CHAPTER XXIIBLACK BENNETT
Onthe previous night we had trimmed the hurricane lamp that I had purchased in London as part of our equipment, therefore we soon had it alight and eagerly entered the doorway to explore.
Reilly went first, bending low, lamp in one hand and a short crowbar in the other, while I followed with an axe as one of the most useful of implements.
The door had been forced from its fastenings and had gone far back upon its hinges, almost uninjured, save that it was split in places and badly twisted. Within we found a rough-walled, close-smelling chamber, about 4 ft. across and about 9 ft. long, low, dark as pitch, and, to our abject disappointment, absolutely empty.
One object alone we found within—an old leather drinking mug, hard, dry and cracked, that lay in one corner long forgotten.
Reilly’s idea was that the place was a “priests’ hole,” one of the secret hiding-places of the Roman Catholic priests after the Reformation, so often found in old houses, and in this I was inclined to agree with him. Still, after a whole day’s work, and a hard one, too, our raised hopes had only been dashed by a negative discovery. The wreck we had made of the wall was appalling, and if we proceeded for long in that manner I dreaded to think what might be the amount claimed for dilapidations.
My young friend was, however, enthusiastic and nothing daunted. He lit a cigarette and, puffing at it vigorously, silently regarded the yawning hole in the wall.
“No doubt it was a place of concealment for those unfortunate Johnnies who were so badly badgered after Henry VIII’s decree,” he remarked. “Old Bartholomew was a staunch Catholic and, of course, in his house any priest found shelter and concealment who asked for it. That accounts for the mug being there. The last man who occupied the place before it was closed up and plastered over probably drank his ale out of it.”
“Well,” I said, disappointedly, “we’ve made a pretty mess, and we’d best start to clear it up tidily before we do anything more. Method is everything in a complete search like this.”
“Of course,” was my young friend’s remark; “only I wish we could get a sight of that parchment which that drunken sot sold for half a sovereign. If we could, we shouldn’t go on working in the dark like this.”
“Ah, Philip,” I said, with a sigh, “we shall never get sight of that, I fear. Purvis and his friends keep it too safely guarded.”
“I wonder if they know that we are tenants of this place?”
“Probably. Kenway wrote to him two days ago.”
“Then, knowing the kind of men they are, I feel rather apprehensive that they may endeavour to turn us out, or do something desperate.”
“Let them try!” I laughed. “We’ve both got revolvers, and neither of us would be afraid to use them if the worst came.”
“We must mind they don’t take us unawares. Men like that never fight square. Bennett has the ingenuity of the Evil One himself.”
I reflected for a moment, then said:—
“If we only knew the identity of the victim of the tragedy and could establish his death we might have the whole crowd under arrest.”
“Yes. But how can we establish his identity?” Reilly queried. “They were smart enough to dispose of the body successfully.”
“But if the police made inquiries they might discover the cabman who was called, and by that means find out what had been done with the trunk.”
“No,” replied the young bank clerk. “That girl Bristowe could tell us a lot if she wished. You know her—why not try to pump her? I don’t think it would be difficult to discover something from her, for she was horror-struck when they revealed to her the poor fellow’s fate.”
His suggestion seemed an excellent one, but not at present practicable. We were at that moment in possession of a house which our enemies were straining every nerve to search, like ourselves. Surely it was not policy to leave it at that juncture, empty and at their mercy. Reilly did not care to remain alone in charge, and certainly I was by no means anxious to live in that awful, depressing place without a companion.
A careful review of the position impressed upon us the necessity of continuing our search. We possessed certain documentary evidence which showed, first, that a treasure had been stored away; secondly, that it had been stored in a place of safety, with the Knuttons as guardians; thirdly, that the Knuttons had been installed by Bartholomew himself in the Manor Farm, the old house in close proximity. Therefore we could arrive at but one conclusion, namely, that the treasure was stored upon the premises now in our possession. If not, why had the Knuttons been established there? Richard Knutton, of the Port of Sandwich, who was Bartholomew’s trusted lieutenant, would surely be placed on guard in the vicinity of the secret hiding-place. Sea-dogs they all were, and clever ones too. Probably few had seen more hand-to-hand fighting and more fierce bloodshed than the seven signatories, and their prize money had undoubtedly amounted to a handsome sum.
Reilly was impatient and rather headstrong. He made lots of wild suggestions. If Purvis and his friends had hired burglars to search his uncle’s study, why should we not, by similar means, try and possess ourselves of that all-important document which the drunken Knutton had sold to our enemies? Which argument was, of course, logical, but it did not appeal to me. My own opinion was that if we acted firmly, with caution and patience, we should one day satisfactorily clear up the mystery. Still, our position was irksome, for we dared not to leave the place for long together, fearing that our enemies might be working against us in secret.
Through several days we continued our search, taking up the worm-eaten floor boards, but exposing nothing more interesting than rat runs; wrenching out the old oak panelling, and searching for any hollow-sounding places in the walls. Our investigation was certainly thorough, for we took room by room, methodically measuring, sounding, and making openings everywhere.
One morning the rural postman brought me a letter from Seal, explaining that theThrushhad at last gone into dry dock, where she would remain for three weeks at least to be scraped and patched, therefore he was coming down next day to help us. This was good news, for with three of us on guard we could each be allowed more liberty. So I went over to Uppingham again and purchased another camp bed and some cheap furniture, sufficient to make us up a sitting-room. That same night it arrived, and we then turned one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor into a smoking-room, with three cane chairs, a table, and a window-blind.
I met Seal at Rockingham Station on the following day.
“What ho, sonny!” the burly skipper cried, rolling his huge carcass from the train and slapping his great hand into mine. “My kit’s in the van there. Thought you hadn’t got a bed for me, so I brought my own and a few other things,” and at the same moment I saw, pitched out upon the platform, a sailor’s hold-all lashed with rope.
“Well, captain,” I said, after giving instructions to the railway porter to wheel the skipper’s luggage up to the Manor House, “and how are you?”
“Fit as a fiddle, doctor,” and his bronzed face broadened and beamed; “you cured that rheumatism of mine.” Then he halted and inhaled the air deeply. “Christmas!” he exclaimed; “this does a chap good, after too much sea. I can smell them flowers,” and he glanced at some growing in the station-master’s garden. “I never see flowers, you know, doctor.”
Together we crossed the bridge and entered the village. The bluff old fellow was dressed, as usual, in blue serge, with a big silver watch-chain, of cable pattern, across his waistcoat, and his nautical cap stuck slightly askew, ridiculously small for his enormous head.
“Seen anything more of them other swabs?” he asked, as he rolled along at my side.
“We’ve heard plenty about them,” I answered, “but have seen nothing.”
“They’d better not show their ugly mugs while I’m here,” he retorted, meaningly.
I laughed. Seal’s roar of anger would in itself be sufficient to frighten away the whole of Purvis and Company.
When I took him into the grass-grown yard of the old house he looked the place up and down, and remarked: —
“A bit dilapidated, ain’t it? I should reckon we might overhaul a ghost or two inside if we had a mind to.”
“Ah, you’re superstitious, captain,” I said. “Mr. Reilly doesn’t believe in ghosts any more than I do. Come along and be introduced to him.”
We found Philip smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper under a tree in the tangled old garden. Then, when I had made the introduction, Seal said: —
“Glad to make your acquaintance, sir. Toughish job this, ain’t it? You don’t seem to have much luck up to the present. At every port I touched I expected to hear that you had found the stuff and bagged it.”
“You are best off, I think, captain,” I remarked.
“Up to now, yes. I sold my lot the day before yesterday to a dealer in Piccadilly for eight hundred and forty-six quid, and I’ve put that money safe in the bank,” he said, with evident satisfaction. “I’d rather have modern money than a collection of old coins. But I’d like to see you get your whack out of it, doctor. You deserve it—you do.”
“Well,” I said, “we’re having a good try to find where it is hidden.” And then we took him inside and showed him how we were pulling the old place to pieces.
“Jehoshaphat!” he ejaculated, with a whistle. “You’re making a pretty fine mess, and no gammon! The landlord’s hair will stand on end when he sees it.”
“I expect so,” I laughed. “But now we’ve started we must go through with it—and you must help us.”
“Help yer? Why, of course. Shiver me, we’ll pull the whole crazy house down, if you like.”
The porter had delivered the skipper’s sack, so we carried it up to the room we had prepared for him adjoining ours.
“Wait, you chaps, till I’ve unlashed my kit,” he said, addressing us, and bending over the white canvas sack he quickly uncorded it and began to unpack.
It was filled with a collection of articles that surprised us. Not only had he brought his bed, but also his big yellow oilskin, “in case the weather was dirty,” he informed us. Three fine melons, from Algiers, rolled across the floor; a box of cigars was handed to each of us, as a present, and then, from careful wrappings, he produced two wicker-covered bottles of Black Head rum.
“Now, mates!” he cried, “get three glasses, and we’ll drink success to this outcome o’ Noah’s Ark.”
Rum was not our habitual beverage before one o’clock in the day, but in order to show our appreciation of his goodwill we each tossed down a little of the neat spirit after he had chinked his glass with ours, saying: —
“ ’Ere’s luck to all three of us, and a thousand of Old Nick’s best brand o’ curses on them swabs.”
Having locked up the place securely, as we always did during our temporary absences, we took Seal round to the Plough, where we sat together in the little back parlour and, amid boisterous laughter, lunched off cold roast beef and mashed potatoes, our usual fare, for the menu of that rural hostelry was not very extensive.
The skipper, whose normal state was one of hunger, ate with an enormous appetite, smacking his lips and declaring that after food afloat a bit of real English beef was very toothsome. And so it was. I recollected well the culinary arrangements of theThrush, and the greasy, gritty, unappetizing dishes that sometimes came from the galley for our approval.
The home-brewed ale was a change, too, after his eternal “noggins,” and a thirst being upon him he swallowed several glasses with great gusto.
Then, when we smoked and his big bronzed face beamed through the suffocating cloud, he told us that we were certainly giving him a good time.
We had been laughing at some quaint remark of the skipper’s, and as the peal of merriment had subsided the innkeeper’s sister who waited upon us entered to clear off the plates. As she did so the sound of a man’s gruff voice, in conversation, reached us from the bar outside.
Seal’s jaw dropped in an instant. The merriment died out of his face. He listened for a moment as though to make certain, then springing from his chair he passed through the doorway, in order, I suppose, to get sight of the stranger.
I had watched the skipper’s countenance and had noticed the puzzled expression on it.
Next instant he was back with us, returning on tiptoe. The young woman had gone out, and he closed the door quietly behind her. Then, turning to us, he said, in a low, hoarse voice of alarm, his countenance entirely changed: —
“Look here, lads! This is a blessed sight more than I bargained for when I offered to come down and give yer a hand. Why, Black Bennett’s here! Black Bennett!” he added, looking at our puzzled faces. “Black Bennett! Don’t you understand?”
CHAPTER XXIIIJOB SEAL RELATES HIS ADVENTURES
Weadmitted that we did not understand.
“I’ve heard of this Black Bennett,” I said in surprise, “but who is he? Tell us.”
“Who is he?” growled Seal, knitting his shaggy brows darkly. “Who is he? Why, he’s about the worst swab I’ve ever met—and that’s saying a good deal!”
“But what is there against him?” I demanded anxiously.
“Almost everything short of murder. Christmas! I didn’t know that he was mixed up in this affair. You will have to be cute, doctor, for if Black Bennett’s one of ’em you can bet your boots that the crowd ain’t particular good company.”
“Well,” I said, “I’d like to get a glance at this very interesting person.” And, rising, I opened the door and passed through into the bar on the pretext of obtaining some matches.
The man, who was seated on the edge of the beery table smoking a briar and drinking a tankard of ale, gave me the impression of an idle lounger. He was above the average height, with a round, red face, grey hair and beard, and dressed in what appeared to me to be a ready-made suit of dark tweed. His straw hat was browned by the sun and much the worse for wear. As I entered he glanced at me quickly with his keen dark eyes; then, turning as though he did not recognize me, he lifted his glass and took a deep drink.
In the fellow’s appearance there was certainly little to recommend him. I did not like his eyes. His round, ruddy face would have passed as that of an easy-going, contented man, had it not been for the hard, cruel expression when he had glanced at me. I noticed his hands. One held his pipe and the other rested upon the edge of the table. He carried it three parts doubled up, with the nails pointing in towards the palm, while on his knuckles were old scars. These signs told me at once that he was a sailor, although there was nothing nautical about his dress. The drawn-up hand betrayed constant rope-hauling, and the scars were those of old salt cracks which the water had made on his hands in his early days at sea.
Having obtained the matches I rejoined my companions, whereupon Reilly slipped out through the stable yard and was absent only a minute or two. When he returned he said to us in a low voice, “Yes; that’s the man who struck Miss Bristowe. I’d recognize him among a million.” And at that moment we heard the man wish the landlady “good-day” and depart.
Then, at my suggestion, Reilly related to Seal all that he had witnessed on that memorable night at Kilburn.
“You think that Bennett killed the poor fellow?” the skipper said, between long reflective puffs at his cigar.
“I certainly believe he is the murderer,” was the other’s reply. “But at present we can charge them with nothing. We have no tangible evidence of a crime.”
“The girl—what’s her name—could tell you sufficient to gaol the lot of ’em,” was Job Seal’s rejoinder. “She knows all about it. The dead man was her lover without a doubt.”
“I could recognize the victim if I saw his photograph,” Reilly declared. “I’ll never forget that ghastly white face till my dying day.”
“I wonder where they disposed of the body?” I queried. “We must keep our eyes on the papers for any discovery. If they left it at a cloak-room it must be found sooner or later.”
What Reilly had related gave the skipper of theThrushevident satisfaction.
“You’ve got the best side o’ them swabs, Mr. Reilly, if you’re only careful. They’re in ignorance of what you’ve seen. Excellent! All you do now is to wait; but in the meantime be very careful that these men don’t get the better of you.”
“I can’t imagine how the Mysterious Man could have given us that warning,” I remarked, afterwards explaining to Seal the words that the madman had written: “Beware of Black Bennett!”
“Ah!” exclaimed the skipper, “there’s no tellin’ what Old Mister Mystery knows. He’s a son of Davy Jones himself, I really believe.”
“You hold the old fellow in superstitious dread, captain,” I laughed.
“Well,” responded the skipper bluntly, “the old fire-eater with his rusty sword may be a couple of hundred years old, for all we know.”
“But what can he possibly know about this man Bennett?”
“What can he know? Why, what other people know—what I know. I sailed with him once, and it was a lively trip, I can tell you,” growled the old skipper, sucking his teeth, a habit of his when any recollection of the past was unpleasant.
“I’m anxious to know all about him,” I said. “Tell us the story, captain.”
“Well, it’s nigh twenty years ago now since I first made the acquaintance of Black Bennett. I was sailing in the brigMaria Martin, of Liverpool, in those days, and one night while we were lying at Naples an English sailor was shipped, while drunk, as a forecastle hand. He turned out to be Bennett. We were bound for the Cape of Good Hope, but long before we reached Gib. our new hand had turned the craft topsy-turvy. He wouldn’t work, notwithstanding the strong language of the first mate—and he could swear a brick wall down—and for days and days he only lay in his bunk smoking like a philosopher. I was sent to clear him out, and he sprang at me like a tiger. There was a tussle, and—well, I needn’t describe the rounds we had, except to say that my reach proved a bit too long for him, and he lay insensible for an hour. That was the beginning of bad blood between us; he never liked me afterwards. When he came to he called a meeting of the men, and in an hour the whole bloomin’ crew were in mutiny. The skipper, chief mate, and myself armed ourselves, and expected some shooting, for they were about six to one, so the struggle wasn’t very fair. This continued until we were off the West Coast of Africa, when Bennett, as leader of the mutineers, proved himself a perfect fiend.
“His first move was to send one of the apprentices secretly to the skipper’s cabin for the ship’s papers, and having obtained them he weighted them with a lump of iron and, after exhibiting them to the captain, calmly pitched the lot overboard. Our skipper almost went mad. He danced with rage like a bear at a show, all the hands laughing at him. Well, after that the mutineers took possession of the craft, clapped us all three in our cabins, and then broached the rum and other spirits we had aboard. Sails were reefed, and we lay to for nearly a week while the whole crew were roaring drunk. Then a little bad weather sobered them, and they ran in shore. Within sight of land a boat was lowered, into which they placed us, tossing some of our belongings after us, and then sent us adrift. Fortunately they had given us a pair of oars, and we rowed ashore. It was a tropical country, we found, and as we beached the boat we saw that the brig had altered her course, and was steering straight out across the Atlantic. The natives proved friendly, and after some wanderings in the forests we were guided by a black boy to the English settlement of Cape Coast Castle. Before the Governor we related our experiences, and after some weeks were sent home to London.
“That was my first acquaintance with Black Bennett, the most brutal of all skippers.”
“And what became of theMaria Martin?”
“She was found about three years afterwards aground and abandoned a few miles south of Rio. According to the report to the Board of Trade there were evidences that Black Bennett and his men had run her as a pirate, making havoc with the Brazilian coasting trade, but as nothing was seen of him in England the authorities were powerless. Next he was heard of in New York, where he shipped under an assumed name on a German steamer bound for Sydney. The German skipper was pleased at shipping a whole crowd of tough English sailors, but before he had got half-way across the Atlantic he had a very rude awakening. The new hands were none other than Black Bennett and his men, and they made fine sport of that Hamburg steamer. There was some powder-play that time, and more than one on both sides went to Davy Jones. But in the end Bennett took command, set the Germans adrift near Mauritius, and then, steering back to Buenos Ayres, they unshipped the cargo and eventually sold it. Afterwards Bennett and his crew steamed away to Australia, and there became engaged in the Kanaka labour trade—a kind of genteel slave-trade. Five years ago, when my owners made Leghorn a final port of discharge on account of the cheapness of Italian hands and the fact that they don’t get drunk, Bennett tried to ship with me, intending, no doubt, to play his tricks with theThrush. Fortunately I recognized him, told Mr. Carmichael, the British Consul, and the result was that he made himself scarce out of Leghorn pretty quickly. Oh, yes,” added Seal, “Black Bennett is an ingenious rogue, I can tell you.”
“But I thought piracy was dead in these days,” I remarked.
“So it is. But it wasn’t fifteen years ago. They didn’t wear cutlasses and overhaul ships, but they knew a trick worth two of that. They seized the ship on which they sailed, repainted her, altered her appearance, gave her a new name and port, and eventually sold her to some foreigner. They, however, sailed under the black flag all the same.”
“But what do you think Bennett’s game is now?” asked Reilly.
“To get the better of you in this search. He’s evidently aware of the existence of the Italian’s treasure, and intends to have it. All I warn you of is that he’s a treacherous friend and a formidable enemy.”
“But if you assist us, captain, we need have no fear,” I remarked.
“There’s bad blood between us, doctor,” he answered dubiously. “If we met, something might happen,” he added meaningly.
“But haven’t we sufficient evidence to place before the police?” I suggested.
“How can you prove it?” he asked, settling himself seriously. “I could, of course, prove the seizing of theMaria Martintwenty years ago, but even then the case might fall through. Besides, we have no time to lose just now in the work we’ve undertaken. Again,” he added, “if we were arrested, he would most certainly declare that you were searching after treasure, and the Jew who owns the Manor House would at once put a stop to your little game, while the Treasury would keep a pretty watchful eye on you for treasure-trove. No, doctor, we must hold our tongues for the present, and pretend to know absolutely nothing.”
“But Purvis? Have you ever heard his name?”
“No. I expect, however, he’s one of the gang. Perhaps Old Mister Mystery has had something to do with the piratical crew at one time or another. That would account for his mind wandering back to Black Bennett.”
This theory seemed a sound one. It was evident that the old-man-of-the-sea entertained no very good feeling towards the man of whom he had warned us. The mystery was, however, how Purvis, Bennett, and the rest had obtained knowledge of the Italian’s hoard.
The only way I could account for it was the deep and curious interest which that rather superior seaman, Harding, had taken in the documents before he had left theThrush. I had not forgotten the apparently easy manner in which he had read off the old documents, nor his insolence towards me when I remonstrated with him.
I saw, too, that Seal, the intrepid skipper, the deep-voiced man whom nothing daunted, had been seized by a curious and incomprehensible anxiety now that he recognized who was our rival in this exciting search.
I felt sure that he had not told us all he knew concerning the red-faced man who was watching our movements so closely.
Why was he concealing the truth from us?
CHAPTER XXIVTHE MYSTERY OF MARGARET KNUTTON
Wereturned to the Manor, and Seal, refreshed by his lunch, seized a crowbar and wielding it with his great strength announced himself ready to assist us.
Like ourselves, he felt certain that, the treasure being hidden somewhere in that house, diligent search would have its reward. So he started on his own account tapping walls and investigating loose boards and hollow wainscotting.
We had seen no more of Bennett. He had come to the Plough probably with the object of ascertaining who we were, and had departed as quietly as he had come. Indeed, we should have been in ignorance of his visit had it not been that the skipper had recognized his voice. Job Seal had a very quick ear. He had told me long ago on board theThrushthat if he heard a man’s voice once he could recognize it again years afterwards. Sometimes partial blindness goes with that faculty, but not so in Seal’s case. No man had quicker eye or ear.
After half an hour’s search the skipper hit upon a likely spot which we had overlooked. At one end of the corridor, which upstairs ran the whole length of the house, was a small diamond-paned window, while at the other was a blank wall. The latter, when tapped, gave forth a hollow sound. There was a second spot of which we had also suspicion, namely, at the side of the fireplace in the modernized dining-room below.
Upon the latter we commenced first, all three of us working with a will. The afternoon was hot, therefore Seal threw off his coat and vest, rolled up his sleeves, and, blowing like a walrus, wielded the hammer necessary to drive the chisel into the wall.
Before long we had broken into the hollow, but again only disappointment awaited us. It was merely one of those little long cupboards which are so often seen beside the fireplaces in old houses. Upon the shelf within was plenty of dust, but only one object, a well-preserved halfpenny bearing the effigy of King Charles II.
“That’s for luck!” Seal cried humorously. “Let’s try upstairs, lads.”
So up we went, all three of us, and attacked the hollow place in that outer wall. The task was not so easy as that we had just concluded, for it seemed that only a small portion of the wall had been filled with plaster, the rest being very hard concrete, which we had to chip out laboriously with hammer and chisel.
The skipper was, however, enthusiastic in his new sphere. From navigating theThrushhe had turned housebreaker, and the fact that the treasure might be there concealed added a keen zest to the work of investigation. He worked, puffing and blowing, until the perspiration rolled off his great furrowed face. The part he had attacked was a particularly hard piece of concrete, which he was painfully chipping out. The plaster we had already removed disclosed a sheet of rusty iron, probably placed over a door, and its discovery had excited the skipper greatly. He expressed himself confident that we were on the verge of a discovery. And so we were.
The dust we raised was suffocating, while the chips of concrete flying in all directions proved a source of considerable danger to one’s eyes. A piece went into Reilly’s left eye, but we quickly dislodged it, and we continued to work on, eager to ascertain what was concealed behind that iron-cased door.
The previous door we had opened had been a labour in vain, but the iron upon this one had raised our hopes, and we all worked with a will, cutting out of the wall a piece nearly four feet square.
Seal with our long crowbar attacked the iron itself. When he struck it the hollow sound was like an explosion.
“There’s a room in here, I’m sure!” cried the skipper.
Then, while we continued, he set to work with the measuring tape, taking the distance from the door of the room to the wall we were attacking, and afterwards measuring inside the room from the door to the end wall. He found a considerable difference in the measurements, by which his excitement was increased.
We worked on without breathing space, for the eager anticipation was contagious. Yet we were compelled to progress by slow degrees and to chip away bit by bit of that hard concrete which they knew how to make so well centuries ago. It was almost as durable as stone itself.
At last we had cut it all away, and the dark iron-cased door stood revealed to us, looking like a modern fire-proof safe, only that it was not green and had no brass handle.
“Je-rusalem!” exclaimed the skipper, “I really believe this is the actual place! Look how carefully it’s been concealed! And the iron door, too. Let’s have it open, lads, if we have to pull down the bloomin’ house to get at it. We’ll get the best of Bennett and those murderous swabs yet!”
Again with his long crowbar he attacked the door, but it was unyielding. Gradually, however, Reilly, working more slowly and carefully, was enabled to wedge his chisel between the iron and the stonework. Then, after some difficulty, the skipper’s long bar was wedged in the place, and all three of us bore heavily upon it.
Once, twice, thrice we bore down, Seal giving us a sailor’s ahoy, and all bearing together.
At last and of a sudden with a terrific wrench the bolts gave way, and the door flew back with a crash and a cloud of dust, disclosing a small room which had been walled up for centuries. The old house, indeed, seemed full of secret chambers.
Reilly lit the hurricane lamp and handed it to me, for I was the first to enter.
The moment I crossed the threshold into the dark little place, no bigger than a good-sized cupboard, I drew back in horror.
On the floor in the thick dust lay a human skeleton!
“What’s the matter, doctor?” inquired the captain, entering quickly after me.
“Look!” I cried. “Somebody has been walled up here! Look at those bones.”
Seal glanced down to the corner I indicated, and the truth was at once revealed to him. Instead of treasure concealed there, we saw evidence of what was probably some long-forgotten crime.
Reilly was beside me in an instant, but there was hardly room for three of us in the narrow place. I bent down and turned over the bones to examine them more closely. The skeleton was doubled up, as though death had taken place from hunger rather than from want of air.
As I held the light something sparkled, and bending I saw that upon the finger-bones stretched in the dust there still remained three splendid rings. These and the size of the skull and certain of the other bones quickly told me that the person immured there had been a woman.
The three rings I took in my hand and examined them out in the daylight. They were dull and tarnished, but the diamonds in two of them were extremely fine ones, while the third was a signet, upon which was graven the leopard rampant of Da Schorno. With the skeleton was a quantity of silk rags, the remains of the rich brocade dress worn by the victim at the time she was imprisoned there.
The discovery made a deep impression upon the superstitious skipper. Nevertheless, he assisted us to make a close and thorough search of the place. From what we found it was evident that the unfortunate woman had been entrapped there and shut up to die. From the remains of the ragged and brown garments we came to the conclusion that the tragedy had occurred back in the old Elizabethan days, for there were the distinct remains of a ruffle, while scattered about were pearls from a broken string. So long ago, indeed, had the unfortunate woman been placed there to linger until death released her that now, open to the air, the bones were crumbling. The hair on the scalp was still long and almost black, while entangled in it was a small but beautiful rope of pearls of a kind that was the fashion for women to wear in the later days of Queen Bess.
“I suppose it’s her ghost that haunts the place,” laughed Reilly, as he assisted me to turn over the gruesome remains.
“What?” asked Seal seriously. “Is this house haunted?”
“Oh, the villagers say so,” was the reply; “but we’ve never seen anything, and are not likely to.”
“Well, whoever placed the woman there took very good care to conceal her whereabouts,” Seal remarked.
“Yes,” I said. “Without doubt the poor woman was entrapped and then walled up.”
“The same as I’ve heard certain nuns were treated in the old days before the Reformation,” Reilly said. “I’ve read of remains of women being found walled up in convents.”
“Well, in this case death was certainly not voluntary. You see there is no crucifix or image of any saint,” and, re-entering, I raised the lantern and examined the rough plastered walls. Suddenly my eyes caught a faint inscription scratched with some sharp instrument on the wall. It told me two things: first, that the woman before her death had a light there; and, second, it gave the name of the victim —
“Margaret Knutton.”
The writing was in that upright Elizabethan character, and below was an elaborate flourish. There was no date, only the name, scratched probably with one of the pieces of sharp stone that lay upon the rough floor.
My companions examined it with interest, and were of my opinion that it had been traced by the hand of the woman before she sank and died. Probably she had been held prisoner there for some time before her death, because high up I discovered a small hole in the wall that seemed to run through to the exterior and had once admitted air, but was now blocked up. My examination, too, showed that the woman had had her right arm broken in her youth, and that it had been set unskilfully.
The discovery was not only a complete surprise but also a bitter disappointment, and when we all three had completed our examination of that long-walled-up chamber we closed the door and regarded the great hole in the wall with considerable regret.
We were playing sad havoc with the house, for scarcely a room did not bear the marks of our chisels and crowbars.
Evening fell, and having washed at the pump we went across to the Plough for supper. The day’s work had been unsatisfactory, and Seal was silent and thoughtful, as was his habit when things went badly.
We had revealed one gruesome secret of the Manor House if nothing else.
We sat out in the tangled garden for an hour after our return. The sunny place seemed to have lost its charm. The trail of decay and desolation seemed more apparent than usual as my eyes travelled from the broken sundial to the straggling flowers. On going indoors we smoked, the skipper insisting that we should drink rum and hot water. The conversation was mostly a discussion upon likely spots to be opened on the morrow, for, although the captain had been bitterly disappointed, in discovering bones instead of gold, he was still undaunted.
“The treasure is here, I feel sure,” he exclaimed a dozen times, in his deep voice. “We’ll find it, as sure as my name’s Job Seal.”
The existence of those secret chambers had certainly raised our hopes, yet we only longed for sight of that cipher plan which the drunken Knutton had sold to our enemies. The only consolation we had was that the plan in question was just as useless to them as it was to us.
That night, after several tots of the spirit which the skipper had brought us, we retired to bed. The night was a perfect one, bright moonlight without a leaf stirring, one of those calm nights when it seems a pity to turn in.
I sleep heavily as a rule, and I must have been in bed three hours or so when a touch on the shoulder suddenly awakened me, and I saw in the moonlight the skipper, in his shirt and trousers, standing by me. A revolver shone in his right hand.
“Wake up, doctor,” he whispered. “There’s something going on in this house.”
He had already awakened Reilly, who was noiselessly slipping on his clothes.
I started up and stared at him, as yet only half awake.
“Don’t kick up a row,” Seal urged, in a deep whisper. “Listen, do you hear anything?”
A curious noise fell on my ear like slow sawing.
“It’s rats,” I declared. “This place is worse than theThrushfor them.”
“No, doctor, it ain’t. I know rats well enough. Where’s your pistol? You may want it.”
I nipped out of bed, and in a couple of minutes stood ready, revolver in hand. Awakened suddenly out of my sleep I moved mechanically, convinced that the finding of the bones and the superstition of the skipper were responsible for it all. But he was deadly in earnest, I saw, and I think that aroused me to a true sense of the situation.
To move about without noise in an empty house is a rather difficult matter, but we all three crept out into the corridor and listened.
The noise seemed to proceed from the centre room—the one wherein we had first discovered a hidden chamber. We opened the door and entered noiselessly.
Yes, the sound came distinctly from the secret hiding-place. Carefully we pushed open the thick oak door and stepped inside.
The sawing stopped, but below where we stood we heard men’s voices speaking in gruff undertones.
Our enemies were undermining the house!
CHAPTER XXVREVEALS THE DEATH-TRAP
Westrained our ears to distinguish the words spoken by the men beneath us, but without avail.
They seemed to be at work apparently in the thickness of the ponderous wall some few feet below where we stood. Was it possible that they had ascertained from their plan the place where the gold was hidden?
Sometimes it seemed as though they were working upwards towards us, for we could hear a pick upon the stones; and so we waited there, as terriers wait for rats.
Through the remainder of the night we kept a watchful vigil, but about four o’clock in the morning the sounds ceased, and we concluded that they had completed their work—at least for the present. We waited an hour, and hearing no further sound resolved to open the flooring of the place wherein we stood and investigate.
This did not take us long, for as soon as we had cut through the cement we discovered, to our surprise, a wooden trap-door, and on pulling it up there was disclosed a narrow winding-stair in the thickness of the wall, leading down into the foundations of the house. The place smelt damp and musty, and the up-draught blew out the naked candle which the skipper held.
With Reilly holding his hurricane lamp, I descended the rough-hewn stairs, revolver in hand, prepared for any attack. At the bottom, which I judged to be on a level with the cellars, was a stout door that had been recently sawn through, for the sawdust was fresh, and there lay near by several candle-heads. The door had succumbed to the attack of our enemies, and the latter, having opened a way into the house, had evidently retired until the following night.
I chuckled to myself that we were forearmed against any secret attack, and then went forward, finding myself in a dark and narrow tunnel built round with rough stone and sloping downwards. In places the stonework had given way, and it was with difficulty that I squeezed past the fallen earth. Behind me came Reilly with the swinging lantern, the skipper following us close in the rear.
Scarcely a word was uttered by either of us. We were in a long, tortuous burrow that ran deep into the bowels of the earth. I had often read of subterranean passages made in ancient days to provide secret means of egress, but to traverse one was an entirely new and exciting experience.
Bennett and his accomplices had left some of their tools near the scene of their operations, thus showing that they intended to return. But the passage seemed never-ending, now ascending, and again descending sharply. In places water percolated through the roof and fell in cold showers upon us as we passed, while beneath our feet it ran in a small channel onward before us.
On we went, determined to trace the burrow to its end, when, having gone fully a quarter of a mile, I suddenly stumbled, lost my breath, and found myself falling through space into a Stygian darkness. A moment later I struck water, and with my hands frantically clutched at some slimy stones around.
Where I was I had no idea, for the darkness there was impenetrable. I only felt my body in water that was icy cold, and my hands slipping in the thick slime. I cried out loudly for help, and heard the skipper’s answering shout.
“Are you hurt, doctor?” I heard him inquire, and looking up I saw the light shining like a star far above me, and the form of my two companions peering down.
Then I knew the truth. I had fallen into a well which, dug right across the path, served as a man-trap to any traversing the tunnel with hostile purpose.
I shouted back to them to return to the house and get ropes.
“Can you hold on?” Reilly inquired.
“Not for long,” I answered, for the cold was already cramping my limbs, and in that blackness I dared not move, lest my grip should slip and I should sink. Near me water trickled; beyond that there was no other sound. The air, too, was bad, although, fortunately, it was not poisonous, as is so often the case in wells. The tunnel above was well ventilated, for in places the draught was quite strong, showing that at the end it was open to the air.
Above, my companions held consultation. There was but one lamp, and whoever went back would be compelled to take it. Reilly, being fleet of foot, sped away, leaving the skipper lying full length with his head peering over the edge of the abyss.
He tried to cheer me and keep up my spirits, but I knew from the tremor in his voice how anxious he was.
“Them swabs bridged this place over with planks,” he informed me. “But when they retired they drew back the boards after them. Keep up your pecker, doctor, Mr. Reilly will be back in a moment and we’ll soon haul you out.”
“I’m cold,” I said wearily.
“Don’t think of it,” came his cheery voice through the darkness. “You’re going to have a drop o’ grog hot when you come up. We can’t see you from up here. How far are you down?”
I guessed at about seventy feet, and told him so. But, of course, distances are very deceptive in the dark.
The minutes seemed hours, and a dozen times I felt that my strength must fail before the return of Reilly. But at last I saw a welcome glimmer of light above, and gradually it approached me, let down by a string.
Then I realized my desperate position. Half submerged in the black water, I had only been saved by a jutting piece of stone to which I was clinging. Save for this one piece, all else was smooth and covered with a thick grey slime, while from the light blind newts and strange creeping things scuttled away into their holes in the stones.
Very quickly a rope was dangling near me, and after some effort, my limbs being so cramped, I succeeded in securing it round my waist.
Then, having given the signal, my two friends hauled me out of the death-trap.
Across the abyss there lay two planks that had been used by Bennett and his men, but, not being able to reach them, we all three returned to the house, where I changed my clothes and took a nip of brandy to steady my nerves. My revolver I had lost at the bottom of the well.
Eager to explore the tunnel to its end, my companions obtained two stout planks from the out-house and presently we retraced our steps in slow procession until we came to the death-trap. This we succeeded in bridging successfully, and then continued onward, stumbling over mounds of fallen earth and squeezing through places where the tunnel had collapsed.
Certainly, whoever built the Manor House, whether old Bartholomew or some one before him, had taken precaution to provide a secret mode of egress. For nearly a mile the burrow ran, and although we held the lantern close to the ground, we discovered no other trap for the unwary. Suddenly the narrow way began to ascend, slowly at first, then abruptly. A strange noise caused us to halt and listen. Horses’ hoofs and wheels sounded above us. We were beneath a highway.
At last we came to a flight of rough-hewn stone steps leading straight up, with a closed door. We only spoke in whispers, and I, walking first, ascended and tried the latch. It yielded.
Slowly I opened the door, but it creaked upon its hinges, and to our dazzled eyes shone the light of day. Then I slipped through, followed by the others, and we found ourselves beneath a large barn.
This did not take us many minutes to explore, for peering out at the open door we found ourselves in a small farmyard, amid unfamiliar surroundings. The farmhouse, a long, low, thatched place half hidden by roses, lay a little distance off, and as we watched in secret we saw before the house a young girl with cotton sun-bonnet feeding a flock of cackling geese.
We were undecided how to act. It was clear that this was the starting-point of our enemies. Beyond the house lay a small village surrounding a church, therefore it was agreed that while Reilly went into the place to make inquiry as to the occupants of the farm, I should conceal myself with the skipper somewhere in the immediate vicinity.
Therefore, one by one we slipped from beneath the barn, and crossed unnoticed to a small spinney in the rear. From a point of vantage we were afforded a good view of the farm premises, and while I waited with Seal, Reilly took a roundabout route to the village.
We lit our pipes, and, concealed amid the undergrowth, waited and watched. The house seemed a pleasant, old-fashioned one, but, with the exception of an aged labourer in a smock and the goose-girl, there seemed no sign of life. It was just after nine o’clock, a beautiful bright morning, and in the small garden there was a wealth of cottage flowers, the fresh scent of which reached us even in our hiding-place.
The barn beneath which the subterranean passage ended was very old, with patched roof and blackened gables, dating from the same period as the farmhouse, with its mullioned windows and small green diamond panes. Some of the windows had, however, been blocked up in order to avoid the window tax of long ago.
Nearly an hour had passed, and Seal had been yawning, as was his wont, when of a sudden a neat female figure in dark blue appeared in the garden, stooping to gather flowers. She wore a large straw hat which flopped over her face, but as I looked she raised her head in my direction, and I uttered a cry of surprise.
The figure was none other than that of Miss Bristowe.
“Look!” I cried, to Seal. “Look at that girl in the garden. That’s Miss Bristowe.”
The old skipper shaded his eyes with his hands, then ejaculated: —
“Je-hoshaphat! She’s a stunning fine woman, that she is! Then it’s her lover who’s missing?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what she’s doing here?”
“Ah, that’s the mystery!” I said, watching her gathering the old-fashioned flowers into a great posy.
“You’ll need to have a chat with her, doctor. If she likes she can tell us a lot, that’s certain.”
“But she won’t,” was my response.
“She may, now that the rascals have made away with the man she loves.”
“But don’t you recollect what Reilly overheard?” I said. “It seems that, in obedience to the orders of the gang, she deceived him and enticed him, so that he fell into their hands. By that they managed to make her an accessory in the crime, and so ensure her secrecy.”
“That’s a bit of Black Bennett’s cunning ingenuity. He’s always artful enough to fix the blame on other people, which accounts for his hair-breadth escapes from the police.”
The girl, having gathered sufficient flowers, halted and, leaning her arms upon a small gate, looked wistfully away across the fields. I was near enough to see how wan and pale was her face, and how haggard and worn she seemed. A great change had been wrought in her since our first meeting in that dingy little consulting-room at Walworth.
She had been my friend then. Was she still? I had never ceased to think of her even in the wild excitement of that search after fortune. That pale, beautiful face was ever before me. Those dark, wistful eyes, that told of a dread secret hidden within her heart, seemed everywhere to gaze into mine, just as they had gazed on the last occasion we had met.
I confess to you, my reader, that I loved her—yet she was unapproachable.