The Mystery of the Green Ray by William le Queux (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖

Anchored a little way out was another small motor-boat—the first the General had—which Myra had also called after a trout fly—the Coch-a-Bondhu—though the play upon words was lost on most people. The boat was still in constant use, and Angus and Hamish continually went into Mallaig and Glenelg in it to collect parcels and so on. I ran to the petrol shed, and got three tins of Shell, put them in the dinghy and pushed out to the Bondhu, climbed on board, sounded the tank, filled it up, and started out across the Loch. I can only plead my anxiety to get well out of sight and hearing before Hilderman should think of leaving the house, as an excuse for my lamentable thoughtlessness on this occasion. Indeed, it was not till long afterwards that I realised I had forgotten to anchor the dinghy, and I left it, just as it was, to drift out to sea on the tide.

I made all the pace I could and reached the other side in about twenty minutes. I was sadly equipped for an adventurous expedition! I had no flask to sustain me in case of need, no weapon in case I should be called to defend myself; I was wearing a dinner-jacket, no hat, and a pair of thin patent-leather pumps!

I ran the boat right in shore, heedless of the danger to the propeller, in a small sandy cove round the point, so that I was hidden from Glasnabinnie. Then I realised that I had been a little too precipitate in my departure. There was no anchor-chain on board, and the painter was admirably suited for making fast to pier-heads and landing-stages at high tide, but was nothing like long enough to enable me to make the craft secure on short. However, I dragged her as far up as I could, and prayed that I might be able to return before the tide caught her up and carried her away. In those circumstances I should have been stranded in the enemy’s country, by no means a pleasing prospect!

Having done the best I could for Myra’s faithful motor-boat, I made my way round the hill, climbing cautiously upwards all the time, my dinner-jacket carefully buttoned in case a gleam of moonlight on my shirt-front should give me away at a critical moment. It was a rocky and difficult climb, and I soon regretted that I had not taken the bridle path to Glasnabinnie and made my way boldly up the bed of the burn. However, it was too late to turn back, and eventually, after one or two false steps and stumbles, I succeeded in reaching a spot from which I could obtain a good view of the hut. No, there was no light there, no sign of movement at all. I decided to work my way round to the other side and then, if I continued to get no satisfaction, to descend to the house. The windows of the hut, or smoking-room, as the reader will no doubt remember, extended the whole length of the structure; and surely, I thought, if there were a light in the place it would be bound to be visible. I edged round the face of a steep crag, floundered across the stream between the two falls, getting myself soaked above the knees as I did so, and crouched among the heather on the other side of the building. No, there was no one there, the place was deserted. I knelt down and peered about me listening intently.

Not a sound greeted my expectant ear save the incessant rumble of the falls. Then as I turned my attention to the house itself and looked down the course of the burn to Glasnabinnie, I could scarcely suppress a cry of astonishment. For there below me, moving to and fro between the house and the hut, was a constant procession of small lights, like a slowly moving stream of glow-worms, twenty or thirty yards apart. I was rooted to the spot. What could it mean? Was this another weird natural manifestation, or was it, as was much more likely, a couple of dozen men bearing lights? Yes, that was it, men bearing lights—and what else besides? Men don’t climb up and down steep watercourses in the night for the sake of giving an impromptu firework display to an unexpected visitor, I told myself. There was only one thing to do, and that was to investigate the matter and chance what might happen to me. I crept down to the hut, and lay on my face among the heather and listened. Here and there a mumble of voices, now and then a subdued shout, apparently an order to be carried out by the mysterious light-bearers, broken occasionally by the shrill call of a gull, conveyed nothing to me that I could not see. I looked up at the hut. No, there was no one there, and the windows were not screened, because I could see the moonlight streaming through the far side. Yet, surely, the hut must be their objective, I thought. Where else could they be going to? Fascinated, I crawled on my hands and knees till I could touch the walls of the smoking-room by putting out my arm. I heard a great commotion coming, it seemed, from the very ground beneath my feet.

I laid my ear to the ground and listened. The noise grew louder, and the voices seemed to be shouting against a more powerful sound—the waterfall, possibly. I thought perhaps the floor of the hut would give me more opportunity to locate the source of the disturbance. I threw caution to the winds and slipped through the wide windows into the room. I moved as carefully as I could, however, once my feet found the floor, for if there should be anyone below they would probably hear me up above. I turned back the carpet in order to hear more distinctly, and as I did so I noticed a rectangular shaft of light which trickled through the floor. There was a trap-door. I knelt down and lifted it cautiously by a leather tab which was attached to one side of it and peered through. I can never understand how it was I did not drop that hatch again with a self-confessing crash when I realised the extraordinary nature of the sight that greeted my eyes. There was I in the smoking-hut of a peaceful American citizen, where only a few hours before I had spent a pleasant hour in friendly conversation, and now I was lying on the edge of the entrance to a great cavern.

Below me there was a confused mass of machinery and men. Some were working on scaffolding, others were many feet below. The nearest of them was so close to me that I could have leaned down and laid my hand on his head. I tried to make out what they were doing, but except that they were dismantling the machinery, whatever it might be, I could make nothing of it. I watched them breathlessly, trembling lest at any moment one of them should look up and detect my presence.

The place was lighted by electricity, though there were not enough lamps to illuminate the cavern very brightly, and as my eyes got accustomed to the lights and shadows I was able to make out the cause of this.

Evidently there was a turbine engine below, driven by the water from the falls, which supplied the necessary power. After a moment or two it dawned on me how the cavern came to be there; it was, or had been, the course of a hidden river, such as are common enough among the mountains, but the stream had been diverted, probably by some sort of landslide, and had left this tumbler-shaped cave, resembling a pit shaft. Now, I thought, I have only to find out what all this machinery is for and the whole mystery is solved. I opened the trap a little further, and allowed my body to hang slightly over the edge.

Then for the first time I saw, to my right, fixed so that it almost touched the floor of the hut, a great round brass object, mounted on an enormous tripod, which, again, stood on a platform. In front of this was a large square thing like a mammoth rectangular condenser, such as is used for photographic enlarging and other projection purposes. Had it not been for this condenser I should have taken the whole thing to be an elaborate searchlight. But, I asked myself, what would be the good of a searchlight there? Suddenly the whole truth dawned upon me.

The searchlight must operate through a trap in the wall of the hut just below the floor. I leaned further in, forgetting my danger in the intoxication of sudden discovery.

Only a foot or two away from me a man was working on the searchlight. Carefully taking it to pieces, he was handing the parts to another man, who was perched on the scaffold below him. He was so close to me that I could hear him breathing. I was about to wriggle back to safety when he looked up. He gave a sudden loud shout. I lay there fascinated. After all, I thought, before they can reach me I can slip out and edge round the cliff, run down on to the shore, and get away in the motor-boat. But I had reckoned without my host. Even as the man shouted, and the others left their work to see what was the matter, Fuller dashed out from behind the platform, gave one terrified look at me, and, flinging himself at the wall of the cavern, threw all his weight on a rope which dangled there. I scuttled to my feet, intending to make a bolt for it. But the boards shivered beneath me, and, before I could realise what was happening, I found myself hurtling through the air to the floor of the cavern below.

CHAPTER XVII. SOME GRAVE FEARS.

And now, as the reader will readily understand, I must continue the story as it was afterwards related to me.

Myra, the General, and Dennis sat up and waited for me till the early hours of the morning, but I did not return. The young people did what they could to assure the old man that my sudden and unexpected disappearance had been entirely voluntary, and Dennis, who had found my note, as soon as he put on his cap to stroll out casually, and see where I had got to, gave him subtly to understand that it was really part of a prearranged plan, and Myra at length persuaded him to go to bed at midnight.

When I failed to put in an appearance at breakfast-time, however, even they began to be a trifle alarmed, but they did their best to conceal their fears. They scoured the hillside and then went down to the landing-stage. Dennis had reported the previous night that the motor-boat was still in its place when he saw Hilderman off, and it never occurred to Myra that I might make my departure in the Coch-a-Bondhu.

“He hasn’t gone by the sea, any way,” Dennis announced again, as he and the girl stood on the landing-stage.

“You mean the Jenny is still there?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Dennis, “she’s just where she was when we arrived from Glasnabinnie in Hilderman’s boat yesterday.”

“Mr. Burnham!” Myra cried suddenly, “is there another boat, a brown motor-boat, anchored just out there?”

“No,” said Dennis, realising how terribly handicapped they were by Myra’s inability to see.

“Are you sure?” the girl asked anxiously.

“Quite sure,” said Dennis positively. “There is one motor-boat here, and that is all.”

“I suppose he took that to put Hilderman off the scent,” Myra mused,