The shadow of the Wolf

by R. Austin Freeman

“Why,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got a set of creepers! I thought you were going dredging. You won’t pick up much with creepers, will you?”

“They will pick up anything with weed attached to it,” said Thorndyke.

Varney went back to his seat with a thoughtful, somewhat puzzled expression. He smoked in silence for a minute or two and then suddenly asked:

“Where is the place that you are going to explore for these worms?”

“Professor D’Arcy’s specimen,” replied Thorndyke, “came from the neighbourhood of the Wolf Rock. That is where we are going to work.”

Varney made no comment on this answer. He looked long and steadily at Thorndyke; then he turned away his head and once more gazed out to sea. Evidently he was thinking hard, and his companions, who watched him furtively, could have little doubt as to the trend of his thoughts. Gradually, as the nature of the exploration dawned on him, his manner changed more and more. A horrible pallor overspread his face and a terrible restlessness took possession of him. He smoked furiously cigarette after cigarette. He brought various articles out of his pockets, fidgeted with them awhile and put them back. He picked up the hand-lead, looked at its arming, ran the line through his fingers and made fancy knots on the bight. And ever and anon his glance strayed to the tall lighthouse, standing out of the sea with its red-and-white ringed tower and drawing inexorably nearer and nearer.

So the voyage went on until the boat was within half a mile of the rock, when Phillip, having caught a glance and a nod from Thorndyke, gave the order to stop the engine and lower the creepers. The spar was cast loose and dropped into the water with a heavy splash, the trawl-rope ran out through the fair-lead, and meanwhile Jack Rodney took a pair of cross-bearings on the lighthouse and a point of the distant land. Then the engine was restarted, the boat moved forward at half speed and the search began.

It was an intensely disagreeable experience for all excepting the puzzled but discreet skipper and the unconscious Joe. Varney, pale, haggard and wild in aspect, fidgeted about the boat, now silent and moody, now making miserable efforts to appear interested or unconcerned; picking up and handling loose objects or portions of the gear, but constantly returning to the hand-lead, counting up the “marks” on the line or making and pulling out various knots with his restless but curiously skilful fingers. And as his moods changed, Thorndyke watched him furtively as if to judge by his manner how near they were to the object of the search.

It was a long and wearisome quest. Slowly the boat plied up and down on the eastern side of the rock, gradually approaching it nearer and nearer at each return. From time to time the creepers caught on the rocky bottom and had to be eased off; from time to time the dripping trawl-rope was hauled in and the creepers brought to the surface; offering to the anxious eyes that peered over the side nothing on the hooks but, perchance, a wisp of Zostera or a clinging spider crab.

Calm as the day was and quiet as was the ocean, stirred only by the slumberous echoes of the great Atlantic swell, the sea was breaking heavily over the rock; and as the boat closed in nearer and nearer, the water around boiled and eddied in an unpleasant and even dangerous manner. The lighthouse keepers, who had for some time past been watching from the gallery the movements of the boat, now began to make warning signs and one of them bellowed through a megaphone to the searchers to keep farther away.