Witness to the Deed Part 10

Guest sprang forward, knocked sharply, and stood back to wait, while Miss Jerrold drew a long, hissing breath, perfectly audible in the silence.

There was no response, and the chirping of the inn sparrows came painfully loud through an open window somewhere above.

"What a dismal place for a man to choose," muttered Miss Jerrold. "Had you not better knock again?"

Guest repeated the summons, and the admiral leaned forward, listening attentively.

Still there was no reply; and, growing agitated now, Guest once more knocked loudly, with the repet.i.tion of the knocker, telling plainly of the trembling hand of him who raised it and let it fall.

He drew back, to stand listening intently till Miss Jerrold spoke.

"He must be out," said the lady quietly. "Knock again, Mr Guest."

The knocker once more raised the echoes of the weird-looking old staircase, and then died out above with a peculiar whisper, while Guest's heart sank within his breast as a dozen fancies now took possession of him, and horror prevailed.

"We cannot stay here," said Miss Jerrold. "Mr Guest, will you see me to my carriage again? Mr Stratton must be out. Gone to Bourne Square, and we have pa.s.sed him on the way."

"No!" thundered the admiral; "he is within there, hiding, like the cur he is, and afraid to face me!"

Guest turned upon him angrily.

"Come away, sister," growled the old man; "I am right."

"No, sir; I swear you are wrong," cried Guest.

"What? Why, I saw the change in your face, man, when I heard a rustling noise in there. You heard it too. Deny it if you can."

Guest was silent for a moment, and he stood with his eyes fixed upon the letter-box, as if expecting to see the cover of the slit move.

"I am not going to deny it, sir; I did hear a sound," he said. "If he is here he shall come out and face you, and tell the truth and reason of his absence. It is illness, I am sure."

As he spoke he once more seized the knocker and beat out a heavy _roulade_.

But still there was no reply, and, taking his sister's hand, the admiral drew it through his arm.

"Illness?" he said in a low growl. "Yes, the shivering fit of a coward or a cur."

"It is not true!" cried Guest excitedly as a thought flashed across his brain. "I remember now: he had a heavy sum of money on the table when I was here, and--Great Heavens! is it that?"

His manner was contagious, and his face conveyed his terrible thoughts to his companions.

Miss Jerrold clung to her brother, and turned ghastly pale, while a look of horror contracted the old man's face.

"You--you don't think--" he stammered.

"I think the worst, or my poor friend would have been with us."

"Man--for G.o.d's sake don't say that," gasped the admiral, as Guest stepped back to the full extent of the landing.

"There is some mystery here."

"Stop! What are you going to do?" cried Sir Mark, catching at his arm.

"Stand aside, sir; I am going to burst open that door."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

TWO YEARS BEFORE.

Blue sky, the bluest of blue water, margined with green and gold; gloriously rugged, steeply sloping pasture alps, dotted with picturesquely carved chalets, weatherworn by sun and rain to a rich, warm brown; higher up, the sehn hutte--the summer farmsteads of the peasants, round and about which graze gentle, soft-faced cows, each bearing its sweet-toned, musical bell. Again, higher still, grey crag and lightning-blasted granite, bare, repellant, and strange; upward still, and in nook and cranny patches of a dingy white, like the sweepings up of a great hailstorm; another thousand feet up, and the aching eyes dazzled by peak, fold, cushion, and plain of white--the eternal ice; and, above all, the glorious sun beaming down, melting from the snows a million tiny rivers, which whisper and sing as they carve channels for their courses and meet and coalesce to flow amicably down, or quarrel and rage and rush together, till, with a mighty, echoing roar, they plunge headlong down the rift in some mighty glacier, flow on for miles, and reappear at the foot turbid, milky, and laden with stone, to hurry headlong to their purification in the lovely lake below.

Two hundred feet above that lake, on a broad shelf, stood the Hotel des Cerfs, a magnified chalet, and in the wooden balcony, leaning upon the carved rail, and gazing at the wondrous view across lake and meadow, up and away to the snow-covered mountains till they blended with the fleecy clouds, stood Myra Jerrold and Edie Perrin--cousins by birth, sisters by habit--revelling in their first visit to the land of ice peak, valley, and lake.

"I could stand here, I think, forever, and never tire of drinking in the beauties of such a scene, Edie. It makes me so happy; and yet there are moments when the tears come into my eyes, and I feel sad."

"Yes, I know, dear," replied Edie. "That's when you want your lunch or dinner. One feels faint."

"How can you be so absurd?" cried Myra half reproachfully.

"Then it's indigestion, from eating old goat."

"Edie!"

"It is, dear," said the merry, fair-haired girl, swinging her straw hat by one string over the balcony. "I'm sure they save up the goats when they're too old to give any milk, to cook up for the visitors, and then they call it chamois. I wish Aunt Jerrold had been here to have some of that dish last night. I say, she wants to know when we are coming back to Bourne Square."

"I don't know," said Myra thoughtfully. "I am in no hurry. It is very beautiful here."

"Hum, yes. You like it--as well as Saint Malo, the boating, and that quaint Breton woman where we lodged?"

"Of course. The flowers and the pine woods--it is one glorious garden.

Papa liked the yachting, though."

"Yes; but after three months out here I shall be glad to see smoky old London again."

"Yes," said Myra meaningly, "I suppose so."

Edie glanced at her sidewise in a quick, sharp way, but was silent for a few minutes. When her cousin spoke:

"Let's go and coax papa out for a good ramble till dinner--I mean supper--time."

"No good; he would not come. Piquet, coffee, and cigars. Do you like this Mr Barron, Myra?"

"_Oh, yes, well enough_. He is very clever and well informed. He can talk pleasantly about anything, especially about yachting and the sea, and of course papa likes that."

"Talks too much, I think. I'd rather sit and listen to quiet, thoughtful Mr Stratton."