The Mysterious Three

by William Le Queux

Suddenly she bit her lip, andher big, expressive eyes filled with tears.

  "Vera," I said very gently, sinking down beside her, for I felt astrange affinity between us--an affinity of soul, "What is it? What'sthe matter? Tell me, dear. I won't tell a soul."

  I couldn't help it. My arm stole round her waist and my lips touchedher cold forehead. Had she sprung away from me, turned upon me withflaming eyes and boxed my ears even, I should have been less surprisedthan at what happened, for never before had I taken such a liberty.Instead, she turned her pretty head, sank with a sigh upon my shoulder,and an instant later her arms encircled my neck. She was sobbingbitterly, so terribly that I feared she was about to become hysterical.

  "Oh, Mr. Ashton!" she burst out, "oh, if you only knew!"

  "Knew what?" I whispered. "Tell me. I won't breathe it to a singleliving person."

  "But that's it," she exclaimed as she still wept bitterly. "I don'tknow--but I suspect--I fear something so terribly, and yet I don't knowwhat it is!"

  This was an enigma I had not looked for.

  "What is going to happen?" I asked, more to say something, anything,than to sit there speechless and supine.

  "If only I knew I would tell you," she answered between her sobs, "Iwould tell you sooner than anybody because--oh, I love you so, I loveyou so!"

  I shall never forget how my heart seemed to spring within me at thoseblessed words.

  "Vera! My darling!"

  She was in my arms. I was kissing her passionately. Now I knew what Ihad not before realised--I was desperately in love with Vera Thorold,this beautiful girl with the wonderful, deep eyes and the glorious hair,who when I had last seen her, had been still a child in short frocks,though lovely then.

  Footsteps were approaching. Quickly we sprang apart as the door opened.

  "Her ladyship wishes you to come at once, mademoiselle," said a voice inthe shadow in what struck me as being rather a disagreeable tone, with aslightly foreign accent. It was Judith, Lady Thorold's French maid.

  Vera rose at once. For a brief instant her eyes met mine. Then she wasgone.

  I sat there in the big book-lined room quite alone, smoking cigaretteafter cigarette, wondering and wondering. Who was "Smithson?" What wasthis strange, unexpected mystery? Above all, what was this trouble thatVera dreaded so, or was it merely some whim of her imagination? I knewher to be of a highly-strung, super-sensitive nature.

  The big grandfather-clock away in a corner hissed and wheezed for somemoments, then slowly struck seven. I waited for the dressing gong tosound. Usually James, or the footman, Henry, appeared as soon as theclock had finished striking, and made an intolerable noise upon thegong. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen. Evidently the gong had beenforgotten, for Sir Charles dined punctually at the unfashionable hour ofhalf-past seven. I rose and went upstairs to dress.

  At the half-hour I came down and went towards the small drawing-roomwhere they always assemble before dinner. To my surprise the room wasin darkness.

  "Something seems to be amiss to-night," I remember saying mentally as Iswitched on the light. The domestic service at Houghton was habituallylike clockwork in its regularity.

  A quarter to eight struck. Eight o'clock! I began to wonder if dinnerhad been put off. A quarter-past eight chimed out.

  I went over to the fireplace and pressed the electric bell. Nobodycame. I pressed it again. Finally I kept my finger pressed upon it.

  This was ridiculous. Thoroughly annoyed, I went into the dining-room.It was in darkness. Then I made my way out to the servants' quarters.James was sitting in the pantry, in his shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar.A brandy bottle stood upon the dresser, and a syphon, also a half-emptytumbler.

  "Is anything the matter, James?" I asked, with difficulty concealingthe irritation I felt.

  "Not as I know of," he answered in rather a rude tone. I saw at oncethat he had been drinking.

  "At what time is dinner?"

  "Dinner?"

  He laughed outright.

  "There ain't no dinner. Why ain't you gone too?"

  "Gone? Where?"

  "With Sir Charles and her ladyship and Miss Vera and Judith."

  "I don't understand you. What do you mean?"

  "They went an hour ago, or more."

  "Went where?"

  "Oh, ask me another. I don't know."

  James in his cups was a very different person from sober, respectful,deferential James. And then it came back to me that, about an hourbefore, I had heard a car going down the avenue, and wondered whose itwas.

  The sound of loud, coarse laughter reached me from the kitchen.

  "Well, all I says is it's a pretty state of things," a woman's high,harsh voice exclaimed. I think it was the cook's. "Cleared and gonewith bags and baggage as if the devil hisself was after 'em."

  "P'r'aps 'e is," a man's voice, that I recognised as Henry's, announced,and again came peals of laughter.

  This was a pleasant situation, certainly. My hosts vanished. Thebutler drunk. The servants apparently in rebellion!

  Restlessly I paced the hall. My thoughts always work quickly, and mymind was soon made up.

  First I went to the telephone, rang up the _Stag's Head Hotel_ inOakham, the nearest town--it was eight miles off--and asked theproprietor, whom I knew personally, to send me out a car as quickly aspossible, also to reserve a room for me for the night. Then I went intothe morning-room, tucked the big panel photograph, in its frame, undermy arm, took it up to my room, and deposited it in the bottom of myvalise. As I finished packing my clothes and other belongings I heardthe car hooting as it came quickly up the long beech avenue leading fromthe lodge-gates.

  My valise was not heavy, and I am pretty strong. Also I am not proud.I lifted it on to my bed, crouched down, hoisted the valise on to myback, as the railway porters do, carried it downstairs, and let thedriver have it. He was a man I knew, and I noticed that he wasgrinning.

  "Taking physical exercise, sir?" he asked lightly.

  "Yes," I answered, "it's better sport than foxhunting."

  He laughed outright, then helped me into my overcoat. A minute later wewere on the road to Oakham.

  And all the while the sad face of the girl for whom I had that eveningdeclared my love--as I had last seen it, with her eyes set on mine asthough in mute appeal--kept rising before me like a vision.

  CHAPTER TWO.

  CONTAINS CERTAIN REVELATIONS.

  Until lunch-time next day I remained in Oakham, not knowing what to do,uncertain what steps to take.

  I am a bachelor with a comfortable income, and, I am ashamed to say, anidler. Work never did really appeal to me. I try to compensate for notworking by paying my taxes regularly and being as charitable as I can topeople I come across and like, and whom the world seems to treatunjustly.

  My father, Richard Ashton, was Colonel in the Blues. I was his onlychild, for my mother died in bringing me into the world to live at easeand waste my time. When my father died I found myself heir to a smallproperty in Rutland, which I promptly let, and One Hundred and EightyThousand pounds safely invested--mostly in Consols. Sport in general,especially hunting and shooting, also reading, constitute my favouriteforms of recreation. Generally I live in London, where I have a flat inKing Street, St. James's.

  I don't remember what made me do it, but while lunching at the _Stag'sHead_ I decided that I would take the car out to Houghton Park again. Ithink I was curious to see if any fresh development had taken placethere.

  Nobody answered my repeated rings at the front door, so I went round tothe back. The door was locked. I rang, and rang again, and knocked.But nobody came.

  I walked right round the house. Every window was shut, and apparentlyfastened. The whole place was as still as death. Then I went to thestables. I could hear the occasional rattle of a headstall chain, butthe horses were all locked in.

  Having lit a cigar and told my driver to await my return, I saunteredaimlessly u
p into the woods--Houghton Park is one of the mostbeautifully wooded estates in Rutland, with a lake seven acres in extenthidden away in a delightfully picturesque spot surrounded by pine-grownhills. Several times during the past fortnight I had rambled up intothese woods accompanied by Vera, and the association brought her backinto my thoughts with renewed vividness. Where was she at that moment?What was she doing? Was she happy? Had any evil befallen her? Whenshould I hear of her again? When should I see her?

  These, and many other reflections, came crowding in confusion into mybrain. What could be the meaning of this extraordinary mystery, sosuddenly created, so unexpected? I had known Sir Charles and LadyThorold many years, in fact since I was a child. For years they hadlived in London--in Belgravia. Then, two years