Gordon Craig Part 19

"I cannot conceive clearly how it could be, and yet he might have received notice of his father's death in time to a.s.sume control of the estate by telegraph, or even by letter."

"I hardly think Coombs has been here so short a time."

"He might have been the old overseer, however, and retained."

"True; yet how could Philip Henley know that he had inherited the property?"

She thought a moment seriously, a little crease in the center of her forehead.

"Of course, I can only guess," she hazarded at length, "but it would seem likely he was notified of his father's death by one of the administrators, and doubtless told at the same time of his inheritance.

He was the only son, and there were no other near relatives. It would be only natural for him to retain the old servants until he could come here and select others."

"There is only one fact which opposes your theory," I acknowledged, "otherwise I would accept it as my own also. Coombs plainly threatened to confront you with Henley to test your claim to being his wife."

She pressed her hand to her temple in perplexity.

"Even that would not be impossible," she admitted reluctantly, "for he must have known of the Judge's death even before--before I left. Only I do not believe it probable, as he was in no condition to travel, and had very little money. Besides," her voice strengthening with conviction, "those men who sent you here--Neale and Vail--would never have ventured such a scheme, had they been uncertain as to Philip Henley's helplessness. I believe he is either in their control, or else dead."

"Then Coombs lied."

"Perhaps; although still another supposition is possible. Someone else may claim to be the heir."

This was a new theory, and one not so unreasonable as it appeared at first thought. Still it was sufficiently improbable, so that I dismissed it without much consideration. She apparently read this in my face.

"It is all groping in the dark until we learn more," she went on slowly. "Have you decided what you mean to do?"

"Only indefinitely. I want to make a careful exploration of the house and grounds by daylight. This may reveal something of value. Then we will go into Carrollton before dark. I cannot consent to your remaining here another night after what has occurred. Besides, we should consult a lawyer--the best we can find--and then proceed under his advice. Do you agree?"

"Certainly; and how can I be of a.s.sistance?"

"If you could go back to the house, and keep Sallie busy in the kitchen for an hour; hold her there at something so as to give me free range of the house."

"With Sallie!" she lifted her hands in aversion. "It does n't seem as though I could stand that. But," she added, rising resolutely to her feet, "I will if you wish it. Of course I ought to do what little I can. Why, what is this? a seal ring?"

She stooped, and picked the article up from the floor, out of a litter of dead leaves, and held it to the light between her fingers. As she gazed her cheeks whitened, and when her eyes again met mine they evidenced fear.

"What is it?" I asked, when she failed to speak. "Do you recognize it?"

She held it out toward me, her hand trembling.

"That--that was Philip Henley's ring," she said gravely. "Family heirloom; he always wore it."

CHAPTER XVIII

BEGINNING EXPLORATION

This apparently convincing evidence that Henley was not only alive, but had preceded us to Carrollton, left us staring into each others' faces, more deeply mystified than ever.

"He must be here," she articulated faintly.

"At least it would seem that he has been. The seal is a peculiar one, not likely to be duplicated. But I doubt if he is here now, for he could have no reason for avoiding us, unless--"

"I know what you mean," she replied, as I hesitated, "unless he intended to repudiate me, to refuse me recognition."

"Is he that kind of a man?"

"No; not when sober. Under the influence of liquor he becomes a brute, capable of any meanness."

"Perhaps that may be the secret then. The others here may be keeping him intoxicated, and hidden away for purposes of their own. However, this need not change our plans. Will you go in to Sallie?"

"Yes; it will be a relief to be busy, to feel that I am accomplishing something."

I stood upon the bench, from where I could look out above the weeds and tangled bushes, and followed her course to the house. At top of the steps she paused an instant to glance back, and then disappeared within. I waited patiently, knowing that if she failed to discover the housekeeper, she would give some signal. Meanwhile I watched the weed-grown area about me carefully in search of any skulker observing our movements. I could see little through the tangle, yet succeeded in convincing myself that I was alone, and free to begin my explorations.

Yet I faced this work with less enthusiasm than I felt when first proposing it. The knowledge that Philip Henley was alive; that any discoveries I might make would benefit him even more than his wife, had robbed me of my earlier interest in the outcome. Nothing I had heard of the man was favorable to his character. I felt profoundly convinced that whatever affection his wife might have once entertained for him had long ago vanished through neglect and abuse. My sympathies were altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free.

She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other of her s.e.x ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape.

I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no a.s.surance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now--now even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable. Yesterday I might have spoken the words of pa.s.sion on my lips, but now they were sealed, and I dare not even whisper them to myself, yet it was out of this very depth of impossibility that I came to know love in its entirety, and realize what Viola Henley already was to me.

But I was never so much a dreamer, as a man of action, and the necessity of active service forced me to cast aside such thoughts almost instantly. There was work, and danger, ahead, and I welcomed both eagerly. This was the way to forget. Aye! and the way to serve.

I felt the revolver in my pocket, took it out and made sure it was in readiness; then advanced cautiously toward the house. The hall was empty, and so was the front room. The latter appeared desolate and grim in its disorder and dirt. My thought centered on that picture of Judge Henley hanging against the further wall. Perhaps it had not moved; the supposition that it did might have been an illusion, produced by some flaw in the mirror opposite, or by a freak of imagination. Yet I could never be satisfied until I learned absolutely what was concealed behind that heavy gilded frame. There was mystery to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret.

I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened. There were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto, the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.

A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer behind. The one glance was sufficient. Underneath was an opening in the wall, much less in width than the picture, yet ample for the pa.s.sage of a crouched body. The arm of the sofa made egress comparatively easy, while the frame of the picture, though appearing heavy and substantial, was in reality of light wood, and presented no obstacle to an active man. The pa.s.sage was black, and I thrust my head and shoulders in, striving to discern something of its nature. For possibly three feet I could trace the floor, but beyond that point it seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. This line of change was so distinct that I surmised at once it marked a descent to a lower level, either by ladder or stairs. Well, this would benefit me, rather than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down below, where the light streaming into the upper pa.s.sage, as I pressed back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed. There was no hesitancy as to what I must do. Now I had discovered this secret pa.s.sage it must be thoroughly explored. The safest way was to burrow through the dark, trusting to hands and feet for safety, and prepared for any encounter. Whoever might be hidden away there would certainly possess some light, sufficient for any warning I needed. Every advantage would remain with me concealed by darkness.

If I felt any premonition of fear it was not serious enough to delay progress, nor did I pause to consider the possible danger. Wherever Coombs had gone, he was not likely to remain absent for long, nor could I expect Mrs. Henley to remain with Sallie a moment longer than she deemed necessary. This was my opportunity and must be utilized promptly. Standing on the sofa arm I found little difficulty in pressing my body forward into the aperture, until, extending at full length, the picture settled noiselessly back into place against the wall, excluding all light. After listening intently, fearful lest the slight sc.r.a.ping might have been overheard, I arose to a crouching position, able to feel both the sides and top of the tunnel with my fingers. Inch by inch, silently, my soft breathing the only noticeable sound, I worked forward, anxiously exploring for the break in the floor, which I knew to be only a few feet distance. Even then I reached it unaware of its proximity, experiencing a sudden, unpleasant shock as my extended hand groped about touching nothing tangible.

I was some time determining the exact nature of what was before me.

There were no stairs, nor did any shafts of a ladder protrude above the floor level. Only as I lay flat, and felt cautiously across from wall to wall, could I determine what led below. All was black as a well, as noiseless as a grave, yet there was a ladder exactly fitting the s.p.a.ce, spiked solidly into the flooring. My groping fingers could reach two of the rungs, and they felt sound and strong. With face outward I trusted myself to their support, and began the descent slowly, pausing between each step to listen, and gripping the side-bars tightly. The blackness and silence, combined with what I antic.i.p.ated discovering somewhere in those depths below, set my nerves tingling, yet I felt cool, and determined to press on. Indeed, deep in my heart I welcomed the adventure, even hoped it might end in some encounter serious enough to arouse me to new thoughts--especially did I yearn to learn something definite about Philip Henley. This to me was now the one matter of importance; to be a.s.sured that he was living or dead. Nothing else greatly mattered, for nothing could again efface from my memory the woman he had called wife. Right or wrong, I knew she held me captive; even there, groping blindly in that darkness, every nerve strained to its utmost, my thought was with her, and her face arose before my imagination. Unexpectedly, unexplainably love had come into my life--the very love I had laughed at in others had made me captive.

And I was glad of it, reckless still as to what it might portend.

I counted twelve rungs going down, and then felt stone flags beneath my feet, although the walls on either side, as I explored them with my hands, were still of closely matched wood. The pa.s.sage, now high enough to permit of my standing erect, led toward the rear of the house, presenting no obstacle other than darkness, until I came up suddenly against a heavy wooden door completely barring further progress. As near as I could figure I must be already directly beneath the kitchen, and close in against the south wall. No sound reached me, however, from above, nor could I, with ear against the slight crack, distinguish any movement beyond the barrier. Cautious fingering revealed closely matched hard wood, studded thickly with nail heads, but no keyhole or latch. Secure in the feeling that no one else could be in this outer pa.s.sage, and completely baffled, I ventured to strike a match. The tiny yellow flame, ere it quickly flickered out in some mysterious draft, revealed an iron band to the left of the door, with slight protuberance, resembling the b.u.t.ton of an electric-bell. This was the only semblance to a lock, and I was in doubt whether it would prove an alarm, or some ingenuous [Transcriber's note: ingenious?]

spring. There was nothing for it, however, but to try the experiment, and face the result.

Almost convinced that the pressure of my finger would ring an electric bell, I drew my revolver, and crouched low, prepared for any emergency, as I pressed the metal b.u.t.ton. To my surprise and relief the only thing to occur was the slow opening of the door inward, a dim gleam of light becoming visible through the widening crack. The movement was deliberate and noiseless, but I dropped upon hands and knees in the deepest remaining shadow and peered anxiously into the dimly revealed interior. It was a bas.e.m.e.nt room, half the width of the kitchen overhead, I should judge; the walls of crude masonry, the floor of brick, the ceiling, festooned by cobwebs, of rough-hewn beams. The light, flickering and dim, came from a half-burned candle in an iron holder screwed against the wall, revealing a small table, two chairs, one without a back, and four narrow sleeping berths made of rough boards. This was all, except a coat dangling from a beam, and a small hand-hatchet lying on the floor. There was, in the instant I had to view these things, no semblance of movement, or suggestion of human presence. a.s.sured of this, although holding myself alert and ready, I slipped through the opening. Even as I stood there, uncertain, and staring about, a sharp draught of air extinguished the candle, and I heard the snap of the lock as the door behind blew back into position.

About me was the black silence of a grave.

CHAPTER XIX

A CHAMBER OF HORROR

I backed against the wall, crouching low, revolver in hand, scarcely venturing to breathe, listening intently for the slightest sound to break the intense silence. My heart beat like a trip-hammer, and there were beads of cold perspiration on my face. The change had occurred so swiftly as to leave me quaking like a coward at the unknown terrors of the dark. Yet almost within the instant I gripped my nerves, comprehending all that had occurred, and confident of my own safety.

There must be another opening into this underground den--one leading to the outer air--judging from that sudden and powerful suction. The very atmosphere I breathed had a freshness to it, inconceivable in such a place otherwise. With the first return of intelligence my mind gripped certain facts, and began to reason out the situation. That sudden sweep of air could only have originated in the opening of some other barrier--a door no doubt leading directly to the outside. I had seen no occupant of the room; without question it was deserted at my entrance. Yet someone had been there, and not long before, as was evidenced by the burning candle. Nor, by that same token, did this same mysterious party expect to be absent for any length of time.

Apparently I had intruded at the very moment of his departure.