Kastle Krags: A Story of Mystery

by Absalom Martin

  CHAPTER XIII

  Two telegrams had come for Mr. Nealman during the inquest; but the negromessenger who had brought them had been too frightened by the augustsession in the living-room to disturb him. It came about that Nealmandidn't get them until he and Van Hope left the room together.

  The yellow envelopes were lying on a little table in the hall, andNealman started, perceptibly, at the sight of them. Except for thatnervous reflex through his body I wouldn't have given the messages asecond thought. Nealman picked them up, and still carrying on afragmentary conversation with his friend, tore out the messages.

  He did not merely tear off the edges. In his eagerness his clawingfingers ripped the envelopes wide open, endangering the messagesthemselves within. He opened one of them, and his eye leaped over thescript.

  He took one curious, short breath, then opened the second message, morecarefully now. Then he crowded both of them into his outer coat pocket.

  At that point his conversation with Van Hope took a curious trend. Hestill seemed to be trying to talk in his usual casual voice; yet apreoccupation so deep, so engrossing was upon him that his friend'swords must have seemed to reach him from another sphere. It was a braveeffort; but his disjointed sentences, his blurred perceptions, told thetruth only too plainly.

  Nealman had received disastrous news. His lips were smiling, but hiseyes were filled with some alien light. What that light was neither VanHope nor I could tell. It might have been frenzy. Quite likely it wasfear.

  "Bad news, old man?" Van Hope blurted out at last, impulsively. Theywere old friends--he was risking the charge of ill-bred curiosity tooffer sympathy to the other.

  "Not very good, old man. I'll see you later about it. If you'll excuseme I'll go to my room--and answer 'em."

  He turned up the stairs--Van Hope walked out onto the verandas. I waitedfor Edith, and in a moment we were walking under the magnolias,listening to the twilight boomings of a bittern on the lagoon.

  "And what do you think of it?" I asked her.

  No human memory could forget her lustrous eyes, solemn and yet lightedby the beauty of her thoughts, as she gazed out over the waters,troubled by the flowing tide.

  "I can't make anything out of it," she told me at last. "It doesn't seemto make good sense. Yet there have been hundreds of more bafflingmysteries, and they all were cleared up at last. Cleared upintelligently, too, if you know what I mean."

  "You mean--with credible motives and actions behind them."

  "Yes, and _human_ actions. I'm thinking about--you know what. Humanagents were the only agents in this crime. In the end it will prove outthat way."

  "Then you aren't at all superstitious about--this." I indicated thateery, desolate lagoon with its craggy margin, stretching away like aghost-lake in the gray light. As always the tidal waves were burstingwith ferocious, lunging onslaughts on the natural rock wall, and thefoam gleamed incredibly white against the dark water.

  "Not in the least," she answered me. "I don't like the place when thetide's rolling in--it's too rough and too fierce--but it's lovely inthe ebb-tide! Did you ever see anything so still as it is then--thewater's edge creeping inward, and such a wonderful blue-green? No, I'mnot superstitious about it at all. I'm going swimming, one of thesenights, when the tide's going out. I'd cross it to-night in anemergency."

  "You're a strong swimmer, then."

  "I can swim well enough--nothing to boast of though. Ned"--for we hadgot to the first name stage, long since--"this whole matter will becleared up in a few days more. Such things always do come out right. Iwouldn't be surprised if that poor man's body should be found any day,dragged into some thicket. The rocks are full of caves--perhaps the draghooks simply failed to find it."

  "And your uncle--he feels the way you do?"

  "Of course. If you are talking about that silly legend--it gives himonly the keenest delight as a big story to tell his friends. He has nomore superstitious fear about this lagoon than I have."

  "Have you talked to him since the inquest?"

  "You know I haven't."

  "He got two telegrams to-day. They seemed to go mighty hard with him. Iwas wondering--whether you ought to go to him now."

  A little line came between her straight brows. "I can't imagine whatthey could be----" she said.

  "The loss of some friend? Financial loss, perhaps----?"

  "I don't know. The latter, if anything. For I do know he's been buyingcertain stocks--awfully heavy."

  "Playing the stock market, eh----?"

  "I don't think I should have told you that. But I know you won't sayanything about it. Oh, I do hope he hasn't had any real misfortune----"

  Our talk veered to other subjects, and for a while we stood and watchedthe twilight descending over the lagoon. The crags were never somysterious. They seemed to take weird shapes in the half-light, and thewater sucked and lapped about their stony feet.

  In a little while her hand stole into mine. It rested softly, andneither of us felt the need of words. The twilight deepened into thatpale darkness of the early Floridan night.

  "How I'd like to help him, if he's in trouble," she said at last, almostwhispering. "And how I'd like to help you--do all the things you want todo."

  "I'm glad--that you care about it," I told her, not daring to look downinto that sober, wistful face.

  "I _do_ care about it," she declared. She bent, until her lips wereclose to my ear. "And I believe I see the way."