The House of a Thousand Candles Part 10

"I'll do my best, Mr. Pickering."

"Don't call me by name, you idiot. We're not advertising our business from the housetops."

"Certainly not," replied Bates humbly.

The blood was roaring through my head, and my hands were clenched as I stood there listening to this colloquy.

Pickering's voice was--and is--unmistakable. There was always a purring softness in it. He used to remind me at school of a sleek, complacent cat, and I hate cats with particular loathing.

"Is Morgan lying or not when he says he shot himself accidentally?" demanded Pickering petulantly.

"I only know what I heard from the gardener here at the school. You'll understand, I hope, that I can't be seen going to Morgan's house."

"Of course not. But he says you haven't played fair with him, that you even attacked him a few days after Glenarm came."

"Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. It was his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through the library in broad daylight, and it wasn't any use, anyhow. There's nothing there."

"But I don't like the looks of this shooting. Morgan's sick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morgan isn't likely to shoot himself accidentally, and now that it's done the work's stopped and the time is running on. What do you think Glenarm suspects?"

"I can't tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. The shot through the window the first night he was here seemed to shake him a trifle, but he's quite settled down now, I should say, sir."

"He probably doesn't spend much time on this side of the fence--doesn't haunt the chapel, I fancy?"

"Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentleman of being a praying man."

"You haven't seen him prowling about a.n.a.lyzing the architecture--"

"Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn't, I should say, what his revered grandfather called the a.n.a.lytical mind."

Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion by your own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing for the spirit. The man who stands behind your chair may acquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mental processes by a diligent study of the back of your head. But I was not half so angry with these conspirators as with myself, for ever having entertained a single generous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consoling to know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, and that my own exploits in the house were unknown to the executor.

Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porch floor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked a conclusion, and preluded serious statements.

"Now, Bates," he said, with a ring of authority and speaking in a louder key than he had yet used, "it's your duty under all the circ.u.mstances to help discover the hidden a.s.sets of the estate. We've got to pluck the mystery from that architectural monster over there, and the time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm was a rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple of millions, and he couldn't have spent it all on that house. He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollars and swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom before his last trip into Vermont. He didn't die with the stuff in his clothes, did he?"

"Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enough cash to bury him, with you out of the country and me alone with him."

"He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfaction out of concealing his money. But this hunt for it isn't funny. I supposed, of course, we'd dig it up before Glenarm got here or I shouldn't have been in such a hurry to send for him. But it's over there somewhere, or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the house that would help. I'll give you a thousand dollars the day you wire me you have found any sort of clue."

"Thank you, sir."

"I don't want thanks, I want the money or securities or whatever it is. I've got to go back to my car now, and you'd better skip home. You needn't tell your young master that I've been here."

I was trying hard to believe, as I stood there with clenched hands outside the chapel porch, that Arthur Pickering's name was written in the list of directors of one of the greatest trust companies in America, and that he belonged to the most exclusive clubs in New York. I had run out for a walk with only an inverness over my dinner-jacket, and I was thoroughly chilled by the cold mist. I was experiencing, too, an inner cold as I reflected upon the greed and perfidy of man.

"Keep an eye on Morgan," said Pickering.

"Certainly, sir."

"And be careful what you write or wire."

"I'll mind those points, sir. But I'd suggest, if you please, sir--"

"Well?" demanded Pickering impatiently.

"That you should call at the house. It would look rather strange to the young gentleman if you'd come here and not see him."

"I haven't the slightest errand with him. And besides, I haven't time. If he learns that I've been here you may say that my business was with Sister Theresa and that I regretted very much not having an opportunity to call on him."

The irony of this was not lost on Bates, who chuckled softly. He came out into the open and turned away toward the Glenarm gate. Pickering pa.s.sed me, so near that I might have put out my hand and touched him, and in a moment I heard the carriage drive off rapidly toward the village.

I heard Bates running home over the snow and listened to the clatter of the village hack as it bore Pickering back to Annandale.

Then out of the depths of the chapel porch--out of the depths of time and s.p.a.ce, it seemed, so dazed I stood --some one came swiftly toward me, some one, light of foot like a woman, ran down the walk a little way into the fog and paused.

An exclamation broke from me.

"Eavesdropping for two!"--it was the voice of Olivia. "I'd take pretty good care of myself if I were you, Squire Glenarm. Good night!"

"Good-by!" I faltered, as she sped away into the mist toward the school.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE GIRL IN GRAY.

My first thought was to find the crypt door and return through the tunnel before Bates reached the house. The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I found my way to the map and panel. I slipped through and closed the opening; then ran through the pa.s.sage with grat.i.tude for the generous builder who had given it a clear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculated its length and pitched into the steps under the trap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a moment more I had jammed the trap into place and was running up the cellar steps, breathless, with my cap smashed down over my eyes.

I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I had won the race by a scratch. There was but a moment in which to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slap the dust from my clothes and seat myself at the great table, where the candles blazed tranquilly.

Bates' step was as steady as ever--there was not the slightest hint of excitement in it--as he came and stood within the door.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything, sir?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Bates."

"I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak to the grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were not quite up to the mark. I have warned him not to send any of the storage article to this house."

"That's right, Bates." I folded my arms to hide my hands, which were black from contact with the pa.s.sage, and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascally powers had increased immensely since he gave me my coffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worth while.

"I'm grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I had expected to perish of discomfort out here, but you are treating me like a lord."

"Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir."

He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra, going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felt a cold chill creep down my spine as he pa.s.sed behind me on these errands. His transition from the role of conspirator to that of my flawless servant was almost too abrupt.

I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listened to his step through the halls as he went about locking the doors. This was a regular incident, but I was aware to-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particular care in settling the bolts. The locking-up process had rather bored me before; to-night the snapping of bolts was particularly trying.

When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters I quietly went the rounds on my own account and found everything as tight as a drum.

In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels of cement into the end of the corridor, to cover and block the trap door. Bates had no manner of business in that part of the house, as the heating apparatus was under the kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway. I had no immediate use for the hidden pa.s.sage to the chapel--and I did not intend that my enemies should avail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and, while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolved to guard every point in our pleasant game.

I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room, and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day and keener air.

"I'm going to take a little run into the village, Bates," I remarked at breakfast.

"Very good, sir. The weather's quite cleared."

"If any one should call I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Yes, sir."

He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose. There was, of course, no chance whatever that any one would call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard was the only human being, except Bates, Morgan and the man who brought up my baggage, who had crossed the threshold since my arrival.

I really had an errand in the village. I wished to visit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, but Pickering's presence in the community was a disturbing factor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him-- to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whose schemes were so deep, looked in the light of day.

As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddard fell in with me.

"Well, Mr. Glenarm, I'm glad to see you abroad so early. With that library of yours the temptation must be strong to stay within doors. But a man's got to subject himself to the sun and wind. Even a good wetting now and then is salutary."

"I try to get out every day," I answered. "But I've chiefly limited myself to the grounds."

"Well, it's a fine estate. The lake is altogether charming in summer. I quite envy you your fortune."

He walked with a long swinging stride, his hands thrust deep into his overcoat pockets. It was difficult to accept the idea of so much physical strength being wasted in the mere business of saying prayers in a girls' school. Here was a fellow who should have been captain of a ship or a soldier, a leader of forlorn hopes. I felt sure there must be a weakness of some sort in him. Quite possibly it would prove to be a mild estheticism that delighted in the savor of incense and the mournful cadence of choral vespers. He declined a cigar and this rather increased my suspicions.

The village hack, filled with young women, pa.s.sed at a gallop, bound for the station, and we took off our hats.

"Christmas holidays," explained the chaplain. "Practically all the students go home."

"Lucky kids, to have a Christmas to go home to!"

"I suppose Mr. Pickering got away last night?" he observed, and my pulse quickened at the name.

"I haven't seen him yet," I answered guardedly.

"Then of course he hasn't gone!" and these words, uttered in the big clergyman's deep tones, seemed wholly plausible. There was, to be sure, nothing so unlikely as that Arthur Pickering, executor of my grandfather's estate, would come to Glenarm without seeing me.

"Sister Theresa told me this morning he was here. He called on her and Miss Devereux last night. I haven't seen him myself. I thought possibly I might run into him in the village. His car's very likely on the station switch."

"No doubt we shall find him there," I answered easily.

The Annandale station presented an appearance of unusual gaiety when we reached the main street of the village. There, to be sure, lay a private car on the siding, and on the platform was a group of twenty or more girls, with several of the brown-habited Sisters of St. Agatha. There was something a little foreign in the picture; the girls in their bright colors talking gaily, the Sisters in their somber garb hovering about, suggesting France or Italy rather than Indiana.

"I came here with the idea that St. Agatha's was a charity school," I remarked to the chaplain.

"Not a bit of it! Sister Theresa is really a swell, you know, and her school is hard to get into."

"I'm glad you warned me in time. I had thought of sending over a sack of flour occasionally, or a few bolts of calico to help on the good work. You've saved my life."

"I probably have. I might mention your good intentions to Sister Theresa."

"Pray don't. If there's any danger of meeting her on that platform--"

"No; she isn't coming down, I'm sure. But you ought to know her--if you will pardon me. And Miss Devereux is charming--but really I don't mean to be annoying."

"Not in the least. But under the circ.u.mstances-- the will and my probationary year--you can understand--"

"Certainly. A man's affairs are his own, Mr. Glenarm."

We stepped upon the platform. The private car was on the opposite side of the station and had been switched into a siding of the east and west road. Pickering was certainly getting on. The private car, even more than the yacht, is the symbol of plutocracy, and gaping rustics were evidently impressed by its grandeur. As I lounged across the platform with Stoddard, Pickering came out into the vestibule of his car, followed by two ladies and an elderly gentleman. They all descended and began a promenade of the plank walk.

Pickering saw me an instant later and came up hurriedly, with outstretched hand.

"This is indeed good fortune! We dropped off here last night rather unexpectedly to rest a hot-box and should have been picked up by the midnight express for Chicago; but there was a miscarriage of orders somewhere and we now have to wait for the nine o'clock, and it's late. If I'd known how much behind it was I should have run out to see you. How are things going?"

"As smooth as a whistle! It really isn't so bad when you face it. And the fact is I'm actually at work."

"That's splendid. The year will go fast enough, never fear. I suppose you pine for a little human society now and then. A man can never strike the right medium in such things. In New York we are all rushed to death. I sometimes feel that I'd like a little rustication myself. I get nervous, and working for corporations is wearing. The old gentleman there is Taylor, president of the Interstate and Western. The ladies are his wife and her sister. I'd like to introduce you." He ran his eyes over my corduroys and leggings amiably. He had not in years addressed me so pleasantly.

Stoddard had left me to go to the other end of the platform to speak to some of the students. I followed Pickering rather loathly to where the companions of his travels were pacing to and fro in the crisp morning air.

I laugh still whenever I remember that morning at Annandale station. As soon as Pickering had got me well under way in conversation with Taylor, he excused himself hurriedly and went off, as I a.s.sumed, to be sure the station agent had received orders for attaching the private car to the Chicago express. Taylor proved to be a supercilious person--I believe they call him Chilly Billy at the Metropolitan Club--and our efforts to converse were pathetically unfruitful. He asked me the value of land in my county, and as my ignorance on this subject was vast and illimitable, I could see that he was forming a low opinion of my character and intelligence. The two ladies stood by, making no concealment of their impatience. Their eyes were upon the girls from St. Agatha's on the other platform, whom they could see beyond me. I had jumped the conversation from Indiana farm-lands to the recent disorders in Bulgaria, which interested me more, when Mrs. Taylor spoke abruptly to her sister.

"That's she--the one in the gray coat, talking to the clergyman. She came a moment ago in the carriage."

"The one with the umbrella? I thought you said--"

Mrs. Taylor glanced at her sister warningly, and they both looked at me. Then they sought to detach themselves and moved away. There was some one on the farther side of the platform whom they wished to see, and Taylor, not understanding their manoeuver--he was really anxious, I think, not to be left alone with me-- started down the platform after them, I following. Mrs. Taylor and her sister walked to the end of the platform and looked across, a biscuit-toss away, to where Stoddard stood talking to the girl I had already heard described as wearing a gray coat and carrying an umbrella.

The girl in gray crossed the track quickly and addressed the two women cordially. Taylor's back was to her and he was growing eloquent in a mild well-bred way over the dullness of our statesmen in not seeing the advantages that would accrue to the United States in fostering our shipping industry. His wife, her sister and the girl in gray were so near that I could hear plainly what they were saying. They were referring apparently to the girl's refusal of an invitation to accompany them to California.

"So you can't go--it's too bad! We had hoped that when you really saw us on the way you would relent," said Mrs. Taylor.

"But there are many reasons; and above all Sister Theresa needs me."

It was the voice of Olivia, a little lower, a little more restrained than I had known it.

"But think of the rose gardens that are waiting for us out there!" said the other lady. They were showing her the deference that elderly women always have for pretty girls.

"Alas, and again alas!" exclaimed Olivia. "Please don't make it harder for me than necessary. But I gave my promise a year ago to spend these holidays in Cincinnati."