Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (best value ebook reader TXT) 📕

Vickers hurried his little party up a gangway and on to the deck. A hard-faced, keen-eyed, man, evidently in authority, came forward.

“Are you the captain of this vessel?” demanded Vickers in tones of authority. “You are? I am Mr. Vickers, solicitor, of Norcaster. I give you formal warning that the man you have known as Marston Greyle is not Marston Greyle at all, but an impostor. All the property which you have removed from the house, and now have on this vessel, belongs to this lady, Miss Audrey Greyle, Lady of the Manor of Scarhaven. It is at your peril that you move it, or that you cause this vessel to leave this harbour. I claim the vessel and all that is on it on behalf of Miss Greyle.”

The man addressed listened in silent attention, and showed no sign of any surprise. As soon as Vickers had finished he turned, hurried down a stairway, remained below for a few minutes, and came up again.

“Will you kindly step this way, Miss Greyle and gentlemen?” he said politely. “You must remember that I am only a servant. If you will come down⁠—”

He led them down the stairs, along a thickly-carpeted passage, and opened the door of a lighted saloon. All unthinking, the three stepped in⁠—to hear the door closed and locked behind them.

XX The Courteous Captain

Vickers sprang back at that door as the sharp click of the turning key caught his ear, and Copplestone, preceding him and following Audrey, who had advanced fearlessly into the cabin, pulled himself up with a sudden, sickening sense of treachery. The two young men looked at each other, and a dead silence fell on them and the girl. Then Vickers laid his hand on the door and shook it.

“Locked in!” he muttered with a queer glance at his companions. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing good!” growled Copplestone who was secretly cursing his own folly in allowing Audrey to leave the quay. “We’re trapped!⁠—that’s what it means. Why we’re trapped isn’t a question that matters very much under the circumstances⁠—the serious thing is that we certainly are trapped.”

Vickers turned to Audrey.

“My fault!” he said contritely. “All my fault! But I meant it for the best⁠—it was the thing to do⁠—and who on earth could have foreseen this. Look here!⁠—we’ve got to think pretty quick, Copplestone, that captain, now? Has he done this on his own hook, or⁠—is there somebody on board who’s at the top of things?”

“I don’t see any good in thinking quick, or asking one’s self questions,” replied Copplestone. “We’re locked in here. We’ve got Miss Greyle into this mess⁠—and her mother will be anxious and alarmed. I wish we’d let this confounded yacht go where it liked before ever we’d⁠—”

“Don’t!” broke in Audrey. “That’s no good. Mr. Vickers certainly did what he felt to be best⁠—and who could foresee this? And I’m not afraid⁠—and as for my mother, if we don’t return very soon, why, she knows where we are and there are police in Scarhaven, and⁠—”

“How long are we going to be where we are?” asked Copplestone, grimly. “The thing’s moving!”

There was no doubt of that very pertinent fact. Somewhere beneath them, machinery began to work; above them there was hurry and scurry as ropes and stays were thrown off. But so beautifully built was that yacht, and so almost soundproof the luxurious cabin in which they were prisoners, that little of the noise of departure came to them. However, there was no mistaking the increasing throb of the engines nor the fact that the vessel was moving, and Vickers suddenly sprang on a lounge seat and moved away a silken screen which curtained a porthole window.

“There’s no doubt of that!” he exclaimed.

“We’re going through the outer harbour⁠—we’ve passed the light at the end of the quay. What do these people mean by carrying us out to sea? Copplestone!⁠—with all submission to you⁠—whether it’s relevant or not, I wish we knew more of that captain chap!”

“I know him,” remarked Audrey. “I have been on this yacht before. His name is Andrius. He’s an American⁠—or American-Norwegian, or something like that.”

“And the crew?” asked Vickers. “Are they Scarhaven men?”

“No,” replied Audrey. “There isn’t a Scarhaven man amongst them. My cousin⁠—I mean⁠—you know whom I mean⁠—bought this yacht just as it stood, from an American millionaire early this spring, and he took over the captain, crew, and everything.”

“So⁠—we’re in the hands of strangers!” exclaimed Vickers, while Copplestone dug his hands into his pockets and began to stamp about. “I wish I’d known all that before we came on board.”

“But what harm can they do us?” said Audrey, incredulous of danger. “You don’t suppose they’ll want to murder us, surely! My own belief is that we never should have been locked up here if you hadn’t let them know how much we know, Mr. Vickers.”

“Let them⁠—I don’t understand,” said Vickers, turning a puzzled glance on her.

“Why,” replied Audrey with a laugh which convinced both men of her fearlessness, “you let the captain see that we know a great deal and he thereupon ran downstairs⁠—presumably to tell somebody of what you said. And⁠—here’s the result!”

“You think, then⁠—” suggested Vickers. “You think that⁠—”

“I think the somebody⁠—whoever he is⁠—wants to know exactly how much we do know,” answered Audrey with another laugh. “And so we’re being carried off to be cross-examined⁠—at somebody’s leisure. Let’s hope they won’t use thumbscrews and that sort of thing. And anyway,” she continued, looking from one to the other, “hadn’t we better make the best of it? We’re going out to sea, that’s certain⁠—here’s the bar!”

A sudden lifting of the thickly-carpeted floor, a dip to the left, another to the right, a plunge forward, a drop back, then a settling down to a steady persistent roll, showed her companions that Audrey was right⁠—the yacht was crossing the bar which lay at the mouth of Scarhaven Bay. Outside that lay the North Sea, and Copplestone suddenly wondered which course the vessel was going to