The Red Window Part 19

There is a pa.s.sage and door communicating with the arm of the sea which runs near the castle, and you could easily escape to foreign parts by means of a boat. Cheer up, old boy," added d.i.c.k, clapping his friend on the back, "you're not dead yet."

The poor, hunted young fellow threw his arm schoolboy fashion over Conniston's shoulder. "What a good fellow you are, d.i.c.k!" he said. "I fancied you might believe me guilty."

"I'd as soon believe myself guilty, you several kinds of a.s.s."

"And Alice?" asked Bernard, under his breath.

"She believes you innocent, so does Aunt Berengaria and Durham. Yes! and Miss Randolph also. She's a ripping girl that. I wish she wasn't engaged to Beryl, the pig!"

"What does he say?" asked Gore, warming his hand and casting a look over his shoulder.

"He says nothing, because he thinks you are drown-dead, as Mr. Peggotty would say. And, by Jove! Bernard, I thought you really were dead. You have no idea what a relief it was when I got your letter. How did you escape?"

Bernard pa.s.sed his hand through his hair and sighed wearily. The strain through which he had pa.s.sed, and from which he still suffered, showed itself in his bloodless cheeks and his wild eyes. At every sound he started and shook. His nerves, and small wonder, were quite unstrung, and even while sitting safely beside his old school chum on the sofa near the fire, he kept a tight hold of him, like a child by its mother's knee. Seeing this, Conniston rose quickly. Bernard was on his feet in a moment, startled by the suddenness of the movement.

"What's the matter?" he demanded, looking anxiously around, and eyeing both door and window suspiciously.

"You are the matter," said Conniston, touching the bell. "I must get you some wine. You look so awfully ill, old chap. This will never do. I tell you, Bernard, you are all right. I'll stick to you through thick and thin."

"But if I was arrested?"

"You won't be arrested. Everyone thinks you are dead. You'll stay here until we sift this matter to the bottom, and then you can take your place again in the world as Sir Bernard Gore."

"Sir Bernard!"

"Of course. You inherit the t.i.tle and the money also."

"Not the money, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes! Durham told me to tell you, as he couldn't come himself. He is now reading the will and Beryl will find himself left out in the cold. You get everything."

Bernard threw up his hands. "And I'm a hunted fugitive."

"Steady, old boy. Bite on the bullet. You're a dead man, and will remain one until we discover who killed your grandfather."

"And how can we----"

"Shut up, Bernard!" Conniston made an imperative sign as a knock came to the door. Gore at once turned his face to the fire and began to arrange the logs, while Lord Conniston spoke to a sharp, dark, wizen child who entered the room. She was no more than fifteen, but had such an old face and such a womanly appearance that she looked much older.

Her eyes were as black as sloes and her thin lips tightly closed. A most unpleasant-looking creature with a waspish nature.

"Oh, Victoria," said Conniston, as this goblin dropped a curtsey, "I want you to bring up some port wine.--Mrs. Moon will give it to you--and some gla.s.ses also."

"Yes, m'lord!"

"Bring a plate of biscuits too."

"Yes, m'lord!"

"And, Victoria," said the young man, as she retreated, "there is no need for you to mention that I have visitors at the castle."

"No, m'lord," said Victoria, and, with a glance full of suspicion at Bernard's back, she withdrew as noiselessly as she entered, and with a final curtsey, such as might have been made by a wooden doll. Indeed, Victoria--a most inappropriate name--might well have been cut out of wood, so stiff and angular and hard did she look. Conniston did not wonder that placid Mrs. Moon could not control this embryo virago. A combat between them would be like that between an elephant and a mosquito, with the betting on the insect.

"That's a mistake, d.i.c.k," said Bernard, when the door closed.

"What is?" asked Conniston, staring.

"Telling that girl to hold her tongue. She has no reason to suspect me, and quite as likely as not thought me merely your guest. Now she will fancy all sorts of things."

"I hope not," said Conniston, uneasily, "but she's such a little devil that I thought it best to give her one for herself. And if she chatters she will lose her situation. I am so afraid lest she should be in communication with Jerry."

"Jerry?"

"Judas. The grandson of Mrs. Moon who robbed Taberley. He and Victoria were as thick as thieves, and are about equal in wickedness. If the girl suspected anything she might ask Judas to help her to learn more of the truth than we want known. Both would sell their nearest and dearest for a pound. But don't bother, Bernard," said the easy-going d.i.c.k, again crossing to the sofa, "everything is right."

"I hope so, I hope so," muttered Gore. "If I am arrested I cannot make any defence."

"We'll talk of that later. Here comes Mrs. Moon with the wine, and so speedily that I suspect she must have out a bottle for her private drinking. I say, Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, as the giantess entered with a silver tray and the wine, "don't let Victoria leave the castle on any account."

"I should think not," said Mrs. Moon, setting down the tray. "She works little enough as it is without trapesing about on holidays. I'd keep her under lock and key on bread and water if I had my way, and if she wasn't too strong for me, the besom that she is!--begging your dear lordship's pardon. Anything else, my lord?"

"No. You can go."

"And glad I am to go," said Mrs. Moon, withdrawing with a ponderous step, "being engaged in playing kings."

"Kings," said Conniston, when she vanished.

Bernard, in spite of his sadness, laughed and explained. "It's a game of patience," he said. "I asked Mrs. Moon for a pack of cards to pa.s.s the time, and was playing the game myself. She was curious; so, to keep her in a good temper, I taught it to her. Ever since she has been playing it unsuccessfully."

"Oh!" Conniston was not interested in his housekeeper's games. He opened the bottle of port and carefully poured out a full gla.s.s, which he pa.s.sed to Bernard. "Drink that up, you sinner."

Gore sipped a little wine but finally drank the whole gla.s.s. Conniston made him take another in spite of his protestations, and then the color came back to his sunken cheeks. The poor fellow was thin with anxiety and want of sleep. When Conniston saw he was better he made him light a pipe and then sat down to hear an account of his escape. Bernard was grateful for these attentions and began to look less cowed.

"You're a good friend, d.i.c.k," he said, smoking luxuriously. "This is the first moment of peace I have known since that awful moment."

"How did you escape?" asked Conniston, lighting a cigarette.

"I threw myself into the river and swam across."

"In the fog?"

"Yes. I was guided by the piers of the Chelsea Bridge. On the opposite side I took off my coat and hat and left them lying on the bank, so that it might be thought I was drowned."

"Which is exactly what people do think," said d.i.c.k, complacently.

"Thank Heaven for that. Well, then I went into a public-house I found open--it was not yet midnight--and made up a story about having been robbed and thrown into the river."

"That was dangerous. The public-house people might have advised you to see the police."

"I don't think the landlord had any love for the police," said Gore, dryly. "He looked like an old convict himself and displayed a fellow-sympathy. I don't know if he believed my story. However, for a sovereign he gave me a coat and hat, and asked no questions. I walked across Waterloo Bridge in the fog and escaped observation. But for the fog I expect my military breeches and leggings would have betrayed me and provoked questions. But I managed to escape."