The House of Strange Secrets Part 7

The words were those that Lena herself had used earlier in the day!

Could it be that the Major had overheard them, or was it a case of mere coincidence?

"Come and sit down and let us have a chat," the stranger went on, beckoning Laurence to a vacant arm-chair.

"Major Jones-Farnell, I suppose?" was Carrington's first remark.

"Yes and no," replied the other; "but that is neither here nor there."

"Indeed! And I believe you wished to see me," said Laurence coldly.

"I do," said the Major, "but pray make yourself at home, as far as it is possible, in such 'diggings' as mine. Here are some cigars that I think you will find palatable. Perhaps you will join me in a smoke. There's nothing so conducive to pleasant conversation as nicotine." And the master of Durley Dene pushed forward a small box of long cigars, each wrapped in embossed silver paper.

Now, had Laurence been ushered into the presence of some typical scoundrel who held a revolver in his hand while conversing, and offered to murder the young visitor if he actually carried out his threat of consulting the police, he would not have been in the least surprised, but he had little expected what he now found.

The room in which he sat was elegantly furnished in decidedly Oriental style. A magnificent Indian carpet, into which one's feet sank an inch or so, occupied the best part of the floor, while mats covered the bare corners of the room. Indian tapestry of fine workmanship hung from the walls, and many of the small chairs and bric-a-brac ornaments were of Oriental manufacture. A hookah, with ivory mouthpiece, and brilliantly worked coiling pipe, stood upon a table at Major Farnell's right hand.

That gentleman's feet were encased in Persian bed slippers. In fact, little of the furniture but the arm-chairs was of a kind one would expect to find in England. Even the prevailing odour of the room was that of incense such as one reads of as pervading Eastern bazaars and temples. Certainly the Major had a good idea of comfort.

And as Laurence noted these points in connection with the room he realised how they agreed with the supposition of his that the Squire's enemy was a "black" man or woman. But the Major gave him little time for thought.

"Oh, you must take a weed," said Farnell, when Laurence had at first refused the other's hospitality.

Fearing to displease, Carrington did so, carefully selecting one of the cigars from the bottom of the box. Why he did this will be quite evident. He considered it possible that some of them might be drugged.

However, as the owner himself carelessly chose one of the top layer, it seemed probable that Laurence was over-suspicious. That, however, was no fault. The circ.u.mstances under which he had been brought face to face with the Major were remarkable enough to raise suspicion.

"And so," said Jones-Farnell, when the two had lighted up, "and so you thought of sending the police here! May I ask why?"

"I hardly think it necessary to explain to you what I am under the impression you already know," was the answer.

The Major looked surprised.

"I fear," he said, "that your impression is a mere misapprehension.

Truthfully, I have no idea why you should object to my retiring habits in a house which is my own in every respect. I am inclined to think myself a peculiarly desirable kind of neighbour. I am sure no noise caused by me or my servant has ever disturbed you. I keep no fowls to wake you up by their crowing at daybreak. Never has either my servant or myself trespa.s.sed upon your grounds. I don't keep a dog----"

"Pardon me, but why, then, did your servant purchase a dog-whip only last night?"

And when Laurence made this quiet and apparently ordinary remark, he noticed a sudden flush rise to his host's brow. For a moment the Major did not reply. Then, affecting an off-hand manner, he said--

"Oh, that was for my Persian cat, Teddy."

But Laurence knew that he lied!

CHAPTER XII

THE MAJOR REVEALS HIS SECRET

"My dear sir," Laurence resumed, after a short pause, "you are well aware that your remarks are idle ones. I have no cause for complaint on any such grounds as those you mention. As a neighbour you are the most desirable that man could have, except----"

"Except what?"

"Except in one particular--the cause, as you very well know, of my presence here to-night."

"I am quite at a loss to understand what you mean, Mr.----." He hesitated for the other to supply the name.

"Carrington, as you are also well aware."

"Carrington! Oh, indeed! No relation, I suppose, to Major Harold Carrington, who was formerly stationed at Madras?"

"No; I have not heard of any relative who was an Indian officer.

Curiously enough, though, my father is Harold Carrington. But pray let us put an end to all this twaddle. I was forgetting that you know as well as I do all about my unfortunate father."

"Really, Mr. Carrington, you amaze me. I can't imagine what you mean when you speak as you do. I was formerly intimately acquainted with a Major Carrington (who, as I have already stated, was an Indian officer of repute) when I was living at Madras, but since you say that your father is not that Harold Carrington, I regret that I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance, though you so persistently declare that I have."

Laurence did not reply for a moment. He was more than astonished at the convincing manner in which the Major spoke. Was he a marvellous actor, or was it possible that he had no connection with the Squire's would-be a.s.sa.s.sin? The latter idea was impossible. Had not he proved--and Lena, too--that there could be no doubt of the Major's close connection with the person whose headquarters seemed to be the Manse barn?

No, the man must be acting a part, as he might naturally be expected to do. And he was acting it so cleverly that Laurence was almost inclined to believe him to be ignorant of the terrible plot that was thickening round the unhappy Squire.

The man had already confessed--or had practically done so--that his name was not Major Jones-Farnell. He had been visibly concerned at the mention of the dog-whip. What did it mean? The first discovery clearly proved that the man was playing a part. The second surely pointed to the fact that he was not speaking sincerely.

"Well, Major," said Carrington, after a pause, which he had occupied in deliberating thus, "let us then, for the moment, drop the question of how much or how little you know about my father, and revert to the cause of your invitation so strangely delivered to me this morning."

"Ah, now we are talking sense," replied Laurence's companion; "you mean you wish to know why I requested you not to go to the police? But first, pray tell me on what grounds you intend--or shall we say intended?--applying for a warrant to search this house. A retiring disposition is no crime--at least, so my knowledge of legal subjects leads me to believe."

"Of course not," responded Laurence angrily; "kindly do not prevaricate.

But, by the way, how did you send me that message this morning?"

"As to that, my servant is the best person for you to apply to for an answer. I presume, though, that he delivered the note by means of his catapult, a weapon and instrument in the use of which he is extremely proficient. You must excuse the mode of delivery. I am short-handed--my establishment consists of myself and my man."

"Indeed! and I am under the impression that the 'man' affects clothing that one does not usually see upon men!"

"For various reasons, I confess, my servant walks abroad in a harmless disguise."

"And attacks pedestrians in the high road!" muttered Laurence.

"Certainly not, unless they threaten him with pains and penalties that he does not deserve!" was the reply.

"Again let me impress upon you that the cause of my visit has not yet so much as been explained by you," exclaimed Carrington, enraged at the Major's repeated parrying of the question.

"I think you promised that you would first explain your reason for suspecting us, as you seem to, of crimes the nature of which you insist on refraining from mentioning."

"You know very well that I have good cause for suspicion. Tell me, what is the meaning of this darkened house; this secrecy; the necessity for disguise; and lastly, what is your connection with the person who stole my bicycle for a terrible purpose?"

Once again, as he made this last remark, did the visitor perceive noticeable tokens of concern on the face of his host. There was a look of dread--dread of exposure--in his eyes. He puffed rapidly at his cigar--a sure sign of discomfort--and shifted two or three times in his seat before replying.

"You are pressing me very hard, Mr. Carrington," he said at length, "and I see no reason why I should answer your questions, which, you will pardon me for saying so, incline towards impertinence."