“Sounds rather cloak-and-dagger, don’t you think?”
“It’s just a hunch, but one backed up by a strange coincidence.” I told him about seeing Winthrop Rutherfurd out by the island today, how his companions had dropped some sort of marker into the water. And how, with the light glaring its beams out across the water, anything happening directly below the lighthouse would be draped in shadow.
As I fell silent he regarded me for such a long moment I nearly squirmed. Then he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to the deck of the boat, his shirtsleeves glowing white in the darkness. “All right, then, let’s go.”
Moments later we shoved off, Derrick manning the oars.
Chapter 8
We put in on the east side of Rose Island. Derrick let our small craft drift the last few yards before hopping out—ruining his half boots and trousers in the process—and almost noiselessly pulling the dinghy up onto a spit of sand. Taking his offered hand, I crept out and we set off across the island, heading thirty or so yards down from the lighthouse.
I’d been right. Beyond the lighthouse proper and wan light spilling from the windows of the keeper’s cottage, the island lay in inky darkness. We stopped at intervals, listening but hearing nothing but the waves rippling against the island’s banks.
Finally, a low murmur brought us to an abrupt halt. We were nearing the westward shore, and here Derrick immediately tugged me down behind a rocky outcropping. I pricked my ears, again hearing nothing, until the breeze carried a throaty whisper that could not have originated from nature. Derrick held up a hand to me, signaling me to stay while he proceeded, but I snatched his wrist and shook my head no. He hesitated, his annoyance felt rather than seen, but then he nodded and we crawled forward together, bellies close to the ground.
We came to the low wall that surrounded the cottage grounds, extending some fifty yards out from the house itself. The property encompassed a neat kitchen garden, several sheds, and pens for small livestock. Just beyond the wall a steep, rocky shoreline tumbled into the bay. There a single-masted catamaran sat anchored, exactly where Winty’s skipjack had lingered earlier. Like Winty’s boat, this vessel had a flat bottom that wouldn’t scrape the rocks hidden beneath the waves. Now, as then, men stood at the railing—I counted four of them—but instead of dropping anything into the water, they were carefully lowering, by means of ropes and pulleys, what appeared to be barrels that were caught by two more men standing on the rocks at the water’s edge.
I attempted to creep over the wall, but Derrick grabbed the back of my coat and held me fast.
“I want to be able to hear them,” I whispered.
His only answer was to press a finger to his lips.
Soon the lines were hoisted and the men onshore climbed back into the boat via a rope ladder. The anchor was raised and the boat turned about. Once again I started to rise, my intent to slip down to the water’s edge to see if I could discern what type of barrels and how many now sat waiting on the shore. Once again Derrick tugged me back.
“It’s none of our business, Emma. Whatever’s going on here obviously has nothing to do with your cousin.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“No, and you shouldn’t be either. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, don’t you?”
“But the men have gone. There’s no one to see . . .”
I trailed off at the putter of a steam engine. The sound became progressively louder and soon a small freighter, no larger than twenty-five feet in length, rounded the north end of the island, the farthest point from the lighthouse. About halfway between there and Derrick’s and my position, they cut the engine and drifted the rest of the way, dropping anchor exactly where the catamaran had been.
“What the . . .” Derrick seemed to have forgotten his eagerness to leave the scene, for now he craned his neck. I didn’t prod him; I was just as interested in this new development as he.
Would Consuelo make an appearance now?
Another rope ladder was dropped over the side of the boat and a pair of rough-looking men clambered partway down and leaped onto the rocky shore. Ropes were tossed over from the deck. Working together, the two men coiled the rope around the first of the barrels, which was then hoisted up the side of the boat. Another pair of men reached over the rail and hauled it the rest of the way, carefully unwinding the rope from around the stout cask and lowering it to the deck. Then they leaned over to await the next piece of cargo.
“What do you suppose is in those barrels?” I whispered to Derrick.
He glanced at me, then stared back at the activity on the water. I made a decision and before Derrick could react, I scrambled over our stone wall.