Chapter Eight.The Horrors of a Morn.By the time Mr Girtle was partly dressed and had hurried out on the landing, Paul Capel and Gerard Artis had left their rooms, ready to question him upon the cause of the alarm.“I don’t know,” he said, trembling. “Preenham came and roused me—speaking of murder—and, bless my soul! I did not know you were there. Miss Lawrence, too!”Katrine and Lydia had joined them there on the landing of the second floor, where a chamber candlestick on a table was almost the only light, for that which came through the ground-glass at the top of the staircase was so much yellow gloom.“One of the maids—Anne—came and woke me,” said Katrine, speaking very calmly, as she looked from one to the other, the most collected of any one present. “She said there was something wrong.”“She woke me, too,” cried Lydia, who was trembling visibly, and looked of a sallow grey.“Mr Girtle, will you come down?”It was the butler’s voice, and Paul Capel ran quickly down the stairs to the drawing-room floor, where the old butler, ghastly pale, with his hair sticking to his forehead, had lit half-a-dozen candles and stood them, some on a table, some on the pedestal of the great bronze group outside Colonel Capel’s door.“What is it? Speak, man!” cried Capel.“The ladies! Don’t let the ladies come!”It was too late; they were already there; and the women-servants were dimly seen in the gloom at the foot of the stairs.“But what is wrong?” cried Capel.“I—I—”The butler passed his hand over his humid face, and looked piteously from one to the other.“Preenham! Speak, man! At once!” said Mr Girtle, sternly.“I woke at half-past seven, sir,” he said, in a trembling voice, “and wondered that I had not been called at seven. Mr Ramo, sir, always rose very early, and called me and Charles; but I was not surprised, for since master’s death, he has slept outside his door, I think—I’m almost sure, though I never said anything to—”“Man, you are torturing us!” cried Capel.“Give him time,” said Artis, who looked nervous and strange.“Yes, let him speak,” said Katrine. “Go on, Mr Preenham, and tell us.”“Thank you ma’am, I will,” said the butler; “but—but would you ladies go back to your room or the drawing-room, I’ve something—something—”“I’m not a child,” said Katrine. “Lydia, dear, you had better go.”“I will stay with you,” said Lydia, laying her hand upon Katrine’s arm; and after a helpless look round, and a motion of his hands, as if he washed them of any trouble that might come, the old butler went on.“I didn’t take much notice, as we were late last night, but as soon as I was dressed, I knocked at Charles’ door—he sleeps in a turn-up bedstead in the servants’ hall.”The old man directed this piece of information to those around him, and then went on.“There was no answer, so I went in, and Charles was not there.”“Not there?” said Mr Girtle, quickly.“No, sir. The bed had not been slept in. His livery was on the chair by it, and his cupboard was open where he keeps his private clothes.”“This is strange,” said Mr Girtle. “Go on.”“Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he had let himself out through the area gate, sir. He has done such things before, and at a time like this I must speak plain.”“Yes. Let me have the truth. Go on.”“I was very angry, sir, and I meant to tell you, for it seemed disgraceful at such a time.”“Go on.”“I will, sir,” faltered the butler, “but you must not flurry me. I have had a shock.”“Let him go on his own way, Mr Capel,” said the old lawyer.Preenham gave him a grateful look and continued:“I thought I’d go and speak to Mr Ramo, and then I met Cook and Anne.”“We were on the mat, Mr Preenham,” said a husky voice from below.“Yes, Mrs Thompson, quite right, and they went on to the kitchen while I went up into the hall, and undid the bolts of the front hall door, and let down the chain.”“Yes—exactly.”“Then I went up, sir, to see if Mr Ramo was at master’s door.”“Yes; go on,” said Capel, excitedly.“And when I came to the door, sir, I found it was ajar, and though I listened, I could not hear a sound. So I pushed the door against the big curtain, and called softly, ‘Ramo! Mr Ramo!’ but there was no answer, and then I felt a bit alarmed, and, after waiting a moment, I went down and got a light.”“Well?”“I called again, sir, twice; and then, pushing open the door, a puff of wind nearly blew out the light.”“Wind?” cried Mr Girtle; and he took a step towards the door.“Stop a minute, sir, please,” said the butler appealingly. “I went in quickly, and the first thing I saw was the curtain dragged aside and the window open.”“Yes—go on,” cried Mr Girtle, for the butler was trembling so that he could hardly speak.“And the next, sir—I nearly fell over him—there was poor Mr Ramo—lying—in—a pool of blood.”“Oh!”The cry came from Lydia as she tottered and clung to Katrine, calm amidst the horrors of the recital.“I put the candle on the floor, sir, and went down on my knee beside him,” cried the butler, growing more and more agitated. “Look,” he said, piteously, pointing to his trousers and his hands. “I touched him, sir, but he was dead, sir, dead, and I came up then and alarmed the house.”Artis looked at the butler narrowly, as his eyes wandered from one to the other.“Have you been in since, Preenham?”“No, sir. I went and got the candles, and lit all I could.”Capel was about to rush into the room, but he stopped on the threshold.“Miss D’Enghien—Miss Lawrence—this is no place for you. Pray go back to your rooms.”“Yes,” said Katrine, slowly, “Mr Capel is right. Come, dear, with me.”She passed her arm round Lydia, and the two seemed to fade away into the darkness, as Capel, Mr Girtle, Artis, and, lastly, the butler went into the room.
By the time Mr Girtle was partly dressed and had hurried out on the landing, Paul Capel and Gerard Artis had left their rooms, ready to question him upon the cause of the alarm.
“I don’t know,” he said, trembling. “Preenham came and roused me—speaking of murder—and, bless my soul! I did not know you were there. Miss Lawrence, too!”
Katrine and Lydia had joined them there on the landing of the second floor, where a chamber candlestick on a table was almost the only light, for that which came through the ground-glass at the top of the staircase was so much yellow gloom.
“One of the maids—Anne—came and woke me,” said Katrine, speaking very calmly, as she looked from one to the other, the most collected of any one present. “She said there was something wrong.”
“She woke me, too,” cried Lydia, who was trembling visibly, and looked of a sallow grey.
“Mr Girtle, will you come down?”
It was the butler’s voice, and Paul Capel ran quickly down the stairs to the drawing-room floor, where the old butler, ghastly pale, with his hair sticking to his forehead, had lit half-a-dozen candles and stood them, some on a table, some on the pedestal of the great bronze group outside Colonel Capel’s door.
“What is it? Speak, man!” cried Capel.
“The ladies! Don’t let the ladies come!”
It was too late; they were already there; and the women-servants were dimly seen in the gloom at the foot of the stairs.
“But what is wrong?” cried Capel.
“I—I—”
The butler passed his hand over his humid face, and looked piteously from one to the other.
“Preenham! Speak, man! At once!” said Mr Girtle, sternly.
“I woke at half-past seven, sir,” he said, in a trembling voice, “and wondered that I had not been called at seven. Mr Ramo, sir, always rose very early, and called me and Charles; but I was not surprised, for since master’s death, he has slept outside his door, I think—I’m almost sure, though I never said anything to—”
“Man, you are torturing us!” cried Capel.
“Give him time,” said Artis, who looked nervous and strange.
“Yes, let him speak,” said Katrine. “Go on, Mr Preenham, and tell us.”
“Thank you ma’am, I will,” said the butler; “but—but would you ladies go back to your room or the drawing-room, I’ve something—something—”
“I’m not a child,” said Katrine. “Lydia, dear, you had better go.”
“I will stay with you,” said Lydia, laying her hand upon Katrine’s arm; and after a helpless look round, and a motion of his hands, as if he washed them of any trouble that might come, the old butler went on.
“I didn’t take much notice, as we were late last night, but as soon as I was dressed, I knocked at Charles’ door—he sleeps in a turn-up bedstead in the servants’ hall.”
The old man directed this piece of information to those around him, and then went on.
“There was no answer, so I went in, and Charles was not there.”
“Not there?” said Mr Girtle, quickly.
“No, sir. The bed had not been slept in. His livery was on the chair by it, and his cupboard was open where he keeps his private clothes.”
“This is strange,” said Mr Girtle. “Go on.”
“Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he had let himself out through the area gate, sir. He has done such things before, and at a time like this I must speak plain.”
“Yes. Let me have the truth. Go on.”
“I was very angry, sir, and I meant to tell you, for it seemed disgraceful at such a time.”
“Go on.”
“I will, sir,” faltered the butler, “but you must not flurry me. I have had a shock.”
“Let him go on his own way, Mr Capel,” said the old lawyer.
Preenham gave him a grateful look and continued:
“I thought I’d go and speak to Mr Ramo, and then I met Cook and Anne.”
“We were on the mat, Mr Preenham,” said a husky voice from below.
“Yes, Mrs Thompson, quite right, and they went on to the kitchen while I went up into the hall, and undid the bolts of the front hall door, and let down the chain.”
“Yes—exactly.”
“Then I went up, sir, to see if Mr Ramo was at master’s door.”
“Yes; go on,” said Capel, excitedly.
“And when I came to the door, sir, I found it was ajar, and though I listened, I could not hear a sound. So I pushed the door against the big curtain, and called softly, ‘Ramo! Mr Ramo!’ but there was no answer, and then I felt a bit alarmed, and, after waiting a moment, I went down and got a light.”
“Well?”
“I called again, sir, twice; and then, pushing open the door, a puff of wind nearly blew out the light.”
“Wind?” cried Mr Girtle; and he took a step towards the door.
“Stop a minute, sir, please,” said the butler appealingly. “I went in quickly, and the first thing I saw was the curtain dragged aside and the window open.”
“Yes—go on,” cried Mr Girtle, for the butler was trembling so that he could hardly speak.
“And the next, sir—I nearly fell over him—there was poor Mr Ramo—lying—in—a pool of blood.”
“Oh!”
The cry came from Lydia as she tottered and clung to Katrine, calm amidst the horrors of the recital.
“I put the candle on the floor, sir, and went down on my knee beside him,” cried the butler, growing more and more agitated. “Look,” he said, piteously, pointing to his trousers and his hands. “I touched him, sir, but he was dead, sir, dead, and I came up then and alarmed the house.”
Artis looked at the butler narrowly, as his eyes wandered from one to the other.
“Have you been in since, Preenham?”
“No, sir. I went and got the candles, and lit all I could.”
Capel was about to rush into the room, but he stopped on the threshold.
“Miss D’Enghien—Miss Lawrence—this is no place for you. Pray go back to your rooms.”
“Yes,” said Katrine, slowly, “Mr Capel is right. Come, dear, with me.”
She passed her arm round Lydia, and the two seemed to fade away into the darkness, as Capel, Mr Girtle, Artis, and, lastly, the butler went into the room.
Chapter Nine.Another Discovery.It was precisely as the butler had said. There was the window open—a window looking out on to some leads. And beyond them the low houses of a mews which ran at the back. There, at a short distance from the bed, was the Colonel’s faithful servant, in a pool of blood, with a kukri—one of those ugly curved Indian knives—clasped tightly in his hand.“Dead!” said Mr Girtle; and then, rising quickly, he ran to the further portal, drew back the curtain, and found the iron door closed.“There has been a terrible struggle here,” said Capel. “Look.”He pointed to where, plainly seen on the white counterpane that half covered the heavy valance, there was the mark of a bloody hand that had caught the quilt and dragged it a little down.“Yes,” said Mr Girtle, looking about at overturned chairs, a small table driven out of its place, and a carriage clock swept off and lying on the floor. “Yes, there has been a terrible struggle.”He looked at the dead man, and then in the direction of the strong chamber.Artis saw, and said maliciously:“Murder must mean robbery.”“Impossible!” said the lawyer. “The door is shut. Stop. Let me see,” and stooping, he thrust his hand inside the silken robe the old Indian wore.There was a dead silence as he searched hastily, and then drew out the keys and chain.“All safe,” he cried; “see, here are the keys. They slip off and on this spring swivel; the old man always wore them there. The key of that door; the key of the iron chamber; the key of the steel chest. Gentlemen, I shall remove the keys. Mr Capel, they are yours, now. Take them.”“No,” said Capel quietly. “Keep them, sir. Now, what do you make of this? It seems to me that the murderer must have come in by this door, and encountered Ramo, and, after the terrible struggle, have escaped by the window.”“Exactly,” said Mr Girtle.“Unless,” said Artis, “some one killed this black fellow when trying to rob his master.”“Absurd!” cried Capel angrily, as he bent down over the dead man. “Look here,” he cried, “whoever it was must have been wounded. This knife is covered with blood.”“His own, perhaps,” said Artis.“May be so, but I think not. Now, Mr Girtle, what next?”“The police,” said the old lawyer huskily. “Preenham, fetch me a little brandy; this terrible scene has made me faint.”“Go, sir? Leave you here?”“Yes, go at once,” said Mr Girtle, and there seemed to be an unwillingness to leave, as the butler went out and closed the door.“You did not want that brandy,” said Artis quickly. “You wanted to get rid of him for a few minutes. I know what you are thinking—that it was that scoundrelly-faced footman.”“Yes, you have guessed my thoughts.”“And you suspect the butler?”“I do not say that, sir,” said the lawyer coldly. “We do not know that there has been any robbery until the plate is examined, but we ought to have sent for a doctor at once.”“I’ll go,” said Capel, and hurrying out of the room, he ran down the stairs, caught his hat from the stand, and hurried from street to street till he saw the familiar red-eyed lamp.Five minutes after he was on his way back in a cab, with a keen-looking, youngish man, to whom he gave an account of the morning’s discovery.“Have you given notice to the police?”“No.”“If I were you, I should send a messenger straight to Scotland Yard. It will save you from the blundering of some young constable. Humph—too late.”For, as they reached the room, there was the familiar helmet of one of the force, the man having found the door left open by Capel and rung.He was a heavy, dull-looking man, who seemed, as he stood in the darkened room, to consider it his duty to thrust his hand in his belt, and stare at the ghastly figure on the floor.Meanwhile the doctor was busily examining the body of the Indian servant.“Quite dead!” said Mr Girtle.“Yes.Rigor mortishas set in.”“Suicide?”“Suicide, sir? Oh, bless my soul, no.”“But that weapon?”“Yes, some one had an awful cut with that, I should say,” continued the doctor, and the constable mentally drew a line from the kukri to the open window, out on to the leads, and down into the mews.“What has caused his death?”“I cannot tell you yet,” said the doctor. “Hold the light here, closer, please. Hah, that is the mark of a blow on the arm. There is this wound on the chin, and on the neck. Hah! Yes, this seems more likely. There has been a tremendous blow dealt here on the head—but no fracture, I think—sort of blow a life-preserver would give; but, really, I cannot account so far for his death. Unless—What is this peculiar odour?”“I told you,” said Capel, pointing to the bed.“No, I don’t mean that,” said the doctor quickly. “I mean this about here. Can you see any bottle?”He ran his hand down the side of the silk robe, and then looked round where he knelt.“What do you mean, doctor?” said Mr Girtle.“There is the same odour that I should expect to notice in a case of suicide with poison.”“Doesn’t look much like that,” said Artis. “Why, doctor, look at the traces of the struggle.”“I have looked at them, sir,” replied the doctor; “but, so far, I detect no cause for death. A proper examination may give different results, but I must have the assistance of a colleague.”“Done, sir? Finished?” said the constable, who had remained for the time unnoticed.“Yes, my man. You will give notice of this at once, and lock up the room.”“All in good time, sir. I should like a look round. Door open, you say?”“Yes,” said Mr Girtle.“Window open?”“Yes.”“Well, then, the fellow who did it seems to have come in here and escaped there, after getting a cut with that crooked knife.”He turned on his bull’s-eye lantern, and made the light play from where the body lay, over the Turkey carpet, to the window, where he turned off the light, for there was sufficient for him to see and examine the seat and sill.No stains—no marks of hands on the window, no footmarks outside on the leads—not a spot.He shook his head, and came back.“Well, my man?” said Mr Girtle.“Don’t be in a hurry, sir. Law moves slow and sure. I was in the country before I got out of the rural into the metropolitan.”“What has that to do with this?” cried Artis.“Everything, sir,” said the constable, turning sharply on the young man, and watching him narrowly. “I’ve known cases where windows have been set open to make it seem that some one’s gone through.”“But the murderer is not in the house,” said Mr Girtle, uneasily; “and we suspect—”“Who’s that?” said the constable, sharply. “Oh, you, Mr Butler.”“Yes; I’ve brought the brandy for Mr Girtle, sir.”“Never mind, now,” said the policeman. “Set it down. Gentlemen, I’ve got a theory about this here.”He turned on his bull’s-eye again, as he spoke.“A theory?” cried Capel, impatiently.“Yes, sir. You see that crooked knife thing?”“Yes.”“And the mark of the bloody hand on the counterpane, where it is dragged?”“Yes, we saw that.”“Well, has any one looked under the bed?”“No.”“Then we shall find him there.”He stepped forward and raised the heavy valance, directing the light beneath.“There!” he exclaimed. “What did I say?”
It was precisely as the butler had said. There was the window open—a window looking out on to some leads. And beyond them the low houses of a mews which ran at the back. There, at a short distance from the bed, was the Colonel’s faithful servant, in a pool of blood, with a kukri—one of those ugly curved Indian knives—clasped tightly in his hand.
“Dead!” said Mr Girtle; and then, rising quickly, he ran to the further portal, drew back the curtain, and found the iron door closed.
“There has been a terrible struggle here,” said Capel. “Look.”
He pointed to where, plainly seen on the white counterpane that half covered the heavy valance, there was the mark of a bloody hand that had caught the quilt and dragged it a little down.
“Yes,” said Mr Girtle, looking about at overturned chairs, a small table driven out of its place, and a carriage clock swept off and lying on the floor. “Yes, there has been a terrible struggle.”
He looked at the dead man, and then in the direction of the strong chamber.
Artis saw, and said maliciously:
“Murder must mean robbery.”
“Impossible!” said the lawyer. “The door is shut. Stop. Let me see,” and stooping, he thrust his hand inside the silken robe the old Indian wore.
There was a dead silence as he searched hastily, and then drew out the keys and chain.
“All safe,” he cried; “see, here are the keys. They slip off and on this spring swivel; the old man always wore them there. The key of that door; the key of the iron chamber; the key of the steel chest. Gentlemen, I shall remove the keys. Mr Capel, they are yours, now. Take them.”
“No,” said Capel quietly. “Keep them, sir. Now, what do you make of this? It seems to me that the murderer must have come in by this door, and encountered Ramo, and, after the terrible struggle, have escaped by the window.”
“Exactly,” said Mr Girtle.
“Unless,” said Artis, “some one killed this black fellow when trying to rob his master.”
“Absurd!” cried Capel angrily, as he bent down over the dead man. “Look here,” he cried, “whoever it was must have been wounded. This knife is covered with blood.”
“His own, perhaps,” said Artis.
“May be so, but I think not. Now, Mr Girtle, what next?”
“The police,” said the old lawyer huskily. “Preenham, fetch me a little brandy; this terrible scene has made me faint.”
“Go, sir? Leave you here?”
“Yes, go at once,” said Mr Girtle, and there seemed to be an unwillingness to leave, as the butler went out and closed the door.
“You did not want that brandy,” said Artis quickly. “You wanted to get rid of him for a few minutes. I know what you are thinking—that it was that scoundrelly-faced footman.”
“Yes, you have guessed my thoughts.”
“And you suspect the butler?”
“I do not say that, sir,” said the lawyer coldly. “We do not know that there has been any robbery until the plate is examined, but we ought to have sent for a doctor at once.”
“I’ll go,” said Capel, and hurrying out of the room, he ran down the stairs, caught his hat from the stand, and hurried from street to street till he saw the familiar red-eyed lamp.
Five minutes after he was on his way back in a cab, with a keen-looking, youngish man, to whom he gave an account of the morning’s discovery.
“Have you given notice to the police?”
“No.”
“If I were you, I should send a messenger straight to Scotland Yard. It will save you from the blundering of some young constable. Humph—too late.”
For, as they reached the room, there was the familiar helmet of one of the force, the man having found the door left open by Capel and rung.
He was a heavy, dull-looking man, who seemed, as he stood in the darkened room, to consider it his duty to thrust his hand in his belt, and stare at the ghastly figure on the floor.
Meanwhile the doctor was busily examining the body of the Indian servant.
“Quite dead!” said Mr Girtle.
“Yes.Rigor mortishas set in.”
“Suicide?”
“Suicide, sir? Oh, bless my soul, no.”
“But that weapon?”
“Yes, some one had an awful cut with that, I should say,” continued the doctor, and the constable mentally drew a line from the kukri to the open window, out on to the leads, and down into the mews.
“What has caused his death?”
“I cannot tell you yet,” said the doctor. “Hold the light here, closer, please. Hah, that is the mark of a blow on the arm. There is this wound on the chin, and on the neck. Hah! Yes, this seems more likely. There has been a tremendous blow dealt here on the head—but no fracture, I think—sort of blow a life-preserver would give; but, really, I cannot account so far for his death. Unless—What is this peculiar odour?”
“I told you,” said Capel, pointing to the bed.
“No, I don’t mean that,” said the doctor quickly. “I mean this about here. Can you see any bottle?”
He ran his hand down the side of the silk robe, and then looked round where he knelt.
“What do you mean, doctor?” said Mr Girtle.
“There is the same odour that I should expect to notice in a case of suicide with poison.”
“Doesn’t look much like that,” said Artis. “Why, doctor, look at the traces of the struggle.”
“I have looked at them, sir,” replied the doctor; “but, so far, I detect no cause for death. A proper examination may give different results, but I must have the assistance of a colleague.”
“Done, sir? Finished?” said the constable, who had remained for the time unnoticed.
“Yes, my man. You will give notice of this at once, and lock up the room.”
“All in good time, sir. I should like a look round. Door open, you say?”
“Yes,” said Mr Girtle.
“Window open?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, the fellow who did it seems to have come in here and escaped there, after getting a cut with that crooked knife.”
He turned on his bull’s-eye lantern, and made the light play from where the body lay, over the Turkey carpet, to the window, where he turned off the light, for there was sufficient for him to see and examine the seat and sill.
No stains—no marks of hands on the window, no footmarks outside on the leads—not a spot.
He shook his head, and came back.
“Well, my man?” said Mr Girtle.
“Don’t be in a hurry, sir. Law moves slow and sure. I was in the country before I got out of the rural into the metropolitan.”
“What has that to do with this?” cried Artis.
“Everything, sir,” said the constable, turning sharply on the young man, and watching him narrowly. “I’ve known cases where windows have been set open to make it seem that some one’s gone through.”
“But the murderer is not in the house,” said Mr Girtle, uneasily; “and we suspect—”
“Who’s that?” said the constable, sharply. “Oh, you, Mr Butler.”
“Yes; I’ve brought the brandy for Mr Girtle, sir.”
“Never mind, now,” said the policeman. “Set it down. Gentlemen, I’ve got a theory about this here.”
He turned on his bull’s-eye again, as he spoke.
“A theory?” cried Capel, impatiently.
“Yes, sir. You see that crooked knife thing?”
“Yes.”
“And the mark of the bloody hand on the counterpane, where it is dragged?”
“Yes, we saw that.”
“Well, has any one looked under the bed?”
“No.”
“Then we shall find him there.”
He stepped forward and raised the heavy valance, directing the light beneath.
“There!” he exclaimed. “What did I say?”
Chapter Ten.“Why, Doctor, he’s dead!”In one moment the slow, heavy-looking constable changed, from a rustic, loutish fellow, to a man full of intelligent observation, for, as he raised the valance of the bed, there, indistinctly seen, was the body of a man, either through fear or to escape observation.With a quick motion of the hand, the constable opened the leather case at his side, and drew his truncheon.“Stand at the window, sir,” he said to Capel. “You, sir, keep the door. Now, then,” he cried, as soon as he had been obeyed, and in a sharp, authoritative voice. “The game’s up. Out you came.”Capel set his teeth hard, for all this was horrible in that chamber of death.“Do you hear?” cried the constable, sharply, for there was neither word nor movement from beneath the bed. “Oh, very well,” he continued, “only I warn you I stand no nonsense.” And the occupants of the room prepared for a struggle, with beating hearts.The constable stepped back to them, and from behind his hand, said, softly:“Be ready, perhaps there’s two.”He stepped back and stooped with his staff ready for a blow.“Now, then,” he cried; “is it surrender?”There was no answer, and, he thrust his hand beneath the bed, seized the man’s leg, and dragged him out into the room, but only to loose his hold and start away.“Why, doctor!” he cried, “he’s dead.”The doctor caught up a candlestick and dropped on one knee beside the fresh horror, while the light from the bull’s-eye was again brought to bear, and mingled with the wan, yellow rays that struggled in through the panes.“Good God, gentlemen!” gasped the butler, “it’s Charles.”The horribly distorted features were, indeed, those of the footman, and the mystery of the death-chamber began to grow lighter, for it was evident that for some reason he had entered the room in the night. For no good mission, certainly, a short whalebone-handled life-preserver hanging by a twisted thong from his wrist.The hideous stains upon the kukri were clearly enough explained by the sight of a terrible gash in the man’s throat, and one of his hands was crimsoned and smeared—the one that had left its print upon the quilt, as, in his death struggle, he had rolled beneath the bed.“No one else there, gentleman,” said the constable, looking beneath the bed and making his lantern play there and about the curtains, whilst as it shed its keen light across the calm, sleeping face of the Colonel, the man involuntarily took off his helmet and stepped back on tiptoe.“Dead some hours,” said the doctor, rising.“It is clear enough,” said Mr Girtle, in the midst of the painful silence. “This poor Hindoo was the faithful old servant of my deceased friend, and he died in defence of his master’s property.”“Yes, yes,” cried the old butler, excitedly. “Charles used to talk about master’s money and diamonds in the servants’ hall. I used to reprove him, and say that talking about such things was tempting yourself.”“Never asked you to be in it, of course?” said the constable, going close up to him.“Oh, no; never, sir; but are you quite sure both him and Mr Ramo are dead?”“Quite,” said the constable. “There, you can say what you like, but it’s my duty to tell you that I shall take down anything you say, and it may be used in evidence against you.”“Against me!” cried the butler.“Yes, against you.”But there was no occasion for the note-book, for Preenham closed his lips and did not speak again.“I think I will satisfy myself, constable, that all is safe here,” said Mr Girtle. “Gentlemen, will you come with me?”He crossed the room, drew back the curtain over the portal and, taking out his keys, unlocked and pushed back the door, descending with the others into the vault-like chamber and examining the massive iron structure in the middle.“It is quite safe,” he said, as the constable made the light of his lantern play here and there.“But you have not looked in the safe,” said Artis, quickly.“There is no need, sir. No one could have opened it, even with the keys, but Ramo or myself. Nothing has been touched.”The policeman drew a long breath and they returned to the death-chamber, Mr Girtle carefully locking the iron door.“I don’t think we shall want any detectives here, gentlemen,” said the constable; “I shall stay on the premises, but perhaps you will let the butler—no, I think one of you, perhaps—will be good enough to send in the first constable you see.”“I am going back,” said the doctor. “I can do no more now, policeman. I will send a man to you.”“Thankye, sir, if you will.”“Of course you will give notice to the coroner, and there will be a post-mortem?”“You leave that to me, sir; only send me one of our men.”They were stealing out on tiptoe, when Capel went back and drew the heavy curtains right across the bed, to shut from the old warrior the horrors that lay in the middle of the room. The constable, too, stepped softly across to fasten the window. Then, following the others out, he closed and locked the door, turning round directly, ducking down, and involuntarily attempting to draw his truncheon, as he raised his left arm to ward off a blow.“Bah!” he ejaculated. “Why, it’s a stature. Looked just as if it was going to knock one down.”
In one moment the slow, heavy-looking constable changed, from a rustic, loutish fellow, to a man full of intelligent observation, for, as he raised the valance of the bed, there, indistinctly seen, was the body of a man, either through fear or to escape observation.
With a quick motion of the hand, the constable opened the leather case at his side, and drew his truncheon.
“Stand at the window, sir,” he said to Capel. “You, sir, keep the door. Now, then,” he cried, as soon as he had been obeyed, and in a sharp, authoritative voice. “The game’s up. Out you came.”
Capel set his teeth hard, for all this was horrible in that chamber of death.
“Do you hear?” cried the constable, sharply, for there was neither word nor movement from beneath the bed. “Oh, very well,” he continued, “only I warn you I stand no nonsense.” And the occupants of the room prepared for a struggle, with beating hearts.
The constable stepped back to them, and from behind his hand, said, softly:
“Be ready, perhaps there’s two.”
He stepped back and stooped with his staff ready for a blow.
“Now, then,” he cried; “is it surrender?”
There was no answer, and, he thrust his hand beneath the bed, seized the man’s leg, and dragged him out into the room, but only to loose his hold and start away.
“Why, doctor!” he cried, “he’s dead.”
The doctor caught up a candlestick and dropped on one knee beside the fresh horror, while the light from the bull’s-eye was again brought to bear, and mingled with the wan, yellow rays that struggled in through the panes.
“Good God, gentlemen!” gasped the butler, “it’s Charles.”
The horribly distorted features were, indeed, those of the footman, and the mystery of the death-chamber began to grow lighter, for it was evident that for some reason he had entered the room in the night. For no good mission, certainly, a short whalebone-handled life-preserver hanging by a twisted thong from his wrist.
The hideous stains upon the kukri were clearly enough explained by the sight of a terrible gash in the man’s throat, and one of his hands was crimsoned and smeared—the one that had left its print upon the quilt, as, in his death struggle, he had rolled beneath the bed.
“No one else there, gentleman,” said the constable, looking beneath the bed and making his lantern play there and about the curtains, whilst as it shed its keen light across the calm, sleeping face of the Colonel, the man involuntarily took off his helmet and stepped back on tiptoe.
“Dead some hours,” said the doctor, rising.
“It is clear enough,” said Mr Girtle, in the midst of the painful silence. “This poor Hindoo was the faithful old servant of my deceased friend, and he died in defence of his master’s property.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the old butler, excitedly. “Charles used to talk about master’s money and diamonds in the servants’ hall. I used to reprove him, and say that talking about such things was tempting yourself.”
“Never asked you to be in it, of course?” said the constable, going close up to him.
“Oh, no; never, sir; but are you quite sure both him and Mr Ramo are dead?”
“Quite,” said the constable. “There, you can say what you like, but it’s my duty to tell you that I shall take down anything you say, and it may be used in evidence against you.”
“Against me!” cried the butler.
“Yes, against you.”
But there was no occasion for the note-book, for Preenham closed his lips and did not speak again.
“I think I will satisfy myself, constable, that all is safe here,” said Mr Girtle. “Gentlemen, will you come with me?”
He crossed the room, drew back the curtain over the portal and, taking out his keys, unlocked and pushed back the door, descending with the others into the vault-like chamber and examining the massive iron structure in the middle.
“It is quite safe,” he said, as the constable made the light of his lantern play here and there.
“But you have not looked in the safe,” said Artis, quickly.
“There is no need, sir. No one could have opened it, even with the keys, but Ramo or myself. Nothing has been touched.”
The policeman drew a long breath and they returned to the death-chamber, Mr Girtle carefully locking the iron door.
“I don’t think we shall want any detectives here, gentlemen,” said the constable; “I shall stay on the premises, but perhaps you will let the butler—no, I think one of you, perhaps—will be good enough to send in the first constable you see.”
“I am going back,” said the doctor. “I can do no more now, policeman. I will send a man to you.”
“Thankye, sir, if you will.”
“Of course you will give notice to the coroner, and there will be a post-mortem?”
“You leave that to me, sir; only send me one of our men.”
They were stealing out on tiptoe, when Capel went back and drew the heavy curtains right across the bed, to shut from the old warrior the horrors that lay in the middle of the room. The constable, too, stepped softly across to fasten the window. Then, following the others out, he closed and locked the door, turning round directly, ducking down, and involuntarily attempting to draw his truncheon, as he raised his left arm to ward off a blow.
“Bah!” he ejaculated. “Why, it’s a stature. Looked just as if it was going to knock one down.”
Chapter Eleven.The Treasure.A week of horror and anxiety, during which the customary legal processes had been gone through.A jury had visited the Dark House and been conducted through the two rooms, to go away disappointed at not seeing the inside of the great iron safe. Then, after the evidence had been given, by the various witnesses at the inquest, including that of the two doctors who had performed the post-mortem examination, a verdict was returned which charged Charles Pillar with wilful murder, and stated that the Indian had committed justifiable homicide.The doctors had differed, as it is proverbially said that they will, Dr Heston, the young medical man, who had been called in first, telling the jury that he was not satisfied that the blows given had caused the death, and drawing attention to the peculiar odour he had noticed. But the Coroner, an old medical man, sided with the colleague, who pooh-poohed the idea, and the verdict was given.The coroner was a good deal exercised in his mind whether some proceedings ought not to have been taken in respect to the remains of the late Colonel, but he obtained no legal support, and the terrible murder and attempted robbery at Number 9A, Albemarle Square, with the history of the embalming, and the mysterious inner chamber, were public property for the usual nine days, when something fresh occurred, and the interest died away.Then, once more, there was the old peace in the Dark House, where the remains of Colonel Capel lay in state in the mystery-haunted room.The servants were very reticent, and consequently but little was heard of the proceedings in Albemarle Square. A good many loiterers had stopped to stare at the darkened windows of the great mansion; but as two coffins had been borne from the place, it was forgotten outside that another still remained. What might have been some busy-body’s business, became no one’s, and the horrible tragedy tended towards the simplification, of the dead man’s instructions.“It is nine days now since the Colonel’s commands should have been fulfilled,” said Mr Girtle, as they were seated at lunch in the darkened dining-room—the same party, for Katrine had expressed her determination to stay in the house through all the trouble, and Lydia had offered to remain with her.Katrine and Lydia had kept a great deal to their rooms; Mr Girtle spent most of his time in the library, busy over papers, only appearing at meal times, and, consequently, Paul Capel was thrown a great deal into the society of Gerard Artis, treating him always in the most friendly way, and declining to notice the barbs of the verbal arrows the other was fond of launching.One of Artis’s favourite allusions was to the house his companion inherited.“I felt horribly jealous of you at first,” he said. “Seemed such a pot of money; but with special commands to live here with a haunted room, and a mausoleum beyond it—no, thank you.”“What shall you do with the chamber of horrors?” said Artis, on another occasion.“You heard—it is to be built-up.”“No, no; I mean the bedroom. Ugh!”“I shall take that as my own.”“What? A room haunted with the spirits of three dead men! Bah! Impossible.”Then came the ninth day, and Mr Girtle announced that on the next his instructions should be carried out precisely at twelve.“That will give you ample time, Mr Capel, to visit a banker afterwards; for, after the late experience, I should not lose an hour in depositing your great uncle’s bequest in the hands of your banker.”“You will go with me, I hope.”The old man looked pleased, and nodded.“But I had reckoned upon seeing the jewels,” said Katrine, with a smile at the young heir, which made his heart throb, and Lydia shrink.“That pleasure must be deferred, Miss D’Enghien,” said the old lawyer, crustily; and no more was said.At twelve o’clock punctually, the next day, Mr Girtle unlocked the door of the Colonel’s room, and fulfilling Ramo’s duty, held it back while the young men bore in lights; Katrine and Lydia followed, and the old butler, looking shrunken and depressed, came last, to close the door and draw the curtain.It was mid-day, but it might have been midnight. Candles were lit again on chimney-piece and dressing-table, and after the old solicitor had seen that the door was fastened within, he took out his key, drew the portal curtain at the end, and then unlocked and slowly pushed open the iron door.At a given order the butler solemnly carried a couple of candles down into the vault, and stood there in the gloomy stone chamber, where, to those who stood waiting his return, they seemed to cast a peculiarly weird light.Then, in utter silence, the lid was placed over the calm, sleeping features, and the four men, taking each a handle, lifted and bore the coffin down. There was some little difficulty in the sharp turn of the steps, but in a few minutes all was done, and the coffin lay upon the flagstones, while the two girls stood hand clasping hand.Mr Girtle walked round to the back of the iron safe and stooped down, when a peculiar clang was heard, as if a spring had been set free, and a large panel at the end where Capel was standing, dropped down.As the old lawyer came back, candle in hand, it was now seen that the panel that had fallen laid bare a key-hole.Upon the key being inserted in this, and turned, the panel flew back, and glided over the key-hole as soon as the key was drawn out, displaying a second key-hole, crossed by a row of lettered brass slides.These the old lawyer manipulated till the letters formed in a row a particular word, when the second key-hole was laid bare, the key inserted and turned, and one end of the iron safe revolved on a pair of huge pivots, shewing the interior—plain, rectangular and dark, with an oblong mass of black metal in the centre.“The steel chest,” said the old lawyer, in a whisper, as he stepped inside the great safe, in which he could nearly stand upright.Candle in hand he went to the other end, put down the light for a moment to set his hands free to get a second key—a curiously long, thin key, with the end of which he pushed something at the back of the chest. Then, going to one side, he repeated the act, went back round to the other side, and again repeated it, after which he came to the front, and as he held down the light, those who were intently watching his actions saw that there was a small circle of Roman figures, with a hand like that of a small clock, which he pushed round with the end of the key, till it was at the letter V. This done, he bent over the chest, and repeated the action twice upon the top.Then, as he stepped out, a sharp sound was heard, and a key-hole was laid bare once more. In this he placed the key, turned it, and the steel chest seemed to split open from end to end, dividing in equal parts, which slowly turned over on massive hinges, leaving the centre—a space large enough to hold the coffin—wide open.“Mr Capel,” said the old lawyer, stepping aside, “the next duty is yours. There lie the bank notes and the case of precious stones. I give them over to your care.”Paul Capel hesitated for a moment, glanced at his companions, then back at the opening leading to the Colonel’s room, where Katrine and Lydia were watching.The young man’s heart beat heavily as he took the candle, and, stooping down, entered the iron chamber to take from its hiding place his enormous fortune.It was but a step, and he had only to stretch out his hand to pick up the two cases, but—The steel chest held nothing.The treasure was not there.
A week of horror and anxiety, during which the customary legal processes had been gone through.
A jury had visited the Dark House and been conducted through the two rooms, to go away disappointed at not seeing the inside of the great iron safe. Then, after the evidence had been given, by the various witnesses at the inquest, including that of the two doctors who had performed the post-mortem examination, a verdict was returned which charged Charles Pillar with wilful murder, and stated that the Indian had committed justifiable homicide.
The doctors had differed, as it is proverbially said that they will, Dr Heston, the young medical man, who had been called in first, telling the jury that he was not satisfied that the blows given had caused the death, and drawing attention to the peculiar odour he had noticed. But the Coroner, an old medical man, sided with the colleague, who pooh-poohed the idea, and the verdict was given.
The coroner was a good deal exercised in his mind whether some proceedings ought not to have been taken in respect to the remains of the late Colonel, but he obtained no legal support, and the terrible murder and attempted robbery at Number 9A, Albemarle Square, with the history of the embalming, and the mysterious inner chamber, were public property for the usual nine days, when something fresh occurred, and the interest died away.
Then, once more, there was the old peace in the Dark House, where the remains of Colonel Capel lay in state in the mystery-haunted room.
The servants were very reticent, and consequently but little was heard of the proceedings in Albemarle Square. A good many loiterers had stopped to stare at the darkened windows of the great mansion; but as two coffins had been borne from the place, it was forgotten outside that another still remained. What might have been some busy-body’s business, became no one’s, and the horrible tragedy tended towards the simplification, of the dead man’s instructions.
“It is nine days now since the Colonel’s commands should have been fulfilled,” said Mr Girtle, as they were seated at lunch in the darkened dining-room—the same party, for Katrine had expressed her determination to stay in the house through all the trouble, and Lydia had offered to remain with her.
Katrine and Lydia had kept a great deal to their rooms; Mr Girtle spent most of his time in the library, busy over papers, only appearing at meal times, and, consequently, Paul Capel was thrown a great deal into the society of Gerard Artis, treating him always in the most friendly way, and declining to notice the barbs of the verbal arrows the other was fond of launching.
One of Artis’s favourite allusions was to the house his companion inherited.
“I felt horribly jealous of you at first,” he said. “Seemed such a pot of money; but with special commands to live here with a haunted room, and a mausoleum beyond it—no, thank you.”
“What shall you do with the chamber of horrors?” said Artis, on another occasion.
“You heard—it is to be built-up.”
“No, no; I mean the bedroom. Ugh!”
“I shall take that as my own.”
“What? A room haunted with the spirits of three dead men! Bah! Impossible.”
Then came the ninth day, and Mr Girtle announced that on the next his instructions should be carried out precisely at twelve.
“That will give you ample time, Mr Capel, to visit a banker afterwards; for, after the late experience, I should not lose an hour in depositing your great uncle’s bequest in the hands of your banker.”
“You will go with me, I hope.”
The old man looked pleased, and nodded.
“But I had reckoned upon seeing the jewels,” said Katrine, with a smile at the young heir, which made his heart throb, and Lydia shrink.
“That pleasure must be deferred, Miss D’Enghien,” said the old lawyer, crustily; and no more was said.
At twelve o’clock punctually, the next day, Mr Girtle unlocked the door of the Colonel’s room, and fulfilling Ramo’s duty, held it back while the young men bore in lights; Katrine and Lydia followed, and the old butler, looking shrunken and depressed, came last, to close the door and draw the curtain.
It was mid-day, but it might have been midnight. Candles were lit again on chimney-piece and dressing-table, and after the old solicitor had seen that the door was fastened within, he took out his key, drew the portal curtain at the end, and then unlocked and slowly pushed open the iron door.
At a given order the butler solemnly carried a couple of candles down into the vault, and stood there in the gloomy stone chamber, where, to those who stood waiting his return, they seemed to cast a peculiarly weird light.
Then, in utter silence, the lid was placed over the calm, sleeping features, and the four men, taking each a handle, lifted and bore the coffin down. There was some little difficulty in the sharp turn of the steps, but in a few minutes all was done, and the coffin lay upon the flagstones, while the two girls stood hand clasping hand.
Mr Girtle walked round to the back of the iron safe and stooped down, when a peculiar clang was heard, as if a spring had been set free, and a large panel at the end where Capel was standing, dropped down.
As the old lawyer came back, candle in hand, it was now seen that the panel that had fallen laid bare a key-hole.
Upon the key being inserted in this, and turned, the panel flew back, and glided over the key-hole as soon as the key was drawn out, displaying a second key-hole, crossed by a row of lettered brass slides.
These the old lawyer manipulated till the letters formed in a row a particular word, when the second key-hole was laid bare, the key inserted and turned, and one end of the iron safe revolved on a pair of huge pivots, shewing the interior—plain, rectangular and dark, with an oblong mass of black metal in the centre.
“The steel chest,” said the old lawyer, in a whisper, as he stepped inside the great safe, in which he could nearly stand upright.
Candle in hand he went to the other end, put down the light for a moment to set his hands free to get a second key—a curiously long, thin key, with the end of which he pushed something at the back of the chest. Then, going to one side, he repeated the act, went back round to the other side, and again repeated it, after which he came to the front, and as he held down the light, those who were intently watching his actions saw that there was a small circle of Roman figures, with a hand like that of a small clock, which he pushed round with the end of the key, till it was at the letter V. This done, he bent over the chest, and repeated the action twice upon the top.
Then, as he stepped out, a sharp sound was heard, and a key-hole was laid bare once more. In this he placed the key, turned it, and the steel chest seemed to split open from end to end, dividing in equal parts, which slowly turned over on massive hinges, leaving the centre—a space large enough to hold the coffin—wide open.
“Mr Capel,” said the old lawyer, stepping aside, “the next duty is yours. There lie the bank notes and the case of precious stones. I give them over to your care.”
Paul Capel hesitated for a moment, glanced at his companions, then back at the opening leading to the Colonel’s room, where Katrine and Lydia were watching.
The young man’s heart beat heavily as he took the candle, and, stooping down, entered the iron chamber to take from its hiding place his enormous fortune.
It was but a step, and he had only to stretch out his hand to pick up the two cases, but—
The steel chest held nothing.
The treasure was not there.
Chapter Twelve.The End of the Instructions.Paul Capel did not realise his position. “Is there some mistake, Mr Girtle?”“Mistake?”“There is nothing here!”“Nothing there?”“Nothing! See for yourself.”The old man stepped in, searched, and came out with drops of sweat upon his yellow forehead.“Well?” exclaimed Capel, excitedly, as the old man stared in a dazed way.“It is gone!” said the old lawyer, in a hoarse voice, and his hands trembling violently.“Well, Mr Girtle,” said Capel, at last, in a voice that he vainly strove to make firm; “what have you to say?”“To say?” said the old lawyer, hastily.“Oh, it is all a cock and bull story,” cried Artis. “There never was any treasure.”“Silence, sir,” cried the old lawyer recovering himself. “How can you speak like that in the presence of the dead?”“Bah!” cried Artis. “Presence of the dead, indeed! Presence of a mummy. Would you have me pull a long face as I went through the British Museum?”“I would have you behave—”“You look here,” cried Artis, sharply. “You are executor, and this treasure, if there was one, lay in your charge. It’s nothing to me. If it were, I should call in the police.”“Mr Capel,” cried the old lawyer excitedly, “I swear to you, sir, that the money and jewels were there a fortnight ago. I came down here with Ramo, and there lay the two cases with their contents.”“Well?” said Capel, “what then?”“We carefully closed up the place.”“Then somebody must have been down since, and taken the treasure away.”“Only two men could have done this, sir, Ramo and myself.”“That throws it on to you,” said Artis.“And my reputation, sir, will bear me out when I proclaim my innocence.”“I don’t know,” said Artis. “Sudden temptation; kleptomania and that sort of thing.”The old lawyer turned his back.“Mr Gerard Artis, this is no time for such remarks as these,” said Capel. “Mr Girtle, what have you to say?”“At present, nothing, sir. I am astounded. You know we came down on that dreadful morning, and found the chamber intact; besides it could not have been forced.”“There were the keys,” said Artis.“But they have never left my person. There were but the two sets of keys—the Colonel’s and mine. Those were the Colonel’s set that we found upon Ramo.”“Rather strange that the Colonel should have given you a set,” said Artis.“No more strange than that a gentleman should trust a banker,” said Capel.“What, going to side with the lawyer?”Capel made no reply, only gazed searchingly at the old executor.“There may have been other keys, Mr Girtle.”“Oh, no. The place was made some years ago, for a sarcophagus, and the makers never imagined that it would be used for a safe.”There was a dead silence.“Let us search again. The cases may have slipped aside.”“It is impossible,” said the old lawyer; and as they two passed into the iron chamber, Artis exchanged a glance with Katrine, while the old butler stood looking dazed.“You see,” said Mr Girtle, holding down the light, “there is nowhere for the cases to have slipped; all is of plain, solid steel, without a corner or crack.”“But underneath,” said Capel.“Underneath? Look for yourself,” said Mr Girtle; “where there is not solid steel there is solid iron, and beneath that, massive stone. The treasure seems to have been spirited away.”“That’s it,” said Artis. “The old man was not satisfied, and he got up out of his coffin and hid it somewhere else.”Capel caught Artis by the collar.“I will not—” he began; but mastering his indignant anger he let fall his arm.“There is nothing here,” he said; “let us look about the outside.”That was the work of a minute, for on every hand there was the blank stone—wall, floor and roof, and the exterior of the iron safe or tomb was perfectly rectangular and smooth.“What was the size of the cases?”“One was about twelve inches by eight, and three or four deep, and the other rather smaller,” replied the old lawyer; “both too large for me to have juggled them into my pockets when I opened the steel chest, Mr Artis.”“You held the keys, and if you meant to take the treasure, you had it before.”“Enough of this,” cried Capel. “It is plain that the bequest has been taken away. Mr Girtle, we will finish at once—fulfil my uncle’s commands. Come.”He went to the head of the oaken coffin, and took one handle, when, influenced by his example, the others helped to raise it a little from the floor, and it was thrust in and onward, till it rested upon the bottom of the steel chest, nearly filling the space.Capel stood on the right of the entrance, and for fully five minutes there was perfect silence in the solemn chamber.“Go on, Mr Girtle,” Capel said, at last, and the old man bent down, thrust the key in the end, gave a half turn, and the two ponderous sides slowly curved over till they were nearly together leaving only a few inches of the shining brass breastplate visible. Then there was a faint click, and the left side fell heavily, setting free the right, which descended with a loud clang, and closed tightly over a rebate in the lower side, so closely, that it was only by holding a candle near that the junction could be seen.“Go on;” and the old lawyer again inserted a key.There was no show of effort on his part, as the old lawyer turned the key, when the end of the iron chamber closed in tightly, and after once more examining the blank stone chamber, they slowly ascended the steps. Then the iron door was closed and locked, and Mr Girtle handed Capel the keys.An hour later, a couple of masons were at work with the stones that were below in the locked-up cellar, and the next day they had filled in a wall of six feet thick, cemented over the face, so that only a dark patch showed where the entrance to the colonel’s tomb had been.
Paul Capel did not realise his position. “Is there some mistake, Mr Girtle?”
“Mistake?”
“There is nothing here!”
“Nothing there?”
“Nothing! See for yourself.”
The old man stepped in, searched, and came out with drops of sweat upon his yellow forehead.
“Well?” exclaimed Capel, excitedly, as the old man stared in a dazed way.
“It is gone!” said the old lawyer, in a hoarse voice, and his hands trembling violently.
“Well, Mr Girtle,” said Capel, at last, in a voice that he vainly strove to make firm; “what have you to say?”
“To say?” said the old lawyer, hastily.
“Oh, it is all a cock and bull story,” cried Artis. “There never was any treasure.”
“Silence, sir,” cried the old lawyer recovering himself. “How can you speak like that in the presence of the dead?”
“Bah!” cried Artis. “Presence of the dead, indeed! Presence of a mummy. Would you have me pull a long face as I went through the British Museum?”
“I would have you behave—”
“You look here,” cried Artis, sharply. “You are executor, and this treasure, if there was one, lay in your charge. It’s nothing to me. If it were, I should call in the police.”
“Mr Capel,” cried the old lawyer excitedly, “I swear to you, sir, that the money and jewels were there a fortnight ago. I came down here with Ramo, and there lay the two cases with their contents.”
“Well?” said Capel, “what then?”
“We carefully closed up the place.”
“Then somebody must have been down since, and taken the treasure away.”
“Only two men could have done this, sir, Ramo and myself.”
“That throws it on to you,” said Artis.
“And my reputation, sir, will bear me out when I proclaim my innocence.”
“I don’t know,” said Artis. “Sudden temptation; kleptomania and that sort of thing.”
The old lawyer turned his back.
“Mr Gerard Artis, this is no time for such remarks as these,” said Capel. “Mr Girtle, what have you to say?”
“At present, nothing, sir. I am astounded. You know we came down on that dreadful morning, and found the chamber intact; besides it could not have been forced.”
“There were the keys,” said Artis.
“But they have never left my person. There were but the two sets of keys—the Colonel’s and mine. Those were the Colonel’s set that we found upon Ramo.”
“Rather strange that the Colonel should have given you a set,” said Artis.
“No more strange than that a gentleman should trust a banker,” said Capel.
“What, going to side with the lawyer?”
Capel made no reply, only gazed searchingly at the old executor.
“There may have been other keys, Mr Girtle.”
“Oh, no. The place was made some years ago, for a sarcophagus, and the makers never imagined that it would be used for a safe.”
There was a dead silence.
“Let us search again. The cases may have slipped aside.”
“It is impossible,” said the old lawyer; and as they two passed into the iron chamber, Artis exchanged a glance with Katrine, while the old butler stood looking dazed.
“You see,” said Mr Girtle, holding down the light, “there is nowhere for the cases to have slipped; all is of plain, solid steel, without a corner or crack.”
“But underneath,” said Capel.
“Underneath? Look for yourself,” said Mr Girtle; “where there is not solid steel there is solid iron, and beneath that, massive stone. The treasure seems to have been spirited away.”
“That’s it,” said Artis. “The old man was not satisfied, and he got up out of his coffin and hid it somewhere else.”
Capel caught Artis by the collar.
“I will not—” he began; but mastering his indignant anger he let fall his arm.
“There is nothing here,” he said; “let us look about the outside.”
That was the work of a minute, for on every hand there was the blank stone—wall, floor and roof, and the exterior of the iron safe or tomb was perfectly rectangular and smooth.
“What was the size of the cases?”
“One was about twelve inches by eight, and three or four deep, and the other rather smaller,” replied the old lawyer; “both too large for me to have juggled them into my pockets when I opened the steel chest, Mr Artis.”
“You held the keys, and if you meant to take the treasure, you had it before.”
“Enough of this,” cried Capel. “It is plain that the bequest has been taken away. Mr Girtle, we will finish at once—fulfil my uncle’s commands. Come.”
He went to the head of the oaken coffin, and took one handle, when, influenced by his example, the others helped to raise it a little from the floor, and it was thrust in and onward, till it rested upon the bottom of the steel chest, nearly filling the space.
Capel stood on the right of the entrance, and for fully five minutes there was perfect silence in the solemn chamber.
“Go on, Mr Girtle,” Capel said, at last, and the old man bent down, thrust the key in the end, gave a half turn, and the two ponderous sides slowly curved over till they were nearly together leaving only a few inches of the shining brass breastplate visible. Then there was a faint click, and the left side fell heavily, setting free the right, which descended with a loud clang, and closed tightly over a rebate in the lower side, so closely, that it was only by holding a candle near that the junction could be seen.
“Go on;” and the old lawyer again inserted a key.
There was no show of effort on his part, as the old lawyer turned the key, when the end of the iron chamber closed in tightly, and after once more examining the blank stone chamber, they slowly ascended the steps. Then the iron door was closed and locked, and Mr Girtle handed Capel the keys.
An hour later, a couple of masons were at work with the stones that were below in the locked-up cellar, and the next day they had filled in a wall of six feet thick, cemented over the face, so that only a dark patch showed where the entrance to the colonel’s tomb had been.
Chapter Thirteen.The Young Doctor.“Look here,” said Artis; “you mustn’t be offended with me. I speak very plainly, and if I can be of any use to you, I will.”They were in the drawing-room, Preenham, having announced that the masons had left.“I am not going to think of your remarks.”“I was thinking of going to-day,” continued Artis; “but I feel now that I ought not to go and leave you in a regular hole like this.”“There is no need for you to stay.”“Well, no need, of course; but I suppose you will not kick me out.”“Of course not. You are welcome.”“That’s right,” said Artis. “You see,” he continued, looking round to where Katrine and Lydia sat together, “I feel it due to myself to stop and show that I had no hand in that.”“No one accused you, Mr Artis.”“Oh, no, of course not; that would be too good a joke. Then I shall stay.”“Our case is different,” said Lydia, turning red, and then pale. “Mr Capel, Miss D’Enghien and I, if we can be of no more use, would like to say good-bye this afternoon.”“But why?” cried Capel, as he glanced at the speaker, and then fixed his eyes on Katrine. “There is no occasion for you to leave.”“I think Miss Lawrence is right,” said Katrine.“But I want help and counsel from both of you. You must not leave me yet.”“It is impossible for us to stay.”“Impossible! Why? Etiquette? Is not Mr Girtle here? Are not things as they have been since we met?”“I did not know that Mr Girtle was going to stop?” said Katrine, softly. “If I felt that we could be of any service—”“Then you will stay?” cried Capel, warmly.Katrine hesitated, looked up, then down, raised, her eyes once more, and left her chair to take Lydia’s hand.“Let us go up-stairs,” she said softly.Lydia rose at once.“You do not speak,” said Capel.Katrine did not answer till they reached the door, and then she raised her eyes to his with a long, timid look.“If Lydia consents, so will I.”“And you will stay, Miss Lawrence, to help me?” cried Capel, warmly.“I will,” said Lydia, gravely.“That’s right,” cried Capel, opening the door for them to pass out, and catching Katrine’s eye for a moment as she passed.“Curse her! She’s playing a dangerous game,” said Artis to himself, as he watched the ladies leave the room.Glancing aside, he saw that the old lawyer was watching him narrowly.“I suppose you are not glad that I am going to stay, Mr Girtle,” he said.“For some things I am,” said the old man, coolly. “For others I am not.”Just then Capel returned.The two girls separated as they reached their rooms, Katrine kissing Lydia’s cheek, and then, as soon as she was alone, her countenance changed, and she sat gazing with glowing eyes, that seemed full of some purpose upon which she was bent.At the same time Lydia Lawrence sat with her face buried in her hands, weeping silently and wishing that she were back in her country home.Very little more was said below, for Mr Girtle had an engagement in the City, and left the young men together.“You won’t have a detective set to work?”“No.”“Well, do as you like. I’m off for a run, to get rid of this gloom. Back to dinner.”“Thank goodness!” said Artis, breathing more freely, and five minutes after he was slowly crossing the square, wondering who the man was who had just gone up to the door he had left.“I’ve seen his face before,” he muttered. “Why, of course, the young doctor. What does he want?”Capel was thinking of the fortune that had slipped through his fingers. Depressed, and yet at times overjoyed, for Katrine’s glance had been full of hope. But he must trace the money that had been taken, and the gems—how lovely they would look on Katrine’s neck!He sighed as he pictured her thus adorned, and he was sinking into a day dream, when the door opened softly, and Preenham entered with the doctor’s card.“Doctor Heston? Show him up.”Capel motioned his visitor to a chair, when the keen-looking young doctor, who was watching him narrowly, said:“I dare say you are surprised to see me here.”“Oh, no. A call?”“I only make professional calls, Mr Capel, I have come to you on an important matter.”“Indeed!” exclaimed Capel.“Yes. Respecting the death of one of those two men—the Indian, sir. I’m afraid there was some foul play there.”“Foul play? Why, he was killed with a life-preserver.”The doctor tapped with his fingers on his hat, as if he was beating a funeral march. Then, quickly:“No, sir; the more I study this case, the more I feel convinced that he was not.”
“Look here,” said Artis; “you mustn’t be offended with me. I speak very plainly, and if I can be of any use to you, I will.”
They were in the drawing-room, Preenham, having announced that the masons had left.
“I am not going to think of your remarks.”
“I was thinking of going to-day,” continued Artis; “but I feel now that I ought not to go and leave you in a regular hole like this.”
“There is no need for you to stay.”
“Well, no need, of course; but I suppose you will not kick me out.”
“Of course not. You are welcome.”
“That’s right,” said Artis. “You see,” he continued, looking round to where Katrine and Lydia sat together, “I feel it due to myself to stop and show that I had no hand in that.”
“No one accused you, Mr Artis.”
“Oh, no, of course not; that would be too good a joke. Then I shall stay.”
“Our case is different,” said Lydia, turning red, and then pale. “Mr Capel, Miss D’Enghien and I, if we can be of no more use, would like to say good-bye this afternoon.”
“But why?” cried Capel, as he glanced at the speaker, and then fixed his eyes on Katrine. “There is no occasion for you to leave.”
“I think Miss Lawrence is right,” said Katrine.
“But I want help and counsel from both of you. You must not leave me yet.”
“It is impossible for us to stay.”
“Impossible! Why? Etiquette? Is not Mr Girtle here? Are not things as they have been since we met?”
“I did not know that Mr Girtle was going to stop?” said Katrine, softly. “If I felt that we could be of any service—”
“Then you will stay?” cried Capel, warmly.
Katrine hesitated, looked up, then down, raised, her eyes once more, and left her chair to take Lydia’s hand.
“Let us go up-stairs,” she said softly.
Lydia rose at once.
“You do not speak,” said Capel.
Katrine did not answer till they reached the door, and then she raised her eyes to his with a long, timid look.
“If Lydia consents, so will I.”
“And you will stay, Miss Lawrence, to help me?” cried Capel, warmly.
“I will,” said Lydia, gravely.
“That’s right,” cried Capel, opening the door for them to pass out, and catching Katrine’s eye for a moment as she passed.
“Curse her! She’s playing a dangerous game,” said Artis to himself, as he watched the ladies leave the room.
Glancing aside, he saw that the old lawyer was watching him narrowly.
“I suppose you are not glad that I am going to stay, Mr Girtle,” he said.
“For some things I am,” said the old man, coolly. “For others I am not.”
Just then Capel returned.
The two girls separated as they reached their rooms, Katrine kissing Lydia’s cheek, and then, as soon as she was alone, her countenance changed, and she sat gazing with glowing eyes, that seemed full of some purpose upon which she was bent.
At the same time Lydia Lawrence sat with her face buried in her hands, weeping silently and wishing that she were back in her country home.
Very little more was said below, for Mr Girtle had an engagement in the City, and left the young men together.
“You won’t have a detective set to work?”
“No.”
“Well, do as you like. I’m off for a run, to get rid of this gloom. Back to dinner.”
“Thank goodness!” said Artis, breathing more freely, and five minutes after he was slowly crossing the square, wondering who the man was who had just gone up to the door he had left.
“I’ve seen his face before,” he muttered. “Why, of course, the young doctor. What does he want?”
Capel was thinking of the fortune that had slipped through his fingers. Depressed, and yet at times overjoyed, for Katrine’s glance had been full of hope. But he must trace the money that had been taken, and the gems—how lovely they would look on Katrine’s neck!
He sighed as he pictured her thus adorned, and he was sinking into a day dream, when the door opened softly, and Preenham entered with the doctor’s card.
“Doctor Heston? Show him up.”
Capel motioned his visitor to a chair, when the keen-looking young doctor, who was watching him narrowly, said:
“I dare say you are surprised to see me here.”
“Oh, no. A call?”
“I only make professional calls, Mr Capel, I have come to you on an important matter.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Capel.
“Yes. Respecting the death of one of those two men—the Indian, sir. I’m afraid there was some foul play there.”
“Foul play? Why, he was killed with a life-preserver.”
The doctor tapped with his fingers on his hat, as if he was beating a funeral march. Then, quickly:
“No, sir; the more I study this case, the more I feel convinced that he was not.”
Chapter Fourteen.A Clever Diplomatist.“Doctor Heston, you surprise me. There was the inquest.”“Yes, where my opinion, sir, was overruled by the coroner and my colleague, both elderly medical men, sir, while I am young and comparatively inexperienced. You are disposed to think that this is a case of professional jealousy.”“I will be frank with you. I did think so.”“Exactly, but pray disabuse your mind. I am not jealous. I am angry with myself for giving way in that case. It seemed all very straightforward, but it was not.”“May I ask what you mean?”“I mean, sir, that I am certain that our poor old Indian friend did not die from the blow that he received from that life-preserver.”“How then?” said Capel, huskily.“It seems to me that he must have been poisoned in some way or another, and I could not rest without coming to you.”“Oh, impossible.”“Perhaps so, sir, but I am telling you what I believe. Do you think he had any enemies here?”“Oh, no; the servants seemed to have been on friendly terms.”“Well, it hardly seems like it.”“That wretch must have yielded to a terrible temptation,” said Capel, “and the other was defending his master’s goods.”“What goods?” said the doctor.Capel was silent.“I see, sir, there is more mystery about this than you care to explain. Was there some heavy sum of money in the late Colonel’s room, and were these two men in league?”“I don’t think they were in league.”“Was any one else interested in the matter?”“Oh, no; impossible,” said Capel, half aloud. “Dr Heston, I am afraid there is a good deal of imagination in what you say. Let me try and disabuse your mind.”“I should be glad if you could.”Capel paced the room for a few minutes.“This has taken me quite by surprise, Doctor Heston,” he said. “Give me a little time to think it over. Will you keep perfectly private all that you have said to me?”“I don’t like to suspect men unjustly, and yet I’m afraid I’ve done wrong, in giving him time,” said the doctor, as he went down. “Well, a week is not an age.”As soon as he had left, Paul Capel let his head go down upon his hands, for his brain seemed to be in a whirl—the death of Ramo—the disappearance of the fortune—the visit of the doctor.It only wanted this latter, with the hints he had thrown out, to fire a train of latent suspicion in the young man’s mind.There was that open window that the policeman had declared had not been used. Was he wrong? Had others been in the conspiracy and turned afterwards on Ramo and Charles? They might have been in the plot. Or, again, they might have been defending their master’s wealth against the wretch who had escaped with the treasure by the open window.Those three Italians!Had they anything to do with the matter?The old butler! He seemed so quiet and innocent! But often beneath an air of innocency, crime found a resting place.Then he found himself suspecting Mr Girtle, and on the face of the evidence Capel laid before himself, the case looked very black. He knew everything; he held the keys—he, the old friend and companion, had been left merely a signet ring.“Impossible!” cried Capel, half aloud; “I might as well suspect Artis, or Miss Lawrence, or Katrine herself.”“May I come in,” said a voice that sent a thrill through the thinker, and Katrine D’Enghien stood in the doorway.“Come in? Yes,” cried Capel, advancing to meet her with open hands, and moved by an impulse that he could not withstand.“Is anything the matter,” she said simply.“Yes—no—yes, a great deal is the matter,” cried Capel. “There, I must speak to you.”“Mr Capel!” she said, half in alarm.“Forgive me if I seem impetuous,” he cried, “but I am greatly troubled in mind, and I feel as if I would give anything for the sympathy of one who would listen to my troubles, and help me with her counsel.”“Surely you have all our sympathy, Mr Capel,” said Katrine, innocently.“Yes, I hope so,” he cried earnestly, “but I want more than that, Katrine. You must know that I love you.”“Mr Capel!”“Pray do not be angry with me.”“Is this a time or season to make such a declaration to me, Mr Capel?” said Katrine, softly.“For some things—no, for other things—yes. I am in such sore need of help and counsel, such as could be given me by the woman who returned my love. No, no; don’t leave me. Hear me out. As soon as I heard that will read, it filled my heart with joy, for it told me that I was rich, and that these were riches which I could share with you. Then, when the discovery was made that the treasure had been stolen, it was not the wealth that I regretted, but I despaired because it seemed that you were farther from me. But listen to me. I am trying hard to discover how this large fortune has been swept away.”Katrine’s eyes glittered.“Help me in my endeavours, and tell me this—some day if I make the discovery, and am once more in a position to ask you to be my wife—you will listen to me?”She raised her beautiful eyes to his, and he caught her hand.It was withdrawn, and she said softly:“I am sorry you should think me so sordid.”“Then you love me,” he cried.“I made no such confession. The man to whom I give my hand will not be chosen for the sake of his money.”“Then I may hope?” he cried.“Mr Capel, is it not your duty to find your fortune?”“Yes, but let me say, our fortune,” he cried.“Mr Capel, do not speak to me again like this. I should feel that I was standing in your light if I listened now.”“But at some future time?”She looked at him softly, and his breath went and came fast, as her speaking eyes rested on his, and he saw the damask-red deepen in her cheeks.“Wait till that future time comes,” she whispered.“And you will help me?” he cried.“Yes,” she said, at last, “I will help you—all I can.”He would have caught her in his arms, but she raised her hand.“I thought we were to be friends.”“Friends,” he whispered. “I love you.”“It must be then as a friend,” she said, in her low voice; but there was that in her look which made Capel’s heart throb, while, when she extended her hand, he kissed it, without being aware that Lydia had entered the room, and drawn back, with a weary look of misery in her face that she vainly sought to hide.
“Doctor Heston, you surprise me. There was the inquest.”
“Yes, where my opinion, sir, was overruled by the coroner and my colleague, both elderly medical men, sir, while I am young and comparatively inexperienced. You are disposed to think that this is a case of professional jealousy.”
“I will be frank with you. I did think so.”
“Exactly, but pray disabuse your mind. I am not jealous. I am angry with myself for giving way in that case. It seemed all very straightforward, but it was not.”
“May I ask what you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that I am certain that our poor old Indian friend did not die from the blow that he received from that life-preserver.”
“How then?” said Capel, huskily.
“It seems to me that he must have been poisoned in some way or another, and I could not rest without coming to you.”
“Oh, impossible.”
“Perhaps so, sir, but I am telling you what I believe. Do you think he had any enemies here?”
“Oh, no; the servants seemed to have been on friendly terms.”
“Well, it hardly seems like it.”
“That wretch must have yielded to a terrible temptation,” said Capel, “and the other was defending his master’s goods.”
“What goods?” said the doctor.
Capel was silent.
“I see, sir, there is more mystery about this than you care to explain. Was there some heavy sum of money in the late Colonel’s room, and were these two men in league?”
“I don’t think they were in league.”
“Was any one else interested in the matter?”
“Oh, no; impossible,” said Capel, half aloud. “Dr Heston, I am afraid there is a good deal of imagination in what you say. Let me try and disabuse your mind.”
“I should be glad if you could.”
Capel paced the room for a few minutes.
“This has taken me quite by surprise, Doctor Heston,” he said. “Give me a little time to think it over. Will you keep perfectly private all that you have said to me?”
“I don’t like to suspect men unjustly, and yet I’m afraid I’ve done wrong, in giving him time,” said the doctor, as he went down. “Well, a week is not an age.”
As soon as he had left, Paul Capel let his head go down upon his hands, for his brain seemed to be in a whirl—the death of Ramo—the disappearance of the fortune—the visit of the doctor.
It only wanted this latter, with the hints he had thrown out, to fire a train of latent suspicion in the young man’s mind.
There was that open window that the policeman had declared had not been used. Was he wrong? Had others been in the conspiracy and turned afterwards on Ramo and Charles? They might have been in the plot. Or, again, they might have been defending their master’s wealth against the wretch who had escaped with the treasure by the open window.
Those three Italians!
Had they anything to do with the matter?
The old butler! He seemed so quiet and innocent! But often beneath an air of innocency, crime found a resting place.
Then he found himself suspecting Mr Girtle, and on the face of the evidence Capel laid before himself, the case looked very black. He knew everything; he held the keys—he, the old friend and companion, had been left merely a signet ring.
“Impossible!” cried Capel, half aloud; “I might as well suspect Artis, or Miss Lawrence, or Katrine herself.”
“May I come in,” said a voice that sent a thrill through the thinker, and Katrine D’Enghien stood in the doorway.
“Come in? Yes,” cried Capel, advancing to meet her with open hands, and moved by an impulse that he could not withstand.
“Is anything the matter,” she said simply.
“Yes—no—yes, a great deal is the matter,” cried Capel. “There, I must speak to you.”
“Mr Capel!” she said, half in alarm.
“Forgive me if I seem impetuous,” he cried, “but I am greatly troubled in mind, and I feel as if I would give anything for the sympathy of one who would listen to my troubles, and help me with her counsel.”
“Surely you have all our sympathy, Mr Capel,” said Katrine, innocently.
“Yes, I hope so,” he cried earnestly, “but I want more than that, Katrine. You must know that I love you.”
“Mr Capel!”
“Pray do not be angry with me.”
“Is this a time or season to make such a declaration to me, Mr Capel?” said Katrine, softly.
“For some things—no, for other things—yes. I am in such sore need of help and counsel, such as could be given me by the woman who returned my love. No, no; don’t leave me. Hear me out. As soon as I heard that will read, it filled my heart with joy, for it told me that I was rich, and that these were riches which I could share with you. Then, when the discovery was made that the treasure had been stolen, it was not the wealth that I regretted, but I despaired because it seemed that you were farther from me. But listen to me. I am trying hard to discover how this large fortune has been swept away.”
Katrine’s eyes glittered.
“Help me in my endeavours, and tell me this—some day if I make the discovery, and am once more in a position to ask you to be my wife—you will listen to me?”
She raised her beautiful eyes to his, and he caught her hand.
It was withdrawn, and she said softly:
“I am sorry you should think me so sordid.”
“Then you love me,” he cried.
“I made no such confession. The man to whom I give my hand will not be chosen for the sake of his money.”
“Then I may hope?” he cried.
“Mr Capel, is it not your duty to find your fortune?”
“Yes, but let me say, our fortune,” he cried.
“Mr Capel, do not speak to me again like this. I should feel that I was standing in your light if I listened now.”
“But at some future time?”
She looked at him softly, and his breath went and came fast, as her speaking eyes rested on his, and he saw the damask-red deepen in her cheeks.
“Wait till that future time comes,” she whispered.
“And you will help me?” he cried.
“Yes,” she said, at last, “I will help you—all I can.”
He would have caught her in his arms, but she raised her hand.
“I thought we were to be friends.”
“Friends,” he whispered. “I love you.”
“It must be then as a friend,” she said, in her low voice; but there was that in her look which made Capel’s heart throb, while, when she extended her hand, he kissed it, without being aware that Lydia had entered the room, and drawn back, with a weary look of misery in her face that she vainly sought to hide.
Chapter Fifteen.In the Dark.“Look here, Kate, I’m not going back till I’ve had a good try here to see if something can’t be made out of this affair.”Katrine D’Enghien sat in the drawing-room of the Dark House, with her eyes half closed, as if listening to the ballad Lydia was singing in a low tone in the corner of the back room, while Capel stood by turning over the leaves.The old lawyer was in another corner at a card-table, on whose green surface lay a heap of papers and parchments, one of which he took up from time to time, and laid down, after examining it by the light of the shaded lamp.“You said only yesterday that you were sick of this domestic cemetery,” said Katrine.“So I am, for it’s doleful enough for anything here, only it makes me mad to see such a wealth of art treasures and plate belonging to this fellow Capel.”“Then it is very evident that you did not filch the old man’s treasure,” said Katrine.“Yes, my dear, very evident. If I had, I should not be here.”“Unless you thought it better for the sake of throwing people off the scent,” said Katrine, with a peculiar look in his face.“I say,” he cried, returning the gaze, “what do you mean? You don’t think I killed those two fellows, and got the plunder, do you?”“I don’t know,” she replied.“Well, then, I didn’t. I never had the chance.”“Or the brains to conceive such acoup.”“Look here,” cried Artis.“Don’t speak so loud, Gerard.”“Oh, very well. But look here, Madam Clever, did you manage that bit of business?”Katrine raised her soft, white hands.“Don’t do that,” said the young man. “You make me want to kiss them.”“You would not be so foolish, now.”“I don’t know. And look here, I don’t like you being so thick with Capel.”“Don’t you? He wants to marry me.”“I’ll break his neck first.”“You will act sensibly and well,mon cher,” said Katrine, “that is, if you mean that we are to be married by-and-by.”“Mean it? Of course.”“But not on a fortune of one hundred pounds each,mon cher.”“Good Heavens! No.”“Then hold your tongue, and say nothing.”“But I shall say something, if I see you working up a flirtation with that cad.”“You will say nothing, do nothing, see nothing. We cannot marry and starve.”“But tell me, Kate—honour bright—you don’t care for this Capel?”“I care for him!”“Tell me, then, what do you mean to do?”“Have my share of that money,” said Katrine, with a peculiar hardening of her face.“Bah! I don’t believe the treasure ever existed. It was a craze on the old man’s part.”“You must be careful. Don’t say or do anything to annoy Paul Capel or Mr Girtle. We must stay here. It was no craze on the old man’s part; maybe I can tell where the fortune is.”“What? You mean that?”“Hush! I am working for us both.”“But tell me—”“Hush! She has finished the song,” said Katrine, leaning back and clapping her hands softly. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Oh, what a while it is since I heard that dear old ballad.”The evening wore away till bed-time, when the butler brought in and lit the candles, according to his custom, Katrine and Lydia taking theirs, and going at once, and Gerard Artis following after partaking of a glass of soda-water, leaving the old lawyer and Capel together.They sat in silence for some minutes, when the old lawyer said:“I do not seem to get any nearer to the unravelling of this knot, Mr Capel.”“Do you still adhere to the opinion that the treasure was there?”“Yes; and we shall find it soon.”“By a masterly inactivity?”“Oh, no,” replied the old man, “for I am taking steps of my own to redeem myself. I don’t think those jewels can be sold, or one of those notes changed, without word being brought to me.”Capel felt won by the old man’s manner. He shook hands with him warmly, and said “Good-night.”He went to the door with him, and saw the light shine on the thin, silvery hair as he went slowly up the staircase, while his candle cast a grotesque shadow on the wall. Then, as Capel listened, he heard the old man shut his chamber door, open it softly, and shut it again more loudly; while, with the great house seeming to be doubly steeped in darkness and silence, Paul Capel went back to the lounge in which he had been seated, leaving his chamber candle burning like a tiny star in the great sea of gloom, and sat back, thinking.The candle burned lower as he thought on, ransacking his memory for some slight clue that would help him to find his lost fortune.The candle went out.Had he been asleep?He could not say. He believed that he had been only thinking deeply. At all events, he was widely awake now, as he sat back listening to the heavy beating of his own heart, as he stared through the intense darkness towards the door, upon whose panel he had felt sure he had heard a soft pat, as if something had touched it.A minute—it might have been half-an-hour, it seemed so long—and there was a faint rustling, and Paul Capel knew, as he stared through that intense darkness, that some one, or something, was coming silently towards where he sat.
“Look here, Kate, I’m not going back till I’ve had a good try here to see if something can’t be made out of this affair.”
Katrine D’Enghien sat in the drawing-room of the Dark House, with her eyes half closed, as if listening to the ballad Lydia was singing in a low tone in the corner of the back room, while Capel stood by turning over the leaves.
The old lawyer was in another corner at a card-table, on whose green surface lay a heap of papers and parchments, one of which he took up from time to time, and laid down, after examining it by the light of the shaded lamp.
“You said only yesterday that you were sick of this domestic cemetery,” said Katrine.
“So I am, for it’s doleful enough for anything here, only it makes me mad to see such a wealth of art treasures and plate belonging to this fellow Capel.”
“Then it is very evident that you did not filch the old man’s treasure,” said Katrine.
“Yes, my dear, very evident. If I had, I should not be here.”
“Unless you thought it better for the sake of throwing people off the scent,” said Katrine, with a peculiar look in his face.
“I say,” he cried, returning the gaze, “what do you mean? You don’t think I killed those two fellows, and got the plunder, do you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Well, then, I didn’t. I never had the chance.”
“Or the brains to conceive such acoup.”
“Look here,” cried Artis.
“Don’t speak so loud, Gerard.”
“Oh, very well. But look here, Madam Clever, did you manage that bit of business?”
Katrine raised her soft, white hands.
“Don’t do that,” said the young man. “You make me want to kiss them.”
“You would not be so foolish, now.”
“I don’t know. And look here, I don’t like you being so thick with Capel.”
“Don’t you? He wants to marry me.”
“I’ll break his neck first.”
“You will act sensibly and well,mon cher,” said Katrine, “that is, if you mean that we are to be married by-and-by.”
“Mean it? Of course.”
“But not on a fortune of one hundred pounds each,mon cher.”
“Good Heavens! No.”
“Then hold your tongue, and say nothing.”
“But I shall say something, if I see you working up a flirtation with that cad.”
“You will say nothing, do nothing, see nothing. We cannot marry and starve.”
“But tell me, Kate—honour bright—you don’t care for this Capel?”
“I care for him!”
“Tell me, then, what do you mean to do?”
“Have my share of that money,” said Katrine, with a peculiar hardening of her face.
“Bah! I don’t believe the treasure ever existed. It was a craze on the old man’s part.”
“You must be careful. Don’t say or do anything to annoy Paul Capel or Mr Girtle. We must stay here. It was no craze on the old man’s part; maybe I can tell where the fortune is.”
“What? You mean that?”
“Hush! I am working for us both.”
“But tell me—”
“Hush! She has finished the song,” said Katrine, leaning back and clapping her hands softly. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Oh, what a while it is since I heard that dear old ballad.”
The evening wore away till bed-time, when the butler brought in and lit the candles, according to his custom, Katrine and Lydia taking theirs, and going at once, and Gerard Artis following after partaking of a glass of soda-water, leaving the old lawyer and Capel together.
They sat in silence for some minutes, when the old lawyer said:
“I do not seem to get any nearer to the unravelling of this knot, Mr Capel.”
“Do you still adhere to the opinion that the treasure was there?”
“Yes; and we shall find it soon.”
“By a masterly inactivity?”
“Oh, no,” replied the old man, “for I am taking steps of my own to redeem myself. I don’t think those jewels can be sold, or one of those notes changed, without word being brought to me.”
Capel felt won by the old man’s manner. He shook hands with him warmly, and said “Good-night.”
He went to the door with him, and saw the light shine on the thin, silvery hair as he went slowly up the staircase, while his candle cast a grotesque shadow on the wall. Then, as Capel listened, he heard the old man shut his chamber door, open it softly, and shut it again more loudly; while, with the great house seeming to be doubly steeped in darkness and silence, Paul Capel went back to the lounge in which he had been seated, leaving his chamber candle burning like a tiny star in the great sea of gloom, and sat back, thinking.
The candle burned lower as he thought on, ransacking his memory for some slight clue that would help him to find his lost fortune.
The candle went out.
Had he been asleep?
He could not say. He believed that he had been only thinking deeply. At all events, he was widely awake now, as he sat back listening to the heavy beating of his own heart, as he stared through the intense darkness towards the door, upon whose panel he had felt sure he had heard a soft pat, as if something had touched it.
A minute—it might have been half-an-hour, it seemed so long—and there was a faint rustling, and Paul Capel knew, as he stared through that intense darkness, that some one, or something, was coming silently towards where he sat.