Chapter Sixteen.“You Here!”Paul Capel was not superstitious, but a curious thrill ran through his nerves, and his first impulse was to leap up and shout, “Who’s there?”Then a thought flashed through his brain that whoever this was might have something to do with the disappearance of the treasure, and he told himself that he would wait, though the next moment he found himself frankly owning that a chill of dread had frozen his powers, and that he could not have moved to save his life.A minute’s reflection told him that it could not be a burglar. No one would come singly upon such a mission, and the marauder would have been provided with a dark lantern or matches. It must be some one in the house. The superstitious fancies were cleared away, as his heart gave a throb, with the hope that he might now find the clue to the mystery that was hanging over the place.Thought after thought flashed through his brain, and, as they dazed him with the wild conjectures, the person, whoever it was, glided nearer and nearer, and all doubt fled, for, whoever it was, had stretched out a hand and touched the silver candlestick upon the table where he had set it down.There was again silence, and then it seemed to Capel, as he sat there, that the nocturnal visitor had made the table a starting-point for a fresh departure in the dark, and was going from him toward the back drawing-room, in the left hand corner of which the old lawyer had sat that night.Doubtless there are people who can weigh every act before they commit themselves to it, but the majority of us, even the most thoughtful, go on weighing a great many, and then in the most important moments of our lives forget all about the balance or the mental weights and scales, and so it was that, all in an instant, Paul Capel, unable longer to bear the mental strain, rose quickly from his seat, took two strides forward, and grasped at the intruder, exclaiming:“Who’s there?”He touched nothing, he heard nothing, and the old chill came back for a moment or two with its superstitious suggestions; but he drew out a little silver match-box, which rattled as he opened it, shook a match into his moist hand, struck it, and the faint little star of light flashed out.“Katrine, you here?” he exclaimed.There were candles on an occasional table, and he lit one before the little wax match burned down, and then he remained speechless for the moment, gazing at Katrine D’Enghien, who stood within the back drawing-room, her long hair loosely knotted on her neck, her white arms outstretched before her, and half away from him. She stood motionless, as if turned to stone.“Katrine!” he cried again.He took a step or two towards her, his first impulse being to clasp her in his arms; but, as she stood motionless before him, draped in a long grey peignoir that swept the ground, there was something about her that repelled him, so that he stood staring at her unable to speak.Suddenly she turned from him, and stood gazing at the corner where the piano stood, walked slowly towards it, and rested her hand upon it, remaining there motionless for a few moments till, catching up the candle, Capel went towards her, his pulses throbbing, and his temples seeming to flush as if a hot breath from a furnace had passed over them.But before he reached her she turned slowly, and walked straight towards him, her eyes wide open, and gazing intently before her.She would have walked right upon him, had he not given way, and then stood holding the candle, while she went deliberately to the fire-place, rested her hands upon the mantel-piece, and stood there holding one bare white foot towards the extinct fire as if to warm it.Capel set down the candle and advanced towards her, when once more she turned and came straight towards him, and this time he took her in his arms and kissed her quickly and passionately upon her cheek and lips.His arms dropped to his sides, though, for he felt that she was icily cold, and as involuntarily he gave place, and she walked slowly past him to the open door, out on to the broad landing, and as he caught up the candle and followed, he saw the tall grey figure go slowly on up and up the stairs, and when he followed it to the first landing it was on the one above, going slowly on to the bedroom at the end, through whose door it passed, and the lock gave a low, soft click.Paul Capel went back into the drawing-room, feeling half stunned, and when he reached the middle of the room he paused, candle in hand, thinking.“Asleep!” he said at last. “Asleep, and I dared to take her in my arms like that!”Then, with an involuntary shiver, the young man turned quickly round, and went hastily up to his room, to lie till morning, tossing sleeplessly from side to side.
Paul Capel was not superstitious, but a curious thrill ran through his nerves, and his first impulse was to leap up and shout, “Who’s there?”
Then a thought flashed through his brain that whoever this was might have something to do with the disappearance of the treasure, and he told himself that he would wait, though the next moment he found himself frankly owning that a chill of dread had frozen his powers, and that he could not have moved to save his life.
A minute’s reflection told him that it could not be a burglar. No one would come singly upon such a mission, and the marauder would have been provided with a dark lantern or matches. It must be some one in the house. The superstitious fancies were cleared away, as his heart gave a throb, with the hope that he might now find the clue to the mystery that was hanging over the place.
Thought after thought flashed through his brain, and, as they dazed him with the wild conjectures, the person, whoever it was, glided nearer and nearer, and all doubt fled, for, whoever it was, had stretched out a hand and touched the silver candlestick upon the table where he had set it down.
There was again silence, and then it seemed to Capel, as he sat there, that the nocturnal visitor had made the table a starting-point for a fresh departure in the dark, and was going from him toward the back drawing-room, in the left hand corner of which the old lawyer had sat that night.
Doubtless there are people who can weigh every act before they commit themselves to it, but the majority of us, even the most thoughtful, go on weighing a great many, and then in the most important moments of our lives forget all about the balance or the mental weights and scales, and so it was that, all in an instant, Paul Capel, unable longer to bear the mental strain, rose quickly from his seat, took two strides forward, and grasped at the intruder, exclaiming:
“Who’s there?”
He touched nothing, he heard nothing, and the old chill came back for a moment or two with its superstitious suggestions; but he drew out a little silver match-box, which rattled as he opened it, shook a match into his moist hand, struck it, and the faint little star of light flashed out.
“Katrine, you here?” he exclaimed.
There were candles on an occasional table, and he lit one before the little wax match burned down, and then he remained speechless for the moment, gazing at Katrine D’Enghien, who stood within the back drawing-room, her long hair loosely knotted on her neck, her white arms outstretched before her, and half away from him. She stood motionless, as if turned to stone.
“Katrine!” he cried again.
He took a step or two towards her, his first impulse being to clasp her in his arms; but, as she stood motionless before him, draped in a long grey peignoir that swept the ground, there was something about her that repelled him, so that he stood staring at her unable to speak.
Suddenly she turned from him, and stood gazing at the corner where the piano stood, walked slowly towards it, and rested her hand upon it, remaining there motionless for a few moments till, catching up the candle, Capel went towards her, his pulses throbbing, and his temples seeming to flush as if a hot breath from a furnace had passed over them.
But before he reached her she turned slowly, and walked straight towards him, her eyes wide open, and gazing intently before her.
She would have walked right upon him, had he not given way, and then stood holding the candle, while she went deliberately to the fire-place, rested her hands upon the mantel-piece, and stood there holding one bare white foot towards the extinct fire as if to warm it.
Capel set down the candle and advanced towards her, when once more she turned and came straight towards him, and this time he took her in his arms and kissed her quickly and passionately upon her cheek and lips.
His arms dropped to his sides, though, for he felt that she was icily cold, and as involuntarily he gave place, and she walked slowly past him to the open door, out on to the broad landing, and as he caught up the candle and followed, he saw the tall grey figure go slowly on up and up the stairs, and when he followed it to the first landing it was on the one above, going slowly on to the bedroom at the end, through whose door it passed, and the lock gave a low, soft click.
Paul Capel went back into the drawing-room, feeling half stunned, and when he reached the middle of the room he paused, candle in hand, thinking.
“Asleep!” he said at last. “Asleep, and I dared to take her in my arms like that!”
Then, with an involuntary shiver, the young man turned quickly round, and went hastily up to his room, to lie till morning, tossing sleeplessly from side to side.
Chapter Seventeen.The Tenth Night.“It might be,” thought Capel, as he dwelt upon the adventure of that night.Katrine had descended to breakfast the next morning, and he fancied she blushed slightly as he pressed her hand; but she looked so frankly in his face that he could not but think that she was ignorant of what had taken place.The days slipped by, and in company, by a private understanding, Capel and the old lawyer searched every article of furniture that could possibly have been made the receptacle of the lost treasure.“I’ll help you, of course, my dear sir,” said the old man, “if you wish it; but I really think we shall do no good.”There had been several talks about breaking up the party, but Capel, as host, had always begged that his companions would stay, urging Mr Girtle to back him up by proposing that there should be no change until the whole of the business of the will was completed so far as the others were concerned.“I shall find my share at last,” Capel said, laughingly. “And besides, I have the house.”One afternoon, when Artis had accompanied the ladies for a drive, and the search was about to be recommenced, Mr Girtle sat down by his little table in the drawing-room and said:“I have a little news for you, Mr Capel.”“What, have you found the clue?”“Not yet,” said the old man, quietly; “but I have found an angel.”“A what?”“An angel. You did not know we had one in this house.”“Indeed, but I did,” cried Capel.“Ah, yes,” said the old man, looking at him thoughtfully; “but I’m afraid we are not thinking of the same.”“Indeed, but we are,” said Capel, warmly. “No one who has seen Miss D’Enghien—”“Could hesitate to say that she is a very handsome woman,” said the old lawyer, “but I was referring to Miss Lawrence.”“A lady for whom I entertain the most profound esteem,” said Capel.“Which will be strengthened, sir, when I tell you that she came to me and made a proposition that—”The old lawyer’s communication was checked by the announcement of a visitor for Mr Capel, and the doctor, Mr Heston, was ushered in.His visit was not productive of much, for he had only to announce that he was more and more sure in his own mind that he was right, the result being that Capel asked him to wait before taking any further steps, and Dr Heston went away rather dissatisfied in his own mind.“If he does not follow up my proposals,” he said to himself, “I shall begin to think that he has some reason of his own for keeping the matter quiet.”The ladies returned directly the doctor had gone, and Artis, in pursuance of his instructions, made himself so agreeable to Capel that he did not leave him alone with the old lawyer, while at dinner and during the evening no opportunity was likely to occur for a private conversation.“I’ll see you directly after breakfast to-morrow morning, Mr Capel,” the old man said. “I should prefer a quiet business chat with you, for the matter is important.”“I should like to have heard it at once,” replied Capel, “but as you will.”Suspicion was very busy in the Dark House in those days, for the butler had found that for several nights past chamber candles had been burned down in the sockets in one of the candlesticks, which candlestick was left in the drawing-room, while a tall candlestick was afterwards taken up to the bedroom.Preenham wanted to know why Mr Capel, “or the young master,” as he termed him, should want to sit up so late, so he watched, and saw that, night after night, he stayed down in the drawing-room for hours. But he found out nothing, only that the cold struck, even through the mat, from the stone floor, and that he was chilly enough, when he went to bed in his pantry, to require a liqueur of brandy to keep off rheumatism and similar attacks.For Capel had remained up after the others had gone, night after night; blaming himself for behaving in an unfair, unmanly spirit, but unable to control the impulse which led him to long for such another adventure as on that special night.But after a long day, night watches grow wearisome to the most ardent lovers, and when, after nine nights spent in expectancy, there was no result—no soft, gliding step heard upon stair or floor, both Capel and Preenham grew weary, and retired to their couches like the rest.It was on the tenth night that Capel, instead of going to bed at once, sat musing over the old lawyer’s words.Then he began thinking of the doctor’s visit, and at last, taking out his watch, he saw it was close upon two.The hour made him think of the night when he had encountered Katrine just at that time, and moved by some impulse, he knew not what, he went to his door, softly opened it, and gazed out on to the gloomy staircase, where all was silent as the grave.No! There was the faint creak of a hinge that had been opened, and, with his heart seeming to stand still, Capel stood in the darkness listening, till, utterly wearied, he was about to close his door, when, so softly that he could hardly distinguish the sweep of the dress, something passed him, going straight to the stairs, and then he could just hear whoever it was descend.
“It might be,” thought Capel, as he dwelt upon the adventure of that night.
Katrine had descended to breakfast the next morning, and he fancied she blushed slightly as he pressed her hand; but she looked so frankly in his face that he could not but think that she was ignorant of what had taken place.
The days slipped by, and in company, by a private understanding, Capel and the old lawyer searched every article of furniture that could possibly have been made the receptacle of the lost treasure.
“I’ll help you, of course, my dear sir,” said the old man, “if you wish it; but I really think we shall do no good.”
There had been several talks about breaking up the party, but Capel, as host, had always begged that his companions would stay, urging Mr Girtle to back him up by proposing that there should be no change until the whole of the business of the will was completed so far as the others were concerned.
“I shall find my share at last,” Capel said, laughingly. “And besides, I have the house.”
One afternoon, when Artis had accompanied the ladies for a drive, and the search was about to be recommenced, Mr Girtle sat down by his little table in the drawing-room and said:
“I have a little news for you, Mr Capel.”
“What, have you found the clue?”
“Not yet,” said the old man, quietly; “but I have found an angel.”
“A what?”
“An angel. You did not know we had one in this house.”
“Indeed, but I did,” cried Capel.
“Ah, yes,” said the old man, looking at him thoughtfully; “but I’m afraid we are not thinking of the same.”
“Indeed, but we are,” said Capel, warmly. “No one who has seen Miss D’Enghien—”
“Could hesitate to say that she is a very handsome woman,” said the old lawyer, “but I was referring to Miss Lawrence.”
“A lady for whom I entertain the most profound esteem,” said Capel.
“Which will be strengthened, sir, when I tell you that she came to me and made a proposition that—”
The old lawyer’s communication was checked by the announcement of a visitor for Mr Capel, and the doctor, Mr Heston, was ushered in.
His visit was not productive of much, for he had only to announce that he was more and more sure in his own mind that he was right, the result being that Capel asked him to wait before taking any further steps, and Dr Heston went away rather dissatisfied in his own mind.
“If he does not follow up my proposals,” he said to himself, “I shall begin to think that he has some reason of his own for keeping the matter quiet.”
The ladies returned directly the doctor had gone, and Artis, in pursuance of his instructions, made himself so agreeable to Capel that he did not leave him alone with the old lawyer, while at dinner and during the evening no opportunity was likely to occur for a private conversation.
“I’ll see you directly after breakfast to-morrow morning, Mr Capel,” the old man said. “I should prefer a quiet business chat with you, for the matter is important.”
“I should like to have heard it at once,” replied Capel, “but as you will.”
Suspicion was very busy in the Dark House in those days, for the butler had found that for several nights past chamber candles had been burned down in the sockets in one of the candlesticks, which candlestick was left in the drawing-room, while a tall candlestick was afterwards taken up to the bedroom.
Preenham wanted to know why Mr Capel, “or the young master,” as he termed him, should want to sit up so late, so he watched, and saw that, night after night, he stayed down in the drawing-room for hours. But he found out nothing, only that the cold struck, even through the mat, from the stone floor, and that he was chilly enough, when he went to bed in his pantry, to require a liqueur of brandy to keep off rheumatism and similar attacks.
For Capel had remained up after the others had gone, night after night; blaming himself for behaving in an unfair, unmanly spirit, but unable to control the impulse which led him to long for such another adventure as on that special night.
But after a long day, night watches grow wearisome to the most ardent lovers, and when, after nine nights spent in expectancy, there was no result—no soft, gliding step heard upon stair or floor, both Capel and Preenham grew weary, and retired to their couches like the rest.
It was on the tenth night that Capel, instead of going to bed at once, sat musing over the old lawyer’s words.
Then he began thinking of the doctor’s visit, and at last, taking out his watch, he saw it was close upon two.
The hour made him think of the night when he had encountered Katrine just at that time, and moved by some impulse, he knew not what, he went to his door, softly opened it, and gazed out on to the gloomy staircase, where all was silent as the grave.
No! There was the faint creak of a hinge that had been opened, and, with his heart seeming to stand still, Capel stood in the darkness listening, till, utterly wearied, he was about to close his door, when, so softly that he could hardly distinguish the sweep of the dress, something passed him, going straight to the stairs, and then he could just hear whoever it was descend.
Chapter Eighteen.Nocturnal Proceedings.There was not a sound to be heard as Paul Capel stole softly down in his dressing-gown, and, as he expected, the drawing-room door was closed, but not latched.Pushing it softly, feeling certain that Katrine, if it was she, had entered there, he followed, and went on and on, till he was about in the middle of the room, and listening attentively.He began to think that he must have been mistaken, when there was a faint rustle, and a heavy breath was drawn, the sounds coming from the lesser drawing-room.He listened more intently, his heart beating heavily, and a strange singing in his ears.Another sound as of something being touched.The pen-tray on the little card-table where Mr Girtle sat and worked; and what was that?Undoubtedly one of the keys that lay there. Another and another was touched, and as they were moved on the thin mahogany that formed the bottom of the receptacle for cards the sound seemed quite loud.Then came a faint scraping sound, and he knew as well as if he had seen it, that a key was taken up.Keys? Yes, there were several there which the old lawyer used. Capel recalled that the key of the plate closet had been placed there when Preenham had handed it over.He listened, but there was no further sound. Yes; the low breathing could be heard, and it suddenly dawned upon Capel that Katrine had been approaching him—there she was close at hand. He had only to stretch forth his arms and the next instant she would have been folded to his breast.It was a hard fight, but he had read of a sudden awakening under such conditions proving dangerous.As he listened there was a faint rustling as the soft grey peignoir he knew so well passed over the thick carpet towards the door; and if the listener had any doubt, it was set aside by the light pat that he heard—it was a hand touching the panel.Capel waited a minute, during which he heard the dress sweep against the edge of the door, and then the sound was quite hushed.He knew what that meant, too; the door had been drawn to, and so he found it as he stepped lightly there, opened it, and passed out on to the great landing, where he strained his eyes upward to try and make out the graceful draped figure as it went up the winding staircase to the bedroom.It was not so dark there, for a faint gloom—it could not be called light—fell from the great ground-glass sky-light, at the top of the winding staircase, like so much diluted darkness being poured down into a well.That great winding staircase suddenly seemed to him full of horror, as he stood there. It had never struck him before, but now, how terrible it seemed. That balustrade was so low. Suppose, poor girl, in her sleep, she should lean over it, and fall down onto the white stones, where the black fretwork of the glistening stove could be seen like a square patch against the white slabs.There was no reason for such fancies, but Paul Capel’s hands grew wet with a cold perspiration.“I ought to have stopped her, and awakened her at any risk,” he said, as he still gazed up the great staircase; and then his heart seemed to stand still, for there was a faint click, as of a lock shot back, and it came either from on a level with where he stood, or from down below.In an instant he realised what had happened: Katrine had been to fetch the key of the late Colonel’s chamber, and had gone in there.He hesitated a moment, and then, going close, he softly touched the door, and felt it yield.Just then there came a faint scratching noise, and there was a gleam of light, showing him that the heavy curtain was drawn.Then the light shone more clearly, and pressing the door a little more open, he glided through.He was about to peer out softly, when the light was set down, he heard the soft rustle of the dress, an arm was thrust round from the far side of the curtain, and the door was carefully closed.“The work of a spy,” he said. But a slight sound attracted his attention, and his curiosity mastered all other feelings.Gently sliding his hand into his pocket, he drew out a penknife, and cut gently downwards, making a slit a few inches in length.This he drew slightly apart and gazed through, to see that Katrine was standing with her back to him, in the act of opening one of the large cabinets at the side of the bed.
There was not a sound to be heard as Paul Capel stole softly down in his dressing-gown, and, as he expected, the drawing-room door was closed, but not latched.
Pushing it softly, feeling certain that Katrine, if it was she, had entered there, he followed, and went on and on, till he was about in the middle of the room, and listening attentively.
He began to think that he must have been mistaken, when there was a faint rustle, and a heavy breath was drawn, the sounds coming from the lesser drawing-room.
He listened more intently, his heart beating heavily, and a strange singing in his ears.
Another sound as of something being touched.
The pen-tray on the little card-table where Mr Girtle sat and worked; and what was that?
Undoubtedly one of the keys that lay there. Another and another was touched, and as they were moved on the thin mahogany that formed the bottom of the receptacle for cards the sound seemed quite loud.
Then came a faint scraping sound, and he knew as well as if he had seen it, that a key was taken up.
Keys? Yes, there were several there which the old lawyer used. Capel recalled that the key of the plate closet had been placed there when Preenham had handed it over.
He listened, but there was no further sound. Yes; the low breathing could be heard, and it suddenly dawned upon Capel that Katrine had been approaching him—there she was close at hand. He had only to stretch forth his arms and the next instant she would have been folded to his breast.
It was a hard fight, but he had read of a sudden awakening under such conditions proving dangerous.
As he listened there was a faint rustling as the soft grey peignoir he knew so well passed over the thick carpet towards the door; and if the listener had any doubt, it was set aside by the light pat that he heard—it was a hand touching the panel.
Capel waited a minute, during which he heard the dress sweep against the edge of the door, and then the sound was quite hushed.
He knew what that meant, too; the door had been drawn to, and so he found it as he stepped lightly there, opened it, and passed out on to the great landing, where he strained his eyes upward to try and make out the graceful draped figure as it went up the winding staircase to the bedroom.
It was not so dark there, for a faint gloom—it could not be called light—fell from the great ground-glass sky-light, at the top of the winding staircase, like so much diluted darkness being poured down into a well.
That great winding staircase suddenly seemed to him full of horror, as he stood there. It had never struck him before, but now, how terrible it seemed. That balustrade was so low. Suppose, poor girl, in her sleep, she should lean over it, and fall down onto the white stones, where the black fretwork of the glistening stove could be seen like a square patch against the white slabs.
There was no reason for such fancies, but Paul Capel’s hands grew wet with a cold perspiration.
“I ought to have stopped her, and awakened her at any risk,” he said, as he still gazed up the great staircase; and then his heart seemed to stand still, for there was a faint click, as of a lock shot back, and it came either from on a level with where he stood, or from down below.
In an instant he realised what had happened: Katrine had been to fetch the key of the late Colonel’s chamber, and had gone in there.
He hesitated a moment, and then, going close, he softly touched the door, and felt it yield.
Just then there came a faint scratching noise, and there was a gleam of light, showing him that the heavy curtain was drawn.
Then the light shone more clearly, and pressing the door a little more open, he glided through.
He was about to peer out softly, when the light was set down, he heard the soft rustle of the dress, an arm was thrust round from the far side of the curtain, and the door was carefully closed.
“The work of a spy,” he said. But a slight sound attracted his attention, and his curiosity mastered all other feelings.
Gently sliding his hand into his pocket, he drew out a penknife, and cut gently downwards, making a slit a few inches in length.
This he drew slightly apart and gazed through, to see that Katrine was standing with her back to him, in the act of opening one of the large cabinets at the side of the bed.
Chapter Nineteen.Birds of Prey.Travellers in Mayfair will have noticed that every here and there old-fashioned, snug looking hostelries exist in out-of-the-way places—at the corner of a mews, in a private street, where they do not seem to belong; and they are generally kept by ex-butlers, who have taken wives, joined their savings, and gone into business with the brewers’ help.In the parlour of the “Four-in-Hand,” Lower Maybush street, a party of gentlemen’s servants were playing bagatelle upon a bad board in a very smoky atmosphere, while a knot of three men sat at one of the old, narrow, battered mahogany tables in a corner, drinking cold gin and water, and smoking bad cigars.One was a little sharp-eyed, round-headed man, smartly dressed, and evidently rather proud of a large gilt pin in his figured silk tie. Another was tall and not ill-looking; he might have been a valet, for there was a certain imitation gentility about his cut—a valet whose master had been rather addicted to the turf, and this had been reflected on his man to the extent of trousers rather too tight, short hair, and a horseshoe pin with pearl nails. The third was rather a shabby-looking man of forty, undoubtedly a gentleman’s servant out of place, carrying the sign in the front of the reason why, in the shape of a nose unduly ripened by being bathed in glasses of alcoholic drink.“Knew him how long, did you say?” said the tall man, tapping his chin with an ivory-handled rattan-cane.“Ten years, poor chap,” said the ex-servant. “It was very horrid.”“Here, never mind that,” said the brisk little man. “We don’t want horrors. Touch the bell, Dick. Come, old fellow, sip up your lotion, and we’ll have them filled again. That cigar don’t draw. Try one of these. Here! three fours of gin cold,” he cried to the landlord, and as soon as the glasses were refilled, and cigars lighted, the conversation went on, to the accompaniment of rattling balls and laughter from the bagatelle players.“Well,” said the tall man, in a low voice, “you can do as you like, my lad, but I should have thought that, hard up as you are, and I should say without much chance of getting another crib—say at present—you’d have been glad to earn a honest quid or two.”The shabby-looking man shook his head.“Here, you’re always putting on the pace too much, Dick,” said the little man. “A fellow wants a little time. He’s on, you see if he isn’t. My respects to you, Mr Barnes. Hah! nice flavoured drop of gin that.”“You see, you know the house well,” continued the tall man. “Often been, of course?”“Oh, yes; had many a glass of wine there, when poor Charles was alive.”“Rather a bit of mystery, that,” said the little man. “I put that and that together, and I set it down that he was trying the job on his own account, and muffed it.”The shabby man shuddered, and took a hearty draught of his gin and water.“There would be only us three in the game,” said the tall man softly, “and it would be share and share alike. Why, if we worked it right, it would set you up. Might take a pub on it.”“Eh?” said the shabby man.“I say you might take a pub—and drink yourself to death,” was added aside.The little man winked at his tall companion, unobserved by the other, who looked dreamy.“Bars at all the lower windows, eh?”“Yes, yes. You couldn’t get in there,” was the quick reply.“More ways of killing a cat than by hanging it. Look here, my lads, there’s a stable to let in the mews at the back.”The shabby man looked up quickly.“I had a look at it to-day. Any one could easily get to that window looking on the leads.”“But that’s the window where—”“Well, dead men tell no tales, and they don’t get in the way. That’s the place.”“Oh, no,” said the shabby man.“Bah! you’re not afraid. I tell you it would be as easy as easy. You can give me a plan of the place, and all about it, and—why, it’s child’s play, my lad, and won’t hurt anybody. Take everything out of that stable, and have a cart in the coach-house. I say—touch that bell again, old man—you are not going to let a fortune slip through your fingers, I know.”The three occupants of the corner soon after rose to go, halting half-way down the street, where the tall man said:—“There’s half a sovereign to keep the cold out till then. Twelve o’clock, mind, punctual.”The shabby man slouched away, while the little fellow rubbed his hands.“There’s half a ton of it there,” he whispered.“Think he’ll stand to it?”“No fear, now we’ve got him over his fright. By jingo, I’m only afraid of one thing.”“What’s that?”“That some one else will be on the job.”
Travellers in Mayfair will have noticed that every here and there old-fashioned, snug looking hostelries exist in out-of-the-way places—at the corner of a mews, in a private street, where they do not seem to belong; and they are generally kept by ex-butlers, who have taken wives, joined their savings, and gone into business with the brewers’ help.
In the parlour of the “Four-in-Hand,” Lower Maybush street, a party of gentlemen’s servants were playing bagatelle upon a bad board in a very smoky atmosphere, while a knot of three men sat at one of the old, narrow, battered mahogany tables in a corner, drinking cold gin and water, and smoking bad cigars.
One was a little sharp-eyed, round-headed man, smartly dressed, and evidently rather proud of a large gilt pin in his figured silk tie. Another was tall and not ill-looking; he might have been a valet, for there was a certain imitation gentility about his cut—a valet whose master had been rather addicted to the turf, and this had been reflected on his man to the extent of trousers rather too tight, short hair, and a horseshoe pin with pearl nails. The third was rather a shabby-looking man of forty, undoubtedly a gentleman’s servant out of place, carrying the sign in the front of the reason why, in the shape of a nose unduly ripened by being bathed in glasses of alcoholic drink.
“Knew him how long, did you say?” said the tall man, tapping his chin with an ivory-handled rattan-cane.
“Ten years, poor chap,” said the ex-servant. “It was very horrid.”
“Here, never mind that,” said the brisk little man. “We don’t want horrors. Touch the bell, Dick. Come, old fellow, sip up your lotion, and we’ll have them filled again. That cigar don’t draw. Try one of these. Here! three fours of gin cold,” he cried to the landlord, and as soon as the glasses were refilled, and cigars lighted, the conversation went on, to the accompaniment of rattling balls and laughter from the bagatelle players.
“Well,” said the tall man, in a low voice, “you can do as you like, my lad, but I should have thought that, hard up as you are, and I should say without much chance of getting another crib—say at present—you’d have been glad to earn a honest quid or two.”
The shabby-looking man shook his head.
“Here, you’re always putting on the pace too much, Dick,” said the little man. “A fellow wants a little time. He’s on, you see if he isn’t. My respects to you, Mr Barnes. Hah! nice flavoured drop of gin that.”
“You see, you know the house well,” continued the tall man. “Often been, of course?”
“Oh, yes; had many a glass of wine there, when poor Charles was alive.”
“Rather a bit of mystery, that,” said the little man. “I put that and that together, and I set it down that he was trying the job on his own account, and muffed it.”
The shabby man shuddered, and took a hearty draught of his gin and water.
“There would be only us three in the game,” said the tall man softly, “and it would be share and share alike. Why, if we worked it right, it would set you up. Might take a pub on it.”
“Eh?” said the shabby man.
“I say you might take a pub—and drink yourself to death,” was added aside.
The little man winked at his tall companion, unobserved by the other, who looked dreamy.
“Bars at all the lower windows, eh?”
“Yes, yes. You couldn’t get in there,” was the quick reply.
“More ways of killing a cat than by hanging it. Look here, my lads, there’s a stable to let in the mews at the back.”
The shabby man looked up quickly.
“I had a look at it to-day. Any one could easily get to that window looking on the leads.”
“But that’s the window where—”
“Well, dead men tell no tales, and they don’t get in the way. That’s the place.”
“Oh, no,” said the shabby man.
“Bah! you’re not afraid. I tell you it would be as easy as easy. You can give me a plan of the place, and all about it, and—why, it’s child’s play, my lad, and won’t hurt anybody. Take everything out of that stable, and have a cart in the coach-house. I say—touch that bell again, old man—you are not going to let a fortune slip through your fingers, I know.”
The three occupants of the corner soon after rose to go, halting half-way down the street, where the tall man said:—
“There’s half a sovereign to keep the cold out till then. Twelve o’clock, mind, punctual.”
The shabby man slouched away, while the little fellow rubbed his hands.
“There’s half a ton of it there,” he whispered.
“Think he’ll stand to it?”
“No fear, now we’ve got him over his fright. By jingo, I’m only afraid of one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That some one else will be on the job.”
Chapter Twenty.Asleep or Awake?It was a painful, and, Paul Capel thought, a degrading position; but he blamed his passion, telling himself that it was his duty to watch her, in this sleep-walking state, lest ill should befall.How thoroughly awake she seemed to be. Her every act was that of a person perfectly herself, and eager to find something that was hidden.Softly and quickly she examined the cabinet, opening drawer after drawer, and taking out one after the other, to see whether there was a concealed cavity behind.Next she knelt down before a large carved oak chest, and Capel saw how carefully she searched that, and examined top and bottom to see whether either was false.This done, she walked to the bed, and stood pondering there. Crossing to the built-up portal, she drew the curtain aside, revealing the half-dry cement.She shook her head, and walked to the window, where she carefully rearranged the heavy folds there, to keep the rays of light from passing out and betraying her task to any one who might be at the upper windows of some house. The act displayed the working of a brain that, if slumbering, still held a peculiar activity of an abnormal kind.Once or twice he caught sight of Katrine’s eyes, that were not as he had seen them on that other night, wide open, and staring straight before her, but bright, eager, and full of animation.“She must be awake,” he thought; and the idea was strengthened as he saw her throw herself down upon a chair, and with a peculiar action of her hands indicative of disappointment, rest her elbows on her knee, her chin upon her clenched fists, and there she bent down, her face intent, her brows knit, and looking ten years older, as the candle cast a curious shadow on her countenance.Then the lover intervened on her behalf.No; she could not be. To suppose that she was awake was to credit her with being deceitful—with cheating him into the belief that night that she was asleep.He was about to spring out, throw himself at her feet, and waken her with his caresses, but a chilling feeling of repulsion stayed him. It might work mischief in the terrible fright it would give her at being awakened in that gloomy room. And besides, what a place to select for his passionate avowals. It was secret and silent, the very home for such a love as his; but there was the terrible past.Where she was seated, but a short time back, there lay the ghastly body of the murdered man. Behind her was the bed where so recently a strange occupant was stretched, and beneath it lay that other lately discovered horror. Beyond that built-up wall was the Colonel’s tomb.Love was impossible in such a place as that; and did he want confirmation of the fact that Katrine was a somnambulist, he felt that he had it here before him. For no girl of her years would dare to come down in the dead of the night, and enter that room, haunted as it was with such terrible memories.He stood watching her as she crouched there, looking straight before her, and as she suddenly sprang up, and went to a picture painted upon a panel in the wall, he found himself growing excited by the fancy that, perhaps, in the clairvoyant state of sleep, she might be able to discover the mystery that had baffled them all.He stood there wrapt in his thoughts, till he saw her turn from the frame, that she had tried to move in a dozen different ways, her fingers playing here and there with marvellous quickness about the corners and prominent bits of carving, as if she expected that any one might prove to be a secret spring.Again she tried another picture; darted to the group of statuary in the corner, and tried to lift it back, as if expecting that which she sought might be hidden beneath it; and again there was the movement, full of dejection and despair, as she stood facing him with the light full upon her eyes.She turned away, despondently; and then started upright, with her eyes flashing, and one hand raised in the involuntary movement of one who listens intently to some sound.Had she heard something, or was it fancy—a part of her dream?Paul Capel thought the latter, for, light as a fawn, he saw Katrine dart across the room to where the candle stood.The next moment they were in total darkness.
It was a painful, and, Paul Capel thought, a degrading position; but he blamed his passion, telling himself that it was his duty to watch her, in this sleep-walking state, lest ill should befall.
How thoroughly awake she seemed to be. Her every act was that of a person perfectly herself, and eager to find something that was hidden.
Softly and quickly she examined the cabinet, opening drawer after drawer, and taking out one after the other, to see whether there was a concealed cavity behind.
Next she knelt down before a large carved oak chest, and Capel saw how carefully she searched that, and examined top and bottom to see whether either was false.
This done, she walked to the bed, and stood pondering there. Crossing to the built-up portal, she drew the curtain aside, revealing the half-dry cement.
She shook her head, and walked to the window, where she carefully rearranged the heavy folds there, to keep the rays of light from passing out and betraying her task to any one who might be at the upper windows of some house. The act displayed the working of a brain that, if slumbering, still held a peculiar activity of an abnormal kind.
Once or twice he caught sight of Katrine’s eyes, that were not as he had seen them on that other night, wide open, and staring straight before her, but bright, eager, and full of animation.
“She must be awake,” he thought; and the idea was strengthened as he saw her throw herself down upon a chair, and with a peculiar action of her hands indicative of disappointment, rest her elbows on her knee, her chin upon her clenched fists, and there she bent down, her face intent, her brows knit, and looking ten years older, as the candle cast a curious shadow on her countenance.
Then the lover intervened on her behalf.
No; she could not be. To suppose that she was awake was to credit her with being deceitful—with cheating him into the belief that night that she was asleep.
He was about to spring out, throw himself at her feet, and waken her with his caresses, but a chilling feeling of repulsion stayed him. It might work mischief in the terrible fright it would give her at being awakened in that gloomy room. And besides, what a place to select for his passionate avowals. It was secret and silent, the very home for such a love as his; but there was the terrible past.
Where she was seated, but a short time back, there lay the ghastly body of the murdered man. Behind her was the bed where so recently a strange occupant was stretched, and beneath it lay that other lately discovered horror. Beyond that built-up wall was the Colonel’s tomb.
Love was impossible in such a place as that; and did he want confirmation of the fact that Katrine was a somnambulist, he felt that he had it here before him. For no girl of her years would dare to come down in the dead of the night, and enter that room, haunted as it was with such terrible memories.
He stood watching her as she crouched there, looking straight before her, and as she suddenly sprang up, and went to a picture painted upon a panel in the wall, he found himself growing excited by the fancy that, perhaps, in the clairvoyant state of sleep, she might be able to discover the mystery that had baffled them all.
He stood there wrapt in his thoughts, till he saw her turn from the frame, that she had tried to move in a dozen different ways, her fingers playing here and there with marvellous quickness about the corners and prominent bits of carving, as if she expected that any one might prove to be a secret spring.
Again she tried another picture; darted to the group of statuary in the corner, and tried to lift it back, as if expecting that which she sought might be hidden beneath it; and again there was the movement, full of dejection and despair, as she stood facing him with the light full upon her eyes.
She turned away, despondently; and then started upright, with her eyes flashing, and one hand raised in the involuntary movement of one who listens intently to some sound.
Had she heard something, or was it fancy—a part of her dream?
Paul Capel thought the latter, for, light as a fawn, he saw Katrine dart across the room to where the candle stood.
The next moment they were in total darkness.
Chapter Twenty One.What the Sound was.A faint rustle was plainly heard, as Capel drew aside the curtain. Then the sound ceased, but he felt that as he had taken a step to the left, Katrine must be exactly opposite to him. In another moment she would come forward and touch him, for he could not move from his position. If he stood aside she would pass him and fasten him in the room.He listened in the intense darkness, and could just detect the short, hurried breathing of one who was excited by dread.But as he listened in the darkness, clear now of the heavy curtain, he heard another sound—a peculiar scraping sound, that seemed to come from outside the window.It was that which had alarmed Katrine, and made her extinguish the light.The noise ceased. Then it was repeated, and directly after, sounding muffled by the heavy curtain, the window rattled a little in its frame, as if shaken or pressed upon by some one outside.The panting grew louder, there was a warm breath upon Capel’s cheek, and the next moment he held Katrine in his arms.She uttered a low cry of fear, and struggled to escape.“Hush!” he whispered. “You have nothing to fear. Are you awake?”There was no answer; only a vigorous thrust from the hands placed upon his chest, and he felt that she was trying to open the door, trembling violently the while.“Katrine,” he whispered, “why do you not trust me? Wake up. There is nothing to fear.”He tried to clasp her in his arms again, but with a quick movement she eluded him, and as he caught at her again, it seemed as if the great curtain had been thrust into his arms, for he grasped that, and as he flung it away, the door struck him in the face, and then closed, he heard it locked, and the key withdrawn.Then he stood listening, for the window rattled again, and he wondered that the noise he had made in his slight struggle with Katrine had not been heard by whoever was on the sill.There was a bell somewhere in the room; but if he rang, and roused up the butler, the man would be horrified at hearing his old master’s bedroom bell ringing in the dead of the night.Even if that had not been the case, what excuse could he make? And could he explain his position to Mr Girtle without making him the confidant of all that had passed? And how could he relate to any one that Katrine had been wandering about the house in the middle of the night? What would Mr Girtle say? Would he think it was somnambulism?No; he could not ring. It was impossible; and all the while there was that strange noise outside, muffled by the curtain.He walked cautiously through the intense darkness towards the window, till he could touch the curtain, and then, passing to the left, he softly drew it a little inward, and looked out.It was almost as dark out there as in; but there was a faint glow from the lamps beyond the tall houses that closed in the back, and against this he could dimly see the figure of a man, standing on the sill, while, more indistinctly and quite low down, there were the heads and shoulders of two more.It seemed to him that the man standing on the sill was trying to pass some instrument through between the two sashes, so as to force back the window-catch.What should he do?Give the alarm down-stairs he could not, without compromising Katrine.Alarm the nocturnal visitors?That would be to give up a chance of getting hold of the clue.What should he do?Be a coward, or, now that the opportunity had come, make a bold effort to capture these intruders?Three to one. Yes; but he was in the fort, and they had to attack, and could he secure one, bribery or punishment would make him tell all.There was the sound going on at the window, which was resisting the efforts, and, with palpitating heart and heavy breathing, Capel asked himself the questions again. Should he be cowardly, or brave, and make a daring effort to gain that which was his, from the information these people could give?There was a grating and clicking still going on as he stepped cautiously across the room, the sound guiding him to the stand where his uncle’s old East India uniform and accoutrements were grouped, and the next minute his hands rested upon a pistol.Useless, for it was old-fashioned and uncharged.That was better! His hand touched the ivory hilt of the curved sabre.For a time the blade refused to leave its sheath; then it gave way a little, and he drew it forth, laid the scabbard on the floor, passed his hand through the wrist-knot, and thought that he would have to strike hard, for a cavalry sabre is generally round-edged and blunt.As he thought of this, he touched the edge of the sword with his thumb, to find that this was no regulation blade, but a keen-edged tulwar, set in an English hilt, and, armed with this, Paul Capel felt himself fully a match for those who were working away at the window, which did not yield.Creak—Crack—Crack!The catch flew back, and there was a pause, during which Capel drew near with the blade thrown over his left shoulder, ready for delivering the first cut at the man who entered.Then the window glided up, the great curtain was drawn by an arm in his direction, partly covering him, and a light flashed across the room.
A faint rustle was plainly heard, as Capel drew aside the curtain. Then the sound ceased, but he felt that as he had taken a step to the left, Katrine must be exactly opposite to him. In another moment she would come forward and touch him, for he could not move from his position. If he stood aside she would pass him and fasten him in the room.
He listened in the intense darkness, and could just detect the short, hurried breathing of one who was excited by dread.
But as he listened in the darkness, clear now of the heavy curtain, he heard another sound—a peculiar scraping sound, that seemed to come from outside the window.
It was that which had alarmed Katrine, and made her extinguish the light.
The noise ceased. Then it was repeated, and directly after, sounding muffled by the heavy curtain, the window rattled a little in its frame, as if shaken or pressed upon by some one outside.
The panting grew louder, there was a warm breath upon Capel’s cheek, and the next moment he held Katrine in his arms.
She uttered a low cry of fear, and struggled to escape.
“Hush!” he whispered. “You have nothing to fear. Are you awake?”
There was no answer; only a vigorous thrust from the hands placed upon his chest, and he felt that she was trying to open the door, trembling violently the while.
“Katrine,” he whispered, “why do you not trust me? Wake up. There is nothing to fear.”
He tried to clasp her in his arms again, but with a quick movement she eluded him, and as he caught at her again, it seemed as if the great curtain had been thrust into his arms, for he grasped that, and as he flung it away, the door struck him in the face, and then closed, he heard it locked, and the key withdrawn.
Then he stood listening, for the window rattled again, and he wondered that the noise he had made in his slight struggle with Katrine had not been heard by whoever was on the sill.
There was a bell somewhere in the room; but if he rang, and roused up the butler, the man would be horrified at hearing his old master’s bedroom bell ringing in the dead of the night.
Even if that had not been the case, what excuse could he make? And could he explain his position to Mr Girtle without making him the confidant of all that had passed? And how could he relate to any one that Katrine had been wandering about the house in the middle of the night? What would Mr Girtle say? Would he think it was somnambulism?
No; he could not ring. It was impossible; and all the while there was that strange noise outside, muffled by the curtain.
He walked cautiously through the intense darkness towards the window, till he could touch the curtain, and then, passing to the left, he softly drew it a little inward, and looked out.
It was almost as dark out there as in; but there was a faint glow from the lamps beyond the tall houses that closed in the back, and against this he could dimly see the figure of a man, standing on the sill, while, more indistinctly and quite low down, there were the heads and shoulders of two more.
It seemed to him that the man standing on the sill was trying to pass some instrument through between the two sashes, so as to force back the window-catch.
What should he do?
Give the alarm down-stairs he could not, without compromising Katrine.
Alarm the nocturnal visitors?
That would be to give up a chance of getting hold of the clue.
What should he do?
Be a coward, or, now that the opportunity had come, make a bold effort to capture these intruders?
Three to one. Yes; but he was in the fort, and they had to attack, and could he secure one, bribery or punishment would make him tell all.
There was the sound going on at the window, which was resisting the efforts, and, with palpitating heart and heavy breathing, Capel asked himself the questions again. Should he be cowardly, or brave, and make a daring effort to gain that which was his, from the information these people could give?
There was a grating and clicking still going on as he stepped cautiously across the room, the sound guiding him to the stand where his uncle’s old East India uniform and accoutrements were grouped, and the next minute his hands rested upon a pistol.
Useless, for it was old-fashioned and uncharged.
That was better! His hand touched the ivory hilt of the curved sabre.
For a time the blade refused to leave its sheath; then it gave way a little, and he drew it forth, laid the scabbard on the floor, passed his hand through the wrist-knot, and thought that he would have to strike hard, for a cavalry sabre is generally round-edged and blunt.
As he thought of this, he touched the edge of the sword with his thumb, to find that this was no regulation blade, but a keen-edged tulwar, set in an English hilt, and, armed with this, Paul Capel felt himself fully a match for those who were working away at the window, which did not yield.
Creak—Crack—Crack!
The catch flew back, and there was a pause, during which Capel drew near with the blade thrown over his left shoulder, ready for delivering the first cut at the man who entered.
Then the window glided up, the great curtain was drawn by an arm in his direction, partly covering him, and a light flashed across the room.
Chapter Twenty Two.A Blank Adventure.The light played on the blade of the keen-edged sword, as if it were phosphorescent, but the lambent quivering was not seen by the holder of the lantern, who hid Capel with his own hand as the light was flashed upon the bed and into the corners of the room, and then turned off.“All right, boys,” was whispered, and a man swung himself into the room. “Be quick, and shut the window.”A second man crept softly in, and the third was half in, when he slipped, threw out his hand to save himself, struck against one of his companions and drove him back against the curtain and upon Capel.“Light! Barkers! Some one here.”Capel heard the words, saw the flash, and struck at the hand that held it.The blade fell heavily upon the lantern and dashed it to the floor, where it went out.Raising the sword he struck again, but as he did so, one of the men sprang at him, and the blow that fell was upon the fellow’s shoulder, and with the hilt of the sword.Capel was borne back by the man’s fierce spring, his feet became entangled in the curtain and he fell heavily, with his adversary upon him.“Quick, Morris,” whispered a voice.“No, no. Curse you. Shut the window. There’s only one. Where’s your matches? Quick, light the glim! Ah, would you? Lie still and bite that. You just move again and I’ll pull the trigger.”The barrel of a revolver had been thrust between Capel’s teeth, and as he lay back with the man on his chest, half stunned, helpless and despairing, he saw indistinctly the figure against the window, heard the sash slide down, and the darkness was complete as the curtain was drawn over the panes. Then there was the faint streak of light as a match was struck, the bull’s-eye lantern was picked up and re-lit, and the bright rays once more played all about the room.The man who held it then went to the door and listened.“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You said nobody can’t hear what goes on in this room. These curtains would suffocate a trumpet. Here, you,” he cried to the third man, “don’t stand shivering like that. Take that carving-knife out of his hand. Pull the trigger, Dick, if he stirs.”This to the man kneeling on Capel’s chest.Capel lay absolutely powerless at that moment; but, as the third fellow caught him by the wrist, the young man wrenched his head on one side, and heaved himself up, so that he partially dislodged the ruffian who held him down. At the same time he swung the sabre round, driving the third back, and striking the principal adversary so sharp a blow that he slipped aside, and Capel leaped to his feet.At that moment the light was turned off, and there was a rush made to get beyond his reach.Capel also took advantage of the total darkness to step back, but he held the weapon ready for a cut, should an attack be made.As he stood there, panting, a low whisper rose from the direction of the door, and he just caught its import, “Give me the light.”There was a click directly after, and then from about the middle of the room the dazzling light of the bull’s-eye shone out full upon Capel as he stood with upraised sword, while his assailants were in the dark.“Now, then,” said the voice which he recognised as that of the man who had held the pistol to his mouth, “throw down that tool.”“Give up, you scoundrel!” cried Capel. “You can’t escape.”“Can’t we?” said the man, between his teeth, “More can’t you. Now, then, will you throw down that sword?”“No,” said Capel, furiously. “You’ve walked into a trap, so give up.”“Go on,” said the voice of the lesser man.At that moment there was a bright flash of light, a sharp report, and Capel felt a sensation as if he had been struck a violent blow on the left shoulder, which half spun him round, while the round, glistening disc of light seemed to have darted back to the side of the bed.Half stunned, but full of fight, Capel turned and made for the light once more, when there was another flash, a quick shot, and this time the blow seemed to have fallen on the top of his head, and, stunned and helpless, the sword dropped from his hand, and he fell on a chair, and from that on to the floor.“You’ve killed him! You’ve killed him!”“Good job, too. Think I wanted my skin turned into pork crackling with that sword? Hold yer row, will yer, or—”“We shall be taken and hung. Oh, my arm!”“Look here, my dear pal,” said the little man; “if you want to preach, just wait till this job’s done. Throw the light on the door, Dick.”“I dunno which is doors and which is windows, with all these curtains. Oh, that’s it, is it? Quiet, will you?”He stood listening attentively. “It’s all right. There isn’t a sound.”“Let’s go then, at once.”“What, empty? Not me, eh, Dick?”“’Taint likely. Wait till I’ve got two more cartridges in. That’s it—Now then, business.”“But this poor fellow?”“He’s not killed, only quieted. Now, then, what is there here?”They made a hurried search of the room, but with the exception of the silver tops of the bottles of the Colonel’s dressing-case, there was nothing to excite their cupidity. Then Capel’s pockets were searched, but watch and purse were in his chamber, while, though the Colonel’s room was full of costly objects, they were not of the portable nature that would have made them valuable to the men.“Now then,” said the tall man, quickly, “it’s of no use; we must go down. Where are the keys?”The little man took a bunch from the bag.“But, suppose the old man’s awake?” whispered the shivering ex-servant, faint from his wound.“Well, if he is, we must persuade him to go to sleep, somehow, till we’ve done. Here, you come and hold the light while I hand him the keys.”The trembling man took the lantern, while his leader went down on one knee; and as his little companion handed him false keys and picklocks, he busied himself trying to open the door.“Keep that light still, will you?” he cried menacingly. “Why, you’re making it dance all over the door. I want it on the key-hole, don’t I?”Then the light shone full on the lock for a minute or two, not more, for he who held it kept turning his head to see if Capel was moving.This brought forth a torrent of whispered oaths from both men.“Here, let me have a try,” whispered the little man. “I can open it if you’ll hold this blessed glim still. I never see such a cur.”Then, in the coolest manner possible, he took the other’s place, and tried key after key, picklock after picklock, and ended by throwing all into the bag with a growl of disgust.“It’s one of them stoopid patents,” he cried. “Here, give us a james.”A strong steel crowbar in two pieces was screwed together, and its sharp edge inserted between the door and the post, but the great, solid mahogany door stood firm, only emitting now and then a loud crack, sharp as that given by a cart whip, as the men strained at it in turn.“Here, let’s try a saw. Centre-bit!”A centre-bit was fitted into a stock, and a hole cut right through. Into this, after much greasing, a key-hole saw was thrust, and, not without emitting a loud noise, the work of cutting began, the sawdust falling lightly on the lion’s skin; but at the end of a few seconds a dull, harsh sound told that the saw was meeting metal, and a fresh start had to be made.For fully two hours did the men work to get through, boring and sawing in place after place, but always to find that the door was strengthened in all directions with metal plates; and at last the task was given up. “Look here,” growled the leader of the party, “that bed isn’t used. I want to know how that chap got in. He hasn’t any key.”“Can’t you get the door open, then?” said the third man, after the other had shaken his head.“Why, don’t you see we can’t?”“But we shall get nothing for our trouble.”“Nothing at all,” said the tall man, quietly.“But—”“There, that’ll do. First of all, you were so precious anxious to go. Now you know we can’t get down, you’re all for the job. I say, is this the room where the murder was?”“Yes; don’t talk about it.”“Why not? We haven’t done another. He’ll come round.”“What next, Dick?”“Cut,” was the laconic reply.“When there’s all that plate asking of us to make up a small parcel and carry it away?”“Don’t patter. Got all the tools?”“Yes.”“Then come along.”The light was played upon Capel’s insensible face for a few moments, and then, to the intense relief of the ex-servant, the lantern was placed in the bag with the burglars’ tools, and the window being thrown open, one by one stole out, the last closing the window behind him, leaving Capel lying helpless and insensible in the locked-up room.
The light played on the blade of the keen-edged sword, as if it were phosphorescent, but the lambent quivering was not seen by the holder of the lantern, who hid Capel with his own hand as the light was flashed upon the bed and into the corners of the room, and then turned off.
“All right, boys,” was whispered, and a man swung himself into the room. “Be quick, and shut the window.”
A second man crept softly in, and the third was half in, when he slipped, threw out his hand to save himself, struck against one of his companions and drove him back against the curtain and upon Capel.
“Light! Barkers! Some one here.”
Capel heard the words, saw the flash, and struck at the hand that held it.
The blade fell heavily upon the lantern and dashed it to the floor, where it went out.
Raising the sword he struck again, but as he did so, one of the men sprang at him, and the blow that fell was upon the fellow’s shoulder, and with the hilt of the sword.
Capel was borne back by the man’s fierce spring, his feet became entangled in the curtain and he fell heavily, with his adversary upon him.
“Quick, Morris,” whispered a voice.
“No, no. Curse you. Shut the window. There’s only one. Where’s your matches? Quick, light the glim! Ah, would you? Lie still and bite that. You just move again and I’ll pull the trigger.”
The barrel of a revolver had been thrust between Capel’s teeth, and as he lay back with the man on his chest, half stunned, helpless and despairing, he saw indistinctly the figure against the window, heard the sash slide down, and the darkness was complete as the curtain was drawn over the panes. Then there was the faint streak of light as a match was struck, the bull’s-eye lantern was picked up and re-lit, and the bright rays once more played all about the room.
The man who held it then went to the door and listened.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You said nobody can’t hear what goes on in this room. These curtains would suffocate a trumpet. Here, you,” he cried to the third man, “don’t stand shivering like that. Take that carving-knife out of his hand. Pull the trigger, Dick, if he stirs.”
This to the man kneeling on Capel’s chest.
Capel lay absolutely powerless at that moment; but, as the third fellow caught him by the wrist, the young man wrenched his head on one side, and heaved himself up, so that he partially dislodged the ruffian who held him down. At the same time he swung the sabre round, driving the third back, and striking the principal adversary so sharp a blow that he slipped aside, and Capel leaped to his feet.
At that moment the light was turned off, and there was a rush made to get beyond his reach.
Capel also took advantage of the total darkness to step back, but he held the weapon ready for a cut, should an attack be made.
As he stood there, panting, a low whisper rose from the direction of the door, and he just caught its import, “Give me the light.”
There was a click directly after, and then from about the middle of the room the dazzling light of the bull’s-eye shone out full upon Capel as he stood with upraised sword, while his assailants were in the dark.
“Now, then,” said the voice which he recognised as that of the man who had held the pistol to his mouth, “throw down that tool.”
“Give up, you scoundrel!” cried Capel. “You can’t escape.”
“Can’t we?” said the man, between his teeth, “More can’t you. Now, then, will you throw down that sword?”
“No,” said Capel, furiously. “You’ve walked into a trap, so give up.”
“Go on,” said the voice of the lesser man.
At that moment there was a bright flash of light, a sharp report, and Capel felt a sensation as if he had been struck a violent blow on the left shoulder, which half spun him round, while the round, glistening disc of light seemed to have darted back to the side of the bed.
Half stunned, but full of fight, Capel turned and made for the light once more, when there was another flash, a quick shot, and this time the blow seemed to have fallen on the top of his head, and, stunned and helpless, the sword dropped from his hand, and he fell on a chair, and from that on to the floor.
“You’ve killed him! You’ve killed him!”
“Good job, too. Think I wanted my skin turned into pork crackling with that sword? Hold yer row, will yer, or—”
“We shall be taken and hung. Oh, my arm!”
“Look here, my dear pal,” said the little man; “if you want to preach, just wait till this job’s done. Throw the light on the door, Dick.”
“I dunno which is doors and which is windows, with all these curtains. Oh, that’s it, is it? Quiet, will you?”
He stood listening attentively. “It’s all right. There isn’t a sound.”
“Let’s go then, at once.”
“What, empty? Not me, eh, Dick?”
“’Taint likely. Wait till I’ve got two more cartridges in. That’s it—Now then, business.”
“But this poor fellow?”
“He’s not killed, only quieted. Now, then, what is there here?”
They made a hurried search of the room, but with the exception of the silver tops of the bottles of the Colonel’s dressing-case, there was nothing to excite their cupidity. Then Capel’s pockets were searched, but watch and purse were in his chamber, while, though the Colonel’s room was full of costly objects, they were not of the portable nature that would have made them valuable to the men.
“Now then,” said the tall man, quickly, “it’s of no use; we must go down. Where are the keys?”
The little man took a bunch from the bag.
“But, suppose the old man’s awake?” whispered the shivering ex-servant, faint from his wound.
“Well, if he is, we must persuade him to go to sleep, somehow, till we’ve done. Here, you come and hold the light while I hand him the keys.”
The trembling man took the lantern, while his leader went down on one knee; and as his little companion handed him false keys and picklocks, he busied himself trying to open the door.
“Keep that light still, will you?” he cried menacingly. “Why, you’re making it dance all over the door. I want it on the key-hole, don’t I?”
Then the light shone full on the lock for a minute or two, not more, for he who held it kept turning his head to see if Capel was moving.
This brought forth a torrent of whispered oaths from both men.
“Here, let me have a try,” whispered the little man. “I can open it if you’ll hold this blessed glim still. I never see such a cur.”
Then, in the coolest manner possible, he took the other’s place, and tried key after key, picklock after picklock, and ended by throwing all into the bag with a growl of disgust.
“It’s one of them stoopid patents,” he cried. “Here, give us a james.”
A strong steel crowbar in two pieces was screwed together, and its sharp edge inserted between the door and the post, but the great, solid mahogany door stood firm, only emitting now and then a loud crack, sharp as that given by a cart whip, as the men strained at it in turn.
“Here, let’s try a saw. Centre-bit!”
A centre-bit was fitted into a stock, and a hole cut right through. Into this, after much greasing, a key-hole saw was thrust, and, not without emitting a loud noise, the work of cutting began, the sawdust falling lightly on the lion’s skin; but at the end of a few seconds a dull, harsh sound told that the saw was meeting metal, and a fresh start had to be made.
For fully two hours did the men work to get through, boring and sawing in place after place, but always to find that the door was strengthened in all directions with metal plates; and at last the task was given up. “Look here,” growled the leader of the party, “that bed isn’t used. I want to know how that chap got in. He hasn’t any key.”
“Can’t you get the door open, then?” said the third man, after the other had shaken his head.
“Why, don’t you see we can’t?”
“But we shall get nothing for our trouble.”
“Nothing at all,” said the tall man, quietly.
“But—”
“There, that’ll do. First of all, you were so precious anxious to go. Now you know we can’t get down, you’re all for the job. I say, is this the room where the murder was?”
“Yes; don’t talk about it.”
“Why not? We haven’t done another. He’ll come round.”
“What next, Dick?”
“Cut,” was the laconic reply.
“When there’s all that plate asking of us to make up a small parcel and carry it away?”
“Don’t patter. Got all the tools?”
“Yes.”
“Then come along.”
The light was played upon Capel’s insensible face for a few moments, and then, to the intense relief of the ex-servant, the lantern was placed in the bag with the burglars’ tools, and the window being thrown open, one by one stole out, the last closing the window behind him, leaving Capel lying helpless and insensible in the locked-up room.
Chapter Twenty Three.Waiting for Breakfast.“Such a bright cheery morning, Lydia,” said Katrine, knocking at the bedroom door. “Oh, you are up. Breakfast must be ready.”The two girls descended, to find that they were first.“Nobody down,” cried Katrine, “and I am so hungry. Oh, how wicked it seems on a morning like this to keep out all the light and sunshine.”Just then, old Mr Girtle came in, looking, as usual, very quiet and thoughtful; and after a while Artis came down, looking dull and sleepy.“Where’s the boss?” he said, suddenly.“The what?—I do not understand you,” said the old lawyer.“The master—the guardian of this tomb. Where’s Capel?”“Oh,” said the old lawyer. “Possibly the fine morning may have tempted him to take a walk.”“Are we going to wait for Capel?” said Artis.“I’m so hungry, I feel quite ashamed,” said Katrine; “but I think we ought to wait.”“There is nothing to be ashamed of in a healthy young appetite, my dear young lady,” said the old lawyer. “I have been reading in my room since six, and I should like to begin. I don’t suppose he will be long. Mr Capel out, Preenham?”“I think not, sir,” said the butler, who was bringing in a covered dish.“Perhaps you had better tell him that we are all assembled. He may have overslept himself.”At the end of five minutes the old butler was back to say that Mr Capel had not answered when he knocked.“He may be ill,” said Lydia anxiously, and then, catching Katrine’s eye, she coloured warmly.Preenham gave Artis a meaning look, and that gentleman followed him out.“What is it?”“Mr Capel hasn’t been to bed all night, sir.”“Not been to bed all night, Preenham?” said the old lawyer, who had followed. “Did you let him out last night?”“No, sir.”“Then how can he have gone out? I saw that the door was fastened after you had gone to bed, and it was still fastened when I came down at six.”“And at seven too, sir,” said the butler.“He must be in the house,” said Artis. “Go and look round.”“Is Mr Capel ill?” said Katrine.“No, no, my dear, I think not,” said the old lawyer. “I’ll go, too, and see.”“It is very strange,” said Katrine, turning to Lydia, who looked ashy pale. “I hope nothing is the matter, dear.”She seemed so calm that Lydia took courage and returned to the breakfast-table, while, followed by the old lawyer and Preenham, Artis examined the dining-room and study, then ascended to the first floor, tried the Colonel’s door, found it fast, and went on into the drawing-room.“I tried that door,” he said grimly, “because that is the chamber of horrors.”“It is locked, and the key is in my table,” said the old lawyer, and then they searched the other rooms, finding Capel’s watch, purse and pocketbook, and looked at each other blankly.“He must be out,” said Artis.“No, sir; here’s his hat and stick.”Artis stopped, thinking, and then bounded up the stairs again to the Colonel’s door.“I thought so,” he said. “There’s something wrong here. Look.” He pointed to several holes through the mahogany door, the mark of a saw scoring the panels, and the reddish dust on the lion-skin mat. “Is any one here?” he cried, knocking. “I say! Is any one here? Pah! Look at that!”He uttered a cry, almost like a woman, as he pointed to a place where the lion-skin rug did not reach, and there, dimly seen by the gloomy light thrown by the stained-glass window, was a little thread of blood that had run beneath the door.
“Such a bright cheery morning, Lydia,” said Katrine, knocking at the bedroom door. “Oh, you are up. Breakfast must be ready.”
The two girls descended, to find that they were first.
“Nobody down,” cried Katrine, “and I am so hungry. Oh, how wicked it seems on a morning like this to keep out all the light and sunshine.”
Just then, old Mr Girtle came in, looking, as usual, very quiet and thoughtful; and after a while Artis came down, looking dull and sleepy.
“Where’s the boss?” he said, suddenly.
“The what?—I do not understand you,” said the old lawyer.
“The master—the guardian of this tomb. Where’s Capel?”
“Oh,” said the old lawyer. “Possibly the fine morning may have tempted him to take a walk.”
“Are we going to wait for Capel?” said Artis.
“I’m so hungry, I feel quite ashamed,” said Katrine; “but I think we ought to wait.”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of in a healthy young appetite, my dear young lady,” said the old lawyer. “I have been reading in my room since six, and I should like to begin. I don’t suppose he will be long. Mr Capel out, Preenham?”
“I think not, sir,” said the butler, who was bringing in a covered dish.
“Perhaps you had better tell him that we are all assembled. He may have overslept himself.”
At the end of five minutes the old butler was back to say that Mr Capel had not answered when he knocked.
“He may be ill,” said Lydia anxiously, and then, catching Katrine’s eye, she coloured warmly.
Preenham gave Artis a meaning look, and that gentleman followed him out.
“What is it?”
“Mr Capel hasn’t been to bed all night, sir.”
“Not been to bed all night, Preenham?” said the old lawyer, who had followed. “Did you let him out last night?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how can he have gone out? I saw that the door was fastened after you had gone to bed, and it was still fastened when I came down at six.”
“And at seven too, sir,” said the butler.
“He must be in the house,” said Artis. “Go and look round.”
“Is Mr Capel ill?” said Katrine.
“No, no, my dear, I think not,” said the old lawyer. “I’ll go, too, and see.”
“It is very strange,” said Katrine, turning to Lydia, who looked ashy pale. “I hope nothing is the matter, dear.”
She seemed so calm that Lydia took courage and returned to the breakfast-table, while, followed by the old lawyer and Preenham, Artis examined the dining-room and study, then ascended to the first floor, tried the Colonel’s door, found it fast, and went on into the drawing-room.
“I tried that door,” he said grimly, “because that is the chamber of horrors.”
“It is locked, and the key is in my table,” said the old lawyer, and then they searched the other rooms, finding Capel’s watch, purse and pocketbook, and looked at each other blankly.
“He must be out,” said Artis.
“No, sir; here’s his hat and stick.”
Artis stopped, thinking, and then bounded up the stairs again to the Colonel’s door.
“I thought so,” he said. “There’s something wrong here. Look.” He pointed to several holes through the mahogany door, the mark of a saw scoring the panels, and the reddish dust on the lion-skin mat. “Is any one here?” he cried, knocking. “I say! Is any one here? Pah! Look at that!”
He uttered a cry, almost like a woman, as he pointed to a place where the lion-skin rug did not reach, and there, dimly seen by the gloomy light thrown by the stained-glass window, was a little thread of blood that had run beneath the door.
Chapter Twenty Four.Doctor and Nurse.The old lawyer ran from the door with an alacrity not to be expected in one of his years, and returned directly with the key that he had found in his table.“Give it to me,” said Artis huskily, and snatching the key he tried to insert it, but his hand trembled so that he did not succeed, and the next moment he shrank away.“Here, open that door, Preenham,” he said.“I daren’t, sir, I daren’t indeed. Ah, poor young man!”“Give me the key,” said the old lawyer firmly, and taking it, he tried the door, to find that the lock had been tampered with, so that it was some minutes before he could get it to move.“Hadn’t I better fetch the police, sir?” faltered the butler.“No; stop,” said the old lawyer, turning the handle. “There is some one against the door.”He pushed hard, and with some effort got it open so that he could have squeezed in.“It is all dark,” he said. “No it is the curtain,” and forcing his way through, he drew back the hangings from the window.“It’s poor Capel—dead!” whispered Artis, who had followed. “Here, Preenham, come in,” he cried angrily. “Oh, how horrible—poor lad!”The lawyer saw the naked sword lying on the carpet; that the drawers and cabinet had been ransacked; and that the window was not quite shut down.He took this in at a glance as he ran to where Capel lay close to the door, where he had dragged himself sometime during the early hours of the morn, to lie exhausted after vainly trying to raise the alarm.“He’s dead, sir, dead!” groaned the butler.“Hush!” cried the old lawyer harshly. “He’s not dead. Mr Artis, you are young and active. Quick. That doctor, Mr Heston. You know where he lives. You, Preenham, brandy. Stop. Tell the ladies Mr Capel is ill. Nothing more. Don’t spread the alarm.”“Is anything very serious the matter?” said a voice at the door.“Yes—no, my dear. Go away now,” cried the old lawyer, “Mr Capel is ill.”“There is something terribly wrong again,” said a deeper voice, and, white as ashes and closely followed by Katrine, Lydia came in.She uttered a faint cry, and then wrested herself from Artis, who tried to stop her.“No,” she cried, imperiously, changed as it were in an instant from a shivering girl into a thoughtful woman. “Quick: go for help. Mr Girtle, what can I do?”“Yes, let me help too,” said Katrine. “What is it; has he tried to kill himself?”“No,” cried Lydia, turning upon her fiercely. “He was too true a man.”“I’m afraid there has been an attempt made by burglars,” said the old lawyer, “and that our young friend has been trying to defend the place; but—but he was locked in here—the key was in my table—and—and—I’m afraid I’m growing very old—things seem so much confused now.”He put his hand to his head for a few moments and looked helplessly from one to the other. Then his customarysang froidseemed to have returned.“This is not a sight for you, ladies,” he said. “Pray go back.”“I am not afraid, Mr Girtle,” said Katrine, with a slight shudder as she looked eagerly about the room.For her answer, Lydia took water from the wash-stand, and began to bathe the blood-smeared face, kneeling down by Capel’s side.Just then Preenham entered with decanter and glass, the former clattering against the latter, as he poured out some of the contents.Holding a little of the brandy to Capel’s clenched teeth, Mr Girtle managed to trickle through a few drops at a time, while Lydia continued the bathing, and Katrine stood, like some beautiful statue, gazing down at them with wrinkled brow and clasped hands.By this time, the knowledge that something was wrong had reached the women-servants, and they had both come to the door.“No, no; keep them away, Preenham,” said Mr Girtle, in answer to offers of assistance. “You go down, too, and be at the door, ready to let the doctor in.”“Yes, sir, I will,” said the old butler, piteously; “but my young master—will he live?”“Please God!” said the lawyer simply.“But he is not dead, sir?”“There is your answer, man,” said Mr Girtle, for just then Capel uttered a low moan.The old butler bent down on one knee, and Lydia darted at him a grateful look, as she saw him lift and press one cold hand, and then, laying it down, he rose, and went out of the room on tiptoe, raising his hands and his face towards Heaven.“Was he stabbed—with that sword?” said Lydia, in a hoarse whisper.“No, I think not. The doctor must soon be here,” was the reply.In fact, five minutes later there was a quick knock at the door, and Dr Heston hurried in, followed by Artis.“Give me the room,” he said quickly. “Ladies, please go.”Katrine turned slowly, and glanced at Lydia.“I may stay, Doctor Heston,” she said. “I may be of use.”“No words now,” he said, sharply. “By-and-by you will be invaluable. Well there, stay.”He had thrown off his coat and rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, and as Lydia bent her head and stood waiting, Katrine left the room. Then the deft-handed medico was busy with his examination.“Head literally scored with a bullet,” he said.“Not a cut?” whispered Mr Girtle, pointing to the sword.“Bless me, no. Scored by a bullet. An inch lower—hallo! What have we here?”He took out a knife and cut through the clothes, where he could not draw them away from where the blood had oozed out just below the left shoulder.“Hah! Yes! Bullet. Entered here; passed out. No! Here it is. Just below the skin.”He had raised the sufferer, and found that the bullet had passed nearly through, and was visible so near the surface that a slight cut would have given it exit.“Nothing vital touched, I think,” said the doctor, busying himself about the wound in the shoulder.“Ah! That’s right, madam. Nothing like a woman’s hand, after all, about a sick man. Why, this must have happened hours ago.”The doctor chatted away, quickly, but his hands kept time with his voice. He had laid down a small case of instruments with a roll of linen, and turning from the arm once more, he rapidly clipped away the hair, and dressed the wound in the head, a wound so horrible that Artis shuddered, turned to the brandy decanter that the old butler stood holding with a helpless, dazed look, and poured out a good dram, while Lydia knelt there, very pale, but calmly holding scissors, lint or strapping, to hand as they were required.“Now for the bullet,” said the doctor in a cheerful, airy way. “Mr Artis, just lend a hand here. Or, no; you look upset. Put down that decanter, butler! This isn’t a dinner-party. That’s right. Now kneel down here.”He softly raised Capel, and placed him in a convenient position before turning to Lydia.“Really, I think you would prefer to go now?”The girl’s lips seemed to tighten and she shook her head.“As you please;” said the doctor testily. “I have no time to waste. A little back, Mr Girtle; I want all the light I can have. Yes, that’s plain enough,” he muttered, as with one hand resting on the injured man’s shoulder where the bullet made quite a little lump, he stretched out the other, and from where it nestled in the case, fitted amongst so much purple velvet, he took out a small knife.There was a pleasant look of satisfaction in the doctor’s face, as he took out the knife, but the next moment he turned with an angry flash upon Lydia.It was the natural instinctive act of one who loves seeking to protect the object loved. For as Dr Heston took the knife in his hand, Lydia’s eyes dilated, and she leaned forward, caught the doctor’s arm, and gazed at the keen little blade with dilated eyes.“My dear young lady, are you mad?” cried the doctor, testily.She raised her eyes to his in a look so full of appeal, that he could read it as easily as if she had given it with the interpretation of words.He was not accustomed to argue in a case like this, but the girl’s loving attempt to protect the insensible man, touched him to the heart; and dropping his sharp, imperious manner, he said gently:“But, don’t you see? It is to do him good.”Lydia’s hand trembled, but she still grasped the doctor’s arm.“Come, come,” he said, smiling. “You must not be alarmed. Do you want the bullet to stay in and irritate the whole length of the wound?”She gave her head a sharp shake.“Well, then, be sensible, my dear girl. There, get me a bit of lint,” he continued, “and you shall see how easily and well I will do this. That’s better. Why, taking a tooth out is ten times worse. This is a mere trifle. There, that’s a brave little woman. He will not even feel it.”Lydia’s hand had dropped from the doctor’s arm, and she drew a long breath, watching him as if her eyes were drawn to his knife, while he bent over Capel.In a few minutes more the patient was lifted upon the bed, and Lydia stood there with her hands clasped in dread, for it seemed ominous to her that Capel should be compelled to lie there.“Can he not be taken up to his room?”“No, my brave little nurse, no. It would have been extremely nice for him, but what he requires now is absolute rest and quiet. Come, come. You are too strong-minded a little woman to be superstitious. Go where you will, in old houses, there has generally been a death in some of the bedrooms; but believe me, that does not affect the living. Why, if that were the case, what should we do at the hospitals? You are going to install yourself here, then, as nurse? That’s right. Let my instructions be carried out, and I’ll come in again at noon.”Whispered conversation went on all through the house that day, but though there had been the attempt at burglary, Mr Girtle hesitated about calling in the police again, and on consulting the doctor, he quite agreed that it would be better not to have them there.“It will only disturb my patient,” he said, “and, depend upon it, with a light and people sitting up, the scoundrels will not come again.”“Well,” said Mr Girtle, “we will not communicate with the police at present.”The doctor came in at one, and again at five; and, on leaving, looked rather serious.“If he is not different to this at about nine, when I come in again, I’ll get Sir Ronald Mackenzie to see him. I’ll warn him at once that he may be wanted.”“Then you think his case serious?”“Brain injuries always are.”At nine o’clock, when the doctor came, his manner startled Lydia, who had patiently watched the sufferer all day.“Yes,” he said; “I will have Sir Ronald’s opinion. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”He left the room and hurried down-stairs, while Lydia bent down and laid her cheek against the patient’s burning hand. He was delirious now, and talking loudly and rapidly.“Yes, it is there,” he kept on saying. “Count four stones from the left, press on the fifth, and it will swing around. I have it safely—do you hear?—safely.”This went on over and over again, and as Lydia listened, something, she knew not what, made her turn her head, when it seemed to her that one of the bed curtains trembled, and that, in the gloom, a hand was softly drawing one back, that the sick man’s words might be more plainly heard.
The old lawyer ran from the door with an alacrity not to be expected in one of his years, and returned directly with the key that he had found in his table.
“Give it to me,” said Artis huskily, and snatching the key he tried to insert it, but his hand trembled so that he did not succeed, and the next moment he shrank away.
“Here, open that door, Preenham,” he said.
“I daren’t, sir, I daren’t indeed. Ah, poor young man!”
“Give me the key,” said the old lawyer firmly, and taking it, he tried the door, to find that the lock had been tampered with, so that it was some minutes before he could get it to move.
“Hadn’t I better fetch the police, sir?” faltered the butler.
“No; stop,” said the old lawyer, turning the handle. “There is some one against the door.”
He pushed hard, and with some effort got it open so that he could have squeezed in.
“It is all dark,” he said. “No it is the curtain,” and forcing his way through, he drew back the hangings from the window.
“It’s poor Capel—dead!” whispered Artis, who had followed. “Here, Preenham, come in,” he cried angrily. “Oh, how horrible—poor lad!”
The lawyer saw the naked sword lying on the carpet; that the drawers and cabinet had been ransacked; and that the window was not quite shut down.
He took this in at a glance as he ran to where Capel lay close to the door, where he had dragged himself sometime during the early hours of the morn, to lie exhausted after vainly trying to raise the alarm.
“He’s dead, sir, dead!” groaned the butler.
“Hush!” cried the old lawyer harshly. “He’s not dead. Mr Artis, you are young and active. Quick. That doctor, Mr Heston. You know where he lives. You, Preenham, brandy. Stop. Tell the ladies Mr Capel is ill. Nothing more. Don’t spread the alarm.”
“Is anything very serious the matter?” said a voice at the door.
“Yes—no, my dear. Go away now,” cried the old lawyer, “Mr Capel is ill.”
“There is something terribly wrong again,” said a deeper voice, and, white as ashes and closely followed by Katrine, Lydia came in.
She uttered a faint cry, and then wrested herself from Artis, who tried to stop her.
“No,” she cried, imperiously, changed as it were in an instant from a shivering girl into a thoughtful woman. “Quick: go for help. Mr Girtle, what can I do?”
“Yes, let me help too,” said Katrine. “What is it; has he tried to kill himself?”
“No,” cried Lydia, turning upon her fiercely. “He was too true a man.”
“I’m afraid there has been an attempt made by burglars,” said the old lawyer, “and that our young friend has been trying to defend the place; but—but he was locked in here—the key was in my table—and—and—I’m afraid I’m growing very old—things seem so much confused now.”
He put his hand to his head for a few moments and looked helplessly from one to the other. Then his customarysang froidseemed to have returned.
“This is not a sight for you, ladies,” he said. “Pray go back.”
“I am not afraid, Mr Girtle,” said Katrine, with a slight shudder as she looked eagerly about the room.
For her answer, Lydia took water from the wash-stand, and began to bathe the blood-smeared face, kneeling down by Capel’s side.
Just then Preenham entered with decanter and glass, the former clattering against the latter, as he poured out some of the contents.
Holding a little of the brandy to Capel’s clenched teeth, Mr Girtle managed to trickle through a few drops at a time, while Lydia continued the bathing, and Katrine stood, like some beautiful statue, gazing down at them with wrinkled brow and clasped hands.
By this time, the knowledge that something was wrong had reached the women-servants, and they had both come to the door.
“No, no; keep them away, Preenham,” said Mr Girtle, in answer to offers of assistance. “You go down, too, and be at the door, ready to let the doctor in.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” said the old butler, piteously; “but my young master—will he live?”
“Please God!” said the lawyer simply.
“But he is not dead, sir?”
“There is your answer, man,” said Mr Girtle, for just then Capel uttered a low moan.
The old butler bent down on one knee, and Lydia darted at him a grateful look, as she saw him lift and press one cold hand, and then, laying it down, he rose, and went out of the room on tiptoe, raising his hands and his face towards Heaven.
“Was he stabbed—with that sword?” said Lydia, in a hoarse whisper.
“No, I think not. The doctor must soon be here,” was the reply.
In fact, five minutes later there was a quick knock at the door, and Dr Heston hurried in, followed by Artis.
“Give me the room,” he said quickly. “Ladies, please go.”
Katrine turned slowly, and glanced at Lydia.
“I may stay, Doctor Heston,” she said. “I may be of use.”
“No words now,” he said, sharply. “By-and-by you will be invaluable. Well there, stay.”
He had thrown off his coat and rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, and as Lydia bent her head and stood waiting, Katrine left the room. Then the deft-handed medico was busy with his examination.
“Head literally scored with a bullet,” he said.
“Not a cut?” whispered Mr Girtle, pointing to the sword.
“Bless me, no. Scored by a bullet. An inch lower—hallo! What have we here?”
He took out a knife and cut through the clothes, where he could not draw them away from where the blood had oozed out just below the left shoulder.
“Hah! Yes! Bullet. Entered here; passed out. No! Here it is. Just below the skin.”
He had raised the sufferer, and found that the bullet had passed nearly through, and was visible so near the surface that a slight cut would have given it exit.
“Nothing vital touched, I think,” said the doctor, busying himself about the wound in the shoulder.
“Ah! That’s right, madam. Nothing like a woman’s hand, after all, about a sick man. Why, this must have happened hours ago.”
The doctor chatted away, quickly, but his hands kept time with his voice. He had laid down a small case of instruments with a roll of linen, and turning from the arm once more, he rapidly clipped away the hair, and dressed the wound in the head, a wound so horrible that Artis shuddered, turned to the brandy decanter that the old butler stood holding with a helpless, dazed look, and poured out a good dram, while Lydia knelt there, very pale, but calmly holding scissors, lint or strapping, to hand as they were required.
“Now for the bullet,” said the doctor in a cheerful, airy way. “Mr Artis, just lend a hand here. Or, no; you look upset. Put down that decanter, butler! This isn’t a dinner-party. That’s right. Now kneel down here.”
He softly raised Capel, and placed him in a convenient position before turning to Lydia.
“Really, I think you would prefer to go now?”
The girl’s lips seemed to tighten and she shook her head.
“As you please;” said the doctor testily. “I have no time to waste. A little back, Mr Girtle; I want all the light I can have. Yes, that’s plain enough,” he muttered, as with one hand resting on the injured man’s shoulder where the bullet made quite a little lump, he stretched out the other, and from where it nestled in the case, fitted amongst so much purple velvet, he took out a small knife.
There was a pleasant look of satisfaction in the doctor’s face, as he took out the knife, but the next moment he turned with an angry flash upon Lydia.
It was the natural instinctive act of one who loves seeking to protect the object loved. For as Dr Heston took the knife in his hand, Lydia’s eyes dilated, and she leaned forward, caught the doctor’s arm, and gazed at the keen little blade with dilated eyes.
“My dear young lady, are you mad?” cried the doctor, testily.
She raised her eyes to his in a look so full of appeal, that he could read it as easily as if she had given it with the interpretation of words.
He was not accustomed to argue in a case like this, but the girl’s loving attempt to protect the insensible man, touched him to the heart; and dropping his sharp, imperious manner, he said gently:
“But, don’t you see? It is to do him good.”
Lydia’s hand trembled, but she still grasped the doctor’s arm.
“Come, come,” he said, smiling. “You must not be alarmed. Do you want the bullet to stay in and irritate the whole length of the wound?”
She gave her head a sharp shake.
“Well, then, be sensible, my dear girl. There, get me a bit of lint,” he continued, “and you shall see how easily and well I will do this. That’s better. Why, taking a tooth out is ten times worse. This is a mere trifle. There, that’s a brave little woman. He will not even feel it.”
Lydia’s hand had dropped from the doctor’s arm, and she drew a long breath, watching him as if her eyes were drawn to his knife, while he bent over Capel.
In a few minutes more the patient was lifted upon the bed, and Lydia stood there with her hands clasped in dread, for it seemed ominous to her that Capel should be compelled to lie there.
“Can he not be taken up to his room?”
“No, my brave little nurse, no. It would have been extremely nice for him, but what he requires now is absolute rest and quiet. Come, come. You are too strong-minded a little woman to be superstitious. Go where you will, in old houses, there has generally been a death in some of the bedrooms; but believe me, that does not affect the living. Why, if that were the case, what should we do at the hospitals? You are going to install yourself here, then, as nurse? That’s right. Let my instructions be carried out, and I’ll come in again at noon.”
Whispered conversation went on all through the house that day, but though there had been the attempt at burglary, Mr Girtle hesitated about calling in the police again, and on consulting the doctor, he quite agreed that it would be better not to have them there.
“It will only disturb my patient,” he said, “and, depend upon it, with a light and people sitting up, the scoundrels will not come again.”
“Well,” said Mr Girtle, “we will not communicate with the police at present.”
The doctor came in at one, and again at five; and, on leaving, looked rather serious.
“If he is not different to this at about nine, when I come in again, I’ll get Sir Ronald Mackenzie to see him. I’ll warn him at once that he may be wanted.”
“Then you think his case serious?”
“Brain injuries always are.”
At nine o’clock, when the doctor came, his manner startled Lydia, who had patiently watched the sufferer all day.
“Yes,” he said; “I will have Sir Ronald’s opinion. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”
He left the room and hurried down-stairs, while Lydia bent down and laid her cheek against the patient’s burning hand. He was delirious now, and talking loudly and rapidly.
“Yes, it is there,” he kept on saying. “Count four stones from the left, press on the fifth, and it will swing around. I have it safely—do you hear?—safely.”
This went on over and over again, and as Lydia listened, something, she knew not what, made her turn her head, when it seemed to her that one of the bed curtains trembled, and that, in the gloom, a hand was softly drawing one back, that the sick man’s words might be more plainly heard.