Devil's Dice Part 13

"Posted from Dover!" I echoed. "Then he has decamped. Jack is a murderer!"

I sank into my chair and re-read Dora's note carefully. What should my course be if he were guilty? I put this question to myself plainly, and perceived all the horror of the situation. Yes, I must see Dora and ascertain the nature of this letter, but how could I bear to tell her the truth, to strike her such a cruel blow, bright, fragile being that she was? The first glimpse of the double prospect of misery and scandal which the future offered, if my suspicions proved just, was too terrible for endurance, and I summoned all my strength of will to shut out these gloomy antic.i.p.ations. I dreaded to meet Dora; I was already shrinking from the pain that my words must inflict upon her.

What if detectives found my match-box beside the corpse? Might I not be suspected? Might they not dog my footsteps and arrest me on suspicion?

If the slightest suspicion attached itself to me, I should be precluded entirely from a.s.sisting my friend.

It was clear that I had lost it on that fatal night, for I now remembered distinctly that as I fell my stomach struck heavily against some hard substance. I could indeed still feel the bruise. That my lost property was in Jack's chambers was evident. If I intended to clear myself and a.s.sist him I should be obliged to act upon a resolution.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE LOCKED ROOM.

At first I dared not look the exigency in the face. For fully an hour I paced the room in nervous agitation, but the imperative necessity of recovering the box impressed itself every moment more deeply upon me.

The crime was, as yet, still undiscovered; therefore, might I not enter, search, find the piece of evidence that would link me with the terrible tragedy, and return in the same manner as on the previous night?

Undoubtedly the body was lying silent and ghastly where I left it, and if only I could get in and out of the flat un.o.bserved, I should be free to a.s.sist the wretched man who was my friend, and who had held in his possession the extraordinary letter from Sybil.

The mantel-clock told me it was nearly three. At that hour there would be little likelihood of meeting anyone on the staircases, therefore I decided to go.

Taking one of the candles from the piano and a box of matches, I put on my overcoat and walked quickly along the deserted streets, avoiding the gaze of each constable I met, and eagerly scanning every dark nook as I went forward to the entrance of the imposing pile of flats in which Bethune resided.

My heart beat quickly as I placed my key in the lock and gained admittance. Then, scarce daring to breathe, I sped swiftly upstairs, and carefully unlocking the door of the flat, entered and closed it again. For a moment I stood breathless. A piano sounded somewhere overhead. The darkness unnerved me, for I knew I was in the presence of the ghastly dead.

With trembling hands I drew forth the candle and lit it, afterwards creeping silently forward toward the room in the doorway of which I had discovered the body of the man whose a.s.sociation with my dead love was so mysterious. By death his lips were sealed.

A loose board creaked ominously, and as I pa.s.sed down the small narrow hall a long grandfather's clock vibrated and startled me. In those moments of terror every sound became magnified, and I could hear the rapid thumping of my own heart.

Dreading to gaze upon the corpse, I held my breath and at last peered round the corner to the study door, but judge my amazement when I realised that the body was no longer there!

The crime had been discovered!

I dashed forward into the little book-lined den. It presented the same appearance as when I had left it. Nothing had been disturbed. Only the body had been removed, and all trace of the tragedy obliterated.

I bent to examine more closely the spot where the victim had fallen, when suddenly the sound of someone moving appalled me. There was a stealthy footstep in the hall.

Instantly I blew out the candle. But too late! I had been discovered.

In the impenetrable darkness the footsteps approached with soft stealthiness. Drawing myself up I placed my back resolutely against the wall, prepared to defend myself. The body of young Gilbert Sternroyd had been secretly removed, but I had been detected in the act of examining the spot, and had therefore betrayed knowledge of the crime.

The murderer might commit a second crime to hide the first. The suggestion held me motionless.

Unarmed, I stood helpless against the unseen a.s.sa.s.sin, with only my clenched fist uplifted to ward off a blow.

"Who are you?" cried a voice. "Speak! or by Heaven, I'll fire!" The voice was that of my friend Bethune.

"Jack!" I gasped. "Don't you know my voice--Stuart?"

"You--old chap!" he exclaimed laughing. "What on earth do you mean by frightening a fellow out of his senses at this hour? I thought you were one of--" and he hesitated. "I thought you were a burglar," he added quickly.

Then in a few moments we entered the study, and I saw how pale and haggard he looked. His coat was off, and his sleeves were rolled up as if he had been at work. There were dark rings about his bright fevered eyes, and his complexion seemed a yellow clay-colour. In his trembling hand gleamed a deadly weapon--the revolver that had caused the death of Mabel's mysterious friend.

Startled by this sudden discovery I stood staring at him, unable to utter a word. He laid the revolver upon the table, and gazed at me with eyes in which was an expression of abject terror. In those brief moments it flashed through my mind that some violent exertion had caused the beads of perspiration that stood upon his cold, pale brow; that the body might be still lying in the flat, and that I had entered just at a time when he was in the act of concealing it Guilt was betrayed upon his face; he appeared suspicious and utterly unnerved.

Yet he was my friend, and although I could scarce believe he had stained his hands with blood, I nevertheless resolved to ascertain the truth at all hazards. For a single instant I felt inclined to turn and leave him abruptly, but I quickly realised the necessity of not betraying suspicion if I desired to penetrate the mystery.

We had discovered each other in compromising att.i.tudes. Neither of us dared to speak.

"Well," I said at last, after a desperate effort to remain calm, "how is it that you bring out a revolver to welcome your visitors--eh?"

"Visitors!" he echoed bitterly. "At this hour? You let yourself in with your own key? Ah! I had never thought of that," he gasped, as if the sudden recollection that my key fitted his door terrified him.

"Yes. I have been out late to-night, and not having seen or heard anything of you for a couple of days, I dropped in just to see if you were alive."

"Why shouldn't I be alive?" he snapped. "I've been down to barracks.

Thatcher got leave on account of his father's illness, and I had to do duty for him. I wrote to Dora."

"I had no line from you. That's why I looked you up," I said, as carelessly as I could.

"Then all I've got to say, Stuart, is that you might have waited until morning, and not creep in and frighten a fellow just as he's going to roost."

"I had no intention of frightening you. In fact, I did not know you were at home."

"Then why did you come in?" he asked, with emphasis. I at once saw I had inadvertently made a declaration that might arouse his suspicions, and sought to modify it. "Well," I said, "I came in order to leave a note for you. In the pa.s.sage I heard something fall, and was looking for it. I am leaving town early in the morning."

"You are?" he cried eagerly. "Where are you going?"

"To Wadenhoe, for some hunting. My object in leaving the note was to ask you to run down and stay with us for a week or so. My people will be awfully glad to see you, and as Dora and her mother are going to entertain a house-party at Blatherwycke, you won't be lonely."

"Well, thanks, old fellow, it's exceedingly good of you," he answered, evidently rea.s.sured. "I should be charmed to have a few runs with the Fitzwilliam, for I've most pleasant recollections of three weeks last season in your country. When shall I come?"

"Next Sat.u.r.day."

"Very well. Give my compliments to your mother, and thank her for her kind invitation. I'll be down on Sat.u.r.day."

"But why were you so scared when you discovered me?" I asked, leaning on the edge of the table and regarding him with feigned amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I don't think I was very scared, was I?" he asked, with a hollow laugh.

"There's a bit of a scandal in the regiment that has upset me, and I don't feel quite myself just now. A night's rest, you know, will set me right. Besides, I've been writing a good deal lately and it always takes the nerve out of me."

He drew forth the spirit stand and poured out some whisky. At first I could not bear the thought of drinking with a murderer, but again it was impressed upon my mind that, to successfully solve the mystery of the murder of Gilbert Sternroyd, I must act with discretion and arouse no suspicion that I had actually discovered the body. Therefore we drank together, while Jack's demeanour quickly became calmer. It was apparent that he had no idea of my previous visit, and it was also equally manifest that the light-hearted gaiety succeeding his intense nervousness was forced and quite unnatural. He was striving to hide from me his terrible secret!

He flung himself into a chair while I stood upon the hearthrug, and our conversation drifted mainly upon our proposed runs with the hounds. I had not expected to find him at home nor to meet him with a revolver in his hand, but now I had made the discovery I understood all its importance. Yet his demeanour had in a few minutes so entirely changed; he seemed so calm and rea.s.sured that I relapsed into discouraging uncertainty.

Nevertheless, if he came to Wadenhoe I should have better opportunity of observing him, and of ascertaining whether the murdered man was an acquaintance. I could then test him by making observations and watching his face; I could worm from him his secret. I had trusted this man as my best friend, but now that I was half convinced he was an a.s.sa.s.sin I was filled with a feeling of revulsion, and was determined that Dora's life should never be wrecked by an alliance with one whose hands were stained with blood.

Lying back in the American rocking-chair, with his hands clasped behind his head, he was laughing tightly as he told me an amusing story he had heard at mess that night, entirely forgetting the strange circ.u.mstances of our meeting, and having apparently overlooked the extreme lameness of my excuses. His appearance had been so unexpected that I had been quite unprepared to answer his questions and my invitation had been given entirely without previous contemplation. But I knew I had acted wisely, and that I had entirely allayed any suspicions I had aroused.

Then I thought of my missing match-box. He had no doubt not yet discovered it, and if he found it subsequently he would believe I had lost it during my present visit. Good! I was in the position of a detective holding an important clue, upon which I might work, and either clear or convict him.

Presently, when I announced my intention to depart, he rose, exclaiming with a laugh: