by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER XIV
THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE
Sergeant Hooper took up his appointed position on the flagged paththat led up to the cottage door. His primary task was to give warningif anybody should come out of the door; a secondary one was to givethe alarm in case of interruption by passers-by on the road--anunlikely peril this latter, in view of the hour, the darkness of thenight, and the practiced noiselessness with which Mike might be reliedupon to do his work. Here then the Sergeant was left, after beingaccorded another nip from the flask--which, however, Neddy kept in hisown hands this time--and a whispered but vigorously worded exhortationto keep up his courage.
Neddy, the Shover, and gentlemanly Mike tiptoed off to the window, on theright hand side of the door as one approached the house from the road.The bottom of the window was about seven feet from the ground. Neddy bentdown and offered his broad back as a platform to his companion. Mikemounted thereon and began his work. That, in itself, was child's play tohim; the matchboarding was but lightly nailed on; the fastenings cameaway in a moment under the skillful application of his instrument; thewindow sash behind was not even bolted, for the bolt had perished withtime and had not been replaced. So far, very good! But at this earlypoint Mike received his first surprise. He could not see much of theinterior; a tall curtain stretched across the entire breadth of thewindow, distant about two feet from it; but he could see that the roomwas lighted up.
Very cautiously he completed his work on the matchboarding, handing downeach plank to Neddy when he had detached it. Then he cut out a pane ofglass--it was all A.B.C. to him--put his hand in and raised the sash alittle; then it was simple to push it up from below. But the sash hadnot been raised for years; it stuck; when it yielded to his efforts, itgave a loud creak. He flung one leg over the window-sill and sat poisedthere, listening. The room was lighted up; but if there were anyone init, he must be asleep, or very hard of hearing, or that creak would havearoused his attention.
Released from his office as a support, Neddy rose, and hauled himselfup by his arms till he could see in the window. "Lights!" he whispered.Mike nodded and got in--on the dais, behind the curtain. Neddyscrambled up after him, finding some help from a stunted but sturdy oldapple tree that grew against the wall. Now they were both inside,behind the tall curtain.
"Come on," Mike whispered. "We must see if there's anybody here, and,if there isn't, put out the light." For on either side of the curtainthere was room for a streak of light which might by chance be seenfrom the road.
Mike advanced round the left-side edge of the curtain; he had perceivedby now that it formed the back of some structure, though he could notyet see of what nature the structure was; nor was he now examining. Foras he stepped out on the dais at the side of the canopy, his eyes wereengrossed by another feature of this strange apartment. He stretched backhis hand and caught hold of Neddy's brawny arm, pulling him forward. "Seethat--that hole, Neddy?"
For the moment they forgot the lights; they forgot the possibility of anoccupant of the room--which indeed was, save for their own whispers,absolutely still; they stood looking at the strange hole, and then intoone another's faces, for a few seconds. Then they stole softly nearer toit. "That's a blasted funny 'ole!" breathed Neddy. "Look's like abloke's--"
Mike's fingers squeezed his arm tighter, evidently again claiming hisattention. "My hat, we needn't look far for the stuff!" he whispered. Anuneasy whisper it was; the whole place looked queer, and that hole wasuncanny--it had its contents.
Yet they approached nearer; they came to the edge and stood looking in.As though he could not believe the mere sight of his eyes, big Neddycrouched down, reached out his hand, and took up Mr. Saffron's scepter.With a look of half-scared amazement he held it up for his companion'sinspection. Mike eyed it uneasily, but his thoughts were getting back tobusiness. He stole softly off to the door, with intent to see whether itwas locked; he stooped down to examine it and perceived that it was not.It would be well, then, to barricade it, and he turned round to look forsome heavy bit of furniture suitable for his purpose, something thatwould delay the entrance of an intruder and give them notice of theinterruption.
As he turned, his body suddenly stiffened; only his trained instinctprevented him from crying out. There was an occupant of the room--there,in the great chair between the tall candlesticks on the dais. An old mansat--half lay--there; asleep, it seemed; his eyes were shut. The color ofhis face struck Gentleman Mike as being peculiar. But everything in thatplace was peculiar; like a great tomb--a blooming mausoleum--the wholeplace was. Though he had the reputation of being an _esprit fort_, Mikefelt uncomfortable. Cold and clammy too, the beastly place was!
Still--business is business. Letting the matter of the unlocked door waitfor the moment, he began to steal catlike across the floor towards thedais. He had to investigate; also he really ought to put out thosecandles; it was utterly unprofessional to leave them alight. But he couldnot conquer a feeling that the place would seem still more peculiar whenthey were put out.
Big Neddy's eyes had not followed his comrade to the door; they had beenheld by the queer hole and its queer contents--by the gleaming gold thatstrewed its floor, by the mock symbol of majesty which he had lifted fromit and still held in his hand, by the oddly suggestive shape anddimensions of the hole itself. But now he raised his eyes from thesethings and looked across at Mike, mutely asking what he thought ofmatters. He saw Mike stealing across the floor, looking very, very hardat--something.
Mute as Neddy's inquiry was, Mike seemed somehow aware of it. He raisedhis hand, as though to enjoin silence, and then pointed it in front ofhim, raised to the level of his head. Neddy turned round to look in thedirection indicated. He saw the throne and its silent occupant--thewaxen-faced old man who sat there, seeming to preside over the scene,whose head was turned towards him, whose closed eyes would open directlyon his face if their lids were lifted.
Neddy feared no living man; so he was accustomed to boast, and with goodwarrant. But was that man living? How came he up there? And what had heto do with the queer-shaped hole that had all that gold in it? And thething he held in his own hand? Did that belong to the old man up there?Had he flung it into the hole? Or (odd fancies began to assail big Neddy)had he left it behind him when he got out? And would he, by chance, comedown to look for it?
Mike's hand, stretched out from his body towards his friend, now againenjoined silence. He was at the foot of the dais; he was going up itssteps. He was no good in a scrap, but he had a nerve in some things! Hewas up the steps now, and leaning forward; he was looking hard in the oldman's face; his own was close to it. He laid hold of one of the old man'sarms, it happened to be that left arm of Mr. Saffron's, lifted it, andlet it fall again; it fell back just in the position from which he hadlifted it. Then he straightened himself up, looking a trifle greenperhaps, but reassured, and called out to Mike, in a penetrating whisper,"He's a stiff un all right!"
Yes! But then, what of the grave? Because it was a grave and nothingelse; there was no getting away from it. What of the grave, and whatabout the scepter?
And what was Mike going to do now? He was tiptoeing to the edge of thedais. He was moving towards one of the high candlesticks, the top ofwhich was a little below the level of his head, as he stood raised on thedais beside the throne. He leant forward towards the candles; his intentwas obvious.
But big Neddy was not minded that he should carry it out, could notsuffer him to do it. With the light of the candles--well, at all eventsyou could see what was happening; you could see where you were, and whereanybody else was. But in the dark--left to torches which illuminated onlybits of the place, and which perhaps you mightn't switch on in time orturn in the right direction; if you were left like that, anybody might beanywhere, and on to you before you knew it!
"Let them lights alone, Mike!" he whispered hoarsely. "I'll smash your'ead in if you put them lights out!"
Mike had conquered his own fit of nerves, not without some exercise ofwill, and h
ad not given any notice to his companion's, which wasconsiderably more acute; perhaps the constant use of that roomy flaskhad contributed to that, though lack of a liberal education (such as Mikehad enjoyed and misused) must also bear its share of responsibility. Hewas amazed at this violent and threatening interruption. He gave a funnylittle skip backwards on the dais; his heel came thereby in contact withthe high hassock on which Mr. Saffron's feet rested. The hassock wasshifted; one foot fell from it on to the dais, and Mr. Saffron's bodyfell a little forward from out of the deep recess of his great chair. Tobig Neddy's perturbed imagination it looked as if Mr. Saffron had set onefoot upon the floor of the dais and was going to rise from his seat,perhaps to come down from the dais, to come nearer to his grave--to askfor his scepter.
It was too much for Neddy. He shuddered, he could not help it; and thescepter dropped from his hand. It fell from his hand back into the graveagain; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled.
Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door forabout two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on theparlor table. The sounds that he thought he heard were not conclusive;creaks and cracks did sometimes come from the boarded-up window and therafters of the roof. But the sound of the jangling gold was conclusive;it must be due in some way to human agency; and in the circumstanceshuman agency must mean a thief.
Beaumaroy's mind leapt to the Sergeant. Ten to one it was the Sergeant!He had long been after the secret; he had at last sniffed it out, and washelping himself! It seemed to Beaumaroy a disgusting thing to do, withthe dead man sitting there. But that was sentiment. Sentiment was not tobe expected of the Sergeant, and disgusting things were.
Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor's story of the two men, one talland slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitered Tower Cottage.The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He heard thescrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his hand outof a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still. Thoughts werepassing rapidly through his brain, and they brought a smile to his lips.
Let them take it! Why not? It was no care to him now! Doctor Mary had totell the truth about it, and so, consequently, had he himself. Itbelonged to the Radbolts. Oh, damn the Radbolts! He would have risked hislife for it if the old man had lived, but he wasn't going to risk hislife for the Radbolts. Let the rascals get off with the stuff, or as muchas they could carry! He was all right. Doctor Mary could testify that hehadn't taken it. Let them carry off the infernal stuff! Incidentally hewould be well rid of the Sergeant, and free from any of hisimportunities, from whines and threats alike; it was not an unimportant,if a minor, consideration.
Yet it was a disgusting thing to do--it certainly was; and the Sergeantwould think that he had scored a triumph. Over his benefactor too, hisprotector, Beaumaroy reflected with a satiric smile. The Sergeantcertainly deserved a fright--and, if possible, a licking. Theseadministered, he could be kicked out; perhaps--oh, yes, poor brute!--witha handful of the Radbolts' money. They would never miss it, as they didnot know how much there was, and such a diversion of their legal propertyin no way troubled Beaumaroy's conscience.
And the accomplice? He shrugged his shoulders. The Sergeant was, as hewell knew from his military experience of that worthy man, an arrantcoward. He would show no fight. If the accomplice did, Beaumaroy wasquite in the mood to oblige him. But while he tackled one fellow, theother might get off with the money--with as much as he could carry. Forall that it was merely Radbolt money now; in the end Beaumaroy could notstomach the idea of that--the idea that either of the dirty rogues inthere should get off with the money. And it was foolish to attack them onthe front on which they expected to be attacked. Quickly his mind formedanother plan. He turned, stole softly out of the parlor, and along thepassage towards the front door of the cottage.
After Neddy had dropped Mr. Saffron's scepter into Captain Duggle's grave(had he known that it was Captain Duggle's, and not been a prey to theridiculous but haunting fancy that it had been destined for, or even--oh,these errant fancies--already occupied by, Mr. Saffron himself, Neddywould have been less agitated) Mike dealt with him roundly. In bitterhissing whispers, and in language suited thereto, he pointed out thefolly of vain superstitions, of childish fears and sick imaginings whichinterfered with business and threatened its success. His eloquentreasoning, combined with a lively desire to get out of the place as soonas possible, so far wrought on Neddy that he produced the sack which hehad brought with him, and held its mouth open, though with tremblinghands, while Mike scraped up handful after handful of gold coins andpoured them into it. They were busily engaged on their joint task asBeaumaroy stole along the passage and, reaching the front door, againstood listening.
The Sergeant was still keeping his vigil before the door. He had no doubtthat it was locked; did not Beaumaroy see Mrs. Wiles and himself out ofit every evening--the back door to the little house led only on to theheath behind and gave no direct access to the road--and lock it afterthem with a squeaking key? He would have warning enough if anyone turnedthe key now. He was looking towards the road; a surprise was morepossible from that quarter; his back was towards the door and only a verylittle way from it.
But when Beaumaroy had entered with Doctor Mary, he had not re-locked thedoor; he opened it now very gently and cautiously, and saw the Sergeant'sback--there was no mistaking it. Without letting his surprise--for he hadconfidently supposed the Sergeant to be in the Tower--interfere with theinstant action called for by the circumstances, he flung out his longright arm, caught the Sergeant round the neck with a throttling grip, anddragged him backwards into the house. The man was incapable of cryingout; no sound escaped from him which could reach the Tower. Beaumaroy sethim softly on the floor of the passage. "If you stir or speak, I'llstrangle you!" he whispered. There was enough light from the passage lampto enable the Sergeant to judge, by the expression of his face, that hespoke sincerely. The Sergeant did not dare even to rub his throat, thoughit was feeling very sore and uncomfortable.
There was a row of pegs on the passage wall, just inside the door. Onthem, among hats, caps, and coats--and also Mr. Saffron's grayshawl--hung two long neck-scarves, comforters that the keen heath windsmade very acceptable on a walk. Beaumaroy took them, and tied hisprisoner hand and foot. He had just completed this operation, in theworkmanlike fashion which he had learnt on service, when he heard afootstep on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Doctor Mary standing there.
Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her. Her ears had beenexpecting the sound of Beaumaroy's tread as he mounted the stairs, ladenwith his burden. That sound had not come; instead, there had been thesoft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant's body as it dropped on thefloor of the passage. It occurred to her that Beaumaroy had perhaps hadsome mishap with his burden, or found difficulty with it. She was comingdownstairs to offer her help. Seeing what she saw now, she stood stillin surprise.
Beaumaroy looked up at her and smiled. "No cause for alarm," he said,"but I've got to go out for a minute. Keep an eye on this rascal, willyou? Oh, and, Doctor Mary, if he tries to move or untie himself, justtake the parlor poker and hit him over the head! Thanks. You don't mind,de you? And you, Sergeant, remember what I said!"
With these words Beaumaroy slipped out of the door, and softly closed itbehind him.
