Читать книгу The Golden Beast - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 6

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Lord Honerton allowed his guests that evening far less time than usual for discussing his admirable port. He rose a little abruptly just as every one was settling down and led the way towards the door.

"They are waiting for some of us to play bridge," he vouchsafed by way of explanation. "The coffee and cigars will be in the card room."

There was something almost like consternation amongst those who had just filled their glasses. The Marquis declined to be hustled.

"We'll follow you in a minute, if we may, Honerton," he said. "Your port is too good to be treated in such a cavalier fashion."

Joseph mumbled something and hurried on. He was not usually a nervous man, but a queer little demon of unrest was sitting in his heart. He crossed the hall at a speed which left Samuel far behind, and looked eagerly around the bridge room. Most of the women were collected there, some already at the bridge table, one or two around the great log fire. There was no sign of Ernest, however. Through the half-closed portière he could hear the sound of billiard balls in the room beyond. He looked in there and found Judith playing another youthful member of the house party a game of pool.

"Seen anything of Ernest?" he enquired.

Judith paused in the act of chalking her cue.

"He hasn't been in here, Dad," she said. "I expect he's still with Middleton."

Joseph dropped the curtain, stepped back into the bridge room and made his way with somewhat greater deliberation towards the servants' quarters. He skirted these and, passing through a green baize door into a stone-flagged passage which led to the rear of the house, pushed open the door of the gun room. A little blue cigarette smoke was still hanging about, but the room was empty. Robinson, one of the under keepers, came out of an adjoining apartment, with the gun which he had been cleaning in his hand.

"Have you seen Mr. Ernest?" Joseph asked quickly.

"Not for the last ten minutes, my lord," the man replied. "He was in the gun room with Middleton then."

"Where is Middleton?"

"Gone home about ten minutes since, my lord."

Joseph nodded and turned away with the intention of rejoining his guests, continually telling himself he was a fool, and continually wondering at the damp on his forehead, the queer sense of impending disaster in his heart. He did his best to struggle against it, however, and exchanged casual greetings with the little stream of men whom he met crossing the hall. Arrived in the dining room, he summoned Martin.

"Martin," he enjoined, "I wish you would find Mr. Ernest for me. He has perhaps gone up to his room. If he isn't there search until you find him. I want him for bridge."

"Very good, my lord," the man replied.

Joseph returned to the bridge room. He looked around eagerly with some faint hope that he might have missed Ernest on his way to the back quarters. He was not anywhere in sight, however, nor was he in the billiard room, nor in the great lounge hall where there was another billiard table and where one or two men were playing pool. Joseph returned once more to the bridge room, poured himself out a stiff glass of brandy and drank it.

"Who's for bridge?" he asked, strolling towards his guests. "We have enough for three tables, haven't we? Will you play with me, Marchioness, and you, Lady Levater, and you, Pownall? Good! Then you four might play as you are," he added, with a wave of the hand, "and Ernest can make you others up when he comes."

"Where is Ernest?" Lady Honerton enquired, looking across at her husband. "I thought you went to find him."

"He seems to have gone up to his room, my dear," the latter replied. "I've sent Martin to fetch him. Will you come to this table, Lady Levater?"

There was a certain amount of hubbub for the next few minutes whilst every one settled down; then comparative silence, broken only by the soft fall of the cards, a subdued exclamation, and the occasional impact of the billiard balls in the next room. Rachel, Lady Honerton, who was not playing, sat in an easy-chair pretending to read an evening paper, but with her eyes fixed nearly all the time upon the door. Her husband, who had fortified himself with another liqueur brandy, had determined to conquer a fit of nervousness which his sane self told him was little less than idiocy. He puffed at a huge cigar and played his usual sound, if somewhat aggressive, game. His skilful play of the hand evoked his partner's heartfelt admiration.

"If I could only play like you, Lord Honerton!" she murmured. "What I find so difficult is concentration. I am all the time finding my mind wander off to something else when I particularly want to watch the discards or count how many trumps are in."

"Concentration," Joseph pronounced, keeping his eyes sedulously turned away from the door, "is one of the disciplines of life."

The Marchioness sighed.

"That sounds like a copy-book maxim," she declared, "but they never did help one a bit in real life, did they?"

The door was opened and Martin, followed by two footmen who had come in to remove the coffee equipage, entered the room. He made his way at once to his master's chair and stood there for a moment whilst a hand was being played, in respectful silence. As soon as the last card had fallen he made his report.

"I am sorry, my lord, but I have not been able to find Mr. Ernest," he announced. "I have been up to his suite of rooms, and I have tried the picture gallery, the ballroom and the squash racket court."

"Have you been in the library?" Joseph enquired.

"I went there first, my lord. There is nowhere in the house I have not tried."

Samuel came hobbling across the room, a queer look of concern in his gaunt face.

"What's become of the lad, Joseph?" he demanded. "What does Martin say?"

"It appears that he is not in the house anywhere," was the strained reply.

Major Pownall, who knew nothing of the family history, was impatient to get on with the game. He looked up from the cards which he had just sorted.

"Well, nothing can have happened to him here, can it?" he observed. "And after all it is not many minutes since he was with your keeper. He may have strolled out with him or gone to see what sort of a night it is."

"Anything in the nature of uneasiness is of course absurd," Joseph declared firmly, picking up his own cards. "It is simply irritating that he should have left three people waiting to play bridge."

"What is it, Dad?" Judith asked, coming through the portière. "Where's Ernest?"

"Hiding, apparently, because he doesn't want to play bridge with us," Joyce Cloughton, one of the three who were left out, observed. "I don't wonder. I let him down shockingly last week at home."

"He wouldn't mind about that," Judith laughed, "but it's too bad of him to keep you waiting. Shall I make you up until he comes?—All the same I wonder where on earth he can be," she added, as she took her place at the table.

"Martin can't find him anywhere," her father observed. "He'll probably turn up, though, in a few minutes."

"Is there anything more I can do, my lord?" the butler enquired.

"Telephone over to the garage and keep your eyes open," Joseph directed. "The lad has a new car he drove down from London in," he explained to the Marchioness. "He may have gone over to have a look at it."

Again the game proceeded; deal followed deal. Samuel sat in an easy-chair on one side of the great wood fire, thoughtful and absorbed. Rachel Honerton no longer made a pretence of reading the evening paper. She sat with her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the door. Half an hour, three quarters of an hour passed and with it the effects of Joseph's second liqueur brandy. At the end of a rubber he laid down his cards.

"I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes," he said. "This absurd escapade of Ernest's is getting on my nerves. I must make a few further enquiries."

"It does seem queer," Major Pownall acknowledged, glancing at the clock.

Joseph left his place and crossed the room towards his wife. The Marchioness leaned forward and in an undertone began to tell Major Pownall of the tragedy which had happened in the house thirty years ago. Joseph, as he approached his wife, tried hard to smile. It was rather a ghastly attempt. Her eyes watched his expression anxiously.

"My dear," he said soothingly, "it is ridiculous to be anxious about Ernest. At the same time I am very angry with him. He ought not to desert my guests in this fashion. I am going out to make a few more enquiries."

Rachel was only maintaining her self-control with an effort. Her long thin fingers were crushing the newspaper she held.

"Let me know, let me know quickly," she begged. "It seems absurd, of course, but if only Ernest had not sat in the same place, if Martin had not come round to him in the same way, given almost the same message! It was like a tragedy thrown back from hell!"

"Rubbish, my dear!" Joseph scoffed. "Sheer rubbish! These sort of things don't repeat themselves. It's just the setting. Damned unpleasant, but that's all! There'll be news of the lad directly."

Joseph bustled out of the room, found his way to his private study and sent for Martin. The latter appeared almost at once, ushering in Middleton, the keeper, a lanky weather-beaten man, a little disturbed at this unexpected summons, which had reached him just as he had been on the point of going to bed. In his haste he had forgotten to replace either his collar or tie, a fact of which he was nervously conscious.

"I sent for Mr. Middleton in case your lordship would care to have a word with him," Martin explained.

Joseph nodded. He was making a brave attempt to treat the affair lightly.

"We seem to have lost Mr. Ernest, Middleton," he said. "Have you any idea what became of him after he had finished with you?"

"I can't say, I am sure, my lord," was the doubtful reply. "I left him in the gun room."

"Did he seem much as usual?"

"I couldn't see no difference, my lord."

"He didn't give you any hint which might account for his absence at the present moment?"

The keeper shook his head, obviously mystified.

"All that I can call to mind about the young gentleman was that he seemed in a rare hurry to get back again. He did say something about having to play in a game called 'bridge'—I think it was, your lordship."

"Sorry to have fetched you up, Middleton," Joseph concluded, with a dismissing wave of the hand. "See that they give you a glass of wine in the servants' hall.—You have nothing more to say to me, Martin?"

"Nothing, my lord. Except that I should like to tell you that I have satisfied myself personally that Mr. Ernest is not in the house."

"And the cars were all in the garage?"

"Miles, the head chauffeur, has gone out himself to look them over, my lord. There were several visitors' cars the others weren't sure about."

Joseph looked at his watch.

"It is now five-and-twenty past eleven, Martin," he pointed out. "Just two hours since Mr. Ernest left the dining table to give a few simple orders to Middleton. What the devil can have become of him?"

"He can't be far away, your lordship," the man ventured.

His master brooded over the matter for a few moments, then turned towards the door. As he neared the threshold Martin spoke.

"I beg your lordship's pardon for making the suggestion, but would you care for me to ring up the police station at Norwich?"

Joseph was conscious of a little shiver. More than ever this strange affair of Ernest's disappearance was becoming full of hateful reminiscence.

"I don't think we need treat the thing quite so seriously as that, Martin," he declared, with an attempt at lightness in his tone. "After all, it's only a matter of two hours."

"If your lordship will excuse my saying so," the man observed respectfully, "Mr. Ernest isn't one of those harum-scarum young gentlemen. He's not likely to be in any trouble or anything of that sort."

"That's all right, Martin," his master acquiesced. "He's a good lad, as steady and level-headed as I am myself. That's what makes the whole damned thing so extraordinary."

"Just so, your lordship," Martin agreed.

Joseph, Lord Honerton, returned unwillingly to his guests. Except so far as regarded himself, his wife and Samuel, it was impossible for any one to fully appreciate the tragic note in this curious event. It was scarcely callousness, but the rank improbability of anything serious having happened to their host's son, which kept the rest of the party unconcerned. Half a dozen of them were playing "fives" on the billiard table and another four at bridge had been arranged. Rachel was knitting with fingers which seemed to fly faster than ever, but her eyes called wildly to her husband's across the space of the room. He shook his head with a cheerfulness which was half bravado.

"Anything been heard of the young man?" some one asked.

"Not yet," Joseph replied. "Miles is down looking over the cars. Thoughtless young idiot! I'll give him a talking to when he gets back!"

"Any poachers about, do you think? Could he have heard a gun?" another of the male guests suggested.

Joseph shook his head doubtfully.

"There are four keepers on duty to-night and no report has been made. Poachers wouldn't get much quarter here. I give most of the game away and employ half the neighbourhood.—Yes, my dear."

He crossed the room towards his wife. Her fingers were uncanny in their distortions and streams of light flashed from her stabbing needles.

"You have heard no news, Joseph?" she asked.

"None."

"You have met with no fresh cause for fear?"

"Pshaw! Of course not!" he answered with well-simulated impatience. "You and I are making idiots of ourselves over this business, Mother. Nothing can have happened to the boy. He was in no sort of trouble. He couldn't have had an enemy in the world, and he's as strong as a horse. We're making idiots of ourselves—positive idiots!"

Rachel made no remark. Her brain was a little weary, but the pall of apprehension remained. From the inner room Martin made a discreet reappearance.

"I thought you would like to know, my lord, that Miles has just got back from the garage," he announced. "None of the cars is missing, nor is there any sign of any one of them having been tampered with."

"So that's that," Joseph murmured, a little aimlessly.

"Some of the under servants," the man continued, "have made up a little search party of their own and taken every room, back and front, including the cellars. It is absolutely certain that Mr. Ernest is not in the house. Two or three of the men have been through the outhouses and shrubberies and they have handed in a similar report. George, Mr. Ernest's own valet, has been through his master's things and assured me that not even a pair of shoes is missing. Mr. Ernest was wearing very thin slippers for dinner."

"Well, that settles one thing, anyway," Joseph declared. "He can't be far away. Let the servants retire at the usual time, Martin, and stop all gossip as much as you can."

"I shall discourage it as far as possible, my lord," was Martin's valedictory assurance.

From the billiard room came sounds of laughter and the shrieking of voices as the younger people played their unruly game, and from the bridge table in the corner the monotonous patter of the cards, the methodical calling over of the score. Joseph and his wife were in a little corner of the room alone. Rachel's fingers were still busy with their nervous task, but there were lines of anguish in her face.

"Can't you feel it, Ernest?" she whispered. "Somewhere in the background—not so far away—it seems to me that I can hear it all the time, and they laugh and deal! And in the billiard room—what a hubbub!"

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "What can you hear?"

The fingers slackened in their speed, the needles ceased to flash. There was all the throb and pain of actual tragedy in her mournful words.

"Ernest!" she whispered. "He's lost. He's gone into the darkness, and we don't know where to find him. We don't know!"

Joseph was half irritated, half apprehensive.

"What the devil are you talking about, Rachel?" he exclaimed. "Ernest's all right! He must be all right!"

His wife made no reply. She had recommenced her knitting.