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The Incredible Crime

Page 19

by Lois Austen-Leigh


  “No,” said Prudence, watching the dog carefully. “I believe he’s afraid of something; can’t you see his hair standing up down his back?” She rose and picked up the trembling puppy. “Come, my darling, what is it?”

  The little creature snuggled up against her, licking her hand. The wind suddenly dropped, and outside in the passage could be distinctly heard a peculiar footstep coming towards the door of the room where they were sitting. Ben sat up abruptly and held up his hand for silence. The footsteps came nearer—the dog was whimpering; then a scuffle just outside the door and a long gurgle. The wind began again.

  “Well,” said Lord Wellende a little hoarsely; he cleared his throat. “I never heard it plainer than that.”

  Temple got up and opened the door; there lay the carpeted passage, dimly lighted. He shut it again and came and stood with his back to the fire.

  “That our family ghost?” he said in an unconcerned voice.

  “Yes,” replied the head of the family. “Did you notice that it was not an ordinary footstep walking on carpet?”

  “It was not,” replied his cousin with a slight smile, “there was a clink or clank about it.”

  “I experimented once, and it’s the exact sound of mailed armour walking on stone.”

  “Is it? Now that’s really rather interesting.”

  “When the murder was done that passage had no carpet as it has now you may be certain, and the stone is still there. I’ve always supposed from those sounds he throttled his victim just outside this door, it always sounds like it; does one gurgle like that when throttled, Francis? You’re a doctor, you ought to know.”

  “I didn’t know you knew as much about the murder as all that,” said Prudence in a shaky voice.

  “There’s a manuscript in the muniment-room.”

  But Temple, who had been watching Prudence, saw that she was really frightened. “My dear,” he said, “don’t let yourself be frightened by a mere coincidence of sound; you know as well as I do that in this old house the wind can play any tricks.”

  “It’s what I never, never have really been quite sure about, whether I do believe in these ghosts or not; I think I shall go off to bed. Are the lights still on, Ben?”

  “Yes,” replied that obtuse person, “they are always on until I go to bed.”

  “Come,” said Temple, picking up her candle for her, “I am going up to fetch my tobacco pouch, I will see you to your door.”

  Chapter XXVIII

  Though Prudence had come upstairs, she had no sooner shut her door than she wished she hadn’t. There was something very comforting in the unbelieving imperturbability of Francis. She got into bed, however, but made no attempt to sleep for some time. Though the wind was much quieter on this side of the house, her mind was no less troubled. She read for a bit, and then, leaving the lamp by the bed on for company, she dropped off into a restless slumber. It had not lasted long before she woke up with a start. The wind had dropped completely, and an unearthly silence reigned outside in comparison. Inside the house, however, there were all sorts of little noises and sounds to be heard. So many, to which one couldn’t put a satisfactory name. At least when it was really windy, all these sounds were drowned; now when it wasn’t, they could all be heard. There was a scratching, probably a mouse, the old wardrobe in her room creaked, that gentle sigh somewhere…of course that was the wind again. That…what was that? a sound of light paws running down the passage and a whimper. With a shudder Prudence hid her head under the bedclothes. Was it one of the animals that ran about the haunted house at night? Were the ghosts all on the prowl? She thought she would turn on more light and lock the door. She got slowly out of bed, controlling with difficulty an old childish fear that as she did so a hairy claw would come out from under the bed and grab at her bare ankles. Then the whimper came again, and a snuffle that seemed more human. Prudence turned on all the lights there were, and with a real effort to be brave, opened the door. She directed the shaft of light from her switch down the dark passage; and there, quite alive and reassuring, was Francis’s puppy. He looked, however, frightened and forlorn.

  “My poor lamb!” exclaimed Prudence softly, “what are you doing here?”

  She crept quietly down the passage, keeping the light on in front. Then she saw that the door of Temple’s bedroom was open. She waited just outside, and listened. No sound at all—that meant he wasn’t there; it was dark inside, and if he had been asleep, she would have heard his breathing. She looked back down the passage whence she had come. The dog was staring very intently at one of the bare panels on the outside wall. Presently he put his nose down to where the wall-panelling joined the floor-boards and blew violently, as though down a rat-hole. Prudence came up to him and examined it.

  “There’s nothing there,” she said, “not even a mouse-hole.”

  Then she heard some fresh sounds she could not at all account for, and stopped with her heart in her mouth to listen. A moment later, quite clearly and distinctly, coming from nowhere, and yet apparently quite close to her, came the unmistakable sound of sloppy footsteps! With a gasp of sheer terror she seized the dog and fled to her room; she leapt straight on to the bed, dog and all, and then realized that in her haste she had not shut the door! Literally stiff with terror she sat where she was, and waited to hear if the footsteps were going to follow her into the room. The sound, however, seemed to have died away. She thought she heard what might have been a soft click, and then the unmistakable, human sound of a door being shut very quietly; evidently Francis gone back to his room.

  Prudence burst into tears, a reaction from her fright. She wished she and the puppy could go along to Francis and tell him how frightened they had been, and could they stay with him till daylight came because they would both feel so much happier and safer in his presence. She smiled ruefully through her tears at the thought of his face if she did so. The next moment she was angry with herself for being such a fool; and almost immediately, as a natural sequence, became very angry indeed with Francis for being the innocent cause of making her feel such a fool. Her anger came to her assistance, and she began to think things over in a more reasonable frame of mind. If those footsteps had been the ghost, and they were clear enough, Francis, who had undoubtedly shut his bedroom door a moment later, must have either seen or heard it. But then, thought Prudence irritably, he was far too imperturbable ever to see or hear anything of that sort! But the steps had been quite clear…could they possibly have been his? And if so, where from? He wasn’t in the passage. The puppy blowing against the crack where the panelling met the floor…the large buttress that she now remembered came up against the house! Was it possible the secret staircase came up just there, and that Temple had been using it?

  Her subsequent anger with Temple for having frightened her so much, quite drowned any further terrors of the supernatural, and she finally fell asleep.

  Next morning Prudence sent down to say she had a headache, and breakfasted in bed. She sent a message by Mary to Temple’s “man” to say the dog had slept in her room, hoping to make his master feel uncomfortable. But she felt so restless after a bit that she got up and decided to go to church. She arrived late, and slipped into a pew at the back of the building.

  The church at Wellende was originally Norman, with later additions; and across the ages it recorded the history of one family. Stone and alabaster figures, kneeling and recumbent, filled the chancel; while on the walls of the building, here was recorded the characteristics of one Temple, there the deeds of another. In a raised pew stood two tall figures—the present Lord Wellende with his fair head and tanned face, and beside him the stately form of his cousin. There was no doubt of it, thought Prudence, which of these two was the leader, as she looked at Francis’s strong face. Vaguely she thought she had heard that in breeding horses the female strain always disappeared in six generations, but something in the male persisted. What, she thought, had
come down to these two living figures across the centuries from all the stone ones surrounding them. Was there any characteristic in that first crusader that had lasted to the present day?

  It was an old custom at Wellende, rigidly observed, that no one left the church before his lordship; and so the little congregation kept their seats while the two tall Temples came down the aisle. Prudence joined them outside.

  After lunch, Francis, with seeming reluctance, took his departure; he was being sent to catch a train at a distant junction, and Ben and Prudence, after a short nap, began the usual Sunday round of the stables, discussing past sport and the prospects of more with the old coachman. They came in for tea in the library. Prudence did the usual round, with her mind far away and ill at ease. She was trying to face the fact that she must speak out to Ben. Even though he was now safely out of the way, the fact that a detective had been about, in conjunction with what Captain Studde had told her, made it necessary that Ben should be warned. She thought it possible, even probable, that Mr. McDonald had not been on a holiday at all. If there was a thing Prudence, loathed, next to being made a fool of, it was taking a liberty; and speaking to her cousin on the subject she meditated was almost bound to land her in one predicament or the other. She had also to remember that she must not give Captain Studde away.

  Ben was standing in front of the fire pulling at his pipe when Prudence began:

  “I have something very serious I wish to say to you,” she said, her eyes fixed, not on her cousin, but on the shield at his back.

  “I hope you will not think I am taking an unpardonable liberty…but I have to say it!”

  “My dear Prue, why all this? You can say what you like to me!”

  She gazed at him, wondering how best to go on. The utter absurdity of it, sitting in that beautiful room, and asking the man who had been placidly reading the lessons in church to stop smuggling! She shifted her gaze to the fire and went on in a hurry, “I know what you are doing, I found out by an accident; I know what you and Dr. Heale are doing on the quiet here…and…and I do ask you to stop it.” There was a silence. Prudence looked anxiously at her cousin.

  “How did you find out?”

  “I can’t tell you that. I would if I could, but I just can’t; I doubt if it’s as secret as you two think, and it’s dangerous.”

  “You’ve learned nothing from Francis Temple I’ll be bound,” said Wellende.

  “I can’t tell you at all, Ben; that doesn’t matter. The fact remains that I know, and other outside people may know, and you oughtn’t to be doing it, not in your position.” Prudence felt half relieved and half shocked that her cousin should take it all so calmly. He continued to smoke, with his eyes fixed on something outside the window.

  “It’s just my position which has made it possible, even comparatively easy, for me to do it.”

  “Oh, Ben!” exclaimed Prudence, really shocked—shocked that the man she had always believed her cousin to be should allow himself to take up such a standpoint. What was she to say? It was useless to preach to him about the morality of it, at his age, and if he really thought that…

  “I think the greater your position the worse it is in you.”

  “There I entirely disagree,” said Wellende, without any sign of annoyance. “I consider it would be a crime in the smaller people, if they had the opportunity, which they probably wouldn’t; but my position all round has made it particularly easy for me, and I know how to handle the whole business better than most.”

  Prudence was silent, not knowing what to say.

  “Take this house alone,” he went on, “it’s built for smuggling. I have everything to hand, and the results have been more successful than I could have believed possible. Look at the difference in the hunting.”

  “Of course, I’ve no right to be saying this to you,” said Prudence, in very real distress, “but my point is, the greater your position, the greater the crime is in you. I know you are the last person in the world anyone would suspect of dabbling in such matters, but that makes it worse in my eyes. Why, all your traditions, Ben—”

  “I know, my dear,” he said kindly, “and, believe me, I didn’t go into the business without thinking it over carefully. I didn’t like the idea at all at first, but Francis pointed out to me how easily I could do so, and what an immense help to him in his work it would be. Also, of course, what I am afraid weighed even more with me, the help it would be to get better hunting.”

  “Do you think these advantages really justify you?”

  Lord Wellende thought. “To tell you the truth, I am not quite sure; half of me is all against tampering with such things, and the other half tells me it’s ridiculous to be so particular.”

  “Oh! Ben,” exclaimed Prudence, “do give it up—and, I am going to use a base argument, I am afraid you will be found out, and you wouldn’t like that.”

  “No, I should not.” He paused, and then continued: “I thought we were perfectly safe. I can’t think how you—”

  “Never mind how; the fact remains that I have found out, and so may others.”

  “I’ll think it over again,” said Wellende, “but if I back out, I shall hardly dare to face Francis.”

  “I feel as if it were a bad dream, my talking to you like this, and in a moment I shall wake up and find it isn’t true.”

  “Don’t take it to heart like that, my dear,” he said, and he deliberately changed the topic of conversation.

  Chapter XXIX

  It was a fine, windy morning in Cambridge. Down King’s Parade the wind came swirling along, sweeping the insecurely-propped bicycles on to the road and pavement, picking up sheaves of loose white papers and sending them dancing along. Those who had hats were holding them on, and those who wore gowns were holding them down. Young women with bundles of books under their arms and preoccupied expressions, hurrying tradesfolk, and gowned figures of all ages and sizes, filled the street.

  Among all this busy, familiar crowd one alien figure, watching it all with obvious interest, was making his leisurely way. He was a tall person, dressed in a lounge suit of sober check which somehow yet managed to suggest sport; his trousers were of “an almost godly fullness,” his billycock hat was placed straight and decorously on his head; the pin which held his sombre-coloured tie in place was a large horseshoe; he carried a very neatly folded umbrella, and yet…and yet…the whole figure was reminiscent of the stables.

  Outside Prince’s College he paused, and after having declined to buy a bunch of violets, he asked the porter the way to Dr. Temple’s rooms. Having got the information, he walked slowly round by the path. Temple himself opened the door.

  “I am very glad to see you, Ben,” said he, “though I can’t think what should bring you up to Cambridge.”

  “My dear fellow,” replied Wellende, shaking hands, “how the place has changed! I haven’t been up for I don’t know how many years, and the crowds about!”

  “Ah, well, you must remember the University is twice the size it was in our day as undergraduates.”

  “Yes, crowds everywhere now, I suppose, and all the dear, familiar sights gone!”

  “I don’t know so much about that. Here, take this chair, it’s more comfortable, and sit by the fire. We still have Trinity Gate and King’s Chapel standing.”

  “King’s Chapel!” exclaimed Lord Wellende with some disgust. “King’s Chapel! Why, God bless my soul, I remember Green Street so full of polo ponies you couldn’t walk down it!”

  “Oh!” said Professor Temple, readjusting his point of view; “yes, yes, that’s true, you don’t see so many horses about now, though the fact had not occurred to me till you pointed it out.”

  “It’s these d—d motors and bicycles have done the mischief; why, we feel it even in the country. Most of the farmers now are beginning to keep a car instead of a hunter, and it’s that will be the ruin of huntin
g in the end. I don’t know what we are coming to, and that’s a fact; I don’t indeed,” and Lord Wellende laid his neat umbrella and pair of dogskin gloves on the table.

  The Professor regarded his cousin with interest, but without sympathy.

  “You seem to bring a musty odour from departed centuries along with you, Ben; that and a strong suggestion of the stables; I don’t know how you manage it,” he observed sourly.

  “Talking of stables, I remember I used to keep my horses at a livery stables opposite that museum place—I don’t remember its name.”

  “The ‘Fitzwilliam.’”

  “That’s it. I ought to have remembered that. I have had one or two very good days with the ‘Fitzwilliam.’ Are those stables still going?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And there was a chap sold rats,” continued Lord Wellende reminiscently; “he lived down by the river, I wonder if that goes on?”

  “I haven’t the least idea in the world; but get to business. What brings you up?”

  Lord Wellende sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. He took his hat off and put it carefully on his knee.

  “I am afraid I am going to disappoint you a good deal by what I am going to say. I have decided to give up the business we are engaged in.”

  Temple, with an angry exclamation, stood up. His face darkened and a little pulse began to beat on the side of his forehead; for a few moments he looked most unpleasant, and then with an obvious effort he regained control of himself and spoke comparatively quietly. “What has made you come to this sudden conclusion?”

  “It isn’t sudden. I have been thinking it over for some time, and one or two things have happened lately to decide me.”

  The Professor snorted.

  “I didn’t at all like having to get rid of that detective as we did; but doing a business in secret like ours will always lay us open to that sort of necessity, and I don’t like it.”

 

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