CHAPTER VI
The next two weeks sped by as if with one rise and fall of the tides. Ispent the time in locating the various fields of game: the tallholly-trees where the wild turkeys roosted, the sloughs where the basswere gamest, and marked down the cover of the partridge. In the meantimeI collected specimens for the university.
It came about that I didn't always go out alone. The best time of all tostudy wild-life is in late twilight and the first hours of dawn--and atsuch times Edith was unemployed. Many the still, late evenings when westood together on the shore and watched the curlews in their strange,aerial minuet that no naturalist has even been able to explain; many thedewey morning that we watched the first sun's rays probe through themossy forest. She had an instinctive love for the outdoors, and heragile young body had seemingly fibers of steel. At least she couldfollow me wherever I wanted to go.
Once we came upon the Floridan deer, feeding in a natural woods-meadow,and once a gigantic manatee, the most rare of large American mammals,flopped in the mud of the Ochakee River. We knew that incredibleconfusion and bustle made by the wild turkeys when they flew to thetree-tops to roost; and she learned to whistle the partridge out fromtheir thickets.
Of course we developed a fine companionship. I learned of her earlylife, a struggle against poverty that had been about to overwhelm herwhen her uncle had come to her aid; and presently I was telling her allof my own dreams and ambitions. She was wholly sympathetic with my aimto continue my university work for a higher degree; then to spend mylife in scientific research. I described some of the expeditions that Ihad in mind but which seemed so impossible of fulfillment--theexploration of the great "back country" of Borneo, a journey across thatmysterious island, Sumatra, the penetration of certain unknown realms ofTibet.
"But they take thousands of dollars--and I haven't got 'em," I told herquietly.
She looked out to sea a long time. "I wish I could find Jason's treasurefor you," she answered at last.
I was used to Edith's humor, and I looked up expecting to see thefamiliar laughter in her eyes. But the luster in those deep, blue orbswas not that of mirth. Fancies as beautiful as she was herself weresweeping her away....
Most of the guests arrived on the same train at the little town ofOchakee, and motored over to Kastle Krags. A half dozen in all hadaccepted Nealman's invitation. I saw them when they got out of theircars.
Of course I straightened their names out later. At the time I onlystudied their faces--just as I'd study a new specimen, found in theforest. And when Edith and I compared notes afterward we found that ourfirst impression was the same--that all six were strikingly similar intype.
They might just as well have been brothers, chips off the same block.When Nealman stood among them it seemed as if he might change names withany one of them, and hardly any one could tell the difference. There wasnothing distinguishing about their clothes--all were well-dressed,either in white or tweeds; their skins had that healthy firmness andgood color that is seen so often in men that are free from financialworry; their hair was cut alike; their linen was similarly immaculate;their accent was practically the same. Finally they were about the sameage--none of them very young, none further than the first phases ofmiddle-age.
Lemuel Marten was of course the most distinguished man in the party.Born rich, he had pushed his father's enterprises into many lands andacross distant seas, and his name was known, more or less, to allfinanciers in the nation. His face was perhaps firmer than the rest--hisvoice was more commanding and insistent. He was, perhaps, fifty years ofage, stoutly built, with crinkling black hair and vivid, gray eyes. Fromtime to time he stroked nervously a trim, perfectly kept iron-graymustache.
Hal Fargo had been a polo-player in his day. Certain litheness andsuppleness of motion still lingered in his body. His face was darklybrown, and white teeth gleamed pleasantly when he spoke. A pronouncedbald spot was the only clew of advancing years. He was of medium height,slender, evidently a man of great personal magnetism and charm.
Joe Nopp was quite opposite, physically--rather portly, perhaps lessdignified than most of his friends. I put down Nopp as a dead shot, andlater I found I had guessed right. For all his plump, florid cheeks andhis thick, white hands, he had an eye true as a surveyor's instrument,nerves cold and strong as a steel chain. He was a man to be relied uponin a crisis. And both Edith and I liked him better than any of theothers.
Lucius Pescini was an aristocrat of the accepted type--slender, tall,unmistakably distinguished. His hair was such a dark shade of brown thatit invariably passed as black, he had eyes no less dark, sparkling underdark brows, and his small mustache and perfectly trimmed beard was invivid contrast to a rather pale skin.
Of Major Kenneth Dell I had never heard. He had been an officer in thelate war, and now he was Bill Van Hope's friend, although not yetacquainted with Nealman. The two men met cordially, and Van Hope stoodabove them, the tallest man in the company by far, beaming friendshipupon them both. Dell was of medium size, sturdily built, garbed withexceptionally good taste in imported flannels. He also had gray, vivideyes, under rather fine brows, gray hair perfectly cut, a slow smile andquiet ways. Solely because he was a man of endless patience I expectedhim to distinguish himself with rod and reel.
Bill Van Hope, Nealman's friend of whom I had heard so much, was notonly tall, but broad and powerful. He had kind eyes and a happysmile--altogether as good a type of millionaire-sportsman as any onewould care to know. Nealman introduced him to me, and his handshake wasfirm and cordial.
Nealman took them all into the great manor house: I went with Nealman'schauffeur to see about the handling of their luggage. This was athalf-past four of a sunlit day in September. I didn't see any of theguests again until just before the dinner hour, when a matter of abroken fly-tip had brought me into the manor house. Thereupon occurredone of a series of incidents that made my stay at Kastle Krags the mostmomentous three weeks of my life.
It was only a little thing--this experience in Nealman's study. Butcoming events cast their shadows before--and certainly it was a shadow,dim and inscrutable though it was, of what the night held in store. Ihad passed Florey the butler, gray and sphynx-like in the hallway, spoketo him as ever, and turned through the library door. And my firstimpression was that some other guest had arrived in my absence.
A man was standing, smoking, by the window. I supposed at once that hewas an absolute stranger. There was not a single familiar image, not theleast impulse to my memory. I started to speak, and beg his pardon, andinquire for Nealman. But the words didn't come out. I was suddenly andinexplicably startled into silence.
It is the rare man who can analyze his own mental processes. Of all thesensations that throng the human mind there is none so lawless, sosporadic in its comings and departure, so utterly illogical as fear--andgreat surprise is only a sister of fear. I can't explain why I wasstartled. There was no reason whatever for being so. I must gofurther--I was not only startled, but shaken too. It has come about thatthrough the exigencies of the hunting trail I have been obliged to facea charging jaguar--in a jungle of Western Mexico--yet with nervesholding true. My nerves didn't hold true now--and I couldn't tell why.They jumped unnecessarily and quivered under the skin.
I did know the man beside the window after all. He was Major KennethDell that I had observed particularly closely--due to having heard ofhim before--when he had first dismounted from the car. The thing thatstartled me was that in the hour and a half or so since I had seen himhis appearance had undergone an amazing change.
It took several long seconds to win back some measure of common sense.Then I knew that, through some trick of nerves, I had merely attached athousand times too much importance to a wholly trivial incident. In allprobability the change in Dell's appearance was simply an effect oflight and shadow, wrought by the window in front of which he stood.
But for the instant his face simply had not seemed his own. Its colorhad been gone--indeed it had seemed absolutely bloodless. His
eyes hadbeen vivid holes in his white face, his features were drawn out of allsemblance to his own, the facial lines were graven deep. His lips lookedloose, as with one whose muscle-control is breaking.
But my impression had only an instant's life. Either the man drewhimself together at my stare, or my own vision got back to normal. Hewas himself again--the same, suave, genial sportsman I had seen dismountfrom the car. He answered my inquiry, and I turned through the librarydoor.
If I had seen true, there could be but one explanation: that Major Dellhad undergone some violent nervous shock since he had entered the doorof the manor house of Kastle Krags.
Kastle Krags: A Story of Mystery Page 6
