Hastening round the gallery of the hall, Jim endeavoured to discover
some traces of the mysterious visitor, spectre or human, whom he had
seen. The corridor, however, leading to the oldest and western portion
of the house, was quite empty. Like the remainder of the building, it
was panelled with dark oak, some portion of it being curiously, though
richly carved. He searched it up and down, stopping every now and then
to listen, but save for the wind sighing round the house, and an
occasional burst of laughter ascending from the servants' hall, he could
hear nothing. At the end of the long corridor a flight of stone steps
led to the domestic offices below. These he descended, and having
reached the servants' hall, called Wilkins, the butler, to him. When the
latter emerged, Jim led him a short distance down the passage before he
spoke.
"Wilkins," he said, "do you remember the night when you thought you saw
the Black Dwarf on the landing?"
"I shall never forget it, sir," the other replied. "I can never go along
that corridor now without a shudder. What about it, sir?"
"Only that I have just seen the figure myself," James replied. "I had
been up to the lumber-room, and was descending the stairs when it passed
along the further side of the gallery, in the direction of the west
corridor. Now, Wilkins, I have come down to find out whether you would
be afraid to come upstairs with me in order that we may discover whether
we can come to any understanding of the mystery?"
"Yes, sir, of course I will come with you," said Wilkins. "At the same
time I am not going to say that I am not a bit frightened, for it would
not be the truth. However, sir, I am not going to let you go alone."
"Come along then," said Jim, "and bring a light of some kind with you."
Wilkins procured a candle, and then they ascended to the floor above. As
they reached the corridor Jim turned and caught a glimpse of his
companion's face. It looked very white and frightened in the dim light.
"Cheer up, my man," said he; "if it's a ghost it won't hurt you, and if
it's a human being you and I should be more than a match for him."
As he said this he opened the door of the first room on the corridor. It
was empty, and quite devoid of either the natural or the supernatural.
"Nothing here," said Jim as they passed out into the passage, and into
the next room. This was used as a sewing-room for the female servants,
and was furnished with a long table and half-a-dozen chairs. They
explored it thoroughly, and having done so, voted it above suspicion.
The next room was a bedroom, and had only been once used since the
Standertons had come into possession of the house. The walls were
panelled, and there was a curious recess on the side opposite the door.
Jim overhauled each panel, and carefully examined the recess, but
without discovering anything suspicious. Thus they proceeded from room
to room searching every nook and cranny, and endeavouring in every
possible way to account for the creaking noise which had first attracted
Jim's attention. The carving of the corridor itself was carefully
examined, every panel of the wainscoting was tested, until at last,
having reached the gallery of the hall, they were compelled to own
themselves beaten. The fact that they had not been able to discover
anything only added to Wilkins' belief in the supernatural agency of the
Dwarf. Jim, however, had the recollection of that creaking hinge, before
mentioned, continually before him. There might be ghostly bodies he
argued, but he had never heard of ghostly hinges.
"Well, it doesn't appear as if we are destined to capture him to-night,"
said Jim, when they had finished their labours. "Now one word of advice;
just keep the fact of his appearance to yourself, Wilkins. If the
maid-servants come to hear of it we shall have no end of trouble."
Wilkins promised that he would say nothing about the occurrence, and
then returned to the Servants' Hall, leaving Jim standing on the gallery
ruminating on the behaviour of the figure he had seen.
"One thing is quite certain, and that is the fact that he disappeared in
the corridor," he said to himself reflectingly. "Now I wonder where he
came from?"
The only room on that side of the gallery then in use was Alice's
bedroom, and to this Jim forthwith made his way. It was a strange scene
that met his eyes when he opened the door. As he had good reason to
know, Alice was always a most methodical and neat young lady; now
everything was in confusion. The drawers of the dressing-table stood
open and their contents were strewed upon the table and the floor. The
writing-table in the further corner of the room was in much the same
condition, while the wardrobe doors were open, and the dresses, which
usually hung upon the pegs, were piled in a heap upon the floor.
"Good gracious! what on earth does this mean?" said Jim to himself as he
gazed upon the scene of confusion. "Has Alice gone mad, or has the Black
Dwarf been trying to see how untidy he can make the place? She must not
see the room in this condition, or it may frighten her."
Thereupon he placed the candle upon the table and did his best to
restore something like order. This task accomplished, he went downstairs
to the drawing-room, where he found his sister seated beside the fire
reading.
"You have been a long time upstairs," she remarked. "What have you been
doing?"
For a moment Jim had forgotten the important discovery he had made. In
reply he withdrew the photograph from his pocket and handed it to her.
She took it with what was almost a shudder. Somewhat to Jim's surprise,
she returned it without commenting upon it. He replaced it in his
pocket, also without a word, and then stood before the fire, wondering
how he should tell her of what he had seen. He knew it would cause her
some uneasiness, but at the same time he felt that he ought to place her
upon her guard.
"Alice," he said at last, "do you make a point of locking your bedroom
door at night?"
"Lock my bedroom door at night?" she repeated. "No! Why should I?"
"I can't exactly say why you should," he answered, "but I want you to do
so for the future. This is a big, lonely house, and we have to remember
that you and I are the only people on this side. I wish my room were
nearer yours, but as it is not, I think it would be safer if you were to
do as I suggest."
"But what makes you say this to-night?" she asked. "What is it, or who
is it, you suspect?"
"I suspect nobody," he replied. "You must not think that. But there are
such people as burglars, and it would only be an ordinary act of common
sense to make yourself safe, while you are permitted the opportunity.
Ever since that terrible night I have been nervous about you, and for
that reason I have decided upon something, which at first you may think
strange."
"What is it?" she enquired.
"For the future," he answered, "I intend that Terence shall sleep in the
room next to yours. Then, if any one makes trouble, and help were
needed, we should have a sure ally at our beck and call."
"But I hope no one will ever attempt to make trouble, as you describe
it," she replied, looking at him with startled eyes as she spoke.
"I also sincerely hope not," he continued. "Now I am going to see
Terence about the matter."
He thereupon left her, and went to his study and rang the bell. On the
butler making his appearance he instructed him to bring O'Riley at once.
A few minutes later Terence put in appearance.
"You had better remain also, Wilkins," said Jim. "Just close the door
behind you, in case any one should chance to overhear us. Now, Terence,
I have something to say to you. Doubtless, since you have been in the
neighbourhood, you have heard certain stories connected with this house.
I suppose you have been told that it has the reputation of being
haunted."
"Lor' bless you, sir," Terence replied, "I've heard all sorts of yarns
about it. There's folk down in the Township yonder, as would no more
think of coming up here after dark than they would of lying down in
front of the train and having their heads cut off."
"You're not a believer in ghosts, I suppose?"
"Not as I knows on," said Terence candidly. "Though I don't mind sayin'
as how there are things as have never been explained to my satisfaction.
'Twas said, as you may remember, sir, as how there was a ghost of an old
man to be seen, some nights in the year, waiting to get over at the
Thirty-Mile Crossing up the river. Then there was the ghost outside
Sydney, that used to get on the fence beside the road, and ask everybody
who would listen to him to have him properly buried."
James knew that the man before him was as brave as a lion. He was the
possessor of nerves of iron, and did not know the meaning of the word
fear.
"Well," he went on after a moment's pause, "the long and the short of
the matter is, Terence, some little time ago a maid-servant saw what she
thought to be the ghost of the Little Black Dwarf up in the gallery
outside. Wilkins here was the next to see it. I thought at the time he
must have been mistaken, but this evening I know that he was not, for I
have seen it myself."
"You don't mean that, sir?" said Terence, while Wilkins plainly showed
the triumph he felt. "And what may he have been like, sir?"
"I had no time to see that," Jim answered. "He disappeared into the
western corridor almost as soon as I caught sight of him. At the same
time I heard the sound of a creaking hinge. What would you think of
that?"
"I should say that it was no ghost, sir," said Terence. "I've been told
that this old house is full of secret passages, and, if you ask me, I
should say it was somebody playing a game with you."
Wilkins stared disdainfully at him. He was quite convinced in his own
mind of the ghostly nature of the mysterious visitor.
"I am inclined to agree with you, Terence," Jim replied. "The more so
as, since I parted with you, Wilkins, I have made a curious discovery.
At what time was Miss Alice's room made tidy?"
"While you were at dinner, sir, according to custom," replied the
butler. "I saw the maid coming out just as I left the dining-room, and
she would not be likely to leave it----"
"To leave it in an untidy state?" Jim put in.
"Of course she would not, sir," the other replied. "She would hear of it
from the housekeeper if she did. No, she's a nice, steady girl, sir, and
I'm told she does her work to the best of her ability."
"Well, it seems curious that when I entered the room after you had left
me, I found it in a state of the wildest confusion. The contents of the
drawers of the dressing-table were lying scattered upon the floor, as
were the dresses in the wardrobe. Now I feel quite certain in my own
mind that it was from Miss Alice's bedroom that the figure I saw
emerged. I am equally sure of one thing, and that is that it is no
ghost--at least," and he added this with a smile, "no respectable ghost,
of course, would dream of playing such tricks with a lady's wearing
apparel."
"Then, sir, whom do you suspect?" Wilkins enquired. "I can assure you
that none of the staff would dare to take such a liberty."
"I am quite sure of that," Jim replied. "Yet the fact remains that
somebody must be, and is, responsible for it. Now what I intend to do is
to lay myself out to capture that somebody, and to make an example of
him when I have got him. For that reason, Terence, I am going to ask you
to sleep in the house, in the room next to that occupied by Miss Alice.
It will go hard, then, if between us we cannot lay our hands upon the
gentleman, whoever he may be, who is playing these tricks upon us."
Terence willingly agreed to the proposal, and that night occupied the
room in question. His watchfulness availed him nothing, however, for no
further sign of the Black Dwarf.
Next morning Robins received the photograph of Murbridge, and from that
moment Jim awaited tidings from him in a fever of expectation. Day after
day, however, went by, and still no good news came to reward his
patience. The only consolation he derived was from sundry mysterious
interviews which he had with Helen in a wooded corner of the park. With
the cunning of lovers they had arranged a plan of meeting, and those
little _tete-a-tetes_ were to Jim as the breath of life. No sooner was
one at an end than he hungered for the next. But he was destined ere
long to receive a fright, such as he had never received in his life
before. Winter was fast approaching, and the afternoons drew in quickly.
When he reached the rendezvous on this occasion it was nearly five
o'clock, and almost dark. Helen had arrived there before him, and he
discovered her pacing up and down the little glade, in what was plainly
an agitated frame of mind.
"Oh, I am so thankful that you have come, Jim dear," she said, as she
came forward to greet him. "I have been counting the minutes until I
should see you."
"Why, what on earth is the matter?" he asked, placing his arm round her
waist and drawing her to him. "You are excited about something. Tell me,
dear, what it is."
"Something so dreadful that it has upset me terribly," she answered. "I
scarcely know how to tell you."
He led her towards a fallen tree upon which they had often seated
themselves on previous occasions.
"Now let me know everything," he said.
She looked about over her shoulder in a frightened way. Then she began
almost in a whisper:
"Jim, what I have to say to you concerns my grandfather. I am very much
alarmed about him."
"I hope he has not been making himself disagreeable to you again on my
account," Jim replied. Then he continued angrily: "If so, I think I
shall have to call upon him."
"Hush, hush," she said, "do not speak so loud, you do not know who may
be listening."
"I will be all discretion, dear, now go on!"
"Well, this afternoon I was playing the piano in the drawing-room when a
message was brought to me by Isaac to the effect that my grandfather
desired to see me in his study at once. I went to him there, to find him
seated at his desk as usual, at work upon his book, the 'History of the
County,' you know. He signed to me to be seated by the fire, and when I
had done so resumed his writing, not putting down his pen until I had
been some minutes in the room. Then he looked at me with a very
thoughtful face, in which I imagined I could detect an expression that I
had never seen there before. Taken altogether, his manner frightened me.
It was so strange, and so utterly unlike himself, that I did not know
what to think. Then he took off his spectacles, and laid them on the
desk before him, remarking as he did so, 'I am given to understand that
you are still in correspondence with Mr. Standerton, Miss?' Then, before
I could answer him, he continued--'and I hear that you have secret
meetings with him in the park. Is this so?' I admitted that it was, and
went on to say that as we were betrothed I could see no harm in it."
"And what did he say to that?"
"He rose from his chair and paced the room for a few minutes without
speaking. Then he reseated himself. As he did so he said, 'You are _not_
engaged, and you know it as well as I do. Never let me hear you say such
a thing again.' After that he began to pace the room once more, and
finally hurled at me such a torrent of abuse that I was almost stupefied
by it. He accused me of the most outrageous things, until I could bear
it no longer, and rose to leave him. By this time, as you may suppose, I
had come to the conclusion that the life of retirement he had lived for
so long had turned his brain. No man could have said the things he did
without his mind being a little affected."
"My darling, this is more serious than you suppose," said Jim anxiously.
"But you have not heard the worst yet. It appears that before I had
entered the room he had drawn up a document which he now desired me to
sign. It was to the effect that I would bind myself never to speak to
you or see you again, and contained my promise that I would abandon all
thought of ever becoming your wife. 'Sign that,' he said, 'or the
consequences will be more terrible than you suppose. I am an old man,
but remember even old men can be dangerous at times.' With that he
handed me a pen, but I refused to take it."
"And then?"
"I cannot tell you how he looked at me as I said it. I could never have
believed that his face could have undergone such a change. But I still
refused to sign the document, and at last he discovered that it was
impossible to force me to do so. 'Very well,' he said, 'since you
refuse, the consequences of your action be upon your own head.' With
that, opening the door, he bade me leave him. You can imagine for
yourself how thankful I was to do so."
"And then you came on here," said Jim. "You were most imprudent, dear.
He may try to revenge himself upon you when you return to the house."
"I don't think he will hurt me," she replied. "I am only afraid for
you."
"There is no need for fear on my account," Jim answered, with a short
laugh. "I do not think it is possible for the poor old gentleman to do
me any harm. But the idea that you are shut up in the house with a
madman, for a madman he must surely be, frightens me beyond all measure.
You must see for yourself that you have no longer any reason to remain
with him. He has threatened you, and that will be sufficient excuse for
you to leave him."
"No, no," she answered, shaking her head. "If he is losing his reason,
he should not be blamed, and it is all the more necessary for his
comfort that I shall remain with him. I feel sure I shall be quite safe.
He is angry with me at present, but he will calm down. It is above all
necessary, however, that you should not come near him. It will only
irritate him and make him more excited than before. Think how good he
has been to me, dear, for the past eight years, and try not to be angry
with him."
"But I am not angry with him," said Jim. "I am only trying to be just.
One thing is quite certain, I shall know no peace as long as you are in
that house with him."
"Will it satisfy you if I give you my promise that, should he become
very bad, I will at once send for you?"
"If you persist on going back there, I suppose I must be content with
that promise," Jim replied, but with no good grace. "And now you had
better be running in. If he finds that you are out, he might suppose
that you are with me, and have another paroxysm of rage. In that case
there is no knowing what might happen."
Helen accordingly bade him good-bye and left him, returning by the path
to the Dower House. Jim watched her until she had disappeared and then
turned homeward with a heavy heart. He felt that he had already enough
anxiety upon his shoulders without this additional burden. He had never
trusted Mr. Bursfield, but he was at a loss to understand his present
malignity, unless it were to be accounted for by the fact that his brain
had given way.
When he reached his home he let himself in by a side door, and made his
way to the drawing-room, where he found Alice.
"How late you are," she said. "The gong sounded some time ago. You will
scarcely have time to dress."
"Then dinner must wait," replied Jim. "Alice, I have bad news for you."
"Why, what is the matter now?" she asked.
Jim thereupon proceeded to furnish her with an abstract of his interview
with Helen. She heard him without a word, but it was to be easily seen
how distressed she was for her friend.
"My dear Jim," she remarked when he had finished, "this is indeed
serious. What do you propose doing?"
"I scarcely know," Jim answered. "The case is an extremely delicate one.
The old man has taken a decided dislike to me, and if I interfere
between Helen and himself it will have the effect of adding to his wrath
and do more harm than good. And yet I cannot allow her to remain there,
and perhaps run a daily risk of her life."
"What does she think about it herself?"
"She has an absurd notion that her duty lies in standing by Bursfield in
his trouble. That, of course, is all very well in its way, but no one
could possibly expect her to turn herself into a keeper for a madman."
Alice, seeing the tired look on his face, crossed the room and placed
her arm round his neck.
"Dear old Jim," she said, "you must not worry yourself too much about
it. All will come right in the end. Helen is a girl of very marked
character, and it is quite probable that, under her influence, Mr.
Bursfield's condition may improve. Were I in your place, I should trust
matters to her for a little while. You know that she loves you, and you
may be quite sure that she will keep her promise, and let you know
directly anything is very wrong. But there! what am I thinking about? I
should have told you when you first came in that there is a telegram
waiting for you. Here it is."
As she spoke she took an envelope from the mantelpiece, and handed it to
him.
"I wonder who it is from?" he remarked as he tore it open.
Having withdrawn the contents, he read as follows:--
"Standerton, Childerbridge.
"Murbridge found. Come at once.
"13, Upper Bellington Street. ROBINS."