Beaumaroy Home from the Wars

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE SCEPTRE IN THE GRAVE

  Sergeant Hooper took up his appointed position on the flagged path thatled up to the cottage door. His primary task was to give warning ifanybody should come out of the door; a secondary one was to give thealarm in case of interruption by passers-by on the road--an unlikelyperil this latter, in view of the hour, the darkness of the night, andthe practised noiselessness with which Mike might be relied upon to dohis work. Here then the Sergeant was left, after being accorded anothernip from the flask--which, however, Neddy kept in his own hands thistime--and a whispered but vigorously worded exhortation to keep up hiscourage.

  Neddy the Shover and gentlemanly Mike tiptoed off to the window, on theright-hand side of the door as one approached the house from the road.The bottom of the window was about seven feet from the ground. Neddybent down and offered his broad back as a platform to his companion.Mike mounted thereon and began his work. That, in itself, was child'splay to him; the match-boarding was but lightly nailed on; thefastenings came away in a moment under the skilful application of hisinstrument; the window sash behind was not even bolted, for the bolt hadperished with time and had not been replaced. So far, very good! But atthis early point Mike received his first surprise. He could not see muchof the interior; a tall curtain stretched across the entire breadth ofthe window, distant about two feet from it; but he could see that theroom was lighted up.

  Very cautiously he completed his work on the match-boarding, handingdown each plank to Neddy when he had detached it. Then he cut out a paneof glass--it was all A B C to him--put his hand in and raised the sash alittle; then it was simple to push it up from below. But the sash hadnot been raised for years; it stuck; when it yielded to his efforts, itgave a loud creak. He flung one leg over the window-sill and sat poisedthere, listening. The room was lighted up; but if there were anyone init, he must be asleep or very hard of hearing, or that creak would havearoused his attention.

  Released from his office as a support, Neddy rose, and hauled himself upby his arms till he could see in the window. "Lights!" he whispered.Mike nodded and got in--on the dais, behind the curtain. Neddy scrambledup after him, finding some help from a stunted but sturdy old apple treethat grew against the wall. Now they were both inside, behind the tallcurtain.

  "Come on," Mike whispered. "We must see if there's anybody here, and, ifthere isn't, put out the light." For on either side of the curtain therewas room for a streak of light which might by chance be seen from theroad.

  Mike advanced round the left-side edge of the curtain; he had perceivedby now that it formed the back of some structure, though he could notyet see of what nature the structure was; nor was he now examining it.For as he stepped out on the dais at the side of the canopy, his eyeswere engrossed by another feature of this strange apartment. Hestretched back his hand and caught hold of Neddy's brawny arm, pullinghim forward. "See that--that hole, Neddy?"

  For the moment they forgot the lights; they forgot the possibility of anoccupant of the room--which indeed was, save for their own whispers,absolutely still; they stood looking at the strange hole, and then intoone another's faces, for a few seconds. Then they stole softly nearer toit. "That's a blasted funny 'ole!" breathed Neddy. "Looks like abloke's----!"

  Mike's fingers squeezed his arm tighter, evidently again claiming hisattention. "My hat, we needn't look far for the stuff!" he whispered. Anuneasy whisper it was; the whole place looked queer, and that hole wasuncanny--it and its contents.

  Yet they approached nearer; they came to the edge and stood looking in.As though he could not believe the mere sight of his eyes, big Neddycrouched down, reached out his hand, and took up Mr. Saffron's sceptre.With a look of half-scared amazement he held it up for his companion'sinspection. Mike eyed it uneasily, but his thoughts were getting back tobusiness. He stole softly off to the door, with intent to see whether itwas locked; he stooped down to examine it and perceived that it was not.It would be well, then, to barricade it, and he turned round to look forsome heavy bit of furniture suitable for his purpose, something thatwould delay the entrance of an intruder and give them notice of theinterruption.

  As he turned, his body suddenly stiffened; only his trained instinctprevented him from crying out. There was an occupant of the room--there,in the great chair between the tall candlesticks on the dais. An old mansat--half lay--there; asleep, it seemed; his eyes were shut. The colourof his face struck gentleman Mike as being peculiar. But everything inthat place was peculiar; like a great tomb--a blooming mausoleum--thewhole place was. Though he had the reputation of being an _esprit fort_,Mike felt uncomfortable. Cold and clammy too, the beastly place was!

  Still--business is business. Letting the matter of the unlocked doorwait for the moment, he began to steal catlike across the floor towardsthe dais. He had to investigate; also he really ought to put out thosecandles; it was utterly unprofessional to leave them alight. But hecould not conquer a feeling that the place would seem still morepeculiar when they were put out.

  Big Neddy's eyes had not followed his comrade to the door; they had beenheld by the queer hole and its queer contents--by the gleaming gold thatstrewed its floor, by the mock symbol of majesty which he had liftedfrom it and still held in his hand, by the oddly suggestive shape anddimensions of the hole itself. But now he raised his eyes from thesethings and looked across at Mike, mutely asking what he thought ofmatters. He saw Mike stealing across the floor, looking very, very hardat--something.

  Mute as Neddy's inquiry was, Mike seemed somehow aware of it. He raisedhis hand, as though to enjoin silence, and then pointed it in front ofhim, raised to the level of his head. Neddy turned round to look in thedirection indicated. He saw the throne and its silent occupant--thewaxen-faced old man who sat there, seeming to preside over the scene,whose head was turned towards him, whose closed eyes would open directlyon his face if their lids were lifted.

  Neddy feared no living man; so he was accustomed to boast, and with goodwarrant. But was that man living? How came he up there? And what had heto do with the queer-shaped hole that had all that gold in it? And thething he held in his own hand? Did that belong to the old man up there?Had he flung it into the hole? Or (odd fancies began to assail bigNeddy) had he left it behind him when he got out? And would he, bychance, come down to look for it?

  Mike's hand, stretched out from his body towards his friend, now againenjoined silence. He was at the foot of the dais; he was going up itssteps. He was no good in a scrap, but he had a nerve in some things! Hewas up the steps now, and leaning forward; he was looking hard in theold man's face; his own was close to it. He laid hold of one of the oldman's arms--it happened to be that left arm of Mr. Saffron's--lifted it,and let it fall again; it fell back just in the position from which hehad lifted it. Then he straightened himself up, looking a trifle greenperhaps, but reassured, and called out to Mike, in a penetratingwhisper, "He's a stiff 'un all right!"

  Yes! But then--what of the grave? Because it was a grave and nothingelse; there was no getting away from it. What of the grave, and--whatabout the sceptre?

  And what was Mike going to do now? He was tiptoeing to the edge of thedais. He was moving towards one of the high candlesticks, the top ofwhich was a little below the level of his head, as he stood raised onthe dais beside the throne. He leant forward towards the candles; hisintent was obvious.

  But big Neddy was not minded that he should carry it out--could notsuffer him to do it. With the light of the candles--well, at all eventsyou could see what was happening; you could see where you were, andwhere anybody else was. But in the dark--left to torches whichilluminated only bits of the place, and which perhaps you mightn'tswitch on in time or turn in the right direction--if you were left likethat, anybody might be anywhere--and on to you before you knew it!

  "Let them lights alone, Mike!" he whispered hoarsely. "I'll smash your'ead in if you put them lights out!"

  Mike had conquered his own fit of nerves, not without some exercise ofwill,
and had not given any notice to his companion's, which wasconsiderably more acute; perhaps the constant use of that roomy flaskhad contributed to that, though lack of a liberal education (such asMike had enjoyed and misused) must also bear its share ofresponsibility. He was amazed at this violent and threateninginterruption. He gave a funny little skip backwards on the dais; hisheel came thereby in contact with the high hassock on which Mr.Saffron's feet rested. The hassock was shifted; one foot fell from it onto the dais, and Mr. Saffron's body fell a little forward from out ofthe deep recess of his great chair. To big Neddy's perturbed imaginationit looked as if Mr. Saffron had set one foot upon the floor of the daisand was going to rise from his seat, perhaps to come down from the dais,to come nearer to his grave--to ask for his sceptre.

  It was too much for Neddy. He shuddered--he could not help it; and thesceptre dropped from his hand. It fell from his hand back into the graveagain; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled.

  Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door forabout two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on theparlour table. The sounds that he thought he heard were not conclusive;creaks and cracks did sometimes come from the boarded-up window and therafters of the roof. But the sound of the jangling gold was conclusive;it must be due in some way to human agency; and in the circumstanceshuman agency must mean a thief.

  Beaumaroy's mind leapt to the Sergeant. Ten to one it was the Sergeant!He had long been after the secret; he had at last sniffed it out, andwas helping himself! It seemed to Beaumaroy a disgusting thing to do,with the dead man sitting there. But that was sentiment. Sentiment wasnot to be expected of the Sergeant, and disgusting things were.

  Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor's story of the two men, one talland slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitred Tower Cottage.The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He heardthe scrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his handout of a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still. Thoughts werepassing rapidly through his brain, and they brought a smile to his lips.

  Let them take it! Why not? It was no care to him now! Doctor Mary had totell the truth about it, and so, consequently, had he himself. Itbelonged to the Radbolts. Oh, damn the Radbolts! He would have riskedhis life for it if the old man had lived, but he wasn't going to riskhis life for the Radbolts. Let the rascals get off with the stuff, or asmuch as they could carry! He was all right. Doctor Mary could testifythat he hadn't taken it. Let them carry off the infernal stuff!Incidentally he would be well rid of the Sergeant, and free from any ofhis importunities--from whines and threats alike; it was not anunimportant, if a minor, consideration.

  Yet it was a disgusting thing to do--it certainly was; and the Sergeantwould think that he had scored a triumph. Over his benefactor too, hisprotector, Beaumaroy reflected with a satiric smile. The Sergeantcertainly deserved a fright--and, if possible, a licking. Theseadministered, he could be kicked out--perhaps--oh, yes, poorbrute!--with a handful of the Radbolts' money. They would never miss it,as they did not know how much there was, and such a diversion of theirlegal property in no way troubled Beaumaroy's conscience.

  And the accomplice? He shrugged his shoulders. The Sergeant was, as hewell knew from his military experience of that worthy man, an arrantcoward. He would show no fight. If the accomplice did, Beaumaroy wasquite in the mood to oblige him. But while he tackled one fellow, theother might get off with the money--with as much as he could carry. Forall that it was merely Radbolt money now, in the end Beaumaroy could notstomach the idea of that--the idea that either of the dirty rogues inthere should get off with the money. And it was foolish to attack themon the front on which they expected to be attacked. Quickly his mindformed another plan. He turned, stole softly out of the parlour, andalong the passage towards the front door of the cottage.

  After Neddy had dropped Mr. Saffron's sceptre into Captain Duggle'sgrave (Had he known that it was Captain Duggle's, and not been a prey tothe ridiculous but haunting fancy that it had been destined for, oreven--oh, these errant fancies!--already occupied by, Mr. Saffronhimself, Neddy would have been less agitated) Mike dealt with himroundly. In bitter hissing whispers, and in language suited thereto, hepointed out the folly of vain superstitions, of childish fears and sickimaginings which interfered with business and threatened its success.His eloquent reasoning, combined with a lively desire to get out of theplace as soon as possible, so far wrought on Neddy that he produced thesack which he had brought with him, and held its mouth open, though withtrembling hands, while Mike scraped up handful after handful of goldcoins and poured them into it. They were busily engaged on their jointtask as Beaumaroy stole along the passage and, reaching the front door,again stood listening.

  The Sergeant was still keeping his vigil before the door. He had nodoubt that it was locked; did not Beaumaroy see Mrs. Wiles and himselfout of it every evening--the back door to the little house led only onto the heath behind and gave no direct access to the road--and lock itafter them with a squeaking key? He would have warning enough if anyoneturned the key now. He was looking towards the road--a surprise was morepossible from that quarter; his back was towards the door and only avery little way from it.

  But when Beaumaroy had entered with Doctor Mary, he had not relocked thedoor; he opened it now very gently and cautiously, and saw theSergeant's back--there was no mistaking it. Without letting hissurprise--for he had confidently supposed the Sergeant to be in theTower--interfere with the instant action called for by thecircumstances, he flung out his long right arm, caught the Sergeantround the neck with a throttling grip, and dragged him backwards intothe house. The man was incapable of crying out; no sound escaped fromhim which could reach the Tower. Beaumaroy set him softly on the floorof the passage. "If you stir or speak, I'll strangle you!" he whispered.There was enough light from the passage lamp to enable the Sergeant tojudge, by the expression of his face, that he spoke sincerely. TheSergeant did not dare even to rub his throat, though it was feeling verysore and uncomfortable.

  There was a row of pegs on the passage wall, just inside the door. Onthem, among hats, caps, and coats--and also Mr. Saffron's greyshawl--hung two long neck-scarves, comforters that the keen heath windsmade very acceptable on a walk. Beaumaroy took them, and tied hisprisoner hand and foot. He had just completed this operation, in theworkman-like fashion which he had learnt on service, when he heard afootstep on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Doctor Mary standing there.

  Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her. Her ears had beenexpecting the sound of Beaumaroy's tread as he mounted the stairs, ladenwith his burden. That sound had not come; instead, there had been thesoft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant's body as it dropped on thefloor of the passage. It occurred to her that Beaumaroy had perhaps hadsome mishap with his burden, or found difficulty with it. She was comingdownstairs to offer her help. Seeing what she saw now, she stood stillin surprise.

  Beaumaroy looked up at her and smiled. "No cause for alarm," he said,"but I've got to go out for a minute. Keep an eye on this rascal, willyou? Oh, and, Doctor Mary, if he tries to move or untie himself, justtake the parlour poker and hit him over the head! Thanks. You don'tmind, do you? And you, Sergeant, remember what I said!"

  With these words Beaumaroy slipped out of the door, and softly closed itbehind him.