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Wilkie Collins - "AFTER DARK"

Henry Lawson - "On the Track"

Edgar Rice Burroughs - "The Outlaw of Torn"

Mary Roberts Rinehart - "The Street of Seven Stars"

The Kingdom of the Blind

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> The Kingdom of the Blind




Granet frowned heavily.

"It isn't going to be an easy matter," he confessed. "I hear the
Admiralty are going to take over the whole thing within the next few
days, and are sending Marines down. How's the time?"

They glanced at their watches. It was five minutes before midnight.
As though by common consent, they both crossed to the window and
stood looking out into the darkness. A slight wind was moving amongst
the treetops, the night was clear but moonless. About half a mile
away they could just discern a corner of the club-house. They stood
watching it in silence. At five minutes past twelve, Granet shut his
watch with a click.

"Not to-night, then," he whispered. "Collins!"

"Well?"

"What is going on in that wooden shanty?"

The little man dropped his voice.

"Germany lost two submarines in one day," he murmured. "The device
which got them came from that little workshop of Worth's. The plans
are probably there or on the premises somewhere."

Granet groaned.

"As a matter of fact I have been within a few yards of the thing," he
said. "It was all fenced around with match-boarding."

"Do you mean that you have been allowed on board the _Scorpion_?"

Granet nodded.

"I had the rottenest luck," he declared. "I took Miss Conyers and
her friend down to see her brother, Commander Conyers. We were
invited to lunch on board. At the last moment we were turned off.
Through some glasses from the roof of the 'Ship' I saw some workmen
pull down the match-boarding, but I couldn't make out what the
structure was."

"I can give you an idea," Collins remarked. "This fellow Worth has
got hold of some system of concentric lenses, with extraordinary
reflectors which enable him to see distinctly at least thirty feet
under water. Then they have a recording instrument, according to
which they alter the gradient of a new gun, with shells that explode
under water. Von Lowitz was on the track of something of this sort
last year, but he gave it up chiefly because Krupps wouldn't
guarantee him a shell."

"Krupps gave it up a little too soon, then," Granet muttered.
"Collins, if we can't smash up this little establishment there'll
be a dozen destroyers before long rigged up with this infernal
contrivance."

The little man stood before the window and gazed steadfastly out
seawards.

"They'll be here this week," he said confidently. "You'd better go
now, Granet. It's all over for to-night."

Granet nodded and left the room quietly. Every one in the Dormy
House was sound asleep. He made his way back to his own apartment
without difficulty. Only the little man remained seated at the
window, with his eyes fixed upon the bank of murky clouds which
lowered over the sea.



CHAPTER XX

Isabel Worth leaned back in the comfortable seat by Granet's side and
breathed a little sigh of content. She had enjoyed her luncheon party
a deux, their stroll along the sands afterwards, and she was fully
prepared to enjoy this short drive homewards.

"What a wonderful car yours is!" she murmured. "But do tell me--what
on earth have you got in behind?"

"It's just a little experimental invention of a friend of mine," he
explained. "Some day we are going to try it on one of these creeks.
It's a collapsible canvas boat."

"Don't try it anywhere near us," she laughed. "Two of the fishermen
from Wells sailed in a little too close to the shed yesterday and the
soldiers fired a volley at them."

Garnet made a grimace.

"Do you know I am becoming most frightfully curious about your
father's work?" he observed.

"Are you really?" she replied carelessly. "For my part, I wouldn't
even take the trouble to climb up the ladder into the workshop."

"But you must know something about what is going on there?" Granet
persisted.

"I really don't," she assured him. "It's some wonderful invention, I
believe, but I can't help resenting anything that makes us live like
hermits, suspect even the tradespeople, give up entertaining
altogether, give up even seeing our friends. I hope you are not going
to hurry away, Captain Granet. I haven't had a soul to speak to down
here for months."

"I don't think I shall go just yet," he answered. "I want first to
accomplish what I came here for."

She turned her head very slowly and looked at him. There was quite a
becoming flush upon her cheeks.

"What did you come for?" she asked softly.

He was silent for a moment. Already his foot was on the brake of the
car; they were drawing near the plain, five-barred gates.

"Perhaps I am not quite sure about that myself," he whispered.

They had come to a standstill. She descended reluctantly.

"I hate to send you away," she sighed, "it seems so inhospitable.
Will you come in for a little time? The worst that can happen, if we
meet dad, is that he might be rather rude."

"I'll risk it with pleasure," Granet replied.

"Can I see your collapsible boat?" she asked, peering in behind.

He shook his head.

"It isn't my secret," he said, "and besides, I don't think my friend
has the patent for it yet."

The sentry stood by and allowed them to pass, although he looked
searchingly at Granet. They walked slowly up the scrubby avenue to
the house. Once Granet paused to look down at the long arm of the sea
on his left.

"You have quite a river there," he remarked.

She nodded.

"That used to be the principal waterway from Burnham village. Quite
a large boat can get down now at high tide."

They entered the house and Isabel gave a little gesture of dismay.
She clutched for a moment at Granet's arm. An elderly man, dressed in
somber black clothes disgracefully dusty, collarless, with a mass of
white hair blown all over his face, was walking up and down the hall
with a great pair of horn-rimmed spectacles clutched in his hand. He
stopped short at the sound of the opening door and hurried towards
them. There was nothing about his appearance in the least terrifying.
He seemed, in fact, bubbling over with excited good-humour.

"Isabel, my dear," he exclaimed, "it is wonderful! I have succeeded!
I have changed the principles of a lifetime, made the most brilliant
optical experiment which any man of science has ever ventured to
essay, with the result--well, you shall see. I have wired to the
Admiralty, wired for more work-people. Captain Chalmers, is it not?"
he went on. "You must tell your men to double and redouble their
energies. This place is worth watching now. Come, I will show you
something amazing."

He turned and led them hastily towards the back door. Isabel gripped
Granet's arm.

"He thinks you are the officer in command of the platoon here," she
whispered. "Better let him go on thinking so."

Granet nodded.

"Is he going to take us to the workshop?"

"I believe so," she assented.

They had hard work to keep up with Sir Meyville as he led them
hastily down the little stretch of shingle to where a man was sitting
in a boat. They all jumped in. The man with the oars looked
doubtfully for a moment at Granet, but pulled off at once when
ordered to do so. They rowed round to the front of the queer little
structure. A man from inside held out his hand and helped them up.
Another young man, with books piled on the floor by his side, was
making some calculations at a table. Almost the whole of the opening
of the place was taken up by what seemed to be a queer medley of
telescopes and lenses pointing different ways. Sir Meyville beamed
upon them as he hastily turned a handle.

"Now," he promised, "you shall see what no one has ever seen before.
See, I point that arrow at that spot, about fifty yards out. Now look
through this one, Isabel."

The girl stooped forward, was silent for a moment, then she gave a
little cry of wonder. She clutched Granet's arm and made him take her
place. He, too, called out softly. He saw the sandy bottom covered
with shells, a rock with tentacles of seaweed floating from it,
several huge crabs, a multitude of small fishes. Everything was clear
and distinct. He looked away with a little gasp.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed.

Sir Meyville's smile was beatific.

"That is my share," he said. "Down in the other workshop my partners
are hard at it. They, too, have met with success. You must tell your
men, Captain Chalmers, never to relax their vigil. This place must be
watched by night and by day. My last invention was a great step
forward, but this is absolute success. For the next few months this
is the most precious spot in Europe."

"It isn't Captain Chalmers, father," Isabel interrupted.

Sir Meyville seemed suddenly to become still. He looked fixedly at
Granet.

"Who are you, then?" he demanded. "Who are you, sir?"

"I am Captain Granet of the Royal Fusiliers, back from the Front,
wounded," Granet replied. "I can assure you that I am a perfectly
trustworthy person."

"But I don't understand," Sir Meyville said sharply. "What are you
doing here?"

"I came to call upon your daughter," Granet explained. "I had the
pleasure of meeting her at lunch at Lady Anselman's the other day. We
have been playing golf together at Brancaster."

Sir Meyville began to mumble to himself as he pushed them into the
boat.

"My fault," he muttered,--"my fault. Captain Granet, I thought that
my daughter knew my wishes. I am not at present in a position to
receive guests or visitors of any description. You will pardon my
apparent inhospitality. I shall ask you, sir, to kindly forget this
visit and to keep away from here for the present."

"I shall obey your wishes, of course, sir," Granet promised. "I can
assure you that I am quite a harmless person, though."

"I do not doubt it, sir," Sir Meyville replied, "but it is the
harmless people of the world who do the most mischief. An idle word
here or there and great secrets are given away. If you will allow me,
I will show you a quicker way down the avenue, without going to the
house."

Granet shrugged his shoulders.

"Just as you will, sir," he assented.

"You can go in, Isabel," her father directed curtly. "I will see
Captain Granet off."

She obeyed and took leave of her guest with a little shrug of the
shoulders. Sir Meyville took Granet's arm and led him down the
avenue.

"Captain Granet," he said gravely, "I am an indiscreet person and I
have an indiscreet daughter. Bearing in mind your profession, I may
speak to you as man to man. Keep what you have seen absolutely
secret. Put a seal upon your memory. Go back to Brancaster and don't
even look again in this direction. The soldiers round this place have
orders not to stand on ceremony with any one, and by to-night I
believe we are to have an escort of Marines here as well. What you
have seen is for the good of the country."

"I congratulate you heartily, sir," Granet replied, shaking hands.
"Of course I'll keep away, if I must. I hope when this is all over,
though, you will allow me to come and renew my acquaintance with your
daughter."

"When it is over, with pleasure," Sir Meyville assented.

Granet stepped into his car and drove off. The inventor stood
looking after him. Then he spoke to the sentry and made his way
across the gardens towards the boat-shed.

"I ought to have known it from the first," he muttered. "Reciprocal
refraction was the one thing to think about."


Granet, as he drove back to the Dormy House, was conscious of a
curious change in the weather. The wind, which had been blowing more
or less during the last few days, had suddenly dropped. There was a
new heaviness in the atmosphere, little banks of transparent mist
were drifting in from seawards. More than once he stopped the car
and, standing up, looked steadily away seawards. The long stretch of
marshland, on which the golf links were situated, was empty. A
slight, drizzling rain was falling. He found, when he reached the
Dormy House, that nearly all the men were assembled in one of the
large sitting-rooms. A table of bridge had been made up. Mr. Collins
was seated in an easy-chair close to the window, reading a review.
Granet accepted a cup of tea and stood on the hearth-rug.

"How did the golf go this afternoon?" he inquired.

"I was dead off it," Anselman replied gloomily.

"Our friend in the easy-chair there knocked spots off us."

Mr. Collins looked up and grunted and looked out of the window again.

"Either of you fellows going to cut in at bridge?" young Anselman
continued.

Granet shook his head and walked to the window.

"I can't stick cards in the daytime."

Mr. Collins shut up his review.

"I agree with you, sir," he said. "I endeavoured to persuade one of
these gentlemen to play another nine holes--unsuccessfully, I regret
to state."

Granet lit a cigarette.

"Well," he remarked, "it's too far to get down to the links again but
I'll play you a game of bowls, if you like."

The other glanced out upon the lawn and rose to his feet.

"It is an excellent suggestion," he declared. "If you will give me
five minutes to fetch my mackintosh and galoshes, it would interest
me to see whether I have profited by the lessons I took in Scotland."

They met, a few moments later, in the garden. Mr. Collins threw the
jack with great precision and they played an end during which his
superiority was apparent. They strolled together across the lawn,
well away now from the house. For the first time Granet dropped his
careless tone.

"What do you make of this change in the weather?" he asked quickly.

"It's just what they were waiting for," the other replied. "What
about this afternoon?"

"I am not scientist, worse luck," Granet replied impatiently, "but I
saw enough to convince me that they've got the right idea. Sir
Meyville thought I was the man commanding the escort they've given
him,--actually rowed me out to the workshop and showed me the whole
thing. I tell you I saw it just as you described it,--saw the bottom
of the sea, even the colour of the seaweed, the holes in the rocks."

"And they've got the shells, too," Collins muttered, "the shells that
burst under water."

Granet looked around. They were playing the other end now.

"Listen!" he said.

They paused in the middle of the lawn. Granet held up his
handkerchief and turned his cheek seaward. There was still little
more than a floating breath of air but his cheek was covered with
moisture.

"I have everything ready," he said. "Just before we go to bed
to-night I shall swear that I hear an aeroplane. You're sure your
watch is right to the second, Collins?"

"I am as sure that it is right," the other replied grimly, "as I am
that to-night you and I my young friend, are going to play with our
lives a little more carelessly than with this china ball. A good
throw, that I think," he went on, measuring it with his eye
carefully. "Come, my friend, you'll have to improve. My Scotch
practice is beginning to tell."

Geoffrey Anselman threw up the window and looked out.

"Pretty hot stuff, isn't he Ronnie?" he asked.

Granet glanced at his opponent, with his bent shoulders, his hard
face, hooked nose and thin gold spectacles.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, "he's too good for me."



CHAPTER XXI

At about half-past ten that evening, Granet suddenly threw down his
cue in the middle of a game of billiards, and stood, for a moment, in
a listening attitude.

"Jove, I believe that's an airship!" he exclaimed, and hurried out of
the room.

They all followed him. He was standing just outside the
French-windows of the sitting-room, upon the gravel walk, his head
upturned, listening intently. There was scarcely a breath of wind, no
moon nor any stars. Little clouds of grey mist hung about on the
marshes, shutting out their view of the sea. The stillness was more
than usually intense.

"Can't hear a thing," young Anselman muttered at last.

"It may have been fancy," Granet admitted.

"A motor-cycle going along the Huntstanton Road," Major Harrison
suggested.

"It's a magnificent night for a raid," Dickens remarked glancing
around.

"No chance of Zepps over here, I should say," Collins declared, a
little didactically. "I was looking at your map at the golf club only
this morning."

They all made their way back to the house. Granet, however, seemed
still dissatisfied.

"I'm going to see that my car's all right," he told them. "I left it
in the open shed."

He was absent for about twenty minutes. When he returned, they had
finished the game of snooker pool without him and were all sitting on
the lounge by the side of the billiard table, talking of the war.
Granet listened for a few minutes and then said good-night a little
abruptly. He lit his candle outside and went slowly to his room.
Arrived there, he glanced at his watch and locked the door. It was
half-past eleven. He changed his clothes quickly, put on some
rubber-soled shoes and slipped a brandy flask and a revolver into his
pocket. Then he sat down before his window with his watch in his
hand. He was conscious of a certain foreboding from which he had
never been able to escape since his arrival. In France and Belgium he
had lived through fateful hours, carrying more than once his life in
his hands. His risk to-night was an equal one but the exhilaration
seemed lacking. This work in a country apparently at peace seemed
somehow on a different level. If it were less dangerous, it was also
less stimulating. In those few moments the soldier blood in him
called for the turmoil of war, the panorama of life and death, the
fierce, hot excitement of juggling with fate while the heavens
themselves seemed raining death on every side. Here there was nothing
but silence, the soft splash of the distant sea, the barking of a
distant dog. The danger was vivid and actual but without the stimulus
of that blood-red background. He glanced at his watch. It wanted
still ten minutes to twelve. For a moment then he suffered his
thoughts to go back to the new thing which had crept into his life.
He was suddenly back in the Milan, he saw the backward turn of her
head, the almost wistful look in her eyes as she made her little
pronouncement. She had broken her engagement. Why? It was a battle,
indeed, he was fighting with that still, cold antagonist, whom he
half despised and half feared, the man concerning whose actual
personality he had felt so many doubts. What if things should go
wrong to-night, if the whole dramatic story should be handed over for
the glory and wonder of the halfpenny press! He could fancy their
headlines, imagine even their trenchant paragraphs. It was skating on
the thinnest of ice--and for what? His fingers gripped the damp
window-sill. He raised himself a little higher. His eyes fell upon
his watch--still a minute or two to twelve. Slowly he stole to his
door and listened. The place was silent. He made his way on tiptoe
across the landing and entered Collins' room. The latter was seated
before the wide-open window. He had blown out his candle and the room
was in darkness. He half turned his head at Granet's entrance.

"Two minutes!" he exclaimed softly. "Granet, it will be to-night.
Are you ready?"

"Absolutely!"

They stood by the open window in silence. Nothing had changed. It
was not yet time for the singing of the earliest birds. The tiny
village lay behind them, silent and asleep; in front, nothing but the
marshes, uninhabited, lonely and quiet, the golf club-house empty and
deserted. They stood and watched, their faces turned steadfastly in a
certain direction. Gradually their eyes, growing accustomed to the
dim and changing light, could pierce the black line above the grey
where the sea came stealing up the sandy places with low murmurs,
throwing with every wave longer arms into the land.

"Twelve o'clock!" Collins muttered.

Suddenly Granet's fingers dug into his shoulder. From out of that
pall of velvet darkness which hung below the clouds, came for a
single moment a vision of violet light. It rose apparently from
nowhere, it passed away into space. It was visible barely for five
seconds, then it had gone. Granet spoke with a little sob.

"My God!" he murmured. "They're coming!"

Collins was already on his feet. He had straightened himself
wonderfully, and there was a new alertness in his manner. He, too,
wore rubber shoes and his movements were absolutely noiseless. He
carried a little electric torch in his hand, which he flashed around
the room while he placed several small articles in his pocket. Then
he pushed open the door and listened. He turned back, held up his
finger and nodded. The two men passed down the stairs, through the
sitting-room, out on to the lawn by a door left unfastened, and round
the house to the shed. Together they pushed the car down the slight
incline of the drive. Granet mounted into the driving-seat and
pressed the self-starter. Collins took the place by his side.

"Remember," Granet whispered, "we heard something and I met you in
the hall. Sit tight."

They sped with all the silence and smoothness of their six-cylinder
up the tree-hung road, through the sleeping village and along the
narrow lane to Market Burnham. When they were within about a hundred
yards of the gate, Granet brought the car to a standstill.

"There are at least two sentries that way," he said, "and if Sir
Meyville told me the truth, they may have a special guard of Marines
out to-night. This is where we take to the marshes. Listen. Can you
hear anything?"

They both held their breath.

"Nothing yet," Collins muttered. "Let's get the things out quickly."

Granet hurried to the back of the car, ripping open the coverings.
In a few moments they had dragged over the side a small collapsible
boat of canvas stretched across some bamboo joints, with two tiny
sculls. They clambered up the bank.

"The creek must be close here," Granet whispered. "Don't show a
light. Listen!"

This time they could hear the sound of an engine beating away in the
boat-house on the other side of the Hall. Through the closely-drawn
curtains, too, they could see faint fingers of light from the house
on the sea.

"They are working still," Granet continued. "Look out, Collins,
that's the creek."

They pushed the boat into the middle of the black arm of water and
stepped cautiously into it. Taking one of the paddles, Granet,
kneeling down, propelled it slowly seaward. Once or twice they ran
into the bank and had to push off, but very soon their eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness. By degrees the creek broadened. They
passed close to the walls of the garden, and very soon they were
perceptibly nearer the quaintly-situated workshop. Granet paused for
a moment from his labours.

"The Hall is dark enough," he muttered. "Listen!"

They heard the regular pacing of a sentinel in the drive. Nearer to
them, on the top of the wall, they fancied that they heard the clash
of a bayonet. Granet dropped his voice to the barest whisper.

"We are close there now. Stretch out your hand, Collins. Can you
feel a shelf of rock?"

"It's just in front of me," was the stifled answer.

"That's for the stuff. Down with it."

For a few moments Collins was busy. Then, with a little gasp, he
gripped Granet's arm. His voice, shaking with nervous repression, was
still almost hysterical.

"They're coming, Granet! My God, they're coming!"

Both men turned seaward. Far away in the clouds, it seemed, they
could hear a faint humming, some new sound, something mechanical in
its regular beating, yet with clamorous throatiness of some human
force cleaving its way through the resistless air. With every second
it grew louder. The men stood clutching one another.

"Have you got the fuse ready? They must hear it in a moment." Granet
muttered.

Collins assented silently. The reverberations became louder and
louder. Soon the air was full of echoes. From far away inland dogs
were barking, from a farm somewhere the other side of the road they
heard the shout of a single voice.

"Now," Granet whispered.

Collins leaned forward. The fuse in his hand touched the dark
substance which he had spread out upon the rock. In a moment a
strange, unearthly, green light seemed to roll back the darkness. The
house, the workshop, the trees, the slowly flowing sea, their own
ghastly faces--everything stood revealed in a blaze of hideous, awful
light. For a moment they forgot themselves, they forgot the miracle
they had brought to pass. Their eyes were rivetted skyward. High
above them, something blacker than the heavens themselves,
stupendous, huge, seemed suddenly to assume to itself shape. The roar
of machinery was clearly audible. From the house came the mingled
shouting of many voices. Something dropped into the sea a hundred
yards away with a screech and a hiss, and a geyser-like fountain
leapt so high that the spray reached them. Then there was a sharper
sound as a rifle bullet whistled by.

"My God!" Granet exclaimed. "It's time we were out of this,
Collins!"

He seized his scull. Even at that moment there was a terrific
explosion. A stream of lurid fire seemed to leap from the corner of
the house, the wall split and fell outwards. And then there came
another sound, hideous, sickly, a sound Granet had heard before, the
sound of a rifle bullet cutting its way through flesh, followed by an
inhuman cry. For a moment Collins' arms whirled around him. Then,
with no other sound save that one cry, he fell forward and
disappeared. For a single second Granet leaned over the side of the
boat as though to dive after him. Then came another roar. The sand
flew up in a blinding storm, the whole of the creek was suddenly a
raging torrent. The boat was swung on a precipitous mountain of salt
water and as quickly capsized. Granet, breathless for a moment and
half stunned, found his way somehow to the side of the marshland, and
from there stumbled his way towards the road. The house behind him
was on fire, the air seemed filled with hoarse shoutings. He turned
and ran for the spot where he had left the car. Once he fell into a
salt water pool and came out wet through to the waist. In the end,
however, he reached the bank, clambered over it and slipped down into
the road. Then a light was flashed into his eyes and a bayonet was
rattled at his feet. There were a couple of soldiers in charge of his
car.

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