Читать книгу The Hidden Door - Arthur Gask - Страница 4

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IT was breakfast time at Thralldom Castle and four persons were seated at one end of a long table, in a very large room that at one time had formed part of the old banqueting hall.

The room was replete with every comfort and furnished in a modern fashion with a rich, thick carpet covering the huge floor.

The meal was proceeding with its usual ceremony, and three men servants were in attendance, a butler and two footmen, with the latter attired in the Thralldom livery of gold and green.

The owner of the castle was seated at the head of the table, and notwithstanding his general appearance of weakness and ill-health, his sunken cheeks and pallor of complexion, he looked every inch a great lord of Thralldom.

Tall and gaunt and of tremendous frame, it was evident that at one time he had been of great strength, and if now his body were yielding to the infirmities of age, there were yet all signs that the spirit in him was still unquenched.

His whole mien was one of authority. He held his head in the commanding poise of a man who was accustomed to be obeyed. The lines of his face were set and stern, and his big, fierce eyes glared out of their bony sockets with the same fire with which his ancestors had glared over the battlefields of Agincourt and Crecy.

That he was not in a particularly good humour that morning was evidenced by the silence of the others participating in the meal.

Lady Deering, his niece by marriage, made no attempt to start any conversation; her step-daughter, Ann Devenham, was pensive and thoughtful and his guest Marmaduke Bonnett, looked bored and as if he would be glad when the meal were over.

Presently Lord Thralldom spoke, and his voice was deep and vibrant and very different from what might have been expected from his frail appearance.

"And are you sure, Bevan," he asked frowningly of the butler, "that Rawlings had not arrived before I sat down?"

"Quite sure, my lord," replied the butler with great deference.

"But I ordered him to be here at a quarter to nine," went on Lord Thralldom, looking round impressively at the others, "and it's a nice thing when my bailiff does not condescend to obey my orders."

"But he's generally most punctual, Uncle," remarked Lady Deering, meekly, "and I never remember him being unpunctual before." She was a pretty but rather faded-looking woman in the middle forties and evidently stood in great awe of her lordly relation.

"Well, he's not punctual this morning," boomed Lord Thralldom, "and I shall have something to say about it when he arrives." His voice hardened. "Ring up at once, Bevan, and ascertain why he's late." He turned to his grand-niece and eyed her sternly. "You look tired this morning, Ann. Didn't you sleep well, last night?"

Ann Devenham had just turned twenty-one, and a charmingly pretty girl, she showed all signs of her aristocratic ancestry. She was slightly built but of a beautifully proportioned figure. Her features were finely chiselled and she had large, very dark, blue eyes. Ordinarily of a bright disposition, just now she looked quiet and rather sad.

"Yes, thank you, Uncle," she replied in a melodious voice. "I slept quite well."

"But you look tired," went on Lord Thralldom. "I expect you had too many late nights last week at Saxmundham."

"But I didn't," replied the girl quickly. "The vicar would only allow me to go out twice." She smiled. "He said he had strict orders from you."

Lord Thralldom eyed her solemnly. "But your sleep was broken last night," he said. "You heard noises and were disturbed by the hooting of the owls."

"No, I was not," replied the girl. "I heard no noises at all and slept quite well, I tell you."

Lord Thralldom turned to one of the footmen. "You heard noises, you say, William? You heard the hooting of an owl?"

The footman addressed inclined his head in assent. "Several times, my lord," he replied. "It kept me awake."

Lord Thralldom frowned uneasily. "I don't like it," he remarked. "It was very disquieting. I heard it many times."

"But what's wrong in that, sir?" asked Captain Bonnett, looking very puzzled. "There are plenty of owls about here, and night is their time to hoot."

Lord Thralldom shook his head ominously. "But it wasn't an owl that hooted. It was a man."

Captain Bonnett put down the cup he was in the act of raising to his lips. "Good gracious!" he exclaimed, "but what was he hooting for?"

"That's what we want to know," replied his lordship sternly. "It was a signal of some sort. The castle is being watched." He turned to the footman whom he had addressed before. "It didn't sound like an owl, did it, William?"

"No, my lord," replied the footman instantly. "It didn't sound like one."

"It was someone trying to imitate an owl, wasn't it?" went on Lord Thralldom, and when William had at once acquiesced, he turned to the other footman. "And you heard it, too, didn't you, James?"

"Quite plainly, my lord," was the reply. "Several times."

His lordship looked satisfied. "Well, you always have your automatics ready, both of you?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," instantly replied the two footmen together.

"Then don't hesitate to use them," said his lordship. "Shoot at once if you see any movement below the castle, at night."

"Oh Uncle! But it would be so very dreadful if anyone were killed," exclaimed Ann Devenham quickly. "It would be terrible—and they might be quite innocent people."

"Not they," returned Lord Thralldom brusquely. "They'd certainly be armed themselves, and at any rate, they'd be there for no good purpose. If they come round here spying at night and meet with any accident," he shrugged his shoulders, "then, that's their own look out."

"But it frightens me," went on the girl impulsively, "the very idea."

"Frightens you!" echoed Lord Thralldom. He laughed grimly. "Why, there's nothing in killing a man when he's out to kill you. It takes very little getting used to, and the novelty soon passes." He stirred his coffee slowly and continued reminiscently. "I was a young subaltern in India when I killed my first man, and I remember it was just as dawn was breaking in a deep valley between two high hills. I stabbed him in a hand-to-hand fight and I admit the look upon his face, as he fell, haunted me for quite a little while"—he frowned—"until I had had my breakfast, in fact, but after that I might never have thought of it again if I had not happened to have broken a good knife." He eyed Ann again very sternly. "But nothing ought to frighten you, Ann, for you have Thralldom blood in you and a Thralldom never knows fear."

"But I am frightened of lots of things," exclaimed the girl quickly, "and if I thought as you do, I should be afraid to be living here. Really, Uncle," she went on frowningly, "I am sure you must be imagining everything."

Lord Thralldom's eyes glowed like coals of fire. "I imagining!" he retorted angrily. "You don't know what you are talking about, girl." He clenched his bony hands together convulsively. "Why, since I bought that Rubens, six months ago, all eyes in the art world have been focused on this castle, and a thousand miscreants, if one, are scheming to obtain it." His voice rose in the intensity of his passion. "Night and day, if we only knew it, we are being watched, and only the utmost vigilance on our part can preserve my collection of paintings intact." He glared round at everyone. "Night after night, when you have all been sleeping, I have laboured up on to the battlements and seen figures flitting through the mist. Yes, it may be thought that I am mad and crazy in my precautions, but I realise, only too well, that I am not."

The footmen preserved the uninterested and impassive expressions of well-trained servants, but the others at the table glanced covertly at one another and then turned down their eyes.

Suddenly the door opened and the butler glided in. "Well," enquired Lord Thralldom irritably, but dropping his voice at once to a quieter tone, "why is not Rawlings here?"

The butler spoke very quickly and in some excitement, "He's not at his home, my lord. He went out just before eleven and has not been home all night. No one knows where he is, and Mrs. Rawlings is very anxious. She thinks he must have met with some accident."

A moment's silence followed and then Lord Thralldom exclaimed angrily, "Rubbish! What possible accident can he have met with?" He glared at the butler as if he were the offender. "More likely she's had a quarrel with him and is afraid to say, and he's absenting himself now to teach her a lesson." He looked round at the others at the table. "His wife's a nagger and he's sick of it. That's it." He waved to the butler. "At any rate, ring up again and say I'm most annoyed."

The butler left the room and Lady Deering gave an amused little laugh. "Really," she said, addressing herself to Captain Bonnett, "it's becoming quite the fashion for husbands about here to go off and leave their wives and now, if Rawlings has gone off, he'll be the third one who has done so in the last few weeks."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Captain Bonnett politely. "That's very strange."

"Yes," went on Lady Deering, "first there was Mr. McHenty, from the bank in Saxmundham, who went off with a school-teacher from Leiston, then——"

"Oh! Mother, don't be so horrid," broke in her stepdaughter warmly. "You are only repeating the scandal of these little towns. It may not be true at all that he went off with Miss Pascoe. No one is sure of it. He may just have lost his memory, like many over-worked people do and not remember where he lives."

Lady Deering smiled indulgently. "Well, they both disappeared the same night, dear, didn't they? And it came out afterwards, too, that they were both upon unexpectedly friendly terms." She turned again to Captain Bonnett. "Now it looks suspicious, doesn't it? A middle-aged man and a young girl both missing at the same time?"

The captain hesitated a moment. "On the face of it," he replied judicially, "I am afraid it does. When did it happen?" he asked.

"About a month ago," replied Lady Deering, "and nothing's been heard of either of them since. Of course it created a great sensation, because they were both naturally well-known where they lived." She smiled again. "But really, as I say, this running away seems to be quite infectious, for not a week after they were missing, a man who keeps an inn at Yoxford, went off and left his wife in exactly the same way. Everyone said——"

"Nagging wives," interrupted Lord Thralldom sharply. "I tell you, men won't put up with what they did years ago, and Rawlings' wife must have tried his temper quite a lot."

"Oh! Uncle," reproved Ann Devenham reproachfully, "She's not a nagger. I'm sure of it. She's very quiet and good-tempered."

"Well, she never looks it to me," said Lord Thralldom coldly, "and I'm not likely to be mistaken in a woman at my time of life."

The butler brought in some letters upon a salver and handed them round. There were several for Lord Thralldom, two for Lady Deering and one for Ann. Ann did not open hers but, after one quick glance at the handwriting, laid the envelope, face-downwards, upon the table and turning to Captain Bonnett began talking to him in a subdued tone of voice.

The captain regarded her admiringly. She had beautiful, even, white teeth and a very pretty mouth and when she talked or smiled, an attractive dimple appeared upon her cheek. There was nothing in any way intimate in the nature of their conversation, and the girl was only apparently now indulging in it in order to give her relatives an opportunity of going through their correspondence undisturbed.

Presently rumbles of annoyance began to come from Lord Thralldom, and as usual with him when upset, he began talking to himself. He was reading a letter written in bold, big, handwriting, and his lips quivered and his face grew furious as his eyes travelled down the sheet.

"Impertinence!" he muttered, "insolence, a brazen piece of effrontery!" He looked up suddenly with blazing eyes. "Listen to this, Marmaduke," he said. "Can you conceive of greater impudence in all your life?"

"What is it, sir?" asked the captain with an appearance of great interest.

Lord Thralldom spoke in a tone of concentrated fury. "A man writes, a fellow writes"—he could hardly get his breath—"that my Rubens is not genuine and that it is only an early Van Dyck."

"Ha! ha!" laughed the captain, "quite a good joke." He scoffed. "Some jealous crank, probably, who just writes to annoy you."

"An early Van Dyck!" repeated Lord Thralldom breathlessly. "What colossal impertinence!" He scowled. "It certainly does annoy me. It annoys me a great deal."

"Well, tear it up," said the captain promptly, "and don't give it another thought." He shook his head. "I can never understand these anonymous letter-writers, wasting the price of a postage stamp."

"But it's not anonymous," frowned Lord Thralldom. "He signs his name and"—he scowled again at the sheet before him—"it looks like 'Hudson'."

"Hudson! Hudson!" repeated the captain. "Well, that's a very common name and I've never heard of any Hudson who knows anything about paintings except a Yank, and he's a Silas Hudson, of New York."

Lord Thralldom was glancing at the letter in his hand. "This signature," he said slowly, and there was just a little quiver in his voice, "looks like 'Silas Hudson,' 'Silas Q. Hudson,' I think."

The captain almost fell back in his chair in astonishment. "Silas Q. Hudson!" he exclaimed. "Why that is he. Silas Quaver Hudson, one of the greatest experts in the United States." He leant forward excitedly. "Good heavens! What does he say?"

Lord Thralldom was now coldly contemptuous. "He writes this," he replied,

"Sir,

"I consider it my duty to inform you that I have strong reasons for believing that 'The Man of Sorrows' you purchased last March from Mr. Claud Happer is not a genuine Rubens. I think I know the painting, and if so, it is one of the early works of Van Dyck! If you wish, I shall be agreeable to examine it and pronounce my opinion. I am approaching you, because I happen to be in your neighbourhood and upon a holiday.

"Yours faithfully,

"Silas Q. Hudson."

A few moments' silence followed and then Lord Thralldom burst out angrily. "The man's an imbecile, a perfect fool! How dare he suggest such a thing?" He turned sharply to the captain. "You say you know him?"

Captain Bonnett nodded. "Slightly," he replied. "I was introduced to him, a couple of years or so back, in New York. I just spoke to him and that was all, for, as usual, he was monopolising all the conversation."

Lord Thralldom glared. "Well, he's mad, isn't he, quite mad?"

The captain shook his head. "I wouldn't like to say that, sir, for"—he hesitated and then admitted as if with some reluctance—"he's supposed to be about the cutest dealer on the other side."

"The sharpest, perhaps, the most unscrupulous," sneered Lord Thralldom. He lifted his hand suddenly. "Ah! I remember now. I've heard of him. It was he who paid that poor widow in Denver two thousand dollars for her Botticelli last year and sold it the same week to Sir Charles Medway for more than ten times that amount."

"Well, two thousand dollars," commented the captain slowly, "was all the executors under the will asked, and Hudson was quite justified in accepting those terms upon the spot, besides "—and he smiled—"that widow was not in any way poor. Her husband left her over a hundred thousand—not in dollars, but in pounds."

"Well, Hudson's a rogue, anyhow," said Lord Thralldom, "and I'd never trust him a yard." Anger flared up into his eyes again. "But what does he know about my Rubens? He's never seen it?"

The captain looked very impartial. "Oh! I wouldn't like to say that, sir. He's supposed to have seen every painting of note that's come into the market during the last twenty years, and remember—your 'Man of Sorrows' has changed hands three times since Lord Molesbury died."

"Yes," sneered Lord Thralldom, "and in the salerooms the greatest art experts in the world have examined it and pronounced it genuine, so this Hudson's opinion is of no value and," he snapped his fingers together—"I'll ignore him."

"Yes, that's right," agreed the captain instantly. "Treat him with contempt and don't reply to his letter." An idea seemed to strike him suddenly and he shook his head slowly. "But the fellow's a great talker and of course he'd broadcast it all about that you don't dare to allow him to examine your painting."

"Don't dare?" sneered Lord Thralldom. "Don't condescend, you mean!"

"And it'll be disappointing in a way," went on the captain meditatively, "for I'd have loved to have watched him when you showed him the Rubens. He's such a cocksure beggar and it would have been such a slap in the face for him."

"Probably not," growled Lord Thralldom, "for whatever opinion he'd come to—to save his own face he'd still stick to it that he was right."

"No, no," exclaimed the captain most emphatically, "he'd never do that, for whatever his faults, Art is an obsession with him. His whole life is wrapped up in the works of the great masters and he thinks of nothing but them." He spoke with enthusiasm. "No, Silas Q. Hudson would grovel in abject humility before his worst enemy, if that enemy possessed a canvas of great beauty or note."

"Well, my 'Man of Sorrows' has great beauty," said Lord Thralldom slowly, "and it's one of the great paintings of the world," He was silent for a few moments and then went on hesitatingly, "Really, from what you tell me of the fellow, I'd like to humiliate him. I detest all Americans."

"Oh! you'd humiliate him right enough," laughed the captain. "In two minutes he'd be as limp as a rag."

"What's he like to look at?" asked Lord Thralldom thoughtfully.

"Well, you couldn't mistake him for anything else but an American," was the reply. "He's tall and skinny and has a sharp, hatchet face with hard, calculating eyes, and lips that are pressed up tight. He'd walk in here as if he owned the earth, with no respect for anyone, and as if he were better than you and, indeed, it would almost be an act of grace, I think, if he took off his hat."

Lord Thralldom regarded the letter again. "And he's on the telephone," he said slowly. "He's stopping at that old house on Minsmere Haven." He suddenly snarled savagely. "Gad! I'll have him up." He turned to the butler. "Ring up Minsmere House, Bevan. Ask for a man called Hudson, and instruct him to come up here at eleven this morning. Order him to be up at the exact time. And you, William and James," he went on, "see to it the whole time that this man is here, that you keep by him. Never leave his side unless I order you to."

The old man, with no further appetite for his breakfast, then rose shakily from his chair and with tottering steps, and leaning heavily upon Lady Deering's arm, passed out of the room.

A couple of minutes or so later the Captain and Ann Devenham were together in the music room. She had made a sign to him to follow her, and never loth to dance attendance upon a pretty girl, he had, with no demur, complied. But it was quickly apparent that it was for no sentimental reason that she wished to speak to him alone, for addressing him at once, she said sharply,

"Captain Bonnett, I am very angry with you. You know what uncle is and yet you deliberately egged him on to ask that American to come up to the castle. It'll only upset him and perhaps make him downright ill again." She stamped her foot. "I don't know what you did it for, but you ought to have had more sense."

Captain Bonnett's face flushed. The accusation was so direct and so unexpected that, for the moment, he was not ready with any reply.

"Yes," went on the girl with her eyes flashing, "it was very clever the way you did it, and you may have thought no one would have seen through it, but I did."

The captain had quite recovered himself now, and smiled as if he were amused. "But you are really too clever, Miss Devenham, and like so many of your charming sex, too quick in jumping at conclusions." His voice hardened resentfully. "I never tried to influence your uncle in the slightest and am not in the least bit interested in this man, Hudson, coming up."

"Well, it looked like it," said Ann Devenham, "and at any rate, you might have influenced him the other way."

Captain Bonnett shrugged his shoulders. "But does it matter?" he asked. "Besides, if you want my candid opinion, it'll do him good. He wants to throw off this nonsensical idea that everybody is trying to rob him." He lowered his voice to gentleness. "But look here, Miss Devenham, you've not been at all nice to me these last few days, in fact ever since you came back from Saxmundham. I've noticed it in many ways. You're different from what you were before you went away."

It was now the girl's turn to flush, but she answered quickly enough. "I am sure I don't know what you mean. I am no different from what I have ever been." She regarded him, as cold as ice. "I was never particularly nice to you at any time, was I?"

"But you let me kiss you that night in the chapel," he retorted, stung to anger by the contemptuous look she was now giving him.

"Let you!" she exclaimed indignantly. "It was done before I could prevent it. You kissed my arm when I was playing at the organ, and if the matter had been worth mentioning I should have spoken to my uncle about it." She inclined her head, and added cuttingly, "But it was after dinner, Captain Bonnett."

"Bah! a woman always knows when a man is wanting to kiss her," scoffed the captain, "and you deliberately put temptation in my way. You were quite——" but the girl had turned quickly and was leaving the room.

"Pretty little vixen," he remarked after she had gone. "She wants a good slapping, and I'd like to be the one to give it to her." He nodded his head smilingly. "But I'd make love to her well, first."

At eleven o'clock, when Lord Thralldom was reading in the great library of the castle, the door opened and the butler announced, "That Mr. Hudson has arrived, my lord."

His lordship looked up sharply from his book. "Oh! he has, has he?" he frowned. "Well, tell Captain Bonnett to come here and then bring the man in."

Captain Bonnett was quickly on the spot, and a couple of minutes or so later, Silas Hudson was ushered into the room. He was accompanied by Kelly and was leaning heavily upon the latter's arm. Kelly, dressed decorously in sober black and with his hair well plastered down, was trying hard to assume what he believed to be the correct appearance of a gentleman's servant.

As Captain Bonnett had prophesied, there were certainly no indications of any feelings of awe about the American, and the moment he was within speaking distance of Lord Thralldom, and almost, indeed, before he had crossed the threshold, of the library door, he called out loudly,

"Good day, my lord. I'm up to time, you see."

Lord Thralldom regarded him intently but in chilling silence, and Captain Bonnett, standing close beside his lordship with difficulty repressed a smile, for he was intrigued with the spectacle of the truculent Kelly endeavouring to mask his pugnacious features with lines of respectful servility.

Silas Hudson went on as if he were well content to be doing all the greetings, "Nice little place you've got here—this castle, and I reckon if you carried it across the water, I could guarantee you a quarter of a million dollars for it, easy." He looked round the walls of the room. "Pretty old, I should say."

Lord Thralldom turned to Captain Bonnett. "This is Mr. Hudson?" he asked quietly.

Captain Bonnett nodded. "Yes, he's Silas Q. Hudson, of New York."

The American looked quickly at the captain. "I don't know you, sir," he remarked, frowningly, "and I don't reckon I've seen you before, but you've got me all right, and I'm Silas Q. Hudson and no one else."

"And this other gentleman," asked Lord Thralldom sharply, indicating Kelly, "who is he?"

"My body-servant and my masseur," replied Hudson promptly. "It's my bad luck to have become rheumatic since I came over here and I can't walk well without him." He patted Kelly on the shoulder. "He's a capable fellow."

Lord Thralldom regarded Hudson with contempt. "And you say you have reason to believe"—he spoke with an effort—"that a certain painting in my possession is not what it purports to be; in other words, that it is a forgery."

"Not at all, not at all," exclaimed the American loudly. "I never used the word forgery. I believe your 'Man of Sorrows' may be a true and very great painting but, from what I know of its history, it was never suggested by anyone until within the last fifty years that it was the work of P. P. Rubens."

He plunged headlong in the matter and went on glibly. "You bought it from Happer, Happer bought it when Kreutz sent it up for sale seven years ago, and we know everyone who has possessed it since 1893. Prior to 1893, however, and back to the end of the eighteenth century, we cannot trace any of its places of domicile and my belief that it is purely a Van Dyke is based on the fact that in 1797 it was sold by the heirs of Otto Hansen, of Stuttgart, and Hansen was a known collector, almost exclusively, of the paintings of that artist." He paused a moment to take breath. "And that is why, my lord, I have consideredly formed the opinion that your 'Man of Sorrows' is no work of Rubens at all."

Lord Thralldom's face had paled a little, and it was evident that he was perturbed to some extent by the confident assurance of the American dealer. He kept opening and shutting his mouth, and moistening his lips with his tongue.

"But it is nonsense," he burst out angrily. "Not one—but a hundred experts have examined my Rubens and pronounced it genuine."

"Well, I haven't done so," asserted Hudson truculently, "and until I've looked it over, I keep to my opinion that it is not a Rubens." He looked contemptuously in his turn at Lord Thralldom. "But I'll tell you in one glance, if it's a Rubens or not. That's my life's work and I've got paintings in my blood."

Lord Thralldom composed himself with a strong effort. "Follow me, then," he said haughtily. "I'll teach you a lesson."

"And I'm willing to learn one," almost shouted back Hudson. "I'll take any lesson you can give me and thank you for it."

Followed by Captain Bonnett and his two visitors and with the footmen pressing close behind, Lord Thralldom moved with slow and shaking steps along a richly-carpeted passage to the picture gallery of the castle.

The gallery was some distance away and was a long oblong chamber, obtaining its natural light from above, and from long windows, the whole length of one side. To all of these windows there were stout steel bars, and the door was a heavy, closely-meshed, steel grille. There was a number of deeply-cushioned arm-chairs along the middle of the gallery with their backs turned towards the windows.

Lord Thralldom advanced to about half-way along the entire length of the gallery, until he came to a large painting hanging alone and separated by many feet from any other. A stout brass rail waist-high, prevented a too near approach to this painting.

He stretched out his arm. "'The Man of Sorrows'," he exclaimed, with a deep note of challenge in his voice, "painted by Peter Paul Rubens, year 1621."

Silas Hudson, supported by Kelly, limped forward and with a swift backward glance over his shoulder at the light, took up a position above half a dozen paces from the canvas, facing it exactly in the middle.

A long minute's silence then ensued, everyone in the gallery standing perfectly still, their eyes fastened intently upon Hudson, while the latter stared at the painting.

The American stood as immovable as a rock, with the exception of his eyes, which shut and opened several times. Then he sighed, a deep, intense sigh that everyone there heard. Then he swallowed hard and, at last, he spoke, but hardly louder than a whisper. It seemed as though he were quite oblivious to the others standing round him and were talking to himself.

"Wonderful! wonderful!" he ejaculated. He seemed to hardly breathe. "The most beautiful thing on earth. Wonderful," he repeated. "A miracle of colour and design! One of the greatest masterpieces in the world of art!" His voice trailed away to silence and, head bowed and hands clasped, his attitude was one of awed reverence.

"And it is a forgery?" sneered Lord Thralldom who had endured the American's silence with great impatience. "It is not the work of Rubens you say?"

Hudson awoke from his reverie with a start. "No! no!" he exclaimed passionately. "It is all Rubens and perhaps"—his voice was harsh in its earnestness—"the greatest of all his works!" and then, obviously with great reluctance, he withdrew his eyes from the canvas and faced Lord Thralldom.

"My lord," he said humbly, now a very different person from the arrogant picture dealer of a few minutes ago, "I owe you no apology, for a sincere and honest man should never need to apologise for anything he has said when he believed he was speaking the truth, but"—he bowed most respectfully—"I am most devoutly sorry that I wrote you that letter. No,"—he corrected himself quickly, and with something of his former spirit appearing to return—"selfishly speaking, I am not sorry at all, for it has been the means of enabling me to stand before one of the most beautiful paintings I have ever seen."

He went on in sharp and businesslike tones—"It did not take me that long time before I spoke to determine it was a Rubens. It did not, indeed, take me five seconds to discern the truth, for with my lifelong experience of the works of the great masters, one glance only, was sufficient to convince me that no other brush save that of Rubens has touched this canvas." He bowed again. "I congratulate you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart upon its possession."

The expression upon Lord Thralldom's face had been gradually softening whilst the American was speaking, for the heart of no collector could remain for long hardened against such unstinted praise. His face now became suffused with pride and pleasure and, indeed, he was so gratified with the abject capitulations of the dealer, that the taunts and sneers he had prepared for him, died still-born.

"And you don't want to examine the signature?" he asked with a smile. "Surely, you have brought a magnifying glass with you?"

Silas Hudson smiled back. "No need, my lord. That rich colouring and bold design, that superb mastery of detail, and that glorious portrayal of the fullness of life can only be Rubens and Rubens alone." He nodded his head. "And I have had some experience, you know."

"And you admire the painting then?" asked Lord Thraldom, thirsting to hear, again and again, such words of praise.

"Admire it!" queried Hudson. "Why, I could spend days before it and then not have absorbed one tenth of the beauty of its detail. Three weeks ago, I viewed what I consider now may perhaps be its companion picture 'The Descent from the Cross' in Antwerp Cathedral and"—he nodded his head solemnly—"it lacks something of the mastery of this."

Lord Thralldom could hardly contain himself in his delight. "And I have other paintings here that you may perhaps admire," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, "if you would care to inspect them."

"I shall be delighted, if I may," returned Hudson warmly, and his eyes ranged quickly round the gallery. "Ah! a Botticelli, I see; an Andrea del Sarto, a Titian, a Paul Veronese, a Rembrandt. Good Heavens!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "What a priceless collection! I had no idea you possessed all these."

Lord Thralldom chuckled like a pleased child. "And there's a Hogarth over there," he said, "a Gainsborough, a Constable, an M. W. Turner and lots of others."

The American appeared most astonished and then, suddenly, his expression altered. He frowned and looked apprehensively round. He limped a few paces from Kelly, and close up to Lord Thralldom, lowered his voice to an intense whisper.

"But, my lord," he breathed softly and with his eyes as round as saucers, "do you realise that, in a lonely spot like this, you are running a great risk in gathering together so many valuable paintings?" He raised a warning finger. "Have you taken all precautions against burglars?"

Lord Thralldom nodded, but at the same time looked rather uneasy. "Every precaution," he replied. "It is quite impossible, I think, for anyone to break in and, more impossible still, to take my Rubens."

Silas Hudson seemed greatly relieved. "Well, that's good," he said, "for, in the interests of Art, it would be a calamity if any of your pictures were stolen."

"And you think I am wise," asked Lord Thralldom anxiously, "in being prepared for any such attempt?"

"Sure," replied the American emphatically, "for if it's generally known that you have got all these paintings here," he nodded his head significantly—"you can bet your life the castle is being watched."

"That's what I say," exclaimed Lord Thralldom excitedly, "and yet all the others here think that I am alarming myself unnecessarily. It is quite a bone of contention between us." He became most friendly. "Sit down, Mr. Hudson. I'd like to have a good chat with you." He raised his voice. "James, take Mr. Hudson's man into the servants' hall and give him some refreshment." He turned back to the American. "And you'll have something, too, sir, presently, or perhaps you will do me the favour of staying to lunch? No, it will be a great treat to me, I assure you, for I don't often get someone I can talk paintings to."

"It's very good of you and I shall be most pleased," replied Hudson. "My time is quite free for I'm on holiday, as I told you."

Lord Thralldom turned to Captain Bonnett. "You needn't wait, Marmaduke," he said dryly. "You can join the ladies. I know you're wanting to. No, I shan't require anyone to remain. Mr. Hudson and I shall be staying here until lunch-time," he smiled at the American, "talking shop."

Captain Bonnett and the footmen at once left the gallery and for two hours Lord Thralldom and the American enjoyed the benefit of each other's society. The former was delighted with his visitor, for the American was unstinting in his praise of all the paintings, and was moreover, able to point out their merits with the knowledge and experience of a man who had travelled all over Europe in the pursuit of his calling.

Then at lunch, Silas Hudson gathered yet further laurels from Lady Deering and Ann Devenham. The latter had at first been minded to be very cool and distant, but the frank yet respectful admiration with which he regarded her and the beneficial effect that she could not help seeing he was exerting over her grand-uncle, very quickly disarmed her, and in the end, she was smiling at him as much as was Lord Thralldom himself.

Hudson was a good talker and not only had he, as Captain Bonnett had said, actually seen most of the great paintings of the world, but he was able to describe his travels and adventures in pursuit of them in a most interesting way, and grip the attention of his hearers with everything he said.

Indeed, the only one at the meal who did not appear to be enjoying the presence of their visitor to the full was Captain Bonnett, and his annoyance sprang from two sources. He did not like it that Hudson was so lavish with his compliments to Ann and evidently meant them, and also he was really angry because the American chaffed him so unmercifully about the unfinished copy of the Turner upon the easel in the picture gallery.

"Gosh!" Hudson had exclaimed with a merry glance round at the others, "but I can see, Captain, you're dangerous. If you go on copying paintings like that, no one in the art world will be safe. One day you'll make a copy of his lordship's Rubens here, and then he'll wake up one morning and see two canvases and not know which is which." And he had laughed so merrily at his wit that Bonnett would have liked to have slapped his face.

In the meantime, Kelly was all eyes and ears in the servants' hall and, never at any time averse from female society, was soon enjoying himself quite a lot.

None of the maids was bad looking and indeed, two of them were distinctly pretty, and all five of them did their best to make their visitor feel at ease. Then too, the chef turned out to be a most obliging man, and in addition to the really dainty meal that he had provided for the staff, for Kelly's special benefit he produced a most delicious sweet omelette.

The lunch in the dining-room over, it was the turn of James, the under-footman, to be off duty, and in the men-servants' special little room over a renewed supply of good sound ale, he opened out and gave his guest quite a lot of information about the castle and its inhabitants.

Old Thralldom was a bit trying with his cranky ways, he told the American's servant, but the wages were very good and the food could not be better.

No, there wasn't much freedom for the staff, for everyone had to be indoors by ten o'clock and then the castle was sealed up like a tomb. There were locks and bolts and bars everywhere, as if the place were a blooming prison, and they had to keep wicked-looking pistols—one of which was exhibited in proof of the assertion—in case burglars should attempt to break in.

Old Thralldom thought of nothing but his pictures and he would sit for hours and hours at a time staring at them, for all the world as if they were a row of pretty girls.

Lady Deering was uppish but Ann was sweet. She was a deuced pretty bit, but her uncle took darned good care that she should not get a boy. She had recently, however, been stopping for a week in Saxmundham and there were rumours that she had at last met someone whom she liked. At any rate, she had had five dances with a young chap in a bank there, at the Shire Ball. He, James, had heard it, with his own ears from a gent, a friend of his, who had been in charge of the cloakroom at the Assembly Hall upon the night of the ball.

Ann was a wonderful musician, too, and once when she had been playing upon the organ in the castle chapel, Bert Bevan, the butler, who privately was a bit of a Bolshevist, had stated openly that he felt inclined to sing a hymn or say his blooming prayers.

Oh! Captain Bonnett! Well, they knew more about the captain than he dreamed, for Bertha, one of the girls he, Mr. Kelly, had just seen, had once been in service in a family in London when Bonnett had been visiting there. The captain didn't remember her but she remembered him right enough. He was a gay bird—a darned gay bird, and he had been bankrupt twice and was always hard up. He had been divorced from his wife and there were lots of tales going about him; in fact his reputation was none too good, but old Thralldom lived in a world of his own, and never heard anything about anyone, and as Bonnett was some distant connection of Lady Deering, he was allowed to visit the castle. He thought he could paint but he, James, and the butler were in complete agreement that he daubed on rotten stuff.

About the castle? Yes, half of it had been walled off and a devilish good thing too, for horrible murders had been done in it and ghosts walked at night. Yes, of course there were secret passages all over the place and twice he had caught the chef tapping the walls to try and find them. The chef was a poor specimen of a man, but a darned good cook, and was always making sweets for the girls.

For a solid two hours and more Kelly was entertained by the loquacious and friendly footman, and then returning once again to the kitchen, he topped down the four glasses of ale he had imbibed with two cups of strong tea. By that time he had come definitely to four conclusions.

The first—he would like to take Bertha, the under-parlourmaid out for a walk one evening and, preferably, he would choose a night when there was no moon.

The second—although the elaborate system of locks and bolts and bars that existed in the castle might be most perfect, still, the human element behind it—he did not put it to himself in quite that way—was weak and could be easily dealt with.

The third—the panes of glass in the windows appeared to be of an unusual size everywhere, and if they were cut, it would be quite possible for a full sized man to pass through, without in any way interfering with the window sashes to which the alarms were fixed.

The fourth—he didn't like the dandy-looking chef, for the chap was by no means the softy the other servants took him to be. His eyes were everywhere and nothing escaped him.

A summons came for Kelly at last and he was called to assist his master back into the car, and into such esteem had the latter leapt, that a little group were assembled round the big entrance door to bid him good-bye. Kelly noted, with distinct approval, the aristocratic beauty of Ann Devenham.

"Mind you come again on Friday," said Lord Thralldom, "and we'll have another long talk together."

"Sure, I will," replied the American heartily, "and I'll be greatly pleased." He screwed up his face into a grimace. "But I realise I made one great mistake, my lord. I thought this morning that your Rubens was the most beautiful thing in the castle but now"—and he made a gallant bow in the direction of Ann Devenham—"I see I must modify that opinion."

"And perhaps you're right, sir," laughed back Lord Thralldom. He made the pretence of nodding his head doubtfully. "But at any rate, it's a close call."

The two drove away with Hudson at the wheel, and for two hundred yards, at least, neither of them made any remark. Then the American leant back in his seat and gave vent to a long, intense chuckle of laughter.

"Gad!" he exclaimed delightedly, "but sure, I'm some actor. It was a miracle the way I did it, and things couldn't be going better."

"Oh! you pugged up the old fool, right enough," growled Kelly, "but it was child's play. He's a darned fool about his pictures."

"And I'm to go up on Friday again," chuckled Hudson, "and you"—he could hardly speak for laughing—"are to go up to-morrow and massage his niece."

"Massage!" snarled Kelly. "What do you mean?"

"You've—got—to—give—her massage for—her back," jerked out Hudson in an ecstasy of merriment. "I—have arranged—it—for—you."

He sobered down at the fury in the other's face. "It was like this," he explained. "I told them you were my body-servant and my masseur, didn't I? Well it came out after lunch that his niece was suffering from lumbago and her doctor had said she must have a course of massage. Then Lord Thralldom hopped in with the suggestion that as there was no masseur, nearer than Norwich, perhaps I'd oblige by lending you." His eyes twinkled again. "So what could I do?"

"Well, it was damned foolery," exclaimed Kelly. "I don't know anything about massage."

"But you soon will," replied Hudson quickly, "for between now and to-morrow at eleven when you've got to go up to the castle, I'll give you some lessons and you shall learn on Fenner. I know something about it, for, two years ago, I had to have fifty dollars' worth in Chicago." He was most enthusiastic. "Why, man! It's a wonderful chance of spying out inside the castle, for you're to go up every day for a fortnight, and it's quite the luck of our lives."

"But I don't look like a man who gives massage, do I?" snarled Kelly.

"Perhaps not," agreed Hudson with a covert smile, "but as she says she's never had any massage before, she mayn't notice it." He spoke sharply. "Now, no nonsense. You've got to massage that female's back, and you'll have to wear rubber gloves to cover those dreadful paws of yours. Oh!" he went on quickly, "I was forgetting. Did you find out much to-day?"

"Of course I did," replied Kelly in a surly tone. "I'm not a fool like that dandy Bonnett. I found out quite a lot." He jerked his head. "The place'll be quite easy to get into, but I'll talk about it when we're out of this rotten old car. The bumping makes me sick."

A long silence followed and they drove on quite half a mile before either of them spoke again. Then Kelly said meditatively, "And the niece is that girl, Ann?"

"No," grinned Hudson, "it's her mother," and Kelly just ejaculated "Ah!"