CHAPTER XIV
Mr. Johnson, that same evening, was smoking the cigar of discontent,drinking the coffee of bitterness, and sipping the brandy of fire.Around him was all the stillness and the sweetness of the summertwilight which he loved so much; stars burning in a violet sky, thebreath of roses in the air, the peaceful village sounds in his ears,more lulling and soothing than absolute silence. Yet he was filled withdisquietude. He rose and, with his hands in his pockets, paced the longstrip of velvety lawn. What he had done, what he had worked for, seemedto him to be a simple act of justice, yet with its accomplishment he wasacutely conscious of an intense isolation. No one was in sympathy withhim. Every one loved the wicked Ballastons. Even Katherine Besant hadleft him, her eyes streaming with tears. Madame had sent imploring butvain messages. In the village he felt that it was barely safe to showhimself. Then, when he was wondering where to look for consolation, thepostern gate opened quickly. Two women entered--Katherine Besant andClaire. He moved forward to welcome them.
"Miss Endacott," Katherine explained, "wants to see you immediately andtalk to you. Take her away somewhere. I will wait."
"I am pleased to talk to Miss Endacott anywhere she wishes," Mr. Johnsonacquiesced.
"In the study, quickly," Claire begged.
She swung round upon him as soon as they had entered the room--superb,beautiful but furious.
"Mr. Johnson," she began, "I have come to beseech you, to insist thatyou move no further in this horrible affair. Nothing can bring my uncleback to life; nothing can ever still the remorse of whoever killed him.Beyond that, let it rest. I implore you, Mr. Johnson, to do nothingmore."
"My dear young lady," he replied gravely, "think of what you areproposing. You can scarcely be content to let your uncle's murderer goscot free."
"That is just what I do want," she persisted. "He gained nothing by it,and--I am quite sure that, whoever it was, he was not altogether sane.Even on the steamer--Mr. Johnson, I beg you to believe me--GregoryBallaston was under the influence of that horrible Image. All the timehe behaved quite strangely. As soon as he had parted from it, he was asdifferent as possible. If whoever killed my uncle came from the housewhere that Image is--it's a terrible thing to say, but I honestlybelieve it--they couldn't help it, they weren't responsible."
The tenant of the Great House shook his head.
"It is too late," he said.
"What do you mean, too late?" she demanded, with a sudden fear in hereyes. "What have you done? What right have you to interfere, anyway?Gregory Ballaston is going abroad to-night. That is the best thing thatcould happen."
"It is nevertheless too late," Mr. Johnson declared. "The local policehave consulted with Scotland Yard by telephone, and they have decidedthat the evidence they hold at present against Gregory Ballaston issufficient for them to stop his going abroad. They have issued twowarrants to-night. He will be arrested, I should say, within the nextfew minutes."
She seemed suddenly to tower above him; white, passionate, menacing. Hereyes blazed, her fingers seemed to seek a weapon. It was the first vitalfury of youth.
"You brute!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Gregory!"
For a moment the earth seemed to darken around her. Mr. Johnson groanedas he led the half-fainting girl to a couch.
"Miss Endacott," he said, "this is a terrible business, but believe me,justice must be done. Murder is an unforgivable crime. To take anotherman's life--have you thought what it means?"
"What about my life?" she moaned. "Don't you understand? I was contentnever to see him again. I lied about the Image to save him, but I lovehim. If this horrible thing happens, I think that I shall kill you. Ishall either do that or die myself. I can't bear it, I tell you! I can'tbear it!"
She leaned forward in her chair and began to sob. Mr. Johnson mopped hisforehead feverishly. It was perhaps in his eager desire to escape fromthe horror of the moment that he took particular note of the long keywhich was attached to the chain which hung around her neck, and whichhad temporarily escaped its resting place.
"What key is that?" he asked her sharply.
She took no notice at first. He repeated his question. She looked asthough she could have struck him.
"Key!" she echoed scornfully. "What does it matter? Why do you ask meabout keys at a moment like this? There's only one thing thatmatters--he must be saved. You must do something. Take back somethingyou have said. Of course, I know he did it, or I should be with him atthis moment. He's not bad. He mustn't be killed. I--oh, my God!"
She began to sob again. He laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Listen," he said, "I will do all that I can, I promise you, but youmust tell me what this key is. I have a reason for asking."
"It came from some safe-makers about eleven months ago," she answeredwearily. "They said it was the duplicate which my uncle had ordered thelast time he was in London."
He removed the chain from her neck, crossed the room and entered thelittle annex, the door of which, since the burglary, had stood open, andwhere, in a corner, a rusty old safe had been fitted into the wall. Atthe first turn the key slipped in and the lock yielded. He swung thedoor open. In the darkness there was the gleam of a bulky whiteenvelope. He took it out. It was addressed to Claire Endacott. Heexamined it for a moment. Then he closed the safe and returned to thelibrary.
"Miss Endacott," he announced, "that key of yours has solved somethingwhich has puzzled me for a very long time. It has opened the old safehere. The other key to it was inside. This letter, as you see, is foryou. I have always felt convinced that your uncle, before his death, hadsucceeded in making some sort of a translation of the document which hepossessed, indicating the whereabouts of the jewels. This is probablythe solution."
She flung the letter away and, but for his intervention, would havetrampled it with her foot upon the floor.
"Do something!" she begged. "You must stop what is going to happen. Itisn't fair. It isn't right!"
He rescued the letter and himself broke the seal. She snatched it fromhis fingers.
"Don't waste time," she pleaded. "Do something! Letters! What does itmatter about letters?"
"It is from your uncle," he told her solemnly. "Probably the last thinghe ever wrote."
She tore open the envelope with quick, nervous fingers, anxious yetreluctant. She began to read with a sort of sullen indifference. Thenshe seemed suddenly galvanised into a new and amazingly altered state ofliving. Mr. Johnson, as he watched her, was terrified. She sprang to herfeet and shrieked out at the top of her voice.
"Read it! Read it yourself!" she cried, gripping him by the arm, so thather fingers bored their way into his flesh. "Read it and tell me that itis the truth! Let me see too. Spell it out! Read it!"
Their heads touched. Her breath came hot upon his cheek. She grasped theletter as though afraid it might be torn from her.
The Great House, Saturday night.
MY DEAR CLAIRE,
I went to London this morning with the shadow of a fear--no more. I come back--doomed. You can hear all about it, if you like, from Sir Francis Moore, 18 Harley Street. Three months to live and much suffering! I think not. I shall end it to-night. You will be rich--much richer than you think. Malcolm's have my will. You and your aunt will share alike. I enclose in this letter a translation of a document which will tell you, unless the document lies, how to obtain the treasure in the Images. Use it as you will. I have no interest. I should have liked a year or two here, but I prefer what is to come to an increase of the agony of which I have already had a foretaste. I hope that you will be happy.
RALPH ENDACOTT.
He read it through word by word. She repeated them after him. Then acalm seemed to come upon her which was almost unnatural.
"Take care of the letter," he enjoined. "Don't lose it."
He rushed out across the lawn and through the postern gate. Down thegreat
avenue from the house he could see the lights of two carsflashing. He ran on to the crossroads and stood there with armsextended. Presently they swung round the corner, and at the sight of himwere brought to a standstill with a grinding of the brakes. In the frontone were Major Holmes, Sir Bertram and Gregory, in the rear one Cloutsonand Henry Ballaston. Mr. Johnson gripped Major Holmes by the arm.
"Major," he exclaimed, "an amazing thing has happened. You must comeround to the Great House at once."
Major Holmes frowned.
"I am afraid, Mr. Johnson," he said, "it is too late for any sort ofintervention. The criminal has confessed."
Mr. Johnson was staggered, but still frantically eloquent.
"There can be nothing to confess," he insisted. "Come and I'll show youthe letter. I'll show you where I found it. You must come. You're incharge of this case. I'm sane. It was I who wanted justice done. Youmust see what has happened--see the open safe--read the letter!"
Major Holmes descended and gave an order to the sergeant behind. Bothcars were driven to the Great House. Almost pushed in by Mr. Johnson,they crowded into the library. He pointed to the open safe, visiblethrough the door of the annex.
"Miss Endacott had the key," he explained. "I noticed it round her neckto-night. It came a month after Mr. Endacott's death. I opened the safeand found this letter that you must all read. I will swear that it is inRalph Endacott's handwriting. His niece will swear it. I took it fromthe safe. Ralph Endacott shot himself. He was dying."
"He shot himself!" Gregory gasped.
"There isn't a doubt about it," Mr. Johnson declared. "The name of thedoctor is there. He was a dying man."
Across the room their eyes met--Gregory's and Claire's. It seemed asthough nothing could keep them apart. Without conscious movement he wasby her side, her hands in his. All the time, with slow, deliberateemphasis, Major Holmes was reading the letter aloud, reading the wordspenned by a dying man, the supreme yet ghastly irony of which no oneproperly apprehended in those few minutes of immense relief.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Claire faltered, as soon as she could findwords.
Gregory glanced behind at the little group and drew her nearer andnearer. A nightmare was passing from his brain.
"I thought it was Dad," he whispered, under his breath. "What could Ido?"
"The letter appears to be genuine," Major Holmes decided, looking upwith an air of great relief, "and the name of the doctor fortunatelyprovides us with corroborative evidence, but under the circumstances Imust confess that I fail to understand Mr. Henry Ballaston's position,"he added, turning towards him.
The latter coughed a little nervously.
"It has never been my custom," he declared, "to countenance anydeviation from the truth in others or to indulge in anything approachinga falsehood myself. I have to admit, however, that on the presentoccasion I made a false statement, which I beg leave to withdraw. Thefact is," he confided, with a touch of that ingenuousness which was oneof his characteristics, "I never doubted for a moment that my nephewGregory, in the interests of the family, was guilty of thismisdemeanour. I am a useless person in this world. He is a young man andour direct heir. I did what I thought best."
"But the Image?" Sir Bertram demanded in bewilderment--"the second Imageof the Soul? How on earth did that get to the Hall?"
"I brought it," was Henry's complacent reply.
"But when?" Gregory asked helplessly.
"On the night of Mr. Endacott's unfortunate decease," Henry replied. "Imust confess that on the previous evening I paid a surreptitious visithere. I had no idea on that occasion of purloining the Image, but I wasanxious to secure, if possible, a translation of any of the Chinesedocuments which Mr. Endacott was known to possess which might assist ustowards the recovery of the jewels. I found Mr. Endacott, however, atwork, and I was unfortunate enough to disturb him. During his briefabsence in the garden I endeavoured to peruse his papers, but hisunexpectedly prompt return forced me on that occasion to abandon theenterprise. On the following evening I saw Gregory leave the house----"
"I came to see if you were still in the garden," Gregory interrupted,turning to Claire.
"Precisely," Henry acquiesced, "but I was not at that time aware ofyour--er--attachment, nor did I attribute any sentimental purpose toyour nocturnal excursion. I followed you--and at the side gate here,after some considerable interval, I heard what I imagined to be amuffled revolver shot. I crept from my place of concealment and enteredthe library. Mr. Endacott was lying there, quite dead. I listened for amoment. I was perhaps unnerved. I imagined that I heard your retreatingfootsteps from the anteroom into the courtyard. I listened again. Therewas nothing to be heard. The Image was lying on the floor by Mr.Endacott's side. He had probably been examining it prior to his lamentedaction and the fall of his body had displaced it. I considered. Idecided that your nerve, Gregory, had failed you, that having committedthe preliminary--er--misdeed, you had hurried away without the Image. Iaccordingly picked it up and brought it home. I placed it by the side ofthe other in my room. It has been there ever since. I saw the shockwhich its presence caused you, my dear brother--you too, Gregory--but Idid not think an explanation advisable."
Sir Bertram laid his hand upon his son's shoulder.
"My God, Gregory," he muttered, "I thought--I thought, of course, thatit was you."
Gregory groaned.
"And I," he explained--"as I knew it wasn't I--thought it must be you."
"My God, these Ballastons!" Major Holmes exclaimed, with amazed fervour.
* * * * *
A wonderful half-hour! Sir Bertram had slipped away and was on his kneesby Madame's couch. Mr. Johnson, whilst every one else was talkingconfusedly, hastened down to the cellar. Gregory led Claire out into thegarden. In his hand was the paper she had passed over to him.
"The Images," he whispered; "let's go and find them."
They drove in the limousine car, still laden with his luggage, throughthe scented darkness, back to the Hall, his arms around her, her headresting contentedly upon his shoulder. Whilst she waited, he ranupstairs, to the amazement of Rawson and the footman who had admittedhim, and presently returned with the two Images. Rawson met him at thefoot of the stairs. His face was full of astonishment and piteousappeal.
"You will excuse me, Mr. Gregory, sir," he begged. "If there's anynews----"
Gregory staggered past him, borne down by his burden.
"Everything's all right, Rawson," he exclaimed. "Mr. Endacott shothimself--found out he was going to die, anyway. We shall be back, allthree of us, to sleep. I may not be going abroad at all. Get yourself abottle of wine, Rawson. Tell you more about it when we get back."
Another drive which seemed to pass like a dream; a dream during whichthe agony of the last hour appeared to fade into nothingness. Then theGreat House again, the Images upon the library table, and a little crowdgathered around. Mr. Johnson, to whom Gregory had passed the paper,called out the instructions.
"You press the right eye of the Body," he directed, "and press at thesame time the inner lobe of the left ear. Then you move the Imageforward three times slowly, pressing most at the lowest point. Nowthen!"
Gregory obeyed the instructions. At the end of the third movement therewas a slight noise inside like the whirring of a spring. A tickingbegan. They stood a little distance away. Suddenly the right eye openedand a stream of what seemed to be red and crystal and green fire cameout and discharged itself upon the tablecloth. Every one drew closer,fascinated, breathless, until with a final whirring the shower ended.Mr. Johnson passed his hands over the stones.
"The finest emeralds I ever saw," he declared. "There is one diamondthere I wouldn't dare to value.--Now for the Soul! You reverse theprocess. Press the left eye and the lobe of the right ear."
This time, after the whirring ended, the left eye opened, and a slowstream of pink and white pearls fell on to the table.
"The tears of Buddha," Mr. Johnson exclai
med. "It's the oldestsuperstition on the river. 'When Buddha weeps, the tears are pearls.'"
Again they watched, spellbound. This stream continued even longer thanthe other one. Then there was a little click and all was over. The eyeslipped back. The Image seemed to smile in beneficent fashion. Claire'sfingers tightened upon Gregory's arm.
"Without expert advice," Mr. Johnson pronounced, in an awed tone, "Iwouldn't take less than a million for them."
"They belong to you, every stone," Gregory whispered to his companion.
She laughed up at him.
"Does it matter?" she murmured.
CHAPTER XV
Once more five men, from a safe distance behind the muslin curtains,watched the approach towards the village inn of the tenant of the GreatHouse. This time, however, conditions were different. The strip of roadlay clean and hard in the grip of a four days' frost. There were littlepools of ice near the pavement, the trees, leafless and stark, stoodmotionless against the clear sky. Although it was early in the afternoonthe sun was already sinking beneath a bank of ominous-looking clouds.Mr. Johnson, in thick tweeds and leggings, with a powdering of snow uponhis coat, carrying a gun over one shoulder and a cartridge bag suspendedfrom the other, made his appearance coming along the lane from the Hall.
"He do be a changed man, that, for sure," Mr. Pank observed.
"And for that matter," Mr. Craske put in, "his wife be a changed woman.I mind when she used to come in for groceries for Madame, always lookinga little tired, almost sulky-like, as though there were nothing in lifeworth caring about. Now, I do call her one of the best-looking women inthese parts. It's worth going a mile to see her and Mrs. Gregorytogether, either on horseback or out with the beagles."
"They say," the innkeeper began----
"Hush!" Rawson interrupted. "I believe he's coming in."
Mr. Johnson had hesitated at the corner and glanced at his watch.Instead of taking the turn to the Great House he swung towards the inn,and, pausing for a moment outside to look down the breech of his gun,entered with a cheery greeting. Rawson at once stood up. The newcomergood-humouredly waved him back to his seat.
"Don't let me disturb any one," he begged, finding a convenient cornerfor his gun and relapsing into the easy-chair which had been discreetlyvacated by Mr. Craske. "I'll take a warming drink, if you please, Mr.Pank. A wineglassful of sloe gin, if you have it, and if any of yougentlemen will join me, I shall be proud. I forgot my flask thismorning."
"You've been out along with Mr. Gregory, sir?" Rawson enquired.
"We've been after snipe on the mere side. Good sport, but chilly. I'veshot snipe in China before now, but they don't seem in such a hurry asthese Norfolk devils. Mr. Gregory wiped my eyes more than once."
"Mr. Gregory's a fine shot at what I may call the irregular birds," thebutler ventured, "snipe and woodcock and suchlike. You'll pardon mesaying so though, sir, I'd rather see you at the pheasants. I've noticedthe last twice that the Squire's put you at the awkward corners."
"Well, well," Mr. Johnson admitted, "it's a great life, this, if I couldonly learn to stick on a horse. Mr. Foulds, you'll have to keep your eyeopen for another one up to my weight. I had to miss a day's hunting lastweek."
"I'll do that with pleasure, sir," the veterinary promised. "There's asale at Norwich next week. I'll be over yonder, surely."
Mr. Johnson drank his sloe gin and held out the glass for replenishment.
"Good warming stuff," he pronounced. "By-the-by, you may all like toknow that I heard from the Squire this morning. They found the villa atCannes in great shape, and her ladyship has walked a mile every daysince they've been there."
"It do seem wonderful!" the innkeeper declared.
"A most amazing recovery," Mr. Craske echoed. "To see her lying on thatchair month after month, no one would ever dream that she'd end her daysmarrying and walking about like any one else. There's been a-manychanges in these parts, Mr. Johnson, sir, since you've come."
The latter nodded his head thoughtfully.
"There have indeed," he agreed.
"One did feel six months ago," the grocer continued, "as though somesort of cloud were hanging over the village, what with the poorgentleman as we thought had been murdered, and the police acting sosuspicious-like round the place, and all the time talk about the Halland the Ballaston lands coming under the hammer, and you, Mr. Johnson,not half the cheerful gentleman you are now, looking so solemn as thoughyou had something on your mind all the time, if one might make so free."
"Things have changed certainly," Mr. Johnson acquiesced, knocking outthe ashes from his pipe and relighting it, preparatory to departure."The Ballaston mortgages, for instance, as every one knows, have beenpaid up to the last farthing, and enough left over from Mr. Gregory'slittle enterprise to keep every one in comfort for the rest of theirlives. No talk nowadays either of having to sell the old pictures orbits of china that weren't heirlooms. There's Mr. Henry up at Christie'sonce a month looking for missing pieces. He's starting a new cataloguethe first of the year."
"And the poor gentleman, as was supposed to have been murdered, found tohave shot himself!" Mr. Foulds remarked. "That sort of lifted a weightfrom the place."
Mr. Johnson took up his gun.
"Well," he said, "we certainly seem in smooth water now. I am afraid Iwas rather an unpopular resident at one time."
"Mr. Craske was the only one on us," the innkeeper rejoined with a grin,"as had any complaint. He did say, when you came, as he was hoping for afamily man."
The tenant of the Great House turned and faced the little company. Therewas a twinkle in his eyes and a gleam of mutual understanding passedbetween them.
"Well," he exclaimed good-humouredly, "this is no sort of a place forkeeping secrets. You'll have another health to drink before long, Ihope. Good afternoon, every one."
He took his leave, and they watched him from behind the muslin blinds ashe walked briskly up the lane and entered his domain by the posterngate.
"That do seem to me to be a proper sort of man," the innkeeper declaredemphatically.
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Novels by E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
"He is past master of the art of telling a story. He has humor, a keen sense of the dramatic, and a knack of turning out a happy ending just when the complications of the plot threaten worse disasters."--The New York Times.
"Mr. Oppenheim has few equals among modern novelists. He is prolific, he is untiring in the invention of mysterious plots, he is a clever weaver of the plausible with the sensational, and he has the necessary gift of facile narrative."--The Boston Transcript.
A Prince of Sinners The Curious Quest The Man and His Kingdom The Wicked Marquis The Great Secret The Box With Broken Seals Jeanne of the Marshes The Great Impersonation The Lost Ambassador The Devil's Paw A Daughter of the Marionis Jacob's Ladder Havoc The Profiteers The Lighted Way Nobody's Man The Survivor The Great Prince Shan A People's Man The Evil Shepherd The Way of These Women The Seven Conundrums The Pawns Count Michael's Evil Deeds The Zeppelin's Passenger The Mystery Road The Inevitable Millionaires The Wrath to Come Stolen Idols The Passionate Quest
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