"I don't quite follow it yet," said Geoffrey.
"And yet it is simple," Tchigorsky replied. "Here is a form of electric battery in the vault connected by tiny wires to every sleeping chamber occupied by a Ravenspur. In each of these bed-rooms a powder is deposited somewhere and the wire leads to it. At a certain time, when you are all asleep, the current is switched on, the powder destroyed without leaving the slightest trace, and in the morning you are all as dead as if you had been placed in a lethal chamber—as a matter of fact, they would have been lethal chambers.
"Almost directly, by means of the chimneys, etc., the rooms would begin to draw a fresh supply of air, and by the time you were discovered everything would be normal again. Then the battery would be removed and the wires withdrawn without even the trouble of entering the rooms to fetch them. Then exit the whole family of Ravenspur, leaving behind a greater mystery than ever. Now do you understand what it all means?"
Geoffrey nodded and shuddered.
"What do you propose to do?" he asked. "Leave the battery where it is, and——"
"Unless I am mistaken, the battery is removed already," said the Russian.
He was correct. Investigation proved that the whole thing had been spirited away.
"As I expected," Tchigorsky muttered. "Done from the vaults under the sea, doubtless. That woman's servants keep very close to her. It is wonderful how theymanage to slip about without being seen. They have ascertained that an accident has happened to their mistress, and they have removed signs of the conspiracy. But for the present they cannot remove their mistress."
Tchigorsky chuckled as he spoke.
"You seem pleased over that," said Geoffrey.
"Of course I am, my boy. It enables one to do a little burglary without the chance of being found out. And you are to assist me. But I am not going to start on my errand before midnight; so till then I shall stay here and smoke. At that hour you will please join me."
"I am to accompany you, then?"
"Yes, you are going to be my confederate in crime."
Geoffrey joined the others downstairs. Delight and thankfulness were written on every face. Never had Geoffrey found his family so tender and loving.
Usually, Marion had had her feelings under control, but to-night it seemed as if she could not make enough of her cousin. She hung over him, she lingered near him, until Vera laughingly proclaimed that jealousy was rendering her desperate.
"I cannot help it," Marion said half tearfully. "I am so glad. And if you only knew—but that does not matter. I am beside myself with joy."
"I suppose that woman upstairs is all right," Ravenspur said coldly.
He was by no means pleased that Mrs. May should have intruded twice in that way. And each time there had been some accident. With so much sorrow weighing him down and with the shadow of further disaster ever haunting him, Ravenspur was naturally suspicious.
It seemed absurd, no doubt, but that woman might be taking a hand against the family fortunes. The last occasion was bad enough, but this was many times worse. In the circumstances, as he pointed out, nothing could exceed the bad taste of this intrusion into a deserted house.
"She may not have known it," Mrs. Gordon saidquietly. "Who knows but that she had discovered some plot against us and had come to warn us? Perhaps the enemy divined her intentions—hence the accident."
"But was it an accident?" Geoffrey asked.
"Something mysterious, like everything that occurs to us," his wife replied. "At any rate, she is breathing regularly and quietly now, and her skin is moist and cool. Ralph said he had seen something like it in India before. He is convinced that she will be all right in the morning. Don't be angry, father."
Rupert Ravenspur constrained himself to smile.
"I will not forget what is due to my position and my hospitality, my dear," he said. "After Geoffrey's miraculous escape, after the heavy cloud of sorrow so unexpectedly raised, I cannot feel it in my heart to be angry with anybody. How did you manage to get away, Geoffrey?"
Geoffrey told his tale again. It was not nice to be compelled to invent facts in the face of an admiring family; but then the truth could not have been told without betraying Tchigorsky and blowing all his delicate schemes to the winds. He was not sorry when he had finished.
Marion wiped the tears from her eyes.
"It was Providence," she said. "Nothing more nor less."
"Little doubt of it," Gordon murmured. "Geoff, have you any suspicions?"
"I know who did it, if that is what you mean," Geoffrey said, "and so does Marion."
The girl started. Her nerves were in such a pitiable condition that any little thing set them vibrating like the strings of a rudely handled harp.
"If I did I should have spoken," she said.
"Then you have not guessed?" Geoffrey smiled. "The masts and the sculls were sawn by a girl in a blue dress and red tam-o'-shanter cap. The girl who is so like——"
He did not complete the sentence; there was somethingin Marion's speaking eyes that asked him not to do so. Why he could not tell; but there was nothing to be gained by what was little less than a breach of confidence.
"What does it mean, Marion?" Ravenspur asked.
"Geoffrey and I saw such a girl not long before Geoff set out on his eventful voyage," Marion explained quietly. All the fear had gone out of her eyes; she met the gaze of the speaker tranquilly. "She passed me as I was painting; I have been close to her once before. But I don't understand why Geoff is so certain that the mysterious visitor tried to drown him."
"I've no proof," Geoffrey replied. "It is merely an instinct."
As a matter of fact, he had plenty of proof. Had he not seen the girl hastening away from his boat? Had he not seen her return after the boat had been beached and mourn over the wreck like some creature suffering from deep remorse?
But of this he could say nothing. To speak of it would be to betray the fact that Tchigorsky was still alive and active in pursuit of the foe.
"That woman can be found," Ravenspur said sternly.
"I doubt it," said Geoffrey. "She has a way of disappearing that is remarkable. You see her one moment and the next she has vanished. But I am certain that she is at the bottom of the mischief."
And Geoffrey refused to say more. As a matter of fact, nobody seemed to care to hear anything further. They were worn out with anxiety and exertion. They had had little food that day; the weary hours on the beach had exhausted them.
"For the present we can rest and be thankful," Ravenspur said as he rose to go. "We can sleep with easy minds to-night."
They moved off after him, all but Geoffrey and Vera. Mrs. Gordon could still be heard moving about one of the drawing rooms. Marion had slipped off unobserved.She hardly felt equal to bidding Geoffrey good-night. The tender smile was still on her face as she crept upstairs.
Then when she reached her room it faded away. She flung herself across the bed and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. And then gradually she sobbed herself into a heavy yet uneasy slumber.
"Well, I suppose I must go, too?" Vera said, tired out, yet reluctant to leave her lover. "Tell me what it means, Geoff?"
"Have I not already explained to you, darling?"
"Yes, but I don't believe one word of it," Vera replied. A kiss sufficed to wash the bitterness of the candor away. "I don't believe you were picked up by a yacht. I don't believe that you were in any danger. I don't understand it."
"Then we are both in the same state of benighted ignorance," Geoffrey smiled. "You are right not to believe me, dearest, but I had to tell the story and I had to play a part. It is all in the desperate game we are playing against our secret foe. For the present I am a puppet in the hands of abler men than myself. What I am doing will go far to set us free later."
Vera sighed gently. She sidled closer to her lover. Mrs. Gordon was coming out of the drawing room, a sign that Vera would have to go.
"I feel that I don't want to part with you again," she whispered, her eyes looking into his and her arm about him. "I feel as if I had nearly lost you. And if I did lose you, darling, what would become of me?"
Geoffrey kissed the quivering lips tenderly.
"Have no fear, sweetheart," he said; "all is coming right. See how those people have been frustrated over and over again. They have come with schemes worthy of Satan himself and yet they have failed. And it has been so arranged that those failures seem to be the result of vexatious accident. But they are not. And they willfail again and again until the net is around them and we shall be free. Darling, you are to sleep in peace to-night."
With a last fond embrace Vera slipped from her lover's side. She smiled at him brightly from the doorway and was gone. Geoffrey lighted a cigarette that presently dropped from his fingers and his head fell forward.
He started suddenly; the cigarette smelt pungently as it singed the carpet. Somebody was whispering his name; somebody was calling him from the stairs. Then he recognized Ralph's croaking voice.
"Tchigorsky," he muttered sleepily. "I had forgotten that Tchigorsky wanted me."
Tchigorsky was waiting. The room was pregnant with the perfume of Turkish cigarettes and coffee. Ralph handed a cup to his nephew.
"Drink that," he said. "You want something to keep you awake."
Geoffrey accepted the coffee gratefully. It had the desired effect. He felt the clouds lifting from his brain and the drowsy heaviness of limb leaving him.
"Are you coming with us?" he asked.
Ralph shook his head. There was a strange gleam on his face.
"I stay here," he said. "You are going to be busy, but I also have much to do. Don't be concerned for me. Blind as I am, I am capable of taking care of myself. I shall have a deal to tell you in the morning."
A minute or two later and the two conspirators slipped away. It struck Geoffrey as strange that they should not leave the house in the usual way; but Tchigorsky grimly explained that he much preferred using the ivy outside Ralph's window.
"Always be on the safe side," Tchigorsky muttered. "Come along."
Geoffrey followed. Where Tchigorsky could go he felt competent to follow. They reached the ground in safety and later were in the road. The moon had gone and it was intensely dark, but Geoffrey knew the way perfectly.
"Straight to Jessop's farm?" he asked.
"As far as the lawn," Tchigorsky replied. "It will bea good hour yet before we can venture to carry out our burglary. I can run no risks until I know that those two Asiatics are out of the way. What time is it?"
"About ten minutes to twelve."
Tchigorsky muttered that the time was not quite suitable for him. He drew a watch from his pocket; there was a stifled whirr of machinery, and the repeater's rapid pulse beat twelve with the silvery chime of a quarter after the hour.
"You are wrong," he said. "You see it is between a quarter and half-past twelve. We will lie on Jessop's lawn till one o'clock and then all will be safe."
They lay there waiting for the time to pass. The minutes seemed to be weighted. "Tell me some more of your Lassa adventures," Geoffrey asked.
"Very well," Tchigorsky replied. "Where did I leave off? Ah, we had just been tortured on that awful grill. And we had been offered our lives on condition that we consented to be hopeless idiots for the rest of our days.
"Well, we were not going to live in these circumstances, you may be sure. For the next few days we were left to our own resources in a dark dungeon with the huge rats and vermin for company. We were half starved into the bargain, and when we were brought into the light once more they naturally expected submission.
"But they didn't get it. They did not realize the stuff we were made of. And they had no idea we were armed. We had our revolvers and concealed in our pockets were some fifty rounds of ammunition. If the worst came to the worst we should not die without a struggle.
"Well, there was a huge palaver over us before the priests in the big temple, with Zara on her throne, and a fine, impressive scene it was, or, at least, it would have been had we not been so interested as to our own immediate future. At any rate, it was a comfort to know that there were no more tortures for the present, for nothing of the kind was to be seen. We were going todie; we could read our sentence in the eyes of the priests long before the elaborate mummery was over.
"I tell you it seemed hard to perish like that just at the time when we had penetrated nearly all the secrets we had come in search of. And it was no less hard to know that if the princess had postponed her visit another week she would have been too late. By that time we should have left Lassa far behind.
"The trial or ceremony, or whatever you like to call it, came to an end at length, and then we were brought up to the throne of the princess. You know the woman, you have looked upon the beauty and fascination of her face; but you have no idea how different she was in the home of her people. She looked a real queen, a queen from head to foot. We stood awed before her.
"'You have been offered terms and refused them,' she said. 'It is now too late.'
"'We could not trust you,' I replied boldly; we had nothing to gain by politeness. 'Better anything than the living death you offered us. And we can only die once.'
"The princess smiled in her blood-curdling way.
"'You do not know what you are talking about,' she said. 'Ah, you will find out when you come to walk the Black Valley!'
"She gave a sign and we were led away unbound. A quaint wailing music filled the air; the priests were singing our funeral song. I never fully appreciated the refined cruelty of reading the burial service to a criminal on his way to the scaffold till then. It makes me shudder to think of it even now.
"They led us out into the open air, still crooning that dirge. They brought us at length to the head of a great valley between huge towering mountains, as if the Alps had been sliced in two and a narrow passage made between them. At the head of this passage was a door let into the cliff and down through this door they thrust us. It was dark inside. For the first part of the way,till we reached the floor of the valley, we were to be accompanied by four priests, a delicate attention to prevent us from breaking our necks before we reached the bottom. But our guides did not mean us to perish so mercifully.
"'Listen to me,' Zara cried, 'listen for the last time. You are going into the Black Valley; of its horror and dangers you know nothing as yet. But you will soon learn. Take comfort in the fact that there is an exit at the far end if you can find it. When you are out of the exit you are free. Thousands have walked this valley, and over their dry bones you will make your way. Out of these thousands one man escaped. Perhaps you will be as fortunate. Farewell!'
"The door clanged behind us, and we were alone with the priests. We could not see, we could only feel our way down those awful cliffs, where one false step would have smashed us to pieces. But the priests never hesitated. Down, down we went until we reached the bottom. There we could just see dimly.
"'You could guide us through?' I asked.
"One of the priests nodded. He could save us if he liked. Not that I was going to waste my breath by asking him. They were priests of a minor degree; there were thousands of them about the temple, all alike as peas in a pod. If these men failed to return they would never be missed. A desperate resolution came to me. In a few English whispered words I conveyed it to Ralph Ravenspur.
"We still had a priest on either side of us. At a given signal we produced our revolvers, and before the priests had the remotest idea what had happened two of them were dead on the ground, shot through the brain. When the thousand and one echoes died away we each had our man by the throat. What did we care if the plot was discovered or not! We were both desperate.
"'Listen, dog,' I cried. 'You have seen your companions perish. If you would escape a similar death, youwill bear us to safety. You shall walk ten paces in front, and if you try to evade us you die, for our weapons carry farther than you can run in the space of two minutes. Well, are you going to convey us to a place of safety, or shall we shoot you like the others?'"
Tchigorsky paused and pulled at his watch. He drew back the catch and the rapid little pulse beat one.
Then he rose to his feet.
"To be continued in our next," he said. "The time has come to act. Follow me and betray no surprise at anything you may see or hear."
"You can rely upon me," Geoffrey whispered. "Lead on."
The troubled house had fallen asleep at last. They were all used to the swooping horrors; they could recall the black times spread out over the weary years; they could vividly recollect how one trouble after another had happened.
And it had been an eventful day. For the last few hours they had lived a fresh tragedy. True, the tragedy itself had been averted, but for some time there had been the agony of the real thing. The Ravenspurs, exhausted by the flood of emotion, had been glad of rest.
They were presumably asleep now, all but Ralph. Long after deep silence had fallen on the house he sat alone in the darkness. The glow of his pipe just touched his inscrutable features and a faint halo of light played about his grizzled head. A mouse nibbling behind the panels sounded clear as the crack of a pistol shot. The big stable clock boomed two.
Ralph laid aside his pipe and crept to the door. He opened it silently and passed out into the corridor. A cat would not have made less noise. Yet he moved swiftly and confidently, as one who has eyes to see familiar ground. He came at length to the room where Mrs. May was lying.
She had been made fairly comfortable. Her dress had been loosened at the throat, but she still wore the clothes in which she had been dressed at the time of her accident.
Later she would perhaps find it difficult to account for masquerading in the castle in that strange guise. That she would have some ingenious plea to put forwardRalph felt certain. But the dress was another matter. Ralph grinned to himself as he thought of it.
There was a light in the room. He could tell that by the saffron glow that touched lightly on his sightless eyeballs. He knew the disposition of the room as well as if he could see it. He felt his way across until he came to the bed on which the woman lay.
His hand touched her throat—a gentle touch—yet his fingers crooked and a murderous desire blossomed like a rose in his heart. Nobody was about and nobody would know. Who could connect the poor blind man with the deed? Why not end her life now?
"Far better," Ralph muttered. "It would have been no crime to shoot her like a dog. Yet fancy hanging for such a creature as that!"
The grim humor of the suggestion restored Ralph to himself. His relaxed fingers just touched the cold throat and face. He could hear the sound of regular breathing. From a tiny phial he took two or three drops of some dark cordial and brushed them over the woman's rigid lips. She stirred faintly.
"Just as well to hasten events," he muttered. "One cannot afford to play with the thing."
He replaced the bottle in his pocket. He drew himself up listening. Other ears could not have heard a sound. Ralph could plainly hear footsteps. But how near they were he could not tell. His brows contracted with annoyance.
"So soon," he muttered. "I did not expect this."
He dropped down between the bed and the wall. Then he crawled under the deep valance. He had not long to wait. Somebody had crept into the room, somebody light of foot and light of body who crossed to the bed. And this somebody shook the sleeping figure with passionate force.
"Wake up!" a voice said. "Oh, will you never wake up?"
The listener smiled. He could hear the figure of hisarch-enemy stirring uneasily. She muttered something and once more was passionately shaken.
"What is the matter?" she muttered. "Where am I?"
"Here, in the castle. Don't you remember?"
Pause for a moment. Ralph was listening intently.
"I begin to recollect. There was an accident; the door refused to open; I fought for my life as long as I could before the fumes overcame me, and I gave myself up for lost. Oh, it was something to remember, Marion," muttered Mrs. May.
Marion, for it was she, made no reply. She was crying quietly.
"What is the matter with the girl?" the woman asked irritably.
"Oh, it is good for you to ask me that question," said Marion, "after all the bitter trouble and humiliation you have put upon me. Get up and follow me."
"I cannot. The thing is impossible. You forget that I have been almost dead. My limbs are paralyzed. I shall not be able to walk for at least two days. I must remain like a dog here. But there is no hurry. What happened?"
"I can't tell; I don't know. You were found in the corridor, I am told, insensible. When they came back to the castle they found you lying here. They had all been down on the beach searching for Geoffrey."
The woman laughed. It was a laugh to chill the blood.
"I hope they found him," she said.
"Oh, yes, they found him," Marion said quietly.
"Drowned, with a placid smile on his face, after the fashion of the novel?"
"No, very much alive. You failed. Geoffrey Ravenspur is here safe and sound. On my knees I have thanked God for it."
The woman muttered something that the listener failed to catch. She seemed to be suppressing a tendency to a violent outburst.
"I will not fail next time," she said. "And you area love-sick, soft-hearted, sentimental fool. All this time I have to remain here. But, at any rate, I have you to do my bidding. Put your hand in my breast pocket and you will find a key."
"Well, what am I to do with it?"
"You are to go to my rooms at Jessop's farm at once. They will be fast asleep, so that you need not be afraid. Jessop's people have the slumber that comes of a tired body and an easy conscience. But there are foes about and it is not well to trust to anybody.
"If I am to remain here for a day or two I must have certain things. In my sitting room, by the side of the fireplace, is a black iron box. Open it with the key I have given you and bring the casket to me. You can get into my sitting room by gently raising the window, which is not fastened. They are so honest in these parts that people don't fasten their windows. Now go."
"You are sure you cannot get up?"
"Certain. I have been drugged and it will be some time before I am able to get about. That is why I am anxious to have the box. Young Ravenspur would never have got away had he had no friends to assist him or a simple fool to give him warning."
"The fool you speak of does not regret it."
"Perhaps not. How did he escape?"
"In the simplest possible way. He was picked up by a passing yacht."
"Well, accidents will happen," the woman muttered. "Now do my bidding. The heavy drugged sleep is coming upon me again, and I shall not be able to keep my eyes open much longer. Go at once."
As Marion crept away Ralph could catch her heavy indrawn breath and the sobs that seemed to burst from her overcharged heart. Then he knew that the woman was asleep again.
A minute or two later and he was standing in the hall. He waited in shadow, silent and patient. The stairs creaked slightly and a stealthy footstep came creeping down.
Ralph crept toward the door. Marion came close to him, her hands fumbling nervously with the bolts and bars. Some of the bars were heavy, and Marion was fearful lest they should fall with a clang and betray her.
Ralph stretched out his hand and drew back a bolt.
"Allow me to assist you," he said. "I am used to this kind of work."
A scream rose to Marion's lips, but she suppressed it. The effort set her trembling from head to foot. Yet it seemed to her that there was no cause to be frightened, for she had never heard Ralph's voice so kind before.
"Uncle," she stammered, "what are you doing here?"
By way of reply Ralph opened the door. He gave the sign for Marion to precede him, and then followed her out into the night. The heavy door closed behind him.
"I might with equal justice ask you the same question," he said. "Nay, more; because you are merely a young girl and I am a man. And you know I don't sleep like most virtuous people. I suffer from insomnia and never sleep for long anywhere. Perhaps I am like the cat who prowls about all night and slumbers in the daytime. But where are you going?"
"Uncle Ralph, I cannot tell you. It is a secret. If you knew everything you would pity me."
There was a deepening ring in Marion's voice. Ralph caressed her hand tenderly.
"Don't trouble," he said. "I know."
"You know where I am going. You—you know!"
"Certainly I do. I know everything, my dear."
"Not everything, uncle. Not of my connection with that woman, for instance."
"Indeed I do, Marion."
"You are aware of our relationship! You know that!"
"My dear child, I have known it for years. But your secret is safe with me. I am not going to betray you. Could I have the heart to do so after all you have done for my family? Angel Marion."
He repeated the last words over and over again in a low, caressing voice, pressing the girl's hand softly as he did so. Even then Marion was not sure whether he was in earnest or whether he was grimly ironical.
"I never thought of this," Marion murmured.
"Perhaps not," Ralph replied. "Mrs. May is a bad woman, Marion."
"The worst in the world," Marion replied. "You only know her as Mrs. May?"
"I only know her as she is, dear. And yet I feel that in some vague kind of way she is mixed up with our family misfortunes. Oh, if I could only see, if I could only use my eyes. Then I might know that woman still better."
Marion shuddered at the steely, murderous tones. Ralph patted her hand reassuringly.
"But you need not be afraid," he said. "You are all right—the brightest angel in the world. You are torn by conflicting emotions; you fancy your duty lies in certain directions, and you are troubled over it. And yet it will come right in the end, Marion. We did not lose Geoffrey after all."
"Thank God, no. And yet there is plenty of time."
"There is ample time for the right as well as the wrong, Marion. But do not let us talk of the past any more, my dear. I am not going to pry into your secrets, and I know how far to trust you. Let me walk part of the way with you. I can wait by the barn till you return."
Marion raised no objection. It was the dead of nightnow and there was no fear of meeting anybody. Yet Marion started uneasily as Ralph began to whistle. She ventured to suggest that the noise was not prudent.
"Perhaps you are right," Ralph said amicably. "At any rate I will wait here till your return. You have not far to go, of course?"
"I have a very little way to go, uncle. I am going to Jessop's farm."
Ralph nodded. The farm loomed up not far off. As Marion darted off Ralph lighted his pipe and whistled again. Something moved in the bushes.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Tchigorsky and Geoffrey were nearing the window. Tchigorsky moved on resolutely and confidently with the air of a man who is sure of his ground. He put up his hand and fumbled for the catch. It gave at once and the pair of burglars slipped quietly into the room.
"We shall be safe," he said as he proceeded to strike a match. "It is just as well to take every precaution. What would the estimable Jessop say if he could see into his parlor?"
Geoffrey smiled.
"He'd be astonished," he said, "a little dismayed, too. But he would say nothing so long as I am here. Jessop would stand on his head for me."
The strong rays of the lamp lighted up the room. There were flowers everywhere, dainty china on the table full of blooms, bowls filled with choicest fruits. Wines sparkled in the crystal goblets on the sideboard, a silver cigarette box was conspicuous, and on a safe lay an object to which Tchigorsky called his companion's attention.
"What do you make that out to be?" he asked.
Geoffrey picked up the drapery. On the top of it lay something red with a feather in it. It appeared to be a costume of some kind. As Geoffrey held it aloft a light gradually broke in upon him.
"Well," Tchigorsky asked, "have you solved the problem?"
"I have," Geoffrey replied. "It is the blue dress and tam-o'-shanter hat which have played so conspicuous a part lately. But what brings them here? Has Mrs. May a companion hidden somewhere, a companion who might be Marion's sister?"
"Seems like it," Tchigorsky said with a dry smile. "But I am not going to enlighten you any further on that question at present. Mrs. May and the girl in the blue dress are two separate people, anyway."
"You forget that I have seen them together," said Geoffrey.
"I had forgotten that. Well, it won't be long now before the identity of the lady in the smart dress and coquettish hat is established. Meanwhile we came here in search of something far more important than a woman's costume. Help me to turn out all those drawers, and be careful to replace everything exactly as you find it. We have a good three hours before us and much depends upon the result of our search. Keep a keen eye open for papers in any language that is unfamiliar to you."
For an hour the search proceeded and yet nothing came to light. There were plenty of bills, most of them emanating from West End establishments—accounts for dresses and flowers, boxes for theaters, and the like, but nothing more.
Tchigorsky glanced keenly round the room.
"I am afraid we shall be compelled to show our hand," he said. "Mrs. May is so clever that I half expected to find private papers in some simple place, while an examination of her safe would disclose nothing. She has not anticipated burglary and what I am looking for is in the safe."
"Dare you open it?" Geoffrey asked.
"And show my hand, you mean? I fancy so. We are so near success now that it really does not matter. Put the safe on the table," replied Tchigorsky.
The heavy iron box slipped as Geoffrey raised it andclanged on the floor. An exclamation of anger and annoyance came from Tchigorsky and an apology from the younger man. They both stood upright for a few minutes listening intently. But the people upstairs were sleeping the sleep of the just. There came no answering sound.
"Blessings upon the pure air and the high conscience that hold these people," Tchigorsky muttered more amicably. "It's all right, my young friend. Hoist up the box, and let us see if my little steel jimmy will have any effect. I would rather have had the key. It is never well to betray your plans if you can——"
The speaker paused. From outside a little way off there arose a long, shrill scream, the cry of a woman in distress. The sound set Geoffrey's blood leaping; he pushed for the window, but Tchigorsky detained him.
"Where are you going?" he asked sternly.
"Outside," Geoffrey exclaimed. "A woman is there. She asks for assistance. Can you stand there calmly and see——"
"See you making an ass of yourself, eh? My dear boy, on my word of honor there is no woman in danger yonder. In a measure I am glad to hear that cry, though it proves to me that our allies have not been so artistic over their work as they might have been. You will not hear that cry again."
"Perhaps not," Geoffrey said, reassured considerably by Tchigorsky's placid manner; "but I hear footsteps outside."
Tchigorsky smiled. He had taken some steel bits from his pocket, but he replaced them again.
"If they are, then they are the footsteps of a friend," he said. "This being so, there will be no need for me to give you lessons in the way not to open a safe. Are you right? It seems as if the window was opening."
The window was indeed opening. It moved half an inch, and then there was a "hist," and something clanged on the floor. Tchigorsky took the matter as coolly asif it had all been arranged beforehand. He did not move as the window closed again and stealthy footsteps outside moved away.
"It is all right?" Geoffrey asked.
Tchigorsky smiled broadly.
"Splendid!" he said. "It could not have been better. My boy, this is the night's work which is going to crown our endeavors. Yonder we have the proofs, and here we have the means of getting them."
He picked the metallic object from the floor. He fitted it to the lock of the safe, and instantly a mass of queer things was discovered. Tchigorsky's eyes gleamed as he saw this; they positively flamed as he turned out a lot of papers.
At the bottom was a book in metal covers. As Tchigorsky fluttered it open a cry broke from him.
"Found!" he exclaimed, "found! We have them in the hollow of our hands."
With less courage than she usually felt, Marion went on her way. Perhaps there was no more miserable being in England at that moment. It is hard to play a double part, hard to be thrust one way by cruel circumstances when the heart and soul are crying out to go the other.
This was Marion's position. And whichever way she went she was destined to be equally unhappy and miserable. She had to help her relations; she had to try to shield that infamous woman at the same time.
And now the great secret of her life had come to light. That was the bitterest trial of all. Vera had discovered that Marion loved Geoffrey. Ralph Ravenspur had made the same discovery long ago, but it did not matter so very much about him; Vera was different.
And here she was in the dead of night carrying out the errand of the deadliest foe the house of Ravenspur had ever known. She was half inclined to throw the whole thing to the winds, to disappear and never return again. Why should she——
She stopped. Something was stirring in the bushes on either side of her. Perhaps it was a rabbit or a fox. Probably somebody had dogged her footsteps.
"Who are you?" Marion cried. "Speak, or I call for help."
The threat was futile, considering the time of night. The bushes parted and two men appeared. Marion gave one loud scream, but before she could repeat the cry a hand was laid on her lips.
Whoever they were, they were not unduly rough. Thehand that stayed further clamor was hard, but it was not cruel.
"You are not to cry out again," a voice whispered. "I will not injure you if you promise not to call out."
Marion indicated that she would comply with this suggestion. Immediately the hand fell from her lips.
"This is an outrage," she said. "Who are you?"
"That is beside the point," was the reply. "It is an outrage, but we are not going to treat you badly. We are unfortunately compelled to keep you for some four-and-twenty hours from the custody of your friends, but you may rest assured that you will be treated with every consideration."
"I am your prisoner, then?"
"Since you like to put it in that way, yes."
Marion was properly indignant. She pointed out that the course these men were pursuing was a criminal one, and that it was likely to lead them into trouble.
But she might have been speaking to the winds. If she could only see these people! She had not the remotest idea what they were like. The man who spoke was evidently a gentleman; his companion seemed like a working man—a sailor by his walk. And yet it was impossible to see the faces of either.
"Where are you going to take me?" Marion asked.
"We are going to conduct you to one of the caves," was the reply. "Unfortunately no house is available for our purpose, or we should not put you to this inconvenience. But we have made every preparation for your comfort, and you are not likely to suffer for want of food or anything of that kind. And I pledge you my word of honor that you shall not be detained a minute beyond the specified time."
He touched Marion on the arm to indicate a forward movement.
"I suppose it is of no use to ask your name," Marion said coldly.
"I have no objection," said the other. "The time iscoming when it will be necessary to speak very plainly indeed. My name is George Abell, and I am secretary to Dr. Sergius Tchigorsky. My friend's name is Elphick. He was at one time a servant in the employ of one of your family."
"Tchigorsky?" Marion cried. "But he is dead."
"That seems to be the popular impression," Abell said gravely.
The words appeared to strike a chill in Marion. She began to comprehend that all her sacrifices had been made in vain.
"Tchigorsky not dead?" she said hoarsely.
"No," said Abell. "I saw him a little time ago. It will perhaps not surprise you to hear that I am acting under his orders."
"But he could not know that I——"
"Dr. Tchigorsky seems to divine matters. He seems to know what people will do almost by instinct. He is a wonderful man and does wonderful things. But I cannot tell you any more; I am merely acting under orders."
He indicated the way and Marion proceeded without further protest. She felt like a condemned criminal when the sentence is pronounced. Certain things were coming to an end. A long period of suspense and anxiety was nearly finished. How it was going to end Marion neither knew nor cared. But she did know that the woman who was known as Mrs. May was doomed.
Not another word passed until the foot of the cliffs was reached. It was no easy matter to get down in the dark, but it was managed at length.
It was near the lonely spot where Geoffrey's stranded boat had been found. For days together nobody came here and Marion could not console herself with the fact that she would be rescued. Not that she much cared; indeed, it was a matter of indifference to her what happened.
Abell was polite and attentive. He indicated a pile of rugs and wraps; if Miss Ravenspur wanted anythingshe had only to call out and it would be supplied immediately.
"I wanted nothing but to rest," Marion said wearily. "I am tired out. I feel as if I could sleep for a thousand years. I am so exhausted mentally that I have no astonishment to find myself in this strange situation."
Abell bowed and retired. The night was warm and the cave, being above any, even the high spring tides, was dry. Marion flung herself down upon the pile of wraps and almost at once fell fast asleep. When she came to herself again the sun was shining high. Outside Abell was pacing the sands. Marion called to him.
"I want some breakfast," she said, "and then I should like to have a talk with you. If only I had a looking glass."
"You don't need one," Abell said respectfully if admiringly. "Still, that has been thought of. There is a looking glass in the corner."
Marion smiled despite herself. She found the glass and propped it up before her. There was no cause for alarm. She looked as neat and fresh as if she had just made a due and elaborate toilette. Geoffrey was fond of saying that after a football match Marion would have remained as neat and tidy as ever. She ate her breakfast heartily—good tea, with eggs, and bread-and-butter and strawberries.
"Do you want anything more?" asked Abell, looking in.
"Nothing, except my liberty," Marion replied. "You may come in and smoke if you like. How long are you going to detain me here?"
"Four-and-twenty hours."
"But I shall be missed. They will search for me. By this time, of course, they are hunting all over the place for me. They will come here——"
"I think not," Abell said politely. "It is too near home. Nobody would dream of looking for you in a cave close to the castle. We thought of all that. They will not look for you for other reasons."
Marion glanced swiftly at the speaker.
"How could you prevent them?" she demanded.
Abell puffed airily at his cigarette. He smiled pleasantly.
"There are many ways," he said. "You do not come down to breakfast. They begin to be alarmed at your absence. Somebody goes to your room and finds there a note addressed to your grandfather. That note is apparently in your handwriting. It contains a few lines to the effect that you have made a great discovery. You have gone at once to follow it up. The family are not to be alarmed if you do not return till very late. When you come back you hope to have a joyful revelation for everybody."
Marion smiled in reply. Abell seemed to be so sure of his ground.
"What you outline means forgery," she said.
"So I presume," Abell replied coolly. "But forgery is so simple nowadays with the aid of the camera. After what I have told you you will be able to see that our scheme has been thoughtfully worked out."
"And when I come back do I bring a joyful confession with me?"
Abell looked steadily at the speaker. There was something in the expression of his eyes that caused her to drop hers.
"That depends entirely upon yourself," he murmured. "One thing you may rely upon—the confession will be made and the clouds rolled away. It is only a matter of hours now. Surely, you do not need to be told why you are detained?"
For some reason best known to herself Marion did not need to be told. It was a long time before she spoke again. She ought to have been angry with this man; she ought to have turned from him with indignation; but she did nothing of the kind. And if she had, her indignation would have been wasted.
"You are in Dr. Tchigorsky's confidence?" she asked.
Abell shook his head with a smile.
"I know a great deal about him," he said. "I help him in his experiments. But as to being in his confidence—no. I don't suppose any man in the world enjoys that, unless it is your uncle Ralph."
Marion started. In that moment many things became clear to her. Hitherto she had regarded Ralph Ravenspur as anything but a man to be dreaded or feared. Now she knew better. Why had she not thought of this before?
"They are great friends?" she said.
"Oh, yes. They have been all over the world together. And they have been in places which they do not mention to anybody."
Tchigorsky hung over the papers before him as if inspired. There was not much, apparently, in the book with the metal clasps, but that little seemed to be fascinating to a degree. The Russian turned it over till he came to the end.
"You appear to be satisfied," Geoffrey said.
"Satisfied is a poor word to express my feelings," Tchigorsky replied. He stretched himself; he drew a deep breath like one who has been under water.
"I have practically everything here in this diary," he said. "It is written in a language you would fail to understand, but it is all like print to me. Everything is traced down from the first of the family catastrophes to the last attempt by means of the bees. There are letters from Lassa containing instructions for the preparation of certain drugs and poisons; in fact, here is everything."
"So that we are rid of our foes at last?"
"Not quite. The princess is cunning. We shall have to extract a confession from her; we shall have to get her and her two slaves together. It is all a matter of hours, but we shall have to be circumspect. If the woman finds she is baffled she may be capable of a bitter revenge to finish with."
"What are you going to do?" Geoffrey asked.
"We are going back to the castle the same way we came," Tchigorsky explained. "We are going to show your uncle Ralph our find. For the present it is notexpedient that Sergius Tchigorsky should come to life again."
The box was locked once more and replaced, and then the two burglars crept from the house. They had not disturbed anybody, for the upper windows of the farmhouse were all in darkness.
A brisk walk brought them to the castle. Upstairs a dim light was still burning in Ralph Ravenspur's window. The light flared up at the signal, and a few minutes later the three were seated round the lamp, while the window was darkened again.
Ralph sat stolidly smoking as if he had not moved for hours. He evinced not the slightest curiosity as to the success of his companions. Tchigorsky smote him on the back with unwonted hilarity.
"So you have been successful?" he croaked.
"Oh, you have guessed that!" Tchigorsky cried.
"It was a mere matter of time," Ralph replied. "It was bound to come. I knew that from the first day I got here."
"All very well," Tchigorsky muttered; "but it was only a 'matter of time' till the Ravenspurs were wiped out root and branch."
"You knew the day you got here?" Geoffrey exclaimed.
Ralph turned his inscrutable face to the speaker.
"I did, lad," he said. "I came home to ascertain how the thing was worked. Before I slept the first night under the old roof I knew the truth. And I came in time—guided by the hand of Providence—to save the first of a fresh series of tragedies.
"You wonder why I did not speak; you have asked me before why I did not proclaim my knowledge. And I replied that the whole world would have laughed at me; you would have been the first to deride me, and the assassin would have been warned. I kept my counsel; I worked on like a mole in the dark; and when I had something to go on, Tchigorsky came. Before you are many hours older the miscreants will stand confessed."
Tchigorsky nodded approval. He was deftly rolling a cigarette between his long fingers.
"Ralph is right," he said. "We have only to fire the mine now. By the way, Ralph, you were clever to get that key."
"Easy enough," Ralph croaked. "I knew the woman would be uneasy about her papers, so I gave her a touch of the cordial on her lips and brought her to her senses. A certain messenger who shall be nameless was sent off with the key. The messenger was detained, is still detained according to arrangements, and her pocket was picked. Elphick dropped back and gave me the key, which I passed on to you."
Geoffrey followed in some bewilderment. The messenger business was all strange to him.
"Did you know that diary existed?" he asked.
"Of course I did," Ralph growled. "In a measure, I might say that I had seen it. Many a time at night have I lain in a flower-bed under that woman's window and heard her reading from the diary or writing in it. That is why I asked no questions when you came in. I knew you had been successful. And now, Princess Zara, it is my turn."
Ralph's voice dropped to a whisper, an intense, burning whisper of hate and vengeance. He rose and paced the room like a caged bird.
"What will be her fate?" asked Geoffrey.
"Burn her, slay her, hang her," Ralph cried. "No death is too painful, too loathsome for a creature like that. I could forgive her fanatical cruelty; I could forgive the way she fought for her creed. But when it comes to those allied by ties——"
The speaker paused and sat down.
"Who talks too fast says too much," he remarked sententiously.
"What is the next move?" Geoffrey asked.
"Bed, I should say," Tchigorsky suggested dryly. "As far as one can judge we are likely to have a busy daybefore us to-morrow. And don't you be surprised at anything you see or hear. It will be all in the day's work, as you English say. I am going to lie up in hiding here, but I shall turn up when the time comes. Good-night."
It was late when Geoffrey rose the following day, and the family had long had breakfast when he came downstairs. Most of the family were still in the breakfast room or on the terrace in the sunshine.
"How is the visitor?" he asked.
"Mrs. May seems very queer," Mrs. Gordon explained. "She complains of a sort of paralysis in her lower limbs. At the same time she refuses to see a doctor, saying that she has had something of the kind before."
"Does she account for her presence here?" said Geoffrey.
"Oh, yes. Of course she had heard you were missing and been informed that everybody from the castle was on the beach. It was getting dark when she saw two strange suspicious-looking men coming this way. She felt sure that they had designs on the house and followed them. She tried to get somebody to assist her, but could not see a soul anywhere. Then she put on that queer dress and came on here.
"The two men entered the castle and she crept after them. They discovered her and one of them gave her a blow on the head that stunned her. When she came to her senses again she was lying in bed. Wasn't it plucky of her?"
"Very," Geoffrey said dryly; "but where is Marion?"
"Marion, like yourself, seems to be lazily inclined to-day. It is so very unlike her; indeed, I fear the poor child is anything but well. Those quiet people always feel the most, and poor Marion was greatly upset yesterday."
Vera came in at the same moment. She had a merry word or two for Geoffrey as to his late appearance. She had not seen Marion as yet. "Run up to her room, thereis a dear girl," said Geoffrey. "This sort of thing is not like Marion; I fear something has happened to her."
"I wish you would," Ravenspur observed.
Vera disappeared only to come back presently with the information that Marion's room was empty, and that her bed had not been occupied. She held a little envelope in her hand.
"I can only find this," she said.
Ravenspur snatched the letter, and tore it open.
"Extraordinary," he exclaimed. "Marion says she has found a clue to the troubles and is following it up at once. If she does not come back till late we are not to worry about her. Strange! But I have every confidence in the girl."
"May she not come to harm!" Vera said fervently.
"Oh, I hope not," Mrs. Gordon cried. "But will this mystery and misery never end?"
Mrs. May, Princess Zara, the brilliant mystery who wielded so great an influence over the destiny of the house of Ravenspur, lay on her bed smiling faintly in the face of Mrs. Gordon Ravenspur, who stood regarding her with friendly solicitude. Mrs. Gordon had no suspicions whatever; she would have trusted any one. All the lessons of all the years had taught her no prudence in that direction. A kind word or an appeal for assistance always disarmed Mrs. Gordon.
"I hope you are comfortable?" she asked.
Mrs. May smiled faintly. She appeared a trifle embarrassed. She was acting her part beautifully as usual. Her audacity and assurance had carried her through great difficulties and she had confidence in the future.
"In my body, perfectly," she said. "But I am so uneasy in my mind."
"And you will not have a doctor?"
"Not for worlds. There is nothing the matter with me. I have suffered like this before. I have a weak heart, you know, and excitement troubles me thus. But I don't want a doctor."
"Then why should you worry?" Mrs. Gordon asked.
"I am ashamed of myself," the woman confessed with a laugh. "I have been wondering what you must think about me. This is the second time you have had to detain me as an involuntary guest under your roof. The first time I was the victim of idle curiosity; the second time I did try to do you a good turn. I hope you will remember that."
"It was kind and courageous of you," Mrs. Gordon said warmly. "How many people would have done as much for strangers! And please do not talk about it any more or I shall be distressed."
Mrs. May was by no means sorry to change the conversation. A thousand questions trembled on her lips, but she restrained them. She was burning to know certain things, but the mere mention of such matters might have aroused suspicions in a far simpler mind than that of Mrs. Gordon.
"So long as you are all well it doesn't matter," she said. "This afternoon I shall make an effort to get up. Meanwhile, I won't keep you from your household duties. Could I see one of those charming girls, Miss Vera or Marion? I have taken such a fancy to them."
"Vera shall come presently; she has gone to the village," Mrs. Gordon explained. As to Marion she could say nothing.
"Marion has been an enigma to us lately," she explained. "I need not tell you of the dark shadows hanging over this unhappy house, or how near we have been to the solution of the mystery on more than one occasion. And now Marion has an idea, queer child.
"She went out, presumably last night, leaving a note to say she had really got on the track at last, and that we were not to worry about her even if she did not return to-day. So strange of Marion."
Mrs. May had turned her face away. She was fearful lest the other, prattling on in her innocent way, should see the rage and terror and despair of her features.
"Queer!" she murmured hoarsely. "Did she write to you?"
"No, to my husband's father. Her note was given to me. Even now I don't know what to make of it. Would you like to see the letter? You are so clever that you may understand it better than I do."
"I should like to see the letter."
It was an effort almost beyond the speaker's powersto keep her voice steady. Even then the words sounded in her ears as if they came from somebody else. From her pocket Mrs. Gordon produced the letter. Mrs. May appeared to regard it languidly.
"If I knew the girl better I could tell you," she said. "It sounds sincere. But my head is beginning to ache again."
Mrs. Gordon was all solicitude. She drew down the blinds, and produced eau de Cologne, and fanned the brow of the sufferer after drenching it with the spirit. Mrs. May smiled languidly but gratefully. At the same time it was all she could do to keep her hands from clutching the other by the throat and screaming out that unless she was left alone murder would be done.
"Now I really can leave you," Mrs. Gordon said.
"It would be the greatest kindness," the invalid murmured gratefully.
The door softly closed; Mrs. May struggled to a sitting position. Her eyes were gleaming, yet a hard despair was on her face. She ought to be up and doing, but her lower limbs refused their office.
"A forgery," she said between her teeth. "Marion never wrote that letter. If they were not blind they could see that for themselves. Marion has been decoyed away; and, if so, somebody has that key. If I only knew. Tchigorsky is dead and Ralph Ravenspur is an idiot. Who, then, is the prime mover in this business?"
The woman did not know, and for the life of her she could not guess. Tchigorsky was out of the way—dead and buried. Ralph Ravenspur and Geoffrey were antagonists not worthy of a second thought. But somebody was moving and that somebody a skilled and vigorous foe.
For once the arch-conspirator was baffled. The foe had the enormous knowledge of knowing his quarry, while the quarry had not the least notion where or how to look for the hunter. And the fish was fast to the line.Unless it got away at once the landing net would be applied; then there would be an end of all things.
But she could not move; she could do nothing but lie there gasping in impotent rage. There was only one person in the world who could help her now, and that was Marion. And where was Marion? Only the man on the other side of the chess board knew that.
She wished she knew; oh! she wished she knew a score of things. Did the people of the castle suspect her? Hardly that, or Mrs. Gordon had not been so friendly.
What had become of the coat and glass mask she was wearing at the time things went wrong in Geoffrey Ravenspur's room? Had her subordinates heard her cry? Had they fled, or had they been taken? If they had fled, had they removed the instruments with them?
Mrs. May would have given five years of her life for enlightenment on these vital questions. Even she could not read the past and solve the unseen.
Tears of impotent rage and fury rose to her eyes. While she was lying there wasting the diamond minutes the foe was at work. At any time that foe might come down with the most overwhelming proofs and crush her. Marion had been spirited away. Why? So that the key of the safe might be stolen and used to advantage.
Once more the woman tried to raise herself from the bed. It was useless. She slipped the bed-clothes into her mouth to stifle the cries that rose to her lips. She was huddled under them when the door opened and Vera stepped in.
"Did you call out?" she asked. "I was passing your door and fancied I heard a cry. Are you still suffering from a headache?"
Mrs. May's first impulse was to order the girl away. Then an idea came to her.
"The headache is gone," she said sweetly. "It was just a twinge of neuralgia. I wonder if you would do me a favor."
"Certainly."
"Then I wish you would get me some paper and envelopes. I have a note to write. There is a child in the village I am fond of. She comes and sits in the tangle at the bottom of the Jessops' garden and talks to me. I am afraid she thinks more of my chocolates than me, but that is a detail."
"You want to write the child a note. How sweet of you!"
"Oh, no," Mrs. May said. She was going to embark on a dangerous effort and was not quite certain as yet. But desperate diseases require desperate remedies. "It is nothing. And I don't want anybody to know."
"I am sure you can trust to me."
"Of course I can, my dear child. And I will. Please get me the materials."
Vera brought the paper and essentials. With a smile on her face Mrs. May wrote the letter. Inside the envelope she placed something she had taken from the bosom of her dress.
"A cake of chocolate," she explained smilingly. "See, I do not address the envelope, but place on it this funny sign that looks like an intoxicated problem in Euclid. The child will understand. And now I am going to ask you to do me a favor. Will you please take the letter without letting anybody know what you are doing, and put it at the foot of the big elder in the tangle? I dare say it sounds very stupid of me, but I don't want the child to be disappointed."
Vera professed herself ready and also to be charmed with the idea. She would go at once, she said, and Mrs. May raised no obstacle. At the end of the corridor Vera was confronted with her uncle Ralph. He held out his hand.
"I was listening," he said. "I knew beyond all doubt that something of the kind would be attempted. I want that letter."
"But uncle, I promised——"
"It matters nothing what you promised. It is of vital importance that the inside of that letter should be seen. Chocolate for a child, indeed. Death to us all, rather. You are going to give me that letter and I am going to open it. Afterwards it shall be sealed again, and you shall convey it to its destination. The letter!"
Dazed and bewildered, Vera handed it to him. It was not a nice thing to do, but, then, nice methods were not for Mrs. May. Ralph grasped the letter and made off towards his room.
"Wait here," he said. "I shall not be a few minutes. I am merely going to steam that envelope open and master the contents. Don't go away."
Vera nodded. She was too astonished for words; not that she felt compunction any longer. Presently Ralph returned.
"There you are, my child," he said. "If I seemed harsh to you, forgive me. It is no time for courtesies. You can take the letter now and deliver it. It has been a good and great discovery for us."