The Mynns' Mystery

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  ATTACHED FRIENDS.

  "Odd, isn't it, George, old boy?"

  "More than odd, Saul, old man."

  "When I first saw you I said to myself, `This fellow's an impostor,' andI felt savage--there, I can give it no better word."

  "And when I clapped eyes on you, I said to myself, `This chap will doanything he can to rob me of my rights, and is as jealous as a Turkbecause that little girl smiled at me.'"

  "And I haven't done all I could to keep you out of your rights?"

  "Not you, Saul."

  "I've done all I could to help you get them, haven't I?"

  "That you have, old man."

  "And as to being jealous about you and Gertie, why, the thing's absurd."

  "Of course it is. Take some more whiskey. Plenty more where that camefrom."

  "Glad to hear it," said Saul, taking up bottle and glass, as they sattogether in the handsomely furnished old study at The Mynns. "Jealous?Ridiculous, when the old man had settled beforehand that you were tomarry her. I say, old chap," continued Saul, resting the neck of thebottle on the rim of the glass, and looking across the table with aleer, "how are you getting on with her?"

  "What's that to you? Take some whiskey and another cigar," said theother roughly.

  "Oh, beg pardon. Didn't know I was touching on dangerous ground," saidSaul. "I'm mum."

  They had both been drinking far more than they could bear sensibly, forSaul had dined there that night, and the wine had been pretty abundantboth during and after the dinner. Then they had adjourned to the studyto smoke, have coffee and brandy, and then the whiskey had become theorder of the night.

  "Well," said the host, "why don't you help yourself and pass thebottle?"

  "Because it's empty," said Saul, pushing the bottle from him.

  "Oh, we'll soon cure that," said the young man, rising and going to acabinet, out of one of whose drawers he took a couple of large keys."Been down in the cellar, I suppose?"

  "I? Never," said Saul.

  "Then you shall come now. It will surprise you."

  "Oh, no, it will not," said Saul, rising. "Nothing here surprises me.You're a lucky dog, George; but there, I don't envy you, old fellow, foryou deserve to have it. You're so generous and true."

  "That's right, old chap," cried Saul's host, clapping him on theshoulder. "I want to be generous; what's the use of having plenty andkeeping it all locked up?"

  There was a tap at the door.

  "Come in."

  The old housekeeper entered timidly.

  "I only came to see if you wanted anything, sir, before I go to bed."

  "Eh? Why, what time is it?" said her master, pulling out hismagnificent gold watch by its nugget chain. "Half-past ten. All right;go to bed, Denton, old girl. I don't want anything else. I'll lock thedoor when Mr Saul goes. Yes, I do; I want a candle."

  "Candle? Yes, sir."

  The old woman hurried out, and returned directly with a lighted chambercandle, which she set down, looked uneasily from one to the other, andleft the room, shaking her head as she crossed the hall.

  "I say, George, what a watch!" cried Saul. "You are going it."

  "Going it be hanged! That's the watch I had made in New York and sentover for a present to the old man, and he never used it, but saved it upfor me. I only got it the other day, after all the confounded legalbusiness was at an end. I seemed to be kept out of my rights till allthat was done. Now come and let's get the whiskey."

  He led the way out into the hall, and through a swing door to the top ofa flight of steps, at the bottom of which, in a recess, was an ordinarydoor of dark oak.

  This he unlocked, and threw back to admit the pair to a square entry,beyond which was another door, of iron, painted stone colour, and thisrattled and creaked as it was unlocked and pushed back against the wall.

  "There! Something like cellars, eh? Hold up the light."

  Saul obeyed, and as the damp odour of sawdust fell upon his sense ofsmell, he saw that he had, right and left, bin after bin, formed inbrickwork, whitewashed, and all nearly full of bottles, over each binbeing the kind and age of the wine in black letters upon a whiteearthenware label.

  "Why, I had no conception that you had such a cellar, old fellow."

  "S'pose not. It isn't everybody who has. Needn't stint, eh? Cellarafter cellar, all through beneath the house."

  "But not all stocked?"

  "Every one, and with the best of wine. Here we are."

  He stopped before a bin, and took down a bottle of whiskey. "Don't wantto see any more I suppose?"

  "Oh yes, I do. Let's see it all."

  "See it and taste too if you like. What shall it be?"

  "Nothing," said Saul grimly, as he looked intently about him. "I shallhave another drop of that whiskey when we get upstairs, and then gohome."

  "Good boy," was the bantering remark. "Capital whiskey, though. Likemilk. You should taste some of the stuff they sell us out in the West.Paraffin is honey to it!"

  "No wish to try it, my dear sir," said Saul, as he followed his hostfrom cellar to cellar, the feeble light of the candle casting curiousshadows on the damp, whitewashed walls, and glinting from the roundbottle ends which protruded from their sawdust beds.

  "I'm astounded," said Saul, as they went on and on. "I'd no idea theold man had such a cellar of wine. He scarcely ever touched anythingbut a liqueur of brandy."

  "Saving it all up for me, I suppose," said the other laughingly.

  "Bring many people down here?"

  "Here? Nobody. You're the first who has been down. Place had beensealed up for years. Look at that?"

  They were in the farthest cellar now, a small, low-arched, and groinedplace, with bins on two sides, the other being blank brick wall,whitewashed.

  "Well, what is there to look at?"

  "Wait till we get upstairs and I'll show you. Had enough of it?"

  "Yes," said Saul, as he curiously scanned the liquid wealth about him,and noticed the various catacomb-like openings in which the rich amber,topaz, and ruby wine was stored.

  "Come along, then. Can always give a friend a good glass of wine whenhe comes."

  Saul followed, noting how silent and tomb-like the place was, and howhis footsteps made not the slightest sound in the thick coating ofsawdust on the stone floor. Then he remarked how grotesque and strangehis companion looked in the darkness, with the light sending his shadowhere and there, and a strange sensation attacked Saul Harrington,--theblood flew to his head, and he saw dimly, as through a mist in whichvarious scenes were being enacted, and all connected with the man beforehim--the man who stood in his way, and without whom he would have been arich man, perhaps a happy one.

  "I could have made her love me," he muttered. "Eh?"

  "I did not speak. Cleared my throat."

  "Oh, I say! what's the matter? You look ghastly."

  "The darkness and your candle," said Saul, smiling. "I don't know,though; I do feel a bit giddy. Is it the smell of the wine?"

  "Perhaps. Come and have the whiskey. That will soon set you right."

  The doors were carefully locked, and Saul Harrington shuddered, his browcontracted, and he seemed to be looking far away into futurity as hefollowed his host upstairs into the study, where the cork was drawn,fresh cigars lit, and, after placing the keys in the cabinet drawer,another was opened, and an oblong book taken out.

  "Look at that, my lad. Cellar book. There you are--age and quantity ofall the wines, and when laid down."

  "Wonderful care he took of all these things."

  "The old man was a trump. But look here, Saul, my lad: `Cellar numberseven entered by bricked-up archway from number six.' Remember numbersix?"

  "No."

  "Yes, you do; where I spoke when you were staring at the blank wall.That's the way into number seven. And read here: `Eight bins, four oneach side. Three on the right, port; four on the left, sherry. Thefourth bin on
the right I shall fill with Madeira when I come across agood vintage. Bricked up, JH.'"

  "Yes, my uncle's writing," said Saul, looking eagerly, and greatlyattracted by the book. "That's a bricked-up cellar, then, beyond theothers?"

  "Yes, with the bins also bricked-up. We'll break through some day,Saul, and taste them."

  "We will," said the latter, rising hastily, and giving his head a shake,as if to clear away some mist. "What, going?"

  "Yes," said Saul huskily. "I must be off. Good-night, old fellow."

  "Good-night, Saul, old chap. I'll let you out and lock up. Quiteearly. Only eleven. Better stop and have another glass."

  "No, no," said Saul hurriedly. "Not to-night."

  "Won't you come up and say good-night to Gertie and Mrs Hampton?"

  "No. Say good-night for me."

  Saul caught up his hat and hurried away out into the gloomy suburbanroad.

  "If you miss your train, come back," shouted the young man.

  "Yes, yes, all right," came back out of the darkness, and then, withbent head, Saul Harrington hurried on, making his way more by instinctthan sight toward the station, as he kept on muttering to himself:

  "It half maddens me to see them together. Him, the wretched, coarse,drunken savage, wallowing in all that wealth. Will she marry him? Isuppose so. No, no. I dared not stay. I felt as if--"

  Saul Harrington looked stealthily round, and then shuddered, as hethought of the loneliness of the place, the hours they spent together,and then walked rapidly on to try and chase away the thoughts whichseemed to be hunting him through the darkness of the night.

  Meanwhile, George Harrington, Esq, of The Mynns, went back into thestudy, poured himself out another glass of the whiskey, tossed it off,and walked up into the drawing-room, where he met Gertrude, candle inhand, crossing to the door.

  "Ah, Gertie, going to bed?"

  "Yes, George. Good-night."

  "Good-night, pet."

  Before she could avoid the embrace, he had taken her in his arms, andkissed her, sending the blood flushing to her temples as she ran out andupstairs, fighting hard to keep back the sobs which struggled forutterance.

  As she reached her own room she ran to the washstand to bathe her lipsand burning cheeks, seeking to get rid of the foul odour of tobacco andspirits which seemed to cling to them. Then she flung herself upon herknees by her bedside, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing wildlyfor the sweet illusions of her life, in which a brave, frank young herofrom the West had stood out so prominently, seemed to be fading awayslowly, one by one.