The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  Mr. John P. Dunster, lying flat upon his little bed, watched withdilated eyes the disappearance of the ladder. Then he laughed. It was aqueer sound--broken, spasmodic, devoid of any of the ordinary elementsof humor--and yet it was a laugh. Mr. Fentolin turned his head towardshis prisoner and nodded thoughtfully.

  "What a constitution, my friend!" he exclaimed, without any trace ofdisturbance in his voice. "And what a sense of humour! Strange that atrifling circumstance like this should affect it. Meekins, burn somemore of the powder. The atmosphere down here may be salubrious, but I amunaccustomed to it."

  "Perhaps," Mr. Dunster said in a hollow tone, "you will have someopportunity now of discovering with me what it is like."

  "That, too, is just possible," Mr. Fentolin admitted, blowing out alittle volume of smoke from a cigarette which he had just lit, "but onenever knows. We have friends, and our position, although, I must admit,a little ridiculous, is easily remedied. But how that mischief-makingMr. Hamel could have found his way into the boat-house does, I mustconfess, perplex me."

  "He must have been hanging around and followed us in when we came,"Meekins muttered. "Somehow, I fancied I felt some one near."

  "Our young friend," Mr. Fentolin continued, "has, without doubt, anobvious turn of mind. He will send for his acquaintance in the ForeignOffice; they will haul out Mr. Dunster here, and he will have a belatedopportunity of delivering his message at The Hague."

  "You aren't going to murder me first, then?" Mr. Dunster grunted.

  Mr. Fentolin smiled at him benignly.

  "My dear and valued guest," he protested, "why so forbidding an idea?Let me assure you from the bottom of my heart that any bodily harm toyou is the most unlikely thing in the world. You see, though you mightnot think it," he went on, "I love life. That is why I keep a doctoralways by my side. That is why I insist upon his making a complete studyof my constitution and treating me in every respect as though I wereindeed an invalid. I am really only fifty-nine years old. It is myintention to live until I am eighty-nine. An offence against the law ofthe nature you indicate might interfere materially with my intentions."

  Mr. Dunster struggled for a moment for breath.

  "Look here," he said, "that's all right, but do you suppose you won't bepunished for what you've done to me? You laid a deliberate plot to bringme to St. David's Hall; you've kept me locked up, dosed me with drugs,brought me down here at the dead of night, kept me a prisoner in adungeon. Do you think you can do that for nothing? Do you think youwon't have to suffer for it?"

  Mr. Fentolin smiled.

  "My dear Mr. Dunster," he reminded him, "you were in a railway accident,you know; there is no possible doubt about that. And the wound in yourhead is still there, in a very dangerous place. Men who have been inrailway accidents, and who have a gaping wound very close to theirbrain, are subject to delusions. I have simply done my best to play theGood Samaritan. Your clothes and papers are all untouched. If my eminentphysician had pronounced you ready to travel a week ago, you wouldcertainly have been allowed to depart a week ago. Any interference inyour movements has been entirely in the interests of your health."

  Mr. Dunster tried to sit up but found himself unable.

  "So you think they won't believe my story, eh?" he muttered. "Well, weshall see."

  Mr. Fentolin thoughtfully contemplated the burning end of his cigarettefor a moment.

  "If I believed," he said, "that there was any chance of your statementsbeing accepted, I am afraid I should be compelled, in all our interests,to ask Doctor Sarson to pursue just a step further that experiment intothe anatomy of your brain with which he has already trifled."

  Mr. Dunster's face was suddenly ghastly. His reserve of strength seemedto ebb away. The memory of some horrible moment seemed to hold him inits clutches.

  "For God's sake, leave me alone!" he moaned. "Let me get away, that'sall; let me crawl away!"

  "Ah!" Mr. Fentolin murmured. "That sounds much more reasonable. When youtalk like that, my friend, I feel indeed that there is hope for you.Let us abandon this subject for the present. Have you solved the puzzleyet?" he asked Meekins.

  Meekins was standing below the closed trap-door. He had already draggedup a wooden case underneath and was piling it with various articles offurniture.

  "Not yet, sir," he replied. "When I have made this steadier, I am justgoing to see what pressure I can bring to bear on the trap-door."

  "I heard the bolts go," Doctor Sarson remarked uneasily.

  "In that case," Mr. Fentolin declared, "it will indeed be an interestingtest of our friend Meekins' boasted strength. Meekins holds his place--avery desirable place, too--chiefly for two reasons: first his discretionand secondly his muscles. He has never before had a real opportunity oftesting the latter. We shall see."

  Doctor Sarson came slowly and gravely to the bedside. He looked downupon his patient. Mr. Dunster shivered.

  "I am not sure, sir," he said very softly, "that Mr. Dunster, in hispresent state of mind, is a very safe person to be allowed his freedom.It is true that we have kept him here for his own sake, because of hisfits of mental wandering. Our statements, however, may be doubted.An apparent return to sanity on his part may lend colour to hisaccusations, especially if permanent. Perhaps it would be as well topursue that investigation a shade further. A touch more to the left andI do not think that Mr. Dunster will remember much in this world likelyto affect us."

  Mr. Dunster's face was like marble. There were beads of perspirationupon his forehead, his eyes were filled with reminiscent horror. Mr.Fentolin bent over him with genuine interest.

  "What a picture he would make!" he murmured. "What a drama! Do you know,I am half inclined to agree with you, Sarson. The only trouble is thatyou have not your instruments here."

  "I could improvise something that would do the trick," the doctor saidthoughtfully. "It really isn't a complicated affair. It seems to me thathis story may gain credence from the very fact of our being discoveredin this extraordinary place. To have moved him here was a mistake, sir."

  "Perhaps so," Mr. Fentolin admitted, with a sigh. "It was our youngfriend Mr. Hamel who was responsible for it. I fancied him arriving witha search warrant at any moment. We will bear in mind your suggestion fora few minutes. Let us watch Meekins. This promises to be interesting."

  By dint of piling together all the furniture in the place, the man wasnow able to reach the trap-door. He pressed upon it vigorously withouteven bending the wood. Mr. Fentolin smiled pleasantly.

  "Meekins," he said, "look at me."

  The man turned and faced his master. His aspect of dogged civility hadnever been more apparent.

  "Now listen," Mr. Fentolin went on. "I want to remind you of certainthings, Meekins. We are among friends here--no secrecy, you understand,or anything of that sort. You need not be afraid! You know how you cameto me? You remember that little affair of Anna Jayes in Hartlepool?"

  The face of the man was filled with terror. He began to tremble wherehe stood. Mr. Fentolin played for a moment with his collar, as though hefound it tight.

  "Such a chance it was, my dear Meekins," Mr. Fentolin continuedcheerfully, "which brought me that little scrap of knowledge concerningyou. It has bought me through all these years a good deal of faithfulservice. I am not ungrateful, believe me. I intend to retain you for mybody-servant and to keep my lips sealed, for a great many years to come.Now remember what I have said. When we leave this place, that littleepisode will steal back into a far corner of my mind. I shall, in short,forget it. If we are caught here and inconvenience follows, well, Icannot say. Do your best, Meekins. Do a little better than your best.You have the reputation of being a strong man. Let us see you justifyit."

  The man took a long breath and returned to his task. His shoulders andarms were upon the door. He began to strain. He grew red in the face;the veins across his forehead stood out, blue, like tightly-drawnstring. His complexion became purple. Through his open mouth his breathc
ame in short pants. With every muscle of his body and neck he strainedand strained. The woodwork gave a little, but it never even cracked.With a sob he suddenly almost collapsed. Mr. Fentolin looked at him,frowning.

  "Very good--very good, Meekins," he said, "but not quite good enough.You are a trifle out of practice, perhaps. Take your breath, take time.Remember that you have another chance. I am not angry with you, Meekins.I know there are many enterprises upon which one does not succeed thefirst time. Get your breath; there is no hurry. Next time you try, seethat you succeed. It is very important, Meekins, for you as well as forus, that you succeed."

  The man turned doggedly back to his task. The eyes of the three menwatched him--Mr. Dunster on the bed; Doctor Sarson, pale and gloomy,with something of fear in his dark eyes; and Mr. Fentolin himself,whose expression seemed to be one of purely benevolent and encouraginginterest. Once more the face of the man became almost unrecognisable.There was a great crack, the trap-door had shifted. Meekins, with alittle cry, reeled and sank backwards. Mr. Fentolin clapped his handslightly.

  "Really, Meekins," he declared, "I do not know when I have enjoyed anyperformance so much. I feel as if I were back in the days of the Romangladiators. I can see that you mean to succeed. You will succeed. You donot mean to end your days amid objectionable surroundings."

  With the air of a man temporarily mad, Meekins went back to his task.He was sobbing to himself now. His clothes had burst away from him.Suddenly there was a crash, the hinges of the trap-door had parted. Withthe blood streaming from a wound in his forehead, Meekins staggered backto his feet. Mr. Fentolin nodded.

  "Excellent!" he pronounced. "Really excellent. With a little assistancefrom our friend Meekins, you, I am sure, Sarson, will now be able toclimb up and let down the steps."

  Doctor Sarson stood by Mr. Fentolin's chair, and together they lookedup through the fragments of the trap-door. Meekins was still breathingheavily. Suddenly they heard the sound of a sharp report, as of a doorabove being slammed.

  "Some one was in the boat-house when I broke the trap-door," Meekinsmuttered. "I heard them moving about."

  Mr. Fentolin frowned.

  "Then let us hurry," he said. "Sarson, what about your patient?"

  Mr. Dunster was lying upon his side, watching them. The doctor went overto the bedside and felt his pulse and head.

  "He will do for twelve hours," he pronounced. "If you think that otherlittle operation--"

  He broke off and looked at Mr. Fentolin meaningly. The man on the bedshrank back, his eyes lit with horror. Mr. Fentolin smiled pleasantly.

  "I fear," he said, "that we must not stay for that just now. A littlelater on, perhaps, if it becomes necessary. Let us first attend to thebusiness on hand."

  Meekins once more clambered on to the little heap of furniture. Thedoctor stood by his side for a moment. Then, with an effort, he washoisted up until he could catch hold of the floor of the outhouse.Meekins gave one push, and he disappeared.

  "Any one up there?" Mr. Fentolin enquired, a shade of anxiety in histone.

  "No one," the doctor reported.

  "Has anything been disturbed?"

  Doctor Sarson was some little time before he replied.

  "Yes," he said, "some one seems to have been rummaging about."

  "Send down the steps quickly," Mr. Fentolin ordered. "I am beginning tofind the atmosphere here unpleasant."

  There was a brief silence. Then they heard the sound of the ladder beingdragged across the floor, and a moment or two later it was carefullylowered and placed in position. Mr. Fentolin passed the rope through thefront of his carriage and was drawn up. From his bed Mr. Dunster watchedthem go. It was hard to tell whether he was relieved or disappointed.

  "Who has been in here?" Mr. Fentolin demanded, as he looked around theplace.

  There was no reply. A grey twilight was struggling now through thehigh, dust-covered windows. Meekins, who had gone on towards the door,suddenly called out:

  "Some one has taken away the key! The door is locked on the other side!"

  Mr. Fentolin's frown was malign even for him.

  "Our dear friend, Mr. Hamel, I suppose," he muttered. "Another littledebt we shall owe him! Try the other door."

  Meekins moved towards the partition. Suddenly he paused. Mr. Fentolin'shand was outstretched; he, too, was listening. Above the low thunder ofthe sea came another sound, a sound which at that moment they none ofthem probably understood. There was the steady crashing of feet upon thepebbles, a low murmur of voices. Mr. Fentolin for the first time showedsymptoms of fear.

  "Try the other door quickly," he directed.

  Meekins came back, shaking his head. Outside, the noise seemed to beincreasing. The door was suddenly thrown open. Hannah Cox stood outsidein her plain black dress, her hair wind-tossed, her eyes aflame. Sheheld the key in her fingers, and she looked in upon them. Her lipsseemed to move, but she said nothing.

  "My good woman," Mr. Fentolin exclaimed, frowning, "are you the personwho removed that key?"

  She laid her hand upon his chair. She took no notice of the other two.

  "Come," she said, "there is something here I want you to listen to.Come!"