What the...?" Phil meant to argue with his friend but he had disappeared. He watched the two men as they passed into the tunnel. The man in front started to talk, but Phil heard the now familiar voice cut in.
"Shut up and keep walking!". Phil followed at a distance.
Reaching the cottage Gregory instructed his hostage to open the door. The light from the cottage door, although dim in comparison to electric light, seemed to flood the area. Mike! Darling! Are you all right?" Tracy's Mum called out. She flung her arms around his neck, only to be rebuffed by the harsh tones of the man with the gun.
"That's enough!" He waved the gun from side to side, signalling for them to go into the cottage. The door closed behind them.
Phil crouched by the window and listened. His mind was racing. To burst in when Gregory held the gun would have been very foolish, and may have ended in tragedy. Heroics were not an option. Tracy's mother had made that clear as they had prepared for the evening. He instinctively knew that Arthur had been right about Gregory not wanting to use the gun. It would be a last resort.
Gregory was speaking inside. "The discs? You have got them?" Except for the circumstances his impeccable Oxford English made it difficult to believe, even after all that had happened, that he was not what he had first claimed to be.
"I told you I would have them." Tracy's mum spoke with a cool and calm voice. "They are here."
Phil heard the catches of a box being opened. Then he heard a man's voice.
"O.K. You've got what you want. Now just go." It was Tracy's father who spoke.
"You fool!" Gregory sneered. "Do you think I'm going to leave you here, knowing what you know!"
"What do you mean?" It was Tracy's voice; she sounded alarmed. "You've got what you came for!"
"I've got the discs, yes, but surely you didn't imagine you could just walk away. There's too much at stake to risk you blowing our cover at this late stage." Gregory walked towards the window as he spoke. Phil saw his shadow loom large on the ground near where he crouched. Gregory continued. "No. You are all invited to have a little holiday at my government's expense. Of course the accommodation is not what you might call five star." he chuckled, a wicked little laugh that chilled his listeners.
"And if we refuse?" Tracy's dad looked drained and pale. He had hoped his ordeal would be over.
"You can choose!" Gregory retorted. "Either a short sea trip, or perhaps a tragic accident. Three bodies washed up on the shore, their boat had sunk, you know the sort of thing. People are disappearing all the time"
"You wouldn't get away with it!" Tracy's fathers voice was raised in desperation.
Cautiously Reuben opened the well doors. He could hear the groans of the man inside, who had stopped splashing about. He shone his torch into the space and saw the dazed man sitting at the edge of the water on a small ledge, rubbing his wrists together. There was something familiar about him as he squinted fearfully up into the torch light. He had managed to remove the gag.
"Who's that?" If there had been any doubt about who this man was in Reuben's mind it was swept away by the strong American accent. It was Harry.
"It's Reuben. Are you all right?"
"Boy! Am I glad to see you!"
"Do you think you could climb out?" Reuben asked.
"Not likely" he grimaced, "They tied my wrists so tight I can't seem to use my hands."
Reuben let himself gently down into the well using the rope. He swung over to the ledge and perched next to his American friend.
"There is another way out." he said, and shined his torch around the walls. Behind Harry's ledge was a small opening. They crawled into it, finding the tunnel behind and the steps leading down to the cottage.
Phil, hearing a noise in the undergrowth behind him, spun round to see Arthur approaching. He motioned to him to keep quiet and keep his head down. Arthur duly crept up to his crouching companion.
"Where did you get to?" Phil hissed. Arthur grinned, but before he had a chance to reply there was a noise from inside the cottage. It appeared to come from under the floor.
"What's going on?" Gregory's voice barked. Somehow it seemed less self-assured.
"Just rats." Tracy commented, her voice loaded with irony. "We seem to be having a few problems with them at the moment."
Phil was thinking hard. He looked at Arthur. "I think it's about time we joined the party." He stood up and, standing away from the door for safety's sake, leaned across to knock.
Underneath the cottage Reuben was pushing up on the trapdoor he knew led to the cottage kitchen. In the excitement of rescuing Harry he had forgotten about the likelihood of Gregory's presence in the room above. He was more than a little startled when he eventually managed to lift the hatch and found himself for the second time in only a few days staring into the wrong end of a gun. He nearly fell back into the passage below.
"Well, hello. We meet again. How many more of you are hiding down there?" Gregory appeared relieved. "Where's your Irish friend?"
"He's n-not here." Reuben climbed up and shut the hatch after him. There was a knock at the door.
Gregory smiled. "Ah. Here we are. I thought you might need some persuasion so I've brought a couple of friends with me. This will be them."
Reuben glanced at Tracy. Behind her, propped against the wall was the old shotgun. Gregory had not noticed it back in the shadows. With Gregory's attention on the door she had stepped closer to it. The knock was repeated. Reuben smiled to himself. He knew that knock, it was one he used himself. Gregory was about to be a disappointed man.
As Gregory opened the door Tracy moved quickly. She picked up the antique firearm.
"I'd like you to put that gun down now please." She said calmly.
And then suddenly there they all were. The look on Gregory's face when he saw Phil and Arthur, felt the barrel of a gun at his neck and realised that things were not quite going his way was a picture to see. He seemed to crumple, almost to deflate. Reuben thought he suddenly looked old and tired.
Phil took the gun from his hand without argument or opposition. "Take a seat, sir." he said courteously. "The police will be here shortly, and then I believe the 'holiday' will be on us!" He nodded towards Tracy's mother who was still sitting calmly at the table. Tracy's father, Mike had taken the seat next to her. He was still visibly shaken and astonished at the speed of happenings in that cottage room. Gregory sat on one of the remaining tea chests, Tracy still standing guard with the empty shotgun.
Reuben lifted the hatch and helped a bemused Harry up into the gathering. He blinked as he came out of the darkness of the tunnel below. Phil took up a position by the door. He felt distinctly nervous about the gun he held in his hand. He had never fired one before and did not intend to start now, but if Gregory was expecting company then they needed to be ready. Tracy's mum had called her contact in Scotland Yard as soon as they knew about the island rendezvous and the police launch would be there soon. All the same he wished it was all over. What could be keeping them?
"I say?" Arthur asked. "These two friends of yours. They wouldn't be about six foot tall with donkey jackets and woollen hats?"
Reuben's mind flashed back to the path by the well. He had seen these men. Gregory looked up, staring at Arthur in disbelief. He said nothing.
"It's just that when I met them on the beach I asked them if they were the police, and when I complimented them on their prompt arrival they made some excuse about collecting some gear and went back to the boat. Funny thing is that as soon as they got to the boat they pulled up anchor and left."
Gregory buried his head in his hands again. He knew it was all over. Giving the gun to Mike, who unclipped the magazine and emptied it, Phil stepped out of the cottage and looked down towards the beach. A large dark shape was creeping round the headland and even as he watched a bright search beam aboard the small ship was switched on and started to sweep the shoreline.
"I think they're here!" he called back to the cottage.
Tracy's mum took out her mobile phone and tapped in a number. Minutes later a party of what appeared to be Royal Marines had arrived and secured the prisoner, who now offered no resistance and seemed to have sunk into a deep depression.
"It's a pity the accomplices got away!" said Tracy's Mum.
"Oh! I don't know about that." Arthur replied with a wry smile.
"What do you mean?"
"Well before I met them on the beach I felt like a little paddle in my canoe." Arthur's smile had turned into a broad grin. "I took the liberty of retrieving a very small bit of personal property I had lent to Harry here. It just happened to be on the boat."
He held up a small metal object. It was a wing nut. Harry's face lit up for the first time since he had emerged from the dark hole in the ground.
"If that's what I think it is then I sure hope those guys enjoy their midnight swim!" he said. "I told him to see that we got that hole repaired but he seemed too preoccupied to do anything about it. Now I know why."
Later they were told that the two men had been 'rescued' halfway between the island and the shore and reunited with their leader. Apparently they had not been too eager to see him again.
They had the opportunity of leaving the island then and there, but declined. It was decided to stay on and camp out one more night on the island. No one felt much like sleeping so as Harry, Mike and Tracy's mum caught up on old times, Tracy and Arthur made up a campfire outside the cottage and Reuben passed round mugs of steaming tea, before getting busy with the remainder of Mrs Trimble's special beefburgers, sausages, onions....
Phil disappeared into the tunnel and returned in a short while with his guitar and the night unfolded until eventually, in the early hours of the morning, sleeping bags were unrolled and the kitchen turned into a makeshift dormitory. The daylight would herald their return to civilisation. Back to work, back to school, back to college and for the three lads a return to the orderly household of their trusted landlady.
The exhibition had been a great success. Arthur had arranged his work around a corner of the room. The centrepiece of the display was a video screen, which he had cleverly disguised as part of the rocks of the island. Playing on this was a video loop, 'Sunrise to Sunset' accompanied by the calls of gulls and other sea birds, and the sound of the waves lapping the shore. Phil had recorded some tasteful finger picking guitar music, and the distant strains of music and singing from around the campfire that last night they were there, was cleverly dubbed in.
The display was surrounded with paintings and drawings in different media, and Reuben had even supplied several poems reflecting that rugged seascape. As agreed, however, there was no mention of the cave, or the secret room below those tall cliffs.
No one admired the result more than Mrs Trimble, who had dressed up in her Sunday best to attend the showing.
"Ooh! Lovely!" she cooed. "I love the seascapes. You boys are so lucky. It looks like you had a really peaceful and restful weekend!"
As she spoke Reuben could see the shape of a motor launch moving across the video screen. He looked at his friends and smiled.