Timmy didn’t hear. He was too far away. But the dog suddenly felt uneasy. He was with George’s father and Sooty at the edge of the marsh, about to lead them round the hill to safety. But he stopped and listened. He could hear nothing of course. But Timmy knew that George was in danger. He knew that his beloved little mistress needed him.
His ears did not tell him, nor did his nose. But his heart told him. George was in danger!
He turned and fled back into the tunnel. He tore up the winding passages at top speed, panting.
And, quite suddenly, just as Julian was angrily submitting to having his hands tied tightly together, a furry thunderbolt arrived! It was Timmy!
He smelt his enemy, Mr. Barling, again! He smelt Block. Grrrrrrrr-rrrnr!
‘Here’s that awful dog again!’ yelled Block, and leapt away from Julian. ‘Where’s your gun, Barling?’
But Timmy didn’t worry about guns. He leapt at Mr. Barling and got him on the floor. He gave him a nip in the shoulder that made him yell. Then he leapt at Block, and got him down, too. The other man fled.
‘Call your dog off; call him off, or he’ll kill us!’ cried Mr. Barling, struggling up, his shoulder paining him terribly. But nobody said a word. Let Timmy do what he liked!
It wasn’t long before all three of the men had gone into the dark tunnel, staggering about without a light, trying to find their way back. But they missed the string, and went wandering away in the darkness, groaning and terrified.
Timmy came running back very pleased with himself. He went to George and, whining with joy, he licked his little mistress from head to foot. And George, who never cried, was most astonished to find the tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘But I’m glad, not sad!’ she said. ‘Oh, somebody undo my hands! I can’t pat Timmy!’
Dick undid her hands and Julian’s. Then they all had a marvellous time making a fuss of Timmy. And what a fuss he made of them too! He whined and barked, he rolled over and over, he licked them and butted them all with his head. He was wild with delight.
‘Oh Timmy – it’s lovely to have you again,’ said George, happily. ‘Now you can lead us to the others. I’m sure you know where Father is, Timmy, and Sooty.’
Timmy did, of course. He set off, his tail wagging, George’s hand on his collar, and the others behind in a line, holding hands.
They had the lantern with them and two torches, so they could see the way easily. But they would never have taken the right tunnels if Timmy hadn’t been with them. The dog had explored them all thoroughly, and his sense of smell enabled him to go the right way without mistake.
‘He’s a marvellous dog,’ said Anne. ‘I think he’s the best dog in the world, George.’
‘Of course he is,’ said George, who had always thought that ever since she had had Timmy as a puppy. ‘Darling Tim – wasn’t it wonderful when he came racing up and jumped at Block just as he was tying Julian’s hands? He must have known we needed him!’
‘I suppose he’s taking us to wherever your father and Sooty are,’ said Dick. ‘He seems certain of the way. We’re going steadily downhill. I bet we’ll be at the marshes soon!’
When they at last came to the bottom of the hill, and emerged from the tunnel in the mists, George gave a yell. ‘Look! There’s Father – and Sooty too!’
‘Uncle Quentin!’ shouted Julian, Dick and Anne. ‘Sooty! Hallo, here we are!’
Uncle Quentin and Sooty turned in the greatest surprise. They jumped up and went to meet the dog and the excited children.
‘How did you get here?’ said George’s father, giving her a hug. ‘Did Timmy go back for you? He suddenly deserted us and fled back into the tunnel.’
‘What’s happened?’ asked Sooty, eagerly, knowing that the others would have plenty of news.
‘Heaps,’ said George, her face glowing. It was so nice all to be together again, Timmy too. She and Julian and Dick began to tell everything in turn, and then her father told his tale, too, interrupted a little by Sooty.
‘Well,’ said Julian at last, ‘I suppose we ought to be getting back, or the police will be sending out bloodhounds to trace us all! Mr. Lenoir will be surprised to see us all turning up together.’
‘I wish I wasn’t in pyjamas,’ said his uncle, drawing the rugs about him. ‘I shall feel queer walking the streets like this!’
‘Never mind – it’s awfully misty now,’ said George, and she shivered a little, for the air was damp. ‘Timmy – show us the way out of this place. I’m sure you know it.’
Timmy had never been out of the tunnel before, but he seemed to know what to do. He set off round the foot of the hill, the rest following, marvelling at the way Timmy found a dry path to follow. In the mist it was almost impossible to see which place was safe to walk on and which was not. The treacherous marsh was all around them!
‘Hurrah! There’s the road!’ cried Julian, suddenly, as they came in sight of the roadway built over the marsh, running up the hill from the salty stretches of mud. They picked their way to it, their feet soaked with wet mud. Timmy tried to take a flying leap on to it.
But somehow or other he slipped! He fell back into the marsh, tried to find a safe foothold and couldn’t. He whined.
‘Timmy! Oh look, he’s in the mud – and he’s sinking!’ screamed George, in panic. ‘Timmy, Timmy, I’m coming!’
She was about to step down into the marsh to rescue Tim, but her fatter pulled her back roughly. ‘Do you want to sink in, too?’ he cried. ‘Timmy will get out all right.’
But he wasn’t getting out. He was sinking. ‘Do something, oh, do something!’ shouted George, struggling to get away from her father’s hold. ‘Oh, save Timmy, quick!’
Chapter Twenty-two THINGS COME RIGHT AT LAST.
BUT what could anyone do? In despair they all gazed at poor Timmy, who was struggling with all his might in the sinking mud. ‘He’s going down!’ wept Anne.
Suddenly there came the sound of rumbling wheels along the road to the hill. It was a lorry carrying a load of goods – coal, coke, planks, logs, sacks of various things. George yelled to it.
‘Stop, stop! Help us! Our dog’s in the marsh.’
The lorry came to a stop. George’s father ran his eye over the things it carried. In a trice he and Julian were dragging out some planks from the load. They threw these into the marsh, and, using them as stepping-stones, the two reached poor sinking Timmy.
The lorry-driver jumped down to help. Into the marsh, crosswise on the other planks, went some more wood, to make a safe path. The first lot were already sinking jn the mud.
‘Uncle Quentin’s got Timmy – he’s pulling him up! He’s got him!’ squealed Anne.
George had sat down suddenly at the edge of the road, looking white. She saw that Timmy would now be rescued, and she felt sick with shock and relief.
It was a difficult business getting Timmy right out, for the mud was strong, and sucked him down as hard as it could. But at last he was out, and he staggered across the sinking planks, trying to wag a very muddy tail.
Muddy as he was George flung her arms round him. ‘Oh Timmy – what a fright you gave us all! Oh, how
you smell – but I don’t care a bit! I thought you were gone, poor, poor Timmy!’
The lorry-driver looked ruefully at his planks in the marsh. They were now out of sight beneath the mud. Uncle Quentin, feeling rather foolish in pyjamas and rugs, spoke to him.
‘I’ve no money on me now, but if you’ll call at Smuggler’s Top sometime I’ll pay you well for your lost planks and your help.’
‘Well, I’m delivering some coal to the house next to Smuggler’s Top,’ said the man, eyeing Uncle Quentin’s curious attire. ‘Maybe you’d all like a lift? There’s plenty of room at the back there.’
It was getting dark now, as well as being foggy, and everyone was tired. Thankfully they climbed up into the lorry, and it roared up the hill into Castaway. Soon they were at Smuggler’s Top, and they all clambered down, suddenly feeling rather stiff.
I’ll be calling tomorrow,’ said the driver. ‘Can’t stop now. Good evening to you all!’
The little company rang the bell. Sarah came hurrying to the door. She almost fell over in surprise as she saw everyone standing there in the light of the hall-lamp.