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Authors: Jean S. Macleod
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on one side of the narrow sea passage into the bay. Yet there was nothing there, no house, not even a navigation buoy to mark the passage. She had noticed the fact earlier in the day, thinking how isolated they were.
The light flashed again, after a longer interval this time, and she opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony.
Here the night seemed to come closer, cutting her off from the villa. Everything was very still. She could hear the regular swish, swish of the waves as they broke over the pebbled beach, but there was no other sound. The whole universe seemed to be concentrating on the distant flashing light.
Once more it came. In, out; in, out. It flickered and she felt a movement in the room behind her.
“ ‘Tonight,’ ” a mocking voice decoded for her. “Don’t you know your Morse, or have you conveniently forgotten that, too?”
Dixon Cabot came out to stand on the balcony beside her. He had left the room behind them in darkness and she could just make out his tall figure silhouetted against the paler light of the sky as he leaned against the wrought iron balcony rail. For a moment he was no longer looking toward the distant flashing light. Although he c o uld not have seen her expression clearly in the darkness, he was w illing her to speak the truth.
Now that her own eyes had become accustomed to the gray light she could make out the hard line of his jaw and the strong mouth clamped firmly on his rising impatience.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she gasped. “I saw the light when I came out here. I suppose I opened the window because I wouldn’t be able to sleep right away.” She hesitated, and when he offered no comment she plunged on in an attempt at further explanation. “It seemed strange—a light being out there under the headland. I didn’t think there was a house or a buoy of any sort at that side of the bay.”
He turned his head to follow her puzzled gaze. The light had gone out. They waited in a tense silence for several minutes, but there was no repetition of the signal. Across the bay toward the headlands the night looked blacker than ever in consequence.
“You’re quite right,” he acknowledged stiffly. “There’s nothing over there. Nothing permanent. The light was coming from some craft or other. It was exactly in the middle of the entrance to the bay.”
She drew a deep breath.
“What do you think it was?” she asked.
He greeted her question with a short derisi v e laugh.
“Your guess would be as good as mine,” he said, “but it may not take me very long to find out.”
The sound of an engine starting up shattered the night’s calm, and instantly he had vaulted over the balcony rail into the darkness beneath them. She heard him letting himself down by the gnarled stem of the creeper, which clothed the villa wall beneath her window, and stood listening to the swift crunch of his heavy tread as he crossed the gravel to the path that spiraled down to the bay.
For several minutes she did not know what to do. Then the engine cut out, plunging the bay into silence. When it started again it seemed to throb like a distant drumbeat against the night, drawing farther and farther away.
Quickly she turned back into the room and ran down the stairs. There was really nothing she could do, of course, but she did not want to stay up there in the room alone.
The whole house had a deserted air now and she wondered where John had gone. He, too, was out there in the night, walking somewhere along the cliff, perhaps.
Crouching down before the fire, she raked the wood ash together and put on another log. It sparked and spat at her defiantly, but she held out her hands to its warmth, realizing for the first time how cold she was. She must have stood out there on the balcony for over ten minutes, watching the light that she now knew to be a signal. But a signal to whom? And for what purpose? Until her arrival the villa had been shut up and to all outward appearances
The light flashed again, after a longer interval this time, and she opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony.
Here the night seemed to come closer, cutting her off from the villa. Everything was very still. She could hear the regular swish, swish of the waves as they broke over the pebbled beach, but there was no other sound. The whole universe seemed to be concentrating on the distant flashing light.
Once more it came. In, out; in, out. It flickered and she felt a movement in the room behind her.
“ ‘Tonight,’ ” a mocking voice decoded for her. “Don’t you know your Morse, or have you conveniently forgotten that, too?”
Dixon Cabot came out to stand on the balcony beside her. He had left the room behind them in darkness and she could just make out his tall figure silhouetted against the paler light of the sky as he leaned against the wrought iron balcony rail. For a moment he was no longer looking toward the distant flashing light. Although he c o uld not have seen her expression clearly in the darkness, he was w illing her to speak the truth.
Now that her own eyes had become accustomed to the gray light she could make out the hard line of his jaw and the strong mouth clamped firmly on his rising impatience.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she gasped. “I saw the light when I came out here. I suppose I opened the window because I wouldn’t be able to sleep right away.” She hesitated, and when he offered no comment she plunged on in an attempt at further explanation. “It seemed strange—a light being out there under the headland. I didn’t think there was a house or a buoy of any sort at that side of the bay.”
He turned his head to follow her puzzled gaze. The light had gone out. They waited in a tense silence for several minutes, but there was no repetition of the signal. Across the bay toward the headlands the night looked blacker than ever in consequence.
“You’re quite right,” he acknowledged stiffly. “There’s nothing over there. Nothing permanent. The light was coming from some craft or other. It was exactly in the middle of the entrance to the bay.”
She drew a deep breath.
“What do you think it was?” she asked.
He greeted her question with a short derisi v e laugh.
“Your guess would be as good as mine,” he said, “but it may not take me very long to find out.”
The sound of an engine starting up shattered the night’s calm, and instantly he had vaulted over the balcony rail into the darkness beneath them. She heard him letting himself down by the gnarled stem of the creeper, which clothed the villa wall beneath her window, and stood listening to the swift crunch of his heavy tread as he crossed the gravel to the path that spiraled down to the bay.
For several minutes she did not know what to do. Then the engine cut out, plunging the bay into silence. When it started again it seemed to throb like a distant drumbeat against the night, drawing farther and farther away.
Quickly she turned back into the room and ran down the stairs. There was really nothing she could do, of course, but she did not want to stay up there in the room alone.
The whole house had a deserted air now and she wondered where John had gone. He, too, was out there in the night, walking somewhere along the cliff, perhaps.
Crouching down before the fire, she raked the wood ash together and put on another log. It sparked and spat at her defiantly, but she held out her hands to its warmth, realizing for the first time how cold she was. She must have stood out there on the balcony for over ten minutes, watching the light that she now knew to be a signal. But a signal to whom? And for what purpose? Until her arrival the villa had been shut up and to all outward appearances
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