The House of a Thousand Candles Part 6

The man I was looking for came to the door quickly in response to my knock.

"Good afternoon, Morgan."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Glenarm," he said, taking the pipe from his mouth the better to grin at me. He showed no sign of surprise, and I was nettled by his cool reception. There was, perhaps, a certain element of recklessness in my visit to the house of a man who had shown so singular an interest in my affairs, and his cool greeting vexed me.

"Morgan--" I began.

"Won't you come in and rest yourself, Mr. Glenarm?" he interrupted. "I reckon you're tired from your trip over--"

"Thank you, no," I snapped.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Glenarm." He seemed to like my name and gave it a disagreeable drawling emphasis.

"Morgan, you are an infernal blackguard. You have tried twice to kill me--"

"We'll call it that, if you like,"--and he grinned. "But you'd better cut off one for this."

He lifted the gray fedora hat from his head, and poked his finger through a hole in the top.

"You're a pretty fair shot, Mr. Glenarm. The fact about me is,"--and he winked--"the honest truth is, I'm all out of practice. Why, sir, when I saw you paddling out on the lake this afternoon I sighted you from the casino half a dozen times with my gun, but I was afraid to risk it." He seemed to be shaken with inner mirth. "If I'd missed, I wasn't sure you'd be scared to death!"

For a novel diversion I heartily recommend a meeting with the a.s.sa.s.sin who has, only a few days or hours before, tried to murder you. I know of nothing in the way of social adventure that is quite equal to it. Morgan was a fellow of intelligence and, whatever lay back of his designs against me, he was clearly a foe to reckon with. He stood in the doorway calmly awaiting my next move. I struck a match on my box and lighted a cigarette.

"Morgan, I hope you understand that I am not responsible for any injury my grandfather may have inflicted on you. I hadn't seen him for several years before he died. I was never at Glenarm before in my life, so it's a little rough for you to visit your displeasure on me."

He smiled tolerantly as I spoke. I knew--and he knew that I did--that no ill feeling against my grandfather lay back of his interest in my affairs.

"You're not quite the man your grandfather was, Mr. Glenarm. You'll excuse my bluntness, but I take it that you're a frank man. He was a very keen person, and, I'm afraid,"--he chuckled with evident satisfaction to himself--"I'm really afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you're not!"

"There you have it, Morgan! I fully agree with you! I'm as dull as an oyster; that's the reason I've called on you for enlightenment. Consider that I'm here under a flag of truce, and let's see if we can't come to an agreement."

"It's too late, Mr. Glenarm; too late. There was a time when we might have done some business; but that's past now. You seem like a pretty decent fellow, too, and I'm sorry I didn't see you sooner; but better luck next time."

He stroked his yellow beard reflectively and shook his head a little sadly. He was not a bad-looking fellow; and he expressed himself well enough with a broad western accent.

"Well," I said, seeing that I should only make myself ridiculous by trying to learn anything from him, "I hope our little spats through windows and on walls won't interfere with our pleasant social relations. And I don't hesitate to tell you,"--I was exerting myself to keep down my anger--"that if I catch you on my grounds again I'll fill you with lead and sink you in the lake."

"Thank you, sir," he said, with so perfect an imitation of Bates' voice and manner that I smiled in spite of myself.

"And now, if you'll promise not to fire into my back I'll wish you good day. Otherwise--"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed off his hat and bowed profoundly. "It'll suit me much better to continue handling the case on your grounds," he said, as though he referred to a business matter. "Killing a man on your own property requires some explaining--you may have noticed it?"

"Yes; I commit most of my murders away from home," I said. "I formed the habit early in life. Good day, Morgan."

As I turned away he closed his door with a slam--a delicate way of a.s.suring me that he was acting in good faith, and not preparing to puncture my back with a rifle-ball. I regained the lake-sh.o.r.e, feeling no great discouragement over the lean results of my interview, but rather a fresh zest for the game, whatever the game might be. Morgan was not an enemy to trifle with; he was, on the other hand, a clever and daring foe; and the promptness with which he began war on me the night of my arrival at Glenarm House, indicated that there was method in his hostility.

The sun was going his ruddy way beyond St. Agatha's as I drove my canoe into a little cove near which the girl in the tam-o'-shanter had disappeared the day before. The sh.o.r.e was high here and at the crest was a long curved bench of stone reached by half a dozen steps, from which one might enjoy a wide view of the country, both across the lake and directly inland. The bench was a pretty bit of work, boldly reminiscential of Alma Tadema, and as clearly the creation of John Marshall Glenarm as though his name had been carved upon it.

It was a.s.suredly a spot for a pipe and a mood, and as the shadows crept through the wood before me and the water, stirred by the rising wind, began to beat below, I invoked the one and yielded to the other. Something in the withered gra.s.s at my feet caught my eye. I bent and picked up a string of gold beads, dropped there, no doubt, by some girl from the school or a careless member of the summer colony. I counted the separate beads--they were round and there were fifty of them. The proper length for one turn about a girl's throat, perhaps; not more than that! I lifted my eyes and looked off toward St. Agatha's.

"Child of the red tam-o'-shanter, I'm very sorry I was rude to you yesterday, for I liked your steady stroke with the paddle; and I admired, even more, the way you spurned me when you saw that among all the cads in the world I am number one in Cla.s.s A. And these golden bubbles (O girl of the red tam-o'-shanter!), if they are not yours you shall help me find the owner, for we are neighbors, you and I, and there must be peace between our houses."

With this foolishness I rose, thrust the beads into my pocket, and paddled home in the waning glory of the sunset.

That night, as I was going quite late to bed, bearing a candle to light me through the dark hall to my room, I heard a curious sound, as of some one walking stealthily through the house. At first I thought Bates was still abroad, but I waited, listening for several minutes, without being able to mark the exact direction of the sound or to identify it with him. I went on to the door of my room, and still a m.u.f.fled step seemed to follow me--first it had come from below, then it was much like some one going up stairs--but where? In my own room I still heard steps, light, slow, but distinct. Again there was a stumble and a hurried recovery--ghosts, I reflected, do not fall down stairs!

The sound died away, seemingly in some remote part of the house, and though I prowled about for an hour it did not recur that night.

CHAPTER IX.

THE GIRL AND THE RABBIT.

Wind and rain rioted in the wood, and occasionally both fell upon the library windows with a howl and a splash. The tempest had wakened me; it seemed that every chimney in the house held a screaming demon. We were now well-launched upon December, and I was growing used to my surroundings. I had offered myself frequently as a target by land and water; I had sat on the wall and tempted fate; and I had roamed the house constantly expecting to surprise Bates in some act of treachery; but the days were pa.s.sing monotonously. I saw nothing of Morgan--he had gone to Chicago on some errand, so Bates reported--but I continued to walk abroad every day, and often at night, alert for a reopening of hostilities. Twice I had seen the red tam-o'-shanter far through the wood, and once I had pa.s.sed my young acquaintance with another girl, a dark, laughing youngster, walking in the highway, and she had bowed to me coldly. Even the ghost in the wall proved inconstant, but I had twice heard the steps without being able to account for them.

Memory kept plucking my sleeve with reminders of my grandfather. I was touched at finding constantly his marginal notes in the books he had collected with so much intelligence and loving care. It occurred to me that some memorial, a tablet attached to the outer wall, or perhaps, more properly placed in the chapel, would be fitting; and I experimented with designs for it, covering many sheets of drawing-paper in an effort to set forth in a few words some hint of his character. On this gray morning I produced this: 1835 The life of John Marshall Glenarm was a testimony to the virtue of generosity, forbearance and gentleness The Beautiful things he loved were not n.o.bler than his own days His grandson (who served him ill) writes this of him 1901 I had drawn these words on a piece of cardboard and was studying them critically when Bates came in with wood.

"Those are unmistakable snowflakes, sir," said Bates from the window. "We're in for winter now."

It was undeniably snow; great lazy flakes of it were crowding down upon the wood.

Bates had not mentioned Morgan or referred even remotely to the pistol-shot of my first night, and he had certainly conducted himself as a model servant. The man-of-all-work at St. Agatha's, a Scotchman named Ferguson, had visited him several times, and I had surprised them once innocently enjoying their pipes and whisky and water in the kitchen.

"They are having trouble at the school, sir," said Bates from the hearth.

"The young ladies running a little wild, eh?"

"Sister Theresa's ill, sir. Ferguson told me last night!"

"No doubt Ferguson knows," I declared, moving the papers about on my desk, conscious, and not ashamed of it, that I enjoyed these dialogues with Bates. I occasionally entertained the idea that he would some day brain me as I sat dining upon the viands which he prepared with so much skill; or perhaps he would poison me, that being rather more in his line of business and perfectly easy of accomplishment; but the house was bare and lonely and he was a resource.

"So Sister Theresa's ill!" I began, seeing that Bates had nearly finished, and glancing with something akin to terror upon the open pages of a dreary work on English cathedrals that had put me to sleep the day before.

"She's been quite uncomfortable, sir; but they hope to see her out in a few days!"

"That's good; I'm glad to hear it."

"Yes, sir. I think we naturally feel interested, being neighbors. And Ferguson says that Miss Devereux's devotion to her aunt is quite touching."

I stood up straight and stared at Bates' back--he was trying to stop the rattle which the wind had set up in one of the windows.

"Miss Devereux!" I laughed outright.

"That's the name, sir--rather odd, I should call it."

"Yes, it is rather odd," I said, composed again, but not referring to the name. My mind was busy with a certain paragraph in my grandfather's will: Should he fail to comply with this provision, said property shall revert to my general estate, and become, without reservation, and without necessity for any process of law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, of the County and State of New York.

"Your grandfather was very fond of her, sir. She and Sister Theresa were abroad at the time he died. It was my sorrowful duty to tell them the sad news in New York, sir, when they landed."

"The devil it was!" It irritated me to remember that Bates probably knew exactly the nature of my grandfather's will; and the terms of it were not in the least creditable to me. Sister Theresa and her niece were doubtless calmly awaiting my failure to remain at Glenarm House during the disciplinary year--Sister Theresa, a Protestant nun, and the niece who probably taught drawing in the school for her keep! I was sure it was drawing; nothing else would, I felt, have brought the woman within the pale of my grandfather's beneficence.

I had given no thought to Sister Theresa since coming to Glenarm. She had derived her knowledge of me from my grandfather, and, such being the case, she would naturally look upon me as a blackguard and a menace to the peace of the neighborhood. I had, therefore, kept rigidly to my own side of the stone wall. A suspicion crossed my mind, marshaling a host of doubts and questions that had lurked there since my first night at Glenarm.

"Bates!"

He was moving toward the door with his characteristic slow step.

"If your friend Morgan, or any one else, should shoot me, or if I should tumble into the lake, or otherwise end my earthly career--Bates!"

His eyes had slipped from mine to the window and I spoke his name sharply.

"Yes, Mr. Glenarm."

"Then Sister Theresa's niece would get this property and everything else that belonged to Mr. Glenarm."

"That's my understanding of the matter, sir."

"Morgan, the caretaker, has tried to kill me twice since I came here. He fired at me through the window the night I came--Bates!"

I waited for his eyes to meet mine again. His hands opened and shut several times, and alarm and fear convulsed his face for a moment.

"Bates, I'm trying my best to think well of you; but I want you to understand"--I smote the table with my clenched hand--"that if these women, or your employer, Mr. Pickering, or that d.a.m.ned hound, Morgan, or you-- d.a.m.n you, I don't know who or what you are!--think you can scare me away from here, you've waked up the wrong man, and I'll tell you another thing--and you may repeat it to your school-teachers and to Mr. Pickering, who pays you, and to Morgan, whom somebody has hired to kill me--that I'm going to keep faith with my dead grandfather, and that when I've spent my year here and done what that old man wished me to do, I'll give them this house and every acre of ground and every d.a.m.ned dollar the estate carries with it. And now one other thing! I suppose there's a sheriff or some kind of a constable with jurisdiction over this place, and I could have the whole lot of you put into jail for conspiracy, but I'm going to stand out against you alone--do you understand me, you hypocrite, you stupid, slinking spy? Answer me, quick, before I throw you out of the room!"

I had worked myself into a great pa.s.sion and fairly roared my challenge, pounding the table in my rage.

"Yes, sir; I quite understand you, sir. But I'm afraid, sir--"

"Of course you're afraid!" I shouted, enraged anew by his halting speech. "You have every reason in the world to be afraid. You've probably heard that I'm a bad lot and a worthless adventurer; but you can tell Sister Theresa or Pickering or anybody you please that I'm ten times as bad as I've ever been painted. Now clear out of here!"

He left the room without looking at me again. During the morning I strolled through the house several times to make sure he had not left it to communicate with some of his fellow plotters, but I was, I admit, disappointed to find him in every instance busy at some wholly proper task. Once, indeed, I found him cleaning my storm boots! To find him thus humbly devoted to my service after the raking I had given him dulled the edge of my anger. I went back to the library and planned a cathedral in seven styles of architecture, all unrelated and impossible, and when this began to bore me I designed a crypt in which the wicked should be buried standing on their heads and only the very good might lie and sleep in peace. These diversions and several black cigars won me to a more amiable mood. I felt better, on the whole, for having announced myself to the delectable Bates, who gave me for luncheon a brace of quails, done in a manner that stripped criticism of all weapons.

We did not exchange a word, and after knocking about in the library for several hours I went out for a tramp. Winter had indeed come and possessed the earth, and it had given me a new landscape. The snow continued to fall in great, heavy flakes, and the ground was whitening fast.

A rabbit's track caught my eye and I followed it, hardly conscious that I did so. Then the clear print of two small shoes mingled with the rabbit's trail. A few moments later I picked up an overshoe, evidently lost in the chase by one of Sister Theresa's girls, I reflected. I remembered that while at Tech I had collected diverse memorabilia from school-girl acquaintances, and here I was beginning a new series with a string of beads and an overshoe!

A rabbit is always an attractive quarry. Few things besides riches are so elusive, and the little fellows have, I am sure, a shrewd humor peculiar to themselves. I rather envied the school-girl who had ventured forth for a run in the first snow-storm of the season. I recalled Aldrich's turn on Gautier's lines as I followed the double trail: "Howe'er you tread, a tiny mould Betrays that light foot all the same; Upon this glistening, snowy fold At every step it signs your name."

A pretty autograph, indeed! The snow fell steadily and I tramped on over the joint signature of the girl and the rabbit. Near the lake they parted company, the rabbit leading off at a tangent, on a line parallel with the lake, while his pursuer's steps pointed toward the boat-house.

There was, so far as I knew, only one student of adventurous blood at St. Agatha's, and I was not in the least surprised to see, on the little sheltered balcony of the boat-house, the red tam-o'-shanter. She wore, too, the covert coat I remembered from the day I saw her first from the wall. Her back was toward me as I drew near; her hands were thrust into her pockets. She was evidently enjoying the soft mingling of the snow with the still, blue waters of the lake, and a girl and a snow-storm are, if you ask my opinion, a pretty combination. The fact of a girl's facing a winter storm argues mightily in her favor--testifies, if you will allow me, to a serene and dauntless spirit, for one thing, and a sound const.i.tution, for another.

I ran up the steps, my cap in one hand, her overshoe in the other. She drew back a trifle, just enough to bring my conscience to its knees.

"I didn't mean to listen that day. I just happened to be on the wall and it was a thoroughly underbred trick--my twitting you about it--and I should have told you before if I'd known how to see you--"

"May I trouble you for that shoe?" she said with a great deal of dignity.

They taught that cold disdain of man, I supposed, as a required study at St. Agatha's.

"Oh, certainly! Won't you allow me?"

"Thank you, no!"

I was relieved, to tell the truth, for I had been out of the world for most of that period in which a youngster perfects himself in such graces as the putting on of a girl's overshoes. She took the damp bit of rubber--a wet overshoe, even if small and hallowed by a.s.sociations, isn't pretty--as Venus might have received a soft-sh.e.l.l crab from the hand of a fresh young merman. I was between her and the steps to which her eyes turned longingly.

"Of course, if you won't accept my apology I can't do anything about it; but I hope you understand that I'm sincere and humble, and anxious to be forgiven."

"You seem to be making a good deal of a small matter--"

"I wasn't referring to the overshoe!" I said.

She did not relent.

"If you'll only go away--"

She rested one hand against the corner of the boat-house while she put on the overshoe. She wore, I noticed, brown gloves with cuffs.

"How can I go away! You children are always leaving things about for me to pick up. I'm perfectly worn out carrying some girl's beads about with me; and I spoiled a good glove on your overshoe."

"I'll relieve you of the beads, too, if you please." And her tone measurably reduced my stature.

She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat and shook the tam-o'-shanter slightly, to establish it in a more comfortable spot on her head. The beads had been in my corduroy coat since I found them. I drew them out and gave them to her.

"Thank you; thank you very much."

"Of course they are yours, Miss--"

She thrust them into her pocket.

"Of course they're mine," she said indignantly, and turned to go.

"We'll waive proof of property and that sort of thing," I remarked, with, I fear, the hope of detaining her. "I'm sorry not to establish a more neighborly feeling with St. Agatha's. The stone wall may seem formidable, but it's not of my building. I must open the gate. That wall's a trifle steep for climbing."

I was amusing myself with the idea that my ident.i.ty was a dark mystery to her. I had read English novels in which the young lord of the manor is always mistaken for the game-keeper's son by the pretty daughter of the curate who has come home from school to be the belle of the county. But my lady of the red tam-o'-shanter was not a creature of illusions.

"It serves a very good purpose--the wall, I mean-- Mr. Glenarm."

She was walking down the steps and I followed. I am not a man to suffer a lost school-girl to cross my lands unattended in a snow-storm; and the piazza of a boat-house is not, I submit, a pleasant loafing-place on a winter day. She marched before me, her hands in her pockets--I liked her particularly that way--with an easy swing and a light and certain step. Her remark about the wall did not encourage further conversation and I fell back upon the poets.

"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage,"