NEDL TRANSFER
| HN 5SHB 7.
NO MAN'S
LAND
LOVIS JOSEPH VANCE


PZ 7240.61
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY

PURCHASED FROM THE
BOSTON LIBRARY SOCIETY
WITH INCOME FROM THE
AMEY RICHMOND SHELDON FUND
1941








NO MAN'S LAND


BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
The Fortune Hunter
cloth Illustrated $1.50
The Pool of FLAME
Cloth Illustrated $1.50
THE BRONZE BELL
Cloth Illustrated $1.50
DODD, MEAD & CO., Publishers, New York
OTHER BOOKS BY MR. VANCE
The Brass Bowl
THE BLACK BAG
TERENCE O'Rourke
The Private War
VIMA


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“Both men were avatching:Van Tuy?”
(page 31)


NO MAN'S LAND
.
A Romance
BY
LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1910


PZ 7240.61
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
MAR 5 1841
COPYRIGHT, 1910, By
LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
All rights reserved, including those of translation
into foreign languages, including Scandinavian.


Το
WINCHELL SMITH





ILLUSTRATIONS
BOTH MEN WERE WATCHING VAN TUYL
(Page 31)
Frontispiece
TALKING TO HER
FACING PAGE
SHE DIDN'T KNOW HER OWN MIND WHEN HE WAS
TALKING TO HER . . . . . . . . . 60
FROM HIS POSITION, COAST COULD SEE THE PRONE
BODY AND ROUND IT FOUR FIGURES . . . : 160
TOO LATE HE SAID, THAT'S ALL, GOOD NIGHT ..
352


There is a world outside the one you know
To which for curiousness 'Ell can't compare;
It is the place where wilful missings go ...
THE WILFUL MISSING: Kipling
There was neither moon nor stars—naething but a
Aaught o' fire now and then, to keep the road by.
-An old tale in BLACKWOOD'S


In
A GENTLEMAN who, leaving his offices on lower
Broadway a trifle after four, presently ensconced him-
self in a corner seat of a Subway express and opened
before him a damp afternoon paper (with an eye for
the market reports) was surprised, when the train
crashed heavily into the Fourteenth Street station,
to find himself afoot and making for the door: this
although his intention had been to alight at Grand
Central. Thus it may be, that trickster in us all,
which we are accustomed vaguely to denominate the
subconscious mind, directs our actions to an end pre-
destined.
Surprised, he hesitated; and for that was rewarded
by having his heels trodden by the passenger behind.
This decided him, absurdly enough, and he went on
and out, solacing himself with a muttered something,
hardly definite, about a stroll benefiting him. So,
transferring to a local train, he alighted at Twenty-
third Street, climbed the stairs and proceeded briskly
west, buffeted by a rowdy wind.
Striking diagonally across Madison Square Park,
past the drearily jetting fountain and between arrays
of empty benches scarcely beggarly (since that class


NO MAN'S LAND
had deserted them for warmer lounging places) he
turned northward on Fifth Avenue, threading the
early evening throngs with a spring of impatience in
his stride to distance casual competition; and received
upon a mind still impressionable, for all that it had
ample food for meditation and nursed a private
grievance, a variety of pleasurable suggestions.
Dusk, the early violet dusk of late November,
brooded over the city, blurring its harsh contours,
subduing its too blatant youth, lending an illusion
resembling the dim enchantment of antiquity. In the
west a cloudless sunset had faded to an afterglow of
amethyst which, shading insensibly into mauve, to-
ward the zenith blended with the deep purple of the
shrouded east. Against this lucent curtain bulked
monstrous walls with a broken skyline, now low, now
lofty, dotted here and there on high with glittering
windows, below rendered brilliant by a dado of illu-
minated plate-glass shielding covetable wares, the
whole cut at regular intervals by the gullies of cross-
town streets. Northward were strung parallel lines
of opalescent arc-lamps, swelling over the generous
rise of Murray Hill like twin chains of luminous
pearls upon a woman's bosom. Between them fluent
streams of conveyances moved sedately in opposite
directions, their decorum rudely mitigated by strident
horns of motors chafing under discipline of mounted
members of the Traffic Squad-soldierly figures statu-


NO MAN'S LAND
esque en silhouette against the tinted glow. On the
sidewalks a composite civilisation paraded at leisure:
a concourse largely feminine. The wayfarer was con-
scious of alluring glimpses of sleek profiles softly
lighted, of eyes whose mystery was enhanced by dusky
shadows: that he breathed an atmosphere of ease and
luxury with which he was on familiar terms and which
he found, subjectively, pleasant, comforting with a
reassurance of the stability of the social order. At an-
other period of the day, he was aware, the thorough-
fare would have told a very different tale: now as at
none other, wealth usurped its freedom, dominated
it, mildly arrogant. The very air, brisk and keen
with frost, was none the less sensuously impregnated
with this softening and tempering influence.
Discovering this fact he caught himself up smartly
and lengthened a stride that had unconsciously slack-
ened, steeling his mood with the coddling of his dis-
content.
Near Twenty-ninth Street he checked sharply and
stood briefly debating something suggested by sight
of a shop-window well known to him:
"It might save time: one may as well be sure ..."
Turning, he descended a pair of stone steps and
crossed a flagged area to a door set at one side of
a window dressed with a confusion of odd, enticing
things: a display that tempted the eye with the col-
ours of the rainbow fainting under weight of years


NO MAN'S LAND
es
and dust. A bell tinkled overhead as he opened and
shut the door, letting himself into a deep and nar-
row room crowded with a heterogenous assemblage
of objects that glimmered with weird splendour in a
semi-gloom made visible by half a dozen electric
bulbs generously spaced. In the rear, beyond a par-
titioning screen, shone a warmer light.
For the moment he saw no one. Advancing a few
paces he halted, waiting.
In the air hung the scent of sandalwood confused
with others aromatic. On the right a procession of
show-cases ran the length of the room; on the left,
cabinets. He had bewildering glimpses of old mir-
rors set in dull gilt, old paintings burning lustrous in
tarnished frames, a squat Buddha tranquil in obscure
desuetude, teakwood stands and tables set forth with
antique porcelains and crystals, lustre ware, figurines,
fans, swords and knives of half a hundred countries,
candelabra of brass and silver, a rare casket of
carven cinnabar like moulded flame, faded tapestries,
curious vestments, garments from the East conceived
in exquisite schemes of colour, Japanese prints dim
with age, a case crowded with bowls and trays of
unset gems, others amazingly filled with jewellery
that spanned the history of the civilisations—jade
and jasper, diamonds, malachite, turquoises, rubies,
agates, chrysophrase, sardonyx, opals an endless
catalogue—set in gold, silver, brass, copper, steel
Tare


NO MAN'S LAND
and iron: a rabble of treasures, huddled together
with such apparent lack of system that the brain was
confounded to contemplate the possibility of being
called upon to select any single article from that
abounding host.
From behind the screen, at the back of the shop,
the proprietor appeared, soft stepping, smiling to
greet a good customer of discerning taste. The
latter went to meet him with a pleasant air of
liking.
“ Good-evening, Mr. Miller- "
“Good-evening, Mr. Coast. Something I can
show you this evening?"
“The telephone, if you please.” Coast laughed
a little and was answered cheerfully.
“Certainly. This way.”
He was conducted behind the screen, where, be-
neath a strong light, an assistant at a jeweller's bench
sat laboriously occupied with some task of delicate
artifice. He looked up as Coast entered, with a
greeting cordially returned. Coast went directly to
the telephone, a wall instrument, unhooked the re-
ceiver and detailed a number to Central. The pro-
prietor disappeared into an adjoining room. An in-
stant later Coast spoke again.
"That you, Soames? ... This is Mr. Coast.
Is Miss Katherine at home? .... Then will you
find out, please. Ask her if she has time to see me


6
NO MAN'S LAND
for a few moments before dinner. ... Very
well.”
There was a lengthening pause, during which the
antique-dealer silently returned, his genial eye al-
ternating between Coast and a crystal decanter he
had fetched.
“Yes, Central, waiting." Coast put his hand
over the transmitter and wagged a reproving head.
“ Going to try to poison me, Miller?"
“Just a drop of old brandy, Mr. Coast-very
old, from my home in France.”
Coast nodded, recalled to the telephone. “Hello,
Soames. . .. Very well. Tell her I called,
please.... Nono message, thank you.
Good-bye."
As he hung up the receiver, a warning tintinnabu-
lation sounded at the front door. Miller, busy
with glasses, looked to his assistant. "See who that
is, Charley," he said. The assistant slipped from
his seat, switched on more light in the front of the
shop, and vanished round the screen.
As he did so, Coast heard the rumble of a man's
voice, followed by a woman's ringing laugh, a
thought too loud.
Miller was offering him a glass. He bowed, took
it and held it to his lips for a moment without tasting,
inhaling the mellow bouquet of the liquor.
“ That is good,” he said, and sipped critically.


NO MAN'S LAND
"The very best, Mr. Coast. There's little like it
out of France."
“I'm glad I thought of imposing on your good
nature."
“Why, so am I. My friends are always wel-
come. . . . Your health, Mr. Coast.”
“And yours, Mr. Miller.”
They drank ceremoniously. Coast put down an
empty glass. “That,” he declared from the bottom
of a congratulated heart, "was delicious."
“Another drop ?".
"No. Absolutely not. It would inspire me to
try to buy out the shop.”
Miller shook his head. “I wouldn't want to sell
you anything now," he said with simple gravity.
“I should rob myself.”
Coast surprised the twinkle in his eye and joined
the laugh. “Then I shant tempt you.” He of.
fered his hand. “Good-night, and thank you."
“Good-night, Mr. Coast.”
On his way out, Coast had an indifferent glance for
the customers at a show-case near the window. The
woman stood with her back turned, chattering volu-
bly to the assistant in indifferent French: a small,
slight figure with arms uplifted, holding a chain of
gold and imperial jade to the light. · Beside her
the man loomed solidly, his heavy proportions exag-
gerated by a fur-lined coat, his attentive pose own-


NO MAN'S LAND
ing a trace of proprietary interest. As Coast drew
near he looked up and faced about, stripping off a
glove.
“Why, h'ar'ye, Coast!"
Tone and manner proclaimed the unexpected en-
counter of old friends. Perforce Coast took his hand,
pausing, then dropped it, with a grave “ Good even-
ing, Blackstock.” His distaste for the man affected
him intensely, but he tried to conceal it beneath a
forced banality: “Early Christmas shopping, eh?”
“Not exactly.” Blackstock slurred explanations.
" I've just been trying to get you on the telephone."
Coast's eyebrows underlined his surprise. "Yes?”
“Yes. Thought you might care for a hand at
Bridge to-night: just a few of us at my rooms:
Van Tuyl, Truax, Dundas, yourself and me. We'll
cut in and out. What d'ye say?"
Coast's acceptance followed an instant's consider-
ation. Had the invitation been extended him at any
time before noon of that same day, his refusal would
have been prompt if qualified by an invented en-
gagement. Now, however, after what the day had
rumoured of the man, he was inclined to grasp an
opportunity to study him, to see as much of him as
possible little as he cared to see anything of
him.
“What o'clock?”.
“Oh, between nine and ten-any time. You know


NO MAN'S LAND
where I hang out? We'll count on you.” Black-
stock beamed, his eyes shining behind thick lenses:
to snare Garrett Coast was a signal conquest. An
additional trace of affable effusiveness oiled his al-
ways slightly overpowering manner. Then doubt
moderated it, and he had an irresolute eye for his
companion.
She had turned away from the case, with an
assured attitude imperative of an introduction.
Coast received an impression of a very large and
elaborately simple hat beneath which a great deal of
hair, unquestionably no stranger to henna, framed
a face whose dead white pallor effectively empha-
sised a full scarlet curve of lips and large eyes like
pools of violet ink, that looked him up and down
quite openly. He bowed to Blackstock's constrained
words of presentation.
“Miss Fancher-my friend, Mr. Coast."
She nodded, giving him a small hand whose presion
sure was a thought too frank. “I've heard about
you,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Glad to
know you."
"And I've enjoyed your dancing many times, from
the far side of the footlights," he told her pleas-
antly.
“Nice of you to say that. I'm with The Rath-
skeller Girl now, you know. Have you seen it?"
“I'm promising myself the pleasure.”


10
NO MAN'S LAND
“Well, when you come, just let me know.”
"I shant forget,” Coast assured her vaguely.
“But now I must run along. Miss Fancher-Black-
stock-good-night.”
He escaped to open air with a sensation of relief
and perturbation oddly commingled. Instead of
soothing, the brandy warmed his grievance until it
turned writhing in his bosom and stung him like
an adder. So that was the man! ... He
pressed forward more rapidly, but now in an intro-
spective mood, oblivious of all that so recently had
gratified him.
At Fortieth Street he pulled up on the southern
corner, over across from the dull grey colonnade
of the new Public Library, awaiting a break in the
stream of traffic.
He had to possess himself in patience or risk his
neck; carriages, cabs, coupés, cars of every descrip-
tion from limousine to runabout, swept past with
neither haste nor cessation, lamps all bright in the
wintry darkness. The west was now altogether con-
quered save for a narrow strip of fading emerald
above the Jersey horizon, hardly to be discerned at
the end of the darkling, lamp-trimmed cañon run-
ning westwards. There was a sprinkling of cold
high stars in the deep, dark vault above. Women
nestled glowing faces into their furs; men moved with
animation, their breath puffing white. A multitude


NO MAN'S LAND
II
of steel-shod hoofs beat a vivacious tempo on the
asphalt, making music above the sonorous humming
of motors.
Coast buttoned his top-coat over his chest and held
his head high, drinking deep of the wine-sap in the
air.
A policeman presently made a way for him, hold-
ing back the press of vehicles to permit a string of
their counterparts to break through. Coast stepped
down from the curb and in another minute would
have been across, but stopped in mid-stride to hear
himself named in a voice unforgettable, to him inex-
pressibly sweet.
Startled, he halted beneath the noses of a pair of
handsome horses champing in taut-reined restraint,
and glanced at random right and left. Then as
again he was called—“Garrett! Garrett Coast!”-
out of the corner of an eye he detected the uplifted,
salutant two fingers of the driver of a town-car at
halt in the outer line of north-bound traffic. In the
window of the car a white glove fluttered, moth-
like.
Beside the door, with a hand on the latch, he spoke
through the lowered window.
“May I beg a lift, Katherine?”
“Indeed you may. Didn't I call you, Garrett ? "
“Good of you. I am fortunate. I've been want-
ing to see you


12 NO MAN'S LAND
He got in and shut the door at the moment when,
by grace of the omnipotent policeman, motion be-
came again permissible. The racking motor quieted
into purring: the car slipped forward, gaining
momentum. Others, a swarm, swirled round and
past like noisy fireflies. He ignored them all, bless-
ing his happy chance. Katherine Thaxter in her cor-
ner had a smile for him, dimly to be detected through
the gloom wherein her face glimmered like some
wan flower of the night, beautiful, fragrant, myste-
rious.
“Where were you going, Garrett?"
“Oh...” He emerged from reverie with
a little start at the sound of her voice. “No place
in particular. I believe I had some hazy notion of
the club when you hailed me. And you? Home,
of course."
“Yes. I've been shopping."
“Tired?”
"Not very. . . . Curious I should have been
thinking of you just when the car stopped.”
“I don't agree: it was telepathy."
“Oh, that's overworked, Garrett. Can't a com-
monplace coincidence be explained any other way
nowadays?"
"Perhaps: but not this time. I've been think-
ing about you all day. Some impulse—I don't know
what-moved me to walk uptown from Twenty-


NO MAN'S LAND 13
e was 1
third Street and delays insignificant in themselves
brought me to that corner just in time. That isn't
coincidence: it's— " He sought the word.
“What do you think?”
“Predestination-another name for luck."
“You're ingenious."
“Grateful, rather."
She laughed, a gentle laugh that faded in a sigh,
and after a moment of anticipative silence, almost
apprehensive, felt obliged to ask: “What were you
thinking about me, Garrett?”
“Much the usual thing, I'm afraid — ".
"Oh, Garrett!” Her voice was rueful though
she laughed. “Again ? "
“I'm a persistent beggar, you know, Katherine.
o .. But otherwise, also: I happened to hear
your name mentioned to-day ... gossip ...
an idle rumour ..."
He felt her eyes upon him, seriously sweet and
questioning, and frowned slightly, wishing he had
held his tongue, though aware that he could not
have, caring the way he did.
“Why not tell me? I'm waiting, Garrett."
"Well. . . ." It was difficult: an impertinence;
incredible, besides. But now that he had committed
himself, he stiffened a resolve and plunged. “It
was said that your engagement to this man Black-
stock would be announced before long."


NO MAN'S LAND
That out bluntly, he caught a long breath and,
divided between fear and faith, sat watching her.
The passing street lights touched her face and figure
strangely with fitful wheeling rays, swiftly abrupted
but more or less continuous, affording him broken,
unsatisfactory glimpses of her, as if through the
medium of a cinematograph running at low speed.
He could see, however, that she was sitting straight
and rigid, no longer relaxed at ease, no longer smil-
ing, but rather with a face set away from him, its
pure young profile gleaming in the half-light like
ivory against the dark.
The seconds of her silence spun for him an hour
of anguish.
“ Katherine...?
She turned. “Yes?”
“Have you nothing to say ?” he asked involun-
tarily, and at once regretted it.
“What do you wish me to say?" Her tone was
dull, as if she spoke mechanically, with a mind de-
tached.
“Either affirm or deny. You owe me that, at
least."
“Do I?” She seemed surprised. “But what,"
she pursued, rousing," does this man Black-
stock '-- "
“You know I don't like him, Katherine. I
can't."


NO MAN'S LAND 15
“But I can and do, Garrett.”
There was simplicity in that, almost confessional.
His fears assailed him more imperiously.
“Then it's true? Don't tell me that!"
“What does Mr. Blackstock say?”.
"I haven't interviewed him, of course. It seemed
too absurd "
“Why?”
The only retort he had at command was pitifully
inadequate: “Because I love you."
“Is that any reason why Mr. Blackstock should
not?"
“There are reasons why you shouldn't let your
name be coupled with his.”
“And they are ?”.
She put it crisply. His heart sank, foreseeing
defeat. He veered at a tangent, evasive. “You
haven't answered me. Is there any truth in this
rumour?"
"Not yet.”
“You mean it may be true-later ?”
"It's possible," she affirmed quietly. "Mr.
Blackstock has asked me to marry him; he hasn't as
yet had my answer."
“Katherine! .... You can't really—care for
him?"
“I'm trying to be sure, Garrett, before I tell him
so—or you."


16
NO MAN'S LAND.
“But-but you mustn't! ... The thing's im.
possible. . . . You "
“You'll tell me why?”.
Her composure was sobering. He got himself
more in hand: she was not to be moved by storming,
he knew. Reason, logic, an appeal to her intelli-
gence: she would require these of him. Yet when
put to it he could not bring himself to tell what he
knew of the man by hearsay, if very credibly. Per-
sonal defects, lack of breeding, and the like were all
unstable objections.... In the end the best he
could do, since some sort of an answer was essential,
was to frame a halting, inconclusive: “He's not the
sort. . . ."
She misinterpreted his confusion. “I know what
you're thinking: that he's not a spoke in our par-
ticular social wheel; an outsider. Must I condemn
him for that? Are there no right men, Garrett,
but yourself and others of our 'set'? ... I know
he has his lacks; I fancy you'd call him crude,
if you were candid with me. But men of his genius,
his upbringing ... Not that I concede any crud-
ity in him; it's hardly that: he merely lacks—some-
thing difficult to name it; not cultivation, not sen-
sibility, but, I'd say, friends."
“He has many. . . ."
So she cared enough to fight for him! There was


NO MAN'S LAND
17
bitterness, surpassing the bitterness of aloes, in that
discovery.
“I mean the right kind, yourself for instance;
friends to bring him out. He's quick, adaptable, of
a good family—if not a wealthy one."
Coast fell back upon the one mentionable objec-
tion of which he had certain knowledge. "He's got
a villainous temper.”
“Friends would teach him to control it. And
there are excuses for that: his sight—his eyes are in
a bad way. He injured them seriously, somehow, in
his work—something about the spark, I believe."
“Those wireless experiments of his ?”
“Yes. He's going to do great things, Garrett.”
“Late in the field.”
“He leads it to-day; they all look to him. His
inventions, discoveries, improvements, will make
wireless as every-day a thing as the telephone. ...
I don't mean he couldn't win without friends: he's
strong enough ...".
“Men have little use for him, Katherine."
“Women have."
Coast strangled temptation. ... “He has mag-
netism."
“That and strength, ambition, enthusiasm. He's
worth being a friend to. I want you to know him
better, to like him, Garrett.”


18 NO MAN'S LAND
After a little he managed to say: "I'll try, if you
wish.”
“I do wish. Please, Garrett."
“Then I'm to understand you seriously contem-
plate marrying him ? ”.
Her “Yes!” was absolute.
“Don't you see”-he hated himself for this,
"he's after your money, Katherine?”
“ Garrett, that is unworthy of you."
He said nothing, doggedly taking what comfort
he might from the knowledge that he was right.
However contemptible of him (it seemed so even
to himself) he had owed this woman of his love that
hardly discharged duty, of warning her. Now ...
there was the deuce to pay! He knew he had ac-
complished nothing through his clumsiness save to
impel her toward the man; he had roused her to
fight for Blackstock: that was all. Give her now
the opportunity and she'd throw herself in his arms.
He mumbled the word infatuation and found it
sour.
Knitting his fingers together, he stared bleakly
out over a landscape of naked trees casting gaunt,
fantastic stencillings on footways that shone a livid
dead white in the electric glare, with, by way of back-
ground, lights glinting feebly on a still, black sheet
of water. Gradually he comprehended that in the
course of their conversation the car had left Fifth


NO MAN'S LAND
Avenue at the Plaza and was crossing Central Park
to the Seventy-second Street entrance.
“We're near the gate," he said abruptly. "If
you'll drop me there, please "
“Certainly. Tell Patrick.”
Coast groped for the speaking tube and communi-
cated with the driver. When he sat back he was
conscious of the woman's softening regard.
“You're not angry, Katherine ?"
“No, Garrett; but I'm very, very sorry."
“If I've seemed presumptuous "
"To me, Garrett? Can you remember the time
when we were not-friends ?”
“No.... I want you to understand that it
wasn't altogether because I want you myself-need
you, because I love you—as you know-have loved
you for years. . .. It was jealousy of your happi-
ness. I said nothing that I didn't believe."
“I know. But you were-are mistaken. You'll
come to understand.”
“I don't want you to make a mistake. Wait,
Katherine, wait a little before deciding. I'm sure of
your heart: it won't misguide you."
"I believe not. I know my heart and mind."
“ You know mine," he said gently, and no
more.
That stabbed her; she winced, wondering why.
But the personality of Douglas Blackstock stood


20
NO MAN'S LAND
ven
as
ours
forth so largely, limned in such vivid colouring, in the
foreground of her consciousness, that there was left
little room, even for old friends such as Garrett
Coast.
Her imagination kindling to the thought of the
man, she experienced that strange, disturbing flut-
ter of her heart, that sense of breathlessness, which
she had learned to recognise as the signal of his
presence near her. Even now it was as if, because
her mind dwelt upon him, he were beside her, and
Garrett no more than the pale shade of a kindly
memory.
She owned a little insight, was of course strongly
swayed by intuition, could read men and women to
some degree; but despite her youth and naïve faith
in her strength of character, her ingenuous belief that
already she had lived full measure, Douglas Black-
stock overwhelmed her, left her thoughtless and
without will. Personifying a force outside her un-
derstanding and experience, he roused in her the
woman to whom her mind and heart must bend sub-
servient. If she struggled against surrender, it was
only instinctively, but half-sincerely, with something
of that tremulous joy, known to women, in being
overcome by strength so absolute that it scorns all
strategy.
Capitulating to the sweet peril of dreaming of
him who could so move her, she was sensible of a


NO MAN'S LAND
21
feeling of relief when the car pulled up by a curb
near the park entrance.
Afoot, Coast lingered at the door, keen eyes
searching hers almost plaintively.
“I'll drop in for tea to-morrow, if you ask me,
Katherine."
"Have you ever needed an invitation, Garrett?"
“Then I'll come.”
Giving him her gloved hand through the window,
she leaned forward. He had waited for that; now
for the first time he saw her clearly as her face caughe
the light. His pulse quickened if his heart sank.
His look was long and tender, comprehending; re-
ceiving it, she coloured faintly and dropped her
eyes that they might not betray the secret of her
thoughts.
She withdrew her hand.
“Good-night, Garrett.”
“Good-night, Katherine.”
He nodded to the driver and the car swept away.
Long after it had shot out of sight, he stood star-
ing. Then discovering himself bareheaded, hat
and stick in hand, an object of amused regard, with
a curt laugh of confusion and awakened self-con-
sciousness, he turned back through the park.


RESIGNING with little reluctance his place at the card.
table to Dundas, whose turn it was to cut in,
Coast lighted a cigarette and wandered round the
dining-room of Blackstock's apartment, idly inspect-
ing the half-dozen hunting-prints that adorned
the green burlap walls. Indexing their owner's
taste, they harmonised with the brass-bound mahog-
any wine-cellar containing whisky exclusively, the
department-store Dhagestan, the heavy and labori-
ously simple furniture. Coast's comment (priggish,
he told himself severely, in sincere effort to be just)
was terse: Mission furniture will out.
Wearying, as weary of himself and his captious
humour as of the wasted evening, he glanced surrep-
titiously at his watch. The hour was hard upon
one in the morning, but as yet no one betrayed will-
ingness to stop. In courtesy Coast could not be the
first. He stifled a yawn and wedged himself into
the window-seat. The air was better there, not so
close nor yet so deeply stained with the fumes of
smoke and alcohol which the draught from the win-
dow, open a few inches at the top, seemed power-
less to modify. Languid and beginning to be con-
scious of a slight headache, he let his thoughts stray
22


NO MAN'S LAND
23
into colourless vacuity, resting his vision on a vista
of tumbled grey roofs and a strip of river beyond,
where the Hudson glimmered like tarnished silver in
the light of a waning moon.
Behind him the game dragged interminably. Be-
low, a taxi hummed through the street, barking asth-
matically. Now he heard the drone and windy roar
of an L train; later, the muffled rumble of the Sub-
way. Somewhere a piano was tinkling, mechanically
defiant of municipal ordinances designed to secure
for honest folk a sound night's sleep. ...
Unspeakably bored, Coast got up and went to the
buffet, where he poured a very little Scotch into a
tall glass, drowning it with icy charged water. He
had refused to drink up to that moment, and was
thirsty, but as he sat sipping and watching the play-
ers, Van Tuyl's unnatural pallor, moist hair and fixed
smile affected him with a faint disgust, and he put
the glass aside, not half-emptied. His brows knitted
in his concern for the man, who had been drinking
heavily and would pursue that madness until satiated
or sodden: no influence that Coast knew of would
restrain him; he was as unmanageable as a wild horse,
and as spirited.
Slender, graceful, high lord of Devil-may-Care,
Van Tuyl sober was inimitable, more loved than
feared in spite of, perhaps because of, the wit he
wielded like a whip-lash. Excesses fanned that


24 NO MAN'S LAND
brilliancy to a burning frenzy; at such times he knew
no friends, and those who knew him avoided him;
his wits, submerged, frothed with a satiric humour
that etched as indelibly as an acid when he did not
lay on with a bludgeon of vituperation. ... A
dangerous foil to Blackstock, Coast thought, com-
paring them, wondering that they were so much to-
gether. Contrasting them he thought: fire and tow,
rapier and broadsword!
Blackstock was the broadsword of that compari-
son, heavy and cumbersome if capable. Coast noted
how solidly he sat in his place, with what an effect
of immovable determination: a largely constructed
figure, above the average stature of man, at first
glance almost ponderous, but with a certain alert
swaying of his body from the hips upward, a tense
directness of action when he snapped his cards upon
the table, that suggested perfect physical condition
and control. Concentration, collaboration of the
mental with the physical to the desired end, inflexi-
ble will commanding success as by brute force: these
were the keynotes of his character, Coast thought-
epitomising his impressions in the phrase, the abso-
lute egoist. Without effort he dominated the others,
Van Tuyl always excepted; the sheer weight of
Blackstock's personality forced them into the back-
ground. Little Dundas, with his deferential smile,
delicately pink face and permanently rounded shoul-


NO MAN'S LAND
25
ders, seemed the veriest shadow of a man: Black-
stock's shadow he had apparently constituted him-
self. Truax, round of face and blandly practical,
if unquestionably independent, was only less dwarfed
by his host.
“A good bridger"-Blackstock in the current
slang: giving himself wholly to the game, playing
to win, “wolfing the tricks," Van Tuyl told him.
The comment brought a darkish smile to the
man's face.
“What d'you want me to do with 'em?” he
growled semi-humorously, flipping a card from his
hand and as swiftly making his play from dummy.
* Make you a present of 'em? ... Play to that,
now; come through with that ten-spot.” He chuc-
kled as he gathered in the trick and led the final
card from dummy. “That'll teach you to double
my original make, I guess. ... Game and rubber,
Dunny: six without doubled and a little slam. Got
that down?"
“Yes,” replied Dundas, grinning feebly as he
jotted down the score.
“Tough luck, partner,” Truax observed to Van
Tuyl. “You couldn't help doubling on your hand,
of course, and equally of course I had to be chicane
in hearts.”
"Brains, rather," observed Van Tuyl blandly,
shuffling.


26
NO MAN'S LAND
Blackstock interposed hastily. “That fourth-best
spade of yours certainly did lead him up to slaugh-
ter.” He reached over and took up the deck at
Truax's elbow, spreading the cards with a dexterous
sweep of his strong, blunt fingers. “New game.
Cut, you fellows."
“The invitation tempts; but there are some skins
too thick . . ." Van Tuyl pursued.
Truax pushed back his chair, nodding cheerfully
to Coast. But for a heightened tint of colour he
showed no trace of being aware of Van Tuyl's inso-
lence. “Cut in, Garrett; it's your turn. ... Un.
less,” he added, “ you-all want to quit. It's pretty
late. I think I'll drop, for one."
: “Drop,” said Van Tuyl sweetly, “and be
damned."
"What do you mean by that?” Truax, on his
feet, turned upon his tormentor with an impercepti-
ble tremor in his voice.
“Prudence is the better part of Bridge,” Van Tuyl
explained carefully. “He's a prudent man who
becomes conscious of chilled extremities when ahead
of the game."
Crimson with resentment, Truax hesitated, the
retort on the tip of his tongue only withheld because
of Coast's appealing and sympathetic look. Then
with a lift of his plump shoulders he turned away,
nodding to his host, Dundas and Coast.


NO MAN'S LAND
27
“Good-night,” he said brusquely, and so betrayed
the effort his self-control cost him. “You-all can
send your cheques if I am anything ahead.”
“We'll try not to forget, thanks." A satiric
smile on Van Tuyl's thin lips winged the Parthian
dart.
Truax did not reply, but left the room abruptly,
Blackstock accompanying him to the door. In his
absence Coast cut in as Van Tuyl's partner and took
the chair Truax had just vacated.
“Deal ?” he inquired.
"Yours," Dundas told him.
“And,” Van Tuyl interjected as Coast took up
the cards, “let us trust you've more Bridge sense
than that professional dummy." He nodded to in-
dicate the departed Truax. “I carefully told him,
early in the evening, that when I doubled I wanted
not his highest heart, but the highest card of his
weakest suit. Do you think you can remember
that?"
“Yes,” said Coast shortly, annoyed by the other's
offensive manner.
“I sincerely trust so. I didn't come here to be
rooked by everybody, by incompetent partners in-
cluded.”
Coast quietly put down the cards without com-
pleting the deal. “Aren't you spraining something
in your attempts to be insolent, Van?” he inquired


28 NO MAN'S LAND
a
as Blackstock reappeared. “It happens I've been
your partner this evening more frequently than any-
body else."
“Precisely."
"And you think yourself justified in suggesting
that I've played against you ?"
Van Tuyl's dark eyes met his steadily in a sardonic
stare. “I'm the heaviest loser here," he said.
“You've played like a raw amateur every time you've
played with me. Interpret that to your liking."
“I shall.” Coast got up, white to the lips. “It
spells good-night to me."
Blackstock struck in with a heavy note of insin-
cere suavity. “Oh, come now! It's early yet.
Van doesn't know what he's saying "
It was Van Tuyl's turn to rise; he accomplished
the action with surprising dignity if with a slight
unsteadiness. “Since when did I appoint a bounder
like you to read my meaning ?” he asked crisply.
Blackstock hesitated, swaying a little as his temper
strained at the leash. “I'll take that from you
in your present condition, Van Tuyl,” he said
slowly.
In his nervous anxiety to avert the quarrel, little
Dundas blundered and precipitated it “Oh, say
now!” he piped. “We're all good friends. Don't
let's slang one another. Come on, Van Tuyl—let's
have a drink and make up."
cere


NO MAN'S LAND
29
At the suggestion Van Tuyl's weathervane humour
veered. “All right,” he assented: “ that listens like
sense.” He turned to the buffet, Dundas with
him.
IS
"Good-night, Blackstock.” Coast offered his
hand. “I'm off now.”
“Why ... good-night.” Blackstock's mouth
smiled, but his speech was mechanical and his eyes,
slightly prominent and magnified by thick lenses, met
Coast's with an opaque look singularly suggesting
a cast. “I'm sorry our party has to break up so
early— ".
“Look here!” Van Tuyl swung round with a
glass half-full of raw Scotch in his hand. “Aren't
you going to join us?”
"Thank you, no,” said Coast drily.
“No,” said Blackstock. “And,” he added, “if I
were you, Van, I'd chop that drink. It won't do you
a world of good."
“Oh?” Van Tuyl smiled acidly. “Don't you
know I reserve the privilege of acting as my own
wet-nurse?"
"I advised you as a friend, but I'm willing to push
the trespass and tell you something you evidently
don't know, Van Tuyl: drink makes you ugly.”
Coast, lingering in anxiety, detected suddenly the
gleam of drink-insanity in Van Tuyl's eyes.
Alarmed, he moved to place himself between the


30
NO MAN'S LAND
men, and in the act received full in the face what
had been intended for Blackstock—the contents of
Van Tuyl's glass.
Half-blinded and choking, he stepped back, grop-
ing for his handkerchief. The alcohol burned his
eyes like liquid fire and the fumes of it in his throat
and nostrils almost strangled him for a moment,
preventing his clear understanding of what was tak-
ing place. Dimly he heard Van Tuyl raving in his
curiously clear and incisive accents, heard him stig.
matise Blackstock card-sharp and blackguard. More
vaguely he heard him name Katherine Thaxter-in
what connection he did not know. On the heels of
that something barked hideously; Dundas screamed
like a rat; Van Tuyl said, “O God!" thickly.
Dazed with horror, Coast managed to clear his
vision.
Blackstock had moved to the other side of the
room, where he stood by a small table, the drawer of
which he had evidently jerked open the instant be-
fore he fired. His feet were well apart and he
leaned a little forward, his large head lowered upon
its heavy neck. His lips were compressed to the loss
of their sensual fulness, his eyes blazed beneath
knotted, intent brows. One hand was clenched by
his side; the other held an automatic pistol from
whose muzzle a faint vapour lifted in the still hot
sens
air.


NO MAN'S LAND
31
In a corner little Dundas was huddled with a face
of parchment, mouth gaping, eyes astare.
Both men were watching Van Tuyl.
Coast saw the tall, graceful figure sway like a
pendulum gathering momentum. An expression of
strained surprise clouded the man's face. He lurched
a step forward and caught himself with a hand on
the card-table, and so held steady for an instant
while his blank gaze, falling, comprehended the neat
black puncture with its widening stain upon the
bosom of his shirt.
“God ...” he said again in a voice of pitiful
inquiry.
Then he fell, dragging the table over with
him.
On the sound of that, Blackstock moved for the
first time. He drew himself up, relaxed, and
dropped the weapon upon the table beside him. His
glance encountered Coast's, wavered and turned
away. He moistened his lips nervously.
Coast, with a little cry, dropped to his knees be-
side Van Tuyl. Already the man's eyes were glaz-
ing, the movements of the hand that tore at his
breast were becoming feebly convulsive. While
Coast watched he shuddered and died.
“Well?" Blackstock's voice boomed in his ears
as the man's hand gripped his shoulder. Coast
shook off the grasp and rose.


32 NO MAN'S LAND
“You've done for him," he said, wondering at the
steadiness of his own voice.
Blackstock shook his head, blinking, like a man
waking from evil dreams. “Why ...?" he said
huskily.
He turned away as if to lose sight of the figure
huddled at his feet.
Dundas in his corner whimpered. Blackstock
swung to him with an oath. “Shut up, damn you!
D'you want ” He clicked his strong white
teeth, jumping as the bell of the house-telephone in-
terrupted. Then he went heavily to the instrument
in the short hallway that led to the entrance to the
apartment. Coast heard him jerk down the re-
ceiver.
“Well?” he demanded savagely.
" Yes. An accident."
“One of my guests. Yes, badly. You'd better
call up Police Headquarters and tell them to send an
ambulance."
1.1
ome.
“ And don't let anybody up here until they come.
Understand?”
He hung up the receiver with a bang and tramped
back into the dining-room. “That damn' hallboy!
... They heard the racket in the flat below and


NO MAN'S LAND
33
called him up. ... I have made a pretty mess of
things!”
He went to the buffet, carefully avoiding the body,
and poured himself a stiff drink, which he swallowed
at a gulp.
“Here!” he said roughly. “Either of you want
a bracer?”
Coast did not reply. Dundas came fearfully forth
from his corner and seized a decanter, chattering
its rim against a glass.
Blackstock strode restlessly back to the other end
of the room and threw himself, a dead weight, into
a chair, facing the wall. In the silence that fol-
lowed Coast could hear his deep and regular respira-
tions, unhurried, unchecked. After a moment, how-
ever, he swung round, dug his elbows into his knees
and buried his face in his hands.
“Good God!” he said. “Why did I do that?”
Dundas coughed nervously and moved toward the
door. Blackstock looked up with the face of a
thundercloud.
“Where you going?”.
Dundas stammered an incoherent excuse.
"Well, you stop where you are. Get back to that
window-seat-and try to keep your miserable teeth
still, can't you? D’you think I'm going to let you
desert me now, after all I've done for you, you
ungrateful rat?”
DI


36
NO MAN'S LAND
in as far as it affected Blackstock's fortunes
blasted them.
He watched the man intently, in spite of the re-
pugnance he inspired, fascinated by this too frank
disclosure of callous and heartless egoism no less than
by what had happened. At the thought of this from
which Katherine Thaxter had been saved, he was
shaken by a physical disgust almost amounting to
nausea. ...
After a time he ceased to listen consciously, his
senses straining for the first sound to indicate the
arrival of the police and his release from this cham-
ber of horror.
He thought dully, with strangely little feeling, of
the publicity he must endure as chief witness to a
murder done in a drunken brawl. The yellows
wouldn't spare him, he knew. There'd be columns
of stuff about him, dragging him through the filth,
besmirching his name—with photographs, drawings
showing him as he appeared then, with his shirt and
collar wilted and stained by the liquor Van Tuyl
had thrown. Something difficult to live down:
there'd be no escaping that ignominy. ...
A shrill clamour of the telephone bell electrified
them all. Dundas cried out. Blackstock jumped
up and stumbled into the hall. Coast, rising, heard
his voice.
"Yes.. Tell them to come up."


NO MAN'S LAND
37
SIST
ice.
He returned, almost reeling. “Here, Dundas,"
he said slowly, "you let 'em in, will you, like a good
fellow."
Mute in his panic, Dundas went to the door.
Coast could hear the whine of the ascending ele.
vator, the clanking of its safety chains. ...
Abruptly he was conscious that Blackstock's tem-
per had undergone a change. From passive sur-
render to his fate the man had passed to a mood
of active resistance. Somehow instinctively Coast
seemed to divine this in the surcharged, tense atmos-
phere of that moment. He shot a swift, suspicious
look at the man, and caught in return a look of low
cunning and desperation.
He saw Blackstock in a pose of attention, listening,
every sense alert, every muscle flexed-a man gather-
ing himself together as a cat about to spring.
The elevator was very near the floor.
“By God!” Blackstock whispered, wetting his
lips; and again his eyes were blazing. “I'll fool
'em yet!”
The man turned swiftly. Outside, the elevator.
gate clanged. Coast heard a confusion of footfalls
and voices, a knocking on the door. And suddenly
he understood what Blackstock intended. Already
he had regained the side table and snatched up the
pistol. He turned with it lifted. “They shant have
me!” he cried, and reversed it to his temple.


38
NO MAN'S LAND
“You fool!" Coast screamed unconsciously.
With almost incredible swiftness of action he flung
himself upon Blackstock and seized the pistol, de-
flecting it toward the ceiling. It exploded.
For a moment longer he was struggling frantically
with Blackstock to save the man from self-destruc-
tion. Then, without warning, he was seized and
dragged away, holding the pistol. A strange hand
snatched that away. Other hands pinioned his arms
to his sides. He fought for freedom for an instant,
then ceased to resist, thunderstruck with amazement.
Blackstock towered over him, pointing him out.
"That's your man-take him!” he cried. “He's
done murder and was trying suicide—I managed to
keep him quiet until he heard you coming, then he
made a grab for the pistol. Thank God, you're in
time!"
Something stuck in Coast's throat-his tongue try-
ing to articulate in a mouth dry with fear and
consternation. “You liar!” he managed to say.
“ You "
“Shut up, you!” One of the policemen holding
him clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Why," he heard Blackstock say, “ you saw him
yourself, gentlemen. If there's any question in your
minds, here's Mr. Dundas, who saw it all. Dundas,
who shot Van Tuyl? Mr. Coast, here?”
Dimly as if through a haze Coast saw Dundas


NO MAN'S LAND 39
ro
emerge from the press of men in the room, a ghost
of a man, eyelids quivering, limbs shaking, features
working in his small, pasty face. And in his anguish
of anger, fear and resentment, Coast detected the
look, unobserved by any other, of secret understand-
ing that passed between the two men.
“Yes,” Dundas said, his voice tremulous. “Why
why of course Mr. Coast did it.”
Coast felt the chill of handcuffs on his wrista
chill that ate into his soul.


III
WARBURTON had forgotten nothing. Coast walked
out of Sing Sing to enter his own car, his departure
so contrived and timed that he was conscious neither
of a strange face nor a curious stare. The occu-
pant of the driver's seat proved to be the mecha-
nician who had driven for him prior to his trial and
conviction; his “Good-morning, Mr. Coast; it's a
pleasure to see you looking so well, sir,” conveyed
precisely the right degree of respectful congratula-
tion: in this, too, Coast recognised the hand of his
lawyer. He was grateful, further, for the hamper
containing an excellent cold lunch, as well as for the
fact, which Warburton presently disclosed, that the
affair of his release had been managed so swiftly and
quietly that only the latest editions of that day's
evening papers would contain the news.
“We tried to give you as much time as we could,"
Warburton told him. “Whatever your plans are,
you'll be glad not to be mobbed before you get a
chance to put 'em across."
Coast's swift smile was reward enough for the
little man. He snuggled comfortably into his corner
of the tonneau, the broad eccentric curves of his
40


NO MAN'S LAND
41
plump face and figure radiating pride of conquest in
addition to the honest delight he felt because of his
client's deliverance. Occasionally he wriggled rest.
lessly; speech seemed at times about to bubble from
his lips, effervescent with pleasure. Himself in-
habited by a demon of volubility, he found it hard
to contain the details of this triumph until such time
as Coast should choose to demand them. To him
Coast's silence, his shrinking reticence, his shy avoid-
ance of the subject that must be uppermost in his
mind, was altogether out of nature. Yet his sense
of delicacy counselled him to refrain from leading
up to it.
“Give him time," he told himself. “He wants
to think, to get his bearings—poor devil! Why, it's
been so sudden, so unexpected that you yourself have
hardly gotten over your surprise. Think how it must
be with him..... No; I wont talk till he gives the
word.”
But if he held his tongue, it was hardly; the sim-
mer of gratulation remained in evidence, refusing
to be ignored.
To his client and friend the world rocked in a sea
of emotions rediscovered. The sense of freedom,
of space, of motion, the soft buffeting in his face of
the clean, sweet, unpent air, the recognition of a
new-born world a-riot with colour-vernal green, in-
effable empyrean blue, flooding gold of sunlight-


NO MAN'S LAND
played upon his heart a muted melody. He was, in
truth, a little dazed with the sweetness of it all, re-
gained; as if not until that hour had he known since
childhood how sound and sweet, how wonderful and
beautiful could be the world he lived in. The
panorama of the old Post Road unrolled before him
in exquisite loveliness, as of a 'dream come true.
Conflicting with these impressions, bewildering in
their number and variety, thoughts presently assailed
him.
Again he thanked his God his father and mother
had not lived to know the day of his arrest. ...
He experienced a curious freak of memory, very
suddenly seeing between him and the glorious world
a fragment of a scene at his trial, exceedingly vivid:
Blackstock groping a slow way toward the witness-
stand, his dark face the darker for an eye-shade, his
eyes masked sinisterly with smoked glasses. ..
Poor old Van Tuyll...
His nerves crawled with apprehensions inspired
by the city toward which the car was bearing him:
the city of his birth and banishment; the city inex-
orable, insatiable, argus-eyed, peopled with its star-
ing millions, ravening with curiosity, whose appe-
tite should long since have been glutted with details
of his disgrace. He found appalling the thought
of re-entering it, of trying again to take up his
former life in its easy, ordered groove, of coming


NO MAN’S LAND 43
main
and going in the company of those in whose eyes
his brow would be forever branded with the mark of
Cain-yes, even though he were exonerated of the
crime of which he had been accused, for which he
had been placed on trial, convicted, and sentenced.
Would they ever learn to believe him guiltless, even
though the truth were published broadcast, trump-
eted from the house-tops? Would he not remain
to them always the questionable hero of a sensa-
tional murder trial, whose escape from the electric
chair had been due simply and solely to the exertions
of his influential friends? ...
Exoneration!
The word was sweeter to him than the name of
Freedom had been to his forebears in 1776 and
1861. He dared not breathe it-yet; he dared not
hope for it nor even question whether or not it had
been made his. It was his thought that he had
rather return to deathly immolation in those stark
grey walls, now momentarily dropping far and
farther behind him, than regain freedom without ex-
culpation complete and indubitable.
What if his release had been solely due to the
offices of his friends, to pressure brought to bear
upon the State executive . . .? He felt that to dis-
cover such to be the case would prove insufferable.
Death itself were preferable to life without vindica-
tion of the charge that had been laid against him....


44 NO MAN'S LAND
So terribly he feared to learn the truth. ...
His friends, those who had stood by him, those
who had been silent, those who had denied him: what
would be their reception of him now? He conned
the names of a dozen of the dearest: did they be-
lieve in him, even now, in their secret hearts? Had
they ever had absolute faith in his innocence, despite
their protestations? Would he himself ever cease
to doubt them secretly? ...
Katherine Thaxter ...?
He had heard nothing of or from her since his
conviction; before that, little enough: a note or two
of halting sympathy, tinctured by a constraint he
had been afraid to analyse. Whether it had been
due to belief in his guilt, or to a thing more dreadful
in his understanding, he had never found the cour-
age to debate, not even in the longest watches of the
hopeless nights when he had lain in waking torment
in his cell, listening to some miserable condemned
wretch moaning in his sleep a door or two down the
Row. ...
His thoughts had swung full circle. He ceased
to think coherently.
Inscrutable to Warburton: he seemed a man with-
out nerves or feeling who sat beside him, motionless,
expressionless, his eyes fixed as though his inner
vision searched some far and dim horizon. What


NO MAN'S LAND
45
were his thoughts? Curiosity gnawed the mind of
the plump and well-fed little lawyer; he began to
suspect that he had never really known his client,
close as had been their association in the years be-
fore his trial. He had discounted transports, had
forecast a rain of eager inquiries: but Coast re-
mained mute, hedged about with impenetrable re-
serve.... Little changed in outward seem-
ing, the lawyer thought: sobered—yes; high youth-
ful spirits exorcised; something thinner, perhaps;
a trifle pale, too—the prison pallor, that. These
points aside—much as he had always appeared
superficially: turned out to confront the world as
he had always faced it, impeccable in attire—the
least thought dandified: native distinction per-
sisting, as something ineradicable: a man hard
to ignore, whatever the circumstances in which he
showed himself. His lips retained their quaintly
whimsical droop that had ever seemed one of his
most engaging charms, his brows their habit of the
crooked twist whether he were thoughtful or ani.
mated. ... Much the same, vastly different, War-
burton concluded. He sighed.
In time he touched Coast's arm with a gentle hand.
"Lunch ?” he queried, almost plaintive.
To see Coast smile once more was a keen de-
light. . . :


46 NO MAN'S LAND
When they had finished, Coast, refreshed and
strengthened, diverted and enlivened, boldly grasped
the nettle.
“Well- ?” he asked with a steady glance of
courage.
Warburton pounced nimbly upon his chance.
“It's exoneration,” he began, and unconsciously hit
the apt word so squarely that he caught himself up
with a gasp at Coast's reception of it. “Why?” he
cried, alarmed, "you're white as a sheet, man! I
said exoneration—full and clear!"
Coast reassured him with a gesture. “It's just
joy,” he explained simply. He put his head back
against the cushions, closed his eyes and drew a long
breath. “How was I to guess how all this had been
brought about? I was afraid to ask, afraid to sur.
mise, even. Tell me, please.”
“It came—like thunder out of a clear sky, Gar-
rett: none more amazed than I.” Warburton re-
verted to the habit of clipped phrases that char-
acterised his moments of excitement. “I suppose
you know—you've seen the papers ?".
"Only infrequently. 1... was a bit cowardly
about them, I presume."
“Then you hadn't heard about Blackstock?”
Coast shook his head. “Well, his eyes went back
on him—were failing during the trial, if you'll re-
member. I heard he'd injured them somehow-


NO MAN'S LAND
47
with his wireless experiments, you know. He went
nearly blind and took himself out of the country,
to Germany, the papers said, to consult a Berlin
specialist, perhaps to undergo an operation.”
“One moment." Coast took a deep breath. “Did
he go alone?”
“So far as I know. Why?”
“No matter. Call it idle curiosity.”
“Well, so much for Blackstock—until the police
get wind of him, at all events. They're trying to
locate him by cable now; haven't heard of any suc-
cess that way, however. Naturally . . . But a few
days ago, Dundas came to the surface."
Coast started violently. “Dundas!”
“Um-mm: full confession, exculpating you, in-
criminating Blackstock. Corroborative details: let-
ters from Blackstock—all that sort of thing.
Furthermore, Dundas told us why Blackstock feared
Van Tuyl: Van knew something—some dirty busi-
ness Blackstock had cooked up in the West. Im-
material now: tell you later. Also Dundas took us
to the shop where Blackstock bought that gun-
salesman recalled the transaction. You remember
how we failed to prove the gun his?”.
“Of course. Go on about Dundas."
“Well ... it was Truax's doing: nailed Dundas
on the street one day, somewhere east of Third Ave-
nue. The man had been in hiding ever since Black-


48
NO MAN'S LAND
11
stock cleared out; he was in a pretty bad way, broke
and seedy; claimed Blackstock hadn't sent him a dol-
lar since he disappeared. So Dundas, thrown back
upon his pen for means of livelihood, went all to
pieces: couldn't work—had forgotten the trick-or
wouldn't; drank up all he could raise by pawning
things. . . . Truax staked him to a meal and drinks,
plenty of drinks; and all that on an empty stomach
made him maudlin. Confessed he was keeping a
conscience—remorse gnawing at his vitals—what-
ever those are everything like that. Then Truax
bundled him into a taxi and brought him to my
rooms. It was near midnight-got me out of bed:
I caught a cold. However ... I own it without
compunction, we worked the poor devil through the
third degree: simply browbeat and bullyragged him
until I was ashamed of myself. But the truth oozed
out finally, along with tears—whisky tears. We
hadn't stinted the bottle....
“As I say, in the end Dundas owned up to the
whole filthy affair, just as you told it—whimpered
about selling his soul to Blackstock, price not de-
posed. We made him sign a brief confession, but I
knew that wouldn't be sufficient, and it was then too
late and Dundas too far gone to do more with him.
So I called in a Central Office man I happened to
know and turned Dundas over to him to be taken to


NO MAN'S LAND 49
a Turkish bath and licked into shape; and it did
the trick, with a hearty breakfast and plenty of black
coffee for a chaser. He was pretty shaky next morn-
ing, but I coaxed him into a taxi and had him at the
District Attorney's office before he knew what was
up. There he wanted to hedge, but his signature to
the overnight confession took all the starch out of
him, and he went all over it again, with a stenog-
rapher taking it down—typewritten deposition—all
that sort of thing. ...
“Meanwhile my friend the detective had ran-
sacked Dundas’ lodging—some cheap room just off
the Bowery—and found a bundle of letters from
Blackstock-mostly written during the trial, when
they didn't dare be seen together—hints and orders
as to the evidence Dundas was to give. That
settled it. Dundas was rushed before a magistrate
and jailed and the Grand Jury was asked to indict
him for perjury. The poor fool was scared silly,
as soon as he realised what he had done—declared
Blackstock would get him sooner or later. So he
saved him the trouble-killed himself in his cell
half an hour after being committed—had a phial of
morphia secreted in his clothing ..."
After a pause Coast said slowly: "So Blackstock
did 'get' him after all! That makes two at least
two we know of.”


50 NO MAN'S LAND
“Yes," Warburton assented uneasily, worried by
the hard expression that lined Coast's mouth;
“ looked at that way, yes. ... Well, we called your
trial judge into consultation—the District Attorney
and 1-and between the three of us drew up a peti-
tion for your pardon, the District Attorney being the
first to sign. I got off to Albany by the first train.
There wasn't the slightest trouble: the Governor
granted the pardon without a murmur. ... And
here we are."
“And here we are,” Coast repeated in a whisper.
He was quiet for a time. ..."You know I can't
thank you, old man,” he said at length, rousing.
Warburton's fat little hand rested a moment
lightly upon his shoulder. "You don't have to. I
feel too good about it myself. Always knew it
would come out right. Never lost faith in you, not
for a second, Garrett.”
He rattled on, Coast listening by fits and snatches.
He heard a little of this matter and that, heard less
of more. He replied at times, abstractedly. ...
Katherine Thaxter? Had she heard? All
Coast's thoughts focussed upon this: he must see
her. ...
There came a pause, made awkward by a con-
straint in Warburton's manner. Coast glanced at
him inquiringly. The little lawyer licked his lips
nervously.


NO MAN'S LAND
51
“There's one thing," he said, "you won't like
perhaps.”
Coast smiled. “I'm not in a mood for fault-find-
ing. What is it?”
“Of course you know it's desirable to get Black-
stock.”
“Well?”
“You won't be fully cleared, in the public mind
at least, until he's convicted in your stead.”.
“ That's true enough.”
“So we're keeping it quiet, for the time being-
the reasons for your release, I mean.”
“Why? What's the sense of that?” Coast de-
manded excitedly. “You said 'exoneration'!..."
“So it is, so it will be. But we don't want to
scare Blackstock. If he hears that Dundas has
confessed, he'll never be found. If we permit him
to think, as the public will certainly think, that you
are pardoned principally because of your social
standing and 'pull'... then he won't be so wary.
You see? So we're withholding the real reason. Be
patient: it will only be for a little while. And in the
end it will be exoneration, absolute and unquestion-
able. Will you stand for this ? "
Coast nodded sombrely at the dull haze hanging
over the sweltering city toward which they raced.
"I presume I must,” he said wearily; “but it's hard
-thundering hard. . . . I had hoped ...".


52
NO MAN'S LAND
“I know, old boy.” Warburton's hand touched
his again. “But it's for the best-for your best in-
terests, believe me."
Coast's chin sank despondently upon his breast.
“I must go away for a time,” he said, or, rather,
muttered, his accents so soft that Warburton failed
to distinguish them—“clear out for a time ..."
The drone of a hive saluted them. The city
stretched forth its numbered tentacles to receive
them.
They came to street lamps, trolley tracks, streets
hewn out of raw, red earth and grey rock, the smell
of Man in the aggregate; to a lofty arch of masonry
that spanned with a graceful sweep a placid, turgid
stream dotted with river craft; to blocks of tene-
ments, pavements checkered with the shadow of the
elevated, barrel organs and jigging children, traffic
pressing to a common centre; to the crash and clam-
our, rush and roar, the blending dissonances of New
York.
They passed a corner news-stand where a man
stood with a paper outspread before him, the width
of its front sheet occupied by headlines in huge black
type, heralding the sensation of the hour.
They who rode might read:
GARRETT COAST PARDONED!
AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR!!!


NO MAN'S LAND
53
Coast shivered as if chilled and sank back, crouch-
ing, faint with dismay, in his corner of the tonneau.
Publicity had him in its relentless clutches. He had
this to endure: the continued exploitation of his name
and personality, the rehashing of the hideous story,
importunities of strangers, sickening sentimentality
of silly women ...
At two in the afternoon the car stopped before
the building on Nassau Street in which Warburton
had offices. Coast alighted, sick with fear of recog-
nition. The sidewalk throng passed him with blank
looks, but the elevator boy had a copy of the
blatant sheet and a stare for Mr. Warburton's client.
In Warburton's private room there was business to
distract him: papers to be signed, details to be ar-
ranged, letters and telegrams of congratulation, al-
ready coming in by the score, to be opened and read.
He was called on the telephone-Warburton care-
fully satisfying himself as to the caller's identity be-
fore turning the receiver over to Coast. His hope
was nipped with disappointment: it was merely
Truax calling to offer his felicitations and demand
Coast's presence at“ a little dinner at the Club-just
a few of us, all friends of yours "; the hour, seven
that night. Mechanically Coast promised and rang
off. He was unable to refuse: in his heart he knew
that he would be unable to go.
“What about my rooms?” he asked suddenly.


54 NO MAN'S LAND
Warburton beamed. “They're waiting for you,
everything just as you left it. I kept track of both
your old servants; they're there, too. Just walk in
and hang up your hat."
Coast meditated. “That's like you, Dick,” he
said.
An office boy entered. “Reporter from the Joinal
wants to see Mister Coast.”
“I've left," said Coast.
He thought soberly, frowning for a moment.
“That puts my place out of the question; they'll
swarm there."
“Yes," agreed Warburton.
“I'll put up at some hotel to-night.”
“Made up your mind which ?".
“No; I'll call you up when I'm settled. :: ..
You'd better give me some money."
Warburton's pudgy features contorted them-
selves to express chagrin. “The one thing I for-
got!"
“Then send somebody out for it."
“How much?” Warburton drew a cheque-book
toward him. “A hundred?”
A long pause prefaced Coast's estimate. “Five
thousand."
The lawyer whistled. "The devil you say!
What d'you want with all that?"
“How can I tell?"


NO MAN'S LAND
55
son
With a sigh and a shrug Warburton drew the
cheque and rang for his head clerk. That person
brought with him the information that representa-
tives of the Times, the Sun and the Herald had fore-
gathered with the Journal reporter in the outer of-
fice, and would not be denied.
“Get the money,” said Warburton. “I'll 'tend
to the rest.”
He made a sortie into the reception-room and re-
turned crestfallen. “I've lied like a trooper," he
confessed, “but they wont budge. You were seen
to enter: you haven't been seen to leave.”
“Then,” said Coast, “I'll stop here to-night."
Warburton shook his head in cheerful dissent.
“Not in the least necessary. I'll fix you up all right.
You can slip out into the hall by this door-I'll make
sure the coast's clear, first-dodge round into the
Liberty Street corridor, and take the elevator there.
You're hardly liable to be recognised on either the
Subway or the L, if you're careful. Make your own
selection of a hotel and call me up at the Club any
time after five. Meanwhile I'll send a boy to your
rooms for whatever you want, and he'll bring every-
thing to you at any hour you name.”
Coast smiled agreement. “That's a wonderful
head your wear, Dick, but I doubt if your scheme will
work; it's too simple ..."
Its very simplicity made it practicable, however;


56
NO MAN'S LAND
ccess
SO
and a little after four Coast made his escape pre-
cisely as Warburton had planned.
His journey uptown in the Subway, which he ac-
complished without misadventure, shielding himself
behind a newspaper, was his first taste of unrestricted
freedom—and by that token a delight without alloy.
Indeed, it went slightly to his head, intoxicating him
with a sense of adventure. He was conscious of a
gradual access of elation, a growing buoyancy of
spirit.
At a quiet and inconspicuous hotel in the Forties,
some distance from Broadway, he registered boldly
as “Brainerd West, Philadelphia," and paid for his
room in advance, explaining that his luggage would
come in later. The open stare of the room-clerk ir-
ritated him but little, whose thoughts were preoc-
cupied with a hundred half-formed and less than
half-considered plans.
In his rooms, forgetful of his promise to telephone
Warburton, he threw himself upon the bed to ponder
the next move; and exhaustion, superinduced by ex-
citement, overcame him almost immediately. For
the better part of an hour he slept without stirring,
and wakened in the end only to the shrilling, pro-
longed and not to be denied, of the telephone by the
head of his bed.
· Still a little stupid with sleep, he required a
moment or two to grasp the import of the switch-


NO MAN'S LA'ND 157
board operator's advice, to the effect that a Mr.
Cross, representing the Evening World, would like
to see Mr. Brainerd West. The message was re-
peated in accents peremptory before he compre-
hended that he had again been run to earth.
“Ask the gentleman to come up at once," he said,
and, seizing his hat, left the room as soon as he had
finished speaking.
Ascending a single flight of the stairway that
wound round the elevator shaft, he waited until the
car began to rise, then rang. As he had foreseen,
it paused at the floor below to discharge the news-
paper man before coming up for him. As he stepped
into the cage he pressed half a dollar into the opera-
tor's palm.
“Down," he demanded: “ground floor. And
don't stop for anybody."
A single minute later he was in the street. Haste
being the prime essential of the situation, he dodged
round the corner into Sixth Avenue, walked a block
uptown, and turned through to Broadway.
There suddenly, as he paused at the upper end of
Longacre Square, doubting which way to turn, what
to do, he quickened to sensibility of his solitude, and
knew himself more utterly alone in that hour than
ever he had been throughout his days.
Round him the life of the city eddied and swirled
in its endless dance of death; in his ears its voice
eve


58
NO MAN'S LAND
raved and clamoured, cacophonous and deafening;
the very earth beneath his feet seemed a-throb with
the mighty pulsations of its arteries; its myriad eyes
he felt focussed upon his heart, analysing and dis-
secting its secret history with the imperturbable, per-
sistent calm of a vivisector striving to read the
riddle of life in the death agony of a dog on the
bench.
Foot-loose and free, yet forlorn and friendless,
a wanderer in ways the stranger since he had once
known them so very well! Friendship could not avail
to help him, who stood pitted, willy-nilly, against the
multitude. He had himself alone to look to; and
he felt himself overweak, still raw and suffering from
the lash, too worn and weary for the fight, unaided.
A passing hansom pulled in to his signal. He
entered, giving the address of Katherine Thaxter's
home.
There was a crimson glare of sunset down the
street when he alighted and paid his fare. West-
ward, over the parapet-wall of Riverside Drive, the
Palisades loomed, cool purple against the burning
skies. Clouds like a spray of golden petals swam in
the turquoise vault.
“Tust in time,” said Coast; “I was to come to
tea to-day—I begged the privilege only yester-
day. ..."
He paused, silenced by a presentiment bred of


NO MAN'S LAND
an
the aspect of the house. At every window the
shades were drawn level with the sills. The flight of
brownstone steps, littered with wind-swept dust and
débris, ran up to heavy oaken doors, tight-closed.
The seal of a burglar-protective concern stared at
him from a corner of one of the drawing-room win-
dows. Only in the old-fashioned basement were
there signs of life: the area-gateway stood open; a
gas-jet glimmered through sash-curtains.
Heavily Coast turned into the area, and rang the
basement bell.
After some time the door was opened to him and
he entered, to have his hand caught and fawned
upon by the aged butler who had smuggled him
sweets when Coast in the pride and pomp of his first
knickerbockers had come to play with Katherine in
her nursery.
“Oh, Mr. Garrett, Mr. Garrett!" the old voice
quavered. “ God bless the day, sir! I've seen the
papers and I said that you'd be here, sir, as soon as
ever you got back home. I knew 'twould turn out
so sir, from the first; I've never failed to stand up
for you and say you never done it. . . . But a black
shame it is justice was so long in coming-
Soames rambled on, garrulous in semi-senile joy.
Coast leaned wearily against the wall of the gloomy
basement hallway, with no heart to interrupt. At
length, however, he found his voice.


60 NO MAN'S LAND
es
“Thank you, Soames," he said gently. “But-
Miss Katherine?”
The answer he had foreseen, hopelessly. “Gone,
sir-gone this many a day. ..... You know what
happened, sir?" .
"I can guess. But tell me.” He steeled himself
against the disclosure of what he already knew with
intuitive certainty.
. “Mrs. Gresham died—you knew that, sir?"
Soames named Katherine's aunt, with whom she
had lived after her parents' death.
“During my trial—yes, I knew."
“She never believed you guilty, sir. Perhaps
you'd like to know ..."
“But Miss Katherine?”.
The old man shook his head mournfully. “Mad,
sir, mad. . ," he mumbled.
Coast caught his wrist fiercely. “What's that
you say?"
“I say she was mad, sir, to do what she done, and
that I'll say though it cost me my place. . . . It
wasn't a decent three months after Mrs. Gresham
passed away, sir—you'd been—been sent away barely
a month-when she married him "
“ Blackstock?"
“Yes, sir. . . She didn't know what she was
doing, sir. I've thought it was what I've heard



A
le
OG
“She didn't know her own mind when he was
talking to her.”





NO MAN'S LAND
61
called infatuation. She didn't know her own mind
when he was talking to her. He carried her clean
off her feet, so to speak. ... ... So they was married
and went away.”
“ Where?"
“To Germany, I understood, sir."
“You've heard ?"
“Never a word—not a line. I sometimes wonder
at it, sir. She left me a bit of money to run things
on till she returned, but that's gone long ago, sir,
and I've had to draw upon my savings. . . . She
must know. ..."
Blindly Coast turned and reeled into the servants'
dining-room, where he fell into a chair by the table,
pillowing his head upon his arms.
A passion of blind, dumb rage shook him by the
throat; blackness of despair succeeded that; he sat
motionless, witless, overwhelmed.
An hour or two passed before the butler aroused
him with an offer of biscuits and a decanter of rare
old port: all the house had, he protested, fit to offer
his Mr. Garrett.
Coast ate and drank mechanically, without sense
of taste of refreshment. Even the generous wine
lay cold within him.
Still later he asked for writing materials and
scrawled a few lines to Warburton, briefly request-
er
erous V
ine


62
NO MAN'S LAND
as
m
ing him to look after Soames and advance him money
from time to time, according to his needs, pending
the return of his mistress.
Then, rising, he stumbled forth into the night, at
once unconscious and heedless of whither his feet
were leading him, walking far and blindly under the
sway of a physical instinct dumbly demanding of him
action and exertion.
Threading mile after mile of city streets, he moved
as a man dreaming, retaining in his subsequently
awakened faculties only fragmentary memories of his
wanderings.
At one time he paused momentarily upon a bridge
that spanned a straightened flood of inky water,
which he dully knew to be the Harlem River. Again
he found his way barred by the gates of a railway
grade-crossing. When a train had rocketed past
and the gates were raised, he plunged on doggedly
into the fastnesses of The Bronx, seeking unceasingly
he knew not what.
Midnight found him on a hilltop far beyond tne
city limits, insensibly comforted by the great calm
of the tranquil countryside, blanketed with kindly
darkness, lighted only by the arching stars. There
was a wind of freedom in his face, sweet with the
keen tang of the sea. Before him there was only the
mystery of chance, the grateful oblivion of the


NO MAN'S LAND
63
open spaces; behind him a lurid, glaring sky, over-
hanging the city of his renunciation.
Without a thought ai choice, he trudged onward
into the unknown.
So, plodding, the nignt enfolded him to her great
bosom, warm with peace. ... ... ..


IV
To the boat-yard and ship-chandlering establishment
of a certain Mr. Huxtable in the town of Fairhaven,
on the eastern bank of the Acushnet River, there
came—or, rather, drifted with the tide of a casual
fancy-toward the close of a day in June, Garrett
Coast.
A declining sun threw his shadow athwart the floor
of the chandlery. Huxtable glanced up from the
muddle of papers on his desk. Coast lounged
easily in the doorway, with one shoulder against
the frame: a man notably tall and slender and
graced, besides, with a simple dignity of manner
that assorted oddly, in the Huxtable understanding,
with clothing well-worn and travel-stained. Out
of a face moderately browned, his dark eyes glim-
mered with a humour whimsical, regarding Hux-
table.
The object of their regard pushed up his spectacles
for a better view. “Well?” he inquired, not
without a suspicion of grim resentment, who
was not weathered to laughter at his own ex-
pense.
It happened, however, that Coast's amusement


NO MAN'S LAND
sprang from another cause: his own utter irrespon-
sibility, which alone had led him to the chandlery,
he considered hugely diverting.
“I was just thinking," he said, smiling, “that now
would be a useful time to buy a boat.”
Huxtable, possessed of an inherent predilection
for taciturnity, liable, ever and anon, to be sore beset
if not wholly put to rout by the demon Curiosity (a
familiar likewise legitimately handed down to him
by several generations of New England forebears),
in this instance contented himself with a mute nod to
signify that he had heard and now awaited without
prejudice a more explicit declaration.
"A boat," Coast added, “preferably of the cen-
tre-board cat type, with a hard-working motor
auxiliary."
The Huxtable mind, which you are to believe typi-
cal of its caste, like a ship wisely navigated, moved
cautiously in well-buoyed channels. It clung to
tradition, whether in the business of boat-building,
which it pursued to admiration, or in the lighter
diversion of humour, to which its attitude resembled
that of the ancestor-worshipping heathen Chinese.
Premonitory symptoms of a reversion to type in the
matter of wit were betrayed by the corrugation of
the Huxtable wrinkles.
"To go sailin' in ? "
After this utterance, tradition flapped its wings


66
NO MAN'S LAND
and screamed; Huxtable himself condescended to
chuckle; Coast, to a tolerant smile.
“Possibly," he conceded. “Have you such a
boat?”
"I might have,” Huxtable admitted cautiously.
“Come along." He rose and led the way through
a back-door into the boat-yard.
With a twist of his eyebrows spelling doubt, Coast
followed. He was not wholly satisfied that there
was any wisdom latent in this latest freak of his
errant fancies. For a fortnight he had given im.
pulse its head, and so, docile to its aimless divaga-
tions, had found contentment of a sort-more a
parody than the real thing: dreamless rest won
through wholesome bodily fatigue, a waking distrac-
tion bred of constant change of scene: thin ice over
the troubled deeps of a heart embittered. East-
ward from New York he had wandered, mostly
afoot, unknown, unrecognised, Warburton alone
cognisant of his movements, and that under strict
injunction of silence; thus he had come blindly, seek-
ing surcease of his distemper, finding only the
oblivion of fatigue. And recently he had become
uneasily conscious that even that was losing its effect,
as an opiate will in a frame too long habituated to
its action: now and again the thought of Katherine
and Blackstock would crawl in his mind, viperous,
poisoning the very sunlight.


NO MAN'S LAND
67
VOUI
Here, without presage, he found his whim aiming
for salt water. Was he wise to humour it? Would
he find healing in the swing of the seas, the savour
of spray, the hiss of waters broken by plunging bows,
the gurgle astern?
The blood in him stirred to this seduction.
He submitted, or rather did not resist, with a duc-
tility strange in him, swayed by the feeling he had
at times that a clear-visioned destiny led him by the
hand. In those days he was near to fatalism.
Huxtable led him directly to a little vessel in a
cradle on the ways and bright with new paint. “The
Echo,” he introduced her: "five year old, weather-
wise, sound and sweet, fast and able. Ye'll find
she'll stand up under any wind brewed hereabouts,
this time o year—and nose right into it, too.
Built her myself. Twenty-six foot over all, Cape
Cod model, plenty of headroom, sleeps two. Ten
hoss-power jump-spark motor—'ll kick her along
'bout eight mile an hour. Full equipment: cush-
ions, lamps, bell, whistle, binnacle, automatic bilge-
pump 'at she don't need—don't leak a mite. Owner
left her with me for sale. Seven hundred and a
bargain."
Coast strolled round the boat with an eye critical
of her lines, then clambered up the skeleton ribs of
the cradle and dropping into her cockpit, verifying
Huxtable's catalogue of attractions. Presently he


NO MAN'S LAND
69
proved sufficiently diverting to relegate the ques-
tion to the background of his consciousness. Nor
did it again trouble him until half the night had
waned.
He fitted out without thought of economy: in the
list of his acquisitions he could find no lack; by night-
fall the Echo was furnished with everything that
Coast could think of as essential or desirable for a
coast-wise cruise, whether brief or protracted.
He dined ashore, returned to the boat and spent
an hour or so poring over charts of the neighbouring
waters; and finally, extinguishing the kerosene lan-
tern swinging from a deck-beam, composed himself
upon one of the cushioned transoms.
There was no plausible excuse for his failing to
sleep; the Echo rode without much perceptible
motion, moored about a hundred yards off-shore;
waters whispered somnolently alongside; the town
was quiet. Yet slumber was denied him; an un-
wonted excitement sparked his imagination, kindled
by a sense of adventure distilled from to-mor-
row's promise; he thought rapidly and persistently,
staring wide-eyed at the pallid patch of sky visible
through the open companionway, or watching the
monotonously gentle sway and shift of a livid square
of moonlight on the cabin wall.
The day had died in calm; a soft stillness held
the night in thrall. Distant noises vibrated across


70
NO MAN'S LAND
the waters, thinly distinct: the roaring of a train,
the grinding of a trolley car crossing an adjacent
bridge, up-stream; infrequently voices of men near
the riverside; only less frequently a muted chiming
of ships' bells, chanting antiphonal the morning
hours.
At five bells he rose and went on deck to smoke,
his trouble heavy upon him. The cockpit was not
more drenched with moonlight than with dew, but
the air was motionless and suave; in pyjamas and
slippers, lolling upon the dry side of an overturned
seat cushion, he felt no need of heavier clothing.
His pipe fumed its pungent solace. Consolation
he found likewise in the sheer wonder of the night's
beauty. The harbour stretched about him, an
imperceptibly undulant sheet of burnished metal,
shadowed on its farther shore by wharves and ware-
houses, blotted here and there by the bulks and
shadows of anchored vessels whose spars and rig-
gings etched webs of inky strands against the tinted
skies. Water-front lights winked brightly, flinging
out their vivid streamers between serpentine shadows
like forked tongues of darkness, quivering. There
was sibilance of wavelets in the quiet, and in the air
a faint reek of tar, salt water, oil, a hundred smells
of shipping, blending to fragrance.
Presently a breath of air stirred feebly; catspaws
darkened the silver; sighing, the air died; the flawed


NO MAN'S LAND
71
surface of the harbour smoothed and brightened.
hen again the breeze fanned up out of the north-
west, vacillant: advancing, languishing, waxing
gradually in volume until it blew full and free. Un-
numbered shadows checkered the moonlit waters as
they quickened to a farandole, gaily stepping to
music of their own making.
Coast shrugged to the chill and rose to go below,
but paused, attracted by a stir of life aboard a small,
two-masted schooner that had been riding idly at
anchor between two and three hundred feet away
toward ship-channel.
He saw a movement of bustling men upon her
deck. Her sailing lights appeared: a green sta:-
board eye glared at him fixedly. The mainsail was
hoisted, the foresail went up. He watched a re-
volving knot of figures forward, and heard the
clanking of the capstan together with the grating
of her anchor chains. Slowly, link by link, the
schooner forged up against the tide, until the
anchor, a-trip, broke ground and was weighed in,
some little distance above the Echo's mooring.
Then, falling off broadside to the ebbing current,
the vessel shaped her course handily for the har-
bour-mouth, booms crashing to port as the red eye
swung to bear on Coast. As she drew abeam he
could see her deck quite clearly, glistening in the
white glare that threw the scurrying figures of the


72
NO MAN'S LAND
crew into clear black relief. They went about their
tasks adeptly, sure-footed and alert, with a curious
detachment of attitude, having no regard what-
ever, apparently, for that which held Coast spell-
bound.
In the waist two men were struggling, locked in
one another's arms and staggering, now this way,
now that, neither uttering a sound. At that dis-
tance, they seemed fairly matched, neither con-
ceding to the other anything of spirit or of deter-
mination. They fought strongly, each with a pas-
sionate concentration of effort, each in silence.
This circumstance impressed, that men should fight
so without a word or a cry; taken in conjunction
with the weird illusion of the hour, the disinterested
aloofness of their fellows, the ferocity of their
strife, it created an effect of unreality, fantastic
and abnormal, like war of shadow-puppets on a
screen. Yet the audience of one hung breathless on
its issue, as if he himself, his fortunes and his fate
were involved.
He saw one suddenly give way, as though his foot
had slipped. He went down upon a knee, the
weight of his antagonist heavy upon him, and re-
covered only with a tremendous and convulsive ef-
fort, but now with his hold broken and at the other's
mercy. In half a dozen breaths he was rushed to
the rail (where he attempted futilely a last stand),
inre


NO MAN'S LAND 73
forced backwards over it and so held. A fist was
lifted above him and fell like a hammer. There
followed a splash, but no outcry. The man went
under like a log. The schooner slipped onward
with growing impetus, sails bellying luminous. No
life-preserver was thrown, not a hand raised, not,
so far as Coast could discern, a head turned to see
the fate of the defeated.
As the vessel passed, he came up, a black dot mov-
ing spasmodically in a swirl of broken silver. He
seemed to try to swim, but feebly, as if dazed, keep-
ing on the surface only through instinct. He struck
out, but indefinitely, without seeming to realise the
direction of the shore. The tide carried him down-
stream, inexorably.
Loosening the draw-string of his pyjamas and rip-
ping off the jacket, Coast leaped to the Echo's stern,
poised himself lithely and shot out, cleaving the
water almost without a splash.
He experienced a sense of diving headlong into
a black, bottomless pit, with an effect of blindness
as he came up, the moon in his eyes; the shock of
immersion in waters little less than icy came an in-
stant later. Electrified, he got his bearings and
directed himself for the struggling man, with a feel-
ing of keen pleasure as the fluid slipped smoothly
from his bare limbs and body. Warmth came
of exertion; refreshed, invigorated, he swam with
ne


74
NO MAN'S LAND
swiftness and strength, concerned only to reach his
goal before the man could sink finally. At length
winning to his side, he held off warily, watching for
a chance to close in and at the same time escape the
clutch of those valiantly thrashing arms.
“Now, now!” he cried, as one might strive to
soothe a restive horse. “Easy, there! You're only
tiring yourself out."
The splashing ceased in some measure, the man
wiggling awkwardly round to bring the source of
that voice within his range of understanding.
"Lord!” he said, breathless. “You're welcome.”
Encouraged by this note of sanity, Coast swam
nearer. “Need any help?".
“What do you think?”.
The moderate exasperation of this reply educed a
spontaneous laugh from Coast, which he checked
abruptly as the other man again went under, to an
accompaniment of frantic kicks and splashes. Be-
fore Coast could reach him he re-emerged, blowing
and spluttering.
“Beastly tasting water," he commented between
gasps, resting
** What the devil are you trying to do?"
“Get rid of these damnable trousers: they won't
let me swim."
“If I lend you a hand, will you "
“No; I wont grab you. I know the answer to


NO MAN'S LAND 75
that, and I've had one slam between the eyes already.
Come along and be a hero, why don't you?”
Coast chuckled as he ranged alongside. “Put one
hand on my right shoulder,” he advised, “and keep
as still as possible. I'll do the swimming."
“You're the doctor.” The man followed his
instructions promptly. “Sorry to trouble you,
though.”
“That's all right ..."
"It's these infernal clothes. I can swim, without
them. Ever try to disrobe on the bed of the sea ? "
Coast ploughed forward slowly, husbanding his
breath. They had been carried a little distance
down-stream, and he had the current against him in
addition to the heavy handicap of the inert body.
Nevertheless' he was making perceptible progress
toward the Echo.
After a time, in a reflective tone, "Me for the
Demon Rum after this,” came over his shoulder. “I
never knew water could taste so vile.”
Coast made no reply; apparently none was ex-
pected. Laboriously gaining to the side of the cat.
boat, he clung to it, panting, while the other con-
siderately transferred his hold. Hanging so, he
rolled an inquiring eye to his benefactor.
“This occasion,” he observed, “is quite too unique.
Never have I met a man I liked so well, under similar
auspices. Permit me: my name is Appleyard, Chris-
ne


76
NO MAN'S LAND
tian name (from the Old Testament) Melchisedec
kindness of sponsors in baptism. Please don't look
like that: I regret it, likewise."
He paused, watching Coast gravely. “ Melchise-
dec means 'king of righteousness,' but don't be
alarmed; mistakes will happen even at the baptismal
fount. ... And you, sir?”
* Coast-Garrett Coast."
“Congratulations: that has a human ring. And
I am pleased to meet you. None the less, I owe him
no gratitude who cheats me of a watery grave to
freeze me to death. Upon my word of honour
(whatever that may be), I cannot move ... any-
thing except my jaw."
Laughing, Coast scrambled aboard the boat, and
leaning out caught the man beneath the arms. After
considerable exertion on the part of both, he tumbled
into the cockpit and incontinently, with a heavy sigh,
collapsed on the deck, in a dead faint.
In alarm his rescuer dived below and returned with
towels and a bottle of brandy. The latter being
immediately resorted to, brought Mr. Appleyard
back to consciousness. Coughing and choking, he
struggled to a sitting position, and so remained while
Coast fetched a cup containing a little water gener-
ously diluted with the spirits. This Appleyard swal-
lowed at a gulp.
“Very good stuff," he commented, half-strangled.


NO MAN'S LAND 77
“I had a premonition that my season-ticket on the
water-wagon had run out. . .. I assure you I swal-
lowed a cubic foot of Fairhaven harbour; all my
insides are insulted.”
“Get up,” said Coast, "get those clothes off and
dry yourself. I'll lend you a blanket and a berth
for the night.”
“ With all the pleasure in life!”.
Assisted by Coast, the man rose and stripped off
his sodden garments, then rubbed himself aglow
with the coarse towel. “That's better," he gasped,
in the end; and, “What the dooce you staring at?"
he demanded indignantly. “I know I'm a stunted
skeleton. But what of that?"
"I beg your pardon,” said Coast soberly. “It
was unintentional. I had no idea "
"Nor I, until I demonstrated it a possibility, that
a man could be a rack of skin and bones and still sur-
vive. The boon you crave is granted, Mr. Coast: I
pardon you freely, with lively anticipations of the
blanket yet to come.”
Coast took him down into the cabin, assigning
him the starboard berth. “I trust you'll be comfort-
able," he said, with a solicitude not unmixed with
wonder that so much fire and fortitude could inhabit
a frame so frail and slight.
"Sure to be.” Appleyard rolled himself luxuri-
ously into his blanket and breathed deeply of his con-


78
NO MAN'S LAND
tent. “But how can one feel at ease . . . who
strolls stark-naked ... aboard a perfect stranger's
... private yacht ... and-eyah!-makes him-
self at home without .. . so much as by your
leave ... ?"
“Don't- " Coast started to reassure him.
He was interrupted by a slight but unquestionably
sincere snore.


SUNLIGHT and shadow playing in swift alternation
upon his face, as the Echo courtesied to the morning
breeze, Coast awakened.
For a moment almost thoughtless he lay drowsily
enjoying the rise and dip of the boat, as drowsily
conscious of a faint thrill of excitement: mostly com-
parable, perhaps, to the first waking sensations of a
fourteen-year-old boy on a Fourth of July morning.
Then without warning the small chronometer on
the transverse above his head rapped out smartly
two double-chimes—ships' time: four bells: ten
o'clock in the forenoon.
Astonished, he sat up quickly, and his still sleepy
gaze, passing through the companionway, encoun-
tered the amused regard of the soi-disant Melchis-
edec Appleyard. Promptly Coast found himself in
full possession of his faculties. That in obedience
to first instincts he nodded with a cordial smile, was
significant.
Appleyard returned the salutation with a quick bob
of his small head. “Good-morning, hero!” he sang
out cheerfully.
He sat in the cockpit, huddled into the folds of a
79


80 NO MAN'S LAND
grey blanket, voluminous for his slight figure, a thin
but wiry forearm bared to wield the cigarette he
was smoking with every indication of enjoyment.
A dense blue space of sky behind him set off effect-
ively his bird-like head thatched thinly with sparse
strands of pale yellow hair. Coast remarked pri-
marily the alert and pleasant eyes of faded blue,
looking out of a face faintly burned by the young
summer sun, secondarily the thin-lipped mouth with
its drooping twist on one side, eloquent of much
humour. These, lightened by an indefinable gleam
of indomitable spirit, moderated by a suggestion of
sensitive intelligence and breeding, endowed the man
with an individuality which Coast thought infinitely
engaging.
“Good-morning," he returned. “How d’you
feel after your adventure?"
“Unclothed but in my right mind,” said Apple-
yard, with a twinkle of anxiety amending: “to the
best of my knowledge and belief.” He indicated
airily the various articles constituting his painfully
simple wardrobe. “Waiting for 'em to dry.
Otherwise '—a claw-like hand clutched jealously
the folds above his bosom—“I'd've changed my
act: the rôle of Squaw Man likes me little; it jars
upon my temperament to play it without a pipe. On
the other hand, I commend your taste in cigarettes.
Goaded by poignant pangs of starvation, I foraged


NO MAN'S LAND
81
for 'em and have breakfasted famously on a round
half-dozen.”
“We'll do better than that presently,” said Coast,
pulling on his clothes.
Appleyard hopped up, fingered his everyday attire
critically, and pronounced it bone-dry; then, bun-
dling it up, he returned to the cabin, seating himself
on the opposite transom to dress.
“And the sensations of a hero, refreshed by sound
slumbers, are- ?”.
"Hunger," said Coast. He moved forward and
began to experiment gingerly with a new and untried
alcohol stove. “I can offer you eggs, coffee, biscuit
and nothing else,” he added, producing raw mate-
rials from a locker. “You see, I hadn't expected
to entertain.”
“Rotten inconsiderate of you,” Appleyard grum-
bled. “I'll wire you a warning next time it occurs
to me to drop in unexpectedly. ... By the way,
you saved my life, d'you know?”
“Oh, here now!” Coast protested.
“Don't shy; I merely want to explain I've already
cancelled the obligation by saving yours.”
Coast stared. "How?"
“By shooing off your acquaintance, Huxtable.
He rowed out a-purpose to talk you to death, and
incidentally to find out what I meant. Sighting me
from the dock, he was naturally frightened: seemed


82
NO MAN'S LAND
.
to regard me as some unhandsome sort of change-
ling, and wanted to come aboard and assure himself
of your safety. So I had to get rid of him.”
“How did you manage that?"
“In the most gentlemanly way imaginable."
Appleyard's lips twitched. “I begged him to get
the hell outer here and mind his own business. Ab-
surdly enough, the ass did.”
Coast lifted the wings of a folding-table built in
forward of the centre-board trunk, set it with cups
and plates, and turned again to his stove.
“How do you like your eggs?".
“Not at all, as a rule. In the present instance,
however, rather than cause you embarrassment, I
will gracefully make an exception. My impression is
that eggs have a depressingly monotonous similarity
of flavour, whether scrambled, poached, shirred,
fried on either or both sides, boiled two and three-
fourths or fifteen minutes, served as an omelette or
à la Béchamel ... But I fear I bore you. Your
preference, sir, is mine.... How I do rattle
on!”
“Don't you!” said Coast agreeably.
Divided between amusement and perplexity, in
the course of the meal he reviewed a personality
singularly enriched by a variety of suggestions con-
sistently negative. Mr. Appleyard's clothing was
nondescript and reticent, comprising an ill-fitting


NO MA'N'S LAND
83
on
coat with trousers of faded shoddy belted in with a
leather strap, a flannel shirt morbidly blue, and cheap
canvas shoes with thin, well-worn rubber soles-
the kind of footgear known widely as tennis sneaks.
This simple costume masked a body little over five
feet long and almost painfully emaciated, which he
carried with a slight stoop, the head a trifle lowered.
His hands were lean and bony, neither soft nor too
white, yet clean; not a sailor's hands, nor yet a vaga-
bond's. The man's age was indeterminable—some-
where between thirty and forty-five. Loosely sum-
marised, he might have been anybody or nobody
on a lark or his uppers. An indubitable enigma
Coast found him as their acquaintance progressed:
comprehensible bodies wear some indications of their
origin and vocation, do not alternate an appallingly
voluminous English vocabulary with abrupt digres-
sions into the slang of a dozen widely separate local-
ities; neither are they uncannily perceptive.
Appleyard looked up quickly, with a shy, humor-
ous smile.
“Well, what d'you make of me?".
“It's hard enough to guess what you've made of
yourself.”
“Flattery note,” observed Appleyard obscurely.
“Yet you win my sympathy'; sometimes I am moved
to wonder-really.” He tapped an egg thought-
fully, a crinkle forming between his colourless eye-


84
NO MAN'S LAND
brows. “It's really not what a man makes of him-
self: it's what his temperament does to him."
“Temperament!”
“Yes; you really ought to keep one, too; they're
all the rage just now—and such excellent excuses for
the indulgence of your pet idiosyncrasies."
“Oh!... And you blame yours for what?”
“For making me a-I presume posterity, in the
final analysis, will adjudge me a Romantic."
“Literature?” asked Coast, aghast.
“ Good Heavens, no! Nothing like that:
Life.” He sighed profoundly. “Shall I rehearse
to you the story of my life? No, I shall not re-
hearse to you the story of my life. But at all costs
I shall talk about myself for a space: I insist upon
it: I love to. You don't seriously object?” he
added, anxious.
“Then compose yourself. ... Born at an early
age—in fact, at as early an age as you can comfort-
ably imagine-I found myself immediately the sport
of sardonic fortunes. That name, Melchisedec!
One felt that there must be in one's future life some
warmth of Romance to compensate for that infamous
ignominy. So labelled any reasonable human should
logically have looked forward to sure degeneration
into the American peasant of the New England
magazine-story type, sans brains, bowels, breadth,
beauty. A born iconoclast, however, as soon as I
Soon a


NO MAN'S LAND 85
wakened to realisation of my plight I mutinied and
resolved to live down my shame. Thenceforward I
set myself to painstaking muckraking in modern life,
seeking the compensating Romance without which
life were but death in life.” He paused and cocked
an eye at Coast. “Not bad for a beginning,
what?"
“A little prolix," commented Coast dispassion-
ately, falling in with his humour. “But continue.
You found your Romance?”.
“What is so-called—alas, yes! I found it, as a
rule, a nom de guerre for crime. ... Lured by
legend, I have traversed much of the known world,
oniy to come to that conclusion. I have penetrated
the fastnesses of the Tennessee mountains, nosing the
illicit still: which proved merely sordid. Counter-
feiting seemed to promise largely—and discovered
itself the most ill-paid calling in the world. Dip-
lomatic intrigue unmasked proved to be merely a
popular fallacy shining in the reflected lustre of the
Six Best Sellers. . .. But I refrain from wearying
you with a catalogue of the exploded mines of Ro-
mance; a list inordinately lengthy, believe me. High
finance, I admit, escaped my probe; but the recent
plague of Wall Street plays discouraged me, demon-
strating there could be no Romance there. ... So
at length you find me turning in despair to the Seven
Seas: afloat, at all events, one must of necessity pur-


86 NO MAN'S LAND
IS-
sue the glamourous promise of the Unknown that
lurks just down the horizon."
Appleyard paused, his mien subdued, his gesture
bespeaking resignation.
“All of which means— ?” Coast insisted.
“I hardly know. Frankly, I thought that speech
rather stupid myself. That's why I chopped it off.
... One talks. ... You may have noticed?"
“I have,” said Coast drily.
“You would, naturally," returned Appleyard
without resentment. “But would it amuse you to
learn how I came to be on board that fisherman ?”.
“You mean how you came to be overboard. ...
Perhaps it would. You're the best judge of that."
“True." Appleyard accepted and lighted a ciga-
rette, frowning soberly. “It was," he began, “due
principally to my fatal passion for this Romance
thing, sir. I have already acquainted you with my
determination to pursue my quest of that shy spirit
upon the trackless ocean. Conceive, now, the bitter-
ness of the disappointment which o'erwhelmed my
ardent soul when I applied for a berth as a foremast
hand, only to be informed I was physically unfit,
that, as one brutal mate phrased it, I'd blow away
in the first half-a-gale. ... I give you my word,
Mr. Coast, I've been sticking round this waterfront
a whole fortnight, vainly seeking nautical employ-
ment. Last night, for the first time, for a few brief


NO MAN'S LAND 87
cam
hours, I was permitted to flatter myself that fortune
was on the point of favouring me. For a fugitive
moment I sipped the chalice of Romance and rolled
its flavour beneath my tongue.”
Appleyard half closed his eyes and smacked his
lips, his expression one of beatific bliss.
"You've a pretty taste in pleasures,” Coast com-
mented.
Appleyard waved the interruption aside. “It
came about largely through a whim of Chance," he
resumed, “as all true adventure must. Quite by
accident I fell in with one of the crew of that fishing
smack, he being well under the influence of liquor;
in a way of speaking, he'd looked too long upon
the wine when it was red-eye and half wood-alcohol.
Craftily simulating a like condition, I plied him fur-
ther and succeeded in learning the name of his vessel
and the fact that she was expected to sail with the
morning tide-together with other details that in-
trigued me. Then, leaving the sodden wretch to
sleep off his disgusting debauch, I caused myself to
be conveyed aboard the lugger-I mean schooner-
and stowed away in his bunk, trusting to luck to avert
discovery until the morning. Unhappily I, with the
rest of the crew, was routed out incontinently by an
unmannerly brute with a belaying-pin (at all events
it felt like a belaying-pin-an instrument with which
I am unacquainted save through the literature of
Ter-
U


88
NO MAN'S LAND
the sea) and forced to go on deck to help heave
anchor. ... Or should I say, 'weigh anchor'?"
“I'm not quarrelling with your style,” chuckled
Coast. “Why not put off polishing your periods un-
til another time?"
“Thank you,” said Appleyard gratefully. “To
resume: My detection promptly ensued and my
presence was dispensed with, a trace unceremoni-
ously, perhaps, but no doubt very properly from
the skipper's point of view. With the subsequent
phases of this most delectable adventure you
are familiar; therefore, I confidently assume your
concurrence with my conclusion; which is—here am
I. ... Now," he wound up, inclining his head at
an angle, and favouring Coast with a frankly specu-
lative stare, "what are you going to do with me?”
Coast opened his eyes wide, with a lift of brows.
“I don't know that I contemplate doing anything
with you, Mr. Appleyard."
"It's not yet too late for the amende courteous,”
suggested his guest.
“I'll gladly set you ashore
" Pardon, but that's precisely what I don't want
you to do."
“But- "
"A moment's patience, sir. The Echo lacks a
crew: I offer my services unanimously in that
capacity.”


NO MAN'S LAND 89
“But I don't want a crew.”
“Oh, don't say that!”
“And I have no need of one."
Appleyard lifted both hands and let them fall
with a gesture of despair. “Infatuated man!”
he murmured, regarding Coast with commisera-
tion.
“Why infatuated?”
“What do you know of these waters ? " the little
man counterquestioned sharply.
“Little," Coast was obliged to admit; " or noth-
ing, if you insist.”
“And yet you say you don't need a crew !”
"But, my dear man, I do know how to sail a
boat; and with a copy of the Coast Pilot, charts, a
compass and common-sense ".
“You may possibly escape piling her up the first
day out-granted. On the other hand, I happen to
be intimate with these waters; I can pilot you safely
whither you will; I can afford you infinite assistance
with the heavy work-it's no joke, at times, for
one man to have all the handling of a craft of
this size. I'm exceedingly handy, small and in-
conspicuous, neat, a fairish cook, and normally quite
pleasant to be thrown amongst-never savage save
when denied the sweet consolation of continuous
conversation. Finally, I'm a great bargain."
“What do you mean by that?”.


90
NO MAN'S LAND
“I offer my valuable—nay, invaluable services,
gratis, without pay."
“But why do you do that?” demanded Coast,
blankly.
Appleyard executed an ample gesture. “Ro-
mance," he replied, sententious.
* Oh?”
A faint flush dyed the little man's cheeks; simul-
taneously he asserted some little dignity. “Am I
to infer from your tone that you don't take my ac.
count of myself ".
“Shall we say 'seriously??” Coast interposed with
his disarming smile. “You'll surely agree that, as
yet, I hardly know you well enough to be able to
judge whether you're the Romantic you profess or
just a plain romancer.”
Somewhat mollified, Appleyard took to stroking
his cadaverous jowls. “If you keep on talking in
that stilted way," he remarked, with immense can-
dour, “you'll grow as tiresome as I am—at times.
... Not only that, but that yarn of mine was fully
half true.”
“Of that I'm convinced."
"What shall I say, then?” Appleyard pondered
aloud. “That I've taken a violent personal liking
to you? That I find a definite pleasure in your so-
ciety (you do listen wonderfully well, you know)
and am moved by a desire to save you from the
ime
1.


NO MAN'S LAND
91
perils of waters which you've never navigated? Or
does that seem too rotten sudden? Certainly grati-
tude on my part 's not wholly preposterous, seein'
as how you saved me from being extinguished be-
cause of my fondness for the nether garments of
civilisation. . . . Do I impress you by any chance ? "
“Hardly, I'm afraid. You see, I don't know
you."
Appleyard's smile deprecated Coast's. “Granted
that I may be a fugitive from justice- ".
“It's not impossible,” Coast conceded fairly.
The little man grinned cheerfully at the overhead
beams. “I don't presume you'd take me for a bur-
glar _”
"I haven't considered taking you at all, remem-
ber.”
“Or a malefactor of great wealth- ".
* An orator seems more plausible.”
Appleyard's grin generated a chuckle, the chuckle
a laugh outright. “A hit, a palpable hit!” he
crowed.
"Who are you, anyway?” pursued Coast incau-
tiously.
“I might put the same question to you, sir."
“To your prospective employer?”
The faded eyes twinkled. “As nearly won over
as that, Mr. Coast ? Decidedly my talents should
have been devoted to spellbinding, as you so deli-


92
NO MAN'S LAND
mo
cately suggest. ... But squarely, sir"—he grew
momentarily grave and earnest—"I've been pain-
fully truthful: my monaker is actually Melchisedec
Appleyard, incredible as it may sound. I give you
my word I'm an honest 'man; the law has no knowl-
edge of or concern with me. I may be (I confess ap-
pearances so indicate) an also-ran of the last run of
shad; my straits may be such that bed and board
in return for my services for a few days would seem
an undiluted blessing; I may possibly have an axe
to grind concealed about my svelte young person.
I stand, however, simply on my proposition. Let's
chance it for to-day, at least: what d'you say? I
assume you intend to set sail this morning? Well,
then, if by evening you have wearied of my merry
prattling, or if for any other reason you prefer to be
alone, you have only to put me ashore. I ask no
fairer treatment; and, besides, you may as well give
in now as later; I'm a determined and tireless elocu-
tionist.”
For all his banter he betrayed not a little eager-
ness as he bent forward, scanning Coast's face.
His verdict was something deferred; Coast was
actually and seriously considering the preposterous
suggestion. The little man promised a diverting
companion, who had proven such up to that moment;
and there were dark hours when Coast needed di-
version poignantly. Beyond question it would be


NO MAN'S LAND
93
convenient to have somebody at one's beck and call,
to stand a trick at the wheel or advise concerning
dangerous waters. And, furthermore, Coast thought
to detect in Mr. Appleyard's manner a something
which lent more than a 'mite of confirmation to his
hint that he needed food and shelter-if only tem-
porarily. ... Finally, one inclined to like the man
for himself; his personality persuaded even when one
realised the apparent silliness of yielding to his im-
portunity.
In the end Coast nodded slowly. “I'll go you,"
he said, holding the other's eyes; "I'll take you at
your word.”
Relief shone radiant on the withered face. “Right
you are, Mr. Coast!” cried Appleyard, extending
a hand. “I promise you won't regret this. Word
of honour, sir!”
“That's understood.” Coast pressed the hand and
released it. “And now let's get under way. I'm
for bold water-Nantucket Sound to begin with.
Can we make Vineyard Haven by nightfall, do you
think?"
“With this wind, via Wood's Hole?” Coast
nodded and Appleyard considered sagely. “Of
course we can,” he proclaimed. “But hold on
how about the tide ?"
“Well, I confess— ” Coast began, shamefaced.
“You forgot that? I told you I'd prove indis-
COU
IS
-


94
NO MAN'S LAND
pensable, didn't I? You've got a tide book, of
course?"
“ There's an Eldridge in the rack just behind
you."
“Excellent." Appleyard seized the book and
thumbed its pages rapidly, muttering. “I was afraid
so,” he announced presently. “Against us all after-
noon—and the stiffest tide to buck on this coast,
at that. But wait a minute. Umm.... Yes, we
can make it by way of Quick's Hole easily enough;
that's quite another story: a bit farther round, but a
safer channel. Satisfied ?"
“ I'm content,” Coast laughed.


VI
was
“ALL ready?"
Coast, at the wheel, nodded to Appleyard, who
was crouching in the bows. “Ready," he said.
There followed a splash as Appleyard dropped
the hook of the mooring at which the Echo had been
riding overnight. The little man rose, ran nimbly
aft, and jumped lightly down into the cockpit.
For an instant the Echo hung in the wind; then in
obedience to Coast's management of the wheel, she
cast to port, and nosing the northwest breeze, gath-
ered way and bored out to mid-channel.
“Easily now,” said Coast.
"Aye, aye, sir!” replied Appleyard, paying out
the mainsheet steadily but jealously, inch by inch.
In a long and graceful sweep the Echo swung
round and slipped briskly down the harbour to the
urge of the following wind.
“Good little boat," commended Appleyard, belay-
ing the sheet while the catboat bowed graciously
to a strong land puff and as readily recovered.
“How's her wheel?”
* Very comfortable-just enough pull to make you
understand she knows her business, that this is as
much work as fun. I like that kind of a wheel. ..."
14.
95


96 NO MAN'S LAND
“Oh, she'll do, cap'n. I commend your judg-
ment in picking her out. . . . Any orders, sir, 'fore
I goes below to tidy up ?”
“You might bring up the compass."
“Right-O!” The little man ducked into the cabin
and bobbed back again with the portable binnacle,
which he placed on the engine-pit hatch, where
Coast could watch the shifting dial without
trouble.
“Thank you. . .. Due south from Butler's
Flats Light, you say?"
“ Better say sou' by east. And hold her down and
watch her walk across the bay. She's a lady, this
one-or Melchisedec doesn't know boats from
beans."
With this the wearer of that name returned to his
self-appointed task of making everything ship-shape
in the cabin.
Off Butler's Flats Coast laid the course by compass
and trimmed the sheet to correspond. Then run-
ning free-the sail fat with wind—the Echo stepped
out proudly, tugging at the wheel as a thorough-
bred lunges at the bits. The pursuing wind was
scarcely more fleet or light of foot than she; in fact,
so nearly did the speed of each approximate that
Coast was conscious of no movement in the air; it
was crisp, exhilarating, delicious, but it seemed still.
Steadying the wheel with his knees, he found and
as


NO MAN'S LAND
97
filled his pipe and struck a match: the unguarded
flame rose above the bowl with barely a flicker.
The Echo swept on, silent and swift, skimming the
sea as lightly as a gull. Now and again the wind,
freshening to a stronger gust, would cause her to luff
like a headstrong colt shying to the roadside; at such
times it required all Coast's might to bring her back
and hold the course. He liked that; humouring her
almost humanly joyous quirks and caprices, he
laughed gently to himself, feeling they were in some
sense akin, he and his boat; footloose both and fancy-
free, with all time (as it seemed) at their command,
a fair sky overhead, a fair wind to waft them whither
their idle whims might list.
The sky, indeed, was radiantly fair and cloudless,
only in the far southwest tarnished by a dim and
dull, low-lying reef of haze. Sunlight crystal-clear
showered molten gold upon the swinging waters and
struck white fire from distant sails and the frosty
crests that raced the catboat until, distanced, they
fell back and broke with a brisk and stirring rattle
that seemed, like the plaudits of a friendly audience,
to incite the boat ever to fresh endeavour.
With a rapidity all but incredible to Coast, the
mainland dropped astern, fading to a blurred bar
setting apart the sapphirine waste of sky and sea.
From the scuppers came a cheery gurgling, from be-
neath the bows a hiss, from astern the swish and purl


98
NO MAN'S LAND
zine
of the wake, and an occasional smack as the Echo's
tender broke through a roller or came down heavily
from a crest.
Bred of these all a spirited humour ran riot in
Coast's mood; he felt as though wine were fluent
in his veins instead of blood. Now and again
he caught himself talking to the boat in an intimate
undertone, as to a sentient being; and laughed
softly at his own conceit. Once, even, he lifted up a
strident, toneless voice and sang with immense gusto,
unmindful of his audience below.
“I've never sailed the Amazon,
I've never reached Brazil;
But the Don and Magdalena,
They can go there when they will !
“Yes, weekly from Southampton
Great steamers white and gold,
Go rolling down to Rio
(Roll down-roll down to Rio!)
And I'd like to roll to Rio
Some day before I'm old.
“I've never seen a Jaguar,
Nor yet an Armadill-
O dilloing in his armour,
And I s'pose I never will,


NO MAN'S LAND
99
"Unless I go to Rio
These wonders to behold
The "beho-o-old" trailed off brokenly, as if dis-
couraged, as Appleyard re-emerged from the cabin
and stood listening attentively, his head perked crit-
ically, until the wind had whisked away the last,
long, lingering, cracked note.
Then, “What was that?” he inquired ominously.
Coast grinned sheepishly. “Something of Kip-
ling's—set to music by some German composer, I
believe. Why?”
"Only this,” said Appleyard grimly, wagging a
twig of a forefinger determinedly beneath Coast's
nose: "it wasn't in the bargain. I shipped on this
here vessel as general scullion and maid-of-all-work,
but they wasn't nothin' said about any imprompty
musicgales. That sort of thing may be soothing to
your savage breast, but me, I'm civilised more or
less. You keep it up and I warn you every man-Jack
of your crew'll mutiny. You hear me."
“All right," Coast conceded with a tolerant
laugh; “if that's the way you feel about it, I wont
do it again.”
In the beginning they had had to pick a way
through a swarm of harbour shipping; catboats like
the Echo; small sloop-rigged craft and knockabouts;
pluttering gasoline tenders and larger motor-driven


100
NO MAN'S LAND
pleasure boats; coal and freight barges swinging at
anchor or lurching sluggishly in the tow of heavy
tugs; coastwise schooners, two, three and four-mast-
ers, laden with thousands of feet of yellow lumber; a
battered barque just in from the West Indies; slim
and beautiful steam-yachts gay with bunting, awn-
ings and fresh white paint.
Now they drew into more lonely waters. To the
eastward a fishing-smack was drifting down the
wind while her crew fished with hand-lines. Far-
ther away a smudge of tawny smoke smearing the
immaculate skies told of the morning boat from
Nantucket picking its way through Wood's Hole.
To starboard a staunch, grey old whaler with bluff
bows and high freeboard was standing under full
sail southwest for the Hen-and-Chickens Lightship
and the open sea beyond: one of the few survivors
of New Bedford's golden age, passing sedately
and with a certain disdain an inward-bound tramp-
steamer, rusty, weather-beaten and smelling to
Heaven, fresh from a year-long cruise on whaling
grounds where once the sail had reigned supreme.
Ahead the long line of the Elizabeth Islands was
assuming shape and colour.
Early in the afternoon the wind began to fail, its
volume diminishing by fits and starts; heavy puffs
alternated with spells of steady breezing successively,
more faint.
V


NO MAN'S LAND
IOI
Over the bows the entrance to Quick's Hole, the
passage between Pasque and Nashawena Islands, be-
came plainly visible.
Appleyard remarked the signs of change with a
wrinkle of disquiet between his brows.
“Going to have a shift of wind, you think?”
Coast asked.
The little man nodded anxiously. “It's a cinch,"
he asserted. “And when it does swing the chances
are ten to one it'll come in from the sou’west.
That's the prevailing wind round here at this season,
you know."
"Well? Even so, it'll favour us up the Sound,
won't it? Besides, we've got the motor. ..."
" That'll help a heap in case that fog comes down
on us, won't it?” Appleyard snorted in disgust,
nodding toward the bank of tawny haze that dis-
coloured the horizon beyond the low profiles of
Nashawena and Cuttyhunk, over the starboard coun-
ter.
“ Hadn't thought of that - "
“And yet you had the nerve to resent my sugges-
tion that you needed a keeper!”
“Well then, it's up to us to make that passage
as soon as we can-what? Hadn't I better get
the motor going? Here, take the wheel, while
I_
"
“Never mind,” Appleyard returned. “That's


102
NO MAN'S LAND
my job. You stay put. That is, unless you pre-
fer- ".
“No; I'm not crazy about it. Go ahead and break
your back turning up a cold engine, if you want to."
“Don't let that fret you any, Cap'n.” Appleyard
grunted, setting the binnacle aside and lifting the
engine-pit hatch. “Me, I was born and brought up
with marine motors; they used to fill my nursing
bottle with a mixture of gasoline and Vacuum A.
Pipe your uncle."
He dropped lightly into the pit, threw in both
the main and shut-off switches, opened the globe-
valve in the feed pipe, made a slight adjustment of
the carbureter, and slowly turned up the fly-wheel.
An angry buzzing broke out in the spark-coil.
“You see,” he said with elaborate nonchalance.
“They're all alike—any one of 'em will feed right
out of my hand.”
He rocked the fly-wheel to and fro half a dozen
times, then gave it a smart upward pull. Instantly
there was a dull explosion in the cylinder, and the
wheel began to spin steadily to the muffled druma
ming of the exhaust.
Gathering way, the boat moved at a more lively
pace, with her sail flapping empty and listless and
an idly swinging boom.
“That fellow Huxtable's no such grafter as you'd
think,” said Appleyard, lingering in the pit to make


NO MAN'S LAND
103
a few minor adjustments; “this is some decent
little engine. New, too-all the latest wrinkles; I'm
strong for that thing of bolting the spark-coil di-
rectly to the cylinder-head, for one.”
He climbed out, replaced the hatch and wiped his
greasy hands complacently upon his trousers. “Not
at all bad for a motor that's been cold Heaven knows
how long," he continued, standing with an ear
heedful of the deadened coughing, clicking and hum-
ming going on beneath their feet. “ Runs like a
sewing-machine. Am I a wizard? Who's worth his
weight in gold? Little Melchisedec, sure's you're
born."
And he proceeded with a business-like air to lower
and furl the now superfluous spread of canvas.
By the time Coast, instructed by his highly efficient
crew, had piloted the Echo safely through to the
Sound, a dead calm held. To the south the Vine-
yard loomed, indefinitely distorted through the dance
of heated air. Eastwards, on Lucas Shoal, a fleet of
fishermen bobbed like toys, dancing with their pigmy
images mirrored in the slowly heaving, glassy water.
But even at that distance the dull detonations of
their exhausts were audible as, one by one, they started
homewards, flying before the threat of the fog.
“Too late," announced Appleyard dispassionately,
watching them; “ you're all going to get caught, you
giddy procrastitutes.”


104. NO MAN'S LAND
A little later a chill breath of air fanned Coast's
cheek, the first whiff out of the southwest. The
waters flawed and darkened with the flying catspaws.
The fog swept in swiftly. Far across the breadth
of wind-dulled water Coast could see it moving
onward like a wall, momentarily gaining in bulk.
Already it was hovering threateningly over Gay
Head, and while he looked a thin, grey, spectral
arm stole across the low land at Menemsha Bight
and began to grope its blind way up the Sound.
Freshening slightly, the wind blew soft, steady and
cool. Dreary, lustreless, colourless shapes of mist
drifted overhead like wandering wraiths, dyeing
the water with the hue of frosted silver. Over
its surface balls of leaden vapour rolled, gigantic
vanguards of the imminent, all-conquering host. A
sea of mist amputated Gay Head from the main
body of Martha's Vineyard; the headlandı itself
stood out valiantly in its painted beauty but a lit-
tle longer, then reeled giddily and was sucked
under. Veil upon veil of vapour enshrouded the
little fishing fleet. Cuttyhunk and Nashawena dis-
appeared. Off the port beam Pasque was smothered;
farther on Naushon faded and vanished. A cloud
inexorable and impenetrable closed down upon the
world and blotted out the sun.
Somewhere astern an ocean-going tug with a tow
of three barges set up a frenzied bellowing; barge


NO MAN'S LAND 105
answered barge hideously. Plaintively the fishermen
bleated for mercy in two-score keys cacophonous.
A near-by lumber schooner methodically punctuated
the din with horn and bell.
“Noisy lot of beggars,” observed Appleyard.
“ Fog scares 'em silly. You'd think they'd never
been out alone before.”
" Just the same, we'd better follow the fashion
ourselves, don't you think?”.
"Well, rawther, cap'n; if we don't we're apt to
find ourselves quite in the swim, you know.” The
little man uncovered the motor and retarded the
spark until their speed was less by half. Then he
grasped a lever and tugged it wide. Up forward the
chime whistle, operated by compressed gas from the
exhaust, whooped a sonorous whoop, and so con-
tinued, under Appleyard's manipulation, “at inter-
vals of not more than one minute."
Coast steered with his gaze fixed upon the com-
pass on the engine-pit hatch, now his sole guide.
Insensibly the fog grew more dense, so that in time
the mast was more or less indistinct and only a yard
or so of pallid water was visible on either hand.
“ Vineyard Haven to-night, by any chance?” he
asked suddenly.
Appleyard shook his head decidedly. “Not unless
we get a breeze stiff enough to blow this off." He
abandoned the whistle long enough to wet one hand
com.


106 NO MAN'S LAND
over the side, subsequently holding it above his head
to determine the quarter from which the wind, if
any, was blowing. "What there was has fallen,"
he announced. “Not a breath stirring but what we
“Then we'd better find an anchorage for the
night?"
“Only thing to do. I'm willing to risk my valu-
able rep. as a weather prophet, that this won't lift
before morning."
“Tarpaulin Cove?"
Appleyard pursed his thin lips and rubbed his nose,
considering. “Good enough anchorage,” he ad-
mitted; "but for muh, I ain't strong for it. Menem-
sha Bight would do us more comfortably—across
the Sound, you know, a bit east of Gay Head."
“ Why Menemsha Bight?".
“Because there's an able-bodied and energetic fog
bell at Tarpaulin. Take my advice. There'll be
nothing but dead silence at the Bight, and it isn't
much of a run over there."
“You know best. How shall I hold her?”
“Sou'-sou’east."
“So." Coast put the wheel over and brought
the Echo round to that course, as indicated by the
compass.
Shortly after this the tug with her tows passed
astern-judging from the racket of their whistles.


108
NO MAN'S LAND
I'll go bail; and we certainly couldn't hold that course
as long as we have without striking land some-
where." He wagged a perturbed head, growling
inarticulate dissatisfaction. “Let me think. ...
Something wrong ... What ...? Wait!” he
cried abruptly. “Maybe . . . Hold that wheel
steady for a bit, will you.”
Dropping to his knees he peered intently into the
binnacle, at the same time opening the cut-off switch
and disconnecting the batteries. The motor promptly
coughed and was quiet, the droning in the spark
coil died away, and Coast, leaning forward in won-
der, saw the compass dial jerk as if suddenly re-
leased and then swing through an arc of almost
ninety degrees ere it steadied.
“What in thunder does that mean?” he de-
manded, surprised to the point of incredulity.
“Means we're both asses of blooded lineage,"
said Appleyard sourly, rising; "though you're not
a marker to me. I should've known better-I'd 've
thought of it right away if I had only half the sense
God gives the domestic goose. That compass was
right on top of the spark coil. Naturally it was
magnetised. ... And I would 've known better,
too, if ever I had run an engine with the coil on the
cylinder before! Oh-piffle!”
“ Then I've been holding the wrong course for
several hours.”
nse


NO MAN'S LAND 109
“Prezactly."
“And you haven't any idea where we are?"
“Not a glimmer.”
Thoroughly disheartened, Coast left the wheel.
“Nice mess,” he observed quietly.
Appleyard sighed profoundly. “The worst of it
is, I'm such a sawed-off little runt, too small for you
to kick as I ought to be kicked ..."
“Yes," said Coast.
He stared, discerning nothing but the dull violet
opacity of the fog, now shaded by the approaching
evening, hearing no sound other than the sighing of
ripples widening from the Echo's flanks as she
drifted with momentarily lessening momentum.
“I presume we couldn't tell anything from the
tide,” he said uncertainly.
"No," Appleyard replied in the same tone.
Coast tossed a scrap of cotton waste overboard
and the two men listlessly watched it drift away
upon the slick, oily surface water.
“That doesn't prove anything,” said Appleyard.
“S'pose we anchor-what?"
“We may be in a fairway,” Coast doubted.
“Don't hear any fog signals, do you?”
“No-o ..."
“I'm going to try it, by your leave.”
“No objection."
Together they went below and, lighting the cabin


IIO
NO MAN'S LAND
lamp, routed out a light anchor and cable. Then,
leaving Coast to fill, trim and set out the bow- and
side-lights, Appleyard fished for bottom. In time
he gave it up in disgust.
“No earthly use,” he said, coiling the cable. “I
let out ten fathom of this ding-blatted line, and noth-
ing doing. This must be the ship-channel with
such depth-unless we've managed to run round
Gay Head and out to sea. I'm clean off my reckon-
ing. We'll just have to trust to luck and the
whistle.”
With this he jerked viciously at the whistle lever.
The chime in the bows emitted a clear, sharp note
some ten seconds in duration, then ran down the
scale to a melancholy, throaty quaver, and expired
in an asthmatic wheeze.
“Tank empty,” said Coast. “We'll have to start
the motor again to fill it.”
“Aw, what's the use ? ” Appleyard contended.
“We can't see to steer. Why make a bad matter
worse by batting round blindly in the dark? I vote
we eat now—I'm dying a dog's death of slow starva-
tion-and afterwards I'll play a pretty little tune
on that fish-horn down below."
“That's a pious thought,” said Coast. “Come
along."
They dined simply and solemnly on cold things,
after which Appleyard, at his own suggestion, took


NO MAN'S LAND III
the first watch. “You need rest,” he argued, “and
I don't-rarely sleep over three hours a night. You
turn in now and when your time's up I'll call you.
There's nothing to worry about, anyway; we're per-
fectly safe unless we're in ship channel, which I
judge we ain't from the absence of any whistling
hereabouts.”
Coast was really very tired and little loath to be
persuaded. He dropped off instantly into dream-
less sleep. ....
At some time during the night he was disturbed
by a heavy splashing under the bows. He roused
just enough to appreciate where he was, and lay
staring drowsily at the cabin lamp until (he seemed
to have dozed off again and again awakened) he
was aware of Appleyard's presence in the cabin.
“Hello," he yawned, staring at the little man's
head and shoulders as he sat on the other transom,
beyond the centre-board trunk, busying himself over
something invisible in his hands. “What's up?"
"Sorry I waked you," returned Appleyard. His
eyes flickered keenly over Coast's face for an in-
stant. “We drifted aground a few minutes ago,"
he explained in a perfunctory tone; “I pushed off
with the sweep and anchored with a short cable."
“Whereabouts d'you think we are?” Coast pur-
sued sleepily.
“How should I know? Menemsha Bight for


(I 12 NO MAN'S LAND
va-
choice, but it might be anywhere along the Vineyard
Coast-possibly Pasque—or No Man's Land.”
“What's that?”
“No Man's Land? Oh, a little island south of
Gay Head, 'bout as big's a handkerchief. Practi-
cally uninhabited.”
Appleyard rose.
“What you doing?” Coast yawned extrava-
gantly.
“Cleaning my pipe. Go on and sleep; your time's
not up yet.”
“ What's o'clock?”
Appleyard mumbled something incoherent as he
stepped out on deck; and Coast turned over and
slept again.
It seemed hours later when he found himself
abruptly wide awake, in a tremor of panic anxiety
bred of a fancy that a human voice had cried out in
mortal terror, somewhere within his hearing. He
started up, informed by that sixth sense we call in-
tuition that conditions aboard the Echo had changed
radically since the last time he had fallen asleep; and
it seemed no more than a second from the moment his
eyes opened until he found himself in the cockpit,
glaring dazedly into the inscrutable heart of the fog.
At first, in his confusion, he could see nothing
amiss. The Echo was riding on a quiet tide and an
even keel, with scarcely any perceptible motion. The


NO MAN'S LAND
VI
rance.
encompassing darkness was intense, unfathomable,
profound; only the forward light showed a dim halo
of yellow opalescence near the masthead, and the
faint glow from the cabin lamp quivered on slowly
swirling convolutions of dense white vapour, like
smoke. The port and starboard lights had been ex-
tinguished, as they should be when a vessel comes to
anchor.
What, then, had interrupted his slumbers ?
He turned with a question shaping on his lips.
Appleyard was nowhere visible.
Coast required some minutes before he was con-
vinced of the fact of the little man's disappearance.
But the cabin proved as empty as the cockpit, and
the tender was gone.
He swore with vexation. “He shouldn't have
left the boat without waking nie up. ...
"Oh, well, it's all right. He's just run ashore to
find out where we are. He'll be back before
long."
He stretched, gaping. “Eh-yah! I'm stupid
with sleep ..."
The cabin chronometer interrupted with its quick,
silvery chiming. The eight strokes, paired precisely,
announced the hour of four in the morning. They
seemed startlingly loud in the great stillness.
As their echoes died, as though they had evoked
the genius of that place, a strange and dreadful cry
an


114
NO MAN'S LAND
rent the silence, sounding shrill across the waters, yet
as if coming from a great distance.
Eerie and eldritch, this goblin cry, like nothing
human, rang through the hag-ridden night, fainted
to a sickening quaver, and was no more.
So (Coast thought) might a lost soul wandering
in the emptiness of damnation voice its fear, its
anguish and despair.


VII
SOME moments elapsed, Coast's every nerve and
sense upon the rack. Though he heard it no more,
still that cry rang in his head, and he could but wait,
smitten dumb and motionless, feeling his chilled flesh
crawl, enthralled by fearsome shapes conjured up,
by an imagination striving vainly to account for
what had happened—wait (it seemed) interminably;
for what he hardly knew or guessed, unless it were
for a repetition or some explanation of that inexpli-
cable cry.
He received neither. His straining faculties de-
tected none but familiar noises: the soft murmur of
wavelets, a faint slap-slap of slack halyards against
the mast as the boat lifted and sank upon a long,
slow swell, the creaking of the rudder-head quadrant
that lacked a touch of grease, even (he fancied) the
hurried beating of his own heart: these and no more.
But for such homely sounds, he might well have be-
lieved himself with the boat suspended in the noth-
ingness of supernal night.
Insensibly he grew more calm. So silent was the
world, seemingly so saturated with the spirit of
brooding peace, that he was tempted to believe he
had dreamed that first shriek, to which he had wak-
115


116 NO MAN'S LAND
ened, and that the second was but an echo of it in
his brain: some hideous trick of nerves, a sort of
waking hallucination, to be explained only on psy-
chological grounds.
And yet ...
Appleyard? What of him? Was there any con-
nection to be traced between his mysterious disap-
pearance from the Echo and that weird, unearthly
scream? Was there really land near, and had the
little man found it only to become the victim of some
'frightful, nameless peril? Could that have been
his voice, calling for help ...? And in what dread
extremity. ...?
In his agitation Coast began to pace to and fro
in the narrow confines of the cockpit, stumbling over
the hatchway, knocking his shins against the seats
-two paces this way, two that,fuming and fretting
with his concern for Appleyard.
There was nothing he could do, no way to reach
the man. The tender was gone, the shore invisible
—and who should say how far distant? Otherwise
he would not have hesitated to swim for it. Be-
sides, there remained always the impregnable fog.
Even were he to find the shore, the fog would con-
tinue to prove an effectual blindfold-masking who
knew what lurking dangers.
By main strength of will he composed himself to
watch and wait. Seated with his back against the


118
NO MAN'S LAND
Coast stared at it with renewed interest, for the
first time convinced of the existence of a spot so
oddly named. A number of black dots along its
northern shore seemed to indicate buildings—but Ap-
pleyard had distinctly said “uninhabited.” Perhaps
the Coast Pilot would shed more illumination on the
question.
Consultation of that publication, however, added
little to his stock of knowledge. He shrugged with
disappointment, reading the single paragraph de-
voted to the island:
“ About 5 miles S. from Gay Head is No Man's
Land, a high, rocky, barren island, which is a promi-
nent landmark from seaward. A couple of buoyed
ledges lie between No Man's Land and the south-
western end of Martha's Vineyard. The south
shore of Martha's Vineyard is unimportant and
seldom approached by vessels, as it is out of the
track of navigation.”
Coast tossed the book aside in disgust. In-
sensibly, while he had pondered the locality, a con-
viction had taken form and grown in his mind that
this land off which the Echo presumably rode, was
No Man's Land. It seemed not improbable, con-
sidering the course they must have steered while the
compass was under control of the spark-coil, that


NO MAN'S LAND 119
the engine had been stopped somewhere off that ugly
ledge of rocks known as Devil's Bridge, which juts
out northwesterly from Gay Head. And, if such
were the case, any southerly tidal current might well
have carried the catboat down upon the curiously
christened little island.
Imperceptibly, too, while he conned the chart and
wondered, a cold glimmer began to temper the dark-
ness; the soft glow of the cabin lamp turned garish
in a wan, drear light, strange and mystical as moon-
shine. Dawn was at hand, a dawn as unreal and
ghostly as the night that it relieved. To the spa-
cious vacancy of the one succeeded the hollowness
of the other: night fading while still the obscuration
of the fog stood firm and dense as a blank wall.
Coast turned out the lamp and went back to the
deck.
There was nothing to be seen, nothing to do. ...
He fidgeted. ...
Then out of the confusion of his temper, in which
ennui stalked in singular companionship with per-
turbation, he chanced upon an odd end of thought,
one of those stray bits of information, mostly culled
from desultory reading, that clutter the back of every
man's brain.
He happened to remember hearing, some time,
some where, that fog rarely clings to the surface of
moving water; that, by putting one's vision upon a


120
NO MAN'S LAND
plane almost horizontal with the water, it is ordi-
narily possible to see for some distance round-
about.
“There may be something in it ... No harm to
try.”
Forthwith he scrambled out upon the stern, from
which, after some intricate manæuvring and by dint
of considerable physical ingenuity, he managed to
suspend himself, at peril of a ducking, with his head
near the water.
He was promptly justified of his pains; the theory
proved itself—in that one instance at least; between
the slowly undulant floor, glassy and colourless, and
the ragged fringe of the mist curtain, he discovered
a definite space.
Directly astern and, roughly, some forty feet
away, a shelving stretch of pebbly beach, softly
lapped by low-voiced ripples, shut in the view. The
Echo's tender, drawn up beyond the water's edge,
bisected it.
“Good," said Coast, abstracted, recovering from
his constrained position.
Curiosity gripped him strongly, caution contend-
ing vainly; he knew quite well that he would never
bide content until he had probed for the cause and
source and solved the mystery of that wild cry in the
night just gone.
Moreover, he felt in a measure responsible for Ap-


NO MAN'S LAND
I 21
pleyard. Surely there must be some strange reason
for his protracted absence.
Abandoning himself, deaf to the counsels of
prudence, Coast rose and stripped off his cloth-
ing.
He let himself gently into the water (fearing to
dive because he did not know its depth) and found
it warm-warmer than the air. He struck out
cautiously, using the slow, old-fashioned but silent
breast stroke. In two minutes, however, he was
wading up to the beach.
There was no sign of Appleyard: only the tender.
Upon that stone-strewn shore the feet of the run-
away had left no trail. Though Coast cast about in
a wide radius, he found no sign of the missing man.
The pebbles scratched and bruised his unprotected
feet, and he began to shiver with cold. He gave it
up, presently, returned to the tender, pushed off and
sculled out to the Echo.
Then, having rubbed his flesh to a blush with a
coarse towel, he dressed, took the small boat back to
the beach, drew it up and, now fully committed to an
enterprise the folly of which he stubbornly refused
to debate, set off to reconnoitre along the water's
edge, feeling his way.
After a time the beach grew more sandy, and em.
boldened by the knowledge that he would have his
footprints to guide him back, he left the water and


I 22 NO MAN'S LAND
11
14.
struck inland—but only to find his progress in that
direction checked by a steep wall of earth, a cliff.
like bluff of height indeterminable, its flanks waye.
eaten and deeply seamed by rain.
At random, with no design, he turned again to
his left and proceeded as before, but now along the
foot of the bluff, trudging heavily through damp,
yielding sand.
Still no sign of Appleyard.
He must have tramped, at a rude guess, several
hundred yards before he discovered either a break
in the bluff or any change in the general configura-
tion of the shore. Ultimately, however, the one fell
away inland and the other widened.
A moment later he came upon a small catboat
careened above high tide mark, with a gaping wound
in its starboard side, forward and below the water-
line.
She lay stern to the water. Taking the point of
her stem as his guide, Coast turned inland again,
on a line as straight as possible considering the slant-
ing lay of the land and the impossibility of seeing
anything beyond a radius of a few feet.
Though by this time the day was much brighter
-high dawn, he judged—there was as yet no hint
of relief; the fog, its density no jot abated, seemed
to cling palpably about him, like a garment-like
the magic coat of invisibility of the fairy tales: a


NO MAN'S LAND
123
cloak of confusion to its wearer, robbing the world
of all semblance of sanity and order; so that he
had a curious recurrent fancy that he moved in a
sort of waking nightmare, groping a blind way
through interminable oblivion. ...
He had not gone far upon this tack before he
stumbled upon a path of hardpacked earth, obviously
made by human feet. Then he found himself
mounting a rather steep grade, and in another
moment was face to face with a plain weather-
boarded wall of a wooden building.
There were no windows that he could discover on
this side, and though he listened keenly he heard
no sounds from within. It was with caution, none
the less, that he picked his way through a litter of
worthless rubbish—food tins, empty and broken
packing-boxes, rags, a section of fishnet worn beyond
repair, and the like to the front of the house, and
found an open door, through which he passed to a
haunt of silence, desolation and decay. Mildew dis-
coloured the walls and ceilings, where the plaster
had not crumbled and rotted away, disclosing raw
old ribs of lath and rafter; the staircase to the upper
storey had fallen in upon itself; the windows lacked
glass and yawned with broken sashes; the doors were
altogether missing; an indescribable débris cluttered
the flooring. ...
The briefest review of these dreary and forlorn
w


'124 NO MAN'S LAND
premises more than sufficed; Coast got him to the
open air again with all possible expedition.
A little farther on he found another structure lend-
ing encouragement to this theory that there must be
human beings near at hand. This, likewise construc-
ted of “ frame," seemed indisputably a store-
house, boasting both doors and windows, the former
locked, the latter boarded. Against one wall stood
a long, rude table of plain planking, its top foul
with the bleached bones and dried viscera of fish.
And at one end of this rose a mound of rotting cod
heads and tails.
Spurred on by avid inquisitiveness as much as by
his deepening concern on Appleyard's behalf, he took
his bearings carefully and moved on into the shrouded
unknown.
Other buildings presented themselves successively,
as like as peas to one another and to the first he
had encountered: all peopled exclusively by the seven
howling devils of desolation and their attendant
court of rats—or so he surmised from sundry sounds
of scurryings and squeaks.
He gathered that he was threading a rude sort of
street, fringed on one side to seaward-with the
abandoned dwellings of what had apparently been
a small fishing community.
“No Man's Land indeed!” he commented.


NO MAN'S LAND 125
“ Certainly lives up to the name, even if it's some
place else. It begins to look as if I'd drawn a
blank. . .. But Appleyard ...?"
He was moved vaguely to liken the place to the
Cold Lairs of the Jungle Books. “Only infinitely
sordid,” he mused, at pause: “lacking the majesty
and the horror... Wonder had I better go
back?"
As he hung in the wind, debating what to do,
whether to press on or to be sensible, swayed this
way and that by doubts and half-formed impulses,
somewhere near, seemingly at his very elbow, cer-
tainly not twenty feet away, suddenly a dog howled.
Long drawn, lugubrious with a note of lamentation,
the sound struck discordant upon his overtaut senses,
shocking him (before he knew it) to outspoken pro-
test.
“Good God!” he cried aloud. “What ?"
His voice must have carried to the animal; he
heard a whine, the quick padding of paws, and a
huge Scotch collie bounded clumsily out of the mists,
passed him within an arm's length, vanished and
returned, whining and circling, nose to ground, as
if confused and unable to locate him. He watched
the animal, half-stupefied with wonder at its erratic
actions; then unconsciously moved slightly. A pebble
grated beneath his foot. The dog wheeled toward


126 NO MAN'S LAND
him instantly and paused at attention, a forepaw
lifted, ears pricked forward, delicate nostrils expand-
ing and contracting as he sniffed for the scent of
man.
“Here, boy, here!” Coast called softly; and the
next moment had the animal fawning upon him,
alternately cringing at his feet and jumping up to
muzzle his legs and hands, as if they were his own
master's.
“Good boy! Steady now! So-o, so!" Puzzled
by this demonstrative reception, Coast bent over the
animal, trying to soothe it with voice and hand. It
was plainly in a state of high excitement and evi-
dently deeply grateful for his sympathetic tolera-
tion. He caught the finely modelled head between
his palms, lifting up the muzzle. “Come now," he
said in a soothing tone, “let's have a look at you,
old fellow. Good old boy—it's all right now,
steady ... Why, the poor brute's blind!”
For as its eyes rolled up he saw that they were
blank and lightless, the irides masked with a film
of white.
“Cataract,” he said, releasing the dog. “That's
why he couldn't see me. ...I wondered ...
Hello, what now?"
Comforted and reassured, the dog had drawn away
and resumed its mysterious circling, nosing the earth
with anxious whinings. Abruptly it paused, tense,
ce


NO MAN'S LAND 127
a.
lithe frame quivering, then made off at a rapid trot
in the direction whence it had appeared. A moment
later the heartrending howl wailed out again.
Almost unwillingly Coast followed, nerving him-
self against the discovery he feared to make. ...
Half a dozen steps, and he almost fell over the
dog. He recoiled with a cry of horrified consterna.
tion.
“Appleyard! ..."
But it was not Appleyard.
On raw, naked earth in the middle of the rude
village street, a man lay prone with one forearm
crooked beneath his head, his other limbs repulsively
asprawl. His head (near which the collie squatted,
lifting its mournful muzzle to the sky) was bare
and thickly thatched with reddish hair. The back
of his neck and what was visible of one cheek were
sunburned a vivid red. A peaked cap of blue cloth
lay a foot or so away. His body, rather short and
sturdily built, was clothed in a grey flannel shirt,
blue cloth trousers of a semi-military cut—with
braiding down the outer seams-grey socks and low-
cut brown shoes, neat and nearly new.
Mute with pity and consternation, Coast dropped
upon his knees beside the body and, overcoming an
instinctive antipathy, turned the head and shoulders
until he could see the face. Then he dropped it,
shuddering.
so
Ver


128
NO MAN'S LAND
The man had been murdered, foully slain by a
means singular and unique outside the Orient. Deep
buried in a crease round his throat Coast had seen
a knotted loop of crimson silk whipcord—the bow-
string of the East. Above it the face was a grinning
mask of agony and fear, dark with congested blood;
a face that, none the less—despite those frightfully
shadowed, blurred and swollen features—had un-
questionably once been comely in the youthful Irish
way. The mouth, with lips strained back to show a
blackened tongue clenched between teeth strong,
white and even, had once been firm and humorous.
The protruding eyes, now filmed with a cast of
agony and terror, once had shone with a kindly,
generous light. The brow was good, the nose well-
shaped, the chin square and pugnacious.
Coast also remarked the man's hands; they were
clean and shapely, the nails close trimmed: not the
hands of a manual labourer.
He resisted a temptation to explore the pockets,
swayed by a powerful repugnance to contact with
dead bodies. Later, perhaps, when he had found
Appleyard ...
He rose and searched the ground for indications
of a struggle. He found none. No confusion of
footprints about the dead man showed on the damp
earth. Apparently the victim had been taken from
behind, without warning.


NO MAN'S LAND 129
Irresolute, baffled, he lingered for another
moment.
By his side the dog howled deep and long.
He turned, half-faint, and fled the place, bearing
with him what he was not to forget for many a
night: the picture of the blind dog mourning full-
mouthed beside the crumpled, lifeless Thing that
had been its master, there in that nameless spot of
death and desolation.
The horror of it crawled like delirium in his
brain.
"No Man's Land?” he muttered huskily ...
“ Land of devils ...!"


VIII
“THERE's no sense in this–none whatever!”
Coast spoke for the first time in twenty minutes or
so. “Where in thunderation am I, anyhow?"
He stood in thought, pursing his underlip be-
tween a thumb and forefinger, wits alert to detect the
clue to his bearings that was denied him, for all that
the fog had thinned perceptibly within the last third
of an hour.
It was now as if he occupied the centre of a cloud-
bound hemisphere between thirty and forty feet in
diameter, within which objects were visible with pass-
able clearness. But he considered the advantage of
this improvement almost if not quite negligible,
what the fog chose to disclose little or not at all in-
forming. This much he knew and no more: that he
was lost.
A beaten path, thin and straggling, wandered un-
derfoot; to his right lay a breadth of lumpy ground
covered with coarse grass and something resembling
gorse; to his left ran the irregular brink of a bluff,
beneath which vapour swam, impenetrable, hiding
the beach and the grumbling tide.
Practically ever since he had turned away from
130


NO MAN'S LAND 131
that frightful scene which he could not forget, he
had been following this track, to his bewildered per-
ceptions much as a fly might circumnavigate the rim
of a saucer; for his sensations were those of one who
strays blindfolded in a circle. Somehow the de-
serted fishing village had seemed to vanish bodily
from the face of the earth at the instant of his flight;
and what was infinitely more disturbing, his sense of
locality had become so confused that, whichever way
he turned, he found himself always ascending, as
though he had stumbled witlessly into some cup-like
depression from which it were only possible to escape
by climbing.
Now, exasperated and discouraged, he halted,
feeling himself a very pawn of Chance, delivered
into the hands of that grim and impartial deity
through his own egregious folly.
As from a great distance came the muffled mourn-
ing of the blind dog. Coast shivered. “I can't
stand that,” he said irritably, and plunged on in
desperation.
Before him, presently, a wall started up out of the
mist-bound earth, a low stone wall, grey where it
was not green with lichen, and ran off inland, divert-
ing the path to keep it company. Some distance
farther on a second wall, counterpart of the other,
intersected it at right angles. Here was a primi-
tive stile. Coast climbed over and continued, fol-


132 NO MAN'S LAND
VEN
lowing the thinly-marked, tortuous trail across a
wide expanse of rolling, semi-sterile, treeless upland,
thickly webbed with other footways.
He pressed forward steadily—doggedly, rather,
for remain inactive he could not-if without haste,
now mounting long rises, again descending to shal-
low hollows, where clumps of alders, elderberry and
sumach clustered round small pools of muddy water.
Near the edges of these latter he noticed the spoor
of sheep; and once he passed a brace of ewes con-
tentedly browsing.
By this time the sun was high enough to illumine
and penetrate the mists with rays of heat and a
bright, diffused glow. The atmosphere was gravid
with humidity, the earth steaming like a damp cloth
by a fireside. Notwithstanding the moderation of
his pace, Coast perspired gently.
Unexpectedly a rail fence sprang up across the
path. Beyond it a company of indistinct blurs un-
certainly shadowed forth what he took, and what the
event proved, to be a farmhouse with outbuildings.
Arms on the topmost rail, he summed up the prom-
ise of the place.
It reeked of homely peace: an atmosphere so far
removed from the nightmare through which he had
moved that he found it hard to comprehend.
Within the fence the trampled earth was bare of
grass, weeds fringed the enclosure, fowls strolled
m
.


NO MAN'S LAND 133
clucking and pecking morosely in the sodden dust
under the suzerainty of a dilapidated cock; a num-
ber of hencoops, a crude, unlovely cowshed and
some farming machinery disfigured the immediate
foreground.
Encouraged, Coast climbed the fence and ad-
dressed himself to the farmhouse, coming inevi-
tably first to its main entrance, the kitchen door;
which stood hospitably wide, revealing an interior un-
tenanted but warm with recent use. In the range a
fire was smouldering. The central table was clut-
tered with crockery and cooking utensils. On a
chair a cat napped, complacent. The walls were
spotted with calendars and pictures clipped from il.
lustrated periodicals.
Coast did not enter, but moved round toward the
front of the house, his footsteps noiseless on the sod.
By the corner he stopped as though he had run
against an invisible barrier.
Ten feet distant a woman stood in the gateway of
a fence of palings. Half turned away from him and
more, so that only the rounded curves of cheek and
chin were visible, she seemed absorbed in pensive
meditation. One hand held the gate ajar, the other
touched her cheek with slender fingers. She was
dressed plainly to the verge of severity: a well-
tailored tweed skirt ending a trifle above ankles
protected by high tan boots; a blouse of heavy white
as


134
NO MAN'S LAND
linen with a deep sailor collar edged with blue-
sleeves rolled well above the elbow, revealing arms
browned, graceful and round; for her head no cover-
ing other than its own heavy coils of bronze shot with
gold.
m
Coast was conscious of a tightening in his throat
producing a feeling of suffocation, of a throbbing in
his temples like the throbbing of a muffled drum. In
a trice he had forgotten everything that had passed
up to that moment; even the haunting thought of the
murdered man dropped out of his consciousness; he
was unable to entertain the faintest shadow of a
thought that did not centre about this woman, not
a line of whose gracious pose, not a tress of whose
matchless hair, not a tint of whose wonderful col-
ouring but was more intimate to his memory than
his own features.
She was-she had been-Katherine Thaxter.


IX
His first translatable impulse was to turn and make
good his escape before she became aware of him.
But, as if the shock of recognition had palsied his
will, he remained moveless. Contending emotions,
resembling the flashes of heat and cold of an ague-
fit, alternately confounded and stung him to the
point of madness. For the first time in days he had
forced home to him all that he had sought to banish
from his life: his memories, of his gnawing passion
for the woman, of the black crime that had severed
their lives. Seeing before him the one being in the
world dear to him beyond expression, the one being
irrevocably lost to him, he divined anew with bitter
clarity the bridgeless gulf that yawned between them.
With the resurrected realisation of this, he began to
tremble uncontrollably; he seemed to see two women
-the bride pledged to him by years of mutual if
unspoken understanding, and the wife of the man
who had put upon him a wrong so monstrous, so un-
speakably foul that even to recall it seemed to vitiate
the very air he breathed, eclipse the light of day,
strangle within him every instinct of humanity.
Once again, in that bitter moment, he drank the
Women
135


136 NO MAN'S LAND
hemlock cup of disillusion and felt himself racked
by the death agonies of his every kind and generous
and noble inclination.
Extravagant as these thoughts were, they seemed
more real to him than life itself. ....
It was inevitable that the woman should in time
become sensitive to his proximity. Though wholly
unaware of his approach, though thoroughly assured
that she was alone, a feeling of uneasiness affected
her. She resisted it subconsciously and strove to
continue the line of thought which had engaged her;
but without effect. Coast saw her stir nervously and
shift her position. The hand that touched her
cheek dropped to her side; she leaned more heavily
against the gate-post; her bosom rose with a long
inspiration of melancholy, and fell slowly as her
breath sighed out. Then she turned her head, and
threw a flickering glance toward the house; the
shadow of his figure lay upon the boundary of her
vision. She swung quickly to face him, suppressing
a cry. Their eyes focussed to one another, his burn
ing, hers successively a-swim with astonishment, in-
credulity and consternation. For a long moment,
during which neither moved or spoke, while she
grew pale and yet more pale and he flushed darkly,
their questing glances crossed and recrossed like
swords at play.
Predominant in that pause the comprehension


NO MAN'S LAND 137
of change swept over the consciousness of each, like
a great wave temporarily submerging all else; for
their initial emotions were too many, too various and
confused, to contend at first against this poignant
recognition of the revolutions time had wrought.
From Katherine's eyes a woman's soul gazed
forth, experienced, mature, inured to sadness, gently
brave: where had been the eager, questioning, ap-
prehensive, daring spirit of a girl. He who had
suffered and lived could see that she in no less de-
gree had lived and suffered since that evening when
last he had seen her beneath the street lights,
bending forward from the seat of her town-car to
bid him farewell. Life is not kind: Life had not
been kind to her. If he had endured, she likewise
had endured, in another way, perhaps, but in no less
measure. She, too, had seen the splendid tapestry of
her illusions rent to tatters by Life's implacable hand.
For this one man alone was answerable-Black-
stock.
Of a sudden, on the echo of that name in his brain,
Coast's hatred of the man, the animosity that had
hardened to inexorable enmity in the crucible of his
passion, recurred with ten-fold strength and nearly
overmastered him. It is only the ruin their
own deeds have wrought that men can view com-
placently.
He stepped forward a single pace, with an uncon.


138 NO MAN'S L A N D
scious gesture as one who tears from his throat that
which hinders free respiration. “Where," he de-
manded without preface or apology, in a voice so
thick and hoarse he hardly knew it for his own
“Where is he?"
He saw her recoil from his advance, but whether
from fear or repugnance he could not guess. When
she replied it was with evident difficulty.
“ He?"
Impatient, he waved aside what seemed a palpable
quibble: she must know very well what he meant.
“What are you doing here, in this place, alone ?
Why did he leave you here?" He moved nearer,
his voice rising to vehemence. “Why are you
here, Katherine ?"
She drew back again, passing through the gate-
way, so that the fence stood between them. He
comprehended dully that she did this through fear
of him.
"I might ask as much of you."
"Of me?" Her quietly interjected remark threw
him momentarily off his line of thought.
“Yes, of you," she replied quietly, quick to see
and take advantage of his distraction. “How did
you get here? And why?"
“By boat,” he returned stupidly, only irritated
by this persistence in raising what to him, in
his humour of the moment, seemed trivial and in-
CA


NO MAN'S LAND
139
consequent issues—"my boat. We got lost and ran
aground in the fog last night. I came ashore to try
to find out where we were."
“Then you have escaped!” She went directly
to the sole explanation of his presence there that lay
within her understanding.
"Escaped?” He shook his head, not in negation
but testily. “Yes, of course; or I shouldn't be
here." It was plain enough to him that he had es-
caped the fate to which he had been sentenced. To
what else could she refer? “ But you-he-that
dog Blackstock-I want to know
“Garrett!" she cried sharply; and he fell silent
beneath the challenge of her eyes. “Mr. Black-
stock is my husband. Please," she continued, more
gently,“ don't forget that."
“Is it likely ?” he sneered. “But where is he?
What made him leave you here?".
“ Garrett!"
Her tone should have warned him, but he was
able to see but one thing, the conclusion to which
his reason, spurred by his inclination to credit the
worst to the man, had jumped the moment he real-
ised her existence in surroundings so foreign to her
kind: that Blackstock, true to type, having persuaded
Katherine to their clandestine marriage and gained
his end, the control of her little fortune, had aban-
doned her even as he had abandoned Dundas, even as


NO MAN'S LAND
141
we
She watched him, distrustful. “You didn't come
here on purpose . . .?"
“It was chance," he asserted. None the less an
unformed suspicion involving Appleyard crossed his
mind. He considered, rejected and forgot it all in
a breath.
“We bought the island last spring ..."
“Yes," he said listlessly.
Her nervousness drove her on in rambling, in-
consecutive and unnecessary explanation: “After
we returned from Germany, on account of Douglas's
eyes. . . . He is quite blind, you know, and the
shock of losing his sight almost prostrated him. He
is permitted no excitement, no social life—just peace
and such mental employment as his work affords.
So we heard of this place, looked it up and bought
it. The Standard Wireless people installed an ex-
perimental station for his use. But it isn't generally
known—the vice-president of the company, one of
his best friends, managed it all for us. The neces-
sity for seclusion, you understand . . . Even the
servants know him only as Mr. Black.”
“I understand," he said in an expressionless tone.
" And this "-he nodded toward the farmhouse-
“ is your home?"
“Not exactly." Already she was regretting the
intimacy her breathless explanation had implied.
She hesitated, seeming reluctant to continue. “We


142 NO MAN'S LAND
-Douglas and I–occupy two rooms of the bunga-
low, where the wireless station is, up on the hill.
There are no facilities for housekeeping, so we come
here for our meals. The servants live here-and
Mr. Power, my husband's assistant."
He looked away from her, avoiding her eyes,
while the struggle for mastery of self went on within
him. To make time, “You—you don't find it
lonely?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“And yet-cut off from the world—I should
think- "
“I have sufficient to occupy me," she interrupted.
“And we're not wholly out of touch. A boat brings
us provisions and whatever else we may require
from New Bedford every week.”
“You see the papers, then?” he asked with a
trace of eagerness.
“No; they are prohibited-doctor's orders.”
“And no one writes you?".
“Nobody knows where we are ...".
"An admirable arrangement: I congratulate Mr.
Blackstock," Coast commented—contemptibly, he
felt.
She gave him a look of slow, withering scorn.
“Do you think he fears you ?"
"Me? 01" He laughed shortly. “Probably
not."


NO MAN'S LAND
143
“Why should he? We both know you too well
to believe you would—repeat your mistake, in cold
blood, for sheer revenge."
“My mistake?” he parroted blankly. “Oh, to
be sure . . . No; hardly that.” He waited a
moment, noting how strained and tense she was.
“Nevertheless," he added quietly, “ I should like to
see him for a moment.”
“Is it necessary ?”
“I should like to see him," he repeated.
“He—isn't here just now.” She met his keen,
questioning look with a proud lift of her head.
* On the island," she continued, “but not here,
He'll be back before long."
“Thank you," he replied evenly; “ I'll wait.”
“But Garrett !” She seemed to overcome an in-
ward resistance and, re-entering the dooryard, stood
near him, touching his arm with a gentle, persuasive
hand, her eyes imploring. "Must you ?" He
nodded gravely. “But why—why rake up this
buried grievance?” she protested. “Is it wise,
right? . .. It's true, he testified against you. But
what else could he do? You had your chance—he
gave you your chance to escape, before the police
came. After that, he had no choice. You shouldn't
hold that against him, Garrett; if only you knew
how he hated to take the stand against you, how ter-
ribly he felt it when you were convicted practically


144
NO MAN'S LAND
on his evidence ...! But now that it's all over
and past remedy, wouldn't it be better not to reopen
that old wound? Kinder, Garrett, and more gener-
ous ... to me? You are free, can go where you
will ..." She broke off with an anxious thought:
“The detectives don't know where to look for
you?"
“What? No." He laughed aloud, but mirth-
lessly. “Oh, no, I gave them the slip
On
ago.".
" I'm glad. But now, please, Garrett, won't you
give this up. ...".
She said more, much more, continuing to plead
with him in a fever of distress, able only to compre-
hend one thing, that she must somehow avert the en-
counter he desired. But her rapid, stumbling ac-
cents were all meaningless in his understanding, which
seemed to reel, dumbfounded by this revelation of
the incredible. She had said enough to bring him
face to face with the hideous, infamous fact that she
still held him blood-guilty, still honoured and be
lieved Blackstock. He struggled to shake his wits
together and think coherently, but to little purpose. *
All the world was mad and topsy-turvy—a mad,
mad world, wherein all truth was false, faith was
treachery, justice parodied, honour deep dishonour.
For a little he felt that his reason hung in the
balance, teetering between wild laughter and still


146
NO MAN'S LAND
man
she were sorry for him for what he had undergone
or glad for him that he had escaped the ultimate and
shocking penalty of his wrong-doing; for if the long
years of their association, both as boy and girl and
man and woman, had taught her anything about his
character, he was not the sort to do evil dispassion-
ately. She endeavoured, as she had ever, to condone
his offence with the excuse of passion. But still he
frightened her; she found his presence appalling;
all the while her heart was fluttering frantically,
like that of a bird menaced by the wheeling shadow
of a hawk. . ... Curious it was to reflect that
she had once been fond of him, that the time was
not so far distant when she had shyly contemplated
the thought of marrying him. She shrank now in .
affright from that memory. . :. More curious
still to discover that she was still a little fond
of him, in some strange, tremulous fashion-while
yet she was shuddering to think that, but the moment
gone, in the intensity of her pleading, she had for-
gotten and put her hand upon his sleeve! The fact
affected her with a faint disgust, as if unwittingly she
had touched some foul creature of darkness. ...
Unconsciously she drew a pace or two away. The
action roused him. He lifted to hers haggard eyes
set in a haggard face; and their look was one of dis-
cernment. She knew instinctively that he divined
her thought, that he knew why she had drawn


NO MAN'S LAND 147
away from him. And so pitiful he seemed that be-
fore she knew it her mood melted and knew only
compassion for him.
“Oh, Garrett,” she cried impulsively, “I am so
sorry!”
Visibly he took command of himself. “I'm sure
of that,” he said slowly; "and I don't want to dis-
tress you. My coming here was pure accident, as
I've said; and presently I'll go and ... Blackstock
need never know I've set foot on the island-since
you wish it."
“Oh," she cried, half sobbing, “thank you
thank you!”
“But first I want you to tell me one thing."
“Yes—anything!” she promised gratefully, heed-
less of his sober scrutiny.
“Are you happy?” he demanded forthright; and
held his breath, for on her answer everything he
prized depended. “Are you happy with him-
Blackstock?"
It was like cold water in her face. She gasped and
drew herself up, straight and slim, defiant. “What
right have you to ask me that?”
“None but that of a man who loved you once, and
who, though he may not, loves you still—whatever
you may think him, Katherine."
She held her answer, quivering with indignation.
That he should dare ! Yet there were two
uma


148 NO MAN'S LAND
m
things in his attitude to calm her: an impersonal note,
puzzling, and a simple dignity that left little foothold
for resentment.
As for Coast, momentarily while she did not
reply, the issue hung in the balance, whether he
should speak or no: whether enlighten her forthwith
or leave her (were she happy in her marriage)
in her fool's Paradise. He felt himself a prey to
discordant impulses, pride and generosity counselling
him, each with a double tongue. Pride said: She
believes you guilty; she drew her skirts aside from
you as from the plague; speak and clear yourself.
Generosity said: She should know the truth; you
have no right to withhold it; it is your duty to speak.
Pride again: She would not believe you; she never
loved you; be silent and the day shall declare your
innocence and bring her to you craving forgiveness.
Generosity, finally: She may be happy: leave her
in peace. ...
He felt suddenly very weary and sick of all con-
nected with the death of Van Tuyl, willing to wash
his hands of it all and try to bury the memory.
Why not? He was free, responsible to none but
himself and his God. Of what avail to denounce
Blackstock and deliver him up to justice? Would
that right any wrong? The world was wide before
him; somewhere, somehow he would ultimately find
peace of some kind. Why not let matters rest


NO MAN'S LAND
149
W
.
as they were? Would it heal his hurts to prove
his innocence to this woman in whose heart he had
no place? ...
"I hold your happiness above all else,” he resumed
as the pause lengthened—“far above my own, Kath-
erine. That is why I ask you: are you happy?”
"I have no regrets," she told him steadily.
“That doesn't answer me.”
Her eyes wavered beneath his searching glance.
She turned away and stared off into the vacancy of
the fog.
“How is one to tell ? ” she said presently. “Isn't
happiness difficult to define? A thing of comparative
values? ... I am content; that much I know. I
have discovered something in life higher than the
gratification of self; I have learned that to serve
means more than to be served. I married the man I
loved; he needs me now, could hardly do without me.
I am a help to him in his work; he would probably be
unable to continue it without my assistance. ... I
have my cares, as he has his, as you have yours.
Who has not?... But a year is a long time; I have
learned much since ..." She took a deep breath.
“Yes," she concluded evenly: "I think I may say
I am happy, Garrett.”
But she kept her face averted.
“ And this?” he asked, stepping to her side and
lightly touching her bare forearm with his finger.


150 NO MAN'S LAND
Just below her left elbow four dark marks, like
bluish stripes set close together, stood out like weals
upon her delicate skin, where the flesh had been
bruised by the cruel pressure of a man's strong
fingers.
At his touch she recoiled with a half-stifled cry,
her face blazing. “Don't - don't !" she
gasped, trying with faltering fingers to pull down
the sleeve. But realising that it was too late, that
he had already seen, she recovered, sullenly leaving
the sleeve as it was.
“I'm sorry,” said Coast soberly; "I didn't mean
to touch you. I didn't think-had forgotten what-
what I may not expect you to forget. Only ...
that is his mark, Katherine."
“Well,” she flashed defiantly, “and what if it is?
Is he, or am I, answerable to you? Can he not touch
me ..." But his undeviating and penetrating gaze
disconcerted her; her anger rang unconvincing even
to herself. “It was an accident," she finished lamely.
“ One of the servants angered him—they are Chi-
nese and stupid—and in his blindness he mistook me
for the man and caught my arm. ..."
“It must have hurt,” said Coast, trying to believe
her.
She was silent, facing him with a trace of bravado.
He bowed.
“I beg your pardon; it was, as you suggest, none


NO MAN'S LAND
151
of my affair. I merely happened to notice, and it
startled me. ... Well, then, I'm going. Will you
be good enough to tell me the way to the beach ? "
Silently the woman indicated a path leading away
from the gate.
Still he lingered, letting his eyes drink their fill of
her; and knew, in a swift flash of certitude, that
never had she been more dear to him than in this
moment of renunciation, that never would his heart's
allegiance waver from her, whatever her mood or
circumstance. Whether she suffered him or as now
sedulously discountenanced him, his queen could
do no wrong. ...
With a sigh, inaudible, he went to the gate.
"There's nothing I can serve you in, Katherine ?"
"Nothing—only go away.”
“Then good-bye.” He shrugged slightly, lifted
his cap and put himself outside the dooryard.
“But, Garrett- "
He stopped. She moved down to the fence.
“Garrett,” she begged, breathless with the anxiety
roused by an unsuspected latent fear, “promise me
something ..."
He looked down into her sweet face, plaintive with
appeal. “Name it,” said he.
"If by any chance you should meet him—Douglas
I'm not sure where he is—don't, please "
“I'll be careful,” he assured her. “ Don't worry;


152 NO MAN'S LAND
I shant let him know who I am. If possible, I'll
keep out of his way.”
Her eyes were eloquent of inexpressible relief.
“Thank you,” she faltered, keenly alive to the trite
inadequacy of the words. “And, Garrett, you're
not-not angry with me?”
“Angry? With you!”
She was twisting her hands together. “I can't
seem to forget,” she said in a tremor. “I've tried
-I only wish I might—but I can't, I can't. Remem-
ber that, if I seem unkind.”
“You haven't been unkind to the man who shot
Van Tuyl,” he said, in spite of himself.
She did not seem to hear, or, if she heard, to read
the riddle in his enigmatic answer. “It isn't that
alone,” she protested; "that, perhaps, I could forget
in time. You weren't yourself: Douglas has always
insisted you were not. But, O Garrett, Garrett!
it was unmanly, it was unworthy of you to try to
shield yourself by accusing him! That I can't for-
get, that I'm afraid I shall never learn to forgive.
Why, Garrett, why did you permit that man War-
burton to do it?”
He heard her out in pitiful patience, too deeply
moved for anger or resentment to have any place in
the conflict of his thoughts. But in the struggle
going on within him while she spoke, almost with-
out knowing it he lost grip of his determination


NO MAN'S LAND 153
to hold his peace against a more fitting time-for-
ever, mayhap; and when she paused, he spoke al-
most mechanically, with little more expression than
he would have employed had he been called upon
to propound a problem in mathematics.
"As to that,” he said, his tone colourless, “I would
ask you to suspend judgment if you hadn't already
pronounced it. But I leave you this to consider: one:
of two men only could have killed Van Tuyl. Dun-
das we except by mutual consent; Blackstock admits
and I admit he didn't do it. There remain Black-
stock and myself, neither of whom could have been
convicted on the other's unsupported evidence."
“You are cowardly to say this to me, when he's
not here!”
But he had a level and emotionless look with which
to meet the impassioned scorn she showed him.
"Perhaps; but don't forget I asked only the op-
portunity to say as much to him. ... Has it
ever occurred to you that Dundas, not your husband,
sent me to Sing Sing—that, had Dundas been in my
pay, Blackstock would now be occupying the cell I
occupied ? "
He had himself well in hand. Otherwise she must
have seen how deeply moved he was. Simply to
watch her and not give way was almost more than he
could endure. He saw her trembling and blanched,
shaken wildly but quick with unquenchable disdain.


154
NO MAN'S LAND
And he adored her so, would not for worlds have
had her otherwise; though she despised him as the
meanest of God's creatures and let him see it in her
every look and gesture, he could have thrown him-
self down to kiss her boots, could have devoured
with caresses those small, clenched hands whose
knuckles showed so white beneath the skin. His love
for her had never seemed so great, so overpowering
as now. . . . His eyes kindled and his face blazed,
and his heart ached—with his love for her, the long-
ing that he must never voice. But she did not see.
She was answering him; her words came in a
torrent, stumbling over one another: her voice vi-
brant with unutterable contempt sounded in his hear-
ing like the hymning of angels. “Oh," she cried in
loathing—"insufferable!” And the desire to
catch her in his arms and stop her lips with kisses
was like a pain. “I never dreamed that man
could be so low, so vile!” she said; and he wished
himself beneath the foot she stamped. “I hate
you!" she told him; and beneath his breath he whis-
pered over and over: "I love you, I love you!"
"I ask nothing," he said, when she had to
stop, as much for lack of words as breath, “more
than that you think it over. You've told me what
you think of me—and I daresay you're somewhat
justified. But think it over; you owe me and you
owe yourself that. Weigh the worst you knew of me
WS


NO MAN'S LAND 155
before Van Tuyl was shot against what you have
learned of Blackstock since you married him; then
judge between us. Try to think which would
be the more likely to lose his temper because of a
drunken man's maudlin insolence. At best you'll
admit it's his word against mine, Dundas's word de-
ciding. And one way or another Dundas was a
perjurer: first his testimony convicted me, then his
testimony set me free.”
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded,
impressed in spite of herself.
"Dundas," he explained patiently, “committed
suicide in the Tombs a few days ago, after signing
a confession that he had testified falsely at my trial.
On the strength of that confession I was pardoned
by the Governor. You understand?"
Her face was ghastly. “You bought that con-
fession,” she asserted between set teeth.
He smiled painfully. “I presume I might have
anticipated that. ..."
“You daren't deny you bought it!”.
“From a man contemplating suicide ?”
That silenced her. Her poor, distraught wits
would frame no retort to his inexorable logic. Pulled
this way and that by doubts, each more terrible than
its fellow, she could no more than sway and stare at
him with eyes blank in a face like parchment.
His heart bled for her in her misery. If he could


Coast had not taken two-score paces along the path
to the shore before the day was again darkened by
a sudden and heavy thickening of the mists. That
brightening glow, which a little time back he had
hailed with hope as promise of early clearing, was
in an instant wiped away. So deep became the
gloom (to his fancy, as if the fog had been sprayed
to saturation with a myriad infinitestimal atoms of
ink) that though it was now high morning he found
it hard to see the ground beneath his feet.
Then came the deluge. The heavens opened and
drenched the earth with a flush of rain literally tor-
rential. In a twinkling soaked to the skin, Coast
gasped for breath and bent his head to a downpour
which whipped him with a million cruel stinging
lashes. He could barely see: through half-shut eye-
lids he discerned only the rain, which stood out
against the purple crepuscle like a forest of thin and
shining spears, solid as steel. The fierce impact of
descending drops upon the earth deafened with an
incessant crepitation resembling the sound of bird-
shot falling upon a drum-head. Ever and again this
was drowned by a roll and shock of thunder. ...
157


158. NO MAN'S LAND
Perforce at pause for fear of losing his way, almost
beaten thoughtless, lacking any shelter to fly to, he
derived forlorn comfort of a sort from the very
violence of the squall, which supplied its own assur-
ance that it could not endure long. And briefly this
proved itself: heralded by gradual lightening, the
heavier clouds passed off; the initial fury exhausted
itself. There remained the stubborn fog, deep ob-
scurity, a pelting rain only the less immoderate by
comparison with what it had been. Still, he could
now see; so, pulling the brim of his hat down over
his eyes and thereby precipitating a miniature cas-
cade before his face, he plodded on, shoes squelch-
ing, clothing dripping as if new from an immersion
in the sea itself.
For some distance the path led him a wandering
way; but this he did not resent, any more than he
really resented his soaking, which seemed but an in-
considerable annoyance to a mind preoccupied. His
being was altogether obsessed and the process of
his thoughts clouded by intense solicitude and pity for
Katherine-coupled with doubts as to the wisdom
of his course.
Was he justified in leaving her, though she begged
and commanded him? He felt his understanding
harried by the pro and con of the question like a
ball in volley between two rackets. How could
he leave her so? What else could he do? She re-


NO MAN'S LAND 159
jected, discredited, dismissed him definitely, without
appeal. She needed him or somebody to whom
she might turn for comfort and protection. Black-
stock was not to be trusted: yet she loved him. If,
as she protested, she were happy in some strange
fashion passing Coast's comprehension, had he any
right to step between her and her happiness, what-
ever the circumstances ? If, as was the case, Black-
stock had murdered a man in a moment of uncon-
trollable rage, had Coast any right to leave the
woman at the mercy of a temper which might at
any moment resume the complexion of homicidal
mania? Yet would not his presence there, upon the
island, work her more harm than good, were he to be
discovered? ...
He was, in the summing up, conscious of no choice
of action: he could but go his ways. She desired
it, and though his duty (he saw clearly) was to de-
nounce Blackstock to the nearest authority, secure
his arrest and imprisonment ... he could not. He
felt that this was splitting hairs, standing upon a
point of punctilio ridiculously fine; that his desper-
ate regret for his declaration of innocence and in-
dictment of Blackstock to his wife was simply a phase
of mawkish sentimentality. But he could not help
that: so he felt. He was (he told himself in his
misery, grown platitudinous) as God had made him:
he could guide himself only according to his light.



“From his position, Coast could see the prone
body and round it four figures”


ا
ا
ا
ا
ا
ا
نا
نا
ن
|


162 NO MAN'S LAND
as he stared down the roadway, in the direction that
he must go, the direction from which the sounds
seemed to come.
He could see nothing save vague shadows, form-
less, dim. ...
He moved forward cautiously, the dog at his heels
now and then growling resonantly. Pausing again
he stooped to quiet it. Beneath his touch it grew
silent, but rigidly maintained its pose: its frame quiv-
ering, the sightless eyes staring implacably ahead.
A monotonous iteration of muffled sounds forced
itself upon Coast's attention: a thud, a scraping noise,
a soft plop; repeated endlessly. He strained his
eyes against the veiling mists, seeming to discern a
knot of shadows down the road. The sounds con-
tinued, to be interrupted presently by high-pitched
accents, apparently lifted in expostulation; but the
intonation was foreign and the words unintelligible.
Then a voice said roughly: "Shut up and get on,
will you? D’you want to keep me standing here all
day?"
A grunt responded and the noises recommenced.
Coast gulped; his temples throbbed and there
was a feeling of constriction in his throat. The
voice had been Blackstock's. Coast now understood
what was towards: they were digging a grave for
the dead man.
Quite mechanically he turned aside and moved


NO MAN'S LAND
165
Blackstock appeared to reflect briefly. “Six
would be better," he said. “However . . . kick
him in and get him covered as quick as you can.”
“ All right," returned the Chinaman stolidly.
He issued instructions to his countrymen in a swift
jumble of sharp syllables.
Helping one another, they clambered out of the
grave and, grunting, laid hold of the body, the one
by the head, the other by the heels. For an instant
they swayed it back and forth, as callously as though
it had been a sack of flour; then it disappeared into
the trench.
The pitiless brutality of the proceeding, together
with the sickening thump of the body falling into the
trench, affected Coast momentarily with a sort of
vertigo, with something closely resembling nausea,
and wrung from him an involuntary cry of horror.
“Good God!” he said aloud-how loudly he soon
realised.
Barely had the words been spoken when Black-
stock, as if galvanised, whirled in Coast's direction.
* “Who's that?” he demanded sharply, his features
darkly distorted with apprehension. “Who spoke?”
His fingers tore nervously at the fastening of his
oilskin coat; he jerked it open and plunged one
hand into a side pocket, as if seeking a weapon.
In surprise the tall Chinaman turned toward him.
" Who spoke?” he iterated, as if he had failed to


166
NO MAN'S LAND
catch that cry which had unmistakably reached ears
that seemed attuned to almost preternatural acute-
ness. “I heard nothing. ....."
Quickly his gaze quested past Blackstock, raking
their surroundings, and for an instant Coast could
have sworn, rested on his face, indefinite blur though
it must have seemed viewed through the window
at that remove. He fancied that the man's small
black eyes narrowed, and he held his breath, fearing
he was discovered and wondering whether or not
to make a break for it by way of the back door.
Then, to his unspeakable relief, the Chinaman's
glance travelled on and again paused.
“It must have been the dog,” he said, his precise
English oddly asserting with his foreign intonation.
For the first time Coast became aware that the
animal had left the doorway. A slight shift of
position enabled him to discover it standing at pause
about halfway between the building and the group
round the grave.
“The dog? No!" Blackstock ejaculated nerv-
ously. “Dogs don't speak— "
“It must have been the dog," the Chinaman re-
peated. “ It is there "
“Where?" Blackstock moved uneasily, seeming
to sense a menace in the very proximity of the animal.
“Keep it away from me, d'you hear ? Don't let it
come near me. Kick it off-kill the damn' brute if it
men


NO MAN'S LAND
167.
comes this way!” His tones flatted strangely, as
if he were in truth mortally afraid of the animal.
“ It hates me,” he said in a mumble " hates me!"
“Let me have your pistol,” the Chinaman put in.
“I think it means to attack us. Give me the pistol
and I will drive it off.”
As if to confirm the wisdom of this suggestion as
well as Blackstock's fears, the dog at that instant in-
terjected a sonorous and savage growl-which
changed to a sharp yelp as a bit of rock, fung with
surprising accuracy by one of the grave diggers,
landed on its sides. Confused and in pain-for
the blow must have been a shrewd one—the blind
animal swerved, scuttled off, disappeared.
At the same time Coast was aware that some
object passed from Blackstock's hand to the China-
man's. A second later a little tongue of reddish
flame licked out from the mouth of a revolver held
by the latter, and Coast heard its vicious bark coin-
cident with a smart thud as the bullet lodged in a
beam immediately behind him.
It might have been poor marksmanship or fair:
the Chinaman might have aimed at the dog; on the
other hand ...
Coast decided to make himself a present of what-
ever benefit might be held to inhere in the doubt.
He gained the rear entrance in a bound, with another
found himself charging down the embankment, in


NO MAN'S L'AND 169
confidence in his ability to run his man down. For
he was gaining—Coast could not doubt that-gain-
ing with every gigantic stride. It was only a ques-
tion of minutes. ...
Presently, some distance ahead, the shadowy pro-
portions of the beached catboat took shape through
the mist. For some reason Coast hailed it with a
sob of hope: Heaven alone knows what manner of
hope the sight of it held out to his dazed preceptions.
He had merely a bewildered notion that if only he
could hold out until he reached the boat it would
afford him some sort of shelter-or else that he
might stumble across some nondescript weapon of
defence—a broken oar-anything. ....
Somehow he did manage to gain the little vessel,
and, with his pursuer pounding on not fifteen feet in
the rear, doubled like a rabbit round its stern. He
had a fugitive impression, as he passed, of a curious
something crouching there; but with no time for
recognition, or indeed for thought, he shot on, of a
sudden painfully alive to the fact that he had been
mistaken, that there was no refuge for him there. . .
Then he pulled up on the sound of a heavy fall
behind him-a dull crash followed by a short, stifled
cry and a sharp crack as of two stones coming
together.
He looked back in time to see the short, starved
figure of Appleyard straightening up from the body


170
NO MAN'S LAND
of the Chinaman, to see the little man's half-friendly,
half-apologetic smile, and to hear him say in a tone
of quiet reassurance: “All right, old top. He's
down and three times out.”
Incredulous and half exhausted, Coast staggered
back to the boat.
The Chinaman lay like some monstrous effigy of
man, inert, sprawling, with a sagging jaw, shut eyes
and a ragged, bleeding wound in the middle of his
forehead. A bit of driftwood-part of the water-
bleached branch of a small tree-was twisted be-
tween his feet; a formidably jagged stone in Apple-
yard's hand eked out the story of his downfall.
“It wasn't anything,” the little man explained
with his timid, makeshift smile, noting Coast's ex-
pression. “I saw you coming-heard the shots to
begin with—and made preparations accordin'.
Lucky you chanced this way. Otherwise ..."
He shrugged and cast away the stone that had
served so famously. “We'd better be making tracks
before the others come down on us," he suggested
calmly.
“You—you've killed him?” Coast panted.
“Um-m-no; sorry to say.” Appleyard moved to
one side and picked up the revolver which had fallen
from the Chinaman's hand. “Unfortunately just
stunned. ... Mebbe," he added, brightening
momentarily, “it'll turn out concussion of the brain,


NO MAN'S LAND 171
but”-he made a dubious mouth-“ I'm afraid not.
Those brutes are tough as pig-iron. Still, I think
I'm some promisin' entry in the David and Goliath
class—what? ... Come along, now: no time to
waste."
He dropped the weapon into a pocket, and seizing
Coast's arm, began to trot him along the beach in
the direction of the Echo's dory.
"You see,” he commented severely, “what comes
of going out alone. Next time I go calling, I want
you to stay at home and keep out of mischief. Now,
you hear me!”


XI
While his crew was whipping the dory's headwarp
round a deck-cleats, Coast stood in the cock-pit
of the Echo, frowning thoughtfully at the blurred
loom of land to starboard, whose shadow seemed
to fall cold upon his soul with a sinister presage of
suffering and disaster. For there was Katherine,
there Blackstock, there mystery, terror, death; ...
and there he himself must be, for her sake.
Out of the horror and turmoil of the last half-hour
he emerged with conviction and understanding: she
must not be left alone in that place of nameless
perils. Such doubts as he had previously entertained
no longer found footing in his thoughts: it was
settled now; he would stay.
In the emotional stress of his unforeseen encounter
with the woman temporarily he had forgotten the
victim of the bowstring. But now, basing his con-
clusions on what she had told him of the personnel
of the island, he saw without doubt that the man
could have been no other than that Mr. Power she
had named as Blackstock's assistant. Power was an
Irish name: Coast had catalogued the man as of
Irish extraction, at sight. . ..
172


174 NO MAN'S LAND
CIE
he chose to divert his employer with an enigmatic
observation.
“Silly of you," he remarked coolly.
Coast came out of his abstraction with a start.
“What's that?” he demanded sharply.
“I said: “Silly of you.'”
“ What d'you mean by that?”
"I mean," drawled the little man, “that you're
wasting valuable time standing there with your hands
idle and trying to make up your mind what's best to
be done about it. If we were only a bit better ac-
quainted, or if you had a grain of perspicuity in
your make-up, you'd have realised long ago that
you'd better leave it all to me."
“What !” stammered Coast. “What in
thunder are you talking about?”
Appleyard removed the pipe from his mouth
and waved it comprehensively toward the island.
“That," he said, sententious, smiling sweetly up
into the amazed face of his companion. “Your
predicament,” he added. “If you'd only stayed put,
I'd have had everything fixed, but of course you had
to butt in and complicate matters. Not that I'm
at all dismayed; I can still arrange everything satis-
factorily, I think. But you oughtn't to interfere.
If I didn't like you so much I'd be awful' vexed,
honest I would !”
Coast sat down and gasped with astonishment and
em


176
NO MAN'S LAND
“But- "
“Tut, tut! Leave it to me; I'm the doctor, and
I'm handing you the only possible prescription, based
on an exhaustive diagnosis of the symptoms, et
cetera. And you'd better hump yourself. As things
stand," the little man paused to explain with a trace
of impatience, seeing that Coast made no move and
was on the point of interposing further objections,
"we have the advantage of our friends ashore. We
know who they are, but they don't know us. But
if we stick round here it's only a question of time
before we're discovered. Whereas, if we fold our
tent and silently beat it, we can return anon (get
that anon'?), and they'll have less excuse for iden-
tifying us with the first rash intruders. Moreover,
we shall have had time to study the situation in de-
tail and plan our campaign accordingly. ... Now
will you get that mud-hook up?"
He turned his back to Coast and prepared to un-
cover the motor, while his putative employer, mysti-
fied and talked into a condition of semi-hypnosis,
silently rose and clambered forward.
By the time he had weighed in the light anchor
and returned to the cockpit, the little engine was
throbbing busily and the Echo had begun to move,
Appleyard at the wheel, imperturbable, steering by
the compass on the seat at his side. He nodded
satisfaction as Coast began to coil the cable, still


NO MAN'S LAND 177
dazed and almost inclined to credit the preposterous
situation to a waking dream.
“Good!” said the little man. “Now get below
and change-you can't afford to catch your death,
standing round in those dripping rags—and relieve
me, that I may do the same. Furthermore, I'd be
glad of a drop of grog. We'll talk later."
A glance astern showed Coast that the island was
already obliterated. With a shrug of resignation
he stepped down into the cabin, in good time emerg-
ing in dry clothing.
"You'll find a dry flannel shirt and trousers across
the trunk,” he said, offering Appleyard a tin cup
half full of brandy and water. “They'll be too big
"That's no matter.” Appleyard tossed off the
drink with a sigh of satisfaction. “I don't mind
dressin' up like a fool, so long's I get a laugh." He
relinquished the wheel. “I'll get breakfast while
I'm about it. Better hold her as she stands—no'th
by west."
“Do you mind telling me where we're bound?”
Coast inquired with mild sarcasm.
“Not at all. This course ought to take us clear
of Devil's Bridge,” returned the little man helpfully.
With this he hopped below, leaving Coast alone
with his wonder, his anxiety, his alternating fits of
hope, determination and despair, and his task of


178 NO MAN'S L'AND
piloting the Echo in safety to an occult destination
over trackless waters.
Half consciously he felt the likeness of the boat to
himself, its way to his. Both, it seemed, moved only
at the whim of a blind, impartial, inscrutable destiny,
over uncharted seas to an unknown end.
A great despondency assailed him; he struggled
feebly, but was overwhelmed. He had a feeling
that he should never know sunlight again. ...
There was not much in the aspect of the day to
hearten him. Since the shower a little wind had
risen, coming in from the east. The mists moved to
its impulse, but sluggishly, in successive strata of den-
sity, now tenuous, now more opaque, great grey cur-
tains sweeping over waters no longer lifeless though
still leaden and dismal.....
In due course Appleyard reappeared with a mug
of coffee in one hand, a thick sandwich in the other,
satisfaction in his mien.
"Pipe all hands to breakfast,” he chirped briskly.
“I'll take the wheel. ... You'll find everything
ready in the dining saloon—and don't stint yourself
on my account; I've been tucking away a man-size
meal while I cooked. ... How about my disguise ?
Romantic make-up for Hawkshaw the Detective,
what?" He shook himself about in the roomy
spaces of Coast's garments until they flapped on his
spare framework like rags on a scarecrow in a wind-


NO MAN'S LAND 179
swept field. “I feel like the caretaker of a summer
hotel in midwinter. Do you have to buy all your
trousies by the fathom, may I ask?”.
In spite of himself Coast laughed.
He was in a more cheerful mood, too, when he
returned, the confidence and courage of his manner
bearing witness to the restorative power of plenty
of hot coffee and bacon and eggs. Appleyard nodded
approval from his perch on the wheel-box, where he
cut a grotesque figure in his makeshift costume, his
claw-like hands manipulating the spokes, his small,
blond, bird's head jerking in time to an inaudible
rhythm, his pale and washed-out eyes alternately con-
sulting the binnacle and the blind waste ahead.
“A change has come over the spirit of our dream
-yes ?” he inquired. “Nothing like food on the
human stomach to make the skies seem brighter.
Not that it seems to affect this weather any: it's
thick as curds. We ought to pick up that buoy before
long-won't be happy till I get it.”
"You're sure about this thing?" asked Coast,
perhaps not quite coherently. The other seemed to
understand him, none the less.
“ Ab-solut-lully," he returned. “I know where
we started from and what we're aiming for; this is
a perfectly good compass, so long as you keep it
from flirting with the coil; and I've made allowance
for a lee-tide. You watch!”


180 NO MAN'S LAND
Coast sat down. “Well?” he said, with the air
of one no longer to be denied.
“Wel-1," said the little man reluctantly, “if you
must know all. ..." Coast received an amused
glance. “I read the papers.”
“What's that got to do- ".
“So, when you were kind enough to tell me your
real name, after your gallant rescue yesterday morn-
ing, I knew at once just who and what you were."
"O!” said Coast, a thought blankly.
“Just so. It never occurred to you that you were
a public character, in a way? I noticed that. And
your lack of self-consciousness interested me. Also
the aroma of mystery you exhale, intriguled (if I
may coin the word) my romantic imagination."
Coast flushed. “The deuce it did!” he exclaimed
angrily.
“Don't lose your temper-please. I know I
sound impertinent, but I don't mean to be so; it's
just my tempryment makes me such a cut-up. ...
When I waked up before you did yesterday, I
thought it all out, and I sez to myself, sez I: 'His
biography ain't half-written yet, and unless I'm mis-
taken something grievous, Romance is a-leadin' of
him by the hand, like a little che-ild. If I can work
it, I'm goin' to stick round and see what happens
next.' You see, it's my business to go about nosing
into other people's."


NO MAN'S LAND
181
"I see,” said Coast curtly, with a feeling of con-
tempt which he took no trouble to disguise.
“Yes," assented Appleyard serenely. “I make
my living that way. Government pays me a hand-
some salary for doing it.”
“What!” A light was beginning to dawn upon
Coast.
The little man nodded gravely. “The U. S.
Secret Service," he affirmed. “I don't wonder you're
surprised. Most folks when they think of a Secret
Service man conjure up an image of a burly brute
with a bushy moustache, a stony eye and a square jaw
-or else a suave and epigrammatic divvle with a
club-window air and a dress suit, who spends his time
gracefully picking the pockets of foreign diploma-
tists. That's how a shrivelled shrimp like me gets a
job; I look tame and talk like a harmless lunatic,
and I can go wherever I please without being ques-
tioned. ... Although I'm free to confess I took to
sleuthing chiefly because it afforded me a chance to
be as fragrant under any other name I happened to
take a liking to. Aside from my chiefs there are
mighty few men who know my maiden epithet.
You little wotted what an honour I conferred upon
you by taking you into the ignominious sanctuary of
my unsought confidence. As a matter of fact, you
caught me between the acts, as it were; else I'd likely.
have lied. But at the moment you fished me out I


182
NO MAN'S L' AND
had just sloughed the identity of George Spelvin and
was wavering between Mortimer Manchester and
John Brown-hadn't time to decide.”
He paused, chuckling quietly at Coast's expres-
sion, in which amaze and amusement contended with
incredulity and a lively interest.
“But-granted you're what you claim and not
a harmless lunatic—what do you want of me?"
* Just now, your ears. I'm coming to everything
you pant to know. Be patient and attend to my
monotonous monologue, if you would acquire merit."
In spite of his conceit in phrases, there was an
undercurrent of seriousness in Appleyard's manner
that earned him a respectful auditor.
“Let's begin at the beginning, for clearer under-
standing," he continued. “I'm not here for my
health—I'm on the job; and things have shaped
round so that I want your help temporarily—while
you certainly need mine. That's why I'm letting you
in by the basement door and speaking in stage whis-
pers. You get me? What I'm telling you is to
be kept under your hat."
“Certainly; that's understood."
“Right you are. ... Now, the particular phase
of lawless industry at present engaging my distin-
guished professional attention is "-he allowed him-
self the dramatic pause—“smuggling. For some
time the Treasury Department has been aware that


NO MAN'S LAND
183
a very considerable quantity of highly dutiable goods
was finding its way into the country—mainly for
the New York markets—without paying toll. A
syndicate of Maiden Lane jewellers has been reap-
ing most of the profit, although other goods have
been coming through; but that's by the way. Now
the Customs net is fine enough to assure us that no
such heavy importations could have been sneaked in
through any regular port of entry. All we were
certain of was that it was getting in duty free-
though we couldn't prove even that. . . . So then;
I was turned loose on the problem, and I've been
puzzling over it for six months.".
He was briefly silent, apparently in reminiscent
mood. “Early in the game," he resumed, “I had
cause to believe that most of the stuff was seeping
in through New England. So I sat me down and
tried to figure it out from the other side's point of
view-supposing I wanted to turn the trick on my
own account. See?"
“Clearly. Go on."
"Being a product of this neck o' the woods made
it some easier; I know the coast pretty thoroughly.
It struck me how all-fired easy it would be to estab-
lish a depôt for the reception of goods on one of
these little islands hereabouts or even at some re-
tired point on the mainland. Then one could ship
the stuff over by any old unlikely tramp, trans-ship


184
NO MAN'S LAND
it to a smaller vessel at some agreed point off the
coast, and stow it away for distribution practically
at one's own convenience. With such a central
station, the stuff could be smuggled to the railroad
through any number of small harbours-a trunkful
here, a trunkful there, all disguised as passenger
baggage; and these waters are so thick with small
craft that their comings and goings attract practically
no attention. ... Plausible, feasible—yes?"
“Ingenious, certainly."
“To cut it short, I finally satisfied myself that the
schooner employed for the trans-shipment was the
fisherman that, as you saw, preferred my room to
my company. I took a chance there, like a fool-
lucky to get off with a whole skin. But by the time
I hit the water I felt pretty sure they had some sure-
enough good reason for not wanting any strangers
hanging round.”
“I'd think you justified in assuming that much."
“The worst of it was, that mishap made me a
marked man; I'd been a wee mite too indiscreet.
For a while I thought I'd have to fade into the
background and let one of my brother sleuths polish
off the job. You can fancy how that would have
galled. Fortunately you offered yourself- "
"I like that,” Coast commented.
“Anyway, my magnificent imagination offered you
to me," Appleyard pursued without loss of counte-


186 NO MAN'S LAND
“I had no particular notion of investigating that
island first of all; but a number of circumstances
made me suspect we were in its neighbourhood. I
had figured it out that the variation of the magnet-
ised compass must have carried us sou'west, for one
thing; and the absence of fog signals made me think
we must have got well south of the main-travelled
routes; finally, I knew that, once south of Devil's
Bridge, the set of the tide would snake us out to-
ward No Man's Land. So, when we ran aground
and I went ashore, leaving you asleep, I wasn't sur-
prised to recognise the place.”
“You could—in that fog?”
“I've an excellent memory, and had visited the
island a good many times on fishing trips when I
was a boy in these parts. That abandoned fish-
ing village made me sure of my ground: in the
days when the bluefish ran in these waters there
used to be quite a settlement there. . . . However,
I'm fortunate in the possession of a sense of locality
something above the average, and though it was
pitch dark, at first, and thick as mud, I wasn't afraid
of losing myself. So I struck out boldly, and by
daylight had made a number of interesting discov-
eries. ... Hello! ... Good-morning, Twenty-
seven!”
The little man got up and bowed profoundly, as
to a valued acquaintance, to a black can buoy con-


NO MAN'S LAND 187
spicuously numbered" 27," swimming past in a grey
wash of seas to starboard.
"Some navigatin', that!” Appleyard observed
complacently. “Though I don't mind telling you
if you were handling this wheel and I bossing the
job, and you shaved that buoy as close as I did, I'd
jump you, my son. A few hundred yards to the
eastwards, and we'd be swimming, right now.”
“ Why?"
"'Cause old reliable Number Twenty-seven there
marks the outer end of Devil's Bridge. Between
it and Gay Head there's a reef of jagged, saw-tooth
rocks like the jaw of a shark. That's where the
City of Columbus went ashore in the 'Eighties."
"Oh!” observed Coast, watching Appleyard shift
the spokes until the Echo swung upon a course at a
salient angle to that which she had been holding.
“ And now where?"
Appleyard looked up from the binnacle.
“No'th by east,” he said abstractedly; then, rous-
ing: “ Quick's Hole, an it please you. I venture
to recommend the spot. It's quiet, retired, charm-
ingly salubrious: quite a cosy corner for a day's
loaf.”
* Loaf!” exclaimed Coast in exasperation.
“Tut,” said the little man in a tone of mild re-
proof; “and again tut. Eftsoons I will a tale un-
fold that'll shed a heap of light upon the plot of this


188
NO MAN'S LAND
seo
issue of the Half-Dime Library. Know you not that
Desmond the Dachshund Detective is on the scent?
... Le's see: where'd I get off ?”
“You were on the point of making some interest-
ing discoveries,” Coast prompted patiently.
“To be sure. ... As I was about to say, I felt
my way along, lost it, and presently stumbled onto
what seemed a pretty raw slice of melodrama.
... The first thing I struck for was the farmhouse.
Last I heard of the island, it was inhabited by a
single family, a farmer, his wife and a couple of
kids. Must've been a bit lonesome, but they didn't
seem to mind. They do say the man once petitioned
the State Legislature to build a school-house on the
island to educate his offspring, on the ground that as
a taxpayer he was entitled to their schooling at the
expense of the Commonwealth. Shrewd customer:
as I recall it he nominated himself for the job of
janitor and his wife to be school-mistress, both on
salary! ... I had it in mind to pump him, you see,
but somehow I missed the farmhouse, the first cast.
And when I pulled up to take soundings I heard a
curious sort of noise-singular in that locality, at
least: one of those noises that, once heard, is never
forgotten; as nearly as I can describe it, a sort of
rippling crash-very irregular in duration and much
muffled by distance and fog. I pricked up my ears
and tried to mark down the quarter it came from.
-
----
-
-
--


NO MAN'S LAND 189.
OW
Then I followed it up as best I could. After two or
three false turns I fell over what seemed to be a
wire stay, groped round and found a mast. The
noise had stopped by this time, but I knew what had
made it without doubt; that mast was an aërial, and
I'd been listening to somebody operating a wireless
station Next thing, I made out a glow of light that
led me to a window. By now I was interested and
laying very low.
“The window was open-it was warm enough
for that—and because of the fog I could stand quite
near and see what was taking place inside without
being seen. ... It was a goodish sized room, one
of three under a single roof, by all appearances,
and stuffed full of apparata of various kinds. There
was a big gas-motor singing away at one end, run-
ning a dynamo. Right near the window was a
heavy table with all the paraphernalia of a wireless
station.
“There was a young man standing right by the
table, evidently just out of his chair. He was tak-
ing off the telephone headpiece when I first saw
him. He looked to be under thirty, and wore red
hair and a good coat of sunburn; and he was mad
clean through—mad at another man who was stand-
ing just inside a doorway leading to another room.
That door was closed. The second man was evi-
dently just out of bed; he had a crash bathrobe


190
NO MAN'S LAND
belted round him, with his pyjamas showing under.
neath, and beefy, naked ankles running into bed-
room slippers. They were having it hot and heavy,
ripping out at each other straight from the shoulder.
"I don't know-didn't hear—what started the
row, and it ended just after I came within hearing.
The younger chap was saying—he had a bit of a
brogue: "Don't let that trouble you, Mister Black.
I'll have you know I wired for a relief last night,
while you were at dinner, and the minute he sets foot
on this damned island, I leave it; nor will I be rest-
ing till I've turned in my report at the home office.
Put that in your pipe, now.'
“Black (as he called him) seemed to lose control
of himself for an instant. He sort of lurched for-
ward, his hands working as if he was going to throw
himself at the younger man's throat; then he caught
up, thinking better of it, as if he knew the other
fellow had grabbed his chair by the back and stood
ready to brain him with it; which he couldn't have
known, for it turned out he was blind. 'If I had
my sight,' he said, “and could lay hands on you,
Power, I'd break every bone in your body.'
“That staked Mr. Power to an ugly laugh-the
kind of a laugh that's calculated to make the other
chap's blood boil. 'Divvil a doubt of that,' says he;
'but well you know I'd stop at nothing to protect
myself against a brute like you, Mr. Black And


(192
NO MAN'S LAND
expression the deaf and blind have, for some seconds
after I had lost the sound of them; then he shook
himself and said to the woman in a pretty steady
voice, considering how hot he had just been: 'Get
back to bed, Kate. I'll stay up the rest of the night.
That matter's settled; you needn't worry any more.'
I thought his voice sounded not unkind, but it was
plain his temper ruled the man.
“His wife hesitated, but seemed afraid to cross
him. She said something I didn't catch, and went
back, closing the door. Black moved directly over
to the table, with as little hesitation as you or I
would have shown; it was hard to believe he hadn't
the use of his eyes. He sat down, made some ad-
justments on the wireless switchboard, put on the
telephone headpiece and sat there listening for a few
minutes, his big fingers playing delicately with the
detecter. I judged he heard nothing. Then he
disconnected the machine, got up and went into
the other room-still without taking a false step.
The blind are sometimes like that, when they get
'familiar with their surroundings, you know....
“I was of two minds, whether to follow Power
(if I could) or wait and see what next, and while
I was debating it, Black returned, pulling on his coat.
He'd managed to get into his clothing in a surpris-
ingly short time. He went straight to the door,
jerked it open, and slammed out, taking the same
om


NO MAN'S LAND
193
path as Power. I followed, judging my distance at
discretion.
“The path led us directly to the farmhouse.
Unfortunately I was a bit overcautious, and so per-
mitted Black to get too far ahead. By the time I
caught up, something had happened I didn't quite
see through, at first. I heard the gate click be-
hind Black, then his footsteps as he pounded across
the stoop, and an instant later voices followed by a
sound of shuffling, scuffling feet. But when I found
him again he was alone—sitting alone in the kitchen,
the only lighted room in the house. He had drawn
a chair up to the table and sat square to it, his feet
solidly on the floor, his hands spread out flat. I
could see him quite plainly through the open door.
He just sat there, staring at the blank wall opposite
(of course, he couldn't see anything, for that mat-
ter) and never moved a muscle through what seemed
to me an eternity.
"I don't mind telling you the whole proceeding
puzzled me more than a little. I had taken up a
stand outside, at a safe distance, with the side of an
outhouse to dodge behind. And there I waited and
watched the man, and there he sat, as motion-
less as stone. I don't think I shall ever for-
get that sight, and I've seen some queer ones; it
was (I knew later) the most tremendous exhibition
of self-control I'd ever witnessed; it was colossal,


194 NO MAN'S LAND
stupendous, inhuman; it gives one some idea of the
strength of the man. ... I knew he was listening,
and I listened; but there wasn't a sound to be heard
beyond the tiny ticking of the kitchen clock, clearly
audible even to me, in that stillness. Not another
sound ...!
"I daresay this lasted over ten minutes: it seemed
hours. Then suddenly it came—what we'd both
been waiting for-like a thunderclap for unexpected-
ness, only more awful. I fancied I heard, first, a
thin, far shout; at any rate, Black threw back his
head, as if he had heard something. The next in
stant the air seemed to shudder with the most ter-
rible, indescribably harrowing scream of mortal
agony...
“Then silence again—nothing more. Beyond
that preliminary start, Black hadn't moved. He
sat on, just as he was, though he understood as well
as I, and better, what had happened off there in the
darkness: that Power, suspecting Black's intentions,
had made a break to get away by boat, but had been
overhauled by somebody instructed by Black-over-
hauled and murdered. . . . And he could sit there,
unstirring, with that on his conscience ...!
"After a while I heard something moving in the
barnyard and dodged back into hiding-into the
shadows. Then a man passed between me and the
light, like a ghost, trotting along noiselessly. He


NO MAN'S LAND
195
On
jogged up to the house and into the kitchen: as he
entered, Black swung round sharply. This new ar-
rival was a Chinaman—a low-caste coolie, I judged.
I couldn't hear what they said they spoke in under-
tones—but I managed to catch a word or two, among
them “boat': which fitted in with my suspicions. At
once Black got up-heavily, as if very tired—and
went through the house and out by the front door; I
tagged along, of course. He went directly back to
the wireless station, sat down at the operating table,
and gave another marvellous exhibition of what a
blind man can accomplish, with instinct reinforcing
the sense of touch.
"He threw in the motor cut-off switch, to begin
with, and the motor started on the spark, just as
some automobile engines will. Then he monkeyed
with the detecter for a while, listening. Nothing
doing, apparently—though he may have been getting
the range for New York. The next thing, he dis-
connected the receiving apparatus, threw the current
in through the starting-box and primary switch, and
began calling the New York office of the Standard
Wireless, stopping now and then to listen for their
response. Presently that came through, and he told
'em to stand ready to take an important message
for Voorhis, the second vice-president: they were to
get him on the telephone at once—wake him up and
insist on an instant answer. . . . You'll have gath-


196
NO MAN'S LAND
ered that I number in the list of my many and varied
accomplishments the ability to read Morse by ear;
once upon a time I was a regular telegraph operator.
“The message was: 'Power has left without
warning, taking boat to row to Vineyard. Absence
just discovered. Send trustworthy substitute im-
mediately. When may I expect him? All quiet
here; island fogbound.'
“The reply came through within twenty minutes
-which was pretty quick work. Of course I
couldn't hear it; I only knew it was being re-
ceived.
"Just as Black gave the O. K. signal and shut off
the motor and dynamo, the door opened again, and
his wife spoke to him. She said, almost timidly:
* Douglas ... is anything the matter?' He said
in a rough, surly tone: ‘Everything's the matter.
That ass, Power, has stolen one of the boats and left
the island. I've just asked Voorhis to send some-
one in his place. He says there's a man on the way;
it seems Power sent in his resignation yesterday
evening.' Those were his words, in effect—as
nearly as I can remember them. He added some-
thing offensive about that being the finish of that
flirtation and that he'd thank her to leave the next
operator alone. She said: 'Oh-h!'-as if he'd hit
her with a whip. Then he got up and announced
that he was going to the farmhouse to get some


NO MAN'S LAND 197'
breakfast. It was then just getting a little light.
He said she needn't hurry, that he would probably
be at the beach by the time she came to breakfast-
wanted to find out which boat Power had taken.
Then he went away, and the woman shut the door
again. ...
“This time I let Black take his road alone; I'd
other fish to fry. I could hear his wife moving
about in the other part of the building and judged
she was dressing; but she took an interminable time
to it. . . . In the course of the next century or two,
however, she came out, dressed, and took the path
to the farmhouse. I let her go, timed myself as
close as I could, and dodged into the wireless room.
It was taking a chance; I knew that if Black returned
n
know Voorhis's message.....
“I started the motor and called New York.
When they answered I gave Black's signal and de-
manded a repetition of the message. That was tak-
ing another chance: the operator at the other end
might recognise the difference in our styles of send-
ing and refuse me. But he may have been sleepy; at
all events he obliged without comment. Voorhis had
wirelessed: ‘Power gave notice he was leaving yes-
terday evening. New man on way, should reach
New Bedford this morning, island by evening, con-
ditions favouring. Name, John Handyside. He is


NO MAN'S LAND
199
omen
planting of Power. Seeing nothing of you I con-
cluded—and hoped-you'd sloped for the boat, and
dodged round after you. Those shots stopped me
right by the boat on the beach; I saw you coming
and ...
"I've talked myself hoarse—for once in my
life. Never dreamed I'd have such a taste of
Heaven ...!"
Coast was about to speak when Appleyard stopped
him with a lifted hand. “Look,” he said, with a
wide gesture," and if you're superstitious at all
that is to say, human-hug comfort to your heart.
For my part I'm going to take this for an omen
You may please yourself.”
Overborne by the freshening easterly wind, which
blew down the Sound as through a funnel, the fog
was rolling back like a scroll. As Coast first looked
the Echo pushed her nose into clear clean air, sniffed
eagerly and shouldered bodily out, impatiently shak.
ing from her flanks the last clinging vestiges of
vapour. At the same time Appleyard kicked open the
hand-hole in the engine-pit hatch and advanced the
spark; and the catboat, surging forward at full speed,
seemed fairly to leap for joy of deliverance.
In spite of skies grey and dull with a pall of hurry-
ing cloud, and waters dull in sympathy, a sense of
life and action quickened and made glad the world.
The neutral setting seemed only to enhance the


200
NO MAN'S LAND
variegated colouring of the shores. Off the star-
board beam the wooded hills of Martha's Vineyard
glowed with every hue and tint of the fires of Spring.
Over the bows Naushon and Pasque and Nashawena
lay, with Quick's Hole opening between the two
latter, like reefs of emerald set in silver. Astern the
painted bluffs of Gay Head stood out against the cur-
tained background of the receding fog-bank, as if
plastered with scrapings from some Titanic palette.
“An omen?” Coast queried in wonder.
"What else?” The little man laughed gently.
“ Haven't we won out to light and freedom, while
back there"-hc indicated the looming headland
astern that shut off No Man's Land from their
vision-“still they walk in darkness, bound upon
the wheel of their own naughtiness ?”
“Well," conceded Coast a little dubiously.
“But on the other hand ... here's this wind
brewing. Doesn't it smell like an easter to you?”
Appleyard sniffed contemptuously. “It do, it sure
do," he admitted. “We'll have a bit of a blow by
nightfall, certainly."
“And that means trouble, doesn't it?"
“Why?"
“Because I, for one, am going back to No Man's
Land to-night. And the more wind, the tougher the
job of working back..."
Appleyard grimaced his disgust. “Who's


NO MAN'S LAND
201
afraid?” he demanded, truculent. “A pessimist,"
he misquoted with a large if inconclusive air of
philosophical contemplation, “is a fellow who has
to live with optimists. Not only that, but you make
me tired."


XII
WITHIN another hour (and the morning was still
young) the Echo rode at anchor in Quick's Hole, on
the edge of the navigable channel, near the Nasha-
wena shore, about midway of the passage between
Vineyard Sound and Buzzard's Bay; and within ten
minutes of the time her anchor splashed over her
bows, Mr. Appleyard, his plans formulated and com-
municated to Mr. Coast, was noisily asleep in the
cabin-enjoying a rest which Coast, for all his own
weariness of body and mind, could not begrudge him.
For six hours the younger man stood a lonely
watch, companioned only by the melancholy voice
of the bell buoy off the southern entrance, a sound,
the most forlorn and dreary known to man, which
came fitfully to his ears in the occasional lulling of
the wind. Other than this he had only his thoughts.
No vessel came his way; now and then lumber
schooners westward-bound, deck loads shining like
pale gold, dingy canvas spread full to the following
wind, slipped quietly past the southern opening-far
out upon the Sound. But these were few, and they
were all he saw; the promise of the weather was not
one to tempt abroad pleasure or other small craft.
202
202


NO MAN'S LAND 203
What of Buzzard's Bay was visible through the
northerly mouth of the Hole was merely a vacant
waste of tumbled waters. That most detestable of
winds, an easterly storm, known locally as an
“ easter," was brewing, and only those with impera-
tive business cared to venture from their moorings.
All morning the breeze blew gustily; scurrying
squalls, waxing in violence, whipped up a confused
and lumpy sea. A little after two in the afternoon,
following an especially vicious blast that lashed the
waters of the Sound to a yeasty lather, there fell a
protracted pause; as if the elements, having tested
their power, were satisfied-content to rest against
the hour when they should decide to settle down to
the stern business of heavy blowing.
Something of this unrest in the air worked in-
sidiously upon Coast and lent its colour to his
temper. By turns he sat deep in reverie, consider-
ing every aspect of the project proposed by Apple-
yard and subscribed to by himself, hoping, doubting,
seeking sedulously the imperceptible but damning
flaw that might transpire to confound them; or rising,
paced to and fro in the scant accommodation of the
cockpit, fuming with discontent and impatience. At
times he saw with hateful clearness the essential mad-
ness of their scheme, fairly riddled like a sieve as it
was with the element of fortuity, and feared to stir
hand or foot to further it; again he fairly tingled


204 NO MAN'S LAND
with a wild impatience to be up and doing, a frantic
desire for action, movement, events; and all the while
must sit tight (as Appleyard had put it) and with
folded hands ape the equanimity of that stoic disci-
ple of chance.
A thousand times, if once, his glance raked long-
ingly the northward prospect, and in disappointment
returned to rest upon the deserted shores of Pasque,
and Nashawena, or to question now the lowering,
windy skies, now the streaky tide that swept like a
mill-race through the straightened channel. His
vigil seemed intolerably protracted: he doubted it
would ever end. If only something would happen to
put a period to this uncertainty ...!
As six bells sounded Appleyard hopped on deck,
yawning and rubbing his eyes, but with a light in
the latter, as soon as he permitted them to be seen,
and a springiness in his movements which testified
to the refreshing soundness of his slumbers.
“Howdy?” he chirruped. “Nothing alarming
turned up, eh?”
"Not a thing,” said Coast.
“Good enough. Don't look for 'em till evening.
When'd this lull set in?” Coast informed him.
“That's all right; fit in with their plans; they'd
rather make a landing in the dark, anyway."
“What difference would that make ?”
“ Not much; only the fewer boats touching at No


NO MAN'S LAND 207
“At least, her aunt had, and it was to go to her.”
"But did it? I'll lay you a handsome wager
that either she never got it or it wasn't much any-
way and Blackstock managed to run through it with
the customary facility of scoundrels of his class. ...
Don't talk to me: I tell you, I know a lot of things
for certain that I don't know for sure; and this is
one of 'em. . . . And now if you'll just kindly quit
finding fault with my unimpeachable management of
this affair, and duck below and pound your ear for a
couple of hours, or until I call you, you'll be in much
better shape for what's before you this night.”
“I couldn't possibly sleep.”
“ All right; that's your lookout. But I'll thank
you to clear out of this cockpit and leave me room
to stretch in. Go and lie down and smoke if you
like."
“Very well,” Coast agreed, smiling; the little man
had actually blustered and brow-beaten him into con-
fidence and good humour. He took one final survey.
“You don't think there's any chance they'll go round
by Cuttyhunk ?"
"It's one chance in a hundred; we can afford to
risk it. They'd hardly be fools enough to risk the
run round the Sow and Pigs, a night like this; while
Cuttyhunk harbour's hard to get into from the Bay
at any time and the channel out to the Sound prac-
tically impossible to navigate through with the tide


208 NO MAN'S LAND
against you—as it will be for several hours. . . .
Get along with you, now, and let me cool off and
take thought against the unlikely, on my own ac-
count.”
Notwithstanding his conviction that sleep to him
would prove an impossibility, with what they con-
templated impending, Coast, soothed by the swash of
waves and the softly modulated tolling of the distant
buoy, presently dozed off; nor did he wake until Ap.
pleyard shook his shoulder several hours later.
He started up in some perturbation-with that
singular flutter of the heart that men sometimes
waken to face a crucial hour.
“Well — ?” he asked, half dazed.
“Time," returned Appleyard coolly. “They're
just about to stand in round Lone Rock. Come on
deck."
His small head and narrow shoulders were mo-
mentarily silhouetted against a violet-shaded square
of sky that filled the companion opening, then dis-
appeared. Coast, realising from the twilight within
and without that the hour was late, followed with
expedition.
“What's o'clock ?” he asked as he stepped on
deck.
* About seven. Take the wheel.”
Appleyard dropped lightly into the engine-pit as
Coast obediently moved to the stern and grasped the


NO MAN'S LAND 209
spokes. His first glance was comprehensive, sum-
ming up the situation in a single cast; he was now
fully awake and very alert.
Adrift and without way the Echo was rocking in
a chop of darkened water, broadside to the flood
current that was bearing her swiftly southwards.
Already the Sound was opening out on her port
beam, the bell buoy clanging sonorously under her
bows. To starboard the channel and the Bay be-
yond glimmered with a curious semi-phosphores-
cence in the windy dusk. The islands were dark and
formless masses, their contours barely distinguisha-
ble. Somewhat beyond the northern mouth of the
Hole a shape of white was moving beneath a tri-
angular arrangement of lights—red and green at
the base, white at the apex.
With a muffled cough the motor began to throb
and drum. The Echo gathered way. Coast swung
her gently to starboard as Appleyard, throttling the
speed to half, climbed out and dropped the hatch.
· “Right,” the little man approved. "Now hold
her steady for Pasque, not too far up channel, and
stand ready to put her about when I give the word."
"Aye, aye,” said Coast intelligently. He pon-
dered a while as the boat forged sturdily up against
the seas. “Suppose,” he said abruptly, “this isn't
the right boat?"
Appleyard grunted unpleasantly. “It's got to


210
NO MAN'S LAND
be," he affirmed with conviction. “What else could
it be? ... You'd make a shine gambler, if you
want to know," he added, bustling about busily.
Coast subsided, although he continued to eye the
oncoming boat with unmitigated mistrust.
Appleyard, having cast off all but one of the stops
securing the gaff to the boom, first lighted and set
out the starboard lamp, which was of course invisible
to the approaching boat, then lighted and placed the
other beneath the seat.
“I got an eye-full of her with the glasses as she
came across the bay," he said, pausing beside Coast
and balancing himself lightly against the motion of
the boat. “She's a stepper all right: a cabin cruiser
about thirty-foot over-all with a good, stiff engine in
her-twenty-five H.-P., I'd guess. She moves when
she moves!”
“That argues a crew of two?” Coast surmised.
“Just about aside from our friend the pas-
senger, Mr. Handyside- who's in such a sweat to
get on his job that he has to risk the passage in the
teeth of an easter," said the little man. “You can
bet your boots no one else would run the chance-
nor he, unless it was on urgent business. . . . Now
go about and stand across again, a bit further up the
channel," he advised as the Echo drew under the
shadow of Pasque. “So-o: that's it."
The other vessel was entering the mouth of the


NO MAN'S LAND 211
channel, at the moment that Coast put the helm
over and brought the Echo's green starboard eye
into view. A mile or so lay between them. Apple-
yard lifted the hatch and opened the throttle full,
before setting out the port light.
A shower of spray swept over the Echo's counter
as she bucked the tide.
"That's the stuff," said the little man. “Now
they're wondering what particular variety of darn
fools we are. Hold her as she stands-steady."
Two throaty blasts from an automatic whistle
floated down the wind.
“What'd I tell you?” chuckled Appleyard.
* She's slowed down already," he announced, al.
though Coast was unable to discern any change in
the speed of the nearing craft. “It hurts to do
this.” The little man jerked the whistle lever and
educed a single, prolonged, derisive blast. “Lord!
they must be cussin' a blue streak!”
By this time the Echo had worked well up into the
channel, the other vessel being about midway
through. To a second signal, a solitary blast, Apple-
yard replied with two, in utter defiance of every rule
and regulation for the prevention of collisions at
sea. A husky shout of wrath answered this mani-
festation of landlubberly foolishness. Appleyard
responded with three short barks of the whistle, the
same signifying what was obviously untrue—that he


212 NO MAN'S LAND
had reversed his engine and was running full-speed
astern; for at the same moment, in obedience to his
low-toned command—“Sta’board, sta'board your
helm!”—Coast again put the wheel over and the
Echo swung smartly on her 'heel, showing her port
light and making as if to cut across the other's bows
at a moment when they were but a few lengths apart.
There was an instant of suspense as the boats
drew swiftly together. Coast held his breath and
prepared to jump should the threatened happen; it
seemed certain that the sharp stem of the motor
cruiser would crash into the catboat's side. Even
Appleyard lost something of his customary aplomb
and betrayed the strain upon his nerves.
“Sit tight-sit tight!” he whispered between his
closed teeth. “Don't give an inch—they've got to
they don't dare-ah-h!"
The last was a sigh of relief as the cruiser swerved
sharply in toward Pasque, shot forward a couple of
lengths and brought up suddenly with a churning
screw_hard and fast aground.
A moment later the Echo rounded gracefully to
port within two yards of her stern; and simultane-
ously Appleyard, leaning far out over the combing,
made an exceedingly cunning cast with a coil of line
which Coast had laid in against the possibility of a
broken halyard. The flying loops settled accurately
into the water, just above the foam kicked up by the


214 NO MAN'S LAND
"Hardly seems worth while,” Coast observed,
with a glance aloft disparaging the miserly spread of
canvas. Close-reefed as it was the sail did seem
ridiculously scant and ineffectual—a mere wisp of
handkerchief spread on toothpicks—gleaming wan
in the gathering dusk.
Appleyard replied with a complacent grunt. “It's
a blame fortunate thing there's one man aboard this
old hooker that's wise to the winds of these lati.
tudes,” he commented. “Wait, jes' wait: by the time
we pick up Devil's Bridge buoy again you'll find
we're carrying sail a-plenty. Believe me.”
For a space thereafter Coast had his hands full;
the Echo was swinging out of the channel, past the
hollow, despondent clanging bell, and the wind had
found her with a swoop of fury and a wolfish howl.
By the time he had trimmed the main-sheet to his
satisfaction and clewed it tight the catboat was
sweeping onward at a rate little short of incredible.
The share-line of the Elizabeths faded out of rec-
ognition behind them—blended swiftly with the
night and the storm. Over the port counter the
wind blew fresh and strong, to starboard the boom
swung wide at the end of a taut sheet, beneath the
stern the propeller was running smoothly at top
speed; at the wheel there was a shrewd hand; with
these to hearten her the little vessel snuggled her
shoulder deep into the water, like a swimmer strong


NO MAN'S LAND 215
in his art—or, as Appleyard phrased it, lay down to
her work and footed it like a dog with a bone in his
teeth. Out of the deepening gloom long and sullen
rollers, now and then shaking hoary crests, heaved
up alongside and fell astern with a grim sound of
gnashing—or else sped the Echo with a brisk and
forceful slap on the flank. ... At her heels her
tender trailed like a snapping terrier.
Coast considered the turn of affairs with a grave
satisfaction touched by appreciation of the risk they
were running. Just now all was well, but in time
their course must change, and unless he were much
in error there would be a sea of sorts running south
of Gay Head, an angry sea kicked in by the harried
ocean.
“We ought to get this good and plenty-catch it
full abeam, on the second leg," he doubted.'
Appleyard assented with a chirp. “It's going to
be some damp passage.”
His companion nodded, went below and returned
armoured in oilskins, a spare suit for the little man
over his arm. “I'll take the wheel,” he suggested.
“Slip on your wraps, Old Sleuth.”
“ Copy cat,” remarked the little man acidly, sur-
rendering his place.
Coast smiled in the darkness. The wind was
clean and cold upon his cheek, the wheel was fight-
ing against his grasp.


216
NO MAN'S LAND
“I'll stand a lot of impertinence from you to
night,” he said. He sighed contentedly. “This
... makes up for a good deal ..."
He buckled down with a will to his work, holding
the Echo to her course with tireless arms.
Steadily the guiding 'longshore lights swung round
them, marking their progress: to starboard Cutty-
hunk shining steadfast as a low-hung star, to port
Gay Head lifting up its lofty beacon, astern, low
down, a glimmer, frequently lost-Nobska. No
nearer lights were there to bewilder; wise coastwise
mariners hugged snug harbours on such a night as
that; the Echo took her chance alone. ....
Touching Coast's arm, Appleyard drew his atten-
tion to a tiny glint of light in the south, where No
Man's Land beckoned them from afar, across a
weary waste of broken waters.
Coast nodded, with a set, grave face, knowing
that his hour drew nigh.
ne
TOSS 2


XIII
ABOUT midway between the eastern and western
extremes of the north shore of No Man's Land, a
little sandy spit juts out, forming, according to
Appleyard, "what you might call a sort of a cove, if
you don't care what you say.” To the west of it
lies the only good anchorage near the island-one
that can be termed such solely when the winds blow
from the south.
Into the poor shelter of this courtesy harbour,
under the pilotage of Appleyard (who asserted that
he found his way half by guesswork and half by
sense of smell) the Echo fought her way and as her
anchor bit into the bottom and her cable tautened
brought up staggering, like a spent runner at the
close of a long race.
While the little man lowered and furled the sail
and lashed the slatting boom to its crotch, Coast
dropped into the tender with a bucket and a bailing
pump—taking upon himself the harder task, for
the dory had shipped much water on the trip across,
to such an extent that toward the end its weight had
been a serious 'drag upon the catboat, whose own
self-bailing cockpit, from which the water ran off as
217


NO MAN'S LAND 219
lage.
if any, Appleyard entertained, remained inscruta-
ble.
Driving the boat through a quartering run of surf,
they made an uncomfortable though not dangerous
landing on the west side of the sand spit, drew the
dory far up and set off, side by side, wet and weary,
for the Cold Lairs—as they had christened, by com-
mon consent, the abandoned fishing village.
Its row of buildings rose before them, vaguely
stencilled against murky skies, atop the first rise, a
hundred yards inland. They stumbled up to and
through its empty street, a little wondering, a little
apprehensive, more than a little alert and inclined
to seek the touch of each other's shoulders. They
were, in the good old phrase, taking their lives in
their hands in this phase of their adventure; and the
sense of this clutched at their hearts with fingers of
ice. That they would be recognised (save Coast by
Katherine) as the men who had been on the island
in the fog seemed little likely; so far as they knew
neither had been seen but by the Chinaman whom
Appleyard had stunned; and it was improbable that
he had caught clear sight of either. There remained,
however, a hundred masked dangers growing out of
Blackstock's certain distrust and misgivings, with a
far-fetched possibility that the men stranded on the
shoals off Pasque would find some means of escape
and communicate with Blackstock by wireless from
W


220
NO MAN'S LAND
the mainland. It was not more than an improbable
possibility, but none the less it held its meed of dan-
ger, and they might not forget it, though Appleyard
had argued and contrived plausibly against mis-
chance.
If the crew of the grounded vessel (he explained)
chose to land on Pasque, they would better their
condition not at all—merely exchange a comfortable
cabin for the questionable freedom of a little, two-
by-four island cut off from Naushon and its habita-
tions by the deep, swift currents that scour Robin-
son's Hole. In another direction, it would profit
them as little to seek the cheerless shelter of the life-
saving station on Nashawena; it would require more
than man-power to free the cruiser from the sticky
clutches of the shoal; and their chances of obtaining
a tow before the storm abated were positively nil.
“ You can tie to this,” Appleyard had summed up:
“they'll stay put till morning. And then a while.
That'll give me time to 'tend to their cases proper-
like. Even should I fall down there, we've got at
the worst reckoning a clear eighteen hours. And if
that's not long enough for us to frame up a suitable
last act for this thrilling draymah of crrrime and
hooman hearts, we ain't fit even to dope out a scen-
ario for a moving-picture film; and I for one will
make up my mind to shake the legit. and try to make
a dent in the two-a-day."


NO MAN'S LAND 221
From which pronouncement Coast drew what com-
fort he could. ...
As they left the howling desolation of the Cold
Lairs and began another ascent to higher ground,
the situation of the farm-house became revealed to
them by a single lighted window in its upper storey.
A rather considerable ways beyond this the wireless
bungalow watched them with a second yellow eye.
All else on the island was shrouded with invisibility,
save only those patches of earth and grass disclosed
within the radius of a two-foot disk of light, erratic
and pale, cast by the small electric hand-lamp which
Appleyard carried.
Leaving the beach, they left also the flying spray
which for hours had blinded them. The gale buf-
feting the uplands of the island was still sweet with
the fragrance of the sea, but with a difference, bear-
ing not that alone but likewise the smells of earth
and damp growing things and of rain. A fine, thin
drizzle had set in, scudding low in the wind, coat-
ing their salt-caked cheeks softly with an almost im-
perceptible film of moisture.
They bumped unexpectedly against the fence round
the dooryard of the farm-house, felt their way to the
gate and entered, moving warily toward the building.
Within was neither sound nor movement perceptible:
only the windows rattled with the gusty wind, and
in the untenanted kitchen a second lamp burned dim.


222 NO MAN'S LAND
Most evidently the arrival of Mr. Handyside had
been given up as improbable; the servants had gone
to bed. One surmised that in that lighted room in
the upper storey lay the injured Chinaman. ...
But it was not here that their interest centred.
The rain-dimmed window of the wireless station
drew them with an ineluctable fascination.
'Appleyard led the way with the dwarf searchlight,
trotting lightly, singularly suggesting some new and
curious kind of firefly.
The bungalow occupied what was apparently the
the brow of the island's highest ridge, something like
a quarter of a mile to the south of the farm-house and
near the southern shore. As they drew nearer Apple-
yard slowed down to a cautious walk. At a fair
distance from the lighted window both paused, as if
seeking some final word; then, without speech (it
would have been necessary to shriek to make oneself
heard in that exposed spot) Coast caught the little
man's hand and gave it a long, friendly pressure.
He turned and moved a few paces toward the house.
When he looked back Appleyard had melted into the
darkness.
He passed a window so misted with moisture
that he could have seen little within had he wished
or stopped to look. He turned a corner, moved past
another window, and came to a door before which
he stopped a long minute, not hesitant, but pull-


NO MAN'S LAND
223
ing himself together, realising but on the whole
not sorry that he now stood alone, had only himself
to look to whatever the emergency the next few
hours might give rise to. On the other side of those
panels were the only two beings in the world who
could strike upon his heart-strings every chord in the
gamut of the emotions; and he must be prepared to
experience them all and show himself unmoved, at
least outwardly. ...
Lifting his hand, he knocked loudly, and without
waiting turned the knob and entered. A tearing
blast of wind accompanied him, for the door faced
the east. He had a brief struggle with it before he
got it closed and faced the light-his heart in his
mouth, if the truth is to be told.
A hanging lamp of two burners, dependent from
a rafter of the low ceiling, revealed the room in
soft but strong illumination. Beneath it stood a
round, green-topped table strewn with a variety of
homely things—books, pipes, ash-trays, a woman's
work-basket, a tray with decanter and glasses, and
the like. A large rug hid the major part of the
floor, the remainder of which shone with a rich, dull
lustre, as though well-waxed. There were window
seats with cushions and pillows and boxes of plants,
a divan, several easy chairs scattered about, book-
cases set against walls panelled like the ceiling in
dark green and natural wood, conspicuously an ad-


224
NO MAN'S LAND
justable drawing-table of the kind used by mechani-
cal draughtsmen. The whole diffused an atmos-
phere of warmth and light and ordered ease ap-
proaching luxury, surprising in that out-of-the-world
spot: an effect enhanced, no doubt, by the strong
contrast with the storm-racked night of Eblis outside
its walls.
To Coast's unspeakable relief he found Blackstock
alone. Apparently the man had been sitting by the
table, his feet on a near-by stool; but when Coast
discovered him he was standing in that dogged,
forceful pose of strength and preparedness which
seemed somehow peculiarly his: with his feet well
apart, his heavy body inclining forward from his
hips, his broad shoulders a trifle lifted, his round
and heavy head thrusting forward on its thick,
strong neck. He wore grey flannels, loose and negli-
gent, and a silk shirt open at the throat. His large
and noticeably protruding eyes were turned toward
the door, so naturally that at first Coast thought the
man must be able to see him; a second glance, how-
ever, found in their aspect a strained fixity amount-
ing nearly to a glare, which told eloquently of
impaired vision and corrected the primary impres-
sion.
Blackstock spoke abruptly the instant Coasť suc-
ceeded in forcing the door to—abruptly and harshly,
but with a certain jerky intonation that betrayed jan-


NO MAN'S LAND 225
се
gled nerves: an involuntary confession most welcome
to its hearer; this was, after all, with all its vicious-
ness, a human being—no such nerveless monster of
blood and iron as Appleyard had pictured in his
narrative of the hour of the assassination, or even
as Coast had come to figure the man in his long days
of hopeless brooding. It might well be that he could
sit unmoved through the suffering of another; but
he could be moved and strongly moved by a menace
directed against himself—such as now his imagina-
tion must conceive by reason of this unpresaged in-
trusion at a moment when, very likely, he had been
calmly considering the enormities of which he was
author, perhaps in naïve wonder when if ever retri-
bution would lay him by the heels.
“Who's that?” he cried. “Who's there? What
the devil- "
He paused to control his agitation. But Coast
withheld his reply an appreciable moment. Then,
"Mr. Black, I believe ?” he said quietly.
“Black!” The man started at sound of an un-
familiar voice, and Coast saw his great frame
quiver-slightly, indeed, but perceptibly. “That's
my name," he continued hoarsely. “But ... who
are you? ... What d'you mean by coming in here
without knocking ?” he added with a show of
bluster.
“I knocked-several times,” Coast lied steadily.
ne


226 NO MAN'S LAND
“The wind, doubtless . . . Sorry I startled you;
thought you'd be expecting me.”
“ Expecting you!” Blackstock moved impatiently.
“But, damn it, who are you? Can't you give your.
self a name?”
"Why, Handyside, of course." Coast's tone was
a perfection of polite surprise. “Surely," it seemed
to say, “ you must 've been looking for me!" Dis-
trusting deliberately artificial inflections, he was at
pains to speak crisply, as was not his habit; such being
the only way he could think of to disguise his voice.
He was watching Blackstock closely, alert for a sign
of recognition in the man's expression. Somewhat to
his surprise he detected none. “I got orders to come
here and relieve Power last night,” he continued.
“ Came down this morning to New Bedford
and- "
The words froze upon his lips. A door to his left
had opened; Katherine stood there, watching, listen-
ing. Apparently she had started to enter without
any suspicion that her husband was not talking to
one of the servants, and in her astonishment had
stopped. The figure of the man by the door could
not but be strange to her, masked as its every line
and contour was by clumsy and fitless oilskins and the
deep shadow cast by the broad turned-down brim
of a sou'wester. Yet Coast thought to discern a
deathless apprehension in her pose, a mute but in-
one


228
NO MAN'S LAND
features had but hastened slightly the confirmation
of her most dread premonition. And of a sudden
her face was a mask of chalk set with eyes that
blazed with cold fires of terror. Coast saw her
sway, but though he feared she was about to faint,
dared not move to her assistance. Indeed, there was
no need; she was fashioned of sterner stuff; though
every atom of her being shuddered, she remained
mistress of herself. An instant's delay would have
been damning; she knew that . . . and her answer
fell pat as he ceased to speak.
“Good-evening,” she said so admirable her self-
command that there was even a hint of languid in-
difference in her voice. “You have surprised us, Mr.
Handyside.”
“Lord, yes!” Blackstock broke in. “It's hard to
believe. D'you mean to tell me you made the run
through this storm?”.
The blood was flowing back into Coast's heart.
He flashed the woman a look of thanks, but her gaze
was blank as it met his, and he knew that as yet she
existed and guided her actions automatically. The
real awakening to the situation was yet to come-
nor with her would it be long delayed. The crisis
was not yet past.
“Well,” he said, with a careless half-laugh, “ I'm
here, you see. It is a blow, that's a fact. Had me


230 NO MAN'S LAND
Blackstock leaned forward, scowling intently.
“What d'you mean by that? Didn't they bring you
here?”
“Only part way; you see, this accident I men-
tioned "
“What sort of an accident? Hang it, if they
didn't bring you Where'd you leave them?"
“Safe enough-high and dry-aground in Quick's
Hole."
“The devil you say! How'd Finn come to run the
Corsair aground? Why, he knows more about this
coast "
“Not his fault. It came about kindness of some
amateur asses—beg pardon, Mrs. Black; I'm quoting
Mr. Finn-in a catboat. ... They almost ran us
down when we were about midway through the Hole
-didn't seem to know what they were doing; and in
trying to avoid a collision we piled up on a shoal on
the lefthand side of the channel-forget the name of
the island it makes off from."
Coast hesitated in assumed perplexity, in actual
trepidation more acute than he cared to acknowledge
even to himself.
“ Pasque, you mean?"
“That's it.” But though his story seemed to be
credited, the tension held unrelaxed: Katherine was
recovering from her shock and ... What would
she do when she had had time to take second


NO MAN'S LAND 231
thought? Would her primal impulse to shield him,
to further his deception, prevail ? Or would some
mad concept of duty force her to expose him and
bring ruin down upon them both ?
He could not keep his eyes from her. Not a detail
of her attitude escaped him, not a convulsive move-
ment of her hand (in whose rosy hollow lay his life
and hers). . . She stood unmoving by the table,
one hand touching it for support. The other tore
.continually, but without sound, at the silken ruffles
round the neck of her house-gown. There was a
twitching in the muscles of her mouth, but the line
between her lips was set and hard. He noticed a
slight dilation of her nostrils, together with the
quickened rise and fall of her bosom. But her
deathly pallor most distracted him—that and the
cold hard light in her eyes. ...
Meanwhile he heard himself talking, responding
glibly to Blackstock's testy catechism.
“But how the devil'd you get here, then?"
“Pure luck. We'd been stuck about half an hour
when a fisherman-fellow name of Wise, from Vine-
yard Haven-came along, trying to beat the storm
home. We hailed him and he luffed up to us—he
could do that with his boat, a light-draught Cape
Cod cat; and I offered him a ten-spot to bring me on.
You see, I understood it was an emergency case. He
held back a bit, but the sight of the money fetched


232 NO MAN'S LAND
him; and he earned it. I wouldn't take that trip
again for a hundred dollars."
“Well, then . . . But what's become of him?”
“Oh, he went back to his boat-said he didn't
dare leave her for fear she'd drag and come up on
the beach. Besides, he said his wife'd be fretting
about him and he wanted to be ready to beat back
the first sign of a let up."
"I see.” Blackstock nodded slowly. “You must
be pretty well used up." He laid his hand as if
abstractedly upon the table beside him, moved it to
and fro, found the edge of the whisky tray, and
grasped the neck of the decanter. “You've earned
a drink, Handyside?"
The suggestion was made with an effect of the
casual, but two things lent it another significance
to Coast's understanding. Unremittingly vigilant,
his glance ranging between husband and wife re-
marked first an unconscious movement of Black-
stock's mouth; the lips opened slightly and the man's
tongue furtively moistened their corners; so does the
heavy drinker frequently betray the strength of his
weakness at hint of a drink. And for the first
time since she had entered the room Katherine's
attention was diverted from Coast; instinctively she
turned to her husband: her face was curiously dis-
turbed by a play of emotions almost too rapidly
as
ce
CUTII


NO MAN'S LAND
233
ne-
erased to be intelligible. Yet Coast believed he read
them: there was a sort of panic in their number.
“Thank you," he said, “but I'm on the wagon."
Blackstock chuckled. “That's your affair," he
said. “I'm not." There was a grain of combative
bravado in the latter words. He splashed whisky
into a tumbler and diluted it with a little water,
finding the objects with an adroitness on a par
with that which had excited Appleyard's interest.
“Health,” he said tersely, and drank.
The woman roused herself. “Perhaps Mr.
Handyside will sit down,” she suggested in a tone-
less voice..
Her eyes challenged Coast's. He looked away,
unable to endure their pitiful defiance. The drama
of her life had needed but this last heart-rending
touch. There are tragedies in women's life beside
which death itself is triling.
“No thanks; I'm all wet.” He wondered to hear
his own voice so steady and in character with his
impersonation. “About done up, too. If you don't
mind, I'd like to turn in.”
“I'll show you the way.” Blackstock rose.
“You're to have Power's room."
Coast's glance was instant to the woman's face and
found it inscrutable. Did she or did she not sus-
pect? ...


236 NO MAN'S LAND
of an island like the palm of my hand. It's no worse
than navigating your own room in the dark."
“Allow me. ..." Coast turned the knob and
opened the door; Blackstock bent his head to the
roaring wind and shouldered out against its force.
A hand touched Coast's; the slip of paper passed
into his palm. For a single instant he looked into
the eyes of the woman he loved-looked and read
their message of pleading and despair. Then with a
sadly negative shake of his head he followed her
husband out into the wind-whipped darkness, pulling
the door to behind him.
By contrast, the blackness seemed doubly Stygian.
He could not see the hands that pulled at the
brim of his sou'wester, jamming it tight down over
his ears, were invisible. And when he cast about for
Blackstock he saw his figure only when it was out-
lined against the glow of a window.
Their shoulders touched as they trudged off. The
unavoidable contact turned Coast sick with hatred
and loathing. Yet he held himself strongly in hand,
crumpling fiercely that tiny slip of paper in his palm
with a strange sense of confidence, as it were a guer-
don of eventual success.
She had not denounced him. He would save her
yet. In spite of herself, he would save her. ...


238 NO MAN'S LAND
"There wasn't time,” he said. I was off-duty
and they rounded me up just in time to catch the
midnight train."
“And Voorhis sent no word?” Blackstock” de.
manded incredulously.
“He said you'd be advised by wireless."
“No more than that?”.
“Only I'd find this job after my own heart, to
do as I was told and mind my own business and see
nothing except what you shoved under my nose; it
would be worth my while, and he knew he could
depend on me. I guess he did, too. I guess he
knows what kind of a man you need, Mr. Black, and
Mr. Voorhis isn't the sort to pick an operator out
of the grab-bag for a special purpose. Isn't that
so ?”
"If I know Voorhis, it is.” Blackstock rocked
back and forth on his feet, pursing his full, loose-
lipped mouth. “I can tell more about you in the
morning," he said; “we'll have a talk and come to
an understanding.”
“Why not now?"
“Morning will do,” said Blackstock decidedly.
Coast refrained from pressing the matter: it
wouldn't be polite. It was enough for the time that
his story passed unchallenged. The strain was re-
laxing a little now that he had but one auditor to
lie to. It began to seem well nigh feasible, this wild


NO MAN'S LAND 239
a
scheme concocted in concert with Appleyard and put
into execution with fear and trembling. He did not
delude himself with any fatuous hopes of the stability
of his picturesque castle of lies; that it was liable at
any moment to come thundering down about his ears
he was well aware; he was content that for the pres-
ent it held any, semblance of permanence whatever.
After all, Appleyard had been right. “A brazen
front, quick wits and a turn for lying 'll carry you a
long ways," the little man had asserted vigorously.
“The main thing about lying for keeps—remember
-isn't to believe your own lies, but to believe the
other fellow believes 'em-same as a muckraker
jollies himself. ... So be aisy and lie like hell,
bearing in mind the while that if your whoppers don't
go down . . . you've got this.".
Coast had accepted the automatic pistol which
the detective insisted upon his taking—accepted re-
luctantly and with grim misgivings; which now,
however, no longer troubled him. There was that
in the atmosphere of No Man's Land which led him
to doubt if he would feel any compunction about
making use of the weapon, should matters come to
that pass.
For some minutes Blackstock had not spoken.
Coast glanced up at him, and as if he were aware
of that fact the man shook himself out of what had
seemed profound abstraction.


240 NO MAN'S LAND
“How about Mr. Handyside's supper, John ? "
he asked.
“Leady vely soon," replied one of the Chinese
meekly.
“Hurry it up, then; he's tired. ... Guess I'll
step upstairs and have a look at Chang," said Black-
stock. “That's the fellow Power knocked out, you
know," he added superfluously as he left the room,
moving lightly with quick steps noiseless in his rub-
ber-soled shoes.
Left alone, Coast fell to the food which one of
the Chinamen presently set before him. Although
up to that time excitement had numbed him to the
fact, he had tasted nothing since mid-day, and was
now excessively hungry. The meal, plain but well-
cooked, proved a great relief from the somewhat
monotonous diet of bacon and eggs to which he had
been restricted since the previous morning. He took
his time over it, indeed, and toward the conclusion
began to wonder what Blackstock found to keep
him so long above-stairs.
The dishes were removed and the Chinamen set
about washing up, chattering to one another in low,
expressionless tones. Still Blackstock did not come
down. Coast lighted his pipe. His thoughts re-
verting to Katherine, in natural course swung back
to the slip of paper reposing at the bottom of his
pocket.


NO MAN'S LAND 241
er
vere
He looked cautiously round: the servants were
intent upon their work, stolidly incurious as to him-
self, to all appearances; from the upper floor came
reiterations of the high-pitched and querulous accents
of the wounded man—a sound to which he had be-
come accustomed since Blackstock had left him. He
felt, consequently, fairly safe.
Producing the scrap of paper, he stealthily
smoothed it out across his knee. It bore a single
sentence, scrawled hurriedly and lightly in pencil:
"Neither your life nor mine is safe if you persist."
Very thoughtfully he twisted the paper into a
little spill, lighted it over the chimney of one of the
lamps, applied the flame to the tobacco in his pipe,
then held it while it burned. ...
Precisely what was one to understand from that
message? That Katherine had awakened to the
truth regarding the killing of Van Tuyl-or merely
that she mistrusted Blackstock's temper, should he
by any chance be led to suspect Coast's true identity ?
That she knew the truth about Power? Or that
through some subtle process of feminine intuition
she had divined that Blackstock was not wholly hood.
winked by the attempted impersonation of Handy-
side, and would, were his doubts confirmed, seek to
punish her as well as the impostor for keeping
silence ?
She had not had time to write more....
a


243 NO MAN'S LAND
The spill burned down until its tiny flame flickered
blue and expired within a fraction of an inch of his
fingertips. He pinched out the spark, and dropped
the unconsumed fragment back into his pocket in
a ridiculous extravagance of precaution. As he did
so he became conscious of a shadow bulking large
in a corner of his field of vision, and he looked up
suddenly, startled to discover Blackstock almost at
his elbow. With such cat-like lightness and silence
the fellow moved!
Coast pushed back his chair from the table, as
if to rise, but Blackstock dropped a hand compell-
ingly upon his shoulder, and held it there.
“No,” he said; “don't get up; you're tired. I'm
off-just stopped to say good-night. Guess you'll
find your room comfortable-if Chang doesn't keep
you awake with his jabbering."
“How is the patient?" Coast asked lightly,
struggling with an impulse to shake off the man's
grasp.
“Pretty bad-delirious half the time. Has his
lucid intervals, and then goes off his head again.
However, he'll probably be better after a night's
rest."
Col.
"I say, Mr. Black,” Coast could not refrain from
asking, “how the dickens do you manage to get
about with such sureness ? " The inquiry was natural;
his curiosity was piqued: the thing was not natural.


NO MAN'S LAND 243
He tried to bring himself back into character: "I
don't mean to be fresh, but you're a wonder.”
A curious smile dawned on the face lowering over
him—a smile of the features only; nothing remark-
able, perhaps, since the eyes were dead. “Habit,”
said Blackstock; “habit and training assisted by a
strong feeling for direction. I guess I'm something
like the guy in that book by the man who wrote
Trilby-d'you remember?—the fellow that could
feel the North—turn to it blindfolded? Sort of
human compass. ... Well, that's me. Tell me
where I am, and so long as I know the ground, I'll
find my way. For instance, I'm going back to the
bungalow now—alone. For that matter, I came prac-
tically alone; my wife tells me the night's black as
a stack of cats."
His hand remained on Coast's shoulder, obnoxious
but imperative. “And then," he continued after a
slight pause, “my fingers remember anything they've
ever felt. Let me run my hands over a man's face
once, and I'll pick him out of a dozen any time after-
wards. Like this.”
Before Coast could object Blackstock had brought
both hands into play upon his face; lightly, softly
and gently the ten blunt, hard tips of his stubby fin-
gers moved over Coast's features, tapping, pressing,
gliding on.
It was all but insufferable; Coast was conscious


244 NO MAN'S LAND
that the blood burned in his face like fire, that his
heart was pounding—so loud, it seemed, that the
other must be aware of it. Revolted, he almost
choked at this familiarity of contact which he must
needs endure, from the man of all men he had
the greatest cause to hate, loathe and despise. He
dug his nails into his palms in the effort to enforce
submission. Blackstock's face was within two feet
of his own; a satiric smile (he fancied) rested upon
those crudely modelled, animal features; he realised
suddenly that it was the face of a Satyr, simply,
naïvely sensual, as soulless as its lightless eyes. And
a vinuous breath offended his nostrils; his own breath
he held, clenching his teeth. ....
“Now I know you."
He could think of nothing to say but: “Oh?"
It was with difficulty that he succeeded in enunciating
that.
The hands moved on, down over his shoulders,
smoothly, and felt of his arms.
"Hard!" commented Blackstock. “You've got
strength, haven't you? Not as great as mine,
though; you'd hardly realise how immensely strong
I am. See now!” His hands moved swiftly back
to Coast's throat and girdled it as with a collar of
iron. “Do you realise I could easily squeeze your
breath out of your body. I could!".
Coast's gaze explored the face above him. Its


246 NO MAN'S LAND
foot--and was gone in a twinkling, while the hard
smile reappeared on the Satyr's features.
"Do you really tote a gun, Handyside ? "
** Always,” Coast rejoined briefly.
“Why—up here ?”
“You never can tell what's going to happen."
"Perhaps you're right." Blackstock conceded
the point graciously. “I don't mind, but you really
ought not to take a joke so seriously. However ...
I'm full of sleep and you must be. ... John-hat,
cane.” One of the servants brought them instantly.
"“G’d-night, Handyside."
Blackstock hesitated an instant, then got his bear-
ings and found the back door with unerring accuracy.
On the stoop he paused long enough to say: "We'll
get together after breakfast and talk business;” and
the blackness received him.
Mystified, Coast waited, staring at the spot where
he had last seen the man, until one of the Chinamen
mildly suggested that his room was ready. He
followed the fellow stupidly, preoccupied, his mind
ranging far in futile speculation as to the riddle of
Blackstock's conduct. Long after he was left alone
in the room that had been Power's he sat on the
edge of the dingy bed, his gaze fixed upon the re-
flection of the lamp's flame in the window-panel,
absorbed in the enigma.
He could not rid his mind of the impression that


NO MAN'S LAND 247
an inarticulate menace lurked beneath Blackstock's
apparently unsuspicious reception of him. He had
not questioned Coast's account of himself, he had
not seemed to resent the arrival of the soi-disant
Handyside; but still there had lurked something
strange and threatening beneath his superficial bear-
ing—something which, it might be, had broken
bounds momentarily when his fingers closed round
the throat of his guest. The memory of that in-
cident would not down; and when Coast dwelt upon
it he felt as if a trap had opened at his feet and
quickly closed, affording him an instantaneous
glimpse of depths in which a sea of flames seethed
and writhed terribly. ...
Was insanity the explanation? Was the man in
reality a homicidal maniac, at whose intellect the
lust to slay ate like a cancer? ... But in such case,
would he have delegated to another the assassina-
tion of Power ?
Did he or did he not suspect ? Did that sudden
slip of the mask signify that he had merely allowed
himself to appear to be deceived and was but wait-
ing to deliver some telling stroke in retaliation?
Did he believe Coast to be Handyside? Or had
he by some unguessable means recognised him for
himself? Or did he conceive him to be neither,
but some person connected with those, unknown to
him, who had been upon the island during the fog?


248
NO MAN'S LAND
How much had Coast to apprehend, what to
guard against ?
To this latter question his every instinct answered
in chorus: Everything. He dared leave no stone
unturned to safeguard himself—that he might re-
main able to protect Katherine.
It came to him that it was not unlikely he had
been left in that lonely cottage with the three Chinese
that they might quietly make away with him while
he slept.
With this in mind he took a more detailed inven-
tory of his surroundings; and found them hopelessly
exposed. The room was a corner one, on the ground
floor, in the front of the house. Its four windows
lacked locks or catches, and were so low that an
ordinarily active man might easily swing himself in
from the ground outside. It had two doors, one
opening upon the hall and the other to a room in
the back; the latter was locked or bolted on the
other side, the former was without a key. Its fur-
nishing was limited to essentials: two common chairs,
a wash-stand, a table beneath a mirror against the
wall, a narrow iron bedstead in a corner, and a
battered trunk—presumably Power's.
Unquestionably he would have been safer in the
open; but the storm was now at the top of its fury.
Sheets of water were sluicing the house as if cast
from some gigantic bucket. The windows rattled


NO MAN'S LAND 251
brilliant greens and greys and purples of early sum-
mer vegetation, fell away in long swales to the grey
and restless sea. Fences and stone walls broke it
up into irregular divisions. ...
He received an impression that it was very early,
consulted his watch and found the hour to be nearly
six. So he had had over five hours of sorely needed
sleep. He was properly grateful for that respite,
although for the time being he ached in bone and
muscle from the strain of his unchosen and uncom-
fortable position while asleep. His feet felt too
large for his shoes, his clothing seemed to exercise
an unwonted constraint upon his person, his eyes
were heavy and tired and his mouth was as dry and
hot as from a night's unwisdom. His whole body
craved the healing grace of cold water.
Very stealthily he opened the hall door and looked
out. From the silence within doors, there was no
one else astir. He went out and back to the kitchen,
finding it empty. After some momentary hesitation
he returned to his room, found a towel and took it
with him out into the open.
There was still a fresh air stirring, brisk and moist
but by no means chilly. The earth was steaming
slightly and the skies were veiled with a pale grey
canopy; mists, indeed, circumscribed the island like
walls of a tent, soft, seemingly tenuous, impenetrable
to the eye.


252
NO MAN'S LAND
Now and again a portion of the island would dis-
appear beneath a low-swung cloud of vapour.
Standing by the dooryard gate, Coast received a
fairly comprehensive impression of the geography
of the place. Aside from the farm-house and build-
ings, the bungalow with its skeleton aerial upon
the ridge, and on the other hand the fringe of di-
lapidated buildings near the northern shore, it was
practically featureless. There were no trees, only
here and there clumps of low bushes-dwarf sumach,
elderberry and their ilk. The ground seemed high-
est in the south-where, in point of fact, subsequent
investigation showed that it fell away to the sea, a
bluff of a hundred feet or more in height; from this
it sloped northward, in slow, gentle undulations,
down to the beach beyond the deserted village. He
observed moving spots and clumps of grey on the
fields to the west of the farm-house, and after a mo-
ment's puzzlement, remembered that they were
sheep, a legacy from the former agricultural popu-
lation of the island. Otherwise there was no sign
of life; the bungalow itself, with drawn blinds,
seemed all asleep.
He went quickly down through the Cold Lairs to
the beach. The Echo was gone, but this did not
surprise him; it had been Appleyard's purpose to
heave anchor and get away as soon as the gale
showed signs of slackening. Inside the sheltering


NO MAN'S LAND 253
spit a sturdy little catboat was dancing crazily at its
mooring, but it was evidently deserted, and Coast
rightly guessed that the vessel belonged to Black-
stock, that its tender was the boat which Power
had been accused of stealing—principally, no doubt,
to allay the suspicions of Katherine; some means of
accounting for the man's disappearance had neces-
sarily to be invented. That boat was, of course,
nowhere to be seen; doubtless Blackstock had caused
it to be carried up and secreted in one of the aban-
doned dwellings, or in some recess beneath the bluffs
to the west and south.
It was in the shelter of the westerly bluff that
Coast stripped and took to the water. Here, as all
round the island, the beach shelved boldly, the surf
breaking close inshore. Once through its battering
barrier he found deep water, where the heavy rollers
swept in smoothly. Five minutes of fighting their
terrific strength proved quite enough. He watched
his chance, allowed himself to be carried back, found
footing and regained the beach, narrowly escaping
being beaten down by a furious breaker which vented
its rage and disappointment in a thunderous roar ere
it was sucked back, gnashing its teeth with chagrin.
Scrubbing his flesh aglow, he dressed quickly,
tingling with the exhilaration of his recent contest,
every trace of fatigue and drowsiness washed clean
away. A sense of life and well-being ran like quick.


254 NO MAN'S LAND
silver through his veins; he could have sung aloud or
whistled but for the sobering thought, never far be-
neath the surface of his consciousness, of his respon-
sibility. With Katherine to guard and care for,
with Blackstock to watch and guard against and cir-
cumvent, there could be little room for cheerfulness
in his humour. Yet he was glad for one thing, that
he felt refreshed and strengthened an hundred-fold,
and so the better able to cope with what problems
and emergencies the day should develop.
Instead of returning the way he had come, an im-
pulse moved him to scale the bluff, which at this
point presented not too steep an acclivity. It proved
something of a scramble, none the less, and he ar-
rived at the top very nearly winded. Pausing there
for a time to regain his breath, he got a view of No
Man's Land from a different angle, for he stood near
its western extreme—the toe of the child's bootee.
He found, however, very little new or interesting
in the natural features of the place. A whorl of
wood-smoke rising from the chimney of the farm-
house announced the servants astir and breakfast in
course of preparation, but the bungalow still showed
a lifeless exterior.
With no demand upon him in his self-appointed
role of guardian spirit, then, and time to spare be-
fore the morning meal would be ready, he strolled
along the verge of the bluff with some idle curiosity
ne-


NO MAN'S LAND 255
as to what the Atlantic side of the island might show
him in the way of shore and surf.
At first some sixty feet below him, and as he pro-
ceeded at an increasing depth, the beach was serv-
ing as a sounding-board upon which the sea beat out
its deep, tremendous diapason. In from beneath
the trailing skirts of the offshore mists rolled unend-
ingly sullen, leaden volutes, no longer lashed to white
rage by a wind that whipped the crests to leeward
in blinding sheets of spindrift, encountering the
rise of the land and surging up to fall upon it with
the regularity and a hundred times the force of a
thousand triphammers, with a relentless and dispas-
sionate determination that defied comparison. An
unbroken roaring shook the air, beneath which the
accustomed ear might detect the greedy sucking of
the undertow together with the rasp and rattle of
pebbles scoured back and forth upon the rock-strewn
shore. And not the air alone but the very island
seemed to vibrate with the incessant shocks of that
grim, age-long battle. ...
As he continued along the sole, approaching the
heel of what has been likened to a crude sketch of a
child's low shoe, Coast remarked the crumbling stone
walls of what had apparently once been a rude sum-
mer-house and observatory, set atop the highest
hillock to seaward. But he had drawn quite near to
it before he descried a hem of skirt whipping round


NO MAN'S LAND
257
to press them against her temples and then dropping
them with a gesture of utter weariness.
“Oh,” she cried, " why did you come back? You
promised, you went away, and I-I was sorry for
you and prayed you might find happiness, Garrett.
You promised, and—you came back—came back like
a ghost to haunt me with memories and regrets."
Her voice rose to a pitch of wildness. “ Sometimes,
last night, I thought that surely you must be a ghost
-that you had been executed, killed and buried, and
were come back to be his punishment-and mine,
and mine!”
“His punishment-his?” he echoed. “Then,
Katherine, then you do believe !”
“Ah, how do I know? What do I believe-
what can I believe? I don't know. I can't think
right: it's all so—so terrible. Her tone fell to a
low pitch of fatigue, dejection and bewilderment.
She leaned heavily against the wall, watching the
sullen, interminable succession of the surges. “You
sowed doubt in my mind and fear in my heart when
you bade me weigh what I once knew of the good in
you against what I have learned of him. I tried-
so hard to do so justly and still believe you the
guilty one ... You swept the ground from under
me with your arguments, your attitude, your expla-
nations; and though they were your unsupported
words ... I never knew you to lie to me, Garrett,


NO MAN'S LAND 259
“But why?" she repeated abruptly. “Why?
What good can you do? Can you lift this weight
from my heart, can you right the wrong to yourself,
by being here? Can you bring Van Tuyl to life or
make my—the man I married less than a mur-
derer ?”
"I came to protect you; you were alone and
friendless."
“He would not harm me,” she said in an uncertain
voice.
“Do you believe that? Do you expect me to be-
lieve it when I have seen the marks of his brutality
upon your arm?”
“He didn't mean it, Garrett. He has his temper
and—and sometimes he forgets and doesn't realise
his strength-but he would never do worse. If it's
true—and O, I know it must be !—that he did -
what you were accused of—it has been a lesson to
him. I'm sure it has. He- "
Garrett shook his head. “Then what made you
write that message last night?” he asked.
“What do you mean? ...0, I don't know. I
was afraid ..."
"And I was afraid," he said gravely, “and still
am. That's why I couldn't stay away. The only
man you could turn to in case of need was
gone ..."
“Mr. Power?” She flashed him a startled look.


NO MAN'S LAND 261
She was 'facing him squarely now, eyes wide with
interest and alarm. “But—but how can you?
What do you know about the work? The minute
he” (she could no longer name Blackstock inti-
mately, it seemed) “asks you to send or take a
message--"
"I will cheerfully comply, if required,” he as-
sured her. “You see, I know enough about the sys-
tem to make a stagger at operating. You forget my
experience with the Signal Corps in the Spanish War
—that taught me Morse; and it also interested me
enough in such things to make me spend a good deal
of time in the wireless room every time I crossed
the water. I couldn't help picking up a working
knowledge of the system under such circumstances.
Don't worry; I'll make good when the call
comes."
“But this Mr. Handyside—he may arrive at any
time now; and then- "
"I doubt if he ever sees the island,” Coast inter-
rupted, smiling. “You see, the Corsair did run
aground in Quick's Hole: we were the amateur
asses that got in her way. And we left her there.
Now Appleyard—that's my companion-has gone
back to see that Messrs. Finn and Hecksher and
Handyside do nothing rash.”
“He can prevent them?” A pucker of perplex-
ity gathered between her brows. “How?"


262 NO MAN'S LAND
са
"He'll manage somehow; he's very clever, Apple-
yard is "
“ But he must have some sort of plan," she coun-
tered quickly; "and you would know it. You're
keeping something back. What is it? What does it
mean?”
“ I'll tell you in a moment,” he temporised.
“But first I'll ask some questions."
Still puzzled, she held his eyes intently. “I can't
imagine what you mean. But go on."
“You told me that he-Blackstock settled here to
work on his inventions. Do you think he has ac-
complished much, that way, since you came to the
island?"
She shook her head slowly. “Not a great deal.
His eyes have hampered progress, of course."
"I thought as much. . . . And do I understand
that no one ever visits the island except your weekly
boat from New Bedford?”.
"No one. . . . That is, sometimes, fisher-
men- "
“For what purpose ?"
"I don't know; there was once quite a settlement
of them down there, you know; and I understand
they still use some of the buildings to store dried
fish in. I'm afraid that never interested me much."
“ You never watched them ?"
“No; generally they come to anchor after night-


NO MAN'S LAND 263
fall and are gone before daylight the next morning.
Sometimes he has gone down to the beach to talk to
them, but as a rule Mr. Power went with him.”
“Their visits are fairly regular?”
"I think so; the schooner comes about once a
month, I should say. But— "
“And between whiles smaller boats call?"
“Now and then, yes."
“Do you recall when the schooner was here last?"
“ About a month ago, I think. But, Gar-
rett- "
“Just a minute, and then I'll explain what I'm
driving at. ... Now isn't it a fact that Blackstock
and Power were busiest with the wireless as a rule
for a few days before the schooner showed up?"
She nodded thoughtfully. “I never connected
the two; but it was so. How did you know ? "
"I merely guess. Now I'm going to guess again,
in another direction. ... You didn't inherit much
from your aunt, did you?”
"Why ... a few keepsakes only. You see, she
disapproved of my engagement to Mr. Blackstock,
Garrett, and when I-was stubborn, she changed her
will, just a little while before she died. She left
everything in trust to me, but I was to receive noth-
ing until I divorced my husband, or he died. The
house is mine, but not to rent or sell, nor may I live
in it except alone or with a woman companion only."


NO MAN'S LAND 265
attempt to recoup ?? Who is this Mr. Appleyard,
and why should he concern himself with my affairs ?”
"I'll tell you.” In few phrases Coast sketched
succinctly Appleyard, his connection with the Secret
Service Bureau, his theory as to the smuggling con-
spiracy and the part Blackstock played therein, to-
gether with the selection of No Man's Land as a
strategic base and distributing depôt.
The woman attended with growing interest and
excitement, for the time forgetful even of the more
vital crisis, nodding affirmation to a point well-taken,
frowning slightly over surmises which seemed to her
far-fetched, but on the whole endorsing his con-
clusions.
“The thing's plain as a map," he wound up in
a glow of triumphant reasoning, himself momentarily
unmindful of their greater and more intimate
trouble. “ Appleyard was right in every guess he
made. ... The location of the island is ideal for
the purpose, just far enough north of the main-
travelled lane to be convenient; the steamer has only
to swing a few points off her normal course to find
herself in lonely waters, where she can make a trans-
shipment without detection or noticeable loss of time.
The wireless station is essential, enabling Blackstock
to pick up the steamer on her approach and pass on
the news to the schooner, which sets out, meets the
steamer, takes off its consignment of dutiable goods,


NO MAN'S LAND 267
« Yes—and more irritable. That night he had
been drinking more than usual; I attributed his bad
temper to that. Almost all that evening he spent
with Mr. Power, in the wireless room, the door
closed. ... It was stupid of me, but I attached
no especial importance to it. Now and then their
voices sounded excited, but it wasn't anything un-
usual for them to quarrel, especially when Douglas
was-drinking. I interrupted once, and Douglas
caught my arm and put me out of the room. It was
then he hurt me—as you saw. After that they quar-
relled more fiercely than ever—I think partly on
account of the way Douglas had treated me. Mr.
Power seemed to resent Douglas's roughness toward
me. ..."
" It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, then?”
The rage smouldering in Coast's heart thick.cned his
utterance.
She noticed and understood, and turned back to
him quickly, offering her hand, her eyes beseeching.
“Don't, Garrett," she said brokenly; “don't think
about that. It is over now-now that I know. I
couldn't bear ever to have him touch me again."
She struggled a moment against a rising tide of emo-
tion, while he held her hand imprisoned in his own.
There was despair in the face upturned to his that
wrung his heart, so that he feared to trust himself
to speak. “But, O Garrett, Garrett!" she cried
ICI


268
NO MAN'S LAND
forlornly. “What is to become of me? What am
I to do ?"
He drew her to him. “Why,” he said tenderly,
" that is why I am here, Katherine—to watch over
and take care of you, to see that no harm comes to
you. That is why I insisted on returning before
Appleyard went farther with his plans. I should
have gone mad with the thought of you here, alone,
defenceless, last night. ... If you will only trust
me ..."
His arm closed round her and for a moment she
was very close to him, her head upon his bosom,
her slender body racked and torn with sobs. He
held her so, compassionate and pitiful, striving as
best he might to soothe her—the while joy sang in
his soul.
“Only trust me," he murmured—“trust me a
little, Katherine; and all shall yet be well. . . . It
is not the end, my dear, but just a beginning. «..
Have faith a little ..." .
Gradually her transports stilled. “I do trust you,
Garrett.” Tears gemmed her eyes like stars. “I
do and shall ... but, O be kind to me, for if I
have been foolish and headstrong and—mad, I am
paying for it, paying heavily for it. It's all so dark
and hopeless, Garrett-I see no light ..."
“Yet there is light," he said; and again con-
fidently: “The light is th re."


XVI
TI-
TAKING a roundabout course eastward, which prac-
tically completed the circuit of the island, Coast
tramped back to a lonely breakfast in the farm-
house.
He had anticipated, and not without a certain
amount of dread, for the situation between them
could not but be strained, the morning meal in com-
pany with Blackstock and Katherine-principally
because nothing had been said to lead him to
expect anything otherwise. It was with relief, then,
that he saw one of the coolies set out for the bunga-
low with a napkin covered tray and a luncheon
basket.
The other servant (he never learned to distinguish
one from the other; both answered to the name
of John) waited on him in silence. Both, he noticed,
confined their communications to monosyllables
wherever possible; their demeanour with respect to
him was neither surly nor over civil—merely indiffer-
ent. He weighed them inquisitively for a while,
then gauged them as a low-calibre of intelligence,
commonplace specimens of their type deriving their
initiative solely from the man called Chang (who
270


NO MAN'S LAND
271
remained invisible) and forthwith relegated them
to a limbo of insignificance. That they would spy
upon him, or knife him from behind with the same
insouciance, if set the task, he did not doubt; but
they were morally and physically incapable of any
overt act of offence, such as he had to fear from
Blackstock or possibly from the redoubtable Chang.
During the remainder of the morning he saw
nothing more of Katherine. Without giving the
matter really definite thought he had assumed that
Blackstock would send for him when he was wanted.
Nothing of the sort happened, although he could not
doubt that Blackstock was up and about; about mid-
morning both coolies went to the bungalow to set it
to rights; and intermittently throughout the slow,
dull hours he heard the drum of the wireless spark,
its whip-lash crackling from a distance resembling a
smart fusillade of pistol shots.
The sound filled him with apprehensions. It was
quite possible that Blackstock would think to settle
any doubts he might entertain about the identity of
his new aide by questioning Voorhis via wireless.
In such event the tissue of falsehood upon which he
had bolstered up his position on the island would
almost certainly be exposed. And then ...?
But however disturbing it might be to contemplate,
the possibility of such a contretemps was not a
stranger to Coast's calculations; he was prepared to


272 NO MAN'S LAND
face it. Should the wind veer in that quarter, he
would simply have to fight. Only ... He would
have given much to know positively.
To ease the irk of idle waiting, he set himself to
explore the Cold Lairs. Though now he examined
the village in the cold light of day, it revealed little,
of moment. The buildings proved few in number-
a mere handful, in fact; of them he discovered three
in excellent repair, stout and weather-proof. These
were all securely locked and shuttered; a bit of in-
formation that merely lent additional confirmation
to the soundness of Appleyard's theory--if, indeed,
any more were now needful to support Coast's
personal convictions. That they were the store-
houses of the distributing depôt seemed unquestion-
able.
He spent a long time in unavailing search for the
rowboat alleged to have been stolen by Power, at
length concluding that if it were anywhere in the
settlement it must be under lock in one of the store-
houses.
But for the blind collie the location of Power's
unmarked grave might easily have escaped notice;
there was no sign of recently turned earth in the
village street, the rain having obliterated every
trace of digging. As Coast entered those des-
olate precincts he caught sight of the animal
stretched at length upon the ground at about the
ra


NO MAN'S LAND
273
ma
place he would have guessed Power had been buried.
At the sound of his footsteps it rose, growling and
bristling, but when he spoke it seemed to recognise
his voice and suffered him to pat its head, showing
a subdued and dejected gratitude; and when he
moved on, followed at his heels for a while, but
presently deserted him to nose back to its place of
mourning.
Touched by this exhibition of devotion, Coast pres-
ently returned to the animal, endeavouring by kindly
words and treatment to console it; but its grief was
yet too recent and too poignant to yield to human
sympathy. Beyond an occasional thump of its be-
draggled tail, or a low, heartbroken whine, he re-
ceived no response: still the brown and tan muzzle
remained at rest between the outstretched paws, and
as always the glassy, opaque and colourless eyeballs
told nothing. ...
At length discouraged, he left it so and wandered
down to the beach, where the catboat, bobbing at
its mooring, provided him with an excuse for some
minutes of idle dreaming. In his fancy it repre-
sented a possible means of escape for Katherine and
himself, should worst come to worst ... if only he
were able to lay hands on its tender in the moment
of emergency! Not only was that lacking, however,
but any way of reaching it whatever-save by swim-
ming; and he questioned Katherine's ability to swim
rem


274 NO MAN'S LAND
that far, if, indeed, she were able to swim at all.
Furthermore, he could not be sure the boat was
seaworthy; to his eye it rode deep and sluggishly,
as if half full of water; while its sail might prove
to be no more than a tattered rag, its halyards rot-
ten ...
Lifting and falling upon the rolling, leaden waters,
the little boat seemed to courtesy mockingly when
it was not turning to him the shoulder of disdain.
He moved on disconsolately, wondering, ponder-
ing, planning eternally against the machinations of
the unforeseeable—than which, he felt in his heart,
nothing could be more certain . .. on No Man's
Land. ...
Some time after noon one of the coolies found
him strolling aimlessly along the beach and called
him to luncheon.
Again in the farm-house kitchen, attended by the
two unresponsive Chinese, he ate listlessly, his gaze
fixed upon the elevation of the bungalow visible
through the open window. He saw no sign of
Katherine, nothing of Blackstock; the due departure
of one John with tray and hamper was the only in-
dication that the place was still inhabited.
He stopped the servant and entrusted him with
a message to Blackstock, inquiring whether or not
his services were desired. Even though his first at-
tempt to discharge the duties of wireless operator


NO MAN'S LAND
277
0
carried clearly to a well-nigh incredible distance, the
occasional staccato snapping of the wireless spark
rattled over the uplands like the brisk, broken de-
tonating of a pack of firecrackers. ...
Coast approached the bungalow from the north
the direction opposite the end in which the wireless
station was installed. As he rounded the corner,
with purpose to go directly to Blackstock, he passed
out of observation from the farm-house and simul-
taneously caught sight of Katherine through one of
the living-room windows.
She was standing on the threshold of the operating
room, evidently about to leave it; one hand rested
on the knob of the door, ready to draw it to. Her
face was turned away as she looked back into the
further room, so that Coast saw only her profile.
Clad in its customary costume—the short tweed skirt,
trim high laced boots and heavy linen blouse-her
slender figure was poised with an effect of graceful
vigour and youthful elasticity; it required the sharp-
ened solicitude of the man who loved her to pene-
trate beyond that first visual impression and divine
that she was tense and rigid with emotion and nerv-
ous strain. He read in her attitude something of
alarm, surprise, consternation and assumed sub-
missiveness; and understood that a crisis was
passing. ...
Moving silently to the main entrance, he waited
OU


278
NO MAN'S LAND
there where she could not but see him when she
turned back into the room.
From beyond her came the rumble of her hus-
band's voice. He was speaking quickly and with
force, but Coast could not hear what he said.
The woman waited, moveless, until his voice
dropped. Then she said quietly, in an ordinary tone:
" Is that all?" To which apparently he assented.
She added: “Very well. I'll be ready,"
She shut the door and saw Coast.
In an instant her face was bloodless; only her gaze
leapt to his eyes like a levelled flame. Her hands
moved suddenly toward her bosom, hesitated half-
way, and fell slowly, fluttering. She sighed pro-
foundly. ... Then abruptly, as she recognised that
he was frightened for her and in another moment
would hurry to her side, heedless of consequence, she
resumed command of herself with an astonishing
effort of will; the small hands tightened at her sides,
she lifted her head, closed her lips tight, and stood
momentarily at attention, listening to some noise
beyond the door.
The silent moment ended in the crashing of the
wireless. At the first report, as if released from a
spell, the woman moved quickly over to the door.
Her hand closed imperatively round Coast's fore-
arm.
From colourless lips her voice came low but clear.


NO MAN'S LAND
279
“Listen, Garrett-don't interrupt. . lo. Some-
thing has happened; we are to leave the island
to-night! ... Hush—don't speak; his hearing is
abnormally sharp; when he stops sending ... He
has just told me. A boat will come for us. He
didn't say when-after dinner, sometime, I gath-
ered. He has just told me to pack up a few neces-
saries...."
The noise of the wireless ceased, and she stopped
speaking in the same breath. Immediately, in the
hush, they heard the hiss of the switch thrown out
to divert the current from the sending apparatus to
the detector.
“He's fishing for the answer, now," Coast ven-
tured in a guarded tone.
“Hush!” she told him sharply, whispering.
“Wait! ..."
She inclined her head, sedulously on guard, and
for a while seemed to hold her breath. The hand
upon his arm was trembling violently; he put his own
palm over it with a strong and reassuring pres-
sure.
“Steady dear!” he murmured. “Don't be
afraid...."
She shook her head with a futile effort to smile
bravely. “Only be quiet . . ." she begged.
A' minute passed, and another, and yet another
the pause filled with the dull drone of the dynamo


NO MAN'S LAND
281
have been flashed out to No Man's Land. ... Or,
again: Appleyard had spoken fondly of com-
mandeering the services of a revenue cutter just then
cruising in the neighbourhood of Nantucket. Wire-
less instructions to that vessel might possibly have
been picked up by Blackstock's detector, and, espe-
cially if not couched in code, have given him the
alarm. rol :o
But speculation was just then outside Coast's con-
cerns. His first, his whole only duty was to Kath-
erine.
“Don't worry," he begged her in a hurried whis-
per; "we'll find some way out. Appleyard won't
fail us—and if he should I'll manage to steal that
boat and get you off. Either that way or another.
... Now go, while I see what he wants of me.
I'll say I met you on the way. Go quickly-we've
delayed long enough .. .. heart of my heart!”
This last was in an undertone as the woman, tak-
ing fright because of a brusque cessation of the wire-
less racket, disengaged her hand, and with the
briefest glance by way of adieu, hurried toward the
farm-house.
Alone, he lingered for a little where she left him,
striving to collect and train his faculties against this
unanticipated turn of events. Thoroughly mystified,
disturbed and depressed, he drifted into a deep and
sombre reverie which might well have endured be-


NO MAN'S LAND 283
liar to one who to the physical unhappiness following
a night of dissipation has had added grave reason
for mental disquiet.
He was in shirt and trousers only with his stock-
inged feet in loose, heedless slippers that flapped
noisily as he walked. Unshaven and slightly in-
flamed, his face had undergone a notable change
since last Coast had seen it; a photographer would
have said it was a little out of focus, an artist that
its values were blurred and out of key; his features,
never sharp or delicate, now seemed swollen and dis-
torted, somehow heightening the satyric resemblance.
Faintly red of rim, his prominent eyes had the hard
lustre of ebony buttons; beneath them the lids were
puffed. A few dank locks of hair evidently long a
stranger to the comb strayed stringily down over his
broad, pugnacious forehead, black against its pallor
In his plump and swarthy cheeks there were hints
of hollowness, and his wide and full underlip sagged
pendulous. From nose to mouth the furrows had
deepened. ... An ensemble little less than re-
pulsive. Never in Coast's knowledge of him had
he bodied forth so blatantly the type he stood for,
the creature of crude passions, undisciplined and
violent, strong as a force of Nature, weak with the
weakness of one pliant to that force, knowing no
law save of its making and by those very laws con-
founded and destroyed. ...


284 NO MAN'S LAND
With all his evident preoccupation, his senses were
keenly on the alert, the quickness with which he
picked up the all but inaudible sounds of Coast's
approach strongly bearing out the claims the woman
made for the acuteness of his hearing. As the
younger man drew near Blackstock stopped short,
facing the door with a lowering look.
“Who's that?” he demanded sharply, with a ner-
vous gesture plucking the unlighted cigar from be-
tween his teeth. “You, Handyside ?”.
Coast entered. “Mrs. Black said you wished to
see me. ..."
"I would to God I could!" Blackstock cried
wrathfully, dashing the cigar upon the floor. He
lifted his clenched hands and shook them above his
head, while his features twitched. Abruptly he
dropped them. “Here,” he said curtly, “what
d'you know about stationary motors ? Everything,
I suppose ? "
“Not quite,” returned Coast pacifically.
“Then what the devil are you doing here?”
“ I'm supposed to be a wireless operator "
“Oh, y'are, eh?”
“Not a skilled mechanic," Coast continued evenly.
“Still, I know a little something about motors. Any-
thing I can do ?”
“You can take a look at that damned engine, if
you don't mind. It fainted dead just now. It hasn't


286 NO MAN'S LAND
was conscious of the uneasy sensation of being
watched—which, of course, was absurd, the man's
affliction brought to mind.
“Well ...?"
“Haven't located it yet,” said Coast, though this
was not strictly true: he could already hazard a
shrewd guess, with the confession of neglect to guide
him.
"Mmmm. ... Look here, what d'you suppose
became of the Corsair?”
“One guess is as good as another, isn't it?”
"What d'you mean by that?”
" That I don't know."
“You'd think Finn 'ud 've managed to get her
off by this time-eh? Wouldn't you ?” Blackstock
grumbled.
; “Without outside help, I'd judge it a pretty tough
job."
-“Well, but with help ..."
“ Not so easy to get, under the circumstances.
That wind was enough to clear the Sound of ordin-
ary traffic, and even to-day, up to some time after
noon at least, there'd be a fairly rugged sea running
to keep smaller craft at home.”
“Oh, you think so, eh?” commented Blackstock
with an accent of irony that made Coast straighten
up and look over his shoulder. But the man was
not even facing him, and he could gather little from
n


NO MAN'S LAND 287
his expression. "That's all very well,” he continued,
“ but it happens I advised Voorhis of their fix last
night, and he sent a tug down from Vineyard Haven
this morning. The tug reports no sign of the Cor-
sair. Now what d'you know about that?”.
“It's not easy to explain,” said Coast in perhaps
too placid a tone. It was difficult to subtract from
his voice the exultation he felt. So Appleyard had
been successful, after all! That was a moiety of
news to cheer his heart wonderfully. He ventured
an obvious and irritatingly stupid observation:
“Then they must have got off somehow, during the
night.”
“Looks that way, doesn't it-even to a blind
man? But then- ?".
“Perhaps some accident to the machinery— "
" Finn never permits an accident to machinery
under his care."
“You never can tell _"
"Finn can,” Blackstock snapped decidedly.
“ You ought to have him here, then,” said Coast
disgustedly, turning the conversation of deliberate
intent, by now fully convinced that Blackstock had
been talking to kill time—or else to make it, for
some occult purpose. “You've about ruined this
machine, as far as I can judge. The lubricating
tank's dry as a bone, the bearings so hot I can't bear
my hand on them, and the chances are the con-


288
NO MAN'S LAND
necting-rod babbitt has burned out. I can't tell how,
bad it is without taking the motor down, and that's
an expert's job. Where's your cylinder oil? A good
dose of that will ease matters a bit until I can inves-
tigate without blistering my hands."
“Over there—that large can in the corner," Black-
stock indicated.
To reach it Coast had to pass between the man and
the door; as he did so, temporarily off his guard,
Blackstock stepped suddenly to his side. Grasping
Coast's right wrist with his left hand, he thrust it
up smartly, interposing his shoulder to prevent it
from coming down as he released it and simultane-
ously passed his own right arm across Coast's chest,
seizing and pinioning his left. Having him thus
helpless in one of the simplest of jiu-jutsu holds,
Blackstock thrust his left hand into Coast's pocket,
withdrew the automatic pistol and let him go with a
shove that sent him reeling and staggering back
against the wall.
“I've been wanting this toy ever since you men-
tioned it last night," he said calmly, balancing the
weapon in his palm. “It's one of my rules that no
arms shall be carried on the island, and fearing you
might refuse me "
Coast waited to hear no more. Dumb with rage
to be so tricked and bamboozled! to have his
teeth drawn in such a manner, by a blind man, al-


NO MAN'S LAND
289
most without a struggle -he stooped, picked up a
heavy monkey-wrench, and threw himself at Black-
stock.
Before he had covered half the scant distance be-
tween them, however, he was caught up suddenly
from behind, jerked back and held, struggling, kick-
ing, helpless as a child in the arms of Chang.
As if he were wholly unaware of what was taking
place, Blackstock's voice rumbled on:“... adopted
this means of making my wishes known. I trust
you won't resent it when you wake up to the reason-
ableness of my attitude. You weren't hurt—of that
I'm sure—beyond your feelings, perhaps. And,” he
added, suavely sardonic, “I beg to apologise for the
indignity, Mr. Handyside."


XVII
To his own advantage Coast was gifted with the
ability to recognise the irremediable and concede it
as such. With quiet resolution he calmed himself
at that moment when he was cold with despair,
thrilled with apprehension, hot with anger, trem-
bling with humiliation, and powerless in the grasp of
one to whom his most determined struggles were as
impotent as the writhings of the butterfly whose
wings you imprison between thumb and forefinger.
The arms the big Chinaman wound round him were
as sinewy and long as those of a gorilla, as strong as
bands of steel; he could as readily break their em-
brace as he could summon a jinnee to his aid by twist-
ing the ring upon his finger.
He schooled himself to resignation. “Very well,”
he said in a passionless voice. “You've got your
own way of making a civil request, and I don't pre-
tend to like it; but I'll be grateful if you'll instruct
this Chinese giant to let me go."
“What! are you there, Chang?” Blackstock's
simulation of surprise was admirable-if it were
simulation. “You may release Mr. Handyside,"
he continued; "he has promised to be good.”.
290


292 NO MAN'S LAND
why, if such were the case and such his purpose, did
he keep up the appearance of accepting Coast for
Handyside-calling him by that person's name even
after all necessity for pretence had been done away
with?
He searched the man's face with eyes as shrewd
as his misgivings, and found it as little legible as
the face of Chang. A suggestion of a grim smile
played round the too-wide and fleshy mouth, but the
eyes were set, inscrutable, no less enigmatic than his
motives: eyes as dull and hard as the sculptured eyes
of a Sphinx set in the mask of a Satyr, seeming in
spite of their infirmity to seek and meet Coast's eyes
and hold them with their blind and steadfast glare.
“You're wondering," said Blackstock, “why I
didn't demand this gun before taking it by force.
Aren't you?"
“I am,” Coast assented bluntly.
“For one reason, because I wouldn't 've got it.
Would I?”
“ Certainly not. What right ”
“One moment: I'm coming to that.” Blackstock
smiled his secret smile, weighing the weapon reflec-
tively before bestowing it securely in a hip-pocket.
" It was a matter of discipline—morale is the better
word. You had to be made to understand that on
this island I am dictator, my word law, my wishes
law's equivalent. Your personal independence
W


294
NO MAN'S LAND
send out any messages from this station, someone
else will have repaired your motor-I shan't. Good-
night!”
“ Good-night, Mr. Handyside," rang in his ears
accompanied by a jeering laugh, as he swung on his
heel and through the door to the open; but he paid
no attention.
Although thoroughly aroused, he was not in the
least degree angry. He had chosen his path of con-
duct carefully and with due consideration. From
the first he had suspected Blackstock intended to pro-
voke an open rupture, in order to get rid of his self-
appointed assistant throughout the few remaining
hours he contemplated spending on No Man's Land.
And to disappoint him by too meek a show of sub-
mission would have served only to betray himself;
no man of any spirit whatever could be expected to
bow to such arbitrary insolence. To pretend to do
so would be merely to plant suspicion in a mind as
penetrating as Blackstock's.
Whether or not the man had fathomed the substi-
tution of Coast for Handyside remained an open
question, but the fact that he intended to free himself
from any sort of espionage was patent; he had
plotted the scene for that sole purpose—or so Coast
read it. And all tinis considered, a high head and a
brow of brass had seemed most becoming to his rôle.
So long as Blackstock continued in the part of the


296
NO MAN'S LAND
daylight to follow, what might not happen? What
if Blackstock purposed leaving No Man's Land in
the little catboat within that interim? What could
possibly be contrived to stop him by one man, un-
friended and unarmed? ...
Pausing at the farm-house only briefly to make
sure Katherine was not there, without purpose, in
weary despondency, he wandered on, down through
the Cold Lairs toward the beach
As he drew near the spot where the collie kept its
vigil, the animal, apparently recognising his foot-
steps, rose and whined a woe-begone welcome. He
stopped out of sheer compassion, sensible of a vague
feeling of fellowship with the dog, since he, too,
was outcast, defenceless and impotent, the sport of
malign circumstances. That thought rankled. ...
Presently it occurred to him that the dog must be
hungry. On sudden impulse he left it, went back to
the farm-house kitchen, and without word of ex-
planation to the Chinese there, foraged for scraps
until he had heaped a pan with food; with which he
returned to the collie.
It ate ravenously, as if breaking a long fast. And
while he stood watching it, wondering at the dumb
fidelity which had kept it steadfast beside the grave
though it slowly starved-he heard a faint cry from
seaward, turned in surprise, and saw Katherine
stumbling hurriedly up from the beach. Though
was


NO MAN'S LAND
297
she had evidently been running for some distance
and was flushed and breathless, there was something
more than haste in her manner; there was its stimu-
lus, a commingling of strong emotions so interde-
pendent and confused that he found them unintel-
ligible and recognised only intense excitement into
which they merged.
When he hastened to meet her, the dog bolting
avidly the last shreds of meat and bread, followed
sniffing at his heels.
So strong was her agitation that she seemed for-
getful of everything but her need of him, turning to
him for protection, reassurance, guidance, as though
he were their only source. Even in his perplexity
and deep concern, he understood this and was
glad.
She was stumbling with exhaustion as they met
and would have fallen had he not caught her hands;
then for a moment longer she could not speak for
panting, and clung to him in trembling, a frantic
question in her eyes.
“Garrett,” she gasped at length—"Garrett-I
want you to tell me the truth, if you know it—the
truth, Garrett, though I'm afraid to hear it ..."
She paused, shuddering, the crimson ebbing from her
cheeks and lips while terror played like lightning in
her eyes.
Cautiously he looked round. . . . But the de-


NO MAN'S LAND
301
found the boat, drawn up close under the bluff, in-
visible from above. . .. At first I thought it meant
Mr. Power had come back, and then I saw how un-
likely that was, and tried to explain it. And sud-
denly it came to me—the real meaning of it. And I
hurried to find you ..."
“ Thank God!” said Coast.
She looked up, wondering at his tone.
“I mean it's one way out," he said soberly; "a
mighty slim chance—but yet a chance: I mean, the
boat. I've been puzzling all along-if worst came
to worst, there was the catboat-but how to get you
aboard her? You couldn't swim 'that far ..."
She shook her head. “I could; but even then would
it be possible to work her inshore and take you
aboard unobserved? For if they saw us, I'd be under
fire and . . . Blackstock has my pistol,” he ended
lamely.
She uttered a low cry of distress; but he could
only shake his head in melancholy confirmation of
the tidings, detailing the way Blackstock had seized
the weapon.
"But now," he wound up with a sorry show of
optimism, "it's another story. With the rowboat,
we can get off. As things stand, Appleyard ...
Well, we'd better not risk waiting for him. The cat
lies out of easy range, and if they try to swim out
to stop us, I can beat them off with a boathook or an


302 NO MAN'S LAND
oar. I think we can make it—at least, it's worth
trying. I'll go now and have a look at that boat.”
She drew a deep breath, with a nod endorsing this
forlorn hope. “Very well,” she said tersely. “Go,
then. I must hurry back, for fear he may miss me.
.... Yes, I cap brave it out; don't worry-I shant
let him suspect. . . . And there's another reason,"
she continued stubbornly, when he tried to object :
“I can get you a revolver if I go back. Yes, my
own. I have it in my trunk; I'm sure he doesn't
know of it, for I never thought to show it him. It
is loaded, too; and I can get it easily. . . . Now I
will go.”
Doubting, he let her have her way. It was true,
what she said: a too prolonged absence from the
bungalow would be certain to excite Blackstock's
suspicions. After all, it was only another chance
taken: and one more or less seemed insignificant
compared with the sum total of those they were
agreed to risk.
“Very well,” he consented reluctantly. “They
won't miss me, that's sure; but you ... Try to
slip away about dusk. Make some excuse, and
I'll be waiting here, all prepared. And ... make
sure of that revolver, first thing you get back. Take
care of yourself above all things. ... Oh, don't
worry about me; he doesn't; with my fangs drawn,


NO MAN'S LAND
303
I'm no longer a factor in his calculations. . . . Go,
then, and—God keep you, Katherine."
He could imagine the effort that her brave smile
at parting cost her. ...
Unsmiling, sombrely thoughtful, he watched her
away, then hurried down to the beach.
Ten minutes of steady walking brought him to the
place where he had bathed that morning—ages ago!
A scant hundred feet further on, at the very foot of
the bluff that arched a slightly concave face above it,
lay a rowboat, bottom up, screened by a huge
boulder. Hope palpitant in his bosom, leaping
and dying like a candle in the wind, he hastened to
it, bent over, hands beneath the thwart, and stood
it on its side. A low cry of disappointment sighed
out from his lips. He let the boat fall back to its
original position.
There were neither oars nor rowlocks. ...
Despair blackened the sky for him. He swung
about mechanically, in a daze of frustrated hope,
and started back, plodding heavily as with weighted
feet.
Fifty yards away from the boat, a resounding
crash behind him brought him to the about face with
a start.
Whether by accident of nature or human design a
portion of the overhanging bluff, just at its verge,


304
NO MAN'S LAND
had given way, precipitating upon the boat, in a
cloud of pebbles, earth and dust, a rock several hun-
dred pounds in weight; one entire side of the dory
had been crushed in.
Coast's gaze ranged upward. Along the edge of
the bluff nothing moved.
He listened intently. Not a sound ....
A pale smile edged his troubled lips. “Check!"
he said; and with a shrug resumed the backward
way.
Unheeded at his heels the blind dog dragged,
muzzle and tail adroop, uttering now and then a
woeful whine so faint that it seemed hardly more
than a sigh. ...


306 NO MAN'S LAND
he heard nothing other than the stealthy lisp and
lapping of the crawling tide.
At his feet the blind dog crouched, motionless as
stone, seeming to search the infinite with the
unwinking stare of its dead, colourless eyes. ...
Abruptly a sound of pelting feet transformed the
scene. The blind dog lifted up with a jump and
faced round, growls rumbling in its throat. Coast
turned, startled and apprehensive.
Down the way to the beach Chang was running at
a curious, outlandish jog-trot, head low between his
broad, gaunt shoulders. Apparently he was heading
directly for Coast.
With a little thrill of fear the American glanced
round for some means of defending himself. He had
no doubt that the Chinaman had been commissioned
to dispose of him even as poor Power had been done
away with. In a sudden flush of anger he laid hold
of the first thing that caught his eye—which hap-
pened to be the half-rotted tiller of the catboat, a
heavy and formidable club if it did not break with
the initial blow-and moved a pace or two forward,
holding himself in a position of defence.
But within a hundred yards the Chinaman swerved
widely, then held on steadily toward the northern
sand spit. A moment or two later he arrived at the
water's edge, and while Coast stared half stupefied,
stopped and stripped to his linen drawers, then took
man swel


NO MAN'S LAND 307
to the water, wading out until he lost footing, then
swimming with long, powerful, overhand strokes,
straight off for the catboat.”
Watching the round, shaven poll with its coiled
pigtail cut swiftly through the glimmering silvery-
sheet of water, Coast lost himself in anxious specula-
tion until recalled by a quick movement of the dog
at his side, accompanied by a deep-throated growl.
He wheeled then to discover Blackstock close upon
them, his burly body swaying heavily as he came on
at a moderate pace.
A second growl, that more resembled an angry
roar, brought the man to a standstill, with a hand
moving nervously toward the side pocket of his coat,
in which a firearm sagged visibly.
“If you're on speaking terms with that brute,"
said the man brusquely, “call him off before I take a
pot-shot at him."
“Keep your hand clear of that pocket,” said Coast
sharply, advancing, “or I'll take a chance at you
myself."
"You?” Blackstock's thick lips curved, contempt-
uous. “Take your chance, by all means, with that
silly, worm-eaten tiller, if you've got the nerve; but
call off that dog, or I'll shoot him dead. I want a
little talk with you.”
Coast, without ceasing to watch the man, for fear
of treachery, had stepped to the dog's side and


308
NO MAN'S LAND
caught his fingers in an aged and weather-worn strap
round its throat, before he appreciated the full sig-
nificance of Blackstock's words. Then his jaw
dropped and his eyes widened.
“What!” he cried, astounded. His gaze was
keen upon the plump, dark, brutish face that leered
at him; he saw its small eyes no longer dull and
fixed, but twinkling with an evil, impish glitter.
The 'dim suspicion that more than once he had re-
jected from his thoughts as extravagant and idle,
was suddenly resolved into conviction. “So," he
said slowly, “you do see, after all!”
“The discovery,” said Blackstock with a ponder-
ous affectation of mordant wit, “ does credit to your
perspicuity. I congratulate you on making it—when
I chose to let you."
For a moment occupied with restraining the dog,
which seemed half-mad with desire to fly at Black-
stock's throat, Coast made no reply. In the light of
this revelation the situation was taking on a new and
fairly terrifying complexion.
“Of the two of us, I must say you've been the
blindest,” Blackstock continued in a manner of bit-
ing irony that seemed to amuse him. “I wondered
from the first how long you'd take to find me out.
Kate, of course, I'm accustomed to; I've had her
hypnotised so long that she never dreams of question-
ing the matter, no matter how barefaced I am. But


NO MAN'S LAND
311
continued with a mocking pretence of candour, “ I'm
a bit bored by this place. It's served its purpose well
enough-I owe it no particular ill-will; and I've had
my fling down here and made my bit of ready money;
but now-no thanks to you, by the bye—this neck
of the woods is growing a trace too hot for me. So
I'm going to beat it and leave you cock of the roost."
“You mean you're going to try to escape in that
catboat?” Coast nodded toward the craft in ques-
tion without removing his regard from Blackstock.
“That tub? Never-r-r! Norinquisitive! but I
don't mind I'm going to go away from here in a
nice little, tight little motor-boat that's now on the
way down from New Bedford, kindness of the same
friends who sent me the Corsair—which you inter-
fered with. As for that shell out there, I guess
not!”
“Then why . . ."
Coast turned to look-retaining with some diffi-
culty his grasp upon the dog-collar. Intermittently
while Blackstock talked the blind collie had been
making vicious attempts to break away, apparently
infuriated by the man's harsh and sardonic accents.
And mechanically Coast had been restraining him.
Indistinctly in the failing light he made out the
tall, gaunt figure of the Chinaman poised with lifted


NO MAN'S LAND
315
sage to the Scylla—a Revenue cutter, I take it-or-
dering her here to bust up a nest of smugglers; and
spiked that gun with another message, a couple of
hours later, revoking the order as being based on
false information. And, finally, I got my friends
on the mainland to make up a little party to fetch
me off. So, all things being pleasant as afternoon
tea, I came down to gloat over you a little. Hope
you don't mind."
“Why," said Coast"since you'd made up your
mind about me—why did you hold off this long?
To laugh at me?"
"Partly, Mr. Coast, partly. There were other
reasons. One was, I don't bear you any ill-will:
which you'll allow is pretty decent of me, considering
the rotten way I've treated you. I don't kill in cold
blood without a pretty good reason. Van Tuyl's
mouth had to be shut, you know—or rather, you
don't know why, and likely never will; and Power
was threatening to split on the game here, so he had
to be taken care of. But you ... I'll be candid:
to begin with your life wasn't worth a tallow-dip; 1
made up my mind to eliminate you with neatness and
despatch—when your back was turned, for choice.
But then I began to think the game was about up,
so far as No Man's Land was concerned. So, what
was the use of making a bad matter messy? You
were harmless, and I didn't hate you hard enough to


NO MAN'S LAND 317
curacy, none the less missed its mark, so quickly the
dog staggered and carried Blackstock off his feet.
In a twinkling they were down, Blackstock under-
neath, grappling madly with the frenzied collie
whose jaws were snapping wickedly at his throat.
Almost beside himself, Coast retained sufficient
presence of mind to recognise his golden chance.
Dropping his club, he went to his knees at Black-
stock's side and with swift, sure hands rifled his
pockets, possessing himself of the pistol which had
been taken from him or its counterpart. Dully, while
thus employed, he was aware of a shout and a
scream, oddly blended. The fear of Chang upper-
most in his consciousness, he jumped to his feet,
armed and alert, and whirled about.
But everything had taken place so swiftly and with
so little warning, that the Chinaman, quick though
he was to take the alarm and start at top speed for
the scene of the struggle, was still many yards dis-
tant when Coast arose, without a scruple leaving
Blackstock at the mercy of the dog.
He saw Chang coming and saw him stop and
level a revolver. Simultaneously he heard a shot-
but from another quarter and another weapon than
the Chinaman's. The latter, gleaming in the half
light, suddenly few out of his hand and to one side,
falling in shallow water, while Chang grabbed his
right hand with his left and doubled like a jack,


NO MAN'S LAND
321
From behind them came a long-drawn, piercing
hail:
“Black, O Black! Aho-o-oy!”
Blackstock lifted his head with an effort.
“Aho-oy!” he cried in a shaking voice, and:
“Help!" in a feebler.
And Coast, looking curiously over his shoulder as
they toiled up the incline, saw him paw feebly at the
side of the boat, then collapse upon the sands be-
side it, as if fainting.


XIX
By the time they had passed through the Cold Lairs,
Katherine's strength began to fail. The rapid pace
at which they had made the ascent from the beach
had told upon her more than Coast would have
realised but for insuppressible evidences of distress
she betrayed, her laggard footsteps and her laboured
breathing. Passing an arm round her waist, he held
her up and gave her what support and help he could,
but when they had gained the summit of the first
ridge inland, between the farm-house and deserted
village, he had to pause and rest.
From that point of vantage, with the broad
crescent of the beach spread out beneath their gaze,
they watched the landing of the seine-boat.
Like some huge water insect of many legs, black
body silhouetted against the silvered sea, it sped in-
shore, four long oars to a side dipping and lifting
with the rhythmical beat of a perfect piece of ma-
chinery. From its stern long ripples widened like
plumes, black lines streaming out in long, perfect
curves upon the gleaming, steely surface. ...
Then of a sudden with precise accord the oars
were lifted and laid in: at slowly decreasing speed
were
322


NO MAN'S LAND
323
the long-boat slipped through the shoaling waters
and nosed the sands. Four figures leaped over-
board and grasping the thwarts hauled the bows
high upon the beach. Others followed, some lin-
gering to help drag the long-boat out of the tide's
limits, some trotting hurriedly to Blackstock's aid.
With difficulty, because of the momentarily fading
light, Coast counted the company of the newcomers;
they numbered, as nearly as he could estimate, ten.
With Blackstock and Chang, that meant twelve to
two-fourteen to two, if he were to include the two
coolies in the farm-house.
He withheld a groan of dismay, and tightened
his arm round the woman's waist, unconsciously con-
secrating his life to her defence. Blackstock should
recapture her only when he, Coast, had fallen fight-
ing. Outnumbered, with dogged determination, he
pitted himself, his wits and strength and fortitude,
against them all. He had nothing else to rely upon;
and he had inwardly abandoned hope of help from
Appleyard before the fog lifted. Undoubtedly it
was that which was detaining the little man. ...
Dimly through the gloaming he saw Black-
stock lifted to his feet before the throng closed
round him, a vague dark blur about the boat. From
the east the tall, gaunt figure of Chang was moving
with long and steady strides back to join them.
As yet there was no indication of pursuit.
11
e was


324
NO MAN'S LAND
None the less, Coast stirred uneasily and glanced
in solicitude down at the pale oval of the face rest-
ing wearily against his shoulder.
“Feeling better?" he inquired gently. “Do you
think you can walk, dear?”.
She drew in a deep breath and nodded assent.
“I'm all right, now,” she said, though still her res-
piration sounded harsh and uneven;" at least, I will
be presently. ... Are they coming?" she added
with a start.
"No," he answered. “They're not worrying
about us. We can't get far-not off the island.
When we're wanted, they'll find us easily enough,
I'm afraid. For the present, Blackstock's entertain-
ing them with the story of his misadventure." He
laughed shortly." Come," he said; and they turned
again inland, moving at a brisk walk toward the
bungalow—with what purpose neither could have
said.
“But that seine-boat?” he asked suddenly, a mo-
ment later. "Where under Heaven did she drop
from? You spoke of the schooner ...?"
“It's ashore,” she told him. “I saw it all from
the bungalow. ... I had been inside, looking
for my trunk keys. I couldn't seem to find them at
first. He was in the wireless-room when I went in,
but by the time I found the keys, he had disappeared.
I went to the door and stood looking out, wonder-


328
NO MAN'S LAND
night with the clamour of their disputations and their
cursings.
Unseen and all unsought '(so far as they could
say, with no sign given them of either detection or
pursuit) they hurried off as warily and fearfully as
wild things skirting the haunts of men, skulking
silently over hills and down through hollows, over
fields and fences, until at length they came without
accident out upon the spreading sweep of sand to
the east of the long, low-lying spit.
Later they found themselves at the end of this,
the northern extremity of the island; and here Coast
put down the unlighted lantern and spread the rug in
a slight depression between low dunes. ...
Cimmerian murk encompassed them, abysmal, im-
passive, penetrated only by dimmed rays of light
from the windows of the bungalow, seemingly in-
calculable miles distant.
ned up close to their refuge, the mur-
mur of its flooding tide not more soft and gentle
than the tones in which now, and again they spoke
to one another.
Invisible to him, she lay at length, resting upon
the rug. He sat near her head, watchful and pre-
pared against surprise. Between them, beneath the
irk of tedious circumstance, was the peace of perfect
understanding.
Slowly the hours ebbed. They had long since
ceased to speak. From the regularity of her breath-
mur


NO MAN'S LAND
333
Immediately, at the pistol shot, the Echo swerved
sharply off to the west, her red side light disappear-
ing; and for a full minute held on so before she
swung smartly on her heel and showed first the
green and then the red, bearing straight as an arrow
for the end of the sand spit.
On the island, at the same time, the results of the
report (which, when the catboat came about, was
followed by four others in brisk succession) were
no less marked. Down the wind from the
bungalow floated a wild chorus of shouts and
calls. În its vicinity half a dozen twinkling lights
studded the darkness on the uplands, springing to
life as if by magic, and were whisked hither and
thither like so many will-o'-the-wisps, suggesting a
stupid, half-distracted ferment of conflicting advice,
argument and wills amongst the smugglers. Pres-
ently, however, some sort of order was evidently
evolved; the lights converged to a common centre
and bore swiftly down toward the beach. :-...
Coast put down the lantern on the swelling,
rounded summit of a small dune, and took the
steamer rug from Katherine, mechanically folding it
as he divided troubled attention between the nearing
boat and the distant rabble—now streaming head-
long down through the Cold Lairs and shouting as
they came.
“No more need for this,” he said, referring to


334
NO MAN'S LAND
the rug; "the light won't tell them anything they
don't know, now. But ..." His perturbed voice
trailed off irresolutely as he stood, a frowning glance
directed down the beach.
Katherine was quick to catch the note of worry in
his tone. "What is it?" she asked. “You're not
afraid you don't think- "
* No,” he reassured her stoutly; “ they're much
too far away to catch us now. Only-hark to that!”
There was, in fact, a strange and sinister sound in
the yelping of the gang; their cries were indistin-
guishable, but owned a dull, level pitch of minatory
rage, infinitely perturbing, since it seemed so sense-
less—like the harsh and inarticulate snarling of an
infuriated lunatic.
A shiver shot along Coast's spine. He found the
woman, trembling, had moved close to his side.
“ What does it mean?”.
“I don't know," he said," sounds like a pack of
starving wolves. ... No matter; it can't concern
us. In two minutes ..."
The Echo had drawn near enough for the noise
of the motor to be perceptible: she was moving un-
der power only, her sail down but not furled, hang-
ing in stiff and clumsy folds in the lazy-jacks. He
could even see the tender trailing astern, and make
out a single figure at the wheel. ... Then the
latter bobbed down out of sight for an instant, and


NO MAN'S LAND 335
the purring of the engine was abrupted. There fol-
lowed the splash of the anchor, and the little ves-
sel brought up quickly, swinging wide to face the
wind.
With a warning cry Katherine stepped quickly
away from Coast and swung round, whipping out:
her small but effective pearl-handled revolver.
“Stop!” she cried in a vibrant voice. “Halt, or
I'll fire!”
Coast, as prompt to take alarm, had instantane-
ously imitated her action. Wheeling, weapon poised,
he discovered the shadowed shape of a man running
toward them-or, rather, staggering, for he seemed
badly winded-leaping and reeling through the un-
dulations of the low, formless dunes, whose soft
and yielding substance had deadened the sound of
his approach until he was almost upon the two.
At Katherine's call he flung up one hand as if to
signify a peaceful intent, but came on at unabated
speed.
“Don't shoot!” he pleaded hoarsely. “ I'm un-
armed - "
Both knew that voice too well. The woman's
figure straightened to rigidity. “Stop!” she re-
peated, imperative, inflexible. “Stop, Dougias,
or "
Coast threw out a hand and deflected the muzzle
of her weapon. “Don't," he said aside; “if it


336 NO MAN'S LAND
comes to that, let me attend to him!... Black-
stock!” he cried curtly. “Stand where you are!"
At this the man pulled up at a distance of a few
feet, within the radius of lantern light. “Steady!”
he begged between gasps. “I've ... beaten 'em
out. ... Plenty of time. ..."
“What's your game now?” demanded Coast
coldly, his attention distracted by the comforting
sound of dipping oars and squealing rowlocks be-
hind him.
“Game!” The man's eyes caught a curious glint
of light from the lantern as they shifted swiftly,
glancing sidelong. “Game!” he iterated in broken
and hollow tones. “I'm in no shape for games
now! For God's sake don't be hard on me. I've
come to give myself up-to surrender.”
His announcement fell like a thunderclap. Mo-
mentarily Coast discredited his sense of hearing.
“Surrender?” he muttered, incredulous. "You?”
He cast a quick, cautious look round. There was no
one else within the limits of his vision—not a figure
nor a moving shadow. His gaze returned to the
huge, quaking shape before them: Blackstock in a
panic, trembling with fear and exhaustion, his plump
face turned a pasty, unwholesome shade and largely
blotched with dull, burning red, eyes like knots show-
ing too much white and rolling restlessly, loose mouth
a-quiver, hands shaking, breath coming and going
O


NO MAN'n
S LAND 337
with a sound resembling the exhaust of a skipping
motor. “The devil!” said Coast to himself; and
aloud in accents hard and unrelenting: “You'd
best explain ...?"
With a sudden movement, the woman touched his
arm.
“Don't trust him, Garrett!” she exclaimed.
“You know him-don't, don't trust him!”
“I've no intention " Coast began.
Incontinently they were treated to the incongruous
spectacle of Blackstock on his knees, humbling him.
self first to the woman, then to the man he had
wronged, fat, mottled, tremulous hands imploring
them. “No!” he prayed, coarsely pitiful. “Don't
say that! Don't say it! Have a little pity! My
God! don't you know I'm dying? Don't leave
me here to die like a dog, in the name of mercy!”
“Dying ..." Coast repeated, while Katherine
bent forward, peering steadily into the man's face.
“What d'you mean by "dying’?”.
“Don't you understand—can't you see?” The
plump, spotted hands fumbled at his throat; for
the first time Coast remarked that it was bandaged,
and began to comprehend what frightful fear was
bringing the man to his feet. “That damn' dog,"
Blackstock breathed convulsively—"he's done for
me, if I don't get help-medical help-quick. He's
torn my throat to tatters,” he whispered; “I'm poi-


NO MAN'S LAND 339.
ashore, trotting up, painter in hand. “What's
this?” he demanded briskly. "Hello, Coast!
Madam, your servant. .. Now, what's the row?”
He put himself in the centre of the group, bright
watchful eyes diagnosing one expression after an-
other on the countenances round him; with something
in his pose and manner singularly suggestive of an
exceptionally intelligent and inquisitive magpie.
Coast dropped a hand affectionately on his
shoulder. “Thank Heaven, you're here at last," he
said. “And here's your prisoner-take him in the
name of the law and for the sake of peace. He's
been badly bitten, first by a dog and then by fright,
and he wants to give himself up and be sent to a
hospital.”
“Oh, that's it, eh? I heard a bit of the confab,
while rowing in, and it listened uncommon inter-
estin'; but I couldn't figure out what was at the bot-
tom of it all. Well, well, Mr. Blackstock!” The
little man rubbed his hands. “I am glad to come up
with you. This is more fun than a goat, for sure.
Come!” He jerked his perky little head toward the
tender. “ Jump in, and I'll hurry you to market.”
A sullen look replaced the terror that had masked
Blackstock's face. He sighed and with a brief,
uncertain nod, apparently directed at Coast, collected
himself and trudged heavily toward the boat, en-
tering which he squatted silently in the stern.


340 NO MAN'S LAND
Appleyard's eyes sought Coast's. The younger
man lifted his shoulders, disclaiming honour or re-
sponsibility. “When the devil was sick,” he quoted
in disgust, lowering his tone. “Keep an eye on
him.”
“Well, rawther,” Appleyard drawled. “But he
won't try any monkeyshines aboard the Echo-or
I never saw a man afraid of his sins before. ...
Madam,” he added, turning with a curious little
courtly bow to the woman, “if you'll step in ”—
his glance travelled past her, down the beach—“we'll
beat that pack to the mainland. I see,” he said,
“ they're launching a long-boat. What kind of a
yarn explains that, please?”
Coast recounted with exceptional brevity the
wrecking of the schooner, at the same time stepping
into the boat and placing himself at the oars, on the
middle seat. Katherine sat forward, behind him,
and Appleyard, pushing off, scrambled aft and
dropped down beside Blackstock, who sulkily moved
to one side to make room for him.
pleasantly. “We really haven't got a minute to
spare—those chaps are laying to their oars as if they
really wanted to scrape acquaintance with us. Or
perhaps," he suggested with a look askance at
Blackstock, “my cheerful prisoner can account for
this apparent mad anxiety of theirs to bid their


342
NO MAN'S LAND
neck before you get away: they've just discovered
your perfidy. But don't you fret. Here we are
and long before they can drive that seine-boat this
far we'll be sailing merrily away.”
i With this assurance Appleyard rose, catching the
'Echo's side as Coast shipped his oars and the
dory glided smoothly alongside the larger vessel.
“Steady on!” he said. “Coast, you first, and
give a hand to Mrs. Blackstock. Now, you "_to
Blackstock when Coast had helped Katherine into
the cockpit-"and step lively! Your companions
in crime are a bit too close for comfort. ..
Coast, I'd suggest that Mrs. Blackstock step below
until we get under way; there's apt to be a bit of
shooting, I'm afraid, if we don't look sharp.”
Katherine sought Coast's eyes; he nodded a grave
affirmation into hers. “Only a few moments,” he
said, offering his hand. Without a word she ac-
cepted it and let herself down into the dark interior
of the cabin.
“Now, Coast, the anchor-lively!”.
Coast straightened up hastily. Blackstock was in
his way, standing in the corner of the cockpit between
the cabin-trunk and the coaming, while Appleyard
was hurriedly taking up the engine-pit hatch. So
the younger man stepped unsuspiciously to starboard
across the centre-board trunk, into the very arms
of calamity.


NO MAN'S LAND 343
Va
What followed fell like a bolt from the blue and
passed with its rapidity.
Appleyard stood to port with his back to Black-
stock, in the act of putting the hatch aside. Coast
on the seaward side was on the point of lifting him-
self to the top of the cabin, with intent to go for-
ward and cast off the anchor. There was crossing
his mind the veriest hint of a suspicion that the
blackness in the shadow of the unfurled canvas, above
the cabin, was more dense and tangible than it should
be, when this shadow, seemingly with a single move-
ment, rose above him like a cloud, towering as huge
and terrifying, its black human bulk blotting out
the blazing stars, as the fabled jinnee of the fisher-
man's bottle: loomed menacingly above him in the
enormous, dripping nakedness of Chang, and fell
upon him with the fury and ferocity of a panther.
For a few chaotic seconds he remained conscious,
feeling himself crushed and borne down irresist-
ably to the deck, then lifted like a bag of grain and
hurled directly into the black, gaping maw of the
companionway.
Something came in painful contact with his skull,
and the world went up in a blaze of crimson
Aame. ...


XXI
THROUGH the empty murk of the blasted, blackened
world strange ghosts of thoughts, cares, strange blind
weeping faces of things that he had known, scurried
like mice through the night of an empty house, came
out of darkness, passed into darkness, and returned,
plucking at him with weak, futile hands, crying im-
portunately for heed and recognition; but when he
tried to know them, they were gone, leaving only the
ache of effort. ...
Then suddenly he was conscious, lying at the bot-
tom of a pit of everlasting midnight, his limbs con-
strained in unnatural positions, his head racked by
splitting pains, but singularly, softly pillowed, his
face gently bedewed with drops of moisture, soft and
warm.
He struggled to rise, stirred, murmured incoher-
ently, and slid back into insensibility.
When again intelligence returned to him, there
was light—a strong and yellow glare flooding the
cabin of the Echo from the lamp rocking in its gim-
bals overhead. A face bent above his-Katherine's;
his head lay in her lap; and another face, Apple-
yard's, was close beside that fairer one. On both
he read anxiety, compassion and solicitude.
“Hello," he said weakly.
344


NO MAN'S LAND
345
ervou
“Feeling better?” asked Appleyard.
“Some.” Coast essayed a smile, and made a fail-
ure of it, then with a sudden return of memory put
forth an effort that cost him the agony of feeling a
jagged tongue of flame lick through his brain, and
sat up. “What's happened?” he asked thickly.
“A little something of everything unpleasant,"
said Appleyard. “You had a nasty fall and pretty
nearly cracked that solid ivory skull of yours. I've
had a bit of a shake-up, extremely detrimental to the
admirable poise of my nervous system; and Mrs.
Blackstock has experienced a shock and a fright that
didn't do her any particular amount of good.”
“Yes . .. but ..."
Coast reviewed their position in a comprehensive
survey of the cabin. They three were prisoners,
huddled together in close captivity; the companion
doors were closed and undoubtedly locked—since
otherwise Appleyard would long since have had them
open; for the air in the cabin was hot and oppressive.
Katherine was looking pale and worn, Appleyard
bright but distinctly worried. Coast himself was
suffering severely from the blow on his head and a
broken scalp, which Katherine had bandaged as best
she could with two handkerchiefs. In so far, their
condition was unpleasant and uncomfortable; exter-
nal circumstances rendered it distressing and appar-
ently dangerous.


346
NO MAN'S LAND
Since his loss of consciousness the breeze had
gained in strength to such a degree that there was
now a moderately stift sea running. In the trough
of this for the most of the time, the catboat
was wallowing crazily, rolling so heavily that she
frequently seemed to be on her beam ends, now and
again varying this conduct by running free before
the wind for a few moments, but only to bring up
again broadside to the waves. The motor was silent
and there was no sound audible from the cockpit
beyond an occasional slap of spray and the rattling
of the mainsheet block along its traveller as the
boom banged and swayed from port to starboard and
back again. Considered as sailing, the existing con-
ditions were pure insanity.
Every instinct of the sailor outraged, Coast
tried to stand up and open the doors. The latter,
however, resisted his efforts, and the boat presently
lurched her lee rubstrake under and threw him on
his back; in which position he remained while Apple-
yard chronicled the futility of his own attempts to
break out and narrated what he understood of the
happenings which had brought the Echo to this pass.
“Blackstock jumped me," he explained—“I had
my back turned, you know—just as the Chinaman
dropped on you like a load of brick. Before I knew
what was up, the brute had me in a hold I couldn't
break-both arms pinned. Then he snatched my


NO MAN'S LAND
347
gun out of my pocket and threw me after you,
t'other side of the centre-board. I lit on my feet,
but the doors were slammed and bolted before I
could turn round, and it was all over but the shouting.
... There was plenty of that, for Blackstock
wasted a lot of valuable time trying to start the motor
before he told Chang to hoist the sail. By then
the long-boat was close in and Blackstock warning
her to keep off, or he'd shoot. Right then some-
body in the boat started something—the bullet
lodged in the side, by the sound of it. The long-
boat bumped us, and there was the dickens of a
shindig going on overhead. I gathered that Chang
distinguished himself with the boathook, using it as
a flail, and Blackstock must 've had another gun
besides mine from the way he kept a-popping. The
other gang kept busy, too; but they hadn't the heart
for it Blackstock and Chang had, and after a bit
they sheered off and gave it up. ...
“Somehow or other Chang got the sail up, and
we began to move There was some groaning over-
head, and then a fall, with Blackstock cussin' moder-
ate, but steady, but we skimmed along as steadily
and prettily as your please. That was over an hour
ago_say an hour and a half; and ever since then
this lunatic business has been going on. I lighted
the lamp ana attacked the door with a screw-
driver-the only crowbar I could find—bent that
SOTA


350 NO MAN'S LAND
it out in inky blackness, the moonlight struck cold
and hard upon the evil, grinning mask of death that
was his face.
Swaying drunkenly, Blackstock occupied the wheel-
box, his fat white hands loose of grasp upon the
spokes and moved by rather than controlling it.
His head sagged low upon his chest, swinging heav-
ily from side to side as the catboat rolled.
He, at least, could not be dead, as Chang unques-
tionably was—a fact Appleyard presently verified
by the most brief of inquests, discovering in the
Chinaman's naked torso no less than three bullet
wounds, all indicating the perforation of a vital spot.
Stooping low to escape the banging of the boom,
Coast stepped over the Chinaman's body and went
to Blackstock. He had some trouble overcoming
his physical repugnance to the task, but resolutely
forced himself to touch the man, seizing a shoulder
with one hand, while with the other he lifted his
head and exposed his face to the light. It shone a
ghastly white, but the jaws were set and in their
sockets the prominent eyes moved and lifted to
Coast's face, with a dim, pale glimmer of recogni-
tion. But it was evident at a glance that only his
tremendous vitality and force of will sustained the
man: the blood soaked bosom of his flannel shirt
told too plainly the tale of a terrible drain upon his
strength.


с Сс Сс


354 NO MAN'S LAND
in no danger of overturning, now that a trained and
steady hand was at the helm and the Echo moving
smoothly and easily to a leading wind. “Now, harf
a mo',” he continued. “I'm going to get this motor
going”—and with this he dropped into the open
engine-pit—"and then I'll have a look at your
wounds." He bent over and began to rock the fly-
wheel.
Slowly the warming spirit worked a change
in Blackstock, lending him a fictitious and evanescent
sense of strength. He straightened up against the
back of the seat, a faint touch of colour. dyeing his
cheeks, and with a peculiar half-smile watched the
little man at work.
“What's the use ?” he asked abruptly in a voice
more clear than heretofore.
“What's the use of what?" asked Appleyard
sharply, looking up.
“Of troubling with me-trying to save my life?”
“Oh..." With a sudden cough the motor
began to hum; Appleyard sat down on the edge of
the hatch coaming, folded his hands before him and
continued to eye the wounded man. “I don't know,"
he said with an air of open confession: “I don't
know, I'm sure. Business, so far as I'm concerned;
commonplace humanity with Coast, I presume; all
that sort of nonsense. Why? Don't you want to
be helped-sayed?"
Soberly Blackstock shook his heavy head. "No,"


NO MAN'S LAND
355
he said evenly. “What's the use? I'm at the end
of my tether, as far as getting any of the savour out
of life's concerned. ... Can't see the profit of
clinging to what's going to be only a burden to me
from now on. ... Prefer to be let alone. ..."
He swung his head as though it were lead, to
bring his gaze to rest on Coast; for a full minute
he eyed him steadily, wonderingly; then with a little
nod he moistened his lips with his tongue. “Be-
sides," he said, with more perceptible strain, “ I'm
only in the way. With me out of it, everything 'll
run more smoothly for all of you." ...
By a mysteriously reinforced effort he lifted him-
self suddenly to his feet and stood swaying while
Appleyard from his low seat and Coast from his
post of duty watched him in amazement.
“Repentance ? " said the man slowly, as if iterat-
ing some recently spoken word. He laughed briefly
and without mirth. “No; nothing like that. I'm
not that sort . .. which you can't understand. ...
No; I'm just a bad loser, that's all. I've played the
game I liked—which you can't understand, either,
for you played on the other side—and I've lost out.
i.. It's over... over and paid for ... as
much as I intend ever to pay. ..." He smiled
again his curious, secret smile. ... “That's all.
... Obituary: Here lies a bad loser. R. I. P.
... Gentlemen . ..." He leaned heavily on the