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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
WITH his stiff sea-rod in one hand and gaff in the other, Jan Metters moved cautiously across the rocks under the towering cliffs of Broken Bay.
Even in broad daylight it took quick feet and a steady head to cross the slippery, weed-clad crags that were piled in wild confusion under the granite cliffs. In a fog like this the trip was one which no one in Bellacombe village besides Jan would have cared to attempt.
Jan came to a rift, in the black depths of which the swell rose and fell with weird sucking noises. He jumped lightly across, and was at the point where the slow swells from the outer sea broke glassily among the tangled masses of brown weed which coated the rocks. The mist was thinning a little, and Jan's heartbeats quickened a trifle, as he saw the smooth surface of a swell broken suddenly by a rush of tiny fish.
Very quickly he baited his hook with a sand eel, and cast out.
"Got one!" he cried, as the line tightened. "My word, he's a whopper!"
The big bass which had been hunting the brit had taken the eel almost as it touched the water, and for the next two or three minutes Jan had all he could do to hold it. His thin, brown face was alive with excitement, but his jaw was set doggedly as he cleverly stopped the furious rushes of the great fish and wound in the line.
Jan loved fishing, but he was not fishing for sport at present. Since his father's fishing smack, the Pride of Devon, had been torpedoed by a U boat, and his father badly hurt by the explosion, Jan had become the bread-winner of the family. This bass which he had hooked weighed at least ten pounds, and was worth one-and-six a pound. He had fifteen shillings at the end of his line.
Skill and patience won the day. The bass, tired out, was drawn in under the rocks, and Jan, reaching perilously over, drove the gaff into its silvery side and hauled it up.
"Topping!" he said gleefully. "Twelve pounds if he's an ounce. And dozens more feeding out there."
He was baiting again as quickly as he could, when suddenly the quiet dawn was cut by a scream. Jan dropped his bait, and stood stock still, his skin fairly pringling.
Next instant came a heavy squashy thud—then absolute silence.
The thud came from somewhere behind Jan, and, dropping everything, Jan went leaping back to the base of the cliff.
The mist still hung in wreaths like smoke, and hid the cliff top. Even below it was thick and baffling.
But Jan knew every inch of the rocks, and searched in and out among the weed-clad crags, and at last found a man lying face downwards in a sort of cradle.
Suddenly the figure moved a little.
"He—he's not dead!" panted Jan, and getting hold of the man with both hands, lifted him and laid him on his back.
"Bart Hannaford!" he gasped, as he caught sight of the face. It was that of a wizened little man of fifty or more, with a dark, gipsy-like, face, high cheek bones and deep-set eyes. Blood was running from a terrible cut in the scalp.
The eyes opened. The man shuddered and groaned.
"Aye, it's me, Jan!" he said hoarsely. "No, don't you go for to move me again. I'm done. My back's broke. Legs is all dead."
He groaned again.
"Just as I'd found it, too!" he went on.
"Found what?" asked Jan, bewildered.
"The gold!" replied Hannaford weakly. "Mort Coaker's gold. I always, knowed as it was somewheres up there in the Snout. I been looking for it years, an' this morning I found it. Then, as I was climbing back, the rope broke, and—" He stopped, his eyes closed, Jan thought he had gone, but he revived again.
"See here," he said in a voice that was no more than a whisper, "gold ain't no use to a dead man, and I ain't got no kith or kin as I knows of. Your dad was always good to me, and I makes him and you my heirs. I leaves the gold to you.
"The third ledge from the top," he muttered with effort, "you'll find the peg as I fastened the rope to. It's seven fathoms below. The hole's near hid with stuff as has fell from above. But you'll—" His voice tailed off so that, though Jan strained his ears, he could not hear the next words.
Bart's breath came in painful gasps, but he made a last effort.
"Don't you go for to try it alone," he whispered. "'Tain't safe. But don't—you—go for to take that there feller—"
A spasm seized him. A shiver ran through his poor broken body. The head fell back. He was dead.
JAN drew a long breath and rose slowly to his feet. His heart
was full. For the moment all that he could think of was what hard
luck it was that poor Bart should be killed just as fortune was
in his grasp. For Jan did not doubt his story. Everyone in the
village had heard of Mort Coaker's gold, only no one knew where
it was hidden.
And at that moment Jan heard oars, and a small boat glided in out of the fog. Its occupant, a thick-shouldered, undersized man of about thirty, drove his craft cleverly in under the lee of a big rock, and, shipping his oars, caught up the painter and leaped ashore.
"What's up?" he asked in an unpleasant voice. "I heard someone a-shrieking like they was being murdered."
Jan recognised the new-comer at once. He was Jake Gundry, a setter of lobster and crab pots. He lived at Morte, just up the coast, and was not often seen at Bellacombe.
"Why, 'tis old Bart Hannaford!" went on Gundry, as his eyes fell on the body. "Dead, too! I'll lay he were after Mort Coaker's stuff, and that's how he come to fall."
"You're right," replied Jan. "That's how he fell."
Suddenly Jake stooped and slipped his hand into the inner pocket of the dead man's coat. It came out full of gold pieces—queer, ancient coins, tarnished and dull, yet unmistakably gold.
"He've found it, too!" cried Gundry, his narrow eyes gleaming so that they seemed to turn suddenly red.
"Yes, he found it, but he left it to my father," replied Jan, curtly. He did not like Gundry's way of doing things.
Gundry stared at him a moment in silence, and then suddenly thrust the money across to Jan.
"If that's so, then this here's yours," he said.
Jan was touched. He felt he had misjudged Gundry.
"Suppose he told you where it was?" said Gundry.
"Yes. He told me how to get it."
"Can you do it by yourself?"
"No," said Jan frankly. "It'll take two."
Gundry looked at him.
"I'm a poor man," he said. "And if you likes to make it worth my while, I'm game to give a hand. I've rope in the boat."
Jan considered a moment. Naturally, he was mad keen to take the gold home with him. And Gundry, at any rate, seemed honest.
"How much do you want?" asked Jan.
"I'll take that there handful I just give to you," said Gundry. "I reckon that 'ud set me up with a new set o' pots. That 'ud satisfy me. Aye, it's a lot, I knows," he added apologetically. "But 'tain't every day a chance like this comes along."
"Right you are," Jan said. "I'll give you what you ask."
Gundry nodded.
"Come along into the boat," he said. "We'll have to pull back a piece. No one can't climb the end o' the Snout."
This was true. The only way up was by a sheep path from the cove to the south. Jan put his tackle into the boat and Gundry pulled.
HALF an hour later the two stood on the top of the Great
Point, looking down on the sea two hundred feet below. The sun
was up now, but the mist was not yet gone.
The Snout itself was not a sheer precipice at its seaward end. It shelved away in a series of steep ledges, and Jan and Gundry had no great difficulty in clambering down on to the third ledge which old Bart had spoken of before he died.
There Gundry found his tracks leading along a narrow, perilous path which absolutely overhung the sea. It was a dizzy place, but Jan's head was strong, and he did not grow giddy as a landsman would.
"Here's the peg!" said Gundry suddenly, and pointed to an iron rock wedged into the rock, from which dangled a length of broken rope.
He deftly knotted his own rope on to the iron.
"Will you go down, or 'ud you like for me to try it?" he asked.
"I'd best go," said Jan; "I'm lighter than you."
"Right you be," answered Gundry briefly, and fastened the rope round the boy's body.
Jan, lying on his face, peered down into the hollow depths.
"That's the place," he said, pointing to a pit of rock. "Seven fathom, Bart said. I'll give three tugs when I'm ready to come up."
Gundry merely nodded, and next moment Jan boldly clambered off the ledge, and was lowered rapidly towards the rock point below.
It stuck out farther than he had thought, and there was no difficulty in landing on it. He got good foothold and took a look around. The first thing he saw was the hole. Just as Bart had said, the mouth was almost blocked with rubble that had slipped down from above, but he could plainly see where the stones had been removed, and Bart had wormed his way in. It struck him as odd that he had not heard these stones fall, but, looking over, saw—what he had not noticed from above—a curious pocket in the cliff just below the big rock on which he stood.
Slipping off the rope, he scrambled quickly into the hole.
Inside there was plenty of room to stand up. The dim light showed a small tunnel which did not run more than twenty feet into the cliff. It showed, also, a square box, about two feet long and a foot high. The oak it was made of was black with age, and the iron hasps were red with rust.
The lid was closed, and Jan's fingers shook as he lifted it.
He thrust both hands down into it, and brought them out full of gold.
Hundreds and hundreds of pounds' worth, and Jan gave a shout of joy. He felt like dancing with sheer delight.
Pulling himself together, he began tumbling the clinking coins into his creel. He filled it with as much as he could carry, but there was more still. He would have to make a second trip. Then he hurried out.
"Hev ye found it?" came a shout from Gundry.
"You bet!" cried Jan joyfully.
"Then tie her to the rope and send her up."
Jan suddenly remembered the odd gleam in Gundry's eyes.
"No; I'm bringing it up with me," he answered.
"What's the use o' that? You're putting double strain on the rope."
"The rope's all right," answered Jan dryly, and reached for the end of it.
Before he could catch it the rope was whipped out of his reach.
"What are you doing?" he shouted angrily.
The answer came in the shape of a great stone, whizzing straight down upon him from above.
Jan made one wild leap sideways. With a crash like an exploding shell, the boulder struck the ledge on the very spot where he had been standing and burst to pieces. A large fragment struck him full in the chest and hurled him backwards. With a wild scream he fell outwards over the edge of the crag.
IF Jan had had time to think at all as he went over he would
certainly never have expected to wake again in this world. When
he did come to himself his first sensation was one of
astonishment that he was still alive. He was lying on a mass of
earth and small stones, and, looking up, saw the cliff soaring
above him. He stirred, and was amazed to find that, barring a
very sore head and a giddy sensation, he was none the worse.
Very gingerly he picked himself up, and then the mystery cleared. There was the jut from which he had fallen, not six feet above him. By an extraordinary piece of luck he had dropped straight into the hollow which was the beginning of the old smuggler's path.
But Gundry—Gundry had meant to kill him, and Jan burnt with sudden rage at the brutal treachery of the fellow.
He did not know how long he had been lying stunned, nor where Gundry was. He had no weapon, and was at the mercy of the murderous brute. He knew he must be very careful.
Using the utmost caution, he drew himself gently up and peered over the rim of the upper ledge.
There was Gundry. The man had lugged the whole chest out of the cave and was in the act of fastening the end of the rope round it.
Jan wiped away the blood that was oozing from a cut on his head into his eyes, and, setting his teeth, began climbing up on to the ledge towards Gundry, whose back was turned on him.
The great thing was to do it silently, yet in spite of his best efforts he moved a small stone which rolled down on to the hollow from which he was climbing.
Gundry heard and turned.
Jan was half-way up. He could not get back or forward without a struggle. His heart seemed to stop beating, and a chill of horror paralysed his muscles. He was absolutely at the mercy of this robber and murderer.
But Gundry did not attack. Instead, he stood motionless, still as Jan himself, and Jan saw his dark face go livid while his eyes glared horribly and his mouth sagged loosely open.
Jan understood. It flashed upon him that Gundry, believing him to be dead, took him for a ghost.
Quick to seize his advantage, Jan gave a hollow groan.
The effect was startling. From Gundry's lips came a strange, whistling sound; he flung up his hands and staggered back. In his panic he forgot that he had but a yard between him and the outer rim of the rock. The second step backwards took him over it, and with a blood-curdling scream he toppled off and vanished into the abyss.
There was a silence of seconds—then a heavy plunge.
Breathless and sick, Jan clambered to safety and dropped flat on the rock. It was many minutes before he could summon courage to undertake the climb to the top of the cliff.
THEY never found Gundry's body, but poor Bart's floated ashore
in the bay, and Jan and his father saw to the funeral, and put a
handsome stone over his grave.
They could afford it, for Mort Coaker's treasure proved worth nearer two thousand pounds than one. They have their own farm now, and Jan is at college.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.