The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

by Thomas W. Hanshew and Mary E. Hanshew

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE VICTIM

  Dacre Wynne had vanished, leaving behind him no trace of mortal remains,and only a patch of charred grass in the middle of the uninhabited Fensto mark the spot. And Nigel Merriton, whose guest the man was, must ofnecessity be told the fruitlessness of the searchers' self-appointedtask. The doctor volunteered to do it.

  Tony West accompanied him as far as Nigel's, and then he suddenlyrecollected that Merriton had locked it the night before. There wasnothing for it but to hammer upon the panels, or--pick the lock.

  "And he'll be sleeping like a dead man, if I know anything of sleepingdraughts," said the doctor, shaking his head. "Got a penknife, West?"

  West nodded. He whipped the knife out of his pocket and beganmethodically to work at the worn lock with all the precision of anexperienced burglar. But the action brought no smile to his lips, nolittle mocking jest to help on the job. There was something grim in theset of West's lips, and in the tension of the doctor's slight figure.Tragedy had stalked unnoticed into the Towers that evening and they hadbecome enmeshed in the folds of its cloak. They felt it in the coldclamminess of the atmosphere, in the quiet peace of the long corridors.

  Finally the thing was done. West turned the handle and the door swunginward. The doctor crossed to the bedside and took hold of the sleepingman's shoulder. He shook it vigorously.

  "Nigel!" he called sharply once or twice. "Wake up! Wake up!"

  But Merriton never moved. The performance was repeated and the call waslouder.

  "Nigel! I say, wake up--wake up! We've news for you!"

  The sleeping man stirred suddenly and wrenched his shoulder away.

  "Let go of me, Wynne, damn you!" he broke out petulantly, his eyesopening. "I've beaten you this time, anyhow, so part of our score ismarked off! Let go, I say--I--I--_Doctor Bartholomew_! What in Heaven'sname's the matter? I've been asleep, haven't I? What is it? You look asthough you had seen a ghost!"

  He was thoroughly awake now, and struggled to a sitting position. Thedoctor's face twisted wryly.

  "I--wish I had, Nigel," he said bitterly. "Even ghosts would be betterthan--nothing at all. We've been out searching for Wynne, and I--"

  "_Been out?_"

  "Yes, across the Fens. We were anxious. Wynne didn't come back, you know,and so after we'd got you to bed we thought we'd make up a search partyamong ourselves and look into the thing. But we haven't found him, Nigel.He's vanished--completely!"

  "Impossible!"

  Merriton was out of bed now, still staring sleepily at them. Something inthe boyishness of him struck a chord of sympathy in the doctor's heart.He alone of all of them had guessed at the genuineness of Nigel's fearfor Wynne, he alone had seen into the man's heart, and discovered thehalf-belief that lurked there.

  "I'm afraid it's perfectly true," he said quietly, as Merriton came tohim and caught him by the arm, his face white. "We followed his tracksacross the Fens--it had been raining and it was extremely easy todo--until they suddenly ended in a patch of half-charred grass. It wasuncanny! We made a further search to make sure, but nothing rewarded ourefforts. Dacre Wynne's gone somewhere, and those devilish flames of yourswill be counting another victim to their lengthening list to-night."

  "Good God!"

  Merriton's lips trembled, and his fingers dropped from the doctor's arm.

  "But I tell you it's impossible, man!" he broke out suddenly. "Thething's beyond human credulity, Doctor."

  "Well, be that as it may, the fact remains--Wynne's gone," returned thedoctor gloomily. "Of course we must communicate with the police. That'sthe next thing to do. We'll send over to make sure Wynne isn't at theBrellier's but I think there isn't a chance of it myself. Where he didgo beats me completely!"

  "And it fair beats me, too!" said Merriton, in a shocked voice, beginningmechanically to struggle into his clothes. "One of you might 'phone thepolice--though what they'll be able to do for us I don't know. It's aone-horse show in the village, and the chap who's chief constable was thefellow who told me of the other man that disappeared, and seemed quitewilling to accept a supernatural explanation. Still, of course, it's thething to be done.... And I actually saw, with my own eyes, that new flameflash out!"

  He said the last words in a sort of undertone, but the doctor heard them,and twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.

  "You saw the new flame? Oh--of course. And you--never mind. Our next moveis to telephone the police."

  But what the police could do for them was so pitifully small as to beabsurd. Constable Haggers was a man whose superstitious fear of theflames got the better of his constabulary training in every way. He saidhe would do what he could, but he would certainly attempt nothing untilbroad daylight. He believed the story in every particular and said thatit was well-nigh impossible to trace the vanished man. "There had beenothers," was all he would say, "and never a trace of 'em 'ave we everseen!"

  Telephoning the Brelliers was a mere matter of minutes, and by that meansMerriton made perfectly sure that Wynne had not put in an appearance atWithersby Hall. Brellier himself answered the phone, and said that he wasjust thinking that as Wynne hadn't turned up yet, they must indeed havebeen making a night of it at the Towers.

  "However," he continued, "if you say you all retired around about oneo'clock, and Wynne left you soon after ten--well, I can't think what hasbecome of him...."

  "He went out to investigate those devilish flames!" remarked Merriton, asa rather shamefaced explanation. Then he fairly heard the wires jump withthe force of Brellier's exclamation.

  "Eh--what? What's that you say? He went out to investigate the flames,Merriton? What fool let him go? Surely you know the story?"

  "We did. And we did our best to dissuade him, Mr. Brellier," repliedMerriton wearily. "But he went. You know Dacre Wynne as well as I do. Hewas set upon going. But he has not come back, and some of the chaps hereset up a search-party to hunt for him. They discovered nothing. Simplysome charred grass in the middle of the Fens and the end of hisfootprints.... So he didn't come round to your place then? Thanks. I'mawfully sorry to have bothered you, but you can understand my anxietyI know. I'll keep you posted as to any news we get. Yes--horrible, isn'tit? So--so beastly uncanny...."

  He hung up the receiver with a drawn face.

  "Well, Wynne didn't go there, anyway," he said to the group of men whoclustered round him. "So that's done with. Now we'll just have to possessour souls in patience, and see what Constable Haggers can do for us. Ivote we tumble in for forty winks before the sun gets too high in theheavens. It is the most reasonable thing to do in the circumstances."

  The days that followed brought them little light upon the matter. Wynne,it proved, was a man apparently without relations, and devoid of friends.The local police could make nothing of it. They had had such casesbefore, and were perfectly willing to let the matter rest where itwas. Interest, once so high, began to flag. The thing dropped into thecommonplace, and was soon forgotten, together with the man who had causedit.

  But Nigel was far from satisfied. That he and Dacre Wynne were reallyenemies, who had posed as friends made not a particle of difference.Dacre Wynne had disappeared during the brief time that he was a guest inMerriton's house. The subject did not die with the owner of MerritonTowers. He spent many long evenings with Doctor Bartholomew talking thething over, trying to reconstruct it, probe into it, hunt for new clues,new anything which might lead to a solution. But such talks always cameto nothing. Every stone had already been turned, and the dry dust of thehighway afforded little knowledge to Merriton.

  Across the clear sky of his happiness a cloud had gloomed, spoiling fora time the perfection of it. He could not think of marriage while themystery of Dacre Wynne's death remained unsolved. It seemed unthinkable.

  Tony West told him he was getting morbid about it, and to have a change.

  "Come up to London and see some of your friends," was West's advice. ButMerriton never took it.

  'Toinette seemed the only person w
ho understood how he felt, and theknowledge of this only served to draw them closer together. She, too,felt that marriage was for the time being unthinkable, and despiteBrellier's constant urging in that direction, she held her ground firmly,telling him that they preferred to wait awhile.

  "I'm going to solve the blessed thing, 'Toinette," Nigel told her overand over again during these long weeks and days that followed, "if I growgray-headed in the attempt. Dacre Wynne was no true friend of mine, buthe was my guest at the time of his disappearance, and I mean to find thereason of it."

  If he had only known what the future held in store for them both, wouldhe still have clung to his purpose? Who can tell?

  It was at night that the thing obsessed him worst. When darkness hadfallen Merriton would sit, evening after evening, looking out upon thatsame scene that he had shown his companions that eventful night. Andalways the flames danced on their maddening way, mocking him, holdingbehind the screen of their brilliancy the key to Dacre Wynne'sinexplicable disappearance. Merriton would sit and watch them for hours,and sometimes find himself talking to them.

  What was the matter with him? Was he going insane? Or was this DacreWynne's abominable idea of a revenge for having stolen 'Toinette's heartaway from him? To have died and sent his spirit back to haunt the man hehated seemed to Merriton sometimes the answer to the questions whichconstantly puzzled him.