The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel Part 20

Tavish didn't know enough about it to contradict Ross--and anyhow he was only ga.s.sing and not really meaning it at all. I--I'd give my right hand, sir, for Ross. He comes next to my mother in my estimation. And that's saying a good deal!"

"Not so much as you might think--if you know that lady as well as I do, my lad," apostrophized Cleek as the boy sped down the pa.s.sageway and left him alone. "Gad! here's a new outlook altogether. And that conversation actually took place! He wasn't lying, the straight young devil. And he never realized that he was plunging that precious brother of his deeper and deeper into the mire!... I say-- Cyril!"

The boy turned at the end of the pa.s.sage and came slowly back to him.

"Yes, sir?"

"By the way, what size shoes do you take? Gad! your foot's pretty hefty for a sixteen-year-old, I must say! What's the number of those delicate little trotters?"

Cyril laughed self-consciously.

"They are rather huge, aren't they?" he replied. "But they're tens. Same size as Ross, you know, so that I can often borrow his shoes--and Captain Macdonald's as well. Funny we should all be the same size, isn't it?"

"Yes--deuced funny," returned Cleek, sucking in his lips suddenly and his face gone grim. "Tens--eh? Thought it was sixes for you and sevens for your brother."

"Who the d.i.c.kens told you that fairy-tale, sir?"

"Oh, n.o.body particular. I must have dreamt it, I suppose," returned Cleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "And-- I say, Cyril. Your man Jarvis seems to have trotters, too. What size are his boots now, I wonder?"

Cyril's eyes flew wide.

"You must have made a mistake," he said in a surprised voice. "For Jarvis's feet are awfully small. Eights, I believe. Anyway, I can't get 'em on because I tried once. Stole his dress clothes and dressed up in 'em. But the mater was furious! h.e.l.lo! there's the tea-gong. I must be off!"

Then he went off forthwith. Meanwhile Cleek, with his finger upon his chin, stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway and pinched up his brows.

"Now, why the d.i.c.kens did she lie to me--unless she wanted to shield her precious brother?" he said ruminatively. "And why in heaven's name are they all so anxious to pervert Justice and to deny truth?"

But there was no one to give him any answer to that most difficult question, and he had perforce to possess his soul in patience for the present.

CHAPTER XIX

DOLLOPS MAKES A DISCOVERY

The rest of the day pa.s.sed comparatively uneventfully for all those concerned in the drama of a night's doings, and save for a searching scrutiny of the library by Cleek, carried out under the noses of the village policeman, with Inspector Campbell very much to the fore as being in command of the local constabulary and anxious to make a good impression upon the Yard's Superintendent (with an eye to future promotion), and the discovery of one or two minor details which had pa.s.sed even his searching eye before, Cleek's time hung fairly heavily upon his hands.

Dollops, keen as mustard upon any task which involved the imagination of his beloved master, spent the rest of the afternoon and a goodly part of the long twilight in scampering over the countryside in pursuit of various "facts," by the aid of a borrowed bicycle, which Mr. Fairnish had charged him seven-and-sixpence for in advance, being obviously doubtful as to whether the young man would return it or not, for Dollop's c.o.c.kney countenance was not one to breed immediate trust on sight.

His efforts in this direction proved fairly fruitful, for after having sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with one of the grooms at Captain Macdonald's stables--the worthy Captain meanwhile champing furiously at the "bit"

which kept him tethered to his present quarters for another night, when there were other affairs at his own place that wanted looking into--and in his own inimitable fashion managing to w.a.n.gle an old letter written by his master to himself from the groom, Dollops, whistling vociferously, came spinning back again to Aygon Castle to present his find to Cleek, and receive the reward in Cleek's instantly spoken pleasure.

But to see Cleek was a different matter altogether. He had been told to "lie low" where Lady Paula was concerned, and not poke his nose in anything within reach of her ladyship's sharp eye. And as he did not possess Cleek's marvellous birthright by which he was able to alter his countenance in the s.p.a.ce of a second, and become to all intents and purposes another man, Dollops was certainly "floored."

"Better try rahnd the servants' quarters, an' see what I kin see there,"

he decided after a brief survey of the land from an adjacent laurel bush which immediately faced the Castle. "The Gov'nor'll be ready ter split my n.o.b open if I ups and goes inter the plyce by the front door, bless 'is 'eart! And it's sh.o.r.ely the back door for the likes o' _you_, Dollops me lad! So here goes!"

So to the servants' quarters went Dollops forthwith, and sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with Jarvis, the butler, by offering him an impossible cigar, and asking off-handedly for Mr. Deland in the meanwhile.

"Dunno where 'e is at the moment," replied Jarvis, with a wink and a smile. "Seen 'im talkin' to the lydies only a few moments back, in the drorin' room. But since then.... Lunnon chap, ain't yer?"

"Yus!" Dollops's voice rang with pride of birthplace. He threw back his narrow chest and stuck his fingers in his waistcoat and surveyed his interlocutor with upthrown chin.

"Well, so'm I. Come dahn with the family last January from their Lunnon 'ouse. Park Mansion, it's called. Big plyce in Eton Square. Know those parts, I'll lay."

"Every inch of 'em," vociferated Dollops with emphasis. "Luvly plyce, ain't it? They tells me yer got a ghost in this 'ouse, and blimey! I'm that frightened ter meet 'er, me backbone's almost come rahnd ter me front. 'Ugs the gentlemen at night, don't she?"

Jarvis threw back his head and let his hearty laugh ring out over the rafters of the servants' hall.

"Wouldn't 'ug _you_, young 'un, not for nothing--if it were light enough ter see yer face by," he retorted with heavy wit. "But it's truth. And the wimmenfolk is that nervous at night there's no managing with 'em nohow. Some sprightly feller in a by-gone century went and man-'andled a girl from these parts an' carried 'er 'ere by force. Then 'e got 'er into trouble, so the story goes, an' she up and stabbed 'erself with the spindle of her spinning wheel--that there contraption wot stands in the library terd'y and makes a rare job er dustin' fer Minnie the under 'ousemaid. She don't 'arf kick at it, I kin tell yer! Anyway, that was 'ers! And we 'ad a footman 'ere last May wot fancied 'imself very partickler as a braive bloke. Well, he says, says 'e, 'I'll sit up ternight and go dahn by the dungeon door, where she's supposed ter come from, and see wot I kin see.' 'Course we laughed at him, and there was a bit of friendly gamblin' done--_you_ know--an' I backed the blighter for a pound-note."

"An' what 'appened?"

"Ah, that's the scrub of it, as Shakespeare says, me lad. Young fool sat up there, and then abaht three o'clock in the mornin' we 'eard 'im come a-screamin' ter 'is quarters, lookin' as pale as death. 'E said 'e'd 'eard the Peasant Girl rustlin' abaht in her room, and the c.h.i.n.k o'

chains, and then the iron grille door began to open, and an unearthly voice called out,'Avaunt ye, varlet, or I'll break yer bones!' and then.... 'E was off like a pea from a catapult, and that was the last we ever 'eard of 'is bravery. 'E gave notice next day, and forfeited a month's money ter get away from the plyce. And I lost me money, of course! That's wot comes of backin' a bad starter--mostly orlus loses yer money I find."

During this enlightening recital Jarvis had been polishing the table silver, pausing between his task to relate the story, while Dollops's pale face went the colour of ivory, and the hair at the back of his neck began to p.r.i.c.kle with fright.

"Gawd's troof!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, stung to some show of feeling by this gruesome tale. "Ain't that orful! 'Oo'd 'ave thought it? I wouldn't spend a night down there fer a mint of money--would you, Guv'nor?"

"Not if I knows it. But no one never does go dahn very often, only ter the wine-cellar. See that door there? Open that and you'll find a set o'

stairs leadin' right down inter the cellar, and the rest of the pleasant little dungeon-places where they used ter put bad men like you an' me, my boy. Orl right in daytime, er course, an' nothin' much ter see. And perfectly safe. 'Ave a squint, won' yer?--while I send a maid ter find yer gentleman. Quite a nifty little 'idin'-place 'twould be fer any one, but as safe as 'ouses in the daylight. _Go_ on. Ain't scared, are yer?"

Now, if there is one thing in the world which is likely to upset a nervous man more than anything, it is to be designated "scared" in that precise tone of voice. It is from such efforts that heroes are made.

Dollops, whose heart had turned to water within him, found it instantly hardening at the butler's joking tone, and the bantering look upon the man's rosy face settled the matter. He squared his shoulders and threw back his head, though his jaw was chattering like a chimpanzee's.

"Course I ain't--stoopid!" he said stammeringly. "Show us the way, and I'm orf at once. Any other entrance but this one?"

"Yes. Through the courtyard and down the stone steps. But it ain't never used. Your gentleman went dahn yesterday mornin' with Miss Maud, just for a bit of fun like. I'm needin' a couple er bottles er best port up, if you've a mind ter fetch 'em fer me, an' when yer gets back I'll give yer a swallow er Burgundy ter warm yer. 'Ere's the keys. Bottom of the steps and first door ter yer right. You'll see a lot of others, but I wouldn't meddle with them if I was you. Them's _'er_ preserves. I believe you're scared stiff--even at this time of day?"

Dollops favoured him with a withering look, being perfectly unable to find his voice, and then proceeded to the door with steady step, flung it open, and straightway began to descend the staircase to the cellar, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound upon the wooden stairs with their carpeting of thick felt and with his heart literally in his gaping mouth. Down, down, down the stairs led him, and then he heard a laugh from the top of them, turning suddenly to see Jarvis's smiling face above, framed in the open doorway, heard the door slam loudly, and the key grate in the lock, and realized that he had been the victim of a pleasant little practical joke.

The palms of his hands went wet. He felt a mad impulse to bound up the stairs again and hammer upon the door until he gained admittance, but his pride held him back.

"No, I'll see 'im in 'ell first, the blinkin' practical joker!" he apostrophized the absent butler in tones of blackest rage, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, seeing that there was no other alternative but to go down and then return by the _other_ way, "which was scarcely ever used," proceeded on his journey into blackness, which grew each second more black, until he was stepping carefully, with one hand pressed against the stone of the wall and his eyes goggling through the darkness from sheer fright.

He reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and paused to take breath.

He was as winded as a spent runner, and as white as a sheet, and trembling in every limb. The place was as black as a pocket, save for where, through a grille-door on the left-hand side of him (which was actually supposed to be her door, if he had but known it, and led through to the torture-chamber which Cleek himself had traversed), a single candle shone with a pale, sickly light, sending a tiny shaft in his direction, though, with peering through at it, he could only just see its vague outline in some room beyond.

"Gawdama.s.sy!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, his eyes fairly popping out of his head at this sight. "Someun's 'ere, that's a fact! And from what I knows er ghosts, they shine wiv a more unearthly light than wot comes from a candle in a bottle. Now, 'oo the d.i.c.kens----"

But his searchings after light on this subject were cut off short by the sound of softly speaking voices creeping to him through that grilled door, and coming from some long distance away within it. He darted back against the wall and, groping with his hands, found a cupboard door ajar, slipped into it, and drew himself up taut against the inner wall, and waited for that which might come to pa.s.s, every nerve a-tremble, his eyes fixed upon the crack of the door, which at present showed black as a pocket.

The soft voices continued--men's voices, too, and one with the changing inflections of the foreigner.

"Blinkin' German!" thought Dollops excitedly. "Or a c.h.i.n.k! Don't know the difference between their parley-vous meself, but it's orl alike wiv _foreigners_. But the other 'un--'e's English orl right. Never 'eard 'is voice before, that's certain! Gawd! they're comin' out now, an' I prays 'eaven they ain't a jossin' ter fetch nuffin' from this 'ere cupboard, or little Dollops's number'll be up with a vengeance! I don't fancy bein' done in by a blinkin' pigtail, neither! Nah!--then! Keep still, Dollops, me boy, and stop yer tremblin'. You'll 'ave the 'ouse a-shakin' in a minit, an' they'll fink it's a earfquake instead of a boy-quake--strite they will!"