Читать книгу The Secret of the Sands - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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There was something fascinating in these developments, although this was one of the last places in which to look for full-blooded romance. For these were strange events to happen in a house like Oversands. Sir Horace was only a plain country gentleman with an interest in a banking business. Still, romance is a plant that often strikes deep roots and takes years to flower.

Assuredly there was some connection between Lady Amory and the florid stranger who called himself Count De Lava. Why was this half-demented creature in the habit of visiting the Red House alone in the dead of the night? Few people in Shoremouth had the courage to enter the place after dark, and yet this poor weak woman had no hesitation in so doing. There was something uncanny about it all.

But Ronald had other matters to occupy his attention just then. He could hear the murmur of conversation on the other side of the yew hedge, and, as far as he could gather, Vera was doing most of the talking. She seemed to be urging her companion, who replied every now and then somewhat vaguely. Bastable could catch a few words here and there, but they seemed to have little to do with the point.

Vera came back presently with a grave look on her face. "I am afraid I have made a sad mess of it," she said. "I have tried to explain matters to my aunt, and I fear I have left her under the impression that something has happened to Dick. It is one of her worst days. If Dick could come here and see her, perhaps he could make her understand. He has always been a favourite of hers, and he can do almost anything he likes with her."

"You mean that Lady Amory failed to understand?"

"Utterly. I have only confused her. Can you suggest anything?"

"Only that your brother should come here. If I were you I should not mention the subject to Lady Amory again, but try to arrange matters in such a way that your brother can see her by accident, as it were. I am sorry this secrecy is necessary, but you know the necessity for caution."

Vera sighed deeply. She was looking very pale and miserable. "Quite," she said. "How good and kind of you to take all this trouble. There was worry enough without this folly on Dick's part. I used to think that Oversands was the happiest house in England, but now——"

Words failed her for a while. She turned her head away, and when she looked at Ronald again her blue eyes were full of tears. "I daresay you wonder why I speak like this," she resumed. "I suppose no girl in my position has fewer friends than I have. I have always been perfectly happy looking after the house and the servants and attending to my garden. At one time my father was my constant companion. Latterly that has all changed. My father cares for nothing, he sits in the library and broods. Of course, I know that Dick has caused him a deal of anxiety. But I am sure there is something else—some black and bitter trouble that my father is keeping from me. If I could only find out——"

Vera paused; the tears were trembling like diamonds on her long lashes. She touched Ronald to the heart, but he could say nothing. Yet he was flattered, too, by her confidences, and possibly he could have told Vera the secret of her father's vexation. His own father had given him more than one hint as to that. Matters at the bank had not been flourishing for some time, and Sir Horace's speculations in building sites in Shoremouth had come too late. Ronald was aware that Oversands was mortgaged heavily, and he had a suspicion that the mortgage was in his father's hands. Joseph Bastable, in his boasting way, had never actually said so, but he had dropped more than one suggestion to this effect. He knew also that his father had a big scheme in his mind, and that Sir Horace barred the way. If he continued to do so, then it would be hard upon him before very long.

"I am sorry to hear you say this," Ronald murmured.

Vera smiled bravely, through her tears. "I ought not to say it," she replied. "Only it seems so natural to confide in you. I did so when a child, and though we have grown up, I feel just the same. I am not given to change, Ronald."

The old name dropped from her lips naturally. Ronald felt his heart beating faster. It had been a dream of his that some day he might be rich and famous and make Vera Amory his wife. He had never forgotten this ambition of his. The vision of fame had vanished, but he would be rich some day, and in point of education he was the equal of the girl by his side.

But would Sir Horace take the same view? In his mind Ronald would still be the son of his old servant, Joseph Bastable, the man who used to touch his hat to his master and called him "Sir." And there were people who said that Joseph Bastable had not been altogether honest in his dealing with his employer. The truth would probably never be known, but the fact remained that the man was now in a position to dictate terms to the old master. In Ronald's eyes this was a drawback. He wanted nothing of that sort; if he was to follow the desire of his heart, he would do it in his own way. That desire possessed him now with more than its old force.

"I will do what I can for you," he said. "You know that you can rely upon me. The one thing that we have to think about is Dick's safety. It is possible that he may not be called upon to find this money at once. I mean that he need not do so unless it is voluntarily. Taking it for granted that Dick is an honest man——"

"Mr. Bastable, can we take that for granted?"

Ronald evaded the point. There was no occasion to go into that now.

"Well, we shall see," he said. "Dick thinks that Lady Amory will help him, and I fancy that you are of the same opinion. I'll tell him exactly what has happened, and he must try to come here on the chance of an interview with your aunt."

It was growing towards dusk before Ronald found time to go to the Red House. Save for Vera's sake he would have wished himself well out of his task. It was difficult to smuggle food and drink to the Red House without attracting undue attention. Fortunately the loneliness of the spot rendered it easy to guard against surprises. Amory was sitting moodily in the dining-room smoking cigarettes and reading a sporting paper.

"Well, you've taken your time," was his greeting. "I expected you hours ago. You don't know what it means to be all alone like this."

"My dear fellow, it is not so simple as you imagine," Ronald retorted. "The mere getting food to you is in itself a problem. Personally, I think you are foolish to shut yourself up. It would be safe to go out in the daytime. You can see anybody coming miles off, and there are plenty of sandhills covered with long grass where you could hide, if necessary. Come out now."

"All right," Dick said; "a brisk walk for a mile or so before dark will do me good. This place gets on my nerves. All the time I am expecting somebody to knock at the door and ask for admission. I can almost see the detectives who are after me. Now tell me what you have done."

"So far, very little. I had a long chat with your sister to-day, and she told Lady Amory you wanted to see her. It was impossible to make the poor lady understand. She was under the impression that some harm had come to you. It will be necessary for you to see her personally. You had better go as far as the house to-morrow night after ten o'clock and hang about until your sister is ready for you. When all is safe she will give you the signal and smuggle you into the house. But mind, you are to play the game, Amory. If Lady Amory helps you, the money must be devoted to the people who have suffered by your folly."

"What else do I need it for?" Amory asked, sulkily.

"I don't know; it isn't for me to say. But I am pretty well acquainted with your character, my dear fellow, and you are not likely to do an act of justice voluntarily. Still, there is no occasion for us to discuss this. I'll come and see you to-morrow."

Ronald turned on his heel and made his way back to Shoremouth. Amory had accompanied him further than he had intended, so that he had a mile or more between him and the Red House. There was not the remotest chance of encountering anybody on the way, but the place played on his unstrung nerves. He imagined every heap of sand and tuft of grass concealed a foe, that the waving rushes were so many detectives ready to pounce upon him.

He was trembling and tingling from head to foot by the time he reached the Red House. It was bad enough to be indoors, in all conscience, but it was worse to be outside. He would be glad to shut the door behind him and shoot the bolt. The door was open as he came up to the house, and this caused a pang of uneasiness.

"Funny," he muttered. "I could have sworn that I closed it after Bastable. I suppose I must have made a mistake."

He pulled the heavy dusty stiff curtain across the window, and lighted two of the candles with which Bastable had provided him. Then from a worn and battered oak chest he produced a bottle of whisky and a glass. He helped himself liberally to the spirit, and the colour crept into his pale cheeks.

So far he was safe. It was absurd to suppose that anybody would look for him here. The whisky was doing its work, and he was growing easier in mind. Nobody ever came near the Red House at this time of night, for the thick curtains shut out all light from the candles. Upstairs, Amory had made himself a bed, but he was not feeling like sleep yet.

He fumbled in his pocket for his matches and cigarettes, but found none—he had probably dropped them. A box stood on the mantelshelf, and Amory reached it. The pattern was unfamiliar.

"Now, where did these come from?" he muttered. "Common sulphur matches such as one sees on the Continent. I'll swear I never had any like them."

It was certainly strange. As Amory glanced round the room his eye fell upon five of the sulphur matches arranged in a rough, careless pattern on the table.

"Five matches!" he exclaimed. "Two bent, and one split in two, and the whole forming the sign of a dagger. What, in the name of heaven, does this mean?"