On a throne of stone the princess was seated
On a throne of stone the princess was seated, a few of the higher grade priests grouped around her.—Page 215.
On a throne of stone the princess was seated, a few of the higher grade priests grouped around her.—Page 215.
"'Stand there!' the princess commanded! 'Dogs, do you want to live?'
"Ralph Ravenspur said nothing. He was ever a man of few words.
"'We have no desire to die,' I replied. 'Nothing that breathes ever has. Even if I were an old man with one foot in the grave the desire for life would be as strong upon me as it is now!'
"The princess smiled. I will not try to describe that smile. If you had seen it you would have given ten years of your life to forget it again.
"It is in your hands to live,' the woman said; 'it is for you to say whether or not you return to your people. But you shall not carry our cherished secrets to the West. You shall live, you shall go free, but you shall take no memory of the past with you!'
"I guessed at once what she meant. There were attendants upon the priests, poor fools who fetched and carried, who would undertake errands one at a time, but who had no reasoning powers, no wits of their own.
"They were not born idiots; they had been made so. They are put under drugs, a portion of the scalp is removed, and then some small fragment of the brain is destroyed. We could have our liberty if we chose, but at what price! We could go free, but for the rest of our lives we should never know the blessed light of reason again.
"I tell you it came to me like a cold shock and turned me faint and giddy. As I glanced at my companion I saw that he was ghastly as myself. What use was life to us under such conditions! And the fiends were equalto the cruelty of getting us to consent to this operation and then detaining us afterwards. We should be a mockery among them and a warning to others.
"There was no reason to discuss this defined cruelty, this vile offer. We glanced at each other and shook our heads. Far better death than this. We knew how to die; we could have drawn our revolvers and shot each other then and there. But we did not. While there was life there was hope."
Tchigorsky made a long pause before he resumed his story. His nerves appeared to require composing. It was impossible to shake off the horror of the past. At length he went on again.
"I saw the cruel light flame into the eyes of the princess; I saw that she was pleased and yet sorry to learn our decision. She gave a sign and we were brought nearer to her.
"'You understand what your refusal means!' she said. 'You have been here long enough to know how carefully our secrets are guarded and also how we punish those who try to read them. Where are those scripts?'
"We had no scripts and I said so. As a matter of fact, such formulæ and papers as we had managed to become possessed of had been smuggled beyond Lassa to Ralph Ravenspur's servant, Elphick, who had conveyed them to a place of safety. But my statement was without effect.
"'Strip them,' she said, 'and put them in the baths.'
"We were going to learn then what those cages were for.
"There is no need to remove our clothing,' I cried. 'We will do it ourselves!'
"I was afraid our revolvers should be discovered, or the cartridges be rendered useless by immersion. Ralph seemed to understand, for, like myself, he quickly discarded his robes and slippers and professed himself to be ready.
"Then the grating was raised and we were placed onour back in a shallow bath formed in the shape of a coffin, and not more than ten inches deep. As first the baths were empty, but gradually they were filled with water until we had to raise our faces and press them against the bars to breathe. I thought that we were to be suffocated in this shallow water—a dreadful idea that filled me with stifling anxiety—but there was worse to come."
Again Tchigorsky paused and wiped his brow.
"The suspense was torture; the terrible uncertainty of what was going to happen was agony. Imagine being drowned with a bare half-inch of water over your lips and nostrils. I turned my head a fraction of an inch on one side, and then I saw that the water could not rise quite high enough to drown me without overflowing the edge of the bath. Evidently this was but the first chapter in the book of lessons. We could breathe by placing our faces against the bar. What next?
"There was no occasion to ask the question. Though my heart was drumming like the wings of an imprisoned fly, and though there was the roar of a furnace in my ears, I could make out the crack and rattle of machinery, and the bars over the cage began to move. My face, to escape the water, was so closely pressed to the bars that the friction was painful.
"The bars slid along, and as they did so I remembered the long projecting ends which were glowing yellow and blue in the braziers. My heart ceased drumming and then seemed to stand still for the moment. I had guessed the riddle. A second later and the horizontal bars over my face were white hot.
"Here was the situation, then—I had either to press my face against those cruel bars or drown in a few inches of water. Could the mind of man imagine a more diabolical torture? I cried aloud; I believe my friend did also, but I cannot say. My face flinched involuntarily from the scar of the blistering iron; I held my breath till the green and red stars danced before my eyes.
"Flesh and blood could stand it no longer, and I was literally bound to raise my head. Into the flesh, as you have seen for yourself, those hot barriers pressed, while I filled my lungs with a deep draught of delicious air. But the agony was so great that I had to go down again. The water cooled the burns for the moment. But you can imagine how it intensified the agony afterwards.
"When I raised myself again the bars were cool. But only for an instant, for they came hot once more, this time in a horizontal direction. The same ghastly business was enacted; again there was the sense of semi-suffocation, again the long draught of pure air and the pain from the bars. And then, while wondering, half-delirious, how long it could last, something gave way and I fainted.
"That I deemed to be death; but it was nothing of the kind. When I came to I was lying on the floor writhing in agony from my wounds. Fortunately I had not lost my sight, nor had Ralph at that time. He was to discover later that the injuries received were fatal to his eyes.
"He was lying by my side and groaning with pain like myself. A more hideous and more repulsive sight than my companion's face I never wish to look upon. And doubtless he had the same thoughts of me. But I did not think of that at the moment.
"We were alone. I staggered to my feet and across to the door. It was fastened, of course. For a time we were too maddened by pain to take heed of anything, but gradually reason came back to us. My first idea was of revenge. Ralph had grasped for his robes and his revolver was in his hand.
"'Heaven help the first man who comes in!' he yelled.
"Like a drunken lunatic, I applauded the sentiment. For a minute we were both mad as the drugged Malay who runs amuck. Fortunately nobody did come in for some time, and gradually wiser counsels prevailed. We slipped into our garments and hid our revolvers. Thenfrom raging madmen we passed to tears. We were so spent and exhausted that we cried like little children.
"But men like ourselves are not easily daunted. The pain was still great, but this only stimulated our desire to live and gain the better of those who had so cruelly used us. Later a priest conducted us into another room, where the princess awaited us.
"She smiled as she looked at our faces. That smile was nearly the end of her. Many a time since have I regretted that I didn't finish her career then and there. Had she betrayed the least sign of fear I should have done so. And by so doing your people would have been saved many a bitter sorrow."
"At the expense of your life," Geoffrey said.
Tchigorsky shrugged his shoulders.
"What matter?" he said. "The few suffer for the many. Well, as I was saying——"
The speaker paused suddenly as his eye caught something moving along the beach. It was the figure of a woman creeping along as if in search of some missing object. She proceeded very slowly until she approached the spot where the boat lay filled and sunk, and then she paused abruptly.
For a minute she stood fascinated by the sight, then she flung her hands high in the air, and a bitter wailing cry escaped her. If she had been a fisherman's wife suddenly brought face to face with the dead body of her husband or lover, her wail of anguish had not been more poignant.
"Who can she be?" Geoffrey asked.
Tchigorsky said nothing. The woman stood with her hands raised. As she turned and ran towards the cliffs, moaning as she went, Geoffrey started.
"Marion," he said. "Marion."
He would have dashed forward, but Tchigorsky restrained him.
"That is not your Marion," he said. "Your Marion does not dress like that."
Geoffrey looked again. It was Marion and yet not Marion. It was the girl in the blue serge dress and red tam-o'-shanter who resembled her so strikingly. What did this girl know about him, and why did she stand wailing over his boat? He felt he must solve this mystery.
"Sit down," Tchigorsky said slowly. "Sit down."
"But," Geoffrey cried, "I insist upon knowing——"
"And spoiling everything. Sit down, I say, or I shall have to detain you. I don't fancy you would care to measure your strength with mine."
Geoffrey dropped into his seat.
"Perhaps not," he said. "I don't believe you want me to know who that girl is."
"I have heard worse guesses," Tchigorsky said dryly.
They were growing uneasy at the castle. There was a forced cheerfulness about the small party that testified to the nervous tension that held them. For some years now there had been a tacit understanding on the subject of punctuality. Such a thing was necessary when any moment might precipitate the next catastrophe. The mere fact of anybody being late for five minutes sufficed to put the rest in a fever. And Geoffrey had not come in to tea at all.
The thing was almost in itself a tragedy. Geoffrey was always so considerate of others. Nothing in the world would have induced him to stay away without first saying he was going to do so or sending a message. And tea had been a thing of the past for a good hour. What could have become of him?
Nobody asked the question, but it was uppermost in the minds of all. Vera was chattering with feverish gayety, but there was a blazing red spot on her ghastly white face, and her eyes were wild and restless.
Marion had slipped away. The only one who betrayed no anxiety was Ralph. He sat sipping his chilled tea as if he had the world to himself and there was nobody else in it.
Presently, with one excuse or another, all slipped away until Vera was alone with Ralph. He was so quiet that she had almost forgotten his presence. When she thought herself alone she rose to her feet and paced the room rapidly.
She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples.
"God spare him," she whispered, "spare him to me! Oh, it is wicked to feel like this and so utterly selfish. But if Geoffrey dies I have nothing to live for."
The tears rose to her eyes, tears of agony and reproach and self-pity. Ralph crossed the room silently. He was upon the girl ere she had heard the soft fall of his footsteps. He laid a hand on Vera's arm.
"Geoffrey is not going to die," he said.
Vera suppressed a scream. She might have cried out, but something in the expression of Ralph's face restrained her.
"Are you sure of that?" she asked.
"As sure as one can be certain of anything, child. We are alone?"
"There is nobody else here, uncle."
"One cannot be too careful," Ralph muttered. "Then Geoffrey is safe."
"Thank Heaven. You have sent him somewhere, uncle?"
"No, I have not sent him anywhere. And you are not to ask any questions. I have told you so much to spare you the agony and suspense that will overtake the others. I tell you because had you not known, the mental strain might have broken you down," continued Ralph.
"Before long it will be proved almost beyond a demonstration that Geoffrey has become a victim to the family foe. There will be evidence to convince a jury, but all the time Geoffrey will be safe."
Vera said nothing. She could only gasp. Ralph's hand lay on her shoulder with a grip that was not devoid of pain.
"You are not to show your feelings to any one," he croaked. "You are not to betray your knowledge by a single sign. Ah, if I could tell you how much depends upon your courage, reticence, and your silence!"
"I think you can trust me, Uncle Ralph."
"I think I can, dear. I like the ring of your voice. You are to be quiet and subdued as if you were unableto comprehend the full force of the disaster. Much, if not everything, depends upon the next few hours. Now go, please."
Ralph slipped away into the grounds. A little later he was making his way along the cliffs toward the village. For a brief time Vera stood still. She was trying to realize what Ralph had said.
"What did it mean?" she asked herself again and again. But she could find no answer to the puzzle. Still Geoffrey was safe. Whatever sensation the next few hours might produce Geoffrey had come to no harm. It would be hard to see the others suffer, hard to witness their grief and not lighten it by so much as a sign.
But Ralph had been emphatic on this point. Had he not said that everything hinged upon her reticence and silence? Vera went slowly to her room, her feet making no sound on the thick pile carpet. A flood of light streamed through the stained glass windows into the corridor. In the big recess at the end a white figure lay face downward on the cushions.
Vera approached softly. She saw the shoulders rise and fall as if the girl lying there were sobbing in bitter agony. It was Marion. Marion the ever cheerful! Surely her grief must be beyond the common?
"Marion," Vera whispered. "Dear Marion."
She bent over the prostrate figure with heartfelt tenderness.
Marion raised her face at length. It was wet with tears and her eyes were swollen. At first she seemed not to recognize Vera.
"Go away," she said hoarsely. "Why do you intrude upon me like this? Am I never to have a minute to myself? Am I always to carry the family troubles on my shoulders?"
She spoke fiercely, with a gleam in her eyes that Vera had never seen before. She drew back, frightened and alarmed. It seemed incredible that gentle Marion could repulse her like this. But she did not go.
Marion was beside herself with grief; she did not know what she was saying. It was impossible to leave her in this condition.
"You are grieving for Geoffrey," she said. "He will come back to us."
"Geoffrey is dead," Marion wailed. "He will never come back. And I——"
She paused; she had not lost control of herself entirely. But the look in her eyes, the expression of her face, the significant pause told Vera a story. It burst upon her with the full force of a sudden illumination.
"Marion," she whispered, "you love him as well as I do——"
So her secret was known at last! And Marion was only a woman, after all. The selfishness of her grief drove away all other emotions.
"As you do?" she cried. "What do you with your gentle nature know of love? You want the wild hot blood in your veins to feel the real fire of a lasting, devouring affection.
"I tell you I love him ten thousand times more than you do. Look at me, I am utterly lost and abased with my grief and humiliation. Am I not an object of pity? Geoffrey is dead, I tell you; I know it, I feel it. Love him as you do! And you stand there without so much as a single tear for his dear memory."
Vera flushed. The words stung her keenly. How cold and callous Marion must think her! And yet Marion would have been equally cold and self-contained had she known. And it was impossible to give her a single hint.
"My heart and soul are wrapped up in Geoffrey," she said. "If anything happens to him I shall have nothing to live for. But I am not going to give way yet. There is still hope. And I shall hope to the end."
Marion sat up suddenly and dried her tears.
"You are a reproach to me," she said with a watery smile. "Not one word of reproof has passed your lips, and yet you are a reproof to me. And to think thatyou should have learned my secret! I could die of shame."
Vera kissed the other tenderly.
"Why?" she asked. "Surely there is no shame in a pure and disinterested affection."
"From your point of view, no," said Marion. "But if you could place yourself in my position you would not regard it in the same light. I have cared for Geoffrey ever since I came here; all along I have loved him. I knew that he was pledged to you, and knew that he could never be anything to me and still I loved him. Who shall comprehend the waywardness of a woman's heart? And now he is dead."
Once more the tears rose to Marion's eyes; she rocked herself to and fro as if suffering from bitter anguish.
"I do not believe that Geoffrey is dead," said Vera. "Something tells me that he will be spared. But why go on like this? Anybody would imagine that you had something to do with it from the expression of your face."
Marion looked up suddenly.
"Something to do with it?" she echoed dully, mechanically.
"I wasn't speaking literally, of course." Vera went on. "But your curious expression——"
"What is curious about my expression?"
"It is so strange. It is not like grief, so much as remorse."
Marion broke into a queer laugh, a laugh she strangled. As she passed her handkerchief across her face she seemed to wipe out that strange expression.
"I hope remorse and I will remain strangers for many a long day," she said more composedly. "It is so difficult to judge from faces. And I must try to be brave like yourself. I have never given way before."
"I believe you are the bravest of us all, Marion."
"And I that I am the greatest coward. I have even been so weak as to allow the secret of my life to escapeme. Vera, I want you to make me a most sacred promise."
"A dozen if you like, dear."
"Then I want you to promise that Geoffrey shall never know of your discovery. At no time are you to tell him. Promise."
Marion looked up eagerly and met Vera's eyes. They were clear and true and honest; they were filled with frankness and pity.
"I promise from my heart," she said. "Not now nor at any time shall Geoffrey know what I have learned to-day."
Marion blessed the speaker tenderly.
"I am satisfied," she said. "He will never know."
Mrs. May sat out on the lawn before the rose-garlanded windows of her sitting room. A Japanese umbrella was over her dainty head, a scented cigarette between her lips. For some time she had been long and earnestly sweeping the sea with a pair of binoculars.
She rose at length and made her way down the garden. There was a rugged path at the bottom, terminating in a thicket that overhung the cliffs.
Here it would be possible for a dozen men to hide without the slightest chance of being discovered. Nobody ever went there by any chance. Shaded from the house, Mrs. May paused.
A softened whistle came from her lips, and then there came from the ground the dusky form of the man who called himself Ben Heer. He salaamed profoundly.
"Well!" the woman demanded impatiently. "Well?"
"Well, indeed, my mistress," the sham Ben Heer replied calmly. "It fell out as you arranged. Behold a puff of wind carried away the masts, and behold the oars came into fragments. Then the boat began to fill and now lies bottom upward at the foot of the cliff."
"But he might have been a powerful swimmer."
"He was no swimmer at all. I saw everything."
"It was not possible for him to be picked up?"
"Not possible, my mistress. There was no boat, no sail to be seen. The boat foundered and there was an end of it. I waited for some time and I saw no more."
Mrs. May nodded carelessly. She might have beenreceiving the intelligence of the drowning of a refractory puppy. She betrayed neither regret nor satisfaction.
"Of course, they will guess," she said. "When they come to examine the boat and the oars they will see at once that there has been foul play. Once more they will know that the enemy has struck a blow."
"My mistress is all powerful," Ben Heer murmured.
"They will try to trace us once more, Ben Heer."
The sham Asiatic shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
"And they will fail," he said. "They know not the powers arrayed against them; the dogs know not my gracious mistress. Meanwhile thy slave can see through the bushes that somebody awaits your presence."
Mrs. May glanced in the direction indicated by Ben Heer. On the lawn Rupert Ravenspur was standing. The woman smiled. There was the head of the hated house actually seeking out the foe.
"Your eyes are sharper than mine," she said. "Well, you have need of them. Meanwhile you had better discreetly disappear for the time."
Mrs. May advanced to greet her guest. He bowed with his old-fashioned grace.
"This is an unexpected honor," the woman said.
"I can claim nothing on the score of politeness or gallantry," Rupert Ravenspur replied. He was quiet and polished as usual, but there was a look of deep distress on his face. "I came here not to see you, but in the faint hope of finding my nephew Geoffrey. I have ascertained that he came to see you sometimes."
"He has been so good," Mrs. May murmured. "I assure you I appreciate the company of a gentleman in this deserted spot."
"Then he has not been here to-day?"
"I have not had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Geoffrey to-day."
Ravenspur groaned. He turned his face away ashamed that a woman should see him in a moment of weakness. Out of the corner of her eye she regardedhim. There was not a drop of pity in her heart for him.
"I hope you don't anticipate anything wrong," she said. "Mr. Geoffrey is not a boy that he cannot——"
"Oh, you do not understand! It is not that at all. In ordinary circumstances I could trust Geoffrey to the end of the world. He is a good fellow, and capable of taking care of himself and upholding the family honor. But others as strong and more cunning have fallen before the dreaded foe, until all confidence has left us. I fear much that harm has come to Geoffrey."
"But surely in the broad daylight——"
"Daylight or darkness, it is the same. You know nothing of the boy?"
"Nothing, save that he was going fishing to-day."
Ravenspur started.
"Oh," he cried. "Then I shall soon know the worst. I am sorry to have troubled you; I will go down to the beach. The others are searching in all directions. Nobody will return to the house until we know the lad's fate."
Ravenspur bowed and was gone. Mrs. May smiled after him. So the castle was going to be left for the time being.
"This is a chance not to be lost," she murmured. "The full run of the castle! Fate is playing into my hands with a vengeance."
Full of the wildest apprehensions, Ravenspur made his way to the beach. It was no easy task for a man of his years, but he made light of it, as he used to half a century ago. Two fishermen coming up touched their hats.
"Have you been out to the west of Gull Point to-day?" Ravenspur asked.
"No, sir," was the reply. "Not one of us. The mackerel came in from the east, and there were so many we had every bottom afloat. I did hear as Mr. Geoffrey had gone out in the West Bay, but I can't say for sure."
Again Ravenspur groaned; no longer had he the least doubt about what had happened. There had been more foul play, and Geoffrey had gone down under the dark waters. The old man's heart was full to bursting, but his grief was for Vera more than for himself.
"I am afraid there has been another of those tragedies that are so mournfully identified with our name," he said. "Wass and Watkins, will you come with me?"
The fishermen dropped the brown tangled nets upon their shoulders and followed. They were all tenants, vassals almost, of the Ravenspurs and ready to do their bidding. The foe would have had a hard time did he fall into the clutches of these veterans.
"I am going down to search the beach," Ravenspur explained. "I know that my nephew went out fishing this afternoon. I shall know his fate soon."
It was some time before anything was found. Wass came stumbling over the rocks, and there in a clear pool he saw the boat bottom upward. At the cry of dismay that came from him, Watkins hurried up.
"Give a hand with the painter, Bill," Wass said hoarsely. "There's the boat right enough with a good round hole under the gunwale."
Ravenspur watched in silence. He saw the boat beached; he saw the hole in her side. Wass pointed to the mast where it had been sawn off.
"Poor young gentleman," he exclaimed with a hearty outburst of grief. "And to think that we shall never see him again. Look at this, sir."
"The mast seems to have been sawn off," said Ravenspur.
"Almost off, sir," said Watkins. "Enough to give if a puff of wind came. And that hole has been plugged with soft glue or something of the kind. If I could only lay a hand on 'em!"
He shook his fist in the air in impotent rage; tears filled his eyes. Ravenspur stood motionless. He was trying to bring the force of the tragedy home to himself,trying to shape words to tell Vera without cutting her to the heart. He was long past the more violent emotions.
He turned to Wass like a man in a dream.
"Go up to the castle," he said. "See my son Gordon and bid him come here. They must all come down, all aid in the search. Not a word more; please go."
To Geoffrey the position was a strange one. There was something unreal about the whole thing. Nor was it pleasant to remember that by this time the family had missed him, and were doubtless bewailing him for dead.
"I am afraid there is no help for it," said Tchigorsky. "I could not see my way to certain conclusions and ends without inconvenience."
"Something more than inconvenience," Geoffrey murmured.
"Anxiety, troubles, what you like," Tchigorsky replied coolly. "It is necessary. I want to have the castle cleared for a time, and I could think of no better and less suspicious way of doing it. The anxiety and suspense will not last long and by daylight your people shall see you again. And the one who is most likely to suffer has been already relieved."
So Geoffrey was fain to wait in the cave listening to Tchigorsky's piquant conversation, and waiting for the time to come for action.
"There will be plenty to do presently," the Russian said. "Meanwhile I am going to leave you to yourself for a space. The woman who regards me as her servant may need me. And, remember, you are not to leave the cave in any circumstances, else all my delicately laid plans will be blown to the winds."
So saying Tchigorsky disappeared. It seemed hours before anything happened. It was safe in the cave. Nobody was likely to come there, and if they did there wasnot the slightest chance of discovery, for the cave went far under the cliff and was dark as the throat of a wolf.
By and by there came the sound of voices on the beach, and Rupert Ravenspur, followed by the two fishermen, appeared. Geoffrey's heart smote him as he saw his grandfather. Then they found the boat, and directly afterwards the two fishermen rushed away, leaving Ravenspur behind.
It was only the strongest self-control that prevented Geoffrey from making his presence known to the figure gazing so sadly at the boat. But he remembered Tchigorsky's warning.
After all, he reflected, it would only be for a little time. And the head of the family knew nothing of the great conspiracies working themselves out around him. His open honorable nature would have shrunk from the subtle diplomacy and cunning that appealed so powerfully to Tchigorsky.
Rupert Ravenspur would not have tolerated the position for a moment. He would have insisted upon going to Mrs. May and having the matter out at once, or he would have called in the police. And that course would be fatal.
So Geoffrey was constrained to stay and watch. Presently he saw the fishermen return, followed by the family. There was a gathering about the foundered boat, and then Geoffrey turned his eyes away, ashamed to witness the emotion caused by what they regarded as his untimely death.
He had seen them all and beheld their grief. He could see Marion bent down with a handkerchief to her streaming eyes and the head of the family comforting her. He saw Vera apart from the rest, gazing out to sea.
Beyond, a fleet of boats were coming round the point. They were small fishing smacks in search of the drowned Ravenspur.
Geoffrey pinched himself to make sure he was awake.It is not often that a live man sits watching people search for his dead body.
But there was comfort in the knowledge that Vera was aware of everything. Geoffrey could see that she had been told. That was why she kept apart from the rest. She walked along the sands past the mouth of the cave, her head bent down.
Flesh and blood could stand it no longer; in the mouth of the cave Geoffrey stood and called Vera softly by name.
The girl started and half turned.
"Don't be alarmed," Geoffrey whispered. "I am in the cave. It is safe here. Watch your opportunity and come in, for I must have a few words with you. Only do it naturally and don't let anybody suspect."
Vera had turned her back to the cave, and appeared to be sadly gazing over the sea. Gradually she slipped back, watching the others, who apparently had forgotten her, until she was lost in the gloom of the cavern.
A moment later and Geoffrey had her in his arms. It was good to feel her heart beating against his, to feel her kisses warm on his lips.
"Did Tchigorsky tell you?" he asked.
"No, Uncle Ralph. Oh, I am so glad to see you again, Geoffrey. I knew you were not lost, that you would be safe after what uncle said, and yet all the time there was a strange void in my heart."
"But my darling, I am safe."
Vera laid her head restfully on his shoulder.
"I know, I know!" she said. "But I have had a foretaste of what might have been. When Wass and Watkins came and told me that your overturned boat had been found, I began to realize what it might be to live without you. Dear Geoff, will it be long before all this anxiety is disposed of?"
Geoffrey kissed her trembling lips.
"Not long, so Tchigorsky says, and I have implicitfaith in him. The present situation is all part of the plot of our salvation. And the others?"
"Are heartbroken. My poor grandfather looks ten years older. You know how entirely he has been wrapped up in us. I feel sure that if he could have saved us by sacrificing the rest, himself included, he would have done so."
"I know," Geoffrey said hoarsely. "I know, dear. And Marion?"
"Marion is sorely disturbed. I hardly know what to make of Marion. For the first time she positively appears to be frightened. And Marion is not the girl who cries. I was alarmed about her a little time ago," replied Vera.
"Ah, well, it won't be very long," Geoffrey said consolingly. "To-morrow morning Tchigorsky has promised that I shall be safe and sound in the bosom of the family again. What are they going to do now?"
"They are going to search until they find you. All the boats from the village are out, even the servants are assisting. You can understand how I should feel if I did not know everything. I could not stay in the house; I could do no more than wander along the shore feeling that I was helping. It would be impossible to remain in the house and that is what they all feel. There is a full moon to-night, and they will be here till they are exhausted."
Geoffrey nodded. He was wondering how he was going to account for his absence and for the manner in which he was finally to turn up safe and sound again. He would have to concoct some story of being picked up by a passing boat and landed some way down the coast.
"They guess I am a victim to the vendetta?" he asked.
"Of course. They say the mast and oars were partly sawn away. It will be the talk of the country in a few hours. Geoffrey, I must go. Don't you see that they have missed me?"
Vera had been missed. Already Marion was callingher. There was just the chance that she might be yet another victim. Vera slipped out of the cave, walking backwards as if she were looking for something.
"You won't betray yourself?" said Geoffrey.
"I'll try not to, dear. I understand how necessary it is that the truth should be concealed. And yet it is hard not to be able to ease their minds."
Vera was clear of the cave by this time, and her voice ceased. A few yards farther on and Marion came up to her. She was looking pale and ghastly; there were rings under her eyes; her nerves had had a terrible shock.
"I couldn't imagine where you had got to," she said. "I looked round, and you had disappeared. I feared you had been spirited away."
"By the cruel foe, Marion? One by one we go. It may be your turn next."
"Would to Heaven that it was!" Marion whispered vehemently. "A little time ago I fancied that I was strong enough to bear up against anything. Now I know what a feeble creature I am. Before this happened I would a thousand times have been the victim myself. And I—I——"
She paused and beat the air impotently. Vera wondered. Could this really be the strong, self-reliant Marion who had uplifted them in so many troubles, this the girl who always had a smile on her face and words of comfort on her lips? This was a weak, frightened creature, with eyes that were haunted.
"Be brave," said Vera, "and be yourself. What should we do without you? Why, you are so full of remorse you might have been responsible for Geoffrey's death yourself."
Marion looked up swiftly and then her eyes fell.
"It is because I love him," she said.
"And I love him, too. But I try to be brave."
Marion was silent under the reproof. Vera was calm and collected. What a reaction there would be later, Marion thought.
"You have not given up all hope?" she asked.
"No, I cannot. It would be too cruel. I cannot imagine that anything really serious has happened to Geoffrey. I cannot feel anything for the present, save for you. And my heart is full for you, Marion."
"Ay," Marion said drearily. "It need be."
Vera turned and walked swiftly across the sands. She wanted to be alone now that no danger threatened.
Then presently the moon rose and shone upon the people gathered on the fringe of the sea. To the impatient Geoffrey came Ralph Ravenspur with a cloak and slouched hat over his arm.
He entered as coolly and easily as if he had been doing this kind of thing all his life, as if he had the full use of his eyesight.
"I can't see you, but, of course, you are there," he said. "Tchigorsky sent me because he cannot come himself. The jade he calls his mistress has need of him. Muffle yourself and follow me. Not too closely."
Geoffrey was only too glad of the opportunity. He passed under the shadow of the rocks until he gained the path to the head of the cliffs and here Ralph paused.
"We are safe now," he said. "You can remove your disguise and cross the terrace. There is not a living soul in the castle at present."
"All the servants are on the beach, then?"
"Every one of them, both male and female, which is a flattering testimony to your popularity, Geoffrey. I opine that they will be pleased to see you in the morning. By the way, have you concocted a plausible story to account for your escape?"
"I haven't," Geoffrey admitted with a smile. "I preferred to leave it to the greater talents of Tchigorsky and yourself. I have no genius for fiction."
Ralph muttered that the matter might be safely left in their hands, and then they entered the deserted castle and made their way to Ralph's room. Here the two doors were closed and Ralph sat down silently over his pipe.
"Is anything going to happen?" Geoffrey asked.
"A great deal during the next hour or two," Ralphreplied. "But it is impossible to forecast, and you will see it all for yourself in good time. I can't do anything until I have heard further from our friend Tchigorsky."
Half an hour passed in dead silence, and then there was a rapping on the window. When the casement was thrown open, the head of Tchigorsky appeared. He was clad in Oriental robes and had made his way upwards by climbing the thick ivy that grew on that side of the house. He nodded to Geoffrey.
"I told you we should meet again," he said. "I have just ten minutes to spare. A cigarette, please."
Geoffrey handed over the cigarette. "Have you discovered it all?" Ralph asked.
"I have discovered nothing," Tchigorsky said calmly from behind the cloud of smoke. "At present I have not the remotest idea which way she will strike."
"Ah, she is in one of her suspicious moods."
"When she trusts nobody. Quite right. All I can tell you is that she is coming here presently. She is well aware that there is not a soul in the house. She knows that this state of things is likely to last for some time. She will come by and by, and with her she will bring some great danger to the house of Ravenspur. What form that danger is to take I cannot say. But I shall find out."
The last words came from Tchigorsky's lips with a snap.
"But she will want confederates," said Geoffrey.
"She may or she may not. She is a woman of infinite resource. Nobody knows what mischief she is capable of. If she brings me along, I may be exceedingly useful; if she leaves me behind I shall be more usefully employed in going over her papers and documents. You see, I know the language. But, be that as it may, this is going to be an eventful night."
Tchigorsky finished his cigarette and rose to go. He had few instructions to leave behind him, and these few were of an exceedingly simple nature. All that Geoffreyand Ralph Ravenspur had to do was to watch. They were to keep their eyes open and be largely guided by events. And there were to be no lights.
Half an hour passed before Ralph rose and softly opened the door. For a little time he threw the casement open wide. As Geoffrey drew a match from his box Ralph laid a restraining hand on his arm.
"No more smoking," he said. "I purposely opened the casement to sweeten the air of the room. My dear boy, you do not want to betray us with the smell of fresh tobacco. The enemy would take alarm at once."
"I had forgotten," Geoffrey murmured. "How stupid of me!"
Again silence and painful tension on the nerves. Presently below came the soft fall of a foot, and then a noise as if a human body had come in contact with some object in the dark. There was the scratch of a match, and a ball of flame flickered in ghastly fashion in the hall.
"The foe is here," Ralph whispered. "Go and look over. Your rubber-soled boots are in the corner. Put them on."
Geoffrey did as he desired. He crept along the corridor until he could look down into the hall. There he saw a woman—a woman who wore short skirts and a closely fitting jacket. She had a small lantern in her hand, the light of which she seemed to lower or heighten by pressing a stud.
Behind her came the two Orientals, who carried a small but heavy brass-bound box between them. This, at a sign from the woman, they deposited on the floor.
As far as Geoffrey could judge neither of these men was Tchigorsky. He could catch the sound of whispered conversation, but the words conveyed no meaning to his ears. The two discoursed in a language he did not understand.
A hand was laid on Geoffrey's arm. He turned to see Ralph by his side. The latter bent over the balustrade listening with all his ears. Down below the brass boxwas being opened and the contents were placed upon the floor.
The contents looked like machinery, but it was machinery of a kind that Geoffrey had never seen before. There was a small disk of hammered copper, and to this was attached a number of what seemed to be india-rubber snakes. At a sign from the woman the two Asiatics picked up the box and its contents and started away toward the kitchen.
Noiseless as they were, Ralph heard them. He clutched his companion's arm.
"They have gone," he whispered. "In which direction?"
"They had moved off towards the kitchen," said Geoffrey.
"Good! This thing is turning out exactly as I expected. They had something with them?"
"Yes, a thing like a copper octopus with india-rubber tentacles. They have taken it with them. A most extraordinary affair."
"It will be more extraordinary still before it is finished," Ralph said grimly. "Follow them and report what you see. Take good care not to be seen. Unless I am mistaken they are going down to the vaults and are planning acoupto do for us all to-night."
Geoffrey crept silently down the stairs. Then he made his way swiftly along the passages until he came to the cellars. Then the steady blowing of a current of fresh air told him that Ralph's suggestion was right. Down he went until he came to the channel leading to the vaults.
But he was cautious. He peeped down. Below him were three figures, and once more they had spread out their queer apparatus. By the side of it were two large glass-stoppered bottles, such as one sees in a laboratory, receptacles for acids and the like. They were tightly tied over the stoppers.
The woman picked up one of them and removed the parchment. Before she drew the stopper she donnedthick glasses and a mask for her face, the two Orientals doing the same. They were evidently dealing with some very dangerous poison.
The stopper was removed and a few spots of the acid dropped on the copper disc. A white smoke arose, which, small as it was, filled the air with a pungent odor. Almost immediately the acid was wiped off and the odor ceased. Only just a whiff of it reached Geoffrey's nose, but it turned him faint—giddy for an instant.
What was going to happen next?
Geoffrey had not long to wait. From where he was standing he could see down into the vault perfectly well. He would have been better satisfied had he understood what those people were talking about, but their words conveyed nothing to him.
On the floor of the vault the queer-looking machinery was spread out, and to the ends of the india-rubber tubes wires were attached. No sooner had this been accomplished than the woman, after giving some rapid instructions to her allies, left the vault. She was so quick that Geoffrey barely had time to conceal himself behind a pillar before she passed him.
The woman was masked and disguised beyond recognition, but Geoffrey had no need to be told who she was. He knew that he was in the presence of Mrs. May. And, despite his knowledge of her cleverness and resource, he found himself marveling to see her display so fine a knowledge of the house.
The woman passed along, dragging a number of fine light wires after her. The other ends of the wires were attached to the queer-looking apparatus in the vault.
Mrs. May went along the passages, along the corridor, and up the stairs as if she had been accustomed to the house all her life. Surely she must have been here many times before, or she would not have exhibited such fearless confidence. The idea of the black, gliding figure creeping about the house in the dead of night filled Geoffrey with loathing.
All the same, he did not neglect his opportunities. He followed swiftly and silently until he came to the main corridor on the first landing. Here, to his surprise, the woman turned into one of the bed-rooms, the room used by the head of the house. She closed the door behind her.
What to do next? But Geoffrey was not long in doubt. Ralph was standing by his side, a dark lantern in his hand.
"Where did she go?" he whispered.
"You heard her, then?" asked Geoffrey.
"Of course, I heard everything. I see with my ears. Naturally you guessed who she was. But what room did she go into?"
"My grandfather's."
"So I expected. But she means to visit all the rooms in turn. You need not be afraid, she will be there for some minutes. What do you see outside?"
Geoffrey made a close examination with the lantern.
"I see a tangle of small wires on the floor," he said. "They come up from the vaults."
"Where they are attached to a queer-looking instrument?"
"Yes, yes. I see you know all about it. One of the wires runs under the door into the room where Mrs. May is engaged."
"And where she will be engaged for some time," said Ralph. "Move that book ladder and look over the fanlight."
There were books on high shelves in the corridor, and a light librarian's ladder close at hand. Geoffrey propped this against the door and looked in through the open fanlight. All the bed-room doors had fanlights at Ravenspur.
The lantern inside was on the dressing-table and, standing on a chair by a fireplace, was Mrs. May. She had pinned the thin wire to the wall cunningly, and had turned the end of it into a plate that stood on the mantelshelf. From a flask she poured a little white powder into the plate.
This done she seemed to be satisfied. Geoffrey whipped the ladder away and the woman emerged from the room. Once more she went along the corridor with firm, resolute step, and the air of one who knows what she is doing and has a definite object in view.
From one bed-room to another she went, leaving a wire in each until every room occupied by one of the Ravenspur family had been visited. Geoffrey's room was the last. When she had finished here she took up a pair of scissors and tapped the wire. Outside the door Geoffrey and Ralph could hear the noise distinctly.
Ralph's jaws came together with a click.
"The key is outside your room door," he whispered. "Turn it."
Geoffrey wondered, but he hastened to comply. The key turned with an ease and silence that testified to the fact of its having been carefully oiled.
"What does it all mean?" Geoffrey whispered.
"She is going to test her machinery," said Ralph with a chuckle. "And she is going one step farther to her own destruction. Listen."
Again came the faint tap, and then down from far below the purring jar of electrical apparatus in motion. There was silence inside the room for a moment and then Geoffrey saw the handle turn. It was turned softly at first, then more quickly, and finally it was tugged as an angry child snatches at a toy.
Ralph chuckled. The diabolical mirth seemed to come deep from his throat.
"She is trying to get out," Geoffrey whispered.
"Of course she is," Ralph replied. "But not quite yet."
The lock was rattling loudly by this time; there was a half-angry, half-frightened muttering from within. And then there came a long, piercing, wailing scream, as of a woman in the last agony before death.
Geoffrey would have started back, but Ralph restrained him.
"No, no," he whispered violently. "It is all right; everything is turning out splendidly."
"But she is a woman and in deadly peril, uncle."
"I know it, lad. Five minutes more and that fiend will be beyond further mischief. She has been trying the effect of her infernal contrivance and will be hoist with her own petard. She is scared to death. She imagines she has fastened herself in and can't get out."
"But this is murder," Geoffrey cried.
"I dare say some people would call it so," Ralph replied coolly. "As a matter of fact, there never could be homicide more justifiable than to let that woman perish there. Still, we are not going to do anything of the kind. When those cries cease, and you hear yonder wretch fall to the ground, then open the door and drag her out."
The cries were coming wildly from behind the door; there was a hammering on the panels. The cries rang through the house, they reached the Asiatics in the vaults and the latter fled in terror into the night.
Something had happened, but what it was they did not care. They had only themselves to think of.
In spite of his strong nerves, Geoffrey shuddered. It was horrible to be alone in that grim house of tears, waiting in the darkness, opposed by grim horrors and, above all, to have that note of agony ringing in his ears.
Would it never stop? Would the time to act never come? Geoffrey would have interfered in spite of everything but for the fact that Ralph was gripping his shoulder in a grasp that at any other time would have been painful.
Suddenly the noise ceased. There was a moan and the soft, crushing fall of a body. Ralph's face blazed up instantly.
"Now," he cried, "there is no time to be lost."
Geoffrey darted forward. He had the door opened inan instant. Mrs. May lay still and white on the floor. The atmosphere of the room seemed to have vanished. It was intolerable to breathe there; air there was none.
As the door fell back the room filled as with a sudden strong draught. Geoffrey dragged the unconscious figure into the corridor.
"Will she die?" he gasped.
"No, she will not die," Ralph said coolly. "Had I intended her to die I should not have allowed you to open the door. Pick her up and throw her on one of the beds in a spare room. She will require no attention, but she will not attain consciousness for some hours. And, after that, she will be useless for a day or two. You need not worry; our scheme is working out splendidly. Pick her up."
Ralph indicated the still figure with brutal indifference. He would have shown more consideration to a sick dog. Geoffrey complied, and presently made the woman as comfortable as circumstances allowed.
Geoffrey had hardly done so before there was a light footfall in the corridor, and Tchigorsky appeared, still in disguise.
"I gather that things are well," he said. "Just now I met that she-devil's accomplices fleeing as if the Father of Lies was behind them. She was trapped, eh?"
Ralph nodded and chuckled.
"In Geoffrey's room," he explained. "When she was testing her apparatus I had the key turned on her. And she could not get out. I let her remain there as long as I considered it safe to do so, and her yells must have alarmed her confederates. Probably they have fled, leaving things intact."
"Probably," said Tchigorsky. "I will go and see."
He was back again presently, a pleased expression on his face.
"Nothing has been touched," he said. "I have removed the wires, in case of danger. We have the lady more or less under our thumb."
"What was she doing?" Geoffrey asked.
"It is an appliance for exhausting air," Tchigorsky explained. "You take a powder and place it on a hot plate. Directly it begins to burn it draws up all the air. The thing has been known in the East for thousands of years. Mrs. May applied electricity to give her greater scope. A plate of the powder was to be heated in the room of everybody in the castle when asleep.
"A few minutes and the thing is done. Then the wires are withdrawn and gradually the different rooms fill with air again. The burnt powder leaves no trace. Then you are all found dead in your beds and nobody knows how it is done. The wires are easily drawn back to the battery and the whole thing is destroyed."
Geoffrey shuddered.
"What a fiend!"
It was some time before any one spoke. Geoffrey was turning the whole matter over in his mind. He was still puzzled.
"I don't understand it," he said. "Of course, I follow all you say, and I see the nature of the plot intended to end us all at one fell swoop. But why do you want to have that woman under the roof?"
"Because so long as she is under the roof she is comparatively harmless," Tchigorsky explained. "The princess is hot and vengeful and passionate, but she has her vein of caution and will take no unnecessary risks. She will be bewildered and will not know whether she had been suspected or not. The more cordial to her you are the more suspicious she will be. Of course, she will make up some plausible tale to account for her intrusion, and, of course, you must pretend to believe it. It will be impossible to move her for a day or two, and here I come in."
"In what way?" Geoffrey asked.
"In the way of having a free hand," Tchigorsky said, with a smile. "The princess will be cut off from her allies, and I shall be able to ransack her private papers for one thing."
Geoffrey nodded. He began to see the force of Tchigorsky's clever scheme. And then the cold solitude of the house struck him. For a moment he had forgotten all about the family still on the beach and the agony they were suffering on his account.
"I suppose you can do no more to-night?" he asked.
"I am not so sure of that," Tchigorsky said dryly. "Meanwhile I can safely rest for an hour or so. I am going to lie hidden in Ralph's bedroom for the present and smoke his tobacco. Do you want anything?"
"I should like to relieve the minds of my friends," said Geoffrey.
"That of course," Tchigorsky responded. "Go at once. You were picked up by a passing boat—or yacht—that landed you at Manby. You walked back and when you got home to change your clothes you found the place deserted. Don't say anything as to Mrs. May. Your Uncle Ralph will have that story to tell when you return. You are not to know anything about Mrs. May."
"All right," Geoffrey said cheerfully. "Now I'll be off."
He made his way down the cliffs unseen. There were lanterns flitting about the shore; he could see the flash of Marion's white dress and Vera by her side. He came gently alongside them.
"Vera," he said. "What is all this about?"
Vera turned and gave a cry. She was acting her part as well as possible, and the cry seemed genuine. But the tears in her eyes were tears of thankfulness that the sufferings of those dear to her were ended. She clung to her lover; her lips pressed his.
Marion stood there white and still as a statue. The girl seemed to be frozen. Geoffrey's touch thawed her into life again.
"Geoffrey!" she screamed, "Geoffrey! Thank God, thank God! Never again will I——"
With another scream that rang high and clear, the girl fell unconscious at his feet. He raised her up tenderly as the others came rushing forward. There was a babel of confused cries, hoarse cheers, and yells of delight. The villagers were running wild along the sands. Scores of men pressed eagerly round to shake Geoffrey's hand.
"I was picked up by a yacht," he said. "Of course I know there was foul play. I know all about the brokenmast and the sawn oars. You may rest assured I will take more care another time. And I was——"
Geoffrey was going to say that he had been warned, but he checked himself in time. His progress toward home was more or less a royal one. It touched him to see how glad people were. He had not imagined a popularity like this.
Vera clung fondly to his arm; Rupert Ravenspur walked proudly on the other side. Not once had the old man showed the slightest sign of breaking down, but he came perilously near to it at the present time. Marion held to him trembling. She felt it almost impossible to drag herself along.
"You are quaking from head to foot," said Ravenspur.
"I am," Marion admitted. "And at the risk of increasing your displeasure I should say you are very little better, dear grandfather. I fear the shock of seeing Geoffrey after all this fearful suspense has been too much for you."
Ravenspur admitted the fact. He was glad to find himself at home again, glad to be rid of the rocking, cheering crowd outside, and glad to see Geoffrey opposite him. Marion, pale as death, had dropped into a chair.
"I am going to give you all some wine," said Geoffrey. "You need it. Please do not let us discuss my adventure any more. Let us drop the subject."
Ralph glided in, feeling his way into the room. He congratulated Geoffrey as coolly as he would have done in the most trite circumstances. He was acting his part in his own wooden, stupid way.
"I also have had my adventures," he croaked.
"I hope the castle is all right," Ravenspur observed.
"The same idea occurred to me," Ralph went on. "One so afflicted as myself could not be of much service on the beach, so I came back to the castle. It occurred to me as possible that our enemy would take advantage of the place being deserted. So I passed the time wandering about the corridors.
"A little time ago I heard a violent commotion and screaming outside Geoffrey's room. I got to the spot as soon as possible, but when I arrived the noise had ceased. Then I stumbled over the body of a woman."
"Woman?" Ravenspur cried. "Impossible!"
"Not in the least," Ralph said coolly. "I picked her up, she was unconscious. My medical knowledge, picked up in all parts of the world, told me that the woman was suffering from some physical shock. That she was not in any danger her steady pulse showed. I placed her on the bed in the blue room."
"And there she is now?" Marion exclaimed.
"So far as I know," Ralph replied. "What she was doing here I haven't the slightest idea."
"And you don't know who she is?" Mrs. Gordon asked.
"How should I? I am blind. I should say that the woman was up to no good here; but I dare say it is possible that she has some decent excuse. On the other hand, she might be one of our deadly foes. Anyway, there she is, and there she is likely to be for some time to come."
Marion rose to her feet.
"Uncle Ralph," she said, "I feel that I could shake you. Have you no feeling?"
"We can't all have your tender heart," Ralph said meekly.
Marion ignored the compliment. She took up the decanter and poured out a glass of wine.
"I am going upstairs at once," she said. "Enemy or no enemy, the poor creature cannot be neglected. You need not come, Vera."
Vera, too, had risen to her feet. She was not going to be put aside.
"But I am coming," she said. "I will not allow you to go up those stairs alone. And Geoffrey shall accompany us."
Marion said no more. She seemed strangely anxious and restless.
Geoffrey followed with a lamp in his hands. Mrs. May lay quietly there, breathing regularly and apparently in a deep sleep.
Marion bent over the bed. As she did so she gasped and the color left her face. She fell away with a cry like fear.
"Oh," she shuddered. "Oh, it is Mrs. May!"
Vera bent over the bed. She unfastened the dress at the throat.
"What does it matter?" she said. "I know you don't like the woman, but she is suffering. Marion, where are your tender feelings?"
Marion said nothing. But she came directly to Vera's side. And Geoffrey glancing at Marion's rigid white face wondered what it all meant.