He lit a cigarette and stared shoreward along the dock. Manwa Island! Well, in the moonlight at least it was a place of astounding6 beauty, and if its appearance was any criterion of its material worth, it was a— He laughed softly, and languidly exhaled7 a cloud of cigarette smoke. There was a lure8 about the place—or was it the moonlight that, stealing with dreamy treachery upon the senses, carried one away to a land of make-believe? That stretch of sand there like a girdle between sea and shore, as fleecy as driven snow; the restless shimmer9 of the moonbeams on the water like the play of clustered diamonds in a platinum10 setting; the trees and open spaces etched against myriad11 stars; the smell of semi-tropical growing things, just pure fragrance12 that made the nostrils13 greedy with insatiable desire.
He drew his hand suddenly across his eyes.
"What a night!" he exclaimed aloud. "It's like the eyes and the lips of a dream woman; like a goblet14 of wine of the vintage of the gods! No song of the sirens could compare with this! I'm going ashore15, Locke. What do you say?"
"I'm done in with this damned engine!" he said irritably17. "It's too late to go ashore. They'll all be asleep."
"I'm not going to ring the doorbell," said Captain Francis Newcombe pleasantly. "I'm simply going to stroll in paradise. You don't mind, do you?"
"Go to it!" said Locke. "I'm going to bed."
"Right!" said Captain Francis Newcombe.
He turned and walked shoreward along the dock. Over his shoulder he saw Runnells pause in the act of coiling rope to stare after him—and again an ironical18 little flicker crossed his lips. Runnells was no doubt prompted to call out and ask what this midnight excursion was all about, but Runnells in the eyes of Howard Locke was a valet, and Runnells must therefore be dumb. Runnells on occasions knew his place!
He nodded in a sort of self-commendatory fashion to himself, as, reaching the shore, he started forward along a roadway that opened through the trees. He was well satisfied with his decision to bring Runnells along on the trip. "Captain Francis Newcombe and man" looked well, sounded well, and was well—since Runnells, for once in his life, even though it was due to no moral regeneration on the part of Runnells, but due entirely19 to Runnells' belief that he was on an innocent holiday, could be made exceedingly useful in bolstering20 up his master's social standing21 without bagging any of the game!
"Blessed is he who expects little," murmured Captain Francis Newcombe softly to himself, "for he shall receive—still less!"
He paused abruptly22, and stared ahead of him. Curious road, this! Like a great archway of trees! And all moon-flecked underfoot! Where did it lead? To the house probably! This was Manwa Island—the home of the mad millionaire! Queer freak of nature, these Florida Keys—if what he had been able to read up about them was true. Almost a continuous bow of islands, some fruitful, some barren, some big, some small—such a heterogeneous23 mess!—stretching along off the coast, some near, some far, for two hundred miles. Nothing but rocks on one; tropical fruits and verdure in profusion24 on another! Well, the mad millionaire, if the night revealed anything, had picked the gem25 of them all!
He walked on again. The road wound tortuously26 through what appeared to be a glade27 of great extent. It seemed to beckon28, to lure, to intrigue29 him the farther he went, to promise something around each moon-flecked turning. He laughed aloud softly. Promised what? Where was he going? Why was he here ashore at all? Was it possible that he had no ulterior motive30 in this stroll, that for once the sheer beauty of anything held him in thrall31? Well, even so, it at least afforded him a laugh at himself then. This road, for instance, was like an enchanted32 pathway, and there was magic in the night.
Or was it Polly?
Captain Francis Newcombe shook his head. Hardly! Not at this hour! Thanks to the engine trouble that had delayed them, she would long since have given up expecting him to-night, even though he had written her that he would be here.
The house, then? A surreptitious inspection33; an entry even?—there were half a million dollars there! Again he shook his head. He was not so great a fool as to invite disaster. To-morrow, and for days thereafter, he would be an inmate34 of the house when he would have opportunities of that nature without number, and without entailing35 any risk or suspicion—and time was no object.
He smiled complacently36 to himself. Things were shaping up very well—very well indeed. The seed so carefully planted years ago was to bear fruit at last. The greatest coup38 of his life was just within his grasp; and, if he were not utterly39 astray, that very coup in itself should prove but the stepping stone to still greater ones. Polly! Yes, quite true! The future depended very materially upon Polly. How amenable40 would she be to influence?—granting always that the said influence be delicately and tactfully enough applied41!
He fell to whistling very softly under his breath. He had plans for Polly. And if they matured the future looked very bright—for himself. He wondered what she was like—particularly as to character and disposition42. Was she affectionate, romantic—what? A great deal, a very great deal, depended on that. Not in the present instance—Polly had fully37 served her purpose in so far as a certain half million dollars in cash was concerned, and being innocent of any connivance43 must remain so—but thereafter. England was an exploited field; it had become dangerous; the net there was drawing in. Oh, yes, he had had all that in mind on the day he had first sent Polly to America, but only in a general way then, while to-day it had become concrete. Locke would make a most admirable "open sesame" to the New Land—if Locke married Polly. Polly, as Mrs. Locke, would step at once into a social sphere than which there was no higher—or wealthier—and, ipso facto, Captain Francis Newcombe would do likewise. And given a half million as stake money, Captain Francis Newcombe, if he knew Captain Francis Newcombe at all, would not fail in his opportunities! He had expected Polly in due course to make a place for herself in social America; that was what he had paid money for—but Howard Locke was a piece of luck. Locke conserved45 time; Locke opened the safety vault46 of possibilities immediately.
He frowned suddenly. Suppose Polly did not prove amenable? Nonsense! Why shouldn't she—if the man weren't flung at her head! Locke was the kind of chap a girl ought to like, and all girls were more or less romantic, and the element of romance had just the right spice to it here—the guardian48 she has not seen in years who is accompanied by a young man, who, from any standpoint, whether of looks, physique, manner or position, would measure up to the most exacting49 of young ladies' ideals! And to say nothing of the magic spells that seemed to have their very home in this garden isle—a veritable wooer's bower50! There would be other moonlight nights. Bah! There was nothing to it—save to put a few minor51 obstacles in the way of the turtle doves!
Where the devil did this road lead to? Well, no matter! It was like a tunnel, dreamy black with its walls of leaves, dreamy with its sweet-smelling odours. In itself it was well worth while. It continued to invite him. And he accepted the invitation. His thoughts roved farther afield now. Locke ... the trip down on the fifty-foot Talofa ... not an incident to mar44 the days—nothing since the night that shot had been fired on shipboard through his cabin window.
His face for a moment grew dark—then cleared again. If, as through the hours thereafter when he had sat there in the cabin, it had seemed as though the shot had come from some ghostly visitor out of the past, there was no reason now why it should bother him further; for, granting such a diagnosis52 as true, Locke and the Talofa had thrown even so acute a stalker as a supernatural spirit off the trail. As a matter of fact, it had probably been some maniacal53 or drug-crazed idiot running for the moment amuck54. To-night, with these soft, whispering airs around him, and serenity55 and loveliness everywhere in contrast with that night of storm, the incident did not seem so virulent56 a thing anyway; it seemed to be smoothed over, to be relegated57 definitely to where it belonged—to the realm of things ended and done with. Certainly, since that night nothing had happened.
It was unfortunate he had not caught the man. He would have liked to have seen the other's face; to have exchanged memory with memory—and to have slammed forever shut that particular door of the bygone days if by any chance he found he had been careless enough to have left one, in passing, ajar.
He swore sharply under his breath; but the next moment shrugged60 his shoulders. The incident was too immeasurably far removed from Manwa Island to allow it to intrude61 itself upon him now. Why think of things such as that when the very night itself here with its languor62, its beauty, and—yes, again—its magic, sought to bring to the senses the gift of delightful63 repose64 and contentment? When the—
He stood suddenly still, and in sheer amazement65 rubbed his eyes. He had come to the end of the tree-arched road, and it seemed as though he gazed now on the imaginative painting of a master genius, daring, bold in its conception, exquisite66 in its execution. Either that, or there was magic in the night, and he had been transported bodily through enchantment67 into the very land of the Arabian Nights!
A few yards away, he faced what looked in the moonlight like a great marble balustrade, and rising above this, painted into a hue68 of softest white against the night, towered what might well have been a caliph's palace. It stretched away in lines unusual in their beauty and design; columns above the balustrade; little domes69 like minarets70 against the sky line; quaint71 latticed windows. And the effect of the whole was that of a mirage72 on a sea of emerald green; for, sweeping73 away from the balustrade, wondrous74 in its colour under the moonlight, was a wide expanse of lawn, level, unbroken until the eye met again the horizon rim2 beyond in the wall of encircling trees, a wall of inky blackness.
He moved forward out on to the lawn—and as suddenly halted again, as there seemed to float into his line of vision from around the corner of the balustrade, like some nymph of the moonlight, the slim, graceful75 figure of a girl in white, clinging draperies, whose clustering masses of dark hair crowned a face that in the soft light was amazingly beautiful. And he caught his breath as he gazed. And the girl, with a low cry, stood still—and then came running toward him.
"Oh, guardy! Guardy! Guardy!" she cried. "I knew you'd come! I knew it!"
It was Polly's voice. It hadn't changed. Was the nymph Polly? She was running with both hands outstretched. He caught them in his own as she came up to him, and stared into her face almost unbelievingly. Polly! This wasn't Polly! Polly's photographs were of a very pretty girl—this girl was glorious! She stirred the pulses. Damn it, she made the blood leap!
She hung back now a little shyly, the colour coming and going in her face.
He laughed. He meant it to be a laugh of one entirely in command both of himself and the situation; but it sounded in his ears as a laugh forced, unnatural76, a poor effort to cover a suddenly routed composure.
"And is this all the welcome I get?" he demanded. He drew her closer to him. Gad77, why not take his rights? She was worth it!
"I—I wasn't quite sure," she said coyly. "One's deportment with one's guardian wasn't in the school curriculum, you know—guardy!"
"Then I should have been more particular in my selection of the school," he said. It was strange, unaccountable! His voice seemed to rasp. He kissed her—then held her off at arm's-length. Polly! This bewitching creature was Polly! How the colour came and fled; and something glistened79 in the great, dark eyes—like the dew glistening80 in the morning sunlight.
"Oh, guardy!" she murmured. "It's so good to see you!"
"You waited up for me, Polly?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "Dora was sure you wouldn't come to-night because it was so late, and on account of it being low tide; but I was equally sure you would."
"Of course, I would!" said Captain Francis Newcombe glibly81. "And I'm here. We're just in. I was afraid it was hopelessly late; but I didn't want to disappoint you in case you might still be clinging to what must have seemed a forlorn hope, and so I came ashore on the chance."
"Guardy," she said delightedly, "you're the only guardy in the world! But what happened? You were to have left the mainland to-day, and it's only five hours across."
"You'll have to ask Locke," he smiled. "That is, as to details—when he's in a better humour. In a general way, however, the engine broke down. We've been since one o'clock this afternoon getting over."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "What perfectly82 wretched luck! And where's Mr. Locke now? And—no—first, you must tell me about mother. Is she changed any? Is she well, and quite, quite happy? And does she like her home? Is it pretty? And how—"
"Good heavens, Polly!" expostulated Captain Francis Newcombe with assumed helplessness. "What a volley!" But his mind was at work swiftly, coldly, judicially83. To preface his visit with the announcement of Mrs. Wickes' untimely—or was it timely?—end, would create an atmosphere that would not at all harmonise with his plans. Polly in mourning and retirement84! Locke! Impossible! Nor did it suit him to explain that Mrs. Wickes was not her mother. He was not yet sure when that particular piece of information might best be used to advantage. And so Captain Francis Newcombe laughed disengagingly. "I can't possibly answer all those questions to-night—we'd be here until daylight. The mother's quite all right, Polly—quite all right. You can pump me dry to-morrow."
"Oh, I'm so glad—and so happy!" she cried. She clapped her hands together. "All right, to-morrow! We'll talk all day long. Well, then, about Mr. Locke—where is he? And how did you come to make such a trip? You know, you just wrote that you were coming down from New York on his yacht. Who is he? Tell me about him."
Locke! Damn it, the girl was incredibly beautiful—the figure of a young goddess! What hair! Those lips! Fool! What was the matter with him? Polly was only a tool to be used; not to turn his head just because she had proved to be a bit of a feminine wonder. Fool! The downfall of every outstanding figure in his profession had been traceable to a woman. It was a police axiom. It did not apply to Shadow Varne! A girl—bah—the world was full of them! And yet— His hand at his side clenched85, while his lips smiled.
"That's something else for to-morrow," he said. "You'll meet him then, and"—what was it he had said to himself a little while ago about slight obstacles in the way of the turtle doves?—"I hope you'll like him, though I've an idea that perhaps you won't."
"Why won't I?" demanded Polly instantly.
"Well, I don't know—upon my word, I don't," said Captain Francis Newcombe with a quizzical grin. "He certainly isn't strikingly handsome; and I've an idea he's anything but a ladies' man—though not altogether a bad sort in spite of that, you know."
"Oh!" said Polly Wickes, with a little pout86 that might have meant anything. "Well, who is he, then—and where did you meet him?"
"I met him at the club in London, and we chummed up on the way over. It's quite simple. He was off for a holiday with no choice as to where he went, whereas I wanted to come here—so we came down in his motor cruiser. As to who he is, he's just young Howard Locke, the son of Howard Locke, senior, the American financier."
"Oh!" said Polly Wickes again.
What a ravishing little pout! Where had the girl learned the trick? Was it a trick? Those eyes were wonderfully frank, steady, ingenuous—wonderfully deep and self-reliant. He wondered if he looked old in those eyes? Young Locke! Fool again! Go on, tempt87 the gods! Ask her if thirty-three fell within her own category of youth, or—
"Don't make a sound!" she cautioned suddenly. "Quick! Here!"
He found himself, obedient to the pressure on his arm, standing back again within the shadows of the tree-arched road.
"What is it, Polly?" he asked in surprise.
A figure was emerging from the trees some hundred yards away, and, in the open now, began to approach the house. Captain Francis Newcombe stared. It was a bare-headed, white-haired old man in a dressing89 gown that reached almost to his heels. The man walked quickly, but with a queer, bird-like movement of his head which he cocked from side to side at almost every step, darting90 furtive91 glances in all directions around him.
Captain Francis Newcombe felt the girl's hand tighten59 in a tense grip on his arm. Rather curious, this! The figure was making for that hedge of bushes that seemed to enclose the verandah from below. And now, reaching the hedge, and pausing for an instant to look around him again in every direction, the man parted the bushes and disappeared under the verandah.
"My word!" observed Captain Francis Newcombe tersely92. "What's it about? A thief in the night—or what? I'll see what the beggar's up to anyway!"
He took a step forward, but Polly held him back.
"Keep quiet!" she breathed. "It's—it's only Mr. Marlin."
Captain Francis Newcombe whistled low under his breath.
"As bad as that, is he?"
Polly nodded her head.
"Yes," she said a little miserably93. "I'm afraid so; though it's the first time I ever saw anything like this."
"But what is he doing under the verandah there at this hour?" demanded Captain Francis Newcombe.
Polly shook her head this time.
"I don't know," she said; "but I think there must be some way in and out of the house under there, for I am certain he was in bed less than an hour ago, because when Dora left me she was going to see that her father was all right for the night, and if she hadn't found him in his room, I am sure she would have been alarmed and would have come back to me. I—I saw him come out of there a little while ago. I was sitting on the verandah waiting for you. I started to follow him across the lawn, and then I thought I had no right to do so, and then I saw you, and—and I forgot all about him."
Captain Francis Newcombe was a master of facial expression. He became instantly grave and concerned.
"Well, I should say then," he stated thoughtfully, "that, from what I've just seen, and from what you wrote in your letter about the fabulous95 sum of money he keeps about him, he ought to have a good deal of medical attention, and the money taken from him and put in some safe place. Don't you know Miss Marlin well enough to suggest something like that?"
Polly Wickes shook her head quickly.
"Oh, you don't understand, guardy!" she said anxiously. "He has had medical attention. The very best specialist from New York has been here since I wrote you. And he says there is really absolutely nothing that can be done. Mr. Marlin is just the dearest old man you ever knew. It's just on that one subject, not so much money as finance, though I don't quite understand the difference, that he is insane. If he were taken away from here and shut up anywhere it would kill him. And, as Doctor Daemer said, what better place could there be than this? And anyway Dora wouldn't hear of it. And as for taking the money away from him, nobody knows where it is."
Captain Francis Newcombe was staring at the bushes that fringed the verandah.
"Oh!" he said quietly. "That puts quite a different complexion96 on the matter. I didn't understand. I gathered from your letter that the money was more or less always in evidence. In fact, I think you said he showed it to you—a half million dollars in cash."
"So he did," Polly answered; "but that's the only time I ever saw it; and I don't think even Dora has ever seen it more than once or twice. He has got it hidden somewhere, of course; but as it would be the very worst thing in the world for him to get the idea into his head that any one was watching him in an effort to discover his secret, Dora has been very careful to show no signs of interest in it. Doctor Daemer warned her particularly that any suspicions aroused in her father's mind would only accentuate97 the disease. Oh, guardy, it's a terribly sad case; and insanity98 is such a horribly strange thing! He never seems to—"
Polly was still talking. Captain Francis Newcombe inclined his head from time to time in assumed interest. He was no longer listening. Polly, the beauty of the night, his immediate47 surroundings, were, for the moment, extraneous99 things. His mind was at work. Incredible luck! The problem that had troubled him, that he had never really solved, that he had, indeed, finally decided100 must be left to circumstances as he should find them here and be then governed thereby101, was now solved in a manner that far exceeded anything he could possibly have hoped for. To obtain the actual possession of the money from a fuddle-brained old idiot had never bothered him—that was a very simple matter. But to get away with the money after the robbery had been committed had not appeared so simple. Some one on the island must be guilty. The circle would be none too wide. He must emerge without a breath of suspicion having touched him. Not so simple! There would have been a way, of course; wits and ingenuity102 would have supplied it—but that had been the really intricate part of the undertaking103. And now—incredible luck! He had naturally assumed that the household knew where the old madman kept his money; naturally assumed that there would be a beastly fuss and uproar104 over its disappearance—but now there would be nothing of the kind. It might take a few days to solve the old fool's secret, but in the main that would be child's play; after that, if by any unfortunate chance an accident happened to Mr. Jonathan P. Marlin, the whereabouts of the money would forever remain a mystery—save to one Captain Francis Newcombe. No one could, or would, be accused of having taken it!
"... Guardy, you quite understand, don't you?" ended Polly Wickes.
Captain Francis Newcombe smiled at the upturned, serious face.
"Quite, Polly! Quite!" he answered earnestly. "Very fully, I might say. It must be very hard indeed on Miss Marlin. I am so sorry for her. I wish there were something we might do. Your being here must have been a blessing105 to her."
The colour stole into Polly Wickes' cheeks.
"Guardy, you're a dear!" she whispered.
"Am I?" he said—and took possession of her hand.
What a soft, cool little palm it was! What an entrancing little figure! Who would have dreamed that Polly would develop into so lovely—no, not lovely—damn it, she was divine! Polly and a half million! Why Locke? Curse Locke! The eyes and lips of a dream woman, he had said; a half million—both his for the taking! Did he ask still more? He was not so sure about Locke having her. No, it wasn't the night drugging his senses and steeping his soul in fanciful possession of desires. It was real. If it pleased him, he had only to take, to drink his fill to satiation of this goblet of the gods. There was nothing to stay him. He had builded for it, and he was entitled to it; it wasn't chance. Chance! There was strange laughter in his heart. Chance was the playground of fools! Why shouldn't he laugh, aye, and boastingly! Who was to deny him what he would; this woman if he wanted her, the—
He stood suddenly like a man dazed and stunned106. He let fall the girl's hand. Was he mad, insane, his mind unbalanced; was reason gone? It had come out of the night, a mocking thing, a voice that jeered108 and rocked with wild mirth.
His eyes met Polly's. She was frightened, startled; her face had gone a little white.
Imagination? As he had imagined that night in his cabin on board ship? A voice of his own creation? No; it came again now, jarring, crashing, jangling through the stillness of the night:
"Shadow Varne! Shadow Varne! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" It rose and fell; now almost a scream; now hoarse109 with wild, untrammelled laughter. "Shadow Varne! Shadow Varne! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" And then like a long, drawn-out eerie110 call: "Shad-ow Va-arne!"
And then the soft whispering of the leaves through the trees, and no other sound.
"What is it? What is it?" Polly cried out. "What a horrible voice!"
Captain Francis Newcombe's hand, hidden in his pocket, held a revolver. To get rid of the girl now! The voice had come from the woods in the direction of the shore. A voice! Shadow Varne! Who called Shadow Varne here on this island where Shadow Varne had never been heard of? He was cold as ice now; cold with a merciless fury battering111 at his heart. He did not know—but he would know! And then—
"You run along into the house, Polly." He forced a cool sang-froid into his voice. "It's probably nothing more than some of the negroes you spoke112 of in your letter cat-calling out there on the water; or else some one with a perverted113 sense of humour in the woods here trying to spoof114 us—and in that case a lesson is needed. Quick now, Polly! It's time you were in bed anyway. And say nothing about it—there's no use raising an alarm over what probably amounts to nothing. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."
She was still staring at him in a frightened, startled way.
Damn the girl! She was wasting precious moments! But he could not explain that he had a personal interest in that cursed voice, could he?
He smiled reassuringly116.
"I'll tell you all about it in the morning—if there's anything to tell," he repeated. "Now, run along. Good-night, dear!"
"Good-night, guardy," she said hesitatingly.
He watched her start toward the house; then he swung quickly from the road into the woods. He swore savagely117 to himself. She had kept him too long. There was very little chance now of finding the owner of that voice. Had there ever been? What did it matter, the moment or so it had taken to get rid of Polly? The odds118 were all with the voice, and had been from the start. He was not only metaphorically119, but literally120, stabbing in the dark. What did it mean? Again he swore, and swore now through clenched teeth. He knew well enough what it meant. It meant what he knew now that shot through his cabin window had meant. It meant that he was known to some one as he should be known to no one. It meant that of two men on this island, there was room for only one; otherwise it promised disaster, exposure—the end. A strangling, horrible end—on the end of a rope.
A door of the past ajar!
Who? Who?
He was making too much noise! Rather than stalking his game, he was more likely to be stalked. He had been stalked—when that voice had cried out. He halted—listened. Nothing! But it was somewhere in here that the voice had come from. He could swear to that.
He worked forward again. Damn the trees and foliage121! How could one go quietly when one had to fight one's way through? And it was soggy and wet underfoot—one's feet made squeaky, oozy122 noises.
He came out on the beach—a long, curving stretch of sand, glistening white in the moonlight. He was amazed that he had travelled so far. How far had he travelled? His mind, like his soul, was in a state of fury, of fear; there was upon him a frenzy123, the urge of self-preservation, to kill.
A structure of some kind, extending out into the sea, loomed124 up a distance away over to the right. He stared at it. It was a boathouse; and its ornate, exaggerated size stamped it at once as an adjunct to the mad millionaire's mansion125. But the voice had not come from the boathouse—it had come from the woods back in here behind him.
Captain Francis Newcombe retraced126 his steps into the woods again, but now with far greater caution than before; and presently, his revolver in his hand, he sat down upon the stump127 of a tree. He held his hand up close before his eyes. It was steady, without sign of tremor128. That was better! He was cooler now—no, cool; not cooler—quite himself. If he could not move here in the woods without making a noise, neither could any one else. And from the moment that voice had flung its threat and jeer107 through the night there had been no sound in the underbrush. He had listened, straining his ears for that very thing, even while he had manoeuvred to get Polly out of the road without arousing suspicion anent himself in her mind. He was listening now. It was the only chance. True, whoever it was might have been close to the beach, or close to the road, and had already escaped, and in that case he was done in; but on the other hand, the man, if it were a man and not a devil, might very well have done what he, Captain Francis Newcombe, was doing now, remained silent and motionless, secure in the darkness. If that were so then, sooner or later, the other must make a move.
Silly? Impossible? A preposterous129 theory? Perhaps! But there was no alternative hope of catching130 the other to-night. Why hadn't he adopted this plan from the start? How sure was he after all that, covered by the noise he himself had made, the other had not got away?
The minutes passed—five, ten of them. There was no sound. The silence itself became heavy. It began to palpitate. It grew even clamorous131, thundering ghastly auguries132, threats and gibes133 in his ears. And then it began to take up a horrible sing-song refrain: "Who was it? Who was it? Who was it?"
What would to-morrow bring? Shadow Varne! It was literally a death sentence, wasn't it?—unless he could close forever those bawling134 lips! He felt the grey come creeping into his face. He, who laughed at fear, who had laughed at it all his life, save through that one night on board the ship, was beginning to fight over again his battle for composure. Shadow Varne! Shadow Varne! Hell itself seemed striving to shake his nerve.
Well, neither hell nor anything else could do it! There were those who had learned that to their cost! And, it seemed, there was another now who was yet to learn it! His teeth clamped suddenly together in a vicious snap, and suddenly he was on his feet. Faintly there came the rustle135 of foliage—it came again. He could not place its direction at first. It might be an animal. No! The rustling136 ceased. Some one was running now on the road in the direction of the dock—but a long way off.
He lunged and tore his way through trees and undergrowth, and broke into the clear of the road. He raced madly along it. He could see nothing ahead because of those infernal moon-flecked turnings that he had been fool enough to rave94 over on his way to the house. Nothing! He drew up for a second and listened. Nothing! He spurted137 on again. A game of blindman's-buff—and he was blindfolded138!
He came out into the clearing with the dock in sight. Again he stopped and listened. Still nothing!
His lips tightened. It was futile139. He would only be playing the fool to grope further around in the darkness in what now could be but the most aimless fashion, robbed even of a single possible objective. He could not search the island! There was nothing left to do but go on board.
He started out along the dock—and then suddenly, as his eyes narrowed, his stride became nonchalant, debonair140. He fell to whistling softly a catchy141 air from a recent musical comedy. Runnells had not gone to bed. Runnells was stretched out on his back on the deck of the yacht smoking a pipe, his head propped142 up on a coil of rope.
"Hello, Runnells," he observed, as he halted in front of the other, "the artistry of the night got you, too? Well, I must say, it's too fine to waste all of it at any rate in sleep."
"You're bloody144 well right, it is!" said Runnells. "Strike me pink, if it ain't! I've heard of these here places from the time I was born, but I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't laid here smoking my pipe and saying to myself, this here's you, Runnells, and that there's it. London! I can do without London for a bit!"
"Quite so!" said Captain Francis Newcombe. He leaned over and ran his fingers along the sole of Runnells' upturned boot.
Runnells sat up with a jerk.
"What the 'ell are you doing?" he ejaculated.
"Striking a match," said Captain Francis Newcombe, as he lighted a cigarette. "You don't mind, do you? It saves the deck."
Runnells, with a grunt, returned his head to the comfort of the coiled rope.
"About ten minutes after you left," said Runnells. "That engine did him down, if you ask me. I mixed him a peg146, and he was off like a shot."
"Well, I don't know of anything better to do myself," said Captain Francis Newcombe.
He turned and walked slowly toward the cabin companionway; but aft by the rail he paused for a moment, and, flinging his cigarette overboard, watched it as it struck the water, and listened as it made a tiny hiss147—like a serpent's hiss.
His face for an instant became distorted, then set in hard, deep lines.
Who was it?
The sole of Runnells' boot was dry—quite dry.
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1
speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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2
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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3
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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4
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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5
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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6
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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7
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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8
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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9
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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10
platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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11
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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12
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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13
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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14
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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15
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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16
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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17
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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18
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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19
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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20
bolstering
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| v.支持( bolster的现在分词 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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21
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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22
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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23
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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24
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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25
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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26
tortuously
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27
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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28
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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29
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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30
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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31
thrall
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| n.奴隶；奴隶制 | |
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32
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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34
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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35
entailing
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| 使…成为必要( entail的现在分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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36
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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37
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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38
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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39
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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40
amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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41
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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42
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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43
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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44
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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45
conserved
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| v.保护，保藏，保存( conserve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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47
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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48
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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49
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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50
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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51
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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52
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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53
maniacal
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| adj.发疯的 | |
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54
amuck
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| ad.狂乱地 | |
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55
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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56
virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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57
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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58
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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59
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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60
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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62
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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63
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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64
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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65
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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66
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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67
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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68
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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69
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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70
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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71
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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72
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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73
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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74
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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75
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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76
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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77
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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78
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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79
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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81
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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82
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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83
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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84
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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85
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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87
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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88
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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89
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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90
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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91
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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92
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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93
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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94
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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95
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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96
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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97
accentuate
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| v.着重，强调 | |
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98
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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99
extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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100
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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101
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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102
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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103
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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104
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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105
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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106
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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107
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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108
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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110
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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111
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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112
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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113
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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114
spoof
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| n.诳骗，愚弄，戏弄 | |
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115
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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116
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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117
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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118
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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119
metaphorically
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| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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120
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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121
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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122
oozy
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| adj.软泥的 | |
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123
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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124
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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125
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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126
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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127
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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128
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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129
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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130
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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131
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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132
auguries
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| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
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133
gibes
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| vi.嘲笑，嘲弄（gibe的第三人称单数形式） | |
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134
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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135
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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136
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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137
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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138
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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139
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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140
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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141
catchy
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| adj.易记住的，诡诈的，易使人上当的 | |
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142
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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144
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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145
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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146
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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147
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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