CHAPTER XXII

And yet Dick Baynes, in concluding his side of the bargain, has but gambled with fate quite blindly. To gain the love of this woman of his desires he will agree to anything--has agreed, in fact. But how is he to fulfil his part of the contract?

That is a question he is scarcely able to answer. And as he gets out into the cold open air and his passionate humour cools down a little, he begins to realise with much mortification how big a job it is that he has let himself in for, a much bigger job, indeed, than he feels himself able to tackle.

There is an officer to be traced, concerning whom he knows little more than his name and appearance--not even what ship he belongs to or where he is to be found.

And this officer has to be persuaded not to give to the admiral certain information which he is probably fully determined to give.

Truly, it is a big problem for an able seaman who is tied by his duty to the island!

To make the problem harder still, it must be solved at once. If there is any delay, nothing will be of any use.

Baynes is reminded of the fairy stories he used to read when a child, in which a poor lad was given such tasks as that of emptying a lake during the night with a teaspoon full of holes. This present task, when looked at in the cold light of reason, appears just as impossible.

Moreover, in these childish stories there was always a good fairy in disguise who came to the rescue of the poor lad and helped him to perform the impossible task to perfection; but there is precious little chance of a good fairy turning up at the opportune moment to assist Dick Baynes.

So this unhappy wretch, bound by a promise which he is quite unable to fulfil, and tantalised by hopes of a reward which he can never earn, walks away from the hut into the darkness of the night and wanders aimlessly about the island, a prey to his most distracting thoughts.

He knows not whither he goes, but simply lets his torturing fancies lead him whither they will.

Netta of the grey eyes and ashen-gold hair, Netta of the soft alluring voice and winsome ways, the girl who fills every thought of his days and every dream of his nights--Netta he must have for his very own; and Netta he knows he can never have, since the rash pledge he has made to her is one which he has not the slightest chance of redeeming; and to that pledge she will hold him, or deny herself.

Brooding darkly over this maze of circumstances from which there is no possible escape, Baynes comes to the edge of the cliff near to where the pathway runs down to the landing-place.

It is still night, and the sea is quite calm. The rising moon is beginning to light up with silver the unruffled surface of the water.

A sound falls on Dick's ears as he stands there, in his perplexity and looks idly out over the waters, a regular rhythmic sound of oars jarring against rowlocks and of the slight splash made by the blades dipping into the water at each stroke.

The sound comes nearer, though as yet the boat is not in sight. It is not very loud, either; evidently it comes from quite a small boat, a skiff probably, or perhaps a whaler; certainly not a cutter--there is not noise enough for that.

Then a dim light twinkles, low down on the surface of the sea. It glows brighter each moment, and is presently seen to be a boat's lantern in the bows of a skiff manned by a single rower.

Baynes still remains watching, out of idle curiosity; in fact, he is so much wrapped up in his own concerns that he can scarcely be said to watch at all. His eyes see, but his mind takes in little or nothing.

The solitary oarsman makes his boat fast by the side of the little pier that runs out at the foot of the cliffs, comes ashore, and, taking the boat's lantern in his hand, walks rapidly up the hill.

From his lower position he has no difficulty in seeing the motionless figure of Dick Baynes standing silhouetted against the skyline. He gives him a hail on reaching the top of the path, and makes straight towards him.

He raises his lantern as he approaches so as to see the man he is about to speak to, and at once puts the question to him:

"Have you seen the admiral anywhere, my man? Do you know if he has left the island yet?"

The lantern which is held up to give the speaker a view of Dick Baynes' face also lights up his own. And in the light of that lantern Baynes sees a sight which sets his brain in a whirl.

He is face to face with Lieutenant-Commander Stapleton.

No miracle has happened to bring about this strange meeting, so much desired by one of the two men at least yet so utterly unhoped for and improbable. It simply happens as the natural result of a most ordinary chain of circumstances.

This is the way of it. Stapleton, on leaving the island, has taken his steamboat straight to the spot where stands, on another islet, the group of official buildings amongst which is the house used as the headquarters of the admiral in charge of the base.

He makes inquiries for the admiral, feeling that the news he has to impart is of such importance that it can be told to no one else. It is not usual, no doubt, for a mere lieutenant-commander to deal directly with an officer of flag rank in matters affecting purely naval and not merely personal affairs; but this is a matter of such consequence that Stapleton feels no hesitation in breaking through the ordinary routine; moreover, there is no time to be lost--the court of enquiry is due to be held to-morrow morning.

Greatly to his annoyance, he is told that the admiral has not yet returned to his house. The secretary, however, is back, and would Mr. Stapleton like to see him instead?

Mr. Stapleton would. So Dimsdale appears, but is not able to throw very much light upon the admiral's movements; he was ashore tins afternoon, but his barge was sent for him an hour ago. As the barge has not yet returned, it is probable the admiral is still on the island where he has been taking a walk; on the other hand, he may have left the island and gone to some other ship; he does this sometimes, in fact there is no knowing what he may do; he is in the habit of setting aside this part of the day for recreation, and does not settle down to official work again till after dinner, or, as a third alternative, the barge may have gone round to the other side of the island to wait for the admiral.

Does Stapleton want to see the admiral urgently?

Stapleton does. Very urgently indeed.

Then, says Dimsdale, it is difficult to know what course to recommend. The admiral is dining afloat to-night, and has a meeting to attend to afterwards which will keep him till close on midnight.

Stapleton comes away fuming with impatience. He has already kept his steamboat longer than he ought to have done, and must get back at once to the ship where he is being accommodated for the time being.

Arriving there, he is perhaps fortunate in finding the officer-of-the-watch a man very much junior to himself, and so escapes the cursing which he deserves for being so inconsiderate as to keep the one steamboat such a long time; and although he makes suitable apologies for his unwarranted behaviour, he feels that the young sub-lieutenant at the head of the gangway regards him with malevolent disfavour. And as if to drive home the extent of his shortcomings, the steamboat's crew are ordered to shove off at once and do the next trip, which they ought to have done an hour ago.

Stapleton smiles ruefully, remembering well the similar worries of his own watch-keeping days. He has not the heart to ask for anything more than a skiff, though he feels that he can do no less than make his way back to the island and seek the admiral there.

And meanwhile, blissfully unconscious of being so much in request, the admiral has sent a message back to his barge with orders to go round and wait for him at the southern side of the island, as Dimsdale has suggested he may have done; and, after saying good night to Norah and Netta in the hut, has walked across the island in the gathering twilight and thence gone afloat and taken the long sea-route home. This explains why Stapleton on coming down to the landing-place found no other boat except his own waiting there, and so concluded that the admiral must have returned to his house.

The request for the skiff is readily granted, though the sub-lieutenant on watch thinks to himself that this guest with the two-and-a-half stripes on his arm is a regular whale for boat trips. However, Stapleton propitiates him by stating that he will not require any hands to man the skiff, but will go alone and use the sculls. It is better so, on the whole, he reflects. Secrecy is very desirable on such a mission as his, and even the anxiety which is bound to be shown in his face may give too much away. Better be alone.

So, pulling the skiff by himself across the placid waters to the distant island, he makes for the pier at the landing-place and there makes fast his boat.

Stepping ashore, he is still at a loss as to what course to pursue in his search; perhaps it will be best to go first to the hut and there to make enquiries; after that, if no news is obtainable there, the only thing left to do will be to walk across the island to the other landing place and see if the admiral's barge is still there or not.

Ha! There is a man standing at the top of the cliff. This will be some one to enquire of, at any rate; and no chance must be overlooked.

So Stapleton walks up to the man and raises his lantern.

And he recognises, as he puts his question, the man whose fatal interruption this very afternoon, has parted him and Norah for ever and set afoot all this fearful trouble.

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