Part 23 (1/2)

For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low whispers.

Cleek and Dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the fleet of fis.h.i.+ng boats. Of a sudden from out the blackness others appeared. Old Black Whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them, empty-handed. Cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned voice.

”What now, matey? I'm new at this gyme.”

”Oh-unloadin'. Usual thing. Faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. All the time I bin 'ere-nigh on to two years-it's bin the same. Every lot goes out, some comes back again with a complaint. Funny thing, ain't it?”

”Yus,” responded Cleek shortly. ”d.a.m.n funny.” It certainly was. Unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves up to whistle. But no sound came.

And the work of unloading began.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WEB OF CIRc.u.mSTANCE

For a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by Cleek or Dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished, and though the ”Pig and Whistle” got its fair share of their time-for the sake of appearances-there were long hours afterward, between the last tattered remnants of the night and the day's dawning, when they did a vast amount of exploration.

That they made good use of this time was proved by the little note-book that rested in Cleek's pocket, and in which a rough chart of the country and the docks was drawn-though there were still some blanks to be filled in-while opposite it was a rude outline of the secret pa.s.sage into which they had blundered three nights before.

”Got to explore that hole from end to end, Dollops,” said Cleek on the fourth evening, as they struck off together toward that gap in the hedge, soon after the clock in the village had chimed out ten, and the little bar of the ”Pig and Whistle” was slowly emptying itself of its habitues. ”I've the main route fairly correct, I think, and a rough idea of where those sacks stood, and where we took to cover when Black Whiskers was showing the master of this underworld domain through it. Happen to have learnt the chap's name yet?”

Dollops nodded.

”Yessir. Brent it is, Jonathan Brent, or so one of the men tells me. Says he's never seed 'im, though; n.o.body 'ardly ever does, from all accounts 'e give me. Ole Black Whiskers and our silent-footed friend Borkins is the main ones wot does 'is work for 'im.”

”H'm. Well, that's something gleaned, anyway. Of course we may be able to find out who he really is, but the chances are small. Men like this chap don't go giving away anything more than they can help. They lie low and let their paid underlings stand the racket if it happens to come along. I know the type. I've come cross it before. Well, here we are. Now for it-but this time I happen to have brought along a revolver.”

He crept through the hedge and crouching behind it ran to the spot where they had found the open trap-door upon that memorable occasion three nights before. There was nothing to be seen. The ground presented an absolutely unbroken appearance, so far as they could make out in the moon's rays.

”Clever devils!” snapped out Cleek, in angry tribute. ”We'll have to use artificial light after all; but keep your torch light on the ground. It won't do for any one to spot us just now.”

For perhaps a moment or two they explored the ground inch by inch, crawling round in the long gra.s.s upon their hands and knees, until a little tuft of brown earth sticking up through a piece of turf, like the upturned corner of a rug, showed them what they were looking for. With infinite care Cleek lifted up the square of turf and set it upon one side. The sight of the flat dark surface of the trap-door rewarded them. He ran his fingers along the two sides of it, and discovered a bolt, shot this, and then catching the iron ring once more in his hands, swung the top upward and laid it back upon the gra.s.s.

A minute more found them once more in the cavernous, breathless depths. Cleek handed the torch to Dollops.

”You hold that while I do a bit of sketching,” he said, fidgeting in his coat-pocket for his fountain-pen. He then snapped open the flap of the note-book and began to sketch rapidly as they moved forward. Cleek was an adept in drawing to scale. The thing took shape as they continued their progress, keeping this time to the left instead of to the right. Cleek paced off the distance and stopped every now and then to check up results.

The place was as silent as the grave. Obviously no one was about here upon these nights when there was no loading and unloading going on. In that, at least, chance had been a good friend to them. They were going to make the most of it. Through little runways, narrower than the main route, and so low that they had to bend their necks to get along in safety, they went, measuring and examining. Every few yards or so they would come upon another little niche, stacked high with sacks of a similar hardness to those others back there at the beginning of their journey. Cleek prodded one with his finger, hesitated, then slipping out a penknife, slit a fragment of the coa.r.s.e sacking and inserted his thumb....

He pulled it out with a look of astonishment upon his face.

”h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo!” he exclaimed. ”So that's it, is it? Gad! This is the approved hiding-place! Then those tubings-Dollops, just a little more of this wearisome search, just a few telephone calls to be made, and I believe I shall have untied at least one part of this strange riddle. And when that knot is unfastened, it will surely lead me to the rest.... Go on, boy.”

They went on, stepping carefully, and hesitating now and again to listen for any sound of alien footsteps. But the place might have been the grave for any sign of human habitation that there was. They had it to themselves that night, and made the most of it.

For some time they walked on, taking the road that most appealed to them, and in the maze must surely have retraced their own footsteps. Of a sudden, however, they broke into a sort of rough stone pa.s.sage, with concrete floor that ran on for a few yards and ended at a flight of well-made stone steps, above which was a square of polished oak, worm-eaten, heavily-carved, and surely not of this generation's make or structure.

”Now, what the d.i.c.kens...?” began Cleek, and stopped.

Dollops surveyed it with his head on one side.