by J. J. Bell
CHAPTER XI
Dr. Handyside was too fond of his easy-going seaside existence to bereadily induced to leave home. At the same time, he had not severed allties with Glasgow, which ties included a select coterie of kindredspirits who dined together once a month during the winter in a somewhatold-fashioned restaurant; and he would have been exceedingly loth tomiss one of their cosy gatherings. But he insisted on sleeping in hisown bed, and accordingly, there being no steamer connection at so latean hour, it was his custom to return by train to Helensburgh and thencecomplete the journey in his car which he drove himself, reaching homeshortly after midnight.
To-night's dinner, however, had seemed hopelessly beyond his reach, owingto his injured foot, which as yet merely allowed him to hobble a fewyards, and which would have been worse than useless in driving. But weare never too old to worry over trifles, and in the course of themorning, while in the garage, he blurted out the difficulty to Caw. Itwas really an appeal, and at any other time Caw would have been mildlyamused. Now he was embarrassed, for while anxious to oblige the doctor,he had no intention of losing all connection with Grey House for severalhours in the middle of the night.
He shook his head. "I only wish I could drive you home to-night, sir," hesaid, "but you see--"
"All right, Caw," said Handyside, looking ashamed of himself, and hobbledoff, still hankering, however.
An hour later Caw came to him in the study, and presented an opentelegram. "Will you be pleased to look at this, sir?"
The doctor read:--
"Registered letter received. Best policy.
"BULLARD."
"God bless me, Caw!--the man's in Paris!"
"Quite so, sir. I shall be glad to have your instructions for thisevening, sir. Very thoughtful of Mr. Bullard, if I may say so--damnhim!"--the last inaudible.
"I've been wondering whether he would acknowledge the notes," saidHandyside, brightening up and hobbling to the door. "Marjorie," hecalled, "for Heaven's sake see if I've got a decent tie for to-night!"
* * * * *
And now it was midnight. The southerly gale which had broken out late inthe afternoon was booming up the loch, bombarding the house, and gusts ofbitter rain were thrashing the exposed windows.
Marjorie flung a couple of logs on the study fire and returned to herbook. She had prepared sundry comforts for her father and wasawaiting, not without anxiety, his arrival. She was thankful he hadCaw with him. A large portion of the journey was being made in thevery teeth of the tempest.
A tap on the door brought her round with a start. It was only Mrs.Butters, the housekeeper, or, to be precise, the head and shoulders ofthat estimable but slow-witted female, heavily swathed in a couple ofgrey shawls.
"What on earth is the matter?" exclaimed Marjorie. "Why aren't you inbed?"
"Please, miss, do you think I might do something to stop the alarum clockof that Mr. Caw?" Mrs. Butters was not yet at all sure of Caw. "It's beenringin' for close on an hour, and I can't--"
The girl was up like a shot--her face set, her hands clenched. What wasshe to do? It would take an age to explain to the housekeeper, who, whenshe did understand, would in all probability simply howl helplessly.
"Close on an hour," she said to herself. "Oh, Heavens, the thing musthave been done long ago!" Still, she could not be absolutely sure. Sheglanced at the clock. No, her father and Caw were not even due yet...."Mrs. Butters," she managed to say in a fairly steady voice, "please goback to bed. I--I'll attend to the alarum immediately. Go at once oryou'll catch your death of cold."
Left alone, she grew pale, but within the moment she had crossed to abureau--her own--and was taking out a purchase made in Glasgow theprevious day. "Oh, why didn't I practise in the wood this morning, as Isaid I would?" she sighed, fumbling with a little ivory-handledrevolver. She shuddered. "Oh, I can't ... I daren't ... I _must_!" Andran from the room.
Marjorie will never forget that journey through the passage, her light aflickering taper, for the electric illumination was no longer inoperation. At the end of it she had literally to force her limbs to mountthe narrow stairs. At the top, with her ear to the closed door, she couldhear nothing save her pounding heart. There was no keyhole, no crevicewhereby she might know whether it was light or dark on the other side.Caw had spoken that morning of making a peep-hole in the door. She wouldhave given much for one now. And the taper was burning fast.
"They must have gone," she thought, "yet how can I be sure? On such anight they might be tempted to stay awhile from the storm." Hand withrevolver pressed to breast, she listened again. Not a sound. But thesilence might be explained by the presence of a solitary man, she toldherself, not necessarily one of the two she had seen that other night. Arough brute, perhaps, who would stick at nothing in that empty house. Yetthe very thought pricked her courage even at the moment when thedescending flame stung her finger. Unlike Caw she was under no obligationto his late master. If a thief was there, she would shoot before shewould let the Green Box go.
She dropped the taper, trod on it, and gasped to find herself in utterdarkness. Once more she laid her ear against the panel, and this time,surely, a sound reached the straining nerves--a faint noise of somethingsolid though not ponderous falling upon something less resonant thanwood, less dulling than carpet. She felt like collapsing. But her will,her pride, came to the rescue. "If I don't open that door," she said toherself, "I'll be ashamed of myself for the rest of my days."
Her finger fluttered on the spring-button and pressed; her hand pushed.As the door gave she perceived that the room _was_ lighted, though notbrilliantly; she heard nothing but a howling of wind and a rattling ofrain. A whiff of smoky coal met her nostrils. The silent moving door wasnow half open. She took a couple of steps inwards and halted, her lefthand clinging to the door's edge, her right clutching the pretty weapon.And she all but screamed....
Under the lights of two candles on the mantel, in an easy-chair drawn upto the recently kindled fire, reclined a man, his head thrown back, hiseyes closed. His legs were outstretched, his boots on the hearth,steaming, one of them in dangerous proximity to a large coal evidentlynewly fallen. On another chair lay a drenched greatcoat and cap.
The man was young, somewhat slight of build, of fresh and pleasingcountenance, clean shaven, of indeterminate colouring. His crisp hair wasso trim in spite of its dampness as to suggest the attentions of a barberwithin the last twelve hours. His hands were rough and bore traces ofscars; the fingers, though slender for a man, might have belonged to alabourer's; the first and second of the left hand resting on thechair-arm held a cigarette--unlighted. The expression of his countenancewas happy--contentedly so.
"Oh!" thought Marjorie, "he _couldn't_ steal!" and in the same breathperceived that he was not asleep. He moved slightly, with a lazy grunt.
His hand wandered to a pocket, felt within, came out empty, and wanderedto another, with like result. "Hang it!" he muttered, and opening hiseyes, tried, absurdly enough, to see what might be on the mantel withoutthe trouble of rising.
Neither bold nor fearful now, simply fascinated and wondering whether hewould get up or do without matches, Marjorie watched him. And the nextthing she knew was that his eyes were staring into hers. Then fear,suspicion and sense of duty returned with a rush. The men who had alreadyattempted to steal the Green Box had been just as well dressed--better,indeed. She was taking no chances. With firm determination, but also witha wavering hand, she raised the revolver.
"Great Heaven!" shouted the young man, "be carefull or you'll hurtyourself!" He wriggled up and sprang to his feet.
"Who--who are you?" Marjorie demanded with a regrettable quaver. "Haveyou come after the Green Box? Because, if so--"
"Would you mind," he said very gently, "putting down your pistol? Thosethings are so apt to go off unexpectedly, and at the moment you appear tobe aiming at my uncle's best beloved Bone--"
The revolver fell softly on the thick carpet. Marjorie felt likefalling aft
er it.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "You have mentioned a Green Box, buthaving brought no luggage, I don't seem to grasp--"
"Your uncle!" she whispered.
"Mr. Christopher Craig." He regarded her for a moment and his expressionchanged. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "is it possible that he is no longertenant of the house? You see, I arrived late, and deciding not to disturbany one, just proceeded to make myself comfortable for the night, and--"
Marjorie pulled herself together. "You are not--"
At that instant Caw, breathing hard, sprang from the darkness, thenstopped as if shot.
"Well, Caw," said the young man, "I'm jolly glad to see you."
"Oh, my good God!" gasped Caw, "it's Mr. Alan!" He began to shakewhere he stood.
"Confound me!" said the young man under his breath, "I clean forgot I wassupposed to be dead a year." He strode over to the servant. "Shake hands,Caw, just to make sure I'm of ordinary flesh and blood. I'm sorry to haveupset you like this," He turned to the girl. "And to you I make myapology for having alarmed--"
"You didn't!"
"--for imagining I had alarmed you," he corrected himself with a bow andtwinkling eyes.
The latter drew her smile despite her still jangling nerves. "I suppose Ihave to apologise, too," she said, "for taking you for a--a burglar."
"Not at all, because--I may as well confess it at once--no burglar can bemore anxious to avoid discovery than I am--or was."
Caw found his speech. "Mr. Alan, sir, I--I haven't words to express myfeelings at seeing you alive and well--I really haven't." He turned awaywith a heave of his shoulders as Dr. Handyside, limping painfully,appeared in the doorway.
It was his turn to be astounded, but his welcome when it came was of theheartiest. "I take it," he went on, "that Marjorie, my daughter, and youhave already made each other's acquaintance."
"If Miss Handyside will have it so," said Alan, repressing a smile asMarjorie, with a decided return of colour, stooped and secured therevolver which had escaped her parent's eye. "Naturally Miss Handysidewas a little surprised to find me here until I explained who I was." Hisgaze travelled to the servant who stood apart in meditative regard of theclock. "Caw, how is my uncle?"
Handyside prevented a pause. "There is so much to tell you, Mr. Craig,that I propose an adjournment to my study where we shall find somerefreshment which I fancy you can do with. You are not aware, I believe,that your uncle had a private passage built between our two houses, whichnot only explains our appearance here, but provides a short route to foodand warmth."
"Then my uncle--" began Alan, evidently a little puzzled.
"Your pardon, Mr. Alan," said Caw, coming forward, "but it is necessaryto ask you one question. How did you get into the house?"
The young man laughed. "I suppose you don't think it worth while lockingdoors in these unsophisticated parts. After I had rung twice, and waswondering what was going to happen to me, I found that the outer door wasunfastened and that the inner door was not locked. So I came in and mademyself at home, unwilling to disturb--What's the matter. Caw? And you,doctor? Why, Miss Handyside, what have I said?"
But none of the gravely concerned faces was looking in his direction.
With a heavy sigh Caw went over to the writing table, stopped and drewout the deep drawer on the right.
For a moment or two there was no sound save that of the storm. Then, witha gesture of hopelessness, Caw slowly raised himself.
"Yes," he said, in a small, bitter voice, "it is gone!"
