Unexpected as the events of the evening had been, Jim Standerton, as he
stood in his bedroom before retiring to rest, could not declare that he
altogether regretted the turn they had taken. On the morrow he would go
to London, and afterwards, armed with the Law's authority, he would make
Helen Decie his wife without delay. From that moment Mr. Bursfield might
do his worst. Before retiring to his room he had visited Terence, and
had received from him a positive assurance that so far all was right for
the night. Knowing that he might trust the latter implicitly, he had
given him an account of what had happened that evening.
"The sooner, sir, they put that old man under lock and key the better it
will be for everybody," said Terence. "Let him just come playing his
little game round here, and he'll have me on his track like a Nyall
blackfellow."
Half-an-hour later, Jim was in bed and asleep, dreaming that he was back
in the Bush once more, and that he and Terence were chasing wild horses
through a mountain range, and that, on the foremost horse, Helen was
seated, clinging to his mane, as if for dear life. He was galloping
after her as fast as his horse could carry him, when suddenly a hand
clutched him by the throat, and tried to lift him out of the saddle.
At that moment, however, he woke to find that this was no dream, but the
most horrible reality he had ever known in his life. Bony fingers were
clutching tightly at his windpipe, rendering it impossible for him to
breathe. He endeavoured to rise and to seize his assailant, whoever he
might be, and throw him off. But his efforts were unavailing. Still
those talon-like fingers retained their hold; try as he would he could
not weaken their terrible grip. Little by little he felt himself
sinking. The room was in such total darkness that it was impossible to
discover whom his antagonist might be. In the last extremity of his
agony he rolled from the bed and lay helpless upon the floor, entangled
in the clothes. With the fall, his assailant lost his grip of his
throat. Then something must have startled him, for a moment later the
door opened, and he was gone. Disengaging himself as quickly as possible
from the bed-clothes, Jim staggered to his feet, half stunned by the
fall and the terrific conflict in which he had so lately been engaged.
As soon as he recovered he lit a candle, hastened to the door, opened it
and passed out into the gallery. No one was to be seen there, but he had
not gone many paces before he heard the same clicking noise that had
arrested his attention on the first occasion of his seeing the Black
Dwarf. Making his way round the gallery, he reached the room occupied by
Terence. The door stood ajar, and from the noises that proceeded from
within, he gathered that his trusty servant was not only in bed, but
fast asleep. He crossed and shook him by the shoulders.
"Get up, Terence," he whispered softly. "Get up at once."
"What's the matter?" asked the half-awakened man. "Why, it's you, sir.
Is there anything wrong?"
"I should rather think so," Jim replied. "Look at my throat and see if
you can detect any marks upon it."
The other held up the candle as he was directed. On either side of his
throat were a number of bruises and scratches, and some of the latter
were bleeding profusely.
"My gracious, sir!" said Terence; "it looks as if somebody had been
trying to strangle you."
"You've hit it exactly," Jim replied. "Good heavens! Terence, I've been
nearly murdered. You've no idea what a fight of it I've had in the dark.
The man, whoever he was, finding that he couldn't finish me, bolted, and
has gone down some secret passage in the gallery. Terence, we must catch
him somehow."
Terence sprang out of bed, and while he was dressing, Jim hastened back
to his room and also donned some clothes. This done, he returned to
Terence's bedroom, to discover that worthy in the act of lacing his
boots.
"It's a funny business this, sir!" Terence remarked. "I wish I had been
behind that gentleman when he was trying to settle you. I'd have given
him one for his precious nob, ghost or no ghost."
"I expect you would. Now be as quick as you can, for there is not a
moment to lose if we want to catch him."
Terence immediately announced himself as ready, and then, taking their
candles, they set off round the gallery towards the corridor where Jim
felt sure his mysterious assailant had disappeared. Inspection showed
them that the door of the stairs at the further end, leading down to the
domestic offices, was securely fastened on the other side. Having made
sure of this, they tried, as on a previous occasion, the various rooms
along the corridor, searching each one most carefully. But no success
attended their efforts.
"It is quite certain that he is not in any of these rooms," said Jim.
"Now what we have to do is to discover the entrance to that secret
passage. I shall not rest content until we have found that."
They accordingly returned to the corridor, where they set to work once
more to over-haul the wainscotting. Beginning at one end, they worked to
the other; their efforts, however, met with no more success than they
had done in the searching of the rooms. Every panel of the wainscotting
seemed as hollow as its fellow--each projection as firmly secured.
"And yet I am as certain that it is somewhere about here that he
disappeared," said Jim.
At the entrance to the corridor from the gallery were two square pillars
elaborately carved with fruit. Jim had explored his side, having pressed
and pulled every pear and apple, with the usual result. Suddenly Terence
touched him on the arm.
"Look here, sir," he whispered, "what's this? It seems to me that this
grape is not very firm."
Jim turned to him and knelt down beside the bunch of fruit indicated. It
certainly did seem as if the lowest grape of the bunch were loose. It
shook under his finger, and yet showed no sign of coming off.
"I believe we've got it at last," he said, pressing upon the grape, as
he spoke, with all his strength. Yet it did not move. He endeavoured to
push it in the direction of the gallery, but still it remained
immovable. He tried forcing it from him towards the corridor, when to
his amazement it left its place and moved half an inch or so away. As it
did so there was a heavy creaking noise, and a portion of the panelling
of the corridor, some three feet in width and six feet high, swung
inwards, disclosing a black cavity, which might either have been a well
or a staircase. Both men drew back in astonishment, half expecting that
Jim's assailant, if he were concealed within, would dash out upon them.
"We've found the place at last," said Jim. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, we
shall be able to solve the mystery of the famous Childerbridge ghosts.
Hold your candle aloft, Terence, so that we can see what we are doing,
and we'll descend and discover where it leads to."
"Let me go first, sir," Terence returned. "After the fight you had
upstairs, you may not be up to the mark, and I'm dying to have a turn
with him, if he's as big as a church."
But Jim would not hear of this, and bade the other follow him. Holding
their lights aloft, they descended the narrow stone steps. They were
longer than they expected to find them, and when they reached the bottom
Jim knew that they must be some distance beneath the level of the
foundations of the house. They were then standing in a passage, some
four feet wide by seven in height. The walls and ceiling were of brick,
the floor composed of huge blocks of stone. Everything reeked with damp
while the air was as close and musty as a vault. Being resolved to leave
no part of it unexplored, Jim pushed on closely followed by Terence. For
economy's sake they blew out one of the candles, not knowing how far
they might have to travel, or what might happen to them by the way. They
had not been more than three minutes in the passage before Jim stopped,
and turning to his companion, held up his hand.
"What's up?" he asked.
A sound as of heavy blows upon stone reached them from above.
"I can tell you what it is, sir," said Terence, after a moment's
reflection. "It's the horses, and it means that we're under the
stables."
"In that case it must run the entire width of the house and burrow under
the courtyard. It means also that the direction is due east. This is
growing interesting. Come along."
After this discovery they pushed on with increased speed, but the
passage showed no signs of coming to an end. The air was close, but now
and again draughts poured in upon them to prove that though they could
not see them, there must be vent holes somewhere.
"I wouldn't have believed such a place could have existed," said Jim.
"It seems as if we have come miles. By Jove, what's that?"
As he spoke the light of his candle shone upon a dark mass huddled upon
the floor. A second later it became apparent that it was the figure of a
man.
"Take care, sir," said Terence, as Jim hastened towards the prostrate
form, "it may be the man we want, and he's as like as not shamming."
"We'll soon find that out," answered Jim, and knelt down beside the
prostrate figure.
While Terence held the candle, Jim rolled the figure over until they
were able to see the face. Then he uttered a cry of horror. _The man
lying before them was none other than Abraham Bursfield!_
"Good heavens, this is too terrible," said Jim, after the long pause
which followed, during which he had assured himself that he had made no
mistake as to the other's identity. "Is he dead, do you think, Terence?"
"Quite dead, sir," Terence replied, after he too had knelt down and
examined him. "If he's the man who tried to kill you, he'll never do any
more mischief to anybody again."
But Jim did not answer. A sickening feeling of giddiness was taking
possession of him. If it were Abraham Bursfield who had done his best to
murder him that night, it was only logical to conclude that he was also
the man who had murdered his father. Doctor Weston had declared him to
be a madman that afternoon. Now he had certainly proved himself to be
one of the most dangerous type. If that were the case what a narrow
escape Helen had had.
"What's to be done, Terence?--what's to be done?" Jim asked almost
piteously. "We could not have made a more terrible discovery."
"There'll have to be an Inquest, sir," said Terence.
"When it will be found that he entered my house and endeavoured to
murder me. Then it will be remembered how my father died. Two and two
will be put together, and the terrible truth will come out. That would
break Miss Decie's heart."
"Good heavens! sir, I see what you mean," said Terence. "I never thought
of that."
"He was mad, Terence, hopelessly mad, and therefore not responsible for
his actions. Poor Miss Decie!"
"Aye, poor young lady. If she was so fond of the old gentleman, it would
break her heart to know what he has been trying to do."
"She must never know," said Jim, who by this time had made up his mind.
"I can trust you, Terence."
"To the death, sir, and I think you know it. I've served you, sir, and I
served your father before you, and I don't think you ever found me
wanting. Tell me what you think of doing."
"We must get him back to his own house, if possible," said Jim, "and let
him be found dead there. No one but our two selves will know the truth,
and if we keep silence, no one need ever know that we found him here. I
cannot let Miss Decie be made more unhappy than she is."
"I don't know but that you are right, sir," Terence answered. "But how
are we going to get him to the Dower House?"
"We must go along the passage and see where it leads to. If I am not
mistaken it will take us there. This place must have been made years
ago, when the two properties were one. We will leave the body here, and,
if I am right in my conjecture, we can come back for it."
They accordingly allowed the remains of Mr. Bursfield to lie where they
had found them, and proceeded on their tour of exploration. As it
transpired, they had still a considerable distance to go before they
reached the end of the tunnel. At last, however, they found themselves
at the foot of a flight of stone steps, similar to those by which they
had descended at the Manor House.
"Tread very quietly," Jim whispered to his companion. "We must on no
account rouse the servants."
They noiselessly ascended the stairs until they found themselves at the
top, and confronted by a door.
"I'll get you to stay here, Terence," Jim whispered, "while I open this
door and see where we are."
He soon discovered what appeared to be a spring in the middle of the
door, and when he had pressed it, had the satisfaction of seeing the
door swing inwards. Shading the candle with his hand, Jim stepped into
the room he found before him. His surprise at finding himself in Mr.
Bursfield's study, the same room in which he had his last unpleasant
interview with the old gentleman, can be better imagined than described.
The secret door, he observed, formed part of the panelling on one side
of the fireplace, a fragment of carving in the setting of the
chimney-piece being the means of opening it. The old man's papers and
books were littered about the table just as he had left them; a
grandfather clock ticked solemnly in the further right-hand corner,
while a little mouse watched Jim from beneath the sofa, as if it were
endeavouring to ascertain his errand there at such an hour.
Having made sure of his whereabouts, Jim returned to the passage,
closing the door carefully behind him.
"We must lose no time," he whispered to Terence; "it is already a
quarter to three. Heaven grant that Isaac, his man-servant, does not
take it into his head to look in upon his master during the night. He
would then find him absent, and that would make it rather difficult to
explain the fact of his being found dead in his chair in the morning."
By this time their first candle had expired, and it became necessary to
light that Terence was carrying.
"If we are not very careful we shall be compelled to make our way back
in the dark, after we have carried him up here," said Jim. "This candle
will scarcely see us through."
"Never mind that, sir, so long as we can get him in here safely," said
Terence. "I have got a box of matches in my pocket, and we can fumble
our way back somehow."
They accordingly set off, and in due course reached the place where they
had left the old man's body.
"How are we to carry him?" asked Jim.
"Oh, you leave that to me, sir. I can manage it," answered Terence. "If
you'll go ahead with the light, I'll follow you."
So saying, he picked up the frail body, as if its weight were a matter
of no concern to him, and they set off on their return journey to the
Dower House. If the distance had appeared a long one before, it was
doubly so now. At last, however, they reached the steps, climbed them,
and a few moments later were standing in the dead man's study once more.
In spite of his assertions to the contrary, it was plain that his
exertions had taxed Terence's strength to its utmost. Between them they
placed the body in the chair before the table.
This done, they left the room as quietly as they had entered it, and
made their way down the steps once more. Jim's prophecy that the return
journey would have to be made in darkness was fulfilled, for they had
scarcely reached the place where they had discovered the body ere the
candle fluttered out and they found themselves in inky darkness.
Terence struck a match, but its feeble flicker was of little or no use
to them. Fumbling their way along by the wall they continued to
progress, until a muttered exclamation from Terence, who was leading,
proclaimed the fact that they had reached the steps at the further end.
"Bad cess to 'em," said he, "I've barked my shins so that I shall have
good cause to remember them to my dying day."
He thereupon lit another match, and by means of this modest illumination
they climbed to the door in the corridor above.
"Heaven be thanked! we're safe home once more," said Jim, as they
stepped into the passage. "I trust I may never experience another night
like this."
Whispering to Terence to follow him quietly, he led the way round the
gallery and downstairs to the dining-room, where he unlocked the
Tantalus and poured out a glass of spirits for Terence and another for
himself. Both stood in need of some sort of stimulant after all they had
been through.
"Not a word must be breathed to any living being of this, Terence," he
said, as he put his glass down. "Remember, I trust my secret to you
implicitly."
"I give you my word, sir, that nobody shall ever hear it from me,"
answered Terence, and then the two men solemnly shook hands.
"Now, before we go to bed, I'll get you to come to my room and have a
look at my throat," said Jim; "it's uncommonly sore."
This proved to be the case. And small wonder was it, for the finger
marks were fast turning to bruises, while the scratches showed up as
fiery-red as ever. Jim shuddered again and again as he recalled that
awful struggle and compared his escape with his father's cruel fate.
"Another moment and in all probability he would have done for me too,"
he said to himself, and then added somewhat inconsequently, "Poor
Helen!"
When his wounds had been dressed, he despatched Terence to bed; for his
own part, however, he knew that sleep was impossible. In fact, he did
not attempt to seek it, but seating himself in a comfortable chair,
proceeded to read, with what attention he could bestow upon the
operation, until daylight.
When the sun rose he dressed himself and went out, wearing a scarf
instead of a collar, in order that the wounds he had received might not
be apparent to the world. The memory of that hateful passage under the
park haunted him like an evil dream. He determined to have it closed at
once for good and all. While he remained the owner of Childerbridge no
one should ever set foot in it again. He was still wondering how he
could best carry out the work without exciting suspicion or comment,
when he observed an old man crossing the park towards him. As he drew
nearer, Jim became aware that it was old Isaac, Mr. Bursfield's
man-servant and general factotum. It was also to be seen that he was in
a very agitated state.
"God have mercy upon us, sir!" he said, as he came up to Jim; "I've had
such a fright. Is Miss Helen with you?"
"She is," Jim replied, and then endeavouring to speak unconcernedly, he
added--"Has Mr. Bursfield sent you to find her?"
"The poor gentleman will never send me on another errand," Isaac replied
solemnly; "he has been sent for himself. He is dead!"