The House 'Round the Corner Part 22

"Get about again? You don't mean to say I'm crocked for any length of time?"

"For a day or two, at least," came the diplomatic a.s.surance. "As soon as I've tied a rough bandage we'll send for a doctor, and he will be able to give you a definite opinion."

Whittaker groaned, and his eyelids closed wearily over the gray-green eyes.

"Oh, d----n this house!" he muttered. "It's bewitched! Why the devil did I ever come here?"

Armathwaite bound the injured limb tightly, and enjoined on Whittaker the necessity of remaining p.r.o.ne till a doctor arrived. There was little call for any such insistence. The unfortunate Percy was suffering enough pain already without adding to it by movement. He was persuaded to drink some milk, but the mere raising of his head to put a gla.s.s to his lips caused exquisite torture. Then Armathwaite left him, meaning to appeal to Farmer Burt for further a.s.sistance. Dinner was not to be thought of until a messenger was sent to Dr. Scaife, at Bellerby, and Meg and Mrs.

Jackson remained with Whittaker in the meantime.

While descending the stairs, Armathwaite gave special heed to the shadow cast by the window. It was dimly visible, but it seemed almost unbelievable that any person of ordinary intelligence could mistake it for a ghostly manifestation. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he summoned Betty Jackson.

"Would you mind walking to the front door and standing close to it, so as to block the light which enters through the upper portion?" he said when she came.

Wondering what he was driving at, she obeyed. Then the true cause of Whittaker's fright was revealed. The natural light through the plain gla.s.s of the door nearly overcame the weaker rays which filtered through the colored panes, but, as soon as the doorway was blocked, the figure of the Black Prince leaped into a prominence that was almost astounding, even to one who looked for some such development. The artist who had fashioned the window had followed the canons of medieval art. The armored knight, whose face gleamed palely through a raised visor, was poised as though standing on tip-toe, and a rib of the window rose straightly above his head. Thus, the reflection on the wall bore a most striking resemblance to a man hanging from the hook in the china shelf, while the sinister shadow deepened markedly when light was excluded from the only other source. The discovery of this simple fact not only explained the apparition which had sent Percy Whittaker headlong down the stairs, but also showed why gaping rustics could terrify themselves at will. The closer they peered the more visible became the "ghost."

Even Betty understood what was happening, though she had not heard the orchestral effect of the complaining window-sash.

"Mercy on us!" she whispered in a scared way. "Who'd ever ha' thought of the like of that? You must have bin comin' in, sir, the very minnit the poor young gentleman put foot on the second flight o' steps, an' that thing just lepped at him."

"Between us, at any rate, we have laid the ghost, Betty," said Armathwaite. "If Mr. Whittaker complains of increased pain while I am out, tell your mother or Miss Meg to pour cold water over the bandage.

That will give him relief. Perhaps, later, warm fomentations may be required, but he is all right now till the doctor sees him."

As he walked a second time to Burt's farm-house, his mind dwelt on the singular coincidence that produced the shadow on the wall about the very anniversary of the suicide--or murder--which had vexed the peace of Elmdale two years ago. To one who was wont to relieve the long nights of duty in an Indian frontier station by a good deal of varied scientific reading, the mystery of the vision in the Grange was dissipated as soon as it was understood. Its occurrence was possible only during a few evenings before and after the summer solstice, when the sun had traveled farthest north in the northern hemisphere. Its duration was limited to ten minutes at the utmost, because the sun sinks rapidly when nearing the horizon, and the specter's visits were further curtailed by clouds, since strong sunlight and a clear sky were indispensable conditions to its appearance.

But, without posing as an authority on stained gla.s.s, Armathwaite was convinced that the window which had produced this disturbing phenomenon was not modern. The elder Walker had spoken of the Grange as a "seventeenth-century dwelling," and there was every likelihood that the painted effigy of the hero of Crecy had been installed by the original builder, who might have cherished the belief that he was a descendant of the gallant Edward and the Fair Maid of Kent.

If that was so, the "ghost" has existed, not two Junes, but nearer three hundred, and must have been observed and commented upon countless times.

It was odd that Marguerite Ogilvey had not mentioned the fact specifically. It was still more odd that a man should have been found hanged in that exact spot. Somehow, Armathwaite thrilled with a sense of discovery when that phase of the problem dawned on him. He was still turning it over in his thoughts when he reached Burt's farm.

Here he was again fortunate. Some chance had kept the farmer at home, and, although the latter had neither man nor horse to spare for a second journey to Bellerby, he dispatched a messenger to a laborer in the village who owned a bicycle, and was always ready to ride the six miles for half a crown.

Armathwaite, of course, had told Burt of the accident, and the farmer shook his head sapiently when he heard its cause.

"Ay!" he said. "If I owned yon place I'd rive that window out by t'

roots. It's done a fair share of mischief in its time--it has, an' all!"

"Do you mean that it has been responsible for other mishaps?" was the natural query.

"Yes, sir; three in my time, an' I'm the right side o' sixty yet."

"What were they?"

"I don't remember t' first, because I was n.o.bbut a little 'un, but I've heerd my faither tell on 't. Some folk o' t' neam o' Faulkner lived there then, an' one o' their gells, who'd married a man called Ogilvey, I think, kem yam (came home) to have her first bairn where her mother could look after her. This Mrs. Ogilvey must h' known t' hoos an' its ways well enough, but yon spook gev her a bad start one evenin', for all that, an' her bairn was born afore time, and she nearly lost her life."

"Are you sure the name was Ogilvey?" broke in Armathwaite.

"Oh, ay! I mind it well, because I've got a dictionary in t' hoose by a man o't same neam."

"What became of this Mrs. Ogilvey?"

"By gum, she cleared off as soon as she and t' youngster could get into a carriage, an' never showed her nose i' Elmdale again. Owd Faulkner took te drink in his last years, an' had a notion that he and the Black Prince could finish a bottle of wine together. One night he was suppin'

his share as usual on t' stairs, an' he fell backwards over, an' bruk his neck. Then there was poor Mr. Garth's case, which ye'll hae heerd aboot, mebbe?"

"Yes, I've heard of it," said Armathwaite. "How did Mr. Garth come into the property?"

"I don't rightly ken, but folk said it was through yan (one) o'

Faulkner's married daughters. Gosh! He might ha' bin yon bairn. But, no!

his neam 'ud be Ogilvey then."

"Were you ever told why the window should be erected in memory of the Black Prince?"

"Ay; the story is that the man who dug the first sod out o' the foundations broke ground on the fifteenth o' June, an' some larned owd codger said the fifteenth was t' Black Prince's birthday."

"It seems to be rather a slight excuse for such an elaborate window."

Burt looked around cautiously, lest he should be overheard.

"There was queer folk livin' when that hoos was built," he muttered.

"Happen there's more 'n one sort o' Black Prince. I'm thinking meself that mebbe some rascal of a pirate had Owd Nick in his mind when he planned yon article."

Armathwaite laughed. He was aware that a belief in witchcraft still lingered in these remote Yorkshire dales, but he was not prepared to find traces of devil-worship so far afield.

"It's a very interesting matter," he said, "and, when I've got the invalid off my hands, I'll inquire further into the historical side of it. You see, the style of coloring and craftsmanship should enable an expert to date the window within very few years of its actual period.

Ah, here's your man! I hope he found the bicyclist at home?"

a.s.surance on that head was soon forthcoming. Armathwaite returned to the Grange, and, while going to Whittaker's room, he glanced curiously at the wall near the clock. Though a sufficiency of light still came through the window, and the mellow colors in a vignette border were surprisingly bright, there was not the slightest semblance of an apparition in the hall.

But, such was the force of suggestion, after Burt's hint at bygone practice of the black arts within those ancient walls, he found now that the face framed in the open visor was cadaverous in the extreme, and had a sinister and repellent aspect.

Cynic though he was in some respects, as he mounted the creaking stairs, he wondered.

CHAPTER X

ARMATHWAITE STATES A CASE

After endeavoring, with no marked success, to console a fretful invalid with promises of alleviation of his sufferings by a skilled hand--promises made with the best of intent, though doomed to disappointment, because the immediate use of a tight bandage was precisely the treatment which any doctor would have recommended--Armathwaite joined Marguerite in a belated meal.

The spirit of an infuriated cook must have raged in Mrs. Jackson's breast when she bade Betty "tell 'em to mak' the best of it, because everything is spiled." Nevertheless, they dined well, since Yorkshire love of good fare would not permit a real _debacle_ among the eatables.

Marguerite was utterly downcast when Armathwaite informed her that Percy Whittaker would be lucky if he could trust his weight on the injured ankle within the next month.

"What a load of misfortune I carried with me yesterday over the moor!"

she cried bitterly. "Yet, how could I foresee that an interfering woman like Edith Suarez would send Percy hotfoot in pursuit?"

"I have formed a hazy idea of Mrs. Suarez from various remarks dropped by her brother and you," said Armathwaite. "If it is correct in the least particular, I am surprised that she ever let you leave Chester on such an errand."