CHAPTER III
THE MYSTERY OF THE PADDED FOOTPRINTS
Now, Laurence knew quite well that no cyclist could dismount from hismachine without alighting with all his weight upon the ground. Why,then, was there no print of the stranger's foot at the spot where thecycle marks stopped? The moon shone out so brightly now that he knew hemust detect such an impression in the muddy surface of the road were onethere.
But there was none. Stay! What was the meaning of that oblong butrounded patch of ground being drier than the remainder of the road?Laurence realised that here was another important discovery, for therecould be little doubt that the moisture on the foot-shaped patch hadbeen sucked by some spongy mass pressed heavily upon it. What morenatural than that the evil-doer, in order to conceal his tracks, shouldtravel with thick socks or several pairs of stockings in place of shoes,which, though of the lightest description, would leave a distinct printbehind them?
Further search led to the discovery of two more of these dry (or moreor less dry) patches in such a position that the young amateur detectiveperceived his man had, presumably carrying the bicycle, stepped acrossto the strip of common grass that skirted one side of the roadway. Onceon this grass all traces of the mysterious cyclist vanished, andLaurence knew that, for the moment at any rate, he was baffled. Thewould-be assassin, whoever he was, must be a sharp man, Carringtondecided. Had the rain continued, or the pursuit not been taken up untilthe following day, when the rising wind would have done its work, thedry patches in the mud would not have been found, and the man on thebicycle might well have taken to himself wings and flown, so suddenlyand unaccountably did the tyre-marks break off. As it was, youngCarrington knew that the stranger (if such he really was) had walkedalong on the grass. Therefore, he conjectured he might yet find furtherclues as to his hiding-place or destination in parts of the common-landwhere the grass was short or rubbed away.
He therefore continued his search, and had his efforts rewarded by thediscovery of more dry patches, and, in places where the ground had beenshadowed by trees, blurred, indistinct marks shaped like a man's foot;and, still on the track, he was surprised to find himself in closeproximity to the two largest--in fact, the only two gentlemen'sresidences in the now sleeping village. The plot of roadside grass ranalong outside the grounds of both of these--the Manse, and another andolder mansion, Durley Dene; but, before reaching either of theseproperties, he completely lost sight of the padded footmarks on theground, and, strive as he might, failed to make any more discoveriesthat night.
The rain had commenced to fall again, and he made up his mind to returnhome. As he sauntered along he pondered over the strange case that hehad, of his own free will, begun to investigate. Had the cyclist whoseidentity he was so anxious to discover disappeared into the grounds ofeither of the two adjoining mansions?
A sinister idea occurred to him. Was it possible that the man who hadmade so determined an attempt to murder old Mr. Carrington in cold bloodcould be one of his father's own retainers? If so, how did he know thatthe would-be assassin was not even now carrying out his horrible plan?The idea was truly a terrible one, but was quickly abandoned asimpossible when Laurence remembered that neither Kingsford nor Head, thegardener, could ride a cycle, that Moggin was out of the question, andthat the remaining men-servants, Nathaniel (the footman) and Tom (thestable hand), were as incapable of the audacity and cunning displayed bythe cyclist as the other servants, though their age and affection fortheir master were above suspicion. Therefore, if the unknown man had, bychance or otherwise, taken refuge in the Manse grounds, he must onlyhave done so for temporary concealment, or have used these grounds as ashort cut to his real lair.
But then, of course, it was equally possible that the strange highwaymanhailed from the estate adjoining the Manse. And, like a flash oflightning, Laurence remembered the story he had heard of a retiringneighbour who lived at the Dene, and on whom not a single person in thevillage had yet cast eyes--the supposed invalid gentleman surroundingwhose personality there was such a halo of mystery.
Was his father's determined and bloodthirsty enemy lurking in thisadjoining house, whence he might steal out to repeat the attack on theold man at any moment?
The thought was, indeed, a horrible one.
In spite of the rain, something impelled the young man, when he reachedthe broken-down gate of Durley Dene, to pause for a moment in the shadowof the trees, and meditate upon the strange business that had broughthim out of doors on so wild a night. He lighted his pipe, drew his coattighter around him, and leaned back against the massive fence.
The first question that he failed to answer satisfactorily was this--howwas it that the Squire had made an enemy?--for he could not doubt butthat the highwayman had some grudge against the old gentleman since hehad so deliberately fired at Mr. Carrington. Had he been a maniac--theidea that he was possibly such occurred to Laurence--he would have shotblindly into the carriage, and not taken careful aim, as he had.
To be sure, the Squire was a magistrate, and as such had frequently beenthe means of sending rascals of all kinds to gaol. But Carrington's namewas famous in the county for his light sentences, his remarkableleniency, his kindness, and his charity. A poacher, indeed, had oncethreatened to have his revenge on the Squire, who had been compelled toinflict a fairly severe punishment upon him, but what judge ormagistrate has not been thus threatened? And, besides, there was acertain undisguised skill and cunning demonstrated in the behaviour ofthe stranger on the moor that marked him as being something more than acommon criminal. His idea of "holding up" the carriage while on acycle, his ingenuity in concealing his tracks in the manner alreadyrecorded, and the mystery of his eventual disappearance--all theseproved him to be possessed of fertile brains that one could hardlyexpect to find in a poacher; while, as a matter of fact, if Laurencerecollected right, the man who had uttered the threat against Mr.Carrington was still working out his "time" in prison.
Another peculiar feature of the case was the behaviour of the Squirehimself. Laurence remembered how, during the last few months, hisfather's manner had changed. He had always been a particularly silent,thoughtful, and retiring man, but of late he had become childish in hisconduct. He had purchased, as his son had accidentally discovered, avest, fronted with chain armour, strong, but of such a kind that no onecould know, when its owner wore it, that it was of so remarkable anature. He had even gone so far as to have new bolts and catches fixedto the doors and windows of his house, while he had taken to putting arevolver in his breast coat pocket before setting out for a walk ordrive. Whenever he left the house it was only in the company of his sonor escorted by a servant, and he had instructed that no one, exceptthose with whom he was personally acquainted, should be admitted to thehouse.
He had given, in explanation of these extraordinary precautions, theinformation that he was nervous of attacks by burglars, and for someweeks past the young man had wondered whether his father's mind had notbecome deranged. Now, it naturally occurred to Laurence that the Squiremust have been expecting this attempt on his life, and the idea muchalarmed him.
If this were so, he argued, Mr. Carrington must have some secret whichhe would not even disclose to his own son. That secret, too, suppose thesuspicion had any foundation, must be one which the Squire was mostanxious to guard, for he had gone out of his way to remark upon the fearof burglary which had caused the numerous precautions he had adopted;and Laurence noted, too, that, in at least one way, his father'sexplanation was doubtful and apparently untrue. For instance, the chanceof a burglar attempting the old gentleman's life was a very remote one.The conviction that the Squire really had some secret, and had beenexpecting and fearing some such outrage as that on the North Moor,seemed only too well grounded.
And then Laurence arrived at the question--Whence had the mysteriouscyclist come, and how was it that he had disappeared into the grounds ofDurley Dene?
Laurence's suspicions on recollecting all he had heard of the occupantof the old house were a
t once directed against its owner. But was therepulsive face at the carriage window that of their unknown neighbour?
Here, again, was some mystery. And Laurence recalled all he knew aboutthe neighbouring house since his father had settled down at Northden.Its original owners were the descendants of the blue-blooded Elizabethandignitary who had built it. Owing to financial embarrassments the housewas sold, and fell into the hands of a crusty, miserly old scoundrel ofthe name of Northcott, who had died shortly after.
After Northcott's decease the Dene was again put up for auction, butwithout being knocked down for the sum asked by the late owner's nephew,who had claimed the property. For years it had stood empty--to someextent a ruin--but within the last few months intelligence had reachedthe villagers that the Dene had been purchased by an invalid armyman--one Major Jones-Farnell--who, in due course of time, arrived lateone night, accompanied, it was reported, by his secretary. To thesurprise and disgust of the neighbourhood, it became apparent that theowner of Durley Dene would employ no local servants, a man and his wife(so it was said) doing the outdoor work and cooking respectively.
Now Laurence could not help wondering, was there not somethingpeculiarly suspicious about the inhabitants of the residence adjoininghis father's house? Was it possible that the advent of this MajorJones-Farnell had caused Mr. Carrington to take the remarkableprecautions that he had? Undoubtedly his "fear of burglars" dated fromabout the time of the supposed invalid's arrival in Northden. Was itpossible that----?
But suddenly the brown study into which Laurence had fallen wasinterrupted by the faint sound of someone moving among the trees thatformed an avenue leading to the old house outside which he was standing.The disturbing noise was a faint one,--merely that of the snapping of atwig,--but it was sufficient to cause the young man to turn and peepover the fence in the direction whence the sound came.
For a long time he peered into the shadows without detecting any sign ofa living creature; then he caught sight, all of a moment, of a darkfigure moving swiftly and silently between the trees nearest theapparently uninhabited house. Laurence strove to shout and inquire whatthe person was doing at such an hour; yet, for some reason, he seemedunable to cry out or move.
He stood there, his heart beating so loud that it seemed to outdin thepatter of the rain upon the leaves, until the mysterious figuredisappeared from view. So stealthily did it glide away that more thanonce Laurence rubbed his eyes, doubting whether he had really seenanything or only imagined that he had not been alone in the darkness ofthe night.
When the unknown figure was gone he regained his voice, and in loudtones cried out, "Who is there?" But no reply came save the echoingrepetition of his own words, which died away gently in the swayingtree-tops.
He waited, glaring at the darkness. Then by chance his eye lighted uponone of the windows of the desolate Dene. It was a bow window, thicklycurtained and draped with black. But what the midnight watcher saw--whatfilled him with a sudden coldness and an incomprehensible sense ofhorror--was that at one corner the curtain had been carefully drawnaside, and that a face with the nose pressed white against the pane wasframed in the window and lighted by the moon's pale rays--a face asbrutal and awe-inspiring as it was sinister and uncanny. Only for onemoment did it remain before being withdrawn as suddenly as it had come.
With his nerves disturbed by the events of the night, Laurence vainlyendeavoured to persuade himself that all he had seen had merely figuredin his imagination. But the memory of the silent being among the treesand the strange face at the window was not to be effaced. And, stillpondering on these irregular nocturnal events, the young man turned onhis heel, and, reaching the Manse, was glad to place the stout oak doorof his home between himself and the weird noises and shadows of theoutside world.
The House of Strange Secrets: A Detective Story Page 3
