Читать книгу Murder Mysteries to Solve on Christmas Eve - Various Authors - Страница 9

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FRANK WARREN'S practical solution of the apparently thrilling mystery had the desired effect. By one touch of common-sense the ancient tale was dissolved—in an instant the revered family ghost of the Secretans reduced to the level of a vulgar every-day fraud. When the adventurers reached the hall, they had barely time to remove their rough clothing ere they became aware that their absence had at length been noticed. In the hall, which was quite dark, someone had set a huge bowl of 'snapdragon,' the burning spirit casting a curious blue glare upon the ring of surrounding faces. Warren was not too much unnerved by his late adventure to miss the opportunity which presented itself of taking the vacant place by Miss Secretan's side.

'Pretty conduct indeed!' said she. 'Give an account of yourselves. We have been seeking for you high and low, till we almost anticipated for you the fate of the unfortunate bride of "The Mistletoe Bough."— Where have you been?'

'Hunting the "snark,"' quoth Warren lightly. 'You shall have all my confidence directly.—Dare you snatch a raisin for me? I am afraid.'

'Certainly not. I have burned my fingers sufficiently already.—Won't you tell me what you have discovered? You must have found something.'

'We have actually had an interview with the family ghost,' Warren commenced; and then drawing her aside, he told her everything under the seal of inviolate secrecy. And, indeed, he must have told his fair listener more than that, for when the last blue flicker in the witches' caldron had burned away, and the lamps were turned up, there was a touch of colour in her cheeks, and a new brightness in her eyes, only lighted by the tale that is never old.

Meanwhile, another conversation equally interesting had engrossed the attention of Edith Lucas and Walter Secretan. They, too, had withdrawn from the rest, and striking unobserved through the dining-room, made their way into the conservatory. There was the soft light from a pair of bronze lamps shining dimly through the ferns, behind which was placed a rustic seat entirely out of observation. For a moment they regarded it in some doubt, much as if such a thing was a new object to both of them, then they sat down. For some time there was silence between them, Miss Lucas engaged in rapt contemplation of her fan. Walter stole out a hand presently and laid it upon the white wrist of his companion, unreproved.

'Don't you feel horribly mean?' asked the girl at length.

'Certainly not,' said her companion coolly. 'Who was it who said that all's fair in love and war? Anyway, he was right.—My dear Edith, put it to yourself. Would you rather be here as you are, or still in London, enduring the lover-like gallantry of our gouty friend Ramsden?'

'But General Ramsden ought to be here too,' said Edith demurely.

'I am overwhelmed with grief by that officer's defection. I promised Colonel Lucas he would come; and the colonel—being desirous to sacrifice his daughter to an elderly cripple, whose only recommendation is, five thousand a year and his Order of the Bath—jumped at the chance of visiting his old friend Myles Secretan.'

'But you have not told me why the general failed at the last moment.'

'No? Then I will tell you. I had to exercise a little diplomacy, such as information to the effect that Woodside was a capital place for skating, in consequence of its being in the eye of the east—"Ah, I suppose you use hot-water pipes in the house, then?" said the general uneasily.—"My dear sir," I replied, "my father would not hear of such a thing; and even if he would, the draughts are so prevalent that they would be useless. But of course an old soldier does not mind that."—All the same, as you know, the old soldier did mind that; hence his lamentable absence on this occasion, to my great grief, as you know.'

Edith Lucas laughed and shook her head reprovingly. 'Of course, it makes a capital subject for amusement; but I could never many him, Walter. But seriously, I do not like this; I do not like to be engaged without my father knowing. Perhaps he would be angry at first; but in the end I am sure he would consent. 0, Walter, why, why, don't you ask him and get it over?'

Secretan pulled his moustache and bit his lip uneasily. He was honourable enough, as young men go; but it had never struck him till now that there was anything wrong or underhand in this secret understanding. 'I was going to tell you,' he said. 'You must understand that I am beginning to earn a living by my profession—three hundred a year, perhaps; and another three which my father allows me, for I will not take any more. And I had made up my mind not to broach the subject nearest my heart to your father till I could show him a thousand a year from every source. We have a small outlying estate called Oatlands, which has usually been the portion of the eldest son on his coming of age, and which used to—does now, in fact—produce some fifteen hundred a year. But, unfortunately, my grandfather found his income insufficient for him, and, amongst other places, he mortgaged Oatlands for twenty thousand pounds. The strangest thing of all is that the mortgage is held by General Ramsden.'

'But what has all this to do with us!' asked Edith, somewhat puzzled.

'Simply this—that any reduction of the amount of this mortgage increases my income. The surplus over the interest thereon, to put it quite legally, has been saved since I came of age, with that intention.—But of course you cannot understand all this professional jargon. However, it shall be as you wish, darling, only let it remain for the few days you are here, and then I will speak. Don't spoil our holiday.'

'I wonder what your father will think of it, Walter?'

The lover's face brightened again. 'The dear old governor will be delighted; and so will Ada, I know. Who would not be proud to welcome you as a daughter, when——'

'Oh, here you are at last!' cried Warren, bursting in upon the tête-à-tête with affected unconcern, and looking at everything besides the blushing lovers before him. 'We have been searching for you everywhere. Come and indulge in the seductive game of blind man's buff.'

'Won't something less energetic suit them?' asked Secretan lazily. 'Why is it that all Christmas games must be noisy, not to say dangerous? However, if I must, I must.'

So they all joined in that simple game with a zest and gaiety and simplicity of heart that Christmas time brings to us all, when there seems to be an unseen kindly influence in the air—a deeper, holier feeling of good-will and friendship to all—when distinctions are forgotten, and high and low mingle together, forgetful of rank and class, for a few hours all too brief. When they had exhausted that amusement, Christmas carols were started, after which every one trooped into the servants' hall to wish a happy Christmas to one and all. Whereupon the butler arose with a glittering eye and proposed the health of his master and the visitors; after which the Squire mixed a huge bowl of punch with his own hands, out of which they all drank, including Silas Brookes, whom they insisted upon dragging out from his solitary retreat to pledge King Christmas in a flowing glass. As he glanced over the rim of his tumbler, his eyes fell upon Warren's face with a glance so full of significant warning, that Walter noticed it and drew his friend's attention thereto. But Warren merely shrugged his shoulders, mentally resolving that come what may, the next trick played should be his.

'Is there a fire in the smoking-room still?' he asked, when the last good-night had been said, and quietness reigned supreme. 'It isn't three o'clock yet, and I should like one cigar before turning in. What do you say?'

As a rule, youth wants but scant excuse for stealing a few hours from the night. Moreover, it had been an evening of pleasant excitement, over and above the seasonable festivities in which they had indulged. Walter wanted no second bidding; and changing their dress-coats for something lighter and more comfortable, they selected a couple of the cosiest armchairs and commenced a somewhat confidential conversation. Presently, the discussion worked round to the visit to the Haunted Chamber.

'Frank, you are perfectly right about that rascal Brookes,' Walter said energetically. 'I didn't think so at the time; but I am certain of it now. The look he gave you over his glass, the scowl upon his face, were identical with the aspect of my counterfeit ancestor. We can't let it stop here.'

'If you think I am the man to give a thing up directly it begins to assume an interesting aspect, you are vastly mistaken,' Warren remarked grimly. 'That there is some rascality on foot here, I am certain. Hang it! a man can carry devotion to his master up to a certain point; but it does not rise to the extent of working out this ghost business for over half a century, and denying rightful owners the privilege of looking over their own premises.'

'I must confess the mysterious disappearance most alarmed me. Where the fellow could have got to, utterly passes my comprehension. That he did not leave by the door, I am prepared to swear.'

'And so am I, for the simple reason that I had my back against it all the time,' said Warren dryly. 'But you must remember that your west wing is much more antiquated than the rest of the house; and both from old association and constant habitation in the place, Brookes knows more about it than any living being.—Now, do you remember ever hearing of a secret passage connecting any one part of the house with another?'

'So that is your theory, then?—No; I can't say that I have; and what is more, I don't think that any such thing exists.'

'And, on the contrary, I feel perfectly certain there does. To-morrow afternoon, if we can get that wicked old scoundrel out of the way for a time, we shall soon solve the question. Lombard Street to a China orange, that we find a secret passage from Arundel Secretan's chamber to another part of the house.'

Walter continued to smoke in meditative silence, watching the wreaths of smoke curling round his head. Over all the house there reigned a deadly stillness; the wind outside had fallen, a bright moon shone upon the drawn blinds.

'What makes you think there is a mystery here?' he asked.

'Isn't there mystery written on the face of it? Here is an old servant so deeply versed in his master's secrets that he can be trusted on a confidential important mission, and not only that, trusted to be the bearer of a large sum of money. He alone knew the real cause of his master's death; he told the story after his own fashion. Before it could be proved, the only other man who could throw any light upon the strange affair was dead too. Need I say that I am alluding to Edgar Warren? How do we know, you and I, that, after all, this money was not actually sent?'

Warren had dropped his voice almost to a whisper. For a few moments, nothing was heard save the monotonous click-clack of the great hall clock and the soft sobbing of a dying fire. There was, moreover, such an earnestness in the speaker's tones, that Secretan fell in unconsciously with his humour.

'You mean, that he brought the money home with him? In that case, what reason was there for Brookes, after telling my great-grandfather that his mission was unsuccessful, to mention the reason of his errand to a soul? And if he had the money, why remain here?'

'Who can follow the workings of the human mind? But, for the sake of argument, let me try. Brookes, from his close connection with his master must have known my esteemed relative well. When he found him at Venice in the autumn of 1823, he must have seen—as other people saw—death in Edgar Warren's face. Fletcher, the valet, told him his master was dying; that, Brookes admitted to me after that dramatic episode in the west wing. Now, here was temptation placed in his way. He would probably reason thus: "If I receive the money, and deny having received it, and my master's friend dies, I am safe. If he lives, then I must make my escape." But fortune favoured him strangely; for in a short time they were both dead. Brookes is a man suffering from some secret remorse; he has lying on his conscience a crime he dare not disclose. Some day, perhaps, you will know. But I am going to force his hand, if I can; and, not to put too fine a point upon it, I should like to clear my family name—for more reasons than one.'

Walter had followed this close reasoning carefully, not a little struck by the force of his companions logic. For a moment he wavered; a little colour crept into his face as he replied: 'Strange things do happen—things we cannot explain. Is it not just possible that we have seen a supernatural visitor—that the figure you took for Brookes might be, after all, the shade of Arundel Secretan?'

'My dear fellow, I am not mistaken. And besides, ghosts do not handle bundles of papers in that business-like fashion.'

The speaker drew the packet from his breast-pocket and broke the string. There were a heterogeneous mass of papers, smelling strongly of damp and mould, the ink upon them faded to a dull, lustreless red: invitations to rout and ball, a batch of unpaid bills, and small notes in more than one feminine handwriting. One there was, sealed with a coronet, unopened, and bearing the superscription, 'To Arundel Secretan, Esquire, of Woodside, Kent.' With an air of faint curiosity, Warren tore it open and commenced to read. When he had finished, he laid the letter down with a calm air of triumph. 'When was Brookes sent to Italy?' he asked.

'Early in the autumn or late summer of 1823.—But why?'

Without deigning any reply, Warren read as follows:

'Venice, October 1823.

'Without my fostering care, 'twas but natural for trouble to overtake you. But your sore strait, as you call it humorously, is but a rosy plight; for, hearing of your indebtedness to St Devereux, at Venice (you were both at Rome, remember) I wrote to that nobleman a letter reminding him, quite good-naturedly, of certain little indiscretions of his youth known to me; also, that I had heard of his wonderful luck(?) at cards with you, and demanding from him a receipt for the money, which he was to take as paid. This I now enclose.—That I am your debtor both in money and kind, I own; and it is fortunate that I am at present in a position to aid you—a consummation not always equally possible. All you want, I lack; but in coin and current security, by Brookes's trusty hand I forward you nearly seventeen thousand pounds, leaving just enough for my needs; also a little jewelry, the gift of certain foolish admirers of mine, worth something to you in your trouble. Had you not quitted Venice so hastily, I would have repaid you then all I owed. May it serve you better than it has served me.

Edgar Warren.'

'And now,' Warren said, when he had concluded this strange letter—'and now, to find out where the cunning scoundrel has hidden the money.'