When I pushed open the door of the restaurant, the first person I saw was Tommy. He was lunching with another man, and, as usual, conversing with such vigorous cheerfulness that he failed to notice my arrival. I walked up to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder.
"Hallo, Tommy," I said. "I thought you were in Timbuctoo."
He spun round.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" he cried. Then, with that artless directness that so endears him to strangers, he added impetuously, "What the dickens are you doing in this God-forsaken place?"
An eminent Bristolian at the next table snorted audibly.
"I was just going to ask you the same question," I replied, "only in rather more tactful language. I'm here on business."
"Sit down," said Tommy, clutching me by the wrist and dragging me into a vacant chair. "This is Mortimer—Jimmy Mortimer, of the Gold Coast. We're motoring, and you've got to join us."
"May I have some lunch first?" I asked, bowing politely to Mr. Mortimer.
"Why, of course," said Tommy cheerfully. "You're feeding with us. Here, waiter, waiter, get this gentleman some lunch."
"Look here," he added, as the waiter slid off to fulfil the order, "do you know anything about salmon fishing?"
"In theory," I said, "I know everything. Why?"
"Because as soon as you've finished we're going to take you up to Hereford, for a couple of days on the best salmon river in England."
I turned to Mortimer.
"Much laager," I said, "has made him mad."
Tommy chuckled.
"I'm not joking. I've got two miles of the finest private fishing on the Wye from Saturday to Monday, and a bungalow chucked in."
Mortimer nodded his head.
"That's right," he added.
I gazed at Tommy in mingled amazement and admiration.
"My dear Tommy," I said, "no one appreciates your powers of acquisition more than I do, but how the devil did you manage it?"
Tommy lit a cigar with some contentment.
"It was a reward for a kind action," he explained. "The place belongs to an old boy called Quinn—Sir Cuthbert Quinn. I ran across him last week in a country lane near Bedford, trying to find out what was the matter with his car. He'd been trying for some time. Well, I hopped out and put things straight—it was only a choked jet, but he was so grateful that he insisted on my coming back to lunch with him. While we were lunching, we got on the subject of salmon fishing. I happened to say how keen I was, and then he trotted out the fact that he owned an island with a bungalow on it and two miles of the best fishing above Symonds Yat. 'Would you like a week-end there?' he said. 'I should,' said I, 'very much.' Well, to cut a long yarn short, he handed me over the key, and told me I could come up for a couple of days and bring another rod with me. I couldn't think of any one else at the time, so I wired for Mortimer."
"Thanks," said Mortimer drily.
"Well, as you've got Mortimer," I observed, "you can't take me."
"Oh, that's all right," put in Mortimer; "I don't fish. I've only come for the charm of Tommy's conversation."
"I haven't got a rod," I objected.
"That doesn't matter," said Tommy, "neither have I. But there are two up there which old Quinn said we could use."
"How are we going to manage about grub?" I asked.
Mortimer laughed.
"The car's stuffed with it," he said, "especially drink."
That decided me.
"I'll come," I said, "but you'll have to call for my traps. I'm staying up in Clifton, so it's all on the way."
"Good!" cried Tommy. "You buck up and finish your lunch, while we go round to the garage and get the car."
The car, when it arrived, proved to be a 12-14 De Dion which had apparently been a stranger to the sunny land of France for many strenuous years. In colour it had once been green.
"Not much to look at," said Tommy apologetically; "but she goes—eh, Mortimer?"
"She would if I had her," admitted Mortimer, "for what she'd fetch."
Knowing, however, of Tommy's amazing genius for coaxing motion out of discarded scrap-iron, I got in behind without a qualm. With a fanfare on the horn, we slid out of the garage, and then, clanking like an ironmonger's shop in an earthquake, pounded bravely up Park Street at a surprising velocity.
It only took me about five minutes to cast my week-end trappings into a Gladstone bag and square accounts with the worthy lady at whose house I had been staying. Then off we thundered again through the peaceful respectabilities of Clifton and Redland, out on to the far-flung road that wanders northwards up the Severn Valley.
If the Zeitgeist had any particular purpose when it tossed Tommy's atoms together, it must have been the production of a super-chauffeur. Amazingly erratic as he is in other things, his driving and handling of a car more nearly approaches perfection than any human effort I know. In other hands the hired wreckage that bore our fortunes would, I feel sure, have collapsed hopelessly long before we reached Gloucester. But Tommy, who, according to Mortimer, had pored lovingly over it with a spanner for several hours that morning, lifted it triumphantly, if complainingly, through all demands. At half-past six, dusty and incredibly vociferous, it clattered into Ross, and, practically speaking, our journey was accomplished.
We had a cup of tea at the hotel there, and then in the cool of the evening clanked on cheerfully through the thickly wooded lanes that led to Sir Cuthbert Quinn's bungalow. The distance must have been about six miles, and it was while we were covering this that we got on to the question of how great a strain a salmon rod would stand. Tommy had been telling us some yarn about how a man he knew had jerked a fifteen-pound salmon clean out of the water, and I had ventured to cast a little mild doubt on the accuracy of the tale. Tommy had been quite indignant.
"Why, of course it's possible," he had declared. "A salmon rod will stand almost any strain. The best swimmer in the world would be quite helpless if you hooked him by a belt round his middle."
"Get out, Tommy," I said derisively; "he'd break you every time."
"I bet you he wouldn't," said Tommy. "Look here, you get a good swimmer—any one you like, I don't care who he is—and I'll bet you five pounds I'll land him in under half an hour."
"Done with you," I replied. "And what's more, I'll bet you another fiver he breaks your line inside of five minutes."
Mortimer chuckled.
"There's money in this," he observed. "We'd better advertise it in the Sportsman and charge for seats. We might make quite a decent thing out of it."
As he spoke we rattled round the corner of a deeply embedded lane, and, of a sudden, the Wye lay before us, gleaming like silver in its cool green valley.
"That's the bungalow," said Tommy, pointing to a low, red-tiled building which one could just catch a glimpse of through the trees. "The boathouse must be just below us."
We trundled delicately down the hill, for the road rather resembled the traditional highway to Zion, and pulled up outside a solid-looking building on the banks of the river.
Tommy stopped the engine, and we all clambered out. The island lay exactly opposite, its neatly painted landing-stage facing us across the water.
"Why, there's the boat!" exclaimed Mortimer suddenly. "Over there by the steps—look!"
He pointed towards the island, and following his gesture, we all saw a small dinghy apparently tied up to one of the willows that fringed the bank.
We stared at it in amazement.
"Well, that's funny," I said. "How did it get there? There must be someone on the island."
"Oh, no," said Tommy. "Why, I had a card from old stick-in-the-mud only yesterday saying that it was all clear. There's probably another boat of some kind in the shed."
He took the key out of his pocket, and thrusting it into the lock, flung open the door. The place was as empty as a barn.
Mortimer laughed.
"Your aged friend seems to be a bit of a humorist, Tommy."
"There must be someone there," I said. "Most likely it's the gardener. Let's go outside and give him a hail."
We stepped out on to the bank, where Tommy let off a vigorous yell, while I played an impressive voluntary on the horn.
"That ought to bring him out of his shell," observed Mortimer with approval.
As a matter of fact, it did nothing of the kind. The island remained as blissfully untroubled as the garden of Proserpine.
"Try again," suggested Mortimer encouragingly and we repeated our efforts with the same result.
"I'm getting fed up with this," broke out Tommy. "There's only one thing to do, and that's to swim across and fetch the boat."
"What a pity we haven't got a salmon rod," I remarked. "We might kill two birds with one stone."
"Don't you worry," retorted Tommy. "We'll try that later."
He stripped off his clothes, and going to the edge of the bank, inspected the water.
"Seems clear enough," he observed; "here goes.”
There was a mighty splash, and he disappeared from view, emerging a few moments later well out in the river. Mortimer and I gave him an encouraging cheer, and then watched him with some anxiety as he ploughed his way across the strongly running current. It seemed at first as though he would be swept past the island, but, with a big effort, he just managed to get clear of the stream in time and clutch an overhanging bough some way below the landing-stage. Then he drew himself out, and answering our hail with a triumphant wave of the hand, picked his way gingerly along the bank to where the boat was tethered.
Unhitching the rope, he climbed in, and with a few strong pulls, sculled back across the river.
"Bravo, Leander!" sung out Mortimer, as the boat bumped up against the bank. "How are you feeling after your great effort?"
"Deuced sore," returned Tommy, shipping his oars and stepping out on to the grass. "That seat's as hard as a millstone."
"Never mind," I said consolingly. "You'll be too busy cooking the dinner to want to sit down. What shall we do with the car?"
"Oh, run her into the boat-house," said Tommy. "There's plenty of room there. And then you might shove the grub into the boat."
Mortimer and I carried out his instructions. With the expenditure of considerable energy and language, we trundled that decayed scrap-iron into the shed, and then began to transfer its contents to the bottom of the dinghy.
By this Tommy had resumed his clothes and come to our assistance.
"I can't make it out, all the same," said Mortimer reflectively. "If there's no one on the island, how the devil did the boat get there? Old Quinn must have got off somehow last time he left."
"Perhaps he's a Christian Scientist, and just wished himself ashore," suggested Tommy. "Anyhow, it's no good worrying about miracles. Catch on to this, and that's the lot."
He pushed over a bulky case of soda-water, which Mortimer, still frowning thoughtfully to himself, tucked under one arm, and carrying the remaining stores between us, we made our way down to the dinghy.
"I'll take the oars," I said; "it's just my distance."
"Don't overtire yourself," put in Tommy kindly. "Remember there's a stiff stream running."
"If you find it too much for you," added Mortimer, "we can always get out and walk."
Disregarding such ragged efforts at humour, I pushed off from the bank; and then, setting a course well up against the current, slowly tugged my precious freight over to the island. With the true instinct of a waterman, I hit the landing-stage exactly, in fact, I hit it so hard that Tommy, who was injudiciously standing up, was as nearly as possible precipitated into the water.
"He thinks it's a bumping race," said Mortimer. "That's the worst of these 'Varsity men. Here, catch hold."
He flung the rope to Tommy, who had jumped out on to the step, and in half a minute the boat was hitched up tight to a convenient post.
Mortimer and I handed out the goods, which Tommy received and piled up on the shore. When we were finally unloaded we also disembarked, and picking up as much as we could carry, mounted the wooden steps that led to the front door of the bungalow. Tommy inserted the key, and flung it open.
"Here we are," he said. "Not such a dusty sort of shanty, is it?"
The eulogy was by no means excessive. Whatever else Mr. Quinn may have lacked, he certainly had a nice eye for his surroundings. The large, low-ceilinged apartment, with its white walls, old-fashioned furniture, and big, green-tiled hearth, combined in the happiest degree the claims of comfort and good taste. From the main room a door on the left led into the kitchen, while at the back an arched space gave access to a passage from which the three bedrooms opened off.
"What's the programme now?" asked Mortimer.
"I don't know what you chaps feel like," said Tommy, "but I'm uncommon hungry. I vote we start by having some grub right away."
Mortimer held up his hand.
"Carried unanimously," I said.
"Right-ho!" responded Tommy. "There's a cold chicken somewhere in the baggage. You chaps might unpack while I forage about the kitchen and get things ready."
He disappeared through the door, taking off his coat, and Mortimer and I set to work upon the various packages which we had brought with us. We unearthed an appetising-looking fowl, a ham, two or three nice crusty loaves, a jar of butter, and numerous other aids to successful salmon fishing, including enough beer and whisky to stock a modest hotel.
We were contemplating the latter in a kind of pleased reverie, when Tommy came back with a tablecloth under his arm, and a trayload of accessories.
"I say," he began, "it's deuced funny, but I can't find any forks and spoons. Plenty of glasses and plates and knives, but not another bally thing in the place."
Mortimer burst out laughing.
"I expect your aged friend eats with his fingers," he said.
"Or else someone's been in and cleared the lot," I suggested.
"Oh, they can't have done that," said Tommy; "or else the boat wouldn't be here."
"Well, we shall have to do what we can without," remarked Mortimer. "You fellows can tear off a leg each, and I'll have the pickings."
We pulled out a table into the centre of the room, and while I helped Mortimer arrange the feast, Tommy went into the kitchen to have another look for the missing silver.
His efforts proved as barren as before, and finally abandoning the attempt, we settled ourselves down to do as well as we could with knives and fingers.
"Here's to our week-end," said Tommy, holding up a glass of Bass. "And death to the salmon."
"Death to the salmon," I repeated hopefully, raising my glass in turn.
We were just drinking the toast, when Mortimer suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair and glanced quickly round behind him.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"'Sh!" he whispered. "Go on talking loudly. Don't stop whatever you do."
We followed his instructions, watching him with amazement as he jumped up noiselessly from his chair, and crept like a cat across the room as far as the archway. Here he stopped, bending down and listening intently, with his hand to his ear.
When he turned, his face was alight with excitement. He came swiftly back, signalling to us to keep up the conversation.
"There's someone getting out of one of the bedroom windows," he whispered across the table. "Don't stop talking, but get to the door, and make a sudden rush for it. We're bound to catch him."
A smile of holy joy irradiated Tommy's countenance. Next to wrestling with a motor-car, a physical difference of opinion with a fellow-creature appeals to him more than anything else in the world. He leapt up, and instantly assumed command.
"You and Mortimer take the left; I'll go the other way. Buck up, or the blighter will have scooted."
Before he had finished speaking he had reached the door, clearing the steps with a single jump and bursting his way through the shrubs like a rather reckless rhinoceros.
Further strategy being apparently out of place, Mortimer and I followed as rapidly as we could. Darting up the path that ran round the other side of the house, we emerged into the clearing behind, just in time to see an unknown gentleman hurl himself frantically into the fringe of undergrowth that lined the opposite bank.
In a moment Tommy, who was hard on his heels, had plunged in after him. There was a shout, and then the dull thud of two heavily falling bodies.
"Come on," roared Tommy. "I've got him."
As he spoke, Mortimer tripped over the root of a tree and went sprawling full length on the grass. I did not wait, but leaping over a tangle of blackberry bush that barred the path, pressed on gallantly to Tommy's assistance.
I found him tied up in an amazing network of agitated arms and legs. As far as I could see, the stranger was underneath, and from the somewhat unpleasant sounds which were rising into the air, I gathered that he was finding some difficulty in breathing.
"Sit on his head," hissed Tommy's voice. "Take care he doesn't bite you. He's as strong as a horse."
I was attempting to carry out his instructions when, with a mighty effort, our visitor jerked himself clear enough to speak.
"All right, guv'nor," he gasped. "I gives in."
He ceased to struggle, and, panting but triumphant, we released our respective grips.
At that moment Mortimer arrived on the scene. He looked down on us with a smile.
"Well, you seem to have got him all right," he said. "Who is it?"
Tommy mopped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"I think it's Sandow," he replied. "Get up, my friend, and let's have a squint at you."
The stranger rose rather stiffly into a sitting posture. "You've 'alf choked me, guv'nor," he said reproachfully, putting his hand to his neck. "You 'adn't no call to 'andle me like that."
We all three burst our laughing.
"I'm sorry," said Tommy gravely. "I was under the impression that you were trying to kick me in the stomach."
The stranger grinned, and somewhat painfully clambered to his feet.
He was a massively built man of about forty, swarthy and black-bearded, and clothed in the conventional rags of a case-hardened tramp.
"Suppose we adjourn to the bungalow," I suggested. "I'm sure we all want a drink after this little romp."
Tommy took the stranger's arm and tucked it affectionately under his in that unbreakable clasp invented by the Japanese. Then dishevelled and slightly out of breath, we retraced our steps to the house.
"Where will Mr. Sandow sit?" I inquired, as soon as we were all assembled in the front room.
"I would suggest somewhere not too near the door," said Mortimer. "I'm getting too old for these sudden bursts of speed."
"This will do," said Tommy, pulling up a rush-seated wooden chair with his foot. "Take a pew, my friend."
He dumped the stranger down into the seat, and as he did so there came from the latter's pocket the muffled but quite distinct chink of silver.
"There is music in the air," observed Mortimer thoughtfully.
"By gad," cried Tommy, "those must be our spoons. Trot 'em out, my son; the game's up, you know."
Somewhat reluctantly, the stranger inserted his hand into the gaping orifice which served him as a pocket, and drew out a large number of spoons wrapped up in a duster. He laid them on the table.
"Thank you," said Tommy; "and now if we may trouble you for the forks—ah, much obliged."
The forks followed, similarly protected, the stranger all the time throwing little furtive glances round the room, first at one of us and then at the other.
While this interesting operation was in progress I had been occupying myself mixing drinks. I offered one to Tommy, but he waved it aside.
"A guest," he said, "especially an uninvited one, should always be served first."
I handed the tumbler to the stranger, who accepted it with a grin and a nod.
"And now," said Tommy, when we were all three similarly equipped, "I think it would be more friendly if we knew something about each other." He turned to the stranger. "Wouldn't you like to tell us your name, old sport?"
Our visitor looked at him cunningly.
"Me, guv'nor?" he said. "I'm the Dock o' Wellington."
"Ah!" replied Tommy politely. "I was sure I'd seen your face somewhere. If you won't think me inquisitive, may I ask what brought you to the island?"
The duke took a long drink. Then he jerked his thumb towards the steps.
"That there ruddy boat, guv'nor," he replied casually.
"I said so," cried Mortimer. "Now perhaps you'll apologize, Tommy."
"What I want to know," I interrupted, "is why you didn't clear out when you heard us on the bank."
The duke eyed me contemptuously.
"And 'ave you raisin' the 'ole bloomin' country on me. I don't think!"
"No, no," broke in Mortimer; "his grace is a sound tactician. If he could have cut off with the boat and left us here, he'd have been in clover."
"As it is," I observed, "he's in the soup."
"Still, it wasn't much good your making for the other side of the island," went on Mortimer, addressing our guest. "You couldn't get off that way."
"Ho, couldn't I?" remarked the duke, with some scorn. "If I'd 'a' got to the bank fust you'd 'ave know'd all about that. It'd take six o' your sort to ketch me in the water."
Tommy brought his hand down on the table with a sudden bang that made us all jump.
"By Jove," he cried, "here's the very man we want! Listen here, Whiskers. Suppose we find a way of settling this little business without handing you over to the police, eh?"
The duke blinked at him without any visible sign of emotion.
"Wotjer gettin' at?" he inquired imperturbably.
"Well, the fact is," explained Tommy, "I've got a little wager with the distinguished-looking gentleman in the arm-chair. I've bet him that I could land the best swimmer in the world with a salmon rod inside of half an hour."
"'Ave yer, guv'nor?" observed the duke. "Then ye can take it from me yer on a loser."
I gave a gentle laugh, which obviously nettled Tommy.
"Perhaps you think you could get away?" he said.
The duke finished his whisky with some deliberation, and set down the empty glass on the floor.
"Think!" he repeated. "I'm blinking well sure as no blinking salmon rod would 'old me 'arf a blinking minit." ("Blinking" was not the precise word that he used, but it will serve.)
Tommy turned to me with a grin.
"D'you feel like taking it on?" he asked.
I looked the duke over with a critical eye.
"Yes," I said; "I'll risk it."
"Well, let's put it to him," said Tommy. "Look here, my friend, if you're so cocksure I can't land you, what d'you say to my having a shot at it?"
The duke glanced suspiciously round the circle.
"Wot do I get out of it?" he demanded.
"You get out of going to quod," replied Tommy. "Whatever happens, we'll land you on the bank afterwards and let you clear off. That's a bargain."
"And what's more," I put in, "I'll lay you a pound to nothing that you don't break the line.
"Ye might make it a couple o' quid, guv'nor," observed his grace pathetically. "It's worth that to 'ave a damn great salmon 'ook shoved in yer."
There was a roar of laughter from all three of us.
"Well, he's a sportsman," I said, "whatever else he is." Then, turning to the duke, I explained that the performance would not be of quite such a realistic nature as he imagined. "We'll lend you a belt," I said, "and fasten the line to that. Then all you'll have to do will be to dive in and see if you can get clear."
He rose with some alacrity.
"Ho, if that's all, I'm bloomin' well on! It's a walk over, guv'nor—that's wot it is, a ruddy walk over."
"He can have my belt," said Tommy, unstrapping the article in question and tossing it across. "I'll go and get a salmon rod. They're hanging up in the passage."
He stepped through the archway, and took down a rod from the row of pegs, carrying it out through the side door into the garden, where we all three joined him.
Both Mortimer and I felt hugely excited, but neither the duke nor Tommy betrayed any special emotion.
"You'd better take your Sunday suit off," said the latter. "It'll give you a better chance."
The duke shook his head.
"I'll just shift me boots," he announced. "The water won't 'urt these 'ere duds."
"On the contrary," said Mortimer unkindly, "it ought to do 'em a bit of good. But you'll find it devilish wet walking afterwards."
"They'll dry quick enough," replied the duke, "with this 'ere sun."
He sat down on the bank, and removed the decayed shreds of leather that decorated his feet. Then with some care he fastened Tommy's belt round his waist.
"How are you going to fix the line?" I inquired.
"That's simple enough," said Tommy. "There's a ring at the back, you see. I'll take off the hook and fasten the gut to that."
He suited the action to the word, and in about five minutes the operation was completed. Tommy tested his handiwork with two or three stiff jerks, which the duke resisted by sitting peacefully on the ground.
"Can he have the benefit of the stream?" I asked. "If so, this side of the island is the best."
"Oh, yes," said Tommy. "I'll give you every chance. All I bargain is that Mortimer stands by with a walking-stick. If I get him close in enough to be touched, I've won the bet."
"Right you are," I agreed. "That's fair."
The duke got up and inspected the stream.
"You can choose your own place," said Tommy. "Only let's know when you're going to dive."
"Hold on," I said suddenly. "I'd better bring the boat round. We don't want the chap to drown, and if he gets loose in this stream, he'll never fetch the island again."
I ran back to the steps, and getting into the dinghy, tugged her round to where the others were standing. There I caught hold of a branch and steadied myself against the bank.
"When you're ready," I called out.
With delightful coolness the duke sauntered to the edge, where the river was deepest.
"All right, guv'nor?" he inquired, looking back over his shoulder at Tommy.
The latter nodded, planting himself firmly on the grass, with his legs well apart.
There was a short pause, and then suddenly the tattered figure on the bank shot outwards and downwards, taking the water with a splash that sent the spray flying in all directions. Tommy took a step forward, and the line went screaming out like an angry wasp.
Tense with excitement, Mortimer and I stared at the spot where the duke had disappeared. He came up some ten yards further on. The line was still fastened to his back, but without a moment's hesitation he set off down stream, swimming with a vigorous overhand stroke that carried him along rapidly in the swift-running water.
He must have covered about twenty-five yards before Tommy made his first attempt to check him. We saw the line tighten suddenly, and the point of the rod bend double beneath the strain. The effect on the duke was instantaneous. Ceasing to swim, he spun round in the water, and lay on his back apparently as helpless as a floating log.
Very carefully Tommy began to wind him in. Nearer and nearer he came, jerking along through the broken water, and making no attempt to resist. For a moment I thought it was all over, and then, just as Mortimer was creeping down the bank with the stick in his hand, there came another sharp "whirr" from the reel, and away went the quarry down the stream as vigorously as a freshrun salmon.
"Look out!" yelled Mortimer. "He's making for the rock!"
Away to the left a crest of grey stone reared itself above swirling waters. Towards this the duke was swimming rapidly with the evident intention of fouling the line.
Tommy saw the danger, and just at the right moment put on the check. The duke halted abruptly, paused for a moment just where he was, then suddenly rising high in the water, dived beneath the surface like a dog-otter. There was a sharp snick, the rod jerked back with a swirl of flying line, and Tommy sat down abruptly on the bank.
With a shout of triumph I grabbed my oars, and, shoving off the boat from the bank, sped hastily to the rescue.
I was just in time. Exhausted apparently by his great effort, the duke was drifting feebly down the current, devoting his remaining energies to keeping his head above water. I grabbed him by the collar, and, with a mighty haul, succeeded in lifting him up like some enervated porpoise over the side of the dinghy. With a grunt he collapsed on the seat, and putting all my strength into it, I tugged our craft back to the island.
Tommy, who is a sportsman to the backbone, was standing on the bank with a stiff whisky-and-soda, which he had secured from the bungalow.
"Here you are, Captain Webb," he said. "Get this down your neck, and you'll feel better."
The duke took the glass and shifted its contents without a tremor.
"I'm all right, guv'nor," he said; "but you nearly 'ad me."
Tommy laughed and shook his head.
"Let's see where it broke," he said, turning his late quarry round so as to examine the belt. "By Jove! Just about the ring