Upon learning that he must mind the gate during the morning, Ben said that Mr. Sopworthy had commanded his services at the Blue Boar. The Captain, knowing very well that he found his work at the inn far more agreeable than pike-keeping, said suspiciously: “You don’t go to Sopworthy on Sunday!”
“It’s on account o’ the company they got at the inn,” explained Ben virtuously. “So I tells Mr. Sopworthy as I’d go, gov’nor. Promised him!”
“Well, I’m sorry for that, but you can’t go: I need you.”
“Mr. Sopworthy will be in a rare tweak if I don’t!”
“No, he won’t. I’ll make all right with him.”
“But Jem-Ostler says as he’ll let me help him groom the swell cove’s prads!” cried Ben, much chagrined. “Coo, they are a bang-up pair!”
But although he laughed, the Captain refused to relent; so instead of beguiling the breakfast-table with artless chatter, Ben ate a hearty meal in cold silence: a form of punishment which suited John’s humour exactly.
Since there had been no reappearance of Chirk at the tollhouse, the Captain was satisfied that Stogumber must have consented to go with him to lie in wait outside the cavern. He had directed Chirk not to go by way of the road, but to ride across Huggate’s fields; and shortly before eight o’clock he himself set forth, walking up to the barn to saddle Beau. Remembering how cumbersome he had found his topboots in the cavern, he did not wear them; and as he swung himself into the saddle he grinned, thinking of Mr. Babbacombe’s shocked horror, could he have known that his friend was riding about the country in woollen stockings, much stained breeches, a flannel shirt, and a leather waistcoat.
He reached the lane some minutes before Stornaway put in an appearance, and began to walk Beau slowly up it. It was not long before the sound of a trotting horse made him turn his head. Stornaway came up with him, muffled in his caped coat, and with a thick scarf wound round his neck. That he was extremely nervous, John saw at a glance. He broke at once into speech, complaining of the autumnal chill in the air, and assuring John, who had asked for no assurance, that he had left Coate snoring. John saw him steal several of his furtive glances at him, and guessed from the direction of these that he was trying to ascertain whether or not he was carrying pistols. Rather maliciously, he said: “No, I am not armed, Mr. Stornaway. Why should I be?”
“Armed! I never thought of such a thing! Though, to be sure, for anything I know you may be meaning to murder me in that cavern!” said Stornaway, flustered into unwise speech.
“Why should I?” asked John.
Thrown into worse confusion, Stornaway tied himself up in a muddle of half-sentences, while John reflected that so loose a tongue must effectually have warned him that mischief was intended, had he not been already well aware of it. Stornaway seemed to be incapable of keeping anything to himself; and it was not long before he had presented John with one of the few pieces of information that could interest him. “You should not call me Mr. Stornaway,” he told him. “I am Sir Henry Stornaway now, you know!”
“I felicitate you,” said John dryly. “May I know when this happened?”
“Oh, about five o’clock, I fancy! My grandfather’s man—an insolent fellow!—did not fetch me, so I’ve no very precise knowledge. The thing is that I’m master at Kellands now, as several people will precious soon discover!”
It seemed to be so much in keeping with his character that he should be looking forward to an easy triumph over his grandfather’s servants that the Captain was scarcely angry. He returned an indifferent answer; and the rest of the way was beguiled by Henry’s rambling exposition of what he meant to do at the Manor, as soon as his grandfather was buried.
This diverted his mind from his present anxieties, but when he led John off the lane, towards the cavern, these returned to him, and he grew markedly silent, while the fretting behaviour of his horse betrayed unmistakeably how much his nerves were on the jump.
The fence was securely tied across the mouth of the cavern, and the withered gorse bushes almost wholly concealed it. While Stornaway lit his lantern, John stood with his head up, listening intently. He heard no sound of horse’s hooves, but he could not suppose that Coate was far behind, and reflected that once he left the lane the rough turf would muffle the noise of his approach.
“Have you no lantern?” demanded Stornaway, still on one knee before his own.
The Captain glanced down at him, slightly shaking his head, a glint in his eyes.
Stornaway looked a good deal taken aback, but said after a moment: “You should have brought one! It is devilish dark inside, and you might easily miss your footing, not being familiar with the place! You had best take mine, for I should not wish you to break your leg, as my father once did!”
“You shall lead the way,” replied the Captain amiably.
Stornaway hesitated, and then rose to his feet. The entrance to the cave laid bare, he stepped into it, the Captain following him. Except when he warned the Captain to stoop, or to take care where he was setting his feet, he hardly spoke during the descent to the main chamber. John said nothing at all, being fully occupied in listening for any sound of pursuing footsteps. As he climbed down the rough stairway, the rushing noise of the water again assailed his ears, and he realized that it was loud enough, in the confined space, to drown the mere sound of footsteps. This, while it would materially assist Stogumber, would certainly make his own position more perilous, since he would be obliged to rely for warning of Coate’s arrival on the chance of seeing the light of his lantern before he darkened it, as he undoubtedly would, on reaching the main chamber. It began to seem as though he might indeed find himself playing at hide—and-seek in the dark, as Chirk had prophesied. However, the imminence of danger had never yet exercised a depressive effect upon the Captain’s spirits; it merely sharpened his faculties; and not for a moment did he hesitate to go on.
When they came to the main chamber, Stornaway immediately led John up to the chests, saying jerkily: “There they are! You may see for yourself that only one has been opened. It was Brean who did that. He came here to steal from us. That’s why Nat stabbed him. Now I’ll show you where——”
“All in good time,” interrupted John. “I’ll take a look inside the opened chest first, if you please.”
“Nothing has been removed from it!”
“Nevertheless, I will see that for myself,” replied John, beginning to undo the knot he himself had tied.
Stornaway fidgeted, and protested querulously that this was waste of time. It was plain that he was anxious to get John out of the main chamber before some reflection of the light from the lantern Coate would be forced to use on the stairway should be perceptible through the rugged opening on to the slope that led to the stair. When he thought John was not watching him, he kept glancing in the direction of the opening; but John, while pretending to be intent upon inspecting the contents of the chest, was watching him all the time, and watching also for any glimmer of light in the darkness beyond him. Suddenly, and after what seemed an aeon of time, the darkness was pierced by a flicker of light, as though someone beyond the opening had turned a lantern unwarily. In the same instant Stornaway swung round, interposing his great-coated figure between the Captain and that glimmer of light, and saying in an unnaturally loud voice: “There! You see that the chest is full! Do not let us be lingering here! I shall catch my death in this dreadful cold! You made me promise to show you Brean’s body, and I will do so. We can cord the chest again later: do, for God’s sake, make an end of this!”
“Very well,” said the Captain. “Where now do you mean to take me?”
“This way!” Stornaway said, going towards the shorter passage which led to the river. “I wish you had brought a lantern.”