"DearCarrington,—"A terrible event occurred at my place last night. Shortly after you left an alarm of 'Fire' was raised. You can imagine the scene of disorder that resulted! I managed to get everyone out of theway, when we found that the house was blazing in half a dozen places. How it caught fire I cannot even dream, but I know that, were it not for the fact that I am well insured, I should be the most miserable creature on earth! Nothing but blackened ruins is left of the scene of yesterday's festivities! I am asking you to put up Mrs. Knox and her niece, Miss Scott, since I am unable to accommodate them. They were to be my guests for a fortnight, and cannot return home, as their own house is in the hands of the painter. Would you be so kind as to endeavour to manage at least a shake-down for the two ladies for a few days, as I do not wish to make them incur the inevitable annoyance and expense of an hotel existence? I am staying, and intend to do so, with Crooker, my agent, and have sent the wife to Southsea to stay with her sister. Let me know if you can oblige me. I believe you have met Mrs. Knox several times at my house.—Yours,
"DearCarrington,—
"A terrible event occurred at my place last night. Shortly after you left an alarm of 'Fire' was raised. You can imagine the scene of disorder that resulted! I managed to get everyone out of theway, when we found that the house was blazing in half a dozen places. How it caught fire I cannot even dream, but I know that, were it not for the fact that I am well insured, I should be the most miserable creature on earth! Nothing but blackened ruins is left of the scene of yesterday's festivities! I am asking you to put up Mrs. Knox and her niece, Miss Scott, since I am unable to accommodate them. They were to be my guests for a fortnight, and cannot return home, as their own house is in the hands of the painter. Would you be so kind as to endeavour to manage at least a shake-down for the two ladies for a few days, as I do not wish to make them incur the inevitable annoyance and expense of an hotel existence? I am staying, and intend to do so, with Crooker, my agent, and have sent the wife to Southsea to stay with her sister. Let me know if you can oblige me. I believe you have met Mrs. Knox several times at my house.—Yours,
"Moorland."
Laurence perused the letter with a faint smile on his handsome face.
"Of course you will put them up?" he asked his father.
"Of course!" responded the Squire; "but what do you think of the fire? Isn't it terrible?"
"Terrible? How so? Fires must occur sometimes!"
"Of course, but this is the work of an incendiary!"
"Yes, Dad, it certainly looks like it; but why should you be so alarmed about it? The Marquis is well insured, and, if you are as frightened of fire as you are of burglars, why, it's hardly likely thattwo blazes should occur in the same district within, well, a dozen years."
Laurence said this to pacify his father, who was almost trembling, with either fear or horror. But he little expected the Squire's response—
"I was thinking how narrowly we escaped, and," the old man muttered, half aloud, as he moved away, "how desperately this wretch is sealing my doom!"
Laurence was an expert gardener, and, after despatching a reply to the Marquis's letter, he had, though deep in thought, settled down to assist Head in the greenhouses.
"We've got a thief in this establishment," the gardener remarked, after a lengthy pause in the conversation.
"Oh, indeed," replied Laurence absently. He was at the moment revelling in the prospect of Miss Selene Scott's company that afternoon, and did not find Head's conversation remarkably entertaining.
"Yes; my old coat has gone out of the barn since last evening—my old coat what the missus won't let me wear except I'm haymaking. Strictly, 'tween you and me, sir, I suspects the hodd man next door!"
Laurence was all attention at once. Anything concerning the unknown inhabitants of the Dene was of interest to him, and he begged for further details of the "robbery"(!)
But Head was ready for his dinner, he said, andpromptly moved off towards the barn, to which his meal was usually brought by one of his numerous olive-branches. Laurence followed, at the gardener's suggestion, to be shown whence the coat had disappeared in the night!
On the threshold of the barn a small boy was playing marbles alone. He rose and touched his cap on catching sight of young Carrington; then, addressing his father, informed him that "mother made you a shepherd's pie, what you likes."
Head walked into the barn to fetch this delicacy, but emerged a moment later.
"Where've you been, Tommy?" he asked.
"Tommy" disappeared into the great building, but he also returned a minute after with a blank look on his face.
"I put it in there a moment ago, Daddy, and now it's gone," was his lamentation.
"There now, sir," said Head to Laurence, "what did I tell you about a thief? He's stolen my dinner!"
Laurence, feeling almost inclined to laugh, in his turn accompanied the gardener into the barn. As he did so, he fancied he detected a rustling in the mountains of fresh-smelling hay that rose all around. Head had evidently heard the sound also, for he seized a pitchfork and commenced stabbing it intothe portion which appeared to be that whence the rustling came, but with no result.
As he poked about in the hay, the man stopped suddenly.
"What's this?" he said, picking up something upon which his fork had chanced. He held up to view a small revolver.
Could it be, Laurence wondered at the sight of it, the weapon with which the unknown stranger had attempted the life of Squire Carrington? Disguising his pleasure at the sight of what might possibly be a clue to the hiding-place of the Squire's would-be murderer, Laurence pocketed the small weapon, and moved away, leaving Head to grumble over his loss. But a subsequent scrutiny of the pistol was cut short by the arrival of Kingsford, who announced luncheon. Almost simultaneously a carriage bearing the Marquis of Moorland's coat of arms drove up the avenue, and deposited two ladies and a couple of small portmanteaux on the doorstep. The butler proceeded to open the door, and, perceiving that the visitors were Miss Scott and her aunt, ushered them into the drawing-room, where Laurence quickly joined them. As the young man entered the room he heard his father's voice call over the banisters to the butler:
"Don't let any one in; pray don't; bar the door.Say that I have got a pistol ready. What? Mrs. Knox and Miss Scott? Oh, that's all right. I thought it was a—a burglar!"
A sigh of relief followed, and, after a moment or two, the Squire, looking paler and more miserable than ever, arrived in the drawing-room.
All through lunch he remained silent except when spoken to, while Laurence was being charmed by Miss Scott's graphic description of the fire, and Mrs. Knox paid undivided attention to the sumptuous repast laid out on the table.
"But the funniest thing of all, Mr. Carrington," said the young lady to Laurence during the course of the conversation, "was that when I was going down to supper, I happened to look out into the garden from a landing window, when what should I see but a figure creeping along the side of the house. Well, as auntie will tell you, if there's anything I'm frightened of it's a tramp. This looked like either a burglar or a tramp, but I knew that he daren't break in with all the servants and guests about, so I didn't mention the fact to anyone. To me it looks as if the person I saw had something to do with the dreadful fire, but why he should want to murder us all I should very much like to know. Well, but that isn't all. Soon after you'd gone—you went so awfully early, you know—I happenedto go out on to the covered-in verandah for a breath of fresh air, and was talking very privately to Maggie Haroldsworth. I had just mentioned to her that you had gone" (Miss Scott blushed as she noticed the colour rise to Laurence's cheeks at the mention of his name in the "very private" conversation) "mentioned that you and the Squire had gone, when suddenly the same figure I had seen before sprang up from some bushes, almost underneath where we stood, and dashed off into the shrubbery. The lawn was quite dark, so that I could not see very well what the person was like, but Maggie insisted that it was a woman with coloured skirts, though I doubt if it really was, for no woman I ever saw ran like that figure did."
At this point Squire Carrington roused himself from the state of lethargy into which he had fallen, and looked up, paying some attention to vivacious Miss Scott's story.
"Another thing Maggie insisted on, was that she distinctly saw the mysterious creature's features. She told me all about it afterwards, when we were bundling out of the house, for the alarm was raised before we had stopped talking about the woman—if it really was one. Well, she says that the light from one of the basement rooms fell on this creature's face as it dashed out of the bushes, andthat she could take her dying oath it was a black woman! Why, Mr. Carrington, what's the matter? Mr. Laurence, Auntie, the Squire has fainted!"
For the second time within twenty-four hours Squire Carrington had fallen forward in a dead faint!
Only for a few minutes did the Squire remain unconscious. Before his son had time to lift him, with the butler's aid, upon a convenient sofa, he had opened his eyes in a nervous fashion, and asked where he was. It was with mingled feelings of pity and contempt that Laurence told him he was safe at home. The old gentleman's extraordinary behaviour displeased his son, who regretted that such an incident had occurred in the presence of the ladies (though in his thoughts Mrs. Knox had but a small place), and was especially annoyed, because it seemed to him that his father's sudden embarrassment was the result of some remark of Miss Scott's, though exactly what remark it was that had caused an elderly man, and a magistrate to boot, to faint like a servant girl or a delicate child was as much a mystery to him as the events of the previous night, and the Squire's extraordinary precautions during the last few months.
No sooner had Mr. Carrington recovered, then, than, at his son's suggestion, he retired to his ownroom, expressing a hope that he would renew his acquaintance with the ladies at dinner.
Mrs. Knox belonged to the noble army of "after-lunch nappers," and she, too, presently disappeared at the conclusion of the meal, leaving Laurence inwardly congratulating himself on the good fortune that removed the worthy old lady to her bedroom, permitting him to do the honours of the house to her niece alone.
At the girl's suggestion, a visit to the conservatories and flower gardens was the first event of the afternoon. But the day was warm, and two easy-chairs placed temptingly on the lawn proved a greater attraction than the walk which had been proposed by good Mrs. Knox.
"Well, and what is your opinion about this fire, Mr. Carrington?" asked Selene Scott, after a pause in the conversation.
"In my opinion it seems very much like a case of incendiarism," replied Laurence.
"So I imagine, and—why do you think your father was so upset when I mentioned the person I saw in the Marquis's garden last night?"
Laurence did not reply for a moment. He was deliberating with himself as to whether he should confide in his fair companion all he knew about the old gentleman's fears, the affair on the moor, andthe mysterious inmates of Durley Dene. It was more than possible that a sharp, intelligent girl, like Miss Scott seemed to be, might prove of considerable assistance to him in his efforts to account for the Squire's precautions and the uncanny attempts on his life.
On the other hand, he knew women to be credited with the bump of loquacity, and it was far from his intentions that his father should get to know of the efforts he was making to unravel the mystery surrounding old Mr. Carrington's terrible dread. In a conversation he had had that morning with the Squire, on being pressed by Laurence to confess that his fear was of something more than burglars, Mr. Carrington had begged his son not to allude to the subject at all. He could not, he said, and he would not, explain what the secret of his life was. "Even had I a secret, it were better," he had proceeded to say, "for your own sake, Laurence, that you did not know that secret, and it is useless for you to try and extract an explanation from me of my proceedings. And," he had added, as though fearing he had said too much, "you are wrong in imagining that my fear of burglars is a cloak for something else. I am, indeed, in mortal fear of—a—housebreaker!"
Consequently Laurence knew that it was uselessto obtain a solution of the puzzle from his father, and, to the best of his knowledge, no one could supply that solution but—possibly the mysterious bicyclist, and the equally mysterious Major Jones-Farnell, who, Laurence was convinced, were one and the same.
Therefore, it would certainly be easier, he argued, were he to work hand in hand with another person who might be likely to help him in his detective efforts. And the collaboration was likely to be more particularly pleasant when it was with such a companion as the young girl at his side!
Thus it came about that, after a promise of the strictest secrecy, Selene was given a concise "précis" of all the incidents that Laurence deemed to be in any way connected with Squire Carrington's secret and the mystery of Durley Dene.
The girl followed the narrative with the deepest interest.
"Thank you so much for confiding in me," she said at the conclusion. "I hope you will never have cause to regret unbosoming yourself. There is one thing," she went on, "that, it is quite plain, must be done."
"And that is to beard the lion in his den?" suggested Laurence.
"Exactly. We must pay an informal call uponMajor Jones-Farnell, and hear what he has to say for himself."
"That is easier said than done, I am afraid, Miss Scott," said Laurence, shaking his head; "he's a mysterious person in every respect. Why, there are four people living in the house, or supposed to be four, and yet but one of these (an old woman, who won't open her mouth, except to hurl imprecations at the village children when they cry after her) has ever been seen abroad in daytime. Then you must include in your list the creature I saw at the window, and the unknown bicyclist who doesn't wear boots, or, if he does, wears them under his socks, who, presumably, was also the person I saw in the garden; and that's all you know about Durley Dene. I believe the 'hodd man,' as our gardener calls one of the four residents, has been seen at night-time strolling about the grounds and smoking, but no one seems to have caught a glimpse of his face."
"Then," broke in the girl, "how does anybody know that there are four people at all?"
"That's smart of you, Miss Scott," replied Carrington, "but the house-agent's confidential clerk evidently considered it part of his duties to betray the confidence placed in him by passing the news on to a friend. That friend told his friend, and now everyone is aware of the fact."
"Ah! But, on consideration, don't you think there is one course open to us which is better, and perhaps safer, than 'bearding' the Major in his weird den?"
"No, I can't say that I do."
"There now, I'm a better detective than you! Why, we'll get the sour old lady who indulges in profanity to solve the mystery for us."
"But how? She's as silent as the grave!"
"Yes; and so probably will the Major be, but surely you have heard that if a detective knows he has to obtain certain information either from a man or a woman, he first goes for the woman? You know the saying, 'Woman is weak'? Well, perhaps this crusty old lady is no exception to the rule. She may be assailable by bribes, or possibly by threats; but, in any case, it will be easier to attack her, metaphorically speaking, than the men in their own castle, to which it would probably be impossible for us to gain access."
Laurence agreed. The idea, hardly practicable as it seemed to be, was at any rate better than his own of going straight to the seat of the mystery and showing his hand in an interview, which he might or might not be allowed, with Major Jones-Farnell.
Further conversation between the young peopledecided them that no better means of attempting the solution was possible.
The first question to be decided was where the "tackling," as Laurence called it, of the old woman should take place, how the scheme should be worked, and when it was possible for a start to be made.
For many reasons, the pair argued, it would be as well to set to work as soon as possible, since the first attempt on the Squire's life might at any moment be followed up by a second, and perhaps even more desperate effort.
There could be little doubt but that the position of anyone who attempted to frustrate the hidden enemy's murderous attempts was one of danger, and for this reason Laurence regretted, when too late, that Miss Scott should have elected to share that risk with him. In vain did he suggest that she should not endanger herself in any way, but remain behind the scenes, pulling the strings of the manœuvre by means of her suggestions and ready advice. She would have none of it. She was equally interested in the case as was her companion, and as to any question of endangering her life, she said that she had no fears on that account, since the mere encounter with a harmless old woman was hardly likely to prove a hazardous adventure.
At this stage of the important discussion afternoontea and Mrs. Knox appeared on the scene, so, for the moment, further conversation on any but ordinary subjects was impossible.
After tea, however, the elder lady, explaining that she had letters to write, again begged to be excused from accompanying the young people. So once more were they at liberty to resume their conversation.
Laurence, in the meantime, had been able, by a judiciously worded question, to learn from the butler that the mysterious woman from the Dene was in the habit of doing her marketing on Tuesday evenings. Since this was a Tuesday, an opportunity would probably arrive very shortly for the proposed encounter with that lady. It was therefore necessary that they should decide their plan of action without delay. And this they proceeded to do, while taking a walk round the orchards, that stretched for half a mile downwards behind the house.
By the time they returned to the Manse it was within an hour of dinner-time, so each hurried away to dress for a long and formal meal, that proved to be somewhat tedious to the young people, very agreeable, owing to its sumptuousness, to good Mrs. Knox, and evidently a mere matter of form to the Squire, who sat motionless in his chair almostfrom the beginning to the end of dinner, hardly addressing a single word to his guests, or partaking of so much as a taste of the numerous delicacies placed, one after another, before him. It will have already been noticed that Mrs. Knox was not an exemplary chaperon, or perhaps she considered that Selene, or Lena, as the old lady called her, was sufficiently sensible to be able to take care of herself; or it is even possible that she was an expert match-maker. At any rate, she either did not notice, or did not mind, when, at the conclusion of the stately repast, and on the departure of the Squire to his own room, her charge, hurriedly donning a hat and cloak, left the house with Laurence Carrington. Had she known the intentions of the pair, she might have raised some objections, though anything that did not conduce to peace and quiet was hardly to Matilda Knox's liking!
On leaving the grounds of the Manse, taking as they did so a casual glance at the tumble-down, ivy-coated walls of the dingy neighbouring house, the two excited young people turned off towards the lower part of the village, where the few shops that the place boasted were to be found.
It was after nine o'clock, and beginning to grow dark. On the village green one or two stalls, surmounted by glaring "flames," were to be seen.
Country women in picturesque costumes, and accompanied by a varied number of small children, roamed about the street, gossiping loudly and unceasingly, and laughing heartily, when, in their opinion, occasion required.
Laurence and his interested companion quickly intermingled with this motley throng, eagerly on the alert, the one to catch a glimpse of the woman whom he had already seen on such occasions as this, the other depending upon her keen intuition to pick out from the rest of the crowd the person of whom they were in search.
For some time they sought in vain, and Laurence was beginning to fear that the woman had already returned to the Dene with her purchases of frugal provisions, when a harsh voice at his elbow caused him to turn sharply, and confront none other than the cloaked and closely hooded servant from the mysterious house.
"Keep close to her," he whispered to Selene. "We must follow her about, so that she doesn't give us the slip, but it will be impossible to speak to her until we get out of this crowd and into the quiet road."
They had not long to wait. After making a few purchases at the grocer's and butcher's shops (in both of which she was received with rude stares anduncomplimentary remarks, made aside), she entered the saddler's, emerging a moment later with a stout dog-whip.
What was the meaning of this last purchase? Laurence wondered. To the best of his knowledge they kept no animals about the Dene, certainly no dogs, which would surely have made their presence known very quickly by howls, or wanderings into the adjoining estate. Here there seemed to be yet another mystery.
The woman had evidently finished her shopping for the day. She turned and hurried off in the direction of her destination, closely followed by Laurence and Lena. Already they had left the shops behind them, and reached a quiet turn of the road, almost within sight of the Manse, when the woman, who was stout and tall, and carried a market-basket, deliberately turned round and faced them.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, in a hoarse voice.
Her sudden action caused Laurence to forget the carefully worded denunciation he had decided upon. For a moment the young man could not reply.
"When the children come a-following of me I box their ears for them," the woman went on in aloud, sneering tone; "take care I don't do the same to you!"
Her sarcastic words enraged young Carrington beyond measure. He took one step towards the scowling creature.
"Be careful," he said, suggestively raising a warning finger, "or I'll put the police on your track. There's something underhand going on at Durley Dene, and, if you don't tell me what it is, I will obtain a search-warrant, and then we will see who is going to be punished."
The woman started at his opening words, but as he went on, heedlessly confessing in his anger his ignorance of what actually was the secret of the Dene, she recovered herself, and sprang forward suddenly at the young man.
"Take that for your impertinence," she hissed, striking him a savage blow on the chest with the clenched fist of her left hand. Then, turning sharply round, she clutched at her print skirts, and fled precipitately down the road, disappearing in quick time into the grounds of Durley Dene. But in her activity, and when she had made the sudden attack upon him, Laurence noticed that the dark hood which had covered her head and effectually shrouded her face had been thrust aside. He almost gasped with astonishment when he perceivedthat the villainous countenance he was now at liberty to scrutinise was that which he had seen on the previous night pressed against one of the windows of the Dene.
He had hardly recovered from his surprise when Lena, after satisfying herself that he was in no way hurt, turned to him.
"Mr. Carrington," she said, "the mystery deepens. It was a man in disguise, and no woman, that struck you so determined a blow."
With the discovery that the servant from the Dene was without doubt a man in disguise, the mystery surrounding the house adjoining the Squire's residence was considerably deepened instead of being in any way solved.
Laurence Carrington, as, smarting under the burly housewife's blow, he conducted his companion back to the Manse, hardly fulfilled his duties as host in silently meditating as to his next step. Suddenly he recollected himself.
"Excuse me, Miss Scott," he said apologetically. "This discovery has rather alarmed me, and for the moment I almost forgot that I was not alone. Come, it is getting late, and your aunt will be worrying about you. You must try and forget all about this skeleton in father's cupboard. It will be giving you bad dreams, and that would never do."
But if the young man charged Selene to think no more, for the present, about the uncanny state ofaffairs, he was unable, or did not intend, to allow this first reverse to put an end to his attempts at the solution of the mystery. Having wished Miss Scott and her aunt "good-night" on their departure to bed, he lighted his pipe and stepped out through the French windows of the dining-room on to the lawn. Fumbling unconsciously in one of the pockets of his shooting-jacket, which he had worn during the day and donned after dinner before starting off for the village, his hand came in contact with the small pistol which Head, the gardener, had found amongst the hay in the barn.
So many and varied had the events of the day been that he had almost forgotten the incidents of the stolen dinner and the rustling in the hay. Now it appeared to him that here was the most important clue he had as to the identity of the attempted murderer of the Squire. It seemed to him extremely possible that this was the weapon used by the unknown cyclist, for whose else could it possibly be, when no one in any way connected with the Manse carried firearms, except the Squire, whose blunderbus was certainly not to be mistaken for this? Careful examination of the pistol failed, however, to reveal any sign of the maker's name, and the hope which had risen in Laurence's breast gave way to a feeling of disappointment.
But a question of deepest importance that suggested itself to the amateur investigator was how it was that, if the strange cyclist came from the adjoining house, he had ventured into the barn which stood well within the Manse grounds. Had he been some chance enemy—the poacher, for instance, whom Laurence had already set down as a possible suspect—there was nothing more probable than that he should have taken refuge in the barn, but in the other case it was hardly likely.
One thing was undeniable, he had been there. Whoever the mysterious person was, he had stolen the gardener's plate of dinner and likewise his old coat. It certainly seemed improbable that Major Jones-Farnell, would-be murderer or no, should stoop to the robbery of old clothes and food. The poacher idea rose in the young man's mind, but was at once dismissed as out of the question. The Squire's secret had to do with something or somebody more mysterious by far than a mere poacher.
If the intruder had been in the barn at lunch-time, it was possible that he might be there still, though he had certainly disappeared completely before the gardener's manœuvres with the pitchfork.
At any rate, Laurence decided to have a lookround before going to bed, and consequently strolled down to the barn and crept noiselessly inside. The moonshine peeped in from a roof window, lighting up the whole of one side of the fine old rambling building as though it were broad daylight. Puffing silently at his pipe, Laurence glanced round, peering up into the rafters, down on the floor, and into the loosely piled hay that surrounded him.
Suddenly, by that strange instinctive intuition that comes at times to us all, he became aware and convinced of the fact that he was not alone—that some one was looking at him!
Strive as he might to dispel the eerie idea from him he was unable to do so.
Under such circumstances, and bearing in mind the incidents of the last two days, any ordinary person might have turned tail and fled. But Laurence was no ordinary person, and he was as keen on the scent of his father's enemy as the traditional bloodhound. Thus it was that, instead of taking to flight from what was only an imaginary fear, he struck a match and held it above his head, gazing round him again for any trace of the person who he instinctively felt was watching him.
A second and a third match revealed nothing; but by the light of the fourth he scanned what was perhaps the darkest and remotest corner of theCromwellian building. As he did so he fancied he saw something move on a ledge on which a roof support was fixed. In order to test his suspicions, he picked up a "stone," used for sharpening scythes, which happened to be on the ground in front of him, and flung it with all his athletic force and precision of aim at the indistinct mass which he believed to have moved a moment before.
A sudden shrill scream, about which there was something that (to use a well-worn phrase) froze the young fellow's blood with horror, broke upon the stillness of the great building, a scream which Laurence at once recognised as being exactly similar to that which the unknown cyclist had uttered when the lash of the carriage whip had caught him as he had fled away into the darkness.
And as that weird sound rent the air, the man who had caused it saw indistinctly in the gloom (for his last match had burnt itself out) a figure leap from the dark corner, and, with ape-like agility and speed, clamber up the rafters until it almost hung from the roof. Then, seizing some loose hay that had lodged in a cranny in the beams, it flung it down on the upturned face of the astonished spectator of this feat.
When Laurence had brushed away the hay from his eyes, the figure had disappeared, and, incrediblethough it may seem, no trace of it remained but the memory of that echoing, inarticulate shriek to prove that the apparition was not a mere phantom of the imagination.
A sleepless night was Laurence's portion when, tired out, he flung himself upon his bed.
The mystery was deepening in an alarming fashion, and its intricacies were such as did not conduce to quiet sleep. That he had at last actually encountered his father's enemy he was quite convinced, but he was no nearer being able to account for the strange creature's enmity or even to recognise its identity than before he had met with this last adventure.
A few facts about the unknown creature were very apparent. Firstly, it was strangely agile and cunning; secondly, its voice was as remarkable as its agility, which was hardly human; thirdly, it was in possession of a bicycle, and yet was unable to obtain food and clothing without having recourse to theft; fourthly, it was of peculiarly small stature for a man; and lastly, it was able to use firearms, but with the loss of the pistol it had probably beendeprived of its only offensive weapon, since it had not ventured to attack its assailant in the barn.
Laurence used the word "it" because he was in no way decided in his own mind as to whether the thing was a man, a woman, or, the idea occurred to him, neither of these two. Not that he believed it to be something that was not human, but because the marvellous manner in which it had scaled the barn walls was so suggestive of the monkey race. The idea that the creature in the barn was a species of monkey he at once decided, of course, to be absurd. A monkey might have stolen the missing coat and dinner, have thrown the hay down in order to cover its retreat, and have uttered that piercing shriek on being hurt, but it was hardly likely to be able either to ride a bicycle or use a pistol.
That it was a woman was more possible, and the young investigator's foundation for the idea was the remark of Miss Scott that her friend had declared the person lurking in the Marquis's garden to be a black woman "with coloured skirts." This remark, it will be remembered, was very probably the cause of the Squire's sudden illness at luncheon, shortly after the arrival of Mrs. Knox and her niece.
A woman might have performed all the feats thatthe unknown person had. She might have set light to the Marquis's house, believing the Squire to be yet in the building; she might have followed the carriage on a bicycle on discovering that the man she was dogging had left (though how she came to have a bicycle was a mystery in itself); she might have "held up" the carriage and attempted to murder the old gentleman; and it was just as possible (or impossible) for her to clamber up the barn wall as for a man to do so. To be sure, she must be a very remarkable woman. Since she was "black," she might be a negress or certainly some foreigner. Uncivilised and fierce she certainly was. But how came it that a negress (if such were the case) had so bitter an enmity against the harmless old Squire that it was the cause of all Mr. Carrington's careful precautions, and of the spirited attack on the high road? The mystery seemed hopelessly incapable of solution.
Morning came at last, and found Laurence no further advanced with his investigations. At one time he had decided to summon a detective, but recollecting how the Squire would take such an intrusion he considered it advisable to work alone.
What the relations of the woman (suppose it to be a woman) in the barn and the disguised man who had purchased the dog whip were, he had not yetventured to guess, but one thing was quite plain: they were in some way connected.
A fruitless effort had been made to attempt the solution of the problem through the "woman" servant in the Dene. Equally impossible would it be to obtain any information from the Squire. The idea of conversing in any way with the woman (?) in the barn (even if she were yet hiding there) was more than ridiculous. Consequently, the original scheme was the only one left which seemed in any way possible.
Laurence felt that the sole remaining course open to him was to interview "Major Jones-Farnell"!
During breakfast (at which meal the Squire did not appear) he cast all meditation and worry aside for the time being, and set himself to the task of entertaining the two ladies. Mrs. Knox, however, wanted little entertainment. A good breakfast was quite sufficient for her!
With Lena it was different. Two of her greatest charms were her vivacity and the brilliancy of her conversation, and both these characteristics were brought into play during the breakfast-table talk that ensued—talk that naturally enough, in Mrs. Knox's presence, contained no allusion to the subject uppermost in Laurence's mind, if not in that of both. Consequently, the morning meal was prolongedto a somewhat unusual length. The young man could not help thinking that (in his own words) but for the mystery which he had set himself to solve, he would be "making a fool of himself and falling in love."
He was certainly given plenty of opportunities to do so, for Mrs. Knox made a point of retiring, as was her custom, at the conclusion of breakfast, after charging Lena to write a line to the Marchioness of Moorlands asking if she could be of any assistance to that lady or her husband in their present uncomfortable position.
"I'll get the letter written first of all," said Miss Scott to Laurence, after her aunt's departure, "and then you must show me some more of your lovely country. As a letter takes me about three-quarters of an hour to compose, I should recommend you to devote that short period of recreation to having a quiet smoke by yourself! Then, after your play, you can prepare yourself for some good hard work, for I want to be shown the woods, the church, and everything else there is worth seeing in the neighbourhood." And with a smile she bustled away upstairs.
Here was Laurence's opportunity. If he waited until Lena's return she would probably insist upon accompanying him on his visit to Durley Dene.This he did not mean to allow. If, as he deemed very possible, the visit might not be without a dangerous element, Miss Scott must certainly not share that danger. So, without any hesitation, Carrington took his cap, and, leaving the house, made his way by a short cut to the entrance of the Dene. The gate was not locked, so he passed through, walked with a bold step up the dark avenue of swaying firs, and, entering the ruined old porch, pulled the rusty handle of the bell with energy.
A distant clang disturbed the weird silence of the seemingly deserted mansion, but the bell was not answered, though Laurence waited for many minutes, deliberating in his mind the course of action he should take when admitted.
Once again he gripped the bell-pull, and dragged it out of its socket as far as it would go. Once again, too, did the harsh sound re-echo from within. This time the clang had hardly died away before a noise of shuffling footsteps was distinctly audible to Laurence's alert ear. The footsteps approached, the sound betraying the fact that the stone floor of the lobby was uncarpeted. Then there followed the metallic click of a bolt being drawn back, and the door swung open until slightly ajar. Laurence saw that the porter, whoever he was, had carefully fastened it with a chain that allowed an aperture ofa few feet only. Simultaneously he saw part of a face that was glaring out at him. Though the interior of the house seemed uncommonly dark, he was able to recognise the features of the person in the doorway as those of the disguised man whom he had encountered on the highroad the previous night!
"Well, what do you want?" was the gruff greeting that proceeded from within.
"I wish to see Major Jones-Farnell," replied Laurence coldly.
"Oh, then he can't see you," came the reply, and the door was about to close again.
"Wait," cried Carrington, placing his foot against it; "I'm your neighbour, the Squire's son, and I am desirous of making the Major's acquaintance."
"I tell you, you can't see him. He's engaged. Take your foot away."
"All in good time, my friend. Do I understand that you refuse to take my message to Major Jones-Farnell?"
"That's about it. And, d'yer hear, take your foot out of the doorway, or I'll put it out for you."
"Be very careful, my good man," exclaimed Laurence. "I know who you are. You're the man who struck me last night when disguised as awoman. I know you. There's something mysterious going on in this house, and I shall not stop until I've solved it. Admit me at once to your master, or whoever the owner of this house is, or I go at once to the police and obtain an order to search the place on suspicion. My father is a magistrate——"
"So you think there's a mystery about this house, do you? Well, you're finely mistaken this time, my beauty. Even if there was a mystery it would take more than the likes of you to get to the bottom of it."
So saying, by sheer force the man thrust Laurence's foot back, banged the door, and shut down the bolt, leaving young Carrington in the same atmosphere of mystery as before.
And after the shuffling footsteps had died away down the corridor, unbroken silence once more fell upon Durley Dene.
Selene Scott had finished her correspondence when Laurence reappeared on the lawn of the Manse, and was waiting, ready dressed, to go for the promised walk.
"Where have you been?" she asked, evidently guessing from Laurence's face that something unusual had happened. "Tell me, you surely have not visited your neighbours without me? You promised, didn't you, that you would take me to see this mysterious Major of yours?"
There was only one thing to do, Laurence decided, and that was to confess that he had taken another step in his investigations. Miss Scott was much interested in his experience, slight though it was. She plainly showed her displeasure though, because she had not herself been permitted to have a share in the adventure. "The old fossil of a porter might have acted quite differently when a real live lady was standing on the doorstep," shesaid, with a smile. "Promise me, now," she added, "that if you go again you will let me accompany you. I am just as interested as you are, and quite as good a detective."
But Laurence politely refused to give the required promise. He foretold experiences far less pleasant than those that had already passed, before he would be able to say that he held the key to the mystery of his father's strange dread. When he recollected that Lena was a guest, and that her connection with the extraordinary state of affairs was unknown to her aunt and guardian, Mrs. Knox, he felt that he would be doing wrong to make a promise such as the girl asked.
However, as he had already confided in her the history of the whole series of events that had happened during the last few days (and he regretted that he had done so when it was too late) there was no harm in relating the story of his adventure in the barn on the previous night. But Lena was no more able to account for the queer creature's antics than he had been, though she agreed that there was a possibility of that creature and the woman in coloured skirts (the mere mention of whom had caused the Squire to faint) being one and the same.
The engrossing subject of what both rightly called "the" mystery filled their minds, and throughoutthe long ramble in the Northden Woods that occupied the best part of the morning, no other topic of conversation was so much as touched upon. Yet in spite of this fact, Laurence felt that Lena was becoming more to him than a mere guest—a companion amateur detective!
A few minutes yet remained before luncheon, when the two found themselves back in the Manse grounds again, so Laurence fetched a couple of basket chairs on to the lawn, which was a small one, lying at the back of the house, and they sat down in the shadow of a monster holly bush, that was one of the most striking features of the place. From this spot they could obtain a mere glimpse of the tiled roof of Durley Dene, through a break in the line of bushes that, with a palisade of stout iron stakes, separated the grounds of the neighbouring houses. The holly bush must have stood at least sixty or eighty yards from the boundary line.
The young people had hardly ensconced themselves beneath the welcome shadow of the tree (for in height and size it was more like a tree than a bush) when suddenly something fell with a hard "plomp" on the soft turf, and rolled almost to their feet.
Laurence started up with an exclamation of surprise, and Lena also rose to her feet.
"What is it?" she asked, and her companion hastily picked up the round white ball that had caused her remark.
Whence it had come was a mystery. No one was near. Judging from the direction in which it had rolled on reaching the ground, it must have been despatched, either from the barn or the laurel bushes that bounded the grounds.
It was heavy for its size, and Laurence, on examination, found it to be something wrapped in a piece of white paper, which was tightly fastened round it. Lena leaned over him, curious and excited, as he proceeded to peel off the paper. When he did so, out dropped an ordinary round pebble.
"There, it's only a hoax!" cried Lena, looking quite disappointed.
"No, no," answered Laurence: "there's something on the inside of the paper." He smoothed the white sheet out on his knee, and then read aloud what was marked upon it in a small, shaky handwriting.
"Before calling in the police please pay me another visit, when I will see you, provided you come alone, and after dark.—J. F."
"Jones-Farnell," exclaimed Lena, and for a moment or two neither of them spoke.
"Of course you won't go," said the girl, after the brief pause.
"Of course I will, Miss Scott," replied Laurence promptly.
"But—oh, won't it be too risky for you to go—alone?"
"I hope I shall be able to take care of myself, Miss Scott."
"Yes, but——"
"But?"
"Suppose it's some trap to—murder you," whispered Lena. "Look at that letter. It is sent in a most mysterious fashion by a man you've never seen. It tells you to come alone and after dark. Doesn't that look frightfully suspicious? Don't you see that if they have got some secret, or are carrying on, as I shrewdly guess, some illegal occupation, what, Heaven only knows, don't you see, if this is so, and they know that you suspect them and are making investigations, that it will be greatly to their advantage to have you out of the way? You know what I mean."
"Yes, I understand your argument, and appreciate your good sense, but I'm sorry that I cannot take your advice. The matter, I feel confident, is one of life and death to my poor father. Is it not only natural that I should risk my own life for his,particularly when I am a strong man and he old and getting infirm? Besides, there may be no risk after all. We may be mistaken, though I can't see how. At any rate, it is my duty to go to-night——"
"To-night! Oh, not so soon, surely——"
"Procrastination, you know, Miss Scott, is the thief of time. To-morrow may be too late. Hourly, almost, I am dreading a second attempt on the poor old Squire's life, and if I keep my appointment to-night I may yet be in time to save him."
"But let me go with you. Do, please!" Lena cried, pleadingly.
"No, no, you must not endanger yourself. What would Mrs. Knox say?"
"I don't care what auntie says in the least, and——" she stopped short.
"Tell me," Laurence cried, as he turned to his young companion and, looking into her clear blue eyes, where he fancied he saw a glistening tear, forgot everything, his father, himself, and the mystery that was deepening around them, "tell me, why do you say this, why do you mind my going? What can it matter to you? Is it, tell me I am right, that you are urged by the same feelings that I am when I refuse to take you with me? Say 'yes,' and you will make me the happiest beingon this earth, for the reason why I will not allow you to endanger your dear life is because I love you."
The effect of Laurence's confession of love on Lena in fiction would doubtless have been the dramatic and time-honoured remark on the "suddenness" of the declaration, but this was not the reception she gave to the young man's passionate outburst.
"Laurence," she said, and the pronunciation by her lips of his Christian name thrilled him with pleasure, "Laurence, when the mystery is solved, when you return safe from your interview to-day, then, and not till then, will I give you my answer."
She paused to catch her breath. With difficulty she had been able to pronounce the words that in cold print appear more formal and unsatisfactory than they seemed to Laurence, intoned as they were by the gentle voice of the woman he loved.
For the moment she was transformed from a laughing, vivacious girl to a silent and thoughtful woman.
How much in her own opinion the coming visit to Durley Dene meant to her she alone knew. She dared not betray her love for her new companion, though it was manifest in her eyes as she glanced at him; then, looking down, interested herself in theprogress of a worm on the turf. What was the secret that might—that probably would—be revealed in a few brief hours? Since it seemed that a woman was concerned, might not the grim skeleton in the cupboard prove to be a disgraceful as well as a gruesome one? And then? How often are not the sins of the fathers visited upon the innocent children?
And that was why she paused and refused her answer. Had not the lover been blind, as is the love-god himself, he would have read that answer as plainly as though it had been given in words. But Laurence, at any rate, felt he could not be discouraged. He had not been met with a blank refusal.
He caught Lena's little ungloved hand, bent down, and kissed it tenderly.
And as he did so the gong sounded for lunch, and they made their way back to the house, where they met the Squire for the first time that day in the dining-room. The old man's spirits contained something of their old joviality. At the meal he was once more, to some slight extent, the courteous, old-fashioned host and gentleman that he had been a few months back. Laurence heartily rejoiced at the change in his father's behaviour. Lena noticed it too. Mrs. Knox might perhapshave done so also had the viands been less palatable or her appetite less hearty. The cause of the transformation was unknown to any of them, but Laurence guessed very rightly that the Squire's dread of his strange enemy had been lessened by the fact that no second attack had been attempted. As a matter of fact, Mr. Carrington was beginning to hope that his assailant of two days ago had departed under the impression that the victim had been killed by the cowardly shot fired into the coach as it crossed the moor.
Had he been able to glance into the mysterious future and learn what the events of the coming night were to be, it is possible that his behaviour would have been very different.
To the amazement of the venerable butler, Mr. Carrington intimated his intention of taking a drive in the closed carriage that afternoon. Mrs. Knox offered to accompany him. Lena, perforce, went too. For reasons that need not be explained to the reader who has followed this narrative, the Squire thought it fit to order that the footman should ride on the box of the carriage, an order which considerably annoyed that worthy, who, having never received similar instructions before, being an indoor servant, had planned a quiet perambulation with a certain young lady of his acquaintance.
Laurence did not accompany the party. He was not fond of driving in the closed carriage, and even though he deprived himself of the companionship of Lena by refusing the Squire's invitation, he did not greatly regret the fact, for at home there were many matters which required his attention.
The first of these was the barn itself, to which herepaired on the departure of the carriage. He was determined to make every effort possible to discover the manner of the disappearance of the creature whom he believed to be his father's intended murderer. In broad daylight it was difficult to imagine that his grotesque experience of the previous night was stern reality.
With the aid of a step-ladder he swung himself on to the ledge where first he had caught sight of the lurking creature. To further follow in the stranger's footsteps he found quite impossible, but by other means he managed to reach the spot whence the hay had been thrown down upon him in order to conceal the vanishing figure's disappearance. But, search as he might, he was unable to discover any clue to the manner of that disappearance. No hiding-place was apparent. Certainly there was no crack or crevice in the roof in which it was possible for even a child to conceal itself. So, perforce, Laurence had to set this down also as a mystery, when he gave up the search and disconsolately returned to the house.
His next step was to prepare himself for the interview with the occupant of Durley Dene. Lena's common sense had assured him that the ordeal of the coming night might in all probability be attended by a certain amount of personal danger, andhe decided to arm himself to the best of his ability before setting out to interview Major Jones-Farnell. He had the small pistol found in the barn on the previous day, but, unfortunately, was not supplied with the necessary ammunition. There was, however, still plenty of time before dinner, so Laurence, not objecting to a little exercise, decided to ride over to East Cave, where he knew there was a gunsmith.
Carrington was a fairly accomplished cyclist, and the possessor of a machine, which he occasionally rode, though more usually his "mount" was a live one. His bicycle was kept in a shed adjoining the barn, and situated nearer the Dene boundary than the larger building.
Strolling down to this shed, he found the door unlocked. As he alone possessed a key to it he was somewhat astonished on making this discovery, but his astonishment gave place to a feeling of consternation when he entered the building to find that the machine was gone!
And then in an instant an idea flashed across his brain. The unknown man on the moor who had so desperately attacked his father in the carriage had ridden his (Laurence's) own bicycle on that memorable occasion!
Impossible as the idea seemed at first, on secondthoughts Laurence realised how extremely probable it was that the mysterious creature who haunted Squire Carrington should borrow on the French leave system, or even steal, the machine which would enable him to follow his terrified victim. He had been compelled to steal a dish of food and an old ragged coat; it was hardly conceivable that he should nevertheless possess a safety bicycle. And certainly there could be no doubt but that the machine had been stolen, for every one of the servants, whom Laurence next proceeded to question, professed entire ignorance of even the whereabouts of a key that would fit the lock on the shed door. Undoubtedly they had nothing to do with the disappearance of the "iron horse."
Since Carrington was anxious to procure the ammunition for his little pistol in time to be of use, if required, at the coming interview with Jones-Farnell, he ordered the stable-boy to saddle the Squire's mare, on which he would ride into East Cave. Until the animal should be ready he paid another visit to the cycle shed, and examined the lock on the door. It had been tampered with. The thief had used that harmless little tool which a professional burglar finds so useful when following his "profession"—a bent piece of copper wire. Examination of the interior of the little erectionrevealed no trace of the unknown man who had entered the shed. Who was he? That was a question that Laurence could not answer until the approaching ordeal was a thing of the past.
It was already dusk when Laurence Carrington stepped briskly out of the gate of the Manse, and turned into the dark drive that led to the neighbouring house.
He had been unable to wish Lena "good-bye," for both the Squire and Mrs. Knox had adjourned with her to the drawing-room at the conclusion of dinner. He had muttered something about "having a smoke" when he left them, and looking to his loaded pistol, which was something more than a mere plaything, he had set out on his important errand, wearing an ulster which covered his dress suit.
On this occasion he was not left waiting long in the porch, for his pull at the rusty bell was almost immediately answered by a repetition of the incidents of the morning. The same shuffling footsteps sounded along the passage, the same grating noise of bolts being drawn followed, and the door was opened ajar in order that the janitor might satisfy himself as to the identity of his late visitor.
The scrutiny through the chink of the door wasapparently satisfactory, for the man inside proceeded to release the chain, after which Laurence was invited in a surly, gruff tone to "come in."
Pitch darkness reigned supreme within, and the young man found his hand grasping the small fire-arm in his overcoat pocket as he took one step into the house, and the door banged upon him.
What little light there had been from the outside world was now shut out. With a shudder, Laurence realised how completely he had placed himself in the power of the unknown inhabitants of Durley Dene. In the gross darkness, what was to prevent this sour-faced porter, who had, when disguised, encountered him on the previous evening, from plunging a knife into his back as he stood there unable even to catch a glimpse of the man's outline?
Even as he thought thus a hand clutched his arm. The young man's fingers closed simultaneously round the pistol in his pocket, but his companion only requested him to follow upstairs, and guided him by the arm with an accuracy that denoted familiarity with the ins and outs of the house, up several short flights of uncarpeted stairs, until, presumably halfway down a narrow passage, which must have been on the highest floor in the house, he stopped short suddenly.
Then he fumbled about for what was evidently adoor handle, and a moment later a flood of pale light burst out from a room on the threshold of which the two had been standing. The door had been flung wide open, and with the janitor still holding his arm, Laurence moved forward into the room, which appeared well furnished, and in the centre of which sat a man in an arm-chair.
Half-blinded by the glare, Carrington stood for a moment motionless. Then the door closed behind him, and, turning, he saw that his late guide had withdrawn. He was in the presence of Major Jones-Farnell.
"A very good evening to you, sir!"
The man in the chair rose as he uttered these words. He was of more than middle age and height, was clad in a light-coloured shooting suit, and wore glasses and a grey moustache.
"Well, and so you have bearded the lion in his den?"
The words were those that Lena herself had used earlier in the day! Could it be that the Major had overheard them, or was it a case of mere coincidence?
"Come and sit down and let us have a chat," the stranger went on, beckoning Laurence to a vacant arm-chair.
"Major Jones-Farnell, I suppose?" was Carrington's first remark.
"Yes and no," replied the other; "but that is neither here nor there."
"Indeed! And I believe you wished to see me," said Laurence coldly.
"I do," said the Major, "but pray make yourself at home, as far as it is possible, in such 'diggings' as mine. Here are some cigars that I think you will find palatable. Perhaps you will join me in a smoke. There's nothing so conducive to pleasant conversation as nicotine." And the master of Durley Dene pushed forward a small box of long cigars, each wrapped in embossed silver paper.
Now, had Laurence been ushered into the presence of some typical scoundrel who held a revolver in his hand while conversing, and offered to murder the young visitor if he actually carried out his threat of consulting the police, he would not have been in the least surprised, but he had little expected what he now found.
The room in which he sat was elegantly furnished in decidedly Oriental style. A magnificent Indian carpet, into which one's feet sank an inch or so, occupied the best part of the floor, while mats covered the bare corners of the room. Indian tapestry of fine workmanship hung from the walls, and many of the small chairs and bric-à-brac ornaments were of Oriental manufacture. A hookah, with ivorymouthpiece, and brilliantly worked coiling pipe, stood upon a table at Major Farnell's right hand. That gentleman's feet were encased in Persian bed slippers. In fact, little of the furniture but the arm-chairs was of a kind one would expect to find in England. Even the prevailing odour of the room was that of incense such as one reads of as pervading Eastern bazaars and temples. Certainly the Major had a good idea of comfort.
And as Laurence noted these points in connection with the room he realised how they agreed with the supposition of his that the Squire's enemy was a "black" man or woman. But the Major gave him little time for thought.
"Oh, you must take a weed," said Farnell, when Laurence had at first refused the other's hospitality.
Fearing to displease, Carrington did so, carefully selecting one of the cigars from the bottom of the box. Why he did this will be quite evident. He considered it possible that some of them might be drugged. However, as the owner himself carelessly chose one of the top layer, it seemed probable that Laurence was over-suspicious. That, however, was no fault. The circumstances under which he had been brought face to face with the Major were remarkable enough to raise suspicion.
"And so," said Jones-Farnell, when the two hadlighted up, "and so you thought of sending the police here! May I ask why?"
"I hardly think it necessary to explain to you what I am under the impression you already know," was the answer.
The Major looked surprised.
"I fear," he said, "that your impression is a mere misapprehension. Truthfully, I have no idea why you should object to my retiring habits in a house which is my own in every respect. I am inclined to think myself a peculiarly desirable kind of neighbour. I am sure no noise caused by me or my servant has ever disturbed you. I keep no fowls to wake you up by their crowing at daybreak. Never has either my servant or myself trespassed upon your grounds. I don't keep a dog——"
"Pardon me, but why, then, did your servant purchase a dog-whip only last night?"
And when Laurence made this quiet and apparently ordinary remark, he noticed a sudden flush rise to his host's brow. For a moment the Major did not reply. Then, affecting an off-hand manner, he said—
"Oh, that was for my Persian cat, Teddy."
But Laurence knew that he lied!