The Bandbox

Iff was standing at some distance from the main entrance, having pushed his way through the tangle of undergrowth to escape the scorching heat that emanated from the building. He caught sight of Staff approaching and waved a hand to him.

“Greetings!” he cried cheerfully, raising his voice to make it heard above the voice of the conflagration.

“Where’s Nelly?”

Staff explained. “But what about Ismay?” he demanded.

Iff grinned and hung his head as if embarrassed, rubbing a handkerchief over the smoke-stained fingers of his right hand.

“I got him,” he said simply.

“You left him in there?”

The little man nodded without reply and turned alertly to engage Mrs. Clover, who was bearing down upon them in the first stages of hysterics. But at sight of Iff she pulled up and calmed herself a trifle.

“Oh, sir,” she cried, “I’m so glad you’re safe, sir! I was asleep in the kitchen when the fire broke out – and then I thought I heard pistol shots – and I didn’t know but somethin’ had happened to you – ”

“No,” said Iff coolly; “you can see I’m all right.”

“And Eph, sir? Where’s my husband?” she shrieked.

“Oh,” said Iff, at length identifying the woman. “You’ll find him down at the dock – dead drunk in the motor-boat,” he told her. “If I were you I’d go to him right away.”

“But whatever will we do for a place to sleep tonight?”

“Help yourself,” Iff replied with a generous wave of his hand “You’ve all Pennymint to ask shelter of, if you can manage to make your husband run the boat across.”

“But you – what’ll you do?”

“I’ve another boat handy,” Iff explained. “We’ll go in that.”

“And will you rebuild, sir?”

“No,” he said gravely, “I don’t think so. I fancy this is the last time I’ll ever set foot on Wreck Island. Now clear out,” he added with a sharp change of manner, “and see if you can’t sober that drunken fool up.”

Abashed, the woman cringed and turned away. Presently she broke into a clumsy run and vanished in the direction of the landing-stage.

“You’ve accepted the identity of Ismay,” commented Staff disapprovingly, as they moved off together to rejoin Eleanor.

“For the last time,” said the little man. “Until I get aboard Bascom’s boat again, only. It’s the easiest way.”

“How do you mean?”

Iff nodded at the blazing building. “That wipes out all scores,” he replied. “What they find of Cousin Artie when that cools off won’t be enough to hold an inquest over; he will be simply thought to have disappeared, since I won’t return to this place. And that’s the easiest way: we don’t got any use for inquests at the wind-up of this giddy dime-novel!”

The light of the great fire illumined not only all the island but the waters for miles around. As Bascom’s boat drew away, its owner called Staff’s attention to a covey of sails, glowing pink against the dark background of the mainland as they stood across the arm of the Sound for the island.

“Neighbours,” said Mr. Bascom; “comin’ for to see if they can lend a hand or snatch a souvenir or so, mebbe.”

Staff nodded, with little interest. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see Iff and his daughter, on the opposite side of the boat. Iff was talking to her in a gentle, subdued voice strangely unlike his customary acrid method of expression. He had an arm round his daughter’s shoulders; her head rested on his…

Staff looked away, back at the shining island. He could not grudge the little man his hour. His own would come, in time…

THE END