DICK’S ACCUSATION

The party in the gun-room were silent while they waited for Jim.  Mrs. Halliday glanced at the others curiously and got a sense of strain.  Dick, looking disturbed but resolute, leaned against the table opposite Mordaunt, whose face was rather white; Bernard occupied the bench by the wall and his look was inscrutable.  All was very quiet except for the snapping of the stove and the occasional rattle of a cinder falling through the bars.  It was something of a relief when Jim came in and Bernard turned on the light.

“Sit down, Jim,” he said.  “Dick has something to tell us that he thinks you ought to hear.  He hints that it is important.”

“It is important,” Dick replied.  “The thing has weighed on me for some time.  In fact, the load is too heavy and I feel I must get rid of it.  I want to hand over my responsibility, and you are the head of the house, sir.”

“Very well,” said Bernard.  “The post has drawbacks.  You had better go on.”

“Then I’ll begin some time since; the night Lance and I met Jim at the telegraph shack.  We talked about England and Jim asked if we knew Langrigg.  There was an old French romance on a shelf and Lance read a passage.  He studied the book when Jim left the shack, and I found out afterwards that Franklin Dearham’s name was written across the front page.  You see what this implies, sir?”

“You mean Lance knew who Jim was, although you did not.  When did you find out?”

“I picked up the book one day at Langrigg.  Lance was there.  He admitted that he had seen the writing at the telegraph shack.”

Jim turned to Mordaunt sharply.  “Then, you meant to let me stay in Canada!”

“I did,” said Mordaunt, who addressed Bernard.  “I thought it would be better for Jim and us if he did not know Langrigg was his.  I have not changed my views about it since.”

“That has been rather obvious,” Bernard remarked and asked Dick:  “Why did you keep the thing dark?”

“I was afraid to meddle; the matter was awkward.  Besides, until recently, I trusted Lance.  I thought his antagonism sprang from an honest prejudice.”

“Perhaps it was honest!  Are you willing to state the grounds you had for trying to keep Jim out of the country, Lance?”

“No grounds would justify his robbing Jim of his inheritance,” Mrs. Halliday interposed.

Mordaunt smiled.  “I was not scrupulous but imagine my plot is condemned mainly because it failed.  I did not think Jim was the man to own Langrigg.  His education, character, and the life he had led, did not fit him for the position; it was plain that he would rule Langrigg like a Canadian industrialist and break all our traditions.  Right or wrong, I took some thought for the honor of the house.”

“I am the head of the house and was an industrialist,” said Bernard dryly.  “You talk as if you belonged to the old school, but you do not go far enough back.  The men who built Langrigg were plain fighting farmers.”  He signed to Dick.  “Go on!”

“When Jim’s car was upset I suspected Shanks was somehow accountable for the accident.”

“He was accountable,” Jim said grimly; “I didn’t know you knew this.  But one must be just.  Lance lifted the wheel off my body at some risk to himself.”

“That is so,” Dick agreed.  “I think he took advantage of it afterwards; I mean he knew we would remember he had saved your life.  It was a generous impulse, but that was all.”

“I imagine Lance’s character is too complex for your study,” Bernard remarked.  “Tell us about his deeds.”

“Not long since, I was coming home in the dark when I found Lance talking to Tom Shanks in the wood.  Lance said he had caught the fellow poaching, and I thought it strange they should talk quietly.  I suspected he wanted me to tell Jim, but I did not.  His grudge against Jim had been getting worse.”

“When did you find Lance talking to Shanks?” Bernard asked, and smiled rather curiously when Dick replied, for he remembered his visit to the lawyer.  Lance had known about the visit.

“Ah,” he said, “I begin to see a light!  But go on, Dick; I expect you have now cleared the ground.”

“Dick has missed his vocation; he ought to have been a barrister,” Mordaunt remarked.

“I’m trying to be just to you and Jim,” Dick resumed.  “I have shirked my duty; I trusted you, Lance, and when I found you out it hurt.”

“You trusted me until you found Jim was the better man!  Well, it looks as if others had copied your example,” Mordaunt rejoined.

Bernard made an impatient sign and Dick resumed:  “I’ve been leading to the night Jim and Carrie were nearly drowned.  You all know I was on the sands.  Well, I came to Jim’s punt when he had left her and gone to look for the geese.”  Dick paused and taking out a plan that he put on the table, addressed Jim:  “You dragged the punt up the bank and carried out the anchor.  Is this sketch of the spot accurate?”

Mordaunt moved abruptly, but controlled himself and stood very quiet; Jim picked up the paper and his face got dark.

“So far as I remember, it is accurate.”

“Did you pull the punt down again, or move the anchor?”

“I did not.  I was puzzled when I found her floating and the anchor covered.”

Dick gave Bernard the plan.  “The punt ought not to have floated before Jim got back.  You will note the rows of dots.  They stand for footsteps.  The first was Jim’s; then Shanks came and pulled the punt back into the channel ­I saw the mark of the rollers, leading up and down.  It is plain he wanted to leave Jim on the middle sand when the tide rose.”

“How did you know the steps were Shanks’?” Bernard asked.

“The night was very cold, sir, but he was bare-footed.”

“Your surmise is, no doubt, right.  Anybody else would have worn boots or waders.  But there are three rows of tracks.”

Dick hesitated, then answered quietly:  “The last were Lance’s.  He passed the punt close; I don’t know if he touched her, but it was plain that she would soon float and Jim was not about.”

“This is frankly unthinkable, Dick!” Mrs. Halliday exclaimed.

For a moment or two the others were silent and their attitudes indicated that the strain was heavy.  Mrs. Halliday’s face was flushed, Jim’s was very stern, and Bernard knitted his brows.  Dick and Mordaunt stood motionless but tense at opposite ends of the table.

“Your statement is very grave, Dick,” Bernard remarked.  “Are you persuaded the steps were Lance’s?”

“I knew the marks of his fishing brogues, and saw him a short distance off.  I think he saw me, because he vanished; he went down into the hollow of the creek, where I have drawn a ring.  I went afterwards and carefully examined the ground.  I think that is all, sir.”

“It is enough,” said Bernard, very dryly.  “You imply that Lance knew Jim might be cut off by the tide and refused to meddle?  But you take something for granted.  Why do you imagine Jim’s danger was plain to Lance, if it was not then plain to you?  You went away.”

“I knew Carrie and Jake were farther out on the sands, and came back as soon as possible.  I fired my gun to warn Jim.  Lance did nothing but went off; he tried to hide from me.”

Bernard made a sign of agreement and then inquired:  “Why have you been frank about it now, after saying nothing for some time?”

“I’d sooner not reply, sir.  The thing mainly touches Lance and me.”

“His horrible treachery touches us all,” Mrs. Halliday declared.  “If it were known, we should be forced to leave the neighborhood.  We could not face a scandal like this.”

“I imagine it will not be known,” Bernard remarked with an ironical smile, and turned to Mordaunt.  “Have you anything to state?”

“I might urge that I risked getting badly hurt when I lifted the car off Jim, and that I did not move his punt.”

“You consented to its being moved,” Dick broke in.

Bernard stopped him and Mordaunt resumed:  “It is plain that you have judged me.  Dick brings no proof of his statements; but we will let this go.  There is obviously no use in my denying his tale.  Suppose I admit that it’s correct?”

“Jim is the injured party.  He must choose our line.”

“There is only one line,” Jim replied.  “This thing cannot be talked about.  Lance knows we know I cannot punish him in any lawful way; but if he stops at Dryholm, I’ll use the backwoods plan.  Well, I give him a week to go.”

Bernard nodded and looked at his watch.  “A week is too long!  If you pack quickly, Lance, you can get the express to town.  Anyhow, you will leave Dryholm as soon as the car is ready.  But I must be just, and since you might have made your mark in a useful profession had I not allowed you to think you would inherit part of my estate, I will tell my lawyers to pay you a sum quarterly.  If you come back to Cumberland, the payments will stop.”

Mordaunt made a sign of agreement, and glanced at Dick.

“You have won, but I doubt if you have much ground for satisfaction,” he said and went out.

Dick was vaguely puzzled, but when the door shut the others were conscious of keen relief.  They waited until Mordaunt’s steps died away and then Bernard got up.

“What has happened to-night is done with; I think you understand,” he said, and turned to Mrs. Halliday.  “We will join our friends, and if they wonder why we have been absent so long, we will leave you to satisfy their curiosity.”

They found the others in the drawing-room, but although Mrs. Halliday began to talk and Bernard was now and then ironically humorous, Dick was quiet and Jim rather stern.  All were ready to go when Mrs. Halliday got up, but Bernard kept Carrie a moment when the Langrigg car throbbed at the steps.

“This house is big and empty, my dear,” he said.  “If Jim is not very much occupied, you will bring him now and then.”

Carrie wondered when the car rolled off.  Bernard had pressed her hand and his voice was gentle.  She blushed, for his imagining she could persuade Jim was significant, but it was puzzling.  He knew Jim was going to marry Evelyn.

Presently Jim stopped the car, and getting down beckoned Jake.

“You can drive home, Carrie,” he said.  “There’s something we must look after but we won’t be long.”

Carrie started the car and when it rolled away Jake looked at his comrade.  Jim wore thin shoes and a light coat over his dinner jacket; the road was wet and the low ground dotted by shining pools.  It was some time after high-water and a gentle breeze blew across the marsh.  A half-moon shone between slowly-drifting clouds.

“I suppose you mean to see Shanks,” Jake remarked.  “On the whole, it might be wiser to send him notice to quit.  You can’t put the police on his track.”

“I’m going to see him.  If I hadn’t been able to swim well, Carrie would have been drowned.”

“For that matter, we would all have been drowned,” Jake said dryly.

“It’s a curious argument for leaving Shanks alone.  I suspected we took some chances when we blew up the dabbin.”

“You blew up the dabbin,” Jake rejoined.

“Anyhow, Carrie had nothing to do with the thing, and she ran the worst risk when we were on the sands.  It was hard to hold myself when I thought about it.  I was forced to let Mordaunt go, but my grounds for sparing him don’t apply to Shanks.”

“You haven’t even a stick and the fellow has a gun.”

“I’ve got my hands,” said Jim.  “If I can get hold of Tom Shanks, I won’t need a gun.  But I’ve no use for talking.  Come along!”

They made for a ridge of high ground that dropped to the marsh, and presently stopped outside the Bank-end Cottage.  All was dark and nobody moved when Jim beat on the door.

“Shanks is sleeping pretty sound if that doesn’t waken him,” he said.  “Bring the net-beam.  We’ll break in.”

Jake picked up a thick wooden bar, and when the door gave way they plunged into the kitchen and Jim struck a match.  The house was horribly dirty, and old clothes, empty cartridges, brass snares, and fishing lines lay about, as if Shanks had hurriedly sorted his belongings and left those he did not want.  They found nobody when they went upstairs.

“Lance has been here before us,” Jim remarked.  “The curious thing is, Shanks had two big duck-guns and has moved some truck although he couldn’t get a cart.”

“He had his shooting punt and the tide hasn’t left the creek yet,” said Jake, and they ran across the marsh.

When they stopped at a muddy pool the punt had gone, but there were fresh footmarks on the bank; and Jim set off again.

“The creek winds and he must shove her across the mud in places,” he said.  “My punt’s on the sands.  If we are quick, we might head him off.”

They stumbled among reeds and rushes, and fell into pools, and were wet when they reached a hollow at the edge of the sands.  The bank was steep, but the tide had not left the channel, and Jim, plunging in, pulled up the punt’s anchor.  Then he stood on deck, using the pole, while Jake paddled.  The tide was running out and they drove the punt furiously past belts of mud and sandy shoals, but the bank was high and they could not see across.  Shanks, however, was not in front; Jim imagined he had come down another gutter that joined the channel farther on.  They must try to get there first.

“Keep it up!” he shouted, as he bent over the pole.  “In five minutes we’ll be round the bend and can see the bay.”

Jake braced himself for an effort and the water foamed about the punt’s low bow.  Floating weed and scum sped past; the bank was dropping to the level of the flats and its wet slope sparkled in the moonlight.  Jake saw the sandy point that marked the bend and resolved to hold out until they reached the spot.

They shot round the bend, and Jim threw down his pole.  In front lay a broad expanse of sand, broken by belts of shining water.  A flock of oyster-catchers, screaming noisily, circled about the foreground; but this was all.

“Shove her in!” Jim shouted.  “I reckon Shanks hasn’t made the meeting of the channels.  We’ll strike across the flat.”

The sand was soft and they labored hard.  When they were halt-way across, a low, dark object rose above the edge of the bank.  It was roughly triangular and moving fast.

“Shanks’s punt!” said Jake.  “He has set the little black lugsail and the wind’s fair.  You can’t head him off.”

“I’m going to try,” said Jim, who was now some yards in front; and they pushed on.

They were exhausted when they stopped beside a belt of sparkling water, and Jim cried out hoarsely and clenched his fist.  The channel was wider than he had thought, and near the other bank a punt was running down with the tide.  One could hardly see her low, gray hull, but the tanned lugsail cut sharply against the bank, and its slant and the splash of foam at the bows indicated speed.  Shooting punts are not built to carry canvas, but they sail fast in smooth water when the wind is fair.

“We’re too late; I don’t know if I’m sorry,” Jake remarked with labored breath.  “My notion is, Shanks has pulled out for good, and nobody is going to miss him much.  Wind’s off the land, water’s smooth, and the tide will run west for three or four hours.  He’ll be a long way down the coast before it turns.  In the meantime, we’re some distance from Langrigg and it looks as if you had lost your shoe.”

“So I have!” said Jim.  “Guess it came off when I was plowing through the mud.  Well, let’s get home.  Shanks has gone and he’ll find trouble waiting if he comes back.”

They set off.  Both were wet and dirty, and when they reached Langrigg Jim’s foot was sore.