The Mystery of the Green Ray

“Garnesk!” I bawled. “Garnesk! Come here!”

“What is it?” he shouted to me, as he came hurtling over the rocks.

“Look at it,” I replied tersely, and placed it in his outstretched palm. He glanced at it, and then at me.

“That settles it,” he said, and whistled softly, for I had found a small piece of brass, and on it was engraved: —

“Sholto, The Douglas, Invermalluch Lodge, Inverness-shire.”

It was the name-plate from Sholto’s collar.

CHAPTER IX.

THE MYSTERY OF SHOLTO

We discussed our discovery pretty thoroughly on the way back to the house, and both agreed that it left no doubt upon one aspect of this strange affair – the man who stole Sholto was no ordinary thief.

The General was standing on the verandah, looking about for us, as we came up the beach path. I told him of Garnesk’s deductions and their interesting result, and the old man was greatly affected.

“I never dreamt I should live to see the old place abused in this shocking manner,” he grunted. “’Pon me soul, it’s – it’s begad disgraceful. I’ve lived here all my life, on and off, and I’ve never been troubled with anything like this, scarcely so much as a tramp even. I hope to God it’ll soon be over, that’s all.”

“Thanks to Mr. Garnesk, we’re moving along in the right direction,” I tried to reassure him. “And we have the satisfaction, in one way, of being able to tell Myra that Sholto is still alive, even if we don’t know where he is.”

“Seems to me, Ronald,” said the General, “you don’t know that, or anything about the poor beast, except that he has been stolen, and probably taken away in a boat. Judging by Mr. Garnesk’s theory, they probably threw him overboard in deep water.”

“No one who intended destroying a dog would take the trouble to wrench the name-plate off his collar,” I pointed out. “The dog is alive, and not unconscious. They need his collar to keep him in hand, but they are afraid the plate might give them away. Mr. Garnesk is right, I’m sure, and if we find the thief we find the cause for Myra’s terrible misfortune.”

“Where do you imagine they can have taken him to then? Seems to me we’re getting some pretty queer neighbours.”

“That is just what we have to find out,” said Garnesk, “and I for one will not rest until I do.”

“’Pon my soul, my dear chap,” said the old man warmly, “it’s very good of you to take so much interest in the affairs of total strangers. It is, indeed, thundering good of you.”

“Not at all, General,” laughed the visitor. “If you spent your life trying to cure fussy ladies of imaginary eye trouble, without putting it to them that their livers are out of order, you’d welcome this as a very appetising antidote.”

“Talking about appetites,” his host suggested, “who says breakfast?”

“I fancy we both do,” I answered, and we turned indoors.

During breakfast Garnesk announced his determination to devote as much of the day as necessary to an examination of Myra, and then catch the evening train from Mallaig, but the girl herself rose in rebellion at this immediately.

“You mustn’t do anything of the sort,” she declared emphatically. “Daddy, tell him he’s not to. The idea of coming up here, and looking at me, and then going away again! It’s ridiculous!”

“I assure you, it is ample reward,” declared the oculist gallantly, and everybody laughed at the frank compliment.

“But you must fish the river, have a day on the loch. Ron must take you in the motor-boat up to Kinlochbourn. Then you’ve simply got to see Scavaig and Coruisk – oh! and a hundred other things besides.”

Garnesk insisted that, much as he would like to stay, he felt bound to leave at once, but Myra was equally obstinate; and, as was natural, being a woman, she won on a compromise. Garnesk agreed to stay over the week-end. I was very glad that Myra liked my new friend. She had been very shy of Olvery, but she took an immediate fancy to the Glasgow specialist. She liked his voice, she told me afterwards, and on the second day of his visit she asked him if his sister was very much younger than he. Garnesk looked up in surprise.

“One of them is,” he replied, “nearly twenty years. What made you ask?”

“I guessed it by the way you talk to me,” Myra declared confidently.

“The detective instinct seems to be in the air,” I laughed.

So when I borrowed Angus’s ramshackle old cycle, and went into Glenelg along a road which is more noteworthy for its picturesqueness than its navigable qualities, I left Garnesk to his examination with the knowledge that he would do his utmost, and that she would help him all she could.

I wired to Dennis: “I can meet you at Mallaig Monday morning. Wire reply. – Ronald.” Then I sent a couple of picture postcards to Tommy and Jack, wishing them luck, and explaining that I had not returned to join them because Myra was ill. I was sure Dennis would appreciate the urgency of my message, but I worded it carefully, deliberately making it appear to be the answer to an inquiry, for the reason that it is always wise to do as little as you can to stimulate local gossip. Anything like “Come at once; most urgent,” despatched by one who was known to be a visitor at the lodge, would have set the entire country-side talking. So I jumped on to Angus’s collection of old metal, and jolted back again as fast as I could. Garnesk was still engaged with Myra, and I took the opportunity of a chat with her father.

“Would you care to see the discoveries we made this morning?” I asked, when I found him in the library.

“Yes, I should indeed, my boy,” he responded eagerly, and I think he was glad of the diversion. “I’ll come with you now.”

“There is one thing I want to say, sir, before we go any farther.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking rather anxiously at me.

“I want to tell you,” I said, “that in the event of Myra not regaining her sight I should like your permission to marry her as soon as she herself wishes it. As you know, I have a small private income, which is sufficient for my needs in London, and would be more than I should require up here. If Myra is to be blind, I should like to marry her in order that I may always be able to take care of her, and I should propose to settle down somewhere near you. I dabble in contributory journalism, and I could extend that as far as possible, and I might even do pretty well at it. Both she and you would know then that, in the event of anything happening to you, she would be cared for by someone she loves.”

“My dear Ronald,” exclaimed the old man, affectionately laying a hand on my shoulder, “I’m very glad to hear you say that. As a matter of fact, whatever happens, I don’t care how soon you marry my dear girl. She wants it with all her heart, and I have always been fond of you myself. The only thing that has held me back up to now is the question of money, and, possibly, a little selfishness. I’m not a rich man, as you know, and if it were not for my pension I couldn’t even live in my father’s house. But now my one desire is to see my poor little girl happy, and we’ll scrape together a shilling or two somehow. Shake hands, my boy.”

We both of us forgot all about the terrible war, and, naturally enough, the mysterious trouble which faced us then was sufficient for the moment. Having settled that question at last, I conducted the old man to the small cove where we had made our first discovery, but we began by visiting the coach-house. I daresay that to the trained eye there may have been valuable evidence lying under our very noses, but the only confused marks which we found on the surrounding ground conveyed nothing to either of us. Later, on our way back to the house, from what we now called “the embarking-point,” we came upon a spot where the heather had been cut off in fairly large quantities. The old man stood, and contemplated the shorn stumps for a moment, and shook his head solemnly. It was not that he had any sentimental regret for the heather which grew on almost every inch of ground for hundreds of miles round, but he objected to the sign of visitors, or, as he would have said, “trippers.”

“Who would want to cut heather here?” I asked, for I could not see the slightest reason for gathering anything which could be obtained at your door wherever you lived in the Highlands.

“Holiday-makers,” he said ruefully. “They take rooms in the village, and get it into their heads that the heather in one spot is better than anything else for miles round, so they walk out to that spot, and cut some to take away with them when they go back home. I wish they’d always go back home and stop there.”

When I showed the General the keel-marks in the cove and explained to him in detail how Garnesk had arrived at his conclusions, the old man was quite awed.

“’Pon me soul, he must be thundering clever, thundering clever,” he muttered. “But it’s not healthy, you know, Ronald; in fact, it’s begad unhealthy. I’ve always been a bit scared of these people who see things that are not there. Still, I suppose it’s the modern way; reading all these detective yarns and so on does it, no doubt.”

He was still marvelling at this new mystery when we got back to the house to find Myra sitting on the verandah with the specialist, who was keeping her in fits of laughter with anecdotes of some of his wealthy women patients.

He sprang up as he saw us approaching, and ran down to meet us.

“I’m certain of one thing,” he said excitedly, as he walked between us, and answered the General’s question. “We have got to solve the mystery, and she will see again. This is something new, but it has a very simple solution, which we must find out by hook or by crook. When I know how Miss McLeod lost her sight I shall very likely be able to find out how to restore it, and I shall also know something that perhaps no other oculist has ever dreamed of. There isn’t the slightest sign of any organic disease, which probably means that Nature will assert herself, and she will eventually regain her sight naturally. But we mustn’t wait for that. We’ve got to be up and doing. I tell you, sir, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Have you been exploring?”

“We’ve been having a look at those marks which meant so much to you and conveyed nothing whatever to me, although I was once considered something of a scout,” the General admitted.

“Did you find anything fresh?”

“No, only some trippers, as the General calls them, had been cutting heather,” I replied.

“That’s not likely to help us much,” the oculist agreed, “unless they were not trippers at all, and were cutting the heather as a blind. What were they like?”

“Oh, we didn’t see them. We only saw the results of their iconoclasm. The heather was recently, but not freshly, cut,” I replied, and the old man glanced at me with some slight suspicion, as if he feared I, too, was about to take up the deduction business.

“Recent, but not fresh?” muttered Garnesk.

“Now, why should a man who wanted – Good heavens! I’ve got it.”

“What are you dear people getting so excited about?” Myra asked, for by this time we had almost reached the verandah.

“We’ll tell you in a minute, dear,” I called, and waited for Garnesk to explain.

“Of course,” he continued, as if thinking aloud, “it’s obvious. The man came ashore in a small boat, picked some heather, and carried it in his arms. Anyone who noticed him would have noticed his load of heather. Then he stole Sholto, concealed him under the heather, and was still apparently only carrying a bundle of innocent heath. Why! they seem to have thought of everything, and made no mistake.”

“Except that the man was wandering about the country-side, gathering wild flowers, in his stockinged soles,” I pointed out.

“Still, it was almost dark, and he chanced that,” said Garnesk.

“What I don’t understand about it is this,” the General joined in: “Where did he come from to gather this heather? A man must know that if he is seen to come ashore and pick heather and get into his boat again he is doing a very curious thing. That boat can only have come from Knoydart or Skye at the farthest, and everybody knows you wouldn’t take heather there.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right, General,” Garnesk admitted, with a sigh of regret, and I was compelled to agree with him.

“I know where he came from, then.”

It was said so quietly that it startled us all, though it was Myra who spoke.

“Where, then?” we all asked together.

“He must have come from a yacht.”

CHAPTER X.

THE SECRET OF THE ROCK

We made exhaustive inquiries everywhere, but no one had seen a yacht anchored or otherwise resting off the point the previous night. One or two vessels had been noticed passing the mouth of Loch Hourn during the evening, but they were mostly recognisable as belonging to residents in the neighbourhood, and in any case not one of them had been seen to drop the two men in a boat who were causing us so much anxiety. When Garnesk and I went up the river to the Chemist’s Rock we were equally unsuccessful there.

“Look here,” I said, “suppose you were to go blind, Mr. Garnesk? I can’t allow you to run any risks of that sort. We have every reason to know that there is something gruesome and uncanny about this spot, and I should feel happier if you would keep at a safe distance.”

“How about yourself?” he replied.

“It’s a personal affair with me,” I pointed out, “but I can’t let your kindness in assisting us as you are doing run the length of possible blindness.”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed; “we’re in this together. I am just as keen to get to the bottom of this matter as you are. But it behoves us both to be careful. It is most important that you should take care of yourself at the present moment. What would happen to Miss McLeod if I carried you back to the house in a state of total blindness?”

“Oh, I shall be all right,” I declared confidently. “But, of course, your point is a good one, and I shall not run any risks.”

“And yet you start by careering up the river here when we have very excellent reasons for supposing that it is hardly the place to spend a quiet afternoon.”

“You don’t really believe that there is anything curious about the river itself, do you?” I asked. “We have agreed that some human agency is responsible for the tragic affliction that has fallen upon poor Myra. In that case we are not safe anywhere.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, “but everything that has happened so far has happened here. Sooner or later, no doubt, the operations will be extended to some other region, but at present we know there is a possibility of our being overcome by some strange peril between the Chemist’s Rock and Dead Man’s Pool.”

“Well, as we don’t know how to deal with the danger when it does arrive,” I suggested, “suppose we see as much as we can from the banks. I will go up the centre of the stream and report to you, if you like, but you stay here.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he cried. “I can’t imagine what we can possibly learn by standing on that rock, but if either of us goes, we go together, or I, in my capacity of bachelor unattached, go alone.”

Naturally, I could only applaud such generous sentiments, and at the same time refuse to countenance his proposal. So we sat among the heather, some distance above the bank, and awaited developments.

“It is four-twenty now,” said my companion presently, looking at his watch. “If anything is going to happen it should happen soon.”

“Don’t you think it was mere coincidence that Myra’s blindness and the General’s strange illusion occurred about this time? Why should this green ray only be visible between four and five?”

“It hasn’t really been visible at all,” Garnesk pointed out. “Miss McLeod saw a green flash, and the General saw a green rock, which had taken upon itself the responsibilities of transportation. That’s all we know about the green ray, except the green veil that Miss McLeod tells us of. I don’t expect to see that.”

“I wish I knew what we did expect to see,” I sighed.

“Exactly,” he replied solemnly. “By the way,” he added after a pause, “do you see anything peculiar about the rocks or the pool between four and five; I mean anything that you couldn’t notice at any other time of the day?”

“Nothing at all,” I answered despondently; “it is pleasanter here then than at any other time – or was until we came under this mysterious spell.”

“Why is it pleasanter?” he asked.

“It is just then that it gets most sunshine,” I pointed out.

I made the remark idly enough, for the course of the river, with its rugged banks and great massive rocks, looked particularly beautiful as the sun streamed full upon it, and I was immeasurably surprised when Garnesk jumped to his feet with a shout.

“What is it?” I cried in alarm. “You’re not – ”

“The sun, Ewart, the sun!” he exclaimed, and, snatching a pair of binoculars which I carried in my hand, he dashed up the slope to the foot of a cliff that overhung the stream. I gazed after him for a moment in astonishment, and then set out in pursuit.

“Stop where you are, man!” he called to me as he turned, and saw me tearing after him. “No, no; I want you there. Don’t follow me.”

I did as I was told, for I trusted him implicitly, and I knew that he would not run any risk without first acquainting me of his intention, and I took it for granted that he had arranged a part for me to play, although he had not had time to tell me what it was. But my astonishment increased as I watched him climb the rock, for when he arrived a few feet from the summit he sat down on a ledge and calmly lighted a cigarette!

“What is it all about?” I called to him, when I had fully recovered from my surprise.

“I only wanted to have a look at the view,” he laughed back, and put the glasses to his eyes. First he examined the house, and then he turned his gaze in the direction of the sea. It was then that it dawned on me that he was looking for a yacht. This was the fateful hour, and it had naturally struck him that the unknown yacht might be in the vicinity.

“Well,” I shouted, “can you see the yacht?”

“No,” he replied, “there’s nothing in sight, only a paddle steamer; looks like an excursion of some sort.”

“Oh! that’s the Glencoe,” I explained; “she won’t help us at all. She runs with tourists from Mallaig.”

“She seems to be barely able to take care of herself,” he laughed. “I shouldn’t like to be on her in a storm.”

We conversed fairly easily while he was on the cliff, for we were not many yards apart, and I began to wonder when he was coming down again.

“Have you any objection to my joining you?” I asked presently, as there seemed to be nothing for me to do below.

“Stop where you are for a bit, old man,” he advised. “I shall be down in a minute.”

“As long as you like,” I replied. “You’ve got a fine view from there, anyway. Don’t worry about me.”

I sat down on a rock, refilled my pipe, and prepared to wait till he rejoined me.

“Hi! Ewart!” he called presently, for my mind had already wandered to that darkened “den” at the house.

“Hullo,” I answered, jumping to my feet. “What is it?”

“Do you notice anything unusual?”

“No,” I shouted, “nothing that – ,” but suddenly I felt a strange singing in my ears, my pulses quickened, my voice died away into nothing. I looked up at Garnesk; he was leaning perilously near the edge of the cliff waving to me. I saw his lips move, yet I heard no sound. My heart was thumping against my chest with audible beats. I looked round me in every direction. No, there was nothing strange happening that the eye could see, yet here was I with a choking pulsation in my throat. My temples too were throbbing like a couple of steam hammers. Again I looked up at Garnesk; he was climbing hurriedly down the cliff. He paused and waved to me, and again his lips moved, and again I heard nothing.

Surely, I told myself, the events of the past few days had told on my strength. This was nerves, sheer nerves. Garnesk must give me his arm to the house. I would lie down and rest, and I should be all right in a few moments. It was nerves, that was all. But if Garnesk were not very quick about it I should have burst a blood-vessel in my brain before he reached me. Already my chest seemed to have swelled to twice its size. Garnesk, as I looked, seemed to be farther off than ever, a tiny speck in the distance.

The singing in my ears became a rushing torrent. It was the waterfall, I told myself; how stupid of me! Of course I should be all right in a minute. But my friend must hurry. I collapsed on the rock and gasped for breath. I looked for Garnesk. Still he seemed to be as far away as ever, and he scarcely seemed to be moving at all. I must tell him to be quick. It was simply nerves, of course; but I mustn’t let them get the better of me, or what would poor Myra do? I staggered to my feet to call to Garnesk.

“Hurry up; I’m not well.” I framed the words in my brain, but no sound passed my lips. I struggled for breath, and called again with all the power I could muster. I could not hear myself speak. And then I understood! My knees rocked beneath me, the river swirled round me, a rowan tree rushed by me in a flash, and as I fell sprawling on my face among the heather a thousand hammers seemed to pound the hideous sickening truth into the heaving pulp that was once my brain.

CHAPTER XI.

HOW THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENED

When I came to myself I was lying with my head pillowed on Garnesk’s arm. My coat and collar were on the ground beside me, and my head and shoulders were dripping with water.

“Ah!” said my companion, with a sigh of relief, “that’s better. You’ll be all right in a few minutes, Ewart. Take it easy, old chap, and rest.”

“Where am I?” I asked. “Good heavens!” I exclaimed, as I heard my own voice, and sat bolt upright in my astonishment, “I thought I was dumb!”

“Well, never mind about that now, old fellow,” Garnesk advised. “We’ll hear all about that later. Shut your eyes and rest a minute.”

“All right,” I agreed, “pass me my pipe and I will.”

Garnesk laughed aloud as he leaned over to reach my coat pocket.

“When a man shouts for his pipe he’s a long way from being dead or dumb or anything else,” he said.

Truth to tell, I was feeling very queer. I was dizzy and confused, but I felt that I wanted my pipe to help me collect my thoughts. So I lay there for some minutes quietly smoking, and indeed I felt as if I could have stayed like that for ever.

“I must have fainted,” I explained presently, overlooking the fact that Garnesk probably knew more about my ridiculous seizure than I did myself. “I don’t know when I did a thing like that before,” I added, beginning to get angry with myself.

“Well, I hope you won’t do it again,” said my friend fervently. “It’s not a thing to make a hobby of. And don’t you come near this infernal river any more until we know something definite.”

“You mean that the place has got on my nerves,” I said. “I suppose it has; I’m very sorry.”

“Do you feel well enough to tell me all about it?” he asked, “or would you rather wait till we get up to the house?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you now,” I agreed readily. “We mustn’t say anything about this at the house.” So I told him exactly how I had felt.

“When did it first come on?” he asked.

“When I heard you shout, and jumped up to see what it was. By the way, what was it?”

“Well,” he replied, “we’ll discuss the matter if you wouldn’t mind releasing my arm?”

“My dear fellow,” I cried, sitting up suddenly, as I realised that he was still propping up my head, “I’m most awfully sorry.”

“Now then,” he said, as he lighted his pipe and made himself comfortable, “we’ll go into the latest development. You remember what made me rush off and leave you there?”

“I remember saying something about the sunlight, and you suddenly dashed off.”

“To tell you the truth, I had very little faith in the theory that at this hour, above all, the spook of the Chemist’s Rock was active, until you pointed out that only about that time is the whole of the river course up to the rock, and the whole of the rock itself, flooded with sunlight. Then, when you made that remark, I suddenly felt that I ought to be on the cliff on the look out for this unknown yacht. We connect the two together in some way which we don’t yet understand, so I meant to go and have a look for the ship. I saw nothing of any importance until I shouted to you. Just then I was looking through the glasses at the shore. I turned them on the landing-stage and along the beach, and I had just lighted on the bay where we explored this morning when suddenly, for half a second or so, all the shadows of the rocks turned a vivid green, and then as suddenly resumed their natural colour again.”