<h2 id="c6"><span class="sc">Chapter VI</span> <br/><span class="small">WATCHERS IN THE TREES</span></h2>
<p>“Where’s your father’s room?” Bill
stepped into the corridor, Charlie at his heels.</p>
<p>“There—that one opposite—the door’s
open. He isn’t there—I looked before I
woke you.”</p>
<p>“The bed hasn’t been slept in either—come
along downstairs. He may be there.”</p>
<p>Bill had had an impression the night before
of the solid comfort of the house. But
it was not until they descended the great oak
staircase in the morning that he realized, in
spite of dust sheets, how exquisitely the place
was appointed. In true manorial style, armor
hung in the hall, marble busts gleamed
against the dark, beautifully carved panelling,
and half a dozen riding crops dangled
from a pair of antlers over the low fireplace.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_82">82</div>
<p>Here Charlie took the lead. They went
first to the library, with its secret door in the
panelling, through which they had entered
the house from the garage. A flashlight lay
on the table, amongst the remains of the
sandwiches. Bill appropriated it, and after
Charlie had opened the sliding door by twisting
a knob on the fireplace, they investigated
the tunnel and its outlet. But the garage and
the underground passage were empty of any
human being.</p>
<p>They returned to the library, and made a
round of the rooms on that floor; a small den,
two large living rooms, and a dining room.
All the furniture was shrouded in dust covers.
The rooms looked gloomy and un-lived-in.
Scarcely any light came through the closed
shutters. Bill’s feeble flashlight seemed to
accentuate the cavernous depths of the huge
apartments.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">83</div>
<p>A back passage led them to the pantry and
immense, stone-floored kitchen. On a table
near the sink, an unwashed plate and cup
told the story of eggs and coffee.</p>
<p>Bill turned to the boy. “There! On a
bet, he ate and went out.”</p>
<p>“Hadn’t we better go over the rest of the
house, though?” There was a slight tremor
in Charlie’s voice. “This place is creepy.
It was like that when I was here before. I
never open a door but what I expect a dead
man to walk out on me.”</p>
<p>“That,” laughed Bill, “would take some
doing! You’ll be telling me the house is
haunted, next!”</p>
<p>“It is.”</p>
<p>“Oh, go on—there ain’t no such animals
as ghosts. You’re losing your nerve, kid.
You probably heard a rat in the walls.”</p>
<p>“Rat, nothing! If it wasn’t a ghost, who
was in our room just before daylight? It
wasn’t Dad. I called and the figure just
disappeared.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">84</div>
<p>“Um—that’s funny. Perhaps some friend
of your father’s—and they went off together
later.”</p>
<p>Charlie shook his head solemnly. “Dad
hasn’t any friends up here, Bill, or he
wouldn’t have had to call on you. But suppose
it was a friend he went away with, why
didn’t he let us know? I’ll just bet Dad’s in
this house right now. Down cellar or upstairs,
with his throat cut, like as not!”
Charlie was in tears now.</p>
<p>“Here, here, now! Stop it! You certainly
are a cheerful kid this morning—I
don’t think!” Bill scoffed, and patted him
on the back. “Detective thrillers and too
much food are what ails you. Imagination
plus indigestion will make anybody see or
hear a lot of things. How do I get down to
the cellar? If you’re afraid of meeting more
spooks, you’d better stay here.”</p>
<p>“No, no, I’ll go with you,” replied Charlie
so hurriedly that Bill burst out laughing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">85</div>
<p>“Come on, then, big boy.” Charlie’s
mournful face made him feel ashamed of his
mirth. “I don’t like this big lonely house
any more than you do, but we’ll go down into
the cellar just the same, although I haven’t
the slightest doubt but that your father left
this place hours ago.”</p>
<p>An inspection of the cellars and the two
upper stories proved conclusively to Bill that
except for themselves, there was nobody in
the house. However, they found food and
plenty of it in the storage rooms. A whole
closet full of canned goods, eggs, bread and
a couple of hams and four or five slabs of
bacon.</p>
<p>“Well, old man, let’s have a shower,” suggested
Bill, “and then I’ll rustle some breakfast.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_86">86</div>
<p>Charlie smiled and turned on a tap at the
kitchen sink. A faint trickle came from the
faucet. “You’ll get no shower, or bath while
you’re in this house,” he announced. “The
water comes from a well and there’s something
wrong with the pump. Dad says the
water supply is likely to give out any time.”</p>
<p>Bill made a grimace. “How do you take
baths then?”</p>
<p>“When I was here before we went down
to the cove—but never until after dark.”</p>
<p>“Gee whiz! A swim is just what I need.
I tell you what, Charlie! We’ll have something
to eat, take a more careful look for any
message your father may have left and then
we’ll romp down to that cove of yours.”</p>
<p>“Okay by me, Bill. Let’s get the grub.
I could eat a horse!”</p>
<p>“When couldn’t you?” Bill snorted as
they started after the food.</p>
<p>When they had eaten and washed up at
the kitchen sink, Bill instituted a thorough
search for the message in their bedroom and
in the library.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_87">87</div>
<p>“It’s no use,” he said at last, “there just
isn’t any message, and that’s that. I vote we
pop down to the cove and have our dip now.
Is it much of a jaunt?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no.” Charlie turned from peering
through the curtains at the sunshine. “We
can get into the shrubbery at the back door
and keep under cover pretty well all the
time. We’ll be taking chances, though. Dad
wouldn’t let us go until after dark.”</p>
<p>“Well, he isn’t here,” Bill said casually.
“I’m going for a swim. You can stay here,
though, if you want to.”</p>
<p>“Not me,” declared the boy. “I’d rather
be shot than stay in this house alone.”</p>
<p>“Where do we go from the grounds?”</p>
<p>“Right through the trees until we come
to a rough sort of lane. It leads from the
main road down to a little bay that’s just the
place for a swim.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_88">88</div>
<p>“Fine. Now, listen to me, kid. If we
happen to run into anybody and can’t make a
bunk without being seen, we’ll go right up
and speak to them openly. There’s no sense in
arousing suspicions—or showing that we have
any! We’ll say we’re on a walking tour
along the coast, and saw the lane leading
down to the sea—savez?”</p>
<p>“You betcha! And, oh, Bill, I forgot to
say that we can’t swim out far. Dad told me
that the currents round the point are the
dickens and all.”</p>
<p>Armed with towels and soap, they let
themselves out by the back door and darted
into the bushes. With Charlie in the lead,
they pushed through the trees, keeping a
sharp lookout. Presently they reached the
lane, and, without sighting a single creature,
they found themselves on the beach.</p>
<p>The sand shelved down into a little bay
which was about a hundred yards across.
Great rocks crowded down into the water on
either side. The place was embowered in
trees and bushes. It was an ideal spot for a
quiet dip. Both lads slipped off their clothes
and entered the water.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_89">89</div>
<p>The sea was perfect. Charlie, who wasn’t
much on aquatics, paddled about near shore,
but Bill soon found himself at the mouth of
the bay. Swimming strongly, with an easy
crawl stroke, he revelled in the electric chill
of the water and the cloudless sky and sunshine.
A short distance ahead of him, a huge
brown rock jutted up from the water like a
buoy. He swam to it and clambered up on its
groined shoulder, slippery with endless laving
of the sea. Standing upright, he gazed about.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_90">90</div>
<p>Up and down the beach, the tumbled rocks
were belted with trees for some miles. Beyond
the trees, so far as he could see, were the
bare, sharp outlines of tall cliffs overhanging
the water. Picturesque enough, thought
Bill, but immeasurably lonesome. Out to sea
an island lay off the coast, a mile, perhaps two
miles away. He could not judge accurately,
for it is difficult to decide distance from the
level of the water. He remembered seeing it
the day before, from the air. As he remembered
it, it was a small, rocky, barren-looking
place, with a single house on it, though he
hadn’t been absolutely certain about the
house. He stared in that direction for a
minute or two. As he turned about, ready to
dive in and return to shore, there was a sharp
thud on the rock at his feet.</p>
<p>Bill looked down, but saw nothing—The
next moment he heard, or imagined he heard,
something go past his ear with a whistling
sound. He gazed toward the beach, more
than a little disturbed. Nothing could be
seen but Charlie sitting naked on the sand.
There was no stir of bush, not a movement of
grass. And yet again above his head—and
this time closer—there was a harsh <i>z-z-z-p</i>!
of a bullet.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_91">91</div>
<p>Bill heard no sound of an explosion, but
suddenly he saw Charlie spring to his feet,
snatch up his clothes and dart into the underbrush.
The only conclusion he could reach,
as he stood on the sea-washed rock, hurriedly
collecting his thoughts, was that someone
concealed ashore was shooting at him with a
powerful air-gun.</p>
<p>Without a second’s further hesitation, he
flopped into the water. He had intended to
swim back to the little bay, but now he
hastily changed his mind. To return in that
direction while the bullets were flying was
like asking for a sudden and unpleasant end to
his existence. So he struck out to sea, meaning
to make a detour and go ashore at some
secluded spot a little further down the coast.</p>
<p>He was swimming with his head submerged
in the water, in order to conceal his
whereabouts if possible from the beach.
When he turned on his back to take his bearings,
he remembered Charlie’s warning about
the current. It seemed to him as he glanced
back to the rock where he had stood, that he
had covered a great distance in a very short
time, even allowing for the extra speed due to
his excitement and wrath over the unknown
marksman’s attempt to drop him in the water
with a bullet. He fixed his eyes on a point
on the shore and struck out with all his might.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_92">92</div>
<p>At first Bill could not believe that his
tremendous efforts were achieving—nothing.
But gradually, after a fierce fight of more
than a quarter of an hour’s duration, the truth
broke upon him. His distance from the
beach was not lessening at all, but was swiftly
increasing. He could battle as he liked
against it, but the tide was stronger, stronger
than he. There was no shadow of doubt in
his mind that he was being carried out to sea.</p>
<p>It was difficult to meet the situation calmly,
but Bill tried to quiet the surge of pain that
was sucking the strength from his limbs. It
looked as though only a miracle would save
him now. He turned on his back, and for a
moment a ray of hope sent a warm glow
through his veins. He was being borne out
on the tide, toward the island! It might be
possible to force a landing there.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_93">93</div>
<p>Now that seemed his only prospect of life.
With all the vigor he could summon, Bill
struck across the current. But when he
paused in exhaustion to observe his progress,
he saw that it was useless. He had already
been swept past the island. It was out of his
range.</p>
<p>Wearily, Bill shut his eyes, gasping for
breath, and felt the power melting away from
his numbed limbs. Then hazily he noticed
that the island seemed nearer—or was that
but a last illusion before the end? No! The
rocks were towering above him. He realized
that he had been swept around on the current
to the seaward side, and that the mainland was
out of sight. With his last atom of strength,
he tried to strike out toward that shore, but
the place seemed to be slipping away from
him again. There was a throbbing in his
ears, growing louder and louder. A vague,
dreamlike impression of touching the gray
side of some craft—then his senses left him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_95">95</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />