The Man Who Ended War. Godfrey Hollis

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СКАЧАТЬ persisted. “Let’s see, there was a crowd of the fellows there, and, queer thing too, John King and Dick Regnier. The same pair that were with you the other night.”

      “Regnier!” That name shot across me like a bullet. The short, quick, troubled breathing of some one behind me on the night we read the letter! “Can it be!” I burst forth.

      Dorothy made no pretence of misunderstanding me. “No,” she said firmly. “Dick was up to see me last night. It couldn’t have been he.”

      The coast had been rushing by us rapidly as we talked, and now the summer cottages and bathing beaches were giving way to longer stretches of bare sand and wooded inlets. I rose and looked forward.

      “We may as well commence here,” I said, and we began systematic inquiry. Catboat and sloop tacking out on pleasure bent, tramp steamer ploughing heavily up the coast, – one after another, we came alongside and asked the same questions. “Have you seen a battleship to-day or yesterday? Have you seen or heard anything unusual?”

      The answers came back in every vein. Brusque denials – ironical inquiries – would-be humorous sallies – courteous rejoinders – one and all had the same word. No battleship seen. Nothing unusual seen or heard. The morning had become noon, ere we were fairly on our quest. The afternoon wore on towards night, as it progressed. As the hours passed, I protested against my hosts giving up their yacht to my service, but quite in vain. They were as firmly resolved to pursue the quest to the end as I was myself.

      About five o’clock, when we were some six or seven miles off the coast, came the first success. We hailed a schooner whose lookout replied negatively to our questions. As we passed slowly, we heard a sudden hail, as a gaunt man, the skipper, rushed to the side.

      “Lookin’ for anything unusual, be ye?” he shouted. “I’ve seen one thing, – a catboat takin’ on a crazy man out of a knockabout.”

      “Whereabouts?” I shouted.

      “’Bout ten miles back, I reckon,” came the answer.

      He knew no more than that, and the interchange over, I turned to Dorothy.

      “Shall we run that clue down?” I asked.

      She nodded decisively. “By all means,” she said. “It’s the only one we have. Send the Arrow inshore, will you, Tom, on a long slant?”

      Once more the engine took up its racing speed, as the boat bore down on the shore. As we went in, we changed the questions, and asked the few boats we met if they had picked up a man. At last we saw a catboat just sailing out of a little bay, and bore down on it. A man and a boy sat in the stern. As I shouted my question once more, the man jumped up.

      “Yes, we picked one up.”

      “Where is he?” I shouted.

      “At my house, but he’s crazy,” replied the man.

      “Can we get in there with the yacht?”

      “No, but I can take you in,” he answered, and it was but a moment’s work to lower a boat from the davits. As I stepped to the side, Tom and Dorothy hurried up.

      “We’re going, too,” Tom cried.

      The launch bore us rapidly across to the catboat, and as we approached, I studied the faces of the man and the boy. They were simple folk, of evidently limited intelligence. Hardly had we come alongside, when I began my questions, and a strange story came in reply. Stripped of its vernacular and repetitions, this was the tale finally dragged from the man and boy, as we sailed towards the shore.

      They had started out in the early morning and had fished with some success. In the afternoon, they had seen a knockabout running free before the wind, with all sorts of strange action. The sail widespread, she turned and reared, started and checked, swung and circled. There was no sign of life on board that they could ascertain, and they made up their minds that the boat had either lost its occupants or had been driven offshore with its sail hoisted. On boarding, much to their surprise, they found a man, apparently a solitary fisherman, lying unconscious in the stern sheets. Throwing water over him roused him. He sat up and looked around, but with unseeing eyes. His lips quivered, and in a low whisper he began to speak. “Disappeared, disappeared, disappeared. Nothing real, nothing real.” Rising, he started to walk straight ahead, but struck the side and fell. His murmur now changed to a loud moan. “Disappeared, disappeared, disappeared. Nothing real, nothing real.” Again he tried to walk, but this time they caught him, bound him, and carried him to shore, to their house, where he went quietly enough to bed, with the unceasing moan. “Disappeared, disappeared, disappeared. Nothing real, nothing real,” rising and falling like the waves on the shore.

      The story had taken all the way in, and as we rowed towards shore, leaving the catboat and launch at the mooring where the knockabout lay, the night was swiftly shutting in. A light glimmered in a low house on the bluff.

      “That’s my house,” said the man, as we hastened towards it. A woman with a kindly face met us at the door.

      “Wife, these are some folks that are looking for the crazy man,” said our friend.

      “He’s fast asleep,” was the answer, “but you can go in and see him, if you want to.”

      My heart rose. The second step of my quest was in sight.

      “Tom,” I said quietly, “come along with me. Miss Haldane, will you remain here?”

      Dorothy nodded. Tom and I followed the woman as she passed down a narrow passage. Opening a rude door, she entered. In front of the bed, she stopped short and threw up her hands. “For the land’s sake,” she cried. “He’s gone!”

      Gone! The word echoed dismally in my brain.

      “Wait till I get a lamp,” said the woman, and she pattered nervously out.

      By the fading light, we could see the disordered bed, the open window, and an overturned chair. A glimmer of light came down the passage, and the woman hurried back, followed by Dorothy. No more information could be gleaned. Evidently the lost man had risen, dressed completely, and left by the low open window. The woman of the house was in great distress, weeping and rocking. “The poor crazy man, lost in these woods. He was as harmless as anything. I thought he was all right.”

      Dorothy sat down beside her, and, soothing her, began a series of quiet questions. “How long did you leave him?”

      “An hour or more.” She had been doing the supper dishes. Dorothy turned to the husband.

      “What roads are there from here?”

      “Only one for a mile. That goes from the front of the house.”

      The woman broke in. “If he’d taken that, I’d have seen him. He’d have gone by my window. He must have gone to the shore or the woods.”

      “There’s no use waiting. He’s only getting farther away from us,” cried Tom. “Let’s look around the house.”

      Our fisher friend had two lanterns and a kerosene light. With these, we began the search. The sand and rock around the house gave no sign of footprints, and we passed out in widening circles, meeting and calling without avail. A half hour’s exploration left us just where we started. We had found nothing. Turning back, we met Dorothy at the door.

      “I was СКАЧАТЬ