United States or Montserrat ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Commander John P. N. Whiteclett, R.N., whom I had last heard of two years before the war when he was on the East Indies Station. And behind him I caught a glimpse of Jean Rendall. There may have been others, but all I was conscious of was her eager face, the eyes brighter than ever, and the lips a little parted in tense excitement. My cousin Jack spoke first.
"Then she has sent me this wire and this message?" "She must have," I agreed. "In that case we had better push on for the Scollays at once and see what she means." "You don't think it's a trap?" asked my uncle. Jack Whiteclett smiled slightly. The idea of the Navy pausing to weigh the risk appeared to amuse him. "We must take our chance," he said briefly. "We've both got our shooting irons."
John Whiteclett was the best of fellows, shrewd and level-headed and a first class officer, but somehow or other I felt small confidence in his getting the better of the cunning foe on Ransay. However, it was all that could be done now. My own part was finished and I had to confess I had failed ignominiously. Three weeks later I received this letter from my cousin: "My dear Roger,
Rooks were cawing over the winter woodlands below the terrace, a faint, restful line of blue hills rose far away beyond, and a gorgeous peacock was strolling sedately on the lawn. I was utterly content to lie there and doze, when I heard a familiar voice. "Right! I see where he is, thank you," it said. "Jack Whiteclett!" I said to myself.
The only other guest had already arrived: Commander John Whiteclett. My uncle was talking to him confidentially before the fire, and at the sight of that familiar upstanding figure with the dominating nose above the determined mouth and the fresh complexion and snow-white hair and genial eyes, all just the same as ever, I felt a sudden sense of confidence in the issue of my adventure.
"Has he said anything to you?" asked my cousin when he had called the doctor aside. Dr. Rendall smiled under his grey moustache. "He offered me L200 in gold to be paid on the nail if I would let him loose. We must have a dig for that money to-morrow, Whiteclett." "Anything else?"
"Never!" "Then who the !" My uncle's expression completed the sentence. Jack Whiteclett was looking uncommonly grave. "This is a somewhat serious matter, Roger," he said quietly. "Didn't you write this either?" He handed me a half sheet of paper on which was written in pencil these words. It was printed in capital letters so as to give no clue to the handwriting. "When did you get that?" I cried.
He had been sitting beside me for some little time discussing the war, the world, and the devil, before it began to strike me as quite remarkably kind, even for so good a fellow as Jack Whiteclett, to come so far out of his way to look me up.
As for the precautions which Whiteclett was able to take, all that I am permitted to say about them is that, instead of the amateur coast patrol arrangement in vogue when I was there, a few men from a certain unit were put on to the job instead. But my cousin had no control over this, and as he alone realised in fact, could realise the peculiar danger on this particular island.
Word Of The Day