an ordinary square-headed, broad-built policeman, who,unarmed, would have advanced to arrest an armed criminal without thesmallest hesitation or wavering. But he was country born and bred, andcountry superstition is an ingrained thing.
"Well, Mr Varne, at that rate there's a new line in front of you, andno mistake, and it ought to be a paying one," he rejoined. "Why notbegin on Heath Hover for one?"
"Because none of my conditions would apply to it. Time--that might--nointerference, that certainly would not, for I should have to stay in thehouse for a while. And--making it worth it, would apply less still,since this Mervyn is only a tenant, doesn't seem to care a damn aboutthe haunting part, and is poor into the bargain you say?"
"Yes. He's hasn't got too much rhino. He was something in India andretired on a pension. He commuted about half of it to run an inventionwhich he thought would make his fortune, and it didn't."
"Of course not. Inventions have been known to make fortunes, butpractically never for the inventor. Now how could I get a look in atHeath Hover? It wouldn't do as being concerned in this case, you know."
"Oh Lord, no," said the other, with some alacrity. "Why, it's supposedto be dead and forgotten, and that's just the stage at which we expectto be able to get something out of it--if we ever do at all, that is."
"Hasn't he got any old oak in the place? Panelling, doors--that sort ofthing? Might work in on the connoisseur, scientific lay, don't yousee?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. Yes, now I think of it there's rather a rumold fireplace. It's in the room where the door is, too, and, now Ithink of it again, the door itself is rather a quaint affair, with acurious handle, and lock, and all that. You could `make up' a bit. Youknow--look like a sort of scientific professor, and all that."
"No. I don't think I'll make up. I'll just chance it as I am. And Ithink, Nashby, that within the next day or two I shall have found outall about the inside of Heath Hover--as far as it concerns our case."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
OVERREACHINGS.
It might have been somewhere in the middle of the morning, or a trifleearlier, that Mervyn, from his bedroom window descried a well-looking,comfortably-dressed stranger leisurely descending the stair-like pathwhich led down from the sluice, and him he eyed with curiosity, forvisitors were scarce.
He himself, being unseen, was able to take in every detail of the newarrival's outward appearance with all the more ease and accuracy. Henoted for instance that the other had a keen, clear, sunburnt face, anda light, firm, easy step, that showed the very pink of condition, thathe was tall, and carried himself well, and then he fell to wondering whothe devil he was and what he wanted. Some friend of Melian's perhaps,possibly a former admirer--and somehow the idea of such a contingencyseemed unpalatable. Here they were--the two of them--as jolly aspossible together; he, at any rate, didn't want any interloping nuisancefrom outside.
But from that his mind flew off to another conjecture--one lesspalatable still. He had had about enough of mysterious strangers, hetold himself. What if this one had come on the same sort of errand, andwith the thought he slipped his Browning pistol into a handy pocket, andmade up his mind to keep the other man carefully in front of him.Likewise he took his time about admitting the said other man.
"I'm afraid I'm taking rather a liberty," began the latter. "The factis, Mr Mervyn, I'm particularly interested in old houses, oldfurniture, old panelling, and such like, and I have heard a good dealabout Heath Hover in that line. Allow me to introduce myself,"--tendering a card.
"Yes? Come in, Mr--Helston Varne," said the other, having glanced atit. "There are odds and ends of old sticks, but they are for the mostpart stowed away in unused rooms that would take about a week's dustingto render fit for entrance. That's a quaint old fireplace, if younotice."
"I should think it was," answered Varne, vividly interested. And thenhe expatiated in technical terms, which increasingly bored his host andmade the latter wish him at the devil more heartily than ever. That wasthe worst of these collectors and antiquarians and people, they werealways ramming their jargon down unappreciative throats. It was a pityMelian was not on hand, he began to think. She had an eye to all thatsort of thing, and could answer with knowledge. And then he suddenlydecided that his own boredom was the lesser evil. The stranger was awell-looking man--a fine looking man--and spoke with a pleasant voiceand refined accent. Her uncle preferred Melian fancy free, at any ratefor some time to come. Were she here, these two would be finding outtastes in common. Yes, on the whole, he was glad she had driven intoClancehurst with old Joe after breakfast. Up till then he had not beenglad; in fact, hardly was she out of sight than he had regretted nothaving accompanied her. It was rare indeed that he failed to accompanyher anywhere; but that morning he had felt somewhat out of sorts.
The stranger passed from one thing to another, admiring the panellingand discanting thereon. Then he said:
"I should like to take another view of the house from outside, MrMervyn. It's marvellously picturesque as seen from the road, and nowI've seen the interior I shall be able to read new beauties into it."
"Certainly," assented Mervyn, beginning to think the speaker was alittle over enthusiastic, or a little cracked--only he didn't look thelast. "We'll go up to the road. The path you came down is theshortest."
They went up, Mervyn contriving that the other should lead. When theygained the sluice, Varne stood expatiating afresh, on gables and oldchimney stacks. His host was more bored than ever, and was wishing tothis and to that he would straightway take himself off as he had come.Would he?
"That's a curious old door I noticed in the corner of your room, MrMervyn," he said, when he had exhausted his instructive technicalities,which Mervyn had defined to himself as a damned boring prosy lecture."If I might venture to trespass upon your kindness for a minute or twofurther I should so greatly like to examine it. The fact is," he wenton, "I'm quite a stranger in these parts, I found a homely little pubquite by the merest chance, _The Woodcock_, at Upper Gidding, homely butclean--you know it, I dare say--and I concluded to rest there for a dayor two, and look around this lovely bit of country. I've got a bicyclewith me, but I walked over here to-day."
"Oh," groaned Mervyn to himself. "That means I shall have to ask thefool to stay lunch, I suppose."
"The fool" had turned, and was looking up the pond.
"Is this--excuse me, Mr Mervyn, it must be. Is this the place theywere telling me about where an unknown man was bravely rescued fromdrowning under the ice in the middle of the night, by--by, I am sure,yourself?" And he turned to his host with a pleasant suggestion ofadmiration in his eyes.
"This is the place you mean, Mr--Varne. But I don't know there'sanything particularly `brave' in shoving out a ladder for the other foolto claw hold of."
He spoke shortly--almost rudely. This he recognised in time.
"I'm afraid I'm rather abrupt, Mr Varne," he explained. "If so, excuseme. The fact is, I've been more than `fed-up' with that particularepisode, and, not to put too fine a point upon it, I'm dead sick of thebarest references to it. It was fairly unpleasant to me having the poordevil dying in my house, and all the nuisance of inquest and policeinvestigations, and the rest of it--as you can imagine. Now the wholething's a thing of the past, and I want to forget all about it."
"Quite so, Mr Mervyn, quite so. It is I who must apologise."
"Oh, no need for that. If you're ready I shall be happy to show youthat door."
"That will be very good of you."
They went down the path again, Mervyn still contriving that his visitorshould lead the way. Halfway down, the latter stopped short.
"Here is another point that hitherto has escaped me," he said. "Thatforeground of chimney stack, thrown out by the background oftree-masses, leafless now, but even with a characteristic beauty atthat--`wine-coloured woods' some one called it--I forget who--nowthere's a picture for you, one that a Yeend King for instance, would beat his best with
, and still more so when it's a soaring wall offoliage."
"No doubt," agreed Mervyn. And then he felt glad that the stranger hadhis back turned full towards him, for even he could hardly restrain asudden, if ever so slight change of colour caused by that which now setall his pulses humming. For the said stranger's right foot as he stood,was planted, firmly planted, on a stone, a rounded stone half embeddedin the earth, and that foot was obviously, though stealthily, tryingwhether that stone was easily movable, or not movable at all. And withthis consciousness a sudden resolve had come upon Mervyn.
"Yes, it's all you say," he went on, in an equable tone. "Are you anartist, may I ask, as well as a connoisseur in antiquities?"
"Oh well, only as amateur. I have done a little with the brush--but,only as an amateur."
They had re-entered the house, chatting lightly, easily. Then thevisitor made a set at the door in the corner.
"Yes. That's something of a bit of old work," he pronounced admiringly."Why there are connoisseurs who would give tall prices for that bit ofwood, I can tell you, Mr Mervyn."
"Then I wish to the devil `that bit of wood' belonged to me," returnedMervyn, with something of a sour grin. "They could have it and welcome.One door's as good as another to me, as long as it shuts tight andkeeps draughts out. I'd much rather have the `tall prices.' Will youtake a whisky and soda?"
"No thanks. I rarely touch spirits in the daytime. A `nightcap' beforeturning in is a very good thing. But--you're very kind."
He was feeling the graining of the door with his finger nails, then heturned the handle. This he held admiringly.
"Why, what a splendid piece of antique. This handle is worth a lot.And, what's on the other side?"
"Only a black hole of a cellar, where I don't keep anything. It's toodamp, for one thing. Like to see it?"
"Immensely."
"Right. I'll get a bit of candle and the key."
Having done both, Mervyn opened the door.
"Mind the steps," he said, holding the candle over the head of the otherand still contriving that he should be in advance. "There are ten ofthem."
"All right. I can see--What the--?"
He broke off, turning to rush back. But it was too late. With the softbut quick closing of the door above and behind him, Helston Varnerealised that he had made a fool of himself--as Nashby had not done; butthis he did not know, for Nashby had not told him quite everything. Nowhe stood in dense, impenetrable pitchy blackness--and feeling very dampand chill at that.
"Well I'm damned?" he ejaculated to himself. "Well I _am_ damned." Andsitting down on a cold stone step he began to think the matter out.
His gaoler the while, saying nothing, calmly withdrew the key from thelock and put it in his pocket. Then he went leisurely to the front doorand looked out. There was no sign of anybody moving on the strip oflonely road above. He stood apparently unconcerned on the sluice, butin reality, listening intently. There were twitterings of small birdsand the sweet singing of an early thrush, but of human footsteps orvoices, or of wheels, there was no sound. Then he descended, equallyleisurely. On one of the earth steps he paused; then, drawing out hishandkerchief, blew his nose. The handkerchief dropped, by accident. Hestooped to pick it up; was equally leisurely over the process too.Finally, when he did pick it up, he stood for a moment, stamping asthough in the most natural way in the world to warm his feet--or onefoot--upon a stone. Then he returned to the house, but he had forgottento return his handkerchief to his pocket. He was carrying it--in asomewhat absent minded manner--in his hand. Incidentally, he wasthinking that it was not an unmixed evil that old Judy should besuffering from a return of her "roomatics" that day, and should haveremained "to whoam." There was no one at Heath Hover but himself--andhis prisoner.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The latter, meanwhile, was beginning to experience what the expression"outer darkness" meant, for assuredly he was now in it. No glimmer oflight--not the very faintest, was there to relieve it. Black asimpenetrable pitch. He waited till his eyesight should have beenaccustomed to the change to see if any stray dim thread came in fromanywhere; a grating, a ventilator, what not? But none came. The dooritself might have been cemented into the wall for any thread of lightthat came from it. But Varne felt no alarm. He was unarmed, but onthat account felt no misgiving; "What was the game?" was the thoughtthat held possession of his mind.
He struck a wax vesta and looked around. He was about halfway down theflight of stone steps. The walls of the vault glistened with slime anddamp in the flickering light. Nashby had described the place exactly.He struck another. Yes. It was all solid, massive masonry--hard,unyielding. But here he was--at about twelve midday--entombed in adungeon of blackest night. He began to feel interested. But,meanwhile, it was cold--devilish cold.
Then, being there, he thought he might as well take a look round this--cellar, Mervyn had called it--on his own, and to this end he cautiouslydescended to the bottom of the stone stairs. But of wax vestas he hadonly a limited supply, and it behoved him to be careful with them.Still he managed to obtain a good reconnaissance of the floor and walls,enough to bear out Nashby's description of the place.
He returned up the steps. The door, he noticed, was quite smooth onthis side, with no handle, and--no key hole; so that any one shut in, ashe was, might shout or call till the crack of doom. It fitted itsaperture like a slab.
For the first time Varne began to feel a little uneasy. He was alsofeeling more than a little cold. The place had almost the temperatureof an ice-vault. What if Mervyn had purposely shut him in and proposedto leave him here until cold and starvation had done their work? Afterall, he could pretend he had done the thing for a practical joke, and itwould be difficult to prove the contrary. And the worst of it was he--Varne--had given nobody the slightest idea as to where he intendedgoing. Even Nashby would not have occasion to miss him--not for somedays at any rate. But it certainly was getting most confoundedly cold.
He thought he would try the effect of knocking, and to this end got outthe hardest thing about him, a substantial pocket knife to wit. Surelythe rat-tat-tat would carry through the door. He also called outseveral times. But--no answer.
He began to feel resentful--grim. Had he carried a pistol he would havefelt himself justified in blowing the lock of the door away--if he couldlocate it, that is. But he had not. Really, this was past a joke.And--the cold!
A very unpleasant idea now struck Varne. What if this vault really werea secret refrigerating chamber, in which, for purposes of his own, his"host" now intended to reduce him to frozen meat? He had taken prettyaccurate stock of Mervyn during their brief intercourse, and had formedthe conclusion that he was a man who would be quite capable of such athing, given an adequate motive. It was a rotten way of ending astartlingly successful, though not much blazoned career, decided HelstonVarne, sitting there in the inky blackness, his teeth now chatteringlike the proverbial castanets. But he almost told himself that hedeserved it for being such a poisonous fool as to allow himself to beentrapped in so transparently callow a fashion.
The shadowless ink of the atmosphere weighed him down more and more, andstrong man as he was, he felt that it was affecting his nerve. And thecold! His theory of the refrigerating chamber had now become a fixedidea. Oh, for light--for warmth! He must have been hours in thatdreadful vault.
He would make another trial. With the handle of the pocket knife hehammered again and again upon the door with all his might. Also heshouted, but his ordinarily strong voice sounded in his now appalledears a mere quavering rumble. A moment's pause to listen, and--the dooropened.
Mervyn was standing looking at him with a faintly enquiring, half-amusedexpression on his face, Helston Varne almost staggered into the blessedlight of day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
ANOTHER LIGHT.
The two men stood looking at each other, and their expr
essions ofcountenance would have furnished a study.
"Well, Mr Varne?" began Mervyn: "I hope you've effected a thoroughlyexhaustive and satisfactory investigation."
"Fairly, thanks," said the other, pretending to enter into the humour ofthe thing, while in reality feeling grim and resentful. "But it'srather cold in there, you know."
"Yes, I do know. I was admiring your scientific enthusiasm in the causeof `old stones,' as my niece calls them, that induced you to stick itall that time."
"Induced me? Why I couldn't get out," was the short reply.
"No. You can't open that door from the inside. It'd be the most deadlyplace to get shut up in if no one knew you were there. Rather."
There seemed a latent meaning in the words, at least, so Helston Varnefound himself reading them.
"Well, you'd better have a whisky and soda now, or at any rate a copiousmouthful of three star--that'll warm you up more," went on Mervyn in themost matter of fact way, and diving into a sideboard he produced both.This time Varne did not decline. The revivifying warmth, the blessedlight of day, were fast counteracting his resentment. Still, notaltogether, for he said in a half amazed, half joking manner:
"I suppose I must congratulate you on carrying out a practical jokethoroughly when you do undertake
The Heath Hover Mystery Page 22
