AN ADVENTURE
Arnold, for a moment or two, felt himself incapable of speech or
movement. Fenella was hanging, a dead weight, upon his arm. The eyes
of both of them were riveted upon the hand which stretched into the
room.
"There is some one under the couch!" Fenella faltered at last.
He took a step forward.
"Wait," he begged, "--or perhaps you had better go away. I will see
who it is."
He moved toward the couch. She strove to hold him back.
"Arnold," she cried, hoarsely, "this is no business of yours! You
had better leave me! Groves is here, and the servants. Slip away
now, while you have the chance."
He looked at her in amazement.
"Why, Fenella," he exclaimed, "how can you suggest such a thing!
Besides," he added, "Groves saw me climb in at the window. He was
with me outside."
She wrung her hands.
"I forgot!" she moaned. "Don't move the sofa while I am looking!"
There was a knock at the door. They both turned round. It was
Groves' voice speaking. He had returned to the house and was waiting
outside.
"Can I come in, madam?"
Fenella moved slowly towards the door and admitted him. Then Arnold,
setting his teeth, rolled back the couch. A man was lying there,
stretched at full length. His face was colorless except for a great
blue bruise near his temple. Arnold stared at him for a moment with
horrified eyes.
"My God!" he muttered.
There was a brief silence. Fenella looked across at Arnold.
"You know him!"
Arnold's first attempt at speech failed. When the words came they
sounded choked. There was a horrible dry feeling in his throat.
"It is the man who looked in at the window that night," he
whispered. "I saw him--only a few hours ago. It is the same man."
Fenella came slowly to his side. She leaned over his shoulder.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
Her tone was cold and unnatural. Her paroxysm of fear seemed to have
passed.
"I don't know," Arnold answered. "Let Groves telephone for a
doctor."
The man half turned away, yet hesitated. Fenella fell on her knees
and bent over the prostrate body.
"He is not dead," she declared. "Groves, tell me exactly who is in
the house?"
"There is no one here at all, madam," the man answered, "except the
servants, and they are all in the other wing. We have had no
callers whatever this evening."
"And Mr. Weatherley?"
"Mr. Weatherley arrived home about seven o'clock," Groves replied,
"dined early, and went to bed immediately afterwards. He complained
of a headache and looked very unwell."
Fenella rose slowly to her feet. She looked from Arnold to the
prostrate figure upon the carpet.
"Who has done this?" she asked, pointing downwards.
"It may have been an accident," Arnold suggested.
"An accident!" she repeated. "What was he doing in my sitting-room?
Besides, he could not have crept underneath the couch of his own
accord."
"Do you know who it is?" Arnold asked.
"Why should I know?" she demanded.
He hesitated.
"You remember the night of my first visit here--the face at the
window?"
She nodded. He pointed downward to the outstretched hand.
"That is the man," he declared. "He is wearing the same ring--the
red signet ring. I saw it upon his hand the night you and I were in
this room alone together, and he was watching the house. I saw it
again through the window of the swing-doors on the hand of the man
who killed Rosario. What does it mean, Fenella?"
"I do not know," she faltered.
"You must have some idea," he persisted, "as to who he is. You
seemed to expect his coming that night. You would not let me give
an alarm or send for the police. It was the same man who killed
Rosario."
She shook her head.
"I do not believe that," she declared.
"If it were not the same man," Arnold continued, "it was at least
some one who was wearing the same ring. Tell me the truth, Fenella!"
She turned her head. Groves had come once more within hearing.
"I know nothing," she replied, hardly. "Groves, go and knock at the
door of your master's room," she added. "Ask him to put on his
dressing-gown and come down at once. Mr. Chetwode, come with me into
the library while I telephone for the doctor."
Arnold hesitated for a moment.
"Don't you think that I had better stay by him?" he suggested.
She shook her head.
"I will not be left alone," she replied. "I told you on the way here
that I was afraid. All the evening I knew that something would
happen."
They made their way to the front of the house and into the library.
She turned up the electric lights and fetched a telephone book.
Arnold rang up the number she showed him.
"What about the police station?" he asked, turning towards her with
the receiver still in his hand. "Oughtn't I to send for some one?"
"Not yet," she replied. "We are not supposed to know. The man may
have come upon some business. Let us wait and see what the doctor
says."
He laid down the receiver. She had thrown herself into an
easy-chair and with a little impulsive gesture she held out one hand
towards him.
"Poor Arnold!" she murmured. "I am afraid that this is all very
bewildering to you, and your life was so peaceful until a week ago."
He held her fingers tightly. Notwithstanding the shadows under her
eyes, and the gleam of terror which still lingered there, she was
beautiful.
"I don't care about that," he answered, fervently. "I don't care
about anything except that I should like to understand a little more
clearly what it all means. I hate mysteries. I don't see why you
can't tell me. I am your friend. If it is necessary for me to say
nothing, I shall say nothing, but I hate the thoughts that come to
me sometimes. Tell me, why should that man have been haunting your
house the other evening? What did he want? And to-night--what made
him break into your room?"
She sighed.
"If it were only so simple as all that," she answered, "oh! I would
tell you so willingly. But it is not. There is so much which I do
not understand myself."
He leaned a little closer towards her. The silence of the room and
the house was unbroken.
"The man will die!" he said. "Who do you believe could have struck
him that blow in your room?"
"I do not know," she answered; "indeed I do not."
"You heard what Groves said," Arnold continued. "There is no one in
the house except the servants."
"That man was here," she answered. "Why not others? Listen."
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall. She held up
her finger cautiously.
"Be very careful before Mr. Weatherley," she begged. "It is an
ordinary burglary, this--no more."
The door was opened. Mr. Weatherley, in hasty and most unbecoming
deshabille, bustled in. His scanty gray hair was sticking out in
patches all over his head. He seemed, as yet, scarcely awake. With
one hand he clutched at the dressing-gown, the girdle of which was
trailing behind him.
"What is the meaning of this, Fenella?" he demanded. "Why am I
fetched from my room in this manner? You, Chetwode? What are you
doing here?"
"I have brought Mrs. Weatherley home, sir," Arnold answered. "We
noticed a light in her room and we made a discovery there. It looks
as though there has been an attempted burglary within the last hour
or so."
"Which room?" Mr. Weatherley asked. "Which room? Is anything
missing?"
"Nothing, fortunately," Arnold replied. "The man, by some means or
other, seems to have been hurt."
"Where is he?" Mr. Weatherley demanded.
"In my boudoir," Fenella replied. "We will all go. I have telephoned
for a doctor."
"A doctor? What for?" Mr. Weatherley inquired. "Who needs a doctor?"
"The burglar, if he is a burglar," she explained, gently. "Don't you
understand that all we found was a man, lying in the centre of the
room? He has had a fall of some sort."
"God bless my soul!" Mr. Weatherley said. "Well, come along, let's
have a look at him."
They trooped down the passage. Groves, waiting outside for them,
opened the door. Mr. Weatherley, who was first, looked all around
the apartment.
"Where is this man?" he demanded. "Where is he?"
[Illustration: "Where is this man?" he demanded. _Page 152_.]
Arnold, who followed, was stricken speechless. Fenella gave a little
cry. The couch had been wheeled back to its place. The body of the
man had disappeared!
"Where is the burglar?" Mr. Weatherley repeated, irritably. "Was
there ever any one here? Who in the name of mischief left that
window open?"
The window through which Arnold had entered the room was now wide
open. They hurried towards it. Outside, all was darkness. There was
no sound of footsteps, no sign of any person about. Mr. Weatherley
was distinctly annoyed.
"I should have thought you would have had more sense, Chetwode," he
said, testily. "You found a burglar here, and, instead of securing
him properly, you send up to me and go ringing up for doctors, and
in the meantime the man calmly slips off through the window."
Arnold made no reply. Mr. Weatherley's words seemed to come from a
long way off. He was looking at Fenella.
"The man was dead!" he muttered.
She, too, was white, but she shook her head.
"We thought so," she answered. "We were wrong."
Mr. Weatherley led the way to the front door.
"As the dead man seems to have cleared out," he said, "without
taking very much with him, I suggest that we go to bed. Groves had
better ring up the doctor and stop him, if he can; if not, he must
explain that he was sent for in error. Good night, Chetwode!" he
added, pointedly.
Arnold scarcely remembered his farewells. He passed out into the
street and stood for several moments upon the pavement. He looked
back at the house.
"The man was dead or dying!" he muttered to himself. "What does it
all mean?"
He walked slowly away. There was a policeman on the other side of
the road, taxicabs and carriages coming and going. He passed the
gate of Pelham Lodge and looked back toward the window of the
sitting-room. Within five minutes the man must have left that room
by the window. That he could have left it unaided, even if alive,
was impossible. Yet there was not anything in the avenue, or
thereabouts, to denote that anything unusual had occurred. He was on
the point of turning away when a sudden thought struck him. He
re-entered the gate softly and walked up the drive. Arrived at
within a few feet of the window, he paused and turned to the right.
A narrow path led him into a shrubbery. A few more yards and he
reached a wire fence. Stepping across it, he found himself in the
next garden. Here he paused for a moment and listened. The house
before which he stood was smaller than Pelham Lodge, and woefully
out of repair. The grass on the lawn was long and dank--even the
board containing the notice "To Let" had fallen flat, and lay among
it as in a jungle. The paths were choked with weeds, the windows
were black and curtainless. He made his way to the back of the house
and suddenly stopped short. This was a night of adventures, indeed!
On a level with the ground, the windows of one of the back rooms
were boarded up. Through the chinks he could distinctly see gleams
of light. Standing there, holding his breath, he could even hear
the murmur of voices. There were men there--several of them, to
judge by the sound. He drew nearer and nearer until he found a chink
through which he could see. Then, for the first time, he hesitated.
It was not his affair, this. There were mysteries connected with
Pelham Lodge and its occupants which were surely no concern of his.
Why interfere? Danger might come of it--danger and other troubles.
Fenella would have told him if she had wished him to know. She
herself must have some idea as to the reason of this attempt upon
her house. Why not slip away quietly and forget it? It was at least
the most prudent course. Then, as he hesitated, the memory of
Sabatini's words, so recently spoken, came into his mind. Almost he
could see him leaning back in his chair with the faint smile upon
his lips. "You have not the spirit for adventure!" Then Arnold
hesitated no longer. Choosing every footstep carefully, he crept to
the window until he could press his face close to the chink through
which the light gleamed out into the garden.