suppose," he answered.But he did not tell her as much as he had told Nashby, as to itsperils--its continuing perils. Then he deftly switched the conversationon to her own particular interests, in the result of which, when theygot up from table, Melian said:
"There's some queer old oak stuff in one of the lumber rooms upstairs ifyou'd like to look at it. It's all jolly dusty though."
"Certainly I would," he answered. "I really do like that sort ofthing." And with the remark came the thought of how cheaply he hadpurchased his hour and a half's imprisonment in that ghastly ice-houseof a vault, what time he had introduced himself here--under falsepretences.
"Come along then."
She led the way upstairs. Now by some curious instinct, Helston Varne'sprofessional faculties became on the alert. It was as though somemysterious instrument string had suddenly been tuned in his ear.
She opened a door, and the atmosphere, albeit it was nearly midsummer,struck a chill through them both. The one window was clouded up withcobwebs, and the dust lay thick upon everything.
"We don't use this part of the house," she explained, "and we've onlyenough hands to take care of the part we do use. Look, this is the bestthing in the room," putting a hand upon an old sideboard of well nighblack oak, and then withdrawing it. "Wait a bit. I'll go down and geta duster. This isn't fit to be touched as it is, and I want to open itand show you."
She turned and went out of the room. Left alone, Helston Varne set towhile away the time by examining the old oak sideboard, and his allround mind at once convinced him that it would fetch a fabulous sum ifput upon the market. Then he went round to examine it from behind, andwith this intent, pushed it a little away from the wall. What was this?
Something gleamed at him from the dust beneath--something bright,staring like an eye. He bent down. It was a small, star-shaped disc--apentacle in fact--but on one of the points a small, triangular piece hadbeen, as it were, cut out. It was a strange object, and gazing at it,somehow, all sorts of queer ideas began to chase each other more or lessconfusedly through his brain. He forgot where he was, forgot about theimpending immediate return of Melian. All he could do was to stare atthe thing, and it--seemed to stare at him.
What was this? Again those ideas seemed to rush and rampage, and theworst of it was he could not marshal them--could not docket them. Hereached down to pick the thing up, and then--something seemed to holdhim back from touching it. Yes, there was no mistake about it. It wasas if a voice--a very distinct voice--were whispering in his ear."Unless you are tired of life--leave it."
This would never do. With an effort of will he pulled himself together.Again he reached out his hand--and again more forcibly came that chillfeeling of an unmistakable warning, and again he withdrew it. And then,as though breaking the spell, the clear, sweet, fluty voice of Melian,returning along the passage, came to his ears.
Helston Varne was conscious that a clammy perspiration had broken outupon his forehead. Brushing a hand rapidly over this, he turned to facethe door. Then he was conscious that another voice was mingling withthat of the girl--a male voice. Again acting under some strangeinstinct, he moved the heavy sideboard back to its place against thewall, and had just done so when Melian entered, followed by her uncle.
The latter, he thought, looked perturbed, nor did he fail to notice theswift, furtive, enquiring glance, which lighted upon the heavy piece offurniture.
"Ah, how are you, Varne? Been looking at musty old oak things thislittle girl tells me. Yes, well--I dare say they're worth a lot ofmoney, only they ain't mine, worse luck. I'd jolly well send them toChristie's if they were, I can tell you. I don't care for dismal oldstuff about me. Give me something cheerful and up-to-date andcomfortable. The other thing gives you the holy blues. So does thisroom by the way,"--and he shivered. "So if you've seen what you want,come down and join me in a whisky and soda."
"Delighted. Yes, that certainly must be very valuable old stuff,"answered the other. "I thought it was yours."
"No. It's old Tullibard's, but it's left here to save the trouble ofmoving it anywhere else. Well, and so you're off on another of yourmysterious expeditions, the child tells me. Look out, Varne. Thebucket that goes down the well too often--you know the old copybookchestnut."
"Yes, and like all others of its kind, there's a fallacy behind it,"laughed Varne.
"Perhaps. Come along then. This infernal room's giving me the coldshivers. I believe I got a touch of the sun on the way back. Anyhow,I'm not feeling at all the thing."
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After their guest had left, the remainder of the day, radiant, golden,cloudless as it was, seemed to take on a gloom to one of them. What avery perfect companion he was, thought Melian. She wished he were anear neighbour instead of putting in sporadic appearances, and thenvanishing for ever so long. She had refrained from telling him hertroubles, not wanting to spoil their splendid morning ramble; now he wasgone, for a long time perhaps, she regretted her reticence. Later shehad reason to regret it more.
They were seated at supper. The blinds were down and the lamp burnedcheerfully. Outside, a sudden gust swirled round the corner of thehouse, setting the woodland trees rustling.
"Ah--ah!" said Melian. "That spells change. I thought it was tooperfectly clear to last."
Another gust stronger than the first, followed upon her words.
"Why, it is coming on to blow," she went on. "And look; it has blownthe old cellar door open."
She was sitting so as to face this. Mervyn with his back to it. Shecould not fail to notice the sudden, almost startled look as he turnedquickly to follow the direction of her glance.
_The door was open_.
About one quarter open it stood, framing a black gash, whence the coldchill of a draught came pouring into the room--open, just as it hadstood six months ago. And now, as then, it had been fast locked.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE SNIPER.
Overhead the gloomy rock walls reared up on either side for many hundredfeet, seeming in places well nigh to meet, in others, leaning outward soas completely to obliterate the narrow blue thread of sky. Loosestones, round stones, every conceivable shape of stone, large and small,constituted the natural paving of the natural roadway, and slipped andrattled under the tired, stumbling hoofs of the two horsemen; the threerather, for the rear was brought up at a respectful distance by amounted syce.
It was cool in the depths of the great chasm, cool but strangely stuffy.Both Europeans were in khaki suits, quite looking like having seenservice, and wore Terai hats. Each carried a business-like magazinerifle--and, incidentally, knew thoroughly well how to use it whenoccasion demanded. And each had been so using it, but for peacefulpurpose, for they were returning from a fairly successful markhor stalkin the craggy range, of which this chasm, cleaving the heart of anotherwise unbroken mass of rock, formed a natural roadway.
"I tell you what it is, Helston," the older of the two men was saying."This is no sort of place to go through during the rainy season. Thewater rushes down it as through a spout. I've had a narrow squeak ortwo in just such a tube as this before."
"Yes. You can see that. There's high watermark."
The other followed his upward glance. Just a few scarcely perceptiblebits of stick and dry grass quite twenty feet overhead.
"By Jove, Helston, but what an eye you've got. And you're new to thisend of the country too."
"Yes. I've got an eye--for trifles--as you say, Coates," returnedHelston Varne. "But I only wish some of the things I've got to--I'vehad to--clear up, were as easy to deduce as that--only I don't, becauseit would eliminate the sporting element altogether. By the way, there'ssome one coming from the opposite direction. We shall meet directly,but I hope it isn't a lot of beastly loaded camels, or Heaven only knowshow we are going to pass each other."
"What? Why you've got an ear as well as an eye. Blest if _I_ c
an hearanything."
"Not, eh?" Then, after a moment of listening--"By Jingo, yes--it iscamels."
Now the sound grew audible to all, that of deep toned voices and theroll and rattle of loose stones, and soon, round a bend of the rock wallappeared a characteristic and extremely picturesque group.
There might have been ten or a dozen men. The one who led was mountedon a fine camel, but the rest were afoot. Another camel brought up therear, loaded with baggage. They were tall, hook-nosed, copper colouredmen, with jetty beards and an equally jetty tress flowing down in frontover each shoulder. They were clad in loose white garments, and theirheads surmounted by the ample turban wound round the conical _kulla_--and all
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