a dead straight line, and as she was accordingly bow on, and as her top deck and lamps were obscured by clouds of black smoke, pouring furiously from her funnels, they could make little out of her appearance. Copplestone's first notion was that she was a naval patrol boat, or a torpedo destroyer. Whatever she was it seemed certain that she was heading direct for the island, at that very point on which the fugitives had been landed the previous night. And it was very evident that she was in a great hurry to make her objective.

"I think you're right," he said, turning to Audrey. "But it's strange that any vessel should be making for an uninhabited island like this. What—but you've got some notion in your mind?" he broke off suddenly, seeing her glance at him again. "What is it?"

Audrey shook her head, with a cautious look at Chatfield.

"I was wondering if that's the Pike?—come back!" she whispered. "And if it is—why?"

Copplestone started, and took a longer and keener look at the vessel. Before he could speak again, Vickers called out cheerily across the rocks.

"Come on, you two!" he cried. "She's seen us—she's coming in. They'll have to send off a boat. Let's get down to the beach, so that they'll know where there's a safe landing."

He sprang over the edge of the cliff and hurried down the rough path; Chatfield, picking up his coat and shawl, prepared to follow him; Audrey and Copplestone lingered until he, too, had begun to lumber downward.

"If that is the Pike," said Audrey, "there is something—wrong. Whoever it is that is on the Pike wouldn't come back to take us!"

"You think there is somebody on the Pike—somebody other than Andrius?" suggested Copplestone.

"I believe the man who calls himself Marston Greyle was on the Pike," announced Audrey. "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