E. Phillips Oppenheim - Crime & Mystery Collection - 110+ Thrillers & Detective Tales in One Volume (Illustrated Edition)

“Hullo there!”

There was no reply for a moment. He kicked against the side of the rock. Suddenly a voice issued from the darkness—a voice which came to him as a shock.

“Hullo yourself! What do you want?”

“A word with you.”

There was the sound now of light footsteps. Goade drew back, puzzled. The voice which had answered him had been the voice of no yokel, no wild, half-civilised creature. It had both the cadence and the quality of a voice belonging to a man of education. Nevertheless, he stood prepared for trouble; still half expecting it. Then the heather bushes were parted and Goade, accustomed to surprises, gasped. A slim, clean-shaven, well-built young man, in ancient but excellently cut tweeds, calmly presented himself. He was unarmed and his single monocle looked as though it had never left his eye. With one hand he rearranged his hair which had been slightly disturbed pushing his way through.

“Hullo, Goade!” he exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing in this part of the world?”

Goade for a moment was speechless. He looked the young man up and down. There was no doubt that he was a person of cultivation and breeding. With a few slight changes of country to town attire he would have been perfectly in his place in Bond Street or sauntering along Piccadilly. Furthermore his face was not wholly unfamiliar.

“You seem to know my name,” Goade said. “I can’t say I recognise you.”

“We’ve come across one another once or twice,” the other replied. “My name’s Erriscombe—Cecil Erriscombe. I was in ‘The Brown Mask’ at the Royalty. Some one brought you round the first night.”

“I remember, of course,” Goade admitted. “All the same, you must forgive me if I seemed a little taken aback. The last person I expected to see crawling out of a hole in the earth was a popular jeune premier . What the devil are you doing here, man?”

Mr. Cecil Erriscombe smiled. He produced a gold case, selected a cigarette himself, and extended the case to Goade.

“To tell you the truth,” he confided, “I’m sick of all ordinary holidays. I was doing a tramp across the moors and I came upon this place in a thunderstorm. I thought it would be a jolly good idea to settle down here for a week or ten days, and try nature at first hand. You remember I was in ‘The Arcadians,’ and the idea always rather appealed to me. I bought some stores and moved in a week ago. I’ve had a thundering good time, but I’m off to-morrow.”

“God bless my soul!” Goade muttered, still a little dazed.

“My bathtub has been the tarn there,” the other continued, leaning back on the boulder where they were seated, and watching the smoke from his cigarette curl upwards; “also my looking glass. I’ve a few odds and ends inside, but nothing worth speaking about. The only thing I regret is that I haven’t had a camera to take me in my make-up.”

“In your what?”

“In my make-up,” the young man repeated coolly. “You see, the first day I was here, a tramp tourist and then some children picking whortleberries annoyed me and spoilt my idea of what complete solitude should be, so I wired to London for an aboriginal disguise à la George Robey—tomahawk and all—and I’ve had some fun,” he concluded, with a grin, the genuineness of which his companion for some reason felt inclined to doubt.

“I should say you have,” Goade remarked, his sense of puzzlement increasing. “You’ve frightened a young man out of his senses, and I found a girl in a faint outside.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Erriscombe declared.

“I meant to frighten the young man, but when I heard nothing more of the girl I thought she’d made off in the other direction. She didn’t cry out or anything, or I should have heard it. She’s all right now, I hope?”

“She’s all right,” Goade assented tonelessly. “She’s gone off home with the young man.”*

“And, by Jove,” Erriscombe reflected, with a queer little smile, “won’t the countryside be prowling round here in a day or two to see the wild man. I think I’ll leave the outfit to amuse them, and clear off. What part are you making for, Goade? We might as well push on together.”

“I thought of calling first at that farm behind the trees there,” Goade replied, “just to let the young lady know she’s nothing to be terrified about. Afterwards I’ve got to get back to Chidford where I left my car.”

“Chidford will do me all right,” Erriscombe agreed with obvious eagerness. “What about your going up to the farm, as you want to, and picking me up on your way back? I’ve got a few oddments I might put in my knapsack. Anyway, it won’t take you more than an hour there and back. We shall get to Chidford in time for a glorious high tea. I’m not sure that I shall be sorry to sleep inside sheets again.”

“All right,” Goade acquiesced. “I’ll be glad to have you—take you along in the car to-morrow, if you like. Let’s have a look at your quarters,” he added, peering through the heather bush.

The young man indulged in a slight grimace.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he confessed. “I’m by way of being a little fastidious, and it’s more than ordinarily stuffy and untidy down there. I’ve slept out of doors the last two nights.”

Goade nodded thoughtfully. Suddenly Flip darted past him through the opening and disappeared in the gloom. A moment later he heard her sharp bark from down below.

“What is it, Flip?” he called out.

There was no reply. Instead, Flip’s bark suddenly changed into a howl. Erriscombe’s fingers which held his cigarette shook.

“For God’s sake, call the little beast,” he begged. “What a hideous sound.”

Goade rose to his feet and looked at the young man by his side gravely.

“I’ve only once before heard her howl like that,” he said. “I’ll have to go down, Erriscombe.”

The young man stood motionless.

“What do you mean?” he asked, after a moment’s pause.

“I’ll have to go down and see what my dog’s howling at,” Goade explained. “Sorry, Erriscombe.”

He suddenly gripped him by the arms and felt him all over.

“All right,” he added, as he released him. “You can wait for me, if you like, or come.”

Erriscombe shrugged his shoulders and produced an electric torch from his pocket which he handed to Goade.

“You’ll want that,” he said. “Be careful of the third step. You needn’t be afraid. I’ll wait for you.”

Goade took the torch and stumbled down. The air was good enough, and at the bottom of the three roughly cut steps the floor was carpeted with dried heather. There was a place in the corner where some one had apparently slept, a few dirty cooking utensils, and a basin which had been used to bring water from the tarn. Goade’s first glance around showed him these things; his second, something far more horrible. From a recess, leading apparently into an extension of the cave, stretched a man’s leg, roughly booted, hairy, and tanned by the sun. Goade crept forward and flashed on his light. A large, scantily dressed man, with a huge crop of hair and beard, lay motionless upon his side. There was a faint smell of gunpowder in the air, a gun and empty cartridge case upon the floor, a little wisp of blue smoke still lingering in a distant corner. Goade stood upright for a moment, looking around him. Then he turned slowly away and mounted the steps into the daylight. Erriscombe was seated upon the boulder, the sun flashing upon his monocle, but as Goade appeared he rose to his feet as though to greet some one. Goade, coming gasping into the sunlight, rubbed his eyes for a moment. A few yards away, the girl was hastening towards them, her arms outstretched.