CHAPTER III.

THE COLONEL’S STORY.
x HAT a time you've been!” said Frank ; then in a lower tone, “Did the mater speak to you about Nora ?”
I nodded, and he seemed much relieved. We joined Nora under the porch, and a rod and basket were handed over to me.
“The quickest way is past Colonel Leighton’s house,” said Nora. “Shall we have a race to the stile? I believe I could beat you now, Frank.”
“Come on then; youll soon see! One, two, three, away!” and they were off, while I followed as fast as I could. The colonel’s house stood some two hundred yards up the road, and fifty yards beyond it I found Nora sitting on a stile jeering at Frank, who seemed thoroughly ecrestfallen.
“JT won!” she cried; “I told you I would.”
“It’s this beastly basket,” growled Frank. “No-
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 29
body could run with a great thing like this bumping against them.”
“T’ve got one too,” retorted Nora. “Were you really running your fastest, Humphrey?” she asked, turning to me.
“Really and truly,” I said. “I am not a fast runner, and you beat me hollow.”
“You just try him at a mile,” said Frank. “You think you can beat anybody.”
“JT don’t want to run a mile, and anyway I beat. you,” scoffed his sister. ;
“What a jolly old house the colonel has!” I observed, trying to turn the conversation and smooth matters over.
“Tsn’t it?” said Frank. “It’s ever so old, and has funny little turrets and passages. There must be a lot of rats about it too. Just look how thick the ivy is!”
“Tt is a dear old house,” said Nora, “ but I wouldn’t like to spend a night in it alone. It looks as if it might be haunted,” and she shuddered.
“You're always thinking of ghosts. You'll be getting frightened of Colonel Leighton next. You know he’s a little touched here!” said Frank, tapping
his forehead significantly.
80 THE COLONELS STORY.
“Oh no,” cried Nora. “I am very fond of the colonel, and he likes me; but I can’t bear Win Kee.”
“What is wrong with Colonel Leighton ?” I asked.
“Lost his memory,” said Frank. “But come on, and I’ll tell you about it when we get down to the rocks. We've wasted too much time already.”
We crossed the stile, and following the path through the heath reached the edge of the cliff, where a narrow path led zigzag down to the rocks some two hundred feet below. Down this path Nora and Frank scampered at what seemed to me break- neck speed, while I followed slowly in the rear.
“You'll soon get used to it,” they assured me, and indeed in a few days the descent seemed quite easy. When we had gathered some mussels for bait and were all seated on the rocks with our floats bobbing in front of us, I reminded Frank of his promise about Colonel Leighton.
“We don’t really know much about him,” began my chum. “He came to Cliffden—that’s his house— about five years ago with his Chinaman, and has stayed there ever since. A doctor in London wrote father about him, explaining what was wrong and asking dad to take charge of him. Hullo! there’s a
bite. T’ve got him. A whopper.” Frank landed
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 31
his silvery victim, baited and threw out his hook again, then proceeded with his tale.
“Colonel Leighton was at Singapore with his regiment at the time of the Boxer outrages in China, and they were sent out as part of the British force. At the relief of Pekin he was struck on the head by a stone dropped from the wall, and has never quite recovered. His memory is quite gone, and he is like a child in some things. Father says there is little chance of his memory ever being properly restored, unless some violent shock restores it.”
“Has he no relations?”
“Lord Gresham, who owns Fareham Castle, is a far-off cousin or something, but they quarrelled over his marriage. Both of them wanted to marry the same lady, and she liked the colonel best. Anyhow they never spoke to each other after that. Mrs. Leighton and her baby were drowned in the great storm some years ago when they were returning to England. They were washed ashore on the sands several miles further up the coast.”
“Yes; wasn’t it terribly sad?” said Nora. “The mother was clasping the poor little baby in her arms. It might have been me,’ she continued, gazing
dreamily out to sea.
32 THE COLONEL’S STORY.
“Where did you come ashore?” I asked rather timidly, wishing to let her know I had heard the story, and yet afraid fre might resent it.
“Oh, did mother tell you about that?” she asked, colouring. “Do you see that point sticking out over there—not the first but the second? It was there I was found washed up on the rocks. Isn’t it dreadful that no one knows who I really am?”
“We always go there for a picnic on Nora’s birthday,” said Frank. “We'll be going there on the eleventh of next month. It’s a ripping place for paddling and fishing—Look out, Nora; you’ve got one! Pull him in.”
Nora obeyed in great haste, and landed a beauty. The fish were now biting in earnest, and our attention was fully taken up with our floats. In the midst of the excitement we heard a loud barking up on the cliffs.
“There’s Bouncer,” exclaimed Nora. “Why doesn’t he come down ?—Boun-cer !”
Looking up we saw the young retriever that the colonel had given Nora, tearing about the edge of the cliff and barking in great excitement.
“Mother must have sent him to let us know it is
time to go home,” remarked Frank. “But what on
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 33
earth is he up to? Why doesn’t he come down? Boun-cer !”
The dog looked for a moment as if he were going to jump over, and Nora gave a cry, but next instant with a short bark he resumed his curious gambols. ©
“Tl go up and find out what he’s after if you two will bring my basket and rod,” said Frank, and away he went scrambling up the path, while we wound up the fishing tackle and followed more slowly with our catch, On reaching the top we found Frank lying on the ground watching the retriever, who was sniffing about as though in chase of some- thing. He ran up to Nora with a whine of recognition, and then immediately resumed his hunting.
“T can’t make out what the beggar is after,” said Frank, ina puzzled tone. “ At first I thought it must be a rabbit, but between us we’ve searched every tuft of grass for fifteen yards on both sides of the path, and no rabbit could have gone over the edge. Yet Bouncer seems to think so; look, there he is trying to get down again.”
Sure enough the dog was scraping with his paws at the edge of the cliff, and whimpering with excite-
ment as though he had run his quarry to earth. (1,471) 3
34, THE COLONEL’S STORY.
Frank and Nora peered over, and somewhat timidly I followed their example.
“There is absolutely nothing to be seen,” said Frank, after a pause; “it’s almost sheer down just here. Perhaps there is a ledge below that rock sticking out, but no animal could possibly reach it.”
“He must be wanting a game with us,” said Nora, rising to her feet. “But it is time we went home to lunch. Ill tie my handkerchief to Bouncer’s collar and lead him,—Come here, sir!”’
I sat up and sniffed the air. Frank burst out laughing. ‘“ What’s up now, Humphrey? Surely you’re not going to follow Bouncer’s game next?”
“Hardly; but I say, don’t you smell tobacco ?”
It was Frank’s turn to sniff now.
“T do,’ he admitted; “but what about it? Prob- ably some one smoking on the rocks below.”
“But that’s a long way off.”
“It is rather, but it’s the most likely place, all the same. It travels a long way on this fresh sea air, you know.”
“T suppose so, but still—”
“Well, where else can it possibly come from?” asked Frank impatiently, as he rose to his feet, “There isn’t a soul within sight up here.”
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 35
“No, but perhaps some one is coming up the path.”
“We'll call and see. Hullo—o!”
The shout went echoing along the cliffs and out to sea, but there was no reply.
“There!” said Frank triumphantly ; “ you see there is no one on the path.”
“But there doesn’t seem to be any one on the rocks either,” persisted Nora.
“Qh, perhaps they didn’t hear us or couldn’t be bothered answering,’ was the illogical response. “Now, then, let’s see who caught most fish. I’ve fourteen.”
“Twelve,” said Nora.
“Only nine,’ I counted, turning out my basket.
“Jolly good for the first time,’ said Frank patronizingly. “Mother will be glad to get such a splendid basketful. Come on; I’m ravenous.”
“Frank, does Dr. Naismith smoke?” I asked as we resumed our homeward journey.
“No, he doesn’t. But why do you ask? You surely don’t think he had anything to do with the mysterious smell of tobacco just now ?”
“Ohno. Only I noticed a half-burnt wax vesta in
the study grate this morning.”
36 THE COLONEL’S STORY.
“ Been Jane lighting the lamp last night,” he replied carelessly.
“Jane always uses safety matches,” observed Nora, hauling along the reluctant Bouncer.
We found Mrs. Naismith waiting for us at the gate. “Come away, children,” she called; “lunch is ready. I sent Bouncer to let you know.—Why are you leading him like that, Nora dear?”
“We couldn't get him away from the cliff, mother.”
A few minutes later we were seated round the table, and Frank proceeded to give an account of the morning’s doings.
“You certainly have caught a splendid lot of fish,” said his mother when he had finished, “and they will be delicious fried for breakfast to-morrow; but I am rather concerned about Bouncer. He seems to have behaved very oddly, and this morning he did not seem at all well when I let him off the chain. I hope he
is not going mad. I must speak to your father about
”
him.
“Poor Bouncer!” said Nora; “I do hope there is nothing wrong with him. May I try him with some water, mother? If he is going mad he won’t
touch it.”
With Mrs. Naismith’s permission she poured some
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 37
water into a saucer, and Bouncer lapped it up greedily, wagging his tail as if to say, “Now that’s what I call good!” Much relieved, we finished lunch in better spirits, and fell to discussing plans for the afternoon. Nora elected to go visiting with her mother, and Frank and I decided to look up his old friends in the village. The number of them appeared to be legion. Frank seemed to be regarded as a general hero, and many were the exclamations of wonder and astonishment at his tales of school life. We found ourselves at last under the hospitable roof of Martha Pogran—*“ Old Martha,” as she was known to the villagers. Her age might have been anything over eighty—she admitted seventy-five—and she was the acknowledged gossip and source of information in Peddlington. Her dignity was enhanced by the fact that she had once actually boarded a lod zer—the only lodger ever known to visit the neighbourhood— and in her front parlour window there still hung a card bearing the doubtful legend, “ Lodgers taken in.” Old Martha received us in her little shop, which contained all the villagers’ simple needs, from buttons to anchors and flitches of bacon to toffee drops. “Come away in, Master Frank, come away in.
Eh! but I’m main glad to see you back again,” and
38 THE COLONEL’S STORY.
leaving the shop in charge of a little girl called Nancy, whose head hardly reached the counter, she ushered us into the dingy parlour. “Sit ye down, Master Frank, with your friend, and I’ll bring you a bottle of your favourite ginger beer and some bull’s eyes,” she said, and bustling out of the room returned a minute later with the promised delicacies.
“ What’s been doing in the village?” began Frank, as the old lady poured out the ginger beer. “ Have you had any more lodgers ?”
It was a point of etiquette with all visitors to address this polite inquiry to old Martha when start- ing a gossip, though it was more than fifteen years since the one famous lodger had passed from beneath her roof,
“No; the place is quiet now to what it used to be, Master Frank. ‘There’s been none passing through lately. Storm’s eldest lad has listed, and Liza Potter be going to marry ‘the post, and a poor wife she'll make him !”
Liza Potter was the acknowledged beauty of Peddlington, while George Barnes, the local postman, was familiarly known as “the post.”
“Young John Storm will make a fine soldier,”
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 39
commented Frank—“ he is a great strong fellow; but I thought he was going to marry Liza?”
“So did he, and all the village but myself,” replied the old dame. “I saw through the saucy hussy from the first, and warned John o’ her, but he gave no heed. So now he’s gone and listed—Will ye no try the bull’s eyes, sir ?”
Martha’s offer was too tempting to refuse, and I availed myself of it with alacrity ; an example Frank was not slow to follow.
“Well, we must be going off,” said my chum at last. “Many thanks for the ginger beer and bull’s eyes; they are just as good as ever. By-the-bye, you haven't told me how Peter is. Have you seen him lately ?”
“JT don’t know what’s come over Peter,” she answered, “I don’t like the way he’s going on at all. Fortnight come Thursday he was in here with a long story about ghosts at the castle, his face white as putty and his eyes staring. No, I don’t like the looks of him. Im feart he’s no long for this world.”
“But why, Martha? Surely you don’t believe that rubbish about ghosts, do you ?”
“No, no, Master Frank, I don’t hold by them; but when folks think they see ghosts, there’s illness or
40 THE COLONELS STORY.
trouble coming to them. It was so with Kate Drennan afore her father was killed, and with William Frame, who was drowned about the time you were born. You mark old Martha’s words,” she continued, shaking a bony finger solemnly at us; “ghosts or no ghosts, trouble is brewing for Peter. He has the mark of it on him.”
“Ugh! she quite gave me the shivers,” said Frank as we emerged again, “talking about poor Peter like that. We must go and see him soon and hear about these bally ghosts. Rather good sport, ghost-hunting, eh?” i
“Yes, in the daytime, but at night—”
“Oh, I say, you’re as bad as Nora. What does it matter whether it’s night or day? You can always walk through a ghost, you know, and—hullo! there’s Bobby. Let’s go and hear what he’s got to say about it all.”
There was no chance of mistaking Bobby, the one policeman Peddlington boasted. Once seen he was not easily forgotten. He was standing at his open door, a little way down the street on the side opposite old Martha’s shop, mopping his brow, for the afternoon was warm. Well over six feet in his huge regulation
boots, his massive shoulders were surmounted by a
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 41
round, genial countenance that beamed good fellow- ship on all comers. “Why, Master Frank,’ he exclaimed, touching his
forelock, “I would hardly have known you. You're
led
me last summer, though you was but a little slip of a
grown that big. You'll be showing us all how to play cricket now. Dod! I remember how you m4
chap.”
Now this was nicely put on Bobby’s part, because Frank had confided to me that on the memorable occasion under review Bobby had lifted Frank’s first four balls for successive sixes clean out of the ground, and only succumbed to the fifth, which happened to be a shooter.
“Qh, rot, Bobby,” rejoined my chum, looking well pleased, all the same. “You know you lammed me all over the shop; but I'll put up some better stuff to you this year. This is my friend Humphrey Verney, who has come to spend his holidays with us.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,’ answered the man, pulling his forelock again.
“T say,’ went on Frank, “what is all this about Peter seeing ghosts up at the castle? Do you know anything about it?”
“ Well, sir,” said Bobby, scratching his head with a
42 THE COLONELS STORY.
puzzled look, “ Peter has been telling the folks some such tale, and last week he come to me about it. ‘Peter, man,’ says I, ‘you're far too sensible a fel- low to believe in ghosts.’ ‘I used to be, says he, shaking like, ‘but these last few weeks I’ve heard enough to upset any man, and twice I seemed to see figures in white at the castle windows. ‘And what is it you heard, Peter?’ says I. ‘Terrible groans and clankin’ of chains. The noise is worse at night, but I’ve heard it during the day too. ‘ Well, Peter, says I, to hearten him like, ‘I’m going your way now, and we'll go over the castle and see if we can’t lay the ghost. And so we did, but nary a ghost did we see or hear.”
“Well, we must have a ghost-hunt too, Humphrey ; but we had better be off if we are to walk to the station and bike back before dinner.—So long, Bobby.”
“No wonder the ghosts didn’t put in an appearance before him,” I observed as we set off along the road; “these boots of his would drown any ghostly groans, and any self-respecting spook would keep clear of his feet.”
“You bet,’ said Frank, grinning, “but still it
sounds as if we might get some good sport ghost-
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 43
hunting up at the castle. Peter must have seen and heard something surely.”
We walked on steadily till within a short distance of the station, when Frank, who had been unusually silent for some time, suddenly exclaimed, “It’s the very ticket!”
“What is?” I asked, mystified.
“A Sherlock Holmes Society !”
“What on earth is that?”
“Oh, we'll make a secret compact to find out everything the way Sherlock Holmes did. Last holidays I read how some fellows formed such a society and got publicly thanked by all sorts of swells. They found out heaps of plots and things, and had no end of a good time.”
“But what are we to find out, and who’s going to thank us?”
“Tt’s the society’s business to find out what has to be found out,” replied Frank, rather vaguely. “ But there’s Peter’s ghosts to start on anyway; Sherlock Holmes would have found out about them in two ticks. I’ll think it over and make out the rules and that sort of thing. Will you join?”
“Oh yes, if you like.”
We reached the station, and got our bicycles from
44, THE COLONEL’S STORY.
the shed where they had been stored; then having mounted we started on our return home, waving our caps in farewell to the stationmaster.
“Now, then,” said Frank, “let’s have a race up the hill. We can rest there a bit, and then it’s all downhill to the village. The heap of road metal at the top will be the winning post. Are you ready ? go!”
We were both in good condition, and put in all we knew. Gradually I forged ahead, but when I had gained a lead of some ten yards Frank put in a tremendous spurt and passed me. The effort tired him, however, and I had crept up to him again when we reached the heap of stones and jumped off simul- taneously.
“Dead heat!” panted Frank as we propped up our machines and threw ourselves on the grass, where we lay for some time regaining our breath and revelling in the thought that there was no school bell to hasten our return, At last Frank sat up and looked at his watch.
“Half-past five. There’s plenty of time, but we might put up the net and have a cricket practice
before dinner.’’
“Right you are; come on. Hullo! there’s your
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 45
friend Win Kee coming along, but what on earth is he doing ?”’
The Chinaman was approaching us from the village, but had not yet noticed our presence, and for a few minutes we watched him with some amusement. For a certain distance he would walk slowly towards us, gazing at the grass on one side of the road. Then he would retrace his steps, scrutinizing the ditch at the other side. This manceuvre he repeated over and over again, each time a little farther down the road.
“He’s lost something,” said Frank ; “let’s find out what it is. You can try your Malay on him, if you remember any. Perhaps we had better not say anything about last night, in case you made a mistake, you know.”
“All right, but wait a moment,’ I said, grasping his arm as he was about to shout. “Don’t tell him I know any Malay just at first.”
“Why not?”
“Just for a lark.”
“All right. Hullo!”
The Chinaman was coming towards us when Frank called; he gave a sudden start and looked up quickly.
“You lost something, Win Kee?” inquired Frank
as we wheeled our bicycles towards him.
46 THE COLONEL’S STORY.
“How you know that?” he asked, gazing sus- piciously at us.
“We saw you lookee in ditch; what is it? Perhaps we can helpee you.”
“Yes’day I dlop a paper for C’nel Leighton.”
“Oh, aletter. We haven’t seen anything lying on the road, and we’ve been down to the station. I hopee you find it. I comee up soon to Cliffden and bringee my friend Verney. He see you makee something with wire likee you showed me. He would likee hear you speak Malay, Win Kee.”
The Chinaman looked at me keenly, and it seemed to me that his eyes were lighter in colour than those of the coolies and native servants 1 remem- bered.
“Your fliend come from—where ?”’ he asked, with seeming indifference. ;
“From the same school,’ I interposed.
“Tell him in Malay you’ve lost a letter, Win Kee,” suggested Frank.
The Chinaman gabbled something, and Frank burst out laughing.
“T don’t believe you understand a word of it after all,” he said to me; and then, turning to the Chinaman
and unable to repress himself any longer, he explained:
THE COLONEL’S STORY. 47
“He can speakee a little Malay too, Win Kee; he comee from Singapore.’
A swift change swept over the Oriental’s face, and he regarded me with what seemed a vindictive scowl.
“Why you not say so? Win Kee talk no more Malay,” and turning on his heel he set off towards the station.
“Well, of all the rum goes!’’ ejaculated Frank, staring after him, “ What’s up?”
“Don’t ask me! I couldn’t make out a word he said, but he didn’t know that. Can he read English?”
“T don’t know. Wait a bit though—TI don’t believe he can. I remember now that father tried him on, one time when he thought he had been looking at his letters in the post office, and the chap didn’t know A from Z,.”
“Then,” I remarked, as we remounted our bicycles, “how is he to recognize this letter even if he finds it? Don’t you think the Sherlock Holmes Society might keep an eye on him as well as the ghosts?”
“ Oh, rot,” was Frank’s polite rejoinder ; “Win Kee’s all right.”