Vera opened her eyes at length. Gradually the things that had happened came back to her. She recognised the futility of resistance. All she could do was to wait and hope for the best. But despite the startling rapidity with which events had moved, she was not in the least frightened. Her prevailing feeling was one of indignation that any man should have dared to treat her in this way. Withal, there was a certain vein of curiosity that Vera did not care to suppress. The cab was still moving briskly, and Vera judged by the trees on each side of the road that they were already out in the country. The man sat opposite her, grim and silent. He made no inquiry as to how Vera was getting on. He suggested no apology for his violence.
The feeling of languor and the suggestion of headache passed away, leaving Vera strong and vigorous again. It was impossible to sit there without speaking.
"Do you quite understand what you are doing?" she said to the man opposite. "Do you realise that you are guilty of a criminal offence? You could be prosecuted for this."
"I will not contradict you," Silva said politely. "Believe me, I deeply regret the necessity for taking this step. Yet it was impossible to satisfy our requirements in any other way."
"Oh, you are not alone, then?" Vera asked. "Would it be inquiring too much if I asked who else is in this business?"
Silva smiled under cover of the darkness. A man of courage himself, he admired that quality in others. So the child that he had known, and been so passionately attached to, eighteen years ago had grown up to be a worthy representative of her race? Vera would have been astonished at that moment if she could have seen into the back of Silva's brain. She did not realise for a moment that here was a man who would have gone through fire and water for her, and yet, at the same time, he was prepared to wreak his insane vengeance upon those whom she loved and admired more than anybody in the world. If Vera's happiness had depended upon it, Silva would not have spared Ravenspur, even had Vera gone on her knees and asked for it. Yet he would have given his life if it could have done any good to this proud descendant of the house of Descarti.
"Surely you can guess who is with me in this business?" he said. "Did I not bring you a letter from your mother?"
Vera started. She had forgotten her mother for the moment, and this question of Silva's had opened up a new and painful train of thought. He was taking her to see her mother. But why had her mother so suddenly displayed this tender solicitude, after leaving her absolutely alone all these years? That Vera's mother was in possession of her whereabouts, and had been all this time, the girl did not doubt. When part of the story had to be told she had accepted Ravenspur's statement implicitly. Her mother was a vile woman, and the past was too painful for a young girl to hear. Ravenspur had not said so in as many words, but that was distinctly the impression he had conveyed to Vera. She began dimly to comprehend now why this new-born affection of her mother's had not found vent in the conventional way. Doubtless Ravenspur would have forbidden her the house. Doubtless he had a hold that gave him the control of the situation--probably a compact made years ago. And now one of the parties desired to break it. Perhaps it was a question of money, or family property, or something of that kind? Vera had heard of similar cases.
At any rate, there must be some reason for this mystery and violence. And no doubt every word that Ravenspur had said about her mother's character was true. Otherwise she could not have consented to an abduction like this. Still, there was comfort in the reflection that Lord Ravenspur and Walter would leave no stone unturned to punish this outrage. The miscreants would be found out sooner or later. Vera congratulated herself now upon the fact that she had left her handkerchief tied to the collar of the dog Bruno. That would be a sufficient clue to put her friends on the trail, and Bruno himself, with his unerring instinct, would lead the pursuers to the right place. After all, the imprisonment could not last long, though Vera boiled with indignation as she thought of the treacherous way in which she had been deceived.
"And you are going to take me to my mother, then?" she asked.
"That is the programme," Silva said coolly. "Unfortunately, you will not be able to see the Countess tonight. You may believe me or not, but I am sorry to have been compelled to take a step like this. But you see, Lord Ravenspur's plans made it quite impossible for me to wait till tomorrow."
Vera was silent for a moment. She could see plainly that Ravenspur's clever scheme for getting away to Weymouth had been betrayed by someone to this man. Her chief anxiety for the moment was for her guardian. It was terrible to think that he had been dogged and watched by people so cunning and unscrupulous as these. Vera was still thinking the matter over when the cab stopped and Silva bade her get out. A wild idea of appealing to the cabman for assistance was dismissed as she caught sight of his face. There was a grin upon it, and the driver unmistakably winked at Silva. There was just enough light for Vera to see that the cabman was not wearing a badge. Doubtless he was a conspirator, too. There was nothing for it but to see the thing through to the finish. So Vera followed Silva through the garden till he paused at length on the steps of a house, which appeared to be in total darkness.
"The servants have gone to bed," Silva explained, as he opened the door with a latchkey. "If you will wait a moment, I will turn up the gas. If you desire anything----"
"Nothing," Vera said curtly. "All I want you to do is to show me to my room. I wish to be alone."
Silva bowed politely enough. He turned and locked the door, and Vera saw that he dropped the key in his pocket. Then he took a silver candlestick from the hall table and handed it to Vera, intimating that he would like her to precede him up the stairs. They came at length to a room in the roof of the house which appeared to be comfortably, almost luxuriously furnished, and with every feminine requirement at hand. With absolute amazement Vera saw her own silver toilet set laid out on the dressing table, her handbag was on the floor, and in one corner of the room stood the two dress-baskets which her maid had packed for immediate use on board the yacht. A slight smile of amusement flickered over Silva's face as he noticed Vera's amazement.
"Everything has been done to make you comfortable," he said. "It was my own idea to remove your immediate belongings from Waterloo Station and bring them on here. I assure you that it was no difficult job. And now I wish you goodnight, with a thousand pardons for the way in which I have been compelled to treat you. Tomorrow morning----"
Silva paused significantly and bowed himself out of the room. He closed the door gently behind him, and Vera waited till the sound of his footsteps had died away. She tried the door, but, as she had anticipated, it was fastened on the outside. Beyond all question, she was a prisoner. There was nothing but to make the best of it, and wait on the course of events. There were two bolts on the inside of the door, and, having secured these, Vera felt easier in her mind. She undressed slowly, and more for something to occupy her mind than anything else. She would never be able to sleep again. The idea of sleep seemed to be out of the question. Yet, within ten minutes, Vera had fallen into a deep slumber from which she did not wake until the sun was shining high, and the birds were singing in the trees. The girl rose eagerly and looked out. She could see a wide expanse of green lawn, with big shaded trees here and there. On two sides of the house a common stretched away apparently to the confines of space. How far she was from London Vera could not say. Certainly she had never been here before. She was still admiring the beauty of the landscape when there came a quiet knock at the door, and after the bolts were drawn Silva came in. He was, if possible, even more abjectly apologetic than on the previous evening.
"I am bound to intrude," he said. "You see, this house has only been taken for a time, and the servants are absolutely in ignorance of your presence here. I merely came to show you where you could find all the requisites for your breakfast, and as to the rest, they are in this basket. Here is a spirit lamp, so that you can boil your own water. I am in great hopes that before evening I shall be able to give you what is practically the freedom of the house. Do not think too harshly of me."
Vera made no reply; she was only pleased to have the room to herself again, so that she could think the matter out. She ate her breakfast slowly, for time was beginning to hang on her hands. Any action was better than sitting there doing nothing. It was some time later when she crossed to the window, and looked out. She saw three men busily engaged in some occupation on the lawn. She saw Silva come out and address them, apparently in tones of expostulation, so far as she could judge from his actions. Then one of the men looked up, and Vera could see that he had noticed her. A moment later the man stooped down, and went through some sort of a pantomime, which, in the circumstances, puzzled Vera extremely. Why should that grave-looking official stoop down and imitate the motions of one who is stroking a dog?
At any other time the trifling incident would have escaped Vera's attention. But she had nothing else to occupy her mind now. She wondered what it meant. There was no doubt that the official-looking person below was pretending to stroke a dog. There was no jest about it, either, because the other two men took no heed. They appeared to be too absorbed in their occupation. Then, all at once, the truth of it flashed into Vera's mind with a suddenness that left her pale and trembling. It was plain enough. She could not say for certain who it was patting and caressing an imaginary dog, but she was quite certain that there was a message to her behind it. In the first place the man had seen her at the window, of that she felt certain. And he was telling her as plainly as words could speak that her handkerchief had been found, and that Bruno led her friends to the right spot. No doubt, these willing assistants had assumed the guise of land surveyors with a view to getting a better knowledge of the house. Once the excitement of this discovery passed away, Vera's courage came back to her. She now knew that she was safe. She knew that it would not be long before she was restored to her friends again. She deemed it prudent to keep away from the window, and when at length she looked down again, the men were gone.
There was nothing for it but to kill the dreary afternoon as best she could. It seemed to her that she knew every inch of her room, every design and pattern on the wallpaper. She would have given much for a book to while away the time, but, apparently, Silva had overlooked that requirement. As she lay back in an armchair, for the first time, a small, wooden trap in the ceiling attracted her attention. It seemed strange to Vera that she had not noticed it before. A sudden resolution possessed her. She balanced a couple of chairs, one on the other, upon the bed, and made an attempt to lift the trap. There was not the slightest trouble. The square of board gave to her touch at once. Vera thrust her head and shoulders through, and saw that she was immediately under the roof. A sliding glass window overhead lighted up the place, so that Vera could see what sort of a place she had discovered. Instantly she made up her mind what to do. She turned a yachting jersey out of one of the baskets and removed the bodice of her dress. A short serge skirt completed the outfit, and a few moments later Vera had squeezed through the trap, and was walking along the boards which covered the whole area of the house under the roof. What she was now anxious to find was a way down. Here was a large tank which supplied the house with water, and by the side of it a short iron ladder, the end of which was lost in the semi-darkness. But Vera had discovered enough. Doubtless the iron ladder was a permanent structure for the use of workmen in case anything went wrong with the big tank. In all probability the bottom of the iron ladder reached down until it joined the servants' staircase. Vera had seen arrangements of this kind in small country houses before.
At any rate, the knowledge was worth having. Here was a clear avenue of escape. As soon as the house was quiet Vera would be able to steal away, and once outside, she would know exactly what to do. She had no money, but that was a mere detail.
The slow hours crept on till dusk began to fall, and there had been no further sign from Silva. The clocks outside were striking eight when someone tapped at the door, and in response to Vera's query the voice of Silva spoke:
"We are dining in half an hour," he said. "Will you be so good as to come down? I have unfastened the door."
Vera was trembling with excitement and apprehension. She hastened to change her dress, and a few moments later was hurrying down the stairs. When she reached the hall she found Silva awaiting her. He looked somewhat anxious.
"Your mother is in the drawing-room," he said "I hope you won't mind sitting down to a cold dinner. For motives of prudence we have sent the servants to London for an evening at the theatre. To anyone as intelligent as yourself you will see why we adopted such a course. Will you precede me?"
Vera had nothing to reply. Just for the moment she was incapable of speech. She was wondering whether or not she would awake presently and find it all no more than a dream. The drawing-room was brilliantly lighted. A tall, dark woman stood by the fireplace. Her regular features appeared to be absolutely composed; but agitated though Vera was, she did not fail to notice the restless movements of the hands. Just for a few moments the two looked at one another. Then something like a smile came over the Countess Flavio's face.
"So you are my daughter," she said. "I am afraid I should not have recognised you. Come closer, so that I can look at your face. Thank Heaven, you are not in the least like your father. I cannot be sufficiently thankful for that."
"I have thought about you often," Vera said coldly; "but, surely, if you are my mother, you have a strange way of making yourself known to me. What is the meaning of this outrage? Surely you could have come to Park Lane and asked for me in the ordinary way, without sending this creature of yours----"
Vera looked round for Silva, but he had discreetly disappeared.
"I am glad that man has had the decency to leave us alone," she went on. "Oh, I have been thinking about this meeting all day. I do not know what to imagine, or what to believe. You say that you are my mother, but how I am to be certain that----"
"I swear it," the Countess said, with a touch of passion in her voice. "You are my daughter beyond the shadow of a doubt. Oh, there is a deal in what you say, but I could not come to Lord Ravenspur's house. There are most urgent reasons. You are wondering, perhaps, why I have not been near you all these years; but I can explain. You remember nothing of your father, for which you can thank your Maker. With the solitary exception of yourself, there was not a creature on earth that he cared for. He was the embodiment of refined cruelty. His greatest delight was in the tortured degradation of others. Ah, you little guess what a veritable hell the two years which followed your birth were. I will tell you all about that some day, and you will be sorry for me. If you had only had my experience you would not wonder why I fled and hid myself when my release came. You would not wonder why I refused to see you, for fear you should be like your father, and remind me of him every hour. I was so near the borderland of insanity then that I should have killed you, if by one look or gesture you had reminded me of the man who had ruined my life. And then, when the lapse of years had restored my strength and vigor again, a longing to see you took possession of me. And when at length I had found you, or, rather, my faithful servant, Silva, had found you for me, there were certain circumstances which prevented my seeking you out at once. I was going to wait my time, but the man whom you call your guardian took such steps that I was bound to act at once. That is why I wrote you that letter last night. That is why you were brought here. And as to Lord Ravenspur, if he is lucky----"
The Countess paused and bit her lips. A horrible suspicion flashed into Vera's mind.
"You must say nothing against him," she cried. "Lord Ravenspur is one of the best and noblest of men."
"Lord Ravenspur is a scoundrel," the Countess cried. "Yes, and before I have finished I am going to prove it to you. Oh, you may look incredulous, but I am a deeply injured woman, and that man is responsible for all my torture."
A crimson wave stained Vera's cheeks. Here was the old suspicion back again with redoubled force. She would have asked the direct question which was trembling on her lips, but the door opened, and Silva came in hurriedly.
"I am loth to intrude," he said, "but it is already half-past eight, and it is imperative that you, madam, should be back in London this evening. There is a train at twenty minutes past nine, which you must not fail to catch."
Without argument, the Countess led the way across to the dining-room, where dinner was laid out. Vera noted with some surprise that there were only covers for two. She had half expected that Silva would sit down to table, instead of which he moved from place to place, waiting upon them, as if he had been accustomed to that kind of thing all his life. A few moments ago he had appeared to be the dictator and leader in everything. Now he suddenly lapsed into a perfectly respectful and exceedingly well-trained servant. It was not that Silva was acting a part. The thing was so perfectly done that Vera saw at once that this was the man's proper position in life. She was too excited to eat or drink, so that, altogether, the meal was little more than a mere formality.
"I am sorry that I can't stay any longer," the Countess said; "I am bound to be in London this evening."
"Then I will come with you," Vera said promptly.
"No," Silva burst out sternly. "The thing is impossible. For the present you stay where you are. In a day or two we will make other arrangements with the servants, and then you can have the freedom of the house. The Countess will tell you that I am right."
"I am afraid so," the Countess said, "unless you will give me your word that you will not communicate with Lord Ravenspur. You must be dead as far as he and his household are concerned."
"I cannot do it," Vera said quietly. "Forgive me if my words hurt you, but so far I have no evidence to prove that you are anything more than a mere impostor. You claim to be my mother, and perhaps you are. But till tonight I had no mother. For eighteen years Lord Ravenspur has been more than a father to me. If you can give me any satisfactory explanation of this plot against my safety----"
"Oh, I can," the Countess cried. "Two years ago--"
"Be silent!" Silva cried furiously. "I beg your pardon, madam, but I am forgetting myself. I will venture to remind you that your train will not wait."
"That is quite sufficient," Vera said, with dignity. "I will return to my room again. Perhaps the next time I see you, you will have more time for an explanation."
The girl turned and left the room. She walked slowly and sadly up the stairs, and locked herself in. It was not long before she heard the click of the fastening outside. She knew that she was a prisoner once more. It was out of the question to try and realise the meaning of all this extraordinary mystery. There was a certain sense of comfort in the knowledge that she was safe from personal violence. But, beyond this, there was little to light up the dreary prospect. Vera sat there thinking the matter over till the clock struck eleven. Then she glanced up at the ceiling, and stared at the trap-door long and thoughtfully.
She could not hear a sound in the house. Doubtless Silva had retired long ago. Perhaps he was asleep by this time. As to the servants, they were probably not returning till an early hour in the morning. Vera calculated that the house was sufficiently far from London to make a return after the theatre impossible. She was going to risk it. If Silva caught her attempting to escape she could only return to her room again. She changed her dress rapidly. In the pocket of her skirt she placed a a box of matches and a night-light, which she found on the dressing-table. To get through the trap was a matter of a moment. With the aid of a match she found the top of the iron ladder, and when she had let herself down she came at length, as she had expected, to the top of the servants' staircase. The house was absolutely quiet, and plunged in darkness. Vera scarcely dared to breathe, till, at length, she found herself in the hall. It was tense and nervous work, and the girl was trembling from head to foot. She hardly dared to touch the bolts. She drew them back a fraction at a time. Then she slid off the chain; the links clicked together with a noise that sounded in the girl's ears almost like a pistol shot. She turned the handle hurriedly. One moment more, and she would be in the garden.
The disappointment was swift and cruel. The door was locked, and the key was not there. Evidently this was no way of escape. After the first feeling of despair Vera shot the bolts back, and put up the chain once more. It was no use trying the back door, for that would probably be locked, and the key gone. The only possible exit was by way of one of the windows on the ground floor. But here again Vera was doomed to disappointment, for every door was fastened and every key had vanished.
Vera blew out her night-light, and crept softly up the stairs again. She wondered if it were possible to open one of the bedroom windows and leap to the ground. Trembling in every limb she groped her way into one of the rooms, the door of which was open. Once more she ventured to strike a light. The room she was in was furnished like a study. Here was a large table with paper and pens and ink. The walls were lined with books. A strong current of air came in from somewhere; then Vera realised that one of the windows was open. There was a balcony beyond, and on to this she stepped, trying to measure with her eye the distance to the ground. But it was too dark for that. The risk was too great to take. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice. Vera drew back with a shudder. She really had not the courage for such a desperate venture. It would be far better for her to remain where she was until her friends came to her assistance.
With this thought uppermost in her mind Vera turned back to the room again. A sudden gust of air from the open window extinguished the night-light. It was just as well, for almost at the same instant another door opened on the landing, and a shaft of brilliant light shot out. In its rays Vera could see Silva and another man who was a stranger to her. Silva appeared to be in high good spirits. He was chatting gaily to his companion.
"Now you know exactly what I want," he said. "You are to wait by the gate till two o'clock if necessary, and when those people come along, you are to give me the signal. If they don't come by two o'clock, then we can conclude that something has interfered with their plans, and the thing has been postponed."
"Oh, I'll do what you want," the other man said hoarsely.
"I'll see that you do," Silva went on. "I suppose those fools thought they deceived me this morning. It was just as well that I followed them. Well, if they like to come here, they will be pretty sure of a welcome. And now I will just come and let you out, and fasten the door behind you. It will be fun to sit here watching till they are overhead, and then I shall have them in a fine trap. I am looking forward to it with the greatest possible pleasure. Then you had better meet me in London tomorrow, and I will give you the money I promised. Ah, my good Stevens, this is the best week's work you ever did in your life. A few more such jobs and you will be able to retire from your honorable profession."
The man addressed as Stevens smiled sourly. Vera made a note of the name; she also made a note of the man's features. Then, as the two of them went down into the hall, she slipped back to her own room again by means of the iron ladder. Her breath was coming thick and fast, but her courage had returned, and she felt braced up and ready to meet any emergency.
It was quite clear to her what was happening. As far as she herself was concerned, she was practically a prisoner. She could not get away even if she wished to. And now she had no desire to leave. Her instincts had been quite correct. Beyond all question the men on the lawn in the earlier part of the day had been her own friends. The dog had guided them here, and even at that moment they were probably on their way to effect a rescue.
But they had not been quite clever enough for Silva. He had been too suspicious to let an incident like that pass. He had appeared to bow to the inevitable, but, all the same, he had followed his unwelcome visitors, and probably discovered their secret. And the worst of it was, Silva was now quite prepared for the intruders. It was impossible, too, for Vera to warn her friends. She racked her brains for some way of giving them a signal. There was only one desperate step to take, and she decided to risk it. Back once more she went until she came at length to the landing on the first floor. Her idea was to find out where Silva was hiding. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke in the house, which appeared to come from the ground floor. There was only one thing for it, and that was to descend to the hall. Under the morning-room door there was just a thin slit of light. It was here that the smell of cigarette smoke was the strongest. It was here, no doubt, that Silva was waiting for the fray. So far as Vera could judge the morning-room was on one side of the house, so that in all probability the light would not be seen, or perhaps there were some heavy curtains or drapery over the window. From his own lips Vera knew something of what Silva's plans were. He was going to wait there till he had his enemies trapped overhead. He probably would not move till the critical moment came.
It was a desperate idea, but there was nothing else for it. Vera crept up to the little sitting-room, and hastily dashed off a few words of warning which she hoped might fall into Walter's hands. She did not doubt for a moment that he would be one of the rescuers. It seemed to her that if she placed the note on the little table with the night-light behind it, and left the door open, it would be bound to attract Walter's attention. Then he would be prepared for the attack from below. There was practically no chance of Silva coming upstairs in the meantime, so that there was no reason why the little plot should fail. It was done at length, and then Vera again crept up the iron ladder to the side of the tank. But she did not return to her room. She knew that she was perfectly safe where she was. And, besides, at any moment her assistance might be of the greatest value. She stood there in the pitchy darkness, the leaden moments creeping on like so many hours.
Her ears were strained to catch the slightest sound; even the trickle of a water-tap sounded like pistol shots. A mouse behind the wainscot appeared to be making noise enough to wake the dead. Then, above the creeping silence, came a quick snap, which was like the breaking of wood. Vera's heart gave a great leap. It seemed to her that the attack was commencing in earnest.
A minute or two later and she fancied she could hear footsteps in the hall. But this she dismissed as mere fancy. She could hear the trees rustling outside as they swayed to a sudden breeze. She hoped the wind would not be strong enough to blow out her night-light. She wished now that she had closed the window. Then she jumped with a nervous start as a door banged like the thud of artillery. She heard a quick, sharp cry, and then the laboured breathing as if two men were locked in a struggle to the death.
Outside in the garden, under cover of the darkness, Ravenspur and his companion waited anxiously for a sign from Walter. The minutes crept slowly on. Still there was nothing to break the silence. A quarter of an hour passed, and at length Ravenspur began to feel decidedly anxious.
"I don't like it," he murmured; "I don't like it a bit. We have an exceedingly cunning scoundrel to deal with, and a bloodthirsty one into the bargain. That man would not stick at anything. I can't understand how it is that Walter doesn't open the door."
Venables made no reply. As a matter of fact, he was not a whit less anxious than Ravenspur. Still the minutes crept on, and still there was no sign from the interior of the house. Then at last came a faint, dull report, which might either have been the closing of a door, or the muffled echo of a pistol shot. Before Venables could reply he felt something damp and cold against his hand. His nerves were now at high tension. He jumped quickly back, and looked down. A great hound stood there waving his long tail from side to side and looking up into Ravenspur's face as if not altogether sure as to his presence being welcome.
"Call him off," Venables said excitedly. "The brute is dangerous. By Jove, what a fool I am! I thought at first that this was one of our friend Valdo's bodyguard, but I see now that it is your dog, Lord Ravenspur. I suppose he has managed to get away again."
"Oh, it's Bruno right enough," Ravenspur said. "Probably Perks fastened him up insecurely. But he must not be allowed to roam about here. Do you happen to have a dog collar and chain in your pocket, Perks? If so, I'll go and chain him up to one of those trees by the side of the lane."
Perks grinned, and produced the necessary collar and lead. In the course of his business he rarely travelled without one of these, though he looked dubiously at the leather strap, and opined that is was not much good for so great a beast as Bruno.
"I think that will be all right," Lord Ravenspur said. "The dog is well trained, and if I tell him to stop there I am sure he will. At any rate, I don't suppose he will move until we have this business finished. Now, come along, sir."
The great beast trotted along, more or less dejectedly, by his master's side, and a moment or two later he was lying at the foot of a small tree just by the gate leading to the lane. Ravenspur hurried back to his companions. He had hoped by this time that something had happened. He was seriously alarmed to find the house still in darkness, and no sign of Walter anywhere.
"This is very disturbing," he said. "Don't you think one of you had better go inside and see what has become of my nephew? If that man there has done him any violence----"
"I don't think so," Venables interrupted. "After all, the man we are looking for is no fool, and he would most assuredly avoid violence if possible. My dear Lord Ravenspur, you surely did not expect to find Miss Rayne by simply opening the door and going through the house? For my part, I regard this business as only just beginning, and I shall be very much surprised if Miss Rayne is in the house at all. Besides, this man Valdo is certain to be prepared for emergencies of this kind. Suppose he found Walter, and asked him what he was doing there? Suppose he insisted upon showing him all over the house? We will assume that he has proved to Lance that Miss Rayne is not there. He would enjoy that immensely. It would give him far more pleasure than any personal violence. And besides, Walter is quite capable of taking care of himself. Really, we must risk it a little longer. Any undue haste now would ruin our plans."
Sorely against his convictions Ravenspur allowed the point to pass. A quarter of an hour had elapsed now, and there was no sign of Walter. Ravenspur was about to speak again when suddenly from the lane came something in the way of a diversion. A man's voice was raised in terror, a frightened scream for help rent the air. As the cry died away, a deep growl of the dog was heard. Without a moment's hesitation Ravenspur rushed away down the garden and in the direction of the lane.
"There's no time to be lost," he cried. "Come along. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Bruno has got hold of some unfortunate wayfarer on his way home."
It turned out to be exactly as Lord Ravenspur had prophesied. When Perks came up, and turned his lantern on the scene, the outline of a man's body came into view. The unfortunate individual was lying on his back, the great hound was standing over him, his crest erect, his formidable row of teeth glistening in the light. At one word from lord Ravenspur the dog crouched down, and the stranger, trembling with fright in every limb, was dragged to his feet. Something like a chuckle burst from Perks' lips.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself, John," he said.
"I thought the brute was going to tear the throat out of me," the stranger said. "I came down here on business----"
"What business?" Venables said curtly. "Here, Perks, hold that light a bit higher up so that I can see the fellow's face. Does he happen to be a friend of yours?"
"We've done a bit of business together," Perks said significantly. "Otherwise, he is not what I would call a friend of mine. He was over at my place early this morning, but I thought he had gone back to town again. What are you looking about here for, John?"
"That's my business," the other said sullenly. "The man who fastened that dog up there so close to the lane ought to have six months. I don't know who he belongs to."
"He belongs to me," Lord Ravenspur explained. "There is one thing I will vouch for--if you hadn't been coming into the garden, that dog would never have touched you. It is no business of mine to ask what you are doing here, for I don't suppose you would tell me if I did. However, it seems to me----"
"No; but I can tell you," Venables put in. "This, Lord Ravenspur, is the man John Stevens who gave evidence at the inquest on Louis Delahay. He was the man who saw Mrs. Delahay with her husband in Fitzjohn Square that morning. He knows Valdo exceedingly well, and no doubt he is down here on the latter's business. If you ask him, he will hardly venture to deny it."
"I don't know what you are talking about," Stevens stammered.
"Oh, yes, you do," Venables went on. "You will say presently that you have never seen me before. You are a treacherous rascal, and evidently you are not in the least to be relied upon. I told you that it would pay you to join me, and I suppose your idea is to get money from both parties. This is no time to waste on incriminations. This man is a spy of Valdo's, Lord Ravenspur. Evidently he is here to watch our movements. We can't trust him. We can't let him out of our sight. The question is, what are we going to do with him?"
"You just leave me alone or it will be the worse for you," Stevens blustered. "I am not the man----"
Before Stevens could finish his speech he was jerked violently backwards by Perks, and turned over on his face. In less time than it takes to tell, his hands were bound behind his back with a couple of straps, and his feet were fastened together with the aid of some handkerchiefs which Perks borrowed from his companion. The thing was dexterously done, so that Stevens lay there on his back, swearing hotly at Perks, and threatening him with what was likely to happen when his time came.
"Oh, that's all right," Perks said cheerfully; "don't you be a fool, John. It will pay you much better to play the square game with these gentlemen, and as to your threats, why, they don't worry me. You talk about splitting. Why, you dare not go within a mile of a police station. And a nice witness before magistrates you would make. No, my lad; there is no chance of your doing me any harm unless you are prepared to stand in the dock by my side. Now, come along, and we'll get it over."
"What are you going to do with him?" Ravenspur asked.
"Oh, that is an easy one," Perks grinned cheerfully. "We'll just carry him as far as the common, and dump him down on a nice bed of bracken where he can pass the time studying astronomy. I haven't any fear that he can get rid of these bandages. When everything is settled, I'll come back and fetch him. Then I can take him home, and give him some breakfast. He won't bear any malice. That is a very good point about John Stevens: he never bears malice for long. As a matter of fact, he ain't got pluck enough."
Stevens was dumped unceremoniously down upon the bracken, and the little party went back to the house. Lord Ravenspur had forgotten all about Walter for the moment. His mind had reverted to the murder in Fitzjohn Square. He was thinking of Delahay and certain fresh facts which had recently come to light. He allowed Venables to precede him. Then he drew Perks aside for a moment.
"I am going to ask you a question," he said, "and I hope you will answer it straightforwardly. I will see that no harm comes to you. And, indeed, in any case it will be to your advantage to be candid. Have you had any dealings lately with this man Stevens? You know what I mean. Have you bought anything from him for which you paid without asking any questions?"
"Only this very morning, sir," Perks admitted cheerfully. "To tell you the truth, that little thing what you gave me a sovereign for was amongst the lot. And now I have said it. I am a fool to tell you this, but you gave me your word, sir----"
"That is all right," Ravenspur said. "I shall keep it."
Meanwhile, Walter was standing there in pitch darkness, utterly at a loss what to do next. He had no light to guide him. He had not the remotest idea in which direction the door lay. He took a step or two forward, with outstretched hands, until his fingers touched the wall. There were so many unfamiliar objects here that it was some little time before he felt his way with his finger-tips to the door. He found it at length, and the knob yielded to his touch. No sooner was he in the corridor than a dazzling flash confused and mystified him. Before he could realise what had happened the light was gone, and a pair of strong, sinewy arms were about his neck. He was taken utterly at a disadvantage. Walter swayed backwards. He fell with a resounding crash on the floor. A million stars danced before his eyes, and then he remembered no more.
When he came to himself again he was lying in an armchair, to which he was fastened by a maze of cords, wound cunningly about him. As his head became clear and less confused, he realised that he was in a kind of library, the walls of which were lined with books. Opposite him Silva was seated, with a placid smile upon his face.
"I think we have met before," he said.
"I have had that advantage," Walter said grimly. "And now you will, perhaps, be good enough to explain what you mean----"
"No," Silva hissed. A sudden anger flamed out of his eyes. "On the other hand, the explanation comes from you. For the time being, at any rate, this house is mine. I have paid for it, and I propose to spend my time quietly here for the next month or two. I am hardly settled down here before you come along in this unceremonious fashion and burgle the place. Why?"
"That you know quite as well as I do," Walter retorted. "Really, you are a man of amazing audacity. Now don't you know that the law punishes people severely for this kind of thing?"
"And what kind of thing do you allude to?"
"Why should you assume ignorance in that way? You know perfectly well what I mean. To my certain knowledge you have made three attempts on the life of Lord Ravenspur, and even that does not seem to be sufficient. Last night you managed to lure Miss Vera Rayne away from London, and she is in this house at the present moment. That she is detained here against her will I feel certain."
"Oh, indeed," Silva sneered. "Would you like to search the house? If I give you permission to go over the premises, will you be prepared to apologise and go away without further delay?"
A cold chill crept up Walter's spine. The man spoke with such an air of confidence and triumph that Walter began to feel that the mission had failed. Beyond all question, Silva had discovered the plot, and already he had managed to get Vera out of the way. The Italian could not be acting. His air was too assured for that.
"We need not say anything about apologies," Walter said; "but if you can prove to me that Miss Rayne is not in the house, why, then, for the present, at any rate, I will not trouble you."
"That is very good of you," Silva sneered. He rose from his chair and paced up and down the room. "You have seen quite enough of me, sir, to give me credit for not being altogether a fool. That was a very pretty scheme which you put up this morning. And, really, your disguises were quite artistic. I will go so far as to say that, in ordinary circumstances, they would have utterly puzzled me; but, then, I am suspicious by nature. I regard it as more than a coincidence that three strangers should come into my garden the very morning after I had----"
"Abducted Miss Rayne," Walter said, as Silva hesitated. "Why make any bones about it? We know that Miss Rayne came here. We, on our side, are not altogether without intelligence."
"You are worthy antagonists," Silva said, with a sarcastic bow. "We will assume, for the sake of argument, that Miss Rayne was here this morning, though, mark you, I do not admit it. Then, three strangers come and make free with my garden. It is possible, of course, that they are telling the truth, and that they are honest men, devoted to the interests of their country. But, at the same time, I asked myself a question. Then I followed these gentlemen, and by the time I returned home I had a pretty shrewd idea who they were and what they were after. How my suspicions are justified is proved by your presence here this evening. Did you come alone?"
"That you must discover for yourself," Walter said.
The Italian's features suddenly darkened. He paused so close to Walter that the latter could see the dilation of the pupils of his eyes. He shook with a spasm of fury.
"I have no quarrel with you," he whispered hoarsely. "You are a fine fellow, and I give you all the credit for your courage. But if you persist in bringing yourself within the sphere of danger, then you must take the consequences. Do you suppose for a moment that I am afraid of my own life? Do you suppose that I care what happens when my mission is accomplished? That mission is sacred to me as your good name and religion are sacred to you. A man is to be removed, and when he is out of the way my task is done. There is a proverb amongst you English that it is as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and no man can hang more than once, though he has a dozen murders to his account. Therefore, if you stand in the way, I shall have no hesitation in sweeping you aside. Now go away and trouble me no more. You will never see Miss Rayne again. In a few hours from now she will be in the custody of the proper person to safeguard her interests--her mother."
A retort trembled on Walter's lips, but he restrained himself.
"I am going to give you every opportunity," Silva went on. "I trust to your honour. See here."
He whipped a knife from his pocket, and just for a second Walter's courage was tried high; but the Italian meant no harm. He advanced and cut the cords, so that a moment later Walter was free. It was impossible for the latter to know what was going on in the mind of his companion. He did not know that a sudden inspiration had come to Silva, and that the Italian had changed his mind. For the first few minutes Valdo had recognised that he stood in a position of considerable peril. Though he had suspected his visitors of the early morning, he was lying to Walter when he declared that he had discovered their identity. It was easy to be wise after the fact, and Silva was taking every advantage of it. In his heart of hearts he really had not expected anything quite so prompt as this. He could now see his danger. If Walter was alone, then so far so good; but if there were others outside the house, then Silva was more or less in a trap. The others might rush in at any moment and hand him over to the police. Once in their hands, his fate was certain. He would be charged with those attempts on the life of Lord Ravenspur. In all probability he would be sentenced to a term of imprisonment, which would result in his death within the walls of a gaol.
But now, as time was going on, and there was no sign of disturbance outside, Silva began to feel that he had only one man to deal with. It would not be a difficult matter to persuade Walter and to prove to him that Vera was no longer in the house, and the cunning Italian knew perfectly well that his skin was safe until Lord Ravenspur and the others were satisfied that the girl had come to no harm.
"We are on even terms again now," Silva went on. "In fact, the odds are in your favour. I am not armed, and you are a stronger man than myself. If you will wait a few moments I will go and get a candle, and then you shall see for yourself that Miss Rayne is not in the house."
"I am sorry," Walter said coldly; "but I should prefer to accompany you. Your word is hardly sufficient."
Silva's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. The silence was getting awkward when, at length, the Italian spoke once more.
"There is a candle outside on the landing," he said. "I will go and fetch it. You will be able to see me all the way there and back. You English are suspicious."
Silva threw the door wide open and strode out into the corridor. As he struck a match and lighted the candle, Walter could dimly see up the next flight of stairs. It was only for a moment, but he distinctly saw the outline of a figure there, and a signal made by the waving of a white arm. It was with difficulty that he repressed a cry. He now knew that the Italian had been lying to him, and that Vera was in the house. When he glanced up again the figure had vanished, and Walter dropped into the easy chair again. It seemed to him that there was something in the signal which bade him to be cautious. Otherwise, what was to prevent Vera coming down the stairs and appealing to Walter for his protection?
Silva was, apparently, a long time getting the candle to burn to his satisfaction. He seemed to be occupied in his task to the exclusion of everything else. But there was a queer smile upon his face, for he had turned in an unfortunate moment, and his quick eye had detected the figure at the top of the stairs. In those few seconds he had made up his mind what to do. When he came back into the library again there was something like a smile on his face. He placed the candle on the table.
"And now, sir," he said almost gaily, "before I proceed to satisfy you that your suspicions are unfounded, permit me to offer you my hospitality. I don't know how you feel, but you look rather shaken, and I must apologise for the way in which I threw you a little time ago; but you see, the average burglar is by no means a welcome guest, and he has no right to expect to be received with open arms. I must insist upon your accompanying me as far as the dining-room, so that I may give you a glass of wine."
Walter hesitated, but only for a moment. He was feeling more shaken and battered than he cared to own. Every now and again things grew misty before his eyes, a feeling of deadly faintness came upon him. It seemed hours since he entered the house, though little more than ten minutes had elapsed. He knew, too, that he had a great fight before him yet with this wily unscrupulous rascal. Silva must have some great card up his sleeve, or he would not have so gaily denied that Vera was in the house, when all the time she was close at hand. On the whole, Walter decided that he would be all the better for accepting Silva's offer.
"That is very thoughtful of you," he said. "I shall be very glad of a stimulant of some kind."
Once in the dining-room, Silva took a decanter from the sideboard and poured out a glass of port. Walter took it almost greedily and gulped it down at a draught. The wine seemed to soothe him. He sank down in a chair with his hands over his eyes, and, before he knew where he was, he had sunk into a deep sleep. As Silva bent over the unconscious body a hoarse laugh broke from his lips. Then something seemed to sting and burn his cheek. He started back, to see Vera standing before him.
"You scoundrel!" she cried. "You have murdered him!"
In her anger she cast all fear aside. She caught up a heavy decanter from the sideboard and sent it crashing through the window. The whole house rang with her cries for assistance.