Chapter 20 and Last
"Help!" cried Welton again, as feeling himself falling through the floor he flung out his hands to right and left in the endeavour to save himself.
In his efforts, he dropped the revolver. It fell with the leopard skin rug on which he was standing, right through the floor of the room and into the water below.
Even as he fell, and before he touched the water, a horrible suspicion as to his fate flashed through his mind. With a vivid recollection of what he had heard, of the murmuring noise below the floor, he was prepared, even before he felt the icy water closing round him and over him, for the fact that he was destined to meet his death by drowning at the hands of the wretches among whom he had been thrown.
Down he went, not so very far below the level of the floor of the small drawing room, but quite far enough for it to be out of the question for him to try to save himself by getting out through the hole through which he had fallen.
Encumbered by the skin rug which had fallen with him into the water, he could not at first make out anything but the fact that he was in deep water, in a sort of enormous tank which was both dark and cold, and the size of which he could not for some time ascertain.
The square hole in the floor above, which he guessed to be a trapdoor through which he had fallen, appeared from below to be some three feet square, and through it he could dimly see the swinging lamp and the painted ceiling of the little drawing room as his head, after being completely immersed, came to the top of the water, and he freed himself from the enveloping leopard skin.
He could swim, and he got to the side of the tank, which he now judged to be not more than seven or eight feet across. He felt the wall with his hands. It was perfectly smooth, without any projection by which he could support himself. He swam round the whole of the small space, and then looked up again into the room above.
Then he saw Miss Ferriby's face leaning down and looking in.
If she had had any lingering tenderness towards him, she had managed to stifle the feeling, and the expression which he saw on her masculine features was one which appalled him by its mingled ferocity and despair.
She seemed to know, he thought, that the fate which she had prepared for her victim would not be unavenged, for there was a look of sullen anger, and at the same time of desperation in her whole attitude, in her clenched hands and set teeth, which made him certain that she was quite fully aware of the dangers of her own course of action.
He thought his best chance was to remain still, and he made no more movement than was necessary to keep himself afloat, so that Miss Ferriby, blinking down into the darkness of the tank, seemed not to be sure whether he was alive or dead.
Her doubt peeped out in her tone as she said, in a hoarse voice, "Keynes, are you alive?"
He was careful not to utter so much as a sound in reply.
She repeated her question, bending down and staring into the depths below, without in all probability being able to discern very much.
Then Welton heard a noise in the distance, a noise of feet, a murmur of voices, and there was evidently a rush into the room above of several people who all began to speak at once, not very loudly, but with unmistakable anger.
Miss Ferriby had started back, away from the hole in the floor, and at the same moment Welton uttered a low cry, for something hard and cold had touched his forehead. He immediately recognized, however, that this was only the square piece of flooring which had dropped out into the water to let him down, on the withdrawal by some means he was as yet unable to ascertain, of the supports which kept it in its place.
Listening intently, he made out the voices of Box and the maid. They were speaking together, both sharply, reproachfully, threateningly.
"Is he dead?" asked the voice of Box.
Miss Ferriby made no immediate answer, but Cockett spoke. "We didn't hear a shot. We heard a scuffle and a fall, but no revolver shot. Did you shoot him?
Miss Ferriby attempted to assume her old tone of authority with them. "I did what I had undertaken to do, of course," she said. "He is in there. If he isn't yet dead, he soon will be. How can a man live in ten feet of water, if he can't get out?"
Box approached the hole in the floor and looked down. But he failed to make out much more than Miss Ferriby had done; and perhaps with a wholesome fear of possible treachery on the part of his fellow-conspirators, Box did not linger on the edge of the hole.
Cockett presently took his place. "I don't believe he is dead," he said slowly. "You ought to have made sure."
Welton took care to make no sign, but the faint movement he was obliged to make to enable him to keep his head above the water was enough for the sharp eyes above him.
Box came back again and stood beside his fellow-rogue. "If you don't think he's done for," he said in a low voice, which however was loud enough for the unhappy victim in the water to hear, "we'd better make sure. Where's her revolver?"
Cockett retreated a few paces to find out what had become of the weapon, but Welton knew that he would have a respite, as the revolver, which he had wrenched from the hunchback, had fallen into the water with him.
There was, as he expected, a short break while the men retreated, and Welton heard them conversing in a low voice. Then Miss Ferriby broke out into a fit of harsh laughter.
"You fools!" she cried derisively. "If you'd only had the sense to let me carry out my own plans, my own wishes, you would have saved yourself all this, and more, much more. Look there!"
Welton did not know at what she was pointing but he heard the voice of the lady's maid, who ran breathless into the room, crying with intense excitement. "Where shall we go? What shall we do? It's the police, really the police!"
Miss Ferriby, at once mistress of all her faculties when danger threatened, drew herself up and laughed, no longer in the harsh strident tones she had lately used, but almost merrily.
"The police!" she cried, as if there were nothing in the word to alarm her. "Dear me, what have they come about, I wonder!"
Leaving the smaller drawing room for the outer one, she would have turned the key in the lock to shut in her victim and any possible cries which he might utter, while Box and Cockett were still in the room, if the former had not pushed past her angrily, and at the same moment the lady's maid had not rushed past her in the other direction into the smaller drawing room, where she uttered a loud shriek as she found herself unexpectedly close to the hole in the floor.
Cockett, who was still in the room, put his hand over her mouth savagely.
In the meantime Box, growing pale and hesitating what to do in face of the fact that he could see for himself that there was something unusual going on in the garden, turned to Miss Ferriby, who was now the only person entirely calm and apparently unmoved by the commotion.
"What shall we do?" he asked under his breath. "You hag, see what you've brought us to, with your fancies and your confounded whims!"
Miss Ferriby sauntered, wholly unmoved, in the direction of the nearest window. The blinds were down, the curtains were drawn, but the French window by which the lady's maid had entered was still ajar. The lights were turned on in the long drawing room, and as the hunchback reached the window, drew up the blind and looked out, her form was silhouetted against the illumination behind her.
"What's the matter?" she asked in her blandest tones. "Who is that?"
The question was directed to the nearer of two men, unmistakably policemen in plain clothes, who were already in the veranda, and who came briskly up to the window when she spoke.
But as they came up, Miss Ferriby caught sight of two figures behind those men which gave her more concern than they. In the background, hovering close together, and not uttering a sound, she caught sight of a tall, slim, young girl and of a very young man. They were so far away that in the darkness she could not make out their features, but by the hoarse cry which she uttered under her breath, it was evident that she recognized them both.
The foremost of the
police officers saluted and said, "Miss Ferriby, I believe?"
"Yes, that's my name. What do you want?"
"We want to know whether a Mr. Welton Keynes is staying here, if you please, ma'am."
The figure of the young man and the girl stole stealthily nearer in the darkness, but still neither of them uttered a word.
Miss Ferriby's answer was given in a voice full of surprise. "Mr. Keynes? Oh no, he's not here now. He goes away every day at about five o'clock or half past."
"Did he go at that time today, ma'am?"
"I believe so. At least, I haven't seen him since then and I thought he was gone."
"We have information, ma'am, that he's on the premises now. Would you have any objection to our trying to find him?"
Miss Ferriby affected to utter a little scream of horror. "He's been in some trouble, has he?" she asked sharply. "And he seemed such a decent sort of fellow."
"Well, we've heard something that makes us think he's in hiding, ma'am, and the truth is, we've been watching for him, and he hasn't come out. I hope you don't mind our making a little search, ma'am."
Although she kept her countenance pretty well, Miss Ferriby's colour became a dull grey as she said in an altered voice, into which she tried to put some dignity, "I'm sure he's not here. You'd better search the house at the corner, Mrs. Ashcot's, number three in the lane. He's more likely to be there than here."
"Oh, we've been there, ma'am," said the second officer quietly.
There was a pause. In the darkness the two young figures came nearer.
And then the first officer pushed his way rather brusquely past the hunchback, with a "By your leave, ma'am," and entered the drawing room.
Although there was no one in the room apart from Box in his servant's livery, apparently calm and busy putting the furniture in order, the officers had an inkling at once, from something in the condition of the room, that something dramatic had taken place there very recently.
Miss Ferriby followed them in, and suggested their making a search upstairs. "I have an idea," she said, "that Mr. Keynes may have gone into the room where I sometimes receive visitors who want their palms read. He was very curious about that room, and he may have gone up there when his secretarial work for me was over. This way."
She had opened the door leading to the little spiral staircase, when one of the detectives stopped short, fancying he heard a faint cry.
"Before we go upstairs, Miss Ferriby," he said, "we had better make a search down here, I think."
He pushed past Miss Ferriby, who stood in the way, and tried the handle of the door of the inner drawing room.
"Locked," he said shortly. "Give me the key, please."
The young man and woman were now in the room. Miss Ferriby, as she glanced round, saw that the girl was deadly white, and that she was sobbing. She recognised Miss Ashcot immediately.
She turned savagely to the detectives. "I won't have my house turned upside down to please the inquisitive whims of a lot of gossiping neighbours!" she cried loudly, in such a ringing voice of command that even the police officer was for the moment checked by it. "This girl is the daughter of a mischief-making neighbour of mine called Mrs. Ashcot. She has made my life a burden by the scandalous things she says about me, as she does about all her neighbours."
But while she was making this indignant protest, the second officer, getting behind her and his companion, had made another discovery. "This door," he said, "is made of iron." And he made a savage lunge at it.
Quickly upon the noise he made, there followed a piercing woman's shriek from within the room, and then again the hoarse, faint cry which they had heard before.
"It's Welton's voice! It's my brother!" cried Basil, who with Barbara Ashcot had followed the officers in silence until that moment.
The girl uttered a smothered sob, but keeping herself under strong control she said nothing, but stood trembling with Basil just inside the French window.
The officer turned to Miss Ferriby. "The key, please, madam," he said, "at once."
"The key?" echoed she, her voice shaking a little. "But I haven't the least idea where it is."
It was evident that the detective did not believe a syllable of what she said.
But she turned away as if offended at the question.
The detective seized her arm and held it like a vice. As he did so, he perceived on her right wrist the marks of a struggle. The skin was bruised and broken, and he, meeting her eyes, knew that she had been engaged in an actual physical tussle at no very remote time. She flinched at his touch, indeed, for Welton had had some trouble in wrenching the revolver from her grasp, and her wrist was still sore from the struggle.
"I must break the door in, then," he said.
Box stood at a little distance, as white as his mistress. Something in his face attracted the attention of the second officer, who whispered a few words to his companion. Then at the same moment they rushed at Box, tripped him up, and laying him on the floor, in spite of his struggles, searched him thoroughly, with the result that a door key was found upon him, which one of the officers handed to Basil Keynes.
"Try the door with it," he said briefly.
Miss Ferriby rushed at the lad, but Barbara, dashing past her, snatched the key from Basil and placed it in the lock of the door, while Basil restrained the hunchback.
A cry of horror burst from Barbara Ashcot's lips when she saw, stretched on the floor, the unconscious figure of a woman, while a man sat with folded arms in an armchair by the fireplace.
In the floor was a gaping space, and Barbara, with an instinct that it was here that she would find Welton, crept close to the edge, knelt down, and cried, "Are you there? Are you alive?"
A faint voice answered her. "Yes, for God's sake get me out! I'm drowning."
Barbara sprang to her feet, and rushing across the room tore down the thick cord that was used to loop up the portière. Basil joined her, and one of the detectives ran in to help them.
Welton, who was growing rigid and cold from his long immersion and battle with death, was just able to pass the cord round his body, and then the work of drawing him up to the level of the floor began.
It was a difficult business, although the second detective now came to the help of the first.
By the time they had dragged the unfortunate Welton to the floor of the room, Barbara was crying bitterly with terror lest he should die as the result of his terrible experience. As soon as he was laid on the floor, she flung herself beside him and kissed his pale face with passionate tenderness, which, even then, brought a tinge of colour to his face, and acted as a wholesome stimulant to the half-drowned man.
"Where are they? Where is she -- Miss Ferriby?" was the first thing Welton asked, when they had given him some brandy and made him warm himself at the fire.
The detectives smiled. "There are some more of us outside," he said dryly. "They'll see they give an account of themselves."
Barbara shuddered and came closer to Welton.
The room in which they sat was clear of the gang, for the lady's maid had disappeared with Cockett, having recovered consciousness very promptly on the appearance of the police. Box and the rest had tried to escape, but only Box, the cleverest of them, succeeded in getting away.
As for Miss Ferriby, perhaps conscious that she was too easily recognizable for escape to be possible in her case, perhaps tired of a life which she had persistently misspent, she made no attempt to run away, but going to a cabinet in the long drawing room where a whole store of weapons was subsequently discovered, she took out a loaded revolver, and placing it against her own breast, killed herself with one well-directed shot.
Her body, in her magnificent dress and still glittering with jewels, was found lying in a corner of the drawing room by the two detectives as they came out.
Welton Keynes was taken to the house of Mrs. Ashcot, and no one who saw Barbara hanging over him, or the way in which he sought her eyes, had much doubt how their roma
nce would end.
He was not long in finding out that it was Barbara's quick wit which had combined with Basil's fears to devise a way of helping him out of the dangers which both knew him to be in. And so the story unfolded.
Basil explained that when the day passed without getting the promised telegram from his brother, he dashed off home to their lodging, found Welton still absent, and went as fast as he could to Mrs. Ashcot's. There, Barbara scenting danger when she heard Basil's story, suggested that they should both go at once to the nearest police station to find out if there was any truth in the story of the police raid.
The Superintendent questioned them both closely, informed them that nothing was known of the raid in question, but that certain warnings concerning The Lawns had been given to the force by Mr. Ospringe, who had not been quite so easily hoodwinked as Cockett had supposed.
So clear was Basil's story and so strong were Barbara's suspicions of the house, that the Superintendent obtained and at once used permission from headquarters to institute a raid upon the premises of Miss Ferriby.
Barbara and Basil had followed them and got admittance at the same time, one of the policemen scaling the wall and letting the others in.
Not half the crimes committed by the gang ever came to light, as evidence was wanting on which to convict them. But the outrage on Welton Keynes, and the part taken in it by Box, Cockett and Miss Ferriby, were easy to prove, and the two men, being left by Miss Ferriby's suicide to bear the penalty without her, were sentenced to a term of penal servitude which they had thoroughly earned.
The subordinates in crime got lighter sentences, having failed to prove that entire innocence of what went on at The Lawns which their counsel strove to establish.
And the pretty little house with its smooth lawns and atmosphere of peace, having provided a nine days' wonder and horror for the smart ladies who had had their fortunes told by the philanthropic Miss Ferriby, was empty and "to let," until an enterprising builder came and erected a row of cheaply built flats over the scene of Fiammetta's adventures, and the crimes of the gang which worked under her orders.
THE END
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