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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77378-0.txt b/77378-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b72c49 --- /dev/null +++ b/77378-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10201 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77378 *** + + + + + POISON SHADOWS + + BY + WILLIAM LE QUEUX + AUTHOR OF “THE TATTOO MYSTERY” + + + + + NEW YORK + THE MACAULAY COMPANY + + + + + [COPYRIGHT] + + Published in England under the title + “THE CHAMELEON” + + Copyright, 1927, by + WILLIAM Le QUEUX + + + + + CONTENTS + + I. A SOUL FOR SALE + II. THE HOUSE AT HAMPTON COURT + III. WHAT POLICE CONSTABLE ASKEW SAW + IV. THE SIGN OF EVIL + V. SHADOWS + VI. MISTRESS AND MAN + VII. THE MAN WITH RED HAIR + VIII. MR. ASHE IS INQUISITIVE + IX. THE LURE OF THE SNOW + X. SKIERS AND “FROTH-BLOWERS” + XI. A VISITOR AT THE GUEST HOUSE + XII. WITHOUT FEAR + XIII. TRUTH OR FANTASY? + XIV. UNCLEAN HANDS + XV. THE SECRET CAVALIER + XVI. MAN AND WOMAN + XVII. EXPLANATION AND APOLOGY + XVIII. THE ROOF OF THE WORLD + XIX. THE DEVIL’S PARADE + XX. THE SHADOW + XXI. THE GREEN BAIZE APRON + XXII. UNDER THE HAMMER + XXIII. OUR SINISTER WORLD + XXIV. UNKNOWN! + XXV. THE DOWNWARD STEP + XXVI. BEFORE THE DAWN + XXVII. BY WIRELESS + XXVIII. A DEADLOCK + XXIX. FURTHER MYSTERY + XXX. THE PLOT + XXXI. REJUVENATION + XXXII. THE MONKEY-GOD + XXXIII. CONCLUSION + + ENDNOTE + + + + + POISON SHADOWS + + CHAPTER I. + A SOUL FOR SALE + +“You must be firm, Gordon. It doesn’t matter in the least whether +Sibell loves him or hates him. She must marry him, otherwise we shall +both find ourselves in the cart. So there must be no argument. Don’t +you agree?” asked the woman. + +“Of course I agree, my dear Etta. But my ward is stubborn and +absolutely refuses to see him again,” replied the bald-headed, +deformed man who stood at Lady Wyndcliffe’s side at the window of her +private sitting-room overlooking the golden sands and summer sea at +the Grand Hotel on the Digue at Knocke, on the Belgian coast. + +“It’s all rot! She must be made to see reason!” replied the slim, +dark-haired, good-looking woman in a flimsy blue-striped frock, which +mutely spoke of the Parisian _couturière_. “Young Otway is all very +well, but he hasn’t a penny, while Gretton inherited over half a +million from his father, who made a satisfactory deal in wool during +the war and by it became Mayor of Bradford. Gussie’s a bit of an ass, +but all the better for us. We both want money very badly. And I’ve so +far worked the cards so that he is madly in love with her. Only we +must at all hazards get rid of Otway. A penniless young doctor is no +good for Sibell.” + +“I agree with every word you say,” replied the queer old hunchback, +Gordon Routh, in his high-pitched, squeaky voice. “You and I have had +many deals which have been mutually satisfactory, and now is it not +strange that we should be bartering away the girl’s future?” + +“Oh, hang sentiment!” laughed the Countess. “We must have funds at any +cost. Gussie Gretton is rich, and if Sibell marries him we must +squeeze enough out of him to keep us in all we want of this world’s +goods.” + +“The Bank of England wouldn’t be sufficient for you, my dear Etta,” +laughed the man. “You’d spend it all, and then try and get an +overdraft. You’re the most extravagant woman I know.” + +“What about your own losses at Monte--eighty thousand pounds in one +year--eh?” remarked Lady Wyndcliffe. “I’ve been an infernal fool at +the tables also, I admit. I lost forty thousand francs at the Casino +last night, and have given an IOU to the accommodating old bean who +runs the show.” + +“Like myself, you broadcast the handy little slips, scatter them all +over Europe, and they are accepted because of your high title, and the +ingenuity of your press-agent,” remarked the bald-headed, bead-eyed +little man whose humorous smile lit up his countenance always. Then he +looked at her admiringly, and added: “I wonder, my dear Etta, what the +world really thinks of you?” + +“I don’t care a Belgian franc what the devil it thinks,” she laughed. +“The public know that the Countess of Wyndcliffe moves in the best +society and is seen everywhere--at Court, at Epsom, at Cowes, at +Deauville, at St. Moritz, and at Monte Carlo. Her photographs look out +upon the suburban buyers of the sixpenny illustrated weeklies, and she +has always one, or perhaps two débutantes under her wing. She is what +the good people of Hampstead, Watford, Richmond, or Felixstowe term +‘in Society.’” + +“And thank heaven I’m out of it now,” the man laughed. + +His companion drew a long sigh, and her well-arched brows contracted. + +“I only wish I were. It’s a wearing life this, with lots of friends, +lots of limelight, and no money. Wyndcliffe is getting quite +impossible nowadays. Billesdon is let to a retired straw-hat maker +from Luton, and I can hardly make enough, or save enough, to live.” + +Etta Wyndcliffe--or, to give her her full title from _Burke_, Countess +of Wyndcliffe of Billesdon Hall, Rutland; Cloyne Castle, +Aberdeenshire; 112A West Halkin Street; and Villa Mon Aise, +Cannes--was one of the many bright young Society women of to-day who +lead a reckless, hectic life with the fees they earn by introducing +daughters of rich commoners into the fringe of Society. + +Watch your newspaper, and you will often see in the season that Lady +So-and-So gave a dance at Claridge’s for the daughter of Mrs. +Fitz-Allan Smith. It is Mrs. Fitz-Allan Smith who pays Lady So-and-So +heavily for the privilege of shaking hands and dancing with her guests +who go there to obtain a champagne supper gratis. + +Etta Wyndcliffe was one of the great crowd of impecunious aristocrats, +with a wide circle of friends, some of whom nowadays open shops, while +others breed dogs, others keep beauty-parlors, and still others manage +to pay their way by taking the womenfolk of parvenus under their wing, +and sometimes presenting them at Court. Etta was young for her age, +slim, refined, with handsome features, dark, penetrating eyes, and a +fine complexion. Though thirty-three, she did not look more than +twenty-five, while she danced and played tennis or golf as actively as +any young girl. She was the second wife of old Wyndcliffe, who went +through Carey Street about a year after he married her, and she had +had to shift for herself ever since. + +She lived in West Halkin Street, and managed somehow to scrape along +upon funds provided by the parents of girls whom she chaperoned. The +hectic, adventurous life she led in London during the season, and at +the Continental resorts out of it, had caused her to become greedy and +unscrupulous, for she drove hard bargains with mothers of marriageable +daughters, whom she hawked around in the hope of finding them +husbands. Her enemies--and she had many--said very hard things of +her--how, having grown tired of one particular friend, a hard-up +ne’er-do-well named Eustace Power, she had induced a wealthy American +girl whom she was chaperoning to marry him, and they had actually +split the commission. + +As she stood at the hotel window that August morning, the Countess of +Wyndcliffe looked little more than a girl, with a face so innocent and +charming that it gave no index to her insatiable mania for gambling, +or of the fast and vicious circle in which she moved. + +“You really can’t be so horribly broke,” the man said. “You got three +thousand when the Clements girl was married in June.” + +“And I worked terribly hard for it, I assure you. I also had the +vinegar man’s girl on my hands, as well as Sibell.” + +“You got nothing for Sibell, and she’s cost you a lot in lunches, +theatre-tickets, and dances, I know. It was very good of you, Etta, to +take her.” + +“And now, just when we’ve played our cards discreetly, the infernal +little hussy--excuse me calling her that, even though I am her +aunt--refuses to see Gussie Gretton again.” + +“He hasn’t the best of reputations, she says.” + +“What man has until after he’s sown his wild oats?” she asked. + +“Well, according to all accounts, Gretton has sown a pretty heavy +crop. He’s already narrowly escaped being cited in two divorce cases,” +said Sibell’s guardian. + +“That makes the women run after him all the more,” declared the +irresponsible Countess. “Sibell ought to be proud that he, with all +his wealth, wants to marry her. She’s a darned little idiot. I tell +you, Gordon, I’m fed up to the teeth. Gretton is so infatuated that he +has promised me five thousand on the day he marries her, and I’m ready +to split it with you. Then you’ll split with me anything we get +afterwards,” she said, discussing the sale of the girl’s soul as she +would a business deal. + +“I’ll try and do my best. But she’s over head and ears in love with +that young Otway.” + +“Love! Bah! There’s really no such thing as true love nowadays. Smart +frocks, a pretty face, and proper environment, and girls think that +men fall in love. The idea of real love disappeared with the hansom +cab.” + +“But, really, Etta, there is surely some affection left in the world!” +piped the deformed old gambler. + +“Among the common folk, I suppose. Not among us. Marriage nowadays +merely means the uniting of money and poverty, or vice versa. The +modern girl does not begin to know what life is until she’s divorced.” + +“And to you, my dear Etta, a neat little secret commission comes in +from both sides!” + +The pretty Society adventuress grinned. + +“Well, when one has to live on one’s wits--as I have, alas! because +Wyndcliffe is such a fool--one must not be too particular with whom +one mixes. Heaven knows! I have sometimes to lunch and dine with most +fearful crooks and howling dagoes. Only a fortnight ago in Paris I +found myself in debt forty thousand francs at ‘chemmy’ at the Bel Air. +It was three o’clock in the morning, and I only had fifty francs in +the world to pay my taxi to the hotel. Old Ducocq, the director, a +decent sort of paternal crook, took my IOU, but next day he came to +the hotel and demanded as the price of its return that I should +entertain at dinner at the Ritz a pair of American financiers whom I +knew to be clever crooks, and two innocent Englishmen, their +‘pigeons,’ whom they were inducing to put money into some rotten +scheme. In return for the bit of paper I signed, I had to carry out +their demand, and I read in the next day’s Paris _Daily Mail_ that I +had asked the pair of share-swindlers to dinner. No, my dear Gordon, +I’m not sailing in smooth waters, just now, I can assure you.” + +“My dear Etta, you’re like me! We are merely gipsies in the world. +When our hats are on, our roofs are on. We live for to-day, and +to-morrow may take care of itself. The tables are my curse, just as +they are yours. You’ll admit that?” + +“Certainly I do. I’ve nothing to hide from you, my dear old Gordon. Do +you remember that night in the Cercle Privé in Monte, when I was +broke to the world and you helped me out with three _billets de +mille_. I took to you from that moment, and I even tried to save you +from plunging as you did. But you wouldn’t hear me. I don’t blame you, +my dear Gordon. Why should I? I listen to nobody myself. That’s why we +are both so damnably hard up and are kindred spirits--eh?” + +“Hard up! Why, at this moment I have only a couple of hundred francs +to my name,” said the hunchback, who had run through a fortune. “I +don’t see how I’m going to pay my hotel bill.” + +“I’m in just the same box,” replied her smart little ladyship. “We +must raise it from somewhere even if I have to get a little loan from +Gussie.” + +“A bit on account of commission, eh?” laughed the man. + +“If you go to the tables you can always ask a friend for a loan, +making a run of bad luck the legitimate excuse. It doesn’t then look +as though you really are hard up--only temporarily embarrassed,” said +the Countess, pulling a wry face. “But,” she added, “I’m chronically +affected that way.” + +Suddenly the door opened and a bright-faced, fair, shingled-haired +girl in a flimsy summer frock burst gaily into the room, greeting her +guardian, and then turning to her aunt, she said: + +“You’re up early, auntie! Why, it must have been nearly three when we +left Roberts’. I went for a walk by the sea after that. It was simply +gorgeous.” + +“With Gussie?” + +“No. With Leonard Capel. We’re entering for the tango competition at +the Memling to-morrow night.” + +The Countess and the hunchback exchanged glances. + +“I don’t think, Sibell, you should go for nocturnal rambles with a +stranger,” said the Countess reprovingly. + +“Why not, auntie? Several other girls went for walks with their +dancing-partners,” remarked Sibell. “Besides, it isn’t any worse than +dancing in a night-club with some dago you’ve never set eyes upon +before and allowing him to pay for your supper,” she added meaningly. + +Etta knew at what the girl hinted. They had both danced with a rich +young Argentine, whose name they did not know, at the Florida Club in +London one night a month before, and he had paid sixteen pounds for +supper for the three. + +But Lady Wyndcliffe led a hectic life paid for by those she took +beneath her aristocratic wing, and, after all, in the course of her +butterfly career she had done much more risky things than that. + +Sibell Dare was extremely pretty, with a sweet, intelligent +countenance, big, wondering eyes of childlike blue, a small mouth with +full, red lips that required not the application of lip-stick, and a +slim, supple figure the grace of which had been improved by constant +dancing. After Cheltenham College, she had been two years in Paris, +and now she was as smart and attractive a girl as could be found in +all London. Her aunt, the Countess, had taken her from Routh’s home at +Cookham and introduced her into Society, where she had many admirers, +of whom Augustus Gretton was the most ardent. + +She, however, cared for none of them, being devoted to Brinsley Otway, +a struggling young doctor practising out at Golder’s Green. They had +met at the house of a married school-friend up at Hampstead two years +before, and had been lovers ever since. + +“Leonard Capel wants me to go to Ostend to spend the day. I’m going,” +said the girl, feeling somehow that she had interrupted a conversation +between her deformed guardian and the Countess. + +“My dear child! Why, you hardly know the man!” Etta chimed in quickly. +“If you want to go to Ostend, why not accept Gussie’s invitation to +motor you there? I heard him ask you yesterday.” + +“Well, just because Gussie doesn’t interest me at all. He’s such a +he-haw, superior person that I have no patience with him. I tell you +frankly he bores me stiff, for he regards himself as very superior, +and, after all, his father only started life as a cheap tailor. My +father was, at least, a man of independent means.” + +“I’m glad you are proud of your birth, child,” said the old man in his +curious voice. “But nowadays you must remember that men are judged +only by their pockets, not by their ancestry. Personally, I think +Gussie a very excellent and worthy fellow.” + +“When I have a husband--if that time ever comes--I shall want him all +to myself, uncle, and not share him with half a dozen women, as +Gussie’s wife must,” replied the high-spirited girl frankly. + +“A man, when he marries, gives up all his feminine entanglements,” +declared Etta. “Look at old Lord Ushaw, one of the worst _roués_ in +all Mayfair. He married little Ena Urquhart, to whom I introduced him, +and now there’s no happier pair in all England.” + +“An exception does not make the rule,” laughed the girl. “But I want +you both to be reassured upon one point--that I shall never marry +Gussie Gretton--even if there isn’t another man in the world.” + +The Countess pursed her thin carmine lips at the girl’s open defiance, +while her guardian turned away to conceal his annoyance. + +“Well, I think you’re a little idiot!” declared Etta, who always spoke +her mind to the girls she chaperoned. “You may never have the chance +to marry such a charming and wealthy man. Brinsley Otway is not to be +compared with him; besides, he has only the few guineas he earns by +doctoring. It wouldn’t buy you your shoes.” + +The girl paused for a few moments, and, noticing her guardian’s head +turned away towards the sunlit sea, exclaimed: + +“Well, auntie, we shall never agree upon the point, so why discuss it +further? I’ll be back to dinner. We’re lunching at the Continental in +Ostend, and going to the Casino afterwards. Bye-bye, uncle! Cheerio!” + +And the girl went out, closing the door after her. + +“That seems farewell to all our hopes, Etta, doesn’t it?” remarked the +old hunchback despairingly. + +“I don’t know,” replied the well-dressed woman in a hard, determined +voice. “We must assume different tactics. I, for one, don’t intend to +be beaten, and I’m sure Gussie doesn’t.” + + + + + CHAPTER II. + THE HOUSE AT HAMPTON COURT + +Three months had gone by. + +The hunchback Routh and his ward were back at home at The Myrtles, a +pretty, rose-embowered cottage situated at the end of a garden that +ran down to the picturesque Thames close to Cookham. + +It was not yet eight o’clock in the morning, and Elsie, the stout +maid-of-all-work, had placed the breakfast on the table of the cosy +old-world sitting-room. Sibell, looking charming in her cotton gown, +sat in the deep window-seat reading a letter she had just had from +Brinsley Otway while she waited for her guardian to return from his +morning walk. + +Besides the letter from her lover the girl had received a second +letter from a firm of solicitors, Harrington, Bailey, Marsham & Keys, +of Bedford Row, London, informing her that by that post they had +written to Mr. Gordon Routh and that he would inform her of the +contents of their letter. + +The letter in question she had placed beside old Mr. Routh’s plate. + +A few minutes later the hunchback came in with a cheery greeting, and +before he sat down to breakfast tore open the letter and read it. + +“My dear Sibell!” he gasped. “Think of it! Your old Uncle Henry has +died in Brisbane, and has left you the whole of his fortune and all +his property!” + +The girl stood staring at him, scarce believing the truth. + +“Poor Uncle Henry dead!” she cried. “Why, I’ve heard it said that he +had twenty thousand a year!” + +“Quite. His property was a very valuable one. Besides, he inherited +your Aunt Henrietta’s money also. But the lawyers say that according +to his will, dated two years ago, all is left to you. By Jove, Sibell! +you’re the luckiest girl in England!” added the old man. + +“Well, if I am to have Uncle Henry’s money, I won’t forget you,” +declared the pretty girl affectionately. “You’ve been a father to me +ever since I was a tiny tot, and I know after you lost all your money +how difficult it has been to make both ends meet. This place, for +instance, is pleasant enough in summer--but it isn’t like Curzon +Street.” + +Gordon Routh read the letter again, and said enthusiastically: + +“Well, after this good news let’s have breakfast and run up to town +and see these lawyers. They ask you to call upon them as soon as +convenient. They were your father’s lawyers, and I know old Harrington +very well.” + +They ate their meal hurriedly, and Sibell rushed upstairs, changed +into a town kit, and at eleven o’clock they alighted from a taxi in +Bedford Row, that broad street of dismal lawyers’ offices in the +vicinity of Gray’s Inn. + +Without ceremony they were ushered into the private room of Mr. +Alexander Harrington, a white-haired old solicitor, head of the +well-known firm, who greeted them, and, producing a file of papers, +addressed Sibell, saying: + +“No doubt my letter came as a surprise to you, Miss Dare. My late +client, Mr. Henry Dare--who, as you know, has lived abroad for some +thirty years or more--died on June 10th last at Brisbane, and I have +his will here, by which you are sole legatee under a certain condition +which I think you will not find very irksome. The estate is a very +considerable one, consisting of railway securities, a quantity of +valuable house property in the West End of London, the family estate +at Coningsby, near Wotton-under-Edge, and the old Guest House at +Hampton Court.” + +“I’ve heard that the place has been closed for about thirty years,” +remarked Sibell’s guardian. + +“Yes,” replied Mr. Harrington. “According to the terms of the will, +the contents can be sold, and Miss Dare has to refurnish the house and +live in it.” + +“Why?” + +“Who knows?” asked old Mr. Harrington, arching his grey brows. “My +late client was a somewhat eccentric man. Possibly you know the +romance and tragedy connected with the Guest House?” + +Sibell declared that she was in ignorance. + +“Well, when I was a young man,” said the old solicitor, “Mr. Beeforth +Dare, a client of my father, met with a fatal accident in the hunting +field early in 1895, and his son Henry, aged twenty-one, succeeded +him. The Guest House at Hampton Court, together with its original +Elizabethan furniture, was left to him as one of the ancestral homes +of the Dares, and just at that time your Uncle Henry fell in love and +became engaged to marry Mary Forrester, one of the Forresters of +Glencree. A week before the date fixed for her marriage she went down +to Hampton Court to stay with her fiancé’s mother, when, while out +walking in Bushey Park, she was suddenly taken mysteriously ill, was +carried back, and died within an hour. An autopsy was held, and the +poor girl’s death was declared to be due to heart disease. + +“This so upset your Uncle Henry that he had the house at once closed, +just as it stood, without moving anything. His mother went to live in +London, while he went abroad to his brother John who, after a somewhat +disgraceful career, had gone out to the Malay States as an +assistant-manager of a rubber plantation. For three years my client +lived in Singapore. Then he travelled from place to place for over +twenty years, never returning to England, and he has unfortunately +died in Australia. Two years ago he called me to Paris, where, at the +Hôtel Continental, I executed his will.” + +“Then, according to its terms, I am compelled to live at the Guest +House?” asked the girl, naturally much interested. + +“That is so. If you fail to do so, one third of my late client’s +property goes to the London Hospital, one third to the Middlesex, and +the remainder to your guardian, Mr. Gordon Routh,” said old Mr. +Harrington. “When he was making his will I queried the clause, but he +said he intended to see you and explain his reasons why he wished you +to live at the Guest House. He has unfortunately died before he could +do so.” + +“But as he hated the place himself it is hardly fair to expect my ward +to live there, is it?” exclaimed the hunchback in his shrill voice. + +“I admit, it is not. But the house, when reopened, will be found to be +a very quiet and pleasant residence. It must, of course, be very dirty +and neglected at present. The door has never been opened for about +thirty years. The furniture is antique, and no doubt in a very bad +state. If it were mine I should sell it all by auction, and have the +place redecorated and refurnished.” + +“That’s what I must do,” Sibell said. + +“Very well. Then I will give the matter over to the firm of estate +agents who have had it in hand, and you can go and inspect the place +and pick out anything you wish to keep. At the same time, I will take +steps to prove the will immediately, as all the formalities have been +observed in Australia.” + +“The place was the scene of the great blow which befell my Uncle +Henry. I hope its possession will not be harmful to me,” remarked the +happy girl, with a nervous laugh. + +“Why should it be?” asked the old solicitor. “The death of my late +client’s fiancée was a natural event, and might, of course, have +taken place anywhere.” + +That same afternoon Sibell and her guardian took a taxi through +Hammersmith and Richmond to Hampton Court, where they had no +difficulty in finding the ancient red-brick mansion, an old Tudor +place built at the same time as Hampton Court Palace itself, standing +back behind rusted railings in its neglected grounds, with great +spreading oaks and chestnuts. The roomy old house, with its mullioned +windows and high chimneys, was half covered with ivy, which had so +climbed that in one part it overspread the roof. The windows were +mostly boarded up, the carriage-drive overgrown with bushes and weeds, +and the broad stone steps leading to the portico were deep in moss and +lichen. + +From two windows on the ground floor the boards had rotted and fallen +away, disclosing ragged holland blinds that were once yellow, but now +black and stained; while the huge, rusty padlock and chain on the gate +told their own tale. + +They of course could not enter the place, but even on that bright +autumn afternoon its exterior looked terribly neglected, depressing, +and mysterious, though the view afforded of Bushey Park, its deer and +its famous avenue of chestnuts, was most picturesque and charming. + +In the immediate vicinity were several other old-world houses, all of +them prosperous-looking and well kept, but the Guest House, the scene +of that broken romance of long ago, presented a sorry appearance of +neglect, a derelict in that quiet, peaceful backwater of modern life. + +“When it is put into order, repainted and redecorated, it will be a +very fine residence,” declared old Mr. Routh, looking through the gate +into the weedy wilderness that was once a garden. + +The girl standing at her guardian’s side reflected. The falling leaves +of the great trees were stirred in the golden autumn sunset, and from +somewhere came a sharp bugle call from the barracks in the vicinity. +Her eyes were fixed upon the heavy oak door, grey and weather-beaten, +that door which had not been opened for thirty years to admit light +and air to the deserted place. + +What did that house of mystery contain for her? It was her possession, +hers by right, and in order to secure her splendid inheritance she +must live within those time-mellowed, red-brick walls. + +The fair-haired girl in jumper and skirt drew a long breath. +Something--she knew not what it was--warned her of some sinister +influence that was exercised there. She was no believer in psychic +forces. Many of her silly companions had attended séances and +believed in spiritualism, but she, a level-headed, intelligent girl, +had never believed in what she termed the “bunkum” of it all. There +were, she admitted, certain secrets of Nature hidden from mankind, but +discovered in modern times--the mysteries of steam, of electricity, of +the internal combustion engine, aeronautics, submarine navigation, +wireless communication, and radio-television. But the supernatural she +had always ruled out, even though the Countess of Wyndcliffe, to be up +to date and in the swim, was essentially “psychic”--as the term is +known in Society--and she had been compelled to follow her. + +That night the old gambler and his protégée returned to Cookham, +naturally elated at the day’s surprises. Sibell, instead of a needy +girl dependent upon the old gambler’s slender means, was now a +considerable heiress and her own mistress, hence she sat down and +wrote to her lover, Otway, a brief résumé of the good news and of +her day’s doings. + +In the issue of the _Richmond and Twickenham Times_ on the following +Saturday there appeared a letter above the signature “Scrutator” +headed “The Guest House, Hampton Court,” which created a good deal of +local interest, and a cutting of which Mr. Harrington sent to Sibell. +The letter read: + + + “It is understood that the Guest House at Hampton Court is at last to + be reopened, after being closed by its former owner, Mr. Henry Dare, + thirty years ago. The house was built in 1541 for the reception of + visitors who could not be entertained in the Royal Palace, but + tradition has it--and the facts have been recorded by the + archæologists Emberley and Wright--that certain curious phenomena + were observed there during the eighteenth century. + + “According to the earliest record, preserved in the Record Office in + London, it was purchased in 1595 by a French nobleman, the Marquis + D’Aire of Aire, a town in Gascony, who was French Ambassador to Queen + Elizabeth--whose descendants afterwards anglicised their name to Dare. + From time to time at least two sudden and mysterious deaths took place + within its walls, culminating in the tragic death of the fiancée of + the late owner, a pretty girl of twenty-one named Mary Forrester, who + one day in October 1895 was taken suddenly ill while on a visit when + walking in Bushey Park, and died in a chair in the drawing-room in her + lover’s arms. + + “A very similar incident occurred in the house in question in 1784, on + a day when George III drove down from London to Hampton Court to + receive one of the Spanish Princes. On that day, after leaving the + Palace, the Marquis Henri D’Aire, in whose possession the house was + then, was taken suddenly ill on descending the stairs, and expired two + hours later from causes which the doctors could not ascertain. + + “To archæologists and others the reopening of this house of mystery, + after having been closed for so many years, will be of considerable + interest, as it is known to contain much valuable Tudor furniture and + many objects of art brought from France by the ancestors of its late + owner, to whom its possession brought the great tragedy of his life.” + + +On receipt of the cutting Sibell went up to London and showed it to +Brinsley Otway, whom she found in his surgery in his small corner +house at Golder’s Green. The dark-haired, clean-shaven, alert young +man who had distinguished himself at Guy’s and been fully qualified +about three years before, stood in his rather shabby consulting-room +and read it over carefully. + +“It is most interesting,” he said. “We must find the writer, who no +doubt can give us some further information.” + +That afternoon he gave over his work to a friend, and a visit to the +editor of the newspaper at Richmond revealed the fact that the writer +was a Mr. Geoffrey Sharp, long a resident at East Molesey, on the +opposite bank of the Thames to Hampton Court, and a well-known local +antiquary. + +That same evening Sibell and her tall, athletic lover called upon the +white-haired old gentleman, who, as soon as Sibell had introduced +herself as the heiress of the late Mr. Henry Dare, at once became +communicative. + +“The Guest House is of great interest in many respects,” declared the +old man, peering at her through his steel-rimmed spectacles as he sat +in his book-lined den. “It is mentioned by several authorities as the +scene of several--well--accidental and unaccountable deaths.” + +And he showed them two large volumes by noted antiquaries in which +mention was made of the place and the mysterious occurrences. + +“But, my dear young lady,” he added, “of course there are many other +houses around which evil tradition has arisen. Much of it has been due +to ill-natured reports spread long ago by neighbors who, disliking the +owners of the premises, invented all sorts of stories in order to +depreciate the value of the property.” + +“Have there been any other stories regarding the place?” inquired the +girl eagerly. + +“Er--well--nothing that has ever been substantiated except the sudden +deaths which were probably mere coincidences,” replied old Mr. Sharp. +“Therefore, if I were you, I would not allow the matter to worry you +in the least. When the place is cleaned and redecorated it will no +doubt prove a most delightful old-world residence, and I, for one, +hope you will one day marry and enjoy it.” + +The girl exchanged glances with her lover, blushed, and thanked the +old man for his good wishes. Then, later on, they left. + +On the following morning Mr. Herbert Gray, junior partner in the firm +of Shalford, Stevens & Gray, the well-known estate agents and +auctioneers of Kingston-on-Thames, arrived at the rusty iron gate of +the Guest House, accompanied by three men, namely, two of his clerks +and a local locksmith. The great old padlock was so rusty that it +could not be opened, hence the steel chain had to be filed and broken, +an operation which took nearly an hour. + +Then the quartette of explorers mounted the moss-grown steps leading +to the portico, but after thirty years of neglect the key would not +turn in the lock. So with a crowbar the grey old oak door was forced, +and from the dingy interior came a dank, mouldy whiff of stale air. +Everywhere in the hall hung great blankets of dusty cobwebs which +swayed in the wind admitted through the open door. + +The place was in semi-darkness, therefore the workman, aided by the +two young clerks, opened the shutters and windows of room after room, +admitting light and air, and revealing the hopelessly neglected +condition of the house, with its marvellous collection of Elizabethan +furniture, the upholstery of which, like the tapestry and carpets, was +ragged and decaying. Through the dirt-encrusted windows of ancient +green glass set in lead, the weak autumn sunshine tried to struggle, +falling instead upon the moth-eaten carpets. + +In the big dining-room there still remained upon the long table with +great carved legs a cloth that had once been white, and whereon stood +blackened silver bowls that had once contained fruit, an empty +champagne bottle, and three dusty glasses. Everything had been left +just as it was on the day of the death of Henry Dare’s poor little +Victorian fiancée, Mary Forrester. + +“By Jove!” remarked the auctioneer to one of his clerks. “What a +chance for collectors! A lot of this must go to Christie’s. Look at +that tallboy yonder, that fifteenth-century credence, and that +Carolean day-bed!” + +Half-an-hour or so, with their coats off, they spent opening the +ground-floor rooms and examining the dusty contents, getting their +hands and faces covered in dust and dirt. Now and then they heard the +sounds of scurrying rats behind the old oak panelling, while ever and +anon great wreaths of cobwebs, swaying in the wind, were torn away and +fell. + +For them all, even used as they were to enter old houses, it was a +strange experience. As a connoisseur of antique furniture, Mr. Herbert +Gray realized the considerable value of certain “museum pieces,” as +they are called in the trade. He saw that more than one piece of Tudor +and Elizabethan furniture would be welcomed in the national collection +at South Kensington, and his business mind anticipated a fat +commission from the sale of “the valuable contents” of the ancient +house. + +From the spacious, stone-flagged entrance-hall ran a broad oaken +staircase with low steps, worn thin by the tread of generations of the +D’Aires. Up them the all-powerful Cardinal Wolsey himself, and +afterwards Thomas Cromwell, the arch-enemy of the Papists and +destroyer of monasteries, had often ascended to visit the Ambassador, +the Marquis Louis D’Aire, in the long withdrawing-room on the first +floor. And up those same stairs went the auctioneer and his assistants +on their journey of investigation. + +The junior partner of the firm led the way, examining with +deliberation some fine family portraits by Kneller, Romney, and Sir +Peter Lely as he went, and upon the wide landing came to an open door +leading into a great dark apartment. + +Very soon the five long windows of the huge room were unshuttered, +revealing the spacious withdrawing-room, the walls of which were +covered with ancient tapestry, which hung ragged, forlorn, and +rotting, some magnificent old furniture, including an early satinwood +spinet of genuine Louis XIV and some George I chairs, with carved +cabriole legs, a lacquer screen inlaid with jade, soapstone, and +agate, and a quantity of dusty but valuable old china. For the first +time for thirty years the light of day fell into that apartment, and +the sickly beams of the sun gave it an aspect of dismal bygone glory, +of an age long past and forgotten. + +“What a magnificent room!” remarked Mr. Gray, as he crossed it and, +standing at one of the windows, gazed round in admiration upon some +exquisite pieces of Elizabethan furniture, all original and +unrestored, as they all were, also three Chinese vases with covers of +the Yung Cheng period. + +For a second he paused, and, placing his hand upon his chest, he +glanced out of the dingy window into the neglected garden below, a +tangle of bushes and weeds. + +Then of a sudden, before anyone could approach him, he was seized by +an inexplicable faintness, and, staggering across the room, sank into +an old arm-chair upholstered in faded crimson velvet. + +“I--I’m ill!” he managed to gasp to his three companions. “Oh! the +pains--pains--around my heart! Oh! It’s agony!” + +“Get a doctor--quick!” cried one of the clerks, while the other dashed +out to the nearest telephone, leaving the locksmith and the chief +clerk at his side. + +The pair endeavored to rouse him, but his face had gone as white as +paper, and, staring fixedly, he lay back inert and motionless in the +chair. Once he drew a long breath, convulsions shook his frame, and +then he remained white and still. + +Within ten minutes an elderly doctor, who arrived in a car, was at his +side, but after a brief examination he raised his head to the three +anxious men, and said: + +“A very serious heart attack! I hope it may not prove fatal. But, +gentlemen, I cannot conceal from you the fact that he may not +recover!” + + + + + CHAPTER III. + WHAT POLICE CONSTABLE ASKEW SAW + +The doctor, whose name was Clements, dashed in his car across the +bridge to his surgery in East Molesey, where he snatched up some drugs +and restoratives, and ten minutes later had recrossed the river and +was again beside his unconscious patient. + +By dint of constant and unremitting attention, lasting for over two +hours, the stricken man was brought back to consciousness, and +presently was able to describe his symptoms. + +“I believe this is an accursed house!” he said. “I felt a curious +dizziness as soon as I entered this room. Though I said nothing, I +felt a strange sensation in my arms, which spread slowly across my +chest until a sudden spasm shot through my heart, causing me to hold +my breath. Time after time I felt the pain repeatedly, until it became +excruciating. I couldn’t get my breath, and suddenly I was plunged in +darkness and knew nothing more.” + +“Have you ever had similar attacks before?” asked Dr. Clements, +standing beside the patient’s chair and holding his hand. + +“Never. It is the first--and I hope it will be the last,” he replied, +smiling faintly. + +“Well, I must run you home in the car, and you must keep quiet for a +few days. I will examine you to-morrow,” said the doctor. “I think you +may be suffering from what we term false angina--nothing to be really +alarmed about.” + +“I have never experienced such curious pains in my arms and chest,” +Mr. Gray declared. “I’m forty, and have had excellent health up to the +present.” + +“The heart is always a mysterious thing,” remarked Dr. Clements. +“While every other organ of the body may be in perfect order, the +heart may be seriously affected and give no warning until suddenly +death intervenes. Therefore nobody should ever boast of his good +health. It is always dangerous to do so.” + +Hence, about two hours and a half after Mr. Herbert Gray’s sudden +illness, he was conveyed by the doctor to his home at Surbiton, he +giving strict injunctions to his clerks that no word was to be said in +the office concerning his mysterious seizure. + +The house having been opened forcibly, the locksmith that evening +placed a new Yale latch upon the front door, while an ex-constable +named Farmer, who frequently became caretaker on premises for which +the firm of Shalford, Stevens & Gray acted as agents, was placed in +charge. + +The autumn twilight was falling as the stout, round-faced Farmer was +standing alone on the moss-grown doorstep smoking his pipe, when +suddenly a police constable on his beat made his appearance. + +Knowing the house so well, he was naturally surprised to see the +shutters open and the caretaker at the door. Instantly he recognised +him as an ex-constable of his own Division, and, approaching, +exclaimed: + +“Hulloa, Dick! What’s up here?” + +“I dunno! They seem to have opened this old place for some reason. +It’s in a horrible state o’ dirt. I’ve been half choked with dust and +cobwebs. Come in and have a liker.” + +Thus invited by his friend Farmer, Police Constable Askew of the T +Division Metropolitan Police, followed him into the hall, dark, dusty, +and mysterious in the fading light. + +“I don’t like this place,” Askew said, glancing around. “It’s +haunted.” + +“Haunted be blowed! You aren’t afraid of ghosts, are yer?” + +“I don’t know,” replied the constable in an uncertain tone. “I don’t +like this house--and never have ever since I’ve been in Hampton.” + +“Only because it’s been shut up a long time,” replied Farmer. “I’ve +lived in lots of old houses since I went on pension, and I’ve never +seen anything more terrifying than a rat or two, or perhaps a bat. +I’ve heard lots of noises that I couldn’t account for--but noises hurt +nobody. I tell yer, Askew, you haven’t done twenty-eight years on the +streets as I have, but you’ll never see anything uglier than your own +self. And that’s the truth!” + +“That’s all right,” replied the younger man in uniform. “But I’ve seen +something in this here place that I don’t like at all. I haven’t told +anybody, because they’d laugh at me, a constable. At the section house +they’d say I was drunk, and the subdivisional inspector would have his +eye on me. But I saw something here a week ago what wants a lot of +explaining away.” + +“Now that’s interesting!” said the caretaker. “Get a chair and let’s +sit outside. I’d like to know what you saw.” + +Both men took valuable old spindle-legged chairs from beneath the +staircase and placed them in the portico, in the darkening night. + +Distant lights twinkled across the wide, level swards of Bushey Park, +while at the barracks a bugle sounded, and somewhere from afar up the +winding Thames came the shrill whistle of a tug towing barges to the +upper reaches. + +Askew, an ex-sergeant of Fusiliers in the Great War, pulled out a +“gasper” and lit it, though not supposed to smoke on duty, while +Farmer filled his heavy briar, applied a match deliberately, and said: + +“Now, tell me. What did you see here?” + +“Something funny--can’t account for it any way.” + +“Before that article appeared in the _Richmond and Twickenham +Times_--or after?” + +“A week before,” Askew replied. “I of course saw what they said in the +paper about the happenings in this house thirty years ago.” + +“And what did you actually see? Personally I don’t believe in anything +supernatural.” + +“Well, I don’t hardly know how to describe it,” said the constable, +taking a long draw at his cigarette and holding his helmet on his +knee. “It was last Monday week, at about a quarter-past two in the +morning. The weather was rainy, and I was coming up the road to the +Green when I saw something in the window just here on the left of the +hall”--and he pointed to it. “It’s the window where the shutter had +fallen half away. I saw an indistinct green light. For the moment I +thought I was dreaming, for no light had ever been seen in the house +before. I stood and watched. The light got greener, and then slowly it +faded away. Once I thought that it was flames and that the place was +on fire. That’s all, Dickie. Now how do you account for that, eh?” + +“Did you examine the premises?” asked Farmer, recollecting the strict +official orders in the case of anything mysterious seen at night. + +“I did most certainly. The first thing I did was to see that the lock +on the gate had not been tampered with. Then, ten minutes after the +light had faded, I climbed the wall and made a thorough examination of +the premises in order to be able to give evidence if any burglars had +been at work. But I found absolutely nothing. I’ve been over the wall +here dozens of times, especially when those fire-raisers of country +houses were about. I had special orders to keep this place under +observation when I was on night duty. All I’ve ever seen, however, was +that funny dull green light. The dirty old holland blind was down, so +I could not see anybody inside. That’s where the mystery of it all +comes in. I’ve told my wife, and she tells me to say nothing to +nobody.” + +“Are you quite sure that nobody was in the house--no thief?” asked +Farmer, puzzled, for Askew was so insistent. + +“As certain as I sit here. I examined all the doors and windows, as +we’ve been ordered to do, as you know. Nothing had been disturbed.” +Then, after a pause, he added, “I don’t like the place, and I can +quite imagine that people die mysteriously here. Why has it been +opened after thirty years?” + +“Perhaps it is to release the evil spirits, of which your green light +is one,” Farmer laughed. + +Police Constable Askew, a tall, athletic Cornishman, drew himself up +in his chair, and asked: + +“Do you think I’m a liar? Do you doubt what I tell you--that I saw the +green light with my own eyes?” + +“No, I don’t,” replied the caretaker. “But, while some people see +things, it seems that others see nothing. They aren’t gifted with +second sight as they calls it. How long did this light last?” + +“Oh, only about a second or two. If it hadn’t been for that dirty old +blind I could have seen right into the hall here. I tell you, Dickie, +I’ve seen something that can’t be explained, and I fully agree with +that article in the _Richmond Times_ that this here house on the Green +brings sudden death on to people. Mind you yourself don’t have heart +disease,” he added warningly. + +“Phew! No fear of that, old man,” Farmer laughed. “After all my years +on the streets in the ‘T’ I’m not addicted to either fright or heart +trouble in any way. I was married twenty-one years ago, when I joined +at Bow Street. But,” he added, “don’t you think it was just a little +bit of imagination on your part--that green light? Just think!” + +“No. I’ve seen it three times now.” + +“Tell me exactly what it’s like,” asked Farmer, most interested. + +“Well, I can only describe it as a dull, pale-green glow--and then it +quickly fades away. If it was at sunset I could quite imagine that it +was a light reflected through a window upon some bright, polished +surface, but there isn’t any sun at two o’clock in the morning. +Further, the place being locked and barred as it has been all these +years, there can have been nobody inside. If there had been, then Mr. +Gray and his people would have noticed traces of anybody being +unlawfully on the premises.” + +“Quite true. They found the place just as it had been left thirty +years ago. Perry, our chief clerk, told me. It seems that the heavy +dust and close atmosphere upset Mr. Gray, so he went home early, a bit +off color.” + +“Yes. The air is pretty thick inside, I should fancy.” + +“It is. To-morrow I’m going to clear up one of the rooms and bring my +old camp-bed and some cooking things,” said Farmer. “There’s going to +be an auction, and I feel sure the things’ll fetch good prices unless +there’s a big ‘knock-out.’” + +“Knock-outs aren’t fair. They ought to be stopped,” declared the tall +man in uniform. “But I tell you, Farmer, I’d rather that you took care +of these blooming premises than me. I’ll have to go on now, for I’ve +got to meet my sergeant at the Palace Gates, and I have only just +time,” he added, glancing at his wristlet watch. + +“I’m not going to bed yet. Come back here and have a few whiffs when +you’ve gone round.” + +“Righto!” replied the tall constable, and, hitching up his belt, he +descended the moss-grown, slippery steps, tramping heavily away in the +direction of the gates of the old-world Palace of Wolsey, the point +where he had to report to his sergeant. + +The autumn night was still and warm. After Askew had gone, Farmer sat +back lazily in his chair smoking his pipe and reflecting that for the +first time in thirty years that heavy old front door had been opened. +Now and then as he sat alone, whiffs of close, mouldy air came from +within, air that filtered through those blankets of heavy dust-laden +cobwebs which festooned the ceilings, the work of the busy spiders +through three decades. Ever and anon strange noises, and creaks of +highly seasoned wood, came from the dark interior. Weird they were in +the dead silence, yet Farmer, used to “noises” in unoccupied houses, +smoked on, quite unperturbed. + +The old turret clock in Hampton Court Palace chimed the hour--two +o’clock--and the paraffin lamp which the caretaker had set in the hall +was growing dim because he had not replenished it before he began his +vigil. Had there been sleeping accommodation Farmer would have gone to +bed, but as there was none he sat quite unruffled in the old +spindle-legged chair in the wide portico and dozed. + +Presently he fell asleep. How long he was unconscious he did not know, +but he was at last awakened by Askew crying: + +“Are you asleep, Farmer? Did you see it?” + +“See what?” asked the other, springing startled to his feet, with +heavy eyes. + +“Why! the light!” + +“The light? What the deuce do you mean, sonny?” + +“That funny light! It was showing in the window only a few seconds ago +as I came across the Green!” cried the man excitedly. + +“Now look here, Askew!” exclaimed Farmer. “You’ve gone dotty!” + +“I swear that I saw it just for one second,” declared the constable. +“You were asleep?” + +“I suppose I must ha’ been,” admitted the stout caretaker. “But I +don’t believe in ghosts and green lights at night.” + +“Well, I don’t care what you or anybody says, that’s the fourth time +I’ve seen that mysterious green glow. What the devil it is I don’t +know--only I’ve seen it!” + +“I wish I’d seen it also,” laughed Farmer, still unconvinced. + +Constable Askew shone his lantern into the dark hall, but all remained +undisturbed. + +“Shall we have a look around?” he asked. “It won’t do us any harm.” + +So the two men entered the dusty, neglected place, Askew shining his +electric lantern into every dark corner, but finding nothing. + +“It’s got on your nerves,” declared Farmer, when they were again +standing together in the portico. “I’d ask for a change of beat, if I +were you.” + +“Then you really don’t believe what I’ve told you, eh?” asked the +constable. + +“I only believe what I see, my dear sonny,” was the caretaker’s quiet +reply. + +“You’ll see it one day, mark me! I haven’t told anybody, because I +know I won’t be believed,” said the police officer excitedly. + +“I sincerely hope I shall,” laughed Farmer, relighting his pipe and +reseating himself in his chair. “But you take my advice, P.C. Askew, +and get on another beat where you can’t give your imagination quite so +much play.” + +“I tell you it isn’t imagination,” declared the other vehemently. +“Surely I can believe my own eyes!” + +“You may be able to, but I’m older than you, and I find I sometimes +can’t. In any case, my dear boy, I don’t believe in your green light +till I myself sees it,” Farmer said frankly. “You’re surely old enough +in the Force to know how many haunted houses there are about. Why, +I’ve known dozens of ’em, but there’s never been any truth in any of +the stories.” + +“There is in this one. You saw what they said in the paper about it.” + +“I did, of course. But they were only coincidences. Besides, they said +nothing about this curious glow you’ve seen.” + +“Because they know nothing about it,” he replied, taking a draw at the +“gasper” he had lit. + +“I’d write to the papers about it if I were you,” remarked Farmer +sarcastically. + +“And be put down as a blooming fool. Not quite!” was the constable’s +reply. + +“Then next time you see the green glow in the window just come +straight in and have a good liker around to make sure your eyes +haven’t deceived you,” urged the stout ex-policeman. “One thing, I’ll +bet you, sonny, that in this place you’ll see nothing uglier than +Police Officer Askew himself.” And he laughed. + +“I don’t care what you think, but I’ve seen a mysterious light in this +here locked-up house! And one day you’ll see it too. Mark me! Good +morning, Farmer.” + +And in the first grey dawn Askew turned and strode leisurely away from +the Green, continuing his beat in the direction of Hampton Wick. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE SIGN OF EVIL + +At eleven o’clock on the following morning Brinsley Otway, having +arranged with a fellow-doctor named Tarrant, living in the Finchley +Road at Golder’s Green, to look after his practice for the day, met +Sibell at Paddington, crossed to Waterloo by tube, and took train to +Hampton Court, where they lunched at the old-world “Mitre” and +afterwards went on to the Guest House. + +“Ugh! What a place!” exclaimed the fair-haired, well-dressed girl as +she entered the front door, which was open to admit sunshine and air. +“How dreadfully mouldy it smells, and look at all the cobwebs!” + +“Only what one must expect after being closed so long,” remarked the +dark-faced young doctor beside her. + +Farmer, the caretaker, and two of the auctioneer’s men in green baize +aprons were in the dining-room, raising a terrible dust in their +futile endeavor to clean up the place, so that they might catalogue +its contents prior to the sale, and allow a few days’ private view. + +As Sibell stood in the doorway of the great old room, she could +scarcely see across it for clouds of dust. Through the open windows +came the pale autumn sunlight, which showed up the general shabbiness +and decay of the place, the damp-rotted carpet and hangings, the +moth-eaten tapestry, and the heavy Tudor furniture. + +“I could never live in this dreadful place, Brin,” she declared, using +the pet name she had bestowed upon him. “Isn’t it horribly dull and +depressing?” + +“It is. But it is very interesting to be in an atmosphere of centuries +ago,” her lover said. “The world has progressed, while this house has +remained just the same. Successive owners have never altered it. It +has been their creed. Apparently they held, for centuries, the same +idea of keeping it just as its original owner had it. The place +reminds me of the old house of Plantin, the Flemish patrician and +printer in Antwerp, who started to print in 1576, and his business has +been carried on uninterrupted till to-day. His house and furniture +have never been altered. It is the same here in the Guest House, which +should be preserved as a museum!” + +“If I am compelled to live in it I want everything quite modern,” +declared the girl. “I will have everything cleared out and sold.” + +“Won’t you keep anything?” asked the young doctor. “I would certainly +retain something of your ancestors--if I were you, dearest.” + +“Perhaps I will when I’ve seen everything. But isn’t the place in a +terrible state?” + +It certainly was. + +No word had reached either of them regarding the mysterious attack +from which Mr. Gray had suffered on the previous day, or the fact that +he was still confined to his bed with his doctor in attendance. Mr. +Gray had ordered his staff to keep the mysterious affair a complete +secret, being afraid to frighten the young lady into whose possession +the Guest House had so suddenly passed. As a man of business he +hesitated to be any party to the sensational tradition of sinister +happenings in the place. His firm had had the house under its charge +for half a century, and he naturally felt that he should not encourage +any undue interest that might be derogatory to the value of the +estate. + +Only that morning he had again telephoned from his bedside ordering +that not a word should leak out to Miss Dare. + +From room to room Sibell and her lover wandered, examining the dusty, +neglected home of the D’Aires, finding each room filled with furniture +and objects of art which any museum would be proud to possess. + +Upon the panelled walls of several rooms hung time-mellowed family +portraits by great painters of the past, including one of a pretty +little daughter of the ancient French house, Gabrielle D’Aire. Sibell +admired it, and said she would retain it. Not till afterwards did she +learn that it was one of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s hitherto unknown +pictures, nor that the larger one which hung beside it was a +Rembrandt. Indeed it was not until a fortnight after, when the art +dealers were allowed to inspect the house, that the treasures were +identified. + +Through the dismal, dust-laden house the lovers wandered from room to +room. Everywhere the autumn sunlight fell across the faded carpets +through those old leaded windows of green glass, many panes of which +were broken. Over everything lay the decay of thirty years--the +brilliant, prosperous days of Victoria the Good, the height of +Britain’s world-power. + +Together they entered a small room at the rear, the windows of which +overlooked the tangled garden, where the golden leaves of autumn were +fluttering down from the high elms which overshadowed the house. The +little room was lined from floor to ceiling with heavy books, the +leather bindings of which smelt close and stuffy--the +eighteenth-century room of a studious man, which had probably been +neglected ever since the accession of George the Third. The +writing-table was a little narrow one like a bedside table, and the +chairs were all Carolean, cane-seated and cane-backed. + +“This seems to be one of the cosiest rooms,” Sibell remarked. “It +shall be your own little den, Brin. You can fit it up as a laboratory, +so that you can study all your germs, or ‘bugs,’ as you call them.” + +Her lover, who had his hand already clasped in hers, for they were +alone, kissed her upon the lips, and replied: + +“My darling, any room will do for my research work. It is best +upstairs in the attics, so as to be out of the way.” + +“But, my dear Brin, I insist that you have a nice room, dearest,” she +said, looking up into his face with eyes full of the lovelight. “This +room will be quite handy for everything.” + +She gazed into his face with wondering eyes--those big eyes which +always held him beneath her spell, so that he could never look upon +another woman with any other feeling than as a doctor would towards +his female patients. + +“Only if we marry, Sibell.” + +“Marry? Of course we shall!” she cried. “I am yours, if you will only +accept me! Did we not decide that long ago?” + +“You were poor then. Now you are rich, my darling. A penniless doctor +like myself is but a poor husband for you.” + +“My darling Brin. How very foolish you are! What are you talking +about?” + +“Only that I think Gretton would make a far better husband for you. +Your guardian doesn’t care for me--neither does Lady Wyndcliffe. I +feel it always. I am only a mere hard-working suburban doctor, with +nothing except the fees I earn in the poor but respectable +neighborhood of the Finchley Road, and without even a single public +appointment. Each one I seek is always given to somebody else. And yet +in bacteriology and toxicology I earned honors at my examinations.” + +“Don’t worry, my dear old Brin. I am yours--and you know it. I want no +other man and will have no other,” declared the girl sweetly, as she +drew his head towards her. + +He hugged her to his breast and kissed her fondly upon the lips, for +they were alone in that dingy room, nobody being near. Her words gave +him the greatest comfort and encouragement any man could receive, for +he realized that he loved her with that great, all-absorbing affection +which, alas! comes to few men, love, alas! being so often a mere +passionate pretence in order to secure sympathy, companionship, or, +more often, fortune. As it has ever been through all the ages, so it +is to-day, every woman of every country is open to the flattery of a +man who seeks her, not from any love of her, but for his own +self-advancement in finance, in the higher social scale, or the puny +one of suburban or provincial bridge-parties. + +The onlooker who travels the world over, and whose heart is hidebound, +sees so much that is amusing, on board liners, on expensive tours, and +in hotels-de-luxe from end to end of Europe or America, that he begins +to wonder if there really exists any real love commencing with the +capital L. + +This is the note of this present romance of the writer’s +observation--the love between the poor but pretty, neat-ankled girl +who suddenly inherited a fortune, and with it a house of evil repute +as residence, and a hard-working suburban London doctor, whose modern +knowledge was equal to many great specialists in Harley Street, +and--though he did not know it--his name had already been placed upon +the list of Home Office experts to be called upon to analyse and fix +the culprit in the next case of any fresh mystery of crime submitted +by Scotland Yard. + +As an ordinary hard-working practitioner in Golder’s Green he had +given evidence at the Old Bailey, six months before, in a most +complicated case which concerned the introduction of germs of a fatal +disease into the whiskey-and-soda nightcap of a man who had motored a +friend and his wife home from the Palace Theatre. Otway had, with +unerring knowledge, fixed the guilt upon both the accused, who were +convicted for attempted murder, Scotland Yard having afterwards sent +him their thanks. + +Through that trial Otway had been marked out for advancement on the +lines followed by Pepper, Willcox, and the select list of Home Office +pathologists whose word is law to a jury in any criminal court. + +Though the pair were unaware of it, the room in which they stood had +been the study of the great lawyer Sir Geoffrey Dare, who was famous +in the early days of King George III, and whose name has been handed +down in legal history as the prosecutor in the famous case of the +Durrants, husband and wife, whom he proved to have poisoned a family +of six persons in order to secure their inheritance. In that room many +conferences had been held with witnesses in the famous trial, which +resulted in both prisoners being hanged at Tyburn. Sir Geoffrey, who +was the most famous criminal lawyer of his time, was brother of John +Dare, the traveller who first explored the Areg region of the Sahara. + +Otway took from one of the shelves a heavy, parchment-bound tome, and +found it to be an old treatise on Roman law, while next to it was an +early folio edition of Shakespeare. As a lover of books, sight of them +appealed to him, and he said: + +“Before these are sold I would love to go through them. This +Shakespeare, though not the first folio, is evidently of considerable +value.” + +“You’ll be choked with dust, darling,” she replied. “Wait until they +clean down the place. Isn’t it awful? Look at the cobwebs.” + +They took a final glance around the dingy little room, where the light +struggled in through the dirt-encrusted windows, which could not be +opened because their frames had rotted. Hence the place smelt close +and musty. + +“When cleaned and redecorated it will be most charming,” her lover +reassured her. “I can’t think what has given rise to the belief that +this is a house of evil. It certainly has been neglected, and, as in +many other houses all over the country, people have died suddenly +here, but the evil is, I feel certain, only imaginary--the result of +some ill-natured local gossip that has grown into tradition.” + +Had he known of the sudden and unaccountable manner in which Mr. Gray +had been attacked he would certainly not have expressed such an +opinion. But happily for the lovers, the occurrence was being kept a +profound secret. + +They ascended the broad oak staircase, on which the thick-pile carpet +still remained, though it was in holes in many places, showing the +wood beneath. In the great drawing-room the lovers found much to +interest them as they made a tour of inspection of the spacious +apartment. At once they saw that the furniture, though sadly out of +repair, was genuinely antique, and that the pictures were of +considerable value. Near the centre of the room stood the ancient +armchair upholstered in faded crimson velvet to which Mr. Gray had +staggered when he had been so mysteriously seized with illness, and +the young doctor, knowing nothing of the occurrence, remarked upon the +handsome Renaissance carving of its short, bulbous legs. + +Together the pair stood at the dingy, weather-stained old windows +gazing down upon the big, neglected garden, where the weeds grew +breast high and the leaves were floating down from the ancient trees. +By its successive owners that room had been kept practically the same +as it was in Henry the Eighth’s time, except that the carpets and some +of the furniture had been renewed by the father of the last owner on +his marriage; an apartment full of objects of art, the atmosphere of +which was that of the days of the Great Cardinal and possibly one of +the most carefully preserved rooms in the whole Kingdom. + +From room to room they passed, ascending to the bedrooms and servants’ +quarters just as Mr. Gray and his assistants had done. They saw the +ancient four-poster bedsteads, with their hangings of faded and +time-stained chintz, the genuine Chippendale washstands and mirrors, +the old fire-screens of needlework, and cushions worked in colored +wools by hands that had crumbled to dust two centuries ago. + +Wherever they went they raised dust, causing Sibell to sneeze +violently, and by each thing they touched their hands became +blackened, the girl remarking that her gloves were already ruined. + +After nearly a couple of hours they descended, and, having chatted +with the fat caretaker Farmer--who made no mention of Askew’s +experience on the previous night, as he treated it as mere +imagination--they left and returned to London, where, after dining +together at the Trocadero, Otway saw his sweetheart off to Cookham +from Paddington. + +Next day the young doctor, having arranged with his friend Tarrant to +look after his practice, set out early for the Guest House and spent +the whole of the day in the great lawyer’s close-smelling library +going through his books. Already an expert from a well-known West End +dealer in rare books was there at the invitation of the auctioneers, a +snuffy, white-bearded old gentleman named Ebenezer Tewe, and together +they dusted and examined the title-pages and condition of volume after +volume. + +Some of them Mr. Tewe set aside as valuable, and others which took +Otway’s fancy he, in turn, put away from the others. One treasure +Otway found, which Mr. Tewe agreed was extremely valuable, was a +vellum-bound volume of copies of the secret archives of Venice under +the Doges concerning unknown poisons, how they were concocted, how +they were used to remove the enemies of the ancient Republic of +Venice, and the fees paid by the Republic to the secret assassins. + +As a research worker in the field of toxicology, Brinsley Otway seized +upon it, while Mr. Tewe agreed that it was one of the most unique and +valuable of all the volumes in the library. + +“There are only three copies extant,” said the snuffy old bibliophile. +“One is in the Bodleian, the other in the French National Library, and +the third is in private hands in America. It was sold at Sotheby’s for +£6,300, and unfortunately went across the Atlantic. The compilation +of it must have meant a lifetime of delving into the faded parchments +in the archives of Venice.” + +“The old Italian language will puzzle me, but the Latin part is quite +easy,” Otway said, highly delighted with his fortunate find. + +Throughout the day the two men worked together in the close little +room, regardless of the half-inch of dust everywhere. Mr. Tewe +identified several rare early printed books from the Nüremberg and +Venetian presses, while with them was a file of _Punch_, from its +earliest number down to 1883, together with the first six years of the +issue of _The Times_, bound in calf, in a dozen volumes. + +But the majority of the books were out-of-date law treatises, +practically worthless to-day, though among them was a manuscript book +upon English heraldry, with illuminated coats-of-arms, written in the +crabbed and faded hand of Sir William Segar, Garter King of Arms in +the reign of James the First. + +Without thought of lunch, so absorbed were they, they continued their +investigations until the light faded, and then Otway, having packed up +the precious volume of Venetian archives, together with two or three +other books, ascended the broad staircase to speak with the +auctioneer’s representative, who was in the upper drawing-room. + +Afterwards he left and hurried back across London to the small, +red-brick, corner house of jerry-built type in the Finchley Road where +he carried on his practice. + +Old Mrs. Mobbs, his housekeeper, handed him several telephone messages +from patients which she had given over to Dr. Tarrant, who lived +farther up the road and who was going on a fortnight’s holiday, during +which time Otway had promised to look after his practice. + +In the cosy little bachelor sitting-room his modest dinner was laid, a +single cover, for he usually ate a chop at nine o’clock, when the last +of his suburban patients had left the surgery. + +He was in the act of eating a peach, which he had taken from a plate +on the sideboard, after untying the parcel of books which he had +brought from the Guest House, when he was suddenly seized by an +unusual faintness. + +For a few seconds he stood rigid. The peach fell from his nerveless +fingers. Then, crossing to the mahogany sideboard, he poured out +unsteadily some brandy and swallowed it. It burned his throat. At the +same moment he was seized by a violent fit of shivering. Convulsions +shook his strong frame, while excruciating pains shot through his +extremities. He stood as one transfixed, when a sudden spasm shot +through his heart, and the glass fell from his fingers and was smashed +to fragments. + +Instantly he realized that the symptoms were such as he had never +observed before. He held his breath and set his teeth. Then, with a +supreme effort, and his eyes starting from his head, he managed to +utter a sharp cry which brought his old housekeeper hurriedly into the +room. + +“I--_I’m very ill_!” he gasped. “Fetch Dr. Tarrant! Quick! Tell him +that--that--I----” + +But, alas! the sentence remained unfinished, for the poor fellow +reeled and fell senseless upon the carpet, yet another victim of that +mysterious evil influence which pervaded the long-closed house at +Hampton Court. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + SHADOWS + +Called by telephone, Dr. Tarrant hurried along to his young +colleague Otway, whom he found stretched upon the carpet, a cushion +having been placed beneath his head by the faithful housekeeper, Mrs. +Mobbs. The portly old woman, in her neat black, was naturally greatly +agitated. The practitioner fell upon his knees and unloosened the +stricken man’s collar. + +“I heard him cry out, and rushed in to find him suddenly attacked. He +could hardly speak,” the woman explained. “He managed to tell me to +ring you up, and then he fell on the floor.” + +The doctor was busy unbuttoning the young man’s clothes and feeling +his pulse and the region of the heart. He could discover no pulsation, +and, as far as he could judge, Brinsley Otway appeared to be already +dead. There was no sign of any flicker of life. The heart, indeed, had +ceased to beat! + +He straightened himself and held his breath. Even to him, a medical +man of long practice, the affair came as a complete shock. + +“But what can have happened?” he asked breathlessly. “Tell me exactly +what happened--every detail,” he urged. + +“I don’t know, doctor,” replied the bewildered woman. “He’s been away +all day down at Hampton Court, as you know. He gets back just before +half-past seven, when I had his dinner ready. He says to me, ‘I won’t +have it for ten minutes,’ and comes in here. I saw him untying that +parcel of books on the sideboard just as I passed to go to the +kitchen, and then I suddenly heard him cry out. I dashed in just in +time to see him collapse.” + +“Did he drink anything?” asked the doctor, rising and going to the +sideboard, where the package of old books lay open. + +The broken glass on the floor aroused his suspicions. + +“Did he go into the dispensary?” asked Tarrant, suddenly recollecting +that he might have gone there on his return, fagged and tired, and +mixed himself a cocktail from the many bottles there, for he dispensed +his own mixtures. + +“No, doctor. He didn’t go along the passage at all,” declared the +woman. “I know he never passed the kitchen door.” + +“Nor did he go upstairs, eh? He simply came straight into this room.” + +“Yes, doctor. He came straight in here after he hung his hat in the +hall.” + +Dr. Tarrant crossed to the telephone and rang up Dr. Randall, another +of his colleagues, an old practitioner who lived close by in a new +street off the Finchley Road. + +Then again he fell upon his knees beside the inert form of Brinsley +Otway. The patient lay there with half-closed eyes, his face white as +marble and his hands cold and stiffening. + +Again and again the doctor sought for signs of life, but failed to +discover any. Respiration had ceased, and with it the pulsations of +the heart. The attack was most mystifying, for he had never before +come across such inexplicable symptoms. + +Randall was an old-fashioned, white-headed doctor of the highly +pedantic type, who, rather rusty and out of date in his medical +methods, concealed his ignorance, like so many others, by constantly +referring to his Cambridge days and making the most of his knowledge +of the classics. Patients of unimportance he did not take the trouble +to impress, simply doling out innocuous pills and draughts, and +trusting that the poor people would not worry him further. But his +better-class patients he always took great pains to impress by his +’Varsity speech and manner. + +As a matter of fact, he was utterly unable to diagnose such a case, +leaving Tarrant, who was nearly twenty years younger and much more up +to date, to solve the mystery. + +Dr. Randall’s car, as it happened, was standing at his door; +therefore, on receiving the call, he at once sprang in, and in five +minutes was round at Otway’s. + +When he saw the prostrate man he became instantly grave, and, after +hearing briefly from Tarrant what had occurred, his clean-shaven, +white-fringed face assumed a very grave expression. In contrast to +Tarrant--who was an alert, dark-haired man of forty, and enjoyed a +very wide and lucrative practice in the district--old Randall went +about with an assumed air of superiority which caused him to be very +much disliked, hence his practice had greatly fallen off. + +“Heart disease,” Tarrant exclaimed after a long examination. +“Angina--without a doubt!” + +“That’s exactly my opinion,” said Randall, though he really held no +opinion, being ready to agree with anything his friend might suggest. + +“He probably walked home from the station too quickly,” Tarrant said. +“He complained to me about a month ago of sharp pain in the chest, +which he put down to acute indigestion. On feeling ill he apparently +took some brandy,” he added, smelling the broken glass. + +Together they lifted the inanimate form of their young colleague upon +the old leather-covered couch, and placed his head upon a pillow. + +At that moment Dr. Tarrant noticed a half-eaten peach lying upon the +floor beneath the little table in the window. + +“Why, he’s been eating!” he exclaimed, picking it up and examining it +curiously. “I wonder if this has anything to do with the attack?” + +“Oh, doctor, he’s eaten one of them there peaches!” exclaimed the old +housekeeper. “I meant to tell him about them when he came in, but it +went right out of my head. They were brought by a young woman who said +she came from a firm in the West End, and, as they were addressed to +my master and marked ‘perishable,’ I opened them and put them on a +plate. There was no name of who sent them. Perhaps he ordered them. He +orders things himself sometimes, and they are delivered.” + +The two doctors exchanged puzzled glances. + +“We had better have this analysed,” Tarrant said, holding in his hand +the half-consumed fruit, which still retained the stone, and regarding +it with a puzzled expression. + +He placed it upon one of the clean plates upon the dining-table and +put it aside, together with the other four ripe peaches. + +“He may be poisoned!” suggested Randall. “But if so, it acted +uncommonly quick.” + +“When I saw him, only a minute before, he had just untied the string +of the parcel, so he must have been taken ill almost instantly after +biting the fruit.” + +“Exactly. He did not have time to eat it all,” remarked Tarrant. “That +is, perhaps, as well, for it may furnish us with the truth concerning +the mystery.” + +Turning again, he glanced at the white-faced figure lying so prostrate +and still, and drew a deep sigh. He liked Brinsley Otway. Indeed, +everyone liked the smart, up-to-date young fellow who was such a good +friend to his charity patients, and so often attended the poor without +taking a fee. There were times, too, when in a poverty-stricken home +his hand went into his pocket and pulled out half a crown as “a +present for the children.” And the starving mother knew not that that +coin he gave often deprived him of his box of his favorite brand of +Egyptian cigarettes. + +“Don’t you think, doctor, that we ought to let Miss Dare know?” +suggested the stout old woman, who had been gazing upon her young +master’s marble face. “Poor girl, I’m afraid the shock will kill her! +She’s such a sweet little thing, and they’re so devoted to each other. +It’s a sin that the awful truth should be told her. But it must be.” + +“Yes, my good woman,” said Dr. Randall in his best ’Varsity manner. +“But it must be. Alas! that our love idylls never last. It is the same +everywhere--the broken column of happiness and the realization that +all earthly bliss is only a pipe-dream.” + +“Well, call Miss Dare,” Tarrant said. “I know her quite well. She +helped us at the piano in a concert for the blind held at Hampstead a +few months ago.” + +Mrs. Mobbs gave him the telephone number, and he at once telephoned to +Cookham. Briefly he explained who he was, and told her that Otway had +been taken rather queer, and suggested that she should come up to +London at once to see him. + +He heard her voice in reply, asking in anxiety what was the matter +with him. But Dr. Tarrant answered in a calm, even voice: + +“He’s had a rather nasty heart-attack through hurrying from the +station, and he is asking for you.” + +“I’ll come at once,” she replied breathlessly, and, after some further +inquiries, rang off. + +It was past ten o’clock when Sibell, hurrying, her big blue eyes +anxious, alighted from a taxi in the Finchley Road. Entering her +lover’s room, she found him lying upon the frayed old couch, the two +doctors kneeling by his side, while standing near, watching the +prostrate man, was the faithful old housekeeper. + +As she entered, Dr. Tarrant, recognising her, rose to his feet and +greeted her in a whisper. + +“I’m awfully sorry to have disturbed you, Miss Dare,” he said, “but I +thought it my duty to do so.” + +“Is he alive?” gasped the white-faced girl, bending to the rigid face +of the man she loved. His collar and tie had been removed, and he lay +there fully dressed, his eyes closed as one dead. + +“He is still breathing,” replied the elder of the two doctors. “His +seizure is most unaccountable. He was in the act of eating a peach, it +seems, when he suddenly collapsed.” + +“There was nothing wrong with the fruit, I hope,” cried the distressed +girl. “I bought them in Regent Street this afternoon, and sent them to +him.” + +“Ah! I’m glad we know that!” remarked Dr. Randall. “We were told by +Mrs. Mobbs that a strange woman had left them.” + +“I forgot to put in my card,” Sibell said. “But will he recover?” she +asked breathlessly. + +“We are doing our best for him,” answered Tarrant, whom she had met +once before. “His heart is unfortunately very weak.” + +“But what can be the cause?” + +“The symptoms are those of sudden failure of the heart,” was the +reply. + +“Then his illness has nothing to do with the fruit?” she asked +eagerly. + +“Probably not. I will send the rest of the peach he was in the act of +eating, with the others in the basket and the broken glass, to Sir +George Orelebar to be analysed as soon as I can. Then we shall know +the truth. Of course he may be poisoned, but I do not anticipate it.” + +Sibell breathed more freely, and for a long time stood staring at the +unconscious man, whose countenance was white as marble. The doctors, +with their stethoscopes, knelt and listened constantly to his +breathing. She watched their faces. Once that of Dr. Randall assumed a +graver expression. + +“No! Don’t!” she shrieked, laying her trembling fingers upon his arm. +“No. For God’s sake--don’t tell me he’s dying!” + +The white-haired old doctor shook his head gravely, and replied: + +“A flicker of the fire of life is still discernible, but whether he +will pull through we cannot yet tell. It is a serious attack--very +serious indeed.” + +At that moment Dr. Tarrant’s big-built Irish chauffeur burst into the +room and handed his master a tiny phial with a glass stopper for +measuring drops. Instantly Randall poured out some water into a small +glass, to which he very carefully added ten drops of the drug. +Afterwards he held it to the light, examining it critically, and, +while Tarrant held up Otway’s head, the other forced the draught +between his teeth; and, the helpless girl stood watching. + +The whole tragic affair was most puzzling. The girl had flung off her +coat and hat, and, in a sleeveless gown of black georgette trimmed +with silver, which made her neck and arms look like alabaster, she +again sank upon her knees, and, as they laid his head back upon the +pillow, she bent forward and kissed his cold, hard face in front of +them all. + +The room was warm even to stuffiness, so the window was opened, and +through it came the chimes of the church in the Finchley Road as the +clock struck the hour. + +Would he live? The scene was pathetic. Of all the crowd of medical +students at Guy’s, Brinsley Otway had been one of the most popular. He +was certainly the leading light of the Medical School, and in +preparation of charity “rags” he was always full of new ideas for +“stunts.” + +“I fear it is a case of mitral incompetence of the heart,” remarked +Dr. Tarrant in a low voice to his companion. “The symptoms are very +evident; there is the feeble pulse, œdema of the lower extremities, +and anasarca.” + +“Where there is mitral incompetence there is usually some pulmonary +congestion,” remarked the other. “That condition appears to be +absent.” + +Sibell heard, but did not understand their argument. + +“Is it very critical?” she asked. + +“Very,” replied Tarrant. “We had better place him on his bed.” + +Quickly the bed upstairs was arranged by Sibell, and the two men, +assisted by Mrs. Mobbs, carried him in, when Sibell left while they +undressed him. + +The poor girl was beside herself with grief. With blanched face and +clenched hands, she paced the narrow passage feverishly. She blamed +herself for sending him that fatal peach. Would he be spared to her? +If he died, then her future life would be a blank, for she could never +love again. Brinsley was her ideal; she worshipped him as a god. + +She remained there during the night, but there was no improvement in +her stricken lover’s condition. The two doctors remained with him till +two o’clock, when Tarrant left, carrying with him the remainder of the +peach, and the fruit which had not been eaten. + +Hour after hour, with her lover’s coat wrapped about her bare +shoulders, the girl sat near the patient’s bed, while Mrs. Mobbs made +tea for Randall and herself. Time after time the girl tenderly +smoothed the unconscious man’s pillow, and ever and anon kissed his +cold, white brow. + +“Is mitral incompetence of the heart very serious?” she asked Tarrant +when he returned to relieve his colleague. + +“Very serious indeed, Miss Dare,” replied the collapsed man’s friend. +“Few people recover, but we hope that Brinsley, being in such good +health, will get through it.” + +“What is the use of being pessimistic, sir?” remarked Mrs. Mobbs. “We +can’t afford to lose the young master, and, moreover, we’re not going +to do so,” she added vehemently. + +“The crisis is from twelve to fifteen hours after the attack. That +will be before mid-day,” he said. + +The girl, with weary, deep-set eyes, waited till five o’clock, but, as +there was no sign of returning consciousness, though Tarrant declared +that he was still living, she went into an adjoining room and cast +herself upon the bed, where she dropped off to sleep, thoroughly +exhausted. + +At three o’clock that afternoon Dr. Tarrant, having driven to +Kensington, stood in the laboratory of Professor Orelebar, the +well-known Government analyst, whose evidence was so often taken in +criminal cases. + +“The peaches you brought this morning show no sign whatever of +contamination,” declared the shrunken little man in a black coat which +seemed several sizes too large for him. “I have submitted them to +every known test, but I have failed to establish any evidence which +could lead to the supposition of poisoning. We have worked all day +upon it, and Professor Grant entirely agrees with me. The glass +contained pure brandy.” + +Dr. Tarrant thanked the famous adviser to the Home Office, and, as he +walked back to the High Street, Kensington station, he became fully +convinced that the young man’s condition was due to heart trouble. + +Sibell lived through an interminable week of dread and uncertainty. + +She went to stay with her aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, in West Halkin +Street, but each day she went to Finchley Road, yet her lover still +lay unconscious, watched by a nurse and Mrs. Mobbs, Dr. Tarrant +visiting him thrice each day. The report, alas! was always the same. +The patient showed no sign either of improvement or returning +consciousness. He lay motionless and white in that small, darkened +room, hovering hour by hour between life and death. + +Dr. Orlando Snow, a bald-headed Harley Street specialist, was brought +by Dr. Tarrant one afternoon, and, standing by the inanimate form +lying there so blanched and still, he heard from him exactly how he +had been discovered, while the housekeeper described the distress +which Sibell was suffering. + +“She comes here every day and sits in tears. Poor girl, she’s +inconsolable! It must be a terrible blow for her,” said the +sympathetic Mrs. Mobbs. + +“It must be,” replied the specialist. “I wonder what caused the +attack?” + +“Heart--mitral incompetence; that’s my diagnosis,” said Tarrant. + +Snow was silent for a few moments, his eyes fixed upon the immobile +countenance of the patient. Then he made his own examination, and +agreed entirely with the general practitioner. + +“Serious?” asked Tarrant. + +“Very. I don’t like his condition at all,” the grey-bearded specialist +answered gravely. “But he may just pull through”; and he gave several +directions to doctor and nurse. + +“Poor Brinsley,” exclaimed Tarrant. “I do hope he’ll pull through. + +“The whole affair is a complete mystery,” Tarrant remarked. Then, +lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, he added: “Œdema of the +lower extremities, anasarca, and all that.” + +“Yes; were it not for Orelebar’s declaration that there was nothing +wrong with the peaches, I should suspect poisoning,” declared the +great specialist. + +“But Mrs. Mobbs now admits that when the peaches were left she ate one +of them from the basket. She suffered no ill-effects. Therefore why +was Otway taken suddenly ill when eating one of them some hours +later?” + +“He only ate half,” the specialist pointed out. “The other half and +the stone have been analysed by Orelebar and Grant, both great experts +in poisons, and have been declared to be quite sound and good, without +traces of any toxic substance. Yet I repeat that, if it were not for +the symptoms of heart-trouble, I should certainly suspect poison.” + +None, not even Sibell herself, had any knowledge of the strange +experience which had befallen the auctioneer, Mr. Herbert Gray, while +inspecting the Guest House, or the serious illness that had followed. +Some evil influence was at work at the House on the Green. But what +was it? + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + MISTRESS AND MAN + +More than a fortnight elapsed before Brinsley Otway had sufficiently +recovered to get up and sit by the window. Thin and pale, a mere +shadow of his former self, he had been very near death, yet, thanks in +a great measure to the attention of the nurse who had come from the +Middlesex Hospital to attend him, and the constant care of Dr. Tarrant +and Sibell, he had slowly struggled back to life. + +Sibell’s joy knew no bounds when she heard that her lover was at last +out of danger. She visited him daily, brought him all sorts of +delicacies, and sat with him for hours while the nurse went out for +her daily relaxation. + +Each afternoon they were alone, and often sat locked in each other’s +arms, he raining kisses upon her full red lips. + +“You have been given back to me by God, my darling!” she one day +whispered to him, her slim, tender hand smoothing the dark hair from +his brow. “I constantly prayed that your life might be spared. And God +has answered my appeal.” And she gazed into his countenance with the +lovelight in her big blue eyes. + +He drew down her head and kissed her upon the lips for the thousandth +time, unable to utter the thoughts which arose within him. Hand in +hand they sat together for fully five minutes without speaking. The +fire burned brightly, and the place was warm and cosy that chilly +autumn day, for outside it was dark and rainy, with the eternal +honking of the motor traffic below in the Finchley Road. + +“I hope the doctors will be able to cure you, entirely,” the girl +said, with serious apprehension. “Does Dr. Tarrant think you might +have another sudden attack?” + +“He thinks it improbable. My heart is quite normal, and it only +remains for me to gain weight. He says I’m to have a holiday. But +where can one go in England at this time of year?” he asked. + +She reflected for a moment. + +“Aunt Etta wants to take me to the Riviera in the second week in +November. Uncle Edward is going to New York. Why not come out with +us?” she suggested. + +“A good idea! I’d be delighted, if I could arrange for a ‘locum.’ But +your aunt might not approve,” said the young man. + +“I’ll suggest it to her to-night. I feel sure she’d love to have you. +They have a sweet villa at Cannes--a delightful place on the hill. Do +come!” she cried enthusiastically. “The sunshine and flowers and blue +sea will soon put you right again, dear. And, besides,” she added with +a delightful smile, “I don’t want to be parted from you for four whole +months. It would seem an eternity.” + +“Don’t you, darling?” he laughed, stroking her fair shingled hair. +“Well, ascertain your aunt’s views.” + +“I will. And, if she agrees, I’ll book you a berth on the Blue Train +we are travelling by. Ashe, and Bevan, my aunt’s maid, are going with +us. Ashe is invaluable. Aunt Etta never travels without him. Uncle +Edward has some business in New York for a company of which he is a +director. He is to join us for a few weeks before we come home at the +end of March.” + +Old Mrs. Mobbs brought up their tea, which Sibell poured, and, after a +cosy meal by the fireside, they both smoked cigarettes until the nurse +returned to take up her duties. Then Sibell put on her smart fur coat, +and, with a silent kiss in secret, bade him farewell. + +At West Halkin Street she found the Countess alone, reading in a +corner of the drawing-room, a handsomely-furnished apartment on the +first floor, and at once suggested that Brinsley might go to Cannes +with them. + +Lady Wyndcliffe stirred in her chair, and, looking over her book, +replied: + +“I’ll ask your uncle, and hear his opinion, dear. Do you mean that he +should be our guest--or go to an hotel?” + +“Why, be our guest--if he could, auntie. If we are alone, we can go to +so few places. If Brinsley is with us, he can take us to dances and +all sorts of shows. It was, as you know, horribly dull last year till +we met Mr. Lavis.” + +“Oh, I don’t know. It’s true I like the air on the Riviera. It always +agrees with me. But the people are such a horribly mixed lot. The +world and the half-world rub shoulders, and the former imitate the +latter, till one can scarcely discern the dividing-line,” her aunt +said with an air of utter boredom. + +Lady Wyndcliffe had shown herself much better disposed towards her +niece since she heard the news of her great inheritance. + +“Yes, auntie. But it’s often very amusing on the Riviera--if you have +a man to take you about. And Brinsley is such an excellent +dancer--which you admit.” + +“He is. I like dancing with him,” her aunt declared. “Of course if I +can persuade your uncle to let him go with us, I certainly will.” + +“Thank you, auntie dear,” cried the delighted girl. “I’ll go up and +take off my things.” + +And she ran to her room full of eager anticipation of a merry time +with Brinsley amid the gaiety of the Azure Coast, with its palms and +olives, its blue seas and flower-scented zephyrs. + +They dined alone _en famille_ at the polished oval table with shaded +candelabra, and an epergne of great chrysanthemums as a centre-piece. +In the dim light Ashe, the discreet, obsequious butler, a clean-shaven +man whose hair was edged with silver, moved silently in the shadows of +the luxuriously-furnished room, and served them with that soft voice +and deftness characteristic of the perfect family retainer. + +Lady Wyndcliffe, who had been out at a charity matinée that +afternoon, gossiped about it during the meal. + +Afterwards a friend of hers, a Mrs. Hall-Carew, who lived in Curzon +Street, called for Sibell and took her to the theatre, while later on, +Lord Wyndcliffe, a bald-headed, heavy-faced man, went out to play +bridge with some friends in Mount Street, leaving his wife alone. + +The slim, handsome woman sat for a full quarter of an hour pondering, +her brows knit, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting upon her +hands, gazing at the carpet. + +“I wonder if it would be quite safe?” she pondered. + +Presently, as though in sudden decision, she rose and pressed the +bell. + +The door opened a few minutes later and the exemplary Ashe entered, +closing the door quietly after him. + +“Well?” he asked abruptly. “What’s the matter now?” + +His manner was completely different from the polite, well-mannered +butler who had served dinner. He was self-possessed and arrogant, more +as though he were master of the house and the Countess a menial. + +“I was just going out,” he said gruffly. “What do you want?” + +“I want to talk to you, Albert,” said the woman in a low-cut +sleeveless black gown embroidered with silk flowers around the hem and +corsage. “Sit down.” + +“What about?” he snapped. “Don’t let us carry on that discussion of +this morning. I’m fed up with the whole damned thing!” + +“Not more so than myself,” replied the woman, in a tone which one does +not use towards servants. “Sit down, please, and hear calmly what I’ve +got to say, Albert.” + +“I’ll go and get a drink and a cigar first. I can be more attentive +then”; and, laughing grimly, he descended the stairs to the +dining-room. On his return he was smoking one of her husband’s +choicest cigars, while in his hand he carried a glass of +whiskey-and-soda. + +He turned the key in the door and threw himself carelessly into an +arm-chair. He said at last: + +“Now, Etta, my dear, I’m all attention.” + +The woman looked at him strangely. There was a curious aspect about +the dark head with its poise of proud aloofness, its subtle air of +distinction, and the unmoving, absorbed way it was turned to the +man-servant who sat before her. + +What had caused that burning melancholy in her eyes? Was it due to the +subtle chiselling of her white, heavily-fringed lids? And the +sorrowful lifting of her brows? Could that, too, be merely caused by +exquisitely-sculptured contours? Or were they merely mute signals of a +soul in distress--a distress so deep that the woman had ceased to +struggle and had given herself up to terrible despair? What pitiless +fate could have made her look like that? + +“I see that something’s a bit wrong,” said the butler. “You were not +like this at dinner. What’s the matter?” + +“I’ve had bad news,” the pretty Countess said. “I wore my mask at +dinner--as I am always compelled to wear it. I’ve had bad news.” + +“I guessed as much,” said Ashe, holding his cigar in his fingers. +“Well, let’s know the worst.” + +“Rupert is coming to London!” + +“Rupert!” gasped the man, starting to his feet. “By heaven! He mustn’t +come--he mustn’t ever find you!” + +“He will probably have a difficulty, now that I’ve changed my name and +married Wyndcliffe.” + +“It was a damned bad move on your part, Etta, ever to have married the +old ass. I told you so at the time.” + +“I know--I know!” cried the unhappy woman. “But he has been so very +good to me, so what would he say if he knew the truth?” + +“He will never know--provided you are discreet,” Ashe assured her, his +rather bloated face set hard, and his brows knit in thought. The +problem presented by his mistress’s announcement was certainly a very +difficult one, a _contretemps_ which would require the greatest tact +and ingenuity to avoid successfully. He contemplated the end of the +excellent cigar for a few moments. + +“How do you know Rupert is coming?” he inquired suddenly. + +“I had a letter from Eric Britton, in San Francisco, by this +afternoon’s post, giving me warning.” + +“I don’t trust that stiff Britton,” the man snapped. + +“He knows nothing of my present whereabouts. He sent the letter +addressed to Morgan’s Bank in Pall Mall, and they forwarded it on to +Burton’s Library, in Kensington--where I am known as Mrs. Higham.” + +“If Rupert is in search of you, then mind he doesn’t trace letters +sent to Horgan’s Bank,” her companion said. + +“I’ve already thought of that. I’ve written to the bank, asking them +to send all my letters to the Poste Restante at Melbourne, as I am +going on a pleasure trip to Australia. Instead of that, we are going +to the Riviera.” + +“That’s all right,” said the manservant. “But it would be far better +to prevent Rupert from coming over to London at all. If he’s here, +then there is constant danger. Think of the big stake we might so +easily lose. Think of this present life, Etta--of the terrible +uncertainty of it all; of the daily fear you have of Wyndcliffe +discovering the truth. Reflect upon it all,” he urged, standing before +her. “There must be some way out of this. And the only way out I see +is to prevent him from coming over.” + +“How can you do that, Albert?” asked the woman in despair. “How is it +possible?” + +“It wants all thinking over,” he snapped, a hard, determined +expression on his countenance. “I must devise some plan. But we won’t +trust that fellow Britton, for, if the worst came to the worst, he’d +certainly smell a rat. And we surely don’t want that. No, you must +just fade out for a bit.” + +“To the Riviera, I suppose,” she said. “Sibell wants me to invite +Otway. What do you think?” + +The man, to whom his mistress was so familiar and confidential, +hesitated for a few moments. + +“Well, in the circumstances he might perhaps be useful. But I do hope +they’re not too deeply in love with each other, otherwise it may cause +us a good deal of trouble. You know what I mean?” he added, regarding +her very strangely. + +She swallowed the lump which arose in her throat, and in a low voice +exclaimed: + +“I know at what you are hinting. Please do not refer to it, I beg of +you.” + +“I won’t. I only point out that the less love existing between the +pair, the better for everybody concerned,” he said. “On the other +hand, I can see no reason why the young fellow should not go with you +both as companion, especially as I shall not be there.” + +“You’re not coming with us?” asked Lady Wyndcliffe, aghast. + +“No. I shall have other matters much more important to attend to,” he +replied in a mysterious manner. “I haven’t yet thought out this sudden +danger which threatens. When there’s danger, you know, Etta, I’m the +first to face it. It isn’t the first little alarm we’ve had by +several. So just leave it to me to find a way out. We can’t go on much +longer as we’ve been going. Happily for our success, Sibell knows +nothing, and suspects nothing. Neither does your ass of a husband. But +we are both out for money--big money--is not that so?” + +“I agree,” his mistress said. “But I won’t go to Cannes without you.” + +“I’ll get a good servant for you, never fear. I’ll see about it +to-morrow. There’s a man named Nivern just leaving Lord Cathlake’s. +He’s quite reliable, I happen to know.” + +“Where shall you go?” + +“I don’t know just yet. Rupert must be prevented from coming to +London, and it’s no use sitting here awaiting disaster, is it? If he +comes, then he must meet you or Sibell sooner or later. Therefore he +is best over in America. Let’s see--it’s quite five years or more +since that affair in New York.” + +“Well, nobody knows about that except you,” said the woman grimly. + +“No. You’ve led old Wyndcliffe up the garden very well indeed, Etta,” +laughed the man, drinking deeply of his whiskey-and-soda. + +“Give me twenty pounds,” he said suddenly. “I’ve had a rough week. +Every horse I fancied went down.” + +Without protest, the heavy-eyed woman rose, and, going to her room, +returned with two ten-pound notes, which she handed to him. + +“Thanks,” he said, as he crushed them into his vest pocket. “I’ll want +three hundred or so to go on with when I leave. I’m just going out for +an hour or two.” + +And, carefully throwing his cigar-end out of the window, he turned and +left. + +Next morning, after breakfast, Lord Wyndcliffe and Sibell were sitting +in the morning-room, the girl idling over a picture-paper, when they +heard a violent altercation in the dining-room between her ladyship +and the butler, Ashe. + +“I’ll hear no more!” Sibell heard her aunt shout. “I will not stand +your abominable insolence any longer! You are dismissed, and will +leave the house this morning. You can have a month’s wages in lieu of +notice, but I’ll not have you in my house another hour!” + +And Lady Wyndcliffe dashed into the morning-room and burst out crying. + +“Ashe has been most abominably insolent to me, dear!” she declared to +her husband through her tears. “I’ve sent him away.” + +“Insolent to you!” cried the man, starting angrily to his feet. + +“No, dear!” she urged, her hand upon his shoulder. “Please don’t +excite yourself. He’s gone to pack up. I’ll send his check into the +kitchen, and we are well rid of such a fellow.” + +“I’ve never liked him,” declared the Earl. + +“Neither have I,” Sibell agreed. “He’s always seemed so abominably +familiar, auntie.” + +“Never mind, dear. He’s going. So we must look out for another man. +Mrs. Owen Clark gave me the name of a man the other day. I’ve got his +address somewhere.” + +And so, an hour later, the faithful Mr. Albert Ashe, who had been +nearly two years in the employ of Lady Wyndcliffe, left West Halkin +Street with his luggage on a taxi-cab. + +But before he went he managed to snatch a few whispered words with his +mistress in her boudoir. + +“When you go to Cannes, be extremely careful to hide everything from +young Otway. Remember the great secret I told you the other day!” + +The woman nodded, her face white to the lips. + +“Well, if you hear of anything happening, keep your own counsel, and +put two and two together. That’s all! Be very careful of Otway. He may +be of great use to both of us. You carried out the quarrel admirably. +I’ll meet you again soon, Etta! We’re out for a big stake, and we’ll +win--never fear!” + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + THE MAN WITH RED HAIR + +When that morning, after Ashe’s departure, Sibell’s aunt told her +that she had decided to invite Brinsley to accompany them to Cannes, +she at once rang him up to tell him the joyful news. + +Then she put on her coat and hat and went down to the office of the +International Sleeping Car Company, in Cockspur Street, where she was +fortunate enough to find that a one-berth compartment on the Blue +Train from Calais to Ventimiglia on the day they had booked sleepers +had been cancelled, so she at once engaged it. + +Otway was not yet well enough to go out, therefore she called in the +afternoon and, as usual, sat with him by the fire and took tea and +toast which the housekeeper brought up. + +They were both enthusiastic concerning their journey south, for +Brinsley had never been to the Riviera, therefore she described some +of the pleasures and gaiety of winter life by the Mediterranean. + +“I’m trying to persuade auntie to send out the car with Craven,” she +said. “Uncle will be away, so he won’t want it. Besides, a car is so +handy on the Riviera. One can run about and see one’s friends, or go +over in the evening to Monte. We really must have it. I’m insisting +upon it. It will be cheaper for Craven to take it across from +Boulogne, than to hire one in Cannes.” + +“If you use your persuasive powers upon your Aunt Etta, you’ll no +doubt succeed, darling,” he said, with an affectionate hug. + +“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed the girl. “Ashe has gone!” + +“Ashe gone!” cried her lover in surprise. + +“Yes. He’s Aunt Etta’s right hand, so I don’t suppose he’ll be away +from us for long,” Sibell said. “There was a row after breakfast this +morning--exactly why I can’t discover--but in any case the excellent +Ashe was impudent about some order he was given, so auntie simply gave +him the sack at a moment’s notice, paid him up, and away he went. He +was out of the house in a quarter of an hour.” + +“H’m, a bit of an upset, eh?” remarked the young doctor. + +“Uncle was furious, but she managed to calm him down. Isn’t it +priceless? Hitherto, auntie would never have a single word said about +him.” + +“I’ve never liked the fellow,” declared her lover. “He always seemed +to assume such superior, supercilious airs, and in his face there was +a low cunning expression that always made me suspect him of robbing +your uncle over the wines and cigars. When he went off duty he became +the gentleman, I suppose. I met him one night at Hyde Park Corner, and +he looked like a smart club man.” + +“I know. I’ve seen him dressed quite elegantly when he went out. To me +he was, however, always very polite and obedient. So I’ve nothing to +complain about, except of his rather brusque, familiar manner towards +my aunt sometimes. Several times I mentioned it, but auntie told me to +take no notice, as it was only his way.” + +“Well, though he used to serve me very well, and was most attentive at +table when I dined at West Halkin Street, I’m rather glad he’s gone. +Why I disliked him I couldn’t tell you, dearest. But I did. I can’t +explain the reason. It was intuition, I think.” + +“Auntie has written to a new man, and if she engages him, he’ll go to +Cannes with us. He could go in the car with Craven. I’ll suggest it.” + +When Sibell had kissed him and had gone, after the return of the +nurse, Brinsley Otway sat in the old arm-chair with his arms folded, +silent in deep thought. + +The sudden and unexpected dismissal of the Earl’s faithful man, Ashe, +puzzled him. Was there anything behind that violent quarrel? He +himself, during the evenings spent at West Halkin Street, had not +failed to notice the familiar manner in which the fellow treated +Sibell’s rather go-ahead aunt. His demeanor was certainly not +befitting that of a servant. Once, too, he had overheard some +whispered words between mistress and man. He was alone in the study +one evening, choosing a book from the shelves, and happened to be +stooping down behind a small screen and thus concealed when he heard +the Countess slip noiselessly into the room, followed by Ashe. + +“What is that telegram you’ve just received?” demanded the man quickly +in a low whisper. “Tell me the truth,” he growled threateningly. + +“Here it is,” faltered the woman, apparently haunted by dread. “You +need not be so fierce. It’s only from that freak Emily Taylor, who +wants to come to town and stay with me.” + +“Oh!” Ashe replied. “I feared it might be from him! I’m sorry. No harm +done.” + +And then the servant slipped out of the room, followed by his +mistress. + +Those strange words Otway overheard had since caused him to ponder +frequently. Being on such terms as they were, it seemed more than +curious that they should part after a violent altercation. + +As he sat he remembered that curious conversation, every word of which +had sunk indelibly into his brain. Ashe’s manner to his mistress was +so deferential and obsequious at table that the conversation in +question both puzzled and intrigued him. Of course he had said nothing +to Sibell, but the scene at West Halkin Street which she had described +caused him again to ponder. + +At dinner that night, served by one of the maids, Lady Wyndcliffe, +addressing her bald-headed husband across the table, said: + +“I’ve seen the man recommended to me a little time ago, dear. I +telephoned to him, and he came this afternoon. Quite nice and smart. A +trifle younger than Ashe. He has excellent references, so I’ve engaged +him. He is coming to us the day after to-morrow.” + +“Good!” said his lordship, settling his dress tie. “I’m glad you gave +that fellow Ashe the sack. He was always drinking my whiskey and +smoking my cigars. I used to smell them when I came home at night. The +fellow used to smoke in the drawing-room. I’m sure of it. Why, I came +in late last night after you’d all gone to bed, and I distinctly smelt +one of my cigars in the drawing-room. Been up there while we were all +out, no doubt. Damn the fellow!” + +“Ashe was all right if he could refrain from being insolent,” remarked +his wife. “He was an excellent servant, but he had that one fault.” + +“Well, auntie, we’re well rid of him, I think,” Sibell chimed in. +“Let’s hope this new man will turn out well. I’d let him go with +Craven in the car. Let them start three days before us.” + +“Who said we were taking the car?” asked the Countess. + +“Well, surely it’s cheaper to take your own bus than to hire! You know +how last year we found the hire absolutely ruinous. And one can do +nothing on the Riviera without a car. Besides, uncle will like it when +he comes out. The run across France only costs a few pounds.” + +The Earl laughed in his brainless way, remarking: + +“I suppose you want it out there because you like to drive yourself, +eh?” + +“Well, there’s a good deal in that!” the girl admitted. “But without a +car it’s simply dreadful there.” + +A long argument ensued, but in the end Sibell cajoled her aunt into +the idea of sending the chauffeur Craven with the car, and the new +butler, to the South of France--a fact which Brinsley duly learnt over +the telephone. + +About ten o’clock one evening a few days later, a rather short, +thick-set man in well-cut evening clothes and a five-diamond ring upon +his finger entered “The Owls,” one of the small dance clubs in Wardour +Street, Soho, the chief patrons of which were writers, painters, the +lesser lights of the drama of both sexes, mannequins at West End +shops, art students of both sexes and their models; indeed it was one +of London’s centres of Bohemia--or what still remains of it nowadays. + +The man, who was apparently well known, handed in his coat, signed the +members’ book, and passed into the ground-floor room, at the end of +which was a bar. The stuffy little place was nearly filled by a gay +crowd of reckless young men and women, many of whose faces bore traces +of dissipation and late nights. From the basement below came the +strident strains of a jazz band mingled with gay shouts and laughter +as the man, whose eyes had eagerly searched around as though expecting +somebody, seated himself on a high stool at the bar and ordered a +cocktail. Then he lit a cigarette, and, with one eye on the door, sat +smoking and chatting to the barman, a foreigner in a white linen coat +who was deftly serving drinks. + +Suddenly a man entered, and, as the other waved to him in recognition, +came forward. + +“Hulloa, Mr. Ashe!” exclaimed the short, thick-set little man, +evidently Italian from his accent. “Haven’t seen you lately, sare.” + +“No, Johnnie. I’ve been away in the country,” replied the discharged +butler. “Thought I’d just look in for half-an-hour. Have a drink?” + +“Thank you, sare,” replied the dapper little Italian, who was _maître +d’hôtel_ at one of the smartest West End restaurants. + +“You remember one day, about three weeks ago, you told me of a young +man you know who lives in the same house as yourself in Guilford +Street--that man who was suddenly taken ill.” + +“Oh, Meester Fetherstone! Oh, yes. He’s better now.” + +“It was influenza, wasn’t it?” he said, bending to him and whispering. + +The little dark-eyed man raised his shoulders and pulled a wry face. + +“You recollect what you told me--the conversation about detectives. +There were several young men in the sitting-room that night, eh?” + +“Several of them. They were discussing some secret about evil +influences.” + +“That’s interesting, anyway,” laughed Mr. Ashe. “They evidently know +something about evil curses and such-like mysteries. Yet I don’t see +why such things as curses should concern ’Varsity students. Tell me +about Fetherstone.” + +“All of the boys seemed most interested,” Johnnie said in English with +a strong Tuscan accent. “Fetherstone comes here sometimes. He has red +hair.” + +“You told me about him. I wonder if he is downstairs? I’d like to be +introduced to him.” + +“I’ll go and see,” said the man from Leghorn, who at once went below +to the dance-room. On returning a few moments later, he said: + +“Meester Fetherstone is downstairs. He is dancing.” + +Both drained their glasses and went below into the rather low-pitched +basement, which was spacious, running as it did beneath the two +adjoining houses. Around the walls were set a number of little tables +at which drinks were being served, at the end was the usual platform +with its jazz orchestra, while the centre of the floor was so crowded +by dancers, mostly in their day clothes, that it seemed difficult to +circulate. + +On every hand large notices stated: “Hard-boiled shirts not allowed!” +together with humorous distortions of well-known proverbs and many +flags and streamers. Ashe and his companion found a table after some +little difficulty, and, the dance being concluded, the Italian, whose +full name was Giovanni Savini, pointed out Fetherstone, who was seated +with a fair-haired, rather smartly-dressed mannequin on the opposite +side of the room. + +“Contrive to introduce me later on, Johnnie,” Ashe said. “Do you +really think you are right?” + +“I don’t know, Meester Ashe, but I have my ears open you know, and I +hear a lot of discussions. My bedroom is next their sitting-room,” +replied the _maître d’hôtel_, “and sometimes I hear very funny +things.” + +Ashe and Savini had been friends for a considerable time. They had +first met in Paris six years before, the Italian then being a waiter +at the Grand Hotel while Ashe was for some months living as guest in +that colossal establishment. Then, three years afterwards, the Italian +had one night served him in the Savoy in London, and they had +recognised each other. The smart _maître d’hôtel_ possessed a wide +knowledge of London’s underworld; hence they were often out together +late at night after the closing hour of the restaurant _de luxe_ in +the West End where the Italian was now employed. + +Ashe, with his shrewd observation and acumen, had long ago discovered +that his friend was, in secret, the associate of adventurers and +crooks of both sexes, who brought their “pigeons” to lunch or dine at +the expensive establishment where he was such an ubiquitous and +obliging servitor. And, being attracted by crookdom, he had cultivated +the man’s acquaintance. + +Half an hour afterwards, Fetherstone’s lady friend having left him to +Charleston with a white-haired and well-known portrait painter, Savini +went up to him and invited him to their table, where Ashe was +introduced, and the trio were soon taking drinks in the form of +whiskey-and-soda served in teacups and poured from a tea-pot. + +The place was now crowded by a very mixed assembly. The theatres were +over, and all sorts of men and women, including many of the +night-hawks of London, were shouting, laughing, drinking, dancing, and +throwing serpentines to the strains of the deafening orchestra; hence +conversation was difficult, and Ashe could scarcely make himself heard +to the young student across the table. + +The ex-butler took infinite trouble to impress Fetherstone with his +air of careless bonhomie, but presently a black-haired girl, an +artist’s model, came along, and, greeting the young fellow, sat down +uninvited at the table and began some good-humored banter, which +immensely amused both the student and the Italian. + +“I like that man Ashe,” remarked Fetherstone to the Italian as they +walked past the dark façade of the British Museum on the way to +Guilford Street. A church clock somewhere in Bloomsbury had just +struck half-past three, and the winter’s morning was frosty and +bitterly cold. + +“Meester Ashe is a very good friend of mine. _Un buon amico_,” +declared Savini. + +“What is he?” inquired the student. + +“He does nothing. Spends a lot of money, and when he gives a leetle +dinner he orders always the best. He leave it to me.” + +“Yes, he’s a real decent sort,” declared the red-headed young man +enthusiastically. “I’m meeting him at the Idlers on Wednesday night.” + +“Ah! I am on duty that night. We have a large private party--Lord +Melfort’s coming of age,” Savini said. “So I can’t join you, sare.” + +“Do so another time, Johnnie,” Fetherstone urged. “Ashe is a fine +fellow to spend an evening with--full of fun, isn’t he?” + +Arrived at Guilford Street, they let themselves into the silent, +frowsy-smelling old house and crept upstairs to their respective +rooms. + +On Wednesday evening, according to appointment, Fetherstone met Ashe +in the obscure little club in Wardour Street, where they had several +drinks, and on two occasions girls known to the light-hearted student +of Bart’s carried him off to dance with them. At such establishments +the girls seem mostly dance-mad, for they live a hectic, unhealthy +life, often stimulated by “snow” and other deadly things which are +procurable in secret on the premises--provided one has the money. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + MR. ASHE IS INQUISITIVE + +Feigning to be tired of the deafening orchestra and the atmosphere +of the Idlers, Mr. Ashe suddenly suggested that they should take a +taxi to the private hotel off the Strand where he was living, and +where they could have a drink and a smoke amid more peaceful +surroundings. In consequence, half an hour later they were seated in +deep easy-chairs before the fire in a cosy little private sitting-room +in Norfolk Street, with long glasses at their elbows. + +Ashe had been describing his imaginary travels in Chile, Argentine, +and Brazil, and told his companion that he contemplated going on a +trip up the Amazon. + +“I’m a writer, you know. That is why I travel so extensively,” he +explained. + +“It must be most interesting,” said Fetherstone, much impressed by his +newly-found friend’s conversation. “Authors can travel about, but +doctors never, unless they enter the service of a shipping line. But +that isn’t a paying proposition. I’m going in for medicine. When you +work up a practice you’re in the same corner-house for life. My father +has promised, as soon as I’m fully qualified, to buy one for me. Then +I shall be expected to vegetate in some country town, or perhaps in +some smiling village, and remain there till I expire of sheer boredom. +But I’m not going to do that, if I know it!” he declared, with a +laugh. + +“I should think not! Be ambitious. Set yourself out a task and achieve +it against all odds. That’s the only way to success, my dear boy,” +said Ashe. “Apart from the scientific interest in the practice of +medicine, I should fancy the ordinary practitioner’s life to be the +deadliest and dullest of all professions--even the profession of +hair-cutting.” + +Both men laughed. + +“At Bart’s we’re quite a cheery crowd,” explained the young fellow +presently. “We sometimes manage to wake up things a bit in the +evening. But we all dread the time when we are passed out upon the +world as ‘duly qualified.’” + +“Yes, I must admit that an author leads an untrammelled life, going +hither and thither over the face of the world just as he pleases in +search of fresh material with which to interest his readers. Nowadays +an author can’t afford to stay at home and write about everyday +occurrences. He must hit upon some new theme, and, if he is a +novelist, some fresh local color not hitherto portrayed. Novelists are +spread all over the world. From the Arctic tundras to the jungles of +Africa and the Far East, and from the film studios of Hollywood to the +slums of that almost extinct port of Vladivostock, are hundreds of +wandering writers, each collecting materials and atmosphere for new +books which, sooner or later, will, in pictorial covers, be displayed +in booksellers’ windows”; and then Ashe, in his well-cut evening +clothes, sat back, sipped his drink, and posed as an author. + +“What are you writing about just now?” asked Fetherstone, much +interested. + +“Well, I’m busy studying a rather unusual subject--the old mediæval +curses and their results. I want to write a novel and introduce some +curse so subtle that it cannot be detected.” + +The young man pursed his lips. The mere mention of curses aroused his +interest. He did not know the name of Ashe as a novelist, yet, being +no novel-reader, it was not surprising that the name was unfamiliar. + +“Well,” he said, “we hear much about curses, anathemas, and +imprecations and all that sort of thing in the Middle Ages, but to-day +it is all out of date. Curses are only believed in by neurotic persons +whose mentality is unbalanced.” + +“But those mediæval curses, and the evil placed upon old houses and +persons inhabiting them, I am studying, and the ancient beliefs of +some of the uncivilized countries.” + +“A most interesting study, I should say,” remarked Fetherstone. “Very +little is really known about them, except that there are some +curiously well-authenticated cases.” + +“I suppose you have studied the question, eh?” asked Ashe. + +“Yes, superficially. There are several houses supposed to be haunted +by evil in England, and several in France and Italy.” + +“Do you happen to know anything of them?” asked his companion in an +artless way. + +“Oh, just a little--what I’ve read, that’s all. There are quite a lot +of books on the subject,” said the red-headed man. “The tales of +certain old châteaux in Hungary are, to me, of the greatest interest. +Until a short time ago, though I had heard strange stories about them, +as any person interested in the subject hears, I placed no credence in +their claims. Now, however, my opinion has quite altered.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Albert Ashe, instantly interested. + +“I mean that it seems without doubt that there was an evil placed upon +the Imperial Palace of Tsarskoe Selo in Russia, and in consequence the +régime of the Romanoffs was brought to an end. It was due to the +baneful influence of the mock monk Rasputin, who caused the illnesses +of the Tsar’s young son. The monk, who was an intimate friend of the +Imperial Family, would prophesy that on a certain day--perhaps in a +month’s time--the boy would be seized with an illness which would +prove fatal. After that his accessory, Madame Vyrubova, the Tsaritsa’s +lady-in-waiting, would treat him, and surely enough on the day +prophesied by the ‘Holy Father’ the lad would have a sudden seizure. +Then Rasputin would pray at the stricken lad’s bedside, and the poor +little fellow would regain consciousness and recover in fulfilment of +Rasputin’s prophecy and mock prayers. He was the Evil Spirit of +Imperial Russia.” + +“A very clever bit of swindling,” laughed Ashe. “But Rasputin was one +of the most remarkable charlatans in history. The downfall of Russia +was due to him, wasn’t it?” + +“Who knows truly? As an evil-minded scoundrel he had possession of +some secret, and used it to demonstrate to the Imperial Russian Family +the accuracy of his prophecies and the efficacy of what he pretended +were his prayers.” + +“Well, if any person learned such secret of evil he could commit any +amount of crimes without being found out, for he might be even on the +other side of the Equator when the tragedy occurred and nobody could +connect him with it. This is a complete revelation to me,” declared +Ashe, with truth. “I never knew that such things could exist.” + +“Not a dozen people in the whole world know the secret evil that can +be influenced by some,” the medical student alleged with equal truth. + +“And you are one of them, eh?” remarked Ashe, with a mysterious smile. + +“Yes. The information came to me in a very curious and confidential +way from an old uncle of mine.” + +“Intensely interesting,” declared Ashe, whose face had now assumed a +deep, thoughtful look. “It is just the baneful influence I want to +describe in my new novel. My plot just requires that one thing to +complete it. I suppose the truth cannot be described. It is only known +to a very few?” + +“A dead secret, and hardly one which should be revealed to the public, +do you think?” asked the younger man. + +“Certainly not, unless in such a manner that it could not be used for +evil,” Ashe said. “But could such a condition of evil be invoked here +in London?” + +“It can be invoked anywhere. I happen to know that there is one person +capable of exercising his powers in London at the present moment!” + +“Is there?” cried Ashe, with a sudden eagerness that he was unable to +repress. Next moment, however, he cleverly assumed an air of +unconcern. Then he laughed, and asked: “Have you ever heard of a man +named Bettinson?” + +“No. Bettinson? Who is he?” + +“Oh, I’ve heard vaguely of him as a student of the occult. That’s +all.” + +He was clever enough not to press the conversation further, and +Fetherstone accepted him at his own valuation, that of a writer +struggling into fame. + +They chatted until nearly two o’clock in the morning, when, after a +final drink, they parted, and the medical student walked home to +Bloomsbury through the drizzling rain. + +Soon after ten o’clock on the following evening, while Mr. Ashe was +smoking his cigar in a comfortable chair before the fire, in his hotel +off the Strand, a page-boy brought up a card bearing the name of “Mrs. +Denham.” He rose and gave orders for the lady to be shown up, +whereupon Lady Wyndcliffe, a smart, erect figure, entered the room. + +“I’m glad you got my message, Etta,” he said. “I couldn’t leave London +before I saw you. Take off your coat and sit down.” + +And he helped her off with her handsome sable coat, which had been +given her by a friend on her last birthday. + +“Sibell is with Otway, so I was alone when your friend rang up,” she +said. “Is it very important?” + +“Yes, rather. Do you know whether Otway has any friend named +Fetherstone, a medical student?” + +“Fetherstone? Yes, I believe he has. Why?” + +“I only wanted to know if they were acquainted,” replied the +ex-servant reflectively. “I have reason for wanting to know.” + +“What reason?” + +“I’ll tell you afterwards,” replied the man, sinking lazily into his +chair again, a mask-like smile gathering around his thin lips. + +“It isn’t very safe for me to come here,” her ladyship said +apprehensively. + +“Bah! There’s nobody to follow you. You’re getting chicken-hearted +nowadays. What are you afraid of?” + +“Lots of things,” answered his late mistress. + +“Bosh! We’ll only have to go slow for a while, till we pull the wool +over Rupert’s eyes again. Very soon his own affairs will keep him from +coming over to England and butting in.” + +“What do you mean?” his visitor asked. + +A deep red mounted slowly to the man’s face. + +“You know what I mean well enough. Are you blind? Luck is playing into +our hands, my dear Etta. Don’t get funky.” + +He summoned the handsome woman’s downcast eyes to his, and the soul +that looked at him from under a wealth of black lashes seemed writhing +in purgatory. + +“Danger threatens us both, so we must face the music,” the man went on +sternly. “Mind that Otway doesn’t grow too fond of Sibell. That must +not happen. You understand!” + +“Yes, but love is the strongest chain in the world, and Sibell is in +love with him. Besides, she’s independent now, remember!” + +“Then I’m half inclined to think that Otway had better stay in London. +Only he may very possibly be of use to us. It’s quite true what you +say of love. But love has wings, and if you bore it or allow it to +feel lonely, then it can fly away,” he added, with a supercilious +laugh. + +Suddenly the determination upon his face deepened, and he said: + +“If a certain person gets to London, then we’d be able to climb out of +the soup again. If he doesn’t come to London, then think what it would +mean to us both!” And he paused and looked at her. “Leave me to use my +wits, Etta,” he added, an evil gleam struggling into his eyes. + +“And--and you want me to--what?” began the terrified woman. + +“I want you to do nothing, my dear Etta, except to keep a still +tongue. Go to the Riviera and enjoy yourself. Don’t write to me, or +try and communicate. If I want to let you know anything I’ll write to +‘Mrs. Harrison’ at the Poste Restante, Cannes. Go there on the first +of each month and see if there is a letter.” + +And he rose, a surly look upon his sinister face. + +“I know of something that will let the dogs loose on him all right.” + +“You--you vindictive devil!” cried the woman. “I know what you are +hinting at!” + +“Well, surely we must protect ourselves. He’d do the same to me--if he +could!” And the cold grey eyes shone with a horrible insinuation. +“He’d close my lips if he dared. But two can play the same game.” + +“And--and poor Sibell!” gasped the girl’s aunt, pale-faced and +trembling. “What of her?” + +He paused, and looked again straight into her face. + +Under his gaze a look of abject horror came into her eyes. + +She rose abruptly, and put on her coat with nervous fingers, her chest +heaving beneath the filmy black corsage. + +She came towards him with knit brows and searched his face nervously. + +“Damn you! I know what you mean!” she cried at last. “But you sha’n’t! +My God--you _sha’n’t_!” + +The man who had posed as her exemplary butler only gave vent to a +harsh, forced laugh as she flung herself out of the room and closed +the door after her. + +“Sha’n’t I?” he muttered aloud, between his set teeth. “You will see +very soon, my lady! And you won’t dare to squeal _because of your own +neck_!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + THE LURE OF THE SNOW + +Etta Wyndcliffe had changed her mind. It was a frequent habit of +hers. At the last moment she had decided that it was a little too +early for the Riviera, therefore she chose winter sports in +Switzerland as a prelude to the Côte d’Azur. Hence, a week after her +angry parting with the estimable Ashe, she, with Sibell, Brinsley, and +her maid, left London for Nature’s white wonderland at Gurnigel, the +new palatial winter resort, high in the mountains above Berne. + +After stepping from the comfortable _wagon-lit_ of the Oberland +Express, which had brought them in the night from Calais to Berne, +they found awaiting them a powerful car, with chains upon its wheels +on account of the mountain snows, and soon they were on their way, in +the bright morning sunshine, upon a fine, open road which ran along +the lower slope of a steep hill, affording a wide view of the +snow-clad but fertile valley of the Gürbe towards Thun; then, rising +higher, they passed through cherry orchards now white with snow, but +in April white with blossom. Everywhere the spotless mantle of Nature +lay thickly piled upon the wide, overhanging roofs of wooden chalets +and outbuildings. Through quiet little hamlets they passed, one after +another, until, after leaving the pretty, homely village of +Riggisberg, the real steep ascent of the mountain lay before them. + +“How perfectly wonderful!” cried Sibell, gazing delightedly through +the window to where, far across the lake of Thun, rose the giants, the +Eiger, Mönch, Jungfrau, and others of that chain, with their eternal +glaciers and everlasting snows. + +“Yes,” exclaimed her lover, who sat opposite her. “What a complete +change from dark, dreary London, with its fogs and rain! How +glorious!” + +“They call it Glorious Gurnigel,” remarked Lady Wyndcliffe, gazing +around. “And it really seems as though the adjective is appropriate.” + +They were now in the heart of rural Switzerland, and, as the steep +road rose higher and yet higher by many curves, they entered the great +snow-laden pine-forests, those forests which abound everywhere in that +region and breathe their health-giving odor into the crisp, frosty +air. + +Another sudden turn of the road, and there suddenly came into view the +great, long white building where high piled wood fires and a warm +welcome from the genial director, Mr. Schelb, awaited them. + +Inside the huge hotel they quickly found themselves in the midst of a +merry winter sports crowd of young English people, the girls mostly in +bright-colored jerseys and breeches, including a few in black, and gay +scarves, with well-cut trousers which some girls prefer to stockings. +The men were mostly in ski-ing kit, and the chatter at lunch was, of +course, of ski-ing, skating, or bobbing. There was an irresponsible +atmosphere of gaiety everywhere, either in the hotel or out of it, for +everybody was bent on enjoyment, the high spirits being contagious; +for even the elderly quickly find themselves feeling rejuvenated by +the wonderful pine-laden air at four to five thousand feet above sea +level. + +On every side the country belonged to the hotel. To give one an idea +of the size of the estate, there are over thirty miles of walks and +paths on it! + +They rested after their journey, then they donned their sports-clothes +and snow-resisting boots, and went forth into the picturesque white +world to take the Belle Vue Walk, and so make their first acquaintance +with Glorious Gurnigel, the aristocrat among resorts. + +Outside, Sibell and Otway, walking alone together, were at once in a +great forest of snow-laden pines and firs in which the whispering wind +was the only sound, for they were now high up above the abode of man. +The trees bring an income to the great estate--not very much in these +days, but sufficient to employ many peasants. In the colony which has +arisen about the hotel there is a sawmill, and in it about a thousand +trees are annually cut into boards, to be sent down to Berne and sold +for the construction of chalets, while the useless branches are cut up +for firewood which, in addition to the radiators, heat the hotel in +winter. Of the thousand or so trees cut down, many straight stems, +after seventy or eighty years of growth, go down to the lowlands to +rise again as telegraph-poles. And, for those thousand cut down in the +thinning process of those delightful woods, four thousand saplings are +planted each year. The number is such that only one tree in four comes +to maturity, for many die or grow with crooked trunks, and hence are +sacrificed for firewood early in their growth. + +Thus the forestry on the huge estate is no mean matter, and it was an +interesting reflection, as they sauntered along a descending path +beside a brook--now frozen in winter’s grip--that on those woodland +paths, or open ski slopes, stretching everywhere, nobody could say +them nay. + +After luncheon Lady Wyndcliffe was busy with her maid, unpacking, +therefore the lovers wandered along that romantic forest path, +picturesque and sparkling like a Christmas card at every turn, which +eventually led to the wonderful viewpoint called the Belle Vue. + +At last, in the twilight, they came to a steep descent, and, rather +than reclimb it, they sat upon a convenient seat to rest. + +A bevy of laughing girls in bright sports costumes, accompanied by +several young English undergraduates, passed by on their way back for +tea, making the forest echo with their merriment, while after them +came a tall, athletic man in dark blue, and wearing a guide’s cap, +gliding along on skis. + +In the latter both were interested, for neither had before seen a +person on those long wooden laths. + +“I’m quite sure I’ll never be able to ski!” Sibell declared--as she +watched the man disappearing along the path. + +“Oh, yes, you will. Harman, who was at Bart’s with me, went out to +Wengen one season and learnt in a week,” he replied. “You’ll soon do +all right under a good instructor. I’ll see about it to-morrow.” + +“But look how long and unwieldy the things are!” protested the girl. + +“When you’ve once learned, you can do anything on them. It’s only a +question of knack and balance, like learning to cycle.” + +“I can cycle all right.” + +“Then you’ll very soon be able to ski,” he assured her. “I asked the +concierge, and he tells me there’s an excellent instructor here, one +of the best in the Oberland. He’s a Swiss from Mürren named von +Allmen--all the English here call him ‘John.’” + +“Very well,” she laughed. “I’ll have John to teach me.” + +“Good! I’ll fix the lesson for to-morrow,” said her lover; and then, +taking her thickly gloved hand in his, he looked into her fine eyes, +and added: “Is not this place a perfect paradise, darling--a paradise +for you and me? Compare the hectic, artificial life of overdressing, +vice, and gambling on the Riviera with this clean, wholesome, +germ-free air--this gorgeous scenery, these great forests, and +towering mountains, this spot where all is natural and of God’s +creation. Is it not all wonderful--glorious!” + +The girl held her breath for a moment; then, as she looked into her +lover’s eyes, she replied: + +“Yes, it is, Brin! I am so very happy to-day--too happy, because +I--well, I somehow feel that this perfect bliss is too complete to +last! I----” + +But Otway did not allow her to express any further apprehensions, for +he suddenly took her in his arms and, holding her firmly, kissed her +many times upon her lips. + +Then, as it was growing dark in the forest, they rose and, arm in arm, +found their way back to the huge, brilliantly-lit hotel, where, in the +great lounge at the end of the magnificent ballroom, Sibell’s aunt had +secured a table for tea. + +“We’ve been exploring the place, auntie,” Sibell said as she sat down. +“The walks are simply wonderful. I’m so delighted we came here!” + +“So am I,” declared Otway. + +“Ena Oxenford told me about it,” said her ladyship. “She was here last +summer. No doubt it will become a second St. Moritz very soon--when +people know of it. I agree that at present it is charming.” + +Sibell looked very chic in her tailor-made, black ski-ing suit and +well-cut trousers, the only touch of color being her bright blue and +red scarf which matched her Norwegian anklets. She wore a peaked +guide’s cap, and into it she had already pinned the little pale-blue +and white badge of the Gurnigel Ski Club, which she had joined at once +on arrival. + +As they sat amid the gay, chatting English crowd, they had full view +of the ballroom--perhaps one of the finest in all Switzerland--where +people were dancing to an excellent orchestra. There was merriment and +bonhomie on every hand, even though a party of about sixty Germans of +the better class were also visitors there. Such an incident was not +usual, for in winter Gurnigel is kept essentially English. +Nevertheless, that season such was the fact, and it was especially +noticeable that no racial hatred existed between the two +nationalities. In neutral-Switzerland they were upon common ground. + +Unseen by either Sibell or her lover, there was, however, sitting on +the opposite side of the hall a dark, sleek-haired young man, +thick-lipped and sensuous, who, from behind one of the marble columns, +was eyeing the girl furtively as he lazily sipped his tea and smoked +his Egyptian cigarette. + +He had attempted a familiar conversation with the fair-haired, +muslin-aproned Swiss maid who had served him, but had been ignored, +and now his large black eyes were fixed upon Sibell, whose beauty and +smartness were outstanding, even amid that very smart crowd. + +“I really think that winter sports are a fitting prelude to the +Riviera,” Sibell’s aunt was saying, as she lazily selected a cigarette +from her gold case and tapped it. “Agatha, that little American cat +whom I took around last season, wanted to go to St. Moritz, but I +refused. I’m sorry now that I didn’t go. Of course, you two will go +ski-ing to-morrow.” + +“Yes,” replied the girl. “We’re both having our first lesson with +John. I saw him in the hall just as we came in. Isn’t he a +good-looking boy, Brin?” + +Her lover agreed, and then suggested to her that they should dance. + +Next moment they were upon the well-kept floor of the great +white-and-gold ballroom, where at the many tables around sat a gay +crowd of winter sports devotees, yet still unaware of the pair of dark +eyes of the man, seated half-concealed, who somehow appeared +fascinated by Sibell’s outstanding beauty. + +Gurnigel in summer is a marvellous woodland retreat--a gorgeous spot +where no sound disturbs the mountain silence save the singing of the +birds, the ripple of the many streams, the musical tinkle of the +cow-bells, and perhaps the blows of the woodman’s axe. But as soon as +the slow, sleek cows with their bells are driven in and the first snow +of winter falls, there comes a transformation to a great snow-clad +countryside, wherein a gay crowd disport themselves in genuine good +humor and with united efforts to make fun out of everything. There is +no standoffishness, nor are there unsociable cliques. The newcomer of +either sex is instantly welcomed, taken into the circle, so that there +is never any lack of companions for ski-ing, or partners for dancing. + +The joyous convivialities of January are events one will long +remember, for neither trouble nor expense are spared to effect the +success of the various festivals, the guests entering into the true +spirit of things, so that there is not a single dull moment; all goes +with a swing, and it becomes a time of strenuous gaiety. If the +weather happens to be bad, or the snow may leave a little to be +desired, then there are all kinds of indoor games--bowls, indoor +curling, ping-pong, and hosts of other diversions, the tea-time +dancing being not the least, and the merry crowd pities the poor +drenched and fog-bound folk at home. + +It was so with the new arrivals--indeed, with everyone who came fresh +from London. + +Glorious Gurnigel was, they found, indeed glorious in every sense of +the term. + +When, later, Sibell, in a dainty white dance frock embroidered with +beads, which suited her fair complexion so admirably, came down to +meet the young doctor for dinner, she encountered in the long, +red-carpeted corridor, that ran parallel with the ballroom, the tall, +erect young man whose eyes had been on her while she had sat at tea +and while she had danced. + +He idled past her, smiled broadly, whispered something, and, bowing, +wished her “Good evening” in a low tone in German. + +With her English hauteur she drew herself up, stared him full in the +face, and passed on, nevertheless remembering that at such resorts +introductions are easily made, and friendships as easily dropped. + +When, a few moments later, Otway and her aunt joined her, she made no +mention of the incident. She knew it would most certainly provoke her +lover’s indignation that she could not be left for a moment alone in +the hotel without a stranger attempting to get in conversation with +her; and, besides, she did not desire a scene. + +That evening, after dining in the fine restaurant, they occupied a +table at the end of the ballroom near the orchestra, and many times +the happy pair danced together, refraining only when a “Paul Jones” +was announced. + +Next morning they had their first lesson in ski-ing. The tall, +athletic young Swiss ski-instructor, in his neat blue suit, with his +guide’s badge upon his breast, fitted their skis to their boots and +took them out upon what is known as the “nursery slopes,” where all +beginners make a start by learning to stand on their skis and how to +fall into the soft, powdery snow in such a manner that they do not +injure themselves. + +In spite of many tumbles and much humorous banter, they thoroughly +enjoyed themselves for two hours, unconscious still that that pair of +evil, black eyes was closely watching them from a window on the first +floor with that same fixed, sinister expression. + +That afternoon, after luncheon, the pair, oblivious of the attention +they had attracted, joined a small party of skiers, and climbed above +the tree-line to the summit of Mount Gurnigel, a matter of another +thousand feet or so, where, standing in the afternoon sunshine upon +the verandah of the weather-beaten shelter hut of the Swiss Alpine +Club, they gazed at one of the most marvellous panoramas of valley, +lake, and mountain in all Switzerland. Before them, far below, lay the +whole of the district of Thun and its delightful lake, flanked on one +side by the mountains of the Emmental, and on the other by the jagged, +frowning Stockhorn, and the conical Niesen, with the steepest mountain +railway in Europe, while beyond rose, white, majestic, and just tipped +by the delicate rose light of the Alpine glow, the Jungfrau and her +neighbors. The scene was like one obtained from an aeroplane, and, as +the others of the party had climbed on skis, they ran swiftly down +home, first over some wide, steep slopes, then, joining the road, +passed along its edge through Black Lake wood and straight down to the +hotel. + +But Sibell and her lover, not being able to ski, stood alone and +silent in the sunset, children of the heights. Their hearts were too +full for mere words. + +At last, as they stood facing the giant Jungfrau, upon whose lofty +crest the gorgeous pink glow was deepening, he bent and kissed her, +and then, hand in hand, they commenced to descend the steep, winding +road, arriving back in the hotel just as the twilight had deepened +into darkness. + +And as they rejoined Lady Wyndcliffe at her tea-table in the corner, +that pair of dark, haunting eyes fell again upon them. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + SKIERS AND “FROTH-BLOWERS” + +Sibell had her second lesson in ski-ing on the third day after their +arrival. + +On the second day it snowed so heavily that in the afternoon it +developed into quite a blizzard. But in a winter sports centre fresh +snow is always hailed with delight by old and young, and the morrow, +with its delights, is eagerly looked forward to. + +The morning turned out to be perfect, the thermometer down to zero and +the sky cloudless, with a warm, health-giving sun, while deep in the +valley lay the dark rain-clouds, rendering the lower altitudes damp +and gloomy. + +The ever-faithful John took his charges up the steep hill behind the +hotel to the gentle slopes at the rear of that range of farm buildings +known as the Stock-Hut, and, halting suddenly, addressed the girl in +his quaint Swiss-English: + +“Now, Mees Dare, I will put your skis [pronounced shees] on, here. The +snow is too deep for you to walk farther.” + +While Otway was busy clipping on his own skis, John knelt down and +fixed Sibell’s, she balancing herself on one foot and holding on to +his shoulder. When the pair were ready to climb the slope, Sibell +cried: + +“Good heavens, John! I can’t get up there on these things.” + +“Oh, yes, you will, mees,” replied the good-looking Swiss expert. “It +is quite easy. I will go and make a track for you.” + +Then, after a lot of exertion, she slipped and fell in the snow +several times, always being picked up quickly by the alert John. + +“Really, Sibell!” exclaimed her lover in a low tone. “I believe you +are sitting down purposely, so that your good-looking guide may come +to the rescue. I’m right out of it!” + +He was unaware that John overheard his words, and was secretly amused. +But John was quite used to hearing such talk between young loving +couples who were his pupils on the snow. + +As the lesson commenced, John, by giving demonstrations, explained +clearly to both of them the art of ski-ing. Sibell being rather timid, +as are all girls at first, he took her by the arm and steadied her as +they glided together down the slope. Then Sibell lost her balance and +fell head foremost into the soft snow, her skis in the air. + +“Well!” asked John, in feigned surprise. “For what purpose do you +fall, mees?” + +“Why, to sit down and stop myself!” replied the girl, laughing +heartily as he assisted her to her feet again. + +A moment later she fell again, whereupon John said: + +“Now, there was surely no necessity for that! Try and get up yourself, +but remember, when on a slope like this, never let your skis look +downhill. You must turn him so that he looks sideways uphill,” he +added. A peculiarity of his English was that to him all skis were +masculine. “Otherwise he will slip, and you will not be able to stop +him,” he added. + +After Sibell had lain in the snow a minute or two, twisting and +turning her skis in all sorts of contortions, to the great amusement +of Otway, she at last managed to right herself with the aid of John’s +ready hand. + +“Now, mees!” he said, after she had stood to recover her breath. “We +will try the stem turn. This is a very important turn to learn, as it +helps one in all the more complicated ones. Look! Watch me!” + +He then glided down the slope a short distance and demonstrated what +he meant, as the lovers watched and admired the ease and gracefulness +of his ski-ing. + +“Now, mees, will you try?” he said, on returning to her side, placing +his gloves together in his belt. + +Taking courage, the girl started slowly to descend, John following her +closely, with her lover watching. + +“Now, right foot forward!” ordered the lithe Swiss. “Bring it round, +and press outwards on your heel. On your heel! Now, hard!” + +Alas! by the time the last word of command reached her, she found +herself in a hopeless muddle, and fell half covered in the deep snow +with both skis practically hidden. + +The first time one does a stem turn it always puts one in difficulty. +But it is only a matter of knack and balance, and is soon easily +learnt. + +John was up with her in a moment, flying down and doing a perfect +“telemark,” by which he stopped dead at the exact spot, where he stood +for a second laughing heartily at her plight. + +“Never mind, Mees Dare!” he said encouragingly. “You will find it +quite easy after one or two failures.” + +“John!” she cried, with feigned resentment. “If you laugh at me when +I’m in this awful muddle I’ll loathe you!” + +“Oh, please don’t say that!” John pleaded. “You started very fine, but +when you commenced the turn you leaned inwards, instead of outwards.” + +“Brin! You’re laughing at me!” shouted the girl to her lover. “You +wait till you try it!” + +“Now, mees,” said John, “I will show you again”; and he made a +graceful stem turn just near her, pointing out the fault which all +beginners make. + +Six times she tried it and failed, but on the seventh she succeeded in +turning quite well, and repeated it twice without falling. + +Then, her hour’s lesson being up, they returned to the hotel. Otway +was to learn on the following morning. + +That day proved a somewhat eventful one for Gurnigel. + +When one speaks of the winter sunshine, those uninitiated into winter +sports in Switzerland naturally think of the Riviera. But in the Alps +they have, in winter, sun hotter than at Nice, with clear blue sky, +even though the thermometer will show ten or more degrees of frost. It +is one of the phenomena of the Alps that one gets sun-tanned amidst +the snow. + +As they entered the hotel half-an-hour before luncheon, Otway noticed, +pinned to one of the high pillars of the entrance hall, a notice +headed: + + + “Froth-Blowers! Emergency Notice! A meeting of the Ancient Order of + Froth-Blowers will be held in the recreation-room at 2.30 p.m. to-day. + All Blowers are to attend.--Blaster No. 24.” + + +It struck Otway and Sibell as amusing, and, laughing, they passed into +the restaurant to lunch, in ignorance of what was in active progress. + +“What are the Froth-Blowers?” asked the girl as they sat together. + +“Oh, I’ve heard of them,” replied her lover. “It’s a widespread +society of Englishmen all over the world, They wear silver cuff-links +with dark-blue initials--A.O.F.B.--as badge, while their subscriptions +of five shillings for life membership go to alleviate the sufferings +of poor children. It is a band of patriotic and philanthropic English +to help the helpless.” + +“I wonder why an emergency meeting has been called?” remarked Lady +Wyndcliffe. “I know quite a dozen ‘Blowers’ who wear their links both +by day and at evening. Woe betide a blower who forgets his cuff-links, +for he has to pay for the refreshment of everyone present. That is one +rule of the Order.” + +“Brin, you’ll have to be a ‘Blower’!” laughed Sibell merrily. “I’ll +pay the five shillings subscription for you!” + +And then the subject dropped. + +At half-past two, sixteen young, athletic Englishmen assembled in a +side-room where games were played on wet or foggy days--which were, +indeed, very few at Gurnigel--under the presiding of the “Blaster,” an +elderly, round-faced man named Gordon Mitchell. A “Blaster,” be it +said, is the title accorded to a Froth-Blower who obtains twenty-five +recruits to the Order, and in reward he wears silver insignia behind +the lapel of his coat. + +Five minutes’ grace was accorded to late comers. Then Mr. Mitchell +exhibited his badge, closed the door, locked it, and turning to the +young men assembled, he said: + +“Fellow Blowers, we have a decision to make, but it must not be hasty +or ill-considered. We are all of us Englishmen, and there must be no +hatred of race. This is a matter of broad principles. In this hotel +there is a certain man who must be taught a lesson--and a severe one. +The man in question has insulted no fewer than eight young English +ladies. To one he has written an abominable letter, which I will not +read, but I will hand it to you. The brother of that young girl is +present. In another case he followed a young English lady, who is here +with her mother, into the wood, seized her, kissed her, and, in +consequence of her shrieks, another English lady had to go to her +rescue. Now, Blowers, shall we tolerate this?” + +“No!” they all shouted with one accord. “Let’s out him!” + +“I agree,” said the grey-haired man very calmly. “The man’s name is +Ira Frank, and he comes from Frankfort. We have discovered, after some +inquiries, that he is a sensuous libertine and hunter of women. I have +shown this letter to the director of the hotel, who, in consequence, +has requested him to leave by the next automobile, which leaves for +Berne at 3.30.” + +“He won’t leave till I’ve had something to say!” cried the offended +girl’s brother, a young London medical student, whereupon all his +friends agreed, and discussed what should be done. + +“Blowers!” cried Mr. Mitchell. “Silence, please! First, not a hand +must be laid upon him, for he is a German. And, before anything is +done, I shall go to Dr. Rothe, the head of the German party of +visitors, and tell him what we have discovered, show him the letter, +and inform him of our intentions.” + +“Yes!” cried a voice. “Let’s pelt him out of it! He sha’n’t interfere +with our girls again! He’s tried Glorious Gurnigel--and he won’t come +back here a second time!” Whereat there was a peal of laughter. + +“He’ll try and slip away, boys,” said another. “There must be scouts +round the hotel. I’ll lead you!” + +“Not until I have heard Dr. Rothe’s views,” cried Mr. Mitchell, +holding up a warning hand. “We might easily create a riot here, and +surely we must not do that! Reassemble here in half an hour, and I +will tell you the result of my negotiations.” + +And the square-built, grey-haired man went off to find the leader of +the German winter sports party. + +Five minutes later he was alone in his private sitting-room with a +pleasant-faced, polite, middle-aged German, who, when he heard the +facts and was shown the offending letter, sat amazed. + +The letter was written on the culprit’s business paper, bearing his +Frankfort address and signed by him. + +“Well,” said the doctor in good English, “it is a consolation that he +is an outsider. He is not of our party. He asked to join it, and we +consented.” + +“I know we are treading upon rather thin ice,” Mr. Mitchell said, “but +the young Englishmen here are determined that he leave in ignominy. +Before any action is taken, I would request you to consult with some +of the more influential members of your party and ascertain their +views. I would venture to point out this is no racial hatred, for, had +an Englishman acted as he has done, we should have taken the law into +our own hands in exactly the same manner.” + +“I quite understand, and, on behalf of my party, I thank you very +sincerely, Mr. Mitchell,” answered the German, shaking the +Englishman’s hand. “If you will wait for ten minutes, I will return +and tell you our views. Of course there will be no violence?” + +“None whatever, I assure you. He will be only taught a lesson,” was +the Englishman’s answer. + +Ten minutes later the burly German doctor re-entered the room. + +“We entirely agree that the fellow should be taught a lesson,” he +said. “With one eye we shall laugh at his shame, but with the other we +shall, alas! cry because he is a German.” + +“Then it is agreed,” said Mr. Mitchell, again taking the German’s +hand. + +“The relations between my friends and the English visitors are, thanks +to yourself, most cordial, Mr. Mitchell,” the doctor said. “You have +done everything to remove any little prejudices your friends may have +had against us. And I assure you we all heartily appreciate it.” + +The Englishman thanked him, expressed regret that the unpleasant +incident had occurred, and then went at once to where the +Froth-Blowers were awaiting the decision. + +In a few brief words he told them of his negotiation and the decision +of the Germans, whereup a dozen of them rushed away to obtain +ammunition in the shape of eggs--which they bought from the stores, +there being no stale ones--decayed tomatoes, oranges, and lemons, +while others went out and gathered filth in newspapers. Then, in five +minutes, all the “Blowers” were posted round the hotel awaiting the +fellow’s appearance. + +Sibell was standing with Brinsley upon the balcony above the main +entrance to the hotel, and, noticing the sudden rush of twenty or so +young fellows, said: + +“I wonder what all this excitement is!” + +Scarcely had the words left her mouth than there was a shout, +“Blowers!” and next moment she saw the dark-eyed stranger, who had +whispered to her in the corridor the other night, dashing down the +snow-clad hill on a small toboggan. + +In a moment twenty athletic young fellows were after him. The brother +of the girl to whom he had written the letter, a good sprinter, took a +short cut and seized him, whereupon the others pelted the culprit +mercilessly with all sorts of missiles and filth, to the glee and +hilarity of a hundred or so lookers-on. + +“Take that, you German hog!” cried the angry brother, clapping some +filth in a newspaper full over the fellow’s face. “That will teach you +to write your accursed love-letters in future.” + +The scoundrel had lost his hat, and his hair was covered with broken +eggs and rotten tomatoes. His clothes were such a mass of disgusting +filth that they could never be worn again, and the last seen of him +was his staggering down the hill to the jeers of the crowd, both +Germans and English. + +Truly it was an exciting afternoon in Gurnigel. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + A VISITOR AT THE GUEST HOUSE + +Before leaving for Switzerland, Otway and Sibell had paid several +visits to the long-closed Guest House at Hampton Court, and, +accompanied by a Mr. Sheldon, a well-known author and antiquary, the +girl had picked out a number of the most valuable pieces of furniture, +a quantity of old silver--including two Charles the Second cups--and a +number of family portraits, all of which had been sent into store +until such time as the old house should be decorated and refurnished. + +The furniture included a number of very rare Caroline, Queen Anne, and +William and Mary pieces, all entirely genuine, with no trace of the +restorer’s hand. + +Indeed, the old antiquary pointed out that a set of genuine +Chippendale chairs and a Queen Anne tallboy were such as might well be +acquired by the South Kensington Museum. Neither the young doctor nor +his rather modern fiancée were lovers of the antique, so they merely +picked out, at Mr. Sheldon’s suggestion, a few objects, as a matter of +sentiment. + +On the other hand, the news of the valuable contents of the Guest +House had spread far and wide among dealers all over the country, and, +in consequence of their inquiries, Mr. Gray predicted a highly +profitable sale. + +The latter was somewhat delayed owing to certain legal formalities +abroad not having been complied with, but in the meantime Farmer, the +heavily-built caretaker, had many applicants to view the contents +privately, and many a half-crown fell into his ready palm, in +consequence. + +Sometimes Police Constable Askew, when on duty on that beat, would +look in and spend half an hour in the little room on the left of the +hall in which Farmer had taken up his quarters, the caretaker smoking +his strong briar, while the man in uniform loosened his belt and +enjoyed his “gasper.” + +“I wonder when the sale’s to be?” Askew remarked one rough night when, +just before midnight, he had taken shelter from the storm and hung up +his dripping cape in the hall. + +“Not till some legal formalities have been settled,” was the other’s +reply. “Mr. Gray was here yesterday, and told me so. I saw a +photograph of the young couple in the _Sketch_ the other day. They had +those long bits of wood fastened on to their boots--things they call +skis. How they get along on such things beats me.” + +“I suppose the young doctor is quite better now,” Askew said. “He had +a narrow squeak, I’ve heard.” + +“Yes. He was one of those affected by this house. Very uncanny, ain’t +it? I’ve never been troubled yet.” + +“Don’t you boast, old man,” said the constable warningly. “There’s +something mysterious and unaccountable in this old place. I’m sure of +that”; and he glanced apprehensively around the small, dark-papered +room, where a bright fire burned in the grate and a paraffin lamp +stood upon the table. + +“Bosh! I don’t believe in it!” laughed the man Farmer, who had spent +all the years since his retirement from the police force in taking +care of other people’s property. + +“You don’t believe in what I’ve seen?” asked Askew with quick +resentment. + +“I never believe anything I don’t see with my own eyes,” was the +other’s quiet reply. + +“Well, I’m not a liar, I assure you. I’ve seen something here--that’s +all I can tell you.” + +“And I’ve seen nothing, so let’s leave it at that,” said the man in +charge of the place. + +“What about those strange seizures?” + +“Mere coincidences,” laughed the matter-of-fact Farmer. “I hope the +facts won’t leak out or we’ll have all sorts of people +here--spiritualists, ghost hunters, and those people whose dead aunts +tell them what they’ve had for supper.” + +“Yes. It is to be hoped it won’t come out. I’ve told nobody,” said +Askew. + +“But that chap who writes to the _Richmond and Twickenham Times_ may +be keeping his eyes and ears open. He seems to me to be a bit of a +Nosey Parker.” + +“Well, if there are any inquiries, we must deny everything,” the +constable said. + +“I’ve never admitted anything. You’ve got to deny what you say that +you’ve seen.” + +“But surely you saw it too?” + +“I told you I didn’t! I’ve seen nothing, I’ve heard nothing, and I +think nothing--see?” declared Farmer. “I’m only the caretaker, paid by +the week to keep my mouth shut and frighten away thieves and +burglars”; and he laughed heartily. + +“But what’s going to happen here?” asked the constable, lighting a +fresh cigarette and glancing at Farmer’s cheap alarm clock on the +mantelshelf. Outside, the big trees swayed, the wind howled around the +place, and the rain pattered upon the window-panes in sudden gusts. + +“Happen? Why, it will be wedding-bells after the sale,” Farmer said. +“Before Miss Dare left she ordered the grounds to be put in order, and +there have been six men at work grubbing out all the undergrowth, +taking out unwanted trees, and lopping the rest. By Jove! you should +see the impenetrable jungle it was before they started. Thirty years +of undergrowth takes some grubbing out. They’re letting in light and +air, and making a new tennis-lawn. When it’s finished it will be a +very beautiful garden, no doubt. There’s going to be central heating, +baths, a servants’ hall, electric light, and all the most up-to-date +contrivances. It will cost a big sum, but when a young girl comes into +a big fortune, as she’s done, a few thousand don’t matter much, I +suppose.” + +“I expect the sale will bring in a tidy sum,” remarked the police +constable, holding his hands out to the fire to warm them. + +“I heard Mr. Gray tell his partner last Tuesday, when they were here +together, that the pictures alone will probably bring in twenty +thousand. Six of them have been sent up to Bond Street on show +already.” + +“Lucky girl, eh?” remarked the constable of the T Division of +Metropolitan Police, rising slowly and stretching himself. “Well, I’ll +have to go, Mr. Farmer. Thanks so much”; and he finished the bottle of +ale his host had placed before him, on entering. + +“So long. Look in again when you can. Three taps on the door if you +see my light a-burning. Good-night, and good luck to you.” + +Askew threw his wet cape around his shoulders, straightened himself, +put on his helmet, arranged his lamp, and strode heavily along the +stone hall, and out to continue his vigilance in the stormy night, +while the lonely caretaker, heedless of the dismal howling of the wind +and the many weird noises through the house, finished his glass of +beer, smoked a final pipe as he read the evening paper by the fire, +and then turned into his narrow bed. + +About ten o’clock next morning there came a tug at the clanging old +bell, and Farmer opened the door to confront a rather wizened-up +little old man in a drab mackintosh and holding an umbrella against +the pelting rain. + +“Excuse me,” he said very politely in a thin, refined voice. “Are you +caretaker here?” + +“I am, sir,” replied the broad-shouldered, plethoric Farmer. + +“Well, I’ve heard very much about this old house and the treasures it +contains, so I’ve come up from Newcastle-on-Tyne wondering if you +would allow me to go through the rooms,” he said. “My name is +Bettinson. I’m a great lover of the antique--indeed, a collector.” + +“I’m very sorry, sir, but the firm of auctioneers which employ me have +given me strict orders to allow nobody to view. The things were on +view some little time ago, but the sale has now been postponed.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed the little old man in deep disappointment. “Then the +contents of the house will not be sold?” + +“Not yet, sir.” + +“And what’s the name of the fortunate young lady who owns the house?” + +“Dare, sir--Miss Sibell Dare.” + +The old man nodded as slowly understanding the situation. “But I +wonder,” he said, after a pause, during which he drew a ten-shilling +note from his vest pocket, “I wonder if this would be any inducement +for you to allow me just a brief glance through the rooms?” + +Farmer smiled. Caretakers are all human, and, after all, there could +be little danger of theft in allowing the inoffensive, odd-looking old +fellow a peep at the shabby, neglected rooms. + +Two minutes later old Mr. Bettinson was inside, and, leaving his +umbrella in the hall, followed his guide first into the library, where +the books had already been tied in parcels ready for offering at +auction, though nothing had yet been catalogued or numbered. The heavy +furniture in the dining-room, especially the long oak refectory-table, +with its bulbous legs and worn struts, attracted him. + +“A perfect specimen!” he exclaimed, as though to himself. “Genuine +Tudor, without a doubt!” And he placed his fingers caressingly upon +the polished wood. + +The huge buffet also attracted his admiration, as well as a pair of +Queen Anne candelabra and a large silver salver of the same period. + +Then, upstairs, he stood for some moments in the big drawing-room, +gazing around in a strange, half-bewildered manner. He sat upon the +big old velvet-covered chair--the same into which Mr. Gray, the estate +agent, had sunk when he had had that mysterious attack--and admired +many of the unique pieces of furniture, including the big carved +chair, with its tattered crimson covering, in which he was seated. + +“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “A perfect museum! Why, this collection +ought never to be dispersed. It is a sin. The house and its contents +should be acquired by the nation.” + +“The young lady can’t sell it, I believe, sir,” remarked his guide. +“By the terms of the will she is compelled to live here.” + +“Ah! The testator was some fool of a crank, I suppose,” snapped the +old man. “Fancy condemning any young girl to live in a dismal place +like this!” + +“She’s going to be married, so I suppose they’ll renovate the place +and make it their headquarters,” Farmer said. “But I’ve heard that +she’s hitherto been abroad a lot.” + +“Well, this is no house for a young couple,” grunted old Mr. Bettinson +as, after sitting in contemplation for a quarter of an hour, he arose +from the huge chair of carved walnut--a handsome Italian Renaissance +piece--following the stout man in charge into other rooms on the same +floor, where, through the dingy panes of old green glass, the garden, +with its high holly hedges now trimmed and clipped, could be seen. + +“I’ve noted one or two pieces which I intend to buy,” the old man said +as he at last descended the stairs, thanking his conductor for +allowing him sight of them. “I shall commission a dealer to secure +them for me. I mean to have them, regardless of what others will +offer. I’m a collector, as I’ve told you, and when I set my mind on +buying a piece I never rest until it is mine. It may be bought over my +head and be sent away, but I follow it and always get it in the long +run, for I never mind what price I pay.” + +“Well, sir, I’m glad you are satisfied,” Farmer said pleasantly, +whereupon the old chap drew out his leather cigar-case and emptied it +into the caretaker’s hands. “Here,” he said, “take them. You’ll find +they’re pretty good ones”; and Farmer’s trained eye saw that they were +of a very expensive and choice variety. + +“Funny old bloke!” he remarked aloud to himself as he saw the queer +old fellow hobble away beneath his umbrella and disappear from the +gate. “But all these people with hobbies are a bit cranky. I’ve seen +such lots of ’em in my time.” + +That same afternoon, just before dark, the bell rang, and Farmer went +to the door, believing it to be the milkman, when, to his surprise, he +found the same old gentleman standing beneath the porch. + +“Hulloa!” he exclaimed. “Good afternoon, sir.” + +“Good afternoon,” responded old Mr. Bettinson. “I’m so sorry to +trouble you,” he went on apologetically, “but I hope this will act as +solace for again disturbing you”; and he handed him a second +ten-shilling note. “The fact is that I want to have a second look at +that exquisite little inlaid tallboy in the drawing-room. I want to +make up my mind as to how much I shall bid for it.” + +“Oh, certainly, sir,” said Farmer politely. “Come in. There’s just +enough light, I think, to enable you to see it. But I’ll bring up a +lamp”; and he allowed the old man to reclimb the wide, old-fashioned +stairs to the first floor. + +He ascended slowly, mumbling something to himself, while Farmer went +down to the basement to obtain his hurricane lamp. Having lit it, he +followed the old visitor, whom he discovered standing in the centre of +the big, dark room with his arms outstretched, waving them wildly +towards the windows, with his head thrown back, uttering some kind of +weird incantation which was all gibberish to him. + +“What the deuce are you doing?” demanded the caretaker. “Have you +suddenly gone crazy?” + +But, without response, the old man, his thin hands outstretched, a +weird and mysterious figure in the faint light shed by the lantern, +turned slowly towards him, still continuing his monotonous gibberish +drone in which “The Voice of the Four Winds,” “Unconquerable Spirit of +Satin,” “Ruler of Thy Life,” “The Evil World,” “The Plane of Human +Perfection,” “The Sacred Cubit,” “The Rejoin of the Well-Shaft’s Upper +Mouth,” “The Glory of Death,” and “When Restitution is Complete,” were +the only words distinguishable. For the rest, the man’s utterances +might have been in Arabic, Hebrew, or Chinese so far as Farmer could +understand them. + +“Look here!” he said with humor. “You’d better get out of this, old +sonny! You’ve evidently got bats in the belfry! For Heaven’s sake get +away, and don’t look at me like that!” + +The old stranger’s face had become long, drawn, and evilly distorted, +as though he had taken leave of his senses or had become entranced. +His bony hands clutched the air as he continued to wave his arms and +call down some blessing or some curse upon the mysterious house and +its contents, until Farmer, not usually perturbed, began to grow +apprehensive lest his visitor should prove a raving lunatic. + +“Now just come out of this at once and go away,” he said roughly. +“Here’s your ten-bob note.” + +“Touch me!” shrieked the old man, defiantly clawing the air. “Touch +me, and it will be death to you! I am invulnerable!” + +“I don’t care what you are, or who the devil you are, but you’ll get +out of this at once!” cried Farmer, and, with an ex-policeman’s grip, +he took him by the collar, shook him like a rat, and dragged him to +the stairs. + +“Now, go down and out quietly,” he advised him when they were upon the +landing. “We can do with cranks here, but we don’t want any lunatics.” + +In an instant the old fellow’s manner altered. + +“My dear man, I am very, very sorry for you,” he said as he commenced +to descend the stairs. + +“You needn’t be. I want no sympathy,” laughed the caretaker. + +“Not to-night,” replied the old man mysteriously. “But you will +to-morrow”; and he gave vent to a harsh laugh of triumph. “I warned +you, but you took no heed, so you will take the consequences. You will +see.” + +And with those parting words he passed out. + +Farmer shut the door, walked back to his little den, and exclaimed +aloud: + +“Yes. This morning I thought he was a funny bloke. He’s mad, no doubt, +poor fellow!” + +And then he busied himself at the fire, toasting a round of bread for +his tea. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + WITHOUT FEAR + +At seven o’clock on the following morning, just as it was getting +light, the milkman, in the habit of leaving the usual half-pint for +Mr. Farmer at the Guest House, found a scrap of paper beneath the jug, +while the front door stood ajar, which was unusual. + +The scribbled words in pencil which the man deciphered were, “Come in +at once. Am very ill!” + +Without ado, the man put down his can, and, entering the hall, cried: + +“Mr. Farmer! Where are you?” + +Hearing a groan along the passage, he quickly found the small, stuffy +room where, on the bed, lay the stout caretaker, half dressed, +writhing in apparent pain. + +“Fetch a doctor, quick!” he gasped. “I’ve been taken ill.” + +“How long ago?” asked the man in alarm. + +“I--I don’t know. Get Dr. Truman. He lives just across the bridge. +Quick as you can--quick--quick--as--you--can!” And he drew a long +breath and stretched his arms over his head. + +The milkman lost not a moment, and within a quarter of an hour the +local, middle-aged practitioner stood at the prostrate man’s side, +asking him to describe his symptoms. + +“My heart seems so funny,” the stricken man managed to gasp. + +“Have you ever suffered from heart before?” inquired the medical man. + +“Never.” + +“Then I must take your blood pressure,” he said, producing from his +bag the band of webbing which he strapped upon the man’s bare arm, and +then proceeded to pump air into it, watching the telltale dial +intently. Three times he repeated it, so that there should be no +error. Afterwards he sounded his patient with his stethoscope, his +countenance assuming a grave look after listening for a few moments in +various spots on his broad chest. + +“Never had such an attack before, eh?” he asked. “Been exerting +yourself unduly?” + +“Not in the least,” Farmer replied in a thin, weak voice quite unusual +to him. “It’s morning--isn’t it?” + +“Yes,” replied the doctor. “About seven.” + +“Then I haven’t been to bed. I recollect coming over funny-like just +as I was undressing, about eleven o’clock. But I didn’t know anything +else till I awoke and saw it was half-past six. Then I managed to +write a note and put it under the milk-jug.” + +“I found it when I got here,” explained the milkman, standing beside +the doctor. “It ain’t like Mr. Farmer to be ill,” he added. + +But Dr. Truman continued his investigations, asking many questions of +the prostrate man, each reply seeming to puzzle him the more. + +“You remain here,” he said to the milkman. “I’ll go back and get some +mixture that will ease him.” + +And, so saying, he went out to his little two-seater and drove quickly +to his surgery, returning a quarter of an hour later. + +After giving Farmer a draught, he said: + +“You’ll have to remain very quiet. And you’d better have some friend +to come and look after you.” + +“Is it serious, doctor?” asked the caretaker. “I ask you this +because--well, because I have a reason--a strong reason.” + +“It might be serious if you’re not very careful,” was Truman’s reply. + +The patient drew a long breath, and then allowed the doctor, assisted +by the milkman, to undress him and put him into bed. + +When at last he was more comfortable, he turned to Dr. Truman, and +said in a low, weak voice, hardly above a whisper: + +“Doctor, I want to tell you what happened here yesterday”; and he +motioned Truman to a chair, while the milkman still stood by to +listen. + +“I--I had a visitor yesterday--a very extraordinary old man he was. He +said his name was Bettinson, and that he was a collector of antiques. +He--he asked to see the stuff privately, as he wanted to bid for some +at auction, and--and I--like a fool--took him through the rooms.” Then +he paused in exhaustion. + +“And what has that to do with it?” asked the doctor, interested. + +“A lot--a big lot! That old devil came back late in the afternoon and +wanted to have another look at something in the drawing-room upstairs. +I went and got a light for him, but when I got up there I found he’d +gone mad.” + +“Mad! What do you mean?” + +“Why, he was waving his arms about like a lunatic and shouting all +sorts of things in a language I’d never heard of before. He seemed to +be bringing down the curses of Satan and all the evil spirits on to +this place, and was shouting about the glories of death--and--and, +well, I stood dumbfounded. I think the old idiot was talking Chinese. +I--I fancy he was possessed of the devil, so I chucked him out!” + +“And a good job too,” remarked the milkman. + +“No, it wasn’t--at least, not for me. When I took him by the scruff of +the neck he told me that he was very sorry for me, because anyone who +dared to lay hands upon him would die. And--well, doctor,” he added +very faintly, “would you believe it that about six hours after I’d put +the odd old man outside I began to feel queer--and here I am!” + +“That’s very curious,” said the doctor, now greatly interested. “Have +you ever seen the man before?” + +“Never in my life. He seemed to be one of those spooky blokes who talk +to the dead. Perhaps he was holding forth to them when I found him +gassing in the drawing-room. That’s why I put him out. But--well, +doctor, I’m sorry I defied him. He said he was invulnerable--whatever +that means.” + +“Well, keep quiet. You seem to have had a bit of a shock. But you’ll +get over it all right,” Truman declared with confidence. “Who shall I +get to look after you?” + +Farmer thought a few moments, and then said: + +“I’ve got a friend, Police Constable Askew, round at the station. He’s +got a young brother, George; lives over in Molesey. I wish you’d let +Askew know I’m queer--will you, sir?” + +“Certainly,” replied the doctor, and, having received the assurance of +the patient that he felt a trifle better, he left him in the care of +the milkman. + +Askew chanced to be off duty that morning, and was soon round to see +his friend. + +When they were alone together, the caretaker described his sudden +attack and then seemed to become very exhausted. He motioned to the +constable in plain clothes to give him another dose of the mixture +which the doctor had left, with instructions. + +“He’s coming back in a couple of hours,” said the man lying in bed, +his face pale and his breathing stertorous. “He told me to take +another dose if my heart pained me. And it’s simply awful now,” he +added, placing his hand upon it. + +His friend measured out a dose carefully and assisted Farmer to sit up +to swallow it. + +“This isn’t like you, Dick,” Askew said, with a good-humored laugh. +“You told me once you only went sick twice in all your years in the +force.” + +“And that’s right. The first was when I was in the ‘Y’. I had a touch +of pleurisy. And the other time was when I was stationed at Leman +Street during the Ripper scare. That’s years ago now.” + +“But how did this really happen?” + +“I got cursed yesterday,” was Farmer’s reply in a low, hoarse voice. + +“Cursed? What do you mean?” + +“A darned old lunatic who spoke Chinese or something, and seemed to +talk to the devil in his own language, warned me not to lay a finger +on him,” Farmer answered. Then, after a pause, he went on, “I didn’t +want lunatics or spook-hunters in here, so I ousted him. And this is +what I’ve got for looking after Shalford, Stevens & Gray’s interests”; +and he grinned. + +“That’s devilish funny. How could the fellow curse you? Surely you +don’t believe in evil spells, and all that historical rot?” + +“I don’t,” answered the man in bed, as he shifted uneasily in apparent +pain. “But the fact remains that I was quite well before that old +scoundrel came and had a liker round. Why he returned a second time I +can’t imagine. There must have been some distinct motive. If he’d +attempted to sneak anything in the dark I could have understood it.” + +“But tell me exactly what happened,” the constable urged. “Don’t +distress yourself--just take your time. I’ll be making a cup of tea in +the meanwhile.” + +“Ask your brother George to come round and look after things for me. +He’s out of work, isn’t he?” + +“Yes. They’re not doing much at the garage this time of the year, so +he’s been put off for six weeks. He’ll be pleased to come round.” + +Then, while Askew proceeded to light the fire and put on the little +black kettle, the caretaker related in short sentences, rendered +abrupt by the pain in his heart, the advent of the mysterious Mr. +Bettinson, and his curious attitude on the occasion of his second +call, to which his friend listened with all attention. + +“Well, Dick,” said the younger man, when he had finished, “if I didn’t +know you as an ex-policeman, and a man of iron nerve and without fear, +I’d think that it was all your imagination.” + +“It isn’t any imagination to fall ill after you’ve been cursed, is it? +And it isn’t imagination that I’m lying here sick!” + +“Of course not. But it only adds one more mystery to this infernal +house! You wouldn’t believe that uncanny things had happened in this +accursed place. You put it down to coincidence and all that. But I’m +more than ever convinced that this old place exerts some evil or fatal +influence over certain persons--always men, never women. That’s a +funny point. Why?” + +“I confess I’m now beginning to alter my mind,” Farmer said. “I used +to laugh at what people alleged and suspected. But my present +condition is no laughing matter, I assure you.” + +“It isn’t. And if I were you, when I got better I’d leave this +damnable place for good and all.” + +“I only hope that Nosey Parker who writes in the Richmond paper, won’t +get hold of what’s happened to me,” said Farmer. “I hope Dr. Truman +won’t say anything.” + +“Doctors never do. He’s our divisional surgeon, and a very nice +fellow,” Askew said. “I had him when I had flu last year.” + +Presently, when the tea was ready, both had a cup, and they continued +to discuss the strange happenings in that long-closed house. + +“You know that Mr. Gray himself had a very sudden attack here as soon +as the place was opened,” Farmer said confidentially. “I heard about +it by a side wind from one of the clerks in the office. Mr. Gray has +hushed it up, and so has his doctor.” + +“But why?” + +“Because they don’t want the place to get a bad name. It’s been made +mysterious enough by that antiquary fellow who wrote in the paper. +Estate-agents never like to deal with property which has a bad +reputation.” + +“Well, even now, Dick, you don’t believe in what I’ve seen with my own +eyes.” + +“What you said, sonny, was due to your imagination. I’ve seen funny +lights flashing from windows many a time when I’ve been on night duty. +But when I’ve investigated I found them only to be reflections,” said +the retired policeman. + +“But your illness is no imagination,” growled young Askew. + +“That’s true. And I tell you I feel a lot worse than when the doctor +was here,” said the prostrate man. Then, glancing at the timepiece, he +sighed, and added: “He’ll be here again within an hour. He’s having +his breakfast, I suppose.” + +“Shall I go across now and send George to you?” asked his friend. + +“I wish you would. And ask him to get me a quarter of brandy from old +Chippy at the Sun. He’ll let him have it if he says I’m ill.” And, +after a pause, he slowly raised himself on his elbow, and, placing his +left hand upon his heart, he gasped: “My God! I do feel awful now. +There’s a pain like red-hot needles in my heart!” + +“Have another dose of medicine,” Askew suggested, at which the +prostrate man nodded assent. + +Five minutes after swallowing it, he seemed to be slightly better. In +answer to his friend’s question if he felt easier, he nodded. + +Finding such a change in him, Askew hesitated to go in search of his +brother, so remained seated at his side, watching him. + +Presently he grew better, and said: + +“That was a pretty sharp turn! But I’m far easier now. Give me another +cup of tea.” + +This he drank with avidity, and then went on: + +“I’ve just remembered. Mr. Gray is coming here about noon. Go and get +George, as he must take care of the place while I’m ill. See that he’s +here before Mr. Gray comes.” + +“Quite sure you are all right, Dick?” + +“Quite, sonny. Why, I’m much better than I was an hour ago.” + +And he certainly looked better. + +“I’ll leave the door ajar, so that George and I can get in,” Askew +said. “You’ll listen to hear if anybody comes. We’ll be here before +the doctor arrives.” + +“Righto,” replied the prostrate man cheerily. “Don’t forget the drop +of brandy. There’s a quarter bottle in there.” And he pointed to a +long, narrow cupboard let into the wall beside the old-fashioned +grate. + +His friend placed the little flat bottle in his pocket, and, buttoning +his blue overcoat, said: + +“Good-bye, old man. I won’t be long,” and went out. + +His brother George was not at home, therefore he went at once in +search of him, obtaining the brandy at The Sun on his way. + +Meanwhile, half an hour after Askew had left his friend, Dr. Truman +drove up to the Guest House in his car, and, finding the door ajar, +made his way in. + +On entering the narrow, stuffy little room, he saw the caretaker lying +pale and motionless. One arm had been thrown out, and lay limp over +the side of the bed, while the other hand was upon his heart. + +The doctor spoke, touched him, shook him, and then listened to his +heart. + +In a moment the truth was, alas! too plain. + +The caretaker Farmer was dead! + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + TRUTH OR FANTASY? + +Dr. Truman, who, with his colleague Dr. Greig, of Hampton Wick, made +an autopsy, came to the conclusion that the man Farmer’s death was due +to natural causes--heart disease. + +At the inquest duly held he gave evidence to that effect. + +“Did the deceased make any statement to you before he died?” inquired +the white-headed Coroner. “I ask this because rumors are afloat +concerning certain mysterious happenings previously in the Guest +House.” + +“Well, he certainly made a rambling and rather fantastic statement,” +replied the doctor. “I regarded it as imagination.” + +“Please tell us what he said,” said the Coroner, pausing with his pen +in his hand as he sat facing the thirty or so interested members of +the public who attended out of curiosity, as people always do at +inquests. + +“He told me how, on the previous day, a short old gentleman, who gave +his name as Bettinson and announced himself to be a collector of +antique furniture, presented himself at the door, and that, contrary +to the orders he had received from his employers, Shalford & Co., the +estate-agents, he had taken him through the rooms,” said the doctor. +“The man admired several pieces of furniture, and then left. Late that +afternoon, however, just as it was growing dark, he returned and asked +to be allowed another look at a piece in the upstairs drawing-room. It +being dark, the deceased went to obtain a lamp, when, on gaining the +upstairs room, he found the old stranger throwing his arms about and +uttering some weird incantations--‘cursing the house,’ he described +it.” + +“Curious,” remarked the Coroner. “And what else?” + +“The deceased told me that his visitor appeared to have suddenly gone +mad, and, turning to him, cursed him also, using some language which +he had never heard before. The stranger declared that he was +invulnerable, but the deceased said he took him by the collar and +dragged him to the head of the stairs. Thereupon the old man expressed +sorrow at what his fate would be--death!” + +There was a moment’s silence when the doctor had concluded. + +“Yes, I quite agree. A most fantastic story. He must have imagined +it,” said the Coroner. “A stranger uttering incantations and +predicting death to those who dare to lay hands upon him! Most absurd. +The result of your post-mortem was, I take it, that death was due to +heart disease?” + +“It was.” + +Hence the Coroner registered the verdict, and the proceedings closed, +not, however, without a good deal of wagging of tongues among those +who had been present. Indeed, the story told by the doctor was +published in that evening’s papers, but everyone regarded it as the +delirious imaginings of a dying man. + +George Askew, the constable’s brother, a tall, thin young fellow who +had been employed to do odd jobs in a garage at Molesey, was engaged +by Mr. Gray to take his friend’s place as caretaker at the Guest +House. His brother did not fail to warn him of the weird happenings in +the place, but he smoked his eternal “gaspers” and laughed the whole +thing to scorn. + +“I don’t believe in curses, or spooks, or anything else,” George +declared to his brother on the first night, when, at a late hour, the +constable, being on duty, dropped in to see him. + +George had changed his quarters to the library; he had erected a +little camp-bed which he had hired, and lived among the piles of +tied-up parcels of old brown-bound books which lay heaped everywhere, +ready for the sale. + +“Well, I advise you to be careful,” the other replied warningly. “Poor +old Farmer laughed at the evil, and see where he is now!” + +“But what is this evil influence, or whatever you call it, in this +house?” asked the young matter-of-fact fellow, who had distinct +political views with a leaning towards Communism. + +“How do I know? We don’t know the cause, George. We only know the +results. I pity the young couple who are coming to live here.” + +“Bosh! The decorators will clean out all the dirt and cobwebs and it +will be fresh and wholesome again,” his brother laughed. “It’s musty +enough now, in all conscience,” he added, as his brother, with a +glance at the dead man’s timepiece, put on his helmet, and, buttoning +his coat to the throat, walked out. + + +Meanwhile Sibell Dare and Brinsley Otway were having a wonderful time +at winter sports. + +Fresh snow had fallen upon the mountains around Gurnigel. They found +there a gay little world running riot with harmless fun and merriment, +and the mountain slopes re-echoed with shouts and laughter of the +open-air. Young English and American men and girls who, attracted by +the lure of the snow, came there to enjoy the healthful recreation of +ski-ing, bobbing, or lugeing, while their elders found ample sport in +the quieter games of curling, or gliding across the perfectly kept +ice-rinks on skates. + +For the variety of ski-runs, and the constant round of amusements by +day, and the gaiety at night, the place was unequalled. There were +ski-races for novices and experts, team races, ladies’ races, and ice +gymkhanas, and lastly “tailing”--little luges sufficient for one +person to sit on are tied in a string of half a dozen or more behind +a two-horse sleigh--which is a merry sport along the flat roads down +in the valley to the homely little villages of Riggisberg or +Guggisberg, where one has such wonderful teas and cakes. + +Gurnigel in winter is a veritable paradise for young people. No spot +in all the Oberland offers so many attractions, outdoor sport by day, +and the indoor fun at night. The spirit of merriment is infectious, +and ski-ing is an incomparable sport. No Alpine resort has a better +average of second-class ski-runners, while there are polite English +skiers, many of them experts, who soon put the novice into the way of +passing their third-class test. The talk in Gurnigel in winter is +mainly the jargon of ski-ing, of “stemming,” “Christianias,” +“telemarks,” and such-like turns, while the famous “John” gives advice +and instruction to those who need it. + +One day General Horton, an athletic man who was among the first to +introduce ski-ing from Norway into Switzerland, was chatting with +Otway and Lady Wyndcliffe. + +“Of course there are many--the _nouveau riche_ and the overdressed, +the people who take Bond Street and Dover Street in their +innovation-trunks--who sneer at the Oberland, and prefer the +Engadine,” he said. “But those are the exotics. I know Switzerland, +and am an old hand at ski-ing, and I know the advantages of the +various resorts, and vice versa. I admit that the Cresta is the finest +bob-run, and that Mürren is only notable for its increasing prices, +its inferior accommodation, and its high excellence of ski-ing, to the +detriment of the beginner. The Kandahars constitute for the main part +the snobbery of ski-ing, and everyone else in Mürren seems to take a +back seat. At Wengen the winter-sport enthusiast is far better +treated, getting better value for his money without that superior +snobbery which seems to have sprung up with good ski-ing, and he is +allowed to enjoy himself just as he wishes. Then Engelberg is good, +and so is Gstaad, and, at the end of the season, Sannenmöser. But +here in Gurnigel one can get all one wants--a better hotel than in any +other place I know in the Oberland, good snow, merriment without women +constantly changing their frocks, and--well, what does one want more?” + +And the slim, sporty old officer in his dark-blue ski-ing suit laughed +merrily as he gave his expert opinion, with which two well-known +skiers, who stood listening, heartily agreed. + +That night there was another event. The winter fun in the handsome +ballroom, with its colored festoons and gay balloons, was being +broadcast to the world. It was a Swiss evening. The celebrated +yodelers from Interlaken--the best in the Oberland--arrived, together +with an expert upon the hand-organ, the national Swiss instrument, and +a remarkable programme had been arranged by Mr. Gordon Mitchell, who, +as President of the Amusements Committee, was responsible for the +entertainment. + +For many hours three radio engineers were busy fitting up a room as a +studio, with a microphone, all carefully blanketed for the +accommodation of the announcer. Then a cable was laid through the +hotel and attached to the telephone-line to the great radio station at +Munchenbuchsee, outside Berne, while another microphone was placed +high upon a tripod near the orchestra in the ballroom--preparations +watched with great interest by Lady Wyndcliffe, her niece, and the +young doctor. + +At last, about six o’clock, after the tea-dancing had ended, Mr. +Mitchell stood in the centre of the ballroom, and in his ordinary +voice, said: “Hulloa, Radio, Berne! Hulloa, Radio, Berne! Test number +one.” And then he counted the numbers one to ten, and afterwards +backwards. + +The two engineers listening upon the valve receiving set of the hotel +reported excellent results, but on a second and third test being made, +it became clearer and stronger, owing to the modulation at the Berne +station. + +Thus by dinner-time all was in readiness to broadcast across Europe +the winter fun at gay Gurnigel, and many of the visitors, who had let +their friends in England know of the broadcasting, became highly +excited and interested. + +That night the ballroom was crowded, and at half-past nine, the usual +dancing having commenced, Mr. Mitchell went into the silence of the +improvised studio, where he opened the microphone and made a short +introductory speech, beginning: + +“Hulloa, the British Isles! Hulloa, everybody! This is Gurnigel, in +Switzerland, calling. We are about to give you some idea of a Swiss +evening at a gay winter sports centre. Hulloa, the British Isles! +Gurnigel, in Switzerland, calling!” + +Then, having paused for a few moments, he spoke in a clear radio +voice--for he was used to speaking into the microphone--as follows: + +“Here we are, far above the clouds and rain of winter, enjoying by day +glorious sunshine and bright, crisp, starlit nights. The mountain +heights are covered with deep snow, where our young people by day +disport themselves ski-ing, tobogganing, lugeing, or going for long, +healthy walks through the beautiful pine forests. We say among the +young people that the man ‘she’s’ and the girl ‘he’s’! Be it at a new +winter-sports place like this, or at one of the old ones, everywhere +the enchanting scenery and the delightfully pure atmosphere, not +forgetting the exuberant feeling of well-being which possesses +everyone, lends itself to numerous flirtations and snow romances. + +“Winter sports are essentially for young people, for they are full of +fun and merriment, and a young girl looks her best in her smart +ski-costume of black gabardine with trousers, and a guide’s peaked +cap. + +“Here at Gurnigel, as well as at most of the well-known winter sports +places in Switzerland, there is a merry crowd assembled. In my long +experience of winter sports I have never known a brighter season. This +open-air life in a clear atmosphere as invigorating as champagne, and +the call of the snow--which, once experienced, draws the winter +holiday-makers back to Switzerland, nature’s mountain fairyland--are +responsible for the gay crowds filling the Swiss hotels. If the days +are spent out of doors in the healthiest possible way, the long winter +evenings are not, as some people may think, in the least dull and +uninteresting. On the contrary, the evenings at a winter-sports place +are most enjoyable in that no trouble is ever spared in giving the +hotel guests all kinds of amusements, such as concerts, dances, +indoor-games, etc. + +“We are about to show our listeners what a merry evening at a Swiss +winter-sports place can be. To-night we are enjoying at Gurnigel a +Swiss evening--that is, a concert consisting mainly of Swiss music and +songs. + +“The Interlaken yodelers are going to give you several peasant songs +such as are sung by the shepherds in the Bernese Oberland when leading +their herds of cows to the pastures to the accompaniment of the lovely +and famous Swiss cow-bells. + +“After this you will hear dance music played on a hand-harmonica, the +most popular instrument in the Swiss mountains. The hotel orchestra +will play some dance music. We are also very fortunate to count +amongst our guests Madame Gruscha, dramatic soprano of the States +Opera House in Vienna. Madame Gruscha has kindly consented to give two +songs. To crown the evening’s entertainment, joyful members of ‘Ye +Ancient Order of Froth-Blowers,’ a society well known to all English +listeners--who, by the way, are nothing loath to blow the froth off +good old Swiss beer--will thunder out their accustomed hymn. The rule +of ‘Drinks all round’ for those Blowers listening-in and not wearing +their cuff-links will not be enforced to-night. + +“Well, I hope everybody will enjoy this concert, broadcast for the +first time from a Swiss winter-sports resort, and which we hope will +help our listeners to form some idea of the fast and furious fun which +goes on at this high altitude, amongst the glorious scenery.” And then +Mr. Mitchell added, as though an afterthought: “I may say that those +who intend to visit Switzerland for winter sports will find late +January and February the finest time, and the Swiss will welcome you.” + +Then the Swiss announcer said in German, French, and English: + +“The first item will be the yodel of the Emmenthal Valley, where the +Swiss cheeses come from, sung by the Interlaken yodelers.” + +Next moment the microphone was switched over to the ballroom, where +upon the platform stood the ten celebrated singers of the Bernese +peasant songs, in their short black velvet jackets trimmed with +scarlet and silver lace, and their leather skull-caps, the Sunday +attire of the cowherds. At a signal from Mr. Mitchell, they sang that +sweet melody which one hears at dawn and at sunset in summer, echoing +in the high mountains, as they chant to each other across the fertile +valleys. + +The applause was loud and enthusiastic, and over a radius of two +thousand miles or so, hundreds of thousands of listeners, who had +picked up Mr. Mitchell’s introductory speech, instantly became +interested. + +In the British Isles thousands were listening to the unusual +programme. + +Madame Gruscha, whose marvellous voice rang out through the huge +ballroom, then gave a selection from _La Tosca_, in which she had, +only a week before, been singing at the Vienna Opera, and was greeted +with thunders of applause. Then the peasant with his hand-organ took +the centre of the orchestra and began to play a Swiss national dance, +to which the yodelers danced with the English guests in a kind of +village dance, greatly to everyone’s amusement. + +Sibell was being whirled around by a stout, good-looking Swiss yodeler +who was an express engine-driver on the Simplon line, when the +concierge motioned to her and handed her a telegram. It was from the +Richmond estate-agents--Messrs. Shalford, Stevens & Gray--stating that +the caretaker Farmer had died under very mysterious circumstances, +though a verdict had been registered that he had died from natural +causes. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + UNCLEAN HANDS + +Notwithstanding the verdict of the Hampton Coroner, the police, +whose interest was aroused by the curious reports of strange +happenings at the Guest House, commenced to make inquiries regarding +the deceased man’s strange visitor. + +The record of the romance and history of the place, as published in +the Richmond newspaper, had drawn their attention to it, inasmuch as +Mr. Gray was questioned by the Richmond police and reluctantly +admitted his strange attack and narrow escape. + +The Criminal Investigation Department explored all sorts of channels +to discover the old man Bettinson, who had been fairly clearly +described to the doctor by his patient. There were two well-known +collectors of antique furniture of that name, it was found--one a +dealer having a shop in Chester, who was a man of thirty-five who had +recently succeeded to the business of his dead father; a second was a +solicitor in Plymouth, who was well-known and of ample means, but in +no way resembled the odd old fellow who had appeared at the Guest +House; while a third, a man living near Harwich, was reported to have +purchased some old furniture for an ancient house he had bought +outside Ipswich. + +The search was, after all, only a half-hearted one, for on the face of +it the dead man’s statement was rather too fantastic to be credited by +many, while it seemed certain that if the old man had actually paid a +visit to the house of mystery with any evil intent he would hardly +have given his real name. + +When Etta Wyndcliffe had been shown the telegram by her niece, she had +merely shrugged her shoulders, and said: + +“That house is evidently a house of evil, my dear! I can’t see how you +can possibly live in it.” + +She had been watching with critical eyes the enjoyment of the happy +pair at winter sports. Thanks to the expert tuition of John, the +guide, they were now able to ski quite well, and do “stem turns” and +“telemarks” in very fair fashion. Indeed, they had both passed their +third-class test, and now each morning they took the yellow automobile +up to the Seelibühl peak, and then ran down over the powdery snow +through the Happy Valley back to the hotel, a spin of wild delight as +the snow hissed beneath their skis. + +Etta Wyndcliffe was not at all pleased at the turn which events were +taking. She remembered those parting words of Albert Ashe, her +exemplary butler, the man who held such a strange influence over her. +She remembered, too, old Routh’s declaration that Sibell must marry +Gussie Gretton, and did not fail to foresee that such a union would +bring them both a handsome profit. + +Etta Wyndcliffe was out for money always. Smart, clever, and utterly +unscrupulous from the time she was at school, she took the fat checks +from the mothers of the girls she chaperoned, and was hawk-like in her +efforts to get them married, with further pecuniary profit to herself. +In this she was not unique in London society. There were fully a dozen +like her, hard-up women with old titles and without money, ready to do +any dirty, underhand action, or to sell a girl, body and soul, in the +marriage market so long as it brought them a substantial check which +would most certainly be frittered away at baccarat and “chemmy.” + +That afternoon, as she sat at tea in the big hall with the young North +London doctor and her pretty niece, her active mind reverted to that +parting with Ashe in West Halkin Street, when in secret the man had +whispered to her, “I’ll meet you again soon, Etta. We’re out for a big +stake. And we’ll win--never fear.” + +She glanced through her cigarette smoke at the handsome, happy pair at +the table before her and wondered. Would they win? She doubted it. + +The check which she knew Gussie Gretton would slip into her hand, on +the day of his marriage to Sibell, was daily disappearing into the +ether. Time after time she had tried by most subtle means to sow +dissension between the pair, but all to no purpose. Their affection +was complete; and, to her fear, it would be lasting. + +Brinsley Otway was always charming to her, though instinctively he +knew that she was no friend of his. He studiously gave her every +attention, dancing with her each night, and never failing to behave +with the acme of courtesy and charm. + +Etta Wyndcliffe had written to old Gordon Routh a long letter in which +she realized the hopelessness of parting the pair, and asked his +advice and suggestions. On the other hand, Ashe, after his vague +threat on the last occasion they had met, had entirely disappeared. +She had written him on the second day of their arrival at Gurnigel, +but had had no acknowledgment. + +This fact caused her great apprehension. Was he really playing the +game? She knew his hard, bitter nature, his unreliability, his quick +resentment, and his ready shiftiness. She had trusted him for several +years, and he knew certain secrets of hers. But of late she had slowly +realized that he would hesitate at nothing, or even sacrifice her, in +order to gain his own despicable ends. And his estimate of her was a +very similar one. + +That night she sent a marconigram to him, addressed to an obscure +sporting club in the Adelphi, where he went every day for his letters. +Next day at noon she received a reply which ran: + + + “Meet me at the Schweizerhof Hotel in Berne on Thursday at noon. + Important.” + + +Hence, on the Wednesday evening, pleading to the happy couple that she +had some shopping to do in Berne and also had to make a call upon an +English lady friend who was married to a Swiss doctor, she took the +car down the sixteen miles of winding, snowy road to the capital and +put up at the Schweizerhof, that big hotel facing the railway station. +She engaged a private sitting-room and bedroom, so that their +interview should be a secret one. That night, as she ate her dinner +alone, she wondered with what object he was travelling so suddenly out +to see her. + +Wyndcliffe had arrived in New York a week before, and she hoped he +would remain there, for there was not the slightest spark of affection +between them. When in London he was only an incubus. True, he +meandered around with her to the drawing-rooms of Mayfair and +Belgravia, just for the appearance of the thing, but he was always +pestering her for money and deploring the cost of everything. + +Money had come to her niece, it was true, but how could she profit by +the sudden turn of fortune? + +Impatiently she awaited from her window the arrival of the Oberland +express from Boulogne, until at last she descried Ashe’s tall, burly +figure in a dark overcoat, followed by a hotel porter carrying his +suitcase, crossing the wide square to the hotel. + +Five minutes later he entered her sitting-room, and, throwing off his +travelling-coat, cast himself into a chair. + +He explained that he had breakfasted on the train after passing the +frontier at Delle, and then lit a cigarette. + +“Well?” she asked, leaning against the table and facing him. “What’s +the matter?” + +“A lot,” he snapped. “Lock the door and speak in whispers.” + +When she had crossed the room and bolted the door, he looked straight +into her face, and said in a low, serious voice: + +“We’re in an infernally tight corner, Etta!” + +“How?” she asked apprehensively. + +“Rupert is in London!” + +“Rupert!” she gasped, and in an instant her lips blanched as a look of +terror overspread her face. + +“Yes,” he whispered. “And he knows a lot--a damned lot more than is +good for us!” + +“You’ve seen him, eh?” she gasped. + +“I’ve seen him. But he hasn’t seen me.” + +“That’s good. What are we to do?” + +“I’ve come here to talk the matter over with you, my dear Etta,” said +the ex-butler. “We’ve got to face the music. That’s plain.” + +“How?” + +Her visitor paused for some moments, his dark, narrow eyes set upon +hers. + +“For God’s sake,” she cried, “don’t look at me like that, Albert!” + +“Do you forget how we parted in that little hotel in Norfolk Street?” +he asked, still gazing at her intently. + +“You threatened to--to----” And she paused. + +“I simply pointed out to you the only way in which we could save +ourselves if Rupert came to London,” he said quietly. “Well--he’s +come! It’s now up to us to take the initiative. You know what I mean, +don’t you?” And he looked steadily into her eyes. + +“You mean what you hinted at when we last met!” she cried suddenly, +covering her face with her white, bejewelled hands. + +“You defied me! You told me that you forbade it, Etta,” he said quite +quietly. “Well, if you wish to have the whole sordid story exposed in +a criminal court and go to prison perhaps for the remainder of your +life, you can do so,” he went on, with an air of nonchalance. +“Personally, I intend to save myself, whatever your decision may be.” + +“No, Albert, don’t desert me; no, I beg of you,” cried the unhappy +peeress. “I’ve always stuck to you.” + +“Except when you grow chicken-hearted, as you did at Norfolk Street, +and--and once when you thought you could feather your nest without my +help.” + +“What do you mean?” she asked in instant defiance. + +“Oh, nothing,” he said sneeringly. + +“I demand to know what is passing through your mind!” she cried, her +fists clenched as she stood before him. + +“Only one simple little incident,” he answered, with a faint smile. +“The tragic death of that poor little American girl Heula Murray on +board the Nile boat an hour before it was moored at Assouan. She died +of pneumonia, didn’t she?” + +“You swine!” she cried, striking him full in the face with her fist. +“I know what you insinuate,” she cried. “But it’s a lie--a damned lie, +and you shall prove it. You’ve hinted at that before. You were with +me!” + +“I was--as your servant. But, my dear Etta, don’t get excited,” he +said, his face reddened where she had struck him. “I don’t intend to +give you away, even though I have retained a certain little capsule +which was hermetically sealed before you broke it open. No, my dear +girl, don’t worry. It isn’t worth while. Please understand that we’re +both sailing in the same boat, and if you go on the rocks I’ll go with +you. But we are going to steer clear, into smooth waters, or I’m much +mistaken.” + +“How?” asked Lady Wyndcliffe, with frantic effort to calm herself. + +“By taking matters in our own hands. You will have to meet Rupert.” + +“Meet him! Never!” she cried, horrified at the mere thought. + +“He’s in search of you; let him find you, and become friendly with +him. Disarm his suspicion, and then----” And he paused. + +“And then? Ah! I know what you mean.” + +“Well, that’s the only way, my dear Etta. Believe me, it is.” + +“I can’t. It would be impossible. I couldn’t do it, Albert,” she +declared decisively. + +“Very well. Then I fear you’ll have to face the consequences, if you +don’t make up the quarrel,” Ashe said. “He’s in London in search of +you, and he’ll send you to penal servitude. You’ll go there as sure as +my name’s Albert, if you don’t try and save yourself. Just think!” he +went on. “Aren’t we both on the brink of disaster? You’ve allowed +young Otway to carry off our only decent asset, the girl Sibell. If +Gussie Gretton had married her you’d have got a fat commission out of +it. But, as it is, there’s nothing for us.” + +“But there may be,” said Lady Wyndcliffe. “If a quarrel arose between +the pair and they parted, Gussie might easily step into the breach and +console her for the falsity of this young medico. And Gussie, on +marrying a rich wife, would double his commission to us. Don’t forget +that.” + +“By Jove!” exclaimed Ashe. “I never thought of that. You’re darned +clever, Etta--one of the cleverest women I know. The worst of it is +that after the affair of that little American girl in Egypt, which +reaped you in a full five thousand pounds, you are so very punctilious +over dealing with an enemy.” + +“Because I now trust nobody,” she snapped. “Once I trusted you, but I +have ever since had occasion to regret it.” + +“Thanks, my dear girl, you are really most polite,” he laughed, with +mock courtesy. “But, you see, I, too, don’t put any faith in you. +Nevertheless, if you don’t stick by me, you can do the reverse. I +shall leave Berne to-night, and I sha’n’t care for you, or for the +future. I know how to save myself. I prepared my channel of escape +long ago.” + +The Countess of Wyndcliffe took her gold cigarette-case from her bag, +and, opening it, slowly selected a cigarette. She tapped it quietly +and then lit it, first going to the window to gaze out on the trams +passing across the square before the station. + +When she had repassed across the room she suddenly halted before the +man who, though posing as her obsequious butler in West Halkin Street, +seemed now to be her master, and said: + +“Well, Albert. Let me hear your suggestions.” + +“I have two. The one carries with it the other. The first is that you +must resume your relations with Rupert--in pretence of courage. The +second is that Sibell and young Otway must be parted at all +hazards--by you.” + +“Then the girl must be part of the sacrifice, eh?” asked her aunt, +with knit brows. + +“It can’t be helped. There’s no money for us if they marry. And old +Routh is also out for profit. I saw him in London the other day, and +he’s dead against the marriage and Sibell’s money slipping away from +us all.” + +“But about Rupert? Do you think he can be kept quiet, after all that’s +happened?” + +“Only by you,” he said, with a sudden change in his voice from +defiance to softness. “You know what a seductive little devil you can +be when you like, Etta. God! you can charm any man of any age.” + +“And without--without a tragedy. Assure me of that?” she said eagerly. + +Albert Ashe remained silent for a few moments. He was asked for an +assurance which he had not expected he would be called upon to give. + +“Well,” he said evasively at last, “if you call the parting of Sibell +from her lover a tragedy, that can’t be avoided. The girl is rich, and +she’ll soon console herself with the smart and popular Gussie, who is +such a splendid dancer, so good-looking, and with whom dozens of girls +are madly in love. He’s essentially a lady’s man, not like that +big-headed, big-eyed, thoughtful doctor out at Golder’s Green. All +that I leave to you,” he went on. “But time presses. Leave the +turtledoves at Gurnigel for the present, and slip back to London to +meet Rupert and make it up with him. We can deal with the lovers later +on. It will only be a question of a week or two.” + +“But, Albert, I--I really don’t know how to act--what to do--how I can +possibly----” + +“Rot!” he cried angrily. “Let me guide you, and let’s both climb out +of the soup as soon as possible with a nice little bank balance to the +credit of both of us--instead of appearing side by side at the Old +Bailey, as we will certainly do if you act the fool any longer. Don’t +you agree?” + +She hesitated for a moment. + +“Yes,” she said in a low, hoarse whisper. “I do agree, Albert. I see +that I must. Sibell must be parted from Brinsley.” + +“Excellent,” he said. “I’m glad you at last see reason. So go to work +with your clever woman’s wiles as soon as you possibly can. Get back +to London at once and meet dear Rupert, and greet him with regret as +his long-lost friend. He must never suspect that I’m in England. But +I will be behind you to advise you and bring you to triumph.” + +And he put out his well-manicured hand, which the Countess of +Wyndcliffe grasped in an unholy contract for the sale of an innocent +girl’s soul. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + THE SECRET CAVALIER + +That evening the Countess of Wyndcliffe appeared at dinner, in the +gay restaurant at Gurnigel, looking radiant in a pretty cyclamen gown +and wearing her pearls--bought, by the way, out of the check which +came to her after the tragic death from pneumonia of an American girl +she had been chaperoning up the Nile. + +To the handsome young pair she gave a glowing description of her old +friend Nellie Price, who had married a well-known Swiss heart +specialist, and how she had, after her visit, had her shingled hair +trimmed by a Spaniard who was an artist, at a _coiffeur’s_ close to +the station. + +Her ex-butler was still in Berne, and was leaving by the ten o’clock +express for Calais that night--a fact which of course she withheld +from the happy pair. They had been out on a ski picnic with the expert +runner, Mr. Mallins, who had taken out a party, and to whom the +visitors at the hotel were all indebted for kindly advice and help. + +In every winter-sports hotel there crop up English nobodies, mostly +with a military title, who proclaim themselves skiers or bob-runners, +who put on immaculate winter-sports suits and sweaters, and pose as +experts, only to be driven out by those who really can ski or bob. It +was so at Gurnigel, just as at all winter-sports centres--centres, +alas! of petty jealousies, and where men and women make fools of +themselves. + +After all, when one leaves Dover for gaiety on the Continent, what +matters? What mattered, indeed, when at a winter-sports hotel at +Mürren the visitors were once invited by a notice posted in the hall +to subscribe to an amusement fund, and the visitors were at once +lavish in their gifts? What mattered when, a few nights later, there +was bought a handsome prize for the best dress at a midnight carnival, +and lo! the proprietress of the hotel won it, and carried away the +prize her visitors had subscribed for? + +What matters? Nobody cared. Happily, that was unique. Only such an +incident is actively discussed when visitors to Switzerland return to +London and chat over their reminiscences in their own drawing-rooms. +Yet there remains the fact that Switzerland is the winter playground +of Europe, and it well deserves to be so till the end of time. + +It was a gala night at Gurnigel, a masked ball, with a midnight supper +in the interval. So after dinner Sibell put on the _sari_ of an Indian +lady of high caste, a wonderful garment of shot orange, gold and green +tissue, with her scarlet marriage brand upon her brow, but masked of +course, while Brinsley Otway was dressed as an Arab sheik, with +darkened face, also masked, and daggers stuck in his belt; but Lady +Wyndcliffe was too tired to put on one of her fancy costumes. + +The great ballroom was the scene of mad gaiety that night. As fancy +dresses were not put on till after dinner, the maskers could be +recognized only by their friends. + +After two fox-trots with her lover, Sibell suddenly looked up and saw +a rather tall, masked man in the costume of a cavalier bowing and +sweeping his plumed hat across his knees, and at the same time, in a +low half-whisper, he invited her to dance. + +She accepted, and instantly knew what an excellent dancer he was. + +They went around the ballroom without exchanging words with each +other, until suddenly he whispered into her ear: + +“I know you, Miss Dare. When we have finished this dance, will you +allow me to sit with you for a few moments? I want to tell you +something in strictest confidence.” + +Much intrigued, the girl, wondering who the cavalier might be and what +he desired to say, assented. Therefore, when the dance had ended, +instead of continuing in the encore, they both strolled away to the +big lounge adjoining the dance-room, and sat down apart from the rest. + +“Miss Dare,” he said, “you have no idea of my identity, and you will +never know. I am speaking quite seriously. I may as well say that I am +no friend of yours, not even an acquaintance, but simply the bearer of +an urgent message to you. Before I deliver it, however, I must have +your solemn assurance that you breathe not a word of it to a soul--not +even to Dr. Otway, to whom you are engaged.” + +“I don’t understand!” she exclaimed in slight alarm. “I don’t follow +you! At least you can disclose your name.” + +“My Christian name is Edward--simply that. Just think of me as +Edward,” was his answer. + +“Edward what?” + +But he only chuckled to himself behind his mask, replying: + +“That does not matter. Will you give me the undertaking I seek? Please +do, as we cannot sit here together very long without arousing your +fiancé’s interest in me. And I am not anxious for that.” + +“Why should Dr. Otway be kept in ignorance?” she asked resentfully, +with natural curiosity. + +“Because I am instructed that it should be so,” the stranger replied. +“As I have told you, I am merely acting as the mouthpiece of another.” + +“You are indeed very mysterious! Surely you can be more explicit!” she +protested. “You ask me to keep a secret from the man whom I am about +to marry. It’s hardly fair, is it?” + +“If you give me your undertaking you will, on hearing what I have to +say, quickly realize that, in the circumstances, silence will be best. +Really, Miss Dare,” he went on, “I regret to say so, but there is no +time for argument. I see that the doctor is already in search of you.” + +“Very well,” said the girl hastily. “I give my undertaking to tell him +nothing.” + +“Good. Then my message, sent you in secret by one who wishes you well, +and will help you in dire necessity, is to the effect that there is a +conspiracy--a subtle and damnable plot--to part you from Dr. Otway. So +be forewarned.” + +“A plot!” gasped the girl. “By whom?” + +“I’m sorry, but I unfortunately have no information upon that point,” +replied the mysterious stranger in the exquisite garb of a cavalier. +“My only duty has been to warn you. I beg of you to take precautions. +Of how the coup will be effected I have no knowledge, neither has, I +believe, the person whose mouthpiece I am. It was not deemed safe to +write to you, hence this present subterfuge of mine.” + +“But how can we possibly be separated, devoted as we are to each +other?” she asked, her nervous fingers toying with her jewelled +wrist-watch. + +“Other lovers, as devoted as you both are, have, alas! been victims of +wicked cunning and despicable plots. Parents and relatives are often +to blame where it is a question of money, or of social advancement.” + +“But my aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, heartily approves of Brinsley,” she +declared. + +“If you are quite certain of that, then I fear I can make no further +suggestion,” he said, in a voice that sounded curious. + +“What do you mean? Do you know my aunt?” + +“Not from Adam.” + +“She’s sitting over there, in a cyclamen frock, with those two elderly +men”; and the girl indicated the trio. + +“Oh!” he said. “So that’s Lady Wyndcliffe! How very interesting. I’ve +heard of her, of course--of her gay dances at Claridge’s, and her +luncheons and dinners at the Ritz. She’s always in the limelight, it +seems.” + +“You seem to hint, Mr. Edward, that she is not quite so favorable to +my marriage with Dr. Otway as she makes out, eh?” + +“My dear Miss Dare, I hint at nothing. I have merely delivered my +message, in the hope that you will heed it, and keep both eyes and +ears open.” + +“What you have said has entirely mystified me,” she remarked. “Who is +this unknown friend of mine who keeps his or her identity a secret?” + +“It is a friend who desires to remain unidentified. But do believe me +when I tell you that, although your friend has never seen you--only +photographs of you--you nevertheless have a true friend.” + +The girl paused. The more the stranger said the more deeply did she +become intrigued. + +“Well,” she exclaimed, after reflection, “if you refuse to disclose +the identity of this unknown friend of mine, please present to him my +compliments and thanks. Tell him that I am much mystified.” + +“Naturally,” laughed her companion. “Take my advice, Miss Dare, and be +prepared for any untoward circumstance that might lead to a breach +between your lover and yourself. As I have already suggested to you, +be forearmed against any _contretemps_.” + +“Will it come soon, do you think?” she inquired in a low, tremulous +voice, her eyes showing narrowed and anxious through her mask. + +“Ah! How can we tell?” he asked, drawing a slight sigh, which she in +an instant regarded as a sign of sympathy. “When the blow falls you +will be expecting it, and be able to stave it off.” + +“And may I not warn Brinsley?” she begged. “It isn’t fair to him to +keep him in the dark.” + +“I agree. But I can give no permission myself, Miss Dare,” he replied +seriously. “I have to obtain it. This I will do. Look in the personal +column of _The Times_ of next Monday for a message addressed to ‘S,’ +and the word will be either ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ And if the latter, you will +know that the decision is inexorable. Your friend wishes you well, but +he is compelled, because of certain contingencies, to exercise the +greatest caution. He sends you word through myself of the clever plot +against your happiness, in order that you may expect and frustrate +it.” + +“But is my aunt implicated in it? Surely not?” + +“I am entirely ignorant of the details,” was the mysterious +masquerader’s quiet response. “However, I would ask you one question +which your unknown friend is anxious to know”; and, after he had +paused for a few moments, he inquired: “Did your aunt, Lady +Wyndcliffe, once have in her service a butler named Ashe?” + +“Ashe!” she echoed. “Of course she had! He was discharged for +impertinence not very long ago.” + +“Thanks,” he replied. “That is all my friend wishes to know.” + +“Surely Ashe has nothing to do with my affairs!” she exclaimed +excitedly. + +“How can he? A mere servant,” he said; and as at that moment the man +in the garb of an Arab sheik was seen approaching, the mysterious +cavalier rose, bowed courteously, waved his plumed hat across his +knees again, and, strolling away, was seen in the ballroom no more. + +“Who’s your gay cavalier?” asked Brinsley with natural +inquisitiveness, as he rejoined his fiancée. + +“I--well, I really don’t know. Quite a nice man he seems, but he made +himself mysterious. That’s all!” + +“He seemed to be talking to you very seriously.” + +“Yes,” she said, her woman’s innate wit coming to her rescue on the +instant. “He seems to be a very sad person. A new arrival, I suppose. +He was telling me of his wife. They were both here last season, but +she has left him, and he seems inconsolable, poor fellow!” + +“I wonder who he is,” exclaimed Brinsley in sympathy, his jealousy +quite disarmed by Sibell’s explanation. “Take good stock of him, and +let’s try and identify him afterwards. Did he tell you his name?” + +“Of course not, Brin. He was masked. And why should I want to know the +man’s name?” she laughed. + +As a waltz was just commencing, they rose together and joined in the +dancing. Little did Brinsley Otway dream of those warning words which +had been whispered into Sibell’s ear, or little did the pair suspect +the fatal pitfall which had been opened before them by the base and +unscrupulous machinations of those bent upon feathering their own +nests at the expense of a girl’s love and happiness. + +The mad dance proceeded. Balloons and serpentines were everywhere. The +electroliers were festooned with thousands of yards of multicolored +paper ribbon, and thousands of yards of the same clung to the feet of +the dancers. Confetti was half an inch deep everywhere, and, to the +strains of the amateur jazz-band which had temporarily relieved the +professional orchestra, the lovers fox-trotted around the room, +watched furtively by the young-looking peeress in cyclamen. + +Sibell’s brain was awhirl. What could the stranger have meant by his +dark hints of conspiracy against her happiness? As she danced in her +lover’s arms she tried to recall all that he had said; all those +meaning words he had used; all the hints and warnings. The latter were +certainly serious enough, but why had he, a perfect stranger, who +admitted that he had never met her before that evening, made such a +curious inquiry as he had done regarding her aunt’s discharged +manservant, Albert Ashe? + +She recollected that, although the fellow had always been most polite +and courteous, even to obsequiousness, yet she had always +instinctively disliked him, and was secretly very glad when he had +been discharged for impertinence. Nevertheless, it was indeed strange +that the mysterious masquerader should know of him. + +That there was a conspiracy afoot, a secret plot, conceived by an +enemy, to part her from Brinsley, was the main point. What she had +heard from the masked man’s lips held her stunned and stupefied, yet, +by reason of her promise to divulge nothing to her lover, she was now +held dumb and powerless. + +Who could possibly be jealous of her happiness? Bliss such as she was +now experiencing amid these unsullied snows had never been hers before +in all her life. Why should it all end? Who was there in the world who +could conspire to prevent their union? + +The dance was concluded, and supper was announced. They went to a long +table in the big dining-room, where they joined a party of about +twenty others with whom they had formed friendships in the hotel. +Chatter and loud peals of laughter sounded on every hand, masks were +lifted, champagne corks popped, and serpentines came hurtling through +the air and fell upon the table. But Sibell had lost interest in it +all. + +Her keen eyes were diligently searching everywhere to discover her +secret cavalier. But from the moment he had bowed so courteously and +left her, he had disappeared. He had delivered his mysterious message, +and his mission was apparently at an end. + +Not far away from her, at a _table-à-deux_ in a corner, was seated a +middle-aged man in the brown habit of a Capuchin monk, chatting +merrily with a pretty, fair-haired girl dressed as a Columbine. + +Now and then the man raised his brown eyes, and watched Sibell +furtively, but so changed was he in appearance that it was not +surprising that she failed to again recognize him. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + MAN AND WOMAN + +Etta Wyndcliffe, the incomparable chaperon, of dainty frock and +exquisite etiquette, entered Sibell’s room just after finishing her +coffee and rolls, as she was in the act of taking up her strong, +well-oiled ski-boots. To get into ski-ing kit is always a troublesome +operation for a girl; the heavy socks, the “turn-overs,” the Norwegian +bindings at the ankles, all go to irritate the wearer in the early +morning. + +“Drat this infernal lace!” Sibell exploded aloud just as her aunt +opened the door. + +“Do you know, dear, I’ve just had a wire, and I must go to London this +afternoon!” exclaimed her ladyship fussily. “Isn’t this the limit, +just when I was enjoying myself so very much here? Yet I’m ever so +glad we came to Gurnigel. I shall come again.” + +“Is it very urgent, auntie? Can’t you wait till Friday week? We’re due +to go down to the Riviera then, aren’t we?” + +“No. I must go to-day. I’ve some urgent business with my bank, my +dear. You and Brinsley can remain here, and I’ll meet you on the +Riviera. There is no need whatever for you to return to London.” + +“But it’ll be so horribly dull here without you, auntie,” the girl +said. + +“Well, dear, I’m afraid I must go. It’s imperative,” she said. “I’m +just going to pack. I’ll get the concierge to ’phone down to Berne for +a sleeper to-night. The motor-car to Berne goes at half-past three, I +hear.” + +“Yes, auntie. But all this is very disappointing!” declared the pretty +girl, in ignorance of the real reason of her aunt’s sudden desire to +return to London. + +“I know, dear. But those horrible bankers have a nasty habit of +calling your immediate attention to any little overdraft you may +happen to have. And one can’t afford to neglect to call upon the +good-looking manager and cajole him into straightening things out.” + +And she smiled at the many recollections of how she had borrowed money +upon all sorts of frail security. + +“Well, we’re going out for an hour’s run with John,” said her niece, +“so we’ll be back before noon. Can I help you to pack?” + +“Not at all. Bevan is seeing to everything,” her ladyship replied, and +then left the room to go down to the concierge. + +That gay little snow-bound world of winter sports, notwithstanding all +the petty jealousies and bickerings of little, unknown people, was a +world of its own, a happy coterie of devotees of winter sports. + +The one man in the whole hotel who laughed at it all was Mr. Gordon +Mitchell. He was a stout, smiling, hail-fellow-well-met man, to whose +initiative was due the opening of Gurnigel in winter. He was a popular +artist whose work adorned one of the best London illustrated papers, +an irresponsible Bohemian bachelor who had not a single care in the +world, and who moved up and down Europe as Society went from pillar to +post throughout the four seasons. + +He always dubbed himself “the looker-on,” for he sketched assiduously +and saw most of the games, whether it be at Deauville, Le Touquet, +Dinard, or Biarritz in summer, the Riviera in spring, Scotland in the +autumn, or winter in the Engadine or the Bernese Oberland. It was he +who, one spring day, had passed Gurnigel in his car and, looking up at +the huge white façade of the colossal hotel, wondered why it had +never been opened in winter. + +His chauffeur told him that it was a summer resort only. + +“Well,” he said, “it must be opened in winter. I will see that it is +opened.” + +And he saw to it, with the result that at that moment all the four +hundred odd rooms were occupied, while the servants’ quarters were +also invaded by visitors. + +The other Swiss _hôteliers_ had stood aghast at Gurnigel’s brilliant +success. Some resorts had not been half full that season. Indeed, two +winter-sports centres had not opened at all. And yet Gurnigel was +overflowing. + +But it was due, they all knew, to Mr. Gordon Mitchell, the lover of +Switzerland, and they knew that, being a thoroughgoing cosmopolitan, +he was open to do his best to advertise and attract visitors to every +place in turn in the glorious Bernese Oberland. + +In that spirit Mr. Gordon Mitchell watched the course of events. He +was one of those old-young travellers, wanderers to and fro across +Europe, who loved to see young folk enjoy themselves, and, though +something of an old fogey and stickler for etiquette, could perform to +perfection the duties of a floor-manager of any ballroom. Indeed, his +performances upon the drum in an amateur band were well known in every +resort in Switzerland. + +At half-past three that afternoon, as Lady Wyndcliffe descended the +snowy steps to enter the big, yellow automobile of the Swiss Federal +Post--one of those long, powerful motor-cars of the mountains--Mr. +Mitchell, bare-headed, bowed over her hand and wished her _bon +voyage_. + +“You have my address,” her ladyship said with a merry smile. “Now if +you don’t call on me, I’ll never forgive you, Mr. Mitchell! As I’ve +told you, I know lots of artistic friends of yours of the Savage and +the Ham Bone. You’ll call? Promise me. And do look after Sibell and +Brinsley for me, won’t you?” she added mischievously. + +The others heard it, and were much impressed. + +“We’ll look after Mr. Mitchell for you, auntie!” cried Sibell in +defiance, waving her hand merrily as Etta, in her magnificent sable +coat, climbed into the big autobus. + +Shouts, hand-waves, and a low bow from the black frock-coated +concierge with keys upon his shoulders, and the post automobile, with +heavy chains on all four wheels, started down the steep, slippery hill +on the long, winding highroad to the Swiss capital. + +Then, when Lady Wyndcliffe had gone, Sibell and her lover took a luge +and, seated together upon it, started down the steep run at an +exhilarating pace, both yelling “_Achtung!_” as warning to any +pedestrians in their path. + +Yet all day Sibell could not put from herself the remembrance of that +dark man of mystery who, dressed as a cavalier, had told her such a +strange, remarkable story. A hundred times she wondered why he had +made that queer inquiry regarding the identity of Albert Ashe. What +could he know of her aunt’s butler? + +At luncheon she had scrutinized every table, but had failed to +identify her masked informant. Some visitors had left by the early +morning autobus at eight o’clock, so she concluded that he must have +been among them. + +She longed to be able to tell Brinsley of what the stranger had said, +but she saw that she would be compelled to await the cryptic message +in the personal column of _The Times_. + +So the days passed--bright, sunlit days, with cloudless skies and +perfect snow, and frosty nights, brilliant and starlit, most perfect +weather for winter sports. At last one afternoon the post came in. She +saw the page carry _The Times_ to the reading-room, and pounced +eagerly upon it. Yes, the message was there at the top of the second +column, addressed to her. But it was in the negative. + +Brinsley Otway was to be kept in ignorance of the plot against them! + + +That same afternoon was dark and rainy in London, as Lady Wyndcliffe +climbed the stairs of some bachelor chambers in Duke Street, St. +James’s, and rapped upon a door, which was quickly opened by her +ex-butler, Ashe. + +“Well, Etta?” he asked, and, having ushered her into a cosy little +sitting-room, where a bright fire was burning, and placed a chair for +her, he said, “How did you get on?” + +“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the pretty woman wearily, throwing her +furs carelessly upon the couch. “The fact is, I haven’t screwed up +enough courage to face it.” + +“What?” cried the man, glaring at her. “Don’t be a fool! Why, don’t +you see that every day brings us nearer disaster? Every hour! Suppose +he goes to the police? They’ll soon find you, and it will then be too +late for him to withdraw. You must see him to-night--at once.” + +“I can’t! I--I really can’t,” cried the white-faced woman in +desperation. “Suppose he turns hostile, and gives me into custody?” + +“He won’t do that if you are clever and don’t lose your head, Etta. +You know he was in love with you, and may still be for all we know,” +he said. + +“Not after what has passed,” she replied, shaking her head. “I ruined +him!” + +“He’s not the only man ruined by a woman, my dear girl,” replied Ashe +lightly. “Put on your best smile and a little sob-stuff, and he’ll +soon forgive. Tell him you have come to him to make amends.” + +“How can I possibly make amends for it all?” she asked bitterly. + +“Pretend penitence and make all sorts of promises,” he urged. “Get on +the right side of him, and he won’t harm you. But you must see him. +Don’t let him hunt you out. You are not at West Halkin Street, are +you?” + +“No, I’m at the Grosvenor, under another name--Mrs. Wilcox.” + +“As I’ve told you, he is at the Carlton,” said Ashe. + +“No. He’s left there--gone to Manchester, and staying at the Midland. +I was told so this morning when I rang them up.” + +“Then you must go to Manchester to-night. Stay at the Midland, and see +him in the morning. That’s my advice,” said the man, who was standing +with arms akimbo on the hearthrug before her. + +“But what am I to say?” she cried in despair. “What can I say?” + +“Say that you heard he was back in England, and that you travelled at +once from Switzerland to see him and to ask his forgiveness, and beg +him to allow bygones to be bygones. He’ll do so, no doubt, if you play +your cards cleverly. Once he becomes friendly, then we shall be able +to deal with him and settle accounts.” + +“Oh, don’t talk like that, Albert. It horrifies me,” she cried, +covering her face with her hands, a habit of hers whenever she heard +anything unpleasant. + +“Well, my dear girl, we’ve got to face the music, haven’t we? It’s no +use trying to evade the issue,” he said. “The first step is for you to +appease him. And in order to do so, you must follow him to Manchester. +Send a page to his room with a message that Mrs. Wilcox wishes to see +him on a private matter. When a strange woman calls upon a man, he +always becomes intrigued. Don’t announce yourself, as he might resent +it.” + +“But he might refuse to see me,” she protested. + +“He won’t. He’s essentially a lady’s man, as you know.” + +“But is there no other way?” she asked. “I feel so terrified lest he +should call in the police and give me into custody. Think of the +scandal of it all!” + +“He won’t do that, provided you give him the real sob-stuff. And you +know how to do that all right. I recollect one or two encounters you +had with Wyndcliffe. You’re a damned fine actress, Etta, when you +think it worth your while. And it is well worth it in this case, I +assure you. Upon your trip to Manchester depends the liberty of us +both, so the sooner you screw up courage the better.” + +“Couldn’t you go and face him for me?” + +“I!” cried the man, staring at her. “Why, I’d be bundled into the +police-station within five minutes. Dear Rupert doesn’t love me--and +never will!” + +The woman paused for some minutes, her dark, apprehensive eyes gazing +thoughtfully into the fire. + +“But how can I make it up with him?” she faltered at last in a dull, +broken voice quite unusual to her. “Think how I have treated him; of +the sacrifice he made for me!” + +“Oh, don’t wax romantic, my dear Etta,” he laughed. “Simply ask his +forgiveness, say you still love him and all that, and----” + +“And suppose he has discovered that I’ve married Wyndcliffe. What +then, eh?” she interrupted. + +The man pulled a wry face, but, after a moment’s silence, replied: + +“I don’t see how he can know. You did not use your own name when you +became Lady Wyndcliffe. Besides, you are Mrs. Wilcox, a widow, now.” + +“But suppose he has discovered it, how am I to act?” she demanded. +“What excuse can I make?” + +“He won’t have found it out--not yet, at least. Therefore if you act +at once and boldly you’ll hold all the honors in your hands. Take my +advice and leave by the diner to Manchester this evening, sleep calmly +at the Midland to-night, and look your prettiest and brace yourself up +for to-morrow morning.” + +“I dread the ordeal, Albert,” declared the unhappy woman. + +“I have no doubt you do, my dear girl. But, as I have already said, we +must call the music and Rupert must dance to our tune--if we are to +get out of this unholy tangle.” + +“He may have seen my portrait in the illustrated papers,” she +remarked. + +“No. He’s been in America all the time, in a place where he didn’t see +papers”--and he grinned. + +The woman drew a long breath, and he noticed that her jaw was +twitching. Her nerves were unstrung. So he poured her out some brandy, +which she swallowed at a gulp. + +“It all remains with you, Etta,” he said very seriously, putting his +hand upon her shoulder and bending over her. “Get him out of his +present hostile mood. Promise him everything--to return to America +with him if he wants you to do so; anything. Because once he resumes +his friendship--and he will do so if you play the game properly--then +all will be plain sailing for us in the future.” + +“You mean--I know what you mean!” she whispered hoarsely, staring at +him with horrified eyes. “You mean that I am to--to lure him to his +death!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + EXPLANATION AND APOLOGY + +“Mr. Kimball says he’s very busy, madam. But he’ll see you for a few +moments. Will you please come up to his sitting-room?” said the small +boy in uniform. + +Etta Wyndcliffe, wearing her daintiest little hat and her sable coat, +stepped into the lift, and, piloted by the page, at last stood before +a door upon which the lad rapped. + +“Come in!” cried a gruff voice from within. The page opened the door, +and next second Etta and her arch-enemy, Rupert Kimball, stood face to +face. + +The man--tall, burly, and clean-shaven, a typical American business +man, upright and shrewd--removed his cigar in amazement, and, after +staring at her for a second, exclaimed: + +“Etta! And pray what the hell brings you here?” + +“I came to meet you,” the woman faltered in a low voice, still +standing upon the threshold. + +“H’m! Thought it best to come to me, did you?” he growled, while his +expression instantly altered, and there was a gleam of hatred in his +sharp, dark eyes. + +A well-dressed man of about fifty with iron-grey hair, his sunken eyes +told of some deep sorrow, illness, or perhaps business failure. + +“I don’t want to see you, woman!” he flared up, speaking with a forced +American accent. “The very sight of you is hateful to me. Get out!” he +added roughly. + +“But, Rupert!” she cried piteously, closing the door behind her and +advancing into the room. “Don’t send me away before you give me a +chance to tell you--to tell you the truth”; and she put out her hands +imploringly. + +“The truth!” he laughed with sarcasm. “The truth from a woman like +you!” + +And he turned from her in disgust and walked across to the window. + +“Don’t you remember the past? Don’t you ever think of----” + +“I think of the hell’s witch that you are, and how you played me +false!” he snapped between his teeth. “I tell you frankly that I’m +here in England to bring you to justice.” + +“But, Rupert, for God’s sake hear me!” she implored. “Before you take +action against me, listen to what I have to say. I’ve rushed back from +Switzerland to see you. Maudie Ashley wrote to me saying that you had +left St. Louis and were on your way to London. I rang up the Carlton +yesterday, and they told me you were here. I--I wanted to see +you--to----” + +“And I don’t want to see you. That’s the difference,” he snarled. “You +came up here on false pretences--Mrs. Wilcox.” + +“Because I feared that you would refuse to see me,” declared the +unhappy woman with truth. + +“I should certainly have refused. The past is all too horrible. Your +face brings back to me all your foul plots and the evil worked against +me. All my misfortunes I owe to your damnable cunning.” + +“Rupert!” she said in a changed, intense voice. “I have come to you to +try and atone for what I did. I know I was a swine to you. But I stand +before you, and--and I humbly ask your forgiveness!” + +Then before the man was aware of it she had sunk upon her knees before +him, grasped his hand, and was kissing it fervently. + +He tried to snatch his hand from her, but she held his wrist tightly +with both hands. + +“No, Rupert, no!” she cried frantically. “Forgive me, I implore you. +Let us talk it all over.” + +“There’s nothing to talk over,” he replied savagely. “You wrecked my +life because I foolishly listened to your wicked scheming. You formed +the plot out of your own evil brain; I listened to you, and did what +you suggested. Then, when you had secured your own ends, you secretly +gave me away for the reward, and left me to face disgrace and +punishment. But now I’m free again, woman, I mean to at least be even +with you! Forgive you! Never!” And he snatched his hand from her so +roughly that she rolled to the floor at his feet. + +“I got no reward!” she protested angrily. “It’s a lie.” + +“Then that man who was behind your evil schemes took it. They told me +all afterwards!” + +“I know nothing about it, Rupert,” she said. “I admit that I have been +your enemy. I now, however, want to stand as your friend--to help you +to a new life.” + +“Because you’re in mortal fear of me!” he laughed triumphantly. “You +don’t think I’m a lovesick fool any longer? You surely don’t think +that I believe a single word you say?” + +“I can’t help that. What I say now, I mean.” + +“Become very honest all of a sudden, it seems!” he sneered. “You look +prosperous enough--more than you did six years ago. What are you doing +for a living just now? That coat of yours must have cost a tidy few +dollars.” + +“I’m living honestly, at any rate,” was her sharp reply. + +“For the first time in your life,” he laughed. “When I first met you, +you were Snakey Toulmin, the decoy of Bud Taylor and his precious gang +of sharpers working the Atlantic ferry. And an infernally smart little +rogue you were. Those who made your acquaintance were always thousands +of dollars the poorer on the trip. I was one of your pigeons.” + +“That’s all of the past. Let’s wipe it out, Rupert.” + +“H’m! You appear to think you can change your damned black soul as +easily as you can change your frock,” he growled. “No, I have the past +always with me. I had it for those years in a prison cell.” + +“Forget it all,” urged the pretty but unhappy woman. “I know I’m +utterly worthless, Rupert. But I’ve never had a single chance to be +honest in my life till now. My father was a card-sharper, as you well +know, and I was brought up from childhood to exercise my woman’s wiles +upon men. I’m not wholly to blame.” + +“You are wholly to blame for my ruin,” he answered. “You induced me to +knock the bank-messenger on the head on that winter day in New York +and steal his wallet. I very nearly committed murder at your +instigation in order to provide you with a fine house and fine +clothes, as I thought. But you in turn stole the money from me, gave +me away to the police, and then escaped, leaving me to face +prosecution and punishment. You didn’t think of me, Etta, did you? No, +only of yourself and that swine who haunted you like a black shadow. +I’ll hunt him out one day soon, never fear. I know he’s here in +England, and then it will be my triumph when we meet,” he said +savagely. + +“My dear Rupert, I know all that you must feel, and how hostile and +bitter you must be against me,” she said, assuming a softer attitude +towards him. “I deserve it all. I don’t endeavor to excuse myself one +iota for what I did. I only desire to atone for it all.” + +“Atone!” exclaimed the man looking sternly into her face. “How?” + +“By trying to help you, and perhaps to make you happy.” + +“How can you help me? Got any money?” he asked. + +“You can’t want money if you can afford to stay at the Carlton in +London, and have a sitting-room here,” she ventured to remark. + +“I’m doing some business up here,” he explained. “So I’ve had to have +a sitting-room.” + +“I hope it’s a profitable business.” + +“Oh, it’s quite a square deal,” he said. “A bit of agency work for a +New York wireless firm--component parts for amateurs’ sets. These +English seem to have gone crazy on radio. It has taken America to show +them the way.” + +He smiled, and she instantly saw that his hostile attitude was slowly +decreasing, though he naturally could not at once overlook her +dastardly behavior in stealing from him those bundles of bank-notes +and negotiable securities, which he had filched from the messenger +whom he had knocked senseless at the street corner in Park Avenue. + +“Yes,” she said. “The English are horribly slow to take up any +innovation. Little old New York puts a polish on any new invention or +labor-saving device before London can rub its eyes even to look at it. +I hope you’ll do good business in radio, Rupert. And if I can be of +any help, why, I’m right there at once.” + +“Do you happen to know any radio firms?” he asked quickly. + +“Well,” she replied, “I happen to know one of the B.B.C., and I +daresay I could get you an introduction to several of the big retail +houses, which might be of advantage to you.” + +“Very well, Etta,” he said, “I’m open for business.” + +“On one condition, Rupert,” she said, with a woman’s clever cunning. +“That you make no inquiry as to my present position or mode of life. I +live honestly, of that I assure you. And my reputation for honesty may +serve you well in the near future. I’ll stir heaven and earth for you, +in order to make atonement for my damnable behavior in the past, and +to put you upon a proper and prosperous business footing in the +future. Is that a bargain?” + +For a few minutes he remained silent. Then he said: “You’re a clever +little witch, Etta. You look prosperous, and you probably are. We swam +on the same tide before, and if you can help me, then we’ll do so +again--on the tide which must bring us both to fortune.” + +“Ah, Rupert!” she cried wildly, looking into his eyes. “I knew that +you would forgive me. All these years I’ve been filled with bitter +remorse, and have shed many tears over--over you and how disgracefully +I treated you”; and then, bowing her head over his hand, she burst +into quick sobs. + +“I--I’ll try and recover your good opinion of me,” she went on, her +tears rolling down her cheeks. “I--I know I’m a worthless woman; a +woman who has wrecked the life of a great, strong, self-willed man. +But it was your overbearing attitude to the world that led me to it. +I--I--was mad. I set out to allure you--to cheat you, to throw you +into the melting-pot--and I succeeded. At first I was full of glee. I +escaped to Valparaiso and then across to Australia. Afterwards I got +back to London, and in the American papers I read the account of your +trial and your condemnation. I prayed for you. I could not sleep at +night for thinking of you in your prison cell, because I had treated +you so, and it was all my fault, Rupert,” she cried, taking him by +both shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. “I’m a woman. We +women are mostly weird creatures. We can’t control ourselves. +Sometimes we grow to hate those whom we really love, and sometimes we +love those whom we hate the most. We are the weaker sex--and perhaps I +am the weakest of them all.” + +Rupert Kimball, the well-dressed American, whom none in England would +dream to be a gaol-bird recently released from St. Louis convict +prison, turned from the window slowly. + +“I accept all you say, my dear girl,” he said hesitatingly. “But what +I want to know is, how you are living so prosperously. That sable coat +of yours intrigues me.” + +“I do a little business in French model frocks and lingerie,” she +said, with the first excuse which arose to her lying lips. “This coat +isn’t mine. I only wear it as an advertisement.” + +“Then you are on a commission basis?” + +“Yes. We are both in business. So why not let us work together?” + +“But you are very reticent regarding yourself, Etta,” he said. + +“I have to be. After all, I don’t want my wretched past to be raked +up, any more than you do, eh? So the least we say about each other the +better. Let’s unite our forces instead of being enemies, and let’s +make money. I’ll help you in your wireless business. I know I can.” + +He walked back to her from the window. + +“Now,” he said, suddenly halting in front of her, “are you playing the +straight game, Etta? If you’re not, then, by God! I’ll send you to +twenty years. You know what I mean--the proofs I have against you and +your accursed hanger-on Belton, or Ashe, or whatever he now calls +himself.” + +“Oh! I haven’t seen him for years, my dear old bean,” laughed Etta. +“He treated me rottenly, as all men of his low-down class treat women. +When he saw the red light he turned tail and scooted. He left me in +Valparaiso, and a jolly good job too. He was no good, anyway. He +hadn’t the courage of a flea.” + +“Exactly what I thought. But I believed he would have stuck to you,” +said Kimball. “Tell me how you have fared while I’ve been all that +time in the penitentiary”; and he stood before her, for the first time +realizing that she looked not a year older than when he last saw her +in their flat, before he went out on that snowy day with an iron bar +as a walking-stick to waylay the unsuspecting messenger of the United +States Allied Bank. + +“Oh, I’ve managed to scrape along. I’ve formed a good many friendships +with people with money, better-class people in London. Hence I’ve lots +of influential friends, and will be able to help you in your new +venture.” + +“Not married yet, eh?” + +“Married!” she laughed scornfully. “Take me for an idiot? No, I’ll +never be a man’s domestic slave. Let other women have the worry of a +home and children, but not for me.” + +Then, seizing her opportunity, she held out her hand to him, asking: +“Won’t you really forgive me, Rupert? I promise that in future I will +stand your friend.” + +“Do you actually mean that?” he demanded fiercely. “Can I trust you?” + +The woman’s face relaxed into one of those sweet smiles that men had +found, to their cost, so alluring. + +“Yes, Rupert. You may now,” she said, and made a motion as though to +put her lips to his. + +“No. I don’t want your kisses, thank you,” he said in a hard, abrupt +tone. “I’d rather be without them.” But, taking her hand, he added in +a quieter tone: “We’ll be friends, as you wish it. But you’ll have to +prove your friendship towards me before I wholly forgive you for the +ruin you’ve brought upon me. You told me you’ve just come back from +Switzerland. Do you live there nowadays?” + +“Sometimes,” she answered. “Sometimes I live at a cottage on the +Thames. But I’m always a wanderer--just as I’ve ever been.” + +“And you call yourself Wilcox--a widow, I presume?” And he grinned. + +“Yes,” she laughed, inwardly wondering what he would think and how he +would act if he knew her true position in London Society, at the same +time fearing lest he should discover her rank and title. She saw that +at all hazards he must not know that she, the Snakey Toulmin of the +cross-Atlantic gang, had married an English peer. + +Nevertheless, much elated at the successful manner in which she had +appeased the man who had come to England to expose and prosecute her, +she took his hand, and in gratitude, kissed it again and again. + +Yet it was only to gain time, she knew. His enemy, Albert Ashe, had +sworn to be even with him if he ever dared to put foot on British +soil. + +She knew that the threats of the man whose strange career had included +masquerading as her butler in West Halkin Street, were never idle +ones. + +So an hour later she went out to the railway station and sent him a +telegram with two words only: “Forgiven--Etta.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + THE ROOF OF THE WORLD + +In early February the winter sports season at Gurnigel was already +on the wane. + +The four hundred odd people in the great big hotel _de luxe_ had +dwindled down to about three hundred, all of them English, yet the +gaieties both day and night proceeded merrily under the direction of +the genial and ever-popular manager, whose chief object was to know +each of his visitors personally and see that they were looked after by +his efficiently-trained staff. + +The Swiss have ever been the best _hôteliers_ in the world. Wherever +you go in either hemisphere, you know that if you decide upon a +Swiss-managed hotel you will be comfortable at moderate expense. + +So it was at Gurnigel. The many petty jealousies and little bickerings +between the English clientèle often caused the amiable director to +retire to his chalet at night and clench his fists in desperation. And +well he might. He held an onerous and responsible position, and no one +knew his troubles more intimately than the old artist Mr. Gordon +Mitchell, who almost daily sat in his private office and held counsel +with him. + +Mitchell was a man of world-wide repute who had no axe to grind. He +very naturally treated the conspiracy against himself by a few +nobodies as the result of disappointed ambitions. “People pay their +little round sums to a tourist agency, and expect to be regarded as +little tin gods,” was how he expressed it to his intimates. + +One day Sibell, who had grown friendly with the smiling, round-faced +old bachelor, was sitting at tea with him and her financé, when she +said: + +“Do you know, I’d love to see a glacier. I’ve read lots about them, +but I’ve never seen one.” + +“Well, Miss Dare, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t. Why not take the +train up to the Little Scheidegg, and go out upon the Eiger Glacier? +That would give you a very good idea of what a glacier is like.” Then, +turning to Otway, he said: “I have to go up to the Scheidegg the day +after to-morrow, and I’ll escort you both, if you like. You’ll want a +guide. Why not take John? He’s excellent at glacier work--that is, if +you can induce him to leave here for three days.” + +The idea appealed to the young pair. + +“Your aunt put you both in my charge before she went away, you know,” +Mr. Mitchell laughed. “So I make no excuse for the suggestion. You +want to go on a glacier, so I’m ready to take you there. The Eiger +Glacier is close to the Jungfrau, beneath it, as a matter of fact, and +will give you perhaps the best idea of glaciers you can get in +Switzerland.” + +“But what is a glacier really like?” asked the girl in her ignorance. + +“Imagine a sea of ice with huge fissures in it on every hand, cracks +hundreds of feet deep--all pure grey-green ice--the ice of ages,” +answered Mr. Mitchell, who, in his younger days, had been an ardent +Alpine climber. “Sometimes, if you are lucky enough to see an ice +avalanche, you witness one of the most stupendous alterations of +Nature. You see the ice edge of a gigantic glacier of countless ages +break away and fall with thunder over a precipice, the great ice +boulders bounding from rock to rock down thousands of feet until they +become pulverized, and, like white powder, stream down like +swift-moving rivers out of the ravines, into the valley below. The +sight of a great ice-avalanche is one of the most awe-inspiring scenes +in the world, hundreds of thousands of tons of the remains of the ice +age breaking from the edge of the dangerous glaciers to be hurled into +space with irresistible force, carrying everything before them. It is +usual for all glaciers to move forward some eight or ten inches each +day, and as they move, they form deep and dangerous crevasses, +sometimes two hundred feet deep, terrible death-traps for the Alpinist +who climbs.” + +“How wonderful!” said the girl. “I’d love to see a glacier and go on +it.” + +“Well, I am ready to take you both,” said the grey-haired old Alpine +climber. “So if you like to fix it, I’m quite game to go to +Interlaken, and then up the Wengern Alp to Scheidegg.” + +They decided to go, and two days later took train up the delightful +valley of Lauterbrunnen, and there by the rack and pinion mountain +line for a further four thousand feet, climbing on the face of the +Alps past the popular winter-sports village of Wengen up to Wengern +Alp and Scheidegg. + +As they sat together upon a seat at the lonely little mountain halt, +with the dark Trummelbach Valley between them, and beyond, the Eiger, +Mönch, and Jungfrau, with the Schneehorn and a dozen other finely +poised peaks, with their glaciers, black rocks, and fields of eternal +snow forming a wonderful panorama, they suddenly heard a roar. + +“Avalanche!” cried Mr. Gordon Mitchell, springing to his feet. “Look! +Several!” + +Then across from the valley came an increasing thunderous roar of +ice-avalanches from the glaciers of the Kühlauenen, the two +Bandlauenen, and from the deeply-cleft Giessen and the Lammlaui in +rapid succession, while, from one or other of the five narrow gullies +in the black rocks, the steam of ice, ground to powder, poured forth, +raising great clouds of dust. It was a unique sight and never to be +forgotten, for they were face to face with Nature, witnessing the +irresistible force of the mighty, grinding glaciers, as they slowly +moved down towards the valley, until in the ages to come the last +relics of the Ice Age will have vanished and left their traces upon +the ice-worn rocks through which they have passed. + +Have you ever seen an avalanche? The warm wind, known in the Alps as +the Föhn, is probably blowing. The glaciers and snowy sides of the +mountains are slowly thawing. We hear ominous cracking sounds deep in +the crevasses if we happen to be on the glacier, while water is +everywhere trickling across the surface of the ice, for under the +Föhn the snow is gradually disappearing. + +As the trio watched, the roar slowly died away. + +“Look!” cried Sibell, pointing to another glacier high up near the +summit before them. “There’s another! Oh, what a wonderful sight!” + +Of a sudden Nature trembled as though in expectation. They held their +breaths instinctively, when, in a few seconds, they saw great walls of +ice collapse, detaching themselves from the glacier and toppling over +the edge of a precipice, followed by rumbling, a blustering, and then +a deafening roar, as from the lowest part of the glacier the ice +smashed in its fall, and poured through the funnels of rock, far down +into the valley, just as it has done for thousands of years, and as it +will for yet more thousands. The thundering of the avalanche is the +angry voice of the Giants disturbed from their winter silence by the +presence of man. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the memory of which +would live with them always. + +That night they spent at the comfortable Bellevue Hotel at Scheidegg, +over seven thousand feet above the sea, and, looking from their +windows, saw deep in the valley the lights of gay Grindelwald +twinkling thousands of feet below. + +After sunset a keen frost set in, as it always does at that altitude. +Scheidegg is, _par excellence_, the resort of the practised skier, who +can run down to Grindelwald or to Wengen without danger, and it is +consequently very popular, for the snow up there is always good when +often impossible at lower heights. + +After dinner the well-known artist sat with his two young friends over +the big log fire in the hall, all three smoking cigarettes with their +coffee and _kirsch_ discussing the morrow’s adventure on the Eiger +Glacier. + +“I’m getting most excited!” cried Sibell. “Fancy walking out upon a +glacier!” + +“Yes, but it is not without a certain element of danger,” remarked Mr. +Gordon Mitchell, who had had a good deal of experience in glacier +work, and who had picked up his ice-axe at the well-known Hôtel du +Lac in Interlaken, where he kept it from year to year. Sibell and her +lover had borrowed axes from the hotel in which they had taken shelter +for the night, and they had been greatly interested in the +strongly-made implements, with their hafts of ash and hatchets of +finest steel, upon which human life so often depends in the Alps. + +While they were enjoying the warmth of the fire and chatting with half +a dozen skiers of both sexes who, like themselves, were going on an +expedition in the morning, the smart Swiss hotel manager entered, and, +addressing Mr. Mitchell, whom he knew well as a devotee of winter +sports, said: + +“John, the guide, has just telephoned from Gurnigel that he has +unfortunately hurt his ankle while giving a lesson this afternoon. +Somebody ran into him, so he cannot come up in the morning. I propose +to telephone to Amacher and Stutz down in Wengen to come up by the +first train. Both are good guides of the Jungfrau and they know the +glacier well.” + +“Excellent!” said Mr. Mitchell. “I’ve had Amacher before, up to the +Guggi Hut and also to the summit of the Breithorn and on other tours. +He’s a first-class fellow. Thanks, if you’ll get them both for us, +I’ll be obliged.” + +“Stutz was one of those who climbed with Prince Chichibu of Japan last +season,” said the hotel manager. “The Prince is a wonderful climber, +he says, as well as a good skier. Everyone in the Oberland admired him +when he was in Mürren. A pity he had to leave to return to Japan +under such tragic circumstances.” + +“Yes. Everyone knows what a real winter sportsman he is,” remarked the +old Alpinist. And then the conversation turned upon the daring +exploits of the Imperial Japanese Prince in the Bernese Alps. + +That night a blizzard raged, one of those blinding snowstorms which +arise in the high mountains so suddenly and abate so rapidly, yet are +so dangerous to those who may be caught in them without shelter. The +railway watchmen on duty, seeing the rapidly increasing drifts, +telephoned down to Lauterbrunnen to set the snow-ploughs at work in +order to keep open communication with the world below. So all night +the electric ploughs were slowly going up and down to keep the road +clear, though it was impossible to keep open that section of a couple +of miles between Scheidegg and the Eiger Gletscher station, where the +tunnel enters the mountain and climbs to the Jungfrau. + +Hence, when Sibell--rising early and putting on her mountain kit, +consisting of a waterproof wind-jacket and breeches, thick woollen +stockings and her heavily nailed climbing-boots, which differed in +many respects from those built for ski-ing--appeared below in the +hall, she met Mr. Mitchell, who said: + +“The line is blocked, so we’ll have to walk to the glacier. Amacher +and Stutz are here having breakfast, and they are packing their +rucksacks for us.” + +Just then Brinsley put in an appearance, and the three went into the +_salle-à-manger_ to a substantial English meal of ham and eggs, which +the popular artist had specially ordered as a preliminary to the day’s +expedition. + +Later the two guides joined them in the hall. Amacher, a short, +thick-set man, dark and ill-shaven, with that keen eagle’s look in his +great blue eyes which seems inborn in the mountain guide, approached +and greeted Mr. Mitchell. + +“_Grüss Gott_, Herr Mitchell!” he exclaimed, putting out his big, +hard hand. He wore a battered round felt cap with his snow-glare +glasses around the band, and over his shoulder a coiled safety-rope of +best and strongest hemp, while suspended from his wrist was his trusty +ice-axe, that had saved his life in a dozen or so tight corners when +climbing. + +“Goin’ across the glacier to-day, eh?” he asked in his kind of +parrot-English. He was one of the bravest guides of that perilous +range, and always acted as director of the search-party of guides who +were ever ready to risk their lives to save those reported missing +upon mountain or glacier. + +“Yes, Fritz. We want you to take us on the glacier. My friends here +are anxious to see the crevasses--the deep ones.” + +The sturdy, sun-tanned Swiss--brown-faced because of the reflection of +the glaring sun upon the ice--replied: + +“All right, Herr Mitchell.” And then he introduced the tall, thin, +wiry man who stood behind him, as Hans Stutz. The guide, proud of the +bronze badge with the white enamelled cross on his chest, which showed +him to be approved and licensed by the Swiss Alpine Club, smiled and +lifted his peaked cap and wished them “Good morning, gentlemen and +lady.” + +He, too, had his rope on his shoulder, his well-filled rucksack upon +his back, and his ice-axe ready for the crossing of the treacherous +glacier. + +“The weather is none too good,” Fritz mentioned to Hans in +Swiss-German, and Mr. Mitchell, understanding the remark, asked at +once, “Look here, Amacher, is there any danger?” + +“Oh, no,” laughed the guide. “If the weather turns bad we can get back +again. We will go by the safe route and show the lady and gentleman +the deep crevasses. There are lots of them just now--after the Föhn. +We’ve got the food in our rucksacks. Shall we go?” + +The others assented, for all were ready dressed. + +“Walk very slowly, mees, over the snow,” Amacher advised, taking the +girl’s arm. “You have a long way to go and hard walking. Just +easy--easy--so!” And he slowed down and made her walk his pace. “You +see, we are climbing another thousand feet, before we get to the +glacier, and you must not be fatigued before we get there. If you hear +noises, great cracklings, water running far below and look down into +the darkness, don’t get frightened. Hans and I are with you. We know +the glacier from boys.” + +“I trust in you,” said the girl, placing her gloved hand upon his +strong arm, while Brinsley was walking with the tall Stutz. + +“No danger. Not at all,” Amacher said. “I am guide. Trust me, mees.” + +“I do, Amacher,” she said, and they went along up the steep hill, +following the railway lines and passing the kennels of the grey wolf +Uke Arctic dogs kept there, until at last they reached the moraine, +that beach of stones and débris left by the Ice Age, while beyond it +lay an undulating mass of square miles of ice, full of treacherous +ice-bridges across wide and fatal crevasses, yawning chasms from +twenty to three hundred feet deep. + +At the edge of the ice they paused. It seemed to them--as it really +was--the roof of the world. + +The guides removed their rucksacks from their backs to rest, and +Sibell, at Amacher’s invitation, seated herself on one of them and had +a cigarette her lover offered her. + +The sky had changed. From the howling blizzard of early morning the +bad weather had abated, and now the sun shone so brightly in a +cloudless sky that Amacher and Stutz had put down their glare-glasses +over their eyes as precaution, though their charges felt no +inconvenience. + +Already it was noon, so it was decided to have a sandwich before +venturing out upon the glacier. Weatherwise, Amacher scanned the +mountains around, and in a low voice remarked in his native +Swiss-German to his fellow-guide: “Bad weather coming, friend Hans.” + +“Yes,” replied Stutz. “We won’t go very far. Up to the corner, if it’s +narrow enough to get them over.” + +Mr. Mitchell, who understood only very little Swiss-German, for it is +a language which few Englishmen have ever been able to master, +believed it to be a joke between the two guides, for both men laughed. + +A few minutes later Amacher uncoiled his rope and began to make +mysterious turns and knots in it as he placed it over Sibell’s +shoulders, naturally thrilling her with the idea of mountaineering in +the high Alps. + +Having securely roped her around her waist, and putting a hitch over +her shoulder, he gave her several coils of slack to hold and then +roped her to her lover in the same way, and afterwards to Mr. +Mitchell, while he roped himself to one end of the file, and Stutz +fastened on the other. + +“Now,” he said warningly, “be careful. I go first and prick the snow +with my axe. Watch me, all of you, and put your feet exactly in the +steps I have made. Now--off!” + +And they went out upon the snow-covered glacier in single file, +Amacher in front picking his way very carefully, fearful of stepping +upon a thin crust of snow concealing some deep crevasse. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. + THE DEVIL’S PARADE + +At first the way across the undulating virgin snowfield, upon which +here and there showed dark, jagged lines--those terrible fissures in +the ice--looked easy, and Sibell, in her ignorance, wondered why the +dark-spectacled Amacher, with his coil of slack rope in his hand and +bending intent upon his path, should carefully prick the snow with his +axe and feel what seemed always to be firm ground. + +She was next to him, about four yards behind, with Brinsley third, and +Mr. Mitchell and Hans following. On every hand she heard from deep +down below the rippling of water, the slow melting of the eternal ice +which ran into the dark, deep-cut valley of the Trummelbach, that +mysterious narrow split in the mountains which leads away through +Lauterbrunnen, where the stream has, through countless ages, fed the +deep lake of Brienz, and which, in due course, through the +fast-flowing Aar, feeds the mighty Rhine across Europe to the Dutch +coast. + +The two Alpine guides, their eyes painful because of the constant +sun-glare, presented a goggled appearance as Amacher every now and +then halted, retraced his steps carefully, whereupon the others turned +and went backward until he again struck out at a different angle. + +Below, the lovers heard ominous crackings as the ice, ever-shifting +day and night in all the seasons, slowly moved towards the valley, at +one season going down and at the other shrinking and remaining nearly +where it was in the season before. + +For nearly two hours they went along, their progress being very slow, +but Fritz Amacher never took undue risks. The safety of those in his +charge was always his first consideration. Dozens of tales were +related in the little cafés in the mountain villages of his courage +and heroism out on the mountains; of his experience with two young +Englishmen in winter when, overtaken by a blizzard, they were +compelled to spend the night under a rock on the other side of the +glacier, and only because he gave them his own rations of food and red +wine, and starved himself, were they able to exist until the dawn. + +Gordon Mitchell had heard many stories of his gallant heroism, and how +often he had faced death, while nearly as many stories were told of +Hans Stutz. Indeed, Alpine guides are recognized all over the world as +the finest and most reliable type of Europe. + +They had been walking for over two hours, often taking wide turns to +avoid those deep fissures in the ice which yawned to mysterious +darkness. + +Sometimes Amacher would hurl a big stone into one of them, when it +could be heard bounding from side to side of the crevasse, long after +it had disappeared into the darkness down hundreds of feet into the +abyss. + +Presently he paused and looked around, as though puzzled. They had +wandered upon a spot surrounded on all sides by open fissures, and, +though the guide went to and fro, he could not discover again the +narrow snow-ridge over which they had crossed, and which was evidently +the entrance to what was an impasse. + +His keen eye, however, discovered a spot where two big open crevasses +were joined by only a narrow, jagged gap, which was as deep as the +rest, and there remained nothing for it but to descend and cut steps +in the side of the glacier to the narrowest point where they could +swing themselves across. + +For him and Stutz it was mere child’s play, but to the inexperienced, +horrifying and perilous. + +Gordon Mitchell, as a practised Alpinist, at once realized Amacher’s +intention. At the guide’s order all held the rope taut while he +descended, and, swinging his axe, deftly and quickly cut deep steps in +the ice, sprang across to the opposite side, and then cut two steps, +which enabled him to climb to the opposite edge of the ice-wall. + +Planting himself well back, he took up the slack of rope and then +called to Sibell to follow. + +“Go slowly, miss,” he cried. “Have your ice-axe ready, and grip the +edge with it, as I did,” he urged. “Very slowly down, and you’ll find +it quite easy,” he cried. “We’ve got hold of you. You can’t fall.” + +“Oh, I’m so terrified!” cried the girl breathlessly, for, indeed, the +appearance of that dark, grey-green, yawning abyss open to an unknown +depth was sufficient to strike terror to the heart of any novice. + +“Keep cool, dear!” cried Brinsley. “I’m holding you.” + +Thus encouraged, the girl turned her face boldly to the descending +wall of ice and, kneeling, drove the head of her axe deeply into the +ice, and slowly lowered herself by its shaft until her foot touched +the step. Then, slowly again, she descended to the next step, and, +without daring to glance into the fatal depths below, she swung +herself across, helped by Amacher’s rope, to the opposite side of the +great fissure, and then clambered up, helping herself with her axe to +scramble to the top. + +“There!” she cried triumphantly, waving her axe to her lover. “That +was all right, wasn’t it?” + +“Bravo!” cried the old artist. “Most excellent! Very plucky indeed!” + +“Now, Brin!” she cried. “It’s your turn. I’ll hold you.” + +But Amacher advanced to the rope between her and her lover, saying in +a kindly tone: + +“No, miss. You must allow me”; and, taking an expert hitch with the +rope, he leant back and held it taut while the young doctor emulated +the feat of his fiancée. + +He managed to descend safely, but in swinging across to the other side +of the crevasse his foot slipped, and next instant he was held +dangling on the rope, held fast in readiness by the guide and Mr. +Mitchell. + +Sibell shrieked when she saw his peril, but Alpine ropes are made of +the best hemp, and are as carefully attended to in the guide’s chalet +as is his own bed, therefore there is no danger of snapping under any +sudden strain. + +For a few seconds Otway, thoroughly alarmed, of course, and winded by +the sudden strain of the rope upon him, struggled, but quickly he +regained his foothold, and was soon hauled up by the ever-watchful +Amacher. + +For a few moments he could not breathe, but the Swiss guide supported +him, took some brandy from his rucksack, and made him swallow it, and +in a few minutes he was all right again. + +“By Jove!” he exclaimed, as soon as he could gain breath, while Sibell +still held his arm. “I don’t want that experience again! I thought I’d +gone! My foot slipped from the step.” + +“Never mind,” laughed Amacher in his cheery way, peering at him +through his dark glasses. “You’re over all right.” + +Afterwards the guide shouted across: + +“Come on, Herr Mitchell!” + +And, taking the rope from the young man, he held it while the +practised climber came nimbly down, crossed, and clambered up to them. +And afterwards the tall Hans swung himself over without the slightest +difficulty. + +They soon resumed their way, walking in Indian file as before; Amacher +testing every yard of the way with his axe, now and then halting and +turning to avoid danger, until at last they found themselves upon a +part of the glacier which he knew was free from crevasses, so they +halted, opened their rucksacks, and finished their luncheon, which all +found very welcome, especially the cakes of plain chocolate without +which no Alpine lunch is complete. + +Afterwards, the winter sun declining, they set their faces towards the +distant moraine--débris of stones and rock brought down by the +glacier through the ages--to the spot whence they had started, +arriving there just as the pale-rose afterglow began to tint the +high-up snows of the towering Jungfrau. + +Before dusk they were back, warming themselves by the welcome log-fire +of the hotel, the lovers thrilled by their first experience upon a +glacier. + +“I wouldn’t have missed to-day for worlds!” Sibell declared +enthusiastically, and then, when they were alone, she whispered: +“Brin, when we are married, let us come up here, high above the earth +and far from the haunts of men, for our honeymoon. Think how lovely it +is here, face to face with Nature in a land unspotted by the hand of +man. I love it--every moment of it!” + +“Yes, my darling,” he said, kissing her fondly upon her lips. + +Suddenly, as he held her in his arms, he felt her shiver. + +“I hope you haven’t caught a chill, darling!” he said anxiously. +“You’re cold!” + +“No, really I’m not, Brin. I honestly am not. I just shivered. I don’t +know why. That’s all.” + +But in her heart she knew why. At that moment of her enthusiasm for +the high Alps a black shadow had fallen across her memory. + +Her thought was of that elegant masked cavalier who had disclosed to +her a secret which that cryptic message in _The Times_ had ordered her +to conceal from the man she loved. + +There was a plot to part them! Could they ever be parted? Was not her +whole future life bound up in Brin’s? Was he not all in all to her? + +Ten minutes later, in the privacy of her little room where she had +gone to change from her mountain clothes, she locked the door, and, +falling upon her knees beside her bed, prayed earnestly for +deliverance from the hand of her unknown enemy. + +Next morning Mr. Mitchell, expert skier that he was, took Amacher with +him from the Scheidegg down to Grindelwald, where they had early tea +at Frau Wolter’s, or, rather, the commodious place which once belonged +to the popular old lady, now, alas! dead. + +That night he met the lovers at the Hôtel du Lac in Interlaken, the +comforts of which are so well known to every winter-sports visitor to +the Bernese Oberland, and next day they returned to Gurnigel. + +Five days later they bade farewell to their friend Mr. Mitchell, and, +the winter sports season being practically over, they travelled to +Milan by the Simplon, and thence by the _train-de-luxe_ which took +them by way of Genoa, San Remo, and Ventimiglia along through the +palms and olives to Cannes. + +In Milan they had received a telegram from Sibell’s aunt to say that +she had been unwell with a mild attack of influenza, suggesting that +they should go to the Beau Site until she was well enough to travel +and go into residence at the villa. + +They obeyed the injunction, and found the sunshine and brightness of +the Riviera delightful, but even on the first day after their arrival +Sibell declared that the high Alps, with their wonderful germ-free +atmosphere, were far more congenial than the gaiety, the +artificiality, the gambling, and the vice of the much-vaunted Côte +d’Azur. + +It was true that she met several people she knew in that fine hotel +which is the rendezvous of the best tennis-players in the world, but +somehow she never seemed to have Brin to herself as she had had him in +Gurnigel, amid those marvellous and romantic forest walks and +extensive ski-ing fields. + +To Brinsley Otway the reckless life of the Riviera was a novelty, +hence she constituted herself his guide. Carnival was in full swing in +Nice, so twice they went over, once to the famous ball, and once to +the first Battle of Flowers, and on both occasions they had a most +hilarious time. + +Then she took him several times to Monte Carlo, where she initiated +him into the intricacies of roulette and _trente-et-quarante_. Both +risked modest stakes, of course, but neither won. Therefore, beyond +sight of the crowds in the stuffy, unventilated rooms, the Casino did +not appeal very much to either of them. + +One Sunday morning, having left Cannes for Monte Carlo early, they +took their cocktails in front of the Café de Paris, and afterwards +went for an idle stroll in the sunshine along the world-famed +Terraces. + +It was eleven o’clock, the hour of the Sunday parade, and Sibell was +dressed as smartly as any. All types were there--the newly rich in +great plebeian force, swindlers, rogues, peers, and flappers, some +women half bare and others wrapped in furs--not because it was cold, +but the furs were expensive and must be exhibited--a multicolored +stream which below showed a continuous flicker of light stockings and +shoes, and above a struggling crowd of gaudy sunshades. From flappers +in sky-blue to painted Jezebels of every age to eighty; from typical +French artists in broad-brimmed hats, flowing cravats, and peg-top +trousers, to staid English business men, members of Parliament, and +prosperous share swindlers; from athletic young English girls with +complexions that required no rouge, to dozens of overdressed, +bejewelled women of all ages and all nationalities, whose names were +notorious all over Europe, all were chatting together, rubbing +shoulders, and enjoying the brilliant sunshine. + +“This, I should take it, is the most cosmopolitan and best-dressed +crowd in the world,” remarked Otway as three laughing young French +girls, Parisiennes of the ultra-modern type, pushed past him in the +crowd. + +“Most interesting, aren’t they?” she agreed. + +At that moment a well-dressed man in grey passed them, walking with a +self-absorbed look, his hands behind his back and taking notice of no +one. Yet, if the truth were known, he was the great François Lebeau, +one of the most famous of European police officials, and his presence +there denoted that observation was being kept upon some rogue or +criminal lured there by the strange fascination the place always +exercises over evil-doers. + +Too intent in conversation were the lovers to notice that, as the man +in grey passed by, he lifted his dark eyes with a momentary glance of +inquiry, and then lowered them again. + +On one side of that processional way, where vice flaunts on every +Sabbath from eleven till half-an-hour past noon, rose a bank of palms, +shrubs, and cacti, with masses of red and yellow blossoms, scented +heliotropes, mimosa, and festoons of climbing geraniums, with the +wonderful façade of the Casino rising high above, while on the other, +beyond the white balustrade, lay, deep down, the azure sea, calm and +unruffled, with the big white steam-yachts and a giant pleasure-liner +lying at anchor in the little territorial waters of His Highness +Prince Rouge-et-Noir. + +Sibell and Brinsley were, that sunny morning, childishly happy in +their own perfect love, yet had the girl but known the identity of a +stranger who, having encountered them, seemed to have suddenly become +interested, she would have surely again reflected upon that strange +warning uttered by her masked cavalier. + +The man who passed and repassed them closely several times was short +of stature, with soft white hair, dressed in black, with a grey felt +hat, and wore a heavy gold watch-chain. His appearance was that of a +scholar, perhaps a bookworm, but something of a dandy. He carried a +malacca cane, and from his neck wore a horn-rimmed monocle suspended +by a rather broad black ribbon. Patent leather shoes, white spats, and +yellow gloves completed his dress. + +Had the caretaker at the Guest House at Hampton Court been alive, he +would have instantly identified him as the mysterious Mr. Bettinson, +the man who had uttered those strange incantations in the house of +evil. + + + + + CHAPTER XX. + THE SHADOW + +François Lebeau, the apathetic man in grey, stepped into a powerful +limousine at the end of the long range of flower-beds in front of the +Casino, and gave orders to the chauffeur to drive with all speed to +Nice. + +Prior to doing this he gave a secret signal, by blowing his nose, to a +slim, dark-haired young man who had also been following him along the +Terrace. The man, who was one of his most astute assistants, realized +his orders, and obeyed by dropping back into obscurity in the crowd. + +Along the winding Corniche, in a cloud of white dust, the powerful +police-car sped with its shrieking horn with the green disc which the +chauffeur had suddenly put up by means of a switch, a sign to the +police patrols to allow it to proceed at whatever pace. + +Meanwhile Lebeau removed his hat, revealing his domed bald head which +he was always at such trouble to conceal. As chief inspector of the +Paris Sûreté he was one of the most famous detectives of modern +France. As a young man he had worked as a humble police-agent of the +Eighth Arrondissement under the great Goron, and afterwards under +Harnard, and now he was chief of the department of surveillance upon +the person of the President of the Republic, and any notable +foreigners, princes or others, who came to France. + +Whenever the Prince of Wales put his foot upon French soil, for +example, Monsieur Lebeau was always near him as his personal +protector. + +He sat in the corner of the roomy car as it whirled through Beaulieu, +with its wealth of flowers, handsome villas, and big hotels facing the +blue bay, and thought deeply. + +It was indeed a strange, unheard-of mystery which, related on many +sheets of pale-yellow official paper, had been placed upon his table +at the headquarters of the Sûreté in Paris. + +The translation in French was from the report of the Metropolitan +Police in London, and the story so attracted him that he had taken it +home on the night of its arrival and thoroughly examined every point +it contained. Indeed, as he went along, he selected a tiny key from a +bunch upon his watch-chain, opened a small, cupboard-like recess in +the upholstery before him, and from some files of papers there he took +out the copy of the reports from London. + +As the car approached Villefranche he became once more absorbed in the +story, one so amazing and incredible that even he, practised +police-agent that he was, felt half inclined to dismiss it as a mere +fantasy, a chimera of somebody’s imagination. + +Yet the Criminal Investigation Department of London never made a +report without careful and thorough investigation, and, though the +local subdivision of police at Hampton were unaware of it, the famous +council of the C.I.D. were bent upon investigating and probing the +strange secret of the long-closed Guest House. + +As the car entered Nice, the chauffeur pressed a button and the green +disc disappeared, while the car, to all appearances a private one, +pulled up beside the chief post office, and its occupant alighted and +walked to the Préfecture of Police, so as to pass unnoticed by those +in the street. + +He ran alertly up the stone stairs to the first floor, and, passing +through an anteroom, the door of which was guarded by a detective, who +saluted him, entered the private room of the Sous-Préfet. + +Taking up the telephone, he asked in sharp, quick tones for +conversation with Monsieur Feydit at the Sûreté in Paris. + +Then, while awaiting the connection, he sat down and began to write +rapidly a long report in an almost copper-plate and microscopic hand. +The through express from Nice to Calais and London would leave at +half-past two, and he was anxious that his message should reach +Scotland Yard on the following evening. Hence his frantic hurry, for +if he caught the train his message would be at Victoria soon after +five o’clock on the following day. + +Time was pressing. He glanced at the clock, and his pen flew rapidly +over the paper. The inquiry was doubtless one of highest importance, +or he would not have taken it up personally. + +He had finished it and sealed it with black wax in a large blue +envelope, when the telephone bell rang sharply. + +“Hulloa! Monsieur Feydit, is that you?” he asked in French, in clear, +calm tones. + +Then, receiving an answer in the affirmative, he went on: + +“Please listen, and take down the following.” + +And from a slip of paper upon which he had pencilled them, he read off +about fifteen words of the French police telegraphic code, all of +which were repeated over the wire back from Paris. + +“_Très bien!_” said Lebeau. “And listen further. On the train +Nice-Paris-Calais reaching the Gare de Lyon at 8.40 to-morrow morning, +there will be an urgent train-letter for London. Get it from the +controller, and send Richaud through to London with it. He will await +a reply and leave London again the same night. Advise me here of the +reply by code.” + +“I understand, monsieur,” came his trusty assistant’s voice across +France, and then the famous detective hung up the receiver. + +Afterwards he rang a bell, and, handing the sealed letter to the clerk +who entered, gave him instructions to hand it to the controller of the +Paris express. + +Then, replacing the file of yellow papers in his pocket, he sauntered +in the sunshine round to the Hôtel Negresco, where he was staying as +Monsieur Ducret, _rentier_ of Lyons, and ate a lonely and belated +_déjeuner_. + +Meanwhile the lovers had lunched at the gay Café de Paris, and +Brinsley had paid a bill that was amazing for the omelette and +cutlets, with _petits-pois_, which they had. The big, garish +restaurant was crowded and noisy, as it is every day during the +season, filled to overflowing with that same mixed throng which had, +an hour before, disported itself along the Terrace in the sunshine. + +Crooks and millionaires sat laughing and eating with cocottes and +innocent flappers, while English peeresses drank vintage wines paid +for by fat, uncouth food profiteers of Smithfield or Mincing Lane--for +there is only one god at Monte Carlo year in and year out, and that +god is Mammon. + +So loud was the laughter, and so hilarious became a party at the table +next to them, that conversation was rendered impossible. Two young +Englishmen of the superior, military type were lunching with two +over-dressed women twenty years their senior, and when the wine-card +was presented to them, it became instantly obvious that the elder of +the women, a painted old hag of seventy, was paying for their meal. +But such sights are common at Monte--old women of fortune, imagining +themselves still young, paying for the pleasures of any handsome young +fellow they may meet at the tables. + +The luncheons of to-day are but the aftermath of chance meetings in +the Rooms on the previous night, for by a discreet loan of five louis +a man often makes a female friend in a social circle to which he could +never aspire otherwise. + +Yes, the world Rouge-et-Noir is indeed a wonderful, mysterious world, +which certainly opened the eyes of the upright, steady-going young +doctor who plodded at his increasing practice in Golder’s Green. + +Amid that crowd of gamblers and adventuresses, honest men and rogues, +women of the _haut-monde_ and the _demi-monde_, _escrocs_ and +respectable folk, they remained in ignorance of the presence of that +unobtrusive little old man in black with the white hair, who had +passed and repassed them several times on the Devil’s Parade. + +Seated alone at a table in the corner, not far from them, he had +ordered his lunch with careful selection, a meal which the +_maître-d’hôtel_ admired, for it showed the unusual discriminations +of one well-versed in good food. + +The old man at once became immersed in an English newspaper which he +had brought with him, and apparently took no notice of anyone. Yet a +careful observer would have noticed that ever and anon he cast furtive +glances at the happy young pair, and that in his eyes shone a +peculiar, evil glint. + +That same expression in his eyes had showed when, in the big, +moth-eaten drawing-room at the Guest House, poor Farmer had discovered +him uttering those weird incantations, that same expression when he +had plainly told the ex-policeman that he felt sympathy for him +because he was doomed to die. + +Little did the old man who had given his name as Bettinson dream that +he had that morning been watched by one of the greatest criminal +investigators in Europe. But, even had he known it, perhaps he would +have laughed. He was a man who had never taken life seriously, +regarding it always as a huge comedy, just as, at the moment, he +regarded Sibell Dare’s affection for the young doctor as a mere +passing fancy. Before that day he had never set eyes upon either of +them, but now he sat close by, watching them in secret, and inwardly +laughing in triumph. + +At two o’clock Sibell and her well-set-up lover, whose health, after +his strange attack, had been much improved by the fresh mountain air +of Switzerland, had their coffee and cigarettes under one of the sun +umbrellas at the café opposite, and, after a stroll to inspect the +shops, wandered into the Casino. + +Already the Rooms were overcrowded, for it was the height of the +season, and people stood three and four deep around the +roulette-tables, the novices of both sexes putting on wild stakes +impossible to win, while the old gamblers stayed their hands, and now +and then won a coup. The same crowd was there as in the Hôtel de +Paris and on the parade--that hectic, overdressed scum of the world +and the half-world, sadists and soubrettes, effeminates and _escrocs_, +moralists and _marcheurs_, with well-dressed thieves of both sexes and +all nationalities. + +At the end table on the left--the one which for years was known as +“The Suicides’ Table”--Brinsley Otway put a louis on _zéro-trois_ and +won, much to the surprise of them both. + +Then he played on the first dozen and lost, and again lost on the +_rouge_. But he won on the last dozen and _en plein_ on twenty-two, +which satisfied him for the day. + +Through it all the little man in black watched the pair narrowly. + +Once only he played, throwing ten louis carelessly upon the red, and +won the even chance. + +This fact attracted Sibell’s attention, but, unaware of his identity +with the mysterious Mr. Bettinson, for whom the police were in such +active search, she took no further notice of the odd-looking little +old gentleman. + +Careful not to be seen again by the mistress of the Guest House, he +travelled by the same train as they took back to Cannes, and, +alighting at Nice, he entered a taxi, which took him down to the +Negresco, where he passed a rather handsome bald-headed man in a +snuff-colored suit who was idly smoking an excellent cigar, sipping an +_apéritif_, and watching the gay crowd entering and leaving the +afternoon dance. + +Without glancing at the old man, Lebeau allowed him to pass, and then, +rising leisurely, strolled towards the concierge’s desk. + +The latter handed the little man in black a small registered packet, +for which he signed in the name of “George Peterson,” and then, +entering the lift, was whirled up to the third floor. + +Next moment, at signal from Lebeau, the porter passed to him the book +wherein the visitor had signed his name. + + +The ruse was a good one to obtain a specimen signature, for he took +the book to a side-room, and there compared Mr. Peterson’s autograph +with one he had on a letter which he took from his pocket-book. + +A moment afterwards he put the letter away, and, with a smile of +satisfaction, returned the book to the concierge. + +The signatures were identical. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. + THE GREEN BAIZE APRON + +Sibell and Brinsley had been at the Beau Site at Cannes for about a +fortnight, daily awaiting the arrival of Lady Wyndcliffe. + +Happy in each other’s ecstatic affection, they went for long walks +each day in the beautiful countryside at the back of the gay resort. +Now and then they would hire a car and go for a day’s excursion up to +Grasse, with its sweet-smelling fields of flowers grown for the +perfume factory, or to one or other of the rock villages which lay in +the higher lands between Cannes and Nice, those quaint, old-world +places where at the local café one can obtain such delicious +luncheons eaten outdoors in the winter sunshine. + +“I begin to dread returning to Golder’s Green after this delightful +time,” the young doctor said one bright, cloudless morning as they +were walking arm in arm through the groves of grey, twisted olives a +couple of miles or so from the town. + +“But why should you go back to Golder’s Green, Brin?” asked the +sweet-faced girl with some surprise. “When you are my husband I shall +surely have enough for both of us.” + +“I know that, darling,” he said. “But--well, I’m not the sort of +fellow to exist without working. I couldn’t do it. My profession +interests me, and gives me a zest in life. Not that your presence +doesn’t do that,” he hastily explained, with a laugh. “But I know you +understand my meaning. I must work for myself. I could never live in +idleness on your money.” + +“Of course I understand, Brin,” she said, squeezing his arm +affectionately. “But I really don’t see why you should return to that +dull, suburban spot again. Couldn’t you sell the practice, and buy one +in some pleasant seaside town?” + +“Yes, I might, of course, darling. But you forget that, under the +terms of the will, you are compelled to live at the Guest House.” + +“Ah!” she exclaimed disappointedly. “I had forgotten that.” + +“I’ve been thinking a lot about it of late,” he said. “I feel that it +is dangerous for you to live in that place. Some spirit of evil exists +there. My own attack, after going through those books, is quite +unaccountable, and then the mystery of the caretaker Farmer’s death, +after the incantations of a stranger, is most inexplicable.” + +“Yes,” said the girl. “Sometimes I think that all the weird stories +about the old place are just legendary or gossip, and yet at others I +see the dire results to those who scoff at them.” + +“But the most mysterious fact of all is, that no woman entering there +has ever felt any ill effect,” he remarked. + +“I wonder how that is accounted for?” she asked, as they strolled +slowly up a narrow path, where from between the olives they looked +down upon the wide expanse of sapphire sea. + +“Who knows, darling?” he asked. “This strange inheritance of yours +seems to be overshadowed by some tangle of mystery--grim tragedy and +death.” + +“A pity they cannot find that old man Bettinson,” said the girl, smart +in her brown sports kit, with a neat little brown felt hat, and +carrying a comity stick with a steel spike in it. She was typically +English, a lithe open-air girl fond of every sport ever since she had +been at school, a graceful dancer, and a fine rider, as all the women +of the D’Aires had been. + +“Perhaps they may discover the old fellow one day,” remarked Otway. +“But of course the police and coroner’s jury appear inclined to the +opinion that the whole scene was a chimera of the dying man’s +imagination. Personally I know of no human condition in which death +can be brought about by a verbal curse. We hear of such things +happening in the Middle Ages, and some people, even in our own +enlightened age, are sufficiently superstitious to believe in the +efficacy of an execration.” + +“Then you think that the caretaker simply died of natural causes?” +asked his fiancée eagerly. + +“I believe that the verdict at the inquest must have been a true one. +All sorts of fantastic tales are told by neurotic people at inquests.” + +“But don’t you agree that a good many verdicts recorded of death from +natural causes are untrue ones?” she asked. + +“My opinion is the same as that of most men in my profession, that +murder is very easily committed, and frequently goes undetected, and +hence unpunished. Further,” he said, “I have an increasing dread of +the evil influence which seems to spread like a pall upon any male who +enters that accursed house in which you are compelled to live.” + +“Really, Brin, you are making me feel quite terrified. I heard from +Mr. Gray yesterday that the first day of the sale is to-morrow. He +enclosed a catalogue. I’ll show it to you when we get back.” + +“The sooner the place is cleared of all the old stuff the better,” +Otway declared. “I’ll be glad to see the decorators in and the place +refurnished for you and fit to live in, and of course half the dealers +in England will be there. Mr. Gray told me that very big prices would, +no doubt, be obtained for some of the furniture and tapestries. There +are two authentic relics of Cardinal Wolsey which will certainly bring +big money.” + +“How much it all brings does not matter to me, Brin,” she said, +halting in the shadows beneath the trees and looking earnestly into +her lover’s face, while he bent and kissed her fondly. + +“My only thought, darling, is of your own safety in that weird house,” +her lover said. + +“Why?” she laughed. “Have you not only a few minutes ago told me that +no woman suffers there?” + +“Yes. That’s one of the greatest problems,” he replied. + +Throughout the whole morning they wandered, until they joined a long, +white road which wound up the mountainside among the pines and ilexes, +until at last they came to a small, remote village perched upon the +edge of a high, precipitous rock, one of those villages which long ago +were so often ravaged and burned by the Barbary pirates. + +In the narrow, cobbled street they discovered a modest little +café-restaurant, in which a buxom “madame” was bustling about serving +her customers. Therefore they entered, and sitting down to clean +napery, a bottle of white wine, and fresh sections of yard-long bread, +they ordered the _plât-du-jour_, and enjoyed an excellent meal. + +That afternoon, on re-entering the hotel, Otway obtained their letters +and handed one to Sibell. + +She recognised Lady Wyndcliffe’s sprawly handwriting, and after +reading it, exclaimed in dismay: + +“Auntie Etta has left Southampton to-day for New York. Uncle is ill +and telegraphed for her.” + +“Then she isn’t coming here at all?” + +“No. She says we’d better return as soon as we like. Isn’t it really +too bad? She doesn’t say what uncle is suffering from. But he is +evidently very ill--or she wouldn’t cross the Atlantic. She’s always +told me she is a terribly bad sailor.” + +“Well, darling, it is her duty, isn’t it?” Brinsley remarked. “I +suppose we shall have to leave very soon.” + +“And I’ll have to return to Cookham, while you go to Golder’s Green,” +she said, with a deep sigh of regret. “We won’t go till next week, +eh?” + +“When you wish it, darling,” he said; and, after washing their hands, +they returned to the big lounge for tea. + + +Next day proved dry and fine at Hampton Court, and long before noon +the trams and trains discharged hundreds of passengers bent upon +attending the important sale at the Guest House. + +Long before noon the premises overflowed with the curious and those +eager for bargains, for an auction sale of such genuine antiques +seldom took place in the vicinity of London. Every class of dealer and +amateur collector was represented, from Whitechapel, from Bond Street, +from every metropolitan district came men and many women with their +pockets full of Treasury notes ready for a bargain, whether a pitcher +or a picture, a water-can or a whatnot, a saucepan or a sideboard. + +Through the rooms the crowd surged, and the auctioneer’s men had +considerable difficulty in preventing small articles from being +purloined, for those loungers with big overcoats and stout women with +big pockets, all ready to grab any unconsidered trifle, were there in +full force, as they always are at crowded auctions. + +Outside upon the roughly-cut lawn, which had not yet had time to get +into condition after the clearance of thirty years of growth upon it, +a number of heavy pieces of furniture and a miscellaneous collection +of household goods from the ground floor had been placed, each +numbered, while behind stood a rostrum upon which, punctually at noon, +Mr. Gray mounted, mallet in hand. + +Below sat his two clerks, while four men in green baize aprons bustled +about among the throng. + +Mr. Gray, in a dark-blue overcoat and bowler hat, cleared his throat, +and, looking smilingly around at the mass of faces turned towards him, +recognized many well-known dealers, some of whom were the most +reliable and reputed in their profession. + +He cleared his throat, and made a little introductory speech, in which +he referred to the unique opportunity of acquiring many very fine, +unrestored pieces of antique furniture and objects of art which had +been in that historic house ever since the days of King Henry the +Eighth and the great Cardinal Wolsey. + +“Some of this furniture was, no doubt, brought across here from the +Palace of Hampton Court yonder, to furnish this house as a Guest House +for friends of the Cardinal,” he went on. “Therefore, gentlemen, I +tell you frankly that I shall not be content with paltry prices. On +some of the pieces there is naturally a reserve, and some of them will +be able to be acquired by private tender afterwards. The majority of +these unique lots are, however, open for your purchase, but I would +implore you not to start your bidding at ridiculous figures, as it +will only hamper us all and waste our valuable time. With that +request, gentlemen, I propose to proceed with the sale.” + +After he paused, he called to his foreman. + +“Greening! Lot number one! Jacobean fire-back of Surrey iron, with the +arms of the Overtons of Godalming Hall. One of the Overtons married a +Miss D’Aire in 1796. How much?” + +“A pound!” shouted a man at the rear. + +Thirty shillings was instantly bid in two places. Then two pounds, +which was increased quickly to five. At that figure the bidding ceased +until somebody cried “Guineas!” And at a nod from a well-known dealer +in close proximity, the auctioneer cried: + +“Five pound ten is bid for the Jacobean fire-back! Any advance? Come, +gentlemen!” + +“Six!” sounded from somewhere, followed by “Guineas,” and then +“Six-ten.” + +By slow degrees Mr. Gray’s persuasive powers had effect, until ten +guineas was reached. + +“Going at ten guineas! Going! Gone!” And the mallet fell sharply upon +the table, as he added, “Ten guineas--Mr. Sheldon.” + +The next lot was a small oak gate-table in splendid condition, of +Queen Anne period. Such an article, when genuine and unrestored, is +always eagerly sought by dealers, as there is a ready sale for them +among collectors. There are thousands of imitations and facsimiles, +complete with wormholes and every sign of long usage, but specimen +pieces like the one exhibited by the man in the baize apron are few +and far between. + +The bidding started at two guineas, and quickly rose to twenty. On +every side the competition became keen. To the ordinary eye it was +only a little table such as could be purchased for a pound or two at +any furnishing establishment in the Tottenham Court Road, but to the +shrewd, hard-headed crowd of bargain-hunters assembled in that garden +it was a perfect little gem. + +As such, it was eventually knocked down to a famous West End dealer +for forty-two pounds ten. + +A fine old oak refectory table with big, bulbous legs and a foot-rail +worn by the sandals of the monks of centuries ago, which had stood in +the big stone hall, was next brought forward, a heavy piece which took +six men to move it. It was capable of seating quite twenty people. + +“This table, no doubt, came from the suppressed monastery at +Chiddingfold in Surrey,” said Mr. Gray. “The monastery was dismantled +and destroyed by Thomas Cromwell. At one end of the table you will +find carved the sign of the cross, with the word ‘Chyddyngforde’ and +the initials ‘A de B’--Alfred de Beson, who was abbot there in 1496. +Now, gentlemen, what shall we say for this unique and historic piece? +Such a table does not appear in the market every day, as all of us +know. Shall we start at two hundred guineas?” + +And with a persuasive smile, Mr. Gray glanced around him, mallet in +hand. + +Suddenly he recognised a nod, and said in his quick, business-like +manner: + +“Two hundred and twenty pounds. Thank you, sir! Two hundred and twenty +is bid for this historic piece!” + +Another pause. + +“Two hundred and thirty in two places! +Two-forty!--fifty!--sixty!--seventy!--eighty!--ninety!--three hundred. +Three hundred--thank you, sir!” And, after another pause, he went on: +“Now, gentlemen, we’re not here for amusement, and we’ve a lot to get +through this afternoon! Who will give three hundred and ten?” + +“Ten!” came a shout. Then, from another quarter, “Fifteen,” followed +by bids of “Twenty” and by five pounds the competition, mostly between +the Bond Street fraternity, rose till three hundred and eighty-five +pounds was bid. + +“Any further bid?” asked the auctioneer. “Three-eighty-five?” + +And he sipped his glass of water in order to allow the competitors +time to reflect. + +“Dirt cheap, gentlemen,” he cried. “You, all of you know its true +value. May I say three-ninety, Mr. Deeping?” he asked, addressing a +well-known dealer, who usually bought for America. + +Mr. Deeping gave a nod in the affirmative. + +“Three-ninety!” shouted Mr. Gray. “Any advance! Four hundred, Mr. +Steen?” he inquired of the head of one of the greatest Bond Street +galleries. + +A nod from the stout, well-dressed man who stood smoking a cigar, and +then Mr. Deeping and Mr. Steen began to bid against each other until, +after a fierce fight which became highly exciting, Mr. Deeping secured +it for five hundred and twenty-three pounds. + +At the moment the hammer dropped sudden shouts were heard, and a great +commotion took place in the back of the crowd, close to the flight of +steps which led to the front door. + +Mr. Gray stood in surprise, angry at the sudden interruption. + +Next second, however, the attention of the crowd was diverted to the +scene of the disturbance, and all turned away from the rostrum to +discover what was the trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. + UNDER THE HAMMER + +Some few minutes elapsed before Mr. Gray, descending from the +platform, furious at such sudden interruption of his business, was +able to gather vaguely from excited persons what had occurred. + +The throng were passing around the steps, so that he, in charge of the +auction, could not get near. + +Of a sudden, an excited man, tall, thin-faced, and wearing a faded +blue rain-coat, a type of low-class dealer seen at every auction all +over the country, rushed up to him, saying: + +“Ain’t it terrible, Mr. Gray?” + +“What’s happened?” asked the auctioneer, who was so well-known and +popular in that riverside district. + +“Why, a poor little chap--a telegraph boy! ’E fell down the steps, and +they say ’e’s dead!” + +“Fell down? What? Stumbled?” + +“They say ’e came ’ere with a wire for somebody named Long, a chap +from Birmingham. Somebody saw Mr. Long go into the ’ouse, and, hearing +the lad shout the name, sent him inside. He found him, and as he went +out to get his bike, which ’e left at the steps, he fell down, and +they say he’s dead!” + +Mr. Gray stood staggered at the story. And well he might, recollecting +his own strange experience, followed by that of Doctor Otway and the +death of Farmer the caretaker. + +The unconscious lad was quickly carried up the steps into the +dining-room by willing hands, and soon a doctor was present. + +“He’s still alive,” the medical man declared. “But he’s suffering from +some violent shock, I think.” + +Meanwhile the police were warned by telephone, and in a car belonging +to a West End dealer the poor lad was hurried away to the Richmond +Hospital. + +Fully half-an-hour elapsed before calm reigned among the crowd of +buyers. + +The incident was discussed by everyone. Some of those present +remembered what had appeared in the papers concerning the long-closed +house and the evil upon it, and began to talk of curses and of the bad +luck which might follow those who bought any of its contents. They +were members of what is known in auction circles as “the knock-out”--a +ring of dealers who were there to rope in all they could get at lowest +prices, by not bidding against each other, one of the most insidious +and dishonest forms of purchasing. + +This reached Mr. Gray’s ears, and when order was at length restored, +by a telephone message from the hospital, which announced that the lad +was simply in an epileptic fit and would recover, he again mounted the +rostrum. + +“Gentlemen!” he cried, striking the table with his mallet, “the +interruption upon our day’s proceedings has been a most unfortunate +occurrence--the more unfortunate because a certain ring of +ill-disposed people have circulated an utterly fantastic story that +upon the contents of these premises there exists an evil influence--a +curse it has been called. This is a further illustration of the low +depths to which our friends of the ‘knock-out’ will descend. I put it +to you, gentlemen, is this not hitting us all, myself included, +beneath the belt? I am open, as the majority of you here are, for a +fair and honest deal. We are all out to make a margin of profit for +ourselves--myself included. The more commission I get, the happier I +shall be!” + +Whereat a great laugh resounded through the garden, and a man’s voice +cried: “Good old Gray! You’re one of us!” + +“I am,” declared the auctioneer, laughing, and putting everyone in a +good temper. “So don’t let us waste any further time, gentlemen. Let’s +get to business.” + +The next lot was a Charles the Second day-bed, cane-bottomed with +spindle legs, in preservation so perfect that it might have been made +but forty years ago. All specimens have the canes damaged or holed, +but in this case it was flawless. + +“Now, gentlemen! How much for this perfect specimen?--a museum piece. +Nobody here has ever set eyes upon any day-bed as fine as this. We’re +not dealing with Curtain Road stuff to-day, gentlemen, but museum +pieces. What shall I say for this magnificent specimen? Two hundred +and fifty guineas?” + +A little, grey-faced old man in the front of the crowd nodded in +assent. He had not bid before, and the crowd of dealers, looking +eagerly at him, saw he was not of them--an amateur, no doubt. + +Another voice instantly cried “Two-sixty!” + +“Two hundred and sixty guineas I am offered for this lot!” cried Mr. +Gray. “Come, gentlemen,” he said in his ordinary voice. “The figure is +ridiculous. Please don’t let us stay here all the afternoon. Three +hundred pounds is offered. Three hundred! Any advance?” + +“Guineas!” said the little old stranger in a high-pitched, squeaky +voice, as he glanced round apprehensively to see if anyone was about +to outbid him. + +“Three fifty pounds!” came good-humoredly from a well-known Kensington +firm of antique dealers. + +“Three-sixty,” added the diminutive old stranger. + +“Seventy,” replied the man from Kensington. + +“Four hundred pounds,” said the little old man quite calmly. + +“Four-ten,” was bid by the other. + +“Fifteen!” exclaimed somebody at the back, whereupon the manager of a +well-known firm in Wigmore Street, perhaps one of the greatest dealers +in first-class antiques, whispered to a friend: + +“Not worth more than that!” + +To which his fellow dealer agreed. + +“Twenty!” exclaimed the old amateur. + +“Four hundred and twenty pounds for this perfect Charles the Second +day-bed!” cried the man with the hammer. “Four-twenty-five! +Four-twenty-five? Now, Mr. Lewis,” he went on, looking at the +Kensington dealer. “Four-twenty-five. A unique piece you must +acknowledge!” + +The dealer from Kensington nodded. + +“Four-twenty-five is offered sir,” exclaimed the auctioneer, fixing +his eyes upon the little old man. + +But the latter shook his head, and when the hammer fell his shiny face +relaxed into a triumphant smile, for he had never had any intention +whatever of buying it, and had simply run up the price out of mere +devilry. + +The auction proceeded, but the old gentleman, who was evidently a +person of discretion and knowledge, elbowed his way into the house and +went upstairs from room to room, examining the contents of each +apartment--which would occupy three days in the selling--with critical +eyes. + +Presently, in descending, he passed for the second time into the long, +old drawing-room where the faint wintry light came through the dingy, +old, glass windows. + +He was alone. For the moment the crowd were all eagerly excited at the +sale below. + +Glancing apprehensively around, he suddenly clenched his hands, and, +raising his face to the ceiling, began to utter some words in +gibberish that was quite unintelligible. “The great mystery,” “the +strife of Lucifer,” “the all-powerful King,” “the Evil which is Ruler +of the Universe,” “the Death God of the Humans!” and such-like +expressions were all that were distinguishable. + +In those few minutes his breath came and went in short, hard gasps as +he lifted his skinny hands and grasped the air in his excitement and +fervor. + +In language which was cryptic and unintelligible he seemed to be +invoking evil upon the place, though no one was present to see him. + +Two women suddenly entered that room in which Mr. Gray had been +attacked upon the reopening of the disused house, when suddenly the +stranger ceased his imprecations, and, pretending to closely examine +one of the pictures, a portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, he strolled +out and down the wide stairs. On returning to the crowd he found a set +of ancient wrought iron fire-dogs being put up, but evinced no +interest in them. For a quarter of an hour he idled about the grounds, +and then left to stroll back to the station. + +As he ambled along, absorbed apparently in his own thoughts, he took +no notice of a tall, rather thickly-built man of middle age who had +been present at the sale, and who, like himself, was on his way to the +station to take the next train back to London. The pair arrived at the +station almost at the same moment and passed the ticket collector one +behind the other. The elder man entered a first-class carriage, but +the other went third, yet on arrival at Waterloo about half-past four, +the younger man watched the other’s movements closely, and, when he +entered a taxi, the other followed him across Waterloo Bridge in +another cab. + +It was a case of cat-and-mouse, for the elder man who had made such a +close bid for the Carolean day-bed was none other than the promenader +at Monte Carlo, in whose movements François Lebeau had been so deeply +interested, while the man who had travelled up to London was Albert +Ashe, the ex-butler of the Countess of Wyndcliffe! + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. + OUR SINISTER WORLD + +Soon after ten o’clock that night Mr. Ashe called at the Grosvenor +Hotel, and, inquiring for Mrs. Wilcox, was at once shown up to Etta’s +sitting-room. + +The handsome woman, in a pale-mauve and silver dinner-frock, was +reclining upon a couch near the fire reading the evening paper. + +“I’ve seen some of the prices fetched at the sale,” were her first +words as her ex-butler entered. + +“Yes, fairly high, eh?” he said. “But how did you get on with Rupert?” + +“Rotten,” she replied, suddenly raising herself and taking a cigarette +from the onyx box beside her. + +“What do you mean?” asked the man, who did not take off his overcoat, +but cast himself into a chair after helping himself to a drink from +the decanter on the sideboard. “Why rotten?” + +“I really can’t tell you, my dear Albert, but I’ve one of my psychic +feelings that all is not running as we expected it. There’s some grit +in the wheels of the machine somewhere.” + +“H’m! You’re nervy! That’s evident! You women are so damned +unreliable, and you rat when it comes to a real pinch,” he growled, +lighting a cigarette which he took from her box. + +“I’m not nervy at all, you fool! Only I have an intuition that things +don’t go as they should, and they won’t.” + +“Funnily enough, as a matter of fact, I’ve the same notion, my dear +girl.” + +Then he told her of the incident of the telegraph boy’s sudden seizure +at the Guest House and the sensation it had caused. + +“The paper says nothing about it.” + +“I suppose a mere boy who has a fit doesn’t matter to the papers. But +there you are--another remarkable and inexplicable circumstance. I’m +getting the wind up, I don’t mind telling you!” + +“What! that you’ll also be stricken down?” laughed Etta, flicking her +cigarette-ash into the fire and glancing up at him with those magnetic +eyes of hers. “You’re a bit of a coward, my dear Albert, after all!” + +“I’m not. But how are we going to put these turtledoves apart? That’s +what I want to know, and that’s what concerns us both,” said the +adventurer who had played so many parts successfully on both sides of +the Atlantic. “If we don’t act very soon, and with a strong and +relentless hand, then the wedding-bells at St. Margaret’s will be +playing a requiem to all our hopes and happy aspirations. Oh, it is +all too fearful for words! What does old Gordon Routh say?” + +“Gordon! He’s a complete wash-out! A fine old sportsman across the +tables, I admit, but a white-livered old fossil when there is anything +really serious doing,” replied the adventuress, with whom so many +men--and girls, too--had had bitter reason to regret acquaintanceship. + +Bearing the name of one of England’s oldest earldoms, she had not so +long ago been a bedecked decoy of the supergang of trans-Atlantic +card-sharpers, blackmailers, and confidence tricksters, and yet only a +year before in London she had presented two girls at Court and held +three big balls at Claridge’s. How strange our everyday world has now +become--our world where honest folk of both sexes are elbowed out by +food profiteers, _escrocs_, and adventuresses. + +Truly our octopus London is increasingly amazing. Its greedy struggle +for Press notoriety at so much a paragraph is astounding, while its +open immorality is fast approaching that of the ancient orgies of +Rome. Yet nobody cares. + +The seasons come and go, “Little” and “High,” in which innocent girls +of all classes, from the highest to the lowest, are ever sacrificed +upon the altar of Mammon--with perhaps a big car thrown in. The +invention of the motor-car introduced a new medium for immorality, for +the young man’s car is usually a bird-cage, while the rich old man +cages his young bird in its beautifully upholstered interior. + +The schemers sat silent, smoking, and looking into the glowing fire. + +It was upon the tip of Ashe’s tongue to mention having seen that +mysterious man of execrations who had given the name of Bettinson. +Being a wise person, he resolved to keep his knowledge to himself. + +From without, in the rainy night came the noise of taxis and throbbing +motor-buses in the station square, that racket and shouting which is +always consequent upon railway arrivals and departures. + +The comfortable Grosvenor, the jumping-off place for the Continent, +patronized by worldly London and the provinces, is a place where, in +the hall, everyone of note meets everyone else of note going to and +fro to the ends of the earth. The square hall, in which laughter is +rife all day and hot tears are shed morning and evening, is the common +meeting-ground for those journeying eastward, whether to Paris, India, +or Japan. + +Ashe glanced at the green marble timepiece and rose. He was uneasy and +did not concentrate. + +“Going so soon?” Etta asked. “Why? I’m alone. Do remain and keep me +company.” + +“No, my dear Etta. I’m awfully sorry, but I have a special +appointment,” replied the man. “When you’ve seen Rupert again let me +know at once. Have you heard from Wyndcliffe?” + +“I had a letter last night from Boston. He’s on some wild-goose +financial scheme, as usual. It seems that somebody named Schendel is +buying up all the candy stores in the States, and wants Wyndcliffe to +be chairman of the company. A big swindle, I expect, like that Stream +Line Motors, of Detroit. Personally, I don’t trust any of those +financial propositions. I like to see cash down on the table,” she +said. + +Then, tapping her cigarette, in its long tortoise-shell holder, she +looked up at him with half-closed, alluring eyes, and laughed. + +“I agree, Etta, dollar bills or treasury notes are far better than +being left by these share-pushers to nurse the baby.” + +“Oh! Let’s discuss the future,” she said impatiently. + +“Well, what about it?” Ashe asked. + +The pretty woman shrugged her shapely shoulders. + +“You haven’t rid yourself of your incubus yet,” he said, regarding +her. + +“Oh, that ass, Rupert! I don’t know really what to do.” + +“You surely do. I’ve told you what to do a hundred times, my dear +girl.” + +“No! Not that!” she cried frantically, with a look of horror on her +face. “Not that!” + +“Well, you want to discuss the future,” the broad-shouldered man went +on. “As far as I can see, we are both completely in the cart with our +assets each hour slipping away from us. Think of to-day’s +sale--thousands of pounds profit which ought to be ours. And they +haven’t yet touched the really good things--tapestries or pictures.” + +“I agree, my dear Albert. It’s all rotten and very disappointing.” + +“You’ve only yourself to blame, Etta. You haven’t yet got rid of +Rupert, and also you’ve let the turtledoves coo too long.” + +The woman stirred uneasily from her couch, and, tearing her +cigarette-end out of its holder, flung it viciously into the fire. + +“Give me a drink,” she said, and obediently he crossed and mixed one, +afterwards watching her as she drank it. + +“We must have money, Albert,” she said, after taking a good gulp of +her brandy-and-soda. + +“Certainly we must,” replied the man. “You’ve never been squeamish in +the old days, eh?” And he laughed lightly. “You’re a really wonderful +woman, Etta, when you put your fine wits to work.” + +“Bah! Don’t flatter me,” she replied in a hard, determined voice. “Let +us both face the music and just discern a way out,” she went on. “If +Sibell died, then all the estate would go to Gordon Routh and----” + +“And old Gordon would chuck it all away at Monte in a single season,” +Ashe interrupted. + +“Agreed. But supposing nothing happened to Sibell--except what might +possibly occur in that accursed old house of hers, and there one never +knows what might take place--and she married Gussie Gretton? What +then?” + +“Easy as melting ice,” laughed Ashe. “Gussie is the biggest rotter I +know, immensely rich, for his father made hundreds of thousands with +his chain of cheap tailors’ shops--reach-me-down, ready-for-service +shoddy suits sold at big profits. His headquarters was a +brilliantly-lit shop in the Whitechapel Road, where he began life in a +back room, a Pole whose name was Grabov. His son, who has washed his +hands of all sartorial dealings, is a wealthy and eligible bachelor, a +member of the Bachelors’ and White’s, with a flat in Park Lane.” + +“I only wish I could see them marry,” exclaimed Etta wholeheartedly. + +“We’d have twenty thousand to divide at the very least. Perhaps more. +I’d try and push up a bit more of course. Gussie is awfully keen on +her, as we both know.” + +“Then let’s make another effort, and try to do it,” said the woman. + +“You can, my dear Etta, but I can’t. Use all your woman’s wits and +your influence to get Otway back to his beloved practice once and for +all. Get old Gordon into our swim, as there’s certainly something for +him out of it, My great, God-fearing aunt! Fancy letting a cool ten +thousand slip through one’s fingers. It’s really criminal!” + +“Quite so. But I want to put a serious question to you, Albert,” said +the woman, rising to her feet and facing him earnestly. “Have you any +idea--or even any suspicion--of the basis of that extraordinary evil +which asserts itself at the Guest House? To what can it be due? Now, +tell me the truth, for we are both afloat on the same tide, and I +admit I’m mystified.” + +“I tell you the honest truth,” replied the man who was her associate. +“I am just as mystified as you are. I can’t see any solution of the +problem. Why should that poor telegraph boy fall down in a fit to-day, +for example? The whole affair is most amazing, astounding, and +uncanny. You see, even Otway was taken ill, yet no woman has ever been +affected! That to me is the most puzzling point in the whole weird +affair.” + +“If women were affected, then perhaps Sibell might--well, feel its +sinister influence,” the woman said after a pause. “The caretaker died +after the incantations of that mysterious old stranger, who is +apparently the unknown evil genius of the place.” + +“I confess that it’s all beyond me,” Ashe declared. “I’m not usually +nervy, as you well know. But I admit that I shouldn’t like to enter +that accursed house. I’m a bit too sinful perhaps”; and he grinned. + +“Nor should I,” laughed Etta grimly, while the man drained his glass +and announced that he really must go. + +“Look here, Etta,” he added, taking up his hat and buttoning his black +evening overcoat. “At all hazards get rid of Rupert. Send him back, +bury him, do whatever you like with him. But while he’s here a danger +exists every moment--the danger of him finding out that you’re +Wyndcliffe’s wife. It isn’t a savory theme, is it?” + +“And you’re going to leave me to face everything, eh?” she cried +suddenly, her eyes flashing. + +“Not at all, my dear girl. I’m going to work at once in our mutual +interests as I’ve always done. You are an English peeress, and I’m +only your abusive butler. Funny, isn’t it? How the people in the +States would laugh if they knew how you and I have pulled the legs of +exclusive London Society, and you at Court too!” And he added: “Well, +good-night, Etta, dear. We’ve always been pals, and we always will +remain so”; and then, suddenly taking her slim, white hand, he bent +over it with a studied courtesy and kissed it. + +“Good-night, Mrs. Wilcox,” he said, laughing. “But do get a move on +and in the direction we are agreed. Get the lovers back and play chess +with them--as you’ve done before”; and he went out. + + +Otway and Sibell had delayed their return to London for a week, for he +had arranged with his locumtenens to carry on until the date of his +arrival back at Golder’s Green. To both it was a great disappointment +that Lord Wyndcliffe’s beautiful villa was not to be reopened that +season. On several occasions they had been up to it, and had taken tea +upon the great, broad terrace, with its climbing flowers and gorgeous +views of the green Estrelles and the ever-changing Mediterranean, +sometimes sapphire-colored, sometimes grey, or at other times the deep +color of lapis lazuli. The two old French servants, husband and wife, +had served them with tea, and in the gardens they had picked the +orange-blossoms--emblem of marriage--and the violets, daffodils, and +yellow mimosa to carry back to the hotel. Life for them was certainly +one of exquisite bliss, their hearts beating ever in unison, and their +own little world confined to their own whims and pleasures of the +moment. + +One day, having been over to the Municipal Casino at Nice to an +afternoon dance, Sibell, on her return in the evening, suddenly +discovered that she had lost a little chain-bracelet set with +turquoises, a birthday present from her mother in her school-days. + +Next morning Brinsley left to go back to Nice to try and recover it +from the lost-property office at the Casino; when, on descending into +the lounge, Sibell met a girl she instantly recognised, Marigold +Ibbetson, one of her old schoolfellows at Cheltenham College, whom she +had not seen for three years. + +Their meeting was cordial, and they took their _petit déjeuner_ +together. + +“I’ve been here over a week,” laughed the auburn-haired, rather +good-looking girl. “Auntie is not very well to-day, and she’s not +coming down till luncheon. I thought it was you, but only last night I +asked the concierge your name, and he told me. Well, and how has the +world been treating you, old girl?” + +“Oh, not so badly. I’ve been travelling a lot,” Sibell replied. “My +aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, who has a villa here, was to meet me, but she +hasn’t turned up--gone to America instead.” + +“Meet you, eh?” laughed the slim, well-dressed girl. “You mean both of +you--you and your fiancé?” + +“How did you know?” inquired the girl quickly. + +They had just left the hotel and were out in the flower-garden. + +“Because I’ve watched you, and it is obvious. I congratulate you, +Sibell. Who is he?” + +Her friend told her, speaking enthusiastically as may be well +imagined. And as they walked down the gravelled drive to the road, +they were joined by a tall, long-limbed, plain girl, to whom Sibell +was introduced. Her name was Moyna Lascelles, who had been at +Cheltenham after Sibell had left. + +As they took a pleasant stroll along the Croisette together, Moyna +suddenly turned to Sibell and congratulated her upon her engagement to +Brinsley Otway. + +“As a matter of fact, I know Brinsley quite well,” the girl said. +“When he was at the Hospital School he was an intimate friend of my +brother Fred, and very often he spent week-ends with us at Thames +Ditton. But please don’t say a word, because of a very tragic +circumstance. Promise me you won’t, eh?” + +“Yes, I’ll promise of course,” Sibell said. + +“Well, one evening he took out to a dance at a riverside hotel a girl +named Peterson, who lived opposite in a house-boat with her parents, +who were music-hall artistes. On the way back the boat capsized, and +the poor girl was drowned. He swam to save her, but the current proved +too strong, and he narrowly escaped with his own life.” + +“He has never told me that,” Sibell said. + +“Perhaps not,” laughed the girl. “That’s why Brinsley is such a good +fellow. My pal Jack Cranston, the cross-channel air-pilot, who is here +with my mother, is his friend, and he tells me what a fine fellow he +is. I hear he’s a good dancer too.” + +Sibell only smiled at hearing such laudation of her fiancé. It +comforted and gratified her, as it certainly would any girl whose +lover was her ideal. And what girl of any class exists who has no +ideal of a gallant and strong lover who will hold her in his arms and +fight for her until death? + +Men may be deceivers ever, but a woman’s heart, once won, is the great +and incomparable gem which crowns human life, true and unbending in +adversity or prosperity until the parting by death. + +Alas! that men are so egotistical, so self-confident, that they so +frequently leave women to weep over the burden of their overbearance, +and their illogical misunderstanding of woman’s heart. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. + UNKNOWN! + +Brinsley Otway had for a week or two had his eyes upon a beautiful +square-cut diamond and emerald ring in platinum--a single diamond, set +with a very fine, well-matched emerald on either side--which was shown +in the window of that expensive jeweller’s in the Galerie Charles X at +Monte Carlo. It had been sold by one of the Hapsburg princesses, who +had, like many, been temporarily embarrassed at the tables, so the +jeweller said, and, after considerable bargaining, Brinsley bought it, +and on his return, presented it to his fiancée. + +It fitted perfectly on her finger, and she was beside herself with +delight, and kissed him fondly, time after time, for his beautiful +present, intended as a birthday gift, for her anniversary would be in +about a week’s time. + +Next day turned out grey and damp, with a slight drizzle, one of the +days all know on the Riviera. Otway went out for exercise about eleven +o’clock, leaving Sibell to write letters, when suddenly he encountered +the tall, thin-faced air-pilot Jack Cranston, whom he knew during the +war, at the ill-fated aerodrome at Dunkirk. + +“Hulloa, Otway,” he cried merrily. “Fancy! After all this time! Only +yesterday I heard you were here through my friend Miss Ibbetson.” + +“Really!” replied Brinsley. “She is an old schoolfellow of my fiancée +whom you know, I think. They were at Cheltenham College together.” + +“Marigold is a great friend of Moyna Lascelles. I’m staying here with +her mother, who is a distant relation of mine. She has a villa out on +the road to Nice.” + +Then, as they walked together towards the Casino, Cranston suddenly +turned, and said: + +“Look here, Brinsley, excuse me for asking the question, but is it +true that you’re engaged to Sibell Dare?” + +“Of course I am,” replied the other in considerable surprise at his +tone of voice. “I thought everybody knew that!” + +“Oh, I see,” exclaimed the other. “But of course I mean no offence. +Understand that!” + +“Why should I take offence?” asked the young doctor, facing him +inquiringly. + +“Nothing, my dear old fellow, nothing. I’m sorry I mentioned it, +that’s all. Forgive me, I’m a fool.” + +“Why should you regret? I thought everyone knew it. The announcement +was in the papers weeks ago.” + +“I’ve been abroad for months, my dear old chap, so I haven’t seen it,” +replied his friend quite honestly. + +“Come over into the bar yonder”; and Brinsley indicated the Casino. +“Let’s have a drink and talk it over,” he suggested. + +“I’d really rather not, old man,” was the other’s reply. “What I may +say might only give you pain. And, further, it’s really none of my +business what girl you marry, is it, now?” + +“Well, I should think not, all things considered.” + +“Then why should we discuss the matter? Let’s talk of something else. +Do!” + +“No, we won’t, Cranston,” said Otway insistently. “You’ll just come in +and have a drink with me and tell me what’s at the back of your mind. +Now is it about that infernal house of old Henry the Eighth’s time at +Hampton Court that people are discussing?” + +The keen-faced cross-channel pilot laughed heartily. + +“Oh, my dear Brinsley, of course not. You surely don’t believe in +curses, do you? I don’t.” + +“No. Who does? There seems, however, to have been a lot of uncanny +happenings there,” his friend replied. “I myself had a very curious +attack after spending some hours in the old place. Indeed, I nearly +lost my life over it.” + +And then he went on to explain the mysterious circumstances which +occurred after his visit to the Guest House to inspect those old books +in the long-shut-up library. + +At last Cranston, induced by Otway, went through the spacious hall of +the Casino, and entered the bar, where they both sat at a little table +in the corner to smoke and gossip. The usual crowd of Riviera idlers +of all ages who assemble each morning were already there, but amid the +chatter, laughter, and discussions over the previous night’s play in +the Rooms their conversation could not be overheard. + +“Now, tell me frankly, my dear Jack,” said Otway at last, leaning both +elbows upon the little table and looking straight into his friend’s +eyes. “Why are you so devilish mysterious about Sibell?” + +“I’m not mysterious, my dear old chap--not at all,” declared the +other. “I’m not going to interfere in the least in anything that +doesn’t concern me. Forgive me, won’t you?” + +“It isn’t the point of interference. Are we not friends, you and I?” + +“I--well, I think so.” + +“Then why don’t you speak out to me as a friend, as man to man? What +are you concealing?” + +“Nothing,” was the other’s reply. + +“You swear that!” cried Otway, half rising, his face strong and +intent. + +Cranston wavered for only a second, and then excused himself, saying: + +“Really, I didn’t come in here to be subjected to any inquisition! I +must refuse.” + +“My dear Cranston, I’m no inquisitor--only your good friend. Yet I +demand to know why you are so reticent about Sibell. I noticed that +curl of your lip, that glance of sarcasm when you mentioned her name. +Now, if you are a real pal, as you pretend to be, out with it! What do +you know? If you are not a pal--a false friend--then remain silent. +And that’s the end.” + +The pair sat facing each other for a full minute. Cranston felt +himself cornered, as indeed he was. + +“Well, Otway,” he said at last, speaking very slowly, “I really don’t +know how to reply to you. I only know that to-day you are one of the +happiest men in all the world--a charming girl, who is to be your +wife, with so much money that you will never want to work another +single day in all your life. Would not a million men like to be in +your shoes?” + +“Yes, I suppose they would,” replied his friend. + +“I run lots of engaged couples and honeymooners over from Croydon to +Le Bourget almost daily and I see a lot--I can assure you. We pilots +see funny things very often, for our passengers are closely associated +with us, especially if there’s any element of danger over the sea. +Girls get the wind up terribly sometimes, and I’ve seen brave men turn +pale when things are not going quite to my liking.” + +“But how does that concern me?” asked Otway. “You seem somehow to be +warning me! Tell me if you are, now, straight out.” + +For a few moments Jack Cranston remained silent. Then, fixing his +keen, hawk-like blue eyes upon his friend, he said: + +“Yes. I’ll speak frankly and damn the consequences, Brinsley. I am +warning you!” + +“Of what?” the other gasped, staring at him. + +“Of the girl you are about to marry. You’re trusting her far too +implicitly.” + +“What the devil do you mean?” asked the lover, rising quickly in +fierce resentment. “Say that again!” + +“I repeat it,” the air-pilot answered quite calmly. + +“What do you say against Sibell, eh?” + +“Merely that she’s not quite so true to you as she pretends, that’s +all! I’m sorry to utter those words, Brinsley, but you’ve forced me to +do so.” + +“Then you mean that she’s playing me false?” he said in a hard, hoarse +voice. + +“That’s my meaning. But I regret if my words hurt you. I know they do, +old chap. But I leave you to discover the truth. That’s all.” + +“It’s a damned lie!” cried Otway, striking the table with his fist and +causing the others in the bar to look round. + +“That is for you alone to discover, my dear Brinsley,” exclaimed his +friend, still calmly. “If it is a lie then everyone believes it. +That’s why they pity you, good, honest pal that you are, they pity you +that you should be made sport of by that girl and her suave gentleman +friend.” + +“Who is the man?” demanded Otway fiercely. “Give me his name!” + +“Are you really certain that you want it? Would it not be far the best +way for you to set watch, and to discover for yourself? Believe me, my +dear old Otway, that’s by far the best course. If I told you, then you +would only say that I’m his enemy, or that I am prejudiced.” + +“But I demand his name!” cried the unhappy lover vehemently. + +Again a silence fell between them. + +“Ask others. They will tell you. I refuse to say more,” said the +airman. + +“By God! I’ll drag the name out of you,” cried the distracted man in +fury. + +“No heroics, my dear fellow. Remain calm, and just watch. That’s my +advice!” responded the keen-faced man, who on more than one occasion +had lain in a shallow dug-out with yellow water trickling in, and +braved the daily bombings of the Huns upon Dunkirk, those days when +the German airmen absolutely wiped our stores and our planes out of +existence. + +“But can’t you give me any clue? For God’s sake, Cranston--at least do +that!” + +“I’d tell you his name, but surely you realize how painful it would be +for me; how unfair it would be to give away a friend--just as you +are.” + +“Is he a man whom she has lately met--or one she has known a long +time? Tell me that,” he asked in all eagerness, as may well be +imagined. At one blow, all the poor fellow’s illusions as to Sibell’s +all-absorbing love had been converted into a dark cloud of suspicion. +And yet, he now asked himself the real reason--as well he might. + +“I really can’t answer that question. I’m sorry,” was Cranston’s +reply. “Just watch--that’s all I suggest.” + +“Then you refuse to reveal the scoundrel’s name? He’s a friend of +yours. That you admit, eh?” + +“Not much of a friend, really. Only that I have once met him. My +standpoint is that I refuse to be regarded as one who has any axe to +grind, Otway. I simply tell you what I know, what many people gossip +about, and suggest that you make independent inquiries for your own +satisfaction. That’s all”; and he rose from the table, adding: “I’m +going. I would never have said all these painful things had I not been +really forced to do so.” + +“And even now you refuse to give me the slightest hint as to this +secret rival of mine!” cried Otway in fury. + +“I have already explained the reason. Investigate for yourself +and--well, forget that we met this morning. I’m leaving for Paris by +the _rapide_ at three-thirty, for I’m on duty again at the aerodrome +to cross in the morning. Why don’t you come for a flip over with me +one day?” + +“I may when all this is cleared up, Cranston,” he replied. “But I tell +you now frankly that I don’t believe it!” + +The aviator shrugged his shoulders, and replied: + +“I expected so. That’s exactly why I refuse to mention the name.” + +And together they walked outside in silence, when, with estrangement, +they parted. + +On his way back to the Beau Site, passing the gay home-going +tennis-playing crowd, Brinsley Otway walked with his eyes upon the +ground, deep in thought. The seeds of deep suspicion had been sown, +but, man-of-the-world that he was, he tried to steel himself not to +believe them. + +In any case his war-time friend had not substantiated anything. He had +spoken through his hat, as it were, he reflected. Yet, why? What +ulterior motive could Cranston have to warn him that Sibell was +playing him false? + +For a full hour he walked along the Croisette, and to ease his mind +and pass the time, he went into a little café and called for an +_apéritif_ in order to think it all over. + +He reflected upon the past. His first chance meeting with Sibell, who +had come so entirely and wholeheartedly into his life to console and +become his other self--a woman who, in her ideals, in her aspirations, +in her religious beliefs, and in her quality of soul, he found to be +heights above any other girl he had ever met--his own affinity. + +Yet, when poison of the mind is sown, it sweeps into an +ever-increasing flood, to raise a tide that will overwhelm even the +level-headed, and to swirl against the rocks of truth. + +And where can one find truth, save in the bottom of the deepest well? + +The man or woman who dares to tell the truth to-day deserves a statue +as an heroic example. The ever-ready lie is to be found in every +household, be it the cottage or the castle, whether at Sydenham or +Sydney, Mayfair or Manitoba, and I leave the reader to complete the +geographical survey. + +If the woman of Mayfair is “peevy” and yet religious, she tells her +butler that she is “not at home.” And that deliberate lie goes down +through all the classes, even to the grey-haired wives of Church of +England country parsons themselves. + +And yet, is not the lie forbidden to the Christian? And if lies are +told daily, even by those chosen to administer in religion, why should +anyone hold the lie in abhorrence? We are a wonderful people. The +village parson, with his tea upon his knees, will say in his best +Oxford drawl: + +“Oh, I’m sorry. But I never eat cakes!” And only because the cakes in +question are underdone and hence do not appeal to his digestion. + +A man who is now a Bishop of the Church of England once, in his early +days, before his election to the House of Lords, was open enough to +wire to his would-be hostess, a well-known peeress: + + + “Regret quite impossible. Lie follows by post.” + + +In such a mood, thinking out all the past, and contemplating the +future, Brinsley re-entered the gay hotel, and, finding Sibell +chatting in the lounge with her old school-friend Marigold, to whom +she introduced him, he sat down beside them and ordered three +cocktails. + +As a real man-of-the-world, and a true lover, he tried to crush down +those fierce feelings which had arisen within him in consequence of +his friend’s warning, while Sibell, glancing at him, thought that her +ideal lover had never appeared to be so charming. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV. + THE DOWNWARD STEP + +The Myrtles at Cookham was, after all, a dull, damp place in March, +with the mists hanging all day over the Thames, the trees leafless, +the garden pretty in summer of course, but leaf-strewn, with rough +lawn and weedy paths, in winter. After the gaiety of Cannes it was to +Sibell terribly depressing. + +With her Aunt Etta supposed to be away in America with her husband, +and Brinsley back at his practice in Golder’s Green, she led a life of +daily boredom, listening to old Gordon Routh’s many complaints, as to +both depleted finance and his failing health. + +Worn-out gamester that he was, he sat every evening over the wood-fire +in the cottage sitting-room asking questions about the Rooms at Monte, +the play, and the nightly sensation of high stakes and great losses, +for the Administration of the Society of Sea-baths always take their +lion’s share. + +“Yes,” he said one stormy evening while the wind howled round the old +house, and the rain beat heavily about the windows, “Monte Carlo can’t +be the same as when Prince Albert ruled it. Nowadays Monaco has fallen +into the hands of the big speculators. First Zaharoff and his friends, +and now speculating friends of theirs. No! It can’t be the same. The +rich Russians who lived on the Promenade des Anglais at Nice, and who +were the real players, are no longer there. They get no big coups as I +knew them in the ’nineties, when Saturday nights were nights indeed.” + +“You had your fling there, according to all accounts!” the girl +laughed, looking up from the evening paper, warming her shapely feet +upon the fender. + +“I did. Then I got something for my money, in any case. To-day they +seem in the public rooms to play what, in the old days, we might class +as shove-ha’penny in any of our village pubs. Of course, I suppose +stakes run a bit higher in the Cercle Privé!” + +“They do,” said the girl, and for the next half-hour she described to +him the Monte Carlo as it is to-day. + +Every evening it was the same terrible boredom. By day the girl took +long tramps alone over those wet, dismal roads up and down the +lonesome hills, or else sat and wrote long letters to Brinsley. Then +at evening she sat over the fire to gossip with the old hunchback, who +always deplored his own bad luck at _trente-et-quarante_. + +So bored did she become that one day, with old Routh’s permission, she +wrote to Moyna Lascelles, who lived near Birmingham, to come and spend +the week-end with her. + +Since that day at Cannes the two girls had become firm friends, and +since Sibell’s return, they had met twice in town and lunched +together. So, in order to further cement their friendship, Sibell sent +the invitation, which was at once accepted, old Gordon Routh +expressing delight that Sibell should have found such a congenial +companion. + +The Guest House had meanwhile been cleared of its contents, and the +decorators were hard at work cleaning, repainting, and papering the +interior, planing and polishing the oaken floors, putting in fittings +for electric cooking and light, new baths, central heating, and every +modern labor-saving contrivance; while outside, the builders were at +work removing the overgrowth of ivy from the red bricks, which they +scraped and repointed. They reconditioned both lead-work and tiles on +the roof, and the woodwork of window-sashes and doors. + +Ten thousand pounds had already been placed to Sibell’s credit at the +bank by the lawyers, therefore all went merrily, and, thanks to the +girl’s generosity, old Gordon Routh found himself free from household +expenses and certain little debts he had contracted in that pretty +riparian village. + +Brinsley’s habit was to ring her up each night at nine o’clock, after +he came in from his heavy day’s work, before he sat down to his lonely +evening meal. One night the bell went at half-past seven, just as they +were sitting down to dinner. + +Sibell rushed to the ’phone, only to hear bad news. Brinsley’s widowed +mother, who lived outside Carlisle, had been taken suddenly ill, and +he had been telegraphed for. + +“I’ve managed to arrange for my absence with a chap I know named +Lancaster, who is coming here to-night,” he said. “He was with me at +the hospital, and it’s awfully fortunate that I could get hold of him. +So I’m leaving Euston late to-night, darling. I’ll let you know by +wire to-morrow.” + +“But, my darling Brin, how sudden! I expected you would meet Moyna +with me at the Trocadero for lunch to-morrow. We’re both horribly +disappointed. But, of course, I realize how very worried you must be, +dearest. I do hope you’ll find your mother better. Wire me in the +morning, won’t you?” + +“Of course, darling. I’m so sorry I cannot lunch with you, for I, too, +was so looking forward to seeing you. But there you are! It can’t be +helped,” he said. + +And then, after some comforting words, her fiancé wished her +good-night, and the conversation ended. + +On returning to the little dining-room, she related what Otway had +told her, but, in her ignorance, she never realized the strange look +which overspread Moyna’s countenance. + +“How very unfortunate!” she exclaimed. “We’ll postpone our trip to +town till he’s back.” + +And in that way the question was settled. + +“What a glorious ring yours is!” remarked Moyna, when the two girls +were seated beside the fire after dinner. “By Jove! it must have cost +an awful lot,” she added, taking her friend’s hand and admiring it. “I +wish I had one like it!” + +“I expect it cost a good sum,” Sibell replied. “It’s a real good +birthday gift, isn’t it?” + +At breakfast next morning old Gordon Routh received a business letter +which necessitated his presence for a couple of days in London, and at +his suggestion, the two girls accompanied him, arriving at the Hotel +Cecil just after tea. + +Gordon Routh’s habit had been to stay there through many years; +indeed, ever since that colossal hotel on the Embankment had been +opened. Routh took his own favorite room on the fourth floor, while +the girls had two rooms on the floor beneath. + +After taking tea together in the great palm court, the old man rose, +expressing regret that he would have to leave for his appointment. + +“I don’t expect I’ll see you again to-night, girls, for no doubt I’ll +be late. I’m not dressing for dinner. You’ll be able to amuse +yourselves--go to a cinema or something, eh?” + +And then he left them seated to watch the dancing. + +“What shall we do?” asked Sibell of her friend. “How about a theatre? +We can dine as early as we like, and so on. What would you like to +see?” + +After some discussion, they decided to go to the Haymarket, and Sibell +obtained tickets at the box-office agency in the hotel. Afterwards +they went upstairs, dressed leisurely, and about seven o’clock +descended to the great grill-room for dinner. Sibell looked extremely +charming--as, indeed, she always did--in a dainty frock of one of the +new shades of green which she had had made for Gurnigel, while her +rather saucy-faced girl friend was in black. + +At table their conversation turned upon women’s charm. Sibell declared +that, while the cult of beauty through the media of face-powders, +lip-sticks, and massage has attracted notice, the effect of emotions +and temperament as a connecting-link in its development had been +entirely overlooked. + +They were sitting at one of the side-tables in the long windows which +by day overlook the busy Embankment and the Thames, but, now that the +blinds were drawn, the spot was warm and cozy, being out of the +hearing of the many other diners. + +“I agree with you, my dear, to a certain extent,” replied her +new-found friend. “Of course the first asset of good looks is good +health. I’ve a pretty fair constitution, but I certainly haven’t any +good looks. So I can’t help it”; and she laughed. + +“But don’t you think that everyone’s character is reflected in one’s +face, both in men and women?” Sibell asked. “However good a face may +be in form or feature, it is chiefly the expression of it that +attracts or repels. One’s face is surely the mirror of one’s mind, +hence no beautiful character can be ugly in expression.” + +“And yet one must not forget that old adage that beauty is but skin +deep,” Moyna remarked, as she finished her filleted sole and raised +her glass of Chablis. + +“I hardly agree with that,” Sibell declared. “Gloomy faces always +reflect gloomy minds, and disappointment shows its indelible mark in +our wrinkles, which are an indication of a despondent outlook.” + +“You seem uncommonly philosophical to-night,” laughed her friend, +toying with her glass. + +“Well, perhaps I am. Only I’ve been thinking over it all to-day.” + +“Depressed because Brinsley is not with us, eh, Sibell?” + +“Not exactly. I’m only thinking that fear, grief, and worry are +depressing and must impair the digestion and deplete the vitality.” + +“Well, my dear, you’ve nothing to worry about, lucky girl that you +are!” exclaimed the other. “Your happy outlook should help all your +mental and physical ills. For indeed joy is the greatest tonic and +beautifier, and you should surely have enough of it--with a big +fortune at your disposal and a handsome lover into the bargain!” + +Scarcely had she uttered those words, than both girls, at the same +moment, became conscious of a tall man in evening dress standing +smiling before them. + +“Well, Sibell!” he exclaimed cheerily. “I can hardly believe my eyes! +Is it really you?” + +The girl addressed looked up in surprise, and instantly recognized the +broad-shouldered, good-humored man who held out his hand so frankly. + +“How are you?” she asked in amazement, taking his proffered hand. + +“Quite all right, my dear Sibell. I was sitting over yonder, and +chanced to see you here. I thought you were on the Riviera with your +aunt.” + +“I’ve been there, but, as you see, I’m back again.” Then, glancing +towards her companion, she asked: “May I introduce you to an old +friend of mine, Mr. Gretton?” + +The girl smiled as the man bowed, and then he asked if he might have a +chair at their table, adding: “I’ve finished, and I’m just off. What +are you doing?” + +“Going to the Haymarket,” Sibell replied. + +“I’m at a loose end. Can’t I come with you?” he asked. “As a matter of +fact, I’m staying here.” + +“So are we,” said Moyna. “I’ve never been here before, but it seems to +be Mr. Routh’s pet haunt.” + +“I’m often here,” he laughed. “I’ve let my rooms in St. James’s +because I’ve been across to New York on business, so I’m pushed out +here till next week-end.” + +“Auntie is over in America. Lord Wyndcliffe is ill, and she’s joined +him,” Sibell said. + +“So you’re back at Cookham again, I suppose,” laughed the middle-aged, +rather good-looking man, who was so well known about town as an +eligible bachelor. “I saw your aunt at Lady Deepdene’s a few weeks +ago, but she told me nothing about Wyndcliffe’s illness.” + +“You really don’t want to go to the Haymarket, do you?” asked Sibell, +wishing in her heart to get rid of him. + +“I do. Really I do! I’ve wanted to see the piece. If I may come, I’ll +be delighted. I’ll run up and get a seat before it’s too late.” + +Then, hardly ere the girl had given her permission, he was on his +feet, striding out of the restaurant. + +“An awfully nice man!” Moyna remarked. + +“Yes,” replied Sibell. “But he’s a bit of an ass--one of those who +think that every woman is in love with him.” + +“H’m. That’s the conclusion I’ve already formed. But, after all, he’ll +be company for us to-night, won’t he?” + +And she produced her long tortoise-shell cigarette-tube and began to +smoke. + +Gussie Gretton soon returned, his face wreathed in smiles. He had +secured a stall in the same row as theirs, and, after he had given +them coffee and liqueurs in the lounge, he took them in a taxi to the +theatre. He was, of course, compelled to sit apart from them, but when +he rejoined them at the fall of the curtain, he suggested: + +“Now what about a spot of supper and a dance, Sibell? That is, of +course, if you don’t think Otway would object. I’ve never met him, but +I hear he’s a real good sort.” + +The girls looked at each other in indecision, which he saw at once. + +“Come to the Florida. It’s always cheery there. There’s a glass floor, +and good food. Come along, girls.” + +“Shall we?” asked Moyna. “I’d love it! Do come, Sibell.” + +And so, having got their wraps, they drove round to Bruton Mews to +taste the delights of one of the most exclusive dance clubs in London. + +Gussie Gretton, being one of the club’s chief supporters, was at once +received by a dapper little _sous-maître d’hôtel_, who was none +other than Giovanni Savini, the friend of Albert Ashe. He piloted the +trio to a cozy walled-off corner, where a table was set for four, with +softly shaded lights, spotless napery, and a big central bowl of +Emperor daffodils. + +Already a few couples were dancing upon the glass floor to one of the +best orchestras in London. + +The evergreen and dandified Gussie, having nodded acquaintance with a +bald-headed old earl who was supping with one of the principal and +most daring dancers in a Parisian revue, at once ordered cocktails, +and then examined the menu with the eye of the gourmet. + +He ordered a delicious little meal with the inner knowledge of one +well versed in London life, a meal which he knew would well suit the +palates of his two charming guests. And hardly had he ordered it than +he invited Sibell to dance. + +She could scarcely refuse, because they were old friends. Gussie was +one of her Aunt Etta’s pets, who went to and fro at her bidding. Yet, +be it said, he had never known of her trans-Atlantic past, nor did +Sibell, innocent girl that she was. + +Her only thought that night was of her lover Brinsley and his terrible +worry beside his mother’s bed. She had waited, but heard nothing from +him, yet she still hoped that on her return to the Cecil she would +receive a wire. + +All three ate a merry supper together. Gussie was in his best form, +telling them risqué stories of scandals in London Society and of the +world of New York from which he had just returned. + +“But, I say, Sibell,” he said suddenly, “what is that all concerning +the house that you and Otway are to be doomed to live in? There’s been +an awful lot about it in the papers.” And he placed another strong +cocktail before her. + +“I know nothing except what I hear. As far as I can ascertain, it +seems to be all bunkum!” was her honest reply. + +“Of course it is, my dear Sibell!” he laughed, raising his glass to +her. “Here’s the best of luck to you.” + +Clean-living and abstemious girl that she was, the cocktails she had +taken were sadly muddling her, though she did not realize it. +Insidious drinks did not affect Moyna, for she was used to them, but +in the ordinary way a single glass of port always caused Sibell’s head +to reel. + +Suddenly, just as he had invited her to dance a foxtrot, he +ejaculated: + +“Oh, what a lovely ring you have there! A present from Otway, I’ll +wager, eh? Do let me see it! I love gems--and especially emeralds. Do +take it off.” + +She did as he suggested, and under the shaded light he ran it to and +fro before his eyes, admiring its multicolored flashes, for the three +gems were certainly perfect specimens. + +“I’d love to examine it again after the dance. May I?” he asked. “I’m +mad on emeralds, as you know,” and, so saying, he slipped the ring +into his waistcoat pocket and they both passed out upon the glass +floor to dance, Sibell’s brain being awhirl because of the potent +cocktails. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI. + BEFORE THE DAWN + +Gretton and Sibell returned to their table, whereon Moyna was +leaning her shapely bare arms and smoking through her long +cigarette-tube, watching them lazily. + +Sibell, unsteady in movement, her brain muddled by the insidious +drinks to which she was unused, sank upon the red silken settee and +sighed deeply. + +“I feel horribly tired,” she murmured, passing her hand wearily across +her white brow and disarranging her evenly cut fringe of fair hair +that so well became her. + +“It’s awfully close in this place,” Moyna declared sympathetically. “I +can’t think why it is that at any dance club they seem to be afraid of +a little ventilation--not draughts, but a little fresh air.” + +“I’m so very sorry, Sibell,” declared the tall, well-groomed man, +bending over the girl whom he so greatly admired, and had hoped, +before the unwelcome advent of young Brinsley Otway, to make his wife. +“I’m afraid--I ought not to have asked you to dance. Do forgive me, +Sibell, won’t you?” he asked, deeply penitent. + +“Of course,” replied the girl, whose head was swimming. “It was not +your fault. I’m--well, I’m a little giddy, that’s all. Give Moyna a +dance, will you? I’ll sit quiet.” + +Thus invited, her friend asked: + +“You are quite sure you’re all right, dear? If not, we’ll go back to +the hotel at once.” + +“Quite. I’ll feel better if I remain here.” + +So the pair crossed to the floor and began to Charleston. + +“She looks rather bad,” Gretton murmured into his partner’s ear. + +“Yes. We’d better take her home soon, I think. She’s not used, it +seems, to hectic nights”; and she smiled. + +Meanwhile to Sibell it seemed as though the dancers were floating +around her, while the music sounded harsh and discordant, far away. +She was twisting her bracelet around her wrist nervously and staring +straight before her. Both Gretton and his dancing-partner at once +realized that she was not herself. + +“I feel very faint,” she replied, when Moyna asked how she was. + +“Then we’d better get back. Don’t you think so, Mr. Gretton?” the girl +asked anxiously. “Don’t come with us. We can easily go back in a taxi. +It’s awfully good of you to have given both of us such a jolly nice +time. I’m only anxious for Sibell’s health. I’ve been like this myself +more than once. It’s nerves, of course.” + +“No doubt,” said the man, taking up the cigarette he had left in the +tray and which was still alight. “But, of course, I’ll see you back to +the hotel.” + +“You won’t,” declared the girl vehemently. “I won’t allow you to spoil +your evening. You’ve lots of friends here. I can take her home quite +well, so just see us to the ladies’ room--that’s all.” + +“My dear Miss Lascelles, do you really think that I would allow you to +take Sibell back?” he protested. Then, with a smile, he added, “Sibell +and I are very old friends, and I would not dream of allowing you two +to go alone.” + +And he called the obsequious waiter, to whom he hurriedly handed a +five-pound note, to pay the supper-bill. + +As he was assisting Sibell into a taxi, the change was thrust into his +hand by the alert little Italian, who received a ten-shilling note as +his _pourboire_, and next moment the three were on their way back to +the Hotel Cecil. + +On arrival Gretton accompanied them to the lift, saying: + +“I hope you’ll be all right in the morning, my dear Sibell. It is most +unfortunate, isn’t it?” Then, turning to Moyna, he added, “If you want +anything in the night, just call me. I’m in No. 231.” + +“Righto! and lots of thanks,” replied the girl, shaking his hand, +while Sibell, her brain still awhirl, sat in the lift and then managed +to walk along the corridor to her room, even though a trifle +unsteadily. Those ingeniously concocted cocktails, which are mixed in +all the dance clubs, had done their work, and she only had a most hazy +idea of what had occurred since her return to the table after dancing. + +“Oh, my dear!” she gasped, as she sank upon her bed. “I--I feel most +awfully ill. I--I really don’t know what is the matter with me. I came +over horribly queer suddenly after that last drink which Gussie +pressed me to have. Did you have one?” + +“Of course I did. But I’m quite all right. So why should you be so +queer?” + +“I--I really don’t know, dear,” replied the girl, looking around the +room blankly with wild, startled eyes. “I was a silly fool. I ought +never to have allowed him to take us there. I’m sure Brin would have +strongly objected.” + +“Well, he doesn’t know, and he need never know, my dear old +girl--unless you tell him.” + +Then, as Moyna was helping the girl to undress, she went to the +toilet-table, and saw a telegram lying upon the white cloth. + +“Why, here’s a wire for you! Fancy, we’ve never noticed it before!” + +And she handed it to Sibell, who tore it open with nervous fingers. + +“Brin will be back in London at half-past seven to-morrow morning!” +she said. “He has got word from Cookham that we are here for the +night. So he’ll call on us for early breakfast. Won’t it be fun?” + +“Yes. But of course you’ll say nothing about meeting Gussie Gretton?” + +“No. Of course not. It would only worry the dear old thing. And surely +he has lots of worry already. I’ll go to bed.” + +And, while Moyna waited, she undressed, washed, put on a dainty +boudoir cap, and made her toilette for the night, assuming a pretty +nightie of pale-mauve crêpe-de-Chine. + +She was already comfortably snuggled up in bed, and her friend had +kissed her good night, when suddenly Moyna, glancing at her hand, +exclaimed: + +“Why, where’s your beautiful ring?” + +Sibell started up in bed, staring aghast. + +“Why, Gussie has got it! He wanted to have another look at it, and has +forgotten to give it back to me.” + +“That’s awkward! Brinsley, when he meets you at breakfast, will surely +notice that it isn’t on your hand,” Moyna said. “You’ll have to get it +back--and to-night. You must, my dear!” + +The girl, sitting up in her bed, gazed around her, her blue eyes +terror-stricken at her friend’s words. In an instant she was out of +bed. + +“I--I must! Of course I must! Brin’s birthday-present to me! Oh!” And +she gasped, clutching her throat for air. “Oh, what a fool I was to +let Gussie have it! How absurd of him to keep it! What can I possibly +do?” + +Then, glancing at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she said: + +“Look! It’s late--past two o’clock! Where is he? How can I get it from +him?” she asked distractedly and half-dazed. + +“He gave us the number of his room--231. Don’t you remember? It’s on +the second floor, evidently.” + +“But Mr. Routh! He’s home by this time, no doubt. He could go and get +it,” Sibell suggested, standing beside the toilet-table and staring +vacantly into the mirror. + +“For heaven’s sake, no! The old man might blurt it out in fun, and +Brinsley might know that Mr. Gretton is here. Don’t be a fool! Put on +your dressing-gown, and go down to Mr. Gretton’s room and get your +ring. There’s nobody about, and, besides, he’s forgotten all about it, +no doubt, and will hand it out to you!” + +“Are you quite sure there’s nobody about?” asked the girl, and, to +reassure her, her friend opened the door cautiously and, looking up +and down the long corridor, said: + +“No, nobody! Not a soul. Go down, and you’ll easily find the room and +get the ring. Then all will be well in the morning, and your fiancé +need not know anything. Why should he, after all?” + +Sibell, instead of taking her kimono, slipped her feet into her little +pink slippers and put on her long fur travelling-coat over her +nightie, and in that attire and her boudoir cap, crept out of her room +and, slipping down the broad flight of red-carpeted stairs in the +silence of the night, stole quietly along the corridor until she found +Gretton’s room. + +Very softly she tapped upon the door. At first there was no response, +but on tapping rather more loudly, she heard a movement within, and +next moment the door was opened by Gussie, in blue-striped pyjamas. + +“Good heavens! Sibell! What’s the matter?” he asked. “Come inside. +Somebody may see you!” he whispered. + +Next moment the girl was in his room, and they stood facing each other +with the door closed. + +“I--I’ve come for my ring,” she managed to gasp. “Do give it back to +me at once. I must fly, for Moyna is waiting for me.” + +The man instantly saw by her unusual expression that the cocktails and +champagne she had drunk had muddled her brain, and at once sought to +take advantage of it. + +“Of course I’ll give you back the ring, my dear girl. But wouldn’t you +trust me with it till the morning?” + +“No. Brinsley will be here before you are up. He’s coming to +breakfast. So he would certainly notice that I was not wearing it.” + +“You could have made an excuse that you’d left it in your room,” +Gretton said with a smile, for in her pretty cap and with her +nightdress showing under her fur coat she looked extremely bewitching. + +“No. I--I was afraid. Do give it to me at once, and let me go,” she +implored him. + +“Of course I will,” he said, crossing the room to where his evening +clothes were folded upon a chair, and from the waistcoat pocket he +took the handsome ring. + +Then, walking back to the door, he laughed, saying: + +“I’ll give it to you, my dear Sibell, but only on one condition--that +you give me a kiss for its return.” And he placed his hand upon her +shoulder. + +In an instant she shook him off, and, drawing herself up, said: + +“I most certainly refuse! I’ve never kissed you, and I never will.” + +“Ah! That’s the worst of it,” he sighed with a touch of sarcasm. +“Otway has all your caresses nowadays!” + +“You are jealous of him, I know.” + +“Perhaps I am,” the man said frankly. “You know how deeply I love you, +Sibell. At least, if you don’t, your aunt does. She has no use for +that young doctor, I tell you.” + +The girl faced him, her eyes flashing. + +“And what do my affairs concern my aunt, or even you, I ask?” she +cried. “You’ve told me your worn-out old story before--how you love me +and all that. But I’ve never believed you. Why, my dear man, you +pretend to love a dozen girls at the same time. What woman could ever +trust a man with your reputation?” + +“You are extremely polite, I must say,” was his angry response. + +“I merely tell you to keep your hands off me, and that I desire none +of your detestable love-making.” + +“But why are you so intent on marrying this doctor fellow, Sibell?” he +asked in a more kindly voice. “Do you really think you are suited to +each other? You love life and gaiety, while he is a steady, plodding, +studious fellow, who must sooner or later bore you stiff.” + +“Oh, don’t argue!” she said. “Just give me back my ring and let me go. +What will Moyna think if I’m down here so long?” + +“Think!” he laughed. “Why, nothing! Girls don’t think nowadays; they +just act as their will directs them. It is Victorian to think.” + +“But do let me get back, I beg of you, Gussie,” she cried. + +“Gussie!” he echoed in gratification. “I like to hear you call me by +that name. You’ve always been so studiously formal and called me Mr. +Gretton. Do let me have a kiss--just one--in return for your ring.” + +“I refuse! It isn’t fair of you to make such a condition when you know +so well the whole circumstances of my engagement,” protested the girl. + +“But you look so sweet to-night that I can’t resist, even at the risk +of incurring your anger,” he said, and suddenly, ere she was aware of +it, he had gripped her and was raining hot kisses upon her +unresponsive lips. + +Suddenly, with a supreme effort, she struck him a blow full in the +face, which caused him to release his hold, and then, like a tigress, +she fought, until at last, breathless and overcome, she sank +half-fainting into an arm-chair. + +He held a glass of water to her dry lips as she lay back inert, her +boudoir cap awry, her eyes half closed, dazed and semi-conscious. + +A few moments later she felt him take her hand and gently slip the +ring upon her finger. + +Then she heard his voice, sounding as though afar off. + +“Sibell,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m a brute! Forgive me! Do--I +beg of you! I--I lost my head. I--I didn’t know what I was doing! I’m +a damned blackguard to have kissed you against your will. I apologize. +Tell me that you will forgive me and--forget to-night,” he begged of +her, on his knees in supplication. + +For some time she remained silent, then slowly her eyes became fixed +upon his countenance in a strange, stony stare. + +“You have no right to have treated me so!” she declared in a hard, +bitter tone. “I came here to you in desperation to get my ring, +because I feared that my fiancé might miss it. What would he have +said had he discovered it in your possession?” + +“Quite true,” said the man. “What indeed would Otway say if he ever +knew that you had been here for over half-an-hour!” + +She stood rigid. Then she cried: + +“God! I never thought of that! Let me go, you swine! Let me get back +at once--at this moment, before anyone sees me.” Then, turning to him +suddenly, she put her arms out, and said breathlessly: “If you want my +forgiveness, Gussie--let me go. Peep outside and see that no one is in +the corridor.” + +“Don’t be afraid, child! There’s nobody about at this hour--only the +night-watchman, who carries his tell-tale clock around at every hour, +which registers his tour of the hotel.” Then, as he raised her slim +hand and kissed it with studied courtesy, he asked: “Am I forgiven? +Say, yes.” + +“You will be if you let me go. Look at the time. What will Moyna +think?” + +“She’ll think nothing if she’s the sport I take her to be,” he +replied, with a man’s usual selfish disregard for the woman he may so +easily compromise. + +Without a sound he advanced to the door, drew back the bolt, and +peeped out. + +“Nobody!” he whispered. “Good night, my dear Sibell! When we meet +again let us both forget this meeting, I beg of you.” + +Next instant she was in the corridor, dishevelled, for in her +excitement she had not looked at herself in the glass. Over the thick +carpet she passed silently in her slippers until, just as she came to +the stairs, two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows. + +One man was a porter in uniform, and the other she recognized in a +flash. + +She heard the words, hard and hoarse: + +“Sibell! Now that I have watched I know it is true! I thought they +lied to me, but now I know that you do not belong to me--but to that +swine!” + +The speaker was Brinsley Otway! + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII. + BY WIRELESS + +A month had gone by--for Sibell a month of dark anxiety, shattered +hopes, a terrible blank despair, which had shattered her nerves, poor +child. + +Constant appeals made to Brinsley had exacted nought, for he had +refused to see her; all her explanatory letters had been returned +unopened, which added to her despondency. A dozen times she had been +to Golder’s Green, but he had always been “out”; frantic telegrams had +had no effect in inducing him to grant her even a moment’s interview. +He had cut her out of his life. + +Moyna Lascelles, sniggering and artificial after expressions of +regret, had gone to Yorkshire on a visit to a mythical cousin, while +Gussie Gretton, to whom Sibell wrote telling him of the tragic +_dénouement_ of the incident of the ring, had come quickly to her +side, apologizing most deeply, and trying to console her. + +Old Gordon Routh, in whom his ward was compelled to confide, extended +to her his deepest sympathy, and made pretence of writing himself +strongly to Otway. + +The girl’s lover, who had been so devoted, remained obdurate. He had +heeded that secret warning sent to him anonymously by one of Etta’s +friends. He had watched the girl enter Gretton’s room, and, with the +hotel valet, had stood concealed outside for over half-an-hour, when +he had caught her creeping back in her nightdress. What further proof +of her infidelity was wanted? He had watched with his own eyes, and, +consumed by most intense hatred for his rival, he would listen to no +extenuating circumstance or excuse. + +Little did the poor fellow know of the deep and dastardly conspiracy +on the part of Etta Wyndcliffe and the man Ashe, or that long ago +Gussie Gretton had made the ex-decoy of trans-Atlantic card sharpers a +firm offer of five thousand or more on the day he married Sibell. + +The girl had come into money, but that made the sensuous +man-about-town all the more keen, and he had increased his commission. +Therefore it was not surprising that old Routh, suspecting the truth +of the secret arrangement with Etta, welcomed him to Cookham in order +that he should make pretence of sympathy and perhaps bring off the +coup. + +Sibell hated the fellow the more she saw of him. Her dire position was +entirely due to him. One afternoon, as he sat in the little cottage +drawing-room, she told him so. Coward that he was, he at once placed +the onus upon her, declaring that it was her fault alone that she had +gone to his room at that hour, when she might have so easily waited +till the morning. + +“By the way,” he asked suddenly, “how long have you known that gay +young friend of yours, Moyna?” + +“Marigold Ibbetson, an old schoolfellow of mine at Cheltenham, +introduced her to me at Cannes. She was with a friend of +Brinsley’s--an air-pilot named Cranston.” + +The tall man, who sat back in the easy-chair with his long legs +crossed before the fire, grunted. A strange thought had arisen in his +mind. He had never told Sibell the truth, that on the day he had met +her at the Cecil he had received a mysterious telegram signed +“Richard,” telling him that if he stayed at the hotel in question that +night he would meet Sibell and a girl friend who were both at a loose +end. + +Upon that message he had acted. He was now wondering who his friend +“Richard” might be. He knew many men by that name, and one day he +would no doubt discover the identity of the giver of such welcome +news. + +“Why do you ask about Moyna?” inquired the girl, noticing that he +seemed very preoccupied. + +Then, of a sudden, and for the first time, those words of the masked +cavalier at Gurnigel, who had uttered that strange warning, recurred +to her. + +“Nothing,” he replied. “I merely wondered whether you knew her very +well.” + +“It was all a sinister plot!” cried Sibell next moment, starting to +her feet wildly and pushing back her fair hair. “I see it all, now!--a +plot to part Brinsley from me! I was warned--and yet, I never heeded +it. I’ve been an absolute fool!” + +“A plot, my dear Sibell! How could it be?” he asked in surprise, also +springing to his feet. + +“It was--my God, it was! I was ignorant, but my enemies took advantage +of my innocence, and have brought all this to me! That man who warned +me,” she added. “Oh, if I only could know who he is!” And she wrung +her hands in desperation. + +“What man? Dear child, do tell me. Even if you hate me, confide in me. +We’ve been friends for a good many years, haven’t we?” + +“A--a man who warned me of the plot. And I’ve been blind to it--blind +until this moment.” + +“Well, at least tell me how you received the warning,” Gretton begged +of her. + +She stood against a chair, swaying to and fro, for at that moment she +had become half hysterical, and in a few brief sentences related to +him what had happened at the gay masked ball at the winter sports, and +the sudden disappearance of her gallant cavalier. + +Gretton questioned her closely, but she knew nothing more than what +has already been related in these pages. + +“But if there was a plot, how could that stranger possibly know?” +queried Gretton reflectively. “And, further, why should there be any +plot? If you fell in love with young Otway, that is surely your own +affair, and his. I admit, my dearest Sibell, that for a long time I’ve +been very fond of you, and I am still, but surely you don’t suspect me +of having any hand in any plot?” + +“Oh, I can’t think! I can’t act--now that I have lost Brin!” cried the +white-faced girl in despair. “I have come into an inheritance which is +accursed. Yes, trebly accursed! Of that I am now confident!” + +“How?” he asked. + +“Is there not a curse placed upon the Guest House--a curse of many +years ago, probably in the days of Cardinal Wolsey? I am doomed to +live there, and my life wrecked! I hate the very name of the place +after all the terrible things that have happened there. And yet--yet, +if I do not live in that awful place, I lose my inheritance!” + +Augustus Gretton, his countenance heavy and thoughtful, crossed the +room and looked gloomily out upon the small garden, with its early +spring flowers discernible in the dusk, and the grey chill river +beyond. + +He was bewildered, perhaps for the first time in his hectic life. He +was indeed quiet, seeing light through the cloud of mystery, for he +recollected that Satanic bargain he had made with Sibell’s aunt, the +dance fiend who was a peeress, the bargain which had been raised to +twenty thousand pounds if he married her. He had offered a price for +the girl’s body, as an Arab sheik would offer, because he was wealthy, +and his money could buy all that he desired in the wealth-eager world +of London, wherein religion is to-day surely a mockery, and morals a +ridiculous farce with the curtains drawn down. + +“I--I can’t bear you any more, Gussie--please forgive me,” the frantic +girl said, suddenly putting her hands upon his shoulder. “Do go. I beg +of you. If you were a girl you’d know. You are my friend, so you’ll go +and leave me to think. My God! I’d rather drown myself in the river +down there beyond the lawn than carry on any further. I--I’m +desperate! Don’t you see? We were both of us fools, Gussie--idiotic +fools. But I mean to discover who engineered us both into this plight +of which that mysterious man, the cavalier, warned me, a thousand +miles away,” she added determinedly. + +“Then you will really forgive me?” said the man, with a true +expression of sympathy. “Do regard me, Sibell, not as the horrible hog +you think me. I’m sorry, awfully sorry that I kissed you in my room, +but--but really you were so sweet and charming that you were +irresistible. And, after all, you never kissed me--you never have.” + +“What can I say?” replied the distracted girl, who stood before him in +her smart golfing kit. + +“Only say, Sibell, that you forgive me, and let’s cry quits,” the man +said earnestly in a low, persuasive voice. + +“Quits! And then?” asked the girl, for she was of strong and +determined will, a fact that her aunt, Etta Wyndcliffe, the seller of +souls, had never realized. The woman, adventuress as she was, had +merely regarded her as a very pretty, fair-haired débutante, to be +sold in the marriage market to the highest bidder, with of course big +profit to herself, just as she had sold others, and as she had decided +with the old hunchback guardian, Routh, beside that calm sea upon +those Belgian dunes in the previous summer. + +That same afternoon, as Sibell, in the fast-falling dusk, sat with the +rich, thick-lipped sensualist who coveted her, a strange, tragic scene +was in progress in mid-Atlantic, where in the aftermath of a sudden +storm the sea ran high, causing the great liner on its way from +Southampton to New York to roll heavily. + +The captain, a thick-set, round-faced, cheery man, was having his tea +alone in his cabin, as was his wont, when the ship’s doctor suddenly +entered. + +“Have a cup, Dayne?” asked the well-known Atlantic commander. “We’re +in for another spell, I think.” + +The doctor, a sharp-featured, narrow-faced, black-moustached man, who +had been on the _Ciceronic_ for five years, sank into the other +chintz-covered chair set before the fire and, with a word of thanks, +said: + +“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there’s to be a death on board.” + +“A death! That’s unfortunate. A passenger?” + +“Yes, sir. A Mr. Rupert Kimball, United States subject of St. Louis. +He was quite well on the first day out. Has a lady friend on board--a +Mrs. Wilcox. Took ill last night with heart, and I’m afraid he won’t +last very long.” + +“Any relatives to wireless to?” asked the captain sharply, pouring out +the doctor’s tea. + +“I believe the lady is sending a message.” + +“Will he last till we get over?” asked the captain, who, like all +seafaring men, hated a death on the voyage. He had a caul on board in +secret, as all men do who go down to the sea in ships. The secret caul +is supposed to give sailors immunity from disaster, even though a +corpse be carried to port. Yet they never speak about it. + +“I don’t know. The poor chap seems to be in the last stage of angina, +and of course in such condition one can never tell.” + +“Bad luck, doc,” said the captain, filling his big briar pipe, for at +that hour he always indulged in a smoke privately. It was the one hour +of the whole long day which he held sacred to himself, sacred from +passengers, worries, or official complaints. In that daily tea-hour he +became master of himself, as well as of the great thirty-thousand +tonner which carried the mails so regularly between Southampton and +New York. That was his one hour’s leisure in the day’s run. + +Both he and the doctor were near neighbors and lived with their wives +in Southampton, and naturally began to chat about home affairs, when +of a sudden there came a knock at the cabin door, and the head purser +entered, saying: + +“Sorry, sir. May I speak a moment with you, doctor?” + +Dayne rose instantly, swallowed the tea the captain had poured out, +and walked unsteadily outside, for the ship was rolling heavily. + +“I’m afraid that gentleman, Mr. Kimball, is very bad,” said the man in +uniform with a strong American accent. “The lady has just sent for +you. She says he’s dying!” + +The ship’s doctor, hurrying along the deck, swiftly descended to the +sick man’s stateroom, where he found the dark-eyed, well-dressed woman +standing beside her sick friend’s bed, as she had done for the past +forty hours. + +“I believe poor Rupert is dead!” she whispered, her face blanched and +staring. “A few moments ago he raised himself with a great effort and +insisted upon kissing me. Then fell back--and I’m afraid he’s gone!” + +And, unable to control herself, she burst into a torrent of tears. + +It did not take Dr. Dayne long to ascertain the truth. Rupert Kimball +was dead. He had succumbed to heart disease! + +Tenderly, after making certain that life no longer existed, he drew +the sheet across the dead man’s face, and then led the deceased’s +friend silently from that little white enamelled stateroom, with its +narrow brass bed. + +The woman staggered away, but he, turning the other way, did not +observe that the look on her face was more of horror than of distress. + +Half an hour later the wireless operator tapped out a message to an +address at St. Louis in the United States, announcing the sudden death +of the passenger, but the truth was kept from everyone on board at the +captain’s request to Mrs. Wilcox, therefore dinner and dancing +proceeded, with the usual nightly gaiety, as it ever does on a +trans-Atlantic liner. + +Etta Wyndcliffe dared not venture into the saloon, but commanded her +meal to be brought to her in her cabin, where alone she sat, her mouth +half-open, staring at her closed porthole, in front of which that +little silken curtain of pale-green swayed with the ship’s roll. + +“I wonder! I wonder!” she whispered to herself in a low voice, scarce +above a whisper. She had not dressed for dinner, and passed the +tempting dishes untouched. The man who had come between herself and +fortune lay dead in the stateroom above. + +Albert Ashe was anxiously awaiting news. She knew he was waiting for +the result of their clever scheme, the removal of their enemy by means +which should leave no trace. + +She pretended to eat, and then at last, after the sweets were served, +she rose and placed both hands into her hair in desperation. + +“Yes!” she cried aloud hoarsely. “I must arouse no suspicion. I must +remain calm! I must play my part as his friend--yes, play it to the +end.” + +So, putting on her coat, she left her cabin and ascended to the +wireless office, where the young operator sat with the telephones upon +his ears. + +He smiled, and, removing one of the ’phones from his ear, heard her +say in a low, tremulous voice. + +“I--I want to send a very urgent message.” + +“Yes, madam,” replied the polite young Marconi operator in uniform, +indicating the desk and pad of forms. + +Upon one she wrote a message which she addressed to: + + + “Thomas, Regent Palace Hotel, London. Poor Rupert has died suddenly + from heart disease. Am desolate. Inform mother. Have wired St. + Louis.--Wilcox.” + + +And within a few minutes the operator, with his hand upon his key, +tapped out the anxiously awaited news to Albert Ashe, who was +purposely at the hotel in question under the name of Sidney Thomas. + +The sinister plot of the Guest House and its weird influence was +perhaps unequalled in the annals of the world’s crimes. + +Only Etta and her accomplice knew. The truth was on the day before she +and Rupert Kimball sailed, she had, still posing as Mrs. Wilcox, hired +a car from a garage and driven her unwanted friend down to Hampton +Court, taking him, out of curiosity, to the Guest House, about which +there had been so much gossip. + +Previously she had related to him the strange stories, and gave him to +read the article in the _Richmond and Twickenham Times_. It had +intrigued him; hence their visit there. + +They passed through the house by permission of the foreman of the +decorators, and his only comment was: + +“Well, it seems a very charming old house for any newly-married couple +to live in. That blue and grey scheme in the drawing-room is really +very artistic. An old house like this would be snapped up at a very +huge price in America, wouldn’t it? I’m glad to have seen it.” + +Then, after remaining there half an hour, during which time they +visited all the rooms, they re-entered the hired car and drove back by +way of Kew and Hammersmith to London. + +Poor fellow! Rupert Kimball, whatever might have been his past, never +in all his innocence dreamed of the poison shadows that had fallen +upon him--that mysterious evil which only five days later resulted in +his death from natural causes. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII. + A DEADLOCK + +Lady Wyndcliffe had returned from America and was staying for two +days at the Myrtles. + +Sibell had been compelled to describe to her aunt that unfortunate +incident at the hotel in London, and how she had suddenly become +parted from Brinsley. Etta became furious, and declared that the sole +blame should be taken by Gretton. + +“Gussie always was an ass! He ought to have known better,” cried the +well-preserved woman, who, after a week in New York, where her friend +had been buried, had hastened back to London, travelling, of course, +in the name of Mrs. Wilcox. “I sympathize with you, my dear Sibell,” +she went on. “Can’t you make it up with Brinsley?” she asked, puffing +at her eternal cigarette, as they sat in the little drawing-room. + +“He will not reply to any of my letters, nor will he consent to see +me,” said the girl despondently. “He has a locum now at Golder’s +Green, and has gone back to his mother’s.” + +“H’m!” grunted the adventuress who bore such an honorable name. “Well, +it’s rather natural, after all, isn’t it? No man would stand seeing +with his own eyes his fiancée in _déshabille_ creeping out of a +man’s bedroom at three o’clock in the morning, would he?” + +“I suppose not. But he won’t hear the truth.” + +“The truth, my dear Sibell, is pathetic. Owing to your own foolish +action in going down to Gussie’s room at that hour, you’ve brought all +this upon yourself. As far as I can see, your engagement has been +entirely broken off, eh?” + +“It has, no doubt,” said Sibell tearfully. “What am I to do, auntie? +Do advise me.” + +The dark-haired woman remained silent for a few moments in order to +impress her niece. Then, looking her straight in the face very +earnestly, said: + +“There is only one thing to do, my dear. And I strongly advise it. +Gussie is devoted to you--you know that well. He is frantic about you, +and has written three letters to me. He loves you quite as well as +Otway ever did. You’ve lost Otway--accept Gussie.” + +“Never!” she cried, stamping her little foot in desperation. “I’ll +never marry him!” + +“But just pause for a moment. Don’t get into a temper, dear, because I +want to give you sound advice. Gussie is very rich, and, with your own +fortune, think what you both could do! In a moment you would figure in +Society and move in the best circles, and, further,” she added, again +pausing and remembering the clause of the will by which part of Henry +Dare’s fortune would revert to Gordon Routh, “have you never thought +that if you cared you need not live in that accursed Guest House? If +you liked to marry Gussie you could forego this evil inheritance left +you by your Uncle Henry.” + +The point had never occurred to her, and, admitting it, she sat for a +few minutes very calm and thoughtful. + +“But I could never marry Mr. Gretton, auntie--never!” she declared at +last. “I don’t love him--especially after that night at the Cecil!” + +“Then all I can say is that you’re a silly little fool,” declared Lady +Wyndcliffe. “I’ve met so many of your romantic temperament--girls I’ve +taken round Society. But very soon romance gets knocked out of them by +their daily disillusions, and they end by making marriages of +convenience, and money makes up for what men call love.” + +“You sneer at love, auntie,” cried the girl reproachfully. + +“Indeed, I don’t, dear,” the woman replied. “I only say that the girl +who marries for love nowadays suffers a silly martyrdom of jealousy, +for in these hectic days a man is seldom, if ever, true to a woman, +either before marriage or after.” + +“Even though you have had wide experience, auntie, I refuse to believe +it to be the general rule.” Then of a sudden, she remarked: “It’s a +lovely afternoon. I’m going to take ‘Tiz-oh’ for a walk,” indicating +her sweet little Pekingese, who, hearing his name, rose, stretched +himself, and came waddling towards her. + +Five minutes later the girl went forth into the glorious spring +afternoon with her pet at her heels. + +Already the beautiful Thames valley was clothed in its freshest green, +the orchards were white with blossom, the birds in full song, and the +sky cloudless as she swung along, a smart, well-set-up figure in her +beige jumper-suit and close-fitting black hat. + +From her usually bright, open countenance all the sunshine of life had +died out. Pale, hollow-eyed, and despairing, her face gave a true +index to her perplexed state of mind. + +As she strode along blindly, she was reflecting upon her aunt’s +suggestion that, Brinsley having forsaken her, she should at once +accept Augustus Gretton’s offer, and take her place in Society with +the smart house in Upper Brook Street which was Gussie’s. + +As Etta had pointed out, with her artful insidiousness, Gussie was +well-known in London, and already the Conservatives had tried three +times--on account of his ability to contribute to the Party funds--to +induce him to put up for a borough constituency. The Borough of +Guildford was suggested, and after that Bournemouth, and then West +Hartlepool. But man-about-town that he was, and gossiper at his club, +with his perfect English--for indeed no better English is spoken than +in a West End club--political bickering had never appealed to him. + +As she swung along the long, damp road, stick in hand and her pet +Pekingese beside her, she reflected deeply upon her position. + +Brinsley, to whom she was devoted, whose every word had been her law, +whose lips she had met in those hot, fevered caresses, whose hugs had +thrilled her with a sensation that had become her delirium of delight, +had now cast her aside as worthless, and had gone away. + +She had now to decide whether to accept her uncle’s fortune and live +alone in that ancient house of evil at Hampton Court, or live with +Gretton as her husband, a mockery of life of up-to-date gaiety--a +hollow sham such as many a girl might enjoy. + +Which should she choose? As she went along that dull, muddy road in +her thick golfing brogues and swinging her ash stick, she thought it +all over. + +Now and then “Tiz-oh” her Peke lagged behind, and she would whistle +him to come to heel. In her walk she became self-absorbed. Her aunt +had put before her the most difficult of all the problems in her young +life. + +She had passed the Ferry Hotel, that riverside resort so popular in +summer, with its pretty lawn and landing-stage, which was usually so +gay with its punts and riverside folk, yet on this early spring +afternoon was deserted and forlorn. + +At the door stood a youngish, clean-shaven man in a dark blue +rain-coat, erect and smart, with something of the appearance of a +ship’s officer. His grey felt hat was set at an angle, and as she +passed, he was so entirely engaged in lighting his cigarette in the +wind that he scarcely looked up at her. The glance was only a +momentary one, but sufficient to cause him to become the more intent +upon lighting his cigarette. + +Sibell, in her distracted state, did not give the young fellow another +glance, but continued down the road. He was no doubt one of the many +Thames lovers who, year in and year out, stay at the Ferry. + +The young man turned back into the hotel, and, on second thoughts, +entered the coffee-room and ordered his tea. Then he took up an old +illustrated paper and began to read. + +Just as the neat waitress brought in the tray, heavy footsteps were +heard descending the stairs, and into the room came a man who had been +staying there for the past three days, taking long walks about the +country-side, a hale and hearty old gentleman named Mr. Herbert Smee, +who came from Northampton, and was a retired leather merchant. + +“Nice afternoon, sir!” cheerily exclaimed the younger man, whose name +was Gleeson, and who was a commercial traveller. “I was just going for +a stroll, but thought I’d first have my tea.” + +“So am I,” replied the rather short old man. “May I come out with +you?” + +“Certainly,” was the younger man’s reply, for Mr. Smee had, during the +two days they had been fellow-guests there, struck him as an extremely +intelligent and well-informed old fellow, possessed of a vast amount +of learning. His business, he understood, had taken him abroad a great +deal, especially to the East and to the centres of the trade in hides. + +After tea they strolled out together, when, in about half an hour, +they met Sibell with her dog returning. As she passed, the younger man +gave her an inquiring glance, but at the same time he kept a watchful +eye upon his companion’s grey face. The elder man, though he pretended +not to notice her, had turned somewhat pale, and then halted for a +moment in pretence of searching his pockets for his pipe, but in +reality in order to recover himself from that unexpected meeting, +which young Gleeson had so cleverly engineered. + +Presently they returned to the pleasant little village, passing beyond +their hotel, and continued on for a further quarter of an hour, when, +from the gate of the Myrtles, there emerged Sibell, accompanied by her +aunt, who wore a handsome fur coat, both women walking in their +direction. + +The men were discussing a film which both had seen in London, when +Gleeson suddenly interrupted the other by saying: + +“Here comes a very handsome woman. Don’t you think so? I wonder who +she is?” + +“Who knows?” grunted the old man, whose face clouded instantly, and +his watchful companion was intrigued to notice his disguised anxiety +to avoid her. + +After another twenty minutes or so they returned to the Ferry, where, +in the hour before dinner, they sat smoking and gossiping. + +Meanwhile at the Myrtles Etta Wyndcliffe, who had suddenly remembered +an engagement in London, was busily packing in order to leave directly +after dinner. + +The presence at Cookham of that little old fellow and his companion +had alarmed her. + +She had recognized the stranger staying at the Ferry as Albert Ashe’s +mysterious friend, a Mr. Pearson. + +What was he doing at Cookham? That was the point which puzzled her. +And who was the smart, alert man who appeared to be his bosom friend? + +Before ten o’clock that night she was at Paddington, and, having taken +a room at the Great Western Hotel in the name of Mrs. Wilcox, she at +once drove to Ashe’s rooms in St. James’s. + +Having previously telephoned from her room in the hotel, she found the +man anxiously awaiting her. + +In a few quick, breathless sentences she told him of her encounter, +while he stood aghast. + +“What the devil is he doing down there? Why?” he cried, surprised. +“And who can his companion be? Suppose Sibell has recognized him?” + +“She hasn’t. They’ve never met. Unless she remembers him at Cannes.” + +“By Jove! They must never meet, eh? We had one damned narrow escape +with the dear, departed Rupert. We don’t want to risk a second.” + +“I’ve been persuading Sibell to marry Gussie,” said the woman, casting +off her furs wearily. “She’s an obdurate little simpleton, for any +other girl but her would jump at the chance, thereby giving us all the +commission we want and making everybody happy, even doddering old +Gordon himself. But life is so full of disappointments, annoyances, +and--well, narrow escapes, eh? my dear Albert!” + +“And how does the girl take it?” asked the ex-butler, as he helped +himself to a drink from the decanter on the sideboard. + +“Resentful at first, but, after due reflection, she’s rather inclined +to change her views. We must not allow her to make it up with Otway at +all costs,” the woman added. + +“That she’ll never do. I’ve made friends with the doctor who is +looking after his practice, a fellow named Lancaster, and you bet I +gave the young lady a great character for honesty. I saw that my words +sank in, and I know he’ll let out what he has learnt from a reliable +source--myself. I urged him to keep the secret, but he’s a blithering +young idiot, and I know he’ll tell Otway at the first opportunity.” + +“That’s all very well, Albert. But things are rapidly coming to a +crisis. Where do we really stand?” + +“We stand in with Gordon, don’t we?--not with old Pearson, surely.” + +“I don’t know so much about that. He might very easily be in the cart +with all three of us if we’re not very careful, you know! It’s a +desperate game we are now playing!” + +“There! You’ve got the wind up again--you silly fool!” said the man. + +“Why do you say that? I didn’t have it on that terrible voyage to New +York! I played the game--That you must admit.” + +“Then play it again,” urged the man, with a weird grin. “We’ve gone so +far, and we can’t turn back now. Sibell must marry Gussie Gretton--she +has to--or, by heaven, we shall both be up at the Old Bailey. So the +future is up to you. Up to you! You hear that?” he cried in a hard, +decisive voice. + +The woman placed her hands over her ears to shut out his fierce and +unholy demands. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX. + FURTHER MYSTERY + +Next morning, readers of the _Daily Express_ were much intrigued by +a paragraph below a heavy head-line, “The House of Mystery,” which +appeared in that journal. + +Albert Ashe’s habit was to have the paper brought by the man with his +early tea, and as he lazily scanned it, his eye caught the heading. He +read it through, then, springing suddenly from his bed, he crossed to +the telephone near the door and rang up Mrs. Wilcox at the Great +Western Hotel. + +In a few moments he was put through to her. + +“Listen, Etta! Get the _Daily Express_ and read what’s there. Have +your breakfast first, and then come over here to me,” he said +guardedly. + +“What’s in the paper? Anything wrong?” asked the woman in quick +apprehension. + +“I can’t tell you on the ’phone. Just get the paper and read it. See +you later.” And he rang off. His full face was pale and his hands +trembling, for he was evidently terrified at what he had read. + +He sat upon the side of his bed in his pyjamas and reread as follows. + + + “For some months great curiosity and much controversy have been evoked + by the reopening of an ancient mansion, the Guest House, at Hampton + Court--so called because it was used by Cardinal Wolsey to house his + guests when, with his boundless hospitality, they overflowed from + Hampton-Court Palace. It’s romantic history, and the reason its late + owner closed it years ago, has already been told in the _Daily + Express_, but some entirely inexplicable occurrences have lately + happened there from time to time which have led the local residents to + regard it as a House of Evil. + + “After a recent auction sale, in which the whole antique contents were + cleared at enormous prices, a firm of decorators--Messrs. Hudson & + Brown, of Hammersmith--were given orders to entirely renovate and + redecorate the place, so that it might be refurnished and rendered fit + for the new proprietress--a young lady who benefited under the + will--to take up her residence there. Following the reopening of the + place, after being closed for over thirty years, there were curious + circumstances. Several men were unaccountably taken ill, and, after a + critical period, recovered, while in one case, at least, a victim of + the evil influence, a caretaker and ex-police-constable named Farmer, + died mysteriously--all being affected by some fatal disease of the + heart. + + “The latest mystery connected with these premises, upon which a + sinister influence appears to rest, occurred at four o’clock yesterday + afternoon, when, the redecoration of the premises being near + completion, a French-polisher named Burton, living at the Mall, + Hammersmith, while at his work upon the main staircase, suddenly + collapsed, and within five minutes expired. + + “The police were at once notified, and the body was, in due course, + removed to the mortuary, where an inquest will be held.” + + +“Damn it! What next!” ejaculated Ashe, and then with hard, serious +face he shaved and dressed, ready to meet the woman to whom he had +posed as servant at West Halkin Street. + +An hour later she stood in his room. + +“Well? You’ve seen it, eh?” he exclaimed. “The poor devil died, and +now there’ll be yet another inquiry! Suppose Sibell goes there and she +gets affected! What about her marriage, and what about us? She has to +be protected: you’ll admit that?” + +“Of course, my dear Albert,” replied the handsome woman standing at +the window and looking aimlessly down upon the dull, narrow West End +thoroughfare. “What I’m working for is the amalgamation of the two +fortunes. If we can do that, we can screw up Gussie to almost any +figure we like. Sibell must not be frightened into giving up her +inheritance, as she very well may be. If so, Gordon Routh will reap +all the benefit of our constant labors. And we can’t afford that, eh?” + +“I see in the same paper that Wyndcliffe is coming home on the +_Homeric_,” he said. + +“Not yet. I cabled to him yesterday saying that I was bored with +London, and would join him next month, and go across to California +with him. I’m getting him to buy an orange ranch there to keep him +employed. So his return here is only paper talk. The further he is out +of the way the better. Don’t you agree?” + +“Of course I do, my dear girl. This occurrence last night is, however, +most unfortunate, as it brings another official inquiry, and the more +the public curiosity is aroused, the more insecure our position. The +girl’s a damned little fool not to marry Gussie straight away and cut +that young bug-hunter out of it. She must--she must!” he cried +vehemently. + +“Yes, Albert,” declared the woman, “I agree that she must, for the +sake of all of us.” + +“But what do you suspect to be the true secret of the Guest House? I +ask you that,” he demanded. + +“My dear Albert, I tell you quite frankly that I’m just as much in the +dark as you are. It’s horrible--demoniac, one might say.” + +He paused. + +“Well, don’t, for heaven’s sake, let us take any risks ourselves.” + +“I shan’t, because I’m a woman,” she said. “You may--as a man.” + +“God help me, I hope not. But I tell you that, after reading this +report, I’m absolutely afraid to enter the place,” Ashe said. + +“Lots of other people are, too. This affair of the man Burton is +absolutely amazing! Yet, if no woman has been affected, why should not +Sibell be immune? That’s a problem.” + +“But has it never occurred to you that the girl Forrester, whom Henry +Dare was about to marry years ago, was taken ill there, and died +mysteriously?” + +“Not taken ill actually in the house,” Lady Wyndcliffe retorted. +“According to what we know, she was walking in Bushey Park--up the +chestnut avenue one spring morning, to be exact--and suddenly she felt +faint, stumbled, and fell, and was carried to the Guest House to die. +Again”--and she lowered her voice to a whisper, and said--“remember +that Rupert did not feel any ill-effects of his visit to the place +until at sea six days later. How can anybody account for it?” + +“Nobody can, my dear Etta, and nobody ever will, if we still remain +astute and wary,” said the big, athletic man. “Your plan, now that +Rupert doesn’t trouble us any more, is to get Sibell to marry Gretton. +I’m broke to the world--and so are you, I expect. I’ve about fifty +quid between myself and a Rowton House, that’s all. The landlord of +this place will never be paid, I can assure you”; and he chuckled +hoarsely to himself. “Men who pay landlords are fools--unless they +live in hotels. Then the weekly bill on one’s dressing-table has to be +settled, aye or nay.” + +“What are we to do, Albert?” the woman asked eagerly. + +“Wait and see what the coroner’s jury have to say; and let’s hope that +Sibell doesn’t see the case in the papers. If so, she’ll be more +scared than ever.” + +“Perhaps it will induce her to throw up the inheritance and fall into +Gussie’s ready embraces. I only hope so.” + +“Heavens! So do I,” laughed the man. “We must wait, my dear girl, and +that’s all. But we must also find out from the old man first why he is +at the Ferry at Cookham, and, secondly, who is the friend who walks +with him there.” + +“I’m a bit suspicious of that young fellow,” declared the woman. “And +yet the old man is the most clever and elusive person I’ve ever +met--and I’ve met a few men in my time. You know what I mean?” + +After that Ashe nodded, and his visitor, swallowing a liqueur brandy +which he poured out for her, wished him a merry adieu, and left him. + +The report of the mysterious death of the workman Burton was seen by +Gordon Routh, who at once showed it to his ward, hoping thereby, as +Etta hoped, that it would bring her to a decision to forgo her evil +inheritance and accept Gussie. + +The girl read the account and shuddered. The Guest House was, indeed, +a house of death, and hers was only a fatal inheritance. + +Was she to share the same fate as Henry Dare’s fiancée in the +Victorian days? She reflected that the innocent girl who, like +herself, was in a few days to be a bride, had not been taken ill in +the house, but outside, in the public park close by. Again, it was +more than curious that, though so many women had entered the house +since its reopening, viewing its contents and attending the +three-days’ sale, no one had suffered any deleterious effect. + +Two days later the result of the inquest was reported. The man Burton +had died of a heart attack, revealed by the post-mortem examination, +hence, to the public, the affair was no longer a mystery. + +On that day Etta, who was pretending to Sibell to be staying with some +friends at Hampstead, went down to the Myrtles to remain for a couple +of nights, her real object being at all hazards to induce the girl to +accept Gretton. Sweet and lovable as was Sibell’s nature, she was also +a girl of strong and determined will. Once she made a decision, it was +almost impossible to persuade her otherwise. She had lost the one and +only love of her life, therefore she felt that she could never +simulate affection for any other man than Brinsley, her ideal, her +soul-mate, and the controller of her destiny. + +Hour by hour she sat in that dull country cottage, with the old +hunchback ever working out his eternal “systems” of roulette and +_trente-et-quarante_. In those hours she dissected her own soul, +becoming more and more convinced that marriage with Gretton was +utterly impossible. + +When her aunt very discreetly broached the subject after dinner, while +they were alone, she told her quietly and frankly that her unalterable +decision was to remain single. + +“What, live alone in that awful place?” cried her aunt. “Why, my dear +Sibell, it would be all too impossible! You’re absolutely mad to think +of such a thing! And then, if you don’t live there, you will be +compelled to relinquish your fortune!” + +“As a matter of fact, I’ve already decided to live there, and discover +the cause of this strange evil which appears to pervade the place,” +was the girl’s calm, well-thought-out reply. “Already I have given +orders for the carpets, and a portion of the furniture. I’ve given the +people carte blanche to furnish it up to three thousand pounds. That +will be a beginning.” + +“But surely you won’t live alone there?” her aunt said, her eyes +staring as she suddenly realized that not only her fat commission, but +Routh’s share, were also slipping from them. + +“I can hire a companion. Lots of girls are fond of adventure. I know +one who was at school with me at Cheltenham.” + +“Well, my dear, I tell you frankly that I’d be scared out of my wits +if I had to live in such an awful tomb. Satan himself seems to dwell +there.” + +“My dear auntie,” replied the girl, “you don’t understand! Now that +I’ve lost Brin I’ve lost all interest in everything in life, except to +solve the problem of that house of evil,” she went on in a hard, +despairing tone quite unusual to her. “In three weeks the house will +be finished in readiness for me. I made up my mind over a week ago. +Old Martha, who was Mrs. Sherwood’s servant at Ripley before her +death, is coming as my housekeeper, and she is engaging the servants.” + +Etta’s alert mind was quickly at work. + +“You’ll surely want a man in the house, dear, if you really intend to +embark upon this curious housekeeping,” she said. “Why not let me try +and find Ashe? He was an excellent man. I fear I was rather peevish +with him that day when I dismissed him so abruptly. I’ve been sorry +ever since.” + +“Well, you said all sorts of nasty things against him, auntie,” +remarked the girl. “But certainly I know him, and perhaps, after all, +he’d be better than a stranger. I wonder where he is.” + +“Oh, I’ll find out,” replied her aunt quickly. “You really can’t do +better than engage him, if you are actually going to set up house +alone. I expect the agency in Marylebone Street from which I engaged +him will know. He’s awfully loyal, and such an excellent man at table. +It will be funny, when I come as your guest, that he will wait upon +me, won’t it?” + + + + + CHAPTER XXX. + THE PLOT + +In the dreary weeks which followed, while Sibell waited for her home +to be prepared, she often stayed at a small private hotel in Cork +Street, where she had lived in the London Season with her hunchbacked +guardian, old Routh. + +She had engaged as companion a girl named Edith Pearman, who, on +leaving Cheltenham, had become a governess in a private school at +Scarborough, and welcomed her old school-friend’s proposition. A +well-educated girl of a somewhat severe, angular exterior, she wore +horn-rimmed glasses, as a school-mistress should, yet, at heart, she +was a most cheerful, laughing optimist, and, having learnt all about +her friend’s bitter disappointment, consoled her. + +Meanwhile, Gussie Gretton, prompted by Lady Wyndcliffe of course, was +constant in the renewal of his attentions. He came round to Cork +Street daily to take her out in his car for one or two runs to places, +where they lunched and chatted, but all with little satisfaction to +the ardent lover. Sibell was, of course, entirely ignorant of the vile +compact which her go-ahead aunt had made, and simply regarded the +elegant man’s desire to please as the natural outcome of his +responsibility for Otway’s parting from her. + +For a young doctor, fresh from hospital, to obtain even a foothold in +his profession is indeed hard enough to-day. The old and out-of-date +general practitioners, who have made enough to retire upon, are mostly +snappy and crusty; if his young partner is a few minutes late for +“surgery” he will not fail to snarl at him. + +But Brinsley had been through the mill as house surgeon at an +infirmary, and had actually secured a corner house with a red lamp, as +every general practitioner longs for, and had very soon, by his merry +disposition and kindness to the poor, acquired quite a good practice +among the good people of that London suburb, Golder’s Green. + +Yet, in a single night, all his love for Sibell had been blotted out, +and well it might have been in such circumstances. Poor Sibell +remained disillusioned and dispirited, with one determination only--to +discover the secret of that evil influence which pervaded the house +wherein the guests of Cardinal Wolsey had often been entertained in +those long-ago days of the full glories of Hampton Court Palace. + +More than once, accompanied by her new companion, Edith, she drove +down to the Guest House in a hired car, and went over the place, here +and there directing the furnishers, who were busily at work. The work +occupied her distracted mind. + +The long drawing-room, so dull, stately, and full of a bygone +atmosphere, had assumed an entirely modern aspect, with its +white-bordered panels of old-rose brocade, and a rich Wilton carpet to +match. Some of the best pieces of old furniture were there--the +fifteenth-century credence, which Bond Street dealers had begged her +to sell; the old oaken cupboard with long, wrought-iron hinges, where, +upon its top, an Elizabethan helmet, deeply rusted, had been placed. + +When first she entered to inspect the spacious apartment, with its +long windows, she expressed delight at its transformation. In one +corner stood that heavy old velvet-covered armchair of the Florentine +Renaissance, into which Mr. Gray, the auctioneer, had sunk, +half-insensible, when he collapsed so suddenly. + +A strong smell of fresh enamel and varnish pervaded everything, each +room having been redecorated and refurnished out of all recognition. +Some of the old leaded diamond panes of the ancient windows had been +replaced by sheets of plate glass, and on every hand there were modern +conveniences--electric lights cunningly concealed in heavy white +cornices, and hot-water radiators were in all the bedrooms. + +As on that day she went with Edith over the place, the foreman of the +furnishing house said to her, after descending from the upper floor: + +“The only thing that has not been touched is the wine-cellar, Miss +Dare. At Mr. Gray’s orders it has not been opened, for he has the key. +He said he would consult you before any alteration is made there.” + +“Yes. I will see him about it when I come to live here,” replied the +girl, expressing the greatest satisfaction as to the up-to-date scheme +of furnishing. + +“I fear some things may appear incongruous,” said the pleasant-faced +man in a black overcoat. “There are several really priceless old +pieces here, mixed up with quite modern stuff--an arrangement of which +a connoisseur might not approve. But we understood, Miss Dare, that +what you had put aside in storage was to be used.” + +“Most certainly. The house is mine,” she laughed. “It is not the house +of a connoisseur.” + +On her return to Cork Street she found a telephone message from her +aunt awaiting her, saying that she was calling at six o’clock. + +Almost punctually she arrived, and, bursting into the room in her +usual impetuous way, she exclaimed: + +“Oh, my dear Sibell, I’ve to-day discovered where Ashe is to be found! +If you write to him to Hammond’s Registry, Goodge Street, Tottenham +Court Road, the letter will find him. I’d write at once, dear, if I +were you.” + +Sibell promised she would, whereupon Lady Wyndcliffe said: + +“You’re going to the new house on Monday week, aren’t you? Poor Gordon +will be awfully lonely without you.” + +“Oh, I hope to see him as my guest very often, auntie--and you also,” +she declared. “I’ve just been down to Hampton Court, and the place is +quite transformed--so bright and artistic. You must really come and +see it.” + +“I fear I can’t, dear. I’m so sorry. As you know, I’ve closed West +Halkin Street while Wyndcliffe is away, and I’m going to Scotland +to-morrow to visit the McKays at Dalry. But I do hope you’ll be very +happy, notwithstanding that you have not chosen Gussie as a husband.” + +“I might change my mind,” laughed the girl saucily. “Who knows?” + +“Well, dear, I heartily hope you will, for a life alone in that house +is surely no existence for you.” + +And, having applied her lipstick before the mirror and rearranged her +hat, she shook hands and left, saying as she went out: + +“Now, mind that you write to Ashe to-night or you may lose him!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI. + REJUVENATION + +Spring was lengthening into summer, and already the spacious garden +of the Guest House, now so well kept after so many years of neglect, +was full of bright flowers, while the ancient trees, including a rare +“strawberry-tree,” threw a welcome shade on a sunny day. + +Sibell and her boon companion, Edith Pearman, had already installed +themselves for over three weeks, living quietly and comfortably, +though in the long hours the girl’s thoughts were ever of her lost +lover--the love of her life. The servants, under the trusted old +cook-housekeeper, carried on well, but in place of the obedient +Ashe--who, at the last moment, made excuses not to enter Miss Dare’s +service--an erect, rather smart, and narrow-faced youngish man, named +Charlesworth, had applied for the post and obtained it. + +At their first interview Sibell felt just a faint suspicion that she +had seen the young man before, but after long cogitation, and +examining the excellent credentials from a peer who had recently died +which he presented to her, she had engaged him. The fact was that they +had met before, but the girl could not recall the circumstances. + +Ashe had at first been most anxious to become butler to his +ex-mistress’s niece, but, having talked it all over in his room in St. +James’s with the former, he declared himself too nervous to live in +that house. + +“Remember what happened to our dear departed Rupert after you had +taken him to see the place,” he said to her. “No, my dear girl, I’m +not going to risk it! Are you?” + +Hence, Ashe having withdrawn, Charles Charlesworth became installed in +his place. + +Sibell had allowed herself the luxury of a new and expensive car, with +a good-looking young chauffeur named Budd; therefore, when old Gordon +Routh came to his ward’s house as visitor for a week, she took him for +pleasant runs down to Brighton, Bournemouth, and Guildford. + +With a big bank balance and quite a new set of friends growing up +around her, Sibell Dare would have been intensely happy had she still +possessed the affection of the one man whom she adored. + +Alas! his silence remained unbroken. He was living with his mother in +the North, a disappointed, disillusioned misanthrope, from whose heart +all the zest of life had been crushed. + +Gussie Gretton had driven down to call. His visit had been a mere +formal one to look her up, and both were careful to avoid any +discussion concerning the past. + +One bright afternoon he called a second time, being admitted by the +quiet-mannered Charlesworth. + +“Well, Sibell!” he cried cheerily as he entered the long, handsome +drawing-room. “Going on all right? No spooks or devils, or that kind +of unholy influence, now that all the cobwebs have been cleared away, +eh?” + +“Nothing,” answered the girl, laughing merrily. “I’m beginning to +think, Gussie, that those various affairs were all mere coincidences. +Some enemy of our family gave the place a bad name, and it has stuck +to it. That’s the opinion I am beginning to form, and Mr. Routh thinks +so, too.” + +“Well, it really seems so,” agreed her visitor, taking the cigarette +she offered him. “People have declared this place to be a house of +death, and some fussy old men, who call themselves antiquaries, have +professed to have dug out all sorts of weird stories of its past. All +uncanny, I admit; but how can people possibly come here and be +affected by some evil influence which causes illness, and in more than +one instance, actual death? It’s all bunkum, I say!” Then, as an +after-thought, he added, “By the way, have you heard yet from Otway?” + +The girl shook her head sadly in the negative, and in an instant he +saw that he had approached the most painful subject in her heart. + +“Do forgive me, Sibell. I’m awfully sorry that I should have referred +to the past!” he hastened to say, laying his hand tenderly upon her +shoulder. “I don’t forget that it was all my fault, and now I frankly +tell you, my dear Sibell, that if ever I can help you in any way +whatever in the future, you have only to count upon me as your +friend.” + +She sat up in her chair and looked into his eyes, half believing him. + +At that moment the well-set-up young butler, Charlesworth, entered, +carrying the big Georgian silver tea-tray, and, having arranged it, +left silently and closed the door after him. + +“Do you really mean that?” she asked. + +“I honestly do,” he answered. “And do you know why, Sibell?” And he +paused. “Well, strictly between ourselves, I believe that you’ve been +the victim of some vile, damnable conspiracy, which has something to +do with your inheritance. More, I do not know. That is my distinct and +unalterable suspicion.” + +“But why?” cried the blue-eyed girl excitedly. “Why should anyone plot +against me? Surely, in all my life, I haven’t done a soul any harm!” + +“Those who are innocent always suffer where greed of money is +concerned,” the man replied. He had assumed a friendly and kindly +attitude towards her. “That there is a plot, Sibell, I feel +convinced,” he said, recollecting the vile proposition concerning +commission that Lady Wyndcliffe had put to him one night at Ciro’s +eighteen months before. He, as one of the most eligible bachelors in +London, was reflecting upon a phase of life that he knew. + +Open your morning paper and glance at the simpering Society brides in +their little lace caps edged with orange blossom, smiling on the arms +of their bridegrooms as they leave West End churches. Then, for a +moment, reflect upon those who grace the dinner-tables of Mayfair, and +reap their harvest of fat commissions each London season. + +“Fewer marriage-mongers, fewer divorces,” said a candid judge in the +Divorce Court not so very long ago. In the papers the Society divorce +equals in attraction the Society marriage, until the commonplace would +become staggered by the matrimonial chessboard of _Who’s Who_. + +Gussie Gretton, awkward, as is every man, sat with his well-toasted +tea-cake upon his lap and drank his China tea, and then, excusing +himself to Sibell and to Edith, who had come in late after a walk over +to Molesey, he rose, and was handed into his car by the ever-ready +Charlesworth. + +Sibell went to her room. She wanted to be alone to think. Already, +after those few weeks, the big house, which smelt so strongly of fresh +enamel and the odor of new carpets, had begun to pall upon her. + +She cast herself into a soft chair, and in the dull twilight thought +over Gretton’s curious suggestion that there was some desperate and +most insidious plot against her in order to compel her to leave the +house and refuse to live there. + +Her lawyers had made it entirely plain to her that in such case, under +the terms of her Uncle Henry’s will, she would have no alternative but +to relinquish all claims to its benefits. She realized, too, that the +only person to derive profit would be her hunchback guardian, old +Gordon Routh. + +That night she dined early with Edith, and afterwards went up to town +in the car to a new play at Wyndham’s. Budd, the smart chauffeur, in +his dark-green livery and polished gaiters, had been in the service of +a queen of the variety stage, and was most polite and attentive in the +wrapping of warm wraps. He had good wages and full licence to go +hither and thither, save when he was wanted to drive, therefore he +naturally regarded his mistress with the same solicitude as he had +done the alert little lady of the music-halls who had married a peer’s +son. + +When the theatres had “burst”--that time-signal known to every London +chauffeur or taxi-driver--he carried his charges speedily back to +Hampton Court, though the night was misty. + +It was late when the car drove in, but the alert Charlesworth was up +to serve the girls with their cups of tea before retiring. + +On the table in the dining-room lay a wire from Sibell’s aunt, which +read: + + + “Returning to town to-morrow. Can I stay with you next Thursday for + the week-end?” + + +The girl showed it to her companion, and agreed that they would both +be delighted to have Lady Wyndcliffe as guest. Only a week before, in +the London gossip of the _Daily Sketch_, there had been a brief +paragraph that “Sadie Dexter, daughter of Issy Dexter, the great +real-estate millionaire of Detroit, has been placed beneath the social +wing of Lady Wyndcliffe, whose intimate circle of bright young people +is so well-known, and who gives such exclusive dances in the season. +Miss Dexter is a relation of Colonel Frank Dexter, who was the chief +adviser to General Hughes during the Great War.” + +Etta’s press-agent had been at work. He was a small, withered little +old journalist who lived in a single room out at Balham and whose +old-fashioned landlady took pity upon him. And yet in Fleet Street his +name was one to conjure with. He made or marred reputations, because +he knew exactly how to distribute dope to his pals in the various +Fleet Street inns. + +He could always slip a Treasury note into the hands of an outside +gossip-writer on a daily newspaper, wrapped up in a paragraph. Thus +who could tell of the “graft” when next day the important journal +appeared with a photograph of a nobody who was being secretly boomed? +So it is that, in this age of publicity, nobody of any note, and +nobodies of any note, as well as the somebodies who count, from the +highest to the lowest, can afford to neglect the offers of a +press-agent. + +In our present age of advertising, real worth hardly counts, and merit +is valueless in any walk of life without a Press boom behind it, until +the best-hated man or woman now becomes the most talked of and +popular. Hence one dismisses most of the social gossip of the +newspapers as mere inconsistent twaddle, which interests illiterate +suburbia and benighted country cousins, who to-day are not so +benighted as the directors of our Press seem to think. Once the Press +created public opinion, but, thank heaven! the public nowadays thinks +for itself--the public of whatever political views. + +Sibell read the paragraph about Etta’s latest capture and smiled +inwardly, wondering how much it had cost the ambitious American +father. It was no affair of hers, for she had known such cases each +season. After all, the title “Countess” covers such a multitude of +judgment summonses and “orders of the Court.” + +Nevertheless Sibell was ignorant that, though she led such a quiet, +uneventful life, with Edith Pearman as her companion, very often the +dark figure of a man would be in the vicinity of the Guest House after +dark, waiting for hours sometimes, even from early evening, and often +through the long dark watches of the night. The figure would draw back +and conceal itself when any constable chanced to come along after +midnight, yet the man was often there, watching the windows of Miss +Dare’s room as though keeping a constant vigil upon the old-world +house. + +It was a haunting shadow, but it was there always--the shadow of evil +or of good. + +But those who lived in the newly-decorated house were completely in +ignorance of that keen pair of eyes which kept an ever-vigilant watch. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII. + THE MONKEY-GOD + +Early one stormy morning, about two o’clock, when the rain beat upon +the window-panes, Charlesworth and the smart chauffeur, Budd, were +seated together in complete darkness in the long dining-room. They sat +but uttered no word. Indeed, the only signs of anyone being present +were two red ends of cigarettes, for both were smoking. + +Sitting in silence with drawn blinds, they had been there since the +house had been closed at eleven, none of the occupants aware that they +were keeping a night vigil, or that they had done so for many previous +nights. + +So as not to show any light, they lit one cigarette by the end of the +other, and smoked on without a single word. Continual smoking kept +them from dozing, as night after night they had sat there, each with a +bottle of beer at his elbow, until dawn, when they would noiselessly +retire. This strange procedure had been repeated nightly by the two +men ever since they had entered Sibell’s service. + +Suddenly there sounded a noise in the farther corner of the dark +room--a slight hiss, which caused both men to spring to their feet. +The low hiss, as though of some reptile or large insect, was repeated +twice. + +“Careful!” whispered Charlesworth to his fellow-servant. “Not a +sound!” + +“Right,” was Budd’s whispered reply, and, opening the well-oiled door, +they both crept in their socks out into the hall, where, at the top of +the staircase, they saw a small, dull-green light moving very slowly, +until it stopped at the head of the stairs. By its light they could +distinguish something moving--a gloved human hand, it appeared, +holding something that shone--a knife. The hand seemed to be carefully +scraping or picking the handsome carved mahogany post which held the +heavy balustrade. + +For fully three minutes the two watchers, warned of some intrusion by +the electrical contrivance which had produced the curious hissing in +the dining-room, looked on in surprise. That tiny green light was +distinctly weird and uncanny. + +Presently the light moved from the head of the staircase slowly along +the corridor to an end room, which Sibell had made into her own little +den. Its door stood open. The faint, dull light of the night sky, the +blind not having been drawn, revealed that the green light was carried +by a man bent and short of stature, a man who wore surgical rubber +gloves, and evidently also felt slippers, as his feet fell silently. +Creeping behind him, the two men watched him advance to Sibell’s +writing-table, upon which he placed his little green lamp, with an +open penknife. Then, selecting her fountain-pen from the silver tray +of the handsome inkstand, he carefully unscrewed the cap. It was a +self-filler of unusual type. Taking from his pocket a small phial of +some liquid, which appeared to be ink, he inserted the nib of the pen +and quickly filled it. Then, with gloved hands, he carefully plunged +the whole pen into the inky liquid, and afterwards screwed on the cap, +and then replaced it just as he had found it. + +Upon the polished silver tray he allowed a few drops of ink to fall, +and at the same time he rubbed, with his rubber glove, a quantity of +the liquid upon the polished writing-table. + +It was as though he was intent upon polishing the whole table with +ink. + +As the stranger turned, Charlesworth suddenly flashed his bright +electric torch full upon his face, causing him to stagger back in +fright, while at that same second, Budd switched on the electric light +in the room. + +“We are officers of the Criminal Investigation Department, and I +arrest you, John Dare, _alias_ Bettinson, and lots of other names, +upon charges of wilful murder,” Charlesworth said in his deep voice. + +“You--you arrest me!” screamed the wily, white-haired old fellow. +“Arrest me! And in my own house! I defy you! Touch me if you dare, and +from the slightest scratch with this knife you’ll die!” And with a +demoniacal grin he held up his little pen-knife, which he had used +upon the stairs. + +Next instant Detective-Sergeant Budd threw himself upon him, seizing +the hand which held the fatal blade, while Inspector Charlesworth +strove to get the dangerous knife from his hand. But the old man, in +that demented state, screamed and yelled like some wild animal, +fighting with the ferocity of a tiger, twisting and swaying as he +tried to wound one or the other of his captors. + +“This house is mine--mine! You understand?” he shrieked wildly. “My +brother Henry should have left it to me! It is mine by law! All these +years I’ve waited and have been in it, and now those who usurp what is +my property--all who dare enter here--must die. They die +mysteriously--of--of heart disease!” And then he gave vent to a most +hideous screeching laugh that showed him to have suddenly become +raving in his lunacy. + +To secure him was nearly impossible, and as Sibell and two maids, +awakened in fright, appeared in their dressing-gowns, Charlesworth +turned to his mistress, and said: + +“Excuse me, miss, we’ve caught a burglar! Will you please telephone to +the police-station at once, and simply say that Charlesworth wants +immediate assistance here? They’ll know.” + +At hearing those words, the homicidal maniac made a renewed and most +desperate struggle, still holding the dangerous knife in a grip of +steel. Then, of a sudden, Charlesworth, in his efforts to obtain +possession of it, drew his hand so close to the prisoner’s neck that +the point of the blade entered just beneath his right jaw. + +“God!” he shrieked, realizing what had happened. “I--I’ll die! You +damned fiends--you--you----” But slowly, a few seconds later, he +collapsed, while the knife fell from his nerveless fingers. “This +place is mine!--mine by inheritance!” he wailed. “Henry had no right +to it--never had,” he went on. “I was born here, and--and I--I die +here! But I’ve cheated you all. Of the Malays I learnt of their +wonderful _ipoh gadong_, the poison of which, by a tiny scratch, or a +little beneath the finger-nails, causes certain death--the time-poison +which no Western doctor can yet detect--how its effect can be delayed +for a day, a week, or a month. I know! I alone hold the secret of the +old Bomor Enche Jalal of Kelentan. I brought the ingredients to +England with me. And you sha’n’t know them--no, never shall know them. +Their secret is mine, and I alone will hold it!” + +In the arms of the two detectives the old fellow became limp and +inert, so that they placed him upon the couch, where he lay until +Sibell, naturally very excited, ran back from the telephone. + +Suddenly old John Dare started, and with his thin, upraised hands +began a series of wild incantations which, though nobody understood, +were undoubtedly in Malay, for he called upon the langsuir, which is, +to the natives, a terrible female vampire who afflicts only brides. He +imitated the repulsive laugh--“_haw-haw haw-ho_”--of the Malayan +fish-owl, or “ghost-bird,” while time after time he invoked the anger +of Hantu Doman, his deity, the Monkey-God. + +To those present it was only gibberish, but apparently he made use of +the same incantations as he did in the presence of poor Farmer before +his mysterious death. + +“Did you hear that?” asked Inspector Charlesworth to Budd. “Take a +note of the name of that poison--_ipoh gadong_.” Then he turned to +Sibell, and warned her not to touch her fountain-pen or the balustrade +of the stairs. + +“Later I’ll explain all to you, miss,” the police officer added. “It +is a great consolation to us that, after all, we’ve caught ‘The +Chameleon.’ We know that they called him that in France, where he +committed at least two murders by means of his poison secret, and, +after trial at the Assizes of the Seine, he was confined in the French +criminal lunatic asylum at Toulouse for life. But he escaped, and +arrived in London, where he’s been earning a precarious living in the +City on account of his knowledge of the Malay language. And so----” + +His explanation was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the +inspector from Hampton and two constables. + +“Fixed up ‘The Chameleon’ all right, sir?” asked the rosy-faced +officer, taking in the situation at a glance. + +“Yes, Fowler. All is O.K. Caught him red-handed, and he’s poisoned +himself. I don’t expect he’ll live long. Good job for him if he +doesn’t, eh?” + +“You swine!” whined the prostrate man suddenly. “Live long! I don’t +care how long I live! This house is mine. They sold its contents, but +those who helped to do it suffered!” And he yelled like a maniac. “The +man in charge dared to lay a hand upon me, and he died. The doctor who +was to marry the girl who took my inheritance from me had a narrow +escape, because--because I timed it wrong. I was a fool to do so--a +fool--_fool_!” + +The police officers looked at each other in silence, while +Charlesworth in a kind voice suggested that Sibell and the maids might +return to their rooms. + +This they did, when, a quarter of an hour later, the prisoner was +removed on the ambulance to the police-station, but on the way his +heart failed, so that on arrival he was found to be dead. + +Before midday the fountain-pen, with its infected ink, and some fine +splinters of mahogany from the carved head-post of the banisters, were +in the hands of the Home Office pathologist, who, after careful +analysis extending over the next four days, certified that the most +dangerous and most virulent poison had been applied. + +A most scrupulous examination was afterwards made of the house of +evil, where it was discovered that “The Chameleon,” a nickname given +him in the asylum at Toulouse because of his amazingly clever +disguises, his strange adventures, and his sound knowledge of +medicine, and as such registered in the criminal archives at the Paris +Sûreté, had, even before the death of his brother Henry, been in the +habit of entering the house at night with his green light, and in his +demented state he had often sat and enjoyed himself through the night +hours in those long-closed rooms, imagining himself the possessor of +the long-closed-up house. + +His mode of entry into the place was discovered on the evening of the +day of his death. + +When Inspector Charlesworth was faced with the puzzling problem, he +most naturally thought of the shut-up wine-cellar. The door of this +they found ajar, and, with Budd, they struggled past a number of +well-filled bins of old port and sherry to an exit which consisted of +a rotting wooden lattice covered by brambles. They struggled through +these, to find themselves ascending some moss-grown stone steps, after +which, after another struggle, and tearing their clothes, they found +themselves in a thicket on the other side of the adjoining garden! + +By such means had the lunatic brother of Henry Dare--who for years +lodged with a dear, deaf old widow at Molesey--gained access to the +old house that had once been his home, and of which he still, in his +demented state, felt that he held possession. + +To the public the actual truth never leaked out. It was better so. The +coroner, after a consultation at the Home Office, held his inquiry +without the aid of a jury, and all the world was told was that at a +house at Hampton Court a burglar had been captured by the police, and +that the shock to him proved so great that, on being conveyed to the +police-station, he had died of heart disease. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII. + CONCLUSION + +If the reader cares to take the trouble to cross the wide green at +Hampton Court, close to the fine old red-brick turreted palace, with +its wonderful old-world flower-gardens, he may see the spick-and-span +Guest House of the great Cardinal standing back amid the ancient +trees, as it has done ever since the days when Anne Boleyn visited it +with Henry VIII. + +Of the amazing career of “The Chameleon” nobody is aware save Dr. and +Mrs. Otway--who now live so happily there--the police, of course, +Routh, the old gambler, Lady Etta, and the adventurous Ashe. From all +others the secret of the evil which pervaded the place has been +strictly withheld. + +The young couple are highly popular. Brinsley, having disposed of his +practice and his corner house at Golder’s Green, is looking out for +one in the West End, determined not to live upon his wife’s money. + +The reconciliation between the pair was effected by no less a person +than Gussie Gretton himself. He admired, perhaps even he loved, +Sibell, for he would, indeed, have readily paid the fat commission +which the adventuress demanded. But, realizing his mistake, as well as +Sibell’s devotion to Otway, he one day went North, and, forcing +himself upon Otway, described to him frankly and honestly all that had +occurred. + +At first Brinsley indignantly refused to see Sibell, whereupon Gretton +turned to him reproachfully, saying: + +“In that case, Otway, you’re not fair to the woman who loves you. Do +give her one chance to explain with her own lips. I’ve known her +longer than you have, and I’ve a right to appeal to you for her sake. +Surely you can realize the hell she’s gone through since that +unfortunate night? Come to London with me. Do.” + +Otway remained obdurate, while Gretton, on his part, again declared +that the meeting had not been planned, and nothing had occurred +between them which he had not described. He admitted kissing her +against her will, and for that he deeply and most humbly apologized. + +That night, after obtaining his whilom rival’s promise to reconsider +his decision, Gretton returned to town, while the early train next +morning carried Brinsley to the side of the girl to whom he was so +wholeheartedly devoted. + +Explanations in that long, white-enamelled drawing-room did not take +very long, for in an instant they were clasped in each other’s ready +arms, he raining hot kisses upon her lips, while she sobbed for joy. + +That night Sibell wrote to her aunt telling her the glad news, which, +of course, created the greatest disappointment among those who had so +cunningly plotted to part the pair, and so obtain a considerable sum +of money if their clever scheme had been successful. Though Sibell was +unaware of it, Lady Wyndcliffe had secretly been introduced by Ashe to +John Dare, who represented himself as a Mr. Pearson, manager of the +electric lighting firm which was fitting up the Guest House, and in +that capacity he invited her to bring her American friend, Mr. +Kimball, to see over the interesting old place. + +This she did on the following day, when, without doubt, the homicidal +old maniac, in one of his chameleon-like disguises, played some +devilry with that deadly liquid in his possession, whereby Etta’s +unsuspicious companion had become infected with that most deadly of +all poisons, which he had so concocted as to produce a fatal effect +within a week--as it had done, in mid-Atlantic. Sibell did not know +till long afterwards that Scotland Yard was already on the track of +Ashe and Etta, and that on the morning in Berne, Inspector +Charlesworth had been in the adjoining room and had overheard the +plot. It was he who, disguised as a cavalier, had gone to the masked +ball at Gurnigel and warned her. + +John Dare had revealed to nobody either his real name, or the secret +manner in which he removed those who invaded what he had determined +was his domain by right. Etta and Ashe only knew that he held some +strange and astounding secret. + +Etta Wyndcliffe, as soon as she learned the truth, feared to be +implicated in the affair, and therefore left at once for Kenya Colony, +where Wyndcliffe, ignorant of everything, of course, joined her, while +Albert Ashe, equally fearing exposure--for at his suggestion Etta had +taken Kimball to the Guest House, “to see if the evil would fall upon +him,” as he put it--escaped to the Continent, where he still remains. + +Only by the analysis of the dangerous secret held by “The Chameleon” +of the _ipoh gadong_,[1] which is mixed with the inspissated juices +of two jungle vines and the poisonous spines of certain fishes, have +modern toxicologists been forced to admit the existence of an actual +time-poison that can be absorbed through the skin, which has been +strenuously denied, ever since mediæval days, by all chemists and +pathologists. + +Sibell, indeed, had a most narrow escape, for had she innocently +handled her fountain-pen, she would undoubtedly have been stricken +dead by the ink coming into contact with her fingers. + +Hence men working in wonder in rubber gloves, after mysterious +warnings, spent weeks in cleaning down the big house a second time, +and in removing and planing down smoothly the sharp splinters of +infected mahogany upon the big carved post at the head of the stairs, +which had no doubt been responsible for those imperceptible pricks and +scratches which had infected the unfortunate ones with the deadliest +poison known to-day. When studying the problem, Otway, himself deeply +interested in toxicology, suddenly realised the reason why women +visitors to the house had escaped. The explanation was simple. They +had touched nothing which the midnight intruder, with his green lamp, +had with his satanic cunning arranged; for they wore gloves! + +The public have not hitherto learnt the truth as here recorded, nor +have they known of the strange history and astounding exploits of the +criminal lunatic who swept away his imaginary enemies in that subtle +and ingenious manner, yet for several years the French police had kept +the weird old fellow under surveillance, because upon him rested the +suspicion of at least two cases of secret poisoning--one at Bordeaux +and the other in Paris--yet so elusive was he, and so chameleon-like +in his constant changes, that the Sûreté could never obtain direct +evidence. + +His presence at Cookham was certainly with some evil intent against +Sibell, but his young fellow-guest at the Ferry Hotel was really an +astute young detective-sergeant of the T Division of Metropolitan +Police, whose watchfulness was later taken up by the well-known +officer, Inspector Charlesworth of Scotland Yard, and +Detective-Sergeant Budd. + +Sibell was deeply sorry when her two faithful menservants were +compelled to so suddenly resign. By their constant vigilance her life +had been spared, while Brinsley’s return brought her all the happiness +for which she had craved. + +At the time of penning this record of one of the strangest dramas of +London’s hectic life that had ever been recorded in the annals of +Scotland Yard, Sibell’s old hunchback guardian, the optimistic Gordon +Routh, lives in three comfortable rooms on the upper floor of the +Guest House, and is usually immersed in the intricate problems of the +chances at roulette and the proving of the infallible “system” which +he has invented to his own satisfaction. + +The big file now reposing in the criminal archives of Scotland Yard, +and the equally large records at the bureau of the Sûreté in Paris, +record the career of John Dare, rubber planter in Malaya, who became a +criminal lunatic. They show no parallel in the history of crime. +Against him the infamous Neil Cream, with his tiny poison pills, which +he administered to the unfortunates of Lambeth, fades into +insignificance, for John Dare, of the house of D’Aire, had brought to +London the secret of the one terrible Eastern time-poison of which +toxicologists had now learnt by the analysis of that little phial of +ink and poison found upon him after death. The formula of it is to-day +kept the most profound secret by those who know, lest it might be used +any day by enemies who desire to take human life with perfect immunity +from arrest. + +The many typewritten pages which constitute the police record of John +Dare, criminal lunatic, _alias_ Bettinson, Pearson, and many other +names, lying in the archives at Scotland Yard--a carbon copy of which +reposes in the great department of criminal records in +Paris--concludes as follows: + + + “John Dare, _alias_ Bettinson.--One of the cleverest, most + elusive, and plausible assassins ever reported to the international + police. Was in possession of a secret poison hitherto unknown to + medical science, and his known crimes in England and France numbered + eight. So alert and adroit was he in changing his facial expression, + together with his attire and his calling, in order to wipe out those + whom he believed to be intruders into his rightful possessions, that, + by his associates and also by the police, he became known all over the + Continent as ‘The Chameleon.’” + + + THE END + + + + + ENDNOTE + +[1] Author’s Note.--The actual mode of preparation and formula I have +purposely omitted, for most obvious reasons. + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. armchair/arm-chair, card +sharpers/card-sharpers, etc.) have been preserved. + +Alterations to the text: + +Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings and some +missing/invisible periods. + +Convert the footnote to an endnote. + +[Chapter VI] + +Change “and an epergne of great chrysanthemums as a centre-_plece_” to +_piece_. + +“Ashe, the discreet, _obsequlous_ butler, a clean-shaven man” to +_obsequious_. + +[Chapter IX] + +“and hence are _sacrified_ for firewood early in their growth” to +_sacrificed_. + +[Chapter XXVI] + +(“It is most _unforunate_, isn’t it?” Then, turning) to _unfortunate_. + +[Chapter XXVII] + +“fair-haired débutante, to be sold in the _marrige_ market” to +_marriage_. + +[Chapter XXXI] + +“uneventful life, with Edith Pearman as her _companian_” to +_companion_. + + [End of text] + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77378 *** diff --git a/77378-h/77378-h.htm b/77378-h/77378-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3886c3f --- /dev/null +++ b/77378-h/77378-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14775 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Poison shadows | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + .nobreak {page-break-before:avoid;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .chap_sub {font-size:80%;} + .font70 {font-size:70%;} + .font80 {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + +/* special formatting */ + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt2 {margin-top:2em;} + .mt6 {margin-top:6em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77378 ***</div> + +<h1> +POISON SHADOWS +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="font80">BY</span><br> +WILLIAM LE QUEUX<br> +<span class="font70">AUTHOR OF “THE TATTOO MYSTERY”</span> +</p> + +<p class="center mt6"> +<span class="font80">NEW YORK</span><br> +THE MACAULAY COMPANY +</p> + + +<h2> +[COPYRIGHT] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +Published in England under the title<br> +“THE CHAMELEON” +</p> + +<p class="center mt2"> +<span class="sc">Copyright, 1927, by<br> +WILLIAM Le QUEUX</span> +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch01">I. A SOUL FOR SALE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch02">II. THE HOUSE AT HAMPTON COURT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch03">III. WHAT POLICE CONSTABLE ASKEW SAW</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch04">IV. THE SIGN OF EVIL</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch05">V. SHADOWS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch06">VI. MISTRESS AND MAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch07">VII. THE MAN WITH RED HAIR</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch08">VIII. MR. ASHE IS INQUISITIVE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch09">IX. THE LURE OF THE SNOW</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch10">X. SKIERS AND “FROTH-BLOWERS”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch11">XI. A VISITOR AT THE GUEST HOUSE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch12">XII. WITHOUT FEAR</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch13">XIII. TRUTH OR FANTASY?</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch14">XIV. UNCLEAN HANDS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch15">XV. THE SECRET CAVALIER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch16">XVI. MAN AND WOMAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch17">XVII. EXPLANATION AND APOLOGY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch18">XVIII. THE ROOF OF THE WORLD</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch19">XIX. THE DEVIL’S PARADE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch20">XX. THE SHADOW</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch21">XXI. THE GREEN BAIZE APRON</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch22">XXII. UNDER THE HAMMER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch23">XXIII. OUR SINISTER WORLD</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch24">XXIV. UNKNOWN!</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch25">XXV. THE DOWNWARD STEP</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch26">XXVI. BEFORE THE DAWN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch27">XXVII. BY WIRELESS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch28">XXVIII. A DEADLOCK</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch29">XXIX. FURTHER MYSTERY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch30">XXX. THE PLOT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch31">XXXI. REJUVENATION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch32">XXXII. THE MONKEY-GOD</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch33">XXXIII. CONCLUSION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l mt1"> +<a href="#endnote">ENDNOTE</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +POISON SHADOWS +</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> +CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A SOUL FOR SALE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<span class="sc">You</span> must be firm, Gordon. It doesn’t matter in the least whether +Sibell loves him or hates him. She must marry him, otherwise we shall +both find ourselves in the cart. So there must be no argument. Don’t +you agree?” asked the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I agree, my dear Etta. But my ward is stubborn and +absolutely refuses to see him again,” replied the bald-headed, +deformed man who stood at Lady Wyndcliffe’s side at the window of her +private sitting-room overlooking the golden sands and summer sea at +the Grand Hotel on the Digue at Knocke, on the Belgian coast. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all rot! She must be made to see reason!” replied the slim, +dark-haired, good-looking woman in a flimsy blue-striped frock, which +mutely spoke of the Parisian <i>couturière</i>. “Young Otway is all very +well, but he hasn’t a penny, while Gretton inherited over half a +million from his father, who made a satisfactory deal in wool during +the war and by it became Mayor of Bradford. Gussie’s a bit of an ass, +but all the better for us. We both want money very badly. And I’ve so +far worked the cards so that he is madly in love with her. Only we +must at all hazards get rid of Otway. A penniless young doctor is no +good for Sibell.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with every word you say,” replied the queer old hunchback, +Gordon Routh, in his high-pitched, squeaky voice. “You and I have had +many deals which have been mutually satisfactory, and now is it not +strange that we should be bartering away the girl’s future?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hang sentiment!” laughed the Countess. “We must have funds at any +cost. Gussie Gretton is rich, and if Sibell marries him we must +squeeze enough out of him to keep us in all we want of this world’s +goods.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Bank of England wouldn’t be sufficient for you, my dear Etta,” +laughed the man. “You’d spend it all, and then try and get an +overdraft. You’re the most extravagant woman I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about your own losses at Monte—eighty thousand pounds in one +year—eh?” remarked Lady Wyndcliffe. “I’ve been an infernal fool at +the tables also, I admit. I lost forty thousand francs at the Casino +last night, and have given an IOU to the accommodating old bean who +runs the show.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like myself, you broadcast the handy little slips, scatter them all +over Europe, and they are accepted because of your high title, and the +ingenuity of your press-agent,” remarked the bald-headed, bead-eyed +little man whose humorous smile lit up his countenance always. Then he +looked at her admiringly, and added: “I wonder, my dear Etta, what the +world really thinks of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care a Belgian franc what the devil it thinks,” she laughed. +“The public know that the Countess of Wyndcliffe moves in the best +society and is seen everywhere—at Court, at Epsom, at Cowes, at +Deauville, at St. Moritz, and at Monte Carlo. Her photographs look out +upon the suburban buyers of the sixpenny illustrated weeklies, and she +has always one, or perhaps two débutantes under her wing. She is what +the good people of Hampstead, Watford, Richmond, or Felixstowe term +‘in Society.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“And thank heaven I’m out of it now,” the man laughed. +</p> + +<p> +His companion drew a long sigh, and her well-arched brows contracted. +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish I were. It’s a wearing life this, with lots of friends, +lots of limelight, and no money. Wyndcliffe is getting quite +impossible nowadays. Billesdon is let to a retired straw-hat maker +from Luton, and I can hardly make enough, or save enough, to live.” +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe—or, to give her her full title from <i>Burke</i>, Countess +of Wyndcliffe of Billesdon Hall, Rutland; Cloyne Castle, +Aberdeenshire; 112A West Halkin Street; and Villa Mon Aise, +Cannes—was one of the many bright young Society women of to-day who +lead a reckless, hectic life with the fees they earn by introducing +daughters of rich commoners into the fringe of Society. +</p> + +<p> +Watch your newspaper, and you will often see in the season that Lady +So-and-So gave a dance at Claridge’s for the daughter of Mrs. +Fitz-Allan Smith. It is Mrs. Fitz-Allan Smith who pays Lady So-and-So +heavily for the privilege of shaking hands and dancing with her guests +who go there to obtain a champagne supper gratis. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe was one of the great crowd of impecunious aristocrats, +with a wide circle of friends, some of whom nowadays open shops, while +others breed dogs, others keep beauty-parlors, and still others manage +to pay their way by taking the womenfolk of parvenus under their wing, +and sometimes presenting them at Court. Etta was young for her age, +slim, refined, with handsome features, dark, penetrating eyes, and a +fine complexion. Though thirty-three, she did not look more than +twenty-five, while she danced and played tennis or golf as actively as +any young girl. She was the second wife of old Wyndcliffe, who went +through Carey Street about a year after he married her, and she had +had to shift for herself ever since. +</p> + +<p> +She lived in West Halkin Street, and managed somehow to scrape along +upon funds provided by the parents of girls whom she chaperoned. The +hectic, adventurous life she led in London during the season, and at +the Continental resorts out of it, had caused her to become greedy and +unscrupulous, for she drove hard bargains with mothers of marriageable +daughters, whom she hawked around in the hope of finding them +husbands. Her enemies—and she had many—said very hard things of +her—how, having grown tired of one particular friend, a hard-up +ne’er-do-well named Eustace Power, she had induced a wealthy American +girl whom she was chaperoning to marry him, and they had actually +split the commission. +</p> + +<p> +As she stood at the hotel window that August morning, the Countess of +Wyndcliffe looked little more than a girl, with a face so innocent and +charming that it gave no index to her insatiable mania for gambling, +or of the fast and vicious circle in which she moved. +</p> + +<p> +“You really can’t be so horribly broke,” the man said. “You got three +thousand when the Clements girl was married in June.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I worked terribly hard for it, I assure you. I also had the +vinegar man’s girl on my hands, as well as Sibell.” +</p> + +<p> +“You got nothing for Sibell, and she’s cost you a lot in lunches, +theatre-tickets, and dances, I know. It was very good of you, Etta, to +take her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now, just when we’ve played our cards discreetly, the infernal +little hussy—excuse me calling her that, even though I am her +aunt—refuses to see Gussie Gretton again.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hasn’t the best of reputations, she says.” +</p> + +<p> +“What man has until after he’s sown his wild oats?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, according to all accounts, Gretton has sown a pretty heavy +crop. He’s already narrowly escaped being cited in two divorce cases,” +said Sibell’s guardian. +</p> + +<p> +“That makes the women run after him all the more,” declared the +irresponsible Countess. “Sibell ought to be proud that he, with all +his wealth, wants to marry her. She’s a darned little idiot. I tell +you, Gordon, I’m fed up to the teeth. Gretton is so infatuated that he +has promised me five thousand on the day he marries her, and I’m ready +to split it with you. Then you’ll split with me anything we get +afterwards,” she said, discussing the sale of the girl’s soul as she +would a business deal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try and do my best. But she’s over head and ears in love with +that young Otway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Love! Bah! There’s really no such thing as true love nowadays. Smart +frocks, a pretty face, and proper environment, and girls think that +men fall in love. The idea of real love disappeared with the hansom +cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, really, Etta, there is surely some affection left in the world!” +piped the deformed old gambler. +</p> + +<p> +“Among the common folk, I suppose. Not among us. Marriage nowadays +merely means the uniting of money and poverty, or vice versa. The +modern girl does not begin to know what life is until she’s divorced.” +</p> + +<p> +“And to you, my dear Etta, a neat little secret commission comes in +from both sides!” +</p> + +<p> +The pretty Society adventuress grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when one has to live on one’s wits—as I have, alas! because +Wyndcliffe is such a fool—one must not be too particular with whom +one mixes. Heaven knows! I have sometimes to lunch and dine with most +fearful crooks and howling dagoes. Only a fortnight ago in Paris I +found myself in debt forty thousand francs at ‘chemmy’ at the Bel Air. +It was three o’clock in the morning, and I only had fifty francs in +the world to pay my taxi to the hotel. Old Ducocq, the director, a +decent sort of paternal crook, took my IOU, but next day he came to +the hotel and demanded as the price of its return that I should +entertain at dinner at the Ritz a pair of American financiers whom I +knew to be clever crooks, and two innocent Englishmen, their +‘pigeons,’ whom they were inducing to put money into some rotten +scheme. In return for the bit of paper I signed, I had to carry out +their demand, and I read in the next day’s Paris <i>Daily Mail</i> that I +had asked the pair of share-swindlers to dinner. No, my dear Gordon, +I’m not sailing in smooth waters, just now, I can assure you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Etta, you’re like me! We are merely gipsies in the world. +When our hats are on, our roofs are on. We live for to-day, and +to-morrow may take care of itself. The tables are my curse, just as +they are yours. You’ll admit that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I do. I’ve nothing to hide from you, my dear old Gordon. Do +you remember that night in the Cercle Privé in Monte, when I was +broke to the world and you helped me out with three <i>billets de +mille</i>. I took to you from that moment, and I even tried to save you +from plunging as you did. But you wouldn’t hear me. I don’t blame you, +my dear Gordon. Why should I? I listen to nobody myself. That’s why we +are both so damnably hard up and are kindred spirits—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard up! Why, at this moment I have only a couple of hundred francs +to my name,” said the hunchback, who had run through a fortune. “I +don’t see how I’m going to pay my hotel bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in just the same box,” replied her smart little ladyship. “We +must raise it from somewhere even if I have to get a little loan from +Gussie.” +</p> + +<p> +“A bit on account of commission, eh?” laughed the man. +</p> + +<p> +“If you go to the tables you can always ask a friend for a loan, +making a run of bad luck the legitimate excuse. It doesn’t then look +as though you really are hard up—only temporarily embarrassed,” said +the Countess, pulling a wry face. “But,” she added, “I’m chronically +affected that way.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the door opened and a bright-faced, fair, shingled-haired +girl in a flimsy summer frock burst gaily into the room, greeting her +guardian, and then turning to her aunt, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re up early, auntie! Why, it must have been nearly three when we +left Roberts’. I went for a walk by the sea after that. It was simply +gorgeous.” +</p> + +<p> +“With Gussie?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. With Leonard Capel. We’re entering for the tango competition at +the Memling to-morrow night.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess and the hunchback exchanged glances. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think, Sibell, you should go for nocturnal rambles with a +stranger,” said the Countess reprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not, auntie? Several other girls went for walks with their +dancing-partners,” remarked Sibell. “Besides, it isn’t any worse than +dancing in a night-club with some dago you’ve never set eyes upon +before and allowing him to pay for your supper,” she added meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +Etta knew at what the girl hinted. They had both danced with a rich +young Argentine, whose name they did not know, at the Florida Club in +London one night a month before, and he had paid sixteen pounds for +supper for the three. +</p> + +<p> +But Lady Wyndcliffe led a hectic life paid for by those she took +beneath her aristocratic wing, and, after all, in the course of her +butterfly career she had done much more risky things than that. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell Dare was extremely pretty, with a sweet, intelligent +countenance, big, wondering eyes of childlike blue, a small mouth with +full, red lips that required not the application of lip-stick, and a +slim, supple figure the grace of which had been improved by constant +dancing. After Cheltenham College, she had been two years in Paris, +and now she was as smart and attractive a girl as could be found in +all London. Her aunt, the Countess, had taken her from Routh’s home at +Cookham and introduced her into Society, where she had many admirers, +of whom Augustus Gretton was the most ardent. +</p> + +<p> +She, however, cared for none of them, being devoted to Brinsley Otway, +a struggling young doctor practising out at Golder’s Green. They had +met at the house of a married school-friend up at Hampstead two years +before, and had been lovers ever since. +</p> + +<p> +“Leonard Capel wants me to go to Ostend to spend the day. I’m going,” +said the girl, feeling somehow that she had interrupted a conversation +between her deformed guardian and the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child! Why, you hardly know the man!” Etta chimed in quickly. +“If you want to go to Ostend, why not accept Gussie’s invitation to +motor you there? I heard him ask you yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, just because Gussie doesn’t interest me at all. He’s such a +he-haw, superior person that I have no patience with him. I tell you +frankly he bores me stiff, for he regards himself as very superior, +and, after all, his father only started life as a cheap tailor. My +father was, at least, a man of independent means.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you are proud of your birth, child,” said the old man in his +curious voice. “But nowadays you must remember that men are judged +only by their pockets, not by their ancestry. Personally, I think +Gussie a very excellent and worthy fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I have a husband—if that time ever comes—I shall want him all +to myself, uncle, and not share him with half a dozen women, as +Gussie’s wife must,” replied the high-spirited girl frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“A man, when he marries, gives up all his feminine entanglements,” +declared Etta. “Look at old Lord Ushaw, one of the worst <i>roués</i> in +all Mayfair. He married little Ena Urquhart, to whom I introduced him, +and now there’s no happier pair in all England.” +</p> + +<p> +“An exception does not make the rule,” laughed the girl. “But I want +you both to be reassured upon one point—that I shall never marry +Gussie Gretton—even if there isn’t another man in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess pursed her thin carmine lips at the girl’s open defiance, +while her guardian turned away to conceal his annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think you’re a little idiot!” declared Etta, who always spoke +her mind to the girls she chaperoned. “You may never have the chance +to marry such a charming and wealthy man. Brinsley Otway is not to be +compared with him; besides, he has only the few guineas he earns by +doctoring. It wouldn’t buy you your shoes.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl paused for a few moments, and, noticing her guardian’s head +turned away towards the sunlit sea, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, auntie, we shall never agree upon the point, so why discuss it +further? I’ll be back to dinner. We’re lunching at the Continental in +Ostend, and going to the Casino afterwards. Bye-bye, uncle! Cheerio!” +</p> + +<p> +And the girl went out, closing the door after her. +</p> + +<p> +“That seems farewell to all our hopes, Etta, doesn’t it?” remarked the +old hunchback despairingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied the well-dressed woman in a hard, determined +voice. “We must assume different tactics. I, for one, don’t intend to +be beaten, and I’m sure Gussie doesn’t.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch02"> +CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE HOUSE AT HAMPTON COURT</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Three</span> months had gone by. +</p> + +<p> +The hunchback Routh and his ward were back at home at The Myrtles, a +pretty, rose-embowered cottage situated at the end of a garden that +ran down to the picturesque Thames close to Cookham. +</p> + +<p> +It was not yet eight o’clock in the morning, and Elsie, the stout +maid-of-all-work, had placed the breakfast on the table of the cosy +old-world sitting-room. Sibell, looking charming in her cotton gown, +sat in the deep window-seat reading a letter she had just had from +Brinsley Otway while she waited for her guardian to return from his +morning walk. +</p> + +<p> +Besides the letter from her lover the girl had received a second +letter from a firm of solicitors, Harrington, Bailey, Marsham & Keys, +of Bedford Row, London, informing her that by that post they had +written to Mr. Gordon Routh and that he would inform her of the +contents of their letter. +</p> + +<p> +The letter in question she had placed beside old Mr. Routh’s plate. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later the hunchback came in with a cheery greeting, and +before he sat down to breakfast tore open the letter and read it. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Sibell!” he gasped. “Think of it! Your old Uncle Henry has +died in Brisbane, and has left you the whole of his fortune and all +his property!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stood staring at him, scarce believing the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Uncle Henry dead!” she cried. “Why, I’ve heard it said that he +had twenty thousand a year!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite. His property was a very valuable one. Besides, he inherited +your Aunt Henrietta’s money also. But the lawyers say that according +to his will, dated two years ago, all is left to you. By Jove, Sibell! +you’re the luckiest girl in England!” added the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if I am to have Uncle Henry’s money, I won’t forget you,” +declared the pretty girl affectionately. “You’ve been a father to me +ever since I was a tiny tot, and I know after you lost all your money +how difficult it has been to make both ends meet. This place, for +instance, is pleasant enough in summer—but it isn’t like Curzon +Street.” +</p> + +<p> +Gordon Routh read the letter again, and said enthusiastically: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after this good news let’s have breakfast and run up to town +and see these lawyers. They ask you to call upon them as soon as +convenient. They were your father’s lawyers, and I know old Harrington +very well.” +</p> + +<p> +They ate their meal hurriedly, and Sibell rushed upstairs, changed +into a town kit, and at eleven o’clock they alighted from a taxi in +Bedford Row, that broad street of dismal lawyers’ offices in the +vicinity of Gray’s Inn. +</p> + +<p> +Without ceremony they were ushered into the private room of Mr. +Alexander Harrington, a white-haired old solicitor, head of the +well-known firm, who greeted them, and, producing a file of papers, +addressed Sibell, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt my letter came as a surprise to you, Miss Dare. My late +client, Mr. Henry Dare—who, as you know, has lived abroad for some +thirty years or more—died on June 10th last at Brisbane, and I have +his will here, by which you are sole legatee under a certain condition +which I think you will not find very irksome. The estate is a very +considerable one, consisting of railway securities, a quantity of +valuable house property in the West End of London, the family estate +at Coningsby, near Wotton-under-Edge, and the old Guest House at +Hampton Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard that the place has been closed for about thirty years,” +remarked Sibell’s guardian. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Mr. Harrington. “According to the terms of the will, +the contents can be sold, and Miss Dare has to refurnish the house and +live in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows?” asked old Mr. Harrington, arching his grey brows. “My +late client was a somewhat eccentric man. Possibly you know the +romance and tragedy connected with the Guest House?” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell declared that she was in ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when I was a young man,” said the old solicitor, “Mr. Beeforth +Dare, a client of my father, met with a fatal accident in the hunting +field early in 1895, and his son Henry, aged twenty-one, succeeded +him. The Guest House at Hampton Court, together with its original +Elizabethan furniture, was left to him as one of the ancestral homes +of the Dares, and just at that time your Uncle Henry fell in love and +became engaged to marry Mary Forrester, one of the Forresters of +Glencree. A week before the date fixed for her marriage she went down +to Hampton Court to stay with her fiancé’s mother, when, while out +walking in Bushey Park, she was suddenly taken mysteriously ill, was +carried back, and died within an hour. An autopsy was held, and the +poor girl’s death was declared to be due to heart disease. +</p> + +<p> +“This so upset your Uncle Henry that he had the house at once closed, +just as it stood, without moving anything. His mother went to live in +London, while he went abroad to his brother John who, after a somewhat +disgraceful career, had gone out to the Malay States as an +assistant-manager of a rubber plantation. For three years my client +lived in Singapore. Then he travelled from place to place for over +twenty years, never returning to England, and he has unfortunately +died in Australia. Two years ago he called me to Paris, where, at the +Hôtel Continental, I executed his will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, according to its terms, I am compelled to live at the Guest +House?” asked the girl, naturally much interested. +</p> + +<p> +“That is so. If you fail to do so, one third of my late client’s +property goes to the London Hospital, one third to the Middlesex, and +the remainder to your guardian, Mr. Gordon Routh,” said old Mr. +Harrington. “When he was making his will I queried the clause, but he +said he intended to see you and explain his reasons why he wished you +to live at the Guest House. He has unfortunately died before he could +do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But as he hated the place himself it is hardly fair to expect my ward +to live there, is it?” exclaimed the hunchback in his shrill voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I admit, it is not. But the house, when reopened, will be found to be +a very quiet and pleasant residence. It must, of course, be very dirty +and neglected at present. The door has never been opened for about +thirty years. The furniture is antique, and no doubt in a very bad +state. If it were mine I should sell it all by auction, and have the +place redecorated and refurnished.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I must do,” Sibell said. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Then I will give the matter over to the firm of estate +agents who have had it in hand, and you can go and inspect the place +and pick out anything you wish to keep. At the same time, I will take +steps to prove the will immediately, as all the formalities have been +observed in Australia.” +</p> + +<p> +“The place was the scene of the great blow which befell my Uncle +Henry. I hope its possession will not be harmful to me,” remarked the +happy girl, with a nervous laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should it be?” asked the old solicitor. “The death of my late +client’s fiancée was a natural event, and might, of course, have +taken place anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +That same afternoon Sibell and her guardian took a taxi through +Hammersmith and Richmond to Hampton Court, where they had no +difficulty in finding the ancient red-brick mansion, an old Tudor +place built at the same time as Hampton Court Palace itself, standing +back behind rusted railings in its neglected grounds, with great +spreading oaks and chestnuts. The roomy old house, with its mullioned +windows and high chimneys, was half covered with ivy, which had so +climbed that in one part it overspread the roof. The windows were +mostly boarded up, the carriage-drive overgrown with bushes and weeds, +and the broad stone steps leading to the portico were deep in moss and +lichen. +</p> + +<p> +From two windows on the ground floor the boards had rotted and fallen +away, disclosing ragged holland blinds that were once yellow, but now +black and stained; while the huge, rusty padlock and chain on the gate +told their own tale. +</p> + +<p> +They of course could not enter the place, but even on that bright +autumn afternoon its exterior looked terribly neglected, depressing, +and mysterious, though the view afforded of Bushey Park, its deer and +its famous avenue of chestnuts, was most picturesque and charming. +</p> + +<p> +In the immediate vicinity were several other old-world houses, all of +them prosperous-looking and well kept, but the Guest House, the scene +of that broken romance of long ago, presented a sorry appearance of +neglect, a derelict in that quiet, peaceful backwater of modern life. +</p> + +<p> +“When it is put into order, repainted and redecorated, it will be a +very fine residence,” declared old Mr. Routh, looking through the gate +into the weedy wilderness that was once a garden. +</p> + +<p> +The girl standing at her guardian’s side reflected. The falling leaves +of the great trees were stirred in the golden autumn sunset, and from +somewhere came a sharp bugle call from the barracks in the vicinity. +Her eyes were fixed upon the heavy oak door, grey and weather-beaten, +that door which had not been opened for thirty years to admit light +and air to the deserted place. +</p> + +<p> +What did that house of mystery contain for her? It was her possession, +hers by right, and in order to secure her splendid inheritance she +must live within those time-mellowed, red-brick walls. +</p> + +<p> +The fair-haired girl in jumper and skirt drew a long breath. +Something—she knew not what it was—warned her of some sinister +influence that was exercised there. She was no believer in psychic +forces. Many of her silly companions had attended séances and +believed in spiritualism, but she, a level-headed, intelligent girl, +had never believed in what she termed the “bunkum” of it all. There +were, she admitted, certain secrets of Nature hidden from mankind, but +discovered in modern times—the mysteries of steam, of electricity, of +the internal combustion engine, aeronautics, submarine navigation, +wireless communication, and radio-television. But the supernatural she +had always ruled out, even though the Countess of Wyndcliffe, to be up +to date and in the swim, was essentially “psychic”—as the term is +known in Society—and she had been compelled to follow her. +</p> + +<p> +That night the old gambler and his protégée returned to Cookham, +naturally elated at the day’s surprises. Sibell, instead of a needy +girl dependent upon the old gambler’s slender means, was now a +considerable heiress and her own mistress, hence she sat down and +wrote to her lover, Otway, a brief résumé of the good news and of +her day’s doings. +</p> + +<p> +In the issue of the <i>Richmond and Twickenham Times</i> on the following +Saturday there appeared a letter above the signature “Scrutator” +headed “The Guest House, Hampton Court,” which created a good deal of +local interest, and a cutting of which Mr. Harrington sent to Sibell. +The letter read: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“It is understood that the Guest House at Hampton Court is at last to +be reopened, after being closed by its former owner, Mr. Henry Dare, +thirty years ago. The house was built in 1541 for the reception of +visitors who could not be entertained in the Royal Palace, but +tradition has it—and the facts have been recorded by the +archæologists Emberley and Wright—that certain curious phenomena +were observed there during the eighteenth century. +</p> + +<p> +“According to the earliest record, preserved in the Record Office in +London, it was purchased in 1595 by a French nobleman, the Marquis +D’Aire of Aire, a town in Gascony, who was French Ambassador to Queen +Elizabeth—whose descendants afterwards anglicised their name to Dare. +From time to time at least two sudden and mysterious deaths took place +within its walls, culminating in the tragic death of the fiancée of +the late owner, a pretty girl of twenty-one named Mary Forrester, who +one day in October 1895 was taken suddenly ill while on a visit when +walking in Bushey Park, and died in a chair in the drawing-room in her +lover’s arms. +</p> + +<p> +“A very similar incident occurred in the house in question in 1784, on +a day when George III drove down from London to Hampton Court to +receive one of the Spanish Princes. On that day, after leaving the +Palace, the Marquis Henri D’Aire, in whose possession the house was +then, was taken suddenly ill on descending the stairs, and expired two +hours later from causes which the doctors could not ascertain. +</p> + +<p> +“To archæologists and others the reopening of this house of mystery, +after having been closed for so many years, will be of considerable +interest, as it is known to contain much valuable Tudor furniture and +many objects of art brought from France by the ancestors of its late +owner, to whom its possession brought the great tragedy of his life.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +On receipt of the cutting Sibell went up to London and showed it to +Brinsley Otway, whom she found in his surgery in his small corner +house at Golder’s Green. The dark-haired, clean-shaven, alert young +man who had distinguished himself at Guy’s and been fully qualified +about three years before, stood in his rather shabby consulting-room +and read it over carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“It is most interesting,” he said. “We must find the writer, who no +doubt can give us some further information.” +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon he gave over his work to a friend, and a visit to the +editor of the newspaper at Richmond revealed the fact that the writer +was a Mr. Geoffrey Sharp, long a resident at East Molesey, on the +opposite bank of the Thames to Hampton Court, and a well-known local +antiquary. +</p> + +<p> +That same evening Sibell and her tall, athletic lover called upon the +white-haired old gentleman, who, as soon as Sibell had introduced +herself as the heiress of the late Mr. Henry Dare, at once became +communicative. +</p> + +<p> +“The Guest House is of great interest in many respects,” declared the +old man, peering at her through his steel-rimmed spectacles as he sat +in his book-lined den. “It is mentioned by several authorities as the +scene of several—well—accidental and unaccountable deaths.” +</p> + +<p> +And he showed them two large volumes by noted antiquaries in which +mention was made of the place and the mysterious occurrences. +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear young lady,” he added, “of course there are many other +houses around which evil tradition has arisen. Much of it has been due +to ill-natured reports spread long ago by neighbors who, disliking the +owners of the premises, invented all sorts of stories in order to +depreciate the value of the property.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have there been any other stories regarding the place?” inquired the +girl eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—well—nothing that has ever been substantiated except the sudden +deaths which were probably mere coincidences,” replied old Mr. Sharp. +“Therefore, if I were you, I would not allow the matter to worry you +in the least. When the place is cleaned and redecorated it will no +doubt prove a most delightful old-world residence, and I, for one, +hope you will one day marry and enjoy it.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl exchanged glances with her lover, blushed, and thanked the +old man for his good wishes. Then, later on, they left. +</p> + +<p> +On the following morning Mr. Herbert Gray, junior partner in the firm +of Shalford, Stevens & Gray, the well-known estate agents and +auctioneers of Kingston-on-Thames, arrived at the rusty iron gate of +the Guest House, accompanied by three men, namely, two of his clerks +and a local locksmith. The great old padlock was so rusty that it +could not be opened, hence the steel chain had to be filed and broken, +an operation which took nearly an hour. +</p> + +<p> +Then the quartette of explorers mounted the moss-grown steps leading +to the portico, but after thirty years of neglect the key would not +turn in the lock. So with a crowbar the grey old oak door was forced, +and from the dingy interior came a dank, mouldy whiff of stale air. +Everywhere in the hall hung great blankets of dusty cobwebs which +swayed in the wind admitted through the open door. +</p> + +<p> +The place was in semi-darkness, therefore the workman, aided by the +two young clerks, opened the shutters and windows of room after room, +admitting light and air, and revealing the hopelessly neglected +condition of the house, with its marvellous collection of Elizabethan +furniture, the upholstery of which, like the tapestry and carpets, was +ragged and decaying. Through the dirt-encrusted windows of ancient +green glass set in lead, the weak autumn sunshine tried to struggle, +falling instead upon the moth-eaten carpets. +</p> + +<p> +In the big dining-room there still remained upon the long table with +great carved legs a cloth that had once been white, and whereon stood +blackened silver bowls that had once contained fruit, an empty +champagne bottle, and three dusty glasses. Everything had been left +just as it was on the day of the death of Henry Dare’s poor little +Victorian fiancée, Mary Forrester. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” remarked the auctioneer to one of his clerks. “What a +chance for collectors! A lot of this must go to Christie’s. Look at +that tallboy yonder, that fifteenth-century credence, and that +Carolean day-bed!” +</p> + +<p> +Half-an-hour or so, with their coats off, they spent opening the +ground-floor rooms and examining the dusty contents, getting their +hands and faces covered in dust and dirt. Now and then they heard the +sounds of scurrying rats behind the old oak panelling, while ever and +anon great wreaths of cobwebs, swaying in the wind, were torn away and +fell. +</p> + +<p> +For them all, even used as they were to enter old houses, it was a +strange experience. As a connoisseur of antique furniture, Mr. Herbert +Gray realized the considerable value of certain “museum pieces,” as +they are called in the trade. He saw that more than one piece of Tudor +and Elizabethan furniture would be welcomed in the national collection +at South Kensington, and his business mind anticipated a fat +commission from the sale of “the valuable contents” of the ancient +house. +</p> + +<p> +From the spacious, stone-flagged entrance-hall ran a broad oaken +staircase with low steps, worn thin by the tread of generations of the +D’Aires. Up them the all-powerful Cardinal Wolsey himself, and +afterwards Thomas Cromwell, the arch-enemy of the Papists and +destroyer of monasteries, had often ascended to visit the Ambassador, +the Marquis Louis D’Aire, in the long withdrawing-room on the first +floor. And up those same stairs went the auctioneer and his assistants +on their journey of investigation. +</p> + +<p> +The junior partner of the firm led the way, examining with +deliberation some fine family portraits by Kneller, Romney, and Sir +Peter Lely as he went, and upon the wide landing came to an open door +leading into a great dark apartment. +</p> + +<p> +Very soon the five long windows of the huge room were unshuttered, +revealing the spacious withdrawing-room, the walls of which were +covered with ancient tapestry, which hung ragged, forlorn, and +rotting, some magnificent old furniture, including an early satinwood +spinet of genuine Louis XIV and some George I chairs, with carved +cabriole legs, a lacquer screen inlaid with jade, soapstone, and +agate, and a quantity of dusty but valuable old china. For the first +time for thirty years the light of day fell into that apartment, and +the sickly beams of the sun gave it an aspect of dismal bygone glory, +of an age long past and forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“What a magnificent room!” remarked Mr. Gray, as he crossed it and, +standing at one of the windows, gazed round in admiration upon some +exquisite pieces of Elizabethan furniture, all original and +unrestored, as they all were, also three Chinese vases with covers of +the Yung Cheng period. +</p> + +<p> +For a second he paused, and, placing his hand upon his chest, he +glanced out of the dingy window into the neglected garden below, a +tangle of bushes and weeds. +</p> + +<p> +Then of a sudden, before anyone could approach him, he was seized by +an inexplicable faintness, and, staggering across the room, sank into +an old arm-chair upholstered in faded crimson velvet. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’m ill!” he managed to gasp to his three companions. “Oh! the +pains—pains—around my heart! Oh! It’s agony!” +</p> + +<p> +“Get a doctor—quick!” cried one of the clerks, while the other dashed +out to the nearest telephone, leaving the locksmith and the chief +clerk at his side. +</p> + +<p> +The pair endeavored to rouse him, but his face had gone as white as +paper, and, staring fixedly, he lay back inert and motionless in the +chair. Once he drew a long breath, convulsions shook his frame, and +then he remained white and still. +</p> + +<p> +Within ten minutes an elderly doctor, who arrived in a car, was at his +side, but after a brief examination he raised his head to the three +anxious men, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“A very serious heart attack! I hope it may not prove fatal. But, +gentlemen, I cannot conceal from you the fact that he may not +recover!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch03"> +CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">WHAT POLICE CONSTABLE ASKEW SAW</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">The</span> doctor, whose name was Clements, dashed in his car across the +bridge to his surgery in East Molesey, where he snatched up some drugs +and restoratives, and ten minutes later had recrossed the river and +was again beside his unconscious patient. +</p> + +<p> +By dint of constant and unremitting attention, lasting for over two +hours, the stricken man was brought back to consciousness, and +presently was able to describe his symptoms. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe this is an accursed house!” he said. “I felt a curious +dizziness as soon as I entered this room. Though I said nothing, I +felt a strange sensation in my arms, which spread slowly across my +chest until a sudden spasm shot through my heart, causing me to hold +my breath. Time after time I felt the pain repeatedly, until it became +excruciating. I couldn’t get my breath, and suddenly I was plunged in +darkness and knew nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever had similar attacks before?” asked Dr. Clements, +standing beside the patient’s chair and holding his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Never. It is the first—and I hope it will be the last,” he replied, +smiling faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must run you home in the car, and you must keep quiet for a +few days. I will examine you to-morrow,” said the doctor. “I think you +may be suffering from what we term false angina—nothing to be really +alarmed about.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never experienced such curious pains in my arms and chest,” +Mr. Gray declared. “I’m forty, and have had excellent health up to the +present.” +</p> + +<p> +“The heart is always a mysterious thing,” remarked Dr. Clements. +“While every other organ of the body may be in perfect order, the +heart may be seriously affected and give no warning until suddenly +death intervenes. Therefore nobody should ever boast of his good +health. It is always dangerous to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +Hence, about two hours and a half after Mr. Herbert Gray’s sudden +illness, he was conveyed by the doctor to his home at Surbiton, he +giving strict injunctions to his clerks that no word was to be said in +the office concerning his mysterious seizure. +</p> + +<p> +The house having been opened forcibly, the locksmith that evening +placed a new Yale latch upon the front door, while an ex-constable +named Farmer, who frequently became caretaker on premises for which +the firm of Shalford, Stevens & Gray acted as agents, was placed in +charge. +</p> + +<p> +The autumn twilight was falling as the stout, round-faced Farmer was +standing alone on the moss-grown doorstep smoking his pipe, when +suddenly a police constable on his beat made his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Knowing the house so well, he was naturally surprised to see the +shutters open and the caretaker at the door. Instantly he recognised +him as an ex-constable of his own Division, and, approaching, +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Dick! What’s up here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dunno! They seem to have opened this old place for some reason. +It’s in a horrible state o’ dirt. I’ve been half choked with dust and +cobwebs. Come in and have a liker.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus invited by his friend Farmer, Police Constable Askew of the T +Division Metropolitan Police, followed him into the hall, dark, dusty, +and mysterious in the fading light. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like this place,” Askew said, glancing around. “It’s +haunted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haunted be blowed! You aren’t afraid of ghosts, are yer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied the constable in an uncertain tone. “I don’t +like this house—and never have ever since I’ve been in Hampton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only because it’s been shut up a long time,” replied Farmer. “I’ve +lived in lots of old houses since I went on pension, and I’ve never +seen anything more terrifying than a rat or two, or perhaps a bat. +I’ve heard lots of noises that I couldn’t account for—but noises hurt +nobody. I tell yer, Askew, you haven’t done twenty-eight years on the +streets as I have, but you’ll never see anything uglier than your own +self. And that’s the truth!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” replied the younger man in uniform. “But I’ve seen +something in this here place that I don’t like at all. I haven’t told +anybody, because they’d laugh at me, a constable. At the section house +they’d say I was drunk, and the subdivisional inspector would have his +eye on me. But I saw something here a week ago what wants a lot of +explaining away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now that’s interesting!” said the caretaker. “Get a chair and let’s +sit outside. I’d like to know what you saw.” +</p> + +<p> +Both men took valuable old spindle-legged chairs from beneath the +staircase and placed them in the portico, in the darkening night. +</p> + +<p> +Distant lights twinkled across the wide, level swards of Bushey Park, +while at the barracks a bugle sounded, and somewhere from afar up the +winding Thames came the shrill whistle of a tug towing barges to the +upper reaches. +</p> + +<p> +Askew, an ex-sergeant of Fusiliers in the Great War, pulled out a +“gasper” and lit it, though not supposed to smoke on duty, while +Farmer filled his heavy briar, applied a match deliberately, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, tell me. What did you see here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something funny—can’t account for it any way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before that article appeared in the <i>Richmond and Twickenham +Times</i>—or after?” +</p> + +<p> +“A week before,” Askew replied. “I of course saw what they said in the +paper about the happenings in this house thirty years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you actually see? Personally I don’t believe in anything +supernatural.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t hardly know how to describe it,” said the constable, +taking a long draw at his cigarette and holding his helmet on his +knee. “It was last Monday week, at about a quarter-past two in the +morning. The weather was rainy, and I was coming up the road to the +Green when I saw something in the window just here on the left of the +hall”—and he pointed to it. “It’s the window where the shutter had +fallen half away. I saw an indistinct green light. For the moment I +thought I was dreaming, for no light had ever been seen in the house +before. I stood and watched. The light got greener, and then slowly it +faded away. Once I thought that it was flames and that the place was +on fire. That’s all, Dickie. Now how do you account for that, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you examine the premises?” asked Farmer, recollecting the strict +official orders in the case of anything mysterious seen at night. +</p> + +<p> +“I did most certainly. The first thing I did was to see that the lock +on the gate had not been tampered with. Then, ten minutes after the +light had faded, I climbed the wall and made a thorough examination of +the premises in order to be able to give evidence if any burglars had +been at work. But I found absolutely nothing. I’ve been over the wall +here dozens of times, especially when those fire-raisers of country +houses were about. I had special orders to keep this place under +observation when I was on night duty. All I’ve ever seen, however, was +that funny dull green light. The dirty old holland blind was down, so +I could not see anybody inside. That’s where the mystery of it all +comes in. I’ve told my wife, and she tells me to say nothing to +nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite sure that nobody was in the house—no thief?” asked +Farmer, puzzled, for Askew was so insistent. +</p> + +<p> +“As certain as I sit here. I examined all the doors and windows, as +we’ve been ordered to do, as you know. Nothing had been disturbed.” +Then, after a pause, he added, “I don’t like the place, and I can +quite imagine that people die mysteriously here. Why has it been +opened after thirty years?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is to release the evil spirits, of which your green light +is one,” Farmer laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Police Constable Askew, a tall, athletic Cornishman, drew himself up +in his chair, and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I’m a liar? Do you doubt what I tell you—that I saw the +green light with my own eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” replied the caretaker. “But, while some people see +things, it seems that others see nothing. They aren’t gifted with +second sight as they calls it. How long did this light last?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, only about a second or two. If it hadn’t been for that dirty old +blind I could have seen right into the hall here. I tell you, Dickie, +I’ve seen something that can’t be explained, and I fully agree with +that article in the <i>Richmond Times</i> that this here house on the Green +brings sudden death on to people. Mind you yourself don’t have heart +disease,” he added warningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Phew! No fear of that, old man,” Farmer laughed. “After all my years +on the streets in the ‘T’ I’m not addicted to either fright or heart +trouble in any way. I was married twenty-one years ago, when I joined +at Bow Street. But,” he added, “don’t you think it was just a little +bit of imagination on your part—that green light? Just think!” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’ve seen it three times now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me exactly what it’s like,” asked Farmer, most interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can only describe it as a dull, pale-green glow—and then it +quickly fades away. If it was at sunset I could quite imagine that it +was a light reflected through a window upon some bright, polished +surface, but there isn’t any sun at two o’clock in the morning. +Further, the place being locked and barred as it has been all these +years, there can have been nobody inside. If there had been, then Mr. +Gray and his people would have noticed traces of anybody being +unlawfully on the premises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true. They found the place just as it had been left thirty +years ago. Perry, our chief clerk, told me. It seems that the heavy +dust and close atmosphere upset Mr. Gray, so he went home early, a bit +off color.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The air is pretty thick inside, I should fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. To-morrow I’m going to clear up one of the rooms and bring my +old camp-bed and some cooking things,” said Farmer. “There’s going to +be an auction, and I feel sure the things’ll fetch good prices unless +there’s a big ‘knock-out.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Knock-outs aren’t fair. They ought to be stopped,” declared the tall +man in uniform. “But I tell you, Farmer, I’d rather that you took care +of these blooming premises than me. I’ll have to go on now, for I’ve +got to meet my sergeant at the Palace Gates, and I have only just +time,” he added, glancing at his wristlet watch. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to bed yet. Come back here and have a few whiffs when +you’ve gone round.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto!” replied the tall constable, and, hitching up his belt, he +descended the moss-grown, slippery steps, tramping heavily away in the +direction of the gates of the old-world Palace of Wolsey, the point +where he had to report to his sergeant. +</p> + +<p> +The autumn night was still and warm. After Askew had gone, Farmer sat +back lazily in his chair smoking his pipe and reflecting that for the +first time in thirty years that heavy old front door had been opened. +Now and then as he sat alone, whiffs of close, mouldy air came from +within, air that filtered through those blankets of heavy dust-laden +cobwebs which festooned the ceilings, the work of the busy spiders +through three decades. Ever and anon strange noises, and creaks of +highly seasoned wood, came from the dark interior. Weird they were in +the dead silence, yet Farmer, used to “noises” in unoccupied houses, +smoked on, quite unperturbed. +</p> + +<p> +The old turret clock in Hampton Court Palace chimed the hour—two +o’clock—and the paraffin lamp which the caretaker had set in the hall +was growing dim because he had not replenished it before he began his +vigil. Had there been sleeping accommodation Farmer would have gone to +bed, but as there was none he sat quite unruffled in the old +spindle-legged chair in the wide portico and dozed. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he fell asleep. How long he was unconscious he did not know, +but he was at last awakened by Askew crying: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you asleep, Farmer? Did you see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“See what?” asked the other, springing startled to his feet, with +heavy eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Why! the light!” +</p> + +<p> +“The light? What the deuce do you mean, sonny?” +</p> + +<p> +“That funny light! It was showing in the window only a few seconds ago +as I came across the Green!” cried the man excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now look here, Askew!” exclaimed Farmer. “You’ve gone dotty!” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear that I saw it just for one second,” declared the constable. +“You were asleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I must ha’ been,” admitted the stout caretaker. “But I +don’t believe in ghosts and green lights at night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t care what you or anybody says, that’s the fourth time +I’ve seen that mysterious green glow. What the devil it is I don’t +know—only I’ve seen it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d seen it also,” laughed Farmer, still unconvinced. +</p> + +<p> +Constable Askew shone his lantern into the dark hall, but all remained +undisturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we have a look around?” he asked. “It won’t do us any harm.” +</p> + +<p> +So the two men entered the dusty, neglected place, Askew shining his +electric lantern into every dark corner, but finding nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s got on your nerves,” declared Farmer, when they were again +standing together in the portico. “I’d ask for a change of beat, if I +were you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you really don’t believe what I’ve told you, eh?” asked the +constable. +</p> + +<p> +“I only believe what I see, my dear sonny,” was the caretaker’s quiet +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see it one day, mark me! I haven’t told anybody, because I +know I won’t be believed,” said the police officer excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I sincerely hope I shall,” laughed Farmer, relighting his pipe and +reseating himself in his chair. “But you take my advice, P.C. Askew, +and get on another beat where you can’t give your imagination quite so +much play.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you it isn’t imagination,” declared the other vehemently. +“Surely I can believe my own eyes!” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be able to, but I’m older than you, and I find I sometimes +can’t. In any case, my dear boy, I don’t believe in your green light +till I myself sees it,” Farmer said frankly. “You’re surely old enough +in the Force to know how many haunted houses there are about. Why, +I’ve known dozens of ’em, but there’s never been any truth in any of +the stories.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is in this one. You saw what they said in the paper about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, of course. But they were only coincidences. Besides, they said +nothing about this curious glow you’ve seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they know nothing about it,” he replied, taking a draw at the +“gasper” he had lit. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d write to the papers about it if I were you,” remarked Farmer +sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +“And be put down as a blooming fool. Not quite!” was the constable’s +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then next time you see the green glow in the window just come +straight in and have a good liker around to make sure your eyes +haven’t deceived you,” urged the stout ex-policeman. “One thing, I’ll +bet you, sonny, that in this place you’ll see nothing uglier than +Police Officer Askew himself.” And he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care what you think, but I’ve seen a mysterious light in this +here locked-up house! And one day you’ll see it too. Mark me! Good +morning, Farmer.” +</p> + +<p> +And in the first grey dawn Askew turned and strode leisurely away from +the Green, continuing his beat in the direction of Hampton Wick. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch04"> +CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SIGN OF EVIL</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">At</span> eleven o’clock on the following morning Brinsley Otway, having +arranged with a fellow-doctor named Tarrant, living in the Finchley +Road at Golder’s Green, to look after his practice for the day, met +Sibell at Paddington, crossed to Waterloo by tube, and took train to +Hampton Court, where they lunched at the old-world “Mitre” and +afterwards went on to the Guest House. +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh! What a place!” exclaimed the fair-haired, well-dressed girl as +she entered the front door, which was open to admit sunshine and air. +“How dreadfully mouldy it smells, and look at all the cobwebs!” +</p> + +<p> +“Only what one must expect after being closed so long,” remarked the +dark-faced young doctor beside her. +</p> + +<p> +Farmer, the caretaker, and two of the auctioneer’s men in green baize +aprons were in the dining-room, raising a terrible dust in their +futile endeavor to clean up the place, so that they might catalogue +its contents prior to the sale, and allow a few days’ private view. +</p> + +<p> +As Sibell stood in the doorway of the great old room, she could +scarcely see across it for clouds of dust. Through the open windows +came the pale autumn sunlight, which showed up the general shabbiness +and decay of the place, the damp-rotted carpet and hangings, the +moth-eaten tapestry, and the heavy Tudor furniture. +</p> + +<p> +“I could never live in this dreadful place, Brin,” she declared, using +the pet name she had bestowed upon him. “Isn’t it horribly dull and +depressing?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. But it is very interesting to be in an atmosphere of centuries +ago,” her lover said. “The world has progressed, while this house has +remained just the same. Successive owners have never altered it. It +has been their creed. Apparently they held, for centuries, the same +idea of keeping it just as its original owner had it. The place +reminds me of the old house of Plantin, the Flemish patrician and +printer in Antwerp, who started to print in 1576, and his business has +been carried on uninterrupted till to-day. His house and furniture +have never been altered. It is the same here in the Guest House, which +should be preserved as a museum!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I am compelled to live in it I want everything quite modern,” +declared the girl. “I will have everything cleared out and sold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you keep anything?” asked the young doctor. “I would certainly +retain something of your ancestors—if I were you, dearest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I will when I’ve seen everything. But isn’t the place in a +terrible state?” +</p> + +<p> +It certainly was. +</p> + +<p> +No word had reached either of them regarding the mysterious attack +from which Mr. Gray had suffered on the previous day, or the fact that +he was still confined to his bed with his doctor in attendance. Mr. +Gray had ordered his staff to keep the mysterious affair a complete +secret, being afraid to frighten the young lady into whose possession +the Guest House had so suddenly passed. As a man of business he +hesitated to be any party to the sensational tradition of sinister +happenings in the place. His firm had had the house under its charge +for half a century, and he naturally felt that he should not encourage +any undue interest that might be derogatory to the value of the +estate. +</p> + +<p> +Only that morning he had again telephoned from his bedside ordering +that not a word should leak out to Miss Dare. +</p> + +<p> +From room to room Sibell and her lover wandered, examining the dusty, +neglected home of the D’Aires, finding each room filled with furniture +and objects of art which any museum would be proud to possess. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the panelled walls of several rooms hung time-mellowed family +portraits by great painters of the past, including one of a pretty +little daughter of the ancient French house, Gabrielle D’Aire. Sibell +admired it, and said she would retain it. Not till afterwards did she +learn that it was one of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s hitherto unknown +pictures, nor that the larger one which hung beside it was a +Rembrandt. Indeed it was not until a fortnight after, when the art +dealers were allowed to inspect the house, that the treasures were +identified. +</p> + +<p> +Through the dismal, dust-laden house the lovers wandered from room to +room. Everywhere the autumn sunlight fell across the faded carpets +through those old leaded windows of green glass, many panes of which +were broken. Over everything lay the decay of thirty years—the +brilliant, prosperous days of Victoria the Good, the height of +Britain’s world-power. +</p> + +<p> +Together they entered a small room at the rear, the windows of which +overlooked the tangled garden, where the golden leaves of autumn were +fluttering down from the high elms which overshadowed the house. The +little room was lined from floor to ceiling with heavy books, the +leather bindings of which smelt close and stuffy—the +eighteenth-century room of a studious man, which had probably been +neglected ever since the accession of George the Third. The +writing-table was a little narrow one like a bedside table, and the +chairs were all Carolean, cane-seated and cane-backed. +</p> + +<p> +“This seems to be one of the cosiest rooms,” Sibell remarked. “It +shall be your own little den, Brin. You can fit it up as a laboratory, +so that you can study all your germs, or ‘bugs,’ as you call them.” +</p> + +<p> +Her lover, who had his hand already clasped in hers, for they were +alone, kissed her upon the lips, and replied: +</p> + +<p> +“My darling, any room will do for my research work. It is best +upstairs in the attics, so as to be out of the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear Brin, I insist that you have a nice room, dearest,” she +said, looking up into his face with eyes full of the lovelight. “This +room will be quite handy for everything.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed into his face with wondering eyes—those big eyes which +always held him beneath her spell, so that he could never look upon +another woman with any other feeling than as a doctor would towards +his female patients. +</p> + +<p> +“Only if we marry, Sibell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marry? Of course we shall!” she cried. “I am yours, if you will only +accept me! Did we not decide that long ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“You were poor then. Now you are rich, my darling. A penniless doctor +like myself is but a poor husband for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My darling Brin. How very foolish you are! What are you talking +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only that I think Gretton would make a far better husband for you. +Your guardian doesn’t care for me—neither does Lady Wyndcliffe. I +feel it always. I am only a mere hard-working suburban doctor, with +nothing except the fees I earn in the poor but respectable +neighborhood of the Finchley Road, and without even a single public +appointment. Each one I seek is always given to somebody else. And yet +in bacteriology and toxicology I earned honors at my examinations.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry, my dear old Brin. I am yours—and you know it. I want no +other man and will have no other,” declared the girl sweetly, as she +drew his head towards her. +</p> + +<p> +He hugged her to his breast and kissed her fondly upon the lips, for +they were alone in that dingy room, nobody being near. Her words gave +him the greatest comfort and encouragement any man could receive, for +he realized that he loved her with that great, all-absorbing affection +which, alas! comes to few men, love, alas! being so often a mere +passionate pretence in order to secure sympathy, companionship, or, +more often, fortune. As it has ever been through all the ages, so it +is to-day, every woman of every country is open to the flattery of a +man who seeks her, not from any love of her, but for his own +self-advancement in finance, in the higher social scale, or the puny +one of suburban or provincial bridge-parties. +</p> + +<p> +The onlooker who travels the world over, and whose heart is hidebound, +sees so much that is amusing, on board liners, on expensive tours, and +in hotels-de-luxe from end to end of Europe or America, that he begins +to wonder if there really exists any real love commencing with the +capital L. +</p> + +<p> +This is the note of this present romance of the writer’s +observation—the love between the poor but pretty, neat-ankled girl +who suddenly inherited a fortune, and with it a house of evil repute +as residence, and a hard-working suburban London doctor, whose modern +knowledge was equal to many great specialists in Harley Street, +and—though he did not know it—his name had already been placed upon +the list of Home Office experts to be called upon to analyse and fix +the culprit in the next case of any fresh mystery of crime submitted +by Scotland Yard. +</p> + +<p> +As an ordinary hard-working practitioner in Golder’s Green he had +given evidence at the Old Bailey, six months before, in a most +complicated case which concerned the introduction of germs of a fatal +disease into the whiskey-and-soda nightcap of a man who had motored a +friend and his wife home from the Palace Theatre. Otway had, with +unerring knowledge, fixed the guilt upon both the accused, who were +convicted for attempted murder, Scotland Yard having afterwards sent +him their thanks. +</p> + +<p> +Through that trial Otway had been marked out for advancement on the +lines followed by Pepper, Willcox, and the select list of Home Office +pathologists whose word is law to a jury in any criminal court. +</p> + +<p> +Though the pair were unaware of it, the room in which they stood had +been the study of the great lawyer Sir Geoffrey Dare, who was famous +in the early days of King George III, and whose name has been handed +down in legal history as the prosecutor in the famous case of the +Durrants, husband and wife, whom he proved to have poisoned a family +of six persons in order to secure their inheritance. In that room many +conferences had been held with witnesses in the famous trial, which +resulted in both prisoners being hanged at Tyburn. Sir Geoffrey, who +was the most famous criminal lawyer of his time, was brother of John +Dare, the traveller who first explored the Areg region of the Sahara. +</p> + +<p> +Otway took from one of the shelves a heavy, parchment-bound tome, and +found it to be an old treatise on Roman law, while next to it was an +early folio edition of Shakespeare. As a lover of books, sight of them +appealed to him, and he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Before these are sold I would love to go through them. This +Shakespeare, though not the first folio, is evidently of considerable +value.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be choked with dust, darling,” she replied. “Wait until they +clean down the place. Isn’t it awful? Look at the cobwebs.” +</p> + +<p> +They took a final glance around the dingy little room, where the light +struggled in through the dirt-encrusted windows, which could not be +opened because their frames had rotted. Hence the place smelt close +and musty. +</p> + +<p> +“When cleaned and redecorated it will be most charming,” her lover +reassured her. “I can’t think what has given rise to the belief that +this is a house of evil. It certainly has been neglected, and, as in +many other houses all over the country, people have died suddenly +here, but the evil is, I feel certain, only imaginary—the result of +some ill-natured local gossip that has grown into tradition.” +</p> + +<p> +Had he known of the sudden and unaccountable manner in which Mr. Gray +had been attacked he would certainly not have expressed such an +opinion. But happily for the lovers, the occurrence was being kept a +profound secret. +</p> + +<p> +They ascended the broad oak staircase, on which the thick-pile carpet +still remained, though it was in holes in many places, showing the +wood beneath. In the great drawing-room the lovers found much to +interest them as they made a tour of inspection of the spacious +apartment. At once they saw that the furniture, though sadly out of +repair, was genuinely antique, and that the pictures were of +considerable value. Near the centre of the room stood the ancient +armchair upholstered in faded crimson velvet to which Mr. Gray had +staggered when he had been so mysteriously seized with illness, and +the young doctor, knowing nothing of the occurrence, remarked upon the +handsome Renaissance carving of its short, bulbous legs. +</p> + +<p> +Together the pair stood at the dingy, weather-stained old windows +gazing down upon the big, neglected garden, where the weeds grew +breast high and the leaves were floating down from the ancient trees. +By its successive owners that room had been kept practically the same +as it was in Henry the Eighth’s time, except that the carpets and some +of the furniture had been renewed by the father of the last owner on +his marriage; an apartment full of objects of art, the atmosphere of +which was that of the days of the Great Cardinal and possibly one of +the most carefully preserved rooms in the whole Kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +From room to room they passed, ascending to the bedrooms and servants’ +quarters just as Mr. Gray and his assistants had done. They saw the +ancient four-poster bedsteads, with their hangings of faded and +time-stained chintz, the genuine Chippendale washstands and mirrors, +the old fire-screens of needlework, and cushions worked in colored +wools by hands that had crumbled to dust two centuries ago. +</p> + +<p> +Wherever they went they raised dust, causing Sibell to sneeze +violently, and by each thing they touched their hands became +blackened, the girl remarking that her gloves were already ruined. +</p> + +<p> +After nearly a couple of hours they descended, and, having chatted +with the fat caretaker Farmer—who made no mention of Askew’s +experience on the previous night, as he treated it as mere +imagination—they left and returned to London, where, after dining +together at the Trocadero, Otway saw his sweetheart off to Cookham +from Paddington. +</p> + +<p> +Next day the young doctor, having arranged with his friend Tarrant to +look after his practice, set out early for the Guest House and spent +the whole of the day in the great lawyer’s close-smelling library +going through his books. Already an expert from a well-known West End +dealer in rare books was there at the invitation of the auctioneers, a +snuffy, white-bearded old gentleman named Ebenezer Tewe, and together +they dusted and examined the title-pages and condition of volume after +volume. +</p> + +<p> +Some of them Mr. Tewe set aside as valuable, and others which took +Otway’s fancy he, in turn, put away from the others. One treasure +Otway found, which Mr. Tewe agreed was extremely valuable, was a +vellum-bound volume of copies of the secret archives of Venice under +the Doges concerning unknown poisons, how they were concocted, how +they were used to remove the enemies of the ancient Republic of +Venice, and the fees paid by the Republic to the secret assassins. +</p> + +<p> +As a research worker in the field of toxicology, Brinsley Otway seized +upon it, while Mr. Tewe agreed that it was one of the most unique and +valuable of all the volumes in the library. +</p> + +<p> +“There are only three copies extant,” said the snuffy old bibliophile. +“One is in the Bodleian, the other in the French National Library, and +the third is in private hands in America. It was sold at Sotheby’s for +£6,300, and unfortunately went across the Atlantic. The compilation +of it must have meant a lifetime of delving into the faded parchments +in the archives of Venice.” +</p> + +<p> +“The old Italian language will puzzle me, but the Latin part is quite +easy,” Otway said, highly delighted with his fortunate find. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the day the two men worked together in the close little +room, regardless of the half-inch of dust everywhere. Mr. Tewe +identified several rare early printed books from the Nüremberg and +Venetian presses, while with them was a file of <i>Punch</i>, from its +earliest number down to 1883, together with the first six years of the +issue of <i>The Times</i>, bound in calf, in a dozen volumes. +</p> + +<p> +But the majority of the books were out-of-date law treatises, +practically worthless to-day, though among them was a manuscript book +upon English heraldry, with illuminated coats-of-arms, written in the +crabbed and faded hand of Sir William Segar, Garter King of Arms in +the reign of James the First. +</p> + +<p> +Without thought of lunch, so absorbed were they, they continued their +investigations until the light faded, and then Otway, having packed up +the precious volume of Venetian archives, together with two or three +other books, ascended the broad staircase to speak with the +auctioneer’s representative, who was in the upper drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards he left and hurried back across London to the small, +red-brick, corner house of jerry-built type in the Finchley Road where +he carried on his practice. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mrs. Mobbs, his housekeeper, handed him several telephone messages +from patients which she had given over to Dr. Tarrant, who lived +farther up the road and who was going on a fortnight’s holiday, during +which time Otway had promised to look after his practice. +</p> + +<p> +In the cosy little bachelor sitting-room his modest dinner was laid, a +single cover, for he usually ate a chop at nine o’clock, when the last +of his suburban patients had left the surgery. +</p> + +<p> +He was in the act of eating a peach, which he had taken from a plate +on the sideboard, after untying the parcel of books which he had +brought from the Guest House, when he was suddenly seized by an +unusual faintness. +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds he stood rigid. The peach fell from his nerveless +fingers. Then, crossing to the mahogany sideboard, he poured out +unsteadily some brandy and swallowed it. It burned his throat. At the +same moment he was seized by a violent fit of shivering. Convulsions +shook his strong frame, while excruciating pains shot through his +extremities. He stood as one transfixed, when a sudden spasm shot +through his heart, and the glass fell from his fingers and was smashed +to fragments. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly he realized that the symptoms were such as he had never +observed before. He held his breath and set his teeth. Then, with a +supreme effort, and his eyes starting from his head, he managed to +utter a sharp cry which brought his old housekeeper hurriedly into the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“I—<i>I’m very ill</i>!” he gasped. “Fetch Dr. Tarrant! Quick! Tell him +that—that—I——” +</p> + +<p> +But, alas! the sentence remained unfinished, for the poor fellow +reeled and fell senseless upon the carpet, yet another victim of that +mysterious evil influence which pervaded the long-closed house at +Hampton Court. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch05"> +CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SHADOWS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Called</span> by telephone, Dr. Tarrant hurried along to his young +colleague Otway, whom he found stretched upon the carpet, a cushion +having been placed beneath his head by the faithful housekeeper, Mrs. +Mobbs. The portly old woman, in her neat black, was naturally greatly +agitated. The practitioner fell upon his knees and unloosened the +stricken man’s collar. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard him cry out, and rushed in to find him suddenly attacked. He +could hardly speak,” the woman explained. “He managed to tell me to +ring you up, and then he fell on the floor.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was busy unbuttoning the young man’s clothes and feeling +his pulse and the region of the heart. He could discover no pulsation, +and, as far as he could judge, Brinsley Otway appeared to be already +dead. There was no sign of any flicker of life. The heart, indeed, had +ceased to beat! +</p> + +<p> +He straightened himself and held his breath. Even to him, a medical +man of long practice, the affair came as a complete shock. +</p> + +<p> +“But what can have happened?” he asked breathlessly. “Tell me exactly +what happened—every detail,” he urged. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, doctor,” replied the bewildered woman. “He’s been away +all day down at Hampton Court, as you know. He gets back just before +half-past seven, when I had his dinner ready. He says to me, ‘I won’t +have it for ten minutes,’ and comes in here. I saw him untying that +parcel of books on the sideboard just as I passed to go to the +kitchen, and then I suddenly heard him cry out. I dashed in just in +time to see him collapse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he drink anything?” asked the doctor, rising and going to the +sideboard, where the package of old books lay open. +</p> + +<p> +The broken glass on the floor aroused his suspicions. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he go into the dispensary?” asked Tarrant, suddenly recollecting +that he might have gone there on his return, fagged and tired, and +mixed himself a cocktail from the many bottles there, for he dispensed +his own mixtures. +</p> + +<p> +“No, doctor. He didn’t go along the passage at all,” declared the +woman. “I know he never passed the kitchen door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor did he go upstairs, eh? He simply came straight into this room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, doctor. He came straight in here after he hung his hat in the +hall.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tarrant crossed to the telephone and rang up Dr. Randall, another +of his colleagues, an old practitioner who lived close by in a new +street off the Finchley Road. +</p> + +<p> +Then again he fell upon his knees beside the inert form of Brinsley +Otway. The patient lay there with half-closed eyes, his face white as +marble and his hands cold and stiffening. +</p> + +<p> +Again and again the doctor sought for signs of life, but failed to +discover any. Respiration had ceased, and with it the pulsations of +the heart. The attack was most mystifying, for he had never before +come across such inexplicable symptoms. +</p> + +<p> +Randall was an old-fashioned, white-headed doctor of the highly +pedantic type, who, rather rusty and out of date in his medical +methods, concealed his ignorance, like so many others, by constantly +referring to his Cambridge days and making the most of his knowledge +of the classics. Patients of unimportance he did not take the trouble +to impress, simply doling out innocuous pills and draughts, and +trusting that the poor people would not worry him further. But his +better-class patients he always took great pains to impress by his +’Varsity speech and manner. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, he was utterly unable to diagnose such a case, +leaving Tarrant, who was nearly twenty years younger and much more up +to date, to solve the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Randall’s car, as it happened, was standing at his door; +therefore, on receiving the call, he at once sprang in, and in five +minutes was round at Otway’s. +</p> + +<p> +When he saw the prostrate man he became instantly grave, and, after +hearing briefly from Tarrant what had occurred, his clean-shaven, +white-fringed face assumed a very grave expression. In contrast to +Tarrant—who was an alert, dark-haired man of forty, and enjoyed a +very wide and lucrative practice in the district—old Randall went +about with an assumed air of superiority which caused him to be very +much disliked, hence his practice had greatly fallen off. +</p> + +<p> +“Heart disease,” Tarrant exclaimed after a long examination. +“Angina—without a doubt!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s exactly my opinion,” said Randall, though he really held no +opinion, being ready to agree with anything his friend might suggest. +</p> + +<p> +“He probably walked home from the station too quickly,” Tarrant said. +“He complained to me about a month ago of sharp pain in the chest, +which he put down to acute indigestion. On feeling ill he apparently +took some brandy,” he added, smelling the broken glass. +</p> + +<p> +Together they lifted the inanimate form of their young colleague upon +the old leather-covered couch, and placed his head upon a pillow. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Dr. Tarrant noticed a half-eaten peach lying upon the +floor beneath the little table in the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he’s been eating!” he exclaimed, picking it up and examining it +curiously. “I wonder if this has anything to do with the attack?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, doctor, he’s eaten one of them there peaches!” exclaimed the old +housekeeper. “I meant to tell him about them when he came in, but it +went right out of my head. They were brought by a young woman who said +she came from a firm in the West End, and, as they were addressed to +my master and marked ‘perishable,’ I opened them and put them on a +plate. There was no name of who sent them. Perhaps he ordered them. He +orders things himself sometimes, and they are delivered.” +</p> + +<p> +The two doctors exchanged puzzled glances. +</p> + +<p> +“We had better have this analysed,” Tarrant said, holding in his hand +the half-consumed fruit, which still retained the stone, and regarding +it with a puzzled expression. +</p> + +<p> +He placed it upon one of the clean plates upon the dining-table and +put it aside, together with the other four ripe peaches. +</p> + +<p> +“He may be poisoned!” suggested Randall. “But if so, it acted +uncommonly quick.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I saw him, only a minute before, he had just untied the string +of the parcel, so he must have been taken ill almost instantly after +biting the fruit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. He did not have time to eat it all,” remarked Tarrant. “That +is, perhaps, as well, for it may furnish us with the truth concerning +the mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +Turning again, he glanced at the white-faced figure lying so prostrate +and still, and drew a deep sigh. He liked Brinsley Otway. Indeed, +everyone liked the smart, up-to-date young fellow who was such a good +friend to his charity patients, and so often attended the poor without +taking a fee. There were times, too, when in a poverty-stricken home +his hand went into his pocket and pulled out half a crown as “a +present for the children.” And the starving mother knew not that that +coin he gave often deprived him of his box of his favorite brand of +Egyptian cigarettes. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think, doctor, that we ought to let Miss Dare know?” +suggested the stout old woman, who had been gazing upon her young +master’s marble face. “Poor girl, I’m afraid the shock will kill her! +She’s such a sweet little thing, and they’re so devoted to each other. +It’s a sin that the awful truth should be told her. But it must be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my good woman,” said Dr. Randall in his best ’Varsity manner. +“But it must be. Alas! that our love idylls never last. It is the same +everywhere—the broken column of happiness and the realization that +all earthly bliss is only a pipe-dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, call Miss Dare,” Tarrant said. “I know her quite well. She +helped us at the piano in a concert for the blind held at Hampstead a +few months ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mobbs gave him the telephone number, and he at once telephoned to +Cookham. Briefly he explained who he was, and told her that Otway had +been taken rather queer, and suggested that she should come up to +London at once to see him. +</p> + +<p> +He heard her voice in reply, asking in anxiety what was the matter +with him. But Dr. Tarrant answered in a calm, even voice: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s had a rather nasty heart-attack through hurrying from the +station, and he is asking for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come at once,” she replied breathlessly, and, after some further +inquiries, rang off. +</p> + +<p> +It was past ten o’clock when Sibell, hurrying, her big blue eyes +anxious, alighted from a taxi in the Finchley Road. Entering her +lover’s room, she found him lying upon the frayed old couch, the two +doctors kneeling by his side, while standing near, watching the +prostrate man, was the faithful old housekeeper. +</p> + +<p> +As she entered, Dr. Tarrant, recognising her, rose to his feet and +greeted her in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry to have disturbed you, Miss Dare,” he said, “but I +thought it my duty to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he alive?” gasped the white-faced girl, bending to the rigid face +of the man she loved. His collar and tie had been removed, and he lay +there fully dressed, his eyes closed as one dead. +</p> + +<p> +“He is still breathing,” replied the elder of the two doctors. “His +seizure is most unaccountable. He was in the act of eating a peach, it +seems, when he suddenly collapsed.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was nothing wrong with the fruit, I hope,” cried the distressed +girl. “I bought them in Regent Street this afternoon, and sent them to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I’m glad we know that!” remarked Dr. Randall. “We were told by +Mrs. Mobbs that a strange woman had left them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot to put in my card,” Sibell said. “But will he recover?” she +asked breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“We are doing our best for him,” answered Tarrant, whom she had met +once before. “His heart is unfortunately very weak.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can be the cause?” +</p> + +<p> +“The symptoms are those of sudden failure of the heart,” was the +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then his illness has nothing to do with the fruit?” she asked +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not. I will send the rest of the peach he was in the act of +eating, with the others in the basket and the broken glass, to Sir +George Orelebar to be analysed as soon as I can. Then we shall know +the truth. Of course he may be poisoned, but I do not anticipate it.” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell breathed more freely, and for a long time stood staring at the +unconscious man, whose countenance was white as marble. The doctors, +with their stethoscopes, knelt and listened constantly to his +breathing. She watched their faces. Once that of Dr. Randall assumed a +graver expression. +</p> + +<p> +“No! Don’t!” she shrieked, laying her trembling fingers upon his arm. +“No. For God’s sake—don’t tell me he’s dying!” +</p> + +<p> +The white-haired old doctor shook his head gravely, and replied: +</p> + +<p> +“A flicker of the fire of life is still discernible, but whether he +will pull through we cannot yet tell. It is a serious attack—very +serious indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Dr. Tarrant’s big-built Irish chauffeur burst into the +room and handed his master a tiny phial with a glass stopper for +measuring drops. Instantly Randall poured out some water into a small +glass, to which he very carefully added ten drops of the drug. +Afterwards he held it to the light, examining it critically, and, +while Tarrant held up Otway’s head, the other forced the draught +between his teeth; and, the helpless girl stood watching. +</p> + +<p> +The whole tragic affair was most puzzling. The girl had flung off her +coat and hat, and, in a sleeveless gown of black georgette trimmed +with silver, which made her neck and arms look like alabaster, she +again sank upon her knees, and, as they laid his head back upon the +pillow, she bent forward and kissed his cold, hard face in front of +them all. +</p> + +<p> +The room was warm even to stuffiness, so the window was opened, and +through it came the chimes of the church in the Finchley Road as the +clock struck the hour. +</p> + +<p> +Would he live? The scene was pathetic. Of all the crowd of medical +students at Guy’s, Brinsley Otway had been one of the most popular. He +was certainly the leading light of the Medical School, and in +preparation of charity “rags” he was always full of new ideas for +“stunts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear it is a case of mitral incompetence of the heart,” remarked +Dr. Tarrant in a low voice to his companion. “The symptoms are very +evident; there is the feeble pulse, œdema of the lower extremities, +and anasarca.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where there is mitral incompetence there is usually some pulmonary +congestion,” remarked the other. “That condition appears to be +absent.” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell heard, but did not understand their argument. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it very critical?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” replied Tarrant. “We had better place him on his bed.” +</p> + +<p> +Quickly the bed upstairs was arranged by Sibell, and the two men, +assisted by Mrs. Mobbs, carried him in, when Sibell left while they +undressed him. +</p> + +<p> +The poor girl was beside herself with grief. With blanched face and +clenched hands, she paced the narrow passage feverishly. She blamed +herself for sending him that fatal peach. Would he be spared to her? +If he died, then her future life would be a blank, for she could never +love again. Brinsley was her ideal; she worshipped him as a god. +</p> + +<p> +She remained there during the night, but there was no improvement in +her stricken lover’s condition. The two doctors remained with him till +two o’clock, when Tarrant left, carrying with him the remainder of the +peach, and the fruit which had not been eaten. +</p> + +<p> +Hour after hour, with her lover’s coat wrapped about her bare +shoulders, the girl sat near the patient’s bed, while Mrs. Mobbs made +tea for Randall and herself. Time after time the girl tenderly +smoothed the unconscious man’s pillow, and ever and anon kissed his +cold, white brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Is mitral incompetence of the heart very serious?” she asked Tarrant +when he returned to relieve his colleague. +</p> + +<p> +“Very serious indeed, Miss Dare,” replied the collapsed man’s friend. +“Few people recover, but we hope that Brinsley, being in such good +health, will get through it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the use of being pessimistic, sir?” remarked Mrs. Mobbs. “We +can’t afford to lose the young master, and, moreover, we’re not going +to do so,” she added vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +“The crisis is from twelve to fifteen hours after the attack. That +will be before mid-day,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The girl, with weary, deep-set eyes, waited till five o’clock, but, as +there was no sign of returning consciousness, though Tarrant declared +that he was still living, she went into an adjoining room and cast +herself upon the bed, where she dropped off to sleep, thoroughly +exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +At three o’clock that afternoon Dr. Tarrant, having driven to +Kensington, stood in the laboratory of Professor Orelebar, the +well-known Government analyst, whose evidence was so often taken in +criminal cases. +</p> + +<p> +“The peaches you brought this morning show no sign whatever of +contamination,” declared the shrunken little man in a black coat which +seemed several sizes too large for him. “I have submitted them to +every known test, but I have failed to establish any evidence which +could lead to the supposition of poisoning. We have worked all day +upon it, and Professor Grant entirely agrees with me. The glass +contained pure brandy.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tarrant thanked the famous adviser to the Home Office, and, as he +walked back to the High Street, Kensington station, he became fully +convinced that the young man’s condition was due to heart trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell lived through an interminable week of dread and uncertainty. +</p> + +<p> +She went to stay with her aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, in West Halkin +Street, but each day she went to Finchley Road, yet her lover still +lay unconscious, watched by a nurse and Mrs. Mobbs, Dr. Tarrant +visiting him thrice each day. The report, alas! was always the same. +The patient showed no sign either of improvement or returning +consciousness. He lay motionless and white in that small, darkened +room, hovering hour by hour between life and death. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Orlando Snow, a bald-headed Harley Street specialist, was brought +by Dr. Tarrant one afternoon, and, standing by the inanimate form +lying there so blanched and still, he heard from him exactly how he +had been discovered, while the housekeeper described the distress +which Sibell was suffering. +</p> + +<p> +“She comes here every day and sits in tears. Poor girl, she’s +inconsolable! It must be a terrible blow for her,” said the +sympathetic Mrs. Mobbs. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be,” replied the specialist. “I wonder what caused the +attack?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heart—mitral incompetence; that’s my diagnosis,” said Tarrant. +</p> + +<p> +Snow was silent for a few moments, his eyes fixed upon the immobile +countenance of the patient. Then he made his own examination, and +agreed entirely with the general practitioner. +</p> + +<p> +“Serious?” asked Tarrant. +</p> + +<p> +“Very. I don’t like his condition at all,” the grey-bearded specialist +answered gravely. “But he may just pull through”; and he gave several +directions to doctor and nurse. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Brinsley,” exclaimed Tarrant. “I do hope he’ll pull through. +</p> + +<p> +“The whole affair is a complete mystery,” Tarrant remarked. Then, +lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, he added: “Œdema of the +lower extremities, anasarca, and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; were it not for Orelebar’s declaration that there was nothing +wrong with the peaches, I should suspect poisoning,” declared the +great specialist. +</p> + +<p> +“But Mrs. Mobbs now admits that when the peaches were left she ate one +of them from the basket. She suffered no ill-effects. Therefore why +was Otway taken suddenly ill when eating one of them some hours +later?” +</p> + +<p> +“He only ate half,” the specialist pointed out. “The other half and +the stone have been analysed by Orelebar and Grant, both great experts +in poisons, and have been declared to be quite sound and good, without +traces of any toxic substance. Yet I repeat that, if it were not for +the symptoms of heart-trouble, I should certainly suspect poison.” +</p> + +<p> +None, not even Sibell herself, had any knowledge of the strange +experience which had befallen the auctioneer, Mr. Herbert Gray, while +inspecting the Guest House, or the serious illness that had followed. +Some evil influence was at work at the House on the Green. But what +was it? +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch06"> +CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MISTRESS AND MAN</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">More</span> than a fortnight elapsed before Brinsley Otway had sufficiently +recovered to get up and sit by the window. Thin and pale, a mere +shadow of his former self, he had been very near death, yet, thanks in +a great measure to the attention of the nurse who had come from the +Middlesex Hospital to attend him, and the constant care of Dr. Tarrant +and Sibell, he had slowly struggled back to life. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell’s joy knew no bounds when she heard that her lover was at last +out of danger. She visited him daily, brought him all sorts of +delicacies, and sat with him for hours while the nurse went out for +her daily relaxation. +</p> + +<p> +Each afternoon they were alone, and often sat locked in each other’s +arms, he raining kisses upon her full red lips. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been given back to me by God, my darling!” she one day +whispered to him, her slim, tender hand smoothing the dark hair from +his brow. “I constantly prayed that your life might be spared. And God +has answered my appeal.” And she gazed into his countenance with the +lovelight in her big blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He drew down her head and kissed her upon the lips for the thousandth +time, unable to utter the thoughts which arose within him. Hand in +hand they sat together for fully five minutes without speaking. The +fire burned brightly, and the place was warm and cosy that chilly +autumn day, for outside it was dark and rainy, with the eternal +honking of the motor traffic below in the Finchley Road. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope the doctors will be able to cure you, entirely,” the girl +said, with serious apprehension. “Does Dr. Tarrant think you might +have another sudden attack?” +</p> + +<p> +“He thinks it improbable. My heart is quite normal, and it only +remains for me to gain weight. He says I’m to have a holiday. But +where can one go in England at this time of year?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She reflected for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Etta wants to take me to the Riviera in the second week in +November. Uncle Edward is going to New York. Why not come out with +us?” she suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“A good idea! I’d be delighted, if I could arrange for a ‘locum.’ But +your aunt might not approve,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll suggest it to her to-night. I feel sure she’d love to have you. +They have a sweet villa at Cannes—a delightful place on the hill. Do +come!” she cried enthusiastically. “The sunshine and flowers and blue +sea will soon put you right again, dear. And, besides,” she added with +a delightful smile, “I don’t want to be parted from you for four whole +months. It would seem an eternity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you, darling?” he laughed, stroking her fair shingled hair. +“Well, ascertain your aunt’s views.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will. And, if she agrees, I’ll book you a berth on the Blue Train +we are travelling by. Ashe, and Bevan, my aunt’s maid, are going with +us. Ashe is invaluable. Aunt Etta never travels without him. Uncle +Edward has some business in New York for a company of which he is a +director. He is to join us for a few weeks before we come home at the +end of March.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Mrs. Mobbs brought up their tea, which Sibell poured, and, after a +cosy meal by the fireside, they both smoked cigarettes until the nurse +returned to take up her duties. Then Sibell put on her smart fur coat, +and, with a silent kiss in secret, bade him farewell. +</p> + +<p> +At West Halkin Street she found the Countess alone, reading in a +corner of the drawing-room, a handsomely-furnished apartment on the +first floor, and at once suggested that Brinsley might go to Cannes +with them. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wyndcliffe stirred in her chair, and, looking over her book, +replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll ask your uncle, and hear his opinion, dear. Do you mean that he +should be our guest—or go to an hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, be our guest—if he could, auntie. If we are alone, we can go to +so few places. If Brinsley is with us, he can take us to dances and +all sorts of shows. It was, as you know, horribly dull last year till +we met Mr. Lavis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. It’s true I like the air on the Riviera. It always +agrees with me. But the people are such a horribly mixed lot. The +world and the half-world rub shoulders, and the former imitate the +latter, till one can scarcely discern the dividing-line,” her aunt +said with an air of utter boredom. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wyndcliffe had shown herself much better disposed towards her +niece since she heard the news of her great inheritance. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, auntie. But it’s often very amusing on the Riviera—if you have +a man to take you about. And Brinsley is such an excellent +dancer—which you admit.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is. I like dancing with him,” her aunt declared. “Of course if I +can persuade your uncle to let him go with us, I certainly will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, auntie dear,” cried the delighted girl. “I’ll go up and +take off my things.” +</p> + +<p> +And she ran to her room full of eager anticipation of a merry time +with Brinsley amid the gaiety of the Azure Coast, with its palms and +olives, its blue seas and flower-scented zephyrs. +</p> + +<p> +They dined alone <i>en famille</i> at the polished oval table with shaded +candelabra, and an epergne of great chrysanthemums as a centre-piece. +In the dim light Ashe, the discreet, obsequious butler, a clean-shaven +man whose hair was edged with silver, moved silently in the shadows of +the luxuriously-furnished room, and served them with that soft voice +and deftness characteristic of the perfect family retainer. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wyndcliffe, who had been out at a charity matinée that +afternoon, gossiped about it during the meal. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards a friend of hers, a Mrs. Hall-Carew, who lived in Curzon +Street, called for Sibell and took her to the theatre, while later on, +Lord Wyndcliffe, a bald-headed, heavy-faced man, went out to play +bridge with some friends in Mount Street, leaving his wife alone. +</p> + +<p> +The slim, handsome woman sat for a full quarter of an hour pondering, +her brows knit, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting upon her +hands, gazing at the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if it would be quite safe?” she pondered. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, as though in sudden decision, she rose and pressed the +bell. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened a few minutes later and the exemplary Ashe entered, +closing the door quietly after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he asked abruptly. “What’s the matter now?” +</p> + +<p> +His manner was completely different from the polite, well-mannered +butler who had served dinner. He was self-possessed and arrogant, more +as though he were master of the house and the Countess a menial. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just going out,” he said gruffly. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to talk to you, Albert,” said the woman in a low-cut +sleeveless black gown embroidered with silk flowers around the hem and +corsage. “Sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about?” he snapped. “Don’t let us carry on that discussion of +this morning. I’m fed up with the whole damned thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more so than myself,” replied the woman, in a tone which one does +not use towards servants. “Sit down, please, and hear calmly what I’ve +got to say, Albert.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and get a drink and a cigar first. I can be more attentive +then”; and, laughing grimly, he descended the stairs to the +dining-room. On his return he was smoking one of her husband’s +choicest cigars, while in his hand he carried a glass of +whiskey-and-soda. +</p> + +<p> +He turned the key in the door and threw himself carelessly into an +arm-chair. He said at last: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Etta, my dear, I’m all attention.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman looked at him strangely. There was a curious aspect about +the dark head with its poise of proud aloofness, its subtle air of +distinction, and the unmoving, absorbed way it was turned to the +man-servant who sat before her. +</p> + +<p> +What had caused that burning melancholy in her eyes? Was it due to the +subtle chiselling of her white, heavily-fringed lids? And the +sorrowful lifting of her brows? Could that, too, be merely caused by +exquisitely-sculptured contours? Or were they merely mute signals of a +soul in distress—a distress so deep that the woman had ceased to +struggle and had given herself up to terrible despair? What pitiless +fate could have made her look like that? +</p> + +<p> +“I see that something’s a bit wrong,” said the butler. “You were not +like this at dinner. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had bad news,” the pretty Countess said. “I wore my mask at +dinner—as I am always compelled to wear it. I’ve had bad news.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guessed as much,” said Ashe, holding his cigar in his fingers. +“Well, let’s know the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert is coming to London!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert!” gasped the man, starting to his feet. “By heaven! He mustn’t +come—he mustn’t ever find you!” +</p> + +<p> +“He will probably have a difficulty, now that I’ve changed my name and +married Wyndcliffe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a damned bad move on your part, Etta, ever to have married the +old ass. I told you so at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I know!” cried the unhappy woman. “But he has been so very +good to me, so what would he say if he knew the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will never know—provided you are discreet,” Ashe assured her, his +rather bloated face set hard, and his brows knit in thought. The +problem presented by his mistress’s announcement was certainly a very +difficult one, a <i>contretemps</i> which would require the greatest tact +and ingenuity to avoid successfully. He contemplated the end of the +excellent cigar for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know Rupert is coming?” he inquired suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a letter from Eric Britton, in San Francisco, by this +afternoon’s post, giving me warning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t trust that stiff Britton,” the man snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows nothing of my present whereabouts. He sent the letter +addressed to Morgan’s Bank in Pall Mall, and they forwarded it on to +Burton’s Library, in Kensington—where I am known as Mrs. Higham.” +</p> + +<p> +“If Rupert is in search of you, then mind he doesn’t trace letters +sent to Horgan’s Bank,” her companion said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve already thought of that. I’ve written to the bank, asking them +to send all my letters to the Poste Restante at Melbourne, as I am +going on a pleasure trip to Australia. Instead of that, we are going +to the Riviera.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said the manservant. “But it would be far better +to prevent Rupert from coming over to London at all. If he’s here, +then there is constant danger. Think of the big stake we might so +easily lose. Think of this present life, Etta—of the terrible +uncertainty of it all; of the daily fear you have of Wyndcliffe +discovering the truth. Reflect upon it all,” he urged, standing before +her. “There must be some way out of this. And the only way out I see +is to prevent him from coming over.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you do that, Albert?” asked the woman in despair. “How is it +possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“It wants all thinking over,” he snapped, a hard, determined +expression on his countenance. “I must devise some plan. But we won’t +trust that fellow Britton, for, if the worst came to the worst, he’d +certainly smell a rat. And we surely don’t want that. No, you must +just fade out for a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“To the Riviera, I suppose,” she said. “Sibell wants me to invite +Otway. What do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +The man, to whom his mistress was so familiar and confidential, +hesitated for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in the circumstances he might perhaps be useful. But I do hope +they’re not too deeply in love with each other, otherwise it may cause +us a good deal of trouble. You know what I mean?” he added, regarding +her very strangely. +</p> + +<p> +She swallowed the lump which arose in her throat, and in a low voice +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“I know at what you are hinting. Please do not refer to it, I beg of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t. I only point out that the less love existing between the +pair, the better for everybody concerned,” he said. “On the other +hand, I can see no reason why the young fellow should not go with you +both as companion, especially as I shall not be there.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not coming with us?” asked Lady Wyndcliffe, aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I shall have other matters much more important to attend to,” he +replied in a mysterious manner. “I haven’t yet thought out this sudden +danger which threatens. When there’s danger, you know, Etta, I’m the +first to face it. It isn’t the first little alarm we’ve had by +several. So just leave it to me to find a way out. We can’t go on much +longer as we’ve been going. Happily for our success, Sibell knows +nothing, and suspects nothing. Neither does your ass of a husband. But +we are both out for money—big money—is not that so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” his mistress said. “But I won’t go to Cannes without you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll get a good servant for you, never fear. I’ll see about it +to-morrow. There’s a man named Nivern just leaving Lord Cathlake’s. +He’s quite reliable, I happen to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know just yet. Rupert must be prevented from coming to +London, and it’s no use sitting here awaiting disaster, is it? If he +comes, then he must meet you or Sibell sooner or later. Therefore he +is best over in America. Let’s see—it’s quite five years or more +since that affair in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, nobody knows about that except you,” said the woman grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. You’ve led old Wyndcliffe up the garden very well indeed, Etta,” +laughed the man, drinking deeply of his whiskey-and-soda. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me twenty pounds,” he said suddenly. “I’ve had a rough week. +Every horse I fancied went down.” +</p> + +<p> +Without protest, the heavy-eyed woman rose, and, going to her room, +returned with two ten-pound notes, which she handed to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” he said, as he crushed them into his vest pocket. “I’ll want +three hundred or so to go on with when I leave. I’m just going out for +an hour or two.” +</p> + +<p> +And, carefully throwing his cigar-end out of the window, he turned and +left. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning, after breakfast, Lord Wyndcliffe and Sibell were sitting +in the morning-room, the girl idling over a picture-paper, when they +heard a violent altercation in the dining-room between her ladyship +and the butler, Ashe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hear no more!” Sibell heard her aunt shout. “I will not stand +your abominable insolence any longer! You are dismissed, and will +leave the house this morning. You can have a month’s wages in lieu of +notice, but I’ll not have you in my house another hour!” +</p> + +<p> +And Lady Wyndcliffe dashed into the morning-room and burst out crying. +</p> + +<p> +“Ashe has been most abominably insolent to me, dear!” she declared to +her husband through her tears. “I’ve sent him away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Insolent to you!” cried the man, starting angrily to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear!” she urged, her hand upon his shoulder. “Please don’t +excite yourself. He’s gone to pack up. I’ll send his check into the +kitchen, and we are well rid of such a fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never liked him,” declared the Earl. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither have I,” Sibell agreed. “He’s always seemed so abominably +familiar, auntie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, dear. He’s going. So we must look out for another man. +Mrs. Owen Clark gave me the name of a man the other day. I’ve got his +address somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +And so, an hour later, the faithful Mr. Albert Ashe, who had been +nearly two years in the employ of Lady Wyndcliffe, left West Halkin +Street with his luggage on a taxi-cab. +</p> + +<p> +But before he went he managed to snatch a few whispered words with his +mistress in her boudoir. +</p> + +<p> +“When you go to Cannes, be extremely careful to hide everything from +young Otway. Remember the great secret I told you the other day!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman nodded, her face white to the lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you hear of anything happening, keep your own counsel, and +put two and two together. That’s all! Be very careful of Otway. He may +be of great use to both of us. You carried out the quarrel admirably. +I’ll meet you again soon, Etta! We’re out for a big stake, and we’ll +win—never fear!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch07"> +CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE MAN WITH RED HAIR</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">When</span> that morning, after Ashe’s departure, Sibell’s aunt told her +that she had decided to invite Brinsley to accompany them to Cannes, +she at once rang him up to tell him the joyful news. +</p> + +<p> +Then she put on her coat and hat and went down to the office of the +International Sleeping Car Company, in Cockspur Street, where she was +fortunate enough to find that a one-berth compartment on the Blue +Train from Calais to Ventimiglia on the day they had booked sleepers +had been cancelled, so she at once engaged it. +</p> + +<p> +Otway was not yet well enough to go out, therefore she called in the +afternoon and, as usual, sat with him by the fire and took tea and +toast which the housekeeper brought up. +</p> + +<p> +They were both enthusiastic concerning their journey south, for +Brinsley had never been to the Riviera, therefore she described some +of the pleasures and gaiety of winter life by the Mediterranean. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m trying to persuade auntie to send out the car with Craven,” she +said. “Uncle will be away, so he won’t want it. Besides, a car is so +handy on the Riviera. One can run about and see one’s friends, or go +over in the evening to Monte. We really must have it. I’m insisting +upon it. It will be cheaper for Craven to take it across from +Boulogne, than to hire one in Cannes.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you use your persuasive powers upon your Aunt Etta, you’ll no +doubt succeed, darling,” he said, with an affectionate hug. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed the girl. “Ashe has gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ashe gone!” cried her lover in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He’s Aunt Etta’s right hand, so I don’t suppose he’ll be away +from us for long,” Sibell said. “There was a row after breakfast this +morning—exactly why I can’t discover—but in any case the excellent +Ashe was impudent about some order he was given, so auntie simply gave +him the sack at a moment’s notice, paid him up, and away he went. He +was out of the house in a quarter of an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m, a bit of an upset, eh?” remarked the young doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle was furious, but she managed to calm him down. Isn’t it +priceless? Hitherto, auntie would never have a single word said about +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never liked the fellow,” declared her lover. “He always seemed +to assume such superior, supercilious airs, and in his face there was +a low cunning expression that always made me suspect him of robbing +your uncle over the wines and cigars. When he went off duty he became +the gentleman, I suppose. I met him one night at Hyde Park Corner, and +he looked like a smart club man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I’ve seen him dressed quite elegantly when he went out. To me +he was, however, always very polite and obedient. So I’ve nothing to +complain about, except of his rather brusque, familiar manner towards +my aunt sometimes. Several times I mentioned it, but auntie told me to +take no notice, as it was only his way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, though he used to serve me very well, and was most attentive at +table when I dined at West Halkin Street, I’m rather glad he’s gone. +Why I disliked him I couldn’t tell you, dearest. But I did. I can’t +explain the reason. It was intuition, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Auntie has written to a new man, and if she engages him, he’ll go to +Cannes with us. He could go in the car with Craven. I’ll suggest it.” +</p> + +<p> +When Sibell had kissed him and had gone, after the return of the +nurse, Brinsley Otway sat in the old arm-chair with his arms folded, +silent in deep thought. +</p> + +<p> +The sudden and unexpected dismissal of the Earl’s faithful man, Ashe, +puzzled him. Was there anything behind that violent quarrel? He +himself, during the evenings spent at West Halkin Street, had not +failed to notice the familiar manner in which the fellow treated +Sibell’s rather go-ahead aunt. His demeanor was certainly not +befitting that of a servant. Once, too, he had overheard some +whispered words between mistress and man. He was alone in the study +one evening, choosing a book from the shelves, and happened to be +stooping down behind a small screen and thus concealed when he heard +the Countess slip noiselessly into the room, followed by Ashe. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that telegram you’ve just received?” demanded the man quickly +in a low whisper. “Tell me the truth,” he growled threateningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is,” faltered the woman, apparently haunted by dread. “You +need not be so fierce. It’s only from that freak Emily Taylor, who +wants to come to town and stay with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Ashe replied. “I feared it might be from him! I’m sorry. No harm +done.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the servant slipped out of the room, followed by his +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Those strange words Otway overheard had since caused him to ponder +frequently. Being on such terms as they were, it seemed more than +curious that they should part after a violent altercation. +</p> + +<p> +As he sat he remembered that curious conversation, every word of which +had sunk indelibly into his brain. Ashe’s manner to his mistress was +so deferential and obsequious at table that the conversation in +question both puzzled and intrigued him. Of course he had said nothing +to Sibell, but the scene at West Halkin Street which she had described +caused him again to ponder. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner that night, served by one of the maids, Lady Wyndcliffe, +addressing her bald-headed husband across the table, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen the man recommended to me a little time ago, dear. I +telephoned to him, and he came this afternoon. Quite nice and smart. A +trifle younger than Ashe. He has excellent references, so I’ve engaged +him. He is coming to us the day after to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said his lordship, settling his dress tie. “I’m glad you gave +that fellow Ashe the sack. He was always drinking my whiskey and +smoking my cigars. I used to smell them when I came home at night. The +fellow used to smoke in the drawing-room. I’m sure of it. Why, I came +in late last night after you’d all gone to bed, and I distinctly smelt +one of my cigars in the drawing-room. Been up there while we were all +out, no doubt. Damn the fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ashe was all right if he could refrain from being insolent,” remarked +his wife. “He was an excellent servant, but he had that one fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, auntie, we’re well rid of him, I think,” Sibell chimed in. +“Let’s hope this new man will turn out well. I’d let him go with +Craven in the car. Let them start three days before us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who said we were taking the car?” asked the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, surely it’s cheaper to take your own bus than to hire! You know +how last year we found the hire absolutely ruinous. And one can do +nothing on the Riviera without a car. Besides, uncle will like it when +he comes out. The run across France only costs a few pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +The Earl laughed in his brainless way, remarking: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you want it out there because you like to drive yourself, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s a good deal in that!” the girl admitted. “But without a +car it’s simply dreadful there.” +</p> + +<p> +A long argument ensued, but in the end Sibell cajoled her aunt into +the idea of sending the chauffeur Craven with the car, and the new +butler, to the South of France—a fact which Brinsley duly learnt over +the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +About ten o’clock one evening a few days later, a rather short, +thick-set man in well-cut evening clothes and a five-diamond ring upon +his finger entered “The Owls,” one of the small dance clubs in Wardour +Street, Soho, the chief patrons of which were writers, painters, the +lesser lights of the drama of both sexes, mannequins at West End +shops, art students of both sexes and their models; indeed it was one +of London’s centres of Bohemia—or what still remains of it nowadays. +</p> + +<p> +The man, who was apparently well known, handed in his coat, signed the +members’ book, and passed into the ground-floor room, at the end of +which was a bar. The stuffy little place was nearly filled by a gay +crowd of reckless young men and women, many of whose faces bore traces +of dissipation and late nights. From the basement below came the +strident strains of a jazz band mingled with gay shouts and laughter +as the man, whose eyes had eagerly searched around as though expecting +somebody, seated himself on a high stool at the bar and ordered a +cocktail. Then he lit a cigarette, and, with one eye on the door, sat +smoking and chatting to the barman, a foreigner in a white linen coat +who was deftly serving drinks. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a man entered, and, as the other waved to him in recognition, +came forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Mr. Ashe!” exclaimed the short, thick-set little man, +evidently Italian from his accent. “Haven’t seen you lately, sare.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Johnnie. I’ve been away in the country,” replied the discharged +butler. “Thought I’d just look in for half-an-hour. Have a drink?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sare,” replied the dapper little Italian, who was <i>maître +d’hôtel</i> at one of the smartest West End restaurants. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember one day, about three weeks ago, you told me of a young +man you know who lives in the same house as yourself in Guilford +Street—that man who was suddenly taken ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Meester Fetherstone! Oh, yes. He’s better now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was influenza, wasn’t it?” he said, bending to him and whispering. +</p> + +<p> +The little dark-eyed man raised his shoulders and pulled a wry face. +</p> + +<p> +“You recollect what you told me—the conversation about detectives. +There were several young men in the sitting-room that night, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Several of them. They were discussing some secret about evil +influences.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s interesting, anyway,” laughed Mr. Ashe. “They evidently know +something about evil curses and such-like mysteries. Yet I don’t see +why such things as curses should concern ’Varsity students. Tell me +about Fetherstone.” +</p> + +<p> +“All of the boys seemed most interested,” Johnnie said in English with +a strong Tuscan accent. “Fetherstone comes here sometimes. He has red +hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“You told me about him. I wonder if he is downstairs? I’d like to be +introduced to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and see,” said the man from Leghorn, who at once went below +to the dance-room. On returning a few moments later, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Meester Fetherstone is downstairs. He is dancing.” +</p> + +<p> +Both drained their glasses and went below into the rather low-pitched +basement, which was spacious, running as it did beneath the two +adjoining houses. Around the walls were set a number of little tables +at which drinks were being served, at the end was the usual platform +with its jazz orchestra, while the centre of the floor was so crowded +by dancers, mostly in their day clothes, that it seemed difficult to +circulate. +</p> + +<p> +On every hand large notices stated: “Hard-boiled shirts not allowed!” +together with humorous distortions of well-known proverbs and many +flags and streamers. Ashe and his companion found a table after some +little difficulty, and, the dance being concluded, the Italian, whose +full name was Giovanni Savini, pointed out Fetherstone, who was seated +with a fair-haired, rather smartly-dressed mannequin on the opposite +side of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Contrive to introduce me later on, Johnnie,” Ashe said. “Do you +really think you are right?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, Meester Ashe, but I have my ears open you know, and I +hear a lot of discussions. My bedroom is next their sitting-room,” +replied the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, “and sometimes I hear very funny +things.” +</p> + +<p> +Ashe and Savini had been friends for a considerable time. They had +first met in Paris six years before, the Italian then being a waiter +at the Grand Hotel while Ashe was for some months living as guest in +that colossal establishment. Then, three years afterwards, the Italian +had one night served him in the Savoy in London, and they had +recognised each other. The smart <i>maître d’hôtel</i> possessed a wide +knowledge of London’s underworld; hence they were often out together +late at night after the closing hour of the restaurant <i>de luxe</i> in +the West End where the Italian was now employed. +</p> + +<p> +Ashe, with his shrewd observation and acumen, had long ago discovered +that his friend was, in secret, the associate of adventurers and +crooks of both sexes, who brought their “pigeons” to lunch or dine at +the expensive establishment where he was such an ubiquitous and +obliging servitor. And, being attracted by crookdom, he had cultivated +the man’s acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour afterwards, Fetherstone’s lady friend having left him to +Charleston with a white-haired and well-known portrait painter, Savini +went up to him and invited him to their table, where Ashe was +introduced, and the trio were soon taking drinks in the form of +whiskey-and-soda served in teacups and poured from a tea-pot. +</p> + +<p> +The place was now crowded by a very mixed assembly. The theatres were +over, and all sorts of men and women, including many of the +night-hawks of London, were shouting, laughing, drinking, dancing, and +throwing serpentines to the strains of the deafening orchestra; hence +conversation was difficult, and Ashe could scarcely make himself heard +to the young student across the table. +</p> + +<p> +The ex-butler took infinite trouble to impress Fetherstone with his +air of careless bonhomie, but presently a black-haired girl, an +artist’s model, came along, and, greeting the young fellow, sat down +uninvited at the table and began some good-humored banter, which +immensely amused both the student and the Italian. +</p> + +<p> +“I like that man Ashe,” remarked Fetherstone to the Italian as they +walked past the dark façade of the British Museum on the way to +Guilford Street. A church clock somewhere in Bloomsbury had just +struck half-past three, and the winter’s morning was frosty and +bitterly cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Meester Ashe is a very good friend of mine. <i>Un buon amico</i>,” +declared Savini. +</p> + +<p> +“What is he?” inquired the student. +</p> + +<p> +“He does nothing. Spends a lot of money, and when he gives a leetle +dinner he orders always the best. He leave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s a real decent sort,” declared the red-headed young man +enthusiastically. “I’m meeting him at the Idlers on Wednesday night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I am on duty that night. We have a large private party—Lord +Melfort’s coming of age,” Savini said. “So I can’t join you, sare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do so another time, Johnnie,” Fetherstone urged. “Ashe is a fine +fellow to spend an evening with—full of fun, isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Arrived at Guilford Street, they let themselves into the silent, +frowsy-smelling old house and crept upstairs to their respective +rooms. +</p> + +<p> +On Wednesday evening, according to appointment, Fetherstone met Ashe +in the obscure little club in Wardour Street, where they had several +drinks, and on two occasions girls known to the light-hearted student +of Bart’s carried him off to dance with them. At such establishments +the girls seem mostly dance-mad, for they live a hectic, unhealthy +life, often stimulated by “snow” and other deadly things which are +procurable in secret on the premises—provided one has the money. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch08"> +CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MR. ASHE IS INQUISITIVE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Feigning</span> to be tired of the deafening orchestra and the atmosphere +of the Idlers, Mr. Ashe suddenly suggested that they should take a +taxi to the private hotel off the Strand where he was living, and +where they could have a drink and a smoke amid more peaceful +surroundings. In consequence, half an hour later they were seated in +deep easy-chairs before the fire in a cosy little private sitting-room +in Norfolk Street, with long glasses at their elbows. +</p> + +<p> +Ashe had been describing his imaginary travels in Chile, Argentine, +and Brazil, and told his companion that he contemplated going on a +trip up the Amazon. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a writer, you know. That is why I travel so extensively,” he +explained. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be most interesting,” said Fetherstone, much impressed by his +newly-found friend’s conversation. “Authors can travel about, but +doctors never, unless they enter the service of a shipping line. But +that isn’t a paying proposition. I’m going in for medicine. When you +work up a practice you’re in the same corner-house for life. My father +has promised, as soon as I’m fully qualified, to buy one for me. Then +I shall be expected to vegetate in some country town, or perhaps in +some smiling village, and remain there till I expire of sheer boredom. +But I’m not going to do that, if I know it!” he declared, with a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think not! Be ambitious. Set yourself out a task and achieve +it against all odds. That’s the only way to success, my dear boy,” +said Ashe. “Apart from the scientific interest in the practice of +medicine, I should fancy the ordinary practitioner’s life to be the +deadliest and dullest of all professions—even the profession of +hair-cutting.” +</p> + +<p> +Both men laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“At Bart’s we’re quite a cheery crowd,” explained the young fellow +presently. “We sometimes manage to wake up things a bit in the +evening. But we all dread the time when we are passed out upon the +world as ‘duly qualified.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I must admit that an author leads an untrammelled life, going +hither and thither over the face of the world just as he pleases in +search of fresh material with which to interest his readers. Nowadays +an author can’t afford to stay at home and write about everyday +occurrences. He must hit upon some new theme, and, if he is a +novelist, some fresh local color not hitherto portrayed. Novelists are +spread all over the world. From the Arctic tundras to the jungles of +Africa and the Far East, and from the film studios of Hollywood to the +slums of that almost extinct port of Vladivostock, are hundreds of +wandering writers, each collecting materials and atmosphere for new +books which, sooner or later, will, in pictorial covers, be displayed +in booksellers’ windows”; and then Ashe, in his well-cut evening +clothes, sat back, sipped his drink, and posed as an author. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you writing about just now?” asked Fetherstone, much +interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m busy studying a rather unusual subject—the old mediæval +curses and their results. I want to write a novel and introduce some +curse so subtle that it cannot be detected.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man pursed his lips. The mere mention of curses aroused his +interest. He did not know the name of Ashe as a novelist, yet, being +no novel-reader, it was not surprising that the name was unfamiliar. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “we hear much about curses, anathemas, and +imprecations and all that sort of thing in the Middle Ages, but to-day +it is all out of date. Curses are only believed in by neurotic persons +whose mentality is unbalanced.” +</p> + +<p> +“But those mediæval curses, and the evil placed upon old houses and +persons inhabiting them, I am studying, and the ancient beliefs of +some of the uncivilized countries.” +</p> + +<p> +“A most interesting study, I should say,” remarked Fetherstone. “Very +little is really known about them, except that there are some +curiously well-authenticated cases.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have studied the question, eh?” asked Ashe. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, superficially. There are several houses supposed to be haunted +by evil in England, and several in France and Italy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you happen to know anything of them?” asked his companion in an +artless way. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just a little—what I’ve read, that’s all. There are quite a lot +of books on the subject,” said the red-headed man. “The tales of +certain old châteaux in Hungary are, to me, of the greatest interest. +Until a short time ago, though I had heard strange stories about them, +as any person interested in the subject hears, I placed no credence in +their claims. Now, however, my opinion has quite altered.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Albert Ashe, instantly interested. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean that it seems without doubt that there was an evil placed upon +the Imperial Palace of Tsarskoe Selo in Russia, and in consequence the +régime of the Romanoffs was brought to an end. It was due to the +baneful influence of the mock monk Rasputin, who caused the illnesses +of the Tsar’s young son. The monk, who was an intimate friend of the +Imperial Family, would prophesy that on a certain day—perhaps in a +month’s time—the boy would be seized with an illness which would +prove fatal. After that his accessory, Madame Vyrubova, the Tsaritsa’s +lady-in-waiting, would treat him, and surely enough on the day +prophesied by the ‘Holy Father’ the lad would have a sudden seizure. +Then Rasputin would pray at the stricken lad’s bedside, and the poor +little fellow would regain consciousness and recover in fulfilment of +Rasputin’s prophecy and mock prayers. He was the Evil Spirit of +Imperial Russia.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very clever bit of swindling,” laughed Ashe. “But Rasputin was one +of the most remarkable charlatans in history. The downfall of Russia +was due to him, wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows truly? As an evil-minded scoundrel he had possession of +some secret, and used it to demonstrate to the Imperial Russian Family +the accuracy of his prophecies and the efficacy of what he pretended +were his prayers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if any person learned such secret of evil he could commit any +amount of crimes without being found out, for he might be even on the +other side of the Equator when the tragedy occurred and nobody could +connect him with it. This is a complete revelation to me,” declared +Ashe, with truth. “I never knew that such things could exist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a dozen people in the whole world know the secret evil that can +be influenced by some,” the medical student alleged with equal truth. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are one of them, eh?” remarked Ashe, with a mysterious smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The information came to me in a very curious and confidential +way from an old uncle of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Intensely interesting,” declared Ashe, whose face had now assumed a +deep, thoughtful look. “It is just the baneful influence I want to +describe in my new novel. My plot just requires that one thing to +complete it. I suppose the truth cannot be described. It is only known +to a very few?” +</p> + +<p> +“A dead secret, and hardly one which should be revealed to the public, +do you think?” asked the younger man. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not, unless in such a manner that it could not be used for +evil,” Ashe said. “But could such a condition of evil be invoked here +in London?” +</p> + +<p> +“It can be invoked anywhere. I happen to know that there is one person +capable of exercising his powers in London at the present moment!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there?” cried Ashe, with a sudden eagerness that he was unable to +repress. Next moment, however, he cleverly assumed an air of +unconcern. Then he laughed, and asked: “Have you ever heard of a man +named Bettinson?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Bettinson? Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve heard vaguely of him as a student of the occult. That’s +all.” +</p> + +<p> +He was clever enough not to press the conversation further, and +Fetherstone accepted him at his own valuation, that of a writer +struggling into fame. +</p> + +<p> +They chatted until nearly two o’clock in the morning, when, after a +final drink, they parted, and the medical student walked home to +Bloomsbury through the drizzling rain. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after ten o’clock on the following evening, while Mr. Ashe was +smoking his cigar in a comfortable chair before the fire, in his hotel +off the Strand, a page-boy brought up a card bearing the name of “Mrs. +Denham.” He rose and gave orders for the lady to be shown up, +whereupon Lady Wyndcliffe, a smart, erect figure, entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you got my message, Etta,” he said. “I couldn’t leave London +before I saw you. Take off your coat and sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +And he helped her off with her handsome sable coat, which had been +given her by a friend on her last birthday. +</p> + +<p> +“Sibell is with Otway, so I was alone when your friend rang up,” she +said. “Is it very important?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, rather. Do you know whether Otway has any friend named +Fetherstone, a medical student?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fetherstone? Yes, I believe he has. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only wanted to know if they were acquainted,” replied the +ex-servant reflectively. “I have reason for wanting to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you afterwards,” replied the man, sinking lazily into his +chair again, a mask-like smile gathering around his thin lips. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t very safe for me to come here,” her ladyship said +apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! There’s nobody to follow you. You’re getting chicken-hearted +nowadays. What are you afraid of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of things,” answered his late mistress. +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh! We’ll only have to go slow for a while, till we pull the wool +over Rupert’s eyes again. Very soon his own affairs will keep him from +coming over to England and butting in.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” his visitor asked. +</p> + +<p> +A deep red mounted slowly to the man’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I mean well enough. Are you blind? Luck is playing into +our hands, my dear Etta. Don’t get funky.” +</p> + +<p> +He summoned the handsome woman’s downcast eyes to his, and the soul +that looked at him from under a wealth of black lashes seemed writhing +in purgatory. +</p> + +<p> +“Danger threatens us both, so we must face the music,” the man went on +sternly. “Mind that Otway doesn’t grow too fond of Sibell. That must +not happen. You understand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but love is the strongest chain in the world, and Sibell is in +love with him. Besides, she’s independent now, remember!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m half inclined to think that Otway had better stay in London. +Only he may very possibly be of use to us. It’s quite true what you +say of love. But love has wings, and if you bore it or allow it to +feel lonely, then it can fly away,” he added, with a supercilious +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the determination upon his face deepened, and he said: +</p> + +<p> +“If a certain person gets to London, then we’d be able to climb out of +the soup again. If he doesn’t come to London, then think what it would +mean to us both!” And he paused and looked at her. “Leave me to use my +wits, Etta,” he added, an evil gleam struggling into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“And—and you want me to—what?” began the terrified woman. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to do nothing, my dear Etta, except to keep a still +tongue. Go to the Riviera and enjoy yourself. Don’t write to me, or +try and communicate. If I want to let you know anything I’ll write to +‘Mrs. Harrison’ at the Poste Restante, Cannes. Go there on the first +of each month and see if there is a letter.” +</p> + +<p> +And he rose, a surly look upon his sinister face. +</p> + +<p> +“I know of something that will let the dogs loose on him all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you vindictive devil!” cried the woman. “I know what you are +hinting at!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, surely we must protect ourselves. He’d do the same to me—if he +could!” And the cold grey eyes shone with a horrible insinuation. +“He’d close my lips if he dared. But two can play the same game.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—and poor Sibell!” gasped the girl’s aunt, pale-faced and +trembling. “What of her?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and looked again straight into her face. +</p> + +<p> +Under his gaze a look of abject horror came into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She rose abruptly, and put on her coat with nervous fingers, her chest +heaving beneath the filmy black corsage. +</p> + +<p> +She came towards him with knit brows and searched his face nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you! I know what you mean!” she cried at last. “But you sha’n’t! +My God—you <i>sha’n’t</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +The man who had posed as her exemplary butler only gave vent to a +harsh, forced laugh as she flung herself out of the room and closed +the door after her. +</p> + +<p> +“Sha’n’t I?” he muttered aloud, between his set teeth. “You will see +very soon, my lady! And you won’t dare to squeal <i>because of your own +neck</i>!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch09"> +CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE LURE OF THE SNOW</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Etta Wyndcliffe</span> had changed her mind. It was a frequent habit of +hers. At the last moment she had decided that it was a little too +early for the Riviera, therefore she chose winter sports in +Switzerland as a prelude to the Côte d’Azur. Hence, a week after her +angry parting with the estimable Ashe, she, with Sibell, Brinsley, and +her maid, left London for Nature’s white wonderland at Gurnigel, the +new palatial winter resort, high in the mountains above Berne. +</p> + +<p> +After stepping from the comfortable <i>wagon-lit</i> of the Oberland +Express, which had brought them in the night from Calais to Berne, +they found awaiting them a powerful car, with chains upon its wheels +on account of the mountain snows, and soon they were on their way, in +the bright morning sunshine, upon a fine, open road which ran along +the lower slope of a steep hill, affording a wide view of the +snow-clad but fertile valley of the Gürbe towards Thun; then, rising +higher, they passed through cherry orchards now white with snow, but +in April white with blossom. Everywhere the spotless mantle of Nature +lay thickly piled upon the wide, overhanging roofs of wooden chalets +and outbuildings. Through quiet little hamlets they passed, one after +another, until, after leaving the pretty, homely village of +Riggisberg, the real steep ascent of the mountain lay before them. +</p> + +<p> +“How perfectly wonderful!” cried Sibell, gazing delightedly through +the window to where, far across the lake of Thun, rose the giants, the +Eiger, Mönch, Jungfrau, and others of that chain, with their eternal +glaciers and everlasting snows. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” exclaimed her lover, who sat opposite her. “What a complete +change from dark, dreary London, with its fogs and rain! How +glorious!” +</p> + +<p> +“They call it Glorious Gurnigel,” remarked Lady Wyndcliffe, gazing +around. “And it really seems as though the adjective is appropriate.” +</p> + +<p> +They were now in the heart of rural Switzerland, and, as the steep +road rose higher and yet higher by many curves, they entered the great +snow-laden pine-forests, those forests which abound everywhere in that +region and breathe their health-giving odor into the crisp, frosty +air. +</p> + +<p> +Another sudden turn of the road, and there suddenly came into view the +great, long white building where high piled wood fires and a warm +welcome from the genial director, Mr. Schelb, awaited them. +</p> + +<p> +Inside the huge hotel they quickly found themselves in the midst of a +merry winter sports crowd of young English people, the girls mostly in +bright-colored jerseys and breeches, including a few in black, and gay +scarves, with well-cut trousers which some girls prefer to stockings. +The men were mostly in ski-ing kit, and the chatter at lunch was, of +course, of ski-ing, skating, or bobbing. There was an irresponsible +atmosphere of gaiety everywhere, either in the hotel or out of it, for +everybody was bent on enjoyment, the high spirits being contagious; +for even the elderly quickly find themselves feeling rejuvenated by +the wonderful pine-laden air at four to five thousand feet above sea +level. +</p> + +<p> +On every side the country belonged to the hotel. To give one an idea +of the size of the estate, there are over thirty miles of walks and +paths on it! +</p> + +<p> +They rested after their journey, then they donned their sports-clothes +and snow-resisting boots, and went forth into the picturesque white +world to take the Belle Vue Walk, and so make their first acquaintance +with Glorious Gurnigel, the aristocrat among resorts. +</p> + +<p> +Outside, Sibell and Otway, walking alone together, were at once in a +great forest of snow-laden pines and firs in which the whispering wind +was the only sound, for they were now high up above the abode of man. +The trees bring an income to the great estate—not very much in these +days, but sufficient to employ many peasants. In the colony which has +arisen about the hotel there is a sawmill, and in it about a thousand +trees are annually cut into boards, to be sent down to Berne and sold +for the construction of chalets, while the useless branches are cut up +for firewood which, in addition to the radiators, heat the hotel in +winter. Of the thousand or so trees cut down, many straight stems, +after seventy or eighty years of growth, go down to the lowlands to +rise again as telegraph-poles. And, for those thousand cut down in the +thinning process of those delightful woods, four thousand saplings are +planted each year. The number is such that only one tree in four comes +to maturity, for many die or grow with crooked trunks, and hence are +sacrificed for firewood early in their growth. +</p> + +<p> +Thus the forestry on the huge estate is no mean matter, and it was an +interesting reflection, as they sauntered along a descending path +beside a brook—now frozen in winter’s grip—that on those woodland +paths, or open ski slopes, stretching everywhere, nobody could say +them nay. +</p> + +<p> +After luncheon Lady Wyndcliffe was busy with her maid, unpacking, +therefore the lovers wandered along that romantic forest path, +picturesque and sparkling like a Christmas card at every turn, which +eventually led to the wonderful viewpoint called the Belle Vue. +</p> + +<p> +At last, in the twilight, they came to a steep descent, and, rather +than reclimb it, they sat upon a convenient seat to rest. +</p> + +<p> +A bevy of laughing girls in bright sports costumes, accompanied by +several young English undergraduates, passed by on their way back for +tea, making the forest echo with their merriment, while after them +came a tall, athletic man in dark blue, and wearing a guide’s cap, +gliding along on skis. +</p> + +<p> +In the latter both were interested, for neither had before seen a +person on those long wooden laths. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m quite sure I’ll never be able to ski!” Sibell declared—as she +watched the man disappearing along the path. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, you will. Harman, who was at Bart’s with me, went out to +Wengen one season and learnt in a week,” he replied. “You’ll soon do +all right under a good instructor. I’ll see about it to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“But look how long and unwieldy the things are!” protested the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“When you’ve once learned, you can do anything on them. It’s only a +question of knack and balance, like learning to cycle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can cycle all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll very soon be able to ski,” he assured her. “I asked the +concierge, and he tells me there’s an excellent instructor here, one +of the best in the Oberland. He’s a Swiss from Mürren named von +Allmen—all the English here call him ‘John.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she laughed. “I’ll have John to teach me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! I’ll fix the lesson for to-morrow,” said her lover; and then, +taking her thickly gloved hand in his, he looked into her fine eyes, +and added: “Is not this place a perfect paradise, darling—a paradise +for you and me? Compare the hectic, artificial life of overdressing, +vice, and gambling on the Riviera with this clean, wholesome, +germ-free air—this gorgeous scenery, these great forests, and +towering mountains, this spot where all is natural and of God’s +creation. Is it not all wonderful—glorious!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl held her breath for a moment; then, as she looked into her +lover’s eyes, she replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is, Brin! I am so very happy to-day—too happy, because +I—well, I somehow feel that this perfect bliss is too complete to +last! I——” +</p> + +<p> +But Otway did not allow her to express any further apprehensions, for +he suddenly took her in his arms and, holding her firmly, kissed her +many times upon her lips. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as it was growing dark in the forest, they rose and, arm in arm, +found their way back to the huge, brilliantly-lit hotel, where, in the +great lounge at the end of the magnificent ballroom, Sibell’s aunt had +secured a table for tea. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been exploring the place, auntie,” Sibell said as she sat down. +“The walks are simply wonderful. I’m so delighted we came here!” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” declared Otway. +</p> + +<p> +“Ena Oxenford told me about it,” said her ladyship. “She was here last +summer. No doubt it will become a second St. Moritz very soon—when +people know of it. I agree that at present it is charming.” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell looked very chic in her tailor-made, black ski-ing suit and +well-cut trousers, the only touch of color being her bright blue and +red scarf which matched her Norwegian anklets. She wore a peaked +guide’s cap, and into it she had already pinned the little pale-blue +and white badge of the Gurnigel Ski Club, which she had joined at once +on arrival. +</p> + +<p> +As they sat amid the gay, chatting English crowd, they had full view +of the ballroom—perhaps one of the finest in all Switzerland—where +people were dancing to an excellent orchestra. There was merriment and +bonhomie on every hand, even though a party of about sixty Germans of +the better class were also visitors there. Such an incident was not +usual, for in winter Gurnigel is kept essentially English. +Nevertheless, that season such was the fact, and it was especially +noticeable that no racial hatred existed between the two +nationalities. In neutral-Switzerland they were upon common ground. +</p> + +<p> +Unseen by either Sibell or her lover, there was, however, sitting on +the opposite side of the hall a dark, sleek-haired young man, +thick-lipped and sensuous, who, from behind one of the marble columns, +was eyeing the girl furtively as he lazily sipped his tea and smoked +his Egyptian cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +He had attempted a familiar conversation with the fair-haired, +muslin-aproned Swiss maid who had served him, but had been ignored, +and now his large black eyes were fixed upon Sibell, whose beauty and +smartness were outstanding, even amid that very smart crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“I really think that winter sports are a fitting prelude to the +Riviera,” Sibell’s aunt was saying, as she lazily selected a cigarette +from her gold case and tapped it. “Agatha, that little American cat +whom I took around last season, wanted to go to St. Moritz, but I +refused. I’m sorry now that I didn’t go. Of course, you two will go +ski-ing to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the girl. “We’re both having our first lesson with +John. I saw him in the hall just as we came in. Isn’t he a +good-looking boy, Brin?” +</p> + +<p> +Her lover agreed, and then suggested to her that they should dance. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment they were upon the well-kept floor of the great +white-and-gold ballroom, where at the many tables around sat a gay +crowd of winter sports devotees, yet still unaware of the pair of dark +eyes of the man, seated half-concealed, who somehow appeared +fascinated by Sibell’s outstanding beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Gurnigel in summer is a marvellous woodland retreat—a gorgeous spot +where no sound disturbs the mountain silence save the singing of the +birds, the ripple of the many streams, the musical tinkle of the +cow-bells, and perhaps the blows of the woodman’s axe. But as soon as +the slow, sleek cows with their bells are driven in and the first snow +of winter falls, there comes a transformation to a great snow-clad +countryside, wherein a gay crowd disport themselves in genuine good +humor and with united efforts to make fun out of everything. There is +no standoffishness, nor are there unsociable cliques. The newcomer of +either sex is instantly welcomed, taken into the circle, so that there +is never any lack of companions for ski-ing, or partners for dancing. +</p> + +<p> +The joyous convivialities of January are events one will long +remember, for neither trouble nor expense are spared to effect the +success of the various festivals, the guests entering into the true +spirit of things, so that there is not a single dull moment; all goes +with a swing, and it becomes a time of strenuous gaiety. If the +weather happens to be bad, or the snow may leave a little to be +desired, then there are all kinds of indoor games—bowls, indoor +curling, ping-pong, and hosts of other diversions, the tea-time +dancing being not the least, and the merry crowd pities the poor +drenched and fog-bound folk at home. +</p> + +<p> +It was so with the new arrivals—indeed, with everyone who came fresh +from London. +</p> + +<p> +Glorious Gurnigel was, they found, indeed glorious in every sense of +the term. +</p> + +<p> +When, later, Sibell, in a dainty white dance frock embroidered with +beads, which suited her fair complexion so admirably, came down to +meet the young doctor for dinner, she encountered in the long, +red-carpeted corridor, that ran parallel with the ballroom, the tall, +erect young man whose eyes had been on her while she had sat at tea +and while she had danced. +</p> + +<p> +He idled past her, smiled broadly, whispered something, and, bowing, +wished her “Good evening” in a low tone in German. +</p> + +<p> +With her English hauteur she drew herself up, stared him full in the +face, and passed on, nevertheless remembering that at such resorts +introductions are easily made, and friendships as easily dropped. +</p> + +<p> +When, a few moments later, Otway and her aunt joined her, she made no +mention of the incident. She knew it would most certainly provoke her +lover’s indignation that she could not be left for a moment alone in +the hotel without a stranger attempting to get in conversation with +her; and, besides, she did not desire a scene. +</p> + +<p> +That evening, after dining in the fine restaurant, they occupied a +table at the end of the ballroom near the orchestra, and many times +the happy pair danced together, refraining only when a “Paul Jones” +was announced. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning they had their first lesson in ski-ing. The tall, +athletic young Swiss ski-instructor, in his neat blue suit, with his +guide’s badge upon his breast, fitted their skis to their boots and +took them out upon what is known as the “nursery slopes,” where all +beginners make a start by learning to stand on their skis and how to +fall into the soft, powdery snow in such a manner that they do not +injure themselves. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of many tumbles and much humorous banter, they thoroughly +enjoyed themselves for two hours, unconscious still that that pair of +evil, black eyes was closely watching them from a window on the first +floor with that same fixed, sinister expression. +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon, after luncheon, the pair, oblivious of the attention +they had attracted, joined a small party of skiers, and climbed above +the tree-line to the summit of Mount Gurnigel, a matter of another +thousand feet or so, where, standing in the afternoon sunshine upon +the verandah of the weather-beaten shelter hut of the Swiss Alpine +Club, they gazed at one of the most marvellous panoramas of valley, +lake, and mountain in all Switzerland. Before them, far below, lay the +whole of the district of Thun and its delightful lake, flanked on one +side by the mountains of the Emmental, and on the other by the jagged, +frowning Stockhorn, and the conical Niesen, with the steepest mountain +railway in Europe, while beyond rose, white, majestic, and just tipped +by the delicate rose light of the Alpine glow, the Jungfrau and her +neighbors. The scene was like one obtained from an aeroplane, and, as +the others of the party had climbed on skis, they ran swiftly down +home, first over some wide, steep slopes, then, joining the road, +passed along its edge through Black Lake wood and straight down to the +hotel. +</p> + +<p> +But Sibell and her lover, not being able to ski, stood alone and +silent in the sunset, children of the heights. Their hearts were too +full for mere words. +</p> + +<p> +At last, as they stood facing the giant Jungfrau, upon whose lofty +crest the gorgeous pink glow was deepening, he bent and kissed her, +and then, hand in hand, they commenced to descend the steep, winding +road, arriving back in the hotel just as the twilight had deepened +into darkness. +</p> + +<p> +And as they rejoined Lady Wyndcliffe at her tea-table in the corner, +that pair of dark, haunting eyes fell again upon them. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch10"> +CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SKIERS AND “FROTH-BLOWERS”</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Sibell</span> had her second lesson in ski-ing on the third day after their +arrival. +</p> + +<p> +On the second day it snowed so heavily that in the afternoon it +developed into quite a blizzard. But in a winter sports centre fresh +snow is always hailed with delight by old and young, and the morrow, +with its delights, is eagerly looked forward to. +</p> + +<p> +The morning turned out to be perfect, the thermometer down to zero and +the sky cloudless, with a warm, health-giving sun, while deep in the +valley lay the dark rain-clouds, rendering the lower altitudes damp +and gloomy. +</p> + +<p> +The ever-faithful John took his charges up the steep hill behind the +hotel to the gentle slopes at the rear of that range of farm buildings +known as the Stock-Hut, and, halting suddenly, addressed the girl in +his quaint Swiss-English: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mees Dare, I will put your skis [pronounced shees] on, here. The +snow is too deep for you to walk farther.” +</p> + +<p> +While Otway was busy clipping on his own skis, John knelt down and +fixed Sibell’s, she balancing herself on one foot and holding on to +his shoulder. When the pair were ready to climb the slope, Sibell +cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens, John! I can’t get up there on these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, you will, mees,” replied the good-looking Swiss expert. “It +is quite easy. I will go and make a track for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, after a lot of exertion, she slipped and fell in the snow +several times, always being picked up quickly by the alert John. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Sibell!” exclaimed her lover in a low tone. “I believe you +are sitting down purposely, so that your good-looking guide may come +to the rescue. I’m right out of it!” +</p> + +<p> +He was unaware that John overheard his words, and was secretly amused. +But John was quite used to hearing such talk between young loving +couples who were his pupils on the snow. +</p> + +<p> +As the lesson commenced, John, by giving demonstrations, explained +clearly to both of them the art of ski-ing. Sibell being rather timid, +as are all girls at first, he took her by the arm and steadied her as +they glided together down the slope. Then Sibell lost her balance and +fell head foremost into the soft snow, her skis in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” asked John, in feigned surprise. “For what purpose do you +fall, mees?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, to sit down and stop myself!” replied the girl, laughing +heartily as he assisted her to her feet again. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later she fell again, whereupon John said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, there was surely no necessity for that! Try and get up yourself, +but remember, when on a slope like this, never let your skis look +downhill. You must turn him so that he looks sideways uphill,” he +added. A peculiarity of his English was that to him all skis were +masculine. “Otherwise he will slip, and you will not be able to stop +him,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +After Sibell had lain in the snow a minute or two, twisting and +turning her skis in all sorts of contortions, to the great amusement +of Otway, she at last managed to right herself with the aid of John’s +ready hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mees!” he said, after she had stood to recover her breath. “We +will try the stem turn. This is a very important turn to learn, as it +helps one in all the more complicated ones. Look! Watch me!” +</p> + +<p> +He then glided down the slope a short distance and demonstrated what +he meant, as the lovers watched and admired the ease and gracefulness +of his ski-ing. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mees, will you try?” he said, on returning to her side, placing +his gloves together in his belt. +</p> + +<p> +Taking courage, the girl started slowly to descend, John following her +closely, with her lover watching. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, right foot forward!” ordered the lithe Swiss. “Bring it round, +and press outwards on your heel. On your heel! Now, hard!” +</p> + +<p> +Alas! by the time the last word of command reached her, she found +herself in a hopeless muddle, and fell half covered in the deep snow +with both skis practically hidden. +</p> + +<p> +The first time one does a stem turn it always puts one in difficulty. +But it is only a matter of knack and balance, and is soon easily +learnt. +</p> + +<p> +John was up with her in a moment, flying down and doing a perfect +“telemark,” by which he stopped dead at the exact spot, where he stood +for a second laughing heartily at her plight. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Mees Dare!” he said encouragingly. “You will find it +quite easy after one or two failures.” +</p> + +<p> +“John!” she cried, with feigned resentment. “If you laugh at me when +I’m in this awful muddle I’ll loathe you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please don’t say that!” John pleaded. “You started very fine, but +when you commenced the turn you leaned inwards, instead of outwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brin! You’re laughing at me!” shouted the girl to her lover. “You +wait till you try it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mees,” said John, “I will show you again”; and he made a +graceful stem turn just near her, pointing out the fault which all +beginners make. +</p> + +<p> +Six times she tried it and failed, but on the seventh she succeeded in +turning quite well, and repeated it twice without falling. +</p> + +<p> +Then, her hour’s lesson being up, they returned to the hotel. Otway +was to learn on the following morning. +</p> + +<p> +That day proved a somewhat eventful one for Gurnigel. +</p> + +<p> +When one speaks of the winter sunshine, those uninitiated into winter +sports in Switzerland naturally think of the Riviera. But in the Alps +they have, in winter, sun hotter than at Nice, with clear blue sky, +even though the thermometer will show ten or more degrees of frost. It +is one of the phenomena of the Alps that one gets sun-tanned amidst +the snow. +</p> + +<p> +As they entered the hotel half-an-hour before luncheon, Otway noticed, +pinned to one of the high pillars of the entrance hall, a notice +headed: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Froth-Blowers! Emergency Notice! A meeting of the Ancient Order of +Froth-Blowers will be held in the recreation-room at 2.30 p.m. to-day. +All Blowers are to attend.—Blaster No. 24.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +It struck Otway and Sibell as amusing, and, laughing, they passed into +the restaurant to lunch, in ignorance of what was in active progress. +</p> + +<p> +“What are the Froth-Blowers?” asked the girl as they sat together. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve heard of them,” replied her lover. “It’s a widespread +society of Englishmen all over the world, They wear silver cuff-links +with dark-blue initials—A.O.F.B.—as badge, while their subscriptions +of five shillings for life membership go to alleviate the sufferings +of poor children. It is a band of patriotic and philanthropic English +to help the helpless.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why an emergency meeting has been called?” remarked Lady +Wyndcliffe. “I know quite a dozen ‘Blowers’ who wear their links both +by day and at evening. Woe betide a blower who forgets his cuff-links, +for he has to pay for the refreshment of everyone present. That is one +rule of the Order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brin, you’ll have to be a ‘Blower’!” laughed Sibell merrily. “I’ll +pay the five shillings subscription for you!” +</p> + +<p> +And then the subject dropped. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past two, sixteen young, athletic Englishmen assembled in a +side-room where games were played on wet or foggy days—which were, +indeed, very few at Gurnigel—under the presiding of the “Blaster,” an +elderly, round-faced man named Gordon Mitchell. A “Blaster,” be it +said, is the title accorded to a Froth-Blower who obtains twenty-five +recruits to the Order, and in reward he wears silver insignia behind +the lapel of his coat. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes’ grace was accorded to late comers. Then Mr. Mitchell +exhibited his badge, closed the door, locked it, and turning to the +young men assembled, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Fellow Blowers, we have a decision to make, but it must not be hasty +or ill-considered. We are all of us Englishmen, and there must be no +hatred of race. This is a matter of broad principles. In this hotel +there is a certain man who must be taught a lesson—and a severe one. +The man in question has insulted no fewer than eight young English +ladies. To one he has written an abominable letter, which I will not +read, but I will hand it to you. The brother of that young girl is +present. In another case he followed a young English lady, who is here +with her mother, into the wood, seized her, kissed her, and, in +consequence of her shrieks, another English lady had to go to her +rescue. Now, Blowers, shall we tolerate this?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” they all shouted with one accord. “Let’s out him!” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” said the grey-haired man very calmly. “The man’s name is +Ira Frank, and he comes from Frankfort. We have discovered, after some +inquiries, that he is a sensuous libertine and hunter of women. I have +shown this letter to the director of the hotel, who, in consequence, +has requested him to leave by the next automobile, which leaves for +Berne at 3.30.” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t leave till I’ve had something to say!” cried the offended +girl’s brother, a young London medical student, whereupon all his +friends agreed, and discussed what should be done. +</p> + +<p> +“Blowers!” cried Mr. Mitchell. “Silence, please! First, not a hand +must be laid upon him, for he is a German. And, before anything is +done, I shall go to Dr. Rothe, the head of the German party of +visitors, and tell him what we have discovered, show him the letter, +and inform him of our intentions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” cried a voice. “Let’s pelt him out of it! He sha’n’t interfere +with our girls again! He’s tried Glorious Gurnigel—and he won’t come +back here a second time!” Whereat there was a peal of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll try and slip away, boys,” said another. “There must be scouts +round the hotel. I’ll lead you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not until I have heard Dr. Rothe’s views,” cried Mr. Mitchell, +holding up a warning hand. “We might easily create a riot here, and +surely we must not do that! Reassemble here in half an hour, and I +will tell you the result of my negotiations.” +</p> + +<p> +And the square-built, grey-haired man went off to find the leader of +the German winter sports party. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later he was alone in his private sitting-room with a +pleasant-faced, polite, middle-aged German, who, when he heard the +facts and was shown the offending letter, sat amazed. +</p> + +<p> +The letter was written on the culprit’s business paper, bearing his +Frankfort address and signed by him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor in good English, “it is a consolation that he +is an outsider. He is not of our party. He asked to join it, and we +consented.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know we are treading upon rather thin ice,” Mr. Mitchell said, “but +the young Englishmen here are determined that he leave in ignominy. +Before any action is taken, I would request you to consult with some +of the more influential members of your party and ascertain their +views. I would venture to point out this is no racial hatred, for, had +an Englishman acted as he has done, we should have taken the law into +our own hands in exactly the same manner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I quite understand, and, on behalf of my party, I thank you very +sincerely, Mr. Mitchell,” answered the German, shaking the +Englishman’s hand. “If you will wait for ten minutes, I will return +and tell you our views. Of course there will be no violence?” +</p> + +<p> +“None whatever, I assure you. He will be only taught a lesson,” was +the Englishman’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later the burly German doctor re-entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“We entirely agree that the fellow should be taught a lesson,” he +said. “With one eye we shall laugh at his shame, but with the other we +shall, alas! cry because he is a German.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is agreed,” said Mr. Mitchell, again taking the German’s +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“The relations between my friends and the English visitors are, thanks +to yourself, most cordial, Mr. Mitchell,” the doctor said. “You have +done everything to remove any little prejudices your friends may have +had against us. And I assure you we all heartily appreciate it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Englishman thanked him, expressed regret that the unpleasant +incident had occurred, and then went at once to where the +Froth-Blowers were awaiting the decision. +</p> + +<p> +In a few brief words he told them of his negotiation and the decision +of the Germans, whereup a dozen of them rushed away to obtain +ammunition in the shape of eggs—which they bought from the stores, +there being no stale ones—decayed tomatoes, oranges, and lemons, +while others went out and gathered filth in newspapers. Then, in five +minutes, all the “Blowers” were posted round the hotel awaiting the +fellow’s appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell was standing with Brinsley upon the balcony above the main +entrance to the hotel, and, noticing the sudden rush of twenty or so +young fellows, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what all this excitement is!” +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely had the words left her mouth than there was a shout, +“Blowers!” and next moment she saw the dark-eyed stranger, who had +whispered to her in the corridor the other night, dashing down the +snow-clad hill on a small toboggan. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment twenty athletic young fellows were after him. The brother +of the girl to whom he had written the letter, a good sprinter, took a +short cut and seized him, whereupon the others pelted the culprit +mercilessly with all sorts of missiles and filth, to the glee and +hilarity of a hundred or so lookers-on. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that, you German hog!” cried the angry brother, clapping some +filth in a newspaper full over the fellow’s face. “That will teach you +to write your accursed love-letters in future.” +</p> + +<p> +The scoundrel had lost his hat, and his hair was covered with broken +eggs and rotten tomatoes. His clothes were such a mass of disgusting +filth that they could never be worn again, and the last seen of him +was his staggering down the hill to the jeers of the crowd, both +Germans and English. +</p> + +<p> +Truly it was an exciting afternoon in Gurnigel. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch11"> +CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A VISITOR AT THE GUEST HOUSE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Before</span> leaving for Switzerland, Otway and Sibell had paid several +visits to the long-closed Guest House at Hampton Court, and, +accompanied by a Mr. Sheldon, a well-known author and antiquary, the +girl had picked out a number of the most valuable pieces of furniture, +a quantity of old silver—including two Charles the Second cups—and a +number of family portraits, all of which had been sent into store +until such time as the old house should be decorated and refurnished. +</p> + +<p> +The furniture included a number of very rare Caroline, Queen Anne, and +William and Mary pieces, all entirely genuine, with no trace of the +restorer’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the old antiquary pointed out that a set of genuine +Chippendale chairs and a Queen Anne tallboy were such as might well be +acquired by the South Kensington Museum. Neither the young doctor nor +his rather modern fiancée were lovers of the antique, so they merely +picked out, at Mr. Sheldon’s suggestion, a few objects, as a matter of +sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, the news of the valuable contents of the Guest +House had spread far and wide among dealers all over the country, and, +in consequence of their inquiries, Mr. Gray predicted a highly +profitable sale. +</p> + +<p> +The latter was somewhat delayed owing to certain legal formalities +abroad not having been complied with, but in the meantime Farmer, the +heavily-built caretaker, had many applicants to view the contents +privately, and many a half-crown fell into his ready palm, in +consequence. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Police Constable Askew, when on duty on that beat, would +look in and spend half an hour in the little room on the left of the +hall in which Farmer had taken up his quarters, the caretaker smoking +his strong briar, while the man in uniform loosened his belt and +enjoyed his “gasper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder when the sale’s to be?” Askew remarked one rough night when, +just before midnight, he had taken shelter from the storm and hung up +his dripping cape in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Not till some legal formalities have been settled,” was the other’s +reply. “Mr. Gray was here yesterday, and told me so. I saw a +photograph of the young couple in the <i>Sketch</i> the other day. They had +those long bits of wood fastened on to their boots—things they call +skis. How they get along on such things beats me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose the young doctor is quite better now,” Askew said. “He had +a narrow squeak, I’ve heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He was one of those affected by this house. Very uncanny, ain’t +it? I’ve never been troubled yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you boast, old man,” said the constable warningly. “There’s +something mysterious and unaccountable in this old place. I’m sure of +that”; and he glanced apprehensively around the small, dark-papered +room, where a bright fire burned in the grate and a paraffin lamp +stood upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh! I don’t believe in it!” laughed the man Farmer, who had spent +all the years since his retirement from the police force in taking +care of other people’s property. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t believe in what I’ve seen?” asked Askew with quick +resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“I never believe anything I don’t see with my own eyes,” was the +other’s quiet reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m not a liar, I assure you. I’ve seen something here—that’s +all I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ve seen nothing, so let’s leave it at that,” said the man in +charge of the place. +</p> + +<p> +“What about those strange seizures?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mere coincidences,” laughed the matter-of-fact Farmer. “I hope the +facts won’t leak out or we’ll have all sorts of people +here—spiritualists, ghost hunters, and those people whose dead aunts +tell them what they’ve had for supper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It is to be hoped it won’t come out. I’ve told nobody,” said +Askew. +</p> + +<p> +“But that chap who writes to the <i>Richmond and Twickenham Times</i> may +be keeping his eyes and ears open. He seems to me to be a bit of a +Nosey Parker.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if there are any inquiries, we must deny everything,” the +constable said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never admitted anything. You’ve got to deny what you say that +you’ve seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you saw it too?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you I didn’t! I’ve seen nothing, I’ve heard nothing, and I +think nothing—see?” declared Farmer. “I’m only the caretaker, paid by +the week to keep my mouth shut and frighten away thieves and +burglars”; and he laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +“But what’s going to happen here?” asked the constable, lighting a +fresh cigarette and glancing at Farmer’s cheap alarm clock on the +mantelshelf. Outside, the big trees swayed, the wind howled around the +place, and the rain pattered upon the window-panes in sudden gusts. +</p> + +<p> +“Happen? Why, it will be wedding-bells after the sale,” Farmer said. +“Before Miss Dare left she ordered the grounds to be put in order, and +there have been six men at work grubbing out all the undergrowth, +taking out unwanted trees, and lopping the rest. By Jove! you should +see the impenetrable jungle it was before they started. Thirty years +of undergrowth takes some grubbing out. They’re letting in light and +air, and making a new tennis-lawn. When it’s finished it will be a +very beautiful garden, no doubt. There’s going to be central heating, +baths, a servants’ hall, electric light, and all the most up-to-date +contrivances. It will cost a big sum, but when a young girl comes into +a big fortune, as she’s done, a few thousand don’t matter much, I +suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect the sale will bring in a tidy sum,” remarked the police +constable, holding his hands out to the fire to warm them. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard Mr. Gray tell his partner last Tuesday, when they were here +together, that the pictures alone will probably bring in twenty +thousand. Six of them have been sent up to Bond Street on show +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lucky girl, eh?” remarked the constable of the T Division of +Metropolitan Police, rising slowly and stretching himself. “Well, I’ll +have to go, Mr. Farmer. Thanks so much”; and he finished the bottle of +ale his host had placed before him, on entering. +</p> + +<p> +“So long. Look in again when you can. Three taps on the door if you +see my light a-burning. Good-night, and good luck to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Askew threw his wet cape around his shoulders, straightened himself, +put on his helmet, arranged his lamp, and strode heavily along the +stone hall, and out to continue his vigilance in the stormy night, +while the lonely caretaker, heedless of the dismal howling of the wind +and the many weird noises through the house, finished his glass of +beer, smoked a final pipe as he read the evening paper by the fire, +and then turned into his narrow bed. +</p> + +<p> +About ten o’clock next morning there came a tug at the clanging old +bell, and Farmer opened the door to confront a rather wizened-up +little old man in a drab mackintosh and holding an umbrella against +the pelting rain. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” he said very politely in a thin, refined voice. “Are you +caretaker here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am, sir,” replied the broad-shouldered, plethoric Farmer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve heard very much about this old house and the treasures it +contains, so I’ve come up from Newcastle-on-Tyne wondering if you +would allow me to go through the rooms,” he said. “My name is +Bettinson. I’m a great lover of the antique—indeed, a collector.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, sir, but the firm of auctioneers which employ me have +given me strict orders to allow nobody to view. The things were on +view some little time ago, but the sale has now been postponed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed the little old man in deep disappointment. “Then the +contents of the house will not be sold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s the name of the fortunate young lady who owns the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dare, sir—Miss Sibell Dare.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man nodded as slowly understanding the situation. “But I +wonder,” he said, after a pause, during which he drew a ten-shilling +note from his vest pocket, “I wonder if this would be any inducement +for you to allow me just a brief glance through the rooms?” +</p> + +<p> +Farmer smiled. Caretakers are all human, and, after all, there could +be little danger of theft in allowing the inoffensive, odd-looking old +fellow a peep at the shabby, neglected rooms. +</p> + +<p> +Two minutes later old Mr. Bettinson was inside, and, leaving his +umbrella in the hall, followed his guide first into the library, where +the books had already been tied in parcels ready for offering at +auction, though nothing had yet been catalogued or numbered. The heavy +furniture in the dining-room, especially the long oak refectory-table, +with its bulbous legs and worn struts, attracted him. +</p> + +<p> +“A perfect specimen!” he exclaimed, as though to himself. “Genuine +Tudor, without a doubt!” And he placed his fingers caressingly upon +the polished wood. +</p> + +<p> +The huge buffet also attracted his admiration, as well as a pair of +Queen Anne candelabra and a large silver salver of the same period. +</p> + +<p> +Then, upstairs, he stood for some moments in the big drawing-room, +gazing around in a strange, half-bewildered manner. He sat upon the +big old velvet-covered chair—the same into which Mr. Gray, the estate +agent, had sunk when he had had that mysterious attack—and admired +many of the unique pieces of furniture, including the big carved +chair, with its tattered crimson covering, in which he was seated. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “A perfect museum! Why, this collection +ought never to be dispersed. It is a sin. The house and its contents +should be acquired by the nation.” +</p> + +<p> +“The young lady can’t sell it, I believe, sir,” remarked his guide. +“By the terms of the will she is compelled to live here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! The testator was some fool of a crank, I suppose,” snapped the +old man. “Fancy condemning any young girl to live in a dismal place +like this!” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s going to be married, so I suppose they’ll renovate the place +and make it their headquarters,” Farmer said. “But I’ve heard that +she’s hitherto been abroad a lot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, this is no house for a young couple,” grunted old Mr. Bettinson +as, after sitting in contemplation for a quarter of an hour, he arose +from the huge chair of carved walnut—a handsome Italian Renaissance +piece—following the stout man in charge into other rooms on the same +floor, where, through the dingy panes of old green glass, the garden, +with its high holly hedges now trimmed and clipped, could be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve noted one or two pieces which I intend to buy,” the old man said +as he at last descended the stairs, thanking his conductor for +allowing him sight of them. “I shall commission a dealer to secure +them for me. I mean to have them, regardless of what others will +offer. I’m a collector, as I’ve told you, and when I set my mind on +buying a piece I never rest until it is mine. It may be bought over my +head and be sent away, but I follow it and always get it in the long +run, for I never mind what price I pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I’m glad you are satisfied,” Farmer said pleasantly, +whereupon the old chap drew out his leather cigar-case and emptied it +into the caretaker’s hands. “Here,” he said, “take them. You’ll find +they’re pretty good ones”; and Farmer’s trained eye saw that they were +of a very expensive and choice variety. +</p> + +<p> +“Funny old bloke!” he remarked aloud to himself as he saw the queer +old fellow hobble away beneath his umbrella and disappear from the +gate. “But all these people with hobbies are a bit cranky. I’ve seen +such lots of ’em in my time.” +</p> + +<p> +That same afternoon, just before dark, the bell rang, and Farmer went +to the door, believing it to be the milkman, when, to his surprise, he +found the same old gentleman standing beneath the porch. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa!” he exclaimed. “Good afternoon, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon,” responded old Mr. Bettinson. “I’m so sorry to +trouble you,” he went on apologetically, “but I hope this will act as +solace for again disturbing you”; and he handed him a second +ten-shilling note. “The fact is that I want to have a second look at +that exquisite little inlaid tallboy in the drawing-room. I want to +make up my mind as to how much I shall bid for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, certainly, sir,” said Farmer politely. “Come in. There’s just +enough light, I think, to enable you to see it. But I’ll bring up a +lamp”; and he allowed the old man to reclimb the wide, old-fashioned +stairs to the first floor. +</p> + +<p> +He ascended slowly, mumbling something to himself, while Farmer went +down to the basement to obtain his hurricane lamp. Having lit it, he +followed the old visitor, whom he discovered standing in the centre of +the big, dark room with his arms outstretched, waving them wildly +towards the windows, with his head thrown back, uttering some kind of +weird incantation which was all gibberish to him. +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce are you doing?” demanded the caretaker. “Have you +suddenly gone crazy?” +</p> + +<p> +But, without response, the old man, his thin hands outstretched, a +weird and mysterious figure in the faint light shed by the lantern, +turned slowly towards him, still continuing his monotonous gibberish +drone in which “The Voice of the Four Winds,” “Unconquerable Spirit of +Satin,” “Ruler of Thy Life,” “The Evil World,” “The Plane of Human +Perfection,” “The Sacred Cubit,” “The Rejoin of the Well-Shaft’s Upper +Mouth,” “The Glory of Death,” and “When Restitution is Complete,” were +the only words distinguishable. For the rest, the man’s utterances +might have been in Arabic, Hebrew, or Chinese so far as Farmer could +understand them. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” he said with humor. “You’d better get out of this, old +sonny! You’ve evidently got bats in the belfry! For Heaven’s sake get +away, and don’t look at me like that!” +</p> + +<p> +The old stranger’s face had become long, drawn, and evilly distorted, +as though he had taken leave of his senses or had become entranced. +His bony hands clutched the air as he continued to wave his arms and +call down some blessing or some curse upon the mysterious house and +its contents, until Farmer, not usually perturbed, began to grow +apprehensive lest his visitor should prove a raving lunatic. +</p> + +<p> +“Now just come out of this at once and go away,” he said roughly. +“Here’s your ten-bob note.” +</p> + +<p> +“Touch me!” shrieked the old man, defiantly clawing the air. “Touch +me, and it will be death to you! I am invulnerable!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care what you are, or who the devil you are, but you’ll get +out of this at once!” cried Farmer, and, with an ex-policeman’s grip, +he took him by the collar, shook him like a rat, and dragged him to +the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, go down and out quietly,” he advised him when they were upon the +landing. “We can do with cranks here, but we don’t want any lunatics.” +</p> + +<p> +In an instant the old fellow’s manner altered. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear man, I am very, very sorry for you,” he said as he commenced +to descend the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t be. I want no sympathy,” laughed the caretaker. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-night,” replied the old man mysteriously. “But you will +to-morrow”; and he gave vent to a harsh laugh of triumph. “I warned +you, but you took no heed, so you will take the consequences. You will +see.” +</p> + +<p> +And with those parting words he passed out. +</p> + +<p> +Farmer shut the door, walked back to his little den, and exclaimed +aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. This morning I thought he was a funny bloke. He’s mad, no doubt, +poor fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +And then he busied himself at the fire, toasting a round of bread for +his tea. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch12"> +CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">WITHOUT FEAR</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">At</span> seven o’clock on the following morning, just as it was getting +light, the milkman, in the habit of leaving the usual half-pint for +Mr. Farmer at the Guest House, found a scrap of paper beneath the jug, +while the front door stood ajar, which was unusual. +</p> + +<p> +The scribbled words in pencil which the man deciphered were, “Come in +at once. Am very ill!” +</p> + +<p> +Without ado, the man put down his can, and, entering the hall, cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Farmer! Where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Hearing a groan along the passage, he quickly found the small, stuffy +room where, on the bed, lay the stout caretaker, half dressed, +writhing in apparent pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch a doctor, quick!” he gasped. “I’ve been taken ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago?” asked the man in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I don’t know. Get Dr. Truman. He lives just across the bridge. +Quick as you can—quick—quick—as—you—can!” And he drew a long +breath and stretched his arms over his head. +</p> + +<p> +The milkman lost not a moment, and within a quarter of an hour the +local, middle-aged practitioner stood at the prostrate man’s side, +asking him to describe his symptoms. +</p> + +<p> +“My heart seems so funny,” the stricken man managed to gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever suffered from heart before?” inquired the medical man. +</p> + +<p> +“Never.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must take your blood pressure,” he said, producing from his +bag the band of webbing which he strapped upon the man’s bare arm, and +then proceeded to pump air into it, watching the telltale dial +intently. Three times he repeated it, so that there should be no +error. Afterwards he sounded his patient with his stethoscope, his +countenance assuming a grave look after listening for a few moments in +various spots on his broad chest. +</p> + +<p> +“Never had such an attack before, eh?” he asked. “Been exerting +yourself unduly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least,” Farmer replied in a thin, weak voice quite unusual +to him. “It’s morning—isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the doctor. “About seven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I haven’t been to bed. I recollect coming over funny-like just +as I was undressing, about eleven o’clock. But I didn’t know anything +else till I awoke and saw it was half-past six. Then I managed to +write a note and put it under the milk-jug.” +</p> + +<p> +“I found it when I got here,” explained the milkman, standing beside +the doctor. “It ain’t like Mr. Farmer to be ill,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +But Dr. Truman continued his investigations, asking many questions of +the prostrate man, each reply seeming to puzzle him the more. +</p> + +<p> +“You remain here,” he said to the milkman. “I’ll go back and get some +mixture that will ease him.” +</p> + +<p> +And, so saying, he went out to his little two-seater and drove quickly +to his surgery, returning a quarter of an hour later. +</p> + +<p> +After giving Farmer a draught, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to remain very quiet. And you’d better have some friend +to come and look after you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it serious, doctor?” asked the caretaker. “I ask you this +because—well, because I have a reason—a strong reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be serious if you’re not very careful,” was Truman’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +The patient drew a long breath, and then allowed the doctor, assisted +by the milkman, to undress him and put him into bed. +</p> + +<p> +When at last he was more comfortable, he turned to Dr. Truman, and +said in a low, weak voice, hardly above a whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, I want to tell you what happened here yesterday”; and he +motioned Truman to a chair, while the milkman still stood by to +listen. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I had a visitor yesterday—a very extraordinary old man he was. He +said his name was Bettinson, and that he was a collector of antiques. +He—he asked to see the stuff privately, as he wanted to bid for some +at auction, and—and I—like a fool—took him through the rooms.” Then +he paused in exhaustion. +</p> + +<p> +“And what has that to do with it?” asked the doctor, interested. +</p> + +<p> +“A lot—a big lot! That old devil came back late in the afternoon and +wanted to have another look at something in the drawing-room upstairs. +I went and got a light for him, but when I got up there I found he’d +gone mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mad! What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he was waving his arms about like a lunatic and shouting all +sorts of things in a language I’d never heard of before. He seemed to +be bringing down the curses of Satan and all the evil spirits on to +this place, and was shouting about the glories of death—and—and, +well, I stood dumbfounded. I think the old idiot was talking Chinese. +I—I fancy he was possessed of the devil, so I chucked him out!” +</p> + +<p> +“And a good job too,” remarked the milkman. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it wasn’t—at least, not for me. When I took him by the scruff of +the neck he told me that he was very sorry for me, because anyone who +dared to lay hands upon him would die. And—well, doctor,” he added +very faintly, “would you believe it that about six hours after I’d put +the odd old man outside I began to feel queer—and here I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very curious,” said the doctor, now greatly interested. “Have +you ever seen the man before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never in my life. He seemed to be one of those spooky blokes who talk +to the dead. Perhaps he was holding forth to them when I found him +gassing in the drawing-room. That’s why I put him out. But—well, +doctor, I’m sorry I defied him. He said he was invulnerable—whatever +that means.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, keep quiet. You seem to have had a bit of a shock. But you’ll +get over it all right,” Truman declared with confidence. “Who shall I +get to look after you?” +</p> + +<p> +Farmer thought a few moments, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a friend, Police Constable Askew, round at the station. He’s +got a young brother, George; lives over in Molesey. I wish you’d let +Askew know I’m queer—will you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied the doctor, and, having received the assurance of +the patient that he felt a trifle better, he left him in the care of +the milkman. +</p> + +<p> +Askew chanced to be off duty that morning, and was soon round to see +his friend. +</p> + +<p> +When they were alone together, the caretaker described his sudden +attack and then seemed to become very exhausted. He motioned to the +constable in plain clothes to give him another dose of the mixture +which the doctor had left, with instructions. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s coming back in a couple of hours,” said the man lying in bed, +his face pale and his breathing stertorous. “He told me to take +another dose if my heart pained me. And it’s simply awful now,” he +added, placing his hand upon it. +</p> + +<p> +His friend measured out a dose carefully and assisted Farmer to sit up +to swallow it. +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t like you, Dick,” Askew said, with a good-humored laugh. +“You told me once you only went sick twice in all your years in the +force.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s right. The first was when I was in the ‘Y’. I had a touch +of pleurisy. And the other time was when I was stationed at Leman +Street during the Ripper scare. That’s years ago now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did this really happen?” +</p> + +<p> +“I got cursed yesterday,” was Farmer’s reply in a low, hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Cursed? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“A darned old lunatic who spoke Chinese or something, and seemed to +talk to the devil in his own language, warned me not to lay a finger +on him,” Farmer answered. Then, after a pause, he went on, “I didn’t +want lunatics or spook-hunters in here, so I ousted him. And this is +what I’ve got for looking after Shalford, Stevens & Gray’s interests”; +and he grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s devilish funny. How could the fellow curse you? Surely you +don’t believe in evil spells, and all that historical rot?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” answered the man in bed, as he shifted uneasily in apparent +pain. “But the fact remains that I was quite well before that old +scoundrel came and had a liker round. Why he returned a second time I +can’t imagine. There must have been some distinct motive. If he’d +attempted to sneak anything in the dark I could have understood it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But tell me exactly what happened,” the constable urged. “Don’t +distress yourself—just take your time. I’ll be making a cup of tea in +the meanwhile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask your brother George to come round and look after things for me. +He’s out of work, isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. They’re not doing much at the garage this time of the year, so +he’s been put off for six weeks. He’ll be pleased to come round.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, while Askew proceeded to light the fire and put on the little +black kettle, the caretaker related in short sentences, rendered +abrupt by the pain in his heart, the advent of the mysterious Mr. +Bettinson, and his curious attitude on the occasion of his second +call, to which his friend listened with all attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Dick,” said the younger man, when he had finished, “if I didn’t +know you as an ex-policeman, and a man of iron nerve and without fear, +I’d think that it was all your imagination.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t any imagination to fall ill after you’ve been cursed, is it? +And it isn’t imagination that I’m lying here sick!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. But it only adds one more mystery to this infernal +house! You wouldn’t believe that uncanny things had happened in this +accursed place. You put it down to coincidence and all that. But I’m +more than ever convinced that this old place exerts some evil or fatal +influence over certain persons—always men, never women. That’s a +funny point. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I’m now beginning to alter my mind,” Farmer said. “I used +to laugh at what people alleged and suspected. But my present +condition is no laughing matter, I assure you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t. And if I were you, when I got better I’d leave this +damnable place for good and all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only hope that Nosey Parker who writes in the Richmond paper, won’t +get hold of what’s happened to me,” said Farmer. “I hope Dr. Truman +won’t say anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctors never do. He’s our divisional surgeon, and a very nice +fellow,” Askew said. “I had him when I had flu last year.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently, when the tea was ready, both had a cup, and they continued +to discuss the strange happenings in that long-closed house. +</p> + +<p> +“You know that Mr. Gray himself had a very sudden attack here as soon +as the place was opened,” Farmer said confidentially. “I heard about +it by a side wind from one of the clerks in the office. Mr. Gray has +hushed it up, and so has his doctor.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they don’t want the place to get a bad name. It’s been made +mysterious enough by that antiquary fellow who wrote in the paper. +Estate-agents never like to deal with property which has a bad +reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, even now, Dick, you don’t believe in what I’ve seen with my own +eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you said, sonny, was due to your imagination. I’ve seen funny +lights flashing from windows many a time when I’ve been on night duty. +But when I’ve investigated I found them only to be reflections,” said +the retired policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“But your illness is no imagination,” growled young Askew. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true. And I tell you I feel a lot worse than when the doctor +was here,” said the prostrate man. Then, glancing at the timepiece, he +sighed, and added: “He’ll be here again within an hour. He’s having +his breakfast, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go across now and send George to you?” asked his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would. And ask him to get me a quarter of brandy from old +Chippy at the Sun. He’ll let him have it if he says I’m ill.” And, +after a pause, he slowly raised himself on his elbow, and, placing his +left hand upon his heart, he gasped: “My God! I do feel awful now. +There’s a pain like red-hot needles in my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have another dose of medicine,” Askew suggested, at which the +prostrate man nodded assent. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes after swallowing it, he seemed to be slightly better. In +answer to his friend’s question if he felt easier, he nodded. +</p> + +<p> +Finding such a change in him, Askew hesitated to go in search of his +brother, so remained seated at his side, watching him. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he grew better, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“That was a pretty sharp turn! But I’m far easier now. Give me another +cup of tea.” +</p> + +<p> +This he drank with avidity, and then went on: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just remembered. Mr. Gray is coming here about noon. Go and get +George, as he must take care of the place while I’m ill. See that he’s +here before Mr. Gray comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite sure you are all right, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, sonny. Why, I’m much better than I was an hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +And he certainly looked better. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll leave the door ajar, so that George and I can get in,” Askew +said. “You’ll listen to hear if anybody comes. We’ll be here before +the doctor arrives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto,” replied the prostrate man cheerily. “Don’t forget the drop +of brandy. There’s a quarter bottle in there.” And he pointed to a +long, narrow cupboard let into the wall beside the old-fashioned +grate. +</p> + +<p> +His friend placed the little flat bottle in his pocket, and, buttoning +his blue overcoat, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, old man. I won’t be long,” and went out. +</p> + +<p> +His brother George was not at home, therefore he went at once in +search of him, obtaining the brandy at The Sun on his way. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, half an hour after Askew had left his friend, Dr. Truman +drove up to the Guest House in his car, and, finding the door ajar, +made his way in. +</p> + +<p> +On entering the narrow, stuffy little room, he saw the caretaker lying +pale and motionless. One arm had been thrown out, and lay limp over +the side of the bed, while the other hand was upon his heart. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor spoke, touched him, shook him, and then listened to his +heart. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment the truth was, alas! too plain. +</p> + +<p> +The caretaker Farmer was dead! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch13"> +CHAPTER XIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">TRUTH OR FANTASY?</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Dr. Truman</span>, who, with his colleague Dr. Greig, of Hampton Wick, made +an autopsy, came to the conclusion that the man Farmer’s death was due +to natural causes—heart disease. +</p> + +<p> +At the inquest duly held he gave evidence to that effect. +</p> + +<p> +“Did the deceased make any statement to you before he died?” inquired +the white-headed Coroner. “I ask this because rumors are afloat +concerning certain mysterious happenings previously in the Guest +House.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he certainly made a rambling and rather fantastic statement,” +replied the doctor. “I regarded it as imagination.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell us what he said,” said the Coroner, pausing with his pen +in his hand as he sat facing the thirty or so interested members of +the public who attended out of curiosity, as people always do at +inquests. +</p> + +<p> +“He told me how, on the previous day, a short old gentleman, who gave +his name as Bettinson and announced himself to be a collector of +antique furniture, presented himself at the door, and that, contrary +to the orders he had received from his employers, Shalford & Co., the +estate-agents, he had taken him through the rooms,” said the doctor. +“The man admired several pieces of furniture, and then left. Late that +afternoon, however, just as it was growing dark, he returned and asked +to be allowed another look at a piece in the upstairs drawing-room. It +being dark, the deceased went to obtain a lamp, when, on gaining the +upstairs room, he found the old stranger throwing his arms about and +uttering some weird incantations—‘cursing the house,’ he described +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curious,” remarked the Coroner. “And what else?” +</p> + +<p> +“The deceased told me that his visitor appeared to have suddenly gone +mad, and, turning to him, cursed him also, using some language which +he had never heard before. The stranger declared that he was +invulnerable, but the deceased said he took him by the collar and +dragged him to the head of the stairs. Thereupon the old man expressed +sorrow at what his fate would be—death!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence when the doctor had concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I quite agree. A most fantastic story. He must have imagined +it,” said the Coroner. “A stranger uttering incantations and +predicting death to those who dare to lay hands upon him! Most absurd. +The result of your post-mortem was, I take it, that death was due to +heart disease?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was.” +</p> + +<p> +Hence the Coroner registered the verdict, and the proceedings closed, +not, however, without a good deal of wagging of tongues among those +who had been present. Indeed, the story told by the doctor was +published in that evening’s papers, but everyone regarded it as the +delirious imaginings of a dying man. +</p> + +<p> +George Askew, the constable’s brother, a tall, thin young fellow who +had been employed to do odd jobs in a garage at Molesey, was engaged +by Mr. Gray to take his friend’s place as caretaker at the Guest +House. His brother did not fail to warn him of the weird happenings in +the place, but he smoked his eternal “gaspers” and laughed the whole +thing to scorn. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe in curses, or spooks, or anything else,” George +declared to his brother on the first night, when, at a late hour, the +constable, being on duty, dropped in to see him. +</p> + +<p> +George had changed his quarters to the library; he had erected a +little camp-bed which he had hired, and lived among the piles of +tied-up parcels of old brown-bound books which lay heaped everywhere, +ready for the sale. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I advise you to be careful,” the other replied warningly. “Poor +old Farmer laughed at the evil, and see where he is now!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is this evil influence, or whatever you call it, in this +house?” asked the young matter-of-fact fellow, who had distinct +political views with a leaning towards Communism. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know? We don’t know the cause, George. We only know the +results. I pity the young couple who are coming to live here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh! The decorators will clean out all the dirt and cobwebs and it +will be fresh and wholesome again,” his brother laughed. “It’s musty +enough now, in all conscience,” he added, as his brother, with a +glance at the dead man’s timepiece, put on his helmet, and, buttoning +his coat to the throat, walked out. +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +Meanwhile Sibell Dare and Brinsley Otway were having a wonderful time +at winter sports. +</p> + +<p> +Fresh snow had fallen upon the mountains around Gurnigel. They found +there a gay little world running riot with harmless fun and merriment, +and the mountain slopes re-echoed with shouts and laughter of the +open-air. Young English and American men and girls who, attracted by +the lure of the snow, came there to enjoy the healthful recreation of +ski-ing, bobbing, or lugeing, while their elders found ample sport in +the quieter games of curling, or gliding across the perfectly kept +ice-rinks on skates. +</p> + +<p> +For the variety of ski-runs, and the constant round of amusements by +day, and the gaiety at night, the place was unequalled. There were +ski-races for novices and experts, team races, ladies’ races, and ice +gymkhanas, and lastly “tailing”—little luges sufficient for one +person to sit on are tied in a string of half a dozen or more behind +a two-horse sleigh—which is a merry sport along the flat roads down +in the valley to the homely little villages of Riggisberg or +Guggisberg, where one has such wonderful teas and cakes. +</p> + +<p> +Gurnigel in winter is a veritable paradise for young people. No spot +in all the Oberland offers so many attractions, outdoor sport by day, +and the indoor fun at night. The spirit of merriment is infectious, +and ski-ing is an incomparable sport. No Alpine resort has a better +average of second-class ski-runners, while there are polite English +skiers, many of them experts, who soon put the novice into the way of +passing their third-class test. The talk in Gurnigel in winter is +mainly the jargon of ski-ing, of “stemming,” “Christianias,” +“telemarks,” and such-like turns, while the famous “John” gives advice +and instruction to those who need it. +</p> + +<p> +One day General Horton, an athletic man who was among the first to +introduce ski-ing from Norway into Switzerland, was chatting with +Otway and Lady Wyndcliffe. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course there are many—the <i>nouveau riche</i> and the overdressed, +the people who take Bond Street and Dover Street in their +innovation-trunks—who sneer at the Oberland, and prefer the +Engadine,” he said. “But those are the exotics. I know Switzerland, +and am an old hand at ski-ing, and I know the advantages of the +various resorts, and vice versa. I admit that the Cresta is the finest +bob-run, and that Mürren is only notable for its increasing prices, +its inferior accommodation, and its high excellence of ski-ing, to the +detriment of the beginner. The Kandahars constitute for the main part +the snobbery of ski-ing, and everyone else in Mürren seems to take a +back seat. At Wengen the winter-sport enthusiast is far better +treated, getting better value for his money without that superior +snobbery which seems to have sprung up with good ski-ing, and he is +allowed to enjoy himself just as he wishes. Then Engelberg is good, +and so is Gstaad, and, at the end of the season, Sannenmöser. But +here in Gurnigel one can get all one wants—a better hotel than in any +other place I know in the Oberland, good snow, merriment without women +constantly changing their frocks, and—well, what does one want more?” +</p> + +<p> +And the slim, sporty old officer in his dark-blue ski-ing suit laughed +merrily as he gave his expert opinion, with which two well-known +skiers, who stood listening, heartily agreed. +</p> + +<p> +That night there was another event. The winter fun in the handsome +ballroom, with its colored festoons and gay balloons, was being +broadcast to the world. It was a Swiss evening. The celebrated +yodelers from Interlaken—the best in the Oberland—arrived, together +with an expert upon the hand-organ, the national Swiss instrument, and +a remarkable programme had been arranged by Mr. Gordon Mitchell, who, +as President of the Amusements Committee, was responsible for the +entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +For many hours three radio engineers were busy fitting up a room as a +studio, with a microphone, all carefully blanketed for the +accommodation of the announcer. Then a cable was laid through the +hotel and attached to the telephone-line to the great radio station at +Munchenbuchsee, outside Berne, while another microphone was placed +high upon a tripod near the orchestra in the ballroom—preparations +watched with great interest by Lady Wyndcliffe, her niece, and the +young doctor. +</p> + +<p> +At last, about six o’clock, after the tea-dancing had ended, Mr. +Mitchell stood in the centre of the ballroom, and in his ordinary +voice, said: “Hulloa, Radio, Berne! Hulloa, Radio, Berne! Test number +one.” And then he counted the numbers one to ten, and afterwards +backwards. +</p> + +<p> +The two engineers listening upon the valve receiving set of the hotel +reported excellent results, but on a second and third test being made, +it became clearer and stronger, owing to the modulation at the Berne +station. +</p> + +<p> +Thus by dinner-time all was in readiness to broadcast across Europe +the winter fun at gay Gurnigel, and many of the visitors, who had let +their friends in England know of the broadcasting, became highly +excited and interested. +</p> + +<p> +That night the ballroom was crowded, and at half-past nine, the usual +dancing having commenced, Mr. Mitchell went into the silence of the +improvised studio, where he opened the microphone and made a short +introductory speech, beginning: +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, the British Isles! Hulloa, everybody! This is Gurnigel, in +Switzerland, calling. We are about to give you some idea of a Swiss +evening at a gay winter sports centre. Hulloa, the British Isles! +Gurnigel, in Switzerland, calling!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, having paused for a few moments, he spoke in a clear radio +voice—for he was used to speaking into the microphone—as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Here we are, far above the clouds and rain of winter, enjoying by day +glorious sunshine and bright, crisp, starlit nights. The mountain +heights are covered with deep snow, where our young people by day +disport themselves ski-ing, tobogganing, lugeing, or going for long, +healthy walks through the beautiful pine forests. We say among the +young people that the man ‘she’s’ and the girl ‘he’s’! Be it at a new +winter-sports place like this, or at one of the old ones, everywhere +the enchanting scenery and the delightfully pure atmosphere, not +forgetting the exuberant feeling of well-being which possesses +everyone, lends itself to numerous flirtations and snow romances. +</p> + +<p> +“Winter sports are essentially for young people, for they are full of +fun and merriment, and a young girl looks her best in her smart +ski-costume of black gabardine with trousers, and a guide’s peaked +cap. +</p> + +<p> +“Here at Gurnigel, as well as at most of the well-known winter sports +places in Switzerland, there is a merry crowd assembled. In my long +experience of winter sports I have never known a brighter season. This +open-air life in a clear atmosphere as invigorating as champagne, and +the call of the snow—which, once experienced, draws the winter +holiday-makers back to Switzerland, nature’s mountain fairyland—are +responsible for the gay crowds filling the Swiss hotels. If the days +are spent out of doors in the healthiest possible way, the long winter +evenings are not, as some people may think, in the least dull and +uninteresting. On the contrary, the evenings at a winter-sports place +are most enjoyable in that no trouble is ever spared in giving the +hotel guests all kinds of amusements, such as concerts, dances, +indoor-games, etc. +</p> + +<p> +“We are about to show our listeners what a merry evening at a Swiss +winter-sports place can be. To-night we are enjoying at Gurnigel a +Swiss evening—that is, a concert consisting mainly of Swiss music and +songs. +</p> + +<p> +“The Interlaken yodelers are going to give you several peasant songs +such as are sung by the shepherds in the Bernese Oberland when leading +their herds of cows to the pastures to the accompaniment of the lovely +and famous Swiss cow-bells. +</p> + +<p> +“After this you will hear dance music played on a hand-harmonica, the +most popular instrument in the Swiss mountains. The hotel orchestra +will play some dance music. We are also very fortunate to count +amongst our guests Madame Gruscha, dramatic soprano of the States +Opera House in Vienna. Madame Gruscha has kindly consented to give two +songs. To crown the evening’s entertainment, joyful members of ‘Ye +Ancient Order of Froth-Blowers,’ a society well known to all English +listeners—who, by the way, are nothing loath to blow the froth off +good old Swiss beer—will thunder out their accustomed hymn. The rule +of ‘Drinks all round’ for those Blowers listening-in and not wearing +their cuff-links will not be enforced to-night. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope everybody will enjoy this concert, broadcast for the +first time from a Swiss winter-sports resort, and which we hope will +help our listeners to form some idea of the fast and furious fun which +goes on at this high altitude, amongst the glorious scenery.” And then +Mr. Mitchell added, as though an afterthought: “I may say that those +who intend to visit Switzerland for winter sports will find late +January and February the finest time, and the Swiss will welcome you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the Swiss announcer said in German, French, and English: +</p> + +<p> +“The first item will be the yodel of the Emmenthal Valley, where the +Swiss cheeses come from, sung by the Interlaken yodelers.” +</p> + +<p> +Next moment the microphone was switched over to the ballroom, where +upon the platform stood the ten celebrated singers of the Bernese +peasant songs, in their short black velvet jackets trimmed with +scarlet and silver lace, and their leather skull-caps, the Sunday +attire of the cowherds. At a signal from Mr. Mitchell, they sang that +sweet melody which one hears at dawn and at sunset in summer, echoing +in the high mountains, as they chant to each other across the fertile +valleys. +</p> + +<p> +The applause was loud and enthusiastic, and over a radius of two +thousand miles or so, hundreds of thousands of listeners, who had +picked up Mr. Mitchell’s introductory speech, instantly became +interested. +</p> + +<p> +In the British Isles thousands were listening to the unusual +programme. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Gruscha, whose marvellous voice rang out through the huge +ballroom, then gave a selection from <i>La Tosca</i>, in which she had, +only a week before, been singing at the Vienna Opera, and was greeted +with thunders of applause. Then the peasant with his hand-organ took +the centre of the orchestra and began to play a Swiss national dance, +to which the yodelers danced with the English guests in a kind of +village dance, greatly to everyone’s amusement. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell was being whirled around by a stout, good-looking Swiss yodeler +who was an express engine-driver on the Simplon line, when the +concierge motioned to her and handed her a telegram. It was from the +Richmond estate-agents—Messrs. Shalford, Stevens & Gray—stating that +the caretaker Farmer had died under very mysterious circumstances, +though a verdict had been registered that he had died from natural +causes. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch14"> +CHAPTER XIV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">UNCLEAN HANDS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Notwithstanding</span> the verdict of the Hampton Coroner, the police, +whose interest was aroused by the curious reports of strange +happenings at the Guest House, commenced to make inquiries regarding +the deceased man’s strange visitor. +</p> + +<p> +The record of the romance and history of the place, as published in +the Richmond newspaper, had drawn their attention to it, inasmuch as +Mr. Gray was questioned by the Richmond police and reluctantly +admitted his strange attack and narrow escape. +</p> + +<p> +The Criminal Investigation Department explored all sorts of channels +to discover the old man Bettinson, who had been fairly clearly +described to the doctor by his patient. There were two well-known +collectors of antique furniture of that name, it was found—one a +dealer having a shop in Chester, who was a man of thirty-five who had +recently succeeded to the business of his dead father; a second was a +solicitor in Plymouth, who was well-known and of ample means, but in +no way resembled the odd old fellow who had appeared at the Guest +House; while a third, a man living near Harwich, was reported to have +purchased some old furniture for an ancient house he had bought +outside Ipswich. +</p> + +<p> +The search was, after all, only a half-hearted one, for on the face of +it the dead man’s statement was rather too fantastic to be credited by +many, while it seemed certain that if the old man had actually paid a +visit to the house of mystery with any evil intent he would hardly +have given his real name. +</p> + +<p> +When Etta Wyndcliffe had been shown the telegram by her niece, she had +merely shrugged her shoulders, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“That house is evidently a house of evil, my dear! I can’t see how you +can possibly live in it.” +</p> + +<p> +She had been watching with critical eyes the enjoyment of the happy +pair at winter sports. Thanks to the expert tuition of John, the +guide, they were now able to ski quite well, and do “stem turns” and +“telemarks” in very fair fashion. Indeed, they had both passed their +third-class test, and now each morning they took the yellow automobile +up to the Seelibühl peak, and then ran down over the powdery snow +through the Happy Valley back to the hotel, a spin of wild delight as +the snow hissed beneath their skis. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe was not at all pleased at the turn which events were +taking. She remembered those parting words of Albert Ashe, her +exemplary butler, the man who held such a strange influence over her. +She remembered, too, old Routh’s declaration that Sibell must marry +Gussie Gretton, and did not fail to foresee that such a union would +bring them both a handsome profit. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe was out for money always. Smart, clever, and utterly +unscrupulous from the time she was at school, she took the fat checks +from the mothers of the girls she chaperoned, and was hawk-like in her +efforts to get them married, with further pecuniary profit to herself. +In this she was not unique in London society. There were fully a dozen +like her, hard-up women with old titles and without money, ready to do +any dirty, underhand action, or to sell a girl, body and soul, in the +marriage market so long as it brought them a substantial check which +would most certainly be frittered away at baccarat and “chemmy.” +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon, as she sat at tea in the big hall with the young North +London doctor and her pretty niece, her active mind reverted to that +parting with Ashe in West Halkin Street, when in secret the man had +whispered to her, “I’ll meet you again soon, Etta. We’re out for a big +stake. And we’ll win—never fear.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced through her cigarette smoke at the handsome, happy pair at +the table before her and wondered. Would they win? She doubted it. +</p> + +<p> +The check which she knew Gussie Gretton would slip into her hand, on +the day of his marriage to Sibell, was daily disappearing into the +ether. Time after time she had tried by most subtle means to sow +dissension between the pair, but all to no purpose. Their affection +was complete; and, to her fear, it would be lasting. +</p> + +<p> +Brinsley Otway was always charming to her, though instinctively he +knew that she was no friend of his. He studiously gave her every +attention, dancing with her each night, and never failing to behave +with the acme of courtesy and charm. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe had written to old Gordon Routh a long letter in which +she realized the hopelessness of parting the pair, and asked his +advice and suggestions. On the other hand, Ashe, after his vague +threat on the last occasion they had met, had entirely disappeared. +She had written him on the second day of their arrival at Gurnigel, +but had had no acknowledgment. +</p> + +<p> +This fact caused her great apprehension. Was he really playing the +game? She knew his hard, bitter nature, his unreliability, his quick +resentment, and his ready shiftiness. She had trusted him for several +years, and he knew certain secrets of hers. But of late she had slowly +realized that he would hesitate at nothing, or even sacrifice her, in +order to gain his own despicable ends. And his estimate of her was a +very similar one. +</p> + +<p> +That night she sent a marconigram to him, addressed to an obscure +sporting club in the Adelphi, where he went every day for his letters. +Next day at noon she received a reply which ran: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Meet me at the Schweizerhof Hotel in Berne on Thursday at noon. +Important.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Hence, on the Wednesday evening, pleading to the happy couple that she +had some shopping to do in Berne and also had to make a call upon an +English lady friend who was married to a Swiss doctor, she took the +car down the sixteen miles of winding, snowy road to the capital and +put up at the Schweizerhof, that big hotel facing the railway station. +She engaged a private sitting-room and bedroom, so that their +interview should be a secret one. That night, as she ate her dinner +alone, she wondered with what object he was travelling so suddenly out +to see her. +</p> + +<p> +Wyndcliffe had arrived in New York a week before, and she hoped he +would remain there, for there was not the slightest spark of affection +between them. When in London he was only an incubus. True, he +meandered around with her to the drawing-rooms of Mayfair and +Belgravia, just for the appearance of the thing, but he was always +pestering her for money and deploring the cost of everything. +</p> + +<p> +Money had come to her niece, it was true, but how could she profit by +the sudden turn of fortune? +</p> + +<p> +Impatiently she awaited from her window the arrival of the Oberland +express from Boulogne, until at last she descried Ashe’s tall, burly +figure in a dark overcoat, followed by a hotel porter carrying his +suitcase, crossing the wide square to the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later he entered her sitting-room, and, throwing off his +travelling-coat, cast himself into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +He explained that he had breakfasted on the train after passing the +frontier at Delle, and then lit a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she asked, leaning against the table and facing him. “What’s +the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lot,” he snapped. “Lock the door and speak in whispers.” +</p> + +<p> +When she had crossed the room and bolted the door, he looked straight +into her face, and said in a low, serious voice: +</p> + +<p> +“We’re in an infernally tight corner, Etta!” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” she asked apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert is in London!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert!” she gasped, and in an instant her lips blanched as a look of +terror overspread her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he whispered. “And he knows a lot—a damned lot more than is +good for us!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen him, eh?” she gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen him. But he hasn’t seen me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good. What are we to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come here to talk the matter over with you, my dear Etta,” said +the ex-butler. “We’ve got to face the music. That’s plain.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +Her visitor paused for some moments, his dark, narrow eyes set upon +hers. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake,” she cried, “don’t look at me like that, Albert!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you forget how we parted in that little hotel in Norfolk Street?” +he asked, still gazing at her intently. +</p> + +<p> +“You threatened to—to——” And she paused. +</p> + +<p> +“I simply pointed out to you the only way in which we could save +ourselves if Rupert came to London,” he said quietly. “Well—he’s +come! It’s now up to us to take the initiative. You know what I mean, +don’t you?” And he looked steadily into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean what you hinted at when we last met!” she cried suddenly, +covering her face with her white, bejewelled hands. +</p> + +<p> +“You defied me! You told me that you forbade it, Etta,” he said quite +quietly. “Well, if you wish to have the whole sordid story exposed in +a criminal court and go to prison perhaps for the remainder of your +life, you can do so,” he went on, with an air of nonchalance. +“Personally, I intend to save myself, whatever your decision may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Albert, don’t desert me; no, I beg of you,” cried the unhappy +peeress. “I’ve always stuck to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except when you grow chicken-hearted, as you did at Norfolk Street, +and—and once when you thought you could feather your nest without my +help.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” she asked in instant defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing,” he said sneeringly. +</p> + +<p> +“I demand to know what is passing through your mind!” she cried, her +fists clenched as she stood before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Only one simple little incident,” he answered, with a faint smile. +“The tragic death of that poor little American girl Heula Murray on +board the Nile boat an hour before it was moored at Assouan. She died +of pneumonia, didn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“You swine!” she cried, striking him full in the face with her fist. +“I know what you insinuate,” she cried. “But it’s a lie—a damned lie, +and you shall prove it. You’ve hinted at that before. You were with +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I was—as your servant. But, my dear Etta, don’t get excited,” he +said, his face reddened where she had struck him. “I don’t intend to +give you away, even though I have retained a certain little capsule +which was hermetically sealed before you broke it open. No, my dear +girl, don’t worry. It isn’t worth while. Please understand that we’re +both sailing in the same boat, and if you go on the rocks I’ll go with +you. But we are going to steer clear, into smooth waters, or I’m much +mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Lady Wyndcliffe, with frantic effort to calm herself. +</p> + +<p> +“By taking matters in our own hands. You will have to meet Rupert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meet him! Never!” she cried, horrified at the mere thought. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in search of you; let him find you, and become friendly with +him. Disarm his suspicion, and then——” And he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“And then? Ah! I know what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s the only way, my dear Etta. Believe me, it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. It would be impossible. I couldn’t do it, Albert,” she +declared decisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Then I fear you’ll have to face the consequences, if you +don’t make up the quarrel,” Ashe said. “He’s in London in search of +you, and he’ll send you to penal servitude. You’ll go there as sure as +my name’s Albert, if you don’t try and save yourself. Just think!” he +went on. “Aren’t we both on the brink of disaster? You’ve allowed +young Otway to carry off our only decent asset, the girl Sibell. If +Gussie Gretton had married her you’d have got a fat commission out of +it. But, as it is, there’s nothing for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there may be,” said Lady Wyndcliffe. “If a quarrel arose between +the pair and they parted, Gussie might easily step into the breach and +console her for the falsity of this young medico. And Gussie, on +marrying a rich wife, would double his commission to us. Don’t forget +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” exclaimed Ashe. “I never thought of that. You’re darned +clever, Etta—one of the cleverest women I know. The worst of it is +that after the affair of that little American girl in Egypt, which +reaped you in a full five thousand pounds, you are so very punctilious +over dealing with an enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I now trust nobody,” she snapped. “Once I trusted you, but I +have ever since had occasion to regret it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, my dear girl, you are really most polite,” he laughed, with +mock courtesy. “But, you see, I, too, don’t put any faith in you. +Nevertheless, if you don’t stick by me, you can do the reverse. I +shall leave Berne to-night, and I sha’n’t care for you, or for the +future. I know how to save myself. I prepared my channel of escape +long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess of Wyndcliffe took her gold cigarette-case from her bag, +and, opening it, slowly selected a cigarette. She tapped it quietly +and then lit it, first going to the window to gaze out on the trams +passing across the square before the station. +</p> + +<p> +When she had repassed across the room she suddenly halted before the +man who, though posing as her obsequious butler in West Halkin Street, +seemed now to be her master, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Albert. Let me hear your suggestions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have two. The one carries with it the other. The first is that you +must resume your relations with Rupert—in pretence of courage. The +second is that Sibell and young Otway must be parted at all +hazards—by you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the girl must be part of the sacrifice, eh?” asked her aunt, +with knit brows. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be helped. There’s no money for us if they marry. And old +Routh is also out for profit. I saw him in London the other day, and +he’s dead against the marriage and Sibell’s money slipping away from +us all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But about Rupert? Do you think he can be kept quiet, after all that’s +happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only by you,” he said, with a sudden change in his voice from +defiance to softness. “You know what a seductive little devil you can +be when you like, Etta. God! you can charm any man of any age.” +</p> + +<p> +“And without—without a tragedy. Assure me of that?” she said eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Ashe remained silent for a few moments. He was asked for an +assurance which he had not expected he would be called upon to give. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said evasively at last, “if you call the parting of Sibell +from her lover a tragedy, that can’t be avoided. The girl is rich, and +she’ll soon console herself with the smart and popular Gussie, who is +such a splendid dancer, so good-looking, and with whom dozens of girls +are madly in love. He’s essentially a lady’s man, not like that +big-headed, big-eyed, thoughtful doctor out at Golder’s Green. All +that I leave to you,” he went on. “But time presses. Leave the +turtledoves at Gurnigel for the present, and slip back to London to +meet Rupert and make it up with him. We can deal with the lovers later +on. It will only be a question of a week or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Albert, I—I really don’t know how to act—what to do—how I can +possibly——” +</p> + +<p> +“Rot!” he cried angrily. “Let me guide you, and let’s both climb out +of the soup as soon as possible with a nice little bank balance to the +credit of both of us—instead of appearing side by side at the Old +Bailey, as we will certainly do if you act the fool any longer. Don’t +you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said in a low, hoarse whisper. “I do agree, Albert. I see +that I must. Sibell must be parted from Brinsley.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent,” he said. “I’m glad you at last see reason. So go to work +with your clever woman’s wiles as soon as you possibly can. Get back +to London at once and meet dear Rupert, and greet him with regret as +his long-lost friend. He must never suspect that I’m in England. But +I will be behind you to advise you and bring you to triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +And he put out his well-manicured hand, which the Countess of +Wyndcliffe grasped in an unholy contract for the sale of an innocent +girl’s soul. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch15"> +CHAPTER XV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SECRET CAVALIER</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">That</span> evening the Countess of Wyndcliffe appeared at dinner, in the +gay restaurant at Gurnigel, looking radiant in a pretty cyclamen gown +and wearing her pearls—bought, by the way, out of the check which +came to her after the tragic death from pneumonia of an American girl +she had been chaperoning up the Nile. +</p> + +<p> +To the handsome young pair she gave a glowing description of her old +friend Nellie Price, who had married a well-known Swiss heart +specialist, and how she had, after her visit, had her shingled hair +trimmed by a Spaniard who was an artist, at a <i>coiffeur’s</i> close to +the station. +</p> + +<p> +Her ex-butler was still in Berne, and was leaving by the ten o’clock +express for Calais that night—a fact which of course she withheld +from the happy pair. They had been out on a ski picnic with the expert +runner, Mr. Mallins, who had taken out a party, and to whom the +visitors at the hotel were all indebted for kindly advice and help. +</p> + +<p> +In every winter-sports hotel there crop up English nobodies, mostly +with a military title, who proclaim themselves skiers or bob-runners, +who put on immaculate winter-sports suits and sweaters, and pose as +experts, only to be driven out by those who really can ski or bob. It +was so at Gurnigel, just as at all winter-sports centres—centres, +alas! of petty jealousies, and where men and women make fools of +themselves. +</p> + +<p> +After all, when one leaves Dover for gaiety on the Continent, what +matters? What mattered, indeed, when at a winter-sports hotel at +Mürren the visitors were once invited by a notice posted in the hall +to subscribe to an amusement fund, and the visitors were at once +lavish in their gifts? What mattered when, a few nights later, there +was bought a handsome prize for the best dress at a midnight carnival, +and lo! the proprietress of the hotel won it, and carried away the +prize her visitors had subscribed for? +</p> + +<p> +What matters? Nobody cared. Happily, that was unique. Only such an +incident is actively discussed when visitors to Switzerland return to +London and chat over their reminiscences in their own drawing-rooms. +Yet there remains the fact that Switzerland is the winter playground +of Europe, and it well deserves to be so till the end of time. +</p> + +<p> +It was a gala night at Gurnigel, a masked ball, with a midnight supper +in the interval. So after dinner Sibell put on the <i>sari</i> of an Indian +lady of high caste, a wonderful garment of shot orange, gold and green +tissue, with her scarlet marriage brand upon her brow, but masked of +course, while Brinsley Otway was dressed as an Arab sheik, with +darkened face, also masked, and daggers stuck in his belt; but Lady +Wyndcliffe was too tired to put on one of her fancy costumes. +</p> + +<p> +The great ballroom was the scene of mad gaiety that night. As fancy +dresses were not put on till after dinner, the maskers could be +recognized only by their friends. +</p> + +<p> +After two fox-trots with her lover, Sibell suddenly looked up and saw +a rather tall, masked man in the costume of a cavalier bowing and +sweeping his plumed hat across his knees, and at the same time, in a +low half-whisper, he invited her to dance. +</p> + +<p> +She accepted, and instantly knew what an excellent dancer he was. +</p> + +<p> +They went around the ballroom without exchanging words with each +other, until suddenly he whispered into her ear: +</p> + +<p> +“I know you, Miss Dare. When we have finished this dance, will you +allow me to sit with you for a few moments? I want to tell you +something in strictest confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +Much intrigued, the girl, wondering who the cavalier might be and what +he desired to say, assented. Therefore, when the dance had ended, +instead of continuing in the encore, they both strolled away to the +big lounge adjoining the dance-room, and sat down apart from the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Dare,” he said, “you have no idea of my identity, and you will +never know. I am speaking quite seriously. I may as well say that I am +no friend of yours, not even an acquaintance, but simply the bearer of +an urgent message to you. Before I deliver it, however, I must have +your solemn assurance that you breathe not a word of it to a soul—not +even to Dr. Otway, to whom you are engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand!” she exclaimed in slight alarm. “I don’t follow +you! At least you can disclose your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Christian name is Edward—simply that. Just think of me as +Edward,” was his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Edward what?” +</p> + +<p> +But he only chuckled to himself behind his mask, replying: +</p> + +<p> +“That does not matter. Will you give me the undertaking I seek? Please +do, as we cannot sit here together very long without arousing your +fiancé’s interest in me. And I am not anxious for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should Dr. Otway be kept in ignorance?” she asked resentfully, +with natural curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I am instructed that it should be so,” the stranger replied. +“As I have told you, I am merely acting as the mouthpiece of another.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are indeed very mysterious! Surely you can be more explicit!” she +protested. “You ask me to keep a secret from the man whom I am about +to marry. It’s hardly fair, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you give me your undertaking you will, on hearing what I have to +say, quickly realize that, in the circumstances, silence will be best. +Really, Miss Dare,” he went on, “I regret to say so, but there is no +time for argument. I see that the doctor is already in search of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said the girl hastily. “I give my undertaking to tell him +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good. Then my message, sent you in secret by one who wishes you well, +and will help you in dire necessity, is to the effect that there is a +conspiracy—a subtle and damnable plot—to part you from Dr. Otway. So +be forewarned.” +</p> + +<p> +“A plot!” gasped the girl. “By whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, but I unfortunately have no information upon that point,” +replied the mysterious stranger in the exquisite garb of a cavalier. +“My only duty has been to warn you. I beg of you to take precautions. +Of how the coup will be effected I have no knowledge, neither has, I +believe, the person whose mouthpiece I am. It was not deemed safe to +write to you, hence this present subterfuge of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can we possibly be separated, devoted as we are to each +other?” she asked, her nervous fingers toying with her jewelled +wrist-watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Other lovers, as devoted as you both are, have, alas! been victims of +wicked cunning and despicable plots. Parents and relatives are often +to blame where it is a question of money, or of social advancement.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, heartily approves of Brinsley,” she +declared. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are quite certain of that, then I fear I can make no further +suggestion,” he said, in a voice that sounded curious. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean? Do you know my aunt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not from Adam.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s sitting over there, in a cyclamen frock, with those two elderly +men”; and the girl indicated the trio. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “So that’s Lady Wyndcliffe! How very interesting. I’ve +heard of her, of course—of her gay dances at Claridge’s, and her +luncheons and dinners at the Ritz. She’s always in the limelight, it +seems.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to hint, Mr. Edward, that she is not quite so favorable to +my marriage with Dr. Otway as she makes out, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Dare, I hint at nothing. I have merely delivered my +message, in the hope that you will heed it, and keep both eyes and +ears open.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you have said has entirely mystified me,” she remarked. “Who is +this unknown friend of mine who keeps his or her identity a secret?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a friend who desires to remain unidentified. But do believe me +when I tell you that, although your friend has never seen you—only +photographs of you—you nevertheless have a true friend.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl paused. The more the stranger said the more deeply did she +become intrigued. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she exclaimed, after reflection, “if you refuse to disclose +the identity of this unknown friend of mine, please present to him my +compliments and thanks. Tell him that I am much mystified.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally,” laughed her companion. “Take my advice, Miss Dare, and be +prepared for any untoward circumstance that might lead to a breach +between your lover and yourself. As I have already suggested to you, +be forearmed against any <i>contretemps</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will it come soon, do you think?” she inquired in a low, tremulous +voice, her eyes showing narrowed and anxious through her mask. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! How can we tell?” he asked, drawing a slight sigh, which she in +an instant regarded as a sign of sympathy. “When the blow falls you +will be expecting it, and be able to stave it off.” +</p> + +<p> +“And may I not warn Brinsley?” she begged. “It isn’t fair to him to +keep him in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree. But I can give no permission myself, Miss Dare,” he replied +seriously. “I have to obtain it. This I will do. Look in the personal +column of <i>The Times</i> of next Monday for a message addressed to ‘S,’ +and the word will be either ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ And if the latter, you will +know that the decision is inexorable. Your friend wishes you well, but +he is compelled, because of certain contingencies, to exercise the +greatest caution. He sends you word through myself of the clever plot +against your happiness, in order that you may expect and frustrate +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But is my aunt implicated in it? Surely not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am entirely ignorant of the details,” was the mysterious +masquerader’s quiet response. “However, I would ask you one question +which your unknown friend is anxious to know”; and, after he had +paused for a few moments, he inquired: “Did your aunt, Lady +Wyndcliffe, once have in her service a butler named Ashe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ashe!” she echoed. “Of course she had! He was discharged for +impertinence not very long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” he replied. “That is all my friend wishes to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely Ashe has nothing to do with my affairs!” she exclaimed +excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“How can he? A mere servant,” he said; and as at that moment the man +in the garb of an Arab sheik was seen approaching, the mysterious +cavalier rose, bowed courteously, waved his plumed hat across his +knees again, and, strolling away, was seen in the ballroom no more. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s your gay cavalier?” asked Brinsley with natural +inquisitiveness, as he rejoined his fiancée. +</p> + +<p> +“I—well, I really don’t know. Quite a nice man he seems, but he made +himself mysterious. That’s all!” +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed to be talking to you very seriously.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, her woman’s innate wit coming to her rescue on the +instant. “He seems to be a very sad person. A new arrival, I suppose. +He was telling me of his wife. They were both here last season, but +she has left him, and he seems inconsolable, poor fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder who he is,” exclaimed Brinsley in sympathy, his jealousy +quite disarmed by Sibell’s explanation. “Take good stock of him, and +let’s try and identify him afterwards. Did he tell you his name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not, Brin. He was masked. And why should I want to know the +man’s name?” she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +As a waltz was just commencing, they rose together and joined in the +dancing. Little did Brinsley Otway dream of those warning words which +had been whispered into Sibell’s ear, or little did the pair suspect +the fatal pitfall which had been opened before them by the base and +unscrupulous machinations of those bent upon feathering their own +nests at the expense of a girl’s love and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +The mad dance proceeded. Balloons and serpentines were everywhere. The +electroliers were festooned with thousands of yards of multicolored +paper ribbon, and thousands of yards of the same clung to the feet of +the dancers. Confetti was half an inch deep everywhere, and, to the +strains of the amateur jazz-band which had temporarily relieved the +professional orchestra, the lovers fox-trotted around the room, +watched furtively by the young-looking peeress in cyclamen. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell’s brain was awhirl. What could the stranger have meant by his +dark hints of conspiracy against her happiness? As she danced in her +lover’s arms she tried to recall all that he had said; all those +meaning words he had used; all the hints and warnings. The latter were +certainly serious enough, but why had he, a perfect stranger, who +admitted that he had never met her before that evening, made such a +curious inquiry as he had done regarding her aunt’s discharged +manservant, Albert Ashe? +</p> + +<p> +She recollected that, although the fellow had always been most polite +and courteous, even to obsequiousness, yet she had always +instinctively disliked him, and was secretly very glad when he had +been discharged for impertinence. Nevertheless, it was indeed strange +that the mysterious masquerader should know of him. +</p> + +<p> +That there was a conspiracy afoot, a secret plot, conceived by an +enemy, to part her from Brinsley, was the main point. What she had +heard from the masked man’s lips held her stunned and stupefied, yet, +by reason of her promise to divulge nothing to her lover, she was now +held dumb and powerless. +</p> + +<p> +Who could possibly be jealous of her happiness? Bliss such as she was +now experiencing amid these unsullied snows had never been hers before +in all her life. Why should it all end? Who was there in the world who +could conspire to prevent their union? +</p> + +<p> +The dance was concluded, and supper was announced. They went to a long +table in the big dining-room, where they joined a party of about +twenty others with whom they had formed friendships in the hotel. +Chatter and loud peals of laughter sounded on every hand, masks were +lifted, champagne corks popped, and serpentines came hurtling through +the air and fell upon the table. But Sibell had lost interest in it +all. +</p> + +<p> +Her keen eyes were diligently searching everywhere to discover her +secret cavalier. But from the moment he had bowed so courteously and +left her, he had disappeared. He had delivered his mysterious message, +and his mission was apparently at an end. +</p> + +<p> +Not far away from her, at a <i>table-à-deux</i> in a corner, was seated a +middle-aged man in the brown habit of a Capuchin monk, chatting +merrily with a pretty, fair-haired girl dressed as a Columbine. +</p> + +<p> +Now and then the man raised his brown eyes, and watched Sibell +furtively, but so changed was he in appearance that it was not +surprising that she failed to again recognize him. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch16"> +CHAPTER XVI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MAN AND WOMAN</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Etta Wyndcliffe</span>, the incomparable chaperon, of dainty frock and +exquisite etiquette, entered Sibell’s room just after finishing her +coffee and rolls, as she was in the act of taking up her strong, +well-oiled ski-boots. To get into ski-ing kit is always a troublesome +operation for a girl; the heavy socks, the “turn-overs,” the Norwegian +bindings at the ankles, all go to irritate the wearer in the early +morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Drat this infernal lace!” Sibell exploded aloud just as her aunt +opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, dear, I’ve just had a wire, and I must go to London this +afternoon!” exclaimed her ladyship fussily. “Isn’t this the limit, +just when I was enjoying myself so very much here? Yet I’m ever so +glad we came to Gurnigel. I shall come again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it very urgent, auntie? Can’t you wait till Friday week? We’re due +to go down to the Riviera then, aren’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I must go to-day. I’ve some urgent business with my bank, my +dear. You and Brinsley can remain here, and I’ll meet you on the +Riviera. There is no need whatever for you to return to London.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’ll be so horribly dull here without you, auntie,” the girl +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, dear, I’m afraid I must go. It’s imperative,” she said. “I’m +just going to pack. I’ll get the concierge to ’phone down to Berne for +a sleeper to-night. The motor-car to Berne goes at half-past three, I +hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, auntie. But all this is very disappointing!” declared the pretty +girl, in ignorance of the real reason of her aunt’s sudden desire to +return to London. +</p> + +<p> +“I know, dear. But those horrible bankers have a nasty habit of +calling your immediate attention to any little overdraft you may +happen to have. And one can’t afford to neglect to call upon the +good-looking manager and cajole him into straightening things out.” +</p> + +<p> +And she smiled at the many recollections of how she had borrowed money +upon all sorts of frail security. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’re going out for an hour’s run with John,” said her niece, +“so we’ll be back before noon. Can I help you to pack?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. Bevan is seeing to everything,” her ladyship replied, and +then left the room to go down to the concierge. +</p> + +<p> +That gay little snow-bound world of winter sports, notwithstanding all +the petty jealousies and bickerings of little, unknown people, was a +world of its own, a happy coterie of devotees of winter sports. +</p> + +<p> +The one man in the whole hotel who laughed at it all was Mr. Gordon +Mitchell. He was a stout, smiling, hail-fellow-well-met man, to whose +initiative was due the opening of Gurnigel in winter. He was a popular +artist whose work adorned one of the best London illustrated papers, +an irresponsible Bohemian bachelor who had not a single care in the +world, and who moved up and down Europe as Society went from pillar to +post throughout the four seasons. +</p> + +<p> +He always dubbed himself “the looker-on,” for he sketched assiduously +and saw most of the games, whether it be at Deauville, Le Touquet, +Dinard, or Biarritz in summer, the Riviera in spring, Scotland in the +autumn, or winter in the Engadine or the Bernese Oberland. It was he +who, one spring day, had passed Gurnigel in his car and, looking up at +the huge white façade of the colossal hotel, wondered why it had +never been opened in winter. +</p> + +<p> +His chauffeur told him that it was a summer resort only. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “it must be opened in winter. I will see that it is +opened.” +</p> + +<p> +And he saw to it, with the result that at that moment all the four +hundred odd rooms were occupied, while the servants’ quarters were +also invaded by visitors. +</p> + +<p> +The other Swiss <i>hôteliers</i> had stood aghast at Gurnigel’s brilliant +success. Some resorts had not been half full that season. Indeed, two +winter-sports centres had not opened at all. And yet Gurnigel was +overflowing. +</p> + +<p> +But it was due, they all knew, to Mr. Gordon Mitchell, the lover of +Switzerland, and they knew that, being a thoroughgoing cosmopolitan, +he was open to do his best to advertise and attract visitors to every +place in turn in the glorious Bernese Oberland. +</p> + +<p> +In that spirit Mr. Gordon Mitchell watched the course of events. He +was one of those old-young travellers, wanderers to and fro across +Europe, who loved to see young folk enjoy themselves, and, though +something of an old fogey and stickler for etiquette, could perform to +perfection the duties of a floor-manager of any ballroom. Indeed, his +performances upon the drum in an amateur band were well known in every +resort in Switzerland. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past three that afternoon, as Lady Wyndcliffe descended the +snowy steps to enter the big, yellow automobile of the Swiss Federal +Post—one of those long, powerful motor-cars of the mountains—Mr. +Mitchell, bare-headed, bowed over her hand and wished her <i>bon +voyage</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“You have my address,” her ladyship said with a merry smile. “Now if +you don’t call on me, I’ll never forgive you, Mr. Mitchell! As I’ve +told you, I know lots of artistic friends of yours of the Savage and +the Ham Bone. You’ll call? Promise me. And do look after Sibell and +Brinsley for me, won’t you?” she added mischievously. +</p> + +<p> +The others heard it, and were much impressed. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll look after Mr. Mitchell for you, auntie!” cried Sibell in +defiance, waving her hand merrily as Etta, in her magnificent sable +coat, climbed into the big autobus. +</p> + +<p> +Shouts, hand-waves, and a low bow from the black frock-coated +concierge with keys upon his shoulders, and the post automobile, with +heavy chains on all four wheels, started down the steep, slippery hill +on the long, winding highroad to the Swiss capital. +</p> + +<p> +Then, when Lady Wyndcliffe had gone, Sibell and her lover took a luge +and, seated together upon it, started down the steep run at an +exhilarating pace, both yelling “<i>Achtung!</i>” as warning to any +pedestrians in their path. +</p> + +<p> +Yet all day Sibell could not put from herself the remembrance of that +dark man of mystery who, dressed as a cavalier, had told her such a +strange, remarkable story. A hundred times she wondered why he had +made that queer inquiry regarding the identity of Albert Ashe. What +could he know of her aunt’s butler? +</p> + +<p> +At luncheon she had scrutinized every table, but had failed to +identify her masked informant. Some visitors had left by the early +morning autobus at eight o’clock, so she concluded that he must have +been among them. +</p> + +<p> +She longed to be able to tell Brinsley of what the stranger had said, +but she saw that she would be compelled to await the cryptic message +in the personal column of <i>The Times</i>. +</p> + +<p> +So the days passed—bright, sunlit days, with cloudless skies and +perfect snow, and frosty nights, brilliant and starlit, most perfect +weather for winter sports. At last one afternoon the post came in. She +saw the page carry <i>The Times</i> to the reading-room, and pounced +eagerly upon it. Yes, the message was there at the top of the second +column, addressed to her. But it was in the negative. +</p> + +<p> +Brinsley Otway was to be kept in ignorance of the plot against them! +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +That same afternoon was dark and rainy in London, as Lady Wyndcliffe +climbed the stairs of some bachelor chambers in Duke Street, St. +James’s, and rapped upon a door, which was quickly opened by her +ex-butler, Ashe. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Etta?” he asked, and, having ushered her into a cosy little +sitting-room, where a bright fire was burning, and placed a chair for +her, he said, “How did you get on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the pretty woman wearily, throwing her +furs carelessly upon the couch. “The fact is, I haven’t screwed up +enough courage to face it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried the man, glaring at her. “Don’t be a fool! Why, don’t +you see that every day brings us nearer disaster? Every hour! Suppose +he goes to the police? They’ll soon find you, and it will then be too +late for him to withdraw. You must see him to-night—at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t! I—I really can’t,” cried the white-faced woman in +desperation. “Suppose he turns hostile, and gives me into custody?” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t do that if you are clever and don’t lose your head, Etta. +You know he was in love with you, and may still be for all we know,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not after what has passed,” she replied, shaking her head. “I ruined +him!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not the only man ruined by a woman, my dear girl,” replied Ashe +lightly. “Put on your best smile and a little sob-stuff, and he’ll +soon forgive. Tell him you have come to him to make amends.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I possibly make amends for it all?” she asked bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretend penitence and make all sorts of promises,” he urged. “Get on +the right side of him, and he won’t harm you. But you must see him. +Don’t let him hunt you out. You are not at West Halkin Street, are +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m at the Grosvenor, under another name—Mrs. Wilcox.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I’ve told you, he is at the Carlton,” said Ashe. +</p> + +<p> +“No. He’s left there—gone to Manchester, and staying at the Midland. +I was told so this morning when I rang them up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must go to Manchester to-night. Stay at the Midland, and see +him in the morning. That’s my advice,” said the man, who was standing +with arms akimbo on the hearthrug before her. +</p> + +<p> +“But what am I to say?” she cried in despair. “What can I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say that you heard he was back in England, and that you travelled at +once from Switzerland to see him and to ask his forgiveness, and beg +him to allow bygones to be bygones. He’ll do so, no doubt, if you play +your cards cleverly. Once he becomes friendly, then we shall be able +to deal with him and settle accounts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t talk like that, Albert. It horrifies me,” she cried, +covering her face with her hands, a habit of hers whenever she heard +anything unpleasant. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear girl, we’ve got to face the music, haven’t we? It’s no +use trying to evade the issue,” he said. “The first step is for you to +appease him. And in order to do so, you must follow him to Manchester. +Send a page to his room with a message that Mrs. Wilcox wishes to see +him on a private matter. When a strange woman calls upon a man, he +always becomes intrigued. Don’t announce yourself, as he might resent +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he might refuse to see me,” she protested. +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t. He’s essentially a lady’s man, as you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“But is there no other way?” she asked. “I feel so terrified lest he +should call in the police and give me into custody. Think of the +scandal of it all!” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t do that, provided you give him the real sob-stuff. And you +know how to do that all right. I recollect one or two encounters you +had with Wyndcliffe. You’re a damned fine actress, Etta, when you +think it worth your while. And it is well worth it in this case, I +assure you. Upon your trip to Manchester depends the liberty of us +both, so the sooner you screw up courage the better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you go and face him for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” cried the man, staring at her. “Why, I’d be bundled into the +police-station within five minutes. Dear Rupert doesn’t love me—and +never will!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman paused for some minutes, her dark, apprehensive eyes gazing +thoughtfully into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“But how can I make it up with him?” she faltered at last in a dull, +broken voice quite unusual to her. “Think how I have treated him; of +the sacrifice he made for me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t wax romantic, my dear Etta,” he laughed. “Simply ask his +forgiveness, say you still love him and all that, and——” +</p> + +<p> +“And suppose he has discovered that I’ve married Wyndcliffe. What +then, eh?” she interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +The man pulled a wry face, but, after a moment’s silence, replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how he can know. You did not use your own name when you +became Lady Wyndcliffe. Besides, you are Mrs. Wilcox, a widow, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose he has discovered it, how am I to act?” she demanded. +“What excuse can I make?” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t have found it out—not yet, at least. Therefore if you act +at once and boldly you’ll hold all the honors in your hands. Take my +advice and leave by the diner to Manchester this evening, sleep calmly +at the Midland to-night, and look your prettiest and brace yourself up +for to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dread the ordeal, Albert,” declared the unhappy woman. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you do, my dear girl. But, as I have already said, we +must call the music and Rupert must dance to our tune—if we are to +get out of this unholy tangle.” +</p> + +<p> +“He may have seen my portrait in the illustrated papers,” she +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“No. He’s been in America all the time, in a place where he didn’t see +papers”—and he grinned. +</p> + +<p> +The woman drew a long breath, and he noticed that her jaw was +twitching. Her nerves were unstrung. So he poured her out some brandy, +which she swallowed at a gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“It all remains with you, Etta,” he said very seriously, putting his +hand upon her shoulder and bending over her. “Get him out of his +present hostile mood. Promise him everything—to return to America +with him if he wants you to do so; anything. Because once he resumes +his friendship—and he will do so if you play the game properly—then +all will be plain sailing for us in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—I know what you mean!” she whispered hoarsely, staring at +him with horrified eyes. “You mean that I am to—to lure him to his +death!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch17"> +CHAPTER XVII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">EXPLANATION AND APOLOGY</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<span class="sc">Mr. Kimball</span> says he’s very busy, madam. But he’ll see you for a few +moments. Will you please come up to his sitting-room?” said the small +boy in uniform. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe, wearing her daintiest little hat and her sable coat, +stepped into the lift, and, piloted by the page, at last stood before +a door upon which the lad rapped. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in!” cried a gruff voice from within. The page opened the door, +and next second Etta and her arch-enemy, Rupert Kimball, stood face to +face. +</p> + +<p> +The man—tall, burly, and clean-shaven, a typical American business +man, upright and shrewd—removed his cigar in amazement, and, after +staring at her for a second, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Etta! And pray what the hell brings you here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I came to meet you,” the woman faltered in a low voice, still +standing upon the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! Thought it best to come to me, did you?” he growled, while his +expression instantly altered, and there was a gleam of hatred in his +sharp, dark eyes. +</p> + +<p> +A well-dressed man of about fifty with iron-grey hair, his sunken eyes +told of some deep sorrow, illness, or perhaps business failure. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to see you, woman!” he flared up, speaking with a forced +American accent. “The very sight of you is hateful to me. Get out!” he +added roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Rupert!” she cried piteously, closing the door behind her and +advancing into the room. “Don’t send me away before you give me a +chance to tell you—to tell you the truth”; and she put out her hands +imploringly. +</p> + +<p> +“The truth!” he laughed with sarcasm. “The truth from a woman like +you!” +</p> + +<p> +And he turned from her in disgust and walked across to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you remember the past? Don’t you ever think of——” +</p> + +<p> +“I think of the hell’s witch that you are, and how you played me +false!” he snapped between his teeth. “I tell you frankly that I’m +here in England to bring you to justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Rupert, for God’s sake hear me!” she implored. “Before you take +action against me, listen to what I have to say. I’ve rushed back from +Switzerland to see you. Maudie Ashley wrote to me saying that you had +left St. Louis and were on your way to London. I rang up the Carlton +yesterday, and they told me you were here. I—I wanted to see +you—to——” +</p> + +<p> +“And I don’t want to see you. That’s the difference,” he snarled. “You +came up here on false pretences—Mrs. Wilcox.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I feared that you would refuse to see me,” declared the +unhappy woman with truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I should certainly have refused. The past is all too horrible. Your +face brings back to me all your foul plots and the evil worked against +me. All my misfortunes I owe to your damnable cunning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert!” she said in a changed, intense voice. “I have come to you to +try and atone for what I did. I know I was a swine to you. But I stand +before you, and—and I humbly ask your forgiveness!” +</p> + +<p> +Then before the man was aware of it she had sunk upon her knees before +him, grasped his hand, and was kissing it fervently. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to snatch his hand from her, but she held his wrist tightly +with both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Rupert, no!” she cried frantically. “Forgive me, I implore you. +Let us talk it all over.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing to talk over,” he replied savagely. “You wrecked my +life because I foolishly listened to your wicked scheming. You formed +the plot out of your own evil brain; I listened to you, and did what +you suggested. Then, when you had secured your own ends, you secretly +gave me away for the reward, and left me to face disgrace and +punishment. But now I’m free again, woman, I mean to at least be even +with you! Forgive you! Never!” And he snatched his hand from her so +roughly that she rolled to the floor at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I got no reward!” she protested angrily. “It’s a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that man who was behind your evil schemes took it. They told me +all afterwards!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing about it, Rupert,” she said. “I admit that I have been +your enemy. I now, however, want to stand as your friend—to help you +to a new life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you’re in mortal fear of me!” he laughed triumphantly. “You +don’t think I’m a lovesick fool any longer? You surely don’t think +that I believe a single word you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help that. What I say now, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Become very honest all of a sudden, it seems!” he sneered. “You look +prosperous enough—more than you did six years ago. What are you doing +for a living just now? That coat of yours must have cost a tidy few +dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m living honestly, at any rate,” was her sharp reply. +</p> + +<p> +“For the first time in your life,” he laughed. “When I first met you, +you were Snakey Toulmin, the decoy of Bud Taylor and his precious gang +of sharpers working the Atlantic ferry. And an infernally smart little +rogue you were. Those who made your acquaintance were always thousands +of dollars the poorer on the trip. I was one of your pigeons.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all of the past. Let’s wipe it out, Rupert.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! You appear to think you can change your damned black soul as +easily as you can change your frock,” he growled. “No, I have the past +always with me. I had it for those years in a prison cell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forget it all,” urged the pretty but unhappy woman. “I know I’m +utterly worthless, Rupert. But I’ve never had a single chance to be +honest in my life till now. My father was a card-sharper, as you well +know, and I was brought up from childhood to exercise my woman’s wiles +upon men. I’m not wholly to blame.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are wholly to blame for my ruin,” he answered. “You induced me to +knock the bank-messenger on the head on that winter day in New York +and steal his wallet. I very nearly committed murder at your +instigation in order to provide you with a fine house and fine +clothes, as I thought. But you in turn stole the money from me, gave +me away to the police, and then escaped, leaving me to face +prosecution and punishment. You didn’t think of me, Etta, did you? No, +only of yourself and that swine who haunted you like a black shadow. +I’ll hunt him out one day soon, never fear. I know he’s here in +England, and then it will be my triumph when we meet,” he said +savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Rupert, I know all that you must feel, and how hostile and +bitter you must be against me,” she said, assuming a softer attitude +towards him. “I deserve it all. I don’t endeavor to excuse myself one +iota for what I did. I only desire to atone for it all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Atone!” exclaimed the man looking sternly into her face. “How?” +</p> + +<p> +“By trying to help you, and perhaps to make you happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you help me? Got any money?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t want money if you can afford to stay at the Carlton in +London, and have a sitting-room here,” she ventured to remark. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m doing some business up here,” he explained. “So I’ve had to have +a sitting-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it’s a profitable business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s quite a square deal,” he said. “A bit of agency work for a +New York wireless firm—component parts for amateurs’ sets. These +English seem to have gone crazy on radio. It has taken America to show +them the way.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, and she instantly saw that his hostile attitude was slowly +decreasing, though he naturally could not at once overlook her +dastardly behavior in stealing from him those bundles of bank-notes +and negotiable securities, which he had filched from the messenger +whom he had knocked senseless at the street corner in Park Avenue. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said. “The English are horribly slow to take up any +innovation. Little old New York puts a polish on any new invention or +labor-saving device before London can rub its eyes even to look at it. +I hope you’ll do good business in radio, Rupert. And if I can be of +any help, why, I’m right there at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you happen to know any radio firms?” he asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she replied, “I happen to know one of the B.B.C., and I +daresay I could get you an introduction to several of the big retail +houses, which might be of advantage to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Etta,” he said, “I’m open for business.” +</p> + +<p> +“On one condition, Rupert,” she said, with a woman’s clever cunning. +“That you make no inquiry as to my present position or mode of life. I +live honestly, of that I assure you. And my reputation for honesty may +serve you well in the near future. I’ll stir heaven and earth for you, +in order to make atonement for my damnable behavior in the past, and +to put you upon a proper and prosperous business footing in the +future. Is that a bargain?” +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes he remained silent. Then he said: “You’re a clever +little witch, Etta. You look prosperous, and you probably are. We swam +on the same tide before, and if you can help me, then we’ll do so +again—on the tide which must bring us both to fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Rupert!” she cried wildly, looking into his eyes. “I knew that +you would forgive me. All these years I’ve been filled with bitter +remorse, and have shed many tears over—over you and how disgracefully +I treated you”; and then, bowing her head over his hand, she burst +into quick sobs. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’ll try and recover your good opinion of me,” she went on, her +tears rolling down her cheeks. “I—I know I’m a worthless woman; a +woman who has wrecked the life of a great, strong, self-willed man. +But it was your overbearing attitude to the world that led me to it. +I—I—was mad. I set out to allure you—to cheat you, to throw you +into the melting-pot—and I succeeded. At first I was full of glee. I +escaped to Valparaiso and then across to Australia. Afterwards I got +back to London, and in the American papers I read the account of your +trial and your condemnation. I prayed for you. I could not sleep at +night for thinking of you in your prison cell, because I had treated +you so, and it was all my fault, Rupert,” she cried, taking him by +both shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. “I’m a woman. We +women are mostly weird creatures. We can’t control ourselves. +Sometimes we grow to hate those whom we really love, and sometimes we +love those whom we hate the most. We are the weaker sex—and perhaps I +am the weakest of them all.” +</p> + +<p> +Rupert Kimball, the well-dressed American, whom none in England would +dream to be a gaol-bird recently released from St. Louis convict +prison, turned from the window slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I accept all you say, my dear girl,” he said hesitatingly. “But what +I want to know is, how you are living so prosperously. That sable coat +of yours intrigues me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do a little business in French model frocks and lingerie,” she +said, with the first excuse which arose to her lying lips. “This coat +isn’t mine. I only wear it as an advertisement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are on a commission basis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We are both in business. So why not let us work together?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are very reticent regarding yourself, Etta,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have to be. After all, I don’t want my wretched past to be raked +up, any more than you do, eh? So the least we say about each other the +better. Let’s unite our forces instead of being enemies, and let’s +make money. I’ll help you in your wireless business. I know I can.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked back to her from the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, suddenly halting in front of her, “are you playing the +straight game, Etta? If you’re not, then, by God! I’ll send you to +twenty years. You know what I mean—the proofs I have against you and +your accursed hanger-on Belton, or Ashe, or whatever he now calls +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I haven’t seen him for years, my dear old bean,” laughed Etta. +“He treated me rottenly, as all men of his low-down class treat women. +When he saw the red light he turned tail and scooted. He left me in +Valparaiso, and a jolly good job too. He was no good, anyway. He +hadn’t the courage of a flea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what I thought. But I believed he would have stuck to you,” +said Kimball. “Tell me how you have fared while I’ve been all that +time in the penitentiary”; and he stood before her, for the first time +realizing that she looked not a year older than when he last saw her +in their flat, before he went out on that snowy day with an iron bar +as a walking-stick to waylay the unsuspecting messenger of the United +States Allied Bank. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve managed to scrape along. I’ve formed a good many friendships +with people with money, better-class people in London. Hence I’ve lots +of influential friends, and will be able to help you in your new +venture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not married yet, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Married!” she laughed scornfully. “Take me for an idiot? No, I’ll +never be a man’s domestic slave. Let other women have the worry of a +home and children, but not for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, seizing her opportunity, she held out her hand to him, asking: +“Won’t you really forgive me, Rupert? I promise that in future I will +stand your friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you actually mean that?” he demanded fiercely. “Can I trust you?” +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s face relaxed into one of those sweet smiles that men had +found, to their cost, so alluring. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rupert. You may now,” she said, and made a motion as though to +put her lips to his. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t want your kisses, thank you,” he said in a hard, abrupt +tone. “I’d rather be without them.” But, taking her hand, he added in +a quieter tone: “We’ll be friends, as you wish it. But you’ll have to +prove your friendship towards me before I wholly forgive you for the +ruin you’ve brought upon me. You told me you’ve just come back from +Switzerland. Do you live there nowadays?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes,” she answered. “Sometimes I live at a cottage on the +Thames. But I’m always a wanderer—just as I’ve ever been.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you call yourself Wilcox—a widow, I presume?” And he grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she laughed, inwardly wondering what he would think and how he +would act if he knew her true position in London Society, at the same +time fearing lest he should discover her rank and title. She saw that +at all hazards he must not know that she, the Snakey Toulmin of the +cross-Atlantic gang, had married an English peer. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, much elated at the successful manner in which she had +appeased the man who had come to England to expose and prosecute her, +she took his hand, and in gratitude, kissed it again and again. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was only to gain time, she knew. His enemy, Albert Ashe, had +sworn to be even with him if he ever dared to put foot on British +soil. +</p> + +<p> +She knew that the threats of the man whose strange career had included +masquerading as her butler in West Halkin Street, were never idle +ones. +</p> + +<p> +So an hour later she went out to the railway station and sent him a +telegram with two words only: “Forgiven—Etta.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch18"> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE ROOF OF THE WORLD</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">In</span> early February the winter sports season at Gurnigel was already +on the wane. +</p> + +<p> +The four hundred odd people in the great big hotel <i>de luxe</i> had +dwindled down to about three hundred, all of them English, yet the +gaieties both day and night proceeded merrily under the direction of +the genial and ever-popular manager, whose chief object was to know +each of his visitors personally and see that they were looked after by +his efficiently-trained staff. +</p> + +<p> +The Swiss have ever been the best <i>hôteliers</i> in the world. Wherever +you go in either hemisphere, you know that if you decide upon a +Swiss-managed hotel you will be comfortable at moderate expense. +</p> + +<p> +So it was at Gurnigel. The many petty jealousies and little bickerings +between the English clientèle often caused the amiable director to +retire to his chalet at night and clench his fists in desperation. And +well he might. He held an onerous and responsible position, and no one +knew his troubles more intimately than the old artist Mr. Gordon +Mitchell, who almost daily sat in his private office and held counsel +with him. +</p> + +<p> +Mitchell was a man of world-wide repute who had no axe to grind. He +very naturally treated the conspiracy against himself by a few +nobodies as the result of disappointed ambitions. “People pay their +little round sums to a tourist agency, and expect to be regarded as +little tin gods,” was how he expressed it to his intimates. +</p> + +<p> +One day Sibell, who had grown friendly with the smiling, round-faced +old bachelor, was sitting at tea with him and her financé, when she +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, I’d love to see a glacier. I’ve read lots about them, +but I’ve never seen one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Miss Dare, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t. Why not take the +train up to the Little Scheidegg, and go out upon the Eiger Glacier? +That would give you a very good idea of what a glacier is like.” Then, +turning to Otway, he said: “I have to go up to the Scheidegg the day +after to-morrow, and I’ll escort you both, if you like. You’ll want a +guide. Why not take John? He’s excellent at glacier work—that is, if +you can induce him to leave here for three days.” +</p> + +<p> +The idea appealed to the young pair. +</p> + +<p> +“Your aunt put you both in my charge before she went away, you know,” +Mr. Mitchell laughed. “So I make no excuse for the suggestion. You +want to go on a glacier, so I’m ready to take you there. The Eiger +Glacier is close to the Jungfrau, beneath it, as a matter of fact, and +will give you perhaps the best idea of glaciers you can get in +Switzerland.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is a glacier really like?” asked the girl in her ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +“Imagine a sea of ice with huge fissures in it on every hand, cracks +hundreds of feet deep—all pure grey-green ice—the ice of ages,” +answered Mr. Mitchell, who, in his younger days, had been an ardent +Alpine climber. “Sometimes, if you are lucky enough to see an ice +avalanche, you witness one of the most stupendous alterations of +Nature. You see the ice edge of a gigantic glacier of countless ages +break away and fall with thunder over a precipice, the great ice +boulders bounding from rock to rock down thousands of feet until they +become pulverized, and, like white powder, stream down like +swift-moving rivers out of the ravines, into the valley below. The +sight of a great ice-avalanche is one of the most awe-inspiring scenes +in the world, hundreds of thousands of tons of the remains of the ice +age breaking from the edge of the dangerous glaciers to be hurled into +space with irresistible force, carrying everything before them. It is +usual for all glaciers to move forward some eight or ten inches each +day, and as they move, they form deep and dangerous crevasses, +sometimes two hundred feet deep, terrible death-traps for the Alpinist +who climbs.” +</p> + +<p> +“How wonderful!” said the girl. “I’d love to see a glacier and go on +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I am ready to take you both,” said the grey-haired old Alpine +climber. “So if you like to fix it, I’m quite game to go to +Interlaken, and then up the Wengern Alp to Scheidegg.” +</p> + +<p> +They decided to go, and two days later took train up the delightful +valley of Lauterbrunnen, and there by the rack and pinion mountain +line for a further four thousand feet, climbing on the face of the +Alps past the popular winter-sports village of Wengen up to Wengern +Alp and Scheidegg. +</p> + +<p> +As they sat together upon a seat at the lonely little mountain halt, +with the dark Trummelbach Valley between them, and beyond, the Eiger, +Mönch, and Jungfrau, with the Schneehorn and a dozen other finely +poised peaks, with their glaciers, black rocks, and fields of eternal +snow forming a wonderful panorama, they suddenly heard a roar. +</p> + +<p> +“Avalanche!” cried Mr. Gordon Mitchell, springing to his feet. “Look! +Several!” +</p> + +<p> +Then across from the valley came an increasing thunderous roar of +ice-avalanches from the glaciers of the Kühlauenen, the two +Bandlauenen, and from the deeply-cleft Giessen and the Lammlaui in +rapid succession, while, from one or other of the five narrow gullies +in the black rocks, the steam of ice, ground to powder, poured forth, +raising great clouds of dust. It was a unique sight and never to be +forgotten, for they were face to face with Nature, witnessing the +irresistible force of the mighty, grinding glaciers, as they slowly +moved down towards the valley, until in the ages to come the last +relics of the Ice Age will have vanished and left their traces upon +the ice-worn rocks through which they have passed. +</p> + +<p> +Have you ever seen an avalanche? The warm wind, known in the Alps as +the Föhn, is probably blowing. The glaciers and snowy sides of the +mountains are slowly thawing. We hear ominous cracking sounds deep in +the crevasses if we happen to be on the glacier, while water is +everywhere trickling across the surface of the ice, for under the +Föhn the snow is gradually disappearing. +</p> + +<p> +As the trio watched, the roar slowly died away. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” cried Sibell, pointing to another glacier high up near the +summit before them. “There’s another! Oh, what a wonderful sight!” +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden Nature trembled as though in expectation. They held their +breaths instinctively, when, in a few seconds, they saw great walls of +ice collapse, detaching themselves from the glacier and toppling over +the edge of a precipice, followed by rumbling, a blustering, and then +a deafening roar, as from the lowest part of the glacier the ice +smashed in its fall, and poured through the funnels of rock, far down +into the valley, just as it has done for thousands of years, and as it +will for yet more thousands. The thundering of the avalanche is the +angry voice of the Giants disturbed from their winter silence by the +presence of man. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the memory of which +would live with them always. +</p> + +<p> +That night they spent at the comfortable Bellevue Hotel at Scheidegg, +over seven thousand feet above the sea, and, looking from their +windows, saw deep in the valley the lights of gay Grindelwald +twinkling thousands of feet below. +</p> + +<p> +After sunset a keen frost set in, as it always does at that altitude. +Scheidegg is, <i>par excellence</i>, the resort of the practised skier, who +can run down to Grindelwald or to Wengen without danger, and it is +consequently very popular, for the snow up there is always good when +often impossible at lower heights. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner the well-known artist sat with his two young friends over +the big log fire in the hall, all three smoking cigarettes with their +coffee and <i>kirsch</i> discussing the morrow’s adventure on the Eiger +Glacier. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m getting most excited!” cried Sibell. “Fancy walking out upon a +glacier!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but it is not without a certain element of danger,” remarked Mr. +Gordon Mitchell, who had had a good deal of experience in glacier +work, and who had picked up his ice-axe at the well-known Hôtel du +Lac in Interlaken, where he kept it from year to year. Sibell and her +lover had borrowed axes from the hotel in which they had taken shelter +for the night, and they had been greatly interested in the +strongly-made implements, with their hafts of ash and hatchets of +finest steel, upon which human life so often depends in the Alps. +</p> + +<p> +While they were enjoying the warmth of the fire and chatting with half +a dozen skiers of both sexes who, like themselves, were going on an +expedition in the morning, the smart Swiss hotel manager entered, and, +addressing Mr. Mitchell, whom he knew well as a devotee of winter +sports, said: +</p> + +<p> +“John, the guide, has just telephoned from Gurnigel that he has +unfortunately hurt his ankle while giving a lesson this afternoon. +Somebody ran into him, so he cannot come up in the morning. I propose +to telephone to Amacher and Stutz down in Wengen to come up by the +first train. Both are good guides of the Jungfrau and they know the +glacier well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” said Mr. Mitchell. “I’ve had Amacher before, up to the +Guggi Hut and also to the summit of the Breithorn and on other tours. +He’s a first-class fellow. Thanks, if you’ll get them both for us, +I’ll be obliged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stutz was one of those who climbed with Prince Chichibu of Japan last +season,” said the hotel manager. “The Prince is a wonderful climber, +he says, as well as a good skier. Everyone in the Oberland admired him +when he was in Mürren. A pity he had to leave to return to Japan +under such tragic circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Everyone knows what a real winter sportsman he is,” remarked the +old Alpinist. And then the conversation turned upon the daring +exploits of the Imperial Japanese Prince in the Bernese Alps. +</p> + +<p> +That night a blizzard raged, one of those blinding snowstorms which +arise in the high mountains so suddenly and abate so rapidly, yet are +so dangerous to those who may be caught in them without shelter. The +railway watchmen on duty, seeing the rapidly increasing drifts, +telephoned down to Lauterbrunnen to set the snow-ploughs at work in +order to keep open communication with the world below. So all night +the electric ploughs were slowly going up and down to keep the road +clear, though it was impossible to keep open that section of a couple +of miles between Scheidegg and the Eiger Gletscher station, where the +tunnel enters the mountain and climbs to the Jungfrau. +</p> + +<p> +Hence, when Sibell—rising early and putting on her mountain kit, +consisting of a waterproof wind-jacket and breeches, thick woollen +stockings and her heavily nailed climbing-boots, which differed in +many respects from those built for ski-ing—appeared below in the +hall, she met Mr. Mitchell, who said: +</p> + +<p> +“The line is blocked, so we’ll have to walk to the glacier. Amacher +and Stutz are here having breakfast, and they are packing their +rucksacks for us.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Brinsley put in an appearance, and the three went into the +<i>salle-à-manger</i> to a substantial English meal of ham and eggs, which +the popular artist had specially ordered as a preliminary to the day’s +expedition. +</p> + +<p> +Later the two guides joined them in the hall. Amacher, a short, +thick-set man, dark and ill-shaven, with that keen eagle’s look in his +great blue eyes which seems inborn in the mountain guide, approached +and greeted Mr. Mitchell. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Grüss Gott</i>, Herr Mitchell!” he exclaimed, putting out his big, +hard hand. He wore a battered round felt cap with his snow-glare +glasses around the band, and over his shoulder a coiled safety-rope of +best and strongest hemp, while suspended from his wrist was his trusty +ice-axe, that had saved his life in a dozen or so tight corners when +climbing. +</p> + +<p> +“Goin’ across the glacier to-day, eh?” he asked in his kind of +parrot-English. He was one of the bravest guides of that perilous +range, and always acted as director of the search-party of guides who +were ever ready to risk their lives to save those reported missing +upon mountain or glacier. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Fritz. We want you to take us on the glacier. My friends here +are anxious to see the crevasses—the deep ones.” +</p> + +<p> +The sturdy, sun-tanned Swiss—brown-faced because of the reflection of +the glaring sun upon the ice—replied: +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Herr Mitchell.” And then he introduced the tall, thin, +wiry man who stood behind him, as Hans Stutz. The guide, proud of the +bronze badge with the white enamelled cross on his chest, which showed +him to be approved and licensed by the Swiss Alpine Club, smiled and +lifted his peaked cap and wished them “Good morning, gentlemen and +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +He, too, had his rope on his shoulder, his well-filled rucksack upon +his back, and his ice-axe ready for the crossing of the treacherous +glacier. +</p> + +<p> +“The weather is none too good,” Fritz mentioned to Hans in +Swiss-German, and Mr. Mitchell, understanding the remark, asked at +once, “Look here, Amacher, is there any danger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” laughed the guide. “If the weather turns bad we can get back +again. We will go by the safe route and show the lady and gentleman +the deep crevasses. There are lots of them just now—after the Föhn. +We’ve got the food in our rucksacks. Shall we go?” +</p> + +<p> +The others assented, for all were ready dressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk very slowly, mees, over the snow,” Amacher advised, taking the +girl’s arm. “You have a long way to go and hard walking. Just +easy—easy—so!” And he slowed down and made her walk his pace. “You +see, we are climbing another thousand feet, before we get to the +glacier, and you must not be fatigued before we get there. If you hear +noises, great cracklings, water running far below and look down into +the darkness, don’t get frightened. Hans and I are with you. We know +the glacier from boys.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust in you,” said the girl, placing her gloved hand upon his +strong arm, while Brinsley was walking with the tall Stutz. +</p> + +<p> +“No danger. Not at all,” Amacher said. “I am guide. Trust me, mees.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, Amacher,” she said, and they went along up the steep hill, +following the railway lines and passing the kennels of the grey wolf +Uke Arctic dogs kept there, until at last they reached the moraine, +that beach of stones and débris left by the Ice Age, while beyond it +lay an undulating mass of square miles of ice, full of treacherous +ice-bridges across wide and fatal crevasses, yawning chasms from +twenty to three hundred feet deep. +</p> + +<p> +At the edge of the ice they paused. It seemed to them—as it really +was—the roof of the world. +</p> + +<p> +The guides removed their rucksacks from their backs to rest, and +Sibell, at Amacher’s invitation, seated herself on one of them and had +a cigarette her lover offered her. +</p> + +<p> +The sky had changed. From the howling blizzard of early morning the +bad weather had abated, and now the sun shone so brightly in a +cloudless sky that Amacher and Stutz had put down their glare-glasses +over their eyes as precaution, though their charges felt no +inconvenience. +</p> + +<p> +Already it was noon, so it was decided to have a sandwich before +venturing out upon the glacier. Weatherwise, Amacher scanned the +mountains around, and in a low voice remarked in his native +Swiss-German to his fellow-guide: “Bad weather coming, friend Hans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Stutz. “We won’t go very far. Up to the corner, if it’s +narrow enough to get them over.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mitchell, who understood only very little Swiss-German, for it is +a language which few Englishmen have ever been able to master, +believed it to be a joke between the two guides, for both men laughed. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later Amacher uncoiled his rope and began to make +mysterious turns and knots in it as he placed it over Sibell’s +shoulders, naturally thrilling her with the idea of mountaineering in +the high Alps. +</p> + +<p> +Having securely roped her around her waist, and putting a hitch over +her shoulder, he gave her several coils of slack to hold and then +roped her to her lover in the same way, and afterwards to Mr. +Mitchell, while he roped himself to one end of the file, and Stutz +fastened on the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said warningly, “be careful. I go first and prick the snow +with my axe. Watch me, all of you, and put your feet exactly in the +steps I have made. Now—off!” +</p> + +<p> +And they went out upon the snow-covered glacier in single file, +Amacher in front picking his way very carefully, fearful of stepping +upon a thin crust of snow concealing some deep crevasse. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch19"> +CHAPTER XIX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DEVIL’S PARADE</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">At</span> first the way across the undulating virgin snowfield, upon which +here and there showed dark, jagged lines—those terrible fissures in +the ice—looked easy, and Sibell, in her ignorance, wondered why the +dark-spectacled Amacher, with his coil of slack rope in his hand and +bending intent upon his path, should carefully prick the snow with his +axe and feel what seemed always to be firm ground. +</p> + +<p> +She was next to him, about four yards behind, with Brinsley third, and +Mr. Mitchell and Hans following. On every hand she heard from deep +down below the rippling of water, the slow melting of the eternal ice +which ran into the dark, deep-cut valley of the Trummelbach, that +mysterious narrow split in the mountains which leads away through +Lauterbrunnen, where the stream has, through countless ages, fed the +deep lake of Brienz, and which, in due course, through the +fast-flowing Aar, feeds the mighty Rhine across Europe to the Dutch +coast. +</p> + +<p> +The two Alpine guides, their eyes painful because of the constant +sun-glare, presented a goggled appearance as Amacher every now and +then halted, retraced his steps carefully, whereupon the others turned +and went backward until he again struck out at a different angle. +</p> + +<p> +Below, the lovers heard ominous crackings as the ice, ever-shifting +day and night in all the seasons, slowly moved towards the valley, at +one season going down and at the other shrinking and remaining nearly +where it was in the season before. +</p> + +<p> +For nearly two hours they went along, their progress being very slow, +but Fritz Amacher never took undue risks. The safety of those in his +charge was always his first consideration. Dozens of tales were +related in the little cafés in the mountain villages of his courage +and heroism out on the mountains; of his experience with two young +Englishmen in winter when, overtaken by a blizzard, they were +compelled to spend the night under a rock on the other side of the +glacier, and only because he gave them his own rations of food and red +wine, and starved himself, were they able to exist until the dawn. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon Mitchell had heard many stories of his gallant heroism, and how +often he had faced death, while nearly as many stories were told of +Hans Stutz. Indeed, Alpine guides are recognized all over the world as +the finest and most reliable type of Europe. +</p> + +<p> +They had been walking for over two hours, often taking wide turns to +avoid those deep fissures in the ice which yawned to mysterious +darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Amacher would hurl a big stone into one of them, when it +could be heard bounding from side to side of the crevasse, long after +it had disappeared into the darkness down hundreds of feet into the +abyss. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he paused and looked around, as though puzzled. They had +wandered upon a spot surrounded on all sides by open fissures, and, +though the guide went to and fro, he could not discover again the +narrow snow-ridge over which they had crossed, and which was evidently +the entrance to what was an impasse. +</p> + +<p> +His keen eye, however, discovered a spot where two big open crevasses +were joined by only a narrow, jagged gap, which was as deep as the +rest, and there remained nothing for it but to descend and cut steps +in the side of the glacier to the narrowest point where they could +swing themselves across. +</p> + +<p> +For him and Stutz it was mere child’s play, but to the inexperienced, +horrifying and perilous. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon Mitchell, as a practised Alpinist, at once realized Amacher’s +intention. At the guide’s order all held the rope taut while he +descended, and, swinging his axe, deftly and quickly cut deep steps in +the ice, sprang across to the opposite side, and then cut two steps, +which enabled him to climb to the opposite edge of the ice-wall. +</p> + +<p> +Planting himself well back, he took up the slack of rope and then +called to Sibell to follow. +</p> + +<p> +“Go slowly, miss,” he cried. “Have your ice-axe ready, and grip the +edge with it, as I did,” he urged. “Very slowly down, and you’ll find +it quite easy,” he cried. “We’ve got hold of you. You can’t fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m so terrified!” cried the girl breathlessly, for, indeed, the +appearance of that dark, grey-green, yawning abyss open to an unknown +depth was sufficient to strike terror to the heart of any novice. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep cool, dear!” cried Brinsley. “I’m holding you.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus encouraged, the girl turned her face boldly to the descending +wall of ice and, kneeling, drove the head of her axe deeply into the +ice, and slowly lowered herself by its shaft until her foot touched +the step. Then, slowly again, she descended to the next step, and, +without daring to glance into the fatal depths below, she swung +herself across, helped by Amacher’s rope, to the opposite side of the +great fissure, and then clambered up, helping herself with her axe to +scramble to the top. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” she cried triumphantly, waving her axe to her lover. “That +was all right, wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo!” cried the old artist. “Most excellent! Very plucky indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Brin!” she cried. “It’s your turn. I’ll hold you.” +</p> + +<p> +But Amacher advanced to the rope between her and her lover, saying in +a kindly tone: +</p> + +<p> +“No, miss. You must allow me”; and, taking an expert hitch with the +rope, he leant back and held it taut while the young doctor emulated +the feat of his fiancée. +</p> + +<p> +He managed to descend safely, but in swinging across to the other side +of the crevasse his foot slipped, and next instant he was held +dangling on the rope, held fast in readiness by the guide and Mr. +Mitchell. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell shrieked when she saw his peril, but Alpine ropes are made of +the best hemp, and are as carefully attended to in the guide’s chalet +as is his own bed, therefore there is no danger of snapping under any +sudden strain. +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds Otway, thoroughly alarmed, of course, and winded by +the sudden strain of the rope upon him, struggled, but quickly he +regained his foothold, and was soon hauled up by the ever-watchful +Amacher. +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments he could not breathe, but the Swiss guide supported +him, took some brandy from his rucksack, and made him swallow it, and +in a few minutes he was all right again. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he exclaimed, as soon as he could gain breath, while Sibell +still held his arm. “I don’t want that experience again! I thought I’d +gone! My foot slipped from the step.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” laughed Amacher in his cheery way, peering at him +through his dark glasses. “You’re over all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards the guide shouted across: +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Herr Mitchell!” +</p> + +<p> +And, taking the rope from the young man, he held it while the +practised climber came nimbly down, crossed, and clambered up to them. +And afterwards the tall Hans swung himself over without the slightest +difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +They soon resumed their way, walking in Indian file as before; Amacher +testing every yard of the way with his axe, now and then halting and +turning to avoid danger, until at last they found themselves upon a +part of the glacier which he knew was free from crevasses, so they +halted, opened their rucksacks, and finished their luncheon, which all +found very welcome, especially the cakes of plain chocolate without +which no Alpine lunch is complete. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, the winter sun declining, they set their faces towards the +distant moraine—débris of stones and rock brought down by the +glacier through the ages—to the spot whence they had started, +arriving there just as the pale-rose afterglow began to tint the +high-up snows of the towering Jungfrau. +</p> + +<p> +Before dusk they were back, warming themselves by the welcome log-fire +of the hotel, the lovers thrilled by their first experience upon a +glacier. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t have missed to-day for worlds!” Sibell declared +enthusiastically, and then, when they were alone, she whispered: +“Brin, when we are married, let us come up here, high above the earth +and far from the haunts of men, for our honeymoon. Think how lovely it +is here, face to face with Nature in a land unspotted by the hand of +man. I love it—every moment of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my darling,” he said, kissing her fondly upon her lips. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, as he held her in his arms, he felt her shiver. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you haven’t caught a chill, darling!” he said anxiously. +“You’re cold!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, really I’m not, Brin. I honestly am not. I just shivered. I don’t +know why. That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +But in her heart she knew why. At that moment of her enthusiasm for +the high Alps a black shadow had fallen across her memory. +</p> + +<p> +Her thought was of that elegant masked cavalier who had disclosed to +her a secret which that cryptic message in <i>The Times</i> had ordered her +to conceal from the man she loved. +</p> + +<p> +There was a plot to part them! Could they ever be parted? Was not her +whole future life bound up in Brin’s? Was he not all in all to her? +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later, in the privacy of her little room where she had +gone to change from her mountain clothes, she locked the door, and, +falling upon her knees beside her bed, prayed earnestly for +deliverance from the hand of her unknown enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning Mr. Mitchell, expert skier that he was, took Amacher with +him from the Scheidegg down to Grindelwald, where they had early tea +at Frau Wolter’s, or, rather, the commodious place which once belonged +to the popular old lady, now, alas! dead. +</p> + +<p> +That night he met the lovers at the Hôtel du Lac in Interlaken, the +comforts of which are so well known to every winter-sports visitor to +the Bernese Oberland, and next day they returned to Gurnigel. +</p> + +<p> +Five days later they bade farewell to their friend Mr. Mitchell, and, +the winter sports season being practically over, they travelled to +Milan by the Simplon, and thence by the <i>train-de-luxe</i> which took +them by way of Genoa, San Remo, and Ventimiglia along through the +palms and olives to Cannes. +</p> + +<p> +In Milan they had received a telegram from Sibell’s aunt to say that +she had been unwell with a mild attack of influenza, suggesting that +they should go to the Beau Site until she was well enough to travel +and go into residence at the villa. +</p> + +<p> +They obeyed the injunction, and found the sunshine and brightness of +the Riviera delightful, but even on the first day after their arrival +Sibell declared that the high Alps, with their wonderful germ-free +atmosphere, were far more congenial than the gaiety, the +artificiality, the gambling, and the vice of the much-vaunted Côte +d’Azur. +</p> + +<p> +It was true that she met several people she knew in that fine hotel +which is the rendezvous of the best tennis-players in the world, but +somehow she never seemed to have Brin to herself as she had had him in +Gurnigel, amid those marvellous and romantic forest walks and +extensive ski-ing fields. +</p> + +<p> +To Brinsley Otway the reckless life of the Riviera was a novelty, +hence she constituted herself his guide. Carnival was in full swing in +Nice, so twice they went over, once to the famous ball, and once to +the first Battle of Flowers, and on both occasions they had a most +hilarious time. +</p> + +<p> +Then she took him several times to Monte Carlo, where she initiated +him into the intricacies of roulette and <i>trente-et-quarante</i>. Both +risked modest stakes, of course, but neither won. Therefore, beyond +sight of the crowds in the stuffy, unventilated rooms, the Casino did +not appeal very much to either of them. +</p> + +<p> +One Sunday morning, having left Cannes for Monte Carlo early, they +took their cocktails in front of the Café de Paris, and afterwards +went for an idle stroll in the sunshine along the world-famed +Terraces. +</p> + +<p> +It was eleven o’clock, the hour of the Sunday parade, and Sibell was +dressed as smartly as any. All types were there—the newly rich in +great plebeian force, swindlers, rogues, peers, and flappers, some +women half bare and others wrapped in furs—not because it was cold, +but the furs were expensive and must be exhibited—a multicolored +stream which below showed a continuous flicker of light stockings and +shoes, and above a struggling crowd of gaudy sunshades. From flappers +in sky-blue to painted Jezebels of every age to eighty; from typical +French artists in broad-brimmed hats, flowing cravats, and peg-top +trousers, to staid English business men, members of Parliament, and +prosperous share swindlers; from athletic young English girls with +complexions that required no rouge, to dozens of overdressed, +bejewelled women of all ages and all nationalities, whose names were +notorious all over Europe, all were chatting together, rubbing +shoulders, and enjoying the brilliant sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +“This, I should take it, is the most cosmopolitan and best-dressed +crowd in the world,” remarked Otway as three laughing young French +girls, Parisiennes of the ultra-modern type, pushed past him in the +crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“Most interesting, aren’t they?” she agreed. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a well-dressed man in grey passed them, walking with a +self-absorbed look, his hands behind his back and taking notice of no +one. Yet, if the truth were known, he was the great François Lebeau, +one of the most famous of European police officials, and his presence +there denoted that observation was being kept upon some rogue or +criminal lured there by the strange fascination the place always +exercises over evil-doers. +</p> + +<p> +Too intent in conversation were the lovers to notice that, as the man +in grey passed by, he lifted his dark eyes with a momentary glance of +inquiry, and then lowered them again. +</p> + +<p> +On one side of that processional way, where vice flaunts on every +Sabbath from eleven till half-an-hour past noon, rose a bank of palms, +shrubs, and cacti, with masses of red and yellow blossoms, scented +heliotropes, mimosa, and festoons of climbing geraniums, with the +wonderful façade of the Casino rising high above, while on the other, +beyond the white balustrade, lay, deep down, the azure sea, calm and +unruffled, with the big white steam-yachts and a giant pleasure-liner +lying at anchor in the little territorial waters of His Highness +Prince Rouge-et-Noir. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell and Brinsley were, that sunny morning, childishly happy in +their own perfect love, yet had the girl but known the identity of a +stranger who, having encountered them, seemed to have suddenly become +interested, she would have surely again reflected upon that strange +warning uttered by her masked cavalier. +</p> + +<p> +The man who passed and repassed them closely several times was short +of stature, with soft white hair, dressed in black, with a grey felt +hat, and wore a heavy gold watch-chain. His appearance was that of a +scholar, perhaps a bookworm, but something of a dandy. He carried a +malacca cane, and from his neck wore a horn-rimmed monocle suspended +by a rather broad black ribbon. Patent leather shoes, white spats, and +yellow gloves completed his dress. +</p> + +<p> +Had the caretaker at the Guest House at Hampton Court been alive, he +would have instantly identified him as the mysterious Mr. Bettinson, +the man who had uttered those strange incantations in the house of +evil. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch20"> +CHAPTER XX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SHADOW</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">François Lebeau</span>, the apathetic man in grey, stepped into a powerful +limousine at the end of the long range of flower-beds in front of the +Casino, and gave orders to the chauffeur to drive with all speed to +Nice. +</p> + +<p> +Prior to doing this he gave a secret signal, by blowing his nose, to a +slim, dark-haired young man who had also been following him along the +Terrace. The man, who was one of his most astute assistants, realized +his orders, and obeyed by dropping back into obscurity in the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +Along the winding Corniche, in a cloud of white dust, the powerful +police-car sped with its shrieking horn with the green disc which the +chauffeur had suddenly put up by means of a switch, a sign to the +police patrols to allow it to proceed at whatever pace. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Lebeau removed his hat, revealing his domed bald head which +he was always at such trouble to conceal. As chief inspector of the +Paris Sûreté he was one of the most famous detectives of modern +France. As a young man he had worked as a humble police-agent of the +Eighth Arrondissement under the great Goron, and afterwards under +Harnard, and now he was chief of the department of surveillance upon +the person of the President of the Republic, and any notable +foreigners, princes or others, who came to France. +</p> + +<p> +Whenever the Prince of Wales put his foot upon French soil, for +example, Monsieur Lebeau was always near him as his personal +protector. +</p> + +<p> +He sat in the corner of the roomy car as it whirled through Beaulieu, +with its wealth of flowers, handsome villas, and big hotels facing the +blue bay, and thought deeply. +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed a strange, unheard-of mystery which, related on many +sheets of pale-yellow official paper, had been placed upon his table +at the headquarters of the Sûreté in Paris. +</p> + +<p> +The translation in French was from the report of the Metropolitan +Police in London, and the story so attracted him that he had taken it +home on the night of its arrival and thoroughly examined every point +it contained. Indeed, as he went along, he selected a tiny key from a +bunch upon his watch-chain, opened a small, cupboard-like recess in +the upholstery before him, and from some files of papers there he took +out the copy of the reports from London. +</p> + +<p> +As the car approached Villefranche he became once more absorbed in the +story, one so amazing and incredible that even he, practised +police-agent that he was, felt half inclined to dismiss it as a mere +fantasy, a chimera of somebody’s imagination. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the Criminal Investigation Department of London never made a +report without careful and thorough investigation, and, though the +local subdivision of police at Hampton were unaware of it, the famous +council of the C.I.D. were bent upon investigating and probing the +strange secret of the long-closed Guest House. +</p> + +<p> +As the car entered Nice, the chauffeur pressed a button and the green +disc disappeared, while the car, to all appearances a private one, +pulled up beside the chief post office, and its occupant alighted and +walked to the Préfecture of Police, so as to pass unnoticed by those +in the street. +</p> + +<p> +He ran alertly up the stone stairs to the first floor, and, passing +through an anteroom, the door of which was guarded by a detective, who +saluted him, entered the private room of the Sous-Préfet. +</p> + +<p> +Taking up the telephone, he asked in sharp, quick tones for +conversation with Monsieur Feydit at the Sûreté in Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Then, while awaiting the connection, he sat down and began to write +rapidly a long report in an almost copper-plate and microscopic hand. +The through express from Nice to Calais and London would leave at +half-past two, and he was anxious that his message should reach +Scotland Yard on the following evening. Hence his frantic hurry, for +if he caught the train his message would be at Victoria soon after +five o’clock on the following day. +</p> + +<p> +Time was pressing. He glanced at the clock, and his pen flew rapidly +over the paper. The inquiry was doubtless one of highest importance, +or he would not have taken it up personally. +</p> + +<p> +He had finished it and sealed it with black wax in a large blue +envelope, when the telephone bell rang sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa! Monsieur Feydit, is that you?” he asked in French, in clear, +calm tones. +</p> + +<p> +Then, receiving an answer in the affirmative, he went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Please listen, and take down the following.” +</p> + +<p> +And from a slip of paper upon which he had pencilled them, he read off +about fifteen words of the French police telegraphic code, all of +which were repeated over the wire back from Paris. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Très bien!</i>” said Lebeau. “And listen further. On the train +Nice-Paris-Calais reaching the Gare de Lyon at 8.40 to-morrow morning, +there will be an urgent train-letter for London. Get it from the +controller, and send Richaud through to London with it. He will await +a reply and leave London again the same night. Advise me here of the +reply by code.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand, monsieur,” came his trusty assistant’s voice across +France, and then the famous detective hung up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards he rang a bell, and, handing the sealed letter to the clerk +who entered, gave him instructions to hand it to the controller of the +Paris express. +</p> + +<p> +Then, replacing the file of yellow papers in his pocket, he sauntered +in the sunshine round to the Hôtel Negresco, where he was staying as +Monsieur Ducret, <i>rentier</i> of Lyons, and ate a lonely and belated +<i>déjeuner</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the lovers had lunched at the gay Café de Paris, and +Brinsley had paid a bill that was amazing for the omelette and +cutlets, with <i>petits-pois</i>, which they had. The big, garish +restaurant was crowded and noisy, as it is every day during the +season, filled to overflowing with that same mixed throng which had, +an hour before, disported itself along the Terrace in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +Crooks and millionaires sat laughing and eating with cocottes and +innocent flappers, while English peeresses drank vintage wines paid +for by fat, uncouth food profiteers of Smithfield or Mincing Lane—for +there is only one god at Monte Carlo year in and year out, and that +god is Mammon. +</p> + +<p> +So loud was the laughter, and so hilarious became a party at the table +next to them, that conversation was rendered impossible. Two young +Englishmen of the superior, military type were lunching with two +over-dressed women twenty years their senior, and when the wine-card +was presented to them, it became instantly obvious that the elder of +the women, a painted old hag of seventy, was paying for their meal. +But such sights are common at Monte—old women of fortune, imagining +themselves still young, paying for the pleasures of any handsome young +fellow they may meet at the tables. +</p> + +<p> +The luncheons of to-day are but the aftermath of chance meetings in +the Rooms on the previous night, for by a discreet loan of five louis +a man often makes a female friend in a social circle to which he could +never aspire otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, the world Rouge-et-Noir is indeed a wonderful, mysterious world, +which certainly opened the eyes of the upright, steady-going young +doctor who plodded at his increasing practice in Golder’s Green. +</p> + +<p> +Amid that crowd of gamblers and adventuresses, honest men and rogues, +women of the <i>haut-monde</i> and the <i>demi-monde</i>, <i>escrocs</i> and +respectable folk, they remained in ignorance of the presence of that +unobtrusive little old man in black with the white hair, who had +passed and repassed them several times on the Devil’s Parade. +</p> + +<p> +Seated alone at a table in the corner, not far from them, he had +ordered his lunch with careful selection, a meal which the +<i>maître-d’hôtel</i> admired, for it showed the unusual discriminations +of one well-versed in good food. +</p> + +<p> +The old man at once became immersed in an English newspaper which he +had brought with him, and apparently took no notice of anyone. Yet a +careful observer would have noticed that ever and anon he cast furtive +glances at the happy young pair, and that in his eyes shone a +peculiar, evil glint. +</p> + +<p> +That same expression in his eyes had showed when, in the big, +moth-eaten drawing-room at the Guest House, poor Farmer had discovered +him uttering those weird incantations, that same expression when he +had plainly told the ex-policeman that he felt sympathy for him +because he was doomed to die. +</p> + +<p> +Little did the old man who had given his name as Bettinson dream that +he had that morning been watched by one of the greatest criminal +investigators in Europe. But, even had he known it, perhaps he would +have laughed. He was a man who had never taken life seriously, +regarding it always as a huge comedy, just as, at the moment, he +regarded Sibell Dare’s affection for the young doctor as a mere +passing fancy. Before that day he had never set eyes upon either of +them, but now he sat close by, watching them in secret, and inwardly +laughing in triumph. +</p> + +<p> +At two o’clock Sibell and her well-set-up lover, whose health, after +his strange attack, had been much improved by the fresh mountain air +of Switzerland, had their coffee and cigarettes under one of the sun +umbrellas at the café opposite, and, after a stroll to inspect the +shops, wandered into the Casino. +</p> + +<p> +Already the Rooms were overcrowded, for it was the height of the +season, and people stood three and four deep around the +roulette-tables, the novices of both sexes putting on wild stakes +impossible to win, while the old gamblers stayed their hands, and now +and then won a coup. The same crowd was there as in the Hôtel de +Paris and on the parade—that hectic, overdressed scum of the world +and the half-world, sadists and soubrettes, effeminates and <i>escrocs</i>, +moralists and <i>marcheurs</i>, with well-dressed thieves of both sexes and +all nationalities. +</p> + +<p> +At the end table on the left—the one which for years was known as +“The Suicides’ Table”—Brinsley Otway put a louis on <i>zéro-trois</i> and +won, much to the surprise of them both. +</p> + +<p> +Then he played on the first dozen and lost, and again lost on the +<i>rouge</i>. But he won on the last dozen and <i>en plein</i> on twenty-two, +which satisfied him for the day. +</p> + +<p> +Through it all the little man in black watched the pair narrowly. +</p> + +<p> +Once only he played, throwing ten louis carelessly upon the red, and +won the even chance. +</p> + +<p> +This fact attracted Sibell’s attention, but, unaware of his identity +with the mysterious Mr. Bettinson, for whom the police were in such +active search, she took no further notice of the odd-looking little +old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +Careful not to be seen again by the mistress of the Guest House, he +travelled by the same train as they took back to Cannes, and, +alighting at Nice, he entered a taxi, which took him down to the +Negresco, where he passed a rather handsome bald-headed man in a +snuff-colored suit who was idly smoking an excellent cigar, sipping an +<i>apéritif</i>, and watching the gay crowd entering and leaving the +afternoon dance. +</p> + +<p> +Without glancing at the old man, Lebeau allowed him to pass, and then, +rising leisurely, strolled towards the concierge’s desk. +</p> + +<p> +The latter handed the little man in black a small registered packet, +for which he signed in the name of “George Peterson,” and then, +entering the lift, was whirled up to the third floor. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment, at signal from Lebeau, the porter passed to him the book +wherein the visitor had signed his name. +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +The ruse was a good one to obtain a specimen signature, for he took +the book to a side-room, and there compared Mr. Peterson’s autograph +with one he had on a letter which he took from his pocket-book. +</p> + +<p> +A moment afterwards he put the letter away, and, with a smile of +satisfaction, returned the book to the concierge. +</p> + +<p> +The signatures were identical. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch21"> +CHAPTER XXI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE GREEN BAIZE APRON</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Sibell</span> and Brinsley had been at the Beau Site at Cannes for about a +fortnight, daily awaiting the arrival of Lady Wyndcliffe. +</p> + +<p> +Happy in each other’s ecstatic affection, they went for long walks +each day in the beautiful countryside at the back of the gay resort. +Now and then they would hire a car and go for a day’s excursion up to +Grasse, with its sweet-smelling fields of flowers grown for the +perfume factory, or to one or other of the rock villages which lay in +the higher lands between Cannes and Nice, those quaint, old-world +places where at the local café one can obtain such delicious +luncheons eaten outdoors in the winter sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +“I begin to dread returning to Golder’s Green after this delightful +time,” the young doctor said one bright, cloudless morning as they +were walking arm in arm through the groves of grey, twisted olives a +couple of miles or so from the town. +</p> + +<p> +“But why should you go back to Golder’s Green, Brin?” asked the +sweet-faced girl with some surprise. “When you are my husband I shall +surely have enough for both of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that, darling,” he said. “But—well, I’m not the sort of +fellow to exist without working. I couldn’t do it. My profession +interests me, and gives me a zest in life. Not that your presence +doesn’t do that,” he hastily explained, with a laugh. “But I know you +understand my meaning. I must work for myself. I could never live in +idleness on your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I understand, Brin,” she said, squeezing his arm +affectionately. “But I really don’t see why you should return to that +dull, suburban spot again. Couldn’t you sell the practice, and buy one +in some pleasant seaside town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I might, of course, darling. But you forget that, under the +terms of the will, you are compelled to live at the Guest House.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she exclaimed disappointedly. “I had forgotten that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking a lot about it of late,” he said. “I feel that it +is dangerous for you to live in that place. Some spirit of evil exists +there. My own attack, after going through those books, is quite +unaccountable, and then the mystery of the caretaker Farmer’s death, +after the incantations of a stranger, is most inexplicable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the girl. “Sometimes I think that all the weird stories +about the old place are just legendary or gossip, and yet at others I +see the dire results to those who scoff at them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the most mysterious fact of all is, that no woman entering there +has ever felt any ill effect,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how that is accounted for?” she asked, as they strolled +slowly up a narrow path, where from between the olives they looked +down upon the wide expanse of sapphire sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows, darling?” he asked. “This strange inheritance of yours +seems to be overshadowed by some tangle of mystery—grim tragedy and +death.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pity they cannot find that old man Bettinson,” said the girl, smart +in her brown sports kit, with a neat little brown felt hat, and +carrying a comity stick with a steel spike in it. She was typically +English, a lithe open-air girl fond of every sport ever since she had +been at school, a graceful dancer, and a fine rider, as all the women +of the D’Aires had been. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they may discover the old fellow one day,” remarked Otway. +“But of course the police and coroner’s jury appear inclined to the +opinion that the whole scene was a chimera of the dying man’s +imagination. Personally I know of no human condition in which death +can be brought about by a verbal curse. We hear of such things +happening in the Middle Ages, and some people, even in our own +enlightened age, are sufficiently superstitious to believe in the +efficacy of an execration.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think that the caretaker simply died of natural causes?” +asked his fiancée eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that the verdict at the inquest must have been a true one. +All sorts of fantastic tales are told by neurotic people at inquests.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you agree that a good many verdicts recorded of death from +natural causes are untrue ones?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“My opinion is the same as that of most men in my profession, that +murder is very easily committed, and frequently goes undetected, and +hence unpunished. Further,” he said, “I have an increasing dread of +the evil influence which seems to spread like a pall upon any male who +enters that accursed house in which you are compelled to live.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Brin, you are making me feel quite terrified. I heard from +Mr. Gray yesterday that the first day of the sale is to-morrow. He +enclosed a catalogue. I’ll show it to you when we get back.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sooner the place is cleared of all the old stuff the better,” +Otway declared. “I’ll be glad to see the decorators in and the place +refurnished for you and fit to live in, and of course half the dealers +in England will be there. Mr. Gray told me that very big prices would, +no doubt, be obtained for some of the furniture and tapestries. There +are two authentic relics of Cardinal Wolsey which will certainly bring +big money.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much it all brings does not matter to me, Brin,” she said, +halting in the shadows beneath the trees and looking earnestly into +her lover’s face, while he bent and kissed her fondly. +</p> + +<p> +“My only thought, darling, is of your own safety in that weird house,” +her lover said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she laughed. “Have you not only a few minutes ago told me that +no woman suffers there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That’s one of the greatest problems,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the whole morning they wandered, until they joined a long, +white road which wound up the mountainside among the pines and ilexes, +until at last they came to a small, remote village perched upon the +edge of a high, precipitous rock, one of those villages which long ago +were so often ravaged and burned by the Barbary pirates. +</p> + +<p> +In the narrow, cobbled street they discovered a modest little +café-restaurant, in which a buxom “madame” was bustling about serving +her customers. Therefore they entered, and sitting down to clean +napery, a bottle of white wine, and fresh sections of yard-long bread, +they ordered the <i>plât-du-jour</i>, and enjoyed an excellent meal. +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon, on re-entering the hotel, Otway obtained their letters +and handed one to Sibell. +</p> + +<p> +She recognised Lady Wyndcliffe’s sprawly handwriting, and after +reading it, exclaimed in dismay: +</p> + +<p> +“Auntie Etta has left Southampton to-day for New York. Uncle is ill +and telegraphed for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she isn’t coming here at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. She says we’d better return as soon as we like. Isn’t it really +too bad? She doesn’t say what uncle is suffering from. But he is +evidently very ill—or she wouldn’t cross the Atlantic. She’s always +told me she is a terribly bad sailor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, darling, it is her duty, isn’t it?” Brinsley remarked. “I +suppose we shall have to leave very soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ll have to return to Cookham, while you go to Golder’s Green,” +she said, with a deep sigh of regret. “We won’t go till next week, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you wish it, darling,” he said; and, after washing their hands, +they returned to the big lounge for tea. +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +Next day proved dry and fine at Hampton Court, and long before noon +the trams and trains discharged hundreds of passengers bent upon +attending the important sale at the Guest House. +</p> + +<p> +Long before noon the premises overflowed with the curious and those +eager for bargains, for an auction sale of such genuine antiques +seldom took place in the vicinity of London. Every class of dealer and +amateur collector was represented, from Whitechapel, from Bond Street, +from every metropolitan district came men and many women with their +pockets full of Treasury notes ready for a bargain, whether a pitcher +or a picture, a water-can or a whatnot, a saucepan or a sideboard. +</p> + +<p> +Through the rooms the crowd surged, and the auctioneer’s men had +considerable difficulty in preventing small articles from being +purloined, for those loungers with big overcoats and stout women with +big pockets, all ready to grab any unconsidered trifle, were there in +full force, as they always are at crowded auctions. +</p> + +<p> +Outside upon the roughly-cut lawn, which had not yet had time to get +into condition after the clearance of thirty years of growth upon it, +a number of heavy pieces of furniture and a miscellaneous collection +of household goods from the ground floor had been placed, each +numbered, while behind stood a rostrum upon which, punctually at noon, +Mr. Gray mounted, mallet in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Below sat his two clerks, while four men in green baize aprons bustled +about among the throng. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gray, in a dark-blue overcoat and bowler hat, cleared his throat, +and, looking smilingly around at the mass of faces turned towards him, +recognized many well-known dealers, some of whom were the most +reliable and reputed in their profession. +</p> + +<p> +He cleared his throat, and made a little introductory speech, in which +he referred to the unique opportunity of acquiring many very fine, +unrestored pieces of antique furniture and objects of art which had +been in that historic house ever since the days of King Henry the +Eighth and the great Cardinal Wolsey. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of this furniture was, no doubt, brought across here from the +Palace of Hampton Court yonder, to furnish this house as a Guest House +for friends of the Cardinal,” he went on. “Therefore, gentlemen, I +tell you frankly that I shall not be content with paltry prices. On +some of the pieces there is naturally a reserve, and some of them will +be able to be acquired by private tender afterwards. The majority of +these unique lots are, however, open for your purchase, but I would +implore you not to start your bidding at ridiculous figures, as it +will only hamper us all and waste our valuable time. With that +request, gentlemen, I propose to proceed with the sale.” +</p> + +<p> +After he paused, he called to his foreman. +</p> + +<p> +“Greening! Lot number one! Jacobean fire-back of Surrey iron, with the +arms of the Overtons of Godalming Hall. One of the Overtons married a +Miss D’Aire in 1796. How much?” +</p> + +<p> +“A pound!” shouted a man at the rear. +</p> + +<p> +Thirty shillings was instantly bid in two places. Then two pounds, +which was increased quickly to five. At that figure the bidding ceased +until somebody cried “Guineas!” And at a nod from a well-known dealer +in close proximity, the auctioneer cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Five pound ten is bid for the Jacobean fire-back! Any advance? Come, +gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Six!” sounded from somewhere, followed by “Guineas,” and then +“Six-ten.” +</p> + +<p> +By slow degrees Mr. Gray’s persuasive powers had effect, until ten +guineas was reached. +</p> + +<p> +“Going at ten guineas! Going! Gone!” And the mallet fell sharply upon +the table, as he added, “Ten guineas—Mr. Sheldon.” +</p> + +<p> +The next lot was a small oak gate-table in splendid condition, of +Queen Anne period. Such an article, when genuine and unrestored, is +always eagerly sought by dealers, as there is a ready sale for them +among collectors. There are thousands of imitations and facsimiles, +complete with wormholes and every sign of long usage, but specimen +pieces like the one exhibited by the man in the baize apron are few +and far between. +</p> + +<p> +The bidding started at two guineas, and quickly rose to twenty. On +every side the competition became keen. To the ordinary eye it was +only a little table such as could be purchased for a pound or two at +any furnishing establishment in the Tottenham Court Road, but to the +shrewd, hard-headed crowd of bargain-hunters assembled in that garden +it was a perfect little gem. +</p> + +<p> +As such, it was eventually knocked down to a famous West End dealer +for forty-two pounds ten. +</p> + +<p> +A fine old oak refectory table with big, bulbous legs and a foot-rail +worn by the sandals of the monks of centuries ago, which had stood in +the big stone hall, was next brought forward, a heavy piece which took +six men to move it. It was capable of seating quite twenty people. +</p> + +<p> +“This table, no doubt, came from the suppressed monastery at +Chiddingfold in Surrey,” said Mr. Gray. “The monastery was dismantled +and destroyed by Thomas Cromwell. At one end of the table you will +find carved the sign of the cross, with the word ‘Chyddyngforde’ and +the initials ‘A de B’—Alfred de Beson, who was abbot there in 1496. +Now, gentlemen, what shall we say for this unique and historic piece? +Such a table does not appear in the market every day, as all of us +know. Shall we start at two hundred guineas?” +</p> + +<p> +And with a persuasive smile, Mr. Gray glanced around him, mallet in +hand. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he recognised a nod, and said in his quick, business-like +manner: +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred and twenty pounds. Thank you, sir! Two hundred and twenty +is bid for this historic piece!” +</p> + +<p> +Another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred and thirty in two places! +Two-forty!—fifty!—sixty!—seventy!—eighty!—ninety!—three hundred. +Three hundred—thank you, sir!” And, after another pause, he went on: +“Now, gentlemen, we’re not here for amusement, and we’ve a lot to get +through this afternoon! Who will give three hundred and ten?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten!” came a shout. Then, from another quarter, “Fifteen,” followed +by bids of “Twenty” and by five pounds the competition, mostly between +the Bond Street fraternity, rose till three hundred and eighty-five +pounds was bid. +</p> + +<p> +“Any further bid?” asked the auctioneer. “Three-eighty-five?” +</p> + +<p> +And he sipped his glass of water in order to allow the competitors +time to reflect. +</p> + +<p> +“Dirt cheap, gentlemen,” he cried. “You, all of you know its true +value. May I say three-ninety, Mr. Deeping?” he asked, addressing a +well-known dealer, who usually bought for America. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Deeping gave a nod in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Three-ninety!” shouted Mr. Gray. “Any advance! Four hundred, Mr. +Steen?” he inquired of the head of one of the greatest Bond Street +galleries. +</p> + +<p> +A nod from the stout, well-dressed man who stood smoking a cigar, and +then Mr. Deeping and Mr. Steen began to bid against each other until, +after a fierce fight which became highly exciting, Mr. Deeping secured +it for five hundred and twenty-three pounds. +</p> + +<p> +At the moment the hammer dropped sudden shouts were heard, and a great +commotion took place in the back of the crowd, close to the flight of +steps which led to the front door. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gray stood in surprise, angry at the sudden interruption. +</p> + +<p> +Next second, however, the attention of the crowd was diverted to the +scene of the disturbance, and all turned away from the rostrum to +discover what was the trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch22"> +CHAPTER XXII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">UNDER THE HAMMER</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Some</span> few minutes elapsed before Mr. Gray, descending from the +platform, furious at such sudden interruption of his business, was +able to gather vaguely from excited persons what had occurred. +</p> + +<p> +The throng were passing around the steps, so that he, in charge of the +auction, could not get near. +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden, an excited man, tall, thin-faced, and wearing a faded +blue rain-coat, a type of low-class dealer seen at every auction all +over the country, rushed up to him, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t it terrible, Mr. Gray?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s happened?” asked the auctioneer, who was so well-known and +popular in that riverside district. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, a poor little chap—a telegraph boy! ’E fell down the steps, and +they say ’e’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fell down? What? Stumbled?” +</p> + +<p> +“They say ’e came ’ere with a wire for somebody named Long, a chap +from Birmingham. Somebody saw Mr. Long go into the ’ouse, and, hearing +the lad shout the name, sent him inside. He found him, and as he went +out to get his bike, which ’e left at the steps, he fell down, and +they say he’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gray stood staggered at the story. And well he might, recollecting +his own strange experience, followed by that of Doctor Otway and the +death of Farmer the caretaker. +</p> + +<p> +The unconscious lad was quickly carried up the steps into the +dining-room by willing hands, and soon a doctor was present. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s still alive,” the medical man declared. “But he’s suffering from +some violent shock, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the police were warned by telephone, and in a car belonging +to a West End dealer the poor lad was hurried away to the Richmond +Hospital. +</p> + +<p> +Fully half-an-hour elapsed before calm reigned among the crowd of +buyers. +</p> + +<p> +The incident was discussed by everyone. Some of those present +remembered what had appeared in the papers concerning the long-closed +house and the evil upon it, and began to talk of curses and of the bad +luck which might follow those who bought any of its contents. They +were members of what is known in auction circles as “the knock-out”—a +ring of dealers who were there to rope in all they could get at lowest +prices, by not bidding against each other, one of the most insidious +and dishonest forms of purchasing. +</p> + +<p> +This reached Mr. Gray’s ears, and when order was at length restored, +by a telephone message from the hospital, which announced that the lad +was simply in an epileptic fit and would recover, he again mounted the +rostrum. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen!” he cried, striking the table with his mallet, “the +interruption upon our day’s proceedings has been a most unfortunate +occurrence—the more unfortunate because a certain ring of +ill-disposed people have circulated an utterly fantastic story that +upon the contents of these premises there exists an evil influence—a +curse it has been called. This is a further illustration of the low +depths to which our friends of the ‘knock-out’ will descend. I put it +to you, gentlemen, is this not hitting us all, myself included, +beneath the belt? I am open, as the majority of you here are, for a +fair and honest deal. We are all out to make a margin of profit for +ourselves—myself included. The more commission I get, the happier I +shall be!” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat a great laugh resounded through the garden, and a man’s voice +cried: “Good old Gray! You’re one of us!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” declared the auctioneer, laughing, and putting everyone in a +good temper. “So don’t let us waste any further time, gentlemen. Let’s +get to business.” +</p> + +<p> +The next lot was a Charles the Second day-bed, cane-bottomed with +spindle legs, in preservation so perfect that it might have been made +but forty years ago. All specimens have the canes damaged or holed, +but in this case it was flawless. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, gentlemen! How much for this perfect specimen?—a museum piece. +Nobody here has ever set eyes upon any day-bed as fine as this. We’re +not dealing with Curtain Road stuff to-day, gentlemen, but museum +pieces. What shall I say for this magnificent specimen? Two hundred +and fifty guineas?” +</p> + +<p> +A little, grey-faced old man in the front of the crowd nodded in +assent. He had not bid before, and the crowd of dealers, looking +eagerly at him, saw he was not of them—an amateur, no doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Another voice instantly cried “Two-sixty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred and sixty guineas I am offered for this lot!” cried Mr. +Gray. “Come, gentlemen,” he said in his ordinary voice. “The figure is +ridiculous. Please don’t let us stay here all the afternoon. Three +hundred pounds is offered. Three hundred! Any advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Guineas!” said the little old stranger in a high-pitched, squeaky +voice, as he glanced round apprehensively to see if anyone was about +to outbid him. +</p> + +<p> +“Three fifty pounds!” came good-humoredly from a well-known Kensington +firm of antique dealers. +</p> + +<p> +“Three-sixty,” added the diminutive old stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Seventy,” replied the man from Kensington. +</p> + +<p> +“Four hundred pounds,” said the little old man quite calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Four-ten,” was bid by the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen!” exclaimed somebody at the back, whereupon the manager of a +well-known firm in Wigmore Street, perhaps one of the greatest dealers +in first-class antiques, whispered to a friend: +</p> + +<p> +“Not worth more than that!” +</p> + +<p> +To which his fellow dealer agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty!” exclaimed the old amateur. +</p> + +<p> +“Four hundred and twenty pounds for this perfect Charles the Second +day-bed!” cried the man with the hammer. “Four-twenty-five! +Four-twenty-five? Now, Mr. Lewis,” he went on, looking at the +Kensington dealer. “Four-twenty-five. A unique piece you must +acknowledge!” +</p> + +<p> +The dealer from Kensington nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Four-twenty-five is offered sir,” exclaimed the auctioneer, fixing +his eyes upon the little old man. +</p> + +<p> +But the latter shook his head, and when the hammer fell his shiny face +relaxed into a triumphant smile, for he had never had any intention +whatever of buying it, and had simply run up the price out of mere +devilry. +</p> + +<p> +The auction proceeded, but the old gentleman, who was evidently a +person of discretion and knowledge, elbowed his way into the house and +went upstairs from room to room, examining the contents of each +apartment—which would occupy three days in the selling—with critical +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, in descending, he passed for the second time into the long, +old drawing-room where the faint wintry light came through the dingy, +old, glass windows. +</p> + +<p> +He was alone. For the moment the crowd were all eagerly excited at the +sale below. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing apprehensively around, he suddenly clenched his hands, and, +raising his face to the ceiling, began to utter some words in +gibberish that was quite unintelligible. “The great mystery,” “the +strife of Lucifer,” “the all-powerful King,” “the Evil which is Ruler +of the Universe,” “the Death God of the Humans!” and such-like +expressions were all that were distinguishable. +</p> + +<p> +In those few minutes his breath came and went in short, hard gasps as +he lifted his skinny hands and grasped the air in his excitement and +fervor. +</p> + +<p> +In language which was cryptic and unintelligible he seemed to be +invoking evil upon the place, though no one was present to see him. +</p> + +<p> +Two women suddenly entered that room in which Mr. Gray had been +attacked upon the reopening of the disused house, when suddenly the +stranger ceased his imprecations, and, pretending to closely examine +one of the pictures, a portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, he strolled +out and down the wide stairs. On returning to the crowd he found a set +of ancient wrought iron fire-dogs being put up, but evinced no +interest in them. For a quarter of an hour he idled about the grounds, +and then left to stroll back to the station. +</p> + +<p> +As he ambled along, absorbed apparently in his own thoughts, he took +no notice of a tall, rather thickly-built man of middle age who had +been present at the sale, and who, like himself, was on his way to the +station to take the next train back to London. The pair arrived at the +station almost at the same moment and passed the ticket collector one +behind the other. The elder man entered a first-class carriage, but +the other went third, yet on arrival at Waterloo about half-past four, +the younger man watched the other’s movements closely, and, when he +entered a taxi, the other followed him across Waterloo Bridge in +another cab. +</p> + +<p> +It was a case of cat-and-mouse, for the elder man who had made such a +close bid for the Carolean day-bed was none other than the promenader +at Monte Carlo, in whose movements François Lebeau had been so deeply +interested, while the man who had travelled up to London was Albert +Ashe, the ex-butler of the Countess of Wyndcliffe! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch23"> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">OUR SINISTER WORLD</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Soon</span> after ten o’clock that night Mr. Ashe called at the Grosvenor +Hotel, and, inquiring for Mrs. Wilcox, was at once shown up to Etta’s +sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +The handsome woman, in a pale-mauve and silver dinner-frock, was +reclining upon a couch near the fire reading the evening paper. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen some of the prices fetched at the sale,” were her first +words as her ex-butler entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, fairly high, eh?” he said. “But how did you get on with Rupert?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rotten,” she replied, suddenly raising herself and taking a cigarette +from the onyx box beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked the man, who did not take off his overcoat, +but cast himself into a chair after helping himself to a drink from +the decanter on the sideboard. “Why rotten?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really can’t tell you, my dear Albert, but I’ve one of my psychic +feelings that all is not running as we expected it. There’s some grit +in the wheels of the machine somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! You’re nervy! That’s evident! You women are so damned +unreliable, and you rat when it comes to a real pinch,” he growled, +lighting a cigarette which he took from her box. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not nervy at all, you fool! Only I have an intuition that things +don’t go as they should, and they won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Funnily enough, as a matter of fact, I’ve the same notion, my dear +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he told her of the incident of the telegraph boy’s sudden seizure +at the Guest House and the sensation it had caused. +</p> + +<p> +“The paper says nothing about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose a mere boy who has a fit doesn’t matter to the papers. But +there you are—another remarkable and inexplicable circumstance. I’m +getting the wind up, I don’t mind telling you!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! that you’ll also be stricken down?” laughed Etta, flicking her +cigarette-ash into the fire and glancing up at him with those magnetic +eyes of hers. “You’re a bit of a coward, my dear Albert, after all!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not. But how are we going to put these turtledoves apart? That’s +what I want to know, and that’s what concerns us both,” said the +adventurer who had played so many parts successfully on both sides of +the Atlantic. “If we don’t act very soon, and with a strong and +relentless hand, then the wedding-bells at St. Margaret’s will be +playing a requiem to all our hopes and happy aspirations. Oh, it is +all too fearful for words! What does old Gordon Routh say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gordon! He’s a complete wash-out! A fine old sportsman across the +tables, I admit, but a white-livered old fossil when there is anything +really serious doing,” replied the adventuress, with whom so many +men—and girls, too—had had bitter reason to regret acquaintanceship. +</p> + +<p> +Bearing the name of one of England’s oldest earldoms, she had not so +long ago been a bedecked decoy of the supergang of trans-Atlantic +card-sharpers, blackmailers, and confidence tricksters, and yet only a +year before in London she had presented two girls at Court and held +three big balls at Claridge’s. How strange our everyday world has now +become—our world where honest folk of both sexes are elbowed out by +food profiteers, <i>escrocs</i>, and adventuresses. +</p> + +<p> +Truly our octopus London is increasingly amazing. Its greedy struggle +for Press notoriety at so much a paragraph is astounding, while its +open immorality is fast approaching that of the ancient orgies of +Rome. Yet nobody cares. +</p> + +<p> +The seasons come and go, “Little” and “High,” in which innocent girls +of all classes, from the highest to the lowest, are ever sacrificed +upon the altar of Mammon—with perhaps a big car thrown in. The +invention of the motor-car introduced a new medium for immorality, for +the young man’s car is usually a bird-cage, while the rich old man +cages his young bird in its beautifully upholstered interior. +</p> + +<p> +The schemers sat silent, smoking, and looking into the glowing fire. +</p> + +<p> +It was upon the tip of Ashe’s tongue to mention having seen that +mysterious man of execrations who had given the name of Bettinson. +Being a wise person, he resolved to keep his knowledge to himself. +</p> + +<p> +From without, in the rainy night came the noise of taxis and throbbing +motor-buses in the station square, that racket and shouting which is +always consequent upon railway arrivals and departures. +</p> + +<p> +The comfortable Grosvenor, the jumping-off place for the Continent, +patronized by worldly London and the provinces, is a place where, in +the hall, everyone of note meets everyone else of note going to and +fro to the ends of the earth. The square hall, in which laughter is +rife all day and hot tears are shed morning and evening, is the common +meeting-ground for those journeying eastward, whether to Paris, India, +or Japan. +</p> + +<p> +Ashe glanced at the green marble timepiece and rose. He was uneasy and +did not concentrate. +</p> + +<p> +“Going so soon?” Etta asked. “Why? I’m alone. Do remain and keep me +company.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my dear Etta. I’m awfully sorry, but I have a special +appointment,” replied the man. “When you’ve seen Rupert again let me +know at once. Have you heard from Wyndcliffe?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had a letter last night from Boston. He’s on some wild-goose +financial scheme, as usual. It seems that somebody named Schendel is +buying up all the candy stores in the States, and wants Wyndcliffe to +be chairman of the company. A big swindle, I expect, like that Stream +Line Motors, of Detroit. Personally, I don’t trust any of those +financial propositions. I like to see cash down on the table,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +Then, tapping her cigarette, in its long tortoise-shell holder, she +looked up at him with half-closed, alluring eyes, and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree, Etta, dollar bills or treasury notes are far better than +being left by these share-pushers to nurse the baby.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Let’s discuss the future,” she said impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what about it?” Ashe asked. +</p> + +<p> +The pretty woman shrugged her shapely shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t rid yourself of your incubus yet,” he said, regarding +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that ass, Rupert! I don’t know really what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You surely do. I’ve told you what to do a hundred times, my dear +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Not that!” she cried frantically, with a look of horror on her +face. “Not that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you want to discuss the future,” the broad-shouldered man went +on. “As far as I can see, we are both completely in the cart with our +assets each hour slipping away from us. Think of to-day’s +sale—thousands of pounds profit which ought to be ours. And they +haven’t yet touched the really good things—tapestries or pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree, my dear Albert. It’s all rotten and very disappointing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve only yourself to blame, Etta. You haven’t yet got rid of +Rupert, and also you’ve let the turtledoves coo too long.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman stirred uneasily from her couch, and, tearing her +cigarette-end out of its holder, flung it viciously into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me a drink,” she said, and obediently he crossed and mixed one, +afterwards watching her as she drank it. +</p> + +<p> +“We must have money, Albert,” she said, after taking a good gulp of +her brandy-and-soda. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly we must,” replied the man. “You’ve never been squeamish in +the old days, eh?” And he laughed lightly. “You’re a really wonderful +woman, Etta, when you put your fine wits to work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! Don’t flatter me,” she replied in a hard, determined voice. “Let +us both face the music and just discern a way out,” she went on. “If +Sibell died, then all the estate would go to Gordon Routh and——” +</p> + +<p> +“And old Gordon would chuck it all away at Monte in a single season,” +Ashe interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Agreed. But supposing nothing happened to Sibell—except what might +possibly occur in that accursed old house of hers, and there one never +knows what might take place—and she married Gussie Gretton? What +then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Easy as melting ice,” laughed Ashe. “Gussie is the biggest rotter I +know, immensely rich, for his father made hundreds of thousands with +his chain of cheap tailors’ shops—reach-me-down, ready-for-service +shoddy suits sold at big profits. His headquarters was a +brilliantly-lit shop in the Whitechapel Road, where he began life in a +back room, a Pole whose name was Grabov. His son, who has washed his +hands of all sartorial dealings, is a wealthy and eligible bachelor, a +member of the Bachelors’ and White’s, with a flat in Park Lane.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish I could see them marry,” exclaimed Etta wholeheartedly. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d have twenty thousand to divide at the very least. Perhaps more. +I’d try and push up a bit more of course. Gussie is awfully keen on +her, as we both know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let’s make another effort, and try to do it,” said the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“You can, my dear Etta, but I can’t. Use all your woman’s wits and +your influence to get Otway back to his beloved practice once and for +all. Get old Gordon into our swim, as there’s certainly something for +him out of it, My great, God-fearing aunt! Fancy letting a cool ten +thousand slip through one’s fingers. It’s really criminal!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so. But I want to put a serious question to you, Albert,” said +the woman, rising to her feet and facing him earnestly. “Have you any +idea—or even any suspicion—of the basis of that extraordinary evil +which asserts itself at the Guest House? To what can it be due? Now, +tell me the truth, for we are both afloat on the same tide, and I +admit I’m mystified.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you the honest truth,” replied the man who was her associate. +“I am just as mystified as you are. I can’t see any solution of the +problem. Why should that poor telegraph boy fall down in a fit to-day, +for example? The whole affair is most amazing, astounding, and +uncanny. You see, even Otway was taken ill, yet no woman has ever been +affected! That to me is the most puzzling point in the whole weird +affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“If women were affected, then perhaps Sibell might—well, feel its +sinister influence,” the woman said after a pause. “The caretaker died +after the incantations of that mysterious old stranger, who is +apparently the unknown evil genius of the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess that it’s all beyond me,” Ashe declared. “I’m not usually +nervy, as you well know. But I admit that I shouldn’t like to enter +that accursed house. I’m a bit too sinful perhaps”; and he grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor should I,” laughed Etta grimly, while the man drained his glass +and announced that he really must go. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Etta,” he added, taking up his hat and buttoning his black +evening overcoat. “At all hazards get rid of Rupert. Send him back, +bury him, do whatever you like with him. But while he’s here a danger +exists every moment—the danger of him finding out that you’re +Wyndcliffe’s wife. It isn’t a savory theme, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re going to leave me to face everything, eh?” she cried +suddenly, her eyes flashing. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, my dear girl. I’m going to work at once in our mutual +interests as I’ve always done. You are an English peeress, and I’m +only your abusive butler. Funny, isn’t it? How the people in the +States would laugh if they knew how you and I have pulled the legs of +exclusive London Society, and you at Court too!” And he added: “Well, +good-night, Etta, dear. We’ve always been pals, and we always will +remain so”; and then, suddenly taking her slim, white hand, he bent +over it with a studied courtesy and kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mrs. Wilcox,” he said, laughing. “But do get a move on +and in the direction we are agreed. Get the lovers back and play chess +with them—as you’ve done before”; and he went out. +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +Otway and Sibell had delayed their return to London for a week, for he +had arranged with his locumtenens to carry on until the date of his +arrival back at Golder’s Green. To both it was a great disappointment +that Lord Wyndcliffe’s beautiful villa was not to be reopened that +season. On several occasions they had been up to it, and had taken tea +upon the great, broad terrace, with its climbing flowers and gorgeous +views of the green Estrelles and the ever-changing Mediterranean, +sometimes sapphire-colored, sometimes grey, or at other times the deep +color of lapis lazuli. The two old French servants, husband and wife, +had served them with tea, and in the gardens they had picked the +orange-blossoms—emblem of marriage—and the violets, daffodils, and +yellow mimosa to carry back to the hotel. Life for them was certainly +one of exquisite bliss, their hearts beating ever in unison, and their +own little world confined to their own whims and pleasures of the +moment. +</p> + +<p> +One day, having been over to the Municipal Casino at Nice to an +afternoon dance, Sibell, on her return in the evening, suddenly +discovered that she had lost a little chain-bracelet set with +turquoises, a birthday present from her mother in her school-days. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning Brinsley left to go back to Nice to try and recover it +from the lost-property office at the Casino; when, on descending into +the lounge, Sibell met a girl she instantly recognised, Marigold +Ibbetson, one of her old schoolfellows at Cheltenham College, whom she +had not seen for three years. +</p> + +<p> +Their meeting was cordial, and they took their <i>petit déjeuner</i> +together. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been here over a week,” laughed the auburn-haired, rather +good-looking girl. “Auntie is not very well to-day, and she’s not +coming down till luncheon. I thought it was you, but only last night I +asked the concierge your name, and he told me. Well, and how has the +world been treating you, old girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not so badly. I’ve been travelling a lot,” Sibell replied. “My +aunt, Lady Wyndcliffe, who has a villa here, was to meet me, but she +hasn’t turned up—gone to America instead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meet you, eh?” laughed the slim, well-dressed girl. “You mean both of +you—you and your fiancé?” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know?” inquired the girl quickly. +</p> + +<p> +They had just left the hotel and were out in the flower-garden. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve watched you, and it is obvious. I congratulate you, +Sibell. Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +Her friend told her, speaking enthusiastically as may be well +imagined. And as they walked down the gravelled drive to the road, +they were joined by a tall, long-limbed, plain girl, to whom Sibell +was introduced. Her name was Moyna Lascelles, who had been at +Cheltenham after Sibell had left. +</p> + +<p> +As they took a pleasant stroll along the Croisette together, Moyna +suddenly turned to Sibell and congratulated her upon her engagement to +Brinsley Otway. +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of fact, I know Brinsley quite well,” the girl said. +“When he was at the Hospital School he was an intimate friend of my +brother Fred, and very often he spent week-ends with us at Thames +Ditton. But please don’t say a word, because of a very tragic +circumstance. Promise me you won’t, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ll promise of course,” Sibell said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one evening he took out to a dance at a riverside hotel a girl +named Peterson, who lived opposite in a house-boat with her parents, +who were music-hall artistes. On the way back the boat capsized, and +the poor girl was drowned. He swam to save her, but the current proved +too strong, and he narrowly escaped with his own life.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has never told me that,” Sibell said. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” laughed the girl. “That’s why Brinsley is such a good +fellow. My pal Jack Cranston, the cross-channel air-pilot, who is here +with my mother, is his friend, and he tells me what a fine fellow he +is. I hear he’s a good dancer too.” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell only smiled at hearing such laudation of her fiancé. It +comforted and gratified her, as it certainly would any girl whose +lover was her ideal. And what girl of any class exists who has no +ideal of a gallant and strong lover who will hold her in his arms and +fight for her until death? +</p> + +<p> +Men may be deceivers ever, but a woman’s heart, once won, is the great +and incomparable gem which crowns human life, true and unbending in +adversity or prosperity until the parting by death. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! that men are so egotistical, so self-confident, that they so +frequently leave women to weep over the burden of their overbearance, +and their illogical misunderstanding of woman’s heart. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch24"> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">UNKNOWN!</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Brinsley Otway</span> had for a week or two had his eyes upon a beautiful +square-cut diamond and emerald ring in platinum—a single diamond, set +with a very fine, well-matched emerald on either side—which was shown +in the window of that expensive jeweller’s in the Galerie Charles X at +Monte Carlo. It had been sold by one of the Hapsburg princesses, who +had, like many, been temporarily embarrassed at the tables, so the +jeweller said, and, after considerable bargaining, Brinsley bought it, +and on his return, presented it to his fiancée. +</p> + +<p> +It fitted perfectly on her finger, and she was beside herself with +delight, and kissed him fondly, time after time, for his beautiful +present, intended as a birthday gift, for her anniversary would be in +about a week’s time. +</p> + +<p> +Next day turned out grey and damp, with a slight drizzle, one of the +days all know on the Riviera. Otway went out for exercise about eleven +o’clock, leaving Sibell to write letters, when suddenly he encountered +the tall, thin-faced air-pilot Jack Cranston, whom he knew during the +war, at the ill-fated aerodrome at Dunkirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa, Otway,” he cried merrily. “Fancy! After all this time! Only +yesterday I heard you were here through my friend Miss Ibbetson.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really!” replied Brinsley. “She is an old schoolfellow of my fiancée +whom you know, I think. They were at Cheltenham College together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marigold is a great friend of Moyna Lascelles. I’m staying here with +her mother, who is a distant relation of mine. She has a villa out on +the road to Nice.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as they walked together towards the Casino, Cranston suddenly +turned, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Brinsley, excuse me for asking the question, but is it +true that you’re engaged to Sibell Dare?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I am,” replied the other in considerable surprise at his +tone of voice. “I thought everybody knew that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see,” exclaimed the other. “But of course I mean no offence. +Understand that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I take offence?” asked the young doctor, facing him +inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, my dear old fellow, nothing. I’m sorry I mentioned it, +that’s all. Forgive me, I’m a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you regret? I thought everyone knew it. The announcement +was in the papers weeks ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been abroad for months, my dear old chap, so I haven’t seen it,” +replied his friend quite honestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come over into the bar yonder”; and Brinsley indicated the Casino. +“Let’s have a drink and talk it over,” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d really rather not, old man,” was the other’s reply. “What I may +say might only give you pain. And, further, it’s really none of my +business what girl you marry, is it, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I should think not, all things considered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why should we discuss the matter? Let’s talk of something else. +Do!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, we won’t, Cranston,” said Otway insistently. “You’ll just come in +and have a drink with me and tell me what’s at the back of your mind. +Now is it about that infernal house of old Henry the Eighth’s time at +Hampton Court that people are discussing?” +</p> + +<p> +The keen-faced cross-channel pilot laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear Brinsley, of course not. You surely don’t believe in +curses, do you? I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Who does? There seems, however, to have been a lot of uncanny +happenings there,” his friend replied. “I myself had a very curious +attack after spending some hours in the old place. Indeed, I nearly +lost my life over it.” +</p> + +<p> +And then he went on to explain the mysterious circumstances which +occurred after his visit to the Guest House to inspect those old books +in the long-shut-up library. +</p> + +<p> +At last Cranston, induced by Otway, went through the spacious hall of +the Casino, and entered the bar, where they both sat at a little table +in the corner to smoke and gossip. The usual crowd of Riviera idlers +of all ages who assemble each morning were already there, but amid the +chatter, laughter, and discussions over the previous night’s play in +the Rooms their conversation could not be overheard. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, tell me frankly, my dear Jack,” said Otway at last, leaning both +elbows upon the little table and looking straight into his friend’s +eyes. “Why are you so devilish mysterious about Sibell?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not mysterious, my dear old chap—not at all,” declared the +other. “I’m not going to interfere in the least in anything that +doesn’t concern me. Forgive me, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t the point of interference. Are we not friends, you and I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—well, I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why don’t you speak out to me as a friend, as man to man? What +are you concealing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” was the other’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You swear that!” cried Otway, half rising, his face strong and +intent. +</p> + +<p> +Cranston wavered for only a second, and then excused himself, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Really, I didn’t come in here to be subjected to any inquisition! I +must refuse.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Cranston, I’m no inquisitor—only your good friend. Yet I +demand to know why you are so reticent about Sibell. I noticed that +curl of your lip, that glance of sarcasm when you mentioned her name. +Now, if you are a real pal, as you pretend to be, out with it! What do +you know? If you are not a pal—a false friend—then remain silent. +And that’s the end.” +</p> + +<p> +The pair sat facing each other for a full minute. Cranston felt +himself cornered, as indeed he was. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Otway,” he said at last, speaking very slowly, “I really don’t +know how to reply to you. I only know that to-day you are one of the +happiest men in all the world—a charming girl, who is to be your +wife, with so much money that you will never want to work another +single day in all your life. Would not a million men like to be in +your shoes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I suppose they would,” replied his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I run lots of engaged couples and honeymooners over from Croydon to +Le Bourget almost daily and I see a lot—I can assure you. We pilots +see funny things very often, for our passengers are closely associated +with us, especially if there’s any element of danger over the sea. +Girls get the wind up terribly sometimes, and I’ve seen brave men turn +pale when things are not going quite to my liking.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how does that concern me?” asked Otway. “You seem somehow to be +warning me! Tell me if you are, now, straight out.” +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments Jack Cranston remained silent. Then, fixing his +keen, hawk-like blue eyes upon his friend, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ll speak frankly and damn the consequences, Brinsley. I am +warning you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what?” the other gasped, staring at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of the girl you are about to marry. You’re trusting her far too +implicitly.” +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil do you mean?” asked the lover, rising quickly in +fierce resentment. “Say that again!” +</p> + +<p> +“I repeat it,” the air-pilot answered quite calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say against Sibell, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Merely that she’s not quite so true to you as she pretends, that’s +all! I’m sorry to utter those words, Brinsley, but you’ve forced me to +do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you mean that she’s playing me false?” he said in a hard, hoarse +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my meaning. But I regret if my words hurt you. I know they do, +old chap. But I leave you to discover the truth. That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a damned lie!” cried Otway, striking the table with his fist and +causing the others in the bar to look round. +</p> + +<p> +“That is for you alone to discover, my dear Brinsley,” exclaimed his +friend, still calmly. “If it is a lie then everyone believes it. +That’s why they pity you, good, honest pal that you are, they pity you +that you should be made sport of by that girl and her suave gentleman +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the man?” demanded Otway fiercely. “Give me his name!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really certain that you want it? Would it not be far the best +way for you to set watch, and to discover for yourself? Believe me, my +dear old Otway, that’s by far the best course. If I told you, then you +would only say that I’m his enemy, or that I am prejudiced.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I demand his name!” cried the unhappy lover vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +Again a silence fell between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask others. They will tell you. I refuse to say more,” said the +airman. +</p> + +<p> +“By God! I’ll drag the name out of you,” cried the distracted man in +fury. +</p> + +<p> +“No heroics, my dear fellow. Remain calm, and just watch. That’s my +advice!” responded the keen-faced man, who on more than one occasion +had lain in a shallow dug-out with yellow water trickling in, and +braved the daily bombings of the Huns upon Dunkirk, those days when +the German airmen absolutely wiped our stores and our planes out of +existence. +</p> + +<p> +“But can’t you give me any clue? For God’s sake, Cranston—at least do +that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d tell you his name, but surely you realize how painful it would be +for me; how unfair it would be to give away a friend—just as you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he a man whom she has lately met—or one she has known a long +time? Tell me that,” he asked in all eagerness, as may well be +imagined. At one blow, all the poor fellow’s illusions as to Sibell’s +all-absorbing love had been converted into a dark cloud of suspicion. +And yet, he now asked himself the real reason—as well he might. +</p> + +<p> +“I really can’t answer that question. I’m sorry,” was Cranston’s +reply. “Just watch—that’s all I suggest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you refuse to reveal the scoundrel’s name? He’s a friend of +yours. That you admit, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much of a friend, really. Only that I have once met him. My +standpoint is that I refuse to be regarded as one who has any axe to +grind, Otway. I simply tell you what I know, what many people gossip +about, and suggest that you make independent inquiries for your own +satisfaction. That’s all”; and he rose from the table, adding: “I’m +going. I would never have said all these painful things had I not been +really forced to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“And even now you refuse to give me the slightest hint as to this +secret rival of mine!” cried Otway in fury. +</p> + +<p> +“I have already explained the reason. Investigate for yourself +and—well, forget that we met this morning. I’m leaving for Paris by +the <i>rapide</i> at three-thirty, for I’m on duty again at the aerodrome +to cross in the morning. Why don’t you come for a flip over with me +one day?” +</p> + +<p> +“I may when all this is cleared up, Cranston,” he replied. “But I tell +you now frankly that I don’t believe it!” +</p> + +<p> +The aviator shrugged his shoulders, and replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I expected so. That’s exactly why I refuse to mention the name.” +</p> + +<p> +And together they walked outside in silence, when, with estrangement, +they parted. +</p> + +<p> +On his way back to the Beau Site, passing the gay home-going +tennis-playing crowd, Brinsley Otway walked with his eyes upon the +ground, deep in thought. The seeds of deep suspicion had been sown, +but, man-of-the-world that he was, he tried to steel himself not to +believe them. +</p> + +<p> +In any case his war-time friend had not substantiated anything. He had +spoken through his hat, as it were, he reflected. Yet, why? What +ulterior motive could Cranston have to warn him that Sibell was +playing him false? +</p> + +<p> +For a full hour he walked along the Croisette, and to ease his mind +and pass the time, he went into a little café and called for an +<i>apéritif</i> in order to think it all over. +</p> + +<p> +He reflected upon the past. His first chance meeting with Sibell, who +had come so entirely and wholeheartedly into his life to console and +become his other self—a woman who, in her ideals, in her aspirations, +in her religious beliefs, and in her quality of soul, he found to be +heights above any other girl he had ever met—his own affinity. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, when poison of the mind is sown, it sweeps into an +ever-increasing flood, to raise a tide that will overwhelm even the +level-headed, and to swirl against the rocks of truth. +</p> + +<p> +And where can one find truth, save in the bottom of the deepest well? +</p> + +<p> +The man or woman who dares to tell the truth to-day deserves a statue +as an heroic example. The ever-ready lie is to be found in every +household, be it the cottage or the castle, whether at Sydenham or +Sydney, Mayfair or Manitoba, and I leave the reader to complete the +geographical survey. +</p> + +<p> +If the woman of Mayfair is “peevy” and yet religious, she tells her +butler that she is “not at home.” And that deliberate lie goes down +through all the classes, even to the grey-haired wives of Church of +England country parsons themselves. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, is not the lie forbidden to the Christian? And if lies are +told daily, even by those chosen to administer in religion, why should +anyone hold the lie in abhorrence? We are a wonderful people. The +village parson, with his tea upon his knees, will say in his best +Oxford drawl: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sorry. But I never eat cakes!” And only because the cakes in +question are underdone and hence do not appeal to his digestion. +</p> + +<p> +A man who is now a Bishop of the Church of England once, in his early +days, before his election to the House of Lords, was open enough to +wire to his would-be hostess, a well-known peeress: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Regret quite impossible. Lie follows by post.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +In such a mood, thinking out all the past, and contemplating the +future, Brinsley re-entered the gay hotel, and, finding Sibell +chatting in the lounge with her old school-friend Marigold, to whom +she introduced him, he sat down beside them and ordered three +cocktails. +</p> + +<p> +As a real man-of-the-world, and a true lover, he tried to crush down +those fierce feelings which had arisen within him in consequence of +his friend’s warning, while Sibell, glancing at him, thought that her +ideal lover had never appeared to be so charming. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch25"> +CHAPTER XXV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DOWNWARD STEP</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">The</span> Myrtles at Cookham was, after all, a dull, damp place in March, +with the mists hanging all day over the Thames, the trees leafless, +the garden pretty in summer of course, but leaf-strewn, with rough +lawn and weedy paths, in winter. After the gaiety of Cannes it was to +Sibell terribly depressing. +</p> + +<p> +With her Aunt Etta supposed to be away in America with her husband, +and Brinsley back at his practice in Golder’s Green, she led a life of +daily boredom, listening to old Gordon Routh’s many complaints, as to +both depleted finance and his failing health. +</p> + +<p> +Worn-out gamester that he was, he sat every evening over the wood-fire +in the cottage sitting-room asking questions about the Rooms at Monte, +the play, and the nightly sensation of high stakes and great losses, +for the Administration of the Society of Sea-baths always take their +lion’s share. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said one stormy evening while the wind howled round the old +house, and the rain beat heavily about the windows, “Monte Carlo can’t +be the same as when Prince Albert ruled it. Nowadays Monaco has fallen +into the hands of the big speculators. First Zaharoff and his friends, +and now speculating friends of theirs. No! It can’t be the same. The +rich Russians who lived on the Promenade des Anglais at Nice, and who +were the real players, are no longer there. They get no big coups as I +knew them in the ’nineties, when Saturday nights were nights indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had your fling there, according to all accounts!” the girl +laughed, looking up from the evening paper, warming her shapely feet +upon the fender. +</p> + +<p> +“I did. Then I got something for my money, in any case. To-day they +seem in the public rooms to play what, in the old days, we might class +as shove-ha’penny in any of our village pubs. Of course, I suppose +stakes run a bit higher in the Cercle Privé!” +</p> + +<p> +“They do,” said the girl, and for the next half-hour she described to +him the Monte Carlo as it is to-day. +</p> + +<p> +Every evening it was the same terrible boredom. By day the girl took +long tramps alone over those wet, dismal roads up and down the +lonesome hills, or else sat and wrote long letters to Brinsley. Then +at evening she sat over the fire to gossip with the old hunchback, who +always deplored his own bad luck at <i>trente-et-quarante</i>. +</p> + +<p> +So bored did she become that one day, with old Routh’s permission, she +wrote to Moyna Lascelles, who lived near Birmingham, to come and spend +the week-end with her. +</p> + +<p> +Since that day at Cannes the two girls had become firm friends, and +since Sibell’s return, they had met twice in town and lunched +together. So, in order to further cement their friendship, Sibell sent +the invitation, which was at once accepted, old Gordon Routh +expressing delight that Sibell should have found such a congenial +companion. +</p> + +<p> +The Guest House had meanwhile been cleared of its contents, and the +decorators were hard at work cleaning, repainting, and papering the +interior, planing and polishing the oaken floors, putting in fittings +for electric cooking and light, new baths, central heating, and every +modern labor-saving contrivance; while outside, the builders were at +work removing the overgrowth of ivy from the red bricks, which they +scraped and repointed. They reconditioned both lead-work and tiles on +the roof, and the woodwork of window-sashes and doors. +</p> + +<p> +Ten thousand pounds had already been placed to Sibell’s credit at the +bank by the lawyers, therefore all went merrily, and, thanks to the +girl’s generosity, old Gordon Routh found himself free from household +expenses and certain little debts he had contracted in that pretty +riparian village. +</p> + +<p> +Brinsley’s habit was to ring her up each night at nine o’clock, after +he came in from his heavy day’s work, before he sat down to his lonely +evening meal. One night the bell went at half-past seven, just as they +were sitting down to dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell rushed to the ’phone, only to hear bad news. Brinsley’s widowed +mother, who lived outside Carlisle, had been taken suddenly ill, and +he had been telegraphed for. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve managed to arrange for my absence with a chap I know named +Lancaster, who is coming here to-night,” he said. “He was with me at +the hospital, and it’s awfully fortunate that I could get hold of him. +So I’m leaving Euston late to-night, darling. I’ll let you know by +wire to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my darling Brin, how sudden! I expected you would meet Moyna +with me at the Trocadero for lunch to-morrow. We’re both horribly +disappointed. But, of course, I realize how very worried you must be, +dearest. I do hope you’ll find your mother better. Wire me in the +morning, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, darling. I’m so sorry I cannot lunch with you, for I, too, +was so looking forward to seeing you. But there you are! It can’t be +helped,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And then, after some comforting words, her fiancé wished her +good-night, and the conversation ended. +</p> + +<p> +On returning to the little dining-room, she related what Otway had +told her, but, in her ignorance, she never realized the strange look +which overspread Moyna’s countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“How very unfortunate!” she exclaimed. “We’ll postpone our trip to +town till he’s back.” +</p> + +<p> +And in that way the question was settled. +</p> + +<p> +“What a glorious ring yours is!” remarked Moyna, when the two girls +were seated beside the fire after dinner. “By Jove! it must have cost +an awful lot,” she added, taking her friend’s hand and admiring it. “I +wish I had one like it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect it cost a good sum,” Sibell replied. “It’s a real good +birthday gift, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +At breakfast next morning old Gordon Routh received a business letter +which necessitated his presence for a couple of days in London, and at +his suggestion, the two girls accompanied him, arriving at the Hotel +Cecil just after tea. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon Routh’s habit had been to stay there through many years; +indeed, ever since that colossal hotel on the Embankment had been +opened. Routh took his own favorite room on the fourth floor, while +the girls had two rooms on the floor beneath. +</p> + +<p> +After taking tea together in the great palm court, the old man rose, +expressing regret that he would have to leave for his appointment. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t expect I’ll see you again to-night, girls, for no doubt I’ll +be late. I’m not dressing for dinner. You’ll be able to amuse +yourselves—go to a cinema or something, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +And then he left them seated to watch the dancing. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do?” asked Sibell of her friend. “How about a theatre? +We can dine as early as we like, and so on. What would you like to +see?” +</p> + +<p> +After some discussion, they decided to go to the Haymarket, and Sibell +obtained tickets at the box-office agency in the hotel. Afterwards +they went upstairs, dressed leisurely, and about seven o’clock +descended to the great grill-room for dinner. Sibell looked extremely +charming—as, indeed, she always did—in a dainty frock of one of the +new shades of green which she had had made for Gurnigel, while her +rather saucy-faced girl friend was in black. +</p> + +<p> +At table their conversation turned upon women’s charm. Sibell declared +that, while the cult of beauty through the media of face-powders, +lip-sticks, and massage has attracted notice, the effect of emotions +and temperament as a connecting-link in its development had been +entirely overlooked. +</p> + +<p> +They were sitting at one of the side-tables in the long windows which +by day overlook the busy Embankment and the Thames, but, now that the +blinds were drawn, the spot was warm and cozy, being out of the +hearing of the many other diners. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you, my dear, to a certain extent,” replied her +new-found friend. “Of course the first asset of good looks is good +health. I’ve a pretty fair constitution, but I certainly haven’t any +good looks. So I can’t help it”; and she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you think that everyone’s character is reflected in one’s +face, both in men and women?” Sibell asked. “However good a face may +be in form or feature, it is chiefly the expression of it that +attracts or repels. One’s face is surely the mirror of one’s mind, +hence no beautiful character can be ugly in expression.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet one must not forget that old adage that beauty is but skin +deep,” Moyna remarked, as she finished her filleted sole and raised +her glass of Chablis. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly agree with that,” Sibell declared. “Gloomy faces always +reflect gloomy minds, and disappointment shows its indelible mark in +our wrinkles, which are an indication of a despondent outlook.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem uncommonly philosophical to-night,” laughed her friend, +toying with her glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, perhaps I am. Only I’ve been thinking over it all to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Depressed because Brinsley is not with us, eh, Sibell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly. I’m only thinking that fear, grief, and worry are +depressing and must impair the digestion and deplete the vitality.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear, you’ve nothing to worry about, lucky girl that you +are!” exclaimed the other. “Your happy outlook should help all your +mental and physical ills. For indeed joy is the greatest tonic and +beautifier, and you should surely have enough of it—with a big +fortune at your disposal and a handsome lover into the bargain!” +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely had she uttered those words, than both girls, at the same +moment, became conscious of a tall man in evening dress standing +smiling before them. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sibell!” he exclaimed cheerily. “I can hardly believe my eyes! +Is it really you?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl addressed looked up in surprise, and instantly recognized the +broad-shouldered, good-humored man who held out his hand so frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you?” she asked in amazement, taking his proffered hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite all right, my dear Sibell. I was sitting over yonder, and +chanced to see you here. I thought you were on the Riviera with your +aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been there, but, as you see, I’m back again.” Then, glancing +towards her companion, she asked: “May I introduce you to an old +friend of mine, Mr. Gretton?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl smiled as the man bowed, and then he asked if he might have a +chair at their table, adding: “I’ve finished, and I’m just off. What +are you doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Going to the Haymarket,” Sibell replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m at a loose end. Can’t I come with you?” he asked. “As a matter of +fact, I’m staying here.” +</p> + +<p> +“So are we,” said Moyna. “I’ve never been here before, but it seems to +be Mr. Routh’s pet haunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m often here,” he laughed. “I’ve let my rooms in St. James’s +because I’ve been across to New York on business, so I’m pushed out +here till next week-end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Auntie is over in America. Lord Wyndcliffe is ill, and she’s joined +him,” Sibell said. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re back at Cookham again, I suppose,” laughed the middle-aged, +rather good-looking man, who was so well known about town as an +eligible bachelor. “I saw your aunt at Lady Deepdene’s a few weeks +ago, but she told me nothing about Wyndcliffe’s illness.” +</p> + +<p> +“You really don’t want to go to the Haymarket, do you?” asked Sibell, +wishing in her heart to get rid of him. +</p> + +<p> +“I do. Really I do! I’ve wanted to see the piece. If I may come, I’ll +be delighted. I’ll run up and get a seat before it’s too late.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, hardly ere the girl had given her permission, he was on his +feet, striding out of the restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +“An awfully nice man!” Moyna remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Sibell. “But he’s a bit of an ass—one of those who +think that every woman is in love with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m. That’s the conclusion I’ve already formed. But, after all, he’ll +be company for us to-night, won’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +And she produced her long tortoise-shell cigarette-tube and began to +smoke. +</p> + +<p> +Gussie Gretton soon returned, his face wreathed in smiles. He had +secured a stall in the same row as theirs, and, after he had given +them coffee and liqueurs in the lounge, he took them in a taxi to the +theatre. He was, of course, compelled to sit apart from them, but when +he rejoined them at the fall of the curtain, he suggested: +</p> + +<p> +“Now what about a spot of supper and a dance, Sibell? That is, of +course, if you don’t think Otway would object. I’ve never met him, but +I hear he’s a real good sort.” +</p> + +<p> +The girls looked at each other in indecision, which he saw at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Come to the Florida. It’s always cheery there. There’s a glass floor, +and good food. Come along, girls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we?” asked Moyna. “I’d love it! Do come, Sibell.” +</p> + +<p> +And so, having got their wraps, they drove round to Bruton Mews to +taste the delights of one of the most exclusive dance clubs in London. +</p> + +<p> +Gussie Gretton, being one of the club’s chief supporters, was at once +received by a dapper little <i>sous-maître d’hôtel</i>, who was none +other than Giovanni Savini, the friend of Albert Ashe. He piloted the +trio to a cozy walled-off corner, where a table was set for four, with +softly shaded lights, spotless napery, and a big central bowl of +Emperor daffodils. +</p> + +<p> +Already a few couples were dancing upon the glass floor to one of the +best orchestras in London. +</p> + +<p> +The evergreen and dandified Gussie, having nodded acquaintance with a +bald-headed old earl who was supping with one of the principal and +most daring dancers in a Parisian revue, at once ordered cocktails, +and then examined the menu with the eye of the gourmet. +</p> + +<p> +He ordered a delicious little meal with the inner knowledge of one +well versed in London life, a meal which he knew would well suit the +palates of his two charming guests. And hardly had he ordered it than +he invited Sibell to dance. +</p> + +<p> +She could scarcely refuse, because they were old friends. Gussie was +one of her Aunt Etta’s pets, who went to and fro at her bidding. Yet, +be it said, he had never known of her trans-Atlantic past, nor did +Sibell, innocent girl that she was. +</p> + +<p> +Her only thought that night was of her lover Brinsley and his terrible +worry beside his mother’s bed. She had waited, but heard nothing from +him, yet she still hoped that on her return to the Cecil she would +receive a wire. +</p> + +<p> +All three ate a merry supper together. Gussie was in his best form, +telling them risqué stories of scandals in London Society and of the +world of New York from which he had just returned. +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say, Sibell,” he said suddenly, “what is that all concerning +the house that you and Otway are to be doomed to live in? There’s been +an awful lot about it in the papers.” And he placed another strong +cocktail before her. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing except what I hear. As far as I can ascertain, it +seems to be all bunkum!” was her honest reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is, my dear Sibell!” he laughed, raising his glass to +her. “Here’s the best of luck to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Clean-living and abstemious girl that she was, the cocktails she had +taken were sadly muddling her, though she did not realize it. +Insidious drinks did not affect Moyna, for she was used to them, but +in the ordinary way a single glass of port always caused Sibell’s head +to reel. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, just as he had invited her to dance a foxtrot, he +ejaculated: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a lovely ring you have there! A present from Otway, I’ll +wager, eh? Do let me see it! I love gems—and especially emeralds. Do +take it off.” +</p> + +<p> +She did as he suggested, and under the shaded light he ran it to and +fro before his eyes, admiring its multicolored flashes, for the three +gems were certainly perfect specimens. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d love to examine it again after the dance. May I?” he asked. “I’m +mad on emeralds, as you know,” and, so saying, he slipped the ring +into his waistcoat pocket and they both passed out upon the glass +floor to dance, Sibell’s brain being awhirl because of the potent +cocktails. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch26"> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">BEFORE THE DAWN</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Gretton</span> and Sibell returned to their table, whereon Moyna was +leaning her shapely bare arms and smoking through her long +cigarette-tube, watching them lazily. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell, unsteady in movement, her brain muddled by the insidious +drinks to which she was unused, sank upon the red silken settee and +sighed deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel horribly tired,” she murmured, passing her hand wearily across +her white brow and disarranging her evenly cut fringe of fair hair +that so well became her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s awfully close in this place,” Moyna declared sympathetically. “I +can’t think why it is that at any dance club they seem to be afraid of +a little ventilation—not draughts, but a little fresh air.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so very sorry, Sibell,” declared the tall, well-groomed man, +bending over the girl whom he so greatly admired, and had hoped, +before the unwelcome advent of young Brinsley Otway, to make his wife. +“I’m afraid—I ought not to have asked you to dance. Do forgive me, +Sibell, won’t you?” he asked, deeply penitent. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” replied the girl, whose head was swimming. “It was not +your fault. I’m—well, I’m a little giddy, that’s all. Give Moyna a +dance, will you? I’ll sit quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus invited, her friend asked: +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite sure you’re all right, dear? If not, we’ll go back to +the hotel at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite. I’ll feel better if I remain here.” +</p> + +<p> +So the pair crossed to the floor and began to Charleston. +</p> + +<p> +“She looks rather bad,” Gretton murmured into his partner’s ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We’d better take her home soon, I think. She’s not used, it +seems, to hectic nights”; and she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile to Sibell it seemed as though the dancers were floating +around her, while the music sounded harsh and discordant, far away. +She was twisting her bracelet around her wrist nervously and staring +straight before her. Both Gretton and his dancing-partner at once +realized that she was not herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel very faint,” she replied, when Moyna asked how she was. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’d better get back. Don’t you think so, Mr. Gretton?” the girl +asked anxiously. “Don’t come with us. We can easily go back in a taxi. +It’s awfully good of you to have given both of us such a jolly nice +time. I’m only anxious for Sibell’s health. I’ve been like this myself +more than once. It’s nerves, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt,” said the man, taking up the cigarette he had left in the +tray and which was still alight. “But, of course, I’ll see you back to +the hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t,” declared the girl vehemently. “I won’t allow you to spoil +your evening. You’ve lots of friends here. I can take her home quite +well, so just see us to the ladies’ room—that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Lascelles, do you really think that I would allow you to +take Sibell back?” he protested. Then, with a smile, he added, “Sibell +and I are very old friends, and I would not dream of allowing you two +to go alone.” +</p> + +<p> +And he called the obsequious waiter, to whom he hurriedly handed a +five-pound note, to pay the supper-bill. +</p> + +<p> +As he was assisting Sibell into a taxi, the change was thrust into his +hand by the alert little Italian, who received a ten-shilling note as +his <i>pourboire</i>, and next moment the three were on their way back to +the Hotel Cecil. +</p> + +<p> +On arrival Gretton accompanied them to the lift, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll be all right in the morning, my dear Sibell. It is most +unfortunate, isn’t it?” Then, turning to Moyna, he added, “If you want +anything in the night, just call me. I’m in No. 231.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto! and lots of thanks,” replied the girl, shaking his hand, +while Sibell, her brain still awhirl, sat in the lift and then managed +to walk along the corridor to her room, even though a trifle +unsteadily. Those ingeniously concocted cocktails, which are mixed in +all the dance clubs, had done their work, and she only had a most hazy +idea of what had occurred since her return to the table after dancing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear!” she gasped, as she sank upon her bed. “I—I feel most +awfully ill. I—I really don’t know what is the matter with me. I came +over horribly queer suddenly after that last drink which Gussie +pressed me to have. Did you have one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I did. But I’m quite all right. So why should you be so +queer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I really don’t know, dear,” replied the girl, looking around the +room blankly with wild, startled eyes. “I was a silly fool. I ought +never to have allowed him to take us there. I’m sure Brin would have +strongly objected.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he doesn’t know, and he need never know, my dear old +girl—unless you tell him.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Moyna was helping the girl to undress, she went to the +toilet-table, and saw a telegram lying upon the white cloth. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, here’s a wire for you! Fancy, we’ve never noticed it before!” +</p> + +<p> +And she handed it to Sibell, who tore it open with nervous fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Brin will be back in London at half-past seven to-morrow morning!” +she said. “He has got word from Cookham that we are here for the +night. So he’ll call on us for early breakfast. Won’t it be fun?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But of course you’ll say nothing about meeting Gussie Gretton?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Of course not. It would only worry the dear old thing. And surely +he has lots of worry already. I’ll go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +And, while Moyna waited, she undressed, washed, put on a dainty +boudoir cap, and made her toilette for the night, assuming a pretty +nightie of pale-mauve crêpe-de-Chine. +</p> + +<p> +She was already comfortably snuggled up in bed, and her friend had +kissed her good night, when suddenly Moyna, glancing at her hand, +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, where’s your beautiful ring?” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell started up in bed, staring aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Gussie has got it! He wanted to have another look at it, and has +forgotten to give it back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awkward! Brinsley, when he meets you at breakfast, will surely +notice that it isn’t on your hand,” Moyna said. “You’ll have to get it +back—and to-night. You must, my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, sitting up in her bed, gazed around her, her blue eyes +terror-stricken at her friend’s words. In an instant she was out of +bed. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I must! Of course I must! Brin’s birthday-present to me! Oh!” And +she gasped, clutching her throat for air. “Oh, what a fool I was to +let Gussie have it! How absurd of him to keep it! What can I possibly +do?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, glancing at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Look! It’s late—past two o’clock! Where is he? How can I get it from +him?” she asked distractedly and half-dazed. +</p> + +<p> +“He gave us the number of his room—231. Don’t you remember? It’s on +the second floor, evidently.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Mr. Routh! He’s home by this time, no doubt. He could go and get +it,” Sibell suggested, standing beside the toilet-table and staring +vacantly into the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“For heaven’s sake, no! The old man might blurt it out in fun, and +Brinsley might know that Mr. Gretton is here. Don’t be a fool! Put on +your dressing-gown, and go down to Mr. Gretton’s room and get your +ring. There’s nobody about, and, besides, he’s forgotten all about it, +no doubt, and will hand it out to you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite sure there’s nobody about?” asked the girl, and, to +reassure her, her friend opened the door cautiously and, looking up +and down the long corridor, said: +</p> + +<p> +“No, nobody! Not a soul. Go down, and you’ll easily find the room and +get the ring. Then all will be well in the morning, and your fiancé +need not know anything. Why should he, after all?” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell, instead of taking her kimono, slipped her feet into her little +pink slippers and put on her long fur travelling-coat over her +nightie, and in that attire and her boudoir cap, crept out of her room +and, slipping down the broad flight of red-carpeted stairs in the +silence of the night, stole quietly along the corridor until she found +Gretton’s room. +</p> + +<p> +Very softly she tapped upon the door. At first there was no response, +but on tapping rather more loudly, she heard a movement within, and +next moment the door was opened by Gussie, in blue-striped pyjamas. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens! Sibell! What’s the matter?” he asked. “Come inside. +Somebody may see you!” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment the girl was in his room, and they stood facing each other +with the door closed. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’ve come for my ring,” she managed to gasp. “Do give it back to +me at once. I must fly, for Moyna is waiting for me.” +</p> + +<p> +The man instantly saw by her unusual expression that the cocktails and +champagne she had drunk had muddled her brain, and at once sought to +take advantage of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’ll give you back the ring, my dear girl. But wouldn’t you +trust me with it till the morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Brinsley will be here before you are up. He’s coming to +breakfast. So he would certainly notice that I was not wearing it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could have made an excuse that you’d left it in your room,” +Gretton said with a smile, for in her pretty cap and with her +nightdress showing under her fur coat she looked extremely bewitching. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I—I was afraid. Do give it to me at once, and let me go,” she +implored him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I will,” he said, crossing the room to where his evening +clothes were folded upon a chair, and from the waistcoat pocket he +took the handsome ring. +</p> + +<p> +Then, walking back to the door, he laughed, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give it to you, my dear Sibell, but only on one condition—that +you give me a kiss for its return.” And he placed his hand upon her +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant she shook him off, and, drawing herself up, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I most certainly refuse! I’ve never kissed you, and I never will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That’s the worst of it,” he sighed with a touch of sarcasm. +“Otway has all your caresses nowadays!” +</p> + +<p> +“You are jealous of him, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I am,” the man said frankly. “You know how deeply I love you, +Sibell. At least, if you don’t, your aunt does. She has no use for +that young doctor, I tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl faced him, her eyes flashing. +</p> + +<p> +“And what do my affairs concern my aunt, or even you, I ask?” she +cried. “You’ve told me your worn-out old story before—how you love me +and all that. But I’ve never believed you. Why, my dear man, you +pretend to love a dozen girls at the same time. What woman could ever +trust a man with your reputation?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are extremely polite, I must say,” was his angry response. +</p> + +<p> +“I merely tell you to keep your hands off me, and that I desire none +of your detestable love-making.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why are you so intent on marrying this doctor fellow, Sibell?” he +asked in a more kindly voice. “Do you really think you are suited to +each other? You love life and gaiety, while he is a steady, plodding, +studious fellow, who must sooner or later bore you stiff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t argue!” she said. “Just give me back my ring and let me go. +What will Moyna think if I’m down here so long?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think!” he laughed. “Why, nothing! Girls don’t think nowadays; they +just act as their will directs them. It is Victorian to think.” +</p> + +<p> +“But do let me get back, I beg of you, Gussie,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Gussie!” he echoed in gratification. “I like to hear you call me by +that name. You’ve always been so studiously formal and called me Mr. +Gretton. Do let me have a kiss—just one—in return for your ring.” +</p> + +<p> +“I refuse! It isn’t fair of you to make such a condition when you know +so well the whole circumstances of my engagement,” protested the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“But you look so sweet to-night that I can’t resist, even at the risk +of incurring your anger,” he said, and suddenly, ere she was aware of +it, he had gripped her and was raining hot kisses upon her +unresponsive lips. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, with a supreme effort, she struck him a blow full in the +face, which caused him to release his hold, and then, like a tigress, +she fought, until at last, breathless and overcome, she sank +half-fainting into an arm-chair. +</p> + +<p> +He held a glass of water to her dry lips as she lay back inert, her +boudoir cap awry, her eyes half closed, dazed and semi-conscious. +</p> + +<p> +A few moments later she felt him take her hand and gently slip the +ring upon her finger. +</p> + +<p> +Then she heard his voice, sounding as though afar off. +</p> + +<p> +“Sibell,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m a brute! Forgive me! Do—I +beg of you! I—I lost my head. I—I didn’t know what I was doing! I’m +a damned blackguard to have kissed you against your will. I apologize. +Tell me that you will forgive me and—forget to-night,” he begged of +her, on his knees in supplication. +</p> + +<p> +For some time she remained silent, then slowly her eyes became fixed +upon his countenance in a strange, stony stare. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no right to have treated me so!” she declared in a hard, +bitter tone. “I came here to you in desperation to get my ring, +because I feared that my fiancé might miss it. What would he have +said had he discovered it in your possession?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true,” said the man. “What indeed would Otway say if he ever +knew that you had been here for over half-an-hour!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood rigid. Then she cried: +</p> + +<p> +“God! I never thought of that! Let me go, you swine! Let me get back +at once—at this moment, before anyone sees me.” Then, turning to him +suddenly, she put her arms out, and said breathlessly: “If you want my +forgiveness, Gussie—let me go. Peep outside and see that no one is in +the corridor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, child! There’s nobody about at this hour—only the +night-watchman, who carries his tell-tale clock around at every hour, +which registers his tour of the hotel.” Then, as he raised her slim +hand and kissed it with studied courtesy, he asked: “Am I forgiven? +Say, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will be if you let me go. Look at the time. What will Moyna +think?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll think nothing if she’s the sport I take her to be,” he +replied, with a man’s usual selfish disregard for the woman he may so +easily compromise. +</p> + +<p> +Without a sound he advanced to the door, drew back the bolt, and +peeped out. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody!” he whispered. “Good night, my dear Sibell! When we meet +again let us both forget this meeting, I beg of you.” +</p> + +<p> +Next instant she was in the corridor, dishevelled, for in her +excitement she had not looked at herself in the glass. Over the thick +carpet she passed silently in her slippers until, just as she came to +the stairs, two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows. +</p> + +<p> +One man was a porter in uniform, and the other she recognized in a +flash. +</p> + +<p> +She heard the words, hard and hoarse: +</p> + +<p> +“Sibell! Now that I have watched I know it is true! I thought they +lied to me, but now I know that you do not belong to me—but to that +swine!” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was Brinsley Otway! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch27"> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">BY WIRELESS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">A month</span> had gone by—for Sibell a month of dark anxiety, shattered +hopes, a terrible blank despair, which had shattered her nerves, poor +child. +</p> + +<p> +Constant appeals made to Brinsley had exacted nought, for he had +refused to see her; all her explanatory letters had been returned +unopened, which added to her despondency. A dozen times she had been +to Golder’s Green, but he had always been “out”; frantic telegrams had +had no effect in inducing him to grant her even a moment’s interview. +He had cut her out of his life. +</p> + +<p> +Moyna Lascelles, sniggering and artificial after expressions of +regret, had gone to Yorkshire on a visit to a mythical cousin, while +Gussie Gretton, to whom Sibell wrote telling him of the tragic +<i>dénouement</i> of the incident of the ring, had come quickly to her +side, apologizing most deeply, and trying to console her. +</p> + +<p> +Old Gordon Routh, in whom his ward was compelled to confide, extended +to her his deepest sympathy, and made pretence of writing himself +strongly to Otway. +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s lover, who had been so devoted, remained obdurate. He had +heeded that secret warning sent to him anonymously by one of Etta’s +friends. He had watched the girl enter Gretton’s room, and, with the +hotel valet, had stood concealed outside for over half-an-hour, when +he had caught her creeping back in her nightdress. What further proof +of her infidelity was wanted? He had watched with his own eyes, and, +consumed by most intense hatred for his rival, he would listen to no +extenuating circumstance or excuse. +</p> + +<p> +Little did the poor fellow know of the deep and dastardly conspiracy +on the part of Etta Wyndcliffe and the man Ashe, or that long ago +Gussie Gretton had made the ex-decoy of trans-Atlantic card sharpers a +firm offer of five thousand or more on the day he married Sibell. +</p> + +<p> +The girl had come into money, but that made the sensuous +man-about-town all the more keen, and he had increased his commission. +Therefore it was not surprising that old Routh, suspecting the truth +of the secret arrangement with Etta, welcomed him to Cookham in order +that he should make pretence of sympathy and perhaps bring off the +coup. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell hated the fellow the more she saw of him. Her dire position was +entirely due to him. One afternoon, as he sat in the little cottage +drawing-room, she told him so. Coward that he was, he at once placed +the onus upon her, declaring that it was her fault alone that she had +gone to his room at that hour, when she might have so easily waited +till the morning. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he asked suddenly, “how long have you known that gay +young friend of yours, Moyna?” +</p> + +<p> +“Marigold Ibbetson, an old schoolfellow of mine at Cheltenham, +introduced her to me at Cannes. She was with a friend of +Brinsley’s—an air-pilot named Cranston.” +</p> + +<p> +The tall man, who sat back in the easy-chair with his long legs +crossed before the fire, grunted. A strange thought had arisen in his +mind. He had never told Sibell the truth, that on the day he had met +her at the Cecil he had received a mysterious telegram signed +“Richard,” telling him that if he stayed at the hotel in question that +night he would meet Sibell and a girl friend who were both at a loose +end. +</p> + +<p> +Upon that message he had acted. He was now wondering who his friend +“Richard” might be. He knew many men by that name, and one day he +would no doubt discover the identity of the giver of such welcome +news. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you ask about Moyna?” inquired the girl, noticing that he +seemed very preoccupied. +</p> + +<p> +Then, of a sudden, and for the first time, those words of the masked +cavalier at Gurnigel, who had uttered that strange warning, recurred +to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he replied. “I merely wondered whether you knew her very +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was all a sinister plot!” cried Sibell next moment, starting to +her feet wildly and pushing back her fair hair. “I see it all, now!—a +plot to part Brinsley from me! I was warned—and yet, I never heeded +it. I’ve been an absolute fool!” +</p> + +<p> +“A plot, my dear Sibell! How could it be?” he asked in surprise, also +springing to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“It was—my God, it was! I was ignorant, but my enemies took advantage +of my innocence, and have brought all this to me! That man who warned +me,” she added. “Oh, if I only could know who he is!” And she wrung +her hands in desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“What man? Dear child, do tell me. Even if you hate me, confide in me. +We’ve been friends for a good many years, haven’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“A—a man who warned me of the plot. And I’ve been blind to it—blind +until this moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at least tell me how you received the warning,” Gretton begged +of her. +</p> + +<p> +She stood against a chair, swaying to and fro, for at that moment she +had become half hysterical, and in a few brief sentences related to +him what had happened at the gay masked ball at the winter sports, and +the sudden disappearance of her gallant cavalier. +</p> + +<p> +Gretton questioned her closely, but she knew nothing more than what +has already been related in these pages. +</p> + +<p> +“But if there was a plot, how could that stranger possibly know?” +queried Gretton reflectively. “And, further, why should there be any +plot? If you fell in love with young Otway, that is surely your own +affair, and his. I admit, my dearest Sibell, that for a long time I’ve +been very fond of you, and I am still, but surely you don’t suspect me +of having any hand in any plot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t think! I can’t act—now that I have lost Brin!” cried the +white-faced girl in despair. “I have come into an inheritance which is +accursed. Yes, trebly accursed! Of that I am now confident!” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there not a curse placed upon the Guest House—a curse of many +years ago, probably in the days of Cardinal Wolsey? I am doomed to +live there, and my life wrecked! I hate the very name of the place +after all the terrible things that have happened there. And yet—yet, +if I do not live in that awful place, I lose my inheritance!” +</p> + +<p> +Augustus Gretton, his countenance heavy and thoughtful, crossed the +room and looked gloomily out upon the small garden, with its early +spring flowers discernible in the dusk, and the grey chill river +beyond. +</p> + +<p> +He was bewildered, perhaps for the first time in his hectic life. He +was indeed quiet, seeing light through the cloud of mystery, for he +recollected that Satanic bargain he had made with Sibell’s aunt, the +dance fiend who was a peeress, the bargain which had been raised to +twenty thousand pounds if he married her. He had offered a price for +the girl’s body, as an Arab sheik would offer, because he was wealthy, +and his money could buy all that he desired in the wealth-eager world +of London, wherein religion is to-day surely a mockery, and morals a +ridiculous farce with the curtains drawn down. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I can’t bear you any more, Gussie—please forgive me,” the frantic +girl said, suddenly putting her hands upon his shoulder. “Do go. I beg +of you. If you were a girl you’d know. You are my friend, so you’ll go +and leave me to think. My God! I’d rather drown myself in the river +down there beyond the lawn than carry on any further. I—I’m +desperate! Don’t you see? We were both of us fools, Gussie—idiotic +fools. But I mean to discover who engineered us both into this plight +of which that mysterious man, the cavalier, warned me, a thousand +miles away,” she added determinedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will really forgive me?” said the man, with a true +expression of sympathy. “Do regard me, Sibell, not as the horrible hog +you think me. I’m sorry, awfully sorry that I kissed you in my room, +but—but really you were so sweet and charming that you were +irresistible. And, after all, you never kissed me—you never have.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can I say?” replied the distracted girl, who stood before him in +her smart golfing kit. +</p> + +<p> +“Only say, Sibell, that you forgive me, and let’s cry quits,” the man +said earnestly in a low, persuasive voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Quits! And then?” asked the girl, for she was of strong and +determined will, a fact that her aunt, Etta Wyndcliffe, the seller of +souls, had never realized. The woman, adventuress as she was, had +merely regarded her as a very pretty, fair-haired débutante, to be +sold in the marriage market to the highest bidder, with of course big +profit to herself, just as she had sold others, and as she had decided +with the old hunchback guardian, Routh, beside that calm sea upon +those Belgian dunes in the previous summer. +</p> + +<p> +That same afternoon, as Sibell, in the fast-falling dusk, sat with the +rich, thick-lipped sensualist who coveted her, a strange, tragic scene +was in progress in mid-Atlantic, where in the aftermath of a sudden +storm the sea ran high, causing the great liner on its way from +Southampton to New York to roll heavily. +</p> + +<p> +The captain, a thick-set, round-faced, cheery man, was having his tea +alone in his cabin, as was his wont, when the ship’s doctor suddenly +entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a cup, Dayne?” asked the well-known Atlantic commander. “We’re +in for another spell, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor, a sharp-featured, narrow-faced, black-moustached man, who +had been on the <i>Ciceronic</i> for five years, sank into the other +chintz-covered chair set before the fire and, with a word of thanks, +said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there’s to be a death on board.” +</p> + +<p> +“A death! That’s unfortunate. A passenger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. A Mr. Rupert Kimball, United States subject of St. Louis. +He was quite well on the first day out. Has a lady friend on board—a +Mrs. Wilcox. Took ill last night with heart, and I’m afraid he won’t +last very long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any relatives to wireless to?” asked the captain sharply, pouring out +the doctor’s tea. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe the lady is sending a message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will he last till we get over?” asked the captain, who, like all +seafaring men, hated a death on the voyage. He had a caul on board in +secret, as all men do who go down to the sea in ships. The secret caul +is supposed to give sailors immunity from disaster, even though a +corpse be carried to port. Yet they never speak about it. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. The poor chap seems to be in the last stage of angina, +and of course in such condition one can never tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bad luck, doc,” said the captain, filling his big briar pipe, for at +that hour he always indulged in a smoke privately. It was the one hour +of the whole long day which he held sacred to himself, sacred from +passengers, worries, or official complaints. In that daily tea-hour he +became master of himself, as well as of the great thirty-thousand +tonner which carried the mails so regularly between Southampton and +New York. That was his one hour’s leisure in the day’s run. +</p> + +<p> +Both he and the doctor were near neighbors and lived with their wives +in Southampton, and naturally began to chat about home affairs, when +of a sudden there came a knock at the cabin door, and the head purser +entered, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, sir. May I speak a moment with you, doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +Dayne rose instantly, swallowed the tea the captain had poured out, +and walked unsteadily outside, for the ship was rolling heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid that gentleman, Mr. Kimball, is very bad,” said the man in +uniform with a strong American accent. “The lady has just sent for +you. She says he’s dying!” +</p> + +<p> +The ship’s doctor, hurrying along the deck, swiftly descended to the +sick man’s stateroom, where he found the dark-eyed, well-dressed woman +standing beside her sick friend’s bed, as she had done for the past +forty hours. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe poor Rupert is dead!” she whispered, her face blanched and +staring. “A few moments ago he raised himself with a great effort and +insisted upon kissing me. Then fell back—and I’m afraid he’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +And, unable to control herself, she burst into a torrent of tears. +</p> + +<p> +It did not take Dr. Dayne long to ascertain the truth. Rupert Kimball +was dead. He had succumbed to heart disease! +</p> + +<p> +Tenderly, after making certain that life no longer existed, he drew +the sheet across the dead man’s face, and then led the deceased’s +friend silently from that little white enamelled stateroom, with its +narrow brass bed. +</p> + +<p> +The woman staggered away, but he, turning the other way, did not +observe that the look on her face was more of horror than of distress. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later the wireless operator tapped out a message to an +address at St. Louis in the United States, announcing the sudden death +of the passenger, but the truth was kept from everyone on board at the +captain’s request to Mrs. Wilcox, therefore dinner and dancing +proceeded, with the usual nightly gaiety, as it ever does on a +trans-Atlantic liner. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe dared not venture into the saloon, but commanded her +meal to be brought to her in her cabin, where alone she sat, her mouth +half-open, staring at her closed porthole, in front of which that +little silken curtain of pale-green swayed with the ship’s roll. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder! I wonder!” she whispered to herself in a low voice, scarce +above a whisper. She had not dressed for dinner, and passed the +tempting dishes untouched. The man who had come between herself and +fortune lay dead in the stateroom above. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Ashe was anxiously awaiting news. She knew he was waiting for +the result of their clever scheme, the removal of their enemy by means +which should leave no trace. +</p> + +<p> +She pretended to eat, and then at last, after the sweets were served, +she rose and placed both hands into her hair in desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” she cried aloud hoarsely. “I must arouse no suspicion. I must +remain calm! I must play my part as his friend—yes, play it to the +end.” +</p> + +<p> +So, putting on her coat, she left her cabin and ascended to the +wireless office, where the young operator sat with the telephones upon +his ears. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, and, removing one of the ’phones from his ear, heard her +say in a low, tremulous voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I want to send a very urgent message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, madam,” replied the polite young Marconi operator in uniform, +indicating the desk and pad of forms. +</p> + +<p> +Upon one she wrote a message which she addressed to: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Thomas, Regent Palace Hotel, London. Poor Rupert has died suddenly +from heart disease. Am desolate. Inform mother. Have wired St. +Louis.—Wilcox.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +And within a few minutes the operator, with his hand upon his key, +tapped out the anxiously awaited news to Albert Ashe, who was +purposely at the hotel in question under the name of Sidney Thomas. +</p> + +<p> +The sinister plot of the Guest House and its weird influence was +perhaps unequalled in the annals of the world’s crimes. +</p> + +<p> +Only Etta and her accomplice knew. The truth was on the day before she +and Rupert Kimball sailed, she had, still posing as Mrs. Wilcox, hired +a car from a garage and driven her unwanted friend down to Hampton +Court, taking him, out of curiosity, to the Guest House, about which +there had been so much gossip. +</p> + +<p> +Previously she had related to him the strange stories, and gave him to +read the article in the <i>Richmond and Twickenham Times</i>. It had +intrigued him; hence their visit there. +</p> + +<p> +They passed through the house by permission of the foreman of the +decorators, and his only comment was: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it seems a very charming old house for any newly-married couple +to live in. That blue and grey scheme in the drawing-room is really +very artistic. An old house like this would be snapped up at a very +huge price in America, wouldn’t it? I’m glad to have seen it.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, after remaining there half an hour, during which time they +visited all the rooms, they re-entered the hired car and drove back by +way of Kew and Hammersmith to London. +</p> + +<p> +Poor fellow! Rupert Kimball, whatever might have been his past, never +in all his innocence dreamed of the poison shadows that had fallen +upon him—that mysterious evil which only five days later resulted in +his death from natural causes. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch28"> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A DEADLOCK</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Lady Wyndcliffe</span> had returned from America and was staying for two +days at the Myrtles. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell had been compelled to describe to her aunt that unfortunate +incident at the hotel in London, and how she had suddenly become +parted from Brinsley. Etta became furious, and declared that the sole +blame should be taken by Gretton. +</p> + +<p> +“Gussie always was an ass! He ought to have known better,” cried the +well-preserved woman, who, after a week in New York, where her friend +had been buried, had hastened back to London, travelling, of course, +in the name of Mrs. Wilcox. “I sympathize with you, my dear Sibell,” +she went on. “Can’t you make it up with Brinsley?” she asked, puffing +at her eternal cigarette, as they sat in the little drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“He will not reply to any of my letters, nor will he consent to see +me,” said the girl despondently. “He has a locum now at Golder’s +Green, and has gone back to his mother’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” grunted the adventuress who bore such an honorable name. “Well, +it’s rather natural, after all, isn’t it? No man would stand seeing +with his own eyes his fiancée in <i>déshabille</i> creeping out of a +man’s bedroom at three o’clock in the morning, would he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not. But he won’t hear the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“The truth, my dear Sibell, is pathetic. Owing to your own foolish +action in going down to Gussie’s room at that hour, you’ve brought all +this upon yourself. As far as I can see, your engagement has been +entirely broken off, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has, no doubt,” said Sibell tearfully. “What am I to do, auntie? +Do advise me.” +</p> + +<p> +The dark-haired woman remained silent for a few moments in order to +impress her niece. Then, looking her straight in the face very +earnestly, said: +</p> + +<p> +“There is only one thing to do, my dear. And I strongly advise it. +Gussie is devoted to you—you know that well. He is frantic about you, +and has written three letters to me. He loves you quite as well as +Otway ever did. You’ve lost Otway—accept Gussie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” she cried, stamping her little foot in desperation. “I’ll +never marry him!” +</p> + +<p> +“But just pause for a moment. Don’t get into a temper, dear, because I +want to give you sound advice. Gussie is very rich, and, with your own +fortune, think what you both could do! In a moment you would figure in +Society and move in the best circles, and, further,” she added, again +pausing and remembering the clause of the will by which part of Henry +Dare’s fortune would revert to Gordon Routh, “have you never thought +that if you cared you need not live in that accursed Guest House? If +you liked to marry Gussie you could forego this evil inheritance left +you by your Uncle Henry.” +</p> + +<p> +The point had never occurred to her, and, admitting it, she sat for a +few minutes very calm and thoughtful. +</p> + +<p> +“But I could never marry Mr. Gretton, auntie—never!” she declared at +last. “I don’t love him—especially after that night at the Cecil!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then all I can say is that you’re a silly little fool,” declared Lady +Wyndcliffe. “I’ve met so many of your romantic temperament—girls I’ve +taken round Society. But very soon romance gets knocked out of them by +their daily disillusions, and they end by making marriages of +convenience, and money makes up for what men call love.” +</p> + +<p> +“You sneer at love, auntie,” cried the girl reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I don’t, dear,” the woman replied. “I only say that the girl +who marries for love nowadays suffers a silly martyrdom of jealousy, +for in these hectic days a man is seldom, if ever, true to a woman, +either before marriage or after.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even though you have had wide experience, auntie, I refuse to believe +it to be the general rule.” Then of a sudden, she remarked: “It’s a +lovely afternoon. I’m going to take ‘Tiz-oh’ for a walk,” indicating +her sweet little Pekingese, who, hearing his name, rose, stretched +himself, and came waddling towards her. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later the girl went forth into the glorious spring +afternoon with her pet at her heels. +</p> + +<p> +Already the beautiful Thames valley was clothed in its freshest green, +the orchards were white with blossom, the birds in full song, and the +sky cloudless as she swung along, a smart, well-set-up figure in her +beige jumper-suit and close-fitting black hat. +</p> + +<p> +From her usually bright, open countenance all the sunshine of life had +died out. Pale, hollow-eyed, and despairing, her face gave a true +index to her perplexed state of mind. +</p> + +<p> +As she strode along blindly, she was reflecting upon her aunt’s +suggestion that, Brinsley having forsaken her, she should at once +accept Augustus Gretton’s offer, and take her place in Society with +the smart house in Upper Brook Street which was Gussie’s. +</p> + +<p> +As Etta had pointed out, with her artful insidiousness, Gussie was +well-known in London, and already the Conservatives had tried three +times—on account of his ability to contribute to the Party funds—to +induce him to put up for a borough constituency. The Borough of +Guildford was suggested, and after that Bournemouth, and then West +Hartlepool. But man-about-town that he was, and gossiper at his club, +with his perfect English—for indeed no better English is spoken than +in a West End club—political bickering had never appealed to him. +</p> + +<p> +As she swung along the long, damp road, stick in hand and her pet +Pekingese beside her, she reflected deeply upon her position. +</p> + +<p> +Brinsley, to whom she was devoted, whose every word had been her law, +whose lips she had met in those hot, fevered caresses, whose hugs had +thrilled her with a sensation that had become her delirium of delight, +had now cast her aside as worthless, and had gone away. +</p> + +<p> +She had now to decide whether to accept her uncle’s fortune and live +alone in that ancient house of evil at Hampton Court, or live with +Gretton as her husband, a mockery of life of up-to-date gaiety—a +hollow sham such as many a girl might enjoy. +</p> + +<p> +Which should she choose? As she went along that dull, muddy road in +her thick golfing brogues and swinging her ash stick, she thought it +all over. +</p> + +<p> +Now and then “Tiz-oh” her Peke lagged behind, and she would whistle +him to come to heel. In her walk she became self-absorbed. Her aunt +had put before her the most difficult of all the problems in her young +life. +</p> + +<p> +She had passed the Ferry Hotel, that riverside resort so popular in +summer, with its pretty lawn and landing-stage, which was usually so +gay with its punts and riverside folk, yet on this early spring +afternoon was deserted and forlorn. +</p> + +<p> +At the door stood a youngish, clean-shaven man in a dark blue +rain-coat, erect and smart, with something of the appearance of a +ship’s officer. His grey felt hat was set at an angle, and as she +passed, he was so entirely engaged in lighting his cigarette in the +wind that he scarcely looked up at her. The glance was only a +momentary one, but sufficient to cause him to become the more intent +upon lighting his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell, in her distracted state, did not give the young fellow another +glance, but continued down the road. He was no doubt one of the many +Thames lovers who, year in and year out, stay at the Ferry. +</p> + +<p> +The young man turned back into the hotel, and, on second thoughts, +entered the coffee-room and ordered his tea. Then he took up an old +illustrated paper and began to read. +</p> + +<p> +Just as the neat waitress brought in the tray, heavy footsteps were +heard descending the stairs, and into the room came a man who had been +staying there for the past three days, taking long walks about the +country-side, a hale and hearty old gentleman named Mr. Herbert Smee, +who came from Northampton, and was a retired leather merchant. +</p> + +<p> +“Nice afternoon, sir!” cheerily exclaimed the younger man, whose name +was Gleeson, and who was a commercial traveller. “I was just going for +a stroll, but thought I’d first have my tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” replied the rather short old man. “May I come out with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” was the younger man’s reply, for Mr. Smee had, during the +two days they had been fellow-guests there, struck him as an extremely +intelligent and well-informed old fellow, possessed of a vast amount +of learning. His business, he understood, had taken him abroad a great +deal, especially to the East and to the centres of the trade in hides. +</p> + +<p> +After tea they strolled out together, when, in about half an hour, +they met Sibell with her dog returning. As she passed, the younger man +gave her an inquiring glance, but at the same time he kept a watchful +eye upon his companion’s grey face. The elder man, though he pretended +not to notice her, had turned somewhat pale, and then halted for a +moment in pretence of searching his pockets for his pipe, but in +reality in order to recover himself from that unexpected meeting, +which young Gleeson had so cleverly engineered. +</p> + +<p> +Presently they returned to the pleasant little village, passing beyond +their hotel, and continued on for a further quarter of an hour, when, +from the gate of the Myrtles, there emerged Sibell, accompanied by her +aunt, who wore a handsome fur coat, both women walking in their +direction. +</p> + +<p> +The men were discussing a film which both had seen in London, when +Gleeson suddenly interrupted the other by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes a very handsome woman. Don’t you think so? I wonder who +she is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows?” grunted the old man, whose face clouded instantly, and +his watchful companion was intrigued to notice his disguised anxiety +to avoid her. +</p> + +<p> +After another twenty minutes or so they returned to the Ferry, where, +in the hour before dinner, they sat smoking and gossiping. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile at the Myrtles Etta Wyndcliffe, who had suddenly remembered +an engagement in London, was busily packing in order to leave directly +after dinner. +</p> + +<p> +The presence at Cookham of that little old fellow and his companion +had alarmed her. +</p> + +<p> +She had recognized the stranger staying at the Ferry as Albert Ashe’s +mysterious friend, a Mr. Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +What was he doing at Cookham? That was the point which puzzled her. +And who was the smart, alert man who appeared to be his bosom friend? +</p> + +<p> +Before ten o’clock that night she was at Paddington, and, having taken +a room at the Great Western Hotel in the name of Mrs. Wilcox, she at +once drove to Ashe’s rooms in St. James’s. +</p> + +<p> +Having previously telephoned from her room in the hotel, she found the +man anxiously awaiting her. +</p> + +<p> +In a few quick, breathless sentences she told him of her encounter, +while he stood aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil is he doing down there? Why?” he cried, surprised. +“And who can his companion be? Suppose Sibell has recognized him?” +</p> + +<p> +“She hasn’t. They’ve never met. Unless she remembers him at Cannes.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! They must never meet, eh? We had one damned narrow escape +with the dear, departed Rupert. We don’t want to risk a second.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been persuading Sibell to marry Gussie,” said the woman, casting +off her furs wearily. “She’s an obdurate little simpleton, for any +other girl but her would jump at the chance, thereby giving us all the +commission we want and making everybody happy, even doddering old +Gordon himself. But life is so full of disappointments, annoyances, +and—well, narrow escapes, eh? my dear Albert!” +</p> + +<p> +“And how does the girl take it?” asked the ex-butler, as he helped +himself to a drink from the decanter on the sideboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Resentful at first, but, after due reflection, she’s rather inclined +to change her views. We must not allow her to make it up with Otway at +all costs,” the woman added. +</p> + +<p> +“That she’ll never do. I’ve made friends with the doctor who is +looking after his practice, a fellow named Lancaster, and you bet I +gave the young lady a great character for honesty. I saw that my words +sank in, and I know he’ll let out what he has learnt from a reliable +source—myself. I urged him to keep the secret, but he’s a blithering +young idiot, and I know he’ll tell Otway at the first opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well, Albert. But things are rapidly coming to a +crisis. Where do we really stand?” +</p> + +<p> +“We stand in with Gordon, don’t we?—not with old Pearson, surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know so much about that. He might very easily be in the cart +with all three of us if we’re not very careful, you know! It’s a +desperate game we are now playing!” +</p> + +<p> +“There! You’ve got the wind up again—you silly fool!” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that? I didn’t have it on that terrible voyage to New +York! I played the game—That you must admit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then play it again,” urged the man, with a weird grin. “We’ve gone so +far, and we can’t turn back now. Sibell must marry Gussie Gretton—she +has to—or, by heaven, we shall both be up at the Old Bailey. So the +future is up to you. Up to you! You hear that?” he cried in a hard, +decisive voice. +</p> + +<p> +The woman placed her hands over her ears to shut out his fierce and +unholy demands. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch29"> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">FURTHER MYSTERY</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Next</span> morning, readers of the <i>Daily Express</i> were much intrigued by +a paragraph below a heavy head-line, “The House of Mystery,” which +appeared in that journal. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Ashe’s habit was to have the paper brought by the man with his +early tea, and as he lazily scanned it, his eye caught the heading. He +read it through, then, springing suddenly from his bed, he crossed to +the telephone near the door and rang up Mrs. Wilcox at the Great +Western Hotel. +</p> + +<p> +In a few moments he was put through to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Etta! Get the <i>Daily Express</i> and read what’s there. Have +your breakfast first, and then come over here to me,” he said +guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s in the paper? Anything wrong?” asked the woman in quick +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you on the ’phone. Just get the paper and read it. See +you later.” And he rang off. His full face was pale and his hands +trembling, for he was evidently terrified at what he had read. +</p> + +<p> +He sat upon the side of his bed in his pyjamas and reread as follows. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“For some months great curiosity and much controversy have been evoked +by the reopening of an ancient mansion, the Guest House, at Hampton +Court—so called because it was used by Cardinal Wolsey to house his +guests when, with his boundless hospitality, they overflowed from +Hampton-Court Palace. It’s romantic history, and the reason its late +owner closed it years ago, has already been told in the <i>Daily +Express</i>, but some entirely inexplicable occurrences have lately +happened there from time to time which have led the local residents to +regard it as a House of Evil. +</p> + +<p> +“After a recent auction sale, in which the whole antique contents were +cleared at enormous prices, a firm of decorators—Messrs. Hudson & +Brown, of Hammersmith—were given orders to entirely renovate and +redecorate the place, so that it might be refurnished and rendered fit +for the new proprietress—a young lady who benefited under the +will—to take up her residence there. Following the reopening of the +place, after being closed for over thirty years, there were curious +circumstances. Several men were unaccountably taken ill, and, after a +critical period, recovered, while in one case, at least, a victim of +the evil influence, a caretaker and ex-police-constable named Farmer, +died mysteriously—all being affected by some fatal disease of the +heart. +</p> + +<p> +“The latest mystery connected with these premises, upon which a +sinister influence appears to rest, occurred at four o’clock yesterday +afternoon, when, the redecoration of the premises being near +completion, a French-polisher named Burton, living at the Mall, +Hammersmith, while at his work upon the main staircase, suddenly +collapsed, and within five minutes expired. +</p> + +<p> +“The police were at once notified, and the body was, in due course, +removed to the mortuary, where an inquest will be held.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“Damn it! What next!” ejaculated Ashe, and then with hard, serious +face he shaved and dressed, ready to meet the woman to whom he had +posed as servant at West Halkin Street. +</p> + +<p> +An hour later she stood in his room. +</p> + +<p> +“Well? You’ve seen it, eh?” he exclaimed. “The poor devil died, and +now there’ll be yet another inquiry! Suppose Sibell goes there and she +gets affected! What about her marriage, and what about us? She has to +be protected: you’ll admit that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, my dear Albert,” replied the handsome woman standing at +the window and looking aimlessly down upon the dull, narrow West End +thoroughfare. “What I’m working for is the amalgamation of the two +fortunes. If we can do that, we can screw up Gussie to almost any +figure we like. Sibell must not be frightened into giving up her +inheritance, as she very well may be. If so, Gordon Routh will reap +all the benefit of our constant labors. And we can’t afford that, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see in the same paper that Wyndcliffe is coming home on the +<i>Homeric</i>,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet. I cabled to him yesterday saying that I was bored with +London, and would join him next month, and go across to California +with him. I’m getting him to buy an orange ranch there to keep him +employed. So his return here is only paper talk. The further he is out +of the way the better. Don’t you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do, my dear girl. This occurrence last night is, however, +most unfortunate, as it brings another official inquiry, and the more +the public curiosity is aroused, the more insecure our position. The +girl’s a damned little fool not to marry Gussie straight away and cut +that young bug-hunter out of it. She must—she must!” he cried +vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Albert,” declared the woman, “I agree that she must, for the +sake of all of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what do you suspect to be the true secret of the Guest House? I +ask you that,” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Albert, I tell you quite frankly that I’m just as much in the +dark as you are. It’s horrible—demoniac, one might say.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t, for heaven’s sake, let us take any risks ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t, because I’m a woman,” she said. “You may—as a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“God help me, I hope not. But I tell you that, after reading this +report, I’m absolutely afraid to enter the place,” Ashe said. +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of other people are, too. This affair of the man Burton is +absolutely amazing! Yet, if no woman has been affected, why should not +Sibell be immune? That’s a problem.” +</p> + +<p> +“But has it never occurred to you that the girl Forrester, whom Henry +Dare was about to marry years ago, was taken ill there, and died +mysteriously?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not taken ill actually in the house,” Lady Wyndcliffe retorted. +“According to what we know, she was walking in Bushey Park—up the +chestnut avenue one spring morning, to be exact—and suddenly she felt +faint, stumbled, and fell, and was carried to the Guest House to die. +Again”—and she lowered her voice to a whisper, and said—“remember +that Rupert did not feel any ill-effects of his visit to the place +until at sea six days later. How can anybody account for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody can, my dear Etta, and nobody ever will, if we still remain +astute and wary,” said the big, athletic man. “Your plan, now that +Rupert doesn’t trouble us any more, is to get Sibell to marry Gretton. +I’m broke to the world—and so are you, I expect. I’ve about fifty +quid between myself and a Rowton House, that’s all. The landlord of +this place will never be paid, I can assure you”; and he chuckled +hoarsely to himself. “Men who pay landlords are fools—unless they +live in hotels. Then the weekly bill on one’s dressing-table has to be +settled, aye or nay.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are we to do, Albert?” the woman asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait and see what the coroner’s jury have to say; and let’s hope that +Sibell doesn’t see the case in the papers. If so, she’ll be more +scared than ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it will induce her to throw up the inheritance and fall into +Gussie’s ready embraces. I only hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens! So do I,” laughed the man. “We must wait, my dear girl, and +that’s all. But we must also find out from the old man first why he is +at the Ferry at Cookham, and, secondly, who is the friend who walks +with him there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a bit suspicious of that young fellow,” declared the woman. “And +yet the old man is the most clever and elusive person I’ve ever +met—and I’ve met a few men in my time. You know what I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +After that Ashe nodded, and his visitor, swallowing a liqueur brandy +which he poured out for her, wished him a merry adieu, and left him. +</p> + +<p> +The report of the mysterious death of the workman Burton was seen by +Gordon Routh, who at once showed it to his ward, hoping thereby, as +Etta hoped, that it would bring her to a decision to forgo her evil +inheritance and accept Gussie. +</p> + +<p> +The girl read the account and shuddered. The Guest House was, indeed, +a house of death, and hers was only a fatal inheritance. +</p> + +<p> +Was she to share the same fate as Henry Dare’s fiancée in the +Victorian days? She reflected that the innocent girl who, like +herself, was in a few days to be a bride, had not been taken ill in +the house, but outside, in the public park close by. Again, it was +more than curious that, though so many women had entered the house +since its reopening, viewing its contents and attending the +three-days’ sale, no one had suffered any deleterious effect. +</p> + +<p> +Two days later the result of the inquest was reported. The man Burton +had died of a heart attack, revealed by the post-mortem examination, +hence, to the public, the affair was no longer a mystery. +</p> + +<p> +On that day Etta, who was pretending to Sibell to be staying with some +friends at Hampstead, went down to the Myrtles to remain for a couple +of nights, her real object being at all hazards to induce the girl to +accept Gretton. Sweet and lovable as was Sibell’s nature, she was also +a girl of strong and determined will. Once she made a decision, it was +almost impossible to persuade her otherwise. She had lost the one and +only love of her life, therefore she felt that she could never +simulate affection for any other man than Brinsley, her ideal, her +soul-mate, and the controller of her destiny. +</p> + +<p> +Hour by hour she sat in that dull country cottage, with the old +hunchback ever working out his eternal “systems” of roulette and +<i>trente-et-quarante</i>. In those hours she dissected her own soul, +becoming more and more convinced that marriage with Gretton was +utterly impossible. +</p> + +<p> +When her aunt very discreetly broached the subject after dinner, while +they were alone, she told her quietly and frankly that her unalterable +decision was to remain single. +</p> + +<p> +“What, live alone in that awful place?” cried her aunt. “Why, my dear +Sibell, it would be all too impossible! You’re absolutely mad to think +of such a thing! And then, if you don’t live there, you will be +compelled to relinquish your fortune!” +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of fact, I’ve already decided to live there, and discover +the cause of this strange evil which appears to pervade the place,” +was the girl’s calm, well-thought-out reply. “Already I have given +orders for the carpets, and a portion of the furniture. I’ve given the +people carte blanche to furnish it up to three thousand pounds. That +will be a beginning.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you won’t live alone there?” her aunt said, her eyes +staring as she suddenly realized that not only her fat commission, but +Routh’s share, were also slipping from them. +</p> + +<p> +“I can hire a companion. Lots of girls are fond of adventure. I know +one who was at school with me at Cheltenham.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear, I tell you frankly that I’d be scared out of my wits +if I had to live in such an awful tomb. Satan himself seems to dwell +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear auntie,” replied the girl, “you don’t understand! Now that +I’ve lost Brin I’ve lost all interest in everything in life, except to +solve the problem of that house of evil,” she went on in a hard, +despairing tone quite unusual to her. “In three weeks the house will +be finished in readiness for me. I made up my mind over a week ago. +Old Martha, who was Mrs. Sherwood’s servant at Ripley before her +death, is coming as my housekeeper, and she is engaging the servants.” +</p> + +<p> +Etta’s alert mind was quickly at work. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll surely want a man in the house, dear, if you really intend to +embark upon this curious housekeeping,” she said. “Why not let me try +and find Ashe? He was an excellent man. I fear I was rather peevish +with him that day when I dismissed him so abruptly. I’ve been sorry +ever since.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you said all sorts of nasty things against him, auntie,” +remarked the girl. “But certainly I know him, and perhaps, after all, +he’d be better than a stranger. I wonder where he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll find out,” replied her aunt quickly. “You really can’t do +better than engage him, if you are actually going to set up house +alone. I expect the agency in Marylebone Street from which I engaged +him will know. He’s awfully loyal, and such an excellent man at table. +It will be funny, when I come as your guest, that he will wait upon +me, won’t it?” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch30"> +CHAPTER XXX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE PLOT</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">In</span> the dreary weeks which followed, while Sibell waited for her home +to be prepared, she often stayed at a small private hotel in Cork +Street, where she had lived in the London Season with her hunchbacked +guardian, old Routh. +</p> + +<p> +She had engaged as companion a girl named Edith Pearman, who, on +leaving Cheltenham, had become a governess in a private school at +Scarborough, and welcomed her old school-friend’s proposition. A +well-educated girl of a somewhat severe, angular exterior, she wore +horn-rimmed glasses, as a school-mistress should, yet, at heart, she +was a most cheerful, laughing optimist, and, having learnt all about +her friend’s bitter disappointment, consoled her. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Gussie Gretton, prompted by Lady Wyndcliffe of course, was +constant in the renewal of his attentions. He came round to Cork +Street daily to take her out in his car for one or two runs to places, +where they lunched and chatted, but all with little satisfaction to +the ardent lover. Sibell was, of course, entirely ignorant of the vile +compact which her go-ahead aunt had made, and simply regarded the +elegant man’s desire to please as the natural outcome of his +responsibility for Otway’s parting from her. +</p> + +<p> +For a young doctor, fresh from hospital, to obtain even a foothold in +his profession is indeed hard enough to-day. The old and out-of-date +general practitioners, who have made enough to retire upon, are mostly +snappy and crusty; if his young partner is a few minutes late for +“surgery” he will not fail to snarl at him. +</p> + +<p> +But Brinsley had been through the mill as house surgeon at an +infirmary, and had actually secured a corner house with a red lamp, as +every general practitioner longs for, and had very soon, by his merry +disposition and kindness to the poor, acquired quite a good practice +among the good people of that London suburb, Golder’s Green. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in a single night, all his love for Sibell had been blotted out, +and well it might have been in such circumstances. Poor Sibell +remained disillusioned and dispirited, with one determination only—to +discover the secret of that evil influence which pervaded the house +wherein the guests of Cardinal Wolsey had often been entertained in +those long-ago days of the full glories of Hampton Court Palace. +</p> + +<p> +More than once, accompanied by her new companion, Edith, she drove +down to the Guest House in a hired car, and went over the place, here +and there directing the furnishers, who were busily at work. The work +occupied her distracted mind. +</p> + +<p> +The long drawing-room, so dull, stately, and full of a bygone +atmosphere, had assumed an entirely modern aspect, with its +white-bordered panels of old-rose brocade, and a rich Wilton carpet to +match. Some of the best pieces of old furniture were there—the +fifteenth-century credence, which Bond Street dealers had begged her +to sell; the old oaken cupboard with long, wrought-iron hinges, where, +upon its top, an Elizabethan helmet, deeply rusted, had been placed. +</p> + +<p> +When first she entered to inspect the spacious apartment, with its +long windows, she expressed delight at its transformation. In one +corner stood that heavy old velvet-covered armchair of the Florentine +Renaissance, into which Mr. Gray, the auctioneer, had sunk, +half-insensible, when he collapsed so suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +A strong smell of fresh enamel and varnish pervaded everything, each +room having been redecorated and refurnished out of all recognition. +Some of the old leaded diamond panes of the ancient windows had been +replaced by sheets of plate glass, and on every hand there were modern +conveniences—electric lights cunningly concealed in heavy white +cornices, and hot-water radiators were in all the bedrooms. +</p> + +<p> +As on that day she went with Edith over the place, the foreman of the +furnishing house said to her, after descending from the upper floor: +</p> + +<p> +“The only thing that has not been touched is the wine-cellar, Miss +Dare. At Mr. Gray’s orders it has not been opened, for he has the key. +He said he would consult you before any alteration is made there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I will see him about it when I come to live here,” replied the +girl, expressing the greatest satisfaction as to the up-to-date scheme +of furnishing. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear some things may appear incongruous,” said the pleasant-faced +man in a black overcoat. “There are several really priceless old +pieces here, mixed up with quite modern stuff—an arrangement of which +a connoisseur might not approve. But we understood, Miss Dare, that +what you had put aside in storage was to be used.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly. The house is mine,” she laughed. “It is not the house +of a connoisseur.” +</p> + +<p> +On her return to Cork Street she found a telephone message from her +aunt awaiting her, saying that she was calling at six o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +Almost punctually she arrived, and, bursting into the room in her +usual impetuous way, she exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear Sibell, I’ve to-day discovered where Ashe is to be found! +If you write to him to Hammond’s Registry, Goodge Street, Tottenham +Court Road, the letter will find him. I’d write at once, dear, if I +were you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sibell promised she would, whereupon Lady Wyndcliffe said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going to the new house on Monday week, aren’t you? Poor Gordon +will be awfully lonely without you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I hope to see him as my guest very often, auntie—and you also,” +she declared. “I’ve just been down to Hampton Court, and the place is +quite transformed—so bright and artistic. You must really come and +see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear I can’t, dear. I’m so sorry. As you know, I’ve closed West +Halkin Street while Wyndcliffe is away, and I’m going to Scotland +to-morrow to visit the McKays at Dalry. But I do hope you’ll be very +happy, notwithstanding that you have not chosen Gussie as a husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might change my mind,” laughed the girl saucily. “Who knows?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, dear, I heartily hope you will, for a life alone in that house +is surely no existence for you.” +</p> + +<p> +And, having applied her lipstick before the mirror and rearranged her +hat, she shook hands and left, saying as she went out: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mind that you write to Ashe to-night or you may lose him!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch31"> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">REJUVENATION</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Spring</span> was lengthening into summer, and already the spacious garden +of the Guest House, now so well kept after so many years of neglect, +was full of bright flowers, while the ancient trees, including a rare +“strawberry-tree,” threw a welcome shade on a sunny day. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell and her boon companion, Edith Pearman, had already installed +themselves for over three weeks, living quietly and comfortably, +though in the long hours the girl’s thoughts were ever of her lost +lover—the love of her life. The servants, under the trusted old +cook-housekeeper, carried on well, but in place of the obedient +Ashe—who, at the last moment, made excuses not to enter Miss Dare’s +service—an erect, rather smart, and narrow-faced youngish man, named +Charlesworth, had applied for the post and obtained it. +</p> + +<p> +At their first interview Sibell felt just a faint suspicion that she +had seen the young man before, but after long cogitation, and +examining the excellent credentials from a peer who had recently died +which he presented to her, she had engaged him. The fact was that they +had met before, but the girl could not recall the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Ashe had at first been most anxious to become butler to his +ex-mistress’s niece, but, having talked it all over in his room in St. +James’s with the former, he declared himself too nervous to live in +that house. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember what happened to our dear departed Rupert after you had +taken him to see the place,” he said to her. “No, my dear girl, I’m +not going to risk it! Are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Hence, Ashe having withdrawn, Charles Charlesworth became installed in +his place. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell had allowed herself the luxury of a new and expensive car, with +a good-looking young chauffeur named Budd; therefore, when old Gordon +Routh came to his ward’s house as visitor for a week, she took him for +pleasant runs down to Brighton, Bournemouth, and Guildford. +</p> + +<p> +With a big bank balance and quite a new set of friends growing up +around her, Sibell Dare would have been intensely happy had she still +possessed the affection of the one man whom she adored. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! his silence remained unbroken. He was living with his mother in +the North, a disappointed, disillusioned misanthrope, from whose heart +all the zest of life had been crushed. +</p> + +<p> +Gussie Gretton had driven down to call. His visit had been a mere +formal one to look her up, and both were careful to avoid any +discussion concerning the past. +</p> + +<p> +One bright afternoon he called a second time, being admitted by the +quiet-mannered Charlesworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sibell!” he cried cheerily as he entered the long, handsome +drawing-room. “Going on all right? No spooks or devils, or that kind +of unholy influence, now that all the cobwebs have been cleared away, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” answered the girl, laughing merrily. “I’m beginning to +think, Gussie, that those various affairs were all mere coincidences. +Some enemy of our family gave the place a bad name, and it has stuck +to it. That’s the opinion I am beginning to form, and Mr. Routh thinks +so, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it really seems so,” agreed her visitor, taking the cigarette +she offered him. “People have declared this place to be a house of +death, and some fussy old men, who call themselves antiquaries, have +professed to have dug out all sorts of weird stories of its past. All +uncanny, I admit; but how can people possibly come here and be +affected by some evil influence which causes illness, and in more than +one instance, actual death? It’s all bunkum, I say!” Then, as an +after-thought, he added, “By the way, have you heard yet from Otway?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head sadly in the negative, and in an instant he +saw that he had approached the most painful subject in her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Do forgive me, Sibell. I’m awfully sorry that I should have referred +to the past!” he hastened to say, laying his hand tenderly upon her +shoulder. “I don’t forget that it was all my fault, and now I frankly +tell you, my dear Sibell, that if ever I can help you in any way +whatever in the future, you have only to count upon me as your +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +She sat up in her chair and looked into his eyes, half believing him. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the well-set-up young butler, Charlesworth, entered, +carrying the big Georgian silver tea-tray, and, having arranged it, +left silently and closed the door after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really mean that?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I honestly do,” he answered. “And do you know why, Sibell?” And he +paused. “Well, strictly between ourselves, I believe that you’ve been +the victim of some vile, damnable conspiracy, which has something to +do with your inheritance. More, I do not know. That is my distinct and +unalterable suspicion.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” cried the blue-eyed girl excitedly. “Why should anyone plot +against me? Surely, in all my life, I haven’t done a soul any harm!” +</p> + +<p> +“Those who are innocent always suffer where greed of money is +concerned,” the man replied. He had assumed a friendly and kindly +attitude towards her. “That there is a plot, Sibell, I feel +convinced,” he said, recollecting the vile proposition concerning +commission that Lady Wyndcliffe had put to him one night at Ciro’s +eighteen months before. He, as one of the most eligible bachelors in +London, was reflecting upon a phase of life that he knew. +</p> + +<p> +Open your morning paper and glance at the simpering Society brides in +their little lace caps edged with orange blossom, smiling on the arms +of their bridegrooms as they leave West End churches. Then, for a +moment, reflect upon those who grace the dinner-tables of Mayfair, and +reap their harvest of fat commissions each London season. +</p> + +<p> +“Fewer marriage-mongers, fewer divorces,” said a candid judge in the +Divorce Court not so very long ago. In the papers the Society divorce +equals in attraction the Society marriage, until the commonplace would +become staggered by the matrimonial chessboard of <i>Who’s Who</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Gussie Gretton, awkward, as is every man, sat with his well-toasted +tea-cake upon his lap and drank his China tea, and then, excusing +himself to Sibell and to Edith, who had come in late after a walk over +to Molesey, he rose, and was handed into his car by the ever-ready +Charlesworth. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell went to her room. She wanted to be alone to think. Already, +after those few weeks, the big house, which smelt so strongly of fresh +enamel and the odor of new carpets, had begun to pall upon her. +</p> + +<p> +She cast herself into a soft chair, and in the dull twilight thought +over Gretton’s curious suggestion that there was some desperate and +most insidious plot against her in order to compel her to leave the +house and refuse to live there. +</p> + +<p> +Her lawyers had made it entirely plain to her that in such case, under +the terms of her Uncle Henry’s will, she would have no alternative but +to relinquish all claims to its benefits. She realized, too, that the +only person to derive profit would be her hunchback guardian, old +Gordon Routh. +</p> + +<p> +That night she dined early with Edith, and afterwards went up to town +in the car to a new play at Wyndham’s. Budd, the smart chauffeur, in +his dark-green livery and polished gaiters, had been in the service of +a queen of the variety stage, and was most polite and attentive in the +wrapping of warm wraps. He had good wages and full licence to go +hither and thither, save when he was wanted to drive, therefore he +naturally regarded his mistress with the same solicitude as he had +done the alert little lady of the music-halls who had married a peer’s +son. +</p> + +<p> +When the theatres had “burst”—that time-signal known to every London +chauffeur or taxi-driver—he carried his charges speedily back to +Hampton Court, though the night was misty. +</p> + +<p> +It was late when the car drove in, but the alert Charlesworth was up +to serve the girls with their cups of tea before retiring. +</p> + +<p> +On the table in the dining-room lay a wire from Sibell’s aunt, which +read: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Returning to town to-morrow. Can I stay with you next Thursday for +the week-end?” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The girl showed it to her companion, and agreed that they would both +be delighted to have Lady Wyndcliffe as guest. Only a week before, in +the London gossip of the <i>Daily Sketch</i>, there had been a brief +paragraph that “Sadie Dexter, daughter of Issy Dexter, the great +real-estate millionaire of Detroit, has been placed beneath the social +wing of Lady Wyndcliffe, whose intimate circle of bright young people +is so well-known, and who gives such exclusive dances in the season. +Miss Dexter is a relation of Colonel Frank Dexter, who was the chief +adviser to General Hughes during the Great War.” +</p> + +<p> +Etta’s press-agent had been at work. He was a small, withered little +old journalist who lived in a single room out at Balham and whose +old-fashioned landlady took pity upon him. And yet in Fleet Street his +name was one to conjure with. He made or marred reputations, because +he knew exactly how to distribute dope to his pals in the various +Fleet Street inns. +</p> + +<p> +He could always slip a Treasury note into the hands of an outside +gossip-writer on a daily newspaper, wrapped up in a paragraph. Thus +who could tell of the “graft” when next day the important journal +appeared with a photograph of a nobody who was being secretly boomed? +So it is that, in this age of publicity, nobody of any note, and +nobodies of any note, as well as the somebodies who count, from the +highest to the lowest, can afford to neglect the offers of a +press-agent. +</p> + +<p> +In our present age of advertising, real worth hardly counts, and merit +is valueless in any walk of life without a Press boom behind it, until +the best-hated man or woman now becomes the most talked of and +popular. Hence one dismisses most of the social gossip of the +newspapers as mere inconsistent twaddle, which interests illiterate +suburbia and benighted country cousins, who to-day are not so +benighted as the directors of our Press seem to think. Once the Press +created public opinion, but, thank heaven! the public nowadays thinks +for itself—the public of whatever political views. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell read the paragraph about Etta’s latest capture and smiled +inwardly, wondering how much it had cost the ambitious American +father. It was no affair of hers, for she had known such cases each +season. After all, the title “Countess” covers such a multitude of +judgment summonses and “orders of the Court.” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless Sibell was ignorant that, though she led such a quiet, +uneventful life, with Edith Pearman as her companion, very often the +dark figure of a man would be in the vicinity of the Guest House after +dark, waiting for hours sometimes, even from early evening, and often +through the long dark watches of the night. The figure would draw back +and conceal itself when any constable chanced to come along after +midnight, yet the man was often there, watching the windows of Miss +Dare’s room as though keeping a constant vigil upon the old-world +house. +</p> + +<p> +It was a haunting shadow, but it was there always—the shadow of evil +or of good. +</p> + +<p> +But those who lived in the newly-decorated house were completely in +ignorance of that keen pair of eyes which kept an ever-vigilant watch. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch32"> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE MONKEY-GOD</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Early</span> one stormy morning, about two o’clock, when the rain beat upon +the window-panes, Charlesworth and the smart chauffeur, Budd, were +seated together in complete darkness in the long dining-room. They sat +but uttered no word. Indeed, the only signs of anyone being present +were two red ends of cigarettes, for both were smoking. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting in silence with drawn blinds, they had been there since the +house had been closed at eleven, none of the occupants aware that they +were keeping a night vigil, or that they had done so for many previous +nights. +</p> + +<p> +So as not to show any light, they lit one cigarette by the end of the +other, and smoked on without a single word. Continual smoking kept +them from dozing, as night after night they had sat there, each with a +bottle of beer at his elbow, until dawn, when they would noiselessly +retire. This strange procedure had been repeated nightly by the two +men ever since they had entered Sibell’s service. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly there sounded a noise in the farther corner of the dark +room—a slight hiss, which caused both men to spring to their feet. +The low hiss, as though of some reptile or large insect, was repeated +twice. +</p> + +<p> +“Careful!” whispered Charlesworth to his fellow-servant. “Not a +sound!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right,” was Budd’s whispered reply, and, opening the well-oiled door, +they both crept in their socks out into the hall, where, at the top of +the staircase, they saw a small, dull-green light moving very slowly, +until it stopped at the head of the stairs. By its light they could +distinguish something moving—a gloved human hand, it appeared, +holding something that shone—a knife. The hand seemed to be carefully +scraping or picking the handsome carved mahogany post which held the +heavy balustrade. +</p> + +<p> +For fully three minutes the two watchers, warned of some intrusion by +the electrical contrivance which had produced the curious hissing in +the dining-room, looked on in surprise. That tiny green light was +distinctly weird and uncanny. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the light moved from the head of the staircase slowly along +the corridor to an end room, which Sibell had made into her own little +den. Its door stood open. The faint, dull light of the night sky, the +blind not having been drawn, revealed that the green light was carried +by a man bent and short of stature, a man who wore surgical rubber +gloves, and evidently also felt slippers, as his feet fell silently. +Creeping behind him, the two men watched him advance to Sibell’s +writing-table, upon which he placed his little green lamp, with an +open penknife. Then, selecting her fountain-pen from the silver tray +of the handsome inkstand, he carefully unscrewed the cap. It was a +self-filler of unusual type. Taking from his pocket a small phial of +some liquid, which appeared to be ink, he inserted the nib of the pen +and quickly filled it. Then, with gloved hands, he carefully plunged +the whole pen into the inky liquid, and afterwards screwed on the cap, +and then replaced it just as he had found it. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the polished silver tray he allowed a few drops of ink to fall, +and at the same time he rubbed, with his rubber glove, a quantity of +the liquid upon the polished writing-table. +</p> + +<p> +It was as though he was intent upon polishing the whole table with +ink. +</p> + +<p> +As the stranger turned, Charlesworth suddenly flashed his bright +electric torch full upon his face, causing him to stagger back in +fright, while at that same second, Budd switched on the electric light +in the room. +</p> + +<p> +“We are officers of the Criminal Investigation Department, and I +arrest you, John Dare, <i>alias</i> Bettinson, and lots of other names, +upon charges of wilful murder,” Charlesworth said in his deep voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you arrest me!” screamed the wily, white-haired old fellow. +“Arrest me! And in my own house! I defy you! Touch me if you dare, and +from the slightest scratch with this knife you’ll die!” And with a +demoniacal grin he held up his little pen-knife, which he had used +upon the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Next instant Detective-Sergeant Budd threw himself upon him, seizing +the hand which held the fatal blade, while Inspector Charlesworth +strove to get the dangerous knife from his hand. But the old man, in +that demented state, screamed and yelled like some wild animal, +fighting with the ferocity of a tiger, twisting and swaying as he +tried to wound one or the other of his captors. +</p> + +<p> +“This house is mine—mine! You understand?” he shrieked wildly. “My +brother Henry should have left it to me! It is mine by law! All these +years I’ve waited and have been in it, and now those who usurp what is +my property—all who dare enter here—must die. They die +mysteriously—of—of heart disease!” And then he gave vent to a most +hideous screeching laugh that showed him to have suddenly become +raving in his lunacy. +</p> + +<p> +To secure him was nearly impossible, and as Sibell and two maids, +awakened in fright, appeared in their dressing-gowns, Charlesworth +turned to his mistress, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, miss, we’ve caught a burglar! Will you please telephone to +the police-station at once, and simply say that Charlesworth wants +immediate assistance here? They’ll know.” +</p> + +<p> +At hearing those words, the homicidal maniac made a renewed and most +desperate struggle, still holding the dangerous knife in a grip of +steel. Then, of a sudden, Charlesworth, in his efforts to obtain +possession of it, drew his hand so close to the prisoner’s neck that +the point of the blade entered just beneath his right jaw. +</p> + +<p> +“God!” he shrieked, realizing what had happened. “I—I’ll die! You +damned fiends—you—you——” But slowly, a few seconds later, he +collapsed, while the knife fell from his nerveless fingers. “This +place is mine!—mine by inheritance!” he wailed. “Henry had no right +to it—never had,” he went on. “I was born here, and—and I—I die +here! But I’ve cheated you all. Of the Malays I learnt of their +wonderful <i>ipoh gadong</i>, the poison of which, by a tiny scratch, or a +little beneath the finger-nails, causes certain death—the time-poison +which no Western doctor can yet detect—how its effect can be delayed +for a day, a week, or a month. I know! I alone hold the secret of the +old Bomor Enche Jalal of Kelentan. I brought the ingredients to +England with me. And you sha’n’t know them—no, never shall know them. +Their secret is mine, and I alone will hold it!” +</p> + +<p> +In the arms of the two detectives the old fellow became limp and +inert, so that they placed him upon the couch, where he lay until +Sibell, naturally very excited, ran back from the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly old John Dare started, and with his thin, upraised hands +began a series of wild incantations which, though nobody understood, +were undoubtedly in Malay, for he called upon the langsuir, which is, +to the natives, a terrible female vampire who afflicts only brides. He +imitated the repulsive laugh—“<i>haw-haw haw-ho</i>”—of the Malayan +fish-owl, or “ghost-bird,” while time after time he invoked the anger +of Hantu Doman, his deity, the Monkey-God. +</p> + +<p> +To those present it was only gibberish, but apparently he made use of +the same incantations as he did in the presence of poor Farmer before +his mysterious death. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear that?” asked Inspector Charlesworth to Budd. “Take a +note of the name of that poison—<i>ipoh gadong</i>.” Then he turned to +Sibell, and warned her not to touch her fountain-pen or the balustrade +of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Later I’ll explain all to you, miss,” the police officer added. “It +is a great consolation to us that, after all, we’ve caught ‘The +Chameleon.’ We know that they called him that in France, where he +committed at least two murders by means of his poison secret, and, +after trial at the Assizes of the Seine, he was confined in the French +criminal lunatic asylum at Toulouse for life. But he escaped, and +arrived in London, where he’s been earning a precarious living in the +City on account of his knowledge of the Malay language. And so——” +</p> + +<p> +His explanation was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the +inspector from Hampton and two constables. +</p> + +<p> +“Fixed up ‘The Chameleon’ all right, sir?” asked the rosy-faced +officer, taking in the situation at a glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Fowler. All is O.K. Caught him red-handed, and he’s poisoned +himself. I don’t expect he’ll live long. Good job for him if he +doesn’t, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You swine!” whined the prostrate man suddenly. “Live long! I don’t +care how long I live! This house is mine. They sold its contents, but +those who helped to do it suffered!” And he yelled like a maniac. “The +man in charge dared to lay a hand upon me, and he died. The doctor who +was to marry the girl who took my inheritance from me had a narrow +escape, because—because I timed it wrong. I was a fool to do so—a +fool—<i>fool</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +The police officers looked at each other in silence, while +Charlesworth in a kind voice suggested that Sibell and the maids might +return to their rooms. +</p> + +<p> +This they did, when, a quarter of an hour later, the prisoner was +removed on the ambulance to the police-station, but on the way his +heart failed, so that on arrival he was found to be dead. +</p> + +<p> +Before midday the fountain-pen, with its infected ink, and some fine +splinters of mahogany from the carved head-post of the banisters, were +in the hands of the Home Office pathologist, who, after careful +analysis extending over the next four days, certified that the most +dangerous and most virulent poison had been applied. +</p> + +<p> +A most scrupulous examination was afterwards made of the house of +evil, where it was discovered that “The Chameleon,” a nickname given +him in the asylum at Toulouse because of his amazingly clever +disguises, his strange adventures, and his sound knowledge of +medicine, and as such registered in the criminal archives at the Paris +Sûreté, had, even before the death of his brother Henry, been in the +habit of entering the house at night with his green light, and in his +demented state he had often sat and enjoyed himself through the night +hours in those long-closed rooms, imagining himself the possessor of +the long-closed-up house. +</p> + +<p> +His mode of entry into the place was discovered on the evening of the +day of his death. +</p> + +<p> +When Inspector Charlesworth was faced with the puzzling problem, he +most naturally thought of the shut-up wine-cellar. The door of this +they found ajar, and, with Budd, they struggled past a number of +well-filled bins of old port and sherry to an exit which consisted of +a rotting wooden lattice covered by brambles. They struggled through +these, to find themselves ascending some moss-grown stone steps, after +which, after another struggle, and tearing their clothes, they found +themselves in a thicket on the other side of the adjoining garden! +</p> + +<p> +By such means had the lunatic brother of Henry Dare—who for years +lodged with a dear, deaf old widow at Molesey—gained access to the +old house that had once been his home, and of which he still, in his +demented state, felt that he held possession. +</p> + +<p> +To the public the actual truth never leaked out. It was better so. The +coroner, after a consultation at the Home Office, held his inquiry +without the aid of a jury, and all the world was told was that at a +house at Hampton Court a burglar had been captured by the police, and +that the shock to him proved so great that, on being conveyed to the +police-station, he had died of heart disease. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch33"> +CHAPTER XXXIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CONCLUSION</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">If</span> the reader cares to take the trouble to cross the wide green at +Hampton Court, close to the fine old red-brick turreted palace, with +its wonderful old-world flower-gardens, he may see the spick-and-span +Guest House of the great Cardinal standing back amid the ancient +trees, as it has done ever since the days when Anne Boleyn visited it +with Henry VIII. +</p> + +<p> +Of the amazing career of “The Chameleon” nobody is aware save Dr. and +Mrs. Otway—who now live so happily there—the police, of course, +Routh, the old gambler, Lady Etta, and the adventurous Ashe. From all +others the secret of the evil which pervaded the place has been +strictly withheld. +</p> + +<p> +The young couple are highly popular. Brinsley, having disposed of his +practice and his corner house at Golder’s Green, is looking out for +one in the West End, determined not to live upon his wife’s money. +</p> + +<p> +The reconciliation between the pair was effected by no less a person +than Gussie Gretton himself. He admired, perhaps even he loved, +Sibell, for he would, indeed, have readily paid the fat commission +which the adventuress demanded. But, realizing his mistake, as well as +Sibell’s devotion to Otway, he one day went North, and, forcing +himself upon Otway, described to him frankly and honestly all that had +occurred. +</p> + +<p> +At first Brinsley indignantly refused to see Sibell, whereupon Gretton +turned to him reproachfully, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, Otway, you’re not fair to the woman who loves you. Do +give her one chance to explain with her own lips. I’ve known her +longer than you have, and I’ve a right to appeal to you for her sake. +Surely you can realize the hell she’s gone through since that +unfortunate night? Come to London with me. Do.” +</p> + +<p> +Otway remained obdurate, while Gretton, on his part, again declared +that the meeting had not been planned, and nothing had occurred +between them which he had not described. He admitted kissing her +against her will, and for that he deeply and most humbly apologized. +</p> + +<p> +That night, after obtaining his whilom rival’s promise to reconsider +his decision, Gretton returned to town, while the early train next +morning carried Brinsley to the side of the girl to whom he was so +wholeheartedly devoted. +</p> + +<p> +Explanations in that long, white-enamelled drawing-room did not take +very long, for in an instant they were clasped in each other’s ready +arms, he raining hot kisses upon her lips, while she sobbed for joy. +</p> + +<p> +That night Sibell wrote to her aunt telling her the glad news, which, +of course, created the greatest disappointment among those who had so +cunningly plotted to part the pair, and so obtain a considerable sum +of money if their clever scheme had been successful. Though Sibell was +unaware of it, Lady Wyndcliffe had secretly been introduced by Ashe to +John Dare, who represented himself as a Mr. Pearson, manager of the +electric lighting firm which was fitting up the Guest House, and in +that capacity he invited her to bring her American friend, Mr. +Kimball, to see over the interesting old place. +</p> + +<p> +This she did on the following day, when, without doubt, the homicidal +old maniac, in one of his chameleon-like disguises, played some +devilry with that deadly liquid in his possession, whereby Etta’s +unsuspicious companion had become infected with that most deadly of +all poisons, which he had so concocted as to produce a fatal effect +within a week—as it had done, in mid-Atlantic. Sibell did not know +till long afterwards that Scotland Yard was already on the track of +Ashe and Etta, and that on the morning in Berne, Inspector +Charlesworth had been in the adjoining room and had overheard the +plot. It was he who, disguised as a cavalier, had gone to the masked +ball at Gurnigel and warned her. +</p> + +<p> +John Dare had revealed to nobody either his real name, or the secret +manner in which he removed those who invaded what he had determined +was his domain by right. Etta and Ashe only knew that he held some +strange and astounding secret. +</p> + +<p> +Etta Wyndcliffe, as soon as she learned the truth, feared to be +implicated in the affair, and therefore left at once for Kenya Colony, +where Wyndcliffe, ignorant of everything, of course, joined her, while +Albert Ashe, equally fearing exposure—for at his suggestion Etta had +taken Kimball to the Guest House, “to see if the evil would fall upon +him,” as he put it—escaped to the Continent, where he still remains. +</p> + +<p> +Only by the analysis of the dangerous secret held by “The Chameleon” +of the <i>ipoh gadong</i>,<sup><a href="#en01b" id="en01a">[1]</a></sup> which is mixed with the inspissated juices +of two jungle vines and the poisonous spines of certain fishes, have +modern toxicologists been forced to admit the existence of an actual +time-poison that can be absorbed through the skin, which has been +strenuously denied, ever since mediæval days, by all chemists and +pathologists. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell, indeed, had a most narrow escape, for had she innocently +handled her fountain-pen, she would undoubtedly have been stricken +dead by the ink coming into contact with her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Hence men working in wonder in rubber gloves, after mysterious +warnings, spent weeks in cleaning down the big house a second time, +and in removing and planing down smoothly the sharp splinters of +infected mahogany upon the big carved post at the head of the stairs, +which had no doubt been responsible for those imperceptible pricks and +scratches which had infected the unfortunate ones with the deadliest +poison known to-day. When studying the problem, Otway, himself deeply +interested in toxicology, suddenly realised the reason why women +visitors to the house had escaped. The explanation was simple. They +had touched nothing which the midnight intruder, with his green lamp, +had with his satanic cunning arranged; for they wore gloves! +</p> + +<p> +The public have not hitherto learnt the truth as here recorded, nor +have they known of the strange history and astounding exploits of the +criminal lunatic who swept away his imaginary enemies in that subtle +and ingenious manner, yet for several years the French police had kept +the weird old fellow under surveillance, because upon him rested the +suspicion of at least two cases of secret poisoning—one at Bordeaux +and the other in Paris—yet so elusive was he, and so chameleon-like +in his constant changes, that the Sûreté could never obtain direct +evidence. +</p> + +<p> +His presence at Cookham was certainly with some evil intent against +Sibell, but his young fellow-guest at the Ferry Hotel was really an +astute young detective-sergeant of the T Division of Metropolitan +Police, whose watchfulness was later taken up by the well-known +officer, Inspector Charlesworth of Scotland Yard, and +Detective-Sergeant Budd. +</p> + +<p> +Sibell was deeply sorry when her two faithful menservants were +compelled to so suddenly resign. By their constant vigilance her life +had been spared, while Brinsley’s return brought her all the happiness +for which she had craved. +</p> + +<p> +At the time of penning this record of one of the strangest dramas of +London’s hectic life that had ever been recorded in the annals of +Scotland Yard, Sibell’s old hunchback guardian, the optimistic Gordon +Routh, lives in three comfortable rooms on the upper floor of the +Guest House, and is usually immersed in the intricate problems of the +chances at roulette and the proving of the infallible “system” which +he has invented to his own satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +The big file now reposing in the criminal archives of Scotland Yard, +and the equally large records at the bureau of the Sûreté in Paris, +record the career of John Dare, rubber planter in Malaya, who became a +criminal lunatic. They show no parallel in the history of crime. +Against him the infamous Neil Cream, with his tiny poison pills, which +he administered to the unfortunates of Lambeth, fades into +insignificance, for John Dare, of the house of D’Aire, had brought to +London the secret of the one terrible Eastern time-poison of which +toxicologists had now learnt by the analysis of that little phial of +ink and poison found upon him after death. The formula of it is to-day +kept the most profound secret by those who know, lest it might be used +any day by enemies who desire to take human life with perfect immunity +from arrest. +</p> + +<p> +The many typewritten pages which constitute the police record of John +Dare, criminal lunatic, <i>alias</i> Bettinson, Pearson, and many other +names, lying in the archives at Scotland Yard—a carbon copy of which +reposes in the great department of criminal records in +Paris—concludes as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">John Dare</span>, <i>alias</i> <span class="sc">Bettinson</span>.—One of the cleverest, most +elusive, and plausible assassins ever reported to the international +police. Was in possession of a secret poison hitherto unknown to +medical science, and his known crimes in England and France numbered +eight. So alert and adroit was he in changing his facial expression, +together with his attire and his calling, in order to wipe out those +whom he believed to be intruders into his rightful possessions, that, +by his associates and also by the police, he became known all over the +Continent as ‘The Chameleon.’ ” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="center mt1"> +THE END +</p> + + +<h2 id="endnote"> +ENDNOTE +</h2> + +<p> +<sup><a href="#en01a" id="en01b">[1]</a></sup> Author’s Note.—The actual mode of preparation and formula I have +purposely omitted, for most obvious reasons. +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. armchair/arm-chair, card +sharpers/card-sharpers, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings and some +missing/invisible periods. +</p> + +<p> +Convert the footnote to an endnote. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter VI] +</p> + +<p> +Change “and an epergne of great chrysanthemums as a centre-<i>plece</i>” to +<i>piece</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Ashe, the discreet, <i>obsequlous</i> butler, a clean-shaven man” to +<i>obsequious</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter IX] +</p> + +<p> +“and hence are <i>sacrified</i> for firewood early in their growth” to +<i>sacrificed</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter XXVI] +</p> + +<p> +(“It is most <i>unforunate</i>, isn’t it?” Then, turning) to <i>unfortunate</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter XXVII] +</p> + +<p> +“fair-haired débutante, to be sold in the <i>marrige</i> market” to +<i>marriage</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter XXXI] +</p> + +<p> +“uneventful life, with Edith Pearman as her <i>companian</i>” to +<i>companion</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77378 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77378-h/images/cover.jpg b/77378-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d84e443 --- /dev/null +++ b/77378-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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