by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXI. CRAGMIRE TOWER
Less than two hours later, Inspector Weymouth and a party of men fromScotland Yard raided the house in Museum Street. They found the stockof J. Salaman practically intact, and, in the strangely appointed roomsabove, every evidence of a hasty outgoing. But of the instruments, drugsand other laboratory paraphernalia not one item remained. I would gladlyhave given my income for a year, to have gained possession of the books,alone; for, beyond all shadow of doubt, I knew them to contain formulacalculated to revolutionize the science of medicine.
Exhausted, physically and mentally, and with my mind awhispering-gallery of conjectures (it were needless for me to mentionwhom respecting) I turned in, gratefully, having patched up the slightwound in my calf.
I seemed scarcely to have closed my eyes, when Nayland Smith was shakingme into wakefulness.
"You are probably tired out," he said; "but your crazy expedition oflast night entitles you to no sympathy. Read this; there is a trainin an hour. We will reserve a compartment and you can resume yourinterrupted slumbers in a corner seat."
As I struggled upright in bed, rubbing my eyes sleepily, Smith handedme the Daily Telegraph, pointing to the following paragraph upon theliterary page:
Messrs. M---- announce that they will publish shortly the long delayedwork of Kegan Van Roon, the celebrated American traveler, Orientalistand psychic investigator, dealing with his recent inquiries in China. Itwill be remembered that Mr. Van Roon undertook to motor from Cantonto Siberia last winter, but met with unforeseen difficulties in theprovince of Ho-Nan. He fell into the hands of a body of fanatics and wasfortunate to escape with his life. His book will deal in particular withhis experiences in Ho-Nan, and some sensational revelations regardingthe awakening of that most mysterious race, the Chinese, are promised.For reasons of his own he has decided to remain in England until thecompletion of his book (which will be published simultaneously in NewYork and London) and has leased Cragmire Tower, Somersetshire, in whichromantic and historical residence he will collate his notes andprepare for the world a work ear-marked as a classic even before it ispublished.
I glanced up from the paper, to find Smith's eyes fixed upon me,inquiringly.
"From what I have been able to learn," he said, evenly, "we should reachSaul, with decent luck, just before dusk."
As he turned, and quitted the room without another word, I realized, ina flash, the purport of our mission; I understood my friend's ominouscalm, betokening suppressed excitement.
The Fates were with us (or so it seemed); and whereas we had not hopedto gain Saul before sunset, as a matter of fact, the autumn afternoonwas in its most glorious phase as we left the little village with itsoldtime hostelry behind us and set out in an easterly direction, withthe Bristol Channel far away on our left and a gently sloping upland onour right.
The crooked high-street practically constituted the entire hamlet ofSaul, and the inn, "The Wagoners," was the last house in the street.Now, as we followed the ribbon of moor-path to the top of the rise, wecould stand and look back upon the way we had come; and although we hadcovered fully a mile of ground, it was possible to detect the sunlightgleaming now and then upon the gilt lettering of the inn sign as itswayed in the breeze. The day had been unpleasantly warm, but wasrelieved by this same sea breeze, which, although but slight, had in itthe tang of the broad Atlantic. Behind us, then, the foot-path slopeddown to Saul, unpeopled by any living thing; east and northeast swelledthe monotony of the moor right out to the hazy distance where the skybegan and the sea remotely lay hidden; west fell the gentle gradientfrom the top of the slope which we had mounted, and here, as far as theeye could reach, the country had an appearance suggestive of a hugeand dried-up lake. This idea was borne out by an odd blotchiness, forsometimes there would be half a mile or more of seeming moorland, thena sharply defined change (or it seemed sharply defined from thatbird's-eye point of view). A vivid greenness marked these changes, whichmerged into a dun-colored smudge and again into the brilliant green;then the moor would begin once more.
"That will be the Tor of Glastonbury, I suppose," said Smith, suddenlypeering through his field-glasses in an easterly direction; "and yonder,unless I am greatly mistaken, is Cragmire Tower."
Shading my eyes with my hand, I also looked ahead, and saw the place forwhich we were bound; one of those round towers, more common in Ireland,which some authorities have declared to be of Phoenician origin.Ramshackle buildings clustered untidily about its base, and to it a sortof tongue of that oddly venomous green which patched the lowlands, shotout and seemed almost to reach the towerbase. The land for miles aroundwas as flat as the palm of my hand, saving certain hummocks, lessertors, and irregular piles of boulders which dotted its expanse. Hillsand uplands there were in the hazy distance, forming a sort of mightyinland bay which I doubted not in some past age had been covered bythe sea. Even in the brilliant sunlight the place had something ofa mournful aspect, looking like a great dried-up pool into which thechildren of giants had carelessly cast stones.
We met no living soul upon the moor. With Cragmire Tower but a quarterof a mile off, Smith paused again, and raising his powerful glassesswept the visible landscape.
"Not a sign. Petrie," he said, softly; "yet..."
Dropping the glasses back into their case, my companion began to tug athis left ear.
"Have we been over-confident?" he said, narrowing his eyes inspeculative fashion. "No less than three times I have had the idea thatsomething, or some one, has just dropped out of sight, behind me, as Ifocused..."
"What do you mean, Smith?"
"Are we"--he glanced about him as though the vastness were peopled withlistening Chinamen--"followed?"
Silently we looked into one another's eyes, each seeking for the dreadwhich neither had named. Then:
"Come on Petrie!" said Smith, grasping my arm; and at quick march wewere off again.
Cragmire Tower stood upon a very slight eminence, and what had lookedlike a green tongue, from the moorland slopes above, was in fact acreek, flanked by lush land, which here found its way to the sea.The house which we were come to visit consisted in a low, two-storybuilding, joining the ancient tower on the east with two smalleroutbuildings. There was a miniature kitchen-garden, and a few stuntedfruit trees in the northwest corner; the whole being surrounded by agray stone wall.
The shadow of the tower fell sharply across the path, which ran upalmost alongside of it. We were both extremely warm by reason of ourlong and rapid walk on that hot day, and this shade should have beengrateful to us. In short, I find it difficult to account for theunwelcome chill which I experienced at the moment that I found myselfat the foot of the time-worn monument. I know that we both pulled upsharply and looked at one another as though acted upon by some mutualdisturbance.
But not a sound broke the stillness save a remote murmuring, until asolitary sea gull rose in the air and circled directly over the tower,uttering its mournful and unmusical cry. Automatically to my mind sprangthe lines of the poem:
Far from all brother-men, in the weird of the fen, With God's creatures I bide, 'mid the birds that I ken; Where the winds ever dree, where the hymn of the sea Brings a message of peace from the ocean to me.
Not a soul was visible about the premises; there was no sound of humanactivity and no dog barked. Nayland Smith drew a long breath, glancedback along the way we had come, then went on, following the wall, Ibeside him, until we came to the gate. It was unfastened, and we walkedup the stone path through a wilderness of weeds. Four windows of thehouse were visible, two on the ground floor and two above. Those onthe ground floor were heavily boarded up, those above, though glazed,boasted neither blinds nor curtains. Cragmire Tower showed not theslightest evidence of tenancy.
We mounted three steps and stood before a tremendously massive oakendoor. An iron bell-pull, ancient and rusty, hung on the right of thedoor, and Smith, giving me an odd glance, seized the ring and tugged it.
From somewhere
within the building answered a mournful clangor, acracked and toneless jangle, which, seeming to echo through emptyapartments, sought and found an exit apparently by way of one of theopenings in the round tower; for it was from above our heads that thenoise came to us.
It died away, that eerie ringing--that clanging so dismal that it couldchill my heart even then with the bright sunlight streaming down out ofthe blue; it awoke no other response than the mournful cry of the seagull circling over our heads. Silence fell. We looked at one another,and we were both about to express a mutual doubt when, unheralded byany unfastening of bolts or bars, the oaken door was opened, and a hugemulatto, dressed in white, stood there regarding us.
I started nervously, for the apparition was so unexpected, but NaylandSmith, without evidence of surprise, thrust a card into the man's hand.
"Take my card to Mr. Van Roon, and say that I wish to see him onimportant business," he directed, authoritatively.
The mulatto bowed and retired. His white figure seemed to be swallowedup by the darkness within, for beyond the patch of uncarpeted floorrevealed by the peeping sunlight, was a barn-like place of densestshadow. I was about to speak, but Smith laid his hand upon my armwarningly, as, out from the shadows the mulatto returned. He stood onthe right of the door and bowed again.
"Be pleased to enter," he said, in his harsh, negro voice. "Mr. Van Roonwill see you."
The gladness of the sun could no longer stir me; a chill and sense offoreboding bore me company, as beside Nayland Smith I entered CragmireTower.
