<h2 id="c7">CHAPTER VII <br/><span class="small">THE MYSTERIOUS TRIO</span></h2>
<p>The whitewashed wooden walls of a hut,
and a sickly sting of brandy in his throat,
were Bill’s first impressions of life on
awakening. An old brown face with blue
eyes and a tuft of white beard below the chin
looked down at him.</p>
<p>“You’re better,” the man said grimly.
“But I caught sight of you none too soon.”</p>
<p>“Where am I?” Bill managed to ask.</p>
<p>“Never mind. Drink this.” As the
man lifted a tin of boiling coffee from a little
stove, Bill saw that he was lean and lanky
and dressed in a sailor’s blue jersey and top-boots.
“It’s heat you need, not information.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_96">96</div>
<p>Bill sat up. A warm sweater and flannel
trousers now covered him, and by the time he
had finished the coffee, he felt more like
taking a sane interest in his surroundings. He
was about to try to express his thanks to the
old man when there was a knock on the door.
The old fellow opened the door and stepped
outside.</p>
<p>A girl stood in the doorway. She was
dressed in a white skirt and sweater. She
had a smooth olive skin and her black hair was
cut close to her head. Bill decided that she
was pretty, and that she must be about sixteen.
Her eyes were smiling at him as he got
to his feet.</p>
<p>“Please sit down,” she cried, for Bill was
gripping a beam at his side to steady himself.
“Why, you must be feeling perfectly dreadful!
Aren’t you hungry? Won’t you let me
get you something to eat?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">97</div>
<p>Bill was sure he detected the faintest
shadow of a foreign accent in her speech. He
smiled. “In a little while, perhaps, thank
you,” he said. “My head is a bit on the blink.
I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank
that old man—”</p>
<p>“Oh, Jim won’t want any thanks. He’ll
be offended if you try to thank him. He saw
you from the motor-boat. He’s a gruff old
tar, but he’s as good as gold.”</p>
<p>“It was lucky for me that there was somebody
here—I suppose I’m on the island?”</p>
<p>“You are. There’s the beach where Jim
brought you in.” She pointed through the
open door.</p>
<p>“Are you yachting up this way?” ventured
Bill.</p>
<p>“Good gracious, no!” cried the girl. “I
live here.”</p>
<p>“<i>Live</i> here?” Bill repeated in astonishment.
“Why in the world—”</p>
<p>She laughed softly. “Well, I suppose I
like it. I have a bungalow back in the hollow.
This is really Jim’s bunk. He sleeps in
there. But you haven’t told me about yourself.
Where did you come from?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_98">98</div>
<p>The innocent question caught Bill up
short. “Oh, I’m on a walking tour,” he said
as steadily as he could, then smiled wanly at
his joke. “I—I went down to the shore for
a swim and that confounded current got me.
I thought I was bound for Davy Jones, all
right!”</p>
<p>“Where did you go for a bath?” she asked
anxiously, it seemed to him.</p>
<p>“Oh, there’s a little bay at the end of a lane
off the main road to Clayton. And the sea
looked so tempting I couldn’t resist it.”</p>
<p>“Did you—did you see anybody in the
woods as you came along?” She gave him a
quick glance.</p>
<p>“Not a soul. If I’d drowned, my clothes
would have lain on the shore for weeks.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “It’s a lovely old place,
Turner’s,” she remarked casually.</p>
<p>“Oh, so that is its name!”</p>
<p>“You’ve seen it then—the house among
the trees?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">99</div>
<p>“Well, I came past it, you know,” he dissembled.
“I got only a glimpse of it....”</p>
<p>The girl looked at him sharply, the carefree
expression gone from her eyes. She
stared at him for several minutes.</p>
<p>“How long have you been on your walking
tour?” she asked suddenly.</p>
<p>“Oh, about a week,” he answered easily.
“I—”</p>
<p>The girl drew herself up. “I want to
know the truth!” Her voice sounded a challenge.
“Your name is Harold Johnson, and
you flew up here night before last from
Stamford, Connecticut!”</p>
<p>Bill was astounded. Still limp and sick
from his exertions in the water, this declaration—half
truth that it was—literally took his
breath away. Of course she was mistaken in
the name, but Stamford is only five or six
miles from New Canaan. Did she take him
for someone else, or had she only got the name
wrong? In either case, would it be wise to
reveal his real identity? What if she were
one of those working against Mr. Evans?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">100</div>
<p>Yet she was but a young girl and these
enemies of Charlie’s father had already
proven themselves to be villains of the first
water. Weak as he was, Bill’s brain was unable
to cope with the problem. His bewilderment
was evidently clearly written on his
face, for he could see a slow smile appearing
in the girl’s eyes as she stood in the doorway
and looked down on him.</p>
<p>“I notice you don’t deny it, Mr. Johnson,”
she remarked abruptly.</p>
<p>Bill shook his head. “I don’t see the good
of denying it,” he replied quietly. “You appear
to know all about me. But as a point
of interest, I’d be glad to know how you got
your information.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">101</div>
<p>“No doubt it’s a point of great interest to
you,” she said with deliberation. “But you
really can’t expect me to answer that question.
To tell the truth, I was a little doubtful about
you at first—I only mentioned your name to
make quite certain who you were. But now
we know what to do.”</p>
<p>“And that is?”</p>
<p>“Ah! but you go too fast!” She took a
step nearer and her voice softened. “Mr.
Johnson, why did you decide to come to
Maine? Do you really think it is going to
bring you luck?”</p>
<p>Bill looked at her closely, unable to decide
what was in her mind. Perhaps her object
was to sound him delicately on how much he
really knew. He did not reply.</p>
<p>“Well,” she went on, and her tone was low
and serious, “if I were you, I wouldn’t be
too sure about that luck. Some things, you
know, are better left alone.”</p>
<p>“Frankly, I don’t get you,” said Bill.</p>
<p>“And yet my meaning is perfectly plain.
If you only knew what you are up against, you
would not complicate your affairs by—well,
by taking on another risk.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_102">102</div>
<p>Bill had not the slightest idea what this
dark-eyed girl was driving at. He couldn’t
give anything away. Mr. Evans’ plans—the
very nature of this mysterious business he
had dropped into with the thunderstorm was
still an unsolved enigma, so far as he was concerned.</p>
<p>This girl, no matter who she was, appeared
to be conversant with details of the situation.
If he continued to play Mr. Johnson, in
whom she seemed vastly interested, some real
news might pop out unawares.</p>
<p>“Another risk?” he repeated, taking up
the threat of her last remark. “What if I
say I don’t mind taking risks?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Johnson, you talk lightly because you
do not know. It is one thing to keep out of
the hands of the police, but if you knew the
truth about your new venture—”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_103">103</div>
<p>Bill began to think that she was older than
he first surmised. Her eyes were half closed,
and the curves of her mouth had moulded
into a firm line. It gave him quite a shock
of surprise to see that look on her face—a
look of grim defiance, the look of one who
would not hesitate to shoot, and shoot straight,
in an extremity.</p>
<p>“You don’t mind risks? Well, Mr. Johnson,
you’ll have risks in plenty before you’re
much older!”</p>
<p>Bill smiled. “Maybe. But I’ll never have
a closer shave than I had this morning. You
must admit that. If you and old Jim hadn’t
been on this island, I should have gone under
for keeps.”</p>
<p>“Don’t speak of it any more,” said the girl.
Her expression changed and a gentler note
came into her voice. “Try to get some sleep.
That’s what you need more than anything else
at present. In a few hours I’ll bring you
something to eat and you’ll feel better.”</p>
<p>“You’re very kind, and I’ll never be able
to thank you properly. But, really, if you
could see your way to help me get back to the
mainland quickly, I’d be more than obliged.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_104">104</div>
<p>She shook her head. “I won’t hear of it.
You’re not fit for any such thing. I insist on
your having some sleep first. Perhaps you
don’t realize it, but you’re still looking dreadfully
white and shaky.”</p>
<p>Bill saw that there was nothing to do but
comply with her orders, so he lay down again
on the cot.</p>
<p>“That’s better,” she said. “Now I must
go. I’ll be back later on and I hope you’ll be
comfortable in the meantime.”</p>
<p>With that she went out and shut the door.
Bill heard a click. She had turned the key in
the lock! He started up at the sound, but
dropped back, a faint smile on his lips. If
she wanted to be sure that he kept to the
hut—well, that was her business. He was,
to all purposes, a prisoner anyway, lock or no
lock. Unless he could get hold of a boat,
there would be no leaving the island. Swimming
was out of the question. One try at the
currents surrounding this rocky shore was
quite enough.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_105">105</div>
<p>But who were this girl and the old man?
She said she lived here—but that could mean
anything. Had Charlie been able to get
back to the house? The youngster evidently
hated the spooky place. Would he stay there,
now that he was alone? With these thoughts
buzzing through his tired brain, Bill fell into
sleep.</p>
<p>He awoke to find the girl at his side,
bearing a tray filled with food. What hour
it was he could not tell, and at the moment he
did not inquire. His main obsessions now
were a racking thirst and an ardent hunger
for food. He’d had nothing to eat since
early morning, and the chops, fried potatoes
and tea, with brown bread and honey, tasted
delicious. While he did justice to the fare,
the girl sat on a packing case in the doorway,
chatting inconsequentially.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_106">106</div>
<p>When the last morsel of his meal had disappeared,
Bill thanked her again. Then he
rose to his feet, determined to bring matters
to a head.</p>
<p>“I hope it won’t put you to any inconvenience,”
he said quietly, “but I will take it
as a favor if you’ll help me get back to the
mainland now. Please don’t think I haven’t
appreciated your hospitality. You have been
more than kind to me. But you understand it
is vitally important for me to get back.”</p>
<p>“Ah—your walking tour is so important
as all that?” She cast an amused glance up
at him.</p>
<p>“Certainly.” Bill met her look firmly.
“If you will be good enough to give orders
for the boat—”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid, Mr. Johnson,” she said
slowly, “that that is impossible.”</p>
<p>“Impossible? You mean there’s no way of
getting across? I thought you said something
about a motor boat—has anything gone
wrong with it?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_107">107</div>
<p>“I don’t mean that, Mr. Johnson. I mean
that you must remain here. To be frank—I
have my instructions.”</p>
<p>“Instructions! And from whom?” he demanded
curtly.</p>
<p>The girl looked at him steadily. “You
must not ask. It is too late now for you to
back out. You should have thought of the
risks you ran before you came up here on this
errand.”</p>
<p>“I have no wish to back out of anything,”
he exclaimed shortly. “And as for risks, I
told you before that I am willing to take
them. But my mind is made up on one
thing—I’m going back to the mainland
now!”</p>
<p>He made as if to pass her in the doorway.</p>
<p>She stepped aside, her eyes fixed smilingly
on his.</p>
<p>“You may go,” she said. “I wish you a
pleasant swim.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_108">108</div>
<p>“But the motor boat,” Bill cried, exasperated.
“I intend to use that motor boat,
though I have to run her myself.”</p>
<p>The girl laughed. “You’ll have your work
cut out, Mr. Johnson. The motor boat has
gone!”</p>
<p>Bill stared at her. Then abruptly he
turned and walked out of the hut and up a
steep incline that led to the cliffs overlooking
the sea. Twenty-five feet below, deep water
swirled about its base where year in and year
out the strong current had eaten into solid
rock. He heard a footstep beside him.</p>
<p>“Of course,” said the girl, her eyes twinkling,
“there’s a dinghy locked in the boat-house!
But you can’t break the lock, because
I tried one day when I thought I’d lost the
key. I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson, but I’m afraid
you’ll have to put up with my company for a
little while longer.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_109">109</div>
<p>Bill did not reply. He was listening to the
unmistakable sound of a four-cylinder engine,
one of whose cylinders intermittently missed
fire. A motor boat shot round the point to
their left and swung in toward the base of the
cliff. It carried a single occupant.</p>
<p>“Here she comes now,” he said.</p>
<p>“That’s not our boat.”</p>
<p>“Whose is it then?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know—but I can guess.”</p>
<p>“That you, Bill?” shouted the man in the
motor boat.</p>
<p>Bill, to his certain knowledge, had never
laid eyes on him before. “It sure is,” he
shouted back. “Will you take me across?”</p>
<p>The man seemed to hesitate. Then he
slowed down his small craft. “You’ll have
to jump, Bill,” was what he said, using his
hands as a megaphone.</p>
<p>“But—I say!”</p>
<p>“Jump, you fool—and be quick about it.”
There was authority as well as power in the
strident tones.</p>
<p>Bill kicked off the leather moccasins he
wore, and stepped back a few paces.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_110">110</div>
<p>“You’re not Harold Johnson!” exclaimed
the girl.</p>
<p>“Never said I was,” returned Bill. “Sorry
to leave so hastily. But there’s a reason.
Thanks for everything—bye-bye!”</p>
<p>“What a perfect idiot I’ve been!” she
cried. “You’re Bill Bolton, of course.”</p>
<p>“Of course!” grinned Bill and sprang toward
the edge.</p>
<p>“Don’t go!” she shrieked. “It’s Sanders—he’ll
kill you—<i>don’t</i>—” She screamed.</p>
<p>Bill’s body shot through the air, and he cut
the water below in a very pretty dive.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_111">111</div>
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